Et Lux In Tenebris Lucet

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Buffy was grateful that Spike hadn’t brought up their kiss. She wandered through the graveyard with a sort of aimlessness. There wasn’t much going on recently in the undead and demony category, which left her all sorts of time to consider the oddness that was her life. Part of the oddity consisted of her live-in vampire completely ignoring the fact that they had shared a steamy, scene-stealing kiss. It really wasn’t fair.

If he had said something, she would have been perfectly justified in shooting him down, telling him that it was the music, it would never happen again, etc. The fact that he hadn’t said anything made her wonder if something was wrong, if she’d finally gotten to the point where just kissing a man was enough to cure him forever. If maybe he was only in love with her because he thought she was unattainable, and now that she seemed within reach, he didn’t want her anymore. Or maybe she’d done something wrong. And it wasn’t fair, because she wasn’t supposed to be having these kinds of thoughts where Spike was concerned.

On the other hand, if she went to him and demanded to know what he was thinking about, why he hadn’t said anything, that would give him the idea that it had meant more than it had. And it hadn’t meant anything. He’d been standing there, looking all sexy and vulnerable, and his blue eyes had been so deep, she’d lost her head. So he was gorgeous, so he really wasn’t all that evil, he was still a vampire. A vampire who was living in her house whom she had absolutely no business kissing. She knew all of that, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking lusty thoughts. Because, as Dawn said, he was a complete hottie. And he could be sweet. And—

Buffy stopped herself right there. She couldn’t think things like that, it just wasn’t right. So no more thoughts of Spike.

Suddenly she found herself surrounded by a group of vampires. “Where’s Spike, Slayer?” one of them snarled.

“Who?” she asked with a frown.

“Your pet vampire. Where is he?” another asked with a smirk. “We heard he’d been laid up. Needed to be put out of his misery.”

Buffy’s face hardened and she took a tighter grip on the stake that she’d grabbed. “If anyone’s going to be putting Spike out of his misery it’s me, not some sorry excuse for a vampire gang.”

There were growls all around at that insult, and then they attacked. They weren’t all that special, as vampires go, hardly a challenge for the Slayer, even five at a time. Still, the fact that they were actively looking for Spike worried her, and as she dusted herself off, she made a mental note to talk to her roommate.

Spike rubbed a tired hand over his face as he waited for his blood to heat in the microwave. He hadn’t slept since that kiss with Buffy. It had been everything he’d ever dreamed it would be, all heat and passion, Gone With the Wind and the rising music. But it turned out his legs weren’t the only things that were broken. Numb from the waist down took on an entirely new meaning when even Buffy couldn’t inspire him. So he’d ignored their little moment, feeling entirely certain that Buffy would be doing the same thing, and hoping that it wouldn’t come up again. Because he certainly couldn’t do anything about it.

“Spike?” The vampire shut his eyes and wished as hard as he could that she wouldn’t want to talk. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” he muttered, thinking his life could hardly get worse.

Buffy gave him a strange look and then said quietly, “I ran into some of your friends tonight.”

“They give you a sympathy card to deliver?” he asked, his tone one of biting sarcasm.

“No, but they were looking for you. They said they wanted to put you out of your misery.” She reached out and touched him on the arm. “You want to tell me why they’d want to do that?”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Why do you think? I’m a vampire who’s betrayed his own kind to help the bloody Slayer, and now I can’t even protect myself. Vampires are evil, luv, and they aren’t nice to anyone. Like soddin’ wolves, they’ll kill one of their own if it’s not fit to live.”

“Don’t say that,” she ordered.

“Why? ‘S true, innit?” He stared at her. “Look, Buffy, appreciate the concern, but I could do with a little space right now. Don’t feel like seein’ or talkin’ to anyone.”

“Even me?”

“Specially you, pet,” he replied with a little smile. “Do me a favor and tell Dawn to wake me up when she gets home tomorrow. I’m supposed to help her with an essay she’s doin’ for school.” With that, he drank the rest of his blood and escaped up the stairs, feeling Buffy’s eyes on his back. And he went back to bed and tried to sleep, only to dream of failure and falling and being chased by things from which he couldn’t run.

When he woke, it was nearing sunset and Dawn had obviously not woken him up, which was odd. She had to do an essay on the Industrial Revolution for her history class, and Spike had seen parts of it first-hand, which was why he had offered to help out. He lay there for a minute, bracing himself for the struggle it would take to get out of bed, finally working up the energy to pull the braces on and get himself upright. It took more energy and more effort every evening, until one day, he knew, there would be no getting him up at all.

He swung himself across the hall to Dawn’s room, peering in to see no evidence that she’d even come home from school that day. From there he peeked into the Slayer’s bedroom, seeing that she was absent as well. He worked his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, finally calling out to both of them, hoping to hear a reply, but the house was silent and empty. Worry began to prick at his brain, and he decided to call the Magic Box to see if they were there or if anyone had seen them recently.

He let the phone ring about a half dozen times before finally hanging up. There was no way the shop had been shut down this early in the evening, and even on the off chance that it had been, someone should have answered the phone. Worry blossomed into fear, and he made a quick decision to go check things out for himself.

Spike was fully cognizant of the fact that if any of his “friends” caught him out after dark on his own, he’d be dust before he could so much as blink. But Buffy and Dawn might be in danger, and he would rather die (in a manner of speaking) trying than to sit and wait, hoping that they would be safe.

Not bothering with his duster, which was too awkward with the crutches anyway, he set off as quickly as he was able for the shop. He avoided the short-cuts he might have taken a year ago, sticking instead to the well-lit streets, hoping that he would escape unnoticed.

Unmolested, he reached the door of the shop with a heartfelt sigh of relief. As much as he wouldn’t have minded finding himself dust, and his sorry excuse for an unlife over, he couldn’t afford to be maudlin as long as Buffy or Dawn were possibly in danger. And as he opened the door to see the Slayer’s sprawled figure, it seemed that his fear had been valid.

Spike didn’t bother with the lights; he didn’t need them and he was too worried about Buffy to pause even for a moment. Releasing the tension on the braces, he sank down to the floor with a complete lack of grace. “Buffy,” he called quietly. “Wake up, luv.”

She started to stir almost immediately, and he gave in to both his relief and his feelings for her by stroking her blond hair out of her face tenderly. “Come on, pet, time to wake up now.”

Green eyes opened to stare at him with a total lack of recognition. “Who—who are you?”

The vampire pulled his hand back from her face, his eyes mirroring her confusion. “It’s me, Spike. What happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything.” The look she turned on him was one of pleading. “You know me?”

Spike was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that something had gone seriously wrong. If he had to make an educated guess, he’d say that someone had cast a spell that had either done exactly what they wanted it to or had gone terribly awry. If the first, it was probably an outsider, an enemy. If the second, then all evidence would probably point to one of the witches. Though considering the Sweet debacle, it could very easily be one of the others. “Yeah, Buffy, we live together.” Realizing how that sounded, he amended. “Well, I stay in your house. Bit of a difference there.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaking a bit.

He hesitated, and then admitted, “Don’t know, but let’s wake the others and we’ll see if we can’t find out.”

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out to touch him as she saw the braces on his legs.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he replied, turning his head away. She seemed to sense his reluctance in accepting her help and so didn’t offer, instead turning her head away so as not to see his embarrassment. Once he was on his feet, however, she flipped on the light switch, and they both watched as the others woke.

They were all disoriented, coming to consciousness slowly, and if the situation had been less serious, Spike would have had a good laugh at their positions: Giles drooling on Anya, Willow cuddled up with Xander. He couldn’t help but wonder what they might have thought, what explanations they would have come up with if left to their own devices.

There was no time for such thoughts, however. Dawn was obviously frightened, and as the Scoobies and the Watcher began to realize their predicament, voices were raised and questions asked. Spike’s first concern was Dawn, though, and he and Buffy moved immediately to her side when she let out a distressed whimper. “’Sall right, Niblet,” Spike said quietly, trying not to startle her. “It’ll be fine.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes distressingly trusting. “You know me?”

“Sure I do, pet,” Spike replied as gently as possible. “I was s’posed to help you with that essay today, right?” If he was hoping he could jog her memory, he was sorely disappointed since all he got was a blank look. Buffy put a comforting arm around her sister, and Spike turned to see the rest of the crew arguing in distressed tones.

“Hey now!” he called to the room at large. “That’ll be enough of that.” The vampire was pleased as they immediately looked over at him. “You lot alright?”

“We are not ‘alright,’” Giles said, with more than a hint of distaste in his tone. “None of us have any memory of who we are.”

Spike couldn’t resist a smirk. He was firmly on the high ground. “Well, lucky for you I know who all of you are.” He named them off one by one, pointing to each in turn. “Rupert Giles. Anya. Tara. Willow. Xander. Buffy. Dawn.” He lifted an eyebrow at Giles’ faintly skeptical look. “Check your pockets then if you don’t believe me.”

They checked their pockets, all but Dawn and Anya having some kind of identification. Anya found confirmation with the key that fit the cash register and the receipts that had her name on them. Tara, Buffy and Willow had their student I.D.’s and Xander and Giles had their driver’s licenses. Dawn found her name on her necklace. “Since you seem to know who we are,” Giles grudgingly admitted, “perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us who you are.”

All eyes turned to him, and Spike realized that he had placed himself in the strange position of being the leader. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. This wasn’t what he had in mind. “I’m Spike,” he finally said. “Got worried ‘bout Buffy and the Bit and decided to see if I couldn’t find them. Looks like you lot got caught up in someone’s spell.”

There were strident objections to that by Giles and milder arguments from Willow and Xander. Spike rolled his eyes. “Look around, you gits,” he ordered. “Strike you as a regular shop then?” He muttered several other, less-than-complimentary comments, low enough that no one heard him. “First rule of order is to find out what happened. Chances are someone is either using this as some sort of weapon or one of you lot screwed up a spell.” He snorted. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was that last.”

He might have gone on, trying to find some clue that explained what had happened to all of them, but a large rock crashed through the front window. “Come on, Spike! We know you’re in there. Come out and maybe we’ll let your friends live.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Last thing he needed right now was a bunch of bloody vampires.

“Why do those men out there want to hurt you?” Willow asked.

He sighed, swinging himself to the window and peering out. “Go away, you soddin’ wankers,” he yelled back. “Slayer’s in here and she’ll stake your arses.” The only response he got were jeers. “Look, long story short, they’re not happy with me because I’m hangin’ with the Slayer and they think I’m an easy target.”

“Slayer?” Tara asked. “Who—who is that?”

This was entirely too much. How was he supposed to explain the whole of the Sunnyhell madness to a bunch of people who hadn’t a clue as to who they were? “She’s the Slayer,” he replied shortly, pointing at Buffy.

At just that moment, two vampires crashed inside, one through the window and one through the back door. The rest of the lot screamed, but Spike grabbed the stakes that sat on a nearby shelf and tossed one to Buffy. “Catch!” he called, and was relieved to see that her body remembered what her brain didn’t. Some fancy footwork from the Slayer and a couple piles of dust later and they managed to get the rest of the riffraff out the door, Buffy leaning on it to prevent any more vampires from entering that way. Spike quickly slammed the window grate down by releasing the catch, hoping that would keep the rest of them out for the time being.

“Why do they want you so bad?” Xander asked suspiciously from his position on the floor. “They’re vampires. They should be just as pissed about the rest of us helping Buffy as they are about you. What makes you so special?”

Spike couldn’t believe that Harris would choose this particular moment to get all logical on him. “Because I’m a traitor,” he replied. At their blank looks, he rolled his eyes. “I’m a bloody vampire, you git. I help the Vampire Slayer. You see why they might take exception.”

In spite of the fact that he had just spent the past fifteen minutes reassuring them, telling them who they were, helping save them from what threatened them, they all drew back from him in fear. Buffy took a tighter grip on her stake. “Why should we trust you then?”

And suddenly they were all looking at him not only in fear, but also in suspicion. “Because I want to help you,” he said, unbelievably hurt. “Didn’t have to come here tonight, you know, risking my life for you lot just by walking out the door. I was worried.”

“You mean you want to eat us,” Willow said. “I can’t believe we’re listening to a vampire. I think we should get out of here, maybe go to the hospital. They should be able to help us.”

“Perhaps you should leave,” Giles suggested, a hint of threat in his voice. “I don’t see how you could be of any use to us anyway.”

Spike looked over at Buffy, desperately hoping that he might see something resembling compassion on her face. Because it wasn’t just their words that cut, it was the looks on their faces. Losing their memories had simply pulled aside the façade of pity, leaving only disgust and misgiving in its wake. At least Buffy looked uncertain, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to drop the stake or stand up for him. “Fine,” he said softly. “I’ll just be on my way then. Why I thought to help any of you lot is beyond me.”

He headed deliberately for the front door, figuring Buffy would most likely gladly step out of his way. Spike was tired. He was so tired, and all the weight of his hundred-odd years hung on him like stones. He had no doubt that it would be over quickly. “Wait!” It was Dawn’s voice behind him. “You can’t go out there. They’ll kill you.”

“That’s the point, Bit,” he replied, knowing that she wouldn’t really recognize his pet-name for her. “It’s time I end this.”

“But you’re the only one who knows what’s going on,” she protested. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Dawn’s right.” This time it was Tara. “Besides, Spike could have hurt us at any point, and he hasn’t lied to us yet. We can’t just let him go out and get killed. He wouldn’t stand a chance against all of them.”

He wouldn’t have stood a chance against one of them, Spike knew, but he appreciated her words. They soothed the wounds that the others’ suspicions had made in him. “Tara and Dawn are right,” Buffy said softly. Turning to him, she asked, “Is there another way out of here?”

“The basement,” he replied. “There’s a trapdoor that leads to the sewers.”

“We can go out that way then,” Buffy said, ready to turn and lead the way.

Spike shook his head. “Won’t work, pet. I won’t make it down those ladders. If they think you’re in here, they’ll hold off storming the place for a while. Best get the rest of them to safety.”

Buffy shook her head. The fight with the vampires who had gotten in had energized her and given her a new confidence. Spike had called her the Slayer; apparently the Slayer was a superhero. And heroes did not let guys who were trying to save their lives die. “The rest of you go on. Get to the sewers and make for the hospital. Spike and I will follow as soon as we can.”

Spike was about ready to argue, but a steely look from Buffy was all it took to convince him otherwise. “She’s right,” he finally admitted grudgingly. “The rest of you go on.” When no one moved, he shifted his face, showed a little fang. “Go!” They went.

He and Buffy sat in silence, her back holding the front door closed. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He was leaning on the door next to her even though Spike knew he wouldn’t be much use in keeping the door shut; there was too much risk in him getting overbalanced.

“Your legs. What happened?”

“I fell.”

It was an inadequate explanation to say the least. “Come on, Spike. I know I’m supposed to know this already, but you’re a vampire. Aren’t vampires supposed to be, I don’t know, hard to kill or something?”

He looked over at her, his blue eyes blank and unreadable. “We’re immortal, Buffy, not invulnerable. And before you ask, I should have healed by now.”

“Oh.” Buffy regarded him with the eyes of a nearly impartial stranger. Who was he, this vampire who had come to check on her? Who had been worried for her sister and claimed to sleep in her house? “Why were you hurt then?”

“I made a promise,” he replied quietly, and Buffy knew that was all he was going to say on the matter.

There was another long pause, and then Buffy broke the silence again. “Are we—you know—dating or something?”

“No,” he said, not looking at her. “But I think we might be friends.”

Considering this, she said softly. “I’m sorry about earlier, about not trusting you. But I don’t know you.”

“I know,” he said, and gave her a wry smile. “And if you did know me, you still probably wouldn’t trust me. Story of my life, really.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Spike might have been restless, but he had learned to wait over the last months, learned how to be patient. The Slayer, however, had none of that, and she was natually inclined to action. “We can’t just sit here all night,” she finally said.

“Why not?” he asked, surprised. “Once sunrise is close enough, they’ll leave well enough alone.”

Buffy shook her head. “Let me rephrase that. I’m not going to sit here all night. Besides, we should help the others if we can. You don’t know what’s in the sewers.”

Spike did know; that was the problem. He figured the rest of them could probably take care of Dawn, but Buffy was right. Without any knowledge of what they could be facing, they were much more vulnerable. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

He could see a renewed respect in her eyes as he indicated his willingness to allow her to call the shots. “Okay, stakes kill vampires, right? Do you know where we could find something more long-range for you to use?”

Excitement began to kindle in Spike’s head. “Yeah, Giles has crossbows and the like in the training room. I’ll look around and see if I can find holy water too. Should be some around here.”

He returned a few minutes later with a loaded crossbow and several extra bolts stuck through his belt, plus a few glass vials of holy water in his pockets. “Good,” Buffy said eagerly. “Now, if you could get behind something, you could shoot at them as they come through the door, and I’ll stake them.” She grinned at him. “This could be fun. You do know how to shoot that thing, don’t you?” she asked, glancing at the crossbow.

“Don’t worry, luv,” he said, a sparkle in his eyes that had been missing for some time. “I won’t hit you.”

Their camaraderie was an easy one, and as Spike stood behind the bookcase, waiting for Buffy to give the signal, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy. This was what he had lived for: the fight, the excitement, fangs and fists and sod all else. This was life. At the Slayer’s signal, he called out, “Hey! Why don’t you poofters come in and get me! Sent the rest of them away, so you’ve lost your meal. Come on and take me if you think you can.”

His sharp ears caught muttered arguments outside the door. Apparently, they were afraid it was a trap, and they weren’t eager to die. He looked over at Buffy and cocked one scarred eyebrow, and she grinned back, letting the door swing open slowly and scurrying off to one side so they wouldn’t see her. Like mice who recognize the trap but find the cheese too tempting to pass up, two of the vampires crossed the threshold warily. Spike waited until they turned and then let loose a bolt from the crossbow, dusting one neatly. Buffy was on the second in a moment, and he too was dust.

The next bolt missed its target by less than an inch, lodging in the vampire’s shoulder, but Spike grabbed the vial of holy water and slung it as hard as he could, breaking the glass on his face and blinding him, Buffy using the moment of disorientation to stake him as well. The last two were through the door and on top of Spike in a moment’s time. Buffy pulled one away and was fighting with him even as Spike was trying not to let the other vampire kill him. The git finally fell on the stake that he was hanging onto for dear life, and he looked over to see Buffy sprawled on the floor, a dazed look on her face.

Concerned, he struggled to his feet and reloaded the crossbow, even as the vampire aimed a kick at her stomach. But whatever had floored her passed, and she grabbed his foot and gave it a vicious twist, pulling him to the floor and straddling his waist, a stake poised above his heart. “I’m only going to say this once,” she grated out. “Spike is my concern. If anyone so much as lays a finger on him, I will make them wish they had never been born. You can tell that to your friends.” And then she got off of him, snarling, “Run.”

Spike watched in amazement and narrowed his eyes as she turned to look at him. “Buffy?”

“Yeah, I’m back,” she said, smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and he couldn’t help but compare this Slayer to the joyous girl she’d been a few minutes before. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said shortly, turning on his crutches to close and latch the door of the shop.

“Look, Spike, I know you think you’re useless right now, but you did a good job tonight.” Buffy had no idea why she was trying to comfort him. This was Spike, the guy that had been her mortal enemy. And she was really starting to like him. “If you hadn’t shown up, I shudder to think what would have happened.”

He shook his head. “You would have figured it out, Slayer. And chances are those wankers wouldn’t have bothered to make an appearance without me around.”

She sat down on the steps, elbows on knees and chin in her hands. “We were all here because Giles wanted to tell us he was going back to England. As in, permanently.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, he sat down next to her.

“You don’t seem surprised,” she noted. “Did you know he was leaving?”

“Not as such, but I saw it coming,” he admitted.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s you, Mr. Perceptive.”

He wasn’t sure he should bring it up, but he thought it necessary. “You know Willow was probably the one doin’ the spell.”

“I know,” she replied. “There really isn’t anyone else who would have done it. It was probably a mistake.”

“Even so, one of you could have gotten hurt, luv,” he said.

She looked over at him. “What’s your point?”

He sighed. He screwed up and he was in the doghouse for the next few weeks; one of the Scoobies screwed up and it was forgiven and forgotten in moments. “Glinda will leave over this, you know. She’s been worried about Red for a while now, and they were fighting about magic a few weeks ago at Halloween.”

Buffy rubbed her eyes tiredly. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was anyone else’s problems. Her own had come crashing back down on her shoulders, leaving no time to think of the others. “Okay, again, what’s your point?”

“I think you should ask Tara to come live with you,” he said. Before she could object, he continued on. “I’ve been thinkin’ about movin’ down to the basement for a while now, ‘specially since the pipes got fixed. She’ll need a place to stay, and you could ask her to help out ‘round the house, cookin’ and such, instead of rent. That’ll take some of the burden off your shoulders, and Dawn really likes her, you know.”

“And you really like her too,” Buffy said, with a small smile. “She’s the only one I know who can get you to shut up with a look.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably. “She’s a lady,” he finally said in explanation. “Reminds me of your mum, in a way.”

He winced even as the words came out of his mouth, hating to bring up a painful subject. “You’re right,” Buffy replied softly, not yelling at him as he thought she might. “She’s got a presence about her that’s really soothing.” She gave him a measuring look. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Not much else I can do, luv,” he responded.

Buffy didn’t say anything to that, but simply reached over and laid her hand on top of his where it rested on the floor. There were sounds from the basement then, and she moved away from him, but not before giving his hand one last squeeze. And it felt like a kiss.

She met the others, making sure they were fine, getting a status report from them, finding out that they’d met up with a vampire in the sewers. “Xander staked him,” Dawn supplied. “It was so cool.”

Xander shrugged it off and looked over at Spike, who’d made it to his feet, but said nothing. Dawn caught his eyes as well, but she headed straight for the vampire. “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shirt front, her arms tight around his waist.

“Didn’t do much,” he replied, managing to get one arm around her.

She looked him straight in the eye. “You could have been killed tonight just trying to check on us. I told you you weren’t allowed to die.”

“Sorry, I’ll remember that next time.” Spike looked up and saw that Buffy had pulled Tara off to the side and was speaking in low tones, while Giles stood apart from the group, already pulling himself away. “When’s the Watcher leavin’?” he asked Dawn softly.

“Tonight,” she replied in the same tone. “Buffy was really upset earlier. She totally told him off for taking off like he is.” Her gaze turned inward. “Dad did the same thing.”

He tightened his grip on her slightly, offering what comfort he could. Telling her without words that he wasn’t going anywhere, and her grateful look warmed him. “I should get Dawn home,” Buffy said to Giles and the room in general. She looked over at him, resentment still present in her eyes. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“No,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s all arranged.”

“Right.” She looked back at Spike, who stood silently with Dawn. “We should go.”

Xander stepped in. “We can give you guys a ride back to your place. It’s a long walk, especially after a night like this.”

Buffy and Tara’s eyes met, and a quiet understanding passed between them. As they turned to go, Giles’ voice stopped them. “Spike.”

The vampire turned to look at the man who, hours before, was ready to feed him to the wolves. “Watcher.”

“Take care of yourself.”

It was as close to an apology as he was likely to receive, and part of him wanted to spit it right back in his face, much as he had Giles’ suggestion a few years previous that he might be meant for bigger things. But he had changed, and there was a part of him that recognized he was different, special even. That maybe he had something more to give. That same part that refused to admit he might have already given everything he had. “You too,” was his response, the reply of an older, wiser vampire. And he followed his girls back out into the night.

Chapter 9: A Gentle Touch

Buffy came down the stairs to find Tara cooking breakfast, specifically, pancakes. “Hey, smells good,” Buffy said, thinking that she hadn’t come down to a morning like this one since her mother had died.

“Funny shapes or rounds?” Tara asked with a welcoming smile. “Dawn asked for funny shapes, but I can make whichever you prefer.”

“Funny shapes taste better,” Dawn supplied, taking a huge bite of pancake with syrup.

She smiled at her sister. “Well, I guess I’ll go with the expert advice and say funny, then.” The Slayer gave her new roommate a measuring look. “I’m glad you’re here, Tara, and not just because of the gourmet breakfasts. Though they’re much appreciated,” she hurried to assure her.

Since the spell gone wrong at the Magic Box, Tara had been staying at the Summers’ residence. It had been an awkward decision all around. While Tara had been the one to leave Willow, and it had only made sense that she be the one to find a new place, no one had expected Buffy to offer her use of their home. Willow had been understandably upset, but Buffy had found herself to be less than sympathetic. For one, having her memories expunged, only to get them back, had been incredibly painful, not to mention dangerous. She, like Tara, was worried about Willow, and what Spike hadn’t said was painfully obvious: Willow might prove a threat to all of them with her recklessness. This hadn’t been the first time she’d worked her will on the rest of them through magic, and it hadn’t been the first time she’d placed their lives in danger.

Tara was a nice roommate to have around, however. Spike had willingly vacated Joyce’s old room in favor of a cot in the basement, and having the shy Wicca around had made perfect sense after only a couple days. Tara was sweet, stable, understanding, and a wonderful cook. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder how Spike had figured all that out on his own.

“It’s good to be here, Buffy,” Tara admitted quietly. “I wasn’t sure where I was going to go after—you know.”

“Well,” Buffy replied frankly, “you can thank Spike for that. He’s the one who suggested I talk to you.”

“Spike? Really?” Tara asked, a thoughtful look on her face. “He isn’t what you’d expect, is he?”

“No,” Buffy said wryly. “He was much less complicated when he was just trying to kill me.”

“Speaking of Spike,” Dawn interrupted, staring into the refrigerator, a carton of juice in her hand. “I thought you usually got his blood on Mondays.”

Buffy came over to see what her sister was looking at and was surprised to see a full week’s supply of blood in the fridge. And it was Saturday. “Have either of you seen him recently?” she asked quietly.

They looked over at each other, exchanging guilty looks. It was immediately clear that he hadn’t been seen, and no one had thought anything of it. Buffy felt a bolt of shame go through her. He could have been dust and she would have never known. At least, not for a while. He had disappeared into her basement like a rabbit down its hole, and she hadn’t even thought to check on him, knowing full well that his death wish was stronger with each passing day. In spite of his good work at the shop that night, he had been entirely too willing to throw his unlife away. Fear joined shame as she thought of what her life would look like without the bleached vampire. Her logical mind clamped down on her emotions and reminded her that he was a soulless fiend. If he dusted, not a big deal. But her heart was still beating just a hair faster than it should have if she truly hadn’t cared for him.

“I’ll go down and check on him,” she said, her own breakfast forgotten.

“Buffy?” Dawn said, fear in her eyes.

She gave her sister a reassuring hug. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Dawnie.” But as her eyes met Tara’s, she acknowledged that he might be too broken to fix, and she was grateful for the other woman’s presence. Of all of her friends, Tara was the one most sympathetic to him.

“I’ll heat some blood up for him,” she said to Buffy. “He’ll need it.”

Buffy descended the stairs to her basement, relieved when she saw Spike’s still figure on the cot. Ignoring her logical mind, she followed her instincts and sat down on the bed next to him. “Spike?” she called softly, touching him on the shoulder.

He faced away from her, his chest bare, his skin cold, much colder than it normally was. “Spike, you need to wake up.” A moment’s pause, and Buffy said, “I know you’re not asleep, so you can quit pretending.”

“Go away, Slayer.”

That was it. Three words she thought she’d never hear from him and nothing more. “I also know you haven’t been eating,” Buffy continued, as though she hadn’t heard him. “Why?”

“I said, go away,” he replied, his tone harsh. He finally turned to face her, and Buffy was shocked. He’d been pale and drawn after he escaped from the Initiative and come to them for help. (Was it really the same vampire?) She knew he hadn’t fed for some time then, but now his face was even more hollowed out, dark shadows ringing his eyes. He looked beaten, more so than he had at any point in the past. More than when he’d come to them that Thanksgiving, more than he had after he’d been tortured by Glory. All the fight had left his eyes, and that frightened her more than anything. Spike was supposed to be the one who never gave up.

“You have to eat,” she replied. “You know vampires can’t starve themselves to death, so I don’t know why you’re even trying it.” Worry made her words come out more sharply than she’d intended.

He glared and then tried to roll back over. “Maybe not, but if I wait long enough I might not wake up.”

Spike was serious, she realized immediately. He really didn’t care that he was starving himself into oblivion. And she wasn’t completely certain that he wouldn’t starve to death. If he really didn’t eat for long enough, he might get dusty from lack of nourishment. “Absolutely not,” she said, her hand on his shoulder preventing him from turning his back to her again. “I don’t plan on accessorizing my basement with a dessicated vampire. You’re eating if I have to pour it down your throat myself.”

His glare was even more impotent than it usually was. Lack of food had made him weak, and he didn’t stand a chance at resisting her. “Buffy.” The word was softer, pleading. “Let me go.”

She shook her head, offering him a mute apology with her eyes. “No. I need you here too much, Spike.”

“You don’t,” he objected.

“What about the other night, at the Magic Box? Or with the dancing demon?” She tried to will some life back into him, not bothering to question why it meant so much to her.

He didn’t have an argument to counter her objections, as much as he wanted to. He’d thought he would get away with it this time; after three days, when no one had come to check on him, he figured the basement meant out of sight, out of mind. Spike had nearly been right. He closed his eyes and felt Buffy’s weight rise from the cot. For a minute he thought she’d finally succumbed to his request, but the voices disabused him of that notion in a hurry.

He heard Tara’s voice, soft and questioning, and then Buffy’s answer. A silence followed, as though they didn’t want him to overhear what they had to say. The scent of blood hit his nostrils, and he could barely contain his blood lust. As it was, he couldn’t prevent the mask from slipping. He opened his eyes to find Buffy looking down at him, her eyes sure and unafraid. “Hold on,” she murmured.

Spike didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to give into her demands that he (un)live, but the Slayer wasn’t going to give him a choice, and neither was his demon. She helped him to sit up and lean back against the wall, and then handed him the mug. The feel of the ceramic in his hand and the even sharper scent was enough to break down every defense he’d carefully erected. He drank down the contents in mere seconds, glancing away from Buffy even as he licked his lips to get every drop available.

“Geez, Spike,” Buffy said, her tone as light as her eyes were serious. “You know we have plenty of that upstairs. No need to go hungry in this house.”

He shook his head, his face shifting back into its human guise. She didn’t, couldn’t understand. “I’m alright.”

As though sensing that she wasn’t going to get any more from him, she nodded. “I have errands to run, among other things today, so I’ll be out, but Tara should be around and Dawn too. I’ll have them check on you every so often.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he objected.

“I think I do,” she replied. “Look, Spike, I don’t know what all this is about, but I think we need to talk after I get back from patrol tonight. Fair warning.”

He nodded, not having the strength or the will to argue anymore. He felt, rather than saw, her hand press his shoulder, having closed his eyes again. It was easier to drift back to sleep, now that he’d fed, but even so, the sleeping left him wishing that he’d never wake.

Spike was awakened midafternoon by a serious-faced Dawn. “I brought you some more blood.”

He blinked owlishly at her, frowning slightly. “Bit? ‘M not really hungry right now, but thanks.”

“Spike,” she said, exhibiting the long-suffering of a fifteen-year-old, “you haven’t eaten anything in, like, a week. Don’t tell me you don’t need this.”

He sighed. There was really no getting around it. Apparently, everybody was going to be pouring blood down his throat until they thought he’d had enough. Unfortunately, his stomach growled at that instant, so he couldn’t even argue that he was still full from what Buffy brought down earlier. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he took the warm mug from her and drank.

Dawn sat down next to him and watched as he consumed what was probably lunch. Or breakfast, depending on whether or not they ever let him get back to sleep. “Your roots are showing,” she pointed out suddenly.

“Huh?” he asked, licking his lips, yellow eyes becoming blue again.

“Your roots. They’re showing,” she repeated, and held a thumb and finger about a half-inch apart. “By about this much.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. It was difficult to be depressed when the Niblet was around, mostly because he never knew what to expect from her. “Looks bad, then, does it?”

She shrugged. “It’s not terrible. I’ve never seen it get that long, though.” And then she grinned at him. “I could bleach it for you.”

He returned her grin with a dubious look. “Don’t think so, thanks anyway.”

“What? You really think you’re going to impress my sister looking like that?”

He gave her a sharp glare, silently telling her to mind her own business. “Not lookin’ to impress anyone, Bit. If you’ll excuse me—”

He’d planned on getting her to leave so he could go back to sleep, especially since the conversation was going places he didn’t want to go. “I’m not leaving just so you can start moping again and try and starve yourself to death,” Dawn interrupted, giving him a glare that matched his own in ferocity.

“Wasn’t trying to starve myself,” he finally admitted, trying to find a way to tell her what it had meant, him not eating. Mostly it had to do with the fact that he didn’t have the energy to put the braces on, to climb the stairs. It had been easier to just lie there, not brooding, not thinking, just laying there, empty-like.

Dawn must have understood some of what he couldn’t say, because her face softened, and she said, “You know, if you didn’t want to climb the stairs you could have yelled at one of us. I would have brought something down.”

He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. “Come on,” she said, abruptly. “I’ll get a basin and I can do your hair down here.”

Before he could say absolutely not, she was gone and up the stairs, moving with a speed and an ease that he envied. And then she was back with a large bowl and a box of dye, acting for all the world as though he was actually going to let her touch his hair.

His eyes narrowed suddenly when he saw the box though, because he knew Buffy didn’t have that much extra cash lying about, and he was certain that she wasn’t going to be forking it over for his hair products. “How’d you come up with that?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

For a moment, he was certain she was going to lie, and then she tilted her head defiantly. “I stole it.”

“Right then,” he said. “And when you get caught, the government blokes will probably drag your arse away.”

“I’m not going to get caught,” she replied hotly, but there was a shade of doubt in her eyes, and Spike knew he had her attention.

“What else have you been takin’?”

“Little stuff,” she replied. “Nothing big.”

A flash of insight came as he remembered the singing demon fiasco. Dawn had been wearing his talisman, even though she hadn’t summoned him. The revelation that Xander had been the one to call Sweet had distracted everyone from noticing what a lame excuse she’d had for having the necklace on in the first place, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. “Like the necklace?” he asked. “What else have you taken from the shop, Bit?”

“I told you, little stuff,” she replied, but most of the defiance had gone out of her, and she sat down, deflated, on the edge of the cot.

“So you take the stuff hoping someone will notice, sooner or later, just so they’ll pay attention to you?” he asked. Made sense to him; it was the reason he’d killed his first Slayer, really, to make Angelus pay attention to him.

She leaned back against the wall with a deep sigh. “It sounds really stupid when you put it that way.”

“I’ve done stupid, pet,” he said sympathetically. At the moment he was thinking of chaining Buffy to a wall. Oh, yeah, he’d done stupid. “Look, I won’t tell your sis if you put the stuff back.” She looked as though she were about to protest. “If you can steal it, you can unsteal it,” he said reasonably. “Take it back one or two things at a time and leave it in out of the way spots. Anya’ll find it when she’s cleaning and think someone picked it up and misplaced it. As for the rest of it, just don’t do it anymore. You get caught, someone’ll have your hide for sure, and I’m not just talkin’ about Buffy.”

“You’re really not going to tell Buffy?” Dawn asked, relief in her voice.

He shook his head. “No, I’m not. But if you’re smart, you’ll ‘fess up. Chances are, she’ll find out sooner or later.”

“I can’t,” Dawn replied, her tone panicked.

“Up to you,” he returned. “Remember that, Niblet. In the end, it’s always up to you.”

She dropped her eyes from his gaze, and then looked back up at him pleadingly. “So you’ll let me do your hair now?”

Tara was down later that evening to check on him, the third in a string, though by no means the last. Spike was aware that Buffy would be back down later, after she got home from patrol or whatever it was she was doing. And while he dreaded their talk, he also looked forward to it, to seeing her, being near her. She was the sun around which his universe spun.

There were days that he wished she would punch him in the nose like she used to, if only because it would prove that he wasn’t a glass-Spike to be protected. It would mean that he was whole again. He also knew that it was only because he had been broken for her that she allowed him to stay, to get as close as he was. The moment he was back on his feet again, he would be relegated to the shadows. He truly was between a rock and a hard place; as long as he was crippled, he could be close to Buffy, and yet he could never be with her. When he healed, he would be sidelined from her life, but he might actually be able to touch her, to give her what she needed.

So he sat, waiting for her to come, to comfort him, to torment him. It was all the same these days.

He glanced up from the book he was reading as Tara came down the stairs, coming to sit next to him on the cot. “How are you?” she asked quietly.

“Been better, Glinda,” he replied honestly, finding it difficult to lie to the shy Wicca. Like Joyce, she demanded the best from him, all the remnants of the Victorian gentleman coming to the surface for her.

She handed him the ubiquitous mug. “Drink.”

Not daring to disobey, he did so, looking up in surprise at the taste. “What’s in here?”

“Herbs. Nothing weird, just stuff that’s supposed to lift the spirits.” She leaned back against the wall on one shoulder, considering him. “You let Dawn bleach your hair.”

“She wasn’t going to take no for an answer,” he replied with a rueful smile. They sat in silence as he drank, and it wasn’t uncomfortable.

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Spike, what’s wrong?”

The tears came up unexpectedly, choking him. He was not going to cry, not in front of someone. He hadn’t truly let anyone see him cry since he’d been turned, since that night Drusilla had caught him in the empty stable. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

It was a permission, of sorts, and he put his hands up over his face and let the tears flow where she wouldn’t see, even though he knew that she knew. When he spoke, his words were muffled by tears and his hands. “I’m not healing.”

“Oh.” He heard the hesitation in her voice as she searched for words to comfort him. “You have to give it time. This happened before, I know, but you have to be patient—”

He cut off whatever else she might have said. “Last time I was getting some feeling back after three months, Glinda. Only reason I stayed in the chair as long as I did was because I didn’t want Angelus to know I was almost back to full strength. Could move about more freely if he didn’t know. Now, there’s been no change and it’s been over six months.”

His voice broke on the last words, and Tara put a gentle hand on his back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles, like one would do for a friend or a sick child. “Th-there’s a spell,” she finally said.

“I don’t think—”

She hastened to explain. “Not a healing spell, but it tells you if there’s something preventing healing from the outside, something unnatural.”

“And if it shows nothing?” His voice was bitter.

Her hand slowed, stopped, started again. “Then it just means you have to wait a little longer. I need some stuff for it, but I could do it tomorrow night maybe.”

He thought about it for a moment, realized that knowing might be better than not knowing, nodded. “Alright.”

“You should try to sleep,” she urged, putting a hand up to his forehead as though checking for fever.

He shook his head in response. “Waking up’s too big of a bitch, luv,” he said with some of his old wry humor. She smiled at him then and might have left, except that he stopped her with a gentle hand. “How are you?”

Tara looked at him in surprise and a touch of wonder. “I’m okay,” she replied honestly. It was hard to be away from Willow, but she knew she had made the right decision, that her lover would have consumed her if she had stayed.

“You did the right thing,” he said, as though reading her mind. “Red was getting out of control. Leavin’ was the only option you had left, y’know.” He said it earnestly, and Tara wondered then how much he knew, how much he saw. He was like a satellite moon, orbiting around their little group, never getting any further or any closer, doomed always to see and never to touch. She wished she could wave a magic wand for him, remove the pain and the fear. Bring him in, close enough to touch.

“Thanks, Spike.” And they sat there for a long time, two moons in orbit.

Buffy came in late, though not as late as she sometimes had when she had a slaying partner. At this point, there seemed to be more waiting for her at home than there was out in the darkness. Tara was waiting for her when she came in, and Buffy smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey. How was patrol?” the witch asked.

“Fine. Quiet. We’re still researching that frozen security guard, but so far, nothing. How is everything here?” Buffy asked.

“Good. It’s good.”

There was a long pause and Buffy finally asked, “How is he?”

“Depressed,” Tara replied. “I put something in his blood that’s supposed to help with moods, and we may want to try to keep doing that.” She paused. “He doesn’t think he’s healing, Buffy.”

The Slayer looked off into space, fully aware of Spike’s fears. He had sung them to her, after all. And she couldn’t say it hadn’t crossed her own mind. “I know.”

“There’s a spell,” Tara began. “It’s just to tell whether or not there’s something unnatural interfering with the healing process. I told him I would try it tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded. “That might be a good idea. At least we might have a better idea of what’s going on.” She hesitated. “Tara, can I talk to you about something?”

“Anything, Buffy. What’s wrong?”

Tara’s large eyes showed nothing but concern, and she took a deep breath. “That thing, with the singing, and the dancing. Spike and I kissed. I mean, it wasn’t a good idea, I know, but—”

“Buffy, Spike isn’t a bad guy,” Tara said softly. “He’s done a lot of good things, and he’s changed. I don’t think it’s wrong that you kissed him.”

“It’s just, he’s a vampire, and I swore I was never going to do this again.”

Tara laid a hand on her arm. “There are a lot of people who would say that Willow and I were wrong to be together. Sometimes you can’t go by what people say, you have to go with how you feel.” There was a significant pause, and then she asked, “How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy confessed. “I like him. As a friend. But what I feel around him is very unfriendlike. Not that I want to hurt him, just that I want him. As more than a friend.” She buried her face in her hands. “I am so screwed.”

“Do you think you could fall in love with him?” Tara asked.

Buffy didn’t look up. Could she? Could she really love Spike? Spike, of all people? “I don’t know.” And then whispered, “Maybe.”

“Don’t be afraid of love, Buffy,” Tara said. “No one knows how much time they have here. Any of us. So don’t be afraid of it. If you love him, that’s okay. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. You have time to figure it out.” She reached over and gripped Buffy’s knee, forcing her to meet her eyes. “But I think Spike needs you right now, whatever you can give him. If you don’t want to lose him, you’re going to have to give him something to hold onto if you can.”

Tara’s words rang in Buffy’s ears as she went down to the basement to talk to him. She went empty-handed this time, uncertain of what she was supposed to say, what she had to give him that might give him the strength to hang on. “Hey.”

Spike glanced up from the worn notebook he was writing in. “Hey.”

“You look better.”

“Thanks.”

There was a long silence, neither of them sure what to say to the other. Pulling something out of her pocket, Buffy came close to the cot and held it out to him. “Picked something up for you.”

“You didn’t have to, luv,” he said, taking the pack of smokes from her.

She shrugged. “I know, but I figured it was probably the best way to get you out of the basement. No smoking inside the house, you know.” He looked at her, and his silence made her nervous. “Come upstairs?” It was an invitation, not a demand, and he could not refuse.

“Give me a minute, Slayer,” he said quietly, blue eyes serious.

She watched him as he began to pull the braces out from under his cot, and she did the one thing that was taboo. “Let me help you.”

He stared at her in shock, not even believing that she would offer, breaking the unspoken rule. She knelt down next to him. “Let me help, Spike.”

The amazing thing was that he did. Sitting back, leaning against the wall, he allowed her to encase his recalcitrant legs within the stiff plastic, pulling the straps tight. And when she had finished he let her grab his crutches for him and help him to his feet, the _expression on his face unreadable.

They walked upstairs and onto the back porch in silence, Buffy watching as he lit a cigarette. “What happened?” she asked.

“I was tired,” he replied, giving her no more explanation than that, but she needed none. When even standing was a chore, she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to move.

She didn’t try to give him a pep talk, didn’t try to tell him everything was going to be fine. It might not be true; they both knew that. “Can I ask you a question?”

He gave her a look that measured her words carefully, sifting the ulterior motive from the innocent request. “Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you said anything about our kiss?”

It seemed to be a night for breaking the rules: ignore Spike while he struggles to stand, ignore Spike while he struggles to walk, ignore kisses shared with former Big Bads. “Why should I say anything?” he replied, a note of bitterness in his voice. “It’s not going anywhere, Buffy.”

His answer surprised her. For Spike to admit that their relationship wasn’t going anywhere, it was out of character. It was completely at odds with the vampire who chained her to a wall in order to convince her of his love. Spike pushed; Spike didn’t know when to leave well-enough alone. “Right,” she replied, slightly stung. “Like that’s ever stopped you before. Come on, Spike, I think I know you better than that now.”

“Let it go, Slayer,” he said, his voice low.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Spike, I’m not saying it is going somewhere, but the kiss? It was nice. I just—was it not okay?”

He looked over at her in surprise, all her insecurities reflected in her eyes, and he couldn’t stand to see her hurting. “It was good, luv, but it was one kiss. Can’t build anything on one kiss.”

“What is it, Spike? What aren’t you telling me?” She let her hand drop as he struggled to get to his feet.

“Leave it alone.”

“Spike…”

He stood by the door, his back stiff with tension, and she knew he hadn’t told her everything. ‘What was it?’ she wondered. Was she suddenly not what he wanted? He’d spent too much time with her and had seen her for who she really was? “I can’t,” he finally said flatly.

“Can’t what?” she asked, confusion coloring her tone. She stood to face where he stood. “What can’t you do, Spike? You can’t love me now?”

“I can’t love you, Slayer!” he cried, pain evident now. “I can’t give you anything, okay? Happy now? You can go tell all your little friends that Spike finally did get neutered.”

He went into the house, and Buffy let him go. Hard to make a dramatic exit on crutches, but she thought she’d do him the courtesy of letting him get into the house before she followed him. His admission stunned her though; whatever she had thought, this hadn’t been it. She followed him slowly, managing to call to him before he could start down the stairs back to the basement.

“Spike.” He paused, as though waiting for a blow. “You should probably get cleaned up.”

The vampire looked back over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“I know it’s been a while, you know, you being all hibernating, but maybe you should get cleaned up.” She hesitated and then said, “Think of it as a strong suggestion.”

“I’ll need to get some clean clothes,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’ll get them.” Buffy waited until he nodded and started up to the bathroom before she went to the basement to get clean clothes. It became obvious fairly quickly that Spike hadn’t done any laundry recently; she had to really dig to get something that seemed halfway decent. And she remembered what it was she pulled out: dark cargo pants and a gray pullover. His “normal-person” clothes he’d tried to impress her with. She hadn’t been that impressed, but as she realized what it was he’d done, she was curiously touched. He’d tried so hard and screwed up so royally. The look on his face when he realized that his invitation had been revoked, what Dawn had told her had been said in the Magic Box later. And he’d still protected her secret, he had still promised her, and he had kept his promise.

Who was this man? And what was he to her? He was no longer an enemy, definitely an ally. He was a friend for whom she had feelings that went just beyond friendly. It wasn’t love, but she cared. She smoothed her hand over his shirt where it lay on his cot, and then put the rest of his stuff on top of the washer. She’d need to do a load of his laundry when she did the rest of it. Taking a look at the sheets on his bed, she figured she’d probably do his sheets too. She stripped the bed and put the sheets on top of the washer, finally heading up the stairs, a plan forming in her mind. Something friendly and then some.

Spike leaned back in the tub, letting the hot water soothe. He couldn’t believe he’d actually told Buffy about his “little problem.” His life was now over. She was probably laughing at him, telling herself that it was a good thing, him living in her house and all. Kept her safe from unwanted attentions. He should just kill himself now, get it over with. He was too pathetic for words.

The knock on the door startled him out of his brooding. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in? I’ve got your clothes.”

He hesitated and then sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to get to his stuff unless it was at least inside the door, and preferably on the counter. “You’ve seen it all already, Slayer.”

She came in and put the clothing down on the counter, within easy reach once he managed to get out of the tub. “Why don’t you leave the braces off when you’re done?” she suggested.

“Why?” he asked, his voice tired.

“Because I’m not going to ask you to go down two flights of stairs tonight, and your sheets majorly need to be washed,” she replied. “You can have my bed.”

“And where are you going to sleep?” he asked, eyebrow raised and head cocked.

“In my bed.” The look on his face turned bitter, and she hastened to add, “It’s not because of—you know. I just want to give you something tonight. Let me help you.”

He looked at her, pain and naked longing in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can,” he said honestly.

“Then just don’t put the braces on,” she replied. “I’ll take care of the rest.” As she was leaving, she looked back at him. “I’m going to leave the door open a crack. Just let me know when you’re finished.”

She waited for him to call, pulling the covers down, butterflies dancing in her stomach. What was she doing, letting an evil vampire in her bed? Angrily, she punched one of the pillows. He wasn’t evil, not really. Six months of living with someone gave you a pretty good understanding of their character. Spike was still a bad boy: rebellious, impetuous, stubborn and a pain in her ass. He could also be courteous, sweet, and gentle, depending on his mood and who he was dealing with. But Buffy had noticed that to treat him kindly was to disarm him completely. A gentle touch could elicit more from him than a punch in the nose. So tonight she would bind him to her with chains of kindness; she would keep him here with something akin to love. Because she needed him more than she cared to admit.

His soft call broke her chain of thought. She went into the bathroom, and he sat on the toilet seat as he had so many months ago. Nothing had changed: his useless legs still hung in front of him. Everything had changed: she knew she couldn’t lose him now. “Just a second,” she said, picking up the regalia of his crippled body, taking it into her room. She came back for him, and she awkwardly managed to get him into her room and onto the bed. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?”

He looked at her, swallowed, did as she suggested. His pale skin shone in the dim lamplight, the well-defined muscles of torso and arms moving like corded steel. “Lay down, Spike,” she said softly, amazed that he would do as she asked, no question. “On your stomach.”

It was an extremely vulnerable position, she knew. He wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing, and wouldn’t be able to move away quickly enough if she struck. But the trust in his eyes was complete as he did what she asked, and she knew that he would have followed her directions even if she had held a stake in her hands.

But she was empty-handed, and once he had laid down, she began moving strong fingers over his neck and shoulders, soothing away the tension. It felt good to have her hands on him, she would have to admit. Even broken, he was beautiful, and as she massaged his back she knew that she was probably enjoying it as much as he was.

Spike had tensed at first, not understanding, not knowing what she was doing, but he could feel the stress flow out of him, and he let out a happy little sigh. He didn’t think anyone had ever given him a backrub before. He lapsed into a sleepy, contented trance as Buffy’s hands found knots and worked them out. Eventually, her hands slowed and stopped, and he could feel her settle down next to him. Cracking one blue eye, he looked over at her with something resembling awe. “What was that, luv?”

“That was me saying thank you for saving the world and sticking around afterwards,” she replied. It was more complicated than that, but it would do for now.

He rolled over so that he was facing her, both eyes open now, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face in a tender gesture. “You’re welcome.”

Slowly, giving her room to pull back, he drew her face down to his and kissed her. It was long and deep, filled with unrequited love and unfulfilled passion. It was a kiss that would never be more than a kiss. And when she finally broke it to breathe, he trailed one cool hand down her face and shoulder, setting her skin on fire. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice trailing off as sleep overtook him. “Love you.”

Buffy smiled. Yeah, he really did.

Chapter 10: A Harsh Reality

Buffy woke before dawn the next morning, slipping out of bed to make sure the curtains were closed. Spike slept on, the look on his face peaceful. Contented. She lay down next to him again, facing his still figure. A soft smile stole across her features and she reached out to smooth a stray curl. She wasn’t sure what had happened last night, but it had been nice to be with someone, to have another body in her bed, never mind the fact that he wasn’t warm.

She rolled over so her back faced him and let him slip his arm around her waist and pull her in close as he still slept. There was safety here in his arms, safety in the arms of the man who had loved her more than unlife.

Another couple hours and Buffy rose, leaving Spike to sleep. She grabbed his shirt on the way out the door, deciding that she would throw it in the laundry while she was at it. She was on her way to the basement when she met Dawn in the kitchen. “Buffy, Spike’s missing,” she said breathlessly. “You don’t think—”

“He’s not missing, Dawnie,” Buffy replied quietly.

“But—”

Buffy put a hand on her sister’s arm to calm her. “He’s upstairs. I managed to get him to get cleaned up last night and I thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to go down two flights of stairs.”

“Oh.” Dawn seemed to ponder this revelation for a minute and then understanding hit. “Oh. He stayed with you? You let him?” And then an amazed look crossed her face. “You mean you were—? Last night? Really?”

Buffy made a helpless gesture with her hands. “We didn’t, you know. Which you shouldn’t know, because it’s absolutely none of your business. But no. We both slept. That’s it.”

Dawn looked almost disappointed. “Are you guys going out now? Because I think it would be totally cool.”

“Nice to know someone does,” Buffy muttered. Sighed. “No, Dawn, it doesn’t mean we’re going out. But we’re friends.” She looked up to see Tara standing in the doorway. “I have to go to the Magic Box later if you want to go with. If you need anything.”

“I do actually,” Tara said, smiling. “Thanks. Was last night good?” Her voice was cautious, as was her question.

Buffy suddenly smiled. “It was. It was relaxing.”

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice floated into the kitchen, with him not far behind. “Do you know where my—” He trailed off as he realized she wasn’t alone. “Uh…”

She held up his shirt. “I was going to throw it in the washer along with the rest of your stuff. Do you have anything else you want washed?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head, looking from Dawn to Tara, as though not quite sure what he was and was not allowed to say. Buffy rolled her eyes expressively. “They know where you slept last night,” she said.

“Oh,” was his stunning reply. “Can we talk?”

She nodded, motioning for him to follow her down to the basement. “Sure. I need to start a load anyway.”

He followed her carefully, bare arms and chest rippling with the effort of moving down the stairs. Buffy turned as she reached the bottom and watched appreciatively. ‘Bad boy, maybe, but, damn,’ she thought, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “What was last night, Slayer?” he asked, coming up behind her as she shoved his sheets into the washing machine and started the water.

“Last night was nice,” she replied carefully. She still wasn’t sure what last night was.

“Nice?” he asked incredulously, his head cocked to one side. “Last night was about as close to heaven as I’m likely to get, and all you can say is that it was nice?”

She turned to face him. “I’m not trying to make like it wasn’t a big deal, Spike.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied, anger seeping into his voice. “Don’t play around with me, Buffy, and if that was just pity, you can save it.”

“It wasn’t about pity, Spike,” she replied. Then hesitated, and said more honestly, “Okay, so maybe there was some pity involved. But when I said I needed you, I wasn’t lying. I just want to keep you here, and I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know what to say to get you to believe that I don’t want you to leave.”

“Buffy,” he began patiently, “whatever I was able to do for you before, it’s over. I can’t give you anything.”

She reached out and touched his hand. “You tell me the truth,” she replied. “And you love me.”

He stared at her, unbelieving. “What happened to the song and dance about evil demons can’t love?”

“Why did you help me against Glory?” she asked.

“Because I love you,” he said in such a way that told her she was a stupid git for asking.

“Exactly.” She smiled at him. “I’ve had a while to get to know you, Spike. I’m not saying that I love you back or that I will someday even, but you’re my friend, and I keep my friends alive.”

He studied her for a moment, as though discerning whether or not she was telling the truth. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “And as a friend, do me a favor and keep an eye on the laundry? We’re researching a frost-monster at the shop today and I should probably get over there.”

“A who?” he asked, frowning.

“A frost-monster, or something,” she replied. “Didn’t you hear about the museum thingy?”

“Luv, I’ve been down in the basement for the last week, sleeping. When would I have heard anything?” The little smirk on his face told her that he seemed to be recovering his sense of humor.

She quickly explained about the security guard at the museum and watched as the look on his face got more and more amused. “Look, Slayer, I know you’ve told yourself that this was a diamond-stealing frost-monster, but first of all, there is no such thing. Secondly, unless that diamond had mystical properties of some sort, chances are it got stolen by some of the more mundane human element.” When she looked as though she were about to protest, he went on. “Demons are all about mayhem and apocalypses, Buffy, not big rocks. Trust me.”

“Then what would you suggest, Mr. Smarty-Pants?” she asked sarcastically.

He considered for a minute and then said, “I’d ask Harris who makes a freeze-ray.”

“You think Xander had something to do with it?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I said. Just ask him, see what he says. If he gives you a blank stare, then you can tell him I finally went off my nut.”

“Fine.” She turned to go, and then looked back at him. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you then, luv.”

Buffy and Tara walked to the Magic Box together, fully expecting to find the rest of the Scoobies waiting for them. “So Willow’s doing okay?” Tara asked cautiously, not sure how she felt about seeing the other witch again.

“I think so,” the Slayer replied, though there was a note of hesitation in her voice. “I think you were right, though. Her attitude the other day about the magic was giving me the wiggins. And she de-ratted Amy.”

“She changed Amy back?” Tara asked. “How?”

“That was a little vague,” Buffy replied. They reached the shop and entered to find only Anya and Xander waiting. “Where’s Willow?” she asked.

The two glanced at each other and Xander shook his head. “Willow called. She and Amy were out really late last night. I don’t know what they were doing, but Will said she was feeling pretty rough.”

Tara and Buffy exchanged looks. “I think we might have to talk to Willow,” Buffy said reluctantly. “I don’t really want to, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

Xander winced slightly, but Anya piped up with her usual blunt comments. “Well, it’s about time someone does.”

“Willow’s really responsible, Anya,” Buffy said, not wanting the ex-demon to criticize her friend.

“It’s the responsible ones that are the worst,” Anya replied. “They get a taste of that power and then there’s no stopping them.” No one had anything to say to that.

Tara entered the house quietly, all the ingredients for the spell she needed in hand. Xander and Anya had been pretty certain that Willow wouldn’t be in, and so she had stayed to help research for a while, though Anya insisted that it was pointless, and even Buffy had admitted Spike hadn’t thought they would get anywhere. The house was silent, and she went into the kitchen to find a note from Dawn. Willow had called and they were going to go see a movie together.

The witch smiled. She knew that Dawn had missed Willow coming around, and she felt partly responsible for that. But the empty house was a perfect opportunity to do the spell without interruption.

She headed down to the basement, walking quietly. “Spike?”

“Down here, pet,” he replied. There were several piles of neatly folded laundry on top of the dryer and in the basket, but his bed was still bare, the sheets sitting in a pile on top. He smiled sheepishly, seeing the look on her face. “Didn’t think I’d manage the bed,” he explained. “Did get the rest of it folded though.”

“I’m not surprised,” Tara replied gently. “You could probably do about anything you really wanted to. Did you know Dawn left with Willow?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Must have been while I was catching a bit of sleep,” he admitted. “Don’t know that I would have let her go had I known.”

“You can’t keep Willow from seeing Dawn, Spike, whatever her problems might be.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but I might have told her to come over here where I could keep an eye on the both of them.”

Tara shook her head, deciding it was useless to argue with him. “Are you ready for this?” she asked.

He was silent, regarding her solemnly. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he finally said.

It was a simple spell, as spells go. Grind the ingredients up into a powder while saying the incantation. Sprinkle said powder over Spike, who was stretched out on his bed. Whisper the next portion of the incantation, while slipping into a trance. Open eyes to see what had been revealed.

The mist lay over him, showing a warm yellow over his torso, arms, and head, and a sickly green over his legs. That was expected: yellow for healthy, green for not-so-healthy. What was not so expected was the pulsing green light at the base of his spine where the break must have happened, and the pulsing point of green light right over his head. Where his chip was located.

She blinked, unsure of what she was seeing. But understanding dawned, and she whispered the words that would disperse the spell. “It’s done,” she said softly.

Spike opened his eyes, feeling as though he’d just been woken from a nap. “What’s the verdict, Glinda?” he asked with false cheer. “Will I walk again?” The uncertain look on her face made his own grin falter. “What did you see, Tara?”

“Everything was pretty much as expected, Spike,” she began slowly.

He growled in frustration. “Just spit it out.”

“I think the chip might have something to do with you not healing.” Silence reigned, and she began again. “You might still be okay. I mean, it might just take more time for your body to find a way around it, but right now I think the chip might be blocking the nerves from repairing themselves somehow. It’s hard to say.”

He sat staring at her, a stunned look on his face. “I’m not going to walk again.”

“We don’t know that,” she said gently. Then, honestly, “Possibly not. As long as the chip is there.”

He wanted to get up and pace around the room. He wanted to smash something, to kill something, to do some violence. None of that was going to happen. Not now, maybe not ever. “Right, like I could,” he replied. “Like Buffy would let me.”

“Do you want me to tell her what I found out?” Tara asked softly. “She knew I was going to do the spell.”

He looked away. “Yeah, thanks. Don’t think I could say it, you know?” Spike looked at her, and to her amazement she saw a new kind of flame in his eyes. “Don’t worry about me trying to dust myself, luv,” he said. “Haven’t let this stupid chip stop me yet.”

She gave him a genuine smile. “I never expected anything else.”

Tara was in bed when Buffy came home late, disgusted with the lack of progress in the research department. On the other hand, Xander had actually looked thoughtful when she told him what Spike had said to ask. “Super villains make freeze rays,” he had said almost immediately. “But why would Spike think—” He stopped and rethought it. “I know it’s absurd, but some of this stuff, the disappearing demons, exploding lint, freeze rays, it is kind of like stuff that would come out of a comic book.”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know, Xander. On the other hand, it’s probably a better idea than what we’ve come up with so far. But we’re not getting anywhere, and I’m tired. Let’s call it a night.”

When she entered the house, it was dark except for a light in the kitchen. Spike was drinking from a mug and munching on chips. “Hey, look at you,” Buffy said with a smile. “All up and around.”

“Got bored listenin’ to the dryer spin,” he admitted. “And I was hungry.”

“That’ll teach you not to starve yourself,” she teased.

He grinned. “Yeah, next time I get that depressed I’ll just get you lot to wait on me till I feel better.”

“Next time, I’ll see if a good punch in the nose won’t cure you,” she threatened him, her tone playful. Then she froze, realizing that this was the first time in a long time she’d threatened him with bodily harm. “Spike, I’m—”

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Means you’re not treatin’ me like I could break any second.”

Buffy saw the note Dawn left on the fridge. “She went out with Willow?”

He grimaced. “Sorry, luv. I probably would have suggested she do somethin’ else, but she left while I was sleeping.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Buffy replied. “It’s just—with the way Willow’s been acting lately…”

“Preachin’ to the choir here.” Glancing over at the clock, he said, “It’s late. Why don’t you call? See if they’re in. Maybe the Bit decided to spend the night.”

Buffy shook her head. “Dawn would have called.” But she went to the phone anyway. After she didn’t get an answer, she began to get more than a little concerned. “It’s not like Willow to keep Dawn out so late,” Buffy said quietly, looking at the clock again. It was after 11, and Willow knew better than to keep her sister out without even calling. “Even if they did go to a movie, they probably should have been home by now.”

“You going to go look for them?” Spike asked.

She nodded slowly. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I’m getting one of those bad feelings people talk about right before everything hits the fan.”

“I’ll go with you,” he replied, and then put a hand to her lips as she started to protest. “I can track the both of them, Buffy,” Spike said quietly. “My nose isn’t broken. Trail’ll be fresh still.”

She hesitated and then nodded. She hadn’t planned on doing a lot of running, and Spike could move pretty fast once he got going on those crutches. “Fine,” she said. “But if you get yourself dusted, I’m going to find a way to resurrect you just so I can beat the crap out of you.”

She and Spike went to Willow’s dorm first, thinking that they might be there. While they didn’t see either of the two girls they were looking for, they did find someone else. “Amy?” Buffy said, surprised to find the former rat digging around Willow’s drawers.

“Buffy. Hi. I gotta go,” Amy tried to slide past her, but Spike blocked the way.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy asked. “And where’s Willow?”

“Willow?” the girl asked with a nervous laugh. “I have no idea. Probably just out, I’m sure.”

Buffy noticed she was hanging on to various items, and she began pulling them out of her grasp. “What is all this stuff? And what are you doing with it?”

“Willow knows,” Amy protested, trying to snatch it back. “I need it.”

“You need kitchen herbs, right,” Buffy replied dryly, looking at her suspiciously.

“She’s on something, Slayer,” Spike said softly. “Either that, or she’s comin’ down.” He glared menacingly at the girl. “Better tell her what you know.”

Buffy followed his glare by slamming Amy up against the wall. “What did you and Willow get into?” she asked, her tone dangerous.

“Look, don’t blame me. Willow was already way into it. I just introduced her to Rack—”

“Rack?” Spike asked angrily. “You stupid bint, messin’ around with dangerous people like that. Lucky you didn’t get your brain wiped.” Buffy looked at him questioningly and his face hardened. “Lose the rat, luv. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Buffy herded Amy out the door and followed Spike as he swung himself away from campus and off towards the darker part of town. “You know this Rack?” Buffy asked.

“Know of him,” he said grimly. “He’s a warlock, and bad news. If Willow’s mixed up with his lot, it’s bad. Really bad.”

“How do we find him?”

“Can’t, unless you’re a witch.” He grinned at her. “Or a Big Bad. Place moves around a lot, and it’s cloaked. Gotta know where to look and how to find it. My guess is if I manage to pick up the Bit’s scent, it might lead us right to his doorstep.”

Buffy frowned. “Willow wouldn’t take my sister—”

“Rack’s a drug dealer, Buffy,” Spike said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “You saw Amy. If Willow wanted it bad enough, she’d do just about anything.”

Spike was as good as his word. He easily managed to pick up their scents once they got to a less trafficked area. “My own bloodhound,” Buffy murmured.

He ignored her, concentrating on the task at hand. “Should be close,” he muttered. “Feel it. I don’t—” A scream interrupted them, and they both looked in the direction it came from.

“That sounded like Dawn,” Buffy said, horrified, and started running.

There was no way Spike could keep up with her, and he knew it. But he moved along as quickly as he could anyway, hoping that he’d actually be able to do something once he got there. Dawn was a crumpled form on the ground when he arrived, and Willow looked to be unconscious in a wrecked car. Buffy was fighting some sort of monster, and she was holding her own even if she wasn’t winning. Spike couldn’t do anything for the Slayer, but he managed to get down on the ground next to her sister.

“Let me see that arm, luv,” he coaxed tenderly. “Come on.”

Dawn whimpered, shaking her head. “No. No, it hurts.”

“Know it does, Bit,” he said, keeping an eye on Buffy and the demon, who had suddenly burst into flame.

Buffy was by Dawn’s side in an instant. “Come on, Dawnie. I need to see your arm.” Between the two of them, they managed to figure out that it was probably a fracture and the next stop should be the emergency room. Buffy helped her sister up, while Spike struggled to his feet, and all three of them left, leaving Willow weeping and calling after them.

When the witch tried to apologize to Dawn, and she slapped her across the face, Buffy exchanged a silent look with the vampire. “I’ll take care of her,” he said, and watched as the Slayer went back to help her friend. “Come on, Niblet. It’s a bit of a walk, but you’re tough.”

Buffy and Xander met them at the hospital about an hour later, just as the doctor was putting the finishing touches on Dawn’s cast. “How is she?” Buffy asked Spike softly when he swung himself out to meet them.

“Fractured wrist. She’ll heal in time.” But the look in his eyes suggested that the fracture was the least of her wounds. Worse was the betrayal of a friend.

She nodded. “Xander’s going to drive us back to the house, and then I’m going to stay with Willow. She shouldn’t be alone tonight.” Buffy hesitated. “Would you stay with Dawn tonight, Spike?”

“You know you don’t have to ask,” he replied, his eyes intense.

“I know.” She went into the small, curtained-off cubicle, leaving Xander and Spike to wait outside.

The two men shared a long look, and then Xander spoke softly. “Buffy told me what happened tonight. It was good work, finding them.”

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. “It wasn’t anything.”

“It was good work,” Xander repeated, and Spike ducked his head. If vampires were able to blush, he’d have been bright red.

“Thanks.” And then Buffy came out with Dawn and a pharmacy prescription, and their moment was interrupted.

When they got back to the Summers’ residence, Tara met them at the door, mothering Dawn with her soothing voice, the younger girl nearly stumbling up the stairs in her fatigue.

Tara stood and watched Spike follow her up, to make sure she made it alright, and then held Buffy back with a hand on her arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m staying with Willow tonight,” she said. “Can it wait?”

The witch nodded. “Maybe I could meet you at the Magic Box tomorrow?” she suggested. “It’s about the spell I did with Spike earlier. He wanted me to be the one to tell you the results, and it might be better if I explained away from the house.”

Buffy didn’t need to ask if it was bad news. “How bad is it?”

The other woman hesitated, and then said softly. “It’s bad, but it’s a little more complex than that. How about I meet you in the afternoon sometime? Maybe around 4?”

Buffy nodded. She wasn’t sure how to feel about Tara’s announcement. Bad news or not, Spike had certainly seemed a lot more like his old self this evening, a lot less depressed. He was eating without having to be prodded, and he was certainly more active. So she didn’t think it could be too bad, but the witch’s face told her otherwise, and she wondered how many more blows she could take in a 24 hour period. Not only was her best friend a magic addict, but her new best friend might have something seriously wrong with him of the non-fixable variety. It was too much.

At the shop, late in the afternoon the next day, Buffy’s heart sank as she heard Tara’s verdict. After spending all night with a witch going through withdrawal, this was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Are you sure it’s the chip?” she asked.

“Pretty sure,” Tara replied, an apologetic look on her face. “The evidence seemed clear.”

Xander shook his head. “Poor guy. I feel kind of sorry for him. I mean, now he’s stuck like that. It’s not like we would let him, but it’s not even possible. There’s no way we could contact the Initiative to get the chip out.”

“I don’t know, Xander,” Buffy said slowly. “I think I might be able to get in touch with Riley if I really needed to.”

He looked alarmed. “But you wouldn’t. The chip is the only thing holding him back, Buffy. I get that it sucks to be him, but we’re not gonna let a murderer loose just because his legs won’t work.”

Tara broke in unexpectedly. “I’m not sure that’s our choice to make. It’s Spike’s body.”

Xander shook his head. This was unreal; they were actually talking about helping Spike get that chip out of his head. “And what’s to stop him from killing all of us?” he demanded.

“What stopped him from letting us all get killed by Glory?” Buffy asked quietly, her mind made up. “Look, whatever Spike’s reaction to getting that thing out might be, he wouldn’t hurt any of us. Assuming we actually managed to do it, I think he would leave town if I asked him to, and I can’t worry about what goes on outside Sunnydale.” She stared Xander in the eye. “Besides, Tara’s right. It’s his body, his decision.”

Xander shook his head, unwilling to admit that the two girls might be right. If there was anything he understood, it was that vampires were bad. In the end, it didn’t really matter if said vampire had a soul, a chip, or some other sort of leash, because they were evil. And if you let them, they would kill you and everyone you loved.

But even he had to admit that Spike had changed, and he really did seem to feel something for Buffy and Dawn. Evil undead, he might be, but Spike had done a lot for all of them, and they probably at least owed him the courtesy of letting him decide his own fate. Besides, Xander didn’t think that Buffy’d be able to contact Riley or convince him to take the chip out of Spike’s head. Riley hated the vampire more than Xander ever had, and that was saying something. “All right, Buf. Your call. But I still think even giving him the option is a bad idea.”

Buffy looked over at Anya who shrugged non-commitally. “I know what Xander says about demons not changing, but I’ve met plenty of demons, and I’ve known a few who’ve changed. Maybe not vampires,” she admitted. “But I’ve seen enough to know it might be possible.”

Tara nodded. “I think it might be more than possible. Spike’s been changing slowly for a long time now, but there’s definitely been a shift in his aura.” She looked over at Buffy. “He seemed pretty certain that you wouldn’t let him get the chip out, though.”

Buffy stared at the bookshelves, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “He has good reason to think that. But I’ve made deals with him in the past, and he’s never let me down.” She smiled suddenly. “He always comes back, but he keeps his end of the bargain.”

Spike was sitting on the back porch, smoking, when he sensed Buffy’s presence behind him. “Tara told you.”

“How’s Dawn?”

Spike sighed. It was like her to avoid a painful subject by switching to something a little more mundane. “She’s fine. Her arm still hurts though, so I made her a bite to eat and had her take one of those little white pills. She’s sleeping.”

“Thanks for staying with her last night.”

Spike had stayed with her until she’d fallen asleep, and then had spent the night in Buffy’s room, close by in case she needed him for anything. Tara had told the Slayer he reminded her of a mother hen with a wounded chick, a comparison she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate. But Buffy had never thought of him as a mother hen; maybe more of a guard dog: fiercely protective and loyal.

“You know you only have to ask, luv,” he replied, blowing a smoke ring experimentally.

Buffy couldn’t avoid the subject any longer, she knew. “Tara told us.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he said before she could go on. “Still wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“I know,” she replied, somehow certain that it was the absolute truth. “What if we could get the chip out?”

He stared at her in shock. She sat next to him, only a few inches away, looking unflinchingly into the eyes of the vampire she’d just suggested she would set free. “Not possible,” he stated flatly.

“It might be.” She looked away from the intensity of his eyes. “If I could contact Riley… It’s not a given, Spike, but I’d be willing to try.”

“You’re saying you’re going to?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m saying it’s up to you,” she said.

He dropped his head, looked at the cigarette he held, now burned down to the filter. He flicked it away out into the yard and lit another to cover his confusion. “What’s the deal then?”

“If you want me to try to contact the Initiative, I will. If the chip comes out, you leave Sunnydale, and I mean for good this time.” Buffy’s jaw clenched at the thought of never seeing him again. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me or any of the rest of us, but I don’t want to have to stake you. What you do outside this town is up to you.”

“And if I say no? If I don’t want the chip out?” he asked.

Buffy was surprised at the question. She’d thought it would be a no-brainer for him, no other options necessary. “If you say no,” she said slowly, “then our deal still stands. You have a place here for as long as you need one.”

Spike wasn’t sure she was serious, or if she knew what she was saying. Someday, he was certain, she’d meet some nice bloke and want to get married and have kiddies of her own. On that day, he would no longer be welcome. On that day, should he still be crippled, he would meet the sun.

But the decision was a no-brainer, though it was not easy for the reason Buffy thought it would be. “You can take all the time you want to decide, Spike,” she said, rising to leave. “Just let me know.”

“I don’t need any time, Buffy.” Slowly, clumsily, he stood and straightened, dignity lying like a mantle over his shoulders. “Chip stays.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, almost breathless with the shock of it.

“Yeah,” he said, and before she could question why, he answered. “I don’t leave, Buffy, not the people I love. For your information, I don’t think I’d go back to killing. It’s not who I am anymore, but I understand why you’d ask me to leave. And I’d go, because I don’t hurt you. Never you.”

He smiled, and the look in his eyes was infinitely tender. “I’d rather be a cripple and stay by your side, helping when I can, than be whole and too far away to make any difference at all.”

The sacrifice of his choice took her breath away. There had been no one in the past who would choose to be helpless, choose to give up everything to be close. Even Angel, as much as they had loved one another, had not stayed, knowing the sacrifice they would both make. Perhaps he had been right, but his leaving had still brought pain. This only brought a certain quiet joy, knowing that there was one person in all the world who would remain with her.

She lifted one hand and ran it along the side of his face, cupping his cheek as he closed his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked, surprised that she would say it. Surprised that his choice, which took no burden from her, had made her grateful.

“For staying,” she said, kissing him chastely on the lips before going inside.

Chapter 11: Disappearing Act

It was amazing how much easier it was to get up in the mornings now that he knew that it was the chip’s fault he wasn’t walking yet. Perhaps it was because he’d never been very good at being patient, and waiting to heal required too much of it. Maybe it was because he had finally accepted that he wasn’t going to get any better and had made his peace with it. And maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was now his choice, not some freak accident. He had chosen not to get the chip out in order to stay with Buffy. It was up to him to live with it now.

He’d had a hard time sleeping, and had decided that getting up to see Dawn and Buffy off would be a better use of his time than just lying in bed and wishing he could get to sleep. So he pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a blue collared shirt. “Normal people clothes” was what the Niblet had called them. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress Buffy or anything, but there were days when it was nice to pretend to be something other than the Big Bad. And it didn’t hurt his feelings any when he caught her checking him out.

Spike entered the kitchen to find it empty. He checked the clock, figuring that Tara had already left for class, and the noises from upstairs told him Buffy was awake and probably getting cleaned up. But the Niblet—

“Hey,” she said, breezing into the kitchen.

He raised an eyebrow. “Running a bit late, aren’t we?”

She rolled her eyes at him and reached into the fridge for the juice. “I’m okay. I just forgot to set the alarm clock. Tara woke me up.”

“Better eat something,” he said. “Harris’ll be here any minute now.”

“And speak of the devil,” Xander said from the kitchen doorway. “You about ready, Dawnster?”

“I gotta grab my bag,” she replied. Spike stopped her before she could leave, handing her a package of pop tarts. “I’m not eating these, Spike. Do you know how many calories they have?”

“Then next time don’t forget to set the alarm,” he replied, not at all fazed. “You get up early enough, you can eat a healthy breakfast like you should anyway.” Spike shook his head as she flounced out of the kitchen.

“We still on for tonight?” Xander asked, walking out towards the front door with the vampire, while they waited for Dawn to be ready.

Spike pretended to think about it. “Well, I don’t know, Harris, what with my busy social calendar and all.” He smirked. “Yeah, we’re on. After I beat the socks off you, I’ll move on to bigger and better targets.”

Xander looked skeptical. “We’ll see. I’d like to see you win at pool while trying to balance on those things,” he said, pointing at the crutches.

The other man shrugged, levity gone. “Gotta try. Figure I could make some decent cash that way. Help the Slayer out a bit.”

To his credit, Xander had ceased to be surprised at Spike’s willingness to help Buffy, or even to question his motives. Finding out that the vampire had refused to even let her try to get the chip out had silenced him. Not that he was going to say anything nice about Spike, but he wasn’t going out of his way to be mean either. It had actually been his suggestion that they go to the Bronze and play pool, see if Spike could really hold his own before he put any money on it. Besides, Anya was beginning to drive him crazy with her wedding obsessions, and he was feeling the need for a little “guy-time” even if it was with Spike.

Dawn came down the stairs then with her bag, and Xander got ready to open the front door, Spike standing back to avoid getting singed. “You’ll come right home, Bit?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes again, but more because it was expected than because she was truly annoyed. “No, I’m going to go out and rob someone blind. Yes, I’ll be home. I’ve got that essay to work on, and you promised to help me.”

“I did at that.” Spike watched as Xander pulled open the front door to reveal a short, slightly plump, middle-aged woman. “Can I help you?” he asked uncertainly.

She looked from him to Dawn to Xander and back to Dawn. “I take it you’re Dawn Summers.”

“Um, yeah,” Dawn replied.

“I’m Doris Kroeger from Social Services. I was supposed to have a meeting with Buffy Summers?”

Spike shared a quick, panicked look with Xander before sticking his hand out for her to shake, giving thanks to the Powers That Be that she was blocking the sun. “I’m William. Buffy’s upstairs getting ready but I’m sure she’ll be right down.” Turning to Xander, he mouthed, “Call Buffy.” Out loud he said, “See you tonight, Harris. We’ll work on that essay after school today, Dawn.”

As she stepped inside, he pushed the door closed behind her. He needed William to make this work. He needed to not bollocks this up. “Would you like some coffee? There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen.”

She frowned slightly, but nodded. “That would be nice.”

He watched as she looked around the house, and he knew she was taking mental notes. If he didn’t tread very softly, he could end up ruining things for Buffy, and that’s the last thing he wanted. “Can I pour?” he asked, taking down a mug.

As though realizing for the first time that he was crippled, she moved forward quickly. “No, I can get it.” Ms. Kroeger finally smiled at him. “Do you live here?” she asked.

Spike moved over to the kitchen island and pulled himself up on one of the stools. “Actually, I do. While I realize how that must look to you, I assure you Buffy and I are only friends.” He gave her his most sincere look. “If she hadn’t been there for me after the accident, I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t think I would have made it.”

Just then the phone rang, and he was relieved when it stopped after the first ring. “Then you’ve been staying here for a while,” the social worker said, glancing around the kitchen. Spike was grateful that Tara had cleaned up before leaving.

“About six months,” he replied honestly. “I didn’t have a place to stay right after, and the doctors said it wouldn’t be good to be on my own for the first bit. Buffy and I have known each other since she was in high school, and I knew Joyce quite well.”

She looked interested. “You were friends with Mrs. Summers?”

“Yeah,” and he didn’t have to fake the wave of grief that washed over his features. “She was an incredible lady. Treated me like one of her own, really.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Kroeger mumured sympathetically. “I realize it must have been terribly hard.”

“Hardest on Dawn,” he said. “I know her grades and attendance slipped for a while, but I’ve been helpin’ her with her school work, and we’ve all tried to make sure someone’s there for her.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Kroeger still looked a little skeptical, but seemed to be wilting under Spike’s sincerity. He wasn’t a master vampire for nothing, but there were times he wished he could do thrall like Dru. Just look her in the eyes and have her go away without a second thought about the Summers. But he’d never had the patience to learn, and had always relied on his stunning charm. “So it’s only you and Miss Summers, along with Dawn.”

Spike silently prayed that honesty would actually turn out to be the best policy. “Tara’s stayin’ with us as well.”

“There’s another girl living here?” The woman was sounding more and more skeptical by the moment, and Spike was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t ruined the whole thing.

“A friend of Buffy’s from college,” he explained. “She and Dawn are really close, and she’s an incredible cook. Between the three of us, someone’s pretty much always here for Dawn when she gets home from school and to make sure she’s got a good dinner and the like.”

“Oh.” Ms. Kroeger had unbent just the slightest. “It certainly sounds like there are people who care about her.” She hesitated, a look of guilty curiosity crossing her face. “Would you mind telling me what happened to you? The accident, I mean.”

Spike froze. He hadn’t thought she’d ask, couldn’t think of what to say to explain. ‘Well, you see, I fell off this tower in order to save the Bit along with Buffy and the rest of the world.’ Not bloody likely.

“Actually, William got hurt saving Dawn’s life,” Buffy said from the doorway. She stepped into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I’ve been trying to study for finals this week, and our meeting completely slipped my mind.” The Slayer gave silent thanks for Spike’s quick thinking and Xander’s phone call. It had given her time to compose herself and to come in confidently, rather than flustered.

Luckily for her, Ms. Kroeger had been completely caught by the first half of her entrance, disregarding the second bit. “You saved Dawn’s life?” she asked Spike in surprise.

Spike didn’t know what to say. While he had saved her life, he wasn’t sure how to answer that question without sounding like a complete loon. “Oh, he’s just modest,” Buffy said, coming over to stand next to him. “Dawn was crossing the street and there was an on-coming car she didn’t see. William pushed her out of the way. It’s a miracle he’s even alive.”

“Oh, well,” Doris Kroeger said, a little breathlessly. She wasn’t a bad woman at heart, and she had a soft spot for good-looking men. Especially handsome men who were true heroes. And really, Dawn’s absences had been declining this semester, and her grades were definitely improving, quite possibly due to the nice British man who was looking at her with such a charming smile. Really, they were all doing their best, weren’t they? She asked Buffy a few questions, encouraged her to call if she needed anything, and left.

Spike broke out into a large grin once he was sure she was gone. “Bloody hell, I’m glad that’s over with.”

“I’ll second that,” Buffy muttered, leaning against the door as though preventing Doris Kroeger’s re-entrance. She looked over at Spike. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t anythin’,” he replied, looking slightly embarrassed. Then he gave her one of his patented smirks. “Not even a social services dragon is immune to my charm.”

Buffy gave him a mischievous smile. “She’s not the only one.” And she walked back to the kitchen, laughing quietly at the stunned look on his face.

The Slayer knew exactly what kind of near escape she’d had. She hadn’t been lying to the Kroeger woman. She did have a final she was studying for, and she had let the appointment completely slip her mind. But she also knew that Dawn’s rising grades and near-perfect attendance this last semester was due mainly to Tara and Spike’s eagle eyes. Both of them had been more than willing to pick up the slack caused by her trying to be mom and Slayer and student all at the same time.

Buffy looked into the mirror as she brushed her hair, looking at the length of it. It would be nice to go shorter, she realized, something easier to take care of that would fit in with the busyness that was her life. Maybe she should get it cut after class, surprise everyone, be a little different. If she couldn’t change her life, maybe she could change her appearance.

Spike put the cap on his pen and glanced down at the few remaining blank pages. Another block of time and he would fill the notebook completely. He’d have to see about having the Bit or Buffy pick up another one for him. The writing came more easily for him than he’d expected, the words flowing. There was more than a little blood and guts involved, but mostly he’d concentrated on his travels, on what he’d seen and done. The truth behind the Scourge of Europe, and more specifically, the Slayer of Slayers.

He’d thought about letting Buffy see it, but didn’t think he would at this point. It wasn’t as though he felt guilt for his past; there was no regret for being a vampire. It was what he was, and he revelled in the freedom it had given him, the immortality and the strength. But there was a small part of him that did not want Buffy to know some of the things he had done. He wanted her to know what he was now, not what he had been. Giles might be a better candidate. He would know how to put the information to good use, and Spike trusted him. Not that he liked him, but he recognized in the other man a sort of practical honor.

Spike shoved the notebook under his pillow. He only had a few hours until Dawn got home and he was supposed to give her a hand with her homework. Time for a bit to eat and a nap. He’d worry about locking the book up later.

He was in the kitchen, heating up his blood when he heard the front door swing open. Frowning, he swung himself out to the hallway. “Hello? Buffy, is that you?” There was no answer, and the door was closed. He shook his head, puzzled. Buffy had an afternoon class, and she usually didn’t come home between. Dawn was usually the first to show up after school was out. He sniffed the air, but smelled only the normal scents of the occupants, breakfast, and blood.

Going back into the kitchen, he pulled out the mug and started drinking, the hunger in his belly easing. Having learned from experience, he rinsed it out and left it in the sink, going back downstairs for his nap.

Once he reached the basement however, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he knew there was someone down there with him. “I know you’re down here,” he called, trying to quell the tendrils of fear. If there was something down there with him, there wans’t much he could do about it really.

Silence. “Come on,” he taunted. “Not afraid of me are you? Show yourself.” He heard a whisper of sound and felt something brush by him. “A ghost, huh? Go haunt the living. There’s nothing down here.”

“Nothing at all?” Buffy’s voice whispered into his ear. And then her hand was brushing down his face, his arm. And he could smell her right there beside him.

“Buffy?”

“Whatsamatter, Spike? Having a hard time seeing me?” She laughed as astonishment registered on his features. “Well, you’re not the only one. I wanted to change my appearance, but I’m not sure this was the way I wanted to go.”

He reached out a hand to touch her, and found her solid, right in front of him. He just couldn’t see her. “Slayer? What happened?”

She laughed again, sounding positively giddy. “Well, I went to get a haircut, and the next thing I knew—poof! Invisible girl. It’s kind of fun, really.” Her hand found its way to his chest, and he could feel her finger making patterns on the fabric. “Want to play a game?”

Spike watched as the buttons on his shirt seemed to unbutton themselves one by one, and he could suddenly feel her warm hands on his bare chest. “Let’s see exactly where the feeling stops, huh?” He swallowed hard, feeling her hands move lower and lower, until he couldn’t feel the pressure anymore. But from there, he could imagine what she was doing, even if he couldn’t see it, and his imagination was running wild.

“Buffy? What are you doing?” he asked.

“Having a little fun,” she replied. “Aren’t you?”

Oh, he was. He couldn’t believe that she was doing this. And her hands came back up to the part of his body that could feel, and he was getting really turned on, and he had no idea what he was going to do, because his hands were presently occupied keeping him upright—

And then he saw it. The notebook he had shoved completely under his pillow was now laying right on top of it. He pulled back from the Slayer’s questing hands abruptly. “What are you doing, Buffy?” he asked coldly.

“Spike,” she protested, her tone surprised. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone sharp. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. “What’s wrong is that you invaded my privacy and now you’re playing games with me.”

“Spike, it’s not a big deal. I just wanted to see what you were so busy with. I didn’t read any of it.” Her tone was both defensive and light, as though she were a guilty child trying to play down her offense.

But his anger was heightened, not lessened. “You went where you weren’t wanted, Slayer,” he replied. “That’s my business, not yours to play about with whenever you choose.” He felt betrayed by her actions, angered by the casualness with which she toyed with him. He felt as though she were flirting with danger; coming onto him not because she wanted him but because she wanted to take a little walk on the wild side. And while he had told the truth, that he had no regret over his sacrifice, and no desire to be repaid, he hated feeling used. Used to protect her sister, used to protect the world, used when she wanted a little excitement.

“Get out, Buffy,” he growled. And she must have sensed that he meant it, because he heard her footsteps on the stairs and then overhead. Angrily, he pulled his shirt off and then sat on his cot to remove the braces. Pulling out the metal box, he locked the notebook inside, something he apparently should have done earlier. And then, sighing, he laid down, closing his eyes, tired to the bone.

Xander came bursting through the front door, calling for Buffy. “Slayer’s not here.” Spike’s voice came from the kitchen, and he followed the sound to its source.

“Have you seen her?” Xander paused. “Well, actually you wouldn’t have seen her—”

“She’s been here,” Dawn said quietly. She and Spike were sitting side by side at the table, working on an assignment for school. Tara sat across from them, a thick text book in front of her and a highlighter in hand.

Xander looked around at the faces. All of them wore serious expressions, and no one was looking particularly satisfied with the situation. “What happened?”

Spike looked even more grim, but he maintained his silence, which was unusual enough that Xander noticed. But Dawn was the one to answer his question. “Buffy was giving me the wiggins. She was just—acting crazy. It’s not like she was even trying to get visible again.”

“Well, she needs to get visible,” Xander replied. “Whatever did this to her is making things mushy.”

“Mushy?” Tara asked, looking puzzled.

“The traffic cone that got hit started, I don’t know, dissolving.” He looked worried. “We need to find Buffy and get this figured out.”

“Good luck findin’ something you can’t see,” Spike muttered. Xander was surprised at his tone. Normally Spike would be the first out the door, but he didn’t seem anxious to go anywhere.

“Oookay,” he said. “Anybody else notice some bitterness?”

Dawn threw him a glare. “Buffy was really freaking Spike out, Xander.”

“Right. Still, we have to find her.” Xander was extremely curious as to how Buffy had managed to piss Spike off so badly, but the vampire wasn’t talking, and it didn’t look like he was going to.

Just then the phone rang, and Spike reached over to pick it up. “Yeah…She’s not here…Dunno where she is, what do you want?” His eyes widened and narrowed. “I’ll get her the message. Just say it.” There was a long pause, and then he barked, “She’ll be there.”

Spike hung up the phone and looked over at Xander. “Whoever they are, they’ve got Red. Wanted me to find Buffy and let her know where they are.”

Xander shook his head. “We don’t have time for that. I don’t—”

The phone rang again, and Spike reached over to pick it up. “Yeah…Buffy?” He listened for a second, and then apparently cut her off. “We don’t have time for that, Slayer. Some wankers just called, said they have Red. Figure it’s the ones what turned you invisible.” He listened for a second and then listed the location for her. He hung up the phone and said calmly, “She’s handling it.”

Xander frowned. “What if she needs help?”

“She’s an invisible Slayer, Harris. She doesn’t need help.”

Buffy entered the house as quietly as possible, feeling more than a little ashamed of herself. Her giddy-fest from earlier in the day was going to have consequences. Making up with Dawn wouldn’t be too hard. It would require some groveling and probably the loan of her new shirt, but her sister was usually fairly forgiving. At least, as long as you begged appropriately and let her yell a little.

No, it was Spike she was concerned about. While the Slayer part of her brain impatiently reminded her that he was a vampire, and therefore it didn’t matter that she’d gotten into his private notebook, the Buffy part reminded her forcefully that it hadn’t been nice. Besides which, every time she tried to convince herself that he was an evil vampire without feelings, she remembered the way his face had looked when he’d realized he’d been paralyzed. His eyes the night he’d stopped her from burning to death. His quiet assurance when he told her he would stay with her rather than get the chip out. He had given up everything, or at least a chance at everything for her, and she hadn’t paid him back very well at all.

He was out on the back porch, of course, smoke wreathing his head. “Hey.”

“Welcome back to the world of the seen, Slayer,” he said, his deep voice resonating in the darkness.

She tried for the light approach. “I was just wondering how long you were going to stay mad, because I figured I could just come back when you were done.” The chilly silence that followed told her that might have been the wrong approach. Buffy bit her lip. “Can I sit down?”

He said nothing, but he did push himself up off the step and over so that there was more room for her to sit beside him. She took his invitation. “I’m sorry, Spike. I don’t even know what got into me.”

“I do.” His flat statement sent off sparks of anger in her. She hated it when he thought he knew better.

“Then why don’t you tell me,” she challenged, gritting her teeth.

He looked over at her, his face half in shadow, making him look sinister. “You were feeling like nothing mattered. All the rules and regulations they throw at you, everything they say you have to do, all that’s gone. Because who’s gonna know you broke some rule if no one can see you? So you had a little fun doin’ all those things you want to do when you can’t get away with it, and you tried it when you knew you bloody well could.”

Some of Buffy’s anger drained away, leaving a faint aftertaste of irritation. How could he know her so well when she didn’t even know? “How’d you work that one out, Spike?”

He caught her agitation and smiled sourly. “You ever wonder what it’s like to be a vampire, luv? Aside from the whole blood lust thing when you first rise, you suddenly feel this power that’s bigger than you could’ve ever dreamed of. But more than that, you figure out you’re free. Free of every demand anybody ever put on you. You can do what you want, go where you want, and say sod all to the rest of the world.”

Buffy’s eyes opened wide in shock even as her face flushed with anger. “You’re saying I was acting like a vampire? How sick is that?”

“Didn’t say that,” he replied, equally irritated. “I’m just saying you were feelin’ pretty free with yourself and stopped thinkin’ about what you should do for a minute. Started thinkin’ on terms of what you wanted. That’s all a vampire ever does, pet.”

“I’m not your pet,” she snapped. “Look, Spike, I’m sorry about looking in your notebook, but don’t try giving me some crap story about how I’m just like you. We’re nothing alike. We have nothing in common. You’re a soulless vampire and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

She regretted the words almost as soon as they came out of her mouth. Spike had done a lot for her recently, and he’d proven himself to be more than what he was. But they were out, and couldn’t be unsaid, and by the tightening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes, she knew she’d just managed to throw up a wall between them that might never come down. “Well, then, I guess this soulless vampire will just say good-night.”

Buffy watched as he swung himself into the house, a constant reminder that he had given everything for her. Sometimes she hated him for not being able to hate him anymore. And other times she wished she didn’t feel so guilty for liking him as much as she did. There were days that she hated her life.

Chapter 12: Money Woes

Buffy was avoiding him, and Spike was letting her. He was well aware that she was uncomfortable in the extreme with his accusations. He was also aware that at least part of her discomfort stemmed from the fact that what he said was at least partially true. Spike knew he’d been more harsh than he’d intended, but her invasion of his privacy had cut him more deeply than even he expected.

Dawn noticed, of course, sensitive as she was to those around her. Of course, most of her sensitivity had to do with the fact that the entire world revolved around her, but she still noticed. Which was why when she came to visit him in the basement, bringing a fresh, new notebook, she felt as though she should probably fill him in on a few details. “Buffy got a job.”

He glanced up, feigning disinterest. “Oh, yeah? Where and doin’ what?”

“At the Double Meat Palace, which answers both questions at once, I guess,” she replied. “We visited her this afternoon.” She eyed him speculatively. “Don’t tell me you seriously didn’t know she was working.”

He shrugged. “I figured she got a different job at the school or something.” A light came on in Spike’s brain, and he frowned at Dawn as she sat next to him on his cot. “Wait a minute. She’s flippin’ burgers? Have you seen the people that work there? They look like zombies.”

Dawn leaned back against the wall comfortably. “Buffy said the school wasn’t giving her enough money or enough hours, and she’s taking fewer classes this semester, so she has more time to work. I think she’s worried about the money thing.”

Spike sighed. He could get her the money, but he wasn’t sure she would take it. Xander had finally taken him to the Bronze, and he’d managed to prove that he still had what it took. In fact, the last night alone he’d netted more than $70, which he’d promptly given to Tara for groceries. Another couple weeks, and he’d have enough to get into that poker game again, which would give Buffy enough to live on for a while. Assuming she actually took it. The way things stood between the two of them, he wasn’t sure. “Wish I had a magic wand to wave to make all the bad things go away, Bit,” he replied.

“Me too.” She looked him in the eye. “I did like you said and took all the stuff back to the Magic Box.” She gave him a half-grin. “Unstealing it was way more fun. Anya kept getting this look on her face like, ‘How could I misplace something that was worth money?’ It was great.”

Spike smirked at her perfect imitation of the ex-demon. “Well, just as long as she doesn’t ever catch on, you might keep all your entrails intact. Thanks for the notebook.”

She hesitated. “Look, Spike, I know Buffy totally invaded your privacy. And if she’d taken a look in my diary I wouldn’t speak to her for the rest of my life, but what are you writing?”

“Things, Bit, that’s all. Stuff that’s happened to me, things I’ve done. It’s not precisely G-rated, so you can just forget about looking.”

“I so know that,” she answered with a roll of the eyes. “Besides, I heard your story about the girl in the coalbin. I know you were evil.”

“Am evil,” he corrected, more out of force of habit than anything else.

“Whatever. Anyway, maybe you could let her off the hook, because she’s been really mopey lately,” Dawn said.

He sighed and looked off into the distance. “Your sister’s been going through a bit of a rough patch lately, pet. Best just to let things be sometimes.”

But Spike never followed anyone’s advice, even his own. And that evening found him standing just outside the doors of the Double Meat Palace. He was on his way to the Bronze to hustle a few more unsuspecting gits at the pool table, but he thought he’d just stop in, say hello, maybe tell her to run for the hills while she still had a chance. It was a thought anyway.

She was talking to one of her co-workers when he came in, an older woman who looked as though she was stoned. What scared Spike was that he knew she wasn’t on anything. It was as he had suspected. Grease killed brain cells. “So, what’s in the Double Meat nuggets?” he asked, shooting for a bit of humor as she walked over to him.

She eyed him for a moment and then sighed. “God only knows, and that’s pretty much the truth. What are you doing here, Spike?”

He shrugged. “Was on my way to shoot some pool and I thought I’d drop in. Bit told me you got a job here.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of need the cash.” Buffy unbent just a little. “Look, Spike, I’ve already taken my break. You should probably go. I don’t get off for a while yet.”

He leaned forward on his crutches, looking her straight in the eye. “You’ll drive yourself crazy, luv. You’re not happy here.”

“Story of my life,” she replied, then looked away. “Don’t make this any harder. Please.”

His voice took on an intensity she rarely heard from him. “You’re better than this, Buffy. This isn’t where you belong.”

“I told you I need the money.”

“I can get money,” he replied, dropping his voice. “Enough to tide you over till you find something better if you don’t want to take it from me.” For a minute, he thought she might take him up on his offer, but she shook her head.

“I need to go help Gary with the fries.”

He wanted to shake her out of her stubbornness, to throw her over his shoulder and march out of there, but there was nothing he could do if she didn’t want his help. “This place will do stuff to you, Buffy,” he warned, shooting a surreptitious look at the other woman. And as she walked away without replying, he called out after her, “This place will kill you!”

Spike was more than a little concerned about the Slayer. He had seen the look on her face the other night, knew how unhappy she was at her new job. His greatest fear was that she’d suddenly feel like everything was too much, that she’d give up. Not that she’d run out and kill herself, but that she’d end up getting herself killed. When she got herself a double shift the very next day, his concern grew even more.

“It sucks,” Dawn agreed. She was sitting next to Spike in the kitchen, trying to do her math homework. “It’s just not fair. I mean, Janice’s sister is a lawyer, but Buffy is probably just stuck doing minimum wage stuff. I could be anything I want to be.”

Spike looked over at her. “You’re sister’s not stuck, Bit. I promise you that. She’s still in school, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, it’s just, being the Slayer is different. I mean, she’s always going to be the Slayer, and that means she doesn’t—”

Dawn broke off, but Spike thought he knew what she meant. Being the Slayer was everything for Buffy, but it also meant that her options got limited pretty quick. And with the death of her mother and a younger sister to look after, her options got slimmer by the day. Which was why Spike was worried. If she felt too trapped, she might not fight quite as hard. “Big sis can take care of herself, Li’l Bit,” he reassured her. “And we’ll see what we can do to make sure the rest gets taken care of.” He reached over and gave her hair a friendly pull. “You just concentrate on your schoolwork, then you can be a big fancy doctor or lawyer or whatnot and take care of the both of us.”

“Like you need to be taken care of,” Dawn scoffed. “You’re the professional poker player.”

Spike left Dawn in Tara’s capable hands and went to play pool as soon as the sun went down. He had every intention of making that poker game, and he needed a little more cash to get in. Almost in spite of himself he swung past Buffy’s work on his way to the Bronze. It was actually a bit out of his way, but he was worried, and he wanted to reassure himself, maybe do something for her, maybe convince her to leave, though he didn’t think that last was likely.

He should still be pissed at her for certain. She still hadn’t apologized for reading his notebook, but he was too worried to be angry. She could walk all over him, and he’d forgive her every time, he loved her that much. He needed her that much.

Spike could see that she noticed him swinging by, and he made a quick decision to wait for her out in the alley, hoping she might decide to come outside for her break. Sure enough, she stepped outside the door with a bag of trash and tossed it into the dumpster before glancing over at him. “Spike—” she began.

He could hear both weariness and tension in her tone, see it in the set of her shoulders. She would not allow him to bear her burdens for her, so he would do what he could, give her what he could in the short span of a fifteen minute break. “Come here, Slayer,” he said, a gentle command. And to his surprise she came to him, where he leaned against the wall, and he pulled her around so that her back was to him, and sought to soothe the tension with strong fingers.

Buffy moaned slightly and leaned into the pressure, letting him take out the knots brought on by idiot co-workers and a double shift and the sense that life was closing in on her. She was trapped by duty, by friends, by her sister. They were bonds that she had willingly accepted and even now would not give up, but every day the burden seemed to grow a little heavier, and she wondered if this was the way things would always be.

Minutes passed, and Buffy reluctantly pulled away. “I should get back.”

“Yeah, s’pose so,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper. He wanted to keep her there, to take her home with him, but he let go, watching as she turned to go back inside.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, surprising him. He tilted his head quizzically, not understanding. “For the other day. With your journal.”

He shook his head. “Forget it, Buffy.”

“No, you were right, about me not thinking. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy. And I’m sorry for what I said later.” She stood facing him now, her chin tilted defiantly, daring the Powers that Be to strike her down for saying she was sorry to a vampire.

He seemed wary of her apology, not understanding it or where it was coming from. And Buffy wondered if she had been so unkind to him in the past that he would be afraid of an act of contrition. Spike had always seemed to have an easier time accepting blows and harsh words. “It’s fine, luv. Nothing that wasn’t true.”

She hesitated, frightened that taking it further, that saying more would change their relationship irrevocably, send it careening down a path she had no intention of taking. At the same time, she wasn’t sure it would be so bad. “True or not, you’re a lot more than that, Spike.”

Buffy left it at that, heading back into the grease-pit that was her job. But Spike was left with a bright flame glowing within called hope.

When he came home late, his pockets full, he found Buffy and Willow on the couch with Tara and Dawn as their rapt audience. “So I cut its head off and we threw it into the meat grinder.”

Tara and Dawn winced visibly, and Buffy made a face as well. It would be a long time before any of them would willingly eat at the Double Meat Palace. “But it was Wig Lady the entire time,” Buffy finished. “And the meat is actually vegetables, which is weird to think about.”

“You’re not going back there are you, Buffy?” Dawn asked.

Buffy shrugged. “I have to go back tomorrow to take the uniform in, but no. I have a feeling they aren’t going to give me my job back after making a huge scene like that.”

“Though the info about the meat being veggies is probably worth a lot,” Willow suggested. “If you wanted, you could probably blackmail them or something.” She quickly looked down at her hands. “Not that blackmail is at all a good thing, ‘cause it’s not.”

“Spot of blackmail can be right useful, Red,” Spike finally said from the doorway, his face carefully void of _expression. If Buffy wanted to go back to that hell-hole, he wasn’t going to be the one to stop her; she’d made that clear. “Tara, got a bit of something for you if you’ve got a minute.”

The other three stared curiously as Tara followed him out to the kitchen and he handed her a wad of cash. “Grocery money,” he explained in a soft whisper. “Should get you by for another week or two.”

The witch quickly counted the bills and raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure this is just pool money, Spike? This is quite a bit.”

To her surprise, he looked away guiltily. “Tip money,” he mumbled. She waited patiently for him to go on, and he finally explained. “Bar tender at the Bronze was sick. Owner needed a sub, asked me to do it. Told him I would one time. They tipped well.”

Tara wanted to laugh. Here he was acting guilty about earning money legitimately, whereas a high-stakes poker game was a thing of pride. “There’s nothing wrong with bar-tending, Spike.”

He moved his shoulders uncomfortably. “Don’t want it to get out. ‘Sides, one time deal, you know. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she said gently, touching him on the arm. He looked at her gratefully then. He was so strange to her; so dark and violent and at the same time so much like a boy. He could be so sweet, it made her heart ache, and at other times he showed a lack of empathy so deep it was frightening. But he was changing, she knew. Every day she saw in his aura a difference, a lightening. As though this trial was altering and changing him into something new. She caught a glimpse of it then, as he leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Glinda,” he said softly. “You’re alright.” And then he retreated into the basement.

Buffy made her way stealthily into the basement. She had no idea of why it was important to see him, to talk to him, but it somehow was. In the end, it had been impossible for her to ask to have her job back. If she had been more desperate, she would have. But her student loans had finally come through for the semester, which covered her tuition and most of the housing expenses. It had been grocery money she’d been most concerned about, but Tara had told her that morning that they had enough to last the month out at least, courtesy of Spike. And apparently he’d been doing that for the last couple weeks, passing off his winnings to Tara.

She stared at him, lying sprawled on his back on the small cot. They were spartan surroundings, really, but he seemed content enough. Seeing him, she was struck again by the choice he had made, to stay with her. She wasn’t worth it.

“Buffy?” he said sleepily, his eyes blinking open. “That you, luv?”

“Yeah.” For some reason she felt compelled to go and sit on the side of his bed. “Sorry I woke you.”

He rubbed his face, and she could see the curls in his hair, mussed as it was. “’S okay. Did you get your job back, then?”

“No.” She hesitated. “I thought I’d take your advice and look for something better. I waitressed before, maybe I could find something like that.” There was a long pause. “Tara told me about the grocery money. You bought me some time, you know, to look.”

“You finally decide I’m a fount of wisdom?” he asked with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes at him. “No, actually I got scared.” He quirked his eyebrow, and she explained. “Lorraine, the new manager, would probably have given my job back, but I couldn’t ask. She had on this 5 Year badge, and I could just see myself getting stuck there forever. And with the double shifts and the smelling of grease, it just didn’t seem to go well with the whole college student image I’m trying to pull off.”

“You’ll make it, Buffy,” he said quietly. “Maybe you don’t see it now, but you’ll make it. And you’ll find a better place to work than that hell-hole.”

“Hope so,” she replied with a small smile. “I should really let you get back to sleep though.”

Spike frowned at her, his blue eyes concerned. “You look tired, pet.”

She tried, and failed, to smile. “A little. I’ll be fine.”

“Here,” he grunted, moving so that he was on his side, his back to the wall. “Have a bit of a lie down, Slayer. The others’ll be gone for the rest of the day. It’s dark and quiet down here.”

Buffy knew she probably shouldn’t, but it was too tempting. There was something about being in Spike’s arms that made her feel as though somehow everything would be fine. He made her feel protected, knowing that he would do anything for her. She lay beside him, and felt herself relax as he pulled her close, one strong arm wrapped around her middle. “Sleep, Slayer,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve got your back.” And they both slipped under together, breathing in time.

Chapter 13: Life Spring

Spike got back in the wee hours of the morning to find Buffy lying on the couch, waiting for him. “Slayer? What are you still doing up?”

Buffy shrugged, throwing off the blanket that had been covering her. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d wait up for you. You’re in later than usual.”

“Poker game,” he said by way of explanation, non-chalantly pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket and tossing it to her.

“Spike, I don’t think—”

“That’s not all of it, Buffy,” he said quietly. “So don’t worry about that. If I can’t fight demons for you, then I want to do something else to help.”

She stared at the envelope. It was too much, and she shouldn’t take it. But at the same time, he really did want to help, and she really did need the money. “Thank you.”

He glanced away, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah well, anytime, luv. You should get to bed, though. You’ve got work tomorrow and school.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It never ceased to amaze her that Spike knew everyone’s schedules better than they did. “Would you do me a favor?”

He paused on his way to the basement stairs. “If I can. What do you need, Buffy?”

“Stay with me tonight.” The silence that followed her request was deafening.

He turned to face her, slowly. “What do you want from me?” There was no anger in his tone, just a kind of curiosity. He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, because it certainly wasn’t going to be sex, and he really couldn’t see what else there might be.

Her features illustrated her warring emotions. Having admitted to herself that Spike made her feel as though everything would be alright was completely different than actually saying it out loud. “I need to feel—” She broke off, not telling him what it was he made her feel, but it seemed to be enough for him. His face softened, and he gave her a little smile.

“All right, then.”

She followed him up the stairs, letting him set his own slow pace, and shut the door to her room behind both of them. He seemed awkward, as though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do, but he sat on the edge of her bed and slowly removed the braces, setting them gently down on the floor. He was about to start on his boots, when Buffy was there in front of him. “Let me.”

She pulled his boots off one at a time, and then pulled his shirt off over his head. “You know this isn’t going anywhere, don’t you?” he asked quietly as she ran calloused fingers over his face. “I can’t give you anything, Buffy.”

“You give me everything, Spike. Isn’t that enough?”

He stared at her, shocked that she had spoken the words aloud. He gave her all of himself, and he didn’t think she’d ever noticed. “It’s never been enough before,” he replied.

She kissed him deeply, roughly, needing this, needing him. She was using him, she knew, to feel safe, to make herself believe that tomorrow would be better. And yet there was more in her heart for him than simple pity. Indeed, nothing between them had ever been simple, not even when they were trying to kill one another. Even if this was all they ever had, it was enough for the moment.

Buffy woke slowly late the next morning, turning the alarm clock off quickly before it could wake Spike. She slipped out from under his arm, smiling as he muttered in his sleep, unwilling to let her go. Always so unwilling to let her go. She headed out towards the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind her, only to face Tara in the hallway. “Hey.”

“Hey, Buffy.” She hesitated. “Spike’s with you?”

“Yeah. Do you—could we talk? Later maybe?”

Tara nodded. “I don’t have class till this afternoon. We could talk after you get out of the shower.”

Buffy finished cleaning up and then went downstairs to find the other woman waiting for her in the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Please.” The Slayer gave a sigh of contentment as she took a sip. “Why does it have to be like this?” she asked, not quite rhetorically.

“Like what?” Tara replied, her face open and sympathetic.

Buffy looked down into her mug, as though the surface might give her the answers to all her questions. “I should hate him. He’s everything I’ve been taught to detest. Hell, he should be dead by now. One of us should have killed the other at this point. And he’s the only one who makes me feel safe.”

Tara said nothing, waiting for Buffy to go on. “Some days it feels like everything’s too much. Taking care of Dawn, and being the Slayer, and working, and school. One thing after another every day, day in and day out.. And the only time I feel like it’s bearable, and I might just make it is when I’m with him. Why is it him, Tara? Why is it that Spike makes me feel safe when no one else can?”

Tara was quiet for a long time. “He loves you, Buffy. I think it’s the people that love us the most that make us feel the safest.”

“It’s not supposed to work that way,” she protested. “It’s not supposed to be the soulless vampire that saves the world, and loves me.”

Tara smiled. “Nothing is ever perfect, Buffy. Sometimes you just have to take what you can get.”

“But what if it’s a trick?” Buffy moaned, putting her head down on the counter. “What if I take it, and it turns out it was just a trick and I wasn’t supposed to?”

“Then I guess you’ll have to figure out if it’s a risk woth taking,” Tara said gently but firmly.

Buffy came home from work exhausted. She’d been at home less and less the last couple weeks, what with school and starting her new waitressing job. She was just grateful that both Tara and Spike were more than capable of taking care of Dawn. But she thought she would finally have the opportunity to hang and spend some quality time with her sister.

“You’re going to Janice’s to spend the night?” Buffy asked incredulously. “And I’m supposed to fall for that one because of the surprise lobotomy?”

“It’s okay, Buf,” Xander said. Xander, Anya, and Willow had come over to work on dancing for the wedding reception. “Spike told me before he left that he’d checked it out with Janice’s mom. She’s picking Dawn up.”

“Please, Buffy?” Dawn said. “I didn’t know you were going to be home, and Tara and Spike both were going to be out tonight, so they thought it would be okay.”

“Sure, why not?” Buffy asked glumly. Then, as she thought about an evening alone, she decided to take Xander up on his offer of a night of Bronzing and the promised “frothy nectar.”

But the Bronze didn’t seem to have the same appeal as it usually did. And Xander, Anya and Willow seemed bent on having a good time. It was easy enough for them. They didn’t have the same kinds of responsibilities that she had. They didn’t have to worry about performing a duty that would most likely kill them, sooner or later. She wandered upstairs to the balcony overlooking the dance floor, staring down, watching as her friends danced.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Spike’s deep voice echoed out of the shadows behind her. “What’s the matter, Buffy? You look a little down.”

She was silent, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. “You’re thinking you’re the only one with problems,” he said, uncannily reading her mind. “You look at them and you think they have it so easy.” He swung himself over to stand just behind her. “Look at them, Slayer. So full of their own problems that they don’t see you’re hangin’ on by a bare thread. They’d never know how close you are to just givin’ up.”

His voice tickled her ear. “Harris scared stupid he’s rushin’ into this thing, thinking he might have made a mistake askin’ her to marry him. And the demon-girl thinkin’ he might leave her at the altar or get tired of her or somethin’. And she’ll be left just like all those women she got vengeance for. Red, who’s strugglin’ with the magic every day, feelin’ like this huge piece of her is missin’ and not havin’ much hope that it’s gonna get better.”

Spike put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Shall I go on, Slayer? You think you’ve got problems? The only problem you an’ your Scoobies got is that you’re too blind to see how much you’re all hurtin’. Can’t see past your own noses, any of you. Meanwhile, the rest of us on the sidelines just watch and wait and hope it all blows over, because we depend on you lot to get your heads out of your arses and save the bloody world. Go figure.”

He turned to leave, but Buffy’s bitter words stopped him. “And what about you, Spike? You haven’t said anything about how sucky your life is.”

“What are you talkin’ about, luv?” he asked softly. “I made my choices and I live with them. End of story.”

She watched him as he left, then watched from above as he moved to an empty pool table, only to be harrassed by a couple college kids. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she knew it wasn’t very nice by the looks on their faces and the set of the vampire’s jaw. But he responded easily, and soon they were playing a game that Spike would win. For her. Damn him.

He was so alive, she realized. More than anyone she’d ever known, he glowed with life and seemed to pass it on to any who would drink from him. He would give it all to her, for her. He would breathe it into Dawn, into Tara, to make their lives a little more bearable. To allow them to know someone loved them. And she had to wonder how someone who was supposedly dead could be so alive, so brilliant and shiny with it. It made her love him. And it made her hate him.

Buffy came into the house and shut the door behind her, feeling as though the police were already on her heels. She had killed a girl tonight, and instead of doing something about it she had run. She, the Slayer, had freaked out. Well, to be completely honest, she’d frozen, and then she’d freaked, but still.

“Buffy?” His voice came from the shadows, from the kitchen, and he looked at her with nothing but concern in his eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” she whispered. She didn’t know why she was telling him, except she didn’t know who else to tell. “There was a girl in the woods. And demons. I don’t—time went all funny, and I killed her, Spike. I killed the girl.”

He was by her side in an instant, faster than anyone had any right to be on crutches. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I mean, I know she was dead, but I thought—I thought she was a demon and I hit her. Spike, I didn’t mean to.”

“Shh,” he soothed, running one hand over her braided hair. “It was an accident. You wouldn’t hurt anyone like that. Did anybody see you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I panicked.”

“Right, then.” He put a hand to her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “Listen to me, Slayer. You never left the house tonight, hear me? There’s nothin’ to connect you to the body, nothin’ at all. They’ll find her, and they’ll scratch their heads and that will be the end of it.”

“But I killed her,” she protested.

“And you didn’t mean it,” he said furiously. “It was an accident, Buffy. There’s nothin’ you can do about it now.” His voice softened. “Go upstairs, crawl in your nice warm bed, and go to sleep. Everything will be fine.”

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But after an alarming nightmare where the dead girl and Spike kept changing places, she knew she needed to tell someone, tell the police, do the right thing. Of course, she would do the right thing. She was the Slayer, after all.

She had wanted to tell Dawn, but had chickened out at the last minute. Spike and Tara would take care of her, she knew. They would tell her what she needed to know. She’d leave a note for Spike. But Spike hadn’t gone to bed. What she hadn’t figured on was Spike’s dogged persistance or the fact that he seemed to know her so well. “Where are you going, Buffy?”

He stood, facing her in the living room as she came down the stairs, apparently waiting for her to try something just like she was doing right at that moment. “I need to tell someone. I’m going to the police.”

“And what are you going to tell them, luv?” he demanded. “That you were out for a walk when three demons attacked you and you accidentally killed the girl by mistake?”

“Let me go, Spike,” she said, anger and fear and horrible guilt washing over her in great waves.

“No,” he replied. “I love you, Buffy. I won’t let you do this. You’re throwin’ your life away for nothin’. There’s nothin’ to tie you to the girl, if no one saw you. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” she spat back. “How can you understand? You’re a vampire, vampires kill people. I’m the Slayer. I’m supposed to save them, and I killed her! I killed her!” Her agonized words broke his heart, and he reached for her, only to have her back away from him.

“Buffy, luv, please don’t do this. It won’t do anyone any good.”

“I have to.” She turned her back on him, went to walk out the door, and he grabbed her arm.

“I can’t let you,” he replied. “I won’t let you.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp and kept walking, but he just grabbed onto her again, tighter this time. “No, Buffy.”

Angry, half-blinded by tears, she pulled back her fist and hit him, sending him crashing to the floor, his crutches scattered. She’d knocked him a good one; the red mark under his eye would shape up into a nice shiner. But it was his sprawled form that stopped her in her tracks. He looked up at her, half-dazed from the blow. “That’s right, luv,” he whispered. “Put it all on me.”

“No,” she muttered. “No, I can’t.” She stared at him, looking up when she heard her name.

“Buffy?” Dawn and Tara stood on the stairs, and the four of them froze, a tableau of grief and confusion and anger. In that moment, Buffy suddenly realized that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go through with it. Not tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, in the morning, she might have to do something (what she didn’t know), but for the moment she couldn’t.

“Dawn,” she said quietly. “Go get some ice, please. Tara, help me with him.” She couldn’t look him in the eye as she helped the witch collect his crutches and get him standing again. But she helped him over to the couch, and told him in no uncertain terms to lie down, placing the ice-pack Dawn brought gently on his face.

Then, with much hesitation she told her sister and Tara what had happened earlier. Dawn was both devastated and angry that Buffy would have left her, which the Slayer could understand completely. But Tara was thoughtful.

“You said time went funny for you?” she asked.

Buffy nodded. “I don’t know what happened. It almost felt as though I were speeding up and then slowing down. I couldn’t figure out the sequence of things at all.”

“Are you sure you killed her then?” she asked gently.

Buffy froze. All she could think about was spinning around and knocking the girl down the hill, but she wasn’t even sure about that, about when it had happened. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Did you know her?” Spike asked from under his ice-pack. “Any chance of that? Because no self-respectin’ girl is gonna be out that time of night in that area of town.”

There was a long moment of silence as Buffy tried to remember. “There was something familiar about her, but I—I can’t be sure. I mean, it was so fast, and—”

“Enough.” Spike pulled the ice away from his face and sat up slowly. “So there was somethin’ funny goin’ on, which means you don’t know anything for sure.” His face was stern and set, something she didn’t think she’d ever seen on him before. It made him look older somehow. “Seems to me we wait. Papers’ll have somethin’ about it soon enough. Or you can get Red to hack into the police files for you, if that’s what you need. In any case, no point in turnin’ yourself in for a crime you’re not even sure you committed.”

The Slayer hesitated, and then admitted, “You’re right. I was just—”

“In shock,” he said gently. “You were in shock, an’ you were scared. Nothin’ to be ashamed of, pet.” Spike looked at the other two. “You lot should get to bed too. It’ll be fine.” He shared a look with Tara, who took the hint and started to herd Dawn up the stairs.

When they were gone, Buffy turned to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said shortly. “You know I’d do anythin’ for you.”

She shook her head. “No, Spike. Don’t make light of this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Seeing how serious she was about it sobered him. “It’s alright, Buffy. No harm done.”

“You’re going to have a black eye.”

“It’ll mend.” He reached up to brush her hair back from her face. “You should try to sleep.”

She shook her head, took his hand. “I had this dream—I know it’s stupid, and I know you probably don’t want to, but will you stay with me tonight?”

“If it’ll help you sleep,” he replied. And then he suddenly pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She stiffened and froze, but then relaxed against him, shivering. He sighed. “I can’t carry you upstairs, pet,” he murmured. “You’re going to have to walk.”

“Forget upstairs,” she mumbled against his shirt. “Just hold me here, Spike. Now.”

He was still sleeping the next morning when she rose to join Dawn and Tara in the kitchen. Tara held the paper out to her apologetically. “It looks like they found her body,” she said.

Buffy read the short article. Dead girls weren’t as big of news in Sunnydale as they probably should be. She scanned it quickly and then frowned as she read the name. “Katrina Silvers?”

“You know her, Buffy?” Dawn asked from over her cereal bowl. She hadn’t completely forgiven her sister for almost leaving the night before, or for hitting Spike as she had, but she was beginning to soften. Her sister hadn’t left, in the end, and that counted for something.

The Slayer shook her head. “Not exactly, but I know who she is.”

“Who, luv?” Spike asked, swinging himself into the kitchen, looking rather rumpled.

“The girl from last night,” she explained. “She was Warren’s girlfriend. You know, the guy that made the girlfriend ‘bot.”

Spike had the grace to look ashamed of himself at the reminder of Warren and his robots. “Why would he need a ‘bot if he had a girlfriend already?” he asked, puzzled.

Buffy shrugged. “He made her before he met this girl. Though I don’t think she stayed around for long after she found out about it.” Snarling suddenly, she slammed the newspaper down on the counter. “That bastard. I know he had something to do with it. And I would bet money he and his nerd friends had something to do with me finding her.”

“What are you going to do?” Spike asked.

She rubbed her hand over her face. “First I’m going to get cleaned up, and then we’ll go to the Magic Box. I need to find out what kind of demons those were, how he got me all turned around. And then, when I get my hands on him, I’m going to kick his ass.” She turned a considering eye on Spike. “Meanwhile, you need to get something to eat and get some sleep. You look like you need both.”

He gave her a wry look, touching his black eye gently. “I look that bad, eh, luv?”

Buffy marvelled at the fact that she’d knocked him across the room and he still could look at her like that. “You’ve looked better,” she admitted quietly. Forgetting that Dawn and Tara were still in the room, she gently touched his face, the unbruised portion. “Thanks, for last night. I probably would have done something fairly stupid.”

He ducked his head, not quite meeting her eyes. “You would have figured it out, Slayer. You always do.”

“Still,” she replied, moving forward to kiss him on the lips, much as she had done after he’d tangled with Glory. “You’re a pretty decent guy, Spike.”

He watched her as she left the room, ignoring Tara and Dawn’s knowing looks. He probably should have reminded her that he was evil, but somehow he couldn’t find it in his unbeating heart. At this point, he’d settle for being decent.

Chapter 14: Life of the Party

Spike came out of the basement just as the front door closed behind Buffy’s retreating form. “’ey, Niblet. Where’s your sister goin’?”

“Out,” Dawn replied shortly. “She had to go kill some demon.” She looked over at him, her entire countenance radiating disappointment. “We were supposed to have dinner together.”

Spike’s face softened. He hated to see his Bit sad for any reason. “Well, come on then. I’ll fix dinner for the both of us.”

The look she gave him was dubious at best. “That’s okay, I think I’ll pass.”

“What, you don’t think I can cook?” he asked, acting highly offended. She hesitated, not wanting to hurt his feelings, and he went on. “Been watchin’ the cooking channel for six months now, pet. Some of it should have rubbed off.” Not waiting for her reply, he set off for the kitchen, with Dawn trailing reluctantly behind.

She sat on the counter, watching him rummage in the fridge. “Where’s Glinda?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled.

“She had a paper to work on, so she was going to spend time in the library,” Dawn replied. “Buffy thought it would give us a chance to hang out, but then this thing came up and she had to take off.”

“Slaying’s important, Bit,” he said, finally deciding to make an omelet and beginning to pull the makings out.

“I know that,” she replied. “But I’ve barely seen her recently. It’s like she doesn’t even want to spend time with me.”

He looked at her sharply. “You know that’s not true.”

“Could have fooled me,” Dawn mumbled. Spike chose to pretend he didn’t hear that in favor of beginning his omelet. He worked in silence, save for the occasional question asking the girl what she did and didn’t like. It didn’t take long before it was done, and he slid it on a plate in front of her.

“Go on,” he said. “You watched me make it, so it’s not like you don’t know what’s in it.”

He started heating up his own dinner in the microwave, waiting for her comments. “It’s good,” she said.

“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised,” he snarked, trying to hide his pleasure. She gave him a little smile that told him she knew exactly what he was doing, and dug in. Spike gulped down his blood and started cleaning up. Buffy might get on his case for a dirty kitchen, but it was Tara that he was truly afraid of. She was the one who could turn him into an undead frog after all, or slip something into his blood.

Dawn helped him finish, marvelling at the ease with which he moved around on his crutches. He really could do almost anything. Except for fight, of course, which she supposed bothered him more often than he let on.

“Have you gotten anything for the Slayer’s birthday yet?” he asked, handing her the last clean dish.

She shrugged. “No, but I don’t have a lot of money,” she confessed. “If I were still—you know—I could just pick something up.”

“But you’re not, so you won’t,” he said sternly, to which she rolled her eyes.

“Well, yeah. But that kind of limits me in a big way.”

He looked at her for a long time. “Tell you what, Bit. I haven’t got anythin’ for your sis yet either. So I’ll provide the cash if you’ll provide the brains. How’s that?”

“I can’t take your money,” she protested.

“It’s not takin’ my money,” he replied easily. “Knowin’ my luck, I’ll pick out somethin’ she hates. So we’ll go in together.”

Dawn smiled slowly. Not only was she going to be able to get her sister a great gift now, but she also got Spike to herself for the evening. Knowing the vampire, she could probably even talk him into some ice cream.

When they got home a few hours later, Dawn felt she had the perfect gift for Buffy in a very pretty sheer blouse. Spike had looked rather dubious over her choice, but had let her have her way. “What would you have gotten her?” she asked him, curious and slightly miffed that he didn’t think more highly of her choice.

“Somethin’ sharp and shiny,” he had replied with an evil grin.

As they entered the front door, she stole a look at the vampire. He’d been around a lot recently she realized, and had spent more time with her than Buffy had. Spike looked up to meet her eyes. “You should get to bed, Bit,” he said. “It’s past all good kiddies’ bedtime.”

“Good night, Spike,” she replied, and then paused, impulsively hugging him. “I love you.”

Spike was too shocked to say much of anything, managing a weak, “Same here.” He stared at her retreating figure as she climbed the stairs. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that. He closed his eyes reflectively. She shouldn’t have been able to wrap him around her little finger, but she had. He sighed. He was done for.

“I’m going to kill Xander,” Buffy mumbled, leaning against the kitchen wall. Spike, who had just emerged from the basement, looked over at her with one raised eyebrow.

“And just what’s Harris’ offense?” he asked with some amusement.

She rolled her eyes. “He and Anya invited a friend.”

“Last I heard that wasn’t a crime,” he replied.

“A single, male friend,” she clarified.

Spike wasn’t sure whether to laugh or get mad. The annoyed look on his Slayer’s face told him that she wasn’t at all happy about being set up. On the other hand, there was every possibility that she could get interested in this wanker, and then where would he be? “You want me to scare him off?” he asked lightly, an evil look in his eyes.

“No,” she replied. And then she gave him a reluctant smile. “But it’s tempting. I’m just not into doing a relationship right now. I don’t have the time or the energy.”

Spike wanted to ask her what he was, since she’d been hanging onto him pretty tightly recently. But it was her birthday, and he didn’t want to piss her off. As things stood, she was definitely softening towards him, which could only be a good thing as far as he was concerned. “Well, if you need rescuing, you know where I’ll be.”

He stayed mostly on the fringes, a position both he and the Scoobies recognized as his. Tara came and stood by him as they watched Buffy begin to open presents. “Richard’s kind of cute.” She looked over at him with a sly grin. “Don’t you think? I’m not an expert.”

He threw her a sour look and decided to get back a little of his own. “And Red’s lookin’ ‘specially biteable this evenin’.”

She blushed slightly, and they both shared a look. “Are you going to make a move on her?” Tara asked.

“Not unless she asks for it,” he replied, knowing very well that his ability to “make a move” was severely limited. “You?”

“It’s not time yet,” Tara said, uncomfortable with his line of questioning. They fell silent, perfect understanding between them.

They watched as she opened Willow’s gift, a portable massage thing, and then Dawn eagerly pressed her package into her hands. “Mine next,” she insisted.

Buffy opened the box and smiled at the blouse. “It’s beautiful, Dawn. But you must have spent too much.”

Dawn shook her head. “Spike and I went in together.”

Buffy looked up at the vampire, who was standing across the room, the last vestiges of his black eye still fading. “Thanks.” She looked at her sister. “To both of you. It’s really pretty.”

And then the next moment the blouse was forgotten as Xander wheeled in a truly handsome weapons chest. Spike could certainly appreciate the craftsmanship, but he saw Dawn’s disappointment as Buffy set her gift aside.

The party was still going strong a few hours later. Spike was mildly surprised that no one had left yet, but the guests seemed to be having a good time. He, Xander, and Tara were playing a game of poker, while Buffy and the others, including Richard, were playing a game of Monopoly. “You could probably go join them,” Tara murmured. “I doubt Buffy would mind.”

“Don’t think so,” he said, with as much indifference as he could muster. “Think I’ll avoid letting the demon-girl clean my clock.”

Xander looked from one to the other of them, trying to discern the vibes he was sensing. “I thought you liked playing poker, Spike,” he said.

“I do,” he said mildly, shooting Tara a look that plainly suggested she keep her opinions to herself. “Which is what we should be doing.”

By the next morning, the oddity of the never-ending party was beginning to impose itself on Spike. On the other hand, Buffy was pretty much ignoring Richard in favor of playing gin with him.When Richard came in to tell Xander that they needed to get to work, he had no problem giving the git a hard time. “You should definitely go,” he said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want to be late for work now. ‘Course, you shouldn’t skip breakfast, growing boy like you.”

Richard looked slightly puzzled, and Buffy gave him a mock glare, lips twitching. “Speaking of breakfast, I haven’t had mine yet.” A wicked grin pulled up the corners of his lips.

“Spike.” It was one word, a warning he chose not to heed.

“I’m usually a picky eater, but ‘m hungry enough today just to eat whatever’s left lying about.” He smirked, and he heard Buffy give a little huffy breath, somewhere between a grunt and a giggle.

“That’s absolutely enough,” she said, standing up and hauling him to his feet. “If you’re really that hungry, let’s get you fed.”

She followed him into the hall, making sure he was moving. “Oh, come on, Slayer,” Spike purred. “I was just havin’ a bit of fun with the new boy-toy.”

“He’s not my new boy-toy,” she said. “And we do not joke about eating people in this house. I mean it.” But there was a glint in her eyes that might have been humor, and he moved just a little closer, invading her space.

“He didn’t even get the joke, luv.” He grinned. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t funny,” she said, but he got a reluctant smile. “You really should go get your breakfast, Spike.”

“Nice to know you care,” he said, his voice a whisper of sound so that no one would hear him.

She hesitated, and then reached out to put a hand on his own, where it gripped the crutch. “I always care.”

“Buffy?” He frowned, realizing something odd, in spite of the tenderness of the moment. It wasn’t that he wanted to leave—the sunny day effectively prevented that—but no one else was leaving either, even though he knew they all had places to be. “Why isn’t anyone leaving?”

She returned the frown, seemingly frozen in place. “I’m leaving,” she insisted. “I’ve got class. And work.” When nothing happened, she protested, “I am leaving.”

“Sure you are,” he said, sarcasm lacing his words. “Looks like we’re going to be havin’ a meeting.”

The meeting itself was fruitless. About the only information that was disseminated was that they all had other places to be, except, perhaps, for Spike. But even when they were all supposed to jump out the door together (again, Spike wasn’t including himself in that group) nothing happened and no one moved. Dawn’s huffy outburst and retreat to her room set off alarm bells in everyone’s heads though, and Buffy swiftly followed her sister. The rest of them might have gone as well, but Spike nixed that idea. “The Bit’s upset enough already without you lot comin’ down on her. Give Buffy ‘n me a minute to straighten things out, then we’ll see.”

Amazingly enough, they listened to him. It appeared they were actually coming to trust him after all this time, and he made his own slow way up the stairs after the Slayer, hearing raised voices as he neared the youngest Summers’ room. “I didn’t have anything to do with it!” Dawn exclaimed angrily. “Figure it out yourselves. I’m done being talked to like a kid.”

“You’re right, Niblet.” Spike came up behind Buffy in the doorway. “You’re not a kid, and if you say you didn’t have anythin’ to do with it, fine.” He put his hand on Buffy’s arm and squeezed, hoping she’d follow his lead. Apparently, she was beginning to trust him too, because she simply nodded.

“Spike’s right, Dawnie,” Buffy said softly. “If you say you don’t know anything about what’s keeping us here, we believe you.” She frowned slightly. “But your outburst downstairs just made it seem like you didn’t want anyone to leave in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, it takes something like this to get anybody to spend time with me in the first place.” Dawn’s face was sullen.

“We want to spend time with you, Dawn,” Buffy said, her voice edged with exasperation. “But we have other places we have to be. Work, school. You have school too, in fact.”

“All more important,” Dawn muttered.

Buffy was about to retort, but Spike stayed her again. He had a feeling that a lot of her anger was centered on Buffy and her frequent absences at this point, but she was being childish, and there was no talking to her while she was in this state. “Right then. Let us know if you’ve got anything of importance to add, Bit,” he said briskly. “Until then, we’ll just leave you to yourself.”

Buffy followed him out of her room and into the hallway. “What the heck was that about?” she demanded. “She’s being a complete child.”

The vampire shook his head. “She’s a teen, luv. And she’s been feelin’ a bit left out lately. ‘Magine she was just enjoyin’ everybody here and not dashin’ off like, and then you all have to go and she takes it hard. Give her some time to cool off. She’ll be fine.”

Buffy stared at him. “When did you get so good with her?” she asked.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the question. “Spent a lot of time with her these last months, is all. Nothin’ to it really.”

They went downstairs to join the others. Anya, Xander and the rest had decided that Tara would try a releasing spell. Spike thought it was lucky that they had the only practicing witch living at the Summers’, since Willow wouldn’t have had any spell ingredients around. Of course, with their luck, the spell didn’t release them, it released the monster that had somehow been imprisoned inside its own sword. The thing tossed him across the room and managed to give Richard a pretty good slash across the stomach before Buffy arrived to take it down.

Though, in this case “down” meant it disappeared into the floor, and Spike was certain that they hadn’t seen the last of it.

“You ever thought of not celebratin’ a birthday?” Spike asked wryly hours later, after the sun had gone down and they were still stuck inside the house. “Just for a change.”

Buffy shot him a disgruntled look and didn’t reply, looking out the window. “I’m going to check upstairs,” she said. “Stay down here and keep an eye on everything, will you?” she asked, shooting a significant look at Dawn.

He nodded, watching her go, then taking a seat next to Dawn on the couch. “You okay, Niblet?”

“I’m fine,” she said. A noise alarmed her. “What was that? Spike? It sounds like it’s in the walls.”

He took his crutches and quickly got to his feet again. “Dawn, get the crossbow for me. Best be prepared.”

A few minutes passed, as Spike and Dawn stood ready. Suddenly, his sharp ears caught the sounds of a struggle and Xander’s voice. He swung himself toward the noise, crossbow hung around his neck. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. Spike didn’t have much choice besides the bow in his condition, though he wasn’t at all sure the bolt would do anything to it. He fired anyway, relieved when the thing loosened its grip on the carpenter. He was not so relieved when it decided to come after him. Just then Buffy showed up and proceeded to do her best to kick its ass. Not surprisingly, it disappeared back into the woodwork.

Buffy stopped to check on both he and Xander, who was busy comforting Anya. Dawn was still being her sullen self and quickly followed Buffy up the stairs. Spike was trying to decide whether to follow them or not when Anya decided to confront Willow. He was just about to step in when Tara beat him to it, telling the ex-demon in no uncertain terms that Willow was not to be trifled with. Spike took the opportunity to grasp Xander by the arm. “Take care of your girl, Harris,” he said softly. “She’s starting to freak.”

Xander looked like he was going to argue for a minute, and then nodded shortly, following his fiancee as she headed upstairs. Spike turned to look at Tara, where she still stood next to her ex-girlfriend. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Glinda,” he said with a half-smile. And then he looked over at Willow. “Good on you for sticking to your guns, luv.”

Willow looked at him, startled and grateful. “Thanks, Spike.”

After that, things got hectic again. Dawn came rushing down the stairs, Xander, Anya, and Buffy hot on her heels. Anya had been going through her room and throwing out accusations. All Spike could think was that it was a good thing Dawn had removed all evidence of her sticky fingers. Buffy had protested that it wasn’t Dawn’s fault, she’d been tricked into making some sort of wish. Anya had gone screaming for Halfrek, who happened to be someone Spike would have been just as happy never to have seen again.

Thence followed the usual mayhem and demon fighting until the “justice demon” had finally lifted the curse (having been hoist on her own petard) and everyone finally started leaving. Spike was just happy that he could finally go out to the back porch and have a very well-deserved smoke. Which was where Buffy found him a few hours later.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Fine. You?”

“I’m good.” There was a long pause as she settled down next to him. “Dawn’s in bed. We had a long talk. I think things’ll be better now.”

“Good. That’s good. She’s missed you.”

She was silent, finally looking over at him. “What was that all about tonight? Anya’s friend recognizing you?”

He shook his head. He didn’t really want to explain. That memory was still painful, even now after more than a century. Instead, he reached over next to him and grabbed the thin, brightly wrapped package. “This is for you,” he explained. “The real present, I mean. The shirt was Dawn’s idea.”

“And you were the one who paid for it and took her to get it,” Buffy replied with a smile. “Dawn told me. She also told me what she probably would have done if you hadn’t gone with her, and what Anya probably would have found if you hadn’t said something a while ago.”

He moved his shoulders, embarrassed by her praise, subtle as it was. “Promised I’d look out for her, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” She took the package from his outstretched hand, carefully peeling off the paper. “Oh.” It wasn’t anything that she’d expected. At all. Especially after what she’d done.

He swallowed. “You don’t have to read it,” he said quickly. “Don’t expect you to. I just—I wanted to leave somethin’ behind, somethin’ of myself. There’s stuff in there that you won’t like, but it’s all truth.” He paused, trying to read her _expression, but found it impossible. “If you want to read the first bit, it’ll explain how that bint knew me tonight. You’ll get the others as I finish them. I just ask that you don’t throw ‘em away, ‘sall. Other than that, it’s up to you.”

Buffy was stunned into silence. It would be like her handing her diary to Spike and telling him to have fun, like trusting a piece of herself to someone else, one that she had never shown to another. He had put his heart into her hands. “I don’t know that I’ll read it, Spike,” she said, “but I promise I’ll keep it safe.”

“Thanks,” he said hoarsely. “’preciate it.”

Buffy left him after that to go to bed, but the thin journal kept calling to her, egging on her curiosity until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well, just the first part,” she muttered. “Then that’s it.”

It didn’t take two sentences to find out that Halfrek had been Cecily, or Cecily had been Halfrek, that part wasn’t clear. She read of Drusilla’s offer, of Angelus and Darla. And it didn’t take the first paragraph to realize that she was hooked. She read until the first fingers of dawn lit the sky and she had finished the last sentence. There would be more, of course, and she’d read every one that he gave her. It wasn’t so much that it explained who he had been; she’d been fairly clear on that. And she didn’t like most of what she’d read, that was true enough. He’d been a vampire, and had done everything that went along with it. But what impressed her the most was that it wasn’t who he was any longer. Maybe she hadn’t seen it so clearly before, because the change had been so gradual. It was like seeing a friend you hadn’t seen for a very long time and realizing that they’d lost weight, when those who had been there all along never noticed.

But the Spike who slept in her basement—and sometimes in her bed—was completely different from the Spike that first rose. And suddenly she found it didn’t really matter why he had changed, only that he had. She stood and tucked the journal away deep in one of her drawers. Someday, maybe, she’d tell him that she’d read his words, and that they’d touched her, and in spite of herself, had transported her to another place and another time. She should tell him she could hardly wait for the sequel. One of these days anyway.

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