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Buffy entered the house slowly, weariness dogging every step. Her feet hurt, her head hurt, everything seemed to ache. “Buffy?” Spike lay on the couch in the living room, the TV on and a book in hand. “You hungry, luv?”

She sighed. “Starving. Please tell me there’s something to eat.”

“Lasagna,” he replied with a small smile, levering himself up with his crutches that had been propped up next to his head. “Not homemade, but not too bad according to the Bit and Glinda. We saved you a plate.”

Buffy followed him back to the kitchen and gave a sigh of relief as she sat down, letting him wait on her. Nights like this it was easy to let him help her, to let him pull the plate out of the fridge and stick it in the microwave. “Where’s Dawn and Tara?”

“The witch had a study group on campus. Said she’d be back late. Niblet went to the Bronze with Red, said she’d be back by 11.” He looked at her as he set the plate down. “She said you’d be welcome to join them when you got home.”

Buffy shook her head, picking up her fork listlessly. She was almost too tired to eat. “No, I need to get some laundry done. And I need to take care of the trash too.”

“Trash is on the curb. Glinda got the Bit to take it out before she left tonight.”

She smiled. “One less thing to do then, I guess. But I still have the laundry. I think it’s a stay-in night for Buffy.” She gave him a curious look. “How come you’re here?”

He shrugged. “Had a lucky streak the last couple nights,” he explained. “Thought I’d take the night off. Wanted to see you.” This last was said almost shyly, and Buffy found herself smiling. Hard to say no to a face like that, really.

“Well, if you want to watch me do laundry, you can. That’s about all that’s going on tonight though.”

It was perfectly okay with Spike. An hour later, they sat side by side on his cot, listening to the sounds of the washer and dryer, Buffy leaning her head against his shoulder. It was a position that was comfortable for both of them. They sat like that in silence for a while until Buffy looked over at him with a small smile. “So the first girl you fell in love with turned out to be a vengeance demon, huh?”

He glanced down at her, and a self-deprecating smirk graced his features. “Guess so. Didn’t know it till the other day though. You read it.”

She knew exactly what he was referring to. “Yeah, I did. You were right. There was a lot of stuff in there that didn’t make me happy.”

A pained look crossed his face. “I’ve never hidden who I am, Buffy, what I am.”

“I know.” She hesitated. “You’ve changed.”

“S’pose I have,” he agreed. “Still evil though.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Neither one of them moved from their positions. Part of Buffy kept screaming at her, “Evil vampire!” but she was learning to ignore that voice. Evil vampires didn’t help you do laundry. “You ever think about the fact that our love lives are depressingly similar?” she asked.

Spike looked as though he was going to argue for a minute, and then shut his mouth. “When you put it that way, luv, can’t argue with you.”

They shared a look and then Buffy started to giggle. “I mean, me with the vampire, and the government demon hunter, and that prick Parker. And you with a vengeance demon, and Drusilla, and Harmony. Not to mention the Slayer.”

He grinned. “We don’t have the best track record between us, do we?”

“Nope. Just a couple of losers here.” She stared at him. He was looking at her with an _expression of utter adoration in his blue eyes. “Why do they always leave, Spike?”

“Because they’re all wankers, luv,” he replied softly. And then, gently, he kissed her. She kissed him back, hungrily, everything else falling away. With Spike there was no past, no future, only now. And now he was with her, and he wasn’t leaving, and she could forget.

Buffy was busy ringing up a check when she looked up to see the last person she’d ever expected. “Riley.”

“Buffy,” he said. “Look, I know this is probably a bad time, but I need you.”

She frowned. There were another two hours to go in her shift, and she couldn’t just leave, not and expect to keep her job. The job that she needed. “You’re right. It’s not the best time.”

“I need the best, Buffy. That means you.”

Deep in her heart she knew Riley wouldn’t have come to her unless he really did need her help. She bit her bottom lip. “Give me a minute.” She went and grabbed one of the other waitresses. “Natalie, I need a huge favor.”

Natalie looked at her and then over at Riley in his commando gear. “What’s wrong, Buffy?”

“I’ve got a family emergency. If you’ll cover my tables for the rest of my shift, I’ll owe you big.”

The other girl hesitated, then asked, “I get your tips?”

Buffy smiled thinly. She needed those tips. Riley was going to cost her big time. “Yeah. In fact, I just rang up the ticket for the corner booth. Tips are all yours.” She clocked out and grabbed her coat. “All right, Riley. What’s the deal?”

She listened as he told her about their problem, and she understood that it was big, but she wasn’t all that happy to see him. She finally felt like her life was on track. She had a decent job, her classes at school were going well, she and Dawn were getting along better. She and Spike were—something. What she didn’t need were added complications from a former boyfriend.

Spike wasn’t sure he wanted to be here for this. It would have been fine if the great Captain Cardboard had showed up while he was making out with the Slayer, or even when she was sleeping all cuddled up next to him as she had last night. He could have gloated then, showed the great git that he had what Finn had told him he’d never get. As it was, he was going to be meeting the other man while he was at a severe disadvantage and even more incapable of defending himself than he had been previously.

But Buffy had insisted he be there, telling him in no uncertain terms to call the rest of the gang and have them meet her at the house. She seemed to think he might have something to contribute. She’d surprised him recently with how she spoke to him, how she touched him. He hadn’t been sure where the change was coming from until she told him she’d read his journal. He’d caught her looking at him speculatively, as though he was a puzzle she was having trouble solving.

Now, however, he waited in the shadows in the kitchen, watching as Buffy entered with Riley and his new bride close behind her. Xander, Willow, and Tara greeted them warmly, though Dawn showed more than a hint of coldness. His Bit didn’t like it when people left. If he had thought to escape unnoticed, however, he was soon disabused of that notion. Riley’s commando eyes easily picked him out of the shadows. “Spike?”

“Caught me, did you?” Spike said, all of his old snark firmly in place. He moved forward with studied casualness. As though he belonged there, as though Riley hadn’t stuck a plastic stake through his chest the last time they’d seen one another.

Riley looked over at Buffy in surprise. “What’s he doing here?” he demanded.

“Spike lives here,” Buffy replied quietly, her face showing no discomfort with her words. She had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. “He helped against Glory and he saved Dawn’s life.” Buffy looked back at him, and he was careful to keep his face blank. The Slayer was beginning to come around, and he didn’t want to bollocks things up.

Riley seemed to feel the same way, because he let it go, though his wife, a tall brunette, gave him a curious stare. Spike listened with a sinking feeling as they described their dilemma with the Suvolte demons and their eggs. He’d been tempted, of course, when the stranger had approached him about using his crypt as a storage facility. The money had been good, and he certainly wasn’t using it. On the other hand, Buffy often checked up on his place, just to make sure everything was still intact for when he could go back. (Neither of them were willing to admit he probably would never go back at this point.) And if he wasn’t around to keep an eye on her and the merchandise, there was no telling what could happen. Especially since he had extraordinarily bad luck.

So, while he had refused use of his crypt, he had provided information on a little-used section of sewer not too far away for a smaller fee. Now, of course, he needed to tell Buffy about his little deal, since he didn’t want her getting hurt or running around unnecessarily, especially if she was going to be doing so with the Soldier Boy. Once they’d decided to split up, Spike eased his way over to Buffy’s side. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Slayer?”

He could tell she was about to refuse, but the look on his face and something in his eyes made it impossible. “Yeah.” She turned to Mrs. Finn. “Give me a sec, okay?”

They moved a few feet away to prevent anyone from overhearing them. “Listen,” he said shortly. “Go to my crypt, the lower level. Take the entrance for the sewers and turn right. ‘Bout a hundred yards up you’ll take the left turn. It’s a dead end. You’ll find what you’re lookin’ for there.”

She stared at him. He thought he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes, but she only nodded. “Thank you. We’ll talk when I get back.”

He watched her go, and he wondered if had ruined things without even meaning to. And yet, how could she be disappointed? She knew what he was, who he was. It shouldn’t surprise her that he might know where the eggs were being kept. It shouldn’t surprise her at all.

With Spike’s directions, she and Sam easily found the demon eggs and managed to destroy them before they started hatching. She hated to think of what would have happened if the vampire hadn’t known where to find them. Whoever stored them in the sewers didn’t know enough to keep them frozen, and they hadn’t been far from hatching. That would have been a rather nasty mess to clean up.

From there, they went to see Riley and Sam off near the Magic Box. Spike wasn’t there, of course, but she hadn’t expected him to be. “Buffy,” Riley said, pulling her aside. “It was good to see you again.”

She managed a genuine smile. “It was good to see you too. Sam seems really great.”

“She is.” He hesitated, his open face pained. “Buffy, I don’t know what’s between you and Spike, but—”

“You’re right,” she replied. “You don’t know.” She looked off into the distance. Riley represented a might-have-been for her. The dream of being normal, of having what every girl dreams of. They had proven that normal wasn’t in the Slayer’s bag of tricks. Normal guys ended up hurt or dead in her line of work, and she couldn’t allow that. She had loved Riley too much. Even not-so-normal guys could get hurt. “Look, Riley, whatever Spike might be, he saved Dawn. He was the only one who promised to protect her, no matter what, and he paid the price.”

Riley nodded slowly. He had known how the vampire had felt about Buffy. It didn’t mean he liked Spike, or liked the fact that he was living at Buffy’s house. But he had proven his devotion to the Slayer, and that counted for something. “For what it’s worth, Buffy, you’re still the first woman I’ve ever loved, and the strongest person I’ve ever known. Whatever you decide, I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“Thanks,” she replied, touched. “You know, I’m sorry about the way things ended.”

“Me too,” Riley said quietly, understanding. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“Same here.” They stared at one another for a long moment, then Buffy stuck out her hand formally. “Good luck in—”

He smiled, taking her hand. “Nepal. I’ll send you a postcard.”

“Good luck in Nepal, Agent Finn. Take care of your wife.” She squeezed him tightly as he pulled her into a hug.

“Good bye, Buffy.” And as she watched him say his farewells to the others, she knew that it was probably the last time she would see him. And while she didn’t begrudge him his happiness, she did wish she could have grabbed just a little bit of the normality he’d seemed to carve out for himself. She couldn’t help but wish for a little bit of that.

He was in his usual spot on the back porch when she came outside. “Did you see Soldier Boy off then?”

“Yes.” There was a certain stiffness in her tone, and he stifled a sigh. It was no less than he had expected. “You knew where the eggs were.”

“Bloke asked if he could use my crypt to store ‘em. Told him no, but gave him directions to a secure place in the sewers. You found them.” He didn’t turn to look at her, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment he knew would be in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you let him use the crypt?”

“Knew you went there and I didn’t know if there’d be a risk. Didn’t want you hurt, y’know?” He did turn to look at her then. “I didn’t know what they were, Buffy. If I had, I’d’ve gone straight to you about ‘em. I don’t want more trouble for you, luv.”

She looked at him, and her disapproval melted under his sincere gaze. This was Spike they were talking about. He wasn’t an international arms dealer, and he didn’t intentionally make trouble for her. At least, not anymore. “I know.”

He watched as she took her place next to him, studied her face, and discovered both weariness and a touch of sadness. “He was a prat, you know.” Earnestness defined his voice and _expression. “Mark my words, I’ve seen that type before. They’ll be at each other’s throats before the year is out. Won’t last.”

He got a smile out of her then. “It’s okay, Spike. It worked out for the best.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. I wasn’t sorry to see him go, that’s for sure, ‘specially after he staked me. Stupid git.”

Buffy looked over at him in surprise. “He staked you?”

“Plastic one.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I don’t think I’m gonna ask.”

“Can I ask you a question?” His tone was tentative, unusual for him. He was typically all cocky boldness.

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me to stay down in the basement?” There was nothing but insecurity in his blue eyes, and it shocked her. “You could have, y’know. Captain Cardboard wouldn’t have had to know about me stayin’ with you.”

She hesitated, unsure of what to tell him. Of how much to tell him. “Whatever has happened in the past, Spike, you’ve earned your place here. And it’s not in the basement. Wherever we go from here, we’re friends. William.” Gingerly, almost shyly, she reached over and took his hand. In some ways, it was more intimate than their make-out session from the previous night.

For Spike’s part, he couldn’t help but stare at her, at their joined hands. It was the first time she had promised him a part of herself, a place by her side. She had promised to get him back on his feet, but that had been gratitude, nothing more. This was something else entirely. It was almost love. Maybe not what he felt for her, but it was something. It was a place to start. Unable to speak, he felt the lump in his throat and the tears burning his eyes. Stupid, really. “Bugger me,” he muttered. With his free hand, he reached over and brushed her hair away from her face. “Friends.” And they sat on the porch until the sun’s first rays lit the sky, hand in hand.

Chapter 16: Altar Call

“Spike, hurry up, we’re going to be late,” Buffy called down the basement steps. She was all ready to go, as were Dawn and Tara, but Spike seemed to be taking his own sweet time. “Spike—”

He appeared at the basement door, a sour _expression on his face. “Don’t see why I had to wear this get-up.”

Buffy gave him a long-suffering look. “Because you promised to help Dawn with the gift and guest receiving, and Anya said you had to. So shut up and hold still.”

As much as he was whining, he did look good, Buffy thought. Anya had insisted on his wearing a tie if he was going to be part of the wedding party, if only a very peripheral part. Refusing to wear a tux, which he called a monkeysuit, he’d managed to come up with a decent pair of black pants (not jeans), a dark blue shirt, and a black tie. Buffy’s nimble fingers started knotting the tie where it hung around his neck.

She was busy trying to remember if the next step was over or under when she caught him staring at her with rapt attention. “What?”

“You look good, Buffy,” he said softly. “Happy, y’know? Makes you glow.”

It was a compliment she hadn’t been expecting, and she brushed it off with a slightly glib, “That’s because the dress is radioactive.”

He chuckled, a whisper of sound. “Yeah, still. I like seein’ you happy, luv.”

“Thanks,” she replied, straightening his tie. “All done.” Buffy gave him a measuring look. “You look good today too. I don’t know I’d go so far as to say you’re glowing, but you look good.”

He ducked his head shyly, like a boy who’d just received his first compliment. “I know we need to go, but I wanted to ask you a favor,” he began. “I know you’ll probably say no, and I don’t expect you to say yes or anythin’. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I mean—”

“Spike, spit it out,” Buffy commanded gently.

“Would you save me a dance at the reception?” he asked. “Know it’s not goin’ to be dancin’, more like sittin’ one out with me. You don’t even have to say anythin’ to anybody.”

Buffy stared at him with a kind of aching tenderness. It was easy to like him when he was this Spike, this boy in vampire’s clothing who wanted nothing more than a dance with the girl he loved. It was much harder to like him in his other guises when he was hard and daring and brash. But she found she liked the warrior as much as she liked the boy. The warrior was just a lot more annoying. “I’ll save you two.”

In that instant, Spike swore his heart beat once. Impulsively, he said, “I wish—” And then he stopped himself because that was a dirty word around the Summers’ house anymore. And because what he wished he could never have, and could never offer her. Best not to say anything.

Buffy must have seen something in his eyes though, because she simply said, “I know.” And then they left to watch what they had both once hoped to have.

“Hymen’s greetings,” the tall demon said sonorously.

“Hy-what?” Dawn asked.

“God of Matrimony,” Spike supplied from the side. “Didn’t know you’d be here today, D’Hoffryn.”

“And miss the wedding of one of my best girls?” D’Hoffryn smiled genteely. “We’re here to mingle, of course, William. Or do you prefer Spike?”

The vampire smiled slightly. “Spike’s fine.” He watched as the demon handed the box to Dawn, who gasped slightly as a tentacle poked out of one of the holes. “Enjoy yourselves,” he added, looking over at Halfrek menacingly. In response, the vengeance demon edged past him, forgoing her attempts at conversation with Dawn. “Do me a favor, Bit,” Spike murmured as soon as they were out of earshot. “Find a nice, dark closet to shut that box up in. We don’t want it getting out.”

Dawn gave the wriggling box a suspicious stare. “Um, sure.”

“And when you’re done with that, why don’t you go say hi to that guy you were ogling.”

The teen gave him an anguished look. “I wasn’t ogling!”

“Eyeing, then,” he said with a smile. “Go mingle, Bit. Guests aren’t comin’ so heavy now, and I can take care of the rest of it.”

She gave him a grin. “Thanks. We’ll see if he’ll even talk to me while I’m wearing this dress.”

“He’d be a stupid git not to. You’re lookin’ particularly beautiful today, Niblet.” He gave her a soft smile, and she beamed at him. Spike was beginning to realize how easy it was to make her smile, and how much he enjoyed doing it.

“Thank you, Spike. You look good too. I think Buffy definitely likes.” She gave him a cheeky grin and left to find a closet for the box, as well as the young demon.

Spike hung around the doorway for a while, making sure that the bulk of the guests had arrived. Once he was sure everything was under control, he headed into the hall, noticing that Xander was surrounded by people, all of them demanding his attention. He didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. If there was one thing Harris and his girl had shown him, it was that Vegas was the best option if you were going to tie the knot. The whelp had gotten himself into this neck-deep for sure, and Spike was planning on enjoying the show.

And then he watched as Harris allowed himself to be steered away from the crowd by an old man. Spike wouldn’t have thought anything of it if they hadn’t walked right past him. Normally in a group this large, he wouldn’t be able to pick out anything but the most familiar scents, and Harris was definitely there. But the old man, while he looked human, most definitely wasn’t, and they were close enough for him to tell. While there might be demons all around him, none of them looked human.

For a moment, he considered just letting them go; it really wasn’t any of his concern. Of course, if anything happened to Xander, and Buffy found out he could have stopped it, she’d stake him in a second. Heaving an unnecessary sigh, he followed.

The old wanker was holding some glowing ball in his hand, which then sent out a beam of light and sucked Xander inside. Spike had seen a number of strange things in his life, but that was right up there. “Hey!” he called out. “Drop it!”

The old man was surprised enough to do exactly that, and Xander suddenly appeared on the floor with a hard thump, even as the ball shattered. The demon scuttled out the door, but Spike ignored him in favor of the fallen groom. “Harris? You okay?”

Xander managed to sit up, putting both hands over his face as he groaned. “Oh, man.”

“You okay?” Spike asked more insistently, getting worried. Buffy would kill him if he managed to get Harris brain-damaged.

Xander stood shakily. “I don’t think so.” Spike was silent. He sounded coherent, and he was moving okay, so he couldn’t be too hurt. “I can’t do this.”

The vampire frowned. “Can’t do what?”

“I can’t marry her. I can’t marry Anya.”

Spike frowned. “Of course you can. You’ve just got cold feet. Take a deep breath and it’ll go away.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Xander insisted. “That guy was me. He showed me—if I marry her, I’ll end up hurting her.”

“The guy was a demon,” Spike exclaimed, exasperated. “What he showed you was a bunch of rot, and if you want to hurt the girl the best way would be to not marry her.”

“No,” he replied. “He was right. We can’t get married, not now.” Xander started to leave, but Spike called him back.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he demanded. “You walk out now, and you’ll lose her. She’ll hate your guts, and she’ll be right.”

“Better that she hate me now than later when we’re married,” Xander said, not turning.

The ice in Spike’s voice was obvious. “I never took you for a coward, Harris.”

Xander laid a hand on the door-frame, leaning heavily for just an instant. “Me neither.”

“Buffy,” Spike said insistantly, grabbing her arm. “Harris left.”

She frowned at him. “What do you mean Xander left? Where did he go?” Her frown deepened as he quickly described what had happened. “Okay, I guess we’ll have to go look for him.” Just then Willow walked up, and Buffy looked over at her in relief. “Will, go look for Xander. Apparently some demon guy went and force-fed him some sort of vision that’s given him a case of cold feet. I’m gonna go see if I can find this demon and stall the guests.”

“What do you want me to do, Slayer?” Spike asked, instantly at her disposal.

Buffy looked at his earnest face, and felt a moment of guilt for what she was about to ask him to do. But only a moment. “Tell Anya—tell her something so she won’t worry. Explain that the wedding is on hold for a little while. And keep her happy.”

Spike watched as Buffy and Willow hurried off in their green dresses. “Keep her happy,” he muttered. “Right, keep the jilted bride happy until she decides to kill the messenger.” He knocked briefly on the door before entering, finding Anya admiring herself in the mirror and practicing her vows while Tara posed as the appreciative audience. The witch gave him a smile of genuine welcome, and he felt a rush of affection for her. Her kindness moved him.

“Uh, Anya?” he said uncertainly. He still hadn’t figured out a good cover story.

“Yes, Spike?” she said expectantly. She seemed to shine with a sort of general good-will, as though she would love the whole world on her wedding day.

“The, uh, the minister had to rush off unexpectedly,” he said, slightly nervous. He was trying desperately to think of a good reason for a minister to rush off.

“Why? Doesn’t he know his most important job is to marry us?” Anya asked.

“Uh, right,” Spike agreed immediately, trying to think. “Uh, he got called to, uh, perform last rites for some bloke. Dyin’ in the hospital, you know.” Spike was amazed by his own brilliance. Granted, he had no idea if Episcopalians had last rites, but he highly doubted that Anya or Tara did either.

“Oh, well, that’s fine,” Anya replied, not at all happy, though thankfully her anger was directed at the supposedly-absent minister and not him. “Go off and give last rites to a dead guy that isn’t going to care anyway.”

“Well, shouldn’t take ‘im too long to kick it, ducks. Then the minister’ll be back here to marry you two in no time.” Apparently, he’d succeeded in reassuring her, since she’d decided to go on practicing her vows. As she recited, Spike felt a wave of unexpected sympathy for the ex-demon. He’d been hurt by love before; one could say he was the poster child for rejection. But hearing Anya pouring her heart out for the absent Xander made him wish that it was truly in his power to give her her heart’s desire. That, or Harris’ head on a plate when she found out what happened.

After that, things got crazy, as they could only on the Hellmouth. Spike’s story about the minister didn’t hold her there for nearly as long as he might have hoped, leaving he and Tara to follow in her formidable wake as she went off to find the groom. Then, of course, she had to overhear Dawn telling her new friend the real reason that the wedding had stalled. And then Anya had confronted the old man who revealed his true form, allowing Buffy to start whaling on him. In the meantime, Xander had returned, and after helping Buffy kill the demon, he turned to speak to Anya.

Spike could hear every word Xander was saying in this obviously private moment, and he felt her heart break from where he stood twenty feet away. And suddenly he was in a Victorian drawing room, and the woman he loved was telling him he was beneath her. And the words were repeated from the lips of the Slayer. And then she was telling him that the only chance he had with her was when she was unconscious. He focused again on Anya as she walked listlessly up the aisle, completely forlorn.

“Tara,” he said urgently, swinging over to where she and Willow had retreated to get out of the way of the melee. “Stay with her.” The witch nodded and went after the retreating figure. He looked at Willow. “Red, someone needs to tell these folks that it’s over, and it shouldn’t be her. Figure that’s your job as best m-er woman.”

The red head looked at him, a new respect dawning in her eyes. “You’re right. I’ll make the announcement. Thanks, Spike.”

But Spike watched as chaos began to break out around him again, and he couldn’t see anything to be thankful for. After all, he’d tried to stop the Whelp, and he’d failed.

Buffy descended the stairs to the basement slowly. She, Dawn, Tara, and Willow had been in complete shock for the last couple hours, not even truly appreciating the fact that they could get out of those horrid dresses. Like victims of a disaster, none of them had really wanted to be alone.

And it really was a disaster. A complete and utter train wreck. Not one of them had seen this coming, and the surprise definitely made it worse. So after the rest of them had finally gone to bed, she went to see the one person she was certain would make it better.

“I’m sorry.” They were the first words out of his mouth, and they surprised her. He sat on his bed, the tie gone, barefoot, his shirt unbuttoned. His legs hung off the bed in a way she’d grown used to, but still it was odd. He should have been sprawled, restless, and instead a strange stillness seemed to have come over him in the past months.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied, coming over to sit next to him, not touching. Not yet.

He shook his head. “Saw him goin’ off with that bugger, knew he was a demon. Should have gone after him quicker.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Buffy repeated. “Xander left. Whatever he saw, or thought he saw, he knew what showed it to him, and he still left.” She shook her head. “Poor Anya. She just looked so crushed.”

“Know that look,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Know that feeling.”

Buffy knew exactly what he was talking about. She knew about Cecily now, knew about Drusilla. Knew about herself. She reached over and touched his arm, her thumb moving in slow circles. “Me too.”

They were silent for a long time after that, until Spike finally broke the silence. “You know D’Hoffryn was there today, right?”

She frowned, unsure as to what difference that was supposed to make for her. “Who?”

“Anya’s old boss,” he clarified. “She probably won’t be human for much longer, pet.”

Buffy frowned. “I don’t think—” She stopped abruptly, put herself in Anya’s shoes. “You’re right.” She sighed. “I guess we’ll have to deal with it when it comes up. We’ll just have to be really careful about saying the ‘w’ word around her until we’re sure she’s still human. Or not.”

They stared off into space, both lost in their own thoughts, their own rememberings. Spike finally took her hand in his own, the one that had rested on his arm. “You should get to bed, luv. You’re tired.”

Buffy looked into his eyes, wanting to tell him that she wanted to be with him. That there was the distinct possibility that she was coming dangerously close to liking him in a way that very much resembled loving him. Instead, she merely replied, “Yeah. We never got that dance, you know.”

“Well, I’ll take a rain check on that if you’re in the mood to be handin’ ‘em out, Slayer,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe by the time I cash it in, it’ll be a real dance.”

“Maybe so,” she replied, leaning down and giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Good night, Spike.”

“Good night, luv,” he called after her retreating figure. And then he went to sleep, dreaming of the way things might have been in a perfect world.

Chapter 17: A State of Mind

Buffy came home from her shift a little more happy than she had been. She’d managed to ace the test she’d had today. (She could count the number of times that had happened on one hand.) And tips had been really good. The two major bummers were that Xander still hadn’t shown up and Anya had yet to return, but other than that, things seemed to be going really well. She even had a list of places to check for the nerds that Willow had procured.

There were voices coming from the living room when she walked in, and from the sound of it, it seemed like a regular party. “Buffy, come see!” her sister called as she opened the door.

Buffy turned towards the living room, seeing her sister and Tara sitting on the couch with big grins on their faces and Spike standing across from them, leaning on his crutches. “What’s up?” she asked, curious.

“Don’t you notice anything different?” Dawn asked, an eyebrow raised and glancing at Spike, who was doing his best to not meet her eyes.

She frowned, giving him the once-over, not quite figuring out what was such a big deal. Then her eyes widened as she realized that while he was leaning on his crutches, he was no longer wearing the brace on his right leg. “Spike—” She broke off not knowing what to say.

“Legs won’t take much weight, and they’re still not cooperatin’, but the right leg’s startin’ to tingle. Means I’m getting some feeling back.” he said, looking over at her. “Not much improvement, but it’s somethin’ anyway.”

“That’s great,” she said softly, smiling at him.

He looked over at her, and as had happened so often in the past, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of them. “Been a year, luv. Maybe be another before they’ll do much else for me.”

“Remember what I said?” she asked. “As long as it takes.”

He closed his eyes and looked away. “Let me go with you tonight, Slayer.”

She hesitated, certain that it wasn’t a good idea. And yet, she wouldn’t mind the company while checking out all the new rentals. It would certainly be better than wandering around on her own. Besides, she knew Spike missed the action of the hunt. “All right, you can come. But you stay out of trouble.”

Trouble had a way of finding Spike. They were most of the way through their list and still hadn’t found anything when a very large, very ugly demon came out of nowhere. Spike yelled to get the Slayer’s attention and then concentrated on not getting in the way as she fought it. It had been too long since he’d seen her dance, graceful as a cat, her movements truly poetry in motion. Fighting was the only poetry he’d written after he’d been turned, and now even it was denied to him.

That was when it hit him. “Buffy, he’s a glarghk guhl kashmanik!”

She took a second to stare at him. “A what now?’

“Bloody hell,” he swore. “Watch out for the stinger in its arm!”

Just then, said stinger popped out of nowhere, and might have managed to stick the Slayer if she hadn’t been warned. Without thinking, she grabbed its arm, twisted, and sent it spinning away from her. Right into Spike. “Watch out,” she called, wincing, but it was too late. The vampire didn’t have nearly enough time to get away, and the stinger went deeply into his shoulder.

“It’s pointless you know,” he said. Spike looked over to see Angelus smirking at him. “Look at you, can’t even protect yourself anymore, reduced to begging for scraps. In fact, when you get right down to it, you’re pointless.”

“Spike! Spike! Come on, I’m not hauling your butt all the way home, you stupid vampire,” Buffy coaxed, her gentle tone at odds with her words. Spike’s scream when he’d been hurt had scared her more than she would ever want to admit.

“Slayer?” Spike saw Buffy standing over him and blinked. Something strange was going on for sure. He felt her breathe a sigh of relief. “Come on, I think that’s enough of the checking of houses for tonight,” she said, laying a hand on his forehead. “We should get you home.”

The small, niggling worry about Spike jiggled in the back of her brain even as she spoke with Willow the next morning. The redhead had come over with two purposes: researching the activities of the nerds and seeing Tara. Since she and Tara were sitting at the same table, sipping tea companionably, the second purpose was being fulfilled at least.

“How did the list turn out last night?” Willow asked cheerfully.

“Okay,” Buffy said. “Spike and I managed to get most of the way through it before this seriously nasty demon came out of nowhere and stuck him with a stinger of some kind.”

Willow frowned in genuine concern. She was actually coming to like Spike. “Is he okay?”

Buffy shrugged. “The sound he made when it stung him might suggest otherwise, but he swore he was fine. As far as I know, he’s still sleeping, which is probably of the good.”

“Did you take a look at it? Where he got stung, I mean?” Tara asked quietly. “He doesn’t always come clean when he’s been hurt.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “He’s got more testosterone than half a dozen men sometimes, I swear. But yeah, I looked at it. Just looked like someone had stuck him with a really big needle.”

Just then there was a knock on the door, followed closely by Xander’s entrance. “Hey,” he greeted them, appearing pretty grim.

Buffy was torn as she listened to Xander explain himself. She understood that he’d been afraid, and that was why he’d run, but as she pointed out, Anya had been broken by his departure. Even though she wanted to be sympathetic to one of her best friends, she also wanted to knock him upside the back of the head. She’d been left enough in the past to know exactly what Anya had been feeling.

Which was possibly why when Spike appeared he said what had been going through her mind. Well, way back in the deepest recesses of her mind anyway. “So he returns to the scene of the crime. Come back to wallow in self-pity and recriminations? Or are you going to try throwin’ your sorry self at her feet? It’ll take a bit more than groveling with that one, Harris.”

Spike stood in the doorway to the dining room, a sneer pulling at his lips. Despite his snark and bluster, however, he didn’t look very good. “Or maybe you came back to finish her off,” he suggested, his blue eyes sparking. “Wasn’t enough to break her heart, you wanted to come back and gloat about it.”

“Shut up, Spike,” Xander snarled, moving suddenly and grabbing him by the front of his t-shirt, slamming him up against the door jamb. “What’s the matter?” he asked, smiling. (And it was a smile Buffy didn’t particularly care for). “Can’t defend yourself, Willie Wannabite? Or maybe you forgot you can’t walk as well. All I need is a pencil, and you’d be—”

“Xander, enough.” Buffy decided to break them up before she wound up with one less friend. “Let Spike go and sit down. And you—” she looked at the vampire, who was looking rather self-satisfied after getting a rise out of the younger man. “Go back downstairs and get back in bed. You look like crap.” When he looked as though he were about to protest, she pushed on his uninjured shoulder. “I’ll bring you something to eat in a few minutes.”

Spike looked as though he might contest the summary banishment, but either he was as tired and sick as he looked, or he had finally gained some sense, because he turned and did as she directed without another word. Buffy looked back at Xander before going into the kitchen. “Spike doesn’t get staked, Xander,” she warned quietly. “Not by you. Just ignore him.”

Tara followed her into the kitchen, leaving Willow and Xander to talk. “Is it just my imagination or is Spike more irritable today than he has been in the past?”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know. He likes to get a rise out of Xander, but he’s been a little more tame lately. In fact, they were actually semi-getting along for a while. Maybe it’s just that he got hurt the other night when I took him out with me and he’s embarrassed. It’s hard to say.”

It wasn’t embarrassment that was bothering Spike, however. It was the visions, the people. He’d heard that the venom of a glarghk guhl kashmanik had hallucinogenic properties, but he was a bit surprised that it worked on vampires. The problem was that they didn’t feel like hallucinations; they felt real. In a way, they were real.

Angelus had taunted him while he was in the wheelchair, and during his hallucinations, that’s where he was again. Only this time, he’d never gotten out, was never going to get out, and Buffy was nowhere around. It wasn’t physical torment, it was mental, and what was worse, it was just as true now as it was then. He whimpered slightly as he felt himself back there.

“You see why she could never really love you, William?” Spike’s eyes met Angelus’ brown ones. It was all real. He could feel the chair underneath him, could smell the mansion, and his grandsire’s familiar odor, could see Dru as she stared dreamily at the Angelic One.

“You could never be as good a vampire as me, you know,” he said. “There’s too much humanity left in you, too much niceness. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re too good to be a demon, and too bad to be a human.”

“This isn’t real,” Spike muttered, hoping to shut out the painful truth. “This isn’t real. I’m in Buffy’s basement, I’m in—” The slap across his face got his attention.

Angelus grinned. “You’re with me now, boy-o, and we’re gonna have some fun.”

“Hey, I brought you some blood,” Buffy said. Spike blinked once and sagged against the wall behind his cot, relieved. For a moment there, he hadn’t been sure that this place, with Buffy and Dawn and all the rest hadn’t been a fantasy, and the other was reality. This was real. He was beginning to heal, slowly but surely, and Buffy was looking at him with pained sympathy. This was real. That’s what he had to keep telling himself.

“Are you okay?” she asked, then smiled a little. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were on drugs.”

“’m fine, pet,” he said, unwilling to tell her the truth. Maybe because it made him weaker; maybe because he was a stupid git, it was hard even for him to tell at this point.

She frowned. “You aren’t a very good liar,” she informed him primly. “In fact, you suck at it. Spike, what was in that gargling demon’s stinger-thing?”

He hesitated and then replied, not even bothering to correct her pronunciation. She was right; he’d always sucked at lying. Even becoming a vampire hadn’t improved that ability. “’s a hallucinogen. Makes you think you’re somewhere else for a bit, I ‘spose.”

“Where?”

Her fingertips were tender on his arm, and he wondered at it. How was it that they had come to be so gentle with one another? Had they always been moving in this direction, or was this something new? He wanted to be gentle with her, to show her his love in tangibles, in the way he touched, and tasted. He wanted to be rough with her, to show her what it meant to walk on the wild side, to dare things she’d never imagined. He wanted things he couldn’t have. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” he said hopefully, not wanting her to press, hating to have to reveal his humiliation went so far as dreams now.

“I think it does,” she said, “but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” And of course now he wanted to.

He sighed. “I’m back in the mansion,” he said shortly. “You know, like before.”

And that was all that needed to be said. Oddly enough, it was a bond between the two of them that they had survived the wrath of Angelus. Both of them had lost much to him; both of them had hated him. The difference being that Spike hated Angel in all his forms, and Buffy had loved him in one. But they had both wanted him gone, and they had both wanted their lovers back. And neither had gotten exactly what they’d wanted, but they’d never spoken of it before.

“I hated you then,” Buffy said matter-of-factly. “I mean, I really, really hated you.” And then she gave him this sly look that was all mischief and devilry. “But there was always this little tiny part of me that liked you.”

“You never, Slayer,” he scoffed. “You hated my bloody guts right up until—” He broke off, unsure of when it was exactly that she’d stopped hating him.

Buffy put her hand on his, where it rested on his tingling right leg. “I think I must have liked you a little, mostly because I never killed you.”

“You wish,” he replied with a smile.

“Do you want to know when I stopped hating you?” she asked quietly, her eyes and face now serious, without a trace of laughter. He nodded. “I think it was that night when you promised to protect Dawn. You told me you were a monster and that I treated you like a man. And you said I could never love you.”

“’s true, innit?” he said. “I know that, Buffy. ‘m not stupid. I know what I am.” He hesitated, and then asked. “What was that kiss then, luv? The one after Glory beat me all to hell?”

“That was a thank you, but there was still a part of me that hated you,” she said. “But after you promised to protect Dawn, I couldn’t hate you any more.”

“You’re out of my league, luv,” he said tenderly. “Even if I could give you something worth hangin’ onto, you’d still be out of my reach. Just knowin’ you don’t hate me—Like I said that night, it’s worth more to me than you’ll ever know.”

She smiled at him. “Drink your meal, Spike, and get some rest. I’m going to see if we can’t find out a little more about this demon and how to get you better just a little bit faster, vampire healing or no.” She stopped and turned back to him on her way to the stairs. “You’re a strange vampire, you know that? Most wouldn’t want to be treated like a man.”

Spike gave her a self-deprecating smile that he held until he heard the door to the basement close behind her. “Don’t I know it.”

“You know why no one’s killed you yet, William?” Angelus asked idly. Spike clenched his jaw. His grandsire was always around in this reality. Before, he’d been alone much of the time, but now the older vampire was always there. “It’s because you’re just too pathetic. Really, the Slayer should have picked you off a long time ago, but she knew you weren’t a threat.”

“Maybe it’s because she likes me,” Spike countered.

Angelus snickered. “No one likes you, Spike. Haven’t you figured that out yet? Dru doesn’t even like you. She just feels sorry for you. Isn’t that why she never comes to your bed anymore?” He grinned. “She comes to mine. Because you can’t give her what she needs. A pathetic loser like you can’t give any woman what she needs.”

“That’s not true,” he replied, but without much strength. Wasn’t it true? Hadn’t it always been true?

“Isn’t it?” Angelus replied, as though reading his mind. “You’re a worthless waste of space. You can’t hunt, you can’t defend yourself, you can’t even stop me from doing this—” And he grabbed the wheelchair and tipped it over hard, sending Spike sprawling. “See you later, Wheels.”

“Are you okay?” Dawn asked Spike urgently. He had been sprawled out on the basement floor, a blank look in his eyes.

He blinked a few times and looked up at her. “Yeah, Bit. Just lost myself there for a minute.” He swallowed. That had been a bad one.

“Well, Buffy wants you to come upstairs,” Dawn said quietly. “I think she’s worried about you. I am too,” she confessed. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

He gave her a pained smile. “Be right as rain in no time, L’il Bit.” He followed her upstairs slowly. He really didn’t feel good at all, physically or emotionally.

Buffy took one look at him when he came into the kitchen and frowned. “Xander and I are going to look for this gargle demon tonight,” she informed him. “Willow figured out that it has the antidote to its own poison in its stinger.”

“Sounds good, luv,” he said. “Sooner I get m’self sane again the better.”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied. “Well, I don’t want you in the basement right now. I can’t really keep an eye on you down there. I’ve put blankets over the windows in my room, so you should be safe up there.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure, Buffy?”

“Yeah, I am.” She put a hand on his arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “I’ll get you through this, Spike.”

“Explain to me again why we’re doing this,” Xander said irritably, not at all happy to be demon-hunting for Spike’s benefit.

“Number one, I’m not letting that thing run around loose in my town,” Buffy explained, a little irritated herself, since this was about the third time she’d gone over it. “Number two, we need it to get the antidote to help Spike. End of story.”

“But this is Spike,” Xander said, still dissatisfied with the whole deal. He still hadn’t forgiven the vampire for his comments at the wedding-that-wasn’t or for earlier in the day.

“Yeah, it is. And Spike would do the exact same thing for me.”

“He couldn’t.”

“He would anyway,” Buffy said, with perfect assurance.

Xander felt a deep fear gnawing in his gut. “You and Spike aren’t—you know, right?”

“Define ‘you know,’” the Slayer said, keeping a sharp eye out for the demon. She knew exactly what Xander meant, but she wasn’t in the mood for it at the moment.

He frowned. Xander didn’t actually want to say it, just in case saying it made it true. “You haven’t slept with him, have you, Buffy?” Buffy stopped and glared at him. Xander took the look on her face the only way he wanted to. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”

“You’re right. It was stupid,” she said. And then with something resembling one of Spike’s more evil smirks, said, “Besides, it’s really none of your business, Xander.”

“You have slept with him?!” he gasped horrified.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. There were two possible answers to that question, since she had slept with him, she just hadn’t had sex with him. “No, I just meant that who I sleep with is absolutely none of your business.” She shot him another look. “And I mean it, Xander. Spike happens to be my friend, just like you’re my friend. If you think I’d let some demon’s venom drive you insane, then by all means, let’s call this off.” He stayed silent. “That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

“Your problem, William, is that you have nothing to offer her,” Angelus said with an evil smile. “Let’s face it. You’ve never been my equal in fighting, or torturing, or even—dare I say—lovemaking. She was bound to turn to a real vampire at some point.”

Spike stayed silent. He had learned through hard experience that Angelus was not to be interrupted when he was in one of these moods. It just meant more pain, physical and mental.

“I’m wondering when you’re just going to give up,” the other vampire continued. “What’s stopping you from meeting the sunrise, seriously, Spike? One of these days you’re going to get left behind. And then where will you be? Still crippled, still helpless. Worthless, pointless, reduced to begging for scraps until someone with an ounce of mercy puts you out of your misery.” Angelus started laughing. “Of course, I’ve never been a merciful guy.”

As he walked away, Spike realized that it was all true. Whether this was the real world or not, didn’t matter. What Angelus said held true both here and with Buffy. He was pointless. He was a waste of space. As Harris had said, he couldn’t bite, couldn’t fight, couldn’t walk. He couldn’t even make love to the woman he loved more than unlife itself. Why shouldn’t he meet the sun?

Indeed, why shouldn’t he?

Spike shook himself, trying to dislodge the thought, but it stuck with him stubbornly, ringing through his head with insistence. It was becoming harder and harder to distinguish one place from the other, zinging back and forth inside his own head with all the ease of a ping-pong ball. He was beginning to doubt that this place, that his spot inside Buffy’s house was a real one. What if he’d made it all up? What if he had never gotten himself out of that chair, but had lost himself in daydreams? Was it even possible?

It couldn’t be. And yet—and yet, what was more plausible, still being stuck in that damn chair with Angelus and Dru flitting about him, or being taken into the Slayer’s house? Never having healed, or being a vampire who no longer had the desire to eat humans? It was unreal, and unlikely, and impossible. Buffy hated him; he hated Buffy. What if it was true, and he’d made it all up because being around Dru and Angelus all the time had finally driven him around the bend and he was just now coming to his senses? What then?

He looked up, half-dazed, to see Xander standing in the doorway, holding a mug. “Buffy had a shift at work, and Tara and Willow had a class, but they wanted me to give you this.” The other man seemed sullen as he handed Spike the mug. “You’re supposed to drink all of it.”

Spike stared into the dark, viscous liquid as though it held the answers to all his questions.

“I don’t get you,” Xander said, from the doorway. He had to get to work and didn’t really care to stay and sit with a sick vampire. “You can’t feed, you can’t walk. You’re nothing but a burden to Buffy and the rest of us. I just don’t get why the heck you haven’t dusted yourself by now. If I were you, I would have done it a long time ago.”

It was an off-handed comment, meant half in admiration, half in exasperation; it wasn’t really meant to do what it did. But in Spike’s weakened mental state, flashing somewhere in between reality and delusion, it seemed to click. If even the people in this place seemed to think he’d be better off dead, maybe he would be.

Deliberately, he poured the antidote into the trash can and lay back on the bed to think. He couldn’t do it here, of course; someone might stop him before he could dust himself properly. The crypt wouldn’t be a good place either. He needed to go somewhere that connected the two places in his head so he could be sure to die in both. At least, he thought that would work. And he knew just the place.

Buffy woke with a nameless dread forming in the back of her mind. Spike had seemed back to his normal self when she’d gotten home that evening, even though he hadn’t said much. She’d chalked it up to a long ordeal and let it go, even though she’d asked him to stay in her room. Mostly she wanted to keep an eye on him, but it also had to do with the fact that she still had the demon chained up in the basement just in case they needed more of the antidote to cure him.

But now, at 3:30 in the morning, with his spot on the bed cool beside her, and Spike nowhere to be found, the small doubts somehow seemed much bigger. He hadn’t been himself, and he really hadn’t said much. So she pulled on a pair of jeans and tennis shoes, and threw on a jacket over her pajama top to go look for him.

Nameless dread turned into fear when she realized he wasn’t on the back porch, nor anywhere else in the house. And the demon was still in the basement, pulling at its chains, however unsuccessfully. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that the four people who would have stood next to Spike to make sure every drop went down his throat hadn’t seen him drink it. And the one person who couldn’t care less was the one entrusted with the task.

She looked at her watch. She had perhaps an hour, maybe an hour and a half before the sun rose. Buffy went to the crypt first, and, not finding him there, felt the first fingers of despair. What if he managed to dust himself? What then? What if she couldn’t find him in time?

The small, optimistic part of her brain reminded her that he might have just gone off to play cards or get drunk, but she didn’t think so. She had house-trained him well enough so that he would have left a note or something. Besides, when had Spike ever willingly left her bed after being invited in, while she was still in it? ‘Think, Buffy.’

And something clicked. Her feet hit the ground in smooth strides as she ran toward the old mansion. Spike had told her that’s where he was in his delusions. It just figured that it was the same spot where she’d had to convince another vampire not to meet the sunrise.

Somehow Buffy knew he wouldn’t be on the cliff, as Angel had been, and she was right. Spike was sitting in the courtyard, a blank look on his face that frightened her. He was normally so expressive, but under the influence of the demon venom, his face was unreadable. “Spike.”

He didn’t reply, and she gingerly sat down next to him on the low fountain. “The sun’s going to be up soon.”

“That was the plan,” he said evenly.

She frowned. “Spike, I know you didn’t take the antidote. This is the insanity, not you.”

“This isn’t real.”

Buffy reached out to touch his arm, but he didn’t even react, almost as though she weren’t even there. “What are you talking about, Spike?”

He finally looked at her. “It doesn’t make sense, Buffy. I should have killed you a long time ago. I should have drained your mum and your sis while I was at it. I should have at least wanted to kill the both of them, but I never did. I protected ‘em. This isn’t right; you shouldn’t have invited me into your house. None of this is possible.”

“This is Sunnydale, Spike. I don’t think impossible exists here,” she said, striving for some levity, but he didn’t even seem to hear her. From his eyes she thought he might be going back and forth pretty rapidly, since he couldn’t quite seem to focus on any one thing.

“Angelus was right, you know,” he said conversationally. “This is better. It’ll only hurt for a minute and then it’ll be over.”

“For you, maybe,” she said hotly, her voice rising with anger. “What about the rest of us?” He didn’t answer again, and this time Buffy took his chin in her hands and forced his head around to meet her eyes. She could overpower him and drag him into the mansion, she knew. She could knock him out and sit on him all day until nightfall, and then have Willow make up more of the antidote so she could pour it down his throat. But she didn’t want to force him; she wanted him to choose.

“You know how I know it’s the poison talking?” she demanded. “Because the Spike I know doesn’t give up. He never gives up. In fact, he’s a little like the Energizer Bunny and just about as annoying because he just doesn’t stop.”

His eyes actually focused and she felt a brief sense of relief before he spoke again. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought, then, luv. I only keep going when there’s somethin’ to keep goin’ for.”

“You have me!” she protested. “And Dawn. And the others.”

He shook his head. “None of you really care about me, though. Y’might feel sorry for me, but it’s not like you actually care. Dru didn’t even really care, y’know.”

“And I care, damn you!” she cried furiously. “If I didn’t care I would have let you dust after you fell off that tower. Everybody except for Dawn was ready to just let you die, but I couldn’t do it, because I cared.”

“But you’re not real,” he whispered, and there was fear in his eyes. Buffy suddenly realized that he wasn’t afraid to die; he was afraid that she wasn’t real. And he didn’t want to live in a world where that was even a possibility.

“I’m as real as you are,” she replied. “Besides, Angelus is a big liar, and you know it, stupid. I can’t believe you’d actually listen to him.”

Spike gave her a long look, and then glanced at the sky. It was beginning to lighten in the east. Buffy knew he had only a few more minutes if he didn’t start moving, and she waited for his decision. “Then let’s go inside, luv, because I’d rather be with an imaginary Buffy than a real Angelus anyway.”

She’d had to leave him there, with his promise that he would not, under any circumstances, step outside. Buffy would have much rather stayed with him until nightfall when they could both leave together, but the sooner he got the antidote in his system, the better off he’d be for sure. And now he was back in her bed again, sleeping off the last effects of the drug.

He stirred slightly as she stroked his hair, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal dazed blue eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey, y’self,” he said, his voice still slurred with sleep. “Time is it?”

“It’s after midnight,” she replied. “You’ve been asleep for a few hours. Do you remember getting back here?”

He nodded. “Y’kept talkin’ to me, makin’ sure I wasn’t goin’ back.” He didn’t have to elaborate on where it was he kept going back to.

She swallowed. “How hard was it for you to stay here, Spike?”

He focused in on her, some of the confusion leaving his eyes. “Not hard to stay, luv, just hard to believe. I kept thinkin’ maybe I’d never left that chair, and none of this was real. And after a while, it didn’t feel as real as that other place, and I wanted to die.”

It was said so simply it made Buffy want to cry. “This is real, Spike. This—thing between us, how I feel, how you feel, it’s crazy and messy and completely impossible. But it’s real. We’ll have to deal with it at some point, I guess, when you get better or something, but for right now, I just want you close to me. You’re one of the reasons I don’t give up.”

He smiled at her sweetly. There was no malice in the look, no cocky assurance. It was simply a happy Spike, and Buffy suddenly wanted to see him look like that a lot more often. “Didn’t you know, luv?” he asked quietly. “You’re my only reason for not givin’ up.” And there were no more words for the rest of the night.

Chapter 18: Bonds

“What is this, Buffy?” Spike asked quietly as her finger made gentle circles on his bare chest. He lay, mostly content, in the Slayer’s bed. He hadn’t gone back to the basement since the incident with what Buffy called the gargling demon, and he was just a little confused. Buffy had seemed to make some sort of decision regarding her feelings for him, but she hadn’t let him in on the secret. Not that he was complaining, he was just curious.

“What’s what?” she asked, her head resting on his shoulder. She loved the look of his skin in the moonlight. When he slept, so still and quiet, the hard planes of his body looked as though they had been etched in marble. And her hands couldn’t help but touch him, her almost-lover.

“This,” he replied. “You know what.”

And she did. She just wasn’t sure what the answer was herself. “Does it have to be anything? Can’t it just be now?”

He sighed, knowing that he would accept anything from her, and everything. That if she were to turn from him tomorrow, he would take that too. Maybe not lying down, but he would take it. His greatest goal was her happiness, even if it meant nothing but pain for himself.

She heard his sigh, and thought she knew the reason for it. She felt bad because her answers were so inadequate. “Spike,” she began, and she could feel him tense at her tone. “I don’t know that I’ll ever feel for you the way you feel about me.”

“Buffy, it’s—”

“Hush,” she commanded gently. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me at the Bronze that night, about everybody being wrapped up in their own problems. And you were right. Pretty much everything and everyone I thought was stable went and imploded on me.” This time he stayed silent as she paused, sensing that she wasn’t yet done. “But what you said that night, you of all people had the most right to complain, and you didn’t. You haven’t, and I started to realize that everything I do have, Dawn and being alive, you gave me.”

“Buffy, I just want you to be happy,” he said.

“I know, and you don’t demand that I do anything, you’re just there, doing whatever you can,” she said, looking at him almost tenderly. So gently that his non-existant breath caught. “And then I got to thinking that I might not have much time here, and you might not either. We both know that something can go wrong in a second, and I’ve had a lot of close calls already, so I’ve made up my mind to live.”

“Is that what this is, then?” he asked gently.

“That’s what this is,” she agreed. “I don’t know what this means, Spike, but I know I care about you, and the way I feel about you is a little more than just friends. And maybe someday it might be love. And maybe it won’t be. But I want to be with you.” She looked at him with real regret. “I’m sorry it can’t be more right now.”

“No,” he replied, stroking her hair back from his face. “What you feel for me is more than I hoped for. I can wait for the rest.”

“And if the rest never comes?” she asked, not wanting to get his hopes up.

“Then it doesn’t. ‘m willin’ to take that chance.” And he was. Maybe the odds were against him, maybe it was completely foolish to hope for her love, even in the distant future, but the pay-off if it did come—He could wait, and he would risk his unbeating heart and his cold body for it all. That was what love was all about—risking it all.

Spike was puttering around the kitchen when Buffy came storming inside. “Look at this!” she demanded, shoving a black bundle into his hand. He blinked slowly, still a little dazed from sleep. He was gradually becoming accustomed to daylight hours, but it still took him a while to wake up.

“An’ what exactly am I lookin’ at, luv?” he asked with a touch of amusement.

She stared at him. “It’s a camera.”

“Okay…”

“It was in a lawn gnome in my front yard,” she explained heatedly.

He blinked again, and then understanding began to dawn. “Someone’s been spyin’ on us?” he asked, incredulous. “Who would have the stones to spy on the Slayer?”

She looked grim. “Who’s been making my life difficult the last few months?” she spat. “I swear, when I get my hands on those geeks, they’re gonna wish they’d never been born.” She sighed and shook her head. “Willow’s coming over in a few minutes to work her magic.” Buffy gave him a quick look and smiled a little. “Not literally.”

“Course not,” he said, turning the camera over in his hand. “You don’t think there are more of these little buggers stashed around here, do you?”

She shook her head. “No clue, hopefully that’s one of the things Willow will be able to help us find out. Were you planning on going out tonight?” The question was asked non-chalantly, in such a way as to let Spike know it was no more than friendly curiosity, with a touch of concern about his general well-being.

“Not as such, no,” he replied, putting the camera back down on the counter and leaning into his crutches. “Did need to go to the Magic Box for some burba weed. Told Tara I’d pick up anything she needed while I was at it. Did you need somethin’, pet?”

Buffy smiled at him, touched his arm. “No, just thought it’d be nice to have you around tonight if you were gonna be here. We may need you.”

“What, a useless cripple?” he said, trying to joke, but she reproved him.

“You’re not useless, Spike.”

“I know, luv. ‘m not good for much in a fight though,” he said seriously. “And besides, these blokes are human. Wouldn’t be able to do much about ‘em anyway.”

“Maybe not, but you can guard the gold,” she said with a smile.

He grinned back at her. “There’s gold? No one ever said anything about any bloody gold.”

“It’s the most well-kept Scoobie secret,” she replied in a mock whisper. “Now that you know, you’re one of us.”

His eyes darkened with emotion. “I’m one of you?”

“I told you you were,” she said, their play turning serious. “You belong to me, remember?” And suddenly she was really close to him, their lips almost touching. So close she could feel his breath against her skin, and she suddenly wondered why he was always breathing. It would be so easy to kiss him, just another inch…

“Buffy!” Xander’s voice came from the hall, and Buffy froze. Spike’s eyes watched hers, wondering when she would come to her senses and jump away from him. But there was no jumping, only a quick peck on the lips and a secretive smile before she was off in a swirl of blond hair, leaving only her faint scent behind. A slow grin split Spike’s face as he realized what had just happened. She loved him; she just hadn’t admitted it yet.

Spike pushed open the door to the Magic Box and instantly wished he’d stayed home. Anya stood at the counter chatting with Halfrek, who happened to be on Spike’s list of “people he did not want to see.”

“Just a minute,” Anya called to him, and then retreated off to the side where they held a hastily whispered conference. Spike would bet his poker winnings that Anya was Anyanka again. He could hear some of the words quite clearly, like “wish”, “Xander”, and “curse.” And if he slipped up and got Xander cursed, Buffy would most assuredly kill him.

“What can I help you with?” Anya asked, coming over to where he stood. Spike was certain Anya had never smiled at him like that before, and he was even more certain that she wanted something from him.

“Uh, I need some burba weed and a few things for Glinda. Got a list right here.” Spike put the list on the counter and slid it over to her.

She smiled at him again, and Spike felt his nervousness grow. The way he felt about Harris these days, it would be easy to have a slip of the tongue. “I can get these for you in just a second.”

Spike hesitated, wanting to say something to her, and yet not wanting to bring up the subject at all for fear of the consequences. “I’m sorry about the wedding, you know,” he said softly, hoping that she would be content with his sympathy.

She stared at him for a long moment, surprised that he would offer it. No one had been this sympathetic; the rest of them had been bent on telling her how much Xander was hurting and how bad he felt. And Spike—Spike!—was so sincere. Anya reached below the counter and pulled out a bottle. “Do you want a drink?” she asked, because she knew she did, and she knew Spike hadn’t drank much since he’d been hurt.

And Spike knew the look on her face well. It never hurt to have a friendly ear while you were drowning your sorrows, and none of the other Scoobies would do it. “Sure, luv,” he said gently. “Let’s have a drink then.”

On a different day, Spike would have joined in her listing of miseries, but today he was fairly certain Buffy was falling for him. (At least a little bit.) So he mainly just listened to her, taking one shot to her two or three. He knew he needed to keep his wits about him, otherwise he might just curse the Whelp because he’d hurt her so badly and he deserved it. And because if he was going to be walking home, he needed the complete use of his faculties.

“It’s just not fair,” she said finally. “I never asked to be human.” Spike nodded sympathetically. “All I wanted to do was use him and lose him. I hadn’t had a good tumble in a thousand years.”

“And it turned out to be more,” he prompted.

“Yes,” she sighed. “He was bumpy in all the right places, and nice to me. And the next thing you know, I’m changing to please him, and I care if he cares.”

“Don’t I know it,” the vampire replied, thinking of all the changes he’d made for Buffy.

“But even after everything I did, it was never enough for him.” She leaned into the table, a melancholy look on her face. “He thought I was rude.”

“You’re not rude, luv,” he replied, smiling at her. “Straightforward, and maybe a little blunt, but that’s a virtue. Y’don’t hide behind rules and regulations like the rest of them. Nothin’ wrong with that. Wanker didn’t understand; he’s too uptight.”

“You really think so?” she asked.

“I know so.” Spike poured the last of the alcohol out of the bottle. “Here, ladies last,” he said, pushing the glass towards her. He’d had a bit more to drink than he’d originally planned on, but not enough to get himself drunk. Anya, on the other hand, was well on her way.

“Thank you.”

He frowned, laughed a little. “’sokay. But you’d better take it quick before my chivalry runs out.”

“No, thank you.” Anya leaned forward, her face intense. “It’s so nice to actually be with someone who listens, who doesn’t keep telling me how bad Xander feels.” Spike kept his silence. “This whole time, I’ve been coming on all hell-bent and mad. Wanting his head you know?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah.”

“When really, I can’t sleep at night, thinking it’s my fault somehow—” Spike shook his head, shushing her, putting a hand up to brush the hair out of her face. It broke his heart to see her like this, and he didn’t stop to question it. Maybe evil vampires weren’t supposed to feel sympathy, but he’d already made his choice, sometime in the past. He couldn’t even convince himself that he was evil anymore.

“I mean, what if he was pretending? What if he never wanted me the way I wanted him?” The tears started falling faster, and Spike gently wiped them away with his thumb, with no other motive than to offer her a little comfort.

“Anya, he’d have to be more than the git he is. He’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to want a woman like you.” Spike willed her to see the truth in his eyes, to somehow cushion the blow she’d been dealt, to make the hurt ease just a little.

“Then why?” she cried.

“He’s just weak is all,” Spike said softly. He suddenly realized how close they were, and started to pull away.

Anya leaned forward. “Spike—”

“I’m sorry, luv, I can’t,” he said, truly regretful. Even if he thought this would help her, he couldn’t do it. Because of Buffy, and because of other things.

She frowned, pulled back. “Oh. You’re right, I—”

“It’s not you, luv, not at all,” he assured her. “But you know how I feel about Buffy.” Spike hesitated. He couldn’t believe he was going to say this, but—“And I can’t.”

Anya frowned slightly, not understanding, and then her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! Spike, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured. “Look, you need someone to talk to, or anything, I’m your vamp.”

Tears began to trickle down her cheeks again. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Guess I got tired of playing the villain, is all,” he said and then pulled her to him as she cried into his shoulder. “Shh. Let it all out, pet. Just let it all out.”

Buffy watched idly as Willow tapped her computer keys. “Almost got it,” the red head mumbled. “There. I’m seeing some other feeds too. Give me a minute and I should be able to see where those go to.” She smiled up at Tara, who stood just behind her shoulder. They had had a good day, meeting for coffee and talking, in spite of Anya’s interruption. She was actually hopeful that they might manage to work everything out.

“And there’s—” Willow broke off as she recognized Spike and Anya.

Tara frowned as she leaned toward the screen. “What are they doing?” she asked. It looked like a really tender moment between the two of them, easily mistaken for something romantic.

Buffy and Xander came to stand behind them, just in time to see Spike pulling back from Anya. They watched as he said something to her, something that made her eyes widen in surprise, and then as he pulled her into an embrace to cry on his shoulder.

The Slayer couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. She knew Spike’s heart was hers, but still, to see him comforting another woman so sweetly was definitely with the jealous-making, even though she knew it was foolish. Of course, jealous didn’t even begin to cover the look on Xander’s face.

“What—” he said, breaking off. “What is she doing with him?”

“It looks like he’s giving her a hug,” Tara offered hesitantly. “Spike can be a pretty comforting guy when he wants to be.”

“Right,” he grated. “Fine. So she goes to a vampire for cold comfort.” He turned away from the screen almost violently. “I can’t watch this.”

Buffy glanced at him, frowning. Spike was giving Anya a hug, which was more than any of the rest of them had done, she realized with a feeling of guilt. As the wronged party, she hadn’t received much sympathy from the rest of them, so it was probably a good thing that Spike was there for her. “Buffy?” Dawn stood next to her, touching her on the arm. “Are you okay?”

Buffy smiled at her younger sister. “Yeah, I’m okay, Dawnie. I’m just being a little stupid tonight.”

“He really loves you, you know,” Dawn replied, her face serious. “That’s the thing about Spike, once he loves you, he always does.”

“I know.” She glanced at the screen. Spike was still obviously comforting Anya. “He’s a good friend.”

“Buffy,” Willow called anxiously, having gotten up to go after Xander. “Xander’s gone. And he took your ax.”

Anya finally pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “I got you all soggy.”

“’salright, luv,” Spike said, reaching out to push the hair back from her face. “You’re gonna be all right, you know.”

She managed a watery smile. “Someday, maybe.”

“No maybes,” he replied, his eyes gentle. He might have said more, but he found himself sprawled across the floor, Xander standing over him. The attack had come out of nowhere, and was completely unexpected. “What the bloody hell?” he demanded angrily, looking at Harris from his prone position.

“Get your hands off of her, freak.” Xander’s voice was low and angry, and he held a very large ax in his hand.

“Xander!” Anya protested. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing what someone should have done a long time ago. Put the undead thing out of his misery.” The man shifted the weapon in his hand, obviously prepared to do just that when Buffy burst through the front door of the shop.

“Xander!” she said, coming over to stand protectively in front of Spike. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I told you. You don’t get to dust Spike.”

Thwarted, he stared at the two women angrily. “You don’t get it, do you?” He turned to Anya. “He was just making nice to get to you. He’s obsessed with Buffy and he can’t have her, so he’s going after you.”

“He wasn’t going after me, Xander,” Anya said quite calmly, all her tears having been cried out earlier. And she had the added benefit of knowing she wasn’t the one in the wrong. “In fact, he turned me down.”

“How can you let him touch you?” Xander demanded, not really hearing her. “He’s a thing, an evil, undead thing. What kind of comfort could you get from that?”

“Maybe the same kind of comfort he’s given me, Xander,” Buffy said quietly, causing him to turn and look at her. “Anya wasn’t doing anything wrong, and neither was Spike. I think you need to cool down.”

But Xander hadn’t paid any attention to what she said, except for the first part. “You have slept with him, haven’t you? You let him—” The ax clattered to the floor. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Spike was watching the entire scene from his position on the floor, not wanting to open his mouth. He waited for Buffy to tell him, to explain to her friend that she hadn’t slept with him in the sense that he meant. That they couldn’t have had sex because he was incapable. What she did say shocked the hell out of him.

“We’ve been sharing a bed off and on since Thanksgiving, Xander,” Buffy said quietly. “What’s more, Spike isn’t evil and he isn’t a thing.” Turning to Anya, she said with great sincerety, “I’m sorry, Anya. I really am.”

The vengeance demon looked at her and almost smiled. “Thank you, Buffy, I appreciate that.” And then she looked at Xander. “I don’t want to see you for a while, Xander. I don’t want to see you for a very long while. Even if what I did was any of your business, which it’s not, Spike was very kind to me. More than anyone else has been. Maybe you should take lessons.”

Xander stared at the three of them for a long moment before turning on his heel and leaving without another word. Buffy and Anya grabbed Spike’s crutches and helped him up in silence. There really wasn’t anything left to say.

“See you around, Anyanka,” Spike called as he and Buffy left the shop together. “How did you know I was there?” he asked once they were safely out of ear shot.

Buffy looked over and gave him a wry smile. “Willow managed to trace some of those cameras and find others. There was one in the Magic Box.”

Spike almost looked embarrassed. “Look, Buffy I don’t know what you thought you saw, but—”

“I thought I saw someone comforting a friend,” she interrupted.

“Oh, well, then that’s what you saw.” He shook his head. “I just wasn’t sure, with Harris on the warpath. We didn’t do anythin’, but…”

“I know you didn’t, Spike,” she replied. “And I know you wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of guy.”

“Not hardly, pet.”

They walked along without saying anything for a while until Buffy broke the silence. “What is it, Spike? Everything seems to fall apart. Xander, Anya, it’s just spinning out of control, and I feel like I can’t do anything to stop it.”

He stopped and put a hand on her arm. They were on the walkway to her house now, and he looked at the windows, some dark, some still lit. “It’ll work out, Buffy. People change, and sometimes they hurt each other. And sometimes it does seem like everythin’s goin’ to hell all at once, but there are things that keep it together, like love and friendship. Those are bonds that can’t be broken, luv, even if they get stretched sometimes.”

His hand moved to her face, and his tone grew both quieter and more intense. “Give it some time, and they’ll come ‘round, Xander and Anya. The rest of them. Because they love you, and that’s what keeps it all from falling apart, even if it doesn’t look that way sometimes.”

“And what about you, Spike?” she asked. “What keeps you together?”

He grinned. “Seein’ the look on the Whelp’s face tonight when you told him we were sleepin’ together helps.” He laughed as she hit him on the arm, though not hard enough to really hurt. “But seein’ the look on your face tonight when you came to my rescue, that’s what keeps it together for me.”

“I don’t love you, Spike,” she warned him.

“Yet.” He gave her a knowing look. “You don’t love me yet, but I plan on bein’ around just in case you ever do. That’s what love is all about, Buffy. Riskin’ everythin’. Givin’ everythin’. I might be Love’s bitch, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Any other night, Buffy might have argued with him, but she knew he spoke the truth. She didn’t love him yet. But she had a feeling that if he stuck around long enough, he might get his payoff. She put her hand up to caress the cool hand that lay on her cheek. “Let’s go inside, Spike.”

He followed her, and as he followed her up the stairs, he began to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she whispered.

“Red’s still here,” he replied, also whispering. “An’ she’s with Glinda. Didn’t I tell you? Bonds of love, you can stretch ‘em, but they don’t break. Not when you really love each other.” Buffy looked at him, at the warmth shining in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but believe what he said. That everything would be okay in time. She realized once again that over the last year he had been her anchor in all the chaos, and she couldn’t help but be grateful that he was still there, even after all that had happened. And with a smile, she motioned him to follow her to bed.

Chapter 19: The Death of Innocence

“Buffy, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Spike protested. They stood in the kitchen, he strategically keeping out of the patches of sunlight.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Buffy replied, taking a swallow of her coffee. She gave him a sympathetic look. “I know you worry about me, Spike, but I’m the Slayer. This is what I do.”

He looked away and finished off the rest of his blood. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he mumbled.

She smiled. Normally she might have been angry that he was worried, but her attitude had shifted just a little bit over the last months. Now she just thought it was cute. “I know, but I can handle three nerds. I promise.” She came over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’ll be careful.”

Buffy had no doubt she could handle herself, and she had no doubt she was right. It only made sense that the house they were closest to on the list when the gargling demon attacked was the one the nerds were using to hide out. She wanted to go this morning. She was still fuming about those cameras.

He gave her a rueful smile. “You do that, luv.” Spike stroked her cheek. “Don’t know what it would do to me if I lost you.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. It was infinitely tender, amazingly gentle. And utterly adoring. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? She could only touch his own face in reply, a silent promise. Spike continued to stare at the place she had left long after she had gone, Dawn’s voice finally breaking into his thoughts. “So, you and my sister, huh?”

He turned to look at her. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen in her pajamas, completely comfortable around him after a year of sharing a house. “We might be moving in that direction,” he acknowledged uncomfortably.

Dawn rolled her eyes expressively and pulled out a bowl for her cereal. “Which is why you haven’t spent a night in the basement in weeks.”

Spike shook his head. “It’s not like you think, Bit,” he said. “We’re movin’ slow, and I don’t know that Buffy’s sure what she wants.”

“But you love her.” Dawn’s words were a statement, not a question, and they both knew it. At his silent nod, she gave him a knowing look. “She wants you. She just hasn’t admitted it yet.” Spike looked a little uncertain. It ran that way with him; one day he was completely certain of how Buffy felt, other days he hadn’t a clue and hope was low. Today he was questioning how long this stage of their relationship would go on, with him hanging on her every word, unsure of his future. “Trust me, Spike,” Dawn said quietly. “She really, really likes you. I think she’s happier with you now than she’s been in a long time.”

He looked at her and a smile softened his harsh features. “Thanks, Niblet. You’re a good friend, you know. A good sister.”

Dawn’s face lit up and she gave him a hug. Then she looked up at him, excitement written across her face. “Tara and Willow made up! They’re—”

“Upstairs even as we speak,” Spike interrupted with a smile.

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Enhanced vampire senses. I could smell ‘em.”

Dawn got a look on her face that was somewhere between “cool” and “ewww.” “That might have been more than I needed to know.”

He grinned. “Come on, Bit. Let’s see what’s on the telly. I’m sure those two birds won’t mind if we ignore ‘em for a while.”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Buffy stood in Xander’s doorway. He already had a beer in his hand, which didn’t bode well for their conversation. She’d never had much luck talking to drunks.

He swung the door open wider. “Come on in. There’s plenty more where this came from.”

“It’s a little early for me.” Buffy followed him in the door, concern drawing her face down as she saw the mess his apartment had become. It was pretty much trashed, and only some of the mess came from not picking up; the rest was self-made. She sighed. “Xander, I’m sorry about what happened last night.”

“What, so you’re sorry for banging the undead bloodsucker right under our noses? Is that it?” The look on her friend’s face was hurt, angry, bitter. She hated it when Xander got like this, because he usually became cruel as well.

Suddenly Buffy was sorry she’d come. She’d wanted to make up with Xander, maybe even explain that there wasn’t any sex going on. (Without telling him about Spike’s little condition.) But she realized that he was in the mood to do a lot of shouting and not much listening, and that was what talking things through would require. Him doing some listening. “Forget it, Xander,” she said quietly. “You don’t want to even try to understand.”

He stood, his face twisted in anger. “So you’re going back to someone who does understand, is that it?” he demanded.

“What if I am?” she cried. “You don’t get it, Xander. Spike has changed. He’s done so much for me this last year, more than just saving Dawn. He’s been there. You know that, you seemed to accept that.”

“But I never forgot what he is, Buffy! He doesn’t have a soul! All he’s got is some leash the government jammed inside his head.” And that’s what this boiled down to, Buffy knew. No soul equals no good, no matter what. She understood how Xander could feel that way, she had been there herself. But she’d found herself questioning all of that the night Spike chose to keep the chip. If he hadn’t changed, he should have jumped at the chance to be free of it.

She looked him in the eye. “I’m not sure I believe that anymore. I don’t think Spike would hurt any of us if the chip came out.”

“Would you stake Dawn’s life on it?” Xander asked.

She hesitated. Then remembered Spike’s face after he was tortured by Glory. His immediate question when he woke after falling off the tower. All the things he’d done for her sister. “I already have,” she said, and walked out the door.

Spike lay back on Buffy’s bed, half reading, half keeping an ear out for her return. Concern gnawed at his thoughts. After this morning’s near escape with the buzz saws and then the rather distressing conversation with Harris, who was still being a complete ponce, he wasn’t at all sure she was up to a patrol. Of course, she was equally sure that she was. Stubborn girl.

He sat up abruptly as she limped into the room. “You’re hurt.”

Buffy winced. “I got kicked into a tombstone by a dusty vampire. Which is just wrong.”

Grabbing his crutches, he swung himself over to her. “Let me see.” He watched her hesitate, and then she sat on the bed obediently, pulling her shirt up. Spike winced for her. “That’s one nasty bruise, luv. Think you should get yourself into a nice hot bath and soak for a while.”

She gave him a grateful look. “That sounds wonderful.”

He touched her cheek and leaned down to give her a soft kiss. “Why don’t you change, and I’ll start up the bath water?” He was as good as his word, and he made sure the water wasn’t going to be too hot for her before she came in, walking stiffly. He was going to take himself out since he and Buffy hadn’t really gotten to the “being comfortable naked” stage. Well, Buffy hadn’t gotten to that stage, he didn’t much care, but there were times he knew not to push his luck.

“Wait,” she called. “Would you sit with me?”

Spike stared at her. This was a new level, and not one he was sure about. “Sure, luv.” He turned his back as she got herself into the tub, and then slid down the wall so he could see her, but not really see over the rim. He watched as the emotions played across her face and suddenly wished he could promise her everything was going to be okay. “He’ll come around, Buffy.”

She glanced up at him, startled by his words. “Xander? Maybe, maybe not. We’ve all changed, Spike, over this last year. Sometimes I look at my friends and don’t recognize them at all.”

He cocked his head to the side, understanding why she would feel that way, and knowing that it was the way of things sometimes, to change and take different paths. “Happens, pet. Give it some time. Harris’ll either come back around and you’ll be fine, or he won’t. I know that’s not real comforting, but—”

“That’s the way it goes,” Buffy finished for him. “Spike. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, luv.”

“If you got the chip out tomorrow, what would you do?”

Spike suddenly sensed that their entire future rested on what he said and whether or not Buffy believed him. “There’s a part of me that would like to say I’d go back to exactly what I was,” he said honestly. “And then there’s another part of me that knows that’s not an option anymore. I’m not what I was, Buffy. I never will be again. I made my choice somewhere along the way, and I’ll stay with it. But if it makes you feel any better, it’s not just about you, pet. It’s about me. I like bein’ a man. Like bein’ treated like one.” He smiled, and it held a touch of wistfulness in it. “’m not a very good vampire, you know. Angelus, now, he would have had this chip out of his head before the first month was out.”

“Then let’s be glad you’re not Angelus,” Buffy said softly, and in her tone he heard acceptance. Of course, accepting it now, and accepting it if the chip ever stopped working was a totally different story.

Spike tried to lighten the mood. “Besides, luv. Humans are too easy anymore. Except for the Slayer, there’s no challenge, and I’m in love with you, which means I can’t kill you. Killin’ demons is a lot more interestin’.”

Buffy laughed. “You know, that I’ll believe. I’d better get out. This is great, but I’ve got some evil nerds to stop.”

“Right then,” he said, levering himself up off the floor.

“Spike.” He turned, giving his quizzical look, head and eyebrow cocked. “There’s some ointment in the drawer that Tara gave me for bruises. Would you rub it on?”

He smiled. “Sure, luv.” He pulled the ointment out and swung himself back into her room to wait. She smiled as she walked in, and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting her robe slip down to puddle on the covers. He wanted to gasp, to tell her how beautiful she was, even with the night’s work livid on her skin. Instead, he began to spread the ointment on gently, slowly, cool fingers working their magic on the tender bruise. And it was her turn to gasp as his lips brushed her skin, kissing it to make it better.

Spike couldn’t help himself. He ran a hand down one bare arm and breathed in deeply of her scent. “Cor, luv. You’re so beautiful.”

She turned to look at him, and his fair skin and hair seemed to almost glow in the lamplight, lending him a warmer tone. “So are you,” she said with a smile, and brought the robe back up around her shoulders just as Xander’s voice floated up the stairs. Spike took her hint and gave her one last kiss on her neck before exiting her room.

He waited for her to come out before going downstairs, having no desire to see the Whelp again. Spike was fairly certain that Buffy had made her point, and the boy wouldn’t try to stake him, but he wasn’t really in the mood to try his luck. When she came out, however, he followed her down. Xander ignored him as best as he could while he explained what had happened at the Bronze, and Willow told the Slayer what she’d managed to find in between breaks with Tara. And then Buffy was off to stop the trio and Tara and Willow headed back upstairs. And Spike was left alone with Xander.

Silence reigned, neither man willing to say anything. Finally, Xander spoke. “If you hurt her, I will stake you. You know that right?”

The vampire met his eyes solemnly. “If I hurt her, I’ll let you.”

Xander nodded stiffly. “As long as we understand each other then.” Spike smiled, but said nothing in reply. He understood completely, and the truce was acceptable.

“Time for the Spring Poking already?”

Buffy turned to look at Xander as he ambled into her backyard, a somewhat sheepish _expression on his face. “Just checking to make sure there aren’t any more Evil Trio cameras. Or Evil Uno.”

“The sinister yet addictive card game?”

Buffy smiled at him. It was so easy to slip into their old patterns, the old way of speaking. “Warren. Jonathan and Andrew got kinked, but Warren pulled a Rocket Man. It was a thing.”

Xander smiled and looked down at his feet. “You’ll get him. He won’t be much good without his friends.”

“No. He won’t,” Buffy replied, understanding perfectly.

Xander shook his head, searching for the right words to say and not coming up with any. “I wish you would have told me about Spike before. It hurt that you wouldn’t trust me.”

She shook her head and took a seat on the bench next to him. “We aren’t actually sleeping together, Xander. I mean we are, but we aren’t—you know.”

He frowned. “You mean, you and he haven’t…?

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. But somewhere along the way we got to be friends. Maybe it’s completely crazy, but Spike makes me feel safe.”

Xander let out a snort and smiled. “I hate myself for saying it, but it doesn’t sound as crazy as it probably should have. Besides, Spike and I have reached an understanding. He hurts you, he dies. End of story.”

“If I need someone to protect me, I know who to go to,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be any good without you or Will, you know?” Xander asked, desperate for some reassurance that everything would be okay between the two of them.

Buffy gave him a fierce hug. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Xander opened his mouth to reply and then his eyes widened in horror. “Buffy—”

Warren came from nowhere, gun in hand. Buffy didn’t even catch what he said; she was too busy shoving Xander out of the way of the bullets she knew were coming. The next thing she knew, there was a burning pain in her left shoulder, and she could feel her life slipping through Xander’s fingers. ‘Funny way to go,’ she thought. ‘Killed by a nerd in broad daylight.’

Spike shot bolt upright on the bed, brought awake by the sound of shots fired and the sweet, hot smell of human blood. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, pulling the brace on his left leg and grabbing his crutches.

By the time he was out in the hallway, he could hear the sounds of Willow’s keening changing into something else altogether, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up as he felt the power charging the air around him. He found himself frozen in place, unable to move, until the witch came stalking out the door, her eyes black and her face a blank mask.

“Red?” he called cautiously.

“Stay out of my way, vampire,” she advised.

Spike blinked. The only time she’d even come close to sounding like that was after Buffy had gone all catatonic and she took charge. He decided not to push her. But there was still the matter of the blood. And he took one step into the bedroom that had been Joyce’s and knew. “No,” he whispered. “Please, God, no.”

Tara was dead of course. He could sense it, and the smell of blood (so much of it) was about driving him crazy. He wanted it. He wanted it so bad, and yet he refused to do that to her. Spike ran a hand over his face, surprised at the wetness he found there. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

He would have to do something, call the ambulance, maybe. And then he heard the sirens, knowing somehow that they were for Buffy. From the place in the room that was safest from the sun he could still see out the bedroom window. Xander hovering over the Slayer’s still form, the paramedics beginning to arrive. He had no way to get their attention, not from the bedroom, and not mid-morning. So he picked up the phone and dialed 911. “This is William, from 1630 Revello,” he said, glancing back at Tara’s still form yet again. “We need another ambulance. There was a stray shot.”

Chapter 20: The End of It All

Spike sat on the couch, watching as the last of them left. He still hadn’t heard from Xander or Willow. Or Buffy for that matter. He hadn’t had time to call the hospital until just now, what with the police and the paramedics and everyone else who had paraded in and out over the last few hours.

What he wanted was to get to the hospital, to find out for himself what had happened to the Slayer, but he couldn’t lie to himself. It would be near impossible to get to the sewers on crutches before bursting into flames; just as difficult to make his way over there. He simply wasn’t mobile enough. What’s more, Dawn would be home in a little while, and someone needed to be there, to explain—

‘What was there to explain?’ he wondered. Over a century of existance, and he still couldn’t explain why someone like Tara would be the one to die. A stupid stray shot from a stupid nerd. And if Spike even thought it possible, he would be out there hunting Warren down himself.

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, he went to the phone and dialed the hospital, asking for information on Buffy Summers. “Are you family?” the voice asked.

Spike silently begged Buffy’s apology as he answered. “I’m her boyfriend. ‘m waitin’ for her sister to get home from school.”

“Miss Summers was in surgery until just a little while ago,” the woman said.

“Then she’s alright?” Spike asked, relief flooding through him.

The woman harrumphed. “A little more than alright, I’d say. She got up off the table and walked away. Without having a doctor look at her.”

Spike blinked twice, and managed to thank her before hanging up. Not that he wasn’t thrilled Buffy was going to be completely okay, but he had a feeling her miraculous recovery had a lot to do with Willow. He had an even stronger feeling that things were going to get very ugly.

Dawn swung the door open and peered around the hallway. “Hello? Buffy? Is anyone at home?”

“In here, Bit.” Spike’s voice was even rougher than usual, and when Dawn saw him she knew immediately that something was very wrong.

“What happened?” she asked flatly, coming over to stand in front of him as he sat on the couch.

He shook his head. “Sit down, Niblet.” When she didn’t move, he patted the couch next to him and rephrased. “Please, Dawn. Sit.”

Dawn felt the bottom of her stomach fall. He never used her name, never. She sat. “Spike, please, what happened?”

He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Luv. There was a shooting—”

“Buffy!” Dawn froze, torn between running and staying.

“Not Buffy,” he said stiltedly. “Your sister’s fine, Bit. She got hit, but she’s fine. It was Tara. There was a stray shot, and—” He broke off, unable to actually say it. Tara had been his friend; he’d liked her. She’d sat with him as he cried.

Dawn shook her head. “No, Spike. No. You’re lying. You have to be lying. Not—not Tara.”

“I’m so sorry, Dawn,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms out of instinct. Somehow knowing she needed to feel someone as much as he did at that moment. “I’m sorry.”

It was that last apology that did Dawn in. He sounded broken, and Spike was never broken. Bent maybe, or depressed even. But not broken, not grieving so hard she could hear the tears in his voice. If Spike cried, then it was really real. “No,” she repeated, but this time it was not a denial of the fact, it was a denial of the sense of it. But she let him hold her as she sobbed, never realizing that he was crying his own silent tears.

When Buffy came back to the house, it was dark outside, and she was more tired than she ever remembered being. In some ways, this was much worse than when her mother died. Joyce’s death had been horrible, yes, even senseless. But Tara’s death was that much more insane, and Willow’s sudden falling off the wagon, even if it was understandable, meant that she might be facing one of her best friends as the Slayer. That’s what made this worse.

“Buffy!” Dawn flew out of the living room into her sister’s arms and clung tightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She looked past Dawn to see Spike struggling to his feet. He looked as worn as she felt, his face paler than normal, dark shadows ringing his eyes. And he’d been crying. “Are you guys okay?”

Dawn nodded. “I guess.”

“Spike?”

He shrugged. “Called an ambulance. They—they came an’ got Tara not long after they left with you. Thought you might show up here soon, so the Bit and I stayed put.”

She almost smiled, thinking that he’d put a wealth of information into those few words. He’d taken care of things, taken care of her sister. Again. “Thanks.” And then came the fun of briefing the two of them on Willow and what had happened and getting cleaned up.

Dawn was fiercely glad that Willow was going after Warren, and even Xander didn’t seem to have a problem with it. But Buffy understood that if she killed someone she would step over a line that shouldn’t be crossed. To her surprise, it was Spike that backed her up. “If it were up to me, I’d hunt the bastard down and rip his throat out,” he said bluntly. “An’ I could, ‘cause I’m an evil vampire. But the witch is human, and there are rules about things like this.” He paused. “She steps over that line, there’ll be hell to pay, and the Slayer’s goin’ to be the one doin’ a lot of the judgin’. Know it doesn’t seem fair, luv, but that’s the way it is.” He looked at Dawn as he said it.

Buffy nodded. “Spike’s right. If Willow kills someone, I’m going to have to deal with her, and that’s the last thing I want. Xander and I can go to the Magic Box and see if we can’t do some kind of locater spell, something like that.” She looked at her sister. “Dawn, I want you to stay here with Spike. You guys aren’t to go anywhere. I won’t be able to focus on what I need to do if I’m worrying about either one of you.”

Dawn looked like she was going to protest, but Spike shook his head. “We’ll stay put, Slayer. You think the witch’ll come here?”

Buffy hesitated and then shook her head. “No, I don’t. She’s going to be too focused on Warren, but you never know. If she does show up, just be careful. I don’t think she’d go after us, but—” She broke off, unwilling to admit that she thought Willow might be far enough gone to stop caring at this point. “We should go.”

Xander nodded, heading for the door. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet, and Buffy knew he was having a hard time dealing with what had happened. Spike stood up to see them off, and she found herself turning at the door to look back at him. “I’ll take care of things, Slayer,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, wanting to go back and kiss him. For luck, or just because it was the end of the world again, she didn’t know. But she simply smiled and left, because that’s the way it worked with them.

They had turned the TV on in the living room, though neither of them was watching it. Dawn kept looking out the front window every few seconds, while Spike watched her and the telly in turn. The girl finally lost patience. “Why do we have to stay here, Spike?” Dawn asked angrily. “We could have helped.”

Spike sighed. Dawn was beginning to go into her whiny voice, but he couldn’t blame her. He felt a little like whining himself, especially when they had no way of getting any kind of information as to what exactly was going on. “Buffy asked me to look after you, and she told the both of us to stay. So we’re stayin’.”

“Why?” she demanded. “You never listened to her before.”

“Sure I did,” he replied. “I listen to her every time the world’s comin’ to an end because she’s the one that has to save it an’ all.”

Dawn didn’t know how to respond to that one, since he was pretty much right. Even if he didn’t listen to Buffy at any other time, when it came to the real life-and-death battles, he had a tendency to pay attention. She sat next to him and heaved a sigh. She hated being relegated to staying behind like a child, but the real reason she wanted to be out with her sister saving the world was because she had a theory she wouldn’t be thinking nearly so much about Tara if she were busy.

“I miss her already,” Dawn said suddenly.

Spike didn’t have to ask her who she was referring to. “I know, Bit. I do too.” They might have said more, but the front door blew open, and Spike felt a bolt of fear flow through him as he saw Willow enter. She’d fallen off the wagon, all right, but that wasn’t all that had happened. He could smell the power on her, and the blood, and he knew she’d killed tonight. He also knew that she had a taste for it right now.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” she asked politely. “I just stopped by to pick up a few things, and I have a welcome party waiting for me.”

“Willow—” Dawn began, but Spike placed himself in between the Wicca and the girl before she could get any closer.

He smiled at her thinly. “You’ve been havin’ some fun tonight, Red.”

She laughed. “Actually, I have. You have no idea how freeing it is just to let your hair down. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Willow, don’t do this,” Dawn begged. “I’m sorry about Tara, but you can’t just go back to the magic. It’s not right.”

“Dawnie, Dawnie,” Willow smiled evilly. “What would you know about right and wrong? Huh? I seem to remember you breaking more than a few rules. In fact, I remember you were making life pretty tough for Buffy and everybody else. Whiny little Dawnie.”

“Willow, stop.” Dawn was almost in tears; she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Spike kept his silence but stood a little straighter. If he had to go for the witch, he needed to be ready.

“Willow, stop,” she mimicked. “You know, I seem to remember that you weren’t always Buffy’s kid sister. Once upon a time you were a green ball of energy. I’ll bet that would be an improvement.”

“That’s enough.” Spike’s voice grated out through clenched teeth. Willow was high enough on the magic to do something stupid at this point, like try to kill Buffy’s little sister. A murdering nerd was one thing; an innocent girl something else altogether.

Willow turned her wrath on him. “Or what? You’ll growl at me? Somehow I don’t find that real frightening at this point.” She smiled suddenly, and Spike grew very still and very cold. “You used to be scary though, didn’t you, Spike? Don’t you want to be scary again? Get that pesky little chip out of your head?”

“Think I’ll pass,” he said evenly, proud of himself for his steady voice.

Her smile grew wider. “Is that right? You know, I think it might be the right time to put you back together, Spike. I’m feeling real magnanimous right now. Besides, I’m sure you could find some nerds to snack on.” He didn’t even have time to brace himself. One second she was talking, and the next second it felt like someone’s hand was in his head, scrambling his brains. He realized that she would probably kill him, and he hoped that Dawn had the sense to run while Willow was otherwise occupied.

Buffy burst through the front door of the house, looking around for Willow. “Dawn! Spike!”

“Buffy, in here.” Spike lay unconscious on the floor, Dawn sitting in a miserable heap next to him. “She hurt him really bad.”

“What happened, Dawnie?” Buffy asked as patiently as she could. She’d found Rack’s place, and his body, and some sixth sense had led her back to the house, worried for Spike and Dawn. When she and Xander had seen her, Willow had seemed to get a lot of pleasure coming after her friends. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if she’d go after the more helpless of them.

“Willow came. She was talking about turning me back, and then Spike stepped in front of me. She asked if he wanted the chip out, and then—” Dawn broke off. “I think she might have done it, Buffy. He was screaming really loud.”

Spike chose that moment to come back around, moaning as the pain penetrated the thick fog surrounding him. “Bit, you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, I’m right here,” she reassured him.

Buffy looked anxiously at her sister. “Why did Willow leave then?”

Dawn’s chin came up and her eyes hardened. “She left because I shot her with a crossbow and I told her I’d hit her between the eyes if she didn’t. You just missed her.”

Spike struggled to sit. “Good job, Niblet, but I was hoping you’d run. Bloody hell, my head hurts.”

“Spike, did she take out the chip?” Buffy’s voice entered the pain-fog, and he flinched, suddenly remembering her threat. In that instant he knew she’d done it. He wasn’t sure how he knew, since he hadn’t tried to hit anyone yet, but he knew. He put his face in his hands as he realized what that meant, as he remembered what the deal between he and Buffy had been. There were rules in this game, and one of them had just gotten broken through no fault of his own.

Buffy looked at his face and she knew too, feeling her stomach sink to her feet. The Slayer in her knew what she had to do: she needed to take Dawn and get out of there, tell Spike to be gone by the time she got back, but she found it impossible. The woman in her had other ideas. “Spike, will you look after Dawn? Willow might decide to come back.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Slayer, I—”

“Will you look after Dawn?”

Slowly, he nodded, a new light in his eyes. “Till the end of the world.”

“Good. You should take her someplace safe, where Willow wouldn’t think to look. She might not go by your crypt, but I don’t know.”

He shook his head. “No, crypt’s no good. She knows about that too well. I’ll take her to the mansion. Red wouldn’t think of looking for us there.”

“Good.” She nodded. “I have to go. She’s going after Jonathan and Andrew right now and I have to stop her.” Buffy didn’t allow herself to think twice about leaving her sister with an almost surely de-chipped Spike. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, knew it with every bone in her body. But when the current crisis was over she’d have to decide if she could trust him with the rest of the human population.

Spike got them to the mansion in one piece, his head still throbbing. He was pleased that Dawn didn’t seem any more scared of him than she normally was, which meant she thought him as frightening as a big fluffy puppy. Not that her attitude did anything for his ego, but it still pleased him.

“Let’s find one of the interior rooms,” he suggested as they entered. “They’ll be furnished, and I won’t have to worry about the sun in the morning.”

Dawn nodded, not saying anything, and followed him down a hallway. Almost of their own accord, his feet took him directly to where his old bedroom used to be. As many unpleasant memories were associated with this house and this room, it was reassuring in an odd way. It had been here that he’d gotten out of that damn chair, and it had been here that he’d first stopped an apocalypse with Buffy. Maybe it was a good omen, him being here again.

They set up camp there, both of them sitting on the dusty bed. Spike unslung the crossbow he’d worn, and Dawn put down the dagger she carried. There was a long silence, neither of them knowing quite what to say after the events of the last 12 hours. It felt like 12 lifetimes for the both of them.

“Are you going to leave now?” she finally asked.

He looked over at her, and then away. “That’s up to Buffy.”

“Why?” she asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you haven’t done anything wrong. Why can’t you stay?”

“Because if I do, and your sister ever has to stake me, it would hurt her. And I don’t hurt Buffy,” he said.

“But if you leave, you hurt me,” Dawn said, her voice a soft protest. “Do you really want to start eating people again?”

“Not if it means losing your sister, pet,” he replied. “But she may not see it that way.” For the second time that day, she let him hold her.

Dawn wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Promise me that if you have to go, you’ll come back and visit, even if it’s just for a little while. I wouldn’t tell Buffy, I promise.”

He shouldn’t promise, he knew. Buffy had been very specific in not wanting him back in town ever if the chip came out, and at this point he loved her enough to respect her wishes. And yet, he was evil. He could come back and visit Dawn, not tell anyone. He could give her that much at least. “I promise, L’il Bit. You should try to get some sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” she warned him.

“Try anyway,” he replied. “Go to sleep, Bit. I’ll stay up.” She seemed to heed him, and he listened as her breathing evened out and decided that he would just close his eyes for a minute. Just one minute…

And, of course, when he woke up Dawn was gone. It wasn’t that long after sunrise, but the bed next to him held no touch of warmth, which meant she’d been gone for a while. Chances were she’d simply waited for him to go to sleep and then had left. Not because she didn’t trust him, but because she wanted to be out there in the midst of things and not cooped up in some musty old mansion.

Spike frowned. He was worried about the Bit, to be sure. But he worried about Buffy too, and the rest of them, really. He could admit it as long as he was being honest with himself. On the other hand, he had a great deal of respect for Dawn’s ability to take care of herself. She didn’t mind breaking a few rules to get what she needed, and he had no doubt that she’d be a hell of a woman someday. So he wasn’t as worried as he might have been.

It was probably around 10 when the Slayer finally came around. She was alone and obviously tired; it had been a long 24 hours. But she actually smiled when she saw him. “Dawn told me not to blame you for her running off. She claims full responsibility and reminds me that you’d just had your brain scrambled.”

He gave her a sheepish look. “Still, shouldn’t’ve been fooled by the fake sleeping, luv. Oldest bloody trick in the book. What’s the end of the story then?”

She looked at him, her smile fading. “Willow kicked my ass, Giles showed up. She went after the other nerds with a huge fireball, which I then had to stop. She kicked Giles’ ass, went to end the world, and Xander talked her out of it.” Buffy paused. “Apparently there was something in there about a yellow crayon, but I didn’t quite catch that part.”

“Harris’ll be insufferable,” Spike remarked with a wry twist of the lips.

“Probably for a while,” Buffy agreed, giving him a brief grin. “I think Giles is going to take Willow back to England with him. He said something about there being a coven there that might be able to help her.” There was a long silence. “She got the chip out.”

“She did.” He didn’t want to look at her, to read the truth of the matter in her eyes. To read the end of it all on her face. “I can stay at my crypt till I finish healin’ up. If Glinda—” he stopped, grief washing over him. “If Glinda was right, I should be back on my feet in no time, Slayer.”

“No.”

“No?” Buffy’s face was nearly unreadable when he spared her a glance, and he felt a faint glimmer of hope.

“I promised that I’d get you back on your feet again,” she explained. “It was part of the deal.”

Spike’s jaw clenched. He understood. He could stay until he was well enough to leave. “Of course. That and you’ll want to keep an eye on me, right, Slayer?”

She flinched at the bitterness in his tone, which was completely understandable under the circumstances. They’d been moving towards a comfortable relationship, he’d been healing, he was proving himself to her. And now this. Now Willow decides to screw around with things and she loses the man she thought she might have been falling in love with, because that was the way things worked. She killed vampires unless they were souled or helpless, and Spike was neither of those anymore. And there was no way she was going to kill him; therefore he had to leave town. It was a simple equation. “Spike—”

“No, luv, it’s alright, yeah? We both knew this was hopeless from the beginning. Me, vampire, you, Slayer. I’m sure it’s for the best.” In truth, Spike never thought he would give in this easily. And in truth, he wasn’t. He just didn’t want to hear her say the words. If he was noble and just left, she wouldn’t have to tell him that she didn’t love him, didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t have to hear her reject him.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered. “Why, Spike? Why do things always have to be this hard?”

He didn’t have an answer for her and she knew it. But she wanted one. She wanted someone to finally be able to say that everything was going to be okay and mean it. And not just mean it but be able to guarantee it. He stared at her for a long time, knowing exactly what she wanted and not being able to give it to her. Finally, he said, “I love you, Buffy, and that won’t ever change. And you’ll do what you have to do, and you’ll get through it, ‘cause you’re strong. Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do my best for you.”

“I know,” she said, and didn’t have to add that his best might not be enough, because sometimes it’s not. “Just—stay with me for a while, Spike. I told Dawn I wouldn’t come back until after dark. We have some time.” And she didn’t tell him that it might be the only time they ever had, because he already knew. And she didn’t tell him what she really wanted, because he knew that too. And because they understood one another so well, there was nothing more to say.

A/N: So here it is: the epilogue and the end of the story I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for. As you’ll notice, there are two possible endings. As I was writing this story, I found myself completely certain of Spike, but not so much of Buffy. Would she let him stay, or would she ask him to go? And as I considered, I came up with two distinctly different possibilities. Anyway, take your pick as to which one you like better. I’m still not sure.

Epilogue 1: Stay

He had stayed in the basement for two weeks, and Buffy had let him. They were doing their best to avoid one another, mostly because the future was too much to deal with at this point. She had never thought that even the idea of Spike leaving permanently would hurt this much, and yet she had steeled herself to do her duty. She’d sent one boyfriend to hell, after all. Letting another one leave town should be a piece of cake.

But it wasn’t, and so she’d avoided him, if only to put that much more distance between them before he was well enough to leave, so that when the time came she could actually let him go.

Everyone knew about the chip being out, but Giles had been too busy with Willow to say anything about it, and Xander had kept his mouth shut as well, understanding that Spike didn’t deserve a stake after all he had done for them, and accepting that he wouldn’t hurt Buffy and the rest of the gang at least. He was still feeling a little iffy about the rest of the population, however. Willow, of course, wasn’t thinking about Spike at all, even if she had realized that removing the chip was tantamount to another murder, give or take a thousand—assuming Spike went back to feeding. So they knew he was going to leave, or that Buffy was going to run him out of town. And Buffy knew they expected it, which was just one more reason to stick to her guns.

The time came too soon, and Buffy came in after patrol three weeks after the averted apocalypse to find Spike waiting for her in the living room. She knew immediately what was going on, since the crutches were nowhere in sight. And she watched as he stood and walked towards her. He still wasn’t completely healed, she could tell. His left leg dragged just a little, and after months with no practice, his steps were somewhat uncertain, the swagger gone.

They were silent, his eyes never leaving hers. At least until that pesky left foot caught on the carpet, causing him to stumble and nearly fall. But Buffy’s reflexes were honed after months of living with him, and she caught him before he could hit the ground.

Buffy froze as she realized that Spike’s mouth was about a centimeter away from her neck, and he would be able to take a bite out of her before she could do anything about it. She should have shoved him away as soon as she realized, but instead she tilted her head in an open temptation, her senses screaming. And she felt his cool lips kiss her neck, right over the scars left by Angel and the Master.

Slowly, he righted himself and smiled at her. “I’ve already said my goodbyes to the Niblet,” he said softly. “Told her you weren’t to blame, but she’s swearin’ it’ll be a blue moon before she talks to you again. You’ll want to give her some time.”

“Spike—”

“You’ll say goodbye to the rest of the bunch for me,” he went on, as though he hadn’t heard her. “Make sure you take Harris down a peg or two for me before he gets too cocky with all the world-savin’.”

Spike knew what he was doing. He was leaving before she had to ask him to go, because he didn’t hurt Buffy, and this had been part of the deal. Spike kept his promises, always.

Buffy watched him in a fog, part of her paralyzed, and the other part screaming at her to tell him to stay, to forbid him to walk out that door. She’d grown used to him, and he was leaving. And then his hand was on the knob, and he was turning the handle, and the door was open, and his duffel was slung over his shoulder (where had that come from), and—

“You can’t eat anybody,” she blurted out. Spike froze, not turning around. “If you decide to stay, you can’t eat anybody, and I mean it, Spike.”

He turned to look at her incredulously. “And no going back to your crypt, because I really don’t want to have to visit you there.”

“Buffy?”

“And no wet towels on the floor either,” she said, tears threatening. “Because you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself now, so there’s no excuse.”

“Luv?”

“And you can’t leave,” she said. “If you stay, there will be no leaving. And if you do, I swear I will hunt you down, and there won’t be enough left of you to fit in an ashtray. So this is your last chance, because if you stay then you’re not leaving ever.”

Spike swallowed and shut the door, putting down the duffel. “Any more rules I should know about, pet?” he asked with an uncertain smile.

“Kiss me.”

And he did. And this time the kiss was long and hard and demanding. Desperate and hungry. There was nothing left unsaid in this kiss, and it held the promise of more, infinitely more to come. “Why?” he breathed, when Buffy had to come up for air.

“Because I think you can do it,” she replied. “And because I love you.”

He grinned, and proceeded to show her just how good he was at following her rules.

Epilogue 2: Boomerang

Buffy sat on the back porch and sighed. She still couldn’t believe she’d let him go. His hand had been on the doorknob, and she’d wanted so badly to ask him to stay, and she’d been silent, unable to say the words. Looking back, of course, she realized she’d trusted him. She’d left him alone with her little sister after the chip had come out, and he hadn’t given her a scratch. Whether or not he would have been safe around the rest of the population, she could have asked him not to feed. And he would have promised, and then he would have kept that promise.

That was just Spike.

The bright spot in all of this was that he’d never promised not to come back. She’d offered him a deal, but there were no promises made. And he left his coat, which she was certain he would return for eventually.

Buffy looked up at the night sky, staring at the stars. Spike had been gone for over three months now, and the house was much quieter without him. It had been even more silent for the first three weeks when Dawn had stubbornly refused to speak to her. Her sister had come around after a while, mostly after Buffy had admitted that she missed him and wished she’d told him to stay. That confession had thawed Dawn out considerably; as long as her sister was also suffering, that was good enough.

But it didn’t change the fact that they were both missing Spike horribly. And then she smiled into the darkness.

“Spike.”

“Hello, Buffy.” He stepped out of the shadows of the back yard into the light from the porch. His shirt and jeans were ragged, the duffel he still carried threadbare. Even his hair was scruffy, longer with the roots showing, giving his face a softer look, even as his haggard demeanor made him look older and harder.

“I was wondering when you would come back to town,” she said, smiling.

“It was s’posed to be a surprise,” he replied, taking another step forward. She noticed his left foot still dragged a bit. “An’ I wasn’t supposed to come back.”

“You left your coat,” she explained.

He put the duffel down on the grass. “Was wonderin’ where I’d left it.” There was a long silence, and then he said, “Won’t stay long, Buffy. I just wanted to look in on you and the Bit.”

Buffy froze. This was the way it could be, she realized. For years and years, he would wander around and return every so often to check up on her and Dawn and make sure they were fine. And then he would leave again, and it would go on, a different version of the same-old dance until he was dust or she was dead. And she could stop it, just like she could have prevented him from leaving in the first place.

“Do you want to come in for some hot chocolate? Or some blood? Or both?” she asked hopefully.

He hesitated. “Are you sure, luv? You might not want to invite me back into your house. I can stay out here.”

She reached out and took his hand. “You were never uninvited, Spike.”

He followed her into the house almost shyly. “Didn’t know that I’d find you so welcoming, luv.”

“I missed you,” she replied simply. “Where did you go?”

“Africa.”

“What’s in Africa?”

“Demon bloke, grants wishes.” He sat down on a stool. “Where’s Dawn?”

“At a friend’s, spending the night.” Buffy glanced up from where she was pouring the blood into a mug. The blood she still kept for him. She thought he looked like he could use a good meal. “What did you wish for?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” he hedged. “Still evil and all that. Thought I’d stop by to see the Niblet and be on my way again. Promised her I would, you know.”

She shook her head, handing him the mug. “First of all, I’d like to know what you wished for. Second, you’re not leaving again.”

“’m not?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. “That really up to you, pet?”

Buffy glared at him. “It is if I lock you up in the basement until you agree not to leave.”

“Point,” he said with more than a hint of amusement. “Doesn’t change the fact that the chip’s out.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “If I tell you not to eat people you won’t. I knew that before you left and I was stupid and let you go anyway.” Buffy swallowed and then came closer, running a gentle hand along his face and through his hair. “What did you wish for, Spike?”

“My soul.” She greeted his pronouncement with silence, and then gave him a slow smile.

“How’s that working out for you?” she asked.

He shrugged, a classic Spike gesture. “Some days are better than others. I wanted to stay with you, Buffy.”

“And I want you to stay. Forever, if possible. That work for you?” Her eyes caressed his face, his mouth, his cheekbones.

He smiled. “I think I might be able to work that into my schedule, luv.” There were no more words, only touching and kissing and heading up the stairs for a more intimate reunion. And they loved one another until the dawn came and they were both too exhausted to move. “I love you, you know,” Buffy said conversationally.

“Because of the soul?” he asked, and it felt like the most important question ever asked.

“No, because you’re you,” she said, and felt his arms tighten around her.

“I never thought we’d be here,” he admitted.

She sat up to look at him. “Neither did I, but now that we are, I’m not in a big hurry to leave.”

“Then let’s not.” And they didn’t leave her room for a very long time.

The End