Things That Go Bump in the Night

by Slaymesoftly

Set several years after NFA. Buffy has gone on with her life, Dawn is studying to be a watcher, and the council is allowing young slayers to test themselves…albeit without knowing what they're going up against.

1. Chapter 1

AN: Written in response to a beautiful banner, this was originally intended to be a very short, silly fic about a haunted house. And then came the Spuffy…. Much needed beta help from rahirah, Eowyn, Always_jbj and Just Sue

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Chapter One

"What do you mean, it's haunted?"

"Haunted. You know, ghosts, spooks, 'Boo'?"

"I don't do haunted. I slay things. Solid, easy to see and hit, evil things."

"You don't have to DO anything about the ghost, Buffy," Dawn whined. "Just go with me so I can prove I spent the night there."

"With a bodyguard," she teased.

"Well, yeah. I'm not completely stupid, you know."

"Explain to me again why we're doing this?"

"It's part of my Watcher training—well, unofficially, it is. It's a tradition, something we all do before we graduate. I have to show that I can deal with supernatural beings on my own. Like being a gazillion year old key and living on a Hellmouth most of my life isn't enough…" Dawn muttered under her breath.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "I'd say that ship pretty much sailed as soon as the monks decided that a whiny teenager was a good place to hide a Key." She smiled to take the sting out of her words.

Dawn made the obligatory offended face, and then laughed. "Yeah, I tried to tell them that, but they were all `You weren't really old enough to appreciate the forces, and your sister was protecting you. And everybody, does it.'"

"Which, of course, I wouldn't be now – protecting you, that is." Buffy smiled, then sighed. "Dawn, I don't want to sound like I don't want to help, but if you're supposed to do this on your own…."

"I tried it on my own," she mumbled, turning away and becoming very interested in the pattern on the rug.

"What? Wait – you've already been there? On your own?"

"Well, not exactly on my own. We… we're allowed to go in pairs, so I went with one of the other watchers-in-training…."

Oh? Who did you… Dawn. Did you and Teddy go together?"

At the mention of her boyfriend, Dawn sighed and gave up on the idea of sparing Buffy any details.

"Yes. Teddy and me. We went up there last weekend. Everybody says it's no biggie – the ghost doesn't really hurt anybody, and he even talks to people sometimes. I figured we'd be fine. It's not like I'm a slayer…."

Filing the question of what she meant by "not a slayer" under something to ask later, Buffy said firmly, "Okay, tell me exactly what happened."

"Okay. Well, we went in, and just like everybody says, for a while nothing happened. We walked all around the house – which was in pretty good shape for a haunted house – and then we got bored, so I started calling for the ghost."

"You called the ghost? Have I taught you nothing?"

"I was bored! And, anyway, he didn't answer. Not a peep out of him. It was weird. I mean you would think he would have said or done something… ghostly, right?"

"Okay, so nothing happened? Why wasn't that the end of it? Why do you have to go back again?"

"Well, you have to stay until daylight, and we… that is… we didn't."

Buffy raised an eyebrow and waited while Dawn shuffled her feet and looked uncomfortable. When she wasn't offering any more information, Buffy cleared her throat pointedly.

"Okay, I just want to remind you that I'm a grown woman. Okay? And that you were boinking Angel when you were seventeen… and okay, bad choice for example, but—"

"Get to the point, Dawn. You and Teddy were what? Making out? Humping like bunnies?"

"Somewhere in between," Dawn admitted. "We were on this comfy couch in one of the downstairs rooms and…."

"And…?"

"And suddenly Teddy was yanked through the air and thrown against the wall. The couch was flipped upside down, the doors were slamming and there was a really nasty snarl coming from somewhere."

"So, you ran?"

"Duh!"

"And now you want me to go back with you. Why? So you can boink your boyfriend while I hold off the ghost?"

"Yes. No! I mean, I want you to come back with us – me, but there will be no boinking or… anything."

"Damn right there won't," Buffy grumbled, then remembered that Dawn was twenty-one and entitled to have a love life. "Not while I'm there, anyway." She relaxed and sat down, gesturing to the other chair. "So, why do you think seeing you and Teddy set the ghost off?"

"How do I know? Maybe it's his favorite couch or something…. All I know is he went nuts, and he's not supposed to do that with watchers. He's just supposed to try to scare us."

"What does he do with not-watchers? Slayers, for instance." Buffy's question made it obvious that she hadn't forgotten Dawn's slip earlier.

"Well, I really think you should talk to one of the slayers—" At Buffy's sudden frown, she hurried on. "But I'll tell you what I know." She took a deep breath and began. "Um… well, if a slayer goes in, the ghost gets more… physical. Like he's really angry that she's there… or he's testing her, maybe. Who knows? If he beats her too easily, he smacks her on the butt, throws her out the door and tells her to 'go home and tell your bloody watcher that you aren't ready.' Or something like that. I don't know if anyone's ever actually beaten him, but the ones who put up a good enough fight get better treatment."

"Which would be?"

"If they can give him a decent fight, he just pats them on the head and says, 'You'll do' and walks them out the door."

"The ghost walks them to the door? Like he lives there?"

"Uh, Buffy? He does live there – or not `lives' there, I guess – but anyway, it's his house."

"Whose house?"

"Some old British guy who's been dead forever, I think. Giles knows more about it. Who the house belongs to."

"Okay. So, this ghost guy does typical ghosty things if he has watcher trainees staying there; but if it's a slayer, he what – becomes solid enough to fight her?"

"Something like that. You really ought to talk to some of the slayers. They're the ones that have seen and touched him."

"Hi, Julie, is it? I'm Dawn's sister, Buffy? And I—"

"Oh my god! THE Buffy? Like, Buffy the first vampire slayer?"

"Um… no, not the first. Maybe the last? Well, except for Faith, cause she's, you know, almost as old as I am."

Julie continued to stare at Buffy with what could only be called hero worship in her eyes until Buffy couldn't stand it any longer and turned away.

"So, um… yeah, anyway, the thing is, Dawn says that you've been to the 'haunted house' – and I SO cannot believe that the Watcher's Council is calling that old place 'the Haunted House', Buffy huffed indignantly before going back to her subject. "Anyway, you've been there and—"

"Yeah, I was there. For all the good it did me," Julie muttered.

"Can you tell me about it?" Buffy tried to sound patient and kind, remembering that Dawn had told her that Julie was one of the ones kicked out with instructions to "Get better before you come back".

Julie hunched her shoulders and gave a large sigh.

"Yeah, all right. I guess I – it's not like everybody doesn't already know anyway."

She stood up straighter and looked Buffy in the eye.

"I went to the house, by myself like everybody else does, and at first it was fine, you know? I walked around and checked it out, looking for the ghost or a stray vampire—"

"Vampire?"

Julie nodded. "Everybody says the ghost won't let any vampires in, but you know, if the house is owned by a dead man…."

"That's good thinking, Julie. It never hurts to be cautious." Buffy smiled encouragingly when Julie beamed at the words of praise.

"That's what I think!" she said excitedly. "So, I had my stakes with me and I was twirling one of them and then—" Her voice trailed off, the excitement fading quickly.

"Then?"

"Then suddenly, I wasn't twirling it. It was just… gone. Floating in the air on the other side of the room."

"The ghost?"

Julie nodded. "I knew right away that's what it had to be. He laughed at me, and tossed my stake back. And then he…." She shuddered at the memory. "He was behind me, right behind me. I could feel his cold breath on my neck. He laughed again and grabbed me. I couldn't move, even to use my stake."

"So, he grabbed you? He was solid then? You could see him?"

"Not then, I couldn't. But I could feel him. He was solid and his hands were cold." She shuddered again. "Then he let me go, pushed me away and said, "Let's see what you've got, luv".

Buffy couldn't suppress a wince. Five years since she'd watched Spike burning up the First Evil's army, four since she'd heard about his resurrection and second demise helping Angel battle the Senior Partners, and she still got a twinge of melancholy whenever something or someone reminded her of him. Pushing the ache away, she nodded her encouragement.

"So, you had to fight an invisible man?"

"No. When we started fighting I could see him. I couldn't see him, see him. Like I couldn't tell you what he looks like cause he kept fading in and out and he was all covered up – like a ninja or something. But I could see him. He was just really, really fast and I don't think I hit him even once."

She looked at Buffy apologetically. "He laughed at me again, and I got really mad."

"And then what? You clobbered him, right?"

"Uh, no, I just kinda… flailed around yelling at him to stand still and then he…."

"He…?"

"He knocked the stake out of my hand again, grabbed me, picked me up and threw me out the front door."

"No pat on the butt?"

She shook her head, sounding disappointed. "No, he didn't even do that. He just told me to go home and not come back until I knew what I was doing."

"So, you left?"

Shaking her head, Julie whispered, "I sat down in the yard and started to cry." She glanced at Buffy, but the older girl's face was a careful study in sympathy and curiosity, so she continued. "And then the weirdest thing happened…."

She looked back at Buffy and said, "The ghost was handing me a handkerchief. I couldn't see him, but it floated right up to me and I heard him. He said, 'Slayers don't cry, they get even. Now stop snotting and go learn how to fight. I want to see you back here in six months.' "

Buffy stood up and patted the other girl on the back. "Well then, I guess you'd better do what he says, huh? Thanks for talking to me, Julie. I appreciate it."

"Are… are you going to fight him?" Julie's expression was a mixture of awe and envy.

"We'll see. He might not be quite as ready to start something with an experienced slayer."

Buffy gave a smile that could almost have been called feral, as she waved her good-bye and left the room.

After she'd talked with one of the slayers that had been escorted to the door with a "well done, pet", and smothered another pang of what she no longer thought of as grief, she went looking for Dawn.

One of the reasons she had spent so little time at the new Watcher's Council headquarters was the fact that, at first, she'd found it too hard to be around so many people who spoke in ways that reminded her of Spike. If it wasn't the accent itself, it was a turn of phrase or a casual endearment that kept his memory sharp and painful. Time, however, had worked its magic, and she was now able to visit England regularly without having to psych herself up for it. She was actually looking forward to fighting this 'ghost' and pushing his pet names right down his throat.

After all, I fought and beat Kralick without my powers – and I was only eighteen then. This guy is toast…."

It took only a second for the memory of her Cruciamentum to send Buffy flying down the halls towards Giles' large, book-filled office. She threw open the door and took a second to enjoy the way he jumped, his pen flying out of his hand as he did so.

"Dear Lord, Buffy! Is something wrong? Are we under attack?

"I thought this was the new and improved Council?" she demanded. "You know, the one that takes care of its slayers? Not sets them up to be killed or…" she remembered what the ghost did with the girls who fought him, and lowered her voice, "humiliated by some tame ghost."

He didn't need the angry and disappointed look on her face to help him understand the connection she had made, and he winced before nodding in apology.

"It's not the same thing, Buffy," he was quick to assure her. "The… creature… whatever it is, doesn't hurt the girls – not badly. Sometimes their pride is a bit ruffled, but that just usually makes them work harder." He studied her angry face and continued, "I don't send them out there. This is something that the girls themselves came up with once they discovered that it would fight them. I will admit that I haven't tried to stop it…. But if I weren't certain that they are in no real danger from it, and that it helps them to become better slayers and thereby possibly saves their lives, I would not condone it. It's become a badge of honor for a girl to be beaten by the 'ghost' and escorted to the door with his praise ringing in her ears."

"What about the ones that beat him? What do they get?"

"That has yet to happen to the best of my knowledge. It – he – appears to be quite the skilled and experienced fighter. No one has beaten him – the goal is for a slayer to hold her own long enough for him to tell her she'll `do'."

"I see." Buffy's face gave no indication of her thoughts, but the new head of the Watchers Council had know her for too long to be fooled by her calm demeanor.

"Buffy, I don't think— I really would like you to reconsider— This is not something that you want to fight."

"I don't? Since when can you read my mind, Giles? And, just so you know… I do want to fight it – him. I want to know that these girls are safe."

"Really, Buffy…." Giles took off his glasses and began the familiar avoidance behavior that made her smile in spite of her impatience.

"Giles, what aren't you telling me? What do you know about this ghost?"

"I don't know anything; nothing more than anyone else does. The ghost does not speak to me, nor does it communicate with anyone except the trainees and slayers. However…." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I don't want to… I have my suspicions, but that's all they are – suspicions. I don't think sharing them with you would be in your best interest. Some things are better left…."

His warm gaze made her relax and she nodded.

"Giles, you know how I feel about being kept in the dark 'for my own good', right?" She gave him a wry grin. "You wouldn't be doing that to me now, would you?"

"I suppose I am," he admitted, somewhat unnecessarily. "But it's only because you seem to be doing so well these past couple of years and I don't want to stir up old memories or feel—" He quickly swallowed the rest of his thought.

"Giles," she said gently, "I'm in a good place. Okay? Yeah, I still miss him occasionally, but I'm not going to fall apart just because you have a ghost who uses words that remind me of Spike. If I was going to fall apart every time somebody called me `luv' or `pet', I'd have to stay out of England forever."

"We don't see you all that often," he pointed out.

"Well, that's because I'm… busy. I'm busy doing stuff and being other places, and…." She met his understanding eyes and shrugged. "Okay, yeah. At first I just couldn't deal. But I'm fine now. No major missage. There's a little Spike-shaped spot in my heart, but it doesn't hurt anymore. I've moved on, gotten on with my life. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

She nodded her head for emphasis, and stood up. "And I'm going kick major ghosty butt, just to prove it."

As they approached the large, dark house, Buffy frowned.

"This is such a cliché. I mean, sheesh! Big, dark, gloomy – doesn't this ghost have any imagination?"

Dawn shrugged. "I guess it's where he lived when he was alive. It was probably pretty posh, back in the day."

Buffy squinted through the gathering gloom and rolled her eyes.

"Maybe. If he had a whole team of maids to keep it clean and a gardener to keep all the bushes trimmed, and…." She looked around again, noting the neatly mowed lawn and shrubbery. "Hey, who do you think is taking care of the yard now?"

"Maybe he has ghost maids and a ghost gardener?" Dawn looked around curiously. "I didn't think about it, before, but it is pretty clean in some places."

"Some places?"

"Yeah. I mean the front hall and the main downstairs rooms? All cobwebby and dusty, like you'd expect. But the library? And in the kitchen? Not so much. It's almost like it's pretending to be a deserted mansion."

"Which," Buffy said with a wry twist of her mouth, "it pretty much is, if this thing actually lives here all the time and doesn't just show up for company."

"Huh," Dawn said. "I hadn't looked at it like that. If he lives here, we're pretty much trespassing. No wonder he throws the slayers out and tries to scare off the watchers…"

"Well," Buffy pushed the unlatched front door open. "If he doesn't want company, he ought to lock his door."

Chapter Two

They entered the dusty hallway, which, as Dawn had said, was liberally festooned with cobwebs and the accompanying spiders. All of which, Buffy was glad to see, were staying near the high ceiling and safely away from potentially deadly feet.

Dawn led Buffy on a chatty tour of the rooms that she and Teddy had been in on their last visit, showing her the big kitchen and the library in which someone had put the couch right-side up again and picked up the books that had been flying around.

"I wonder who did all this?" she mused, surveying the room and trying to remember what it had looked like when she and Teddy had run out.

"If the ghost could wreck it, I guess he's able to put stuff back," Buffy muttered, concentrating on trying to sense anything supernatural or dangerous. There was just the faintest tingle on the back of her neck to indicate that there was something in the big house besides the two of them.

They toured the second floor, poking into the various bedrooms and marveling at what a large house it was.

"I guess back then they had really big families," Dawn said, having counted at least six bedrooms, not including the small rooms over the kitchen that she and Buffy had concluded were servants' quarters. The flashlight they were using, which Dawn insisted upon calling a 'torch' to Buffy's great amusement, was only able to illuminate small areas of the rooms at a time so they quickly became bored and headed back downstairs.

"Why don't we stay in the room where he pitched his fit? That way, he can find us easily."

"Yeah, all right. Maybe we can find a good book to read until he shows up."

While Dawn replaced the torch with a battery-operated lamp, Buffy wandered around the room examining the titles of the books. She noted idly that the books were not very dusty, nor were the shelves, or the table tops in the room.

"Uh, Dawn?" She waved her hand to get her sister's attention. "This room looks like it gets used. A lot. Maybe you pissed him off because you were on his favorite couch. If he can be solid when he wants to, he probably sits in here and reads." She peered at the dimly lit shelves and added, "Poetry, apparently. Most of these books are poetry."

Dawn wandered over with the lamp to look at the books.

"Spike used to have some of these," she said without thinking. "He liked poetry. Did you know that, Buffy?"

"Yes, Dawn." Buffy's response was terse, but calm. "I'm very aware that Spike liked poetry. He… he used to read it to me sometimes when we were too tired to—"

"So don't need to hear the rest of that sentence." Dawn held up her hand. "I've already got the visual, and it's disturbing enough."

"I thought you were all grown up now?" Buffy teased.

"I am," she huffed. "But somehow the idea of you and Spike… it's like imagining my parents doing… stuff. You know?"

"Your parents!"

"Well, if my parents had been a girl only a few years older and really my sister and her much older vampire boyfriend who was really more like an older brother to me except when he was being all protective and -"

Their eyes met suddenly, the light of the small lamp catching the identical thoughts.

"You don't think…"

"No. No, I don't think. It's a coincidence, Dawn."

She nodded vigorously. "Of course it is. What else could it be?"

"Exactly. It's not possible."

"Of course not."

They walked to the couch, looked at it, and by mutual consent, sat down in the two matching chairs. Nothing moved, there was no sound except the normal groans and creaks of an old building. When she'd been quiet as long as she could, Dawn looked at Buffy's tight face and asked softly, "Do you still miss him?"

Buffy sighed and leaned her head against the back of her chair.

"I'll always miss him," she said quietly. "But I've learned to live with it. I don't… I don't cry any more. Or get all upset if somebody calls me `pet' or `luv'. I'm fine. He was a hero – not once, but twice. I just hope he got his reward for saving the world."

Dawn nodded in agreement. "So do I," she said softly. "He earned it."

"He did."

When several boring hours had gone by without any sign of the ghost, Dawn suggested, "Maybe he won't come around me if there's a slayer here. Do you think I should go into another room?"

"No," Buffy said, standing up and stretching. "I'll go. I'm getting antsy anyway." She grabbed the flashlight and turned it back on. "I'll just go exploring. Scream if you need me. And stay off the couch!"

She left the room and began to search the house for areas they hadn't yet seen. The flashlight cast its light ahead of her as she walked through the halls and rooms on the first floor until she found a locked door just off the kitchen. She examined it closely, then yanked hard, popping the old lock open. With a satisfied smirk, she pointed the light down the exposed wooden stairway.

After checking the railing and the first few steps for stability, she began her descent, slayer senses alert for any trace of vampires or other cellar dwelling creatures. When she reached the bottom and shone the light around the room, she gave an audible gasp.

Rather than the dusty basement she had expected to find, she found herself standing in what was obviously someone's bedroom. She turned on the lamp sitting upon the nightstand, and flicked off the flashlight while she gazed around the room.

"Looks like the ghost likes his comforts," she muttered, touching the plush covers on the large bed. The stone floor was covered with soft, expensive looking oriental rugs, and the furniture was solid and well polished. There was a book of poems on the nightstand, along with a small notebook and a pen.

The large wardrobe was empty, only a pair of boots taking up space in the bottom, and a coat that she refused to touch hanging from a hook. The brick walls were covered with hangings of rich fabric, providing the look of one of the upstairs bedrooms, minus the windows and dust.

Buffy's stomach clenched as she realized how much the cozy room resembled the lower-level bedroom in Spike's crypt once he'd cleaned it up and decorated it. She backed slowly away from the bed, forgetting, in her haste to get out of there, to turn off the light. She ran up the stairs, shutting the door behind her and hoping the owner wouldn't notice the broken lock.

He's a ghost. He probably just walks through the door… I hope.

A nearby kitchen chair provided some much needed support while she tried to control her breathing and talk herself out of the unwelcome and unaccustomed flare of hope that had sprung to life. She concentrated on breathing in and out and slowing her heart rate until she felt that she had herself under control. Refusing to go running back to Dawn with wild ideas that would only result in disappointment for them both, she resolutely trudged up the back stairs to explore the second floor and the attic.

Dawn, meanwhile, bored with waiting for the ghost to show up, had dozed off in a chair. When Buffy returned to the library, Dawn was sleeping soundly, serene in the knowledge that her sister would handle any ghostly violence that might occur. Giving an annoyed sigh, Buffy curled up in another of the big chairs and tried to read one of books lying on the table beside it.

Before long, her eyelids drifted shut and she catnapped as much as she could and still remain on guard. A warning tingle on the back of her neck brought her to abrupt alertness, to find the dark figure of a man leaning over Dawn. Buffy's attempt to move towards him silently failed as he clearly heard her and whirled around, beginning to fade out before her eyes.

"No! Wait! Don't go," she pleaded. "We won't hurt you. I promise."

The response was a disembodied laugh and a sneered, "Know that, don't I?"

Rubbing her eyes, Dawn sat up and stared at Buffy.

"Who are you talking to? Is he here?"

Buffy nodded dumbly, unable to take her eyes off the last spot that she'd seen the ghost. She was so focused on trying to see something other than the clearly visible books on the other side of the room that she almost missed the increasing tingle and slight movement of the air that meant something was behind her.

Almost, but not quite. Buffy hadn't survived as long as she had by ignoring her body's signals; she ducked, fell to the floor and rolled away from the invisible fist that cut through the space where her head had been. She came to her feet in one fluid motion, gesturing to Dawn.

"Go outside," she ordered. "Wait for me there."

"No! Maybe I can talk to him."

"Do as the slayer says, Watcher." The cold, disembodied voice floated to them from another part of the room, clearing the way between the couch and the door.

Buffy had turned to follow the sound of the voice, noting from the corner of her eye that, despite her protestations, Dawn had bolted for the door as soon as she thought she knew where the ghost was standing. Taking a deep breath, Buffy closed her eyes and extended her senses, pivoting slowly as they told her that the ghost was moving around her in a circle – just out of reach.

When he faded back into sight and threw a kick at her stomach, Buffy was ready, spinning her body away from the kick and into a leg sweep of her own. Before she could take advantage of the ghost's off balance leap away, he had recovered and was bouncing on his toes – once again a safe distance away from her.

"What are you doing here?" the ghost demanded abruptly.

"I thought we were fighting. Wasn't that obvious?"

"What's obvious is that you're no half-baked slayer-in-training. Can feel the power in you, can see it in the way you move. Why'd you come here to harass an old, harmless ghost?"

Keeping her eyes on the still-visible ghost and maintaining her own relaxed but ready stance, Buffy replied, "That 'harmless old ghost' almost killed my sister's boyfriend, and scared her half to death."

"The girl who just left – she's your sister?"

"Yes, she is. Just your luck you decided to break bad on a slayer's sister. I'm kinda touchy about anything hurting Dawn."

As they spoke, Buffy could see him becoming more substantial – the formerly semi-translucent body now appearing to be as solid and real as she was. She took the opportunity to study the ghost – noting his height, weight, probable reach and the fluidity with which he moved. Nothing else was visible; his head was covered with a black mask that left only small holes for his eyes, and his body was completely covered in black clothing, a tee shirt, long sleeved over shirt and black pants.

"Like what you see, pet?"

The smirking voice and the words brought an involuntary gasp. A gasp that didn't go unnoticed by her opponent. He prowled closer, hoping to take advantage of Buffy's temporary loss of equilibrium, but he misjudged how she'd been affected by his words.

Rather than losing her focus, anger flared throughout her body that this unnatural creature could seem so much like the vampire she knew was dust long since blown from the streets of LA into the southern California desert. With a cry of rage, she attacked, landing two hard blows to his face before he could recover and backhand her away. She rolled with the hit, returning to the fight in time to catch him with another hard fist before he began blocking her punches and driving her back with his own flurries of short, sharp jabs.

They traded blows and kicks for several minutes, Buffy uncharacteristically silent as she determined to shut the ghost's mouth for good. For his part, the ghost, once he got over his surprise at her speed and strength, seemed to be reveling in the fight. He laughed aloud when she knocked him down, barely rolling out of the way in time as she threw herself upon him. He rolled back quickly and tried to pin her to the floor, but Buffy was already recovering and she met his chest with her feet, propelling him over her head and into a bookshelf.

His muttered, "Bloody hell!" as the books tumbled down around his shoulders, brought a reluctant smile to her face and she couldn't resist snarking at him.

"Looks like you've found some good books," she said, tossing several more at his head. "Maybe I should just leave you to it and come back some time when you're not so… wrapped up in them."

With a roar, he leapt to his feet, shedding books as he did so.

"Some of those are priceless, you ignorant bitch!" he growled, prowling towards her with deadly intent.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I mess up your poetry collection? My bad!"

Buffy readied herself for his attack, but to her surprise, he stopped and cocked his head in a motion that was all too familiar for comfort .

"Who are you?" she whispered, finding herself unable to breath properly for a second.

"Who are you?" he countered. She felt that he was staring at her, but it was hard to see his eyes through the small holes in his mask.

"I'm Buffy. The Vampire Slayer." She stared back, alert to any sign that her name meant anything to him.

"Buffy. THE Vampire Slayer? Then who are all those other bloodthirsty little bints keep comin' in here to bother me?"

She blushed. "Sorry. I spent a long time as the vampire slayer; sometimes it's hard to remember that there are more of us now."

"Thought you were a bit older and more experienced than those wannabes," he said. He looked her up and down. "Helluva fighter you are," he admitted, the admiration in his voice clear. "Don't know when I've had so much fun."

"I think I do," she whispered, shaking her head when he twitched with surprise.

He waited, but she refused to say anything else, beginning to back out of the room and in the direction of the front door.

"Hey!" he said indignantly. "We aren't done here yet. Where are you going?"

"I have to check on Dawn," she said quickly, proud of her ability to think while everything inside her was screaming for answers.

"That's your sister? The watcher-to-be that I scared off?"

Buffy paused in her retreat. "Yes. Why did you do that? You could have killed Teddy."

His demeanor changed from deadly predator to embarrassed blusterer to indignant homeowner with a very short series of changes in body posture.

"Well, they were about to shag on my couch!" He raised his head quickly. "You need to watch that girl. That wanker was going to take advantage of her. You should be thankin' me, not coming into my home and trying to beat on me!"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "That girl is a grown woman. And that 'wanker' is her boyfriend. What business is it of yours what they do?" When he snorted, she added, "As long as they don't do it on your furniture, I guess… Still, none of your business, really. You could have just done something scary, you know. They would have stopped and probably left the house. Why'd you go all Horrible Harry Homeowner on them?"

"Don't know," he admitted. "Jus' saw that wank – that boy on her and… I don't know…." He was silent for a second, then raised his head again. "Tell her… tell her I'm sorry, alright? Didn't mean to hurt anybody."

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" Buffy gestured towards the front hallway.

He shook his head and turned away. "Nah. Let her hear from you. Let 'er think you beat it out of me."

Buffy sniffed, but turned to walk out and join Dawn outside under the slowly lightening sky. As her hand turned the knob on the big wooden door, she felt the air stir behind her, and without thinking, she threw her fist back and felt it smash into what could only be a nose. A bloodcurdling snarl sounded in her ear and she whirled, stake in hand, but she saw no one.

"You broke my nose." The voice came from several feet away and now sounded more aggrieved than angry. She relaxed slightly and tried to hide her smile.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people."

"I'm a bloody ghost. It's what I do."

"I'm a slayer. Breaking noses is what I do."

"Wasn't goin' to do anything to you," he grumbled, his voice slightly muffled. Buffy could picture him holding his hand over his broken nose.

"Then what were you doing?"

"Was jus' walkin' you to the door. I wanted…wanted to ask if you were comin' back, is all."

"No smack on my butt?"

"Didn't beat you, did I? Got no right to smack your arse."

"No `you'll do'?"

"Know you'll do. Have done, I suspect. More than once."

"Then why should I come back?"

"Want to fight you again. Outside, where we can move."

"You can leave the house?"

Buffy's surprise was clear. She watched, fascinated, as he gradually faded back into sight. As she'd suspected, he was holding one hand to his nose. Before he could answer, she asked another question.

"How can something so… unsubstantial get a broken nose? Can't you just fade out and not have to worry about your body parts?"

Instead of answering her, he cautiously approached until he was only a few feet away. He tilted his head again, but this time Buffy was able to control her wince as she waited for an answer. He raised one hand as though to touch her face, but dropped it before she could finish raising her own hand to block any potential punch.

"Want to know all my ghostly secrets, do you, Slayer? Wouldn't that be more the Watcher's field? All you need to know is that, good as you may be, you can't beat me."

"Afraid to tell me your secrets?" she said, squaring her shoulders and giving him one of her best glares. "Cause you know that I can beat you."

"Come back," he said, beginning to fade out again. "Fight me again and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

He disappeared and Buffy's senses told her that he was fading. Within a few minutes, she could feel nothing but the same little hint of a presence in the house that she'd felt when they first arrived.

"I'll be back," she whispered as she opened the door. "You can count on it."

Chapter Three

She stepped out onto the front porch and looked around for Dawn, finding her sitting on the steps ands twisting her hands together anxiously. The watcher-to-be jumped up when she heard the door close, whirling around and asking, "Well? Did you kick his ass? Is it safe to go in now?"

"I think it's safe," Buffy admitted. "But I didn't kick his ass." She smiled to herself and then added, "I think I might have put a big dent in it, though."

Dawn sighed as they began the walk back to the Council headquarters. "I guess this isn't going to count as spending the night, is it? I wonder if I can get points for going twice?"

"Considering that you've had to run out both times, I'm gonna go with 'no'," Buffy said, bumping her with her hip.

"But this time you told me to leave – and so did the ghost!"

They walked in silence for awhile, then Dawn asked, "Did you ask him why he tried to kill Teddy, or were you too busy putting dents in his ass?"

"I asked him, but he doesn't know."

"He doesn't know? He throws a tantrum, tries to make my boyfriend one with the wallpaper, and he doesn't know why he did it?" Dawn's voice was shrill and for just a second, she seemed to be seriously considering going back to yell at the ghost.

"That's what he said. It has to do with… whatever you and Teddy were doing… but he doesn't know why it made him so mad. That's his story, anyway."

They walked a little farther, approaching the Council grounds just as the sun's rays lit up the metal roof of the gymnasium. Dawn grabbed Buffy's arm before they reached the gates, and, in a voice that made her sound much younger than she was, she asked, "Was it… did he…." She paused, not sure of what she even wanted to ask. It wasn't necessary.

"Dawn. Spike is gone. He dusted twice. Yeah, this ghost says Spike-like things, and he's…." She stopped, squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. "There are some similarities." Her eyes flew open again to stare into Dawn's with fierce determination. "But it isn't Spike. It can't be. He didn't know me. He didn't know you… It's not him. Don't start thinking like that. Don't get your hopes up."

"Are you talking to me, or yourself?" Dawn asked with a twisted smile. When there was no answer, she shook her head and continued, "Maybe he didn't know us, but he knows the difference between watchers and slayers. And he's obviously protective of them—us. How can you not want to check this out?'

"I didn't say I wasn't going to check it out. I'm going to be all over the researchy stuff as soon as Giles wakes up. There's no way that he's been letting his watchers and slayers sneak up there like they do without knowing everything he can about what's living in that house. He knows more, and he's going to tell me what he knows or I'm going to…."

"Good morning, Buffy, Dawn. You're up early."

"We haven't been to bed yet." Buffy stared pointedly at Giles, waiting for him to notice that they had been entering the building, not leaving it. She wondered briefly if he had heard what she said, but then gave a mental shrug.

If he didn't, he soon will. I'm not leaving his side until I have some answers.

"I see," was the non-committal reply. "So you chose not to heed my advice, I take it?"

"Did you really think I was going to?"

He sighed and gave her an affectionate smile.

"Not really, but one can hope…." He made note of the determined look on her face and gave another resigned sigh. "Shall I assume that you have met our resident ghost?"

"Met, fought, promised to come back and fight some more… what else do you need to know?" Buffy's chin stuck out and her eyes dared him to argue. To her surprise, he just shook his head and gestured towards the dining hall.

"Shall we get some breakfast, then and talk about this over a nice cuppa?"

He allowed Dawn and Buffy to precede him into the dining room and waited until they were all seated at a remote table before breaking his silence. He took a sip of his tea, smiled and exhaled with contentment.

"Ah, good, well-brewed British tea. There's nothing quite like it to begin one's day."

"Except for good old American, heavily caffeinated Starbuck's special," Buffy said wryly, stirring her mug full of sugar and coffee. "Especially for those of us who haven't had any sleep yet," she added, reminding him of the subject at hand.

"Yes. Quite. Well then, you say you met the ghost and fought with him? How did that go? I don't see any cuts or bruises, so I'm assuming you won?"

Buffy gingerly patted the side of her face where the ghost's original backhand had reminded her not to get complacent.

"Not won, so much as brought him up to speed on what it means to fight an experienced slayer. We sort of… tied."

"I see. And you intend to go back and fight him again?"

"Yep. Not done with him yet. And, anyway, he asked me to come back." She fixed Giles with a hard look and said, "Now, quit pussyfooting around and tell me everything you know about this ghost – starting with who he is."

The man who had been such an important part of her life since she was in her early teens sighed again and reached for his glasses. Buffy's hand stopped him before he could take them off.

"They're fine," she said with a forced smile. "Nice and clean." Her voice cracked just the smallest bit. "Just tell me what you know."

He nodded, dropping his hand to the table and tracing the handle on his cup.

"Very well," he said quietly. "I'll tell you what I know – which is very little, I might add." He raised his eyes to hers. "I was not lying to you, Buffy. I know next to nothing about this ghost."

She waited, tapping her fingers impatiently.

"However," he admitted, "I did have some suspicions, and I have done some research."

"Giles…."

"Yes, well, let's recap, shall we? What do we know about Spike's appearance and subsequent time at Wolfram and Hart?"

"So, we are talking about Spike, then?" Dawn couldn't contain her excitement.

Giles shook his head emphatically. "No, Dawn. We are talking about some sort of… entity… who appears to have some of Spike's characteristics and, for lack of a better word, personality. This entity dwells within a building that may – or may not – have belonged to the family of William the Bloody."

"Well, that's nice and unambiguous," Buffy grumbled at the same time that Dawn squealed, "That settles it, then!"

Giving Buffy a smile of appreciation for her reluctance to jump to conclusions, he said sternly, "It settles nothing, Dawn. The records are unclear – the house appears to be still owned by someone in the Pratt family. However, we have not been able to track down who that is, or exactly what relationship he may have to the original owners. Obviously, he would have to be a great grandson or grand nephew or some such—"

"Or," Buffy cut in, "he could just be a vampire who's been around since the 1880's."

"He could," Giles admitted quietly. "But then, why would he be unable to recognize anyone that he knows? Most particularly… you."

"Okay, let's go back to what Spike was doing with Angel at Wolfram and Hart. What do you know about that?"

"Little more than what Andrew told you after the… the final battle. We know that Spike's… essence…"

"His soul," Buffy said firmly.

"Very well, his soul, was somehow contained within the amulet that he wore when he—"

"When he saved the world and defeated the First Evil."

Glaring at Dawn for her interruption, Giles continued through tight lips.

"…when he saved the world and defeated the First Evil's army."

"Was that so hard to admit?" Buffy asked, trapping him with her gaze.

They had long since mended the rift created by Giles' complicity in Robin Wood's plan to kill Spike. However, they had tacitly agreed to disagree on Spike's motives for saving the world. The old watcher was willing to admit that Spike had been genuinely, and with frightening intensity, in love with Buffy; and that his devotion to her had led him to acts that were completely foreign to a vampire's nature. However, in spite of the final battle between Angel's small group and the demon army that the Senior Partners had sent after them, he steadfastly refused to accept that Angel had not cooperated with the forces of evil.

The fact that Spike had chosen to remain with Angel in Los Angeles, rather than return to Buffy's side, indicated – in Giles' opinion – that there was a stronger bond between the two old vampires than anyone had known. And that Spike's devotion to doing the right thing had more to do with his chosen leader than to any desire to fight on the side of good.

Their eyes battled over the table, hers demanding he accept what she knew in her heart was true – that Spike had not come back to her right away because he had been willing to risk another death to help his grandsire fight evil in ways that didn't involve slayers. His eyes reflected his inability to believe in the complete redemption of either vampire, while still acknowledging that they had given their lives in an unwinnable battle brought on by their defiance of the Senior Partners and the destruction of the Circle of the Black Thorn.

The silent war might have continued even longer had not Dawn grown tired of what was, after all, an old argument.

"Can we get to the part that we weren't there for? You know, the whole 'coming back as a ghost' thing?"

Breaking the staring contest, Giles nodded.

"Indeed. All we know – and this is almost all from what Andrew was able to glean when he went there to pick up Dana – is that the amulet had turned up some time after Sunnydale's destruction, in an envelope addressed to Angel. When he opened the envelope, the amulet fell out and Spike materialized out of it. He was visible, but not corporeal, and for some time he seemed to be slipping away as he had little control over when he was there and when he wasn't.

"There was some sort of issue with a former employee or ancient spirit – I'm not clear on that. I do wish Wesley had thought to forward his journals and notes to me before he—"

"Giles! Focus!"

"Right. Sorry. At any rate, when the issues with the malignant spirit were resolved and it was made corporeal and captured—"

"If it could be made corporeal, why couldn't Spike?" Dawn interrupted, but before Giles could answer, Buffy held up her hand.

"Oh wait. I know this one." She sent Giles a triumphant look. "Spike gave up his shot so that the evil ghost wouldn't kill… what's her name… the scientist."

He surrendered with good grace. "Yes. That is indeed the story. Spike could have become corporeal at that time, but he did not do so, choosing instead to push the other, less benign ghost, into the spot."

"So that they could save Fred." Buffy's voice brooked no argument.

"Yes. Now, if I may continue…." They nodded and he hurried through the rest of what information the council had pulled together from Andrew's reports, council spies within Wolfram and Hart's organization, and other semi-reliable sources in and around Los Angeles at the time.

When he had completed as much as he could tell them – much of which they already knew anyway – he sat back and waited for the inevitable questions.

"Let's recap, shall we?" Buffy said in a cheerful imitation of his own accent. "Spike and Angel did not turn to the dark side, they pissed off some really big evil guys and ended up fighting – by themselves." The sudden chilliness in her voice and face reminded him that this had been another roadblock to their reconciliation – the fact that he'd known about the pending battle and had not told her or tried to send slayers to help. "And no one actually saw what happened to any of them. The only bodies they found were Wesley's and that other guy – Gunn."

"Deceased vampires do not leave bodies, Buffy." His voice was gentle, but sure.

"They don't pop out of ugly jewelry after they've turned to ash and been buried under a whole town, either," she shot back. "Ever since he put that thing on, Spike started inventing whole new ways to surprise people."

Giles nodded and patted her on the hand. "He did. He has had a remarkable life – lives – deaths – One hardly knows how to identify them. However, he was not a ghost at the time of his last disappearance. He was solid enough for Dana to have cut off his hands. We can only assume that he was, therefore, solid enough to be staked or slain in some other fashion by the vast army ranged against him."

"But," Buffy prepared to argue. "What if he wasn't? Corporeal enough, I mean. Or, suppose that amulet just grabs his soul every time he… dies? And spits him back out as a ghost of some sort?"

"Even in the unlikely event that could happen—" he held up a hand to prevent her protest – "why on earth would it have reconstituted him here? In England? And within walking distance of the new Watcher's Council?"

"What was here first?" Buffy challenged. "The house belonging to the Pratt family or the Council? Seems to me that I remember when you bought this place. You were all excited that you'd found this old school campus that we could use for training slayers and watchers."

"Point taken," Giles grudgingly admitted. "We came to the house; it did not come to us."

"Exactly! So, if the amulet or whatever is controlling it, decided to send whatever was left of Spike someplace far away, why wouldn't it pick a house that maybe belongs to him? In his home country?"

Giles had no answer to that, other than to mumble about coincidences and fate and wishful thinking. When Buffy pressed him to ask why he hadn't worked harder to find out who really owned the house, he reminded her that he had a rather large organization to put back on its feet and that delving into who owned the other properties in the area had not been on his priority list. Only when the students at the school had begun using the house as their own little rite of passage had he thought to look into it at all.

By that time, enough slayers and watcher trainees had interacted with the ghost that he felt no urgency to know more about it. It had not harmed anyone and seemed to be serving a useful purpose in weeding out those slayers who were not skilled or confident enough to be out on their own.

"Come on, Giles," Dawn wheedled. "Weren't you even curious? Didn't you want to meet the ghost?"

"I did meet the ghost," he said shortly. When they waited expectantly, he looked around quickly to see if anyone else was listening. "He was quite rude. He told me his home was not open to the public, that I was obviously too old to be training as a watcher and not pretty enough to be a slayer, and he threw me out the door."

"Threw you? As in threw you, threw you?"

"Yes. I was quite happy that I had gone by myself and there was no one to witness my humiliation. I have made no attempt to return."

"So, what made you suspect it might be Spike then?"

Giles shrugged uncomfortably. "I readily admit that I do not know Spike as well as either of you. However, he did live with me for a short while, and when you were… gone… he and I shared more than one bottle of good scotch. Between what the girls have reported of his behavior and speech, and the few minutes that I was exposed to his temper, I must admit to noticing an eerie similarity."

"Well, there you go." Dawn stood up. "It's probably Spike. We'll go back tonight and make him admit it. I'm going to catch some sleep now."

Buffy waved her hand, too interested in what Giles had admitted to bother speaking.

"Will you do this for me?" she asked, searching his face for some sign of how he would feel if it did turn out that the resident ghost was Spike or some version of Spike. "Will you try to find out exactly who the owner of the house is?"

"And what will you be doing?"

"What he asked. I'm going to go back and talk to him some more."

"It's morning, Buffy. Ghosts aren't about in the daylight."

"Neither are vampires, Giles. But that never stopped Spike."

She grabbed her tray and deposited it in the slot on her way out the door. However, instead of turning to go outside again, she made her way to the room they had assigned her and collapsed on the bed.

I'm just going to shut my eyes for a minute. Don't want to look all baggy-eyed Buffy for the ghost.

Buffy awoke several hours later, blinking in confusion when she realized that she'd slept in her clothes, then sitting up quickly as recollection set in. She jumped from the bed and quickly showered and got redressed. As she blew her hair dry, she wondered what she was doing and what she expected to find when she went back to the house. Although she refused to give in to Dawn's certainty, she couldn't deny the flutter in her pulse every time she thought about the ghost.

"Get a grip, Buffy. Even if it turns out that there is some portion of Spike's personality or mind trapped in that house, there's no guarantee that it's really him. Who knows how many souls that amulet has swallowed? For all I know it's the ghost of some other British-speaking, snarky, martial arts expert, Dawn protecting, Buffy fighting..."

Telling herself to "shut up", she quickly applied some mascara and lip gloss. She slipped the gloss into her pocket, stared at her stake and then, with a resigned sigh, placed it at the small of her back. She ran downstairs, grabbed a banana and an apple from the table in the dining hall and left before anyone could offer to accompany her.

Chapter Four

She munched on first the banana, then the apple as she walked slowly towards the forbidding-looking house on the small hill. In the daylight, it looked less haunted and more just neglected. An area in the front was mowed into a small lawn, and the boxwoods along the front of the house were neatly trimmed. Everything else, however, was overgrown and unkempt looking. There was no sign of the flowers that were so ubiquitous in most British gardens. It truly did seem as though no one lived there.

"I guess, if he's a ghost, no one actually does live there," she muttered as she climbed the steps and approached the door. In a last second attempt to appear less slayer and more harmless girl, she swiped the lip-gloss around her mouth and fluffed her hair.

She opened the door, peering inside and taking in the dusty floor and cobwebs, now even more obvious with the sun slanting in the front windows. She entered, pulling the door shut behind her and following the scuff marks left by their feet the night before. Her slayer senses just barely registered that there was still something supernatural in the house with her, although not anywhere in her immediate vicinity.

With growing confidence, she went down the hallway to the library and walked in, hoping to catch the ghost reading or something else non-ghostly. She was disappointed, however, to find the room as empty as they had left it the night before. The bookshelf that had been knocked down and the subsequent pile of books had been restored to their place against the wall, so Buffy knew that the ghost had been in the room after they'd left. The book that she'd been reading was still on the table, although, rather than being open to her page as she'd left it, it was now closed with a bookmark prominently marking her place.

She smiled ruefully and muttered to herself, "Sheesh! If he's that anal, it's a wonder he didn't get along better with Giles…."

Seeing no sign of the ghost, and not really sure how eager she was to find him, she wandered around the house, looking out the kitchen windows into the very overgrown back garden and up the stairs to look through the other rooms. She noticed furniture that hadn't been that visible the night before with just the flashlight for illumination. It was old, but in most cases, in fairly good shape. The thick coating of dust made it difficult to admire it properly, but Buffy suspected that an expert in antiques would find much to like about the armoires and beds in the upstairs bedrooms. The largest bedroom was missing its bed and a wardrobe, leading Buffy to conclude that the furniture had found its way to the basement.

Thoughts of the bedroom reminded Buffy of why she was in the house and she headed for the back stairs, concluding that the ghost, if he slept at all, obviously did it in the bedroom under the kitchen. She walked quietly, but without making any attempt at stealth. She had no desire for the ghost to think that she was trying to sneak up on him.

She hesitated in front of the basement door, noticing with amusement that the broken lock had been removed and was now resting in two pieces on the kitchen counter. Raising her hand to knock, she fought the urge to barge right in; then had to smother a yelp as the door opened right in front of her. Grateful that at least it wasn't moving slowly and creaking, she shook off flashes from every horror movie she'd ever seen and stepped through the doorway to stand on the top step.

"Hello?" she ventured. "Mr… ghost? Are you here?"

"Did you think the door opened all by itself, Slayer?"

Buffy looked around, but saw no sign of the ghost. The voice had come from the staircase and seemed to be moving away, so she took a chance and began walking down the steps – senses alert for any indication that he was closer than she expected. She made it to the bottom safely and watched in fascination as the mattress on the very slept-in looking bed, dipped under the weight of… something.

Answering his question, she muttered, "Well, it might have. This is a haunted house, you know."

He chuckled and apparently leaned back against the pillows. Unexpected and unwelcome visions of a naked Spike leaning against a headboard with his arms behind his head made her mouth go dry and she lost her train of thought.

"Cat got your tongue, luv?"

"Wha- huh? No. There is no tongue getting. I'm just… Could you please be visible so I can carry on a decent conversation with you?"

He laughed again and shifted his weight forward. "Whatever you want, pet. Don't know how 'decent' the conversation's going to be, though…"

"Huh?" Man, I've got to stop with the one-syllable words. He's going to think I'm an idiot. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I was asleep when you started clomping around my house," he said, clearly stretching out again. She could almost picture him sprawled on the rumpled linens.

"So? And I did not `clomp'. I was very careful."

"So… I don't wear pajamas."

"Well, I don't see wha— Oh." She remembered that Spike had always slept naked and blushed in a way that embarrassed her almost as much as not having figured out that she was talking with a naked man. Ghost! A naked ghost!

"Right, Okay, then. Invisible is good," she said with a quick nod. "No problem." She cocked her head at where he was still obviously lying on the bed and added, "You know, I was invisible myself once."

"How would I know that?" The genuine confusion in his voice reminded her that she was speaking with something that only sounded like Spike. Even if, as she was slowly coming to believe, it did turn out to be him, he clearly had no memory of her or their time together, and she quickly tried to cover.

"It's just a figure of speech," she huffed. "I wasn't really saying you should know about it."

She could feel him studying her and shifted her feet uncomfortably. Spike had always had the ability to see through her when she was lying or trying to cover up a mistake. Apparently, the ghost was no different. Finally, he seemed to decide to let it go.

"So, you were invisible once, huh? What was that like? Did you have fun with it?"

Visions of what she'd done with most of her day as the invisible girl made her bite her lip and wish she'd never brought it up. Once again, she could almost feel him narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously as she fumbled for something to say.

"Not as much fun as being a ghost, I guess. I was on my way to turning into a puddle of goo if we couldn't get me turned back."

There was an uncomfortable silence, then he got off the bed and she felt the air stir as he walked past her to pick his pants up off the floor. She watched, trying to look away, but unable to, as the pants seemed to rise up by themselves until they were encasing a pair of legs. She watched the zipper go up and the button close, forgetting that the ghost was probably watching her.

"Never seen a man put his pants on before, Slayer?" he asked in a somewhat testy voice as he reached for his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing away. "I've never seen pants stand up by themselves before. Why didn't they go invisible when you put them on?"

"There you go, again, wantin' to know all my secrets. You can turn around now," he added.

Buffy looked back to find that the ghost was fading into sight – pulling his mask over his face as he did so.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He shrugged. "Dunno. First thing I did when I got here – made myself something to hide my face. Didn't wear it much until the bitty slayers and watcher wannabes started comin' round. Jus' didn't like the idea of them knowing who I was."

"Who ARE you?"

"William Pratt," he answered readily. "But you already know that, don't you? Or will soon. Know you're checkin' me out."

"I am so not `checking' you out!" Buffy said with an indignant snort, causing him to chuckle again.

"Meant you were lookin' into who lives here," he said, the smirk visible in spite of the mask. Buffy flushed and sent her eyes skittering around the room for something else to talk about. "But," he went on when she didn't respond, "You were checking me out. Were last night, too."

He walked over to stand in front of her, only his hands and bare feet visible, and tilted his head in that gesture that had made her gasp the first time he'd done it. She held herself rigid, not allowing it to affect her outward demeanor, although she felt her heart skip.

Hmmmm. I wonder if ghost vampires have their vampire senses? I wonder if he can hear my heart beat go up?

"So, what's the deal, Slayer? Are you always this afraid of ghosts?"

"I'm not afraid of you," she blurted. "I've never been afraid of you."

"Never?" Once again, she mentally bit her tongue while he openly challenged her. When she did nothing but move away from him towards the stairs, he sighed and was in front of her with inhuman speed. He reached for her, as though to hold her arms, stepping back with his hands up in a gesture of peace when she fell into a fighting stance.

"Can we stop tiptoeing around each other, now?" he asked. "I'll answer all your questions, if you'll answer mine. You don't even have to fight me for it. Deal?"

"You don't want to fight me anymore?" Buffy tried not to sound disappointed as she seized on that unrelated message to avoid answering him right away.

"Oh, I want to fight you, Slayer. Never doubt it. But I want to do where we have some room to move, and right now it's still daylight – not a good time for ghosts to go wanderin' around the garden. An' I want to know why you're so curious about me… and why you act like you think you know me."

He waited while she bit her lip and twisted her fingers together; he said softly, "Come on, luv. Know you have questions – you've been full of them since you saw me. An' now I've got questions of my own. Fair trade, yeah?"

Buffy shrugged and walked back into the room, then realized there was nowhere to sit except the rumpled bed. She looked at him helplessly and he nodded.

"Right. Not proper for you to be sitting on my bed – 'specially not while I'm there too. Tell you what – you go upstairs and we'll talk in the library. Got the heavy curtains in there, should be dark enough-"

"Why does it have to be dark?"

He was visibly taken back by her question and stumbled over his answer.

"Well, I don't exactly know, do I? Jus' seems like the right thing to do –stayin' out of the daylight. Like it's a habit or something."

Buffy nodded and began walking up the stairs, saying over her shoulder, "Speaking of `checking out', you'd better not be watching my ass."

"Wouldn't think of it, Slayer," he said, the lie in his voice making her smile.

"Oh, yes, you would," she responded. "You would."

Buffy walked into the library and to the far end of the couch. She could feel the ghost right behind her as she walked into the room, although he had made no sound at all as he followed her from the kitchen and then to the opposite end of the couch at which she was pointing.

"How's this? Unless you don't want me on your favorite piece of furniture either?"

"Very funny," he muttered, sitting down a respectable distance away from her. "Don't mind you here – long as no bloody watcher is trying to shag you, anyway."

"Just so we're clear… is it your couch that's off limits, or is it me?" She kept her voice deliberately light and tinged with laughter as she waited for him to reply. She knew her respiration and heart rate had gone up, but wasn't sure if he would be able to sense them or not.

He met her eyes, his own too well hidden by both the dim light in the room and his homemade mask for her to tell what color they were. Even so, her breath hitched a little when their gazes locked for the first time. He held her stare, then broke away and shook his head.

"I think it's you; but buggered if I can tell you why. Never saw you before last night." He snagged her eyes again, asking quietly, "Have I?"

Buffy gave a nervous laugh and looked away. The stake was pushing against her back, so she pulled it out of her waistband and set it on the table. When he repeated his question, she raised her eyes back to his.

"I don't know," she said, honest reluctance shining in her face. "I… I think maybe you could… but it's impossible… but you–he did it before…" She shook her head and leaned against the arm of the couch. "Can we just ask our questions and see where it goes?"

"Ladies first."

Buffy snorted, then said, "Let's start with the easy ones, 'k? Let me think – what did I ask you last night?"

"You asked me who I was. But I already answered that downstairs. I'm William Pratt and I'm the ghost of this house."

"How long have you been haunting this house? Do you know?"

He appeared to think. "Not sure. Sometimes it feels like it's been forever, but I know it hasn't. Before the watchers and the slayers started showing up, there wasn't much to do to pass the time. Every once in a while some idiot would get a snootful and want to impress his friends by spendin' the night here. Was about the only fun I had for a long time – sendin' 'em running out to their friends, crying like a girl."

"And then the slayers came," Buffy encouraged. "And you found out you could fight them."

"Already knew that. I'm pretty solid even when you can't see me – to answer another one of your questions from last night – and when you can…." He shrugged and raised one clenched fist. "Had a run-in with some would be burglars when I first moved in. They didn't realize what I was at first. Thought I was just a caretaker or another thief." He paused and she could feel his grin even though she couldn't see it. "Kicked their arses good, I did. Might have killed one of them if his friends hadn't grabbed him and pulled him outta reach."

He gave an abashed shrug and concluded, "Anyway, when the little slayers started turnin' up and thinkin' they could take on the ghost, I already knew I could fight. Took me sending five or six of them home in tears to figure out I was bloody good at it."

"So, you are solid even when you're not visible?" She filed that information away on the 'probably not ghostspike' side of the mental tally she'd begun keeping. "That's why I hit your nose last night. How is it, by the way?" she asked with genuine concern. "Does it still hurt?"

"'s fine, luv. I heal fast."

"That makes two of us." She smiled, rubbing the side of her face. Suddenly serious again, she asked, "How did you get here? If you haven't always been here…"

"That's a mite fuzzy, actually. Just sort of was… here. Some bloke was standing in the doorway and as soon as he saw that I was here, he tossed some clothes into the room and told me I couldn't leave here 'cept to step out on the porch or the front lawn. Then he laughed and left. Told me to enjoy the rest of my life, the bloody wanker," he muttered.

"And you don't know who he was?"

"Not a soddin' clue. He jus' left me here to figure out how to be a ghost. 'Course, I recognized the house after a while and I found some paperwork sayin' it was mine. That's it. Don't even know how or when I died."

"So, you don't remember anything from… before. Before you were a ghost, I mean."

"No." His answer was short and curt and she realized that not knowing how he came to be there was a source of frustration for him.

"What if… what if I could tell you… stuff."

"Stuff?"

"About who you really are-"

"'m not really William Pratt?"

"Well, you probably are, or were. But you've been somebody else for a long time… somebody I… know. I think. I think I know who you are. But I really need to see your face to be sure."

He nodded. "Gonna answer a few questions for me first?"

She gave her own cautious nod and waited to see what he was going to want to know and not sure what, if anything, she should tell him. On the one hand, if it was Spike, telling him about his past life might trigger his memories. On the other, it if wasn't really him but just some ghostly presence that had some of his characteristics, she could be giving a potentially evil being more information than she would want it to have.

Her indecision must have shown on her face as he said softly, "Don't have to answer anything you don't want to, pet. But if you can tell me something about my life and… death, I'd be very grateful."

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.

"No, I want to tell you. I just… without knowing for sure if you're who you seem to be, or why you're here…."

He nodded. "Don't want to give more away than you need to. I understand that. You don't know what I am. Could be evil."

Buffy cocked her head at him and smiled. "You could be. But, that's my specialty – fighting evil. I think I can handle it."

"I'll wager you could at that," he said, running his eyes over her in a way that sent warmth throughout her body.

She felt herself flush and turned her head away until she could set her face into disapproving lines.

"What do you want to know first?"

"Want to know who the bloody hell you think I am," he said in a tone that said he thought she wasn't very bright.

"Well, you could be… that is, you sound a lot like…." She stopped and stared at him. "Can you hear my heartbeat? Can you… smell… me?"

"If I'm fully solid, I can. Why?"

"Can you… that is… is there any chance…."

"Spit it out, Slayer."

"Are you a vampire?" she blurted.

"I'm a ghost!" The anticipated 'you stupid bint' was clear to her experienced ears.

"But," she continued doggedly, "could you be a vampire ghost? Can you bite people? What happens if a vampire tries to move in here?"

He pointed to the overly dusty hallway and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Stop playin' games with me, Slayer. Tell me what you know."

"I know that you sound just like somebody I… used to know. He was a vampire, and he… he died to save the world. Twice – as far as we know."

"You used to 'know' a vampire? As in, 'Hi, how's it goin'?' rather than know him like he ended up on the end of a pointy stick?" When she nodded, he asked, "Why'd this particular vampire get a free pass?"

"He… look, it's a long story and no reason to tell it if you're not him. He couldn't kill humans, he helped me out sometimes and then he got his soul back. He earned his pass. It wasn't free."

"An' you think I'm him?" The ghost's voice was flat; she couldn't tell what he was thinking. He suddenly spun around to face her. "Why? Why would you think I'm him? Just because we had the same accent?"

Buffy shook her head. "That and the house – his real name was William, we think his last name before he was turned was Pratt, he liked poetry, he was very protective of Dawn…." Buffy's voice trailed off and she gave a shaky laugh. "She used to swear that she was going to die an old maid because Spi—the vampire scared off so many dates."

"I see. Anything else?"

"He was a really good fighter; he liked it. And he liked fighting with me."

"I'm sure he did," he said almost absently as he leaned his head back against the back of the couch and became very still.

Buffy waited quietly, wondering if she'd said too much or not enough. She hadn't told him that he'd killed two slayers, nor that he'd loved her. I think it's okay, she decided. I haven't told him anything that might upset him – except maybe the part about having his soul, but if he doesn't remember being a vampire, he shouldn't care about that.

"What would seein' my face tell you that you don't already know?" he asked abruptly.

"That this isn't just some part of the vampire's personality lurking in somebody else's ghostly body, for starters," she snapped back. "You sound like him, you kind of fight like him –as much as I could tell last night, anyway. You have the same name as he did when he was human, you know about slayers and watchers, you aren't hurting anyone any more than they deserve or can handle… do you want me to go on?"

"No," he sighed, reaching for the cloth covering his face. "You've got a right…." He paused with his hand on the bottom of the mask. "But what if I'm not him? What then, Slayer?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I haven't thought that far."

"Do you want me to be him, Buffy?" His use of her name for the first time sent a shiver up her spine.

Do I want him to be Spike? And what if he is? What does that mean? It's been years, I've moved on, finished my grieving and gone on with my life. And he doesn't know me – clearly doesn't love me… Would it be better or worse for him to be stuck here, knowing who he is and the things he's done?

"Buffy? Slayer?"

"Sorry," she said hastily. "You threw me when you called me Buffy. Of… of course I want you to be him. I mean, I think I do. If it would help you be… happier. To know who you are and that you have… friends."

"You had to think about it, didn't you?" he asked shrewdly. "Not sure if you want to know or not now, are you?"

"I want to know," she insisted. "I do want to know. I just can't… I don't know what it means for you. Would you be happier not knowing? If you are him, you've saved the world twice – more than that if you count the times you helped me. You've earned a peaceful rest or some sort of reward, and this—" she gestured with her arm trying to encompass the whole house, "just doesn't seem all that rewardy, you know? It seems more like you're being punished for something – being made to haunt a house. It's… it's not right!"

"'preciate the indignation on my part, luv, but I know enough to know that what's right isn't always what happens. Don't have to know who I was or what I did to know that."

"Yeah, well," she grumbled, "I'm a slayer. Making things right is what we do."

They were silent for several minutes, then Buffy suddenly tossed him her stake, which he caught easily with his left hand. She could feel him quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You're left-handed," she said by way of explanation.

"I am."

"I was just checking."

He nodded. "Nothing wrong with checking as much as you can." He played with the stake, twirling it around and tossing it up and down. "You'll let me know when you're ready to see my face, yeah?"

"I'm ready," she said softly. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Chapter Five

With deliberately slow motions, he began to pull up on the mask, teasing her by pulling up and then dropping it two or three times. When he had exposed only his chin and mouth and was still playing with it, Buffy began tapping her fingers on the table.

"This is not a strip tease," she growled.

He tilted his head at her, pausing with the mask half up.

"Was just playin' with you, Slayer. If I was goin' to strip for you, I'd start with somethin' more interesting than my face. Something you haven't seen yet…."

Buffy bit her tongue, deciding that she wasn't ready to share with him that she might have recognized him just as quickly from other body parts. When she didn't respond except to roll her eyes, he sighed and yanked the cloth over his head. He turned to face her and said, "Well?"

Buffy's gasp was all the answer he needed. She was frozen in place, her hand over her mouth and her eyes riveted on his face. They moved around, taking in the loose brown curls in place of the shockingly blond gelled hair that she was used to and the so familiar, and yet now unfamiliar, blue eyes.

When she hadn't said anything after several minutes, only continued to stare at him and breathe heavily, he sighed and leaned back.

"You don't seem to be all that happy about being right, luv," he said gently. "Were you hopin' to be wrong?"

"What? Oh, no. God, no! I'm sorry. I just… the last time I saw you, you were burning up from the inside out. It's just… I'm sorry."

She jumped up and ran to the other end of the couch, leaning down, hugging him quickly and babbling, "I didn't mean to make you think I didn't – don't want you back. I just – I was trying so hard not to believe it, that I—" She stopped and straightened up, never taking her eyes off his puzzled face. "I just can't believe it. That's all. You're really back."

He glanced up into her wide eyes and said quietly, "Not really 'back', you know, pet. I am a ghost. Means I'm dead – just stuck here for some reason."

"Well," she gave a shaky laugh, "you've always been 'dead', actually. As long as I've known you, anyway. You're just a different kind of dead – more with the invisible and less with the 'grrr' and the blood drinking."

She walked back to her end of the couch and sat down, twisting her hands together in the awkward silence that followed her tardy welcome back hug.

"So, now what, Slayer?"

His face was blank and his gaze just curious, but she could see the way his jaw was clenched and his fingers were digging into the arm of the couch. Buffy shook her head, still lost in her own storm of emotions. It was Spike, but it wasn't Spike. She was glad to see him, but she had inured herself to the idea that he was gone forever, and had no idea where or how to fit him back into her life.

Or if he even wants to be in my life. Got to remember that. He doesn't know me.

"Tell you what, pet. While you get your act together, I'm going to go put my boots on. Sun's down now."

She didn't respond as he silently left the room, sitting still and trying to control the roiling emotions that seemed determined to keep her speechless for the rest of the night.

When Spike returned to the library, boots and coat on, to find Buffy still sitting exactly where and how he'd left her, he stopped in the doorway. He hadn't made any attempt to be quiet as he'd walked down the hall in his heavy boots, so he knew that she was aware of him. When she still didn't acknowledge his presence after a few uncomfortable minutes, he blew out his breath and said, "I'll be outside. Just in case you care."

He spun around and strode to the front door, flinging it open and bursting out into the rapidly darkening night, desperate for more answers, but too puzzled by her reaction to ask for them. He paced back and forth across the lawn, knowing from long experience exactly how far he could go before being flung back into the house.

Buffy jumped when she heard the door bang against the wall and suddenly she realized what he'd said.

Oh god, I'm totally messing this up. He thinks I don't want him here, that I… how can I convince him that I'm glad to see him without telling him what we were to each other? I'm not sure I even can tell him what we were – he loved me, but then he went on without me. I loved him, but it took me until he was dying to tell him. We're not exactly anyone's idea of the perfect couple.

She jumped to her feet, running to the open door and sliding to a halt when she saw the agitated vampire pacing around the yard. With his leather coat billowing around his legs, he looked enough like the old Spike to make her gasp again. Vampire hearing – still a part of the ghostly package apparently – caused him to glance up and catch her eyes. They stared at each other for long minutes, Buffy unsure of what to say, Spike becoming more and more confused the longer she refused to speak to him.

When he could take the silence no longer, he strode to where she was standing and held out his arms in a 'bring it on' gesture.

"Alright then, Slayer. Let's have it. Whatever it is you think you need to get out of your system, let's do it. Don't know what it is about me being who I am that's got your knickers in a twist, but it's obviously something you need to work out."

"I don't want to fight you," she whispered.

"Too bad. I've got some energy to work off."

Without further conversation, he grabbed her arm and yanked her down onto the lawn with him. Instinctively, she pulled away from his hand and went into a fighting stance.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" she hissed. "I thought you wanted to know who you are – were – whatever."

"What's wrong with me is that I don't know any more now than I did before the big reveal. I get that I'm a real ghost to you, now. Somebody that you thought was dead and gone. What I don't get is why it suddenly made you mute. I'm startin' to think you liked me better when you thought you were never going to see me again."

"That's just stupid!"

"Is it? 'cause, I'm not feeling the love here, Slayer. Is that because you aren't one of those 'friends' you told me I have? Do we have some kind of history I should know about?"

Buffy couldn't suppress the hysterical giggle that exploded from her mouth and turned into uncontrollable laughter. Laughter which, in turn, became gasping sobs that she struggled to smother as Spike glared at her, his fists clenched tightly and his face twisted with confusion and anger. When she collapsed at his feet, clutching her arms around her body, rocking back and forth and shuddering with the effort to control her sobbing laughter, he threw up his hands and stomped away; only to stride back immediately and squat down beside her.

He put a tentative hand on her back, patting it awkwardly.

"Come on, Slayer – Buffy – don't… stop crying, pet. Whatever I said… I'm sorry, alright? Didn't mean to get you all… Please, luv. Stop crying."

Hiccuping and nodding, Buffy did her best to get herself under control. She could still feel the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up again every time she thought about his innocent question. She took one final, deep breath and blew it out explosively. When she was able to take the next several breaths without losing it, she raised her head and met his worried gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said hoarsely. "I just – it just all hit me at once. You're really here. I mean, yeah, okay, a ghost; and you don't know who anybody is – but you're here. I can see you. I can talk to you. I can feel you."

Putting actions to words, she lifted her hand and touched his cheek. When he remained still and made no complaint, she ran her hand over his face, tracing his cheekbones, the scar in his eyebrow and his forehead.

"Pretty silly, huh?" she said, giving him a rueful smile and dropping her hand. "So much for playing it cool and letting you get comfortable with everything before…."

He rose gracefully to his feet and held out his hand to her.

"Come on, pet. Let's go back inside and you can explain your meltdown, yeah?"

Taking his hand, she allowed him to pull her to her feet, but hesitated as they reached the porch.

"Could we just sit here? On the porch?"

"Sure." He shrugged and waited until she'd settled herself on the stone steps, then sat beside her – close enough to touch if she stretched, but far enough away not to be in her personal space. He waited as patiently as he could, but soon began to fidget when she didn't speak.

"So, Slayer, I'm thinking it was the "we aren't friends" or the "we have a history" that set you off. Are you gonna explain it to me?"

Buffy exhaled loudly again. "Can I just – for now – say… we have a history? Just for right now," she hastened to add when she heard a smothered growl. "Just until I bring you up to speed on who you are – were – and you decide how much you really want to know."

"Can you do that? Without bringing yourself into it?"

"Yeah. I can." She looked up at him from under her eyelashes and gave a small smile. "It's not like I was even alive for most of the time you were around."

"I'm old, huh?"

She nodded. "Yep. As dirt."

"Okay, then, miss just-born-yesterday, tell me all about myself. I am William Pratt, right?"

"Well…you were. When you were human. I don't know a whole lot about William. Spike – you - lied about what you were like before you were turned." Buffy looked over her shoulder at the big house with the room full of books and art and shook her head. "I've always been bad," she scoffed. "Yeah, right!"

He shook his head with her. "Don't know what I might have told you, pet, but I'm pretty sure the man who lived in this house was a bit of a nance."

"Yeah, we figured that out – or Giles did, anyway. Back when you were… around a lot. He wanted to know more about you, so he went through the old Council's records for anything they had on William the Bloody."

"William the Bloody? And what's a Giles?"

"Giles is – used to be my watcher. He's the head of the new Watcher's Council now." She peered at him again. "You've… uh… met him. Briefly."

He frowned; then laughed. "That tweedy old bloke I threw out of here? That's who that was?"

"Yeah. You – I mean the old you – had some reasons to be pissed at him, I guess. But I don't know why you – new you – would be so sure you didn't like him."

He shrugged. "Me neither. But I remember it. Just didn't want that wanker in my house. Couldn't tell you why. A bit like thinking your sis had no right to be thinking about shagging, yeah?"

"Yeah. Kinda makes me think those memories are in there somewhere…."

"Could be, pet. But if they are, I can't find 'em. Don't you think I've driven myself half-crazy tryin' to figure out who I was and what I did to be made to haunt this old place forever? Trust me, Slayer. If I had a clue about any of this, I'd be all over it, trying to suss out the rest."

She nodded. "I suppose that's true. You always have been very… persistent."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said, risking a light poke to her arm and grateful for the small smile he earned.

"Sometimes it is… sometimes it isn't—wasn't."

"Alright, pet. We've established who the wanker is that I tossed out, and that I have reason to know he's a wanker; but what about William the Bloody? Is that one of my names? How did I get it?"

"Did I mention – vampire?"

"Ah…" He tilted his head at her. "So, I'm guessin' I wasn't endowed with this soul when I first became a vampire. Bit of a badass, was I?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at the note of pride in his voice.

"You'd like to think so," she muttered, giving his booted foot a nudge. "But Giles did some more research after you got the soul, and he says you had that name before you were turned. Something about your poetry being kinda sucky?"

"Hey!"

She giggled and his indignation quickly faded to a soft smile.

"You've got a cute laugh, Slayer," he said. "You should do it more often."

Buffy snorted. "I haven't had all that much to laugh about since I was called," she responded, raising her eyes to his. "Although, I've got say, giving you a hard time and making you mad usually made me smile."

"Glad you found me useful," he said with a grin. "Did you used to make me mad a lot?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so. You know, what with messing up all your lame plans to kill me, and…."

"I tried to kill you?" There was nothing fake about the horrified voice with which he responded to her casual remark, and she was quickly reminded that he had no idea about their history.

"Okay, see this is what happens when you distract me and I don't get to start at the beginning."

"Let's have it then," he growled. "Get back to that beginning and get me up to why I was trying to kill a slayer."

"THE Slayer," she reminded him primly. "I was the Slayer at the time."

"Fine! The Slayer. Go on."

"Okay, the history of Spike, part I…"

Hours later, when Buffy had talked her way from what little she knew of William's turning, and the more extensive information on his sire, Drusilla, and Darla and Angelus – up to the point where Angel was cursed with the soul – Spike stopped her with a raised hand.

"The Scourge of Europe?"

"Well, I think Angelus and Darla might have earned that name first – but once Dru, and then you, joined the little family, it was… it was a pretty rough time for Europe. The Watcher's Diaries are full of stuff about the four of you. Of course, some of it turned out to be exaggerated or just plain wrong – but nobody knew that until Angel started helping me and he corrected a few things for Giles. And you… you told me a little bit about… things before you came to Sunnydale."

She paused to glare at him. "Most of which turned out to be lies, by the way, `Mr I've always been bad'."

"You haven't told me anything yet that doesn't make me sound like a bloodthirsty demon, Slayer." His voice was so quiet, and his expression so devastated that she was quickly reminded of how his victims had haunted him after he got the soul back. "Might be a blessing that I don't remember any of this."

Buffy rested her fingers briefly on top of his clenched hands.

"You've made up for it, since," she assured him, withdrawing her hand quickly when he flinched from her touch.

He nodded and moved farther away from her. "Alright then, so this Angelus, he did for the wrong gypsy girl and got himself cursed with a soul. Then what?"

Buffy searched her memories for what little she knew about their time with souled Angel and after he left them. All she knew for sure was that he had abandoned or been kicked out of his family shortly after Spike killed his first slayer. Speaking softly and qualifying much of what she said with "as far as we know" or "well, according to Angel" she talked about how they left a Europe that was no longer safe for them and spent some time in China. When she got to Spike's first encounter with a slayer, she hesitated.

"Well? Met my first slayer, and then what?"

"And then you killed her," she said flatly.

He surged to his feet and strode away to the edge of his allowed distance, standing with his back to her and staring towards the not quite visible slayer school. He remained there for so long that Buffy began to fear he was planning to greet the sunrise. When he finally strode back to her, he was trembling and she instinctively reached for his hand, only to feel him snatch it away.

"How can you stand to be around me?" he demanded. "How can any of them stand to be around me?"

"They don't know who you are," she said as calmly as she could. "And none of them know you like I do. You're a good man, William. A good man who conquered his demon and earned his soul – a soul that he used to save the world."

He sank onto the steps beside her and dropped his head into his hands, giving a shaky laugh.

"You know, there's a part of me that is actually proud I was able to kill a slayer. I know it's wrong, and I know that if I had it to do over… But part of me is proud, Buffy. You need to know that."

"I do know that, Spike—" They both gave a little start at her first use of the name by which she knew him. "And I'm… I'm surprisingly all right with that. Her job was to slay you. You fought; she lost. It happens. Back then, most slayers never lived past their sixteenth or seventeenth birthdays. And by the time some vampire or demon had their `one good day' most of them would have dusted hundreds, if not thousands of vampires. Vampires and slayers are natural enemies."

He peered at her out of the corners of his eyes.

"You and I. Are we natural enemies?"

"We were – when we first met. You tried to kill me; I tried to kill you – it's just how it was supposed to be."

"Wonder what changed for us?"

"Time to go back to China!" Buffy said brightly. "Where was I?"

"I'd just killed a slayer."

"Oh yeah. So, anyway, I'm a little fuzzy on stuff for the next, oh, hundred years or so, after that. I know that you and Dru traveled a lot – I think you were in South America for a while – but I don't know everything you did or everywhere you went. Angel said something once about running into you during World War II, but he never finished the story so I don't know where you were or why."

"What about the rest of my… family? Do you know where they went?"

Buffy shrugged. "I'll run through what I know – it's not much. I can tell you where everybody ended up – but that's about it."

Spike studied her face, which clearly indicated her reluctance to bring the conversation into a more modern time frame.

"Tell you what, Slayer. Instead of filling me in on my whole life just now, why don't you give me some time to think about what you've told me? Let me see if or how it jogs my memory before you waste any more breath on me, yeah?"

"Oh. Okay. That's … that's probably a good—"

Buffy's relief was palpable and his mouth twisted in a wry smile.

"Thought maybe you'd like that idea."

She sighed. "I'm not trying to blow you off. Really, I'm not. It's just that, considering the way you reacted to hearing that you'd killed one slayer…."

"ONE slayer! There were more?"

"Oops?"

He shook his head. "You're right, luv. I don't want to know. Not right now, anyway. Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Like… where do you live when you aren't watchin' over little sis? How did you go from The Slayer to a slayer? Are you married? Engaged? Where are you from? Where and when were you born? What was it like to be the only slayer?"

"Do I get to choose which ones to answer?" she asked with a small smile.

"Jus' tell me a bit about yourself. That's all. You know so much about me, seems only fair to let me play catch-up."

"Okay, let me see. I'm originally from a place in California… that's in the United States—"

At Spike's nod, she launched into a severely edited version of her life before and after she was called, and her life since she'd become one of many slayers rather than the one girl in all the world. When she'd finished, pausing as necessary to answer specific questions from the attentive ghost-vampire, she leaned back on her elbows and exhaled.

"Whew! I don't know the last time I talked so long – or about myself so much."

"I appreciate it, pet. Now I feel like I know you a little bit. Some things about you, anyway." He stood up and turned to offer her his hand. "I think there were some pretty big gaps in there, but the sun's thinkin' about comin' up and I need to get back inside."

"I should go," she said, allowing him to pull her up, then dropping his hand. "Is there anything you need? Anything you'd like me to pick up for you in town?"

He shrugged. "What would I need? I don't eat, can sleep all day, have my books…."

"Um, books that were written after 1900?" She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "Music? Spi- you used to like music. Well, if you can call what the Ramones do music…."

He laughed. "I'm fine, luv. Been livin' like this for a long time. I appreciate the offer, though. I'll think about it and make you a shopping list if I come up with anything."

"Okay, then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow night…if you want me to come ba—"

"I want you to come back," he said before she could finish. "How could you doubt it?"

"Well, it's a lot to think about and—"

"And you still owe me another twenty or thirty years of history – including the part that includes you. Don't think I've forgotten about that, Slayer. I'm lettin' you off easy tonight."

"Well, that's not like you." She smiled as she spoke. "You've never let me off easy."

He smiled back and shrugged. "What can I say? Don't go expectin' it every time."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Good-night, Spike."

"More like 'good morning', I'm afraid. I've kept you all night."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she shouted as she began jogging back towards town.

"You will be explainin' that one, Slayer!" he shouted after her.

Her light-hearted giggle floated back to him, making him smile in spite of himself.

"You will be explainin' that, luv," he repeated to himself as he opened the door and retreated from the lightening sky.

Chapter Six

Buffy managed to make it back to the school before many people were stirring. One of the advantages of living where much of the activity took place after dark was that no one questioned anyone's occasional need to sleep late. She got to her room without seeing anyone who was likely to expect more than a wave and a "good morning" from her, and quickly undressed and collapsed onto her bed.

In spite of having been up for a long and sometimes emotionally draining night, she found herself unable to sleep. When Dawn knocked on her door at 10:30, asking if she wanted to come down for breakfast before the kitchen switched to preparing for lunch, she sighed and gave up.

"Okay, I'll be right there. You go on down."

She listened to Dawn's footsteps fading away, remaining on the bed and staring pensively at the cracked ceiling.

Still beats that damp old castle. What the hell was Giles thinking – that we'd keep better if it was cold?

She stared around the spartan room and wondered if she should buy some accessories for it. Until now, her stays at the headquarters/school were usually limited to holidays and brief visits with Dawn; for which the small room and even smaller bathroom that had been allotted to the world's oldest slayer was more than adequate.

But, if I'm going to be hanging around for a while…

Shaking off any speculation about why she might want to remain there for a long enough period of time that she would feel the need to personalize the room, she got up and pulled on her clothes before heading downstairs to join Dawn in the dining hall.

"So?"

Dawn's greeting was short and to the point. She handed Buffy a mug of steaming coffee and pointed to the chair opposite her own. She had chosen the same remote table that Giles had picked the day before, giving them plenty of privacy for their conversation.

Buffy sipped her coffee, hissing when she burned her tongue, and making a face.

"Ow! Are you trying to kill me?"

"I might if you don't talk – like, right now."

"It's him."

Dawn barely muffled her squeal of joy, casting a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed.

"It is? For sure? Did he recognize you?"

Buffy shook her head. "Don't get too excited. It is him – or at least his ghost – but he doesn't know us; doesn't remember anything about his life before he popped up in that house and got told he couldn't leave it."

"So, he doesn't know how he got there? And he doesn't remember me- us?" Dawn made no attempt to hide her disappointment.

"No. I've been telling him about his life as a vampire, but I didn't get to us yet. I was hoping something would trigger his memory, but whatever spell or curse put him there seems to have done a pretty good job of wiping them out."

"Well, that just sucks…."

"It does. I'll have to talk to Giles and see if he has any ideas about how to make him a not-ghost, or at least break the spell so that he can go for a walk if he wants to. I just can't imagine Spike, with all his energy, being happy trapped in that house."

Dawn nodded. "Yeah, spending all his time reading poetry and staring out the windows sure doesn't sound much like Spike."

"Well, as much as he seems to be 'our' Spike, we really don't know what he's gone through or how he died. He's probably changed a lot in the past five years."

"Probably…." Dawn sounded dubious, but knowing how much having the soul had changed Spike initially, Buffy tended to think it was very possible that the ghost of the vampire they thought they knew could have very different tastes and preferred activities.

They filled their trays, and as they ate, Buffy told Dawn that she was planning to talk to Giles and have him investigate some more into what had happened in Los Angeles when Angel and his team had taken on the Senior Partners.

"Maybe we can get a clue about what happened to Spike and how he went back to being a ghost after being solid all that time."

"He seemed pretty solid to me when he was throwing Teddy all over the room and wrecking furniture," Dawn grumbled.

"Yeah, he said he's pretty solid now, even when he's invisible. I got the feeling he might have had to work on it a little, though."

"It's him."

Giles glanced up at Buffy and immediately reached for his glasses – until he remembered that he had put his contacts in that morning.

"You're sure?"

She nodded and sat down opposite his desk.

"I'm sure. It's Spike. Not quite the vampire we left in the Hellmouth, but definitely Spike."

Giles studied her face and the blank expression in her eyes.

"I take it he doesn't remember you?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't remember anything except some 'wanker' dumping him in the house and telling him to enjoy the rest of his life."

"Someone brought him there?" Giles' voice sharpened with sudden interest.

"Well, he doesn't know that exactly. He just said that he doesn't remember anything and then – poof! – he was standing in the house and some guy threw his clothes at him and told him he couldn't leave it."

"So…." She could see Giles going into research mode, in spite of himself, and she hid a smile behind her hand. "We will need to find out who may have transported him here, and how it was done. Perhaps the amulet…."

His voice trailed off as he began reaching for a note pad on which to jot down the pertinent facts.

"All right, then," he said. "Let's begin at the beginning, shall we? Tell me everything you can remember about the house, and about what Spike said about the man who left him there…"

When Buffy left Giles' office an hour later, she was confident that they were well on their way to knowing more about how Spike became a ghost and how to fix it.

Assuming it is fixable.

Pushing that unpleasant thought from her mind, she went looking for Dawn or someone else who might want to go shopping with her. Now that she knew who was haunting the old house, she no longer cared for the small collection of utilitarian clothes she'd brought for what she'd expected would be a short stay.

And I don't care what Spike says. He could use more than one pair of jeans and one tee shirt!

Dawn wasn't much help; she had an important class to attend and couldn't go with Buffy, but she gave her what information she could about shopping in the small town near the school.

"There's not anything like the mall we had in Sunnydale, but there's a small shopping center. No Debenhams, or anything like that, but there's a Boots and a lot of little shops."

"That'll do. I just need to grab a few new tops and maybe some…well, I'll just see what they have."

"Have you got enough money?"

"Even better." She waved her Watcher's Council credit card in Dawn's face. "This way I don't have to try to remember how much anything is in dollars."

"Uh, Buffy. The stuff costs the same whether you hand them pounds or your card. You do know that, right?"

"Kinda. In an intellectual sort of way. But it doesn't feel like I'm spending money, and I don't have to remember which funny colored bills are what."

"Yeah, well, have fun. I've got to go. See you later."

Dawn waved and headed for the classroom section of the large complex, while Buffy turned to leave for the nearest place to spend Council money.

Properly weighed down with shopping bags and packages, Buffy took a taxi back to the school, fumbling with the unfamiliar money as she thanked the driver and gathered her purchases. She went directly to her room and began dumping bags onto her bed.

The first items out were some posters she'd bought on impulse. She unrolled them and cast a critical eye over the bare walls. Realizing she had forgotten to get Blu Tack, she set them aside to be put up later, and pulled out the other items – two new tops, one in bright red, a pair of red sandals with stiletto heels, and one new skirt. From the bottom of the bag, came her most pleasing purchases: a pair of black jeans, size 30; two black tee shirts and one dark blue one; and her favorite purchase – a button-down oxford-cloth shirt the same shade of blue as Spike's eyes. She carefully re-folded the jeans and shirts and placed them back in the bag, setting it by the door while she put the rest of her stuff away.

After a quick meal, which she shared with Dawn and Teddy, she ran back to change into the new red shirt and a tight pair of jeans. She left her hair down, grateful that she hadn't taken yet taken her hairdresser's advice to cut it into a more "grown-up" style. With more care than she'd given in a long time, she applied a light foundation, blush, mascara and more lip-gloss. She stepped back to examine her reflection in the full-length mirror and concluded that if at least some part of Spike didn't remember her tonight, it might be a lost cause.

Dawn and Teddy walked her to the gate, assuring her that there was no way that the ghost wouldn't get his memories jogged, and that he would be happy with the new clothes. Giving a final wave, she began the fifteen-minute walk to what she no longer wanted to think of as a 'haunted house'.

Spike's house. It's Spike's house. That's all.

By the time she got to the house, she was seriously rethinking the high heels that she'd worn to make her legs appear longer in the pencil jeans. Muttering to herself about slayer pain thresholds and the unfairness of it not extending to her feet, she failed to notice the amused vampire/ghost leaning against one of the porch pillars and watching her grimace her way up the walk.

"Not exactly dressed for fightin', are you, Slayer?"

Buffy jumped, then glared at Spike.

"I thought we were going to be talking? If I'd thought you wanted to fight..." she grumbled, sitting on the top step and taking off one shoe to rub her foot, "…I would've worn my vampire/ghost ass-kicking boots."

"You have boots just for kicking vampire/ghosts? Had no idea slayers were such specialists."

He was still chuckling as he sat down beside her, picking up the abandoned shoe and turning it over in his hands.

"You know," he said, holding the shoe up and squinting at the stiletto heel, "if I had a foot or shoe fetish, I might be getting' a mite uncomfortable now…."

Buffy snatched her shoe back, still miffed that he'd seen her limping towards the house rather than making the grand entrance that she'd planned.

"Good thing you don't then, isn't it?" she growled, setting the shoe down and taking off the other one to set beside it. The almost forgotten bag of clothes was sitting at her feet and Spike eyed it curiously.

"Did you bring other clothes with you?" he asked hopefully. "Something you wouldn't mind getting messed up if we had a go?"

"Wha-? Oh, you mean… never mind. Yeah, I did, but not for me. Here."

She shoved the bag at him and went back to rubbing her abused feet. Spike was silent as he opened the bag and pulled out the jeans and shirts. He examined them briefly, then said, "Got the sizes right." When there was no response from the still slightly put off girl beside him, he held up the blue shirt and asked, "Are you tryin' to make me a watcher? 'cause I've got to warn you, it isn't happening. Not now. Not ever."

"I just thought it would look good on you," she muttered, finally turning to face him. "It sort of matches your eyes."

"An' you knew that while you were in the store? Without havin' seen my eyes in years except for last night in the dark?"

She flushed at the skepticism in his voice and didn't respond. He set the bag on the other side and moved slightly closer to her, just barely touching the collar of her shirt with one hand.

"And this?" he asked, his voice huskier than she'd yet heard it. "Is it just a coincidence that you're wearing my favorite color? Did you buy this just for me?"

"You wish!" she scoffed, standing up and moving away from his hand. "And what makes you think I just bought it? It could be some old thing I've had forever."

"Uh huh. That would explain the tags still hangin' off the back then…" He stood up and followed her across the porch.

"What?" She spun around, trying to see the tags he was talking about. 'Oh, shit!"

"Here. Hold still a sec, pet." He grabbed the tags and with a quick tug, broke the plastic strings holding them on to the shirt. He held them out to her, saying, "Here you go. No more strings. Now you can tell me whatever lies you want about why you're wearing my favorite color for a shirt and come-fuck-me-heels on your feet. And why you know what kind of clothes to buy me and what size I wear."

"I just wanted to look nice," she muttered, ignoring the second part of his request.

"You do look nice, Buffy." He took her arm and turned her around to face him. "You look bloody gorgeous – bare feet and all. But I think it's time you told me why you care how you look for an old ghost, don't you?"

Buffy sighed and nodded. "You're right. It's time for Spike's life Part II."

Chapter Seven

She sat back down and patted the space beside her, but he shook his head and remained standing.

"Think I'll just be workin' off some pent up energy while you talk. You just go ahead; I'll be listening."

"Okay…" Buffy said dubiously. "But sometimes I'm gonna want to see how you're taking stuff, and I can't see your face if you're wandering around out there in the dark."

"Give a try, pet. Please?" He didn't elaborate, but as she watched him subtly adjust himself, she realized that he'd had a physical reaction to something she'd done or said. A physical reaction that he didn't want her to know about. Smiling quietly to herself, she agreed.

"All right, Spike. You do what you need to do and if I want to know how you're reacting to something, I'll ask. 'k?"

Without waiting for a response, she began: "Somehow, Darla ended up in Sunnydale with her sire. He was an old, old vamp called 'the Master' and he'd been trapped underground on the Hellmouth for a long time, but he was trying to find a way out. Angel was in LA, supposedly living off rats and stuff, but I'm not sure I believe that…."

Her attention wandered as she tried to picture neat, tidy, every-book-in-its-place Angel living in alleys and eating rats. A cough from Spike brought her back and she continued in a sudden burst of words.

"Some old guy from the Powers That Be supposedly showed him me – before I was called – and told him that he was supposed to help me. So, they sent him to Sunnydale to wait for me there."

"Not to rush you, Slayer, but what does any of that have to do with me? Where was I?"

"You were in Europe again by this time. I'm getting to that. I'm just trying to keep you up with your vampire family. And, anyway, it all ties in." After giving him a dirty look, she went on.

"So, okay, Darla's with old batface—" She giggled at his snort. "Your name for him, by the way," she said primly. "I called him the Master." She didn't need to see his face to know he was quirking one eyebrow at her. "Well, sometimes I did. Sometimes I called him… other stuff."

He chuckled. "That's more like it."

"Where was I? Of yeah, so I come to Sunnydale, meet Giles and Willow and Xander and Angel – kill the Master – well, he kills me first, but not for long and Xander does CPR and I come back – What? Don't look at me like that. You don't need to be thinking you're hot stuff just cause you've died a few times…."

He waved his hand. "Somethin' else for you to explain later," he said. "Jus' go on with life in Sunnydale."

Buffy talked a little more about her first year in Sunnydale and the following summer in LA with her father. When she got to her return to Sunnydale and his arrival early in the year, she paused to organize her thoughts.

"Buffy? Slayer? Come on, how bad can it be?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

She shook herself, and sent him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I got lost in some old memories there for a minute." She took a deep breath and started again.

"Okay, so you and Dru pissed off some mob in Europe somewhere and she was really weak, so you brought her to the Hellmouth. I don't know why. Maybe you knew the master was there? I know you didn't know Angel was there – maybe you came looking for a slayer to feed to her…."

"Whoa. Back that one up a bit, pet. That's all you know about where I was? I was traveling in South America, then back in Europe, then California? That's it?"

"You, um… spent some time in New York in the seventies…" She looked uncomfortable and he waited before prodding, " And?"

"And you killed your second slayer there," she said quickly, prepared this time for his explosive reaction. She watched him pace back and forth for a while, then said softly, "Spike? William? It was before you got your soul. It was your thing. Fighting slayers."

He sat back down and stared at her apprehensive face. "There's more, isn't there?" She nodded. "But we don't need to talk about it right now. We could—"

"What else?" he asked flatly.

"You… your coat… or the original one anyway… I don't know if that's…." She fingered the soft leather, noting the lack of scars and repairs where she'd remembered them. "I don't think it is. So it doesn't matter."

"What. About. My. Coat?"

"You took it off her. Nikki Wood. The slayer you killed in New York. It was a… a trophy."

"This coat was made in Italy," he said through clenched teeth. "It can't be more than a few years old."

"That's what I said. This isn't that coat. So it doesn't matter. You fought her, you won. End of story. Mostly," she added in a whisper.

"Mostly."

"That really can wait till later," she said firmly. "I'm trying to do this in chronological order."

With bare feet, wearing just jeans and her new sleeveless red shirt, Buffy was beginning to feel the damp night air. She shivered and stood up.

"Can we take this inside? I know this is probably one of those old English houses with no heating, but it's got to be warmer than this breeze."

"Sure thing, pet," he said without even looking at her, obviously still mulling over the fact that he'd killed two slayers and taken a trophy from one of them. He stood up also, picking up the bag of clothes and her shoes before holding the door open for her. "Go on in."

Heading for the now familiar library, Buffy was surprised to see Spike pull the shades and then take a small lamp from a cupboard. He smiled at her wide eyes when the room was suddenly illuminated with a soft glow.

"No sense straining my eyes to read jus' cause the locals think ghosts like it dark," he said with a wink.

"I don't suppose you have secret central heating?" she asked hopefully.

He shook his head, shrugging out of his coat and starting to hand it to her; then he paused. "If you'd rather not…"

"No, it's fine," she smiled, holding out her hand for the buttery leather warmth. "It's not Nikki's coat – and even if it was, I think I've worn it before… in an emergency."

"Emergency?"

While Spike was picturing a sudden Southern California blizzard, Buffy was remembering a time when her clothes were so destroyed that she had to wear his coat home from the cemetery.

"Ahem, yes. A… a clothing emergency. You were very gallant."

He gave her another one of his "I see right through you" looks, but dropped the subject.

"Alright, luv. So, I'm in Sunnydale with my sick sire. Now what?"

Snuggled into the silky lining of the coat and thinking that she should never have left Rome and its wonderful shops full of Italian clothes, Buffy began to run through the events that occurred after he arrived in Sunnydale. She kept her voice as calm and detached as she could, although she was unable to smother a "crazy ho-bag" when describing Dru after she recovered her strength. She talked in a detached, even voice about her teenaged infatuation with Angel, about thinking he was the love of her life. She was unsparing with herself about whose fault it was that Angelus returned, giving Spike an apologetic look that puzzled him and caused him to break in on her recitation.

"Why are you apologizin' to me, pet? Seems to me that getting' my grandsire back into the evil fold would have been a good thing?"

"Well," Buffy said, her mouth twisting, "Dru certainly thought so…."

"What? Wait. Drusilla – my sire? She and Angelus… alright, I can see that, I guess. But why would I care?"

Buffy's mouth gapped open as she realized that she'd never once mentioned to Spike that he'd been in love with Drusilla for well over a hundred years. She'd allowed him to think that they were just traveling companions, held together by the bonds of sire and childe.

"Uh… I may have left out an important… something that I forgot you wouldn't know."

"Which is?"

"That you were in love with Dru. You guys were together for a long, long time. Until you came to Sunnydale and—"

"And you brought the real love of her unlife back?" he asked dryly.

"Yeah, kinda. That and she… um… she saw something in your future that made her leave you again a couple of times. The last time stuck," she added unnecessarily.

"Something in my future made her toss me out after all those years? What the bloody hell was it?"

It's now or never.

"And don't give me any of that "we'll talk about this later, bollocks, either!" he growled, his eyes flashing yellow for the first time since she'd found him.

Okay, so never's not an option.

"Buffy…"

"We could fight again!" she said brightly. "Why don't we do that? It'll warm me up and then I'll feel like telling you more."

Putting actions to words, she jumped up and dropped the coat on the couch. In her bare feet, she ran to the door and had it partially open when a hand shot past hers, slamming it shut again.

"What the hell is going on?"

The voice was cold and for the first time carried the deep, sepulcher tones of the grave. Buffy elbowed him in the stomach and yanked the door open before he could recover, sprinting out and leaping onto the lawn. She spun around in the air and landed in a fighting stance, predicting, quite rightly, that Spike would be right behind her. They circled each other, Buffy hoping that Spike's visible anger at her refusal to answer him would wane before either of them had to really hurt the other.

With a snarl, he charged, surprising her with both the speed and ferocity of his attack.

Oops, not sparring then. Got to remember, this Spike doesn't know me and probably doesn't care if he hurts me. On your toes, Buffy. William the Bloody looks just mad enough to nail his third slayer.

Aloud, she said only, "That's just like you, charging in before you know what your opponent's got." She reacted reflexively, spinning away from his attack and kicking him in the back as he flew past her. While he was off balance, she managed to sweep his legs from under him, but she hadn't counted on his speed. He fell, but managed to grab her foot and pull her down too, quickly throwing himself upon her and using his superior weight to hold her in place.

Still snarling, he allowed his fangs to drop as he leaned towards her neck. Not willing to find out if ghost vampires could bite and drink, Buffy flexed her entire body, dislodging him just enough that she could roll them over and be the one on top. Her hands were still clutched in his fists, but now over his head rather than hers. Her legs were still caught inside his powerful thighs, but she was able to keep her throat away from his teeth as she tried to talk him down.

"Spike! Listen to me! You don't want to do this. If you want to fight me, I'll fight you; but I'm not going to kill you."

"You can't kill me, you stupid bint," he snarled. "I'm already dead, several times over, if you're to be believed."

Although he was still in game face, and still snarling, she chose to believe that his talking to her was a good sign and she relaxed for a second. A second too long, as he flipped them over again, then leaned down and ran his tongue up her throat. She could feel his erection pressing against her and gave thanks for the distraction. Instead of trying to get away this time, she relaxed and just gazed up into his eyes, watching carefully as they faded back to blue and his fangs receded.

"Just stop jerking me around, Slayer," he pleaded with her. "I don't want to hurt you; but you're not telling me something. Something important. What is it? What did my sire see in my future that made her leave me after so many years?"

As he spoke, he was releasing her hands and rolling off her body. Freed from his weight, Buffy sat up and bit her lip. When Spike repeated, "What did she see?" Buffy timidly raised her hand and waved it back and forth.

He blinked, staring at her blankly for a full minute before it sank in and he recoiled, scooting several feet away. Buffy dropped her hand and gazed at him unhappily.

"You? She saw you?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

She turned away and straightened her rumpled shirt, trying not to see the dismay on his face. When she kept her face turned away so that he couldn't see her unexpected response to that dismay, he shook off his shock and moved closer. He reached out with one hand, cupping her shoulder and urging her to turn back.

"No, luv," he said softly, when she was reluctantly facing him again. "It's not hard to believe – hell, I just met you, and I can already tell you're something special. It just caught me by surprise, is all. With the having killed two slayers already, I figured whatever history we had would have to do with almost killin' you, not…."

"Oh you tried that," she assured him. "Even got yourself a ring that made you invulnerable so you could kill me without worrying about being staked."

"Doesn't seem to have worked all that well," he commented. "Seein' as I'm dead and you're still very much alive."

Buffy giggled. "Well, you have this thing about running your mouth and bragging before you do any killing. Wasn't in your best interest that time."

"So it seems." He relaxed and moved back beside her. "What did I say that could cock up an important piece of jewelry like that?"

"You said something about me and Angel. Pissed me off and I wrestled the ring off your finger."

He gave her an admiring look. "Remind me not to get you brassed off."

"Consider yourself reminded," she grumbled, pulling her shirt around to look for grass stains. "Can you see back there?" she asked, turning her back to him. "Are there grass stains on my new shirt?"

"Let's get back in the house, Slayer, and I'll take a better look, but no, I don't see anything right now."

He kipped to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. She stared at it briefly, but rose gracefully to her feet by herself. He stared at his unused hand and then put it in his pocket.

"Are you mad at me?"

Buffy sighed as she followed him up the steps to the front door. "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself. I've totally screwed this up. I wanted… I wanted you to know everything before you found out about – I just wanted it to not come as such a surprise, you know?"

"Not your fault, pet. I was the one pushing you to say more than you were ready to. I'm an impatient wanker."

"Ya think?" She giggled as he pretended to be offended, earning a smile that was so familiar it made her blink back unexpected tears.

If Spike noticed, he gave no sign, sitting down on one end of the couch and making sure she was once again wrapped up in his coat before he spoke again.

"So, let's start over, doin' it your way. What happened after you shagged the soul out of my grandsire and he came back to make my life miserable?"

"He did make your life pretty miserable, I think," Buffy said sympathetically. "Living with that soul for so long had kind of made his demon cranky…." She smiled briefly at the idea of referring to Angelus' reign of terror as "cranky", then continued to fill Spike in on the events that followed.

She could see him jump and squirm occasionally, and knew that he was biting back more questions, but he held them in until she got to their truce and his part in defeating Angelus.

"So, I knocked out my sire, scooped her up and ran? Leaving you to fight Angelus by yourself?"

His disapproval of his own behavior was clear, and she had to smile at him despite the painful memories being conjured up.

"Don't forget, you were still evil then. And in love with Dru. Our deal was that you could take her and leave as long as you distracted Angelus and kept her from helping him."

"Looks like you didn't need my help, anyway," he muttered. "Still, seems like a cowardly thing to do…."

"It's no biggie," she said. "I sent him to Hell, saved the world, and all was hunky-dory."

Something in her eyes must have reflected exactly how not 'hunky-dory' things really were as he held her gaze for a minute, then said, "Think this might be one of those things we need to come back to, pet. I'm pretty sure there's more to this than 'it's all hunky-dory'."

"Maybe. But it hasn't got anything to do with you, or with your history, so…."

"Alright. Keep goin' then."

Buffy quickly ran through the next two years, smiling as she recalled finding him sitting in her kitchen crying on her mother's shoulder about Dru. She talked about the Initiative's arrival and their chip-assisted removal of his ability to kill and feed, surprised when he wasn't more outraged about it. When she asked him why he wasn't more upset, he quietly pointed out that he didn't kill or feed from people now, so why should he get his 'knickers in a twist' at finding out something had stopped him from doing it long ago?

She'd got as far as Adam's defeat and Spike's subsequent quasi acceptance as a Scooby hanger on, when her mouth opened in a gigantic yawn.

"Ooh! I'm sorry," she apologized, yawning again and fighting the urge to shut her eyes. "I didn't get much sleep last night or today—"

"And now it's almost morning again," he said, leaping to his feet and walking to her end of the couch. "I'm sorry, pet. I'm a thoughtless git – while I'm here sleepin' all day, you've been out doing whatever it is people who aren't haunting houses have to do in the daytime."

"Yeah. I think I need to just crash for ten hours or so before I'm up for any more storytelling."

She stood up and stretched, noticing how his eyes followed her every move.

"See something you like, Ghost?" she said in a poor imitation of his accent.

"Touché, pet." He laughed with rueful good humor. "I may not remember you, but I can definitely see how you could turn a poor vamp's head…."

"I think all I'm going to turn right now, is into a pumpkin," Buffy laughed with him, picking up her shoes and walking towards the door. "All I have to do is limp my way back to the Council compound."

"You could stay here, pet." When she whipped her head around to stare at him, he amended quickly, "Not with me. But you're welcome to use my bed. I can sleep in here or use one of the upstairs rooms. Not really ready to sleep yet, anyway. Got some more hauntin' to do before I turn in."

"I…." Buffy looked longingly at the couch and yawned again. "I don't want to impose… but it is a long way back. In the morning, I could call Dawn and ask her to bring me different shoes…." She glanced up at him. "I don't want to kick you out of your bed, though. I can just catch a nap here on the couch for a few hours and then—"

"You're not imposing. And you're not sleeping on a couch when there's a perfectly good bed downstairs. Unless you don't want to sleep in a cellar… I didn't think about that. You're probably used to—"

"Spike!" Buffy cut him off. "Your bedroom is fine. I… it wouldn't be the first time I've slept underground. Underground rooms can be really… cozy."

"Cozy?" He studied her blushing face. "We still have a lot of history to cover, don't we, Slayer?"

She nodded dumbly, grateful that he wasn't planning to pursue it tonight. So far, all she'd really told him was that he'd started helping her and that Dru had seen it coming. She knew he wasn't stupid enough not to realize there had been more to their relationship, but she really couldn't wrap her brain around any way to explain the following three years. Considering how long it had taken her to tell him that he and Dru had been a couple, letting him think they just had a very tight sire/childe bond, she wasn't sure how to even approach the idea of his being in love with a slayer.

She followed him to the basement stairs, making note of the switches he used to turn lights on in the kitchen and on the stairs, and then followed him down the steps. She watched as he turned on the lamp by the bed and then walked back to where she waited at the foot of the staircase.

"The house isn't very modern, but there's a functioning water closet – bathroom – just off the kitchen. It's usable. It's where I shower when I feel like it. The water isn't going to be warm, but it runs and the toilet flushes."

"I'll be fine," she said softly. "I'm just going to run upstairs and use it now so I don't have to get up and stumble around later, 'k?"

She went back up to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, "Are you watching my ass again?"

"You know it, Slayer. Very watchable, your arse is."

"And don't you forget it," she snapped back at him, giving her hips an extra twitch as she reached the top.

When she emerged from the bathroom, there was no sign of Spike and the kitchen light had been turned off. As with the other rooms that he used in the daytime, the kitchen had heavy curtains that both kept out the sun and hid the soft electric lights from prying eyes. She called "Good night, Spike" into the empty appearing house and went down to the waiting bed. As she closed the door behind her, she heard his "Good night, Slayer," floating down the hall from the library.

It took her only a few minutes to shed her shirt, bra and jeans and replace them with one of the new tee shirts from the bag she found sitting on a chair. And it took only a few more minutes for the past two nights to catch up with her and send her into a deep dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eight

Buffy woke in the pitch dark, her heart pounding until she remembered where she was and fumbled for the lamp. The soft light illuminated the room and she stretched under the covers, wondering how long she'd been asleep. Reaching for her jeans, she pulled her phone from her pocket and found that it was 1:00 in afternoon.

"Holy shit! Giles and Dawn are going to be sure he killed me," she muttered as she tugged on her clothes and threw the tee shirt on the bed. She straightened the covers, wondering what felt so different about sleeping in this bed compared to the one in Spike's crypt in Sunnydale. Then she realized what it was. She picked up the pillow and inhaled deeply, but got nothing but the faint trace of her shampoo off it. There was no familiar scent to let her know whose bed she was in. The sheets were as clean and scentless as if they'd just come from the dryer.

"Ghosts don't smell," she said aloud. "Who knew?"

She ran lightly up the stairs and out into the kitchen to find Spike sitting at the table facing both Dawn and Giles. Angry glares seemed to be in vogue.

"Oops?" Buffy said, sliding to a halt. "I'm sorry, guys. It was just so late and I was so sleepy…"

"The ghost – Spike - has explained it to us," Giles said stiffly. "We were concerned, naturally—"

"It's hardly the first time I've been out all night, Giles," Buffy said. "In fact, it's pretty much part of my job description."

"I asked him to bring me," Dawn said quietly. "I was worried when you weren't back by breakfast…."

"Oh, well… thanks, I guess. I'm sorry that you had to make a trip for nothing." She looked at Giles and asked, "I suppose it's too much to hope that you drove?"

"I did, actually," he replied. "I didn't know if you would be—it just seemed like the reasonable thing to do."

With a guilty start, Buffy realized that they really had been worried about her. To the point that Giles had been prepared to pick up an injured or dead slayer.

"I really am sorry," she repeated, more sincerely this time. "I should have called. I had no idea I was going to sleep so late."

"You were pretty knackered." Spike spoke for the first time since she'd come in the room. "You needed the sleep." His glare at the other man told her that there'd been some argument about whether or not to wake her up.

"I was," she agreed. "Thank you very much for letting me borrow your bedroom, Spike. It was very thoughtful of you."

She added her glare to Spike's, and Giles sighed and nodded. "My apologies for what we were thinking," he said with ill-concealed reluctance. "It appears that you were quite safe with Mr. Pratt."

Buffy smiled her gratitude at him as she turned to Spike. "Have you been to sleep yet?" When he shook his head 'no', she lifted her shoes off the counter and said, "Then we'll get out of your hair and let you get some rest. Thanks again for the bed."

"My pleasure, Slayer. Anytime."

Dawn's snicker didn't go unnoticed by anyone, but she blinked her eyes innocently and said, "What?"

Buffy held on to the counter with one hand and put her shoes back on, standing up to her full height and admiring her newly elongated legs. "I guess since I have a ride, I can wear these without worrying about being crippled when I get where I'm going."

"They were worth every limp, Slayer," Spike said, running his eyes up her legs and body until he reached her flushed face. The look in his eyes deepened her flush and she mumbled under her breath as she followed Giles and Dawn out of the room. She paused at the door.

"I'll be back later."

"I'll be looking forward to it," he said with a lascivious lick of his lips.

Buffy rolled her eyes, but her hips swayed a bit more than necessary as she walked down the hall.

The ride back to the Council Headquarters took very little time; Buffy had barely begun to tell them how far she'd gotten in Spike's history before they were pulling into the car park in front of the gate.

"I'm starving," she said, as she exited the car. "Turns out ghosts who don't eat and can't leave don't have food in the house."

"When you have eaten and put on shoes that are somewhat less ridiculous," Giles stared at her feet with clear disapproval, "please come to my office. I have some information that may be useful."

After a quick combined breakfast and lunch that would have filled up the average girl her size at least twice, Buffy went to her room to change clothes. Dawn followed along, demanding a blow-by-blow description of how the night had gone.

"I told him about his vampire family and about his life up to when he got the chip and started helping us. That's about all we've talked about so far."

"So he doesn't have any idea that you guys were…."

Remembering her meltdown when Spike asked about their history, Buffy shook her head. "I think he's getting the idea. He knows there was something – and that Dru left because of me – but he doesn't have any details yet."

"That should be a fun conversation," Dawn smirked. "Can I tag along to listen?"

"No!"

"Spoil sport."

"Nosy brat."

They glared at each other; then burst out laughing.

"So, he has no idea who I am yet?"

"Nope. Haven't got that far. Maybe tonight."

Dawn nodded. "'k. You'd better get up to Giles' office. I don't know what he found out, but he's been talking on the phone with Willow and the coven for the past twenty-four hours."

"I'm on my way."

"You said you knew some stuff?"

Buffy had followed her perfunctory knock right through the door and into Giles' office.

"Ah, Buffy. Yes, I've been able to find out a few things. The house does, in fact, belong to William Pratt – Spike. He's been able to maintain ownership all these years by using Wolfram and Hart's London branch as his solicitor." He gave her a challenging stare. "So, you can perhaps understand my reluctance to believe that he and Angel were working to undermine their employers."

"Yes, but-" Buffy argued, "that was probably from a long time ago when they were evil. It makes sense that they would have used an evil law firm – hey, is that one of those redundant thingies? Like a true fact or an ATM machine?" When Giles tapped his fingers impatiently, she hurried on. "Anyway, who else but an evil law firm would work for vampires?"

"Be that as it may, it seems that he does own the house and has since before he was turned. Although he had not, to anyone's knowledge, been back to it since then." He shuffled some papers. "In speaking with Willow and the coven, it appears that the most likely thing holding him to the house, or to this plane, is that he has unfinished business of some sort. Apparently, if he… died… with something very important to him left undone, it would not require much in the way of a spell to trap him here. His own desire to complete his task would prevent him from moving on to the next realm – whatever that may be in the case of a souled vampire."

"Huh." Buffy dropped into a chair and stared into the distance as she absorbed what Giles had said. Eventually, she brought her gaze back to him to ask, "Where does the guy who put him in the house fit into this?"

"That I have not been able to ascertain. Although, it is certainly possible that in his past dealings with Wolfram and Hart he may have made provision for such a possibility…"

"Giles – nobody makes plans to become a ghost. Especially not Spike."

"I'm merely speculating and offering some possible scenarios, Buffy," he responded somewhat stiffly. "I will, of course, continue to look into it, but we may be at a dead end unless Spike recovers his memories and they include something useful."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I didn't mean to argue with you. And I appreciate this, I really do. You'll let me know if you find out anything else, right?"

"Of course-" he hesitated, then said gently, "Buffy, you do understand that if these theories are correct, Spike could disappear at any time? If or when he takes care of whatever is keeping him on this plane, the spell would be broken and he…"

"And he will really be dead and gone. Yeah, I got that." She brightened as she stood up. "Maybe it's a good thing he has no memory, huh? If he can't remember what it was he needed to do, he can't fix it and be really dead."

"I suppose that is one way of looking at it," Giles said, shaking his head. "Although, I would think for someone of Spike's… active… nature, an eternity of walking through the halls of his ancestral home might get a bit tedious."

"Yeah." She nodded as she walked towards the door. "I already told him that being trapped in a house didn't seem like much of a reward for someone who's saved the world three or four times. Guess I was right, huh?"

Buffy took a short nap before dinner and allowed Dawn to help her decide where to hang her posters. Their conversation was mostly about Spike and the chances of his gaining his memories and what that would mean for them.

"Is he saying that if we help Spike get his memories back, he might go poof?"

"Yeah. That's pretty much what he said. It's just a theory, though. The coven said that's how ghosts are usually anchored to this plane. This is Spike. He's probably invented a whole new way to be a ghost."

"Sure he has," Dawn agreed loyally. "It's probably got nothing to do with fixing anything." They left the room and began to walk down to the dining hall. "But what if it does, Buffy? Are you going to tell him?"

"I'm going to tell him what the coven said. He can decide for himself if he wants to try to remember what it is he needs to do. It depends on whether he wants to…move on, I guess."

Dawn nodded. "So, just like that? You're going to let him go again?"

"What? No!" Buffy responded vigorously, then sighed. "But I can't make that decision for him. If he doesn't want to be here any more, all I can do is try to give him a reason to stay…"

"Like he did for you when you came back from being dead?"

Buffy looked at her sister and narrowed her eyes. "When did you get so dammed smart?"

Dawn just laughed and pushed in front of her to get her tray.

Chapter Nine

It was not yet dark when Buffy had finished eating and changed into something comfortable and flattering to wear to Spike's. She resolutely pushed Giles' suggestion of what could happen to Spike if he recovered his memories to the back of her mind as she trudged up the small rise to the house. With the sun still up, Spike was not waiting for her on the porch this time, and she climbed the steps to let herself in.

"Knock, knock?" she called, as she closed the door behind her. There was something about it being a real house rather than just a vampire's home in a crypt that made her less inclined to just barge in. There was no reply, and no one in the library, so she made her way to the kitchen and the door to Spike's bedroom.

"Spike? Are you up yet?"

"If I wasn't, I would be now, wouldn't I?" he grumbled from below. She saw the soft glow from the bedside lamp as he turned it on.

"Can I come down? Are you decent?"

"No. Not decent – but invisible. Just as good as…"

Not with the visual I'm getting, it isn't.

"Ok, here I come then."

She walked down the stairs and glanced towards the bed to see the shape of legs under the sheet covering what was apparently the lower part of Spike's body. She pushed his jeans off the chair and sat down.

"Making yourself right at home, aren't you, luv?" The warmth and humor she could hear in his voice told her that he wasn't really mad, but she apologized anyway.

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd be awake by now. Do you want me to come back later?"

The linens stirred as he sat up straighter and threw them back. She heard his feet hit the floor beside the bed and his disembodied voice said, "Throw me my pants, would you, Slayer?"

Buffy picked his jeans up from where she'd dropped them and tossed them in the general direction of the voice. They stopped in midair, then slowly dropped and became leg shaped. Once again she watched him zip up his pants and fasten the button, wondering as she did how many times she'd watched those same motions during their time together so many years ago. She didn't realize that her eyes had glazed over until she felt him beside her and his hand on her shoulder.

"Slayer? Buffy? Where'd you go?"

"Huh?" She startled, coming back to herself, flushing as he faded into sight and she could see the smirk on his face.

"I asked where you went, luv. You watched me fastenin' my pants… again… and then you went away."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I seem to be saying that to you a lot, don't I?"

"Yeah, a bit. Is that something you used to have to do a lot – apologize to me?"

"Apolo—to you?" Buffy's completely dumbstruck expression told him that he'd made a wrong guess.

"I'm takin' it that's a 'no'," he said, dropping his hand and stepping away.

"It is," she replied. "But it shouldn't have been. I probably owe you way more than you've got from me so far."

"Good to know," he grinned. "The Slayer owes me lots of apologies."

"Yeah, well, don't get too used to them. I'm pretty sure my sudden attack of good manners is gonna evaporate pretty soon."

"That so?" he said as he walked to the bed and picked up the tee shirt she'd worn the night before. He pulled it on, covering the bare chest that she was having a hard time keeping her eyes off, and turning to face her. "I'll keep that in mind. Don't want to use up all those `I'm sorry's at one time, do I?"

When she just rolled her eyes and sat back down, he walked back to the bed and dropped onto it, leaning back against the headboard. He crossed his hands behind his head and gazed at her until she began to squirm uncomfortably.

"So, Slayer," he said finally. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"What question?" Buffy had genuinely forgotten what had started the conversation and she blinked at him, her brow furrowed.

"Where you went while I was getting dressed. You were watching, and then you were seeing something else. I'd like to know what it was."

"The truth?" she challenged.

"That'd be my first choice, yeah."

"What if you don't like it?"

"Why don't you let me worry about what I like and don't like and jus' tell me what you find so fascinating about watching me zip up my pants?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded and squared her shoulders. "Fine. I was watching you and I was remembering how many times before I've watched you do that." She met his eyes firmly, her chin up and her posture daring him to say something crude.

He stared back, then sat up and dropped his feet over the side of the bed. He stood, walked over, and offered her his hand to help her out of the chair. In spite of the absurdity of someone like her needing assistance to rise, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. His hand felt as it always had – cooler than normal, but solid and with calluses where you'd expect to find them. When she was standing beside him, he dropped her hand and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. He waited until she was a few steps ahead before saying quietly, "I'm guessing the history lesson is about to get a lot more interesting and I'm thinking my bedroom might not be the best place for it."

She snorted as she entered the kitchen and turned to face him, catching her breath in a small gasp as she got a glimpse of his unguarded face and the lustful look on it. Seeing that he'd been caught, Spike played it up – running his eyes over her body and licking his lips.

"I'm just sayin'… No sense letting our hormones get in the way of your history lesson."

"You just worry about your own hormones, buddy. Mine are under perfect control."

"'s that so?" He moved closer to her and leaned down to breathe in her ear. "'s not what your body's telling mine."

Buffy glanced down at the telltale bulge in his jeans and stepped away. "My body doesn't know that you don't know me and don't lo-— and that you don't know anything about us. You keep yours under control, and let me worry about mine."

He nodded, surprising her by agreeing so quickly.

"You're right, luv. Even if you were willin', a gentleman shouldn't try to take advantage of… whatever I'd be taking advantage of." He cocked his head at her and asked, "You are going to tell me what that is, aren't you? I think we're long past waiting for you to work your way up to teling me what I should know about us."

"Yes, I'm going to tell you. That's why I told you the truth about what I was thinking downstairs. But I have other important stuff to tell you, too. Stuff you need to know."

"Right now, all I need to know is why my pants get tight every time I get near you, and why snuggling up with a tee shirt that smelled like you gave me the most restful sleep I've had since I got to this place."

As they spoke, they moved towards the library and once again sat down facing each other from opposite ends of the couch. Buffy was silent at first, running her eyes over his face and body in a way that she hadn't allowed herself to do when she was trying to keep their relationship the very last thing she told him about. When she'd satisfied herself that she had rememorized every feature, she focused on her wringing hands and began to speak.

"We've had a complicated relationship…. God, that's like the understatement of the century!" She gave a shaky laugh and glanced up at him.

"Slayer and vampire – that's a complication right there, innit? Assuming I wasn't all souled up at the time."

She shook her head. "You weren't. And, at first, we really didn't like each other very much…." She grinned at him. "In spite of being engaged for almost a whole day. For just a little while, you called me 'sweetheart' instead of the 'bane of my bloody existence'."

"Engaged? To the bane of my existence?"

"It was a spell. We got over it and went back to hating each other."

At his disbelieving snort, she insisted, "We did! I just didn't stake you because you were all impotent…." Over his snarled, "Bloody lie that is!" she went on to explain that he'd made up with his vampire girlfriend and had spent the summer plotting ways to get his chip out.

When she told him about the aborted attempt to get it out, and his attempt to bite her when he thought it was gone, he looked abashed and offered, "Sorry?"

Buffy waved her hand dismissively. "No biggie. You started to change after that. Hanging out with us more, checking in on my mom; and then…."

She chewed her lips and twisted her hands together again. When she could tell that he was losing patience, she let it all out in one long exhalation.

"Andthenyouchainedmeupinyourcryptandtoldmeyouloved me"

There was a crashing silence until Buffy risked a glance at his shocked face. At the sight of her worried eyes, he managed to close his gaping mouth and nod. Buffy watched him visibly gain control of himself before he managed to speak.

"I'm goin' to guess there was no spell involved this time?"

"No spell."

"And how did you take this happy news?"

"About like you might expect… But, in my defense, you did have me chained up at the time, and it was after you and your ho-bag sire knocked me out with a cattle prod. And you threatened to feed me to her if I didn't tell you that you had a chance with me."

"Did I?"

"Did you what? Do all that, or have a chance with me?"

"Either. Both."

"You did do that. You also offered to dust Dru for me – which I've got to admit was tempting. Then Harmony showed up and the whole thing kind of got out of your control."

"Three women in the same room and it got out of my control? Bloody shocked, I am."

Buffy laughed softly. "It wasn't one of your better moments. Both vamps dumped you, and I was so mad I can't believe you weren't dust right that second."

"Why wasn't I dust?" he asked curiously. "How could you let me walk?"

"I don't know. Because we had… you were… it was sorta… pitiful... and sweet, in a demented kind of way. Anyway, I'd already had your invitation to our house revoked and the look on your face when you hit that barrier," she paused, then looked right at him. "I think it would've been kinder to have staked you."

"So, Slayer…." She couldn't tell from his tone or the blank expression on his face what he was thinking. "How did we get from 'over my dead body' to you being an expert on how I put my pants on?"

"Actually," she watched him carefully as she spoke, "it was more like 'the only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.'"

"Nice. Are you always that sensitive when you're lettin' some poor bloke down?"

"Only vampires who've tried to kill me and my friends and who think falling in love with me makes it all okay."

He cocked his head at her and moved closer, taking one of her hands in his and turning it over so that he could plant a soft kiss on her palm. He smiled when he felt her heartbeat go up and watched her face flush.

"So, when did it start to make it all okay, pet? Cause I'm sensing that it did at some point, yeah?"

"Yeah," she answered, taking her hand away and putting it behind her back. "It did. But it was kind of a long process – and not much fun for either of us most of the time." She raised her eyes to his and said with a soft smile, "But it was worth it… for a while."

"Just for a while?"

Buffy sighed and ran through as much as she felt he needed to know about Glory, Dawn and what he'd done for her.

"That's when I started to realize that you really could love, that you could make unselfish decisions to protect someone else. Giles had always insisted that you couldn't, and after Angelus…."

"You believed him."

"I did. For a long time. Much longer than you deserved."

"So, when do we get to me taking my pants off around you?"

Buffy huffed loudly. "Don't you want to hear how we got to that point?"

"Eventually, I do. Right now, I just want to know how you went from feeling sorry for me to shagging me." He raised an eyebrow. "There was shagging, I take it?"

"Oh, yeah. Lots of it. But not right then. It was later, and it only lasted a few months."

"What happened?"

"I… I was using your body – and your feelings for me – to help me forget… something I wanted to forget. And when I started feeling more like myself, I realized it was wrong."

"You broke up with me because you thought you shouldn't be using my body? Didn't I get a vote?" If she hadn't been reliving her guilt, Buffy would have laughed at his whining tone.

Buffy shook her head. "No," she whispered, "I just did it. To make myself feel better. I never thought about your feelings." Her eyes flew to his. "Another apology I owe you, I guess."

"'s alright, pet. Not like I remember it, is it?" He sighed and touched her cheek with his finger. "And then what?"

"And then there was… stuff that happened, and you went off to Africa and got your soul. For me. You got it for me. The only vampire to ever do something like that. You were—are—a very special man, William Pratt."

"Not a man, Buffy. Ghost of a vampire is all I am. All I ever will be."

"Maybe…."

"Maybe?"

"Can we talk about the other stuff I wanted to tell you, and come back to us, later?"

"There's more? After I got the soul?"

She nodded vigorously. "Much more – and more to tell you about what happened before, too. But I need – you need - to know what the coven said about being a ghost. And, they could be wrong, you know. It might not be like that at all, but-—"

"Spit it out, Slayer."

He moved away from her, just far enough that there was no danger of accidental touching.

"The most common reason people become ghosts is that they have unfinished business here on this plane. And, usually, if and when they can take care of whatever's keeping them here, they move on to… wherever they were supposed to go. According to the coven, that's the easiest way to trap a spirit on this plane. They think that might be what happened to you."

Buffy repeated the information Giles had given her as if she were reciting it for a slayer class. She waited while Spike thought about what she'd said and then nodded at her.

"Gonna be a bit tricky taking care of my business without having any way to know what that business was, innit?"

"Yeah. Without your memories, you might be kinda stuck here."

"I'm beginning to think that wanker what dropped me off here knew more about me than he was tellin'"

"Does the name Wolfram and Hart mean anything to you?" Buffy asked, trying to hide her suspicions.

"No. Not that I can recall. Why?"

"It's the evil law firm that you and Angel were fighting against when you… died again. It's also the company that handled your ownership of this house. It's a little bit too coincidental to suit me."

He shook his head, standing up and growling with frustration.

"If I could just remember…."

"Did you miss the part about how you'd probably move on when you take care of what's keeping you here?"

Buffy's voice was very soft, but that didn't disguise the sadness in it. He stopped his restless pacing and dropped to his knee in front of her.

"I just need to know, Buffy. Can decide for myself then if I want to move on, or stay here playing with slayers for the next hundred years. Not saying I'd rush off to take care of the business straight away, I just want to know."

"I get that. I do. It's just that you've been… gone. And now you're here, and I… I missed you. And I thought I was over it – the missage – but now you're here and I…." She met his curious gaze and said with as much honesty as she'd ever shown him, "I don't think I could stand to mourn for you again, Spike."

His hand brushed the side of her face. "Nor do I want you to, luv. But I'm not really me, am I? Jus' some stranger who looks and talks like the man – vampire – you knew. If I'm going to be here, I'd just as soon be really me. The me who remembers what he had with you, and what he would be losing if he moved on."

She nodded and sat up straighter, putting her shoulders back and raising her chin.

"Of course you want to remember. And I want you to. We'll worry about what might happen to you after we figure out how to get your memories back. Then, if you really have unfinished business to take care of, I… I'll help you do it."

He cocked his head at her and rocked back on his heels.

"You're quite a woman, Buffy. Can see why I might have fallen in love with you – enemy or not. Bloody hell, only known you a few days and I'm already half in love with you all over again."

"Don't patronize me," she snapped. "You're not in love with me. You barely know me. I'm not doing this to make you love me; I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do and I owe it to you."

"You're right. You deserve better from me. How are you with, I'm already completely in lust with you?"

In spite of herself, Buffy felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

"That's more like the piggy Spike I know."

"Right. Piggy Spike it is, then. Whatever it takes to make you smile."

Harmony re-established, Buffy took up where she'd left off in his history lesson, recapping what she'd told him about Dawn's arrival, Glory and her minions, and ending with the battle at the tower. She stopped to collect her thoughts as to what she wanted to say about the end of the battle, smiling gratefully when Spike went to the kitchen and came back with a chipped teacup full of water.

"Sorry I can't do any better than this," he apologized. "Don't need anything for myself, so I have to make do with what's got left in the pantry. At least I know the well is a good one."

"This is fine, thank you." She drained the cup and smiled at him again. "If I'm going to be talking so much every night, I guess I'd better bring my own stash of bottled water to keep here. And maybe some fruit… and some crackers…."

"Gonna move in, are you?" he teased gently.

"You got a problem with that?" she asked with mock belligerence.

"No, luv. Not a bit. In fact, if you wanted to move in here permanent-like…."

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she said, suddenly serious.

"Just joking, Slayer. No need to get all 'I'm not that kind of girl' on me."

"I knew that."

"Did not. You thought I was asking you to share my bed."

"I sooo did not!"

"Uh huh."

"Shut up!"

"Make me."

Buffy stared into his laughing eyes for a few seconds.

"I jumped off the tower and died."

Chapter Ten

For as long as it took her to walk to the kitchen, put the cup in the sink and return to the library, he was silent – his mouth open and his eyes staring at nothing. When the couch dipped under her weight, he focused on her again.

"Funny," he said finally. "You don't look like a ghost."

"Nope. Not a ghost. Just me. Seems like I'm not much better than you are at staying dead."

He nodded. "Seems like. So, that must have been the highlight of my life," he added with a wry smile. "Losin' the girl I loved just when she was beginning to trust me…." He froze and stared at her. "You don't think that's my unfinished business, do you? That you had to jump? Did I fail you somehow? Was I supposed to keep that from happening?"

Buffy shook her head vigorously.

"No, don't think that! We settled that argument a long time ago. You did your best, I did my best – we just didn't quite manage to stop Glory in time. You got thrown off the tower trying to save Dawn. I did what I had to do to save the world."

"It was your job," he said softly.

"It was. It is. It's what we do, us heroes. We save the world. Sometimes we die."

"If you're not a ghost, who or what am I talking to? Know you're not a vampire."

"No." Buffy sighed and shrugged. "I got resurrected the old fashioned way – witchy friend, black magic, scary spell, wake up in coffin, crawl out of grave wondering where Heaven went… I'm pretty much the same me I was before. Not exactly, but close enough; only your chip knew the difference."

He raised his eyebrows, but when she didn't elaborate, he nodded. His eyes shone with sympathy as he said, "That must have been a rough go – the transition from Heaven to Hellmouth. You'd have to be a bloody strong person to get through something like that without going mad."

"I had some help," she whispered, giving him a tremulous smile. "Somebody who wouldn't nag me to feel better, who didn't have anything to do with bringing me back and wasn't standing around waiting to be thanked. Somebody who let me work out my anger and pain whenever I needed to…."

Understanding dawned. "Now we're to the part where you start watching me put my pants on," he said with a nod. "That's what you meant by helping you forget something. You turned to me to forget about being alive."

"I turned to you to help me deal with being alive," she corrected. "I was numb. You helped me learn to feel."

"And when you could feel again, you left me. Have I got that right?"

"I did. I was… I wasn't ready to be anybody's girlfriend. I was still trying to be Buffy. And still trying to make everybody happy." She reached over and put a hand on his. "Everybody except you. I took you for granted. Another one of the things I owe you some apologies for."

He shook his head. "I'm thinkin' there's more to this than you're telling me, pet." He looked at her shrewdly. "Did I go get my soul after you broke up with me? Was that a big deal to you? That I didn't have a soul?"

Buffy stared at him with her mouth open, then remembered he'd told her that most of what he knew about slayers and vampires had come from his conversations with the watcher trainees he met. Some things he'd just seemed to know instinctively – like how to fight, how to kill the few vampires that had tried to move in; and he'd recognized the slayers' supernatural power. But he hadn't known what they were or what to call them until he'd talked with a few of them and their future watchers.

He had no idea how important it was that he'd fought to get his soul back. Or what it had meant to her. She studied his face for a minute, but no trace of sarcasm could be seen in his eyes. She slid off the couch into an imitation of his earlier position, kneeling in front of him and taking one hand in hers.

"I thought it was," she began. "I threw it at you all the time – the fact that you were soulless. Even after it was obvious that you didn't need one to love, I said you did. So, yeah, it was a big deal. Not so much that you had one when you came back; but that you got it. For me. Because you thought I needed it. It was probably the most…" She took a deep breath. "Nobody has ever loved me like that. Ever."

He stared down at her, unconsciously squeezing the hand that was still holding his.

"Buffy—I wish I… I can't be him, luv. I think you're a powerful slayer and a bloody amazing woman, but I don't remember loving you. I wish I did."

"I know," she said, scrambling to her feet and retreating to her end of the couch. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to understand what a big deal it was."

"I think I get it," he said with a wry smile. "Vampire plus soul equals big deal to Buffy." He stood up and stretched. "What do you say we save the rest of the history lesson till tomorrow and go outside for some exercise?"

"Exercise?"

"Yeah, you know. Run, jump, play… pretend I'm still evil and try to slay me?"

"You want to spar with me?"

"Yeah. If you want to call it that. Or, we could really fight – we seem to be pretty good at getting each other riled up. But I don't think your heart would be in it; and I know mine wouldn't. Don't want to hurt you, just want to see you in action again."

"Okay." Buffy bounced to her feet. "I could use some more exercise."

Without warning, she shoved him hard enough to knock him back onto the couch and bolted for the door while he was swearing and jumping to his feet.

"Last one out's a bloodsucking Englishman!"

"Oh, that's it, Slayer. You're going to pay for that one!"

Buffy's giggle floated up to him as he paused on the porch to locate her in the darkness. When he could see exactly where she was standing, still giggling, but on her toes and ready to move, he leapt off the porch, flipping over to land on his feet right in front of her.

"Whoa! That's a new one," she said with admiration, ducking under the punch he threw. "You've been practicing."

"Not the vamp you knew," he reminded her. "Might have a whole collection of new tricks."

"This could be a lot of fun."

As she spoke, she pivoted and flipped herself over his head, not landing in time to plant a kick on his ass as she'd intended, but catching him hard on the hip as he spun to follow her movement.

"Ow!"

"Oops?"

"I'll give you 'oops', Slayer," he growled, tackling her to the ground. She rolled as they fell, using his momentum to throw him off to the side. Breaking his grip on her arms, she sprang to her feet, dancing out of his reach and giggling. The sound of her laughter did nothing to decrease the growls coming from his chest. His expression when he kipped to his feet was thunderous.

"I really didn't mean to do that," she said with mock meekness; then her laughter broke out again. "I was aiming for your ass."

"Gonna kick my arse were you?" His expression softened in spite of himself as he enjoyed her obvious glee in his discomfiture. "Maybe it'll be your arse that's stinging when we're done here. Might just turn you over my knee and give you the spankin' you deserve."

"Ooooh. Promises, promises," she cooed, backing out of reach while he was recovering from his astonishment.

"Wasn't meant that way, pet," he grunted, fading away and moving behind her. "But it bloody well is now."

"Hey! You're cheating!"

Buffy yelped as he took advantage of his invisibility to pinch her butt and retreat quickly. Turning serious, she extended her senses to follow his predatory circling. Much as she had when they first fought, she tracked him using her finely honed ability to sense any disturbance in the air and her slayer-enhanced sensitivity to the presence of the supernatural.

She felt the brush of air against her face and ducked away from the anticipated punch, only to find that Spike had feinted the jab. Her movement away from the fake punch put her right into the path of his other hand, which seized her shoulder with an iron grip. She quickly found herself spun around and pinned against a muscular chest.

"Gotcha!" he growled, pretending to bite her neck with his blunt human teeth.

Instead of struggling or throwing her head back into his face, Buffy fell against him, allowing herself to enjoy the arms that she'd thought gone forever. She sighed and relaxed against his body, feeling his growing erection nudging her back. She didn't speak, just turning her head to allow him better access to her neck and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

"Speaking of cheating…." His voice was hoarse and his arms tightened involuntarily. "Christ, you feel good…." His mock bite had quickly changed to a mixture of kissing and nibbling as he reacted to her whimpered response.

His hands slid around her waist and made their way under her shirt, stroking her skin and, eventually, shocking her out of her lustful daze.

"No," she breathed. "No," she repeated more forcefully. "We can't do this. You can't do this…."

"Pretty sure I can," he growled, sucking on the skin of her neck and sending shivers throughout her body. "If it turns out I can't, then I'm officially in Hell."

"No," she explained, moving away now that he was no longer holding her tightly. "I can't do this to you. I can't take advanta—"

"Buffy. Trust me when I tell you that I want you to take advantage of me. Want it so much it's painful. Anyway, could just as well say I'm takin' advantage of you. Knowin' you have feelings for—"

"Love," Buffy said firmly. "You can say it. The you who remembers me. I loved him."

"Right. An' I'm not him, am I? So if anybody's taking advantage of anybody, it's me taking advantage of the way you feel about the man who owned this body."

In spite of his protestations, he had relaxed his grip and allowed her to step away. He touched her shoulder and turned her around to face him.

"Want you more than I can say, Buffy. But I don't want you doing something you're going to regret." He dropped his hands and stepped back. "Tellin' you right now, though – if you don't want this to happen again, we can't fight each other. There's something about fighting with you makes me…"

She nodded. "I know. This is my fault. I've been doing things that I know turn you on; and I've been all flirty and innuendoish. I just… I want you. You have no idea how much I'd like to—" She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes sending a wordless apology. "But I want to do it with the Spike who loves me. And that's not you. Not right now, anyway."

"Fair enough, luv. Like you said, you keep your hormones under control and I'll put a muzzle on mine."

They stood, only a few feet apart, neither sure what to do about the awkward silence. Finally, Buffy gave a small laugh.

"I think I should probably take my hormones home and give them a good talking to." She turned to leave, muttering, "There could be cold water involved…"

"Yeah, think there may be a cold shower in my future, now that you mention it. Or a good wank." He cocked his head and smiled at Buffy's retreating back. "Could be both."

"Pig."

"Oink, oink."

If he noticed her sudden gasp it his normal response to being called a pig, he didn't mention it, only watched her leave the lawn. When she was safely outside his haunting area, she stopped and turned around.

"If I come back in the daytime, will you be awake? Or would you rather I waited till dark?"

"No, Slayer. Come back whenever you want to. I'll catch some kip tonight so you won't have to come downstairs where I'm naked… in my bed… all alone…."

"It's not working," she warned, laughing at his disappointed face. "Much as I like you naked, it's not happening. I expect to find you awake, dressed and upstairs waiting for me."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Dressed and upstairs. Got it." He watched Buffy wave and turn away again. "Be careful walking back, luv. Might be something dangerous about tonight."

Her laughter floated back on the cool night air. "In this town? I'm one of the most dangerous things in it. Remember?"

She entered the school and went directly to her room, shedding clothes as she went. In spite of her words to Spike, she didn't take a cold shower, but put on pajamas and got into her bed, determined to get enough sleep that she could get up early and shop before going back. Her sleep was a combination of oblivion and dreams of Spike, Angel, ghosts in white sheets moaning and groaning, and a dragon.

After a quick breakfast with Dawn, during which Buffy filled her in on what she'd told Spike the night before, she stopped by Giles' office on her way to shop again.

"Ah. Good morning, Buffy. I wasn't expecting to see you so early."

Giles smiled when she flushed uncomfortably.

"It's not like I'm planning to move in there," she huffed. "I just needed a place to sleep for that one night. I'm not going to make it a habit, you know."

"I would hope not; but one never knows…."

Changing the subject, Buffy asked, "When is Willow due back from her retreat with the coven?"

"Tomorrow," he responded. "Why do you ask?" The suspicious look on his face told her that he already knew the answer.

"I want her to see Spike. To see if she can tell if it's a spell or if he's just stuck being a ghost for some other reason."

He nodded. "That seems reasonable. I would think Willow would be able to pick up on any magic lingering in the atmosphere of the house."

"That's all I need right now. If she thinks there is, then I might be paying a visit to the nearest Wolfram and Hart offices."

Buffy left Giles muttering over the inadvisability of entering the offices of a notorious demon-catering law firm, and walked into the town to pick up some supplies for Spike's house. She found an older building containing a clean, bright market and began filling her basket with items she thought might be useful.

Bottled water, some bananas and apples, a tin of biscuits and a packet of crackers were added to the canned nuts that she'd already placed in her basket. She chewed on her lip as she stood in front of a display of toothbrushes, then shook her head and moved on.

Nah. I might stick some floss in my pocket, but bringing a toothbrush is just too much.

She paid the friendly woman at the check out, saying politely, "Your building is lovely. It looks like it's been here a long time."

"Oh yes," the woman replied with a nod. "Our family has been providing the village with food and other supplies for over two hundred years. Of course, the area has grown tremendously and there are other markets now, but ours is the oldest."

She handed Buffy her purchases, putting them into a cloth bag with 'Brown's Market' written across the side. "Here you are, a nice ecologically sound bag for you to use when you come back. I hope it's not too heavy for you," she added, surveying Buffy's small frame and comparing it to her own rather beefy arms.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Buffy said with a smile, easily picking the bag up by its handles and walking to the door. "But, thank you. I'll be back."

She strolled back through the town, admiring the neat front yards with their window boxes, colorful pots and gardens full of flowers. No matter how small or humble appearing the house might be, it always had a colorful and immaculate front yard. She couldn't help comparing them with Spike's much larger, but so much less cared for home and wishing she could do something about it.

It's not like the Slayer handbook covered how to take care of English gardens. I wouldn't even know where to start.

She got to the house and knocked once before walking in and going straight to the kitchen. Seeing no sign of Spike and that the door to his bedroom was shut, she put her bag down on the counter and went to the door that led to the backyard. Once outside, she almost fell through the rotted wood of the steps, only her grip on the doorknob keeping her from sinking through the hole her foot had made. She recovered her balance and jumped gracefully over the two wooden steps to land on a barely visible paving stone.

Buffy followed the overgrown path until she tired of the twigs and branches of shrubs catching on her clothes, then turned back to the house to find Spike standing in the doorway watching her. She waved and began to walk faster as she saw his lips curve into a welcoming smile. He held out his hands when she got to the end of the path and she reached into the doorway for them without hesitation, allowing him to effortlessly pull her up and over the broken steps and into the shade of the kitchen.

"You didn't get hurt there, did you, Slayer?" he asked, gesturing to the broken step.

"No, I didn't get hurt – but I think I broke your steps."

"S'pose, if I wasn't a ghost and if I could actually go out there, I'd have to think about fixing them. As it is, it'll help keep the riffraff out."

"Riff raff?"

He gestured towards the front of the house.

"Somebody jus' came in. And since you were out here…"

As one, they turned to walk to the front hall. Spike held up a hand and halted her at the entrance to the library.

"Let's find out who or what it is before we spring a slayer on him, yeah?"

Buffy nodded reluctantly and remained just far enough outside the doorway to hear without being seen. Spike walked a few steps away and stopped, leaning casually against the doorjamb. Buffy was sure that, had he been able to, he would have been lighting a cigarette for effect.

"Lookin' for someone?"

"Yah!" The voice from inside the room dropped from its initial high-pitched yelp to a more normal tone. "Are you Mr. Pratt?"

"I'm the ghost of William Pratt. Who the bloody hell are you?"

"I… I'm John Smith, of Smith, Nelson and Phelps, acting on behalf of Wolfram and Hart of London."

Buffy stiffened at the mention of the lawyers she was now convinced had something to do with Spike's condition.

"And exactly what sort of acts are you planning to perform on their behalf?" Spike asked, his voice not quite a growl, but close enough to increase the other man's obvious nervousness.

"I'm not sure. I was to come to the house and ascertain that you were still here and that you were alone. And I was to ask you-" His voice broke off as Buffy came around the corner to stand beside Spike.

"And if he's not alone?" she asked in her best slayer voice. "What do your sleazy bosses care if he's alone or not?"

"I don't know!" Now facing, not only a man who was calling himself a ghost, but a small blonde American girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to the photo that had been e-mailed to his office, his natural inclination to retreat became overwhelming. Unfortunately for him, the only exit from the room was being blocked by the two people in question – neither one of which appeared to be interested in allowing him to leave. "I was merely asked to come to the house in the daytime and ascertain if Mr. Pratt was still residing here."

"I am. You've seen it. Time to go."

The man's eyes shifted to Buffy, darting away when she narrowed hers and stepped into the room.

"Why are you here instead of someone from Wolfram and Hart?" she asked, her voice hard and cold. "Why did they send a minion?"

"A wha—?" He cleared his throat. "I'm extending a professional courtesy, that's all. Their nearest office is in London and this has saved someone a train ride."

"So, you don't know anything about why Sp- Mr Pratt is here?"

"No." He shook his head vigorously. "I'm merely seeking to obtain the information they requested."

"Well," Buffy stepped even closer, smiling in an unfriendly manner when he involuntarily backed up, "you go back and tell them to expect a visit from Buffy Summers. And tell them she wants answers. You got that? Do I need to write it down for you?"

Shaking his head again, he promised to pass the message on. Spike moved to the side and the man scuttled out the door, jumped into his car and drove very quickly back to his office. Where he immediately dialed a number and assured the person on the other end that he had seen Mr Pratt and also the girl in the photograph. In a trembling voice, he added that Miss Summers was planning a visit to their offices and that she was a 'very intimidating young lady'.

Spike watched from the library as Buffy followed the lawyer to the door and watched him drive away. When she could no longer see his car, she turned around and walked back to the waiting vampire. It was hard for her to think of him as a ghost anymore, now that she'd felt his arms around her and the solidity of his body behind her.

"That tears it. I'm going to find Wolfram and Hart and introduce them to a slayer. A pissed off slayer."

He laughed and gazed at her with admiration. Her eyes were flashing with anger and her color was high as she paced back and forth in front of him.

"You're gorgeous when you're brassed off," he said without thinking. "No wonder I kept tryin' to kill you. Probably just wanted to keep you stirred up all the time."

His heartfelt praise for her beauty interrupted her angry pacing and she stared at him in surprise and dismay.

"I thought we were going to keep our hormones safely tucked away on ice somewhere?"

"Oh? Did I say that out loud? Sorry, luv. Didn't mean to. You just look so delicious…"

"Spike!"

"Fine. One a scale of one to ten, you're a three. Does that make you happier?" He glared at her and gritted his teeth. "If you don't want me commenting on your looks, how about trying to show up here in something other than tight pants and shirts that show your tits?"

He stomped into the library and threw himself down on the couch, taking up so much of it that it was obvious he didn't want Buffy to sit near him - which wasn't a problem, as she stomped in behind him and stood in front of the couch with her hands on her hips.

"So, you're saying what? That I have to dress like a nun so that you'll keep it in your pants? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying, you come here dressed like you're coming to see a man you want to please, so don't be getting on your high horse when it turns out it works. And trust me, Slayer, it's stayin' in my pants. Don't you worry about that. You've seen me without them for the last time."

"Good!"

"Fine!"

Buffy turned around and marched through the library door.

"Where are going?" Spike jumped to his feet as she ignored him and went into the kitchen.

"I'm putting my food away," she muttered, annoyed that the only task she could come up with involved something so domestic. She set the water on the counter and tucked everything else in one of the cupboards. "Don't you have a refrigerator?"

"Don't need one," he growled back, still sounding sulky. "Now where are you going?" He followed Buffy's stiff back as she stomped past him and towards the front hall.

"I'm going to London," she said. "I'll be back in a day or so."

"A day or so?"

"Yes. Maybe I'll buy myself some baggy pants or a granny dress while I'm there. I'll see you when I get back."

Without another word, she left the house, slamming the door as she went and leaving behind a very bewildered ghost. Trapped in the house by both the daylight and his reluctance to appear to be following her, he vented his anger on the wall behind him, putting his fist through it in a very satisfactory, if painful fashion.

Chapter Eleven

Buffy's anger carried her all the way to the school and evaporated only when she reached the administrative areas. Rather than tell Giles what she planned, she talked to Marie, the watcher-cum-administrative assistant who, contrary to what Giles preferred to think, actually ran the new Watchers Council offices. Buffy explained what she needed, and within fifteen minutes, she had the address of Wolfram and Hart's offices, a rail schedule and a promise not to tell Giles or Dawn until Buffy had time to be well on her way to London.

She ran to her room to pack a small overnight bag, and then ran out of the building without seeing anyone who might ask her where she was going. Using her speed, she was in town and at the railway station in time to catch the next train into London. Buffy settled into her seat and gazed out the window, wondering what she thought she was going to do when she reached the city and the offices of what she knew was a very powerful organization.

It was several hours before Dawn and Giles began to realize that Buffy was not around, nor had she been seen or heard from since Julie had spotted her making an unexpected return from Spike's. When Marie overheard them speculating on what might have happened to her, she spoke up and told them that Buffy had gone to London.

"By herself? And, why? Why would she go to London without me?" Dawn's voice wavered between worried and whiny.

Giving her titular boss an apologetic shrug, Marie handed Giles the paper upon which she'd originally scribbled down the address of Wolfram and Hart's London office.

"I don't know why she was going – although she did look a bit angry, now that I think of it – but I do know where."

Giles gave a long-suffering sigh. "I imagine this has something to do with Spike and the house," he said. "I hope she knows what she's getting herself into."

Casting a glance at the late afternoon sky, Dawn announced she was going to walk to the house to see if Spike knew why Buffy was going to Wolfram and Hart. Giles stopped himself before the objection was even out of his mouth, simply saying, "Take somebody with you, then. Preferably a slayer."

Dawn agreed and went to find Julie. It took her several minutes and a promise that she wouldn't have to fight the ghost, before the other girl agreed to be her bodyguard for the night. They had a quick meal and then made the walk up the hill to the house.

"I should get extra credit for all the times I've hiked up here," Dawn grumbled. "It's not like I'm a slayer and can just run up and down hills all day long without getting tired."

"It's good for you," Julie said with just a trace of a giggle. "You'll need to be strong to keep up with your slayer, you know. When you get one," she added.

"I wish Giles would let us choose for ourselves," Dawn said, changing the subject slightly. "He's all 'you need to be compatible, not just best friends'."

"I know," her friend sighed. "I soo want you to be my watcher. It would be awesome! We'd have sleepovers, and go shopping, and go to clubs together, and–"

"And that's why he won't let us," Dawn responded with a laugh. "He knows we'd be playing all the time instead of researching and slaying."

They approached the house, watching carefully for any sign of Buffy or the ghost, but all was still. Motioning for Julie to remain behind her on the porch, Dawn knocked on the door and then pushed it open.

"Spike? Are you here? You are here, aren't you? I mean, you can't be anywhere else, so you must be–"

"I'm here, Watcher." His voice came from the library and Dawn stepped into the doorway to find him slouched on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "What d'y want?"

"I want to talk to you about Buffy," Dawn answered. "But, I brought somebody with me and I need to know if—"

"'s not that wanker that was going to shag you on my couch, is it?"

"No!" she huffed, drawing herself up to her full height. "But if I had brought him with me again, I would expect you to be polite this time!"

"You'd expect that, would you?" he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow in familiar fashion.

"Well, maybe not expect it but I would insist on it," she said, sticking her chin out.

"Are you in the habit of 'insisting' on things with me? How'd that usually work out for you?"

"You'd be surprised," she said, relaxing her posture and smiling at him. "I usually just whined and begged or threatened to cry…"

He rolled his eyes and sat up.

"So, what are you doing here, then? Big Sis isn't here."

"I know. That's what I want to talk to you about. But, I need to know if it's okay for Julie to come in without fighting you."

"Julie?"

"She's a slayer. One of the ones you kicked out. Giles said I had to bring somebody with me and I asked her, but she's afraid you won't let her in."

He waved his hand in the air and dropped his head back against the top of the couch.

"Don't give a flying fuck what she does. Tell her to come in. I'm not goin' to fight her tonight."

"Oooookay. I'm sensing that your charming mood has something to do with Buffy's disappearing into the wilds of London this afternoon?"

Instead of waiting for an answer to her basically rhetorical question, Dawn walked to the front door and brought an anxious Julie in with her.

"It's fine," Dawn said impatiently as the slayer looked around with apprehension. "He's too busy being pissed off at Buffy to worry about you."

"I heard that!"

"I don't care," Dawn said as she walked into the library and sat in one of the big chairs. "It's true, isn't it? You guys had a fight about something and now she's gone off to find Wolfram and Hart."

"It's really none of your business, is it?"

"If my sister, who is here and met you because of me, is going into danger by herself because of something you did or said, it is my business."

Julie, meanwhile, had walked silently into the room and was sitting rigidly in the other big chair. Spike cocked his head and looked her up and down, then his eyes lit up with recognition.

"Aha! The crybaby!" he said. "Are you getting any better?"

"I'm trying," she muttered.

"Well, good for you, then." He nodded, then dismissed her and turned back to Dawn. "What do you mean she went into danger by herself? She didn't take any other slayers with her? And she's just checking out a soddin' law firm – how dangerous can it be?"

"Didn't she tell you anything about what happened while you were with Angel in LA?"

"We're still working on the 'she quit shaggin' me, so I went and got a soul' part of the story," he growled. "Why don't you fill me in. What was I doing hanging out with my grandsire?"

Dawn chewed her lip. "I don't want Buffy to get mad at me, but… you should know what we know." Mind made up, she leaned forward and began, "You were stuck in an amulet that- well, I'll let Buffy tell you about that; all you need to know is that you were stuck in it somehow after you burned up in Sunnydale." She went on to tell him about Angel's taking over the LA offices of Wolfram and Hart, then using his position to take down the Circle of the Black Thorn.

"You guys really, really pissed off the Senior Partners, and they sent this whole big army of demons and stuff against you – there was even a dragon – and you… you all… died. Or we thought you did, anyway."

"Seems like I did," he said fading out of sight and then back in again. "Tell me more about this amulet and about how I was a ghost when I came back from dying the first time."

Dawn admitted that she knew very little about his time as a ghost, or after he became corporeal again. Glaring fiercely, she said, "That's because, you asshole, you couldn't be bothered to pick up a phone and tell the women who loved you that you weren't gone anymore!"

"Was Buffy brassed off about that?"

"When she found out? After you were already dead again? Yeah, I think you could say that. She was royally pissed. But she was…" Dawn looked him in the eye. "She was also devastated. She thought you didn't believe her when she told you she loved you. That it was her fault you stayed in LA and died with Angel."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "No wonder she wasn't sure if she was glad to see me. I was a stupid git."

"Can't argue with that. But I think she still loves you anyway."

"She loves the man who loves her, pet. I'm not him. Not right now, anyway."

"Oh, that reminds me. Willow – did she tell you about Willow?" At his nod, she went on quickly. "She's coming back tomorrow and Buffy was going to bring her out to check for any magic residue or spells. She might be able to do something about it. She's very powerful. I guess I could bring her up, if Buffy isn't back yet."

"Is she part of this coven that thinks I'm here until I fix something that's bothering me? And that when I've done it, I'll be gone?"

"She works with them. Yeah, she was the one who told Giles that's what they thought might be going on."

"Not going to try to mojo my memories back, is she? Don't want them comin' back unless the Slayer's here."

"No, I don't think so. She's just going to see if she can tell what's keeping you here. If it's magic or something else."

Spike nodded. "Guess it would be a good thing to know." He cocked his head at her. "Might've been a good thing to know before your sis went charging off to raise hell with some big organization that may or may not have had anything to do with it. Don't suppose she thought about that, did she?"

"I couldn't tell you," Dawn responded. "She snuck out without telling anybody except the woman who helped her." She looked at him and asked, "You wanna tell me what you guys had the fight about? What sent her off to a building full of demons and the guys who keep them out of demon jail?"

He shook his head. "The fight was none of your business. It was stupid. I was stupid. It was nothing. What sent her running off to London was the visitor we had."

He filled Dawn in on what the local solicitor had said about who sent him, and Buffy's reaction to it.

"I'll admit, if she hadn't been so brassed off at me, she may have given a little more thought to running off without back-up, but that's the reason she's paying a visit to London."

"Well, all right. I guess all we can do is wait for her to come back and tell us what she found out. Giles says that if she isn't back by tomorrow afternoon, he's sending a group of slayers out to find her. He's going to use the girls in London who have experience with stuff there." She tilted her head and studied him for a minute, then said softly, "I'm glad you're here, Spike. Even if you don't remember me, I'm glad to see you."

"Thank you, luv. I appreciate it. Why don't you and your bodyguard here go on back to the school? Just in case Buffy's come back or called or something."

Dawn nodded and stood up, gesturing for Julie to go out the door in front of her.

"Okay. Maybe we can get you a cell phone or something so that people don't have to keep running up here every time they need to talk to you. Now that we know who you are, and that you have… friends… at the school, you should be able to talk to us when you want to."

"I don't have 'friends' at that place, Watcher. I have an ex of some sort, her sister who thinks she can tell me what to do, and an old man who isn't one of my fans, apparently. If Buffy wants me to have a phone, she can get me one. Other than that I don't see any reason to talk to the people there any more than I ever have."

He put his head back to resume staring at the ceiling and missed the pained expression that crossed Dawn's face at his casual dismissal of her own relationship with him. He didn't look up when they closed the door behind them and began the downhill walk back to the school.

After spending the night in a medium priced hotel – Hey, go me for saving the council some money – Buffy followed the directions the desk clerk had given her until she was standing in front of an old building with a large modern addition behind it.

"So this is where evil goes when it needs a lawyer," she muttered, walking up the steps and into the lobby. Her senses immediately began screaming at her and she stared around, unconsciously reaching for the stake tucked into her waistband.

"Please, Miss Summers. Our customers are not attacking you; there is no reason for such overt hostility. Please, if you would follow me…"

The man who had spoken glided away and Buffy reluctantly followed him, glaring around in an attempt to separate the vampires from the humans present in the bustling lobby. Some were easy to spot, given away by their old fashioned clothes or the frightened expressions on their faces as they realized what she was. Others, she was sure probably were vamps, but they removed themselves from her path with the calm assurance of someone who knows that their safety is guaranteed.

They hadn't gone far before the man leading the way opened a door and held it, gesturing for Buffy to go in. She peered around him suspiciously, but found nothing more frightening than a small office with an attractive, well-groomed woman sitting behind a desk. As Buffy watched, the woman rose to her feet and came over, holding her hand out and smiling warmly.

"Miss Summers! It's a pleasure to meet you. You're practically a legend in this firm, you know."

A speechless Buffy automatically took the proffered hand and shook it, relieved to discover that it was the same temperature as her own.

"Please. Have a seat. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Alice Parker. Assistant to the Director of the London offices of Wolfram and Hart." She waited untiI Buffy was sitting on the edge of one of the luxurious leather chairs, then continued: "I know you must have questions for me. What can I do for you?"

"Tell me why you're interested in Spike; tell me why he's a ghost and why he's trapped in that house. And tell me where his memories went."

"Ah, yes. Mr Pratt. One of our long-time customers – although less so lately." She reached for the brown folder lying in the center of her otherwise clear desk and flipped it open. "Let me see, what do we have on… Oh. Oh dear. Yes. I see."

She closed the folder and smiled at Buffy sympathetically.

"It appears that Mr Pratt—"

"Spike."

"Mr," she cleared her throat, "Spike was involved in some sort of insurrection in the California branch of our firm. The Senior Partners" – Buffy was sure the woman almost genuflected – "were quite angry. Apparently they had some means to capture his essence when he was slain along with the other disobedient employees, and they ordered that he be kept on this plane rather than allowed to move on as the other souled vampire had.

"How is he being kept here? And why is he in that house?"

"Well, it is his house. We've handled the upkeep for him for many years. It was probably the easiest place to anchor him."

"Why take his memories?"

She shook her head. "That I can't tell you. I would guess that it had something to do with the spell used to bind him; but that really isn't my area of expertise. You'd have to speak to someone in our Magic Department."

"I want him released."

"Ah, yes. I was afraid that might be your request. Unfortunately, as much as we would enjoy doing a favor for the oldest living slayer, we cannot oblige you. The Senior Partners have ordered his binding to this plane and his house and that is that."

Buffy stood up.

"Magic Department. Now."

Miss Parker's smile became a little forced.

"I see no reason for such a tone. I have been instructed to be as cooperative as is possible under the circumstances. We have no obligation to help you, you know."

"You have an obligation to your clients to see that I don't slay a whole lobby full of them before I leave." The smile Buffy returned was not friendly.

With an exasperated sigh, Miss Parker pushed an intercom button and whispered, "She wants to talk to someone in the Magic Department. Yes. No. I did! She is quite rude."

"She is standing right here," Buffy growled.

"Very well." The other woman nodded to the invisible voice on the other end of the phone and rang off. "Come with me, please."

Buffy followed her down the corridor and into the newer part of the building where she was surprised to see vampires walking past sunny windows without even flinching. Then she remembered what Andrew had said in his raving about Angel's offices at Wolfram and Hart and realized that the glass was impervious to the sun's rays. She was shown into a modern laboratory and introduced to a handsome young man who gushed over her status until she held up her hand for quiet.

"Stop with the slobbering over me – we aren't on the same side, remember?"

"But you're famous! The only slayer to have two souled vampires fighting over her; the only one who inspired one of those vampires to go to seek his soul for her; the only one to even think about sharing her power…"

"Yeah, fine. I know who I am. I want to know why Spike doesn't. Why doesn't he remember who he is? Wouldn't the punishment be more effective if he knew why he was there?"

"If he knew why, he might figure out what unfinished business was keeping him anchored and do something about it. Not likely, I admit, with him being trapped in a house in rural England, but you never know. It's just a safety measure. The Senior Partners don't like mistakes."

"So, we're right then, if he takes care of whatever he thinks he left unfinished, he'll really be gone?"

"He will move to the next plane of his existence," the man replied carefully.

Buffy nodded and began to walk around the lab, being careful not to touch anything that might touch her back. When she had circled the room completely, ignoring the young man and his explanations for the experiments that she paused to watch, she stopped back at the door.

"Not to be rude or anything, but, you know, as punishments go – being made to haunt your own house forever seems a little… lame. No offense."

"Oh, none taken! Yes, we thought so, too, but it seems that there were extenuating circumstances. Another, um… group was interested in this vampire. We were told to simply trap the vampire's ghost in the house and forgo the normal torture and bloodshed."

"Another group?"

He looked around furtively. "The Powers That Be," he whispered. "They indicated they would be very angry if the vampire were to be punished too severely. It was quite an accomplishment for us to come up with something suitable that could appease both the Senior Partners and the… others."

"Go you," Buffy said, rolling her eyes. "Okay, how do we make this thing go away?"

"G… go away?"

"Yes. You know. Give him back his memories, let him leave the house, make him a real boy – er –vampire, again."

"Oh, that's not possible! If he gets his memories… and if he can leave the house, then he really isn't being punished, is he? And we can't make him… real. He was killed. In the battle. The essence that was returned to the amulet is all there is to him."

Buffy stared at him, her expression going from furious to dismayed.

"It can't be fixed?"

He shook his head. "He can try to remember his unfinished business and take care of it, if possible. That would break the spell. But then he…."

"He'd be gone. Completely," she said dully.

"Yes."

Without another word, Buffy whirled and left the room, his mocking "You're welcome" ringing in her ears. She ran past several nervous vampires and one trembling demon, barely noticing their presence. When she got to the lobby, she was stopped by Ms Parker who asked with faux sweetness, "Did learn everything you needed to learn, Ms Summers?"

"Everything except what it is that's keeping him here. I need to know that so that we can avoid…."

The other woman began to laugh, waving her hand around when Buffy glared at her and stepped closer.

"Oh, oh dear. I'm sorry. It's just that…." She laughed again. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, 'a bit late'?"

"The unfinished business that you want to keep from him? It's you, Miss Summers. The idea was to put him somewhere that you would never find him. But you did, didn't you? Have a safe trip back," she said, still laughing, as she walked to her office and opened the door.

Teeth clenched and eyes resolutely dry, Buffy left the building and turned blindly down the street in the direction of her hotel. She walked the ten blocks in a daze, barely acknowledging the concierge as she went through the lobby. Skipping the elevator, she ran up the six flights of stairs to her floor, hoping that the speed and effort would drive the words out of her head.

It's a bit late for that isn't it? It's you, Miss Summers. It's you, Miss Summers. It's you, Miss Summers.

She threw herself down across the bed, resisting the urge to scream her frustration and fear. She clutched the pillow to her chest as ideas for how to save Spike came and went – examined and discarded almost as quickly as they popped into her head. With an exhausted sigh, she pulled out her phone and returned one of the five messages Dawn had sent during the course of the day.

"Am fine. bk tomorr." she typed into it, then dropped it on the floor and gave in to a few minutes of weakness, muffling her sobs with the pillow until she fell asleep, tormented by visions of Spike fading into oblivion before her eyes.