Chapter One

Spike had never felt so thoroughly bashed in his entire unlife. His head was aching and pounding like a ten ton block of cement had crashed down on his unworthy corpse. The innards of his brain felt that they had been splattered into squashed, mashed potatoes. His existence began to seem pointless as the realisation that he was a thing, of no value to anyone began to slowly settle into his feverish mind. Noone wanted a monster like him in their life, especially her. He wondered when it would be time for the next round of "Kick the Spike!"

His vision slowly unblurred into a halo of hazed crustiness. Something popped like warm champagne, releasing the veil of darkness to show a multitude of blending colours that formed a scene similar to the ichibana colour vision test. Spike felt the sensation that he was high on something, like the time he ate that flower power girl at Woodstock.

He tried to raise his head from the pillow of concrete splinters that were underneath him. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't form through his swelling lips. She'd run away and left him there to torch in the sun, but he was too thrashed to see her tears. Somehow Spike was able to prop his head up using his right arm as warm blood trickled down the side of his face to stain the collar of his freshly stolen shirt.

No matter what he did, the girl would never be impressed. He'd kill his own kind, cheat fate and even wear pink to make her happy, but it was never good enough. He would never be good enough. William was just a fraud, a pansy from a bygone era. What would slayers see in poets?

He'd had to stake out the local clothing store for 2 hours to wait for a moment when he could sneak past security. His hand had cuts on it from where he'd punched the window to unlock the door. Spike only had 5 minutes to grab what he needed before the guard came back from cigarette break. That's when he'd seen the button down shirts on the sale rack. He hastily seized an armful and sneaked out of the back entrance. With the chip preventing him from harming any humans, he was in no position to fight the police. He also had no cash to pay the butcher at the moment, so the present lack of nutrients he was getting from rat blood also meant that running away would also be immensely difficult.

When Spike arrived back at his crypt he sorted through the random assortment of shirts that he'd newly acquired. There was a dark red silky one that he knew he'd look absolutely stunning in that he neatly folded and put into his almost empty clothes chest. He held up the light blue shirt that he thought might look okay over a t-shirt and placed that one in also. Suddenly, the vampire noticed that in the struggle he'd also picked up a very loud, bright Hawaiian shirt with palm trees on that he wouldn't be seen dead in despite being well… dead. Maybe he could give it to Clem for his birthday? He decided to tuck it in the very bottom of the chest on top of that very embarrassing pair of cartoon superhero boxer shorts he sometimes, but would never admit that he wore to protect himself underneath those scratchy, uncomfortable black jeans.

There it was, the outfit that he would wear for the girl tonight. He carefully removed the hangar and ripped off the tag as he draped it over the chair by the TV set. Spike pulled his only wearable black t shirt over his head to remove it and threw it on the muddy floor where it landed by the untidy pile of carelessly flung half broken beer bottles. With his bare chest now exposed, he saw the ugly bruising across his abdomen where a demon had whacked him with a wooden club when he had jumped in front of Buffy to save her from a savage beating. He felt the beads of sweat on his back and desperately wanted to have a shower. However, he didn't have 30 minutes to spend breaking into the cemetery flower room hook up the hose again. Even then there was only one temperature… freezing cold. That wouldn't do anything to make his injury feel any better.

Spike wished that he could feel clean right now, but the slayer needed him on patrol in 15 minutes. There was just enough time for him to shrug his new black shirt over his shoulders, button it up and throw his duster on top before heading out to fight the good fight. He admitted that despite probably smelling bad, he did look good in his pilfered threads. Tonight they would slay, and then she would make love to him under the shade of moonlight and overgrown trees.

They'd killed most of the fledglings and a particularly ferocious gang of demon scum, when it happened.

Buffy had hurt a girl, she had killed her in cold blood and it had destroyed her. She'd come back wrong…

Spike ended up finding himself lifting her up to drag her away from the police station to stop her turning herself in. To thank him, she'd taken out her anger and despair by punching him in the face until he could no longer yell at her to continue beating him. He'd rather she hurt him than continue to destroy herself any more than she already had. She was tearing him apart, killing his unbeating heart as he took uneeded breaths of air to deal with the realisation that she needed him, but she would never accept him as anything but a monster.

Now he was lying in the alley outside the police station, a beaten, bloody, battered pulp. A forgotten creature of the darkness, with swollen eyes and a ruined shirt. It had holes on the sleeves from where it had torn into the gravel. It was stained brown with blood, mud and garbage. That's all he was to her… trash. Trash to be tossed on the ground and left to rot. Even the usually filthy prized coat that he was wearing was caked with grime, grit and demon slime. There was no way that he was going to be able to salvage it this time.

Spike ended the flashback in his thoughts as he felt an intense pain in his cracked, bruised ribs. He started to slowly crawl to the road by digging his chipped, black nails into the dirt and pulling himself across the ground by dragging his arms forwards and backwards. It was a struggle and it hurt like hell as it sapped every morsel of strength he had left from the vermin diet he had consumed. He clawed his way for a few metres until he wondered why he was even moving. Where could he go before the sun came up? His crypt was too far away at the snail pace he was currently managing. His eyes were stinging and his head still ached. Spike didn't think there was any way that he could survive the inevitability of the big pile of dust that he would become in the morning. The way his head burned and his face hurt however, he felt that he was already starting to smoulder. In desperation he managed to stretch out his hand to grip onto the side of the rubbish skip. Slowly and painfully he started to climb against it to rise to his feet.

Holding his chest tightly against his damaged ribs, Spike limped across town in the shadows in a what looked to be a drunken stupor. For the next 20 minutes, every step that he took was in complete agony until he collapsed ontop of a fragile clay flowerpot, breaking it into tiny mess of fragments. He began to drip tears on the floor. The pot was utterly broken like he was.

Spike crawled up the steps of the very ordinary home he had somehow found his way to despite his blurred vision. He tried to get up again, but found himself instantly collapsing against the familiar door in with a loud thud as unconsciousness finally overwhelmed him.

Chapter Two

She'd been watching over him for the past two days now, checking on him every couple of hours to see how he was healing. Joyce Summers had not heard from her daughter for nearly… tonight would make three nights. She had tried calling her cellphone and had even tried to send an email, but there was no response. The kind, gentle woman was hoping that somehow the good man asleep in her basement would be able to shed some light on what had happened to Buffy.

She had fallen asleep watching a cheesy real life drama on the Lifetime channel when she was woken by the sound of a loud crash coming from outside. Cautiously rising from the couch, she opened the door to investigate the source of the noise. She could see nothing until she looked down and saw a bloody, shredded, black pile of leather collapsed on her porch.

Joyce knelt down to inspect the mess on the ground and was shocked to discover that it was the man who her daughter was once in a band with. She was the drummer and he was the singer. She had threatened him with an axe one time and helped him to deal with the aftermath of a relationship break up. As Joyce lifted up his bruised, swollen face and gazed into his colourless, blank, unconscious eyes, she remembered he was a vampire and dragged him into the house, no invite required.

Somehow she'd gotten him into the living room, removed his trashed boots and coat and laid him on the couch. The Summers woman placed a cushion under Spike's head. He was severely hurt, the creature that had beaten him this time had really taken out it's vengeance upon him. She hoped that the demon had not killed or captured her daughter as tears flowed from her eyes. This was not the first time that she had needed to tend to his injuries.

The man in front of her was in severe pain. Joyce could see the strained look on his face. It hurt her to see him this abused. She placed her hand over his distended eyes and gently pulled them closed. Although she knew Spike didn't need warmth as she touched his face to assess the damage that had been done, she could feel how frozen he was. As someone who was normally room temperature, being this cold and this filthy could not be good for him. Spike's carer didn't understand much about vampire constitution and was therefore worried that he would get sick. She did know, that it would take more than just a night's rest on the couch to get him looking healthy. She decided that she would need to thoroughly bathe him and clean his wounds to prevent infection. Joyce looked at her charge's distressed, exhausted expression. He looked like he'd not relaxed properly in a very long time. She would make sure that he got some decent sleep in a proper bed and wouldn't rise from it until he was fully well again.

Spike's nurse ascended the stairs and walked into the bathroom. She turned on the taps halfway and began to run him a warm bath. She grabbed some towels and a blanket from the airing cupboard and brought them into the living room. Joyce approached her patient and spread the soft blanket over his knees and adjusted his cushion to make sure he was comfortable. She carefully placed her arm around Spike's back to raise him up to lean him against her shoulder as she unbuttoned his shirt. It looked new despite how dirty and torn it was and she felt sorry that his already tiny wardrobe was getting quickly diminished due to his constant battles saving the world with Buffy.

Once Spike's shirt was off his shoulders, Joyce winced when she saw the series of red, blue and black welts and bruises across his chest. Whilst lying him back down she heard a light cracking noise coming from his ribs. She placed her hands over them to check their condition and realised some of them were broken. Luckily the Summers home had a large supply of bandages that she could use to wrap them up with so that they would heal properly. Next she had to see about getting his pants off as he would look a bit silly wearing them in the bath tub, not to mention that it would be a nightmare getting them dry again. Joyce lowered the blanket covering the vampires legs and unclasped his belt. Knowing he opted for the natural look most of the time she decided to play it safe by wrapping one of the soft towels around his waist as she began unbutton and remove his jeans. She did this as quickly and carefully as possible, replacing the blanket over his bare legs once she'd gotten the blood and filth encrusted jeans off of him.

As Joyce checked Spike for further injuries, she noticed that his general state of health was much worse than when she'd last seen him over six months ago. His cheeks were sunken. She could see his ribs poking through his skin. Despite living in a crypt and wearing the same black t-shirt and jeans constantly, he was always clean and well groomed whenever she saw him. Now, however, his hair was full of blood, tangled and lacking gel. His nails were dirty and black, yet devoid of nail polish. He really needed that bath.

Getting Spike upstairs was easier than Joyce expected. His light weight confirmed her suspicions that he wasn't eating as well as he normally did. She turned off the taps and lowered him slowly and with great care into the warm, soothing water still wearing the towel to protect his modesty. She spent about 20 minutes washing every single shred of dirt and blood from his dirty face and body until it was entirely clean. Joyce realised that his face would need extra ministrations and disinfecting if it was to return to it's once beautiful form quickly. At least the wounds and bruising on his chest were starting to look a little better now that they had been cleansed.

Next, Joyce let the blood stained liquid out of the bath and turned on the shower. She rinsed Spike's hair thoroughly with the comfortably hot water whilst stroking his hair with her hands in a gesture of reassurance that everything was going to be alright. Spike seemed to like having his hair washed despite his unconsciousness as she thought she could see a slight smile on his lips. His hair was so caked with blood and what looked to be cement that she had to use two handfuls of shampoo to get all of the filth out of it. She spent a lot of time massaging in the jasmine scented shampoo until it was clean.

Spike's was still full of tangles, so Joyce used her special detangling conditioner that she paid $59,99 for from the television shopping channel. It was very expensive and celebrity endorsed, so it was only used on significant occasions. She thought that this merited such a decision. This hair needed intensive care and fast. What also surprised her was that Spike had roots showing through. Why wasn't this vampire taking care of himself?

She rinsed the soap out of his hair and looked satisfied with her progress. Now he was clean, the next task on her list was seeing about treating his wounds. Joyce lifted Spike out of the tub and laid him onto a dry towel. His skin was feeling warmer thanks to the bath and colour was starting to come into his cheeks again. She placed another towel around his waist to replace the wet one he was wearing and tossed it into the bath to launder later. A third towel was used to dry Spike's hair and then lightly dab his back to remove the water droplets.

Joyce obtained a series of creams disinfectant and gauze from the medicine cabinet and sat the injured vampire on the toilet seat whilst placing a rolled fourth towel under his back to protect it from the cold wall like a pillow. She applied disinfectant and cream to the bruising on his chest and abdomen using a cotton wool pad and her hands. Once the injuries were treated, Joyce wrapped Spike's ribs tightly, but gently with a long roll of bandage. She fixed piece of gauze to a cut where the club had sliced through the flesh and secured this and the bandages with surgical tape.

Ms. Summers left Mr. Pratt alone in the bathroom while she went to get something for him to wear. For some reason she still had a pair of her ex husband, Hank's black silky pajamas. He'd never worn them as they weren't his style. It was if the powers that be had meant them for Spike. After folding them over her arm she set about getting him dressed and finishing her ministrations of her visitor. Somehow she managed to manoeuvre the vampire downstairs to lie him down in the cool, safe darkness of the basement for the night.

Joyce thought about what had happened over the last two days as she hummed a little folk tune as she tossed a bunch of dirty laundry into the washing machine.

Chapter Three

Spike's eyes slowly began to flutter open as the hazy mist that had been his sight for the past 48 hours began to clear. The first thing that he noticed was that the pain in his head was completely gone and that he felt more comfortable than he had in a very long time. As his lids widened from mere slits to reveal their full size. His once colourless irises returned to their full shade of bright blue in the gentle dim light of the basement lamp.

Spike gradually became aware that he was lying in an extremely soft bed underneath a clean white sheet and several layers of thick, but light blankets covering him. His head was cushioned by two feather pillows that soothed his aching neck and shoulders wonderfully. He began to wonder if he had died in the sun after collapsing in the doorway. This felt like heaven… but if this was heaven then did he have a soul after all?

The vampire suddenly rose up out of bed as the blankets slipped off of him to reveal the most poncey pair of black pajamas that he had ever seen. He wouldn't be seen dead in them! In a frightened confusion he began to rip off the silky, poofy excuse of a shirt resulting in a smattering of buttons across the concrete floor. Just a minute; he didn't remember a rug being there…

With his PJ top now torn and beginning to fall off his shoulders and his sore feet feeling a sense of warmth from the carpeted surface. Spike could see and feel the secure, bandages wrapped around his torso, ensuring that his ribs were causing less pain and would heal nicely. The cut on his abdomen had also been treated. Spike also was incredibly clean. He looked at his fingernails, all the dirt underneath them was gone and they were pinker than he had seen in a hundred years. All of the blood had been removed from his skin. Someone had really spent a lot of time caring for him. Sweet William was beginning to feel like a baby sensing a mother's love.

On the table beside the bed there was a note. Spike opened it and began to read.

"Dear Spike.

If you are awake dear and reading this then I'm out at the gallery. I found you collapsed against my door two nights ago very hurt and tired. I am very worried about you because you look like you haven't been eating very well. I haven't seen or heard from Buffy for 4 days, do you know where she is?

Please don't leave until you are well again. I need you strong to protect my daughters. Dawn is on vacation with Janice and her family, so she will not be returning until the end of the week.

There is some food in the fridge but I don't know what time it is when you are reading so don't go upstairs just yet. Try to get some rest.

I got you some blood and spicy wings, but they didn't have those little onion things that you like at the store.

I know you hate pajamas but I can't have you walking around here butt naked.

I'll be back at 7pm.

Joyce xxx"

Spike suddenly felt a bit guilty about tearing up Hank's pajamas, but then thought to himself "Well the man's a tosser anyway." And he threw the ruined shirt on the rug. He decided to keep the pants on for now. They were clean, warm and felt smooth against his bum

Despite feeling quite fresh and rested. He still wasn't feeling anywhere near his full strength. The sharp hunger pangs in his stomach confirmed that he desperately needed to have a good feed to heal his still slightly swollen but much improved right eye. He considered going upstairs to investigate the fridge, but he had absolutely no idea what time it was. Would he dare risk going into the living room without knowing if the curtains were closed?

"Some of the joys of being a vampire" Spike murmured to himself under his breath as he looked around the basement. There was an interesting looking bottle lying on the small table next to the bed. He decided to investigate it. Spike saw a label on it which said "Drink me." Lying next to it was a plate with a freshly baked cookie ontop of it. There was a piece of paper on the plate which he read as "Eat me". "Now this is getting like Alice in soddin wonderland." Grumbled Spike.

The blond vampire decided to unscrew the top of the bottle to see what was in it. He didn't normally follow instructions as a rule but he was so hungry he would at least eat the cookie. It was chocolate chip, his favourite. He'd get no nutritional value from it of course, but at least it would quell the growl in his stomach a little bit.

Spike finished unscrewing the top off the bottle and smelt it to check that it didn't contain drugs. He remembered being a prisoner of an underground military operation called the initiative two years ago. The soldiers drugged the blood of their captives to anesthetise them in preparation for the horrific experiments that they conducted upon them. He hadn't trusted anyone with blood since. Not even the butcher who was his main source of blood these days, well not so much recently. That accolade went to the rats that lived in under Sunnydale in the sewers.

Spike sniffed the bottle. It was clean alright. In fact it had a scent of bloody ambrosia! He gulped a quarter of the blood down immediately, so quickly that he choked and nearly spilt the rest on the contents upon himself. As soon as the blood entered his lips, he could feel an immense power radiating from it. It was Joyce's. Slayer family blood,, even if not from the slayer herself, was extremely potent and powerful. He could feel the cut on his abdomen slowly starting to bleed as it began to start healing. Spike drank the rest of the blood, felt it's supremacy over his wounds and carefully placed the ceramic bottle back on the table. Joyce had donated her blood for him, given her life force to help him get better. Someone actually cared about him. At this thought a single tear dropped down his cheek.

Blood began to seep slightly through his wounds and stain his bandages with tiny crimson spots. Spike felt a cold shudder on his back. He deeply regretted ruining his borrowed shirt. His clothes were either stolen or borrowed, never his. After all, didn't Buffy say that he was nothing. For just a moment he began to think that someone gave a damn about him, but the slayer would never love him. He was just her plaything. He was half naked right now, maybe that would please the girl? He didn't have anything left to wear He remembered his clothes were completely unsalvageable after the beating and experience he had been through last night. What would he wear to go back to his dilapidated crypt?

The vampire was on his knees, wallowing in self pity when he looked up and noticed a box that had a ribbon around it. Again there was a label. "Open me." Spike followed the instruction and untied the ribbon so that he could lift up the lid. Inside the box were several items which brought a smile to his face. He took out the contents and laid them on his bed. There was a brand new pair of black jeans with the tag still on. It said Home Shopping Network. He remembered that Joyce complained when she stayed at his crypt that time that he didn't get the TV shopping channel. How in the world could a vampire afford cable?

Once Spike had moved the jeans to the side he saw that underneath them was a black T-shirt made from good quality cotton. He felt it, it was the softest shirt he had touched in a long time. He hoped that he wouldn't get demon slime on it anytime soon. The final items were two button down shirts one in a navy blue and the other one was a beautiful dark purple colour. Both well made and from the same Home Shopping Network brand.

What Spike didn't see right away was that there was a pile of black material lying neatly folded in the corner by the washing machine. He suddenly noticed it and walked over to see what it was. It was his duster, freshly cleaned and mended . His jeans were also there. They had been well laundered, the hole in the pocket had been repaired and they smelt strongly of fabric softener.

He was overwhelmed at the generosity of this woman, who would not be back until sunset. Judging by the amount of light he saw under the crack of the basement door, he guessed it was day. Spike would eat his biscuit later. For now, he returned to the soft bed and his head sank into the pillows for some much needed rest. He began to dream of steaming hot chocolate, with those little tiny marshmallows who loved so much, floating on top.