"What do bounty hunters want?" Buffy asked Giles, who was going through some old book. She held up one of her mother's crystal vases that had managed to survive the various demon attacks. "I mean, do they even want normal stuff?" The Watcher ignored her, consumed in his book. "Giles?" Buffy put the vase on the dining room table. "Giles, are you even listening to me? Giles!" The Watcher gave a start and looked up from his tome.

"I'm sorry Buffy, were you saying something?" he asked. Buffy sighed and put the vase away.

"Nope," she said, looking over her Watcher's shoulder. "What'cha reading?"

"I'm looking up 'Phoenix', to see if that will shed some light on our bounty hunter," he said, gesturing with his.

"So we can figure out what she'd want?" Buffy said brightly. "Great idea, Giles!"

"We're back!" came Zander's voice from the hallway. He and Anya walked in carrying boxes. "We went through anything left at the Magic Box and pulled whatever we thought she might like," he said.

"And I brought some things from my demon days," Anya said excitedly, putting her box on the table. "I've got a vial of monkey blood, the hand of a murdered virgin, that was actually a birthday gift, a ring from-"

"That's great, Anya," Buffy said hurriedly. "You can tell us about it later."

"Hey Giles, this one might help too," Willow said, striding into the room carrying another book. "Have you seen Dawn?" she asked as she handed the book to Giles. "She was supposed to help me research."

"She's with Spike," Buffy said.

"Is he still babbling incoherently?" Zander asked. Anya hit him in the arm.

"Ow," he said, rubbing the wounded appendage. "What'd you do that for?"

"Because Spike was tortured by the First," Anya said. "You'd babble too if you'd been talking to dead people."

"Since Spike is technically a dead person, doesn't that mean he talks to them all the time?" Zander pointed out. Anya raised her hand to hit him again. He flinched.

"Zander, just show us what you found," Buffy said with a roll of her eyes.

"Bit, I'm fine," Spike said, trying to get comfortable on the basement cot. Every time he moved he aggravated a different hurt.

"Have some more soup," Dawn insisted from her spot next to him on the floor. "Do you want me to put some blood in it?"

"For the last time I don't want anymore soup," he said, lying back. "It's burnt anyway."

"Anya made it," Dawn said, setting down gingerly in front of her.

"Suppose that explains it then," Spike said, closing his eyes. "She means well though."

"Who is she?" Dawn asked after a moment.

"Who?" Spike asked, not opening his eyes.

"Jocelyn." Spike opened both eyes this time.

"Why would you say that name?" he asked, not looking at Dawn.

"Because you say it in your sleep," she said. Spike looked at her and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You've been watching me sleep?" Dawn blushed.

"You've been in and out of it the last couple days," she said hurriedly. "Sometimes you'd spontaneously pass out." Spike tried to fight the grin that was threatening to spread across his face.

"Right," he said, facing the ceiling and once more closing his eyes. Dawn was quiet for a moment.

"You mentioned her name once," she ventured. "In your crypt."

"Funny, I don't recall it," Spike said. "I'd like to go to sleep now, if you don't mind." Dawn rose stiffly, collecting the bowl and bottle and making her way toward the stairs.

"Bit?" Spike called. Dawn stopped with her foot on the step. "Thanks." Dawn smiled.

"You're welcome." Spike listened to her tread up the stairs and open the door. The momentary chatter of teenage girls made him wince, but it was muffled somewhat when she closed the basement door. It was times like these when Spike wished he had the hearing of a normal person.

He laid very still, focusing all his energy on his various cuts and bruises. It would have been easier if he had been someplace dark, or in the earth. Someone shrieked upstairs, and Spike groaned, rolling over and trying to flatten himself against the wall. As he tried once again to quiet his mind, he felt a presence by his bedside.

"Dawn," he said, rolling over and opening his eyes. "I appreciate the Florence Nightengale bit, but-" He stopped short. If he'd still been human, he would be choking on his words. As it was, he merely laid there gaping.