Spike opened the door to the second-floor broom closet and found that it was already occupied by a ghost. Spike wondered for a second whether the ghost haunted the broom closet because it had died there or because the Hotel Hyperion was so crammed with otherworldly tenants that this was the only place available.

The ghost was not the knife-throwing, ectoplasm-splattering kind. It was simply a lingering presence, neither benign nor malevolent. Spike didn't want any trouble that might alert the people downstairs. He nodded politely to her; he got the sense that the ghost was or had been female.

"Be out of your hair in a minute, pet," he said.

He lay down on the dusty floor of the broom closet. From here, he could hear everything said in Angel's office almost as well as if he were in the room. It was better than lurking outside the door – less chance of discovery.

"A chip is not the same as having a soul," Wesley was saying. "It would be more accurate to think of it as a muzzle."

Thank you, Wesley, for comparing me to a vicious dog, Spike thought.

He could feel the ghost coming closer, although she seemed curious rather than hostile. Her curiosity was hardly surprising. After decades in a broom closet, the poor thing had to be bored. He felt a chill as a body even colder than his own pressed against his and yes, this ghost was definitely female.

"Not the time, love," Spike said quietly. "I'll come back another time and we'll snog like rabbits in the springtime, but for now I want to hear what they're saying."

"Spike has done everything I've asked of him," Angel said. "He's promised to follow my orders, and I can say from experience that Spike is very loyal."

Now I'm a sodding golden retriever, Spike thought, rolling his eyes.

"He also agreed to provide information on the Initiative when we asked," Angel added.

"None of which was useful," Wesley pointed out. "It just confirmed what we already knew."

"That's hardly his fault," Cordelia said. "Spike himself said he was basically a lab rat. A scientist doesn't tell a lab rat what's going on."

Spike frowned. Cordy had obviously read his account of his time in the Initiative. He'd never given permission for his account to be passed around the office. It was supposed to be private, read only by Angel and Wesley. Next thing, Angel would be posting the damned thing on his blog.

"If we kick Spike out," Gunn said, "that doesn't mean he disappears. What's he going to do if we don't take him in? Before he was a vampire, he was ...what? – some kind of poet? I mean he's still got to live, and he's got no marketable skills."

"That's hardly our concern," Wesley protested.

"Well, it will be if he becomes the leader of some gang of vampire jewelry thieves or whatever, so he can pay for blood," Cordy said.

Spike lost track of the conversation because the presence was becoming very insistent. A cold tongue was trying to force itself between his lips. Spike turned his head to get away from the ghost, and then he could feel her icy tongue licking his neck. It wasn't pleasant. It felt like someone dropping an ice cube down his shirt.

"Later, pet. I understand. Long time alone in a dark place; you want to touch someone, feel someone's skin against your own. Just be patient. They're almost done."

He could feel the presence back off a bit, sulking. Hardly his fault if some randy ghost got her feelings hurt.

"Spike's a good fighter and he could be a real asset to our team," Angel said.

"Or he could sell us all out to Wolfram and Hart," Gunn said, playing the devil's advocate.

"Angel Investigations can give him enemies to fight, a place to belong, and people to care about. Wolfram and Hart can't offer him that. All Wolfram and Hart can give him is money and power, and Spike doesn't care about those things."

Cordy spoke up, "We're supposed to be all about helping the helpless, and what's more helpless than a vampire who can't bite? I vote we let him in."

"Are we voting?" Wesley asked, "I didn't know we were voting."

"We're coming to a consensus," Angel said.

"Yeah, well, my consensus is that I could definitely use another fighter at my back," Gunn said. "From what you all say, Spike's got skills. As long as Angel keeps an eye on him to make sure that he doesn't get a chance to turn on us, I say we give him a try-out. Put him on probation."

"Are we agreed then?" Angel asked.

There was a murmur of agreement. Spike did not hear Wesley's voice among them.

Angel was waiting in the apartment when Spike entered.

"So who was with you in the closet?" Angel asked. He had known that Spike was overhead. His keen vampire hearing had caught every word that Spike had said.

"Some lady ghost," Spike said, shrugging. "She didn't give me her name. She probably doesn't remember it."

"What's it like having sex with a ghost?" Angel was curious.

"Wouldn't know," Spike said nonchalantly.

He sat down next to Angel. Spike reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Oh right, no pockets and no ciggies either. He was wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt and a cheap pair of running shoes from Wal-mart.

"So you let Cordelia read my story. Gunn too, I expect."

Angel nodded. He could have told him that it was Wesley who had given them copies and that he had been very angry when he found out about it. However, he didn't want to fuel the animosity growing between Spike and Wesley. It was better if Spike blamed him.

"Angel Investigations is a team," he said. "We don't keep secrets from each other."

"You should have asked me first," Spike said.

"You're right, and I'm sorry," he said. "So do you want to work for Angel Investigations?"

"Got no choice, do I? Not if I want to keep meself in ciggies and hair dye."

"Don't bleach your hair, Spike," Angel said. "I like it the way it is."

"Doesn't matter how you like it. It's how I like it."

"It's how Dru liked it," Angel said.

Spike gave him a sharp look, letting him know that Dru was off limits.

Spike's first job with Angel Investigations came that same evening. It sounded simple enough. Something was living in the basement of a convenience store. The owner had never glimpsed whatever might be there because every time he opened the door to the basement he was overcome by a feeling of dread and impending doom.

"A demon with some kind of psychic powers, obviously," said Wesley, "but I can't tell which type until we actually get there. So be prepared for anything."

Gunn handed Spike his weapon, and showed him how to use it. It fired flaming stakes, and was pretty cool, but Spike preferred hand to hand combat. Standing well back and just shooting at a target wasn't the same as going toe-to-toe.

The convenience store owner stood at the top of the stairs. He used the basement for storage and cautioned them to avoid damaging any of his stock. Angel flicked the light switch at the top of the stairs. Nothing happened. All of them could feel the sense of dread that the store owner had mentioned.

"Whatever's down there has already started to affect us," Wesley said. "We have to fight its influence. We must keep hold of what's real."

Spike could feel unwelcome thoughts creeping insidiously into his mind. They were not his thoughts, although they mimicked him perfectly.

I'm not really here, the demon said in Spike's voice. I'm in me cell, dreaming this. I'll never get out. I'm stuck here forever.

I'm not going to let anything drag me back there, Spike thought. He fired at a dim shape ahead of him. He must have hit it, for the demon let out a cry of rage. The light of the flaming stake had provided enough light for Wesley to get a glimpse of the beast.

"It's a Tu'avlok demon," he said. "It sends its psychic messages through sound at a frequency below the normal hearing range of humans or even vampires. If we get some superior noise-blocking headphones..."

"Do we have any of those?" Angel asked.

"No, but I'm sure that I could track some down." Wesley said.

"I'm not waiting," Spike said. "I want to kill it now."

The others nodded.

They advanced toward the beast. Spike could see it clearly now. It looked like...Drusilla. He blinked, and the deceptive vision disappeared. It wasn't Dru. It was Buffy. How could he have mixed them up? The image flickered in front of his eyes...first Dru, then Buffy. What was he thinking? He was attacking the people he loved. Spike faltered, holding his weapon limp in his hands.

"Be strong," Angel cried out, rallying his troops. "We are real. Nothing else is."

Spike shut his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the demon's cruel magic. Then he opened his eyes and moved forward into the gloom, Angel, Gunn, and Wesley at his side. He snarled, furious at the beast that had tried to take over his mind.

Dru stood before him. She was dressed in one of the long gowns she favoured.

"Is my pretty boy Angel`s pup now?" she said. "Are you wearing his collar instead of mine?"

"I'm nobody's dog," Spike said aloud.

Gunn looked at him.

"Hold it together, man," Gunn said. "Don't let the demon get to you."

Spike didn't hear him. All he heard was Dru's voice.

"Are you a stray then, my love? Belonging to no one at all? All alone, begging for scraps from passing strangers...Poor little stray. Better watch out, my sweet pup, or the dogcatcher will get you."

Dru laughed merrily. Then she was gone. Now, the Slayer stood before him, proud and strong. Buffy looked at him with the contempt that he deserved.

"How could you think that I could ever care about someone...something... like you? After I've known Angel...He's a true Champion. You think that I'd even look at William the pathetic, the bloody awful ...You disgust me."

"All together," Angel called out, raising his weapon.

Spike, blinking back tears, raised his weapon automatically and aimed at Buffy...no, Dru. He wouldn't let the demon affect him. He shut his eyes.

"Fire," Angel said.

Spike fired with the rest.

Spike's hand shook as he lit the cigarette from the pack that the grateful store owner had given him. The other members of Angel Investigations looked as shaky as he felt. He wondered what visions the Tu'avlok demon had sent them. Don't ask; don't tell.

"I think that went pretty well," Angel said.

"So how did you like your first day at work, Spike?" Gunn asked.

"I like it fine so far," he said, dropping his cigarette butt on the sidewalk and crushing it under his heel.

They split up into different vehicles to drive back to the Hotel. Spike was Angel's passenger. Angel drove a vintage convertible, well-maintained and polished to perfection.

"We should celebrate," Angel said. "A workplace outing to welcome our newest employee. It will raise office morale."

Spike turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial, trying to find a station playing a decent tune. He liked eighties music.

"We'll go to the Host's club, Caritas. You'll like it there. The Host welcomes everyone – he doesn't care if you're a demon or a demon hunter. It's neutral ground. And his bartender makes the best Seabreezes in L.A."

"I can't go out. Not wearing this tat," Spike said.

"Wesley brought in a whole box of clothes. I'm pretty sure you can find something that fits."

Spike made a face at the idea of wearing the Watcher's old clothes.

"Besides I'm saving me money," Spike said. Got a debt to pay, right?"

"My treat," Angel said. "Just don't tell the others. I can't afford to pick up everyone's tab."