Life Hard

by Soulburnt

When you're trying to be better after decades of evil, a little encouragement can make all the difference. When Spike gets a nudge out of the crypt and toward Africa a few months early, it changes everything for the Scoobies, for Sunnydale, and for the world. Twice.

21. First Steps

First Steps

⸹

Sunnydale, California

October 1997

⸹

After finishing the vacuuming and dusting, Buffy polished the dining room furniture, wiped the windows until they squeaked, and called it a day. The house was as ready as it ever would be for the exchange student. She phoned Willow and arranged a time to meet at the Bronze, then she went to take a shower. She was humming as she went up the stairs. Saturday was the day everyone got out, even mysterious, dark-haired vampires. She would definitely see Angel tonight.

Three hours later, she trudged up the steps to the front door, ready to put on patrolling clothes and make a circuit with Giles. St. Vigeous may or may not be a bust, but her social life definitely was. Not only had Angel not shown, neither had Xander, who couldn't go with as little sleep as the Slayer. She and Willow had attracted no attention at all. As she started to put the key in the lock, Buffy tilted her head. The inside of her house sounded more hopping than the Bronze had been.

She opened the door and heard old music and her mother's laughter. Joyce had rolled up the rug she'd vacuumed that afternoon and was dancing with Spike, both of them barefooted.

Buffy walked over to the clock radio that was usually in her mom's bedroom and turned it down, muffling Bobby Darin singing 'Splish Splash.' "What are you two doing?"

"Oh! Buffy!" Joyce put a hand to her chest. "You surprised me."

"You surprised me," Buffy rejoined, but she was smiling.

Joyce's hands fluttered, and she tried to still them by turning off the radio. "Spike's here," she pointed out helpfully as she found the off button. She gave up then, letting her hands drop. They made a soft slap against the fabric of her slacks.

Taking pity on her, he explained. "I stopped by to see if I could borrow Joyce for a dance over in Dutton."

The amusement left Buffy's expression, and she gave Spike a flat look. "You want to take my mother out dancing?"

Joyce visibly cringed. "No, no, nothing–"

"Yes," Spike contradicted her. "It's a dance contest. If I don't go with someone, I won't be able to find a partner."

Buffy's eyebrows rose, and she looked at her mother. "You're going to enter a dance contest?"

"No." Joyce had found her dignity. "It sounds like fun, but I have too much to do here."

"She was nice enough to dance with me anyway."

The two Summers women were communicating almost exclusively through a supremely tense look now. "It's for his job, Buffy."

"No, it's just because I like to dance." Spike gave Joyce a maddening grin. "Fifties music isn't going to make a comeback, but it's fun. Saw a flyer posted at the Bronze for it and thought I'd see if I could find someone to go with me. Can't be picky; don't know that many people in town."

Both of the women gave him an exasperated look, and Joyce sighed. "Let's put the rug back."

He helped her roll it into place. "Thank you for being so kind."

As they stood up, Joyce caught Buffy watching them with amusement, and something occurred to her. "You should go. You like to dance."

"Me?" she squeaked.

"Her?" Spike said sharply.

"I-I don't know any of those old dances," Buffy protested, thinking swiftly, "not like you do. If anyone should go, you should."

"I have laundry and a ton of paperwork from the gallery to get in order before I meet the accountant this week. And," she added, a warning gleam in her eye, "'those old dances' are before my time, too."

"It's half ten, anyway," Spike said. There was a troubled look on his face. "Couldn't get there in time to do much dancing." He put his bare feet back into his boots and had them laced in a surprisingly short amount of time, then grabbed his coat. "Time for me to go." He reached for Joyce's hand and bent low over it. "A pleasure as always. Thank you for the cocoa and for the dance, madam."

After Buffy closed the door behind him, she turned back to her mother. "Cocoa?"

Her mother shrugged. "He likes the little marshmallows more than you do."

⸹

Late on Friday, Giles was reshelving books on the Incas and feeling unaccountably glum. They had defeated the evil mummy, so he should feel fine, but she hadn't seemed so much evil as sad. He knew that Buffy saw the parallels between the ancient girl's fate and her own, too.

"You needn't reshelve those yourself," he said, more harshly than he meant.

"I'm being careful to put them in the right place, Watcher." Spike leaned against the end of the range, looking insolent without really trying. He nodded at the books in Giles' arms. "What's so interesting about the Incas?"

"The exchange student Buffy was hosting was killed by a mummy that escaped from the museum."

"Really. Woulda thought the exchange students would be more of a danger than old relics." At Giles questioning look, he went on. "Sunnydale has the exchange program as a front for bringing in illegal immigrants of the demon variety. Most of the 'exchange students' are Hellmouth tourists who can pass."

"You're joking."

Spike shrugged. "'S'what I heard."

"Good lord." He wished he had a place to set his stack of books so he could do something other than stand there, stunned. "Though I do suppose that explains why Impata's parents weren't trying to reach him." Giles' eyes narrowed. "And why the exchange is one-way. There was supposed to have been some mix-up with the paperwork and a missed deadline."

"You ever met the mayor 'round here?"

"No. Can't say that I have."

"He's human, just barely. I doubt anything much happens that he and his town hall toadies haven't arranged."

"Mmm." Giles was noncommittal. Buffy had confided in him about what Spike said, that he was created to be a caregiver, to love, in essence. But he was still a vampire and not to be trusted. He shelved another book and asked casually, "Were you interested in politics before you were turned?"

"Not hardly," Spike snorted.

"You seem well-educated."

The vampire grew still. "What do you mean?"

"You read several languages."

"Just what I've picked up." This confirmed what Giles assumed, that he'd learned useful languages over the course of his long existence. Then his next words shattered that impression. "The only formal education I had was a Michaelmas half and only half of that."

Giles quickly looked at his books and began scanning the shelves for matching call numbers. 'Michaelmas half' was a public school term, in which case William the Bloody was definitely not the wideboy he seemed.

"Wait, wasn't Xander scamming on that exchange student?" Spike asked to change the subject, following the Watcher into the next row.

"He's rather devastated, I'm afraid." He changed the subject, too. "How is your research getting on?"

"Anxious to get rid of me?" The humor faded. "Truthfully, I've hit a rough patch. I have some possible solutions, but… Shame the Slayer didn't hold off killing old Batface for a few months. His blood probably would have worked."

Giles blinked. "Old Batface? The Master?" The vampire smirked and went back to the row with German books on demons. Giles shook his head a little. Every other vampire he'd seen had a reverent and deferential attitude toward the Master. This one was definitely different. He considered asking Spike about the third Slayer he'd claimed, but it didn't seem prudent.

"Watcher?"

Spike's voice came through the stacks. Giles ducked his head, but he couldn't see the vampire through the gaps. "Yes?"

"You have a, dunno, chronology of Slayers?"

"Yes, I suppose. Nothing that formal." Giles blinked a little. Could the vampire read his thoughts?

Spike appeared at the front of the row. He almost immediately took a step back, realizing that he had trapped the human. "Uh, wondered if you could get me the name of a Slayer."

"Depends on how far back she was. Our records get sketchy before the Renaissance, and even after–"

"Nothing that far back. Nineteen-…" he thought a moment, "… eleven? Chicago."

Ah, Giles thought. He couldn't keep the coldness from his voice. "That was the other Slayer you killed?"

The side of the vampire's mouth twitched, not in a smile. He shook his head, but answered. "Yeah. Took a train into town because I heard she was there, found her fighting vampires that same night. She was already injured, but… I didn't know that." He turned away, considering the Dewey Decimal range listed on the end panel of the shelf. "Wasn't much of a fight."

Giles' brows drew together. Was that… shame in his voice? "I'll check the records," he managed. The vampire nodded and wandered into another row.

⸹

"Spike?" Xander blinked at him through the window, then unlocked it. He raised the sash halfway. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't even think it, Harris. Don't want an invite." He smiled at the human through the window. "Just wanted to know if you're interested." He held up a zip-top sandwich bag with three joints.

"Where did you get those?" Xander held up a hand. "Never mind; I don't want to know."

Spike told him anyway. "Some kid in the parking lot of a video store. He ended up donating 'em to me, along with a pint of blood."

Xander hesitated. Spike had been around two weeks now, and they were still alive. He had kept his promise about no vampire attacks on St. Vigeous. It wasn't trust, and a lot of it was not caring just now, but he found himself saying, "I'll meet you outside."

Only pausing long enough to retrieve his wallet, shoes, and a jacket, he ducked out the back door. They met at the picnic table where his drunken father had knocked over a platter of deviled eggs on Labor Day, causing his Uncle Rory to laugh and his mother to run to the kitchen to escape blame for putting the eggs on the wrong part of the table. "Let's go," Xander said shortly.

"I got wheels," Spike offered.

"This isn't far." They walked in silence for a few minutes. "I haven't smoked anything since my friend Jesse got killed and turned into a vampire."

Spike heard anger and accusation and sorrow in the boy's tone. "'M sorry, mate." His brow furrowed. By now, he had a good bead on the various vampires in town. "He still around?"

"I staked him." Xander's innate honesty wouldn't let him leave it there. "Well, he sort of stumbled into a stake I was holding, but the result was the same."

"Not an easy thing."

Xander didn't say anything. He let the sympathetic words slide, because Spike knew what it was like; his stupid idea to cure tuberculosis had a heartbreaking outcome. He just felt low tonight. Since Buffy had come to town, he'd lost so much and not gained what he hoped. He loved and worshipped the Slayer, believed totally in her and her mission, but sometimes wished he'd never met her. "Here we are."

Xander strode through the playground of one of Sunnydale's mini-parks and climbed in a couple of easy moves to the top of a wooden children's fortress. Spike joined him with one disturbingly fast leap, then looked around. "Nice view." The fortress was built atop the highest point of the park, and they could see over the trees that covered the terrain as the land sloped west in the direction of the ocean.

"I've been coming here to toke since I was twelve." He sat cross-legged and leaned against a post. "Jesse was nearly always here with me. He gave me my first joint, as a matter of fact. He always had a little something-something. His parents were divorced, and his dad gave him a lot of guilt-money."

Spike stayed quiet and let him talk, handing him a joint and his lighter. Xander hefted the heavy little Zippo and raised his eyebrows. Spike smiled as he took it back. "Had it since before the last world war. Thirty-nine? I'd hate to lose it. Funny how you get attached to things, inanimate objects, I mean."

"Nineteen thirty-nine?" Xander shook his head. "You've had that longer than my grandfather's been alive." He had the oddest feeling of déjà vu as Spike gave him a sour look. They both drew in lungfuls of smoke and let the beginnings of a buzz build.

Xander got more talkative and began to find things funny after ten minutes or so, and Spike broached the topic he was interested in. "So, you saved the Slayer's life."

"Yeah." The slight smile that had been on his face disappeared. "There was this prophecy that she would die, and she just marched right into it." He shook his head. "I didn't understand it then, and I still don't."

Spike nodded emphatically. "Yeah. Don't give a shit about 'destiny' and 'fate,' myself." He lived with a seer and knew first-hand how unclear her visions could be.

"I mean, it worked out. But the prophecy didn't say, 'And, lo, wise men in the future will have arcane knowledge of life, and the Slayer's friend will revive her so afterwards she can put a tree trunk through the Master's ribcage.'" He smiled a little as Spike chuckled. "But I can't tell you how scary it was, seeing her lying there, all still… What if she had come back brain-damaged? I mean," and he thought of her crush on Angel, who had to be shamed into helping her, "more than before." He took another drag.

In the manner of men, they weren't looking at each other, were facing different directions, in fact. Spike lit up the last joint and asked if he had a car, which kept the conversation going for a while as they passed the blunt. Xander, who had turned seventeen over the summer, was really feeling the social stigma of not having a car. He walked over two miles to school, cutting through backyards and alleys, rather than ride the schoolbus or his bike. The skateboarding idea hadn't really worked out.

"Are you ever sorry you got bit?" Xander asked the question after a companionable silence. Jesse had obviously been happy to be turned.

"You mean that I ended up a vampire?" He lifted a brow. "No. Else I wouldn't be here, yeah?"

"Where would you be? I mean, what do you think you would have done with your life?"

"Dunno."

"Did you have a girlfriend?"

Spike smiled a little at that word. "Had a lady in mind, completely wrong for me. Passed up a nicer one." He smiled at the memory of Daphne. "Just as well. She couldn't dance for shit. Still got bruises on my feet from her."

Xander giggled, finding the joke funnier than it really was. "So, no regrets."

"No. Anyway, you can't change what happens to you. You only get to regret the things that you chose not to do."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"'Ve done some things that I wish I hadn't, turns out. But I don't have anything I passed on that haunts me, where I think, man, wish I had…" He trailed off, waving an expansive hand.

"I don't know," Xander said, something bitter in his voice. "I sure have chosen to do things I regret."

Spike considered him. "You and Buffy, huh?"

Xander nodded, then took a final hit from the roach. "There is no 'me and Buffy,' unfortunately. You know how in the movies the guy rescues the girl, she falls for him, and they end up happily ever after? Not so much in real life."

"But think how much more you'd regret it if you never said anything to her, never knowing what you might have missed."

Xander bit down on his reply, deferring to Buffy's quiet request to not mention Angel to this new Master, since other vampires really didn't like him. "You're right; I just wish her answer had been different, is all." He wouldn't have regrets if she would look at someone who was worthy of her. Then his thoughts turned to the brief happiness he'd had with a girl who did choose him, another female who had been a demon with designs on his life rather than his love. It was the high that let him ask his question. "Spike, is there something about me that's just attractive to demons?"

Startled, Spike met his eyes. Then he shrugged and appraised the human, his gaze running down his form from dark hair to long legs. "You are attractive. Nice shoulders." Xander looked a little dazed, and the vampire hastily withdrew any sexual aspect of his attention. "Why do you ask?"

"Impata wasn't the first demon that I've… that has come on to me."

"Nothing 'specially, not like you have 'victim' or 'sex toy' written on your forehead." Spike smiled and fluttered his lashes to temper the reassurance. "Unless you really want me to think of you that way."

Xander looked as though he had been struck. "I'm not gay." Then, "Do you think I'm gay?"

Spike shifted to look more directly at the boy. "Do you think you're gay?"

"No." Xander looked down. "I don't know. If I was straight, wouldn't I have had a girlfriend by now? Maybe I am, and I just don't realize it."

The boy was miserable because he was a virgin. A virgin without a car. Spike resolutely shut down his sniggering demon. "What I think," and he stood up, getting ready to move out, "is that you're too nice to sleep with a girl you don't love, and that's a bad thing these days, when sex is held cheaply." When the human looked up at him mutely, he held out a hand and hauled him to his feet.

"Sometimes," Xander said, his eyes on the ground, "I wonder. I mean, I notice other guy's bodies…."

Spike sighed. "Yeah, at this age, your bodies are changing. Doesn't look the same week to week, so of course you'll look. Are my biceps bigger than his? Poor Bernie still doesn't have hair on his arms, that kind of thing. Makes sense to me." He jumped down from the playground equipment and waited until Xander reached the ground more cautiously to continue. "Or maybe you are a little attracted to guys. It's like sexuality is on a continuum, right? No one's all one way or the other. Maybe you're only ninety-five percent het." Spike shrugged. "I've had sexual contact of all kinds over the years, but it's women that I prefer by far."

"You?"

Spike chuckled at the boy's dumbstruck look and gave him a flirty look. "Yeah, me."

"I did wonder about the eyeliner." Xander didn't realize the smartmouth comment had escaped until Spike was laughing, and his last lingering wariness disappeared.

"My lady likes me pretty." His swagger became more pronounced. "All the ladies like me pretty."

"And the men."

Spike chuckled again, and the two continued on their way back to Xander's house in silence for a bit. "What about Willow?" the vampire asked abruptly. "I mean, she's lovely."

He shrugged. "I don't know why not. It's just, she's my friend – my best friend. I think she might go for it, but I would never lead her on."

"Oh, she'd go for it." Spike was emphatic. "Think about it. Friendship's s'posed to be a great start to a relationship." They walked past his DeSoto, but he wanted to see the lad safe in his house.

"I'm not going to think about much tonight," Xander said, "and thank you for that."

"No, thank you. Haven't done anything really bad in Sunnydale – Watcher Boy can write a contract – but I least I can still corrupt the youth."

⸹

Spike realized he had the munchies after he left Xander, always one of the hazards of toking. He stopped at the Bronze for a bite, as it was on the way back to the factory. He knew the Slayer was there before he was inside, and Buffy was on her way to intercept him before he'd taken more than a couple of steps toward the bar.

"What are you doing here?" When he only raised an eyebrow, she voiced her suspicion. "You're hunting, aren't you?"

"'Course."

"Why?"

"I'm… hungry?" The eyebrow rose again.

"No," Buffy said with exaggerated patience, "why here?" Before he could give another sardonic response, she added, "Why the Bronze? Why not somewhere that's else?"

"What twisted your knickers today?" he asked. When she only looked at him, Spike sighed dramatically. "Got lonesome. Wanted some of that sparkling conversation that you're," he paused for effect and whipped out the sardonic tone, "so good at."

"Spike, I'm not in the mood." And she wasn't, having been on the receiving end of Cordelia's lecture on how to be less Buffy for the last hour.

"Words no one has ever said to me before." He sensed her irritation edging toward true anger and gave up. "I'll leave the Bronze if you will," he cajoled. "No other vampires here, so I'll go patrol with you until we find some. Give them a good dusting."

Their eyes met for a moment, and she knew what tempted her wasn't the wildness in him, that she didn't have the same need he did for violence. She couldn't put into words or even coherent thought what made his offer so perfect. "Let's go. You first."

Surprise registered for a second, and then he grinned, quickly covering his happiness by scoffing, "Feminist." He strode to the alley entrance and held the door for her automatically before remembering not to do stuff like that. Spike took half a step outside, then abruptly changed his mind, pulling the door closed and blocking it with his body. "Uh, let's go out the other side."

Confused, Buffy stared at his face, at the play of expressions across his readable features. Guilt was the main one, and her own face hardened as she pushed past him, a stake already in her hand. It wouldn't be the first vampire she'd slain while it fed in the alley.

There were two figures in the alley, but neither was undead. A young woman was on her knees before a young man, fellating him. As her head bobbed, he turned to the sound of the door. The man shifted his grip on the girl's hair as his eyes flicked over Buffy. He lifted his chin, evaluating her, and gave her an insolent smile as he thrust his hips toward his girlfriend.

Spike was waiting for her as she pivoted back into the noise of the Bronze, a pained look on his face. "Should know by now you can trust me." Buffy averted her shocked eyes, blotches of color standing on her cheeks, and he said gruffly. "Sorry. You don't need to see that." She was just a kid. He took her elbow and led her away from the door a few yards. "You need a couple minutes?" She shook her head mutely, and they went out via the front door.

"So, how are things?" He was uncomfortable with what she'd seen, so he figured she wouldn't mind talking about anything else.

"I've got a date tomorrow."

"Yeah? Anyone I know?"

She shook her head. "He's in college."

"Well, I would tell you to watch out for dirty old men of nineteen, but I know you can take care of yourself. How's Joyce doing?"

"She met with the accountant this week and finally decided she's going to get a computer system installed." The Slayer shrugged, her eyes on the shadows to their right. "Maybe she won't have to work so many late nights."

"Good thing, being home at night in Sunnydale." They continued the patrol, speaking quietly every so often, without finding any trouble. Spike stopped at a convenient store and came out with a hastily nuked burrito, which he devoured as they walked back toward downtown.

"Here you go." Buffy held out something for him.

He took the white square from her hand, realizing it was the handkerchief he'd loaned her, now freshly laundered. "Oh. Um, thanks."

"With that burrito, you might need it." She took a breath, trying to be nice to make up for being grumpy at the Bronze. "How's Drusilla?"

He glanced at her, surprised. "No worse, at least." After a moment, he added, "Thank you for asking."

"Giles says you're in the library most evenings."

"Yeah, unfortunately. I'm not finding anything useful." Not without the missing ingredient of old Aurelian blood.

"Well, maybe you'll find something soon."

He smiled, appreciating how the Slayer was trying to make him feel better. "Yeah, maybe." Spying a nearby trashcan, he tossed the burrito wrap into it. "Well, I'd better get back before the minions get into the liquor cabinet."

"Minions?" she asked, amused.

He shrugged. "Vampires that aren't family that you don't kill. They can be useful, but they're also nothing but trouble."

"Well, you'd better go take care of that."

"Right. Have fun tomorrow night." As he walked back to his car, Spike thought about going by the library to have another go at the Latin section, but it was huge and he was still hungry. He left the Bronze parking lot and went to the Fish Tank, finally getting home to Drusilla just before five in the morning. She was watching an old movie with Michael Caine on the television, and he snuggled in beside her.

"You feel like the seventies," she said dreamily. "Have a good night?"

"Yeah," he said, a little surprised. "It wasn't bad."

⸹

"Hey, Giles."

"Oh, Buffy. How was your French test?"

"Que sera, sera."

He scrutinized his Slayer. "You do know that is Spanish?"

"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "If you want me to learn as many languages as you and Spike, you'll have to give me more time off."

"As if you would use spare time for study." He'd happened across Buffy and Willow in the art section a few days ago and had started to praise them for their attention to schoolwork. Then whatever they were looking at and whispering about had led to giggles. It obviously wasn't school related.

"You're in a mood."

"Just tired. Spike was here rather late last night."

"You know, you could leave him alone."

"I most certainly cannot." He pushed his glasses up with his knuckles and pinched his nose. Giles believed that Spike was trustworthy with the books, but he couldn't take the chance that the blond vampire might realize his grandsire was in town. Angel had been scarce for a while before the treaty, and when he did finally turn up, Giles had privately informed him of Spike's presence in town and assumption of the title of Master. The way his nostrils had flared, he probably already knew the first part. Angel had melted away and been scarce again for several days. The Watcher didn't know how much of Lydia Chalmer's thesis on Spike was accurate, but if even a quarter of it was correct, a reunion between the remaining Aurelians would be a violent one.

Buffy patted his arm. "Go home and get some sleep. It's been quiet; I'll stay here and babysit the vampire tonight."

"I think I will." He paused, then admitted his terrible secret. "We have tea sometimes and talk about home. I constantly tell myself, do not trust Spike. It's difficult to remember that he is a soulless demon."

Buffy grinned impishly. "We've had coffee together a few times at this diner just outside town after patrol."

"The Sit N Bull?"

"Yes. How do you know about it?" She took the tangent, glad he wasn't going to fuss at her for socializing with another vampire.

"Good coffee. Also, it's just outside the range of the Hellmouth. Or, some white sorcerer put a spell on it a long time ago. I never can decide; I can just feel it, like a, a border."

"Huh. Spike says demons never go there."

"He does."

"I don't think he thinks of himself as a demon."

"Unless it suits his purposes."

One of the library doors opened, and Jenny Calendar looked around until she spotted them at the rail. Buffy watched the way the two adults smiled at each other and quickly excused herself, smiling a little, too.

⸹

"Someone's come to change it all."

Spike had dwelled on Drusilla's words all day. Nothing ever happened on Halloween. She was abed, full as a tick and the body disposed of, and the minions were settled in to watch a marathon of horror movies for the night. He was restless, though, wondering what she had meant about the outside switching with the inside. He stood abruptly and headed for the door.

"Master?" Julia, the blond vampire Drusilla had turned, started to rise to follow him.

He waved her away. "Gonna get some fresh air." It was the kind of thing he said that always drove the minions crazy. Why would a vampire need fresh air?

The streets were busy with little kids in their Halloween costumes. Some of the costumes were not costumes at all, but the spawn or hatchlings of town demons who got to show their true faces one day a year. He rather thought the kiddies would grow up and resent their parents for making them celebrate sodding Halloween.

Spike wasn't sure when exactly he realized that none of the children was in costume; they were all real. He supposed it was the screaming. A reluctant grin spread over his face. "Well, this is just… neat."

He wandered through Sunnydale, enjoying the chaos, checking to make sure no one was looting Summers Fine Arts. It was well known that the gallery was under his protection, but Spike was pretty sure his status as Master wouldn't matter very much tonight. Fortunately, Joyce was out of town on a buying trip. And Buffy would be busy.

His first instinct was to join her, but he realized that would be an exercise in frustration. Most of the demons running around were actually human children, and she wouldn't want him to kill them. Spike headed to see Giles, instead, curious about what had turned sleepy All Hallow's Eve into a party.

"Willow!" He whistled in appreciation. She was standing next to Giles by a library table, and it was obvious he had interrupted their conversation, but she looked too fine not to comment.

Usually, Willow would have blushed, but things were too dire. "Spike, I need you to go to Buffy's house and protect her and Xander and Cordelia."

"Protect the Slayer? What are you on about?"

She explained succinctly what had happened to people outfitted from Ethan Costume Shops while Giles gathered supplies from the cage in the far wall. Spike still couldn't take things too seriously. "What were you dressed as?"

"A ghost," she snapped, and walked through the table on her way to the Watcher.

Spike raised his eyebrows. "Right. Well, good luck at the costume shop." Protect the Slayer. Him. Switched-up night, indeed.

On his way to Revello Drive, he passed a SWAT truck crashed against a light post. He had a flash of inspiration and detoured into the back of it, searching through the jumbled weaponry until he found what he was after. Smirking at the heft of it, he put it over his shoulder and loped on to the Summers house.

Before he got there, he heard familiar voices from an alley. "Xander!" he called, turning the corner in time to see the lad drop a heavier human dressed as a pirate. "Nice work, mate." Buffy was inexplicably a brunette and just as inexplicably clinging to Cordelia. Xander leveled his weapon at Spike, who raised a hand. "Willow sent me. I'm Spike, by the way."

Buffy took a breath. "You have a proper musket."

"Never heard it called that before," he muttered, but he unslung the riot gun from his shoulder. "Non-lethal beanbag projectiles for the midgets," he explained to Xander. "Giles and Willow think they have a lead on what's going on." He whirled suddenly, sensing a demon at the other end of the alley, but nothing came in.

"Go, them," Cordelia said, "but can we get the princess here back to her house where it's sort of safe?"

"I'm afraid to move," Buffy whispered.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, and both she and Spike eyed the Slayer with distaste. Spike glanced at Xander. "You shoot the tall ones; I'll shoot the short ones." He turned to Buffy. "Madam, if you would permit me to escort you, I believe you will feel easier in the safety and comfort of your cottage." He held out an arm for her.

"You speak like a gentleman," she said warily.

"A gentleman with a musket," he replied gravely. "Just a costume, pet," and Buffy took his arm.

The spell broke just as they reached the porch. "Only got to knock over two of the little brats," Spike groused. The Slayer had clung to him, hindering his aim, whenever the Halloween revelers had pelted past them.

Buffy pulled off her wig. "Well, that was humiliating."

Xander gestured at her with his toy gun. "Xena costume next time."

"Or don't shop at discount stores," was Cordelia's contribution.

"So you remember everything?" Buffy and Xander answered with silent nods.

"I hope Willow is okay." Xander looked worried. "I mean, she was a ghost."

"Since the spell is broken, I'd say she and Giles saved the day." Buffy caught herself smoothing dark hair on the offending wig and made herself stop.

Still on an adrenaline high from the chaos of the night, Spike felt himself withdrawing from the humans. "Think I'll head on back." He nodded goodbye at them and left at vampire speed, feeling out of sorts.

The Slayer had been… wet. Useless. He thought of Pippa, Millicent, and Daphne, any of which would have picked up the nearest vase and bashed the head of a demon who threatened them. If they fainted, it would be afterwards. This spell, for all its potential, had diminished a Slayer. He felt his anger coalesce and changed directions, heading toward downtown.

Spike waited for a long time in the empty costume shop, until almost six in the morning. He was about to give up and go back to the factory when a thin man with elegant features entered the store, looking around warily. When he felt sure the store was deserted, he began to quickly pack his desk. Spike chose that moment to move in behind him.

"You put the Slayer in danger," he said silkily, putting a cold hand on the human's neck. He squeaked and tried to turn. "I'm the only one who gets to do that."

"Who are you?"

"The only thing you need to know about me is that I'm the Master." Spike let go of the man. "Ethan, is it?" He leaned close. "Pack your stuff; you're done here. I ever see you in Sunnydale again," Spike leaned closer, until he was speaking into the man's left ear, "I will kill you. I'll take my time doing it." He was suddenly at the doorway, staring wolfishly at Ethan with yellow eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth. "Don't try me." He pointed with one clawed finger, then left the shop. Feeling satisfied that he wouldn't see the human again, Spike left the store and made for the nearest sewer access. It was already dawn.

⸹

After the sorcerer left the costume shop, Angel slid down the fire escape of the Expresso Pump, heading for the sewers, too. He'd followed Spike from the time he found him in the alley with Buffy and her friends, at first so he could rush in with a stake if Spike turned on them, then to see if he could take news of a treaty violation to Giles. The younger vampire hadn't done anything he could use against him, unfortunately. He really wanted Spike and Dru out of Sunnydale.

He sighed as he turned toward his home. It wasn't just because he missed the freedom to see Buffy and Giles when he wanted, it was because he didn't want the miserable mix of fear and longing any longer. He was afraid of Spike, and how wrong was that? Even Drusilla could kill him, he was so weak after decades of near starvation. Neither kept him from wanting to be near them. The lure, the safety of family, after all the long years of loneliness….

Knowing Buffy made up for a lot of those years; her touch made up for almost all of them. When he first came to Sunnydale, first made contact with her, he'd been such an idiot, more than halfway in love with her and not the slightest clue of how to act around people. He could barely believe she wanted anything to do with him.

He'd changed for her, more than once, more than he ever cared for her to know. From the first time Whistler had shown him the inexperienced Slayer, he'd tried to be better. When he saw what she liked in a date, he'd gotten rid of the clothes Whistler provided and tried to dress more like Owen, had bought secondhand books on philosophy to read. When he saw how she loved her friends, he worked to be sociable with the people she hung out with, even Xander. Except for the precious moments he was alone with Buffy, it was all hard.

Family was easy. He missed that, and he closed his eyes as he thought of how difficult it was to ignore the slush-slush of Willow Rosenberg's blood, to ignore every instinct that told him she was food. But he could. He was changed, was changing. He was braver than he ever thought he could be, when Buffy was in danger.

Family was danger. For him, surely also for the Slayer. Hunching his shoulders against the first rays of light over the horizon, Angel hurried for his door.

⸹

November 1997

⸹

"I don't want you to go."

Spike sighed. He'd tried to get her to let him love her earlier, but Dru had touched her temples lightly and begged off. Then she wouldn't eat the stoned kid the minions brought for her. After that, she'd smashed Miss Lavinia's porcelain head to powder, swinging the doll by her feet against the floor. Drusilla had finished off the day's performance by tearing into the stoner's midsection and plunging her face into the wounds. It was the only blood she'd taken in two days.

Now she was in bed, the ruined sheets and rugs removed and the floor mopped up. She stared up at him with desperation.

"Have to, love." He sat down on the bed next to her. "I need to finish going though the books, see if I can find a cure, make you all better."

"There's nothing in books. They're dry and good for nothing but flames."

"We'll see. I've found things already, just don't have what I need for those."

"The Master's blood."

"Yeah." He smiled down at her; Drusilla wasn't stupid. "If I'd had one of these books, I'd have used a ritual with that old German vamp. It would have strengthened the effect. Might be something else there, pet."

"I just want you to stay with me."

"Love, I won't be long. I'll be back with you before half the night is gone. You get some sleep, and you won't even know I'm gone."

"Wrong time to be sleeping."

"You didn't sleep today. You need to rest sometime."

She looked mutely up at him, and his heart nearly broke. If she was stronger, she could go with him, but he didn't want her around a Watcher, much less a Slayer. Spike firmed his mouth and slipped off the red silk shirt he wore over the black t-shirt. "Here, poodles. Sit up." He dressed her in his shirt. "There, just like I've got my arms around you. Smells like me and everything."

"I can't smell."

He went still. "You'd gotten your sense of smell back," he protested. She shrugged, and he knew she'd told him what would make him happy, less worried. "Ah, love." Spike took her in his arms and kissed the top of her dark head. After a few minutes, he felt Drusilla relax into sleep.

Twenty minutes later, he was in a completely different world, taking a cup of steeping tea from Giles, bantering with Xander, and turning the pages of a well-repaired library book that he didn't have to pretend he couldn't read. He sat on the table next to Willow's computer for a couple of minutes, listening to her explain Flash. When Buffy came in at eight, bookbags were opened, and the students did their homework in the comfortable silence. It wasn't his life, but it was nice to take a little bit of the calm and store it against what was waiting at the factory. Maybe he'd call it an early night, stop by and see Joyce. Nothing like hot cocoa when the nights turned nippy.

⸹

Buffy dodged to the left, then moved toward the vampire. It was one of the more athletic ones she had ever faced, and she'd been trying to get close enough to use her stake for more than five minutes. She glanced down at the sidewalk where they were fighting, right outside a park with a playground and picnic area. There. If she could just get it to change direction….

She faked right, and the vampire fell for it. It was wearing dress shoes, and one of the heels caught on the uneven part of the pavement where an earthquake had cracked the concrete and lifted one edge. Buffy waded in and drove her stake home, quickly pulling away from the rain of dust.

"Nice work, love," Spike called, applauding her performance.

He was, maddeningly, grinning at her. Fighting to catch her breath, Buffy returned her stake to its usual place at the small of her back. "What's that? The look of the well-rested?"

If her dig about not helping bothered him, he didn't show it. "No, pet. Just thinking of the old saying." He leaned forward from his perch atop the picnic table. "Tough in the streets, sweet between the sheets."

"Sweet… What? You think–"

Spike grinned more broadly as she sputtered. "No need to get your knickers in a twist."

The Slayer grew still, thinking of how her reputation at Hemery had been blackened by people she thought were friends. "What have you heard?"

His brows rose; he'd just thought to tease her. "Nothing. Wouldn't believe it if I did. I know you're a virgin. Still, can't blame a fellow for a bit of speculation."

Buffy drew her dignity about her. "You don't know that I'm a virgin."

"Sure, I do." He oozed from atop the table like a panther, beside her without so much as a flutter of noise from his coat. "Slayer, aren't you? The Council keeps you lot closeted away."

"What was it you called me? Wild caught?" When he simply held her gaze, the grin in place, she added, "You wouldn't believe some of the things I did before I became the Slayer."

"What? 'Gimme an H?'" The grin became lazier, more insolent. "Your mum can't tell me enough. You're her favorite topic, pet."

Some warmth in his voice made the last sentence approving, even a touch envious, but Buffy ignored it. "I have a boyfriend. Right now, I mean, not just back at Hemery."

"Oh? Since frat boy? That was fast."

"I-it's someone I've known for a while."

He tilted his head and regarded her. Since it wasn't Xander, it wouldn't be anyone like him. Not a jock, either; Joyce had been clear that Buffy's old friends had shut her out. "Let me guess," he mused. "Quiet waters type. Reads a lot, maybe, but not an intellectual. Other people don't quite get him, but, oh, you do."

Buffy paled. He couldn't know about Angel. Then she rallied. The description could fit Owen, too – which, not going to examine too closely. "Way off base," she lied, turning to walk toward the Restfield.

He gave a quiet snort. "Uh huh." Spike slid his hands in his pockets and followed her. "So, tell me where I was wrong."

"I'm not going to discuss my love life with you."

"Fine with me. Couldn't be all that interesting, anyway, little girl."

She glared at him. "I'm the Slayer. I'm not a little kid."

"Tell it to someone who isn't a hundred years older than you."

"You're a pig, Spike."

He considered telling her about the human who had shown up at the factory offering to sell the Slayer to him, but it would just upset her. Besides, she would then ask what happened to the git. No need to point out that even if he restrained himself, vampires like Dalton did not. That would upset her, too. But he could get her to take care of the irritating part that remained. "There is something I interesting I wanted to tell you, though. There's a club of vapid little wanna-not-bes a few blocks away from the Bronze, the Sunset Club."

"I haven't heard about a new club."

"It's private. Just for stupid kids who think vampires are cool and misunderstood." He smiled grimly at her startled look. "Read too much Anne Rice, I reckon. Anyway, just wanted you to know. There are vampires who don't care for a fair fight that like to get embedded in a cushy situation like that. It's like having your very own herd."

"Is there a vampire there now?"

"Dunno. Just heard about it. Thought you might like to set them straight about the undead."

She nodded. "Thanks." There was something sardonic in her next words. "A vampire who drops by just to bring me information. Who would've thought?"

"Well, we are cool and misunderstood."

She grinned. "The evil undead have been pretty cool lately."

He gave her a wicked look that only lasted for a couple of seconds, long enough for him to examine her. "Here, kitten, are you cold?"

"A little. There's more wind than I thought tonight. At least it's blowing away the smoke smell." It was wildfire season, and one was burning just outside of town.

"Wanna get coffee?"

"Sure. It's your turn to pay, after all."

The inside of the DeSoto didn't smell as much like smoke, since Spike hardly ever drove without her in the car, and Buffy had asked him not to light up around her. The old car had good heat, so she took off her jacket and half-turned toward him. Spike asked about American football, and Buffy explained it to him. She'd had to learn the rules of all the sports the cheerleading squad supported, so she was familiar with the other football, too.

Carlene brought over a carafe of coffee, then left them to their own devices. There were three truck drivers eating at the counter, and she spent her time there. In the brightly lit diner, Buffy watched Spike's face, wondering at how expressive it was. She told him about Principal Synder's latest unfair tirade against her, and his mouth twisted in a one-sided sneer that made him look more punk rock than his bleached hair ever could. It made her smile a little; Giles told her that their unsouled vampire had more education than he let on.

Spike caught her looking at him and raised his eyebrows. The Slayer immediately picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. When she stayed silent, he asked if she really missed cheerleading. Buffy gave him a serious answer, from not missing the skimpy uniforms during November football games to a longing for the routine of it. This led into an examination of the difference between her friends in Sunnydale and what she thought was friendship at Hemery.

The way she'd been treated still hurt, he could tell. She had such an expressive face, and it made something inside him hurt to see how becoming the Slayer had shown her how alone she really was. People shouldn't have to learn that until they were much older. He reached across and ran a thumb over her fingers where she held the stoneware mug, offering to find musk glands from some South American ha'keeh demons to put in the closets of the surviving cheer squad members.

"How bad do they smell?" she asked, fighting a smile.

"Worse than skunk," he said gravely. "They'd never wear their Backstreet Boys t-shirts again."

"Ruin Kimberly's leopard print knit pants," she mused. "I am tempted."

"Leopard print?" He leaned back and tilted his head. "You had forty-seven-year olds on the team?"

Buffy snorted; she couldn't help it. "You're right. She thought they made her look sexy, but mostly they just made her look old." His hand still lay on the table, so she squeezed it before withdrawing to her side of the booth. "Thanks for the offer. I'll keep it in mind."

⸹

Buffy checked her image in the mirror a final time. Hair, shiny. Lips, pouty. Wonderbra was go. She wished her mother would give in and let her wear the red leather pants she'd bought with her father's guilt-induced access to the plastic, but the boots went well with these pants, too. Back at Hemery, she would have gone out looking like this and been confident that there was no guy in the school she couldn't have. Vampires, she thought wryly as she stocked her purse with stakes, were a different matter.

Not that she wanted more than one particular vampire. It was just that Spike's dismissal of her as a 'little girl' rankled. Plus, whoever that dark-haired woman was that Angel had met in the park was the final straw. Lately Angel was big with the disappearing side of his disappearing/reappearing act, and she had to wonder if it had anything to do with that skinny skank.

Part of her pique had to do with how he had wended his way through the Sunset Club the night they went to show those kids the error of their ways. Angel had played the role of evil vampire, and he had done a very realistic acting job. Ms. Calendar had actually sent a bolt into his arm when he had the blond girl, Chantarelle, crying against the wall. Buffy had known he was pretending, but something behind his clear brown eyes had truly enjoyed the terror. Chantarelle had been holding her breast when Buffy pulled the savage vampire off her and made a show of killing him. While Giles was lecturing the club members on their mistaken ways, she'd noted how the girl's shirt was torn from Angel's claws. It made Buffy more determined than ever to not read anything about Angelus.

And who was the skinny, dark-haired woman, anyway? She couldn't be human; she was too… well, ethereal wasn't the right word, but she seemed to waft or drift rather than walk. Was Angel interested in her? She'd touched his chest, and he hadn't tried to stop her. He didn't touch her back, though.

Anyway, if she wanted to flirt a little with a cute guy, there was nothing wrong with that. It wasn't payback. Angel hadn't said anything about being exclusive. Or even about serious. Buffy glanced in the mirror one last time and hurried down the steps so she could get out of the house without having to answer any of her mother's questions. "Bye, Mom!" she called, and was out the door and into the cool air of a Sunnydale night.

The Sunny Rest was first up on the night's schedule, with two new-ish graves to investigate. One was already empty by the time she got there, but it was a small matter to track the inexperienced vampire to the front gates. Buffy looped back to the second grave and waited for almost half an hour before getting too impatient to stay. She still had the Restfield to go through before turning her attention to the public areas where humans were.

Spike was in Memorial Park, laying on his back on the base of the soldiers' statue, looking up at the stars. "Clear night," he commented, then sat up as she approached. His only comment was, "Aren't you cold? You trying to get me to spring for coffee again?" Buffy noticed that his eyes lingered on her, though, and she smiled a little.

She was with a man who liked her, who liked talking to her, and she rattled on about the upcoming football game, how she thought Giles and Ms. Calendar liked each other, and taking Willow shopping without any fear that he would become impatient. If she brushed up against him now and then, well, the ground was uneven. Even the Slayer could trip.

They were just coming to the gates of the Shady View when two vampires came out, almost barreling into them. Nearly identical smiles curved their mouths, and Spike crossed behind Buffy to be on her left. The Slayer ducked beneath a blow and came up with a punch into its jaw.

"Switch!" Spike called, having similarly laid a big fist across the jaw of the other vampire. As they passed each other, their hands met, and Spike came away with a stake. He played with his for another few moves, because he kept snatching glances at the Slayer. She ducked the vampire's wild swings, grinning the whole time, then dusted it with a quick thrust of the stake. Buffy pulled back into a ready stance, her clenched arm pressing against the swell of one breast.

The grin on his face became a lazy smile, and Spike staked his own opponent with a move that took him behind the disintegrating body like a matador skirting a bull. Buffy giggled and came back to his side to nudge him playfully, once the dust had settled. "I like patrolling with you." She stayed close to him as they continued walking, chattering about patrol being lonely, how she worried about her friends, and how easy slaying was with him.

Spike looked down at her in puzzlement, getting an eyeful of cleavage each time he did. She was a touch manic, walking a little too close, and he couldn't figure what was up with her tonight. The fourth time she tripped and fell against him, he grabbed her arm. "Kitten…." Buffy was looking up at him, her lips parted, and he could swear she had more stars in her eyes than there were in the skies. He wasn't puzzled anymore, but he was confused.

"Yes?"

"How's your boyfriend?"

She shrugged and smiled prettily. "I haven't seen him lately." Spike was looking at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes touching every part of her in turn, hair, eyes, lips, breasts. Buffy felt a great deal of satisfaction – she still had it – and an unexpected nervousness low in her tummy.

The Slayer was gorgeous, Spike realized. She was too young, just a girl, but her body was well on its way to adulthood. He had too many years of knowing when a woman wanted to be kissed, and the signs were unmistakable. The Slayer wanted him to kiss her.

Why? What was her game? His demon hissed at the inner anarchist to shut up, just see where this led, but he liked the chit too much to hurt her. Wouldn't hurt her, the demon pointed out. She's the Slayer. She's strong.

Watching him, Buffy's inviting smile faded. Something in his eyes had changed and, though he hadn't moved, the vampire suddenly seemed to be much closer to her than before. Spike looked around, scanning the empty street and mostly dark houses, then he looked up. Within two seconds, he had leapt onto a lower limb of the nearest tree, a maple.

"Take my hand." She did so without question, and he hauled her up into the branches. There were still leaves on the tree, enough to shield them from casual observers.

Spike turned her so she was against the tree trunk, safe from falling. He was close again, and there wasn't enough light to read his expression, but he paused before kissing her. The hesitation only lasted a moment, long enough for her to protest. She didn't. Just a kiss, that's all, she thought. Just one.

A single kiss, Spike thought. She tasted of toothpaste and lip gloss and goodness and power. Spike slid his tongue against her lips, then nibbled along her lower lip. When she didn't open for him, he wedged his knee between hers, getting her to gasp, giving him access. He forgot all about a single kiss.

Buffy grabbed his shoulders as one of her feet slid off the branch, afraid she might fall. Spike tongue had just gently touched hers, but when he felt her weight shift, he leaned away from her to grab her leg. He pulled it along his thigh until her calf was at his hip.

Buffy's eyes opened when his mouth broke contact with hers. She knew she was stable, wasn't going to fall, but mostly she knew she wanted more of his kiss. All those weeks ago, she'd been right about his lower lip. Her fingers clenched into the leather of his jacket and pulled him down to her.

Spike leaned in, settling his chest, then his hips against the warmth of the Slayer's body. "Love," he murmured against her mouth, and she tilted her chin, just a little, as though she thought he might stop again.

This is… This isn't… Buffy felt dazed. He didn't taste of tobacco like she'd thought he might, or anything specific, but he did have a salty tang that she found her tongue questing to taste again. Everything was happening at once, and now Spike's fingers were drawing soft circles on the underside of her right breast. Even through their clothes, she could feel something swelling and stiffening against her thigh. Her first reaction was to pull him closer, and that shocked her back to reality. The moment she froze, stopped moving her mouth against his, Spike pulled away. This time, she could see him, his gaze soft and dazed as hers must be, his lips slightly parted. Then he firmed his mouth.

His hand still held her thigh against his waist, and his fingers were still cupping her breast. She had a brief flash of Chantarelle's torn shirt, but he was already letting go of her before she could move.

"Not going to fall?"

"No." Her voice was shaky. She took her hands from his shoulders and put them behind her, holding the tree.

"Then why don't you tell me what you're doing?"

"Spike, I… I didn't…." Buffy took a breath. It wasn't just me, she reassured herself. He'd kissed her without being asked. "I just wanted a kiss."

"No," he corrected her. "You just wanted to see if you could get me to kiss you." Spike moved his hips deliberately against hers. "You can. You can have anything you want of me, Slayer." It had been months, months, since Dru had truly shared his bed.

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. That's all I want."

He went opposite, lifting his head, blowing a long stream of air through his nostrils. "I know."

His voice was kind, and that was what pushed mortified tears past her self-control. Spike's first reaction was irritation – Dru cried quite often, too – so he was surprised at her low, "Oh, great." She was crying in front of Spike again.

"Here, love." He gave her his handkerchief, then simply scooped her up and dropped to the ground. "Let's go have that coffee."

They didn't say much until they were seated in their usual booth. Bart was all alone that night, and he brought the carafe to them, as well as a piece of lemon meringue pie. Spike had gotten no further than pouring his coffee before he sighed, stood back up, and stripped off his coat. "Here," he said shortly, "put it on."

"I'm not cold," she protested.

"Put it on anyway, Lolita. Your perky, not-so-little breasts are fucking distracting."

She pulled it on gingerly, finding it heavier than it should be, though nothing clinked. "What do you have in here?" Much better topic, now that his compliment shored up her ego.

"Weapons," he said shortly. Spike seemed to be all business until he sat back down and looked at her. His gaze softened. "Kinda of nice to see a Slayer wearing that coat again."

"Again?"

"Belonged to my last Slayer."

Buffy stiffened. He'd taken it off a dead Slayer, a Slayer he'd defeated.

Spike missed her reaction and was touching his brow. "My first Slayer marked me here, had some sort of sword that had an enchantment on it. The wound didn't heal like it should have, like human instead of vampire healing. Nikki didn't have anything to mark me with. Didn't seem right somehow, so I took the coat."

If he'd said the word 'trophy,' Buffy quite possibly would have hit him. Instead, she watched the fond look in his eyes at the memory of the fight and swallowed her first, harsh response. "She must have been a big girl." Buffy was swimming in the coat.

"She was fit," Spike protested, defending her, "tall as me and curvy. Had style to burn." He looked down. "Used to have a knife from the Chicago Slayer. Lost it, somewhere."

"Giles told me he was looking for information about her."

He nodded in agreement, then tested the coffee and found it was still too hot. "So, tell me what you were thinking when you got dressed to patrol tonight."

"You are an evil vampire. I'm not going to be lectured by you," she said primly, smiling a little now. "Not for a… misdemeanor."

"Love, if it had been any demon except me, it would have gone well past the misdemeanor stage."

"If it had been any vampire besides you, I wouldn't have wanted a kiss." She bit her lip and quickly grabbed the coffee cup. That wasn't what she meant to say, even if it was true.

"Oh. Um, thanks." He didn't know how to react, either, and fidgeted a little with a skull ring he was wearing on his index finger.

Buffy watched him, at the way his biceps jumped below his too-short shirtsleeves, and wondered where his usual red shirt was tonight. She felt a wave of affection for the suddenly shy vampire across from her. He was so easy to read, and she found she was able to talk about her current emotional crisis.

"I saw my boyfriend talking to another, to a girl, and he hasn't been around much lately. I just, I don't know. Needed reassurance."

He nodded. "Not a good idea for an underage girl to seek reassurance from a dangerous, full-grown man."

"I know."

"Glad to provide it, anyway."

She could see the gleam of his teeth even without looking up, and one corner of her mouth lifted. "Thank you for feeding my ego."

"Seriously, kitten. You're too young for these kinds of games."

"I'm the Slayer. I walk around at night and everything," she said sarcastically. "No one's going to do anything I don't want them to do." She thought of the hyena spell that infected Xander. She met Spike's eyes frankly.

His were haunted. "Don't ever try to lure your prey like that. It isn't safe, kitten. It's…."

"Spike?" She put her hand over his, stilling his fingers from rotating the ring, not sure why he was distressed, why she even thought of comforting him.

"That was one of my grandsire's favorite ways of hunting, forcing fangs and…" he chose a different word, "sex on his victims. He insisted I learn. I haven't… hunted that way since he left the family. It's… ugly. It's ugly, and it's wrong, even I know that, and it can happen to a Slayer."

"You… you've never… never touched a Slayer…."

"No." His answer was brief and firm. "Listen, pet. I'm just trying to say, don't test your wiles. You don't have to. Nothing to do with slayage. If your beau was talking to another girl, then he's a blind git and not worth your time."

"What do you do when other vampires talk to Dru?"

"Mostly, I kill them. Won't work in your situation, I guess."

"I can't think of many other strategies," she said wryly.

"Think harder. You are fine and beautiful, and you don't need reassurance from some grubby sod who just wants to rub his bits all over you." He could look at her again.

"You aren't grubby," Buffy said, wanting to lighten the conversation.

"When it comes to sixteen-year-old humans, I am."

"All right, Spike," she said, becoming peeved. "It wasn't a great decision – I am sixteen, after all."

He drank some coffee and seemed to relax in stages. "Does Joyce know what you're wearing?" He picked up a fork and sliced into the pie.

She heard the humor in his voice and smiled. "No, I ran out the front door while she was in the kitchen." Spike was holding the forkful of lemon meringue pie out for her, and she let him feed her just one bite. After that, they found their usual level of ease, and Buffy ended another quiet patrol with Spike dropping her at her door. Later that night, she found herself thinking of the haunted look in his eyes. It must be what Angel feels all the time, she realized. No wonder he's so quiet.

⸹

[Author's Note: This is actually the newest part of the story, written to make the length of this chapter closer to average. I dedicate this section to reader momnesia, who asked if Spike was ever going to be happy. He's happy right now, and so is Buffy.]

"Duck!" Buffy called.

Spike dropped with incredible speed, and she jabbed into the slime demon. It was ten feet across, almost as wide, and nearly as fast as the blond vampire. He rolled from where he'd gone to ground just ahead of its suffocating bulk.

It almost immediately pulled away from them, the first time anything they'd done had any effect on it. Heartened, Buffy advanced with the oak branch she'd taken from the ground and poked at it again.

Spike had joined her on patrol near the seaside park, and they'd found the slime demon vibrating over the remains of a coyote as it absorbed its meal. "Ouch," was Spike's comment.

"Definitely dangerous," Buffy sighed.

They'd quickly learned not to directly hit it, since their legs would just plunge into its gelatinous body and get stuck. They also hadn't been able to drive it back toward the sea. Both of them were so used to being at the top of their respective food chains that it took them a while to realize it had decided they were potential meals. It followed them to an inland park, where at least they had more options for fighting it.

Spike flipped upright and moved close beside her. "Car's not far. I could get it and run over the bloody thing."

Buffy was staring at it carefully as it feinted toward them. Here, where the streetlights were too close for it to avoid, she could see darker patches inside it. "I've got an idea," she said, passing the branch to him. "You've got a longer reach. See if you can poke it in that dark spot."

"Organ, you think?" He gave her an approving look and took it in his left hand like a javelin. Instead of throwing it, he sprinted at the slime demon with a roar and shoved the tree limb into the target the Slayer had pointed out.

Nothing happened, so he pulled it out again. Spike half-turned, keeping an eye on the demon. "Car, then?"

"Something's happening." Buffy took a step closer, ready to grab Spike out of the way if it charged. The slime demon began quivering, a different motion than when it was absorbing the coyote. Then it exploded outward, ejecting gallons of slime twenty-five feet in every direction.

"Ugh," Spike said, averting his face too late. "Oh, fuck, that smells."

"My mouth," Buffy said, "in my mouth." It came out as 'inma muth,' and then everything left from dinner and lunch also came out of her mouth.

Spike tried swiping at his face with his sleeve, but it had no dry patches. He tossed his coat away, trying to keep it right-side out, and tore off his t-shirt, swiping his face. Then he went to where the Slayer was crouching and held her hair away from her face. After another couple of heaves, she realized he was holding out his t-shirt. Buffy took it gratefully and wiped her face.

She stood up and faced away from him, spitting a few times. The shirt was nearly sodden by now, but she found a dry patch near the hem and wiped her face and neck again. "Well," she said, offering him the mucus-covered shirt, "we killed it."

Spike's face worked for a moment, and then he grinned and began to laugh. It struck her funny, too, and Buffy started giggling. They stood there, laughing like loons, a hysterical edge to it, each thinking their drenched companion looked ridiculous.

"Well," Buffy said, hiccupping, "that's it for patrol tonight." She lifted an arm and snapped it away from her, sending gobs of goo flying to the side. "I've got to get out of these clothes."

The practical aspect of getting clean hadn't occurred to Spike until just now. He grimaced. "Don't have a shower where I'm at." He looked down at his naked torso to his wet jeans.

"How are you going to get that stuff off?" she asked.

"Dunno." He lifted a dripping leg, then grimaced again, gesturing at his hair. "Maybe the locker rooms at the high school?"

Buffy shook her head. "My house is closer."

"Joyce won't let me in like this," he protested.

"She wouldn't let me in like this," Buffy agreed. "You hose me down, I'll hose you down."

Spike stared down at her, touched, and hid behind a glib comment. "Yeah, a wet cheerleader with a hose, yet somehow this doesn't promise to be a sexy carwash type thing." He leaned over to retrieve his coat and fell in at her side.

"Oh God, I hated those things." Buffy began walking toward the northern edge of the park, heading in the general direction of Revello Drive. "I mean, it was my least favorite fundraiser. It would always be twenty degrees below normal, and there we'd be, out at seven in the morning in t-shirts and shorts. It was usually, like, suburban dads all alone or, you know, grizzled old trucker dudes. You know why they were there." She shuddered.

"Perving on nubile young athletes?" Spike guessed.

She sent him a dark look. "And we had to be nice to them, so they'd give us more money."

"DeSoto is in need of a good scrubbing," he mused, "if, you know, you – oof!" He rubbed the right side of his ribcage. "Just joking, love." She glared at him, and he leered back. "Actually, I'm the one in need of a good scrubbing."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but you're the one half-dressed, like you need money."

He surged ahead of her and strutted down the sidewalk in his best high-fashion model imitation, then turned and pouted at her, fluttering his eyelashes. "Can I… wash anything for you, love?" She couldn't help herself; she giggled again. When she caught up with him, he fell into step with her, grinning.

"Too bad you didn't have your Slayer powers at your fundraisers," he said. Putting on a high-pitched voice, he said, "Oh, Mr. Lusting-After-Jailbait, be a shame if anything happened to your engine block or your axles." Spike put his hands in front of him and made a graphic snapping motion. "That'll be a hundred bucks, perv."

It made her grin, too. "I'd probably take a more direct approach, track down school board members or something."

"Buffy the Educational Funding Equalizer," he said, one hand rubbing his chin as he gave her a critical look. "Doesn't have the same ring to it."

Buffy put a hand to her hair. "This stuff is… Oh, God. You don't think it's hardening, do you?"

He put a hand to his own hair. "No. But we might want to go a bit faster."

They made a slight detour to his car, where Spike fumbled his keys from his pocket, carefully not getting slime on them, and took an extra pair of jeans from the boot. Buffy grabbed a receipt that fluttered toward the ground.

"You paid for these," she noted.

"And you're surprised, why?"

"You do look like someone who might shoplift."

"True, but I don't always." He used his keys as a handle to close the trunk and slid them into a back pocket. "I did rob a bank once, back in the thirties."

She chuckled. "You robbed a bank?"

"Yeah. Princely sum of six hundred dollars." He waved at his torso. "Took two bullets from the coppers. Didn't seem worth it, for all that fuss."

Buffy shook her head, then turned it sharply toward him. "What happens if a vampire gets arrested?"

"Depends on whether the jail cell has a window, I guess," he said, shrugging. "Never heard of it happening." A sneer twisted his mouth. "Pathetic excuse for a vampire, if a human can capture them." He nodded toward her. "You could break handcuffs, for sure."

"Couldn't you?"

"Yeah, pro'ly." He started to offer to wear them for her and find out, but their arrival distracted him from his leading comment. Spike nodded at her house. "Where's the faucet?"

"Back of the house, past the porch." They trudged around the side of the house.

"Where's Joyce's Jeep?" he asked.

"Mom's on a buying trip for the gallery," Buffy told him. There was a frown on her face. "Look, don't be a jerk, okay? We're going to need towels, and I can't walk in the house like this."

Understanding dawned, and he raised a hand. "I'll be a gentleman."

"Were you ever?" she teased.

"Once."

There was a seriousness to Spike's reply that caused Buffy to still and look at him. She gave him a grave nod. "Turn around, okay?" After he did, she kicked off her shoes and undid her pants. Then she took off her jacket and top in one move, hoping not to smear the slime on herself any further. Buffy took the house key from her jacket and went into the kitchen. After raiding the basement for the old towels, she stopped at the sink and grabbed the dish detergent. "This is going to strip my hair," she muttered, then headed back out. The outdoor security light shone on the kitchen floor, and she was relieved that her bare feet hadn't left a trail of smelly footprints.

⸹

In the hedge on the other side of Joyce's property, Angel watched Buffy reemerge from the house, lovely in pink underwear, carefully holding a stack of towels away from her body. He had followed them from Spike's car, realizing his own scent would never be detected through the stench of whatever they'd tangled with. Now his hands clenched in impotent fury that Spike got to see his girl like this.

"You want to go first, kitten?" Spike said. Angel could just see him standing past the porch. He had gone to the faucet and connected the hose. Now he was aiming at the Slayer, giving her an evil grin.

"Yes, actually. I'd hate to have to cut my hair or something."

"Tell you what," Spike said. "Lean over. I'll rinse your hair, then you rinse mine. We'll work from the top down."

"Sounds like a plan." She held out something to him, then leaned over, showing her neck, vulnerable before the Slayer of Slayers.

"Good thinking, pet," he approved. "Close your eyes."

"God, that's cold!"

Angel watched Spike pour what looked like half a bottle of dish detergent onto his palm, then work the soap into her hair. She took over, and Spike stuck the nozzle between his knees and began working on his own arms and hands with the leftover suds. They stood there, all business. From the neighbor's bushes, watching the two oblivious, half-naked bodies made Angel's own body do inappropriate things.

"Ready to rinse," Buffy said indistinctly. Spike grabbed the hose and began spraying water at the nape of her neck, helping rinse the suds with one hand. As Buffy wrung out her hair, the blond vampire handed her a towel. While she wrapped it around the wet strands of her hair, Spike's eyes roamed over her. You bastard, Angel thought.

Then Spike averted his eyes and held the nozzle out in Buffy's general direction, waiting patiently. Angel closed his own eyes, suddenly so tired. If Angelus had been in Spike's position, the things he would have done, the terrible things.

"Lean over," Buffy directed. Angel watched Spike do the same thing the Slayer had, put himself into a vulnerable position before his enemy. Buffy made some joke about it being impossible to tell his hair gel from the hardening slime, and he twisted to give her a sour look. She chose that moment to turn on the hose, grinning impishly.

Angel grinned, too. He loved to see her happy, even if it was because she was teasing Spike. Now that the smell of slime demon was dissipating, he needed to move back. He didn't want Spike to know he was around. Angel didn't leave quickly enough, though.

"Ready," Spike said. Buffy helped him rinse, then handed him a towel. He rubbed at his wet hair with both hands. After a moment facing the blond man, Buffy turned to the side, just a little. Angel's heart sank. If she hadn't moved, he would never have known she was blushing. His own eyes went to the boy, to his muscular chest and shoulders and abdomen. Now there was no way he could leave.

"Spray my back?" Spike asked, turning. "Then I'll get you. You go on in, get a proper shower, with hot water and everything, and I'll rinse off our clothes, best I can."

Buffy put the nozzle close to his back and turned it on. Even from where he was hidden, Angel could see the galvanic response Spike had to the cold water. "Bloody hell, Slayer. Think main water would be hotter on the Hellmouth."

Buffy ran her hand down his back and over his shoulders a few times, feeling for any slime. "I think you're good."

He took the hose from her and set his teeth, then sprayed his chest and stomach. "Brr. Right. You ready?"

"No, but let's get this over with." Spike did the same thing she had, held the nozzle close to her, pointing downward. Buffy ran her hands along her arms and torso, then her legs. Spike swiped at her back once or twice. "Clear, I think."

His eyes were on Buffy again as she lunged for the towels in her sodden underwear. Then Spike gave his head a little shake, and he went back toward the porch to get the slime-encrusted clothing they'd left. He looked away from the lawn, his eyes examining the hedge, and Angel went utterly still. Spike's head tilted to listen closely. After a moment, he turned back to the Slayer.

"Uh, leave me a towel, love."

"I'll leave you two," she replied pertly. "Thanks for getting the clothes."

"No worries."

She stepped closer, holding a towel around herself against the chill, and said something too low for Angel to hear. Spike's head drew back in surprise, then he shrugged and nodded. Angel watched Buffy go inside. Even over the sound of the garden hose spraying on leather, he heard her shower come on a few moments later.

He knew he should leave now, but again he didn't. Spike had done nothing worse than what any man would do, had behaved better than most, in fact. Buffy was safe inside now. Angel watched Spike hang his leather coat over one post of the porch to dry.

The blond vampire went back to the pile of clothes. He picked up a wadded-up black t-shirt, sniffed it, then took it to the garbage can. When he came back, he dumped more dish detergent on the remaining clothes, sort of rubbed the fabrics against each other, then rinsed them off. Next were his boots, and he twisted side-to-side, spraying them from all angles before taking them off and rinsing them again.

Go, Angel told himself. And then Spike doffed his black jeans. Still not wearing underwear, the older vampire observed. The boy squatted down and began to give the jeans the same half-hearted wash, the harsh security light highlighting muscles along his thigh and back. After a minute or so, he stood up, muttered a profanity, and turned the water on his lower body.

Angel heard the sharp inhalation and another mutter, but it was secondary to his other senses. His beautiful boy. Hard as it was to admit, he missed Spike, who could be such good company, just as he missed Dru, who simply belonged to him. He had kicked himself over the years for not taking the boy up on his offer to leave with them. Once, he had the right to touch that body, to smile at those offhand comments.

He finally turned away, afraid his scent would reach Spike, but couldn't resist another look back as Spike turned off the hose and all but dove for the dry towels. Angel smiled a little. He really wasn't going to catch Spike violating the treaty; he knew the boy, had always known him to be honorable. But he couldn't be too careful where Buffy was concerned. She was safe inside now, and he pulled shadows closer and headed home.

⸹

"Brr," Spike said again, bending over to scoop up wet towels and clothes. Leaving his coat and boots, he dashed up the porch steps and into the kitchen, the driest towel wrapped around his lean hips. He'd never been down to the basement before, but he knew the doorway. Once downstairs, he looked around, finding the washer and dryer right away. He continued looking around. Joyce used it mostly for storage, he figured.

The washing machine was a good deal fancier than those he encountered in the laundromat. Spike dumped all the clothes and towels into the tub, then looked at the bewildering array of products. He skipped anything that said bleach, loaded the detergent compartment, then dumped a quarter bottle of stain remover over the clothes. Sniffing suspiciously of some fabric softener, he added a little to the machine.

Spike glanced over at the water heater in the corner and considered the shower Buffy had promised him. Jealous of the hot water, he set the machine to warm/cold and pressed the start button. He considered going back upstairs, but figured he might as well continue dripping on the same spot down here.

The basement wasn't warm, but it wasn't freezing, either. He put his brain into neutral, waiting for Buffy to call for him, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he began humming. A minute later, he began to sing the lyrics to Soundgarden's 'Blow Up the Outside World.' "Nothing/Seems to kill me/No matter how hard I try."

"Isn't that the truth," Buffy agreed dryly. She came down a few steps, enough so she could lean over and look at him. "Shower's all yours. Upstairs, to the left."

"Got it."

"Pink's really your color," she said, grinning.

Spike stopped at the bottom of the stairs and bowed, one hand going to the roll of pink terrycloth fabric at his waist to secure it as he took the steps. Buffy turned and stepped out of his way in the kitchen. She was wearing shorty pajamas with a long, loose-knit cotton sweater over them and an enormous yellow towel on her head. "I left a washcloth and more towels for you."

"Thanks." He gave her a cheeky grin. "You smell better."

"You don't," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh. Uh, your turn to close your eyes and not be a jerk." He pulled the towel an inch or so away from his body and lifted his eyebrows.

"I'll put it in the washer," she agreed, holding out her hand and closing her eyes. A second later, she had the damp towel in her hand. Spike turned away, not hurrying, so Buffy peeked at his butt. She turned back to the basement, hiding a smile.

Spike came downstairs ten minutes later, wearing the stiff, new black jeans he'd grabbed from his car. Buffy was puttering in the kitchen. "I know Mom usually makes you hot chocolate, but you and I always have coffee. I made a pot, since it'll take a while for the laundry."

He'd borrowed some mousse from her or Joyce, anything to tame his curls even a little. Buffy had taken the towel from her own hair, letting it air-dry. "Thank you. Right nice of you, kitten." Spike was surprised, actually. He figured she would just get the jeans back to him, like she had his handkerchief.

"You have a good voice." When Spike looked blank, she raised an eyebrow. "You were singing in the basement?"

"Oh. That. Yeah, thanks."

"You did a Pavarotti in the shower, and I missed it?" she teased.

He grinned and picked up a kitchen towel from the island and tossed it at her. Then he leaned against it. "You sing, love?"

She shook her head. "Too shy."

"Shy? You were a cheerleader," he protested.

"I hate being on a stage, though. Cheerleading's different. Maybe because I'm not just standing still or something."

"Huh. So, when our treaty is over and I can be evil again, I want to torture you, karaoke it is."

Buffy rolled her eyes. Then she reached across the counter and touched his blond curls. He leaned away, swatting at her hand. "And I'll destroy all your hair products."

Spike touched his heart. "You're cruel, Summers."

"Ugh, that song!"

He remembered the one she had to be referencing, 'Cruel Summer' by Bananarama. "Got teased with it?"

"Yeah, once or twice." Her voice was dry. "I can't think of a single song with the word 'spike' in it."

"Oh, there is one. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I hate it."

"So now I'll have to find it." Something behind her beeped. "There's the coffee." She brought the pot to the island and poured into the two cups. "Mom doesn't use cream, so I'll have to make do with milk." Once she had her coffee the way she wanted it, Buffy nodded toward the living room. "Wanna watch TV until the washer's done?"

"Sure." He gestured her ahead of him, then followed her. They settled on the couch, one on either end, and watched some of Ladyhawke. Ten minutes later, the quality of Buffy's breathing changed, and Spike looked away from a luminous Michelle Pfeiffer to find the Slayer asleep.

He didn't realize he was smiling fondly at her as he leaned over and took the coffee mug from her fingers. Spike took it to the kitchen with his own empty one. Then he went back to the living room, debating whether to search for a blanket. In the end, he picked her up, cradling the sleeping Slayer against his chest. Spike looked down at her, bemused, and wondered why she bothered with makeup. He went carefully up the steps to her door; his sense of smell had already told him which room was hers.

Spike settled her on the bed, the skin of his torso immediately missing her warmth, then bent over to peer at her alarm clock, making sure it was set. He regarded her a moment, then drew the covers up to her waist. Maybe tomorrow she wouldn't have to fall asleep in class.

Ten minutes later, he'd checked the locks, rinsed the cups, and put the laundry into the dryer. Outside, his coat smelled acceptable, though his boots still had a slight scent of slime demon to them. Well, he had leather polish in his stuff at the factory and minions to do the polishing.

Spike found his gaze going up to the window to Buffy's bedroom. What an odd friendship they had. His eyes widened a little; this was the first time he'd really put a name to whatever this was. She was his friend, and her mum as well. Xander, too, maybe, and there was the beginnings of friendship with Willow and even the Watcher. Shaking his head, he headed back to his car. The Hellmouth was a weirder place than he would ever have thought.

⸹

"…about two in the morning, hosing off behind the house. It was freezing."

"How big was the demon?" Giles asked, frowning. He was looking through Albrecht's Taxonomy of Demons, Greater and Lesser, but not finding anything that matched.

Buffy looked over her shoulder at the library entrance. "Big as the double doors. It was hard to tell until we got to the park, but I think it had sort of a yellowish color."

"And transparent?" Giles asked, turning a page.

Xander leaned across the table to where Willow sat beside Buffy. "And I'm not having Jell-O in the cafeteria for a while."

"Me, either," Buffy said, wrinkling her nose. "I mean, the smell…"

"Xander?" Giles peered at him. "Would you help me gather a few more volumes?"

"Sure, G-man."

The Watcher sighed. "Please don't call me that." After he'd found the books that likely had information about marine demons, he headed back.

"…butt the same as it was in the books," Buffy was saying to Willow in a low voice.

But what was the same as in books, Giles wondered. He passed the red-haired student a book, and he thought her grin looked wider than usual.

⸹

Spike left the factory and started walking, leaving the DeSoto behind. He'd grown short-tempered today and dusted Julia for doing no more than stroking his thigh. Sighing, he took a last puff of his cigarette and ground out the dimp end, then crossed the street at speed to take a bite from a policeman through his open car window.

Wiping his mouth, he continued down the streets, walking so slowly that the policeman had time to roll past him before he turned right. Spike wasn't really going anywhere in particular.

It was time to leave Sunnydale, but he didn't have any idea of where to go next. Oh, he still went to the library at the high school, but it was mostly to have a pot of tea with the Watcher or to joke around with Xander as he shelved books. There weren't any more answers there. He had learned the spells, but had no old family blood.

Drusilla wasn't getting any worse physically, but mentally was another matter. She seemed sly of late. Often, her dark head bent close to Dalton's as they pored over the few pages of notes he'd taken from the Master's lair, trying to determine how to reassemble the stone demon called the Judge. It was a bad idea, but it diverted her. He wasn't sure what she was hiding, but it hadn't helped her frame of mind.

He'd never failed her. Over a hundred years they had, but he didn't know if they had even one more left now, not with her so weak and not eating most of the time. She couldn't defend herself or be relied upon to hunt. She'd only let him pleasure her twice since the mob had taken her down, and there was no question that she was too weak for lovemaking. Travel was hard on her, but the Hellmouth seemed to make her visions worse. Spike knew he had to get her away –

His head snapped up as a scent came to him, and the worries and doubts burned away before a fine, clear fury. Spike tracked the smell down within two minutes and was grateful that it was the same storefront that had housed the costume shop. No threshold to worry about. He looked around the dark shop, surprised to see a table and a tattoo gun had been added. Looked like Ethan had a new business in mind. The proprietor was missing, though, so he sat on the table and waited.

He didn't have time to become bored. Ethan ran through the door and locked it behind him, backing away from the door even as he tried to peer through it.

"Got it wrong, mate," Spike drawled. "The danger's behind you."

"What? Who?"

"You were supposed to stay out of town," Spike said, standing, "and I was supposed to let you live." His white teeth were visible even in the darkness of the shop. "Nobody taught you cause and effect?"

Ethan laughed. "Let me live? You think I'm scared of you?"

Spike realized the human was crying just before a shape darkened the glass door. His attention was pulled back to Ethan, who grabbed his arm. "I thought I had longer, but Ripper had his tattoo removed. Removed! I never even thought it could be so simple, or I'd be in London, having it done. And now it's – " Ethan seemed to realize all at once who he was speaking to. "You! You can fight it. You have to – "

Glass flew all around them as the figure outside crashed through the door. It was a dead man, but the body wasn't animated by a vampire. Focused entirely on Ethan, it lunged at him. Spike jerked away from the two, reacting from surprise and adrenaline.

Seconds later, he heard Ethan's neck snap. The dead body stood over him, looking at the floor for just a few more seconds, then abruptly dissolved. Spike backed away again, not anxious to get near the spreading ooze.

"Guess I wasn't the only demon he'd crossed," he said aloud, and he heard a shakiness in his voice. Spike found his lighter and lit a cigarette, tilting his head back to inhale deeply, then blow twin streams of smoke from his nostrils. Nothing to do but leave, he supposed.

He was just stepping through the broken door when he heard movement behind him. Spike turned to see Ethan's body sit upright, then stand to regard him. Smiling coldly, he dropped the cigarette and put it out with a deliberate twist of his boot. "Looks like I get to kill you after all," he said pleasantly, smiling as he went back inside.

⸹

"Spike! What happened to your face?" Willow asked, her eyes widening in dismay.

"Fought a demon last night," he said with a shrug, joining her at her table at the Bronze.

"Are you all right?"

"You should see the other guy, only you can't, 'cause he's a dried-up pool of slime." Spike raised his finger to a passing waitress before turning back to Willow. "You all alone, love?" He rather hoped she was, so he could spend time with her. He'd spent less time getting to know Willow than the rest of the Slayer's coterie.

"Xander should be here soon."

"Buffy out patrolling?"

"No, she's with A – with her boyfriend."

The blond man nodded. "What about the Watcher? He wasn't at the library."

Willow's face lit with a smile. "He's on a date with one of the other teachers. They're just so cute together."

The waitress plunked a mug down in front of Spike. "May I get something for you?" he asked as he slid a folded twenty across the table to the server.

"No, I've got half my cappuccino left."

He nodded at it. "Stunts your growth, they say."

"I don't believe that," she replied seriously. "I think it's all genetics. I'm exactly as tall as I'm supposed to be, based on how tall my parents are."

"Don't count out what you eat. As nutrition has improved, the general population has grown a lot taller."

"Wow. I guess you've seen that with your own eyes, haven't you?" She leaned forward. "I think we won't get much taller as a species, though."

"I think you're right. Saw an article a long time ago where a bunch of scientists agreed that the human race couldn't survive, and if it did, we'd evolve into sort of birdlike creatures."

"That's silly."

"I thought so, too."

"If anything, we'd tap into our earlier growth phases and be more fish-like. Did you know embryos go through a period where we still have tails like dolphins or some other kind of marine mammal?"

"No. Can't say I've ever thought much about embryonic development."

"It's really fascinating, how the cells divide and differentiate."

"You going to be a doctor, love?" He took a drink of beer and found it no better than the first one he'd had at the Bronze.

"No. I don't know. There are so many things to study, and you really have to specialize in medicine. I'd like to do something interdisciplinary that includes medicine, maybe." She toyed with her coffee, turning the big cup side to side. "I like computers a lot, and since getting to know Buffy, I'm really interested in magic. It's like a whole big thing with its own laws and everything."

"First law," he said sternly, "is that magic has consequences. Always." Then he looked down. "Wish it wasn't the case."

"How come?"

He sighed. "Haven't found what I need. A cure, I mean. Anything that might be useful, can't be done, because the main ingredient isn't available anymore. So I've been thinking about magical healing, but the price is just too high."

"Price?"

"Yeah. Like this one demon, he's powerful enough to fix her up, but we'd both be his servants for five years. Wouldn't be anything left of who we are after six months, so it's really an eternity of slavery."

"Oh."

Spike could practically hear her thinking through all the ramifications. "Yeah. If I could find a way to take the consequences on myself, it wouldn't be so bad, but what's the use of that kind of cure?"

"What if – "

"Hey, Wil," Xander said, sitting down, "and hey, Spike. Your face." He made an inquisitive gesture.

"See the other guy, yada yada."

"Taking a night off from the library?"

"Yeah, about that… I really came by to let you lot know that I'll be headed out of Sunnyhell soon."

The two friends looked at him, then at each other. "Oh," Willow said. "Because you aren't finding what you need, I guess."

"Where will you go next?"

"Dunno. Los Angeles is close; maybe start there. Might find a more extensive library."

"Well," Xander said, forcing a smile, "stop in and see us next time you're on the Hellmouth. That's not an invitation, or anything," he added hastily.

Spike smiled back at the lad, more with his eyes than his mouth. "I'll do that. Not leaving just yet, anyway. It'll take a few more days." He did grin now. "Plenty of time to buy booze for you, get you set up with fake IDs, corrupt you good and proper, like the evil demon I am."

"You're not – "

"I am, actually." He stood up. "But I'm very glad to have met you both." Goodbyes were difficult. "I'll stop by the library in the next couple of days, probably see you there, give the Slayer and her Watcher my goodbyes."

"Hey, man," Xander said, standing up as well and holding out his hand. Spike shook it, embarrassed. He covered this unnatural emotion by very properly bowing over Willow's slender fingers and brushing a kiss on her knuckles. Then he strode out of the Bronze without looking back. Vampires didn't wave, after all.

He'd left the DeSoto parked in a spot reserved for the handicapped behind the factory – never pass up a chance to break the rules, Spike always thought – as he'd decided that Sunnydale was a walkable town. It wasn't late or very far, and he debated making a quick trip to see Joyce. Not late for vampires, he amended, looking up at the sky. Joyce was probably asleep. Or maybe not, if her daughter was out. Still, she probably wouldn't want company if she were in her jimjams.

Vacillating over the idea of going anyway, Spike found he'd turned onto a cross street that led to the Slayer's neighborhood. He wasn't surprised to see Buffy ahead of him, moving dreamily, a stake in her hand but her mind apparently a thousand miles away.

"Slayer," he called. "Have a good time, did you?" Spike abruptly froze as she turned to walk backwards, waving at him with her stake. She was smiling and saying something, but he could only process one thing right now: the scent of Angelus, all over Buffy.

He was on her in a second, tilting her head to check her neck, running his hands over her arms. "Love, did he hurt you? Oh, God, Buffy. Are you all right?"

"Spike," Buffy said, squirming away from him, "personal space issues, much?" She got a look at his injured face. "You're hurt."

Spike ignored this and took her very carefully by the shoulders, wanting to see her eyes, make sure she was still her own person and not in thrall. "Where is he? He touched one hair, I'll give him a good killing."

"Who?" She was genuinely confused.

"You don't remember." Fear was like ash in his mouth. "Love, you met a vampire tonight. I can smell him on you. I don't want to frighten –"

"Oh, that." Buffy looked rueful now. "You don't need to worry. In fact –"

He interrupted. "I do have to worry. It's Angelus, love, my –"

"It's Angel, now. Really, it's fine. Angel's my boyfriend."

Spike stared at her, and his brain felt like it was twitching. His mouth formed "Whu…" but no sound escaped him.

"I should have said something, but I didn't trust you at first, and, well, other vampires really don't like –"

"The Scourge of Europe is your boyfriend?" Spike's voice was a full-throated roar. A street over, an awakened dog began to bark. He still had her by the shoulders, so he gave her a good shake. "Are you insane?"

Buffy pushed him away, and he staggered back several feet. Her voice was cold. "I'm not insane."

Spike knew there was something associated with that word, but he couldn't worry about that right now; he had to make her listen. "Angelus is the worst of us, Buffy. This is what he does, gets to know you –"

"He has been helping me for about a year now," she overrode him, "and he's not Angelus. He's Angel."

"Don't be a soddin' idiot. Changing his name doesn't change who he is."

"He has changed. Whenever you met him, he's different now. He has a soul."

Spike's mouth twisted in a snarl, showing his human teeth. "His soul. Right. Say hi to his soul when he's picking the splinters of your skull out of his palms."

Buffy shook her head at how wrong he was. "No. I – he loves me, Spike."

Shaking his head, he backed away from her. "Forget it, Slayer. Got nothing more to say to you. The treaty? It's off. Stay clear of me, you want to live." He turned away, shaking his head, and the last thing Buffy heard before he disappeared with shocking speed was, "Got a death wish, anyway."

She stood on the sidewalk for a full minute, too numb to react. She'd had a really good time with Angel tonight, and then this. No more treaty, he'd said. For a moment, she wondered where the two had met, but the realization of what she'd lost drowned that question. The last few weeks had been so nice, with almost no vampires and Spike, who was almost as strong as she was, at her side to help when there was trouble on patrol. If it hadn't been for Impata and the serpent demon at the frat house, her life would have seemed almost normal.

Buffy turned away from where he had disappeared, dashing a hand over her cheek. Just a few days ago, she'd woken up in her bed, sweating because she still had a sweater over her pajamas, because he had very sweetly put her there. She didn't remember falling asleep on the couch, but she knew he'd cleaned up the kitchen and put their laundry in the dryer. He was so considerate. Her father had never done that sort of thing around the house.

She started walking a little faster, pulling her jacket closer around her body, the stake half-hidden inside the fabric. The treaty wasn't what made things easy the past few weeks; it was Spike. He even made patrol fun. Sure, she looked forward to patrolling with Angel, but it was because they spent a good chunk of time making out. With Spike fighting beside her, moving flawlessly to complement her in a way no cheerleading squad ever had, for the first time her sacred duty wasn't a chore.

Spike had looked so disappointed in her. Buffy sniffled, then firmed her chin. She didn't lead her life to please a vampire that didn't even have a soul. Still, there was no more spring in her step as she trudged the last couple of blocks home. She'd just lost a friend.

⸹

The factory was in sight before Spike calmed down and stopped thinking about the bloody stupid little blond Slayer enough to realize the most important thing: an old Aurelian was in town.

He actually stood in the middle of the factory parking lot and began to laugh. Perfect. It was perfect. He had the incantation, had the last ingredient, and had even broken the treaty and the promise not to hurt her friends. Spike swaggered through the fire exit, slamming the door behind him. Minions scattered out of his way. He could sense Drusilla in their bedroom, and he headed that way.

"Dru? Love?" His voice was gentle despite his manic joy.

She was playing quietly with her dolls, and she stilled when he came in, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "You sing of lemon ice and sugar."

"About that happy, yeah." Spike put his arms around her waist. "Love, you're going to be back in the pink within the week. Found what I was looking for."

"A cure?"

"Yeah. Old blood." He turned her so she faced him and put his forehead against hers. "You'll never guess who's in town, poodles." When her eyes slid away, Spike's grin became fixed. "Or maybe you can guess." Drusilla still didn't answer, and his grip tightened. "How long have you known?"

"Hard to think. Days pass by so."

Looking down at her dark hair, his quick mind put everything together. Buffy must have seen Drusilla talking to Angelus. Jealous and hurt, she'd flirted with him to get revenge. The irony could kill a fellow. Only then did he realize that Dru had kept a secret, kept from him information that could make her well.

He watched her smooth the skirt of the doll she held, feeling sick as the old pain sped through his mind and heart. She still loved Daddy, more even than herself, it seemed.

He dug a little, dragged his happiness back out, and wiped some of the dirt off. "We're going to have to have Angelus over for a visit. Have to talk to him about things."

"She's got him." Drusilla's eyes became unfocused. "All of him swims around her."

Spike shook her once. "Princess, you're going to have to stay here with me and answer one question." When he was sure she was listening, he put it in clear terms. "You have to decide: do you love yourself more than you love Daddy? Because to get you well, we're going to need his blood."

"All of it?"

"Yeah. To get you healthy, all of it."

"Can I punish him first? Make him sorry for leaving? Sorry for everything?"

His mouth quirked. "So long as you don't spill his blood, you can hurt him all you like."

"I would like." There was something savage in Drusilla's voice. "All gone, for so long. Bad Daddy."

"No truer words," Spike said heavily, but he wasn't thinking of how Angelus had left the family.

"Then he'll hurt outside and in," Drusilla declared with pronounced satisfaction.

"Yeah? What do you have planned?"

"Will you tie him tightly? So he can writhe and twist but not get away?"

"Anything you like."

"I'll open my trunk and let him taste water and steel and iron and silk," she said dreamily, "and the Order of Taraka will make him taste despair."

"The assassins? How's that, love?"

She moved out of his embrace and swayed back and forth. "He put the girl in his heart," and her voice was venomous, "filled him with shame and anger. I can make that stop, can end it."

Even for Spike, it took a few moments to piece it together. The soul loved Buffy, which made the demon inside Angelus furious. She wouldn't kill Daddy, so Drusilla was going to have Buffy assassinated.

Nothing showed on his face. He hadn't wanted to burden Drusilla with details, so she knew nothing of the treaty or of how he got access to the library. He had told her only that he wasn't going to bother killing this Slayer. Drusilla had done nothing wrong, given what she knew, hadn't despoiled everything twice in two minutes. She didn't need to know how angry he was.

"How are you going to pay the Order?" His voice was silky.

"Pay?"

"Yes. Pay."

"We have gold."

"If they fulfill the contract, they name their price."

"We can pay."

"What if it's you, love?"

"You'll kill them."

He closed his eyes. "I can kill a lot of things for a long time, but I can't kill all those assassins forever." Sighing, he held out his hand. "Give me the token."

Drusilla was pouting now. "But I want her out of his insides."

"Won't be anything left in his insides, anyway, and we'll want some folding when we blow this fuckin' town." He tapped his palm with his fingers impatiently. "The token."

Drusilla reluctantly unwrapped the blindfold around Miss Mary's eyes and produced a plain gold signet ring engraved with the letter 'D' from the eye socket. "Here," she said with ill grace.

Spike left and went to what had probably been a supply closet to draw a chalk circle and contact the Order. Half an hour later, he had ended the contract and negotiated a cancellation price that left him furious at the same time he was grateful they would even take it. The Taraka representative huffed a bit, allowed that some of the assassins might not get the message, but that they would not charge for completion. Out of curiosity, he asked what the price would have been. The demon couldn't smile, but it clacked its mandibles together and said that he would make a fine assassin and that twenty years wasn't that long for a vampire.

Spike broke the circle and crushed the signet ring. A sorcerer with a good healing spell wouldn't even have charged that much. The things he did for his princess. At least the Order was only getting gold from them. The Slayer could take care of a few stray assassins.

He thought about going down to bash in Dalton's head, as he was the only vampire who could possibly have known how to get in touch with the Order, but decided it could wait. Drusilla was still playing with her dolls, so he kicked off his boots and laid down on top the mattress to wait for her to come to bed.

"You must be a good girl, Miss Edith, because Daddy will be here soon. You know how he gets when he's cross with you."

Spike closed his eyes. Daddy. Right. And now the wanker had his hooks in a Slayer, too. He rolled to his side, away from Drusilla, and hoped for sleep.

⸹

Giles closed the thin volume for the fourth time that night, determined not to return to Lydia Chelmer's thesis. It was late – it was, in fact, time to leave the library. Willow had spent an hour earlier in the evening studying. Xander had been at the same table with his schoolwork, but had not exactly studied. They left after Buffy came by to meet Angel for patrol, leaving him alone.

He was glad the dark-haired vampire hadn't stayed for any length of time. It still gave him knots in his stomach, knowing the guilt-ridden creature was the same detestable grandsire he and Buffy had heard Spike speak about so casually. Giles was sure that Buffy had not made that connection.

The books were reshelved, the computers had been turned off hours ago, and the water in the kettle had cooled. There was really no reason to stay.

"Wotcher, Watcher."

Or, there was one reason to stay.

Giles hand tightened on the stake in his jacket pocket. "I thought you might stop by."

Spike moved further into the library, trailing his hand along the tables and watching that rather than looking at Giles. He seemed… embarrassed. "Yeah." He squared his shoulders. "Wanted to say goodbye."

"By killing me?" And he couldn't help but think of Deirdre and Philip and Ethan then, wondering if it was his turn after all.

"Rather permanent goodbye, that," Spike said, but he didn't seem angered. "You don't need the stake."

"You're leaving then? With a cure in reach?"

Spike did look at him then, moving only his eyes. Then the diffidence went away, and he moved with his usual swagger. "Like I said when we met, they don't give Slayers to idiots."

Giles hadn't loosened his grip on the stake. It might not make a difference – he'd seen how quickly the blond vampire could move – but he might get lucky. "Why goodbye? Why would you leave if your sire is already in town?"

"Why would I stay?" Spike shot back immediately. "Here? In Sunnyhell?"

"You're the Master. It's the Hellmouth."

"Yeah, well, don't give a toss about either of those things." He tilted his head. "Aren't you going to offer me a spot of tea?"

"Kettle's cold," Giles said, taking his hand from his pocket and turning around to go into his office to get things started. No interest in being Master; no pull to stay on the Hellmouth. He was going to trust that his theory was correct. The Watcher took the opportunity to move the thesis on Spike to the top of a filing cabinet, then piled several more books atop it under the guise of clearing a space for cups.

"Am I keeping you from your bed? Wouldn't want the caffeine to keep you up."

"Might as well pretend we're civilized men."

Spike snorted and flung himself into the other chair in the office, watching the human turn on the electric kettle and get out the tin of loose Earl Grey tea. "Love that smell," he said appreciatively. Then his tone changed. "I take it Angelus told you that he talked to Drusilla. She shouldn't have been out by herself, but the minions are too easy for her to get around."

"Angel," he stressed the name, "did share that with me, after Buffy confronted him about him talking to some woman one night." Giles sat down in his own chair. "You know, he feels such enormous guilt about what he did to her, he might agree to do whatever you ask of him."

"'Angel' staked his own sire, if what I heard is true. He isn't going to help an enormously powerful vampire recover her strength so that he can feel guilty about what she's bound to do afterwards." At Giles surprise, he gave the human a louche look. "Spent two years, on and off, with the great poof after he got cursed by the gypsies. Can't say I know him well, but I do know him."

Giles was beginning to be impatient for the tea to be done. He rather needed it. "Buffy said… The night you broke the treaty, she said you were upset that she was, was seeing Angel, that you called him Angelus."

"'S what I've always called him, if not worse. 'Angel' is new to me." Spike shrugged.

"He isn't the same being, not with the soul." Giles felt he had to try reason.

"Soul or not, he's Angelus." Spike leaned forward. "Would you want to be around him if he didn't have a soul? Like me?"

Giles looked away from the frank expression and changed the subject. "Why did you break the treaty?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Fit of pique."

"You didn't know about Angel's presence until that time, did you?"

"No; how would I? People I saw every day didn't tell me."

"I won't apologize. Angel is an ally, and other demons tend to dislike him."

Something clear blazed in Spike's eyes for a moment. "I can understand that."

The water had finished heating, and Giles was silent as he poured. They both puttered over their cups for a moment, then sat back at the same time. "What are your intentions?"

"Just like before. Get my sire healthy and get out of this boring little town."

"Buffy won't let you just take him."

"She won't be able to stop me." He lifted the cup and blew on the surface of his tea. "I like her, Watcher. Won't hurt her unless I have to."

"I'll have to warn him, you know."

Malice glittered in his eyes. "You don't care one sou whether he lives or dies. I'm sure you are less than overjoyed about your Slayer macking on a vampire."

Macking? "True, but I care about Buffy. Slayers don't live long. I don't have it in me to deny her any moment of happiness."

"Slayers who do stupid things like dallying with vampires live very short lives." He put his cup down and pushed it away, closing his eyes. "Seen this too many times, Watcher. The old man fixates on a young girl – always very young, often small and blond – and he gets to know their routine, their habits," he opened his eyes and met Giles gaze steadily, "their weaknesses. Then he kills them or turns them… whatever he did, his methods were always horrific.

"As I said, I like your Slayer. She's just a girl, practically a child. Don't want to see anyone else hurt by him." He picked up the cup again and took a reckless sip. "Whatever he does, doesn't heal."

Giles watched him wince at the hot tea and knew he was thinking of his own sire. Caught between wanting to ask about the vampiress Drusilla and not wanting to know graphic details, he hesitated too long, and the moment was lost. Spike rose, leaving his tea with the token sip gone, and went to the door. "None of you need to worry about your lives, unduly. Just keep her out of my way. Think about it, Watcher. Do nothing, and a great many of your worries will just disappear."

The vampire was gone, the library door swinging in his wake, leaving Giles with his tea. Say nothing. Angel gone, and the other two Aurelians out of Sunnydale and someone else's problem. No vampires compromising Buffy's calling with souls or treaties. It was the best offer he'd had since the chance to train a Slayer of his own. He sat there thinking until the forgotten tea was too cold and bitter to drink.

⸹

"Dammit," Xander said groggily. He scooted to the edge of his bed and groped around for a t-shirt, then went to the window, where someone was rapping steadily. "It's insane o'clock in the morning, Willow." Then he woke up just a little more. "Oh, God. Is something wrong?"

"It is if you can't tell I'm not Willow," came the amused answer.

Xander pushed the curtains aside but didn't open the window. "Spike." The tone wasn't inviting, either.

"Not here to kill you, whelp."

"Then why are you here? 'Cause I got a long day of skipping class ahead of me. I need my sleep."

"I'll be heading out of town in a few days," the vampire explained, keeping his timeframe vague. "I travel light, so wanted to give you something I can't take with me."

"Leave it on the windowsill."

"Won't fit." He tilted his head. "You gonna come outside?"

"No. I'm not stupid."

Spike let his head fall back. "I broke the treaty because I found out who the Slayer is calling 'boyfriend' these days. I know and loathe the old man. She wouldn't listen to me, so I got mad. 'S'really the only thing that changed." He looked directly at Xander. "I won't hurt you, mate."

Xander pondered this for a few seconds. "Okay. I'll come out."

Spike gestured at his own head. "Might wanna run a comb over that."

Grumbling, he found jeans and shoes, half-heartedly tried to flatten his hair with his hand, and scrambled out of the window. Spike was waiting at the edge of the back yard and inclined his head toward the street.

"Where are we going?"

"Just here."

Xander looked around at the empty street. Lights were off in the houses, cars lined the curb, and there was a decent chill in the air. "There's nothing here." He began to feel nervous.

"Here, right in front of you." The cooling engine of the car ticked just before Spike thumped the roof.

"That?" It was old, long, and low. He couldn't tell much about it in the darkness.

"Yeah, that. Won it 'bout a week ago, and since I can't very well drive two cars when I leave, thought you could use one."

Xander blinked at him. "You want to give me a car?"

Spike shrugged. "Well, you don't have one. I don't need two. Made sense." The boy didn't need to know he'd traveled to Santa Clarita for a drag race, a race notorious for having pinks as the stakes, for the purpose of having a spare car. Winning a race is a pretty easy thing when you have supernatural reflexes and no fear of a crash. "'S'not cherry, but it runs, has all its windows. Seventy-three, I think. Probably cost you a fortune to maintain."

Still looking confused, as though the concept of someone giving him a present couldn't be absorbed, Xander bent over to look through the passenger window. He saw a long dashboard and a gleam along the top of a steering wheel. "It's not new or anything," he mused, "and it didn't cost a lot?"

Surprised by the boy's neutral reaction, Spike lifted a shoulder. "Didn't cost me anything. Like I said, I won it. Title's in the cubby, er, glove box. Not sure how to take care of the legal part, but I'm sure you can figure that out."

"I don't know what to say."

"'Thank you' is customary, I believe." Spike's tone was dry. "Here," he fished the keys from a pocket of his coat, "night's wasting."

"I can't take it. I mean, thank you, man, but I just can't. It's too much."

Spike lifted a shoulder. "Fine. I'll leave the keys on the boot. Someone will take it."

Xander spazzed a little with his hands. "You can't do that!"

"I don't need it, Harris. Got wheels I like a lot better." He enunciated clearly.

The human held out for one last second, then took the keys. "Thank you," he said, clearly embarrassed. "I mean… this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"It's just a thing," Spike said, trying to shrug it off. The boy stopped his words with a quick, awkward, one-armed hug.

"Thank you."

"Like I said, I'm not doing you any favors. Old tank like this, probably be at the auto shop every week." He turned back toward Xander's yard, and the human followed, looking over his shoulder at the car, the keys clutched tightly in his hand. "Anyway, I shouldn't have come by so late. Just trying to get 'round to see everyone, say my goodbyes like I said I would."

"Are you going to see Buffy?"

It was Spike's turn to look embarrassed. "Pro'ly not. Made a prat of myself." He shrugged. "And I'd likely get angry and try to knock sense into her. Best if I don't."

Xander put his hands on the windowsill and wedged his shoulders through, then half-fell inside. He turned and looked down at the blond man. "You know why I came out?" When the vampire shook his head, the human smiled. "I don't really like Angel, either."

He couldn't help it; it was a visceral reaction. "Has he hurt you?"

Xander shook his head. "The night I saved Buffy's life? I had to shame him into showing me the way to the Master's lair. He wouldn't have done anything."

"Never did care to put himself out."

"Thank you." He held up a fist tight around the keys. "I mean… Really, thank you."

"De nada. Night, mate. I'll try to get back around to visit in a few years."

"Bye, Spike." He waited until the vampire was out of view before closing the window. Xander stripped down to his boxers again and dropped onto the bed. The keys were still in his hand. There were two of them on a ring with a worn leather loop. "I have a car," he said softly. "I am California man."

⸹

Willow's alarm clock went off at 4:55. She grabbed it, fumbled with the off button, and lay on her bed, blinking in the darkness. She listened for a minute, then got up and went to the bathroom. Before her parents woke up at five, she was already sitting at her desk, going over her homework.

The Rosenbergs liked to get up early and get a start on the day. Her mother was fond of saying it was the easiest way to excel in the world. Ira would get his daily cup of coffee and go into his study to work on the next revision of his textbook, Principles of Accounting, used in colleges all over the world. Sheila would grade papers, go over committee work, or read new issues of political science journals as she cut up fruit and made whole-grain toast for breakfast. By seven-thirty, her parents would be dropping her off at school on their way to campus. It was a very structured morning routine.

Willow was working on some additional trig problems that hadn't been assigned but would help her retain the concept, when there was a light knock on her balcony door. She wrote down the solution quickly, then turned.

Instead of Xander or even Buffy, it was Spike. She could clearly see his blond head. Hesitantly, she went to look at him through the glass.

"Hey, Red." He gave her a crooked smile. "Don't invite me in. I just came to say goodbye." Spike nodded at his surroundings. "Though, this time of day, this setting, I really want to whip out the 'What light through yonder window' speech."

She didn't smile as she looked out at him on her balcony. She didn't feel very much like Juliet in her fuzzy pajamas and floor-length terry-cloth robe. "My parents are awake. Please be quiet."

"I heard them."

"You really upset Buffy."

"Yeah, well, she really upset me, being so stupid. Bad taste in men, that one."

"You might have known him when he didn't have his soul, but you don't know him now. He's really been a big help to us."

Clearly not interested in this debate, Spike shrugged. "Whatever."

Willow didn't say anything for a moment, recognizing an opinion that wasn't going to change from living with her mother all these years. "So, Giles' library was a bust. Are you going to try magic for the cure?"

"Anything I do," he said with another shrug, "I'll take the consequences on myself. No worries."

She looked troubled. "You've got something in mind."

Oh, she was sharp. "Listen, Red, I feel like I should give you a lovely parting gift, but I really don't have anything. Just wanted to maybe give some advice." When she started to say something, he lifted a hand. "Not about Angelus. About you." He shifted his feet, uncomfortable. "Dunno how you see yourself, love, but to me you seem like that light under the bushel. You're prettier than you let on, you've got brains, and you are going to blossom in the next few years. So my advice is just… get out of Sunnydale."

"I-I will. I'll be going away to college." This wasn't what she expected.

"Good. Go far, far away. This town doesn't reward people who stand out – makes 'em an easy target. You're one of the sweetest people I've met this century. Just don't want you to stay here and see so much ugliness that you lose that." He shrugged. "Makes you, dunno, special. Rare quality and all.

"I see you helping the Slayer, helping Giles." His eyes were sincere through the glass. "You're not meant to be in the shadows, just helping. What I mean is, make sure it's about you sometimes."

"O-okay."

He nodded. "Right, then. I get back in the area, I'll check and see where you're at. Try to visit," he raised a placating hand, "just a nice, non-lethal kind of visit." Then he thought of something that might work. "May I shake your hand?"

"Uh… sure." Still wary, she opened her door slightly and reached out.

He took her hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Willow. You know," he gave her thin fingers a tiny squeeze, "I shook Professor Einstein's hand in Brussels in 1927."

Her hand clenched on his for a moment. "You… with Albert Einstein?"

Spike couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled like this, open and happy. With his cousin Pippa, maybe. "Yeah. He smelled of pipe tobacco." Pulling his hand away, he nodded at her. "Bye, love."

"Bye, Spike."

And he was gone from the balcony. Einstein. Willow looked out at the darkness for a moment, then shook the stars from her eyes, focusing. What he said about leaving Sunnydale sounded a great deal like disloyalty to her. Giles needed her help – he didn't know the first thing about computers – and Buffy was her best friend. Best girl friend, right next to Xander in besty-ness. But something in her felt warm and gooey, because he saw her as something more than just part of the Slayer's team. She went back to her desk, closed her book, and put it in her bookbag. It was five-twenty now, her time to shower.

⸹

Xander woke up the second time his mother tapped on his door. "'M'up," he said, blinking and using his elbows to prop up. Then, "Ow." He rolled to the side and fished for the sharp thing poking him.

He looked at the keys for almost a minute. It felt like a dream, but it hadn't been.

A smile was on his face the whole time he was getting ready, even present when he fished a piece of bacon off a plate as he waded through the argument his parents were having in the kitchen. I have a heap, he thought happily. I have a junker, a hooptie, and I don't have to walk to school today. He took off through the back yard to the sidewalk, then stopped abruptly.

It was still old, long, and low. It was dusty and would probably need new tires soon.

It was also a 1973 Charger.

Xander let out a long breath that was almost a moan. He had a classic American muscle car. It was black. He looked around for anyone who might tell him he was mistaken, then tried the door. It was unlocked, something that wouldn't happen again.

The interior was clean, but he scarcely noticed. Xander put the key in the ignition and turned it. The car started immediately with a smooth, low rumble. He was helpless to keep the smile off his face. "Spike, old buddy," he said in the privacy of his very own vehicle, "I'm going to have to find out what your other car is."

⸹

"Joyce?"

"Oh!" Joyce put her hand to her heart. "Spike, you startled me." He was standing at the door to the gallery, holding the door that she'd just unlocked.

"Sorry. Do you have just a minute? Wanted to speak with you before I leave town."

He let the door close, and as it chimed, Joyce smelled something burnt waft inside. She wrinkled her nose a little. Must be a wildfire somewhere; it was the height of the season. "Of course. Please, come on back to my office." Leading the way, she talked to him over her shoulder. "I knew you wouldn't be here long, but I'm so sorry we didn't get a chance to have dinner again. I really enjoyed the nights you stopped by for cocoa."

"Yeah, me, too." He waited for her to sit, and Joyce surprised him by settling on one end of the couch. Spike dropped down on the other end. "Wanted to talk to you about Buffy. 'M worried about her," he mumbled.

"Worried?" she echoed.

"Yeah, about her…" It struck him then. Joyce had never mentioned that Buffy had a… boyfriend. "Uh, there's this guy that seems to be, I dunno, stalking her. Tall guy, dark hair, looks like a Neanderthal?" He waved his hand around his brow.

It wasn't a fair description, but Joyce was sure she knew the man Spike was talking about. "I met him once. He was tutoring Buffy last year."

Tutoring. Angels wept. "Anyway, I've noticed him around places where she's at," he lied. "Buffy doesn't seem worried about him, but," he leaned toward her and put his best mesmer forward, "don't let him come in your house or anything." Maybe he could get her mum to listen to reason, with a little extra help. Until he saw Angelus go to dust, Spike was going to assume his grandsire was still a danger to everyone he cared about.

"I won't let him in." Joyce's brow furrowed for a moment, then she shook her head a little, clearing it. "Thank you for letting me know, for looking out for her."

"Least I could do, after what she did for me."

Impulsively, Joyce put her hands out for his. "I'm going to miss you."

"I make it back to Sunnydale, I'll definitely stop by to visit."

"I'm going to hold you to that." She looked down. "Goodness, your hands are cold! Do you want some tea? I can make some in no time."

"No, but thank you. I'd better clear out, let you work."

They stood, and Joyce hesitated on her way to the door. She turned to him with a mischievous look. "I finally figured out where I'd seen you before."

"Yeah?"

She smiled again at his puzzled look and turned to pull a volume from her bookcase. Joyce found the page she was looking for and was grateful the sticky note was still in position. She turned the book to face him and held it out so he could see.

Several expressions crossed his face before chagrin became dominant. "Yeah, I've seen that. Looks like me, dunnit?"

"It looks incredibly like you. I actually wanted to ask if your grandfather knew the artist or something."

"No, he never left England. Artist was French, I remember right."

"Still, it was worth asking."

"Couldn't be something highbrow, like Rodin, huh?"

"This is in the Museum of Modern Art," Joyce said somewhat starchily. "That's pretty highbrow."

"Just promise not to tease me about it, okay?"

She held up her hand, the lovely Summers smile on her face. "Pinky promise." He smiled back, but he felt a pang. If he ever did see her again, it would be well after the life expectancy of a Slayer. Spike managed a half-hearted smile of his own and wished her well as he made his exit.

That took care of saying goodbye to everyone he cared about in Sunnydale. Well, he thought with a pang, except the Slayer. The best he could do for her was say goodbye to those in Sunnydale he did not care for.

⸹

Spike shoved the heavy manhole cover to the side and climbed into the factory's boiler room from the sewer access. He was grateful for it; the night's errands had taken a long time, mostly due to humans' light-oriented schedule. Of course, it hadn't been all rainbows and goodbyes. The most important errand had been at the first.

He'd watched Buffy leave with Angelus on patrol before going in to bid farewell to Giles. After that little chat with the Watcher, it was obvious that he had to bag the bastard right away. Knowing the Slayer's routine had helped; all he had to do was drive back to the factory and get a couple of the beefier minions for heavy lifting, then make a quick detour to a veterinarian's office for large animal tranquilizers.

They'd trailed the Slayer and her escort as she left the Shady Rest and headed home. Angelus hadn't quite walked her to her door, and it was a simple matter to send the minions to pin his arms while he was watching her and distracted. Spike moved in at speed behind them, drawing shadow to the scene, and plunged the syringe unerringly into his grandsire's carotid artery. It only took a few seconds before the big body slumped, and he was frankly surprised at how little strength the old man had during the short struggle. Spike knew he was a hundred years more powerful, but so was Angelus. After that, it was an easy drive to deliver the package to Drusilla, nicely trussed up for her amusement. He wondered what she'd done to Daddy since he'd been out.

Lots of things that led to the smell of burned flesh, it seemed. Spike took a final breath of unpolluted air and opened the door to their bedroom. Drusilla turned to him, her eyes sparkling, and she looked so much livelier already that he had to smile.

"You been a good girl, then? No knives or pokers?" He went to her and curved his body around her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

"No. You said to leave the blood for now." Together, they considered her captive.

"You were supposed to take care of her."

No other words from Angelus could hurt Spike so much. The bastard had always had a knack for finding vulnerable spots. Unable to come up with any defense for what had happened in Prague, he just lifted his chin and sneered at his grandsire.

Angel responded to the sneer with some old, familiar nastiness. "You haven't taken care of her in any way. I can feel her hunger in the way she touches me." He shifted his gaze to Drusilla, addressing her in a seductive tone. "He never did care for the pre-show, didn't know how to tease –"

"Hush. Bad dog."

Spike let go of her. "Both of you can hush." He went to stand close enough to Angelus that he had to look up. "Or not. Say what you want. Like a condemned man's last night, innit? First of the new moon tomorrow, and now I've got her sire's blood, we'll have us a little ritual and get her all better. Take care of her, good and proper." He leaned even closer and reached down to squeeze Angel's package. "Huh. Not much life in the old man," he informed Drusilla. "Whatever Angelus says, he's not having as much fun as you are."

"Angel."

Spike backed away a step and lifted an eyebrow. Beside him, Drusilla hissed. Before he could make a reply, his grandsire went on.

"Not Angelus. Not anymore. It's Angel."

"Whatever." He turned and encircled Dru's thin body once again. "You can't provoke me, she can't provoke you… not much of a family reunion."

"Whatever you have planned, Buffy won't let you get away with it."

"Planned?" Spike shook his head. "Drusilla's well-being is the only plan. Surely the Slayer wouldn't interfere in family matters."

"Spikey isn't the only one who can kill Slayers," Drusilla murmured.

Fear flashed across Angel's face for a brief moment. That sounded like prophecy. He mastered his emotions. "The Slayer isn't the only one who can kill vampires."

"No," Spike agreed lazily, "she isn't." He let go of Drusilla and walked toward the door. "Gonna go take care of some last details for tomorrow. You all good here?"

She nodded. "I was reminding Daddy about the past. I'd only gotten around to Mummy."

"Lot of rellies to go," Spike said amiably, but his eyes were on Angel's face, hard with condemnation. He closed the door, satisfied as he could be with the old man and Drusilla under the same roof. Didn't matter. After tomorrow night, everything would be better.

⸹

Spike swam up from the darkness, fighting against it. There was pain and, much more frightening, a lack of pain. His memories were muddled. Drusilla and… Angelus? Tied together? And two Slayers, which made no sense.

He tried to move and couldn't. Without meaning to, he made some noise.

"Don't worry, dearheart."

Dru's voice, reassuring him. She was pulling on him, and it hurt, it hurt –

⸹

The next time he woke, he was much more lucid, enough to know he felt like shit. Sighing, he left his eyes closed and did an inventory of the damage. Burns, mostly on his face. God, he hated burns. His left shoulder and a few ribs were broken. He couldn't feel his lower half.

Spike's eyes flew open. He couldn't feel his legs.

The next five minutes were terrifying. Ignoring the pain, Spike hauled his torso upright and felt along his bits and his legs. Everything was there; must have a broken back. It would heal, but he had no idea how long that would take.

He was lying on his bed at the factory, still in Sunnydale. Someone was looking out for him, and that meant Drusilla was operational at the very least. His memories were less fragmented now. There had been an old pipe organ in the church; it must have collapsed. He remembered a clanging as parts of it rained down on him. He had an odd, floating moment where he thought of a building falling in around him almost unnoticed, but that had never happened, not even in London during the bombing. He shook it off, lay back down with a groan of relief, and explored his scalp gingerly, checking for concussions and trying to determine the extent of the burns.

Drusilla, strong and vital, came into the room. It had been so long since he'd seen her like this, healthy, that he forgot about his own pitiful condition and smiled.

"Let me look at you, love."

She preened for him, turning from side to side. "You found the ritual that worked," she said, crowing a little, "and I'm all better. Now we got to get you out of that bed." Dru gave him a wicked look. "Though I do like you in bed."

"Give me time, pet," he said, dark promise in his tone.

"Let me finish healing you," she said, suddenly next to him, holding out her wrist.

"No," he said firmly, annoyed. "You know what we went through to get you that blood. I won't jeopardize your recovery." Spike's voice softened. "You saved me, pet."

She gave him a quizzical look. "Of course I did. I love you, silly goose."

"Means a lot to me." He smiled up at her, despite the pain to his burned face. "Tell me, 'cause I can't remember everything. What happened?"

"I ran. I thought you would be behind me. There were two Slayers, Spike." He saw fear in her eyes.

"Yeah, will wonders never cease." He didn't add anything, but he was thinking of what Buffy and Xander had told him about the night she defeated the Master, how she'd died and been revived. Interesting times they lived in.

"It was enough to cure me, though. I came back for you as soon as it was dark, let you drink." Drusilla's focus went to the sheet that covered him, and she traced a sharp fingernail along the hem. "The Slayer got Daddy out."

"Angelus survived?"

"We won't see him for a long time. He didn't have much blood left." She wrinkled her nose, and he knew she was thinking of scary, shuffling, starved vampires. The legend of mummies was based on Egyptian vampires who'd been sealed in tombs.

"Yeah, well, blood me up. I'll get back on my feet, and we'll get out of this dump." He paused for a moment, then went on diffidently. "May take longer than usual. I channeled the spell." And then had a fight with two Slayers. Consequences, he thought.

"I like the Hellmouth," Drusilla said, something dreamy in her voice.

"I don't."

She gave him an impish smile. "Less than Los Angeles? Or Antarctica?"

"Only place I like less is Prague," he growled. Then he changed the subject. "Any problems with the minions?"

"Just one," Drusilla said with a secretive smile, "and now that the problem is taken care of, I don't think there will be any more."

Spike decided he didn't want to know details. He was tired; coming to terms with being paralyzed, even temporarily, was a new and horrifying experience. But it was worth it: Drusilla was well.

"Think I'll sleep for a while," he said, his eyelids already closing. Showed you, was his last thought. I do take care of her.

⸹

[Author's Note: A chunk of dialogue in this section comes from 'Lie to Me,' because Joss Whedon's words are perfect.]

"I don't want to read it."

Giles sighed. He recognized the set of Buffy's shoulders, the way she had her head averted. Kendra had been the opposite, so biddable and willing. And so much less of a warrior than Buffy. Thank God for mulish Slayers, he thought tiredly.

"Very well," he said, laying the thesis aside. "If you won't read it, I must tell you something –"

"Don't." Buffy was tired, having stayed with Angel all night. She'd forced every unit and jar of blood in his refrigerator into his frighteningly thin body, then tucked him into bed as dawn approached. Then, just like she'd explained to Spike, she'd gone to school and fallen asleep in French class. "I think I know what you're going to say."

Giles watched her walk a few steps away. She looked so tired, and he hoped there would be a lull now. With any luck, Spike had taken his mad sire and left town, but Kendra's words haunted him: a dark power arising in Sunnydale. It had to be Drusilla, and he wasn't enough of an optimist to believe she would just go away. Angel hadn't died, though the ritual had taken most of his blood. The vampiress would stay for him. Giles waited, feeling sympathy for Buffy.

"They're related, aren't they?" She closed her eyes. "I mean, Angel sired Drusilla."

"Yes." It was a simple word, but he saw what it did to the Slayer. It took every year of Watcher training to restrain himself from going to her.

"I knew, I just… didn't want to know," Buffy whispered. She bowed her head a moment before turning to Giles. She'd shared almost everything with her Watcher, the things Spike had told her, the reasons she found him trustworthy. The only thing she'd kept to herself was the story of the asylum in Los Angeles. She was sure that had never made it back to the Council, and she had no desire to let them add it to their files. Well, that and her need for a kiss to bolster her ego. And she'd neglected to mention anything past using the outside hose after the slime demon incident. But the oddity of why Spike was sired and the punishments he'd received for the ability to care… yeah, her Watcher knew those, too.

When she spoke again, her voice was stronger, and she went to stand closer to Giles. "H-he tried to tell me last night, but I wouldn't let him talk. He was too weak. But he's sorry, he said that, he–"

"Angel didn't have his soul when they were in family." Giles' voice was kind. "I know that, Buffy." He understood her reluctance to admit the truth. He didn't like thinking of the brooding dark-haired vampire and the amusing blond-haired vampire in a violent relationship, either. He thought of the reason Spike had broken the treaty, checking Buffy for harm inflicted by his grandsire.

"And Spike only wanted to help his…" Buffy bit her lip. She didn't have a better word than 'girlfriend,' but it didn't fit the strange woman very well.

"I think Spike came here to do to the Master what he ended up doing with Angel." At Buffy's surprised look, he shrugged. "The older the blood, the stronger it is. I only mean, I don't think it was anything necessarily personal. It's just," he smiled a little, "you'd killed the rest of the Aurelians. I doubt Angel is in danger from them now."

"I don't think Spike got out."

Giles tilted his head to better hear her quiet words. "Of the church?"

Buffy shook her head. "I saw Drusilla get out, but… Those big pipes collapsed on him after I knocked him into the organ."

"And then the fire…" Giles closed his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to say what he had to, his voice gentle. "He was a vampire, Buffy."

She shook her head. "He was. He was my friend, too." The Slayer turned away, unhappy with herself. "Why was he so… different, Giles?"

He didn't answer right away, reaching to rest his fingers atop the thesis about the singular vampire. "I doubt we'll ever know. I suspect…."

When her Watcher didn't finish, Buffy came back to look up at him. "Tell me."

How odd that she didn't want to know anything about Angel's past but did want to hear this. "I suspect that there never will be another vampire like him, not one that survives long enough to be that strong. The reasons he was sired are the very ones that would get similar vampires killed shortly after the turning. Buffy," he sat down on the table so their eyes would be on the same level, "when he killed the first Slayer, the one in China, he drained her. It's how he killed her, actually. He took her blood."

She frowned. "I thought that was supposed to lead to suicide."

"It does. I've been checking. With every other vampire on record who has killed a Slayer by taking her blood, it leads to, to madness and self-destructive behavior. Our records aren't complete by any means, but we do have accounts from ancient Babylon, from earliest China. It's as constant as gravity. Even the Master knew better than to take much of your blood."

"So you think that Spike's ability to care…."

"I don't have any other known factor to pin it on. But, other than Angel, he's the most human vampire I've ever met – and Angel is a special case, of course. I think that humanity let Spike survive the Slayer's blood the first time, and he didn't drink from the others."

"You found information about the one in Chicago?"

"Yes. Just got the annotated diaries this week. Knife wound to the abdomen. It was quick." Giles noted Buffy's squeamish look. "I'm sorry, my dear. The death of Slayers isn't my favorite topic, either." He stood up and lifted Lydia Chalmers' book, meaning to put the thesis away for good.

"I hope he got out." When the Watcher turned back to her, Buffy met his eyes with a small shrug. "He was a friend," she said again.

"I rather enjoyed his company, too."

"It can't be easy, can it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Life," and she made an all-encompassing gesture. "What he did was wrong, but I understand why he did it. He wasn't evil, just… It would be easier if he was completely evil." She made a little movement, as if to turn, and stilled herself. "You know, it's just, like, nothing's simple. I'm always trying to work it out. Who to love, or hate… who to trust… It's like the more I know, the more confused I get."

Her boyfriend is a vampire, Giles thought, feeling the irony all over again. "I believe that's called growing up."

"Make it stop."

"It'll be all right."

"Promise? It'll get easy again?"

"What do you want me to say?

She gave him that small smile that always melted his heart. "Lie to me."

"Yes. It's terribly simple." He tucked the thesis against his chest. "The good guys are stalwart and true. The bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. Nobody ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."

Buffy's smile grew into a real one, albeit wry. She went over and stood on tiptoe, waiting until he stiffly bent so she could kiss him on the cheek. She patted his arm, then scooped up her bookbag and headed out of the library, calling one word over her shoulder. "Liar."

⸹

January 1998

⸹

By the time Drusilla had a minion fetch him a wheelchair, the worst of the burns had healed and the new year was well underway. Spike was beyond tired of the slowness of the healing process, which wasn't helped by the fact that Drusilla often forgot to feed him, rather like the budgies and other pets she killed through neglect. He reminded her, but only when they were alone. It would never do to let the minions see him begging for food.

There were an annoying number of minions, too. Spike didn't think Drusilla or Dalton were siring, but someone in Sunnydale was, and their get seemed to make their way to the factory. In the evenings, it looked like the place was still in operation, like a shift was punching out for the day as vampires streamed away from the old building into the darkness. He thought it was far too high profile, but he didn't feel confident enough to issue orders, not until he was back on his feet. Twice he'd killed minions with his bare hands, but both had been isolated incidents. If any of the fledges started to scheme, Dru wouldn't notice and they might well take her out if they got him first. Fortunately, the lot of them were idiots, Sunnydale stock. How he'd managed to meet the five most interesting, most –

Spike stopped himself from continuing the thought. He wanted to hate the Slayer for putting him in a wheelchair, for undermining his reign as Master of the Hellmouth. The most he could manage, though, was vague resentment.

Didn't signify. Dru was healed, and as soon as he healed, they were out of here. He'd said his goodbyes.

⸹

Stairs. All it took was fucking stairs.

Spike did not meet any of the glances sent his way, did not gaze toward the upper floor of the factory. He stared into middle distance, as if in much deeper thought than he was.

If he grabbed the hoist chains by the far support pillar, he could get to the second story by pulling himself hand-over-hand, no problem, then swing to catch hold of the catwalk. No wheelchair up there, of course, so he'd be forced to belly-crawl to the room where Drusilla was… where she was.

The first day Angelus showed up, he had him practically as seduced as Drusilla. Then the git had groped him, not that he could feel it, and Spike immediately became of no use to him. The old man hadn't said anything, just threw a surprised look to Dru, who had too many stars in her eyes to give an apology. Angelus hadn't been within arm's reach since, because he was unfortunately not an idiot, and all it took to be safe from any possible Spike vengeance was a fucking flight of stairs.

Had he known this was coming? Spike supposed he had. Nearly a hundred years had passed, but he never forgot who held his black queen's heart. Their laughter sounded from the completely inaccessible upstairs room, and feeling all eyes on him, Spike tilted his head to an unconcerned angle.

He wasn't concerned about the minions. The cock-up with the Judge was too recent, as was Angelus' well-known past as a piss-poor excuse for a vampire. Spike was starved, but he was still fast enough to punch through chest cavities. As stupid as it was right now, he was worried about Dru. He was also furious with her, but shied away from that fact. Worried, he was worried. Angelus always put too much pressure on her to have visions, and that wasn't how it worked.

A cold, evil smile fell across his face, and the minions looked away. The Slayer had ended the Judge where whole armies hadn't been able to do it – and wouldn't he have loved to see Buffy with a rocket launcher over her shoulder? He fully expected the Slayer to end Angelus, too. He'd just have to goad the bastard to engage with her whenever possible.

Ah, poor Buffy. Angelus hadn't explicitly said what broke the curse, but it had to be something that involved her. What Spike knew of curses was cursory, but what he knew of magic gave a pretty big clue. An ironclad spell took enormous, coven-sized magic, but one with a linchpin clause let a single practitioner spin up a strong one. If Angelus wouldn't say what had freed him from the curse, the linchpin would have something to do with softness. Maybe he told her that he loved her.

The git still wasn't strong and had never been inclined to even visit a city where a Slayer lived. But right now he needed to seem powerful and put up a good front. Yeah, the more he prodded Angelus to face the Slayer, the better. However it happened, she was a woman scorned and undoubtedly furious about it.

⸹

"A 'real man?'" Angelus said with a smirk. He followed Drusilla, who stalked to where Spike sat. She plopped into his lap, felt his arms wrap around her automatically, and shot her sire a sulky look. "Oh, compared to this, I guess so."

"Dirty tricks from dirty little witches," Drusilla complained.

"Why so huffy, pet?"

"Made me feel fascination for a human."

His brows furrowed, glad to have her attention for at least a moment. "Made you… a spell, was it, pet?"

"Yeah, one of the Slayer's friends." Angelus was still amused. "Dru offered him eternal life," he added, needling her.

"You offer it to everyone else," she shot back. While Spike knew Angelus was siring so that he would have minions loyal just to him, for Drusilla they were only reasons to be jealous of Daddy's attention.

"No," Spike said, in a tone that made the unspoken 'you stupid bints' unnecessary, "the important thing here is, who cast a spell that can affect Drusilla?"

They shared a startled look, neither of them having considered this. Not even the Master could bind Drusilla. She pressed into Spike's chest, seeking shelter, breaking eye contact with Angelus.

"Tell me," he urged, and he pieced together a confusing story about a group of women chasing after Xander, of Drusilla caught up in the spell and becoming one of the pursuers. "Wasn't the boy," he said, "he doesn't have a drop of magic."

"The gypsy," Angelus said, "Jenny Calendar."

"It wasn't gypsy magic," Drusilla hissed, glaring at her sire, "I know gypsy magic."

"You," Spike said, his gaze on a minion, not one of Angelus', who was lingering nearby. Get over to the high school, outside the windows to the library, and listen. We need a name for a witch."

A couple of hours later, the minion returned not only with a name, but also with an address. Spike praised the initiative, and Drusilla and Angelus left, returning just before dawn with.…

"That's a mouse, pet."

Drusilla shook her head, catching the little white rodent as it tried to escape over her thin fingers. "No, it's a pet mouse. My pet mouse. I'm tired of budgies."

"Problem solved, then?" Spike turned to his grandsire for a lucid answer.

Angelus, watching Dru trying to corral the quick little creature, gave a short laugh. "Yeah. All that's left after our visit is the mouse, and I don't think it's going to cast spells." He laughed for no reason apparent to Spike.

"Angelus nearly killed it," Drusilla cooed. "Then it escaped right into my hands." She gave it a severe look. "Bit me, though." She showed her own teeth and made a snapping noise.

While Drusilla's attention was on her new pet, Spike choked out the words. "Thank you for taking care of that."

Angelus leaned over him, just out of reach, a cruel smile on his handsome face. "No problem. I just love to take care of her."

He forced himself to remain passive. If there had been a good time for him to take on the bastard, it was already in the past. Which, of course, left all of the wide open future.

⸹

Buffy watched vampires file out of the old factory. It was Friday night, so there were lots of potential victims out as well. She should be following them, felt the need to follow them and slay them almost as a physical ache, but forced herself to stay in place, breathing into her knit gloves to keep her breath from ghosting. It was cold tonight.

There. Tall and bulky, next to a shorter shadow with the shape of a skirt instead of legs. Angel – Angelus, with Drusilla. The big vampire strode toward the east, not paying attention to the woman at his side, though her head was turned up toward him. Buffy was downwind of the entrance, her bright hair hidden beneath a black beanie. She watched the two of them walk away, thinking of how Xander had tried to be brave and mock the fact that both of them nearly killed him the other night. Xander, who wanted her but had turned down her enchanted offer of sex because he loved her.

After the main group left, a few more vampires wandered out, then nothing for the long fifteen minutes she forced herself to wait. Standing, she ran to a telephone pole, then an empty guard gate, concealing herself as best she could on the journey across the parking lot to the doorway.

The inside of the old factory was well-lit, as though the vampires weren't at all worried about the police investigating trespassers at a supposedly abandoned building. She filed that away, but kept her focus on her surroundings. There would be guards.

A moment later, she pulled her stake sharply up and away from one of those guards. Good, she thought as it went to ash, no noise. Buffy went on her careful way.

She hadn't told Giles her plan, but it had been a tentative thought since the night she demolished the Judge. Staking a demon that wore Angel's face was just too much; she'd tried and failed. But killing a demon that wore Angel's face from a distance… Buffy thought she could do that. And a rocket launcher was very much a distance weapon. All she needed was a target.

So here she was, spying out which part of the building housed Angelus during the daylight hours. Hopefully the explosion would take out Drusilla as well, and a whole bunch of other vampires, too. If not, there would be huge, gaping entry for sunlight, probably a fire, too. Maybe Giles could think up a vampire-killing trap to set in the sewers to cut off escape.

Buffy crouched behind a column, hearing something. Wheels, maybe someone rolling a cart? Then the cause of the noise came into view.

All thoughts of subterfuge were forgotten. She stood and walked a couple of steps into the open floor of the factory. "Spike?"

His eyes snapped up to her, her voice breaking into his reverie. Then his eyes went past her, and Buffy was moving even before he got out the words. "Behind you."

Within two seconds, the vampire who'd been rushing her was dust, and she whirled around again. "Spike." In a wheelchair. And his face….

"There's another one."

"I got it already." She took another few steps forward, stood before him with her arms loose at her sides. After a long moment, she took in enough air to say, "I thought you were dead." Buffy covered her mouth with the hand that wasn't holding a stake, her eyes wide.

"You can't be here, pet," he said urgently, rolling the last few feet to her, braking the wheels with his hands.

Her hand left her mouth and went to his face, touching the skin at his temple, still rippled with burns. He ducked his head away, and Buffy let her eyes drop to his legs. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"Sorr –" Spike gave an impatient shake of his head, capturing her fingers in his. "You need to leave."

Instead, she let out a muffled sob, bringing his hand to her face in turn, pressing it against her cheek. "I thought you were dead," she repeated.

Looking past her, Spike let out a breath, then his eyes came back to her. "Here, then." He took his hand away and turned the wheelchair, urging her to follow him with a jerk of his head. She trailed him until they were behind a furnace, and he turned the wheelchair again to face her. Buffy had tears on her cheeks, and she reached out again toward his face. Before she could say it again, he took her hand. "I'm sorry, too." His eyes were blue and kind and so human.

Her face screwed up. All that had happened since the last time they'd spoken, when he had warned her about Angelus –

"Ah, love," he said, holding out his arms. Then, somehow, he was sitting in the wheelchair along with the person who put him there, Buffy crying in his arms, curled onto his lap. He stopped looking past her and buried his face in her shoulder. When she eventually took a breath, mastering herself, Spike's face was wet, too.

"What happened?"

"Someone dropped a pipe organ on me," he answered, humor in his voice.

She looked down. "I-I had to."

"I know. Brilliant fight, love."

"B-bad burns?" She touched his temple again, thinking of the blaze in the old church, of him living through that, then lowered her fingers to wipe away the wetness on his lean cheek.

"Almost healed. I'll be all right. The back will heal, too. Just takes time." He returned the favor, brushing the tears from her cheek. Tears for me, he thought, bemused. "I channeled magic that night, takes a lot out of you, drains your reserves, I mean," he added, trying to offer comfort. He didn't consider why.

"You were right, that night you broke the treaty," she managed, then squeezed her eyes shut. Buffy turned her face away for a moment, letting out a harsh breath. More tears fell despite this, but she swallowed and brought her eyes back to his.

"First time for everything, I guess."

His second attempt at humor worked, barely. Buffy dashed the tears from her face, then traced under her eyeliner with the pad of her thumb. "It's been bad."

"Not too good here, either." He shrugged. "Didn't plan to be here, was gonna get Drusilla cured and leave Sunnydale."

Buffy's lips parted as the corollary of Spike being alive – well, not dust – occurred to her. "Has he… hurt you?"

"Only by sleeping with Dru," he said reassuringly.

She knew him well enough to recognize the misery beneath the light tone, but it was her own pain that closed her eyes. Of course Angelus would be sleeping with Drusilla. The one night with her meant nothing, not that way.

Spike's next words brought her back to the present. "You gotta leave now, Slayer."

Buffy's reply left the vampire speechless. "Let's go, then. You need to get out of here, too." She started to twist so she could stand up, but his arms tightened around her.

Spike was staring at her with a dumbstruck expression, something complicated behind it. He moved his head to one side, as if in negation, and his lips parted. No words came out.

She didn't know why, but she leaned forward and kissed him. Maybe because he was alive, because he was in pain, too. And when he kissed her back, it was nothing like their previous kiss in the tree. His mouth moved against her roughly, his hands suddenly on either side of the knit cap she wore. And when had she moved her hands to the back of his neck, the better to pull him closer? Her friend Spike, alive.

"Mmmph," he said, pulling away abruptly. God, what was wrong with him? He'd completely lost himself in their kiss, in her warmth and the rush of desire, his face turned up to hers like it was a safe source of sunlight. "Love, you gotta go. Now."

Buffy had leaned forward a half-inch, trying to recapture his kiss. She felt like covering her mouth again. She didn't, but it didn't change how dazed she was. What was that? "Spike?"

"I can't. It'd be a death sentence. But… thanks for asking." He took one of her hands, brought it to his mouth for a hard kiss, then began pushing her off his lap. "Here, I'll need this." Spike took the forgotten stake from her other hand. "I'll make up some story."

Buffy swallowed, standing up. His urgency was contagious. "You'll be okay?"

He didn't bother to answer; okay wouldn't describe either of them for a long while. "I'll come to you as soon as I'm able, yeah? Just go, love."

She touched him one final time, a brief stroke of his forearm, then produced a second stake from the small of her back. With a nod, Buffy turned away to leave the factory with more speed than stealth. She was halfway to the library before she realized that her reconnaissance had failed.

Giles took the news of her incursion with sharp words, but the news Spike's continuing existence with a sigh of relief. "And he said he'd come to you when he could?"

Buffy nodded slowly. She'd told Giles everything from her reason to going to the significance of Spike keeping a stake, everything except the fact that she'd kissed him. She couldn't explain that, anyway. "I put him in a wheelchair, Giles. That was weeks ago."

Her Watcher sighed. "We can't depend on him, then, not right now. I imagine he's doing his best to survive, too." Neither of them said anything about what Angelus might do to an injured member of his pack. Death sentence, he'd said. "At least he's armed. Maybe our problem is best solved by, er, family."

"If Spike kills him, I don't know what Drusilla would do."

"To Spike, you mean?" At her nod, he grimaced. "I'm sure that's occurred to Spike, too." She looked so glum; he couldn't just leave it there. "That was good thinking, Buffy. About the rocket launcher, I mean. If rash," he added severely, "to go alone, I mean."

"I'm really trying, Giles, I am," she said, meeting his eyes. "I know what my duty is."

"And you'll do it." He waited until she turned away toward the doors before he closed his eyes, thinking of the close call with Xander the night Amy cast her spell. He frowned, realizing he hadn't seen the girl since then. Probably in a pit of teenaged mortification, if he remembered his own youth.

⸹

"The Slayer was here?" Angel echoed, his nostrils flaring.

"Yeah, got right past those guards you left," Spike said, his voice heavy with reproof.

Drusilla was still, staring at the man in the wheelchair. "What did you do, my Spike?"

"Hurt her with words. Best I could do, innit?" His mouth twisted into a bitter smirk. "She came at me, I took this from her," he raised his left hand, showing the wooden stake, "and she backed off." Spike's eyes went to Angel. "She thought I was weak, I suppose, when I'm just… lower."

The big vampire didn't miss the threat. His eyes narrowed. "What was she doing here?"

"Oh, looking to kiss and make up with her snugglelykins," Spike mocked. He gave Angelus a malicious look. "Same thing the two of you were doing when you came here with her, I reckon. Spying out the lay of the land."

Drusilla's suspicious look went to her sire. "I couldn't see her then, can't see her at all." Still sharp, her gaze went back to Spike. "It's very vexing."

"They are vexing, those Slayers," Spike agreed. "Shame no one's out there killing them." He gave a tragic shake of his head. "I came closer tonight than… anyone else has." Tossing the stake into the air, he caught it, rolling it across his knuckles in a showy fashion, before tucking it into his coat. "Slayer of Slayers, me… but I'm out of commission for a bit longer." He looked at Angelus expectantly, noting how his grandsire's eyes lingered on the bulge in his coat.

"I'll take care of her," the dark-haired vampire said defensively. "In my own way."

"And I need to take care of you," Drusilla said, moving to take hold of the wheelchair's handles. "You reek of Slayer, my Spike." As she began rolling him toward the room they used to share, calling for the minions to bring water and towels, Spike kept still. For a moment, he hadn't been sure what she meant by 'taking care of him.'

Drusilla left him alone, and he struggled out of his coat. Yeah, he might just take care of her, too. Buffy on his lap had given him proof that he was, indeed, healing. Not that he could necessarily feel anything, but if the equipment was working, he could make Drusilla feel something.

"Hungry, darling? It's a bit," Drusilla said from the doorway, shaking the corpse she was dragging after her, "dead, but only just."

Spike looked at the distinguished grey on the pudgy, middle-aged man and forced a smile. "Appreciate it." He might not be reduced to begging, but he was not choosing. The blood had pooled into the extremities and there was no pulse to drive it, so he bit into the hands and ankles, gleaning a bit more than a couple of pints and making a mess.

Drusilla watched him throughout, unsettlingly lucid. She didn't often try to see his or anyone's thoughts; they just invaded her head. When she could spare attention for them, her instincts were good. "Did the Slayer say anything?" she asked, breaking the long silence.

Spike took a breath for speech. "Said she thought I was dead." Though it wasn't as potent as from a living victim, the blood was doing him all kinds of good. He was voracious, wanting more. Won't always be a scavenger, he thought. No, indeed.

After considering his words for a moment, Drusilla relaxed. This was truth, and this was her Spike. "Hair first?"

"Yeah, sounds a treat, poodles." He took a breath and shook off the fangs.

After washing his hair, Drusilla got him out of his clothes and gave him a sponge bath. Spike was waiting impatiently, as it wouldn't do to start things with her while smelling of another female. Partway through, anticipation turned to confusion. His sire's touch was doing nothing, not even causing a twitch of his disinterested equipment. He'd even had blood. Drusilla's handling was almost impersonal, nothing like it had been before Angelus' return, though he was sure she noticed that there was no change. Probably had to report to Angel that stonkers were still not on the menu.

But one had been. He'd been aware of his erection, though he still had no feeling below the waist. He'd touched himself to make sure, even. Spike was pulling on a clean t-shirt before she finished toweling his legs, feeling confused and out of sorts.

"Dressing before bed?"

"Yeah." No reason to be starkers, apparently. Drusilla helped him into his jeans, then into bed, surprising him by settling down beside him. He pulled her into his arms automatically. "Nice to hold you." His tone was as neutral as possible.

She was silent for a long time, not humming or fidgeting. "I don't think I like Sunnydale, after all," she finally said.

"No?"

"I'm ready to leave."

"Then we'll put it behind us, sweet." Drusilla didn't reply, just drew her fingers through his curls and ran her fingernails along his ear to his shoulder.

Spike was alone when he woke an hour before sunset. The corpse and the basin were gone, his coat thoughtfully arranged in the nearby wheelchair so he could easily get into both. He had rolled toward the door and reached for the handle before he realized that Buffy's stake was gone from its inner pocket.

⸹

Xander made for the library after a cut class and a long wait at the DMV. Uncle Rory had come through after a windfall playing the ponies, helping him transfer the title, cover taxes, and get liability insurance. He already had his parking sticker for the student lot. Tomorrow morning, just another Tuesday morning, except it would be his first time driving to school. He'd chickened out of driving it the morning Spike had given it to him, not willing to risk impoundment after he realized it was a Charger. If he'd looked forward to anything more, it hadn't been since he started to shave.

"Hey, G-man."

Giles didn't take issue with his greeting. "Good news. Well, relatively speaking. Spike survived the church fire. Buffy saw him yesterday."

Xander absorbed the story in silence, then broke out in a relieved smile. "He asked for her to leave her stake, huh?"

The Watcher met the young man's eyes, satisfaction in his own. "I'll not turn away an ally just because he's a vampire. Well, a soulless vampire," he amended. Then his lips parted. "I cannot believe I just said that." Giles winced.

"Said what?" Willow asked, swinging open the door.

Xander gave her an affectionate hug, leaving his hand on her shoulder as she sat her bookbag on a table and listened to Giles' news. He moved his hand when Cordelia came in not long after, feeling slightly guilty, holding it out for her in turn. Maybe she'll let me drive her to school this week. She is going to look awesome on the other side of that bench seat, he thought. Bench seat, a really long and roomy bench seat… focus, Xander, he scolded himself.

Annoyed now by a third retelling, Giles reopened the book he'd been marking with his index finger and made his way back to his office. As he did, Cordelia squeezed Xander's hand. "What's with you today? You're so quiet, I mean."

He hadn't told anyone about his car, afraid to jinx anything before he actually got to drive it legally. It remained under the tarp he'd bought to hide it, wishing for a garage to shelter the American classic. "Just happy." He added, with a toss of his head, "Don't worry, probably won't last."

"Not in Sunnydale," Cordelia agreed drily. But she gave him a full, happy smile of her own. "You guys up for the Bronze tonight?"

"I am," Buffy said in a bright voice, pushing open the library door. "I am so up for it."

⸹

I can't do this, Buffy thought, her hand clamped on Giles' sleeve as she pulled him toward his car and away from the burning factory. I can't keep going, I can't bear to kill him, and I can't live with this guilt. Despite that, her eyes were on their surroundings, watching for any attack.

Sirens were sounding in the distance. Why did Angelus have to keep saying things to her in Angel's voice, hinting that he still loved her? Why did it still hurt, when she knew it was all lies?

She saw her friends waiting, wished she felt relieved. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but what if it had been Xander instead of Ms. Calendar? What if it had been Wil?

And, tonight, it could have been Giles. Even after he'd scolded her for going off alone, he'd done the same and put himself in the worst danger. Beneath the guilt and the pain, she felt her anger begin to build.

It felt so damn good to feel something, anything, else.

⸹

"What on earth are you watching? A rodeo?"

The sound of Angelus' amused words behind him made Spike's shoulders hunch. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching Spike doing nothing and doing it poorly. "Professional bull-riding." He gave the big vampire a sidelong, knowing look as he walked into the room. "Reminds me of the good old days," Spike drawled. "Maybe I'll take it up. As I recall, real good at riding thick-necked beasties into the dirt, going till they were exhausted."

Angelus examined him with disbelief for a long moment, then snorted. "You won't be riding anything for a good long while, will you, Scooter?" He laughed at his jibe, then struck out like lightning to flick the tip of Spike's ear with a precise forefinger. "Guess I'll go see if Drusilla still likes pony rides." The sound of his laughter continued even after he'd left the room.

Spike made his hands unclench from the armrests of the wheelchair. His sensitive hearing picked up the creak of Angelus mounting the stairs of the mansion the big vampire had found for them, then a squeal from Drusilla, abruptly cut off. Closing his eyes, he refrained from lifting his legs with his hands. Instead, he moaned from the pain as they obeyed his conscious command to move from the footrests of the wheelchair to the floor, one by one. Without looking, he set the brakes on either wheel and put his hands back on the armrests.

"Yee-haw!"

Spike's head fell back as Angelus' crude shout echoed through the empty rooms. It was specially meant for him to hear. Of course. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to notice nothing, to hear nothing. All that mattered was the glitching of the electrochemical signals trying to make their mangled way from his brainstem to his stupid legs. Grunting with effort, Spike made his thighs flex, made his hips shift to counterbalance the movement. That didn't work, but his grip on the wheelchair compensated for the lack as he slowly pulled himself into a crouch. After a moment of effort, he let go of the armrests and stood up all the way. Upright for the first time in months, he allowed himself the slightest smile of satisfaction.

He fell back into the wheelchair, letting out all his breath as the pain subsided. It was okay. He'd meant to sit, because now it was time to stand all over again. And then again, over and over, until his body did what it was bloody well supposed to do.

Angelus didn't have minions living in the mansion, which was ominous but also useful for hiding his work and progress. Spike struggled upright once again. He was afraid that the poof might be turning his attention back to him. There was no proper bed on this lower floor, and that was a convenient excuse for never getting into any stationary position.

Plop, not at all graceful. Not as much pain and effort as it was when he first began extending his legs, but if he were alive, he'd be pouring with sweat. Spike gripped the armrests, preparing to get up once more.

How safe would he be if Drusilla realized he could get up – in both senses? Not that he had a smidgeon of guilt for keeping her in the dark, not after she had rooked him so thoroughly, taking care of him so she could steal his weapon away. She only wanted to protect Daddy, didn't realize – or care – how vulnerable he was.

That was the only reason he'd done it, pique after she took the stake. He'd rolled his wheelchair onto the factory floor, freshly bathed and infuriated, when he noticed a white shape moving down one of the chains from the upper floor. It was Dru's pet mouse, escaped from whatever cage she had it in. Barely a mouthful of blood, but hell if it hadn't packed a wallop of energy. Whatever enchantment the dead witch had put on her pet mouse, it did more toward healing him than all of Dru's leavings. She and Angelus had been out, so his tiny meal had gone unnoticed, though he'd overheard Drusilla whinging about the lost pet until Angelus did something that had made her abruptly go silent.

Spike gritted his teeth, upright once more. This time, he could feel his toes flex inside his boots as they automatically worked to help him balance. It was after the mouse that he realized he'd had a whole buffet – a whole Buffy, heh – of magical blood in his arms, had he been so inclined. Didn't signify; the Slayer wasn't food. Still, if he'd thought to ask, she might have volunteered a pint. She'd kissed him, after all.

Back into the chair. And why had she done that? He knew why Buffy had wanted him to leave the factory with her; they had been friends until he lost it over the identity of her boyfriend and broke the treaty. She wasn't the type to leave a friend behind. He had no idea why the kiss had happened, though. The Slayer probably couldn't explain it, either.

Up again. He had to crouch with his fingers gripping the armrests a long moment, disheartened and in misery before his knees straightened. Once or twice, he wished that Dru had just left him behind, left him the night of the healing ritual. She had been down lately, too; that bastard Angelus was putting too much pressure on her to have visions.

Spike's legs gave out, and he dropped unceremoniously onto the seat, rolling the braked chair back a foot or so. He listened for a moment, and because he didn't hear anything, he lifted his shaking legs up and positioned his feet on the footrests, then oriented himself once more toward the television. Drusilla brought it in, driving his DeSoto to the mansion's garage, carrying the heavy telly as a sop for him, he was sure… but he'd also seen her toting in her slightly scorched chest of goodies from the factory. Holy water, candles, whips… ropes for vampires. Vigilance, then, because he was never going to be bound and at Angelus' mercy again.

⸹

"So, anything going on at school?"

That I should know about? Buffy added silently, then gave herself a mental kick for being a bad daughter. "Not much." She pushed a kernel of corn away from her pile of mashed potatoes. "Well, Xander made the swim team."

"Oh, that's good. I didn't know he swam. Well, I mean."

"Me, either." Silence fell again, and Buffy took a couple bites of dinner. Things had been strained between them since Angelus showed up and dropped his bomb.

"Do you mind cleaning up?" Joyce asked, and it sounded abrupt in the quiet house. "Mark hasn't been in to work the past couple of days. That's twice I've had people just quit without notice." She was already on her feet, gathering her plate and utensils. "No one has a work ethic anymore, it seems."

Or Mark was eaten, Buffy thought morosely. "So you have to go back in?"

"I can't cut gallery hours," Joyce replied. "The summer will be better, more tourists, and I'm sure I'll have another good Christmas."

Buffy heard what her mother left unsaid: money was tight. "Of course I'll clean up." She stood up, took the plate from Joyce's hand, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Go on; I'll take care of everything." It was nice to be able to say that and mean it, knowing she could do what was needed. If only everything else in her life was as clear and easy.

⸹

It was the second time he'd been out, and this was much riskier than the first. Then, Spike had hours alone in the mansion, could pick and choose which were the best for a stealthy trip out. He'd gone on to drink from seven different, wonderfully tasty humans, plucked from the UC-Sunnydale campus. It was enough to let him run back to his wheelchair and bide some more time. Now he was out of time, if the guest at the mansion was any indication.

But he was still starved and unable to do a whole host of things he'd likely need to do. If he stopped just a couple – well, five – times on his way to the Slayer, who would know?

A police car was up ahead, the officer out of his vehicle. Six, yeah, six wasn't a bad number. It wasn't until he was on the man that Spike realized he'd interrupted an arrest, the cop with his pistol drawn. And then he realized who was being arrested.

A bright, clean rage swept over him. Not even bothering to go to game face, he knocked the gun to the ground and picked up the policeman with a snarl. Spike buried his fangs in the sweet spot above the collar and beneath the jawbone, drinking a good two pints in as many seconds. Then he slammed the git onto the bonnet of his own patrol car. Either of those would be enough to render him unconscious. Wiping his mouth with the side of his hand as his features returned to human shape, he grinned at Buffy. "Hello, cutie."

She punched him in the nose.

Spike punched her back.

They stood across from each other, both holding a hand over their faces.

"What the hell, Slayer?"

"Kendra's dead." When Spike looked at her blankly, Buffy went on, "The other Slayer? Drusilla killed her." Her Slayer senses were still tripping, but this was Spike, she reminded herself, not some random vampire.

"Dru bagged a Slayer?"

Buffy punched his nose again.

Spike took half a step back, though he sent her a murderous look over his fingers. "Would you stop? I didn't have any idea what they were up to, other than Acathla."

"She…" Buffy didn't have words. "And Willow's in the hospital, head trauma. No one knows where Giles is."

"I do, s'why I'm here."

"Angel has him?"

"Yeah. Probably torturing him." Spike dropped his hand, seeing what those words did to her, and came very close. "Why I'm here, yeah? I'm mobile. It's time." He lifted his gaze and looked past her. "Let's get off the street."

"My house," she said shortly.

They turned away from the police officer and his car, Spike's nostrils flaring at the smell of blood. "Why was he trying to arrest you?"

"They think I killed Kendra."

"That's obviously a fit-up, er, frame job," he added, seeing her confusion.

"Yeah, well, I don't have time for the wheels of justice. Stuff to do, vampires to kill." They were already on Revello Drive.

His eyes narrowed, but before he could ask her more about 'vampires,' an SUV rolled past them into Buffy's driveway. Joyce got out of her Jeep. She looked at Spike but didn't seem to really register him. "Buffy, where have you been? Are you okay? The police were here, and they –"

At that moment, a snarling vampire burst into the space between them. While it was supposed to be watching Buffy, it was also less than two weeks old. And a human was just standing there, ready to be eaten.

Its poor impulse control was the end of it. Spike snatched it roughly and dislocated its jaw with one powerful cross punch, then shoved it toward Buffy, who was ready with her stake. They shared a look, then turned to her mother.

Joyce stood still, staring between them and the spot where… "That man just exploded."

"Not a man," Buffy said.

"A vampire," Spike offered.

"You… you killed him?" Joyce asked, her voice high and thin.

"I slayed him." Buffy firmed her mouth. "I'm the vampire Slayer." There was a hardness in her eyes as she looked Joyce in the face.

"We need to get inside," Spike said. He took Joyce's elbow and propelled her forward as Buffy got the door unlocked.

Inside, Joyce shook free from his grasp. "What's going on here?"

"Mom, I'm sorry you had to find out about vampires like that. Look, you're safe in here. I need to call the hospital, see if there's any change with Willow." Her mother's mouth was working, as if no words could escape the logjam of thoughts, so she turned to Spike. "Where is he?"

He knew she meant Giles. "Crawford Street." He described the mansion.

"I've seen it."

And then he was alone with Joyce. "It's all right, mum."

"How is it all right?" Spike blinked in the face of her ferocity. "The police are looking for my daughter because she's a suspect in a murder investigation, and now there's all this nonsense about vampires."

"Nonsense?" Spike gave her a wary look, not wanting her to continue. He was afraid she'd show him something he could not admire. "Joyce, you just saw an undead being, a vampire, with full fangs, come at you. You saw your daughter end it with a pointy stick. Don't pretend you didn't."

"I… I don't know what I saw." She turned away from him, taking off her coat and tossing it onto the couch. "I need a drink."

He sat down, the very old and proper part of himself disapproving because she hadn't offered him the same hospitality. He found his jaw set and his eyes narrow when she sat down across from him, bourbon sloshing in her glass.

"So, how do you fit into this? Are you a vampire slayer, too?"

"Me? Not hardly."

Before she could question him further, Buffy returned to the living room. Joyce turned to her daughter. "How's Willow?"

"Awake, thank God. She sounds fine." Buffy turned to Spike. "Talk to me. What's the deal?"

"We take care of the old man, you get Giles, and I grab Dru and get the hell out of town."

"Forget Drusilla. She doesn't walk." She was suddenly staring up at Spike, and Buffy met his glare full on. "She killed Kendra."

"So you didn't kill that girl?"

Both of them turned to Joyce. Buffy's "Of course not!" was immediately followed by Spike's icy, "How could you even think that?"

"Did she explode like that man outside?"

"She was a Slayer, mom."

"Like what you are?"

Buffy nodded, then turned back to Spike. "A Slayer like me."

He got her point, but they were not having a negotiation. "I help you kill Angelus –"

"Angelus? Angel? Your boyfriend?"

Both of them ignored Joyce's question. "I help you kill Angelus, get Giles out, and I take Drusilla out of the country. You'll never hear from us again, I bloody well hope."

"Spike, why? She's a big ho."

"Yeah, well, he's worse."

After a moment, Buffy nodded. It was true, and she hadn't been able to stop loving him. "Get Giles out safe. If Giles dies, she dies."

"Are you sure you're a Slayer?"

"Mom…."

"I've been gone too long."

"Sunrise, so he can't escape. Be ready to back me when I make my move."

"I mean, have you tried not being a Slayer?"

"No, Joyce," Spike said, his temper fraying, "she hasn't, because you raised her to think of others in a crisis, now didn't you?" He couldn't believe this was the same woman with whom he'd shared so many cups of cocoa. Had she forgotten she was a mother?

Buffy put a hand on the leather sleeve over his forearm. "Not helping, Spike."

Setting his jaw again, he gave her a tight nod and left. Behind him, he heard Joyce say, "It's because you didn't have a strong father figure, isn't it?" He shook his head and began to run.

⸹

The rest of the night passed in a blur of Angelus' laughter, Giles' moans, and his own nerves about being found out. Fortunately, Dru was in a good mood and didn't notice anything off about him. Not that she noticed him much anymore, anyway. Spike tried not to think about that, or about Buffy's assessment of his dark lady, or of the thousand ways something could go tit's-up before daybreak.

Another chuckle from Angelus, and Spike fidgeted in the wheelchair. That sound brought back memories, almost none of them good. Then the old man called for a chainsaw, and he swiftly turned his chair into the hallway and bulled his way through the minions to put an end to that idea.

Maybe his suggestion to set Dru loose on the Watcher for information hadn't been an entirely good one. She did it so quickly, and it wasn't time yet, and….

She's a big ho. "Uh, Drusilla."

"Honey," Angelus added.

Drusilla broke the passionate kiss and looked up from the blissful face of the Watcher. "Sorry. I was in the moment."

Spike headed off Angelus from Giles once again, then was trundled out of the room by Dru. "It's almost the end," she said cheerily. Spike looked up at her sharply, twisting in his seat. She gave him a full and loving smile.

Then they were in front of the Acathla statue again for more of Angelus poncing about, being all special. This was happening too fast. Giles was probably right about the ritual; God, it might really become hell on earth –

Buffy. Thank God. And he curved his hand around the poker concealed along the side of his leg, took his feet from the wheelchair pedals for the final time. Buffy had the bastard distracted. Spike swung the poker as hard as he could. It felt grand.

Looking down at Angelus, it felt just like another.

And then he was grappling with Drusilla; she'd come down on Daddy's side, of course. Had he ever expected otherwise? "I don't want to hurt you, baby." But he kind of did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xander supporting the Watcher as they made their way toward the door. Giles taken care of, then. More fighting, Buffy piddling around with minions, giving Angelus his chance. Dru turned from him to see what big thing Daddy was doing.

"Oooh, here it comes."

Here I come, and his fingers were around her neck, on the pressure points that would eventually put down even a vampire. By the time Drusilla lapsed into unconsciousness, Angelus had the sword from the statue, fighting the Slayer. The big vampire had two centuries of experience behind each cut.

Spike picked up his sire, sparing a glance toward the combatants. God, he's going to kill her, he thought. He looked back down at Drusilla, then at the growing vortex. He made up his mind and walked as swiftly as he could to the garage. Dumping her in the back seat of the DeSoto, he slammed the car door and headed back. He'd told Buffy he'd take Drusilla and get out of town, but he couldn't think of one destination that would make the idea appealing. He'd also said he would help her kill Angelus, and there was over a hundred years of anticipation in Spike's smile.

The fight was over. What the hell? He stopped, confused staring at them stare at each other.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"Close your eyes."

Spike took a shocked breath as Buffy drove the sword into his passive grandsire, driving him into the gaping maw at the center of the statue. Then Drusilla knocked into Spike, went past him, leaving him with nothing between his grasping fingers.

"Nooo!" Drusilla passed Buffy, who was backing away from what she had done, and threw herself at her sire, her arms going around his neck with desperate strength. Angelus – no, Angel, had to be – never stopped looking at the Slayer.

The vortex closed. Acathla was merely a stone statue again. The mansion was shockingly quiet.

Spike fell to his knees, his legs no longer supporting him, nothing to do with ever having a broken back.

He couldn't stop staring at where Drusilla wasn't. She was gone. Just… gone.

Buffy let out one small, hiccupping sob. She moved to him, dropped down beside him.

They were both on the floor, holding each other, weeping.

The sun was well up before Buffy pulled away from Spike, who was curled into a fetal position around her. He sat up, too. They both stared at Acathla.

"Mom kicked me out." Her nose was completely stopped up, making her voice sound strange in her ears.

Spike took this in, a Slayer denied the safety of her threshold, but couldn't manage any context or emotion. "I have to get the fuck out of this town."

"L.A.?"

He shrugged.

"Take me by my house first?"

Something to do, other than stare at Acathla. Buffy stood up, her sword hanging limply in her hand. Spike stood up, too, then he sprang toward the statue, roaring, hitting it with a flying side kick. The heavy stone figure tottered over and smashed into hundreds of pieces, the magic gone from it.

He stood there, breathing heavily and unnecessarily, fists clenched. Buffy came up beside him, did nothing except stand there. They looked at the broken statue for a long minute, then turned in unison.

Spike stared at the DeSoto as they went into the garage. The back door was open. Feeling every one of his twelve decades, he closed the door, putting to right the last mark Drusilla had made on the world. Then he opened the front one for the Slayer.

It was later, the Slayer was in bright sunlight. "Be right back." He sat in the driver's seat, the car in idle, saw a yellow school bus go past on the cross street. Then Buffy was back with her things, and Spike started down Revello Drive before turning east.

Buffy turned her head as they passed the Sit N Bull, noting that there were a good number of cars and trucks in the lot. If the sun wasn't reflecting off the windows, she could have seen their usual booth. Then she turned her attention back to the dashboard.

Twenty miles outside of Sunnydale, well before the point where any other towns had dared to creep to proximity with the Hellmouth, Spike pulled over onto the shoulder. He was looking straight ahead as he put the car into park, then sat with his hands on the wheel. Feeling wrung out, Buffy could barely make herself care that they'd run out of gas. Here, of course, where there was hardly any other traffic.

But, no, the car was still running. "Spike?" Her voice was small and wispy, her throat swollen from weeping.

He didn't answer, just stared ahead. "Got plenty of gas," he said finally. "Get you through most of the way to L.A., to your Dad's, yeah?"

"What?"

The twist of his lips was nothing like his usual smirk, certainly wasn't a smile. "This is where I get off."

She shook her head, not understanding. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Good a place as any." She followed his gaze, which rested on his hand as it hovered in a patch of sunlight that fell on the dash through a chink in the blackened windshield. He was watching dreamily as it smoldered.

"No." Understanding was being to take shape.

"Better this way, pet." Spike finally turned to look at her, taking his smoking right hand from the sun, using it to touch her forearm awkwardly. "Got no reason to… You're well shut of the likes of me."

"What?" she said again, but now she knew. "No. You can't."

"Sure I can," and since he didn't have to hold it together for much longer, there was a ghost of the cocky vampire she'd first come to know in the soft, breezy darkness of the town behind them. Spike nodded toward the world outside their dim cocoon. "Nice, sunny day, innit? Won't take a minute." He lifted his burned hand to touch her face, no awkwardness in this gesture. "You take care, kitten. You're a right lady, you are, and strong. You're gonna be fine."

Buffy's eyes were enormous now. "No. You can't leave me." What she wanted to say was that he couldn't do it, couldn't put an end to himself. He was too vital, or he would be again. She wanted to say that she didn't know how to move forward without another of the walking wounded limping next to her, that if he drowned, she would sink, too. But all she could find were the same words she'd used before. "You can't."

"There's some cash in the glovebox, might come in handy." Spike's hand dropped away from her cheek, and his mouth sketched a smile. "Won't meet again, I reckon." He gave her a considering look and dredged up dusty courtesy more than a century old. "It has been my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Buffy," and the deep voice was civilized and warm.

Paralyzed by this unthinkable thing that was happening, just one more in this awful, endless morning, she watched him turn away and open the car door so he could stand up. In no hurry, he took off the leather coat and absently tossed it over the bench seat to land in the back of the DeSoto. He was silhouetted against the burning blue sky for a moment, a wisp of smoke rising from his exposed nape, then he shut the door.

The sound freed her. Buffy scrambled across the seat, knocking her elbow against the steering wheel and honking the horn. "Nooo," she growled, throwing open the door. The seat of the DeSoto rotated with her, tripping her up, but she had him by the arm a couple of seconds later and hurled him back toward the car. "You can't."

His face was stony and fixed, even as he staggered a little, putting out a hand toward the door to find his balance. "Buffy, get back in the car. You don't want to see this, kitten. Just drive on." Smoke was rolling off him now, and if he felt pain, he didn't show it.

She seized on the words, seized at his shirt and began manhandling him, trying to stuff him back inside. "No. I can't. I can't drive a car like this." She grunted a little, then used her knee to fold him over.

He grunted, too, then grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away. "It's an automatic, a pushbutton automatic."

Buffy came back at him, something inside her fierce and happy to be fighting. "I can't! It's weird; the gearstick is on the steering wheel." Her head lowered, she plowed into him, sending them both back into the car, Spike rapping his head on the frame before they went sprawling over the seat.

"Bloody hell!" It was a roar, but indistinct with the Slayer's shoulder in his face. "Geroff!"

Instinctively, she twisted him to the left, putting his head and torso off the seat into the space of the passenger-side floorboard, not allowing him any purchase. Buffy glared down at him, then her face screwed up. "You can't leave," she whispered. "I can't do this by myself." She meant take the next step, travel the next mile, L.A., everything.

"I don't want to do this."

She knew he meant that he didn't want to go on any longer, and she shook him. "You're stronger than that. You have to be!" Her eyes widened; she wasn't going to cry again. "I can't be strong enough on my own." It hadn't worked. Her fingers clenched on his shirt, then she simply dropped her head onto his chest and began to bawl. He was as warm as a human after his exposure to the sun, but that odd fact didn't register.

Something akin to panic flashed across Spike's face as what certainly felt like a cage closed around him. Bitch, brat, baby – the hurtful words came to his mind so easily. He was dead inside, didn't she understand, Drusilla's loss killing him more thoroughly than her fangs ever had.

Then he gritted his teeth. The Slayer needed someone to take care of her, even if it was just for a few hours, and God knew it was the one thing he'd ever been good at. Get her on her feet, dump her at her father's, and then get the hell out of L.A., because he sure as fuck wouldn't deign to die in that town, either. He squared his shoulders, taking up the burden.

"Shh, pet." Hesitantly, he put his arms around her. Now that she wasn't bulldozing him, he could get his body back up onto the seat. He pulled her higher against him, so she could cry on his shoulder in the best clichéd manner. Realizing his feet felt uncomfortably warm, he pulled his legs all the way into the shelter of the car. "I'm here. Won't go anywhere." He patted Buffy's back awkwardly, the span of his hand covering both her shoulderblades. She was little more than a child beneath the wise-beyond-her-years veneer and the Slayer strength, just a few birthdays past riding bikes and skinning her knees. Whatever else she was, she wasn't one of the nihilistic undead. "Shouldn't have put that on you. 'M'sorry, kitten."

After a while, she sat up, one of her elbows digging into his stomach in a painful manner, and wiped her eyes. "Let's… just go." She sat up a little more, taking her slight weight off him.

"All right." Spike wiped his own face, surprised he'd been crying. He felt so hollow inside. Swinging his legs into the floorboard, he waited until she clambered over him, back to the passenger side. Before she'd quite settled, he put out his hand and cupped the back of her neck, drawing her forehead forward until it touched his. He didn't say anything; there was nothing to say.

They drove in silence for almost an hour before Buffy cleared her throat. "I need to stop."

"Sure, pet." He kept an eye out for the next motorway services, exited the freeway to the nearest station, and rolled the window down a couple of inches. Then Spike cranked the window back up and drove away. "You don't want to stop there. Toilets didn't smell up to snuff."

She nodded. "Good to know." The next convenience store was only a few hundred yards away, and this one apparently passed the sniff test.

Spike lifted his hips from the seat, bumping his thighs against the steering wheel, and dug some money out of his pockets. "Get yourself something to drink, water or something."

Buffy nodded and left the car, closing the door quickly against the sunny day. She went to the bathroom, then stood in line holding her bottle of water and staring at the twenty-dollar bill, wondering what had happened to the human who'd last had it. Spike had moved his DeSoto to a parking spot in the shade of the building. The three sets of taillights were on, as if he was impatient to go, but she didn't have it in her to walk faster. Resting a hand on the fin for a moment, the Slayer took a deep breath, then opened the door. "Spike?"

He had put his coat on. Now he was asleep, his arms folded over the steering wheel, and he jerked at the sound of his name. "Yeah."

"Your change." She held out a wad of bills and coins.

"So much for my poker stake," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Toss it in there, love." He waved toward the glovebox.

"This is your poker money?"

"Yeah." Blinking a little, he patted the seat where sun didn't fall on it, enjoining her to sit. "All set, kitten?"

Gambling winnings was better than money stolen off victims. "Sure." It was the last word said for the next couple of hours. Buffy drank half her water, then she started nodding. The air conditioning in the old car wasn't as cold as she was used to, and it was a long, monotonous trip with nothing to see through the blackened windows. Spike noticed, and touched her shoulder, holding his arm wide. After a moment's hesitation, she took his invitation, leaning against him. He always smelled good, some subtle scent, and Buffy wondered again what it was. Half an hour later, her head was resting on Spike's thigh as she slept, and he cradled her head loosely with one hand, driving with the other.

Now there was enough traffic that he didn't have to think about anything else. At the first stop light that marked the end of the freeway, Buffy woke and sat up.

"I can't do it."

Buffy's voice was barely more than a whisper, but Spike had no trouble hearing the words. "Can't do what?"

His voice was as hollow as she felt. "I can't face my father. Not yet." Buffy looked down at her hands. She had a broken nail on her left hand, and she was pretty sure she hadn't packed any emery boards. "I… I just can't."

Glancing away from the road, he saw that she was pale except for the dark circles beneath her eyes. "We could find a place to hole up, somewhere you could rest, get a good day, er, night's sleep."

"Okay." Buffy was too relieved that he had an idea of how to put off her next drama-filled meeting to care that a suicidal creature of the night felt sorry for her. It was comforting, in fact, because it meant he was acting more like the master vampire who had somehow become her friend. The car pulled forward, and she closed her eyes.

⸹

Next Chapter: Grief-stricken and unsure of their next move, Spike and Buffy hunker down for a few days in Los Angeles.