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.

26. Now Thou Art Flesh

Now Thou Art Flesh

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[Author's Note: The title of the chapter is a partial quote from Ovid's Metamorphoses, about the sculptor Pygmalion and the statue he wished to life.]

⸹

Uganda

June 1999

⸹

Friend?

Was a legendary dark warrior? Sod off. Dark, light, always gonna be a legendary warrior.

Er, friend?

Spike wavered toward consciousness again. And I will walk out of this cave. Show you….

A polite, if somewhat exasperated sigh. It has grown dark. If you don't leave now, I do not believe you will walk out.

Who're you? The voice was familiar, someone he used to know, maybe.

He's us.

That voice, he did recognize.

What's going on? He tried to raise up on one arm.

You won.

You should see the other guy. Spike slumped back down. Whatever he was on was cold and harder than regular ground.

We're in a cave, friend. We need to leave.

He felt an arm around his back, lifting him up, then another presence on his other side, doing the same. Spike struggled, managed to sit up, and collapsed backward. Fortunately, there was a rough wall behind him.

He was in a cave; he was looking out of it toward a dark hillside. Somewhere out of view, he saw firelight flickering. The past week came back to him in a rush.

I won? That was it?

Someone gave an impatient sigh. Then he was at their booth at the Sit N Bull.

Buffy? But it was just his inner anarchist… and with him was William Withhorn-Allgood, who was looking around, mouth open, at the fluorescent lights and chrome-rimmed booths.

Balls. The anarchist glanced to either side and the lights dimmed down to just their booth, pulling William's attention back to them. You did it.

Course I did. He looked across the table owlishly. What did I do? The other two exchanged a helpless look.

Spike's head fell forward, and he managed to focus on his hands. They were a mess. He had dried blood on his knuckles and beneath his nails, but it was the skin that caught his attention. Where it wasn't rippled with burn scars, it was grey and drawn tight over his tendons and bones.

Bollocks. I'm dying.

You haven't had any blood in… ten days? Eleven? I'm not sure anymore. The trials lasted… just over a week, maybe. So you understand, you have to get up.

You do it.

Maybe I could… but I don't think I ought to, not alone. Not this time. He nodded at William. He's strong, but he isn't used to pain.

I'm tired. Just… I'm really tired.

William reached across the table and took the scarred ruin of his hand into a clean, healthy one.

I want to be here, friend. I want to help. He nodded at the anarchist. From what he told me, either we can cooperate or we'll be stuck here together in misery.

Are you my friend?

I believe I am. We haven't been properly introduced.

The anarchist snorted. William Withhorn-Allgood, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Spike.

The most human of them smiled, much of the humor self-directed. It is a pleasure. You must know, I don't blame you.

For his death, Spike knew. Pleased to meetcha.

The anarchist looked out the windows. Night is wasting.

I believe he means we're dithering about in here, where we will certainly die.

Exactly.

What do you need me to do? All he wanted to do was close his eyes.

No, what do you want?

Buffy.

Oh, she's quite lovely.

Shut your gob. She's a right lady.

Of course she is.

Why do you want to see Buffy again? The words were measured. I'm tired, too, Spike. I'd like to see this done.

I want… I want to make sure she survives. She has so much to do, such a burden to carry. If I can do good, understand how to do good, I can shoulder some of that. I can be there when Death comes.

Death?

He takes a swing at her, I tackle him, take him down. Curb stomp the wanker. Take his scythe

[Hers alone to wield]

and snap it in two. My Slayer is going to live to be fucking ninety. Longer.

The anarchist let out a sigh of relief and turned to William. Will you help him? Understand how to be good?

William looked uncertainly between the two leather-clad beings. Then he firmed his mouth and said simply. I'm a good man. I can help him with that.

Then there's nothing stopping us.

⸹

Spike swallowed, feeling like every inch of his gastrointestinal tract was made of sandpaper, from his cracked lips all the way through. He forced his eyes open again and looked around. There was still firelight glowing outside, so it hadn't been too long since he last passed out. He looked into the blackness of the cave. There was no sign of the demon bound to it.

Using the cave wall, he inched upward until he was on his feet, then braced himself against it until the various angles of the world stopped spinning. With slow, shuffling steps, he walked to the rough doorway, one hand trailing the walls.

The outside world seemed bright as dawn after the pitch dark of the cave. Stars arched overhead, and there were torches as well as the flames from the fire pit. And there was a line of humans on either side of the path leading away from the cave.

He was tired and couldn't make sense of the words he heard. It had been more than half a century since he'd spoken Luganda. The humans were wearing shorts and t-shirts, carrying machetes. They formed a more precise line. Gauntlet? Between the rows of humans, a shorter figure started walking toward him. A girl?

His first thought was they'd brought a Slayer to finish him off. He almost snorted. All they needed was a stiff breeze.

But she wasn't a Slayer. Her eyes were wide and stoned, lacking any expression. The men to either side of her were giving him hostile, resigned looks.

She was a sacrifice.

Bloody hell. He couldn't manage a sound from his dry vocal cords, but he mouthed the words, gave a rusty laugh. Spike stumbled a few steps closer to the group. It would be useless to talk to the girl; they'd done her up good. He looked at the young man on her left, dredged up some words.

"Sagala." His voice sounded dreadful. No, thanks. He beckoned to the man. "Jangu wano." Yeah, not gonna get any closer. Spike could barely hear his own words and resigned himself to sign language.

He pointed at the sacrifice and slashed his hand, tried to say 'no.' It came out in a croak. "Nedda." Then he pointed at each man in the left row. "Butono. Butono." Just a little, from each of them. "Nyamba. Butono." He pointed at each man on the right.

He was going to black out in a moment. Grimacing, he limped to the girl and brought her hand to his face. Good Lord, she wasn't even a teenager. He went halfway to game face, just fangs, and bit into her wrist.

Oh, that felt lovely. If he hadn't been feeding like this for some time, Spike didn't believe he'd manage to stop. He let go, took a breath, and placed his tongue against the holes he'd made, healing them. "Butono." His voice was stronger as he pointed to the closest young man.

Throwing a look toward the fire, he held his arm out mistrustfully. When Spike did the same thing he'd done to the girl, it seemed to sink in. The next man in line put out his arm. "Butono."

"Weebale." Spike drank from him. There were eleven in all, including the girl, and it amounted to more blood than from even the largest human. Even the burns were gone by the time he finished his walk down the line. He turned before he went on and nodded a farewell to them. "Mweraba."

Spike headed to the fire, knowing what he would find there. He wondered if the old man had been alive the last time he was here. Probably not that old, but old enough to deserve the honorific. "Ssebo." He nodded and cleared his throat again. "I need no sacrifice, but I thank you for your courtesy."

"This is… unexpected." The old man was more wary than Spike expected.

"I earned the right to walk this land long ago. I wish only to cross it now."

"Go. There is a boat. You know the way." He nodded toward the lake. "The lights of the city will guide you."

"Weeraba." Spike turned his back on the humans and the firelight and set his face toward the scent of the lake. The walk took a shorter time than he remembered. He walked a few hundred paces along the shoreline and was about to circle back when he saw the craft. He laughed. Why had he been expecting the same dinky boat he'd used the first time?

Three hours until sunrise. He took off his boots and waded to the boat. He tossed them in, then submerged in the water, swiping at his torso and limbs to get some of the grime off. Spike clambered into the boat, hauled anchor, and patted the Evinrude engine. "Come on, baby. Let's get to Kenya."

⸹

Sunnydale

July 1999

⸹

Buffy rolled out her neck and rotated her shoulders. She'd stiffened up since leaving work. She'd eaten dinner with her mom, spoke to Giles on the phone, and figured she might as well patrol before showering. The company Xander worked for, N & C Construction, had started a new job, and he'd gotten her hired to do cleanup on site. It was barely entry-level work for construction, since she wasn't going to learn any skills, but it paid more than minimum wage. Even better, the subcontract would only last three weeks or so, ending before college classes began.

She was trying to stay busy. Spring had been an emotional rollercoaster, with Faith's betrayal and first Spike, then Angel leaving. Buffy, her friends, and her classmates had defeated Mayor Wilkins, but at a great cost. When the dust cleared, eleven members of the Class of 1999 died during graduation, despite being armed, and so had twenty people who came to watch. She'd thanked her mother twice more for staying away.

Her dad had stayed away, too. He lived in Spain now, she thought with his girlfriend. But Angel now lived in Los Angeles, so she still had reservations about going to the nearest big city. Cordelia lived there, too, trying to break into acting. Giles had gone to the UK for a couple of weeks. And Spike –

Buffy started walking faster, still as quiet, her fingers clenched around a stake. Angel left the minute the fire at the school was under control, but, emotionally, he'd been leaving for months. Faith was in a quiet corner of the hospital, as gone as a person could be without being dead. Buffy went to see her on Saturdays, almost entirely out of guilt. She'd brush Faith's hair and hope the dark eyes would stay closed.

Xander, Willow, and even Oz were still here, and of course she had her mother. Giles would be back soon. She was good; she wasn't alone in any sense of the word.

And she should still be feeling triumphant from stopping the Mayor's Ascension. Owen Thurman had given her a tiny wave and a long look as he stood by the second wave of ambulances, the ones that were there for the bodies. He'd been helping load them onto the stretchers. She still felt a little ache when she thought of Owen and sometimes when she read a poem. Owen had been majorly boyfriendable. But he'd lived through his high school years, and Buffy had heard he was going to USC.

The Slayer went up onto the north wall of the Restfield, crouching in shadow and listening. She had to put down six of her classmates after graduation and their funerals, but Willow hadn't found anyone likely to rise tonight, so she was focusing on crypts where the already risen might be dwelling. Sensing nothing, she dropped lightly onto the ground inside the wall and resumed her patrol.

After four minutes, she reached the largest crypt in the cemetery. It was pretty in daylight, as was the cemetery itself, but now the lead glass windows merely looked like liabilities. Some creature inside might see her first. Once again, she listened, then shoved open the door.

Nothing lurked inside. She looked around the last place she'd seen Spike, then closed the door and walked away. Less than ten seconds later, she gave up her struggle and jumped into the nearest tree. Hidden, she lay her cheek against the bark and began to cry. She cried silently and alone, because he wasn't around.

A couple of weeks after graduation, Buffy had tried to get in touch with Spike. She hadn't made an attempt until after the battle, not wanting to make him feel guilty for not being there. He'd sent her one quick message four days after he left, nothing more than his fingertips across her cheek and "I found a ship. On the first leg, love." Her attempt came after the third straight night she had 'tossed off' to memories of their private encounters. She'd been laying out in the backyard after taking lunch to her mother, a glass of ice water next to the lounge chair and the radio on. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and she was alone. She reached for him in her mind.

The place where the Sit N Bull should exist was emptiness, a black wall of nothing.

She tried again, looking for any hint of light from the windows or of neon from the sign. Then she closed her 'eyes' and just used her Slayer senses, trying to locate her vampire.

She felt no vampire in that place.

Buffy turned off the radio and tossed her ice water onto the ground. She gathered up her towel and the radio and left the sunshine. She went to the shower to get off the suntan lotion. She leaned against the cool tile wall, more frightened than she had been on graduation day.

A week later, Buffy tried again. She had been on the couch, having a post-patrol snack, a slice of roast beef rolled into a leaf of lettuce and a glass of milk. Joyce had waited up for her that night, had just gone upstairs to bed.

Emptiness, in the place her vampire should be.

Appetite gone, she'd emptied the rest of the milk down the kitchen sink and thrown away her sandwich. She went outside and sat on the back steps, her arms clutched around her stomach, refusing to cry.

Now, sitting in the tree, Buffy's stifled sobs began to ease. On Sunday, she'd gone to the public library to pick up a couple of books for her mom. While she was there, she spotted a globe atop one of the shelves in the reference room. Using her fingers to measure distance, she checked to see how far away California was from Patagonia. Then she checked to see what was on the other side of the world from Sunnydale. India, it looked like, maybe Africa. It was farther away than Patagonia, but not by even a whole finger. When he was in Patagonia, she had been right at the door of the café, looking at Spike as he stood by the jukebox. Less than the distance of one finger. She should at least be able to see the building.

She wiped tears from her face. She couldn't tell anyone about her worries. Not her mom, because she didn't want to worry Joyce, who considered Spike to be one of her handful of friends. Not Willow or Xander, because she'd never told them.

If Giles was here, she would tell him. Probably.

Buffy closed her eyes tightly, squeezing more tears across her cheeks. She was afraid of what he would tell her it meant. And she couldn't bring herself to try again, to face that blankness.

After a couple more minutes, she took a steadying breath and dropped from the tree. The moon was just beginning to wax again. It was dark; no one would notice her tearstained face. Buffy sniffled and drew herself to her full height, positioned her stake at the ready, and went into the darkness.

⸹

Los Angeles

August 1999

⸹

Aurelian.

Angel sat up. It was an hour before dusk. He'd overslept. He yawned and ran a hand over his hair.

Angel.

He jerked in surprise.

Spike!?

What's your address? I'll be in town soon; thought I'd drop by.

He was too surprised to make excuses. Then the boy's presence receded. Angel blinked a couple of times in the darkness of his basement apartment. Buffy had told him that Spike had left the country. She hadn't known where, only that he said he'd be gone for months.

Well, that had nothing to do with him. Angel got out of bed, straightened the covers, and showered. Then he went out into the night to try to help anyone who might become a victim.

By the time he got back, Angel had found one predator to dust and forgotten about the impending family visit. His footsteps slowed as he saw a figure slumped against his doorway. Was that… "Spike?"

The dark blue eyes opened and looked up at him. "'Lo, Angel."

"You look awful." He hadn't really meant to say it aloud. Spike struggled to get up and he put out an automatic hand.

"Thanks." He took the proffered hand, stood, and sighed. "That bad, huh?"

"I've seen you look worse."

"I guess you have, at that."

Angel let the silence grow after that comment, then put his reluctance aside. "You want to come in?"

"Yeah." Angel unlocked the door and went inside, but Spike didn't follow. He was frowning. "Before I come in, I need to tell you. I have my soul."

"You… what?" His face went tight. "That's not funny."

"Not meant to be."

Angel stared at him. There was no bravado, no smirk, none of the 'Master' boastfulness. He was telling the truth. No wonder the boy looked so wrecked. What kind of bad business had he been involved in? "Come on in, Will."

Spike nodded and stumbled inside. "Don't have my land legs back yet." He took off the black leather coat and folded it across his arm as he looked around. "Unfurnished?"

Angel, watching him closely, shook his head. "My stuff's downstairs."

"Of course." Spike made a self-mocking face and nodded to the walls. "Windows." He followed Angel down to the basement.

"Do you need some food?" He wasn't offering to be a good host, but because Spike looked so bad.

"No, I'm good."

He laughed a little, for no apparent reason. Angel's unease deepened. "You have to feed, even if you feel like you can't."

"I'm just tired." He looked around at the space, at the art on the walls. "It's nice down here. You have the whole building?"

"Yeah. Not quite sure what to do with it." He turned on a lamp and examined the younger vampire. Spike blinked owlishly against the light. His hair was grown out and two-toned, and it was lank with grease. He didn't look injured or unduly thin, but… didn't look himself. "You want to clean up?"

Spike looked more alert. "Do you have a shower? I've been on a ship, I don't even know how long. Mombasa to Hong Kong, hopped a freighter to L.A. right away, and of course I pick one where the electrical was down for days, on and off."

He's babbling, Angel thought. "It's through there." Spike nodded and headed that way. After a moment, Angel heard the sound of water spraying. Not sure what to do with himself, he took off his coat and hung it carefully, then wandered to the kitchen. The boy always had liked human food, but all he had was bagged blood in the refrigerator.

Angel sat down on the couch to wait. What kind of craziness could happen that two Aurelians would be cursed with souls? He'd never heard of it happening to any vampire before or since his own curse.

Then he pulled in a breath. Spike must have gone back to Prague. Drusilla had rambled on about someone in the mob that injured her having gypsy magic. And Buffy had said that Spike mentioned something about a debt.

He wavered between several emotions: derision for such bad decision-making; anger that a family member had been harmed; irritation just because it was Spike; and relief, because the boy would no longer be the killer he'd molded him to be. At least he has me to guide him. He'll be in pieces for a while.

Angel realized that he hadn't heard running water for a long time. "Spike?" No answer. He went in to find the semi-blond man sitting on the floor on a towel, naked and asleep, propped against the tile. He'd washed his clothes in the shower and hung them to drip dry. His coat was folded neatly and rested atop his boots.

Something about the scene touched him. Almost the entire time he'd known the boy, he had hidden himself in defense against Angelus. Now he was open and exposed, and that meant trust. He'd come to him for shelter. Angel cleared his throat. "Spike."

Blue eyes opened wide and immediately began to close again. "I'm awake," he said, though clearly he wasn't.

Angel held out a hand. "Here. Up, off the floor. You can't sleep there."

Spike accepted his help, swaying when he stood up. "Family bed?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded husky, so he cleared his throat again. Spike fell onto the bed, and Angel made him get up so he could pull down the covers. He fell over again in almost the same motion and did not move. Angel smiled and covered him, then sat beside the still form, considering him.

Family. Darla and Drusilla were gone. So were the older members of the family. Angel closed his eyes. He'd sired so many during those mad months in Sunnydale. Not a one had been family, though. It really was just the two of them. Both souled. Maybe it meant something.

Did this make him happy? He always had to check now. It did, a little, but his soul was safe. Like Spike could ever make him perfectly happy.

⸹

"Afternoon."

"Mmm."

"Angel."

"Mmm?"

"Geroff."

Angel lifted his head, feeling as though he'd gotten his first real sleep in years, and dropped it back down. His head was resting on Spike's abdomen. This realization had him out of bed before he was awake.

"Aren't you the proverbial scalded cat?" Spike sat up and yawned, rubbing his eyes. He nodded toward the black boxers Angel wore. "Since when do you sleep in anything?"

Angel gawped at him, then the events of the previous night rushed back. "For about a century," he said sourly, though mostly he'd slept fully clothed because he seldom had anywhere safe to sleep. He rubbed the back of his neck. "How are you?"

"Better rested, thanks to you. Nothing like the family bed."

"True."

"You wouldn't happen to have a camera, would you? Instant or digital?"

"Uh, no." If the boy was worried about how he looked, he must be feeling better.

Spike ruffled his curls. "I know I look a fright." He stood up and stretched. "Is there a demon barber in town?"

Angel averted his eyes from the obliviously nude body. "Big city. I'm sure there is." This was way too much intrusion on his solitude. "I, um," and he waved vaguely to the bathroom.

"Let me grab my clothes from there, and I'll get out of your way."

"You do that."

Spike shot him a look as he went past, but Angel averted his gaze again. When he came back a few seconds later, he was wearing his mostly dry clothes and carrying his coat and boots. When Angel half-turned away, he stopped. "Am I intruding?" he asked bluntly.

Angel sighed. "No. I'm used to being alone. You're like having a crowd of people around."

Spike grinned at that. "All yours," he said, gesturing back toward the shower.

By the time Angel was ready to go out for the evening, Spike was gone. He'd left a note on the third tread of the stairs with the vague promise 'I'll be back.' Angel checked several bars to the north of his building, but nothing was stalking the patrons. He never wanted to be predictable, so he went into a different area, with the same results. The city was baked after the hot summer day. Maybe everyone was staying in their air-conditioned lairs.

By one o'clock, Angel was ready to call it a night. He spotted Spike's old DeSoto beneath a streetlight, so he wasn't surprised to find the boy was back. He was sitting on the couch, a pad of paper and pen on his knee and a cup of coffee near to hand on the floor.

"Hey. I just wanted to ask if you mind if I stay a couple more days. I'll head back to Sunnydale then, get out of your hair."

"Are you ready for that?" Angel asked, hanging up his coat.

"Yeah." Spike gave him a thin smile. "I called Giles to make sure everyone's okay. He said the Mayor's sorted out?"

Since the boy was giving him an expectant look, he sat down gingerly on the other end of the couch and told him about the botched Ascension. By the time the story was done, Spike was smiling. "She got everyone involved. Bet they didn't see that coming. Stopping an Ascension… that was a big deal."

"It was. People died."

Spike nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Where were you?"

He leaned over and picked up the coffee. "You sure you want to hear this? First time I've told the story, so it'll probably be rubbish."

The cup in Spike's hands reminded Angel that he hadn't had any blood yet. "I'm sure I want to hear. Just let me get something to drink." As he got a packet of blood from the refrigerator, he saw that Spike hadn't raided it. "You want some?" He held up the blood.

Spike shook his head. "I've fed."

Angel frowned. He'd smelled a burrito or enchilada, some kind of Mexican food, when he came back tonight. Well, he'd bring up the topic of feeding after Spike got the story out. After he heated up the blood, he settled back on his end of the couch and nodded toward the blond man.

"Guess you won't be surprised to know this all started because I bollixed up things," he began, shooting his grandsire a wry look. "And you won't be surprised when I tell you that I've fallen in love with the Slayer." Angel showed no reaction to this news. Spike wondered how obvious a mooncalf he'd been. "I did something wrong – doesn't matter what; it's fairly embarrassing – because I just didn't remember how to be decent. I thought about everything really carefully – well, as much as I could, you know – and decided that I had a mission, like what you were looking for.

"My mission is to keep the Slayer alive. She's going to be the first Slayer the Council has to pension off."

"That's… quite a switch for you."

"Yeah. Funny old world, innit? Anyway, not like Buffy would let me darken her doorstep if I didn't get myself housebroken. That's when I decided I needed my soul. I said my goodbyes and – "

"You got cursed on purpose?" The words erupted from Angel like a shotgun spray.

"Not cursed, mate. I fought for it. Knew about a demon bound to a cave in Africa. He sets you trials, and if you survive, he'll grant you a boon."

Angel's face was a mask. "You fought for your soul?"

"Yeah." Spike spread his hands, not sure why this was a sticking point.

The big vampire was across the couch, fingers digging into the boy's shoulders. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Spike's surprise did not turn to wariness or carefully hidden fear, as it might have in the past. Instead, he grabbed Angel's wrists and forced them away. "I could ask the same question."

"You don't just… go get your soul." Angel jerked free and sat up straight, staring at him. "Like it's been at the dry cleaners or something."

"I needed it," Spike said flatly. "It doesn't matter that I love Buffy; it certainly doesn't matter that I'm in love with her. What matters is that I'm in her life. She won't let me be there to block the blade or bolt or spell or whatever gets aimed at her if I can't understand the difference between good and evil.

"I knocked her out, Angel. You know how knocking someone out leads to them being happy with you? Of course it doesn't, and you know better than that." He splayed his fingers across his chest. "I didn't. I –" Spike grimaced. "For a long time, yeah, I can fake it. But the second I stop thinking about every move, every decision, it's pretty obvious I'm nothing but a demon.

"I have to be more than that."

Angel looked down. "You did this for Buffy."

"Maybe there was another way. All I knew was that when I had a soul, I knew the difference between right and wrong. This is how I can be there the next time something comes for her." He leaned over and picked up the paper cup and had the last of the coffee. "She was afraid to call on me for help with the Mayor, because she was afraid that I'd kill humans."

"Like Faith," Angel said grimly.

"Faith?" Spike lifted his brows. "Buffy said she came down on the Mayor's side. That how it happened?"

Angel nodded. "She killed two humans, at least. She poisoned me, she… Faith is in a coma." He looked down, ashamed. "Because of her, I fed on Buffy."

It was his turn to be manhandled. "Explain yourself, Aurelian," Spike said in a soft and dangerous tone, his forearm an iron bar across Angel's throat, not quite pushed into his windpipe.

The big vampire looked up at Spike from where he was pressed into the seat of the couch, then looked away. "The only cure for the poison was the blood of a Slayer. Buffy… saved my life."

Spike's hold eased up. "But she tried to feed you Faith first?" When the big vampire nodded, he hauled him back to a seated position. "Sorry. I should have just listened, but I'm a bit tetchy about her."

"Oh, I understand." The two vampires regarded each other warily. Something occurred to Angel. "You're feeding off humans. Don't deny it; you're too strong for it to be from anything else."

Spike blinked at this accusation. "Well, yeah."

"How does that set with your soul?

"My soul," Spike said, "is not a curse. You don't talk to me much, Angel, but I know some of what you struggle with. It never would have occurred to me to get cursed on purpose. My soul and my demon want the same thing. I mean, the soul hasn't met her yet, but it knows the crap deal that Slayers get. It's on board with my mission.

"The feeding… I have thought about it. I know the people I feed on are affected." He looked away. "I worry that I've caused pregnancies, or unsafe sex, or affairs."

"Or rape."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Gagging for it usually leads to bad decisions, not power games in the form of sexual assault."

It was Angel's turn to look away.

"I use the mesmer to pull them in, feed, and suggest they toss off. I'm not proud of it, but I have to stay strong. That means human blood."

"Why didn't you just ask to be human?"

"Why would I want that? How would that help Buffy?"

"That's what I'd have wished for."

Spike leaned back and stared at him. "I thought about you, you know." He wanted to look away, because this was too much honesty with this man, but he made his gaze steady. "I don't like that you're in pain. You want it, I'll take you there, sit in your corner, hold your towel. Ask the demon for your soul when you win, and then it won't be a curse."

"I'd ask to be human."

The blond man shook his head in irritation. "Angel… there you'd be, laying on the floor of the cave, body beaten to a pulp, human and mortal. You'd have time to cough up blood maybe twice before you die."

Angel looked at him shrewdly. "What were the trials?"

Spike shrugged. "Fights, mostly." He leaned over and propped his forearms on his knees. "Why would you want to be human?"

It took a full minute for the answer to emerge. "Then I'd only have a soul and not a demon. Part of it is what I told you before, trying to stay out of hell. The other…" He let out a long breath and leaned forward, too, holding out his hand so that it was in Spike's field of vision. "Feel my fingertips."

Frowning, he did so, then shrugged, not understanding.

"I'm almost twice as old as you. My fingertips are just a bit more tapered than they were five years ago. If I keep going as a demon, I won't be able to wear my human face. Like the Master, old Batface. I don't fit in the demon world. If I can't be in the human world, either… where does that leave me?"

Spike turned to look at him, then leaned toward the older vampire until shoulders and knees touched. "Never occurred to me, mate."

"Well, you're young. Why would it?"

They sat side by side for a couple of minutes, not uncomfortable in the silence. Then Spike broke it, speaking in a rush.

"I hate it, you know, I'm not doing this, trying to emulate you. I hate that I'm following after you, that you get to the women I love first. I didn't get my soul because you had one, not trying to one-up you –"

"I hate," Angel dammed the torrent of words with a precise handful of his own, "that you do everything better."

"Yeah, well, you do it first. That's what the history books remember." Spike snatched up the empty coffee cup and strode to the kitchen, not looking at him.

Angel sat there, staring down at his hands, waiting for the boy to leave, thinking of how empty the family bed would seem for weeks. He didn't glance up when the combat boots came into his view, but he did when Spike's hands covered his own.

The blond man knelt down. "I fuckin' hate the idea that things are preordained. Like to think I make my own decisions. I know what it looks like to anyone on the outside, but I'm not in competition with you, mate."

Angel turned his hands so he could grip the younger vampire's and pulled him closer, until their foreheads touched. He didn't have any more words. On the face of it, what the boy said was ridiculous. They were vampires; of course they were in competition. But they had souls, too. The only other being on the face of the planet who could really understand his motivations and struggles was, of all people –

The two Aurelians both turned their heads in the direction of the street. Then both looked toward two other points to the side and rear of the building above them.

"You expecting company?"

Angel shook his head. They stood as one, and Angel headed to the tunnel, beckoning Spike to follow. The boy grabbed his coat and got Angel's from the closet, and was on his heels.

"I'll flank them on the front," he said after they dropped down. "You go high." They moved silently until they got to the ladder that led to the nearest manhole. "I guess that explains why I only found humans out tonight."

"Takes them that long to spring an ambush?" Spike scoffed. He went up first, lifting the cover quietly after an initial small scraping noise. Checking their perimeter, he started up the side of the closest building.

Angel set the cover back over the entrance and drew shadow to him. He sensed eight figures hidden around his building, all vampires, and wondered what they were waiting on. Then he checked his watch: a couple minutes until three a.m. Smiling, he went at speed to the figure oriented toward the front door. "You in charge of this shitshow?" he asked conversationally. The vampire made a strangled yelp as he lifted him from the ground by his neck.

"He's on the street!" someone called from his left. Within ten seconds, all seven of the other vampires were facing him. Angel fancied that he could hear Spike's eyes roll from somewhere above.

"Put down my minion, Angelus." The command came from a female vampire on his right.

"Whatever you say." He tossed the vampire fifteen feet so that it landed at her feet.

"You should have stayed in Sunnydale."

He shrugged. "Small towns aren't really my style."

She grinned at him, fangs prominent. "You don't fit in the big city, either. You killed two of my minions this week." The discarded vampire got painfully to its feet and went to guard duty on her right.

Angel glanced around pointedly at the small crew. "And you can't afford to lose even one."

"We're more than enough to take care of you."

"And yet," Angel showed her his palms, "you haven't."

On the rooftop above, Spike saw the gesture and recognized it from hunts carried out long ago. He marked the female who was speaking and crouched, waiting for the first head movement that would give away the attack.

"I wanted to know why you're invading our territory."

"Because you're weak, doddering pissants who can't hold it." He smiled broadly.

She broke for Angel, as did five more. The other two vampires were unfortunate enough to be where Spike dropped down. Their disintegrating particles swirled in the breeze he stirred up as he sprinted to the right, following the rest.

Angel grabbed the first vampire that came toward him and slammed it onto the pavement. He pulled a stake from his coat and dusted the next two with a smooth right-to-left motion. Then it was back to plunge the wood into the first one, who was just getting up from the ground. His stake dusted and he wished with a pang for his wrist-mounted models.

By the time he stood up, the remaining two minions were gone and Spike had the leader in a half nelson. She tried to twist out of it, so he leaned back, taking her feet from the ground. Good, he'd hoped the boy would remember the signal for 'take alive.' He felt a pang; it had always been to identify a human that promised an interesting round of torture.

He forced himself to smile at the female vampire again, playing a role. "So, who does hold this territory?" She growled and struggled again to get away. "I know it isn't you. I'd say you're…" Angel's eyes roamed over her body. She was fit but not a bruiser. From the ease with which Spike held her, he got a sense of her age. "Third in command?"

The yellow eyes widened for a moment. Then she swore and tried again to break free. Spike chuckled.

"You could join up," Angel suggested. "Right now, it's just the two of us. You wouldn't be any worse off." He leaned in and brought his aura to bear, felt her fall still beneath the weight of the regard of an old, old Aurelian. Then he drew back. "Unless you've… submitted?"

She spoke for the first time since being captured. "Never!"

"Well, that's better than most, at least," Spike drawled.

Their captive shook off Angel's supernatural allure. "You're not normal. You don't even feed. Why would I work for a freak like you?"

Angel laughed. "Did you ever wonder why I don't feed from humans in this part of town?" He nodded toward the empty street for emphasis. "Did you see how easy it was for us to take down your boys who do?"

Paranoia was a universal trait of vampires. Angel saw her hesitate, thinking, and plowed on with the recruiting ploy. "I know you're smart; whoever it is you work for trusted you enough to send you out alone." He leaned in again. "While they sat on their ass." He smiled, knowing the resentment; he'd felt the same way whenever the Master ordered Darla around. "Whereas we," he indicated the vampire holding her, "never like to miss a fight. It's all about the three F's for us," he put his mouth close to her ear, "fighting, feeding," he pulled back to look into her yellow eyes, "fucking."

The female vampire grew quiet and still for a long moment, then a sneer wrinkled her face further. "Yeah, you talk big."

Angel shrugged and looked past her to Spike. "Your turn." He grabbed the vamp's free arm and locked the elbow in a painful position behind her back as Spike let go.

The blond man grabbed her fist lazily as she tried to punch at him. He lowered his head to hers. "Hullo, then." He had the talent for mesmer from Drusilla, but had never used it much until the Pax Aurelius forced him to feed using stealth. "Where's your boss' lair?"

Two seconds later, they had a destination. Two minutes later, they had their plan. Spike siphoned gas from the DeSoto's tank into empty whiskey bottles from the floorboards. Angel went back to his basement apartment, slapping at the grit on his trousers, to pick up a few more weapons.

Ten minutes after dawn, it was done. They used the same game plan that Spike used in New York so long ago, firebombing the lair, an old bowling alley. The older vampire waited in the sewers to pick off any stragglers while Spike covered the only functional exit to slaughter the rest.

When they pulled up outside Angel's building in the DeSoto, the shadows were giving way to a golden pink glow. "Now, that was fun," Spike said, turning off the car and pocketing the key.

"Good night's work," Angel agreed.

"I got in at a place to get my hair done tonight," Spike said, gesturing at the offensive curls. "You be all right alone?"

Angel just stared at him for a moment. "I've been all right the tens of thousands of other times you haven't been with me." Then he relented. "But it was a lot easier tonight. Thanks."

"No problem. Come on, let's get this petrol off us. Makes me nervous."

⸹

Spike checked the address he'd scribbled down, then looked at the strip mall doubtfully. He shrugged and went in, setting off a little bell above the door. A young black woman with four-inch fuchsia nails glanced up. "Hey. Welcome to Sheree's." He glanced around. There were no barber chairs or hair dryers.

"I, uh, have a ten o'clock appointment."

"Sure, Spike, isn't it?" She put down her Beverly Jenkins paperback and marked his name off the appointment book with a deftly held pen. "Right this way." She led him toward a hallway behind the counter and pointed down a well-lit stairwell papered with a gold-and-blue design. "Second level. Look for Melba's station." He nodded, more at ease as he picked up the scent of various chemicals and the faint sound of voices and hair dryers.

The first level looked like somewhat like an old-fashioned peep show to him, but the clear booths were being used for spraying clients with the skin color of their choice rather than dancing. The second level was simply an upscale salon, minus any windows. He looked around at the names written in neon above each chair: Michel, Annette, Antoine, Melba.

She came forward to meet him, a short, round Lesser chyrsabeau demon. "And you must be my ten o'clock." She tutted, reaching up to touch his two-toned hair. "You're on time, but, honey, I have to tell you that you're late."

"Yeah," he agreed, "but I understand I'm in good hands."

She blinked at him with both sets of eyelids. "Good hands, honey? The best." Melba got him into her chair and threw a protective nylon cape across him. "I hope you're not attached to it, sugar, 'cause it's got to go." She ran her fingers appraisingly through the curls.

"Yeah, it's fried, I know." He watched Melba fuss about for clippers, then she did something that he hadn't seen before. She tapped on a keyboard on the left side of her station and clicked her mouse a couple of times. A video screen in front of Spike came on, and Melba moved a ceiling-mounted digital camera behind him until he had a front and back view of his head. "Well, that's just neat."

"Mm-hmm, you think our vampire clients ever do their own hair again? Not after coming to Sheree's, honey." He watched, fascinated by the view, as she sheared off the platinum-tipped curls.

"There we go," she crooned as he ran his hand over the velvety stubble left. "Blank canvas." She put her hand on one ample hip. "You thinking about anything in particular?"

"Yeah. Reckon I'm due for a change."

"I'd advise more length to balance out those cheekbones and that jaw," Melba offered, looking at him critically. "You want it bleached again?"

"No." He tucked his chin to see more of his scalp. "I don't remember it being this dark, though." Spike turned his head side-to-side. "I used to wear it long and clubbed back," at Melba's blank look, he elaborated, "in a tail at my nape, I mean."

"You don't like the curl?" She caught his look. "I don't meet many men who do."

"My lady likes it," he admitted.

Melba turned to her computer, moved the mouse, and clicked on something else. The camera feed disappeared and a blank human head appeared, gridlines creeping over it. "How about this for the length? Let me add in your natural curl…."

"A bit longer." He was grinning again at the cool imaging.

"What if I take just a cut here?"

"I know I don't want a fringe."

"No, but just a few strands to break it up, soften things."

"Well, that's okay, I guess. Maybe more of a blond color?"

Melba clicked on her palette and then used her mouse to putter with different hair lengths. They discussed it a bit more, then she clicked on 'print.' "Let me go get this recipe brewed for you. I'll still want to put in highlights after you drink it."

"Yeah, okay."

"You want anything while you wait?" She nodded to the service board by the doorway.

Spike squinted. "Uh, sure, how about the hot towel shave?"

Melba gave him a critical look. "How about a mani-pedi, too? It'll take that long."

He let her twist his arm. Melba called over a short young man with a folding razor and a rolling steam cart for the towels. She came back with the potion that would make his hair grow to the right length in the agreed upon color. Spike drank it in one motion and was surprised by the taste. "Last time I had one of these potions, it tasted like tar."

"We brew ours with an organic honeysuckle base," Melba sniffed, then admitted, "but you'll still get a tar aftertaste over the next couple of hours."

By the time his nails were buffed – he chose to forego the polish – his hair had grown past his shoulders and the maddening, prickling sensation across his scalp had ceased. Melba reclaimed him and turned on the camera feed again so he could watch her work her magic with scissors and bits of foil.

"So, tell me about your lady that likes your curls. Is she cute?"

"She's all the words," he grinned. "Cute, lovely, beautiful, gorgeous. Just depends on her mood."

"Sounds like you've got it bad."

"Yeah," he admitted. "Haven't seen her in a while. Heading back to Sunnydale tomorrow night."

"Sunnydale?"

"Yeah?" Spike peered at the hairdresser, surprised by her sharp tone.

"Well, be careful. There was a mess after what the Sunnydale Mayor did. I've heard of demons leaving the town. It's dangerous up there."

"I'll be careful," he agreed. Sunnydale was a dangerous place for demons and would be more dangerous once the Slayer had him at her side.

When Melba was done, he looked at the video feed in admiration. "Love, that's the most natural-looking my hair's been in about forty years. I like it."

"It's your own texture. It'll still curl when it's wet, even with the length weighing it down," she warned. "You'll want to blow dry."

"That's okay. You wouldn't happen to have a thong, would you?" He raised a quick hand when she drew away from him with an affronted look. "A scrap of leather, I mean. To tie it back." Melba gave him an elastic band, and he gave her an extravagant tip to make up for his faux pas. Mollified, she sent him upstairs to pay.

Feeling better now that he could blend in, Spike went out to look for a Target or something similar open around the clock. He needed more clothes, toiletries, and, apparently, a hair dryer.

⸹

Sunnydale

⸹

"Thanks for coming along, Xander," Buffy said, smiling as she stood up from a tombstone.

"No problem. I miss seeing you every day." He fell into step next to her and held up a hand so she could see he already had a stake.

"I miss that, too." Her time at the job site had ended a couple of weeks ago. Buffy gave him an impish look. "And the money, which is mostly gone."

"College stuff?"

She nodded. "Mom doesn't talk about it, but I think she's swinging tuition by herself." Buffy shrugged. "I didn't want to ask for help with clothes, and the rest I've set aside to buy books."

"Do you know what classes you're taking?" When she shook her head, Xander examined her a long moment. "Buffy, if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

"Wh-what?" She glanced up at him. "It's nothing. I mean, I've known for a while Dad's out of the parenting game."

Xander didn't say anything for a while. They left the graveyard and walked onto the sidewalk. It was a perfect, breezy California night, shirtsleeves weather, and it would be romantic if they weren't looking for demons to kill. A bittersweet smile drifted across his mouth before he spoke again. "Is it Angel?"

"What? No," Buffy said quickly. She held up a hand. They were outside a park, and something was lurking in the picnic shelter. Xander marveled as the Slayer marched up to it, looking like the world's tiniest Amazon, and a vampire still sprang out of the shadows at her. He shook his head; Sunnydale vampires were idiots.

"Yaa!" he cried almost immediately as another grabbed his arm. He slipped the hold, using what he'd learned so far in judo, and managed to trip it. While the vampire was down, he shoved the stake at it with all his strength, piercing its chest cavity. His stake dusted, too, and he quickly retrieved another from his back pocket.

While he'd been busy, Buffy had finished with her first attacker and was fighting two others. She jammed her stake at one, dusting it, and kicked the other at once. It staggered away a few feet, away from her and towards Xander. It turned on him with a snarl, and as he stumbled away, Buffy leapt toward its back and rode it into the ground. She stayed there on her knees for longer than Xander expected, looking at the ash as it began to skitter across the concrete, pushed by the breeze coming off the ocean.

After checking around them, he went to her and held out a hand. "Buf? You okay?"

The Slayer started a little, as though he'd surprised her, then took his hand. She gave him a sad smile as she stood up. "Thanks. It's always easier when I have someone to patrol with."

After saying that, she fell silent. Xander knew from growing up in his parents' house that there were some silences better left alone. They walked through a couple more cemeteries, then came to the hillside park near Xander's home. He put a hand on Buffy's sleeve and motioned toward the fortress. Her eyebrows rose, and she followed him.

They sat down facing each other, mostly for surveillance. After a moment, Buffy turned her face into the wind. "Nice view," she noted.

"It is," he agreed. Then he went on, because she was his friend, and she was unhappy. "If it isn't starting college or Angel, what is it? Are you okay?"

The breeze lifted her hair twice before she spoke, her words a monotone. "I think Spike's dead."

This was not what Xander expected. "Like, really dead? Dust dead?" When she nodded, he shook his head. "Why would you think that?"

She let out a sigh and looked down. "When he drove me to Los Angeles last year… You know how he tried to walk out into daylight?" Xander nodded; it was one of the few things she'd told him and Willow about her missing summer. "When I left him… I was afraid he'd try it again, so I…" A spasm went across her face; this was so hard to say. "I took a mouthful of his blood, and he took some of mine. It's called a 'mindlink,' and we can sort of talk to each other no matter where we are."

Xander was still focused on the blood exchange. "That's… not of the good."

Buffy closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "I know. But I was really worried for him, and he was," she chose her words carefully, "I thought he was the only friend I had who could understand."

"Understand…?"

"I felt like a killer, Xander. I killed Angel, not Angelus. He literally had no idea of what had happened, his soul, I mean. The last thing he knew, we were… the night of my birthday." She fell silent and turned her face back to the darkness on the horizon that marked the Pacific.

"I should have told you Willow was going to try." He closed his eyes a moment and shook his head. "I didn't think it would work, but mostly I just wanted him dead."

"You were right, to not tell me. If I hadn't fought with everything I had, he would have killed me. Don't swordfight Angelus," she advised, smiling for no reason Xander could see. She looked back at him. "Anyway, I can't talk to him anymore. Spike, I mean. The first time I did, he knew I needed him back in Sunnydale, and he was all the way down in Argentina." She shrugged.

"He can read your mind, too?"

She shook her head. "It isn't really like that. It's kind of like a video conference. We always meet at the truck stop, you know that diner outside of Sunnydale as you're heading to L.A.? We used to go there for coffee after patrol, and I sit on one side of the booth, he sits on the other, and we talk."

"No other effects from drinking his blood?" Xander asked warily.

"No. It was just a taste. He said rival vampire clans will do that when they negotiate, so they can trust each other." She shrugged. "I called him for help when Angel came back, but it took him so long to travel back to California, that was kind of over."

"So… he didn't just happen to show up."

Buffy shook her head. "No. He… He's as much my friend as you are, or Willow, and –" She looked down, but the sob that choked off her words had already given her away.

"Oh, Buffy," Xander said. He scooted closer to her, still keeping an eye on the side of the park she couldn't see, and put an awkward arm on her shoulders. "Don't cry. You can't be sure he's really gone. I mean, the other side of the world and all." He didn't want Spike to be dead, either. "That's a lot farther than Argentina." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Even I know that."

"I know," she sniffled. She couldn't explain the absence in her mind adequately.

"And you should definitely tell Willow what's on your mind. She's afraid you aren't going to start college at all."

Buffy pulled away from him. "What?" Then she had to smile. "Of course that would be what Willow worries about."

⸹

Los Angeles

⸹

Angel gave up on Spike about five in the morning and went to bed. The boy came in five minutes later, being ostentatiously quiet after he saw the dark basement. He smiled because Spike couldn't see him from the foot of the stairs and called out, "I'm awake."

"Do you mind if I turn on a light?"

"Go ahead."

Angel put his arms behind his head and waited. He'd glanced at Spike's list. The pad of paper was tossed onto the couch, so it hadn't felt like snooping. The blond man had drawn a pyramid shape with words around it. After a moment of puzzling, Angel recognized it as Maslow's hierarchy, with 'house? apartment?' written by the widest part and the boxed word 'mission' over the top. He supposed it wasn't a bad attempt to figure out how to put together a life. There were some things on the list he'd never considered, like 'mobile' and 'Internet.' Maybe he should –

"How do you think it looks?" Spike asked, interrupting his reverie.

Angel sighed and stood up so he could see the haircut and say admiring things, and then maybe get some sleep. "It looks…."

One hundred years fell away. Spike the platinum-haired punk was gone. This was his boy standing in front of him, saying something about his shirt being itchy from bits of hair, but Angel scarcely heard it. He reached out to the bare-chested vampire and sank his fingers into the honey-blond locks at the back of Will's neck. He pulled him close in, his lips parting….

And he turned away, stumbling back until he felt the bed against his legs, rolling over so he wouldn't have to face Spike. "It looks fine," he said gruffly. "Like you used to look."

There was no response, and Angel closed his eyes tightly. Then he heard a clink and the slide of a zipper, the whisper of fabric against skin. Spike took his shoulder in a firm grip and rolled him onto his back. If he didn't open his eyes, did it make it more or less likely that the boy would just leave?

Spike looked at the old man, concern and exasperation on his face. He hadn't seen a look of such naked longing directed at him in his entire existence. Angel was rigid on the bed, in all senses. He was set to go another hundred years without touching another person, it seemed.

He had no real plan or direction, just a need to provide some comfort and an erection of his own, sparked by that look. Spike straddled Angel's legs and drew down the black boxers he wore to bed. The brown eyes remained shut, his jaw locked. Spike leaned over the big body, drawing a sound like pain from Angel.

"Shh," he said, nonsensically, and pried Angel's hand away from his side and brought it to where their cocks were rubbing together. Spike scooted up a bit. "Slow," he said, a request. Angel took a gasping breath and wrapped his fingers around the both of them.

Spike sat up straighter, knowing the lamplight on his body might be enough temptation. Angel had always liked to watch. He took his grandsire's other hand in his, but otherwise didn't move.

Angel gritted his teeth. How many times had they done this, had he done this? Had Will ever come to him voluntarily? Maybe the first weeks. That one strange night on a train. The whole family at play in a big feather bed, or to break up long hours of daylight while their ladies were gone, or as a performance for Darla, to tempt her to bed. So many memories, so much lust.

Slow.

He slid his hand down their hard flesh, and his lips parted. Angel opened his eyes. Instead of flickering candlelight, Spike's body was lit by the steady glow of the lamp near the couch. The boy had laid his head back. His beautiful boy.

Another stroke.

Angel looked at his hand, at what it was doing, at the erotic splendor of their two bodies. Not so slow now. How had this happened? Why was he doing this? It was wrong, surely.

Why did it have to feel right? Why did it have to feel so good?

"Mmm." One deep, hoarse syllable. Spike's free hand trailed over Angel's thigh, up to his balls, cupped them.

He cried out, eyes closing again, and felt his entire body melt.

Then Angel went rigid once more. He let go of them and turned the other way, jerking his boxers over his traitorous cock, forcing Spike to the side. But the boy kept holding his other hand. He returned the favor, a punishing grip.

Spike ended up half-crouched against Angel's shoulder and back, making sure the old man didn't let go of his hand. "Shh," he said again.

"… reckless."

"Are you –?"

"What were you thinking?!"

Spike wasn't sure who Angel was talking to. "Peaches?"

This time the words were clear. "You know what could happen."

"Yeah, I'm not going to ever be the one to give you the big happy," Spike drawled. Angel tried to wrench away from him, but he kept the big vampire in bed by main force.

"Why?" he demanded angrily.

"So you don't have an excuse to be so lonely, maybe." Spike rested his chin on Angel's shoulder. "You looked at me like a kid looks at Christmas presents. I mean, you looked at me like that. Don't build intimacy up into the Great Forbidden, mate. I'll just make you want it that much more."

"Are you insane?" Angel managed to pull his hand free, but didn't move out of bed. He felt too vulnerable to risk it.

"No. And I'm not going to let you drive yourself crazy, either." Spike sighed. "Yeah, souls or not, we're still vampires. You're mine. Dunno if we can ever safely share a bed. What's a little frottage between friends? But if you're going to make a life here in L.A., make it a full life."

"I don't want your pity."

"Not giving you pity. I'm giving you an object lesson, Aurelian." Spike was beginning to be irritated.

"Don't play the Master with me."

He bit down on several BDSM jokes. "You can be the Master next year. We'll take turns. Whoever is Master has to buy the booze for the family reunion." Spike let go of his grandsire, threw himself to the mattress, and stared at the ceiling. "If you want me to apologize, Angel, you have to tell me what I did to offend you."

Angel scowled. He couldn't use Angelus as an excuse; he'd had the same thought as Spike, that with their history, the blond man would never make him completely happy. He couldn't claim coercion, since he'd been a willing participant. "You caught me at a weak point."

"Better I catch you at a weak point than some petite, innocent blond. Try again."

"I planned to live like a monk."

"Well, then, I'm sorry. I don't think it's a particularly healthy lifestyle, though, as you don't have a monastery to support you."

"I meant, I planned to be celibate."

Exactly what Spike had figured. "For another hundred years? You don't have to be, mate." He lifted a hand high so that Angel could see it, forestalling any protest. "Just… something to consider." He sighed. "I am sorry, truly. I've made you uncomfortable, when I was trying to be comforting. This has been nice, the past couple of days. I didn't mean to bollix it up." Spike stared up at the ceiling some more. "When I go back to Sunnydale, I won't have this. Have to be careful not to hurt Xander or Willow if I hug them. I'll have to watch my words around Joyce. I'm a vampire, and so are you. You understand. I can be myself."

Angel listened to this confession. His anger softened; he did understand. He'd never felt free to be himself around Buffy. He never wanted to disappoint her. Spike was right; what happened between them was absolutely natural between two of their kind.

The other thing that was bothering him he could never bring up: Spike had unmanned him. He had spent completely and the blond man hadn't, not even once.

Finally, some words came. They were oblique, but they would have to do. "I know the trigger is happiness, but… intimacy is how I got to happiness. It's going to be scary for a long time. Forever, I guess. I'm not angry anymore. Just," he turned enough to spot Spike's hand and took it in his, careful to touch nothing else, "don't do that again."

"Even if you look at me like it's a hot day and I'm an ice cream cone you want to lick?"

"Shut up, Spike."

⸹

Angel walked out to the DeSoto with Spike after sunset, his hands in his coat pockets. After another restful night in the family bed and entirely normal conversation after the night's debacle, he figured he'd be glad to have the blond risk factor out of his house. Instead, he felt strangely melancholy.

Spike opened his trunk and put in the bundle of clothes and toiletries that had migrated indoors during his stay. He slammed it shut and turned to prop against a tailfin. "You keep a weather eye out, yeah? Doubt there'll be any fallout from that ambush, but you never know."

"You be careful, too. The Hellmouth's never calm for long." Angel looked down. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"As much as she'll let me – or as much as I can get away with, more likely."

"Well, you look nicer. That should help."

Spike snorted. "Was that a compliment?"

"No."

The shorter man laughed, then grew serious. "Do you know the difference between Buffy and most every other Slayer I've ever seen?" When Angel shook his head, Spike said softly, "She has friends, family. Makes her strong, Angel." He gripped his grandsire's forearm. "I'm glad I was here to help the other night. Don't turn down help when it comes."

Angel nodded, and they touched foreheads. "Drive safe."

"I will. I'll be in touch soon. And don't forget to go see Melba. She's a miracle worker."

Then his boy was gone, taking his soul and his hopes to Sunnydale. She'd be kind to him; Angel knew that much. She'd let him down the same way she'd let down Xander. Buffy would find some nice human, someone worthy of her, and Spike would make sure she got another year or two to enjoy him.

He walked to the end of the block and turned down the alley, headed to the clubs to the west, looking for trouble.

⸹

"Oh, good. Right on time, Spike."

"Wouldn't want to keep you waiting,"

Giles stared at him as he came through the apartment door. "Quite a transformation."

Spike touched his queue self-consciously. "Yeah, figured it was time to change my look."

"It'll take a bit of getting used to."

"Still don't know what to wear besides black t-shirts."

"I suppose button-downs are off the table." Giles noted that he wasn't wearing his leather duster, but it was August, after all.

Spike sat on the couch and gave the Watcher an expectant look. "Yeah, I'd rather not look all charter accountant."

Giles sat down on the other end of the couch. "Understandable. So, what's this news?"

"First, I'd like to ask you to still not tell Buffy or anyone I'm back, not just yet." He held up a hand to forestall the rejection of his request. "Wait until you hear me out before you turn me down." Spike sighed. "The reason I had to be away, and I am very sorry I wasn't here to help with the Ascension, is that I had to go and get my soul."

Giles didn't react other than to frown. "You're saying you've been cursed?"

"No," Spike said patiently. "I went to see a demon bound to a cave in Africa. If you win a series of trials, he grants you a boon. I won. He granted."

"Spike… You know I can check to see if you're telling the truth."

It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. "Fine, Watcher. Go brew up eye ointment or get your crystals to read my aura. Whatever."

"You can understand that I'm skeptical of this… claim. Why would a demon seek a soul?" He lifted an eyebrow.

Spike looked down. "I got an object lesson in why I needed to understand what is good and what is… not." When he looked up, Giles was watching him narrowly.

"You're in love with Buffy." There was jeering in his tone.

"Yeah." Good Lord, he had been obvious about it.

"And Angel had a soul, so you figured –"

"Nothing to do with Angel," Spike said precisely. "I knocked your Slayer out because… I wanted to show her something. It was an incredibly stupid and… demonic way to get her to where I wanted her." He looked down at the sofa cushion. "Only after I did that did it occur to me that it was wrong."

The outer façade of scholarly librarian was just… gone. "What did you do to her?" The words were soft and dangerous.

Spike leaned away from the human, eyebrows raised. "As I'm not a pile of dust, I obviously just sat there with her for the minute it took her to come to. I apologized." He came up off the couch, semi-crouched, and slowly moved so he was inches from the Watcher's deadly eyes. "Then I got off my arse and went to do something about that colossal stupidity. I knew right from wrong when I had my soul. I needed it again, because I know why I'm here instead of being worm food.

"I'm here to keep your Slayer alive. I don't want her calling; I don't want to fight the Big Bads for her. My purpose is to have her back so she can slay your demons. I couldn't fit into her life before. You know why she kept me away from the Mayor's boys."

Spike sank back onto the couch. "I can fit in now. And my soul is my own, not a curse."

The dangerous man inside the scholar was almost hidden again. "Stay right there."

For the next fifteen minutes, while Giles arranged his crystals and burned his candles, Spike fumed at the injustice of it, while his soul soothed him, reminding him that he should be glad she had a Watcher that didn't take chances. When the candles guttered and blew out, seemingly by themselves, he glared at Giles. "Happy?"

"I won't apologize. I won't take chances, not where Buffy is concerned." The human sat down abruptly in an easy chair. "You said you faced trials? What trials?"

Spike shrugged angrily. "Fights, mostly. Went on for about a week."

"You could have asked for anything."

"It's a demon, not a god or and Old One. I couldn't ask for England to win another World Cup or anything. But, within reason, yeah."

Giles was at a loss. He put his face in his hands for a moment. "I can't tell you what a shit year this has been. Annus horribilis. I had to – I chose to betray Buffy, I lost my job, my access to Council assistance and knowledge. I couldn't do anything for Faith. I had to watch a wet-behind-the-ears git dither about, could do nothing when the Council sent in its wetworks team. I blew up the school where I worked, Spike. I used explosives to blow up a school, with humans around everywhere. I feel utterly useless since Buffy's starting college.

"And you waltz in, bloody casual, and have your soul. A demon, who went and got his soul on purpose, so he could help the Slayer. Huh."

"Sorry to add to your troubles, Watcher."

"Add to – Spike, you just salvaged this rubbish year. A demon chose good." He sat straight up, staring at the vampire. "I saw an angel."

"Uh," Spike said, beginning to be concerned, "still a vampire. Not an angel. Or do you mean Angel?" He waved his hand around his head to indicate hair product.

"No, you berk. The day you wrote that letter to Buffy, there was an angel behind you."

Dark blue eyes narrowed. "No one made me do anything."

"No! That's the point." Giles stood up and paced away. "You chose good. Demons don't have free will. No wonder there was an angel there; I'm surprised there weren't more. Or-or maybe there were, and I just couldn't see –"

Spike was across the room to Giles, clawed fingers digging into his arms, yellow eyes glaring at him. "I am not some cosmic toss of the die for the Powers That Be," he snarled. "I made a decision; I paid a price. It worked out. There is no greater meaning, no destiny, no fulfilled prophecies."

"You can deny it all you want, Spike," Giles said evenly. "It means something."

He lost the fangs and let go of the Watcher, turning away. "It means she can trust me," he said tiredly, "that's all." Spike let out a sigh. "You wouldn't happen to have any more of that Scotch?"

They didn't speak again until they were seated at the little kitchen table, drinks in hand. Spike stared morosely into his glass as Giles studied him.

"You said you needed my help with some books?"

"Yeah, that and one other thing." Spike took a sip and swirled the Scotch. "Figured the Council would have come crawling to get you back by now, so it may not be something you can help with. I need ID. The Council probably could have pulled strings. I was hoping for a nice, red passport, even."

Giles' eyes narrowed for a minute, then he leaned back to grab a pen and magnetized pad of paper from the refrigerator. "I know the people who do paperwork for the Council. I think I can get you set up. What name do you want?"

Spike thought quietly for about half a minute. "William Henry Allgood," he said finally, a hoarseness to his voice.

Giles jotted it down beneath the printed logo 'Shopping List.' "Did I get the spelling right?" When Spike nodded, he asked kindly, "Is it your real name?"

"Close enough. Henry was my father's name." He shrugged.

"Birth date?"

"April… the twentieth." He sounded surprised to be able to remember it.

"How old are you? What do you want for the year, I mean?"

"Twenty-seven. Well, I'd just turned twenty-eight when Drusilla bagged me." He watched Giles write, then added, "Uh, I'm wadded up. Just let me know how much."

"Twenty thousand American." He looked up at Spike and gave a sheepish grin, but didn't explain his familiarity with the price.

"Worth it," Spike said shortly. He changed the subject to his ostensible reason for stopping by, the books in the Master's private chamber. "Uh, you up for a trip underground?"

"The books are underground?" The librarian was understandably worried.

"In a cave. Protected." Spike tilted back his glass and let the last of the Scotch burn its way down his throat. "It's the Master's collection. I thought you'd be the safest person to have them."

"The Master's… Books about the Old Ones?"

Spike nodded. "A lot of them. Keep them, destroy them, dispose of them, whatever you think best. You think Xander would want to come along?" He wouldn't mind seeing the boy.

"He's working these days. His judo instructor runs a construction company. Xander just wanted to get money for a new set of tires for his car, but it's turned into a fulltime job. He really impressed his boss."

"'Course he did. Well, as long as you're up for some manual labor yourself."

Giles found a bookbag for himself and a duffel for Spike to carry, and they took off toward the remnants of the high school in the DeSoto. Giles made comments on two separate occasions that a soul apparently had no effect on driving skill.

Several earthquakes and the explosion in the school had made the way to the old underground church more treacherous, but they made it through the rubble in a little more than an hour. Giles marveled at the tar-black magicks that still roiled the surface over the opening of the Master's long-time home.

Spike hesitated. He'd braved the wards once before, coming back with the notes that revealed the location of the Judge's various parts, but that had been before he had the soul. Still, he was fairly sure what the Master had been seeking all those years, and it couldn't be coincidence that his attention kept returning to the New World. With a small sigh, he sat on the lip of the abyss and dropped his legs into the icy blackness. At the very least, he and Giles could get some dangerous books to a safe place.

Going through was easier with his soul, Spike was glad to find. The dark images fled from its light. He'd brought a lantern down with him and was pleased to see that nothing had changed. Spike loaded the bookbag four times and tugged on the chain so that Giles could haul them up. One more load should do it.

While he waited for the bookbag to drop down again, he ran his fingers underneath the shelves, then looked beneath the desk. He almost missed it, surely would have if not for the bright, steady light of the lantern.

The Master had nailed a thin veneer onto the bottom back of the desk. Spike pried at it, and a single page of notes slid onto the stone floor. "Hullo," he said. It was a column of letters and numbers. The blond vampire smiled. He had a feeling that he wouldn't have to read entire books, just the specific pages noted for these abbreviated titles.

Giles dropped the bookbag down, and Spike pocketed the handwritten notes and finished packing the collection. He looked around at the barren little cell as he waited for the chain to descend a final time, feeling sympathy for the emptiness of the Master's life. He knew which part of him that came from.

The Watcher was breathing hard by the time Spike was high enough to pull himself the rest of the way from the hole. They squeezed their way through the narrow passages into the main tunnel and were back at Giles' apartment before two o'clock.

"As much as I'd like to tackle these, I'm just too tired." Giles took off his glasses and squinted at Spike. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Thought I'd check into a hotel." Spike looked down at the open duffel bag. "I, uh, I'm not sleepy. If the light won't bother you, I'll sort these books before I go. You want them by language or topic?"

"Oh. That's kind of you. Language, if you please, unless they're mostly just Latin or something. The light doesn't bother me, but noise does."

"I'll keep a lid on it. And thank you for going to get these."

Giles shrugged. He'd managed to keep his interest in this new Spike under control, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. "Good night… William."

The vampire glared at him. "It's Spike."

"Of course," the Watcher replied in a maddeningly condescending tone. He turned to the stairs and lifted a hand in farewell so quickly that Spike almost missed his grin.

Spike took out the Master's parchment from his pocket and sat down on the floor next to the duffel bag of books. He put the list of notes on the coffee table and pulled out the first one, a greasy-feeling leather-bound tome that sent a prickle of magic chasing across his knuckles. The next few hours of study were rewarding beyond anything he expected.

'Valley of the sun' and other flowery language aside, he was pretty sure he knew the location of the crypt. It wasn't far from where he'd knocked out Buffy, in fact. There was no cemetery there, just the park. He itched to be out, but he was trapped until the sun went down.

Spike paced the downstairs of the apartment, barely noting Giles' soft snores from upstairs, automatically skirting the areas where morning light fell through the windows. If the Gem of Amara did what the legends said, if it was really here… Maybe he could take his lady to the beach on a sunny Saturday.

They could do everything together, night or day. She wanted to travel; he could tell from the wistful way she asked about the places he'd been. I could fly in an airplane, he thought, coming to a standstill in the hallway, a smile of wonder on his face. Paris, Rome, and Tokyo, she'd said, and Buffy would love London, too, he knew she would.

We can't afford that, a polite, regretful voice said. And, gruff and weary, another voice added, Don't count your chickens. Have to find it first, see if it works.

Right. No different than buying a lottery ticket; all you really have is a piece of paper unless the numbers fall your way.

If he was guessing, the park at the end of Valle del Sol Avenue was twenty-five to thirty acres, not terrifically large, but he couldn't just go poking around with a shovel and not attract attention. Spike wandered into the kitchen and got the pad of paper from Giles' refrigerator. He leaned against the counter and tapped the top sheet a couple of times with the pen, jotted down a couple of thoughts. Then Spike paced some more.

When Giles woke up at nine-thirty, he found his guest asleep on the couch. He took a throw from the linen closet and drew it over his fellow Brit, then went around drawing curtains and shutting blinds. When he came back, he checked the neat stacks of books, even started to take one, but the way his skin crawled when his fingers hovered over it made Giles change his mind. Last night he'd worn gloves and hadn't noticed so much. Maybe after breakfast.

He popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and put on the kettle before he saw he'd left his grocery list on the table. Then he realized it wasn't his writing on the top sheet. Giles put on his glasses and read over Spike's notes: Metal detector? Ground penetrating radar? Shovel, pick, wheelbarrow, work gloves. 3-4 veil spells, Magic Box.

Giles lifted an eyebrow. Obviously, Spike planned to dig something up, once he found it. Another cache of books? And if he was going to set up a veil, he didn't want to be seen – though he hadn't bothered to hide it here. Something dangerous, then.

He looked through the open area to the couch. All he could see of Spike was a covered shoulder. Behind him, his toast popped up from the little appliance. Giles puttered around the little kitchen, finishing with breakfast, then cleaning up. By the time everything was back in order, he'd decided what to do.

⸹

The sound of a door opening woke Spike, and he sat up, groggy, not sure where he was. He immediately regretted the motion, wincing against the brightness.

"Hey! Look at you," Xander boomed, grinning at him and quickly shutting out the sunlight. "No more Captain Peroxide."

"X-man," Spike said, blinking, grateful for the absence of afternoon sunlight.

Xander came around the couch and took him in a tight hug. "Good to see you, man. Giles says you've been all the way to Africa."

Spike returned the hug. "Giles says you're gainfully employed these days."

"Giles says, have a coffee," Giles said, leaning past Xander to offer a large, lidded cup.

"Giles says the nicest things," Spike murmured. He held up a finger and took a sip, found the coffee to be cool enough, and drank half of it down. "Ah, that's better." He pulled the throw off his legs – where had that come from? – and patted the cushion. "Have a seat."

"Better not. Just got off work." He indicated his dusty clothes and sat on the coffee table. Xander was immediately off the coffee table, shivering. "Yeesh," he said, looking at the piles of books he'd brushed against, "that was creepy. Those the books you guys got last night?"

"Supper's on," Giles called from kitchen, effectively distracting Xander, who turned to the kitchen.

"We stopped for Chinese," he explained over his shoulder. Spike trailed after him, finishing the rest of the coffee. He wondered if this is how Angel had felt when he disrupted his quiet solitude.

Giles directed the conversation Xander's way, and the young man did most of the talking between forkfuls of General Tso's chicken, telling Spike about prom, graduation, and the Ascension, then about how patrols had been intense over the summer. He finished up explaining how a temporary job to pay for new tires for the Charger ended up becoming permanent. "Alvin – that's my boss – said that if he gets another bid, he'll make me site manager. That's like, terrifying, but I'd be making forty large."

Awake now and genuinely happy for the boy, Spike lifted a carton of shrimp fried rice in salute. "Good on you, mate." He nodded toward the Watcher. "He said you met your boss at a judo class?"

"Yeah, I test for my orange belt a couple of Saturdays from now. Alvin's instructor gives the test, over in Dutton."

"That's just neat."

"Giles said you had some news, too." Xander had finished his food. He picked up a fortune cookie and looked at Spike expectantly.

After Giles' reaction, he felt shy about telling the story, but the Watcher helped him along. At the end, Xander was nodding.

"You remember that conversation we had in the library? I think it was the last time I saw you before you left. I'm not surprised. I saw the look on your face when you talked about Buffy and mortality." Any cosmic meaning connected to a demon choosing a soul wasn't a consideration for him.

"I'm in love with her." Spike's words were soft, and he grimaced after saying them.

Xander put a hand across the table. "Welcome to the club. Membership: anyone who's ever met Buffy. We don't have meetings, but we don't ask for dues, either."

The vampire grinned and gave the boy's fingers a perfunctory shake. "I guess it only seems embarrassing to me because she's supposed to be my moral enemy."

"Well, when you see her, don't be surprised by a few tears. She's been afraid you wouldn't come back. As in, dust."

Spike looked startled, then guilty. "Should have talked to her once I started back," he said, voice gruff.

Giles moved aside some napkins and grabbed the notes he'd found to hand to Spike. He swallowed hastily and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I saw your list. I got the supplies this afternoon while you slept, and you did want Xander with us last night, so…."

Spike gawped at him. "You…" He looked down and bit his lip, then tried for impressed rather than touched. Buffy had worried for him; Xander was glad to see him; Giles was helping him. He deserved none of this. He cleared his throat. "How on earth did you find ground-penetrating radar?"

Xander shrugged. "Alvin uses it to inspect buildings for damage after earthquakes. It's, like, a thirty thousand dollar piece of equipment, so we have to be careful. I've got a company truck, too, and I'm more worried about that, to be honest."

"Xander borrowed it for the weekend, to help Buffy and Willow move into their dorm rooms."

"Rooms? They're not rooming together?"

"Didn't work out," Xander said. "Maybe next semester." Then he turned to Giles and grinned. "I'll be moving this weekend, too. I just signed the lease."

"You got the apartment? That's wonderful, Xander."

"It's time. I'm ready. My mom taught me how to order takeout and not take care of the house, so I'm good."

"Congratulations," Spike echoed. He wondered if Giles had changed the topic to give him a chance to regain his composure. Both of his companions were looking at him, so he thought he might as well give them a chance to opt out.

"Dunno if you really want to help with this." He explained that the Master had been seeking a legendary relic as far back as he could remember, and why he hoped to find it now.

Giles got it right away. "You'd be invulnerable." He didn't look happy.

Spike nodded, but before he could say anything, Xander said, "He could have asked for that after the trials."

The vampire sent him a grateful look. "I don't need it, but I won't lie. Every vampire fantasizes about being able to walk in sunlight again."

"Daywalker," Xander intoned.

"When are you going to tell Buffy, about any of this?" Giles let out a sigh. "I'd feel much better if she knew."

Xander gave Spike a sympathetic look and turned to the Watcher. "Spike didn't get a new 'do for the Slayer, Giles. He got it for Buffy."

"You're feeling shy?"

"A little," Spike replied defensively.

"Oh, good Lord," Giles said. He stood up and began clearing the table. "It's almost dark. Let's go and see what we find."

The park closed at ten, but the lot was already empty by the time Xander drove the crew cab pickup over the curb and onto the grass. Spike pointed toward the manhole cover he'd found. "Let's start there." Giles started the first veiling candle, and they got a hit the first area they tried.

"And it's supposed to be a crypt?" Giles asked as they huddled around the black-and-white-screen, looking at a rectangular shape that fit the description.

"In Sunnydale, what else would it be?" Xander offered. Then he grimaced. "We'd have to bring in an excavator to get to it."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Let's try another way." He paced off the distance and opened the sewer access while the humans gathered equipment from the back of the truck. Thirty disappointing minutes later, Xander laid the metal detector over his shoulder like an axe. "I don't think this is going to find anything," he said, dejected, and started to walk toward the ladder that led back to the surface.

The metal detector let out a long beep, then went silent.

Xander stopped and turned around, and they all looked up at the ceiling.

"Walk back just a bit," Giles directed.

Beeeep.

Giles glanced down the length of the tunnel toward the entrance, estimating how many yards underground they were. "It couldn't be more than a couple of feet above us."

They grinned at each other. "What now?" Xander asked.

After another trip to the truck, Spike went up a ladder with a pickaxe. All of them were wearing safety glasses, at Xander's insistence. The humans, also wearing hardhats and handkerchiefs over their faces, braced the ladder, a veiling candle burning on either side on the tunnel floor. Even with vampire strength, it took twenty minutes before the ax hit something other than rock or dirt, and the lantern light was dim from all of the dust in the air.

"That's metal," Xander said, sounding muffled beneath the cloth. Spike chipped some more rock away, trying to clear a width equal to his shoulders. He went up another step and rapped on it.

Xander bent over to examine some of the rock. "I'd say this was poor quality cement, except it's probably just really old adobe or something."

"I'd say it's a crypt," Giles said softly. He took off his glasses and wiped the dust from them.

Spike pulled his t-shirt up to cover his face so he could get some air to talk. "You wouldn't happen to have any welding equipment to go with those tanks I saw in the back of the truck, would you?"

Xander shrugged. "Let's go find out."

"And get some fresh air," Giles added gratefully.

As they came out of the access hatch, Spike leaned down and asked Giles quietly, "Got a stake?" He took the wooden weapon and was gone, fast and soundless. "Three vampires at the shelter by the car park," he reported.

It was almost one o'clock now, and the incursion of demons into this out-of-the-way park sobered the company. Spike went back up the ladder and used the torch to heat the metal and begin making a hatch. The humans stood back from the dangerous process, Xander musing on the happenstance of oxy-fuel cutting supplies being in the truck just when they needed it.

The torch guttered about five minutes before Spike figured he would be through. He made an impatient sound and dropped down the ladder.

"Dry," Xander confirmed, checking the tanks. "Spike, your arm!" There was a nasty burn on his forearm.

"Drip." He tilted the welding helmet. "What time is it?"

"Twenty till three," Giles said, checking his watch.

Spike grimaced. "We can't leave it like this. Tell your boss I'll owe him a pair of welding gloves." He dropped the helmet back in place, groped around for the ladder, and went back up. Bracing himself, he grabbed the sides of the metal piece that had sagged downward and began wrenching at the hot material. Spike made a guttural sound, took another breath, and twisted, pulling himself up to add the weight of his body to the metal. It gave, reluctantly, and he forced it to one side of the opening.

Spike dropped down to ground and cradled his hands for a moment. Xander helped him out of the welding helmet, and Giles helped him peel away the gloves. "Give me a minute or two," he gritted out.

Giles nodded and took a flashlight from the pile of equipment on the floor. He nodded to Xander, who braced the ladder, and the Watcher climbed up, craning to see what was above them. After a moment, he came down. "I can't see anything, I'm afraid." Xander tried, too, with no more success.

"Right," Spike said. He pulled the gloves back on and went up. He put his hands on the edge of the opening he'd made and pulled himself up, promptly bashing his head. "Ow."

Xander grabbed the ladder as it swayed. "Easy, there."

"Something's blocking the opening," Spike explained. "Let me see if I can," he pushed on it, "shove it," another push, and Giles added his strength to holding the ladder, "out of the way." This final push did it. Spike grabbed the edges again and pulled himself up.

The two humans watched his combat boots disappear into the darkness. He thrust an arm back down. "Lantern? Torch?" Giles gave him his flashlight.

Xander managed to wait ten seconds. "Well?"

"Right place, I think."

"Some details?" Giles asked, exasperated.

"Uh, you guys'll have to come up. Wait a moment." There was a scraping noise, then Spike began stomping the still-warm metal, pummeling the edges to widen the opening. After a minute or so, he was satisfied, and dropped back into the tunnel.

"Gentlemen," he said, grinning at them, apparently feeling no pain from his burns, "when I was Xander's age, I wanted to be an archaeologist. Admittedly, there was no such profession back then, but historians did dig up ruins from time to time. I wanted to be the one who found Troy.

"This isn't Troy, and it might not be more than grave robbing, really. But I want to suggest a business proposition before we all go up. I'm in need of a profession, and while I have an idea for one, I'm in need of your expertise.

"I find the treasure and provide security." He turned to Xander. "You provide logistics, get us inside." Spike faced Giles. "You provide the assessment, so we don't let something dangerous onto the market. Outside of the gem, we split everything three ways. Deal?"

Xander had gone back to one word. "Treasure?"

Spike grinned and nodded. "Deal?"

"Deal!" Xander shook his hand.

"I find my life as a gentleman of leisure has become rather wearing," Giles announced. "Deal." He shook, too.

Grin still on his face, Spike went back up the ladder and into the opening. "Hand me that lantern… and come on up. Mind the metal; it's still warm."

The three of them crowded into the crypt, open-mouthed at the splendor. Giles saw that it was a bier that Spike had bumped his head on and subsequently shoved out of the way.

"Wow," Xander breathed.

"Is that the gem, do you think?" Giles asked, gesturing at a large, gaudy jewel worn on a chain around the neck of the demon corpse.

"I hope not," Spike said, revolted.

"We need to get this out of here," Giles said, gesturing around. "We don't have much time before sunrise."

The fear of being caught, of losing treasure to authorities or someone else, got them moving faster than anything else could. They set up a firemen's brigade, passing things golden and bejeweled down the ladder. Spike found an ornate cross, rolled his eyes, and snatched the necklace from the corpse. The bones collapsed as it pulled free and he grimaced. He put the heavy chain over his head and reached for the cross. Oww. Good then. He dropped the chain down to Giles.

A few things tingled under his hand as he took them up, and these he put in a pile near the hatch. Each time he found a likely piece of jewelry, he tried it on and brushed against the cross. Spike had at least a dozen more burn marks when he took up a fairly simple ring, popped it on up to the second knuckle, touched the crucifix, and… did not burn.

He let out a breath and a smile flitted across his face. He picked up the cross and hefted it in his palm. It was no more harmful to him than it would be to a human. Spike lowered the cross down to Giles, who looked up in surprise when he realized what the object was. Spike held out his hand so the Watcher could see the ring. The neutral expression didn't change, but Giles nodded.

Spike put the ring in the front pocket of his jeans. Without having to stop periodically to experiment, the process went faster. Twenty minutes later, Xander traded places with Spike to double-check that the crypt was cleared of all valuables while Spike put the magically-questionable items in a five-gallon bucket. By the time he and Xander clambered back into the tunnel, he'd checked his pocket five times, so he just found a finger where the ring fit and wore it. Grunting, Spike pushed the weakened metal flap back over the hatch and used the shovel to distribute the rubble along the tunnel floor. There was no hiding the opening, but there were already broken tiles throughout the sewer system.

After five trips to the ladder and ten trips to the truck, the three had fallen silent. Xander made sure everything that belonged to his company was stowed back in the truck, while Spike and Giles piled buckets, backpacks, the duffel, and a knotted-up tarp into the back part of the crew cab. Before Spike took up the veiling candle, he checked carefully around the park with all his senses. He snuffed it out, then thumped on the bonnet of the pickup to signal 'go' for no other reason than he had always wanted to.

Even though Xander went through the drive-through of a donut shop, it was still before dawn when the three treasure hunters stood around a pile of loot that took up most of Giles' living room floor. Spike had moved the coffee table, Xander scooted the couch back, and Giles laid a sheet on the floor. Everything they'd taken was spilled over the sheet, except the bucket of suspect items and the Gem of Amara.

"How much do you think this is worth?" Xander asked. He took a sip of coffee.

"I'm no expert," Giles said. "As far as we know, this has been sealed up for at least four hundred years, so there's historical value…" He trailed off. "A lot. It's worth a lot."

Spike tied his hair back. It had been full of dust, so he'd washed it quickly beneath the faucet in Giles' tub. Now he finished off the last of a powdered donut, brushed the sugar from his black shirt, and took a sip of his own coffee. "Gentlemen," he said, raising his cup toward them, "I had the Master's roadmap to this, but I know of two other small stashes in Sunnydale, a half-dozen treasures at least this large in North America, and in Europe… I can't really remember. Thirty? More?" He smiled. "Here's to the beginning of a successful business."

They toasted. Three minutes later, Xander was wearing several pieces of gaudy jewelry, including the heavy necklace from the demon's corpse. Spike was letting gold coins drip through his fingers. Giles was examining the Gem of Amara, trying to determine if the green gem was an enchanted emerald or something else entirely. They were all smiling and giddy, as Spike explained why treasure caches were just a backdrop for demons, who needed caves rather than money.

Xander gestured for the ring and put it on his finger. He pulled out a pocketknife and poked his thumb. "Ouch," he said, as a ruby drop of blood bloomed on his skin. "Doesn't work for humans, apparently." He took it off and gave it to Giles.

When the Watcher handed the ring back to Spike, he murmured, "Do be careful with that." Spike nodded and squeezed the human's fingers, grateful for his trust.

He put the ring on his hand and picked up the cross again, marveling at the lack of harm. It was so small, though. How many pieces of jewelry had he lost over the course of his existence? None as important as this, granted, but… If some demon saw it and knew what it was, well, not likely they could just take it from him… but what if they did? Did the gem protect against possession or mind-altering spells? The happiness he'd had the previous night, when it was just an unlikely dream, was gone, replaced by anxiety.

Spike stood up from the couch, doffed his shirt, and strode to the chest where Giles kept his good weapons. He found the round-headed mace he was looking for and took a breath. The other two had fallen silent, puzzled looks on their faces. Spike lifted the mace and slammed it into his torso. Their puzzlement turned to shock. The vampire staggered and dropped.

Xander was beside him. "Jeez, Spike, if you're going to test it, at least remember to put it on."

Spike dropped the mace back into the chest and grabbed a dagger. Xander leaned away from him warily, and Spike stabbed himself in the chest, beneath his sternum. He let out a hiss of pain, then jerked the blade sideways. Xander stumbled away from him.

"Oh, man. Spike, just… stop."

"It's all right, Xander." Giles had figured it out.

His face a mask of pain, Spike pushed aside flesh and muscle until he felt the ribs he'd broken with the mace. With an agonized cry, he pried the pieces of his first true rib apart and, with his other hand, slid the ring onto the bone. Then he lay on the floor beside the chest, pulling in hitching breaths and trying to master the pain.

Giles stepped to the kitchen and came back with a quart of butcher's blood he'd bought during the day, along with a roll of paper towels. Spike nodded his thanks and choked down the cold, revolting stuff. The Watcher took the dagger from him and cleaned the blade, then pressed more of the paper towels onto the wound.

"Okay," Xander said, "I get why you did what you did, but I would love to have had the opportunity to not see that."

"That was actually a very good idea," the Watcher said, his voice calm. "No one will ever see you wearing the gem. Drink some more."

Spike wrinkled his nose. "Pig's blood, my favorite, how did you know?" He swallowed the rest. The wound meshed together and some of the burns retreated, but the ribs would take a while, at least until he could get out to feed. He beckoned to the lad. Xander took off the jewels he was wearing and sat down cross-legged.

"Right, then. Both of you mark where this is –"

"Like I could ever forget."

"If anything gets to me, gets in my head or possesses me, you know where it is so you can get it out, stop me, yeah?"

"You'll tell Buffy, of course?"

"'Course."

"Do you think anything can possess you, while you're wearing it?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if it'll work like this." Spike gestured to the elaborate cross on the pile of loot, and Xander handed it to him. Nothing happened. "Well, that's good."

Giles gave him a gentle look. "Are you ready for the real test?" The vampire couldn't manage to reply to that question, so he just nodded. Giles stood and helped him to his feet, Xander scrambling up on his own, and supported him to the door.

The younger man opened it, then went to the pickup and swung the tailgate down. He helped Giles get Spike seated, then went back for their coffee, and to close the door. Wouldn't want any nosy neighbors to get an eyeful. "Here you go," Xander said, handing the throw he'd scooped up from the couch to Spike. "Figured you might want a security blanket." The vampire snorted, but he took the throw.

The sun was still behind the low mountains of the Transverse Ranges, but its light was clearly visible. As the red edge of the sun topped the horizon, Spike started breathing. The first golden rays of the day spilled over Southern California. Spike held up his hand to shield his eyes. No smoke rose from his fingers. He stared at it, at the light, looked around so he could see his friends' faces in sunlight.

Giles still had a clean paper towel in his hand, so he handed it to Spike. The vampire realized for the first time that tears were running ceaselessly down his face.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.

Xander dashed at his own eyes, and put his arm around Spike. "Welcome to the human race."

"Good to be here."

After five minutes, Giles hopped off the tailgate, wincing when he landed. "Come on, both of you." Xander and Spike followed, the latter reluctantly. "Xander, I know you're supposed to help Willow and Buffy move this afternoon. You need to get some sleep if you want to be worth anything. You too, Spike. If you don't mind sharing the bed, go on upstairs and sleep." He looked at the vampire severely. "Clean that blood off your chest first."

"What about you, Giles?" Xander asked.

"I'm not sleepy. I'll abscond with the treasure, er, I mean, catalog it."

Xander grinned. "Ha ha." He grew serious. "Really, you aren't sleepy?"

"I want about fifty books I don't have, just to get some sense of what all this is," he gestured at the pile of treasure on his living room floor, "and on top of that, I have some extremely dangerous books in my home that I haven't even evaluated. I'm going to make some tea and have a look at some of it, at least."

"I don't think I can sleep," Xander said, but he went upstairs anyway. Spike, returning from the bathroom with a clean torso, trudged after him. Both were asleep in minutes.

Left to his own devices, Giles dropped onto the couch with his teacup and stared at the gleam of gold and glint of jewels in front of him. Then he got a pair of white cotton gloves and took the top tome from the leftmost pile of the Master's books. He began to examine it.

⸹

When Spike woke, Xander was gone. He looked downstairs and saw Giles on the phone. Must have been what woke me, he thought. He made for the kitchen and found everything he needed for tea on the counter. There was a mug in the cupboard with the imprint 'Kiss the Librarian.' "Heh."

The librarian in question came into the kitchen a few minutes later. "Well," he said, leaning against the counter and grinning happily, "something altogether nice and inconvenient just happened. I have a friend coming to visit."

"A 'friend?'" Spike asked, raising a brow.

"Yes. Olivia."

"Olivia," Spike repeated, drawing out all the syllables.

"Yes… William."

"Good on you… Rupert."

"Come into the living room and tell me what you think of my plan." While his partners slept, Giles had researched a few of the larger pieces, sorted out the coins, and separated the loose jewels from the mounted pieces. He suggested that they try to sell the monstrosity of a necklace and the ornate cross first, as well as the coins and loose gems, which would be easier to liquidate. When Spike asked where they would sell them, Giles looked away and muttered, "EBay."

He didn't have a better plan and thought it all sounded reasonable. Spike was halfway through his tea when he noticed the books on the coffee table were in a different configuration. When he asked about those, Giles became grim.

"I haven't found one yet that I'm comfortable selling or passing along to the Council. Not that I'm certain any of the summonings would work, but why take chances? I have some ritual fires that will destroy them, I think." He gestured to the smallest stack. "Those I have seen or heard of, so they're probably the least dangerous."

"I have no problem with your destroying all of them. The last thing Sunnydale needs is a couple of Old Ones setting up shop."

"I think it's interesting that the gem you're hiding is mentioned in books about the Old Ones," Giles commented. "There's one legend that says it's a teardrop from an Old One."

"Yeah, I saw that. I can't imagine what would make an Old One cry."

"Allergies?"

"Onions?"

"Oh, I have an errand list for you." Giles found it on the floor beside the couch.

The blond man looked at the list, which was mostly books. "I'll break into the library tonight."

"Or you could just take my card and go now," Giles suggested.

He drew his brows together at this suggestion, then his expression changed to a grin. Spike snorted. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I could." He finished his tea and nodded to the Watcher. "You ready to hot rack?" At the blank look, he elaborated. "Your turn in the berth, which I did not actually leave warm for you."

"Ah. I am tired."

"Got to rest up for Olivia."

Giles smirked. "I suppose I should." He left Spike laughing in the living room.

⸹

"So, how do you like –" Buffy said heartily, opening the door to her dorm room and looking around. She went on in a normal tone. "Oh, good, she isn't here." The Slayer pulled her door wide so Willow could come in. "I don't know if I like my roommate."

Willow's eyes had fixed on the Backstreet Boys poster Kathy had put up. "Uh, yeah. Maybe I could donate a Dingoes flyer? You could put it up on your side of the room."

"I'll take it," Buffy agreed. She closed the door. "Thanks for coming by. I know tomorrow is going to be just as busy, but Xander said I needed to talk to you."

"He did?" Willow said, clearly feeling guilty.

"He said you've been worried I wouldn't actually attend the joy that is college."

"I was, a little," Willow admitted. She sat on Buffy's bed. "But you're here now. And once you have classes, I know you'll be all stimulated intellectually, and then after a couple of weeks, it'll all be familiar and better. You'll see."

Buffy grinned a little at the Willow-babble and sat beside her. "I know I will. But I was always coming to college. There's been something else on my mind." Impulsively, she gave Willow a little hug. "Sleepover? Not for the whole night, but for a little while? I should have told you what's been making me blue before now."

In a minute, they had the overhead light out and a lamp on, their shoes off, and were lying face to face, like a hundred other times when they'd slept over at each other's houses. The setting did make it seem odd, though.

When Buffy didn't say anything, Willow started. "You've been really quiet."

"I think… thought Spike was dead."

"Oh, no!" Willow's brows drew together. "Why do you think that?"

"I… This is kind of a long story. You know most of it, but I left out some things." Buffy closed her eyes for a moment. "You know how Spike drove us to L.A. after I killed Angel? He lost Drusilla, too, and he was suicidal for a while. I didn't want to see my Dad, neither of us wanted to be alone. We stayed at this sad little motel for a few days before splitting up."

Willow put a reassuring hand on her arm. "You could have told me this. I'm not judgey."

"There's one kind of weird thing that happened there, and one kind of personal thing." Buffy took a breath and told Willow how she'd told Spike that he might be a vampire, but he was also a good man, of the kiss they shared, how it was like a mental bond snapped in place between them.

"Like telepathy?"

"Sort of? I don't know. So, we stayed a few days, then I told him that I was going to my Dad's, which I didn't, but before we left, he told me to call on him if I needed him. Remember, I was still worried that he would walk out in the sun, so I thought maybe that would give him a reason not to. We established what he called a mindlink. We shared blood, just a tiny amount."

Willow looked worried and horrified, but only said, "What does that do?"

"Telepathy on steroids. You remember how I told you we'd go get coffee? We meet at, like, a mental version of the diner; it's neutral ground, I guess. It's like we're sitting in a booth across from each other." She dropped her eyes. "When Angel came back, that's the first time I called on him. I just couldn't tell you guys. Angelus, torture, Miss Calendar… Spike was at the bottom of South America, like Argentina, and he heard me and came back."

"Wow. Argentina."

"I tried to get in touch with him this summer, a few weeks after graduation. There was… nothing. No connection."

Willow had a slight frown. "So if you could talk telepathically all the way to Argentina, but then you couldn't reach him this summer… That's why you're afraid he's dead." She processed this a moment, then met Buffy's eyes, tears glistening in her own. "Oh." After a moment, her natural optimism came to the fore. "But he's all the way on the other side of the planet, right? That's a lot more mass between you, magnetic fields, other things that might block," her surety wavered, "a magical connection."

"That's kind of what Xander said. I shouldn't give up."

"Is that the only time you tried?" When Buffy shook her head, Willow reached out and put her hand on the Slayer's shoulder. "He's really strong, Buffy. Remember how he went up the side of the wall that awful night in the library?"

She nodded. "I know. He's the strongest vampire I've ever met. I mean, the Master killed me and everything, but he couldn't beat me in a fair fight. Spike might. I mean, if we ever fought again."

Willow had seen the misery just under the surface. "He'll be back," she said staunchly. "I mean, he has to. He's too special to just be dust." She thought carefully about her next words, knowing that any mention of Angel was taking steps into a minefield. "He got to be our friend without a soul, you know? He's… definitely the nicest vampire I've ever met."

"I wish I'd met him before I met Angel," Buffy said. Her voice was low and fierce.

Willow wasn't quite sure she'd heard right, but she knew Buffy wouldn't repeat those words. Was she saying she wished she'd fallen in love with Spike instead? Willow started to say something about Drusilla, but stopped herself when Buffy wiped at her eyes. She reached out again and stroked her friend's blond hair, intuitively knowing that there was more to the story than Buffy had shared. "Buf…" she began hesitantly, just as the door opened.

Kathy turned on the light. "Oh! Hey, roomie. And hey, Buffy's friend."

⸹

For the next few days, Spike felt like a kite with a stiff wind behind it. He got a computer over the weekend and set up the bones of their e-commerce business, which he unilaterally named Colinvaux Sales Agents. Willow had already forced Giles to pay for Internet access. On Monday, Giles drove to Dutton and set up a company bank account at a national chain, not trusting any bank in Sunnydale. By Monday night, they had their first sale. Spike translated their listings into Spanish, French, and nine other languages.

Every item that hadn't been boxed up and hidden in preparation for Olivia's visit sold, most of it on the international market. Giles suspected that the Catholic Church was the buyer for both the ornate cross and the gaudy necklace.

Spike and Xander raided both of the minor troves in Sunnydale that the vampire knew about the next night. The lad reminded him again that Buffy needed to know he was back. Spike replied that she should at least get her first day of classes in before he showed up.

By the next afternoon, Spike was able to walk in sunlight without flinching and had scrubbed the lampblack off the DeSoto's windows. When Giles handed him an envelope without comment, and he opened it to find a British passport, a green card, and a California drivers' license, Spike knew he was out of excuses.

He drove his car to Los Angeles and left a note on the dashboard explaining where it had been stolen. He walked into a Bentley dealership and bought an Azure convertible. Spike drove back in daylight, the top down, his hair tied back with a strip of black leather and sunglasses perched on his nose. He passed signs for Elmwood and Dutton, and spotted the single sign for the Sunnydale turnoff. For miles, he'd had a quote stuck in his head: 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'

It was time.

It was past time.

⸹

[Author's Note: Buffy finds out her vampire is still among the undead. Sexual content ensues.]

⸹

Buffy's arm still hurt. The vampires she'd faced last night had scared her. The Slayer had turned and ran, but here she was, walking on campus the next day as if there was nothing she couldn't face.

She felt like she'd faced everything since last spring. Angel was gone to Los Angeles. Spike was completely gone, just face it; when she'd tried to contact him in June and hadn't even been able to get to the Sit N Bull, she'd known he was dead. Her high school was gone. Her group of friends from high school was scattered. Giles and her mother were too busy for her. Her father was in Spain. College was overwhelming. Even her mojo was gone. She'd failed Eddie, the one friend she'd almost made, unable to protect him from vampires.

"Buffy!"

"Parker?" She turned to see him sitting on a bench, an open bookbag at his feet. He waved her over. "Hey."

"You on your way to class?"

She shrugged. What was the point of classes? Buffy sat down on the bench and gave him a smile. Parker was a bright spot. That was something. He'd been so nice in the cafeteria yesterday when she met him. He was majorly cute. She always liked having a boyfriend, and he was a prime candidate. Even when she'd been falling in love with Angel, Buffy had dated other guys who were boyfriend material.

"So, how are you adjusting to college life?"

"Great, if great is sinking to the bottom of a chasm."

"It'll get easier," he promised, giving her a warm smile.

"Everyone keeps telling me that."

"When my dad died – Ah, I shouldn't be getting all deep like that." He shook his head. "You tell me your problems."

Buffy's head came up. A feeling like homecoming bloomed in her. And in her mind, a single word.

Love.

Parker was staring at her, but Buffy scarcely saw him. Vampire, her Slayer sense insisted, but that was silly. It was broad daylight. Buffy turned.

The man walking toward her made no sense. He moved like Spike, but in daylight. He looked like… Spike's brother or something, with dark blond hair instead of platinum, soft and pulled back instead of gelled. He wasn't wearing a leather coat… but he was wearing black, from t-shirt to jeans to combat boots.

In bright sunlight, the man came still closer, dark blue eyes on hers in the intent way only Spike looked at her, her name on his lips and in her head.

Buffy.

He started to reach for her, but she already had him, arms around his waist and shoulder, pulling him down.

You're alive, you're alive.

Love you, oh, Buffy, my fine, fierce, beautiful Buffy, missed you so much.

You're alive, oh Spike, how are you here?

The whole time, she was kissing him, and he was kissing her in return, bowing her back, holding her close, and she molded her body to his. Somewhere in the rest of the world, she heard a catcall.

Air.

Spike broke the kiss, did not let go of her, but let her regain her footing. "I missed you, kitten," he said.

Oh, that deep voice. "I missed you." Buffy wrapped both arms around his waist and simply held on.

Because he was facing him, Spike saw the pique on the boy's face. "Buffy, where are my manners? Who's your friend?"

"Friend?" Buffy asked blankly. "Oh." She turned, both arms still wrapped around her vampire. "This is Parker Abrams. I met him yesterday in the cafeteria."

"Charmed." He couldn't bring himself to look at the boy again, not wanting to know if he was really as attractive as his first impression. "I have to steal Buffy from you." The git didn't matter; only the Slayer mattered. The nice thing about being a vampire is that manners are optional. He swung her around, catching her up in his arms, grinning at her and dismissing anyone else.

"You should probably put me down," Buffy said, even as she wound her arm around his neck.

"Give me a good reason."

She shrugged. Smiling, she leaned her face against his shoulder. "People are staring?" Who cared? If he was here, she was through keeping secrets.

"Just jealousy." He smiled back at her and let her legs slide down until she had only a tiny drop to the ground. "We're here, anyway." Buffy looked behind her to a large, expensive-looking convertible parked illegally at the curb. Spike opened the passenger door and took her bookbag. "My lady."

Buffy gave him a look that plainly said she was spun, but seated herself daintily. He shut the door, dropped her bag into the back seat floorboards, and vaulted into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere private." He gave her a sincere look. "Lots to tell you."

"You need to be big with the explanations," she agreed, twisting her hair into a loose bun. Buffy half-expected Spike to head toward the Sit N Bull, but he turned down the ocean road. He stopped at a little market so she could get sunglasses and water, and he added a white cotton sundress from the rack of beachwear to their pile on the counter. While he drove, Buffy pulled the dress over her head and wriggled out of her clothes beneath its cover. She took his right hand from the wheel when she was finished and just stared at him. The sundress was easy to explain: if he could be in sunlight after so long, he'd want to stay in it with her. The ability to be in sunlight was impossible for her to explain. Buffy put it out of her mind and gazed at him some more.

Spike pulled over onto a narrow road, maybe someone's driveway, and parked halfway up a hill. He went around to the trunk and produced a picnic basket, then came back and held out a hand for her to take. Linked, they walked to the top of the hill. There were hardy little trees all around, bent from the wind, and an open area like a meadow in the middle. He set down the basket and drew her to the far trees.

Spread out far below was a narrow strip of beach, and beyond that, the dark blue of the Pacific Ocean and the lighter blue of the sky. His eyes were the color of the ocean, she realized, still a little stunned to see him in daylight. Spike pulled her back against his chest, and Buffy couldn't see a single cloud in the sky above them. She heard him sigh, felt his contentment. The bloodlink wasn't open, but she got it: he was with someone he loved in sunlight.

He leaned a bit to the side and lifted her face, examining her in the full light of day, his eyes lingering on her hair, her cheeks, her mouth, and finally on her eyes. Spike let out a huff of breath as he smiled, full and open, and he put a kiss on her temple. Without saying a word aloud or in her mind, Buffy knew he was taking in colors and textures even the best indoor lighting could never show him. In a way, Spike was seeing her for the first time. He swayed them both side to side as he looked back out at the ocean, his arms tightening around her waist.

After a few minutes, they went back to the picnic basket. Spike opened it and spread a blanket, but before he could turn back to whatever else was in the basket, Buffy put her hands on his, her patience for the strangeness and the quiet gone. She kicked off her shoes and sat down, drawing him down with her.

"Buffy, I need to tell –"

She kissed him. She kissed him softly. It didn't last. She kissed him with hunger. Buffy pushed him to the ground, gently but insistently, keeping the mindlink closed, keeping her lips on his. When her fingers found the strip of leather holding back his hair, she carefully pulled it loose. "You look like a pirate," she murmured.

"You look like my goddess."

Buffy put a finger over his lips, then replaced it with her own. She was mostly laying atop him, then she slid her leg over his and sat up, breaking the kiss, straddling him.

"Ah, love."

Buffy considered him, then shook her own hair loose from the knot she'd made. She undid the tie of the halter top of the sundress and pulled it down. She slid up his body and whispered, "Kiss me."

He did, kissing and nibbling the softness of her breasts and the hardness of her nipples. She drew in a sharp breath, then sighed. Buffy supported herself with one hand. With the other, she undid his belt and slid down his zipper.

"Raise up." She meant his hips, he knew, and he helped her push down his jeans. His cock sprang free, and she captured him in her hand. She did nothing more than hold him, and he came, jerking against her fingers, a growl escaping his throat.

Spike swallowed and opened his eyes. Buffy was watching him, her lips parted. "Ah, love, what you do to me."

She kissed him once more, then raised up so that she could guide him into her warm body. She moved slowly, finding a position where she could sit comfortably astride him. Each shift she made brought him off, until his fingers were sunk into her hips to persuade her to be still. Buffy opened the mindlink.

How is this possible?

I… Give me a moment, love. I can't think.

Spike drew in a couple of deep breaths. Her hands were on his chest to help her balance. He'd imagined how this conversation would happen many times. This had not been one of them.

Feel just here, on my ribs. There. That's a ring set with the Gem of Amara. It makes me invulnerable to most things, including sunlight. You don't have to worry –

Shh. Buffy stopped feeling the small spot and took his hands. She moved over him, once, twice, brought his fingertips to her breasts. This time, they both came. Her eyes on his, Buffy felt that something was erased with each press of her hips against his: her silent pain during the summer, the humiliating memory of the vampires last night, the restless emptiness she had noted but could not explain to her own satisfaction.

There was a small, intent frown between her brows as she forced her body to still. Go on.

Uh… I got it so you don't ever worry about me, about assassins or rot like that. I got it so I can be with you anywhere, any time of day.

You're still a vampire?

He didn't answer, simply shifted to vampire face. Buffy drew in a hissing breath as his fingertips became claws and pushed against her skin. Spike bucked beneath her and traced her breasts with the sharp tips. Spend for me, love.

Oh. Oh. Stop, stop.

Spike's human features came to the fore. Did I hurt you?

Oh, no. Don't worry. There's something else, isn't there?

Yes. If anything ever happens that I'm doing bad, you know where the gem is, know where to take it from me. Will you do that?

Yes.

Love, I hope to never do anything bad or stupid, at least not worse than anyone else. The reason I left wasn't the gem. It was because I needed to get my soul.

Your soul?

He gripped her waist tightly, feeling her panic rise and trying to reassure her, thinking he might truly die if she pulled away from him. Yes. Not a curse, love. I earned it, fought for it. It's mine; safe as houses, won't go anywhere. After I knocked you out, I knew I needed to understand better. I needed to understand your world, to know right from wrong before it was too late. I had to have my soul again.

There were tears in her eyes, and blue sky above her blond hair, and the white of her skirt billowed around their bodies in the ocean breeze.

Oh, love, so beautiful, but don't cry.

The debt he had to pay had been one owed to her. To them. You went to get your soul. For me.

Yes. Because that was the real reason. Don't cry.

Do you still love me? With the soul, too, I mean?

Of course. I will always love you, demon, soul, all of me. Would you like to meet the soul?

She was in the Sit N Bull, leaning against the door. Another pain slid away. Spike, her own punk Spike, was at the jukebox. She ran to him.

It was the careworn Spike, the one he called the anarchist. Hullo, love.

She hugged him hard enough to make him say 'oof.'

I know you want to meet the soul, but I wanted to see you first. To say goodbye.

Buffy looked up at him. His leather coat nearly enveloped her. Goodbye?

Yeah, I won't be separate much longer. I've stayed around just to keep them apart, the soul and the demon. They're like two magnets. They want to snap together.

I'll still see you, in his strength.

Ah, Slayer. You are quite a woman.

He kissed her once, then he was gone, and she felt someone new behind her.

Hello, Miss Buffy.

Hello. Then, I always thought he might need glasses.

The soul returned her smile. The other one is right about you. Spike, the demon, I mean, he's shared his memories of you, and you're….

I'm just Buffy.

You're everything.

She gave him a helpless look, this awkward young man so unlike her Spike but so kind and open, too, which was like her Spike. She stepped forward. May I?

Buffy touched the unscarred brow and ran her fingers through his mass of curls. He looked down, blushing. She smiled again, delighted with this shy aspect of Spike.

May I? He echoed her words and put his hands very lightly at her waist. He bent stiffly and placed a tentative kiss on her mouth.

In another place, Buffy let her head fall back and moved over Spike's body.

His eyes opened wide behind his glasses, and he pulled away. Buffy grabbed his hands and didn't let him leave.

It should feel… improper, but it doesn't.

Improper was the very start of our relationship. We got past it.

It was very good to meet you… Buffy.

And you. I like you very much. I'm glad you're here.

I already love you.

He was gone after that admission. Buffy was alone for only a moment before Spike, bleached blond, leather-clad, and badass, slid into their booth.

She laughed and went to join him, grabbing his hands and sliding in next to him. I missed you so much. I was afraid you were dead. I tried to find you, but I couldn't even find our place.

That must have been during the trials. I don't think that cave is exactly in our dimension.

She got a sense of the trials. Oh, Spike.

No worries, love. A soul was the only thing I could think of to solve the problem, because I knew I would lose you.

No. We're friends, through it all.

Demons are the very essence of destruction, love. I'd have managed to destroy our friendship somehow.

No. However long I have, I'll be your friend.

Slayer, about that. I know you have your mission. I know mine now, too. My mission is to keep you alive. You're going to live to be at least ninety. I swear it.

She smiled at him. That sounds awful.

It won't be. I can find ninety years of fun for you.

You've done it before, haven't you?

I've never done this before, Buffy. I've never loved so recklessly, so… utterly. I've never dared.

Spike pulled away from the mindlink this time. He wanted to say this aloud, to speak his vow. "Buffy, I trust you with all of me. My demon, my soul, my heart, all my sad, broken bits. I love you, and I'm in love with you, with all your parts." He put a hand up to her face. "I want to share your life. If that's what you want. If you can only see me as your friend, it's more than I ever dared hope. But… I think there's something special here. I'd like to see where it takes us."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. There. That's what had been wrong during the summer when she thought he was truly dead. Why admit to herself she was in love with a dead man?

The echoing emptiness inside her was gone, filled by what flowed between them. "I… I've been in love with you for a while now." She could never explain the emotion on his face then, other than the inadequate word 'love,' but the expression burned into her memory. His eyes were wide and stunned, his lips parted in wonder. She touched his face.

Spike sat up, pushing her body to a different angle, surging within her. Tears stood in his own eyes now. This time, they moved together, open to each other beneath the wide sky, everything visible within and without, loving each other in the bright sunlight.

An hour later, they'd finally broken into the picnic basket. Spike lay with his head in her lap, feeling happy to an extent that was almost painful. The beauty of this woman, of a shared love, of the late summer day overwhelmed him.

Spike? I didn't know. I mean, I should have – I'm not the kind of person who sleeps with someone I don't love.

I knew that. I mean, the same kind of way.

You knew?

I know you, yeah? I think we were both afraid to admit it.

I thought you were dead. Really dead, I mean. When I couldn't reach you this summer, I was too scared to try again. It hurt too much.

He rolled from her lap and sat up, resting his forehead against hers.

I'm sorry that I caused you pain. I… was afraid you wouldn't like the change, was too nervous to reach for you with the bloodlink. I'm sorry. I should have contacted you.

I should have tried harder. I should have told you before you left, because I think I realized that night in the crypt. It might have been the last time I saw you, and I never said anything. Her hands clenched on his painfully. I'm an idiot.

No, you are most definitely not an idiot. I should have told you, but I didn't want to saddle you with that declaration when I wasn't sure I'd be able to come back.

You could have stayed.

No. I want to make you happy, love. I would have done something... wrong.

No.

Yes. Eventually.

Spike... you've always been different than... than anyone, I guess. The whole time I've known you, you've been changing. It's kind of amazing. I just meant... we could have missed this. We have missed a few months that we could have... She looked down. I'm not going to judge you for what you didn't say, if you aren't going to judge me.

I have no right to judge anything you do, love. None. And I don't want to bind you – Well, I do. I want to possess every one of your molecules, but I won't be that person. You've got to have a chance to live. That's my job, to give you time to go out, live, try things. I want you to choose me, you know I do, but I also know you're eighteen. Once I met you, I was done for, but I got decades of mistakes and living behind me. You deserve that opportunity, too.

So, no judging?

Spike grimaced. Yeah, there might be some judging… I have something to confess. I came in through Los Angeles, stopped to see him, and sorta messed around with Angel.

You did what!?

He let her see the whole thing.

You're totally freaking me out. You totally freaked him out.

Didn't mean to. Just… meant to… ease him, you know?

Buffy was still looking at him, horrified. But... Angelus. Spike, you can't...

He gave her a smile with a sour edge to it. No worries on that account. I'm never going to make him very happy.

Buffy shook her head, her frown gradually fading. No. Nope, I still don't get it. I think that definitely falls under the category 'vampire thing.'

Forgive me?

What? Nothing to forgive. I mean, he forgave you. Buffy pulled away so he could see her face. The whole thing was so far outside her experience, she couldn't really absorb it. She hid behind a joke. It was kind of hot, though. Maybe if there was body oil involved….

She laughed, and he was amazed. She was teasing him. "Do you want any more?" He nodded to the picnic basket.

"No. You have something else you want to show me, don't you?" He nodded, looking shy and uncertain. Buffy loved his swagger, but she also liked this shyness. There were major possibilities for teasing here. The two of them went back to the car, holding hands once again. Instead of turning the car, Spike went on up the little road, passing the place where they'd picnicked and around the curve of another hill, and pulled into the driveway of the only house.

Spike got out and held the car door for her. It was a modern house, all glass and angles, with more windows than walls to take advantage of the spectacular ocean view. "Who lives here?" Buffy asked in a low voice as they walked toward the door.

Spike still had car keys in his hand, and he found another key on the ring to put into the door. He pushed it open and scooped her up. "We do. If you like it." He strode inside.

It was cool and dark after the brightness of the afternoon. Spike put her down and touched a panel on the wall, and floor-to-ceiling blinds folded obediently to show the vista. The house had almost no furniture, and their footsteps echoed as Spike led her through, from the balconies with their glass panel railings, to the bathroom with a huge glass-enclosed shower, to a bedroom with a California king mattress on a bare frame and an enormous walk-in closet. "I hope you like it." Spike shrugged, nervous. "It's not the most structurally sound house, I know, earthquakes and all, but we might as well enjoy it while it's standing."

Buffy didn't say anything, just turned to open another door. It was a much smaller closet, and he grinned and offered to take it. Finally, she turned to him and asked, "It's wonderful, but… how can you afford this?"

He touched his chest. "The Gem of Amara was in a crypt with a lot of other jewels, treasure. We – Giles, Xander, and I – are selling them."

"Giles? Xander? You told them you were back before you told me?"

Spike dropped his gaze from hers. "I got back Friday –"

but I was afraid to come to you, love. He let her see this, too, his fear of a world where his love wasn't enough. I didn't need it, but I wanted the gem, so that I could be with you at all times, day or night. Then I had that, but I also wanted to give you nice things, because I'm an old-fashioned, Victorian git. But, mostly, I was afraid that I'd imagined that you love me, that I'd misunderstood.

She imagined meeting the vampire named Sunday with the knowledge that her vampire was alive and closed her eyes. "I needed you the moment you got back, Spike. I don't need things."

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm weak, and I'm selfish, and I'm sorry."

She nodded, fighting back tears. The second he told her why he'd gone, her resentment that he'd left had vanished. Spike wasn't looking at her, just stared at the floor, an expression of misery and self-loathing on his face.

"Spike?" She waited until he met her eyes. "I love you. Don't ever doubt it." She held out her hands, and he came across the distance to take them. "But understand this: I need you with me more than I need anything." Buffy shook a hand free and dashed tears from her face. "Abandonment issues; child of divorce. All that. I just… need you to be here."

"I will never be apart from you again." He said it simply, but there was the resonance of a vow in the words.

"Okay." Buffy gave him a wavering smile and reached up to brush tears from his face. "Show me the rest."

There wasn't much left. He showed her another bedroom, a windowless room that he thought might make a good training space once the floors and walls were padded, and the kitchen, which was sterile. When Buffy opened a cabinet door to reveal an empty space, Spike said shyly, "I hope you'll help me pick out china and stuff." He moved around the island and picked her up so she was seated on it, then moved between her thighs, holding her loosely. "I want us to fix it so it feels like our home. Even here outside city limits, prices are cheap. I put down a deposit on it." Spike turned away to rummage in a drawer, then held out something to her. "Your keys."

Buffy looked at them. "We haven't bought the house yet."

"They're car keys."

"You're going to let me drive your convertible?"

He shook his head. "Those are for your car."

"My car?"

He shrugged. "I hope you don't mind your old-fashioned, Victorian git giving you presents here and there. I mean, you'll need a way to get back and forth."

"My car?" she repeated.

"Yeah, if you don't like it, we'll take it back." He looked down. "I would have preferred getting you a nice, safe Volvo – or a Sherman tank, but… I couldn't feature you in a family sedan."

"Show me," she demanded, giving him a sidelong look. The weirdness of this day just went on and on. The kitchen led into the garage. Spike turned on the lights, and Buffy gaped at the smaller convertible meant for her, a white Mercedes SLK with the top already down.

"Don't forget, I'm still the better ride."

She squealed, hugged him, then got in the car. She didn't start it, just ran her hands over the steering wheel and the tan leather seats. Buffy turned, then, her smile gone and said simply, "I can't accept this."

"You can." He walked around and propped up on the car door. "Giles and Xander had a good idea. We were originally going to split everything three ways, but they suggested that you should be in on the partnership. But that left Willow out in the cold, so Giles is going to modify the company structure so we all have money."

"But we didn't do anything."

"None of this would have happened without you. All of us hate that the Council doesn't pay you. And when we get Willow on board, with what she knows about computers, we'll do even better."

Buffy ran her fingers across the steering wheel again. "How much money are we talking about?"

He explained his human dream of being an archaeologist, and of seeing unheeded treasures while living in the dark, forgotten areas of the world in his years as a demon. "It's not like we're spoiling pristine sites. These are hoards gathered from distant places, stolen so long ago that it's not like you could even find the heirs of the original owners. We can't show provenance, so we'll never get a hundred percent of the value… but we've taken in over three million so far."

"Three million dollars?"

"Net. Xander isn't happy that Giles is a stickler about taxes."

She shook her head. "We don't have to worry about money anymore?"

"'One less thing.'"

She rolled her eyes at the reference. "Forrest Gump? Really?"

Buffy touched the door handle and lifted her eyebrows until Spike moved away so she could get out. The sun was on its slow, downward glide toward the horizon now, and the evening was lit with gold. They walked through to the balcony and leaned on the rail. The breeze blew Buffy's thin dress against her body and lifted her hair. Spike turned away from the ocean view to watch her. "You're beautiful in sunlight. Forgot how many colors there are." He touched her hair, marveling at the light in the golden strands.

I'm overwhelmed.

Feel the same way, like everything's moving too fast.

At least you know how this all started. I feel like I've come in after the intermission.

Ah, love. I guess a soul doesn't prevent me from being boneheaded.

She gave him a small smile.

Before I forget, love,

"Are you busy Friday night?"

"Friday? No, just patrol."

"Think you might let me take you out on a proper date?" He lifted a shoulder. "We never got to do that."

"Yes. I'd like that."

"Six o'clock?"

"Okay."

She reached to push a tendril of hair from his brow. "I can't believe your hair grew out this quick."

It didn't. Demon barber, well, demon salon and a stylist named Melba. He let her see, even taste the potion that grew out his hair.

That's so cool! Would it work on humans?

Dunno.

Why'd you change, Spike?

You said I was 'dated.' 'S'true. I was overdue for a change. Melba showed me how to blow dry my hair to keep the curl down. I feel like a complete ponce.

Well, you look like a hottie.

I don't look as dangerous, but on the upside, pro'ly get into more fights.

She turned back to the slow sunset and let out a small sigh. Spike moved behind her, bracing his hands on the rail beside hers. He kissed her shoulders, her hair.

Love, down on the other hill, on the picnic blanket… I'm not complaining, but I never expected you to be loving me while I told you all those things.

If you're asking why… I was afraid to believe it was real. I mean, if some demon was trying to fool me, it would have come after dark, looking like my punk vampire. But if there was one way to be sure… Our bodies have always known, have always been a step ahead of our brains, our hearts.

She felt him exhale against her neck, felt him harden against her bottom. Too soon?

Buffy turned in the space between his arms, ran her hands along his sides and back, and lifted her face for a kiss. Too soon for what?

No, too soon since…?

You think I'm a delicate flower?

Yes. Well, no. You're the silk covering the sword, the – bloody hell. Spike bumped his nose against hers before resuming the kissing. I may be a tad more poetic now.

I'm quite recovered from your ungentlemanly attention. Pig. She felt him grin against her mouth. In fact, I'm underwhelmed.

What? He pulled away, staring down at her with something like shock.

Buffy gave him a challenging smile and taunted him. You got no game. Our first time together, you went down on me for, like, an hour. She lifted a shoulder. From my perspective, I've been the one bringing it today.

The shy, hesitant part of him was gone. I 'got no game,' is it? He dropped low and came up with her, his arms wrapped around her legs, his face between her breasts. You think I'm playing, Summers? Spike carried her indoors and leaped atop one of the empty counters. She looked up worriedly at the ceiling, but his eyes never left her face. Then he dropped them both so that he was crouched above her supine body, one large hand cradling her skull protectively. If you like this dress, Slayer, I advise you to wiggle and squirm and get out of it. If you're still wearing it in two minutes, I'll bite if off of you with my fangs.

He started nipping at her breasts through the thin cotton. His fingers were everywhere, beneath the dress, stroking over it, grabbing her hair to hold her in place to lick her neck, giving her no chance to think.

Buffy gave him a wicked smile and brought her knees toward her chest, dropping his hips down to hers. Then she gripped his belt loops with her toes and forced his jeans downward, until her legs were straight and his pants were puddled on his calves. Buffy gripped his shirt, pulled him down for a kiss, and ripped the black cotton into two unequal pieces.

It takes you two minutes? She smirked at him. If this provoked his arrogance… well, she did love his swagger.

He shifted to game face and studied her with golden eyes. If I hurt you, tell me.

If you actually do anything, should I tell you about that?

He growled and made good on his promise, shredding the halter. He came up with a piece of the skirt caught between his teeth and tore it asunder with one shake of his head. Then he swept the remnants of his shirt from his body and slid her along the counter until her shoulders were off the edge.

Not tasted you like this before. And then he did, pulling one of her thighs over his shoulder, cupping her bum with one hand, feasting on her.

Buffy felt the hardness of his eyebrow ridges against her, his claws digging into her ass, his tongue against her clit, but most of all, she felt the fangs and the danger. She arched her hips toward him, wanting another and more oh just like that. And then she felt the change, the more precise stroke of his tongue, and then his fingers sliding into her body, claws safely sheathed.

"Please," she whispered.

He pulled her back from the edge a few inches. She lifted her head to look at him. He moved his face from the very center of her to the scar he'd left at the junction of her thigh. Very deliberately, keeping his eyes locked with hers, he flicked at the scar with his tongue. Buffy convulsed, moaning.

Spike gave her an arrogant smile, drawing away from her, dropping from the counter and struggling out of his boots so he could lose the jeans. She sat up, panting, marking his progress around the counter. He stopped his stalk when he was behind her and started kissing her shoulders as sweetly as he had outside. His hands were another matter. They cupped her breasts, rubbed down her thighs, lightly touched her mons. She scooted back to be closer to him, covered his hands with hers as they roamed over her body.

Are you wet, Slayer?

Yes.

His hand went lower and stroked along her flesh.

Not wet enough.

She knew what he was going to do, because she wanted him to do it. Buffy spun around until she was facing him, her legs wide. Spike raised a brow, and she shrugged. Whelmed, she allowed.

He almost hid his smile as he knelt before her.

Do you know why I wanted this house, love? No one around, no one within earshot. Hated it at the hotel, having to be quiet.

Buffy put her feet against the sides of the counter, put her arms above her head, and held her hair away from her hot face. She moaned, let one hand drift down to tangle in his hair.

Love your noises, love to hear you, just encourages me to be more wicked, to bring you once more… and again….

Buffy fell back on the counter and used her legs to move closer to him, until her ass was past the edge. She raised her hips, giving him all the access. Please, inside.

He obliged, his tongue moving lower. Love your cries, your screams. No one to hear, no neighbors to bother. Best feature of the place.

Spike stopped, breathing hard, and stood up. He held out his hands for hers. Forty more minutes. I don't want you to cramp or anything. Let's go to the bed.

Is it our bed? His answer was a slow, lecherous smile. She let him help her to her feet, swayed a moment, and dropped to a crouch before him. Buffy had her hands and mouth on his cock before he could do more than draw in a breath. Then he was the one bracing himself against the counter.

No neighbors, Spike.

He groaned, shuddered.

Don't you want to encourage me?

He panted. Yes, love, that thing with your tongue. He cried out.

More?

Please, please. Oh, love. Again, just like that.

He roared, bellowed her name, named her his love.

Buffy stood up and smiled at him. Okay. Let's go to bed.

⸹

Buffy pulled on her bra and looked at the remnants of the bed. Spike had held her to the full hour, and the bedframe had lasted about twenty minutes beyond that. They had lasted thirty additional minutes, though the box springs hadn't. He thought the mattress would be okay.

"Found them," he announced, coming back into the wreckage, holding up her panties. "They were all the way under the passenger seat."

"Thanks." She took them from him and stepped into the underwear, drawing them up. Spike watched the whole operation with great interest.

Will it always be like this?

If you claim to be underwhelmed, it will.

Spike. Seriously. Can we keep this up?

Yes. He came over and took her in his arms. Some nights will be gentle and sweet, but I think we'll always play this way.

Why do you worry you'll hurt me? I think we've established that you aren't 'misshapen.'

He shrugged. I worry. Vampires are wired to have sex nonstop, almost. I want to treat you as a human being.

Nonstop sex? She quirked a brow at him.

The way it was explained to me was the three F's: feeding, fighting….

Fucking. She finished the sentence for him. Was that what it was like for you and Drusilla?

He shook his head. No. Drusilla was… atypical. So was I, for that matter.

Was that what it was like when you were with Darla and… Angelus?

Yes.

Is that why you, uh, messed around with Angel?

Partly. Habit, instinct, family. Something like that. Also, I just… wanted him to not be in pain.

You're, uh, bigger than him. Noticeably.

Yeah. You knew that.

Not really. I might have been waaay more intimidated on my eighteenth birthday if I had.

I… am really glad you weren't intimidated.

You didn't come, did you? With Angel?

No.

I think that made him feel bad.

There's a difference between him and Angelus, then.

Is that the kind of thing that you two did?

He considered her closely for a moment before answering. We did everything, love.

Did he hurt you?

Spike pulled away from the mindlink, but not before she saw a rapid sequence of memories. "Buffy, no, shh." He shook his head. "Didn't know where you were going with that. I just thought you wondered if we had anal sex."

She wiped her face and chose the most supportive thing that came to mind. "I'm so proud of you. You went through all that, and you seem pretty healthy."

"I'm more than a little bent, but nothing can make me bring any ugliness between us. Well, not now. All souled up."

"I can't tell you how weird it is that we've slept with the same guy." Buffy frowned then. "It feels like we've had this conversation before."

"I have more déjà vu feelings around you and your people than I had in the previous twelve decades."

"What do you think that's about?"

"No clue."

Buffy looked down. Angel fed off me.

I know. He told me what happened.

I've seen you not looking at the scar.

Yeah. It's the possessive thing.

I only did it because I couldn't get Faith's blood.

Buffy… you don't have to justify anything. It felt good, yeah?

At first. Not so much when I was being drained.

His fingers clenched on her arms, then eased. Sorry.

No, I want to talk about this. He bit me the same place the Master bit me. That wasn't an accident, was it?

No. He wanted to claim you.

Do you?

No. Spike traced part of the scar and closed his eyes for a moment. I just don't want to see on you what I saw on Drusilla for a hundred and twenty years. He trailed his fingers over the same area again. Just here, I see Angelus' mark.

Buffy brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Change it, then.

He met her steady gaze, amazed by her declaration of who she loved, one that no vampire or man could miss. Spike stroked his hands down her arms. Ah, love, thank you. I would hate to bring it up myself. I will soon, but not tonight. He nodded toward the collapsed bed. It'll be another epic episode of lovemaking, after. Spike traced the scar a final time. And I'll make sure it doesn't look like any vampire's mark. I won't have you branded. And I'm sorry that I can't abide this. It's a stupid vampire thing.

I'm used to stupid vampires.

Buffy? I always want to be honest with you, yeah? I have claimed you, not by feeding off you or anything, but still. And I want to be claimed by you.

She lifted a golden brow. You want me to bite you?

Depends on where you're thinking of.

She smiled at him, but said nothing for a moment. Right now, she only wanted to be Buffy, but even with the craziness and happiness, she was more. "It's dark, Spike. I should patrol."

He sighed, pulling her against him. "I don't want to leave our house."

"Not the first time I've felt this way; won't be the last." She sounded grim and sad.

"And that's one of the things I love about you. Even when it's hard, even when it sucks, you do the right thing. Most people wouldn't." He kissed her hair. "Let me take patrol tonight, love. You've had a lot to take in today. Rest."

The grimness changed, then, becoming something resolute. She tucked her chin just a little, and a gleam of anticipation showed in her eyes. "No, I'm good. I have a nest I need to clean out."

"I'll come with."

"No. This one… I want to do this one alone."

"You sure?" When she nodded, he kissed her forehead. "What do you think of the house?"

"I think we're going to wreck a lot of furniture here."

Spike laughed. "I'll take care of the paperwork, but there'll be stuff for you to sign, too. And I'll get a new bed for us. Maybe you'll spend the night sometime."

"I like waking up with you." When he looked puzzled, she added, "On my birthday."

"Oh. I thought we agreed that we passed out."

⸹

Next Chapter: Someone on campus tries to abduct Spike, and Buffy confronts Riley Finn about it just as Willow attempts a spell.

⸹

[Author's Note: Below is an alternate version of two scenes where Buffy did sleep with Parker Abrams. There's a partial preview of next week's chapter, as well. You don't have to read any further for the story to flow.

This is the only major revision I made to the story, other than lopping off the original first chapters. I liked the idea that Buffy did sleep with Parker, a human, and knew what she was foregoing in choosing a vampire. I included this pre-revision version because I really like the way Buffy and Spike acknowledge that they come to each other with history.

Here, Buffy and Willow are already roommates, and Spike couldn't get up the nerve to go see Buffy for two weeks after returning to Sunnydale. This allowed some room for canon: the Parker experience, Buffy's demon roommate Kathy, beating Sunday the vampire with sheer Buffyness.

But there were too many things that felt out of character. I never was comfortable with Spike buying a house without Buffy's input. Then I realized that this version of Spike could never hold himself away from Buffy for that long. Also, I think this version of Buffy needs to be in love before she will sleep with someone. Finally, I can't imagine someone as savvy as Buffy not insisting on a condom for oral sex. The final version is not as sex-positive, but, hey, Parker was a bad lay, anyway.]

⸹

For the next two weeks, Spike felt like a kite with a stiff wind behind it. He got a computer over the weekend and set up the bones of their e-commerce business, which he unilaterally named Colinvaux Sales Agents. Willow had already forced Giles to pay for Internet access. On Monday, Giles drove to Dutton and set up a company bank account at a national chain, not trusting any bank in Sunnydale. By Monday night, they had their first sale. Spike translated their listings into Spanish, French, and nine other languages….

Housing prices outside the city limits of Sunnydale weren't significantly worse than housing in the town. He bought a house on the outskirts. He got a mobile phone, and his first call was an international one to the Savile Row shop that served him in life to get a recommendation for a Los Angeles tailor who might not be too shabby.

He rented a car at the Sunnydale airport, drove to Los Angeles to shop and to see Angel, and came back in a Bentley Azure convertible. Spike drove back in daylight, the top down, his hair tied back with a strip of black leather and sunglasses perched on his nose. He passed signs for Elmwood and Dutton, and spotted the single sign for the Sunnydale turnoff. For miles, he'd had a quote stuck in his head: 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'

It was time.

It was past time.

⸹

Parker was talking to another girl. A pretty girl.

Buffy's stomach sank. She had Slayer hearing, useful sometimes, but not now, not when Parker was saying things to the pretty girl that he'd said to her. They didn't sound rehearsed the second time, either. She told her legs to stop, but they kept going toward the dark-haired man and the pretty girl, walking her straight to them as if there was nothing she couldn't face.

She felt like she'd faced everything since last spring. Angel was gone to Los Angeles. Spike was completely gone, just face it; when she'd tried to contact him in June and hadn't even been able to get to the Sit N Bull, she'd known he was dead. Her high school was gone. Her group of friends from high school was scattered. Giles and her mother were too busy for her. Her father was in Spain. College was overwhelming. Even her mojo was gone some of the time.

Parker had been the sole bright spot. She always liked having a boyfriend. Even when she'd been falling in love with Angel, Buffy had dated other guys who were boyfriend material. Some of them hadn't been very nice, but they hadn't been very serious, either.

She'd slept with Parker.

That meant serious, at least to her.

It was looking like Parker wasn't very nice.

"Parker?" She said his name.

He was so smooth, so quick. He introduced her to the pretty girl –

Buffy's head came up. A feeling like homecoming bloomed in her. And in her mind, a single word.

Love.

Parker and pretty girl were staring at her, but Buffy scarcely saw them. Vampire, her Slayer sense insisted, but it was broad daylight. Buffy turned.

The man walking toward her made no sense. He moved like Spike, but in daylight. He looked like… Spike's brother or something, with dark blond hair instead of platinum, soft and pulled back instead of gelled. He wasn't wearing a leather coat… but he was wearing black, from t-shirt to jeans to combat boots.

In bright sunlight, the man came still closer, dark blue eyes on hers in the intent way only Spike looked at her, her name on his lips and in her head.

Buffy.

He started to reach for her, but she already had him, arms around his waist and shoulder, pulling him down.

You're alive, you're alive.

Love you, oh, Buffy, my fine, fierce, beautiful Buffy, missed you so much.

You're alive, oh Spike, how are you here?

The whole time, she was kissing him, and he was kissing her in return, bowing her back, holding her close, and she molded her body to his. Somewhere in the rest of the world, she heard a catcall.

Air.

Spike broke the kiss, did not let go of her, let her regain her footing. "I missed you, kitten," he said.

Oh, that deep voice. "I missed you." Buffy wrapped both arms around his waist and simply held on.

Because he was facing them, Spike saw the approval and amusement on the girl's face and the relief and pique on the boy's. He'd gotten enough from the mindlink to know why. "Buffy, where are my manners? Who are your friends?"

"Friends?" Buffy asked. "Oh." She turned, both arms still wrapped around her vampire. "This is Parker Abrams, and… and I'm so sorry, I didn't –"

"Katie Loomis," the pretty girl said.

"Charmed." Spike nodded at her and hit her with his best vampire come-hither. He hoped it was hard enough that she'd never look at another non-blond man in her life, certainly not the wanker next to her. He couldn't bring himself to look at the boy. "I have to steal Buffy from you." The git didn't matter; only the Slayer mattered.

The nice thing about being a vampire is that manners are optional. He swung her around, catching her up in his arms, grinning at her and dismissing anyone else….

⸹

Feel just here, on my ribs. There. That's a ring set with the Gem of Amara. It makes me invulnerable to most things, including sunlight. You don't have to worry –

Shh. Buffy stopped feeling the small spot and took his hands. She moved over him, once, twice, brought his fingertips to her breasts. This time, they both came. Her eyes on his, Buffy felt that something was erased with each press of her hips against his: her silent pain during the summer, the memory of Parker's body, the restless emptiness she had noted but could not explain to her own satisfaction.

There was a small, intent frown between her brows as she forced her body to still. Go on…

⸹

An hour later, they'd finally broken into the picnic basket. Spike lay with his head in her lap, feeling happy to an extent that was almost painful. The beauty of this woman, of a shared love, of the late summer day overwhelmed him.

Spike? She lifted her head and turned toward the ocean. The breeze blew her hair back. I have to tell you something.

I know. Parker.

You knew?

Yeah. See, the soul's already on the job. I didn't rip his arm off and beat him with it.

I'm sorry.

Oh, no, love. He put his hand to her face. Don't be sorry.

I thought you were dead. Really dead, I mean. When I couldn't reach you, I was too scared to try again. It hurt too much.

He rolled from her lap and sat up, resting his forehead against hers.

I'm sorry that I caused you pain. I… was afraid you wouldn't like the change, was too nervous to reach for you with the bloodlink. I'm sorry. And, as strange as it sounds, I'm glad you slept with a human. I'd be afraid you'd always wonder.

It wasn't anything to write home about. Not that I would because, you know, Mom would maxi-wig. Just an expression. But… I had to be careful not to hurt him. And humans are… messier. And there's a definite, uh, refractory period.

Spike got glimpses through the mindlink: the git didn't ask if Buffy preferred to spit; he didn't use the physiologically enforced pause to pleasure her; he was asleep beside her while she was squeezed onto the edge of the mattress, unfulfilled. One-johnny Parker, his demon scoffed.

I have no right to judge anything you do, love. None. And I don't want to bind you – Well, I do. I want to possess every one of your molecules, but I won't be that person. You've got to have a chance to live. That's my job, to give you time to go out, live, try things. I want you to choose me, you know I do, but I also know you're eighteen. Once I met you, I was done for, but I got decades of mistakes and living behind me. You deserve that opportunity, too. So, no judging.

Spike grimaced. Having said that, I have something to tell you, too. I came in through Los Angeles and stopped to see him and sorta messed around with Angel.

You did what!?

He let her see the whole thing….

⸹

He touched his chest. "The Gem of Amara was in a crypt with a lot of other jewels, treasure. We – Giles, Xander, and I – sold them, split the money."

"Giles? Xander? You told them you were back before you told me?"

Spike dropped his gaze from hers. "I got back about two weeks ago. I got my soul in Africa –"

but I was afraid to come to you, love. He let her see this, too, his fear of a world where his love wasn't enough. I didn't need it, but I wanted the gem, so that I could be with you at all times, day or night. Then I had that, but I also wanted to give you a home and nice things, because I'm an old-fashioned, Victorian git. But, mostly, I was afraid that I'd imagined that you love me, that I'd misunderstood.

"I needed you two weeks ago, Spike. I really, really would have liked to have you back."

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm weak, and I'm selfish, and I'm sorry."

She nodded, fighting back tears. The second he told her why he'd gone, her resentment that he'd left had vanished. But the last two weeks… If he'd been there, she would have handed Sunday her ass first thing; he would have believed her about her roommate; Parker would have been a second of eye candy walking past. Spike wasn't looking at her, just stared at the floor, an expression of misery and self-loathing on his face.

"Spike?" She waited until he met her eyes. "I love you. Don't ever doubt it." She held out her hands, and he came across the distance to take them. "But understand this: I need you with me more than I need things." Buffy shook a hand free and dashed tears from her face. "Abandonment issues; child of divorce. All that. I just… need you to be here."

"I will never be apart from you again." He said it simply, but there was the resonance of a vow in the words….

⸹

"Wil? You asleep?" The lamp was on, but Willow wasn't in her bed. Buffy started to shut the door, then Willow came in right behind her, toothbrush and toothpaste in her hand.

"Hey, Buf. Parker hasn't called."

"Yeah, he isn't gonna." Buffy shrugged. "I saw him on campus today, feeding some other girl the same line that hooked me."

"Oh, Buffy." Willow gave her a hug and pulled her away from the door to close it. "I'm sorry. What a jerk!"

"Yeah." She put her backpack down and slid out of her shoes. Buffy sat on the foot of her bed and fell over. "I feel like an idiot. Really nice guys won't sleep with you first thing. Like Oz."

"He's the best," Willow agreed. She sat cross-legged on her bed and examined Buffy. "You seem very chill about this, after the past few days of Parkeritis."

"I have a date on Friday."

"Oh?" Willow grinned, started to ask for details, then stopped. "Wait. Buffy, maybe you shouldn't. Too much with the rebound, or something."

The Slayer was quiet for a moment. "You super sleepy?" When Willow shook her head, she said. "Give me just a moment to brush my teeth, scrub up the oil slick. Scoot over, and I'll tell you all about it." By the time she got back, Willow was holding a textbook and highlighting something, but she put it down as soon as Buffy was in pajamas. Buffy got in under the covers with her, like a hundred other times when they'd slept over at each other's houses.

"I don't know which end to start from," she admitted. "I guess I'll start with the now. Spike's back."

Willow's face lit up. "Oh, that's great. I've been worried, too…"

⸹

Willow had a slight frown. "So if you could talk telepathically all the way to Argentina, but then you couldn't reach him this summer… That's why you thought he was dead."

She nodded. "I knew he'd cross half the world for me."

"Because he already had…."

⸹

"Yeah. Oh! I almost forgot. Giles and Xander helped him find the gem, and there was a lot of other treasure, and apparently we're all rich now."

"What?"

"My reaction exactly," Buffy said, shrugging. "But my handsome vampire took me to his really nice beach house in his fancy convertible, so there's money coming from somewhere." She looked at Willow's expression and nodded. "Exactly. I thought I was crazy, too, when Spike walked up behind me in daylight just as I found out Parker is an ass."

"Parker? Oh!" Willow made an 'eep!' face. "Does Spike know?"

Buffy nodded. "He does. No blame. He said he didn't want me always wondering what it might be like with a regular guy."

"Is there a difference?"

The Slayer nodded again. "I had to be careful all the time not to hurt him, squeeze too hard… It's the same for you, and Xander and Giles. And Mom. You know I hug too hard…."