Title: GOOD ENOUGH FOR BUFFY – 1st Ending (2/2)

Author: Bonnie

Email: bondav40@yahoo.com

Rating: R (for brief sex scene)

Summary: Part 2 of the sequel to "Playing House." What's a humanized Spike like? Alternate ending will follow.

Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.

Part 2 (1st Ending)

It was three weeks since Spike reclaimed his humanity and lost his mind; three weeks of rediscovering the world like an infant; three weeks of needing a babysitter round the clock. Buffy would leave him at the Magic Box with Anya in the morning, and Dawn would pick him up there after school. He was very malleable, allowing himself to be led here and there and staying where he was put with no fuss at all. He was a giant sponge, absorbing the sights and sounds of the world around him, and giving nothing back. His once expressive face was devoid of any emotion. He made no attempt to communicate, but seemed to understand rudimentary commands if enough gestures accompanied them. "Walk here! Sit there! Eat that! Stay!"

Buffy and Dawn had quickly taught him how to dress and undress, use the bathroom (with Xander's reluctant help), and eat with utensils. These simple acts seemed to be regained with no effort. His motor skills were unimpaired. However, speech and complex thought were slow to return. Looking into Spike's empty blue eyes was heartbreaking.

The Slayer sat on the couch near her fractured lover on this particular evening watching him intently study the pages of the picture book Dawn had bought him earlier that week. Her sister sat at Spike's side pointing to a photo of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.

"See....KITTEN," she sounded out carefully. "It goes 'miaou'. Kitten, soft."

Spike smiled slightly at the funny meowing sound Dawn had made, then turned the page.

Buffy sighed and returned unseeing eyes to the TV where an endless tape of "Passions" played. She hoped the repetition of the make-believe images might stir a memory in his mind that the real world was not reaching.

Closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the couch, she reviewed all that had happened since Spike regained consciousness at Sam Fairman's house. Buffy had been simultaneously aghast and ecstatic on discovering the shaman had been able to restore her lover to human life. But it quickly became apparent that the person she knew and loved was either gone or deeply buried, and she wasn't sure there was any of 'her' Spike in there to reclaim. She also wasn't sure how she felt about this childlike stranger inhabiting his body.

"Give him time," the shaman had counseled. "Memories may start coming back here and there or maybe in one big rush."

"Or maybe never," Buffy had mumbled.

Sam put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Be patient and don't give up hope. I'm sure there's something of your man still surviving."

Buffy had spent the night on the shaman's couch, resting fitfully and watching Spike sleeping peacefully curled up on the floor. In the morning she had packed her vacant boyfriend into Xander's rusty Datsun and headed back across the desert toward California. Buffy had snagged a couple of Spike's favorite tapes from his car, which Fairman had agreed to keep temporarily, and listened to the head-banging music all the way back to Sunnydale. The beautiful, blond stranger next to her just sat quietly gazing out the window.

All the way home she talked to him about himself and their life together, and what little she knew of his life prior to that, trying to bring forth some spark of recognition. Nothing stirred in the smooth complacency of his face. Buffy ached as if part of her had been amputated.

The couple had arrived home late that evening to find Dawn anxiously waiting on the front porch. At first sight of the Datsun, she jumped up and ran down the walk to the road. Buffy had called from a rest stop and left a message earlier in the day to let Dawn know how things stood and what time to expect them. Now the girl was anxious to check out the damage for herself. She practically tore the passenger door off its hinges getting to Spike.

"Oh my God! I can't believe it, Buffy. He really is alive," she exclaimed as her sister stretched the kinks out of her back from the long drive. "Hey, Spike. How are you feeling?"

He looked through her, and Dawn was galvanized with horror at the mindless lump.

"I told you, Dawnie. There's nobody home," the Slayer said quietly, helping to guide the unresisting ex-vampire out of the car. "I think he can hear, and maybe understand some stuff, but....." she shrugged, too exhausted to find anything comforting to say to Dawn.

The sisters had led Spike into the house and sat him at the table while Dawn threw together a quick dinner and Buffy called the rest of the gang to let them know the news. Over the next few days all of the Scoobies, even Xander, had been supportive in every way they could, supplying meals and Spike-sitting as needed.

Incidents from the past were dragged out as each person told stories of their personal history with Spike, trying to jog his memory. The troubles he'd caused, lies he'd told and times he'd tried to kill them were suddenly transformed into fondly recalled anecdotes. The many times he'd helped the gang were also brought out and re-examined. And each of them began to appreciate how much the vampire had woven himself into the fabric of their lives.

But, as the days passed, there was little change in the soporific nature of the newly minted human. Buffy began to fear there were no memories left in this shell of what had once been the most passionate, exasperating, humorous, and ferocious being she had ever known.

The phone rang disturbing Buffy from her reverie. She answered it to find the much-hated voice of Sam Fairman on the other end.

"How's our patient doing?"

" 'Our' patient is still a wind-up robot thanks to you," she answered. "Nothing's changed. He can take care of his basic bodily needs, but he can't communicate."

"Well, like I said before, give him time. I believe something will wake up in there......Um.....Listen. I called to let you know another part of what went on that day. Before we began the ritual....."

Buffy steeled herself, not liking the hesitant note in Sam's voice.

"That.....that chip in his head. It wasn't working anymore. Couldn't tell you for how long, but his behavior was modified by it. I just thought you should know that."

"What good is this? Why are you telling me now? I know Spike had changed. I don't need you to tell me that. He was as good as a .........demon.........could be."

"Exactly! Which is why I was able to do the ritual at all. He had changed on a fundamental level and was willing to accept his mortality again. That's why I tried to blend the demon and human aspects into one. I still think his memories, ALL of them, will come back with time. Please don't give up hope, Ms. Summers."

Buffy looked at the blond and brown heads bent over a child's picture book and sighed, "I'll try, Mr. Fairman."

She hung up the phone and went to stand behind the couch, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. Dawn looked up and smiled. Buffy smiled back. Spike ignored her touch and continued to look at the photo of a black and white rabbit. She stroked his hair and kissed the back of his neck before heading into the kitchen to round up juice boxes and cookies.

Lying in bed alone that night, Buffy stifled her sobs of rage and loss and just let the tears slip silently down to wet the pillow. She pictured Spike's sparkling eyes and annoying smirk as he baited her unmercifully, and mourned the absence of that deep, sexy voice always throwing truth up in her face even when she didn't want to hear it. She ached for a good physical fight against him and the hard, violent sex to which the sparring was a prelude.

She hadn't made sexual overtures to this stranger in her house. It seemed too much like taking advantage of a child. Though his beautiful body was the same, without the wit and fire that was Spike, she couldn't bring herself to touch him in what seemed inappropriate ways.

Near dawn Buffy finally drifted off into a restless sleep filled with dreams of half formed creatures clawing at her and trying to pull her into a demon dimension. As she kicked and fought, she saw Spike's black-clad figure standing across the cemetery silently watching while she called to him for help.

*****************

Days followed with tiny improvements in their man-sized child. Dawn taught him to heat water in the microwave. Buffy showed him what crab grass was and set him to work in the garden every evening. At the Magic Box, where Spike spent his days, Anya had him dusting shelves and sweeping the floor. Tara, with Willow's research assistance, came up with a memory enhancing charm for Spike to wear around his neck.

When Xander took him to buy new clothes, he did exhibit a preference for black T's over Hawaiian print shirts. And when Clem came by for a visit, Buffy was sure she caught a fleeting look of recognition on Spike's face.

One day Dawn called Buffy at work to tell her the exciting news that Spike had gone straight to his hidden stash of cigarettes when they arrived home that afternoon, also located his lighter, and was now contentedly smoking like a chimney. 'He would remember THAT nasty habit.' Buffy thought.

But the first real breakthrough came two nights later, when the Slayer arrived home after a long hard day of teaching the self-discipline of exercise to middle aged ladies, and molding the wiggling little bodies of pre-schoolers into kick-boxing machines. Her classes had run late into the evening this particular day and the other Scoobies had taken up the slack in patrolling.

Dawn was camped out on the living room couch, her schoolbooks scattered around her, pen poised over a research paper, as she watched television.

"Where's Spike?" Buffy asked immediately.

"I left him in the laundry room sorting whites and colors," Dawn said, not looking up from her movie.

"You what!"

"Come on, Buffy. He's capable. Give him a little credit. He's not going to eat detergent or anything."

"How long ago?" Without waiting for an answer, she moved quickly toward the half-closed laundry door. Through it she could see piles of laundry, lights and darks, and one of Spike's jean clad legs. She pushed the door open gently so as not to startle him and froze. He was clutching a pair of Buffy's light blue panties to his face, inhaling her female fragrance, and, for the first time since his transformation, an expression lit up his features. Eyes closed, lips smiling, he was enraptured. Buffy's gasping intake of breath broke the spell and his eyes flickered open. This time when they fell on her there was instant recognition….and extreme lust.

"I'll be damned," she murmured and held out her hand to her lover.

He reached out and grasped the offered hand, then opened his mouth to let out a rasping croak, "Buffy." She pulled him up and he enfolded her in his arms, burying his face in her hair and repeating her name quietly as if it was a revelation. Her eyes welled with tears of relief and she hugged him ferociously, forgetting her strength.

He squirmed slightly within her grasp and she loosened it, pulling away enough to tilt her face up toward his and ask, "And do you know who you are?" A flicker of confusion slipped across his face then he stopped any further questions with his lips. She felt their firm softness, no longer cool, press against hers (Spike – not Spike) and his hot, hot tongue begin to probe her mouth. Obviously what his mind might have forgotten his body remembered. His touch was achingly familiar yet subtly different.

It was the heat….oh the heat….he generated now. Pressing her up against the dryer and dominating her body with his, she was overcome by the delicious waves of heat. And the breath! Ragged and hungry. His chest rose and fell with sharply taken breaths, as a groan of desire erupted from his throat. Every inch of them was pressed together and Buffy felt the miracle of his heart throbbing against hers, pounding furiously and raising her own excitement. Their lips continued to blend, tongues thrusting and searching in a familiar dance. This was still totally Spike. No one else kissed her like he did – only hot instead of cool. How strange and wonderful!

Buffy relaxed and let his hands do enchanting things beneath her clothes, stroking, kneading, petting every part of her he could reach. He began to tug on her pants, trying to loosen the fastening, and Buffy knew it was time to change location. She pulled away and he let out a complaining moan.

"No. Not here," she shushed him. "Come with me." She led him toward the stairs, calling out to Dawn as she passed, "Goodnight. I'm putting Spike to bed now."

"Uh-huh," Dawn was engrossed in the climax of the movie, and Buffy smiled as the giddy thought occurred that she'd be having a climax of her own very soon now.

Barely in the door, Buffy kicked it shut, and the lovers' clothes were shed like water. Spike worked his way from her mouth to her throat, then down to her breasts as he sank to his knees in front of her. She ran her hands through his soft hair, touseling it into blond tipped peaks, as he worked at her twin peaks with an eager tongue and nipping teeth. It felt so good and right after the long abstinence – only a handful of weeks, but it seemed so much longer.

Licking down over her belly toward her mound, he paused and almost reverently parted her to reveal the bud of her desire, then placed a cherishing kiss on it. Shocks of electricity flowed up through Buffy's body, and she let out a gasping, "Oh." It was as if she had never been touched there before. Everything seemed shiny new.

She let him work her with fervent lips and lapping tongue until her shaking legs couldn't support her own weight, then tugged at his head. "The bed!" she murmured. "Now."

He looked up and smiled to see her flushed and needy face. Standing, he swooped her from her feet and deposited her on the bed, climbing astride in one swift move. Supporting himself on strong, ropy arms, Spike was suspended above the girl watching her fluttering eyelids and half-open, panting lips. "Hurry. I can't wait…." She breathed, reaching behind to grab his ass and pull him toward her aching chasm.

"No."

Her eyes flew open and she saw that he was coyly smiling. He pursed his lips and shook his head, the old teasing Spike.

"What do you mean 'no'?" She cuffed him playfully on the shoulder, then reached down to feel his hard, vibrating cock. "You're ready, too. I can feel it," she whispered seductively.

He groaned and shifted at her touch, but shook his head again. "Not yet."

'It's a miracle. Spike's talking.' She thought absently, but the bulk of her attention was on the wonderful, teasing things he was doing with his hands, mouth, and penis. 'It's a miracle. Spike's fucking.' was what her body declared.

Later, after mountains of desire had been scaled and conquered, crests of climaxes had been overcome and claimed, Buffy regained her senses enough to question her lover. His head rested on her breast, rivers of sweat melded them together, and both were panting for oxygen. "Spike?" she queried, running a lazy hand down his back.

"Hm?" he sounded half asleep.

"Do you know me?"

She could feel his mouth smiling against her skin. "Buffy."

"That's right," she hesitated. "And do you know who you are?"

"Spike?"

"Who IS Spike?" she asked.

"Me." He said, playing the game, kissing her breast and blowing a puff of air across it to cool the damp flesh.

"What do you remember?" she gently pried.

There was a long silence and she held her breath waiting for the answer.

"You."

She hugged him tight, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. It was better than nothing, she decided.

*****************

Dawn shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, half asleep, and headed to the cupboard for a bowl.

"Hey, Bit," a familiar voice purred. She whirled around to see Spike intently studying the picture of Toucan Sam on the box in his hand, and spooning up cereal with the other.

"You can talk!" she squeaked, as amazed as if a family pet had suddenly acquired the power of speech. "You know who I am!" She paused. "DO you know who I am?"

"Dawn," he said, succinctly.

"That's right! And do you know who you are? Do you remember everything now? When did this happen?" She bombarded him with questions.

"Last night. No. Maybe." He replied in reverse order, tipping his bowl to get the last of the milk on his spoon.

"Huh…what? 'Maybe' you know who you are? What does…."

"He's still confused, Dawnie. Don't ask too many questions just now, okay?" Buffy entered the kitchen, combing out her shower-damp hair. Spike's gaze was magnetically drawn from his study of Toucan Sam to the beautiful blond who was the center of his world. That much he remembered.

He rose and went to her, enveloping her in a bear hug and passionate fruit- loopy kiss.

"Oh, here we go," Dawn sighed. "Some things never change. Can you take that to the bedroom, please!" She chuckled inwardly as she filled her own bowl of cereal, poured on the milk, and sat down to regard the tropical bird which urged her to buy more of his product.

"So how are you feeling this morning?" Buffy asked.

"Good." He moved her hair aside and began nibbling her neck. "Hungry."

"Have you remembered anything else....about yourself?"

"Oh, so YOU can ask..." Dawn mumbled as she crunched down her cereal.

"Mmm. Fishing. My father took me once. We didn't catch anything, but it was .....a great day."

"How old were you?" Dawn looked up with interest.

"Little. I tried to pull the hook out myself and stabbed my finger. I cried and he wrapped it in his handkerchief, but it bled right through. Then he said, 'It'll get better soon.' and he gave me a biscuit. We didn't catch any more fish."

"My dad took me fishing once, too," the teenager recalled wistfully. "I caught a sunfish."

"What else, Spike," Buffy quietly prodded.

"A woman. With dark hair. She was beautiful. I remember taking care of her. That was my job, to take care of.....I don't remember her name. But it went on for a long time. I brought her things to eat......people, I guess, and made sure no harm ever came to her. We played together. We did lots of things. Then something happened and she was gone. I don't remember what happened......" He broke off, a perplexed frown knitting his brows. "It hurt when she was gone."

"I know that feeling," Buffy empathized, thinking of the day after Angel had left Sunnydale and the horrible cramping in her chest every time she drew a breath. Love and pain were two sides to the same coin.

"What about now?" Dawn asked. "What do you remember about Buffy and me?"

"You need help with math a lot and she.....kills things."

Buffy gasped. "That's it! You look at me and THAT'S what you come up with?!"

"You fuck really well, too," Spike added, helpfully.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I hardly ever need help with math any more!" Dawn exploded. "How can you say that?"

Spike looked from one to the other of the sisters and knew he had somehow blundered.

"I don't know what you want me to say? You asked what I remember, and that's what I thought of. But it's not ALL I know about you."

"You," he gestured to Dawn. "are tired of her treating you like you're young. You want to grow up and to know what's going on around you. Your friend, Michelle, wrote a nasty note about you to another friend which you found out about and now you're mad at her. You really want a kitten but you're allergic."

"That's right," the girl smiled. "You remember me."

"And you...." he turned to Buffy.

"This had better be the PG rated version," she said.

"You hurt all the time. People hurt you, and you're afraid to lose any more of them. I want to make you feel better, but I don't know how except with sex. So, is it helping at all?"

She laughed. "You're doing fine Dr. Feelgood. What else do you think you know about me?"

"You help people and most of the time they don't even know. You're like a shining light in this world and no one can see it," he stroked her hair back from her face then let his hand trail down her jaw, caressing her mouth with his thumb. "All I can do is try to protect you, keep you alive so you can keep doing your work. That's who I am – the one who helps Buffy." His solemn face twisted into a cocky grin, "And supplies good sex."

"You know me – except maybe the shining light thing," Buffy confirmed, "but you don't begin to know all that YOU are."

"Okay," Dawn interrupted, "before I go into sugar shock, I'm taking off for school. Don't forget I'm going to Brian's soccer game after, Buffy. You have to pick Spike up today." And with that, the teenager grabbed her backpack and headed out the door.

Spike protested being dropped off at the Magic Box that morning. "I don't need bloody day care!" he complained, but caved at Buffy's insistence.

"Anya will talk to you and fill you in on things you've forgotten. She knows what it's like to be clueless in the human world."

It turned out to be a productive day for Spike's memory recovery as well as profitable for Anya's cash flow. Between customers, the ex-vengeance demon quizzed him on facts about himself, their group of friends, and the world in general.

He remembered his human family, but not their names. He remembered finding the Gem of Amara, but, unsurprisingly, had completely forgotten Harmony. He remembered tearing through a cruise ship full of passengers with Angelus on vacation one time, but couldn't explain what his relationship was to the vampire. He remembered that Xander owed him $40.00 from a bet they'd made. He remembered that Dawn hated pineapple juice, that red was his favorite color, that Willow and Tara were in love, that men had walked on the moon. He had forgotten the name of his beloved dark beauty, Drusilla, but remembered her doll, Miss Edith.

There seemed to be no pattern to the bits and pieces of memory that Spike was able to retrieve. Anya enjoyed filling in the blanks with her own version of life in the world.

"So remember, when humans tell you 'I don't want to talk about it,' they really mean 'It's none of your business but keep prying anyway because I have a desperate need to share my problem with you and get your guidance, and if I yell, just ignore me, because it's really a cry for help.'" Anya explained this fact as she totalled the day's receipts. "And remember, no matter what Buffy may SAY, no woman likes a layabout boyfriend. You have to get yourself some marketable skills as soon as possible and get out there and earn some money."

"What about sex?" Spike asked.

"Oh....what?.....Well I suppose you could. I guess it's a lucrative profession, but......"

"No. General question. How do you know if things are as good as you think they are? I pretty much remember sex and that I was good at it....or I assumed I was, but how can I be sure that Buffy's really satisfied?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked me that. I can tell you about what women like and what they really mean when they say, 'You were great.' For one thing, if they have to say it, you probably weren't. For example...."

Buffy entered the store just then, cutting Anya's sex lecture short.

"Hi. Sorry to leave Spike here so late. I forgot Dawn was going to the soccer game after school. New boyfriend prospect," she explained.

"No problem. He's a big help around the store, and now that he can communicate again he's even more useful. Very good at getting the female shoppers to buy more than they intended."

Spike scowled as they discussed him as if he were mentally deficient.

"Anyway," Buffy added, kissing his full pouting lip and wrapping an arm around his waist. "I absolutely have to go patrol later. I've been totally lax recently. Dawn won't be home 'til really late. So, do you think you and Xander could have Spike over after dinner? I could drop him by...."

"No. No. No. We've got plans....."

"I can come with you, Buffy. I remember how to fight....."

"Please, Anya."

"Really, Buffy, any night but this. We've been planning...."

"I said I can help you," Spike interjected, as the two women continued to argue as if he had no voice.

"Well, I suppose he can stay home alone now that he's getting better," she mused.

"Are you deaf, woman? I'm coming with you. I'm not an invalid!"

"Sweetheart, you're also not a vampire any more. You don't have any special strength, and I don't want to have to worry about you while I'm trying to fight."

Spike's lips tightened into a straight line and his arms dropped away from Buffy's body. "So you want me to stay home and, what, keep your dinner warm while you go out and slay things?"

"Well, no. I'll have dinner before I go," Buffy deliberately missed the point. "You can keep the bed warm, though," she teased.

Spike's face was thunderous with rage, a definite improvement over the blank canvas he had exhibited for the past month. "I guess you're letting me know what I am. Thanks for making it clear." He stalked past both women and cast open the door of the shop hard enough to shake the glass.

"Oh, Buffy. You know how frail men's egos are! That was a big mistake," Anya admonished. "Now, see, when Xander wants to think he's in charge I have this little trick where I......"

"Thanks, An." Buffy hastily exited, running to catch up with Spike.

Later, as they ate a silent, uncomfortable meal, she thought about how she had managed to alienate him less than a day after having him 'back'. The silent, obedient Spike was certainly easier to manage than the prickly, tight-jawed man sitting across from her, jabbing his food viciously with a fork.

She swallowed her pride and made an attempt, "Spike, it's not that I don't want you with me when I go on patrol, it's just that......"

"Never mind. It's fine," he snapped. "I'll stay wherever you need me." He stabbed his pork chop with a knife.

Buffy sighed, shook her head, and gave up. They completed the dinner in silence, then she dressed to go demon hunting, gave her boyfriend a goodbye peck, and slipped off into the night.

Walking in the cemetery, Buffy absently tossed and caught her favorite stake while thinking about how to deal with Spike's need to feel needed. How could she help him to feel useful and productive while still keeping him out of harm's way? Good God, he was like an older, more testosterone- charged version of Dawn!

Suddenly the distracted Slayer was spun around by a vicious blow to the head. A second blow drove her to her knees, and she looked up through a red haze to see a burly vamp, fresh from the grave, hefting a slab of granite headstone. 'Felled by a Neanderthal bloodsucker? Not likely,' Buffy thought, reaching for her dropped stake and coming up into the vampire's chest with it in both hands. The force propelled him into the air, where he burst into a dusty cloud that rained down on her head, filling her eyes.

As Buffy blinked to clear her vision, several more vamps moved in from all sides. "What is this? A convention? You missed the shuttle to the hotel," she quipped, lamely trying to buy time as she continued to wipe at her blurry eyes. As if on command, the enemies all attacked at once. Buffy whirled, stabbed, spun, sliced, kicked, and parried.

She felt her arm seized and drawn up behind her until it popped from the socket. Letting out a shriek of agony and rage, Buffy viciously kicked out behind her to dislodge the vamp. She succeeded in knocking him away, but now her left arm was useless and the rest of the attackers kept on coming. This was looking very, very bad.

Suddenly a familiar roaring battle cry reverberated through the cemetery, and Buffy caught a swirl of black from the corner of her bleary eye. Spike had entered the fray and was tossing vamps right and left in a mad rush to get to her. He drove his stake home again and again, while burning every vamp he touched with the large silver crucifix clutched in his other fist.

Buffy paused in mid-punch to watch and took a sharp blow to the side of the head for it. She was momentarily transfixed by the glorious sight of Spike, spinning, kicking, and snarling, as he worked his way toward her. At this point in a fight he would usually be all golden-eyes and flashing fangs. It was thrilling to see his human face contorted in fury, and Buffy was shocked to find herself, in the middle of everything, intensely aroused.

She turned her attention back to the business at hand with a hard elbow to the jaw of the assailant closing in behind her, and a crotch kick to the one in front of her. While he was clutching himself, she quickly staked him. Then abruptly it was over, the fine dust of about a dozen vampires floating in the air around them.

Spike was bent over, hands resting on knees, gasping for breath. He looked up at her from under his dark brows and gave her a crooked grin. "Buffy's lapdog still bites," he teased. "Don't you think I've earned a treat?"

"Definitely," she admitted with a come hither smile, then groaned as she moved her arm and pain shot through it.

"You okay, luv?"

"Just dislocated my shoulder, I think," Buffy tried to rotate it and bit back a yelp as another wave of pain coursed through her.

"Let me..." Spike stepped forward, supported her back with his body and rammed the arm back into the socket with a sickening pop. Buffy screamed in agony.

"Better?" he asked, gently massaging the damaged area.

"Mm. It hurts like hell," she complained.

"Well then, we better take you home, ice it, and kiss it better." He put his arm around her waist and they began to walk slowly toward home.

"Hey," Buffy interrupted the companionable silence. "I thought you were going to stay put tonight. You promised."

"No I didn't. I said I'd stay wherever you need me, and I'd say you needed my help here tonight. It's irrelevant now anyway, since I proved to you I can still fight."

Buffy stole a glance at his proud and confident expression and was glad he never listened to her. She wrapped her good arm around his and laced their fingers together – palm to palm and pulse to pulse.

"I'm glad you came, and I'm glad you're back from wherever your brain checked out to," she confided softly. "Now, about that reward.....what can I do for you?"

Spike seemed to be considering it with great gravity. When he finally answered, his tone was serious. "The beach. I want to spend a day at the beach with you....in the sun."

Buffy's throat constricted and tears choked her even as she smiled. "It's a date," she whispered through trembling lips.

Epilogue

Late afternoon on a California summer day, a beach full of tanning bodies, screaming gulls, and kids with sand pails; gentle waves washing seaweed ashore; four friends enjoying the day....

Buffy shook her hair, spraying water droplets over Spike's nicely toasting skin.

"Hey, watch it! That's cold," he grumbled, rolling over from stomach to back to look up at her.

"Oh my god, it's sizzling! You are going to be so burned. You'd better put a shirt on," she mothered, and dropped down on the blanket beside him.

"Tell you what, instead of a shirt why don't you rub some more of this nice lotion on me." He tossed her the sunscreen.

"Everywhere?" she grinned.

"Every spot your little hands can reach," he purred.

"God, will you two never stop with the sexual banter? It's wretch- inducing," Xander complained from his beach chair nearby. He and Anya had matching striped chairs, sunglasses, and large straw hats. They sipped from the twin plastic coconut glasses Anya insisted on using whenever they came to the beach.

"Sod off, whelp. Tend to your girl there." He tossed a second bottle of sunscreen at Xander, hitting him in the head.

"Hey! Keep your boyfriend under control, Buff." He rubbed his forehead. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"Honey, you heard what the man said, 'Tend me,'" Anya interrupted, tapping Xander's arm with a long fingernail.

Buffy turned her attention to coating Spike's pale skin with another layer of SPF150, enjoying the feel of his muscles smoothly slipping under her hands.

"So, how do you like the beach?" she asked.

"Very sandy and sticky, isn't it? And hot." he replied.

"That's why you have to go in the water now and then, to cool down."

"Too cold."

Buffy smiled at his fussing, remembering how recently neither cold nor heat had affected him in any way. It was the little indignities of humanity that set him complaining about fifty times a day. She finished stroking his fish pale skin with lotion and stretched out beside him on the blanket, basking in the fiery warmth. Soon all four of the sun-bathers had drifted off to sleep.

Buffy woke in the red glow of sunset, and looked around to see what the others were doing. Xander and Anya were still asleep in their twin chairs with their twin sunglasses lying askew on their faces, their matching coconut cups having slipped from their hands to the sand below. Spike was sitting up, arms around his knees, watching the sun with deep intensity.

She touched his arm lightly and he started. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Beautiful, isn't it." She sat up next to him to keep watch.

He nodded.

The sat silently as the orange orb slipped further down the horizon.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked.

"The sun?"

"Sunset. It used to just make me hungry. I remember that. Now it feels…."

"Wistful? Melancholy?" Buffy supplied.

"Lonely. Even with you right here. It kind of aches."

"Yeah. A good sunset will do that to you. Another day over. Time slipping by..…."

They sat thinking about it, brooding like a pair of Angels. Then Buffy brightened, "BUT a sunrise, now that will make you feel energized and ready to do it all over again. Anything can happen in a new day."

Spike reached over and took her hand, stroking the palm with his thumb. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it, then enfolded her small hand in both of his own. "Well then, let's pack up our friends, drive somewhere, and wait for the sunrise."



END