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part two

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He was worn, she noticed. He had been somewhere harsh and dry. There was still sand under his fingernails. His hair was dark at the roots.

He looked terrified as he sat on the floor of her dead mother's bedroom. She didn't know what to do with him. He didn't even know her. All he had whispered when she brought him here was something about everyone he knew being dead.

"So what do we do with him?" Xander whispered to her, echoing her thoughts from the hallway, looking at where she watched him from the door.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he can't camp out on your floor staring morosely into the wallpaper forever. Think we should find out what happened?"

"I don't know how we'll find out..." she said dully. No Giles, no Willow. There was the prospect of breaking into the locked up Magic Box, going through the books. But she wasn't good at that. Isolated. No one was at her back any more.

"And you're sure he's... well, William?"

"Yes."

"How?"

She looked at him sadly.

"Because I know him."

"What's going on?" asked Dawn.

"Dawn, you should go back to bed--"

"Spike?" she said, walking past her sister, her face lighting up, "I thought you'd gone away. . ."

He looked back at the pretty child who smiled down at him. She reached her hand out towards him, and he touched it timidly. And yet he didn't speak. And that expression on his face, like he didn't know where he was. Her smile faded from her face and she crouched down in front of him.

"Spike? You ok?"

"Dawn," Buffy said softly, coming up to her and touching her shoulder, "Something's wrong."

---

Buffy broke the lock with a feeling of unfocused guilt, and opened the door to the Magic Box. It was nearly dawn, and she wasn't sure if Spike was still a vampire, or what had happened to him. They went immediately, because she'd tried to learn from past inaction. She didn't want to take chances, wanted to know what was happening. She gestured the way for them to enter, and quickly went to close all the blinds. Xander walked inside with trepidation, remembering all that had happened here. Spike entered, still silent. Dawn followed, staring at the stranger inhabiting her friend.

"Ok," said Buffy, looking around. She pulled a sheet from where it had been pinned over a bookcase, "There are books."

They stared at the books.

"Uh, Buffy?" Dawn ventured, "How do we know what to look for?"

Xander broke in, "Well I've been research guy before, Giles kept catalogues. We'll find the subject, and look at the books that have that subject in them."

"What subject?"

"Hmm?"

"Well. . . what are we looking for?"

"Maybe he had a catalogue for that too..."

---

Xander sat up from the pile of books before him. "I think it's this one," he said, pointing to a reference in the gloss on a hand written page, "And now to look it up."

Buffy was asleep in her chair. Dawn was flipping intently through a modern wiccan encyclopedia, regarding auras. Spike was still silent, looking at Buffy where she rested her head on her arm, watching her breathe evenly and quietly as she slept. The morning light streamed diffuse through the blinds.

He was gaining his bearings. He couldn't remember these places, these faces... but it was familiar. He felt comfortable among them. Like he could trust the beautiful blonde, who fought the darkness with such power. He hadn't said anything, if there was anything to say.

He felt like he was alive for the very first time, like the universe was new again. And yet nothing was new. The creatures she had killed, the vampires, they didn't fill him with horror. He knew them.

Their dynamic interested him. Buffy, the brave and beautiful one, she inspired love and loyalty. He could see it in Dawn, the young one's face, though there was also a kind of deep seated hurt and reticence. He could see it in Xander, who had found him.

He liked Xander for a strange reason. He could tell that Xander had disliked whatever sort of man he had been before, and that he and this Spike had always held animosity for each other. He could just see it in Xander's actions, the way he spoke of him. And he liked him for it, because his loyalty to the beautiful one was such that Xander would help him simply because she wished it.

And he could see Dawn cared about him. Just the way she carefully searched through the books told him that. But the way she avoided looking at him told him she was upset whoever he had been had left her. What had come back couldn't tell her why.

And Buffy... he knew so much about her from her movements. The way she breathed, the soft tone of her voice. The gentle enunciation. Her strange name was music simply because it was hers. Her hazel eyes were noble.

She had suffered much, and did not know her strength. He saw she was uncomfortable somehow, like something was missing in her life. He imagined there had been great loss, both recent and distant, in her existence. He had always been good at reading people, if not so good at talking to them.

"Here it is! One book-o-answers coming up!" said Xander cheerfully, opening the copy flat on the table. Buffy stirred and awakened, stretching her back out with a grimace. Xander looked down at the book and his face fell.

"Except that it's Greek to me," he said, looking at the strange turnings of the letters.

"It is Greek," William said quietly, "I can read it."

"Since when did you know... anything?" Xander asked flatly. But his face held the question sincerely.

"I can read it," was all he replied. His tone was calm and patient, as he leaned over the book.

"Could I have something to write on?" William asked, "I need to take notes." This was comforting. It was like what he'd done every day, he remembered... every day in the Bodeliean in his studies. It was a flash, a vivid memory. And then others came. His sister in a garden. Poetry. Sweetness.

And then rejection, and dejection, and he was lost. That was his life, and it had ended a long time ago. Except that he had a chance to be alive again-- to be alive.

Whoever he was was dead or buried, and now he could be alive.

And he stilled his mind, and focused on translation. He could remember the skill with ease, and his pen began to flow across the notebook page.

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