Sorry this took so long. I'm in the middle of changing jobs and things are kinda hectic. I'll try to update more often. Tahnks all of you who wrote to prod me. :)

Terri

******

Someone called the poofter. He wasn't sure who and he was fairly certain it wasn't Buffy or Dawn. If he had to guess, he would pick Willow as the likely candidate. Didn't matter, really, who called him, only that he was there comforting Buffy on the night of her mother's funeral.

It looked like they were keeping Vigil by the fresh grave, although with the way they were sitting, he doubted Buffy even knew that was what they were doing. Trust Peaches to figure he was 'protecting' Buffy by not telling her about Vigil and the necessity of keeping watch over a loved one's grave the first few nights after burial. The first night was the most dangerous, of course. That was when the body was freshest and most useful. The longer the body stayed in the ground, the less likely it was that someone would try to raise it or take it.

Almost no one was dumb enough to raise a body that had been rotting for more than a couple of weeks… Willow being an exception, of course, having waited 147 days to perform her resurrection spell. She had been extremely lucky that the spell had worked out as well as it did. More often than not, what came back was a caricature of what had been, and a seriously flawed one at that. It wasn't the first time he had suspected that Red had gotten some help from sources Higher Up.

So there he was, ready to stand Guard for Joyce's Vigil and he found himself usurped by Angel the Magnificent, swooping in like a brooding poofter to play the sympathetic hero and get all snuggly with Buffy. It made him want to heave. Trust Angel to show up when Buffy was weakest and neediest, just to rub it in her face that they couldn't be together and that she needed a "normal" life. Angel never could take Buffy when she was strong. Her strength unnerved him, unlike Spike who was drawn to and thrilled by Buffy at her strongest. It might have had something to do with Angelus' egoist streak. Even as an unsouled demon, Angelus could never stand to lose to anyone or anything.

The axe itched in his hand and he fingered the blade, feeling the sharp edge cut into the pad of his finger. The pain made him wince but refocused him. He knew he had to stay away from them. Angel was sure to sense his soul and it was no good if Buffy found out. Joyce's grave was safe for the night. He would come back the following night in time to catch Dawn trying to cast her resurrection spell. In the meantime, he wasn't sure if Angel had sensed him, or if Buffy had mentioned him, so he was reluctant to go home. He walked around aimlessly for a while then ended up at Giles' doorstep. Knocking faintly on the door, he half hoped that the man would be too drunk to answer, but he had no such luck.

A bedraggled and weary Giles opened the door and blinked at him. "Spike?"

"Hello Watcher. May I come in?"

Giles stepped back, allowing Spike to move past him.

"How are you doing? I haven't seen you since…" Giles began.

Spike placed the battle axe gently down on the table and responded. "Been alright. Killed me a demon. Doc, the bloke I told you about, the one who cut Dawn on the tower."

"That… that's good. I just hope you haven't acted too rashly."

Spike shrugged. "There's nothin' we could have learned from him that I don't already know."

He sat down on the couch and hung his head. "Went to stand Vigil. Found Buffy there with Angel. Somebody must've called him."

"Angel is here? Are you sure?"

Spike nodded. "Yeah. Can't miss 'im. Mr. All Broody and Hair Gel. Snugglin' with Buffy. Comfortin' her…"

Giles retrieved his glasses and cleaned them. "Yes, well, perhaps that is what she needs right now. Lord knows, she wasn't accepting any comfort from any of us."

"Poof likes 'er weak. Never could stand it when she was strong. Wanted 'er dependant. That way he could control 'er. Angelus doesn't like his women strong. Queen Bitch Darla was enough for him," he muttered.

"Having met Darla, I would concur that she was ah… very spirited."

Spike laughed without mirth. "Wouldn't call 'er that, but okay."

Giles sat next to him. "You look… worn. You haven't been eating have you."

Spike shook his head. "Haven't been able to. Can't stomach anythin' right now. 'S'all messed up. Killin' Doc helped tho."

"Are you sure he's dead? You said that you and Xander had killed him before."

Spike nodded. "Cut of 'is head and threw it in the fireplace. Unless his headless body can stand up and pull 'is head out of a bleedin' fire, my guess is that he's dead."

"That would seem logical, yes."

"Felt good. Used the battle axe I gave Buffy for her birthday. Went an' got it. I'll put it back when I get a chance."

"I'm sure Buffy would appreciate that."

Spike shrugged. "Doubt she'll even know I used it. Blade was clean. She probably's never even taken it out for a spin."

"How did you get that axe, really?"

Spike snorted. "I killed the owner, of course. 'S the only way to get a Gruth'lak battle axe."

"And you did this how long ago?"

"About sixty years ago."

Giles sat back, thinking. "I must say that I am impressed. From everything I have heard, Gruth'lak demons are very strong and extremely difficult to kill."

Spike looked away, pain flashing across his features. "They are, but I had incentive. Blighter was after Dru."

Uncomfortable silence fell between the two men until Giles stood and fetched drinks for them both.

"I'm no stranger to grief, y'know," Spike commented, accepting the bourbon gratefully. "My Da and little sis both died before I was turned. I knew loss and mourning clothes well. I thought I was done with grievin' but now…"

Giles sat next to him again. "Well, I'm sure the soul is feeling the pain quite keenly."

Spike shook his head. "No Watcher, you don't get it. I grieved for Joyce *before* I got the bloody soul. First time 'round it hit me like an axe in the chest. Feels the same now."

He drank the bourbon, glad for the burn of the alcohol even though it hit his empty stomach. "Can I sleep here, Watcher? Dunno if Peaches saw me, but I don't fancy wakin' up on fire. 'Sides, Poof is bound to see the bloody soul and tell Buffy."

"Spike, do you think it's wise to keep your soul a secret from Buffy?"

"Tellin' her would leave more questions than answers, Rupert. Best not to say anything until after the Hell Bitch is dead."

"I will respect your wishes for now, but you do know that you can't keep it from her forever, don't you?"

"Watcher, if I can keep 'er from takin' that swan dive off the tower, I will tell 'er anything she ever wanted to know. I'd even sing it, I'd be so damn happy," he replied wearily.

"Yes, well, I doubt the singing will be necessary."

Spike took another sip from his bourbon, ignoring the roiling of his stomach. "Why not? Might surprise you. I got a decent voice. We could make a nice duet, you an me. Kinda like Sid Vicious meets Barry Manillow."

Giles' head shot up, his face indignant. "I kindly ask you not to insult me by comparing me to Barry Manillow. I fancy myself more of a Bob Geldof type of performer."

Spike snickered. "Boomtown Rats…"

"They were a very nice band in the seventies," Giles sniffed.

"Velvet Underground was better."

"This from a man who thinks punk rock is a classic musical artform."

"Ramones all the way, baby," he said with a wry grin, smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages.

"I Want to Be Sedated. Yes, of course."

"Now now, Watcher, you forget I've lived with you. I know your dirty secrets. You've got Ted Nugent records hidden in your closet."

"How did you…? You've been snooping in my bedroom."

Spike did his best to look innocent and drank down the rest of his drink. "What can I say, Watcher. Evil."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Giles answered wryly.

"Evil who is out of alcohol. Refill, Rupes?" he asked, holding up his empty glass.

Giles rolled his eyes but poured him two more fingers of bourbon.

"Shall I put on Cream while we drink ourselves into oblivion," the man offered, pouring himself another drink.

Spike waved his hand at the stereo. "Knock yourself out, Watcher."

Giles rifled through his collection and pulled out the album he and Joyce had listened to during the ill-fated evil candy episode. As the guitar rift from the first song came out of the stereo, he closed his eyes and remembered.

Spike leaned back against the couch cushions and listened to the music. The glass of bourbon rested, untouched, between his legs, and he ignored the tears that slid down his cheeks.