Disclaimer:            Not mine, never will be, but how I wish.

Please be nice, it's only my second go at this.  I promise, there will be a plot developing soon, but I used to be a drama student, so I have to do a little bit of emoting.

Reviews please, but remember; my ego is a fragile thing.

Coming Home

He stepped out into the light, automatically flinching as the sun's rays hit him.  Nothing happened.  The sunlight washed over him and he had to squint against it to see anything; something he hadn't had to do for over a century.  He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare and felt the heat on his flesh.  Putting his other hand to his cheek, he felt his skin, warm to the touch for the first time since he had died all those years ago.  He could feel his heart newly beating in his chest, strong and fast as his chest rose and fell with his deep, excited breaths.  He was alive again; he was human.

He hadn't wanted this.  He had just wanted to get rid of that damned chip, show the Slayer who he really was, so why had they given him another chance at life?  Why had they made him human?  So many questions and no answers for him.  He had thought being human would mean he would be William again, but he could tell just by looking inside himself that he wasn't; he was still Spike, but human.  Looking out over the beautiful African scenery, he knew that the chip had gone, but he could feel his soul waiting inside him, waiting for him to confront what he had become.  Fearing what would happen, he turned away from it and turned instead to the demon he could still feel in him.  He took comfort from the fact that it hadn't been taken from him entirely.  He had spent so long revelling in his demon, indulging its desires, he didn't think he could have faced his new life without it.  It was so much a part of him that he couldn't imagine not feeling it lurking in the recesses of his being.  So, he was human, he had a soul and he still had a part of his demon.  What did that really make him?  Afraid and shivering, despite the African sun high in the sky, he turned inward again, reaching towards his newfound soul.  He let the knowledge of it flow through him.  And with it came the disgust, the shame and the revulsion of over a hundred years of torture and bloodshed.  He screamed with the weight and the pain of it, dropping to his knees and clutching his head, tears streaming unnoticed down his cheeks.  Images of horror, pain, blood and fear assaulted him.  He fell to the dust, writhing in his agony, his new soul burning him, punishing him, torturing him.  He let the waves take him, knowing instinctively that it was in these moments his future would be decided.  If he failed this final test, he would spend the rest of his life a mindless wreck, driven mad by his past sins, cursed to know his eventual fate in Hell and powerless to escape it.  He cried out again, letting the tide take him, accepting that he must.  His senses screamed with him, accusing him; the whole world was accusing him.  Finally, eventually, it passed.  The waves of emotion abated and the visions of his past drew back.  They flowed away into the centre of his being, a throbbing ache inside him; an ache he knew would remain with him for as long as he lived.  But it hadn't destroyed him; he had survived the last test.  He knew that without the remainder of his demon, the awakening of his soul could have taken his mind.  It was only then that he realised there was a reason for his survival; something wanted him alive.

Buffy sighed and looked out of the window.  Absently, she washed the dishes, her mind elsewhere.  When would Willow be back?  Would the Council ever let her go?  And if she returned, would Giles come back with her?  Since the night they had left together for England, things had been quiet in Sunnydale and it was a strange sort of quiet, almost as if the world knew how close it had come to ending.  And ending at the hands of her best friend.  Buffy's gaze drifted over the garden and came to rest on the spot where she had lain dying only two months before.  Willow had been wrong about her – Buffy didn't want to leave this world anymore.  It was true that the only peace she had ever really known was when she was dead and that the world had given her more pain than she could handle, but she had been happy once.  At high school, she had been happy.  Life had been easier and brighter and Buffy had felt more alive back then.  Even her responsibility as Slayer had seemed less of a burden.  It seemed cruel, but it was almost as if Willow's near destruction was the best thing that could have happened to Buffy.  She had seen the reflection of her own self-destructive desires in Willow's eyes; she had felt the waves of despair with the world coming off the witch and it had released her.  All the tension, all the pain, all the regret, had let go of her.  She had realised, finally after months of blindness, that all she had to do was let go and that happiness could come back.  Death had been her gift in more ways than one.  It had been her gift to the world and the gift that had eventually brought her the realisation that years of searching could not.  The realisation that the world she was chosen to protect was a beautiful one.  It was as simple as that.  Once again, Willow had brought her back to life.  But at what cost?

Standing in front of his crypt, Spike hesitated.  His hands were sweaty, he realised.  Shaking his head, he told himself that Buffy wouldn't be inside – why would she hang around his crypt when there was no one inside that she wanted to beat the crap out of?  Moving closer to the door, he tried to make out any sounds from inside.  Damn these human ears, he thought bitterly, can't hear a bloody thing.  Taking a deep breath, he resigned himself to the idea that he was going to have to just walk in there and take his chances with whatever he met.  Remembering that Clem was supposed to be looking after the place, he lifted his hand and knocked hard, waiting a moment before pushing the door and going inside.  His eyes took a moment to get used to the dim light; there were only a few candles lit.

"Spike!"

He searched the inside of the crypt, his eyes still getting used to the gloom.  Sitting on a couch, an expression of surprise on her face, was Dawn.  Vaguely, Spike noticed that it wasn't his old couch; Clem must have brought it in to replace the old one, which had been a little bit the worse for wear after the explosion.  In fact, the whole crypt looked more homely than it had ever done.  Spike stepped further in, avoiding Dawn's eyes.

"Well, aren't you going to say hi?" Dawn said, standing and folding her arms across her body.

Spike took off his coat slowly.

"I didn't know if…"

"I know what happened with Buffy," she interrupted him, "She wasn't going to tell me, but … I found out" Dawn didn't think it was a very good idea to mention that Xander had told her about the attempted rape; she knew they hated each other.

"Oh God.  I'll just grab some of my stuff, then I'll leave.  Okay?"

"No, don't leave." Spike looked up at her.  She looked wary, but didn't seem to be mad.  Dawn let her arms drop, "Why d'you do it, Spike?"

"I couldn't tell you, bit.  I love her; I needed her to love me.  I just thought if we could… " he trailed off.  He had no excuses, "I fucked up.  Again.  I told her I loved her and then I shagged one of her best friends and tried to…tried to rape her.  She was right all this time; I'm a monster and I'll never be anything else." Spike slipped his coat back on, "I shouldn't have come back.  'Bye, niblet."

"Spike!"

He turned to look at her.

"With an attitude like that, you're on your way to being forgiven." Dawn smiled at him.  He couldn't bring himself to smile back.

"No.  Don't ever forgive me for what I tried to do to your sister.  You're better than that."

Dawn sighed.

"You wouldn't have gone through with it."

Spike met her eyes for the first time.

"Buffy said something that night.  She told me that the reason she could never love me was because she'd had to stop me."

Dawn walked to him and took his hand gently.

"Of all the people in this town, who knows you best?  Who spent hours sitting and talking to you after Buffy died?  Who is the only person on the Hellmouth who gave you a chance?"

Spike dropped his eyes again, "You," he whispered.

"So I'm telling you, Spike; you would never have done it.  Not to Buffy, not to anyone.  Even without the chip, you couldn't have done that.  It's not you."

He looked up at her.  When did she get so wise, he asked himself.  She wasn't the little bit he remembered a couple of months ago, or maybe she was; maybe he just hadn't noticed before.  She was becoming a smart, beautiful young woman, just like her sister.  For the first time, he smiled.

"Thanks, bit."

"Don't get me wrong, I haven't forgiven you yet, but I will eventually.  Just like it's gonna take me a while to forgive Willow." She paused and looked down at their hands, still clasped together, "Your hand.  It's warm."

He pulled away from her.  He wasn't ready for this; not yet.  Dawn stepped towards him again and reached out, placing her hand gently on his chest.  She jerked away as if she'd been burnt.

"Oh my God."  Dawn backed away, confused.  She shouted in the direction of the stairs, "Clem!"

Spike could hear a scrambling noise as the demon came up the ladder.

"Okay, okay, I got the chips.  Now d'you want any dip to…." Clem stared at his friend for a moment, then dropped the bags of chips and scooped him up into a hug.  Spike, taken by surprise, was quite touched and returned the hug, but with less enthusiasm than the bigger demon.

"Clem, need to breathe these days, mate."

Clem let go of him quickly, stepping back and glancing at Dawn. 

"He's got a heartbeat; I felt it." Dawn still looked unsure of him.

They both backed off a little, unconsciously moving slightly towards each other.  Neither of them had come across anything like this.  Dawn was certain it was Spike, but Spike didn't have a heartbeat, didn't need to breathe.  Clem cleared his throat.

"Um, would you like some chips?  I got all sorts."

Spike smiled to himself.

"No thanks, mate, I'm good."

"So, I guess you're back, huh?" Dawn pulled herself together a bit and stepped towards Spike, "Um, what's with all the breathing and the heartbeat?"

Spike shrugged his coat off his shoulders again and tossed it onto the back of a chair.

"I, er…" There was no avoiding it; he had to tell them, "I got my soul back."  Throwing himself onto the sofa, he tried not to look at their expressions of amazement and fished around in his pockets for his cigarettes.  Lighting one, he finally looked up at Dawn, just as she snatched it out of his mouth.

"Hey!"

"If you have a heartbeat, you can get heart disease and if you're breathing, you can get lung cancer, so you're quitting these right now." Dawn ground out the cigarette under her sneaker.

"Niblet, I…"

"No arguments, Spike, you have to give those things up."

God, she was so like her sister when she got mad.  Spike smiled slightly and stood up.  He decided to change the subject; there was no way he was quitting smoking, even for the little bit.

"What exactly are you doing here, anyway?"

"I've been hanging with Clem a bit lately; he's nice.  Buffy brought me here when Willow went insane.  She thought you'd be here, but you'd already gone, so I stayed here with Clem for a couple of hours.  Then he helped me find Rack's place and…" Dawn's voice faltered as Spike grabbed her shoulders.  He had that look in his eyes; the look that made her think of her mom when she'd done something stupid.

"You went to Rack's place!  Are you trying to get yourself killed?  I turn my back for… Wait, Red went insane?"  Spike let go of Dawn.  She dropped her eyes; it was difficult to talk about.

"Yeah.  Warren lost it with Buffy and went round there with a gun.  He shot Buffy and Tara got caught in the crossfire." 

Spike reeled away from her, his head spinning.

"Buffy's not…"

"No!  God, no.  Willow went to the hospital and magiked the bullet out of her.  She's okay.  But Tara died."  Dawn's voice caught in her throat and she broke down.  She felt Spike take her in his arms, holding her tight, comforting her gently and quietly.  Clem sidled towards the ladder; it was probably best to leave them alone for a while.

Spike's still-new soul screamed inside him as he held Dawn.  All the pain inside this girl in his arms and he couldn't reach out and take it away from her.  His heart ached for Dawn's sake.  His vision blurring slightly and with mild surprise, he realised that he was crying a little.  Dawn pulled away, calming down and visibly pulling herself together, and looked up into the clear blue eyes, sparkling with tears.  She reached up and wiped away one that had fallen on his pale cheek, rubbing the moisture between her fingers.

"Why are you sad, Spike?  You hardly knew her," she asked, puzzled.

"That's why, bit," Spike gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head, "Come on, let's see where Clem's got to.  You can fill me in on everything else."

"Hey, don't think you get out of sharing that easily," Dawn said, following him to the ladder, "I wanna know how you got that heartbeat thing going."

Spike grinned at her.

"I'm hungry, niblet; a bloke's gotta eat," he said as he ducked downstairs.

Downstairs, Clem and Dawn waited while Spike got himself what he called 'a snack' from the kitchen and what Dawn would call 'most of the food'.  He settled down on the floor, leaning against the bed that Clem had brought in to replace the one that had been blown up.  Dawn fidgeted in her seat.  Clem sat calmly watching his friend eat, absently snacking on his own bag of chips.  They waited.  Finally, Dawn couldn't take it any more.

"Enough with the suspense, Spike.  Where the hell have you been?"

Spike sighed and pushed the remains of his sandwich away.

"Okay, bit; are you sitting comfortably?  Then I'll begin," he sighed again, trying to sort the past week's events into some sort of coherent whole in his own mind.

"After I…" He stopped and glanced up at Dawn, still ashamed of what he had tried to do.  "After that night, I decided to get away from here.  I thought I wanted to get rid of the chip.  I thought I was angry at Buffy for what loving her had done to me.  But I was wrong.  I was sick of myself.  So I went away to get what I thought I wanted.  Turned out I was wrong.  Not for the first time, either."

"Where did you go?" Dawn reached out for the bag of chips.

"Africa.  Friend of a friend told me about a demon over there who could get rid of the chip, give me whatever I asked for.  At a price, o' course.  So I shipped out, found the demon and asked him for my heart's desire.  Should've remembered you gotta be careful what you wish for."

"What happened?"

"Got through the trials, and… "

"What trials?" Dawn interrupted.

"Coupla fights and some insects." Spike dismissed them, trying to appear casual.  He didn't want anyone knowing how close he'd been to giving up and dying. "Anyway, I asked the demon to make me what I used to be, to make sure Buffy got what she deserved.  Didn't think what the words meant, just said it.  Next thing I know, there's a blinding pain and a bright light and then I'm unconscious.  When I came round, my heart was beating, I was breathing and I could feel it right down inside me waiting.  A soul."

Clem said what Dawn had been thinking.

"Holy shit."

Spike grinned at him, "I know.  Pretty weird, huh?"

"Did it hurt?  I mean, getting it back?"

Spike hesitated again, "Getting it back hurt, yeah.  But not as much as living with it does.  Can almost understand why Peaches went a bit crazy."

Dawn cleared her throat.  She'd been sitting quietly taking it all in, trying to comprehend how much had changed in just a couple of weeks.

"So, why haven't you lost it?"

"Dunno, bit.  All I know is I've got a soul, but there's still a bit of demon in there.  And I'm still stronger than a normal human and I can still fight.  Don't really know what I am any more."

"Is the chip still in there?"

"Not sure.  Don't think so.  With this new complication of mine, I haven't really tried to find out."  Spike sighed.  Now for the hard part, he told himself. "Look, bit; I didn't know you were going to be here tonight.  I don't want Buffy to know I'm back.  I want to take my time after what I did."

Dawn looked as if she was going to object for a moment.  Dropping her eyes, she just shrugged. "Okay.  I won't tell her."

Spike raised his eyebrows.  Since when was Dawn so easy to convince?  Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she looked up and met his gaze again.

"I wouldn't go round there for a long time.  Buffy will kill you.  That's why I'm not going to tell her." Dawn stood up to leave, "But she'll know, Spike.  She always knows when you get back in town."

Clem joined her at the bottom of the ladder.  "Careful there, Dawn.  D'you need me to walk you home?"

"No thanks, Clem; I'm fine." Dawn looked back over her shoulder, "Bye, Spike."

Spike watched her climbing the ladder and waited until he heard her leave, then he turned to Clem.

"Thanks for looking after her, mate."

"She's a good kid; I like her.  We just hang out sometimes." The demon shrugged and offered Spike his bag of chips.  Spike waved them away.

"Tell me what happened after I left."  He sat on the bed and Clem settled into his chair again.  After about half an hour, Clem had finished his story and Spike fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Buffy's gonna let the niblet go on patrol?"  At this point, it seemed like the easiest thing to concentrate on and accept.

"Yeah.  Dawn's only been training for about a week and she's already getting quite good."

"Must be the Summers blood.  Those monks made her out of Buffy, so she must have a bit of Slayer in her." Spike sat up again, "Xander saved the world?"  It was probably the most incredible piece of information he had heard in years; he had Xander to thank for his continued existence.  It was difficult to believe, "Does Anya know?"

"Oh, I think so." Clem stood up, "I'm a bit wiped.  I'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight." He chuckled a little, "It's your place, after all."

"Thanks mate, but I'm on the couch.  It's your bed, after all."

As Spike climbed the ladder, Clem heard him mutter to himself.

"Bloody hell; Xander?"

Buffy leaned against a gravestone.  It was still quiet, so she had some time to stop and think.  Remembering the night, not so long ago, that she had sung about going through the motions in this very graveyard brought a smile to her lips.  It was amazing how much had changed so quickly.  She no longer felt that way; her life was finally back on track and she was actually enjoying her role as Slayer for the first time in years.  Not in the strange, dark way she had discovered after coming back from the grave, but in a real, fulfilling way.  She was protecting the world from the forces of darkness, after all.  Casually tossing her stake in the air and catching it, she pushed herself away from the headstone.  Time to get home.  Maybe Dawn would be back from Clem's place and they could watch a video or something.  It was late, but the next day wasn't a school day and she was trying to spend as much time with her sister as she could.  Humming to herself, Buffy made her way home.

Dawn was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV when Buffy opened the door.

"Hey, Dawn.  How's Clem?"

"Huh?" Dawn looked at her sister vaguely, "Oh, yeah.  Um, he's fine.  He says hi."

"Whatcha watching?"

"I don't know.  Some nature thing on Discovery." Dawn looked preoccupied.

"Well, how about, I get the popcorn and you pick out a movie.  I got a craving for some Disney."  Buffy took off her coat and hung it on the rack, "You okay?"

Dawn jumped to her feet.

"Yeah, I'm good," she said, brightly.  Too brightly.  Buffy decided not to push it.

"Butter?  On the popcorn?"

"What else?"  Dawn bounced up the stairs.  Buffy watched her go, telling herself that Dawn would let her know what was on her mind when she was ready.  She was past all that angsty teenager crap now.  She just made a mental note to keep an eye on things.  Sunnydale had been nice and quiet recently and Buffy wasn't about to mess that up by unleashing Dawn on it.  She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

It was dark.  Someone was screaming.  There was a smell of burning in the air.  Burning flesh.  Burning hair.  No flames, just burning.  There was pain; searing, blinding pain.  Spike realised he was the one screaming.  There was a light growing ahead of him; a bright, clear light, rushing towards him.  Sunlight.  The pain was unbearable now.  Every nerve in his body was screaming, through to his very bones.  The light was close now.  He watched it grow in his vision, closer and closer.  He couldn't understand why the pain wouldn't stop.  Surely it had burnt every cell of him by now.  The sunlight broke over him.  He flinched away from the brightness instinctively.  The pain was gone.  The screaming had stopped.  And the darkness was gone.

Spike woke with a jump.  He slipped off the narrow couch and hit the floor, hitting his head on the coffee table.

"Bugger."

Pulling himself back up onto the couch, he shook his head, trying to push the memories of the dream to the back of his mind.  He wasn't sure what was going on in his mind recently, but he knew it had something to do with being human again.  He felt as if his soul was trying to tell him something; as if he had been spared the full force of the guilt and remorse in order that he understand his new purpose.  He had thought that getting rid of the chip would make his purpose clear, but getting a soul had complicated things.  Spike got up and poured himself a whiskey, throwing it back in one gulp and slumping back onto the couch.  A couple more drinks would make sure he slept okay for the rest of the night.  He would need a good rest – he had decided to go and see Buffy before she came to see him.

Across town, in a pleasantly modern apartment, the chanting began.  The carpeting had been pulled back and a circle had been crudely drawn on the floor.  In the centre of the circle sat a young man.  A book lay open in front of him.  As he chanted, he swayed slightly, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his hands moving above the book automatically, as if controlled by an outside force.  A gentle humming noise was building and a strange diffuse light seemed to be growing, centred on him.  He stopped chanting and lay his hands, palms down, on the book, his head thrown back and his eyes closed.  The noise and the light built around him.  Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, his head dropped to his chest and his eyes snapped open.  All was quiet.  The young man rose to his feet and looked to the corner of the room.  Something moved in the shadows.

"It has begun, my sister," he said to the figure.

"Good," the voice was low and seductive, "The Four Horseman shall rise and this pitiful world will end.  We must make ready for the next existence."