On the staircase below the platform, Spike stood motionless, his icy blue eyes focused on his Nibblet as she launched herself into the air. A tortured howl escaped from his throat and he clenched his fists in fury over the senseless death. Buffy stood a few feet in front of him, her knuckles white as she squeezed the railing tightly. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the platform, despite the precarious swaying of the tower.
Down below the tower, Xander stepped from the dusty rubble, Anya in his arms. Her temple was bleeding profusely and she wrapped her arms firmly around Xander's neck to steady herself. Her human emotions were in conflict with her demon mind as she struggled to understand what had just happened; for the first time in years, Anya was speechless. Tara clung to Willow, her strength drained from Glory's magic. Both witches were crying, they struggled to stay standing as they watched Dawn save the world. Tara dug her hands into the slender shoulders of her girlfriend, crying for the lives that had been destroyed that night.
Giles was surrounded by piles of rubble, his cheeks wet with tears as he stared blankly into the now dark sky. He took off his glasses, staring in confusion at the mass of wire and glass crumbling beneath his fingertips. Unable to clean the splintered lenses, Giles hurled the metal frames into the distance, blaming himself and the council for not being able to stop Glory before things got out of hand.
Soft footsteps broke through the stillness of the night as Buffy climbed down the tower, leaning heavily on her left leg, Spike a few steps behind her. She stopped at the foot of the tower, surveying the damage surrounding everyone, not sure what to say. All eyes slowly turned, tears flowing freely as the crushing emotions crackled through the construction site. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the right words, as she gave in to the welcoming blackness that was steadily enveloping her.
Spike caught Buffy as she began to fall backwards, cradling her body against his chest before she could hit the ground. Shifting the slender blonde in his arms, Spike looked at the faces surrounding the tower; his eyes flickered from Giles over to Willow, lingering for an instant on Tara, before moving sideways towards Anya and Xander. They all shared the same haunted look, numb with grief, overwhelmed with exhaustion. Spike shook his head, no matter how hard he tried to pretend that he didn't care about the Scoobies, there was something admirable about their small family. He'd never seen a group of people so devoted to each other, not when he was alive and especially not after he was turned.
Spike shook his head, drawing himself out of his musings. The impending sunrise meant that he needed to get to shelter, but Spike couldn't just leave everyone standing in the now quiet battlefield. "Is everyone alright?" His voice sounded too loud, cutting through the eerie silence like a cannon blast. Slowly the friends exchanged glances, nodding their heads in agreement. Spike exhaled loudly, shifting Buffy higher in his embrace. He knew that everyone needed to leave the empty lot before the police arrived and asked questions that no one could answer.
"Watcher," he said, turning to Giles, "can you give me a lift back to Revello Drive? Gotta get Sleeping Beauty home before I turn into a pile of ash."
The older man nodded, his lips tightening in silent disapproval; he didn't agree with Spike being the one designated to take care of Buffy, but he was too tired to argue with the blonde vampire. Giles gestured around at the other four people, "what about the rest of you," he asked.
Willow tightened her grip on Tara's shoulder, "we're alright to walk home," she said quietly, looking at her girlfriend for reassurance. Nodding emphatically in agreement with his best friend, Xander set Anya down onto the concrete, keeping one arm wrapped securely around her shoulders. "We'll be fine too. I left my truck at the Magic Box, so we can head back from there."
Spike smirked, his face quickly turning grim as he addressed the entire group again. "Well then get going before you all collapse."
The Scoobies nodded and everyone began to walk in opposite directions. Giles was glad that someone else had taken charge of the situation, that someone else hiding his own feelings in an effort to maintain control. For all his faults, Spike did have several redeeming qualities that the Watcher was extremely grateful for in a time of crisis. As he opened the car door, Giles made a mental note to buy Spike some expensive liquor after the dust had settled.
During the entire drive back to Buffy's house, Spike fidgeted, mentally calculating how many minutes he had until sunrise. Thankfully Giles pulled into her driveway with a few minutes to spare, leaving Spike enough time to race though the front door with Buffy cradled in his arms. Giles turned off the ignition, letting the quiet hum and click of the car's engine soothe his exhausted psyche. He sighed heavily, reaching into the backseat of the car for an ornate ax that Spike had picked up from amidst the rubble, muttering something about always falling for girls who liked weaponry over jewelry.
Slamming the car door shut behind him, Giles slowly made his way up the front steps of Buffy's house. He stood in the foyer, watching Spike move around the living room, settling Buffy onto the sofa and tucking a chenille blanket around her thin shoulders. Sighing again, Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to clean his glasses. He wanted to pretend that there was nothing between Buffy and Spike, but one could only stay in Egypt for so long. Anyone could see the love reflected in the vampire's sharp features; it was obvious that Spike was devoted to Buffy, Giles observed, watching the way he brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. Giles shook his head ruefully, despite his faults Spike truly was in love with the blonde Slayer.
Moving across the foyer he propped Buffy's ax up against the newel post, making sure not to bang the blade against the worn Oriental rug. Giles cleared his throat quietly, tearing Spike's attention away from Buffy and towards her Watcher. Tilting his head towards Giles, Spike got up from his kneeling position beside the sofa, moving across the living room to stand beside the former librarian.
"Is she asleep," Giles asked, jutting his chin in the direction of the soda. Spike nodded slowly, raking a hand through his bleached hair.
"Yeah," he replied quietly.
Giles smiled grimly, "good, she needs the rest," he said, fixing Spike with a fierce stare.
"She's been through a lot."
Spike suppressed a smile at the threatening note in the other man's voice. "I hear you loud and clear Watcher," he said.
"Good," Giles said, turning towards the front door, "I trust you'll make sure she's alright?"
Too dumbfounded to make a sarcastic comment, Spike just nodded, watching Giles step out into the sunlight. Once the door shut, Spike sank down onto the bottom step of the stairs, his head cradled between his palms.
"Not how I was expecting that to go," he mumbled.
In the living room, Buffy's eyelids fluttered open, taking in the shadowy darkness of her living room. Raising herself up on one elbow, Buffy squinted at the black-clad figure sitting on her staircase.
"Spike," she asked, her voice cracking.
"Yeah, pet," he replied, getting off the steps to sit on the coffee table in front of Buffy. Her blood-shot eyes looked over at him questioningly.
"What happened," she mumbled, not remembering what happened after she had stumbled off the tower.
"Brought you home, luv," Spike said, toying with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. Buffy nodded, drawing her knees towards her chin, tucking one hand beneath her head.
"Thanks," she whispered, her eyes drooping shut against her will.
A grim smile tugged at the corners of Spike's mouth; Buffy looked beautiful lying on the sofa, the hazy realm of sleep erasing all traces of a Slayer scarred from countless battles. The muscles in his jaw were twitching in a steady rhythm as Spike tried to think of the best way to get out of Buffy's house before she reached for a stake.
"Right then, let me get a blanket and I'll be out of your way," he began, moving slowly towards the front door.
His hand was resting on the brass doorknob when Spike heard Buffy call his name, soft enough for only him to hear. In an instant he was in the doorframe of the living room, the borrowed blanket discarded in the foyer.
"Yeah," he asked, careful to keep his face a mask of indifference. The petite Slayer had been through so much already, the last thing she needed was him blabbering on about his undying love for her.
"Stay with me," she whispered hoarsely, her face twisted as if she was in pain. "I don't want to be alone." Her voice hitched, and Buffy cringed, knowing how childish she probably sounded to Spike's ears.
Spike nodded, giving no inkling that he'd noticed her emotional state.
"Sure thing, luv."
Settling himself into an armchair, Spike smiled reassuringly, "it's alright, Slayer. Go to sleep."
Buffy sighed softly, her eyes drifting slowly drifting shut, her exhausted body sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. She snuggled against the throw pillow, grateful that Spike had not positioned her with her head facing the doorway. It was too much to think of her mom sprawled out on this same couch, in nearly the same position, as she submitted to her disease. She didn't want to think about her mom or her sister, nor did she want to think about how weird it was to have Spike in her house. Her thoughts trailed off as Buffy fell into a light sleep.
Raking a hand through his bleached curls, Spike tried to figure out what was going on. A few days ago Buffy was threatening to kill him if he didn't leave town and now she wanted him to stay in her house, while she was asleep no less. Spike waited several long minutes, until Buffy's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm before moving her upstairs. Having napped on the Summers couch after a particularly long chat with Joyce, he knew it was not the greatest bed on the Hellmouth. When she woke up, Buffy was going to have a lot to deal with and most of her aching joints could be prevented with a quick trip upstairs.
He kicked open the door to her room, carefully depositing Buffy on her bed. Tucking another blanket around her bony shoulders, Spike pulled off her boots and placed her worn pink pig next to her head. He stood in the doorway for several long moments, just watching the steady rise and fall of Buffy's chest. Spike could have watched her for hours, studying every curve of her face, memorizing the gentle lines of her mouth, drinking in her beauty.
"Mmm," Buffy murmured, pressing her head deeper into the pillow, a thin line appearing between her golden eyebrows. Spike froze, forgetting that he didn't need to breathe, hoping that his presence hadn't tugged her from the sleep she desperately needed.
Turning onto her stomach, Buffy draped one arm across the empty space of her mattress. Her breathing slowed again, her steady heartbeat the only sound in the room. Spike closed the bedroom door as he walked into the hallway. He walked down the hall, away from the stairs, towards the bedroom where the door was still ajar. Pushing open the white door covered with pictures and phrases cut out from magazines, Spike looked around Dawn's room without stepping inside. Her room was so different then Buffy's, it was filled with stuffed animals, the walls covered with celebrity headshots and clipping of boy-bands, clothes strewn over a wicker chair in the corner.
Spike swallowed hard, he could never think of Dawn as The Key, she was Buffy's sister. It didn't matter what the monks said, he would always remember the smiling girl with long brown hair who'd whined and complained about having to spend afternoons in his crypt while Buffy researched the latest information about Glory. His eyes burned and Spike clenched his fists angrily, the knuckles pure white against his already alabaster skin. He hated the monks for what they had done, to Buffy and to the rest of her friends. No one deserved to have their memories altered just for the sake of protecting some ancient secret, it just wasn't right.
Closing the door behind him, Spike walked back down the stairs. His footsteps echoed through the house, as Spike wandered into the living room. Settling himself in front of the television, he made four passes through every channel that the minimal cable package offered before turning off the set. Spike walked into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on any lights. He knew exactly what he was doing, Spike had watched Joyce make hot chocolate at least a dozen times and he remembered every move she had made.
Pouring the steaming chocolate into a mug, he threw in a handful of almost stale miniature marshmallows buried in the back of the cabinet. Buffy really need to go shopping, he observed, making a mental note to remind her that the kitchen cabinets were almost empty. He walked back through the house, sipping his chocolate idly, pausing occasionally to look at something or another. Sitting back down on the sofa, Spike stared blankly at the empty living room, "this is definitely not what I'd expected." He'd never imagined that he could feel so comfortable in Buffy's house, in her life, in a world that he had never truly belonged to. But now, sitting in her living room, the air conditioner humming softly as it cooled the house, Spike couldn't imagine being anywhere else.