"Angel wears lifts," Spike repeated, wishing he'd come out with something more sensible even as he nervously eyed the knife, the blade of which still hovered too close for comfort.
"Huh?" Dawn looked from Spike to Buffy. "What are you talking about? Angel and lifts? You mean elevators?"
Buffy continued to watch the puppet while she answered. "Shoe lifts. 'Angel wears lifts' was something Spike said to me the night before he died. We were alone at the time and I never mentioned it to anyone."
"So how does this puppet know?" Dawn wondered.
"I keep telling you, the puppet is Spike," said Spike. Then he shook his head in frustration. In his efforts to convince Dawn and Buffy, he was almost beginning to confuse himself. "I mean, *I'm* Spike."
Buffy raised the knife again. Then she lowered it. "Spike died. Then again, I died and was brought back. And I sent Angel to hell and he returned. But neither of us came back as puppets."
"First time I ever saw you was at the Bronze," Spike began, determined to convince them now that he had a little time to think out his plan of attack. "I said I'd kill you on Saturday, only I couldn't wait and I ruined your parent-teacher night instead and your mum hit me with an ax and I ran away. Then there was the time I made the deal with you 'bout taking Angelus down, and I said I liked this world because of Manchester United, and dog racing, and people walking around like Happy Meals with legs. And when I came back to get the love spell for Dru, I--"
Dawn interrupted. "Buffy, he knows a lot about you. Maybe he really is Spike."
Even Buffy was starting to look uncertain, though by no means convinced. "All right, so you do know a lot," she addressed Spike. "But how do *we* know you're not some demon that--I don't know, stole Spike's memories? Stranger things have happened to us."
"I saved Dawn's life," Spike pointed out again. "Broke the neck of that demon outside. Why would I do that if I meant any harm?"
Buffy looked at her sister. "Dawn, is this true?"
"Well... like I said before, I didn't have a good view. All I knew was, that demon was on top of me and then it wasn't and then that puppet was there and it was alive and it scared me. I panicked. I think that's understandable. If he really is Spike, why wasn't he honest with us from the beginning? Why pretend to just be a plain old puppet? Only, now I'm starting to think he *has* to be Spike. Who else would do something so weird? This stunt has Spike written all over it."
Swayed by Dawn's insistence, Buffy turned to Spike again and really looked at him with an openness Spike hadn't seen in until now. Then, almost before he knew what she was doing, she dropped the knife and enveloped him in a tight hug, crushing him between her body and the imprisoning chair. "Spike! You really *are* back!"
Dawn added her efforts to the hug, putting even more pressure on Spike as she grabbed at him from the other side of the chair. Once they were convinced, they were whole-hearted about it. "Help!" Spike sputtered.
"What? What's wrong?" Buffy released him and stepped back, anxiously studying his crushed form.
"Untie me? Please?" Spike begged.
Buffy grabbed the knife again, only this time she used it to slash the ropes binding Spike to the chair. With a sigh of relief, he stretched his sore limbs. At the same time, Dawn and Buffy began to hammer him with questions.
"How did you come back to life?"
"Why are you a puppet?"
"How long have you been back?"
"Who sent you here?"
Spike jumped down from the chair and quickly braced himself against it when his unsteady legs wobbled and his head throbbed. "Can the questions wait a while? I think I might have a concussion."
Buffy blushed. "Sorry. I guess I hit you pretty hard with that branch."
"And the washing machine and dryer didn't help," Dawn added. "Sorry about that, too, Spike."
"Washing machine and dryer?" Buffy repeated. "Do you have something to tell me, Dawn?"
"Never mind about that," Dawn said quickly. "Let's help poor Spike. He doesn't look very good."
She was right. Spike felt like he was about to use up the last reserves of his energy just standing there.
"Here, lie down," Buffy urged, indicating the sofa.
Spike looked at it. It was a long distance away--probably 10 whole feet.
Dawn correctly interpreted his expression. "He needs help." She carefully picked Spike up and transported him to the couch while Buffy ran to get pillows and blankets.
Once Spike was settled in, Buffy smoothed his covers and asked, "Are you going to be all right?"
Spike nodded before he remembered how much his head hurt. "Fine. Just need some sleep." Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he closed them, grateful that he had survived this latest encounter.
*****
When he woke up, he wasn't in the living room anymore. He'd been moved upstairs, to Buffy's more comfortable bed. According to the clock on the bedside table, it was a little past 9 a.m. and it must be Saturday.
Spike slowly sat up and realized that he felt much better than he had the night before. His head still ached slightly, but the pain didn't even approach the throbbing of the previous evening. And while the rest of his body held a lingering soreness, he didn't think he would collapse if he tried to move.
Testing this theory, he shoved aside the blankets covering him and dropped to the floor. So far, so good. Methodically, he made his way into the hallway and down the stairs.
Buffy met him at the bottom of the flight. "Spike! What are you doing, walking around by yourself? We leave you alone for two minutes and you try to escape?"
"Wasn't trying to escape," Spike countered. "No point to it, now that you know who I am."
"No more walking for you today," Buffy decided. She efficiently picked Spike and carried him into the kitchen, where Dawn was rooting around in the refrigerator.
"Spike!" Dawn let the door swing shut on its own as she ran over to hug him again, more gently this time than last night. "How are you?"
"Fine," he said, allowing Buffy to place him on a chair. "Better."
"You want some breakfast?" Dawn asked. "Or do puppets eat?"
"I like milk and cookies," Spike said without thinking.
"Milk and *cookies*?" Dawn emphasized with a significant look at Buffy.
All of their gazes went right to the depleted cookie bag on top of the refrigerator. Wordlessly, Buffy pulled it down and shook the remnants onto a plate for Spike while Dawn poured him a tall glass of milk. Seeing that he hadn't eaten in almost two days, he bolted down the food, grateful that the girls seemed willing to overlook his theft of the other cookies. After he finished, he looked up and saw that Dawn was staring at him. Again.
"What?" Spike said defensively.
"Well, your voice kind of sounds like Spike's, and you kind of look like him, only your nose is lopsided and your ears are the wrong shape and--"
"Hey, what happened to me being cute and adorable?" Spike protested.
"That was when we thought you were a real puppet," Dawn replied before she relented. "Oh, all right, you're still cute. But I think Buffy and I both preferred the old Spike."
"Speaking of which..." Buffy took the chair next to Spike. "I phoned Giles and he said he never heard of a dusted vampire turning into a puppet before. Neither has Xander. And I wanted to ask Willow but I couldn't reach her yet."
"Giles said your whole situation is completely bizarre," Dawn added. "I mean, you were killed on the Hellmouth and somehow brought back to life three days ago as a puppet, right?"
"Not exactly," Spike hedged, beginning to realize there was no way he was going to emerge from this conversation looking good. "Was brought back as a ghost first."
Buffy frowned. "A ghost puppet?"
"No, a ghost vampire."
"Ghost first, puppet second," Buffy clarified. "Do I have that right?"
Spike nodded, hoping the inquisition would stop before the two asked exactly the questions he never wanted to answer. No such luck.
"So how long were you a ghost?" Dawn pressed.
"A while," Spike admitted.
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "How long a while?"
"A few mmm mmm," Spike mumbled.
"A few months?" Buffy shouted. "*Months*? I want a date, and I want one now. How long have you been back, in any way, shape, or form?"
Spike looked away. "Since 'bout a week after the Hellmouth blew up."
"You've been back for nine months and you didn't bother to pick up the phone and let us know?" Dawn said. "Why not?"
"Um, because I didn't think I could top my exit scene." The excuse sounded incredibly stupid even to Spike now that he was saying it to Buffy and Dawn's faces. It also wasn't exactly the truth, but he hoped they would accept it anyway instead of dragging the real reason out of him.
"You didn't think you could top your exit scene?" Buffy echoed. "Oh, I don't know. I think you managed to come pretty close. That isn't a compliment, by the way."
"Any chance you can think back to last night, when you were so happy I was back you didn't care how it happened?" Spike suggested.
TBC