Chapter Eight: Knocking Some Sense

Spike stood at the door, the sleeping child in his arms, watching Buffy's frantic escape into the night. The Watcher stood staring after her, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets and his shoulders hunched in defeat. The man turned, and the bleak expression on his face would have embarrassed Spike if he'd been human. Luckily, he wasn't.

"Good show, Rupert," he said admiringly.

"Sod off," Giles grumbled, and moved past him into the house.

"Ah, no violence for me after our girl there takes the winds out of your sails, is there?" he taunted him. Giles turned abruptly and met his eyes.

"The only reason you're still standing is because you happen to be holding a small child in your arms, Spike," he grated. Reaching out, he took the girl from him a little too roughly, and she woke and began to cry, rubbing her eyes in the light.

"Very nice, Rupert," Spike sneered. "Hurt the Bit while you're at it. If Joyce were still here I'd suggest you take aim, so you can make your way through all the Summers women."

Giles set Dawn down on the floor and then pushed Spike against the wall violently. "Get. Out." The threat was clear enough, and with one last glance at the girl now wailing on the floor, Spike strode out onto the porch.

"Just don't think of calling me for free babysitting anytime soon, mate," he called over his shoulder.

"Wanker," Giles growled. After a moment, Dawn's cries registered, and he scooped her up in his arms. "I'm sorry, Dawn, I didn't mean to scare you." The girl struggled, looking over his shoulder out the door. Remembering to close it, he nudged it shut with his shoe. "I guess I should get you back to bed." He climbed the stairs wearily and entered the bedroom. Anya had spread out, hogging at least half the bed, and Tara had climbed out from beneath the covers to stretch horizontally across the foot of the bed, a couple fingers in her mouth. Willow and Xander were huddled together, small arms wrapped around each other comfortingly. Sliding Anya to the middle, Giles lay Dawn down and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Your sister will be up in a while to kiss you goodnight," he promised, and the child dimpled at the thought, then rolled onto her stomach. He straightened and watched as her eyes fluttered shut. Sadness filled him as he took in the sleeping children. They looked so peaceful. When they broke the spell, there would be nothing but misery waiting for them. A part of him thought it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let the spell keep it's effect and let them start life anew from the beginning.

Except that would mean adding to Buffy's already strained shoulders. No matter what mistakes he wished to erase from the people in front of him, Buffy's needs eclipsed theirs. The first thing that needed to be accomplished was correcting what Willow had done. With any luck, he could fix everything here before Buffy came home.

If she came home, he thought grimly.

Buffy for her part had stopped running as soon as she reached the first cemetery. Unlike all the other times when she had needed to vent frustrations, there wasn't a demon or vampire in sight. If only she could stop thinking for a few hours, it would solve everything.

"Not everything," she muttered to herself. Giles' face floated before her mind's eye, his eyes filled with... She thrust the image away, stubbornly refusing to think about it. It was all too much. Now she had to deal with his feelings on top of her friends, on top of Spike's puppy dog act, on top of her new second life. She knew she had a tendency back in the day to be melodramatic, but these times called for a good knock down, drag out hissy fit. But that wouldn't solve anything. She stamped it down, condensed it into a ball of feeling, and locked it away.

She didn't notice the fist until she was sent reeling to the ground.

Someone yelled out in pain, and she opened her blurry eyes, fairly sure she hadn't made any noise besides a surprised 'oof'. The sight that met her was Spike holding his head a couple feet from her. Pulling herself up, she planted her feet and looked at him. After a moment, he dropped his hands from his face and glared at her angrily.

"Good thing I have this chip, isn't it, Slayer," he pointed out. She shrugged and began to walk away.

"Don't you turn you're back on me, you stupid bint!" he exploded angrily, and she stopped, sighed, and turned to face him.

"What, Spike?" she asked wearily. "Do you want me to kick you around for fun, or try to reenact our grand finale? Cause I'm leaning toward the kicking."

He sneered at her contemptuously. "You're not good for much anymore, are you?" She stared at him in surprise. "I think you'd be better off dead, myself. You're not much help to yourself, and we know you don't care for your precious Scoobies half as much as you did. Why don't you find some tower to hurl yourself off, save us all the bother?"

Anger began to radiate from her pores, and she stepped up to meet him. "Why don't you do it, Spike? You've always wanted a piece of me."

"I would, if it weren't for this bloody chip, believe me, Slayer," he assured her. "But that would make it too easy on you, and that's all you've wanted since you've been back, isn't it? Death? Another easy way out for poor little Buffy."

"You are so full of it, Spike," she shot back. "What are you trying to do, annoy me into killing you?"

The vampire shook his head, and the facade broke, leaving his face naked for her to see. His eyes were full of pity. His look scalded her, and she stepped away from him. He followed her, meeting her eye to eye.

"You can't take the pressure, so you take the easy way out last time with the tower, knowing full well that your job is to protect the world. What do you do? See the closest exit and head out full tilt."

"You think I should have sacrificed Dawn in my place? You're insane."

He shook his head angrily. "If you did it to save her, you'd be fighting now that you're back. Instead, you mope around like you've got nothing to live for. It's not like you came back from the grave without anything."

"I had peace!" she shouted. The strangled words echoed through the trees, and she wrapped her arms around her frame, subdued by her own outburst. Spike sighed, clenching his jaw and then relaxing.

"You did, and I reckon you deserved it," he agreed. "But that was then, this is now. You can't get that back by living half a life. You need to take a deep breath, acknowledge that you're pissed beyond belief at those friends of yours, and then move the hell on."

Buffy looked away from him. "It's not going to help."

"Have you even tried?" Green eyes met blue, and he continued. "I mean, have you really given it a go? Cause I think living in the same house as the woman who was responsible for your current misery seems a bit much, don't you think."

"It wasn't Willow's fault, really," she said weakly, knowing she didn't mean it. Spike stepped closer to her, staring down at her angrily.

"That's a load of crap, and you know it," he countered her. "The witch has been nothing but trouble since she started down this road, and she's finally gone too far. You know it, the Watcher knows it. The only person who has no idea is Red herself. And if you lot are her friends, you'll tell her she needs help. And give her a good arse kicking while you're at it. Deserves it, she does. And get the Whelp, while you're at it. Matter of fact, why don't you go all out and kick the hell out of all of them. It would make you feel better."

"No, it wouldn't."

"It would make me feel better," he said hopefully.

At his tone, she laughed. She couldn't help it, she threw back her head and laughed. He stared down at her as she shook with mirth, waiting for her to calm down. "I'm sorry, Spike, I'm just thinking about all the things I've done in the past twenty four hours. I sang my heart out, I watched my friends become children, and had a heart to heart with my once sworn enemy." Wiping tears out of her eyes, she stared up at him. "Why haven't we killed each other yet?"

He smiled cockily. "You couldn't bear life without me, love."

"Try me," she dared him, smiling.

They turned and left the cemetery, brushing shoulders occasionally. Her mind was awhirl with thought, and he was content to be near her when she needed him. At least, he liked to think she needed him. Certainly the Watcher had been too consumed with his own love for the girl to be able to give her a talking to beyond burdening her further. But this was what enemies were for.