Spike looked up from his half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's. Someone was pounding on his door.
He debated doing one of two actions; he could ignore it and continue to get completely drunk which he was very close to already achieving, or he could actually get up and answer it. After all, it was so close to dawn, and the sun was rising fast. It wouldn't do to risk getting burned…
But the frenzied knocking continued, so he forced himself out of his chair, took a quick swig out of the glass bottle, and opened the heavy stone door.
"Buffy? What a surprise," he commented casually. "Can't go patrolling at this hour; you know what this light does to my skin."
She wasn't fazed. From behind her she pulled the girl, and his face fell.
"I believe this is yours," she stated coldly. "Don't think you can just make another…thing like you and dump her off on us."
"She's not your problem. No one asked you to-…"
"Yeah, well it's just turned into my problem when it should be yours. I don't get it! Don't you have paternal instincts or something?"
He took another drink and coughed. "Sorry, fresh out."
Buffy slammed her fist into his cheek, sending him back into the stone wall with a crash. The Jack Daniel's bottle shattered, spilling half its remaining contents on the ground and half on Spike.
While he was still reeling from the blow, she marched Gabrielle over to his sarcophagus. The slayer pushed the lid off, dropped the newborn vampire in it, and replaced the top.
"Sleep tight," she muttered as Spike stumbled up behind her with a bloody lip.
"Ow; what was that for?" he mumbled.
"For being a total jerk," she returned.
"Well it's bloody well not my fault!" he snarled, massaging his chin. "Giles told me too late not to kill her. So I did the only thing I could do. I changed her."
"That's almost excusable. But abandoning her?"
"You're the Slayer. You could have staked her and then all your troubles would have been over."
"We can't kill her! You know that!"
"So what do you want me to do? Play the father like Ang-…" He stopped himself, disgusted, and looked away.
"Yes," Buffy sighed. "Just teach her what she needs to know. Like Angel did for you. You act like it's not a big deal, but it is. She's dead, and it's like she doesn't even know it. It's your job to tell her."
"This isn't about that girl anymore, is it?"
Buffy balked. "Of…of course it is! Who else would it be about?"
"Well let's face it, love. You haven't been too connected to life after coming back. Maybe it's time you let someone tell you you're alive."
"Spike, I am alive. I don't need you to tell me."
"Funny way of showing it."
"Look, this isn't about me!"
"Well, maybe it should be!"
They were locked in a stare-down, both glaring at the other and unwilling to back down. Finally Buffy sighed and turned around.
"I don't care what happens after you teach her. But you better, because if she burns up in the sun because you didn't tell her to hole up during the day, I'll put you in a coffin and make sure you stay there."
Spike followed her to the door and slammed it behind her. He looked to the broken bottle of liquor and cursed.
"Bloody women!" he shouted after her.
He turned around and eyed the closed sarcophagus. He never slept in it, just on it, and he wondered what it felt like to be closed up in that tiny space, what it looked like to see the body in there, probably already slumbering peacefully. Was it second nature to their kind? Did they just crawl into this narrow box and drift away to sleep? Spike walked over gingerly and eased the lid back to see if she was still awake.
The problem was, she wasn't even in the coffin.
He remained frozen for a moment, then coughed. Then he began to look around for her.
Damn, damn…the sun's coming up…gotta find her!
He saw the trapdoor to his underground storage room and made for it. Yep, it smelled like her; that telltale vampire smell with the wisp of the unique scent he just couldn't place. Where had he smelled it before? When had he smelled it?
He threw the door up and descended into the darkness. Her scent was stronger down here, and he kept his eyes open for any movement.
Suddenly Spike tensed up. He had heard a tiny sigh, like an exhale only laced with tears.
Spinning around, he locked his eyes on a small alcove. He walked forward, slow and cautiously until he beheld the girl's slumbering figure.
She had already fallen asleep on an old mattress he had stored down her ages ago. A few ragged sheets were crumpled up down at her feet, covering her bare toes, but the rest of her was curled up in a mock method to preserve heat. It must have been a habitual move, because Spike knew she no longer had any body heat to speak of.
Unfortunately, she was also sleeping under a small grate in the ceiling, and a light beam of pale sunlight was already beginning to singe her upper arm. He could tell that if he left it alone, the sun's light would brighten and begin to scorch her face and entire arm.
Working quickly, he carefully tacked some black drop clothes over the grate. When no hint of sunlight streamed through, he collapsed with the night's exhaustion and was soon snoring slightly on the concrete ground next to the mattress.
