Sorry this chapter took a while longer than the others; I hope you'll stick with me. I've been busy lately but have not forgotten this story. Thanks a million for reading and reviewing.

Some dialogue excerpts in this chapter were borrowed from Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Episode 103, "Afterlife."

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Standing by the old oak tree in the Summers' front yard brought back the weeks preceding and following Buffy's death in glaring, painful technicolor. Before, he'd stood endless hours in this spot waiting for a glimpse of the woman who haunted his dreams, the one who still considered him an enemy, albeit a harmless one, rendered so by her bloody boyfriend and the other Initiative wankers. Before, he'd been lucky to pass a few quick-witted words with her on the rare, longed-for occasion that she happened to take notice of him on her way home from patroling. And if their sparring resulted in a bloody nose or lip when she'd had her fill of his merciless schoolboy-with-a-crush teasing, then all the better. He'd have something to remember the encounter by the next day, and perhaps the next, until she graced him with her presence again. Before.

And he'd stood here after—after, when he couldn't bring himself to go inside because he couldn't bear the sight of the Scoobies and their hollow-eyed grieving faces. But he had no choice, he had to be there as long as she was there, his inherited burden, barricaded upstairs in her own little cave of denial but slammed with reality every time she emerged from the lavender-walled haven and faced the overwrought concern of her surrogate caretakers. He would chain smoke and watch her window, and every now and then a gaping, dark slit would appear in the blinds as she checked to make sure he was still there. Only when satisfied that he was, and knowing full well that he wouldn't budge until dangerously close to daybreak, would she climb into bed and allow herself the luxury of sleep. After.

And then.

You didn't tell me. You brought her back and you didn't tell me! … Willow knew there was a chance that she'd come back wrong. So wrong that you'd have—that she would have to get rid of what came back. And I wouldn't let her. If any part of that was Buffy, I wouldn't let her.

Look me in the eyes and tell me when you saw Buffy alive, that wasn't the happiest moment of your entire existence.

Not wrong there, was he? Not exactly.

The tree hadn't changed. Spike didn't know why he thought it should have. It hadn't even been that long, it only felt like a lifetime. He leaned against its familiar roughness and lit a cigarette and ignored grief's incessant echo as he watched the flickering bluish light play behind the living room windows. God, he wanted to see her so badly it hurt. But what would she say? Would she hate him like the bit did now? Would she tell him it was all for nothing, the trials and the pain and the quest for redemption? Angel was all about redemption, and what had it gotten him? Separated from her is all. Spike didn't think he could bear that rejection, not again, not now that he'd become the man he thought she wanted and had pinned every hope he'd ever allowed himself to the possibility of being hers, for real this time.

But he had to know, didn't he. Better to face his demons head-on, to hell with the pun. And if nothing else, he could see her face and ease the aching need he'd been nursing since his arrival back in this godforsaken town. He dropped his cigarette and started slowly toward the door.

xXxXx

Buffy was snoring on one end of the couch. The second movie they'd rented—just as bad as the first—droned on and on, bathing the darkened living room in a patchy blue glow. Dawn patted back a yawn as she studied her sister's face and wondered what her odds were of making it out of the house without waking her up. Probably pretty decent. Buffy had been an incredibly deep sleeper since her return. Being dead must teach you how to really tune out.

Dawn was thinking of going back to Spike's, not because she wanted to see him, of course, but because he had her backpack and she needed it. Who could argue with that? If Spike caused her to flunk her history test on Monday because he was holding her school books hostage, there would be hell to pay. Buffy was weird about grades lately, keeping uncanny account of what tests were when and how Dawn was doing on them. And if she failed a test and had to sit through another of Willow's tutoring sessions, Dawn thought she just might start doing her own brand of dark magic to save herself that indescribably boring fate.

Slipping silently off the couch, she went to the front door, grabbed her jacket from off the floor where she'd let it fall earlier, and glanced back at her sister. Still snoozing peacefully (if loudly). Dawn opened the door, froze when it creaked a little, and then slipped out into the chilly night, closing it as softly as possible behind her. Once safely on the other side, she put her jacket on and turned around. She had to stifle a scream when she came face to face with Spike. He was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, hands in the pockets of his coat, giving her the Head-Tilt of Curiosity.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded defensively, then glanced nervously over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "You're not welcome here. We deinvited you."

Spike nodded. "Thought you might," he said. He reached down and picked up something at his feet, holding it out to her. "Left this at my place," he said.

Dawn stared at her backpack dangling from his fingers. "I'm surprised you bothered to bring it back," she said. "Evil dead things don't usually think much about propriety, do they?"

His expression remained fixed and neutral, and finally she reached out and snatched the bag from his hand. "Thanks," she muttered. "Now you can go."

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

Dawn rolled her eyes and tried to sound huffy and bored. "Tell who what?" She studied his impassive face for a moment before dropping the front. "No, I didn't. You hurt her enough when you took off like you did. She doesn't need to know you came back and didn't even care enough to come to her in person."

"That's why you didn't tell her, then?"

"Yes."

"Ah, Niblet, you forget how well we know each other."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm supposed to believe you kept Big Sis in the dark for her own good, because that's just the kind of selfless person you are? Come on."

"I don't really give a shit what you think."

Spike's eyes flashed irritably, but he refrained from snapping at her. "Granted. But I think you know you can't fool the big bad. Now tell me, is she out, or are you sneaking out under her nose these days?"

"What's it to you?"

"Dawn…"

"You don't seriously think she's going to be happy to see you…? She won't. She hates you just as much as I do now. That tends to happen when you abandon people and don't even bother to say goodbye."

"Well, much as you like playing the messenger, I think I'll let her tell me herself." He started to step around Dawn and toward the front door, but she grabbed his arm and tugged him back.

"Don't!"

Spike sighed heavily. "This is getting old, pet," he said, the warning plain in his voice.

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry. Just listen to me—I don't think she's ready yet."

"How about we let Buffy decide that. She's a big girl. Likes to speak for herself; she's funny that way."

"No!" Dawn protested more urgently, and Spike noticed for the first time that she had tears in her eyes. He stopped and frowned at her, waiting for her to explain herself. "Spike, I know what's going to happen. She's going to tell you to get lost, and you will. You'll leave again, probably for good this time, and that's it for you two. And that's it for us, the three of us, and any chance we had at being a family. You've got to let me talk to her first. I can soften her up, make her see that you didn't mean to hurt us. But you showing up like this, in the middle of the night, and telling her you've been back for two weeks already and didn't want to see her … it will be a disaster."

Taken aback, Spike watched as tears slid down Dawn's cheeks and dripped off her chin and her big earnest blue eyes bored into him. At last he drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly, not knowing quite what to say when she was probably right.

"I still hate you," she said, her words muffled against the folds of his coat. He smiled in spite of himself, and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"I'll learn to live with that."

When Dawn pulled out of his embrace at last, she looked at him almost fearfully. "What are you gonna do?"

He sighed. "You make a good argument, Bit, and I get that you're worried. But I've got to do this my way. And my way is now or never."

"But Spike—"

He stopped her with a look. "Now or never," he repeated firmly. "But you don't have to worry about me leaving you again, that much I can promise."

Pouting slightly, Dawn pulled away from him. "I bought that the first time."

As he turned and walked up to the front door, Dawn began backing away. "I'm not sticking around for this."

"Dawn, stay," Spike commanded automatically without turning around. "Or go up to your room if you don't care to see your sister kill me. You've no business wandering the streets at this hour." He faced the door and tried to scrounge up enough courage to knock on it.

"Spike, don't! I'm telling you…"

As he raised his knuckle to the solid wood before him, it swung back without warning. There stood Buffy, sleep lines creasing one side of her face, random strands of blonde hair escaping her messy ponytail, warring expressions of shock and anger and concern and (could it be?) relief fighting for control of her features, as lovely a being as Spike had ever laid eyes on.

Behind them, unwilling to watch her world shatter, Dawn silently escaped into the night.

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