A/N: Thanks yet again to anyone taking an interest in this story!
III. Restless Heart
Spike allowed himself to be dragged along on patrol with the others night after night. He paradoxically felt both exhausted and restless these days, but the latter always won out when presented with an opportunity for violence. Whenever he fought, he readily relinquished control to his demon side, tearing viciously into any nasty that dared cross his path. Though many of the demons he fought were stronger than him now, still none of them stood a chance against the sheer intensity of his wrath, his actions raw and animalistic, completely focused on his task as he poured the full of his anger at the world into every blow. Frequently, he abandoned his weapon, instead tearing into his enemies with his bare hands and gruesomely rending them with his fangs. It was pure catharsis, and he couldn't get enough of it.
He didn't simply patrol, he hunted. The same need for blood that weakened him also heightened every one of his senses to an astounding degree and made him hyper-aware of his surroundings, the vampiric instincts that had helped him survive in the days before his chip now aiding him in making prey of demons rather than humans. Letting himself become so consumed by the intensity of that basic need felt very right somehow. The ache of starvation penetrated down to his bones, but he embraced the feeling. He craved the pain. It reminded him he was alive when he otherwise felt so dead to the world.
Sometimes the hunger would get the better of him, and he would find himself violently tearing out the throat of another vampire to get a taste of the rancid second-hand blood in their veins. He didn't care that it tasted terrible, that the most it ever did for him was simply slow the rate at which he wasted away, and he always stopped himself regardless before he could feel at all sated from it. He didn't want to feel relief. He wanted to punish himself for causing Buffy's death. He deserved this.
The presence of the hated Buffybot during patrol ensured he couldn't forget the reason for his anguish, either. Willow had repaired and reprogrammed the thing to create the illusion that the Slayer was still alive, which was admittedly important to prevent the demon population from getting out of hand, but it still bore such an uncanny resemblance to her—he'd had it built that way, after all. He really wished he'd never asked for the horrid thing to be made in the first place. Willow did seem to feel guilty at having to put it to use, at least, but it was still a constant and painful reminder...both of his failure to save the woman it was modeled after, and of how he'd offended that same woman before then with its creation.
The others had tried to coordinate as a group with him at first, but they started letting him have a bit more space rather quickly at his antisocial behaviour and disturbingly violent combat tactics. It was just as well. He didn't think he could handle talking to any of them, anyway, quite content to lose himself in the fight. A faint ghost of a smile crossed his face briefly as he ripped an attacking fledgling's head right from its shoulders and watched it turn to dust. Definitely cathartic.
As Spike dragged himself home from another night's patrol, and the hum of energy from the fight faded away to weariness once more, he went upstairs and took his usual place on Dawn's bed beside her, his arms wrapped protectively around her to help ward away her nightmares. Sometimes, he felt as though being there to take care of her was the only thing still tying him to this world and keeping him from giving up.
As he watched her peaceful face and waited for sleep to claim him as well, he remembered back to the first night he'd spent in that room, when the sound of her crying had stirred him awake, and he'd heard her say as he tried to calm her down, "It should have been me."
"What's that, pet?" he'd asked her.
"I was supposed to die. It was supposed to be me, on that tower."
Hearing her say that had alarmed him, and his heart had broken for her. "Don't ever say that. Don't even think it." He'd turned her face towards his so that she would look at him and see the sincerity behind his words as he wiped the tears from her eyes. "Remember what you said she told you?"
Dawn had nodded weakly in response, closing her eyes as she repeated her sister's final message. " 'Live for me'."
"Exactly. Not your fault, you never asked to be some mystical Key, yeah? Was her decision, 'cos she loved you so much, her gift to you. She wouldn't want you to wish it away." Hearing that seemed to have helped her settle down a bit, and he'd held her close until she'd finally drifted off again into a more peaceful sleep. He hadn't told her what had been haunting him, though he'd thought it in the following silence. It's not your fault, because it's mine. I was supposed to keep you safe.
Ever since then, he'd slept in her room with her. Keeping her safe.
Dawn awoke to the smell of Tara cooking breakfast downstairs, and she stretched slowly with a yawn before carefully untangling herself from Spike's arms to avoid waking him up. He'd seemed exceptionally tired last night, for some reason. Might as well let him sleep in.
" 'Morning, Dawnie," Willow greeted her brightly as the teen entered the kitchen, currently busying herself with setting plates around the table, whilst Tara was finishing up preparing some pancakes. "Food's almost ready."
"I'm making funny shapes," Tara chimed in with a gentle smile, briefly glancing at Dawn an affectionate, motherly sort of way in greeting, then resuming studying the pancake she was cooking.
"Awesome," Dawn beamed as she flopped down into a seat at the table. Tara carefully transferred a now-finished pancake shaped like a cat's face to Dawn's plate a moment later, prompting the girl to giggle at the cute creation for a moment before slathering it in syrup and digging in enthusiastically.
Tara returned her attention to the pan as she poured more homemade mix into it. "Spike still asleep?" she asked.
Dawn nodded. "Didn't want to wake him up. He'll be down later, probably."
"Vampires must not be morning people," Willow joked, then smiled gratefully to Tara as the shy witch served her the next pancake. She made her own last, seating herself at the table with the other two when it was ready.
"So, we doing anything exciting today?" Dawn asked conversationally as they ate.
"Hanging out at The Magic Box, same old," Willow replied mildly. "Oh, and we need to go shopping at some point. Running low on groceries. Want to come with me and help pick out the right sugar-filled cereal?" she teased the teen good-naturedly.
Dawn grinned widely. "Sure!"
Tara glanced up from her plate. "I think I'll stay home while you two go out," she decided. "Someone has to look after the house."
Willow nodded her agreement, and they fell into their typical lazy chatter over breakfast, none of them thinking too much of Spike's absence, as it wasn't a rare occurrence for him to wake up a bit later than the rest of them.
Tara was worried about something else concerning the blonde vampire, however. She'd noticed the change in his attitude lately, especially the way he acted during patrol, and it was glaringly obvious to her by now that he was losing weight. While those things were potentially cause for concern alone, what cemented her worry was the fact that the blood she'd bought the morning after he'd moved in—well over a week ago by now—was still untouched. He probably wasn't aware that she saw the contents of the refrigerator quite frequently, since she did all of the cooking in the house. She'd counted the bags the past few days to confirm her increasing suspicion that he wasn't drinking it, and the number still hadn't changed.
She remained fairly quiet as they finished eating, lost in her thoughts. Something was very wrong with Spike, and she wanted to find out what it was. Maybe she could help him somehow.
When the others stood up from the table to get properly dressed for their shopping trip, Tara picked up their plates and took them to the sink to rinse them and put them into the dishwasher, still deep in contemplation. Once she'd finished, she curled up on the couch with a book, waving to Willow and Dawn as they left for the market a short while later. Spike still hadn't come downstairs, and she didn't want to wake him up, so she opted to wait until later to try to talk to him. She sighed, glancing towards the staircase momentarily before shaking her head and trying to return her focus to her book.
Oh, Spike, what are you doing to yourself? she wondered sadly.
