Disclaimer and summary on Chapter One :)

A/N We see how the Spike's react now that dawn has arrived. The sun is up. What will happen? Dun dun duuuuuuuuuun. :D There were a few bits I was worried about with this chapter. Still not sure if it works. Please R&R and let me know how it sounds :)

Chapter 2 - From Dawn to Dusk:

A blackbird pecking hesitantly at a rotten banana skin took flight as a nearby bin bag seemed to propel itself across the sky, in an amazing display of speed and twirling, whilst managing to keep most of its contents inside. The reason for said acrobatic-bin-bag came in the form of Spike.

The bleach blonde vampire rose awkwardly from the ground, stretching his arms above his head, his duster lifting accordingly to expose his ankles. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and blinked as they adjusted. With a reaction not dissimilar to that of when his clock trilled in his ear, he realised he was vulnerably exposed. He dived frantically into a sea of bin bags where he had previously risen from, in a desperate attempt to escape the sun's rays. He was expecting the smell of smoke as his skin burned but when it didn't come he lifted his head from between his knees, a bewildered look in his eye.

Okay, the sun is shining down, but in an apparently non fatal way. Not that I'm not glad I'm not dust, but this can't be good. What the bloody hell is going on?

Warily, still half-expecting the firework display that would be him any second, he pushed his way forward through the assortment of brightly coloured bags full of other peoples rubbish, and arose to the sight of the breaking dawn. Curiosity got the better of him and he locked his gaze on the sun and shook his head in wonderment whilst grinning a crooked half-smile all the while. He wasn't burning. He was apparently far from it at the moment, so he might as well enjoy the moment. Spike removed his duster and threw it aside; spreading his arms wide to absorb every possible particle of sun he could, only slightly wincing as the welt in his chest throbbed. With a contented sigh, his chest heaved heavily and relaxed. He could get used to this.

A vague rustling from his left pulled him from his reverie. After a moment of silence, Spike saw a shadow of a movement and heard another faint mutter. Spike turned toward the noise and side-stepped slowly in the direction of it.

"Anya...? You trying to use the hotplate again...?" mumbled the heap.

Stepping slowly forward, the heap began to take form before Spike as a rather scruffy looking Xander pushed aside a bag, and opened his eyes. He wrinkled his nose at the awful stench of the dump, and batted a few flies away from his face.

"Uh-oh".

Propping himself up on one elbow he surveyed his surroundings, and his eyes finally came to rest on a bemused Spike.

"What are you doing here Whelp?"

"I could ask you the same thing" muttered Xander. It became apparent at the exact moment that he had noticed the lack of spontaneous combustion from Spike. Reacting instinctively he threw himself backward as best as he could in his current position, and failed miserably. His only reward for his sudden thrashing was a banana skin on his head and a raised eyebrow and chuckle from Spike.

"How? What? How?"

Considering these three questions, which proved to be all Xander could manage, Spike reached down and closing his eyes against the throb in his chest, waited for him to accept his hand. When all he got was a perplexed look and a blink he straightened up and strolled over to where his now somewhat grubby duster lay.

"Have it your way then", said Spike. Stretching to retrieve his jacket, he heard Xander get up and start to walk toward him. He shook his jacket to relieve it of any unwanted dust, and satisfied it was clean enough, he began to swagger from the dump. When he heard the shuffling of Xander behind him, he spun and stopped in his tracks, bringing a stumbling Xander to a halt in front of him.

"Do you want a hand mate? Or are you gonna keep following me like a lost little puppy dog till I tell you to get lost?" said Spike.

"Why would you wanna help me?" questioned Xander.

Pondering this for a second Spike replied,

"I'm not sure exactly. You gonna accept my help or not? I'm not gonna waste my day standing around jabbering on to you otherwise. I got me some adventuring to do". Spike raised his head posing heroically, and realising he'd just done this in public quickly removed his hand from his hip and lowered the other, which had curled into a fist. He coughed and shifted his weight as Xander waited for him to recover.

"Okay there's way too much of the strange right now. First", Xander counted out one finger, "I woke up in the city dump. Secondly", another finger joined the first, "You aren't a pile of dust. And thirdly...you offered me help not once, but twice". He scratched his head and screwed his eyes up in what seemed to be concentration.

Spike raised his eyebrows as a way of showing his impatience at his lack of answer. Xander shook his head and looking uncomfortable in his current situation declined his offer and just managed to mutter a half-hearted word of gratitude before hurrying off.

Deciding that this last conversation was worth a decent break, Spike thought about what he could do today. He had over 120 years of sun soaking to catch up on after all. A Thursday. Spike preferred Fridays: Passions was on. Looking around him for inspiration, he spotted his trolley of goodies and began to reminisce the events of the night before. The attack by Toth (Spike gingerly prodded the welt in his chest). The painting. The clock and toaster. His breakdown over Buffy.

And we're back to her again. Bloody hell even when I try having a good day she's there haunting me.

Kicking at the stones in minor frustration he began to wonder why he wasn't more annoyed. He would normally be fuming over having these thoughts, but today he seemed to be relatively calm about it. Maybe it's the sun he thought.

Putting these thoughts aside, he continued on what he had been planning the previous night. Making sure each item was there he pushed off out of the dump in the direction of his crypt. He reached up and scratched his head and suddenly realised where he'd been. He must look a right state. This will be interesting to explain to Clem. He ruffled his hair and tried to smooth it down hoping that it looked at least a little better.

Today was a glorious day. The sun was beating down and it was about 40 degrees centigrade with clear blue skies and not a cloud in sight. The birds were singing gleefully in the treetops and children were playing happily in the parks. If only they knew how apart from this Spike was. They would have had no idea that the man in the leather jacket with bleached hair pushing a trolley of goods was really a vampire that had been attacked by a demon and had spent the night in the dump because of it. Making his way towards the graveyard he stopped and noticed a small clump of flowers. He knelt down and running his fingers over the petals lightly he thought about how much better they looked during the daytime.

"In fields of green the flowers dance.

Those peaceful times when deer will prance.

Winding through trees so happily.

So full of joy and ecstasy".

Spike muttered these words without even knowing why or where they'd come from, and only then did he realise he had company. Wincing as he prepared to identify his guest, he turned his face guiltily upwards ready for the onslaught he would receive.

"Well that was ... certainly something" admired Clem warily.

"Man am I glad to see you", said Spike, rising fluidly from the ground.

"What was that? Just then? Something about flowers and deer? That was weird. And where were you last night? I waited for you so I could help you unpack your finds" ranted Clem as he turned to rummage curiously through Spike's newly acquired treasures. Worse than a mother of a teenager thought Spike.

"If you want the truth I actually have no idea what I was thinking. What was that?! I shouldn't be going around picking flowers. Next thing you know I'll be wearing a toga and prancing about like a ponce in a poppy field" whined Spike. Sensing his guest's unease, he continued on his journey to his crypt, pouting slightly in annoyance.

"Wait up there Spike ... whoa." Clem gasped in horror and when Spike turned around he gave him a look as if to say yes-I-know-I'm-not-on-fire-are-you-coming-or-not? Not wanting to be left out here by himself, Clem followed his friend hurriedly through the rest of the graveyard.

When they reached the crypt, they entered and lay the contents of the trolley out on his sarcophagus. Clem appraised each item and finally approved of Spike's hard night's work. But a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"You never told me earlier where you'd been all night. What, did you sleep in the dump or something?" Clem laughed as if dismissing the idea. Spike looked at him with a look of complete disbelief that he'd guessed exactly what had happened and had thought it was a stupid idea. Taking in Spike's expression, Clem stopped laughing and said,

"Did you spend the night in the dump?" asked a shocked Clem. Spike looked down and inspected his shoes. Scuffed. They'd have to be replaced soon. He looked up and saw the Clem staring at him waiting for an answer.

"Okay fine. Yes I spent the night there" sighed Spike. He knew he should tell him about the demon, but he knew he already had more pressing matters.

"Before you ask, yes I can walk in the sun now. I dunno how. But isn't this a good thing? No more running wildly through town with people pointing going 'Hey look at the man with the blanket over him'. I mean can you imagine?" Spike was standing closer to Clem now, clasping the air between them with an odd twinkle in his eye. Clem supposed that it would be a good thing. A vampire who can go in the sun. Even if they didn't know why. It was too much for Clem to take in.

"But how? How could something like this happen? I just – it doesn't –" Clem stammered to a halt. He felt like he was going to collapse from shock, and sensing as much, Spike helped him to his favourite chair. He himself squatted on the floor and settled himself comfortably, resting his arms on his knees. However the slight hint of pain that flitted through his eyes didn't go unnoticed. Realising his mistake too late, Spike lifted his chin until he was looking at Clem fully and purposefully.

"Right my friend. We have some decorating to do. Let's get started shall we?"

The change of subject was obvious but no doubt necessary. Nevertheless Clem jumped at the opportunity to help re-decorate. Spike seemed particularly chirpy today. Perhaps the sun had done him good.

Springing lightly on his feet Spike bounded towards the sarcophagus and began to sort through his new belongings. Nothing like a good crypt-make-over to cheer up a vampire. As Clem joined him, they began the discussion that would lead to many others throughout the day.

Meanwhile...

The old warehouse was barely more than a burned out husk. The charred building was untouched, and he was faintly surprised to see it still standing. It wasn't the most comfortable setting, but the derelict remainder of the hideout he had used what seemed an age ago would suffice to shelter him from the sun's deadly rays.

The vampire was pacing. Again it seemed. He could see red. He was barely even bothering to avoid the obstacles in his way anymore. A chair here, a storage box there. He simply thrust them aside in his untargeted rage.

Spike was in game face. And despite his best efforts, he couldn't get out of it. This angered him more every time he tried it. And he'd been trying for hours.

After the attack by Toth, Spike has found himself in what seemed like an almost unharmed condition. Sure his right side was a little sensitive from the blast but he'd heal from that soon enough. It was what happened after that made him panic. How could this have been possible? Can a guy not go scavenging without gettin' bloody split in half? Ha. I almost forgot. This is Sunnydale... course ya can't. Of course when he'd stood to leave for home, he had noticed someone lying on the floor. Him. But not him. How could it be? He was standing right there.

He bet Buffy and her gang of wanna-be-Slayerettes were behind it. I mean yeah sure they were being shot at too, but maybe it was all a set up. Yeah, they're capable of that. Get some friends from beyond the human eye; shoot a few fire-bolts; and then have Xander get bibbidy-bobbedy-bood by the magic man. Seemed simple enough.

Spike muttered a threat to the air, letting a strangled snarl escape from his chest, thinking maybe the poison in his voice would carry to its intended receiver. "I'll get you for this. I'll find you and you'll never know I'm coming. Not until it's far too late".

Thursday afternoon. 3:23. The clock sat ticking lightly on the side table and Spike let his attention wander from it, to the rest of the room. The toaster gleamed elegantly in the muted light of the crypt and the mannequin sat comfortably in the cubby hole near the back of the room. Clem was stood in a trance like state in front of a picture frame. He'd been there for a full five minutes without moving and Spike was beginning to wonder what his demonic friend was thinking. However he decided to leave him to his thoughts a while longer because he'd delved into his chest full of all his books ten minutes ago and had been reminding himself of some of them.

He'd recently come across the play An Inspector Calls – J.B Priestly. First produced in 1945 in Germany. Spike remembered it well. He rather liked this play. Saw it the first time it came out too. He loved the part where Sheila and Eric, the children, stood against their parents and tried to get them to see how they'd all contributed to Eva Smiths death. Just gripping. And that Ralph Richardson. The first person ever to play Inspector Goole. He was a nice bloke. Spike remembered congratulating him on getting his knighthood. Friendly guy. Tasted good too. He kinda missed him.

Caught in the memories of 1983, Spike never noticed when Clem awoke from his state of apparent admiration and wandered almost lifelessly from the crypt. His eyes had an odd emptiness but Spike wasn't watching. He opened the door and walked out, without closing it behind him. A sudden gust of wind blew it shut with a bang. This however he did notice. Looking up from the book, he realised Clem wasn't there. Odd. Spike scanned the room thinking maybe he'd gone somewhere else, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then Spike remembered the slamming door. Must of been him. Maybe he forgot about a poker tournament and had to run. Woulda been nice for a goodbye though. Spike shrugged and replaced the book in his chest. It didn't matter anyway, just meant that he could get away to do what he'd been planning earlier.

The discussion they'd begun at the very beginning was the many possibilities of Spike's current inflammable situation. He could go outside in the sun. There were so many things he wanted to do. He could feel the cool afternoon breeze through his hair or stroll along the water's edge, feel the warm water run freely between his bare toes.

The beach. That's what he'd decided he wanted to do. Enjoy a few hours walking the beach. He'd done it many times before at night, but he had no memories of what it might feel like to have the grains of sand brushing his feet, the sand warmed gently by the sun. Spike had settled on it and had decided that he was going to go today. 4 o'clock. 5 minutes time. Placing his hands on his thighs he lifted himself from his chair and grabbed his duster. He put one arm in and decided that there was no need for it. He wanted to enjoy this to the full. Removing his arm from his jacket he thought he'd do a test run to make sure his condition hadn't worn off. Spike strolled to the door and opened it a fraction, enough to let in a bright beam of light. Hesitantly, Spike reached out and brushed his fingers lightly along the edge of the beam, before putting his whole hand into it.

Nothing.

His pale white skin intensified the sunlight, and the tendons on the back of his hand created intricate shadows along it. This is crazy. Yet absolutely amazing at the same time. Spike grinned and chuckled foolishly. He felt like an idiot, one hand still held in the air before him. Opening the door slowly, Spike took a breath and gasped as he felt the heat spread like wildfire through his body. He was burning. He'd never felt heat like this before. The warmth was incredible. Waves of it seemed to flow through his body. His closed eyelids turned a fierce orange, which slowly became red. Spike stepped forward.

He opened his eyes and saw before him the graveyard. He was okay. He examined his body and saw nothing different to how he'd been before he left the crypt. He'd felt like he was burning, but it wasn't the horrible painful burning he had before. This was a more subtle glow around his entire being. How could he have not remembered this? This feeling of immense happiness and contentment. Placing this memory securely in his brain he smiled to himself and set off.

On his way to the beach Spike had a thought about maybe taking a look at some poetry books on his way back. He wasn't sure why but he suddenly had an interest in it that was more prominent than before. He wrote this down on his mental notepad and continued his journey.

A few minutes later a sudden realisation came to him. He hadn't had a drink of blood in a while, yet he felt only a slight pull for it. That triggered another frantic thought. He hadn't so much as thought of going into game face all day. He was beginning to wonder what would happen if he tried it. He was out in the sunlight, yet he wasn't sure if going into game face would render him helpless until nightfall. Maybe it would pull down the barrier that had formed to protect him from the UV rays.

Now curious, Spike crossed the road and brushed shoulders with a man at a payphone without noticing. He heard a faint argument coming from his direction however but decided not to find out what was going on. Even so, some of the words drifted to his ears;

"No, it ate my quarter. Uh-huh. But see, I'm sort of having this aggressively bad day. Ooh! I found a quarter! I found a quarter! ... Well, ma'am, for me it is worth getting excited about".

Spike carried on into the alleyway and disappeared round the corner. However if he'd have looked up at the man he'd walked into he'd have noticed a bewildered Xander hiding badly from someone he himself couldn't see. Dropping his last quarter, Xander was suddenly dumbstruck. There was Spike strolling through the streets. Yet Xander's suave-self had just walked past. Xander was now faced with a predicament. Follow Spike. Follow me. Spike, me, Spike, me. His moment of indecision was interrupted by seeing Spike turn abruptly round a corner. Xander stopped hopping from one foot to the other, when did I start doing that? and hung up the phone, oblivious to the muttered hello on the other end.

Waddling along hurriedly to keep up with Spike, Xander stuck his hand out and caught hold of the lamp post on the corner, swinging himself not-so-gracefully to come face to face with the bleached blonde. He skidded to a halt and blinked to check that what he was seeing was right.

"Spike? Are you okay? Do you need something? Like a...X-Lax maybe?"

Spike looked at Xander then and realised how he could have come to the conclusion that he must look at least a little constipated. Spike stopped screwing his eyes up and relaxed his muscles. Spike sighed in defeat and looked guiltily at Xander.

"Think you're funny do you Whelp? I mean, after all...I don't think I'm the one in need of a laxative". Spike smirked at Xander's non-understanding expression and after a few seconds Xander gasped and replied with a rather feeble,

"Yeah? Well...so's your face".

Spike rolled his eyes and continued what he was doing before. When it became apparent that it wasn't working he turned to Xander and thought he may as well tell him his problem.

"Since you came through all this trouble just to offer me a laxative, I think you're entitled to know what my problem actually is" said Spike sarcastically.

Xander looked at Spike suspiciously and said,

"Do you need one?" Spike simply growled at him and grinned when he flinched.

"If you don't wanna know you could always walk away. I'm sure your demon lady is probably waiting for another shag right about now." Spike chuckled at Xander's nervous yet guilty expression. Spike sighed and thought he probably should get to the point.

"Right. Well. If it's any interest to you I umm...I...I can't go into game face okay? ...Stop looking me like that"

"You mean with my eyes? 'Cos I'm pretty sure I can't look at you any other way" Xander laughed at himself and pointed to his face in an I-made-a-funny kinda way. At another growl from Spike, Xander stopped laughing and cleared his throat with a not-so-subtle cough which sounded more like a choking duck.

"Okay. So you can't go into game face. So what? You can also walk in the sun. There's a lot of weird stuff going on round here recently". Spike sensed there was a little more to Xander's words but he seemed reluctant to want to talk about it.

"What d'you reckon's wrong with me? I mean it's great. The sun feels so amazing. I can't help but smile when it touches my skin". Spike stopped, coughed and dropped his voice three octaves to his normal voice before continuing. "But I just don't understand how it happened. I was out scavenging, got hit by some demon guy and woke up in the dump in broad soddin' daylight. How does that work?"

"I dunno Spike. I wish I did. Hey, maybe Buff's got some idea. You should try asking her". At the mention of Buffy's name Spike's ear prickled and his eyes glistened for a split second. Xander however seemed not to notice.

"Okay, well I gotta go follow...me. See ya round. Maybe. Good luck with the face thing". Xander waved half heartedly and side stepped awkwardly from the alley and disappeared into the afternoon shopping crowds.

Later...

He needed more than just one cup of blood. He didn't need to drink it to know he craved it. Much more than normal. This was almost a physical stabbing in his gut. He ran the fingers of one hand over his face, tracing the contours of the bumps, finally coming to rest at the corner of his mouth. Parting his lips in what could have been mistaken for a grin or a snarl, he caressed he teeth, searching for the fangs he knew were bared. Sighing with a mixture of defeat and what seemed to be sadness, he closed his mouth and held his hands over his deadened eyes, pushing his thumbs into them to block out his thoughts. If he didn't get some blood to drink soon God knows what it'd do to him. Maybe he'd go crazy. Heck, I'm already crazy.

And indeed it seemed like it. He hadn't realised until now, but he'd been murmuring to himself. Only a few words reached him through the numb barrier he'd erected in his mind.

...Chip.

...Slayer.

...Bloody lamp.

Re-opening his eyes in a startlingly quick movement, he found himself shooting a piercing glance at a mirage. Probably caused by his stunt with his thumbs. He was staring at the cocky, smiling figure of one of the Scoobies. There was a hint of humour in their eyes. Not a petite blonde as he'd come to expect. A newbie. An unlikely face to go unnoticed. Spike was casting daggers at the motionless form of military man Riley Finn.

What's he doing here? Why'd it have to be this class-A idiot laughing at me? Torturing me?

Not bothering to keep his menacing thoughts contained Spike yelled, "Damn you! YOU did this to me! This pain! It hurts so much and you did this. It's all your fault". Spike was shouting loudly at the fading form, but there was an edge to his voice now. Odd. His vision was beginning to blur as he continued his tirade at nothing now.

"You made me like this. You and him. You planned this together didn't you? Didn't you? Answer me!", Spike bellowed, having seemingly switched his target to a certain blond female. His cheeks dampened quickly, the bumps which were his most prominent vampire trait forming rivers down his face. An ocean seemed to be expanding at his feet. His emotions rushed through his tears to join it, wanting to be free and out of their human bonds. And Spike let them. He slumped, sobbing as he tried to regain control of himself. But that wasn't happening. Not just yet.

Succumbing to his misery, Spike fell onto his side, his cheek pressed firmly to the now glistening stone. He closed his eyes firmly and allowed himself to cry. And kept crying until finally there was nothing left but a hollow emptiness. He didn't understand this. These strong emotions. Anger. No .. rage. And sadness. A lot of it. He lay there unmoving, staring out of the window now. Seven o'clock. He guessed by the fact that the single deadly ray of sunshine has lessened somewhat, and the slither of visible sky was rapidly turning a burnt umber.

Time to move soon. It was nearly twilight. He was thirsty. And he had some business to take care of. He'd already made his decision. Sitting awkwardly, holding his right side delicately, he ran his jacket sleeve briskly across his face removing the last hint of this recent event, the rising and falling not going missed even in that quick action. He rose carefully and purposefully until he faced the exit. Squinting slightly in concentration, he sucked in a deep breath, his breathing catching and running jagged through his long-useless lungs.

Setting his mind at the task at hand, he began the slow journey through the warehouse and out into the street, heading for his crypt. He needed to make a stop, but he'd soon be heading for the Summer's residence. He hoped they'd cleaned up recently. They were about to have company.

A/N What did you think? The bit with the poem he said and the breakdown...I wasn't sure if they seemed like the kinda thing he'd do but I guess what with the whole split-in-two-ness maybe he's allowed a bit of randomness :D And just so everyone knows I researched about Ralph Richardson and kinda had to improvise. I also studied the play at school so there are a few bits I know about :) Please review with any improvements I could make. They are muchly appreciated :)