Reminders

Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Kimi : Reminders - Page 1

Summary: The full-length follow-up to "Voices in the Dark," second installment in Kimi's "Voicesverse." Spike is back in Sunnydale with a soul... and is learning to deal. Romance/Action/Adventure with the return of the Initiative.

AUTHOR: Kimi
EMAIL: kimi37212@yahoo.com
SEQUEL TO: Voices in the Dark
RATING: R
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SPOILERS: S6
DISCLAIMER. Well, you know. I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy. Joss is all. I own nothing except my nine year old car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 1

Buffy stomped upstairs from the lower level of the crypt holding a flashlight and wearing a distressed look that bordered on anger. Spike looked up briefly from the microwave and quickly ducked his head again to hide his sudden grin.

"I can't find anything down there," she grumbled, throwing herself into his 'comfy' chair, as Clem called it.

He smothered the grin and walked over with an innocent look on his face. "That's because there's nothing left, pet."

Ignoring him, she stared at the television screen, still wearing the same frown, and started flipping through the channels. Finding Lifetime at last, she looked up at him. "You still have cable, Mr. Shiny Soul," she said accusingly.

Spike raised an eyebrow and slowly turned his head to look the television screen. "Why, so I do," he said in surprise. "Hmm. Need to do something about that," he said, walking behind the TV.

"Don't even think about it." Buffy bit the words off in a way that brooked no argument.

Spike spread his hands, backing off and heading back to the refrigerator, allowing a silent chuckle to roll out once he was out of her sight.

The slayer wasn't finished. "You either need to move out, or we clean this place up. Starting with downstairs," she mumbled.

He stopped what he was doing and smirked at her stiff back and shoulders. "What?" he said innocently. "Don't like the little reminder of Cardy's visit last time 'round? Aw, luv, he'd be so hurt!"

"I hate it when you call him 'Cardy' or anything in the 'Captain' family. Or Whitebread. Frankly, I hate it when you bring him up. And don't try to change the subject! You wear this stuff like a hair shirt and then you're surprised when it starts rubbing off on me?"

"Buffy! Hair shirt? I'm impressed! You've been readin'."

"Have not," she snarked back at him. "History Channel."

"Ah."

"So when you wanna do it?" She asked sweetly.

"How 'bout ... never? Because the memory of my transgression is still too fresh," he said airily.

Buffy rounded on him, nearly snapping her spine in the process. Her eyes narrowed. "You like for me to feel guilty about this, don't you?"

"Luv, what do you have to be guilty about?" He looked at her even more innocently than before and threw a little 'apologetic' into the mix. "I'm the one that had possession of the, uh, illegals. A very bad man, I was. Bad."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, closed it and then plunged on. "I've offered to help. Clem has. Dawn has. Although I'm a little worried about what Dawn might run across down there...?"

Spike thought for a moment. "Dawn needs to stay upstairs."

She shot him a very suspicious look. "I thought you said it was all gone."

"Well, the metal didn't melt, Slayer."

A sudden look of understanding appeared on her face as she remembered her encounter with a certain pair of handcuffs. "Oh."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Staying or going?"

Spike looked at the image laid out before him in the bright doorway. There was Buffy, armed with a shovel and a huge box of industrial garbage bags. Dawn was holding a flat broom, a metal dustpan and a bucket full of cleaning products.

And behind her, Clem was wearing an uneasy look, very aware that he had come empty-handed. He stepped forward. "I brought the truck," he explained.

"Buffy...." Spike looked at her warningly.

"Stay or go. I don't care. But if you're going to keep living here, it's time to do something about this mess." She set her chin and charged downstairs, Dawn behind her like a baby chick.

Clem looked at Spike apologetically. "I was drafted."

Slapping Clem on the back, he smiled at him. "Half-expected her today anyway. Know how she is when she's bent her head around somethin'. Mix up some lemonade?"

"Yeah, sure, Spike," Clem said in relief. "That Slayer, she's a real go-getter, isn't she? One of a kind."

Spike shrugged. "Well, you know, Chosen One and all that."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy had strung orange electrical cord from the rigged refrigerator outlet to the industrial light she'd brought. Spike sighed. Knowing that this time was coming since she'd mentioned it the night before, he'd gone down and cleared out the drawers by the bed - or what was left of the bed. Those items had been carefully put away as 'mementos.'

Relieved that he'd had the foresight to go down and clear out items that Dawn might have found curious, he began laying waste to the endless bags that Buffy kept hauling up the stairs. There really wasn't anything to keep, and even less that he wanted a reminder of. And frankly, he'd seen more than enough of what the explosives had done to the lower level.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"But why?"

"Because there was a problem. And it was down here. All these eggs hatched and went all Aliens and Attack of the Killer Bees - at the same time. So I had to take 'em out. That meant everything that was down here."

"Ooh, look how pretty this was!" Dawn turned a blackened pillow over and admired the design.

"I know, Dawn," Buffy said with a sigh, trying to keep her mind on the glass she was sweeping up. It was much worse with the light on. She almost wished she'd stayed with the flashlight. Or talked Spike into moving out completely. The high-watt bulb cast distorted shadows and revealed far too much of what the chamber had once been.

Everything blackened her hands. She wondered why she hadn't thought of gloves. The smell, now that the soot was being stirred around, was sickening.

Dawn walked over, dragged a mass of burnt fabric off of what was left of the bed, and stuffed it in a three-millimeter contractor's bag. Pursing her lips, she looked back at the battered mattress peeping through the fitted sheet. "So this is where you, uh..." Dawn got a little tongue-tied and didn't quite finish the sentence.

Buffy rocked back on her heels. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"It is not. I like to help."

Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Spike anyway. Like to help Spike. It must be horrible to come down here and see all this," she commiserated, deftly changing the subject.

Picking up the edge of a singed photograph, Buffy squinted and looked at a picture of herself at sixteen with her mom at Thanksgiving. Her eyes watered. She slipped the slightly damaged photo in her pocket.

"Uh, Buff, I don't think this can be saved." Dawn was looking at the mattress, now stripped of all its tattered accoutrements. "I think it's a wash." She tilted her head as she thought about her choice of words. "Okay, not. As in so not a wash. Uh, washable. I mean..."

Her older sister walked over and grabbed the mattress, easily sweeping it off the bed and over her head. "I'll get the rest in a minute. Let me just get this up in the truck. We put mom's old mattress and box springs in the basement when she got her queen. They'll do fine." Buffy walked up the stairs.

"Which means more training space for the Dawnster," Dawn said lightly. "Yes!" She reached down and lifted the box spring, pushing it to one side so she could get to it and walk it away from where she was working.

Underneath there was a dark-colored sack. She picked it up, opening the sack and peering in. There was a flash of pale blue. Puzzled at the color, she pulled the fabric out and held it up.

It was a sweater. A size extra-small sweater.

Buffy came back downstairs.

"Did Harmony ever live here?"

"Huh?" Buffy returned to her inspection of the trash on the floor. "Oh. Yeah, I think she did for a while. Pretty soon after Spike moved in here. Why?"

"Well, I didn't think you and Harmony had the same taste in clothes, but..."

Buffy glanced up, eyes widening as she snatched at the sweater. Seeing Dawn holding the suspicious-looking sack, she grabbed it away, too.

"We got the mattress on the truck. Still got room for the rest of it and...." Spike's jaw dropped as Buffy turned around with her now white face and her old blue cashmere sweater in a shaking hand.

Dawn looked at both of them and jumped up, heading upstairs. But brushing by Buffy, she found she couldn't resist a smart-ass remark.

"Told you I didn't take it."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spike's face fell as he saw the look on Buffy's. She immediately started digging in the bag, looking back up into his eyes accusingly each time she recognized a garment.

Sighing, he took the bag and set it to one side, taking Buffy's shaking hands in his own. "Pet, if we're gonna go through this every time one of us gets reminded of somethin' bad, we may as well walk away," he said softly.

"Those are my clothes. Were my clothes. Those are *old* clothes. You..."

"Nicked 'em. Yeah, I did."

Buffy stared at him. Spike prepared himself for an old-fashioned punch in the nose. After all, he had it coming. Just had to be a man about it.

Instead, she squealed and pinched him. Then, laughed long and hard.

"Ow." He looked at her in astonishment. "What?"

"You went in my ... house," she gasped for breath, "and stole my ... clothes?"

Spike's expression went from understanding and caring, to sheepish and full on embarrassed. "What? It's a thing."

"It is not a thing!" She continued laughing, giggling like a girl. "Surely it's not a thing. Cause that would be like..."

"Buffy," he said reproachfully. "They smelled like you."

The slayer sobered and looked into his eyes. "Oh," she said weakly.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy came in the door and threw Spike's duster at him. He caught it and looked guiltily at her.

"You left it."

He threw it back at her, eyes hardening. "Don't want it. No good in it."

She stalked over to him and held it under his nose. He wrinkled his face in distaste, then stopped, looking at her in surprise. Mixed in with the stale tobacco and the smell of liquor was a light, wholesome scent - her scent.

"It smelled like you," she said in explanation. "We'll finish up downstairs tomorrow. Good night, Spike."

He stared after her long after the door closed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spike craned his neck. "Where's the Bit?"

"Didn't want a repeat of yesterday. And today is the really grubby day anyway. And it's Monday."

"Oh, school."

"Yeah, school. As in whole new year and no skipped days yet."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

Nodding, she smiled. "It's okay. I've been checking. With the school."

He nodded in return. "Not the nicest way of bein' sure, but..."

Heading down the stairs, she called out over her shoulder, "But effective. Okay, your turn to help me today."

Spike took a deep breath that he didn't need and headed after her. He found her picking up the bag of clothes. "Upstairs please." He silently took the bag and headed up back to the upper level. Her voice startled him, coming so soon on his leaving.

"Uh, Spike. Spike."

He headed back down, wishing there were an elevator. It was going to be a long day.

"Bloody hell, Slayer. What..."

Buffy was kneeling on the crypt floor, holding a blackened eggshell in her hand. She sighed. "Okay, I never asked. I had other things on my mind that day, but will you please explain this?"

"Now's a soddin' fine time to ask. But I guess you were too busy breakin' up with me to worry about little things like the little killin' machines I was hatchin' up in my bedroom."

"So they were Suvolte demons. Just like Riley said."

"No. Not Suvoltes. Bezuines. They get no bigger than what you saw when they hatched."

She stared at him and started to protest. Thinking about his willingness to cop to anything and everything since his newly souled return, she closed her mouth with a snap.

"You can clean out a hefty length of sewer with a few of these. They're right hungry little buggers when they hatch. Would 'a headed straight out through there," he nodded, indicating the door where the sewers intersected with his crypt. "Place as full as this would clean out all the sewers in Sunnydale."

"Sewers?"

"Well, yeah. Sewer rats anyway. That's how their tastes run." He watched her begin to get a clue. "Pest control, Buffy. Clem has a contract with the city. Rats are real nasties in Sunnydale, what with all the demons, rottin' flesh and all. Bite more babies than the vamps ever did."

She stared at him, wanting to take her fingers and clean out her ears. "But you didn't..."

"Weren't really in much of a mood to hear explanations, were you, pet? And the last thing I expected to see in my crypt with you in my bed was that bleedin' wanker, Riley Finn." His voice grew hard. "Then, I wondered what was really goin' on. You comin' in like you did. Comin' on like you did."

"Nothing. Nothing going on." she said hastily, instantly on the defensive. "He even brought his wife and..."

Spike roared with laughter. "Wife! Never figured him for that. More the..."

Buffy slapped his arm, trying to find a dangerous glint to throw at him and failing miserably, only to giggle instead. Suddenly the giggle trailed off. "So this was a mistake?" She looked around and saw the damage that had been inflicted on his life for no reason.

He shrugged. "We live and learn, pet."

"But The Doctor?"

"Clem. The Doctor, Your Prescription for Pest Control in the Hellmouth," Spike recited. "Even has bloody business cards! Imported the little bastards straight from Belize. Told you I was just keepin' em for a friend. Didn't tell you when you first asked because I thought it was a bit of a lark. And then you..."

"I remember. I remember all of it. God, you must have hated me."

"Hated myself more. Should have been honest with you, luv. Should've, would've, could've. Somethin' like that."

Frowning, Buffy poked at the shell. "But Riley must have known," she muttered. Her eyes widened in remembrance.

Not noticing, Spike laughed again, but the sound was bitter. "Maybe not - just makin' the world safe for mum, apple pie and all that. Always was a stupid git. Look what he gave up." He smiled. "Anyway, we got another shipment of 'em. They didn't mind it down here - even with all the soot. And they're workin' out just fine, Clem says. Don't breed, so..."

Buffy jumped up and brushed off her pants. "Can we...uh, do this tomorrow? Or later? Or - "

Smiling sadly and a little hurt, Spike got up slowly. "Sure, Slayer. No rush."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy slammed in the door of the house on Revello Drive. "Dawn! Dawn!"

Running downstairs at full-tilt, her sister slammed into her chest. "Ow. In the way much? What's wrong? Demons, vamps, Apocalypse?"

"Humans," Buffy said grimly. "Have you got Riley's email address?"

"Yeah. But Buffy, what is it?"

"He set Spike up. Set me up. Then asked me if I wanted him to kill Spike."

Dawn stared at Buffy.

"He gets fair warning right now. Riley or any of the soldier boys - or girls - come anywhere near Sunnydale, they've got me to take on."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

At eleven a.m., Spike opened the door as he heard a large truck pulling up. Outside the door were Buffy, Clem and Xander. His eyes almost popped out of his head. Opening his mouth to speak, he saw Xander cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't get any ideas, Spike," Xander said gruffly. "I'm still pissed." He hauled the nozzle and long hose attached to the pressure washer on the truck toward the stairs and started down to the lower level.

"Buffy..."

She gave her head tiny shake. He nodded as Clem followed Xander.

Clem turned back and looked at with a rueful grin. "See, I told you..."

"Right, Clem. Be down in a bit." Spike looked at Buffy. "What's this about then?"

"I talked to Xander last night for a long time." She nodded. "And he's right. He's still pissed. But we've got to stick together." Taking a deep breath, Buffy spit it out. "Spike, Riley told me he had orders to eliminate The Doctor."

Spike stared at her. Laughed. "What a drama queen!"

"This is not a joke. He asked me if I wanted him to - you know - you."

"Bugger that! Like to see him - " Running a hand through his hair, Spike frowned and looked back toward the stairs. "But Slayer, this is - Bloody hell! Clem!"

She nodded. "The Doctor. Now I've emailed Riley. Didn't explain much, but put him on notice. We see a glint of Kevlar in town, they're goin' down. I think it was just a one-shot deal, but we've got to be careful. Watch each other's backs. And you can't fight 'em, Spike." She looked at him speculatively. "Can you?"

Dumbfounded, Spike just stood there. Then he walked over the head of the steps.

"Harris! Harris," he bellowed.

Xander came up the stairs grumbling and walked over to Spike and Buffy. "What? Look, I'm doin' this for Buffy and I don't need..."

As Spike's punch to Xander's nose connected, Buffy heard twin cries of pain. Xander picked himself up off the floor and started toward Spike.

The vampire massaged his head even as he looked at Xander with a combative glint in his eye. "That's for leaving your bride at the bloody altar, you git."

Xander stopped dead in his tracks.

"And right, Slayer. Can't fight 'em," he said, swinging his head back around to look at Buffy thoughtfully.

Smiling encouragingly, she patted Spike's arm. "Hey. It probably was just a one shot deal, you know."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Xander and Clem had cleared out, Xander's nose still red from his contact with Spike's fist earlier in the day. He'd been toting the headboard to the bed like it was an albatross around his neck. Buffy and Spike were down in the lower level. Sniffing, she walked all around the now-huge room.

"Not bad. Xander did pretty good. And the water drained off just fine."

"Hello, luv. Sewers, remember? S'fine. Just don't know how I feel about startin' over down here. Upper's a'right for a flat."

"This is better," she said decisively. "I always liked it down here. Felt safe down here."

Spike sighed, as the wheels in Buffy's head began to turn. He could almost feel it. Sometimes, he imagined they squeaked a bit. He followed her upstairs.

Grabbing the sack of her clothes, she headed toward the door. "I'm gonna get rid of these."

He put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Don't just throw 'em out. Give 'em to...someone who could use 'em."

Her eyes twinkled. The soul thing was still a daily surprise. "They don't smell like soot or anything. Although I don't know why not!" She looked at him curiously. "You mean like Goodwill or something? "

"Yeah. Somethin' like that. And wait." Spike walked over and picked up the leather duster. "This, too."

Buffy gulped. "But Spike - "

"Buffy, the coat's got a bit of a history attached to it. Rather not have any reminders of it. Not here. Not ever." He took the bag and carefully placed the duster inside, handing it back to her.

Nodding, she took the bag and headed to the door. "Xander's gonna see if he can sandblast the headboard clean."

"Right. I got that. I also saw how he was tryin' not to touch it," Spike chuckled wryly.

Buffy grinned. "Dawn had a little to say about that, yesterday. Very little, matter of fact. See you tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Better not," she threatened teasingly. Buffy walked outside and closed the door.

Thoughtfully, she opened the bag and took the coat out of it, throwing it over her arm. Then, she headed home.

Part 2

Little Dawnie Summers looked up from a schoolbook (American History, oh, joy!) and started an irritated tapping on the open page with her pen. She was bored with the American Revolution and wished she were looking at one of those forbidden demon texts that no longer existed. Or maybe she could just be at Janice's. Or maybe -

"Buffy?"

The one and only (well, okay, one and only un-incarcerated) Vampire Slayer pulled on the shirttail of her bright orange uniform (eww, polyester twill!) and looked at the clock. Running right on time for a change, she wouldn't get the usual five-minutes-late, disapproving look. She'd actually made assistant manager - had it on her nametag and everything - despite her squalid time-clock history. Buffy was very aware that this was only because she just called out for apocalypse-type reasons and souled vampire crises. Even more attractive to upper management was the fact that she was still stupid enough to have not found another job yet, like so many of her peers had.

"Buffy!"

Startled, she realized that unconsciously she'd cultivated and actually succeeded in the fine art of 'tuning-out' her little sister - just like a real mom! She felt a surge of pride. She dampened it just a little.

"Sorry, just thinking about work."

"Why?" Dawn asked perceptively.

"Good question," Buffy sighed, sitting down across from Dawn. "What?"

Dawn's eyes brightened in anticipation. "I found some stuff. For Spike. For downstairs."

Buffy's eyes bored into Dawn's. "Are we using it?"

"Noooo." Dawn thought a little harder. "No," she said decisively.

"Does any of it belong to Willow?" Just because Willow was momentarily not living in the Summers home didn't mean she'd want her things given away.

The little Summers bit rolled her eyes. "Buffy...no."

Final question and most important of all: "Is any of it stolen goods?" This last was asked with the modicum of suspicion born of deep embarrassment.

Dawn squeaked in wounded pride and tossed her hair, effectively destroying or knocking over anything within three feet of her.

"No! I told you I took all that stuff back!"

Buffy grinned as she realized that Dawn's hair was wrapped around the back of the chair. Ooh, that was gonna hurt! She looked at the clock and sighed. "You need help?"

Dawn nodded her head. Buffy absently noticed that the hank of hair tightened a bit.

"Well, finish up your homework and call Clem. He'll help you get it on the truck. I'll be off in a few hours, and we'll take it over there."

"And the mattresses, too, right?"

"Not wet?"

"They were up on a table top. Old table, much space, leaned against wall. No wetness."

Buffy nodded once. "You and Clem leave space on the truck if you can't manage it. I'll do it when I get home. Load the big stuff, I mean."

"Can we surprise him? Spike?"

"Surprising someone means that it's necessary that they not be around when you do something for them," Buffy explained with a touch of exasperation. "Successful surprise parties rest solely on that premise. To my knowledge, he's left the crypt *once* in the last four months or so. And that was the night the three of us went patrolling. I don't know if we can pull off a surprise."

"Oh, c'mon, Buffy! We can try. Bully him out of there or somethin'."

"Cause that always works so well! Fine, I'll try. You call Clem. I'll be home later. Make sure you have everything you need for this little escapade, 'kay? I'll be back in no time. And see if Xander's done with the bed."

As Buffy got to the front door, she heard Dawn's muted cry of pain and the slam of a chair against the floor. A huge grin stretched across Buffy's face. She skipped down the stairs, giggling, at the thought of Dawn kneeling down, untying her hair.

Evil, Buffy, evil!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy poked her head in the door of the crypt. "You decent?"

Involuntarily, Spike looked down. Chuckling dryly, he got up and walked to the door, where the Slayer had plastered herself between cracked door and sill.

"If you mean decent 'dressed,' yeah. If havin' a soul makes me decent-like, then, well - "

Sighing in mock-frustration, she grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him close enough that he could feel her breath on his face.

"Leave."

His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"Out. Sewers. Now." Her voice with delicious and the grin on her face doubly so. Spike's heartbeat would have sped up if he'd had one. He made do with a sudden surge of adrenaline - and something else - instead. Then he realized what she was saying. To punctuate her words, she dropped his shirt, reached out and pinched him.

"Ow," Spike exclaimed, pulling away and rubbing his nose. "Playing a little rough, are we?"

"'Rough' is punching you there, not pinching. Would you leave?" she demanded in mock-frustration.

"Any suggestions as to where I go?"

"None. Just want you out. Byeee..." She waved four little fingers at him.

Her color was high and her eyes were sparkling. Spike made a last bid for sticking around.

"Bloody hell, Slayer. There's UFO's on Discovery..."

"Which will repeat again sometime after 11. I know the drill." She grinned again and pulled a 'Dawn,' almost giggling as she did it. "Get out, get out, get out."

"Oooh. If the Nibblet heard you...," he teased.

"Sewers. Now. Don't be back before ten. Play poker. Go to Willie's. Go to the Bronze. Just leave."

Spike had a momentary fit of anxiety at the idea of leaving the crypt. Squelching it, he looked at her appraisingly, still pressed between the door and the sill.

"Fine. I'll go." He looked at her suspiciously. "Can't come out this way?"

"Nope," she said firmly. "Go."

Spike shrugged, headed downstairs and out, before he had time to think too much about it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Willie's hadn't seemed quite the place for him that evening. And poker at the demon bar wasn't very appealing either. He shuddered a bit at the thought of the kittens.

Oh, God, what a poof!

He slipped through the Saturday night crowd at the Bronze like a shark through open waters. On automatic pilot, he headed to the bar. A loud voice stopped him in his tracks.

"And so you're just - back! Like nothin' ever happened. Welcomed home by the Summers women, one and both!"

Spike slowly turned away from the bar and toward the sarcasm that was dripping from the small table to the left.

"Nice trick, turnin' yourself into a new man - uh, thing - like that. Pickin' up a soul cuts you a lot of slack around here. Ask Angel. He'll tell you."

Expressionless, Spike walked over to the table where Xander Harris sat alone except for twelve empty and two full bottles of beer and an empty shot glass.

"Course there's no cutting of the slack from this guy. Seen the all soul-having slink in and out of this town before, usually endin' up in a Buffy meltdown - Big Bad Bang right in the face of the Big Bad Buff."

For the first time in months, Spike was absolutely certain of something. "I'm not Angel, whelp."

Xander didn't blink. Just nodded. "True," he agreed slowly. "Except for the re-souled 'helpless now' part. And even when you were all, and I mean all, Evel Knievel, you were *never* in his class."

Spike winced at the 'helpless' line, but didn't let up on the man. "Went through something of an Angelus phase myself."

Waving a drunken hand in dismissal, Xander laughed ruefully. "Oh, not so much, I bet. Always had Dru's back to watch, didn't you? Then, Dawn's. Now it's the Slayer. Nope, not so much, Spike. Not so much. Hard to make plans to end the world if you're all swoony and lovesick. You know? Whipped?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy stared at the bed. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "I remember this." She walked over and ran her hand along the comforter. "Mom got this in L.A. for her and Dad's room. I haven't seen it since we moved."

"Well, it was all packed up, pillows and all. Boy, Mom really went all out, didn't she?"

The slayer picked up a throw pillow. It was a steely blue gray, with a bold tone-on-tone stripe. "Don't remember it looking this good in L.A. though."

"It's the walls," Clem said quickly.

The two sisters turned and looked at him expectantly.

"See? Everything just kinda blends together. But the rough texture of the walls with the shiny fabric kinda - well, it's pretty." He looked at his feet. "Or I like it, anyway."

Buffy rushed in to counter Clem's embarrassment. "It does look pretty. But not girl pretty. Guy pretty. I like. Lots."

Clem's face lit up. "I'll go see what else is on the truck. Your friend did a good job on the headboard. Nice guy." The demon walked upstairs with his usual heavy steps.

Stepping back to get the full effect of the cavern walls with the bedspread, she chuckled. "Clem's right. Death becomes it,"

Rolling her eyes, Dawn looked at Buffy. "Xander was an ass."

"Dawn!"

The younger sister stuck her lower lip out. "Well, he was! He's not very nice lately. *And* he'd already been drinking."

"Xander is going through a bad time. And it's not just Anya either. I tried to talk to him about it, but he just went to the refrigerator and got me a beer."

"He barely talks to me," Dawn said softly. "It's like he's mad or somethin'."

"He's pretty angry about Spike. He's pretty angry about everything."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Hey, Soul Man, want one of these? Here. Take it. You took Buffy. Took Anya. Take a beer. They bring 'em out in pairs anyway - so I don't have to wait." Xander's eyes narrowed. "If I wasn't so drunk, I'd stake your ass." He raised his beer high, nodded once. "Maybe tomorrow," he said in way of a toast and slugged down half the bottle. "Yeah, maybe." Xander pushed a full beer over toward Spike.

The vampire tried to figure out how he was going to get Xander out of the Bronze and home. The whelp was in a dangerous mood, and he'd be picking a fight sooner or later. "No thanks, mate. On the wagon these days. Spike, alcohol, Sunnydale - bad mix."

Xander laughed loudly. Spike underlined his resolve to get the little wanker home and in bed.

"Harris, s'gettin' a wee bit late. Take you til past Monday to sleep this one off... Workin' man and all that."

"Work? Hey, man of leisure here. Just kickin' back drawin' the checks." At Spike's puzzled look, Xander chuckled good-naturedly. "Laid off, buddy. On the dole. And not the Kenny Rogers pineapple kind either. Seems they didn't need me anymore." He took another big swig. "Mighty polite about it, too. Pays the rent, buys the snacks..."

"The booze," Spike finished for him. He was beginning to have a strange feeling in his chest, a kind of sadness, as he looked at the bloated man across from him.

"The Xanman dooze the booze, cause he got the blues," Xander sang off key. "Aw, c'mon, big, bad and souley. Tie one on. If we're both drunk, maybe I can stake ya. Never said you were sorry about Anya..."

"If I have any apologies to make, they go to the lady, Harris, not you. You left her high and dry. Didn't even have the balls to make it right, after."

"Oh, and you've made it right with Buffy now? Sure you did. She's a sucker for a soul. You're prob'ly boffin' the Buff again and everything. Probably no clauses on your end, you sneaky bastard. You sure got one up on the old L.A. soul-boy."

Spike sighed in frustration. If only Xander knew how wrong he was. After that first night when Buffy had told him she loved him, he'd backed off. Hadn't wanted to fall right back into the same game of slap and tickle that had doomed them the last time.

And it hadn't been that difficult, what with Clem showing up at all hours and the Bit coming by. Buffy had been giving him some odd looks but she hadn't said anything. Maybe she was thinking the same way.

He shook his head, got up from the table and walked around, easily lifting Xander out of the chair and onto unsteady feet. "You're goin' home now, if I have to carry you every bleedin' step of the way."

Xander tried to pull away. "I don't need your help!"

"Not doin' this for you, whelp," he growled. "Doin' it for Buffy and Nibblet. You're bait for any fledgling on the prowl tonight."

Xander swung at Spike over his shoulder and hit him with a glancing blow to the eye.

"Ow," Spike blinked and squinted. "That hurt!"

"Okay, that's enough. You two wanna spend the night in jail?"

Spike let out a disgusted breath. A bouncer. And a human one at that. "We were just leavin'."

"Speak for yourself! And hey! Drinking here. Workin' on the drownin' of the many sorrows. This sonovabitch slept with my girl. Well, they didn't sleep.... And now, he's sleepin' with my best friend. And I doubt they're sleepin' either. I'm gonna stake 'im, soon as I'm sober."

"That's it. I'm callin' the cops. This guy ain't goin' nowhere."

Xander threw a wild punch at the bouncer. Spike caught his fist and pushed him back. "Harris, that's enough."

The young man charged again at the bouncer. Spike tried to figure out how he could stop him - get him home. For his own good.

Spike's fist shot out and caught Xander in the jaw; he sunk and Spike caught him.

Looking up at the bouncer, Spike smiled. "No need to call anyone, mate. I'll get him home. In his cups, he is."

As he hustled Xander out, he marveled at the wonder of it.

The chip hadn't fired.

Part 3

Spike strode toward the crypt. The sooner he made his way back and talked to Buffy, the better. If she heard it from Harris first, there'd be hell to pay. That wasn't likely, though. No more than an hour ago, he'd thrown Xander over his shoulder and literally carried him to his apartment.

As he'd begun to come around, Xander had cursed Spike, thumped, and even punched him in the back a few times - kidney punches at that. Spike had told him to shut his soddin' mouth or he'd hit him again. Xander dared him to. He had also tried to trip him up by slamming his fist into the back of Spike's knee.

Spike had thought about dropping him on his head. But suddenly, they were at Xander's apartment.

Once there, the problem of unseen barriers reared its head. He really hadn't thought about it - could have sworn he'd been inside there before - but he'd ended up just putting Xander down and shoving him toward the door. Xander had calmed down, opened up the apartment, invited Spike to come in and have a beer (again), and passed out in his overstuffed chair.

Spike had pulled off Xander's shoes, thrown a blanket over him, looked around the trashed apartment, checked the level of alcohol, and left.

"You are soooo late." A half-frustrated, half-teasing voice greeted him on his arrival. Spike ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he was going to tell Buffy about Xander - and about the chip not working.

"You better have a good explanation. Dawn stayed so she could be here when you got back. And I was beginning to get a little worried."

He grinned sheepishly at the Slayer and Dawn, but he was more than a little distracted. He looked down at his shoes, trying to think of a way to start.

Buffy missed the body language. Putting one hand on her hip, really beginning to warm to the subject, she drawled, "In fact, if you were my -"

In surprise, Spike looked up at Buffy. Her eyes widened, as her mouth dropped open. Brows knit with a frown, she sat down heavily in the chair.

He cleared his throat. Dawn looked from one to the other of them and jumped up, heading down the steps. "I'll be - downstairs, okay?"

No one answered - or even looked at her. She fled with a held breath, not knowing if this was a bad thing - or a very bad thing. Nothing about it had looked good. She just knew that this was one conversation she didn't want to witness.

Overhearing, however, would have been of the good. It was so quiet upstairs, you could hear a pin drop. Dawn strained her ears and finally heard footsteps. Someone - Spike - was on his way down.

He looked subdued as he reached the foot of the stairs. "Hey, Nibblet," he said weakly. "Show me - oh."

Spike looked at the bed, saw the two tables on either side, the lamp. His lips tightened. Dawn was sitting on the bed, looking at him expectantly. He looked at her searchingly, a little concerned.

"Bit?"

"We already had it. Had all of it," she said quickly, now seeing it through his eyes. "This," she touched the comforter, "was Mom and Dad's. I found it." She was jabbering, because suddenly everything had gone all weird again, just like it always was when Buffy got between her and Spike.

Walking over to the bed, he sat down, running his hand over the comforter, just as Buffy had. "Dawn..."

"There might be a chair or somethin'..."

"This is fine for now," he said firmly, squeezing her arm in thanks. "What you did is - well, too much. Thank you."

"I'm leaving now, right?"

"Yep. Big Sis and I need to talk. Saw Harris tonight, and it wasn't pretty. And - well, other things to talk about. I'm takin' you home. Give Buffy time to uh, think."

Dawn nodded her head. "I know what she was gonna say."

"But she didn't say it." His eyes locked onto hers. "And she shouldn't. It's complicated."

"Seems pretty simple to me," Dawn grumbled.

"Right. To you anyway. Now, home - or Janice's?"

Dawn thought for a moment. "Um, Janice's?"

"Fine then."

"Are you gonna talk to her about - um, what she *didn't* say?"

"Dunno. Can't believe I'm sayin' it, but Harris is my real worry at the moment. C'mon, let's go."

They walked up the steps in silence. Dawn looked over at Buffy, who was moving things around in the 'kitchen,' trying to look busy.

"Night, Buff. Headed to Janice's, okay?" Dawn's voice was deceptively light.

"Good," Buffy said absently, biting her lip. "Janice's is good."

Dawn shot a concerned look at Spike. He shook his head quickly, forestalling any discussion of Buffy's change of heart where Janice was concerned.

"Be back in a moment, pet. We'll talk then," he said in a normal tone.

Vampire and bit walked out into the shadowy night.

"So, what, Spike?"

"Dunno, Nibblet."

"Does this mean..."

"What it means," he said slowly and carefully, making certain that Dawn understood, "is that neither Buffy nor I have been payin' attention lately."

"You don't sound very happy about it," she said accusingly. "I mean, she was gonna say..."

"Something bloody stupid. There's too much up in the air to add more to it right now. I don't need it and neither does she," he snapped.

Dawn closed her mouth.

Well, fine then.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy wasn't upstairs when Spike returned from dropping Dawn off at Janice's. He made a rude noise and slammed open the refrigerator door, grabbing a container of blood and pouring it into a cappacino-sized mug.

She wasn't going to make this easy.

Impatiently waiting for the microwave to finish, he thought about how the evening had wound itself out. The beep was more than welcome when it came.

Taking a healthy slug, Spike looked longingly at the television and started toward the chair. That way lay sanity. Blowing out a breath and straightening his shoulders, he changed direction, going downstairs to the lower level.

Because of course, that's where she was.

Buffy looked up from her perch on the edge of the bed with a timid smile. "Okay, that was, um, well ... Did Dawn get there okay?"

Not what she wanted to say - and not what he wanted her to say either. He nodded and waited. She ran her hand over the comforter nervously.

"Clem thought this was pretty." She looked up. "I do, too."

Spike nodded again. "It is. But Buffy, this is - not right."

Her eyes got huge. "What?"

"Well, pet, we're just floatin' along here, right? You tell me when you're off work, I expect you by. You know more about what's in my refrigerator than I do. And now this - we're playin' house, Buffy. Driftin' into - what?"

"I just thought you could use some privacy," she said defensively.

"Buffy, I'm a vampire. S'very basic, really. Somewhere dark - doesn't matter where - to sleep during the day. Blood to eat. Not a lot of room for variation there."

"Okay, okay. I thought *we* could use some privacy. And you had - things. This was your bed!"

"The things weren't for me, they were for you. Make me a little less a monster in your eyes, little more like a man." He thought a moment. "Well, maybe for me, too, yeah."

He felt a twinge of pain as her eyes filled up with tears. Mercilessly, he went on, or he wouldn't be able to finish saying the things he needed to say.

"Furniture upstairs? For Nibblet. For when she would come by. The telly?" Spike chuckled, caught out. "Right, well, that *is* for me." He shrugged. "But this?"

Her chin quivered.

"Tried to tell you I wasn't sure about stayin' here. But you were all hellbent on cleanin' it up. And I let you do it. Dragged my feet, didn't say anythin', 'cause I was driftin', too.

"No matter what you do - what I *did* -- this is still a crypt. It'll never be a condo in a fashionable neighborhood. Never be a white picket fence outside."

The tears rolling freely down her face were more than he could take. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gingerly took her hand, trying to figure out how to make it easier.

"Buffy love, don't cry. Please. It's just - "

With a tiny sound she threw herself against his shoulder and shuddered with silent sobs. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "So, so sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry for. Just takin' baby steps here, right?" he said as he smoothed her hair.

She pulled back and looked at him with swimming eyes. "I miss you, Spike."

"I miss me, too, pet." He smiled sadly. "S'gonna take some time is all."

She held him a little tighter and laughed wryly. "And I miss - this." Through still-wet eyes, she looked at him with a little bit of her old mischievousness. "Can you tell me why we're not doing - this?"

"Because it worked out so well for us the first time?" he said with a hint of bitterness.

Sighing, he went on. "Buffy, there's nothing I'd rather do than crawl into bed with you right now and stay there until one of us starves to death. I'm not a bloody saint, even if I do have the equipment for it now."

"You sound like it's a bad thing," she said cuttingly.

"It is when you use it to hide away - like you did. I don't trust myself enough right now not to do just that."

"You're hiding now! You hide in this place! What happened to patrolling?
What happened to poker night?"

"Patrol?" he echoed. He caught her stubborn chin in his hand. "You want me? To patrol with you?" His eyes searched hers for an answer.

"Spike! You are so stupid! Of course, I do!"

He smiled. "Ah. Well." He sat back. "That's one thing settled."

"Well, what about the bed then? You'll sleep here? Like you used to, before I - blew it up."

Chuckling at her, he considered, then nodded. "Yeah, alright. S'long as it doesn't make me soft."

She smiled wickedly. "Don't think there's much chance of that."

Still chuckling, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "I love you, Slayer. God help me. Now. To business. Harris. And the bloody chip."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I don't see any other way to do it."

"He's not gonna like this. And I don't know if *I* like it."

"Well, I do. And I'm the Slayer. He just needs to be needed, Spike."

Spike chortled. "Oh, right. And all we need is love."

Buffy stuck her chin out. "Keep it up, and we won't need him. I'll just put you out of *my* misery myself." She looked at him thoughtfully. "But, really, do you think that might be it?"

He shrugged.

Xander trudged heavily down the stairs to Buffy's basement. "Uh, Buff, not really in the mood for bein' the plumber's friend. And my head is - " He saw Spike and stopped. "Whoa! Déjà vu. Demon in the basement!"

Smirking, Spike took a step forward. "Hello, Harris. Head a tad bit large?"

Xander looked puzzled. "Hey. You - hey, you hit me last night!" He rubbed his jaw. "Hard."

"Yep. Thought you might let me do it again."

Looking wildly at Buffy, he said quickly, inching back toward the stairs, "Well, let me go get a beer and - "

Spike reached out with a smile and pulled Xander in close. "And *that's* the magic phrase, mate. S'for your own good." He slung Xander away from the stairwell and into the far wall.

Xander gaped at him, as he grabbed at the wall behind him.

"Anything?" Buffy asked Spike, crossing her arms across her chest.

With another, even more self-satisfied smirk, he shook his head. "Not a twinge, pet. But I don't see what good this is gonna do."

"Holey socks, Buffy! What's goin' on around here?"

Buffy smiled sweetly at Xander. "Just a little experiment. Well, several experiments. You remember that old padded suit you used to wear when we trained?"

He nodded, eyes wide.

"Well, we need your help. Spike can do a few things without the chip firing and we need to see just how far he can go. We need to define 'intent to harm'. Since the chip doesn't work on me, or Clem, you're elected."

"This is *research*? Bring on the books then. Cause I'm not big with the bodily harm."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of research. We're gonna need your help, Xander. Not just as a punching bag, but your little military backstory, too. And remember, Spike can't really hurt you." She grinned. "Much."

"So this is a big? Like really important?"

"Yeah, monkeyboy. Need your help."

Xander absently stroked his jaw. "Just body shots, right?"

Twin nods answered him.

"Wait!" Xander reviewed the conversation. "Wait just a minute. The chip doesn't work on you?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Hasn't since Willow brought her back." Spike looked at Buffy. "You didn't tell him?"

She looked embarrassed. "Thought you might get staked."

"Bloody hell, Buffy. Don't you tell anybody anythin'? And - vampire. I can take care of myself."

Disgusted, she looked at him. "And we're doing this why?"

"Oh." Spike had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, right then. But Harris?"

"Hey! Standing right here!" Xander's face reddened. "Okay, I'll do it. I swear I don't know why - probably the hangover - but I'll do it."

Both Spike and Buffy whirled around to stare at Xander.

"Well, it's not like I'm - you know - Mr. Popular right now with the chicks. Or work. Or well, anyone or anything. Anyway, this could be kinda fun. Cause I get to hit you, right?"

Spike shook his head as Buffy nodded yes. He slowly turned his head to look at her, saw the affirmative and groaned loudly.

"Yes, Spike, he does. He's got to. We've got to see if self-defense is acceptable to the chip. You know, disarmey kind of stuff." She looked at Xander. "We think it might be a soul thing, Xan."

Xander rubbed his hands together. "Ho-kay! Zoot suit! I'll be right back and we'll start, Mr. Sun Challenged."

Looking at Spike for his nod, Buffy carefully broached the next topic. "And Xander, no drinking."

Stopping on his way up the stairs, the man turned and looked at Buffy strangely.

"You've got Spike all worried about you," Buffy heard Spike's snort and disregarded it, "and that could mess with the experiment. If you're, like, drinking. So no drinking while we're working."

Xander walked back down the stairs and up to Spike. "You think I can't handle it." His voice carried a hard twinge of anger. Spike held his eyes, not backing down.

"Well, I'll be damned." Xander shook his head. "Of all my friends, the undead thing is the one that noticed."

Part 4

"Okay, I'm sorry, but...," Buffy Summers held her stomach as a deep laugh threatened to explode out of her body once again. "Really, I..." she said apologetically, straightening her face with a supreme effort of will. She reached down to give her slaying partner a hand up. "It was just so funny. Well, it almost *wasn't*, but then it was, and..."

As he reached up to take her hand, she jerked it back, doubling over into fresh gales of laughter - and was suddenly sitting on her backside in the grass.

"Hey!" She looked a little stunned at where she found herself.

Spike looked at her with a wicked glint in his eye. "Hey yourself," he said mildly.

He reached over and quickly pushed her hair away from her face, then leaned back on his hands with a smirk. Once, a move like that would have been a step away from a caress. One of those heart-stopping moments that made her stomach clench - almost like foreplay. In fact, she thought it might have *been* foreplay more than once.

She wondered what it was to him now, since his return from Africa with his shiny new soul - just a way to get her hair out of her face?

"You know, your timing is way off," she complained. "With the vamp, I mean. And what kind of move was that anyway?" She reached over and slapped the front of his t-shirt. Dust flew into the air, sending her off into a fresh fit of giggles, interspersed with racking coughs.

Waving the dust away, Spike gave her an amused look. "Not creative enough for you?"

"Oh. Like you meant to do that," she said condescendingly.

"Did."

Buffy almost caught her breath at the old Spike. Reluctant to let him go, she tossed her hair. "Didn't."

Dusting off his t-shirt, Spike grimaced slightly. "Well, not quite like that, no. But I got the job done."

"He almost took the stake away from you! I never thought I'd say this to you, but..."

Spike gave her a disgusted look. "It was just a ploy."

Nodding her head, she said in disbelief, "A ploy."

"Well. Yeah. Give us a chance to kick back, luv. Smell the flowers," he said, indicating the fresh funeral sprays nearby. "Take a load off," he chuckled.

It was the most relaxed she'd seen Spike in months - a little off guard, eyes clear and light. Since his return, those eyes had been like clouded glass. If the eyes truly were the 'windows to the soul,' something must have gone wrong, because Spike's eyes had been a lot more expressive before, when he was an evil soulless thing. Gazing at him fondly and a little off guard herself, she mused aloud, "We should bring stuff for a picnic next time."

Appraisingly, he gazed at her from half-lidded eyes. "Patrolling *and* a picnic? How romantic," he said dryly, looking as if the shutters would close on those windows of the soul at any second.

"Not so much," she said defensively. This new Spike was so moody - not that he hadn't always been moody, but...jeez! "We used to bring chips and stuff. Well, Xander and Will did. I mostly saved the world. They did share, though. Sometimes. If the snacks held out." She tried to keep it light.

"Nothin' new under the sun then, I reckon," Spike said, relaxing again as he absently looked up at the night sky. "Or the moon."

Buffy didn't follow his eyes up, even as he sat back, continuing to look at the stars. She was looking at him - in the closest thing to natural light there was for someone like him. Sighing, she thought how it suited him: he was almost glowing against the shadows.

This was the third time they'd been on patrol this week, and she was a little worried. Oh, sure, he got the job done, but not with the old flair. He used to love to patrol with her, push it to the edges of the envelope. Show off a little. Well, a lot. Now, it was more like ... work. And 'work' that he didn't seem to care much about. She frowned.

Spike slowly shifted his attention from the sky to his partner, as if sensing a change in her. "No rest for the weary, pet."

Groaning at the reminder, she threw herself back on the grass in frustration.

Spike stood up and put a hand out. Suspiciously, she caught his eye and with a determined nod, took the offered hand, putting all her weight on it. At the last minute, she jerked him down. He landed on her hard, driving a small woof out of her body. In a flash, she was straddling him, hard, green eyes filling his vision.

"Now look what you let me do," she said, taunting him in a deceptively soft voice. "There's a change, since Africa, and if you don't start paying attention, you're gonna get staked. You need to be training with me, getting your moves back, not sitting in front of the TV."

His eyes turned a dark, stormy blue, narrowing in anger, embarrassment, and a touch of desire. Now that was more like it. She held her breath, not wanting to disturb the moment.

Then it was over, like she'd imagined the whole thing.

He threw her off gently. "Pfft," he said with none of the heat she'd just seen in his eyes. Rolling to one side, he put some distance between the slayer and himself. "Just a bit off, luv. Nothin' a little practice won't make right."

"So? Train with me." She said, pulling her elbow up under her, so she was in a half-reclining position. Considering her next words carefully she went for a humorously worded challenge. "I need a sparring partner, and I can so kick your ass right now. It'll be fun!"

Spike came off the ground in a fluid motion, eyes flashing. "I am not fighting with you."

Eyes widening, Buffy stared. "I said 'sparring!'"

"Fine. I'm not 'sparring' with you," he said with a shrug, reining in his temper. He turned to go. "Think we're done for tonight, Slayer. But we do need to check out some not-so-likely nesting spots tomorrow night."

Leaving Buffy sitting on the ground, Spike headed off toward his crypt. She realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it with a snap.

What in the world was she going to do with him? Everything set him off. One minute, they'd been laughing and maybe headed toward who knew what else, and the next, he was back behind that wall of his.

Now, they'd knocked down walls before - been pretty good at it. But that really hadn't turned out so well, had it? Buffy got up, brushed herself off and headed home, frowning all the way.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy was right, and Spike knew it. He was off-balance, out of kilter. Not up to the usual slash and burn standards that kept his Slayer alive and him undusted. He decided a little solo work might do some good - put him back on the front lines. And that nest he had mentioned might be just the place to start. He could at least go check it out - with no one and nothing distracting him.

As he moved alone through the dark, the night began to whisper to him, telling its tale. He slipped through the trees, using short cuts he doubted even the slayer knew about. His movements became more his own, more under his control. Obviously, the time had come to take back his life - or at least begin fitting it into the new parameters his recent acquisition had caused him to 'suss' out over the last months.

He was nearing the caves, wondering just what types had set up housekeeping there since his departure last spring. He never patrolled there regularly, preferring to save it for those times he needed more of a challenge. Never brought Buffy there. It was his place - a place where the odds were usually against him. Many times it was a mob mentality of hatred and fear, the kind of thing that had challenged him in humans when he'd first been made. This was as close to it as a vampire who could fight only demons could get. It was enough.

The caverns were cool and quiet, the soft drip of water and the chink of falling pebbles here and there the only sound. Spike was beginning to despair of any action at all until he neared the fork that followed the outline of the old Initiative underground installation.

Being in this place always caused a bout of usually unwelcome introspection. Maybe it was the reason he patrolled there so seldom. But tonight, he was almost eager. The insertion of the chip had started him on the road that had led from 'there' to 'here.' He smiled ruefully - interesting road that. More like an undiscovered path he had blazed on his own. Who could have known that the quest for The Gem of Amarra would lead him to another quest - for a soul, this time - after almost a hundred and a half years of joyfully ignorant vampiric existence?

He slowed his silent progress to cock his head, catching a hint of sounds that didn't fit. Lengthening his stride, he headed for the nest.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy closed the front door to her house with a loud slam and stalked into the kitchen. It was late, she was hungry, and something else was wrong, but she wasn't quite sure what it was.

Okay, that was a lie. She knew exactly what else was wrong. A long time ago, she'd told Spike she could never love an evil soulless thing like him.

Fine time to wonder if she might have been wrong, what with the new, re-souled model just a few blocks and headstones away. What they'd had - that complicated mix of attraction and repulsion, fire and ice, wrong and right - seemed painlessly simple compared to what was going on right now.

Earlier, it had taken everything she had not to kiss him when she saw that angry look in his eye. Kiss him and scream 'welcome back' at the top of her lungs.

She was sorry she had ever pushed him back into patrol. Attempting to return to the old routine had taken their new dynamic and tossed it right back into its old context. Suddenly, she was comparing 'old' Spike with 'new' Spike - often finding that she preferred the borderline 'evil' she'd known, to the 'good' that she didn't always understand.

First, he was so quiet. That was just plain weird. The snarky, running commentary was mostly a thing of the past now. She laughed ruefully in silence. The very thing that used to make her insane - had made her want to knock the hell out of him - was one of the things she missed!

And he kept his own counsel. Once he'd run ideas across her like he had his hands - impatiently, restlessly, incessantly. These days? Not big on the communication. You could almost see him mentally filing things away for future reference, like he needed more information before he could talk about it.

He was becoming...something more than he was before.

Opening the refrigerator door, she stared at the contents without seeing any of the pizza boxes or Styrofoam containers.

'Spike' was a subject she tried to avoid thinking about, preferring to take it a day at a time. But days had stretched into weeks, and now months, and she was no closer to any answers. While he seemed perfectly content with letting the chip fall where it may.

Damn chip.

If it hadn't been for the chip, he'd have been dust years ago, right? Surely, she'd have gotten lucky sooner or later. And that way she'd never have known what she was missing.

Which was 'him'.

Oh, sure, he walked like Spike (sometimes) - even talked like Spike (when he talked) - but there was another level to him now. As if there hadn't been enough of those already!

He was trying to deal with all these new feelings and ideas, and she was totally in over her head, unable to help - and even worse, more than a little impatient with it all. Which was really horrible. Gee, evil demon goes off, faces unthinkable trials, wins a soul, returns triumphant, and the damsel turns her perky little nose up? How self-absorbed was that? He'd been a lot more understanding of her after her resurrection, and he'd been an undead evil fiend.

Closing the refrigerator without getting dinner, she sighed and headed toward the stairs. She was beginning to think she wasn't a very nice person.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spike rounded a corner and almost wound up smack in the middle of the nest. He raised an eyebrow in disgust. It looked - and smelled - like a locker room. A locker room complete with rotting meat. What a bloody mess!

Three vamps were sitting around a makeshift table playing poker. He couldn't tell what was in the 'pot,' and he didn't particularly care. Two more were fighting over what CD they were going to put in the boom box that was sitting on an old skeleton of a sofa. The last vamp seemed to be chained to the wall, unconscious. A large heavy wooden paddle lay nearby. He felt a surge of anger.

God, how he hated frat rats! Rugby shirts and polos. Bright colors and khaki pants. Fashion victims, each and every one. And each one of them sitting around in gameface - bunch of lazy gits!

Smirking evilly, Spike sauntered into the room, twirling a stake in one hand. His hair had gotten longer. Long enough that it curled at the white blond tips. His long sleeved black tee-shirt was tight, outlining hard muscle from the 'massing up' he'd done from his Buffy-induced force-feed diet. Oh, and he had been exercising. A bit. He looked dangerous. He *was* dangerous - and extremely brassed-off.

The effect was lost on the preoccupied vampires. Spike let out a disgusted breath. Where was the challenge, the excitement? Executions just weren't his cuppa. Needed to stir things up a bit.

"Well, bloody hell! Wake up, you wankers!" he said in frustration. "What is SunnyD comin' to, that you lot could still be undead and kickin'? Slayer's gonna hear about this." He pointedly looked around. "And you call this a nest? I know slugs live better!"

Belatedly, the five vamps guiltily rounded on the Big Bad, mouths open in shock at their discovery. Seeing that the odds were on their side, they relaxed. Five to one was a chip shot.

Spike swaggered deeper into the den. The three around the table backed off slightly at his approach, deciding that he was either crazy or completely insane. Spike walked over to the table. "What's this, then? Poker?" he asked, leaning over to turn over one of the hands. "Hmmph. Good thing I showed up. Playin' this soddin' hand would 'a been a real nutter."

Two of the rugby boys began to look uncomfortable. Five to one and their visitor had an air about him that made them think they might just get their asses kicked. Covertly, they started looking for a way out.

"Hey, grandpa, get the hell out! You don't belong here," the largest one said with a blustery laugh.

Spike looked up, eyes glittering. "Oh. And you think you do? Well, let me tell you something, boy. None of us belongs here - not in this world or any other. And certainly not," Spike looked him up and down with a curled lip, "some nancied-up, smart-ass, bleedin' pathetic former college whelp like you."

The bigger vampire threw himself over the table with a roar as Spike stashed the stake. He caught the boy out of the air and body slammed him to the floor. "Oooh. That hurt, dinnit?" Wiggling his fingers, he motioned the boy to get up. "God, it's bullies like you that give vampires a bad name. Well, bullies like you and 'bads' like me, anyway."

And then, it was a free-for-all of flying bodies and blows, as the others entered the fray. Spike caught a few punches and doled out many more - as well as kicks, and assorted body slams into the walls and the floor. Cards flew into the air as the table shattered beneath a particularly brightly-dressed vampire.

"Bugger this," Spike said, tiring of the one-sided fight. They weren't worth the effort. He pulled out the stake and dusted everything within reach.

Finally, it was down to one of the boom box boys, who took off past the older vampire as if hell were on his heels. The stake, that seemed to magically sail through the air, into his back, and through his heart, proved he was right. Hell? Yes.

Spike walked over to the pile of dust and recovered the sharpened piece of wood, as he spun on his heel to grab the tangled hair of the chained-up vamp. Yanking the filthy head back, he saw an emaciated face attached to a thin neck, which disappeared into a stained and torn shirt. The shirt seemed much too large for his skinny frame. And unlike the others, he wasn't vamped out. Spike sniffed disdainfully, and wrinkled his nose as he recognized the sickening smell.

"Well, well, Frat Boys and Rat Boys... Got to love old Sunnyhell." He put the stake to the boy's heart as the reddened eyes opened. They were a soft, deep green, full of pain.

"Don't feed, d'you?" Spike growled as he lowered the stake.

The boy looked at Spike, seeing him through the haze of delirium as some white angel of death. "Just rats," he said with effort. He laughed weakly, trying to gather his next words. "Got scarce. Came here. Big mistake."

"Won't hunt, eh?" Spike raised the stake again. "Used to kill the likes o' you..."

"Good," the boy whispered as he passed out again.

Part 5

"Spike? Spike!"

Buffy's voice was a little shaky, but she'd had a really bad dream - and the aftereffects still hadn't completely worn off. One minute she had been lying across her bed thinking about the differences between Spike then and now, and the next, she was waking from a nightmare.

The dream wasn't about Spike though. It had been about Faith, or more precisely, the time Faith had switched bodies with her. Now, hours later, what she remembered most vividly was the image of her own face, twisted with hatred and rage, as she shrilly told herself that she was disgusting, over and over again. That, and the fists - her fists - coming at her again and again as they cracked against facial muscle and bone.

Buffy had come off the bed in a cold sweat, face wet with tears. It was at that moment that she remembered that she wasn't hitting herself, screaming at herself, but that Faith in her body was doing it to her. Or to Faith. She still wasn't clear on that.

It had been a bad way to wake up at 3 am.

Frantically, she had moved off the bed, grabbing clothes and shoes - dressing as quickly as her shaking hands would allow. Needed to get out of the room, out of the house.

She checked on Dawn. Sleeping soundly - hair twined around her fingers - the Key was at peace. Leaving for a little while should be okay. Her sister wasn't a kid anymore - just ask her. She'd tell you. Loudly.

Buffy was thinking she might go out and...what? Kill something? Take her frustration and put it where it would do some World Good? Her mind returned to the surreal images. Why that dream? Why now, after so long? She'd gone to bed thinking about Spike, not Faith.

And then she made the connection between her dream and Spike. Sitting down on the front step, she put her head in her hands. A crazy person wearing her face, screaming in disgust, hands hitting and hitting to punish, not defend.

Spike had seen that. The night they'd found Katrina dead.

Stunned, she slowly got up and started off in the direction of the cemetery. Didn't know what she could say to him after all this time. Surely, it wasn't too late for 'I'm sorry.' Maybe lame, considering, but not too late. Never too late for 'sorry.'

Buffy had gone into the crypt, calling for Spike, but somehow she knew when she entered that he wasn't there. She was prepared to wait - til sunrise if that's what it took.

Then, she remembered that he had been headed home hours ago. Walking down the stairs, she checked to make sure he wasn't in the lower level. Nothing. The room still had the same unlived-in look that it had the night she and Dawn furnished it. The table was clean, pillows still perfectly placed. And most of all, the room just didn't feel like Spike.

So where was he? Buffy went over Spike's options - not 'Classic' Spike, but 'new and improved' Spike. The list of his usual haunts was extremely short since his return from Africa: upstairs or downstairs. And by the way things looked, downstairs didn't look like much of an option either.

What if he'd been waylaid by a bunch of vamps on the way back? Spike wasn't exactly Mr. Popular Guy with the locals. They'd love to catch him out. Or maybe it was some demon who'd just blown into town?

Just about the time she started to feel real fear, she heard the upstairs door swing open and bang loudly against the wall. Pulling out a stake, she flew up the steps.

Spike was carrying something, someone, over to the sarcophagus in the corner.

"Oh, God! What happened?"

Spike almost dropped his burden. "Buffy! What the bloody hell...?" Recovering quickly, he carefully laid the still form on the slab. "Get some blankets," he said tensely. "Downstairs. Somethin' to get him warm."

She backed toward the steps. "But what...?"

"Nest. Bunch of vamps playin' reindeer games." He saw her staring, frozen. "Well, go on!"

Buffy took the stairs two at a time, wondering why Spike had brought anyone to his crypt. Must be bad. Real bad. She grabbed the comforter off the bed and ran back up. "Shouldn't we be at the hospital? The emergency room?" Handing Spike the tangle of bedding, she took a good look at their patient. "The morgue? This is a *vampire*, Spike!"

He grabbed the bedclothes and started tucking them tight around the cold, thin body. "Yeah," he said dryly. "Bloody brilliant, Slayer." He spared her a glance. "What are you doin' here anyway?"

"Thought we needed to talk," Buffy explained as she noticed a huge bruise on the young vampire's cheek from a blow that had actually crushed bone. "Obviously, I was right. Are you nuts? Do you even know what you're doing right now?"

His fingers slid through his hair. "God, Buffy, I hope so. Got to get some blood in 'im."

"But Spike..."

His eyes snapped in frustration. "Buffy, for pity's sake..."

"Fine. I'll get the damn blood!" she snapped, sure that she wasn't going to get anything out of him until he calmed down.

"And make it warm. He..."

"I *know* how to do it," she said, exasperated. "Just don't know *why*," she muttered under her breath. Pulling a jar from the refrigerator, she poured the blood in a large mug and put it in the microwave, setting the timer in almost the same movement. "Now, it's in. What's this all about? And you better make it good, 'cause right now, I'm ready to stake and ask questions later."

"Found him in the caves. He doesn't feed. He..."

Buffy's head snapped around. "Couldn't you just bring home a stray kitten like everybody else? He's a vampire."

"Well, yeah, he is, but he's been livin' on rats since he was made. Or was, until Clem went into pest control."

The timer interrupted their conversation. Buffy reached in, pulled out the mug, and handed it to Spike. She held it for a moment, as he put his arm around the boy's neck and tried to raise him up to drink. Green eyes opened slowly as his head lolled back.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked curiously.

"I dunno, Buffy. I dunno." Spike's voice was impatient. He couldn't seem to get the boy positioned. His head kept slipping back, or over, or forward, or... Spike's frustration mounted.

Buffy leaned over to get a closer look. "Hey, he's just a kid."

"Yeah." His voice was tight.

"Spike, what are you gonna do with him?" she asked - suddenly the Voice of Rationality.

"Wish I knew," he muttered, getting the errant head close to his shoulder.

Spike reached for the mug and put it to the boy's lips. The starving vampire tried to swallow as the warm fluid entered his mouth, but gagged instead. Spike jerked the mug back as the coughing went on and tried to prop him higher on his shoulder. The boy's head fell forward. Spike let out a breath.

"Slayer, give us a hand here, alright?" he snapped, voice a little shrill.

Buffy looked at Spike in utter amazement. He was asking her to help him keep a vampire alive? Her? The Slayer? Then, she really looked - at the frantic expression on his face, the worried frown that had gathered in a furrow between his eyes. Her eyes traveled down, to the battered young face. She sighed in resignation to the inevitable.

Taking the mug from his hand, she freed Spike up to get a firmer grip on the fledgling vampire. "I need to have my head examined," she complained. "Wait. No. You need to have *your* head examined. Oh, and by the way, if he doesn't behave, he's dust."

Leaning over, she put the mug to the boy's lips.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spike was headed upstairs to check the blood supply when the knock on the door came. With Buffy's help, he'd been pushing the blood down the boy's throat steadily. He hoped Clem was coming by soon so he could send him to the butcher's for more.

Pulling the door open with a sense of relief, he fully expected to see Clem's smiling face. Instead, he found Xander Harris. Wondering how he could get rid of him, he flashed a trademark smirk. Wouldn't do to make him suspicious.

"Tasty Freeze is around the corner, whelp," he said, closing the door in the man's face.

Xander caught it with his foot, and pushed it open. He looked around. "Got company or something?" he said suspiciously.

"In or out?" Spike said curtly, then realized it was still light outside. And Xander obviously wasn't leaving until he had done what he came to do.

"In, I think," Xander said as he stepped just inside the door. "Though 'out' might be better for everybody involved. Can't believe I'm here. I think I need my head examined."

"May be." Spike kept his face blank, but inwardly he smiled at the echo of Buffy's sentiments. He'd heard it many different times and in many different contexts during the previous night. "C'mon then," he said grudgingly. "But make it quick."

Xander continued to stand there. "You can leave the door open if you're lookin' for a fast getaway," Spike said sarcastically. Eyes narrowing, he took a closer look. "Wait. You drunk?" Spike hadn't forgotten the other night at the Bronze.

Xander laughed uncomfortably. "Nope. What have you got?" he asked rhetorically.

"Blood, blood and blood." He watched Xander sit down in the chair. Spike quietly shut the door. "So talk," Spike said impatiently.

Xander looked up at him. "Why'd you do it, Spike?"

The vampire cocked an eyebrow.

"Any of it. All of it." Letting out a deep breath, Xander ran his hand through his hair. "Anya."

"Ah." Spike considered his answer. "Let's see. What answer will make this right? How about hurt? No? Drunk? You ought to understand that. Alone? Well how about this? There was a beautiful woman sitting there with tears in her eyes, heart broken into jagged pieces. Pick one. Any of those do?"

Xander's nodded as he stared off into space, eyes full of self-pity. Spike's temper flared.

"Oh, come off it, Harris! She loved you and you hurt her. Left her! Know what it feels like. Been there."

"I didn't want to hurt her more, later," Xander said quietly.

"Oh, right. You left her for her own good. Heard that one, too." Spike stepped closer. Xander looked up. "You love her?"

"Yeah," he sighed, almost forgetting who he was talking to. "More than anything. More than..."

"Yourself?" Spike broke into Xander's reverie. "You talked down to her. Treated her second-class. Acted ashamed of her in front of the Scoobies. Know what that feels like, too. It's not nice, Harris, oh, you of the aching heart and wounded soul."

Xander shook his head. "I didn't..."

"You bloody well did! Be honest with yourself just one soddin' time!"

Xander stared at him. When Spike's eyes stayed hard and cold, Xander looked down at his hands.

"Good." Spike took a calming breath. "Next?"

"Buffy."

"You're treadin' in quicksand, whelp," he warned. "Try again."

Eyes widening slightly at the bitter look on Spike's face, he shook his head. "Forget it," he murmured.

"Smart lad. Anythin' else, then?"

"The soul."

"The simple question last of all. The soul. Well, it couldn't go on the way it was, right? Had to change. So I did." Spike's words had the touch of finality. Even Xander could hear it.

Xander smiled a little. "Okay. I guess I gets what I gets." He got up. "Leaving now. I know I'm not real welcome here, but you did rescue me from a night in jail. I came by to tell you we can do that thing any time you say. Those tests. Just let me know."

"Right then," Spike turned toward the refrigerator in dismissal.

"Hey. Wait a minute. You in a hurry to get rid of me?" Xander said with a touch of wry humor.

"No more than usual," Spike's reply was nonchalant.

Xander opened the door to let himself out. "Hey, Spike?" he said, turning back with a rueful grin.

"Yeah?" Spike looked back over his shoulder, questioningly.

"Really looking forward to hitting you." Xander punctuated his words with a one-two air punch.

Spike snorted. "Lookin' forward to seeing you try, wanker," he said with a smirk.

On the heels of his words, a shout came from downstairs.

"Spike! Spike, get down here!"

Spike's eyes flew to Xander, whose shocked expression was rapidly turning to one of betrayal. "Oh, bloody hell!"

"What's she doin' here?" Xander said angrily, looking at his watch. "Shouldn't she be at work? Or anywhere - *else*?"

Spike winced. "Harris..."

"Spike! Now! Move your ass!"

The alarm in Buffy's voice drove any kind of explanation out of Spike's mind. He disappeared down the stairs in a flash - Scooby stumbling along behind.

Xander's eyes had barely adjusted to the dark when he saw Buffy struggling to restrain a wildly flailing...something. He reached for a stake and came up empty-handed. He cursed his stupidity for coming to see Spike without a stake, or an ax, or.... His eyes darted around the room trying to focus on a weapon - any weapon.

"Xander, no!" Buffy's command stopped him cold as he grasped the wicked-looking knife he saw lying on a rocky out-cropping.

He turned back toward her voice and saw Spike over by the bed, talking softly as he gently pushed the...thing...back down on the bed. It whimpered and turned its...head? to the wall.

A soft hand guided Xander's arm down, slipping the knife out of his fingers. He nearly jumped at the touch. The whole scene was like a bad movie. And he was in it.

"Buffy! What...?" His voice trailed off as he watched Spike straighten the twisted bedding, still murmuring to the slowly-quieting form.

The slayer followed his eyes to the bed, and locked him in her level gaze as he turned back to her, incredulous.

"Daniel," she said softly. "His name is Daniel."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They sat in silence upstairs, almost as if waiting for Spike to join them before addressing any of it. Xander shook his head periodically as if trying - and failing - to make sense of the scene downstairs. His hands were clasped tightly between his knees. Buffy looked up with concern as Spike appeared.

"Well?"

"He's quiet." Spike shot a look at Xander. "Sleeping maybe," he said, fastening his eyes on Buffy. "Can't tell." He let out a shaky breath. "I think that was the first lucid moment he's had."

Xander's head shot up as he fixed Spike with an astonished look. "*That* was lucid? Well, 'lucid' looked like a crazy-ass vampire to me!"

"That's right, monkey boy," Spike said, without anger. "Another evil undead thing. Except that this one has *never* fed on a human. Never hunted once in his short, but tortured existence. Except for rats - and sewer rats at that!"

"Lack of opportunity?" Xander asked flippantly. "Or is it drive and ambition he's short on?"

Buffy gave Xander a disgusted look. He gave her one in return, and sat back.

"Hey," he said, spreading his hands in mock-surrender. "Just asking. Slayer," he added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

She sighed in acceptance of the accusation. "Spike found him last night on patrol. *Private* patrol," she said in explanation, shooting the blond vampire a look that clearly stated that the discussion was far from over. "Well, rescued him really."

Xander looked in amazement at Spike, who had found something very interesting about the toes of his boots.

"Gee, couldn't you just pick up a kitten or something?" Xander blurted out.

In answer, Spike's shoulders started shaking. Xander saw him look up, raising an eyebrow at Buffy as he - what? Laughed? He was laughing? As he stared at Spike, trying to figure out what was so damn funny, he heard a second chorus - of giggles this time - from the slayer. With wide eyes, he turned to Buffy, who was pointing a long finger at Spike. A finger that was shaking with uncontrollable laughter. "I...told...you!" She began gasping for breath.

It was like the two of them were alone in the room. Buffy's eyes were on Spike, whose own eyes were brimming with mirth as he tried to hold himself erect by hanging on to the table with white-knuckled fingers. Their slightly hysterical laughter echoed off the walls.

Buffy wiped her eyes, and looked down at her hands, finding them wet with tears. Giggling, she held out her fingers for Spike to see. She was laughing so hard she was crying.

The vampire wiped his own eyes, finding the same wetness.

That bit of business sent both of them off into new and even more unrestrained gales of laughter. As Xander watched them, all of the pieces finally fell into place. He shook his head in wonder at the insanity of life in the Hellmouth.

Those two crazy kids just might make it.

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