It was two days after the apocalyptic battle against Glory. Spike lay silent and still in the upstairs guest room of the Summers house, where he had been ever since Willow and Tara and Giles had carried him, shielded by coats and jackets against the sun, on the morning of the battle. In the time since then, he had wept till there were no more tears in him, then lain silently for a while, then helplessly wept some more. From time to time he had slept briefly, and during one of those times Tara and Willow had used a funnel to pour into his mouth a little of the blood that he had refused to drink when he was awake. But Buffy's friends had had a great deal to do since the end of the battle, besides being exhausted and sleep-deprived themselves; for the most part they were content to leave Spike alone. Dawn had cleaned his wounds and spent time sitting with him, once she herself was somewhat recovered from her agonizing ordeal. But neither Dawn nor Spike had felt like talking, and finally Willow had taken the silent, grief-stricken girl away.

Spike had no idea how much time had gone by when a new figure entered the room. Unwillingly, Spike's bleak indifferent eyes turned toward it. It was Giles, looking haggard and harried, his hair gone totally grey overnight. In his hands was a notebook that looked familiar to Spike. A flash of annoyance pierced through the vast ache of bereavement that was all Spike had been feeling: Must Giles always be the pedant, the record-keeper?

Silent until then, Giles responded to Spike's scowl of annoyance by saying, "Spike, I need to talk to you. I've been trying to compile as full an account as possible of our battle against Glory; I've spoken with everyone else who was involved and taken down all the details they could think of. Now it's your turn. I don't need to hear about the parts of the battle when you were beside me, but I should like very much to hear what happened after you broke away from us and ran up into the tower. A complete account, please -- every blow that was struck, every word that was spoken."

A strangled sob burst through Spike's clenched teeth. "What for? What's the bloody point? How can you possibly care so much about the sodding details?"

"I care because I think this detailed account is something Buffy would have wanted. I'm doing it to honour her wishes."

That got Spike's attention. For the first time since he had been placed in the guest bed, he sat up. "What do you mean?"

"Buffy was very concerned that the Council records concerning the--the deaths of Slayers were so sketchy, so lacking in detail. She thought if there were more detail, it might be of help to other slayers coming after them. This came up last autumn, when Buffy was injured unexpectedly, and she wanted to gain some insight into how she could prevent such injuries in future, perhaps prevent her death. We found there wasn't much recorded about the final battles of previous slayers. In fact, at the time I suggested that Buffy should actually try to get some information out of you, but I don't know if she ever did. Because that very same night we found out about--about Joyce's brain malady, and that she needed to go to hospital for tests. After that, we were distracted by Joyce's condition, and by other problems that arose; I never thought to ask Buffy what she might have learned from you. But the inadequate records were a matter of concern to her."

"Yeah, I remember that," Spike replied slowly. "She did actually come to me for info that evening, before she found out about her mum's . . . malady. I told Buffy my recollections, but I guess she never passed them on to you. So then. You want me to take another trip down memory lane -- all the way back to the Boxer Rebellion, is it? I really don't think I'm up to it." In a tone of bitter weariness, Spike added, "Sorry."

"Ah, well, the past histories won't be necessary just at the moment," Giles replied. "Perhaps later, sometime, but right now I just want to supplement my account of--of events in which Buffy herself was involved."

The Watcher waited patiently as Spike hesitated. Finally Spike said, "All right. But you have to go back to that demon guy that Xander and I got those scrolls from earlier in the evening. The old guy -- called himself Doc -- that I described as bookish. That's all I knew about him before -- he just struck me as a harmless scholar type. But, I don't know if Xander told you, when we went to his place for info he got very violent with us. Had a huge long tongue I didn't know about, like some kind of toad or lizard, and he was incredibly fast moving. He had me on the ropes in no time, protecting his box of info from us, and I don't know how Xander got the best of him when I couldn't. Anyway, the boy did somehow plunge a sword into his heart, and I assumed that was the end of the demon. But then, later, it turned out that that was the chap who was up there on top of the tower with Dawn. I couldn't recognize him from down below, but when I got up there I could see it was Doc, looking as fit and alive as ever, somehow. I still don't understand it. The first thing I said to him was 'Doesn't a fellow stay dead when you kill him?'"

"Very good; that's the kind of detail I need. What did he reply to you?" asked Giles, writing quickly.

"Oh, some smart-ass comment like 'Look who's talking,' I think. Very different manner and attitude, all of a sudden. Not the harmless scholar at all. He had a knife in his hand that he was planning to use on Dawn. But he hadn't begun cutting into her yet when I got there. I actually had a chance to stop him." Suddenly Spike's voice was shaking with anguish.

Giles gave him a moment to collect himself, then urged him to continue.

"Well. I said 'Come on, Doc, let's you and me have a go.' And he said -- gesturing at Dawn with his knife -- 'I do have a prior appointment.' And I said 'This won't take long.' And he said 'No, I don't imagine it will.' Then we both rushed at each other, on the attack. And it was just like before, in his flat: he was so damn fast, he somehow got behind me and stabbed me with the knife before I could do a thing." Spike grimaced in shame and frustration. "He seemed to think I was done for then; he let me go, but I was between him and Dawn and I stood there and said 'You don't come near the girl, Doc.' And he said something I can't quite recall -- something sarcastic is all--and then--"

"Please," Giles cut in. "I would appreciate the precise words, if possible." He sat with pen in hand, waiting.

After a pause Spike said, "I think what he said was 'I don't smell a soul anywhere on you -- why do you even care?' And I, um, I answered him, ah, 'I made a promise to a lady.'"

Suddenly Spike burst out again in uncontrollable sobs. Giles winced and turned his face away until they subsided.

With grating agony in his voice, Spike continued, "The bastard went for me again, so fast it was like a blur to me, and somehow he got ahold of me so that I couldn't shake him. And he shoved me over to the side of the tower and said 'Well, I'll send the lady your regrets.' And all I could do was look at Dawn. I couldn't do anything to stop him. She screamed, and he sent me falling down off the tower, and--and that's that. My whole futile, useless non-contribution to the great battle. And after that, because I--I failed to stop that demon, he cut Dawn, and--and Buffy had to die."

There was a silence as Giles finished writing. Then Spike continued, "There. I've told you all the details I can remember. There's nothing I can add to that. You can put down in your Council records that Spike was responsible for a total of three Slayers' deaths. The first two, in 1900 and 1977, were because he was stronger, faster, and a better fighter. The third, in 2001, was because Spike was feeble, incompetent, and no damned good. So will you please, now, have enough mercy to put a stake in me -- like you should have done a year and a half ago?"

At that, Giles looked up sharply, startled and incredulous. But the bleak despair in the vampire's face made Giles realize that Spike really meant what he was saying. He had no more will to keep on going. Giles considered thoughtfully for a minute. Then he said,

"Spike, I want to read something from the account I've been compiling. Something I took down from Dawn." The Watcher ruffled the pages of his notebook looking for the right one.

"What difference does it make?" Spike retorted impatiently. "What happened happened. There's an end to it. And now, if you please, I'd like an end to me."

"These are Buffy's last words, Spike. She spoke them to Dawn just before she--she leapt into the portal, but she intended for Dawn to pass them on to the rest of us. Buffy had a message for us all."

Once again, curiosity brought a spark of liveliness into the gaping void of Spike's despair. "Yeah?"

"Here's what Buffy said, verbatim." Giles adjusted his eyeglasses and read carefully from the page in front of him. "'Dawn, listen to me. Listen. I love you. I'll always love you. But this is the work I have to do. Tell Giles I figured it out. And I'm okay. Give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.'"

Silent tears rolled down Spike's cheeks as he listened to Giles read. Though it was the Watcher's voice reading the words, somehow Spike felt he could hear Buffy saying them -- hear exactly what her voice would have sounded like. As Giles fell silent again, the vampire broke out into a paroxysm of wild sobbing. Beside him, Giles too wept quietly for a minute.

Then Giles cleared his throat and continued, "That message was for you just as much as it was for anyone, Spike. You're one of the friends she was addressing. She knew it would be hard to keep on going, for you and for all of us -- but she wouldn't want any of us to give up."

"But I'm useless!" Spike burst out. "Oh, I was never a match for Buffy, even before I got this chip in my head. She was the only Slayer I could never get the better of, even back in the old days before the Initiative. But since then, I thought I could at least fight demons, and now I'm not even any good at that any more. And because of that, your Slayer is dead. So I got what I wanted -- what

I had wanted -- another Slayer kill to put on my resume -- after I didn't want it any more. After it was the last thing I would ever have wanted to happen."

"Yes, I see the irony," Giles commented quietly. "But you did become Buffy's friend, before the end. And she did value you, you know." There was unwonted kindness in the Watcher's voice.

Another silence; then Spike asked, "How can you not detest me?"

Giles looked at the vampire probingly. Spike, eyes averted, would not meet the Watcher's gaze. After some consideration, Giles said, "Spike, all these things you seem to treasure so much -- strength, speed, fighting ability -- they're all neutral qualities, really. They can be possessed by detestable people, and they can be possessed by likeable people. Having them doesn't make someone more likeable, and lacking them doesn't make someone more detestable. What matters is character. Let me ask you this: Do you look down on Dawn because she didn't have enough muscle to free herself from Glory and her demon minions, so that you didn't have to try and rescue her, and Buffy had to die to save her? Do you detest Dawn for being helplessly tied up? Do you blame her for the way things turned out?"

"Well, no, of course not," Spike mumbled, bewildered. "That's beside the point, innit? That's not the sort of thing I look for in Dawn; she's got other things going for her. She's a good kid."

"Exactly. Character. That's the thing. Look here, Spike. Three and a half years ago, when you first came to Sunnydale, stirring up trouble for no good reason -- just for your own amusement, and so that you could stroke your ego, and maybe add another Slayer kill to your resume, and feel like the cock of the walk -- that all indicated a vicious, detestable character. And a year ago, when Buffy and I and Willow and Xander were struggling so hard against the menace of Adam, and you were dealing with him behind our backs and poisoning us with treacherous lies -- that was even more detestable. But this year, you somehow pulled yourself together to do what was right; you put your life on the line, not just once but over and over again, for the sake of the world, and Dawn, and a promise you made to a lady. A lady who you knew would never love you. Now, that's real character."

Spike shrugged impatiently. "Character! It's worthless! I FAILED!"

"You didn't succeed in besting that demon, that Doc -- true. You didn't save Dawn. But you tried, and you suffered for it. You risked your life for the girl. How is that detestable?"

Giles fell silent. Spike's shoulders were bowed, his face turned toward the wall. Giles let the silence stretch on for a while, then said "Spike." He waited until Spike turned and met his gaze.

Giles continued, "Spike, I'll be frank with you. I don't generally expect a lot from soulless demons. In the past, when you behaved viciously, and violently, and treacherously, I was never shocked by it, or disappointed by it. It was what I expected. It was simply your nature. But just lately, somehow, you've transcended that nature. Now, Doc said he couldn't 'smell' a soul anywhere about you. Well, maybe a soul isn't quite as crucial as I always thought it was.

Maybe character can reside -- elsewhere -- somehow. I don't know. I do know that you've greatly surprised me -- in a positive way -- these past few weeks. I thought I had you pegged. I thought -- for example -- that when Glory took you captive and was trying to squeeze information out of you, you would sing like a bird before she even had to squeeze at all. I thought you would be trying to cut a deal with her the same way you did with Adam. After all, that's what lay in your self-interest -- if self-interest had been what you cared about then. But I have some experience of torture. And when I saw how badly mutilated you were, I knew that she must have been at it for hours. So you couldn't have given her information of your own will. You must have been resisting her. If you gave her information at all, it was only after you had been broken by hours of torture. The way I finally broke after hours in Angelus's hands. No one can be blamed for cracking under severe torture and giving up information under duress. That's why I didn't kill you when we found you in that lift. And when I later found out you hadn't given her any information at all . . . well, I was very displeased with you for other, ah, things you had been doing at that time, but your resistance to Glory did give me pause. And now -- after everything else that's gone on -- I can't help thinking . . ."

Spike stirred again, gesturing impatiently. "That's all well and good, Giles, but --"

Laying a hand on Spike's shoulder, the Watcher cut him off. "Spike, before the battle you were quoting a bit of the St. Crispin's Day speech to me. Do you know the entire speech by heart?"

"Of course I do. I'm English," Spike answered simply.

"Well, then, you must remember the lines that follow the words 'band of buggered'? Ah, 'band of brothers,' that is."

Slowly the vampire recited, "For he today that sheds his blood with me/ Shall be my brother . . ."

Giles took up the quotation where Spike had left off: ". . . Be he ne'er so vile,/ This day shall gentle his condition."

There was further silence, as the Watcher's hand steadied Spike's trembling, pain-wracked frame. Finally Giles added, "Brothers and sisters too, of course. We've lost one sister. Well, Henry the Fifth died young too, didn't he--only a year or two after Agincourt? But the English still carried on as best they could. And you still have a younger sister who needs you -- Dawn. She's an orphan now. She's lost both her mother and her sister in the space of a few weeks, and her father is nowhere to be found. Have you thought of what it would do to her if you died, too? She knows you were trying your best for her, up on that tower -- and all those other times before, as well. You've become very dear to Dawn. And she needs all the brothers and sisters she can get. If you could be unselfish enough to withstand physical torture at Glory's hands, then surely, Spike, you can withstand some mental torment now, and carry on along with the rest of us. Buffy wanted it that way. And Dawn needs it."

After a short silence, Spike shifted on the bed and swung his legs down off of it sideways. "I think it's time I tried walking again. Is Dawn downstairs? Are the others about somewhere? I don't even know how Tara got her mind back. There's a lot to catch up on."

"Right. You'll want to hear about that first-hand. Dawn and Tara and Willow are down in the kitchen. Dinner will be on the table soon. Let's see if you can get back on your feet."

With some difficulty, the two Englishmen struggled out of the room together.

The End – and a New Beginning

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