Spike shifted his weight on the uncomfortable wooden bar stool as he nursed a glass of Wild Turkey Straight Rye Whiskey. At 101 proof.

He had already checked his pockets for extra cash. He didn't have any. This would be his last drink for the night.

As he reached for some free beer nuts on the counter, he felt a pain in his side. That ache came courtesy of this evening's nasty, which had kicked him in the side before he dispatched it for good. He had been out patrolling with Harris, and he had to drag the demon off the boy before it tore his head off. For the vampire's efforts, he ended up with a couple of cracked ribs.

After that, Harris took off with the gang. Spike didn't know where they went. Perhaps The Bronze.

He didn't like to go there anymore. He looked down at his glass mournfully. Too many memories of a vivacious young woman with golden hair, dancing to the beat as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Besides that, the gang never invited him to go with them anywhere. So he found himself this night in a place called "Al's." A nondescript bar with a human clientele. Present company excepted, of course.

"Bollocks!" he muttered to himself. "Why do I put myself out like this every bloody night?"

He had told himself often enough that in his entire demonic existence, there had been only three humans whom he cared about. And now two of them were dead.

The third, Dawn, he would look after forever. But he didn't know what possessed him to extend that protection to the rest of the gang -- and then, in turn, to this sodding town. A town that had brought him nothing but heartache and splitting headaches.

Spike could only imagine what Angelus and Darla would say about his latest nocturnal activity. When they were all together, in the late 19th century, they treated him like the runt of the litter. They delighted in tormenting him in those days, pointing out all his shortcomings as a vampire.

He had suspected back then that they were overcompensating. Building themselves up by tearing him down. As a human, he had been better educated and of a higher social standing than either of them, especially Darla. That irritated them.

There is a misconception, you see, that vampires are fearless and unfeeling. That is incorrect. Just because they become the living dead, they don't lose those insecurities they held as humans. They simply channel them to different outlets.

Yet, even knowing the psychology of the situation, the taunting and sniggering from the two older vampires still got to Spike after all these years.

And then there was Dru. His wicked, wonderful, mad black goddess. He could almost see the disappointment in her dark eyes at what he had become. He had failed his sire miserably.

As he pondered the implications, Spike half-heard a woman say, "That's him! That's the guy. You know. The GUY!"

A small Asian-American woman and her boyfriend, who had a bulky physique similar to that of one Riley Finn, were standing right behind Spike. The guy poked him with a finger on his back. "Hey, Mister," he said.

Spike turned on the stool and studied the man's face. "Didn't do it, mate. Whatever you think I did, I didn't."

The woman, however, was persistent. "I know it was you. I'm sure. The Bronze. Back in January? When that earthquake struck the club, and things were falling on everybody. You were the guy who saved me."

The man stuck out his hand for Spike to shake. Spike took it and gave it a halfhearted pump. "I'm Joe. And this is Joy. You don't know how many times I heard that story. A ceiling beam had fallen on top of her, and this guy with snow-white hair hefted it off single-handedly. Then, he kept her comfortable while they waited for the ambulance to come. He didn't leave her side until the EMS took her away. And nobody even knew his name. He was like the frickin' Lone Ranger!"

So much had happened since then. Spike had pretty much forgotten the whole incident. He shrugged and said, "Name's Spike. It was nothing."

"Nothing?!" said Joe. "You know how people are these days. They don't give a damned about their fellow human beings. But you cared for a stranger. That means something."

Joy held out her hand to show off a diamond ring. "We're engaged," she bubbled. "I might not even be here if not for you!" Then, she drew a little nearer. "That day is a little fuzzy for me. But wasn't there a woman? A blonde. Someone who was helping, too? I always wanted to thank her as well."

Spike swallowed the hard lump in her throat. While they were keeping Buffy's death a secret from the demonic denizens of Sunnydale, he didn't see any harm in telling these two the truth. "She was always doing that. Helping people. That's just the way she was. Died this spring. A fall."

Joe and Joy exchanged knowing glances. Then, Joe signaled the bartender. "Whatever my friend here wants tonight, give it to him. Put it on my tab," he said, patting Spike's shoulder. "We'll leave you alone now."

Joy gave him a sweet kiss on his cheek before she left. "Thank you, Spike. Thank you for my life."

Spike just nodded. He signaled to the bartender to refill his glass. Then, he knocked it back. He had no idea why he had stayed to help that woman -- Joy -- instead of walking away. He didn't care. She had meant nothing to him, and helping her certainly didn't win him any points with Buffy.

He looked into the glass. He could see the face of Angelus and hear his mocking Irish accent. "Dru, my dear," he said with a laugh. "I'm afraid you chose unwisely in a playmate. This one will never last long as a vampire. He's weak. He's softhearted. I can see it in his eyes."

Those eyes closed as Spike let out an unneeded sigh. He could stay here all night and drink himself to oblivion, courtesy of his newfound pal.

As he reopened his eyes, however, he hopped off the barstool. He grabbed his leather duster off a peg on the nearby wall and slipped it on. Once he got back to the crypt, he would need to bandage the ribs and then get some shuteye so that he would be well-rested.

Who knew what the next evening would bring? No doubt, he'd have to pull Harris' chestnuts out of the fire. Again. Spike smiled at the thought of the whelp grudgingly being in his debt.

He opened the bar door and took in the night sky. Even when he wasn't looking after Dawn, there was still plenty to do here. Demons to fight. His town to protect.

Not that he cared.

The End