She knew he would be there. Every evening for the three weeks that she had been back, Spike had shown up at her back door. It was unspoken between them. They never said, "Well, see you tomorrow," or "Next time could you come at 8:15 instead of 8:00?" The few times that Buffy hadn't been able to get outside; like the evening that Giles and Anya had sat her down and insisted on teaching her how to balance a checkbook, he hadn't said anything about it the next evening. No, "Where were you?" or "I waited here for two hours and then left." It was totally casual, unplanned, spontaneous, and suddenly, a habit. A nightly interval of peace upon which Buffy had come to depend.

Buffy smiled to herself as Spike mounted the stairs and sat down beside her, not touching her, but not too distant either. How ironic to think of Spike, of all creatures, as an oasis of sanity in her new life. After all, her house was full of people who loved her, who needed her so much they had brought her back from the dead. Buffy spent her days trying to live up to their loving demands. Dawn had missed her so much, and needed Buffy as her only family and parent figure. Willow, who had masterminded Buffy's resurrection, needed constant reassurance that Buffy was well, that she was happy, that Willow had done a Good Thing in rescuing her from eternal torment. Tara, whose happiness was wound up with Willow's, needed much the same thing. When Xander and Anya came over, which was frequently, they needed Buffy to referee their constant squabbling. Even Giles, normally the most reticent of men, had become suddenly vulnerable and downright fatherly, which was overwhelming. They were all so needy. Buffy had to escape them now and then.

She looked at Spike, who was sitting there silently. She noticed that his boots were shined, and his coat had also been buffed so that it gleamed in the moonlight. Okay, she acknowledged, he was needy too. However, his need, which at the moment just seemed to be her presence, was one she could actually meet. And that made her feel good. That she could actually make one person happy by just being there. Because right now, being there was about all she could manage. She smiled at him.

He smiled back. "So, how's it going?"

"Okay. Looks like the job is a definite. Starting Monday, it's Receptionist by day, Slayer by night. Everybody is very enthusiastic about it," added Buffy, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"Sounds bloody dreary, love. Now, you're sure the whole crime thing is out?"

"Well, I have to admit your latest brainstorm isn't half bad … you dressing up as a demon which just happens to attack while I'm shopping in a ritzy store."

"At which point you defeat me, in a non-fatal way, and the grateful shopkeeper pays up in cash and free merchandise."

"Bloody brilliant," Buffy said, doing her best Spike imitation.

"And then he pays you a monthly stipend to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Well, that's the best part. The whole protection-racket thing. I don't know why I didn't come up with it years ago."

"Didn't have me to advise you."

"Oh, that's it."

"But," Spike sighed elaborately, "you'd rather be a receptionist. Just no accounting for taste, I suppose."

"Sorry, Spike. I guess you'll just have to wait for Faith to get out of the slammer. Sounds right up her alley."

"Maybe I will, Slayer. Maybe I just will."

Buffy laughed. It was all part of the routine. Ever since she had asked him if he knew anything about finances, he kept coming up with dreadful and mostly dishonest ways for her to make money. At least this one was better than the whole phone sex idea, or the one involving mail fraud. She shook her head. It felt so good to be silly. It made her feel almost young, while most of the time, these days, she felt older than Spike. Only without the whole vampire, eternal youth thing.

"Spike. I can't believe I'm saying this, but what would I do without you?"

Spike couldn't believe she was saying it either. But he refused to acknowledge the intense joy that her words caused him. He didn't want to frighten her away, or spoil what they had finally achieved.

"I'm sure you'd manage, love," he said calmly.

"I'm not so sure, Spike. They all try so hard. But they just don't have a clue."

It was her first mention of the secret she had shared with Spike that afternoon outside the Magic Box. The secret that made Spike want to throttle the entire Scooby gang, especially Willow. Meddling with forces they didn't understand and for which they had no respect, they had ripped Buffy from heaven, and brought her back to life. And as much as he loved her, and rejoiced to see her alive, he couldn't face the so-called friends who had done this to her. He had been avoiding them all like the plague, except for Dawn, of course, who dropped by his crypt briefly every afternoon on her way home from school. He would have liked to speak to Giles, also. The two of them had rather hit it off over the summer, and Spike had been sorry to see him leave Sunnydale. It secretly pleased him that Giles, while leaving a note for the rest of the gang, had actually come to visit him on his way to the airport and say goodbye in person. He had even brought Spike a box of odds and ends from his apartment. The plug-in teakettle, especially, was brilliant. However, he couldn't seem to get Rupert alone these days without dealing with the rest of them.

"Have you told the Watcher?"

"No. I-I can't. And you can't either, Spike."

"Well, not much chance I'd have of that, love. Haven't even seen the guy since he got back."

"Well, whose fault is that? I've invited you over … how many times? Willow told me that you all hung out together over the summer, patrolling and all."

"Can't do it, Buffy. Just thinking about Willow and Xander and their significant others right now gives me a bloody headache, if you know what I mean."

Buffy was silent for a moment.

"They meant well, Spike. They only did it because they love me. How can I hate them for that?"

"Maybe you can't, but I bloody well can."

"Are you so sorry to have me back?"

"Buffy!" Spike was aghast. "How can you bloody well even ask me that? Monkeyboy was right about one thing. Seeing you, that night on the stairs was the happiest moment of my entire existence." He looked down at his feet. "It was you I was thinkin' of. Seein' how … unhappy you are, and all."

"It's getting better, Spike. Every day it gets a little better. You make me feel better ... somehow. These, these back porch meetings of ours. We don't even talk about anything much, but they make me feel better. More alive, you know?"

"Glad to help, Buffy."

"You know, I think Willow and Tara have some kind of meeting tomorrow night. Some Wicca thing. Why don't you come over for dinner, with Giles and Dawn and me?" She smiled. "I saw a recipe for those Buffalo chicken wings they have at the Bronze. Didn't look too hard, except for the deep-frying part. Do you need a deep fryer to deep-fry?"

Spike laughed. "Please … let's leave Buffalo wings to the experts, okay? You don't have to make anything special for me, love. But I'll come. It's bound to be better than that Thanksgiving at Giles's with the Red Indians and the bear."

Buffy laughed. "We won't even tie you to your chair, if you promise to behave."