-4-

Spike was human!

Buffy lay in her bed and smiled at this first thought of the day. There was no need to worry about him turning evil, or fret about him being a soulless creature that might harm her again. He was human! She didn't need to be ashamed of protecting and helping him anymore. He wasn't a creature of darkness, but someone who belonged in the light. With her.

Buffy sat up with a start when she heard the front door slam.

"Hey, Buffy, you up?" Xander called out. "If you're not, it's okay. I'll just start work. Don't you worry about me!"

Start work? Buffy stared up at the sloping ceiling. Then it came back to her. Xander had come to put some finishing touches to the training room in the basement. What if Spike got up and Xander saw him? Buffy sprang out of bed and slipped on the first nightgown she could find.

"Hi, Xander," she said as she ran downstairs.

"Hey." He took in her dishevelled appearance. "Guess I woke you up. Sorry, it's 10:30 and I thought--"

"Spike's here," Buffy blurted out, knowing how much Xander hated to be kept in the dark. Not that telling him about Spike upfront was likely to make him all happy either.

"What?" exclaimed Xander, dropping his tool bag. "You brought him back here? How can you even look at his face after what he did to you?"

Buffy lost her temper. "Same way I could look at yours after you did the same thing," she countered. "I forgave you for that, didn't I?"

"That was different." Xander looked outraged. "I was sixteen years old and possessed by the spirit of a hyena! Of course you forgave me as soon as I was a normal human being again."

"And I'm forgiving Spike now that he's a normal human being again," said Buffy, delighted at the opening Xander had given her. Noticing his dumbfounded expression, she explained, "Spike's human. He has a soul. He didn't turn evil at all. I guess the chip just doesn't work in humans. But it's all okay. Spike's human."

"All okay? Sheesh, Buffy, what is it with you?" Xander shook his head in disgust. "He's human, he has a soul, and it's okay? Unless he got a personality transplant with the beating heart, I'm thinking he's still the same son of a bitch who tried to rape you. He wasn't possessed and he wasn't some dumb kid. He had no excuse. Becoming human doesn't change that."

"I agree."

Buffy turned to find Spike standing on the stairs behind her. Like her, he'd clearly just jumped out of bed. He was wearing only his torn jeans, and his curly dark hair was mussed. The cuts and bruises dotting his pale skin were starting to heal, but his eyes and nose were red and sore from the cold.

"You're right, mate," said Spike in a hoarse voice. "I might be human, but I'm still the same son of a bitch who tried to rape Buffy. I'm not denying that."

Xander took one look at Spike's half-naked body and turned on Buffy.

"So what did he do? Turn up and say 'Hi, I'm human, screw me'?"

"Oh, please, Xander," said Buffy with disgust. "There are three bedrooms in this house. You do the math."

"Besides, do I look like someone who's getting any?" Spike coughed, holding his chest and wincing in pain.

Xander was unsympathetic. "After what you did, you don't deserve to ever touch a woman again."

"Sounds reasonable." Spike wiped his nose with the back of his hand and drew himself up to his full height. The effect of his sinister scowl was ruined by his tired swaying. "Does that mean you'll stop asking women to marry you?" He laughed. "Got to admit that's an interesting little factoid about your past, though, hyena boy. Must have been quite an improvement for a whelp like you."

Buffy folded her arms and rolled her eyes. She knew she should stop them before the pissing contest turned into a fight, but she was too annoyed to bother.

"And what happened to you, Spike?" asked Xander angrily. "Pissed off just one person too many, like Angel did with the gypsies? Or did you ask someone to take out the chip, and they took out the demon instead?"

Spike laughed and broke into another coughing fit. Buffy noticed he was shivering. "It's a long story, mate, and not one I fancy telling you."

"Spike, you look terrible," said Buffy. "You should go back to bed."

"You should go back to your crypt, more like," said Xander. He started up the stairs, as if to pull Spike down.

Buffy caught his arm and drew him back. "Keep your jealousy to yourself, Xander Harris, and show a little compassion. There's nothing going on between Spike and me. And even if there was, it's none of your business. He's sick, he needs help. I'm not going to kick him out."

"And if 'he' can just say something..." said Spike. He fixed Xander with a serious expression. "Look, mate, Buffy and I have talked about it, and we're all finished. And you're right. I'm not a vampire anymore, but I still remember everything I did. What I am now doesn't mean I didn't do those things." Spike glanced at Buffy and lowered his eyes. "Being human and having the soul doesn't change that."

"I don't agree," said Buffy, letting go of Xander's arm. "As a vampire, you had a demon deciding for you. Your human soul is innocent. That makes a big difference, Spike. The same difference there is between Angelus and Angel."

Spike lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Bloody hell, I was wondering when I was going to be compared to the bleeding Poof." He coughed. "I'm sorry, pet. It makes no difference to me."

Before Buffy could argue further that his human self wasn't responsible for the vampire's actions, the front door opened and Dawn walked in. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Buffy and Spike, both dishevelled and half-dressed. She dropped her bag and glared at them, taking a step closer to Xander.

"Dawn, it's not what you think!" said Buffy before she had a chance to say anything. "Spike, go put some clothes on before anyone else gets the wrong idea."

Spike obediently clambered back up the stairs. He looked too ill to be up and about anyway. Buffy could hear him coughing as he entered the master bedroom.

"What wrong idea would that be, exactly?" asked Dawn, crossing her arms. "That you and Spike have hooked up again after what he did to you?"

"Well, we haven't," said Buffy with exasperation. "Look, I found Spike like this yesterday evening. He's human. A breathing, beating-hearted, sunshine-walking human. He's very sick, and I'm going to look after him." She raised her hand as both of them started to speak at once. "Dawn, you can stay at Xander's if you prefer, but please let me do this. I know you don't understand them, but believe me, I have my reasons."

"So I say to him: 'You must be kidding, ain't no way I'm doing that! There's places dicks belong, and that ain't one of them. That's just sick, man!'"

Buffy laughed politely, even though listening to the raucous tales of her work colleagues' sex lives made her uncomfortable. What would these worldly young women think if they knew that their demure little colleague with the strict hairstyle and sensible shoes had performed every one of the "sick" sex acts they described? That her tiny hands had torn her lover's flesh. That her mouth and tongue had explored every inch of his body. That she'd screamed with pleasure even when she was bound and gagged, every orifice filled, every taboo broken, every fantasy of her darkest warrior soul fulfilled?

The memory of the things she had done with Spike made Buffy feel suddenly weak in the knees. It was incredible to think that the fragile human lying in her mother's bed at home had once been the evil vampire who had given her the best sex of her entire life. She felt a pang of regret when she thought how weak he was now. She'd never have that kind of sex with him again.

Buffy shook her head and busied herself with checking her e-mail. Of course she would never have that kind of sex with Spike again. After what had happened between them, it wouldn't be politically correct, and it would send the wrong message to her impressionable young sister. Spike and Buffy sex was well and truly over.

Her phone rang. Yet other customer calling to find out what loans the company could offer. Buffy put on her headset and pressed the button to pick up the call.

"S.O.S. Credit, Buffy speaking. How can I help you?"

"Buffy!" She tensed when she recognised Dawn's voice. "Buffy, Spike's worse. He's delirious and he keeps calling for you and--"

"I'll be right there!"

"Dawn?" called out Buffy, flinging the front door open. She ran up the stairs, her heart beating wildly. Ever since Dawn had called her, Buffy had feared the worst. Spike was a nineteenth century man who had been recently resurrected. Maybe he wasn't suffering from a cold at all. What if he'd caught AIDS off one of his victims? What if he had some kind of weird African disease? What if he was dying? Had he even been vaccinated against anything?

When Buffy entered the master bedroom, she found Dawn standing beside the bed, holding a wet cloth. Spike was huddled in his sheet, shivering and weeping hysterically. Dawn had left the light off, but Buffy could see the sweat glistening on Spike's face in the light from the landing.

"He's going to tear me to shreds, you know," he muttered. "Never good enough. Fucking cunt. I'll rip his fucking throat out." He let out a strangled cry. "God, Dru. What have you done to me, pet? Can't you see you're just like him?"

"He's been like this for half an hour." Dawn looked very pale and frightened. Not for herself, Buffy realised, but for Spike. "I-I tried to help him. But he's too sick. We need to take him to hospital. For all we know, he could die if he stays like this!"

Buffy had to admit that Spike did look terrible. He was still coughing, but the sound was now loud and hollow, as if it came from the depth of his lungs. His nose was running, the mucus mingling with the sweat and tears streaming down his face. Whatever Spike had caught, his body was having a hard time fighting it. What if he didn't succeed?

"That'll be Xander!" said Dawn when she heard the front door opening. She ran downstairs.

"Xander? You called Xander?" exclaimed Buffy.

She went to follow Dawn, but Spike reached towards her. "Buffy, love," he whispered.

Touched by the vulnerable tone of his voice, Buffy sat down on the bed and took his hand.

"I'm here, Spike, it's okay."

His large, thin hand gripped hers hard. Spike stared at her with wild eyes, his breath ragged and uneven.

"Don't forgive me, you stupid bitch," he said through clenched teeth.

Buffy was taken aback by his bitter tone and the anger in his eyes. But his hand in hers was hot and clammy, and she remembered how sick he was. Buffy opened her mouth to say something, to explain how she had felt when she was at her worst, to tell him she understood. But Dawn came in with Xander, who turned on the light. Spike let out a howl and curled into a ball on his side.

Buffy stood up and observed Xander, unsure how he would react to the situation. He was watching Spike intently, but there was no hatred in his expression, just concern. That was a relief; the last thing Buffy needed was an argument between Xander and Spike in his current state.

"Boy, he's a mess. He needs to go to the hospital," said Xander. He turned to Buffy and Dawn. "Go wait outside. I'll get some clothes on him and we'll take him now."

Buffy hated this hospital; it always reminded her of her mother's illness. Not to mention that she herself had nearly died here, before Willow healed her. She hoped there wasn't anything seriously wrong with Spike; having him in hospital for any length of time would not be of the good.

"Thanks for consulting me on the whole taking care of him at home thing, by the way," said Dawn, who seemed to have recovered from her earlier concern about Spike. "I thought he was going to attack me! But then I realised he thought I was Dru, so the whole attack thing kinda started to make sense..."

Buffy and Dawn were waiting in the corridor while Spike was being examined. Xander had gone off to get something to eat. Said the hospital always made him hungry.

"I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have brought him home," said Buffy. "But I didn't know what else to do. He was so ill. And, he's human. I've got to help him."

"Yeah. I know you did the right thing." Dawn was fiddling with a magazine, letting the pages stick to her fingers and then shaking them off. She had a thoughtful look on her face. "But knowing our luck, he's probably an evil human. Like Warren."

"Don't say that. Spike is no more evil than Willow is. And, yes, I know your feelings about that," added Buffy, suddenly remembering that Dawn didn't believe in Willow's redemption either. "The fact is, you have to learn to forgive people when they say they're sorry."

"I don't forgive people who try to murder me or rape my sister," said Dawn vehemently.

Xander returned from the vending machine with a selection of snacks. "Murder and rape? Are we talking Spike, here?"

"I tried to kill you too," Buffy pointed out, ignoring Xander. "You forgave me, didn't you?"

Dawn shrugged. "You were poisoned and didn't know what you were doing. But Willow knew exactly what she was doing when she tried to turn me back into the Key."

"Hey, she was under the influence of some very bad magic," said Xander. "She has an addictive personality. She couldn't help it."

"And Spike was a demon," said Buffy with a shrug. "He probably couldn't help all the stuff he did either. Everyone has excuses. But my point is that if someone is sorry, really sorry, then you should forgive them."

"Oh, I see." Dawn crossed her arms. "So you can do anything you like, so long as you're sorry afterwards?"

"No, I--"

Buffy interrupted herself as the doctor came out of the examination room with Spike. The former vampire seemed more lucid, but was still feverish and shivering. Buffy wished Xander had found something warmer for him to wear than his torn, bloody jersey.

The doctor waved over an orderly to put Spike into a wheelchair. Probably wanted to avoid a lawsuit, in case her patient slipped and fell while walking the few feet between the examination room and the car. It seemed as though Spike's resurrection and current illness had taken the snark right out of him, because he said nothing as he sat down, though he did give the orderly a very dirty look. He probably had bad memories of wheelchairs.

"How is he, doctor?" asked Xander, stealing the words right out of Buffy's mouth.

"He has a bronchial infection," said the doctor, handing a prescription to Buffy. "It's nothing serious. I'm prescribing some antibiotics which should get rid of the infection in no time. Make sure he gets lots of rest, lots of fluids, and some good food, and the fever should get better in the next couple of days." Spike started coughing and the doctor gave him a concerned look. "Though we could keep him here if you prefer..."

Buffy shook her head. "No, we--he has no insurance. We can look after him at home. I mean, you did say it wasn't serious, right?"

"No, it isn't, but... Ms Summers, can I talk to you a moment?" The doctor indicated the examination room. Buffy followed her in. "Tell me, has your friend been roughing it?"

"I-I don't know," started Buffy, before realising that living in a crypt probably counted as 'roughing it' for a human being. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"To be honest, his general physical condition is not good, and I wondered how he got in that state," said the doctor. "He also said something about vaccination and tuberculosis, which had me thinking..." She smiled at Buffy and patted her arm. "But we can discuss that further when he's feeling better. If you can, keep him at home for a couple of weeks. Let him build up his strength again."

After taking her leave of the doctor, Buffy left the hospital in a daze. All her earlier misgivings about the horrible diseases Spike might have resurfaced. For all she knew, he might have been dying of consumption when he was turned. It might have come back when he was revived! She took a deep breath to calm herself. Tuberculosis was a curable disease these days. And the doctor didn't actually say he had T.B., just that Spike had mentioned it. And Spike was probably delirious. He'd called Buffy a stupid bitch, after all. Didn't know what he was saying.

When she reached the car, Buffy slid into the backseat beside Spike, who seemed to have fallen asleep in the few minutes since he had left the hospital.

"You sure he can't stay at the hospital, Buffy?" said Dawn, looking at her through the rear-view mirror as Xander started the car. "The doctor looked kinda worried."

"We can't afford it," Buffy told her. Her mind briefly considered the bag of money Spike had stolen from the demon, but then dismissed it again. She didn't even know if it was real money. "But you know, Dawn, if you don't want him to stay at our house, we can find another solution."

"I can take care of him," offered Xander.

Dawn and Buffy both stared at him.

"What?" Xander shrugged. "You think I'm going to smother him in his sleep or something? I don't murder humans -- whatever Anya says about the musical spell. Besides, I hate seeing people in pain. Even people I hate." His expression darkened. "And you know what? I really don't like the idea of him sleeping in your house, Buffy. I don't think it's right, you caring for him after what he did. I'm not concerned he's actually going to rape you. But it's the trying that was the problem last spring, right?"

Good point. Buffy looked at Spike, who was curled up as far away from her as he could get. She wasn't sure if he was listening or not.

"Yeah, the trying was the problem," she agreed. "But I don't think that'll be an issue this time."

"Buffy, if it's really that important to you," said Dawn, "then I'm okay with him staying with us. I'm with Xander on the not wanting to see people in pain, and I can take care of him while you're at work. I can defend myself if things look bad. Maybe I'll even forgive him." She didn't look too sure about that. "Some day."

"I really don't think--" started Xander.

"Oh for fuck's sake," interrupted Spike. "Just take me back to the bloody crypt, and I'll take care of myself. Better off dead than listening to you lot squabbling like I'm not here!"

He sounded so much like his old self that Buffy smiled. "Fortunately, nobody is asking you."

-5-

Trying her best to be quiet, Buffy looked into the master bedroom. Spike was lying on his side on top of the covers, wearing nothing but his bandages. The floor beside the bed was covered in used bits of toilet paper. He'd even stuck some up his nostrils in an effort to stem his runny nose. Buffy smiled and placed the plate of pancakes she'd brought on his bedside table. She'd been bringing him food at regular intervals over the last couple of days, although Spike had eaten very little. She tossed some clothes onto the chair by the door.

Buffy was about to close the door again when Spike stirred. He moaned softly and rolled onto his back.

"Spike, you awake?" she asked.

He lifted his head and stared at her, bleary-eyed. His brown curls were all matted to one side, and the pillow had left red lines on his face. His cheeks were dark with bristles, making him look like the ill-shaven baddie in an old cartoon. As Spike woke up more fully, though, his eyes widened in alarm. He looked down at his naked body and struggled to get under the sheet.

"Ooh, naked Spike," said Buffy, amused by his uncharacteristic modesty. "It's all right. It's not like I haven't seen it all before." She slipped back into the room and closed the door. "Thought I'd come and see how my patient is doing."

Spike arranged the sheet around his middle and sat up, looking very disoriented. He winced when Buffy opened the curtains. Then he seemed to remember the bits of tissue up his nose and disposed of them with an embarrassed glance at Buffy. When he noticed the pancakes, Spike seized the plate and fork, and started eating.

Buffy sat on the bed and put her hand on his forehead.

"Feels like your fever's gone. You're probably over the worst of it now."

Spike pulled away from her and stopped shovelling pancakes into his mouth for a moment. "I do feel a bit more clear-headed. My nose seems to have stopped running too, which is a plus. And I'm starving!"

"So I see." Buffy watched him eat, and then frowned as she remembered something. "Spike, when I first saw you a couple of weeks ago, you were drinking blood. But you were already human then. I don't get it."

"Eh?" Spike looked confused, and then laughed. "Oh. Tomato juice. Thought I'd try some healthy food for a change. Got a bit tired of living off Clem's snack food. These pancakes are delicious, by the way. Did you make them? You know, I think your taste buds get atrophied when you're a vampire. I only liked spicy foods. But now, I can taste all sorts of things I thought were really bland before. You know, mashed potatoes, rice, bread... tomato juice. They've all got really subtle flavours. I'll have to try things all over again."

Buffy thought his eagerness was quite sweet. She indicated the chair near the bed.

"I brought you some clothes. They're all the things I have that might be your size, but don't have pink bunnies on them. There are a couple of shirts Mom and I used for working around the house, so they're not real nice. I washed your clothes, too. I don't have any pants for you, so you'll have to make do with your jeans. Your shirt has holes in it, though; you might want to throw it out."

"Throw out my England shirt? Not bloody likely. That's my souvenir of World Cup 2002. And watching that was the very first thing I did as a human." Spike coughed, and put the empty plate on the bedside table. "Well, that hit the spot. Boy, I feel as though I've been out for days!"

"Well, it's been about four days, give or take a few hours. You've been here since Saturday night, and it's now Wednesday morning."

Spike yawned. "Blimey. Who'd have thought ex-vampires hibernated? I remember the hospital, and going to the loo once or twice, but I've been pretty zonked out the rest of the time... I say, Dawn didn't see me starkers, did she?"

"Stark-- oh," said Buffy. She remembered him using the word during one of their trysts. "I don't know. I'm sure it won't traumatise her to see one naked man."

Spike coughed and scratched one of the half healed wounds on his chest. "I was delirious, wasn't I? Did I say anything, you know, bad?"

"Well, you called me a stupid bitch." Buffy smiled. "But you were saying lots of strange things." She patted his hand earnestly. "You know, you can talk to me, if you like. About the guilt. I guess you must have a lot on your mind. And just think, I'm probably the best qualified person in the world when it comes to helping recovering vampires. I helped Angel, didn't I? I know it's hard, but you can get through this!"

"What if I can't?" Spike coughed again, then bent over, hugging his knees. "I've got a bloody town's worth of ghosts trotting around my head. But the murders, all the people I killed, I can handle, because I was a demon and that's how I fed. Now I'm human, I know I'll never do it again." He glanced at Buffy. "What I did to you, I can't rationalise. I just lost it. Being human doesn't mean I won't lose it again."

"It makes it less likely, though, because now you have a soul to tell you what's right and wrong," said Buffy with confidence. "I just wish we could put it behind us, Spike. You don't have to mention it every single time we talk. And you can't spend a hundred years brooding, even if all the people you killed would 'the multitudous seas incardanine' and stuff."

"Or indeed 'the multitudinous seas incarnadine'." In spite of his dejected posture, Spike gave her an amused look. "Since when do you quote Shakespeare?"

"We're doing Macbeth in my evening class," said Buffy, proud that Spike had recognised her effort, even though she had got the words wrong. Pesky syllables. "Anyway, I think we should leave the whole you attacking me thing behind, and talk about the other things we have in common. Like Shakespeare. Except I don't know much about that yet. Or resurrections! I'm an expert on coming back from the dead. How was it for you?"

"Painful." He paused. "And a lot harder than I thought. But then, when you're a half-crazed vampire, you generally don't think very straight. I certainly wasn't when I-- Sorry. Not talking about that." He shrugged. "Anyway, it just shows you should always be careful what you ask for."

Buffy was surprised. "You asked to be human? Why?"

"Well, there were all sorts of reasons." Spike sighed. "Most of them bad. Main reason's pretty simple. You put your finger on my problem a while back. Poor little Spikey, can't be a human, can't be a vampire. Thought it was time I picked one or the other. I was too far gone to become a fully fledged vampire again, so--" He indicated the burn on his chest with a sweep of his hand.

"Wow." Buffy stared at him, amazed. "I'd no idea a vampire could even choose to be human."

"I told you I could change, didn't I?" Spike glanced at her, and then looked away. "Well, I've certainly done that."

Buffy's eyes were still fixed on his emaciated face. She watched as his long lashes fluttered with the nervous movement of his eyes, and his jaw muscles clenched beneath his chiselled cheekbones. She'd kissed his mouth, but never those cheeks or those beautiful eyes, never given the soulless vampire he had been a single sign of affection. But now, he was human. That changed everything.

"But it doesn't change anything," said Spike. His wandering eyes met hers and this time, she was the one who looked away. "I'm not looking to get back with you, Buffy. Now that I'm human, I understand that what we had was very wrong. So I think I should just make it absolutely clear to you that I'm not interested in sex with you either. If ever I look as if I'm-- I'm not." He laughed. "As a matter of fact, I can't anyway. I'm more Willy than Spike these days. Rather ironic side-effect of the resurrection."

Buffy stared at him, rendered momentarily speechless. Was he trying to tell her that he couldn't--

"I-I'm sorry, Spike, I have to go to work," she said, though she realised as she spoke how cold the words sounded after his confession. "There's more food downstairs and my phone number is on the refrigerator." She wrinkled her nose. "Um, you really should have a bath and clean up. You don't smell too good."

"Oh, yes." Spike looked down at himself. "Humanity: the wonderful world of body odour."

Buffy laughed. "I didn't think of that. I should have got you some deodorant. I got you some other stuff, though. You know, shaving cream, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste. Everything a modern man needs." She frowned. "Well, everything I could think of, anyway. It's been a while since I lived with a man."

"That's-- That's really good." Spike looked very surprised. "Thank you."

"I was going to get your stuff from the crypt when I went on patrol the other night, but then I wasn't sure what you would need," she said. "But I can get your things tonight."

"Don't bother." Spike shook his head. Buffy could tell his mood had turned dark again. Maybe talking about the crypt was a reminder of his past crimes.

Buffy stood up, ready to leave, but Spike caught her hand. "Buffy, do you think... Do you think I can make things better with Dawn?"

"Yeah, I think so." She thought back on Dawn's behaviour in the last few days. "She's been taking good care of you while I've been at work. I think if you talk to her, you can make things all right. I know she still cares about you."

Home again after yet another long day talking on the phone and staring at a computer. Buffy sometimes wondered if the Doublemeat Palace wasn't better for her after all; at least she'd got some exercise. A vague memory of having sex with Spike in the service alley came to mind at that thought. Buffy firmly dismissed it and called for Dawn and Spike as she entered the house.

There was no sign of Dawn, but she did find Spike sitting out on the back steps. For a moment, she thought he was smoking, but then realised he was just drinking a glass of Coke. He was wearing his soccer shirt and jeans; both garments were torn, making Spike look like the victim of a shipwreck. Buffy wondered if there was any subtle way that she could find out his size and buy him some new clothes.

As she opened the back door, Buffy saw Spike wipe his face. Oh, no, weepy Spike again.

"Hello, Buffy," he said.

"Hi." She sat beside him and smiled when she noticed he had ignored her subtle hint about shaving. "I see you didn't bother with the razor after all. Sticking with the hippy look, huh?"

That was met by silence. Buffy tried again. "Where's Dawn?"

"Went storming off to her room."

"Oh." A quick glance at his face confirmed the tears. Had Angel ever cried this much? "You two argue?"

"No, she argued. I just sort of sat there." He sniffed and wiped his eyes again. "Sorry, thought I'd indulge in a drama queen moment since you weren't around. I'll get over it."

While waiting for him to get over it, Buffy looked down at her work clothes; smart cotton pants and a white blouse. She should have changed before sitting on the dirty porch. But Spike needed her right now; she could always wash her clothes later.

"How can I help you?" she asked. It was a phrase Buffy repeated dozens of times a day, but never with the sincerity she felt right now.

"I don't know. She's right; I shouldn't be here laying all my problems on the people I hurt." Spike gazed at the bubbles in his Coke. "I'm bad luck, you know. I'm the reverse fucking Midas -- everything I touch withers and dies. I used to have something with Dawn; something real and beautiful, and now she hates me."

Spike's eyes were filling with tears again. Unsure what to do, Buffy patted his back awkwardly. She seemed to remember Spike trying to comfort her this way once upon a time, when she had been the one crying on the porch steps.

"I keep doing this," continued Spike, completely wrapped up in his guilt trip. "I was a useless human; you'd have laughed your socks off at me. Then I become a vampire and things are okay for a while. I had my woman, the respect of my minions. Next thing I know, I'm dumped and I become the only vampire in the bleeding universe who can't bloody feed! Then to add insult to injury, I fall in love with you, try to be your fucking white knight and end up behaving like a complete prick. So I go off and become human again, and look what a mess I am. I thought I'd be good, you know, that having a soul and a beating heart would make me a better man. But I'm just the same sad pillock I've been all along." He looked up at the sky. "There was this comedian once, committed suicide. Last thing he wrote in his diary was 'what's the bloody point?'. What is the bloody point, Buffy? Why don't I just give up?"

Her hand still on his back, Buffy leaned forward to look into his face.

"Because you hope things will get better?" She smiled, and brushed a strand of light brown hair behind his ear. "Things will get better, Spike. You're not a complete failure. And hey, I like you. Everyone else will come around eventually."

Spike stared at her as if she'd just said something amazing, and then burst into tears. Buffy didn't think she'd ever seen a grown man cry like that. Definitely not something Angel had ever done; but then he was with the broody. Spike was all full-blown drama.

Overcome by his emotions, Spike threw his arms around Buffy and buried his face in her blouse. She tensed, prepared to deliver a couple of well-placed blows, but then relaxed when she realised he was too engrossed in his misery to be aroused. She stroked his head and murmured some soothing words. Buffy had never been someone people turned to for comfort, and she was surprised to find that holding Spike like this made her feel very wise and motherly.

Spike's sobs subsided after a short time. He clung to her a while longer, his large hands stroking her back, his face still pressed against her breasts. Buffy hoped he wasn't getting ideas. Fortunately, he pulled away before she had to start pushing him off.

Still wiping his tears away, Spike leaned against the post at the top of the porch steps.

"Sorry, that was-- I don't know where that came from. I was fine this morning." He lowered his eyes. "Thanks for being so nice to me. I don't know why I deserve it, but thanks."

"Hey, all new Saint Buffy here," said Buffy with a grin. "Besides, what you've done is amazing. To deliberately become human. That's incredible. How did you know you wouldn't end up like Angel? I mean, you really hate Angel!"

"I preferred to become something I hate, rather than stay something you hate." Spike winced and waved his hand. "Forget it, that's just rubbish. I told you, I wanted to belong somewhere. Community of six billion seemed attractive."

"You did it for me."

Spike's eyes stayed downcast. "No, I did it because of you. Because of what I did to you. But I did it for me, because I couldn't stand to be what I was anymore."

"Yes. Of course. It's not all about me," said Buffy, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm not the centre of the universe, and of course, you did this for you. I get that." She sighed. "But it's amazing. I'll have to tell Giles."

"I'm sure he'll be fascinated. And I promise to give him all the gory details as long as I don't get the Council of Wankers crawling all over me." He raised his eyes to Buffy's chest and frowned. "I wonder if he'll let me cover him in snot too."

"Snot?" Buffy looked down at her blouse; Spike's tears had left a wet patch.

"Well, you know, I had the waterworks running full blast and I'm not quite over my flu, so..."

Buffy put on her silliest grimace of disgust. "Ew! That is just gross!"

"Hey, gross comes with the sainthood," said Spike, though he was laughing. He pulled down the sleeve of his shirt as far as it would go, and wiped at Buffy's chest. It took a moment for him to register the displeased look on her face. He immediately pulled his hand away from her breasts. "Oh, sorry. Not trying to... you know."

"Get into Buffy's pants?" suggested Dawn, who had just come out through the back door.

Buffy looked down at her top and stood up. "I need to change..." She paused beside Dawn, tempted to tell her not to upset Spike, but then decided this was something they needed to work out together.

When Buffy returned to the kitchen having changed, she found Dawn standing on the porch behind Spike. He was still sitting on the top step, turned towards her with one ankle resting on his other knee.

"I don't think it's something I should be discussing with you, little bit," he said. "It won't make things any easier."

"I'm not your 'little bit' anymore, Spike." Dawn crossed her arms. "Maybe it won't make things easier, but I want to know why it happened. Even if it means I'll hate you even more. Even if you have to tell me bad things about Buffy. I just want to understand why."

Spike looked up at her, his thin face filled with anguish. Buffy watched them both, framed in the open back door, and wondered if she should interrupt, or if she should leave. But all she did was stand in the kitchen doorway. She wanted to know the answer to Dawn's question too.

"I loved Buffy," said Spike finally. "But she didn't love me, didn't even think I was a person. I was just the thing she used to punish herself. Punished me quite a bit, too. When she came to her senses, she said my love wasn't real. Broke it off, was really good about it -- 'cept for treating me like her dirty secret, but hey, can't have everything." Spike paused and leaned against the banister. "I went to apologise to her after the Anya thing, and she told me she had feelings for me. Being the desperate twat I was, I thought I could get her back." He rubbed his forehead. "When we were together, the only thing she liked about me was the sex. I thought if we could just have sex again, everything would be okay. And after that, I wasn't thinking about much at all." He looked up at Dawn. "Anyway, she didn't want me, and I finally understood she'd never want me again. So there you go. That's why it happened."

Buffy leaned against the kitchen wall and felt tears sting her eyes. She repressed them, berating herself for being so affected. She had already guessed Spike's motives during her conversation with Giles at the beginning of the summer. But hearing him talk about their affair reminded her just how dark and desperate those times had been. How horrible she had been to the soulless, but sentient being who had loved her. Buffy wiped at her eyes and told herself she shouldn't be eavesdropping on Spike's conversation with Dawn. She thought about starting to cook dinner, but took one last look at the pair outside.

Dawn too was close to tears. Spike moved as if he was going to stand up and take her in his arms. But he remained sitting and just touched her foot.

"Tell me how I can make things better, Dawn," he pleaded. "I can leave, if that's what you want. Or I can stay and take it like a man. Tell me what you want."

"Oh, Spike." A single tear escaped from Dawn's big blue eyes. She kneeled down beside him and took his hand. "I want you to stop being the man who tried to rape my sister!"

"Me too, little bit. And I am trying. Believe me, I never want to be that man again."

-1-

Buffy opened her eyes and saw Spike above her, his face flushed pink beneath his white hair, his teeth clenched, his hands grabbing at her. The bathroom floor was cold and hard beneath her injured back, and the light shone straight into her eyes, blinding her. This couldn't be happening. After everything they had been through, it couldn't end like this.

"I'm going to make you feel it," growled Spike.

"No you're not," she said, realising that this was ridiculous. She was the Slayer; no one could make her do anything. "No, Spike. We'll both feel it."

She flipped him onto his back on her bed and straddled his hips. Spike stretched out, his hands gripping the thin bars at the head of the bed, his blue eyes filled with tenderness. Buffy ran her hands over his white chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his soft skin. Her fingers explored the pulsating veins in his neck before curling into this short blond hair.

"I love you," said Spike. "I'm all yours, pet."

"I know." Buffy kissed the heartbeat on his chest, shifting her hips against his erection. "You're all mine."

"Well, folks, it's Friday morning, and we've got a song from the Red Hot--"

Buffy automatically hit the Snooze button on her clock radio as it interrupted her sleep for the third time. Another day to kill those calls and answer those vampires. Or whatever. She checked the time and switched the radio to Off.

Clothes. Bathroom. Breakfast. Wake up at some point along the way. Buffy opened her bedroom door and found herself staring straight at Spike. Which was disturbing, considering the dream she had just had.

Spike was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, right opposite her bedroom, wearing only his torn jeans. Buffy's face was level with his throat; lowering her eyes only a fraction, she had a good view of his bare chest. It was nearly as she remembered it in her dream; sculptured and smooth, except for the new burn above his heart and some extra hairs she hadn't noticed before. Spike's face was different, of course, hidden behind the glasses and the long hair. He hadn't shaved again.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Hey," she responded. "You have chest hair."

Spike looked down. "Chest hairs, more like. Side-effect of the resurrection. More hairs all around. It's a monkey thing."

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Spike indicated the master bedroom to his right.

"I need to, um..."

"Yes."

As Spike disappeared into his room, Buffy took the two steps necessary to cross the corridor and enter the bathroom. She locked the door and sat on the toilet, yawning and rubbing her eyes. When her eyes were suitably rubbed, she opened them and stared in disbelief. The grey shower curtain she normally looked at every morning seemed to have turned bright blue and grown a frieze of big green seahorses.

Looking around to see if any other artefacts had been changed in the room, Buffy noticed that the vanity mirror on the dresser in front of the window had been turned so that it faced downwards. There was also a towel thrown over the mirror behind the sink. It seemed that Spike had an aversion to mirrors; no wonder he hadn't shaved in days. On the other hand, he was trying to make amends for his past. Buffy looked at the new shower curtain and smiled.

Once she was dressed, Buffy went downstairs and found Dawn sitting on the living room couch, watching the early morning news -- a recent change from her sitting on the living room couch and watching the early morning cartoons. Dawn was still wearing her pyjamas and robe; she was on vacation, and liked to keep her options open as far as going back to bed was concerned. Buffy was pleased her sister made the effort at all to get up and have breakfast with her every morning.

"Where's Spike?" asked Buffy.

"Don't know. Haven't seen him. Guess he was up late putting in that shower curtain," said Dawn, her tone neutral.

"Well, it was a nice thought." Buffy glanced at the television, her eyes drawn to images of bodies being dug out of a collapsed building. "What do you think?"

Dawn followed her gaze. "What, about the situation in the Middle-East?"

"No, about the shower curtain."

Dawn's response was a shrug; despite her emotional scene with Spike two days earlier, she was still a little wary of the former vampire. Between work and her evening class, Buffy had seen very little of him since he had recovered from his fever. She just hoped Spike and Dawn hadn't been arguing behind her back.

"Anyway, let's get some breakfast," said Buffy, heading for the kitchen.

Spike made his appearance while she was cooking the pancakes, his arrival heralded by a coughing fit that echoed in the hallway. Buffy could tell he had been back to the crypt to get some clothes; he was wearing his paisley shirt and a pair of black pants she recognised. Best not to think about how she knew every item in his wardrobe. She concentrated on her pancakes.

"Nice shower curtain," remarked Dawn. "Very colourful."

"Well, it was cheap." Buffy heard the creak of one of the barstools as Spike sat down. "Seahorses are interesting little beggars. The males have the babies, you know."

"Gee, new age sea creatures." There was a smile in Dawn's voice. "Aren't there some demons that do that too?"

"Oh yes. Igrostoron demons, for instance. Female lays her eggs inside the male, says 'cheers, mate' and buggers off to find another male to lay some more eggs in. Last Igrostoron I met was trying to encourage his fellow demons to stick together, marriage-like. Apparently, they have a problem with the males getting so pissed off with the females, they start eating the eggs. Few sandwiches short of a picnic, those Igrostorons. If I had some eggs of my own, I'd keep them, and then raise them to know their Mum was a bitc--bad person."

Buffy turned towards them with her newly cooked pancakes. After all his inane chatter about seahorses and Igrostoron demons, she had no problem facing Spike. He didn't look or sound like the soulless demon she'd slept with. She distributed the pancakes, then joined them at the breakfast bar.

"So, what are you going to do today, Spike?" she asked.

Spike made an undignified gulping noise as he finished his mouthful. It made him cough, which in turn meant that it took a while for him to answer. "Oh, I thought I might read the instructions for your washing machine," he said in a voice that sounded like a wheeze.

"Washing machine?" repeated Buffy. "You want to do laundry?"

"I haven't washed my clothes for months." He bent down and pulled up his shirt to smell it, uncovering his white belly. He made a face. "They don't smell very nice. Vampires don't sweat, but I've become Elvis bloody Presley ever since I became human. Don't think anyone will be bidding millions for my sweaty shirts, either. So give me the instructions and I'll do some washing."

"Do we even have instructions for that machine?" asked Dawn. Buffy shook her head. "Tell you what, Spike. I'll show you how it works. Then you can repay me by doing all our laundry too."

"I don't think--" started Buffy, as visions of Spike sifting through her dirty underwear danced through her head.

"Well, okay," said Spike, though he didn't sound too enthusiastic about Dawn's proposal. "I suppose I should be doing something useful. Oh! Speaking of which--"

He got up and sprinted out the door and up the stairs. Buffy could hear him in the master bedroom above the kitchen.

"Was that conversation over?" asked Dawn with a giggle.

Buffy shrugged, but then pointed at her sister. "Hey, you're not letting Spike wash our underwear, okay? He can do the towels and the other clothes, but you do our stuff yourself."

"Oops. Didn't think about that," said Dawn, pressing her hand to her lips. "Maybe I should show him the vacuum cleaner instead?"

Spike came back, out of breath and carrying a small paper sack sealed with tape.

"I got my stuff from the crypt yesterday." He handed the packet to Dawn. "It's a bit late, and probably totally the wrong time, but... Happy birthday, sweet sixteen."

Dawn stared at the packet a moment, and then ripped it open. It contained a little bracelet made of shiny green beads.

"Saw it when I got to Africa, thought about your birthday," said Spike. "I was going to send it after I became human, but... by then, I thought it wouldn't go down too well, what with...but it's for you."

"Oh, Spike, it's beautiful." Dawn held up the bracelet for Buffy to admire, then slid it on her left wrist. "Thanks. I didn't think you'd even remember."

Spike looked down at his feet. "Well, I only knew the month, actually. I remembered us having that-- well, celebrating your birthday last year."

"Yeah." Dawn shook her head. "That was a miserable birthday. Even the cake and decorations were miserable."

"You had cake?" asked Buffy, curious about this birthday celebration Spike and Dawn had shared while she was dead. "And decorations?"

"Willow kinda conjured up the cake and decorations," said Dawn with a shrug. Her eyes were still on Spike. "I still have the diary, you know. I was going to throw it out, after-- But I guess I wanted to remember you the way you were last summer."

She frowned, and gave Spike a suspicious look, as if she was remembering his betrayal and was still unsure whether to open up to him again. Then she looked at the bracelet, and at Spike's apprehensive face, and stood up to wrap her arms around him. He was taken completely off-guard. In fact, he seemed to be struggling to get out of her embrace at first. But as Dawn persisted, keeping her head on his chest, Spike gave in. His arms slipped around her; he closed his eyes, pressing his lips to her hair for a moment, with a small smile of contentment. The look on his face put a lump in Buffy's throat. It occurred to her that Spike probably wasn't used to being hugged.

It also occurred to her that he had never given her a birthday present. But then she remembered the circumstances of her last birthday. Spike turning up at her back door with a black eye, still bruised days after she had beat him. She hadn't deserved a present then. Maybe next year. She'd make it up to him.

Not a bad patrol, all things considered. The two vampires were nothing special, easily dispatched once they'd started their "Wanna try a real vampire for size?" routine. But the Osra demon had given her a run for her money. Buffy flexed her bruised arm. Bit less of the colliding with tombstones would have been nice. Still, the fight had got the juices flowing nicely. Buffy was in a great mood. Being the Slayer was fun!

When she let herself into the house, Buffy was surprised to see light in the living room. Spike was sitting at the desk, several of the books and papers Giles had sent spread out in front of him. He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he barely acknowledged Buffy's arrival, even after she dropped her weapons bag noisily on the floor.

"What are you reading?" she asked, peering over Spike's shoulder at the leather-bound book in front of him.

"The Watchers' Diaries."

"You're cramming to become a Watcher?"

"Don't insult me!" exclaimed Spike, turning towards her with a laugh. "Just thought I'd see what it's all about. Lots of interesting things in here. Boy, they weren't joking when they said Slayers died young. Most of them snuffed it before they were twenty. It doesn't make for very enjoyable reading. Not right now, anyway. A couple of years ago..."

"...It would have been the vampire equivalent of Hustler magazine?"

"I never got off on--" Spike grimaced and tossed the book aside. He looked up at Buffy with a sheepish smile. "I-- Since Dawn isn't here, I might as well break the news."

"News? What news?" asked Buffy, seized with sudden panic. "Where's Dawn? Was there a demon?"

"Erm, no. That's unless you think the washing machine is possessed. Which is possible." He tilted his head and considered the possibility, then went back to giving Buffy his best contrite expression. "Dawn put all your underwear in with my clothes. Now as you know, most of my clothes are black..."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, no. Please don't tell me all my underwear is grey."

"More like a very pale sludge green, actually. Maybe it'll wash out. Dawn thinks it'll wash out, anyway. I didn't even know clothes could do that." He picked up a small spiral notebook. "I've written it down so I'll know not to mix dark and light colours next time."

"I wish Dawn would write it down too," said Buffy, opening her eyes again and glaring at Spike. "You looked at my underwear?"

Spike leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms. "Hey, you looked at my willy, I can look at your underwear." Perhaps realising that he was being over familiar with her, he stood up. "Anyway, didn't feel sleepy, so I thought I'd stay up and make you some dinner. Well, 'make' isn't really the word. These are the days of the microwave, after all. But I thought you might be hungry."

Buffy nodded and followed him into the kitchen, delighted at the prospect of food being made for her. Even if it was only microwave food. Leftover pizza was getting old. Not that they had had any leftover anything the last couple of days, with Spike the human eating machine living in the house. God, how the man could eat! He would give even Xander a run for his money. Buffy nearly regretted the days when all Spike needed was a mug of pig's blood.

She leaned against the centre island while he rummaged in the freezer. He extracted a cardboard box covered in frost and waved it at Buffy.

"I found this earlier," said Spike. "It's nothing exciting, just some spag bog. Spaghetti Bolognese." He wiped off the frost and showed her the container. "Five minutes in the microwave. I love food like that. When I was a little boy... um, things were different. Anyway, let's see... Ah, there we go. This is a machine I don't need instructions for. I remember your Mum showing me how to use it years ago."

It was bizarre to hear Spike talking about her mother. But thinking back, Buffy realised he had known Joyce quite well. They had spent a few evenings together when Buffy wasn't around. She felt a pang of jealousy at the thought that Spike had shared moments of her mother's life which she had not been part of. Moments she would never get back again.

"How did you know I would be hungry?" asked Buffy to change the subject. She moved closer, in case he needed help with the microwave.

Spike turned towards her abruptly, bringing them nose to nose. "Slaying awakens your passions, right?"

Unnerved by his proximity, Buffy lowered her eyes, fixing them on his paisley shirt. She remembered pulling it open in the past, and running her nails down his sculptured chest to the waistband of his jeans. She'd fondled those jeans, too, rubbing his erection hard through the rough material until he gasped with desire.

Realising that her eyes had followed her memory and that she was now staring at his crotch, Buffy took a step back and looked away.

"No. No passions," she said, delving into the cutlery drawer to get a fork. "Just hunger. Food hunger."

Spike gave her a funny look, but turned back to the microwave and coughed. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the uneven curls off his face. A moment passed before he spoke again.

"I've been thinking, Buffy. I think Xander was right: I shouldn't be living here. Now that I'm better, I mean. Things haven't exactly worked out well in the past, and I don't want... I can move back into the crypt--" Spike raised his hand as Buffy began to protest. "Or if you really think that's too unhealthy, I could move in with Xander. Unless I was hallucinating when he offered to take me in?"

"No, you weren't," said Buffy. "But I think that was Xander in one of his generous, compassionate moods."

Spike grinned. "Must admit, I'm taking it on faith that Harris has generous, compassionate moods. Last time I saw the guy, he tried to kill me! I mean, last time I saw him before I-- you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Buffy leaned on the breakfast bar again and gave Spike an amused look. "And I'm guessing his generosity will soon run out if he's living with the guy who slept with his ex-fiancée."

"But you find living with a guy who tried to rape you okay?"

Buffy winced. "Do you have to mention this every single day, Spike? It's over. It's okay. It wasn't even you, not the now you, anyway. Not really. So we can forget about it. And I think you living here makes sense."

Spike frowned at her and shook his head, but Buffy raised her hand before he could say anything.

"First of all, you're not fully recovered from your flu, so I don't want you living in the crypt," she said, putting on a Sensible Mom tone she was honing for interactions with Dawn. "And I don't think you'd get on with Xander for very long. Besides, this is a big house, and it seems stupid to have that big room lying empty. Now that you're human, you could get a job, and pay me some rent, if you like. Which would be great: I could do with the money. And you could stay with Dawn in case a nasty comes around when I'm not here. And you'd be an extra pair of hands for the chores. And you know how to drive, so we could get a car. You could drive us to the mall and take Dawn to school."

"Do you want a nice white picket fence to go with that little fantasy?" said Spike with an embarrassed laugh that turned into a cough. "I don't think I'm quite 'Wind Beneath My Wings' material yet, pet. Doing housework? Driving Dawn to school? And I've never had a job, Buffy. I didn't need one. I was going to live forever."

Buffy shrugged. "I know. I never thought I'd need one either. Thought I'd be dead by now." She smiled at the irony of them both avoiding work for such different reasons. "But you could live another forty or fifty years. You've got to make plans for all that time, or you'll just waste it until it's too late. It's what normal humans do."

"Yeah," said Spike with a sigh. "I wanted to be human; I suppose I should play the part, right? Yeah, I'll see what I can do."

-2-

"Tada!" exclaimed Spike. "Bought with dirty demon money, but at least it'll get me to work, and Dawn to school."

"Well. It's a car," said Buffy, looking at the thing Spike was pointing at. She knew nothing about cars, but she did know the monstrosity currently parked on the driveway was tiny and ugly. Looked old, too; the paint was peeling off the roof.

Squinting in the bright sunlight, Buffy was far more interested in the fact that Spike was wearing his tight, mottled grey T-shirt. Without an over shirt to add bulk to his thin frame, it made him look skinny and... kinda gay. Which was kinda scary. On the other hand, the half-grown beard and hideous glasses made him look like a geek. Which balanced the gay thing out, but still left Buffy wondering where the real Spike was. And shuddering at the thought that this was what human Spike might really be like. Maybe the demon was the one with the cool sense of style.

"Buffy, it's a Yugo." Dawn managed to imbue the two syllables with every bit of disgust a teenage girl could muster. Which was plenty. "I mean, a Yugo. Spike, do you have any idea how uncool that is?"

"Yes, I do, actually." Spike shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. "It's about as cool as a woolly jumper with patches on the elbows. But I needed a car to go to work, and it was cheap." All Spike's enthusiasm for his purchase seemed to have vanished. His shoulders slumped and he even let out a little sigh. "And available for immediate purchase first thing on a Saturday morning, which isn't bad either."

"And on the plus side, it is a car," said Buffy. She frowned. "Work? You have work to go to?"

"But--But it's a Yugo!" exclaimed Dawn, interrupting her. "An ancient, rusty Yugo." She turned on Spike. "You are not driving me to school in that!"

"You're going to school right smack on the Hellmouth. I should think the car I drive would be the least of your problems," said Spike. "Besides, when you're a normal human being, you have to compromise. Think of it as something grown-ups have to do." He looked at Buffy and grinned. "Like wearing a hat with a cow on it."

"Yeah, but Buffy never made me wear her hat!" protested Dawn.

Buffy crossed her arms and went into Mom-mode. "It's never too late. If you don't get another babysitting job soon, I know a good job that's just waiting for you."

"Actually, Mrs Koslowski next door says her daughter's coming over to stay next week. She said I could look after her grandson." Dawn didn't actually add 'so there', but Buffy could hear it in her voice. "Besides, it's not fair. You didn't have to work when you were in high school!"

"That's because Mom didn't have a job that could be done by a robot," Buffy pointed out. "They don't pay us mindless automatons much money for answering the phones and giving people details they could look up on the Internet. So we all have to work. Which reminds me, Spike, did you say--"

"Hey, there's an idea," said Spike, snapping his fingers. The finger snapping made the 'work' issue drop right out of Buffy's head. Since when did Spike snap his fingers? "When Willow comes back, she could use the schematics she has for the Buffybot to make robots that do mindless jobs. We could sell them to call centres all around the world!"

Buffy frowned. "Excuse me. A call centre full of Buffybots? Can I be the first to say 'ew'?."

"The Buffybot was kinda nice when you got to know her," said Dawn. "I sometimes miss her... I mean, not as much as I missed you, obviously. But she was kinda perky and cheerful..." She noticed Buffy's dubious expression. "Oh, is that rust on the trunk?"

"There's probably a great commercial market for robots like the ones Warren made," said Spike, staring thoughtfully into space. "I mean, they could be used for mining, and space exploration, and--"

"Sex?" suggested Buffy, her tone exuding disapproval.

Spike looked embarrassed for a moment, but then grinned. "Well, now you come to mention it, that would probably be their most lucrative function. I mean, that robot was...something I really shouldn't be talking about right now?"

Buffy nodded slowly, to emphasise her point that, yes, this was something best left to another day. Like, never. The sheepish look he gave her made her smile, though; the whole Buffybot fiasco was from another lifetime for both of them, and retrospectively, it was one of the more amusing events in their relationship. Which just showed how miserable the rest of their relationship had been. Spike grinned back at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief behind his glasses. He rubbed his hands.

"So, now I have my wonderful Spikemobile, where do you ladies want to go? Shopping, maybe?"

"You are so not taking us anywhere in this thing!" exclaimed Dawn. "Seriously, Spike, if you take us to the mall in this rust bucket, I'll die!"

"Not dead yet, pet?" asked Spike as they got out of the car in the mall car park.

Dawn glared at him, expressing all the frustration she felt at not dropping dead with embarrassment after being driven around in a Yugo. Buffy didn't think much of Spike's acquisition either, but at least it made the trip to the mall easier than walking or taking a bus. Maybe they could get a better car when Dawn passed her driving test.

Their original plan had been to go straight to the supermarket, but Spike had expressed an interest in acquiring new clothes, and in particular, shoes. So the mall was their first destination. When they had picked a suitable shoe store, Spike tried on various items in the men's section while the sisters explored the women's side.

"Do you think Spike will get sandals to go with his New Age hippy look?" asked Dawn.

"Sandals?" Buffy looked down at the pumps she was trying on, and which she totally didn't need. "Well, I guess 'New Age hippy' is still an improvement on 'Big Bad'." An image of a long-haired Spike wearing sandals and love beads came to mind. She kicked off the pumps and put on her own shoes. "Maybe we should find him, and just check that everything is okay."

Dawn grinned. "You mean check that his fashion sense isn't completely gone after the whole resurrection thing? Getting that Yugo could just be the tip of the iceberg."

The sisters searched for Spike in the store, but he was nowhere to be seen. When they returned to the main corridor, Dawn suddenly pointed at the stairs in the middle of the mall. One of the escalators had broken down, and Spike was helping a woman carry a stroller up the steps. He looked embarrassed when she thanked him, but they talked for a couple of minutes, and Spike even leaned down to admire the child. Giles had always told her that a soul made all the difference, but Buffy was still amazed at the difference it made in Spike. It made so much difference, it was totally scary.

When the woman left, Spike trotted down the stairs with a satisfied smile on his lips. It faded when he noticed Buffy and Dawn watching him. He approached them with something of his old swagger in his step, and a sarcastic smile on his face. Both looked very strange considering he was wearing glasses and carrying bags from different clothes stores.

"So, half an hour mooning around the shop, and you still didn't get anything?" he said. "I spent five minutes getting myself a pair of sneakers, three T-shirts and a pair of trousers, then decided to go off and do something manly for a change."

"Like help strange women carry strollers?" asked Buffy with a teasing smile.

Spike gave her a rueful look, as if he were ashamed of his act of kindness. "She isn't strange. In fact, she's very normal. Unlike some other people I could mention. Bet she's never even seen a demon."

"Speaking of which. Is that one there?" Dawn pointed at something behind Spike.

An old man was looking through the shirts on display outside one of the clothes stores. Although he looked like a normal person in a shirt and baseball cap, the brown skin on the back of his neck had curled away from his collar, revealing the grey scales underneath.

"Definitely a demon," said Spike, "but I doubt he's planning anything nefarious if he's shopping for a shirt. Come on, we have things to buy!"

"Don't want to take any chances." Buffy crept up on the demon, her hand already reaching for the stake she had in her purse. She would threaten the demon and draw it to a quiet place before deciding whether it needed slaying. Surprise was a key element; she needed to catch it before it had a chance to cry out.

"Oi, demon," called Spike. Buffy stopped and rolled her eyes.

The demon jumped and turned with a big smile on his face. "Spike! You're back."

"Do I know you?" asked Spike, tilting his head to see if the demon was more familiar when seen diagonally.

"Come on, Spike. It's me, Thork." He slapped Spike's back. "I couldn't believe it when Clem told me you were off in Africa to become human. Man, that sucks. But, on the other hand, I can't blame you. Being a vampire sucks worse. Not human, not demon. Vampires are a bad lot. I mean, you were okay, except for the bit about killing demons, but on the whole, yes, I guess being human is better than being a vampire. You could have chosen to be a demon instead, though. That would have been even better."

"Yes, well, went with what I knew," said Spike. He was still looking at the demon as if he had no idea who he was. "Well, Thork, it's good to see you again. Or your disguise anyway." He tucked the demon's fake human skin into his collar. "Better be careful. Someone might notice. Anyway, got things to do. Um, human things." He waved his hand vaguely. "Shopping and all that."

"Yeah. If you're not too grand now that you're human, come around for a game once in a while, yeah?" Thork patted his back again and then went off to look at more shirts.

Buffy crossed her arms. She'd been really looking forward to kicking some demon ass. Slaying and shopping was one of her favourite combinations. Just before slaying and eating, though behind slaying and sex.

"Okay, who was that?" she asked.

Spike was still watching the demon's retreating back. "Not the foggiest. Now, then, where's this food you promised me?"

"Not eaty now food. Cooky later food," Buffy reminded him. They'd had this conversation on the way over. For some reason, Spike didn't quite grasp the concept of food that had to be cooked for more than five minutes before being consumed.

"Whatever." He strode purposefully towards the exit. "Come along, let's get this shopping done with. Have a job to do, you know."

"A job? What kind of job?" asked Dawn.

"And what does 'not the foggiest' mean?" asked Buffy, though she realised Dawn's question was a lot more pertinent.

"It's the kind of job that goes with the Yugo." Realising that both sisters were waiting for more information, he stopped and raised his hands. "Okay, I saw an ad in the paper and I'm taking up window cleaning. Satisfied?"

"You got a car and a job on a Saturday morning?" asked Buffy. "I'm impressed."

"Yeah, it took Buffy months to get a job," said Dawn, blithely ignoring her sister's dirty look. "And she still hasn't got a car."

"Oh well, besting Slayers is a lifelong hobby of mine. What can I say? I'm a man of action!"

A man of impatience, more like, thought Buffy as she followed them out of the mall.

The next night, Buffy was following her usual patrol route past Spike's old crypt. The lights were off, and she felt a momentary twinge of regret. Much as she had hated and distrusted Spike the vampire, she had to admit that he had been an important part of her life. Just knowing that he was in the crypt, ready to spring out at the slightest hint of action, had been more comforting than she had ever realised. He didn't seem big on the patrolling now that he was human.

A tall young man with dark hair approached her. Good-looking guy, with a nice smile and a well-built body. Buffy leaned against a tree, watching him.

"Hey, sweetheart, got a light?" he asked, holding out his cigarette.

"Don't smoke," she said with a shrug. "Looking for a meal?"

He put away his cigarette. "Oh, you know, just hanging around, waiting for the right one to come along. Can't eat just anyone these days."

"Yeah, that must be real hard," said Buffy shaking her head. She looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. "Say, if you had a chance to become human again, would you take it?"

"What, like your boyfriend?" He laughed. "I've heard about him. He's a wuss. That guy's a total loser." He leaned towards Buffy with a predatory smile. "I bet he's no good to you now that he's human, eh, Slayer?"

Buffy smiled up at him flirtatiously. "Oh, I bet you think you could do better, right?"

"Of course I can." He moved closer, his face nearly brushing against hers. She could smell the blood on his breath. "Humans are weak and pathetic; they deserve to be eaten. They're not like you and me, Slayer. I wouldn't become human for anything on Earth."

"Thanks, that's all I needed to know," said Buffy, plunging a stake in his heart. "Just making sure Spike's the weird one."

There was definite weirdness in the new Spike's behaviour, thought Buffy as the Yugo shuddered to a stop in front of the new high school a few days later. He was like an entirely new person; a nice person, to be sure, but someone she didn't really know.

"Thanks for the lift, Spike," said Dawn as she got out of the car. "I think I'll use my bike next time."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad!" protested Spike. "It got you here, didn't it?"

Dawn lifted an eyebrow, but then ran to join her friends. Buffy sighed, remembering the days when she'd been at school with Xander and Willow. Back in the days when things were simple, and all she had to worry about was the Master. And Angelus. And Snyder. And Spike and Dru. And... Okay, so maybe things weren't so simple back then. She got out of the car and sat beside Spike in the front seat.

"So, what are you doing today?" she asked.

"Thought I'd look for a new job," he said. "Now I think about it, washing windows isn't really my thing."

"Gee, what a surprise. Took you all of three days to realise that, did it?"

"All right, since job counsellor is obviously one of your many talents," said Spike, "what kind of job do you think I should be doing?"

Buffy shrugged. "Well, I don't know. I just don't think you're a cleaning kind of guy."

"Well, you're right. I'm thinking hit man, something like that." He noticed Buffy's comedy frown, and laughed. "Hey, got to play to my strengths, right?" He shook his head. "One thing I do know; I'm stuck in low pay until I can convince people I can do something else."

"Maybe a résumé would help. A fake one, obviously," suggested Buffy. "You could use Willow's computer to type one up. She has a printer somewhere." She frowned as that plan's pretty basic flaw became apparent to her. "That's if you know how to use a computer, of course."

They stopped at a red light; Spike leaned on the steering wheel. "I know how to use a computer," he said.

"You do?" exclaimed Buffy with amazement.

"Yeah." Spike smiled as the light turned green. "Used to have one, actually. Sinclair ZX-81. God, it was crap. Even by the standards of its day, which was the early Eighties. Black and white, character-only resolution, insensitive keyboard, about as much processing power as your average washing machine nowadays. But I used to spend hours on that thing. You could get these magazines with program listings in them, and then once you'd typed in your program, you'd save it onto a cassette and use it again later. No CD-ROMs, no Microsoft, just your listing, your fingers, and a whole lot of tapes. Of course, Dru got jealous and smashed it after a few months." He noticed Buffy's glazed look. "Sorry. Got nostalgic for a moment there."

Buffy observed him in silence, then said, "You weren't kidding about the inner nerd, were you?"

"Well, at least it might some in handy," said Spike with a shrug. "If I get back up to speed with modern computers, I could probably get a good job. You know, IT engineer or something."

"Ugh. You do not want to work in IT. All the guys in our technical department are longhaired geeks with glasses and--" She looked at him. "--beards..."

He scratched his hairy face and grinned. "It's my destiny, obviously."

Realising that this was an opportunity to discuss a topic that was bothering her, Buffy looked out of the window and collected her thoughts. She didn't want to make Spike uncomfortable by staring at him. It made things easier for her, too.

"Spike. What is with all that? I mean, seriously." She took a deep breath when he didn't answer. "I noticed the mirrors in the bathroom the other day. That's why you're not shaving, right? You can't face yourself in the mirror?"

Spike didn't answer. After a moment, Buffy turned to look at him. He was staring at her, only just dividing his attention between her and the road. When he caught her eye, he chose to focus on the road.

"Didn't think you'd notice." He shrugged. "Doesn't mean anything. I'm just too lazy to shave and get a haircut. But I'll get it all chopped off if you think it's ugly."

"No." Buffy sighed. "Don't do that just because I tell you to. If you have your reasons, I'm fine with your new look. I just want to know what's going on."

"Nothing's going on. I'm fine. I did a lot of bad things as a vampire, but I'm going to be a really good person to make up for it. Ah, we're here." He parked the car across the road from her workplace, then looked at her with a friendly, but impersonal, smile. "Have a nice day at work." When she didn't move, his smile became warmer. "Buffy, I'll be all right, I promise. Trust me."

-3-

"Right, so now, we open the packet and read the instructions... Okay. Always a good idea to read the instructions before opening the packet. Make a note of that; it's a valuable lesson. Because right now, Uncle Willy is going to have to get some sellotape to work out what the bloody hell he's supposed to do with this stuff." A pause. "Ah, I think it says twenty minutes. Oi, I'm pretty sure aluminium foil isn't edible, half-pint. Give that back." A wail of protest from a very young set of lungs. "No, I'm not listening. No amount of effing and blinding is going to make me feed you aluminium foil. I might be a murderer and a rapist, but I'm a very responsible person now. New leaves turned over and everything. So I'll only feed you sensible things. Here, have a spoon. Wood, very edible, yum."

Buffy stood in the corridor outside the kitchen door and smiled. There was a stroller in the hallway, which had immediately alerted her to the fact that Dawn's babysitting job for Mrs Koslowski had materialised after all. But she hadn't expected Spike to be doing the babysitting. She entered the kitchen; she had to see this with her own eyes.

The scene that met her didn't turn out quite as homey as she had envisioned. There were toys strewn around the kitchen floor, as well as shredded bits of paper towel. The child perched on the counter beside Spike was a little Latino boy, approximately eighteen months old, wearing a pair of striped dungarees and a very startled expression on his dirty little face. Spike's long hair was tied into a ponytail, and he had acquired a shapeless beige sweater which was streaked with dust and grease. On the plus side, he didn't look gay.

"Hey, Spike. Who is that?" asked Buffy, pointing at the child.

"'That' is Pepito, Mrs Koslowski's grandson," explained Spike, who was arranging tacos on a plastic tray. "In theory, Dawn is looking after him, but she needed to go to a friend's house for ten minutes, so little Pepito and I have been doing some male bonding while I'm making dinner. Which is a very manly activity, right?"

"Dawn left you in charge of the child she's supposed to be babysitting?" exclaimed Buffy.

"It's okay. I offered. Her friend called with some crisis, and I offered to help out." Spike coughed and looked at Pepito with distress. "I haven't hurt him. He's fine, just a bit grubby, but that never hurt anyone." He looked around at the mess in the kitchen. "Um, I'll tidy up later. We got a bit carried away."

"Spike, I'm not saying you would harm him," said Buffy, realising that she had hurt his feelings. "It's just that Dawn has to learn that she can't dump her responsibilities on someone else like that."

"So what are you going to do about it? Move to England?" Spike smiled. "The point is, we all take the easy way out sometimes. She's sixteen. You didn't work at sixteen, and maybe you're not qualified to cast stones. Besides, you thought I was an okay childminder when I was a vampire, didn't you? First Dawn, now Mini Me here. I'm beginning to think I'm a natural."

"Yeah, same mental age. And talking about casting stones." Buffy put her hands on her hips. "First, I was the Slayer when I was sixteen. I had a far more important job than babysitting. Second, are you telling me you were Mister Responsibility at sixteen? I thought you were too busy being bad?"

Spike looked puzzled, then embarrassed. "Yes, well, I'm not the one casting stones." He opened the oven and prepared to put the breakfast tray in it.

Buffy rushed over to stop him. "Woah, not exactly Mister Responsibility right now, either. Plastic tray, hot oven, big disaster." Buffy took the tacos off the tray and pulled a metal one from the cupboard. "This: oven tray. This: breakfast tray. You: stupid man."

"Okay, me savvy," said Spike with that cute sheepish expression he got when he did something wrong these days. "It's weird, really. There's a difference between knowing something intellectually, and actually remembering it when it's relevant. I mean, I know plastic melts in heat, and that the real oven isn't the same as the microwave. But I forgot. Still, that's what this is for." He pointed at the spiral notepad on the counter beside Pepito.

While Spike put the tacos on the right tray, Buffy went over to take a closer look at the child, who had managed to insert the handle of the spoon into a banana. He held it up triumphantly when Buffy approached, but then his face crumpled when he saw her, and he started to bawl. Spike came over and picked him up, giving Buffy a very comical ' what have you done?' look.

"Hey, I only looked at him," she said defensively.

Spike stirred the meat for the tacos with Pepito on his hip. "Don't worry, tadpole. She might look like an ogre, but actually she's only the Slayer. Scary-looking, but not the same thing."

"Ha-ha," said Buffy, deadpan.

"While I have you here," said Spike, gesturing towards the door with his spoon. "I've left an envelope on the desk in the living-room. Can you take the cash in it and replace it with a cheque? I need to send some money to a friend, and it occurred to me that sending cash by post isn't a good idea."

Intrigued by the idea of Spike having a friend that he wanted to mail money to, Buffy went to get the envelope and her cheque book. The money was two hundred-dollar bills. She made out the cheque to the name on the envelope.

"Père Jean-Pierre Debaecke? You have a French friend in Uganda?"

"He's a Belgian missionary, actually." Spike put Pepito on the floor. The child picked up a piece of paper and started to eat it. "He got a bit of a shock when I came wandering out of the jungle. Definite Dr Livingstone moment. But he helped me a lot, so I thought I'd send him the last of my illegal cash. Well, the bit I'm not going to spend on the doctor."

Buffy was alarmed. "Why are you going to the doctor?"

"Oh, nothing serious. Just can't shake off this cough, that's all." He cleared his throat and grinned at her. "And I'm a bit behind on your average vaccinations. I'll have to find myself another demon to mug if I want to continue spending this much money."

"Or take up a job that pays more?" suggested Buffy. "Speaking of which, how's it going with the window-cleaning?"

Spike shrugged. "Well, I dropped that and got myself a job down the docks today. Get to drive a forklift truck and everything; it's a jolly sight easier than hanging out of people's windows. Tiring, though. But the lads have invited me out for a drink on Friday. Should be a laugh. Not to mention a novelty."

"What, you having friends? Yeah, that's new," said Buffy, though she realised she was being a little unfair. It wasn't as if people she didn't even recognise came up to her in the mall after she was resurrected. She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

They both looked at Pepito. He grinned at them. Spike looked appalled.

"You're a woman, you know how to change nappies, right?" he said, a note of panic in his voice.

"Oh, no." Buffy took a step back and raised her hands. "Nappies, diapers, Buffy. Totally unmixy things. I think his Uncle Willy should take care of that. You're Mr Natural Babysitter; you can deal with it."

Spike frowned with determination. "You're right, I can. I can do anything if I put my mind to it. You do the dinner. I'll do the nappy." Still holding on to Pepito, he rummaged around in a plastic bag on the floor and pulled out a packet of diapers. "Still, didn't have to do this kind of thing when I was a vampire. I used to have minions and everything," he grumbled as he headed for the bathroom.

Buffy stirred the meat, smiling at the thought of Spike changing a diaper. Maybe this was karmic payback for his past crimes. Forget agonising guilt and getting an honest job; changing a diaper was a true test of a man's redemption. She wondered if Angel had changed his son's diapers too.

Looking around, Buffy's eyes fell on Spike's spiral notebook. She hesitated, then decided that looking at the page it was open on wouldn't do any harm. Without touching the notebook, she glanced at the top page. After a few seconds, she realised that what she had initially read as 'donut leach dekic Hungo mith uot bunob' was actually 'Do not touch electric things with wet hands'.

"Boy, Spike should have been a doctor with handwriting like that!" she said, shaking her head. The other items in his list were equally uninspiring; most sounded as if he had copied them off signs and instructions, like 'do not refreeze once defrosted'. That one had a question mark beside it. Buffy couldn't blame him; she'd always meant to find out why too.

She noticed that the paper had several deep troughs in it, as if he had drawn something with very heavy strokes on a previous page. Buffy went to stir the meat, then chopped up a couple of tomatoes and some lettuce, trying to resist temptation. She had finished grating the cheese when she finally gave in. Flicking back a couple of pages on Spike's notepad, she found a crude biro drawing of a man gouging out his own eyes. The caption was in capitals, clearly legible. OEDIPUS PECCATOR. Totally freaked out, Buffy turned back to the last page and went back to making the dinner. Maybe there were parts of Spike's mind she didn't need to know about.

*Oedipus, In Greek mythology, king of Thebes who unwittingly killed his father, Laius, and married his mother, Jocasta, in fulfilment of a prophecy. When he learned what he had done, he put out his eyes. His story was dramatized by the Greek tragedian Sophocles.*

Great. Tell me something I don't know, thought Buffy as she closed the heavy encyclopaedia with a thud, and pushed it further down the dining table. She had hoped to find out something about Oedipus that would tell her more about Spike. But there was probably nothing more to his drawing than a straightforward parallel between two heinous criminals who had seen the error of their ways. She wondered if Oedipus had made amends the way Spike was doing. She smiled as she heard Pepito's squeals of laughter from the living-room.

She had started to do her evening class homework when Dawn came home nearly an hour later. As her sister crept through the front door, Buffy leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, waiting for Dawn to notice her.

"Oh, hey, Buffy," said Dawn with an embarrassed smile. "Have a good day at work?"

"Where have you been?" asked Buffy. "You were supposed to be looking after Mrs Koslowki's grandson."

"I know, but Charlene called. Her boyfriend dumped her, and when I told Spike, he said I should go see her, because that's what good friends do and he would be okay." Dawn's eyes widened in alarm. "He is okay, right? I mean, Pepito. Spike didn't do anything..."

Buffy kept a stern expression; Dawn deserved to feel bad for her dereliction of duty. On the other hand, she couldn't exactly lie to her. "Spike and Pepito are fine. They were having a great time when I came home. They're playing in the living-room right now."

The sisters fell silent for a moment, listening for sounds of play. When there were none, Buffy crossed the hallway and looked into the living-room.

"Okay, now I know Spike has been replaced by an alien," said Dawn, looking over her shoulder.

Spike was lying on the couch, buried in the large cushions and his oversized sweater. Pepito was laid out on his chest. Both of them were fast asleep, and, in Spike's case, snoring.

"Men. No stamina," said Buffy with a laugh. She indicated the kitchen. "Do you want some dinner? Spike made it. He's finally worked out that all you need to cook is to be able to read."

"Cool." Dawn got herself a plate. She sat down and turned to face Buffy, wringing her hands nervously as she spoke. "I'm really sorry about the Pepito thing. I know I said I'd do it, and I knew it was more important than Charlene's problems. But Spike seemed to really like Pepito, so I kinda let him talk me into going to see her. Which I know is totally my fault, because even though I'm saying it was Spike's idea, I really did want to go to Charlene's. The thing is, I've never looked after a child as young as Pepito, and it was kinda scary. So I totally realise I took the easy way out." She looked at the sink. "Tell you what. You forgive me, and I'll not only look after Pepito when he wakes up, but I'll do the dishes too, okay?"

"Sounds good to me. But you're still grounded."

"Aw, Buffy!"

Buffy smiled as she pulled the tacos and meat from the warm oven. She laid them out on a mat on the breakfast bar, then handed Dawn the salad. "Count yourself lucky. You're grounded, but I'll forgive you. Just this once, mind, and only because Spike was having so much fun. But you can't go around shirking your responsibilities just because you feel like it. I've been there, and I know it's a bad thing."

"I'm totally with you, Buffy. I won't do it again, no matter what Spike says." Dawn prepared her first taco. "Oh, before I forget. Xander called and wants us all to go out to the Bronze on Friday night. But I guess I can't go if I'm grounded." She shrugged, clearly not heartbroken about missing a night at the Bronze. "Oh well, television night with Spike, then."

"I think Spike is going out with his co-workers," said Buffy. She sighed. "It's weird. It'll just be me and Xander at the Bronze. There used to be so many other people. Willow, Tara, Anya, Riley, and...Cordelia, Oz, Angel. They're all gone. I used to have all these friends, and now it's just me and Xander."

Dawn smiled. "Well, maybe you should break the habits of the last six years, and actually make some new friends. I mean Spike's been working less than a week, and he's already got friends he goes out with."

"Yeah. I guess he's really fitting in now that he's human. He's adapting amazingly well." Her eyes fell on Spike's notepad. "Well, mostly."

"Yeah, mostly," agreed Dawn. "He looks like he's all happy and adapted, but I'm not sure." She frowned and bit into her taco, careful not to let it break. "He's so different. I know a soul makes a difference, and I guess when you think about Angel and Angelus, it makes sense. It's just kinda weird because we've only known Spike as a soulless vampire, so we think that's 'normal' for him. Who knows what's normal for human Spike? But still... It feels like he's putting on a show. I think you should talk to him about it."

"Me? Why me?"

"Who else is going to do it? Xander? And I wouldn't know where to start. At least you know something about being resurrected and not wanting to talk about it, right?"

Buffy guffawed. "Oh yeah. A whole year of depression really makes me Good Advice Girl. What am I going to tell him? Find himself a nice vampire girlfriend he can knock about...with. I don't think he'll be ready to take that kind of advice from me. He saw exactly how I was. Telling him to snap out of it would be really casting stones territory."

"But you got better. Spike knows that. Unless you're pretending again," said Dawn, giving her a suspicious look.

"No! I'm better. Totally fixed. Totally clueless about what to do with Spike, but totally fixed." Buffy sighed. "I promise I'll talk to him." She smiled at Dawn. "What would I do without my wise little sister?"

"Beats me. I'm way more grown-up than you sometimes," said Dawn as she broke her taco and got covered in gravy and tomato salsa.

The headlights of a car cast fleeting shadows across the sloping ceiling of Buffy's bedroom as it sped down the street. She turned to look at her clock and sighed. Buffy rarely woke up with a desire to pee in the middle of night, but when she did, there was nothing for it; she pulled on a robe and answered the call of nature. Coming out of the bathroom, she noticed a light downstairs and went to investigate.

Spike was sitting at the desk in the living-room; this time, Giles' books were cast aside, and he was working on Willow's computer. Buffy smiled at the thought of a nineteenth century vampire having computer skills. She sashayed into the room, the robe she had inherited from her mother creating a soft swishing noise as she came to stand beside Spike.

He didn't look at her, choosing instead to concentrate on the screen. His face was drawn and tired; not surprising, considering it was three in the morning. Buffy wondered how often he stayed up this late. It wasn't unusual these days for her to find that things had been moved during the night.

"Hello, staying-uppy person. What are you doing still awake?" asked Buffy. "Don't you need to get up in the morning to go down the docks or something?"

"Oh, I'll be all right. Don't need much sleep."

"Guess that's what you get for taking a nap after dinner."

Spike chuckled, but still didn't take his eyes off the screen. Looking over his shoulder, Buffy could see a picture of a young woman with straight blonde hair and a sad look on her face. It looked like a still from a security camera. Buffy's heart missed a beat when she recognised the man standing behind the woman.

"Angel?"

"Yeah, big fat slob these days, isn't he? He's obviously been going heavy on the old pig's blood." Spike shrugged and tapped the screen, on the woman's face. "I'm more interested in Darla, actually. Curious to know how she was when she was brought back human, before Dru turned her again." A wicked smile lit up his face. "Apparently, according to this web site, Peaches had a crisis of faith and jumped her, hoping to lose his soul. Gained a son instead. Darla obviously didn't have the Buffy touch."

Buffy glared at him. "Maybe you should be getting more sleep after all. Seems to be affecting your mood."

"Chance would be a fine thing," he muttered. Then he shook his head and, without looking at Buffy, stood up. "Anyway. Fancy a drink?"

Buffy indicated that she didn't. When he left, she headed for the door, intent on returning to bed. She was in no mood for an argument with a bad-moody Spike. She reconsidered when she reached the door. Spike really needed her help, and she had promised Dawn that she would talk to him. Three in the morning was a classic time to find out what was bugging someone.

She sat down in the seat he had vacated and scrolled through the web page, following random links to see what Spike had been reading. The site was dedicated to the Master and his vampire progeny. There were sections on Darla, Drusilla, Spike and Angel -- several pages' worth, in the latter case -- and of course, a whole page on his son Connor. Who seemed to be also called Stephen, and appeared to be in his teens. None of which made sense, though that wasn't Buffy's main interest at that point. Glancing to her left to make sure Spike wasn't coming back, she clicked on the section dedicated to 'William the Bloody'. There were several screens of text, pictures from his past, and a link to a thesis someone at the Council of Watchers had written on him. Buffy was most interested in the pictures.

The earliest showed him as a longhaired youth, dressed up like something from the Waltons, with an oversized shirt and buttoned pants held up by braces. Dru sat by his side, a deceptively demure figure wrapped in shawls and frills, her dark hair trailing on her shoulders. Buffy smiled at the couple's shiny Marcel waves in the Twenties, and at Spike's dark James Dean coif a few decades later. A colour picture showed him in a bowler hat, one eye made up with exaggerated false eyelashes, as he mugged for the camera with an evil smirk on his handsome face.

Less amusing was the picture of the vampire couple posing in front of a Nazi flag. And the one where Spike had thrown a casual arm around Dru's shoulder as she cradled the body of a dead child, its lifeless eyes staring at the camera from a small face caked with blood. The picture sent shivers down Buffy's spine as she remembered Spike and Pepito playing together earlier that evening.

Scrolling further down, Buffy was horrified to find that the most recent photo was one of Spike with her. They were standing together in the woods, Spike's hands resting on her shoulders, his expression grim but determined. Buffy's face was turned away from the camera, but she knew exactly at what moment this picture had been taken. It was the night of the wonky time demons, when she had discovered Katrina's body. Tears stung her eyes when she remembered what else had happened that night. But that was all in the past, like Spike's crimes and his desperate attempt to rape her. They were different people now.

"Doesn't make for cheerful reading, does it, love?"

Spike's voice behind her made Buffy jump. She sprang out of the chair and turned to face him. He was holding a cup of tea and a plate of cheese and biscuits.

"Still creeping up on people, I see," she said nervously.

"Old habits die hard," he said, managing to look sinister despite the glasses and beard.

With Spike standing so close, Buffy was suddenly acutely aware that she was wearing only a flimsy robe. Looking down, she noticed that it had fallen open, uncovering one leg almost to the crotch. She closed it with haste, then realised that Spike wasn't even looking at her. His red-rimmed eyes were still on the screen. He sipped his cup of tea.

"I see your nerdy friends made the most of their hidden cameras."

Buffy glanced at the photograph. "Guess so. It makes sense that they would send all their stuff out on the Internet." Spike looked miserable; she tried to think of something that might cheer him up. "I hope they didn't catch the two of us on film. That's definitely the type of thing they'd want on the Internet!"

Spike nodded, clearly not listening to her. He seemed to be lost in thought. Determined to keep her promise to Dawn and talk things out with him, Buffy put her hand on his arm.

"Spike, are you okay? You said you'd be okay, but I'm kinda getting the vibe that you're not. I know I've been all with the 'everyone is happy, lalala', but if something is bothering you, you'll let me know, right?"

"What, like the fact that you seem be channelling Anya?" he said with a smile, taking Buffy's hand off him. His smile faded and he went to sit on the couch. He placed his cup and plate on the coffee table, then leaned on his knees, looking down. "All right, I'll admit that I'm having some little problems with the guilt. Problems like not being able to sleep at night. It's to be expected, right? But I'm not going to sit around moping about it. I'm in control of my destiny as a human being, and I'm...controlling it."

"Good. Because controlling your destiny? Totally a good thing. If you're controlling it for good, obviously." She came to sit beside him and helped herself to a piece of Cheddar. "I didn't know you liked cheese."

"There are lots of things you don't know about me, love."

Evidently, thought Buffy as she sampled another piece of cheese. There were three varieties on the plate Spike had prepared; she made a mental note to check the wrappers in the morning to find out what they were. Somehow, she felt that initiating a conversation about cheese with Spike right then would be anticlimactic. She had a far more serious matter to discuss with him.

"Spike, can I ask you a question? How does Oedipus fit in to all this? I-I saw your drawing."

Spike's expression turned stormy. "You're spying on me?"

"No. I'm sorry, you left your notepad on the counter and I-- I thought it might mean something. Something I could help you with. I don't know much, but I know he's the guy who killed his father and slept with his mother, then gouged out his own eyes." She looked at him with fear. "Is that what you did? I mean, the killing and sleeping thing, not the eye bit, obviously."

"No." Spike rolled his eyes. "That's Angelus' brief. Mind you, technically, Dru was my 'mother' since she sired me. But Oedipus... It's a long story." He stood up and went back to the desk to look at the drawing on his notepad. "It's just a poignant image of a man who can't bear what he's done."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Buffy was disappointed. "I just thought there might be more to it."

"There is, actually," said Spike, his back still turned. "After his crimes were discovered, Oedipus was shunned by everyone except his daughter Antigone. He was exiled for years, until he became the subject of another prophecy, which said he'd bring a blessing to anyone who took him in and gave him a final resting place. Chap called Theseus did it and got the blessing."

"So... Does that make me Theseus?" asked Buffy, coming to stand beside him.

Spike laughed. "Very good, pet. You'd come first in a game of 'connect the dots'. Yeah, I can see you as Theseus. He's the one who defeated the Minotaur and founded Athens. Big hero type. Definitely very you."

"Cool," said Buffy with a grin. "So what happened to Oedipus? He just died?"

"Yes. But the interesting thing is, Sophocles never tells the audience whether he went to heaven or to hell. I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. He's done evil, he's done good, but we never find out if the good outstripped the evil. What's important is that he did good after he did evil, not whether he got a reward for it. Or maybe I'm projecting. Oh, I don't know." He shrugged and, realising that Buffy was standing right next to him, went to sit on the couch again. "It's late; you should be getting some sleep, not listening to me whinge."

Buffy sat beside him, wrapping her robe tightly around her. "You're not whinging; you've got good reasons to be unhappy. And I want to help. You tried to help me when I was kind of in the whole guilty about the way I felt thing last year, after all. And it did help. Sometimes." Spike was still looking away from her, his long hair hiding his face. "So, why don't we talk about it? Are you feeling guilty and you think you shouldn't feel guilty, or are you feeling guilty about not feeling guilty enough?"

"Oh, I've got the guilt, and I'm dealing with the guilt," said Spike with determination. "You deal with the guilt, you do good things, you move on, right? Brooding is just a waste of time. Just becomes self-pity after a while."

"Totally." Buffy nodded, though she wondered if the brooding bit was a dig at Angel. "I think you're doing really well, Spike." She put her hand on his knee. "You're a really good person."

Spike stood up with a sarcastic little laugh. "Not really. But I can be. It's all about potential, right? That's why I became human." Buffy watched his prominent Adam's apple quiver beneath his beard as he struggled to find the right words. "Thing is, it's not what I expected. I thought having a soul meant I'd know what's right and wrong, where I belong, what I need to do to be good. But it doesn't. I'm just as lost as I was when I was a vampire."

"Except that now, you're a good person," insisted Buffy. "You're connecting with people you don't know, even helping complete strangers."

"Skip the broken record, Buffy," he said, glowering at her through his glasses. "How do you know that I'm good now? I made friends and helped strangers when I was a vampire too. But I was evil, so it didn't matter, right?" He raised his hand before Buffy could answer. "I know, I know. Didn't have the whole good and evil concepts worked out right, and that's true. A soul makes a big difference when it comes to understanding things. Even caught the old September-the-elenventhitis."

Spike waved his hand at the television and started pacing. "Last year, it was all 'Brilliant, they knocked the towers down!', now I get the-- the whole thing. People waving towels out of windows above the point of impact, jumping out of the hundredth floor, that stuff. I get it. I understand why evil is bad." He smoothed his long hair back. "But that's the thing, isn't it? What's the point me being a bloody human if Ossama-blimming-Laden can kill as many people in one day as I ate in a year? Ten years, even!"

"There's no reason to think you're still going to be a murderer just because one other human is," said Buffy. She stood up and took a step in his direction, but he nailed her to the spot with a withering glare. "Most humans aren't like that, Spike."

"Most humans aren't like that?" exclaimed Spike, increasingly agitated. "I lived in bloody Nazi Germany. Given the right incentive, every human is like that. You know the first thing I saw when I came out of the bloody jungle and collapsed in Père Debaecke's mission? Rwandan refugees. Survivors of the massacre eight years ago. There was this little girl, about thirteen years old. Must have been five when the massacres happened. They'd hacked off her arms and legs. Probably raped her too, then left her for dead. She didn't speak. Didn't do much; couldn't, really, with all her limbs missing."

He lifted his heavy glasses for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose. "She smiled when she saw me; thought I was hilarious with my white skin and peroxide hair. But the point is, humans did that to her. No demons, no witches, just plain human nature. Neighbour turned against neighbour. And there I was, crawling out of my cave with my brand new beating heart, thinking it was going to cure me of being a monster. It made me realise I might have lost my physical demon, but the real one was still in here." He pressed his hand to his chest. "Made me wonder why I bothered. I mean, what difference does it make, being a vampire or a man when men do such awful things?"

"You know me. Not Philosophy Girl here," started Buffy, moving closer to him. "But I guess as I see it, the difference between a vampire and a man, is that the man has a choice whether to hack off the little girl's limbs or make her smile."

"I made her smile all right." Spike stopped his incessant movement and closed his eyes. "But last year, I made you smile too, once or twice. And in the end, I still couldn't bloody control myself." He opened his eyes again, fixing his shiny blue gaze on Buffy. "When push comes to shove, who's to say I'm not going to be the man with the machete?"

"I guess you're right: we don't know." She took his hands. "But things are different, Spike. That September-the-eleventhitis makes all the difference." Now that she had his complete attention, Buffy smoothed a lock of curly hair behind Spike's ear. "All vampires are killers. Only some humans are killers. So as a new human, I can assume that you're not a killer until you actually kill. I can give you the benefit of the doubt."

"I suppose so," conceded Spike. He pulled away from her and went to get some cheese from the coffee table.

"So we're all agreed," said Buffy, pointing at him. "No more 'some humans are bad so I must be bad' crap. You should repeat 'I am a good person' five times every morning, just to get used to the idea."

"Yes, mistress." He smiled at her, then lowered his eyes. "'I am a good person' will certainly make a change from the old 'I am an evil, disgusting thing'."

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