Disclaimer: I am not making even a shiny nickel off of this. Joss is God, I bow before his creative genius. I really do.

Rating: PG-13 or R, depending on your sensitivity to language

Feedback: Makes my day, here or at tmeyerswa@yahoo.com

Spoilers: Through As You Were, though we can probably assume this all takes place after Season 6--all has been resolved with the Troika, Xander and Anya, Willow and Tara, etc. (God knows how Joss will get us out of this mess, but I’m keeping a safe distance!)

Summary: Can a vampire without a soul find redemption? And can the Slayer ever really love him? Angst, drama, Scoobies, and hopefully a little humor and maybe even a few warm fuzzies along the way. Buffy/Spike, of course.

A/N: I just want to acknowledge the many very insightful and intelligent posters at the various discussion boards on which I lurk: among others, the Fan Forum B/S Spoiler Board; Tabula Rasa; All Things Philosophical on BTVS; and the ScoopMe.com Buffy discussion board. Your thoughts have really helped this story coalesce (though it’s not finished yet!), and though I can’t credit everyone individually (mostly ‘cause I can’t remember who said what), I thought I’d give a general thank-you. As a relatively new fan, I continue to be extremely impressed with the general level of conversation/analysis surrounding Buffy, and I continue to be grateful to Joss Whedon for giving us such a wonderful world to interpret, enjoy, and bitch about. <sniff> <tear> And I’d like to thank the Academy. OK, on to the story.

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Spike jumped as his crypt door banged open. Buffy. He could always tell, even when he was in the lower level and couldn’t see her--she was the only one who could get quite that much speed out of the heavy door. It was a wonder she hadn’t broken it yet.

"Spike!" she called. He tensed immediately. She sounded breathless. Was something wrong? It was just barely dusk, too early for nasties… He started towards the ladder, but before he got even halfway there, she was already at the opening, wearing a smile so big he almost didn’t recognize her. He relaxed, only to tense again immediately as she dispensed with the ladder entirely, jumped straight through the opening, dropped into a graceful roll as she hit the ground, sprang lightly to her feet and threw her arms around him. He froze, trying to ignore the wave of pleasure and pain that knifed through him. She hadn’t touched him like that since… since Captain Cardboard’s little visit. The night she’d destroyed his crypt, and had very nearly destroyed him. He had no idea of how to react, as the feel of her body pressed against his sent his brain cavorting along all sorts of interesting pathways…

She was blissfully unaware, as she pulled away and brandished a piece of paper at him. "You were right!"

All right. Hugging him was one thing--saying he was right, that was just the last straw. He grabbed both of her shoulders, forced her to look at him. "Slayer, have you gone completely starkers?"

She laughed, and shoved the piece of paper into his hand. The seal at the bottom caught his eye--the Council of Watchers’ official symbol. He raised an eyebrow at her. He was beginning to get an inkling of what this might be about. After all, it was he who had suggested it to her, not more than a month ago…

She snorted. "Thanks for that warm and fuzzy image."

It seemed she had, in fact, seen it. He studied the sheet of nancy-boy stationery, skimming through the bullshit to see if they actually had a point somewhere. Ah, there it was: "Due to the unusual duration and exceptional quality of your work with us, we are pleased to inform you that we will be able to grant your request in the form of an annual stipend in the amount of $35,000 to be paid in monthly installments of $2,900."

He glanced up at Buffy again, who was dancing around his crypt, laughing like a maniac.

"How way cool is that?" she squealed. "`Due to the unusual duration and exceptional quality of your work.’ They’re paying me for not dying. Well, not permanently, anyway," she amended. She threw herself into a chair--one of the few pieces of furniture he’d bothered with after his redecoration-by-grenade--and sighed happily. "No more Doublemeat three meals a day, no more grease smell, no more zoned-out employees, no more stupid customers, no more life-sucking Doublemeat double-shifts… More playin’ and more slayin’, starting tonight."

It was as if a light had come on inside her--he’d almost forgotten what it looked like. He couldn’t help smiling. "Congratulations."

"It’s like being let out of prison or something. Thank you, Spike." She bounced up again, and let the momentum carry her towards him, flinging herself at him in a heartfelt, Slayer-strength hug. This time he got it together enough to return the embrace--he’d obeyed her unspoken request, hadn’t touched her except in sparring since she’d told him it was over, but this time she’d started it, and he wasn’t a sodding saint, after all.

Afterwards, he would never be able to figure out exactly how their mouths got entangled, or how the pleasant warmth turned to scorching heat in an instant. But suddenly her hands were all over him and her mouth was devouring his and her body was pressed against him so tightly he was glad he didn’t have to breathe, because he’d have rather taken a stake to the heart than push her away. He could hear her heart pounding, feel the blood racing in her veins, smell her arousal--and then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. She pushed him away, breathing hard, eyes wide with shock, one hand over her mouth. Everywhere that she’d touched him, his skin was aching with the loss of her. It hurt worse than sunlight. And the look on her face was worse, twisting all the heat and exhilaration in him into a lump of cold lead in his stomach. He should’ve known.

"Spike, I--"

"Don’t bother, luv," he cut her off roughly, turning away to pour himself a drink at the table in the corner. Déjà vu all fucking over again. "You’ve said it all before." He tore the cork out of the scotch bottle, slopped amber liquid into a glass.

"I shouldn’t have--I’m sorry. I can’t--"

"Can’t love me. I know. I’m a thing, I’m a demon, I’m a monster, and I’m beneath you. I leave anything out?" Sarcasm helped cut through the knot in his throat.

"Spike…"

"What?" he snapped.

"I didn’t come here to get into this. I came here to thank you. For helping me, and taking care of Dawn, and everything else. It’s made a big difference. Made things easier."

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "For you."

"What?"

"Made things easier for you, you mean. Fucking hell, Buffy, you are one of the most selfish women I’ve ever known." He couldn’t seem to stop the words now, wasn’t sure he wanted to. Damn, but she brought out the worst in him sometimes. "You wanted my touch, I gave it to you. You didn’t want it, I backed off--kept my hands to myself like a sodding poof even though I wanted you so badly I thought it would drive me mad sometimes. But I did it, because you asked me to, because you said it was killing you. I played by your rules and I made nice to your little friends and I fought by your side and never once did I touch you. And now, you get all caught up in the moment and feel like a bit of a snog, and once again I’m convenient for you--until you’ve had your fun, of course. And then you look at me like I’m some… slimy bit of demon goo you got stuck on those bloody stupid shoes of yours, and I’m supposed to feel better because I helped you?" He swept both hands across the table, sending glass and alcohol flying, a sound erupting from him that was half-growl, half shout. "Everything I’ve done has been for you, and I’ve asked for nothing in return. And in spite of everything, you still won’t trust me, you still haven’t bothered to find out what I really am."

She stepped close to him, eyes blazing. "We both know what you are, Spike. You’re a vampire. You can’t be anything else. The chip can hold you back for a little while, but a chip isn’t a--"

"A soul?" He laughed derisively, disbelieving. "You think that’s the be-all and the end-all, the secret to fighting the good fight and making the world safe for puppies and Christmas? A soul? Don’t be so bloody naïve. Your little geek friend Warren has a soul, and that didn’t stop him from offing his ex when she got a bit uppity. A soul didn’t stop that idiot Ben from selling out your sister to Glory last summer. Just because a soul turned the Grand Poofter from Angelus into your precious Angel doesn’t mean it’s some magical cure for all evil. Really, pet, I know philosophy isn’t your strong point, but you’d think you’d’ve figured that one out by now." She was too angry to speak, glaring at him in a way she hadn’t in over a year. What the hell, I can’t get any deeper in it. "Shades of gray, Slayer. You should know--you are one yourself."

That did it. He could almost see her temper snap. "Oh, so we’re back to me being the one that’s wrong? Dirty? Tainted somehow? I went to heaven when I died, Spike. Something tells me you won’t be having the same experience."

It wasn’t just that she said it that stopped him cold. It was the way she said it--vicious, icy, calculating. In one second, she’d demolished everything they’d built over the past weeks.

He forced his face into an expressionless mask. "Get out." His voice was low, dangerous.

"Gladly," she hissed back. Snatching up the Council’s letter, she strode towards the ladder. "I was stupid to think you could be a part of my life, in any way." She climbed up the ladder and disappeared, never once looking back.

He heard the crypt door slam. He just stood there, unable to move, too numb even for tears, feeling truly dead for the first time in as long as he could remember.

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She stayed away for nine days, unwilling to apologize first. Finally, out of some half-formed fear that he’d somehow managed to dust himself, she grumbled her way over to his crypt. But she was eight days too late. He was gone.

She never felt the tears.

TBC

Part 2:

Spike took a last drag on his smoke, flicked it to the ground to join its fellows, and immediately lit another. He hated waiting. Waiting meant thinking, and thinking meant worrying--worrying about whether Dawn was all right, about whether the operation would be successful, and about Her, no matter how hard he tried to stop. He didn’t know why he was doing this, really; to prove something, he supposed, though he didn’t know what or to whom. But he was tired of analyzing, tired of questioning--he was, essentially, a man of action. So he’d acted. Searched for three months, dragged the old DeSoto halfway across the country and back, drank endless shots in countless demon bars, and enjoyed beating information out of more than a few reluctant informants. It was amazing what a bloke could find, really, if he put his mind to it--even rejects from top-secret defunct government agencies. So now it had all come down to this: this alley, this night, this pack of smokes, this waiting.

The door next to him opened, and a petrified, pathetic excuse for a human male peered out at him through too-thick glasses. "He’s… um… Dr. Neal is ready," he quavered, looking ready to piss himself any moment.

Spike favored him with his most dangerous smile. "Good boy," he murmured. Some tiny part of him wanted to know why he was doing this. He told it to shut the hell up. His footsteps echoed in the alley as the door swung shut behind him.

Two hours later, he had forty-nine stitches in his head, a terrified doctor writhing on the floor with a broken nose, and no trace of a headache.

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Spike heard a female cry in the distance, and smiled to himself. It was good to be home. As he swaggered along the moonlit streets of dear old Sunny-D, he could feel the blood singing to him, stronger with every human he passed. He’d barely stopped on the long drive back from Bumfuck, Wherever, so he hadn’t really noticed the walking Happy Meals, but now they were everywhere, calling him. Hot, sweet, seductive siren song, and he with no one and nothing to lash him to the mast. His demon was screaming inside him-twice, he slipped into game face without intending to. It was as if the chip truly had chained him, as Dru had said, and now he was free. He’d forgotten how overwhelming it could be-the potential, the power. It was almost like the pleasure/pain/horror/exultation of being turned.

It tells you you’re not a bad dog, she’d told him, her dark, mad eyes fixed on him in that spellbinding way she had. But you are. He could almost hear her voice echoing in his footsteps, like a litany: You are. You are. You are. You are.

For the last three years, he hadn’t honestly known what he was. Now, he was starting to wonder if the answer hadn’t been there all the time.

Still, he had a goal in mind, and he didn’t have time for an idle snack. A feral smile curved his lips as he saw that the light was on in the Magic Box, long past closing. He caught a glimpse of red hair and, not far away, the dark curls he was looking for. The smile expanded into a grin. He’d been waiting three years for this.

He hauled open the door, strode in, coat billowing, and punched Xander full in the face.

Bleeding blond hell-bitches, it felt good. And the Scoobies’ reactions were priceless, as the realization slowly dawned on them that he was chip-pain-free. Surprise, panic, and dread flew across their faces in rapid succession. He almost laughed with the exhilaration of it, watching all their frantic pulses beating in their tasty little necks-and then he realized that the neck he was looking at was Dawn’s. Above it, her eyes were wide and terrified and confused. And suddenly, he felt so sick he could barely stand.

And then he didn’t really have much choice about the standing, as Buffy had him shoved up against the wall, stake in hand. He met her eyes, and what he saw there made his already-queasy stomach drop right into his battered boots. There was anger, of course, and confusion, but behind it all, a kind of disbelieving pain that went straight to his heart. It hurts her? What the--

"What the fuck’s going on, Spike?" she demanded, her voice harsh with barely-concealed emotion.

"Miss me, love?" he asked quietly, smirking just a bit to cover his own confusion.

But she didn’t take the bait. She was deadly serious. "Tell me what happened or I stake you right now." She hesitated for just the tiniest fraction of a second right before the word "stake," but her voice never wavered. He wondered if anyone else had noticed.

He looked her straight in the eye. "You know what happened. I found a doctor. Had a little operation. The chip’s out." He grinned a little. He knew he was playing with fire, here, but it had been so long since he had been able to reach her, in any way. You always hurt the ones you love. "Dog’s off his leash now, pet."

He could actually see the last flicker of hope die. She started to draw back the hand holding the stake, her eyes flat and lifeless. He just watched, wondering if she’d actually do it, knowing he could stop her if she tried. She was just starting her forward motion when Dawn’s voice broke the silence.

"Buffy! No!"

Something warm and terrifying and indescribable bloomed in Spike’s chest, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Buffy. Pain flooded her eyes again, and she seemed to slump a little, like a puppet when its strings go still. "You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dawn. He’s not… he’s not the same Spike anymore. He could hurt us, hurt you. Look what he did to Xander."

Spike’s eyes flickered to Harris, now back on his feet and standing protectively in front of his demon bride, blood trickling from his nose. Spike’s own demon growled eagerly inside him, but this time he ignored it. "Whelp’s been baiting me for years, Slayer. Can you blame me for wanting a little of my own back?"

"And you expect me to believe that’s all it was?"

The power, the exhilaration, all melted away and he was suddenly tired, more tired than he’d felt in a century. Killing a Slayer had been so much easier than trying to live with one. "Believe what you want, love. If I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done it months ago. You know that." He levered himself back off the wall, pushed her away. She didn’t resist, but she still had the stake clutched in her hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Xander tense. He chuckled bitterly. "Well, thanks so much for the wonderful welcome home party, but I’m knackered. Best be getting home now. Lovely to see you all." He turned and headed for the door, senses on the alert in case anyone got any clever ideas about pointy bits of wood. He was just stepping out onto the street when he heard footsteps chasing him. He whirled, ready to defend himself, and was surprised to see Dawn’s silhouette in the doorway.

"It’s just me," she said quickly.

"What is it, Dawn?" He didn’t want to be short with her, but he had to get out of there.

"Just…" He could see her brow furrow, even in the darkness. "Don’t leave town again, OK?"

"May not have a choice, platelet." Her face fell. He sighed. "I’ll try. Now get back inside." He turned without waiting for a response, and set off for his crypt. With any luck, it would still be unoccupied.

---------------------------------

Buffy barely had time to process the fact that Dawn was chasing after Spike before her sister was back, shutting the door carefully behind her. Buffy’s brain was spinning, her heart was pounding, she could barely breathe.

"Um…" Xander raised a hand. "Can this be the part where I wake up and say oh thank God it was all a horrible dream?"

"Yes, and then we can have bad-dream sex," Anya added, on the edge of panic. "I like that plan."

Willow was watching her best friend, who was staring glassily at a spot on the floor. "Buffy? You OK?" she asked quietly.

Buffy’s eyes darted up to meet Willow’s. "He came back."

"Yeah," Xander broke in before Willow could respond. "In a Terminator kinda way."

Dawn snorted. "Oh, come on. It’s not like he came in here with a machine gun and started mowing us all down. He didn’t even bite anyone. All he did was hit you. Not so bad on the Sunnydale Scale of Vampire Violence."

"Spoken like someone who’s not bleeding," Xander shot back, a little more harshly than he’d intended.

"Maybe you should have been nicer to him the past few years," Anya suggested.

"You too?!" Xander rounded on her, incredulous. "Geez, Ahn! What do I have to do to get a little sympathy around here? Like you’ve been all--"

"Guys." Buffy’s voice brought them all up short. They looked at her, standing pale but resolute in the middle of the room, and immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry, Buff," Xander muttered, as Anya and Dawn mumbled their own apologies. After a brief silence, Tara spoke up hesitantly.

"So he got the chip out. Does that mean he’s evil again?"

"With Spike, it’s kind of hard to tell the difference," Xander remarked wryly, but Buffy shook her head.

"He’s different." Hadn’t they felt it? The power, the danger, radiating off of him? "I don’t know what it means, but he’s not the same Spike who left here a few months ago."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Finally, Willow wrinkled her nose. "But we can’t just… stake him. I mean, it’s Spike. He’s helped us."

"Stake him?" Dawn rushed to her sister’s side, panicked, and grabbed her arm. "Buffy, you can’t."

"Yeah, he spent some time helping us," Xander put in. "But he also spent three years trying to kill us. And a hundred or so years before that killing God knows how many people. Kind of evens things out, don’t you think? I mean, when Angel went bad, we all knew what we had to do there." He saw the flicker of anguish in Buffy’s eyes at the mention of Angel’s name in this context, and he hated himself for putting it there. But he knew it had to be said. He sometimes wondered how he got designated as Guy Who Gets to Say Things No One Else Wants To.

Dawn was glaring at him. "It’s totally different. Angel was killing people. Spike hasn’t hurt anyone."

"Yet." Buffy’s voice was barely above a whisper, but they all heard her as clearly as if she’d shouted. Xander’s right, she thought distantly. It was like a nightmare. A recurring one, in her case. She realized Dawn was staring at her, shocked.

"Buffy. Spike wouldn’t--"

And suddenly, everything that had been building up inside of her poured out like an avalanche. "He has, Dawn. He’s probably lost count of the number of people he’s killed--did you think he just makes up those stories he tells you? So he helped us for a while. He’s different now, and I don’t know what that means, but I can tell you that there is nothing, nothing in this world that hurts worse than watching someone you care about kill other people you care about, knowing you have to stop him but hoping that somehow you can save him, even though you know it’s impossible. That’s what it would be like for you, Dawn. Knowing people had died because you weren’t strong enough to accept that the person you loved just wasn’t there anymore. Do you think I want that for you? Do you think I’d let that happen to you?" She was almost shouting by the end, and tears were streaming down Dawn’s cheeks.

"So you’d kill him?" Dawn shouted back through her sobs. "After all he’s done for you, you’d kill him just because you’re not sure?"

"Hey, hey." Willow interceded, placing a comforting hand on each girl’s shoulder. "You guys are on the same side, remember?" Dawn shrugged the hand off, and turned her back on her sister and Willow, shoulders heaving. Buffy realized her own cheeks were wet, and she scrubbed at them hastily with the back of her hand.

"Um…" Tara began nervously, twisting a piece of hair around her finger, "I know it’s not really my place, but…"

Buffy looked over at her, grateful for the distraction. "Of course it is, Tara."

Tara hitched a shoulder. "It’s just that… I mean, I didn’t know him before. And I didn’t know Angel. But if there’s even a chance that Spike’s still on our side, shouldn’t we… hold off on the staking? For tonight, anyway. I mean, it’s not like there are so many people helping us that we can afford to go killing them off, you know?" An idea struck her. "We could, um, set up a watch. Keep an eye on him, see if he does anything suspicious. Might give us a better idea of what he’s planning."

Willow smiled gratefully at her lover, trying to muster as much enthusiasm as possible. "Now you’re talkin’! Stakeout, instead of staking." She looked at Buffy hopefully. "It’ll buy us a little time, anyway."

Buffy sighed, considering, but then nodded, to Willow’s immense relief. "OK. But I’m taking the watch. And if he goes out for so much as a nibble, I’ll…" she trailed off, suddenly unable to finish. What the hell? she thought. This is Spike, not Angel. Why does it feel so much the same? She frowned.

"He won’t," Dawn said suddenly, glaring at her again. Buffy blinked, confused.

"Huh?"

"He won’t nibble. I know him. And you should, too." And with a toss of her hair, she stormed out.

"I’ll go with her," Xander volunteered quickly, seeing Buffy torn between beginning her watch and making sure Dawn got home safely. "She can stay with us tonight." Anya nodded agreement.

"Thanks, guys," Buffy called after them, as they headed after Dawn. The door swung shut, bell tinkling cheerfully, and Buffy sighed again.

"You sure you’ll be all right?" Willow asked. Buffy nodded.

"I always am." Then, after a moment, she laughed, a short, humorless noise.

"What?" Tara had moved over to her lover, preparing to leave, and now they were both staring quizzically at Buffy.

"It’s just…" She laughed again, only this time it came out more like a sob. "For a second there, when he first walked in… I was happy to see him." She was afraid to see their response, so she just tucked her head and slipped out the door, leaving two confused and saddened witches in her wake.

TBC

Part 3:

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Apparently, the last-minute protection spell had worked-his crypt was still empty, the shattered remains of bottles and glasses still scattered about, as he’d left them.
Everything that was broken when I left is still broken when I come back… funny how that works.

He sighed. Hadn’t exactly been the triumphal return he’d imagined. He’d fantasized a fair amount on the way home, alternately that they’d finally have a knock-down drag-out and one of them would kill the other, or that she’d have been lost without him, and throw herself at his feet begging forgiveness. Nowhere in any of his imagined scenarios had she looked at him with quite that combination of pain and anger and disappointment. And nowhere had the sight of Dawn’s scared and trusting face made him want to promise her he’d never drink another drop of human blood.

He began half-heartedly picking up the shards of glass, until the memory of the accusation in Buffy’s eyes had him hurling the handful back against the wall in fury. Bitch. Always assuming the worst. He kicked the table for good measure, reflecting absently that he’d gone through quite a lot of furniture since he’d met the little blonde bint. Occupational hazard, he supposed.

Suddenly, he froze, head lifted, senses on full alert. After a moment, he began to laugh mirthlessly. He climbed the ladder, walked slowly out into the moonlit cemetery. Sure enough, there she was--all cozied up in a tree, of all places. Watching him steadily, her face blank, a stake in her hand. He stopped underneath the tree and smirked up at her.

"Well, now. How’s this for a role reversal? You wanted to be near me, pet, you could’ve just asked."

As soon as she’d seen him step out of the crypt, all her anger and betrayal had come flooding back. She glared at him. "I don’t trust you."

"Now there’s a shocking bit of news." He rolled his eyes, stuck his thumbs in his pockets.

"What the hell was that all about today?"

Apparently, she was once again in no mood for games. She was deathly, coldly serious, and that Spike could have handled, but the tiny sliver of hurt in her voice pulled at him against his will. He wanted to make it better, and hated himself for being so whipped over this silly, self-righteous chit.

He didn’t know whether to be angry or apologetic, so he tried to shoot for something in between. "It was about not being the whipping boy anymore," he told her seriously. "Things are different now."

"Yeah, I noticed that right about the time you were thinking about sucking the life out of the people I love."

He threw his hands up in the air. "There you go again, always accusing me--`This is one of your stupid schemes, Spike, you’re a worthless thing, Spike, I can’t trust you, Spike.’ Bloody hell, Slayer, doesn’t that sodding high horse of yours ever get tired?"

She pinned him with eyes, refusing to be baited. "Spike. I’ve seen enough hungry vampires to know one when I see one. And tonight, you looked at my friends and you saw dinner. Don’t try to deny it."

She had him there, and the disappointment in her eyes made him feel like a scolded child. "Fine. I thought about it, all right? For a moment. I’m a vampire. I’m supposed to kill, to feed. You don’t know what it’s like, the way the blood calls to you, the way you can hear it rushing through the veins, practically taste it on your tongue…" He saw the revulsion on her face, but plowed ahead anyway. He wanted her to understand. "It’s my nature, and it’s stronger than you can possibly imagine, little girl."

Her smile was twisted. "Preaching to the choir, here, Mr. Melodrama."

He growled, frustrated. "But I didn’t. I had my opportunity--could’ve drained at least one of them dry before you had a chance to stop me. But I didn’t. I walked away, and all that idiot bricklayer got was a little tap on the nose. Least he deserved, if you ask me."

A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. "So why didn’t you?"

He wanted to lie, wanted to tell her that punching Xander had been only the first step in an intricate Big Evil Plot that would leave her begging for mercy. He wanted to retain some shred of dignity, some semblance of power. But something about her just stripped away all his defenses. So he gave her the truth. "I saw Dawn," he answered quietly. "I saw Dawn, and I couldn’t do it."

She was silent for a moment. Finally, softly, "And what if Dawn hadn’t been there?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if Dawn hadn’t been there? Would you have hurt one of them?"

He sensed that there was quite a bit hanging in the balance here, and again, he was tempted to lie--tell her what she wanted to hear. But he was starting to figure out that just as much as he wanted all of her, he needed her to want all of him. Man, demon, the whole package. He shrugged, forced himself to speak. "Maybe. I don’t know." Four words, and she might never touch him again.

What was I expecting? But it hurt anyway. She felt her eyes fill and overflow. "Then I can’t trust you."

Even though he’d been expecting it, it still cut through him like a knife. He growled again, slammed his fist into the tree in frustration. "Dammit, Buffy! Don’t I at least get points for good intentions?"

She smiled a little, the moonlight glinting off the tear-tracks on her cheeks. "I don’t give out the points, Spike. Am I supposed to be grateful to you for deciding not to kill my friends? I guess I am, sort of, which just goes to show you I’ve been living on the Hellmouth way too long. So you chose that today. But you said the demon’s powerful, it’s pulling at you. Tomorrow, you might not even have a choice. Tomorrow, Dawn may not be there to stop you. Evil’s an instinct for a vampire-how do I know it won’t take over? And since I’m the one who’s gonna have to stake you if that happens, you’ll understand if points don’t mean all that much to me."

He thought about that for a moment, then chuckled a bit. "So what we’ve got here is your basic boy-meets-girl, boy-falls-for-girl, girl-thinks-boy-might-turn-into-a-ruthless-killing-machine-and-she’ll-have-to-stake-him kind of thing?"

That got a reluctant laugh. "Pretty much."

A thought occurred to him. "So, if my instinct is to be evil, and you think I chose differently today, does that mean you’re admitting that I’m not completely evil?" He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Being evil was fun. Then again, she’d used it as an excuse to stomp all over him for the past three years, so…

She rolled her eyes with a half-groan, half-laugh. "I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. The Slayer is supposed to kill vamps, not Psych 101 them." He stayed quiet, waiting for her answer. "Just because you’ve done good doesn’t mean you are good."

He snorted. "Wouldn’t want to be good. But…" He remembered what he’d told Dawn, that night they were hiding from Glory. "I’m OK, aren’t I?"

"Sometimes. It’s just… I mean…" She’d never really spent a lot of time pondering the nature of good and evil; she was more of a slay-first, ponder-later kinda girl. She couldn’t believe she was doing it in a cemetery in the middle of the night, for the benefit of her vampire ex-lover who might or might not kill everyone she loved tomorrow. Definitely high marks for weirdness, even in her life. She tried to work through it anyway. "I guess it’s about instinct. Something you do without thinking about it. Without expecting anything in return."

He couldn’t believe he was discussing philosophy, period, much less with the Slayer, in the middle of a perfectly good night for hunting, while she was guarding him just in case she had to stake him. Still, it was as close to a civilized conversation as they were likely to get at this point. Besides, as long as they were chatting, maybe it’d distract her from the stake, so he figured he’d give it a go. "C’mon, Slayer. You really think anyone does good just for the sake of it?"

"I do," she replied, just a touch defensively.

"Oh, please," he scoffed, pulling a pack of smokes out of his pocket and digging for his lighter. The lighter clicked open and shut, and he took a long drag. "You’ve saved the world a few times, sure, but you can’t tell me you didn’t get anything from it yourself. Satisfaction of a job well done and all. As much as you bitch about your sacred duty, you sure get miserable when you’re not out doing it. Makes you feel good to know you’re making a difference, doesn’t it?"

That threw her, he could tell. "Yeah, but… I do it ‘cause it’s right. Everything you do, you do for selfish reasons--because it’ll get you money, or power, or me, or whatever."

He shrugged. "What’s so bad about bein’ selfish? My selfishness has saved your lovely skin a time or two, pet. And I’d say that counts as a point for the good guys." He grinned at her triumphantly. He was better at this than he’d thought.

She was starting to get frustrated. "So if the result is good, it doesn’t matter why you did it? That doesn’t make sense."

"Turn it around," he suggested, through his cig. "When you thought you’d killed that girl, you thought you’d done it by accident. But you still wanted to turn yourself in. Didn’t matter to you that you hadn’t meant to. The result mattered."

She thought about that for a minute. It had been so long since she’d questioned… anything, really. She’d had her hands full just reacting. "It’s just… it’s different. I protect people because I want to. You protect people because you want to get in my pants."

That stung, and wiped the grin right off his face. "I’ve fought by your side because I love you, Buffy. If all I wanted was a quick shag, I could’ve gotten that a hell of a lot easier. I’ve tried to change for you, and all you do is throw it back in my face. If it was just about the sex, I could have skipped town the moment you decided to make your great heroic sacrifice last summer. Could have left your friends to fend for themselves, and odds are one or more of them would be dead without me. But I didn’t, because I’d made you a promise. You treated me like a man, and I wanted to act like one." He glared up at her, seething. Self-righteous more-Chosen-than-thou vamp-hating close-minded--

"Thanks."

He blinked, interior tirade totally derailed. He was absolutely certain he was hearing things, because he thought he’d just heard her thank him. "Sorry?"

She cleared her throat. "I said thanks. I never got the chance to thank you for that."

He blinked again, and she almost giggled, watching the way he was floundering around, totally at a loss. "Uh… well… I… I mean…" He trailed off. "What are you playing at, Slayer?" He squinted up at her suspiciously.

The wave of sadness caught her completely off-guard. She sighed. "Am I such a horrible bitch that you can’t even accept a thank-you?"

Hmmm… So many answers to that question… For once in his unlife, he decided to take the gentlemanly route. "’Course not."

She smiled. "Liar."

He shrugged, unable to hold back a grin. "Well…" He let it hang. "You’re welcome, anyway."

They smiled at each other for a second, and then she sighed again, shaking her head. "See, there’s this, and then there’s… A few hours ago, you were a heartless demon who wanted to kill my friends. How can all of this be you?"

His mouth quirked wryly. "Still working on that one myself, luv."

"How do I know you aren’t going to go all demon-y again tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "You don’t. I can’t make you any guarantees, Buffy. The demon’s strong. It’s all about strength, all about power. It’s the same for you, I expect-your power is strongest in darkness, and death is your duty. Every night, you kill, and with every death, the darkness pulls at you. Even Drac, nancy-boy poser that he is, got that bit right. You’ve resisted it so far. Your friend Faith didn’t. And every day, every night, it’s a new struggle."

Her eyes were bright with tears again. "I can’t… People died because of me, Spike. Because I gave Angel the benefit of the doubt. Because I wanted to believe that he could be good again." It was as close as she could come to an explanation.

He considered it, tried to shove down his own hurt and resentment and see it from her side. Finally, "Fair enough. You hero types have to do your thing. Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree." He blew unnecessary breath out between his teeth, flicked his cigarette to the ground, ran a hand through his hair. "You don’t have to stay in the damned tree all night, though. Go home, get some rest. I promise, I’m too bloody tired to even plan any apocalypses tonight, much less actually start one."

He thought she might have been tempted to smile, but her face remained blank. "I’ll be all right here."

He sighed, knowing it was useless to argue with her. "Fine. Suit yourself. I think I’ve got an extra blanket lying around--I’ll leave it outside the door, in case you get cold." Damned if she wasn’t turning him into the biggest poof since Peaches. Maybe that was a new technique in vampire slaying--turning them into such sad wankers that they had to stake themselves just to keep a shred of self-respect.

Still, it got more of a reaction than he’d expected. For half a second, he saw fresh pain in her eyes, then the mask dropped down again. But her voice was hoarse. "Thanks."

He shook his head, turned to go. "’Night, Slayer."

"’Night, Spike."

Back in his crypt, he settled in on his bed, tried in vain to sleep. Outside, she settled in the tree, tried in vain to hate him. In the end, neither one of them was successful. They stayed wakeful, feeling each other’s presence, a comfort and a torture at the same time. And as soon as the sun rose, she was gone.

TBC

Part 4:

"Spike." He felt a hand on his arm, and shot bolt upright in bed, stomach churning. Next to him, Dawn jumped back a little, eyes wide and hands held defensively in front of her. He tried to shake off the dream, get it together enough to calm her.

"Dawn," he managed.

"You-you’re a heavy sleeper," she said, a little nervously. Even so, she hadn’t moved more than a foot or so away from him. She trusts me, he thought, feeling sick again.

"Uh, Spike?" She looked uncomfortable, gestured vaguely at her face. "You’re… kinda…" He realized he was in game face, a holdover from the dream.

"Sorry," he told her a little hoarsely, feeling his teeth retract.

"No big," she answered quickly. "Just wondered if you knew." She looked at him more closely. "Are you OK?" she asked, concern overriding fear.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, yeah… just…" He noticed the rucksack dangling from her arm. "School out already?"

She looked away. "Uh… well… not in the sense that classes are, in the strictest definition, over, but…" she hedged.

He raised an eyebrow at her, glad to be back on somewhat familiar ground. "Then you’re here and not there because…?"

"I wanted to see you. And I didn’t think Buffy’d exactly be doing the Dance of Parental Consent about that one, so… I didn’t have much choice. I think she’ll sleep as long as she thinks I’m at school." She saw the look on his face, and rushed on, "I’m getting really good grades now, and I came at lunchtime so I’ll only miss one class. If you give me a break now, you can save that valuable lecture for another time." She looked at him hopefully.

He relented. "All right. What’s on your mind, Niblet?"

She shrugged, letting the rucksack slide to the ground. "Just wanted to see how you were doing."

Since he really didn’t know how to answer that--well, I seem to have reawakened my inner demon, and I’m not sure if I should go with that or not, and it turns out that even after three months away, I’m still love’s bitch, but thanks for asking and how are you?--he went with the stock response. "Been better, been worse. You? Been tearing up the town while I’ve been away?"

She giggled a little and rolled her eyes, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed. "As if. Buffy’s still in complete Overprotective Mode. No more Doublemeat Palace means more time to breathe down Dawn’s neck. She’s always, like, `Have you done your homework? How are your grades? You didn’t talk to any boys, did you? Clean your room. Eat three more bites of vegetables before dessert.’ It’s like she’s channeling Mom or something." Spike was pleased to see that there was only a slight shadow of grief on her face when she mentioned Joyce. "Anyway," Dawn continued, "I guess it’s better that she ditched the fast food lifestyle. We’re getting along much better now." She smiled at him. "So I guess I should thank you for that." Then the smile faded. "I would’ve thanked you before, but…"

He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. After a short silence, Dawn asked, "Why’d you leave, anyway?" She tried to make it sound casual, but her fingers were unconsciously twisting the sheets into tiny knots.

Again, a bigger question than he really wanted to deal with right now. Still, he’d always prided himself on giving Dawn straight answers when he could. "I just had to get away, I s’pose. Clear my head." He smiled, a little wryly. "Literally."

There was that little crease between her eyebrows again. "Because of Buffy?"

That he hadn’t been expecting. "Well… ah…" he stammered. "What do you know about me and Buffy?" he demanded finally, stalling for time.

"Please," she scoffed. "Like I’m blind or something. I live with her, remember? I see the way you guys look at each other. I watch TV, I know what sexual tension looks like."

He almost choked, and Dawn giggled again, obviously vastly amused at his shock. After a moment or two of wordless spluttering, he decided it would be safest to just admit it, and move on to a different topic. As quickly as possible. Not my job to teach her about the birds and the sodding bees, anyway. He cleared his throat. "All right. So there is… or there was… something between me and Buffy."

"And you guys had a fight?"

When are we not fighting? "Yeah, something like that. How’d you know?"

She shrugged. "When she came back after she went to tell you about the Council’s letter, she was all mad, and she went into the training room and didn’t come out for like three hours. They had to buy a new punching bag afterwards." She was quiet for a moment, as if she was debating something, then she went on, quietly. "When you didn’t come by after a few days, she went to look for you. When she came back, I could tell she’d been crying. But I don’t think she even knew it." She looked at him. "It was bad, for awhile there. She sort of shut down again. Kinda like when Angel and Riley left, only worse, ‘cause she didn’t want anyone to know what was bothering her. We… we missed you."

Great. He was now in the same elite group as the Souled One and Captain Cardboard. Just bloody wonderful. "Didn’t mean to hurt you, pet," he muttered, feeling awkward.

"I know." She paused, then, "Do you feel different?"

"You mean without the chip?" She nodded. Never one for the easy questions, he remembered.. "Yeah."

She frowned. "You don’t really seem different. Buffy says you are, though."

"Vampire/Slayer thing, I think."

"But… you wouldn’t…" She watched him, a hint of wariness in her eyes. She couldn’t finish the question. He remembered his dream, remembered the look on her face, remembered the way she’d defended him the day before. The answer was easy.

"Dawn. I’d sacrifice the world to save you." Or her, he added silently, but he wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

She grinned hugely, and it made him think of how sunlight had felt, when he was human. "I knew it." She threw her arms around his neck, hugged tight. Something tore loose inside his chest. He wondered if this was what Buffy had been like, before the baggage, before the losses, before her Sacred Duty. No one had ever loved him like this--without pain, without demands.

It terrified him.

She trusted him. Even last night, she had trusted him, even when he’d been thinking about snacking on people she loved. Much as he hated to compare himself in any way to the Great Poof, he knew that he held her fragile world-view in his hands as surely as Angel had held Buffy’s. Taking care of Dru had been one thing; this was entirely different. It was difficult enough just trying to keep her alive--now he was supposed to set an example for her, too? For a bloke who’d spent over a century trying to avoid responsibility whenever possible, it was a lot to swallow.

"I’m glad you’re back," she whispered in his ear, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

He patted her back, trying to quell the panic. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Dawn sat back, folded her hands in a businesslike manner. "So. Buffy won’t believe you’re not going to murder us all in our beds."

The bluntness of it startled a laugh out of him. "S’pose that’s about the size of it, yeah," he replied, grateful for the change of subject.

"Makes sense, I guess. She does have sort of a history with that kind of thing. You want my advice?"

Again, he had to laugh. "Dawn, I’ve been around for a hundred bloody years. Don’t think I’ll be taking romantic advice from a fifteen-year-old who can’t tell the difference between a teenage boy and a vampire."

"OK, first of all, I didn’t say it was romantic advice. Second of all, I am the Key, even if I don’t open anything anymore, so I’m, like, way older than you. Third of all, you were with the same woman for all that time, so I don’t think you have much more experience than I do."

"Hey!" There was only so much a man’s ego could take.

"Well, it’s true. Besides, I know my sister." She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to disagree.

He sighed, rested his head back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over his face. This had to be a new low. "All right, Doctor Dawn," he growled. "What’s your expert advice?"

She paused, for dramatic effect. Then, solemnly, "Be patient. And don’t kill anyone."

"That’s your advice?" he exploded. "That’s the wisdom of thousands of years?" She was laughing. He waved a hand at her. "Aren’t you supposed to be off learning how to be a conformist little yes-woman?"

She reached for the rucksack, still laughing. "Yeah, I better go."

"Right, then. Bugger off and let me get some sleep."

She grinned at him. "I missed you."

He managed to grin back, despite the sudden uneasiness in his stomach. "Missed you, too, platelet. Now go on."

"I’ll be back when I can," she told him.

He nodded, and watched her go, telling himself over and over that it had only been a dream.

-------------------------

It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours later when he was awakened again, this time by a voice calling down from the upper level.

"Spike?" It was Red, and she sounded nervous. Now this was an unexpected turn of events. I mention a welcome-home party, I get a bleeding parade. "Spike, are you here?"

"Didn’t anyone ever tell you lot that vampires sleep during the day?" he grumbled, but it was more for show than anything else. "Come right in, make yourself at home," he hollered, with an edge of sarcasm.

"Uh…" He could hear her footsteps as she moved across the floor and back. "I think I’ll stay up here, thanks."

Was she afraid of him? "Well, wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself," he called up to her, but he was grinning. He rolled out of bed and made his way to the ladder. As his head cleared the floor, he could see her standing in the open doorway, surrounded by protective sunlight. He planted both feet on the floor, careful to stay out of range of the sun, and crossed his arms, smirking.

"Don’t want to come into the vampire’s lair, eh pet?"

"Not so much," she replied, watching him carefully. "I’m not big with the self-defense techniques these days."

His smirk widened. "’Bout time I got some respect around here. Well, what can I do for you, Sabrina?"

She jerked her head towards the chair that was set up in front of the telly. There was a small paper bag resting on the arm. "I… I stopped at the butcher’s shop. Thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some blood, so you wouldn’t, you know…"

"Be tempted to suck it out of anyone?"

"I wouldn’t have put it that way, exactly, but… yeah." He could feel her eyes on him as he crossed to the bag, reached in and drew out the container. He pulled back the lid, took a sip.

"Thanks, Red. So, did you just drop by to deliver the O-Neg?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "I talked to Buffy a little bit this morning, after she got back."

"Ah. And did she tell you how I’d returned to my wicked ways? Once an evil, soulless thing, always an evil, soulless thing?"

"No. But she did mention that you were thinking about… hurting us last night."

He rolled his eyes. "She would."

"She also told me why you decided not to." She was looking at him intently.

He set down the blood, met her eyes squarely. "Yeah. So?"

"So… I think I might understand what you’re dealing with."

He snorted. "You think a little dabbling in the black arts compares to being a vampire? Don’t flatter yourself, Red."

He was a little surprised when she didn’t back down, even a little bit. Girl’d picked up some spine since he’d last seen her. "I think you’ve got a real chance here, Spike. You get to make a choice no vampire has ever been able to make before. But if you’re not interested in hearing me out, then…" She turned, started back out into the light.

Oh, fucking hell. "Wait." She turned, raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Already got some sage advice today. Might as well hear yours."

She smiled a little, pleased with herself. "OK. I’m not saying that getting addicted to magic is the same as becoming a vampire. But I did some thinking about it today, and it seems like we’ve actually got some stuff in common here." She ignored his eye-roll, barreling on. "I was a total geek in high school. I mean, you saw me then. I was nothing. Even when I met Buffy, and I finally felt like I was part of something important, I still couldn’t do much--mostly, Xander and I just got into trouble that Buffy had to get us out of. I hated it. And when I started getting into the Wicca stuff, it was like I’d finally discovered a way I could… be somebody." She wasn’t really looking at him anymore; it seemed like she’d almost forgotten he was there. He had to admit, the whole story sounded uncomfortably familiar. Though he’d rather have gone sunbathing than tell her that. She was still talking, oblivious. "Then I met Tara, and she thought I was all Miss Big Power Girl, and I was the only one who could get to Glory, and then I brought Buffy back… It was like a big spiral, and before I knew it I felt like I could do anything. God, I even threatened Giles. I just… totally lost perspective." Her eyes snapped back into focus, fixed on him. "I wasn’t really addicted to the magic. Magic is neutral--I’m sure you know that. I was addicted to the power."

For once, he couldn’t come up with a clever rejoinder. "And you think that’s my problem?"

She shrugged. "I don’t know you as well as Buffy does." She thinks Buffy knows me? he wondered silently, feeling a strange twist in his gut. "But I think you like being a vampire because it made you something. It gave you power. The chip took it away again, for a while. And now that it’s gone, you’re tempted again. You want to go back to being the Big Bad. You want to be strong." Her eyes seemed to be boring into him. "You want to be the big tough guy, Spike? Fight it. You did it for three years--if it was something that just took over and controlled you, you would’ve just kept on feeding, no matter how much it hurt, until the chip killed you. You’ve got a choice. In fact, you’re lucky compared to me. I had to give up magic altogether, to go back to just being plain old Willow Rosenberg. You get to keep the power. You just have to learn to… make it go somewhere else."

He cocked his head at her. She’d gotten to him, in spite of himself. "Why are you doing this?"

"’Cause you helped us all summer, even though Buffy was gone. I don’t like the thought of staking someone who’s saved my patootie more than once." He smiled before he could stop himself. She smiled back. "And because of Dawn, and because I think you and Buffy could be a good team, if you could stop pushing each other’s buttons for ten seconds and actually work together." Then she wrinkled her nose a little, grinning, and for a second she was the adorable, cheerful innocent again, the one who’d told him they could "try again later" after he’d discovered he couldn’t bite her. "Besides, I kinda like you."

He couldn’t help laughing a little. Only in Sunnydale… "Still don’t trust me, though." He gestured at the distance between them. She blushed a little, smiled.

"Gotta be a little more careful these days. Besides, I thought you took it as a compliment."

He nodded, still grinning as he looked at the floor. There was an awkward silence. "Well," he said finally, "you’ve done your good deed for the day. Better trundle on home before the Slayer finds out you’re consorting with the enemy."

She wouldn’t be put off that easily. "You’ll think about what I said?"

He couldn’t meet her eyes. "Yeah, I’ll think on it."

"OK. I can bring you more blood, if you need it."

"Keep me from the path of temptation?"

She lifted a shoulder. "Can’t hurt." She turned to go.

"Will."

"Yeah?" She turned around again, squinting in the sunlight.

"Thanks for stopping by." Then, "You’re a tough bird. Wicca tricks or no."

She grinned. "Thanks," she replied, and closed the door behind her.

TBC

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