"What do you mean there's just a note." Willow's voice was concerned as she tried to calm Buffy down over the phone.

"What do you mean what do I mean. It's just a note. It says he's gone to visit an 'old friend' for a few days and will be back 'sometime' soon. What the hell is that?!! He didn't give me any warning about this. Never mentioned it," Buffy's voice was starting to rise in panic again.

"Dawn....?"

"She doesn't know anything. Went to Janice's after school. There was a message on the machine. The house was dark and then....there was this note. Wil, I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. Something awful's happened. I just know it," Buffy's voice trailed off into a whisper and tears. Willow could barely make out her last choking words. "He's not coming back. He's left me."

"I'll be right over. Just stay there."

Buffy set down the phone with exquisite carefulness, as her legs crumpled beneath her and she slipped, almost in slow motion, down to the floor. 'That kiss this morning. It was a goodbye kiss. He's gone. Gone. Left me.' She drew her knees up to her chest, hugged her arms around them and let out a long, keening wail of misery.


 

It was almost midnight when Spike arrived at the little ranch style house in a neighborhood of similar houses. He looked at the perfectly ordinary home then back at the address he had written down. He stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell. In a few moments the door was opened by a stout, middle-aged man with weathered brown skin and black hair shot through with silver. He was dressed in a sweatshirt which proclaimed his allegiance to Arizona State and a pair of jeans. His broad face cracked in a smile, which showed startlingly white teeth.

"Hey there! You the guy that's been looking for me? Come on in. I'm Sam Fairman.." He stuck out a hand. Spike shook it uncertainly. He wasn't accustomed to such human formalities.

"I'm…um….William."

"Well, William, I don't know if I can give you what you need or not, but let's go sit down, have a cup of coffee and talk about it." The shaman led the way through the living room where Spike caught a glimpse of eclectic styles of furniture and piles of books on every available surface, then into a tiny kitchen.

"Take a seat," his host said. He grabbed a pair of mugs and poured out some coffee, then sat at the kitchen table across from the vampire. Spike was busily taking in every detail of the magic master's home and finding it quite a surprise.

"Like the kitchen? I just refinished the cabinets." Sam gestured at the oak cupboards. "Man, what a job that was!"

"You don't have a lot of…..uh…..tools of your trade lying around, do you?" The commonplace appearance of the home was making Spike doubt the man's credentials.

"Naw. Chicken feet and gourd rattles, pah. They're just props. The real power comes from in here," the dark-haired man tapped his temple with an index finger. His brown eyes scanned Spike and read him like a book. "You were expecting maybe a teepee and me in a loincloth? Believe me, my body would not be a pleasant sight in that!" He laughed heartily and Spike gave a tentative smile, then reached into his coat pocket for a pack of smokes and shook one out.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"Hell no. I'll join you." The shaman rose and went to retrieve a carved pipe and tobacco pouch from the other room. Sitting down again, he lit Spike's cigarette, then puffed his pipe into life. The sweet aroma of cherry tobacco soon permeated the room.

"I'm a little unclear on what exactly you want me to do for you, William. You were kind of vague on the phone. Resurrection? Exorcism? Why don't you tell me the whole story so I can see what we're dealing with here?"

"You're not going to believe me."

"I've seen some pretty strange things in my career. Try me."

Spike shrugged and succinctly mapped out his story from his turning through the present in a handful of sentences. It amazed him that his whole bloody life could be condensed into such a short paragraph. "Listen, I'm here because I understood you can do exorcisms," he finished. "Do you? Have you? Cause if you're wasting my time….."

"I've done my share," Sam was suddenly quiet and serious. "I know you're really nervous so let's get started, eh? Let me have a look at what's going on inside that brain of yours." Before Spike could respond, the medicine man stood again, walked over and placed his hands on the blond head. Silence fell over the room, disturbed only by the tick of a clock and the pht, pht sound of the shaman's pipe, as it billowed aromatic smoke through the kitchen.

Spike felt his eyes beginning to weigh heavy. His cigarette, forgotten, burned steadily down in his hand. 'Something more than tobacco in that pipe,' he though idly, as his mind spun lazily away through space. The anxieties he had allowed to build within him over the past few months, drained away at the master's touch.

"Hm…."

"What?"

"I can feel that man-made bit floating around in all the organic matter, but it ain't working. I can tell you that. Whatever signal it may have been giving out before, it's dead now."

"WHAT?!!"

"Yep. Not activated. I couldn't tell you for how long, but you've been going without for at least a little while now."

"That's impossible! I haven't felt any different. I haven't tried to…."

"You haven't attacked anyone because you're conditioned now," the shaman's voice was quiet and hypnotic. "There's more....Listen." Spike waited patiently as the vibration of the hushed room deepened and the silence began to take on an almost palpable quality.

"I feel....conflict," the master intoned. "A dark force, full of savage violence which controls this body, but also.....something.....pure and light, struggling to make a place for itself. Have you had headaches recently?"

"Yes."

"That's symptomatic of this internal struggle. There is a great battle.......A soul which has floated, disembodied is trying to re-enter, to reclaim what was lost. A great force of love is driving it, supporting it. But the demon is reluctant to give up its host."

Spike listened in a drowsy stupor and wondered vaguely what in the hell he was doing here. It was true. Damn right he didn't want to be expelled from this body into some realm of hell.

"But this demonic force is no longer strictly evil. It has metamorphasized into something new. Savage it may be, but not cruel. Paradise lost can be regained."

"Huh?"

"Angels cast from heaven for the sin of pride became the beings called demons. It can be reversed."

"You telling me I could become a fucking angel? No thanks!" Spike shook his head to clear it from the haziness and glared up at the shaman, who let his hands drop to his sides.

"Yes. I think maybe I can help you," Fairman stated simply. "But you're going to have to put yourself in my hands and trust me. Do you? Trust me?"

Spike hesitated, then nodded.

"Good," Sam nodded back. He resumed his seat and took a long drink from his cup of coffee, considering the complexities of the creature seated across from him. Finally he spoke. "There are a number of things going on in there, and we could try a couple of solutions. The most obvious method would be what you suggested, cast out the demon and invoke the old soul to enter. That's pretty straight forward and I think I could make it work."

Spike's stomach dropped at the words. It was what he had both hoped for and feared.

"But then you wouldn't be you, eh?" the shaman said with a smile. "You don't really want to be banished from this body. Am I right? So I'm thinking some kind of purification is in order. Maybe a melding of the disparate parts of you, demon and human soul, to make an integrated whole."

"Get in touch with my inner human? Oh, that's rich," Spike scoffed.

"You're not as Bad as you think you are," Sam teased. "The demon has been forged and changed by love into something....other. Now it's just a matter of convincing it....you....to embrace the soul, welcome it in, and become an entirely new being."

Spike considered that. It sounded better than his original plan, which he'd never been really thrilled about thinking he'd be on the losing end of the deal. "Would....would I still be me? Would I have all my memories?"

"Don't know. Never tried anything like this. Who knows, I might muck it up entirely and just obliterate you." The man chuckled, but his client glared menacingly. "Aw come on, lighten up."

"Anyone ever tell you you have a shitty bedside manner?"

"I'm just letting you know this isn't 100% guaranteed, but I wouldn't make an attempt if I didn't think I could do it." The shaman smiled reassuringly. Spike wasn't reassured. "You got someplace to stay around here? If not you can bed down out in my shed. Think about it for a couple of days, and decide what you want to do. Maybe there's somebody back home you need to call? Just don't run up my bill, okay."

"Yeah. That'd be good. Don't need to make a call, though." The idea of speaking to Buffy was formidable. He knew the sound of her voice might make him drop everything and run home to the shelter of her arms.

Spike rose from his seat, then paused as it occurred to him they hadn't discussed payment. "How much is this gonna cost me?"

Sam waved a hand. "Gratis. Anything for the sake of love. I'm a sucker for a good love story. Maybe there'll come a day you or your lady can help me out."

The vampire was touched but he'd be damned if he ever let that show, so he curtly nodded his thanks and allowed himself to be led outside to a small tool shed. Its thin metal roof seemed frighteningly little protection against the Arizona sun that would soon be blazing in the sky.



 

Spike cried out and woke with a jerk in the sweltering mid-afternoon heat of the shed. In his dream, Glory/Buffy had been torturing him again, only this time she had been pulling him apart piece by piece, tossing the bits gaily around like confetti. "You won't need THIS anymore; a severed finger shot across the room. And THAT never looked good on you anyway; playing hackysack with his balls. There won't be a smidgeon of you left when I'm done here," she whispered through her ruby red lips. Her eyes widened in sympathy. "Poor wittle Spike. Lost it all for the sake of love." She reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, gave it a twist and growled, "How touching!"

He sat up clutching his chest, feeling for that non-existent heartbeat. "This is bloody insane! What the hell am I doing here?" He leaped up and threw on his clothes and shoes. "Getting out, that's what. If I'm not good enough for her, well that's just too damn bad. She knew what she was getting when she took me in." His bootlace broke as he yanked it hard. "Fuck! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." He screamed in rage. The metal walls reverberated with the sound.

Spike covered himself with the duster then made a mad dash to Fairman's house. He crashed open the front door without knocking and spilled into the front hall.

"Hey there. Look who's up," the shaman glanced, unperturbed from the book he was reading. "I picked up a little something for you to drink if you're hungry. Was that you makin' all the noise just now? I thought....."

"Look. I changed my mind. I'm not interested. I'm leaving now."

"Well, that's up to you," Sam paused, then added thoughtfully, "But if you were going to leave, why didn't you just do it?"

"What?" Spike searched his mind for the reason he had come in here instead of heading straight for his car. "Because....because it's rude to just leave?"

"Come on now. I don't think worry about being rude ever bothered YOU before." Sam let that thought hang, while he rose and went to get his guest a fresh bag of blood. "Why don't you sit down and have a little something before you hit the road."

Spike trailed after him into the kitchen and sat at the table again. He numbly took the mug that was thrust into his hands, and gazed at the red liquid within. Suddenly the sight and smell of it turned his stomach.

"No thanks. Not hungry," he said, pushing the cup across the table.

"That's just as well. These kinds of things tend to work better after a fast," Sam replied.

The vampire sighed and gave up the pretense of having a will of his own. It was all about Buffy now and he might as well submit to whatever was going to happen.

Sam smiled sympathetically, again reading him like a book, "Love got you by the shorthairs, huh?"

"Let's get this the hell over with," the vampire said. "What do you have to do?"

***************

Buffy gripped the steering wheel of Xander's car with white-knuckled intensity. She never had liked driving. Even these wide-open desert roads where there wasn't another car in sight made her uncomfortable. Besides, she was busy inventing the many ways she was going to make Spike suffer for what he'd put her through once she'd caught up with him. Beating the crap out of the patronizing wanker was just the beginning of it. How dare he make a decision that affected both of them without consulting her at all? And to add insult to injury, Dawn knew all about it!

It hadn't been too hard to crack the girl once Buffy realized she knew something more than she was letting on. Dawn's initial excitement over Spike's plan had shaded to fear when she thought about all that could go wrong if the attempt failed. Suddenly the adventure of the vampire seeking his humanity seemed a dangerous folly. Buffy's frightened face brought her down to earth with a thump and soon Dawn was sharing everything and apologizing like crazy.

"Just go to school," the Slayer said through tight lips. "I don't want to discuss this with you now. You can tend to yourself afterward. I won't be here."

"Please, Buffy, I want to go with you. This is all my fault! I shouldn't have helped him with this hare-brained scheme."

"No. You shouldn't have. And no, you're not coming with me."

"It seemed like a good idea.....Spike made it sound so reasonable. What if we never get him back?" Dawn began to whine.

"I don't have time for this. Go." Buffy rose and went for the phone, while a chastened Dawn set off for school.

Xander had been unthrilled about the idea of lending his old clunker to Buffy, but after all this time he knew better than to stand in the way of a Slayer on a mission. She steamrolled right over his protests and had his keys in hand in less than a half an hour.

"Just remember she leaks oil so you have to check it now and....Buffy are you listening to me?" The engine was roaring as she over-fed it gas. "Oh God, protect my little Tessie." Xander called down a blessing on his poor car as Buffy backed jerkily out of the drive and onto the street.

Now, twenty miles from her destination and more than twenty-four hours behind Spike, the blond girl continued to drive like a fury. She shouted out curses and things she'd say to him when she got the chance, mixed with prayers to God to make him be safe and whole when she found him.

*****************

"Three.....two.....one. Now you're totally relaxed. Couldn't move a muscle if you tried. Just floating and hearing my voice."

"I don't think you can hypnotize me, mate," the vampire muttered.

"Try lifting your arm," the shaman said quietly. Spike struggled to pull his arm free from the bands that seemed to be tying it to the floor.

"Can't," he answered.

"That's right. But it's good. Don't fight it. You need to be awake and aware, but totally at rest and in tune with me. Okay?"

"Mm-hm."

"Good." The holy man began to chant Navajo words as the smell of burning sage grew stronger in the room and smoke hazed the air. The song wove itself into Spike's head and he suddenly felt that he understood the words, that he understood a great many things....the kind of things that usually float on the edge of perception. His consciousness expanded, opening like a flower to the great white light Sam Fairman was channeling into him.

His awareness extended beyond this body, this room, this little world, to embrace the universe and more. It was a heady experience and humbling. As a vampire he had been so arrogantly sure of his powers and superiority over weak humans. Now he saw what a shallow and broken creature he had been; empowered with nothing that mattered and living in ignorant darkness. Only he had been lucky, the blazing light of love he carried for Buffy had pierced the cocoon and brought the beginning of healing.

The shaman, continually chanting, reached his hands out and placed them over Spike's heart. In the vampire's vision, where all beings and things were fabricated of energy, Sam's hands glowed like a white-hot fire. Spike gasped in shock at the touch, remembering that Glory bitch poking around in his insides. The fire flooded from the healer into his patient, burning away darkness and decay and leaving behind a steaming trail of purity. Spike felt a loss of consciousness and struggled feebly to hold on to the parts of him that were being stripped away. At the same time, he became aware of another entity near him; something vaguely familiar but long forgotten. This must be the prodigal soul come home to roost.

'Is there going to be any of ME left? I'm a demon, damn it. This is so wrong,' the shreds of his mind protested.

'Stop struggling. Embrace it.' the shaman silently instructed.

'Sod off. Get out of my head. I don't want this.' He flailed against the tide of fire.

'Just think of her,' came the response. 'Hold onto that thought, then take the next step.'

Spike fixed the most beautiful picture of his beloved he had in the forefront of his mind and concentrated on it. It was from just a few weeks ago, when she had been at the beach all day with her friends. She had rolled in late in the afternoon, flushed and sweaty with sun-streaked hair - just glowing with life, as he was waking for the evening. Bouncing down next to him on the bed, sprinkling him with sand, she laughed and chattered about the gorgeous day. White teeth flashing in her tanned face, hazel eyes sparkling; he was entranced by her beauty and barely registered her words. 'Wish you could have been there.' she finished. 'Me too, luv,' he had replied and felt an aching loneliness, knowing he never would share a day like that with her. Happy, sun-dappled Buffy. That was the goal he mustn't forget.

'I'm ready,' he sent a mental message.

'Take it in,' the master replied. 'Join with the soul. Become one.'

Inside Spike flexed and reached out the tentacles of thought energy toward the glowing form, which effortlessly accepted his grasp and flowed into....through...him. They were joined, entwined, separate but unison at the same time.

'Not so bad,' he thought. At that moment all his bodily functions kicked in at once, and he passed out of conscious thought.

****************

Xander's old Datsun came to a screeching halt, parked with one wheel up on the curb, the motor chattering to a stop long after Buffy had left the car and was halfway up the walk to Fairman's house. As Spike had done the evening before, she looked at the house and rechecked the address on the computer printout Dawn had given her. Ablaze with righteous fury, the Slayer decided if this quack had messed up her honey she was going to disembowel him. She knocked sharply on the door. Waited. Knocked again. What the hell? They'd probably gone out into the desert to some mystical site to perform whatever insane ritual......The door opened.

Sam Fairman blinked in surprise at the vengeful golden goddess on his front porch.

"Where is he?!" she snarled, pushing past him into the house.

"Shhh. Calm down. He's okay. Just resting." The shaman took her arm in what was meant to be a comforting grip. She coldly stared him down and he dropped it. "Over here...."

"Spike?!!" She caught sight of him, neatly laid out on the hooked rug that covered the living room floor, a heavy wool blanket tucked in around him. "What did you do? What the HELL did you do to him?" she yelled, running to his side and dropping to her knees.

"It's all right. He's only sleeping," Fairman soothed.

She reached out to stroke the contours of his pale face and drew back as though stung.

"He's hot!" She watched the slight rise and fall of the blanket that covered him. "He's breathing!! Oh my god. You did it," she whispered. Sinking back on her heels, she pressed both hands to her mouth and simply stared, wide-eyed in shock.

Sam moved quietly into the room behind her, seated himself and waited for her to speak. Finally she was able to manage a few questions.

"When....How long ago.....? What did you do?"

"He's been like this for about an hour. I practiced a ritual purification and called back the soul that was banished from this body."

"And what about Spike? Is he still in there somewhere? Who will he be when he wakes up?"

"I'd like to tell you everything will be fine and he'll be just the same as always, but I honestly don't know what to expect. Some elements of the being you knew will be there, but others may be missing, and his memory might be totally stripped. I just can't give you an answer. We'll have to wait and see."

Buffy opened her mouth to protest? chastise? argue? continue to seek reassurance? but never had the opportunity to find out which it was as the figure by her side began to stir. A moan and flutter of eyelids caught her attention. She clutched his hand and peered into his face. "Spike? Spike, can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes."

He obeyed, staring blankly up at her.

"Hey," she breathed. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"

The blue eyes watched her lips move, scanned her face, but registered no recognition. Buffy began to feel uneasy.

"It's me, Buffy. Don't you know me?"

He continued to gaze at her with the wide-eyed innocence of a newborn lamb or a brain-fried newly human vampire.

"Sweetheart, it's me!" she was truly panicked now. His lips opened slightly as though to speak, but no sound emerged. He blinked and began to look around the room.

The Slayer turned to the shaman in fury, "What have you done? You broke him!"



(To be continued in two alternate versions)

Title: GOOD ENOUGH FOR BUFFY - 1st Ending (2/2)
Author: Bonnie
Email: bondav40@yahoo.com
Rating: R (for brief sex scene)
Summary: Part 2 of the sequel to "Playing House." What's a humanized Spike like? Alternate ending will follow.
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.

It was three weeks since Spike reclaimed his humanity and lost his mind; three weeks of rediscovering the world like an infant; three weeks of needing a babysitter round the clock. Buffy would leave him at the Magic Box with Anya in the morning, and Dawn would pick him up there after school. He was very malleable, allowing himself to be led here and there and staying where he was put with no fuss at all. He was a giant sponge, absorbing the sights and sounds of the world around him, and giving nothing back. His once expressive face was devoid of any emotion. He made no attempt to communicate, but seemed to understand rudimentary commands if enough gestures accompanied them. "Walk here! Sit there! Eat that! Stay!"

Buffy and Dawn had quickly taught him how to dress and undress, use the bathroom (with Xander's reluctant help), and eat with utensils. These simple acts seemed to be regained with no effort. His motor skills were unimpaired. However, speech and complex thought were slow to return. Looking into Spike's empty blue eyes was heartbreaking.

The Slayer sat on the couch near her fractured lover on this particular evening watching him intently study the pages of the picture book Dawn had bought him earlier that week. Her sister sat at Spike's side pointing to a photo of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.

"See....KITTEN," she sounded out carefully. "It goes 'miaou'. Kitten, soft."

Spike smiled slightly at the funny meowing sound Dawn had made, then turned the page.

Buffy sighed and returned unseeing eyes to the TV where an endless tape of "Passions" played. She hoped the repetition of the make-believe images might stir a memory in his mind that the real world was not reaching.

Closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the couch, she reviewed all that had happened since Spike regained consciousness at Sam Fairman's house. Buffy had been simultaneously aghast and ecstatic on discovering the shaman had been able to restore her lover to human life. But it quickly became apparent that the person she knew and loved was either gone or deeply buried, and she wasn't sure there was any of 'her' Spike in there to reclaim. She also wasn't sure how she felt about this childlike stranger inhabiting his body.

"Give him time," the shaman had counseled. "Memories may start coming back here and there or maybe in one big rush."

"Or maybe never," Buffy had mumbled.

Sam put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Be patient and don't give up hope. I'm sure there's something of your man still surviving."

Buffy had spent the night on the shaman's couch, resting fitfully and watching Spike sleeping peacefully curled up on the floor. In the morning she had packed her vacant boyfriend into Xander's rusty Datsun and headed back across the desert toward California. Buffy had snagged a couple of Spike's favorite tapes from his car, which Fairman had agreed to keep temporarily, and listened to the head-banging music all the way back to Sunnydale. The beautiful, blond stranger next to her just sat quietly gazing out the window.

All the way home she talked to him about himself and their life together, and what little she knew of his life prior to that, trying to bring forth some spark of recognition. Nothing stirred in the smooth complacency of his face. Buffy ached as if part of her had been amputated.

The couple had arrived home late that evening to find Dawn anxiously waiting on the front porch. At first sight of the Datsun, she jumped up and ran down the walk to the road. Buffy had called from a rest stop and left a message earlier in the day to let Dawn know how things stood and what time to expect them. Now the girl was anxious to check out the damage for herself. She practically tore the passenger door off its hinges getting to Spike.

"Oh my God! I can't believe it, Buffy. He really is alive," she exclaimed as her sister stretched the kinks out of her back from the long drive. "Hey, Spike. How are you feeling?"

He looked through her, and Dawn was galvanized with horror at the mindless lump.

"I told you, Dawnie. There's nobody home," the Slayer said quietly, helping to guide the unresisting ex-vampire out of the car. "I think he can hear, and maybe understand some stuff, but....." she shrugged, too exhausted to find anything comforting to say to Dawn.

The sisters had led Spike into the house and sat him at the table while Dawn threw together a quick dinner and Buffy called the rest of the gang to let them know the news. Over the next few days all of the Scoobies, even Xander, had been supportive in every way they could, supplying meals and Spike-sitting as needed.

Incidents from the past were dragged out as each person told stories of their personal history with Spike, trying to jog his memory. The troubles he'd caused, lies he'd told and times he'd tried to kill them were suddenly transformed into fondly recalled anecdotes. The many times he'd helped the gang were also brought out and re-examined. And each of them began to appreciate how much the vampire had woven himself into the fabric of their lives.

But, as the days passed, there was little change in the soporific nature of the newly minted human. Buffy began to fear there were no memories left in this shell of what had once been the most passionate, exasperating, humorous, and ferocious being she had ever known.

The phone rang disturbing Buffy from her reverie. She answered it to find the much-hated voice of Sam Fairman on the other end.

"How's our patient doing?"

" 'Our' patient is still a wind-up robot thanks to you," she answered. "Nothing's changed. He can take care of his basic bodily needs, but he can't communicate."

"Well, like I said before, give him time. I believe something will wake up in there......Um.....Listen. I called to let you know another part of what went on that day. Before we began the ritual....."

Buffy steeled herself, not liking the hesitant note in Sam's voice.

"That.....that chip in his head. It wasn't working anymore. Couldn't tell you for how long, but his behavior was modified by it. I just thought you should know that."

"What good is this? Why are you telling me now? I know Spike had changed. I don't need you to tell me that. He was as good as a .........demon.........could be."

"Exactly! Which is why I was able to do the ritual at all. He had changed on a fundamental level and was willing to accept his mortality again. That's why I tried to blend the demon and human aspects into one. I still think his memories, ALL of them, will come back with time. Please don't give up hope, Ms. Summers."

Buffy looked at the blond and brown heads bent over a child's picture book and sighed, "I'll try, Mr. Fairman."

She hung up the phone and went to stand behind the couch, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. Dawn looked up and smiled. Buffy smiled back. Spike ignored her touch and continued to look at the photo of a black and white rabbit. She stroked his hair and kissed the back of his neck before heading into the kitchen to round up juice boxes and cookies.

Lying in bed alone that night, Buffy stifled her sobs of rage and loss and just let the tears slip silently down to wet the pillow. She pictured Spike's sparkling eyes and annoying smirk as he baited her unmercifully, and mourned the absence of that deep, sexy voice always throwing truth up in her face even when she didn't want to hear it. She ached for a good physical fight against him and the hard, violent sex to which the sparring was a prelude.

She hadn't made sexual overtures to this stranger in her house. It seemed too much like taking advantage of a child. Though his beautiful body was the same, without the wit and fire that was Spike, she couldn't bring herself to touch him in what seemed inappropriate ways.

Near dawn Buffy finally drifted off into a restless sleep filled with dreams of half formed creatures clawing at her and trying to pull her into a demon dimension. As she kicked and fought, she saw Spike's black-clad figure standing across the cemetery silently watching while she called to him for help.

*****************

Dawn shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, half asleep, and headed to the cupboard for a bowl.

"Hey, Bit," a familiar voice purred. She whirled around to see Spike intently studying the picture of Toucan Sam on the box in his hand, and spooning up cereal with the other.

"You can talk!" she squeaked, as amazed as if a family pet had suddenly acquired the power of speech. "You know who I am!" She paused. "DO you know who I am?"

"Dawn," he said, succinctly.

"That's right! And do you know who you are? Do you remember everything now? When did this happen?" She bombarded him with questions.

"Last night. No. Maybe." He replied in reverse order, tipping his bowl to get the last of the milk on his spoon.

"Huh…what? 'Maybe' you know who you are? What does…."

"He's still confused, Dawnie. Don't ask too many questions just now, okay?" Buffy entered the kitchen, combing out her shower-damp hair. Spike's gaze was magnetically drawn from his study of Toucan Sam to the beautiful blond who was the center of his world. That much he remembered.

He rose and went to her, enveloping her in a bear hug and passionate fruit-loopy kiss.

"Oh, here we go," Dawn sighed. "Some things never change. Can you take that to the bedroom, please!" She chuckled inwardly as she filled her own bowl of cereal, poured on the milk, and sat down to regard the tropical bird which urged her to buy more of his product.

"So how are you feeling this morning?" Buffy asked.

"Good." He moved her hair aside and began nibbling her neck. "Hungry."

"Have you remembered anything else....about yourself?"

"Oh, so YOU can ask..." Dawn mumbled as she crunched down her cereal.

"Mmm. Fishing. My father took me once. We didn't catch anything, but it was .....a great day."

"How old were you?" Dawn looked up with interest.

"Little. I tried to pull the hook out myself and stabbed my finger. I cried and he wrapped it in his handkerchief, but it bled right through. Then he said, 'It'll get better soon.' and he gave me a biscuit. We didn't catch any more fish."

"My dad took me fishing once, too," the teenager recalled wistfully. "I caught a sunfish."

"What else, Spike," Buffy quietly prodded.

"A woman. With dark hair. She was beautiful. I remember taking care of her. That was my job, to take care of.....I don't remember her name. But it went on for a long time. I brought her things to eat......people, I guess, and made sure no harm ever came to her. We played together. We did lots of things. Then something happened and she was gone. I don't remember what happened......" He broke off, a perplexed frown knitting his brows. "It hurt when she was gone."

"I know that feeling," Buffy empathized, thinking of the day after Angel had left Sunnydale and the horrible cramping in her chest every time she drew a breath. Love and pain were two sides to the same coin.

"What about now?" Dawn asked. "What do you remember about Buffy and me?"

"You need help with math a lot and she.....kills things."

Buffy gasped. "That's it! You look at me and THAT'S what you come up with?!"

"You fuck really well, too," Spike added, helpfully.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I hardly ever need help with math any more!" Dawn exploded. "How can you say that?"

Spike looked from one to the other of the sisters and knew he had somehow blundered.

"I don't know what you want me to say? You asked what I remember, and that's what I thought of. But it's not ALL I know about you."

"You," he gestured to Dawn. "are tired of her treating you like you're young. You want to grow up and to know what's going on around you. Your friend, Michelle, wrote a nasty note about you to another friend which you found out about and now you're mad at her. You really want a kitten but you're allergic."

"That's right," the girl smiled. "You remember me."

"And you...." he turned to Buffy.

"This had better be the PG rated version," she said.

"You hurt all the time. People hurt you, and you're afraid to lose any more of them. I want to make you feel better, but I don't know how except with sex. So, is it helping at all?"

She laughed. "You're doing fine Dr. Feelgood. What else do you think you know about me?"

"You help people and most of the time they don't even know. You're like a shining light in this world and no one can see it," he stroked her hair back from her face then let his hand trail down her jaw, caressing her mouth with his thumb. "All I can do is try to protect you, keep you alive so you can keep doing your work. That's who I am - the one who helps Buffy." His solemn face twisted into a cocky grin, "And supplies good sex."

"You know me - except maybe the shining light thing," Buffy confirmed, "but you don't begin to know all that YOU are."

"Okay," Dawn interrupted, "before I go into sugar shock, I'm taking off for school. Don't forget I'm going to Brian's soccer game after, Buffy. You have to pick Spike up today." And with that, the teenager grabbed her backpack and headed out the door.

Spike protested being dropped off at the Magic Box that morning. "I don't need bloody day care!" he complained, but caved at Buffy's insistence.

"Anya will talk to you and fill you in on things you've forgotten. She knows what it's like to be clueless in the human world."

It turned out to be a productive day for Spike's memory recovery as well as profitable for Anya's cash flow. Between customers, the ex-vengeance demon quizzed him on facts about himself, their group of friends, and the world in general.

He remembered his human family, but not their names. He remembered finding the Gem of Amara, but, unsurprisingly, had completely forgotten Harmony. He remembered tearing through a cruise ship full of passengers with Angelus on vacation one time, but couldn't explain what his relationship was to the vampire. He remembered that Xander owed him $40.00 from a bet they'd made. He remembered that Dawn hated pineapple juice, that red was his favorite color, that Willow and Tara were in love, that men had walked on the moon. He had forgotten the name of his beloved dark beauty, Drusilla, but remembered her doll, Miss Edith.

There seemed to be no pattern to the bits and pieces of memory that Spike was able to retrieve. Anya enjoyed filling in the blanks with her own version of life in the world.

"So remember, when humans tell you 'I don't want to talk about it,' they really mean 'It's none of your business but keep prying anyway because I have a desperate need to share my problem with you and get your guidance, and if I yell, just ignore me, because it's really a cry for help.'" Anya explained this fact as she totalled the day's receipts. "And remember, no matter what Buffy may SAY, no woman likes a layabout boyfriend. You have to get yourself some marketable skills as soon as possible and get out there and earn some money."

"What about sex?" Spike asked.

"Oh....what?.....Well I suppose you could. I guess it's a lucrative profession, but......"

"No. General question. How do you know if things are as good as you think they are? I pretty much remember sex and that I was good at it....or I assumed I was, but how can I be sure that Buffy's really satisfied?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked me that. I can tell you about what women like and what they really mean when they say, 'You were great.' For one thing, if they have to say it, you probably weren't. For example...."

Buffy entered the store just then, cutting Anya's sex lecture short.

"Hi. Sorry to leave Spike here so late. I forgot Dawn was going to the soccer game after school. New boyfriend prospect," she explained.

"No problem. He's a big help around the store, and now that he can communicate again he's even more useful. Very good at getting the female shoppers to buy more than they intended."

Spike scowled as they discussed him as if he were mentally deficient.

"Anyway," Buffy added, kissing his full pouting lip and wrapping an arm around his waist. "I absolutely have to go patrol later. I've been totally lax recently. Dawn won't be home 'til really late. So, do you think you and Xander could have Spike over after dinner? I could drop him by...."

"No. No. No. We've got plans....."

"I can come with you, Buffy. I remember how to fight....."

"Please, Anya."

"Really, Buffy, any night but this. We've been planning...."

"I said I can help you," Spike interjected, as the two women continued to argue as if he had no voice.

"Well, I suppose he can stay home alone now that he's getting better," she mused.

"Are you deaf, woman? I'm coming with you. I'm not an invalid!"

"Sweetheart, you're also not a vampire any more. You don't have any special strength, and I don't want to have to worry about you while I'm trying to fight."

Spike's lips tightened into a straight line and his arms dropped away from Buffy's body. "So you want me to stay home and, what, keep your dinner warm while you go out and slay things?"

"Well, no. I'll have dinner before I go," Buffy deliberately missed the point. "You can keep the bed warm, though," she teased.

Spike's face was thunderous with rage, a definite improvement over the blank canvas he had exhibited for the past month. "I guess you're letting me know what I am. Thanks for making it clear." He stalked past both women and cast open the door of the shop hard enough to shake the glass.

"Oh, Buffy. You know how frail men's egos are! That was a big mistake," Anya admonished. "Now, see, when Xander wants to think he's in charge I have this little trick where I......"

"Thanks, An." Buffy hastily exited, running to catch up with Spike.

Later, as they ate a silent, uncomfortable meal, she thought about how she had managed to alienate him less than a day after having him 'back'. The silent, obedient Spike was certainly easier to manage than the prickly, tight-jawed man sitting across from her, jabbing his food viciously with a fork.

She swallowed her pride and made an attempt, "Spike, it's not that I don't want you with me when I go on patrol, it's just that......"

"Never mind. It's fine," he snapped. "I'll stay wherever you need me." He stabbed his pork chop with a knife.

Buffy sighed, shook her head, and gave up. They completed the dinner in silence, then she dressed to go demon hunting, gave her boyfriend a goodbye peck, and slipped off into the night.

Walking in the cemetery, Buffy absently tossed and caught her favorite stake while thinking about how to deal with Spike's need to feel needed. How could she help him to feel useful and productive while still keeping him out of harm's way? Good God, he was like an older, more testosterone-charged version of Dawn!

Suddenly the distracted Slayer was spun around by a vicious blow to the head. A second blow drove her to her knees, and she looked up through a red haze to see a burly vamp, fresh from the grave, hefting a slab of granite headstone. 'Felled by a Neanderthal bloodsucker? Not likely,' Buffy thought, reaching for her dropped stake and coming up into the vampire's chest with it in both hands. The force propelled him into the air, where he burst into a dusty cloud that rained down on her head, filling her eyes.

As Buffy blinked to clear her vision, several more vamps moved in from all sides. "What is this? A convention? You missed the shuttle to the hotel," she quipped, lamely trying to buy time as she continued to wipe at her blurry eyes. As if on command, the enemies all attacked at once. Buffy whirled, stabbed, spun, sliced, kicked, and parried.

She felt her arm seized and drawn up behind her until it popped from the socket. Letting out a shriek of agony and rage, Buffy viciously kicked out behind her to dislodge the vamp. She succeeded in knocking him away, but now her left arm was useless and the rest of the attackers kept on coming. This was looking very, very bad.

Suddenly a familiar roaring battle cry reverberated through the cemetery, and Buffy caught a swirl of black from the corner of her bleary eye. Spike had entered the fray and was tossing vamps right and left in a mad rush to get to her. He drove his stake home again and again, while burning every vamp he touched with the large silver crucifix clutched in his other fist.

Buffy paused in mid-punch to watch and took a sharp blow to the side of the head for it. She was momentarily transfixed by the glorious sight of Spike, spinning, kicking, and snarling, as he worked his way toward her. At this point in a fight he would usually be all golden-eyes and flashing fangs. It was thrilling to see his human face contorted in fury, and Buffy was shocked to find herself, in the middle of everything, intensely aroused.

She turned her attention back to the business at hand with a hard elbow to the jaw of the assailant closing in behind her, and a crotch kick to the one in front of her. While he was clutching himself, she quickly staked him. Then abruptly it was over, the fine dust of about a dozen vampires floating in the air around them.

Spike was bent over, hands resting on knees, gasping for breath. He looked up at her from under his dark brows and gave her a crooked grin. "Buffy's lapdog still bites," he teased. "Don't you think I've earned a treat?"

"Definitely," she admitted with a come hither smile, then groaned as she moved her arm and pain shot through it.

"You okay, luv?"

"Just dislocated my shoulder, I think," Buffy tried to rotate it and bit back a yelp as another wave of pain coursed through her.

"Let me..." Spike stepped forward, supported her back with his body and rammed the arm back into the socket with a sickening pop. Buffy screamed in agony.

"Better?" he asked, gently massaging the damaged area.

"Mm. It hurts like hell," she complained.

"Well then, we better take you home, ice it, and kiss it better." He put his arm around her waist and they began to walk slowly toward home.

"Hey," Buffy interrupted the companionable silence. "I thought you were going to stay put tonight. You promised."

"No I didn't. I said I'd stay wherever you need me, and I'd say you needed my help here tonight. It's irrelevant now anyway, since I proved to you I can still fight."

Buffy stole a glance at his proud and confident expression and was glad he never listened to her. She wrapped her good arm around his and laced their fingers together - palm to palm and pulse to pulse.

"I'm glad you came, and I'm glad you're back from wherever your brain checked out to," she confided softly. "Now, about that reward.....what can I do for you?"

Spike seemed to be considering it with great gravity. When he finally answered, his tone was serious. "The beach. I want to spend a day at the beach with you....in the sun."

Buffy's throat constricted and tears choked her even as she smiled. "It's a date," she whispered through trembling lips.



Epilogue

Late afternoon on a California summer day, a beach full of tanning bodies, screaming gulls, and kids with sand pails; gentle waves washing seaweed ashore; four friends enjoying the day....

Buffy shook her hair, spraying water droplets over Spike's nicely toasting skin.

"Hey, watch it! That's cold," he grumbled, rolling over from stomach to back to look up at her.

"Oh my god, it's sizzling! You are going to be so burned. You'd better put a shirt on," she mothered, and dropped down on the blanket beside him.

"Tell you what, instead of a shirt why don't you rub some more of this nice lotion on me." He tossed her the sunscreen.

"Everywhere?" she grinned.

"Every spot your little hands can reach," he purred.

"God, will you two never stop with the sexual banter? It's wretch-inducing," Xander complained from his beach chair nearby. He and Anya had matching striped chairs, sunglasses, and large straw hats. They sipped from the twin plastic coconut glasses Anya insisted on using whenever they came to the beach.

"Sod off, whelp. Tend to your girl there." He tossed a second bottle of sunscreen at Xander, hitting him in the head.

"Hey! Keep your boyfriend under control, Buff." He rubbed his forehead. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"Honey, you heard what the man said, 'Tend me,'" Anya interrupted, tapping Xander's arm with a long fingernail.

Buffy turned her attention to coating Spike's pale skin with another layer of SPF150, enjoying the feel of his muscles smoothly slipping under her hands.

"So, how do you like the beach?" she asked.

"Very sandy and sticky, isn't it? And hot." he replied.

"That's why you have to go in the water now and then, to cool down."

"Too cold."

Buffy smiled at his fussing, remembering how recently neither cold nor heat had affected him in any way. It was the little indignities of humanity that set him complaining about fifty times a day. She finished stroking his fish pale skin with lotion and stretched out beside him on the blanket, basking in the fiery warmth. Soon all four of the sun-bathers had drifted off to sleep.

Buffy woke in the red glow of sunset, and looked around to see what the others were doing. Xander and Anya were still asleep in their twin chairs with their twin sunglasses lying askew on their faces, their matching coconut cups having slipped from their hands to the sand below. Spike was sitting up, arms around his knees, watching the sun with deep intensity.

She touched his arm lightly and he started. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Beautiful, isn't it." She sat up next to him to keep watch.

He nodded.

The sat silently as the orange orb slipped further down the horizon.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked.

"The sun?"

"Sunset. It used to just make me hungry. I remember that. Now it feels…."

"Wistful? Melancholy?" Buffy supplied.

"Lonely. Even with you right here. It kind of aches."

"Yeah. A good sunset will do that to you. Another day over. Time slipping by..…."

They sat thinking about it, brooding like a pair of Angels. Then Buffy brightened, "BUT a sunrise, now that will make you feel energized and ready to do it all over again. Anything can happen in a new day."

Spike reached over and took her hand, stroking the palm with his thumb. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it, then enfolded her small hand in both of his own. "Well then, let's pack up our friends, drive somewhere, and wait for the sunrise."



END