Chapter 8: Wild

And in your eyes I see

What's on my mind

You've got me wild

Turned around inside

"Say Goodbye," Dave Matthews Band

"Dawn."

Dawn froze, caught in the act. She slowly let her hand drop from the doorknob and turned. "Uh, Buffy. Why're you still here?" Trying to behave naturally, Dawn sauntered into the living room.

Buffy was seated on the sofa, her bare feet propped on the coffee table. Pedicure paraphernalia was spread out around her. She wore an extremely faded teeshirt and a pair of jeans worn almost threadbare. Her hair was caught up in a loose ponytail, strands sticking out every which way. Chocolate crumbs were lying on the front of her shirt, and there was a smear of whipped cream on her upper lip. "I haven't had to make with the slayage for over a week. I'm taking a night off." She wiggled her toes, the blue-painted nails gleaming wetly. "How about some sisterly bonding? We'll eat junk food until we barf, paint our nails gross colors, and gossip about boys." She held up an open package of cupcakes, eyes wide with hope. "I have HoHos."

"Well, uh, that sounds great - I mean, except for the barfing part - but I, I left a book I need for a paper over at Janice's."

"Oh." Buffy's face fell. She put the orphaned HoHo on the coffee table.

Dawn felt a stab of guilt. She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "Sorry. High school. Lots of homework. You remember."

"Yeah. Sure. Of course." Buffy vividly remembered ignoring copious quantities of homework in her day. Switching to responsible parental mode, she gave Dawn a hard, searching stare, reminiscent of Joyce at her best. She apparently saw nothing to worry her, because she relaxed and then nodded. "Well, if it's for homework, I guess it's okay. Just don't stay too late."

Dawn started backing out of the room. "Um, sure, I know. I'll be quick as a bunny." Buffy gave her a funny look. Dawn gave a half-hearted laugh, as if she had made a joke. "I mean, I'll be right back." Before Buffy could change her mind, Dawn bolted.

Once on the sidewalk (and out of Buffy's sight), Dawn headed for the cemetery, her guilt evaporating. Spy Kids. Huh. They could learn something from Dawn Summers, Secret Agent Extraordinaire. And I don't even have the cool toys. She swung her backpack over her shoulder. It was filled with newspapers - in particular, the classified and rentals sections.

It was time Mr. MoodySpike SoulPants learned the facts of life. He was human now. Humans needed two basic things: food and a decent roof over their heads. That meant a regular job, just like everybody else. And since Dawn doubted that the mysterious 'business' he had mentioned to her had anything to do with earning a living, she was going to give him a shove in the right direction.

Dawn was so pleased with herself that she was startled when two large demons suddenly blocked her way. They were huge -- at least seven feet tall - with red eyes and two stubby horns on their heads. Their gray, wrinkled skin was studded with thorny protrusions. She gulped. Uh oh.

The first demon nudged the second with a large, scaly elbow. "Look, Glarg, it's Little Red Riding Hood." He turned his attention to Dawn. "On your way to Grandma's house, Little Red Riding Hood?"

Dawn wished she had paid a bit more attention to Buffy's self-defense lesson. Armoring herself with teenaged bravado (while at the same time trying to hide her knocking knees) she rolled her eyes and surreptitiously reached for the stake stuck in the back of her waistband. "Ha, ha. Literate demons. Peachy." She smirked at the two of them.

Glarg smiled, showing off long, sharp teeth. All the better to eat you with. Her smirk fading, Dawn tried not to shudder. "Brave Little Red Riding Hood isn't afraid of the Big Bad Wolves, Urick." He eyed the stake that Dawn was now holding in her hand. "Think you're going to kill us with that, little girl?" With a quick swipe of his hand, he hooked the stake away from her, splitting it in two with claws that suddenly jutted from beneath his elephantine skin. "Stakes only work on vampires. We're not vampires."

Dawn felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down her back between her shoulder blades. Okay, this could get ugly. Time to get out the big gun. "Look, guys, you don't want to mess with me. My sister's the Slayer."

Urick looked puzzled. "What's a Slayer?"

Crap. Dawn turned to run. Glarg reached out with a hand and grabbed her arm, his claws slicing open her jacket and biting into her flesh. Dawn screamed. She could feel warm blood begin to slide down her skin. She spun around, swinging her book bag wildly at him, while trying to kick him in the stomach. She missed badly, only managing to puncture her leg against one of the spines on his leg. Staggering, she fell towards Urick, who grabbed her. Liquid shot out from underneath his claws, burning her where it landed on her cheek and shoulder as she twisted to get away from him without success. Glarg advanced towards her, his teeth bared in a ferocious grin.

She screamed again.

Spike sat alone in the crypt, sprawled in a chair. Clem was out again -- on a date, of all things. Probably making goo-goo eyes at that loose-skinned bint. Mary Sue. Spike snorted. Clem'd have to learn the hard way. All men had to. He lifted the fifth of Maker's to his mouth and took a long pull.

That's when he heard the first scream.

He bolted out of the chair, heart pounding, the whiskey bottle slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. Dawn. He rushed over to the coffin where he kept his weapons and tore off the lid. It sailed across the crypt and smashed into a wall, splintering into bits. Quickly, he shoved a stake and a wickedly-bladed knife in his belt and grabbed an axe.

Then he heard the second scream.

He raced out of the crypt and into the cemetery, just as another scream split the air. Keep screaming, Nibblet. I'm coming. His lungs burned as he ran, the sensation still alien to him. Another scream. Frantic, he ran faster, slipping on the damp grass as he rounded a corner.

There they were.

Nymroch demons. Two of them as usual. One held a squirming Dawn suspended in the air by a handful of her shirt, while the other stood by laughing. Spike suppressed a groan. Spiny protrusions. Projectile acid. Razor sharp, retractable claws. A practically impenetrable hide. Bugger. The Nibblet was Summers through and through; couldn't do anything by half-measure.

Spike noticed a cut across Dawn's forehead and a burn mark on her cheek. Blood dripped steadily from her right hand and her left pant leg was wet with it. He felt a wave of rage crash over him, familiar and welcome. Steady on, mate. He forced himself to control his emotions.

Spike approached the demons with a swagger in his step, holding the axe loosely in one hand. "Party time's over, blokes. Unhand the lady." Dawn stopped struggling and their eyes met. He saw the fear fade out of hers, first replaced by relief, and then by embarrassment.

Urick grunted. "Why should we do that? We saw her first." He licked his lips with a whitish, tough-looking tongue. "Now she's our dinner." Dawn swallowed hard, feeling a little sick.

"The lady has a prior commitment to me." Spike cocked his head at Dawn. "And you're due for a right thumping when we get home. What'd I say about traipsing through the cemetery at night?"

Dawn tried to shrug, her feet waving in midair. "Sorry. Teenager. Not good with the taking of orders."

Spike snorted. "Teenager my arse. Summers, more likely." He turned his attention back to the demons and pointed the axe at them. "I said, put the girl down. Now."

Urick laughed. "I don't think so, human. First come, first served." He looked down at Spike dismissively. "I don't think you can stop us."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "Care to place a wager on that, you stupid git?"

Urick smiled, a vicious display of razor-sharp teeth. "All right." He opened his hand, letting Dawn fall to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. She lay still, the wind knocked out of her.

Spike's control snapped. With a roar, he launched himself at Urick, his axe severing an arm with the first blow he struck. Urick bellowed in pain, clutching the bloody stump with his other hand. Still on the ground, Dawn scrambled backwards like a crab, scuttling out of the way.

Urick staggered in a circle, spewing black blood and viscous fluid from the place where his arm had been. It landed on Spike's arms and chest, burning his clothing and skin. Flinching with pain, he dropped the axe, desperately trying to wipe off the acid. He backed off warily, waiting for their next move.

Urick, still howling in rage and pain, collapsed onto the ground; Glarg charged. Spike feinted to the left and eluded him, leaping for the top of a nearby crypt. Misjudging the height, his foot slipped and he fell hard to the ground, banging his head against the concrete wall on the way down. Stunned, he lay there, not moving.

Glarg picked up the discarded axe and advanced on Spike. "Spike!" Dawn yelled. He mumbled something unintelligible, but remained still. She searched frantically for a weapon. There was nothing, except...swallowing her nausea, Dawn picked up the severed arm by the hand, taking care not to cut herself on any of the spines.

Glarg lifted the axe high over his head, ready to strike. "Spike! Watch out!" As the axe sliced downward, Spike managed to roll away. The axe just missed him, striking the ground instead. Glarg tugged on the embedded axe, trying to free it. Spike scrambled to roll farther away.

Terrified for Spike, Dawn whacked Glarg across the back with the severed arm with all the strength she possessed. Acid and blood flew everywhere. Glarg staggered, and then turned to face her. She screamed and dropped the arm.

Spike rolled to his knees. He still wasn't used to his human body, which was currently a disorienting mixture of tortured breaths, surging adrenalin, and cold sweat. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he saw Glarg heading for Dawn. "Bit! Get the bloody hell out of here already!"

Spike forced himself to his feet, and charged Glarg, tackling him to the ground. Glarg tried to kick Spike off; they rolled over and over on the grass, fighting for dominance. Each time the demon landed on top of Spike, he was terrified he'd suffocate under its weight. The muscles in his arms were rubbery from the effort of holding Glarg far enough away so that the spines on his skin wouldn't fillet him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dawn saw Urick stand up and lurch over to the axe, pulling it from the ground with his one remaining hand. He staggered towards Spike, who was still struggling unsuccessfully to subdue Glarg. Spike's hands and arms were burnt from the acid and were also now bleeding from cuts inflicted by the demon's barbs. Dawn suddenly felt all the adrenalin drain out of her, leaving her swaying on her feet and trying not to faint. They could kill him. He could die. Bile rose in her throat, choking her and cutting off her breath. It's all my fault.

Spike saw Dawn over Glarg's shoulders. He glared at her. "Dawn! Run!" When she didn't move, he bellowed, "NOW!" With a burst of strength born of desperation, Spike managed to pull his knife from his waistband. He stabbed it into Glarg's stomach, ripping up and outward. Glarg howled and rolled off of him, his body twitching as blood and guts poured onto the ground. After a moment, he lay still.

The stench was so overwhelming Spike started gagging and took his eyes off of Urick for a moment. Urick attacked. Spike managed to get a knee up to deflect him slightly, but he felt the axe bite into the side of his shoulder. He screamed.

Dawn snapped out of her daze. She couldn't help Spike. But she knew who could. She turned and ran.

Urick raked a claw across Spike's chest and arm, tearing at skin. Acid poured onto the wounds. Spike screamed again.

Dawn faltered when she heard him, but kept going. Her lungs burned and her feet beat out a desperate refrain as she ran. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.

"So what happened then?" Buffy was curled up on the sofa, her hand rooting around in a bag of potato chips.

Xander finished chewing a HoHo and swallowed. He was sitting on the coffee table, facing Buffy. "She let me walk her home," he said proudly.

"Wow."

"Yeah." He gestured at his upper lip. "Buff, you have some whipped cream on your face." Buffy scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. "I'm gonna stop by the Magic Box this week, to see how she's doing." He frowned. "Or is that too pushy?"

Buffy thought hard for a minute. Then she smiled. "Just the right amount of push."

Xander grinned. "Good." He took the bag of chips from her and grabbed a handful. "By the way - have you talked to Willow lately?"

"I stopped by the dorm...."

Boom! The front door flew open, slamming so hard against the wall that the windows rattled. Dawn staggered inside, her hair a wild, matted tangle around her bruised and bloody face. Her chest heaved as she sucked in greedy gulps of air. She bent over, resting her hands on her knees. Her clothes were torn and burnt, caked with mud and other congealing fluids.

"Dawn! Oh my God!" Buffy rocketed off the couch and went to her, quickly followed by Xander. "What happened?" Terrified, Buffy helped her straighten up and began gently running her hands over Dawn's face, throat, and arms, feeling for injuries or bite marks.

At the touch of Buffy's hands, Dawn burst into tears. "Dawnie." Buffy put her arms around her, cradling her close, even more frightened. "Tell me what happened, honey," she said, trying to sound calm.

Between tearing sobs, Dawn managed to choke out, "S-Spike!"

Xander felt the chill of hearing that name penetrate all the way to his bones. Without a word, he left the house.

Buffy abruptly let go of Dawn, staring at her in total shock, not sure she had heard correctly. "Spike? W-what? He's back?"

Dawn couldn't stop trembling and her teeth were chattering. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself enough to speak. "In the c-c-cemetery. Two d-demons attacked me. S-spike saved me. You have to h-help him, Buffy."

Buffy suddenly felt as if time had slipped out of joint and had begun moving in some strange slow motion. She couldn't make herself grasp what Dawn was saying. "What were you doing in the cemetery...how did Spike...?"

Dawn reached out and grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, shaking her hard. "Buffy. Please. They're killing him!"

Those words cut through her fog. The color drained from her face. Without another word, Buffy raced out the front door.

Spike stood in the center of the crypt, stripped to the waist. His chest was crisscrossed with bloody gouges and seeping burns. The slice in his shoulder from the axe had started to scab over slightly, but he winced whenever he so much as twitched a muscle in that arm. Tentatively, he dabbed a rag dampened with hydrogen peroxide at the wounds on his chest. He stiffened and then hissed in pain.

He was bone-tired, but he wanted to check on Dawn. He couldn't do it himself for fear of running into Buffy. He wished Clem would come home, so that he could send him over to the house to make sure she was okay. He dropped the rag and rubbed his burning eyes. He still needed to go back to the cemetery and dispose of the carcasses, too.

The crypt door sailed open with such force that one hinge broke and it crashed lopsidedly against the wall. Xander stood there, his chest heaving with rage, a stake clenched in his hand. He threw himself at Spike, his fist connecting hard with Spike's jaw.

Spike reeled backward, off-balance, and slammed into the crypt wall, hitting his head. Stunned, he slid to the ground. Xander faced him, the stake held ready. "Bastard."

Spike struggled to his feet, wiping the fresh blood from his cut lip. He tilted his head and met Xander's stare without flinching. "One. I owed you that. For Buffy."

Xander shook his head in disgust. "Trying to rape Buffy wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to go after Dawn too, you sick freak."

"Dawn?! What're you yammering on about, wank -." Xander launched himself towards Spike, the stake arcing downwards toward his heart. Spike dodged to the left, letting Xander crash hard into the wall. The stake clattered to the ground and Spike quickly kicked it across the crypt floor. "Didn't hurt her, you bloody pillock. I saved her."

Xander didn't need the stake. He'd rip Spike's unbeating heart out of his chest with his bare hands. With a roar, he charged Spike, knocking him down. Xander pinned Spike with his weight so that he could snap Spike's head back with another hard punch.

Years of pent-up frustration rose like a black tide inside Spike. He slammed his forearm into Xander's face. Blood poured from Xander's nose. He sat up and tried to staunch the flow. Taking the advantage, Spike grabbed Xander by the arms and hurled him across the room. Xander landed on his head, and crumpled to the floor, lying there like a rag doll.

Spike stood up. He walked slowly toward Xander, panther-like, hips rolling; his eyes mesmerizing Xander as if he were some bit of frightened prey. "Never could stomach you, you self-righteous prig." Spike's lip curled. "That was for me." He leaned down and grabbed Xander by the throat, hauling him up against wall. He lifted him until Xander was suspended in mid-air, choking and tearing at Spike's fingers, which were wrapped around his throat. Spike tightened his hold and slammed Xander back against the wall. Spike smiled cruelly. "This is for Anya."

"Buffy." Xander's voice was muffled, almost unintelligible as he choked out the warning. "Chip. Not working. Stake."

No. Spike's suddenly nerveless hand unclenched. Not this way. Xander fell to the floor in a heap, gasping for air and clutching his bruised throat. The rage drained out of Spike, leaving him shaking and weak - and afraid. Slowly he turned around.

Buffy bent and picked up Xander's lost stake. She stared at it for a moment, as if she had never seen one before and had no idea how to use it. She raised her head and looked at Spike.

Liquid hazel eyes locked on lambent blue ones.

"Do it, Buffy. Just do it." Xander said hoarsely.

Buffy and Spike were motionless, a current of almost unbearable tension arcing between them. Buffy's hand tightened convulsively on the stake.

"No!" Dawn shrieked, stumbling into the crypt, wild-eyed and hysterical. "Don't Buffy! He's human!" No one moved, or even seemed to breathe. "Did you hear me? Spike's human."

Buffy dropped the stake as though it were poisonous. It hit the floor with a sharp, hollow sound. Shoving past Dawn, she escaped into the night.

Dawn sat quietly on the couch, biting her fingernails. Empty food wrappers, crushed potato chips, and cotton balls soiled with nail polish surrounded her. It was dark outside, although not for much longer. Buffy had still not come home.

Dawn heard the front door close quietly. She stood up and ran into the foyer. "Buffy! Where have you been? I've been worried sick."

Buffy stared at Dawn, her face devoid of all expression. Somewhere she had lost her ponytail holder, and her hair was a wild mass around her pale face. There were some twigs stuck in it, and her clothes were filthy, as if she had been rolling around on the ground. Or fighting something.

"Buffy?" Dawn reached out a hand tentatively and then withdrew it.

Tonelessly, Buffy said, "I can't believe you didn't tell me."

Dawn felt shame wash over her, staining her cheeks red. "I, I --."

Buffy stopped her with a look. Her face was blank as stone and about as hard. "I'm your sister. Sisters are supposed to...supposed to...." Buffy stopped. She could feel it all welling up inside of her, a hot eruption of misery that threatened to overwhelm her. She struggled to push it back, afraid that if she let go now, it might just rip her apart. Permanently.

"Supposed to what?" Dawn asked coldly. "Share things? How does it feel, Buffy? To have people keep things from you for your own good? Or just because it's too complicated to explain?"

Now the tears filled her eyes, but Buffy held them there through sheer force of will. She began to tremble. "So this was payback, Dawn? I thought things were getting better between us. I thought...." Buffy couldn't finish her sentence.

Dawn melted. “They are. Oh Buffy, he just wasn’t ready for you to know. He asked me not to tell you. I’m sorry." Her eyes were soft with sympathy. "So sorry," she whispered. "I didn’t realize it would hurt you so much." She tried to hug Buffy.

Buffy pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. She had to, in order to control the shaking. "It doesn’t hurt." She shook her head sharply. "It doesn’t matter."

Dawn’s jaw dropped. “How can you say it doesn’t matter? Look at you. You're a mess. And you don’t even know what he’s been through." Dawn felt her anger rise again. "Are you even going to bother to find out?"

Buffy stubbornly refused to look at Dawn, focusing on her own feet. "If he had wanted me to know...anything...he would have told me, instead of sneaking around like some…sneak."

"Maybe instead of running away tonight, you should have stayed and told him that."

Buffy rubbed her burning eyes. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Dawn. I...I'm going to bed."

"So now you're going to run away from me, too?" Buffy said nothing. "That might work for now, Buffy. But you can't run away from yourself forever. Even though you're the Olympic gold medalist in that event."

There was silence, except for the sound of Buffy's harsh breathing. Suddenly, she lifted her head and met Dawn's eyes with her own wounded ones. Dawn caught her breath. Buffy's stone façade cracked and she began to cry. Dawn put her arms around Buffy, holding her tightly. They sank to the floor, cloaked in shadows. Dawn rocked Buffy and stroked her hair. Outside, the rays of the sun broke over the horizon, and sneaked warm fingers through the windows in the door, bathing them in light.

 

Chapter 9:  Home

So you will lay your arms down,

Yes, I will call this home.

"Don't Drink the Water," Dave Matthews Band

 

 

He had been avoiding things -- things that had to be done.  It had been too easy to hide in the crypt, consumed by his own misery, letting Clem and Dawn coddle him.  He pushed open the door to the Magic Box and stepped inside.  On the surface it looked the same, but he knew from Giles that it wasn't.  He thought if he tried hard enough that he could detect where Willow had left her marks, erased now by coats of paint and new pieces of furniture.  Anya was behind the counter, talking on the telephone.  She appeared to be the only one in the store; he didn’t hear any sounds coming from the training room.  That was good; he needed privacy for this.  He walked over to her.

 

Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she quickly hung up the phone.  "Spike."  She glanced out the front window of the shop, as if to reassure herself it was still daylight.  "You're back in Sunnydale.  And you’re not on fire."

 

Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged.  "Yeah."

 

Her eyebrows drew together in a frown.  "You look different.”  Her eyes flicked over him from head to toe.  Then she smiled triumphantly.  "You look human."

 

The corner of his mouth lifted.  "Got it in one, pet."

 

"Well, this is certainly a surprising development.  Does Buffy know?"

 

Spike recalled the stricken look in her eyes before she had turned and run out of the crypt.  "Yeah."  He really didn’t want to think about Buffy right now.  "Not why I'm here, though."

 

"Why exactly are you here, Spike?"  Her expression brightened.  "Do you have magical needs?"

 

"No."  He’d had enough magic to last a lifetime.  A dozen lifetimes.  "Uh, look.  Just wanted to make sure that me hangin' about again wasn't gonna bollocks things up for you."

 

Anya didn't beat around the bush.  "You mean because we enjoyed carnal knowledge of each other?"

 

Spike felt heat creep up from under his collar and wash slowly over his face.  A working circulatory system had its disadvantages.  He cleared his throat.  "That'd be it."

 

Anya waved her hand dismissively.  "We are consenting adults.  I see no reason for awkwardness."  She stopped, a thought occurring to her.  "Does Xander know you're back?"  Anya’s mouth curled in a sly little smile at Spike’s nod.  "I doubt that he was pleased to see you."

 

"Could say that."

 

"I'm surprised he didn't try to stake you."

 

"Stake might've been involved.”  He tried to look nonchalant, as if the whole event had been no big deal.

 

Anya didn’t look as if she were buying it.  "Hm.  Well, I'm sure finding out you are human must have been quite a shock to his system."  She fingered her pendant absent-mindedly, her expression pensive.

 

He caught the gesture and quirked an eyebrow.  "Little less than human these days?"

 

Anya released the necklace.  "I am a vengeance demon again, if that's what you mean."

 

"When we...."

 

Anya interrupted, nodded.  "Yes."

 

"Huh."  Spike had the grace to look shame-faced.  "Sorry – bit pissed that night, luv."

 

Anya reached across the counter and patted Spike’s hand.  "That's quite all right.  It's understandable that you didn't notice.  And your performance was more than satisfactory, in spite of the amount of alcohol you consumed.  In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that you're obviously never going to get over Buffy, I might consider you as a semi-permanent orgasm friend."

 

Spike choked.  "Thanks, pet."

 

The bell over the door tinkled and they both looked up, startled, as Xander entered.  He grinned when he saw Anya and headed for the counter.  "Hey An.  I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd see how you're doing."  His voice trailed off as he recognized Spike.  His eyes narrowed.  "What are you doing here?"  He paused.  "On second thought, who cares?  Just get out."

 

"Xander!"  He turned towards Anya.   The irritation faded from her face as she looked more closely at him.  "What happened to your nose?  And your eyes are all bruised."  Xander said nothing, self-consciously fingering the bandage stuck across the bridge of his nose.   Anya looked accusingly at Spike.  "You didn't have to break it.  You might have damaged him permanently."

 

Spike leaned back against the counter, smirking.  "Accident."

 

Xander's surprised pleasure at Anya's concern faded; he eyed Spike with disgust.  "You've got three seconds to haul your ass out of here before I do it for you.  And don't come back.  Ever."

 

Anya's irritation made a speedy return.  "Excuse me, Xander.  But this is my store and I decide who patronizes it."

 

Xander's voice was full of revulsion.  "You want him here?  After everything that's happened?"

 

Anya's face turned an ugly shade of red.  "You will not tell me whom I may have as a friend.  That's my choice and frankly, it's none of your business."  Her eyes went cold.  "I think you're the one who'd better leave."

 

Xander opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue with her; seeing her expression, he decided against it.  With a last murderous glance at Spike, Xander stormed out of the shop.

 

"Oughtn't to have done that," Spike murmured.

 

Anya's eyes were bright with unshed tears.  "He has to learn that he can't control me.  We're not even dating anymore.  Who is he to judge me?"

 

Spike raised an eyebrow.  "Seems like a lot of heat if there's no fire."

 

Anya's shoulders slumped.  "There may still be fire.  I'm not saying there isn't.  But Xander's got to learn to respect me.  There can't be love without respect."

 

Spike didn't have a comeback for that.   But he was curious about something else she'd said.  "So.  What you said.  About him not telling you who your friends are."  He paused for a second, unsure of himself.  "Does that mean we're friends?"  He dropped his eyes so that she couldn't see how much the answer mattered to him.

 

Anya's eyebrows shot up in surprise.  She hesitated, smoothing a hand over her hair.  "Well, yes, I guess we are.  Sort of."  Spike looked up at her and grinned.  She grinned back.  "Would you like to cement our new friendship with a purchase?"

 

 

Before she even opened the door, she knew it was Spike.

 

Which was, of course, a surprising thing.  After all, he wasn't a vampire anymore.  Her Slayer sense no longer had any reason to go haywire when he was near.  She wondered if she was experiencing phantom pain, as if Spike's lack of vampiness was an amputated limb that she could still feel, long after it was cut away.

 

It made Buffy too uncomfortable to think about any other possible reason for the feeling.

 

She forced herself to open the door and found him standing on the edge of the porch, waiting patiently.  In the sunlight.  No blanket.  Not combusting.

 

'And I would pass by in the day but I feel I'm outgrowing my whole burst into flame phase.'

 

If the whole thing hadn't been so incredible, Buffy might have laughed.

 

His hair was different, no longer a chemically-induced white blond, but a darker golden color.  Once neatly slicked back, it was now a barely contained riot of curls.  His skin was no longer cold and white; it had color and warmth.  It was totally disorienting: with no duster, and the uniform black tee-shirt and jeans replaced by their counterparts in white and faded blue, he could have been any normal man.  But just at that moment his eyes snared hers and Buffy knew him.  He was still Spike.

 

"May I come in?"  She said nothing, her expression stony.  "We need to talk."  Silence.  "I'd like to talk."  Wordlessly, she stepped away from the door and let him enter.

 

They walked into the living room, both too tense to even try to sit down.  Spike shoved his hands in his pockets, all his carefully rehearsed words having fled.  He had known this would be difficult.  He just hadn't realized how the ugly memories would overwhelm him as soon as he stepped in the house.

 

'Let it go...let yourself love me.'

'Stop it...please...stop.'

 

He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to block them out.

 

When he opened his eyes, Buffy was facing him, her hands slightly curled into fists, as if ready to attack.  “So, after being back for weeks, now you want to get all talky?"  She paused, waiting for a response.  Spike said nothing.  Her lip curled.  "You should have told me that a soul would shut you up.  I'd have gotten you one sooner."

 

His eyes narrowed.  "Contrary to your self-involved worldview, some things in my life are just about me.  I needed time."

 

She clenched her fists. "To do what?  Sneak around and play Slayer's little helper behind my back?"

 

"What should I have done?  Shown up at your door and said, 'Luv, I'm back and I solved our little problem – oh, and by the way, sorry I tried to rape you?'"  His wretchedness and guilt were evident in the stiff lines of his body.

 

"You don't...I already...." she stopped, as if that sentence were going somewhere she didn’t like.  "I knew that night you were sorry."

 

Spike laughed: a short, bitter sound.  "Sorry doesn't mean sod all."

 

"So you ran away and did this to yourself?  Or was it one of your lame plans that blew up in your face again?"  She made a short, disgusted noise.  "You should have come back to Sunnydale right away."

 

"Wasn't much use to myself, let alone anyone else, for a long time after it happened."  He paused.  "Still not."

 

Buffy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressing her lips together.  "I – we – could have helped you."

 

He stared at her, incredulous.  "Why would you lot help me?"  Buffy flinched, but he didn't notice; he was too wrapped up in his own pain.  "A soul and a heartbeat didn't stop that tosser Warren from killing the witch.  Or from almost killing you.  I'm still the same man -- thing -- that...," he broke off, overwhelmed. 

 

He looked down at his hands and stretched his fingers wide.  He remembered the things his hands had done.  The lives they had taken.  The blood they had spilled.  For one horrible moment, he thought he might break down and cry.  But he wouldn't do that, not in front of her.  It was his burden to bear.  She had enough of her own; he wouldn't add any more.  He raised his head and looked straight at Buffy.  "Forgiving me isn't possible.  Don't deserve it."  He ran a hand through his hair, agitated.  "Don’t want it."  That lie tasted bitter on his tongue; the truth was sweeter.  "What matters is being certain I could never do those things again.  Had to wait 'til I knew for sure.”

 

“Knew what for sure?”

 

Spike’s throat worked as if he had to force the words out.  “That I’m not still evil.”  He swallowed hard.  “Can't expect you to trust me if I can't trust myself."

 

Buffy crossed her arms.  "You expect me to trust you now?  Now that you've fixed everything?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

 

Spike couldn't meet her eyes; in a low voice, he said, "Don't expect much of anything, Buffy."

 

There was something incredibly raw and profoundly desolate in his voice.  Buffy withdrew slightly, as if warding off the pain with distance.  "But you expected something from Dawn.  You trusted her to help you."  Her voice was sharp and cold.

 

"She barged into the crypt and found me.  And you damn well know you can't stop Bit from doing whatever her fancy settles on."  He snorted.  "Summers's family trait, that is."

 

Buffy ignored him.  "But you told her what happened to you."

 

"Girl's got eyes in her head, Slayer, and a brain.  Figured it out."

 

Buffy wouldn't let the subject go.  "You told Clem."

 

Spike looked directly into her eyes.  "Clem is my friend."

 

And I’m not.  Shame burnt hot, red flags across Buffy's cheeks.  An image of Spike lying in an alley, beaten bloody by her own hands, appeared in front of her eyes.  She pushed it away.  "I'm better now," she said abruptly.

 

Spike frowned.  "Not sure what you're getting at."

 

Buffy's hands twisted together.  This was hard.  Harder than she'd imagined.  But she had to do it.  He deserved this much from her.  "You were right.  About me.  I did come back wrong.  Part of me was dead."  Buffy’s knuckles whitened.  “But I’m – now I’m living again.”

 

'I can't love you. I'm just...being weak and selfish...'

'Not really complaining here.'

'...and it's killing me.'

 

Pain ripped through him.  And that's why you were shagging a dead man.  Spike wanted to run, to hide.  He couldn't listen to this again.  He had come here expecting nothing from her.  He knew he didn't deserve anything from her.   It was just something he had to do, something he owed to her.  To face her.  To let her face him.  To take responsibility.  But he wasn't strong enough for this again.  He'd never be strong enough for this.

 

But he forced himself to listen anyway, to understand what she was saying.  And regardless of whatever else there was inside him, there was at least this much truth:  "I'm glad."

 

Her hands relaxed and she let them drop to her sides.  "It just took time."

 

"I understand."  Spike's throat tightened, but he pushed the words out.  "You've moved on."  He looked around, realizing he needed to be somewhere else.  Anywhere else.   He cleared his throat.  "Right then.  Gotta run.  Things to do."  Head down, he made for the door.

 

Buffy watched him go, stunned.  Normally, he kept pushing her until she gave in and let him see whatever it was she could barely face herself.  But now he was walking away.  Again.  Disbelief gave way to a hot rush of anger.  "Spike."  When he didn’t respond, she stormed after him.  "Wait."  He stopped in the open doorway with his back to her, resting his forehead against his hand, where he loosely gripped the doorframe.  He seemed defenseless, as if waiting for her to deliver some final deathblow that he didn't have the strength to dodge.

 

'Come on, that's it, put it on me.  Put it all on me.'

 

Buffy's anger evaporated.  She stopped several paces away from him.  "One hundred and sixty-eight days."

 

"What?"  He turned around and stared at her, head tilted to one side.

 

"One hundred and sixty-nine today.  Except today doesn't count, does it?" she asked softy.

 

Spike’s face flushed.  After a moment, he said, "No."

 

She moved closer to him and reached for one of his hands.  It still bore faint burn marks from the demons he had fought to save Dawn.  Buffy traced one of the marks with her fingertips.  Spike watched her silently.  It would leave a scar.  Things often did.  "How long was it for you, where you were?"

 

His eyes were shadowed.  "Longer."

 

Removing his hand gently from hers, he turned and walked out the door.

 

 

"Spike's human?"  Willow sat back on the bed and leaned against the wall, her eyes wide with shock.

 

"Yeah, who'd have thunk it?"  Xander pulled the chair out from behind her desk and sat down.

 

Willow crossed her legs underneath her.  "I mean...how?  A girl gets her own place and suddenly she's majorly out of the loop while all the known laws of physics are being violated."

 

Xander shrugged. "Who knows how?  What with the imminent stakeage and all, there wasn't a lot of time to share."

 

"I'll bet."  Willow tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  "Um, how did Buffy react?"  With a sort of soft hesitation, she continued.  "Does she, um, forgive him?"

 

"You know the Buffster.  Not much happening in the way of public reacting.  She ran out of the crypt and now she's all...stoic."

 

Willow nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.  "He'd been back for a while?"

 

"Dawn and Clem were helping him hide out in the crypt."  Xander shook his head in disgust.  "Dawn's acting like, I don't know, some mother hen with a baby chick.  All protective.  Of that animal."

 

Willow began to pleat the bedspread with her fingers, not meeting Xander's eyes.  "That's what you do when you care about somebody."

 

"It's not natural.  He tried to rape her sister, for cripe's sake, and she just shakes it off, like it's nothing.  Like he gets some free pass just because he's human now."  Xander's fists clenched as he continued his rant.  "Then I go to the Magic Box to see how Anya's doing and he's there.  And she's all standing up and defending him."  His face grew red with outrage.  "She threw me out, Will.  Me."  Deflated, he slumped in the chair.  "I think she wants to have sex with him again."

 

"Xander, it's possible she just empathizes with him a little.  After all, she kinda has a bond with him – the whole 'suddenly human' thing."

 

Xander rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly weary.  "You know what, Will?  This really makes me wonder about the guy upstairs and what he's thinking, giving a monster like that a second chance at life.  After the people he's murdered, the things he's done, he doesn't deserve anybody's forgiveness."  Xander stopped, realizing what he had just said.

 

'Oh my God.'

'Willow – no...what did you do?'

 

They stared at each other, trying to block out the image of Warren's flayed and sizzling body.  "Like me?"  Willow whispered, stricken.  "Like I don't deserve anyone's forgiveness?"

 

Xander stood up and moved to sit next to Willow on the bed. He put his hand on her shoulder.  "No, Will.  No.  That's not what I meant."

 

"It's true, though."  Willow could feel the blood beating in her temples and a terrible pressure began to build at the base of her skull.  You know me.  She shut her eyes tightly.

 

"No, it's not true.  You were out of your mind with grief and the magic was...it was poisoning you.  It wasn't you."

 

Willow opened her eyes and stared at Xander, her expression haunted.  "Yes, it was.  It was me."  Her voice thinned, and then cracked.  "That's in me.  Somewhere."  She reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it so tightly that she threatened to cut off his circulation.  "And I'm so scared, Xander."  Releasing him, she buried her head in her hands and began to cry:  harsh, tearing sobs that seemed ripped from her throat.  Xander pulled her into his arms and tucked her head against his shoulder, holding her tightly and not knowing what to say.

 

 

Squinting at the slip of paper and phonecard he was holding in his hand, Spike carefully pressed the buttons on the telephone keypad in what he hoped was finally the correct sequence.  This third try proved to be the charm.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Watcher."

 

"Spike."  Six thousand miles didn’t diminish the irritation in Giles’s voice.  "Where are you?"

 

"Beautiful downtown Sunnyhell.  Where else?"

 

"Indeed.  Where else?"  The phone line crackled and Spike wondered fancifully if Giles's palpable annoyance could actually interrupt telephone signals.  "Did my instructions to check in when you arrived conveniently slip your mind?  Or did you travel by the polar route?"

 

Spike slumped down on the bench in the phone booth.  "Had things to do," he mumbled.

 

Giles snorted.  "Dare I hope that these things had some connection to what you're being paid to do?" Silence.  "I realize the concept of gainful employment may be foreign to someone only recently living again, but you need to apply yourself to it more diligently."

 

Spike bolted upright.  "You paying, Rupes?  Can’t prove it by me," he said self-righteously.

 

"Did you set up a bank account as I suggested?  Or a legitimate mailing address?"  From his tone, Giles was building up a head of steam for his lecture. "How am I to reach you to compensate you for the services you are obviously not rendering when I don't know where the bloody hell you are?"   More silence.  "Does anyone even know you're back?"

 

Spike slumped down again.  "Yeah."

 

"And how did that go?"

 

Spike began to pluck nervously at the phone cord.  "It went."

 

"How are Buffy and Dawn?"

 

"Seem fine."  He rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

 

Spike heard what sounded like the clink of crystal against crystal.  Apparently Giles was trying to drown his irritation in whiskey.  "Perhaps I should pay you by the word.  I'd get more of them."  The irony of that comment wasn't lost on either man.  "Have you seen Willow?"

 

"No."  Spike shut his eyes, trying to block out the questions.

 

"Have you examined the temple?  Made attempts to ascertain if there's been any unusual activity around the Hellmouth?"

 

"No."

 

Giles's thin veneer of control fractured.  "Spike, what exactly have you been doing?  Anything even remotely useful?"

 

Spike squeezed his eyes even more tightly closed and didn't answer for a moment.  "Things've been...hard."

 

For a moment, Giles was at a loss for words.  The anguish behind that simple statement was tangible.  "Yes.  I see."  Clearing his throat, he said, "Spike, if you don't feel you can do this...."

 

Opening his eyes and sitting up straighter, Spike interrupted sharply, "Can.  Have to."

 

"Hm."  Doubt was evident in Giles's voice.  "Perhaps this is an ill-advised approach, after all.  I should call Buffy and..."

 

"No!"  Spike gripped the receiver tightly, and then said more calmly, "No.  I'll hit the demon world.  Re-establish myself.  Suss out what's in the air."

 

Giles sighed.  "All right Spike," he said quietly.  "Just try to report in more frequently."

 

With a glimmer of his old self, Spike said, "May have lost my bite, Watcher, but I'm not totally domesticated yet."  He hung up the phone, resting his head against the side of the booth.  It was time to get to work.  He just wasn't sure if he had the strength.

 

 

Doc sat at his desk, surrounding by piles of bound texts.  He moved his index finger down the page in front of him until he found the line he wanted.  Peering through the bifocals perched on the end of his nose, his lips moved slightly as he made the necessary translation.  He lifted his head and a slow, chilling smile spread across his face.

 

Reaching for the bell on his desk, he rang it sharply, twice.  Humming, he picked up a pen and began to make small, careful notations on a piece of paper.

 

Jinx entered quietly, bowing elaborately as he sidled across the room.  "Most Mobile Magnificence, how may I serve you?"

 

Doc pushed his wheelchair back from the desk and moved towards Jinx.  When he braked, Jinx promptly fell to his knees.  Doc offered him the paper, which he accepted with great reverence.  "It's time to get to work, my boy."

 

Jinx bowed even lower, pressing his forehead to the floor in front of Doc's chair.  "I am yours to command, Your Lizardness."

 

Doc carefully took off his bifocals and placed them in the pocket of his flannel robe. "It won't be easy to find these items.  Not by a long shot.  You'll have to check out all the local black markets dealers and magic shops.  But be careful."  He chuckled.  "Wouldn't want anyone to figure out our big surprise before we're ready, would we?"

 

Jinx straightened up and read the note, frowning.  "I do not mean to question your wisdom, Long-Tongued One, but are these two items all we require?"

 

Doc's eyes flooded with inky blackness, the slitted pupils expanding and then contracting sharply.  "Don't worry, boy.  I'll take care of the last thing we need."

 

{Next}