Part 2: The Wayfarers' Lodge

Cleveland, Ohio
August 2004

Thud.

Buffy awoke with a start, reaching automatically for the stake she’d once had hidden under her pillow every night. Of course, it wasn’t there.

Which was fine, really, because the violent slam had just been Dawn returning home. At – Buffy eyed her alarm clock blearily – five a.m.

Fine. Really.

She burrowed back under the covers, the taste of the dream still on her lips.

It was Saturday so they both slept in. When they’d finally risen and showered Buffy suggested breakfast at Lola’s. They were financially solvent now, practically stable if you squinted but eating out was still a novelty, even if it was just at the local diner.

As they waited for their food to arrive Dawn told her with determined breeziness about the frat party the night before, the new boy she’d met, of the cops that had busted up the celebration. Buffy tried not to wince, tried to be the cool older sister. She remembered the few frat parties she’d attended. Her first, when she’d almost been sacrificed to a snake. And then the one where all the Halloween decorations came to life. She recalled the rubber skeleton particularly vividly. And, of course, her oh-so-brilliant hookup with Parker. Looking back, the arrival of Spike and Harmony had probably been an omen.

Buffy checked her watch. Eleven twenty-seven. First Spike thought of the day. She was improving, definitely. The dreams didn't count.

“He’s gone,” Dawn said in a cold, precise voice.

Buffy looked up, startled.

“He's gone, he left just like everybody else. So just forget him already.”

Scars of an almost-apocalypse. Buffy still didn’t feel like…herself, and Dawn – Dawn exhibited a coldness that stunned Buffy, even now. Not like she was Little Miss Happy these days – neither of them were – but it was a departure for Dawn whose feelings had always simmered so close to the surface.

They’d fought about him only once. Two months after arriving in Cleveland.

Bit's lookin' pale. Gotta make sure she eats right.
Who's that wanker walked Dawn home from school? Had half a mind to go out there and introduce myself, sunlight or no.
Does Dawn ever...mention me?

He didn't, Buffy wanted to say. He just...kept it all inside.

Because how many times, that year she came back, had he pestered her about Dawn's well-being until Buffy had grown enraged, hitting and hurting: I didn't come to your bed so we could talk about my sister! And he'd give it up, but grudgingly, letting her know the fight wasn't finished; this was when he still defied her, before she had broken him completely.

Now they didn’t talk about Spike. It upset Dawn, and he wouldn’t have wanted that.

Buffy pasted on a smile. She was the cool older sister, wasn't she? “Tell me more about this new guy.”

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

Later that night, Buffy gave her speech.

She knew it by heart now; memorized and engraved so that all that remained was the telling. Every night.

She tried to keep it brief; her audience had a notoriously short attention span. She wanted to talk faster but was afraid her words would be garbled and lost and that would be awful. Unthinkable. So she'd managed to pare her message down to a few sentences but it didn't seem to matter; she was still alone in the room by the time she had finished.

"I love you. I know you don't believe me but it's true, and I just need you to stay here, just stay here for a second and listen, okay? Don't go. Because we can start over, you and me. You and me and Dawn, we'll be a family. I know how much you wanted that. You don't have to say it. I know from the way you look at us. I know."

The words were pouring out of her in a rush now but it couldn't be helped, she was losing him again. "Spike, please, you just have to...I remember what I said before but I'm ready now, I swear I am. It's been so long, Spike, won't you –" And she was crying now, desperate and panicked but he left her again, like always, even when she was curled on the floor of the bedroom calling his name.

Dawn would find her, eventually, and help her to the bed. She'd try to explain but Dawn would have none of it, would only hush her and gently turn Buffy's face into the pillow to muffle the cries and whimpers. They wouldn't talk about it in the morning. Spike's ghost lived only in Buffy's empty arms.

Part 3: The Lost And The Found

Dawn was dancing in a cage.

She liked the club; had been here before and came back for the pounding trip-hop and dim lighting. Here, in her flimsy sheer silk and a too-short skirt, she was just another girl in search of a good time. Like Buffy had been, once, before death became the only dance partner that stayed.

Whatever. She was becoming as maudlin as her sister. Dawn shook off the memories and instead concentrated on the way her body writhed, sweat-dampened skin burnished by a thousand greedy stares. So easy to make the boys go slack-jawed and stammering. Worth taking the infrequent half-hearted shit Buffy doled out.

Dawn was living for two now, while her sister threw herself into her job at the youth center and acted like a widow in mourning the rest of the time. Stupid, although a small part of Dawn knew that she was just as bereft. Both of them stranded in Normal when the truth was, they’d left their hearts in Fucked-Up.

The beat was strong and steady now, and Dawn moved with it. She could feel the eyes on her, could feel the arousal and envy from the crowd. She could feel….

Her head snapped up and she scanned the dance floor. There had been something, some warning twinge at the back of her neck and a lifetime (however genuine) of living on one Hellmouth or another had made it impossible for Dawn to ignore her instincts. She moved up, her hands wrapping around the bars of the cage, swaying distractedly to the music as she peered from face to face. One meaty hand reached up to grab her ankle and she kicked it off viciously.

There. By the bar. Oh, God.

He was talking to some guy, had a drink in his hand that he paused occasionally to sip. Leather and peroxide and those eyes that saw right through a person. It was him.

Dawn could almost hear the click-click-click as the things that had been floating and scattered inside her fell into place.

Oh, she thought, Oh, what took you so long? Didn't know if she was asking him or herself. Scrambling out of the cage, she hopped the few feet down to the dance floor. She ignored the disappointed catcalls and shoved her way to the bar.

She barrelled into him full-on, spilling his drink and startling his companion. Clinging to him tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him and chin hooked over his shoulder because she couldn’t seem to get close enough as she waited for him to respond in kind.

“Spike! Spike, oh, God – Buffy said you were dead, you killed them all and then the whole city caved in – I saw it – and God, I can’t believe you’re really here –” Dawn pulled back, tilted her face up to his. She was crying now, bawling like a great big baby, but Spike was no stranger to her tears. “Are you really here?”

The man in her arms was stiff and unaccountably warm. He shifted out of her grasp, setting her away from him. His companion snickered.

“Friend of yours?”

Spike flashed a disarming half-smile. “Hardly. ‘Nother crazy club chick, talking nonsense. Nate, buddy, let’s –”

“Oh, my God!” gasped Dawn. “You have amnesia!”

“No, I don’t,” Spike answered, gritting his teeth at the interruption. “Now get lost.”

She moved close again and took his face in her hands. “Your name is Spike,” she said clearly. “You lived in Sunnydale, and you helped save the world. And you’re a vampire.”

Nate laughed again. “The both of you got vamps on the brain, huh?”

“Like I said,” Spike told Nate. “Crazy.” He nodded toward the lounge area. “Want to continue this somewhere more private?”

“Spike!” Dawn grabbed his arm.

In an instant he had whirled around, backed her up against the counter. “I’m doing business here, Dawn. Keep out of it or things are going to go real badly for you. Real badly.” He gave her a rough shake for emphasis.

She felt weird and scared and her giddy, giggling sobs had trailed off. “What’s wrong with you?”

He just smirked, releasing her and walking away.

“I hate you,” she hissed, choking on the words, but his only reply was a dismissive half-wave. He wasn’t even looking at her.

Well, this wouldn’t do at all.

Dawn ran after him, across the room to a table near the wall. She plopped down in a chair seconds after he did. He glared at her but she just stuck her chin out and pulled her chair in.

“I’m not leaving,” she informed him hotly. He shrugged.

A waitress appeared and Spike ordered buffalo wings and two scotches, neat. Dawn cleared her throat. Spike ignored her.

“I’d like a Corona,” she said loudly. Spike didn’t even lift an eyebrow as she presented her fake ID. The waitress barely looked, anyway; too enraptured with Spike’s low murmur in her ear and – ew! – hand on her butt.

Finally she left and Dawn waited expectantly. But instead of Spike, it was his sleazy pal Nate who was suddenly in her face. Dawn blanched at the smell of liquor and old sweat.

Nate leaned forward, leering. “Aren’t you the sweet meat?” he asked lasciviously. “I’d love to get a taste of you.” Dawn rolled her eyes and looked away.

And then Nate reached across and grabbed Dawn’s thigh.

Oh, shit. This jerk had touched her and now Spike was going to go all crazy-protective which would surely involve violence and breaking glassware and for crying out loud, she still didn’t know where the hell he’d been for the last year and a Spike-brand riot would surely set back her information-gathering for at least an hour. Possibly two.

Except…Spike hadn’t moved. He still sat indolently in his chair, looking at Nate with mild disgust and impatience but a complete lack of chivalrous anger. Some potbellied, highly skeevy guy had just fondled her and Spike acted like he…like he didn’t care. Like he really, really did. not. care.

So Dawn kicked Nate in the balls.

He squealed – very satisfyingly, in Dawn’s opinion – and bent double, clutching his crotch. Dawn inspected her heeled boots with pleasure. She waited for Spike to react, to scold her or congratulate her or kick Nate now that he was down. Instead he took a long swallow of his drink and asked, “Can we get down to it, already?”

The rest of the conversation was conducted in some indecipherable demon language, per Spike’s request after he caught a glimpse of Dawn’s too-inquisitive gaze. Maybe he remembered she was good with languages, Dawn thought. But probably not.

Out of spite, Dawn ate most of the buffalo wings even though they really were too spicy. She was too proud to ask for a glass of water so she washed them down with the beer, which she rarely drank and didn’t much like. By the time the meeting was over she was left with a leaden feeling in her stomach that wasn’t just due to the meal.

Nate, his face still mottled red with pain, walked with Spike to the back entrance. Dawn followed. Nate slunk off to parts unknown and Spike started down the alleyway.

“Where are you going?” Dawn asked, easily keeping up with his long strides.

“To my car. You mind?”

“Where have you been? Are you gonna tell Buffy? I mean, you know – did you come back for her?” Dawn wasn’t sure what she wanted his answer to be.

He didn’t say anything. Dawn realized they were standing next to a late-model gray sedan. Other than the tinted windows, it was bland and boring and without character. Like the anti-Spike-mobile.

He was getting in. “Hey!” Dawn protested. “You can’t just leave me here!”

“Watch me.” He turned the key in the ignition.

“How’m I supposed to get home? The buses aren’t even running anymore!”

“Next time maybe you’ll think twice ‘bout staying out so late. Good luck.” And then he slammed the car door shut.

“You stupid vampire!” she screamed. “I wish you had died!”

She thought she heard him laugh at that, but the car pulled away before she could be sure.

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

Part 4: Resurrection

Dawn found him standing at an all-night hot dog stand, slathering bratwurst with, from what she could see, every condiment on the counter and a few he might have brought himself. When he turned around, Dawn smiled up at him viciously.

“Fucking hell,” he snarled. “You’re like a bad penny. What is that, some kind of monk thing?”

“No,” Dawn snapped angrily. “It’s a me thing. You used to know that.”

“I thought you went back to the club.”

“Why?” she challenged. “Did you follow me?”

He turned his back on her again and gathered up his meal. “Isn’t that supposed to be my question?”

Her little chin jutted out. “I caught a cab. After you left me in that alley where I could have been raped and murdered and left in ditch somewhere.”

“You look fine to me.”

“Spike.” She moved a few tentative steps closer. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“No.”

She felt her face beginning to crumple and fought for composure. “What happened to you? Why are you being like this?”

“Because I want you to leave, and you're apparently too dense to take the hint.”

Dawn drew back, stung. “What, so you came here for Buffy and I’m just in the way?”

“Wasn’t looking for you, Dawn. Sure as hell not looking for your sister.”

Are you killing again?”

He looked past her and smirked. “Is that it, then? Needin’ a reason to put me down?”

“Besides the fact that you’re being a total dickhead? It’s a valid question. Buffy helped you get your chip out, and now you’re back among the living. Well, unliving.” She reached out a hand to touch him.

He smiled at her unpleasantly before jerking his head away. “Appreciate the update, Dawn, but seems you’re not twigged to the latest news.” He gestured, and Dawn turned her attention to the cheap, warped mirror across the counter.

It was Spike. Well, duh.

No, wait. Not duh.

Not possible. He was a vampire, and vampires didn’t have reflections; when she’d first started visiting him in his crypt years ago she’d amused herself endlessly with the phenomenon. Sitting at Spike’s feet, tilting the makeup compact she’d stolen from Buffy from side to side while Spike lounged in the armchair and flipped channels.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, staring at his blurred and distorted image.

“How?” she heard herself asking.

He shrugged.

“Holy crap,” she said.

“Right. Well, it’s been fun but I gotta get back –”

Dawn shook herself out of her stupor. She couldn’t let him leave, not now. Even if he was being a complete and utter jerk. He'd pay for it later, though.

“Great,” she replied with forced sunniness. “Back where?”

He looked suddenly wary, as if he’d given away more than he intended. “My place. Alone.”

“As if! You haven’t even shown me where you’re staying.”

“It’s temporary. Boring. Nothing to see.”

“Then we’ll have time to go for ice cream afterwards.”

He grunted and shook her off – even human, Spike was impressively strong – but she trotted after him and there wasn’t much he could do short of tossing her in front of a passing bus. Which, considering the expression on his face, could very well have been on his mind.

His new lodgings surprised Dawn. Near the lake, with a sweeping view. Definitely the high-rent district; the building he parked outside was new and gleaming and full of windows. He walked right up to the front, used some sort of keycard to enter and Dawn had to dash to catch the door as it swung closed behind him.

They rode the elevator in silence although Spike’s expression turned increasingly dark as they climbed. He got off on the twelfth floor and Dawn followed.

He paused at one of a dozen nondescript doors. “Look,” he said. “Let me go in, clean the place up a bit. Bachelor pad and all that. You wait here, yeah?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” As soon as the lock turned in the door she slipped past him, into the apartment.

“Like I was just gonna let you leave me out there,” she called over her shoulder once she was inside. “I swear, you –”

She stopped short. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

Spike sighed, elbowed past her into the apartment. “Dawn,” he nodded, “meet Emma.”

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

By two a.m. Dawn had seen all she needed to. The shock of Spike’s…friend had worn off, and now she lingered at the door, armed with knowledge but unwilling to leave.

“You said we could get ice cream,” she whined. Who could resist the patented Dawn-whine?

“No, you said we could get ice cream. I said ‘Please leave’. Repeatedly.”

“Come on, Spike…”

“I’ve no doubt you could get a dozen fellows to take you out for a bite.”

“Gee, like your buddy Nate?”

Spike gazed at her impassively. “What did you want me to do? Told you to shove off. And I’m not about to bugger a deal to salvage whatever scraps of maidenly honor you still have left.”

That hurt. Dawn retaliated swiftly. “I’m going to tell Buffy about you. About everything,” she added, looking meaningfully back into the apartment.

“Wish you wouldn’t. But it’s up to you.”

That had been her hammer, and he’d proven immune to it. Dawn felt suddenly deflated. “Fine.”

“All right, then.” He started to shut the door.

“Spike?”

“What now?”

“I…I like Emma. I mean, she seems nice. And she loves you -”

The door closed.

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

“Buffy! Buffy! Wake up!”

Anya was next to her now, crooning softly in Buffy’s ear as she led her to the table. “You really should join us, Buffy. You’re already halfway there.”

“Buffy!”

She jerked and cried out, knocking Dawn a few feet back.

“It’s me. Dawn.”

She tried to calm her breathing. Running a hand over her face, she found her skin damp and her hair matted with sweat.

“What – what is it? What time is it?”

“About four. Buffy, we have to talk.” Buffy came fully awake.

“Oh, my God. You’ve been arrested.”

Dawn made a noise of impatience. “Yes, and they let me out of jail so that I could personally deliver the news. Buffy, Spike’s alive. Like – really alive.”

Buffy took in the glow of the streetlamp as it played across Dawn’s skin, the sound of her accelerated breathing, the fervent clutch of her fingertips against Buffy’s too-slender arms.

“It’s true,” Dawn whispered. “I saw him. I touched him, Buffy. He’s here. In Cleveland. We can't be so bad, can we, if he came back to us?”

Buffy reached for her sister and Dawn went into her arms willingly. They curled up in bed the way they did when they were young. And suddenly Buffy was laughing and crying all at once.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to give up the people she loved – Angel, Mom, Giles, Spike – not get them back. Hadn’t the last few years been about getting strong, getting hard in the face of loss? She wasn’t supposed to have beautiful things dropped in her lap. She was supposed to survive. Alone. And she hadn't realized, hadn't known that learning of his vitality could spark her back to life as well.

Dawn had turned into a little mother, wiping Buffy’s eyes and murmuring over and over again the words she knew Buffy needed to hear. “I saw him. It was him. Spike’s alive. Really alive, like us. Warm and breathing and oh, Buffy, you have to fix him, make him love us again, please…”

They were both crying now, foreheads bent together until finally Buffy pulled away.

“God, I’m a mess.” She couldn’t keep the note of giddy hysteria from her voice. “I have to get cleaned up. What did he say? What –"

“There’s something wrong with him, Buffy. He’s not the same.”

Buffy rose unsteadily, fumbled for the light switch. “Of course. If he’s alive, like you said – of course he’s having a hard time. But it’s okay, Dawn. It’ll all be okay. We’ll help him. He needs us.” She began pulling on a new pair of slacks and one of her old frilly blouses that she hadn’t worn lately. “Where is he?”

“By the lake. On 9th Place just past Key Plaza,” Dawn said mutedly.

Buffy turned, practically beaming at Dawn. No, glowing. “Let’s go.”

Part 5: Pyrite

Buffy knocked lightly on his door. Stillness, and then shuffling sounds from within. Had she woken him? Sunrise was in less than an hour; maybe he still slept during the day out of habit. If he slept at all. The way Dawn had described him…well, surely he was confused, having difficulty adjusting. Buffy smiled to herself. That’s what she and Dawn were for. To ease him into things, make sure he didn’t get overwhelmed. It would be a new start for all of them.

When he opened the door, she gasped.

Nothing, nothing could compare to this; the arch of his eyebrow and the sinew of his arms ceased to be memory and became vivid again. Oh, he was beautiful, beautiful and sure and Spike. The fist around her heart unclenched.

He cocked his head, seemingly unsurprised by her appearance. “Buffy.”

Joy had never been a familiar emotion and it capsized her now. Rushing blood pounded in her ears, a wave of red that buoyed her in her sudden weightlessness. Her vision misted and grayed and even as the soundless roar in her head grew, she floated free. Light as air and ready to fly.

She didn't realize she'd collapsed until he hauled her up by the elbow of her thin cotton sweater.

He released her before she'd managed to stop swaying. She braced a hand against the doorjamb when he didn't move to steady her. Fainting was something she...did, these days; embarrassingly human and ordinary. Not exactly the image she was going for but maybe in a day or two, she'd remember it as flutteringly romantic rather than mortifying.

She wondered at what frailties he had accustomed himself to, now that he was like her. He seemed solid enough, though, standing before her with that strange unreadable expression. She reached out to him, those harsh cheekbones and tender lips. She was half-afraid he’d vanish like he had each night past even though she could now smell the tang of nicotine and saw the shadow his body cast over hers.

“You’re real. You feel so good.”

He didn’t flinch or pull away, but submitted to her caress with no discernible sentiment.

Without conscious intent she took his hand in hers and lifted it, entwining their fingers as they’d been the last time she’d seen him.

He disengaged from her instantly.

“I know – Dawn told me about what happened. To you. That you’re –”

“A real boy now? That why you’re here?”

She nodded urgently. “Yes. I want to help you. Dawn, too, we both just want to be with you. God, I’ve missed you. You can’t know how much.” He still didn’t say anything.

“Spike?” Abruptly she felt embarrassed, silly, for having this of all conversations in the hallway of a swanky apartment building. Spike standing there like he didn’t want to admit knowing her, like she was selling something door-to-door.

She had changed, she knew. He’d probably noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes, the way her clothes hung off her unattractively. But he was here now and they could both heal.

“It’s late. You should get home.”

“I just…all right. Should you get some things? At least a few days’ worth…”

He stepped back, further into the apartment. “I’m not going with you, Buffy.”

“What?”

His eyes were cool and passionless. “Go home to your sister. And tell her she’s not welcome here either.”

“I don’t understand.” She waited for him to explain, make sense of his nonsense.

“You don’t have to.”

She was getting weepy again, taking in too-short hiccupping breaths while he just stood there and stared at her. “Why?”

“Why what?”

Why any of this, she wanted to shout. Why won’t you touch me? “Why didn’t you tell me you were…back?”

He shifted beneath her gaze. “Didn’t know I was supposed to send out a memo.”

“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t be so – flip about this!”

He glared and looked past her, into the hallway. “Keep your voice down. I have neighbors. Go home, Buffy. I don’t want any trouble, yeah?”

Words she never, ever thought she’d hear from Spike. She clutched at his arm, knowing in a very far-off way that she must seem so pathetic. “Please. Please don't send me away, Spike -”

“Christ, you really want to do this the hard way?” Staring at her, he finally relented. So that would be a yes on the pathetic. “Whatever. See what you came here to see and then leave.” He stepped back to allow her into the apartment.

Dimly she heard the door click softly shut behind them. Looking around, she saw a room bathed in yellow lamplight, a few muted prints adorning the walls. A sprawling entertainment system and two leather couches. Beyond was a sparklingly pristine kitchen, and another hallway with two doors.

It was impeccably furnished, warm and inviting. And utterly devoid of anything Spike.

She turned to him. “What is this place? It’s not – it’s not yours.”

He smiled unpleasantly. “Right. Forgot I’m not to live aboveground with the rest of you lot.”

“That’s not what I meant. There’s nothing of you here.”

“Maybe you don’t know what to look for anymore.”

God, she felt so stupid and at sea. She scrubbed at her eyes. “How? How did it happen? I saw the Hellmouth collapse, the whole town…I watched it, Spike.”

“Yeah? Should have hung around for the second act.”

He moved to the gleaming bar, fixed himself a drink. No more swilling from bottles for him; he added two cubes of ice and sloshed the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip.

“What have you been doing? Since then?”

He winked at her. “Hunting.”

Why wouldn’t he come to her? She was starving for him; surely he could see it in the way her empty arms wrapped around herself. “Are you mad at me?” she asked, and hated how small and weak she sounded.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Just not looking to pick up where we left off.”

She tried to calm her breathing. “Okay. Okay, Spike, that’s fine because we’re going to start over, you and me. We have another chance.”

“To make the same mistake?” He shook his head. “Didn’t expect this from you, to be honest.”

She stared at him incredulously. “You didn’t expect me to come for you? It’s not the first time!”

“Didn’t expect you to go all fucking moon-eyed over this. We were never hearts and flowers, were we? Never a star-crossed romance. You always did like to pretty things up but I’ll tell you the truth once more, for old time’s sake.”

Even as he casually flayed her with his words she couldn’t tear her gaze from him, this Spike-mirage that taunted her in her barrenness and thirst.

“We brought each other a heaping share of pain and misery and I’ll not go back to it. Not for anything in the world.”

Desperation sent her across the room, turning his expressionless face to hers. “It was more than that and you know it! God, you’ve always known it and it took me longer but believe me, Spike, I’ve been taught. I’ve been taught.”

“I can’t give you what you want, Buffy.”

That couldn't be right. She only wanted his love.

“I dream of you.”

He laughed. “Lemme guess. Every night you save me.”

“Something – something like that.”

“Don’t bother.”

She watched, transfixed, at the way his throat worked as he swallowed the last of the scotch. “I couldn’t sleep at night for crying. I wanted you so badly.”

“Yeah?” He shook his head in a parody of sympathy. “I know the feeling.” Glass still in hand he walked to the door, held it open. “It’ll pass.”

Part 6: The Rules Of It's Over

The next night she left work on time, something she hadn't done in months. Her boss beamed at her in obvious approval. "Must have a special guy waiting," she teased.

"Yes," Buffy answered. "I'm already late." And when he came back to his apartment hours later she was there again, camped out on the doorstep of his building. Huddled small in a corner, she rose when she saw him approach.

He looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. She rushed to speak before he could.

“I just…I just want to talk to you. Just talk. Like last night. Can I? Please?”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He didn’t hold the door for her as they walked inside. Silence, as they waited for the elevator. Spike gazed impassively at the ceiling.

“Do you like Cleveland?” she asked desperately.

“Don’t plan on being here long enough to form an opinion.”

Another blow. She'd barely absorbed his return; there was no room in her brain for the thought that he might leave again.

"What - why did you come?" Why wasn't it for me?

"Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's just down the road. The Clash were inducted this year, you know." Off her uncomprehending stare, he grinned. "Lost your sense of humor, have you? As it happens, I'm doing a job. For your ex."

She goggled. "Angel? You're working for Angel?"

"Wouldn't say that, exactly. More like we have an arrangement."

He didn't seem inclined to elaborate, and Buffy was already imagining her next conversation with Angel. "Hey, thanks for buying me this cell phone. Hold still while I ram it down your lying, vampire-knows-best throat."

She didn't realize they'd reached Spike's floor until the doors started to close again. He was already halfway down the hallway. Damn it. Remembering her package, she rushed to join him.

She was chattering nervously as he unlocked the door to his apartment. “I, um – I brought some food. A kind of weird spicy onion thing. For...”

He laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. The good old days. Already eaten, thanks.”

She followed him into the apartment, deflated. “Oh. Well, you can always put it in the fridge, I’m sure –”

The rest of her words were cut off as a dark blur of motion careened toward them. Buffy dropped the restaurant bag and shoved Spike to the side, meeting the attack head-on. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her and fell to the floor, taking the attacker down with her.

She struggled underneath the crushing weight, until Spike cursed and hauled the thing off of her. Effortlessly. And – Buffy spluttered – was that fur in her mouth? She stayed sprawled on the floor for a long moment, trying to catch her breath.

“Emma,” Spike was saying. “You know better. Run along now.”

At length Buffy sat up, eyeing them both warily and still coughing a bit. “Emma?”

He stood over her now, mildly exasperated. For the first time she noticed the faint creases on his brow. “Yes, Emma. You tackled my dog.”

“That wasn’t a dog, that was a – a –”

“Wolfhound, to be specific.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the animal. “Not a hellhound? Because we had those at my Prom.”

“No. She’s very friendly. Just her way of saying hello. Haven’t you ever had a dog before, Slayer?”

She’d prepared herself to hear that word from him so it didn’t cut her as it once did. “I’m not the Slayer anymore. I thought you would have heard by now.”

He muttered something then that she didn't catch.

"What?"

"I said – I said 'I noticed.'"

“Where did you get her?”

“Found her wandering Hermosa about a year ago. Followed me home.” A year. A year that she’d been weeping, waking up with his name on her lips, cloistering herself because ‘moving on’ was such a very horrifying concept. Apparently Spike didn’t share her unwillingness.

He scratched Emma’s ears but his mocking eyes were on Buffy. “Didn’t know what a kick unconditional love could be. Always being on the other side, you know.”

"I -" But he had already turned his back on her. He'd done that more since last night than he had during the whole of their frantic fucked-up relationship.

She rose slowly, then took a few hesitant steps toward the dog. It was a massive thing, a motley mixture of grey and white with dark eyes that studied her plainly.

“Hi,” she said, and for some reason didn’t feel foolish at all. “I’m Buffy.” She extended a hand and the dog immediately lavished it with sloppy licks, her head butting against Buffy’s palm. Buffy giggled.

She stood there with the dog, enjoying the unfamiliar affection until she heard Spike at the bar. He was slamming glasses and bottles together as he fixed what she had come to presume was his evening drink. Reluctantly she let her hand drop.

“You planning to amuse me with pratfalls every night, or is there a reason for this visit?”

She swallowed. Right. "I love you."

She waited, for what she didn't know. His face remained bland, with the slight air of boredom she was beginning to get used to and how very sad was that? When he didn't answer she continued hurriedly.

"I realized yesterday – I hadn't said it. Stupid, huh? I was distracted, I guess, with seeing you, and the whole human thing –" and the soul-destroying rejection – “and the, um, passing out. I love you, and...I want to love you." God, this sounded so much better in her head. "Because we never got a chance before.”

He laughed at that. “Really? Was that our problem? That our wonderful affair never properly blossomed?”

She took a deep breath. “What I mean is, we were never – free –”

He drained the glass. “You’re right. I was fucking beholden to you for years. And now I’m not. I’ve started over and you ought to do the same.”

“I don’t want to. I can’t.”

“Don’t curse yourself to this – this pining like I did, Buffy. It’s a lonely way to live.”

Yes, she knew all about the loneliness. “It doesn't have to be. We can change, it'll be better. I swear.”

"Thanks, but no. These things never do end well."

"That's not true!"

“Whatever. If Harris were here he’d agree with me."

"What?" Now she stepped closer. "What do you mean?"

"Heard about demon girl. Bet he’s got a good case of the guilts now, hasn’t he? All remorseful and wallowing. Let me guess – took off for parts unknown as soon as the dust had cleared.”

Buffy felt ill. “Willow did a locator spell. We…we think he’s in Mexico.”

“Good. That’s good. Little sun on his face, pretty dark-haired girls serving him cerveza. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“He lost the woman he loved.”

“He’ll get over it.”

She hugged herself, abruptly chilled. “Please,” she whispered.

His sneer disappeared. “Go home, Buffy. I never wanted to see you like this.”

Her eyes swam with tears and he blurred before her. “Like what?”

“Weak.”

And oh, that struck home. "Is that what this is about? If I'm not the Slayer, I'm not worth it?" It had occurred to her last night, as she lay awake and hollow-eyed in her chaste bed.

"No," he said, more sharply than she'd come to expect.

She wanted to tear her hair out in frustration. She wanted to drop-kick him across the room but that wasn’t an option anymore. They were going around in circles, Spike acting like he knew something about her that she didn't know herself but all he'd talk about was 'over now' and laugh at her under his breath.

She wanted to tell herself that this wasn't Spike. It was, though. It was the Spike she'd first seen all those years ago; not hard to recognize if you knew what to look for. At some point, of course, he'd ceased to be Spike in her eyes and had become, instead, the troublesome creature Spike-loves-Buffy. She'd managed him accordingly and with varying degrees of success. Now she was once again faced with Spike - not the demon, but the man. Spike with his orientation changed; compass no longer pointing S for Summers. She could still hear Dawn, imploring her. "Oh, Buffy, you have to fix him" and she didn't know how. Because nothing was broken except his devotion to them.

He had been right; she was weak. She couldn't stand to be here another moment, alone save for Spike's utter apathy.

"Yes," she said. "I should...leave." The words were stilted and foreign on her tongue. She turned quickly so she didn't have to watch him let her go.

"Buffy."

She froze. Hope was stubborn in her heart.

"Don't come back."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. When she heard him move away she risked a glance back. He disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Emma trotting behind.

Part 7: Mining For Gold

Los Angeles, California
May 2003

“Sunburn. You stupid wanker. What’s next, food poisoning?” He looked around for the first time. “Fucking hell, get me out of here! It’s a hospital! They’ve got me hooked up to machines, Angelus –”

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

Cleveland, Ohio
August 2004

It used to be, when she called L.A., she’d glean bits of information from whoever answered the phone at the Hyperion. Cordelia could be chatty if the mood struck her, particularly if there were scandalous developments in Buffy’s own life at the time. One mortifying revelation exchanged for another. Wesley didn’t trust Buffy, never had, but she got along well enough with Gunn and a mild, meaningless flirtation amused them both and kept her up on the latest news.

Now, of course, she called Angel at the office. Standing impatiently in the middle of her drab little living room, waiting through two receptionists and an electronica version of 'Goodbye Stranger' before he finally got on the phone.

“Hello?”

“You arrogant, controlling son-of-a-bitch.”

“I'm great, Buffy, thanks for -”

“How dare you? How dare you keep this from me? Do you really hate him that much?”

A sigh. “I assume we’re discussing Spike.”

“Spike? Was that who that was? I saw a guy with a dog and the burning desire to get as far away from me as humanly possible. I want some answers.”

“Don’t drag me into this, Buffy. The less I know about your relationship with Spike, the better.”

“There is no relationship, thanks to you – you –”

Indignance crackled over the line. “Hold on. Are you accusing me of something? Because believe me, the last thing I want is any involvement in Spike’s love life. Or yours. Especially if they happen to converge.”

“So you deliberately deceived me. All this time he's been back and you never said a word.”

“That's right.”

She sank down onto the arm of the couch. “Why? Will someone, please, just tell me why? Because I’m not getting this.”

“I've rarely known why Spike makes the choices he does. They boggle me, even when in retrospect they seem to make some sort of terrible cosmic sense. I brought the subject up more than once, but in the end I felt I had to keep his confidence. We do have some history, Buffy, that doesn’t include you.”

Her voice was measured and tight when she responded. “I wonder how hard, exactly, you tried to change his mind.”

She could almost see his glower as he gripped the receiver. Or maybe he was using one of those headset-things. She hoped he looked like a big dork. “Don't go blaming me for however things ended between you. Spike and I will never be friends. But we are family. We both accept that now, in a way we couldn’t before. He asked this of me and I did it. And you’re right: after a while, I stopped trying. Because he was all right, Buffy. He was doing all right.”

She felt cold again, like she had last night, standing in the path of Spike’s chill wind. Angel’s tone gentled.

“Buffy, when we found him…you can’t imagine. He’d been exposed to the elements for days, digging through the rubble. It was he who found Anya, you know.” ‘Heard about demon girl.’ No, she didn’t know.

“He was raving, convinced that you and Dawn had died as well. Newly human and he didn’t even realize it; he cared only for you two. And learning you were alive after all didn’t erase the pain and torment he’d gone through. He was broken, Buffy. He had to rebuild.”

“Without me.”

“I can’t tell you that. But he has his own life now and as far as I can see, it doesn’t involve large-scale evil, the murder of innocents, or unrequited love. So you’ll forgive me if I want to keep it that way. You're looking for Big Answers, Buffy, and I can't give you any. He’s –”

“Moved on,” she interrupted dully. “I know. And you’re just the right person to help.” She slammed the phone down in the middle of his reply.

Oh, there was the ring of truth to it, as there'd always been. And it shamed her, that she could believe the words from Angel's mouth but not Spike's. Even when Spike had never lied to her. 'No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.' Spike only lied to himself.

Angel clearly thought Spike was better off without her. And he'd know, wouldn't he? Buffy curled up on the couch and indulged in a few good sniffles. She wasn't made for this. She was too clumsy at love.

Confusion kept her away for four days. Trying to do the right thing, and ‘his own life now’ and the echo of Spike’s laughter but eventually even that wasn't enough. One night after Dawn left the apartment Buffy found herself in her bedroom, changing her clothes and carefully applying makeup.

She didn’t go back to his place. She’d promised, and if Angel could respect Spike’s wishes then so could she. Besides, the lights hadn't been on when she went by.

She began trolling the downtown clubs, the types of places Dawn, and apparently Spike, went. There were more than she thought and when she came up empty she had to widen her search. Inside the third ‘gentleman’s cabaret’ she visited, she found him.

He was sitting near the center of the room, with a crowd; holding court, more like. As she approached she could hear him speaking. “…Lair up on the east side. Nasty buggers, making me work for a living –” A round of guffaws as Spike described the scene.

She went to him then and his grin didn’t fade. Encouraged, she found herself tumbling into his lap, squeezed pleasantly between him and the wobbly table. The smell of alcohol was strong on his breath as he continued chatting easily, one loose arm around her and it wasn’t a declaration of love, but at least he wasn’t pushing her away.

He conducted his mysterious business and Buffy was content to remain there. Strobe lights and throbbing music and, okay, topless women, but it was worth it because she was in his arms, finally, she’d caught him at the right moment or he’d missed her enough or he’d just understood, at last, that they were meant to be together. He didn’t speak to her, just kept feeding her drink after drink. That was fine. It was all fine.

After an hour he and another man left the table to huddle near the bar, and Buffy found herself alone with his companions. Two human, two demon, all with varying sleaze factors. One of the demons spoke up. “I’m Fortuna,” he said solicitously.

She smiled, relaxed by the liquor and relief at finding Spike, really finding him, again. “I’m Buffy.”

Fortuna gestured around the table. “And this is Arraxmehe, Bingley and Nate.”

Memory stirred in her foggy brain; Dawn's jumbled tale of the night she first saw Spike. “Nate?” She looked down, at his mangled and bandaged right hand. “That looks like it hurt.”

He looked away. “Work-related injury.”

Spike returned, alone, and another hour later the meeting broke up. She turned to him. “Dance with me. Please, Spike.”

He smiled obligingly. “Always, pet.”

She led him out to the floor and they swayed together, more slowly than the music demanded. He was drunk, she realized. Not fall-down plastered cavegirl drunk, but definitely buzzed.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered pleasurably.

“Dancing just like this, weren’t you? I watched you for a long time. Thought about all the things I wanted to do to you. And now here you are.”

“Forever.”

He kissed her then and God, it was right. Nothing had changed. Not even the life thrumming inside him changed this. He still tasted the same, and he still lit her up inside, and they still fit together perfectly. She could feel it starting all over again, that slow melting down low. He gave her cravings that only he could satisfy. Made her want – him.

He had to feel it too. His hands drifted down to her ass, pulling her tight to him. They were grinding together now, and he was hard. He wanted her too.

“Sweet baby. I know what you need.”

He was licking along her collarbone, where beads of sweat gathered. He bit down lightly and she whimpered.

“Take me home.”

“That what you want? Me in your bed? Do you want that?”

In response she dragged him off the dance floor, to the exit. Inside the car they groped furiously, tangled up in each other and panting with it. Two blocks from the apartment she’d wriggled up next to him (a somewhat more complex maneuever now that he didn’t have the DeSoto and the accompanying bench seats). One block and he had his hand down her skirt. She bucked up and he pressed harder, moved deeper inside her. She was moaning now, begging him with sounds because she was beyond words.

“Oh, yeah. You’re so tight. Were you waiting for me, baby?” She nodded. He swerved to the curb and parked. Then he was on her again, covering her as if he was as desperate as she was. “Such a greedy little thing. Come on, Buffy. Feel me fucking you. Feel me.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Three fingers inside her now, his thumb tracing her clit but it was his eyes that set her off; seeing him again crouched over her, feral and demanding. She came with a sob.

Before she had fully recovered she pulled at him, dragged him out of the car and up the steps to her building. His skin was so warm, pressed against her back as she fumbled to unlock the front door.

They stumbled into the apartment, unwilling to stop touching for even as long as it took to make their way to her room. And still Spike was grinning at her, in that predatory way that reminded her not of their last times together but their first – at her school (where he’d died for her and everybody else) and standing in front of her house engaged in bizarre, brutal negotiations. The thought flitted through her mind that they were back to being adversaries but surely that couldn’t be right. Not when he was running his hands up her bare legs, backing her into her bedroom.

He kicked the door shut behind him. “Strip off. Let me see you. Fuck, Buffy –”

She undressed in front of him, watching him watching her. His hand drifted down to the front of his jeans and she actually had to stop, then, sinking limply to the edge of the bed. He tore off his shirt and followed her down.

She grabbed him tightly, bringing his body onto hers. “Spike, Spike, you’re here.”

He buried his head in her neck, straining to be closer. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I dreamed of you. In this bed. Spike, I'll do anything, whatever you want, I'll -”

“What did you dream?”

“You. You touching me, holding me.”

His hands were on her breasts; warm palms calloused against her peaked nipples. His head sank lower, to rest below her throat. His tongue drew a path downward.

“Tell me.”

“I love you. I missed you so much. It hurt when you were gone and I didn’t know how to fix it, I was dying inside. Never stop touching me. Never leave me, never, never leave…”

And suddenly he pulled back, his body frozen on top of hers.

“Parasite,” he snarled.

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

She wasn’t crying when he left. That was for the best. Hadn’t meant for this to happen. Bloody stupid, and he knew he couldn’t hold his liquor the way he once did. Still, at least they both knew how it was between them, now.

He silently pushed open the door to what he assumed was Dawn’s room. Somewhat more brightly decorated than the rest of the apartment, and what was up with that anyway? It ought to be filled with garish girly things, beads and lace and the sort. Instead it was spare, almost spartan, like there had been no energy left to pretty up the place.

He breathed a sigh of relief to see the bed empty. Wouldn’t do for her to hear any of that. He shut the door again and walked down the hallway, buttoning his jeans as he went, and found Dawn standing at the entrance of the tiny kitchen.

“How could you?” she hissed. “She loves you.”

“She’s a big girl. Knew what she was getting into so you stay the fuck out of it, yeah?”

Dawn glared at him, tears shining in her eyes. “When did you become the asshole boyfriend?”

He didn’t look away, but his face hardened. “Was always an asshole, Dawn. Just never the boyfriend.”

Part 8: Brother, Brother

Dawn brought her tea. She'd unthinkingly made hot chocolate first and then dumped it down the sink, because hello to the baggage. She crept to Buffy's door and pushed it open gently.

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed. Instead of the tears Dawn expected her eyes were dry and clear, fixed beyond the darkened room. Sitting down next to her, Dawn handed her the mug. Buffy accepted and took a sip, then turned her attention again on the faintly cracked window. The night was humid and heavy with the promise of rain.

They remained in not-awkward silence for a while, the two solitary Summers sisters. Spike's leavings, Dawn thought.

Buffy didn't rush to explain, didn't hide her face or send Dawn away with harsh scared words. She just sat there, sipping her tea with a kind of rueful poise that unnerved Dawn. She kept waiting for the explosion, the scene. Time passed and there was nothing. It was starting to get eerie.

"Buffy? Are you, um...okay?"

Buffy finally dragged her gaze from wherever and graced her with a tranquil smile. Dawn shifted uncomfortably. Spike had told her, once, of Buffy's whacked-out coma head trip when Glory took Dawn. Despite what she suspected were Spike's healthy embellishments to the tale, Dawn hadn't been anything more than mildly intrigued; she pretty much only knew Badass Buffy and the idea of her being both sedentary and substantially bummed over her sister's kidnapping was kinda neat, but just about impossible to really picture.

Since they'd arrived in Cleveland (since the day they'd watched Sunnydale crumble) Badass Buffy had disappeared, and Dawn was actually starting to miss her. Spike's return had conjured Weepy Buffy, who was a total downer, no question. But Contemplative, Zen-calm, Wise Woman Buffy was entirely new, and she was seriously freaking Dawn out. "Buffy?" Dawn waved a hand in front of her face. "Are you in there?" Her sister set the tea on the floor at her feet.

"I think," said Buffy, "that I've been going about this all wrong."

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

He was walking down Carnegie Avenue, wishing he'd not chain-smoked his way through his last pack of cigarettes the night before, when suddenly they were beside him. Linking an arm in each of his, all gay and giggling, like he was escorting them to a bloody debutante ball.

"The hell?"

They only laughed some more and cooed almost absent-minded hellos up to him. Carried on talking about - Johnny Depp?

"I never thought eyeliner on a guy would be sexy," Dawn was saying, while Buffy nodded sagely and told her, "You have to see pictures of Billy Idol when he was young -"

"Stop!" Spike barked. And then those two open, questioning faces tilted up to his. For a second his head swam.

"Spike has some Billy Idol issues," Buffy informed Dawn in a conspiratorial tone, and he recovered himself.

He bestowed on Buffy the nastiest sneer in his repertoire. "Mary Kate." He turned the sneer on Dawn. "Ashley. Why don't you both just fuck right off?"

Dawn's temper flared at that, he could see, but instead of letting comment fly she shut her mouth with a snap and smiled. It was such an unexpected thing to witness, and once it would have charmed him. Now he simply couldn't fathom it.

"Where are we going?" Dawn wanted to know, as if he hadn't spoken. He gritted his teeth.

"I'm going on my way, and I don't much care where you two are headed. Just make sure it's in the opposite direction."

That, inexplicably, earned him humoring smiles. "Have you eaten?" Buffy asked, and now he was being steered into a deli that had appeared on the corner. He supposed there was a chance it had been there before, but between the Hellmouth and the unfamiliar creatures beside him he wasn't counting on it. He knew his girls well enough to realize that they were on their very best, company's-here behavior, not that he'd ever before been its recipient. And Spike couldn't help but feel that he was being played.

They'd bustled up to the counter and were placing detailed orders when he wrenched out of their grasp. "What, you think I'm just going to sit down and have a meal with you two?"

Dawn shrugged. "Why not?"

He opened his mouth to speak. Buffy blinked up at him innocently. "Spike, it's not like you hate us. Do you?"

He cocked his head, astonished and grudgingly impressed. Who's a clever girl?

It was a calculated risk. To admit hatred was to admit the remnants of love. The Buffy he'd once known wouldn't have puzzled that out, wouldn't have even bothered. He'd adored her and all her foibles but the girl was utterly unintuitive in matters of the human heart. Motivation, secret resentments, jealousy and longing - all that was Spike's dominion.

No matter. Whatever she had in mind, she'd lose interest soon enough. She wasn't built for this, this relentless rejection, and she certainly wasn't built for the coming-back-for-more. That was what got you, in the end: when you didn't disgust the other person near half as much as you disgusted yourself. She wouldn't debase herself like that; not for long, not for him.

Of course, she hardly seemed debased now. Chattering with Dawn, finally eating like he knew she hadn't been. Hadn't he felt her fragile flesh under his questing fingers, just hours ago? It occurred to him that neither of them looked how he'd left them last, Buffy in her battered state and Dawn hurling hot accusation.

Out of habit he'd emptied his pockets out onto the table. Dawn grabbed up his cell phone eagerly. "Is this yours?"

"Yes. Now quit messing around, you'll break it." But she kept pressing buttons and lights, happily occupied for the time being. He recalled unbidden the child he'd once entertained in his crypt. Irked, he grabbed the phone out of her hands. As he did, though, their fingers brushed, and in an instant her wide unblinking gaze was fixed on him.

"Spike," she asked. "Do you remember when we first met?"

He shoved the cell phone back in his pocket and stared lazily out at the anxious midday traffic. "Nope," he said.

He didn't need to look at her to sense her disappointment, but of course she wouldn't give up. "What's it like being human?" she pestered.

Back in L.A., he thought, he'd be spending his time taking out collagen-enhanced vamps and rifling through the basement records at Wolfram & Hart. He'd bitched to Angel about needing more action but those pursuits seemed plenty appealing now.

"Fine," he told her. He busied himself with the Philly cheese steak they'd put in front of him.

"Just 'fine'? Come on, tell me. Is sex different?"

Buffy had the dignity to blush at that, and Spike froze with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. Seconds ticked by, the food before him turned to ashes on his tongue as he forced himself to answer. "Why? You offering?"

"Oh, ew, Spike! A thousand times ew. I was just thinking, with body heat and all..."

Buffy jumped in then, and distracted her with a rather pointed question about one of the nightspots Dawn had been known to frequent. He guessed Buffy didn't get out much, not after her wide-eyed reaction last night. Which didn't make sense because she finally had the chance to be a girl again, instead of a hollow-eyed warrior.

And so he found himself seated at a cramped table - outside, no less - while they jabbered on and ignored his seething and sulking and overall best Friday-night karaoke impression of Angelus. After lunch they surprised him again when they tossed bills on the table for a tip, dropped kisses on his cheek, and left. Just like that. Didn't try to bully their way back to his place or enlist him in some scheme even more ludicrous than the one they were currently engaged in. He sat there, unaccountably antsy, for minutes before cursing himself and getting back to work.

Five hours, three staked vampires and one useless fact-finding expedition later, he'd almost convinced himself it had been a fluke. Some bizarre rip in the space-time continuum that put those two laughing girls in his reluctant orbit. Except they promptly turned up again.

They ambushed him as he left the apartment to walk Emma. He was stunned for the moment, while they fluttered around him like starved sparrows. He felt so strange, the way he had when they'd gazed up at him earlier. Lovely in their bones, he thought, and couldn't imagine why. He shook it off.

Dawn tugged on the leash. "Can we walk her?"

"No," he snapped. "She weighs more than both of you. Put together." He looked for somewhere to run, to escape these lunatics except there wasn't anywhere to go. He knew as well as they did that he couldn't keep them from walking down the bloody street with him.

"She likes us," Dawn argued. Buffy reached over and gave Emma a few affectionate pats. "You did say she was friendly," she reminded Spike, and he felt a fool for bickering with them over a mutt. He suspected, too, that protesting would only amuse them more.

"Fine, then," he grumbled. "Let's get a move on. Got plans later." He walked ahead quickly so he didn't have to see them exchange triumphant glances.

They were happy to linger behind him, exclaiming over the dog - who was likely putting on quite a show with all this undivided attention, Spike thought drily - only occasionally calling up questions that he mostly ignored. Nearly stopped him in his tracks, though, when Buffy inquired politely if he was seeing anyone. Not like he could fault her, of course, for finally getting the message.

He turned back and mustered a careless grin. "Several." Buffy just smiled back at him pleasantly and resumed her conversation with Dawn. When they had done a circuit of the block and were back at his building, they each kissed him on the cheek and then took their leave.

And he couldn't say why he was so sure he'd been had.

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

Dawn flopped down on the couch. "This is, like, way hard."

Buffy thought about turning on the lights in the apartment, but instead joined her sister. "We knew it would be," she said, but Wise Woman sounded a little worn around the edges.

"Explain our brilliant Plan to me again? Because I kind of lost the plot after the three zillionth evil-Spike-stare-of-death."

Buffy tilted her head back to rest against the cushions. "We have to love Spike, without wanting -" she frowned, correcting herself, "without expecting anything in return."

Dawn sniffed. "Well, I don't expect shit from him so that's not a problem."

"Dawn..."

"Seriously, Buffy. This is not cool with anything I read in my Feminist Theory class."

Buffy worried her bottom lip. "I know. I can't even articulate it to myself, half the time. But he's done this for us, hasn't he? For you, that summer I was gone. And then for me, after I came back. I mean, I wasn't exactly...myself, then."

"No kidding." Dawn rolled her eyes. "'Oooh, I'm alive and it's sooooo sad! Where is my peasant blouse of despair? I'll just go screw Spike's brains out for the next eight hours.'"

Buffy grimaced. "Thanks for the refresher course. That's my point, though." She twisted around to face Dawn, one hand propped underneath her chin. "Maybe we're not his world anymore. Maybe that's too much to ask, now." Buffy thought back to her conversation with Angel; thought back to the nightly speeches she'd delivered to her makeshift ghost-Spike. "But we're his family."

Dawn appeared to mull that over. "Family," she repeated softly. "I get that." Buffy took her hand and squeezed. They fell asleep there.