The late lunch crowd had just left the diner, leaving it empty except for a young couple seated in a cozy booth near the window. Buffy smiled up at the waitress as their food arrived. Her expression immediately changed, however, upon closer examination of the meal she’d ordered ten minutes earlier.

“I can’t eat this,” she said, after the waitress had left. She wrinkled her nose at the plate in front of her and pushed it away. “It’s way too greasy. Totally gross.” She shot an accusatory look at the man seated across from her. “You should’ve warned me.”

“C’mon luv,” an amused Spike replied. “You kept telling me you wanted to eat ‘fish ‘n chips’. You said it, what, like fifty times. I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

The Slayer frowned. “Well, it’s just that it’s our last day here, and I thought…” She paused and eyed the former vampire’s plate. His sandwich looked much more palatable. “Maybe I should just have some of yours,” she said, reaching over to poach a quarter of his turkey on wheat.

But with superhuman quickness, he whisked the food out of her grasp. “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded, reproachfully. “This is mine, pet.”

“But-“ Her lower lip extended out shamelessly, like a two-year old’s. “I’m hungry and this is just…” She mournfully looked down at the meal she’d ordered. “Yuck.”

“Well…” Spike looked down first at his healthful lunch then at her cholesterol laden nightmare. He started to feel sorry for her. It must have been that newly restored soul of his-the beacon, the guide… He shrugged. “Sorry luv. This is mine. You can order something else if you want to.”

Buffy scowled at him. “You’re…” her eyes narrowed as she thought of an appropriate adjective, “evil!”

Spike smiled immediately. “Thanks, luv.” He winked. “That means a lot.”

As the Slayer scanned a menu, he watched her, thoroughly entertained. He took a bite of his sandwich. “So,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “What’s your take on this whole Watcher deal? Think I should take the money and run?”

Buffy looked up, forgetting briefly about her hunger. “I don’t know,” she said. “It seems kinda strange, doesn’t it? And Travers-he’s such a jerk. I mean, I trust him about as far as I can throw him.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Well, actually,” he said, chuckling, “that’s pretty far.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Buffy continued. “Why would they want you to join them?”

“Well, they obviously don’t know me,” he said, smiling. “That’s pretty clear. If they did-“

“Spike, this is serious. The Council’s up to something. I can feel it.”

“Well, if you ask me, the Council’s always going to be up to something. Now, if they want to pay me for sitting on my ass and opening a few books…” He shrugged. “Let them. I’m not saying that I trust them. But they don’t scare me.”

“Still, something about this just…stinks.”

“I think it’s you lunch, pet.” Spike grinned. “Anyway, I told him I’d think about it.” He gestured to her menu, diverting the focus back to the meal. “Now, maybe you should just go on and pick something to eat.”

* * *

By the time Buffy was ready to order, Spike had already finished his lunch. He was dying for a smoke. He reached for his cigarettes but was stopped by the Slayer’s icy stare. Excusing himself under the guise of going to the bathroom, he went outside to an adjacent alley.

Spike leaned against a wall and glanced up at the sky. He frowned as he noticed dark clouds converging quickly. It looked like rain.

Hastily, he lit a thin white stalk and brought it to his lips. It was a nasty habit-he knew it. The bleeding things would probably be the death of him. But he didn’t care. A bloke had to have his vices.

Of course, Buffy disapproved…

He took a long drag and held in the smoke for as long as he could tolerate it.

‘I’ll bloody well do…’

He took another puff.

‘As I plea-‘

‘William!’ said a voice in his head.

Spike grimaced. “Bloody Hell!” He just hated it when Wiccans did that. He strongly felt that there should be a law against unexpected telepathic communications. He looked around the alley, but he was alone.

‘Emily?’

‘Yes?’ There was a playfulness in her ‘voice.’ He could picture his sister smiling.

‘Where the hell are you?’ He sent her an image of himself snarling.

‘Around the corner, there’s a little café. I’m the beautiful red-head seated outside.’

‘Nice.’ Spike made his way down the alley. Turning, he immediately spotted his sister. She was seated at a small, round, wrought iron table and wore a black, formfitting catsuit, perfectly accessorized with oval dark glasses--a very ‘sixties’ look.

“Well,” he said, taking a seat in the chair opposite hers. “If it isn’t ‘Miss Emma Peel’.”

The Vampire gazed at her brother with amusement. “I’m incognito,” she said. “Thought I’d have a bit of fun.’” Her lips curled upward. “So, how’s life?”

“It’s killing me,” he joked.

Emily tilted her head to one side. “I could fix that-if you want me to. Make you…something other than a man again…”

Spike laughed and shook his head. “Oh no.” He then became serious. “This,” he said, thumping his chest, “is what I’ve really wanted for some time now.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I imagine I’ve been rewarded by the bleeding Powers for my good behavior, or something like that.”

His sister looked disappointed. “Well, if you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

Emily sighed. “I know.” She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with this new life of yours?”

“Well.” Spike smirked. “There’s the whole Watcher thing. They’ve asked me--”

“Asked you?” Emily tilted her sunglasses down and looked at him. “What exactly did they say?”

“Oh, they brought up the possibility of reestablishing the Pierce line.”

The Wiccan became thoughtful. “Interesting. And are you considering it?”

“Well, yeah. They’ve offered to pay me something-not a lot, mind you, but a decent amount,” Spike replied. “I do need the money.”

“Well actually,” Emily said knowingly, “you really don’t.”

The ex-vampire frowned. “I don’t?”

“Our family’s amassed quite a fortune since you first died,” she explained. “About 80 years ago I sold the family bookstore. I reinvested the money in the American stock market. We’ve done well-very well, in fact. Half of our wealth, I’ve shifted to a separate account-under an alias I’ve set up for myself. The rest of it, though…” She paused meaningfully. “It’s yours William. I’ve already contacted my lawyer. Everything’s arranged. She’ll be getting in touch with you soon.”

Spike was speechless.

“So,” Emily said, eyeing him with amusement. “You really don’t need to work for the Council…unless you want to.”

His eyes were questioning. “What do you think? I mean, they’re a bunch of gits, if you ask me…”

“I think,” Emily replied quietly, “that it’s always wise to stay close to the enemy.”

“So you think they’re the enemy, then?”

She nodded. “They could very well be-for me, anyway.” She waved her hand, dismissively. “But, not to worry, Brother. I’m much smarter then them, stronger and more powerful. They can’t touch me. You do as you please.”

“Yeah.” Spike rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I always do, anyway.”

“So.” Emily stood up. “I imagine your Slayer’s probably wondering where you’ve gone to by now.” She adjusted her sunglasses and smoothed her hair. “And besides, it’s time for me to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving London,” she replied, almost wistfully. “After all these years. It’s time for a change. I’m catching a plane tonight.”

“But, where-“

Emily shook her head. “I can’t tell you just yet. But I’ll be close to you, and I’ll be in touch.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips left a lingering feeling of coolness on his face as he watched her cross the street and disappear into a crowd.

* * *

At a hospital across town, Faith gazed unsatisfactorily at her reflection in the mirror. She was definitely not liking the oversized gray sweatshirt borrowed from Giles or the touristy blue baseball cap with the words “London 2001” on it. The outdated Rayban sunglasses didn’t do much for her either.

Sighing, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her black leather pants--the only article of clothing she wore that truly reflected her personality. She frowned as her hand came into contact with something soft, a pouch. She pulled it out to examine it.

It was tiny, smaller than an egg. She turned it around in her palm. There was a broken cord tied around it, keeping it closed. It had been Spike’s. She remembered inadvertently pulling it off of him the night he’d died. But what was it for?

Curious, she untied the string and opened the little bag. A small amount of crushed, dried herbs spilled onto her hand. She pushed the tiny leaves around with her finger, then cautiously sniffed. It smelled musty, like an old house. She felt a strange rush-a sense of freedom. Liking the feeling, she closed her eyes and inhaled again, deeper this time. The sensation returned, stronger. She could picture herself floating; her cares and worries landlocked as she rose above them.

Faith curled her fingers around the pouch. She wasn’t comfortable with spells. She’d never had much luck with them in the past. She recalled the time she’d switched bodies with Buffy-that incident had certainly backfired on her. Magic always seemed to have consequences. She knew this, but… She took another whiff. Her body swayed as she was again overcome with the feeling of weightlessness.

‘No.’ She hastily retied the pouch. ‘No more.’ She walked to a wastebasket and held the tiny sack over it. She started to let it go, then stopped. ‘Maybe…’

She stuffed the pouch back in her pocket. ‘Just in case.’

She didn’t need it-not now. Things finally seemed to be turning around for her. But you just never knew.

Faith picked up the duffel that carried her life’s belongings. Giles had brought it for her the day before, along with her new passport, driver’s license, plane ticket and a generous amount of money. He’d given her enough cash to last her at least a month-longer if she really tried to stretch it. She felt a lump in her throat; kindness was not something she was used to.

Taking a deep breath, Faith scanned the hospital room one last time before walking out the door. Giles was waiting for her in the lobby, ready to take her to the airport. She’d be boarding a plane for New York City in just a few hours.

Although unsure of what challenges she would face in the future, she felt lucky to have a second chance. She was determined to make the right choices this time. Maybe, make a difference. She lifted her chin up a notch. After all, she wasn’t just an ordinary girl-she was a slayer.

* * *

Spike closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep despite the loud hum of the airplane engines. It was going to be a long flight and he was tired. His London visit had finally come to an end. It had certainly been eventful.

His senses began to tingle. Someone was watching him. He leaned sideways and scanned the aisle. A pair of eyes met his.

“Bloody Hell!” He sat up straight, surprised.

The little girl smiled at him triumphantly. “I knew it was you,” she said, showing a gap in her front teeth that hadn’t been there on the trip coming.

“Yeah?” he said, amused.

Her eyes narrowed. “But you look different.”

Spike smirked. “The hair?” he said, referring to his still natural colored locks.

“Yeah.” She nodded, staring at him in earnest. “But there’s something else.”

He shrugged.

“Hey,” the girl said, craning her neck toward him. “Can you do that thing again?”

“Thing?”

“Yeah, you know-the cool vampire face thing.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Just can’t, as all.”

“Why?”

“Just ca-“ Spike stopped himself, realizing the conversation could probably go on like that indefinitely. He exhaled loudly. “Because I’m not a vampire anymore, okay?”

The little girl looked crestfallen. “Oh,” she said softly. “That’s too bad”

“You think?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, ‘cause you were just so…cool.”

Spike suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, I guess I was.” He looked at her and smiled. “But I like being warm better.”

The little girl frowned and withdrew from the aisle, disappearing behind her seat.

Still smiling, Spike leaned back and closed his eyes. Eventually, he fell asleep and had a most wonderful dream-of strolling in the woods with Buffy. When they came to a clearing, the Slayer walked out into the sunlight and beckoned for him to follow. Hesitantly, he left the shelter of the trees to join her. He’d had this dream before. But it was different now. This time he didn’t burn.

It was early evening. Buffy, Willow and Dawn sat around the research table at the Magic Box, determining the identity of the latest ‘big bad’ to arrive in Sunnydale. It had been almost two months since the Slayer and the man who was now her new Watcher had returned from London.

“So,” Buffy said, looking at the two other girls, “you guys think this demon guy I saw last night was a, uh, ‘Chamorro’ something or other?”

Dawn nodded and glanced at Willow who looked up from her laptop, bobbing her head up and down with obvious enthusiasm.

“Uh huh,” the Wiccan replied, she leaned over Dawn’s book and pointed to a black and white drawing. “Here, this guy, a Chermaya demon. He’s all lumpy and scaly with this big horn on his head-ooh and the funny ears-just like you described.” She pushed the book across the table to Buffy. “See?”

The Slayer’s brow furrowed slightly as she examined the picture. “Yeah, I guess that’s him. He looks a lot different in person-you know, bigger. But yeah, I think it’s him all right.”

Willow turned back to her computer and began typing. After a minute, she paused. “This Chermaya demon sounds like a real ‘meany’ from what I can find on the data base. Its victims have kinda had their heads ripped off, arms and legs, too, for that matter-you better have Spike go with you on patrol tonight.”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, “he pretty much comes with me every night, anyway. He’s really taking this Watcher business to a whole new level.”

Willow smiled knowingly. “Oh, for Spike, going patrolling is like, you know, a date. He just likes being with you, that’s all.”

“Plus he’s majorly protective,” Buffy added.

“Yeah, but that’s a good thing!”.

Dawn leaned forward, resting her chin in the palms of her hands. “You’re so lucky, Buffy,” the teenager said, looking dreamily at the ceiling. “Spike’s like-so cool. And he’s so in love you.” She glanced at her sister. “You totally don’t deserve him,” she added with a smirk, “but I’m still happy for you.”

“Where is Spike, anyway?” Willow asked. “Thought he’d be here by now.”

“Maybe he’s at his beach house,” Dawn suggested. “God I love that place! And Spike promised I could have a party there nex-“

“He what?” Buffy asked, eyeing her sister sternly.

Suddenly nervous, Dawn remained silent for a moment. “N-nothing,” she said finally.

“Yeah, well, I’ll stop by there, before going to the cemetery.” Buffy paused thoughtfully. “But I think he might be someplace else.”

* * *

She’d been right. Spike wasn’t at the beach house, but she’d found Xander and Anya there. The couple frequently visited Spike’s new home, much to the vexation of the former vampire. It had started with them coming to the housewarming party that Buffy had forced him to throw. After that, there’d been reason after lame reason for them to show up there. The real reasons though, in Buffy’s opinion, was for Xander, Spike’s big screen t.v., and for Anya, the fact that the house had cost an obscene amount of money. And of course there was his Jacuzzi…

Whenever the couple stopped by, Spike tended to leave the house after what he considered to be a polite amount of time-five to ten minutes. Buffy smiled as she reflected on the way the former vampire grumbled about his unwelcome visitors. She couldn’t help but think that part of him was really pleased to finally be accepted. Nobody thought of him as evil anymore. No one questioned his motives.

The sound of grinding gears interrupted her thoughts. A week before, just hours after getting her driver’s license, Buffy had bought a sporty little Honda CRV. Although Spike had warned her not to, she’d decided to purchase one with a stick shift-because they were supposed to be fun to drive. Gritting her teeth, she downshifted again, wincing at the resulting screeching sound.

Upon reaching the cemetery, Buffy put the CRV in park. The car seemed to grumble as she shut off the engine. The Slayer patted the steering wheel. “Be nice,” she said, admonishing the vehicle. “I’m getting better.”

She then hopped out of the car and headed for the place she’d originally assumed Spike to be-his old lair.

* * *

The crypt was nice and peaceful. A retreat. Sometimes, Spike just needed to get away-from life and the living.

He sat on the stone sarcophagus, chewing on the nicotine gum Buffy had bought for him the day before. Reaching into the pocket of his new leather coat, he took out two more pieces and shoved them into his mouth. It just wasn’t the same; what he would’ve given for a smoke!

He champed harder. The things he did for love. His one last vice out the door. Was he turning into the Slayer’s whipped puppy? Damn, he hoped not. But of course he’d always been love’s bitch… He chewed even harder, with so much force that he thought his jaw might break.

The Slayer was great; there was no denying that, but her friends were another story. He could tolerate Willow and Tara, but Xander and Anya? He’d never liked them when he was a vampire and he saw no reason to start now just because he happened to be warm and breathing. Sod that! And they were always coming over-like tonight! He shook his head with frustration.

They were so nice to him now. It was weird. Some days he felt like he just couldn’t handle it.

So he came here-to his old lair. It was familiar and dark. It still felt more like home to him than the expensive piece of oceanfront property he’d purchased on the advice of Emily’s lawyer. He looked around the crypt and took a deep breath. Yes, to him, it still felt like home.

Suddenly, his senses started tingling. She was coming. He pictured her walking at her usual brisk pace-a Slayer’s pace, through the cemetery. He started counting down from twenty. “19, 18, 17…” He had it down to a science. “…14, 13, 12…” He pictured her newly shorn hair, bouncing just above her shoulders, a style he hated, but had held back from criticizing because she so obviously loved it.

“…7, 6, 5…” She was almost there. “…3, 2, 1.” Then with the usual lack of ceremony, the door burst open and Buffy walked in. She stood near the entrance, smirking and cocking her head to one side-a mannerism she’d obviously picked up from him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said, a playful look in her eyes.

“Yeah well.” Spike shrugged. “What can I say? Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Buffy walked over to him and hiked herself up onto the sarcophagus, seating herself next to him. She looked around her surroundings and smiled. “This place does have a lot of memories,” she said. “Some of them, I’d even call-happy.”

Spike draped his arm around her shoulders, an action that was now so natural. “Very happy memories,” he murmured. “We can still…” He looked at her with a familiar glint in his eyes. “Make some more.”

The Slayer pulled away. “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve got a new ‘Big Bad’ to find. A ‘Chamorro’ demon.”

Spike frowned. “Uh, do you mean ‘Chermaya’?”

“Oh yeah, Chermaya-that’s what Willow called it.” She smiled. “Wow, you’re such a knowledgeable Watcher guy now. I’m impressed!”

Spike looked worried. “Those are nasty buggars. Hard to kill, too. They’ve got this really tough scaly skin that’s-“