Feedback: Yes, please.

Archiving: The Sandlot, The Crypt, and anywhere else that already has my stuff.Otherwise, ask and it shall be given to you.

A/N: The title comes from a Pablo Neruda poem. The line actually goes "all the graces of the daybreak" but I liked my pun.
 

Chapter 8: Living the Questions
 

"...Everywhere the water's getting rough/Your best intentions may not be enough/I wonder if we're ever gonna get home tonight/If you break down/I'll drive out and find you/ If you forget my love/I'll try and remind you/And stay by you when it don't come easy/ When it don't come easy/I don't know nothin' except change will come/Year after year what we do is undone/Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run..." ~Patti Griffin, "When It Don't Come Easy"
 

Over the past months, Spike and Joyce formed a well-organized team in dealing with the day-to-day affairs of the gallery. Not having the older woman there was like missing a limb. What made it worse was that the doctors seemed to have no clue what all their tests were telling them. He'd called earlier to see if she had any requests for him, and Joyce had both said that no one was sure what was going on and that Buffy was going a little crazy as a result.

Well, Spike was going a little crazy as well. He just had other things to occupy him.

Having Joyce ill was bringing back memories of his mother's condition. There wasn't any indication that it was as serious as all that, and medicine had advanced quite a bit, but there were still bad memories. There was also the knowledge that not only would he be the one taking care of the gallery, but also probably watching out for Dawn. Buffy was capable, of course, but hardly willing, and she was in the dorms. If Joyce's condition didn't clear up fairly quickly, they'd have to start talking about things like watching Dawn after school and driving her in the morning.

And, of course, there was also the issue of Buffy not being able to cook to save her life, which meant he would be feeding a lot more people than he was used to. Someone had to make sure the Summers ladies ate well, after all.

Spike frowned at the books. The numbers weren't adding up right, and it looked as though he was going to be spending a lot more time on this than he'd planned. Normally, Joyce was on the ball, but he supposed that the headaches she'd been getting had prevented a lot of stuff from getting done.

He sighed and started going over it all again. Spike had a feeling that this was going to be the beginning of a very bad week.

~~~~~

Buffy was not a happy camper. She had put Spike safely to bed and had been on her way home when she'd had to chase down a very large biker-vamp. That meant that this morning she was left with a strange orb—and those never boded well—and an annoying little sister to corral.

In some ways, the Slayer could understand Spike's attachment to her mom and Dawn. It was actually kind of nice to know that someone else had their well-being in mind. Spike never did anything halfway, so it made sense that he would be completely devoted to them.

But Joyce just seemed too intent on Dawn. Buffy wanted a cute nickname. She wanted to do a bookclub with her mom and sit on her lap and be babied. Most of the time she felt as though she could barely remember being a kid, let alone what it was like to let mom do all the worrying.

Buffy tried to take some of the burden off her mother's shoulders, and she got reprimanded for it. Life just sucked sometimes.

The only person in the world who made her feel like a girl was Spike. And not in a bad way. Actually, Spike didn't make her feel like a girl—he made her feel like a woman.

Buffy sighed. She was tired, she wanted to be able to leave Dawn somewhere out of the way for a very long while, and she wanted to be able to snatch her boyfriend up and go off and do something naughty for the afternoon. Instead, she had Dawn-duty and Spike was stuck at the gallery.

Yet another reason she hated her mom being sick. It left her without a boyfriend as well.

Feeling slightly guilty for her feelings of resentment, Buffy gave Dawn a little push when she entered the gallery. "Be careful," she warned her.

"Geez, Buffy, it's not like I'm two," Dawn complained. "I'm not going to break anything."

"Fine, make sure you don't." Buffy looked around, her eyes coming to rest on Giles, dressed in a purple robe and pointed hat. He smiled at her, and she raised an eyebrow in reply. "Are you open?"

"I have been since nine this morning," he replied, running a hand over his hair. "So far, you're the only ones to come."

Dawn was staring around the shop with wide eyes. "Wow. Check out all the magic junk."

"Our new slogan," Giles murmured. Really, he found the younger Summers girl more bewildering than Buffy at her—well, Buffy-est. At least Buffy had been the Slayer, and could be relied upon to be serious at times; Dawn was another matter altogether. "How was your mother this morning?"

Buffy shrugged. "Not great. Spike's taking over the gallery for the time being until she's feeling better."

"Have the doctors called with any results yet?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. They just gave her some pills and said to take some whenever the headaches got bad."

Giles put a comforting hand on her arm. "I'm sure she'll be fine, Buffy."

"I know," she replied, glancing back over at Dawn, who was poking at something on a shelf. "It's just—"

"She's your mother," Giles supplied.

"Yeah." Buffy smiled ruefully. "And sometimes it sucks being the grown-up."

"You aren't the only grown-up in this, Buffy," Giles assured her. "Both Spike and I are happy to help with things until Joyce is feeling better."

"Help me or help mom?" Buffy asked with a lifted eyebrow. Her Watcher gave her a look for the underlying snideness and Buffy shook her head. "Don't mind me, Giles. I'm just tired. Plus, I was out on patrol last night and came up with this."

Buffy was digging the object out of her bag when the bell jingled again and Willow and Tara strolled in, followed closely by Xander and Anya. "Hey, Willow!" Dawn called out cheerfully. "You should see all the talisman—mans—guys. I—"

"I've got Scooby business first," Buffy said, shooting her sister a glance and holding up the orb. She was just hoping that they could get through this, keep Dawn occupied, and hang out until Spike could make it over on his lunch break.

The discussion, such as it was, didn't get far. Giles thought it was supernatural because it was so shiny, but no one else seemed to have an opinion. Books were pulled out and research was attempted while more and more customers filtered into the store. By lunch time, the shop was full, and Buffy called Spike at the gallery to find out if he wanted to meet somewhere else for lunch.

"Sorry, luv," he replied apologetically. "The books were a complete an' utter mess. Don't know what happened exactly, but I lost the entire morning goin' over invoices an' all."

Buffy wanted to whine. She felt dangerously close to whining. On the other hand, she kept reminding herself that Spike was doing this for her mother, just like she had made breakfast for her mother.

Even if he got credit for it and she didn't.

"That's fine," she finally replied, trying to sound gracious. "I think I'll just take Dawn back home and check up on Mom then. I know she wasn't feeling very good this morning."

"Sure thing, Buffy," he replied. "I'll see you later tonight, yeah? Tell your mom not to worry 'bout feedin' the Bit."

She hung up the phone, feeling cheated. This is what she got for dating a guy who had a heartbeat and a sense of responsibility, not to mention a real job. Buffy started out the door, calling to Dawn. She would just have to keep herself occupied.

~~~~~

Spike felt guilty. It wasn't as though he'd lied, precisely. He had spent the morning trying to get the books straight, and he was behind on his work. On the other hand, the ex-vampire knew quite well that he could have made time for lunch with Buffy.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Buffy, but with Joyce out of commission for who knew how long, Spike felt he needed to catch some time anywhere he could. Which was why he was spending the lunch hour working on his laptop rather than spending time with his girlfriend.

He had over a hundred pages so far, and Spike knew he felt the rhythm of prose much more accurately than he'd ever felt the rhyme of poetry. They said write what you know; well, Spike wrote about being Love's Bitch. It was remarkably easy.

There was a small, uncomfortable sense that he hadn't let Buffy in on his extracurricular activities, but he wasn't sure that it was any of her business. It wasn't like he was cheating on her; it was just writing.

After an hour—an hour that passed too quickly—Spike shut the laptop down and flipped the sign again. The gallery was quiet for the next few hours, allowing him to finish getting caught up on paperwork and processing orders. When the bell above the door did ring, Tara was the one to walk through. "Hey, Glinda," Spike said. "What brings you by?"

"Not much," Tara replied. "I just wanted to check up on you."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "'m not the one who's sick, luv, but thanks for carin'."

Tara gave him a pointed look. "Spike—"

"'m fine, ducks."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that, Spike. I know you haven't been sleeping, and you've been pushing yourself too hard."

"That's my decision to make," Spike said, a little heat in his tone. "I'm handling it."

"Don't be macho, Spike," she replied. "It's not attractive."

Spike glared at her, and then his shoulders slumped. "Tara, there isn't much of a choice. What I did—"

"It wasn't you!" Tara protested. "It was—"

"Spike?" he inquired with a cock of his eyebrow. "Maybe I'm not the demon anymore, but the demon's still in me. 's not somethin' you can just get rid of. Difference between you an' me is that you just thought you were a demon. I really was."

"You remember being the demon," Tara corrected him. "Everyone has darkness in them, Spike. Even me." At his look, she gave him another look. "Don't even question my ability to kick your ass."

Spike laughed. Not just a little chuckle, either, but a full-out belly laugh. Tara, far from being insulted, simply smiled back. "Needed a laugh, Glinda," he admitted.

"I could still kick your ass," Tara replied.

"I have no doubt of it," Spike assured her. "Not in the least."

"So have you written anything yet?" The gentle witch knew when it was time to change the subject. There were things she could do for him, of course, to help him sleep, ease his mind. Spike had to be the one to ask for help, though. Otherwise it wouldn't mean as much. She just wanted to be sure he knew that he could ask.

He shrugged in reply, his cheeks flushing a little. "A bit." Spike hesitated. He trusted Tara, he really did, but he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to read what he'd written yet. It would be like opening himself up in the worst possible way.

The last time anyone had read his material, he'd wound up brutally rejected and had then gotten himself turned. It had left a bad taste in his mouth. "You know," Tara began. "If you want me to take a look at it, I'd be honored. I wouldn't say anything to anybody."

Spike hesitated again, and then the bell rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. Impulsively, he called out, "I'll be right with you." Grabbing Tara by the elbow, he steered her into the back office and pointed at the laptop. "'s all there. Just—"

"I'll be gentle," she promised.

Spike gave a sharp nod and went out to help the customer. It was probably a good thing for his peace of mind that the gallery became so busy after that; he had no time to think about Tara's possible reactions to his work. When the time finally came to close up, Spike flipped the sign and the lock with a sigh of relief.

Walking back to the office slowly, he stared at the woman until she finally looked up at him. "Well?"

"It's good," she said simply.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "You aren't just sayin' that, are you? I mean—"

"It's really good, Spike." Tara looked at him earnestly. "You really do have a gift."

"Bloody hell," he muttered, grabbing the other chair and taking a seat. "Who'd've known? William the Bloody Awful Poet can write prose."

"Is that what they called you?" she asked gently.

Spike looked away. "It was a long time ago. Doesn't matter anymore."

"Doesn't it?" she replied cryptically. "Honestly, though, this is good stuff, Spike. I just got sucked right in. You even had me tearing up in a couple of places."

Spike ducked his head, a shy grin spreading across his features. "Ta, luv. That's—it's nice to hear."

"Well, I might be a little biased, but I've taken enough English courses to know good storytelling when I read it. You really ought to think about doing this for a living." Tara smiled. "Or maybe you could teach. You've helped Dawn with her papers enough that I know you'd be good at it."

Spike stared at her. "Rupert said the same thing to me the other day, suggested I think about teachin'. Dunno, really. I did a bit of tutoring at University, to supplement my funds, but that's a bit different."

Tara smiled at him. "I think you could manage it. And I definitely want to know what happens next. If you want, I can edit it for you. Sometimes it's hard to catch your own mistakes."

"I'd appreciate it," he replied, glancing at the clock. "'d better be goin' though. Promised Joyce I'd turn up after I closed the gallery. She's still feelin' bad, so I thought I'd make dinner."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it," Tara replied. "I'd better go too. The dorms won't be open for dinner too much longer."

Spike reached out tentatively to pat her on the shoulder. "Thanks, Tara."

Somehow, Tara knew it was for more than just not ripping his story to shreds. "You're welcome, William."

~~~~~

Buffy desperately wanted the spell to work. It seemed too far-fetched to be a coincidence that the crazy watchman would have known that her mother was ill. And besides, she'd seen him the previous night, and he'd been perfectly normal. Nice, even. No, something had happened, and that something was also attacking her mother and making her sick. All she had to do was find the culprit and kill it.

Deep inside, however, Buffy knew it wasn't that easy.

She knew it wasn't the orb, since it hadn't made her or any of the others crazy, and no one else had seemed to suspect Joyce's illness was anything other than normal human frailty.

Buffy didn't deal with human frailty, though. She dealt with monsters and magic and things that went bump in the night. There wasn't anything she wasn't prepared to face—she'd let her boots do the stompin' and her fists do the talkin'. It was just that simple.

There was a part of her that understood that it was quite likely that Joyce had simply gotten sick. That the doctors weren't evil, but simply limited by their own finite knowledge. That even moms got sick sometimes, and no one could do anything about it.

The Slayer in her refused to accept it, however, and so she seized upon the watchman's words like a drowning man grabs hold of a life preserver. She would go into a trance, she would do the spell (because the Slayer did not accept limitations), and she would end it.

Buffy would be the hero, and her mom would finally understand what it meant for her to be the Slayer.

It was, then, something of a shock to the system for her to walk downstairs and find that nothing was wrong with her mom. The family pictures looked odd, with Dawn flickering in and out, but she was still trying to find some reason for her mother's illness, some curse or hex or something.

Anything to explain why her mom was sick.

She hardly registered that Joyce was going out; instead, she wandered back upstairs, watching as the images in the pictures flickered in and out. She saw Dawn's room—now a girl's bedroom, now a spare room used for storage. She saw her sister.

Her sister wasn't real. "You're not my sister."

Buffy hadn't even realized that she'd spoken out loud until Dawn replied, hurt. "Yeah, like I want to be related to your nasty self."

Grabbing whatever-it-was by the arms, Buffy did what she did best. She threatened, all her fear and anger coming to rest on the shoulders of a girl who wasn't even real.

~~~~~

Spike entered the Summers home by the front door with the key Joyce had given him. He had all kinds of keys now, which seemed strange to a man who had been a vampire for over a century. Even so, he appreciated the level of trust they represented. Joyce had given him keys to the house, as well as the gallery. He still had his key to Giles' apartment, and he also had a key to the Magic Box, since he'd been told he was welcome to use the training room anytime he liked.

Dumping the bag of groceries on the kitchen island, Spike ambled into the living room, looking for the residents. "Joyce? You here?"

The sound of a scuffle startled him, and Spike took the stairs two at a time in the direction of the sound. The last thing he expected to see was Buffy attacking Dawn. "Buffy!"

Ignoring him, Buffy gave her sister another shake. "You stay away from my mother!" She shoved Dawn away, causing her to hit the closet door.

"Slayer!" Spike grabbed Buffy's arm, pulling her away. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doin'? This is your sister!"

"She's not my sister," Buffy replied, her tone strangely flat.

Spike stared at her. "Slayer?Buffy? What are you on?" He moved to put himself in between her and Dawn carefully, not wanting to alarm her.

She was spared from having to answer by the ringing of the phone. Spike watched as she picked up the handset, and then he quickly went over to check on Dawn. "Bit, you okay?"

The girl nodded, obviously confused and on the verge of tears. From Buffy's end of the conversation, Spike made out that she was talking to Giles and that she'd been attempting some spell that hadn't worked. When she hung up, he turned to face her, putting Dawn squarely behind him. "Buffy, I don't know what the bleedin' hell it is you think you're doin', but—"

"I have to go out," she said, interrupting him. "Watch her."

"Your mum—"

"I'll be back before she is," Buffy replied, staring at him. Spike seemed normal, except for the shadow that lay across his face—a shadow that wasn't caused by the lighting. After a few seconds, Spike heard the slam of the front door.

"Dawn, luv, you okay?" He tipped her head to the side to make sure she hadn't been bruised too badly, and Dawn shook her head miserably.

"She hurt my arms."

Spike pulled her to him in a rough hug, sending a worried glance towards the direction Buffy had gone. "What say we make some dinner, huh? 've got a new recipe I thought I might try out on you lot. We'll put somethin' aside for your mum and sis if they don't make it back in time to eat."

Dawn nodded, sniffling. "Spike, I don't know what happened."

"I know, Sweet Bit," he murmured, just as clueless. "I know. We'll get it sorted, don't you worry." His grip tightened just a bit. "You don't have to worry about a thing."

~~~~~

Buffy felt a building sense of panic as she headed to the warehouse where she'd encountered the security guard for the first time, where she'd found the orb. She had no idea what she expected to find, but she wanted answers.

She really wanted answers.

Shoving the memory of Spike's face out of her mind, the way he'd looked at her when she'd tossed Dawn into the closet, Buffy set out with renewed purpose. Once she figured out what that thing's purpose was, she could show everyone. Spike would understand once he knew the truth.

The guy in the brown robe who was tied to a chair was something of a surprise. Buffy hurried over to release him. "You're the one who planted the Dagon Sphere, right? Don't worry, I got it, and I'm stronger than I look. Besides," she whirled, grabbing the woman sneaking up on her by the throat. "I'm not stupid."

She wasn't expecting to get thrown across the room.

~~~~~

"This is really good," Dawn said, digging into the stir-fry and rice that Spike had whipped up. He was digging into his own plate-full with equal relish, having surprised himself at his own success.

"Cooking's not too hard if you can follow directions," he replied. "Least, I don't think it is."

They both heard the sound of the front door opening, and moments later both Giles and Joyce joined them in the kitchen. "You alright, Joyce?" Spike asked, quickly rising to pull a chair out for her.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Well, maybe not fine, but I'll survive." She gave Giles a grateful look. "Thanks for seeing me home, Rupert."

"Well, I was hoping to get fed," he admitted, looking at the food with undisguised longing. "I'm a bit hungry."

"Sit down, both of you," Spike replied. "I'll get it."

"Why don't I give you a hand?" Giles asked, following him into the kitchen. "Do you know where Buffy is?"

Spike shook his head. "Thought she'd be with you, seein' how you were the last one to talk to her." Casting a cautious glance towards the dining room, he asked in a low voice, "What was she up to tonight? When I got here, I found her throwin' Dawn around like she was a ragdoll. Kept sayin' somethin' like Dawn wasn't her sister."

Giles frowned. "She was doing a spell, tirer la couture. Apparently while she was at the hospital getting Joyce's medicine today, a security guard told her that 'they would come at her through her family.' Buffy said he was perfectly sane when she ran into him last night."

Spike frowned. "She was with me last night, and—"

Giles shook his head. "After she left your apartment, actually. She ran into a large vampire, chased him down, and was stopped by a night watchman who found an orb and thought it was hers. We discovered that it was called the Dagon Sphere and was meant to ward off great evil."

"What? She thought Dawn was the great evil?" Spike snorted. "Bit annoying some days maybe, but hardly evil."

Giles sighed. "I have no idea, Spike. It doesn't make much sense to me. Quite frankly, I think it has something to do with the fact that Buffy is having difficulty accepting Joyce's illness. She thought it might be a spell or a curse of some kind."

"Slayer's got plenty of enemies," Spike acknowledged. "Most demons won't go through the family, though. No fun that way. They'll go right for the Slayer's throat. Unless you're Angelus, of course, an' he's just a bloody great wanker."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Giles murmured fervently. "No, I think you're right, but Buffy will have to come to her own conclusions about that."

Spike sighed, handing Giles a full plate. "Well, nothin' we can do about it now. Hopefully, Buffy'll get back soon an' she can enlighten us as to what the hell she was thinkin', attackin' Dawn."

"Indeed," Giles replied. "I just hope she didn't go off and do something rash. The presence of such a powerful talisman as the Dagon Sphere suggests that we may have a serious problem on our hands."

Spike looked out into the dining room at Dawn and Joyce who were talking quietly. "As if we didn't already have a serious problem on our hands."

~~~~~

Buffy wasn't used to getting her ass kicked by a girl. Not that she was sexist or anything, but serious challenges in the past had come from big ugly guys or giant snakes or an ugly demonic cyborg. Challenges, as a rule, didn't come from snotty bitches in 'ho's clothing.

For once, Buffy was grateful for a villain's tossing her across the room as she landed next to the monk. She hurried to get the injured man up and out of the warehouse, focused on getting to safety and not on defeating the bad guy.

Judging by how roundly she'd gotten trounced, beating up the bad girl—in this case—was going to be something of a problem.

She hurried the monk along, noting the sound of breaking concrete behind her, but not stopping to discover what had caused it, or if it meant their safety. They collapsed near a chain-link fence, and Buffy somehow knew that the monk would not rise again, even though she hated to admit defeat.

"We have to get going!" she urged him.

He shook his head weakly. "You have to protect the Key."

Buffy frowned. "The Dagon Sphere—"

"No, not that. For centuries it had no form at all. Then, my brethren and I—its only keepers. The Abomination found us. We had to hide it, give it form, molded its flesh...sent it to you."

Buffy was quick on the uptake. She immediately knew that the monk was talking about Dawn. Her stomach churned. Despite her earlier anger, the thought that Dawn really wasn't her sister made her want to cry. She remembered—

"My memories," she finally objected when the monk confirmed her suspicions.

"We built them," he admitted.

"Then unbuild them!" Buffy cried. It was too much. The burden of her mother's illness, and added to that the burden of her sister's secret identity. She had never asked for this. "This is my life!"

"You cannot abandon."

Buffy wanted to reply, "No shit, Sherlock." She had never been derelict in her duty. Oh, she'd wanted to with the prophecy of her death at the hands of the Master, but she'd gone into the lion's den and came out kicking. If Dawn was really human—"What is she?"

"Human, now human," he said, seemingly reading the thoughts behind the question. "And innocent. She needs you."

Buffy wanted to scream. Everyone needed her—needed her to save the world, to make it a better place, to do her duty. When wasn't she needed? "She's not my sister..."

"She doesn't know that." And the man breathed his last.

Buffy had some time to think as she walked home. She didn't bother calling the police to explain what had happened. They would employ the standard reasoning anyway, so it wasn't as though it would do any good. Who would she tell? Who could she tell?

The monk had wanted to hide the Key, which meant that Dawn's safety rested on as few people as possible knowing the truth. Giles was a must, of course, but Spike was a big question mark. Should she tell her boyfriend, knowing that it might put him in more danger than he could handle?

On the other hand, could she hope to hide it from him, given what he'd seen her do earlier?

Spike would know something was up, just because he knew her so well. What Buffy needed to figure out was if she could really add to his burden by letting him know the truth about Dawn. A girl he loved like his own sister.

She had no answer, even as she approached her front door. No answers at all, to any of it, except that she loved Dawn and would protect her with her life if necessary.

It was what the Slayer did, after all.

 

Feedback: Yes, please.

Archiving: The Sandlot, The Crypt, and anywhere else that already has my stuff.Otherwise, ask and it shall be given to you.

A/N: The title comes from a Pablo Neruda poem. The line actually goes "all the graces of the daybreak" but I liked my pun.
 

Chapter 9: Sometimes It's Not About the Blood
 

"If I can stop one heart from breaking,/I shall not live in vain;/If I can ease one life the aching,/Or cool one pain,/Or help one fainting robin/Unto his nest again,/I shall not live in vain." ~Emily Dickinson
 

Buffy knew she didn't have a choice about telling Spike the truth when she saw his face. He and Giles were sitting with Dawn and Joyce, chatting pleasantly. The way he was looking at her—as though he were terribly disappointed in her—Buffy hadn't thought that anyone but Giles could look at her like that.

"Buffy," Joyce said, smiling. "How was patrol?"

"Good," Buffy replied, glancing at Dawn. The girl rose quickly, slipping past Buffy to head upstairs, without a word to anyone. Spike and Giles exchanged knowing looks, but Joyce appeared bewildered.

"What was that?"

Buffy sighed. "Just sister stuff." She gave both her Watcher and her boyfriend a pleading look. "I'll be right back down."

Joyce noted the look of concern in Spike's eyes as he watched the Slayer head up the stairs. Torn, Spike considered following, but Giles' gentle hand stopped him. With a quick shake of the head, the Watcher held him in place.

Buffy stood in the doorway of her—no, not her sister's—Dawn's room, feeling awkward. She knew she owed Dawn an apology, but it wasn't easy for her to give those out, especially to annoying little sisters.

Speaking of annoying little sisters, if the monks were going to make Dawn up, make up all her memories, why couldn't they make her a little less annoying? A little less bratty? Why did Dawn get special relationships with everyone, including her boyfriend?

Oh, that's right. Because everybody was supposed to want to protect her.

The Slayer stifled her resentment and attempted the apology. "I'm sorry."

"You hurt my arm."

"I'm really sorry." Buffy took a few steps into the room when she realized that Dawn wasn't going to start immediately screaming at her to get out. Faced with the girl, Buffy remembered—everything. She had no idea when the real memories started, though she figured that Dawn had shown up in bodily form only recently.

The memories, even fake ones, were accompanied by feelings though, and Buffy realized what a good job those monks had done. This was about more than duty; it was about love.

Blood didn't have anything to do with it at this point.

Dawn gave her a dirty look. "You acted like a jerk. Even Spike thought so."

"I know." Buffy sat down on the bed next to the other girl.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Did I ever tell you that I have this theory? It's where Mom adopted you from a shoebox full of howler monkeys, only she never told you because of your delicate baby feelings."

"You really can't take an apology, can you?" Buffy suppressed her own eye-roll. "You never could. Ever since—" she broke off as she realized the wrongness of that statement. "I just had a really bad day."

"Join the club," Dawn replied.

"Can I be president?"

"I'm president." Dawn bent. Slightly. "You can be janitor."

"Thanks."

Buffy's hand moved of its own accord to stroke Dawn's hair. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong with Mom?"

"I don't know." Buffy put her arm around Dawn's shoulders as the younger girl leaned against her. "I don't know."

~~~~~

Buffy passed her mom on the stairs on her way down, and she paused to wish her a good night. "Love you."

"I love you too, sweetie," Joyce replied. "Oh, and Spike and Giles are still downstairs. They said they wanted to talk to you."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I figured. I'll let them out."

She found both men drinking tea in the dining room when she got there, speaking in low voices, their conversation intense. Two pairs of eyes found hers as she sat down next to Spike. "Slayer?"

"I'm sorry about earlier," she said softly. "I've already apologized to Dawn."

"That's good," he said, his face still not losing its grimness. "I'm still waitin' to hear what that was all about."

"Did it have something to do with the spell?" Giles asked. "You said it didn't work."

Buffy hesitated, then nodded. "I couldn't see what was wrong with Mom, but I could see what was up with Dawn. Her picture was flickering in and out, her room wasn't really there—it was a storage room. And then, when I saw Dawn, it was like she wasn't real."

"Not real?" Giles said. "What do you mean?"

Briefly, Buffy described her encounter with the monk and the woman, telling them what he had said about Dawn. Spike was shaking his head before she was done. "No. I can't—I remember, Buffy! I—"

"I remember when Mom and Dad got divorced, Dawn cried for like a week." Buffy met his eyes. "You're not the only one who's finding this hard to swallow."

Giles pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Dawn doesn't know?"

"She thinks she's my kid sister," Buffy replied. "We have to keep her safe."

"That goes without sayin'," Spike rumbled. "We gonna tell her?"

Buffy shook her head. "How can we? She'd freak, and that's the last thing anybody needs."

Giles frowned. "This—woman. She knows you now. Should we be thinking about sending Dawn away?"

"Where?" Buffy asked.

"Your father's?" Giles suggested. Buffy and Spike let out twin snorts.

"I wouldn't send that wanker a puppy," Spike muttered.

Buffy gave her boyfriend a half-hearted smile. "What Spike means to say is that my father is in Spain with his secretary, living the dream. I called to let him know Mom was sick, and he didn't even—"

When she faltered, Giles grimaced. "Of course. I'm sorry, Buffy. What will we tell the others?"

"Nothing," Buffy quickly replied. "They'd act weird around her. The fewer people know about this, the better."

Spike nodded his agreement. "Gotta go with the Slayer on this one. Between the three of us we should be able to keep Dawn safe an' the others in the dark. At least for the time being."

"I think that's wise," Giles agreed. "We should also make every attempt to discover who this woman is, and what she might want Dawn for. If she comes after you..."

"She'll come," Buffy said quietly, knowingly. She looked towards the stairs where Dawn lay sleeping by now, and felt Spike's strong hand close over hers on the table. "It's just a matter of time, but she'll come."

~~~~~

Tara looked down at the spell book, thinking about the ramifications of the binding spell—what she'd need, how she'd do it, what kind of power it would take. In some ways, she'd taken a page out of Spike's book. He had come to terms with his place in the group, largely by forming connections that were unique to himself. He had made himself indispensible, although the witch wasn't sure Spike had figured that out yet.

He had just wanted to be useful; well, so did she.

"You coming to bed?" Willow called. She was already under the covers, waiting for the other girl.

Tara looked over her shoulder at her. "I think I'm going to read for a while longer. I just want to get this figured out."

Willow made a face. "You've been spell-gal lately."

"I want to keep up with you," Tara explained. "And I want to be useful. You know, I just want..." She trailed off.

Willow gave her a sympathetic look. "You're not useful. You're essential."

Tara smiled shyly, and ducked her head, remembering what Spike had said to her. "Yeah."

"Are you ready to have a happy birthday?" Willow asked.

A shadow fell across Tara's face as she remembered what turning twenty was supposed to mean, and the fact that she hadn't shared her secret with Willow yet. "I guess." Taking a deep breath, she turned to face her lover. "Can I—I need to tell you something."

"Okay," Willow said, pushing herself up into a more upright position on the bed. "As long as it isn't about you breaking up with me, I can handle anything."

Tara gave a little shake of her head. "No, it's not that. It's about—" She had no idea how to start. How did you tell your girlfriend that you'd thought you were a demon until an ex-vampire had convinced you otherwise? "Do you remember when Spike was really sick last spring, and you guys went and fixed up his apartment while I sat with him?"

Willow nodded, remembering. She also remembered that Tara'd had a different light in her eyes over the subsequent days. She'd looked happier or something, and Willow had wondered why Spike would have been the cause. "Yeah. Spike didn't—I mean, he wouldn't—"

"No, he was..." She sighed. Slowly, she repeated their conversation verbatim, every word having been burned upon her memory. "Up until then I always thought there was something wrong with me," she explained. "I mean, I knew it would come out eventually, and it's supposed to come out on your twentieth birthday."

"Oh." Willow blinked. Her scientist's mind was trying to come up with an explanation, working out all the possibilities. "Well, I mean there are some genes that are carried by males but only expressed in females. Or vice versa. I guess it would be—" She stopped, seeing the look on Tara's face. "Oh! But I don't mean that with you, sweetie! It's not like you're a demon or anything."

Tara gave her a pained smile, her carefully constructed reasoning as to why she couldn't be a demon suddenly very shaky. "But I could be."

"So what if you are?" Willow asked fiercely. "It doesn't matter. I mean, Spike was a vampire, and Anya was a vengeance demon. Nobody cares about that. It's about what you do."

Tara wasn't so sure. And even if it was true, what did she do, anyway? What could she hope to contribute to the others?

Willow, sensing her girlfriend's turmoil, grabbed her hand and tugged her to the bed. "Tara, sweetie, I love you. You know that."

"I know," Tara replied.

The redhead hesitated. "You've never really said much about your family. Was it—was it bad?"

"Not so bad," she replied. "No worse than anybody else's house, I guess."

It wasn't precisely true. Tara hadn't actually known how bad it was until she got to college. Although she might have a tendency to fade into the woodwork, the people had treated her differently, Willow and her friends most differently of all.

Including Spike. Spike was actually the first guy she wasn't afraid of. The day she and Willow took him shopping, his eyes had been so wounded, all she'd wanted to do was to protect him. He'd always been so gentle with her, Tara didn't think she could be afraid, but that hadn't always been the case.

Tara wanted to belong somewhere, to belong to someone. She just wanted a family.

~~~~~

"What are you goin' to do now?" Spike asked.

Buffy had insisted on walking him back to his apartment. Despite the lateness of the hour, she needed to be with him, needed reassurance that he was on her side, and more than willing to brave hell itself for her.

She was suddenly grateful that he'd been there at the end of the spell, that she'd been forced to tell him the truth about Dawn. Otherwise, it would have been far too easy to convince herself of how much better it would be not to tell him.

The burden of keeping it from him would have weighed heavily on her shoulders.

"I'm going to move back home," she said after a moment's silence. "Me being in the dorms just isn't safe for Dawn. Plus, with Mom not feeling well right now, it gives me a good excuse."

Spike nodded. "Probably not a bad idea.An' Dawn?"

"I'm not going to let her out of my sight?" Buffy said, a questioning note in her voice. At Spike's raised eyebrow, she sighed. "I don't know, Spike. That's pretty much the best I can come up with right now."

"Why not let me take on part of that too?" he asked. "Tell her to come to the gallery after she's done with school, or I can take a bit of a break an' pick her up."

Buffy winced. "I don't know. I mean, it's great that you want to help, but—" She stopped, and she could hear him sigh next to her.

"You can say it, Buffy-luv. I'm not strong enough."

Hearing the resignation in his tone, the Slayer squeezed his hand. "I wasn't strong enough," she reminded him. "She was giving me a very thorough ass-kicking. I don't even want to know what she could do to you. You didn't see the monk."

"No, I didn't," Spike agreed. "But I don't need to. Look, pet, you know that if you start keepin' strict tabs on the Bit, it'll look out of place. She'll figure somethin' is up, an' so will everybody else. Then you'll have to answer their questions. Better if you let Giles an' me split duties. If you're not goin' to send her away, you can't single her out."

Buffy knew he was right. There was elegant logic to his argument, and she reluctantly agreed. "So, you and Giles help with Dawn-duty." She let out a bitter little laugh. "Why am I suddenly afraid that I'm never going to get to see you?"

"It'll pass, luv," he replied quietly. "Give it a bit of time, an' it'll pass. We'll figure out this new big bad, an' see that the Niblet is safe. Won't take any time at all, you'll see."

Buffy wanted to believe him. She really did. Duty had come crashing down on her shoulders, however, and it was heavier than she ever remembered it being before. She had a bad feeling about this one, as though she sensed it was going to get ugly before it even started.

"Right," she finally replied, taking a deep breath, somehow knowing that Spike understood how she was feeling. "Business as usual on the Hellmouth."

~~~~~

"Okay, I think that's most of it," Buffy said, leaning back into Spike's chest as his arms came around her waist. "Remind me to thank mom for feeling well enough to give you the day off."

"No need," he replied. "Already done." Spike could feel the tension in the Slayer. She was still wound tight over this whole Glory mess, and he couldn't blame her. He was a bit on edge himself. The worst of it was knowing that he'd be of little use if it came down to a fight. He could carry his own weight, but he was a human, with human limitations.

They had manged to get everything out of Buffy's dorm and back into her room, however, and he'd helped with that. At least he could still move stuff. "Where to now?" he asked.

"Magic Box." Buffy pulled away slightly, giving him a smile. "There's research to be done, and Giles to check up on. You don't have to come, you know. If you just want a break—"

"Not come?" Spike asked, giving a mock-gasp of pain. "Slayer, you wound me! As if I would have anything better to do with my time than be with you."

Buffy stared at him, then a large grin broke out over her face. "You know, you are really good with the sweet talk. Keep that up and I may just have to do something about it."

"That a threat?"

"A promise," she assured him, still grinning.

They drove over to the Magic Box in the DeSoto, Spike doing his best to make her laugh. He would do everything in his power to lighten her load, and he loved to hear her happy. She grew a little more serious as he parked, however. "Spike?"

"Yeah, luv?"

"Have you gotten anything for Tara's birthday yet?"

Spike looked over at her, scarred eyebrow cocked. "Sure. Went shopping about a week ago. Why?"

"I have no idea what to get her," Buffy confessed. "I mean, she's really nice, and I like her. I just don't get her sometimes."

Spike frowned. "Don't get her?"

"Like today, with the comment about the 'insect reflection.' I just—"

Spike made a face. "She has a rare brand of humor, Buffy, but the comment was funny if you understand the context."

"I know!" Buffy replied. "You laughed. You got it. It's just—I don't. All I really know about her is that she likes Willow and she's into the Wicca thing."

He sighed. "If Tara were getting you a present, what would you want from her?"

"Huh?"

Spike looked at her patiently. "Somebody who didn't know you well needed to get you a gift, what would you want?"

The Slayer gave that a moment's consideration. "I don't know. Something everybody likes, I guess. Bath stuff, or candles, or maybe a gift certificate."

"She might like one of those," Spike acknowledged. "Tara doesn't have a lot of spare cash. She might appreciate the chance to treat herself to somethin' nice."

"That just seems so—impersonal."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You can't have it both ways, Slayer. You don't know someone well, chances are your gift's goin' to be a bit impersonal or totally off the mark."

Buffy got out of the car, looking at him over the hood. "Okay, so what did you get her?"

He shrugged. "Got her a book of magical recipes and remedies. She likes that sort of thing, an' it's goin' to be handy if she keeps hangin' around us. We'll need her skills at some point."

Buffy made a face. "You know, I'm not sure what it says when your boyfriend is more sensitive than you are."

"I am not sensitive," he replied hotly. "'m very manly."

She grinned, glad to have riled him a bit. "One hundred percent, sweetie."

"An' don't you forget it," Spike said, following her into the store. Xander was soon moaning about not knowing what to get Tara too, and Spike gently steered him in the same direction he had the Slayer. He'd seen the shy witch's longing looks and regretful glances when he went shopping with her and Dawn. She didn't have a lot of money, but she was as generous with her time and her abilities as anyone he'd ever met. If anyone deserved a bit of a shopping spree it was her.

Honestly, Spike didn't understand why the rest of the Scoobies had such a difficult time understanding Tara. Unless, of course, it was because they couldn't see much outside the confines of their little group. Not that he disliked any of them, really, but they were an insular lot to be sure. He thought it only right that the outsiders looked after each other.

Speaking of outsiders—Spike looked over at the young man browsing the shelves. There was something a little off about him. If he'd still been a vampire, Spike would have snapped his neck without bothering to drink.

Without giving the appearance of staring, Spike kept one eye on his book and one eye on the young wanker. His unease was confirmed just a few moments later. "These all magic books?"

Giles looked up at the potential customer, used by now to impertinent (and stupid) questions. Quite a few visitors to the store didn't take its inventory seriously. "These are part of our private collection. The ones for sale are on the shelves over there."

The Watcher caught a glimpse of the look on Spike's face, and was taken aback. He had a feeling that Spike would be growling if he could have managed it with the same effect as in the past. The stranger looked at the books on the table with barely concealed disdain. "So you can do spells with these books? Turn me into a frog?"

"Yeah, that's what we do," Xander replied drily. "We're making a whole army of frogs in our spare time."

"Might be an improvement," Spike said quietly, in such a low voice that only Buffy caught it. She gave him an alarmed look, and then glanced back at the man. It was unusual for him to be so hostile to a stranger. Spike worked in her mom's art gallery with weird customers all day and managed to be invariably polite.

Buffy watched as Spike smiled politely at the man, his hostility thinly disguised, and the stranger seemed to deflate slightly. Whatever else might have been said was interrupted by the bell over the door, and Willow and Tara walked in laughing and talking.

Spike's sharp eyes didn't miss the way the blonde witch seemed to sink into herself as soon as she caught sight of the strange man, nor the almost unholy light in the man's eyes. "Well, hey, Tara!" he said, sounding jovial. "You got a hug for your big brother?"

"H-h-hey, D-Donny," Tara said, giving him an awkward hug. "H-how did you find—what brings you here?"

Donny grinned, and Spike could see the power behind the expression. It was the smile of someone who was confident of their place and was accustomed to putting other people in theirs. "Well, duh, birthday girl. We came in the camper. We been all over campus lookin' for you." He looked around at the others. "You know these folks?"

"Uh, y-yeah."Tara glanced over at her girlfriend. "Willow, this is m-my b-brother, D-Donny. And these are my friends."

"This is more people than you went to high school with," he replied, laughing. Willow and Spike's eyes met. Now that they both had some inkling that Tara's homelife hadn't been all roses and no thorns, they knew there was more to this than older brother greeting younger sister. Neither had missed Tara's aborted question of how they had found her.

"It's nice to meet you," Willow said, though her smile was slightly strained.

The bell over the door rang again, and a middle aged man in a starched white shirt entered. Spike thought he looked as though he he had something rammed up his ass. "Hey, lookit what I found!" Donny called.

"Uh, dad, hi."

"Hello, Tara." He stepped aside to reveal a young woman about his daughter's age.

"Cousin Beth," Tara's voice was still quavering, and Spike edged a little closer to her, ready to intercede if things got weird. Not that they weren't weird already.

"Hey." The girl didn't appear any more pleased to see Tara than she was to see her family.

Mr. Maclay looked at his daughter. "We went by your room. Some of your dormmates thought we might find you here."

"Oh, yeah, uh, this is Mr. Giles, and these-these are m-my friends," she explained. By this point, everyone in the shop had caught on to the weird vibes, and there were a few very subdued hellos given.

Mr. Maclay sized them all up in moments, and didn't appear too impressed with what he was seeing. "Well, I don't want to disrupt your plans, but I thought we might have dinner tonight."

It wasn't actually a request, and Tara nodded quickly. "Sure."

"I'll pick you up around six then," he stated. "You'll forgive me for running off, but I'm double parked."

All three trooped out, and Willow came to put an arm around her girlfriend. "You don't have to go with them tonight if you don't want to, sweetie. Or I could go with you if—"

Tara shook her head. "N-no, I-I'll be fine. It-it's okay."

Spike came to stand next to her. "Listen to me, luv. Family isn't 'bout the blood, yeah? Whatever they been tellin' you all these years, it's a bunch of lies."

"Lies?" Buffy asked. "What—"

Tara shook her head. "I-I should go." She gave Spike a grateful look. "I know."

"Just so you remember," he warned her, and then watched as she left with Willow.

"Uh, what was that all about?" Buffy asked.

Spike hesitated. He didn't want to spill Tara's secret, but at the same time she might end up needing the support of the whole group. While the Scoobies were insular, they were also very attuned to doing the right thing for the underdog. They would do the right thing now. "Glinda grew up thinkin' she was some sort of demon."

"What?" This came from Buffy, Xander, and Giles.

"What kind of demon?" Anya asked interestedly. "Because I've known some very nice half-breeds. I've known fewer nice humans, actually."

Spike gave her a humorless smile. "Well, they had her convinced she was evil, or some such rot. Thought I'd disabused her of that notion last spring when she told me, but..." He trailed off. "Least evil girl I've ever met," he grumbled.

"I would certainly agree," Giles said. "She said it was just her? But her brother—"

"That's what I said," Spike interrupted. "'less she wasn't her father's daughter, 's impossible. It was some rot story. You saw her brother."

Xander frowned, unwanted memories in his eyes. "He kind of reminded me of someone I don't like." He looked around at the others. "So what are we going to do?"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "What we always do. We protect our own, and Tara's one of us now."

~~~~~

Tara kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she headed towards the Magic Box. After her conversation with her father, she wasn't feeling very good. Her dad seemed so sure—about her, about her mother. She couldn't believe that all magic was evil, not when she'd seen Willow and her friends use it to help people.

Not when she'd used it to help people.

Plus, Spike liked her, and he had known before Willow even. He seemed to think it was all a lie. Even if Willow thought it was possible she was part demon, she hadn't seemed turned off by the idea. Her girlfriend had been just as affectionate with her today as any other day.

Still, the spell had been tempting. If she could just hide it for a little while, until her family was gone and the danger was past—but it wouldn't be right. Besides, if Spike and Willow knew, and the others probably did as well.

That knowledge gave her the strength to tell Beth she wasn't going home, and was why she was now hurrying to the Magic Box. She needed her friends around her when she stood up to her father. She wanted witnesses.

The store was in chaos when she arrived though. Lei-ach demons seemed to be overrunning the place, and Buffy and Spike had their hands full holding them off. "Tara!" Willow called when she spotted the other witch. "Hurry!"

Tara raced over to her, joining their hands, focusing on one of the remaining demons attacking Spike. They had been practicing over the last few months, and the spell worked better than it had in the past, the demon freezing in mid-swing. Spike used the respite to slice through its middle with his ax, calling a brief thanks over his shoulder before going over to help Buffy.

The last demon had managed to evade the Slayer, heading for Mr. Maclay as he came through the door. "What—"

His surprised cry was ignored by the others as Buffy tripped the demon and stepped on its neck, the sharp crack sounding through the suddenly quiet shop. "What is this?" Tara's father demanded.

"Demons," Spike replied laconically, giving Donny and Beth amused looks as they stared at the carnage in horror. "Real ones."

Mr. Maclay stared at him and then looked over at Tara. "You will be coming home with us, young lady. We know what you are. We can deal with it. Staying here, you'll just put your friends in more danger, and—"

"We're already in danger on a regular basis," Buffy interrupted. "Tara being here or not wouldn't change that, but she could be a big help."

"Besides," Dawn said, piping up from behind the store counter where she'd been hiding. "Tara belongs here. We want her."

Beside Tara, Willow gave her hand a squeeze. "I don't want you to go. No one does."

"We're your family!" Mr. Maclay protested. "Your blood kin! You people have no right to interfere in Tara's affairs."

"Sometimes blood isn't everythin'," Spike said.

Tara met Willow's eyes and then looked over at Spike. Seeing the support there, she nodded. "I'm sorry, Dad, but I'm not leaving. This is my home now."

"You're not gonna let her get away with that, are you?" Donny demanded. "Tara, I swear if you don't get yourself in that car right now, I will beat you down!"

Spike had never claimed to be the kind of guy that thinks everything through. He was often led by passion, and this time passion led him to throw a mean left hook. Donny never saw it coming. "You want to try threatenin' anybody again?" he invited softly. He stared into Mr. Maclay's eyes. "You're not welcome here."

"Tara, you're not going to let them do this, are you? For eighteen years, we supported you and took care of you, and now—"

"Dad, just go." She didn't say it without a sense of sadness. You didn't say goodbye to the family of your birth without a longing for what had never been. To break ties also meant to accept what would never be.

But there was a freedom in accepting what was.

She watched her family leave, and then turned and gave Willow a kiss, too happy to say anything at all. Behind her, Giles was talking to Spike. "You know, normally I would tell you that violence doesn't solve anything, but I rather wanted to plant a fist in that wanker's face myself." Then, recalling who was present, he said, "Forgive me, Tara."

"No, it's okay. He is a wanker." She looked over at Spike and smiled. "Thank you."

Spike smiled and shrugged. "What else is family for?"

Tara gave him a knowing look. It seemed she'd at last found a place to belong.
 

 

By enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Don't sue.

Spoilers: I suppose through BtVS S5, but I'm doing some rearranging.

Summary: This is a sequel to "The Great Advantage of Being Alive." If you haven't read it, this one really won't make any sense. In any case, Spike's trying to find out what it means to be a man, and to fight at Buffy's side. Buffy's struggling with what it means to be the Slayer. Dawn wants to know if she's real, and Glory just really wants her Key back.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Archiving: The Sandlot, The Crypt, and anywhere else that already has my stuff.Otherwise, ask and it shall be given to you.

A/N: The title comes from a Pablo Neruda poem. The line actually goes "all the graces of the daybreak" but I liked my pun.
 

Chapter 10: Reliving History
 

"...Just as a pure line describes the dove's curve,/as the fire honors and nourishes peace,/so you and I made this heavenly outcome./The mind and love live naked in this house./Furious dreams, rivers of bitter certainty,/decisions harder than the dreams of a hammer/flowed into the lovers' double cup,/until those twins were lifted into balance/on the scale: the mind and love, like two wings./—So this transparency was built." ~Pablo Neruda, "Sonnet LIV"
 

"Buffy, were you planning on doing anything for Spike's birthday?"

The Slayer looked over at her mother, surprised. "Huh?"

"Spike's birthday," Joyce said patiently. She was relaxing with a cup of tea, enjoying the domesticity of watching her oldest clean up the kitchen while Dawn worked on homework upstairs. She had been feeling better on and off recently. Sometimes she had no trouble working a full day at the gallery. Other times, Spike ran her off the premises as soon as she arrived. "At least, the birth date that he gave me on his employment records. It's coming up this week. I had Spike bring some files over so I could work from home even when I wasn't feeling up to going in to the gallery."

Buffy blinked, feeling like she'd just been hit over the head with a two-by-four. She was a bad girlfriend. She had no idea when her boyfriend's birthday was. She hadn't even bothered to find out. Feeling a flush of shame rise in her face, she gave her mom a panicked look. "Please tell me I didn't completely miss it."

Joyce shook her head. "No, we still have a few days. I just wasn't sure if it was his real birthday or if it had something to do with the date he, you know, became human again. I think it's been about a year."

It had been a year, Buffy realized, startled. This time last year she'd been busy with the Initiative, dating Riley, and being a bitch to a newly-human Spike. Of course, the ex-vampire hadn't actually shown up at Giles' apartment until after the holidays, but he'd spent weeks in the Initiative labs. This would be his first Christmas since he became human again.

This would be his first birthday in a long time, and Buffy had almost missed it, too caught up in her own life to even think about it.

She was indeed a very bad girlfriend. "I'm glad you remembered, Mom," Buffy admitted. "It completely slipped my mind."

Joyce shrugged. "Well, Tara had her birthday last week, and it just reminded me that I should probably check and see what the official date was. I'd planned on doing something for the unofficial date, but it looks like they're pretty closely connected." She gave her daughter a warm smile. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. I know you've been busy recently, trying to get settled back in and with your Slayer obligations. I'm sure I can talk to Giles and we can all figure something out together."

Buffy nodded, already trying to come up with a plan. What did you get a guy when he turned one hundred and something?

~~~~~

Spike peered out the office door when the bell rang to see who had entered. He smiled at Dawn in greeting. "What brings you by, Niblet? School done for the day?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly. "It's so not fair."

He cocked an eyebrow, turning away from his computer screen. "What's not fair, pet?"

"Buffy!" Dawn exploded. "She's all over my case now that she's at home. She wouldn't even let me go over to Melissa's house for dinner! And she lives across the street! It's not fair!"

Spike could see the exclamation points flying out of her mouth, and he bit back a sigh. It most certainly wasn't fair, but fairness wasn't the Slayer's concern at this point. Keeping her sister safe was. "Bit, you know with this new big bad in town your sister wants to be careful. Your safety is important."

"Yeah, well what about my social life?" Dawn demanded. "She was always complaining about her lack in that area. You'd think she'd be happy I at least have friends."

Spike gave her a rueful look. "Buffy's happy. She just wants to protect you."

"It sucks to be the sister of the Slayer," was Dawn's considered opinion. "I never get to do anything. If Buffy wasn't my sister, it wouldn't matter."

Spike nearly winced. If Buffy wasn't Dawn's sister, Dawn wouldn't exist, but he couldn't very well tell the girl that. He understood Buffy's policy on not telling Dawn about her true identity. It would be a lot for the girl to take in, but at the same time, it would help her understand the gravity of the situation. And she needed to understand. Not knowing, Dawn could end up getting herself into some very nasty trouble without even trying.

Besides, when she did find out—and Spike had no doubt that Dawn would—she would probably freak a lot more than if she'd been told under controlled circumstances.

It wasn't his call to make, though.

"If your sister wasn't the Slayer, you probably wouldn't have met me, Niblet," Spike pointed out, hoping to get a smile. "An' how sad a life would that have been?"

Dawn rolled her eyes, an unwilling smile playing around the edges of her mouth. "I guess."

"You want to tell me what you're doin' here then?"

She shrugged. "Buffy said I could go straight to the Magic Box to do homework or here, because Mom wasn't feeling good again this morning. Buffy said I wasn't supposed to bother her."

Spike was sure that was true. He also knew that the Slayer wanted someone keeping tabs on Dawn at all times so she didn't have the chance to run off and get herself into trouble. He'd offered to help with that just the day before. "Be happy to have you here, Niblet. 's been slow today. You work on your homework, an' then maybe later I'll have you help out with some of the stuff in the back. How's that?"

Dawn brightened. "Will you help me with my Wordsworth paper? I so totally don't get what the heck he's talking about."

"'course, luv." Spike watched the girl for a moment as she unpacked her bag. There were times when she reminded him so much of his sister that he could almost see the image superimposed; the face of the girl who had died so long ago over the one who had been created so recently.

It really didn't matter to Spike that she wasn't truly Buffy's sister. He had accepted his love for Dawn a long time ago, knowing he had no blood tie. That she was an innocent pawn in all of this simply intensified his desire to protect her. To save her.

As he had not been able to save his sister, or his mother, or even himself.

~~~~~

Spike knew what day it was, of course, although he wasn't sure anyone else understood its significance. He wasn't altogether sure if Giles' dating of his identification papers had anything to do with when he was turned human again or if the similarity was by chance alone. It was hard to attribute it to chance when there was only a two-day difference.

He hadn't said anything about it, not even to Buffy. He wasn't certain that Buffy remembered when he had shown up at Giles' door, and he'd been in the Initiative labs for weeks by that time, so it had been later when he'd turned up. Spike didn't expect her to remember the exact date of his being alive all over again.

Since there really didn't seem to be any plans in the works to celebrate either his birthday-on-paper or his return-to-life, he was trying hard not to care.

It wasn't working.

His early morning run took him by the grave this time, and he slowed and stopped to pay his respects. It seemed only right. "H'lo, mum," he murmured. "Guess you could say it's my birthday today. 's strange, but I don't even know how old I am. Am I twenty-five or twenty-six? Or maybe 'm a hundred an' forty-six. Don't s'pose it really matters."

He removed some of the dead leaves from the grave. "You remember how you used to celebrate my birthday? You always made sure there was a gift an' I got my favorite foods. It wasn't much, not like the Scoobies do it now, but it was always good.

"I miss you," he confessed. "Wish you could tell me that you're okay. Wish you could tell me that 'm doin' okay after a year of bein' human. Some days, it doesn't seem worth it, an' then I feel guilty for not bein' more grateful for the second chance."

He shivered in the cool air. Even in California, the land of eternal sun, the temperatures started to cool in November. While shorts and a t-shirt were fine for a run, the slight breeze reminded him that he needed to keep moving.

Slowly, Spike stood, remembering briefly stopping here after another run, his mad escape. Things were better now. He had a place.

He just had to keep telling himself that.

~~~~~

"I really appreciate you helping with this, Rupert," Joyce said. "I don't think I'm quite up to planning a party on my own."

Giles looked over at Joyce with concern. "And the doctors still don't know anything?"

"They're talking about more tests right now," she confessed, "but no one seems to know what's going on. I still wanted to be able to do something for William, though. You don't mind picking up the cake?"

"Of course not," Giles replied, putting the bag of party supplies down on the counter. If the truth were to be told, the significance of the date had completely slipped his mind until Joyce reminded him. What with the new menace, discovering Dawn's real identity, plus the running of the Magic Box—well, Giles would have probably forgotten his own head most days if it wasn't attached.

Really, it was no excuse. He would have felt simply horrible had Spike's birthday gone by unnoticed. "I have to admit I hadn't given it much thought." Giles gave her a fond kiss. "What would we do without you?"

"Fall apart, probably," Joyce said lightly, and both of them did their best to ignore the shadow that briefly fell. The possibility that they would have to do without her no longer seemed so unlikely.

Quickly changing the subject, Giles asked, "And where is Spike? I would have thought he'd be here."

Joyce frowned slightly. "I'm not sure. I know he was at the gallery earlier this evening, since he called to ask a question, but Buffy said she hadn't seen him since she went by to pick up Dawn. I'm not sure if he was planning on coming by tonight or not."

"And Buffy's out on patrol," Giles stated, concerned. With this new Glory problem, he hated having the Slayer patrolling by herself. Even though there would be little Spike could do with mere his human strength against such a formidable foe, his presence might be all that was needed. Giles sighed. "Well, perhaps I'll ring Spike a little later and make certain he's alright. He's seemed a bit withdrawn lately."

Joyce nodded, concern shading her eyes. "I hope he's not doing too much. I wouldn't be able to keep the gallery open without him, but..." She trailed off. "I'm sure I worry too much."

"I believe that's what mothers do," Giles said lightly. He could see Joyce's point, but Spike had seemed much more cheerful since the run-in with Tara's family. Spike was busy, but so were they all.

~~~~~

It had been a strange day, Spike thought as he twirled his stake. Not that anything completely out of the ordinary had happened, except maybe for that short stop in the church on his way home. But it had been a normal day, really.

The feeling of the day had been different, however. Like it wasn't quite all real; it had almost a dream-like quality. Maybe it was just the strange realization that he had spent the last year as a human, when it both felt like forever and no time at all.

There were days he wished he was still cutting a swathe of destruction across the continent of his choice and days that the idea made him nauseous.

Maybe it was that feeling which had prompted him to stop inside the church on his way back to his apartment. He'd planned on changing his clothes and then finding Buffy on patrol, but the lights inside the building had drawn him.

Or maybe it was ancient habit, left over from his human days when his mother had been ill. Perhaps his prayers had done nothing, but there was a saying about finding God in a foxhole he'd heard. You had a tendency to pray in a crisis, and Joyce could use something, even if he had doubts about its efficacy.

The sanctuary was empty when he entered, and Spike walked up the aisle toward the altar hesitantly. The last church he'd been in had been the one he'd used to cure Drusilla, and that ritual had been unholy indeed. Even now that the crosses and holy water held no danger for him, Spike still didn't feel as though he belonged. As though it wasn't right for him to be present.

Besides, what could a man such as he say to God? Sorry?

"Can I help you?"

Spike whirled to face an older man in a clerical collar. The minister was probably close to sixty, and his faded blue eyes were open and warm. "No, don't think so." He hesitated, then shook his head more firmly. "I should go, I don't—"

The minister stepped aside as Spike hurried towards the door. "Are you sure I can't help you?" he called out. "It's what I'm here for."

Spike paused in his flight. Perhaps prayers didn't do any good at all, but he supposed they didn't do any harm. "I—" He turned to face the man. "I have a friend who's sick. It's—maybe you could pray for her? She's—she's been like my own mum, and..."

"You know, just because I wear a clerical collar doesn't make my prayers more potent," the minister said gently. "Perhaps you would feel better if you prayed."

Spike shook his head. "Don't know whether I believe in God anymore. An' even if I did, 'm not sure he'd listen to me, not after the things I've done."

"Would you like to talk about it?" When he saw Spike hesitate and inch towards the door again, he offered, "It would be between the two of us. My name is Michael."

Spike had no intention of telling this man anything at all. Yet, he had questions. He'd seen so much, done so much, been drenched in so much blood, that he had difficulty holding onto his childhood belief in a good God. Surely a good God would not have allowed a creature such as himself to exist, let alone wreak havoc.

His mother had believed, however, and he had turned her. He rather wanted an expert opinion on whether or not he'd damned her for eternity. "D'you believe in evil?"

Michael watched him for a moment, and then said quietly, "I assume you're talking about vampires, in which case, I think this calls for a drink."

He'd known about vampires and demons. Michael had even aided a few exorcisms in his day. As he explained, "Once you've presided over the burial of a young man who returns to visit a few days later with the face of a demon—well, it's difficult not to believe. I typically try and convince people to cremate their loved ones these days."

He'd been fascinated by Spike's story of returning to humanity, and had been sympathetic to his struggles with guilt. When Spike had finally gotten up the nerve to ask about the destination of a vampire's soul, the minister had been forthright. "Honestly, I don't know, William." Like Joyce, he'd preferred to use Spike's human name. "Not many people who know about the existence of vampires can agree on the eternal destination of the soul. You seem to have regained your soul with your humanity, so apparently it can be recalled, but we know little more than that for certain."

Michael frowned, shaking his head. "If you want a concrete answer, I can't give you one. What I do believe is that neither you nor your mother are responsible for the demon's actions or your own turning. From what you've said, you didn't have much of a choice, nor did you give her one. A pious, God-fearing woman like your mother will not likely spend an eternity in torment."

Spike searched the other man's face to gauge his sincerity. "Really?"

"Really," Michael replied. "As for yourself, I understand why you might feel guilt and remorse, William, but you are not the demon."

Spike shook his head. "You don't understand. 'm still—it's still there. I could—"

"You could," Michael agreed. "Perhaps more than when you were human the first time, but that is true of anyone. Instead, you are doing your best by your friends and family. And I cannot say that of every man."

Spike nodded shakily, then stood, looking at his watch. "I should be goin'. My girl will be wonderin' where I'm at."

Michael stood as well, offering his hand. "Come by and we'll chat again. Whatever your beliefs might be now, if I can be of any help at all, it would be my pleasure." He smiled slightly. "You know, you are every minister's dream of a success story: a man snatched from darkness who desires to do good. It is rare and wonderful indeed."

With those words echoing in his ears, Spike had left to find his Slayer. Oddly enough, he did feel better. Michael had reminded him of the old minister in charge of his parish some hundred-odd years before. That man had greeted him every Sunday that he'd gone to church, assuring the young William that he would be praying for his mother. At the time, it had been a comfort.

Hearing those same words now brought a similar comfort, almost in spite of himself.

Spike sighed, looking around. He'd been to the typical haunts and hadn't seen Buffy. It was late, and he had another early day at the gallery. Since Dawn was spending the bulk of her afternoons with him, he hadn't nearly as much time to do paperwork other than in the hours before he opened. He should just go back to his apartment and—

A sharp cry broke his train of thought, and Spike started running towards the sound. He didn't have a clue how it had happened, but seeing Buffy impaled by her own stake galvanized him to action. Reacting on instinct, Spike plunged his own weapon into the vampire's back, sending its dust floating over the stunned Slayer.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Spike murmured, assessing the wound.

Buffy shook her head. "No hospitals." At Spike's look of protest, she set her jaw. "I'll be fine. Besides, I don't want to worry Mom right now."

It was a winning argument, and Spike nodded tightly, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Can you make it back to my place?"

"I'm the Slayer," Buffy said, struggling for levity. "Of course I can make it."

They walked back to Spike's place in grim silence, both understanding how close of a call she'd just had. "I'm sorry I didn't meet you sooner," Spike murmured as they reached his door.

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this," Buffy snapped. "It was not your fault. He was—" She broke off. He was just a random vampire, like a thousand others she'd staked with no problem. The last time she'd come this close to death was when she'd lost her Slayer-powers. Not even Sunday had posed such a challenge. This particular vampire should have been as easily defeated.

Spike unlocked the door and supported her inside, too caught up in his own self-recriminations to pay attention to Buffy's incomplete thought. "We'll get you cleaned up, an' then I'll give Joyce a call."

Buffy looked at him, alarmed. "Spike, the whole reason I didn't go to the hospital was because I didn't want to worry my mom."

"You're not goin' back home tonight," Spike said firmly. "It's late, an' you're tired. I'll just tell her you got a bit banged up on patrol an' that I'm lookin' after you." He sat her down on his couch. "You want to worry her by not comin' home and not callin'?"

She rolled her eyes at his high-handedness. "No. Fine." In silence, Buffy watched as Spike expertly bandaged the wound with gentle hands. Despite the pain, the feel of skin on skin sent shivers through her body.

A bolt of heat went through her when Spike gave her a knowing look. "You'll need to avoid strenuous activity for the next few days, luv. It'll take some time even for Slayer-healing to work on this."

"Too bad," she murmured. "I guess you'll have to wait for your birthday present then." At his surprised look, Buffy smiled, mentally thanking her mom. "What? Did you think I'd forgotten?"

He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "No. Well, maybe, but it doesn't matter."

It was a lie, and Buffy knew it. Her guy was so transparent sometimes, and no one liked to have their birthday forgotten. "We're celebrating on the day. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I didn't want you to think we'd just forgotten."

Spike smiled slightly, looking away. "Today's the anniversary of—"

"I know." She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I love you."

"Love you too," Spike replied.

He got her settled into his bed, relishing the opportunity to take care of her, and still feeling guilty that he hadn't been there to prevent her injury in the first place. Moreover, it gave him pleasure, and a sense of satisfaction, to be the one she was relying upon. A pleasure to be her strength when he sometimes felt so superfluous.

Dialing the familiar number, Spike was somehow not surprised when Giles answered. "'s Spike. Just wanted to let you know I ran into Buffy on patrol, an' she got a bit banged up. 'm keepin' her here tonight."

Giles voice was concerned. "Is she alright?"

"She will be," Spike replied evasively. "You'll tell Joyce?"

The Watcher sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get anything more out of Spike. "Yes, of course. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll stop by the shop," Spike replied. "Joyce said somethin' about closin' early tomorrow." They said their goodbyes, and then Spike hung up the phone, looking towards his room where Buffy lay waiting.

He felt a stab of fear as he realized that he might be mortal, but Buffy was the Slayer, and Slayer life-expectancies were relatively short. He'd almost lost her tonight. It was too close.

~~~~~

"I just don't get it, Giles." Buffy and her Watcher were going through the Watchers' diaries, trying to find something about the previous Slayers' last battles. "I'm in the best shape of my life, I don't think I could train harder if I wanted to, and that vamp almost had me last night. If Spike hadn't been there..."

Giles cleared his throat. "Well, we can be grateful that Spike found you in time, then."

Buffy tossed down another book, sending a puff of dust up. It had been a quiet morning in the shop. Spike had dropped her off on his way to the gallery, assuring her that he would meet her there later. "None of these have anything about the Slayer's last battle, Giles. There's nothing in here that can help me."

"Yes, well, since no one was left to talk about the last battles, it's no wonder there isn't any information," he replied, his tone slightly sharp.

Buffy gave him a dirty look. "Well, what about the Watchers? If you guys weren't so—I don't know, maybe we'd have more information."

"I imagine they felt it too painful to talk about," Giles said. He met his Slayer's eyes in a moment of solidarity and understanding. A thought struck him. "Buffy, there is someone who has been with two Slayers at their ends."

Buffy frowned, and then her eyes widened. "Spike. But Giles..." she trailed off, knowing that asking Spike to recount the battles risked re-opening fresh wounds. The Slayer didn't much like asking her ex-vampire boyfriend for details about his past. It seemed like rubbing salt into the wound. "I guess I'll talk to him tonight."

~~~~~

She bided her time, waiting until Spike had finished going over Dawn's English paper to approach him. He was spending most of his evenings at the Summers' residence now, helping with homework, making dinner, and just generally making himself indispensable. There were times that Buffy looked at him and wondered when she could do without him.

She watched as Spike finished proofreading Dawn's paper, giving the girl a fond smile as he returned it to her. "'s good, Bit. There were just a couple places where you could improve it. You're developin' into quite the writer."

"Thanks, Spike," Dawn said, beaming, and giving him a quick hug before heading upstairs. As she passed Buffy, they exchanged a knowing look. Buffy had enlisted Dawn in the cover-up of her wound, and the girl had seemed excited to be in on the Slayer-action, as she put it. Actually, Buffy had a feeling that her sister just enjoyed being included even peripherally, and she made herself a mental note to try that tactic more often. She liked it when Dawn was actually cooperative.

"How you feelin', luv?" Spike asked quietly, his strong hands starting to knead her shoulders.

She sighed in contentment. "A lot better, especially with you doing the magic fingers routine."

"Anything for my girl." They stood in silence for a while, Buffy just basking in the sensation of Spike's hands on her, before she decided it was time to bite the bullet.

"I need a favor."

"Anything, Buffy." His tone was fervent, and she knew he meant it. He really would do anything for her, and sometimes that fact was frightening.

She sighed, turning to face him. "I need you to tell me how you killed those Slayers."

The effect on him was immediate; Spike's face closed down, and he retreated behind a stiff mask. "Buffy—"

"I need to know, Spike," Buffy insisted. "I promise, I'm not trying to hurt you, but that vampire almost got me last night. I should have been able to dust him, no problem, and he beat me. If you hadn't come by—"

"I should've been there sooner," Spike said harshly. "I should've—"

"I'm the Slayer, Spike," she reminded him. "This is my job. I need to know why I couldn't do it last night. The Watchers' diaries don't say anything about the Slayers' final battles. You're the only one who can give me that kind of information."

That fact didn't make him feel any better. "Alright," he acquiesced. "Where do you want to do this?"

"Does it matter?" Buffy countered, knowing he was uncomfortable, but not knowing how to comfort him. She wasn't happy with the subject matter herself.

"Here, then." Spike sat back down at the dining room table where he'd been sitting earlier. "First Slayer I killed was in China, durin' the Boxer Rebellion. We fought with swords, an' she was good." He touched his scarred eyebrow. "That's where I got this. She cut me, an' I killed her."

It wasn't enough. The dry account left everything to be desired, and Buffy shook her head impatiently. "I need it all, Spike. A full account. Don't try and spare my feelings."

Spike wanted to yell at her, to reply that it wasn't her feelings he was trying to spare, but instead he complied. He described the fight in all its gory details, warming to the tale as he remembered what that battle had been like. That had been one of the best nights of his existence, and it still was. The exhilaration, the beauty of the Chinese Slayer's movements, the victory as sweet as her blood—he remembered it vividly and with less remorse than was proper.

He did leave out the bit about he and Dru getting it on right next to the dead body, however. Spike knew without being told that it wasn't something his present girlfriend needed to know.

Buffy sensed something in the tale, however. She knew that he had enjoyed it; the emotion was still readable in his eyes. "And the other one?"

Spike ignored the touch of ice in her tone, incapable of looking her in the eye. He had changed, had come so far to be thrust back into the mind of his vampire-self. What hurt the most was how easy it was to go back, to recall the exact emotions, the movements, the power. "Was 1977," he said slowly. "She was—she was a lot like you. The Chinese girl, she was precise, technically perfect, but there wasn't any fire in her eyes. The New York Slayer, though, now she was bloody incredible. You remind me of her," he said, looking at her suddenly, the past reflected in his eyes.

His tone almost reverent, Spike told of the battle on the subway, told of snapping her neck and taking her coat. It was, perhaps, his tone that gave him away. "You got off on it."

The accusation in her tone made him angry. "You asked, Buffy," he replied. "An' yeah, I did. I was a vampire. What did you expect?" At the look on her face, his breath huffed out in disgust. "Look, Slayer, you're askin' the wrong question. You're askin' why they died. Right question is what makes you different? I said it the first time I fought you, when your mum hit me over the head with an ax. Slayers don't have friends and family, but you do. You got people that tie you to the world—your friends, your mum, your Watcher, your sister."

He stood, impatience written in every line of his stance. "Every Slayer is a little bit in love with death, every Slayer gets to a point where they want it. That's when someone—or something—like me steps in an' gives it to 'em."

"You're proud of it," Buffy murmured, recognizing the vampire she'd known in the man in front of her. She had thought she knew him, and now all that knowledge was called into question. "You're still proud of it."

Spike smiled. "I cared, Slayer. I had a bit of a death-wish myself; they just wanted it more than me. Of all the kills I made, an' there were many, those Slayers were the fairest. We fought as equals, an' they had just as much chance to win as I did. So yeah, I still am a bit proud of it. I still remember how it felt. I felt better at those moments than I ever had. Probably than I ever will."

Buffy shook her head. "You're still not telling me—"

"You're worried 'bout your mum," Spike said, cutting her off. "You're worried, an' your mind's not completely focused on your work. But Joyce'll get better, an' you'll be fine. You haven't found your death-wish yet, luv. Maybe you never will. You got enough people holdin' you here."

Buffy swallowed. "You didn't include yourself in the list."

Spike gave her a hard look, seeing the distaste still strong in her expression. "You includin' me, Slayer? Best get used to what I was, what I still am. 'm not a saint, an' I never will be. Got too much blood on my hands, I remember too much. Maybe I got a second chance, but you've got to be able to deal with it. Let me know, pet. I'll be around."

Buffy watched him walk away, and she didn't know if she wanted to call him back.