Cast Me Not Away

By enigmaticblue

Rated: PG-13

Summary: Spike leaves after “Dead Things,” wanting nothing more than to get Buffy out of his head. Wesley’s still an independent contractor after the events of “Loyalty.” And the Slayer’s still living in the land of denial.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters featured below except for Nika. She’s all mine. And I’m not making any money off of her either, so please don’t sue.

A/N: I’ve always thought that Buffy got off way too lightly for the beating she gave Spike in “Dead Things.” And we all know how wonderful S4 of Ats was. So this is my version of things. In my universe, Spike left Sunnydale, and there was never a plot to get Cordy to become some sort of vessel for Jasmine. She stops Connor from sending Angel to the bottom of the ocean, and they both admit to loving one another. And, because no one can have a perfect moment of happiness with a teenager running around the house, Angel doesn’t lose his soul when he and Cordy finally consummate the relationship. Unfortunately, this leaves poor Wes still out in the cold because Angel can hold a grudge like no other.

Prologue

Dawn entered the crypt as quietly as she could. She hadn’t seen Spike in forever, but she wanted to let him know that Buffy’s birthday party was coming up. He probably would appreciate the warning and the knowledge.

It was just after school, so the sun was still up, and she figured he’d be around. The upper level was empty however, and when she called his name there was no answer. Hesitantly, Dawn set her backpack down on his chair and headed towards the ladder. There had been a couple of embarrassing moments the previous summer when she’d walked in on him while he was slightly less than dressed. Though, to be honest, Dawn probably hadn’t minded nearly as much as Spike had.

She descended the ladder slowly, ready to leave quickly if he was indisposed. All she could see in the dim candlelight was a half-full bag on his bed, surrounded by odds and ends of clothes and books.

Dawn knew that she hadn’t actually been there, but she remembered this scene like something out of a bad dream. The huge party downstairs, Dawn trying to make herself scarce, but wanting to hang with an older sister she hadn’t seen in months, coming out into the hallway only to hear Willow and her mom shouting. And Buffy had been standing there with her suitcase half-packed, wanting to take off yet again. Dawn had never quite forgiven her sister for leaving like that.

She wasn’t sure she would be able to forgive Spike for leaving either.

“Why?” It was the only question she could think of to ask, and she knew he was there, even if he hadn’t made a sound.

He stepped half-way into the light then, and the candles only partially illuminated his face. She could see that his face was bruised, but not how badly. “Gotta go, Bit. It’s time.”

“Time?” she demanded. “Why now, Spike? Were you even going to let us know?”

“Who would care?” It was a question that was only partially rhetorical, and Dawn marvelled at the distance that had grown up between them in the last months. Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better if Buffy had stayed dead. Bringing her back seemed to have created more problems than it solved.

“I would,” she protested. Dawn strode forward and grabbed his arm, as though to physically prevent his leaving. “Spike, you promised me!”

He turned his face away from her, and it was then that Dawn could see the full extent of the damage. She let out an involuntary gasp. The last time he’d been this badly injured was after Glory had tortured him, and he’d been restrained. She couldn’t think of a thing on earth that could hurt him that badly and then let him walk away.

Unless he let them hurt him, and they—

“Buffy.” It was a statement, not a question, as Dawn remembered how banged up her sister’s knuckles had been the morning after she’d tried to turn herself into the police. As the Slayer, she would have had to give someone quite a beating for it to be that obvious.

Besides, Buffy was about the only person Spike would let hurt him like that.

He turned his back to her, and continued stuffing clothes and assorted items into the suitcase. “Doesn’t matter,” he asserted.

Dawn stood, frozen, watching yet another person she loved walk out of her life. This time because of her sister. Yeah, she was definitely beginning to think it might have been better if Buffy stayed dead. Though the thought brought on the guilt, Dawn could deal with dead-Buffy. It was this half-alive version that made her crazy. “It matters to me.”

She heard him sigh, and not for the first time wondered at the humanity of him. Sure, he was a vampire, but sometimes it was so hard to tell… “If I stay, one of us will kill the other.” He turned and faced her fully for the first time, and Dawn could see his face clearly. He had been badly hurt, and all the anger she felt at him for leaving drained away.

Dawn wrapped her arms around his waist. “I hate this.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he returned her embrace. “’m sorry, Dawn.” Spike pulled back from her abruptly, feeling as though he might cry at any moment, and hating himself for it. He was the Big Bad. And even if he wasn’t the Big Bad now, he’d get it back. He’d get it back, and—

Looking into a girl’s eyes, he knew he wouldn’t do anything except stay away. It was all he could do for her. “Will you come back?”

“I dunno,” he replied. “Maybe.”

“When?”

How to put a timeline on love? Or, in his case, on getting over love? How long would it take to forget the Slayer? “I dunno. When I’m over her.”

Dawn nodded, hiding her own tears. It was their way to be strong for each other. It was their pact from last summer, that if neither broke, then the other one could stay strong as well. “Promise you’ll write me.”

“Niblet—”

“Promise.” And because he was already breaking one promise he’d made, Spike agreed.

There was an awkward silence, neither of them really wanting to say good-bye, neither knowing what to say at all. Suddenly, Spike stripped himself out of his duster and shoved it into Dawn’s arms. “Here.”

She stared at him, not comprehending his actions. “You keep it,” he said firmly, though still eyeing the coat as if he might take it back at any moment. “Till I come back for it, I mean. ‘s not a gift, it’s a loan, yeah?”

It was a promise that meant something. It meant that he would come back, that he wouldn’t forget, that she would have a piece of him to hang onto in the weeks or months or years that it would take for him to make his way back to her. He might as well have handed her a limb and told her he’d be back for it. “Do you want me to tell—do you want me to tell her anything?”

There was a terrible moment of indecision as Spike tried to decide whether or not to cut the umbilical cord once and for all or if he should leave some small thread of hope alive. “Only if she asks.”

Dawn nodded, her arms full of his leather duster, his scent filling her nose, her mouth—She flung it down on the bed, wrapped herself around him for one last farewell, and then grabbed the coat and ran. Up the ladder, grabbing her pack, and out into the lengthening shadows. She hardly dared hope she would see him again.

And below, Spike finished packing.

Part I: Reasons

“I’m not a perfect person/There are many things I wish I didn’t do/but I continue learning/ I never meant to do those things to you/and so I have to say before I go/that I just want you to know/I’ve found a reason for me/to change who I used to be/A reason to start over new/ and the reason is you/I’m sorry that I hurt you/It’s something I must live with everyday/ and all the pain I put you through/I wish that I could take it all away/and be the one who catches all your tears…I’ve found a reason for me/to change who I used to be/a reason to start over new/and the reason is you/I’ve found a reason to show/a side of me you didn’t know/A reason for all that I do/and the reason is you.” ~Hoobastank, “The Reason”

Chapter 1: August 2002

Nika took the urn the funeral home attendant handed her, holding it tightly to her breast. They had held the memorial service the day before, her husband’s brothers in arms coming in droves to offer their condolences. She knew that none of them quite understood why Danny had asked to be cremated. She’d explained that it was traditional in his family. The explanation had seemed to suffice.

It was odd, she thought, that the urn was so small, only a little bigger than a football. Danny had been a big man, broad chested and well muscled. He had made her feel safe as no one ever had before.

She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened and headed out to her car. Today, there was no one. Her friends had been kind, but awkward. His friends and their wives had seemed not to know what to say. They had liked him, but they had never been close. She and Daniel had been a world unto themselves, and now half her world was gone.

Nika drove home in a daze, not quite seeing the road or the signs, managing it on autopilot, the urn on the passenger seat next to her. She pulled up in front of the house they had bought not a year previously, took the urn inside with her. She sat on the bed in a daze.

There seemed to be no reason to move, to speak, to do anything at all. No reason to go on.

Daniel had made her swear to him, so long ago now, that if anything ever happened to him, she would go on living. “It’s a dangerous profession,” he warned. “If something happens, you have to live. Promise me you’ll go on living.”

Nika had laughed lightly, as only a girl of nineteen could. She had believed the both of them immortal, invincible, never mind that her life had been marked by death. She had believed Danny to be immortal at least, this strong man of hers that had such a gentle touch. There had been loss before, yes, but she had not understood what this kind of loss would bring to her soul.

She could not kill herself, not and keep her promise, but she could put herself in a position to not live much longer. As a policeman’s wife, as the wife of one who was not-quite-human, she knew of the dark places in the city, places you could go if you had a death wish.

Nika rose and washed her face, dressed, made sure she looked an appealing morsel, despite the marks of grief that could not be washed away. Pressing her lips to her fingertips and her fingers to the urn, she whispered. “I’m sorry, but I will be with you soon, my love.”

~~~~~

There was a place that the more unsavory sort went, a place that most humans avoided if they wanted to stay alive. The people at the bottom, those were the ones who had the easiest time believing that there were things that went bump in the night. Too many of them had seen friends and loved ones swallowed by the darkness to not believe.

Now, Nika was planning on diving into the darkness headfirst.

She ordered a drink and sat down in a secluded corner. Getting eaten needed to be done carefully, she thought, as she had no desire to be turned. She wanted to find someone who might be persuaded by the novelty of a willing human meal to do things her way.

After an hour or so, Nika spotted the one she wanted. He was a lean, blonde man, the platinum blonde of a bottle rather than nature. More average height than tall, he was as far removed from her Daniel as it was possible to be, which suited her just fine. Nika had no desire for her last sight to be of a demon that reminded her of Danny.

What decided her was the way he drank, grimly, and with purpose, as though he were trying to wash something away with a river of whiskey. That, and the way he limped as he made his way to the bar when the wait-demon wouldn’t serve him. His right leg was obviously not working very well, and as he moved, Nika could tell he had a similar problem with his right arm. She hadn’t known of anything that could cause such an injury in a vampire, but apparently something had.

And he was a vampire. The paleness of his skin, the blue of his veins, the lack of a pulse jumping in the hollow of his throat—Daniel had taught her what to look for long ago. Had taught her that, and had told her that she was to cremate his body, no matter the cause of death. “I’ll not have you looking on at me as a demon. It’s the way my family has always done it, to ensure our passage on to the next life. It’s not a tradition I would leave behind.”

Nika had left instructions for her own funeral, that she was to be cremated as well. Even if the creature tried to turn her, it would not work. She hoped. She hoped that the possibility of a meal for an injured vampire, unable to hunt, would be enough to convince him to simply drain her and leave the body.

Shaking off her thoughts and draining the glass, summoning up the last dregs of courage, Nika made her way over to the vampire’s table. She sat down in front of him boldly, without asking permission or waiting for an invitation.

His response was surly, as she might have expected from the look of him. He looked like a tough the cops would instinctively hassle. “Drinkin’ alone tonight, ducks.”

“I have a proposition for you,” Nika replied, not knowing where her own boldness was coming from. Perhaps it was simply desperation to be done. Some way of making sure she died, without having to commit the deed herself. Perhaps it was because she wanted to go out the way her husband had. Her parents had. Her sister had. It was the last way she might be close to them.

“Not interested.”

She pretended not to hear him. “I’m offering you a meal.”

He laughed. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“Drink from me.”

That got his attention. His head shot up, and he regarded her with the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen. “What?”

Nika leaned in closer, lowering her voice so that she wouldn’t be heard across the din. “I want you to drink from me. Kill me. Not turn me.”

“Novel way to commit suicide,” he commented, interest creeping into his voice, even though his face was bland.

Her gray eyes became steel. “Not your business.”

“No,” he agreed. He looked at her for a long moment, and seemed to come to a decision within himself, completely separate from her request and desire. “Where? Out back?”

Nika thought of dying in an alley, and shook her head. Maybe it was vain or stupid. Maybe she just didn’t want to risk anyone stopping them. Maybe because it had always been her secret desire to die an old woman, happy and content, in her own bed. One out of three didn’t seem too bad at the moment. “My house. I have a place. It’s not far.”

“You’ll have to invite me in, an’ all,” he reminded her, and she shrugged.

“It won’t matter.” It did matter, some small voice inside her insisted. All of it mattered. She had promised Danny, promised to live and promised never to invite a vampire inside the house. Tonight, she was going to break both of those promises.

~~~~~

Spike hadn’t known quite what to do when the woman came to him and asked him to kill her. It had been two months since he’d gotten the chip out, and he could have been hunting his meals for at least the last couple weeks. Instead, he’d told himself that he needed time, needed to make sure he could chase a human down.

He promised himself that he would go back to being the Big Bad just as soon as he had healed.

It had taken him a few weeks to find a doctor that would remove the chip. Funny, but he had been so focused on Sunnydale and the Initiative, and then so intent upon the Slayer, Spike had never even considered going out of town to find help. L.A. offered quite a bit more in the way of demon doctors, and it hadn’t taken too long to find someone that would help. Even better, the man had been so fascinated by the modification chip, he’d taken that as half his payment.

So Spike had paid up front and woken to find the doctor gone and half his limbs not working.

He’d managed to lurch out of the makeshift operating room and hole up in a little flop house he’d found. To his credit, the doctor had warned him of the possible side effects of such an operation, and Spike had stocked up on fresh blood beforehand. Good thing too, because it was two weeks before he could even manage to leave the room again.

Spike knew his leg was getting better. It was a rather slow process, and the arm came back first, but the limp wasn’t quite as bad now. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He could do denial as well as the next person. (A place called Sunnydale and a certain blonde Slayer came to mind.) He’d deluded himself about Buffy’s feelings for a long time. He might have continued, except for that night in the alley. It wasn’t even her words, or the bruises that she left. All of that had been done before, said before, though not in quite the same language. No, it had been her back as she walked away. Left him for the sun, knowing he might not be able to make it back to his crypt. That was what had convinced him to leave. One of them was going to kill the other.

So he deluded himself into thinking that he could be the Big Bad again, that he would heal and hunt again, that nothing had changed. Spike didn’t question his reluctance to play up his injury to get women fawning over him. He knew how to milk such things, and chose not to. Instead, he waited until he could run and jump with the best of them, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his brain that said he might never be able to again.

That was why he said yes when the woman came to him with her request. Her boldness intrigued him, and her death wish peaked his curiosity, but mostly Spike realized that if he refused to kill her, he would have to admit that something fundamental had changed within him. Refusing a human’s willing offer would be like a starving man refusing a five-course meal.

There would be no more denial after that.

Therefore, he agreed to go with her to her house, finishing his drink with one swig and following her out to her car. She drove a sensible old four-door sedan, of indiscriminate make and model. Spike found himself staring at her as she drove them back to her house, trying to decipher what kind of woman it was who would offer herself up to a vampire. Requests for turning weren’t so unusual, but she had been very emphatic about the staying dead part.

She was perhaps in her mid- to late twenties, and her brown hair was pulled back in a sensible braid. A wide mouth formed a slash across her face, and a straight nose did nothing for her features. The only thing that might have been pretty were her eyes, which were large, gray, and framed with thick dark lashes. Even so, she was not pretty or beautiful, though some might call her handsome. There was a strength in her face, in her eyes, that might draw people to her. But the strength she had was gone, broken by something or someone, and Spike finally broke the silence.

“Why d’you want to go out this way?”

She glanced over at him but didn’t answer right away. “Why did you say yes?” she finally replied, a question for a question.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a question Spike had to think too hard about. “I’m a vampire, luv. We eat people. ‘s the way of things.”

The silence that greeted his reply just about convinced him that he wasn’t going to get an answer. He would kill her without ever knowing what led to her seeking him out. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

It was a good enough response, and one Spike could understand. There were plenty of days when he wasn’t sure he wanted to be here anymore either. Not that he was ready to meet the sunrise yet, but he had no lust for unlife, not as he once did. “I get that.”

After a more comfortable silence, the woman said, “I’m Nika.”

“Spike.”

“What happened to you?”

Spike debated on what to tell her, whether it mattered. If he was going to kill her anyway, he didn’t suppose it mattered at all, so he said, “I had somethin’ wrong with my brain, an’ when I went in to get it fixed, this is what happened. ‘s better now,” he added, as an afterthought.

“There are exercises you can do to help,” Nika offered cautiously.

He stared at her with renewed interest. “You a doctor, then?”

“A midwife. I’ve done some work with people who’ve—had accidents,” she finished, and then fell silent.

The words seemed heavy to both of them, as though speaking were a hardship. Though, if they had known one another, they would have known that words should have fallen easily, like leaves in the fall. The rhythm of their conversation was one of uneasy ebb and flow, so that silence felt better.

Nika finally pulled up in front of a small house that had the looks of being lovingly cared for in spite of its size. Except for that, for the tidy yard and neatly painted trim and shutters, there was nothing to recommend it. He followed her out of the car, to the porch, and she unlocked the door, pausing just inside.

She looked back at him, and for an instant Spike was certain that she was going to change her mind. That she would leave him on the outside and shut the door in his face. She did neither of these things.

“Come in, Spike.”

They were echoes of another woman’s words, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, at night, Spike would wonder if it might not have been better if Buffy had been left in her coffin. A dead Buffy had been a burden, like an albatross around his neck, weighing him down with guilt, but he’d had a family of sorts. A live Buffy had cut him off from everything he’d begun to value. He shoved the thought aside with a feeling close to remorse.

Spike stepped across the threshold, looking around. He spotted a picture on the wall of a tall, black-haired man in a police uniform, standing next to a young Nika. “He’s gone.” It was a statement of fact, and there was no condemnation in his tone. It hadn’t been so long ago that only a promise to a dead woman had kept him alive, in a manner of speaking. Spike might have killed himself otherwise. “How long?”

“A week.” There was a pause. “They say someone cut his throat, but I saw the wound when I identified the body.” The morgue attendant had not argued with her request. She gathered they saw varying strange reactions to grief. “It wasn’t a knife.”

Spike understood what she wasn’t saying, and turned to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Nika had no idea why this vampire’s words would mean so much more than any other’s, including the other officers and their wives and husbands who had come to the memorial service. Perhaps they had rung false because their loved ones were still standing there beside them, because part of their being sorry was also relief that it wasn’t their spouse who was gone. The vampire’s expressive eyes and face told her he knew grief intimately, even though it should have been impossible. “Thank you.”

Spike suddenly wanted to get down to business. Much longer in this woman’s company and he wouldn’t be able to kill her. He would bite and think of another he’d so recently seen lifeless. “Where do you want to do this?” he asked for the second time that night.

“In the bedroom,” she finally said. “You can leave me there—after.”

“After,” he agreed, following her as she headed that way.

The two of them sat down on the edge of her bed, the springs of the old mattress squeaking under their combined weight. Nika had to choke back tears, thinking that it had squeaked every night since she and Danny had married, and it never would again. It would have been ten years soon.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Spike confessed suddenly into the silence of the room. “That thing with my brain? Was a chip, didn’t let me hurt people. You’ll be my first in a long time.”

Neither missed the double entendre, though they didn’t say anything. It seemed too solemn an occasion for dirty jokes. “Can you now?”

“Oh, yeah. Got it removed. That’s what happened to m’leg.” Spike had checked as soon as possible after the surgery. He was inclined to believe it had happened, due to the extent of the damage, but he’d finally gone out and deliberately stepped on someone’s toes as he passed them in the street. He’d told himself it was the only thing he could really do.

“Oh. Will it hurt much?” she asked, and there was a thread of fear in her voice that hadn’t revealed itself until then.

Spike couldn’t lie to her; he didn’t have the heart. “Some. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Nika hesitated, and then brushed back her braid, exposing a bare neck, her creamy skin an open invitation. “Remember, no turning.”

“Right.” Still Spike hesitated, unsure of himself, of what he wanted, until he could wait no longer. It was now or never, and so it had to be now.

For the first time in years, Spike bit into the warm, living neck of a human, and began to drink. Neither of them were ever certain who changed their mind first, but Nika’s eyes suddenly shot open and she began to struggle, even as Spike made up his mind to withdraw. He had already taken enough to cause her to lose consciousness, though not enough to kill her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as she fainted. He was never sure what he was apologizing for: for not being able to kill her, or for biting her in the first place.

~~~~~

Nika woke to find a pair of worried blue eyes regarding her intently. “What—” She couldn’t quite remember what had happened. Her head was pounding, there was a burning sensation in her neck, and she didn’t recognize the man sitting next to her.

“’m sorry,” he said, and with his words, her memories rushed back. He was a vampire; she’d asked him to kill her.

She wasn’t dead.

“What happened?” At his frown, she continued, “Why did you stop?”

Spike shook his head. “You started to struggle. I figured you changed your mind.”

“But why would you stop?” Nika insisted. She had changed her mind. The darkness had begun to cloud her vision, and suddenly keeping a promise to a dead man seemed more important than ending the pain . The curious thing was that the vampire hadn’t finished the job.

“Why did you change your mind?” Spike refused to look away from her eyes, and they engaged in a staring contest. Nika was the one who broke first.

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me why you didn’t kill me.” At his nod, she said, “I promised Danny I would keep living if—if anything ever happened to him. I just—I thought I wanted—” Tears choked her, and Nika fell silent, unable to say anything else.

Spike was quiet. He had been there. He’d been inches away from greeting the sunrise after Buffy had died. It was Dawn who had saved him. She’d needed him. “There was a girl,” he confessed. Nika lay on the bed still, looking up at him with her solemn eyes and pale face. “She said if I ever got the chip out, I’d start killin’ people again. Said I was a serial killer in prison. I didn’t want her to be right.”

Their misery seemed to thrum between them, bonding them in an unlikely sort of relationship. It was not a bond of affection or desire, but rather of an uncomfortable sort of knowing. They knew pain. That was all. “What happened to her?” Nika whispered, suddenly needing to know.

“She kicked me to curb.” Spike stood suddenly. “I should go. You look alright. Bit pale, but that’ll pass quick enough.”

Nika looked at the clock. It was 6 am, and the sun was rising. “You could stay here.” At the vampire’s incredulous look, she hastened to explain, “The basement is almost finished. We—we were going to rent it out once it was done. But there’s a bed down there.”

“We’re not gonna be friends, ducks,” Spike said, almost snarling, looking suddenly fierce. “Don’t need ‘em, an’ I don’t want ‘em.”

Nika laughed hollowly. “Danny was my best friend. He was my world. I don’t have any desire to try and replace him. Ever.”

They stared at each other, again at an impasse. “Then what?” Spike finally asked.

“I suppose misery loves company,” she replied, trying to smile and not making it. “I don’t know who’s misery, but the other can be company.”

Spike finally nodded, looking away from her and at the steadily lightening curtains. “Alright then.” His shoulders slumped, and he reached out a hand to help Nika up.

Shakily, she led the way to the basement and showed him the bed. “Stay however long you want,” Nika said awkwardly. “I mean, it’s—you have an invitation now, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he replied. “Won’t stay where ‘m not wanted.” They did not discuss whether or not she really wanted him there. They didn’t discuss the fact that they had saved one another. It was enough that Spike had a safe place to kip and that the house was not empty.

~~~~~

Buffy stared at Richard, not quite comprehending what he was saying. “Look, Buffy, I’m really sorry.” His nice, normal, sincere face was regarding her with nothing but concern. “I just don’t think this is going to work out. I mean, I really like you, but it’s pretty obvious I’m not the guy you want.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, dazed. “I thought everything was going okay.” It always ended this way, she was thinking. She thought everything was going fine, but somehow it wasn’t. Buffy had missed all the warning signals. Again.

Richard shook his head, feeling bad about ending it, but still firm in his decision. “You’re not around. I mean, I know there’s weird stuff in this town, and you—do things, and all, but you don’t really even seem all that interested in me. Half the time it feels like you’re off in your own world. I’m sorry, Buffy. I just can’t do this. I think maybe we need different things in a relationship.”

She wanted to scream, “Yeah, like I need a guy not to leave!” She didn’t. Buffy just nodded numbly and watched as Richard hurried away, not wanting to stay any longer than he had to. Six months. Six months down the drain. She’d finally thought she was putting her life back together, doing the right thing.

All she saw was another man’s back.

Chapter 2: August 2005

Dawn compared the address on the house in front of her to the return address on a battered envelope. She and Spike had been writing back and forth for a while now, but she still wasn’t completely sure she knew where he was living, or what his situation was. His letters were full of witticisms, odd stories about demons he’d killed, and constant encouragements to do her homework and listen to her sister.

There had been no mention made of the fact that he was apparently living in a house, however, even though he certainly wasn’t living in a crypt, judging by the presence of an actual address. Nor had there been any mention that he’d known and understood that she was coming to UCLA and wanted to visit him. Dawn had written three weeks previously to let him know when she’d be in town, but he hadn’t responded to her obvious fishing for an invitation.

“I don’t care,” Dawn muttered rebelliously, never mind that she’d been a near-model student and sister for the past three years. “I want to see him, and I don’t care if he doesn’t want to see me.”

That wasn’t quite true, of course, but she had long decided that you had to do what you really wanted to do or face disappointment. She wanted to see Spike, and she might be waiting till Hell froze over before he asked her to visit.

She’d left Sunnydale the day before, her old truck packed to the gills with stuff she’d need for a year away from home. Dawn hadn’t bothered telling Buffy that she had no plans on coming back to stay. She and her sister were doing better, but closeness was still something they lacked.

Dawn had done everything she could in the last three years to prove herself an adult. She’d gotten a job, saved for a beater of an old truck that ran like a dream, got good grades. All the while she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t stay in Sunnydale after graduation. She would go to a good college, and get an apartment, and never return. Except for very short visits.

The combination of a scholarship and Spike’s presence made UCLA the obvious choice, and that was where she found herself now. Dawn remembered Buffy’s eyes as she’d left town, worried and sad all at once, but also proud. Telling her to call as soon as she got in, and that she was to go straight to Angel’s. The plan was to spend the night there and then let Angel’s friends move her into the dorms the next morning.

Dawn had liked his friends. Fred had been sweet and funny and reminded her of Willow a little. Gunn was big and bluff, shaking her hand and calling her “girl,” his manner welcoming. Even Cordelia was friendlier than she remembered. The ex-cheerleader had given her a warm hug, and had even been a huge help moving in, giving her decorating tips for a room that needed all the help it could get. Only Angel had not been a surprise; he was his usual brooding self, only a trifle lighter-spirited.

Of all of them, it had been Connor who had held her interest the most, however. He had asked for her phone number before he left, and Dawn had given it to him. She smiled, thinking of Angel’s son with his bright blue eyes and his almost shy smile, who had been endearingly awkward around her.

But it was Spike that she really wanted to see. Letters scattered out over the last three years hardly made up for all the time spent apart. It was his absence that let Dawn know how important he really was. Even when Buffy had forbidden each of them from seeking the other out, he had been there, in the background. Words on paper did not fill in the scent of cigarettes and leather, the sight of piercing blue eyes, the harsh sigh of breath when he was truly exasperated. She had truly missed him.

This tiny, well-kept house that she was standing in front of hardly seemed the kind of place that Spike would be found, but it was her only lead. Taking a deep breath, Dawn knocked on the door, a little surprised to have it open and reveal a woman on the other side. “Um, hi,” she began awkwardly. “Do you—I mean, I’m looking for Spike. Is this—”

The woman smiled warmly, opening the door a little wider. “You must be Dawn,” she said, her voice soft with a lilting accent that Dawn couldn’t quite place. “He and Wesley are out just now. You can wait for him if you like.”

The girl paused and then entered the house. “Spike knew I was coming?”

There was laughter at Dawn’s slightly befuddled question, though the girl didn’t get the sense that the woman was laughing at her. “Let me guess. Spike didn’t tell you anything, such as the fact that he was living in my basement.” Her face amused, she held out a hand. “My name is Nika Owen.”

Dawn shook hands reflexively. “It’s nice to meet you. Spike lives in your basement?”

“Come into the kitchen. I’ll make tea, and we can talk.” Nika said this last in a conspiratorial way that told Dawn she was finally going to get the dirt on Spike. “Spike said you were starting school this month at UCLA, and you had a scholarship. He’s very proud of you.”

“He is?” Dawn asked, suddenly feeling a warm glow begin. Spike hadn’t just written to her because he’d promised and it was a duty. He cared. He’d told his—What was Nika to him?

Nika smiled. “Of course. He’s been talking of nothing else since he got your letter. I’m sure if he had known you would be here tonight, he would not have gone out with Wesley. But they had a job come up, and it was necessary for both of them to go.”

“Wesley?” Dawn asked, confused about this new name.

Nika nodded. “He’s an independent contractor who does different things dealing with demons and such. Sometimes he asks Spike for extra help.” Looking amused again, and setting a cup of tea down in front of Dawn, she said, “So, Spike told you all about the demons he fought and said not a word about anything else.”

“Well, he did tell me to be good and listen to my sister,” Dawn said, beginning to see the humor in it. “It’s probably a good thing he gave me a return address, otherwise I’d never have known where to find him.”

Nika shrugged. “I’m glad he did as well. Spike’s always a bit happier when he gets a note from you.”

It was yet another thing that Dawn hadn’t known about him. She made him happy, even over the distance. “Is he doing okay?”

There was a faraway look in the other woman’s face as she replied. “Okay, yes. As okay as he can be, I think.” She smiled slightly. “He wouldn’t have told you how we met. Would you like to know?”

Somehow, Dawn sensed that this was a more important question than did she want to hear a story. It had something to do with Spike and why he was there. “Yeah, I would.”

Nika told her, and Dawn began to understand a little of what his life had been here in L.A. “He doesn’t have the chip anymore,” she stated flatly.

“Yes. You seem surprised that I’d still allow him to live here, but I didn’t know him with it in.” Nika considered the girl’s surprised face for a long moment. “We saved each other that night, I think. He left the next day, without telling me, but he was back a few days later. We drank together and shared stories about the people we loved. It helped a little. Never enough though.”

Dawn nodded slowly. No, it was never enough. Even if sharing helped to halve the grief, she had discovered that you could cut something in half an infinite number of times, but it would still be there. It might get continuously smaller, but there was a piece that would always be there. “Are you and Spike…” she trailed off, realizing too late that it was none of her business.

“No.” Nika shook her head. “No, we’re friends and roommates. That’s all. We love each other, but it’s not the kind you need to build anything lasting on.”

There was a sound from the front of the house, and Nika looked up. “That’s Spike and Wesley.” She smiled, and Dawn thought there was more there than simply happiness that her friends were home.

“Nika? We’re celebratin’ tonight. Got the bugger an’ no lives lost.” Spike’s voice floated through the living room into the kitchen easily, and another British voice soon followed.

“It was quite something. I’m not sure either of us would have made it had the fight continued much longer.” The accent was stuffier, and the second voice was vaguely familiar.

Dawn watched as Spike appeared in the kitchen moments later, looking especially pleased with himself. She was actually more surprised to see Wesley, her sister’s former Watcher. “Do you think—” Spike’s question died in his throat as he saw Dawn seated at the kitchen table. “Dawn? Niblet?”

Dawn stood. “Hey, Spike.” There was a moment of indecision, and then she went to wrap her arms around his waist. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Sweet Bit,” he replied. Then he pulled back. “School start already? Didn’t think you were in till next week.”

She shrugged. “The dorms opened yesterday. I told Buffy I needed to come early so I could settle in and get my books.”

A strained silence fell, and Dawn winced, realizing that she’d used the B-word. “Anyway…”

“’s alright,” Spike said, smiling at her, and almost managing to look unconcerned. “Dawn, you know Wesley, yeah?”

Dawn looked at the other man and suddenly realized why he looked familiar. She had only met Buffy’s sometime-Watcher once or twice, when her sister had been forced to drag her along to the school library. She remembered him as being stuffy and full of himself, but the man in the doorway was anything but. There was more confidence in the set of his shoulders, and the three piece suit and tie were missing. His face was stubbled and hard looking, and Dawn realized with a start that he was actually pretty hot. Too old for her, of course, but that didn’t mean she was blind.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Dawn,” he replied, some of the stiffness she remembered back in his tone. “You’ve grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw you.”

The girl could see in his eyes that he was vaguely impressed, much as she was with the changes he’d gone through. It was the sort of admiration you could have for an acquaintance you hadn’t seen for a while, but not have it mean much more than that. “You too,” she replied cheekily.

It startled a smile out of Wesley and warmed his eyes, which had been almost icy. “Spike has been talking non-stop about your acceptance into university. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Dawn noticed that there was a much more relaxed atmosphere in the room now that everyone had met and no one had seemed to take an instant disliking to each other.

Nika cleared her throat. “Spike, why don’t you show Dawn downstairs. I’m sure she’d like to spend some time with you.”

Dawn watched as her eyes met Wesley’s, and thought there were two other people who might want some time alone. “Yeah, sure,” Spike said, catching the hidden signals as easily as Dawn had. “You gonna need to go back to the dorm tonight, Bit? ‘ve got a couch that folds out.”

She grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They sat together on the couch for a long time after she’d followed him down the stairs, and he’d given her the tour. It wasn’t much, as apartments went, just one large main room with a wet bar and microfridge, bathroom, and a bedroom. But, as Spike pointed out, he didn’t need much more than that.

Like at their leave-taking, neither of them were quite sure what to say, and a three-year separation didn’t seem to help. Dawn finally broke the silence. “So, you got the chip out.”

“Yeah,” Spike admitted. “Nika told you.”

The girl nodded. “She said how you met, but not why you’re staying here.”

Spike shrugged. “’s nicer than a lot of my other options, an’ it just happened that way. I dunno.”

“You’re not killing again.”

“That would mean your sis was right about me, an’ I hate it when she’s right.”

Dawn laughed at that one. “Me too. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to know, luv. Seemed silly to tell you, I s’pose. An’ I didn’t know if she would find out. Didn’t really need someone comin’ after me,” he explained.

“I understand,” Dawn replied, and Spike could hear in her tone that she did, but that she was also disappointed he’d never told her. “She doesn’t know.”

Spike swallowed. He’d wondered if Buffy would ask about him and his whereabouts, but she obviously hadn’t. It was more of a disappointment than he’d wanted it to be. “Right. Well, s’pose it’s for the best, then.”

“You work for Wesley?” she asked, for lack of anything else to say.

Spike looked at her, surprised. “No, ‘course not. Don’t work for anybody. Sometimes I give him a hand, an’ he might split the fee with me.”

“Does he live here too?” Dawn asked. She was still trying to get a feel for this new life Spike had somehow found himself in. It was strange to see him being so friendly with people other than her sister or the other Scoobies. Spike had never struck her as someone who would actually have friends.

Spike laughed. “No, Wes has his own place, even if you’d never know it, him bein’ over here so much. He an’ Nika are pretty close.”

“But you and her aren’t…you know.” Dawn didn’t think Spike was quite over Buffy yet. For one thing, he’d never come back to Sunnydale. For another, just the way he didn’t say the Slayer’s name, referring to her as “your sister,” even in his letters, told her that the vampire was still in love.

Spike shook his head. “No,” he replied softly. “Nika—she shouldn’t even be friends with me, strictly speakin’. Everybody she ever loved was killed by vampires. Somehow—somehow it didn’t matter so much with us two. But—”

“So, you’re saying you’re the odd couple,” Dawn said, striking for levity.

“Somethin’ like that,” he said, smiling at her. “’sides, ‘m still in love with—her. An’ Nika’s—not my type.”

“More Wesley’s type,” Dawn commented.

Spike shook his head. “Not sure what happened there. One day they were all friendly an’ the next they were all over each other.”

“Is it okay for me to be here?” Dawn asked suddenly. “I mean, I know you didn’t say anything about me being able to come.”

“No, ‘m glad you’re here,” Spike said, interrupting her. “Like a touch of home, Bit.”

“Good,” Dawn said, suddenly relaxing back onto his shoulder. It was suddenly like it had been that summer, the good one. In a really, really miserable sort of way. It was the two of them again, and Dawn felt complete for the first time in a while. It wouldn’t last, though, she knew that much. There were too many other people who were missing from her life. But for now, for the moment, it was good.

Chapter 3: April 2003

Wesley ignored the burning pain in his arm as he trudged back to his motorcycle. Tonight’s efforts were going to bring a nice, fat paycheck, which would pay the rent and afford him some new gadgets. The last few months had allowed him to get back on his feet, financially speaking, and at this point he was doing better than he ever had while working for Angel Investigations.

That was only his bank account speaking, however. The loneliness and despair did not lessen over time, not enough to make any difference at all.

The sound of a fight reached his ears: scuffling feet, snarls and growls, the cry of a woman. He had every intention of ignoring it. Wesley was no longer in the business of helping the helpless, after all. He was in it for the money. That’s what he tried to tell himself, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, sending him towards the fight, rather than back to his bike.

He arrived at the scene in time to see a vampire crack a blonde man over the back of the head with a pipe, while two other vampires converged on a woman about his own age. Wesley snapped his right wrist, releasing the stake from its sheathe, and waded into the fight. He managed to catch two from behind before they even knew there was someone else there. The third offered more of a challenge, but Wesley dispensed of him quickly. He had gotten quite used to relying on his own skills, with no one to watch his back over the last months.

Regarding the woman with a hard gaze, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, leaning over her unconscious companion. He lay sprawled out, and Wesley could just make out sharp features in the light of the streetlamps.

“And your friend?” he asked, wanting to be able to leave, and yet not wanting to leave her to her own defenses. Certainly not wanting to leave a man in the street who might be dying. He’d had quite enough of that.

The woman smiled at him. “Spike will be fine. If you wouldn’t mind helping me get him to the car, though, I would appreciate it.”

The name sparked a memory, that and the bleached hair and black attire. “Spike?” Wesley knelt down next to her to get a better look, and found himself looking at someone he’d never expected to see again. The last he’d heard, Spike was in Sunnydale, helping the Slayer. He had caught a glimpse of the vampire when they had all attended Buffy’s funeral, and later stopped by the house to offer their sympathies. Spike had been rather elusive, but he had seen him, enough to know that this was the same Spike he was looking at now.

“You do know he’s a vampire, don’t you?” Wesley asked the woman, in all seriousness. He wasn’t too keen on vampires himself anymore.

She nodded. “I know. He’s different.”

“That’s what they’re all saying, these days,” Wesley said dryly. He sighed, knowing that he was probably going to regret this. “How far away is your car?”

“Just another block,” she replied. “I’m Nika Owen, by the way. Do you know Spike?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. We have—mutual acquaintances. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nika replied, shaking his hand before grabbing one of Spike’s arms to haul him up. Wesley grabbed the other arm, and between the two of them managed to get him to his feet. Spike wasn’t stirring, and Wesley felt himself wincing in sympathy. A blow that hard was going to leave quite a mark.

Wesley took his weight and motioned with his chin for her to lead the way. “I’ve got him.”

She paused. “Are you sure? You’re injured.”

He looked at the make-shift bandage on his arm and shrugged. “It’s just a scratch. Shall we?” Wesley followed Nika, half carrying, half dragging Spike. He was terribly curious as to what had led to the vampire being here in L.A., rather than with Buffy. From the things that the Slayer’s friends had said, Spike was curiously devoted to her.

He had no desire to make conversation, however. No desire to attempt to make friends with this woman, who seemed to like vampires. They walked in silence, until she pointed to a battered Toyota. “This one.” Wesley helped her get Spike situated in the back seat, and then stepped away. “Are you sure you don’t need a ride somewhere?” Nika asked. “It’s the least I could do for you.”

Shaking his head, Wesley replied, “I don’t think so. My bike isn’t far.”

“Alright.” As he turned to go, she called out after him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at that arm?” When he faced her again, she explained, “I have some experience. It would mean you wouldn’t have to go to the doctor, maybe, and that kind of wound is hard to bandage yourself. I feel as though I owe you.”

He was going to say no. He had every intention of saying no. But Wesley had always been an inquisitive sort of person, and he had to wonder why Spike was here, why he seemed to be friends with this woman. Finally, he nodded. “Very well.”

Nika gave him a ride to his bike, three blocks away, and then he followed her to her house. Between the two of them, it was easy enough to get Spike inside and situate him on the couch. “He’ll have a nasty headache when he wakes up,” Nika commented. “But I think he’ll survive.”

“Head wounds generally aren’t fatal to vampires,” Wesley agreed. He followed her into the kitchen, and she waved him into a seat at the small table.

She was rummaging around in the cupboards over the stove. “I have the first aid supplies here somewhere.”

“You do this often?” Wesley said, sounding amused.

“When Spike hunts,” Nika explained, pulling down a box of supplies. “And before. Danny—my husband—wasn’t human. Not completely.” She turned to Wesley suddenly, and her eyes revealed a pain hardly healed. “Have you heard of the Barach’na? They’re usually found in Wales.”

Wesley frowned slightly. “A demon clan. Rumored to be shape-shifters. Also thought to be the source of some of the folk tales.”

“Danny’s mother was—half, you know. He said it was quite a love story.” Nika tried for a smile, and didn’t quite make it. “I’m probably boring you.”

“Hardly,” Wesley assured her. Lost love was not something he would sneer at. “What happened to him?”

She shook her head. “He was out hunting. Danny was a police officer, but he went sometimes off-duty, you know.” Nika set the box on the table in front of Wesley. “Vampire.”

“And you still allow Spike in your home?” Wesley was a little surprised at that.

Nika sighed. “Spike saved my life.” She frowned. “In a way. It was more along the lines of misery needing company.” She looked at Wesley. “You’ll need to take your shirt off.”

“Right,” Wesley replied. He removed the handkerchief from his arm, and peeled his jacket off, hanging it over the back of the chair. He pulled the long-sleeved gray t-shirt over his head, and sat back down at the table.

Nika pulled a chair over on Wesley’s right side, beginning to dab at the laceration. “This is probably going to need stitches.”

“Can you do that?”

“Certified EMT,” Nika replied quietly, turning to rummage around the kit again. “It helps pay the bills when the midwife business is slow.”

As she turned her head, Wesley could see the scar on her neck that could have been made by one thing only. “Your neck.”

Nika stopped what she was doing and said very quietly. “It was the way that Spike saved me.”

He didn’t understand, but he didn’t ask. The openness that had been present a few moments before was gone. Nika went to the fridge and pulled out a jar of something. She filled a mug with the liquid, which resembled tea, and handed it to him. “Drink.”

“May I ask what it is?” Wesley sounded more than a little cautious.

She gave him an amused smile. “Tea. It will take the edge off while I stitch you up. Plus, it’s cleansing. I got the recipe from my grandmother.”

He gave up and drank as Nika swabbed the wound with alcohol. Wesley hissed in pain, but said nothing. “There,” she murmured. “Just a few stitches, and you’ll be good as new.”

Her movements quick and gentle, she put the stitches in, seven in all. Then, once she’d gotten that done, she wrapped gauze around his arm and taped it into place. Wesley flexed his arm experimentally, and finally nodded. “Good as new, indeed.”

Their eyes met, and some unknown emotion flashed across Nika’s face. Wesley felt an odd pull in her direction, like he hadn’t felt since Fred. More might have been said, but just then Wesley heard footsteps behind him. “Who’s the wanker?”

Wesley turned to see Spike standing in the doorway, looking almost hungover. “Spike.” Though her tone was mild, it was enough to have Spike backing off slightly.

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping into the kitchen. Wesley noted that he was limping rather badly, and thought that might have been the reason he hadn’t done as well against the other vampires earlier in the evening.

Nika let out a short, exasperated breath. “Spike, I think you and Wesley already know each other. And he did save our lives, so you might want to try being polite.”

Spike cocked his head to one side as he regarded Wesley with a steady gaze. After a moment, recognition made his eyes widen slightly. “The Watcher. You’re not with Angel anymore.”

“No, I’m an independent contractor now,” Wesley replied, a flash of self-deprecating amusement entering his eyes as he remembered meeting Angel all those years before. He’d called himself a “rogue demon hunter” then. He didn’t feel quite so pretentious these days.

“Kill demons and such for fun, then?” Spike asked, a gleam in his eyes. “Sure it wouldn’t be fun to kill the Great Poof?”

Wesley very nearly smiled. He wouldn’t say that it hadn’t crossed his mind. Knowing how the vampire felt about Angel, and Angel about Spike, he would be willing to guess that there would be substantial fireworks if the two ever met. “There have been times,” he admitted.

Spike almost smiled in return, and a brief flash of understanding went between them. “Feelin’ a bit peckish,” he said to Nika. “Think I’ll head downstairs and have an early dinner before I catch some more sleep.”

“Spike—” The vampire stopped at the open door to the basement. “Thanks. You did well tonight.”

“Right. Did real good lettin’ m’self get all knocked out,” he replied bitterly.

Nika went over to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There were seven. You took out four. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Wesley very nearly couldn’t make out what Spike said in reply.

“Days were when I could’ve taken on the whole gang.” He looked back at Nika, and then threw a glance over his shoulder at Wesley. “’m not what I was, but you need a hand with somethin’ big, you let me know, yeah? I could use a spot of violence now and then.”

He retreated down the stairs, and Nika turned to face the ex-Watcher. “He meant it. Spike will go out hunting every once in a while, and he usually comes back in one piece. He likes a good rumble.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wesley looked at the wall clock, and then said, “I should really be going. It’s late.”

“You’ll need a shirt,” Nika replied. “Let me get you one.” She came back a few minutes later with a dark blue button down flannel. She handed it to him, a pained look on her face. “It was my husband’s,” she explained.

Wesley looked at the cloth he held in his hand for a long moment, and then nodded in understanding. “I’ll return it to you.”

“Tomorrow?” Nika asked. Then she looked at the clock herself. “Or, later today anyway. Not that I’m in a hurry,” she hastened to assure him. “It’s just—you could come for dinner if you’d like.”

Wesley wasn’t sure he would like. He had been trying to not trust people, to cut himself off. He had no desire to be hurt as badly as he had been with Angel and the rest of his lot. This was how it had started with Angel and Cordelia, he remembered. Angel had asked if he wanted to stay for breakfast, and he had. But he could feel the tension of the gauze around his arm, the soft brushed cotton of the shirt, and he knew suddenly that he would say yes. This time around, he would simply do a better job of protecting himself. And he would try not to bungle things so badly.

“What time?”

~~~~~

Wesley went to bed as soon as he got back to his apartment. There were a few times along the way where he thought it iffy that he would make it back in one piece, as tired as he was. When he slept, he slept better than he had in months.

If he thought about it long enough, Wesley could remember a point in time when he slept with a clear conscience, when he had a rather more optimistic view of life, when he believed it more likely that things would turn out well, rather than all go to hell. It had been a long time since he’d not woken up, breathless, from dreams of betrayal and smothering. He was never certain whose betrayal he was dreaming of: Angel’s or his own.

Waking around noon, however, Wesley found himself relaxed, and feeling almost content. When he rolled over and saw the borrowed shirt folded carefully over a chair, he smiled. And thinking of Spike’s words, that if he needed a hand, he had one…

He shook his head. He wasn’t going to do this again, he reminded himself. Having just gotten rid of Lilah, he was certainly not going to get himself tangled up with another. Wesley felt a pang of regret.

It had been a mutual leave-taking of sorts. He found himself more and more frustrated with his own actions, his own betrayal of principles, and Lilah was getting more frustrated by her inability to recruit him. They’d had a night of rough, though highly satisfying, sex, and they had both known it was goodbye. She had gone without saying a word, and they hadn’t spoken since. It was just as well, really.

Wesley rose, and found himself steady on his feet and clear-headed, wondering suddenly, and for the first time, what had been in that drink that Nika had given him. There was no way a casual conversation and a few hours sleep should have had him feeling this good. He showered, waiting for the feelings to dissipate, but instead he found himself looking forward to the evening, having dinner with someone else, rather than eating alone.

He was just towelling his hair when there was a knock on the door. Pulling a shirt on over his head, he opened it to find an unexpected guest. “Hey, Wes.”

Wesley stared at Cordelia, startled. He hadn’t seen her since she’d gone on her vacation with the Groosalug. “Hello,” he replied, cautiously.

“Can I come in?”

Silently, he stood aside and let her enter. “What are you doing here?” he asked, after he’d shut the door.

“I wanted to see you,” she said honestly. “It’s been a while.”

Wesley was still looking at her out of careful eyes, and Cordelia realized that the man standing before her was not her Wes anymore. The Wesley of her memory had been buried under betrayal, grief, and guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she confessed.

He gave a little shrug, as though it didn’t matter. “I didn’t expect you to come. You’re with Angel.”

She winced. “Wesley, he just needs a little more time. He’s softening, you know, now that Connor’s doing better. He just needs—”

“Another chance to kill me?” Wesley asked, with a raised eyebrow, his tone ice. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t give it to him.” He sighed. “Look, Cordelia, I appreciate what you’re saying, and Angel certainly has his reasons for being angry with me, but we’re done.”

“You don’t mean that,” she replied, hurt. “If you’ll just give him time to come around…”

“How long?” Wesley asked quietly. “Another year, perhaps? Two? And what do I do in the meantime? Simply wait on Angel’s forgiveness?” He shook his head. “What I did was unforgiveable. Just as what Angel did to me was unforgettable.”

Cordelia sighed. He was right, really. It was impossible to tell how long Angel would hold this grudge, impossible to know when he’d get off his high horse and admit that Wes hadn’t been acting out of malice, and that he’d lost both his son and his best friend in the same day. “I’m sorry.”

He almost smiled then. “So am I.” Wesley looked over at her. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

Cordelia understood what he was saying. They shared a bond that went back a long way, and he wasn’t ignoring that fact, but the part of their relationship where they were friends was done. They now stood on opposing sides, and Wesley stood alone. “Same goes for you,” she replied, trying to smile. “Don’t be afraid to look me up, okay?”

He reached over and touched her cheek with his finger. “Of course. It was good to see you, Cordy.”

And that was pretty much how it ended. With a whimper.

~~~~~

“Come on, Buffy, this is a great opportunity.” Steve looked enthusiastic. Of course, Steve almost always looked enthusiastic. “San Francisco is a gorgeous city.”

Buffy wouldn’t know, having never been there. She couldn’t believe this was happening again. “I can’t just pack up and leave Sunnydale,” she replied. “I have responsibilities here.”

He shook his head. “Your sister? You know I like Dawn. There are good schools there too. She can finish high school there. I really don’t mind if she’s living with us.”

The crazy thing was that Buffy knew he was telling the truth. He really didn’t mind if Dawn stayed with them. Steve had told her over and over how much he admired her for stepping up to the plate and raising her younger sister. And Dawn liked him well enough. She wasn’t crazy about him, but she liked him.

The problem came in where Sunnydale was the Hellmouth, and she was still the Slayer. Steve didn’t know about her extracurricular activities. It was another thing she liked about him. He was very independent, and had no problem with his girlfriend having a life separate from his own. They had their own friends, their own hobbies, and hung out together in between.

Now, however, Steve had a job offer that he wasn’t going to pass up, and he wanted Buffy to come with him. Even if she hadn’t been the Slayer, she would have been leary of the offer. Moving to a strange city, knowing no one, without a job or an income on her own—well, her track record with men seemed to indicate that she could soon find herself stranded and with nothing to fall back on.

No thank you.

Buffy hated this. She liked Steve. He was a great guy. Sweet, funny, a real go-getter, didn’t put a lot of demands on her. And, most importantly, she wasn’t deeply in love with him. Not being head over heels meant she could keep her head, and in a situation like this, that’s exactly what she needed to do. She had duties, she had a responsibility to be in Sunnydale, or at least pretty darn close to the Hellmouth. And Dawn would never forgive her for moving them so close to her senior year. It just wouldn’t be fair.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I can’t,” she explained. “I think it’s great—for you. Dawn’s going to be a senior next year, I’ve finally got a good job, I can’t just pick up and leave.”

He frowned. “I thought you loved me, Buffy.”

Little white lies never hurt anyone, she thought. “I do. But I’m not the only one in this relationship. It also includes my sister (not to mention the Hellmouth, she thought), and I have to put her first.”

It was a cop out, and Buffy knew it. She was pretty sure Steve knew it too, because if she’d really wanted to be with him, they might have been able to work something else out. Buffy might have let Dawn stay with Xander and Anya for her last year of high school. Steve seemed to sense her resolution, however, and he didn’t push it.

“I’m sorry too, Buffy,” he said quietly. “I have to take this, though. It’s—”

“It’s important,” she finished. “I understand.”

He nodded, looking a little sad. “I’ll call you in a couple days, okay? I—I don’t have to leave for another month.”

Buffy nodded, and accepted his kiss. The relationship was already over, of course. It had been over the moment he’d accepted the promotion without even asking if she would come with him. The job was more important than her, and she was okay with that. Her job was more important than Steve, and it always would be. Buffy felt a pang, but it wasn’t for the loss of Steve. It was more for what her and Steve’s relationship would never have been.

She found herself thinking of a pair of passionate blue eyes. The way he had looked at her—She shook off the thought. He was gone. Had been for over a year now. And really, it was for the best. It wasn’t as though she could have made it work.

Buffy felt another wave of regret sweep over her, and she fought back tears. Really, there was no way they could have made it work.

A/N: Cariad is a Welsh term of endearment.

Chapter 4: October 2005

Buffy sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom, staring at the white stick. She read the instructions on the back of the box again, and then looked at the little pink lines. It was positive. Even after the fifth reading of the results and stick, it was positive.

She put a trembling hand to her face. This was not happening. This just couldn’t be happening. She felt nauseous, and she was fairly certain it wasn’t because of the morning sickness, which had induced her to buy the at-home pregnancy test. Buffy had never wanted to be pregnant. Oh, maybe way back when, back when she’d first become the Slayer, before she found out Angel couldn’t have kids—

Back then, she couldn’t wait. She drew hearts all over her notebooks that read “Buffy and Angel 4ever.” She thought of names for all their kids, and how many they might have, and how someday they’d have the perfect life. Even knowing he was a vampire, she hadn’t given up that dream. She’d merely altered it a bit, thinking that they would work it out.

But after Angel, and then Riley—not to mention Spike, and Richard, and Steve—her dreams had changed. Instead, Buffy really just wanted to be happy. Dawn had been enough to raise. There was no way she wanted to be a single mother. And since Riley had left, she’d had no intention of marrying any of the guys she’d been with.

(Oh, but Spike—her brain reminded her. She might not have married him, but he would have gone to the Antipodes and back to make her happy. He would have worshipped the ground she walked on. He would have lifted her up every time she fell. He would have fought by her side.)

Buffy swallowed, forcing those memories away. It didn’t matter. She was pregnant, and whether she really wanted to be or not, whether she’d planned it or not, it was still her baby, her child. Having never thought to have the opportunity to give birth, she wouldn’t throw away what might be her only chance.

But at the same time, there was no joy in the knowledge of new life. There was only fear and heartache and disappointment. Buffy bent her head and wept.

~~~~~

“Come on, Spike. We were supposed to hang out tonight,” Dawn pleaded, her voice dangerously close to a whine. She didn’t much like it when she whined, and had worked hard to grow out of that stage, but her disappointment was keen.

Spike looked over at her regretfully. “’m sorry, Bit, but we’ve got a job to do. Wish it was a 9 to 5, but duty calls.”

It sounded bizarre to hear Spike talking about duty. It was just as bizarre to hear him talk about duty while they sat at a cheery kitchen table with Wesley working on some research and Nika humming behind them. Dawn had come to like both Wes and Nika over the last couple months. Their presence, and the warmth of the house, had kept much of the homesickness she might have felt at bay. But more than that, with Spike and his friends, she wasn’t just “Buffy’s kid sister.” She was Dawn, her own person, and they all treated her more like an adult than Buffy and the Scooby gang ever had.

Thinking about that now, Dawn modified her tone slightly. “Spike, I don’t have a lot of time to spend with you, and Thursday night is our night since I don’t have an early class.” Seeing that she was getting through, Dawn added, “I’d rather go on this mission with you guys than miss out on spending time with you.”

That sent Spike’s head up as he looked at her, alarmed. “Absolutely not,” he replied flatly. “You might get hurt, an’ how would I explain that to—to—” His jaw tightened, and Dawn realized that he wasn’t even able to say her name at this point.

It reminded her of when she’d tried to give him his duster back, about a week after she’d gotten into town. He’d taken one alarmed look at it and shoved it back into her arms. “Smells like her, like your house,” was all he’d been able to say. Dawn had taken it back and hung it up in her closet in the dorm. Her roommate probably thought she was nuts for owning a black leather coat like that in southern California, but Dawn didn’t offer an explanation. The duster—like so many other things about her life—was inexplicable.

“I can take care of myself,” Dawn said patiently, knowing that she’d get her way eventually. Spike hated breaking a promise to her, and from the look in his eyes, he was already beginning to take a little guilt trip.

“No. ‘Sides, Wes an’ I can handle this ourselves,” Spike said. “Tell her, mate.”

“I’m not going to tell her anything,” Wesley replied in that oh-so-very even tone he used most of the time. Dawn found it annoying, but she knew it had to do with his not being welcome among Angel’s gang, and tried not to get too snippy. Sometimes, Wesley’s eyes reminded her of Spike’s the night he left Sunnydale.

Dawn looked back at the vampire. “Spike, I can so take care of myself. I was getting Slayer training for the last year, and I might not be quite up to my sister’s standards, but I’m still pretty good.”

Spike looked conflicted, and Dawn knew she had her foot in the door. “Anyway, the more the merrier, right? It just means we’ll be done that much faster.”

“I don’t know, Dawn. If you get hurt—”

“And I can call Connor,” Dawn said, playing her trump card. “With the four of us, the demon will be dead in no time, he’ll watch out for me, and you two will get your paycheck.”

It was Wesley who raised an objection at this point. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea, Dawn. I know you’ve been seeing Connor, but I hardly think his father will want him chasing down demons with us.”

Dawn shook her head. “Connor’s old enough to decide what he wants for himself. And with all the classes I’m taking, plus the work-study job, I don’t have enough time to see you guys separately.” She turned to Spike. “Please, Spike. I just want to be able to spend time with you, and I want you to meet Connor. You’re the only family I really have here in L.A. I want you to like him.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered. He wasn’t any more immune to Dawn’s puppy dog eyes than he had been when he first helped her break into the Magic Box. That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, one Dawn was intent on keeping intact. “’s up to Wes,” he finally replied. “He’s the boss. He thinks you can be of some use, then you can come. An’ you can bring the whelp.”

Dawn didn’t argue with Spike’s nickname for Connor. She knew that her boyfriend (of sorts) would have to earn the vampire’s respect on his own. Turning to look at Wesley, she realized that he was probably her biggest obstacle. His history with Angel made it unlikely that he would want Angel’s son along for the ride. Dawn hadn’t reckoned on Nika, however.

“Wesley, let the girl bring her friend. If you think it’s too dangerous, have them wait in the car.” Nika pulled two hot sandwiches off the griddle and set the plates down in front of Dawn and Wesley. “And you will eat before you leave here tonight,” she warned Wesley. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure Spike locks you in the basement, and he can take care of the monster by himself.”

Wesley gave her a rueful look. “Thank you, Nika. I haven’t eaten since—” he paused, trying to remember when he’d last eaten.

“Precisely my point,” the woman said, shaking her head. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to push Spike to eat as well. I’d have both hands full then.” She gave Dawn’s shoulders a squeeze. “Call your friend, cariad. If he gets here quickly enough, I’ll make some dinner for him as well.”

Dawn lept up to use her cell phone in the adjoining room. Wesley turned to look at Nika. “I thought I was the one in charge.”

She smiled at him indulgently. “Wesley, love, you might be in charge out in the field, but you’re in my kitchen. Besides, Spike wants Dawn around, and if Dawn is here, her boyfriend will inevitably follow. Better just to get used to it.”

Wesley shook his head. “Danika, you know—”

“I do, but this is Dawn and Connor, not you and Angel. Remember that.” Nika fixed him with a gentle look that Spike regarded with interest. The two of them had sparks flying between them like he’d rarely seen, but as far as he could tell they hadn’t done anything about it yet. They were both so bloody reserved, he had a feeling that unless something knocked them over the head, it could go on like this forever. Veiled looks, significant glances, sly references…Spike bit back a sigh. He really wasn’t sure how much more of that he could take before he had to soddin’ well say something.

He couldn’t help but grin a little, rather evilly, at that. Spike could think of a number of things he could say.

Dawn slid back into her seat at the table and began to eat her sandwich with relish. “Connor’s going to be here in about thirty minutes,” she said. She looked over at Spike. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Wesley,” he said, a little growl in his voice, but he didn’t look all that unhappy about the situation. Truthfully, he could never be unhappy if Dawn was spending time with him.

Dawn could still see tension in the line of Wes’s jaw and the set of his shoulders, however, and she said quietly, “Wes, Connor’s not going to tell his dad about any of this. In fact, Angel still doesn’t know we’re seeing each other. He just thinks we’re friends.”

Wesley looked at her in surprise. “Why shouldn’t Angel know? I doubt he’d be unhappy with the sitation.”

Dawn laughed. “Yeah, we would really want Angel to know, because then Cordy will find out, and pretty soon Fred will know too. And when they find out, it will just be a matter of time before one of them lets Willow know, who will then tell my sister. Who still doesn’t know that Angel has a son, by the way.”

Both men stared at her incredulously. “Wait a minute,” Spike said. “How’s that possible?”

“Would you want to be the one to tell her?” Dawn asked, with a raised eyebrow. At the look in Spike’s eyes, she nodded. “Precisely. Nobody wanted to tell her, so no one ever did. And I’m not going to volunteer for the job either.”

Wesley smiled knowingly. “I’d love to be there to see your sister’s face when she finds out.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Spike replied. “Girl’s gotten a bit more bite over the years since you’ve known her. She’s the last person you want to piss off. Trust me.”

Wesley looked at him across the table. “I do.”

There was a long pause. It had long been the unspoken understanding that things like trust and friendship were never discussed between them, nor with Nika. By discussing it, it would make it real, and by making it real, it would make it that much more painful when it all fell apart. Spike had a curious expression on his face, almost like he couldn’t breathe, even though he really didn’t need to, and he finally nodded. “Ta.”

Dawn looked over at Nika, who stood next to the stove. The older woman smiled at her with an understanding that said she knew what just happened, and had been waiting for it.

The doorbell rang, breaking the moment, and Dawn jumped up. There was a warmth in her chest, having seen what she did, knowing that Spike was happy here. Or, at least, as Nika had said, as happy as he could be.

Taking her lessons in not opening the door for vampires to heart, she looked through the peephole, only to see Connor standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable. Dawn quickly let him in, greeting him with a gentle, lingering kiss. “Hey. I’m glad you came.”

Connor shrugged. “You said you were going to fight a demon. I wanted to spend time with you. Sounds like the best possible night.”

Dawn laughed, knowing he liked a good fight as much as Spike did, if not more. “I’m glad I could give you a nice evening.”

His eyes lit up. “I know how we could make it better, later on.”

“Don’t even think about it, mister,” Dawn warned him, her eyes twinkling. “At least not within earshot of Spike. He’d beat the crap out of you.”

Connor’s eyes glittered. “He could try.”

“Don’t, please,” Dawn said quietly, hoping that Spike wasn’t listening. “I’ve had enough of people I love hating each other. It’s worse than my parents. Please, just try to get along with him.”

Connor looked at her, suddenly serious in that way only he seemed to have. He regarded her with a hunter’s eye, sizing up her emotions, her movements, the flush of her cheeks and the quickness of her heartbeat. “Okay.”

She relaxed, knowing that he was as good as his word. “Good. Because like I told Wes and Spike, I want to spend time with all of you, and I don’t always have enough hours in the day. It’s better if you can spend time with me when I’m over here.”

Connor grabbed for her hand. “I want you to be happy,” he said simply. “I’ve never been as happy with anyone else as I am with you.”

Tugging him down for another kiss, Dawn marvelled at his charm. The way he looked at the world was often too black and white, but it revealed a childlike naivete that was rapidly giving way to a kind of wisdom.

There was a loud throat clearing behind them, and Dawn pulled away to see Spike standing behind them, looking on with amusement. “Nika said she’s got some food for you, if you want to eat.”

The vampire made no disparaging remarks, nor did he use any of his characteristic nicknames, and Dawn was grateful. Spike could be incredibly annoying when he put his mind to it, and the fact that he seemed willing to give Connor a chance warmed her. “Thanks, Spike,” she said, in such a tone as to know that he would hear the double meaning behind it.

“You’re quite welcome, luv.” He turned to go back into the kitchen, his gait still uneven. Dawn loved him as much in that moment as she had at any other time in her life.

~~~~~

Buffy was silent as Peter stared at her, obviously angry. “Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded. “Because it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, but accidents happen, Peter.”

He was angry. Buffy could tell he was angry—no, downright furious, as though she’d deliberately planned this. As though he’d had no part in it. “Right, Buffy,” he spat. “You were on the pill. You were supposed to prevent this.”

“I was supposed to prevent this?” she asked, furious in turn. She wasn’t any happier about this than he was, but at least she wasn’t attacking him, accusing him of getting her pregnant. Which was completely true. “I’m not the only one in the room here, Peter. I think you were pretty much involved as well.”

His eyes narrowed. He had dark eyes and dark hair, like Angel had, and he was a big, bulky guy as most of her boyfriends had been. Buffy had thought he was cute, and she’d felt safe in his arms. Now, she couldn’t understand what she’d seen in him in the first place. It suddenly dawned on her: he was a jerk, a user, just like Parker had been. She had repeated a mistake she’d sworn she wouldn’t make again.

“Fine.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I know neither one of us are at fault here, okay? So I’ll pay to get rid of it.”

Buffy took a step back. He said it like he was doing her some big favor, like that was her only option. The little bastard didn’t even ask her what she wanted to do. “I don’t want to ‘get rid of it,’” Buffy said as evenly as she could. “I’m keeping the baby, Peter.”

His face flushed. “No.”

“It’s my body, my choice,” she replied. “And it’s none of your business. If you want to be around for it, fine. But if you walk away now, don’t expect to have any say later on.” Buffy was controlling her temper only by an act of will. She wanted to punch him, break his nose. Even if she hadn’t wanted this pregnancy, every protective instinct within her told her that Peter was a danger. A danger to what she wanted.

Peter’s face contorted, then smoothed out. He was suddenly the charming man she’d known again, but Buffy had already seen the beast inside. She didn’t think he would hit her, but there were other ways to hurt a person. “All right,” he replied. “But I want you to sign papers saying that you won’t ask me for money. You keep this kid, you’re on your own, Buf.”

The way he said it was so cold, so unlike the man she thought she knew—Buffy laughed to herself. It was so obvious now that she’d never known him at all. She’d never really known any of the guys she’d been with over the past couple years, nor had they known her. With the exception of Richard, they hadn’t even known she was the Slayer. Buffy had given serious thought to telling Peter, but now she was glad she hadn’t. Dawn had warned her about him, had told Buffy that he was a user, but she hadn’t listened. Hadn’t she used guys herself before? She figured she’d know one if she saw one.

But he had been sweet and handsome and attentive. He had made her forget for a little while that she was the Slayer, and a responsible adult. In that way, he’d reminded her of Spike. Spike had helped her forget for a while too. He’d helped her feel, helped her shake off the numbness.

And now she had to ask herself—whose problem had that been? She had blamed him, but shouldn’t she have blamed herself? Because in the end, standing here as she listened to Peter’s cruel words, she heard an echo of herself, and she hated it.

Buffy swallowed hard and looked Peter straight in the eye. “I’ve always been on my own,” she replied quietly.

~~~~~

Wesley holstered the semi-automatic he usually carried and looked around. Spike and Connor were finishing up the dismemberment job on the demon, while Dawn looked on, a disgusted expression on her face. She was absentmindedly wiping down the sword she held with a piece of her ripped shirt. The ex-Watcher smiled as he saw the expert way she held the weapon. She really was something of a natural.

Connor had been quite helpful as well. Wesley was rather relieved that he’d allowed the teens to come along, if only because the Grashalk demon was about six feet longer than he’d been told. He and Spike might have been able to handle it on their own, but it would have been difficult, to say the least.

Spike straightened shakily, his bad leg a little wobbly. He was usually okay, but there had been a number of jobs the last few days, and the limp was worse when he was tired. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he looked over at Dawn and Connor. “You both did alright.”

Dawn beamed. She knew a compliment like that, coming from Spike, was worth her weight in gold. Connor seemed to realize that he’d been paid an honor as well. “You too,” he said.

Wes regarded their kill impassively, though there was a small stirring of pride in his eyes. “We all did well tonight. Let’s go home.”

Spike bagged the head—proof of deed for those that had hired them, and Connor took it from his grasp. “I’ll get it.” The boy picked it up easily, walking close to Dawn as they made their way out from the basement of the high school where the demon had been hiding. Spike and Wesley followed behind the two teens at a slower pace.

“Where the bloody hell do they get their energy?” Spike muttered, walking next to Wesley with his rolling gait.

Wesley smiled. “You sound like an old man, Spike. I thought vampires weren’t supposed to age.”

“They aren’t,” was Spike’s gruff answer. “Still, don’t remember feelin’ that—”

“Young?” Wesley asked quietly. “In love?”

“She’s not in love with him,” Spike replied, disgruntled. “Barely knows the boy.”

Wesley smiled. He vaguely remembered those days, when attraction and love went so closely hand in hand that you could hardly tell the one from the other. When the joy of discovery was untainted by fear or uncertainty. He looked over at his companion and thought that Spike didn’t look the youthful vampire any longer. His face was still ageless, but his eyes gave the impression of being ancient, and his limp certainly gave the impression of age. “We are not what we were,” he acknowledged.

Spike looked over at him with more understanding than he would have credited to him a year ago. “You shouldn’t wait,” he said abruptly.

“Wait on what?” Wesley asked.

Spike hesitated. “Look, ‘m no expert on this kind of thing. My track record would pretty much suggest that I’m full of shit. But Nika’s movin’ on. If you want to be the one she moves on to, you might want to say somethin’, do somethin’.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wesley replied stiffly.

Spike glared at him. “Look, don’t go all tweed on me, mate. ‘m tryin’ to do you a favor.”

The vampire could be so prickly. Wesley knew he hadn’t been fair. “You and Nika—”

“Are friends,” Spike finished firmly. “Nothin’ more than that. Wes—you know my heart belongs to someone else. ‘ve finally figured out it probably will till I’m dust.” He shrugged. “I think she fancies you, though. Both of you deserve a bit of the good in life, yeah?”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Wesley said wryly, emerging from the school’s doorway, out under the open sky. He glanced up. The lights of the city were obscuring all but a few of the brightest stars. He felt Spike’s hand on his arm, and wondered at the fact that he’d found a bit of camaraderie with another vampire. Even if the vampire in question was Angel’s opposite in every way. “And what about you, Spike?”

“What about me?” he asked, his eyes going to Dawn, standing next to the car. She hardly seemed impatient to leave, as Connor used his thumb to brush some grit from her cheek, and then leaned down to kiss her. “She’s my bit of happiness. An’ I’m lucky to have her.”

Wesley didn’t reply, but simply put his hand on Spike’s shoulder, offering him a surreptitious arm to lean on. It was a mark of his exhaustion that he leaned just a bit as they walked back to the car.

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