Chapter 5: April 2003

Wesley hesitated in front of Nika’s door. He felt, quite suddenly, a little like that young man who had come to Sunnydale all those years ago. A little scared, a lot nervous, suddenly certain that his life was going to change, and possibly not for the better. It took a concerted effort on his part to shake off those feelings and knock on the door.

“Hi.” Nika smiled warmly when she saw him. Wesley couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him as though they were happy to see him. It was before Connor—before he’d made the colossal error of handing Connor over to Holtz. (Not that he’d meant to. Not that anyone had cared to ask.)

“Hello,” he replied, a little more formally. “I, uh, brought your shirt back.”

She took it from his grasp, an odd look on her face. Nika could smell Wesley on it, a scent distinct from Danny. Her husband had always worn a certain cologne, used a certain soap. It was a smell she knew from a hundred yards away, it seemed. And now—now the shirt smelled so differently that she never would have known Danny had worn it. “Thank you.” Nika stepped away from the doorway. “Come on in. Spike left as soon as the sun went down, so it’s just us.”

“Does he do that often?” Wesley asked. “Leave, I mean?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. When he’s feeling a bit rough. Usually he’ll go out and get himself into a good old fashioned bar brawl, and then come back here to have me patch him up.”

Wesley didn’t know what to say to that. It was clear that she and the vampire had worked out some sort of agreement, odd couple though they might be. “He really has gotten better over the last year,” Nika said, bustling around the small kitchen while Wesley watched from the doorway. “When I first met him, that right leg was nearly useless, and his arm wasn’t much better.” She looked back at him. “Have a seat,” she suggested.

Pulling out the same chair he had occupied the previous evening while she had fixed him up, Wesley cleared his throat. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course, though I can’t promise to answer,” Nika replied lightly.

“What was in that drink you gave me last night?”

He could see her pause in her movements. She wore a long skirt and a man’s shirt tied at her stomach. For a moment, Wesley thought she looked as though she dated back to another era, with her clothing and long braid dangling down her back. “Why do you ask?”

“It did something to me,” he replied quietly, wanting to feel angry, and yet unable to summon the emotion. She had given him a peaceful night’s sleep for once—it was hard to feel justifiably angry over that.

There was a longer pause this time before he heard her sigh. She turned to look at him. “It was what I told you. Something to take the edge off. Nothing odd about what’s in there: willow bark, chamomille, licorice, some other herbs. The key is in the words you speak over it while you’re making it. It’s an old family charm that my nain taught me.”

“Nain?” Wesley asked, momentarily distracted. “You’re Welsh?”

“My mother and grandmother.” Nika turned back to the stove, still fussing. “She was the one who trained me to be a midwife.”

Wesley’s curiosity was threatening to get the better of him. There was something about this woman that intrigued him, more so than anyone had since—He stopped that thought. “Do you speak Welsh?”

“Quite well,” she admitted. “I lived over there for eight years, until I was 19. That’s when I married my husband, and we came back here.” Nika fixed him with a look, half playful challenge, half raw curiosity—not unlike his own. “I’ll tell you my story, if you’ll tell me yours.”

Wesley hesitated. There was no reason he shouldn’t tell her about himself. It wasn’t as though she would think more or less of him either way. It wasn’t as though it actually mattered. After all, he’d come tonight to return her shirt, and to allow her to repay him for saving her life. He had no intention of seeing her again, of making friends with her. “Alright,” he finally agreed. “You first.”

Nika raised an eyebrow and then shrugged, opening the oven and pulling out their dinner. “I think this story requires food,” she said. Wesley’s eyes widened when he saw what she’d made: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Wesley protested, though his mouth was already beginning to water. As she dished up, he realized that she’d made a typical British dinner, much like the ones he’d been used to eating at his parents’ table years ago, or at the Watchers’ Academy. Of course, he had a feeling the company would be better tonight.

Nika shrugged. “No trouble. I imagine it’s a bit hard to get the real thing here, and I like to cook. I used to all the time for Danny. Sometimes, I’ll make a good, spicy curry for Spike and me, but he doesn’t much go for this sort of meal.”

“I didn’t know vampires ate,” Wesley said, watching as she set the plate down in front of him, and then seated herself.

She smiled. “I would imagine Spike isn’t like most vampires. At least, not like I would think they’d be.”

He nodded, and began eating when she encouraged him to begin. “So, you lived in Wales for eight years?” he prompted.

Nika smiled when she realized he wasn’t going to let her off the hook. Not that she minded so much, as she planned on making sure he told her his story. She had her own reasons for being intrigued by the hard-eyed man. “My mom met my da while she was over here for university. They said it was love at first sight. They did what people normally do—married, finished school, had children.”

She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “When I was eleven, my parents allowed me to stay the night at a friend’s house, and I was to walk home the next day. It was only a block or two, but it was the first time they had let me do something like that, and I felt so grown up.” Nika smiled. “I was as excited as though it were Christmas. When I got home that day, the front door was unlocked. I went in and found my parents on their bed. They—they had ripped out their throats, and had—at the time, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. My mom didn’t die easy, though. I imagine my da didn’t either. My little sister was in the room we shared.”

Wesley was staring at her, horrified. It was easy to imagine the girl she’d been, finding the bodies of her entire family, alone, scared… “You don’t have to tell me,” he began.

Nika shook her head. “It was a long time ago,” she said softly. “And the tale will not take much longer. I ran out into the yard screaming, and the neighbors called the police. Only days later, they held the funerals and cremated the bodies by my grandmother’s demand. She knew what had killed them, and she wasn’t about to take any chances. And then she packed me up and took me home with her, to Wales. I had nowhere else to go, and I didn’t mind. My parents had made plans for me to study with her later, as she was a midwife, and it was what I wanted to do since I was small.”

There was a long pause as Nika took a few more bites, composing herself. Wesley was shaken out of his own complacency a little. He had spent the last few months feeling slightly sorry for himself. Not that he’d been completely wallowing in self-pity, but the emotion had certainly been an ever-present companion. Now, he was looking at a woman who had lost as much or more than he ever had, and she told her story without a hint of bitterness. “When did you meet your husband?” he asked, wanting to know what happened next, worried she wouldn’t want to continue.

He needn’t have been concerned. A gentle smile lit her face as she remembered. “I was sixteen. He was two years older and in Wales with his family. They were there for the annual festival that the Barach’na hold for Samhain. It was the first time he was old enough to participate. Grandmother and I were there to help with the festivities, as she had some friends among the older folks. I was already delivering babies and doing all that my grandmother could do.” Nika laughed suddenly. “There was dancing, and Danny came right up to me and asked me to dance. I didn’t even know his name, but I went anyway.”

She looked Wesley in the eye for the first time since beginning her story. “I loved him from that moment. We married when I was nineteen, after I had finished my training, and came here. Danny joined the police force, and I received training to be an EMT, since midwives can’t always find work. We had eight years together before he was killed, and we loved each other every moment of each year.”

“And your grandmother?” Wesley asked, almost afraid to broach the question. She had lost so many—

“Alive and well,” she replied, reading his fear. “She still visits, and I still visit her, though not as often as we used to.”

Wesley frowned, suddenly wanting to ask another question, wanting to postpone telling his own story for a while longer. His own tale was not less painful than hers, in its own way, and yet he suddenly couldn’t see walking away from this dinner, and this woman, for good. And Wesley did not want to have her think less of him, reveal his many faults so quickly. “You don’t have to tell me anything at all, if you don’t want to,” Nika suddenly said, reading his face.

“No, it’s okay,” Wesley replied, bracing himself. Slowly, he told her about his parents, about his training, about being one of the youngest ever to be selected as Watcher over an active Slayer. It was easy enough to be impassive about those things; they were long in the past. It was when he began to tell her how he’d come to L.A. and started working with Angel that he found himself unable to go on. Even if a year had passed, the wounds caused by his own betrayal of Angel, and the group’s abandonment of him, had not healed.

“What happened?” Nika asked when he stopped. She could see the carefully controlled pain in his eyes and knew that as happy as he might have been, it was gone now.

He shook his head. “I made a blunder that cost a friend his son. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, but I miscalculated badly.”

“And that’s why you’re an independent contractor now,” Nika finished for him sympathetically. “Who was your friend?”

“Angel,” Wesley replied. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of Angel Investigations, but—”

She nodded knowingly. “The vampire with a soul? I’ve heard of him—from Danny and Spike both. I don’t think Danny knew what to feel about him, and Spike certainly isn’t particularly sympathetic.”

“They have a long history together,” Wesley half-explained, relieved that he didn’t have to put his experiences into words just yet. Perhaps someday he’d be able to, but not now.

Nika stood abruptly. “Would you like some tea? I can promise you the real thing.”

Encouraged by the superb meal, Wesley nodded. “Please.”

She made tea the right way, he saw, using the loose leaf, rather than the bags. The aroma of the brew awakened his senses, reminded him again of how long it had been since he’d had a real cuppa. It had been too long, really. He’d almost forgotten how it smelled, how it tasted. He took a sip, the flavor easing down his throat, warming him from the inside. So little warmed him these days, not like Nika’s meal and tea had.

There was a bang from the front door, and Nika smiled fondly. “That will be Spike. He always manages to be here in time for dessert.”

Spike sauntered into the kitchen, and looked around at the repast. “I see you put out quite a spread, luv,” he commented, going to the fridge for his own meal.

Nika shrugged. “You know I like to cook.”

“And I don’t make nearly as appreciative an audience as the Watcher here,” he replied knowingly, looking over at Wesley. The two men stared at each other for a moment, testing the waters, trying to decide if the other was an interloper.

The silence stretched on, and Nika finally stood and gave Spike a gentle shove over towards the table. “Sit and eat your meal, Spike,” she ordered. “I was just about to get dessert out.”

“Right on time as usual, yeah?” he asked, easing himself down into the seat. Wesley noticed that he was still favoring the right leg, though not as much as the night before.

“How’s your leg?” he finally asked the vampire, the glimmer of an idea beginning in his brain. His problem, at least as an independent contractor, stemmed from the fact that he had to do it all: research, find clients, destroy the target. There were a few people he could call on, if he needed, but it wasn’t on a regular basis, and he didn’t always have the money to keep them around. Back when Angel had left the team during his Darla troubles, Wesley’d had Gunn and Cordelia to back him up. He was on his own now, and there were times when it put him in more danger than he liked.

Spike gave him a suspicious look, but finally decided to answer. “’s fine. I was a bit tired last night. It’s always worse when ‘m tired.”

“Then you would have no objection to lending me a hand tonight?” Wesley asked. “I could use your help.”

“What’s in it for me?” Spike challenged him. He might have offered his services the night before, but that didn’t mean he was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. After thinking about his offer, the vampire realized that he’d put himself in a position to be used again, any time the Watcher needed more muscle. Spike had promised he wouldn’t put himself in that position again.

Wesley hesitated. “I’ll give you 25% of what I make from the job.”

Spike thought about it. That really wasn’t much, depending on how much Wesley got paid. On the other hand, it was a percentage, not a flat fee, which meant that his pay was dependent upon the Watcher’s. It seemed more fair, somehow, and Spike liked the idea of fair compensation. “Alright. What’s the job?”

Nika plopped the plate of cookies down in front of both of them. “Go on,” she encouraged. “You can eat and talk at the same time, and I know I don’t need any more sweets.” She started clearing the plates from the table.

Wesley stood as though to help. “I should—”

“You should sit and finish your conversation,” she said firmly. “Tonight, you’re my guest. Next time, I’ll put you to work.”

Wesley stared at her, something in his chest loosening as he realized that she wanted to have him return. Silently, he cautioned himself. It was the same feeling he’d had when Angel and Cordelia had begun including him in their group. He didn’t need that again. He couldn’t afford to go through that again. “Very well,” he finally said, turning back to Spike. “There’s some information I need, but the person who has it frequents a place where humans aren’t welcome. I’d go anyway, but if I don’t have to, it’s just as well.”

Spike nodded slowly. “So you want me to beat somebody up for you?” He sounded almost hopeful.

Wesley smiled. “Only if you want to.”

~~~~~

He waited outside the bar for much longer than made him comfortable. Wesley had sent Spike in an hour before, and the vampire still hadn’t come out, either with his information, or with the pay-off money. Worry began to creep in as to the general wisdom of trusting an unsouled, unchipped vampire with his money or his business.

He needn’t have been concerned, however. A few seconds after he’d made up his mind to go in after Spike, the vampire came strolling out the door, looking very smug. “Your guy’s name is Otto. Calls himself the German. He’s the one that’s been pullin’ off all the robberies, an’ he’s using the proceeds to fund his empire.”

Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “And it took you an hour to get that information?”

“Hey,” Spike said, raising his hands. “You didn’t give me a time frame, so don’t get your knickers in a twist, Watcher. You want to get all pansy-arsed on me, you can do it yourself next time.”

Spike was rather surprised to find himself flattened against the wall of the building, Wesley’s forearm at his throat. It wasn’t like he needed to breathe, but it was still uncomfortable. “My arse is not pansy,” Wesley said, very calmly.

“No, it’s not,” Spike said agreeably, deciding to humor the Watcher. Nevermind that he could rip the man’s throat out before he even knew what happened; he found himself feeling a grudging sort of respect.

“And stop calling me ‘Watcher,’” Wesley continued more irritably, letting Spike go. “That’s not what I am anymore.”

There was silence as Spike considered his request. “An’ what do you want me to call you?”

“Wesley will be just fine,” he replied.

Spike never used people’s names. It had everything to do with the fact that names rarely said anything about the person in question, or how he felt about that person. The nicknames he used said both, however, and to be asked to use someone’s given name was a little difficult. But he’d asked, and the Wa—Wesley had answered, and Spike missed the camraderie that came with fighting side by side with a person.

He’d always liked a good fight, solo or on a team, it didn’t really matter. Spike had become used to fighting with the Slayer and her Scoobies, though, and he liked having another person there to hear his quips and react to his moves. It seemed like Wesley was the one he was going to be stuck with if he wanted to make hunting a team sport.

And maybe it said something about the man that Spike was actually willing to use his given name. “Fine. Wesley.”

“So why did it take you so long?” Wesley asked.

Spike shrugged. “Nobody was in the mood to talk, so I had to use some persuasion.” Wesley could see a bruise beginning to form along Spike’s jaw. “Nothin’ to get upset about. Besides, I saved you some money.” He pulled out the cash Wesley had given him and pressed it into his hand.

Wesley regarded the cash thoughtfully before he pocketed it, then looked at Spike, who had an expectant look on his face. “You did say you wanted some action,” he said, looking at the vampire. “Want to pay a visit to Otto with me?”

“Sounds like fun, mate,” Spike replied, smiling.

Neither of them ever really acknowledged it, but that night was the beginning of their friendship. Wesley might have saved Spike and Nika the previous evening, but Spike returned the favor when Otto (a rather nasty Dralik demon) tried to rip Wesley’s entrails out with his bare claws. The rents that would have been in skin and muscle appeared in Spike’s leather jacket instead, and Wesley managed to put a bullet in the demon’s head from his position on the ground, under Spike.

As they stood over the dead body, Spike looked over at him. “You mean you actually get paid for this kind of thing?”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Wesley asked, thinking that Spike probably found this work more like play than anything else.

The vampire shook his head. “When I think of all the dosh the Slayer missed out on…” He trailed off, and an expression crossed his face that Wesley could not read.

“Is that why you left Sunnydale?” the man asked softly. “Because of the Slayer?”

“Something like that,” Spike admitted. He suddenly turned to look at Wesley, wanting to tell somebody who would understand, who would see that what had happened mattered. “We were—involved, yeah? An’ then she beat me to a bloody pulp because I wouldn’t let her turn herself into the cops, an’ I left. I had no reason to stay after that, knowin’ she’d leave me to die without a backwards look.”

Wesley looked back at the dead demon. “If it makes you feel any better, Angel tried to kill me.”

They shared a look, and then they both smiled, an expression that had long been missing from their faces. “Well, if Peaches tried to kill you, you must be alright, mate,” Spike said.

And that was how it all started. With two endings.

Chapter 6: October 2005

“So?” Dawn asked, as she flopped down on Spike’s couch. She usually stayed the night on Thursdays when she came over. It was a nice change from being in the dorms, and if Spike wasn’t around, she and Nika usually hung out. Nights like this, coming back covered in grime and demon guts, it was probably better she not be seen by anyone on campus.

“So what?” he asked, his voice muffled by the bathroom door. Dawn had already taken her shower, and Spike was just finishing up. He emerged in a cloud of steam, wearing only a pair of worn blue jeans.

“So what did you think of Connor?” Dawn said, rolling her eyes at his obtuseness.

He shrugged. “Boy seemed alright, ‘specially considerin’ who his father is.”

“You liked him, then?” Spike looked over at her and realized that his opinion really did matter to her. She wanted him to like Connor, and she wanted his approval.

His expression softened. “Yeah, Niblet. He seemed like a good kid. He’s not good enough for you, but then, who would be?”

She broke into a huge grin. “I’m glad you like him. It’s not like we can really hang out at the hotel or anything, so it’ll be nice to have somewhere else we can go.”

“You thinkin’ of coming here?” Spike asked, a little alarmed. This house, this basement, seemed like a sanctuary, a place that was his and Dawn’s alone.

She laughed. “Only when we can’t go to the dorms or something. You know, if my roommate won’t clear out. I mean, we can be at the hotel, but Angel and company still think we’re just friends.” Dawn rolled her eyes again, this time demonstrating her opinion of Angel’s cluelessness. “I think Connor’s going to try and get his own place soon, though. I mean, he’s definitely old enough.”

That didn’t sound quite right to Spike either. The thought of Dawn and her boyfriend—any boy really—alone in said boy’s apartment—“Dawn, you know—”

“Don’t say it,” she warned him. “I’m eighteen, and I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

Spike sighed. “Fine. Just—I don’t want to know, alright? He seems like a decent kid, but if he lays a finger on you, I’ll have to rip it off.”

Dawn laughed, long used to Spike’s expressions of violence, was no longer phased, if she ever had been. “Right, Spike. You know, that threat worked just as well the first time you used it.”

“He didn’t bother you again, did he?” the vampire asked with a smirk.

Dawn stared at him. “You—you came up. I thought—” She stopped. It had been her junior year in high school, and one of the jocks had asked her on a date. Everything had gone just fine until the little prick had tried to pull a move on her. In classic Summers’ fashion, Dawn had put a stop to that, but by the next day, he’d started spreading rumors that she was easy, and had given it up to him right away.

Dawn hadn’t wanted to tell Buffy, because she didn’t want her sister to think she couldn’t take care of herself. Plus, Steve had just left, and her sister was still upset over that. She’d written Spike a letter, and he told her to let him know if the teasing didn’t die down, because he’d happily come up and rip the boy’s balls off.

The teasing had stopped, life had gone on, but she had no clue that Spike had anything to do with that. “What did you do?” she asked.

“Flashed some fang, told him if you weren’t happy, I’d make his life miserable.” Spike grinned at her. “What? You thought I wouldn’t do it?”

She leaned back against the couch. “I didn’t see you!” she protested.

“Way it had to be, luv,” Spike said quietly. “I didn’t want Buffy to see me, so I kept a low profile. Just found him, scared the shit out of him, and left. Wasn’t even in Sunnydale two hours.”

She shook her head. “Spike, do you—I mean, are you still in love with Buffy? Are you happy?”

“Sure I’m happy, Sweet Bit,” he replied, pulling her head down to rest on his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be? I can live without the Slayer.”

“But you’re still Love’s Bitch,” Dawn said, hearing the emotion in his voice, in spite of Spike’s attempts to hide it. She’d wondered for a while now, how he was really doing. Spike put up a good front, most of the time, and Dawn had no doubt that he managed to hide his true feelings from everybody else. But she had spent an entire summer with him, while they both mourned for Buffy, and that was still the Spike she knew. Even though her sister was alive, Spike was still mourning her.

He sighed. “You know me too well. S’pose I always will be,” Spike admitted quietly. “And I’m still man enough to admit it.”

Dawn didn’t say anything else. She ached for him, and could only offer the comfort of her presence.

~~~~~

Spike was rather melancholy the next morning after Dawn had left. He loved having the Niblet around, of course, but it was easier to forget about Buffy when she wasn’t there as a constant reminder. It had been the same way the summer that the Slayer was—gone. Spike could have easily spent the entire 147 days in a bottle or in a fight, just to try and forget her. He couldn’t do that and keep his promise, however, and so he had lived with Dawn’s presence the same way you live with a toothache. Truth was, he hadn’t wanted to forget, and he’d welcomed the reminder.

Now, however—well, now the best times were when he and Wesley were going after a demon, when every fiber of his being had to be focused on the event at hand, rather than on lost chances and lost loves. It wasn’t that he wanted to think of Buffy all the time, but Spike couldn’t get her out of his head. He wondered how she was doing, what she had made of her life, was she even happy to be alive…

Angrily, he rose from the couch and started pacing. There had to be something he could do, but he’d already asked Nika. She knew all about blessings and curses from her grandmother, and if anyone could have helped him forget the Slayer, it would have been her. Instead, she’d simply told him that the only cure was time, and there really wasn’t anything she could do for him. Spike didn’t actually blame her. Nika had explained that there were a couple curses she could do, but the consequences could be fairly grievous, like not remembering any of the Scoobies, including Dawn. He hadn’t wanted that.

And as she’d pointed out, if she had something to take away the pain of a broken heart, she would have used it on herself just as quickly as on someone else. The only cure possible was time, and that—unfortunately—was something Spike had all too much of.

With an angry growl, he slammed his fist into the punching bag that hung in the center of the room. Nika had gotten it for him for Christmas, after he’d punched the concrete wall one too many times. He hit it again, his fists repeatedly ramming into the bag, until his knuckles were scraped and he left smears of blood on the canvas.

“You know, I got that bag for you so you didn’t have to bang yourself up every time you lost your temper,” Nika said from behind him.

Spike turned, surprised. She so rarely came down without an invitation, that it was something of a shock. “What are you—”

“I heard the banging, and I thought I’d come check on you,” she replied softly. “Look, I’m sorry for intruding. I could—”

She turned to go, and he put a hand on her arm. “No, ‘s alright, luv. Stay. Maybe you can keep me from doin’ any more damage to myself.”

Nika took one of his hands and inspected the scrapes. “They aren’t bad. You’ll probably be half-healed before I could get back down here with my first-aid kit.”

“Vampire,” he replied. “One of the advantages, anyway.” He let her lead him over to the couch. She sat close to him, leaning her head on his chest. They were both very tactile people. One of the hardest things for her, after her husband died, was that there was so very little physical affection. Spike needed the physical proximity as much as she did, however, and they had been able to comfort each other a bit.

He held her close, thinking of how rarely he’d been able to do this with anyone since Drusilla. Although, the vampiress hadn’t been into comfort-touch as much as pain. He sighed. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinkin’ that this is right nice, Sweet.” Spike hadn’t realized how badly Buffy and her friends treated him until he met Nika, and later, Wesley. Though both of them had every reason to hate vampires, they treated him like a human being, and expected him to act like one. No longer was he constantly reminded that he was some sort of evil thing. And it was that respect that demanded he give them respect in return.

He could admit to himself that it was no longer not wanting Buffy to be right that kept him from hunting, it was thinking about what Wesley or Nika would say if they found out he had fed. It was knowing how badly Nika had been hurt by having vampires snack on her loved ones—knowing that he would be hurting someone else just as badly. Spike had never really understood how you could care about people you’d never met—he still couldn’t. What he could do was very clearly picture the disappointment on Nika’s face, someone who had never treated him with anything but kindness. He wouldn’t do that to her.

“Are you really okay, cariad?” she asked quietly. “I know you still miss her.”

“Every damn day,” he admitted. “When am I bloody well goin’ to get over her?” Spike demanded. “How long does it take to get someone out of your head? ‘s been three years, an’ she treated me like crap for all but about two of the days we were together.”

Nika leaned in closer, as much for his comfort as her own. Spike was such a solid sort of person, even though most would never know it to see him. Once he counted you as his to protect, however, heaven forbid someone cause you problems. He would take on the whole world for someone he loved, for “his humans” as he called them.

“I don’t know, Spike,” she said. “Everybody’s different. It’s okay that it’s taking you a while. I know it may not feel okay, but it is.”

He gave a bitter little laugh. “I don’t want to get over her, Nika-luv. She was—she was my whole damn world.”

“I know,” Nika said. “I know.”

Spike swallowed hard and pulled her closer. “An’ what about you, luv? You still miss him?”

“Every damn day,” Nika said, echoing his words from earlier. “But less. It’s changed—the pain has. I miss him, but it’s not the same as it was. Maybe that’s the difference between being human and being a vampire—time moves differently for us, faster. We don’t have the luxury of not being able to let go if we want to live.”

“Maybe,” Spike said. “I was with Dru for over a hundred years. Stayed faithful to her all that time. She was my black goddess, my ripe wicked plum. She was my everything.”

“Then maybe it’ll just take you a little longer to get over Buffy. How long did it take you with Drusilla?” Nika asked.

Spike thought about that for a moment, and then said, “A couple years, I s’pose. At least that. Wasn’t until I figured out I was in love with the Slayer that I realized I wasn’t in love with Dru anymore.”

“Then maybe you just need to meet some nice girl that will take your mind off her,” Nika suggested with a sly grin.

He raised an eyebrow. “Some nice girl like you?” he queried. “’f I remember right, that didn’t go so well for either one of us.”

“Oh, it went well enough. It’s just the feeling wasn’t there. Neither one of us was ready to move on,” she replied. “You’d be a catch for anyone, Spike.”

“If you can ignore the fact that I don’t go out in the daylight, avoid mirrors, and drink blood, yeah,” he replied sarcastically.

“Oh, don’t be that way,” Nika scolded. “Trust me. Good men are rare enough that a girl would overlook those quirks in a heartbeat.”

“Which I don’t have,” he pointed out.

“You’re faithful, intelligent—even though you’d hardly know it—and loyal, that’s a lot,” Nika said.

Spike smiled at her. “You have a way of makin’ a bloke feel better, you know that?” When her only reply was a smug smile, he went on. “But I asked about you, luv. You ready to be movin’ on yet?”

Nika tried to pull away from him, but Spike tightened his grip, keeping it gentle. “Luv, ‘s all right to move on, be happy. Everythin’ you’ve told me about him says he’d want that.”

“He would,” she sighed, giving up. Spike wasn’t going to let it go until she talked about it. Persistence was a good thing, but it could grate on a person as well. “I don’t know, Spike. I think I could fall in love again, but—I promised myself when Danny died that I wouldn’t fall in love with another man who had a dangerous profession.”

“And you fancy Wesley,” he said, prodding her to go on when she paused.

Nika sighed. “I’m already half in love with him. He’s completely different than Danny, but he has all the same qualities that I admire in a man. And his profession is about as dangerous as they come. I won’t ask him to give that up. He wouldn’t be Wesley if he did.”

Spike gave her shoulders a squeeze. “He’s got me lookin’ after him. That counts for somethin’, right?”

“That counts for a lot,” she assured him. “I just—I don’t know if he really likes me or not. I know he’s had heart troubles of his own, and I don’t want…”

“You’ve got to take a chance if you want to know,” Spike pointed out.

“Unless you told me,” Nika said, turning so she could look him in the face. “Has he said anything to you?”

Spike shook his head. “Now, luv, you know that’s somethin’ I can’t tell you. It’d be betrayin’ a confidence, an’ that’s just evil.” He grinned at her. “Of course, I never pretended not to be a little evil still.”

“So he does like me?” Nika asked. “Really? I—What am I going to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

Nika fell back against his shoulder. “I don’t know, Spike. I really don’t know. I want—I like him. You know that. And I’m scared of losing someone I love again. All I ever wanted, since I was a little girl, was to be a midwife, get married, have kids, take care of people. I know it’s silly and old fashioned, but that’s what I dreamed of. And now—”

“And if you fall in love with Wesley, you think you’ll have to give that dream up?” Spike asked.

Nika shook her head. “Wesley’s not the ‘get married, have a couple kids’ kind of guy. I don’t even think he believes he’ll live long enough to get around to it.”

“Or, he doesn’t think he deserves it,” Spike suggested softly. He had come to know the former Watcher quite well over the past couple years, and he knew that Wesley presented a strong front. Inside, however, he seemed to have a strong belief that he had little to nothing to offer someone. If you wanted a guy to translate a text, or kill a demon, you called on Wesley; if you wanted a boyfriend, he didn’t think himself worthy of the honor.

Nika’s eyes lit up with indignation. “Of course, he deserves it. I mean, he’d—” She stopped. “You’re telling me I’m going to have to make the first move, aren’t you?”

He grinned at her. “Nothin’ like a girl comin’ onto a bloke to give him a nice wake-up call, but yeah. If you go for it, he’ll fall in line. But Wesley needs a bit of encouragement.” Spike gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You let me know when, an’ I’ll clear out for you two.”

Nika rolled her eyes at him. “And what about you? You deserve a little happiness too, Spike.”

“Maybe one of these days,” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes. “Maybe someday, luv. Till then, I’ll just have to settle for seein’ my friends happy.”

~~~~~

Dawn entered her dorm room and tossed her backpack on the bed. She was lucky she and her roommate didn’t see much of each other, she supposed. After hearing Buffy’s horror story about her first college roommate, Dawn had no desire to repeat history. So far, however, Miranda was usually gone while she was here (with her boyfriend, of course), or Dawn made herself scarce while Miranda was using the room.

The red light on the answering machine was blinking, telling her that someone had left a message. Dawn hit the play button, and started unloading her pack as she listened. “Hey, Dawn. It’s your sister. Look, I don’t want to bug you, but if you get a chance, could you call me? It’s kinda important. Love you.”

There was a long beep as the message rewound, and Dawn quickly hit the delete button. Sighing, she tried to figure out if she really wanted to call Buffy, or if she wanted to pretend to be too busy and call later. She was still a little upset with her sister after her talk with Spike earlier. It wasn’t like Spike wanted her to not like Buffy—hardly. It was just that every time Dawn talked to her, she remembered Spike’s face that day in his crypt, the day he’d left. She remembered how bruised he’d been. And she remembered that yet another person had left her, and that this time it was because of Buffy. It had been hard to feel close to her after that.

It had been hard to want to feel close.

But Buffy was her sister, her only real family, even though Spike, Nika, and Wesley were a family of sorts, a home away from home. Spike and his friends were the only reason that Dawn didn’t feel completely alone in L.A. Even if her dad was supposed to be here, he never was. She hadn’t even seen Hank since she’d come to school. Nika kept her stocked up with home-baked goodies, however, and Spike played the big brother to the hilt. Even Wesley was beginning to warm up and even smile more than once or twice a night. Because of them, she really didn’t miss Sunnydale at all.

Still, she kept coming back to the fact that Buffy was her sister.

Dawn picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. It was probably better to find out what was going on sooner, rather than later. With Buffy’s luck, it would be an apocalypse of some kind.

~~~~~

Buffy picked up the phone on the first ring, hoping it was Dawn. She hadn’t spoken with any of her friends yet. She’d had a day and a night to think about it, and hadn’t slept at all in between. Being pregnant was something to get used to, for sure, but it had made her think, made her re-evaluate a number of things.

The funny thing was, thinking about it, she didn’t regret Peter leaving at all. Buffy realized that she’d always known he would go, at a certain level. It had nothing to do with thinking that all guys left, but realizing that she’d been using Peter, just as much as he’d been using her. Getting pregnant hadn’t been in the plans, but she would deal.

No, looking back over the past three years, Buffy didn’t really regret any of the guys she’d dated leaving. They had been stand-ins, fillers to scratch an itch and take her mind off things. Mostly nice guys who had wanted her as much as she wanted them. In dating them, she’d avoided all the pitfalls she’d had with Riley. Never again did she want to get involved with someone who loved her more than she loved him.

What she regretted most was a particular night in an alley, and a particular guy leaving. Buffy could admit—now—that Spike had loved her, had been in love with her. He had done everything in his power to do all that she had asked of him. If staying around and looking after a dead woman’s sister wasn’t proof positive, Buffy didn’t know what was anymore.

And she missed him. There, in her bed, sleepless, three months pregnant and three years too late, Buffy could finally admit that she missed him. He had loved her, and she had beaten him to a bloody pulp and left him in an alley, little caring if he was still there when the sun came up.

When she thought of those nights in his crypt, when all he did was sit with her, when he was the only one who could soothe her—

Buffy had cried. She’d cried all night, and had somehow come to a conclusion during that time. Falling asleep around daybreak, she woke and immediately called Dawn, knowing from experience that her sister was never in her dorm on Thursday night. Dawn needed to know about Peter, and the baby that was coming. Buffy needed to know what Dawn knew about Spike.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Buffy,” Dawn said. “You said you wanted to talk to me. It isn’t another apocalypse, right? Because midterms are coming up.”

Buffy hesitated. Now that she was actually talking to her sister, she wasn’t sure what to say or how to begin. “Yeah, uh, you know, it probably isn’t that important…” She stopped. “I—Peter left.”

“Oh.” Dawn couldn’t say she was disappointed about that. She’d never liked Peter. “Well, do you want me to come up this weekend? If you need me to, I will.”

Buffy laughed a little. “No, I’m really okay, Dawnie. A little disappointed maybe, but okay. Peter was a jerk.”

“I won’t argue with you,” Dawn said, relieved. She’d planned on spending the weekend studying and seeing Connor in her free time. “But you’re doing all right?”

“I’m fine,” Buffy assured her again. “There’s something else though. The reason we broke up, I mean.” There was a long pause, in which Dawn started feeling a little anxious. “I’m pregnant.”

Buffy waited for her sister’s reaction. “You’re what?” Dawn asked. “Buffy—wait. Peter left because you got pregnant? What a bastard!”

The Slayer didn’t even bother telling Dawn to watch her language. “I know. We’ve agreed, though. I don’t ask him for any support, and he has no right to interfere in any way. It’s fair. I’d rather not have him in my life if he’s not even going to be interested in the baby. I think it’ll be better in the long run.”

Both sisters were thinking of their largely-absentee father, and Dawn voiced her agreement. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Have you told anybody yet? Giles, or the rest of the gang?”

“No, you’re the first,” Buffy replied. “I wanted you to know. I’m planning on calling Giles tomorrow, when the time matches up a little better, and I’ll tell Willow and Xander next time I see them.”

Dawn was quiet. She felt honored that Buffy would want her to be the first to know, and a little guilty about her impatience with her sister earlier. “What are you going to do about the Slaying?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy confessed. “I’ll have to get help, I suppose. The Hellmouth has been fairly quiet now for a while, so maybe I’ll get a break for once.”

Dawn sat down on her bed heavily, thinking about what Buffy had just told her. This wasn’t going to work. If Buffy was still the Slayer, even after the baby was born, she’d need someone around to look after the kid. “Maybe I should think about transferring to U.C. Sunnydale,” she said slowly, hating herself for even suggesting it. She didn’t want to go back to Sunnydale. “I mean, you’ll probably need someone there to help out, and—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Buffy replied firmly. “You’ve got a good thing going in L.A., Dawnie. I’ll be fine here.We’ll figure something out.”

Dawn was doubly relieved, both that Buffy wouldn’t have let her move, and that she didn’t have to feel guilty for not offering. “Okay.”

Buffy hesitated, and then said, “Do you think I could come down and see you? Not this weekend, but maybe next? There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What else?” Dawn asked, wondering what the next big revelation was going to be.

“It’s about Spike,” Buffy said slowly. “I was wondering if you knew where he was.”

Dawn knew the rules. Spike had been very specific about not telling Buffy where he was unless she asked. He hadn’t said that she had to tell the Slayer anything, however, and Dawn was feeling rather protective of Spike at the moment. Her sister had gotten a lot better over the last few years, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t wind up beating the shit out of him again. Dawn wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Why do you want to know, Buffy?” Dawn asked.

Buffy sighed. “I know he’s been writing to you. I just—I’ve just been thinking about him a lot lately. I—I want to know if he’s okay.”

“You couldn’t have asked earlier?” Dawn demanded, built-up anger spilling out. “Buffy, it’s been three years, and after what you did to him, I’m not sure I should tell you where he is.”

Buffy swallowed hard. “I know. I—if I gave you a letter, could you get it to him? I want to—I want to apologize. Thinking about Spike, and thinking about everything else that’s gone on, I just realized how badly…” She trailed off. She did want to apologize, even though she hated having to say she was sorry. What do you say to someone that you did that to, anyway?

“He’s in L.A.,” Dawn said, making a decision. She didn’t know what Buffy’s motives were for finally getting her head out of her ass, but Spike still wasn’t over her sister. And it was obvious that her sister still thought about Spike. “I won’t tell you where, but I can get a letter or something to him.”

“Is he doing okay?” Buffy asked, suddenly wanting to know. Wanting to know if he’d gotten over her, wanting to know if he was happy.

Dawn sighed. “He’s okay, Buffy. You might as well know he’s got the chip out.”

“He’s not hunting, is he?” Buffy asked in a rather small voice.

“No, he’s not hunting, not humans anyway. He’s helping Wesley kill demons and he lives in a lady’s basement. It’s a pretty nice place.” Dawn paused. “I still see him about once a week, or more.”

Buffy tried to digest that bit of news. Spike had the chip out, he wasn’t feeding, and he was still killing demons. With Wesley, no less. “Wesley, my ex-Watcher?”

“Yeah,” Dawn replied, warming up to the subject a little. “You know he isn’t with Angel anymore, right? He and Spike work together now. I think they’re doing pretty good. And Wes is getting pretty attached to Nika—that’s Spike’s landlord. I was over there last night. Nika’s cool. Her house is kind of a home away from home.”

Buffy could hear the happiness in her sister’s voice, and she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. It sounded as though Dawn had made a place for herself in L.A., some place that wasn’t Sunnydale, that wasn’t with her. She knew she really didn’t have anyone to blame but herself, but she couldn’t help but feel a little sad. “I’m glad.”

Dawn could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice. She sighed. If Buffy was going to come up next weekend, she’d find out anyway—in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m also dating somebody.”

“Who?”

“His name’s Connor. He’s Angel’s son.”

Buffy suddenly felt numb. “How? When? Dawn, how old—”

“He’s twenty, two years older than me,” Dawn explained quickly. “He was born a few years ago, actually, and then he got sent to this Hell dimension, where time moves differently, so he came back already grown up. That’s why Wesley’s not with Angel anymore. He had something to do with why Connor got taken, but it really wasn’t completely his fault. There was a prophecy, but it was fake, and he didn’t know, and then this guy—Holtz—took Connor to get to Angel, and—”

“Stop, Dawn,” Buffy said, and she suddenly sounded like General Buffy, which she only did in the middle of emergencies and apocalypses. “I didn’t get most of that, but I’ll be up next weekend. At which point, you can tell me the whole story, including details on what Connor is like. And what Spike is up to.” The Slayer sighed. At this point, she didn’t give a damn if Spike was feeding on people. He probably wouldn’t have even tried to get the chip out if it weren’t for her. Her sister sounded happy, Spike was okay. That was all that mattered.

“If I send you a letter for him, will you make sure he gets it?” Buffy asked.

Dawn didn’t need to ask who Buffy was referring to. “Yeah. I’ll give it to him.” Suddenly, sisterly loyalty took over, and Dawn blurted out, “Buffy—he still misses you. I don’t know if that means anything, but he still misses you.”

“I miss him, too,” Buffy replied. She suddenly wanted to cry again. She missed him so much, and she’d burned every bridge.

Part II: Reunions

“It’s funny how/Even now/You still support me after all of the things that I’ve done/You’re so good to me/Waiting patiently/And isn’t it sad that you still have to ask if I care?/I never said I was perfect/But I can take you away/Walk on shells tonight/Can’t do right tonight/ And you can’t say a word/Cause I leap down your throat/So uptight am I/I never said I was perfect/But I can drive you home/I got down on myself/Working too hard/Driving myself to death/Trying to beat out the faults in my head/What a mess I’ve made/Sure we all make mistakes/But they see me so large that they think I’m immune/to the pain/I’m praying for a miracle/But I won’t hold my breath/I never said I was perfect/But can you drive me home.” ~Garbage, “Drive You Home”

Chapter 7: September 2002

Nika couldn’t have said why she wasn’t surprised when Spike turned up on her doorstep again. She felt close to him, in a way—the way you felt connected to someone after sharing body fluids and near death experiences. In her case, it was both at the same time.

She shouldn’t have felt anything but antipathy for the vampire—first because of what he was, and second because he’d tried to kill her. Sort of. Really, she’d quite literally asked for it. But it wasn’t about being friends, or replacing a dead husband, or losing yourself in a new lover. In the end, it was about understanding pain and recognizing scars. It was about understanding what it meant to lose everything that made you what you were, and still choosing to live.

So when Spike showed up on her doorstep, three nights after he had left, with a split lip and a black eye, Nika didn’t say anything at all. You attempted small talk with people you didn’t feel comfortable with, or that you didn’t know well enough. Somehow, she knew this vampire better than she’d known her husband. She recognized him on a visceral level.

Spike wasn’t sure what her response was going to be when he knocked on her door. He didn’t know if she would slam it shut in his face or invite him in. He wasn’t even sure why he was back here, except that he was tired and hurt. And he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, wondering if she hadn’t found some other novel way to kill herself. The level of relief that flooded him, seeing her alive and well, was a surprise.

He had promised himself that he wasn’t going to care about anyone ever again.

Neither one of them spoke as Spike followed her into the kitchen, the strong smell of alcohol hanging around him in a miasma. He sat down in one of her kitchen chairs, watching as she went to the cupboard above the stove, pulling out a large plastic container full of gauze, antibacterial solution, and band-aids.

She dabbed gently at the cut on his lip, cleaning off the blood. With gentle fingers, she tested the bruise around his eye, trying to make sure that no bones had been broken around the socket. “’m okay,” he said suddenly into the silence, a response to her tender probing. “Vampire, you know? We heal quickly.”

“It doesn’t mean that there couldn’t be damage to the eye,” Nika replied. “How’s your arm, and leg?”

“Fine. Same, really.” Spike looked at her hopefully. “You wouldn’t happen to have any alcohol would you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you had enough to drink already?”

“Takes a lot to do anything for me,” Spike replied.

There was a long pause as they considered each other. “What brought you back?” Nika asked.

“Dunno,” Spike said. Then he went for the truth. “You were nice to me.”

“Is that so strange?”

It was a legitimate question. For all the heartache Nika had experienced, she’d never had a problem with people treating her badly. In her experience, other than with the vampires who had eaten her loved ones, most folks were generally nice. And really, she didn’t blame the vampires. They might be evil, but it was like blaming a cat for killing mice. If you liked mice, you didn’t keep a cat around. If you didn’t want to be eaten, you were careful about who you invited in and carried a cross and stake. If you hunted vampires, you knew the risks you took.

It had taken her a while to come to that conclusion. Her nain had helped. After her parents were killed, Nika had understood that nain’s stories about vampires weren’t just fairy tales. The monsters that came out after dark were real, terribly, terribly real. But hatred, nain had always said, sapped your own strength, more than anything else. Anger, resolution, even pain, could make you strong, but hatred made you weaker.

Hating things that were only doing what they were meant to do, didn’t do anybody any good. Nain had told her to save her anger for something that mattered, for true evil. True evil meant humans who disregarded everything they knew to be right to hurt innocents. That understanding might have been why Spike being a vampire didn’t matter so much to her. The fact that Spike hadn’t killed her meant much more.

Spike considered her question, and finally said. “Yeah. For me, someone bein’ nice is a bit of a new experience.”

Nika shook her head, not really surprised, but at the same time she was. It was in the eyes, she realized. The eyes had been what drew her in, expressive eyes that screamed pain. His eyes were the kind that made women want to take him home, give him cookies and milk, and make certain he was going to be okay.

But maybe that was just Nika and her highly developed maternal instinct.

In spite of Spike’s already slightly inebriated state, she went to the cupboard and pulled out the bottle of whiskey that Danny had saved for especially hard nights. Nika also grabbed the bottle of red wine she had been saving for their anniversary. They would have been married nine years in another month.

She handed the bottle to the vampire. “Do you need a glass?”

“No, not really,” Spike replied. “Not unless you mind me drinkin’ the whole thing.”

Nika shrugged. “If you feel the need.” She pulled out one of her seldom-used glasses, though she didn’t think it mattered if she drank the whole bottle. It would be better than letting it go to waste, and there were usually only a few glasses anyway. (Perfect for sharing, getting a little tipsy, and then having anniversary sex.)

By unspoken agreement, they moved the party into the living room, each of them with their own bottle, and Nika with her glass. Spike took a couple of swallows, and she watched in fascination as his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I didn’t know vampires drank anything other than blood,” she said suddenly.

He shrugged. “Alcohol’s always nice, yeah? ‘specially when you need to drown your sorrows or escape for a bit. An’ I like people food too. Like those spicy buffalo wings.”

Nika wanted to laugh, and she hadn’t laughed for days. Something about the picture of a vampire, who was supposed to be a fierce hunter, drinking whiskey and eating spicy wings… It was an image that certainly didn’t lead to fear. “What else do you like?”

Spike was just drunk enough to answer her questions without much caring about the answers he gave. There was something about being in this cozy little house with a woman he’d tried to drain a few nights previously that was so surreal, it was unbelievable. It was as though he were living a dream, and it actually felt a hell of a lot better than his nightmarish reality.

“Bloomin’ onions,” he replied, tipping back the bottle again as he thought. “Spicy curry, nachos, those sour cream an’ onion chips. Hot chocolate with little marshmallows.” Spike smiled suddenly, his face going soft, softer than it had been in a long time. “There was this woman, mum of—of a girl I knew. She made hot chocolate for me. Some of the best I’d ever had. She was a real lady, that one.” Spike gave her a knowing look. “You remind me of her. She never treated me like a freak either.”

“Why would I treat you like a freak?” Nika asked, honestly puzzled.

“I’m a vampire, or I used to be,” he replied, thinking that was all the explanation he needed to give. When she simply shook her head, he continued. “I’m evil. I’m—I’m a thing, a monster. I’m what goes bump in the night.”

She smiled at him. “You saved my life.”

He was beginning to get angry. She wasn’t reacting like she was supposed to. She was supposed to agree, to tell him that yes, he was an evil thing, and she had every right to hate him, to treat him like dirt. She was supposed to—“You’re not—you’re mental,” he accused her. “I’m an evil vampire that tried to kill you.” Exasperated, he said, “I could drain you now! ‘m not your bloody friend!”

“Then why did you come back here?”

He had no answer to that question, realizing belatedly that he had risen from his seat on her threadbare couch, and that his bad leg was threatening to buckle under him. Slumping down, Spike stared at her. “You’re one odd bint, you know that?”

Nika wasn’t exactly offended. She was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t off her rocker herself. Here she was, sharing a drink with a vampire whom she had meant to be her means of suicide. Shrugging, she said, “Probably. That doesn’t make it a lie though. You could have killed me. You didn’t.”

“I’m still evil.” It was said rebelliously, with something akin to a pout on his face, and then Nika did laugh. At his glare, she laughed harder, laughed until she cried, and tears poured down her face.

He was by her side in an instant, forgetting that it had been him she was laughing at, seeing only her tears. He hadn’t minded tears, accompanied by a healthy dose of fear, when he was draining a girl. But seeing them on Nika’s face now was a different story, and he moved to brush them away. “’s gonna be alright,” he promised, not even knowing why he cared.

“Will it?” she asked, perfectly serious. It didn’t strike her as odd that she was asking for reassurance from a vampire, nor did he seem to be a stranger to her.

Caught flat-footed by her question, he nodded. “Well, yeah. S’pose it will.” Spike hesitated, moved his hand to shakily wipe the tears that lingered. “Pain—fades, after a while. You’ll forget to think about him every minute of every day. It won’t hurt so bad. You’ll find some nice bloke who doesn’t remind you of him, an’ you’ll start rememberin’ without pain.”

“How do you know?” Nika asked, and it didn’t sound snotty, or doubtful, as though a vampire shouldn’t—couldn’t—know pain.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I know. There—there was a girl. She died, more than a year ago now.” Spike had almost been at that point, when they’d brought Buffy back. Or, at least, he’d been able to think that there might come a point when it didn’t hurt quite as badly. He could see the possibility of it.

Spike had never considered that there might be ways to hurt worse.

“Tell me about the girl.” It was a question and a statement and a plea all rolled into one. She said it as Dawn had asked for a story for at least one hundred of the 147 nights that Buffy had been gone. She meant, “Tell me something to make me forget for a while that I hurt so badly. Offer me an escape, and I will gladly take it.”

It was a different, simpler method of escape than what he and Buffy had indulged in. Sex had had far deeper ramifications than he’d ever believed it could. As an evil vampire, you didn’t think much about sex. It was pleasure, it was pain, and it had been both with Buffy.

What Spike hadn’t figured on was the hole it left when he’d wanted it to mean so much more.

“Do you know about the Slayer?” he asked, returning to the couch, taking another drink. His words were just beginning to get slurred, and that was fine with him. He needed to be anesthetized for this.

Nika had finished her first glass of wine, and she poured herself another, suddenly not caring that the wine would go straight to her head. She was a light-weight. “She fights vampires.”

“That’s her,” he agreed. “I killed two of ‘em you know.” Spike paused to see Nika’s reaction, wondering if she’d flinch, or look at him in horror. Instead, she simply listened. He shrugged, and went on. “So I go to kill this one, only I can’t.”

Spike didn’t want to go into the Angelus thing. Nor did he want to bring Dru into it. What he wanted was to tell the whole sordid tale of the Slayer and the Vampire to someone who might actually take his side for once. “So, long story made much shorter, we do the run around. I leave, come back, leave again. An’ the last time I come back, the government sticks me with this chip in my head. Suddenly, I can’t hunt, can’t feed, can’t bloody well even hit humans anymore. We strike a deal. Mostly, she doesn’t kill me.”

“And you fall in love with her.” Nika considered that for a minute. After the second glass of wine, she was a little more willing to say what she was thinking. “You do realize how masochistic that was?”

Spike laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. I have some idea.”

“What next?”

He told her everything, from his first confession of love, to chaining her up, to getting tortured back into her good graces by a Hellgod. About not saving her, and loving Dawn, and her friends bringing her back, and the sexcapades that brought down a house. Finally, Spike told her about the night in the alley, and what she’d said to make him leave.

Really, what she’d done. Sticks and stones and all that. It was her back to him that had screamed the loudest.

Spike was surprised when Nika came over and sat next to him on the couch, grabbing his right arm and beginning to knead the muscles. “Wha—What are you doin’?”

“You don’t actually have any circulation, but this will still help with the numbness.” Her skillful hands massaged each finger individually, and Spike could feel them tingle. It was more than he’d felt there since he’d gotten the chip out.

“Why?”

“Nain told me once that kindness is its own reward, and that cruelty, even toward those who have been unkind, will only destroy you.” Nika paused in her movements to gather her thoughts. “You chose to stop killing humans for a girl who hurt you. You cared for her sister. You can use my kindness, I think. And I like taking care of people.”

Spike shook his head. “’m evil, luv. Don’t—don’t think otherwise just because I didn’t kill you.”

“You were a good man once,” Nika replied. “Or maybe I see what you could be. Or maybe I just don’t give a damn about what you are.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly fierce. “You saved me the other night. So I don’t care.”

And she didn’t. Spike could see it in her eyes. She really didn’t care what he was, who he was. She was massaging the muscles in his leg now, her hands bringing to life nerves that he’d forgotten existed. He hissed in appreciation, staring at her in awe. “Nika…” It came out as a muffled groan, and it was the first time he’d used her name.

“Shh,” she said. “What happened to you tonight?”

He attempted to shrug, but her ministrations were causing pins and needles to sprout up and down his leg and arm. “Got jumped.” He winced as he felt a particularly sharp pain. “Demons aren’t the kindest lot in the world.”

“You’re a target,” Nika said softly. “Why don’t you stay here?”

“Huh?” Spike stared at her.

Nika stopped her kneading. “You’re in danger out there,” she said quietly. “They hurt you, don’t they?”

“A bit,” Spike admitted, almost sulky. “They—other demons—don’t much like vampires. An’ they aren’t particularly nice to half-crippled ones, either.”

“So stay here,” she suggested. “It’s safe. The basement’s not too bad.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed quietly. “After—after what I tried to do, an’ your husband though—”

“I asked you to, and it wasn’t you who bit him,” Nika said.

Spike reached out and caressed her face, a tender gesture that ended up being more friendly than anything else. “You’d do that for me?”

“Let’s just say I owe you one,” Nika replied. “After all, it was you sinking your fangs into my throat that convinced me I wanted to live.”

~~~~~

It was only a matter of time after that before their relationship turned physical; they both knew it. After all, they were two attractive adults, living in close quarters, who were of age and who had a need for physical comfort. (Well, Nika thought of herself as relatively attractive. Spike, on the other hand, was drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn’t blind.)

They spent several months trying to get their bearings around one another. Nika made a point of giving her vampire tenant all the privacy he needed, not going into the basement unless she was invited. Spike came and went as he pleased, partly just to prove that he could, partly to find out what Nika would say when he disappeared for a couple days. Even when he reappeared after being out for several nights in a row, looking like something the cat dragged in, she said nothing. Simply got out her first aid kit and cleaned him up. On nights, or days, when they were both there and awake, she helped him exercise his leg and arm. After a few weeks, there was a noticeable improvement in both mobility and feeling.

What Spike appreciated most was how she treated him. It might not have seemed like much to someone else, but she never brought up the fact that he was a vampire, except when she asked him if he wanted her to pick up blood. She knocked before she came down to the basement. When he didn’t rinse his mug out, she teased him about being a slob, and then asked him politely to clean up his messes. He might have been just another person to her, and for that reason, more than any other, he began to find her beautiful.

It was edging on towards December when Spike noticed that Nika was getting a little more depressed. She didn’t come down to visit him, and when she did see him, she didn’t say much. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes, and even the midwife duties that she pulled weren’t cheering her up. Normally, Nika came home quite jazzed after delivering a baby, but not anymore.

Spike wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say to her. He wanted to comfort her, to find out what was wrong, but he wasn’t sure how. If Nika had been Buffy, he would have taken her patrolling and let her kill something. Or he would have riled her up until she took her frustrations out on him. Neither option would really work for this particular woman, however.

After several nights of thinking about it, Spike finally went and knocked on Nika’s bedroom door. He knew she’d be getting ready for bed but wouldn’t be asleep just yet. “Nika-luv?”

He waited for her to open the door. She frowned at him slightly. “Spike? Is something wrong?”

“I was goin’ to ask you that,” he replied. Spike hesitated. “I—look, I don’t want to pry, but you’ve been a bit—down, I guess. Is—is everythin’ alright?”

“I’m fine, Spike,” Nika replied firmly, though not unkindly.

He ducked his head. “Yeah, right. I was just worried ‘bout you, ‘s all.” Spike started to limp away, and was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Wait, Spike.” Nika waited for him to turn and look at her. “Come in.”

It was the first time Spike had entered her bedroom since the night she’d asked him to kill her. Their movements were a mirror of that scene, as he sat on the bed next to her. Nika was freshly scrubbed, her face free of makeup, wearing a tanktop and a pair of medical scrubs. For once, her hair was out of its braid, and hung in waves around her shoulders. Spike was hard-pressed not to touch it. He had always loved women’s hair—the smell, the texture, the way the light played over the richness of color.

“Christmas is coming up,” Nika finally said quietly.

Spike frowned, trying to understand. “’m not sure I understand, luv.”

“This is the first Christmas I’ll be alone.”

Comprehension dawned, as Spike got what she was saying. As a rule, vampires didn’t care much about holidays. When you were undead and immortal, the traditional markers of the passage of time didn’t mean a lot. But Spike could remember vaguely what it had been like to spend the first Christmas without his father. There had been a pall that hung over the house, despite everyone’s attempt at being cheerful.

Tentatively, Spike put an arm around her shoulders, ready to withdraw if she pulled away. To his surprise, she leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder. “I miss him so much,” she whispered. He watched the tears drip down her cheeks, and used his other hand to wipe them away.

“I know,” he replied. “I know.”

She looked up at him, her wide gray eyes moist and red. Nika was not one of those girls who could cry and still look beautiful. But even with blotchy skin and a red nose, Spike felt drawn to her—wanted to protect her, as she’d protected him. He had full range of motion back in his right hand now, and he knew it was thanks to her.

So it was a thank you kiss that he offered. A mixture of thank you, and you’re beautiful, and you’ve been kind to me, and I’m sorry you’re hurting. When Nika kissed him back, it was the same—loneliness, hurt, pleasure that he was there, attraction.

The kiss went on for much longer than either of them intended, and Spike slid his hand under her tanktop. He pulled back to let her breathe, and his eyes asked a question.

Nika nodded, knowing what he was asking. She didn’t normally engage in casual sex, but she wanted to be held again. Danny had been the one to awaken her body all those years ago, and she craved the utter freedom that came from letting yourself go, from a complete surrender to instincts as old as humankind.

It was the same; it was different. It was spectacular—it was a disappointment. If either of them had thought that making love would suddenly make everything click, causing them to realize that they had moved on, healed, been made whole, they were seriously mistaken. When it was all over, Spike held Nika to him, half propped up in the bed, her hair spread across his chest. He could feel the change in the room, and knew she was about to run. Well, tell him to get out. It was her room—her house—after all.

“Spike—” Nika felt him tense.

“’s alright,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say it.”

She was quiet. “Actually, I wanted to know if we were still friends.”

“Huh?” He moved her hair so that he could see her face better. “Nika—”

She shook her head at him. “Spike, we both know that we haven’t moved on yet. I wish I could say that I have. I wish—”

Spike considered her words, finally nodding in acknowledgement. She was right. He was still in love with Buffy. “We could try, you know.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to either one of us,” Nika replied. “You know that. I love you, I just don’t love you.” She reached up and grabbed one of his hands, the right one, and began to massage it, as she had so many times before. “I don’t want this to ruin things. It doesn’t have to, does it?”

Spike frowned. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, you’re the only guy—Danny was my first, you know.”

Spike smiled, feeling almost honored. He was glad now that he’d gone for the soft and slow approach, rather than the hard and fast the Slayer usually preferred. The softness had been new for him. This talking afterwards was a bit new as well. Buffy usually ran off, and it had been bloody difficult to have a real conversation with Dru at any point in time.

“I won’t ask you to compare,” Spike said, with a little smile, “but was it okay?”

She returned the smile. “More than okay. If sex were all it was, I don’t think I’d have a problem, but my heart isn’t mine to give yet.”

“No.” There was a long pause, and then Spike tried to extricate himself from Nika and the bedsheets. “I should go, luv.”

“Stay,” she replied, hanging onto his hand, as though for dear life. “Just stay here. I want to be held tonight. I don’t want to feel alone.”

With his free hand, Spike touched her hair, reveling in the silky texture. “You won’t be alone,” he assured her. “We’ll do Christmas together. Won’t be the same, I know, but it’ll be somethin’. I’ll stick around, an’ we’ll—we’ll do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Nika agreed, slipping down into sleep moments later.

Spike watched the easy rise and fall of her chest, and wondered at it. It had never been like that with Buffy. There had been no battle for dominance, no fighting for control. She hadn’t once given the impression that she was pretending she were with her dead husband. Even though Spike had been the one trying to offer comfort, it was Nika who had comforted him.

This was what it was like, he realized. This was what he wanted. Spike didn’t mind the rough and tumble, but he wanted tenderness also. They might have decided not to become lovers, but he didn’t think they would stop being friends.

Nika’s tenderness, her acceptance, her utter trust as she lay sleeping in the arms of a vampire who could drain her in a moment’s time: it was a feast. And now that Spike had glimpsed what a feast might be, he would never again be able to settle for the crumbs.

Buffy had thrown him scraps, like you might throw the dog under the table. Nika gave him everything she had to offer, even though it was only friendship. Suddenly, Spike realized that he would probably never stop loving Buffy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t live without her. Here was another girl who could use his services, and give him the good return. Dawn had given him what she could, as had Joyce. They had all given him something—kindness, trust, love.

Spike wouldn’t live without those things again, even if it meant he would never be with Buffy. Getting his rocks back didn’t mean feeding off humans, or killing everything in sight. It meant being his own man, deciding what he needed, and not settling for less.

Right now it meant staying with this woman. Later, maybe it would mean something else. Spike smiled. He didn’t have to get over the Slayer. All he had to do was learn to exist in a reality where she wasn’t the center of his universe. And suddenly it seemed easier than it ever had before.

Chapter 8: November 2005

Spike cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he waited for Dawn to pick up. “Dawn speaking.”

“Hey, Niblet,” he said. “You up for Thursday night still? Thought I might take you out to dinner.”

There was a long pause. “I can’t, Spike. I already have plans.”

“Oh.” Thursday nights were their nights, even if Connor joined them sometimes. “You got a hot date with Hell-Boy?”

Dawn rolled her eyes, even though she knew Spike wouldn’t see the gesture. All three of them had watched that movie together, and since then Spike had gotten a kick out of calling her boyfriend “Hell-Boy.” She supposed it was probably better than the other nicknames he might have come up with.

“No, well, yes. I mean—” Dawn sighed. “This week’s Thanksgiving,” she explained. “Buffy’s in town, and we’re spending it with Angel and company.”

Spike frowned. He’d forgotten about Thanksgiving. He and Wesley weren’t big on the holiday, since they were both Brits, and Nika had never really made a big fuss. Last year, if he remembered correctly, he and Wesley had been out killing some nasties, and Nika had had a delivery.

“Right,” he replied. “Well, that’s—that’s good. You have fun.” Something about what Dawn said made him perk up his ears. “Why’s your sister comin’ down here? I would’ve thought that you’d be spendin’ time in Sunnyhell with your mates.”

There was another pause, and Dawn explained reluctantly, “Xander got a job over the holidays. He had to travel, and he couldn’t get back to Sunnydale. And Willow’s spending the next month in England with the coven. She decided she needed some more instruction with the whole magic thing.”

What Dawn didn’t say, but what Spike heard, was that Buffy was alone. His eyes glanced back at the drawer in the table next to the bed. “You have a good weekend then, Bit,” he finally said. “I’ll see you next week?”

“If not before,” Dawn assured him. “If I can get away, I will.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “Spend some time with your friends, an’ don’t worry about me. ‘s not like vampires much care ‘bout celebrating Thanksgiving, yeah?”

They said their good-byes, and Spike hung up the phone, going over to the bedside table and pulling out a letter already worn from much handling.

Dawn had come over a few nights after she’d introduced him to Connor. It had been late afternoon, and Spike was just about to watch the Passions episode that he’d taped. She’d thrust the envelope into his hand abruptly as he’d looked up, surprised to see her.

“Everythin’ alright?” he had asked.

The girl had been flustered, and finally said, “Look, Spike, Buffy called me the other night to ask about you. I didn’t tell her where you were, because I wasn’t sure you wanted her to know. She asked me to give this to you.”

The envelope had been sealed, with his name written neatly on the front in handwriting he barely recognized. It wasn’t as though they’d been in the habit of writing each other. “Dawn—”

“If you want me to tell her where you are, or give her your address, or something, I will.” She’d given him a quick hug. “I’ve gotta go. I have a study date—midterm tomorrow, you know. I’ll call, or come over or something though.” And then, before she had left, she whispered in his ear, “It doesn’t matter what she says, or what she wants, Spike. I love you, and you’re my family.”

Spike now unfolded the letter for about the millionth time and read it again.

Spike,

It feels weird, writing to you like this, when you’re not in front of me. I don’t even know where you are, but Dawn said you were okay, and that she would give this to you. Still, everything we’ve ever done has been so physical, that it feels strange to be writing this down instead of saying it to your face. Maybe this is better, because I don’t think I’d actually be able to say the words out loud.

I’m sorry. I know it’s about three years too late, but I really am. Sorry. I shouldn’t have used you to make myself feel better. And I shouldn’t have beat you up that night and left you there. I was actually relieved when I saw that you were writing to Dawn, because I knew you were at least alive. Or undead. Whatever.

Anyway, I guess that’s it. If you want to get in touch with me, that’s fine. You know where to find me. Or if you never want to see me again, I’d understand that too.

Buffy

PS Dawn told me about the chip. I’m glad you’re not hunting again.

“Spike.” He looked up, startled. He hadn’t even heard Nika approaching his room. She got a strange look on her face when she saw what he was doing. “Are you reading that letter again? Why don’t you just call her, or something? Get it over with.” Spike had let her read it the day Dawn had given it to him. She hadn’t really commented at the time.

Spike shook his head. “I promised myself I wasn’t goin’ there again,” he replied. “I’m not gonna let myself be used, just because she’s feelin’ a little remorse.”

Nika sighed. “You keep telling yourself that,” she said, with a small smile. “Look, Spike, you live in L.A. now, for one thing. And for another, you’re hardly alone. You don’t have to go back to her or put up with anything from her. I know you’re dying to find out why the heck she wrote you in the first place.” At Spike’s sardonic look, she amended, “Well, figuratively speaking anyway.”

“Nika-luv, I dunno. I honestly don’t know what the bloody hell I want anymore.” Spike ran a hand through his platinum hair, feeling the ends curl. “I don’t even know if Buffy’s what I want, or if I’ve just built up this person in m’ mind who doesn’t even exist.”

She sat down on the bed next to him and waited. There were moments that came and went in a relationship, she knew. Moments that if you let them pass, what-might-have-been never blossomed into what-would-be. For her and Spike, that moment had passed long ago, and what had been left behind was a very comfortable friendship. Better than siblings, even. She wondered if that’s what Spike was afraid of, that the moment had long passed for him and Buffy.

“Dawn reminded me that this week’s Thanksgiving,” Spike said quietly.

Nika was puzzled. “I didn’t think you celebrated Thanksgiving. I mean, we do Christmas here, but—”

“Was five years ago that I got the chip in my head,” he said softly. “Spent that Thanksgiving watching Buffy an’ her friends eat. I was so soddin’ hungry… There were all these Indians spirits runnin’ around, wantin’ revenge. The whole gang was fightin’ over whether it was right to kill ‘em or not.” He snorted. “Bunch of blatherin’ idiots, really.”

He didn’t really mean it, Nika saw. Spike had told her enough about his relationship with Buffy and her gang so that she knew it had been tenuous at the best of times. She also knew that Spike liked company, and they had cut him off from the group in such a way as to wound him deeply. Wounds that each of them carried, that each of them were healing in their own way and in their own time—her and Spike and Wesley.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Nika said. “It’s stupid to sit around and mope. I’ll ask Wes to come over on Thursday too. I’ll make curry, and we’ll have our own dinner. But tonight let’s go out.”

“I don’t know—” Spike began, but she cut him off.

“I have the Lamaze class at six, but I should be able to meet you guys at the club around eight. We’ll have drinks. We haven’t done that in a long time, Spike.”

The vampire nodded. They hadn’t been out together in a while. Wes was a maniac for working, and Spike didn’t mind the hectic schedule unless it cut in on Dawn-time. For both of them, working meant not thinking, and not thinking was a good thing. “Alright. You’ll give him a call then?”

“Yeah, I’ll call.” Nika stood and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go out tonight, you can forget about Buffy for a while, and then you can figure out what you’re going to do with the letter.”

Spike shook his head. “Wish it were that easy.”

It was never easy.

~~~~~

Heads turned as the two men entered the bar. Wesley wished he could say that it wasn’t a boost to his ego, but it definitely was. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Spike as they scanned the interior of the club, he couldn’t help but notice that there were a number of females’ (and a few male) eyes on them. It reminded Wesley of the first night they’d gone out together. They’d both had a couple of propositions before they’d left.

He couldn’t help but feeling he’d come a long way since he’d first set foot in L.A. Even if the clothing hadn’t changed that much.

Spike unzipped the leather jacket he wore and looked out over the crowd. “Don’t see her, mate. She might have gotten out of her class late.”

Wesley ran a hand through his short, spiky hair, further dishevelling it. “It’s only a little after eight,” he reminded the vampire. “We’re really not that late.”

“If we hadn’t seen those blasted vamps, we’d have been early,” Spike grumbled. “Now I need to wash vamp dust out my mouth.” He made a face. “Wish for once we could have a nice, quiet evening.”

Wesley looked at him incredulously. “No, you don’t,” he corrected. “You’d be out of your mind with boredom in an hour.”

Spike shrugged, acknowledging the accuracy of the statement. “Maybe. Used to like quiet evenings with Dawn, though,” he said softly, so that Wesley could barely make out the words over the noise from the people around them. “Before thinkin’ became a dangerous pasttime.”

They shared a look, and then a group of people at a nearby table caught Wesley’s eye. He let out a string of curses so colorful that Spike turned to stare at him in admiration. “What the—” The vampire followed the taller man’s gaze until he caught sight of what had so upset his friend. He let out his own curse.

Angel and Cordelia were seated at a table, sharing the body language of lovers. With them were Gunn, Fred, Dawn, and Connor. It wouldn’t have bothered Spike a bit to see any of them, except on Wesley’s behalf, but sitting in between Dawn and Angel was Buffy.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered. “We can still leave.” He grabbed Wesley’s arm and pulled him back towards the entrance. “You can call Nika on her cell phone, and we’ll meet somewhere else.”

“You aren’t going to go anywhere.” Nika came up between them, slipping a hand through each of their arms.

Wesley got a pained look on his face. “Danika, I don’t think it’s wise to stay here. Angel—”

“Angel can kiss my ass,” Nika said, sounding pissed off. “I don’t bloody care. I want to stay here. I’m going to stay here. And I want my friends to stay with me. If he tries anything, the Sanctorium spell will stop him, and I’ll put a curse on him as soon as I get home.”

At the look on both their faces, she gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of both of you avoiding the issue. We have the right to be here, and we’re staying.”

“You tell them, sweetheart,” said an amused voice. “Nika, baby, it’s good to see you. Tell me you’re going to grace us with a song tonight.”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “I’m not planning on drinking that much tonight, Lorne.” She gave the green-skinned demon a hug. “It’s good to see you too.”

“It’s been too long,” Lorne scolded her. “I thought I told you not to be a stranger.”

Nika shrugged. She’d met the demon shortly after he’d opened the first Caritas. Being married to someone who was essentially a half-breed had made life interesting. Both of them had grown up knowing about the demon-world, and it was a relief to go somewhere they both felt like they fit. Lorne had been in Las Vegas when Danny was killed, but after he got back into town, he’d come to offer his condolences. She’d been excited when he’d opened another Caritas, this time with Sanctorium spells against both demon and human violence, and shielding spells to keep out fiery, flying barrels.

“I’ve been busy. I have my hands full with these two,” Nika replied, referring fondly to Spike and Wesley.

Lorne gave both of them a smile, and measured Spike up with his red eyes. “So, you going to sing for me tonight, Sweet Cheeks?”

“Told you there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to get me up on that stage,” Spike said amiably, having had this same conversation several times. “’sides, I don’t have a destiny or a soul for you to read. So there you go.”

“You might be surprised about that,” Lorne replied. He threw a glance over at the table where Angel and his gang were sitting, and put a gentle hand on Wesley’s arm. “Things have been pretty quiet around here tonight,” he said softly. “And I’d really like to keep it that way. I’ve got a table ready for you off to the side.”

Wesley exchanged a look with both Spike and Nika. The woman sighed. “It’s up to you, Wes,” she said gently. “If you don’t want to stay, we don’t have to.”

Spike shrugged. “Don’t think Buffy’ll attack me in front of everybody, even if she could. I’ll stay if you want.”

The ex-Watcher finally nodded. “Yes, let’s stay. I believe Nika’s right. It’s ridiculous to run.”

“Good,” Lorne said. “I’ll have Ana bring your usuals over then.” He gave Nika a look. “And I do want a song from you tonight, Sweetheart. I’ve missed that voice.”

Nika smiled. “We’ll see.”

They headed over to the table Lorne had indicated and sat down, Wesley giving Nika a curious look. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you sing.”

“I haven’t for a while,” Nika confessed. “Not since before—you know. With Danny dying, and then the other Caritas getting demolished, there wasn’t much of a chance.”

“And tonight?” Spike asked with a raised eyebrow. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ you up there, luv.”

Nika gave him a look that was pure challenge. “What about you? Why don’t you get up there and sing?”

“Don’t like the audience tonight,” Spike said, casting a glance over at Buffy’s table.

“Why don’t you go over there?” Nika asked quietly, looking over at Wesley for help. He shrugged and shook his head, indicating that he wasn’t going to help. Far be it from him to encourage a friend to confront a personal demon when he couldn’t even do it himself.

Spike swallowed, pulling out his wallet as the waitress came over with their drinks. “Don’t think so,” he said quietly. “Don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.”

~~~~~

Dawn had seen them come in. She watched surreptitiously as Spike and Wesley looked around the crowded room, probably trying to find Nika. And she knew instantly when they had spotted her and the people she was sitting with.

The girl sighed. Buffy had shown up eariler that day, and they had spent the afternoon catching up. Other than the occasional bout with morning sickness, pregnancy was agreeing with the Slayer. Of course, both she and Dawn knew it was only a matter of time before it became impossible for her to do much in the way of slaying. With Willow and Giles in England, and Xander doing more and more traveling for his work, there wasn’t anyone in Sunnydale who could back her up right now.

Dawn hated to think about it, but she was worried about her sister. Besides the note to Spike, which was out of character enough, Buffy was much quieter, more withdrawn. More thoughtful. Up until now, Dawn had been beginning to suspect that thoughtful and her sister were non-mixy things. Not that Buffy wasn’t intelligent, but she certainly didn’t do introspection.

Now, however, Dawn was starting to get the vibe that Buffy wasn’t nearly as self-involved as she had been the last couple years. In fact, Buffy was more interested in Dawn and what Dawn was doing than anything else. They had spent the afternoon discussing Connor’s finer points.

Dawn would have said it was like old times, except that she and Buffy had never really been able to talk about her boyfriends. Or actually really talk. Five years was a big gap sometimes, and by the time Dawn had been old enough to have a boyfriend and want to talk to her sister about it, Buffy had still been caught up in the whole, “I was dead, I was in heaven, oh poor me” phase.

So she was kind of liking this older sister, who seemed to care about her and her life, but she was worried that Buffy was depressed, or that she was unhappy about the pregnancy, or maybe that she’d go out and do something stupid to get herself killed. Especially since there wasn’t anyone looking after her.

Dawn watched as Nika came up behind Spike and Wesley. She and Lorne must have convinced them both to stay, because all three headed over to a table in the corner, away from her and her friends. Probably a good thing. She thought she might be able to trust Buffy around Spike, but trusting Angel around Wesley (and Spike) would be a completely different story.

She checked the others’ faces. Buffy looked as though she’d sensed something, but then apparently dismissed it. Looking over at her boyfriend, she hoped that Connor would read her unspoken message. “You know, I think I’m going to get something to drink.”

“I’ll go,” Connor said, standing.

Dawn stood next to him. “I’ll go with you,” she insisted.

He raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged. “Okay, if you want to. Anybody else want something?”

“No, I think we’re good here,” Cordelia said, smiling at him. “And besides, you couldn’t get what we’d want.”

Connor shrugged. “Give me a few more months.”

With their hands linked, they made their way through the tables and the other folks just standing around. There was some sort of demon on the stage now, singing some oldie that Dawn didn’t recognize. Whatever it was, its voice wasn’t half bad, and everyone there seemed to be enjoying the show and the generally peaceful atmosphere.

“Where are we going?” Connor asked, as she led him away from the bar and towards the corner table where Spike and the others were sitting. He caught a glimpse of them the next moment, and his eyes widened. “Oh, boy. If Dad catches sight of them…”

“I know,” Dawn said, her face set in a stubborn scowl. “And I really don’t care. If Angel knows what’s good for him, he’ll leave them alone. He touches Spike or Wes, and I’m going to have to do some damage.” At Connor’s disbelieving look, Dawn shrugged. “Well, I’ll punch him anyway. I mean, it’s not like he’d actually hit me.”

“He can’t do any damage in here,” Connor soothed. “Protected, remember?”

Dawn shook her head. “I don’t know, Connor.” She huffed. “I hate this. Really, it’s worse than my parents, because at least with them I didn’t have to hide the fact that I was seeing one or the other.”

He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I like them too, remember? They’re my friends. If it comes down to it, Dad won’t make me choose between them. I don’t think he’s completely sure I’d pick him.”

She smiled a little. “And I hate putting you in that position too.”

“I can take care of myself,” he reminded her. “That’s one of the things you love about me.”

With a final squeeze of the shoulders, Connor released her, only to grab her hand as they made their way to their destination.

“Niblet,” Spike said, a sardonic look in his eyes. “Might not have been wise to draw attention to our presence, luv.”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care. I’m tired of sneaking around.”

Wesley sighed. “Are you going to make a scene, Dawn?”

“I don’t make scenes,” Dawn replied. “Besides, I just wanted to come over and say hello, since it might be a few days before I can make it over to the house. It sounds like Buffy might be staying a little longer than we thought, if she can survive around Cordelia for that long.”

The smile on Spike’s face was less than kind. “Yeah? She havin’ a bit of trouble with the fact that Peaches and the cheerleader are getting it on?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Please, Spike. She is so over Angel, it isn’t even funny. No, she and Cordy have never gotten along. Even back in high school they barely tolerated each other. And it hasn’t gotten much better. Buffy’s trying for my sake, and Cordy’s trying for Angel’s sake, and there are a lot of fake smiles going around. It’s like a flashback to my past.”

“If you two need a break, you know you’re welcome any time, right?” Nika asked, looking sympathetic.

Connor smiled. “Thanks. Between Buffy and Dad, we’re both getting pretty tired of being watched. I swear they both think we’re going to start making out in front of them or something. Like we can’t be trusted.”

“You can’t be trusted,” Spike said promptly, softening his words with a grin. “An’ frankly, I’d be worried if you could.” He tipped up his chin. “Thanks for showing some solidarity, but you two had better take off before they send out a search party. No need for violence here tonight.”

“Isn’t there?” Angel’s voice came from behind Dawn and Connor, and he loomed, scowling. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Spike rose, carefully hiding his slightly crippled state from the older vampire. “We’re havin’ a conversation, Peaches. You got a problem with that?”

“I have a problem when it’s with my son,” Angel replied, looking at Wesley as he said it. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Wesley flinched, but didn’t say anything in his own defense. Nika was looking a little angry, and as though she might say something, when she was cut off by a different voice. “Angel, back off.”

Buffy had come up beside him and put her hand on his arm. “These are Dawn’s friends, and she has the right to spend time with them.”

“But Connor—”

“Connor’s an adult. He’s also Dawn’s boyfriend. If I remember correctly, you started hanging around my friends a little more when we dated.” Buffy was looking amused, but she kept a firm hand on the older vampire’s arm. “Go sit down.”

“Buffy—”

“Go. Sit. Down.” It was an order, not a request at this point. When Angel still didn’t move, she gave him a little shove in the direction of their table. “They can be here if they want. Dawn can hang with whoever she wants. It’s none of your business. Go.”

Angel finally left, casting a menacing look back at the table. Buffy turned to look at her sister. “Sorry about that. I tried to stop him.”

Both Dawn and Connor shrugged. “He was going to find out sometime,” the boy said philosophically. “It’s not like we haven’t had this conversation before about different things.”

Buffy turned to look at the others. “Hey.”

It was lame, and she knew it, but she was looking right at Spike, and anything else she might have said flew right out of her head. He looked good, like he’d put on a little weight since she’d seen him last. He wasn’t wearing black on black either, instead wearing dark blue jeans and a brown shirt, and his hair was mussed and curly. The look suited him.

“H’lo, Buffy.” Spike drank her in with his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, and uncertainty had him paralyzed. “Been a while.”

“Three years,” she agreed. Buffy tore her eyes from him and held out her hand to Wesley. “Hey, Wes. It’s good to see you again.”

Wesley was slightly relieved that Buffy was both not going to go postal, and that she seemed to have no hard feelings towards him at this point. “Hello, Buffy,” he said, shaking her hand. “You’re looking quite well.”

“I’m good,” she said. Then, looking at Nika, she smiled. “You must be Nika. Dawn’s told me a lot of good things about you. Thanks for looking out for her.”

Nika wasn’t necessarily predisposed to liking the Slayer, partly because of what Spike had said, partly because of things Dawn had let slip. On the other hand, she prided herself on making her own judgment calls, and not relying on anyone else’s opinions. The woman she saw in front of her had an air of maturity that didn’t mesh with the stories she’d heard, and so she decided to make her own decision later regarding Buffy. “It’s been my pleasure. Dawn’s good company, especially when I find myself overwhelmed with testosterone.”

Buffy laughed politely, and then looked back over at Spike. “Could—could I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

Spike didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he nodded and followed the Slayer out of the club. There wasn’t anywhere for them to talk privately inside, and so she led him out to the alley, which was deserted. Buffy realized belatedly the number of bad memories alleys brought back for both of them. They had seen each other last in an alley like this one.

“You wanted to talk?” Spike asked, his voice gravelly, wariness in every line of his body. Buffy knew that she had put it there, that she had put in him the instinct to run at the sight of her, and it hurt her to see it.

“You got my letter?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at the ground. “Oh. I thought—I thought maybe you might write, or call, or something.”

“I was still tryin’ to figure out what I was goin’ to do,” Spike replied, staring at her while she stared at the ground. She was still beautiful as ever. She’d gained a little weight over the last few years, and it looked good on her. Best of all, there was a light in her eyes that Spike didn’t remember seeing since before the tower. Before he’d failed her.

She smiled. “I understand. Look, Spike, if you want me to leave you alone and not bug you, I will. I—I just wanted to make things right between us.”

Spike looked away as she glanced up, unwilling to meet her eyes. “I dunno, Slayer. What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. Buffy bit her lip. “Could we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” Spike asked, a touch of amusement entering his tone. This was new for him. Instead of chasing the Slayer, she seemed to be chasing him.

She shook her head. “No, I mean, we are, but I was thinking of—coffee? Sometime? Not—not a date, really, but—could we be friends?”

“What do you want from me, Buffy?” he asked again, this time in a tone as gentle as a summer breeze. He stood several feet away from her, his head cocked to the side, his hands shoved into his pockets. The expression on his face was the same it had been the night that Giles had left for England, when he’d found her in the Bronze. It might have been so different if she’d only made a different choice that night. If she’d just talked to him, told him everything—if somehow she had stopped the downward spiral that had led them here, three years later, strangers in an alley.

“I want to make things right,” she said, repeating herself without knowing it. “We could get a drink or something and you could tell me how you’re doing, and about this demon-killing thing you and Wesley are doing. You know, about your life.”

Spike stared at her. He was beginning to feel as if he were living a dream. She wasn’t suggesting they have a “my life sucks” talk. Buffy had never, ever asked him about his own life. (Except for the one time when she’d wanted to know about the Slayers he’d killed, and that had been for her own purposes.) “You want to know?”

“I do.” Buffy sighed. “I don’t know, Spike. Maybe it’s because you were the closest thing I had to a friend after I came back. I’ve missed you.”

When he still hesitated, Buffy said, “It’s okay, if you don’t want to. I’d understand. I just thought I’d let you know—I’m glad you’re still looking after Dawn. It makes me feel better about her being here in L.A.”

That did it. Angel was in L.A. too, but Buffy hadn’t said anything about feeling better because he was in town. And Spike wanted this; he still wanted her. It had been so long, and he wanted to be close to her for while. Maybe it would turn out badly again, but he had somewhere to go this time around. “How long you in town for, Slayer?”

Buffy was startled, and then relief crossed her face. “I drive back to Sunnydale on Sunday.” At the lifted eyebrow, she said, “And yes, you did hear me right. I’m driving now.”

Spike smirked. “Good to know, luv. Just don’t kill anyone while you’re at it.”

“I haven’t yet,” she said, sounding a little miffed. “So—Saturday, maybe? After sunset?”

He wavered, and then acquiesced. “Alright. You have a piece of paper?”

Buffy seemed surprised, then rummaged in her purse for her dayplanner and a pen. Spike quickly scribbled down a phone number, and then handed both pen and paper back. “’s my cell number,” he explained. “You can give me a call, let me know where you want to meet.”

“You have a cell phone?” she asked, nonplussed.

He shrugged. “Makes it easier for Wes to get ahold of me when he’s got a new monster on the line.” Spike turned to go back inside, thinking he’d better get back to his friends before they sent out a search party for his dust. “Summers?”

Buffy glanced up from her planner where she was still staring at Spike’s phone number. “Yeah?”

“You look good.”

A slightly flustered half-smile crossed her face, then. Somehow that one compliment meant more to her than all the flattery in the world. “You too, Spike. Really good.”

He smiled back at her, the look on his face almost soft, before he turned and walked away, back into the bar. Buffy replaced the planner in her purse, feeling hopeful for the first time in years.

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