Cast Me Not Away

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

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

"Come to me now/Lay your hands over me/Even if it is a lie/Say it will be alright/And I shall believe/I'm broken in two/And I know you're on to me/That I only come home/When I'm so all alone/But I do believe/That not everything is gonna be the way/You think it ought to be/It seems like every time I try to make it right/It all comes down on me/Please say honestly you won't give up on me/And I shall believe/And I shall believe/Open the door/
And show me your face tonight/I know it's true/No one heals me like you/And you hold the key/Never again/would I turn away from you/I'm so heavy tonight/But your love is alright/
And I do believe." ~Sheryl Crow, "I Shall Believe"

"You can ask." Spike looked over at his companion. They had borrowed Nika's car for this little outing, and were supposed to be staking out the warehouse across the way. While they were both keeping watch, the vampire could tell that Wesley's full attention wasn't on the job at hand. In fact, he had a pretty good idea of where the other man's head was and what question he wanted to ask. The temptation to play with him was overwhelming.

"What are your feelings for Danika?" Wesley's retreat into formality told Spike all he needed to know about the ex-Watcher's feelings. Not to mention the fact that his heart-rate sped up and his breath caught every time he saw her, and he had a nasty habit of getting all stiff every time Spike showed her some affection, or vice versa.

The only thing restraining Spike from dragging Wesley along on an emotional wild goose chase was the fact that he knew Nika fancied the man—for whatever reason. She'd never forgive him if something he said made Wesley give up before the games had even begun. "I love her," Spike said sincerely. "But not the way you're comin' to."

"You, ya git." Spike lifted an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. "You've been makin' moon eyes at Nika for months now."

He opened his mouth to refute it and found he couldn't. "You noticed?" he asked weakly.

Spike smirked. "Mate, 'm a vampire. Not hard to notice when a bloke's got it bad for a girl. An' in case you're wonderin', she fancies you."

"Where are you gettin' that?" Spike demanded. "We've both told you how it is with us. We wouldn't lie to you 'bout somethin' like that."

Spike heard the other man sigh deeply. "It's just—" 'History,' Spike thought, mentally finishing the sentence. They all carried their own baggage, their own scars. Wesley was no exception to the rule. From what he'd let drop, and from the run-in they'd had with his old friends, Wesley was trying hard to outrun his own demons, and he wasn't always successful.

"She wouldn't want me," Wesley finally said. It was said as if it was the gospel truth, and Spike nearly winced. He'd been there, done that, and didn't want to go back.

The vampire sighed deeply. "Wesley, are you listenin' to me at all? Told you she fancied you."

Wesley shook his head. "Danika's not the type of woman who would 'fancy' a rogue demon hunter." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "She would want a man who could give her what she needs."

"And that would be me?" Spike asked incredulously. "Wesley, the woman wants to get married an' have babies. I can't give her that."

"And I can?" Wesley countered. "Spike, I doubt I'll make it to forty. Nika deserves someone who can give her more time than that."

Spike frowned. "Why don't you get out of this business, mate? Marry, settle down, have kiddies—all those things you humans are supposed to want."

Now Wesley's laughter was bitter. "All I ever wanted was to matter, to belong somewhere. I had it all, and then I threw it away."

Spike was tempted to smack him. The ex-Watcher was just being a stupid ponce now, but at the same time, Spike couldn't actually blame him. After all, you didn't see him going after Buffy, trying to make things right. "If I have anythin' to say about it, you're goin' to live to a ripe old age. So stop bein' such a git an' ask her out already."

Wesley turned his head to look out the windshield again. He was obviously not interested in continuing this discussion. Spike growled slightly. "Wesley—"

"Look." Spike's eyes went to where Wesley was pointing, and he saw a couple of the vampires they were looking for dragging in a meal. The two of them had been hired to clean up a warehouse before it was renovated. The entire district was being gutted in order to turn it into a series of clubs and restaurants.

The plan—Wesley's, of course—was to stake out the warehouse first to get an idea of how many vampires were nesting there. So far, they'd seen at least five, but there was a good chance of running into a lot more. Unfortunately, with the arrival of a human victim, the plan got scrapped, and they were duty-bound to go in.

Spike actually preferred it that way. Fists and fangs—nothing but the fight. Wesley wasn't going to be happy, however. "Guess it's plan B then, mate."

Wesley frowned, disgruntled. "I suppose. If we don't move quickly, all we'll find is a dead body."

"Just what I was thinkin'," Spike replied cheerfully. "Let's go." He followed Wesley towards the warehouse, noting with approval the crossbow and battle ax that he carried in either hand. The ex-Watcher would also have stakes in wrist-sheathes, so he was well-armed, and ready for whatever they might find. The vampire would never admit it, but Spike worried about Wesley, especially in situations such as this one.

It was entirely possible for either one of them to suffer a mortal wound any time they went into battle. Wesley, of course, was much more vulnerable than he was. Anything that might kill Spike—save for sunlight and holy water—would work on the human as well, as well as a number of other things. Spike honestly couldn't remember worrying about a comrade like he did Wesley. Buffy and Dawn were the only humans he had ever cared about, and they were different. (There was Nika, of course, but she didn't go into battle with him.)

Spike had never thought to find another man he would follow unquestioningly into a fight. After the Slayer, he'd never thought to find someone he trusted implicitly.

The first few minutes of the fight went well enough. There were a half dozen vampires in the large open room, and Wesley dusted two of them immediately with a couple well-placed crossbow bolts. Spike took the head off another one and sent the pointed end of the shaft through another's chest.

It should have been four down and two to go at that point, but another five vamps came from the catwalk that lined the walls above them. Four of them flanked Spike, and he grinned with the thrill of it. He spun the ax in his hands, showing off a little bit. "Come an' get it, boys," he invited.

They advanced on him, and at least two of them were older and a bit smarter about the fight than the ones he'd already dusted. That bit didn't faze him at all; in fact, Spike preferred his opponents to have a bit of bite to them. It wasn't any fun otherwise.

At one point Spike had nearly given up hope that he'd ever be able to fight like he used to. He was certain that having a bum leg made him somewhat less of a warrior. Fighting with Wesley had changed all that, since he was responsible for someone else besides himself, and someone else was responsible for him. Having someone to watch his back had freed him to rediscover the joy of the fight.

Up until now, he hadn't realized that having another person there could inspire terror as well.

Spike dusted his last vampire and turned to check on Wesley, only to find that the other man was down, hand pressed to his stomach. There was already a dark red stain spreading out from under his fingers, and the last vampire standing was going in for the kill, fangs bared.

He didn't even pause to think—the stake flew from his hand, piercing the vampire's heart and sending dust floating down over the fallen man. Spike spared a glance for the young man the vampires had grabbed. "Get out of here," he growled. When the boy stayed frozen, petrified by fear and uncertainty, Spike flashed some fang, yellow eyes glowing in the dim room. "Move. Now."

This time the boy didn't wait to be told twice, taking off as fast as he could, hand pressed over the wound in his neck. He was moving swiftly enough so that Spike knew he'd most likely be okay. He was more concerned for Wesley.

Spike knelt by his side, peering at the wound with an expert eye. "'s bad, Wesley," he said quietly. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"No hospital," Wesley said, more strongly still. He pushed himself into a sitting position, grunting a little with the pain. "I'm sick to death of hospitals."

Spike sighed and chewed his lip briefly. "Fine. Nika then. Lucky for you she's a dab hand at this sort of thing. Not to mention the fact that we have the car tonight." Pulling off his leather jacket, he took his shirt off, applying pressure to the wound. Once Spike was certain that the man could keep up the pressure, he put his jacket back on over his t-shirt.

He lifted Wesley easily, supporting the other man's weight even as he guided the both of them out to the car. Making sure Wesley was safely buckled into the passenger side, Spike started up the car and headed for Nika's house.

It was a good thirty minutes before they got there, Wesley getting paler by the minute. Spike nearly turned the car around and headed for the hospital a couple times, but each time Wesley simply gritted his teeth a little more and insisted that he not even think about it. The vampire didn't question his insistence, though he did think it a little strange.

When they pulled up in front of Nika's house, Spike helped the ex-Watcher out, supporting him up to the door. He got Wesley inside and sat him on the couch, going over to Nika's bedroom door and knocking, a little of the urgency he was feeling coming through in the sound.

Her door opened immediately. She was in her pajamas with her hair loose over her shoulders, obviously getting ready for bed. One look at Spike's face was all she needed to know it was serious. "What is it?"

"Wesley. He's hurt." Spike leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he wouldn't go. Dunno why."

Nika followed him out the door, giving Wesley the once-over, and jerking her head at Spike. "Get him into my room. We'll work on him in there."

Spike hauled Wesley off the couch as gently as he could manage, supporting the other man into the bedroom and onto the bed. "Spike, get his jacket and shirt off, please," Nika called from the kitchen where she was digging out first aid supplies.

The vampire didn't even hesitate. He helped Wesley slip his jacket off, the human letting out a small groan of pain. Other than that Wesley wasn't making any noise, focusing most of his energies on staying conscious. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered as he got the ex-Watcher's shirt off, finally able to see the full extent of the wound.

The man was lucky that vampire had been trying for a slice. Spike didn't think he would have survived a stab wound to the gut. And only a few millimeters deeper and Wesley's insides would have been outside. Spike felt his own stomach clench; they had almost lost him.

He looked up as Nika entered the room, plastic tub in hand. Spike could see her blanch slightly, and he'd never seen her pale at the sight of an injury before. She came over to the bed, plastering a smile on her face. "Looks like you got yourself banged up pretty good, cariad."

"Wasn't fast enough," Wesley said, beginning to feel faint from pain and blood loss.

Nika smiled wryly. "Well, let that be a lesson to you then." As his eyes drooped shut, she gently tapped him on the cheek. "Sorry, Wesley. I need you to stay with me for a minute. Got something for you to drink first, then you can go to sleep, okay?"

Spike helped her support him as she poured her "special" tea down his throat, as much as possible. "Anything I can do?" he asked softly as Wesley slipped into unconsciousness.

Nika nodded, her lips tight. Now that she didn't have to pretend for Wesley's sake, the worry on her face was clear to see. "I need to disinfect the wound, and then I'll need you to help me hold it shut so I can stitch it up." Her gray eyes met his, and he could read the fear there. "Why didn't you take him to the hospital, Spike?"

Spike would have flushed in shame if vampires could. "I—he didn't want to go. Wasn't sure how bad it was, an' I thought you could take care of it."

"I can," she replied. "But next time I might not be able to. I'll talk to Wesley about this too, Spike, but I want you to promise me you'll follow your instincts next time. I don't care what Wesley Wyndam-Pryce thinks he wants."

Spike nodded, feeling chastened, and Nika reached over to put a hand on his wrist. "It's okay. I can take care of him, but I need you to go wash your hands really well."

While Nika waited for Spike to return, she started using the sterile gauze pads to mop up the wound. The bleeding was sluggish now as the clotting factor did its work. She used another of her nain's remedies to disinfect the wound. By that point, Spike was back in the room, clean hands held out tentatively in front of him.

"Good," Nika said, glancing over at him. "Now I need you to pinch here." With the vampire's help, she sewed up the long gash with tiny, precise stitches. After what seemed like hours, Nika finally trimmed the thread, spread a salve along the cut, then taped a sterile dressing over it. She raised her head to see Spike looking at her, exhaustion in his eyes. It always amazed her how much he seemed to care about those around him when it shouldn't have mattered at all that a man had almost died.

"Come on, Spike," she said gently, pulling him out of the room. Even though the vampire was covered in blood, he still wore his human guise, and Nika was impressed by his control. The bloodlust should have been unbearable. "You okay?"

He nodded. "'m sorry, Nika." His blue eyes were dark with residual fear and guilt. "I never meant to let 'im get hurt so bad. Wasn't supposed to go down that way."

"I know, sweetheart," she said, guiding him over to the couch and sitting down next to him. "It wasn't your fault, Spike."

She could see his jaw tense, a muscle jumping in an uneven rhythm. "Told him I wouldn't let anything happen to him." Spike stared at her. "Nika, 'm sorry. I wanted to keep him safe for you."

Nika bit her lip, letting the realization that she could have lost Wesley sink in. "Oh, Spike..."

"Shh," Spike said, drawing her into his arms, feeling her begin to tremble. He accepted his responsibility in the evening's events. He should have been more careful with Wesley. The ex-Watcher was more fragile than he'd even realized. He would have to watch more carefully in the future, because he'd meant what he said. Spike knew how Nika was beginning to feel about the man, and he vowed that she would not lose another person she loved.

"I don't think I can do this," Nika whispered into Spike's chest. "If I lost either one of you, I think it would kill me."

Spike ran his hand down her hair in a soothing motion. "No, it wouldn't," he contradicted. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever known, luv. You'd be alright in the end."

"Why is this always the way it is?" Nika asked, her voice dangerously close to tears. "Why do I always seem to lose the people I love?"

Spike murmured soft words of encouragement, meaningless phrases meant to comfort as she started to cry. "You're not goin' to lose either one of us," he promised. "I swear to you, I'll keep him safe if I have to stick him in the trunk next time."

"You're not expendable," Nika said, sounding angry. "And you're not just anything. You got Wesley out alive tonight, Spike. That means a lot."

Spike smiled, but his eyes were dark with doubt. "I shouldn't have let him get hurt in the first place."

Nika pulled back. "You both know the risks you take every time you go out. It's as much his fault as yours, if you want to lay blame that badly." She touched his cheek fondly. "You should get cleaned up. Go watch TV or go to bed. I'll take care of Wesley."

"Of course." Nika watched him head for the basement, his posture a picture of tension. Spike took his self-imposed responsibilities so very seriously. She went back to her bedroom, sitting down on the bed next to Wesley's still form. Spike had seen what she hadn't wanted to admit, even to herself. She was beginning to fall head over heels for the ex-Watcher.

Nika reached out to stroke his cheek, running a hand over his hair. Ever since he had helped her deliver the Lidraki baby, she had found herself watching him every chance she got. It was odd. With Danny, it had very much been love at first sight, and their love had grown and changed as they had. With Wesley, it had been a slow progression until she couldn't quite say when it was she'd first started loving him. One day he had been her friend, and a man she admired. The next day she was watching him as a potential mate.

How she felt about him was unimportant, however. Nika wasn't sure she could deal with losing another lover. Up until this moment, she had half-thought to approach Wesley with her feelings if he didn't make a move, and now she wasn't so sure. She had to be certain she could live with losing him, live with the danger he was constantly putting himself in.

She had thought she would be angry with him for getting hurt, and she was—a little. More than anger, however, she found herself simply grateful that she would have more time with him, even if she didn't do anything with the opportunity.

Stretching out on the bed next to him, Nika moved closer, allowing herself to trace patterns on his bare chest. Tomorrow they would be back to business as usual. Tomorrow she would pretend that she wasn't falling in love with him. Tonight she would allow herself to fantasize that this might all be hers someday.

Wesley woke slowly, in an unfamiliar place, his head feeling fuzzy. For a brief moment he wondered if he hadn't had a few drinks too many with Spike and ended up on his couch.

He shifted slightly, feeling the stitches in his stomach pull as he moved, and Wesley stifled a groan. Moving as carefully as possible, he turned to see Nika sleeping next to him, her dark hair fanned across the pillow where it wasn't hanging in her face. Hesitantly, he reached out to brush a strand away from her mouth. For a moment, Wesley allowed himself to revel in her beauty, but when her eyes fluttered open, he withdrew his hand, watching as she stirred slowly.

"Wesley? How are you feeling?" Nika asked, her voice still slurred from sleep, her gray eyes focusing on him with difficulty.

He managed a smile. "Better than I was last night, I believe." The events of the previous evening were beginning to come back to him. He remembered that Spike had been terribly worried for him, and had brought him back to Nika's place when he had refused to go to a hospital. In retrospect, the hospital would have been the wiser choice, but he was sick of spending days in hospital beds. After his last trip there, Wesley had sworn to himself that he'd have to be on the brink of death before going back.

Judging from the look in Nika's eyes this morning, that brink had been all too close.

Wesley made a decision in that moment. The words he'd spoken to Spike earlier, saying that he would most likely be dead before forty, had taken on an almost prophetic quality. It was highly unlikely that he would die in his own bed at a ripe old age. Even if Nika fancied him, as Spike had insisted, there was no way he could ask her to be with him. He couldn't put her through another loss. His passing would hurt her because she cared for him; that was her nature. He didn't have to ask her to love him though. Eventually she'd move on, find some man who was safer.

Wesley could see in her eyes the same look that had been in Virginia's before she had broken up with him. This time he would avoid that scene by not entering into the relationship in the first place. "I'm glad you could patch me up," he said lightly. "I hate hospitals."

Nika thought she had seen a flash of something in his eyes, as though he'd come to some sort of a conclusion. She wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure where to begin. The last man she had dated was Danny, and that had been nearly fifteen years before. She had no idea how to approach dating as a grown woman.

It didn't matter, she told herself firmly. It didn't matter because this relationship wasn't going anywhere. She had no desire to lose another lover to the arms of death. If Wesley wasn't in love with her, so much the better, since she wouldn't have to say no to him.

"You can stay here for as long as you need," she assured him, and then smiled wickedly, pushing aside the loneliness and fear and worry. Wesley was her very good friend, and that's what was important. "Of course, you may think the hospital was the lesser of two evils. They want you to leave as quickly as possible. I'm going to sit on you until you're better, if I have to."

Their eyes met, and an understanding passed between them. Wesley knew she was pulling back slightly, and he understood. Nika knew he understood, and she was willing to pretend her love for him was of the platonic variety. For now they would both pretend, neither willing to risk the comfort of friendship for something greater.

Spike sat on his bed, still in his blood-covered clothing. He had almost lost Wesley tonight, and that sense of teetering on the brink brought back memories.

Failure was not a new companion, of course. There had been his failure as a human being in general, his failure as a vampire to be as evil as Angelus. He had failed to keep Drusilla and failed to kill his third Slayer. But right now he was remembering an early morning on a shaky tower, the sick realization that Doc was going to cut Dawn, and the utter despair when he realized that Buffy had paid for his mistake with her life.

Oh, Spike knew that Dawn hadn't blamed him. He didn't even think that Buffy had truly believed him to be responsible for her death, but he felt it all the same. If vampires weren't supposed to feel guilt, Spike couldn't put a name to this emotion that coursed through him, that had sent him the daydreams every day that she was gone—147 ways to make things right. He'd said the 148^{th
day didn't count, but that wasn't precisely true, as he'd already thought of a
new way to save her by the time he saw her coming down the stairs that night.}

Tonight he felt the failure again, running over and over in his head how he might have prevented Wesley from getting hurt. Spike knew he should have stayed closer, shouldn't have gotten so caught up in the fight. These humans were so frail...

Of its own accord, his hand wandered over to the drawer in the bedside table, pulling out a thick stack of letters. Nika and Wesley knew about them—how could they not, when he was constantly crowing about Dawn't successes, like a proud older brother? They were his security blanket, though, and Spike was willing to bet that neither of his friends knew that there were days when only flimsy pieces of paper stood between him and despondency.

Spike still liked to hold on to the illusion that something remained of the Big Bad.

He pulled out the letter from the top of the pile, wanting to find some way to wash the taste of guilt and failure out of his mouth. Dawn had comforted him by her presence that infinitely long summer, just as he had comforted her with his. Now, over the distance, she comforted him with her words, though Spike was sure she didn't know it.

Spike swallowed as he put the letter away. He'd already responded, congratulating her on her scholarship, but he hadn't invited her to see him. He wasn't quite sure that it was a good idea. Thinking back, he could understand why Buffy didn't want Dawn to hang around him. He was a bad influence, and he was a vampire as well. On the other hand, he ached to see her again in a way that was unfamiliar.

Missing Dawn was a pain that held no regret, no real hurt. Save for that night on the tower, he'd done his best by her, and she by him. Their love was one of little complication or complexity. It might not be easily understood by others, but it was real.

Spike went backwards through the pile, reading the stack letter by letter, reminding himself that something good might come out of failure, that it didn't have to mean the end of things. And when he finally fell asleep, it was with a sheet of girlish stationary clutched tightly in his hand.

Nika sat next to Wesley on the couch, feeling helpless in the wake of his emotions. He was usually so reserved that it was hard to know how to react now that he had let down his guard. "I'm sorry," she finally said, feeling unreasonably awkward. They had been so comfortable with one another earlier. "I should have told you about my visit to Angel. But then we got busy, and I just didn't think about it."

Nika took a chance and moved a little closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Okay. That's good, because you sure could have fooled me." After a lengthy pause, she asked, "Then what has you so upset, Wesley?"

The question was not what she was expecting, and she had no idea how to respond. Nika would have thought that Angel's forgiveness was what Wesley wanted, not something that made him angry. "I don't understand."

"What if he wants to pick up where we left off? Or he asks me to come back to work for him?" His voice sounded oddly muted, as though he was choking back tears. "What do I do then? It's not as though I could leave you or Spike, and they wouldn't—they wouldn't understand."

"What do you want to do?" She could feel him draw in a breath to answer, and she squeezed his shoulders, interrupting what he had been about to say. "Don't say what you think I want to hear, and don't worry about Spike for a minute. Just tell me what you want."

"Nothing," Wesley said, his voice harsh in the quiet of the room. "I want nothing from him."

Nika let her hands slip away as he stood, pacing—stalking—around the room. "I can't go back to the way things were. I can't—I trusted him."

He whirled to face her, and she could tell that he was still trying to stay in control. Three years' worth of hurt and anger were bound to escape at some point, and Nika could tell Wesley was at the boiling point. "Yes!" Staring at her, he asked in a bare whisper, "But how can I be angry, after what I did to him... I deserved it."

She stayed silent, waiting, wanting to see if he would eventually open up to her on his own without her prying. Finally he spoke, more to himself than to her. "He was my friend. I trusted him with my life, and he tried to kill me. I was wrong. I betrayed him. But he didn't even ask—" Wesley looked up at Nika, his voice plaintive as he addressed himself to her. "Why didn't he ask? I never wanted to hurt him. I just wanted to protect him—and Connor. He was my friend."

"I wanted to tell someone." Wesley continued his disjointed explanation. "I couldn't tell Angel though; he was acting so strangely. Cordelia was off with the Groosalug. And, of course, Gunn and Fred..." He nearly choked on the words. "I couldn't even look at them together. There was no one."

Nika looked at him, waiting for him to finish. "He didn't even ask me... I would have died for him. I hurt him so badly, and now I think I might hate him."

Now she stood, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the trembling of his body. "O bechod," she murmured. "Wesley, fy nghariad i. It's alright to be angry with him, with all of them. They were your family, and they left you. Family does not do such a thing." Pulling back, Nika took him by the hand and pulled him into her bedroom. "It's right to be angry when you're hurt. I'm angry with him for you."

"But what I did—" The protest was weak, but Wesley still felt it. What he had done left him no room to cast stones or lay blame. The rage he felt was irrational, and he had no idea how to exorcise it.

Nika lay a finger on his lips, stilling his words. "What you did hurt Angel," she agreed. "What he did, and what the others did, hurt you." She kissed him on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips, tasting his tears as they fell. "Personally, right now I'm really pissed off at him. He ruined what should have been a wonderful evening."

Wesley couldn't even manage a chuckle at her slightly outraged tone. He hadn't cried since he had been infected with Billy's blood. Even the loss of everything he'd ever held dear hadn't caused him to cry. If the truth were to be told, Wesley had so walled off his emotions that nothing had reached him. He'd been too busy trying to survive to allow himself to grieve. He half-wondered if seeing Fred with Gunn hadn't started the progression—not allowing himself to feel. And now he felt—

Nika's hands on his shoulders, arms, chest. Her light kisses dusting his skin. Wesley had wanted this so badly, and now all he could do was cry for what had been lost. She tugged his shoes off, pushing him to lay down on the bed, pillowing his head on her chest. "Shh," she comforted. "Cariad, we all have to grieve. So tonight you mourn for what was lost. Tomorrow is soon enough for exploring what is in front of us."

"I love you," he said hoarsely, allowing himself to take comfort in the fact that she clutched him tighter at his words.

"And I love you." She stroked his face. "Sleep, Wesley. I'll be here when you wake."

Nika stirred sleepily, slowly realizing that Wesley was having yet another nightmare. It had been a rough night for the both of them, as bad dreams had plagued the ex-Watcher, and consequently her as well.

The first couple of times he'd woken her with his tossing and turning, all the more frightening for his utter silence. From the look on his face, it was obvious that Wesley had been dreaming about being smothered. He wore the sort of expression one imagined drowning victims wearing just before they started swallowing water.

Both times Nika had shaken him awake and then had tightened her embrace. She knew without being told what he was dreaming about; he'd told her that Angel had tried to kill him with a pillow while he was in a hospital bed. It was no wonder he was dreaming about that particular incident again, given the cause of his emotional upheaval.

This time, however, Wesley was muttering something in his sleep—something about his father, and please, and let me out. Nika didn't know much about his parents, but she knew enough to sense the distance that was there. Occasionally Wesley would make a comment about his father, and the culmination of those comments was that Nika strongly hoped she never met the man. She'd be too tempted to lay a particularly vile hex on him.

Nika nudged Wesley, shifting him slightly off of her arm, which had gone to sleep. "Hey, cariad, wake up. Come on, Wesley. It's just a dream."

He still tossed, muttering, struggling with the demons he couldn't seem to outrun. "Ah, Wesley," Nika murmured. "What have they made of you, my love?"

Not even her voice seemed to calm him, and so she bent down and kissed him on the lips, deepening it slowly as he began to respond to her. They might have been Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty, except with the roles reversed.

Wesley's eyes blinked open slowly as he realized that the nightmare had ended, and the bright light of day was streaming into the room. "Danika?"

"Yes?" She smiled at him, satisfied to see that he looked better rested than his rather restless night would have predicted.

"Were you here all night?" Wesley frowned slightly, dimly recalling the nightmares and her constant presence. "Did I wake you?"

"Several times," Nika replied, smiling slightly to show she bore him no anger. "The waking up with you here was worth it, though."

"Wesley," she replied patiently, "you're in my bed. And I promised you I wouldn't leave." Her gray eyes glittered, and Wesley could sense a barely restrained anger—and behind that anger, a power. He forgot, sometimes, that she had her own skills, her own abilities. He might be a trifle better than an amateur magician with a little power, but her strength resided in her blood and training. "If I thought it would do you any good, I'd put a curse on both of them," she said, voicing her thoughts of earlier.

He shook his head. "Angel had reason," he said gently, recalling his earlier nightmares.

Nika looked disgruntled. "I'm not sure I care. I hate to see you in pain." She smiled sweetly at him. "So sue me. I'm biased."

"Late," she replied without looking at the clock. "I think it's after ten. I never sleep this late." She paused, cocking her head to the side. "And I don't think Spike's up yet. At least, I don't hear him."

Nika pushed herself off the bed. "Only one way to find out." She smiled at him. "Why don't you take a shower, cariad? You'll probably want to get out of the clothes you slept in."

"Your spare clothing's in the bottom drawer," Nika said. She ran a hand through her hair and wandered out into the kitchen to make the coffee. She was taking her first sip when Wesley came up behind her.

"Do you know where my shirt is?" he asked. Nika turned and felt the bolt of desire hit her somewhere below the stomach.

"Do you have another I might borrow, then?" Wesley asked, frowning. He couldn't quite place the look on her face.

Nika gave him a saucy smile. "There's one of Spike's in the laundry room, but maybe you could just not wear a shirt?" she suggested. "I really wouldn't mind."

"Yes, really." Their kiss this time was less sweet and more heated, heading rapidly for R-rated territory when they heard a throat being cleared. Wesley took his own sweet time pulling away from her, and looked back over at Spike.

"'bout bloody time," was the vampire's observation. "You got any of that coffee for Buffy?" he asked. "I'm goin' to see if I can't tempt her awake."

"Yeah," Spike said, trying to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. For all the sexcapades they'd engaged in, the last night just spent talking had been the best night he'd ever spent with the Slayer. By far. "We talked."

Nika and Wesley exchanged amused glances, and Spike realized he probably had a goofy smile on his face. "It was nice!"

Spike's smile faded. He honestly had no idea what happened next. He didn't even know what he wanted to happen now. "Dunno," he replied honestly. "We'll just have to see how it goes." The vampire grabbed his mug of coffee and disappeared down the stairs, leaving a slight pall behind him.

"It'll be alright, love," Wesley replied. He took the mug of coffee that Nika held out to him and looked thoughtfully at the basement door. "It's just going to take some time."

Buffy entered the Hyperion around noon. She and Spike had talked for hours, until the sun came up, and then she'd caught a nap on his couch before leaving. Feeling lighter than she had in a long time, Buffy smiled. They had managed to re-establish the cautious connection that had been there soon after her resurrection. She could honestly say that she understood Spike a lot better now than she ever had before.

Her warm and fuzzy feelings towards the vampire probably had something to do with the fact that Spike had talked for at least half the time. Instead of listening to her problems, she'd listened to his. She found out what demons he'd killed lately, that he and Wesley shared a love for movies and Playstation, and that he wasn't seeing anyone.

That last had been a relief. Coupled with Nika's obvious attraction to Wesley, Buffy had realized that she might still have a shot with him. Not a great one, of course, but the Slayer had come to the conclusion that men were the oil to her water. It didn't matter how much she liked the guy; sooner or later he left, and she had no one to blame for it but herself.

There wasn't anything in the world that could disturb her sense of well-being right now. At least, that's what she thought until she saw Angel barreling towards her. "Buffy! You're back." He frowned at her. "We were worried."

"I wasn't," Dawn said from her position behind the lobby counter. She and Connor were doing something on the computer, and she raised her head to give her sister a smile. "Good night?"

"It was great," Buffy replied. Not even Angel's disapproving gaze could change that. "How was yours?" She was completely ignoring her ex-boyfriend at this point, having no use for his over-protective-jealous routine.

Dawn grinned. "Good. Connor and I watched movies all night with a friend of mine. We just got back a little while ago."

Buffy didn't even blink. She and Dawn had talked about their plans for the evening, and Buffy didn't have a problem with overnight group activities. In fact, she was fairly well aware that she didn't have a right to have a problem with any of Dawn's activities. Her sister wasn't a minor any longer, and she was paying her own way through college. "That's good, Dawnie," she replied, realizing that part of Angel's discomfort stemmed from the fact that Connor was also out all night.

"Buffy, can I talk to you?" Angel looked upset, and Buffy bit back a sigh. She didn't want to have this conversation with him. Every time they did, someone ended up getting hurt. Last time they had a talk about her boyfriend, it was centered around Riley, and it hadn't ended well.

She nodded, knowing that she didn't have a way out of it at this point. Following him into his office, she sat down as he shut the door. "What's going on with Spike?" he asked, with no preamble.

"Spike and I are friends, Angel," Buffy replied evenly, determined not to give anything away.

Angel sat down behind his desk, the large expanse of wood separating them. It could have been the Grand Canyon as far as Buffy was concerned, she felt that far removed from him these days. "Spike is evil."

Buffy started laughing. She couldn't help it. She'd used that phrase for years, even after he'd begun to show signs of changing. Using it to rebuff every advance he made, that excuse had been a shield. It was the rationalization she'd given herself for using Spike and then hurting him. Evil things don't feel.

"You know, Angel," Buffy finally said, after she'd caught her breath. "Number one, Spike's not evil. Number two, I'm really hurt that you think I'd let him around Dawn if he were. If he were evil, he would have had her for lunch the summer I was dead." She didn't bother explaining about the chip. She wasn't in the mood.

"I'm not interested in talking about my relationship with Spike." Buffy's tone left no room for argument.

Angel hesitated and then sighed. "Fine, Buffy. That's your call. There's something else, though."

"What is it, Angel?" She had to work hard to modulate her voice so that it didn't come off as snappish as she felt. After all, Angel was sleeping with Cordelia, of all people. Granted, she'd changed, but still...people in glass houses, and all that.

"Is everything okay?" the vampire finally asked carefully. Angel had sensed something "off" about Buffy from the moment she'd first walked into the hotel, but he had no idea what it might be.

The Slayer sighed. Spike had told her last night that Angel probably sensed her pregnancy, even if he hadn't said anything about it. Of course, Spike hadn't said it quite like that, but Buffy had known what he meant. It was a friendly, yet unobtrusive, way of warning her that Angel would be asking some questions she might not want to answer.

"My baby is not part of some prophecy," Buffy said firmly. She didn't actually know that for sure, but she'd have to kick someone's ass if it was true. Her kid was not going to have some grand destiny that left them dead. And someone should have warned her. If it was part of someone's grand design that she would get knocked up by a prick like Peter, they needed to have their idea of destiny rearranged. Preferably by her fist.

Angel looked doubtful, but he seemed to sense Buffy's mood, and he didn't argue. "Who's the father, Buffy?"

"He's not in the picture." That was only partially true, since she was supposed to meet Peter and sign the papers next week. True to his word, he had gotten a lawyer—she got to keep the baby, and he got to keep his money.

The look on Angel's face was oddly similar to the one on Spike's—like he wanted to find the guy and rip his throat out. "Who is he?"

"Spike asked me the same question, and I gave him the same answer. You can't kill him, Angel." Buffy smiled. "I'll be fine."

Buffy looked uncertain for a brief second before managing to put on her happy face. "I'm sure I'll figure it out."

Angel regarded her seriously, deciding to put the Spike thing aside for the moment and move on to the truly important matters: Buffy and her safety. "How long before slaying is a problem?"

"Another few months," Buffy replied reluctantly, unsure of where he might be going with this line of questioning.

Angel nodded. "That's what I thought. What if I sent Connor to you for a while?"

"He's a good fighter," Angel explained patiently. "And a pretty good kid, if I do say so myself. Connor could take over patrol for you until the baby's born and you're ready to pick it up again."

Angel shrugged and then bellowed his son's name. Connor's head poked through the doorway moments later. "You called?"

"What would you think of going to Sunnydale for a while and taking over the slaying gig?"

Buffy could sense an imminent explosion and hastened to intervene. "I don't know if Dawn told you, but I'm pregnant," the Slayer explained. "Your dad thought you could help me patrol the Hellmouth when I can't."

Connor stared at the both of them, trying to figure out if they were telling the truth or if Angel was trying to get him out of town for some reason. Reading nothing but honesty in their eyes and faces, he shrugged, abruptly saying, "Okay. I've never seen a Hellmouth before."

"You don't want to," Buffy and Angel replied in tandem. Green eyes met hazel, and they shared a smile full of old memories of battles past. "Thanks, Connor," Buffy said, not taking her eyes off of Angel. She realized she and Angel were actually sharing resources, and the Slayer wondered if perhaps they hadn't finally made it past the worst of the bumps on their way to real friendship.

There was silence as the tension in the room disappeared, leaving nothing but camaraderie in its place. "Sure thing," Connor said, backing out of the room.

The boy went over to sit next to Dawn by the computer again. "What's up?" she asked.

"Not much," Connor replied, watching the computer as Dawn took her turn at the role playing game. "Dad just wanted me to help your sister out on patrol in Sunnydale."

Dawn smiled. "I'm glad," she said honestly. "I'll feel better knowing that you're with her."

Dawn wasn't sure exactly when things had changed. Her sister might be acting like pod-Buffy right now, but Dawn had every intention of taking advantage of it. In fact, she might just have to rethink staying in L.A. for the summer. For the first time in a long time, she thought she might actually have the family she wanted.

Buffy's hand strayed toward the phone for what had to be the fifth time that day. Even though she'd had to work, her mind had continually wandered to Spike, wondering what he was doing. And even though she knew he was probably sleeping—hello? Vampire—she wanted to call him. She wanted to hear his voice, and it had only been a few days.

Of course, now that she was home and getting ready to go out and patrol, she had nothing to distract her from thoughts of Spike. Three years of not even knowing where he was, and suddenly she couldn't get him out of her mind. It was as if missing Spike was a Pandora's box, and once opened, impossible to close again.

Taking a deep breath, the Slayer picked up the phone. If he was busy, she could just leave a voicemail. At least she'd hear him on the message. And if he wasn't busy, maybe he wouldn't mind talking for a while.

Spike hadn't called her, and he hadn't asked her to call him. In fact, he'd given no sign at all that he wanted to see her again, even though he knew she was coming back down for part of Dawn's Christmas break. What if he'd gotten his closure, and didn't want to see her again? What if he was still angry with her? After all, she'd said she was sorry, but he'd never said he'd forgiven her. And he'd never answered her letter. Buffy had the sinking feeling that Spike would never have answered her letter; it was just dumb luck, running into each other at Caritas that night.

Buffy sighed. She should respect his privacy and not call then. That would be better. Give Spike his space, and wait for him to contact her.

Suddenly, Buffy was just pissed off, both at herself and the stupid vampire who was managing to tie her up in knots without even knowing it. She gave a frustrated growl, grabbed a stake and stalked out the door. She needed to kill something to clear her head.

Spike stripped off his shirt, revealing pale skin marked with livid scratches. He and Wesley had just had a profitable, though slightly painful, night of demon slaying, and now all he really wanted was a shower and a drink. Hopefully, he could distract himself from the goings-on upstairs.

It wasn't that he begrudged his friends their happiness; Wesley and Nika were clearly in the joyous exploratory stage of their relationship. It was, in fact, moving along quite nicely, propelled by a solid friendship. While they knew each other well, the physical aspect was all new.

Unfortunately for him, due to enhanced vampire senses, Spike could sense all their rapidly progressing physical exchanges. At least they hadn't gotten too noisy yet.

He sighed. If he had any idea what was going on with Buffy, he might be a little happier with their situation, but he didn't. The morning she had left, Spike hadn't wanted to ask if she wanted to see him again, and Buffy hadn't offered. The fear of rejection was too great to risk the question.

Days had gone by and she hadn't called. Spike knew she had his cell number, but he had no idea if she'd even get a hankering to talk to him. Maybe all she'd really wanted was closure, and that's what she'd gotten. Perhaps they'd see each other occasionally and talk as old friends might, with nothing more between them.

Spike gave his cell phone, tossed carelessly on the sofa, a longing glance. He could call her. He doubted she'd mind. On the other hand, he couldn't bear to hear the dismissive note in her voice again, the tone that told him she didn't care. There was no reason to stick his neck out for her; he had friends, a nice place to live—he didn't need Buffy.

Scrubbing one hand over his face, Spike grabbed some clean clothing and headed for the shower. At least the noise of the water would help mask the sounds of the make-out session above him.

By the time he got out of the shower, having rather spitefully made certain he used all the hot water, the only thing Spike could hear were murmurs and slow heartbeats. He half-wondered if Wesley would be going home tonight, or if he'd stay. Spike plunked himself down on the sofa and turned on the TV, idly flipping channels. He'd just managed to find a suitably violent movie when his phone started ringing.

"Good," Spike said cautiously, muting the TV and settling into the couch. "You?"

"I'm good," she said. "I was going to call you earlier, but I thought I'd go on patrol first."

She laughed. "Not really. A few new vamps, and that's about it. It's been slow around here lately. What about you?"

Spike briefly told her about the job he and Wesley had been out on, and when she seemed interested, gave her a blow-by-blow account of the fight. Since it had involved several rather spectacular moves on his part, he wasn't above a little bragging. As the story wound down, he couldn't help wondering about the reason for her call. "Was there something you needed, Slayer?" he finally asked.

"Oh," Spike said intelligently. That was new. Sort of. It was a lot more like it had been right after Buffy had come back from the dead. Only better. Maybe. Spike thought his head might explode from the bewilderment their relationship was causing him. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice." It was as close to saying she missed him as Buffy was willing to go. After all, she had only Dawn's word to go on that he missed her.

There was a silence as Buffy wondered whether she'd stepped across some invisible boundary. Spike was still trying to decrypt the meaning behind her statement. "'s good to hear your voice too, pet," he said, struggling to find some neutral ground that wouldn't betray his heart too badly. "But you said yes on the needin' something too, yeah?"

Buffy took a deep breath. She didn't want to use him. She'd promised herself that she wasn't going to go down that road, not again. "The guy—the father, you know—has some papers he wants me to sign. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming with me. If you're busy, or you don't want to, or something that's fine. I just thought it would be nice to have some moral support."

There wasn't anyone else who could go with her. Even though she didn't say it, Spike knew it was true since Dawn had said everybody else was out of town till Christmas. "Why me?" he asked warily.

"I—because it would be nice if you could be there," Buffy finally said, well aware that it wasn't the whole truth. "And because I'd kind of like to see you again."

Spike took a deep, unneeded breath. What was this? What did she want from him? And could he give it to her? "Do I get to kill him?"

He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied. "No, Spike. It's just—he'll have his lawyer with him, and I don't—I don't want to be alone."

It wasn't precisely fear that he could hear in her voice. He wasn't sure what it was, though. "When are you s'posed to sign these papers?"

She sighed in relief. Buffy wanted an excuse to ask him up, to see him again. "It's Friday evening, around 6:30. I wanted to do it late enough in the day so if you could come down—you know." This time of the year, the sun sets early.

Spike smiled a little. She didn't want him frying, is what she was saying. But in order to get down there by the appointed hour, he would have to leave before sunset. "Be a bit hard to get up there while the sun's still up, luv," he reminded her. "All 've got is the bike."

"Oh. Well, you could come down before then," she suggested. "If you want to. That is, if you don't mind."

Spike wasn't sure he didn't mind. Yet their last meeting had been more than civil; it had been down-right friendly. She wanted him there for moral support, which meant she wasn't ashamed of being seen with him. Not with her wanker of an ex, at least. It would mean leaving tonight, so he could get there before dawn. A fact he reminded her of.

"I know," Buffy replied, and he could hear that she was torn. "If you don't want to, I'll be fine. But I would like to see you again sometime."

Spike paused, listening to the silence above him, thinking about it. Wesley didn't have any jobs on the line for the next couple days, as far as he knew. He could go now. "And then what?"

"I come, an' then what?" Spike asked. "Your friends are comin' back in a few weeks. You gonna want to see me when they get into town?"

It was a fair question, and Buffy knew it. "If you're asking me if things change when they're here, the answer's no, Spike."

"Alright," he replied, making an impulsive decision. It wasn't like he was moving back to Sunnydale again, after all. He was going to go up, catch some shut-eye, and accompany Buffy on her errand. Then he would come back to L.A. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Spike grabbed his jacket and keys and came up the stairs, only to run into Wesley in the kitchen. "You not stayin'?" he asked, seeing that the other man also had his coat on.

"Probably best," Wesley said, looking a little embarrassed. "Neither of us are quite ready for that next step. If we're going to wait, I shouldn't stay here." He gave Spike a look. "You're going out?"

"Buffy called," Spike explained. "She wants some company when she sees that bloke's lawyer. 's tomorrow evening, after sunset."

"But you have to leave tonight," Wesley said in understanding. He hesitated, and then asked quietly, "Do you think this is wise, Spike?"

"Dunno," Spike replied quietly. "But she said she wanted to see me again, even if I didn't help her out with this. Said it was up to me." His eyes got a faraway look to them. "Won't lie to you, mate. 'd love it if she welcomed me with open arms an' begged me not to leave, but 's not goin' to happen."

"You don't know that," Wesley said, trying to be encouraging. "Perhaps she'll want you to stay."

Spike shook his head. "Not goin' there, Wesley. This is where my life is, with you an' Nika. Whatever my feelings for Buffy might be, an' whatever she might be feelin' right now, it doesn't change that."

Spike reached the front door of 1630 Revello in a little under two hours by virtue of having pushed his bike to its limits. Parking the motorcycle in the driveway, he pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm, then grabbed his saddle bags and tossed them over his shoulder.

He wasn't a big fan of wearing a helmet, but as Wesley often reminded him, it was the law in California. And, since he wasn't eating people anymore, Spike didn't want to risk getting pulled over. Not being totally evil could seriously cut into your ability to flaunt the law.

The door swung open before he could knock, leaving him to face Buffy without the chance to compose himself. She was obviously ready to stay in for the evening, since she had a set of flannel pajamas on. Not saying anything, she backed off, stepping aside to let him enter. When he still hesitated, she said, "Your invitation is still good here, Spike."

He smiled, a little shyly, and stepped across the threshold. Oddly, it felt like the first time again, in a way. Or more like when she'd re-issued her invitation, the night she'd died (the second time). Spike hadn't overly appreciated being invited into her home when he'd teamed up with her to stop Angelus. It wasn't until he'd thrown it all away that he had realized what had been lost.

And wasn't that always the case? You never knew what you had until you'd lost it all.

"I hope you don't mind, but I got my old room ready for you," Buffy was saying. "I moved into mom's a while back. But there are blankets over the windows, so you should be okay."

"That's fine, luv," Spike replied. He knew it was late, and that she was probably ready to go to bed. "I'll just entertain m'self for a while, if that's alright. Not quite ready for sleep yet."

He hadn't even noticed that he'd used the endearment, though Buffy had. She didn't say anything about it though. There was a part of her that wanted to stay up with him, that wanted to ask if he really didn't mind coming. The part of her that was becoming a responsible adult knew she had work in the morning, and that it was already going to be hard enough to haul herself out of bed.

"Feel free," Buffy invited. "There are movies and stuff, if you want to plug a video in, and there's blood in the fridge if you're hungry."

Spike nodded, feeling ill at ease. He'd wanted this very thing so many times before. In fact, the vampire could say that at one point he would have given everything for the offer to stay the night. In a sense, the invitation to stay now meant more than the offer of sex would have. It meant more to him to stay in her house as her guest and her friend, than to stay there as her lover.

It didn't change the awkwardness, however. He still had no idea what she wanted from him.

Buffy seemed to feel it too, standing poised at the bottom of the stairs, prevaricating between going up and staying with him. Feeling that she needed to do something, she finally said, "I'm glad you could come, Spike."

As she climbed the stairs to go to bed, she realized why that smile had seemed so out of place on his face. It was so rare to see an expression on his face that wasn't smirking or leering or hurt.

At the door to her bedroom, she half-turned, thinking to go down. To explain again what had happened to her, to them. To apologize for dismissing all his potential. Her hand tightened on the knob. They could have been happy. She'd suspected the truth, but now she knew.

Downstairs, Spike stood in the living room. He could hear Buffy's footsteps, hear her pause at the door to her room. Idly, he wondered what would happen if he went up to her. Not that he would; Spike had promised himself that he wouldn't fall into that trap again.

But he wondered—what it would be like to make love to her in her own bed, have her invite him in. He could still smell her, taste her, remember what it had been like. At least he knew what the sex was like. Making love to the Slayer, with her wanting it as much as he, had been something that happened only in his richest dreams. But he wondered—what it would be like to wake up with her by his side, to have a conversation without her running away.

He realized he had taken a longing step towards the stairs, and pulled himself back. It was over—that part of his unlife was done.

Spike woke up late the next afternoon, just as Buffy was coming in from work. "Spike, you up?" she called up the stairs. "We've got to leave in an hour or so."

"I'm awake," he called. Standing and stretching, he opened the bedroom door to find Buffy in the hallway. "How was work?"

"'s too bad you can't do what Wesley an' I do for a livin'." Spike grinned at her. "It'd be right up your alley."

"That's one way to put it," Buffy agreed. "I'm going to get cleaned up, if you're hungry."

Spike nodded. "Yeah, 'm a bit peckish." As Buffy had promised, there was blood in the fridge for him. While he waited for his mug-full to heat up, he poked around in the cupboards, noticing with a sense of relief that they were better stocked than they had been a few years ago. There was more fresh stuff as well, indicating that Buffy might actually be cooking now.

As he stood, drinking his dinner and waiting for Buffy to come back down, Spike struggled with the sense of the fantastic. If someone had told him even a few weeks before that he would be standing in the Slayer's kitchen, drinking blood she'd bought for him, and waiting to go out with her, he would have told them they were off their nut.

Buffy came into the kitchen after he'd finished his meal. Spike was standing by the back door, looking out into the yard and the rapidly lengthening shadows. "What are you thinking of?"

"Nothin'." Spike turned to face her. "Just—how many times I'd been back there, 's all. How long it had been since the last time." He fiddled with his lighter. "Thought I might wait a few minutes and go have a smoke."

"You could have one on the way," Buffy suggested. "We have to leave soon anyway."

He nodded. "Might be better to wait then. 's not good to smoke 'round you right now." Spike hesitated, then asked the question that had been bugging him. "You want to tell me what signin' these papers is all about? Didn't think it took a contract to have a kid."

"You wouldn't think so, would you?" Buffy asked. Her eyes were shadowed with regret. Getting involved with Peter had been a phenomenally stupid decision on her part. "Peter doesn't want the baby, and I don't want him involved. It's a mutual and binding agreement so we both make sure we get what we want."

She shook her head. "I've done the uninvolved father thing, Spike. I would rather raise a child on my own and never have them know their dad, than have them disappointed every time he breaks a promise. Besides, I fought for custody over Dawn. I don't want to have the same problem with my own child."

Spike nodded slowly, understanding. "Makes sense. 's not like the kid's goin' to be hurtin' for people. Probably have more aunts and uncles than they know what to do with."

Buffy smiled in appreciation for his attempt at comfort. "I'm sure." She glanced over at the clock. "Come on. We should go."

The drive to the lawyer's office was made in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Spike had yet to acknowledge the jealousy he felt towards this man. He knew Buffy wasn't his girl; as she'd said herself, she would never be his girl. He still felt as though he had a sort of proprietary interest.

Buffy was his Slayer. He'd marked his territory the first time he'd seen her on the dance floor of the Bronze. His to kill; his to love. Never mind that she had refused to oblige him on both counts.

She cut the engine on her mom's old SUV and looked over at the vampire. "No matter what happens, you can't kill him," Buffy said forcefully.

"I'm on a strictly non-human diet right now," he reminded her, a trifle hurt that she thought he'd needed the warning.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Buffy said quietly. "I just want to sign the papers and get it over with. Okay, Spike?"

Spike tried to figure out what she wasn't telling him. "Sure, luv. If that's what you want." He followed her into the building, feeling a bit like a bodyguard, and he suddenly wondered when it was that the Slayer couldn't watch her own back.

The office was plush, and Spike could smell the money. Whoever this ponce was, he was capable of taking care of Buffy and the baby. He just didn't want to.

Spike knew which of the two men was her ex immediately. It had to be the guy that looked a bit like Angel. He wasn't sure whether to be angered or disgusted or even just a trifle amused by the resemblance. When the man opened his mouth to speak, Spike understood Buffy's caution not to kill him.

"So, I see you already found a replacement, huh, Buf? Didn't take you too long." Spike longed to wipe the smirk off of his face, but Buffy spoke before he could react.

"Spike's an old friend of the family, Peter," she replied, a touch of steel in her voice. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Why don't we all have a seat," the lawyer suggested smoothly, introducing himself as Mr. Banks. He pulled out the contract, two copies, and handed one to Buffy. "If you just want to initial and sign where I've marked, we'll be all through."

Buffy picked up the pen, ready to get it done, but Spike laid a gentle hand on hers. "Not just yet, Buffy. You should look over it first."

"It's just what we agreed on," Peter said impatiently, ready to go now that he'd failed to get a rise out of either his ex or her friend.

Spike gave him a hard look, reminding himself that eating the bugger wasn't an option. Plus, he probably wouldn't taste all that great anyway. "I think we'll read it just the same."

He skimmed quickly, picking up the various clauses without difficulty. Spike could tell when Buffy gave up, trusting him to catch anything out of the ordinary. As the man had said, it was what they agreed upon, but there were a few extra clauses that caught Spike's eye and made his borrowed blood boil.

Giving Buffy a tight nod to let her know that he hadn't found anything that should prevent her from signing, Spike watched as she initialed and signed. She gave a sigh of relief once she'd finished both copies, and Mr. Banks handed one to her. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Summers."

"Sure," Buffy replied, a little of her usual sarcasm in her voice. "It was good to see you, Peter. Hope it doesn't happen again any time soon."

Peter shrugged. "I'm moving—elsewhere. If you need to contact me, you can do it through my lawyer. Have fun with the brat, Buf."

Spike could picture himself tossing the man through the plate glass window behind him, but satisfied himself with letting out a low growl. Blue eyes met brown in a battle of wills, and it was Peter who looked away first, his face flushing. "You should be ashamed of yourself," Spike said softly. "You're no man."

He followed Buffy out the door, his anger burning like a bright flame, and he couldn't say with whom he was more upset: Peter or Buffy. "I'll drive," he said shortly, waiting until Buffy gave him the keys and sliding behind the wheel.

There was a moment of strained silence, and Buffy said quietly, "Thanks for not making a scene."

"Yeah." Spike put the key in the ignition, but didn't start it. "What the bloody hell did you ever see in that bastard?"

Buffy's jaw tightened. The question sounded more like an accusation, and the Slayer wasn't feeling all that thrilled with the circumstances herself. She felt a lot like she had right after the Parker fiasco—ashamed and used. "Spike—"

"Did you know he has plans? Prob'ly to run for office, given the stench of money and the clauses," Spike said angrily. "Part of that contract you just signed prohibits you from even acknowledging him as the father—ever. It's not just about money, Buffy, it's about his reputation. He's keepin' his clean an' treatin' you like garbage."

"It doesn't matter," Buffy said. "It's not like our relationship was ever built to last anyway."

"So what?" Buffy demanded. "I'm an adult, Spike. I can sleep with anybody I want to. I wanted to sleep with Peter. I did. End of story. So he's a bastard. He's not the first one I've ever slept with."

The silence that fell was deadly, the implications of Buffy's words clear to both of them She didn't hasten to correct his conclusions. "So you were just usin' him then, is that right? Just a good roll in the hay to make you feel?"

"Well, it's not like you were around to do the honors," Buffy shot back, angry at his words and the truth behind them. In actuality, she'd liked Peter, just as she'd liked Parker. They'd given her a snow job, and she'd fallen for it.

Spike's eyes blazed. "Shall I remind you why I left, Buffy?" He started the engine with a savage jerk of the keys. "I'll take you home."

The damage had been done again. Buffy wondered how it was that they always knew just what to say to hurt the most. Even when they were enemies, with no hint of anything softer between them, they had seen one another clearly enough to inflict damage. Buffy had known to go after Drusilla, what to say to tease and taunt. Spike had known just what truth to speak to cut to the quick.

"I'm sorry." The words hung suspended, and Buffy thought he might throw them back in her face. "It's just—I liked him a lot. I thought he was different."

Spike's knuckles turned white around the steering wheel as he fought himself, fought the demon within. Just because he didn't look at humans as a natural resource anymore didn't mean it was always easy. He finally let out a breath. "You hungry?"

"Starving," Buffy replied, not knowing quite where the vampire was going with that.

He didn't say anything, however, simply put the car in reverse and left the parking lot. A few minutes later, Spike pulled into the lot of one of the better restaurants in town. "Come on." Spike had a quick word with the hostess when they entered, and they were led back to a corner booth, well away from most of the other patrons.

"I shouldn't have said what I did." Spike met her eyes, the blue as dark as the night sky. "Don't like to see you hurt. An' I wanted to toss the arse-wipe out the window."

"No." Buffy sighed. "None of them really knew. I didn't think they could handle it."

"How many—" Spike stopped himself. "No, don't answer that. 's not important." There was a pause. "What are you goin' to do now?"

Buffy shook her head. "Work until I can't, I guess. I haven't had the job for long enough to qualify for maternity leave. I'll either have to go back right away, or figure something else out. Giles is working on something with the Council for me."

"The Council of Wankers?" Spike asked with a raised brow. "Sure you want them in your life?"

"No, but apparently I'm one of the first Slayers ever to get pregnant. Most of the time we die before we're old enough to be out on our own. Giles thinks he might be able to strong-arm them into giving me a pension, or something like that." Buffy shrugged a little. "Giles thinks that the activity around the Hellmouth might be changing, dying down a little. If so, I might not even have to stay in Sunnydale."

Buffy laughed a little. "I don't know. If you'd asked me a year ago, I would have said Europe, Africa, anywhere. I've never gotten the chance to go to a different country. We were supposed to as a family—before I got Called. After that, it wasn't an option." She looked down at the table, at Spike's hands, so strong. She remembered the feel of those hands with longing.

She remembered how safe she'd felt putting her sister's life into those hands. How safe she'd felt putting her own life there. Even after she had known the chip didn't work on her, Buffy had never feared that Spike would drain her dry.

"And now," Buffy said, continuing, "there's not much I can do with a baby. Not for a while anyway. Did you know how expensive having a kid is?"

"I can imagine," Spike replied. He was still angry, but not so much at Buffy. There was a reason that he hadn't been able to kill her that night on her porch; he hadn't been able to stand seeing her in pain. In that moment he had accepted his fate. He loved the Slayer; she was going to treat him like shit.

The real letdown had been the way she treated him like nothing but a monster, after treating him like a man before she'd died.

"I know you didn't," Buffy said. "I should have known. It was almost like—you know. One minute he's this really charming guy, and we're having a great time. And then I get pregnant and he's Mr. Hyde-ing it."

Spike cocked his head to one side, regarding her with a gaze both so intense and so kind that she could hardly believe it. "You'll get through this, luv. You're one of the strongest people I've ever known."

Buffy smiled through teary eyes. "You ever wonder what would have happened if you'd stayed, Spike?"

"Nothing good," he said quietly. "Was gettin' pretty close to the brink, myself." Spike fixed her with a hard gaze, the tenderness swallowed up by determination. "'m not comin' back to Sunnydale."

"You already told me that," Buffy reminded him. "Can—can I ask you a favor, Spike? I know it's not fair to ask this of you, so don't feel like you have to agree."

"If something happens to me, I want you to promise me you'll look after my child."

Spike was flabbergasted. "Uh, Buffy, you do realize you're askin' a vampire to play godfather, right? Why not ask Red? Or Rupert, if you get right down to it."

Buffy shook her head. "Willow and Xander aren't ready to take care of a baby, either of them. And Giles wouldn't know the first thing about it. Dawn's too young—"

"And that leaves me," Spike said quietly. There was a part of him that wanted to be angry at her for requiring yet another promise of him, when she had offered him nothing in return. The other part of him wanted to be angry that she could think he would do anything else.

Buffy glanced away. "I know it's not fair to ask you, Spike. I do. But you've got good friends who would help, and you keep your promises. I would feel better about it, knowing you would be there."

"What about Peaches?" Spike countered. "He's got the cheerleader, an' he's had a baby. For a while, anyway. You know he'd jump at the chance."

"If you say no, he would be my next choice," she admitted. "You're the one I asked to take care of Dawn, though, Spike. I trust you."

"I'm a vampire, Buffy," Spike reminded her softly. "'m a monster. I have no business raising a child." He wasn't sure why it was so important to make sure she knew that. Their relationship was never going to be more than it was right at this moment.

She shook her head. "It's just if something happens to me," Buffy reminded him. "And you're my monster."

Spike wanted to argue with her, to tell her he was no one's but his own. He wanted to protest that he'd spent the last three years trying to be free of her, and she was tying his heart to hers with one more responsibility.

He did nothing of the sort, because it was all true. He was a monster, and he was hers. But he had also learned to be his own.

Spike looked into the eyes of the Slayer and promised her unborn child, just as he'd promised Dawn. "Till the end of the world."

Chapter 16: March 2004

"So, we going or what?" Spike asked impatiently from his spot by the kitchen door. "Thought you said this was important."

The expression on Wesley's face was unruffled. After nearly a year of Spike's company, he knew the vampire fairly well. Spike would needle a rock to try and get a reaction, he could be as impatient as the day was long, and he was loyal to a fault. The best way to deal with Spike, he'd discovered, was simply not to rise to the bait. Ever. Staying cool, while treating the vampire with respect, gave Wesley a competent partner and an incredibly steadfast advocate.

It was a refreshing change from people he would not name.

"It is important," Wesley replied. "However, we have a meeting with an informant first, and we don't need to leave for a few minutes yet."

Spike frowned, obviously ready to be up and away. "This informant require my fists?"

"Hardly." Wesley took a sip of the tea Nika had thoughtfully brewed for him. She'd left shortly after he had arrived, but she had prepared the kettle and left out a plate of scones. If he wasn't careful, Wesley knew that he'd put on more than the few pounds she swore were necessary. Feeding people seemed to be a compulsion with her. "I'm sure you'll work out all the aggression you need on our target tonight. A Harin nest is hardly something to take lightly."

"Preachin' to the choir here," Spike reminded him. While he might not have the encyclopaedic knowledge that the ex-Watcher did, the vampire did have an impressive grasp of demon habits and lore. Wesley never was quite sure what Spike did or didn't know; it was often a surprise. "You gonna be okay to go in, though? Harin's won't take a bite out of me, but they'd look at you as a right tasty meal."

Wesley shrugged. "I'll simply have to make sure they don't get the chance to take a bite then, won't I?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "S'pose so." He gave the man a piercing look. "You doin' okay, mate?"

Wesley looked uncomfortable before he managed to regain his poker face. He'd perfected it over the last couple of years, priding himself on not revealing anything to the outside world. Unfortunately, it seemed at times as though Spike had x-ray vision. "I'm fine," he replied stiffly.

"Yeah, fine," Spike echoed. His eyes were kind. "Wesley, 've been—where you were, yeah? 's not where you are anymore. You got a problem, be happy to take care of it for you."

Wesley only wished the vampire could. Nightmares, however, weren't something that could be fought with fists and fangs. This time of the year, near the anniversary of his terrible mistake and subsequent banishment, the nightmares seemed to plague him anew. It wasn't something he wanted to explain, but he knew he had to say something. "I haven't been sleeping well," he admitted. "There's not much to do about that, however."

Spike nodded, entirely serious for a change, lines appearing on his youthful face that weren't always so easily seen. Moments like this he looked almost more ageless than he usually did—both old and young at once. "Been there," Spike said. "You might want to think 'bout talkin' to Nika. She's got some stuff—"

"I'll be fine," Wesley interrupted, abruptly dismissing the idea.

Spike snorted. "Yeah, right. Look Wesley, if you're thinkin' the nightmares are penance, you've already paid your dues. 'sides, Nika gets a good look at you, she'll have me sittin' on your chest so she can pour somethin' down your throat. Trust me."

Wesley smiled, knowing very well that the woman's maternal instinct was finely honed. Spike was right. If she got the chance to take a good look at him, she would know something was wrong, and she would want to do something about it. In a way, Wesley didn't have a problem with the idea of accepting Nika's help if she offered—or ordered, which was more likely. It was the asking that presented the dilemma. He didn't want to ask.

"When she notices, I promise to take my medicine like a good boy," he replied wryly. "Until then, however, we have work to do."

Spike pushed himself up from the table. "'bout time."

~~~~~

As Wesley explained the nature of the demons as well as the plan for their destruction, Spike bit back the desire to shut him up. He knew by now that Wesley lectured as a retreat from nerves or emotions. If he was feeling anxious about the upcoming fight, or if he was having a hard time in general, he'd start sounding like a textbook.

Spike understood nervous habits. After all, it wasn't like the nicotine did anything for him. Smoking had become a habit over the years, something that eased the tension of the moment, that gave him something to do with his hands. The taste and smell of the smoke—particularly strong to a vampire—soothed him. For Wesley, it was rote knowledge and lecturing as though from a pulpit. It was best just to let him ramble on, let him ease his mind with words and information.

Harins were dangerous, but they weren't all that agile or hard to kill, from what Spike understood. They did like making snacks out of humans, being rather fond of kidneys, but if you had a pointy weapon and knew how to use it, they weren't a potent threat. Of course, they'd upset a kindergarten class when they tried to make a snack out of the teacher. Apparently, budget cuts had caused the classroom to be moved to the basement, and the voices had disturbed the Harins enough so that they'd gone to investigate. It should have been their hibernating season, but with ample temptation, they were willing to break tradition to eat. It had been a rather astute school administrator who had hired them.

Spike let Wesley's words wash over him, nodding or interjecting a few comments in the right places. He assured the ex-Watcher that he would be careful, that he wouldn't risk his physical safety more than he had to, and that he'd use his ax to go for their heads. "We know that there are at least four, Spike," Wesley stated, winding up the lecture. "Going after the head is the only way to ensure a quick kill."

"Think I don't know that?" Spike asked, with some amusement. "Wesley, we already talked about all that. Matter of fact, we both know I could walk in there and take care of all of them myself." They didn't actually know anything of the sort, and Spike was hoping the human wouldn't call his bluff. "What's got you so worked up, mate? Haven't heard that kind of lecture since I was in school, an' that was long before your time."

Wesley looked away, unwilling to share his emotional turmoil, unwilling to acknowledge that even though it had been two years, his friends' rejection still hurt. "I simply wanted to ensure your compliance."

Spike didn't like words like compliance. Submission, obedience, and subservience also struck wrong chords. He'd spent too much time belonging undead-heart, body, and mind to someone else. He hadn't traded one master for another. "I don't comply," he said, his tone hard. "Might agree, because it's a good plan, but I'm not your employee, Wesley. I do this as a favor to you, remember? I could make just as much money playin' poker a few nights out of the week."

There was more to the vampire's words than Wesley's poor use of semantics. He winced, nodding. "Of course, Spike. I'm sorry."

Spike shrugged, his anger receding as quickly as it had come. "'s okay, mate." He sighed. "You do know you start goin' off like that when you're feelin' a bit bad about somethin', right? 's like a tell in a game of poker."

Wesley wasn't sure if he had known or not, but he thought Spike might be right. "Now's not the time for that. We should go."

They left their bikes where they were in the parking lot of the school and went inside. The human had the directions to the basement memorized, and Spike followed his lead, his yellow eyes glowing in the dark—the better to see you with, my dear. It always amazed him that Wesley could walk so calmly with a demon at his back.

Spike wondered, not for the first time, if the man's sense of self-preservation hadn't been damaged.

The boiler room was exactly where Wesley's contact had said it would be, but when they entered, all Spike could do was let out a string of curses. It seemed their informant hadn't been accurate on the numbers. It was going to be an ugly fight.

They fought back to back because there was no other way to keep track of one another in the melee. There was also no other way to make sure one of the demons didn't take a chunk out them while they were trying to ax another. The Harins might not be quick, but they were big, and there were over fifteen. The numbers threatened to overwhelm them, and it seemed that those who had woken early had gone to get all their clan for a hearty meal.

Spike might have wished for a flame-thrower, if he'd had the time to think about it. As it was, the vampire was too busy killing Harins and making sure they didn't start munching on Wesley. Not to forget the fact that their information was a little off. The demons might not prefer vampire, but they weren't above taking a bite out of one.

He roared in full-out vamp mode as one of the smaller ones sunk its teeth into his leg. With a swing that would have put Tiger Woods to shame, the ax severed its head. The demons were fewer now, and Spike unexpectedly sensed that there were more humans in the room with him. In fact, he was feeling downright crowded with heartbeats.

As the last Harin squealed its death-cry, the vampire barely had time to deflect the stake aimed in his direction. "Hey!" Spike protested. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Gunn! Don't!" Wesley was suddenly standing between him and the tall black man with a stake. Spike could see a mixture of disgust and anger on the stranger's face that was reminiscent of the Slayer at her most Slayer-like. "He's a friend."

"You hookin' up with random vamps now, Wes?" the man called Gunn demanded. "I'd have thought better of you."

Spike could see Wesley stiffen, as though he'd been struck. From where he stood he could see two women, both looking worried—as though they wanted to intervene but couldn't. If they were who he thought they were, Spike knew Angel couldn't be far behind.

He wasn't.

"Wes?" Angel sounded incredulous as he came back in through the door, having chased the last straggler down. "What are you doing here?"

Wesley's voice sounded foreign to Spike's ears. It was cold, diamond-edged. "I might ask you the same, Angel. We were hired to clear out this nest by a school administrator."

Angel blinked at the "we," and then his eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of Spike. While Spike wasn't above giving his grandsire as hard a time as possible, he was not in a winning position. The ladies might not try for a kill, but Angel and Gunn had no qualms. Spike wanted out of this suddenly-small room where he had a chance to fight and/or run, and didn't feel so much like a trapped rat.

"Move out of the way, Wes," Angel demanded.

Wesley didn't budge. "You'll have to kill me first. Spike is under my protection, Angel."

Spike suddenly felt as though he couldn't quite breathe, even though air was unnecessary. In the past, he had been rescued, he had been relied upon, promises had been demanded of him—but no one in all his unlife had ever offered their life for his before. No one had ever put him under their protection and said, in essence, "You may have him over my dead body."

Maybe it was a bluff on Wesley's part; the human knew that Angel wouldn't kill him in cold blood, not after they had witnessed Wesley and Spike fighting the good fight. (Albeit for a nice, fat paycheck.) Even if it was though, Angel had tried to kill Wesley before, and the ex-Watcher had to know that the older vampire could be just as dangerous with a soul as without. For a brief moment, Spike really thought Angel might kill them both—go right through Wesley to reach into his chest and yank out his unbeating heart.

Spike realized that he loved Wesley in that moment. Not the poofy kind of love, but the kind of love you have for a brother in arms. The kind that would lead you to lay down your life for him. Words from his distant childhood echoed in his mind: "No greater love has a man than this—that he lay down his life for his friends."

Spike was a creature of extremes—love and hate, joy and despair. His love and loyalty was of the all-out, no-holds-barred variety, but no one had ever responded to him in kind, not even Drusilla. (Except Dawn. But Dawn was unique in his mind.) To be on the receiving end broke something inside him, made him softer—in a good way. The man might not know it, but with his words, Wesley had bound Spike to himself in a way he hadn't been before.

The moment passed, and some of the tension left Angel's posture. Wesley seemed frozen by the sight of his old friends, now that the danger was over. "What are you doing in L.A., Spike? I thought you were supposed to be in Sunnydale with Buffy."

"Shows how much you talk to her then, doesn't it?" Spike sneered. Relief and wonder were coursing through him in equal parts, and he was feeling mad-dog protective of Wesley. The ex-Watcher wasn't moving, his face cold and distant. "Left Sunnydale ages ago, Peaches. Decided to try my luck in the demon-hunting business here." Spike said nothing about the chip or about Buffy. There was time to spill that news when he was feeling a little more ready for a fight with his grand-sire. "What are you doin' here? 'cause we're not sharin' the plunder."

Angel looked uncomfortable, as though he couldn't decide whether to just leave or do the friendly thing and answer the question. Now that the crisis was over, he had no desire to be near his old friend or Spike. "Cordy had a vision of a nest of Harins under a school. We thought we should take care of it."

Spike caught the guilty look on the Cheerleader's face out of the corner of his eye, and he knew. Oh, she'd seen the Harins alright, but it was Wesley she'd come to save. Wesley and Spike, anyway, and she hadn't told Angel. Spike wondered if the older vampire would have come, had he known whom he was rescuing. Spike didn't think she was so certain, and that was why she'd kept the details of her vision private.

"We should be on our way," Spike said, laying a gentle hand on Wesley's arm, trying to pull him out of the trance he was in. He could smell the waves of fear and guilt rolling off his friend, and Spike tugged a little harder. "We've done our job."

Wesley moved as in a trance, and Spike kept a tight grip on his ax. He might not be actively hunting humans right now, but if any of them or his ponce of a grand-sire tried to stop them, he wouldn't even think about it. Spike met Cordelia's eyes as they passed, and they exchanged an understanding. Cordy had wanted to protect Wesley out of love for him; Spike would continue to protect him for the same reason.

They passed out of the boiler room under a gauntlet of eyes, and Spike managed to get Wesley up to the motorcycles without trouble. The other man had retreated deep within himself, his face deeply lined. "She knew."

Spike swallowed. He heard the despair in Wesley's voice and understood. Wesley knew that Cordelia had known, and that Angel hadn't. He could see why it might upset Wesley that there would be doubt as to whether Angel would come riding in to the rescue if he'd known the whole story. "Yeah." He paused. "I need a drink. I know a place."

~~~~~

Wesley downed his second shot with a determined air that Spike found impressive. It was obvious that the man had experience at this sort of thing, even though Spike had only seen him drink beer in the past, and then only a couple at a time. What was more impressive was that Wesley didn't seem to have any more trouble downing the shot of bourbon than he would water.

Spike took another sip of his beer and watched. Someone had to be sober enough to get them home in one piece.

When Wesley didn't look any closer to spilling his guts than he had before, Spike nodded to the cocktail waitress to bring him another shot. She brought the bottle a few minutes later, and Spike handed her a couple bills with a big enough tip to leave her smiling. He poured another shot, and sat back in the corner booth, the cheap vinyl crackling under him.

It wasn't the best of places—he much preferred Caritas for a good time. But Caritas involved seeing the Host, who knew Wesley and his past all too well. Right now, Spike knew the best kind of bar was somewhere they could drink in secluded anonymity.

Spike had every intention of getting Wesley drunk enough to spill his guts and lance that festering wound. He didn't care what anyone else thought—Peaches was not worth this kind of angst.

"Want to tell me about it?" he asked after the man slammed his third shot.

"No."

Spike poured another couple fingers and waited. "Might help."

"No." This time the vampire stayed silent. He could sense Wesley's resolve weakening. It had been the same way that summer Buffy was gone. Dawn would be upset over some little thing—not the big things, the big things he could always tell about—and he would get her to talk this way. Just little phrases and a lot of waiting, except he plied the girl with ice cream instead of bourbon.

Spike could be the most patient man in the world when it suited him.

"You know about Connor?"

The question was a surprise, but Spike hid it expertly. "Sure. It was the talk of the town when I got here a couple years ago or so."

Wesley nodded. "Then you know he was Angel and Darla's child?"

Spike shrugged. "That's why it was all over town. That why Angel tried to kill you? Somethin' about the kid?"

"I thought Angel was going to kill him," Wesley said. He had no idea why he was telling the vampire this. Even Nika hadn't gotten the whole story out of him, just enough to draw her own conclusions. At the same time, Spike's eyes were so—tender, if that was an adjective you could use for a cold-blooded killer. He knew exactly what Spike was—he just didn't care quite as much as he should. The vampire restrained himself for unfathomable reasons. That was enough.

Haltingly, he explained. "There was a prophecy that said the father would kill the son. I was sure—I tried interpreting it every way I could, tried getting around it somehow. Angel was acting strangely around Connor. There was no one else I could tell—"

"So you took the kid for his own good," Spike supplied when it looked as though Wesley couldn't go on. "Nothin' wrong with that, mate. You were tryin' to do the right thing."

"The methods I used weren't entirely pure, however," Wesley replied with a bitter smile. "And the loophole had already been found, just not by me. Wolfram and Hart had been spiking Angel's blood with Connor's. Properly translated, the prophecy read, 'the father will devour the son.'"

Spike frowned. "For a vamp, 's the same thing, mate. You couldn't have known."

"That's not what Angel believed."

"So you took the kid? Then what?"

"Then I was tricked, my throat was slit, and Angel's worst enemy took the baby to a hell dimension where he was raised to hate his father." Wesley's tone was dry, revealing none of the emotion that Spike could smell on him.

Spike blinked. "That would be a blow. So let me guess? Angel tries to kill you while you're down an' out, the kid somehow comes back, an' now they're playin' happy families while you're still on the outside."

Wesley looked up from his drink to stare across the table at his friend. "How did you know?"

"I lived in Sunnydale for a few years," Spike said, shrugging. "That's commonplace to what we had. Did you know Buffy's sis is a magical Key, and all memories you have of her are manufactured by a bunch of bloody monks?"

Wesley frowned. "No, I mean, I hadn't realized." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I betrayed Angel, managed to deliver his son into the hands of the man who hated him the most."

"Yeah, you're scum," Spike agreed cheerfully. At Wesley's shocked look, he laughed. "Bugger me, Wesley, you got to remember who you're talkin' to here. 'm a Master Vampire. 've killed hundreds, thousands. 've done a lot worse than that to any number of different people, an' Angelus was worse yet. You had the best of motives. We didn't."

Wesley shook his head, ready to refute Spike's words, but Spike interrupted, continuing on. "Bloody hell, man! Screw 'em. Screw all of 'em. Angel's a right bastard at the best of times. I know. I'm related to the wanker."

"Spike, you don't understand," Wesley said. "They were—"

"Your family?" Spike asked softly. When the man looked up to meet his eyes, Spike continued. "You think I don't know what it means to lose somethin' like that, yeah? Don't know what I'm talkin' about? Summer after the Slayer died, I stuck around to take care of her kid sis because I made a promise. And I liked Dawn. But that's a different story. I fought demons all summer with a bunch of people who didn't much like me, nor I them. But by the end of those months, I thought we were a team at least, some kind of demon-fightin' unit.

"I babysat Dawn when no one else would. I watched their backs and made sure they didn't get killed. I did all of that, an' then I watched them turn their backs on me when Buffy came back. Suddenly I wasn't good enough anymore. I thought that summer meant somethin', meant they knew I'd changed anyway. They treated me like garbage, an' then the Slayer used me worse than any of them."

Spike took a deep breath, realizing that he'd revealed more than he cared to. "I understand. 've gone from bein' at least a little on the inside, to bein' used whenever it suited their fancy. I might be an evil, undead thing, but that doesn't mean I didn't know what they were doin'."

Wesley swallowed hard. He'd never considered that Spike might actually know how he felt because the vampire had been there in a way. Not that their situations were the same, but he knew. They both knew.

"Thing with bein' black sheep, mate," Spike said with a smile. "You've got to find other black sheep to run with. White ones always want to kick you out."

Wesley gave a bitter little chuckle. "I thought that's what we all were."

"Naw," Spike replied. "Or perhaps they are. But they're white hats who haven't realized they're gray yet, mate. They're afraid of us, because they haven't realized they're just like us yet, yeah? 'f they don't throw stones, they've got to realize they're livin' in a glass house too, an' it could all come crashin' down on 'em."

Wesley smiled wryly, the alcohol and the companionship making him feel much more mellow than he had in a while now. "And Nika? What is she in our world, Spike?"

"Nika?" Spike smiled. "Nika's a saint with true compassion for us sorry bastards. She's the one who's justified to throw stones and doesn't because she sees the heart of a man. Or a vampire. She's bloody salvation."

Wesley hadn't thought about it quite that way before, but he wasn't sure he could disagree. Not that he harbored any illusions that Nika was perfect, but she seemed the sort to always do the right thing because her heart was so tender. She had a sort of innocence that drew one in. Finding her and Spike that night had been salvation of a sort for him. "Quite poetic."

Spike looked discomfited. "Don't think so. Just plain truth. I don't do poetry. Don't even read it."

"Which is why Danika gave you a collection of Romantic poetry for Christmas," Wesley replied knowingly.

The vampire looked up and grinned abruptly, looking boyish. "Yeah. That's right. Use it for a coaster." Spike grew serious. "You know that you're one of the reasons I'm not eating two-legged Happy Meals, right? That's got to count for something."

Wesley tried to imagine life without Spike, without Nika. Tried and couldn't at this point. Even if Angel offered him absolution, Wesley wondered if he would take it if it meant leaving Spike and Nika behind. Spike might have the right attitude at this point. Screw them, indeed. "I think it might count for a lot," he replied, trying to stand and finding himself unsteady on his feet.

Spike was there in a moment to offer a supporting arm. "Let's pour you into a cab, Wesley. Think you might be able to sleep tonight."

~~~~~

Spike let himself in and found Nika reading on the couch. "Hey there."

"Hey, luv. What are you still doing up?" he asked, coming to sit down next to her.

She shrugged. "I was having trouble sleeping so I thought I might read for a while. Did you have any success tonight?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, we killed the demons, but not before Angel and his crew showed up. Turns out one of his sidekicks had a vision with Wesley an' me in it, an' they told him about the demons an' not us. In short, Angel didn't know who he was rescuin'."

"Did you need rescuing?" Nika asked, concerned. "Were either of you hurt?"

"M' leg got chewed on a little, but 's not bad. Wesley was more shaken up by Angel than the demons." He watched as Nika got a fond smile on her face. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was developing a crush on the ex-Watcher. All he had to say was it was about time. They were perfect for one another, if only they could see it.

"Sounds like Wesley," Nika commented. "Was he okay?"

"Got him drunk after so we could talk about it," Spike replied. "He'll be alright."

Nika rolled her eyes. "I'll never understand why it takes so much liquor to loosen your tongues."

"We're British and reserved," Spike said cheekily. "Takes a lot of anythin' to loosen our tongues."

She shook her head, ostensibly exasperated with him, but there was a smile hovering on the corners of her mouth. "We should invite Wesley over more."

"He's already here all the time," Spike pointed out.

Nika shrugged. "He's here because he needs to be, not because he thinks we want him to be. It's a completely different thing."

Spike thought about that and finally nodded. Want and need were two entirely different things. "Invite away."

Nika looked thoughtful. "It'll give me an excuse to feed him," she mused. "He's entirely too thin." She gave Spike a measuring look. "Of course, so were you when you started living here."

"Regular sleep and some TLC will do a lot for a bloke," Spike agreed. He reached out and tenderly brushed a piece of hair back from her face. "Gives us both an excuse to look after you too."

"It's much appreciated," Nika said with a smile. She leaned up against him, allowing him to pluck the book of poetry from her fingers. They shared similar tastes, and Spike allowed himself to revel in the familiar words as he spoke them aloud, from memory, listening to the sound of Nika's slow breathing.

He was home.