Sometimes it works. You know, those things that you try so hard to do, the ones that really matter, but that you manage to screw up. Well, there are places that exist only because one time you got it right. In this life, Spike got it right.

It was split-second timing. One minute the knife was sliding in, cutting flesh, making him bleed, and the next he was being shoved out into thin air. In this particular reality however, he managed to twist and grab onto the first thing he could lay his hand on, which happened to be Doc’s ankle. Strong hands took firm purchase on the demon’s black-clad leg, and they fell together, falling end over end to the hard ground. He had one thought before he lost consciousness. And it was of Dawn.

They came down from the tower together, hand in hand. Their eyes went to his body, laying there amidst the rubble. The others, the Scoobies and Giles, stood looking at his still form, and as the first rays of the sun lit the sky, there was the thought that it might be easier to just let it go. To let the sun take him. He would have died a hero, and it would be over. The thought crossed Buffy’s mind as well, but Dawn tugged at her hand impatiently. “Buffy, we have to get him out of here. It’s almost light out.”

Buffy looked at her sister, and then at the fallen vampire. Perhaps it would be easier just to let the sun come up, but he lay there because she had asked him to make a promise. If not for him, Dawn would be dead. Perhaps she would be dead. He had saved them, and if there was one thing that Buffy understood it was duty. There was an inherent fairness in keeping him alive, so that’s what she would do. “Giles,” she said quietly. “Get Dawn home. I’ll need to take Spike through the sewers.”

There were no arguments, though the thought of letting him dust hung in the air, unsaid. Buffy simply picked him up, quickly carrying him to the nearest sewer entrance, knowing that Willow would want to spend time with Tara and Xander would be busy taking care of Anya. For now, Dawn would be safe with the Watcher, and Buffy would have plenty of time to spend with her as soon as she got back to the house. Now that the world wasn’t ending, they would have all the time they needed.

~~~~~

He woke slowly, the sweet, coppery smell of blood filtering through his nostrils. It wasn’t the blood that brought him completely out of the darkness however. “Dawn.”

“She’s safe. You saved her.” Buffy’s voice was actually gentle, and he relaxed as he opened his eyes.

“Doc?” he asked, not even bothering to take the blood. He’d made a promise and he would keep it.

“Gone.” Giles had gotten Dawn back to the house shortly before she’d arrived with Spike. She’d had to run to prevent the sun from singeing him too badly, and had arrived breathless, partly from the exertion, partly because she’d remembered that they hadn’t taken care of Doc’s body. Giles had looked rather grim, but he’d left to take care of it, and she assumed he had. There’d been no word to the contrary.

“Harris and I—” he began, but she cut him off. They’d had experience with the Master; enough to know how to dispose of a hard-to-kill demon.

“Giles was going to burn the body and sow the ashes with salt. It’s done, Spike. You need to eat.” She smiled, encouraging him, and he took the proferred straw and sucked greedily. When he’d finished, she reached out to touch the gash that he’d gotten across one cheek. “How’s your leg?” she asked softly.

Spike tensed, and the little niggling feeling in the back of his brain erupted into full-blown panic. He’d asked about Dawn and Doc because he knew there was something wrong, something he was forgetting, and now he realized what it was. His face must have shown his surprise, because Buffy gave him a look that was laden with sympathy. “I think your leg must have been broken when you fell. It was purplely and swollen. Does it still hurt?”

He didn’t lie. “No, it’s alright. You know us vampires, luv, we heal fast.”

“Good.” She took the mug and got up to leave. “Look, it’s still mid-afternoon. Why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll see how you feel tonight before I kick you out.” But the way she said it took all the sting out of her words, and he knew she didn’t mean it that way. If she had, he wouldn’t be in her house in the first place.

When the door closed behind her, Spike wasted no time, throwing off the covers and looking down at his legs. Buffy’d managed to find a pair of sweat pants to fit him somewhere, and he was grateful that he was decently clothed at least. Still, looking down at his motionless legs gave him a sinking feeling in his gut that he couldn’t chase away. He focused on his toes, but they stayed stubbornly still, not even a twitch.

Spike ignored the lump that threatened to form in his throat; the Big Bad didn’t cry. He did need to figure out what he was going to do, however. The last time he’d been stuck in a chair Dru had taken care of him. Well, sort of, anyway, but this time there was no way he could depend on the kindness of Buffy or the Scoobies. It would be worse than being around his Sire and Angelus. Somehow, he needed to convince Buffy to get him back to his crypt, without letting her know what was wrong if at all possible. Either way, if she’d get him there, he could finish it off. He should be able to drag himself out to meet the sunrise at least. He had that much strength left. First, he’d get himself dressed and from there it should be simple to get her to get him home. Knowing Buffy, she’d be all too ready to get rid of him anyway.

~~~~~

“So how’s the undead fiend?” Xander asked, as Buffy came down the stairs and into the kitchen. Buffy quickly rinsed the mug out in the sink and stuck it in the dishwasher.

“Xander!” Buffy scolded lightly. “Spike saved Dawn’s life.”

The man had the grace to at least appear repentant. “Sorry. How is he?”

Buffy shook her head. “He’s still pretty badly beaten up, but it looks like he’ll be staying around for a while.” She watched her friend’s face, but he bit back the comment he’d been about to share. Despite the robot, despite getting chained up in Spike’s crypt, in spite of all the bad blood that lay between the two of them, she felt something for the blonde vampire. Probably not what he wanted, but she did feel sorry for him.

He’d been badly wounded by his fall from the tower; his leg had been broken, almost crushed, and he’d been bruised and lacerated from head to toe. And it hadn’t been that long since his encounter with Glory had left him completely broken and bloody. She gave a soft sigh, beginning to think she might have underestimated him.

“Buffy?” Dawn came into the kitchen, still in her pajamas. “How is he?”

Buffy smiled at her sister reassuringly. “He’ll be fine, Dawnie. He’ll probably be up and around in no time at all.” As if to immediately prove her wrong, there was a loud thump from overhead, which could only be Spike. She moved towards the stairs instantly, Xander and Dawn following closely at her heels, but Buffy stopped them with an outstretched hand. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here.”

They stayed, her tone brooking no argument, and she raced up the stairs two at a time. When she opened the door to her mother’s old room, Spike lay sprawled out on the floor, an indecipherable expression on his face. In an instant, Buffy knew exactly what was wrong with him, and she quickly shut the door behind her lest someone decide to follow after all and see what she had.

Buffy walked over to Spike’s form, politely ignoring the angry tears that were threatening to roll down his cheeks. It would be hard, she knew, for him to be put into this position again. She quickly lifted him up, not quite meeting his eyes. This would be the second time she’d be responsible for putting him in a chair. And this time around she felt guilty about it.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He glared at her. “Don’t,” he replied sharply.

“Spike—”

“I don’t want or need your pity, Slayer,” he continued. “In fact, just get me back to my crypt and I’ll take care of the rest.”

It took a few seconds for his words and their meaning to register. She would take him back to his crypt and he would dust himself. Buffy was surprised at how her stomach twisted in protest. “I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, Spike.”

His blue eyes blazed. “And I’m not going to take your soddin’ charity just so you can laugh at the helpless vampire,” he snapped. “I told you, get me back to my place and you won’t have to worry about me again. Isn’t that bloody well what you want?”

Buffy looked for some reason to keep him here, in the land of the living and unliving. Logically, of course, there wasn’t one. If he was willing to kill himself, she should be jumping for joy. In the end, she gave him the only reason that made sense to her. “Dawn would be devastated if something happened to you,” she pointed out.

“Something already has happened to me,” he replied, using brutal logic. “I’m no good to you, Slayer, a burden. She’ll get over it.”

Buffy wasn’t so sure. She was almost as uncertain about her ability to get over it. Spike wasn’t a friend, but he was a comrade, and she hated to lose him. “Dawn just lost mom, Spike,” Buffy said quietly. “Losing you would really hurt her. Don’t ask me why, but she really cares about you.” She paused as a thought came to her. “Ooh, plus you promised you’d take care of her.”

Spike’s face twisted with some unknown emotion. “Kept my promise, didn’t I?” he pleaded. “Just let me go, please, Buffy. I’m used up; you won’t get anything more out of me.”

“Spike, I can’t. Dawn would blame herself, you know she would.”

He was almost crying again now, hating himself for his weakness and her refusal to release him. “And what happens when you get tired of me a week or two from now, and you decide you don’t want to do this? Will you just dump me then?”

Buffy understood what he was asking. It would be better for her to let him dust himself now than to give him hope and kill him later. If she agreed to help him, she was in it for the long haul. “How long were you in the chair the last time?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Maybe three, four months. Somewhere in there.” He looked at her. “Don’t do this, Buffy.”

She studied his face, his high cheekbones, the right one with a gash running across it. His blue eyes, still shadowed with bruises, both old and new. His chest and abdomen were mottled with contusions from his encounter with the Hellgod. The fact that he was quite attractive suddenly flitted through her brain, and she thought he looked like a battered angel. A battered, wicked angel.

“I swear I’m going to get you back on your feet,” she replied, promising with every ounce of her being. After all, she owed him big time.

He looked away from her, not at all happy with what she had to say. “Why?”

Buffy looked at him incredulously. “Because you just saved my little sister’s life. Because you probably saved the world.” He kept his eyes trained on the wall, and she sighed. “Just promise me you won’t try to kill yourself, Spike. I really don’t want to have to explain to my sister that somebody else she loves just died.”

“Promise,” he mumbled, still not looking at her.

“You should probably get cleaned up,” she said quietly. “If I can get you into the bathroom, do you think you can handle the rest?” He nodded shortly, and she frowned when she realized he wasn’t going to say any more. “Come on then.”

Spike shut his eyes against the humiliation. “Right.”

Buffy could feel his helpless rage emanating off of him, and she knew she wouldn’t be much happier if she were in the same position. What was more, she had friends who would be with her every step of the way. Spike had a bunch of people who didn’t really like him, and whom he had no reason to trust.

It would have been easier just to throw him over her shoulder and carry him to the bathroom, but she didn’t. Instead, she put one of his arms around her shoulders, and one of her arms around his waist, and then half dragged, half carried him.

Sitting him down on the toilet seat, she started the bath water. “Can you manage the rest?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She pulled out a towel for him and handed it over, then left and headed downstairs, hoping she wouldn’t have to come back to find him in a very compromising situation. Both Xander and Dawn looked at her expectantly as she came back into the kitchen. “Tell us Spike’s done us all a favor and spontaneously combusted,” Xander said, only half-kidding.

“Xander, stop,” Buffy said quietly, her face completely serious. Too serious for someone who’d just defeated a Hellgod, really.

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” Dawn asked.

She looked away, wondering what she was going to tell them. She hadn’t slept in what felt like forever, hadn’t been able to in spite of her exhaustion. And she was tired. Tired of being the Slayer, tired of being a mom, tired of being a friend. She ached to just take a vacation, just get away from everything, and knew that it wasn’t going to happen. At least, not in this lifetime. “Spike was hurt worse than we expected.” She sighed, and then quipped, “It looks like I put him in a chair. Again.”

~~~~

There were almost completely expected reactions from both of them. Dawn was upset, and immediately started thinking that it was entirely her fault. Xander, on the other hand, bit back every snide comment he wanted to make, mostly because of the teen. He might not always be the most sensitive of men, but he could keep his mouth shut. Buffy knew she’d hear it later though.

Spike was out of the tub and had dressed by the time she’d comforted Dawn. She knocked softly and entered when he invited her. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“I managed.”

His hair was damp and curly and his face tightly drawn. “You want to get some more rest? Do you need anything?”

“’M fine, Slayer.”

Buffy swallowed. “Would you mind talking to Dawn?” she asked softly. “She pretty much feels like this is her fault.”

“Bollocks,” he replied, rudely. “Did it because I wanted to.”

“I know,” she replied, and he finally looked her in the eye. Something he saw there made him straighten.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Thanks, Spike.” Buffy came to him, and prepared to help him move. She seemed about to say something, and then changed her mind. “Dawn will stay with you. I’m going to go to your crypt, pick up some of your stuff. Is there anything you want?”

He hesitated. “There’s some blood in the fridge, my clothes. There’s a box, in the sarcophagus. That’s about it. Don’t have much.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she promised.

~~~~~

Xander immediately started giving Buffy an earful as soon as they were on their way to his crypt. “Come on, Buf. Why not just leave him at his crypt? It’s not that big of a deal.”

Buffy shook her head. “First of all, because he pretty much promised he was going to make himself all dusty if I took him back there. And secondly, because there are a lot of things that are out to get him. If any of them found out he was helpless, he’d be dead in a minute. Or worse.”

Her friend hesitated. “All I’m saying is that your place might not be the best vampire hospital, especially for Spike. You know how weird he is about you.”

Buffy shook her head. “Spike is harmless, even more now than he was before.” Looking into Xander’s eyes, she tried to make him understand. “It’s more than that, Xan. I owe him. I asked him to protect Dawn and he did. That’s why he’s hurt. And I promised I’d make sure he got on his feet again. I’m not going back on my word.”

He sighed. “I just hope you aren’t making a huge mistake, Buf.”

“Remember Glory?” she asked quietly. “He could have died trying to protect my sister. And he could have died last night. He didn’t have to do any of that. This is what’s fair, Xander. There isn’t a lot of fairness in this world. I’m just trying to make sure there’s a little more.”

~~~~

Spike was prepared for Dawn’s knock when it came. He still wasn’t happy with Buffy for not just taking him back to his crypt and letting him dust himself. But he’d promised her. And her description of Dawn’s reaction made him think that there was at least one person who would care if he were gone. Buffy’s response was a bit more puzzling, but he’d always known she had an inherent sense of fair play. It was one of the reasons he’d been able to trust her enough to go to her during the whole Angelus affair. He couldn’t let himself hope for any more. “Come in, Niblet.”

Dawn poked her head around the door cautiously. “Buffy said I should come keep you company.”

“Always glad to see you, Bit,” he replied as gently as he knew how. So much of the time, he wasn’t sure what to do with the girl. She was so fragile to him, and yet so precious. He wasn’t sure when he had started caring about Dawn for herself and not for a way to get to Buffy, but then again, he’d liked Joyce too. Maybe he liked the teen because she seemed to like him. She was the only one besides Joyce to think of him as something other than a monster.

Dawn came up to the bed slowly. “Spike, I’m really, really sorry. I never wanted—”

“Hey, now. This is the Big Bad you’re talkin’ about. I’ll be on my feet in no time.” When she didn’t look convinced, he waved her nearer, and he could see she was about to cry. Spike had no clue what he was supposed to do with a crying Dawn. If he’d had a choice, he’d have bolted, but that was out of the question now. “Come ‘ere.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, and suddenly was in his arms. Now Spike was really uncomfortable. He hadn’t liked a woman’s tears back when he was human. As a centuries old vampire, he had even less understanding of what to do. He patted her awkwardly on the back and whispered over and over, “It’s okay. It’ll be fine.”

Buffy was beginning to seriously regret saving Spike’s hide. She knew he was upset, she knew he was having trouble dealing, but he was a pain in the ass to have around all the time, and she was about two seconds from staking him.

It wasn’t an ideal set-up to begin with. It was a lot safer for him to sleep in her mom’s old room, where there wasn’t any direct sunlight during the day, but that meant carting him up and down the stairs, which he hated. They’d found him a wheelchair, but Buffy’s house wasn’t really a great place for maneuverability, and so he had a hard time getting around when he was downstairs as well. Buffy was trying to keep all of that in mind as she dealt with him.

But he was not only cranky, he was also demanding, rude, snarky, and downright pissy. He continually insulted her and her friends, just to get under their skin. And at no point did he show any kind of gratitude whatsoever. About the only person that was safe from his acidic tongue was Dawn, with whom he was uncharacteristically gentle.

Well, Dawn and Tara. The only time he’d tried to snipe at her, she’d just given him this look. Buffy had watched the exchange, and to her surprise, Spike had immediately dropped his eyes and offered a muttered apology. She was still trying to figure out how the other woman had managed that, because she had no clue how to get him to shut up. The others were lucky enough to be able to avoid him, but Buffy didn’t have that luxury since he was in her house. Still, she made Dawn deal with him as much as possible.

By the third week, she was ready to see the last of him, and absolutely couldn’t imagine keeping him around until he was back on his feet. Plus, she’d started to worry about bills, and college in the fall, and taking care of Dawn, and all the other little mundane things that were beginning to make up her life. Taking care of a crippled vampire was not on her list of good times.

“Back from patrol early, Slayer?” he asked snidely as she let herself in. “Not much creeping about tonight?”

“Spike, just shut up. I’m not in the mood,” Buffy said tiredly. What she wanted was a hot shower and then bed. She looked over to see Spike in his chair and Dawn laying on the couch, idly flipping the channels.

“Losing your touch, pet?”

“Don’t,” she warned him. “Really not in the mood for your mind games tonight.”

“Then why don’t you come over here and make me,” he invited, tauntingly.

Buffy ignored him and turned to walk up the stairs. “You’re losing it, Slayer,” he called out after her. “The Hellgod took everything you had, and you don’t have anything left. One of these days, you’re goin’ to find yourself wishin’ it’d been you on top of that bloody tower.”

It was way too close to home. How Spike had guessed, how he’d known what she thought of in the dead of night, was beyond her. The dreams she’d had of jumping to save the world, of dying, of being finished, were something she’d told no one about, and the fact that he’d somehow known was the last straw. “That’s it, Spike,” she hissed turning to face him. “I think it might be time for me to put you out of your undead misery.”

Buffy marched across the living room and hauled him out of his chair and up against the wall. She could see the sneer on his face, and her world narrowed to him and the stake she was reaching for. “Buffy!” Dawn’s alarmed voice barely penetrated her concentration.

“Go upstairs, Dawnie,” Buffy ordered.

“But—”

“Now,” she said, in a tone that brooked no opposition. If she was going to stake him, she really didn’t want her sister watching.

Dawn hesitated and then whirled out of the room. “If you kill him, I’m never going to speak to you again.”

Not even that dire threat was enough to make Buffy hesitate. What stopped her was the look in his eyes, the look that didn’t match the nasty snarl on his face. It was hope. For a second, she stood there, frozen, realizing that Spike had spent the last couple weeks trying to get someone angry enough to kill him. He’d promised not to hurt himself, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to get someone else to kill him. “I can’t believe you,” Buffy said, dropping him back into his chair and releasing him.

“What? You changed your mind, Slayer?” There was a touch of disappointment in his tone, which confirmed her suspicions.

She shook her head. “You were trying to get me to stake you.”

His face grew serious and hardened. “Then why don’t you do it? You know you want to.”

Buffy might have said more, but Dawn came back into the living room, a deeply betrayed look on her face. “You want her to stake you?”

“Bit, stay out of this,” he said softly.

She stomped her foot. “You were going to leave me.”

He had the grace to look guilty. “Niblet, you don’t need me.”

“You’re my friend,” she protested angrily.

“I’m the guy your sister asked to be your bodyguard!” he snarled. “That’s it.”

Dawn’s lower lip started to tremble. Buffy was watching the scene with interest. She knew her sister was upset, but she could smell a truly masterful guilt trip from about a mile off. This was going to be one of those. “So you’re not my friend?”

Spike looked startled. He had been fairly certain that he didn’t have any friends; the Scoobies had made that clear not too long ago. No one, not even Dawn had stood up for him then. And yet apparently the girl no longer felt that way. “I don’t have friends, Bit. Evil vampire, here.”

“So you’re saying I can’t choose my own friends.” Buffy was truly impressed. Dawn had gone from weepy to pissed in about two seconds, and Spike was looking completely bewildered. He might be a master manipulator himself, but he had nothing on a teenage girl.

“No, I never said that,” he denied, and then realized the trap he’d thrown himself into. “Are we friends?” he asked. There was a look of vulnerability on his face, and both girls realized that he wanted it.

“Only if you don’t get yourself staked,” Dawn said. “Do you really hate me that much?”

His eyes widened. “’Course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because I should have been the one who died,” she said. “If I had died, then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Bite your tongue, girl,” Spike replied, almost harshly. “Even if I’d known what was goin’ to happen, I wouldn’t change one thing. Don’t even let me catch you thinkin’ that, Bit.”

“Then you promise not to get yourself killed?” she asked, coming over to him, and laying her hand on his arm.

He sighed deeply. “Yeah, I promise.”

“And you’ll be nice?”

Both eyebrows went up. “Evil here, remember? Nice isn’t in my vocabulary.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Fine. Less of a pain, then.”

His lips twisted into something resembling a smile. “Do my best.”

“Good.” Dawn leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, turning before she could see the poleaxed look on his face. “I think I’m going to bed,” she announced. “’Night.”

Buffy responded in kind, and looked over at Spike, who still looked stunned by the gesture of affection. “Do you want to go outside?” she asked softly.

He looked over at her, shook his head. “No. Go to bed, Slayer. You look knackered.”

Buffy hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Will you be okay—”

“Go on, Buffy,” he said, and his voice was tired, seemingly weighed down by every one of his years. “Promised the Bit I wouldn’t off myself, didn’t I?”

Not knowing what else to say, she nodded, and headed up to bed. “Good night, Spike,” she said softly, but there was only silence behind her.

~~~~~

Spike sat on the back porch, staring out into the darkness. Two weeks of hard work had been completely wasted; he could tell by the look on Buffy’s face when she had come into his room this evening. There was no way he would get her to stake him now, and he found himself between a rock and a hard place. Not only had he promised Buffy that he wouldn’t kill himself, he’d promised the Bit that he wouldn’t get anyone else to do the job. It looked like he was here for the duration.

There was a sound behind him, and he didn’t even turn to see who it was. Her scent had been burned on his memory. “How was patrol?”

“Quiet,” she replied. “It was kind of nice, actually.” Their silent truce hung in the air between them, much as it had after the affair with Glory and the ‘bot. There was everything and nothing to say. “I brought you something.”

He said nothing, waiting until she came up beside him, handed him a small, rectangular package. His lips curled up in a pleased smile. “Ta,” he murmured, shaking a cigarette out of the pack, and taking the proferred lighter from Buffy. He drew in a lungful of smoke and exhaled. Oh, how he’d missed this.

She took a seat on the stairs not far from him. “I got to thinking, you know. And I’d heard one of the problems with quitting cold turkey is the irritability. So, I figured since you’ve been bad-moody guy lately, that might help.”

It was a peace offering, and a gift. “Yeah, well, sorry ‘bout that. Had to bloody well try though, didn’t I?”

She looked over at him and realized that he probably would have had an easier time of it if she had been cruel. If she’d been nasty to him, he would have stubbornly insisted on surviving because it would have been done to spite her. He was just that persistent. By treating him nicely, she had removed the goad that had sustained him the last time. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Don’t,” he replied, drawing in more smoke. “Like I told you, like I told Niblet, I did it because I wanted to. I’d do it again if it meant neither of you got hurt.”

She believed him. Unbelievably, she knew he was telling the truth, if only because he sucked at lying. “I think you would.”

“I’ll be fine, Slayer. Did this before, never wanted to do it again, but it’s about my luck.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Never could do much right.”

“You did this right, Spike,” Buffy replied, offering him comfort without really knowing why. Realizing that he wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t trying to get himself killed. “I’m going in. You going to be okay out here?”

He nodded. “I’ll lock up in a bit. Think I’ll just smoke another fag.”

She rolled her eyes, not even trying to understand his slang, and then gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as she went inside. Spike went back to his contemplation of the darkness, the red-orange glow of his cigarette the only point of light.

~~~~~

Xander had no clue what he was doing. He hated Spike, he had no reason and no desire to help him at all. Which meant he had no reason for lying to his friends about being sick to get out of going to the Bronze. Instead, he was at Buffy’s house, planning on putting an evil vampire back on his feet. He must have been hit on the head one too many times.

Shifting the bundle in his arms, he let himself into the house and called out cautiously, “Hello?” When he got no response, he started for the back porch. Buffy had said that Spike spent most of his time out there, brooding. The Slayer had admitted to being concerned for him, just because he’d seemed uncharacteristically depressed for the last few weeks.

Sure enough, when Xander opened the back door, Spike was sitting in his chair, smoking and staring out into space. “If you’re lookin’ for the Slayer, she already left,” the bleached vampire said without even turning around.

Xander hesitated. Last chance to back out. “I was looking for you.”

That got his attention. Spike spun his chair to face the other man. “What for?”

“I have something for you.” He took his bundle and dumped it on the porch with a clatter.

Spike’s eyes widened as he took in the pair of crutches and leg braces. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said flatly.

“Look,” Xander said, in his most persuasive voice. “You’ve got the strength and the balance to drag around your own dead weight. I figured it was worth a shot.”

“What? So you can laugh at me when I fall on my face?” he asked cynically. “Forget it.”

“If I wanted to laugh at you, I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of getting this stuff.” At Spike’s still sceptical look, Xander took a leap of faith and explained. “I had this great uncle, right?”

“And I care because?” Spike interrupted.

He continued without acknowledging the vampire’s comment. “He got polio way back when, and he pretty much lost all use of his legs. But, he managed to drag himself around with a pair of crutches because he didn’t want to be stuck in a chair. I figured if some old guy with arthritis can do it, a vampire could.”

The look on Spike’s face changed from one of distrust to one of hesitant hope. “Why are you doin’ this, Harris? You hate me.”

“I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for Buffy,” he replied. “I figure it’s all good if she doesn’t have to cart your sorry ass around all the time.”

Spike looked from the other man to the pile of gear on the porch. He still wasn’t so sure about all of this, but he’d never been one to resist a challenge. “All right,” he conceded. “But if you start laughing the first time I fall on my face, I’ll bite you.”

“I’m shaking,” Xander replied sarcastically, but they were on even ground now. Threats had been made and disregarded; they could now get back to the business at hand.

He didn’t offer to help Spike as he struggled to get the braces on his legs. They were the type that people with knee surgery typically used afterward. The joints could be adjusted for tension, and they weren’t the heavy, metal braces his great uncle had used. Xander had managed to get a couple from the guys at work, more than a few of whom had had knee surgeries. He’d explained he’d had a friend who’d had both knees operated on and had a long recovery ahead. They’d been more than happy to help. The crutches he’d gone out and bought; he just had to hope that his investment wouldn’t be wasted.

Once Spike had gotten the braces on, he double-checked the brake on the chair, and then he grabbed the crutches and got himself on his feet in one awkward motion. He managed to swing himself across the small expanse of porch a couple times before he turned towards the stairs. They might have looked like Mt. Everest, but he got himself down, and then began practicing in the yard, his face a picture of concentration.

He fell twice. The first time one of the crutches got caught in a hole, and Xander was there almost immediately, helping him to his feet again, silently. Spike nodded to him, a “thank you” of sorts, and kept going. The second time he fell, he simply lost his balance. And when he landed with a thump, Xander was there, offering him a hand up again. This time, Spike waived off his assistance, struggling with the crutches awkwardly, trying not to think about the fact that he had an audience. He knew he’d better figure out whether or not he could get up on his own, otherwise he could be stuck on the floor for a long time if he ever fell when no one was home. Been there, done that, thank you very much.

After a few minutes of feeling like a fish out of water, Spike managed to get himself upright again, and swung over to where Xander was sitting on the porch steps. Spike watched him, thankful that the whelp was at least pretending not to have seen any of that. He hesitated, unsure of himself, and unsure of the motivations of the other man. It seemed that it was kindness that was his undoing. Swallowing, he managed a gruff, “Thanks, mate.”

Xander stared at him, the words were the friendliest he’d ever received from the vampire, excepting the small conversation they’d had while on the run from Glory. “Yeah, well, don’t mention it.”

“Spike?” The voice was Buffy’s, and came from inside the house. “You out here?” She stepped out onto the porch, surprised to see Xander standing there. “Xander? I thought you were sick.” Her eyes traveled from her friend to Spike, who stood, leaning on his crutches. Her mouth fell open.

“Hey, Buffy,” Spike said softly. “Guess old dogs can learn new tricks after all.”

She smiled at him. “Good. Now I won’t have to worry about hauling you up and down the stairs all the time.” Her tone was light, however, and he took no offense. She looked at Xander then and mouthed a silent, “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I should get going. I’ll see you, Buf. Spike.” The complete lack of animosity in his tone as he spoke the name suggested a new level of their relationship.

They watched him go silently, and then Spike wearily climbed the stairs to the porch. Buffy wordlessly held the door open for him and then followed him inside. “How are you?”

He looked at her with a touch of his old humor. “What? Now that I’m back on my feet again? Nice to be able to move about a bit easier. Not the same though.”

“I know,” she replied. “Look, Spike, I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

He looked away from her. “Statin’ the obvious here, pet.”

“How close were you to staking yourself? Regardless of the promise.”

Spike’s blue eyes dropped to the countertop, and he murmured softly, “Maybe a week, maybe more.”

“Does this help?” she asked.

“Yeah, a bit.” He looked down at his fingernails, bitten to the quick. “Pretty pathetic, huh? Chipped vamp that can’t even walk. About as pointless as it gets.”

Buffy felt a sudden surge of sympathy. What did he have now? What was he now? She couldn’t think of him as evil exactly, not after he’d been tortured by Glory and held his tongue. Not after he’d taken that flying leap from the tower for Dawn. Not after he sat there, completely broken. “If it makes you feel any better, I probably wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long, if I were you.”

Spike looked up and met her eyes with a kind of knowing that made her uncomfortable in the extreme. “No, you wouldn’t, luv. You’ve got too much holding you here.”

“Not enough.” Buffy froze, suddenly aware that she’d said it out loud. She stared at him, waiting for him to say something unflattering.

Instead, he just smiled, gently, understandingly. “It’s enough if you want it to be, Slayer. Your decision.”

His words were too close to home, just as they’d been the other night when she had almost staked him. How could he know of her weariness, of her need for a long vacation from everything life seemed to be determined to throw at her? “Would you like some cocoa?” she asked, changing the subject. “I think I know how to make it like mom did, and I have some of those little marshmallows.”

Spike knew exactly what it was that held him here. The Slayer and the love of a child. For now it would be enough.

Giles leaned in hard against the punching bag as Buffy pounded on it. The rhythm of fists on canvas was soothing in its own way, speaking of thousands of afternoons spent together, training. But it was because of those thousands of afternoons that he knew his Slayer so well, and he knew there was something going on that she wasn’t telling him.

It had to do with the weariness in her eyes, the slope of her shoulders. There was something weighing on her, and he didn’t know what it might be. He had the sense that even the relative quietude of the summer had not given her the respite she needed, and while she was still fighting the good fight, there was a complacency about her attitude, a sense of futility, that had never been there before. Spike could have told him what that meant, though Giles had no thoughts of asking him, but instinctively, it frightened both the Watcher and the father in him.

“How are you, Buffy?” Giles asked once she decided to take a breather.

“Fine,” she replied offhandedly, slurping from a water bottle. She gave him an odd look. “Why?”

He hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject, how to tell her of his fears without scaring her off. “You seem tired lately.”

It was the bitterness in her laugh that frightened him. The sound of it made him remember painfully the child she had been, comparing her to the woman she was now. It wasn’t always a favorable comparison. “Well, you know, what with the bills and the going back to school, and Dawn, there isn’t a lot of time to sleep.”

“Are things so bad then?” he asked carefully. He was trying to keep a careful balance of being her Watcher, and yet giving her the freedom to become an adult. It was the task of every father to learn how to let his children go, but it was nothing that was taught to Watchers. Their charges usually died before they had the chance.

Buffy gave him a rueful smile. “The bills keep coming in and won’t let up. I’ve got a work-study job lined up for when the semester starts, but I have no idea if that’s going to pay the bills or not. Dawn—” She paused. “Dawn and I were getting along really well for a while, but she’s angry, Giles. She won’t listen to me, and she keeps pushing me as far as she can. I have no clue how to handle her.”

“Perhaps things will be better once school starts,” Giles suggested, his heart aching for the girl in front of him.

“And that adds just one more thing to my list of things to do,” she muttered. “How do I do it, Giles? How am I supposed to take care of Dawn and work and pass my tests, all while I’m trying to save the world?”

Giles wasn’t sure what to tell her, other than she would figure it out, given time. And that wasn’t what she wanted or needed to hear. He asked about the only thing she hadn’t talked about yet. Frankly, he was concerned that with all the other things going on in her life, the last thing she needed to worry about was a vampire. “And Spike?”

She smiled again, a real one this time. “Spike’s fine.” She stopped and then amended. “Well, maybe not ‘fine,’ but he’s dealing.”

Her Watcher frowned. “I meant, is his presence too much for you, Buffy?”

Buffy actually looked surprised at that. “No. Actually, he’s one of the few things that’s completely worry-free,” she admitted. “It’s not that I don’t think about him, but give him a pack of smokes every so often and make sure there’s enough blood in the fridge, and he’s okay. He’s one of the few things in my life right now that isn’t life and death, you know?”

Giles did know, and he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea. “Perhaps it’s time to move him back into his crypt,” he suggested gently.

“So any nasty that wants to can dust him? No thanks,” she replied. “Besides, Dawn actually likes having him around, and he’s really not too bad most of the time.”

Far from convinced, Giles decided to let it go. He didn’t trust the vampire, but Giles was willing to admit that he was harmless, and Buffy had actually smiled when she’d talked about him. Not that he was completely happy about that either, but it had been so long since he’d seen a genuine smile from her that he was willing to take it. Whatever the source.

~~~~~

Spike was bored. Extremely bored. He hated waiting, and he disliked being patient, but that was exactly what he was being asked to do. Daytime TV could only hold his attention for so long, and he’d watched Joyce’s Passion tapes that Dawn had found for him all the way through. Twice. And now, he was awake and home alone, and he wanted to do something. It was on afternoons like this that the sunshine was a strong temptation, especially since Buffy didn’t keep alcohol in the house.

Finally deciding to do something, he made his way carefully down into the basement. He was always wary going up and down the stairs, mostly because if he fell he could be down there for a while, and because with his luck he’d probably wind up breaking his neck. He managed, however, and once down there he started poking around.

Spike had been exploring in the Summers’ basement in the past, but not recently. Not since he’d made the incredible blunder of chaining Buffy up in his crypt. Nothing much had changed really, though there were a few more boxes, all of them labeled “Mom.” He avoided those and chose one that said “School.” Inside, he found old report cards, school pictures, notebooks; all the regular detritus of a high school chit. He winced at the grades on the report cards, all of them with the name “Buffy Summers” across the top. Apparently his Slayer hadn’t been a stellar student. He also found a mostly empty notebook, the first page with a few scribbled sentences and lots of doodles of hearts with “Buffy and Angel Forever” written. He almost threw the entire book away in disgust, but the empty pages beckoned strangely, so he tore out the first two pages and stuck them back into the box, keeping the notebook for his own use.

Three more boxes caught his eye, all of them “Books.” He hesitated. The Big Bad did not spend his time reading. Reading was not a scary activity; it was a nancy-boy past-time. He sighed. The Big Bad had never been laid up watching reruns of soap operas and Oprah for three months. This, at least, would be new.

Spike dug through the boxes, finding plenty of Harlequin romance novels and book of the month paperbacks. In the second box, however, he found Joyce’s stash of culture, mostly classics she’d read for her book club. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, William Shakespeare’s Complete Works, Les Miserables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, all of them familiar titles to Spike, who’d not forgotten nearly as much about his upper-class upbringing as he liked everyone to think. He stacked them up on the floor and moved onto the third box, which contained more paperbacks. This time he pulled out a few Stephen King novels, not understanding why anyone who lived on the Hellmouth would read a horror story, but figuring they might make interesting bedtime tales for a vampire.

Once he’d collected a stack, he looked around for a bag of some kind to carry them. The crutches ensured he’d have his hands full. After a few minutes he located a plastic grocery sack, filled it up, and managed to get himself back on his feet. Then he worked his way back up to his room, thinking as he did so that it might be a smart idea to move into the basement. It was darker down there, for one thing, and it might be a bit more private, but it was something he’d have to discuss with Buffy later.

Spike contented himself with the notebook and a pen he swiped from the Slayer’s room for a while. He’d gotten to thinking recently that if something happened to him, all that would be left was dust and the misinformation the Watchers’ Council had. It would be nice to leave something real behind, and while he wasn’t sure anyone would truly be interested, perhaps Dawn or Buffy would care enough to want to know.

He had written down everything he remembered of his last day as a human, the blank paper calling forth an honesty he didn’t know he had in him. There was no pretense here. More than that, there wasn’t much use in pretending anymore anyway. When Buffy had asked him about the Slayers he’d killed, he’d given her the abridged version, letting her think what she liked of the human William. He’d had an image to protect at the time, but his image was a sham now. He was living a shadow existence, and in a very real way, the words on the paper were worth more than he was.

When he’d written as much as he wanted to in one sitting, he turned to the stack of books he’d put on the floor by the bed. Rifling through them, he picked one of the horror novels. He hadn’t had a spot of violence since getting thrown off the tower, and he was hoping a little vicarious blood and guts would satisfy his thirst.

Spike was deeply into the novel, which had a high enough body count to satisfy even him, when he heard a knock on the door. “Spike?”

“Just a second,” he called, shoving the book under the pillow, and quickly moving the other books under the bed. The notebook he’d already placed in the box Buffy had brought back from his crypt. It had a lock on it, and he could be sure that no one would find it in there.

The door opened and Buffy stuck her head in. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, Slayer,” Spike said casually. “You back from training with the Watcher then?”

“Yeah.” She made a face. “He was asking all sorts of questions. He had his worry face on.” Her gaze sharpened. “Watcha got?”

“Got?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t like he was ashamed to have been reading, it was just that…well, he was ashamed to have been reading.

Before he could move the book to a more secure location, like underneath him, Buffy was next to the bed, pulling it out from its hiding place under the pillow. “The Stand?” she asked incredulously. “Wait a minute. You were reading?”

Spike hid his self-consciousness behind a show of deep hurt. “I do remember how to read, Slayer,” he replied. “And I was bored.”

Buffy’s face immediately softened. “Yeah, I know. And I know you remember how to read, Spike. I never thought otherwise.” She hesitated. He’d been a bit isolated over the last three months, partly because he really didn’t want to leave the house, and partly because he kept a different schedule from either Dawn or Buffy. He’d probably be less bored, and maybe a little happier if he weren’t on his own constantly. “Do you want to come downstairs and watch me try to burn dinner?” she offered. “I can promise smoke and lots of indirect sunlight.”

He looked as though he were about to refuse, but seemed to change his mind. “Yeah, pet. Might be a nice switch. Give me a minute and I’ll be down.” By tacit agreement, no one watched Spike as he put his braces on or struggled to stand. It was easier on everyone that way. It scared him to notice how easily he’d adapted, how quickly he could work around everything now. It frightened him that it seemed almost normal.

He entered the kitchen slowly, leaning on his crutches in the doorway. “You need any help?”

Buffy looked over at him in surprise and shook her head. “No, it’s pretty much a one-woman show. You hungry?”

“Maybe later.” After giving it a moment’s thought, Spike swung himself over to the island and released the tension on the braces. One swift motion and he was sitting on top of the counter. Buffy thought he probably would have been swinging his legs, except that they didn’t swing anymore.

They relaxed in comfortable silence until Spike asked, “So how’s the wedding planning coming? Harris running for the hills yet?” It wasn’t that he cared, mind you, but it was something to talk about with Buffy. Something that didn’t remind him of the fact that there were a lot of things he couldn’t do.

Buffy smiled. “Anya’s excited. She thinks she’s found the perfect dress, and of course, they’re working on the guest list and trying not to forget anyone who would be mortally offended if they did. Xander was looking a little green when I left. They were talking about caterers, and what kind of food they’d need for demons and humans.”

Spike winced. “That’s going to cost him a pretty penny, I’d bet. Not getting jealous with all the preparations are you?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I might have before I realized exactly how much weddings cost and how many details you have to go over. Definitely way more money than I even want to think about.”

Spike hesitated. “Look, Buffy, I know things are tight around here right now. Maybe it’d ease things up a bit if I weren’t here.”

She smiled at him, a touch of gratefulness there, and an odd expression for the Slayer to be giving him. “Thanks, Spike, but blood is cheap, and a pack of cigarettes every so often won’t break me. Once school starts and the loan money comes in things will be easier.”

“Still, if you need to run me off, just say the word, Buffy. If it makes it easier.”

There was a long silence, and then she turned to him, uncertainty on her features. “You were right, you know.”

He smirked, and it was an expression she hadn’t seen on his face for a very long time. “About what exactly, pet?”

She gave an irritated huff, but continued anyway. “About what you said a while back, when I almost staked you.” He was silent then, sensing her gravity and respecting it. “I keep having this dream, where it was me on top of the tower and I had to jump. And I’m not scared to die, Spike. Then I jump, and all I feel is peace, and I know that I’m finished. Some days, when Dawn is being a brat and all I get in the mail are bills, I wish you’d been just a little slower, or maybe not quite as strong, and I would have been the one to have to jump.”

Spike was silent. He’d known, somehow. He’d seen it in her eyes, the same expression that had worried Giles so, and he’d known. Every Slayer has a death wish. “I won’t be sorry you didn’t die,” he said.

“I know,” she replied quietly. “And most days I wouldn’t ask you to. But sometimes, at night…”

Spike didn’t say anything, knowing that there was nothing he could say. It was what it was. And life went on, whether you wanted to live it or not.

Spike woke to a very strange sound, like the rushing of water. He frowned uncertainly, and then sat up. Both the alarm clock and his inner demon told him it was mid-afternoon, and much too early for a respectable vampire to be waking up. Of course, that wasn’t what he was anymore. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then reached down to pull the braces on. Looked like it was time to get up, if only to figure out why he was hearing a bloody waterfall.

Swinging himself out of the room and down the stairs, he ran straight into the Slayer. “What’s up, luv?” he asked. “Sounds like a soddin’ river.”

The weariness in her eyes scared him. “The pipes in the basement are completely shot,” she replied quietly. “I was just barely managing to keep things going around here, Spike. How am I going to pay for this?”

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms and tell her that he would fix everything. And he couldn’t. Because it was physically impossible, because she wouldn’t allow it, because it wasn’t true. “You’ll find a way, Slayer. You’ve saved the world how many times? How hard is it to fix a bunch of pipes?”

It might not be hard, but it certainly was expensive. He watched as Xander tried to assure the Slayer that his friend Tito had cut her a deal. Problem was, the deal still had way too many zeros. Again, he wanted to tell her that he could get the money for her, not to worry, but she was off in a hurry, making plans. She would go to the bank for a loan, she would find a way to patch things together. And all Spike wanted to do was to fix it all.

But he waited. Apparently, it was something he was getting good at. And he watched as she came home physically and emotionally bruised from her meeting at the bank and the subsequent fight with a demon. The problem was getting money. He didn’t really have any, she certainly didn’t have any, and no one she knew was giving her any, if they even knew about her money troubles. Her work-study job was providing enough to keep Ramen noodles in the cupboards and little else, and now the pipes were shot. What she needed was enough to fix her basement and then a little extra to hold her over for a while.

Spike was upstairs, catching a nap since his sleep had been cut short by the basement waterfall when a sudden prickling feeling woke him up. Something was wrong. For the moment, he was grateful he had adapted, because the braces were on and he was on the stairs in a couple minutes. As he came down, he could see that the door had been damaged, and a stuggle caught his eye. Buffy was struggling valiantly with a M’Fashnik demon, and Dawn was sprawled across the floor, looking terrified. He watched as the Slayer herded the thing back into the kitchen and finished coming down the stairs, glancing over at Dawn to make sure she was okay. Swinging himself into the kitchen, he could see Buffy struggling with the thing, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

Thinking quickly, he pulled a butcher knife out of one of the drawers and waited for his chance. “Buffy!” he called. “Turn him ‘round.” She snarled at him, but wrestled the demon so that his back faced Spike, and the vampire let go with the knife, sinking it into his back.

“Dawn! The door to the basement,” Buffy gasped at her sister, who pulled it open. The knife had weakened him, but the demon wasn’t dead yet, and Buffy planned on finishing the M’Fashnik off in the one room of the house that was already completely ruined. She tossed him through the open door and followed close behind, Spike able to do little but watch the entire scene from the safety of the stairs.

She soon dispatched the thing, but not before it had broken one of the new copper pipes the plumber had just installed that day. In a burst of anger and frustration, Buffy beat the thing with the pipe it had broken off, and watched as his lifeless body floated in the calf-deep water. Spike’s rough voice came from above her. “I’ll call Harris. He should be able to fix the doors and help with the body.”

Buffy sighed. Just another night at the Summers’ residence.

~~~~~

While Buffy went about her days as a student and nights as a Slayer, Spike shut himself up in his room and thought. He did have a little money, but it wasn’t enough to truly help. He knew that even if she took it, it wouldn’t be enough to do her any good. She needed real, honest-to-goodness cash, and that was a bit harder to come by.

He pulled the metal box out from under the bed and rifled through its contents. It was here that he kepts the few remaining mementos of his past. His human past, to be precise. There was a journal, filled with bits of writing, none of it any good. His mother’s wedding ring dangled on a gold chain, and his father’s pocket watch was nestled in the corner. It had long stopped ticking. Bits and pieces, and all that was left of the man they had called William, worthless sod that he had been.

Spike counted the bills carefully. Only six hundred dollars, half of what it would cost to fix those pipes, if she would even take the money from him. He bit his lip and considered his options, but in the end, he knew that you had to have money to make money. He needed to make some quick cash.

After some consideration, he waited until Buffy went out on patrol to call Xander. Telling him only that Buffy needed his help, Spike waited for the other man to arrive. “What’s up?” Xander asked, coming through the newly restored door into the living room, where Spike was lounging on the sofa.

“I need your help.”

Xander regarded the vampire warily. “I thought you said Buffy needed my help.”

Spike shrugged. “Well, I need your help to help Buffy. You know she’s havin’ a bit of trouble with money.”

The man nodded. “The repair on the basement just about wiped her out.”

“It more than wiped her out,” Spike corrected. “She needs some fast cash to hold her over for a while. I can get it, but I need someone to back me up.”

“What exactly do you need from me?” Xander asked suspiciously. “Because I really don’t think you’re in any condition to go knocking over the Sunnydale Bank.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a prat. Buffy wouldn’t take money if I stole it from the bank.” Spike sighed, knowing his real plan might not be much better. “Look, there’s a high stakes poker game they play in town. I could pro’ly hustle the money playin’ pool, but it wouldn’t be quick enough for Buffy. I can get into the game, I can win enough to hold her over.”

“Okay,” Xander said. “That’s assuming that you actually win.”

“I’ve been playin’ cards since before your grandfather was alive, Harris,” Spike half-snarled. “I know how to win.”

“Fine,” he replied. “What do you need?”

“Need some more cash for one thing,” Spike admitted. “Takes a thousand just to get started, and I’ve only got a bit over six. And I need back-up.”

The look Xander gave him was less than thrilled. “Why can’t you just give her the money you’ve got now?”

“Because it’s not enough,” Spike replied, exasperation coloring his tone. “It’ll barely cover half the repairs, and it’ll be gone quick as that. She needs real cash.”

Xander nodded, beginning to see that the vampire had put some thought into this. He had money in savings, and while four hundred dollars was still a lot of money, he had enough to loan Buffy that much. But as Spike had so astutely pointed out, she needed more money than that, and there weren’t a lot of legal ways to make money quickly. While playing high-stakes poker wasn’t precisely legal, it certainly wasn’t knocking over a bank or a convenience store either. “And what about the back-up thing?”

Spike hesitated. “If I go in there like this and win, they’ll be on me in a second. I won’t make it out of there alive. On the other hand, if somebody’s there to back me up, I’ve got a chance of making it out with winnings and all body parts intact.”

“If you win?”

“When I win,” Spike replied, and then gave him a cocky grin. “I’m a good card player, even when I don’t cheat, Harris. Means knowin’ the rules of the game and playin’ the odds. Normally, I’m a bit too impatient for that, end up getting bored and all, but there’s a bit more at risk here, innit?”

Xander considered the logic behind the plan, and found he couldn’t disagree with it. “I’ll do it,” he said. “But if you end up losing my money, I’m going to collect one of these days. With interest.”

“Agreed.” Spike pushed himself up on his crutches. “Well, let’s go then.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present,” Spike pointed out. “’Sides, game’s tonight.”

A quick stop by the ATM at the bank, and Spike had the money he needed, and then he directed Xander to the warehouse district near the Bronze. “Um, Spike,” Xander said, as they pulled up in front of the building the vampire had pointed out. “I hate to be the one to say it, but I don’t know how much use I’ll be if they decide they don’t want to let you leave.”

Spike looked over at Xander with something akin to respect. It took guts to admit when you were over your head, especially when it was someone you didn’t like. “Not about bein’ good in a fight,” Spike explained. “It’s about lookin’ scary. You’ll be fine. The only reason they’d come after me is if I cheated or they think of me as an easy target. ‘M not goin’ to cheat, an’ you bein’ there means I’ve got a friend.”

Xander decided not to argue with the use of “friend,” and thought he’d take it as a compliment that Spike thought he could at least look scary. “Why me, though?” he asked out loud as they moved towards the building.

Spike gave him the closest thing to a real smile that Xander had seen on him. “Because Red’s scary, but doesn’t look it and Giles wouldn’t. You were the only one that would look the part and might go for it.”

“And if I hadn’t?” Xander asked quietly.

“I’d have tried it anyway,” the other man admitted cheerfully.

The conversation ended as they entered the building, Spike’s face drawing down into a look of deep concentration. The man at the door stopped both of them, asking if they had the entrance money. Spike patted his coat pocket and then explained that Xander was there as moral support. The guard looked at the braces and crutches and then nodded grudgingly, allowing both of them to pass.

Xander’s eyes flitted around the room, five years of patrolling with Buffy paying off in his knowledge of how to read a room. There were already five others sitting around the table, waiting for the start. The others were human, as far as he could tell, which made him wonder why they were letting a vampire play.

“Spike, long time no see,” one of the men greeted him. “You’ve been laying low?”

“More like laid up, Jack,” came the easy reply. “Had a bit of an accident, you know.”

There was a look of feigned concern on Jack’s face. “So sorry to hear that.” His gaze sharpened. “It’s nice to know that there’ll be some competition tonight.”

It was then that Xander realized that Spike wasn’t kidding. He played poker and enjoyed it, and apparently was known as someone who could give the professionals a run for their money. This could get very interesting.

Rules were read, and the dealer started passing out cards. Spike’s first few hands were good, but he played cautiously. The other players didn’t know of his undead status, which put him at a definite advantage. Everyone had tells, but Spike could “see” them more easily than the average bloke. He could sense when the heart rate sped up, or the palms got sweaty, whereas he didn’t have to worry about that. As a vampire, he had the ultimate poker face.

Xander, per instructions, had placed himself where he could see the game, but couldn’t see anyone’s cards. No one wanted to risk an outsider giving out information by a sudden intake of breath or an eyeblink that was just a little too rapid. He knew Spike was playing carefully. He wasn’t winning big money, but at no point did he lose big either. In fact, Xander wouldn’t have even realized that he was winning except that the pile of chips in front of him was growing larger instead of smaller.

The rules ended the game at 4 am, and Jack and Spike were the definite winners of the evening. To Xander’s relief, no one accused anyone of cheating, and it looked as though his presence wasn’t going to be needed, which was just fine with him. As they exited the building, Spike’s winnings carefully tucked inside his duster, Jack came up behind them. “Hey, Spike.”

The vampire turned to regard the other man warily. “What is it, Jack?”

“That was some tight playing you did in there,” the stocky man said quietly, “but it wasn’t your usual style. What’s up?”

Spike was surprised to see concern in the other man’s eyes. He’d played poker with the man in the past, gotten beaten by him, and beaten him soundly in return. It wasn’t supposed to be a friendly relationship, and yet it was. “Gotta girl who needs the money, mate,” Spike replied honestly. “Couldn’t afford to piss it away tonight.”

The man nodded, understanding in his shrewd eyes. “Watch your back,” he said softly. “I’m not going to be saying anything, but word gets around you’re injured like that, they’re going to be after you in a heartbeat.”

Spike shrugged. “Let ‘em come. Maybe they’ll get lucky.”

Xander watched the exchange, not really knowing how he felt about it. It seemed strange that Spike might know people outside the Scoobies, stranger still that some might even call themselves friendly acquaintances. He let Spike get into the car and stored the crutches in the back seat, noticing as he did so that Spike seemed especially tired. “You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” He took a deep unnecessary breath. “Playing with that kind of control takes a bit out of you.” He took the sheaf of bills out of his jacket and started counting out Xander’s money, offering it to him. From what the other man could tell, Spike must have won over two thousand to add to what he’d brought in.

“Keep it,” Xander said as Spike held out the money. “Think of it as my contribution to the Buffy fund.”

“Ta,” Spike said, and kept counting. He peeled off a few bills, stuck them in one pocket, and then put the rest back where it came from. At Xander’s questioning glance, he said, “Seed money. Figure I could make better than fifty a night playin’ pool.”

“Can you still play?” Xander asked.

Spike nodded. “Think so. Take me a couple times around to find my balance again, but I could do it.”

Xander thought for a minute and then said, “Let me know when. I’m not that great, but you can practice beating me before you start losing money.”

“Thanks,” Spike said again. “Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but you’re not so bad.”

“Yeah, well, same goes here,” Xander replied. “You kind of grow on a guy. Like fungus.”

Spike grinned at the insult. “Yeah, well, just so you know, I still don’t like you.”

“And I still think you’re the evil undead. Just so we’re clear.”

“As crystal.”

It had been a hell of a day. Actually, it had been a hell of a couple of days. First, there had been those three missed classes, not to mention a quiz, as a result of the little glowing thingy on her sweater. Which was just wrong, because it exploded away in her hand. Then, she’d been at her work-study job at the library, minding her own business and putting books back on the shelves when several very large nasty demons attacked. Luckily enough for her, she managed to convince her supervisor that the overturned bookshelves were the result of some rough-housing boys and that she barely missed getting creamed by a falling shelf. (The large bruise on her arm helped.) From her job, she’d gone out to patrol and then had ignored Spike as he tried to talk to her because she was just too tired to do anything other than go to bed.

The next day she had one class in the morning and then had headed over to the Magic Box to help Giles and Anya. They had suggested she work there during her off hours to make some extra cash since things were so tight. While Buffy had known that retail was most likely not her thing, she hadn’t expected to get caught in some sort of time loop with a deadly mummy hand. By the time she’d figured out how to get herself out of it, she was tired, hungry and irritable, and her day was just starting. She walked out before she killed anyone.

It was after dark when Spike came down the stairs to find Buffy on the couch, exhausted and out of sorts. “Some days I hate my life,” she muttered.

He listened sympathetically as she told him about the events of the last couple days. “Sounds like someone’s out to get you, Slayer,” he said finally.

“That’s what I thought too, Spike, but it’s just too weird. Everything that’s been happening, the only person that would know it is me. It all just kind of disappears as soon as I turn around.” She leaned her head back on the couch. “Do you think I’m going crazy?”

He chuckled, reaching out to push her hair back from her face, surprised when she didn’t immediately pull away. “Hardly. Come with me,” Spike demanded abruptly.

“Where are we going?” she asked, a suspicious note in her voice.

Spike smirked. “I want to show you something.”

Buffy had no idea why she was following the bleached vampire, except that she wanted to do something, and she was too depressed to hang around her friends. They always seemed to get so concerned whenever she was depressed-Buffy, but with Spike, she didn’t have to worry about being anything other than what she was. It didn’t take but a minute before she realized that they were headed for his crypt. “Spike, I’ve seen your crypt before. A lot.”

He shot her a dirty look. “Yeah, but I haven’t seen it since before—” he broke off what he was going to say, and then continued. “There’re some things there I’d forgotten about. I want to see if somebody took them.”

“Nobody took your stuff,” Buffy replied softly. He cocked his head at her, his expression an eloquent question. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your place. I wanted to make sure you had somewhere to go when you got better.”

“Thanks, Buffy,” he said softly, giving her a genuine smile. “You didn’t have to.”

She made no reply, but walked beside him as he swung himself along on his crutches. When they reached their destination, Buffy opened the door for him and then followed him inside. “I thought I’d gotten everything you wanted.”

“You did. I just forgot something.” Spike rummaged around beside the refrigerator, grinning as he came up with a bottle of Jack and a bottle of tequila. “Just what the doctor ordered, luv.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Buffy said, hesitating. As he shrugged and started to put the bottles back in place, she grabbed the tequila out of his hand. “But I’m not sure it’s such a bad one either.”

Half an hour later, Buffy was more than halfway to being drunk as Spike was barely working up a buzz. It took a lot to knock him out, and he knew he couldn’t be too tipsy for the walk home. You needed a good sense of balance to get around on crutches. He was relieved that the Slayer seemed a lot more relaxed as she tipped back the tequila bottle once again, and he figured she was much more likely to accept his gift if some of her inhibitions were gone. “Got something for you, Slayer,” he said, when he thought the timing was right.

“What’s that?” She brightened noticably. “Am I gonna like it?”

“Hope so,” he replied, and then pulled out the envelope he’d stuck the cash in.

She frowned as she took it from him, and he thought she looked adorable the way her nose and forehead wrinkled as she did so. The amount of money seemed to sober her up a bit as she looked back up at him. “I can’t take this, Spike.”

“Sure you can,” he replied. “I didn’t get it illegally, you can ask Xander.”

“Is this what you were doing the other night?”

Spike hesitated and then nodded. “There’s a high stakes poker game in town. I took what I had and made more. Knew you’d need it more than I would. Not like I robbed anybody.”

Buffy was unsure. Taking money from Spike seemed wrong somehow, no matter how he got it. And yet, she needed the money badly, and taking it from him was better than having to ask Giles or her friends for a loan. “I don’t think—”

“Think of it as rent, or payback for all the times you paid me for information, Slayer,” he coaxed, hoping that she wouldn’t turn him down. He wanted to take care of her, to do something to help her out, if only so he wouldn’t feel so bloody useless.

As if sensing this, she looked at him, and her eyes softened. “Thank you, Spike. I know I shouldn’t take your money, but really, I need it way too badly to refuse.”

“I can get more, Buffy. Maybe not completely honestly, like workin’ a job, but I can help.” His blue eyes bore into hers, and the Slayer suddenly realized that he needed to help her much more than she needed his help. It was that realization that allowed her to nod.

“Alright, Spike. If you want to give me a hand, I’m not going to refuse. But I’m not going to take anything that’s stolen.” Her voice was firm, and Spike felt a sigh of relief go through him. He would help her and she would accept his help.

“Don’t think I could do much of that right now anyway, Slayer,” he replied with a smile.

Buffy looked at him suddenly, her green eyes thoughtful. “Are you okay, Spike?”

He looked away, his face slightly grim. “I’ll be fine, Buffy.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then reconsidered. “Thanks. For the money and—you know.”

His smile was wistful. “You know I’d do anything for you, Buffy.”

She reached out and put her hand over his. “I know.”

~~~~~

“Buffy?” Giles called as he entered the training room. “I need to talk to you.”

She looked over at him from her stance at the punching bag. “Sure, Giles. What’s up?”

Her Watcher went over to take a seat on the couch. “I have something for you.” When she’d sat down next to him, he handed her a check.

She frowned when she looked at the amount. It was enough to cover the repairs on the basement and then some, but Spike had given her as much the previous night. “Thank you, Giles, but I can’t accept this.” She handed the check back to him.

He looked at her, surprised. “Buffy, I understand if you’re reluctant, but I’d like to help you.”

She smiled. “Thanks, and I really appreciate it, but I have the money, Giles.”

His face and voice betrayed his surprise. “Buffy, how?”

“Spike.” Though her eyes betrayed her uncertainty, her voice was steady and sure.

“Buffy, you don’t know where he got that!”

“Actually, yes, I do,” was her reply, as she rose to pace. “He and Xander apparently hit an all night poker game. I double-checked.”

“That’s hardly a legal means to get money, Buffy,” Giles replied disapprovingly.

“It’s not that bad, Giles, and he needed to do something. He feels helpless right now.” Her eyes softened. “I just wanted to help him, like he wanted to help me.”

“This is Spike we’re talking about,” he replied, his voice harsh. “You know what he wants.”

“Does it matter?” she asked. “He’s crippled because he saved Dawn.” She looked over at him, her eyes hard. “Would you have done the same?”

They both knew the uncomfortable answer to that question. They both knew who Buffy had asked to protect Dawn, and what the result of that promise had been. It was, perhaps, an unfair question. A Watcher was required at all times to make difficult decisions, but his Slayer was unwilling to let him off the hook for this one. She still remembered that he had told her she might have to kill her little sister, her flesh and blood, and while she didn’t hate him for it, she hadn’t cared much for him at that moment either. In her mind would forever be the comparison between his words and Spike’s that night. Unfair? Maybe, but it was her sister they were talking about.

Giles was disturbed. He understood that Buffy’s opinion of Spike had begun to change after he’d been tortured by Glory. Whatever his motivations had been, he had shown himself willing to protect Dawn, with his life if necessary. The Watcher had no doubt that his motives were selfish, but Buffy seemed determined to overlook the vampire’s motivations, concentrating instead on the results. He had no doubt that Spike would eventually take advantage of her good will. His fear was that she was growing to depend on him too greatly, that in the end she would be deeply hurt as she had been with Angel. Spike was not what he would wish for her, and he feared for her heart.

As though reading his mind, Buffy said quietly, “I owe Spike, Giles. If he wants to help because it makes him feel better, I’m going to let him help. And I’ll get him back on his feet again.” There was steely determination in her voice, and Giles knew that he wouldn’t bring up the topic again. But he was beginning to wonder how necessary he was in Sunnydale, and if it wouldn’t be better to head back to England. Especially if he wasn’t going to be able to stand back and let his Slayer make her own choices.

It had been a hell of a day. Actually, it had been a hell of a couple of days. First, there had been those three missed classes, not to mention a quiz, as a result of the little glowing thingy on her sweater. Which was just wrong, because it exploded away in her hand. Then, she’d been at her work-study job at the library, minding her own business and putting books back on the shelves when several very large nasty demons attacked. Luckily enough for her, she managed to convince her supervisor that the overturned bookshelves were the result of some rough-housing boys and that she barely missed getting creamed by a falling shelf. (The large bruise on her arm helped.) From her job, she’d gone out to patrol and then had ignored Spike as he tried to talk to her because she was just too tired to do anything other than go to bed.

The next day she had one class in the morning and then had headed over to the Magic Box to help Giles and Anya. They had suggested she work there during her off hours to make some extra cash since things were so tight. While Buffy had known that retail was most likely not her thing, she hadn’t expected to get caught in some sort of time loop with a deadly mummy hand. By the time she’d figured out how to get herself out of it, she was tired, hungry and irritable, and her day was just starting. She walked out before she killed anyone.

It was after dark when Spike came down the stairs to find Buffy on the couch, exhausted and out of sorts. “Some days I hate my life,” she muttered.

He listened sympathetically as she told him about the events of the last couple days. “Sounds like someone’s out to get you, Slayer,” he said finally.

“That’s what I thought too, Spike, but it’s just too weird. Everything that’s been happening, the only person that would know it is me. It all just kind of disappears as soon as I turn around.” She leaned her head back on the couch. “Do you think I’m going crazy?”

He chuckled, reaching out to push her hair back from her face, surprised when she didn’t immediately pull away. “Hardly. Come with me,” Spike demanded abruptly.

“Where are we going?” she asked, a suspicious note in her voice.

Spike smirked. “I want to show you something.”

Buffy had no idea why she was following the bleached vampire, except that she wanted to do something, and she was too depressed to hang around her friends. They always seemed to get so concerned whenever she was depressed-Buffy, but with Spike, she didn’t have to worry about being anything other than what she was. It didn’t take but a minute before she realized that they were headed for his crypt. “Spike, I’ve seen your crypt before. A lot.”

He shot her a dirty look. “Yeah, but I haven’t seen it since before—” he broke off what he was going to say, and then continued. “There’re some things there I’d forgotten about. I want to see if somebody took them.”

“Nobody took your stuff,” Buffy replied softly. He cocked his head at her, his expression an eloquent question. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your place. I wanted to make sure you had somewhere to go when you got better.”

“Thanks, Buffy,” he said softly, giving her a genuine smile. “You didn’t have to.”

She made no reply, but walked beside him as he swung himself along on his crutches. When they reached their destination, Buffy opened the door for him and then followed him inside. “I thought I’d gotten everything you wanted.”

“You did. I just forgot something.” Spike rummaged around beside the refrigerator, grinning as he came up with a bottle of Jack and a bottle of tequila. “Just what the doctor ordered, luv.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Buffy said, hesitating. As he shrugged and started to put the bottles back in place, she grabbed the tequila out of his hand. “But I’m not sure it’s such a bad one either.”

Half an hour later, Buffy was more than halfway to being drunk as Spike was barely working up a buzz. It took a lot to knock him out, and he knew he couldn’t be too tipsy for the walk home. You needed a good sense of balance to get around on crutches. He was relieved that the Slayer seemed a lot more relaxed as she tipped back the tequila bottle once again, and he figured she was much more likely to accept his gift if some of her inhibitions were gone. “Got something for you, Slayer,” he said, when he thought the timing was right.

“What’s that?” She brightened noticably. “Am I gonna like it?”

“Hope so,” he replied, and then pulled out the envelope he’d stuck the cash in.

She frowned as she took it from him, and he thought she looked adorable the way her nose and forehead wrinkled as she did so. The amount of money seemed to sober her up a bit as she looked back up at him. “I can’t take this, Spike.”

“Sure you can,” he replied. “I didn’t get it illegally, you can ask Xander.”

“Is this what you were doing the other night?”

Spike hesitated and then nodded. “There’s a high stakes poker game in town. I took what I had and made more. Knew you’d need it more than I would. Not like I robbed anybody.”

Buffy was unsure. Taking money from Spike seemed wrong somehow, no matter how he got it. And yet, she needed the money badly, and taking it from him was better than having to ask Giles or her friends for a loan. “I don’t think—”

“Think of it as rent, or payback for all the times you paid me for information, Slayer,” he coaxed, hoping that she wouldn’t turn him down. He wanted to take care of her, to do something to help her out, if only so he wouldn’t feel so bloody useless.

As if sensing this, she looked at him, and her eyes softened. “Thank you, Spike. I know I shouldn’t take your money, but really, I need it way too badly to refuse.”

“I can get more, Buffy. Maybe not completely honestly, like workin’ a job, but I can help.” His blue eyes bore into hers, and the Slayer suddenly realized that he needed to help her much more than she needed his help. It was that realization that allowed her to nod.

“Alright, Spike. If you want to give me a hand, I’m not going to refuse. But I’m not going to take anything that’s stolen.” Her voice was firm, and Spike felt a sigh of relief go through him. He would help her and she would accept his help.

“Don’t think I could do much of that right now anyway, Slayer,” he replied with a smile.

Buffy looked at him suddenly, her green eyes thoughtful. “Are you okay, Spike?”

He looked away, his face slightly grim. “I’ll be fine, Buffy.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then reconsidered. “Thanks. For the money and—you know.”

His smile was wistful. “You know I’d do anything for you, Buffy.”

She reached out and put her hand over his. “I know.”

~~~~~

“Buffy?” Giles called as he entered the training room. “I need to talk to you.”

She looked over at him from her stance at the punching bag. “Sure, Giles. What’s up?”

Her Watcher went over to take a seat on the couch. “I have something for you.” When she’d sat down next to him, he handed her a check.

She frowned when she looked at the amount. It was enough to cover the repairs on the basement and then some, but Spike had given her as much the previous night. “Thank you, Giles, but I can’t accept this.” She handed the check back to him.

He looked at her, surprised. “Buffy, I understand if you’re reluctant, but I’d like to help you.”

She smiled. “Thanks, and I really appreciate it, but I have the money, Giles.”

His face and voice betrayed his surprise. “Buffy, how?”

“Spike.” Though her eyes betrayed her uncertainty, her voice was steady and sure.

“Buffy, you don’t know where he got that!”

“Actually, yes, I do,” was her reply, as she rose to pace. “He and Xander apparently hit an all night poker game. I double-checked.”

“That’s hardly a legal means to get money, Buffy,” Giles replied disapprovingly.

“It’s not that bad, Giles, and he needed to do something. He feels helpless right now.” Her eyes softened. “I just wanted to help him, like he wanted to help me.”

“This is Spike we’re talking about,” he replied, his voice harsh. “You know what he wants.”

“Does it matter?” she asked. “He’s crippled because he saved Dawn.” She looked over at him, her eyes hard. “Would you have done the same?”

They both knew the uncomfortable answer to that question. They both knew who Buffy had asked to protect Dawn, and what the result of that promise had been. It was, perhaps, an unfair question. A Watcher was required at all times to make difficult decisions, but his Slayer was unwilling to let him off the hook for this one. She still remembered that he had told her she might have to kill her little sister, her flesh and blood, and while she didn’t hate him for it, she hadn’t cared much for him at that moment either. In her mind would forever be the comparison between his words and Spike’s that night. Unfair? Maybe, but it was her sister they were talking about.

Giles was disturbed. He understood that Buffy’s opinion of Spike had begun to change after he’d been tortured by Glory. Whatever his motivations had been, he had shown himself willing to protect Dawn, with his life if necessary. The Watcher had no doubt that his motives were selfish, but Buffy seemed determined to overlook the vampire’s motivations, concentrating instead on the results. He had no doubt that Spike would eventually take advantage of her good will. His fear was that she was growing to depend on him too greatly, that in the end she would be deeply hurt as she had been with Angel. Spike was not what he would wish for her, and he feared for her heart.

As though reading his mind, Buffy said quietly, “I owe Spike, Giles. If he wants to help because it makes him feel better, I’m going to let him help. And I’ll get him back on his feet again.” There was steely determination in her voice, and Giles knew that he wouldn’t bring up the topic again. But he was beginning to wonder how necessary he was in Sunnydale, and if it wouldn’t be better to head back to England. Especially if he wasn’t going to be able to stand back and let his Slayer make her own choices.

Buffy walked into something resembling a war zone. “Look, Dawn,” she heard Spike’s smoky voice grate out, “I get that you lost track of time, but you could have at least phoned. It’s past eleven.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Dawn replied. “You aren’t my father. And the only reason Buffy lets you stay here is because she feels sorry for you.”

The Slayer frowned. She didn’t think she’d ever heard her younger sister speak that way to the vampire. It was downright cruel, and in the end, untrue. There were lots of reasons she let Spike stay, one of them being that he could usually keep a fairly tight rein on the youngest Summers. Apparently, that was changing. She stepped into the room to see Spike and Dawn nose to nose, all the closeness of the previous months disappearing into tension. “What’s going on?”

Dawn looked over at her sister, a guilty look in her eyes. “I was with Janice at the Bronze. You told me I could go.”

Buffy had, but she specifically remembered telling Dawn to be home before ten. “What time did you get home?”

Her question was met with frozen silence from her sister, and finally Spike said quietly, “She got home about five minutes ago.”

“Like you would even notice,” Dawn snarled at Buffy. “You’re never home to care where I am anyway. You’re not my mother, you can’t make me do anything.” With that, she pushed past Spike hard enough to rock him back, and he would have fallen if Buffy hadn’t stepped in.

“Dawn!” she called out after the retreating figure, but Spike put a restraining hand on her arm.

“Forget it, Slayer,” he said softly. “You’re both hot tonight. Deal with it tomorrow when you’ve had time to cool off.”

He was right, but still— “Spike, she could have knocked you over.”

“She was trying to knock me over, luv,” he replied, his eyes full of a sad wisdom. He had looked that way the night before they’d faced Glory, when he’d accepted the knowledge of his own unrequited love, when he’d told her she treated him like a man.

“Oh.” Buffy wasn’t sure what to say to him, how to soothe the wound that Dawn’s callousness had caused.

“She’s angry and hurting,” he said softly. “If it helps her to be angry at me, it’s alright.”

‘Spike-the-punching-bag,’ Buffy thought sadly. “It’s not okay for her to treat you that way,” she replied. “After what you did for her—”

“Forget it, Buffy,” he said, his voice harsh. “If she wants to apologize, I’ll accept, but it won’t mean anything to me if she doesn’t choose it.”

Buffy nodded. She understood. “Are you hungry? I was going to have a snack.”

He looked away from her, his eyes shuttered. When he faced her again, he was calm, and no emotion marred his smooth, ageless features. “That would be nice, pet.”

~~~~~

Halloween. Spike sighed. Best Halloween he’d ever spent was when that wanker Raines turned everyone into their costumes. That had been—neat. All that merry chaos, the screaming. Music to his ears, that had been. Now, of course, there was none of that, and he’d be out with the Slayer trying to clean up the mess if there were.

This time around, he found himself alone in the house, Buffy and Dawn having gone to help Giles and Anya in the Magic Box. He hadn’t been asked, but that was fine with him. Last thing he wanted to do anyway was to wander about trying to sell things to the half-wits who could generally be found in the Watcher’s shop. He came downstairs carefully, checking to make sure the curtains were closed. He supposed there’d be plenty of shoddy horror flicks on the telly today; hopefully one of them would put him to sleep since he couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the bed upstairs.

Spike was awoken by voices. “Call it a celebration of date-setting,” came Red’s voice. “We really should have a party.”

“Because parties usually turn out so well for us,” Buffy muttered, and he was certain no one but a vampire would have caught it.

And there they all were, and Spike hurriedly pulled himself off of the couch, grateful that he’d fallen asleep with the braces on for once. “Spike,” Willow said as she came into the room, her voice faltering slightly. None of them were quite sure what to do with him anymore.

“Hello all,” he said. “Sorry, just catching a bit of a kip with the telly on.” He had to get out of there, not liking the way they looked at him, all of them. Disgust disguised by pity. Dawn didn’t look at him as he passed, heading to the kitchen, deciding he’d have his dinner and then head upstairs.

Spike fixed his blood in his usual mug, noticing with some sense of hurt that Buffy hadn’t come after him as he’d half-hoped. Couldn’t be too friendly in front of her mates though, could she? A hand touched his arm and he turned to see Tara looking at him with some concern. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Fine, Glinda,” he replied. “Be better once I’ve gotten something to eat. Feelin’ a bit peckish, you know.”

“You could stay,” she offered. And then she watched as he ducked his head shyly and caught a glimpse of someone she would have liked to know.

“I’ll just be in the way, pet,” he said softly. “Better this way, you know.”

“Spike?” Buffy’s voice from the doorway. She came to stand next to him and pulled a package out her pocket. “Anya said she overstocked the burba weed. It was going to go bad.”

He knew it was a blatant lie because burba didn’t go bad when it was dried, but it was a nice thought, and it warmed him. “Thanks.”

Buffy turned to Tara. “Willow whipped up some magical decorations. We should probably enjoy them before the clock strikes midnight. I said I’d get some snacks and drinks.”

Spike wasn’t sure Buffy saw the look that passed across the gentle witch’s face, one of concern mixed with a bit of fear, but he had, and he could sense that it boded ill for her relationship with Willow. In fact, he could almost taste the tensions that swirled within the group. Two years ago, when they’d all left high school, it had been the same, and he’d used the fissures to his own advantage. Last year, they’d been united against the great threat that Glory presented. Now, he could feel the tensions swirling again, mixed in with their own insecurities and their blindness to the others’ pain. He had a sudden sinking feeling that it was going to get bad, and that this time, all he would be able to do was to watch.

When the tension erupted again, it was over Dawn, who’d gone off to spend some time at Janice’s house. Even though she was supposed to be grounded, the Slayer had let her go, partly to avoid the whining, partly because it was Halloween. Besides, she would be at a friend’s house with adult supervision. Spike knew what happened when you assumed better than anyone, and after Dawn’s little display of a few nights ago, they should have been more suspicious. So when Janice’s mom called and Spike answered, he wasn’t too surprised by what she had to say, her voice shrill with worry.

And he was less surprised when Giles and Buffy went off with Xander and Anya and the witches, leaving him behind to mind the phone should the girl’s mum call again. More than anything else, he hated this—this feeling of being completely useless. It brought to mind every cruel thing the Scoobies had ever said to him. That he was a thing, a creature, worthless, a waste of space. Before, he could comfort himself with his strength, remind himself that he would be needed to save the day once again, but not anymore. Now, what they had said was all true. And what held him to this place seemed to grow thinner with each passing day, as though he were becoming not-real. He found himself more and more ready to let go.

When they finally came back, Giles’ face was badly bruised and both Xander and Anya were sporting scratches from the bushes they had been thrown into. Willow and Tara had returned about fifteen minutes before, the tension between them so thick he could taste it. Glinda had made a valiant attempt at conversation, and when she learned he’d been reading, they’d actually found something to talk about. Amazingly enough, he’d held a rather intellectual conversation, and he could feel that even Red was impressed. But he fell silent when Buffy returned with Dawn in tow.

The girl retreated to the dining room, a letterman’s jacket in her arms. Buffy went to get some ice for Giles’ face. “I could kill her,” Buffy said quietly, Spike listening nearby. Giles winced as he held up the bag of ice.

“It was foolish in the extreme,” Giles said. “You will have to talk to her, Buffy. If you don’t stop this now, it will only spin out of control in the future.”

“I can’t talk to her tonight, Giles, I’m too angry.” The Slayer’s green eyes glittered. “What the hell am I supposed to do with her?”

“Buffy,” Spike murmured. “Why don’t you let me speak to her tonight? You can talk to her tomorrow when you’re a bit calmer.”

“I hardly think this is the time to go easy on the girl, Spike,” Giles protested.

And the vampire’s eyes glittered with a fire that had not been there for a very long time. “Who said anything about going easy on her?” he asked.

Spike swung himself into the dining room and awkwardly sat down next to her. “You want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

Slowly, she told him everything, and he wondered why he’d never seen it coming. “Do you understand why your sister and the Watcher are angry?”

“Because I lied to them,” came her reply, the sullenness in her tone something Spike knew all too well. She was shaken up and angry, but more because she’d gotten caught than because she was sorry for what she’d done. “So you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t lie and that you’re not angry, you’re disappointed in me.”

“No, this is where I tell you I’m pissed as hell,” he replied, his eyes sparking blue fire. Dawn suddenly remembered why he was dangerous. “I’m not gonna tell you it’s wrong to lie because I do it all the time. Don’t have a conscience, remember? But I’ll ask you, did you see Giles’ face tonight?”

A guilty light began to steal into the girl’s eyes. “I’m sorry he got hurt,” she admitted.

“Yeah? Well, you ever think someone might have more than gotten hurt tonight?”

He watched as she swallowed hard, and knew she was getting the message. “I didn’t want that, Spike. I just wanted to have fun.” He stayed silent watching her, and she finally looked away. “You’re mad because you were worried.”

“Actions have consequences, Niblet,” he replied, his voice deep and serious. “What do you think it would do to your sister or to the Watcher if you got killed or worse, turned? Or if someone else did?” When she still wouldn’t look at him, he took strong fingers and tilted her head so that she was forced to look him in the eye. “You ever think what it would do to me if somethin’ happened to you?”

And suddenly she was crying, and in his arms, and he knew she wouldn’t do something quite so stupid again. There would be other things, of course, but she wouldn’t intentionally put someone in danger. Not that this time had been intentional, but she’d think about it. When she’d gotten herself under control, she looked up at him through watery blue eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spike, for what I said the other night. And for trying to knock you down. It wasn’t very nice.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he acknowledged, because for a creature without a conscience, he did have a pretty good idea of right and wrong. “But I think I’ll live.”

She suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.” Then Dawn said hesitantly, “Do you think you could talk to Buffy for me? Tell her I’m really, really sorry?”

“I think that’s something you should do yourself, Bit,” he replied. “But you’ll talk in the morning.” He grabbed his crutches and stood, looking back at her over his shoulder. Buffy or the Watcher would have yelled, he knew. Told her that she’d been stupid and that she should know better. The problem with that approach was that she would have convinced herself they were being unreasonable within a few days. Now, he hoped, the lesson would stick just a bit better, since she realized for herself why they were so mad. Of course, she was also fifteen, which meant that lessons like this one had a tendency to fade as quickly as smoke in the wind. “I love you, Niblet. It would dust me if something ever happened to you. Remember that.” And Spike swung himself off to the back porch, a lonely figure in the dim lamplight. It was that image that Dawn would remember long after his words had faded, reminding her that he had loved her enough to keep her safe at any cost. To a fifteen-year-old girl, that love seemed a heavy burden to bear.

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