Spike could feel the change in his bones. Something was going on, and the best thing he could do would be to lock himself in his room and wait until it went away. The music tickled the back of his throat, and all he could think was that it was a good thing his legs weren’t working at the moment, because he’d probably have itchy feet as well.

But a vampire had to eat, and so he found himself down in the kitchen when Buffy came in from patrol. “Spike, is there something a little weird going on tonight?”

“You tell me, Slayer,” he replied, some of the old snark back in his voice. “You were the one out and about tonight.”

She gave him an odd look for his short answer. “Well, you and Dawn didn’t, you know, start singing and dancing tonight or anything like that, right?”

“Niblet’s been doin’ her homework and I’ve been sleepin’, so no.” Spike gulped down his blood quickly, wanting to get back to his room as soon as possible.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice uncertain and a bit worried. “Because there was something really strange going on tonight.”

“Quite sure,” he said, swinging himself towards the stairs as fast as he could. This was going to be bad if he didn’t get out of there immediately.

Then he felt a hand on his arm, and he froze. It was happening, and he had no way to stop it, no way to prevent what was going to come out of his mouth.

“You hold me here.

Promise-bound, you hold me here.

I kept my word and fell for you.

Don’t you know I died for you?

You hold a dead man here.”

The words, the tone, was accusatory, almost angry, the anguish of the past months filling his voice. He could see the surprise on Buffy’s face, though he didn’t know whether it was because he wasn’t half-bad or if the words surprised her.

“What is there left of me,

but the promises I made?

I would be dust but for you,

Greet the sunrise one last time.

But my love is like a chain.”

Buffy found his eyes hypnotic, the haunting minor key of the song reminding her of what she’d sung earlier. And her gut twisted as she realized that his death wish had gotten stronger, even if he’d hidden it better. Yet she found herself unable to let him go.

“It binds me to this place,

and you hold the keys.

I know that what you feel,

can’t be more than pity.

You can’t love the monster or the beast.

My heart that isn’t beating,

would beat for you again.

But all I want to find is my release.

You know that I’m not healing,

I’ll never be whole again,

so let me rest in peace.

Release me from the promises that hold me.

What am I to you?

I’m useless, nothing now.

Why is it that you keep me?

Release me.”

The last note was a plaintive cry, and Buffy stood frozen. He was right, of course. She should let him go if that’s what he wanted, and she couldn’t. When she said nothing, he turned and swung himself away, and she eventually heard the door of his room closing. Out of her own mouth came the truth, sung in the same minor key. “I need you.” And she went to bed before any more hard realities could come out.

~~~~~

Spike stayed put and kept his mouth shut all that night and into the next day. He wasn’t coming out for all the O neg in the world. After that embarrassing display in front of Buffy, he wasn’t risking another run-in. At least, that was the plan until he heard a ruckus coming from Dawn’s room. “Here now, what’s this?” he asked, coming out the door reluctantly.

He froze when he saw the three—well, whatever they were grabbing Dawn, who had let out a little shriek. “Let go of the girl,” he said, his tone menacing.

It was more than a little annoying when the masked demons completely ignored him as though he wasn’t even a threat. “I said let go of her,” he repeated, not really sure what he was going to do to stop them. The altercation, if you could even call it that, was over in a moment. One wrong move, and he was tumbling end-over-arse down the stairs. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that he had failed.

When he woke, hours later, the sun had gone down, and he was still sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. He lay still, wondering if he should even bother getting up. He’d been right, what he’d sung to Buffy. He was useless. And yet—and yet Dawn was in danger, and he might not be able to do anything about it, but he would try until he was dust or until the world ended. He had promised, and Spike kept the promises that mattered.

The crutches were scattered to either side of him, and he bit down the shame that rose as he pulled himself over to the first and then to the second, thankful that no one was there to see. Once he was out the front door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that he didn’t have the time it would take to find Buffy and tell her what was going on. He needed to find Dawn first, and then find some way to free her.

The air still carried faint traces of her scent, and he followed his nose, swinging himself along as quickly as possible. Spike could have run twice as fast as he was going, but his pace was a bit more than a fast walk, so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. The music fluttered in the back of his mind, but he resisted valiantly, concentrating on the movement of his feet and arms and keeping his balance, the rhythm soothing him, even as he softly sang, “This promise I made is destroying me. And Buffy’s laughing I’ve no doubt. If only I could die—I’d be free of this life. I have to help her out.”

Spike was late. He always was it seemed. Buffy and the rest of the crew had gotten there earlier, and Buffy was already singing. The vampire knew what was going on as soon as he saw her. She sang of her death wish, of the fact that she was tired of all the things life seemed determined to throw at her. The Slayer sang of desiring rest and peace and an end to things.

“Please give me something…” she demanded of the demon, who shook his head and watched her begin the dance that would kill her.

Spike might have found it ironic that she was actually going to die dancing if he’d had time to think about it. As it was, he was amazed that the Scoobies were still standing there, transfixed by her revelation. “Stupid prats,” he whispered, as her dance grew wilder. “Don’t they see—”

But if they saw, they weren’t moving, and he hurriedly swung himself forward, out of the shadows that had held him. He had to time it precisely: drop the crutches and grab Buffy at the same time, hope that her reflexes were quick enough to hold him up.

They were, and he accomplished his goal of stopping her mad dance before she burned up. “Life’s not a song, life isn’t bliss. Life is just this: it’s living.” His eyes bored into hers, willing her to see what he wasn’t singing. That he’d been broken for her, that he had given her a gift, that she had what he could never grasp. “You’ll get along. This pain that you feel, you only can heal by living. You have to go on living. So one of us is living.”

He wanted to touch her, to kiss her. To somehow imbue her heart with all the passion for life she seemed to have lost. But his hands stayed where they had gripped her arms, a cold necessity if he wasn’t going to fall over. The sound of clapping hands interrupted the moment, and Buffy took the opportunity to help him pick up his crutches as Sweet determined who the culprit that summoned him was. Spike gave a snort of disgust when he found out it was Xander, but he kept his mouth shut.

He watched as Sweet dissolved into little red sparks and flew off to whatever hell dimension he’d been called from. Dawn started them off on a little group-sing, and Spike hung around for the first few bars before he decided to head back out into the darkness. Hard to do the choreographed ensemble number on crutches. What he hadn’t expected was for Buffy to follow him.

“Spike!”

“Look, Buffy, just let it go, alright?” He didn’t bother turning around; too much effort.

“You stopped me from burning up, and you want me to just let it go?” she asked incredulously.

He did turn to look at her. “I let Dawn get taken. I’m—” Spike stopped, unwilling to say it without the music forcing it out of him.

“You aren’t. You—” What she wanted to say got caught in her throat. “You aren’t.” Buffy stepped closer to him and touched his face hesitantly. “I touch the fire and it freezes me. I look into it and it’s black.”

“All I want to find is a release. Why do you hold me here?”

“I need you here. And I just want to feel…”

Their lips met, and the moment seemed frozen in time. A perfection that made Spike definitely reconsider his death wish. Until he realized that something else had been broken.

Buffy was grateful that Spike hadn’t brought up their kiss. She wandered through the graveyard with a sort of aimlessness. There wasn’t much going on recently in the undead and demony category, which left her all sorts of time to consider the oddness that was her life. Part of the oddity consisted of her live-in vampire completely ignoring the fact that they had shared a steamy, scene-stealing kiss. It really wasn’t fair.

If he had said something, she would have been perfectly justified in shooting him down, telling him that it was the music, it would never happen again, etc. The fact that he hadn’t said anything made her wonder if something was wrong, if she’d finally gotten to the point where just kissing a man was enough to cure him forever. If maybe he was only in love with her because he thought she was unattainable, and now that she seemed within reach, he didn’t want her anymore. Or maybe she’d done something wrong. And it wasn’t fair, because she wasn’t supposed to be having these kinds of thoughts where Spike was concerned.

On the other hand, if she went to him and demanded to know what he was thinking about, why he hadn’t said anything, that would give him the idea that it had meant more than it had. And it hadn’t meant anything. He’d been standing there, looking all sexy and vulnerable, and his blue eyes had been so deep, she’d lost her head. So he was gorgeous, so he really wasn’t all that evil, he was still a vampire. A vampire who was living in her house whom she had absolutely no business kissing. She knew all of that, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking lusty thoughts. Because, as Dawn said, he was a complete hottie. And he could be sweet. And—

Buffy stopped herself right there. She couldn’t think things like that, it just wasn’t right. So no more thoughts of Spike.

Suddenly she found herself surrounded by a group of vampires. “Where’s Spike, Slayer?” one of them snarled.

“Who?” she asked with a frown.

“Your pet vampire. Where is he?” another asked with a smirk. “We heard he’d been laid up. Needed to be put out of his misery.”

Buffy’s face hardened and she took a tighter grip on the stake that she’d grabbed. “If anyone’s going to be putting Spike out of his misery it’s me, not some sorry excuse for a vampire gang.”

There were growls all around at that insult, and then they attacked. They weren’t all that special, as vampires go, hardly a challenge for the Slayer, even five at a time. Still, the fact that they were actively looking for Spike worried her, and as she dusted herself off, she made a mental note to talk to her roommate.

~~~~~

Spike rubbed a tired hand over his face as he waited for his blood to heat in the microwave. He hadn’t slept since that kiss with Buffy. It had been everything he’d ever dreamed it would be, all heat and passion, Gone With the Wind and the rising music. But it turned out his legs weren’t the only things that were broken. Numb from the waist down took on an entirely new meaning when even Buffy couldn’t inspire him. So he’d ignored their little moment, feeling entirely certain that Buffy would be doing the same thing, and hoping that it wouldn’t come up again. Because he certainly couldn’t do anything about it.

“Spike?” The vampire shut his eyes and wished as hard as he could that she wouldn’t want to talk. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” he muttered, thinking his life could hardly get worse.

Buffy gave him a strange look and then said quietly, “I ran into some of your friends tonight.”

“They give you a sympathy card to deliver?” he asked, his tone one of biting sarcasm.

“No, but they were looking for you. They said they wanted to put you out of your misery.” She reached out and touched him on the arm. “You want to tell me why they’d want to do that?”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Why do you think? I’m a vampire who’s betrayed his own kind to help the bloody Slayer, and now I can’t even protect myself. Vampires are evil, luv, and they aren’t nice to anyone. Like soddin’ wolves, they’ll kill one of their own if it’s not fit to live.”

“Don’t say that,” she ordered.

“Why? ‘S true, innit?” He stared at her. “Look, Buffy, appreciate the concern, but I could do with a little space right now. Don’t feel like seein’ or talkin’ to anyone.”

“Even me?”

“Specially you, pet,” he replied with a little smile. “Do me a favor and tell Dawn to wake me up when she gets home tomorrow. I’m supposed to help her with an essay she’s doin’ for school.” With that, he drank the rest of his blood and escaped up the stairs, feeling Buffy’s eyes on his back. And he went back to bed and tried to sleep, only to dream of failure and falling and being chased by things from which he couldn’t run.

~~~~~

When he woke, it was nearing sunset and Dawn had obviously not woken him up, which was odd. She had to do an essay on the Industrial Revolution for her history class, and Spike had seen parts of it first-hand, which was why he had offered to help out. He lay there for a minute, bracing himself for the struggle it would take to get out of bed, finally working up the energy to pull the braces on and get himself upright. It took more energy and more effort every evening, until one day, he knew, there would be no getting him up at all.

He swung himself across the hall to Dawn’s room, peering in to see no evidence that she’d even come home from school that day. From there he peeked into the Slayer’s bedroom, seeing that she was absent as well. He worked his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, finally calling out to both of them, hoping to hear a reply, but the house was silent and empty. Worry began to prick at his brain, and he decided to call the Magic Box to see if they were there or if anyone had seen them recently.

He let the phone ring about a half dozen times before finally hanging up. There was no way the shop had been shut down this early in the evening, and even on the off chance that it had been, someone should have answered the phone. Worry blossomed into fear, and he made a quick decision to go check things out for himself.

Spike was fully cognizant of the fact that if any of his “friends” caught him out after dark on his own, he’d be dust before he could so much as blink. But Buffy and Dawn might be in danger, and he would rather die (in a manner of speaking) trying than to sit and wait, hoping that they would be safe.

Not bothering with his duster, which was too awkward with the crutches anyway, he set off as quickly as he was able for the shop. He avoided the short-cuts he might have taken a year ago, sticking instead to the well-lit streets, hoping that he would escape unnoticed.

Unmolested, he reached the door of the shop with a heartfelt sigh of relief. As much as he wouldn’t have minded finding himself dust, and his sorry excuse for an unlife over, he couldn’t afford to be maudlin as long as Buffy or Dawn were possibly in danger. And as he opened the door to see the Slayer’s sprawled figure, it seemed that his fear had been valid.

Spike didn’t bother with the lights; he didn’t need them and he was too worried about Buffy to pause even for a moment. Releasing the tension on the braces, he sank down to the floor with a complete lack of grace. “Buffy,” he called quietly. “Wake up, luv.”

She started to stir almost immediately, and he gave in to both his relief and his feelings for her by stroking her blond hair out of her face tenderly. “Come on, pet, time to wake up now.”

Green eyes opened to stare at him with a total lack of recognition. “Who—who are you?”

The vampire pulled his hand back from her face, his eyes mirroring her confusion. “It’s me, Spike. What happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything.” The look she turned on him was one of pleading. “You know me?”

Spike was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that something had gone seriously wrong. If he had to make an educated guess, he’d say that someone had cast a spell that had either done exactly what they wanted it to or had gone terribly awry. If the first, it was probably an outsider, an enemy. If the second, then all evidence would probably point to one of the witches. Though considering the Sweet debacle, it could very easily be one of the others. “Yeah, Buffy, we live together.” Realizing how that sounded, he amended. “Well, I stay in your house. Bit of a difference there.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaking a bit.

He hesitated, and then admitted, “Don’t know, but let’s wake the others and we’ll see if we can’t find out.”

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out to touch him as she saw the braces on his legs.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he replied, turning his head away. She seemed to sense his reluctance in accepting her help and so didn’t offer, instead turning her head away so as not to see his embarrassment. Once he was on his feet, however, she flipped on the light switch, and they both watched as the others woke.

They were all disoriented, coming to consciousness slowly, and if the situation had been less serious, Spike would have had a good laugh at their positions: Giles drooling on Anya, Willow cuddled up with Xander. He couldn’t help but wonder what they might have thought, what explanations they would have come up with if left to their own devices.

There was no time for such thoughts, however. Dawn was obviously frightened, and as the Scoobies and the Watcher began to realize their predicament, voices were raised and questions asked. Spike’s first concern was Dawn, though, and he and Buffy moved immediately to her side when she let out a distressed whimper. “’Sall right, Niblet,” Spike said quietly, trying not to startle her. “It’ll be fine.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes distressingly trusting. “You know me?”

“Sure I do, pet,” Spike replied as gently as possible. “I was s’posed to help you with that essay today, right?” If he was hoping he could jog her memory, he was sorely disappointed since all he got was a blank look. Buffy put a comforting arm around her sister, and Spike turned to see the rest of the crew arguing in distressed tones.

“Hey now!” he called to the room at large. “That’ll be enough of that.” The vampire was pleased as they immediately looked over at him. “You lot alright?”

“We are not ‘alright,’” Giles said, with more than a hint of distaste in his tone. “None of us have any memory of who we are.”

Spike couldn’t resist a smirk. He was firmly on the high ground. “Well, lucky for you I know who all of you are.” He named them off one by one, pointing to each in turn. “Rupert Giles. Anya. Tara. Willow. Xander. Buffy. Dawn.” He lifted an eyebrow at Giles’ faintly skeptical look. “Check your pockets then if you don’t believe me.”

They checked their pockets, all but Dawn and Anya having some kind of identification. Anya found confirmation with the key that fit the cash register and the receipts that had her name on them. Tara, Buffy and Willow had their student I.D.’s and Xander and Giles had their driver’s licenses. Dawn found her name on her necklace. “Since you seem to know who we are,” Giles grudgingly admitted, “perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us who you are.”

All eyes turned to him, and Spike realized that he had placed himself in the strange position of being the leader. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. This wasn’t what he had in mind. “I’m Spike,” he finally said. “Got worried ‘bout Buffy and the Bit and decided to see if I couldn’t find them. Looks like you lot got caught up in someone’s spell.”

There were strident objections to that by Giles and milder arguments from Willow and Xander. Spike rolled his eyes. “Look around, you gits,” he ordered. “Strike you as a regular shop then?” He muttered several other, less-than-complimentary comments, low enough that no one heard him. “First rule of order is to find out what happened. Chances are someone is either using this as some sort of weapon or one of you lot screwed up a spell.” He snorted. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was that last.”

He might have gone on, trying to find some clue that explained what had happened to all of them, but a large rock crashed through the front window. “Come on, Spike! We know you’re in there. Come out and maybe we’ll let your friends live.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Last thing he needed right now was a bunch of bloody vampires.

“Why do those men out there want to hurt you?” Willow asked.

He sighed, swinging himself to the window and peering out. “Go away, you soddin’ wankers,” he yelled back. “Slayer’s in here and she’ll stake your arses.” The only response he got were jeers. “Look, long story short, they’re not happy with me because I’m hangin’ with the Slayer and they think I’m an easy target.”

“Slayer?” Tara asked. “Who—who is that?”

This was entirely too much. How was he supposed to explain the whole of the Sunnyhell madness to a bunch of people who hadn’t a clue as to who they were? “She’s the Slayer,” he replied shortly, pointing at Buffy.

At just that moment, two vampires crashed inside, one through the window and one through the back door. The rest of the lot screamed, but Spike grabbed the stakes that sat on a nearby shelf and tossed one to Buffy. “Catch!” he called, and was relieved to see that her body remembered what her brain didn’t. Some fancy footwork from the Slayer and a couple piles of dust later and they managed to get the rest of the riffraff out the door, Buffy leaning on it to prevent any more vampires from entering that way. Spike quickly slammed the window grate down by releasing the catch, hoping that would keep the rest of them out for the time being.

“Why do they want you so bad?” Xander asked suspiciously from his position on the floor. “They’re vampires. They should be just as pissed about the rest of us helping Buffy as they are about you. What makes you so special?”

Spike couldn’t believe that Harris would choose this particular moment to get all logical on him. “Because I’m a traitor,” he replied. At their blank looks, he rolled his eyes. “I’m a bloody vampire, you git. I help the Vampire Slayer. You see why they might take exception.”

In spite of the fact that he had just spent the past fifteen minutes reassuring them, telling them who they were, helping save them from what threatened them, they all drew back from him in fear. Buffy took a tighter grip on her stake. “Why should we trust you then?”

And suddenly they were all looking at him not only in fear, but also in suspicion. “Because I want to help you,” he said, unbelievably hurt. “Didn’t have to come here tonight, you know, risking my life for you lot just by walking out the door. I was worried.”

“You mean you want to eat us,” Willow said. “I can’t believe we’re listening to a vampire. I think we should get out of here, maybe go to the hospital. They should be able to help us.”

“Perhaps you should leave,” Giles suggested, a hint of threat in his voice. “I don’t see how you could be of any use to us anyway.”

Spike looked over at Buffy, desperately hoping that he might see something resembling compassion on her face. Because it wasn’t just their words that cut, it was the looks on their faces. Losing their memories had simply pulled aside the façade of pity, leaving only disgust and misgiving in its wake. At least Buffy looked uncertain, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to drop the stake or stand up for him. “Fine,” he said softly. “I’ll just be on my way then. Why I thought to help any of you lot is beyond me.”

He headed deliberately for the front door, figuring Buffy would most likely gladly step out of his way. Spike was tired. He was so tired, and all the weight of his hundred-odd years hung on him like stones. He had no doubt that it would be over quickly. “Wait!” It was Dawn’s voice behind him. “You can’t go out there. They’ll kill you.”

“That’s the point, Bit,” he replied, knowing that she wouldn’t really recognize his pet-name for her. “It’s time I end this.”

“But you’re the only one who knows what’s going on,” she protested. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Dawn’s right.” This time it was Tara. “Besides, Spike could have hurt us at any point, and he hasn’t lied to us yet. We can’t just let him go out and get killed. He wouldn’t stand a chance against all of them.”

He wouldn’t have stood a chance against one of them, Spike knew, but he appreciated her words. They soothed the wounds that the others’ suspicions had made in him. “Tara and Dawn are right,” Buffy said softly. Turning to him, she asked, “Is there another way out of here?”

“The basement,” he replied. “There’s a trapdoor that leads to the sewers.”

“We can go out that way then,” Buffy said, ready to turn and lead the way.

Spike shook his head. “Won’t work, pet. I won’t make it down those ladders. If they think you’re in here, they’ll hold off storming the place for a while. Best get the rest of them to safety.”

Buffy shook her head. The fight with the vampires who had gotten in had energized her and given her a new confidence. Spike had called her the Slayer; apparently the Slayer was a superhero. And heroes did not let guys who were trying to save their lives die. “The rest of you go on. Get to the sewers and make for the hospital. Spike and I will follow as soon as we can.”

Spike was about ready to argue, but a steely look from Buffy was all it took to convince him otherwise. “She’s right,” he finally admitted grudgingly. “The rest of you go on.” When no one moved, he shifted his face, showed a little fang. “Go!” They went.

He and Buffy sat in silence, her back holding the front door closed. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He was leaning on the door next to her even though Spike knew he wouldn’t be much use in keeping the door shut; there was too much risk in him getting overbalanced.

“Your legs. What happened?”

“I fell.”

It was an inadequate explanation to say the least. “Come on, Spike. I know I’m supposed to know this already, but you’re a vampire. Aren’t vampires supposed to be, I don’t know, hard to kill or something?”

He looked over at her, his blue eyes blank and unreadable. “We’re immortal, Buffy, not invulnerable. And before you ask, I should have healed by now.”

“Oh.” Buffy regarded him with the eyes of a nearly impartial stranger. Who was he, this vampire who had come to check on her? Who had been worried for her sister and claimed to sleep in her house? “Why were you hurt then?”

“I made a promise,” he replied quietly, and Buffy knew that was all he was going to say on the matter.

There was another long pause, and then Buffy broke the silence again. “Are we—you know—dating or something?”

“No,” he said, not looking at her. “But I think we might be friends.”

Considering this, she said softly. “I’m sorry about earlier, about not trusting you. But I don’t know you.”

“I know,” he said, and gave her a wry smile. “And if you did know me, you still probably wouldn’t trust me. Story of my life, really.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Spike might have been restless, but he had learned to wait over the last months, learned how to be patient. The Slayer, however, had none of that, and she was natually inclined to action. “We can’t just sit here all night,” she finally said.

“Why not?” he asked, surprised. “Once sunrise is close enough, they’ll leave well enough alone.”

Buffy shook her head. “Let me rephrase that. I’m not going to sit here all night. Besides, we should help the others if we can. You don’t know what’s in the sewers.”

Spike did know; that was the problem. He figured the rest of them could probably take care of Dawn, but Buffy was right. Without any knowledge of what they could be facing, they were much more vulnerable. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

He could see a renewed respect in her eyes as he indicated his willingness to allow her to call the shots. “Okay, stakes kill vampires, right? Do you know where we could find something more long-range for you to use?”

Excitement began to kindle in Spike’s head. “Yeah, Giles has crossbows and the like in the training room. I’ll look around and see if I can find holy water too. Should be some around here.”

He returned a few minutes later with a loaded crossbow and several extra bolts stuck through his belt, plus a few glass vials of holy water in his pockets. “Good,” Buffy said eagerly. “Now, if you could get behind something, you could shoot at them as they come through the door, and I’ll stake them.” She grinned at him. “This could be fun. You do know how to shoot that thing, don’t you?” she asked, glancing at the crossbow.

“Don’t worry, luv,” he said, a sparkle in his eyes that had been missing for some time. “I won’t hit you.”

Their camaraderie was an easy one, and as Spike stood behind the bookcase, waiting for Buffy to give the signal, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy. This was what he had lived for: the fight, the excitement, fangs and fists and sod all else. This was life. At the Slayer’s signal, he called out, “Hey! Why don’t you poofters come in and get me! Sent the rest of them away, so you’ve lost your meal. Come on and take me if you think you can.”

His sharp ears caught muttered arguments outside the door. Apparently, they were afraid it was a trap, and they weren’t eager to die. He looked over at Buffy and cocked one scarred eyebrow, and she grinned back, letting the door swing open slowly and scurrying off to one side so they wouldn’t see her. Like mice who recognize the trap but find the cheese too tempting to pass up, two of the vampires crossed the threshold warily. Spike waited until they turned and then let loose a bolt from the crossbow, dusting one neatly. Buffy was on the second in a moment, and he too was dust.

The next bolt missed its target by less than an inch, lodging in the vampire’s shoulder, but Spike grabbed the vial of holy water and slung it as hard as he could, breaking the glass on his face and blinding him, Buffy using the moment of disorientation to stake him as well. The last two were through the door and on top of Spike in a moment’s time. Buffy pulled one away and was fighting with him even as Spike was trying not to let the other vampire kill him. The git finally fell on the stake that he was hanging onto for dear life, and he looked over to see Buffy sprawled on the floor, a dazed look on her face.

Concerned, he struggled to his feet and reloaded the crossbow, even as the vampire aimed a kick at her stomach. But whatever had floored her passed, and she grabbed his foot and gave it a vicious twist, pulling him to the floor and straddling his waist, a stake poised above his heart. “I’m only going to say this once,” she grated out. “Spike is my concern. If anyone so much as lays a finger on him, I will make them wish they had never been born. You can tell that to your friends.” And then she got off of him, snarling, “Run.”

Spike watched in amazement and narrowed his eyes as she turned to look at him. “Buffy?”

“Yeah, I’m back,” she said, smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and he couldn’t help but compare this Slayer to the joyous girl she’d been a few minutes before. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said shortly, turning on his crutches to close and latch the door of the shop.

“Look, Spike, I know you think you’re useless right now, but you did a good job tonight.” Buffy had no idea why she was trying to comfort him. This was Spike, the guy that had been her mortal enemy. And she was really starting to like him. “If you hadn’t shown up, I shudder to think what would have happened.”

He shook his head. “You would have figured it out, Slayer. And chances are those wankers wouldn’t have bothered to make an appearance without me around.”

She sat down on the steps, elbows on knees and chin in her hands. “We were all here because Giles wanted to tell us he was going back to England. As in, permanently.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, he sat down next to her.

“You don’t seem surprised,” she noted. “Did you know he was leaving?”

“Not as such, but I saw it coming,” he admitted.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s you, Mr. Perceptive.”

He wasn’t sure he should bring it up, but he thought it necessary. “You know Willow was probably the one doin’ the spell.”

“I know,” she replied. “There really isn’t anyone else who would have done it. It was probably a mistake.”

“Even so, one of you could have gotten hurt, luv,” he said.

She looked over at him. “What’s your point?”

He sighed. He screwed up and he was in the doghouse for the next few weeks; one of the Scoobies screwed up and it was forgiven and forgotten in moments. “Glinda will leave over this, you know. She’s been worried about Red for a while now, and they were fighting about magic a few weeks ago at Halloween.”

Buffy rubbed her eyes tiredly. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was anyone else’s problems. Her own had come crashing back down on her shoulders, leaving no time to think of the others. “Okay, again, what’s your point?”

“I think you should ask Tara to come live with you,” he said. Before she could object, he continued on. “I’ve been thinkin’ about movin’ down to the basement for a while now, ‘specially since the pipes got fixed. She’ll need a place to stay, and you could ask her to help out ‘round the house, cookin’ and such, instead of rent. That’ll take some of the burden off your shoulders, and Dawn really likes her, you know.”

“And you really like her too,” Buffy said, with a small smile. “She’s the only one I know who can get you to shut up with a look.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably. “She’s a lady,” he finally said in explanation. “Reminds me of your mum, in a way.”

He winced even as the words came out of his mouth, hating to bring up a painful subject. “You’re right,” Buffy replied softly, not yelling at him as he thought she might. “She’s got a presence about her that’s really soothing.” She gave him a measuring look. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Not much else I can do, luv,” he responded.

Buffy didn’t say anything to that, but simply reached over and laid her hand on top of his where it rested on the floor. There were sounds from the basement then, and she moved away from him, but not before giving his hand one last squeeze. And it felt like a kiss.

She met the others, making sure they were fine, getting a status report from them, finding out that they’d met up with a vampire in the sewers. “Xander staked him,” Dawn supplied. “It was so cool.”

Xander shrugged it off and looked over at Spike, who’d made it to his feet, but said nothing. Dawn caught his eyes as well, but she headed straight for the vampire. “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shirt front, her arms tight around his waist.

“Didn’t do much,” he replied, managing to get one arm around her.

She looked him straight in the eye. “You could have been killed tonight just trying to check on us. I told you you weren’t allowed to die.”

“Sorry, I’ll remember that next time.” Spike looked up and saw that Buffy had pulled Tara off to the side and was speaking in low tones, while Giles stood apart from the group, already pulling himself away. “When’s the Watcher leavin’?” he asked Dawn softly.

“Tonight,” she replied in the same tone. “Buffy was really upset earlier. She totally told him off for taking off like he is.” Her gaze turned inward. “Dad did the same thing.”

He tightened his grip on her slightly, offering what comfort he could. Telling her without words that he wasn’t going anywhere, and her grateful look warmed him. “I should get Dawn home,” Buffy said to Giles and the room in general. She looked over at him, resentment still present in her eyes. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“No,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s all arranged.”

“Right.” She looked back at Spike, who stood silently with Dawn. “We should go.”

Xander stepped in. “We can give you guys a ride back to your place. It’s a long walk, especially after a night like this.”

Buffy and Tara’s eyes met, and a quiet understanding passed between them. As they turned to go, Giles’ voice stopped them. “Spike.”

The vampire turned to look at the man who, hours before, was ready to feed him to the wolves. “Watcher.”

“Take care of yourself.”

It was as close to an apology as he was likely to receive, and part of him wanted to spit it right back in his face, much as he had Giles’ suggestion a few years previous that he might be meant for bigger things. But he had changed, and there was a part of him that recognized he was different, special even. That maybe he had something more to give. That same part that refused to admit he might have already given everything he had. “You too,” was his response, the reply of an older, wiser vampire. And he followed his girls back out into the night.

Buffy came down the stairs to find Tara cooking breakfast, specifically, pancakes. “Hey, smells good,” Buffy said, thinking that she hadn’t come down to a morning like this one since her mother had died.

“Funny shapes or rounds?” Tara asked with a welcoming smile. “Dawn asked for funny shapes, but I can make whichever you prefer.”

“Funny shapes taste better,” Dawn supplied, taking a huge bite of pancake with syrup.

She smiled at her sister. “Well, I guess I’ll go with the expert advice and say funny, then.” The Slayer gave her new roommate a measuring look. “I’m glad you’re here, Tara, and not just because of the gourmet breakfasts. Though they’re much appreciated,” she hurried to assure her.

Since the spell gone wrong at the Magic Box, Tara had been staying at the Summers’ residence. It had been an awkward decision all around. While Tara had been the one to leave Willow, and it had only made sense that she be the one to find a new place, no one had expected Buffy to offer her use of their home. Willow had been understandably upset, but Buffy had found herself to be less than sympathetic. For one, having her memories expunged, only to get them back, had been incredibly painful, not to mention dangerous. She, like Tara, was worried about Willow, and what Spike hadn’t said was painfully obvious: Willow might prove a threat to all of them with her recklessness. This hadn’t been the first time she’d worked her will on the rest of them through magic, and it hadn’t been the first time she’d placed their lives in danger.

Tara was a nice roommate to have around, however. Spike had willingly vacated Joyce’s old room in favor of a cot in the basement, and having the shy Wicca around had made perfect sense after only a couple days. Tara was sweet, stable, understanding, and a wonderful cook. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder how Spike had figured all that out on his own.

“It’s good to be here, Buffy,” Tara admitted quietly. “I wasn’t sure where I was going to go after—you know.”

“Well,” Buffy replied frankly, “you can thank Spike for that. He’s the one who suggested I talk to you.”

“Spike? Really?” Tara asked, a thoughtful look on her face. “He isn’t what you’d expect, is he?”

“No,” Buffy said wryly. “He was much less complicated when he was just trying to kill me.”

“Speaking of Spike,” Dawn interrupted, staring into the refrigerator, a carton of juice in her hand. “I thought you usually got his blood on Mondays.”

Buffy came over to see what her sister was looking at and was surprised to see a full week’s supply of blood in the fridge. And it was Saturday. “Have either of you seen him recently?” she asked quietly.

They looked over at each other, exchanging guilty looks. It was immediately clear that he hadn’t been seen, and no one had thought anything of it. Buffy felt a bolt of shame go through her. He could have been dust and she would have never known. At least, not for a while. He had disappeared into her basement like a rabbit down its hole, and she hadn’t even thought to check on him, knowing full well that his death wish was stronger with each passing day. In spite of his good work at the shop that night, he had been entirely too willing to throw his unlife away. Fear joined shame as she thought of what her life would look like without the bleached vampire. Her logical mind clamped down on her emotions and reminded her that he was a soulless fiend. If he dusted, not a big deal. But her heart was still beating just a hair faster than it should have if she truly hadn’t cared for him.

“I’ll go down and check on him,” she said, her own breakfast forgotten.

“Buffy?” Dawn said, fear in her eyes.

She gave her sister a reassuring hug. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Dawnie.” But as her eyes met Tara’s, she acknowledged that he might be too broken to fix, and she was grateful for the other woman’s presence. Of all of her friends, Tara was the one most sympathetic to him.

“I’ll heat some blood up for him,” she said to Buffy. “He’ll need it.”

Buffy descended the stairs to her basement, relieved when she saw Spike’s still figure on the cot. Ignoring her logical mind, she followed her instincts and sat down on the bed next to him. “Spike?” she called softly, touching him on the shoulder.

He faced away from her, his chest bare, his skin cold, much colder than it normally was. “Spike, you need to wake up.” A moment’s pause, and Buffy said, “I know you’re not asleep, so you can quit pretending.”

“Go away, Slayer.”

That was it. Three words she thought she’d never hear from him and nothing more. “I also know you haven’t been eating,” Buffy continued, as though she hadn’t heard him. “Why?”

“I said, go away,” he replied, his tone harsh. He finally turned to face her, and Buffy was shocked. He’d been pale and drawn after he escaped from the Initiative and come to them for help. (Was it really the same vampire?) She knew he hadn’t fed for some time then, but now his face was even more hollowed out, dark shadows ringing his eyes. He looked beaten, more so than he had at any point in the past. More than when he’d come to them that Thanksgiving, more than he had after he’d been tortured by Glory. All the fight had left his eyes, and that frightened her more than anything. Spike was supposed to be the one who never gave up.

“You have to eat,” she replied. “You know vampires can’t starve themselves to death, so I don’t know why you’re even trying it.” Worry made her words come out more sharply than she’d intended.

He glared and then tried to roll back over. “Maybe not, but if I wait long enough I might not wake up.”

Spike was serious, she realized immediately. He really didn’t care that he was starving himself into oblivion. And she wasn’t completely certain that he wouldn’t starve to death. If he really didn’t eat for long enough, he might get dusty from lack of nourishment. “Absolutely not,” she said, her hand on his shoulder preventing him from turning his back to her again. “I don’t plan on accessorizing my basement with a dessicated vampire. You’re eating if I have to pour it down your throat myself.”

His glare was even more impotent than it usually was. Lack of food had made him weak, and he didn’t stand a chance at resisting her. “Buffy.” The word was softer, pleading. “Let me go.”

She shook her head, offering him a mute apology with her eyes. “No. I need you here too much, Spike.”

“You don’t,” he objected.

“What about the other night, at the Magic Box? Or with the dancing demon?” She tried to will some life back into him, not bothering to question why it meant so much to her.

He didn’t have an argument to counter her objections, as much as he wanted to. He’d thought he would get away with it this time; after three days, when no one had come to check on him, he figured the basement meant out of sight, out of mind. Spike had nearly been right. He closed his eyes and felt Buffy’s weight rise from the cot. For a minute he thought she’d finally succumbed to his request, but the voices disabused him of that notion in a hurry.

He heard Tara’s voice, soft and questioning, and then Buffy’s answer. A silence followed, as though they didn’t want him to overhear what they had to say. The scent of blood hit his nostrils, and he could barely contain his blood lust. As it was, he couldn’t prevent the mask from slipping. He opened his eyes to find Buffy looking down at him, her eyes sure and unafraid. “Hold on,” she murmured.

Spike didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to give into her demands that he (un)live, but the Slayer wasn’t going to give him a choice, and neither was his demon. She helped him to sit up and lean back against the wall, and then handed him the mug. The feel of the ceramic in his hand and the even sharper scent was enough to break down every defense he’d carefully erected. He drank down the contents in mere seconds, glancing away from Buffy even as he licked his lips to get every drop available.

“Geez, Spike,” Buffy said, her tone as light as her eyes were serious. “You know we have plenty of that upstairs. No need to go hungry in this house.”

He shook his head, his face shifting back into its human guise. She didn’t, couldn’t understand. “I’m alright.”

As though sensing that she wasn’t going to get any more from him, she nodded. “I have errands to run, among other things today, so I’ll be out, but Tara should be around and Dawn too. I’ll have them check on you every so often.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he objected.

“I think I do,” she replied. “Look, Spike, I don’t know what all this is about, but I think we need to talk after I get back from patrol tonight. Fair warning.”

He nodded, not having the strength or the will to argue anymore. He felt, rather than saw, her hand press his shoulder, having closed his eyes again. It was easier to drift back to sleep, now that he’d fed, but even so, the sleeping left him wishing that he’d never wake.

~~~~~

Spike was awakened midafternoon by a serious-faced Dawn. “I brought you some more blood.”

He blinked owlishly at her, frowning slightly. “Bit? ‘M not really hungry right now, but thanks.”

“Spike,” she said, exhibiting the long-suffering of a fifteen-year-old, “you haven’t eaten anything in, like, a week. Don’t tell me you don’t need this.”

He sighed. There was really no getting around it. Apparently, everybody was going to be pouring blood down his throat until they thought he’d had enough. Unfortunately, his stomach growled at that instant, so he couldn’t even argue that he was still full from what Buffy brought down earlier. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he took the warm mug from her and drank.

Dawn sat down next to him and watched as he consumed what was probably lunch. Or breakfast, depending on whether or not they ever let him get back to sleep. “Your roots are showing,” she pointed out suddenly.

“Huh?” he asked, licking his lips, yellow eyes becoming blue again.

“Your roots. They’re showing,” she repeated, and held a thumb and finger about a half-inch apart. “By about this much.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. It was difficult to be depressed when the Niblet was around, mostly because he never knew what to expect from her. “Looks bad, then, does it?”

She shrugged. “It’s not terrible. I’ve never seen it get that long, though.” And then she grinned at him. “I could bleach it for you.”

He returned her grin with a dubious look. “Don’t think so, thanks anyway.”

“What? You really think you’re going to impress my sister looking like that?”

He gave her a sharp glare, silently telling her to mind her own business. “Not lookin’ to impress anyone, Bit. If you’ll excuse me—”

He’d planned on getting her to leave so he could go back to sleep, especially since the conversation was going places he didn’t want to go. “I’m not leaving just so you can start moping again and try and starve yourself to death,” Dawn interrupted, giving him a glare that matched his own in ferocity.

“Wasn’t trying to starve myself,” he finally admitted, trying to find a way to tell her what it had meant, him not eating. Mostly it had to do with the fact that he didn’t have the energy to put the braces on, to climb the stairs. It had been easier to just lie there, not brooding, not thinking, just laying there, empty-like.

Dawn must have understood some of what he couldn’t say, because her face softened, and she said, “You know, if you didn’t want to climb the stairs you could have yelled at one of us. I would have brought something down.”

He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. “Come on,” she said, abruptly. “I’ll get a basin and I can do your hair down here.”

Before he could say absolutely not, she was gone and up the stairs, moving with a speed and an ease that he envied. And then she was back with a large bowl and a box of dye, acting for all the world as though he was actually going to let her touch his hair.

His eyes narrowed suddenly when he saw the box though, because he knew Buffy didn’t have that much extra cash lying about, and he was certain that she wasn’t going to be forking it over for his hair products. “How’d you come up with that?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

For a moment, he was certain she was going to lie, and then she tilted her head defiantly. “I stole it.”

“Right then,” he said. “And when you get caught, the government blokes will probably drag your arse away.”

“I’m not going to get caught,” she replied hotly, but there was a shade of doubt in her eyes, and Spike knew he had her attention.

“What else have you been takin’?”

“Little stuff,” she replied. “Nothing big.”

A flash of insight came as he remembered the singing demon fiasco. Dawn had been wearing his talisman, even though she hadn’t summoned him. The revelation that Xander had been the one to call Sweet had distracted everyone from noticing what a lame excuse she’d had for having the necklace on in the first place, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. “Like the necklace?” he asked. “What else have you taken from the shop, Bit?”

“I told you, little stuff,” she replied, but most of the defiance had gone out of her, and she sat down, deflated, on the edge of the cot.

“So you take the stuff hoping someone will notice, sooner or later, just so they’ll pay attention to you?” he asked. Made sense to him; it was the reason he’d killed his first Slayer, really, to make Angelus pay attention to him.

She leaned back against the wall with a deep sigh. “It sounds really stupid when you put it that way.”

“I’ve done stupid, pet,” he said sympathetically. At the moment he was thinking of chaining Buffy to a wall. Oh, yeah, he’d done stupid. “Look, I won’t tell your sis if you put the stuff back.” She looked as though she were about to protest. “If you can steal it, you can unsteal it,” he said reasonably. “Take it back one or two things at a time and leave it in out of the way spots. Anya’ll find it when she’s cleaning and think someone picked it up and misplaced it. As for the rest of it, just don’t do it anymore. You get caught, someone’ll have your hide for sure, and I’m not just talkin’ about Buffy.”

“You’re really not going to tell Buffy?” Dawn asked, relief in her voice.

He shook his head. “No, I’m not. But if you’re smart, you’ll ‘fess up. Chances are, she’ll find out sooner or later.”

“I can’t,” Dawn replied, her tone panicked.

“Up to you,” he returned. “Remember that, Niblet. In the end, it’s always up to you.”

She dropped her eyes from his gaze, and then looked back up at him pleadingly. “So you’ll let me do your hair now?”

~~~~~

Tara was down later that evening to check on him, the third in a string, though by no means the last. Spike was aware that Buffy would be back down later, after she got home from patrol or whatever it was she was doing. And while he dreaded their talk, he also looked forward to it, to seeing her, being near her. She was the sun around which his universe spun.

There were days that he wished she would punch him in the nose like she used to, if only because it would prove that he wasn’t a glass-Spike to be protected. It would mean that he was whole again. He also knew that it was only because he had been broken for her that she allowed him to stay, to get as close as he was. The moment he was back on his feet again, he would be relegated to the shadows. He truly was between a rock and a hard place; as long as he was crippled, he could be close to Buffy, and yet he could never be with her. When he healed, he would be sidelined from her life, but he might actually be able to touch her, to give her what she needed.

So he sat, waiting for her to come, to comfort him, to torment him. It was all the same these days.

He glanced up from the book he was reading as Tara came down the stairs, coming to sit next to him on the cot. “How are you?” she asked quietly.

“Been better, Glinda,” he replied honestly, finding it difficult to lie to the shy Wicca. Like Joyce, she demanded the best from him, all the remnants of the Victorian gentleman coming to the surface for her.

She handed him the ubiquitous mug. “Drink.”

Not daring to disobey, he did so, looking up in surprise at the taste. “What’s in here?”

“Herbs. Nothing weird, just stuff that’s supposed to lift the spirits.” She leaned back against the wall on one shoulder, considering him. “You let Dawn bleach your hair.”

“She wasn’t going to take no for an answer,” he replied with a rueful smile. They sat in silence as he drank, and it wasn’t uncomfortable.

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Spike, what’s wrong?”

The tears came up unexpectedly, choking him. He was not going to cry, not in front of someone. He hadn’t truly let anyone see him cry since he’d been turned, since that night Drusilla had caught him in the empty stable. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

It was a permission, of sorts, and he put his hands up over his face and let the tears flow where she wouldn’t see, even though he knew that she knew. When he spoke, his words were muffled by tears and his hands. “I’m not healing.”

“Oh.” He heard the hesitation in her voice as she searched for words to comfort him. “You have to give it time. This happened before, I know, but you have to be patient—”

He cut off whatever else she might have said. “Last time I was getting some feeling back after three months, Glinda. Only reason I stayed in the chair as long as I did was because I didn’t want Angelus to know I was almost back to full strength. Could move about more freely if he didn’t know. Now, there’s been no change and it’s been over six months.”

His voice broke on the last words, and Tara put a gentle hand on his back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles, like one would do for a friend or a sick child. “Th-there’s a spell,” she finally said.

“I don’t think—”

She hastened to explain. “Not a healing spell, but it tells you if there’s something preventing healing from the outside, something unnatural.”

“And if it shows nothing?” His voice was bitter.

Her hand slowed, stopped, started again. “Then it just means you have to wait a little longer. I need some stuff for it, but I could do it tomorrow night maybe.”

He thought about it for a moment, realized that knowing might be better than not knowing, nodded. “Alright.”

“You should try to sleep,” she urged, putting a hand up to his forehead as though checking for fever.

He shook his head in response. “Waking up’s too big of a bitch, luv,” he said with some of his old wry humor. She smiled at him then and might have left, except that he stopped her with a gentle hand. “How are you?”

Tara looked at him in surprise and a touch of wonder. “I’m okay,” she replied honestly. It was hard to be away from Willow, but she knew she had made the right decision, that her lover would have consumed her if she had stayed.

“You did the right thing,” he said, as though reading her mind. “Red was getting out of control. Leavin’ was the only option you had left, y’know.” He said it earnestly, and Tara wondered then how much he knew, how much he saw. He was like a satellite moon, orbiting around their little group, never getting any further or any closer, doomed always to see and never to touch. She wished she could wave a magic wand for him, remove the pain and the fear. Bring him in, close enough to touch.

“Thanks, Spike.” And they sat there for a long time, two moons in orbit.

~~~~~

Buffy came in late, though not as late as she sometimes had when she had a slaying partner. At this point, there seemed to be more waiting for her at home than there was out in the darkness. Tara was waiting for her when she came in, and Buffy smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey. How was patrol?” the witch asked.

“Fine. Quiet. We’re still researching that frozen security guard, but so far, nothing. How is everything here?” Buffy asked.

“Good. It’s good.”

There was a long pause and Buffy finally asked, “How is he?”

“Depressed,” Tara replied. “I put something in his blood that’s supposed to help with moods, and we may want to try to keep doing that.” She paused. “He doesn’t think he’s healing, Buffy.”

The Slayer looked off into space, fully aware of Spike’s fears. He had sung them to her, after all. And she couldn’t say it hadn’t crossed her own mind. “I know.”

“There’s a spell,” Tara began. “It’s just to tell whether or not there’s something unnatural interfering with the healing process. I told him I would try it tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded. “That might be a good idea. At least we might have a better idea of what’s going on.” She hesitated. “Tara, can I talk to you about something?”

“Anything, Buffy. What’s wrong?”

Tara’s large eyes showed nothing but concern, and she took a deep breath. “That thing, with the singing, and the dancing. Spike and I kissed. I mean, it wasn’t a good idea, I know, but—”

“Buffy, Spike isn’t a bad guy,” Tara said softly. “He’s done a lot of good things, and he’s changed. I don’t think it’s wrong that you kissed him.”

“It’s just, he’s a vampire, and I swore I was never going to do this again.”

Tara laid a hand on her arm. “There are a lot of people who would say that Willow and I were wrong to be together. Sometimes you can’t go by what people say, you have to go with how you feel.” There was a significant pause, and then she asked, “How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy confessed. “I like him. As a friend. But what I feel around him is very unfriendlike. Not that I want to hurt him, just that I want him. As more than a friend.” She buried her face in her hands. “I am so screwed.”

“Do you think you could fall in love with him?” Tara asked.

Buffy didn’t look up. Could she? Could she really love Spike? Spike, of all people? “I don’t know.” And then whispered, “Maybe.”

“Don’t be afraid of love, Buffy,” Tara said. “No one knows how much time they have here. Any of us. So don’t be afraid of it. If you love him, that’s okay. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. You have time to figure it out.” She reached over and gripped Buffy’s knee, forcing her to meet her eyes. “But I think Spike needs you right now, whatever you can give him. If you don’t want to lose him, you’re going to have to give him something to hold onto if you can.”

~~~~~

Tara’s words rang in Buffy’s ears as she went down to the basement to talk to him. She went empty-handed this time, uncertain of what she was supposed to say, what she had to give him that might give him the strength to hang on. “Hey.”

Spike glanced up from the worn notebook he was writing in. “Hey.”

“You look better.”

“Thanks.”

There was a long silence, neither of them sure what to say to the other. Pulling something out of her pocket, Buffy came close to the cot and held it out to him. “Picked something up for you.”

“You didn’t have to, luv,” he said, taking the pack of smokes from her.

She shrugged. “I know, but I figured it was probably the best way to get you out of the basement. No smoking inside the house, you know.” He looked at her, and his silence made her nervous. “Come upstairs?” It was an invitation, not a demand, and he could not refuse.

“Give me a minute, Slayer,” he said quietly, blue eyes serious.

She watched him as he began to pull the braces out from under his cot, and she did the one thing that was taboo. “Let me help you.”

He stared at her in shock, not even believing that she would offer, breaking the unspoken rule. She knelt down next to him. “Let me help, Spike.”

The amazing thing was that he did. Sitting back, leaning against the wall, he allowed her to encase his recalcitrant legs within the stiff plastic, pulling the straps tight. And when she had finished he let her grab his crutches for him and help him to his feet, the expression on his face unreadable.

They walked upstairs and onto the back porch in silence, Buffy watching as he lit a cigarette. “What happened?” she asked.

“I was tired,” he replied, giving her no more explanation than that, but she needed none. When even standing was a chore, she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to move.

She didn’t try to give him a pep talk, didn’t try to tell him everything was going to be fine. It might not be true; they both knew that. “Can I ask you a question?”

He gave her a look that measured her words carefully, sifting the ulterior motive from the innocent request. “Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you said anything about our kiss?”

It seemed to be a night for breaking the rules: ignore Spike while he struggles to stand, ignore Spike while he struggles to walk, ignore kisses shared with former Big Bads. “Why should I say anything?” he replied, a note of bitterness in his voice. “It’s not going anywhere, Buffy.”

His answer surprised her. For Spike to admit that their relationship wasn’t going anywhere, it was out of character. It was completely at odds with the vampire who chained her to a wall in order to convince her of his love. Spike pushed; Spike didn’t know when to leave well-enough alone. “Right,” she replied, slightly stung. “Like that’s ever stopped you before. Come on, Spike, I think I know you better than that now.”

“Let it go, Slayer,” he said, his voice low.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Spike, I’m not saying it is going somewhere, but the kiss? It was nice. I just—was it not okay?”

He looked over at her in surprise, all her insecurities reflected in her eyes, and he couldn’t stand to see her hurting. “It was good, luv, but it was one kiss. Can’t build anything on one kiss.”

“What is it, Spike? What aren’t you telling me?” She let her hand drop as he struggled to get to his feet.

“Leave it alone.”

“Spike…”

He stood by the door, his back stiff with tension, and she knew he hadn’t told her everything. ‘What was it?’ she wondered. Was she suddenly not what he wanted? He’d spent too much time with her and had seen her for who she really was? “I can’t,” he finally said flatly.

“Can’t what?” she asked, confusion coloring her tone. She stood to face where he stood. “What can’t you do, Spike? You can’t love me now?”

“I can’t love you, Slayer!” he cried, pain evident now. “I can’t give you anything, okay? Happy now? You can go tell all your little friends that Spike finally did get neutered.”

He went into the house, and Buffy let him go. Hard to make a dramatic exit on crutches, but she thought she’d do him the courtesy of letting him get into the house before she followed him. His admission stunned her though; whatever she had thought, this hadn’t been it. She followed him slowly, managing to call to him before he could start down the stairs back to the basement.

“Spike.” He paused, as though waiting for a blow. “You should probably get cleaned up.”

The vampire looked back over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“I know it’s been a while, you know, you being all hibernating, but maybe you should get cleaned up.” She hesitated and then said, “Think of it as a strong suggestion.”

“I’ll need to get some clean clothes,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’ll get them.” Buffy waited until he nodded and started up to the bathroom before she went to the basement to get clean clothes. It became obvious fairly quickly that Spike hadn’t done any laundry recently; she had to really dig to get something that seemed halfway decent. And she remembered what it was she pulled out: dark cargo pants and a gray pullover. His “normal-person” clothes he’d tried to impress her with. She hadn’t been that impressed, but as she realized what it was he’d done, she was curiously touched. He’d tried so hard and screwed up so royally. The look on his face when he realized that his invitation had been revoked, what Dawn had told her had been said in the Magic Box later. And he’d still protected her secret, he had still promised her, and he had kept his promise.

Who was this man? And what was he to her? He was no longer an enemy, definitely an ally. He was a friend for whom she had feelings that went just beyond friendly. It wasn’t love, but she cared. She smoothed her hand over his shirt where it lay on his cot, and then put the rest of his stuff on top of the washer. She’d need to do a load of his laundry when she did the rest of it. Taking a look at the sheets on his bed, she figured she’d probably do his sheets too. She stripped the bed and put the sheets on top of the washer, finally heading up the stairs, a plan forming in her mind. Something friendly and then some.

~~~~~

Spike leaned back in the tub, letting the hot water soothe. He couldn’t believe he’d actually told Buffy about his “little problem.” His life was now over. She was probably laughing at him, telling herself that it was a good thing, him living in her house and all. Kept her safe from unwanted attentions. He should just kill himself now, get it over with. He was too pathetic for words.

The knock on the door startled him out of his brooding. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in? I’ve got your clothes.”

He hesitated and then sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to get to his stuff unless it was at least inside the door, and preferably on the counter. “You’ve seen it all already, Slayer.”

She came in and put the clothing down on the counter, within easy reach once he managed to get out of the tub. “Why don’t you leave the braces off when you’re done?” she suggested.

“Why?” he asked, his voice tired.

“Because I’m not going to ask you to go down two flights of stairs tonight, and your sheets majorly need to be washed,” she replied. “You can have my bed.”

“And where are you going to sleep?” he asked, eyebrow raised and head cocked.

“In my bed.” The look on his face turned bitter, and she hastened to add, “It’s not because of—you know. I just want to give you something tonight. Let me help you.”

He looked at her, pain and naked longing in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can,” he said honestly.

“Then just don’t put the braces on,” she replied. “I’ll take care of the rest.” As she was leaving, she looked back at him. “I’m going to leave the door open a crack. Just let me know when you’re finished.”

~~~~~

She waited for him to call, pulling the covers down, butterflies dancing in her stomach. What was she doing, letting an evil vampire in her bed? Angrily, she punched one of the pillows. He wasn’t evil, not really. Six months of living with someone gave you a pretty good understanding of their character. Spike was still a bad boy: rebellious, impetuous, stubborn and a pain in her ass. He could also be courteous, sweet, and gentle, depending on his mood and who he was dealing with. But Buffy had noticed that to treat him kindly was to disarm him completely. A gentle touch could elicit more from him than a punch in the nose. So tonight she would bind him to her with chains of kindness; she would keep him here with something akin to love. Because she needed him more than she cared to admit.

His soft call broke her chain of thought. She went into the bathroom, and he sat on the toilet seat as he had so many months ago. Nothing had changed: his useless legs still hung in front of him. Everything had changed: she knew she couldn’t lose him now. “Just a second,” she said, picking up the regalia of his crippled body, taking it into her room. She came back for him, and she awkwardly managed to get him into her room and onto the bed. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?”

He looked at her, swallowed, did as she suggested. His pale skin shone in the dim lamplight, the well-defined muscles of torso and arms moving like corded steel. “Lay down, Spike,” she said softly, amazed that he would do as she asked, no question. “On your stomach.”

It was an extremely vulnerable position, she knew. He wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing, and wouldn’t be able to move away quickly enough if she struck. But the trust in his eyes was complete as he did what she asked, and she knew that he would have followed her directions even if she had held a stake in her hands.

But she was empty-handed, and once he had laid down, she began moving strong fingers over his neck and shoulders, soothing away the tension. It felt good to have her hands on him, she would have to admit. Even broken, he was beautiful, and as she massaged his back she knew that she was probably enjoying it as much as he was.

Spike had tensed at first, not understanding, not knowing what she was doing, but he could feel the stress flow out of him, and he let out a happy little sigh. He didn’t think anyone had ever given him a backrub before. He lapsed into a sleepy, contented trance as Buffy’s hands found knots and worked them out. Eventually, her hands slowed and stopped, and he could feel her settle down next to him. Cracking one blue eye, he looked over at her with something resembling awe. “What was that, luv?”

“That was me saying thank you for saving the world and sticking around afterwards,” she replied. It was more complicated than that, but it would do for now.

He rolled over so that he was facing her, both eyes open now, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face in a tender gesture. “You’re welcome.”

Slowly, giving her room to pull back, he drew her face down to his and kissed her. It was long and deep, filled with unrequited love and unfulfilled passion. It was a kiss that would never be more than a kiss. And when she finally broke it to breathe, he trailed one cool hand down her face and shoulder, setting her skin on fire. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice trailing off as sleep overtook him. “Love you.”

Buffy smiled. Yeah, he really did.

Buffy woke before dawn the next morning, slipping out of bed to make sure the curtains were closed. Spike slept on, the look on his face peaceful. Contented. She lay down next to him again, facing his still figure. A soft smile stole across her features and she reached out to smooth a stray curl. She wasn’t sure what had happened last night, but it had been nice to be with someone, to have another body in her bed, never mind the fact that he wasn’t warm.

She rolled over so her back faced him and let him slip his arm around her waist and pull her in close as he still slept. There was safety here in his arms, safety in the arms of the man who had loved her more than unlife.

Another couple hours and Buffy rose, leaving Spike to sleep. She grabbed his shirt on the way out the door, deciding that she would throw it in the laundry while she was at it. She was on her way to the basement when she met Dawn in the kitchen. “Buffy, Spike’s missing,” she said breathlessly. “You don’t think—”

“He’s not missing, Dawnie,” Buffy replied quietly.

“But—”

Buffy put a hand on her sister’s arm to calm her. “He’s upstairs. I managed to get him to get cleaned up last night and I thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to go down two flights of stairs.”

“Oh.” Dawn seemed to ponder this revelation for a minute and then understanding hit. “Oh. He stayed with you? You let him?” And then an amazed look crossed her face. “You mean you were—? Last night? Really?”

Buffy made a helpless gesture with her hands. “We didn’t, you know. Which you shouldn’t know, because it’s absolutely none of your business. But no. We both slept. That’s it.”

Dawn looked almost disappointed. “Are you guys going out now? Because I think it would be totally cool.”

“Nice to know someone does,” Buffy muttered. Sighed. “No, Dawn, it doesn’t mean we’re going out. But we’re friends.” She looked up to see Tara standing in the doorway. “I have to go to the Magic Box later if you want to go with. If you need anything.”

“I do actually,” Tara said, smiling. “Thanks. Was last night good?” Her voice was cautious, as was her question.

Buffy suddenly smiled. “It was. It was relaxing.”

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice floated into the kitchen, with him not far behind. “Do you know where my—” He trailed off as he realized she wasn’t alone. “Uh…”

She held up his shirt. “I was going to throw it in the washer along with the rest of your stuff. Do you have anything else you want washed?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head, looking from Dawn to Tara, as though not quite sure what he was and was not allowed to say. Buffy rolled her eyes expressively. “They know where you slept last night,” she said.

“Oh,” was his stunning reply. “Can we talk?”

She nodded, motioning for him to follow her down to the basement. “Sure. I need to start a load anyway.”

He followed her carefully, bare arms and chest rippling with the effort of moving down the stairs. Buffy turned as she reached the bottom and watched appreciatively. ‘Bad boy, maybe, but, damn,’ she thought, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “What was last night, Slayer?” he asked, coming up behind her as she shoved his sheets into the washing machine and started the water.

“Last night was nice,” she replied carefully. She still wasn’t sure what last night was.

“Nice?” he asked incredulously, his head cocked to one side. “Last night was about as close to heaven as I’m likely to get, and all you can say is that it was nice?”

She turned to face him. “I’m not trying to make like it wasn’t a big deal, Spike.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied, anger seeping into his voice. “Don’t play around with me, Buffy, and if that was just pity, you can save it.”

“It wasn’t about pity, Spike,” she replied. Then hesitated, and said more honestly, “Okay, so maybe there was some pity involved. But when I said I needed you, I wasn’t lying. I just want to keep you here, and I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know what to say to get you to believe that I don’t want you to leave.”

“Buffy,” he began patiently, “whatever I was able to do for you before, it’s over. I can’t give you anything.”

She reached out and touched his hand. “You tell me the truth,” she replied. “And you love me.”

He stared at her, unbelieving. “What happened to the song and dance about evil demons can’t love?”

“Why did you help me against Glory?” she asked.

“Because I love you,” he said in such a way that told her she was a stupid git for asking.

“Exactly.” She smiled at him. “I’ve had a while to get to know you, Spike. I’m not saying that I love you back or that I will someday even, but you’re my friend, and I keep my friends alive.”

He studied her for a moment, as though discerning whether or not she was telling the truth. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “And as a friend, do me a favor and keep an eye on the laundry? We’re researching a frost-monster at the shop today and I should probably get over there.”

“A who?” he asked, frowning.

“A frost-monster, or something,” she replied. “Didn’t you hear about the museum thingy?”

“Luv, I’ve been down in the basement for the last week, sleeping. When would I have heard anything?” The little smirk on his face told her that he seemed to be recovering his sense of humor.

She quickly explained about the security guard at the museum and watched as the look on his face got more and more amused. “Look, Slayer, I know you’ve told yourself that this was a diamond-stealing frost-monster, but first of all, there is no such thing. Secondly, unless that diamond had mystical properties of some sort, chances are it got stolen by some of the more mundane human element.” When she looked as though she were about to protest, he went on. “Demons are all about mayhem and apocalypses, Buffy, not big rocks. Trust me.”

“Then what would you suggest, Mr. Smarty-Pants?” she asked sarcastically.

He considered for a minute and then said, “I’d ask Harris who makes a freeze-ray.”

“You think Xander had something to do with it?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I said. Just ask him, see what he says. If he gives you a blank stare, then you can tell him I finally went off my nut.”

“Fine.” She turned to go, and then looked back at him. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you then, luv.”

Buffy and Tara walked to the Magic Box together, fully expecting to find the rest of the Scoobies waiting for them. “So Willow’s doing okay?” Tara asked cautiously, not sure how she felt about seeing the other witch again.

“I think so,” the Slayer replied, though there was a note of hesitation in her voice. “I think you were right, though. Her attitude the other day about the magic was giving me the wiggins. And she de-ratted Amy.”

“She changed Amy back?” Tara asked. “How?”

“That was a little vague,” Buffy replied. They reached the shop and entered to find only Anya and Xander waiting. “Where’s Willow?” she asked.

The two glanced at each other and Xander shook his head. “Willow called. She and Amy were out really late last night. I don’t know what they were doing, but Will said she was feeling pretty rough.”

Tara and Buffy exchanged looks. “I think we might have to talk to Willow,” Buffy said reluctantly. “I don’t really want to, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

Xander winced slightly, but Anya piped up with her usual blunt comments. “Well, it’s about time someone does.”

“Willow’s really responsible, Anya,” Buffy said, not wanting the ex-demon to criticize her friend.

“It’s the responsible ones that are the worst,” Anya replied. “They get a taste of that power and then there’s no stopping them.” No one had anything to say to that.

~~~~~

Tara entered the house quietly, all the ingredients for the spell she needed in hand. Xander and Anya had been pretty certain that Willow wouldn’t be in, and so she had stayed to help research for a while, though Anya insisted that it was pointless, and even Buffy had admitted Spike hadn’t thought they would get anywhere. The house was silent, and she went into the kitchen to find a note from Dawn. Willow had called and they were going to go see a movie together.

The witch smiled. She knew that Dawn had missed Willow coming around, and she felt partly responsible for that. But the empty house was a perfect opportunity to do the spell without interruption.

She headed down to the basement, walking quietly. “Spike?”

“Down here, pet,” he replied. There were several piles of neatly folded laundry on top of the dryer and in the basket, but his bed was still bare, the sheets sitting in a pile on top. He smiled sheepishly, seeing the look on her face. “Didn’t think I’d manage the bed,” he explained. “Did get the rest of it folded though.”

“I’m not surprised,” Tara replied gently. “You could probably do about anything you really wanted to. Did you know Dawn left with Willow?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Must have been while I was catching a bit of sleep,” he admitted. “Don’t know that I would have let her go had I known.”

“You can’t keep Willow from seeing Dawn, Spike, whatever her problems might be.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but I might have told her to come over here where I could keep an eye on the both of them.”

Tara shook her head, deciding it was useless to argue with him. “Are you ready for this?” she asked.

He was silent, regarding her solemnly. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he finally said.

It was a simple spell, as spells go. Grind the ingredients up into a powder while saying the incantation. Sprinkle said powder over Spike, who was stretched out on his bed. Whisper the next portion of the incantation, while slipping into a trance. Open eyes to see what had been revealed.

The mist lay over him, showing a warm yellow over his torso, arms, and head, and a sickly green over his legs. That was expected: yellow for healthy, green for not-so-healthy. What was not so expected was the pulsing green light at the base of his spine where the break must have happened, and the pulsing point of green light right over his head. Where his chip was located.

She blinked, unsure of what she was seeing. But understanding dawned, and she whispered the words that would disperse the spell. “It’s done,” she said softly.

Spike opened his eyes, feeling as though he’d just been woken from a nap. “What’s the verdict, Glinda?” he asked with false cheer. “Will I walk again?” The uncertain look on her face made his own grin falter. “What did you see, Tara?”

“Everything was pretty much as expected, Spike,” she began slowly.

He growled in frustration. “Just spit it out.”

“I think the chip might have something to do with you not healing.” Silence reigned, and she began again. “You might still be okay. I mean, it might just take more time for your body to find a way around it, but right now I think the chip might be blocking the nerves from repairing themselves somehow. It’s hard to say.”

He sat staring at her, a stunned look on his face. “I’m not going to walk again.”

“We don’t know that,” she said gently. Then, honestly, “Possibly not. As long as the chip is there.”

He wanted to get up and pace around the room. He wanted to smash something, to kill something, to do some violence. None of that was going to happen. Not now, maybe not ever. “Right, like I could,” he replied. “Like Buffy would let me.”

“Do you want me to tell her what I found out?” Tara asked softly. “She knew I was going to do the spell.”

He looked away. “Yeah, thanks. Don’t think I could say it, you know?” Spike looked at her, and to her amazement she saw a new kind of flame in his eyes. “Don’t worry about me trying to dust myself, luv,” he said. “Haven’t let this stupid chip stop me yet.”

She gave him a genuine smile. “I never expected anything else.”

~~~~~

Tara was in bed when Buffy came home late, disgusted with the lack of progress in the research department. On the other hand, Xander had actually looked thoughtful when she told him what Spike had said to ask. “Super villains make freeze rays,” he had said almost immediately. “But why would Spike think—” He stopped and rethought it. “I know it’s absurd, but some of this stuff, the disappearing demons, exploding lint, freeze rays, it is kind of like stuff that would come out of a comic book.”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know, Xander. On the other hand, it’s probably a better idea than what we’ve come up with so far. But we’re not getting anywhere, and I’m tired. Let’s call it a night.”

When she entered the house, it was dark except for a light in the kitchen. Spike was drinking from a mug and munching on chips. “Hey, look at you,” Buffy said with a smile. “All up and around.”

“Got bored listenin’ to the dryer spin,” he admitted. “And I was hungry.”

“That’ll teach you not to starve yourself,” she teased.

He grinned. “Yeah, next time I get that depressed I’ll just get you lot to wait on me till I feel better.”

“Next time, I’ll see if a good punch in the nose won’t cure you,” she threatened him, her tone playful. Then she froze, realizing that this was the first time in a long time she’d threatened him with bodily harm. “Spike, I’m—”

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Means you’re not treatin’ me like I could break any second.”

Buffy saw the note Dawn left on the fridge. “She went out with Willow?”

He grimaced. “Sorry, luv. I probably would have suggested she do somethin’ else, but she left while I was sleeping.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Buffy replied. “It’s just—with the way Willow’s been acting lately…”

“Preachin’ to the choir here.” Glancing over at the clock, he said, “It’s late. Why don’t you call? See if they’re in. Maybe the Bit decided to spend the night.”

Buffy shook her head. “Dawn would have called.” But she went to the phone anyway. After she didn’t get an answer, she began to get more than a little concerned. “It’s not like Willow to keep Dawn out so late,” Buffy said quietly, looking at the clock again. It was after 11, and Willow knew better than to keep her sister out without even calling. “Even if they did go to a movie, they probably should have been home by now.”

“You going to go look for them?” Spike asked.

She nodded slowly. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I’m getting one of those bad feelings people talk about right before everything hits the fan.”

“I’ll go with you,” he replied, and then put a hand to her lips as she started to protest. “I can track the both of them, Buffy,” Spike said quietly. “My nose isn’t broken. Trail’ll be fresh still.”

She hesitated and then nodded. She hadn’t planned on doing a lot of running, and Spike could move pretty fast once he got going on those crutches. “Fine,” she said. “But if you get yourself dusted, I’m going to find a way to resurrect you just so I can beat the crap out of you.”

She and Spike went to Willow’s dorm first, thinking that they might be there. While they didn’t see either of the two girls they were looking for, they did find someone else. “Amy?” Buffy said, surprised to find the former rat digging around Willow’s drawers.

“Buffy. Hi. I gotta go,” Amy tried to slide past her, but Spike blocked the way.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy asked. “And where’s Willow?”

“Willow?” the girl asked with a nervous laugh. “I have no idea. Probably just out, I’m sure.”

Buffy noticed she was hanging on to various items, and she began pulling them out of her grasp. “What is all this stuff? And what are you doing with it?”

“Willow knows,” Amy protested, trying to snatch it back. “I need it.”

“You need kitchen herbs, right,” Buffy replied dryly, looking at her suspiciously.

“She’s on something, Slayer,” Spike said softly. “Either that, or she’s comin’ down.” He glared menacingly at the girl. “Better tell her what you know.”

Buffy followed his glare by slamming Amy up against the wall. “What did you and Willow get into?” she asked, her tone dangerous.

“Look, don’t blame me. Willow was already way into it. I just introduced her to Rack—”

“Rack?” Spike asked angrily. “You stupid bint, messin’ around with dangerous people like that. Lucky you didn’t get your brain wiped.” Buffy looked at him questioningly and his face hardened. “Lose the rat, luv. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Buffy herded Amy out the door and followed Spike as he swung himself away from campus and off towards the darker part of town. “You know this Rack?” Buffy asked.

“Know of him,” he said grimly. “He’s a warlock, and bad news. If Willow’s mixed up with his lot, it’s bad. Really bad.”

“How do we find him?”

“Can’t, unless you’re a witch.” He grinned at her. “Or a Big Bad. Place moves around a lot, and it’s cloaked. Gotta know where to look and how to find it. My guess is if I manage to pick up the Bit’s scent, it might lead us right to his doorstep.”

Buffy frowned. “Willow wouldn’t take my sister—”

“Rack’s a drug dealer, Buffy,” Spike said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “You saw Amy. If Willow wanted it bad enough, she’d do just about anything.”

Spike was as good as his word. He easily managed to pick up their scents once they got to a less trafficked area. “My own bloodhound,” Buffy murmured.

He ignored her, concentrating on the task at hand. “Should be close,” he muttered. “Feel it. I don’t—” A scream interrupted them, and they both looked in the direction it came from.

“That sounded like Dawn,” Buffy said, horrified, and started running.

There was no way Spike could keep up with her, and he knew it. But he moved along as quickly as he could anyway, hoping that he’d actually be able to do something once he got there. Dawn was a crumpled form on the ground when he arrived, and Willow looked to be unconscious in a wrecked car. Buffy was fighting some sort of monster, and she was holding her own even if she wasn’t winning. Spike couldn’t do anything for the Slayer, but he managed to get down on the ground next to her sister.

“Let me see that arm, luv,” he coaxed tenderly. “Come on.”

Dawn whimpered, shaking her head. “No. No, it hurts.”

“Know it does, Bit,” he said, keeping an eye on Buffy and the demon, who had suddenly burst into flame.

Buffy was by Dawn’s side in an instant. “Come on, Dawnie. I need to see your arm.” Between the two of them, they managed to figure out that it was probably a fracture and the next stop should be the emergency room. Buffy helped her sister up, while Spike struggled to his feet, and all three of them left, leaving Willow weeping and calling after them.

When the witch tried to apologize to Dawn, and she slapped her across the face, Buffy exchanged a silent look with the vampire. “I’ll take care of her,” he said, and watched as the Slayer went back to help her friend. “Come on, Niblet. It’s a bit of a walk, but you’re tough.”

~~~~~

Buffy and Xander met them at the hospital about an hour later, just as the doctor was putting the finishing touches on Dawn’s cast. “How is she?” Buffy asked Spike softly when he swung himself out to meet them.

“Fractured wrist. She’ll heal in time.” But the look in his eyes suggested that the fracture was the least of her wounds. Worse was the betrayal of a friend.

She nodded. “Xander’s going to drive us back to the house, and then I’m going to stay with Willow. She shouldn’t be alone tonight.” Buffy hesitated. “Would you stay with Dawn tonight, Spike?”

“You know you don’t have to ask,” he replied, his eyes intense.

“I know.” She went into the small, curtained-off cubicle, leaving Xander and Spike to wait outside.

The two men shared a long look, and then Xander spoke softly. “Buffy told me what happened tonight. It was good work, finding them.”

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. “It wasn’t anything.”

“It was good work,” Xander repeated, and Spike ducked his head. If vampires were able to blush, he’d have been bright red.

“Thanks.” And then Buffy came out with Dawn and a pharmacy prescription, and their moment was interrupted.

When they got back to the Summers’ residence, Tara met them at the door, mothering Dawn with her soothing voice, the younger girl nearly stumbling up the stairs in her fatigue.

Tara stood and watched Spike follow her up, to make sure she made it alright, and then held Buffy back with a hand on her arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m staying with Willow tonight,” she said. “Can it wait?”

The witch nodded. “Maybe I could meet you at the Magic Box tomorrow?” she suggested. “It’s about the spell I did with Spike earlier. He wanted me to be the one to tell you the results, and it might be better if I explained away from the house.”

Buffy didn’t need to ask if it was bad news. “How bad is it?”

The other woman hesitated, and then said softly. “It’s bad, but it’s a little more complex than that. How about I meet you in the afternoon sometime? Maybe around 4?”

Buffy nodded. She wasn’t sure how to feel about Tara’s announcement. Bad news or not, Spike had certainly seemed a lot more like his old self this evening, a lot less depressed. He was eating without having to be prodded, and he was certainly more active. So she didn’t think it could be too bad, but the witch’s face told her otherwise, and she wondered how many more blows she could take in a 24 hour period. Not only was her best friend a magic addict, but her new best friend might have something seriously wrong with him of the non-fixable variety. It was too much.

~~~~~

At the shop, late in the afternoon the next day, Buffy’s heart sank as she heard Tara’s verdict. After spending all night with a witch going through withdrawal, this was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Are you sure it’s the chip?” she asked.

“Pretty sure,” Tara replied, an apologetic look on her face. “The evidence seemed clear.”

Xander shook his head. “Poor guy. I feel kind of sorry for him. I mean, now he’s stuck like that. It’s not like we would let him, but it’s not even possible. There’s no way we could contact the Initiative to get the chip out.”

“I don’t know, Xander,” Buffy said slowly. “I think I might be able to get in touch with Riley if I really needed to.”

He looked alarmed. “But you wouldn’t. The chip is the only thing holding him back, Buffy. I get that it sucks to be him, but we’re not gonna let a murderer loose just because his legs won’t work.”

Tara broke in unexpectedly. “I’m not sure that’s our choice to make. It’s Spike’s body.”

Xander shook his head. This was unreal; they were actually talking about helping Spike get that chip out of his head. “And what’s to stop him from killing all of us?” he demanded.

“What stopped him from letting us all get killed by Glory?” Buffy asked quietly, her mind made up. “Look, whatever Spike’s reaction to getting that thing out might be, he wouldn’t hurt any of us. Assuming we actually managed to do it, I think he would leave town if I asked him to, and I can’t worry about what goes on outside Sunnydale.” She stared Xander in the eye. “Besides, Tara’s right. It’s his body, his decision.”

Xander shook his head, unwilling to admit that the two girls might be right. If there was anything he understood, it was that vampires were bad. In the end, it didn’t really matter if said vampire had a soul, a chip, or some other sort of leash, because they were evil. And if you let them, they would kill you and everyone you loved.

But even he had to admit that Spike had changed, and he really did seem to feel something for Buffy and Dawn. Evil undead, he might be, but Spike had done a lot for all of them, and they probably at least owed him the courtesy of letting him decide his own fate. Besides, Xander didn’t think that Buffy’d be able to contact Riley or convince him to take the chip out of Spike’s head. Riley hated the vampire more than Xander ever had, and that was saying something. “All right, Buf. Your call. But I still think even giving him the option is a bad idea.”

Buffy looked over at Anya who shrugged non-commitally. “I know what Xander says about demons not changing, but I’ve met plenty of demons, and I’ve known a few who’ve changed. Maybe not vampires,” she admitted. “But I’ve seen enough to know it might be possible.”

Tara nodded. “I think it might be more than possible. Spike’s been changing slowly for a long time now, but there’s definitely been a shift in his aura.” She looked over at Buffy. “He seemed pretty certain that you wouldn’t let him get the chip out, though.”

Buffy stared at the bookshelves, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “He has good reason to think that. But I’ve made deals with him in the past, and he’s never let me down.” She smiled suddenly. “He always comes back, but he keeps his end of the bargain.”

~~~~~

Spike was sitting on the back porch, smoking, when he sensed Buffy’s presence behind him. “Tara told you.”

“How’s Dawn?”

Spike sighed. It was like her to avoid a painful subject by switching to something a little more mundane. “She’s fine. Her arm still hurts though, so I made her a bite to eat and had her take one of those little white pills. She’s sleeping.”

“Thanks for staying with her last night.”

Spike had stayed with her until she’d fallen asleep, and then had spent the night in Buffy’s room, close by in case she needed him for anything. Tara had told the Slayer he reminded her of a mother hen with a wounded chick, a comparison she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate. But Buffy had never thought of him as a mother hen; maybe more of a guard dog: fiercely protective and loyal.

“You know you only have to ask, luv,” he replied, blowing a smoke ring experimentally.

Buffy couldn’t avoid the subject any longer, she knew. “Tara told us.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he said before she could go on. “Still wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“I know,” she replied, somehow certain that it was the absolute truth. “What if we could get the chip out?”

He stared at her in shock. She sat next to him, only a few inches away, looking unflinchingly into the eyes of the vampire she’d just suggested she would set free. “Not possible,” he stated flatly.

“It might be.” She looked away from the intensity of his eyes. “If I could contact Riley… It’s not a given, Spike, but I’d be willing to try.”

“You’re saying you’re going to?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m saying it’s up to you,” she said.

He dropped his head, looked at the cigarette he held, now burned down to the filter. He flicked it away out into the yard and lit another to cover his confusion. “What’s the deal then?”

“If you want me to try to contact the Initiative, I will. If the chip comes out, you leave Sunnydale, and I mean for good this time.” Buffy’s jaw clenched at the thought of never seeing him again. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me or any of the rest of us, but I don’t want to have to stake you. What you do outside this town is up to you.”

“And if I say no? If I don’t want the chip out?” he asked.

Buffy was surprised at the question. She’d thought it would be a no-brainer for him, no other options necessary. “If you say no,” she said slowly, “then our deal still stands. You have a place here for as long as you need one.”

Spike wasn’t sure she was serious, or if she knew what she was saying. Someday, he was certain, she’d meet some nice bloke and want to get married and have kiddies of her own. On that day, he would no longer be welcome. On that day, should he still be crippled, he would meet the sun.

But the decision was a no-brainer, though it was not easy for the reason Buffy thought it would be. “You can take all the time you want to decide, Spike,” she said, rising to leave. “Just let me know.”

“I don’t need any time, Buffy.” Slowly, clumsily, he stood and straightened, dignity lying like a mantle over his shoulders. “Chip stays.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, almost breathless with the shock of it.

“Yeah,” he said, and before she could question why, he answered. “I don’t leave, Buffy, not the people I love. For your information, I don’t think I’d go back to killing. It’s not who I am anymore, but I understand why you’d ask me to leave. And I’d go, because I don’t hurt you. Never you.”

He smiled, and the look in his eyes was infinitely tender. “I’d rather be a cripple and stay by your side, helping when I can, than be whole and too far away to make any difference at all.”

The sacrifice of his choice took her breath away. There had been no one in the past who would choose to be helpless, choose to give up everything to be close. Even Angel, as much as they had loved one another, had not stayed, knowing the sacrifice they would both make. Perhaps he had been right, but his leaving had still brought pain. This only brought a certain quiet joy, knowing that there was one person in all the world who would remain with her.

She lifted one hand and ran it along the side of his face, cupping his cheek as he closed his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked, surprised that she would say it. Surprised that his choice, which took no burden from her, had made her grateful.

“For staying,” she said, kissing him chastely on the lips before going inside.

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