Chapter 1: Lab Rat

“I’m not supposed to be scared of anything/But I don’t know where I am/I wish that I could move but I’m exhausted/And nobody understands (how I feel)/I’m trying hard to breathe now/but there’s no air in my lungs/There’s no one here to talk to/and the pain inside is making me numb./Try to hold this under control…Feeling weak and weary/ walkin’ through this world alone/Everything they say every word of it/cuts me to the bone (and I bleed)/I’ve got something to say/But now I’ve got nowhere to turn/It feels like I’ve been buried/underneath all the weight of the world…Now I’m goin’ through changes, changes/I’m blind and shakin, bound and breakin’/I hope I’ll make it through all these changes…” ~ Three Doors Down, “Changes”

When Spike became aware of his surroundings again, he was more than a little surprised to find himself strapped down to a table with a plastic something shoved in his mouth. His duster and shirt were missing, and the men in the lab coats surrounding him were busy fussing with various stainless steel implements. Just the fact that they were paying very little attention to him, as though they were merely marking time until the actual event took place, made him just a little bit nervous.

When one labcoat joined the group surrounding him and the pace of activity changed, Spike became more than a little nervous. Fear entered into the picture right about the time that one of the scientists pulled out a scalpel. For one, brief terror-filled moment, Spike was certain that they were going to start dissecting him alive. The cut the man made was shallow, however, and while Spike couldn’t actually see it, he’d been sliced up before. This didn’t feel all that serious. He allowed himself to relax for a brief moment until the latecomer pulled out a glowing green vial and poured it over the wound in his chest.

There was another flicker of fear, and then a flash of light that consumed him and warmed him all at the same time. It was that moment that caused him to lose his mind, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions and sensations. Not only was there the guilt and remorse (pale words when compared with actual feelings) that came from the gaining of his soul, but there was the loss of strength, smell, and hearing that came from losing his demon. There was the heartbeat, the blood pounding in his veins, the sense of terror from becoming human. It was too much, and his mind shut down under the pressure.

Later, Spike could never quite say how long he was in that state. It was days at least before a lucid thought ran through his brain, and then it was only long enough to realize that he was in some sort of sterile cell, naked, cold and hungry. He blanked out again after that, but his catatonic state didn’t last nearly long enough for his taste.

The second time he came around, there was a lab tech bent on pouring something down his throat, and while he wanted to gag at the chalky taste, a small cunning part of his mind warned him to be a good boy and swallow. It was that same part of him that clung to reality even when all he wanted to do was to retreat into himself again. And it was that part that kept his new-found sanity quiet.

The next few days were a miserable exercise in hanging onto his reason by his fingertips while trying to come up with some plan for escape. Every moment seemed consumed by sensations he had nearly forgotten existed. Hunger, thirst, cold, pain, they were all present in a way they had not been when he was a vampire. Spike wanted his duster with a longing he hadn’t thought possible, never mind what it represented. He wanted its armoring effect and its comfortable warmth. He wanted the illusion of being big and bad and scary, so that he himself might begin to believe it again, and perhaps hope that he would find a way out. But meanwhile, he feigned madness and waited, waited for the moment that they let their guard down.

~~~~~

“Dr. Walsh?” The technician entered Walsh’s office hesitantly. What they had been able to do—to actually transform a vampire into a human, was phenomenal. Of course, it didn’t mean much if the creature in question went insane afterwards. It seemed that they were going to have to stick to the original plan and concentrate on the computer chip implant rather than working on synthesizing the demon blood.

“No change?” Maggie Walsh turned to face her tech. It was more of a statement than a question.

The tech shook his head. “The subject has been moving from complete catatonia to periods of raving. He hasn’t shown any signs of improvement.”

Dr. Walsh watched the monitor. The subject, named Hostile 17 for their purposes, was curled into a small ball in the corner of the cell. When they had discovered the new HST and the strange properties of its blood, there had been high hopes. To be able to transform vampires into productive members of society would be an accomplishment of the highest order. But whether it was the treatment or the transformation, it wouldn’t do anyone any good to work on the cure for vampirism if all they were going to get were mental patients. It would be more efficient and cost-effective to perfect the chip or destroy the other subjects.

“I want another set of tests run,” she finally said. “There’s no need to run another trial, now that we know what the results are likely to be. Once the data has been gathered, prep the subject for transfer to our facility in Arizona. We need the cell for another HST.”

The tech looked skeptical. “Pardon me, Doctor, but is it wise to send him outside our facility here?”

“Just because Hostile 17 leaves doesn’t mean he’ll actually make it to his destination, Matthews,” Walsh replied. “There’s no need to advertise our mistake.”

~~~~~

Spike stayed curled up as much for warmth as for modesty. He had no idea where his clothes had gone, but they had disappeared while he’d been out of it. His focus at the moment was making plans for an escape; it was the only thing keeping him sane. At some point, he had recognized in himself both a mindless panic and a burning anger. It was the anger that he seized on; anger that someone had decided to play God with his life and had treated him like a thing, a lab rat. Spike had no idea what the reaction would be if he revealed that he wasn’t as crazy as he looked, but he had a suspicion that he wouldn’t see the outside of this facility any time soon in any case. The more harmless and incompetent they thought him, the greater the chance that they would let their guard down at some point.

The anger he felt was only heightened by the entrance of a couple of the soldier boys turned caretakers. They had a habit of talking about him as if he wasn’t there, or couldn’t understand, and treating him like something worthless, to be disregarded.

“Last set of tests for the idiot,” Matthews announced. “Good thing too. This guy gives me the creeps.”

Spike stayed motionless. “Don’t see what Walsh wants with this last set,” the other tech mumbled. “It’s not like there’s been any change.”

He fought down the urge to struggle even as the two men manhandled him into a sitting position so they could take a blood sample and blood pressure, among other things. The same two techs had come before for the same purpose, so it wasn’t anything new for Spike, though it was just as uncomfortable this time as it was the first. As the two soldiers made comments and exchanged gossip, he resisted the desire to make his own remarks. They were relaxed around him now, all of them were. No one thought of him as a threat, and he tried to remember that he certainly could be. He tried to disregard the niggling little voice in the back of his head that told him he would be able to do nothing against a couple of well-trained soldiers.

The two finished their tests, and then one of them, Walker by his nametag, took the samples. “Be right back,” he promised.

This was new. Spike kept his face expressionless, trying to decide what this development meant for him. A few minutes later and the soldier was back with a handful of what looked like hospital scrubs. Walker dumped his bundle at Spike’s feet. “Now what?”

Matthews sighed. “We get him dressed, nimrod. It’s not like we can walk him around with nothing on.”

Walker took a step backward. “I’m not doing it,” he declared.

Matthews rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dick.” The soldier reached down and grabbed Spike’s arm, hauling the smaller man to his feet with a surprising gentleness. “You gonna get dressed, or am I gonna have to do it for you?” he asked.

Spike was torn. He could show some understanding and get himself dressed, but how much was too much? Where was the line? If he seemed to understand they might be more cautious, or not let him go at all.

That was the biggest problem. Once he made a bid for his freedom, it would be over. Instinctively, Spike knew he had one shot at escape; miss his chance, and there wouldn’t be another. He also knew that there was no way he would manage to escape from the facility itself. As a human, he wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, to manage it except by extreme luck. And his luck hadn’t been great lately.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he stood perfectly still, feigning complete mental incompetence. Thankfully, Matthews’ only reaction was to heave a deeply put-upon sigh and pick up the clothes.

A few minutes later, Spike was more clothed than he had been for weeks, and he found himself grateful for that small dignity at least. “Do we use the shackles?” Walker asked doubtfully. “Walsh did say—”

Spike tried to look as defenseless as possible. “Come on, man,” Matthews finally replied after some consideration. “The poor guy doesn’t even know where he is. Trust me, you don’t want to freak him out. Put the cuffs on him, and that’s exactly what will happen.”

“Fine,” Walker said. “Let’s go, Brain Trust.” They walked him down the hall, one on either side, hanging onto his arms. Spike stole surreptitious looks at his surroundings as they walked. Sterile white cell followed sterile white cell, one after another, each one with a different sort of demon or vampire. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one getting experimented on.

Spike didn’t try to keep track of where they were going. He had no desire to find his way back, that was for certain. But more than that, he didn’t plan on coming back. If this escape attempt didn’t work, he was going to make sure it ended in his death, because he wasn’t ever going back there.

After a number of featureless hallways, they finally made their way to an airshaft. Walker went up first, with Spike in the middle and Matthews behind him. Spike had decided not to play dumb about climbing the ladder, if only because he didn’t want to find himself thrown over one of their shoulders.

They exited into a nearly-empty parking lot, and Spike barely kept himself from flinching as the sunlight hit his skin. Aside from a couple cars and a single truck, there was also a large, windowless van, like those used by the utility companies, and Spike knew that was going to be their destination. If he wanted to run for it, it had to be here and now, before they got him into the van. Because once inside, and on the road, he’d be in unfamiliar territory with no easy way out.

Spike waited docilely enough, watching as Walker unlocked the driver’s door, and then sprung the lock for the back of the van. Matthews opened the doors and crawled inside, messing with the belts on the seat, making sure it was ready for transport. When Walker came to stand beside him, watching the other soldier and obviously not paying attention to Spike, he knew it was time to act.

With one smooth motion, Spike pulled Walker’s billy club out of his belt loop and brought it down on the soldier’s temple. The man collapsed in a boneless heap, and Spike watched as Matthews turned to investigate the sounds. Without hesitation, he jumped into the back, thrusting the club into the other soldier’s stomach, and when he doubled over, hit him over the head too. Spike gave each of them an extra tap on the back of the skull to ensure that they wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

Once the action was over, Spike felt the effects of the adrenaline rush, something he hadn’t experienced since Drusilla had met him in that alley over a hundred years ago. There was gut-churning fear, and a sense of excitement, along with a cold sweat. For one terrified, horrified second he stared at the bodies of the soldiers, and then took to his heels, running as though his life depended on it. Knowing that it probably did.

When Spike had run as far and as fast as he could, he finally slowed and then stopped. He plowed a hand through sweat-soaked hair and hunkered down in the bushes at the edge of a group of trees. Now that he had a chance to look around Spike could tell that he was still in Sunnydale, near a wooded park at the edge of one of the cemeteries. By instinct alone he had avoided the more populated areas of town, and luck finally seemed to be with him. No one seemed to be following him, or had shouted at him to stop. He knew very well that he probably looked like an escaped mental patient, and it would be an excellent idea to stay out of sight.

Spike shivered in the shade of the trees. The thin hospital scrubs he wore were hardly winter wear, even in California, and the slight breeze was rapidly drying his sweat. Gone were the days when temperature had little meaning.

It wasn’t only the outside air that was causing him to shiver, however. Now that he had paused in his mad flight, he had realized that he had been running from, not to, and he had no idea where to go next. Heading back to the DeSoto was out of the question; it was too close to where the soldiers had grabbed him in the first place. Spike wasn’t any too sure that the people he actually knew in Sunnydale would be willing to help him, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice. He had to go somewhere, find some sort of shelter, both from the nasties that were bound to come out after nightfall, but also from the soldiers who would soon be hunting him.

Of the people he did know, only two he could think of were easy enough to locate, and far enough away from the campus for his comfort. And only one of those two might be able to deal with the transformation he had undergone. Spike swallowed his fear and took a cautious look around. Now it was just a matter of getting there unseen.

~~~~~

Giles looked over his translation again. A colleague from Oxford, whom he knew from his tenure at the British Museum had asked for his assistance with the document. Apparently, the Ancient Sumerian had been interspersed with what Giles had recognized as a demon language. The last few days with the manuscript had been some of the most challenging he’d had in a long time. Well, the most interesting if one disregarded the Native American spirits and Willow’s botched “my will be done” spell.

After the high school had blown up, he had certainly looked forward to his life of leisure, thinking that he would have time for all the things he’d never had time for in the past. And that was certainly true. The only problem was that Giles found himself bored by the end of the summer, and thinking quite nostalgically about the Sunnydale High library. In fact, at this point, he would be quite happy to find a brand new project to keep him busy and occupy his time.

A frantic knocking on the door interrupted his thoughts and caused him to look up in surprise. The fact that the door didn’t open immediately piqued his interest even more. Buffy and her friends typically knocked and then barged right in. When the pounding began again, Giles finally rose to answer it.

Of course, once he saw who was doing the knocking he wished he hadn’t bothered. “Spike.”

“You’ve got to let me in.” The vampire was obviously desperate, but that hardly inclined Giles toward acceding to his demand. There was very little in the world that would induce him to invite a vampire into his place of residence again.

But once Giles had gotten past who was at his door, he started to notice other things, like the fact that Spike was wearing what looked to be hospital scrubs and was barefoot. Beyond that, it was broad daylight outside, the vampire had no protection against the sunlight, was not smoking, and didn’t seem that worried about his imminent combustion. Most telling of all, Spike’s hand had breached what should have been an invisible barrier, catching at Giles’ wrist in an imploring gesture. A hand that was warm and a little sweaty.

Giles didn’t reply to his demand, but instead reached out and grabbed the front of Spike’s blue smock, yanking him roughly inside. Spike didn’t even protest, instead slumping in relief as the ex-Watcher shut the door. Giles could feel Spike’s heart pounding underneath his clenched fist, could see that he was drenched in sweat and was absolutely white and trembling with shock and fear. And in spite of everything that had happened in the past, Giles found himself feeling sympathy for the—well, man.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he advised, not unkindly. Spike nearly collapsed on his couch, still shaking, and Giles went to grab a blanket. “Here.”

Spike drew it across his shoulders slowly. Even inside the relative warmth of the flat, he was still freezing. He couldn’t help thinking that the soldiers were right on his heels, ready to come bursting through the door at any moment. And he couldn’t seem to make himself stop shaking, even if it did make him look like a ponce. “Drink.” Giles was holding a glass of water in front of him, and Spike took it gratefully, starting to gulp it down.

“Easy,” the older man said quietly. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

He obediently slowed, finishing the glass off. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely.

“How long has it been since you’ve had anything to eat?” Giles asked. Now that he’d had a chance to get a better look at the former vampire, Spike was much too thin, almost sickly looking, as though he were ready to pass out at any moment.

Spike shrugged, the movement hindered by the blanket he had wrapped tightly around himself. “If you’re askin’ about solids, dunno,” he replied. “Kept me on a liquid diet the whole time.”

“Who did?” Giles asked, knowing that the answer to his question would most likely help explain why Spike was sitting on his couch with a pulse in the first place.

Spike shook his head, the little color he had gained leeching out of his face, his shoulders hunching up just a little more. Giles recognized the look on his face from victims of trauma he’d come across in the past. “I must insist you tell me what happened, Spike.”

The younger (looking) man looked up at him with a poor attempt at a smile. “Think I could get a drink first?”

Giles looked at him reprovingly. “Not on an empty stomach,” he replied, moving towards the small galley kitchen. “Why don’t you tell me what happened while I make us something to eat?” He knew from experience that it was sometimes easier to tell a difficult story if no one was looking at you.

“They came up on me from behind,” Spike began slowly. “Came back into town to—well, you know what I came back for.”

“Daresay I do,” Giles responded, slicing the bread for the sandwiches and beginning to brew some tea.

“Next thing I know I’m strapped to a table and some bloke’s slicin’ up my chest and pourin’ in green glowy stuff.” Spike drew in a deep, needed breath. “And what do you know, I’ve got a pulse.”

As the ex-vampire slowly related the rest of his stay with the soldier-boys, as he called them, Giles found himself not only feeling sorry for him, but almost liking him. It said something about the man that Spike was that he was able to pull himself together enough to keep up the charade of madness and then escape. And what had been done to him—Giles couldn’t be sorry that he wasn’t a vampire anymore, but the way this group had treated him after he became human was frightening. It said something about their definition of “human” that gave him pause.

“An’ then I came here,” Spike finished, just as Giles set his sandwich and fortified cup of tea down in front of him. “Didn’t know where else to go.” He hesitated slightly, looking blindly at the meal in front of him. His soft voice and hunched shoulders were at odds with Giles’ long-held understanding of his character. “If I could get my car, I’ll be out of your way. ‘s just, it was too close—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Giles said firmly. “I’m hardly going to toss you out on the street, not when you’re so clearly done in. You can stay here tonight, and then we’ll decide on our next step tomorrow.”

Spike looked away, his jaw working, having a hard time understanding why someone he’d hurt in the past would be so willing to help him now. He couldn’t find the words to respond.             “Eat,” Giles commanded gently. “Slowly, mind you, or you’ll make yourself sick, and drink your tea.”

Spike did as he was told, finding it easier than arguing or talking any more. The ex-Watcher was right, of course, he was done in, and he didn’t think he could have gone anywhere even if Giles had kicked him out. He probably would have collapsed right on the doorstep and stayed there. He forced himself to eat slowly, though he wanted to bolt it. It was his first taste of real food since becoming human, and he didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything so wonderful in his life. Spike threw Giles a grateful look after sipping at the tea, finding that he’d laced it with a generous portion of alcohol. And when he finished, he again looked to the other man for direction.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” Giles suggested. “I’ll see what I can find in the way of clean clothing for you.” He showed Spike to the bathroom and handed him a towel. “I’ll just put the clothes inside the door.” Then he left, leaving Spike alone.

The former vampire glanced at the mirror, startled to see his own reflection there, both repulsed and attracted by the sight. Repulsed because he was looking into the face of a killer for the first time, into the eyes of what he had become. Attracted because it had been more than a century since he’d seen himself. He swallowed and stepped closer, noting the bleached blond of the hair and the dark roots, still curly and unmanageable as ever. He fingered the scar on his eyebrow, finding it less prominent than he had thought it would be. But his eyes—

Spike quickly turned away from his own reflection and stripped off the grimy cotton scrubs, dropping them in a heap on the floor and stepping into the shower. He used the shampoo and soap he found and began to scrub off the accumulated grime. And suddenly it all hit home.

He let the spray hit him in the face as he sobbed in guilt and anger and hurt. For the gaining of his soul, and the loss of his innocence. For the return of mortality and morality all at the same time, and the loss of his demon. He cried for all that he had done, and all that had been done to him. He cried for his blood-soaked past and the terrifying future. And it seemed that all the water in the world could not wash it away.

~~~~~

Giles hesitated outside the bathroom door. He could hear the sounds of crying under the sound of the running water, and the gut-wrenching sobs tore at his heart in a way he could not explain. Perhaps it was right that Spike should suffer for what he had done in the past, but Giles found it difficult to feel satisfaction. At some point, Spike had been a young man, quite possibly one who had simply been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, he was a young man once again, and very much alone in a world that must suddenly feel quite strange to him.

There was no reason to intrude on such an intensely private moment, Giles knew, especially after what he had been through. The humiliation, for lack of a better word, of being caged and stared at, had been very obvious in Spike’s story and tone of voice. Giles would not intrude on his privacy unless absolutely necessary. He left the clothing by the door and retreated back into the living room.

Spike joined him in a few minutes, dressed in a sweat shirt and a pair of worn jeans that Giles had found at the bottom of a drawer. The clothes were too big, but they were more substantial than what he had been wearing earlier. Giles politely ignored the younger man’s blood shot eyes and instead directed him up the stairs and to the bedroom.

“You can have my bed,” he said quietly. At Spike’s look of protest, he held up a hand. “You need it more than I do tonight,” he explained. “And I have some work that will keep me busy for some time. The couch will be quite adequate. Sleep as long as you like.”

In spite of Spike’s gruff, unembellished “Thanks,” Giles could hear the true gratitude in his tone, see it in his face. He understood that it had quite a bit to do with being treated like an actual human being for the first time in weeks.

Heading back downstairs, Giles pulled a book off his shelf, thinking about what might have been used to effect such a change from undead back to human again. The question was, of course, whether it was supernatural or scientific, and it seemed he would be spending some time in his books trying to figure it out. He needed to call Buffy as well, and let her know what had happened, tell her about this mysterious group of soldiers. But not tonight. Tonight he would research and let Spike sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

“…I don’t want to hear the things/you say you know all you’ve redeemed/’cause I can’t change what’s come before/build myself some better dreams/and cast off the fear that holds me here/so take a look outside yourself/and tell me what you see/I can’t believe/that you won’t see the change in me/give me strength to find the road that’s lost in me/give me time to heal and build myself a dream/give me eyes to see the world surrounding me/give me strength to be only me.” ~Over the Rhine, “Give Me Strength”

“So did Giles say what he wanted?” Willow asked as they headed towards the Watcher’s apartment.

Buffy shook her head. “Nope. He just said to get over there as soon as possible, and that he had something to show me. The message was pretty cryptic.”

Giles’ message had also not said anything about Willow coming along, but the red-haired witch was still feeling guilty over her “my will be done” spell. After forgetting to come over and help Giles with some research he had been working on, she had accused him of not seeing, resulting in his blindness. Luckily, they had managed to reverse the effects of the spell before any more damage had been done, but Willow still shuddered every time she thought of what could have happened. Hence, her desire to help out in any way she possibly could, especially since she’d run out of chocolate chips.

“Well, it can’t be too serious then,” Willow said rather cheerfully. “Otherwise he would have told you it was an emergency.”

“Uh huh,” Buffy agreed, a little distracted.

Willow gave her friend a look. “Of course, I read in the Sunnydale paper that they’re predicting the end of the world next Tuesday.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah.”

“A giant frog is supposed to land from Mars.”

“Right.”

“I’m planning on dropping out of school to join a commune in Tibet,” Willow offered.

“Great.” Buffy suddenly did a double-take. “Huh?”

Willow smiled. “Okay, you’re a little distracted.”

Buffy gave her friend a sheepish smile. “I was just thinking. Obviously, it’s a lot of hard work.”

Willow looked hopeful. “Want to tell me about it? I’m all about listening to other people’s pain right now.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Buffy replied. “At least, I don’t think so. It’s about Riley.”

“Our cute, but charming T.A. who likes you,” Willow stated. “I thought so. What’s the what?”

Buffy shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I like him, it’s just that he’s so—nice. Dependable. Stable.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Willow asked.

“No,” Buffy said. “Not at all. In fact, that’s what I really need in my life. That’s the problem—my life. Willow, I’m not stable-girl. I’m not normal. I can’t be dependable, even if I want to be. And one of these days I have to tell Riley who—and what—I am.”

Willow tucked her arm through her friend’s. “Look, Buffy, Riley seems like a pretty decent guy. It might be a shock, but he’ll get over it. Xander and I were okay with it.”

“You and Xander are one of a kind,” Buffy replied with a rueful smile. “I don’t think you guys are the best comparisons. I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I know I’ve got to tell him soon, and I just don’t know how, or even what to say.” They were approaching Giles’ apartment, and Buffy looked over at Willow beseechingly. “Look, don’t say anything to Giles, okay? I know I’m supposed to be incognito girl now, but if it’s going to work with Riley, I’m going to have to tell him sooner or later.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Buffy knocked briefly on Giles’ door, and then walked in, Willow at her heels. “Giles?” the Slayer called. “Hello?”

“Ah, Buffy.” Giles came into the living room from the back of the apartment. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“So what’s up?” Buffy asked curiously. “Your message didn’t give a lot of info.”

Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it’s nothing life-threatening, but you may want to sit down.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows and then looked over at Willow, who looked similarly confused. “Okay. You’re still scaring me.”

“It does sound kinda serious,” Willow agreed.

Giles took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, Spike showed up on my doorstep yesterday.”

“I hope this story has a dusty ending,” Buffy stated.

“Not quite,” Giles replied. “It seems that Spike is no longer a vampire.”

There was a long pause, and then Willow started speaking slowly. “If he’s not a vampire, what is he, Giles?”

“He’s human.”

“That’s impossible,” Buffy said flatly. “He was lying.”

Giles shot her a look that told her he believed his intelligence had been insulted. “One can hardly fake a pulse and heartbeat, Buffy. Nor could he fake entering my home without an invitation.”

If anything Buffy’s face grew more set. “I don’t care, Giles. If there was a way for vampires to become human—” She broke off, pain flashing across her face.

“I understand, Buffy, I really do,” Giles replied as gently as possible. “But that does not change the fact that Spike is now human.”

The Slayer shook her head. “I want to see for myself.”

Her Watcher hesitated and finally nodded. “He’s still sleeping, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look in on him.”

“You let him sleep in your bed?” Buffy demanded, as Giles headed up the stairs.

Giles gave her another look. “I did. And it was my choice.” Willow noted that that finished the discussion, but Buffy still had that stubborn look on her face. The witch had the sudden premonition, as she followed the both of them up the stairs, that Buffy was going to make things very hard on Spike.

~~~~~

Spike slowly woke to the feeling that someone was watching him. He’d had that same sensation constantly in the underground warren he’d been held in. The renewal of the feeling now sent a bolt of terror through him, causing him to think that perhaps the escape had only been a fantasy. Opening his eyes to see three faces peering down at him only confirmed his suspicions, and he was halfway across the room before it registered that Giles had only brought some guests up to visit.

Ashamed of having his fear witnessed, he pulled the comforter he’d carried with him closer around his naked body and snarled, “Warn a bloke, why don’t you?”

Giles was still looking a little surprised at his quick movement, and gave him an apologetic smile. “Of course. Forgive us. Buffy simply wanted to see your—new state for herself.”

“She’s seen it,” he said, and not very graciously. “You mind if I get dressed now?”

“Oh, right.” A slightly flustered Giles managed to herd both girls out of the room. Spike could see that Buffy looked downright pissed off, though why she was angry he certainly couldn’t have said. Willow, on the other hand, just looked a little embarrassed.

Spike waited until he was sure they were out of the room before untangling himself from the comforter. He was just grateful that he’d drug it with him on his mad flight out of the bed, rather than giving everyone an eyeful. He quickly made up the bed as best he could, just as he’d been careful to hang up his towel the day before. Spike might not have said as much to Giles, he knew very well that the other man could have easily turned him out. He had certainly never given him a reason to help him in the past.

Glancing at the clock, he noticed with some surprise that it was early afternoon; he’d almost slept the clock around. He certainly felt a hell of a lot better than he had the day before. While Spike hadn’t thought he’d be able to get to sleep in the first place, it was true he hadn’t had a decent kip since before he’d been taken. He must have been even more exhausted than he’d thought.

He pulled on the borrowed clothing, fully aware that he probably looked a stupid git in the oversized pants and sweatshirt. Spike ran a hand over his hair and winced. It felt unruly, and there wasn’t much he could do about it before going downstairs.

Spike descended the stairs slowly, wondering what kind of reception he was going to get from a brassed off Slayer. He didn’t have to wait long. One look at him, and she started laughing hysterically.

“Oh, my goodness, Giles!” Buffy exclaimed. “Are you sure you didn’t pick him up at the pound?” She gave Spike an incredulous once-over before bursting into laughter again. “He looks completely pathetic.”

Now Spike understood why Buffy might want to take some potshots at him. After all, the last time they’d seen one another, he’d done the same to her. That didn’t mean he had to like it however, and he was torn as to how he was supposed to react. He couldn’t fight her physically anymore, and he recalled that a gentleman did not hit a woman under any circumstances anyway. Which meant he could say something rude in return, also something he wasn’t really comfortable with, or simply take it.

“Why on earth did you even take him in, Giles?” Buffy asked when she finally got herself under control, Spike getting more uncomfortable the longer her laughter continued. “He was worthless as a vampire, so it’s not like he’s going to do anybody any good now.”

Spike was beginning to think that leaving would be a good option, but Giles spoke up. “Buffy, I explained to you what happened. It seems the soldiers that did this to Spike were the same ones that nearly kept you from getting to Willow in time.”

All mirth left Buffy’s face, and she looked implacable. “Fine. He tells us what he knows and then we give him back. I don’t think the statute of limitations has run out on murder yet.”

Spike flinched as though he’d been hit. The Slayer’s words were a lot closer to the load of guilt he was carrying than he even cared to think about. “I don’t have to stay here for this,” he grated out, heading for the door. His sense of honor wouldn’t let him return the insult just then. Besides, he’d been out of it for a few weeks; he had no clue what to say that would hit as close to the bone as she just had. Spike wanted out, and he wanted out now. Away from Buffy’s accusing eyes and uncompromising face. He wasn’t sure he could take it.

“Spike, wait,” Giles called out after him. The Watcher turned and gave his Slayer a disapproving look. “That’s quite enough, Buffy. Spike has information that could be very helpful. Beyond that, he’s been through quite enough already. We will not be handing him over to the soldiers, or anyone else for that matter.”

Spike’s hand was still on the door, and he was ready to leave. “Spike, you can’t go.”

“Why not?” he asked quietly. “Why the bloody hell not? You goin’ to keep me here then?”

“Hardly,” Giles replied into the harsh silence that followed his question. “But think for a moment. You don’t have identification, money, or friends. If you walk out of here, and someone spots you, there will be nothing stopping those soldiers, whomever they are, from detaining you. You have no protection.”

Spike hesitated, and then his shoulders slumped in resignation. Giles was right. He did have a few things in his car, some clothes, a little cash, but not much. As a human, he needed things like identification, a driver’s license, and he had no way to get it on his own.

“Fine. But what are we supposed to do with him?” Buffy asked impatiently. “It’s not like any of us have time to babysit some ex-vampire.”

“I have taken responsibility for him,” Giles replied. “I will continue to do so. But we do need to work out what we’re going to do about the soldiers. Spike might be able to lead us to where they are.”

“I think we can handle things without the bleached pest, Giles,” Buffy protested.

Spike finally interrupted. “Standin’ right here.” Giles looked a bit ashamed of himself, but Buffy simply gave him a hard look, finally forcing Spike to look away. “Look, ‘m goin’ back upstairs. You lot finish decidin’ what you want to do, let me know.”

As one, they watched him go up the stairs, and then Giles looked back at Buffy, obviously disappointed. “Buffy! There was no need—”

Buffy replied to his lowered voice with a hissed whisper of her own. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what he is, but I haven’t, Giles. He’s a murderer.”

“He’s human,” Giles said, almost harshly. “Or shall we hunt Angel down as a murderer as well?”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply and found that she had no response. There was nothing she could say. Her Watcher nodded. “I don’t expect kindness from you, but I do expect a level of civility at least. Now, Spike’s car is still somewhere about. I’d like you and Willow to fetch his things as he cannot risk being seen at the moment.”

“Fine,” Buffy nearly snarled. “Where is it?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity to ask him,” the older man replied, tiredly. “I suppose—”

“I’ll go,” Willow volunteered. The other two looked over at her in surprise. She had stayed relatively quiet through most of the debate. In truth, she hadn’t been sure what she should say to whom. If Spike wasn’t a vampire anymore, there really wasn’t a good reason to hate him. As Giles had pointed out, they were supposed to forgive Angel for everything he had done as Angelus. The same standard should apply to Spike, but more so, since he was human and couldn’t lose his soul. At the same time, Willow had the sneaking sensation that Buffy’s anger had a whole heck of a lot more to do with the fact that Spike was human. And, to underline the unfairness that was life, a certain other vampire was not.

In any case, she well remembered what it was like to feel left out and picked on. That had pretty much been her entire junior high and high school career until Buffy came along. Willow had a soft spot for the outsiders. “I don’t mind,” she stated. “It’s not like he’s going to bite me or anything.”

Willow climbed the stairs, leaving a strained silence behind her. She had the feeling that Buffy was going to find Giles’ acceptance of the former vampire difficult to swallow. She knocked hesitantly at the open door. “Hey.”

Spike glanced back at her. “Hey.”

Willow could tell from the look on his face that he was trying not to cry. She’d been there too. “Giles wants Buffy and me to get your stuff from your car. We just need to know where it is.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause, and then he said very softly, “I shouldn’t be here.”

Willow took a timid step forward, and then seemed to make up her mind, settling down on the bed next to him. “Why not?”

“Done enough damage haven’t I?” he asked. “I should just go.”

“Where?”

“Dunno. ‘ve got a little money. Enough to get me out of this town.”

“And then what?” she asked reasonably. At his shrug, Willow said quietly, “Don’t listen to Buffy. She’s still kind of pissed at you for, you know, everything. But she’ll get over it.”

Spike laughed humorlessly. “Right. Because people usually get over you trying to kill them.”

“She got over Angel trying to kill her.” Willow looked at him earnestly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

She smiled a little. “Well, not that you’re not a vampire, because in my book, that’s a good thing. But I’m sorry it’s hard for you.”

Spike blinked at her owlishly, and for a minute, Willow really thought he might cry. Finally, he simply shook his head and smiled at her. And while Willow wasn’t feeling real crazy about guys at the moment, the sweetness of the expression nearly melted her. “Ta, Red. And I’m sorry. For kidnappin’ you an’ all.”

“Consider it forgotten,” she replied. “So, your car?”

~~~~~

She and Buffy walked towards the car in silence. Spike’s directions made his reasons for coming back to Sunnydale fairly clear. Just the fact that the DeSoto was so close to the campus hadn’t endeared him to the Slayer. Willow, on the other hand, looked at it a bit more philosophically. After all, he’d parked the car while he’d still been a vampire.

Buffy, for her part, was completely and utterly pissed off. She was angry that Giles had even taken Spike in, human or not, in trouble or not. She was angry that Spike was human. She was angry she couldn’t stake him, because that little Gem of Amara debacle still made her hot. Hell, she was angry she couldn’t even beat him to a pulp. Spike still got on her last nerve, even with a heartbeat, and now she couldn’t do anything about it.

There was a part of her that recognized her anger as irrational, and wondered if it wasn’t misplaced, but Buffy was enjoying being mad too much to seriously question it. “There it is,” she said as they neared the vehicle. “I can’t believe I’m fetching Spike’s stuff for him.”

“Well, Giles did have a point,” Willow said reasonably. “Spike probably would feel better if he had his own things.”

They both stared at the car doubtfully, neither one really wanting to delve into the depths of either the trunk or the backseat. Buffy finally sighed and opened the driver’s side door, rooting around under the floormat for the keys. They were right where Spike said he’d left them. “Well, he’s lucky the cops didn’t tow it,” she muttered. “Because I sure wouldn’t have gotten it out of the impound for him.”

Buffy glanced back at the trunk and then at the keys in her hand. “In fact,” she said slowly. “It would be really stupid to leave it here. It might get towed.”

Willow’s eyes widened slightly. Buffy and cars were not a good mixture. Buffy and cars were a lot like oil and water. “Buffy—”

“I think we should drive it back to Giles’s,” she announced.

Willow opened her mouth to argue and then saw the look on her friend’s face. The Slayer had her “resolve face” on, which meant arguments would get her nowhere. “All right,” she agreed doubtfully. “But just remember. You break it, you buy it.”

Thankfully, Buffy managed to get the car to Giles’ house and park it without any major mishaps. Though Willow thought there might be a few new scratches from the tree they’d sideswiped. At least the tree didn’t require their insurance information, since they didn’t have any.

Both Giles and Spike looked up at them as they entered, obviously surprised that they were empty handed, waiting for an explanation. Buffy didn’t bother to offer any, flopping down on the couch with a sullen look on her face. “Are we done?” she asked. “Because I’m supposed to be having a hot date tonight that I need to get ready for.”

“Oh, and the car’s across the street,” Willow added quickly, before either of the men could ask.

Spike’s mouth opened in what would have most likely been a vociferous protest, but whatever he saw on Buffy’s face caused it to snap shut again just as quickly. “Excuse me,” he muttered, getting up and moving to the front door.

Buffy didn’t even bother looking at him. Her idea of civility stretched about as far as ignoring him, and that was it. Willow offered a friendly smile. “Do you need any help?”

Spike gave her a half-smile and a quick shake of the head before disappearing out the door. Willow and Giles exchanged a look, and he took his glasses off to clean them. “Buffy, if you feel you must leave, you are certainly free to go.”

“Okay,” Buffy said cheerfully, hopping to her feet. “See ya.” Before Giles could say anything else or change his mind she was at the door, opening it to find Spike in front of her. Buffy gave him a hard look and then pushed past him, seemingly not noticing that she almost bowled him over.

Willow followed at her heels, and gave Spike a pat on the arm on her way past. “See ya.”

Spike watched the girls go wordlessly. He hadn’t expected Buffy to be overjoyed at his transformation, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to be that cruel either. She had looked at him as though he were something nasty on the bottom of her shoe. “Spike?”

He looked back over at Giles, a threadbare black duffel bag slung across one shoulder. “I should change.”

Spike let himself fall into something of a daze after that. There really wasn’t anywhere he could go safely, and Giles pretty much just let him be. Other than the first night, he slept on the couch, and didn’t move far from it. It was simply easier to let himself drift. The sensations, the feelings, associated with becoming human were too overwhelming for him to actively deal with. And while Giles’ flat was a nice enough place, it was still a prison. There just didn’t seem to be much of a reason to fight it, to protest his descent into a deepening depression.

Giles, for his part, was beginning to get concerned about the ex-vampire. Spike was spending most of his time in front of the television, though he wasn’t really focusing on it. Actually, Spike really wasn’t focusing on much of anything. The few times he opened a book, he stared at the pages, unseeing, until he finally closed it. He showed little interest in the goings on of the group, and had a tendency to disappear any time anyone but Giles was around.

After a few days of Spike showing no sign of improvement and of increasing apathy, Giles decided to take matters into his own hands. Spike did have spare clothing, but the boots the soldiers had taken were the only ones he’d had. Without shoes, there weren’t a lot of places he could go, even if it had been safe for him to do so.

On the fifth day of Spike’s stay, the older man thrust a box in front of Spike as he sat on the couch, staring off into space. “Here.”

Spike seemed to rouse slightly to stare at him. “What is it?”

“Open it,” Giles replied, watching as Spike took the box and slowly pulled off the lid, blinking several times in confusion.

“What’s this?” Spike finally asked, staring stupidly at the pair of black boots.

Giles sat down in the chair beside the couch. “I have to go to the market,” he stated. “Since you’re staying here and eating my food, I expect your assistance.” He watched as Spike reached out a tentative hand to touch the boots as though they might suddenly disappear. Giles wasn’t sure what to say, or do, for that matter. Even years of spending time with Buffy hadn’t made him what some might call “emotionally available.” He was actually quite content with his reserved nature, and had no reason to change, except for occasions such as this, where he wanted to be able to say the right thing, and had no idea what it might be.

“Spike,” he began, tentatively. “I know this is a difficult transition for you, but you mustn’t allow it to—to keep you from—from living.”

Spike stared at him, the despair in his eyes a tangible thing. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Giles confessed. “But I believe the first step is getting out of the house.”

A little more energy came in to Spike’s face. “Thought you said it was too dangerous to be out.”

“Yes, well, not alone. These soldiers seem to want to stay hidden, however, and I doubt they want to call attention to themselves. If you’re with someone, I don’t think they’ll take any action against you.” Giles watched him, feeling a tremendous sense of compassion for the young man. “So will you go?”

“Didn’t think I had the option,” Spike replied, a hint of humor in his voice and face.

Giles looked away. “No, well, you don’t. I was merely being polite. So put your shoes on and let’s go.”

Giles was beginning to regret forcing Spike to come to the store with him. While he didn’t make any arguments, or even really complain too much about having to come, Spike refused to make a decision, about anything. When asked about his preferences as to one thing over another, he would simply shrug and mutter, “Dunno.” It was driving Giles crazy. He hated shopping for groceries, and had been hoping that Spike could at least give him some ideas for what they were supposed to eat.

Finally, he stopped the cart in the middle of the aisle and glared at him. “Could you make a decision?” he demanded.

Spike looked at him, surprised. “Huh?”

“I asked you to help me,” Giles reminded him. “You’re not helping.”

Spike finally shrugged and ran a hand through two-toned hair. “Been tellin’ you,” he explained. “Dunno what I like anymore. Everything tastes different now. I still liked human food before, but—it’s different.”

Giles stared at him and then sighed. Of course it would be different for him. He had no idea why he hadn’t even thought about it up to this point. “Is there anything you know you don’t like, then?” he asked.

Spike gave him a wry look. “After that crap they were feedin’ me, don’t think there’s anythin’ I don’t like, so long as I can chew on it.”

“Well, let’s look at the meat selection then,” Giles suggested.

He was trying to decide between beef and chicken when a voice called to him. “Mr. Giles?”

Giles turned to see Joyce Summers smiling at him. “Mrs. Summers. How—good to see you.” The awkwardness from the band candy episode had yet to completely disappear from their relationship.

“Likewise,” she replied, smiling warmly. “It’s been a while. I don’t think I’ve seen you since Buffy’s graduation.”

Giles nodded quickly. “No, indeed. Buffy tells me you’ve been traveling quite a bit.”

“For the gallery,” Joyce explained with a slight shrug of the shoulders. A “what can you do?” movement. “It keeps me busy.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as they both considered what to say next and came up blank. Finally, Giles seized upon the only distraction available and looked over at Spike, who was looking just as uncomfortable. “Ah, I believe you know Spike.”

Spike looked up in what could only be described as alarm as Giles spoke his name. Joyce, on the other hand, looked both surprised and mildly pleased. Not a reaction the older man might have expected. “Of course,” Joyce said, real pleasure on her face. “How are you?”

Spike shrugged a bit, not knowing how exactly to reply to that question. “Alright.” He fell silent and then seemed to recall his manners. “’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Summers.”

Joyce looked slightly confused, glancing over at Giles to find out what was going on. “Spike has been through something of a transformation,” he explained briefly.

“What he’s not sayin’ is I have a heartbeat now,” Spike said bluntly, though he spoke in a low voice.

“Oh.” Joyce frowned. “I didn’t think that was possible,” she ventured.

Spike gave her a disgruntled look. “It’s not, but there you are.”

Giles was interested. Other than the blind panic that he had shown when arriving on his doorstep, this was the most interactive Spike had been in days. He watched as Joyce and Spike’s eyes met, and a kind of unspoken communication went on. There seemed to be a kind of understanding between the two of them. “Well, if you need anything, I still have those little marshmallows you like,” Joyce said.

Spike ducked his head slightly, and Giles could see a faint tinge of pink on his ears and at the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she replied, and then looked back over at Giles. There was another moment of unspoken communication, this time without any edge of embarrassment. They had taken themselves out of the equation for the moment. “I should finish my shopping,” she said. “You two have a good day.”

“You too,” Giles replied, while Spike stood by silently. He watched her walk away and then glanced over at Spike, who was still staring at the tiled floor as though it fascinated him. “Come, Spike. We have our own shopping to finish.”

~~~~~

Later that night, Spike sat out in the courtyard of Giles’ flat, looking up at the stars. It had been decidedly odd to run into Buffy’s mother earlier, but nice. Nice, because she had treated him no differently than she always had, with a sort of warm, but puzzled, consideration. Save for the one occasion when she’d hit him over the head with the ax, of course. Then again, he’d deserved that.

Spike was having a hard time figuring out who or what he was supposed to be now. That was the real problem, in the end. Spike, the vampire, had been all about the hunt, the action, the fight, and that world was closed to him now, unless he wanted to get himself killed. And he was fairly certain he wasn’t William again either. He remembered his former human self with an objectivity, and a tinge of disdain, that would be impossible if there weren’t some distance there.

So he wasn’t Spike, and he wasn’t William. He remembered being a vampire with longing, and yet he was repulsed by the atrocities he had committed. He remembered being a human with real horror, but he wasn’t ready to go out and get himself killed again. There was a part of him that desired the thrill of the hunt, when the moon was new and the night black. And yet he had found he loved the warmth of the sun on his skin, catnapping in the patch of light that fell on the couch at midday.

Spike looked down at his hand, wondering for the hundreth time what it was that made a man, a man, and a vampire, a vampire. Because both everything and nothing had changed, and he had no idea what to do about it.

“I will dedicate and sacrifice my everything for just a second’s worth of how my story’s ending. And I wish I could know if the directions that I take and all the choices that I make won’t end up all for nothing. Show me what it’s for, make me understand it. I’ve been crawling in the dark looking for the answer. Is there something more than what I’ve been handed? I’ve been crawling in the dark looking for the answer.” ~Hoobastank, “Crawling in the Dark”

Giles was in a quandary. He had a friend coming in from out of town, and there really was no way he could have both Spike and Olivia stay at his flat at the same time. For one thing, the activities he had planned held no room for a third player. At all. For another, it would just be terribly awkward, and Giles had no desire for an awkward weekend when he really wanted something relaxing.

On the other hand, Spike’s mental state was still rather fragile, and kicking him out, even for a short time, would not be conducive to his stability. This meant he both needed to make plans to find Spike a place to stay and had to break the news to him gently. The girls’ dorm was out of the question for rather obvious reasons, and that left Xander.

Xander wanted none of it. “Giles!” he protested in a low whisper, casting glances over at Spike who was sitting next to Willow on the couch. “There’s no way.”

“Xander, I’m sorry to have to ask, but there’s no one else. My friend will be here the day after tomorrow, and I can’t very well just toss Spike out into the street.”

The dark haired man grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Spike. Well, he hadn’t liked Spike-the-vampire, of course, but this Spike was different. Quieter, for one thing, and a lot more skittish. Xander thought that today was the first time Spike hadn’t disappeared immediately into another part of the apartment, or outside, as soon as any of the gang made an appearance. And the only reason he hadn’t left abruptly today was that Willow had made a point of asking him to stay.

“Look, Giles, I’d love to help you out, but Anya and I already made plans.” He lowered his voice even further. “This is the first girl who’s actually wanted to spend time with me since Cordelia. Don’t ask me to screw things up with her.”

Giles blinked at Xander, finally sighing. Since he was essentially trying to kick Spike out for the same reasons Xander wouldn’t allow him to stay, he couldn’t really argue. “Fine, but—”

“I can stay in my car.” Giles looked around. Spike was standing right behind him with a tight expression on his face. Giles didn’t think he was precisely angry, but he was— “I can take care of myself.” Proud, that was it. Spike was proud. And unwilling to be a burden.

Willow was next to him, and she looked from one to another, sensing the tension and wanting to defuse it. “What’s going on, Giles?”

“I have a friend coming in from out of town,” he admitted reluctantly, not willing to throw his personal life open to the public. “She will be staying with me for a few days, and—”

“Is she an orgasm friend?” Anya asked cheerfully.

Giles heard a snort of laughter, swiftly stifled, from Spike. Giles didn’t know whether to be put out or grateful. It was the first time he’d heard Spike laugh at all. “Yes, I suppose one might call her that,” he replied stiffly. “In any case, Spike needs another place to stay for a few days.”

“I told you, I’ll stay in my car,” Spike said. He was furious that everyone seemed to think him incapable of making any kind of decisions for himself. Giles meant well, but Spike was beginning to feel a little caged in.

Willow’s face brightened. “Oh, why doesn’t he stay at Buffy’s house?”

“Huh?”

“What?”

Both Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. The Slayer, to this point, had been studiously, and obviously, ignoring Spike’s existence. She shot the ex-vampire a glare, and then looked over at Willow. “At my house?”

Willow looked both surprised and a little angry. “Why not? Your mom’s going out of town tomorrow. She already called and asked if we would check on things a couple times while she’s on her trip. If Spike stays there, it’ll be like having a house-sitter. Everybody wins.”

Buffy looked like she was about to protest again, but Giles cut her off. “I think that’s a brilliant idea, Willow,” he said firmly. “I doubt Joyce would have a problem with Spike looking after her house while she’s out of town. Buffy, why don’t you call her and ask?” When Buffy stared at him sullenly, Giles pulled his glasses off and started to clean them again. “Or perhaps I should be the one to call.”

“I’ll do it,” she replied, shooting a nasty look at Spike as she went over to the phone.

Willow could see Spike’s jaw clenching, and she laid a gentle hand on his arm, even as Giles tried to convince him that staying in his car would be a very bad idea. “You would be vulnerable,” the older man reminded him. “Not just to the soldiers, but what if the police spotted you? With no identification—”

“Yeah, I know. I’d be in deep shit.” Willow’s eyebrows went straight up. That was the first time she’d heard Spike swear. The changes in his character were obvious, and overwhelming, but there seemed to be a little of the vampire left after all.

“Spike—”

“Bugger off,” he growled, jerking his arm away from Willow’s restraining hand and stomping towards the front door. Giles, Xander and Willow shared a look before Buffy came back to join them.

“Where’d the bleached wonder go?” she asked. “I’m supposed to tell him that mom would be happy to have him stay.” The Slayer’s tone was an unsubtle mix of the nasty and sarcastic, and Willow was glad that Spike had left.

“He went outside,” she said. “I’ll go let him know.” She sighed. Ever the peacemaker.

Spike was sitting on the edge of the flower bed, wrists wresting on his knees, staring down at the ground. “Buffy’s mom said she’d be happy to have you stay there.”

“Great.” There was a long silence, and he said quietly. “I can bloody well take care of myself, you know. Been doin’ it for well over a hundred years now. Not like I’m suddenly incompetent.”

Willow came to sit down next to him, thinking it must be pretty sucky to suddenly have your entire way of life uprooted and pulled out from under you. “It’s different now,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help, Spike.”

“The way she—you all look at me, like I—” he stopped, having already given away too much.

“Buffy’s just mad.”

He looked over at her with blue eyes that swirled with a heady mix of emotions. Anger, fear, hurt, loneliness. “I didn’t expect her to suddenly be my mate, not with everythin’ I’ve done, but what’s she so brassed off about now?” Spike asked, honestly bewildered.

“Because you’re human,” Willow said quietly, having already figured it out for herself. “You’re human—and Angel’s not.”

Spike’s mouth opened in surprise and he frowned. “I’d switch places with that poof in a minute,” he protested. “Wasn’t like I asked for this!”

Willow shrugged. “Think about it, Spike. The vampire she loves is still a vampire, and she can’t be with him. The vampire she hated… It might not be logical, but that’s how it is.”

“She tell you that?” he asked.

Willow gave him a wry smile. “I’ve been Buffy’s friend for a long time, Spike. I didn’t need to ask.”

“’course.” He looked up as Buffy stalked outside.

“Mom said she wants you to come over tonight,” she announced. “She wants to make sure you know where everything is.” Buffy’s tone clearly said that she didn’t really care if Spike knew where everything was, or if he wound up sleeping on the street and starving to death.

“When do you want to leave?” he asked as evenly as he could manage. Buffy merely lifted an eyebrow and tapped the toe of her boot on the ground in reply. “Right,” he muttered. “Let me get my things together.”

Willow declined to ride with them, already feeling as though she was in a precarious position. Buffy was her best friend and her roommate. Spike was someone she was rapidly coming to think of as a friend. Or, at least he was someone she wouldn’t mind having as a friend. She’d always had a thing for the underdog. But riding in the backseat of his car with the tension between them as thick as it was—no thanks.

Spike drove them both to the Summers’ residence, conscientiously following all the traffic laws. He had no desire to get pulled over, and no reason to try and impress the Slayer with his driving abilities. Actually, he had the sinking feeling that nothing he could do would impress her at this point.

Pulling up in front of the house and parking the DeSoto in the street, he put the car in park. Buffy was reaching for the door handle when his voice stopped her. “Look, Sl—Buffy. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you in the past.”

Buffy turned to look at him, but her face gave nothing away, hazel eyes cool. “Fine, Spike. You’re sorry.”

The irritation he had been feeling for days suddenly spilled over. “Bloody hell, Slayer!” he burst out. “I get that you have reasons to hate me, and most of them are pretty good. But I’m not a vampire anymore! Don’t know who I am, but I’m not that Spike! So what’s your problem? What have I done that’s so royally pissed you off that you’re lookin’ at me like I’m dirt under your shoe?”

Her face didn’t change; if anything it only became harder. Spike hadn’t thought that was even possible. Her voice, when she spoke, was sharp enough to cut glass. “Have you ever thought that you don’t have to do anything, Spike? That it’s who you are? It doesn’t matter if you’re vampire or human. You’re beneath me.”

Spike sat frozen. He was suddenly back in a Victorian drawing room, baring his soul to a heartless young woman. Hearing the laughter of the others as a dim backdrop to her words. For one brief ghastly moment, he was William the Bloody Awful Poet again. Looking up through eyes that threatened to overflow, he could see Buffy through the clear patch in the windshield, impatiently tapping the toe of her boot. Spike took a deep breath and brought himself back under control. If there was one thing he’d learned in over a century of living—or unliving—you never let ‘em see you cry.

Buffy stayed long enough to see him in the door, kiss Joyce on the cheek, and say hello and good-bye in the same breath. Needless to say, she didn’t say anything at all to Spike. He stayed standing uneasily in the entryway, still not quite sure what to do with himself.

“Come in, Spike,” Joyce said warmly, noticing his discomfort. “I’ve cleared out the spare room for you a bit. There’s not a lot of space, but at least the bed’s free.”

“’s okay,” he mumbled. “’preciate you lettin’ me stay here on such short notice.” Spike remembered that he was supposed to be polite most of the time, but he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. After all, it was a skill he hadn’t needed for well over a century.

Joyce smiled in reply, laying a friendly hand on his arm. “Nonsense. I’ll be happy to know someone’s looking after things while I’m out of town. I usually ask Buffy to check on the house occasionally while I’m gone, but she’s so busy, you know.”

“Yeah,” Spike replied, not really sure what to say to that. Buffy didn’t let him in on her plans or her life.

“Well, why don’t I show you where things are?” she suggested. “I know you’ve been to the house before, but I don’t think you’ve ever gotten the full tour.”

Spike nodded and then proceeded to follow her around the house. She showed him where to put his bag, and he found himself grateful that he wasn’t staying in Buffy’s old room. The way things stood between the two of them, he had the feeling he would find himself on the pointy end of a stake if he made so bold as to sleep in her bed. Human or not.

Once she had shown him the house, Joyce led him back into the kitchen. “Have you eaten yet?” she asked.

Spike hesitated. He hadn’t eaten, it was past seven, and he was starving. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to be a burden, so he said he was fine. Of course, his stomach chose just that moment to growl rather loudly, yet another body function he was still trying to get used to.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Joyce said with something of a smile.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Spike protested.

Joyce raised her eyebrows. “You’re hardly a bother, Spike. Besides, I usually eat alone. It will be nice to have company for once. I was hoping that Buffy might stay, but I know she had to run off.”

Spike didn’t tell her that it was on his account her daughter had no desire to stay. There wasn’t much of a point, and he didn’t want to sound as though he was feeling sorry for himself, even if perhaps he was. Moreover, he could hear the loneliness in her voice, and it was the same note he’d heard in Giles’ words every so often, talking about the Slayer and her friends. Neither of the adults were an integral part of things anymore. And while that independence was a good thing, it also changed the dynamics of everyday life in a way that was sometimes painful for those left behind.

“It’ll be nice to eat someone else’s cooking,” he said, striving for the chitchat he seemed to have so much trouble with now. “Giles does his best, but he’s no chef.”

She smiled at him. “Well, I’m sure he likes the company as much as I do.”

Spike shrugged. “Bit hard for him to toss me out when I turned up at his door like a stray,” he replied dismissively. “He just doesn’t know what else to do with me at this point, I guess.”

Joyce looked at him sharply, her hazel eyes catching what others might miss: the lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, the dark circles under his eyes, the set of his jaw that spoke of a perpetual tension. It was rather obvious to her that Spike was desperately unhappy, even as he tried to shrug it off. “Mmm,” was her rather noncommittal reply, knowing when to leave well enough alone. “How does pasta sound?” she asked.

It was an easy dinner to put together. Joyce cooked and kept the topics light, refusing to let Spike help. She had the feeling that what he really needed was a little mothering, and so she did exactly that. Telling him about the gallery, asking about Giles and the others, finally setting the plate in front of him as he sat at the kitchen island. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his emotions again threatening to overwhelm him.

“I wanted to,” was all Joyce said. She waited until he was more than halfway done with his meal before asking the question. In some ways, Spike was easier to deal with than Buffy. Her daughter had always been a little alien to her, while this man was an open book.

“Could I ask you a question?”

The tone was innocent, and Spike had been lulled into complacency by the good food and company. “Sure,” he replied around a mouthful of pasta. “This is bloody brilliant, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she answered, amused by his boyish enthusiasm. “What’s your name?”

Spike looked up in surprise. “You know my name.”

“Not your real name.”

There was a long moment of silence, before Spike finally asked suspiciously, “Why?”

“Because I’d like to know,” Joyce said easily. “And somehow I have the feeling that Spike wasn’t the name your mother gave you.”

Spike frowned. It certainly wasn’t, and his mother had probably spun in her grave—“You look like her, sometimes,” he whispered.

“Who do I look like, Spike?” Joyce asked.

Blue eyes never leaving her face, he shook his head. “William. That’s what she called me. Sometimes, when the light—you look like her a bit.”

“What happened to her?” Joyce wondered if the key to the man in front of her wasn’t the answer to that question.

Anguish and guilt raged in Spike’s face, but he didn’t say anything. Joyce hesitated, and then changed tacks. “How old were you?”

“Twenty-five, I think,” he murmured. “No, not quite that. It was a couple months shy of my birthday when—”

“What happened?”

He shrugged, trying to shrug off the emotions that seemed to plague him at the same time. Spike had never been one to hide his feelings, but it was different now. There were too many things that could give him away. It was too hard to keep a poker face. “Went to a party,” he finally said. “There was a girl there. Thought I was in love with her, but she didn’t feel the same way. Told me so.” The scars were still visible, shining through his eyes in almost tangible pain. “Ran out crying like a bloody ponce. Dru found me. ‘sall.”

“What was it like?” When his gaze seemed to shutter over, Joyce reached out to touch his hand. “William. Tell me, please. Buffy never lets me in, and I want to know a little at least. I’ve never had the chance to ask before.” Spike paused again, and this time his face flushed a little with embarrassment. “Trust me, I think I’ve probably heard it all.”

He gave a little laugh that sounded more like a snort, and replied, “’s like the best sex you’ve ever had. Like nothin’ else you’ve ever experienced, all beautiful and grand. Feels so good and hurts so bad all at the same time, yeah?” When Joyce nodded, he continued, the words rolling off his tongue. It felt so good just to say it, to be able to speak what had never been spoken of to someone who would not be rushing off to put it in a little book somewhere. As grateful as he was to Giles, Spike sometimes thought that he was a lot like a fine specimen, an example of when the impossible happens and a vampire becomes human.

“They buried me in Potter’s Field,” he said, fingers playing absently with his fork. “Dug myself up to find Dru waitin’ for me. We went back to my house for clothes and such.” Spike took a deep, necessary breath. “Mum—mum was ill. Consumption they called it back then, but she was dyin’.”

“You killed her.” It was a statement of fact, not a question or an accusation. Joyce could see the truth written all over his expressive face.

“I loved her.” It was said with such simplicity, Joyce could feel tears in her own eyes. “I felt so bloody good. Like I was on top of the world, never had to worry about one of those pathetic sods who were always—” Spike stopped again, not wanting to reveal too much. “Wanted her to be with me always, so I turned her. And then she wasn’t my mum anymore.”

There was more to the story, but Joyce didn’t push, not when she could see Spike struggling desperately for control. “Will you be okay?”

“Sure. ‘course I will,” he said, brushing off her question with a hint of his old arrogance.

“She must have loved you so very much,” Joyce whispered, thinking that from his omissions that he must have been an only child, and that it had just been he and his mother. Thinking about how much she loved Buffy, with the kind of love only a mother knows for her sole child. Seeing in Spike’s eyes how very much he had loved her.

Joyce’s unequivocal statement unwittingly loosed the dam. The emotions he had been trying so hard to hold back for days burst free, first as a slow trickle as the tears began to roll down his face, then he broke down as the floodgates opened. The sobs that tore from his chest were almost frightening in their intensity. “I don’t think I can do this,” he gasped. “I don’t—I can’t.” He felt Joyce’s arms come around him as she drew him to her chest, holding and rocking him until he calmed.

When he finally pulled back, it was both with reluctance and a sense of shame; reluctance because it had felt so good to be held like that, shame because he felt weak for wanting it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got you a bit damp.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joyce said with a smile, smoothing back an errant curl from his forehead. “I never get a chance to mother anyone anymore. It’s nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Spike rewarded her attempt at humor with a watery smile. “Thanks, mum.”

The name was meant as a joke, but it held a reality behind it that was nothing to laugh at. “Will you really be okay?” she asked, concern overshadowing the humor. “Because I can still cancel my trip.”

The ex-vampire stared at her. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” she replied, no hesitation in her voice. “I’d worry about you too much.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Just knowin’ you’d stay—” The smile he gave her this time was more successful, and he looked down at his plate, still half-full of pasta. “I made your dinner get cold.”

“I’ll just stick it in the microwave for a minute,” Joyce replied. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, both of them caught up in their own thoughts. Joyce was by no means certain that Spike was okay. Even when he’d been here before, crying over his hot chocolate for Drusilla, he had not seemed so broken.

Joyce had always had a fondness for the lost ones. She had genuinely liked Faith, would have loved to have been able to save her. But the dark-haired Slayer had, in many ways, been too far gone for her to reach. Plus, there were other events that had conspired to send Faith off the deep end. Spike seemed like her: all hard edges, but with a deep vulnerability that shone out of blue eyes like a Siren’s call.

Spike, for his part, was utterly embarrassed at having cried on Joyce’s shoulder. But he had to admit to feeling better. Somehow, crying by oneself and crying in the company of someone who cared were entirely different. Striving for something to say that wouldn’t embarrass him further, he asked, “So what kind of pieces do you have at the gallery now?”

The tension dissipated after that as Joyce moved on to safer subjects and Spike helped her clean up. “Would you like some hot cocoa?” she asked once the dishes had all been dried and put away.

Spike’s face lit up in a slow genuine smile. “Yeah, that would be right nice, mum.”

~~~~~

Joyce was gone by the time Spike crawled out of bed that morning. She’d left a note on the counter about where he could find the food in the freezer and pantry, along with plant-watering directions. At the end, she’d added a little note. “You hang in there, William. Things seem hard right now, but they always get easier with time. Just remember, if you ever need to talk, I’ll be here to listen.”

He smiled reflectively. Between Joyce and Willow, he felt almost welcome in the world of the living. The first day he spent inside the house, as per Giles’ instructions. There were only so many hours of day-time TV he could take now that his brain seemed to be functioning again. Passions was all well and good, but Jerry Springer got old real quick. His own life was insane enough without adding the insanity of stupid people.

Spike finally picked up one of Joyce’s paperbacks, losing himself for the rest of the day in Middle Earth. He had no idea why Buffy’s mother would have J.R.R. Tolkien’s classics, but it was a nice read for him. Stopping only for a late dinner, he made it most of the way through the first book in the trilogy before he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

That night he dreamed about orcs who chased him with scalpels and causing havoc among hobbits.

It was noon the next day before he noticed that something strange was going on. He had gone into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and stubbed his toe. But when he opened his mouth to swear bloody blue murder, nothing came out. Spike frowned and tried again, this time not to curse but just to say anything at all. And still nothing came out.

There was only one place to go—again. While he wasn’t supposed to leave the house, he really wanted to know what was going on, and if anyone did, Giles and the gang would. Not that he wanted to see Buffy again.

With the DeSoto, he managed to get himself back to Giles’ place in just a few minutes. He was a bit surprised when the door opened and Giles gripped his shoulder, obviously relieved to see him. In fact, when he walked inside, Xander and Anya actually waved, and Willow came and gave him a hug. Spike met Buffy’s eyes for a long moment, and she was the one to look away first.

It was odd to have the silence enforced like that, to not have a choice about speaking. Spike noticed that everyone touched more, that they reached for contact in different ways than speech. He also would have felt more alone than ever if Willow hadn’t kept shooting him small, supportive glances, occasionally touching his arm when she passed.

They spent the day trying to discover what it was that had stolen the voices of Sunnydale, for it had affected the entire town. There was something intensely frightening about the whole thing, and though he wasn’t very excited about it, Spike went back to the Summers’ residence that night. He had promised Joyce that he would look after things, and a man kept his promises. That, at least, he could remember.

The front page news sent him straight back over to Giles’ the next morning however, and he was in the college auditorium when the ex-librarian gave his presentation. When they all dispersed, waiting for the Slayer to save the day as usual, Spike found himself not wanting to be alone again. Giles would be with Olivia, of course, and Xander and Anya were well on their way to making up after their little argument. Buffy was off to try and get their voices back, and he was left to fend for himself.

Which was why he was knocking rather sheepishly on Willow’s door about five minutes after she got inside the dorm room. Willow wiggled her fingers at him even as she raised an amused eyebrow. She picked up one of their white boards and wrote, “Didn’t want to be alone, huh?”

Spike shrugged and rolled his eyes, grabbing the board and scribbling, “You mind?”

Willow shook her head and wrote back, “No. Homework can wait. Movie?”

“What do you have?”

They were busy watching Sleepless in Seattle, after Spike’s vehement, though silent, protestations, when they both heard the pounding. Sharing an anxious glance, Willow stopped the movie and went to the door. Spike stood in front of it and nodded, and the redhead pulled it open. He frowned, not seeing anyone right away, and then stepped out of the room. The blonde girl plowed straight into him, knocking him to the floor and causing his knee to twist under him. He gave a silent yelp of pain, and then his eyes widened as he saw the monsters that had been chasing her. Willow and the other girl were on either side of him in a split second, hauling him to his feet and supporting him down the stairs.

They managed to reach a laundry room and locked the door. Even between the three of them they couldn’t move the vending machine though. Spike was barely standing, his leg throbbing, but he wasn’t just going to sit back and watch the monsters get to the girls. Willow pulled him back, away from the door and the soda machine, and then stared at the machine intently.

It rattled a couple of times, but didn’t move. Spike watched the stranger watch Willow, until the redheaded witch slumped against the wall. The blonde looked from her to the machine, tensing as the banging on the door coninued. It seemed as though the Gentlemen would be through any minute. Suddenly, the sense in the room drastically changed as the blonde grabbed Willow’s hand. Both their heads snapped around to stare at the soda machine, which slid across the floor and slammed into the door.

Spike realized that he had disappeared from the room as the two girls stared at one another. He almost felt as though he were interrupting a very private moment. He could sense the unresolved sexual tension that swirled around them.

And when their voices came back, no one quite knew what to say.

“…I’m looking for a place/I’m searching for a face/Is anybody here I know?/’Cause nothing’s going right/and everything’s a mess/and no one likes to be alone/Isn’t anyone trying to find me?/Won’t somebody come take me home?/It’s a damn cold night/Trying to figure out this life/Won’t you take me by the hand/Take me somewhere new/I don’t know who you are/But I—I’m with you.” ~Avril Levigne, “I’m With You”

Spike looked down, out over the cliff’s edge, feeling the pull of danger even as his toes caused a few stones to fall. The old Crawford mansion sat behind him, its monolithic bulk full of memories he’d rather get rid of. Looking back on those days, he honestly couldn’t say which was worse: being a vampire stuck in a wheelchair and watching your girlfriend get it on with the Great Poof, or being human. There were differences, of course, but he wasn’t sure that having a heartbeat was any better. He felt just as useless with a pulse as he had in that chair.

A few more pebbles rolled off the edge, and Spike watched with a sick fascination as they fell. It was a long way down, and if he jumped, there was a very good chance he wouldn’t survive the fall. Even if he did survive, he would probably die of his injuries before anyone found him.

He took an involuntary step back. As hopeless as things seemed these days, there was still something inside of him that clung to life. It was why he hadn’t found a gun and shot himself, or hanged himself, or sent his car off the road into a tree, or… Well, he’d thought of a dozen different ways to do the deed, and so far hadn’t acted on any of his fantasies. They were tempting, but he held back, if only because killing himself would be letting the soldiers that did this to him win. And Spike, human or not, liked to win.

Sighing, he turned back from the cliff’s edge and headed back towards town. Giles had not forbidden him from leaving the apartment, but Spike knew very well that he wasn’t really supposed to go out by himself. It was too risky. But he’d been feeling caged up again, and needed to do something other than sit in front of the TV or read a book. In Giles’ apartment those were pretty much the extent of his options.

He was just meandering through the downtown area, past the Espresso Pump, when he bumped into someone. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmured, changing course to move around and go on.

“William?”

There was only one person who called him that, and sure enough, when Spike looked up, he found himself staring at Joyce. “Oh. H’lo.”

“How are you?” she asked warmly, and Spike couldn’t help but mentally compare mother and daughter, even if it was like apples and oranges.

“Alright,” he said, trying to make it sound like the truth. He wasn’t dead, so he supposed that was something, anyway. And then, belatedly remembering his manners, he asked, “How are you, Joyce?”

She smiled at him. “Good. I was just off to get something for lunch. Would you like to join me?”

Spike hesitated. He didn’t have any cash on him, even if he was hungry. It seemed as though he was always hungry now.

Joyce seemed to sense his hesitation, and the reasons behind it. “It’ll be my treat,” she stated. “If you don’t mind, we can grab it and go back to the gallery. There’s a shipment I still need to unpack.”

Spike held a brief mental debate with himself, trying to decide if letting Joyce feed him would be taking advantage, and if he really wanted to spend the rest of the day by himself or with Giles. It wasn’t a hard choice in the end. “Don’t mind at all.”

~~~~~

Willow plopped down on her bed in the dorm room and looked over at Buffy, who was diligently trying to study. Ever since the Gentlemen had caused she and Riley to inadvertantly reveal their secret identities, Buffy seemed to have a lot less time for studying. Her decision after the last averted apocalypse to continue seeing him wasn’t sitting easy though, and Willow didn’t blame her. Everything they knew about Riley’s little group of commandos was not of the good. Especially where it concerned Spike.

Spike. He was the only person who had met Tara, and who had observed Willow’s attraction to her. In fact, when Willow had seen him the other day at Giles’ apartment, just after they’d nearly been killed, he had asked about her, how she was doing. And the way he asked it had said everything: that he knew what had happened, that he had sensed the undercurrents of tension that ran around the room, and that he was okay with it. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else, and he had pulled her aside to ask, so as not to draw any attention to the question. Spike was fast becoming a friend, one who knew more about her than her roommate did. Willow knew she needed to discuss things with Buffy, because the Slayer was killing the ex-vampire in an entirely different way than with a pointy weapon.

“I need to talk to you.”

Buffy turned in her desk chair to look over at Willow. “What about?” Then, frowning slightly, she said, “Okay, you have serious face. What’s up, Will?”

Willow took a deep breath and braced herself. “It’s about Spike.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Case closed.

Willow wasn’t ready to accept that. She was tired of bitchy-Buffy. She wanted her friend back, the one she could talk to. She also didn’t want to have to hide the fact that she was making other friends, which would be much easier if Buffy weren’t being stupid. “I don’t care,” she replied bluntly. “He’s miserable, Buffy, and you don’t even care.”

“Good,” the Slayer said coldly. “He should be miserable after everything he’s done. It’s called suffering, and he caused plenty of it.”

“Is that the same thing you said to Angel after he came back from Hell?” It was a low blow, and Willow knew it. She also didn’t care. It seemed that sometimes the only thing Buffy would listen to was a two-by-four upside the head.

“Angel was different,” Buffy replied in a low voice after a long pause. “He had a soul.”

“Spike has a soul and a heartbeat,” Willow replied with ruthless logic. “Seems to me like he’s one-up.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Buffy asked angrily, standing up to face her friend. “This is Spike we’re talking about. You know, the guy that tried to kill you last year? Why are you suddenly all buddy-buddy with him?”

Willow stood as well, facing Buffy with as much moxy as she could muster. “Because he’s a pretty decent guy,” Willow replied. “He’s having a hard time right now, and you’re making it worse. It seems to me like you’re trying to win the Miss Cordelia Chase award, and you’re succeeding pretty well with Spike. You’re treating him just like Cordelia was treating Xander whenever they weren’t dating. That’s just wrong.”

Buffy spun around, unable to face her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah?” Willow asked. “You know what, Buffy? You basically told me when Oz left that life happens that way sometimes and we just have to deal with it. So I’m giving you the same advice. Whatever is pissing you off so much, whether it’s Spike being human or Angel still being a vampire, get over it. It’s not Spike’s fault.”

It was a palpable hit. Buffy’s face started to crumple. “It’s not fair,” she protested. “Spike hates this, I can tell. Angel would—”

“Angel would love it,” Willow agreed. “If only because it meant he could be with you. But that still doesn’t make it Spike’s fault, Buffy.”

Buffy came to rest on her bed, bottom lip still trembling, but the tears were contained for the moment. She looked up at Willow. “Every time I see him, I think of Angel, what Angel could do with being human, how much he would love it,” she confessed. “And I hate him because it’s Spike instead.”

Willow sat down next to Buffy and put a gentle arm around her shoulders. “I get that, Buffy, I really do. But that doesn’t make it right.”

“I know,” Buffy said quietly. “Even when he’s just sitting there, Spike can push all my buttons.” She laughed bitterly. “You know what’s almost worse, though?” she asked. “Knowing what Riley is, what he’s a part of, and knowing what they did to Spike, I wonder if I should even get involved with him. I know it’s not fair, but I want to blame Spike for that too.”

Willow sighed. She really did understand. She had loved Oz, but she had also hated him for leaving her. It seemed more natural than not to have mixed emotions about people. “I don’t think you have to be best friends,” Willow assured her. “But being less of a bitch when you’re around him would be appreciated.”

Buffy nodded. “I’ll try.”

Willow shook her head. “It’s too bad that you two don’t get along,” she said, almost thinking aloud. “You guys have a ton in common. If anyone would understand what Spike’s going through it would be you.”

Buffy stared at her incredulously. “Huh?”

“You know, last year when the Council put you through the test where you lost all your powers?” Willow asked, seemingly surprised that Buffy hadn’t figured it out for herself. “Of all of us, you’re the only one who’s had super powers and then lost them. Maybe it was only temporary for you, but think of how Spike must feel knowing that it’s permanent unless he gets turned again. I just thought that you would probably be the best one to help him adjust, you know. But I understand if you don’t want to be around him.”

She glanced over at the clock and gave a little “eep” of alarm. “I’ve gotta go, Buffy,” she said. “I’m going to be late for class.”

Buffy watched her go silently, thoughts churning around in her brain. Willow was right about her being a bitch. She’d known it, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. At the same time, she had a hard time believing that she and Spike had anything at all in common. But Willow’s comments stayed with her, and she couldn’t quite forget them, especially when she would catch a glimpse of the ex-vampire.

~~~~~

“Where do you want this one, Joyce?” Spike asked, holding up a delicately crafted vase.

Joyce glanced back at him from where she was turning the “Open” sign to “Closed” at the door. Spike’s black t-shirt and jeans were dusty, with bits of packing clinging to the fabric. His hair was mussed, with more packing in his hair and a streak of dust down one cheek. What warmed Joyce’s heart the most, however, was the sparkle that was in Spike’s eyes.

They had come back from getting a couple sandwiches and had eaten in the back. Joyce’s assistant had quit the week before, and she hadn’t had time yet to look for someone new. That meant she had to unpack the new shipment herself, and there were several pieces she needed an extra pair of hands for. Spike had willingly volunteered his services and then had spent the rest of the afternoon helping her unpack crates while she took care of the customers up front. For the first time in a while, Joyce was actually going to be able to get out of the gallery before ten.

“Just find a spot for it in the back somewhere,” she directed. “I’ll have to clear out the front this weekend and exchange the pieces.”

He nodded and disappeared into the back again, coming out a few minutes later, brushing his hands on the back of his jeans. “’s all done,” Spike said easily.

Joyce smiled widely at him. “Thank you, William. It’s so nice to get out of here at a decent hour for once.”

Spike smiled back almost shyly. “My pleasure.” His eyes caught the time on the clock and then widened comically. “Bloody hell. Giles is probably going to think I got grabbed again.”

“Come on, then,” she said with a smile. “I’ll give you a ride back.” Over the course of the afternoon, Joyce had gotten the full story of what had been done to him, and she could read the pain in between the lines. She also sensed that there was little standing between Spike and death at this point. Joyce couldn’t help but wonder what it was that kept him from killing himself, though she was grateful to whatever it might be. Joyce had always felt a pull towards Spike, but over the last week or so she had come to like him for himself. Not only had she returned home after her trip to find an impeccable house, but she’d also discovered that he had cleaned up fallen knick-knacks after the earthquake and checked for other damage. While that had disposed her to like him quite a bit, his presence and help that afternoon had given her new insights to his person.

Joyce had discovered that Spike knew quite a bit about anything that interested him and not much of anything about things that didn’t. He could look at a piece and tell you where it had come from because “he had been there.” At least, that’s what Spike gave as his reason. He came up with obscure facts that not even Joyce had known, all the while charming her with tales of his exploits, miraculously free of gore. He was an absolute fount of information on anything having to do with history, geography, literature, and travel. And he could charm a miser out of his last coin.

On the way home, Joyce broached a topic she’d been thinking of for the last few hours. “You know, William, I’ve been thinking I need to hire a new assistant.”

“Noticed that,” he replied. “’m surprised you hadn’t gotten one yet. He left a week or so ago, yeah?”

“Well, yes, I just haven’t had time to get to the newspaper yet to get an ad put in the paper,” she explained, building her case as she went along.

Spike shook his head. “You work too hard, mum. You should get some help.”

“What about you?”

His head snapped around. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you,” she replied. “Unless you don’t want a job, and if you don’t feel free to let me know.”

“No,” he said, looking down. “’s just—been thinkin’ ‘bout getting a job for a while now. I don’t have any identification or papers or anything like that though. And, I just—why me?”

Joyce heard the uncertainty in his voice, and she spoke quietly. “We can work around the papers for now. As for why you, you proved yourself to me this afternoon, Spike. Any time you hire someone new, it’s always a gamble. There are interviews and applications. At least with you, I know who I’m getting, and I know I can trust you.”

“Right then,” he said slowly. “I’ll do it. But only if you promise to let me know if it’s not workin’ out for you,” he insisted. “I won’t have you bollocksin’ up everythin’ or lettin’ me do it for you, just because you feel a bit sorry for me.”

“Agreed,” Joyce said, just as she pulled up in front of Giles’ apartment. “Come by sometime tomorrow, and we can discuss the details, if you like.”

He nodded and opened the car door, then looked back at her. “Thanks, mum.” Spike gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and then disappeared out into the night, blending into the darkness without difficulty.

Joyce smiled as she looked after him, half-wondering what it might have been like to have a son like that. She thought it might have been quite nice.

Spike slipped inside the house as quietly as possible. It really wasn’t too late, shortly after 8, but Giles had been rather beat up after his encounter with the Vahrall demons earlier that week so he’d been resting fairly regularly. Spike had expressed his regret at not being there to help, but Giles had seemed fairly certain that the ex-vampire wouldn’t have been able to do much besides getting himself stomped on. Spike couldn’t argue with that.

“I was about ready to send out the cavalry,” Giles said from his position at his desk. He turned slightly to face Spike, who was looking dusty, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

Spike ducked his head, unsure of what to say. There was a part of him that was truly touched by Giles’ concern; it really was nice to know that someone cared. On the other hand, he was three times the man’s age, and he hated feeling like a teenager caught out after curfew. As though reading his mind, Giles continued, “Well, you can certainly take care of yourself. But perhaps in the future you might leave a note so I know when to send out the search party.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Spike indicated his agreement and then collapsed on the couch with a soft thump. “You know where I can get papers, that sort of thing?” he asked.

“I’ve been looking into that,” Giles said, going back to what he was working on at his desk. Spike would tell him where he had been, or not, when he chose. The Watcher was well aware of how difficult this transition was on Spike. The loss of independence was a good part of it to which he wouldn’t add by grilling for details. “I know people who might be able to help, and they owe me a favor or two.”

“You don’t have to use up your favors on my account,” Spike said, speaking from the other side of the couch back and not looking up.

Giles raised an eyebrow, wondering what had brought that on. “It’s no hardship, Spike,” he assured the other man. “May I ask why getting identification is suddenly so important?”

There was a long silence, and then Spike admitted in a low voice, “Ran into Joyce today. She wants me to help her in the gallery. Told me she could work around the paperwork for a while, but ‘m goin’ to need it at some point. Can’t live off your charity forever, yeah?”

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Giles said quietly. He made the offer knowing that Spike didn’t want to stay with him forever. Whatever Spike might be as a human, he was not a freeloader. He had too much pride for that.

Spike sat up to look at Giles, his face full of emotion. The older man was rapidly beginning to understand that he had always been passionate, before, during, and after being a vampire. Giles’ mother would have called him a “sensitive boy,” and she wouldn’t have been far wrong. “Don’t know if I’ve said it,” Spike began tentatively, “but if you hadn’t taken me in—”

Giles met his eyes and gave him something resembling a smile. “I had been wishing for a new project when you showed up on my doorstep,” he replied. “I will say this for you, you do keep things interesting, William.”

Spike ran a hand through his hair, two-toned and curly at this point. “So you think you can get the papers?”

“I can get them,” Giles assured him. “Give me another week or so.” He thought of something and a rather smug smile appeared on his face. “You do realize you’ll have to get different clothing, don’t you? Jeans and a t-shirt are hardly appropriate attire to wear to work at an art gallery.”

If anything, Spike paled. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Hadn’t even thought of that. What am I supposed to wear?”

“I’d ask Joyce,” Giles replied. “You do have the funds for new clothing, don’t you?”

Spike shrugged, still distracted by the thought of having to go shopping. He would probably be needing a haircut and such as well. “Some, ‘less you need that for the paperwork?”

“I think this can be a cashless transaction,” Giles replied, still amused. “Perhaps you might ask one of the girls to take you shopping. They would have a better idea than I as to what a young man wears to work.”

Spike was not comforted by the suggestion, but he knew it wasn’t a bad one. Buffy might be a shopping queen, but he would have to ask Willow for obvious reasons. He didn’t think the redhead would mind. Running it through his mind, he looked back at Giles, and remembered that he hadn’t finished what he wanted to say. “Thank you,” he stated, with all seriousness. “For everything.”

“You’re quite welcome, Spike,” Giles replied with equal seriousness. “I believe I might owe you still for saving my life. With Angelus.”

A small, wistful smile touched Spike’s lips. “That wasn’t for you, mate. That was for your Slayer, and Dru. Debt’s already been paid.” He stood. “Better get this dust off me,” he remarked heading off for the bathroom.

Giles watched him go, a sense of relief filling him. Spike seemed to be in better spirits, and was more ready to join the world. He had often thought over the past couple weeks that Spike would be better off with something to do, like a job, but he’d hesitated to suggest it, having no idea of what an ex-vampire might be qualified for. (He had even less of an idea of what Spike might want to do.) It seemed that he had solved the problem on his own. For that, Giles was grateful, if only because he hated to see someone he was coming to like fall into the depths of despondency and stay there.

There was something to admire in Spike, in his utter unwillingness to give in, his stubborn clinging to life. And while he would never say it out loud, there was something endearing about this ex-vampire, trying so desperately to divine a different sort of destiny. It proved that Spike had, as Giles’ countrymen might say, a certain kind of pluck.

~~~~~

Willow grabbed her purse and jacket, heading for the door in the dorm room. Buffy appeared in the doorway just as she was reaching for the knob, however, and they both stopped, looking surprised. “Hey, Will,” Buffy said. “You going out?”

“Uh, yeah,” Willow replied. She had hoped to leave before Buffy got back, not really wanting to explain the afternoon’s activities. “You were planning on going out with Riley today, right?”

Buffy nodded. “We’re supposed to have dinner together tonight, I think. What’s up with you? Got a hot date?”

Willow’s eyes widened and she looked down at the outfit it had taken her over half an hour to choose. “Me? Date? No!” She took a deep breath and calmed herself, deciding that part of the truth was easier to tell than a lie. “Actually, Spike asked me to help him go shopping. He just got a new job, and he needs more upscale clothes.”

Buffy frowned slightly, though not because she was displeased with the news. She had been doing a lot of thinking over the last day or so about her reactions to Spike, and had come to the conclusion that Willow had been right. She hadn’t been fair, and she did need to try and act more civilly towards him. Now, what had her frowning was the idea of doing a makeover on Spike. It actually sounded kind of fun, because in some decent clothes, he wouldn’t be bad looking. “That sounds like fun,” she finally came up with.

“I think it will be. He was supposed to check with your mom, and then we were going to figure out what he needed.”

Buffy stared at her. “What do you mean check with my mom?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you didn’t know,” Willow said, blushing at having put her foot in her mouth. “Your mom offered Spike a job at the gallery since her assistant left last week. You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t even know Mom’s assistant quit,” Buffy replied, thinking that she needed to talk to her mom a little more often. “Doesn’t that seem a little weird to you?” Buffy asked. “That my mom and Spike get along so well?”

Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s pretty easy to get along with, really. Once you get to know him.” She tossed her purse over her shoulder. “I should go. I’m going to be late.”

She didn’t even look back to see how Buffy was handling her comment. The Slayer did seem a little happier about the Spike thing recently, though, so maybe she was getting over the fact that he was human. It only made sense since Buffy was starting out on this new thing with Riley. Surely she was finally beginning to get over Angel.

Willow, for her part, was more excited about the fact that Tara was going to come with them. The other girl had asked Willow if she wanted to hang out, but she’d already promised the Spike that she’d help pick out a new wardrobe. Since Spike already knew Tara and knew pretty much what was going on, she didn’t think he’d mind Tara’s presence. So it wasn’t a date so much as a group activity. There was something about Tara that drew her the way no one since Oz had. It was strange and new, and only Spike had even an inkling.

~~~~~

Spike stared at the bills in his hands as though he could make them multiply by sheer will power. He’d never been one to carry around a lot of cash; Angelus had been the money guy. Spike had embraced being a vampire with a passion that had previously been focused on his poetry. With that had come the rejection of everything he had been before. He had taken Angelus’ lessons to heart, even if he hadn’t been able to win Drusilla; he took what he wanted, when he wanted, with no care as to the consequences. Money had become unnecessary.

Now it seemed very important again.

The only reason Spike had any cash at all was because he’d gotten take-out on his way out of L.A. Waste not, want not, so he’d lifted the guy’s wallet at the same time. He squashed the feeling of guilt that came with that memory and tried to concentrate on the figures. There would be enough for new clothes, but it would take time to build up enough dosh to get an apartment of his own. There was rent, and deposit, and of course food and utilities.

He glanced bleakly out the windshield of his car. It was the only thing of value he still had, and even it wasn’t worth much. What did it say about a man when he had lived over a century and had only a few hundred dollars and a beat up old car to his name?

Sighing, he got out of the vehicle. He didn’t feel comfortable this close to the campus, too close to the soldiers, but he was supposed to pick Willow up here. But it was getting hot in the car as the California sun beat down, and temperatures meant something to him now. Spike leaned up against the door and looked around.

Right into the face of the girl Willow fancied. They stared at each other for a long uncomfortable moment, each too shy to make the first move. “H’lo.”

The blonde girl blinked and then murmured a hesitant greeting, her eyes on the ground.

Spike tried to remember his manners and her name, neither coming easily. “Tara, right?” he finally asked, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Y-yeah,” Tara replied, stuttering a little with nerves. “Y-you’re Spike.”

“That’s right,” he replied, trying to figure out if Willow had said something about her coming along, because he didn’t think her being there was an accident.

“Hey!” Willow came jogging up, a look of anticipation laced with panic on her face. “Spike. Tara. Uh, sorry I’m late.” Her eyes were begging for Spike to understand, and he glanced from her to the other witch in consternation. It’s not like he minded another person, but he didn’t really know this girl.

And yet, there was something in her shy aspect that begged to be drawn out. “No worries,” he said easily. “You comin’ too, Tara?”

“I-if th-that’s okay,” she said. “I w-wouldn’t w-want to in-intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” Willow stated, before Spike could make a reply. She shot him a look that plainly said to play along. Spike was amused that she could be as bossy as Buffy when she wanted to be. “I’m sure Spike wouldn’t mind a second opinion.”

Spike looked at Willow’s shirt, which had a riot of colors he wasn’t sure belonged together, and then at Tara’s more sedate outfit. “Y’know, it’s always wise to get a second opinion.”

They made it to the mall before Willow said anything about his new haircut. That had been on his list of things to get done before talking to Joyce, and he felt presentable again. Spike wasn’t sure what to make of the color, which was mostly natural at this point. Willow liked the style however. “It looks good,” she said, looking at him out in the sunlight in the mall’s parking lot. She thought the daylight suited him, as much as the darkness had. Clad in his black jeans and t-shirt, his hair short again and unruly, curling up at the ends as she’d never seen it before, his blue eyes open and vulnerable, Willow wondered why she’d ever been afraid of him. Sure, she knew he had been an evil vampire. But seeing him now, those days seemed a lifetime away, and she wondered if he felt the same.

The young witch smiled and said more enthusiastically. “Really, Spike. It looks good.”

“I l-like it like that,” was Tara’s offering. She was beginning to warm up in his presence, not least because Spike was trying to make her feel welcome.

He gave a sheepish grin. “Guess it doesn’t matter, but I didn’t want to be lookin’ like the business end of a mop. Let’s get this over with before I start regrettin’ the whole thing.”

It wasn’t too long before Spike had good reason to be grateful for the girls’ presence. Sure, he’d looked for clothes before, but he hadn’t paid for anything, and he’d only had one style in the last decade or so. Joyce had told him business casual, which both Tara and Willow seemed to understand, but he hadn’t a clue. The girls told him it meant no jeans or t-shirts, and said they’d take good care of him.

Surprisingly enough, Tara was the biggest help. She knew exactly where to go to find the nicest clothing at the lowest prices. She deal-hunted on the clearance racks and could find the good stuff even when all Spike could see was junk. Willow had her own system, and came up with some finds as well, but he wouldn’t have even had an idea of where to start if it hadn’t been for the both of them.

After a few hours of shopping, Spike had found several pairs of pants, as well as a couple new pairs of jeans. And other than one pair of slacks, nothing was in black. There were long-sleeved t-shirts and button down Oxfords. He had drawn the line at plaids and stripes, and was holding his own when it came to color. Everything was mostly blues or grays, with a couple greens and reds thrown in for good measure. But he was balking now.

“Just try it on,” Willow said persuasively, holding up the fine-knit shirt in a light, cornflower blue. It was a perfect color for him, with the blue eyes and fair skin.

He shook his head stubbornly. Cornflower blue did not strike him as a manly color. Former Big Bads didn’t wear that color blue. There were very good reasons. “It’ll make me look like a poof.”

Willow and Tara exchanged amused glances, and Spike knew he was going to lose this argument. “Come on, ducks,” he said, pleading with Tara for a rational opinion. “‘s not a—a—good color.”

“It’s not going to make you look like a ‘poof,’” Tara assured him. “B-besides, I think I’m going to have to go with Willow on this one. It would look g-good on you.”

Spike sighed, thinking that he was always whipped by women, didn’t matter if he was human or vampire. When he came out of the changing room, he could tell from both of their faces that the sweater was a good choice. Then he caught the eyes of at least three other women, and for the first time since becoming human, Spike allowed himself to bask in the sheer pleasure of being noticed. “Fine,” he stated. “Guess I’m getting this one too.”

“Get two,” Tara advised. “I think the navy too.”

Spike thought of his rapidly receding funds and bit back another sigh. He would soon be making money, legitimately, and could replace whatever he spent. He turned and caught a glimpse of himself in the three-way mirror. From his vantage point, he wasn’t sure that he was really anything special. The new sweater stood out in stark contrast to his old, black jeans, and to his inexpert eye, he merely looked tired.

Frowning, he wondered if everything that had made him special was lost with his demon. If now he would fade into the woodwork as William had, disappearing slowly until there was nothing left of him. If perhaps he would end up as nothing more than dust, a different route that he had planned, but the same end. Spike wondered what it was all for, why he was even making the effort.

He felt a gentle hand on his arm. Tara stood next to him, her eyes full of compassion. Reading in him things he could not see himself. “It takes time.”

That was all that was said, but it was enough. Joyce had said the same thing. Maybe one day he’d believe it himself, and wouldn’t need anybody to tell him.