“Well I sat down next to a photograph./Tried my best almost made her laugh./She was my toughest crowd./There in the way was a mountain up in the clouds./Well I can’t sleep and I’m not in love./I can’t speak without messing up./Eyes tell of what’s behind./And hers showed the way to a long and lonely climb,/But through failure I’ll proceed./And she’ll see how far I’ve come.” ~Nickel Creek, “Speak”

“You sure about this?” Spike asked Willow uncertainly. Somehow him showing up at Buffy’s birthday celebration didn’t seem like the best idea she’d ever had. He tugged at the hem of his sweater, uncomfortable in his new finery.

Willow waved his hands away from the sweater and gave him a once-over. It was definitely odd seeing Spike in something other than his usual black on black, though he was still wearing black pants. But the blue sweater brought out his eyes, and he’d bleached his hair again, which made him look like the old Spike as well as someone completely different. “Of course, I’m sure,” she replied. “Everybody is going to be there, even Giles. There’s no reason to leave you out.”

“Except for the fact that the Slayer hates me,” Spike pointed out rather glumly. Indeed, he had discovered that he didn’t enjoy being hated by anyone very much. At this point, he was getting along pretty well with everybody, including Xander. Somehow, that just didn’t hold any comfort for him.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Willow assured him. “She just needs to get to know you and she’ll warm up in no time. It’s not like you don’t have anything in common with her.”

Spike resisted the urge to roll his eyes as they walked into the dormitory. “Right. Because trying to kill someone gives you so much to talk about.”

Willow did roll her eyes. “Don’t be that way, Spike. It’ll be fine, I promise. Look, I’ve gotta go up and get her. You—you can just stay here and mingle. Until the surprise.”

Mingle. Yeah. He glanced around the room at the various college students. Mingle with who? It wasn’t like he actually knew anybody here. Times like these, he felt more like William than ever, only without the poetry. Probably a good thing. At this point. Spike caught sight of Giles and made his way over. “This your idea?”

“Hardly,” Giles murmured, feeling as out of place as Spike at the moment, and looking more so. At least Spike appeared to be the age of the rest of the young people surrounding them. “I wouldn’t have insisted it be a surprise.”

Spike gave a murmur of agreement. “’nough jumpin’ out at the Slayer as it is, yeah?” He sighed as Xander and Anya made shushing sounds and started flipping off the lights.

Willow came over to grab his arm as soon as the lights came back on, stating that she wanted him to meet some of her friends. Spike wasn’t too sure about that, but he gave Giles a helpless little shrug and let Willow take the lead. Surprisingly enough, he liked most of the people he met, in that “you seem cool” way you have time for at a party. A couple of times he glanced back over at Giles to see the older man looking a bit lost, but he would soon get called back into conversation again by one of the pretty girls that seemed bent on talking to him.

Spike lost track of Willow at some point and was beginning to genuinely enjoy himself. Laura, a sweet looking blonde, was hanging on his every word as he entertained her with stories about England and listened to her moan about her classes and professors. “You should come to our party tonight,” she said, smiling. “Since we’ll actually be able to have something decent to drink.”

He raised his eyebrows in question, and she giggled. “Well, not that the punch isn’t great, but you can’t bring alcohol into the dorms.”

“Suppose that might be alright,” he agreed.

“Unless you came with Willow,” Laura hastened on. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble or anything.”

Spike blinked, realizing that she was asking him if he was with Willow. The implication of the statement was that she wanted him to come to the party with her. “Uh, no,” he stammered just a bit. “’s more like we’re good friends.” He tried to figure out a polite way to say it and finally said, “She fancies someone else.”

Laura flashed him a bright smile. “That’s great! If you want, we could go now.”

He hesitated for a brief moment before deciding that her plan seemed like a good one. It wasn’t like Buffy had actually invited him to her party, and Willow seemed to be doing just fine on her own. “Let me just go let Red know.”

Weaving his way through the crowded rec room, Spike touched Willow tentatively on the shoulder. “You mind if I leave?” he asked. “Just got invited to a different party. One with alcohol.”

Willow looked past him to see Laura waiting and smiled. She had known Spike would be a big hit if she could just get him out of Giles’ apartment. A little positive attention from members of the opposite sex was bound to perk him up. “Sure, go ahead, leave me,” she teased.

“Ta, luv,” he smiled. “Make it up to you one of these days.” Willow fake pouted, causing his smile to grow into a grin, and he turned to go, almost running directly into a broad chest.

Spike took an abrupt step back. “Excuse me,” he said, a little put out at almost being run over. Then he saw who it was he had bumped into, and all the color drained from his face. He knew this man, had seen him before in the underground laboratory. Spike felt a hand on his arm, and he looked into Willow’s face, just managing to keep himself from running in the opposite direction.

The taller man looked at Spike with a curious expression and the faint recognition reserved for a person whose face you remember, but not their name or where you know them from. “Do I know you?”

Spike wasn’t sure how to reply to that, or even if he could. His mouth was dry, his palms were wet, and the only thing he could think of was getting away. His eyes met Buffy’s, and he pleaded with her silently not to give him away.

Buffy was a little upset that Spike and Riley had managed to run into each other. There were enough people in the rec room that she should have been able to keep them apart. Seeing the panic on Spike’s face in that instant was enough to cause her to feel sympathy for him though. The fear in his eyes told her he didn’t completely trust her not to give him away. For that, she felt a pang of guilt.

Buffy laughed. “I doubt it, Riley. William is Giles’ nephew. He’s only been here for, what? A few weeks?” She looked over at Spike and was relieved to see a little color back in his cheeks as he realized that she was going to back him up.

“Yeah. ‘Bout a month, I s’pose.” Even with the cover story, Spike still was thinking fight or flight, and without some really big weapon, he was leaning towards flight.

Riley smiled warmly and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Buffy talks about Giles all the time. Your uncle must be a great guy.”

With more than a little hesitation, Spike shook Riley’s hand, trying not to let any of his nervousness show through the gesture. “He is.”

“So, what brings you to the States? Are you going to be here long?” They were perfectly polite questions to which Spike had no answers. He hadn’t even seriously thought about a cover story.

“Riley,” Buffy said, looking embarrassed and tugging gently on his arm. “I don’t think William really wants to talk about that right now.” Spike took his cue and put an appropriately somber look on his face. “His parents, you know—”

Buffy left it hanging there, and the effect was amazing. Riley’s face went red, and he started stammering his apologies. Apparently, he was concerned that Spike might break down right there; emotions were not something he was prepared to deal with.

“’s alright,” Spike replied magnanimously. “You couldn’t have known.” He looked back past Buffy and her boyfriend to Laura, who was beginning to look impatient. “I should go. Gotta meet a girl. You’ll tell Rupert?” he asked Willow.

“Sure.” He brushed past Buffy and her soldier, glancing back over his shoulder once to see Buffy looking back at him. For a moment, their eyes met and she gave him a small, kind smile. Spike could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat, and his stomach did a quick flip-flop. In the next moment, he was berating himself for even being slightly attracted. Buffy had a boyfriend—one of the bloody soldier boys, no less—and he was beneath her. He swallowed and took a deep breath, coming to stand next to Laura. “Sorry, ‘bout that, luv.” Spike gave her the most charming smile he had in his arsenal. “Got caught by a couple old friends.”

The party was—interesting. Laura was a nice-enough girl, her friends were decent people, and there was beer a-plenty. (Even if it was the piss-poor American stuff.) There was only one real problem. Spike didn’t quite fit. He didn’t really feel as though he had a place with the Scoobies, not even now that he was human. At least among them, however, he didn’t have to pretend. There was no question of what he had been with them, but these—children had no idea. A few short weeks ago, he would have been looking at them like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and now he was supposed to be their friend? It seemed too great a leap.

He could tell people where he worked, that he lived with his uncle, that he’d come from England, but only part of it was true. If Spike really wanted to be friends, it would involve coming clean eventually, and who would believe him? Where could he go that his explanations wouldn’t have to be severely altered in order to pass muster? To whom could he speak the truth?

The gathering of teens and young adults merely made him feel old and tired. Spike felt more weighed down by his century and a half now than he ever had while a vampire. All he could see were innocent young faces, faces that had no concept of the things he had done, what he had perpetrated. How close they all were to death.

How strange that it was the Slayer and her friends that could make him feel most alive now. Spike thought perhaps it was because they danced with death nearly every day; there was no need to hide his past, or who he was. There was no need to pretend that he was merely William, on holiday with his uncle, trying to figure out where he was going with his life.

Sometime after midnight, he finally gave up. Weaving his way through the crowded living room, he touched Laura’s shoulder. “Takin’ off, pet,” Spike stated, raising his voice to be heard over the loud music.

“Are you sure you have to leave?” she asked. Her eyes locked with his, and Spike realized that he could have an easy lay tonight if he wanted it. A few weeks ago, he would have taken her in a heartbeat and then drained her dry. It made him realize how much things had changed that he wasn’t even tempted.

He gave her a small smile. “’m a bit tired tonight,” Spike explained, letting her down easy.

Laura, however, had more brains than he’d given her credit for, or at least more perception. “It’s okay if you’re not looking,” she said. “You just seemed like you could use a little fun.”

Spike stared at her for a moment, knowing that the girl had seen both everything and nothing. “Things are a bit unsettled for me right now.” He looked around the room. Everyone looked so happy, and it only made him more depressed.

The blonde nodded, told him to wait, and then disappeared again. “Here,” Laura said, handing him a slip of paper. “I know you’re not interested right now, but if you change your mind, give me a call.” She smiled at him. “Even if it’s just for coffee.”

He responded with a smile and a brief, chaste kiss on the lips. “Thanks, luv. I’ll remember that.” The small slip of paper tucked neatly away, Spike headed out into the cooler night air to his DeSoto. He paused and took a deep breath, realizing how much he liked the quiet, even if sometimes he couldn’t stand the company of his own thoughts.

~~~~~

At some point, Spike discovered the benefits of working. It was more than a paycheck, he’d realized. Stuck inside Giles’ apartment all day, there was little he could do to take his mind off the pathetic state of his life. The nightmares, paired with the lack of activity, made it difficult to sleep. The gallery required attention to a hundred different details, however, which made it impossible to brood. No, not brood. Spike didn’t brood. He might dwell, but he didn’t brood, mope, or in any other way resemble someone else he wouldn’t name.

When seven o’clock came and went, Joyce was getting ready to go home, while Spike was still trying to get the filing system straightened out. Her last assistant had been rather haphazard about things. Joyce paused at the office door, looking at Spike with concern. “Are you sure you want to stay?” she asked. “I feel bad about leaving you here.”

“’s alright,” Spike assured her. “It’s not like ‘m expected anywhere.”

Joyce gave him a smile. “Still, I appreciate you staying. It will be nice to make it to my book club for once.”

“I’m glad I can be of service then,” he replied. “No worries.”

“No, not while you’re here,” Joyce agreed, surprising him by leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Don’t work too hard.

“Never.” Spike gave her a rakish smile and then watched as she left, going back to the books and piles of invoices stacked in front of him. Thankfully, he didn’t have to spend another evening trying not to drive Giles crazy with his antsy presence. In fact, the Watcher was probably having a grand time.

~~~~~

Unfortunately, Giles was not having a grand time. He had felt out of place at Buffy’s birthday, not to mention out of the loop. Giles still couldn’t believe that Buffy was dating someone whom he knew nothing about. Willow had just confirmed his suspicions that it had been going on for a while. Moreover, this Riley chap was a part of the government program operating in Sunnydale. It didn’t sit well with him at all. He was simply grateful that Riley hadn’t recognized Spike, because that could have been quite bad.

Having Spike around had helped to keep his mind off of his own boredom, but the ex-vampire was spending a great deal of time at the gallery. Of course, Giles thought it was wonderful that Spike had been able to get a job and hopefully become a productive member of society, but—

But Spike had been his special project. Now he was at loose ends again. He’d called in favors and managed to find documentation that would cover the other man. Giles had even begun to recatalogue his personal files, something that he should have done months ago.

It was for all these reasons that he had a drink with Ethan Rayne: the suspicions and fears about the Initiative, his own disenchantment, the desire to spend some time in the company of adults.

He never expected to wake up as a demon.

~~~~~

“William?”

Spike woke slowly, with a feeling of not having slept well paired with a rather large knot in his neck. “Huh?”

“You know, when I asked you to straighten up the files, I wasn’t expecting you to stay all night.” Joyce stepped back from the desk and put her hands on her hips.

Spike picked his head up and stretched fully. “Must have lost track of time,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on spendin’ the night.”

“You don’t need to work so hard,” she admonished him.

“It’s easier,” he replied, almost shortly. It was easier, oddly enough. He had slept better on the hard desk than he had on Giles’ couch, comfortable as it was. The comfort of exhaustion, he supposed.

Joyce’s eyes softened at that. “Fine, Spike. But go home.”

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but she interrupted him. “I’m serious. Go home, get something to eat, get some rest. You can come back tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?” he asked. “If you need me, I can come back later.”

“Go,” Joyce responded more firmly yet. When he stood reluctantly, she gave him a gentle shove towards the door. “Go do something fun.”

Spike thought of Laura’s phone number, still tucked away in his pocket. Perhaps she was in the mood for a cup of coffee. “Alright then,” he said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, mum.”

The ex-vampire paused at the door to Giles’ apartment, feeling a mixture of guilt and alarm. Guilt because he hadn’t called or left a note to let Giles know where he was. Alarm because the door was slightly open, and that was never a good sign.

He entered slowly, tension settling in his muscles, a familiar sensation. It was the zinging of the blood that pumped, like right before he’d go on the hunt, or make a spectacular kill. Spike looked around the living room, noting the broken phone. The banister had been broken as well, and there was a hole in the wall that hadn’t been there the day before.

Guilt flared again as he realized that he hadn’t been there for whatever had happened to the Watcher. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to do anything, but he could have tried. Spike rubbed a hand over his face and then looked over at the demolished phone. It looked like he would have to find help the old fashioned way.

He was just locking up when he heard someone calling him. “Spike!” He turned to see Willow, Buffy, Xander and Anya coming through the courtyard. “Is Giles home?” Willow asked.

Spike shook his head, the grim look on his face making the Slayer and her friends falter. “Was lookin’ for you,” he replied. “Rupert’s missin’.”

“Missing?” Buffy demanded. “Are you sure?”

Spike unlocked the door and waved the others inside. “When I got in this mornin’, Rupert wasn’t here an’ the place was a mess. Phone was demolished, an’ the banister was broken.”

“I think it ate him up,” Anya stated, picking up a torn shirt from the floor.

Buffy frowned. “Wait a minute, Spike. When was the last time you saw Giles?”

Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Yesterday morning, ‘fore I left for the gallery.”

“You didn’t come back last night?” Buffy asked. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Really, it shouldn’t matter at all. This was Spike, after all. But for some, strange reason, she cared. At least a little.

He looked sheepish. “I was goin’ over the books an’ lost track of time,” he confessed. “Your mum found me this morning. Probably a good thing I’d already locked up.”

Buffy felt a surge of relief, though she couldn’t have said why. “Okay. It looks like the same demon that paid a visit to Xander was here too. We’ll just have to figure out what kind of demon it was and kill it.”

They were still looking through books a few hours later with the same lack of luck. Willow held out one book to Xander who gave her a look. “Okay, that’s a giant vulture. I would have mentioned it if it was a giant vulture.”

Spike slammed his book shut. “We’re not getting anywhere,” he complained.

“Keep looking,” Buffy snapped.

Spike stood up, looking sullen. “’m goin’ to take a shower,” he announced. “Been in these bloody clothes all day.” He stomped off, and Buffy glared at his back as he walked away.

“Stupid, stubborn—”

“Buffy,” Willow murmured. “Spike cares too.”

The Slayer looked at her, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a sound from outside. She swung the door open to find Riley. “Riley?”

Spike pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a red t-shirt. He was angry. He was more than angry, actually. What were they thinking? Just sitting around, doing nothing, when who knows what was happening to Giles. He needed to do something.

He froze when he came out of the bathroom. Buffy’s soldier-boy was standing there, and for one second Spike feared that they had come for him. He forced himself to relax even as Buffy turned to look at him. “Riley and I are going to go see what we can find,” she announced. “Willow’s going to go back to the dorm, and Xander and Anya are going back to his place. Just in case Giles or the demon shows up.”

“And what about me?” Spike asked, with a sardonic tilt of his eyebrow.

“You stay here,” Buffy ordered. “Just in case Giles or the demon comes back. We’ll call if we hear anything.”

“Right,” Spike said, looking towards the remains of the phone. “That’ll work.”

Buffy matched his look with one of her own. “Fine, Spike. We’ll come by. Return—” she paused, suddenly remembering the cover story for their audience. “—your uncle safe and sound.”

Spike watched as they all trooped out, waiting for a full ten minutes until he was certain they were long gone. He grabbed his jacket, another Tara-special from the sales’ rack, and then realized that he would need weapons. At least one, if not more.

He rummaged through Giles’ weapons trunk, snatching a stake and shoving it into his waistband. Spike found a small ax and picked it up, finding his grip easily enough. It felt both old and new, and he felt a dawning anticipation that only a good hunt can give. He was off to find himself a Watcher.

Anticipation slowly gave way to anxiety as Spike wandered the streets and cemeteries, however. He had no idea what exactly he was looking for, but he certainly wasn’t going to stay inside waiting for Buffy. He owed Giles. Owed him everything. He heard fumbling and banging, as well as some muttered words in—Fyarl?

“You can come out an’ not get beat, or I can come find you,” Spike threatened, knowing that it was probably an empty promise.

“Spike?” The Fyarl came out from behind a mausoleum. Spike would have known something was up immediately if only for the fact that the demon was wearing pants and a flannel blanket. “Please, don’t be afraid. I know that—”

“Rupert? What the bloody hell happened to you?” Spike demanded. “Come over all demon this morning?”

The ex-Watcher, now Fyarl, stared at him. “You understand me?”

“Yeah,” Spike replied. “You’re speakin’ Fyarl. I speak Fyarl. Actually, I understand it. It’s absolutely impossible to get your tongue around the gutterals if you’re human. Not that you have to worry about that anymore.”

“Spike!” Giles glared at him. Spike had to say that he was definitely scarier when he was green. “We have to fix this.”

Spike shook himself out of his bemusement. “Right. You know what did this then?”

Giles shook his horned head. “No, not exactly. But I certainly know who.”

The ex-vampire nodded, and then with a sinking feeling remembered Buffy and her soldier-boy. “We should find the Slayer,” he said slowly. “Her boyfriend’s got the Initiative out lookin’ for you in force.”

Giles shook his head. “No. I will get myself out of this mess. There’s no need for Buffy to ever know.” He gave Spike a hard look, and he shrugged.

“Fine, but let’s get somewhere we’re not as visible,” Spike muttered. “Last thing we need right now are soldiers on our heels.”

The first place they headed, tucked neatly inside Giles’ old Citroen, was the bar he and Ethan had patronized the night before. (There was one quick stop to allow Giles to terrorize a middle-aged woman. Spike made a note to himself to ask for the back-story at a later date when there was more time.) They might have taken Spike’s DeSoto, but it was low on gas, and Spike wanted to be ready for anything. Anything included risking Giles’ car and not his own, as he wanted to have the freedom to ditch the car to save their skins if need be.

Charming the waitress at the bar was easy enough. An easy grin and a twenty persuaded the woman to tell him that the slippery magician was ensconced at the Sunnydale Motor Inn. It should have been the work of a few moments to drive over and watch Fyarl-Giles beat the bloody hell out of Rayne. Unfortunately, the Initiative had spotted them at some point, and Spike was hard-pressed to shake their tail. The grinding gears of the ancient car weren’t helping either.

“I thought you told me you knew how to drive a manual transmission,” Giles accused, growling as the gears made a rough barking noise. “If you can’t find third, don’t try for it!”

Spike was concentrating too hard on driving to give Giles the glare he deserved. “I do bloody well know how to drive a stick,” he replied angrily, fear and adrenaline making him short. “If you had a real soddin’ car, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“This car is perfectly servicable.”

Spike snorted. “Funny hearin’ that word comin’ out of a Fyarl’s mouth,” he said, checking the rear-view again for the location of the hum-vees. “They’re usually all ‘crush, kill, destroy.’ Not big on brains, but good in a fight.” The headlights were gaining on them. “Which we might be facing here in a minute.” He was trying to fight down the fear. At this point, of course, Giles was in more danger from the soldiers than he was. At least he could pass for human, but the other man was bound to be on their “shoot first, ask questions later” list.

“This isn’t working,” he stated abruptly.

Giles growled at him. “We have to find Rayne,” he said, his voice even more gruff. “I’m going to rip his arms off when I find him.”

“That sounds like a Fyarl,” Spike muttered. Looking back over his shoulder, he cursed his bad luck to be in a tin can of a car. He might have tried playing chicken, but the military tanks behind him would run right over them without a second thought. And his frail, mortal body wouldn’t take that kind of punishment. That left precisely one option.

“You’re goin’ to have to jump,” he said. “Head to the hotel, I’ll meet you there, soon’s I can. Just got to ditch the military boys.”

Even through the fog of blood lust that was starting to permeate his brain, Giles realized how much it took for Spike to make the offer of being bait. Without the ex-vampire to run interference, Giles knew he had little chance of making it to the motel to find Rayne. “I’ll owe you.”

“We’ll be even,” Spike corrected him. “When I say, you jump.” Thinking quickly, he jerked the steering wheel to the left, sending the Citroen careening around the corner. The larger hum-vees struggled to keep up, fish-tailing as they tried to make the turn. “Now!”

He watched as Giles rolled out the passenger door. The forward velocity caused the door to swing shut and half-latch as the chase continued. But Spike had seen a Fyarl-shaped shadow lurch away, and he gave a sigh of relief. Giles would be safe for the time being. Now he just needed to ditch his hunters.

Spike swung the car around another corner, cursing when they still followed. This was getting bloody ridiculous. He didn’t trust them enough to stop the car and ask why they were following him. It would be just his luck that one of them would recognize the Initiative’s pet lab rat, and then where would he be?

He sped by a park, and then got an idea. Spike needed to leave the soldiers behind, and to do that, he needed to do something unexpected, then ditch the car. What better way to do that than take the vehicle off-roading?

Spike was surprised when the little car obediently went up and over the sidewalk. He was even more surprised at how well it handled as he drove over the well-manicured park, around the merry-go-round, and towards a small stand of trees. Thanking whatever power it might be that looked over ex-vampires, he gave the car a little more gas and aimed it towards the trunk of a large oak.

Then, with a deep breath, and a muttered oath, he tumbled himself out of the door, rolling as best he could with the impact. Spike didn’t give himself any time to breathe or recover; he simply ran for the Sunnydale Motor Inn with every ounce of speed he had.

There was something to be said for running. Spike might have stopped to appreciate it if he hadn’t been in such a hurry. The rhythm of his footfalls, the feel of blood pumping through his veins, the surge of epinephrine that came as he reached his second wind—it was like being on the hunt again. No guilt there though, only the feeling of movement, of scenes flashing by. His lungs, miraculously enough, were free of tobacco, even after a century of smoking. Spike was breathing heavily, but it felt good, cleansing.

Or, at least it would have if he wasn’t so desperate to get to Giles in time. Any number of things could happen before he reached the hotel—Ethan might escape, Giles might kill him before effecting the change, the soldiers might catch up to the both of them.

It turned out his fears were well-founded. Spike skidded to a stop at the door of the hotel room only to glimpse Buffy holding a silver letter-opener above Giles’ chest. “Slayer! No!” he cried out. He watched in horror as she plunged the knife down anyway, only to see it stop, hoving mere milimeters from Giles’ chest.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Giles?” she whispered, horrified at what she’d almost done. Quickly scrambling off his chest, she tossed the letter-opener away hurriedly. “Are you okay?”

The Fyarl muttered something she couldn’t understand, and the Slayer turned to see Spike standing in the doorway, bent over, hands on knees, trying to get his breath back. “Might want to call off the troops, Slayer,” he said between gasps.

Riley pulled out a cell phone, still watching a disappointed Ethan Rayne warily. “I’m on it.”

Buffy looked over at Spike. “How did you know it was Giles?”

“I speak Fyarl,” he replied, slightly bemused. “But how did you?”

Buffy glanced over at Fyarl-Giles with a look of affection. “Only Giles can ever give me that look.” She turned to Rayne, her eyes going diamond-hard. “Fix it. Now.”

An amazingly short time later, considering all the damage that had been done, Giles was back to his normal self. Although, Spike mused as he watched, Ethan’s clothing did not suit him at all. The silk shirt he was pulling on was particularly hideous.

It looked to Spike as though the Slayer and Giles were renewing their bond, which was at it should be. The Watcher had been feeling left out. “We can give you a ride back to your place,” Riley offered.

Giles and Spike shared a look, equally uncomfortable with placing themselves at the mercy of the Initiative. Sure, Riley seemed nice enough, but neither was ready to trust him or the organization he was working for, even to accept a ride home.

“Thank you, Riley, but I think I’d like to walk,” Giles said with dignity. “It really is a rather nice evening.”

There were protests that it wasn’t safe for either of them to be out at night, on their own, but they were fairly weak and easily ignored. As they exited the motel room, Giles threw a look over at Spike. “Dare I ask what happened to my car?”

Spike sighed. He had been half-hoping that the Watcher would just forget about it but knew the chances of that weren’t good. “I can show you.”

They walked to where Spike had left the car in silence, both of them deep in thought, reflecting on the near-misses each had had. The sight of the Citroen, its remains wrapped around a tree, gave Giles even more to think about. Spike had risked his skin playing bait for the soldiers in order to save his life. And when Giles thought about what he knew of Spike’s experience with the Initiative, he had to marvel at the fact that Spike would risk getting tangled up with them again at all.

Looking at the totalled vehicle, there were a thousand things Giles could say. Not for the first time since Spike had shown up on his doorstep, he wished he could be more expressive, wished he could say what he felt. But it was too late to teach an old dog new tricks now. If Buffy hadn’t changed him, Spike certainly wouldn’t. “It’s a miracle you’re even alive,” he finally stated.

Spike relaxed next to Giles. He’d been afraid that the other man would take the car’s destruction out of his hide. Not that he was afraid of Giles, but he didn’t relish seeing disappointment in his eyes. He finally met hazel eyes with his blue ones and smiled, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully. “Who was that woman you had to chase down?”

Giles’ lips formed a smile that was more than a little reminiscent of Ripper. “Maggie Walsh.” At Spike’s look of vague recognition, he continued his explanation. “That—harridan runs the Initiative.”

Spike stiffened and his eyes flashed an unholy fire. Giles was thankful that Spike hadn’t known her identity while he’d been behind the wheel of the car; he had no doubt but that she’d be flattened otherwise. “You sure you’re not still feelin’ a little Fyarl in you?” he almost begged. “We could still chase her down an’ rip her arms off.”

Giles passed off the strong temptation as a left-over bit from Ethan’s spell. “Tempting, but no. You’ll have to settle for a strong hatred, I’m afraid.”

Spike sighed. “Too bad I didn’t know before,” he muttered, confirming Giles’ opinion. “You sure you don’t know where she lives?”

Feeling the need to get the ex-vampire’s mind onto different things, Giles suggested, “Do you want a drink? I could certainly stand one, though I certainly will not be drinking with someone I do not trust again.”

The implication was clear, and Spike gaped at him for a moment. It wasn’t that he thought himself untrustworthy, it was just that it was the first time someone had suggested that he was a friend. The idea that Giles might be keeping him around, helping him, for a reason other than pity took root and began to grow in that instant.

Shrugging it off, Spike smiled. “Only if you’ll put one of your records on.”

“Have you been snooping in my collection?” Giles turned from the wreckage, grasping Spike’s shoulder in a firm grip.

“A bit. ‘s a bloody good one. I was surprised you even knew what good music was. Figured tweed pants didn’t allow a bloke to fully appreciate the beauty of rock ‘n roll.”

Giles tried to be offended, but couldn’t quite manage it. It was nice to joke with someone like this. It made him feel—wanted. Needed. “I have never worn tweed pants,” he corrected. “I’ll have you know I am quite hip in my own way.”

“Sure, grandpa,” Spike smirked.

“This from a man born before the turn of the century.”

“Unlike some people, I don’t look my age.”

Eyes met, and twin grins formed. “Pillock.”

“Wanker.”

It is an odd fact, but sometimes the greatest happiness can be found in insults. Sometimes, it’s a different way of saying “I love you.” Just much more manly.

“…Then the mountain rose before me/By the deep well of desire/From the fountain of forgiveness/Beyond the ice and the fire…Though we share this humble path, alone/How fragile is the heart/Oh give these clay feet wings to fly/To touch the face of the stars/Breathe life into this feeble heart/Lift this mortal veil of fear/Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears/We’ll rise above these earthly cares./Case your eyes on the ocean/Cast your soul to the sea/When the dark night seems endless/Please remember me.” ~Loreena McKennitt, “Dante’s Prayer”

Buffy stood across the street from her mother’s art gallery, uncharacteristically hesitant. She hated admitting she was wrong, and she disliked apologies on principle. Not that she thought she was always right, just that she didn’t like being wrong. And now she was. Wrong, that is.

She owed Spike an apology, dammit.

Buffy watched as her mom walked out of the gallery. It was about lunchtime, so she assumed Joyce was getting something to eat. If she was going to have to say she was sorry, she wanted to do it privately.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy headed across the street, squaring her shoulders and holding her head high. The door jingled as she pushed it open, and a deep voice called from the back, “Be right with you.”

Spike came out of the back room a few moments later, brushing his hands off. He was wearing black slacks and a deep burgundy shirt. Buffy couldn’t help but notice how nicely he cleaned up. He’d looked great at her birthday party too, as she remembered. And even better in the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn while rescuing Giles. She resolutely pushed the thoughts aside. She had a boyfriend, who was also a cutie. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to notice, but she certainly shouldn’t be dwelling.

He froze for a second when he saw who it was, tensing up as though waiting for a blow. His expression brought on a new wave of guilt for Buffy. She really had treated him like crap. “Your mum just stepped out,” he said carefully. “She’ll be back in a bit, maybe an hour or so.”

“Actually, I came to see you,” Buffy admitted.

If anything, Spike grew even more wary. “What can I do for you, Buffy?” His words were polite enough, but he was obviously not happy to have her there.

Buffy braced herself. “I came to apologize.”

Spike stared at her. “What?”

“I came to apologize,” she repeated. Buffy decided the best way to get it over with was just to plunge in and say it. “I’ve been a bitch. I’m sorry.”

He seemed to relax slightly as he realized that she was sincere. “What brought this on?” There was a slight note of suspicion in his words, and Buffy struggled not to take offense. She had come here to be nice after all. No point in getting angry that he didn’t trust her.

“Willow pointed out that I was vying for the Miss Cordelia Chase award,” Buffy said truthfully. “And Giles reminded me that you risked your own life to help him.” Giles had been more subtle about it than Willow had, Buffy recalled. He had pointed out that Spike, as a human, was one of those innocents she was supposed to be protecting. And her Watcher had also pointed out that one of the things she should be protecting him from was the Initiative, which she was now working with. And she was dating one of them. One might even say she was sleeping with the enemy.

Spike’s face closed. “If they put you up to apologizin’, you can save it, Buffy,” he said almost harshly. “Don’t need that from you.”

“They didn’t put me up to anything,” she quickly replied. “They don’t even know I’m doing this.” She was about to say more, but the doorbell jingled behind her, and Spike’s eyes went over her shoulder to the person who’d just entered.

“Be right with you,” he called. “Look, Buffy, I have to—”

“What time do you get off work?” It suddenly seemed imperative that she smooth things over between the two of them. He had helped save Giles. Buffy owed him, big-time.

“Huh?”

“What time do you get off work?” she asked again, moving closer so that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “We can go get coffee or something.”

Spike stared at her, measuring her, and Buffy wondered if those blue eyes could see into her soul. Whatever he saw seemed to help him make a decision. “Eight. When the gallery closes.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll see you then.” The Slayer turned and walked out the door, breathing a deep sigh of relief as she realized she’d accomplished what she came for. She had apologized to Spike and the world hadn’t ended.

~~~~~

Spike locked up the gallery with a feeling of trepidation. He couldn’t help but feel that the Slayer had an ulterior motive for being so friendly. Once the keys were tucked safely away in his pocket, he turned to look at Buffy, who was leaning against the side of the building, waiting patiently for him. That was certainly a nice change.

“You ready?” she asked.

Spike wasn’t certain that he was, but he nodded anyway. He got the oddest feeling around her, a mixture of admiration and something else to which he couldn’t put a name. The admiration was nothing new; from the very beginning, seeing her that night in the Bronze, watching her move, he had admired her. Buffy, of all the Slayers he had seen, and there had been more than the two he’d killed, had the most passion, the most fire. She broke all the rules, and he loved that about her.

Not to mention that she was sexy as hell.

But she was the Slayer, she had been his enemy, and he had tried to kill her more times than he could count. Besides that, she was dating one of those Initiative soldiers. Spike had no business thinking about her at all; it was too dangerous. Dangerous to his sanity and potentially fatal for his health.

Yet he followed her as she led the way to the coffee shop, and he recognized in himself the faint stirrings of passion—so familiar. Spike had never been able to nip those feelings in the bud before; he had little hope of being able to do so now. What had his passion ever given him except heartache, he wondered.

A feeling of melancholy stole over him as he watched her walk, the grace of her movements, and with every step her words, and the words of another, seemed to echo in his ears. “You’re beneath me.” Nothing had changed—it never would.

It was in this glum mood that Spike sat down across from Buffy at one of the Espresso Pump’s small, round tables. “Hot chocolate okay, or do you want something else?” Buffy asked cheerfully.

“What now?” he replied, half-lost in his own thoughts.

She raised an eyebrow. “Earth to Spike,” she said, then remembered she was supposed to be nice. “Do you want hot chocolate, or do you have another request?”

Spike shook himself out of his stupor and half stood, reaching for his wallet. “I can get it.”

Buffy waved him back down. “Don’t be stupid, it’s my treat. Trust me, I don’t do this very often, so enjoy it while you can.”

Spike almost smiled at that. “Right. Hot chocolate’s fine.”

Buffy returned a few minutes later with both their drinks, setting Spike’s down in front of him with a little flourish. “No little marshmallows, but I had them put the whipped cream on.”

“It’s perfect,” he replied, taking a sip. After a pause, he asked cautiously, “What is this, Buffy?”

Buffy bit her lip and flushed a little. “I meant what I said before, Spike. About being sorry, and that nobody asked me to apologize. I just—I just wanted to get things right between us.”

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. “I did horrible things to you,” he replied in a low voice. “Hardly think you’re the one needin’ to apologize here.”

“You helped save Giles the other night,” Buffy said, her voice equally quiet, just as serious. “You were worried that I was going to give you away the other night, at my party.”

The guilt that hid just below the surface peeked out of his eyes. “You’d have reason.”

“No, I wouldn’t, and I’m sorry if I made you think I’d do that.”

He met her eyes for the first time and then slowly nodded. “So. We’re good then.”

“We’re good,” she agreed. “Can I ask you a question?” Spike just looked at her, waiting. “What do you miss most about being a vampire?”

Spike gave a short laugh, still not quite sure what she wanted from him. “Vampires are evil, remember? Why should I miss it?”

Buffy stared down at the cup in front of her, realizing that she may have missed the window of opportunity for them to be more than polite with each other. Spike didn’t trust her; maybe he never would. But the Slayer kept remembering Willow’s words, remembered Giles’ observation that Spike was adjusting, but it was difficult. She remembered all too well what it was like to finally find herself un-Chosen, to question what made her special if she wasn’t the Slayer.

“I lost my Slayer powers last year,” she finally confessed in a low voice. Buffy looked up to see how Spike would react and was rewarded by a surprised look and his obvious attention.

“What happened then?”

Buffy shrugged. “The Council has some wacky tradition of taking away a Slayer’s powers on her eighteenth birthday. Giles gave me these shots, and suddenly I had no strength, no coordination, nothing. The plan was to lock me in a house with a crazed vampire and see if I survived.”

“That’s bloody barbaric!” Spike sputtered. Buffy was actually kind of touched by the raw anger in his eyes. “Too bad I wasn’t around, I’d’ve ripped the wankers’ throats out.”

Surprisingly enough, Buffy was still touched, even after that rather graphic description. Honestly, she wasn’t all that sure she would have stopped him from killing Quentin Travers. Okey, she probably would have stopped him, but the idea was tempting. “Trust me, I had the same feelings.”

Spike smiled a little bit at that. “So what happened next?” he asked, pulled into the story in spite of himself and his desire to remain aloof.

“The insane-o vampire escaped, grabbed my mom, Giles told me what the deal was, and I rescued her.” Buffy looked at him, growing serious. “The point is that even though I hate being the Slayer a lot of the time, even though it’s going to get me killed one of these days, I had a hard time figuring out who I was if I wasn’t the Slayer.”

Spike stared at her, wariness starting to dissolve. Maybe she did understand after all. “But you were still the Slayer.”

“Yeah, I was,” Buffy replied. “Even if I never got my powers back, I still would have been the Slayer.”

He reflected on that for a minute, sipping his hot chocolate. “What do I miss most?” he asked, repeating her question, more for his own benefit than hers. “I miss—I miss how easy it was.”

Buffy didn’t say anything, waiting to see where he would go with it. “I was—I was pretty pathetic before I was turned. Decent enough bloke, I suppose. A good man, an’ all that, but nothin’ special.” Spike took a deep, needed breath. “An’ then there I was, a vampire. Top of the food chain, powerful, feared. Spent over a hundred years buildin’ that reputation.”

Spike met her eyes and his gaze gripped her tightly. “I wasn’t scared of anythin’ except losin’ Dru.” His voice was low, intense. “Didn’t have to worry about money, or friends, or anythin’ but takin’ what I wanted. And they changed all that overnight. Those bloody soldiers took it all from me.”

Buffy suddenly understood. It wasn’t just about “humans good, vampires bad.” Though most of the time, that was true. What she did every night, she did because it was her sacred duty. She protected the innocent, and the not-so-innocent. She killed demons, but she did it in a fair fight, on their turf, and she did it to protect her own. If she had staked Spike, when he was a vampire, that would have been the right thing to do. But the experiments, the poking and prodding, the messing around just because—it wasn’t right. If she had killed Spike, he probably would have been honored by having been taken out by the Slayer.

And yet she couldn’t be sorry that Spike was human, because now that she was actually getting a chance to talk to him, he was a pretty decent guy.

“What’s the best thing about being human?” she asked, half-wanting to know if he was going to try and get himself turned again.

As though reading her mind, Spike replied, “You’re askin’ why I haven’t tried getting bit again?” He looked off into the distance. “Couldn’t do that, Buffy. I wouldn’t turn a monster loose on the world again. I’d die permanently first, I would.”

There was a pause, and then he smiled at her. “Sunshine. That’s the best part of bein’ human.” His grin suddenly split his face. “Well, that an’ the food. Can’t taste as much as a vampire. ‘s bloody brilliant, really.”

Buffy couldn’t help but grin back. “I’d appreciate you not getting yourself undead again. I don’t like staking my friends.”

Spike’s grin turned almost shy. “Give it my best shot,” he promised.

Their eyes met and a bridge was built, touching without touching. Buffy’s words shattered it in the next minute. “I’m beginning to think getting involved with the Initiative at all was a mistake. I thought we were on the same side, but now—”

Spike’s face froze. “What are you sayin’?”

Buffy immediately realized her mistake. “Spike, I—”

He stood abruptly. “You’re workin’ with them,” he accused. “You’re not just datin’ one of them, you’re workin’ with them. You know what they did to me.” Leaving his mostly-empty cup behind, he strode out of the café, not even looking behind him.

“Spike!” Buffy called out after him. “Dammit. Good going, Buffy,” she muttered, picking up their empty containers and chucking them as she followed Spike out. “Tell the ex-vampire that you’re working for the organization that tortured him. That’s really friendly.”

She hurried to catch up, grabbing him by the arm when she did. “Spike.”

“Let go, Slayer.” He looked dangerous, suddenly. Buffy hadn’t thought of him as dangerous since before she’d put him in a wheelchair. It was hard to think of a person as really scary when you caught them crying over hot chocolate with your mother.

Buffy could see the fear buried behind the anger, however, and she knew what was causing it. Fear of being taken again, fear of being used, fear of being handed over to the enemy. And why wouldn’t he be afraid? The enemy was her boyfriend in this case. “They aren’t going to get you,” she promised him.

He stared at her, trying to look away, but she gripped his arm harder, shaking him to force him to look at her. “They won’t get you. I swear it. You’re one of the people I protect, Spike, even from the government.”

“You swear?”

He was so vulnerable in that moment, Buffy wouldn’t have said no even if she’d wanted to. Of course, she really didn’t want to. “I swear,” she repeated. “Even if they get you, I’ll get you out.”

Spike moved his other hand to rest over hers. “Alright then, luv.”

The moment was electric—and Buffy didn’t want it to end. “I’ll walk you back to Giles’.”

They did not touch as they walked, and yet Spike could feel her more surely than if they had. He had a hyper-awareness around her that emerged with no one else. No words were spoken; there didn’t seem to be any more to say to one another. Giles’ apartment building loomed in front of them, but Buffy walked him right up to the door.

Blue eyes met green as they both tried to figure out what to say. It seemed too much like the end of a date for comfort. Buffy had to say something, or she was going to do something she would regret. Hugging, kissing—all off limits for a girl who had a boyfriend. In a gesture that was a compromise between what she suddenly wanted and what was right, Buffy reached out and grabbed Spike’s hand. “Hang in there, huh?”

Spike stared after her, seeing her brilliant smile minutes after she’d left. Groaning, he thumped his forehead gently against the door. “I’m a bloody pathetic git,” he mumbled.

“Are you just now figuring that out? Because I’ve known it for a while now.” Giles’ dry voice came from behind him.

Spike didn’t bother answering; he just took the keys from his pocket and opened the door, wordlessly letting the other man precede him. Giles reached out and gripped his shoulder. “She does have that effect, doesn’t she?” he asked gently. “One can’t help but love her.”

There was no argument Spike could make to that observation.

~~~~~

“So, what were you up to last night?” Riley asked casually.

He and Buffy were walking side by side through the campus. She shrugged in response. “Not much. Just went out with a friend.”

“A friend, huh?”

From his tone, Buffy knew something was up. She turned and looked him. “Yeah, a friend. William, Giles’ nephew. You met him at my birthday party.” At the look in Riley’s eyes, Buffy rolled hers. “Come on, Riley. He’s going through a rough time right now, I thought I might be able to cheer him up.”

“One of the guys saw you cheering him up, Buffy, and he said you two were looking pretty cozy.”

Buffy did not appreciate the accusation in Riley’s tone. Sure, she’d noticed Spike, but she hadn’t dwelt. She certainly hadn’t done anything inappropriate. “Riley, William and I have known each other since I was in high school. We pretty much hated each other, but now he’s going through a lot of changes. I wanted to clear the air.”

Riley looked chagrined. “I’m sorry, Buffy. It’s just that Forrest saw you, and—”

“And you thought you’d ask,” Buffy retorted. “It’s okay, Riley. But you’re my boyfriend. I don’t cheat on my boyfriends.”

“Sorry,” he apologized again. Then, deciding it was a good time to change the subject, he asked, “Are you ready for the training exercise tonight?”

“Am I ready to kick some Initiative butt?” Buffy replied cheerfully. “Always.”

~~~~~

Spike was stretched out on Giles’ couch when there was a brief knock on the door before Xander wandered in. “Giles here?” the younger man asked.

“No. Wasn’t here when I got off tonight.” Spike was perusing a book of poetry that Joyce had lent him. He glanced up to see Xander standing awkwardly in the entrance way, hands in his pocket. “Where’s your girl?”

“She went shopping.” The two exchanged identical looks of distaste.

“Red?”

“Studying.”

“So what are you doing here?”

Xander sat on the chair next to the couch. “I really didn’t want to stay in the basement tonight.” There was a beat. “You hungry?”

Spike gave him a measuring look. “I’m thinkin’ spicy wings and a bloomin’ onion.”

Thirty minutes later, Spike and Xander were shooting pool and munching on buffalo wings and a blooming onion. The talk mostly centered around Anya, Xander’s frustrations at his job site, and both their frustrations with not having a place to call their own.

Xander looked over at Spike speculatively. “You don’t think we should get a place together, do you?”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow. “Don’t know,” he replied. They each considered the thought, and then came to the same conclusion: it would never work.

“Never mind,” Xander said quickly, thinking of having Spike around while he was enjoying Anya’s company.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, thinking of exactly the same thing. He had no desire to be around while someone else was shagging, especially if he wasn’t getting any. “Nice thought though.”

“Yeah. If things were different.”

“Sure.”

They stared at one another over the pool table. “Are we bonding?” Xander asked suddenly.

Spike shrugged. “Blokes have to stick together with all the women runnin’ around.”

The other man nodded, accepting that explanation. It made perfect sense to him; he hated being the only guy sometimes. There were moments when he missed Oz’s company with a painful certainty. Playing pool with Spike helped to take off the edge. Xander glanced at his watch and winced. “I’ve got to go. It’s late.”

Spike nodded. “’m a bit knackered, myself,” he admitted. He turned to put his pool cue in the rack and froze.

“Spike?” Xander followed Spike’s gaze to a meaty looking young man only a few years older than him. The other man was looking at Spike with dawning recognition. “Spike.”

“It’s one of them,” Spike whispered. The color had drained from his face.

Xander didn’t bother asking who “they” were; he already had a pretty good idea. But being with the Scoobies had taught him to think on his feet, and he threw an arm around Spike’s shoulders. “Come on, Will,” he said loudly, feigning drunkenness. (He’d seen his relatives intoxicated often enough that it was an easy role.) “It’s getting late.”

Spike seemed to snap out of it enough to pick up on what Xander was trying to do. “Right, mate,” he replied, plastering an amused smile on his face. “Let’s get you home.”

Giles had been asleep when they got back to the apartment, but they woke him up to tell him what had happened. “Are you sure he recognized you?” Giles asked, slightly miffed that he’d been dragged out of bed, but trying to hide it.

“He’s one of the soldiers I knocked out.” Spike’s head was in his hands, and his voice was muffled. “Prob’ly hard to forget.”

“There was definitely recognition there,” Xander agreed. “I doubt he would have been able to do anything at the Bronze though.”

“Yes, well, now the Initiative knows that Spike is still in Sunnydale,” Giles said grimly. “They might try to come after him while he’s alone.”

“Bloody hell.”

Giles spared Spike a sympathetic look. “These may help,” he said, pulling an envelop out of a desk drawer. “These and not going out by yourself anymore.” His tone was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Spike, but I really think it wise if you have someone with you at all times. I have a feeling they will want to keep their activities private, and they most likely won’t try to grab you in company.”

Spike took the envelop with a pained nod. “So, you’re sayin’ not to go out without a babysitter.” He sighed and emptied the contents into his lap, letting out a low whistle. “Bloody hell,” he repeated, reverently this time.

“Holy forged documents, G-Man,” Xander joked as he saw what Spike had.

“Technically speaking, they are not forged,” Giles replied rather smugly.

Xander gave him a skeptical look as Spike started poring over the various bits of paper. “Spike’s been dead for a while, Giles. How could they not be forged?”

The Watcher smiled. “There were a few people who owed me favors. I called them in. Spike, or rather, William, is my cousin.”

“I thought we were telling everyone that he was your nephew,” Xander protested.

Giles shrugged. “I doubt anyone is going to look at the particulars too closely. Besides, given the differences in our ages, and the complicated family tree, it isn’t so unusual that we might simplify the relationship that way. Quite frankly, I didn’t have any siblings, but I do have a few cousins scattered about. William’s parents are deceased, so they cannot very well argue about the altered records.”

“These are bloody marvelous,” Spike finally said. “No one’d ever guess they weren’t the real thing.”

“That’s because they are. As I said, someone owed me a favor. This was the payment.”

“Must have been some favor,” Xander stated, looking at Giles with new respect. “Do you really think some paperwork will keep Spike safe, though?”

Giles looked over at Spike, who looked up to meet his eyes. “In a word, no. Not from the Initiative. The soldiers will not be stopped by identification. Papers will protect you from the regular authorities, however.”

Spike nodded. “Joyce’ll be happy to see these. Make me all legal.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure. For now, however, I think it might be time to go to bed.” Giles ushered Xander out the door, and then turned back to Spike. “I was serious, Spike. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out on your own right now.”

Spike made a face, but agreed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

~~~~~

Which was why, the following evening he was locking up the gallery with a feeling of unease. He probably should have called someone to walk him back to Giles’ if he was going to avoid the danger of being caught out on his own, but he didn’t want to look like a wuss.

Walking down the street, towards where he’d parked his DeSoto a couple blocks away. It turned out to be too far.

He felt them before he saw them. Spike glanced back over his shoulder, thinking maybe he could go back into the gallery. Several shadows seemed to detatch themselves from the darkness and move towards him. A feeling of panic swept over him, and he started waling faster towards the car. More shadows appeared in front of him, and he looked around wildly for any means of escape.

Seeing an alley, he took off running, dodging a couple trash cans and heading straight for the chainlink fence that blocked his way. Adrenaline gave him the will and the way to haul himself over, and he had almost made it when he felt something sharp hit him in the shoulder. He held on through sheer will power, refusing to lose his grip, and dropping down on the other side with a thud.

And he kept running.

~~~~~

Giles was pacing the living room anxiously, Xander and Anya watching his movements. “He’s probably fine,” Xander said hopefully. “Maybe he fell asleep at the gallery again.”

The Watcher shook his head. “I called Joyce. The gallery was locked up when she arrived this morning, and Spike was nowhere to be seen. And, he hasn’t showed up there today.”

“When was he supposed to be in today?” Xander asked, looking at the box of Boost Bars that was going unnoticed.

Whatever Giles might have said was cut off by a thump from upstairs. The four of them looked at one another, concerned. “What was that?” Anya asked. “Did you get a cat? Because in the movies, it’s always the cat that goes thump at inopportune times.”

“I did not get a cat,” Giles hissed through his teeth, listening intently as the sound of feet could be heard on the floor, and then on the stairs, before Spike popped into view. “Spike, where have you been? You look—”

“Really bad,” Xander finished, getting up so Spike could sit down. He was disheveled, grass and leaves in his hair, his face haggard with exhaustion.

“Soldiers were waitin’ for me when I came out of the gallery last night,” he explained. “They shot me with somethin’. Been tryin’ to lose them all night. Finally managed some time this morning an’ came back here.” Spike unbuttoned the black shirt he was wearing and then pulled his t-shirt over his head. “Don’t know what they hit me with.”

Giles looked at the wound and frowned. “Xander, go into the bathroom and get my first aid kit. It’s under the sink.” A few minutes later, Giles was peering intently at the hole in Spike’s back. Spike grunted in pain as Giles prodded with a latex-covered finger. “It’s not a bullet, and it’s embedded too deeply for a tranquilizer.”

Spike grimaced. “Also not tranquil. They’d have had me for sure if it was a dart.”

“There’s some sort of illumination emanating from it. It’s blinking,” Giles murmured. “Anya, get the cognac out of the cupboard, please.”

“I hope that’s for me,” Spike said fervently.

Giles smiled slightly. “Indeed. It’s going to take me some time to get it out, and it would be best if you’re anesthitized.”

“We don’t have time,” Xander stated.

“What now?” Giles turned to look at him.

Xander leaned in closer and shook his head. “We don’t have time. My pseudo-soldier memory bank is telling me that’s a tracer. If the soldier boys are getting a signal, it won’t take them long to get here.”

Giles filled a tumbler with the cognac, and handed it to Spike who slammed it back. “’nother one, please,” he mumbled, and then slammed the second as well.

“We’ll just have to buy some time, then,” Giles said, watching Spike drink. “Because this is going to take a while.”

Willow showed up while Giles was still trying to dig the tracer out of the ex-vampire’s back. She quickly found a spell that would ionize the atmosphere. Spike had his teeth gritted, but wasn’t making any sound. He hadn’t had any more to drink past the first two glasses, mostly because he wanted to be able to run if the Initiative burst through the door.

There was a whoosh and a snap as the spell took effect, but Spike had his eyes shut and didn’t see the Don King look. Giles gritted his teeth and kept digging.

“I think the spell’s wearing off,” Willow said nervously after a while, munching on one of the Boost Bars.

Giles dug deeper with the tweezers, causing Spike to let out an involuntary yelp. “Got it!” he said excitedly, quickly handing the tweezers and tracer to Xander. “Go!”

Xander took off down the hall and a few seconds later they heard the sound of a toilet flushing. “That should take care of the tracer,” Giles stated. “I need to disinfect the wound, however.”

Spike groaned. “Bloody hell.”

The disinfecting process was as painful as Spike had expected it to be, and once it was over he gratefully pulled on the button-down shirt Willow had found for him. “I hate to say this, Spike, but perhaps it would be better if you left town for a while,” Giles said quietly.

Spike let out a humorless laugh. “An’ where am I s’posed to go, Rupert?”

There was a long silence. “Perhaps Los Angeles,” he finally suggested. “It’s a large enough city that you would be able to disappear. It’s—it certainly isn’t safe for you here.”

“It’s not safe for any of us.” All heads turned to see Buffy standing in the doorway, looking grim. “Not anymore.”

Chapter 7: So Close (And Yet So Far)

“Beauty queen of only eighteen/She had some trouble with herself/He was always there to help her/She always belonged to someone else./I drove for miles and miles/And wound up at your door/I’ve had you so many times but somehow/I want more./I don’t mind spending everyday/Out on your corner in the pouring rain/Look for the girl with the broken smile/ Ask her if she wants to stay awhile/And she will be loved/Tap on my window knock on my door/I want to make you feel beautiful…” ~Maroon 5, “She Will Be Loved”

As the Slayer finished explaining what had happened down in the sewers, Giles started cleaning his glasses. “Good Lord, Buffy. Are you saying Maggie Walsh set you up?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Buffy replied grimly. “She knew what she was doing, and she didn’t expect me to make it out of there.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Did soldier-boy know about it?” Spike asked in a low voice.

Buffy looked around the room at the faces of her friends, all of whom looked to have their doubts about her boyfriend. And why not? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a guy she liked turned out to be evil. “No, I don’t think so. Dr. Walsh made sure he was elsewhere while I was getting sent on a special make-Buffy-dead assignment.”

“Riley doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would tell a little lie, let alone a whole lot of big ones,” Willow added.

Xander shook his head. “Except that’s why they call them the secret forces, because they’re pretty much keeping a whole bunch of big secrets. Besides,” he added grimly, “if he was out on an assignment this afternoon, there’s a real good chance he was trying to hunt Spike down.”

Buffy’s face froze. “Wait a minute. The Initiative’s been hunting you down?” She looked over at Spike. “What happened?”

Slowly, he told her, ending with, “An’ if Rupert hadn’t managed to dig that tracer out of me, I probably would’ve been back in an Initiative holding cell.”

Buffy shook her head. “You’re human,” she stated, almost to herself. “They shouldn’t be interested in you anymore.”

“I’m their lab rat, an’ I escaped,” Spike returned. “’course they want me back.” His tone was bitter.

The Slayer frowned. “Well, they’re not getting you. I don’t care what they want. We need to move, though. Everybody grab a weapon.”

“Right. Storm the Initiative,” Xander said, trying to work up some enthusiasm for the idea.

“I was thinking more along the lines of us hiding,” Buffy replied.

Giles replaced his glasses. “I think we should talk about this.”

“We need to buy some time, and we need to make a plan. That means relocating for a while.” Buffy was thinking rapidly, trying to figure out what her next steps had to be. From thinking she had new allies in her fight against evil, all the way to being hunted—it had been a heck of a day. She spared a glance for Spike, who was looking particularly haggard. It seemed that someone could still beat her for “worst day” award.

Willow perked up. “We could go to my place.”

Buffy shook her head. “They know we’re close, so they’ll check those places first. Xander, what about your basement?”

“Sure. Come boogie in Xander’s basement hideaway,” the young man said with a wry smile.

“Yeah, come boogie,” Anya repeated without much enthusiasm.

“I will not stay in that dank hole,” Giles protested. “Besides, I don’t see why we have to go anywhere. It’s highly unlikely that any of the Initiative boys will come here.”

Because he’d just jinxed them, the door flew open and Riley dashed inside. “Buffy! Are you okay? What happened?” He was at her side in a moment, and Buffy backed away just slightly.

“I’m fine, Riley. As for what happened, Maggie tried to kill me.”

At her words, the soldier backed off slightly himself. “No, there’s got to be some mistake. Professor Walsh would never—” He broke off to stare at Spike, who was trying to look inconspicuous. “That’s Hostile 17.”

“That’s Spike,” Buffy replied. “He has a name. You met him at my birthday party.”

Riley frowned. “Buffy, I’m under orders to bring him in. He’s dangerous, and—”

“He’s human,” Buffy broke in. “I don’t think he falls under your jurisdiction anymore.”

Riley stared at her and took a small step towards Spike. The ex-vampire stood and tried to look tough, but a night spent sleepless and running, plus the pain and alcohol, weren’t helping. “I have orders. Hostile 17 still falls in the H.S.T. category until we can classify him.”

“Tough, Riley,” the Slayer said in a hard voice. “I have a sacred duty that includes protecting him. Besides, if the same person who gave you orders to catch him is the same person who just tried to kill me, you might want to rethink following her orders.”

“As in, maybe you shouldn’t?” Xander suggested. “You mess with Spike, you mess with all of us. And Buffy’s right. Your boss just tried to turn her into monster food. She doesn’t seem to know which side she’s on these days. Maybe you could explain it to us.”

Riley looked confused, as if the mere thought of insubordination was too much for him to handle. “I don’t know much. I wasn’t there,” he protested. “Professor Walsh told me you were dead, and then you came on the monitors. This—this isn’t her. Something must be forcing her, or controlling her.”

“We think Buffy might have been getting too close to something,” Giles said gently to the perplexed young man. “Something the Initiative wanted to stay hidden.”

“Could it have something to do with 314?” Buffy asked.

“I don’t know,” Riley said, truly bewildered.

Still gentle, Giles said quietly, “We’ve heard that the Initiative has far darker purposes. Something they would go to great lengths to keep from Buffy. Do you know anything?”

“No! I would know!” Riley looked around the room wildly. “It’s not possible.”

“Isn’t it?” Spike asked quietly. “They didn’t much want me to escape, an’ I’m human now.”

Riley stared at him. Doubt was threatening to overwhelm him. “No. No, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He started backing towards the door. “I can’t be here.”

“Riley—” Buffy called after him.

The soldier shook his head. “No, I’ve got to go.” He threw a last look at Spike. “I’m sorry.”

As the door shut behind him, the group let out a collective breath. “We can’t stay here,” Giles stated.

“Xander’s basement—” Buffy began.

“An’ why wouldn’t your soldier boy check there, Slayer?” Spike asked quietly. “He knows all your friends, an’ Harris’ place isn’t that hard to find.” He looked at her intently. “I got a suggestion, somewhere no one would look, but you aren’t going to like it.”

They might have argued about it all day, except they didn’t have that much time. “I will not go back to that—place,” Giles said harshly.

“We’ve all got bad memories of the mansion, Giles,” Buffy said quietly. When Spike had named the old mansion on Crawford, her first reaction was to reject the idea out of hand. But as he said, it would be impossible to connect it to any of them; Riley didn’t know anything about Angel or Angelus. It was large, slightly furnished, out of the way, and unoccupied. Other than the fact that they all hated the place, it was a perfect hide out.

Spike put a tentative hand on Giles’ arm. “Rupert, don’t much want to go back there myself. But no one’s going to look for us there.”

Xander, Willow, and Anya were fairly silent on the deal. While none of them particularly liked the mansion, none of them had the memories that the others did. Giles shook his head, but finally met Spike’s eyes. The regret that he saw reflected there convinced him that Spike was not making the suggestion to hurt him, and that he was not insensitive to his discomfort.

“I suppose it’s time I exorcise some demons, then,” Giles finally said. “Spike is right. We will be safe enough there, if not completely comfortable.”

“Good,” Buffy said. “Let’s grab what we need then and get over there. No more wasting time.”

~~~~~

Spike sat on the bench in the courtyard, watching the rapidly lightening sky. In spite of his extreme exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to catch more than an hour or so of sleep. It wasn’t the location itself that was throwing him off, but the continual nightmares. The all-to-close call with the Initiative soldiers caused him to see himself back in a holding cell every time he closed his eyes. Well, in a holding cell or strapped down to that metal table. It didn’t much matter which. After falling asleep and being awakened twice by the nightmares, he’d finally given up, coming out to the courtyard to avoid disturbing anyone.

Nobody had really wanted to be alone in the big mansion, and so they’d all set up camp in the main living area. Giles had even gone so far as to light a fire in the fireplace to dispell the gloom. It must have worked, because everyone but Spike had been able to sleep, and sleep deeply.

The sun lit the sky with pink, red, and orange, and he smiled to see it. Not so long ago, the rising of the sun would have signaled his death. Now, it was one of the few things he actually enjoyed about his new life. The warmth and light also served to chase off some of the fear that had haunted him, and Spike felt fatigue finally begin to overtake him. He stretched out on the bench in the sun, like a big cat, and closed his eyes.

~~~~~

Buffy wandered out into the courtyard and smiled at the sight that greeted her. They had all awoken, slightly stiff and a little cranky, and had immediately noted that Spike was nowhere to be seen. Giles had turned on the small, battery-powered radio he’d brought to catch the news, and Buffy had gone to see about finding Spike. She didn’t think he’d gone far, and she’d been right.

No one was terribly excited about the fact that there wasn’t any electricity or running water, but all were hopeful that they could go back to their regularly scheduled lives soon. Looking at Spike, Buffy thought about that, about the fact that he didn’t really have a regularly scheduled life, except for his job at the gallery. Luckily for him, his boss was her mom, which meant she was particularly understanding about things like crazy soldiers hunting ex-demons.

Buffy squatted down next to the bench, waking him with a soft touch on his shoulder. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Spike’s eyes blinked open slowly. “Buffy?”

“That’s right. What are you doing out here?” she asked. “You’ll get a sunburn.”

He smiled slightly, still not quite with it. “I had some bad dreams,” he explained. “Must have fallen asleep out here.”

“Why don’t you come inside and try to get some sleep in there? It stays pretty dark during the day.” As he sat up, she saw a spreading stain on the back of his t-shirt. “And you need to get that bandage changed. You’re bleeding through.”

Spike stood slowly. “Yeah, s’pose.” He was still groggy, and followed Buffy inside without argument. He half-listened as Buffy and Giles discussed what she was going to do about the new menace that the Initiative had sent after them, all while she expertly redressed his shoulder.

Spike let himself give into the thought that he was safe while he was with Buffy. She had promised to protect him; she’d told off her boyfriend for him. The memory of her standing up to Riley warmed him, and he let himself fall into a doze even as he relished the feeling of Buffy’s gentle hands bandaging his shoulder.

He woke slightly when he felt her pushing him to lie down on the couch. “You should try and get some more sleep.”

Spike finally registered that Buffy was dressed to go out. “You leavin’?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, for a while. I have to track something down.” She touched his cheek in a comforting gesture. “Giles and the others are going to stay here.”

He roused himself slightly. “You want some help?”

“Not from you. You’re still in pass-out mode.” She smiled at him. “I’ll make sure Mom knows you’re okay.”

“Tell her I’ll be in tomorrow,” he mumbled.

“Sure thing,” Buffy said. “Sleep.” She watched as he drifted off, the lines in his face smoothing out. The circles under his eyes were so dark, almost as though they were bruised. She turned her head as Giles came up behind her, spreading a blanket over Spike’s still figure.

“You’ll research the Polgara demons?” Buffy asked in a soft voice as they moved away from him.

Giles nodded. “Of course, Buffy. Be careful.”

The Slayer glanced back towards Spike. “Giles? Will he be okay?”

Her Watcher pulled off his glasses and thought seriously about the question. He had asked himself the same thing a number of times. “In time, I think he might be. It certainly doesn’t help matters any that the Initiative is still chasing him.”

Buffy looked grim. “Well, hopefully we can put a stop to all of that. Maybe we’ll all get some peace then.”

~~~~~

Spike woke midafternoon, feeling better rested than he had in a long time. Perhaps he had exorcised some demons of his own by managing to outwit and outrun the soldiers. Or perhaps the reassurance of his safety had come in the form of a petite blonde girl who had sworn her protection and faced down her boyfriend to do it.

Imagine his surprise when said blonde dragged said boyfriend into the mansion. He stood in surprise, the book he’d been reading to help Giles research dangling limply from his hand. “Buffy? What’s goin’ on?”

Giles looked up from his own reading, similar surprise on his own face. While Willow had announced her intent to see what spells she could find to track down the Polgara demon, he had deemed it best to gather what books he could and continue his research at the mansion. It was safer, for one thing, and he wanted to keep an eye on Spike. The young man had had a trying couple of days, and was not looking well.

Giles had some fleeting thoughts about Spike’s physical condition. It had not escaped his attention that medicine had changed quite a bit since the ex-vampire had been, well, alive, and he might not be current on the vaccinations he needed. While the Initiative might have done something about that while he was under their care, Giles wasn’t ready to take it for granted. On the other hand, it would be rather difficult to explain to a doctor why a 20-something-year-old man needed the kinds of shots given to school children. In any case, he knew that it wasn’t just Spike’s mental condition they had to be concerned about, but his physical condition as well.

The last few days certainly hadn’t done that any good.

But Spike had seemed to be doing much better when he woke up, and he had willingly offered to help Giles research. He had, in fact, been a much bigger help than anyone except Willow would have been. Giles filed that information away for future reference.

When their research was interrupted by Buffy dragging Riley through the door, Giles couldn’t help but feel a surge of protection towards his roommate. As much sympathy as he might feel for Riley, he didn’t know the boy all that well. Spike was his main concern at this point, and having the soldier there was neither safe nor conducive to any of their well-being.

He threw a glance towards Spike, who was staring at Buffy with a look of betrayal on his face. “Buffy—” Giles began.

“He’s sick,” the Slayer said, rather unnecessarily, as Riley was shivering and obviously not well. “I think the Initiative’s been doing something to him. I don’t know. Besides, Professor Walsh’s orders aren’t being followed anymore since she’s dead.”

Spike looked at Buffy and then at the soldier who’d been trying to recapture him mere hours before. While he felt a small bit of relief that the Professor was dead, that didn’t mean Riley wouldn’t try something anyway. “Do you really think it’s a good idea bringin’ him here, Slayer?” he asked quietly, not allowing any of the hurt he was feeling to come through in his voice. Or so he hoped.

Buffy gave him a pleading look, knowing that in some ways it was up to him if Riley stayed. At least, she wanted him to be somewhat okay with it, even if he wasn’t thrilled. “He needs a safe place to be right now.”

“Buffy,” Xander’s voice came from behind her and she turned to look at him. “Riley might not be ready to be here. Not if he has to follow the rules. Like no trying to capture Spike.”

Buffy had to wonder where Xander’s interest in Spike’s well-being came from. He’d been fairly indifferent up to a couple of days ago, and now he seemed intent on protecting him. “Riley needs help,” she stated firmly. “And I still help people.”

There was a long silence, and then Spike let out a deep sigh that everyone in the room heard. “There’s a bedroom down the hall. ‘s quiet, an’ out of the way. He should be alright there for a while. Least as alright as he can be right now.”

Spike stood in the doorway and watched as Buffy comforted Riley, much the same way she’d comforted him earlier. He didn’t want Captain America there; he thought it was idiotic to reveal their hiding place to any of the Initiative. But Buffy had said that the good doctor had done something to the soldier-boy too. Riley was sick with something. Somehow, Spike had a hard time actually caring. He thought maybe it was a good thing that the soldier was getting a taste of his own medicine.

Buffy gave Riley’s back a final pat and then walked out the door, past Spike. “Coming?”

Spike stared at her, and then finally nodded, following her down the hallway towards the main room where everyone else was waiting for them. “Spike.” She put a hand on his arm, stopping him midway. “Thanks.”

“For what?” he asked, quietly.

She looked away. “For letting Riley stay here. I know it’s probably not easy for you.”

“I’m not doing it for him,” Spike said. “You care about him.”

“Yeah, I do,” Buffy replied. She looked up into his eyes. In some ways, at that moment, she wished she didn’t care for Riley as much as she did. She wished she hadn’t reached the “hurt when he hurts” stage yet. Because if she didn’t care that much, she could have let herself fall for the guy in front of her. The one that her mom and all her friends liked. The one that wasn’t involved with the secret government agency that had tried to kill her. In some ways, caring about Spike would be a whole heck of a lot easier at this point. “I’m sorry I had to bring him here.”

“It’s fine, Buffy,” Spike sighed. “Don’t think he’s capable of doin’ much right now. What are you goin’ to do?”

“Take Xander and see if we can figure out what the Initiative is up to,” Buffy replied. “We need to find out what they did to him, and what 314 is all about.”

Spike swallowed hard. “Do you want me to go?” he offered. “I could probably find my way around again.”

She smiled at him, appreciating the bravery his offer represented. “No, Spike, not with them still looking for you. I don’t know. Now that Professor Walsh is dead, the danger is probably less for you, but it probably isn’t a good idea. Xander still remembers being a soldier, so he can help.”

Spike had his own doubts about that, but didn’t say anything. “Well. Guess Rupert an’ I will keep looking for that information you need.” He hesitated, and then said in a low voice, “From what we’ve seen, it wasn’t a Polgara demon that killed that boy. They don’t mutilate bodies, and they’re not smart enough to keep a low profile. If Walsh sent somethin’ after you, it prob’ly wasn’t a Polgara.”

Buffy tried for a smile and didn’t quite manage it. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Or maybe whatever’s out there’s worse, because it’s smarter.” Spike’s eyes were serious, maybe even a little grim. “Watch your back, pet.”

“You too,” Buffy replied, looking back towards the half-open door Riley was behind.

Spike and Giles kept up their research until Willow returned. By that time, there really wasn’t any point to it since they had a pretty good idea that it wasn’t a Polgara that was running around, but there wasn’t much else to do either.

“You have a knack for research,” Giles commented, shortly before Willow returned.

Spike looked up in surprise. “’s not that hard.”

“You’d be surprised,” Giles said. “One would almost think you’ve done this before.”

Spike shrugged. “I have, a bit. When I was tryin’ to cure Dru, I had to do a bit of it. And I did some when I was human too.”

It was the first time Spike had willingly mentioned his human past, and Giles couldn’t help feeling curious. “Do you mind if I ask what you were like as a human?”

Spike was silent for a moment. There was no one else around. Willow hadn’t yet returned, and Xander and Anya had disappeared into another part of the mansion. It was probably a good thing the place was so big, since it meant they couldn’t hear what the two lovebirds were up to.He put down the book he was holding, and looked off into space, trying to decide how much he wanted to reveal.

“I was a bit like you, I s’pose,” he finally admitted. Giles couldn’t quite help showing his surprise, and Spike smiled sardonically. “Bit of a shocker, yeah? What did the Council of Wankers say? That I was a rabid killer beforehand?”

Giles had to admit that was largely the case. Spike laughed. “Good thing they didn’t know the truth, then. Would have ruined my reputation for sure. I was—” He laughed again, a little more bitterly this time. “I was a poet. Or I fancied myself as such. Wasn’t any good, really. Other than that small claim, I wasn’t much different than any other Victorian gentleman.”

“I don’t understand,” Giles admitted. “While you seem different, you don’t seem—”

“I’m not William anymore,” Spike replied. “William died in 1880, an’ it’s better that way. Poor bugger would never have made it out of the Initiative. He wasn’t built that way. An’ yet, he didn’t really. Die, I mean. S’pose we never really leave our old selves behind, no matter how much we change,” Spike mused.

Giles thought of Ripper, and nodded. “One might think that you would be completely different, given how different Angel and Angelus are.”

Spike did laugh. “So that’s what got all you gits confused? Angel and Angelus are the same person. Vampires—vampires know the difference between right an’ wrong, Rupes. We just don’ care, an’ we prefer to do the wrong thing. But some of us are more human than others. Angelus is a prime specimen of demon. The only thing that keeps him anchored in the human world is that soul of his. Me? I like this place, always have. ‘s nice. Liked the food, an’ the cigs. Dog races, Manchester United. Angelus was a pitiful excuse for a man when he was alive. Drunken, whoring layabout, from what I’ve heard.”

Giles thought about that for a moment. “Then you still think of yourself as Spike, and not William?”

Spike looked up, almost startled. He wasn’t sure he actually knew the answer to that question. “Don’t know that it’s an either/or, Rupert.”

Giles might have pressed for more information, but Willow showed up with news of failure, having been unable to perform the locating spell for the Polgara. Spike sat quietly, thoughtfully, through most of it. He was still thinking about the question Giles had asked. Was he William, or Spike? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t given it any thought, but he hadn’t come up with an answer either. There were times when it didn’t matter, when he simply felt like—himself, whatever name you gave him. There were other times, however, like when Buffy dragged her boy-toy through the door, that the question wasn’t so easily answered. Times when William warred with Spike. Do the right thing—or rip the wanker a new one? Tough question.

Willow looked up, and her eyes focused on someone behind them. “Riley? I don’t—I don’t think you should be up. Maybe you should lie back down.”

Riley stumbled out into the main room. “Where’s Buffy?”

“She left,” Giles stated, standing to face the younger man. “In fact, she went to see if she could find some help for you.”

Riley shook his head. “She went to the Initiative? I’ve got to go.”

“Riley, maybe you should lie down again,” Willow suggested.

He shook his head and started towards the door. The redheaded witch tried to stop him, putting a restraining hand on his arm. “I really think—”

Riley didn’t even slow down, pushing the girl aside and throwing her to the ground. “Red,” Spike rushed forward to help Willow up. He had stayed out of the soldier’s way, unwilling to call attention to the fact that capturing him was still part of his duty. Riley didn’t seem very reasonable at this point, and he might decide taking Spike back to the Initiative was the way to go.

He got Red to her feet and glanced over at Giles, who was looking concerned. “Should we go after him?” Willow asked, worried.

“No, I don’t think so,” Giles replied, meeting Spike’s eyes. They were both thinking the same thing—that having a rather crazy soldier on the loose was probably not a good thing. “Riley is not being rational at this point. It’s pointless to try and reason with him.”

Willow looked over at Spike, who still had a hand on her shoulder. He smiled down at her. “It’ll be alright, Red. Buffy can take care of herself, an’ soldier-boy will be fine. They make ‘em tough.”

~~~~~

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Joyce asked. Spike was in the back office of the gallery, looking over the invoices and bills of lading. Somehow the paperwork had gotten behind in the few days he’d been gone. He supposed it made him feel needed. It wasn’t as though he could really help Buffy combat the new threat that the strange cyborg/demon, Adam, presented.

Spike smiled at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Joyce replied. There were still dark circles under his eyes, even days after his ordeal. “Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep?”

Spike looked away. “Who needs sleep?”

“William—” Joyce admonished.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, and his tone signaled the end of the discussion.

“Hey.” Both Joyce and Spike turned to see Buffy standing in the doorway. “I was out on patrol and thought I’d stop by. Make sure Spike got back to Giles’ okay. I have to talk to him anyway.”

Joyce smiled. “Good. I don’t want William walking back alone.”

Buffy’s eyebrows went up. “What about your car?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Blasted car broke down. ‘s goin’ to be a while before I can get the parts to fix it.”

“Bummer,” Buffy commented. “Well, if you’re ready, I am.”

Spike glared at her. “You’re not goin’ to let me walk home by myself are you?”

“Nope,” Buffy replied cheerfully. She watched as he sighed and stood, shrugging into his jacket. “’Night, Mom.” She gave her mom a kiss on the cheek, and then all three of them walked out of the gallery, Buffy and Spike waiting until Joyce was safely in her car and walking away.

“No word from you soldier, yet?” Spike asked as they both walked towards Giles’ apartment.

Buffy shook her head. “No. All quiet on the western front.”

“’m sure he’s fine, pet. They take care of their own,” he said, wanting to reassure her, even if he couldn’t care less about Riley himself.

“That’s pretty much what Forrest said,” Buffy replied. “I don’t think he’s very keen on me.”

“Someone who’s not keen on the Slayer?” Spike asked, trying to inject some humor. “You sure he’s not a vampire?”

Buffy smiled at him. “Pretty sure. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure I would mind putting a stake into him.” She gave him an intent look. “You sure you’re okay? You’re looking kinda—”

“Tired?” Spike asked, shrugging. “S’pose I am, a bit. Some nights are better than others. Right now I’m on a run of bad ones.”

“Spike—” Buffy paused. “If you need someone to talk to—I mean, I know you and Willow are friends, and Giles can be a pretty good listener when he wants to be. But if you want to talk, I’m here.”

“’preciate that, Slayer, but I’ll be fine. Not like there’s much anyone can do right now. Just takes some time, I guess,” Spike said. Like her mother earlier, Buffy felt as though Spike weren’t telling her everything, though she couldn’t figure out why. Her heart told her it had something to do with Riley, but she wasn’t quite sure what that would be.

“Well, at least with Dr. Walsh out of the way, you won’t have the Initiative after you anymore,” Buffy said, trying to look on the positive side. “As it is, they’ll be too concerned about Adam to worry about one little ol’ ex-vampire.”

“Who you callin’ little?” Spike asked, sounding slightly affronted.

Buffy looked up at him, pausing in the light of the lamp, smiling, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. Spike wanted to kiss her in that moment. Wanted to make her forget all about her missing soldier. Make her even forget the name of Riley.

He took a step back. She wasn’t his girl. They might now be friends, but they would never be more than that. His luck wasn’t that good. “We should get goin’,” he said softly, watching confusion play over her face as he pulled back, ending the game. “’s getting late.”

And all the way home, Spike walked with a heavy heart, knowing he would always want what he couldn’t have.

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