Chapter 8




Angel sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his feet as Spike finished his story. Nothing further was said between the two for a few minutes and Spike began to fidget, uncomfortable with the sudden silence.



“You bastard.” Angel growled without looking up. “You fucking bastard.” He crossed the room to where Spike was standing, leaning against the counter. Spike didn’t even see the vampire move, let alone have time to react as he felt the impact of the fist against his cheek as it knocked him to the floor.



He didn’t even attempt to get up as Angel towered over him, rage emanating off his body.



“You stole my destiny. It was meant to be me! It was always meant to be me!” The rage seemed to pass as quickly as it had come and Angel returned to his former position on the bed, head clutched in his hands.



Spike cautiously reached up to wipe the blood from his mouth, years of habit meaning that he unconsciously proceeded to lick the still fresh blood off his fingers before he realised what he was doing and grimaced slightly at the metallic taste.



“Sorry mate - don’t know anything ‘bout destiny. All I know is what I told you - I dusted, I came back, I hate it.” He shrugged and picked himself up off the floor, eyeing the vampire warily, promising himself that if there were a next time he would move faster.



Angel looked up wearily. “There was a prophecy. The prophecies of Aberjian if you’re really interested - though I can probably guarantee that you’re not. They said that the vampire with a soul would Shanshu - turn to human - once he had fulfilled his destiny.”



Spike smirked. The idea of getting one over on Angel really appealed to him. “Hate to break this to ya mate, but you weren’t the only vampire with a soul you know. Hey, who’d’a guessed that I’d turn out to be Destiny Guy and you’d turn out to be, well, just you.”



Angel looked up and growled menacingly at the blonde. “I’d be careful if I were you. Remember - you’re just human now, and weak with it.”



“Yeah, and you have a soul - know how much that hurts, don’t I? Funny, doesn’t bother me so much now that I’m human. Buggered if I know why, but…”



“Shut up,” Angel stopped him.



“What? Don’t you like hearing about my shiny new soul in its shiny new body.” Spike taunted, suddenly enjoying himself for the first time since he’d turned human.



“Listen to me, you little piece of shit, I might not want to kill you myself. Yeah, that might prey on the soul a bit. But I think I could live with driving you out to the local graveyard right now and leaving you there.”



Spike’s eyes widened slightly and his air of bravado dropped.



“Yeah, thought so - you’re a cowardly piece of shit, aren’t you? You know as well as I do what lurks out there in the night and it scares you half to death, doesn’t it? God, you’re pathetic. You really are.”



“You don’t know what it’s like,” Spike whispered, unable to meet Angel’s gaze.



“No, your right, I don’t. But I should do. That amulet was meant to be for me. It was given to me. I knew it should have been for me and if it hadn’t been for her I would have worn it. Then it would have been me standing there, human again. And you can be damned sure that I’d be making the most of what I’d been given, rather than hiding away in some dank, vermin infested dump.” Angel’s tone was bitter and angry as he ranted on, rising to pace around the small room.



“But…” Spike tried to explain.



“I really don’t want to hear your pathetic little excuses. You know what gets me the most? Her. She told me that she wouldn’t let me use the amulet because she needed me to be there if she couldn’t do it. If she failed. I thought that she wouldn’t let it be me because she cared. But no, that wasn’t it at all - it was because of you. She wanted it to be you. She…”



“You leave her out of this!” Spike bridled. “This has nothing to do with her and you know it! None of us knew exactly what that bloody thing would do; none of us could have predicted it! And if I’d’ve known I’d have happily let you have the bloody thing! So you just leave her out of it.”



“I could have been human and we could have been happy,” Angel said softly, almost to himself. He looked back up at Spike and laughed harshly. “But she chose you. Even if she didn’t know what she was doing, she still chose you.” His expression darkened and his lips twisted into a cruel sneer. “And look at you now. Weak, pathetic. Too scared of the nasties to go out in the night, too petrified of the sun to go out in the day. Living off crap that you can scrounge from God knows where. She’d laugh in your face if she could see you now and you know it. You’re worse off now than you ever were as a demon. You know, I think you might just have done me a favour.” He laughed once more as he saw a single tear well in Spike’s eye. “Yeah, you’re truly pathetic. And this is a waste of my time. Have fun.”



And without further ado, Angel turned and left the room. Spike didn’t move as he heard the car gun up and roar off into the night. Angel’s words were ringing in his ears.



Weak, pathetic.



She’d laugh in your face if she could see you now and you know it.



You’re worse off now than you ever were as a demon.



Pathetic.



She’d laugh in your face.



Pathetic.



Pathetic.



And it was all made that much worse as he knew that the vampire was right. He was pathetic.



But that could change.



*~*~



Buffy sat there, speechless as she looked from face to face. Those looking back at her seemed almost frozen in their seats, as if they hardly dared to breathe waiting for her reaction. When it came it surprised them all.



Buffy laughed.



She laughed long and hard, holding her sides as they ached, tears rolling down her cheeks.



She finally caught her breath and looked at Giles. “Oh, come on! This has gotta be a joke! Me, a mother! You are so kidding, right?”



Giles took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m very much afraid we are not kidding Buffy. I really don’t think that this is a matter we would joke about, do you?” he said somberly.



Buffy sighed and nodded. “No, I guess not. But you have to admit guys, it does sound a little farfetched. I mean, me, a baby, with a vampire of all things - we all know that’s probably biologically impossible.”



“Er, well, actually, it isn’t. Well, yes it is…” Willow began.



“See, see - Willow agrees with me. No making babies with the undead!” Buffy declared, pointing at her friend.



“But…” Willow continued.



“Oh, poo. There’s a ‘but’. Why does there always have to be a ‘but’?” Buffy pouted, folding her arms across her chest and sinking down further into her chair.



“But, there’s a ritual. A kind of binding ceremony. There’s magic involved and it binds you and him together for, well, forever I think. It has all sorts of effects and one of them happens to be the whole ability to have babies…” Willow trailed off. “I’m not entirely sure how it works yet - but I’m looking into it!”



“Oh, so now there’s not only babies, but there’s marriage as well. This just gets better and better.” Buffy stood up. “Well, you can find some other Slayer gal to do this one - there’s loads to choose from. This one’s officially retired.” She turned to leave the room.



“There is no-one else who can do this Buffy. It has to be you.” Giles said quietly, not looking at his Slayer’s retreating back. She stopped, but didn’t turn to face them.



“Why? Why does it always have to be me, Giles? Why can’t Faith, or Kennedy, or, or, I don’t know, any of the other thousands of Slayers out there now. Why can’t one of them by prophesised to save the world? Why does it always have to be me?” she asked, her voice sounding small in the large room. Dawn shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she picked up the hurt and pain in her sister’s voice.



“I don’t know Buffy. I really don’t know.” Giles answered her, equally softly. Buffy turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.



They sat there in silence for a minute, looking at each other, nobody really knowing want to say.



“What now?” Willow asked first.



“She said she wouldn’t do it,” Dawn replied. “We can’t force her. I won’t let anybody try and force her,” she clarified determinedly.



“No-one will be forcing anybody to do anything.” Giles declared. “We just have to hope that she changes her mind.”

Chapter 9

Buffy ignored the soft knock on the door and turned to face the window, clutching Mr Gordo closer to her as she hoped the person at the other side of the door would get the hint and go away.

They didn’t.

She turned to look at the door as she heard the hinges creak and huffed slightly as Dawn peered round, apologetic smile on her face.

“Can I come in?” Dawn asked warily.

“No,” Buffy scowled.

“Okay, waving the white flag here,” Dawn entered the room slowly, holding something behind her back. “And I bring the peace offering of freshly baked Willow-cookies,” she tried, hopeful smile on her face, plate of cookies appearing from where she’d been holding them behind her back.

Buffy didn’t answer and Dawn decided to hope for the best and take that as a sign of acquiescence. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and offered Buffy the plate.

Buffy reluctantly took a cookie and nibbled on the edge of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Dawn started. “This is all my fault. I thought that I was being all big and clever, spotting the problem in the first place. And now I just wish I’d forgotten about it, like Giles told me to. I just wish that I…” she trailed off and looked at her sister, waiting.

Buffy looked back, but didn’t know what to say. She knew what she was meant to say. She was meant to tell Dawn that it was all okay and that it wasn’t her fault. But on some level she couldn’t. Somewhere, some small part of her did blame her sister for all of this. But most of her couldn’t say anything because she didn’t want to admit it, she didn’t want to acknowledge that this was really happening. If she didn’t talk about it, maybe it would all go away, be some silly, stupid dream.

So, instead of talking, she reached over and stroked her sister’s long, dark hair, a sad smile playing across her lips. Dawn moved closer and rested her head on Buffy’s shoulder and they stayed like that for long moments, not talking. Each sister lost in her own thoughts, in her own little world.

“You don’t have to do it,” Dawn said quietly after what seemed like an eternity. “If you decide not to, I won’t let them try to change your mind.”

Buffy looked down at the top of her sister’s head and frowned. She’d missed it; she’d missed the moment when her baby sister had grown up. She wondered when it had happened - had it been before the destruction of Sunnydale, or after? Buffy didn’t know. All she knew was that the person by her side wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a strong independent woman now. And Buffy had missed it.

Somehow that upset her more than anything else.

“Thank you,” Buffy whispered quietly into her sister’s hair.

Dawn pulled away suddenly, an idea lighting up her eyes. “There’s so much time!” she suddenly declared. “Here we were, thrusting this whole thing on you, like there was another apocalypse looming, and it’s not that at all. It’s like Giles said - it’s not exactly an urgent problem!” Dawn said excitedly whilst Buffy just stared at her like she’d suddenly grown an extra head.

“Okay, slow down and come off the Speed. What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, this whole thing - it doesn’t have to happen for years. It just means that there’s going to be no more Slayers born. That means that we have almost a century ‘til there’s a problem. So, if you don’t want to do this right now - no biggy. No pressure. No snap, life changing decisions.”

“Oh.” Buffy fell silent for a minute as she digested this information. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I might - and I stress with the whole ‘haven’t made up my mind if I’m actually going to do this yet’ thing - one day have to have a child with some, how was it that you put it? Oh yeah - ‘as yet unidentified person’.” She quirked an eyebrow at her sister, who at least had the decency to blush and look embarrassed.

“Er, yeah. Well, Willow has a theory that it might be…” Dawn trailed off.

“Yes?” Buffy asked in her best parenting voice.

“Angel.” Dawn tried not to cringe as she said the name.

“Oh.” Buffy took a deep breath and nodded slowly to herself, wondering how to take it. “It could be worse I suppose. Why Angel?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“We figured out that the prophecy was talking about a vampire who had had a soul and also one you love.”

“And you don’t think Willow’s right, do you?” Buffy added, trying not to give anything away. *Let her give me the answers I want without me asking the questions* She’d learnt enough from Giles over the years to know that people just wanted to fill awkward silences with words.

“No. You don’t love him anymore, do you? I mean, you love him, I think you always will, but you’re not in love with him. I think there’s a difference - she doesn’t.” Dawn answered in a rush.

Buffy nodded, digesting what she’d just been told, wondering when her sister had got to know her so well.

“You have a better alternative?”

“Well…” Dawn left the unspoken words hanging between them for a moment, giving her sister a chance to open up. She sighed slightly when the only response she got was a slightly raised eyebrow. “No, I guess I don’t. Vampires and souls. I guess that’s fairly rare…” she tried leading her sister again.

“Yes, it is. And there’s just Angel now. So, I guess that’s fairly conclusive. Look, I’m tired Dawnie. Can we do this another time?” Buffy faked a yawn and Dawn nodded, slipping off the bed and out of the door.

Willow waited on the other side.

“Any luck?” she asked hopefully.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know. I suggested that she had all the time in the world. Well, at least she didn’t get mad.” Dawn started to walk off down the hall, striding away from the redhead as fast as she could. Willow hurried to catch up.

“Something happened in there - there’s something you’re not telling me!”

“It’s nothing,” Dawn said, trying to lose the witch. Willow grabbed her arm and drew her to a stop.

“Oh no, you’re now getting away with it that easily, missy. You tell me what’s going on and you tell me now!”

“Look, he’s dead, okay. I know that we both knew it, but she’d never said as much before. I always kinda hoped. I mean, just ‘cause we never saw him come out… it didn’t have to mean… but, she actually admitted it. He’s gone.” Dawn wrenched her arms from Willow’s grasp before wiping a tear from her eye and continuing her path down the hallway.

“Oh, Goddess.” Willow whispered to Dawn’s retreating back.

Spike sat on the bed, looking at the back of the door that Angel had slammed behind him. He could do this - he knew he could.

He took a deep breath and picked up the phone, dialling the number from memory. It barely had time to ring before it was answered.

“Good afternoon, Walker, Green and Company Solicitors,” a woman’s voice answered in a clipped English accent.

“Yes, hello. May I speak to Mr Walker please?” Spike said, his normal accent dropped as he echoed the woman’s tone perfectly.

“And who may I tell him is speaking?”

“William Sinclair.”

“Oh. Mr Sinclair, o-of course - I’ll put you through right away, Sir!” the secretary replied; now sounding less professional and more flustered. The line went quiet for a moment.

“Hello? Mr Sinclair. And what may I do for you today? I must say, we haven’t heard from you in such a long time we were wondering if something had happened to you,” the male voice on the other end of the line fawned.

“Your concern is touching,” Spike said, dryly, cringing at the lawyer’s obsequiousness. “But I can assure you my health is quite good. In fact, I think I can honestly say that it’s better now than it has been for a very long time…

“As for what you can do for me - I find myself in need of funds. I trust my investments have been flourishing under your care?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Mr Sinclair.”

“Good. I knew there was a reason I paid you such an exorbitant amount. I’m in some dead-end town in the middle of California and have the usual identification problems. But that’s nothing you haven’t overcome in the past.”

“Of course, that will be no problem, Mr Sinclair. If you’ll just let me know how much and the details of a local bank…”

“Hmm, I should say that £10,000.00 should do it for now. In US dollars, of course. And the details are…” Spike read out the details of the town’s main bank from the phone book.

“Fabulous - I shall see to it forthwith. The money should be with you tomorrow afternoon. There is only one problem that I can foresee. This bank, we have no contacts there. We will not be able to arrange the extended opening hours as we would under normal circumstances…” the lawyer sounded distinctly nervous.

“Will you please relax my man? That is no longer a problem,” Spike told him briskly, maintaining the accent and air of easy command effortlessly.

“Very well, Sir. And is there anything further I can assist you with, Mr Sinclair?”

“Yes, in fact I think there may be. About a year ago now - I’m not exactly certain of the date - a town in California called Sunnydale was destroyed. Probably be put down to earthquake or some rubbish like that. I want to trace one of the residents. Girl, name of Buffy Summers.”

“Do you know for certain if she survived?”

“No, but I believe that she did.” *God, I hope she did. Can’t face it to think she might not have made it. Please, let her be okay* Spike thought to himself as the possibility that she might have died hit him for the first time, almost knocking the breath from his body. “I recently had a visit from an… old acquaintance. I think he would have mentioned it if she hadn’t,” he finished, knowing that he was partially trying to convince himself.

“I see. So, you have no idea where she might be?”

“None at all. Does that present a problem?” Spike asked, trying to hold back his anxiety.

“No, no. No problem, Mr Sinclair. It simply, makes things a little more, interesting. I shall get out US associates on it without delay.”

“Good. I shall contact you again in a few days for a progress report.”

“Of course, Mr Sinclair. Goodbye, Mr Sinclair.”

“Goodbye, Mr Walker.” Spike hung up the phone. “Tosser,” he spat at the handset with a grimace. Dealing with the slimy solicitor always left him with a feeling of distaste, but the man was honest, efficient and could keep quiet about the more unusual aspects of Spike’s life. And, most importantly, he had never pried too far into the origins of Spike’s money.

When they’d first met Spike had dropped the leather look in favour of a conservative, but incredibly expensive, suit for the occasion, with the appropriate upper-class English accent to match. Walker had taken Spike’s appearance, and well spoken tone at face value and assumed that Spike had come by his fortune the old fashioned way - he’d inherited it. Spike, naturally, had done nothing to alter this perception.

“Well,” Spike chuckled to his reflection in the mirror. “I s’pose it’s true. I mean, all the former owners were dead when I ‘acquired’ it…”

Spike had made sure that that occasion had been their first and only meeting. He was certain that the lawyer had his suspicions about his most lucrative client, but Spike was in no way inclined to confirm his theories.

So, for the past few decades, his affairs had been expertly managed by the English solicitor by way of a simple Power of Attorney over Spike’s affairs - or the affairs of one William Sinclair, the identity he’d left behind so many years ago.

Mostly, he just forgot about the money - he didn’t really care about it and his Victorian gentleman’s upbringing had left him with an inbred distain for the stuff, but he had to admit that it did have its uses.

*Like when you find yourself having to rebuild your life from, literally, nothing* he thought wryly as he looked around the bare motel room. *At least the poof paid in advance before he pranced off like that, so no need to worry about rent for the next coupla days.” Apart from that, he had nothing except for the clothes on his back.

But he was determined to change, to start again. Angel’s tirade had made him realise that sitting in a corner waiting to die was the coward’s answer.

Spike hated being a coward.

William was a coward.

And Spike would never be William again.

Chapter 11

Buffy wandered the vast corridors of the mansion, lost in her thoughts. It was strange, she’d expected everyone to try to talk her into it, but the subject of her conceiving had been seemingly dropped like a hot potato - no one had been near the subject.

It was weird.

She’d been all prepared to defend herself and her reasons why she wouldn’t do it, why she wasn’t ready.

It was frustrating.

But nobody seemed to want to talk about it.

It was eating her up inside.

The less people mentioned the subject, the more she felt compelled to talk about it, and the more she thought about it. The more she battled with her inner self about why she should and shouldn’t do it.

She had to do something.

As she turned the corner, she caught sight of the flash of red hair and determinedly walked towards it.

“Buffy…” Willow began as the other girl surprised her by tapping her on the shoulder.

“Will. I, er, why? Well, why haven’t…?” Buffy stuttered, suddenly not sure about what she was going to say.

“Buffy, you’re turning into ‘non-coherent’ girl - what’s up?”

Buffy took a deep breath. “Why haven’t you tried to talk me into it?” she asked in a rush.

“Oh, that. Thought you might need a bit of time to think things over - we agreed not to try and influence you or pressure you. Well, I say wewhat I really mean is that Dawn got her scariness on again and went into over-protective mode. No choice really.” Willow gave an apologetic smile and shrugged.

“Oh, right. I see. What about if I want to talk about it?” Buffy asked, thrown once again by evidence of her sister’s newfound maturity.

”Well, that would be a whole different matter - do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. A bit, I guess. It’s just all so confusing.”

“Well, friend here as sounding board. Guaranteed 100% non-judgemental,” Willow quipped light-heartedly.

“I can’t do it,” Buffy said quickly.

Willow tried not to look disappointed. “Why not? Just out of interest, of course,” she quickly clarified.

“How can I? How can I knowingly commit a child to the same life as mine? I’ve hated every minute of being a Slayer - well, most of them at least. And to commit a child to that destiny - why would I want to do that? I know, people give the ‘why would I want to bring a child into this world’ argument all the time - but I feel that I have a real point here.” Buffy looked to her friend for confirmation.

“That’s a good point…” Willow said, trying desperately to not be judgemental - to give Buffy a chance to get everything off her chest.

“And that’s not even mentioning the father. We don’t even know who - or even what - he’s going to be. And you said I’d have to spend the rest of my life with him. I mean - fact scarier than being a single mother - the whole ‘arranged marriage’ scenario. Might work for some people and good luck to them, but not really my thing.”

“Well, we might know who the father’s going to be…”

“I know - Dawn said. You think it’s Angel.” Buffy said without emotion.

“But that’s a good thing, right? I mean, you said that you’d always love him…”

“Yeah - and I guess I will, in a way…” Buffy admitted, almost reluctantly.

“And this would be a way for you to finally be together.”

“Yeah…” Buffy agreed, wondering why the thought didn’t excite her as much as she felt it ought to. “I did say that maybe, someday…”

Buffy and Willow sat there for a moment, the comment hanging between them neither knowing quite what to say.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready - to be a mother. It’s a big step you know. What if I’m no good at it? What if she grows up to hate me? What if…”

“You grow an extra limb, start wearing pants on your head, stick pencils up your nose and shout ‘wibble’ - then you’d be mad. But there’s so many ‘what ifs’. What if you’re a fabulous mother? What if you’re brilliant at it? What if your daughter loves you like a best friend? You can’t live your life by ‘what ifs’, Buffy, that’s not the way it works,” Willow said, being far more reasonable than Buffy wanted her to be.

“I know. I know all of this, but… I don’t know. I just, don’t know. It’s a lot to deal with and… I just don’t know,” Buffy finished lamely.

“No-one’s asking you to make a decision now Buffy. Just that you think about it,” Willow said sensitively.

“I will, Will. I promise I will.”

*~*~

Spike sat on the bed, staring at the door.

He’d been sitting there for a while now and he was no closer to getting up and opening it.

It had been two days since his conversation with the lawyer and he’d finally admitted to himself that he could no longer hide behind the excuse that the money might not have reached the bank yet. Today was the day - he was going to have to face the sunlight.

Taking a deep breath, Spike set his lips into a resolute line and stood up from the bed, fists clenched at his sides as he walked determinedly towards the door. This was it, the moment and there was no putting it off anymore.

His hand shook ever so slightly as he reached for the doorknob and he grasped the handle firmly in an effort to stop the vibration, *Get a hold of yourself mate, you can do this. There’s nothing to be afraid of - you’re human now. The worst thing that could happen is a touch of sunburn and some tan lines,* he thought to himself, as he slowly turned the handle to open the door.

He stood back quickly as he wrenched open the door, springing back to stand behind it as the sunlight flooded into the room, forming a rectangular square of light and heat in the doorway.

Spike stood behind the door for a few minutes as his racing heart slowed down to a more normal pace and he willed himself to stop hyperventilating.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “Come on, you ponce,” he said to himself. “It’s just a bit of sunlight, that’s all. Time to really see if you freckle, mate.” Using the full force of the strength of will and sheer stubbornness he’d been well known for over the years he forced himself to move.

He stepped out into the light, shutting the door behind him and turning the key in the lock. He smiled to himself - he’d done it. He was outside, in the day, in the light.
He shifted uncomfortably and consciously moved back from the harsh direct sunlight into the shade cast by the motel building. He visibly relaxed, feeling safer and calmer in the shade.

He stood there for what seemed an age, acclimatising himself to the outdoors, to the day. He watched the steady stream of traffic that passed on the main road that stretched out in front of the motel, everything so busy, so fast.

Spike shook his head as he realised that he’d never really seen this side of the world he’d inhabited for over a century. He’d developed the skills and knowledge to allow him to travel during the day - the sewer system and a heavy reliance on a rather thick blanket, but neither of these had ever let him really look at the world around him.

He made his way along the front of the building, keeping as close to it and its reassuring shade as possible, but eventually he reached the road. He looked up - he could see the bank from here, only a few hundred yards away.

A few hundred yards of bright sunshine.

*You’re being ridiculous mate. It’s nothing, not gonna hurt you. Come on, just do it.* he repeated over and over to himself as he steeled himself for the journey.

He forced himself to make the crossing to the bank slowly and nonchalantly, iron will keeping tight control over his rising panic. He tried to look around, to look as if he was enjoying his little walk in the sunshine, but his gaze seemed fixed on his goal, refusing to wander to anywhere else.

He reached the other side of the road and withdrew into the shadows with a sigh of relief. He had done it - it wasn’t much, but it was a start. Now for the next step - the money. Spike opened one of the large glass doors and entered the cool interior of the bank, his first step towards reclaiming his life.

Chapter 12

Buffy stared down at the thick, brown liquid, watching it swirl ever so slowly in ever-decreasing circles. She frowned in dismay and shook her head. It just wasn’t right. She poked the surface of the thick liquid gently, making the ripples in its surface more pronounced, before drawing her finger back quickly and sticking the end of it in her mouth.

*Damn. Still too hot.*

She blew on the mug of chocolate and stirred it violently with her spoon, scrapping the bottom in search of marshmallows. It was no use - there simply weren’t any left.

She sighed and rested the mug on the arm of the green leather wing-backed chair she had curled up in. The chair was one of many random pieces of furniture scattered about the main lounge of the mansion, but this was her current favourite place to sit. She loved the feel of the battered, almost ancient leather - there was something cosy and comforting about it, and the chair was large enough that she could curl up in it, her legs tucked under her and be mostly hidden by the arms and the wings of the chair, giving the illusion of privacy even when there were other people in the room. Today, though, she had the large room all to herself and she’d dragged the heavy, chair with unaccustomed difficulty from the far side of the room and placed it so that she had a perfect view out of the picture window into the grounds below. The gardens were perfectly manicured, as always, and today there was nobody around. The sun shone in an almost cloudless sky and Buffy had ensconced herself there with only a large mug of hot chocolate for company, determined to lose herself in her thoughts.

Not that that ever worked.

The first stumbling block had been the lack of marshmallows. Her mother had always known just the right amount to put in, but Buffy never seemed to be able to get it right. Sometimes it was far too much and she ended up eating the contents of her mug with a spoon, today it wasn’t enough and she’d run out before she was ready.

So now she was faced with a choice. Deal with marshmallow-less chocolate or extract herself from her seat of choice and make her way back to the kitchen to get some more.

Neither option was particularly appealing.

Buffy blew on the chocolate and contemplated taking a sip before shaking her head and placing the mug on the floor at her feet. She turned to stare out of the window.

It was a little while later when she was drawn from her thoughts by a movement across the room. She frowned and kneeled up in the chair, peering over its high back and smothered a laugh as she saw Xander tiptoe across the far side of the large room, before quietly opening the door to the storage cupboard at the back of the room and silently closing the door behind him.

Curiosity having got the better of her, Buffy extricated herself from the chair and walked over to the door.

She opened the door and peered in, to find Xander standing just inside *not that he could get any further back,* Buffy thought as she eyed up the junk that filled the majority of the space in the already tiny room.

“Er, Xan? Whatcha doing?” Buffy asked inquisitively.

“Go away!” Xander whispered frantically.

“Why? And why are you hiding in a closet?”

“Because that’s what I have to do - now go away!” Xander hissed, shooing her away.

“Not ‘til you tell me what’s going on,” Buffy stalled.

“Oh, God - this is all I need! Come here!” and with that, Xander grabbed Buffy by the shoulder and pulled her into the closet, shutting the door behind them.

The room was immediately plunged into total darkness. Buffy stumbled slightly as she struggled to find a clear piece of floor on which to stand, and she could feel the closeness of her friend as they stood mere inches apart, his warm breath playing through her hair.

“Xander - what’s going on?” she asked, sounding very slightly annoyed.

”Shush - keep you’re voice down. She’ll hear us!”

“Who will?” Buffy asked, quickly losing patience, but doing as the man asked and lowering her voice to just above a whisper.

Xander took a breath to answer when the closet was bathed in the bright light of the door being flung wide open.

Buffy looked out at the room, then her gaze travelled down until she saw the small child who was standing, holding the door wide open, giggling uncontrollably.

“Found you!” Emma exclaimed. “I thought you said you’d make it hard? It’s always easy to find you Xander - you’re so noisy!”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t my fault…” Xander grumbled as he extricated himself from the cupboard, closely followed by Buffy, both brushing dust off their clothes.

“Hey, don’t get all grouchy on me, mister - you were the one who got all sneaky and hiding-in-closety on me. How was I s’posed to know that you were playing a game? Hey?”

“What? Why else would I be hiding in a dusty, cramped closet - for the fun of it? Oh come on! What other explanation could there be?”

“Er, one that didn’t demand my prior knowledge of a certain small child…” Buffy looked from Xander to the little girl meaningfully and Xander finally got the hint.

“Oh, oh, right. Sorry, God. Er, Buffy - this is Emma.” Xander gabbled pushing the little girl forward slightly. Emma scowled up at him and took a further step of her own out of the easy reach of her surrogate parent.

“Emma?” Buffy looked down at the girl. “Nice name. So, whatcha doing here then, Emma?” Buffy asked Emma in a genuinely interested tone. The little girl smiled up at her.

“Playing hide and seek of course,” she answered as though that should have been obvious.

“Well, yes,” Buffy was slightly thrown by the answer. “What I meant was, what are you doing here - in the house.”

“It’s my home. I live here,” Emma answered, a little confused.

“Oh.” Buffy looked up at Xander curiously, he just shrugged and nodded. “Well, I live here as well, so am I allowed to play hide and seek too?”

“Sure,” Emma flashed Buffy another grin, revealing a gap where her two front teeth should be.

“Oh, you lost your teeth - that means you’re going to get big teeth soon…” Buffy trailed off as she realised that she had no idea what to say to the little girl. She looked at Xander helplessly and he gallantly decided to come to the rescue.

“Em, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and get yourself a drink, okay?”

“You come with me?” Emma asked hopefully.

“I’ll be along in a bit, I need to talk to Buffy for a minute, sweetheart - there’s bound to be someone down there who can help you. I won’t be long. Go on now,” Xander said kindly but firmly.

Emma looked for a moment as if she was going to argue, but finally nodded and ran off. As she turned the corner Buffy turned to her friend enquiringly.

“Is there something that you’ve not told me? Maybe something went on that first year I went off to college that sorta slipped your mind…?” she teased.

“No, and no. She’s not mine, if that’s what you’re thinking. And I know that’s what you’re thinking… We found her - she’s a Slayer.”

“Oh. A Slayer? Didn’t think they came that tiny.”

“You’re hardly the biggest thing in the world, now are you? And she is only five…” Xander laughed.

“Yeah, but, guess I never really thought about it. All the Slayers here are so much older,” Buffy shrugged as she moved back to one of the sofas and sat down, curling her legs up underneath her.

“But that’s ‘cause of Giles’ rule about not taking girls away from their parents when they’re little. Has nothing to do with calling or anything,” Xander explained as he joined her on the sofa, laying and arm along its back.

“Xander, I do know about the effects of the spell. I know that Slayers come in all shapes, sizes and ages now. But there’s a difference between knowing something and seeing it, isn’t there?” She paused. “Yeah, and about Giles’ rule - so why’s, er, Emma - that’s right isn’t it?” Xander nodded his confirmation and Buffy smiled. “Nice name. Anyway, so why’s Emma here then?”

“No father, mother’s dead - killed by vampires just before we found her.”

“Oh, that’s terrible - the poor thing.”

“Yeah. She seems like a happy enough child most of the time, but I get the feeling that there’s a lot she won’t say.”

“What do you mean?” Buffy asked, wanting to understand the situation that had obviously left Xander worried and made him unusually serious.

“Well, she won’t talk about her mother - I don’t think she ever knew her father. And there’s this other thing. She won’t touch anyone except me, and she gets all edgy if anyone tries to touch her. It’s just weird, but again, she won’t talk about it.”

“Xan, she is only five - hardly the most articulate of ages,” Buffy tried.

”Oh, look at you - all grown up and using big words.” Buffy smiled as she saw the first genuine light in Xander’s eyes since he started to talk about his concerns in regard to his tiny charge.

“I know - what can I say? Well, for a start - Oi! Leave me alone! You can hardly talk - you’re not exactly know for the whole big-wordiness yourself Mister!” she punched him playfully in the arm, making sure to hold right back so as not to hurt him.

Xander rubbed his arm. “No fair, using the Slayer strength thing on me. I was only teasing…” he grumbled.

“But, I…” Buffy trailed off as she realised that admitting that she’d hardly touched him wouldn’t do much for her friend’s male pride. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay - you think I’d be used to it by now…” Xander chuckled, still rubbing his arm lightly. “Well, I guess I should go find Em - you coming?”

“Might catch up with you later, okay?”

“Sure - see you around.”

As Xander left the room, Buffy returned to her former spot curled up in the leather chair and picked up the mostly untouched mug of chocolate. She stared out of the window and smiled as two figures ran across the lawn, one obviously chasing the other.

The sound of a little girl’s laughter rang out, clearly audible through the panes of glass, as she was tackled to the ground by the man chasing her. Buffy lifted the mug to her lips as she watched the ensuing tickling competition - her friend might have had to mature quickly since he assumed the care of the young girl, but it was obvious that he hadn’t completely grown up.

*Xander as a parent - didn’t see that one coming,* she thought as she took a sip of chocolate. “Ugh - cold!” Buffy exclaimed, looking down into the mug, as if this would explain exactly why her previously boiling chocolate was now stony cold. *How long have I actually been sitting here?* she wondered as she turned again to stare out of the window - the lawn empty again, the two figures having moved on.

Chapter 13

“I was just trying to say…” Dawn said heatedly, frustration creeping into her tone as she slumped back into her chair in front of Giles’ desk.

Giles looked at her calmly, refusing to rise to the bait as he forced himself to relax his death grip on the arms of his leather-upholstered chair. The girl in front of him knew perfectly how to antagonise him and it took all the self-control he’d learnt over the years not to explode and say something that he’d regret.

“I know, Dawn. I’ve heard what you’ve got to say, but being able to read a few ancient languages and wield a sword when it’s absolutely necessary does not make you a Watcher. There’s much more to it than that.”

“But…” Dawn interrupted him again.

”There are no ‘but’s about this, Dawn. You’re barely eighteen, I realise that you’ve had a somewhat ‘unconventional’ upbringing that gives you certain insights into your chosen profession, but that does not give you the right to bypass the many years of study and training necessary to be entitled to call yourself a Watcher.” Giles said sternly, looking at her over his glasses.

“Oh, now you sound all old and pompous like those Council guys,” Dawn moaned and rolled her eyes.

“I’m being serious, Dawn. You’re doing well in your studies, much better than anyone would ever have thought - and, before you say anything, that was meant as a compliment so don’t even think about taking it any other way. But you’re not ready for the responsibilities of being a Watcher and I won’t give them to you until I think you are.”

“But, Giles. The Council is gone and you’ve had absolutely no luck rounding up what few operatives there were spread around the world when the rest of the Council was destroyed. There is nobody left. You are it. And I’ve seen you work - you can’t keep this up for long. You know that I want to help - let me help you.” Dawn sounded honest in her wish, but Giles frowned.

“It’s a lot of responsibility. You’re still a teenager, Dawn; you shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of thing yet. You should be thinking about going off to college, not staying here and working out how to keep all this afloat and worrying about what’s going to try to kill us all next.”

“Which are things that I’ll worry about anyway, whether I’m at college or not. And I know that you want me to go to college - guess what? So do I! But I can go local and help out here. You need help and I…” Dawn’s voice got steadily louder as she got herself more and more worked up trying to get through to the older man.

“Dawn! Will you just stop this! The answer is no and nothing you can say will change my mind! I mean…” Dawn visibly flinched and shrank back into the depths of her chair as Giles rose to his feet and towered over her, his calm façade disappearing completely as he continued his tirade.

Neither of them noticed the door softly being closed as the figure at the door decided that now was not a good time to interrupt the pair. Buffy shook her head and hoped that the two in the room would manage to work things out.

*She’s right,* Buffy thought to herself as she wandered down the corridor in search of some distraction to alleviate her terminal boredom. *He does need help, but I guess he’s right as well. Dawn’s far too young to be taking on responsibilities like running this place.* Buffy laughed quietly to herself as she realised that she would have given anything to have nothing more taxing on her mind when she was Dawn’s age than wondering which college to go to and there was her sister trying to assume responsibilities of the kind that Buffy would have willingly given up. She shook her head and turned a corner - one of many in the seemingly labyrinthine building the now lived in.

Buffy was bored. She’d been bored for most of the day, wandering from place to place. She’d sat in on a class Willow was taking with some of the new Slayers who had shown an aptitude for magic. But the subject of the day was meditation and Buffy was feeling more active-y and less meditate-y - Willow had eventually kicked her friend out with a frown when her idea of meditating whilst standing on her head had proved too much of a distraction and half of the class had ended up with a fit of the giggles.

Deciding that she needed to work off some of her excess energy, Buffy had moved to the gym where Kennedy was taking one of her endless training sessions, but that hadn’t worked out either. Kennedy had made no effort to hide the fact that she didn’t want Buffy there and in the end Buffy had given up and sullenly left the room.

So, here she was, meandering the wood-panelled hallways of the seemingly endless and mostly empty mansion that she was now meant to call ‘home’ looking for company and an end to the boredom and incessant tedium of being here.

She wandered into the lounge and moved to throw herself down in her favourite chair, only to find that it wasn’t in the position she’d left it by the window. She whipped her head round, eyes scanning the room as she tried to locate it. She sighed, almost in relief as she spied it drawn up close to the TV on the other side of the room. She walked over, wondering who could have moved it to such a position when it was heavy enough that even she had difficulty moving it. She chided herself on such a thought as the rational part of her brain kicked in and she realised that she know lived in a house full of girls who were just as strong as she was.

It was only as she drew closer that she realised that the TV was on, if very quietly. The chair was pulled up so close to the screen that Buffy couldn’t see what was showing, just the flickering of the glow emanating from the screen. She frowned and moved closer, wondering who was straining their eyes sitting so close to the screen.

Reaching the chair, she peered round the edge and laugh as she found Emma sat curled up in the large chair, legs tucked underneath her, elbows on knees, her face propped up in her hands as she was totally engrossed in what Buffy realised was Mulan, one of the many Disney DVDs that made their home in the communal room.

Hearing the laugh, Emma looked up and smiled a wide, toothy grin at the blonde.

“’Lo Buffy,” she said. “I’m watching Mulan - you wanna watch too?” she asked eagerly. Buffy considered this. Last time she’d been around the little girl she’d found it more than awkward, but she figured that she owed it to Xander and to the harmony in the house to try to get to know the little girl.

“Well, it is one of my favourite movies…” Buffy grinned. “But, we have to move this chair back a bit - there’s no way that I’m sitting that close to the TV,” she added firmly. Emma wrinkled up her nose in defiance, but Buffy had borrowed Willow’s resolve face and the little girl sighed and climbed down from the over-sized chair.

“Did you move this all the way from the other side of the room on your own?” Buffy asked as the thought suddenly hit her.

“Yep, Xander said that he was busy and I should go watch a movie and it’s my favourite chair and there was no-one else and I wanted to sit in it to watch the movie so I dragged it from the window to here and it was dead heavy but I dragged it and I put it here and I don’t know what it was doing by the window anyway ‘cos it’s my chair and I put it here and I want it to be here so I moved it back but if you want it to be a bit further back I’ll move it ‘cos you want me to.” The little girl finally stopped her seemingly endless chatter and Buffy just stared at her, wondering how such a small child could have enough breath to talk that much without stopping. Emma looked up at the blonde and smiled sweetly. “But will you help me?”

Buffy laughed and shook her head. “Of course I will.”

*~*~

Spike took a few deep, calming breaths as he stood in the car park, looking up at the towering edifice before him, sun glinting off what appeared to be an endless length of glazing. He swallowed and took yet another deep breath, feeling the warm air rush into his lungs providing him with life-giving oxygen, a fact that he still occasionally found bizarre.

It took all his strength of will to ignore the sun beating down on his body, but he had been steadily ignoring it for most of the day now and he was starting to find that being outside was no longer as hard and terrifying as the idea of it had been earlier on that day.

So, here he was, standing in a car park on a sunny Californian afternoon, cash in his pockets, facing his next challenge, one that previously hadn’t seemed such a big issue but, now that he was actually facing it, nothing could seem more daunting.

Spike chewed nervously on his lip as his eyes scanned the structure before him and took in the sporadic people entering and leaving through the automatic doors at the base. He wasn’t sure which was the more daunting - the sheer size of the building or the masses of people that he was inevitably going to have to face once he got the courage to enter the place.

A young girl passed him, clinging fast to her mother’s hand. He looked down at her and she frowned back at him, obviously not understanding why he was simply standing there, not moving, hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket, trying to calm himself and remove what he was sure was the look of sheer terror currently plastered across his face.

He laughed silently to himself. Of course she didn’t understand. It was, he admitted to himself as he forced a wry grin, a completely ridiculous situation.

*I mean, I know most blokes don’t like shopping, but who’s ever heard of someone actually being afraid of the mall?*

As the thought ran through his head, Spike laughed out loud, scaring the old lady who was just passing him on her way back to the car, which earned him a scowl and the muttering of something he couldn’t quite catch as she scuttled on her way. He shrugged and started towards the entrance shaking his head and hoping for the best.

A/N - I found out the other day that this fic has been nominated for an award! It’s up for Most Unique Storyline in the Eternal Devotion Awards.
Thanks to whoever nominated me….
I’m meant to put up a link to the site, but my skills really don’t go that far, so I s’pose the next best thing is to put up the address.
It’s at http://shippy.karma-hotel.net/awards/nominees.html, so go and check it out.
Am going off now to return to being thrilled at being nominated!!!

Chapter 14

“Shh, you’ll wake her,” Buffy whispered as Xander opened his mouth to speak.

Xander looked down at the pair and the words which he had been forming died on his lips, the tableau before him rendering him speechless.

Buffy was sat in the green, leather chair, currently looking up at her friend whilst the credits rolled on some movie on the TV not far away. But that what wasn’t what surprised the man, it was the fact that Buffy had a small figure with curly dark hair currently curled up in her lap, sound asleep.

He looked at Buffy and sank down into a nearby chair. She shrugged and gestured to the sleeping child. “I know,” she whispered as she read the expression on his face.

“But…” Xander floundered for words, his voice little more than a whisper in his efforts not to wake Emma. “What happened? The other day she was nothing but shyness, and she’s never even wanted to touch anyone else other than me, never mind willingly curl up on their lap and fall asleep!” he hissed quietly.

“I know…” Buffy replied helplessly. “I guess it must all come down to the female bonding power of a Disney movie,” she quipped, trying to remain light-hearted, but turned serious when she caught the look on her friend’s face. “Okay, I don’t actually know what happened. She was really friendly when I came in, wanted someone to sit and watch the film with her - I think she was a bit lonely. Anyway, we kinda got talking, she was quiet at first and I didn’t try to push her, but… well, to cut a long story short,” Buffy sighed. “It was her mother. From what I could gather - and Em wasn’t exactly clear on this and she got kinda upset - but from what I could understand, when Emma got her Slayer powers, it really scared her mom. Her mom told her that because she was so strong, she could touch anything or anyone ‘cause she’d hurt them. It’s really sad - Emma said that she didn’t want to do anything that her mommy told her was wrong, but at first she didn’t always remember not to touch. Xan…” Buffy sniffed back a tear and looked down at the sleeping form. “Xan, her mother beat her every time she forgot and she never once fought back. How can anyone be that cruel? How can anyone beat a five-year-old child? I just don’t get it.”

Xander didn’t reply, but Buffy could feel the anger radiating off him in waves and she knew his silence was merely his way getting his emotions under control.

Buffy laughed harshly. “You know, when I first found out what had happened to her mom, I felt sorry for her. Knowing what I know now? Maybe it was for the best.” She looked across at the man and their eyes met. Xander nodded, silent agreement passing between the two.

“So, what about this?” he asked eventually, indicating the cosy pair.

“Well, I explained a bit about Slayers - just what I thought she would be able to understand. That I was strong as well, and that she didn’t have to be worried about hurting me. And that being strong didn’t mean that she couldn’t touch people, or couldn’t have friends. I think she got the idea - well, I guess she must have,” Buffy laughed as the little girl changed her position slightly, but still showed no sign of waking. Buffy sighed softly to herself before raising her eyes to meet those of her friend. “And to think, all this time, I’ve been worried that I’d be a bad parent. I think I’ve just realised what a bad parent is. At least I know that I could never be like that.” She stroked the little girl’s hair lovingly. “I think I know what you mean now - she does get under you skin, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she kinda does.” Xander agreed quietly.

*~*~

“And what can we do for you today?” the reflection in the mirror asked him, expertly throwing a large towel round his shoulders.

“Er, well…” Spike floundered as he faced the question for the first time and reality hit home. What did he want? He honestly had no idea. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror and took in what looked back at him. The peroxide blonde that he’d worn with pride for so many years was now nothing more than an inch or so at the end of ‘roots’ of slightly curly dark blonde hair that was now nearly shoulder length after months of total neglect.

But, he realised, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he had absolutely no idea what his previous hairstyle had looked like.

“Sir?” the stylist prompted him.

“What? Oh, sorry. I’m sorry - what were you saying?” he babbled slightly.

The stylist sighed as he realised that he had another one of those customers. “I was asking you what style you wanted?”

“Don’t really know. Shorter, er, blonder - blonde as this,” he indicated the end of his hair and the stylist lifted an eyebrow.

“Platinum?” he asked, slightly surprised. “If you wanted a change of colour, I’m sure we could find one which would suit your, well, pale complexion a little better…”

“No. I want this colour. And short, little bit longer on top, short at the sides.”

“Well,” the stylist said, not sounding convinced. “If you’re sure that’s what you want…”

“Yes, I’m sure. Just bloody do it!” Spike swore at the man standing behind him.

*~*~

A couple of hours later, Spike walked out of the shop, sporting a reasonable approximation of the style he’d been after, along with a slightly disgruntled sneer at the price he’d been required to pay and the ridiculous blue concoction he’d been humiliatingly compelled to submit to being applied to his hair in order to get it to the shade he’d wanted. Though he had to admit that it didn’t sting as much as the substances he’d used previously.

*Not that it’s bloody worth it for that bleeding price,* he thought to himself as he stalked through the mall, people stepping quickly out of his path as he showed no sign of even seeing them, let alone any inclination to let them by.

Spike caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window and it brought him up short. From the shoulders up he looked how he imagined he should look - how he imagined that he’d looked before. But from the neck down was another story altogether.

The clothes he was wearing were, in reality, little more than rags. His jeans, which had originally been a dark blue colour were now pale and faded and the holes in each knee gave him the air of a late 90’s fashion reject, and the rest of his attire was little better.

He shook his head and sighed *Nothing for it - I’m gonna have to get myself some new clothes…*

*~*~

Having run the gauntlet of perfume counters and overly made-up women, Spike managed to successfully arrive at the menswear department in what had seemed to be the largest department store in the mall and the place Spike figured he’d have the best chance of finding something he’d like.

But as the elevator doors silently slid shut behind him he suddenly wasn’t so sure.

He gazed out over a sea of rails, each laden with garments, interspersed with the occasional immaculately dressed mannequin or an oversized poster of some much-coiffed man with a smile straight from the orthodontist’s surgery.

Spike swallowed nervously, the bravado acquired when he stepped out of the hairdressers’ vanishing completely as he faced his next hurdle - this seemingly even more insurmountable than the last.

*~*~

“Can I help you?” an excessively cheerful voice asked politely.

Spike felt as if he had been wandering aimlessly for hours and he had yet to find a single thing which he really wanted to buy. He took a breath and turned around to find himself face to face with a young girl who was smiling vibrantly at him.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?” she repeated gaily. Spike simply stared at her, not comprehending how someone could be so resolutely cheerful in this over-bright, fake, forced environment. Then he remembered his appearance and recalled why exactly he came to be standing in this over-bright, fake, forced environment - he desperately needed some new clothes. He forced himself to return the girl’s smile.

“Yeah, luv. You probably could help me - I’m after some new clothes.” He looked round the store a little helplessly before returning his gaze to the girl in front of him, focusing on the little badge pinned to her shirt which read “Stacey” in bold blue lettering.

“Oh, of course!” Stacey said, brightly, smile faltering slightly as she looked him up and down, but it was quickly recovered and she beamed dazzlingly once again. Spike caught the slight failure of the beam and it suddenly hit him that she hadn’t expected him to say that.

*Great! She pr’bly only came over cos she thought that I’d nick summat if she didn’t let me know that she’d seen me. Bloody shop assistants, all smiles and cherry pie. Yeah, right!* he thought to himself as he watched her smiling somewhat inanely at him as she waited for him to say something. *Well, let ‘er sweat,* he thought maliciously as he returned her smile with a sardonic grin.

“Right, new clothes!” Stacey said, determinedly maintaining her bright and breezy smile in the face of this somewhat disconcerting man’s presence. “Well, you’ve come to the right place! We have the finest section of all the latest fashions here. Exactly what was it that you were looking for, Sir?”

The scathing grin faded abruptly from Spike’s visage as her question sunk in and his former panic rose once more. What was it that he was looking for? He looked frantically around the store yet again and unconsciously began to chew on his bottom lip. Eventually, he turned back to the girl, a look of confusion and helplessness marring his features and shrugged. “You know what? I have no idea.”

His admission threw her to some extent. Only moments before the man before her was confident and cock-sure, but he had visibly crumbled in front of her eyes and now could only be described as scared and lost looking. She managed to hold back a little laugh as her heart melted towards him and her fake and forced smile was replaced by a truly genuine one.

“Would you like some help?” she asked him kindly and was rewarded by the look of pure relief that appeared on the face of the man in front of her. Encouraged, she continued. “We have a personal shopper service on the 2nd floor which you might find useful. They’re very good there and they’ll be able to sort you out.” She said firmly.

*~*~

Spike hovered uncertainly by the entrance to the room, trying to get up the nerve to strut confidently in and throw himself down on one of the chairs, but not quite secure enough in the environment to do so. A tall, willowy blonde woman who had been pouring herself a coffee from the machine in the corner looked over to him and smiled.

“Why, hello there!” she called in a friendly tone as she started toward him. “You must be Spike. Stacey rang up from menswear to say that you were heading our way. I’m Sarah and I guess it’s my luck to help you pick something out,” she laughed as she eyed the man standing in front of her, unsure of what to think.

She wasn’t convinced that she liked what she saw; he seemed to be a mass of contradictions. He wasn’t a particularly tall man and with her own stature and the heels she wore, she could easily look him directly in the eyes - but what eyes they were! She almost gasped, as he looked at her, their intensity startling her, at odds as it was with the uncertainty he was currently projecting. Her eyes moved down slightly, tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones down to his full mouth that practically screamed sensuality.

Spike watched her assessment of him and felt his confidence return slightly as her pupils dilated and he noted her breathing quicken. Shopping he may know next to nothing about, but women - that was a different matter.

“So, you’re gonna help me then, are you? Well, were do we start?” he drawled, eyeing her up and down in a parody of her action moments before.

“Oh, right, well…” she stuttered, pulled out of her appreciation by his sudden question. “Well, firstly we need to establish what exactly it is that you’re looking for - are you after an outfit for a special occasion or general everyday wear?” she asked as she lead him over to a nearby couch and indicated that he should sit.

“Actually, pet, I’m after everything - a whole new wardrobe I guess you’d say,” he said sitting down and looking up at her through long dark lashes, making sure that he turned him mouth upwards into a very slight pout.

It had the desired effect and Sarah sat quickly next to him, slightly wide eyed. “Oh, right - what, everything?” she asked slightly breathlessly.

“Oh yeah - everything,” he replied, managing to make the three words sound totally and obscenely suggestive. He laughed to himself at the girl’s reaction, thoroughly enjoying the ease with which he could manipulate her.

“Well, in that case, I guess we’d better get started then,” she said, batting her eyelids flirtatiously at him. “Do you know what size you take?” she asked, whilst taking the opportunity to sweep her gaze down his body once more.

“Can’t say I know, luv. What do you think?” he asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Ooh, I think I have an idea…” she flirted back at him, before standing and moving off.

“Er, where are you going?” Spike asked, thrown somewhat by her sudden change of tack.

“To get you some clothes, of course,” she replied, slightly condescendingly, as she left the room.

Spike studied his surroundings, now that he was alone. The room was quite large and decorated in that tasteful but bland style that large corporations seemed to favour, shelves dotted around the walls holding various objects which Spike assumed were probably on sale elsewhere round the store. There were several couches that matched the one upon which he sat scattered throughout the room and he shifted unconsciously in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable in the alien setting. The mirror then caught his eye and he gaped slightly. It rose from the floor all the way to the ceiling and must have been at least four ft wide - dominating the far wall of the room and drawing the eye towards it. Several smaller, full-length mirrors on wheeled stand stood at either side and a curtain hung against the far wall, concealing what Spike could only assume must be a changing area.

He shifted his position again, apprehensively, wondering when Sarah was going to return and what she would have picked out for him.

It would be an understatement, Spike considered, to say that he felt a little out of his depth here. He’d never really been one for following fashion - in the past relying mostly on various pair of generic black jeans and whatever t-shirts or shirts he could acquire from various sources and not really worrying about it. He’d never really given much thought to fashion and what he was wearing.

Which begged the question of what he was doing here. He started to consider what exactly had motivated him to think any more deeply about his appearance than before, when his train of thought was interrupted by the return of his assistant, laded down with her arms full of various unidentifiable items of clothing. There was only one thing clear from the heap - the presiding colour was, in no way, black. Spike groaned to himself.

He watched as she carefully hung each garment on the rail next to the curtain and turned to face him. “Well, come on,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t you want to see what I’ve picked out for you? I just know that these are going to look fabulous on you - you have just the right proportions that I bet that most things would suit you and there are some items that I’ve just been dying to try out on guys, but most of them couldn’t carry them off. But I bet you could!” she gushed as Spike groaned inwardly at her enthusiasm and he stood, somewhat reluctantly, and wondered why he hadn’t made a run for it when he’d had the chance.

“Right! Let’s start with pants - those jeans are not the thing to be wearing you know…”

“Yes, I realise that…” Spike said, controlling his rising frustration as he wondered whether flirting with this girl was a good idea - all it seemed to have achieved was to make her very, very enthusiastic.

“So, go on, get them off - try these. Ooh, and this shirt. Well, go on then. Can’t wait to see what you look like!” she exclaimed as she thrust a pile of clothing into his unresisting arms and pushed him towards the changing area, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

Spike placed the pile down on the chair provided and slowly and somewhat reluctantly pulled off his clothing, letting it drop into a rumpled pile on the floor of the surprisingly large alcove that had been hidden behind the curtain. He picked up the shirt and quickly dropped it again a he got his first good look at it.

“Oh, you have got to be joking! There’s no bleeding way I’m wearing that! I’ll look like a right bloody ponce!” he exclaimed, poking his head out of the cubicle and using the curtain to cover up the rest of his mostly naked body, only to be confronted with a now pouting Sarah.

“Oh, don’t be like that, I just know that you’ll look fabulous! Don’t you trust me?” she asked, batting her eyelashes once more.

Spike sighed and looked doubtfully at her before giving in to her expectant and slightly doleful gaze and cursing himself for a fool for doing so. He retreated back into the cubicle and cringed as he held up the shirt, but proceeded to put it on.

“Now, don’t you bloody dare laugh at me!” he warned minutes later as he walked out of the cubicle.

Sarah jumped up from her seat, grinning, and, grabbing him by the arm, practically dragged him over to the mirror. “See! I told you you’d look fabulous in this! Isn’t it great! It’s just the latest fashion - we only got them in the other day!!” she gushed as Spike looked in pure horror at his reflection.

The pants he could live with - a charcoal grey, they were fairly non-descript and fit like they were made for him. It was the shirt that he loathed and he wished a thousand fiery deaths upon its creator.

It was a white, button down shirt with pale blue and pale pink vertical stripes running through it. And if that weren’t bad enough, he considered, running from the left breast pocket area diagonally down to the centre of his chest was a massive pink rose cluster.

He looked at his image in disgust for a moment longer before deciding that he’d just had enough and stripping the shirt off and throwing it into the arms of the girl next to him, who obviously didn’t know whether she should be more shocked at the treatment of what she obviously considered to be the height of fashion, or the expanse of perfectly sculpted chest now exposed to her ever so willing gaze. Then she made up her mind.

“But, but - it’s pure cotton. And hand painted!” she spluttered, smoothing out the creases caused when he threw it at her.

“I don’t bloody care if it was painted by bleeding Leonardo da Vinci! I’m not wearing that thing!” he declared.

*~*~
Spike walked slowly out of the mall, an aura of defeat hanging round his form, which was now heavily laden down with bags of all shapes and sizes.

“I will never understand women!” he muttered vehemently to himself as he made his way across the car park.

It had taken him a while to realise that the woman was flirting with him for one reason and one reason only - she got paid on commission and she had seen him as her paycheque. Unfortunately, this realisation had come after he’d spent a fortune with her - hence the many bags he was now lumbered with.

“Bloody fool,” he berated himself before shrugging as he realised that, amongst all the dross she’d managed to talk him into purchasing, there were actually quite a few items that he really liked.

Something out of the corner of his eye pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked over to the shop on the side of the road. He’d never noticed it before, but now it seemed to call to him and he made his way over.

As he stood outside the shop he realised what it was that had caught his attention - it was the coat which formed part of the window display. The long, black leather duster was an almost perfect match to the one he was wearing… the one he had owned before.

He stood there and stared at it for what felt like an eternity, wondering whether he should complete the transformation back into his previous incarnation, before shaking his head and walking off, deciding that there were just some things that should be left buried.

The duster was just too close to the demon he had been.

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