Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn (hlynn28@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13
Website: http://members.aol.com/hlynn28/creative
Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Takes place after Wrecked, but turns into an AU future Season 6 fic from there.

Author notes: This was originally posted as a WIP (work in progress) at fanfiction.net, but this is the final and complete version. The title and lyrics come from the Duran Duran song "Ordinary World", as a way to set the tone of the story. And most importantly, thanks for taking the time to read the story--hope you like it as much as I had fun writing it. :)

Disclaimer: Yeah, I hear there's something called a "copyright", along with the notion that Buffy and Spike aren't real and are actually owned by someone. What's that all about?




 

"But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive"



Spike listened to the sounds of Buffy training from the Magic Box alleyway, the muffled thuds of her fists hitting the sandbag, the mild grunts and cries she gave while holding back her true wrath on the poor, innocent sack of sand and leather. Not even it could withstand the force of her true blows...unlike him.

After the sex--the amazing, great, wonderful sex, Spike mentally added--he and Buffy had shared, she'd gone into some sort of retreat. He was fine with it for several days, waiting for her to finally come to him and admit to her feelings. What he hadn't counted on was that when she turned to him at last, nothing much had changed. She was still wanting him only in the physical sense, and he found his own resistance had atrophied in the span of days, as well.

The second time, or rather, the second set of times had been just as marvelous. Even better, since it was at his crypt and not an abandoned warehouse. But once again, the morning after left her ashamed, and him angry for letting himself be used again in a moment of weakness.

He knew better, he really did. They couldn't go on this way, pushing each other away only to come back together, no better or worse than before. Maybe he was doomed to love a woman that didn't love him back...maybe it was his own personal gypsy curse, he thought sourly.

Lost in his own thoughts, he tamped out the cigarette and sighed in resignation, completely unaware that the sounds of Buffy's fists hitting leather had long since died away.

"What are you doing here?"

Spike jumped at her voice, clear and strong in the quiet of the alley. She might have been angry, but it barely showed; fatigue and tiredness had won for this night.

"I'm just having a smoke. Which I've finished, and so now I'll be moving along." He started to leave, but hesitated at the lack of bitchiness and venom being thrown his way. Fear trickled in, and he wondered if she'd been finally pushed too far, to the point of apathy.

"Anything wrong? You look and sound mighty tired," he offered casually, as if it wouldn't hurt him if the answer was a flat 'no'.

Buffy sighed deeply, resigned, then replied, "I miss the simpler times. When it was 'you, enemy, me Slayer', and I knew what to think of you. You were annoying Spike, nasty Spike, vulgar Spike...and then, you were ally Spike. Comforting Spike. I had you all figured out, and in my nice little mental filing system you were under 'Vampire Who Helps Out A Lot'." She smiled briefly at that, and he wished it could have stayed for awhile longer.

"Then you fell in love with me, and it threw everything out of whack. I didn't know what to do, or if I could trust you...I wasn't sure of anything, anymore. But you were right, earlier. Things did change after that. And when I came back, you were there, protecting Dawn like I asked and helping my friends with slaying. I felt like...here's the Spike I know. This is the guy I can deal with. And I went back to the old pattern of relying on you. This time, however, it was more complicated--I just wanted to believe that it wasn't. That things could go back to the simpler times.

"But they can't, of course. Especially not now," Buffy said, the look on her face unreadable. "We've had sex, multiple times. But in the end, that's all it was."

He narrowed his eyes, "Not for me it wasn't, love. And as much as I think you'd like to believe it, it wasn't for you, either."

She blinked first, her arms crossing in a defensive posture he knew all too well. "You wish."

"Oh come on, Buffy. Don't tell me that wasn't the best you've ever had--"

The back door swung open, revealing Xander standing in the opening, stunned at finding the two of them outside. With a bit of confusion and a hint of anger, he asked, "Don't tell him what was the best you've ever had, Buffy?"

A deer in headlights would've looked less shocked. "Uh...Tandoori Chicken. We, um, were arguing about take-out from a few days ago."

At her quick yet withering glance, Spike decided discretion was the better tactic, after all. "Uh, yeah. That's it. She won't admit it how good it was."

Xander looked at her as if she was a fool for arguing about something so tiny, and Buffy found herself replying, "Okay, fine. It was good. It was great, it was amazing...Tandoori Chicken. But a gal can't live on a diet solely comprised of Tandoori Chicken, because...because it's just not healthy!"

"I'm not asking you to live off of it forever, pet. I like variety, same as you. There's other things besides...Tandoori Chicken, you know," he answered back, just barely able to keep from rolling his eyes at the spectacle they were making.

"Your selection of restaurants leave something to be desired, Spike."

"O-kay!" Xander interjected. "You know, as fascinating as this is, I just came out here to let Buffy know that Dawn called to ask if she can go study at Melissa's house."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But no later than 9:30, since it's a school night."

"Thank you," Xander replied a sigh of gratitude, and headed back into the magic shop, leaving the two alone.

"That was a disaster narrowly averted," Buffy sighed, sagging against the alley wall.

"Yeah, heaven forefend that your mates find out about us," Spike muttered, not able to look at her. "Your stellar reputation would be ruined, wouldn't it?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes, definitely not pleased. "What are you implying?"

"Well, you aren't Miss Prim 'n Proper, no matter how you like to think you are. There's no shame in it, love. Hell, Harris and his ex-demon are shacked up together, Will's on the other side of the tracks now that the werewolf left, and you're all upset about feeling something for a vampire? Compared to this bloody town, I'm downright normal!"

"I'm not grading on a curve, here," Buffy replied, wondering why that sounded so familiar.

"You seem to forget that the only thing keeping you from being pegged the freak is by living in Sunnyhell," he answered bitterly. "If you settled in Nebraska somewhere, you'd be the one on the outside, Slayer."

"I already am," she said distantly.

Whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips. Spike looked into her eyes, finding the hurt and pain there, and felt his own pain at seeing her so distraught. "I know what it's like, to be on the outside looking in. It's never fun."

"Not by half," she mused. Were they bonding, now? It was hard to tell, with the way their relationship resembled the weather in London. Wait five minutes, and it changes.

Spike seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts, then ventured, "If you're done with punching something that doesn't punch back, maybe we could get in some real fighting?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked, trying to decipher the double meaning inherent in nearly everything he said. "I hope you mean patrolling."

"Well, yeah--what else would I...oh," he stopped, thinking back on what he said. "So, what do you say? Nice night for a good round of slaying."

Buffy sighed, wondering at how twisted her life had become when patrolling for demons and vampires in a cemetery, with a vampire lover for company, began to sound good to her. "Sure. Let's go."


 

This particular night ended up being rather quiet--No big surprises, no alarming trends. The new villain in town was only a Draaku demon, which had a penchant for talking a bigger game than it could deliver. Most of his subordinates fled at the sight of the Slayer and a leather-clad vampire busting in on their meeting, disappearing into the tunnels beneath the crypt they'd used for a headquarters. Those who didn't ended up lying in a pool of their own blood, and the Draaku found that Spike wasn't any less of an opponent than the Slayer, much to his mortal chagrin.

After dumping the demon bodies in a far corner of the cemetery, Buffy decided to head back home before she started thinking that a stop-over at Spike's crypt wouldn't be so bad, if he suggested it. Or maybe even if he didn't. It wasn't like there was anything else for her to do tonight, and she felt a powerful urge to act on her idle thoughts. She just as quickly squashed them as she recognized that dangerous yet exquisite path, and headed to the entrance of the cemetery in all haste.

Spike noticed her retreating form as he contemplated taking a wicked looking scimitar, then discarded it as too flashy for his tastes. He wiped the last of the demon blood from his coat and hands before following, only slightly annoyed at the fact that Buffy hadn't bothered to wait for him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, seething, then called out after her. "Buffy! Wait--"

His sentence was cut off by the well-placed kick to his lower back. He fell and rolled into a better position for defense, shunting the pain into a corner of his mind. His eyes widened when he counted his foes. Not one, but five vampires came out of the shadows around the crypt, carrying pipes and various weapons, and he could sense three more coming from behind.

Damn it. If there were eight on him, how many on the Slayer...? He spared himself a second to glance her way, but couldn't see her. Maybe they didn't know she was here. He swallowed his impulse to yell out, tell her to run for it, in case he was right.

"Well, isn't this cozy? I almost feel important," he tried, and received a lead pipe to the stomach for his trouble.

"Grab him," one of them ordered, carrying a sword in his right hand and a small dirk in his left, looking very much the picture of the newest Big Bad in town. Spike noted he wasn't any larger than the others, but he had the charisma of a vampire who'd been around for more than a couple decades.

The fight was messy and ended quicker than Spike had hoped. He fought valiantly but futilely against his attackers, until the numbers overwhelmed him and his arms were pulled behind his back, held in the powerful grip of more than a couple vampires.

The numerous arms holding him pushed forward, until he was forced to kneel on the ground in submission. His thoughts scattered--this wasn't a snatch-and-grab, so it only left one possible outcome. And if Buffy was gone, there was no one coming to his rescue. No one.

Spike's gaze was fixed on the long blade. So, it was going to be a beheading, was it? He almost chuckled nervously at his dilemma. He'd never thought he would go this way...there wasn't any blaze of glory, no fist and fangs in a dark alley. Just a vampire mob who'd gotten fed up and decided to gang up on him. It didn't seem fair.

"What's with all the posing, Ash? Let's kill him already!" A minion on Spike's right asked, and he smiled when the leader gave the loud-mouth a cruel look. If Spike's nom de guerre was considered unorthodox by vampire standards, this bloke's name was downright scandalous.

Ash sheathed the sword in a scabbard slung over his shoulder and took out a small glass vial from his jacket, filled with a green liquid that gave off a faint glow in the darkness. Spike frowned in confusion as he noticed the heavy work gloves the other vampire was wearing, then balked as the vamp leader poured the glowing liquid onto the blade of the dirk, making sure it was coated thoroughly.

Now completely baffled, Spike gave another try at pulling free, but was still stuck tight in the grip of his vampire attackers.

"Do you know what this is?" The leader taunted him, holding up the near-empty vial in one hand. Spike shook his head, hoping to draw this out farther. Maybe Buffy noticed he wasn't following, and doubled back...

The vampire named Ash looked as if he was about to explain, then shrugged and tossed the vial at one of the minions. The vampire dodged it in a panic, as if it were holy water or flaming pitch.

What would make a vampire flinch like that? As the leader tightened his grip on the dirk, Spike realized with a sickening horror that he was about to find out. The tip of the dirk pierced his skin just below his neck, and the vampire trailed it across, cutting a shallow line into his flesh. The green liquid oozed into the cut, causing him to feel odd, disconnected. A light flared, then a throbbing pain began to blossom, creeping out to every nerve ending. He gritted his teeth as the pain increased, hoping this wasn't the way they planned to kill him.

Ash laughed at his reaction. "You're feeling it already, aren't you? Well, don't worry--the experience isn't going to last long."

The vampire pulled the sword back and hefted it, as if in preparation for a swift, plunging movement, then illumination crossed his ugly visage. "Hold on, boys. I just had a better idea. Why let all that blood go to waste?"

Spike blinked in confusion, until he felt a warmth suffuse through his entire body...and then a bizarre pulsing started from within his chest. His eyes widened, as he realized too late what the vampire leader meant.

"No..." he whispered, despair trickling in and taking hold. "Buffy!"

The leader's hand wrapped around his neck tightly, the sword and dirk forgotten in the thrill of Spike's fear. "Now, we'll be having none of that," Ash growled triumphantly, narrowing his eyes at a leftover streak of blood, a reminder of the partly-healed gash. "Human."

Spike gurgled for air, trying to break free, but it was useless. The vampire leader's fangs sank into his neck, and he tried to scream, as fire and ice burned through his veins and he recognized the feeling that he was dying, all over again.


 

She knew that she shouldn't wait for him, knew that he was likely taking his own sweet time in checking the demon bodies for items of value, but something made her stay. Maybe she wanted the companionship he offered, or maybe there was another, darker reason she waited by the gate, wishing he would show up, already.

Buffy twirled a stake in her hand, then sighed. "All right, I'm going to check on you, Spike. Not that I'm worried or anything," she muttered to herself.

She'd only taken a few steps when she thought she heard her name called. That sounded like Spike, and he was...scared? Panic set in, and she ran the rest of the way, hoping it was a hoax. He was joking around, he had to be...

Then she came around the edge of a crypt, and stared in horror at the scene. Eight vampires were huddled around, with Spike kneeling limply while some vampire was biting him. Without bothering to try and figure it out, Buffy stormed in, ready to fight all of them if necessary.

The one biting Spike turned around and grinned evilly, then let him go. The others holding him up dropped him instantly, and Spike fell to the ground limply, unconscious. Buffy tried to ignore how pale his skin was, reassuring herself that Spike wasn't dead--he couldn't be, not if they were just drinking his blood.

"Guys, I don't know what kind of kinky vampire thing you're doing just now, but I aim to stop it," Buffy announced, and three of the minions swarmed her, hoping their numbers would take her down.

However, her anger was honed to a fine edge, and they didn't stand a chance. Within seconds they were dust, and Buffy advanced on the remainder of the group, itching for a fight. She spared a glance at Spike, and worry started to gnaw at her stomach as he continued to stay still.

The one who'd bitten Spike grabbed a sword and dirk from the ground, preparing to fight. "It's no use, Slayer. He's already dead."

"Yeah, I know that, you dimwit." Two more rushed her, and after a short parry, they joined their comrades in a cloud of dust. "What I can't figure is, why bite another vampire? Isn't that kind of pointless?"

"It is," the one with the sword answered, and she got a very bad vibe. Something wasn't right, and it was crawling around in the back of her brain, trying to get free. Maybe it was the sword and dirk, which brought back unpleasant memories of the Eliminati from over two years ago. Then, she noticed the slight green glow coming from the dirk he held, and swallowed away the dryness in her throat. This guy had done something to Spike beyond just drinking his blood, and the thought of it was making her upset and angry.

The remaining three minions attacked as their leader came forward, and Buffy found herself gaining strength from her anger. She kicked the dirk free of the vampire's grip, then staked one of the minions behind her. She dodged the swing of the blade, which continued through and decapitated another minion. The leftover minion panicked and tried to bolt, but she cleanly staked him and turned to face the sword-carrying vampire.

"What did you do to Spike?" Buffy asked angrily, and kicked the vampire in the gut. He doubled over in pain, then straightened up and grinned.

"I think you already know, Slayer. But like I said before, it's too late."

Buffy pushed away the panic welling up inside her, threatening to take over. The vampire growled as he threw himself into the fight, forcing Buffy back towards Spike's prone form. She countered and dodged each thrust, and instinctively took the opening when she saw it, shoving the stake into his heart. The vampire managed to look stunned, yet triumphant, just before he turned to dust.

Buffy turned and kneeled down next to Spike, praying that the vampire had been wrong. She turned him over and saw the bite mark in his neck, then touched the thin, nearly healed cut just below it. His skin was warm, but cooling in the night air. She dug frantically for a pulse, and sobbed in relief when she found it. It was faint and weak, but it was there.

Shell-shocked by the strange turn of events, it took Buffy a few moments to remember to call for help. Dawn had insisted on getting a cell phone despite their money problem, but now she was grateful for the convenience. The 911 operator didn't need a lengthy explanation, thankfully, and told Buffy that an ambulance was already in the area and heading over to the cemetery.

After that was done, Buffy picked him up and carried him over to the gate, knowing that the paramedics would need to work fast. She tried to block out what had happened, that Spike was human and dying of blood loss, that he might die and leave her alone in this world. He was the only one she could stand to be around anymore, and if he died...

No, he wasn't going to die. She refused to accept it. He wasn't even supposed to be alive, and if she hadn't staked that last vampire, maybe she could have forced him to turn Spike back. As that thought settled in, she winced and shoved it into a dark corner of her mind. The human being Spike had once been hadn't deserved to be turned into a vampire. Would she have been able to live with herself, if it had worked?

She made it to the gate and laid him down on the pavement. Her coat was quickly shrugged off, draping it over the former vampire for additional warmth, as she listened intently for the sound of sirens.

His pulse was weaker, and his breathing was growing ever more shallow. Despair began to kick in, and she felt tears well up, unbidden.

"Please don't leave me," Buffy pleaded. "You're the only one I can talk to, did y'know that? If you're gone, I don't...I can't..."

Her voice choked off, and she felt tears sliding down her cheeks. "Why did I run away so fast? I should've been there, I could've stopped it from happening. And now you're gonna...God, please don't let him die. I promise, I'll be better, I'll forgive my friends, just don't take him away, please. Please," she whispered desperately.

A moment of utter silence and stillness passed, and in the distance, Buffy could barely hear the sound of sirens coming closer. In other times it was annoying, or troubling, but now it was the sound of hope, the possibility that someone had heard her prayer, and accepted the deal.



When the ambulance arrived, the memories of what happened to her mother washed over her with a clarity she thought she had managed to suppress. The two EMTs sprinted over, then talked in a medical jargon Buffy didn't understand as they worked to save Spike's life. In a matter of seconds, they had him on a gurney and were taking him over to the ambulance.

Buffy grabbed her coat and followed, not knowing what else to do. Someone had to go with Spike--she couldn't leave him alone, not after what she'd let happen. The EMTs let her come along, and she settled in next to Spike's side, watching as the medics attached IVs into his arms and started giving him blood.

"Is he..is he going to be okay?" Buffy asked weakly, her gaze focused on the former vampire's pale face.

The dark-haired, older one pursed his lips in consideration, then nodded. "His blood pressure's pretty low, but I think we got to him in time. Main thing is to keep his heart going. Looks like he had the barbeque fork special."

"The what?" Buffy said, baffled, then recalled what happened with her mother years ago, and what the doctor had told her. "Oh. Right. Like the cemetery is such a hot spot for picnics and cook-outs."

The other EMT sighed. "Look, I've seen enough in this town to know what really happened. And you seem to know it, too. It's just easier to tell people that it's a barbeque fork, or a wild animal, than some blood-sucking vampire. Besides," he shrugged sadly, "it's not as if we get a lot of live ones."

Buffy nodded sullenly, knowing the cold, hard fact all too well. "And sometimes, it's easier to ignore the truth."

 

Nothing bad happened on the way to the hospital, thankfully, and the attending ER doctor had seen enough exsanguinations in his day that he already knew what to do. The nurses assured her that he would be fine, barring any incurred brain damage or organ failure. The fact that he seemed to be responding well was an encouraging sign.

Buffy took a minute to step outside the hospital, to catch her wits and to call home, hoping her sister was home early. The line picked up after one ring.

"Summers residence."

"It's me, Willow," Buffy replied somberly, almost wishing she'd called Xander first. Nevertheless, she told her friend about what happened, relating it in as much detail as she could remember.

Stunned silence reigned for a couple moments, then Willow replied, "Spike's human? How...how did this happen?"

"I don't know, but I think it was something glowy. There's a dirk in the cemetery that's glowing--I think it might be enchanted, or something. I didn't really get a good look. I need for someone to go out there and retrieve it, make sure that no one else gets their hands on it."

"Sure thing. But, who would do this to him? I mean, was it voluntary? Did it hurt him?"

"It was a vampire gang. Don't worry, I took care of them," Buffy answered wearily. "The leader guy was drinking from Spike when I found them, so I didn't see how it happened. But I'd have to say the biting and draining weren't voluntary at all."

"Ah, I see," Willow said, not really understanding. "Dawn just came in, so I'll call Xander and have him go get that quirky dirk."

"Make sure someone goes with him--some of the vamps got away, and if it's important they might come back for it," Buffy replied, wishing again for Giles' presence. He would know what it was, or at least know where to look.

"Gotcha, I'll make sure Anya goes with him for protection. Do you need someone over there, Buffy? Dawn and I could come over and help you wait."

"No, it's okay, Will. Just need to hear what's what from the doctor, and after that I'll be..." she trailed off, not sure what she planned to do. Part of her felt she had to stay, but another part argued that staying wouldn't accomplish anything fruitful. "I don't know what, yet. That's one bridge I'm not crossing early. But the offer is appreciated."

Buffy nearly winced at the lack of sincerity in her tone, but Willow seemed to take it in stride. "Okay then. I'll call you if we find anything important."

She pressed the end button on the cell phone after they shared good-byes, and stared down the alley as another ambulance barreled down, making a frantic dash for the hospital entrance. Sighing, Buffy turned and headed back inside, fearful of what awaited her and apprehensive about this new twist in her bizarre life.


 

It wasn't hard to find a glowing blade in the dark, Xander discovered to his relief. As soon as he took a look at the dirk, he could see that the glow didn't come from an enchantment at all.

"Looks like glowy green goo," Xander offered to his fiancée, from over his shoulder.

"Yes, it does. But it's demon blood," Anya replied, frowning at the substance. "I think it's from a Mohra demon. They're assassins for hire, but they hardly ever come to this dimension. It's either that, or the menstruating fluid of a female Falgor demon."

Xander took a full step away from the dirk. "Does the...well, do either of them have the ability to do to vampires, what it did to Spike?"

"Not that I know of. But then, I was a vengeance demon...I didn't really hang around with the assassins. No fun at parties at all. It usually led to accusations of who killed who, and then there was bloodshed. And they never stayed to help clean up."

"The fiends," Xander murmured distantly, as she headed elsewhere. "Well, I'll just grab it by the hilt here, where it is not covered by possible femalely goo, and hopefully we'll be able to check the books and see what caused it."

"Hey, there's another batch of it over here," Anya called out softly. Xander came over to see it, and found a glass container, glowing faintly. Some of the thick liquid coated the sides of the glass, but it didn't seem as if it had gotten on the outside. Determining it safe to handle, Xander picked it up as well. He and Anya glanced around for other clues, but came up dry and he shrugged his shoulder.

"Nothing else here but piles of vamp dust and a small patch of blood. Must be Spike's," he added with a touch of disbelief. "If this stuff turns vampires into humans--"

"It could mean the end to staking people we know. Or even people we don't know," Anya finished.

The two shared a serious, thoughtful look, then promptly headed back to the magic shop, hoping that the books would shed light on this new development.


 

By the time Buffy went back inside and asked about Spike, they had moved him out of the emergency room and into a more private section. When they told her that he was doing well enough to be discharged in a few hours, she realized he'd have to leave a bit sooner than that; he had no papers, insurance or money to pay off the hospital, so it looked like it would be a sneaky escape from the hospital for Spike.

The area he was kept in was mostly a row of beds with sheets drawn around them for privacy. Buffy recognized it from when she'd been in the hospital right before the Ascension, her blood used as the cure for Angel's poison. The place gave her bad memories from that dark time, seeing Faith in a coma, feeling the guilt of putting her there. Now she was here again, with another person to add to the guilt list.

The nurse lead her over to where he was, lying flat on his back and staring at the heart monitor in fascination. A gauze pad covered the bite wound, and he had wires and tubes attached to various places on him, making Buffy doubt that he'd really be ready to go anytime soon.

Evidence of his lack of enhanced hearing showed, as they managed to walk up to him without him even noticing. Buffy felt the woman leave her side to go back to her rounds, but Spike still stared at the monitor, as if trying to divine his future from it. Maybe he was.

"Spike..." she started softly, but in the quiet of the room her voice sounded harsh and intrusive. He jumped slightly, turning his head to focus on her.

"Oh, hi," he offered weakly, and Buffy could now see how sunken his eyes were, how pale he was. He didn't look like a vampire, but merely like a human who'd nearly died from being drained by one. Somehow, that saddened her in a way she didn't want to contemplate.

"How do you feel?"

He blinked wearily, "Better than I ought to, I'd wager. I think they gave me something for the pain. Makes me tired, though."

"The doctors say you might be getting out of here in awhile. Think you can manage that?"

He stared at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then replied, "I don't know. I honestly don't know."

From the way he said it, she knew he wasn't merely talking about leaving. Not knowing what to say, she stood there, fidgeting with her jacket. His voice broke through the silence.

"I have a heartbeat, now. Blood pressure, temperature, all the organs working like they should. But I'm human. Can't fight, can't do the things I used to. I'm a man, not a monster." He shook his head sadly, then looked up at her with eyes that cut through her, "Not monster enough for you. Not anymore."

"Spike, that's not..."

"True? Isn't it, love? I know you, Buffy. The average bloke isn't going to be enough for you."

A small, distant part of her panged with those words. She wasn't sure if it was because it was true, or if she only thought there might be truth to it. Either way, she wasn't going to let him think otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy reached for his hand. It felt cool and dry in hers, but she could sense the warmth radiating from within. His fingers curled around her with a lack of strength she couldn't help regretting.

"Why don't you let me worry about that, 'kay?" she chided with a half-smile.

Willow had told her once, long ago, that it was the sort of smile boys liked. From the way Spike was looking at her now, she allowed herself to believe it did have the suggested power. "Gotta do what I can, I suppose."

"Good. And you're coming home with me, since you're obviously being targeted by the local vamps."

His eyes crinkled with worry. "Are they still out and about? That Ash guy and his mates?"

"I think I got most of them, including Ash, but that doesn't mean some of them won't try to finish the job." She rubbed his hand, trying to reassure him through touch. Lying would've been futile around Spike, anyway.

"I feel so helpless," Spike said quietly, his fear coming through in the way his voice raised, how his hand clasped hers tightly. "I hate this."

"I know. It sucks being strong one minute, then weak the next. But you've got other things now. You can walk in the sun, get a killer tan, have kids,..." She trailed off as a wave of envy washed through her. He had the possibility of a normal life. Spike could be a grandfather, sitting in a nursing home, telling his grandkids about the crazy Slayer lady he knew decades ago.

As if sensing her sudden melancholy, he tugged on her hand. "Hey, now. None of that. If anyone's doing the self-pity party, it's gonna be me."

She smiled softly, grateful for his sense of humor. If there was one person she couldn't imagine brooding for very long, it was Spike. "So, you ready to blow this joint?"


 

In the end, it proved a little more difficult than Buffy imagined. Spike was too weak to walk very far, so a wheelchair joined the conspiracy. Then they weaved and dodged through the hospital, keeping away from the emergency doctors and nurses who might recognize the former vampire. Finally, they found the main entrance and after helping him out of the chair, they walked out the door and away from the hospital, enough to find a shadowy nook. Buffy pulled out the cell phone and called Xander for transportation.

"Can't Willow do it?" He whined into the phone.

Buffy reminded him why that was a bad idea. He relented, then said, "By the way, we might have our mystery goo narrowed down by tonight. Anya's pretty sure it's Mohra demon blood, but we haven't been able to find a book with a listing of it yet."

"A Mohra demon?" Buffy looked to Spike, who clearly had no recollection of any such creature. But she did. "Ask Anya if it has some sort of jewel or crystal on its forehead."

Silence, then Xander replied, "Yeah, sounds like the same monster. You've run into this thing before?"

"I think so, but it wasn't here." Her mind recalled the time and place she'd last seen it, and a trickle of anger and horror began to seep in.

"It was in LA. With Angel."


 

Spike watched as Buffy paced back and forth, waiting for Xander to arrive. Something about this demon was making her upset, and he would never let it be said that he wasn't the type to pry.

"Pet, what's the big to-do about this Mohra demon?"

She looked at him, and he could barely make out the sadness in her eyes in the dark. Bloody hell. If it was about Angel, it was guaranteed to make her all sappy-eyed and sniffly, wasn't it?

"It's...the glowy stuff, on the dirk that cut you? It might be the blood from one. And I know that Angel fought one of them when I was over in LA once. He knew exactly what it was, and how it could be killed....and I keep thinking, what if knew about the blood, what it could do to a vampire? And then I start to think--if he did--then why did he keep it a secret? Doesn't he want to be a human? Didn't he want to..." she trailed off, but Spike could fill in the blank.

"Buffy, I've never heard of a Mohra demon. And from what I could hear of your chat with Xander, his ex-demon girlfriend wasn't even sure about it being from a Mohra. Before you start frettin', I think you need to find out what's the what, here."

She rubbed the back of her neck. "You're right. I'm turning into 'worst case scenario' girl, though it's not like I don't have a long, long resume to back me up. Now if only my real resume was as long."

Buffy sat down next to him on the brick half-wall, little more than decorative plant edging for the office building next to the hospital. He picked up one of her hands in his, noting how she didn't flinch at his touch. Maybe she was just tired of the games--he knew he was. But a part of him quietly remarked that it was likely due to his new human status. Spike didn't know if was happy or depressed at the thought.

"Having trouble finding work?"

Her fingers twitched, as if to grasp his hand. "Yeah. Not much in the way of jobs for someone who didn't finish college, and has no useful talents aside from killing and dusting demons."

"I think you've got more talents than that," he replied with a sly smile, feeling a little more himself. She stared at him for a second, then showed the half-smile that had made him follow her out of the hospital, despite his grogginess and lack of strength. At that moment, he had to admit he would follow her anywhere, whether he was a vampire or human, or her human or...something else.

"Anyway, since I'm not about to be that kind of nightly streetwalker, I think my marketable skills are severely limited. It's pretty much either 'Do you want fries with that?' or 'Would you like to apply for our store card and save ten percent?' in my future, I'd say."

He pondered this for a few seconds, then asked, "What were you going to be, before you were the Slayer?"

"Oh, I was so shallow, then," she answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. "I just thought I'd be handed the 'married, two kids, two cars, live in upper class splendor' package on a silver platter. I did like go to ice skating. And sometimes, I used to do sketches. Nothing big, really, just doodling in my school notebook. I was hoping to take an art class in high school, but as it was, I was lucky to graduate."

"Bad grades?"

"No, not really. I did well on my SAT scores, got accepted to a couple good universities, but I went to UC-Sunnydale because of the slaying duties. And that, more or less, was the same reason why I almost didn't graduate--skipped classes plus the rat-like Principal Snyder equals incompletes and expulsion."

He frowned in thought. "Principal Snyder...didn't he get eaten by that big Mayor snake demon?"

"Yeah," she smiled in remembrance, then sobered. "Uh, yes. It was a terrible thing."

"I see," he grinned slowly. "And then you blew up the school. Brilliant. There's your true calling, love--demolition."

She sighed in mock exasperation. Her fingers twitched again, and this time he felt pressure as she slowly furled them around his. They sat there in silence comfortably, expecting Xander to pull up any minute. When he didn't, Spike ventured to speak again, almost afraid to break the peaceful quiet.

"Guess I'm in the same boat as you, now. It's scary...one minute I know what I am, and the next it's all gone. I could still be on the outside, a rebel, not a part of society, but on some level you have to join in or else you become a freak. It's been so long, I've forgotten how..." he paused, wishing he hadn't gone that far. Spike could feel her tensing up beside him, as if coiling to strike.

Thankfully, the sound of a car coming stopped whatever she planned to say, and he never thought he would be glad to see the whelp slow down in front of them. Buffy's hand quickly left his, but before he could mourn the loss, she stood up and held it out to help him up. Not gone, but different. He smiled as best he could, took her hand, and let her help him reach the car. He spread out along the backseat while she took the front, and as soon as the car left the curb, he felt the medication drag him back into slumber.


 

"So, how is he?"

Buffy blinked at Xander, then answered. "He's still weak from the blood loss, but he'll be fine."

"No, I meant...as a human, you know? The whole not-dead thing. Is he different?"

"You mean, does he have a soul now that he's human? I don't know. I didn't think to ask him."

"What were you talking about, then?"

"Mostly it was me talking, about my favorite subject--me," Buffy said in self-reproach. She'd been rambling on about herself, and as a consequence had totally forgotten about Spike's new problems. She'd been dead for five months, but he'd been dead for over 120 years. You didn't just pick yourself up and dust yourself off after that. "Spike wanted to know about my job prospects."

Xander seemed to absorb that, as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. "Okay...Spike as a sympathetic, caring, concerned person. Damn."

"What?"

"I'm going to have to be nice to him now, aren't I?" When she flashed him her best incredulous look, he winced. "Sorry. It's just...Spike is human. And not only that, but if we can find out what this stuff is, maybe we can get more, and instead of staking vamps we can be turning them human again. Even Angel."

"Xander..."

"Of course, he may have known about this all along and kept it to himself, as he's been known to do on occasion. Would not surprise me."

"Spike didn't know anything about the Mohra, and he thinks there's a good chance Angel didn't, either. Aside from how to kill them, anyway."

"Spike defended Angel?" He shook his head in amazement. "I go away for a little while and everyone gets delusions of grandeur."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."


 

When Spike woke up, he found himself on Buffy's couch, covered with some sort of afghan. For a brief moment, he thought that the night before must have been a horrible dream. Testing it out, he held his hand out beyond the safety of the couch's shade, and the sunlight met his skin in a decidedly non-fatal way. So, it hadn't been dream.

He squinted at the brightness as he sat up, then realized it couldn't be morning if the sun was coming through the front window. A glance at a clock on the wall confirmed his suspicions--it was well after four in the afternoon. Dawn would be home from school, if she'd gone at all.

Giving movement a try, he eased up into a standing position. He didn't fall down, so he figured it was a good sign. A few steps ended up being no trouble, but he was leaning heavily on the wall by the time he reached the kitchen.

Dawn was hunting for snacks one-handed, the other in a cast with a sling around her shoulder. She was muttering words that she shouldn't really know, but did anyway, as she tried to reach for something in a cupboard.

"Need some help with that, 'Bit?" He offered, and was delighted to see her look of surprise grow into joy.

"Spike! You're okay!" She ran over and gave him her best attempt at a one-armed hug. "We were so worried about you when you wouldn't wake up. Xander had to help wrestle you through the door, even."

He hugged her back, grateful for the worry. "So, where's your sister? It's too early for slaying."

"She's asleep. She spend most of the night and morning hovering over you, but she must have crashed sometime after that." Dawn pulled away, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay? Really okay, I mean?"

He gave her a puzzled look, and she clarified. "I know you weren't really thrilled about your human days, and I couldn't stop wondering today about whether you'd want to...y'know, stay human."

"I haven't really thought too much about it, yet. It's still overwhelming." He sat down at the kitchen island, already exhausted. "What do you say? D'you like me better now that I'm human, or was it better the other way?"

"I don't see much of a change, really. You're still kinda snarky and grumpy. You just can't beat up demons anymore, although I guess people are fair game. And you can go out during the day without turning into a human-sized Hibachi."

"Sounds thrilling," he said blandly, frowning at the rumbly ache in his stomach. Oh yeah, eating. That was a necessity instead of a luxury, now. "I think I'm hungry."

"Oh, the chips!" Dawn went back to the cupboard, and this time was able to pull it out. "Sour cream and onion potato chips. Have you ever had these?"

"A couple times," he replied, already salivating at the smell. He loved to eat as a vampire, but he certainly didn't remember a hunger like this. Not a recent one, anyway. Dawn held out the bag, and he grabbed a couple chips and shoved them in his mouth. An explosion of flavor burst on his tongue, and he moaned in surprise and pleasure. Dawn giggled at the spectacle.

"Oh god...this, this is really...wow. Here, gimme that," he reached for the bag, but Dawn dodged out of his reach.

"Nuh uh. They're mine. You'd just eat them all and get sick."

"Hey now, this is torture! I'm a starving man, here!"

"Then have an apple," Dawn replied, tossing him one from the fruit bowl. With not much choice, he bit into it and gulped down eagerly. The juice reminded him he was thirsty, too, and got up from the stool he was sitting on to rummage through the refrigerator. He grabbed the first liquid he recognized and opened the top. He drank from the carton, washing down the leftover apple and potato chip bits.

"Um, milk. Good stuff." He turned to see Dawn throbbing with silent laughter. "What?"

"M-m-milk--" she managed out before the giggles started. She pointed to her upper lip, and he reflexively glanced around for a shiny surface to see himself in. He paused as he thought it was moot, then remembered that he could see himself now.

The door of the microwave worked well enough, and he stared at the faint reflection, more than a little surprised to find himself staring back. He could see what she was laughing at, the milk had made a faux mustache on his lip. He wiped it off hesitantly, fascinated as his hand appeared in the reflection as well. It brought home the reality that his new humanity was a sealed deal.

Spike turned to look at Dawn, who watched him with watery eyes--from the smile on her face, he couldn't be sure if it was leftover tears of laughter, or not. His own eyes felt the slight prickling of tears, but he blinked them away.

"Um, I oughta get cleaned up, and make myself more presentable. Is that all right?"

She nodded, and he left the kitchen and headed for the stairs, hoping a proper shower would clear some of the cobwebs in his head.



He left the gauze bandage on as he showered, afraid of making things worse by removing it. A quick perusal of the shampoo bottles had him discovering which one was Buffy's, and which one was Dawn's. Willow's shampoo smelled the least girly--some sort of herbal thing--so it ended up being the one he chose. He hoped it was magic-free; he didn't want to contemplate what sort of concoction she might put in her shampoo.

Once finished, he climbed out, the humid air making it harder to breathe. He wiped away the steam from the mirror with his left hand, revealing his face through the damp haze clinging to the glass. It seemed almost dream-like, standing there with a reflection struggling to get through the condensation. He stood there staring for a long time, running his hand over the stubble needing to shaved, then fingered the soaked gauze, the blood now seen through the other side.

Behind the mirror was a cabinet, and Spike rummaged through it until he found a box of sterile gauze pads. After some fiddling, he got the old tape off and onto to the new pad, trying hard to ignore the two red puncture marks in his neck, right next to the faint white ones Drusilla had given him decades ago. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he pressed the gauze over the wound, the agitation causing pain to start once again.

He reached for something to kill the pain; usually it was booze, but Advil would do. The water from the tap tasted metallic, almost like blood, but the thought only made him feel nauseous. Why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?

Spike struggled into his jeans, the damp air making it nearly an impossible task. He left the shirt alone, throwing it over his shoulder, and gathered up his coat and boots before leaving the sanctity of the bathroom, back into a world he wasn't ready for.


 

Willow came back from classes to find Dawn in the kitchen, looking through cookbooks. She smiled faintly and called out, "Are you planning on cooking dinner?"

Dawn glanced over, her behavior still a bit chilly to the former witch. "I want Spike's first human dinner to be something good, not leftover pizza and chicken parts."

"Where is he? I noticed he's left the couch."

"He's upstairs in the shower. I think he's still a little wigged about everything," Dawn looked past Willow and noticed a box on the dining room table. "What's that?"

"Oh, I went over to the cemetery and picked up a few things I thought Spike might want. I have to admit, I found a few things I wish I hadn't, but there wasn't any major emotional scarring involved." Dawn smiled a little at the joke, which made Willow feel a bit more comfortable. Things weren't good, but it was getting there.

"Did you bring any of his clothes?"

"I tried, but I couldn't find them. Well, there was a casket on the floor in his bedroom, but I wasn't about to look inside that. If Spike wants his clothes, he's gonna have to get them himself."

"You went into his bedroom?" Dawn asked with wide eyes, like Willow had admitted she'd snuck into the boy's bathroom. "What's it like? Creepy?"

"No, it's okay...for a vampire. And I think his bed must've been stolen--there's no way anyone would throw a perfectly good four poster bed in the dump. It's weird to say it, but it was kinda sexy."

"Really? Cool. I knew it would be," Dawn replied with a small smile. Then her face fell. "But he's human now, there's no way he can go back there. Willow, what is he going to do?"

Willow shook her head sadly, contrite. "I honestly don't know, Dawn."


 

Barely awake, Buffy felt a weight poised on the edge of her bed, tilting the mattress just enough to make the struggle to stay put not worth it. She relented and fixed a bleary-eyed gaze on the person-shaped presence, still trying to completely wake up.

The events of the night before didn't really hit her until she recognized the white hair and black jeans, then the face staring at her with affection. His shirt was over one shoulder and his coat and boots were by the door. He smelled like soap and Willow's herbal shampoo, and she noted his hair was damp from the shower he'd apparently taken.

Buffy sat up in surprise. "You're awake!"

"Well, yeah. That's a bit obvious, even for you, pet," he smiled, teasing.

"No, I mean--I was supposed to wait for you to wake up, not the other way around." She paused to take in the physique she knew too well, and continued in a weaker voice, "Do you, uh, need a change of clothes?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, eventually I will, but for now I'm good." He looked distracted, and when she figured out where his gaze was going, she straightened her tank top.

"Nothing I haven't seen already, love," he grinned, and she wanted to punch his arm. But she knew physical damage was no longer an option, so instead she gave him a sour look.

It felt almost like old times--less than a day ago--but the restored warmth to his skin belied the notion. Spike must have sensed the shift in her mood, because his eyes quickly left hers, finding something on her nightstand to stare at, instead.

She placed one hand on his chest, feeling the new warmth of his skin and the pounding of his heart. His muscles tightened in a way she loved, and he breathed in quickly, deeply. Her hand traveled down, along his abdomen, taking its own sweet time in its explorations. Spike's breathing became more rapid, and she could tell he wanted to do the same to her.

"You think I'm attracted to the monster?" She asked, as she leaned in closer.

"You, um, have a convincing counter-argument," he replied, slightly out-of-breath and clearly aroused. She loved seeing him like this, finding the combination of being thrown off-kilter and wanting more of her incredibly adorable and irresistible.

Rather than caving in like she expected, he gently pulled her hand away. "We need to talk, Buffy. For real this time."

She bit her lip. "I know. I just wish I knew what to say."

He didn't speak, his thumb caressing the skin beneath her wrist. It took her a moment to realize he was patiently waiting for her to continue. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and tried to articulate what was feeling.

"I'm not sure how I feel--really feel--about you. I didn't know before this all happened," she shook her head sadly. "And now...it's different, but it's the same."

He nodded, and it gave her the courage to keep going. "I know you love me. I think I...like you. A lot. Definitely in a physical way, but you know that. And I can't say the whole strength element wasn't a turn-on, because it was."

Spike's shoulders slumped a little, as if he expected it to be true but had hoped it wasn't. She forged on, hoping her next words would ease the pain. "But, it was so not me, not the person I thought I was. And it scared me. You were bringing out things in me that I didn't know I had, and I wasn't sure I liked. In time, it could've changed but, well, we won't have the chance to find out, will we?

"I want to get to know you, Spike. The living you, with a soul and everything. I want to know..." She breathed in deeply, then exhaled. Boy, this was hard. "I want to know if I can fall in love with you."

He gaped at her, obviously floored. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Then he smiled, his shock turning to pure joy and amazement. He quickly leaned over and kissed her passionately, claiming her mouth as his. She reciprocated, her hands grabbing around him and pulling him closer.

A muffled cry caused her to pull away; Spike let out a hiss of pain, and she quickly realized that she hadn't restrained her strength. "Oh god--I'm so sorry. I didn't notice."

"It's okay," he replied, giving her a conciliatory smile.

She caught the weariness in his face, and the level of concern she felt for him took her by surprise. He wasn't fragile, but the reminder that he wasn't immortal anymore had hit home. However, it didn't cause her as much pain as she thought it would.

A sudden wave of affection for him caused Buffy to smile back and kiss him gently on the lips. "By the way, lay off the sour cream and onion chips. They're mine."

He looked at her, taken aback, then flashed a predatory grin, and she felt her heart quicken at the sight of it. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, "You'll have to find them, first."

The pillow she threw at him missed by a mere inch, as he made a break for the hallway.


 

The task of getting Spike's stuff from the crypt wasn't too much of a struggle. Various boxes were filled up, and his TV and bed, along with the scavenged furniture from the dump, were left behind. Afterwards, the gang met at the Magic Box after sunset, planning to take the information they managed to glean from the books they had and apply it to Spike's situation. The object of their inquiry joined them out of curiosity, if not for the sudden need of companionship.

Dinner that night had been one of the best things he'd had in the past 120 years, and he didn't mean the food, although it was good. No, it was the fact that Dawn had taken it on herself to do it for him. The conversation had been mostly light-hearted, but he felt a connection with Willow and Dawn that he'd never had before, and never really had with anyone outside of his family. He knew Willow could sympathize with him as he struggled to adjust to being normal and powerless, since she was doing her own version of the same thing. As for Dawn, she could finally show her affection outwardly, without fear of being chastised. In that way, he had no regrets about his new status.

With Buffy, however, his feelings were still mixed. He watched her as she sat at the table in the shop, glancing his way occasionally, smiling sometimes, sometimes not. She told him that she wanted to find out if she could fall in love with him, and hearing those words from her at the time meant so much to him, it was almost more than he could bear. But the elation tapered into melancholy as he mulled it over, and now he wondered if her dedication was merely a way to justify her conscience, before rejecting him.

Still, he didn't plan on giving up, not when she wanted to try. He was going to fight for her, stay with her, even until the bitter end. He wasn't sure what he planned to do with his life, but one thing he knew was that it involved Buffy in some way. He wanted it to be for requited love, but he knew there was a good chance it wouldn't be.

"Has anyone called Giles, yet?" Buffy asked, and Spike's attention was pulled away from himself and back to the outer world. Dawn was still in the next room, doing her homework, he expected. Willow nodded, and Xander looked to Anya, who frowned in annoyance.

"Yes, but he wasn't any more help. Xander and I looked through all the books here, and Giles looked through his collection, but there wasn't anything on Mohra demons, except for the normal one sentence description. 'Very rare demon assassin for hire'. No mention of the blood."

Willow suddenly brightened. "Hey, wait a minute. Buffy, you said Angel knew how to kill a Mohra, right? Maybe he or Wesley knows about the blood. Besides, we ought to tell them about what happened to Spike."

Buffy looked over to Spike, a thoughtful expression on her face. He smiled as encouragement, but he couldn't feel it. He didn't exactly relish the thought of Angel turning human, since he knew who would win the Slayer's affections in a fair draw.

"If nothing else, we can get their collective brains behind this," Xander added. "Just the idea of turning vampires back to humans...it's amazing."

"And if there was a way to change that energy into a spell..." Willow began, but the looks from everyone else at the table stopped her cold.

Then Buffy stared at Willow, in sudden realization. "Oh my god. What if it could be done?"

"No more Slayer?" Xander offered. "Well, maybe not, but definitely no more slaying of vamps."

However, Anya appeared more alarmed than intrigued. "Is this something we should be doing, though? Wiping a type of demon off the face of an entire dimension?"

"It would be saving a bunch of human lives," Xander argued in counterpoint. "I don't see the Powers That Be having a problem with that."

Spike stayed silent, not sure where he stood. He could see Anya's point--messing around with magic on such a large scale would only mean horrible consequences later. And he knew a number of vampires who enjoyed what they were. Hell, it was hard to think of a vampire who didn't. But the boy had a point, as well--it would save countless lives, including those who were vampires, themselves. Most had never asked to be turned, and in fact, shouldn't have been turned in the first place, Harmony being a stellar example of that.

Instead of voicing his opinions, he remained quiet, listening to everyone else hash out the logistics and ethics. Maybe they could come to the right conclusion on their own, and he wouldn't need to display his divided thoughts.

In the end, the issue still remained undecided, but Willow took it upon herself to call Wesley right then and there. The question might be moot if they didn't pinpoint what the substance was, and whether it was able to be duplicated in any way or form.


 

Wesley picked up the phone on the third ring, almost too engrossed in his studies to notice it at all. "Angel Investigations."

"Hi Wesley, it's me, Willow."

"Willow! You're calling with good news, I hope."

"Good, and possibly really good. But I need your help with the possibly good part."

"What can I do?" He asked, a little puzzled. Willow went on to explain about Spike, which caused him to nearly fall off his chair. "Dear Lord."

"That's just what Giles said. But aside from knowing it glows, we have no idea what this stuff is. Anya thinks it might be Mohra demon blood, or something from a Falgor demon, but neither ours or Giles' books seem to have anything. We're kind of hoping you might be able to find it."

He was already picking through his books. "I'm glad you thought of me in this, Willow."

"Well, we're also thinking that Angel might know about this, too. Apparently the last time Buffy was in L.A., he killed a Mohra demon, and from what we've managed to find out, it's not easy."

"Mohra demons are regenerative assassins, I believe. Normal attacks won't kill them, it'll only make them bigger, more powerful."

"What doesn't kill them makes them stronger? And here I thought that was just an old self-help cliché."

"Quite. Ah, here we are, the Book of Kelsor," Wesley said distractedly, pulling an old tome from the bookshelf. "It specializes in the more dangerous demons in our world. It's Angel's book, so that might explain why he knew of it."

It only took him a few turns of the page to find the woodcut print of the demon, looking vaguely insect-like. "Here's the text...powerful assassins who are soldiers of darkness, needing vast amounts of salt water to live. Their veins run with the blood of eternity..." He stopped, his mind whirling at the phrase. Blood of eternity--that had to be...

"Wesley?"

"I don't believe it. It's true." Realizing he was getting ahead of himself, he explained, "The blood of eternity means regeneration. And in the instance of vampires, that would mean--"

"Life," Willow finished for him.

"Yes, it would." He felt numb. Did Angel know this, and not tell him about it? It mentioned the way to kill it, but maybe he didn't know what the blood of eternity meant. "Willow, I'll have to call you back. I need to speak to Angel about this. And-and I need to tell him what happened to William th--I mean, Spike. This is...well, it's amazing, especially in light of the birth of Angel's son."



"The birth of Angel's what?" Willow cried out, stunned.

Buffy lifted her head up in surprise. "What's going on, Will?"

Willow's eyes were wide, as she listened to Wesley on the other end. "You're kidding, right? I mean, that just can't happen. Yeah, I know, Spike's human, but that's totally diff--wait, what was that about Darla?"

Another long stretch of explanation ensued, making Willow even more stunned, if that was possible. "Oh. Wow. Oh, wow. Hey, wait a second--why am I finding out about this now? You didn't think to call and let us know? Or at least Buffy?"

Now Buffy was at full attention. "What's this about me not knowing?"

Willow gave her a helpless glance, then replied into the receiver, "No, it's okay. I'll tell her. If she has questions, she'll give you or Angel a call, I'm sure. Thanks for checking on this. Bye."

Buffy was in a state of readiness for panic. Hearing birth, Angel, and Darla mentioned so close together had inspired odd and troubling thoughts. Willow turned to her, her face filled with a blend of compassion and worry.

"Buffy, I think maybe we need to talk in private."

"Just tell me, Will. Please."

The former witch exhaled, clearly not relishing her duty. "Okay, but this isn't going to be easy to hear. And you might want to lift that prohibition on booze."


 

Wesley found Cordelia with Fred, helping set up the baby area in Angel's room. They'd already gotten the crib built, and were now adding the final touches. "Where's Angel?"

"Down in the basement, training," Cordy mentioned off-handedly, tucking the baby sheets around the crib's mattress pad. "I told him that he had to stay there until we were done. He was driving us crazy."

"Cordy, I just got off the phone with Willow. Apparently, we forgot to tell them about Connor."

She froze in mid-tuck. "Oh God. Angel didn't call?"

Wesley shook his head soberly. "But there's a more interesting reason for why she called. It seems that William the Bloody, aka Spike, is no longer a vampire."

Cordy gave out a short laugh. "So, he finally got dusted?"

"No, I meant he's among the living, as in fully human."

She and Fred gaped in surprise, but Wesley noticed Cordelia recovered the quickest. "How did this happen?"

"The blood of a Mohra demon. Interestingly enough, the information came from one of Angel's books. I have reason to think that..." he trailed off as he saw recognition flare in Cordy's eyes.

"Wes, Angel knows. He told me about it, but it was before you joined, before...Doyle died," she answered in a sad sigh. "There was something about turning back time, and being human for a day. I don't remember it, but if it didn't happen, then I guess I wouldn't, huh?"

"I see," Wesley replied, feeling something not unlike anger boil slowly to the surface. "So all those hours I spent researching the possibility of Angel being turned human as a reward was for naught, since he already bloody knew how to do it himself? And he didn't think to tell me!"

The words echoed in the small room, left unchallenged. Fred shrank slightly at the tone of his voice--he instantly noticed the reaction, and paled. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to--"

"No, don't apologize. You're right to get mad," she replied. "I'd be mad in your place. Heck, I feel a little perturbed, myself." If she hadn't said it in a cheerful voice, he might have believed her.

Cordy placed her hands on hips. "He wasn't supposed to be human, Wesley! It was a fluke, not a 'Powers That Be' thing. He can't be the vampire with a soul mentioned in all those prophecies if he's human, now can he?"

He opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it. "You have a point. Conner wouldn't exist, would he?"

"Exactly. Angel's the Champion. He can't be human until the Powers give it to him."

"But why didn't either of you tell me about this?"

Cordy shrugged, and tossed a few stuffed animals into the crib. "Maybe because in the beginning, we didn't like you. It's different now, of course. I have to admit I totally forgot about it. And it's not like you run into Mohra demons everyday around here."

Wesley mulled this over, then sighed. "Well, I wish someone had told me this earlier. When your friend Harmony was here, we could have used Mohra blood to turn her back into a human."

The suggestion made Cordelia sink into the rocking chair in the corner, anguish suddenly overcoming her. "Lorne said I was her guide, but I didn't even think...God. She was so unhappy as a vampire, and I had the solution all along."

"So did Angel, and he didn't mention it, either."

"That's true," Cordy replied, staring at the crib. "And now with Spike...Angel's gonna flip."

"Really?" Angel's voice filtered in, and a second later they saw the vampire himself, looking only mildly exhausted. "I was thinking maybe a somersault."

At the look of disdain he got from Cordy, he held up his hands in surrender. "Kidding. So, what's this about Spike?"


 

Buffy didn't take the news well at all, Spike noted with worry. He wanted to go to her, but their affair had been secret, and showing anything other than distant concern would raise too many questions. Instead, he watched her as she shifted from anger, to sorrow, to self-pity, to anger again, in a vicious circle. Anya had shielded the most expensive items in the store with her body, so the Slayer had to satisfy herself with venting her anger into a punching bag in the training room.

"Oh, this is so like him. I get to die again, and he gets a baby--with Darla!" Her fist connected with a loud thud. "I have to try and pay off back debts with zero income, and he gets a millionaire to fund his little agency or whatever. It's just not fair!" She kicked the bag, and it nearly broke loose of the ceiling.

"Love, it's not gonna be all happiness and light for him, not if Angel Jr. came with a prophecy attached."

"I know, but...he slept with Darla, and not only didn't he lose his soul, she got pregnant. It was supposed to happen, foretold in some ancient scroll. And it wouldn't have happened if he'd stayed with me," she finished softly.

He sighed, as realized the true root of her grief. "You weren't meant to be together, Buffy. Even if he'd stayed, it wouldn't have lasted."

"It could have, but it's a moot point now."

"No, Buffy." He walked over, mildly concerned at his more vulnerable state as he approached her. "You were a sixteen-year-old girl who fell for an older man who knew better than to get involved with you. You're not the same girl you were, for good or ill. People grow, they drift apart...or they become closer."

Spike glanced through the open door, and seeing no one was watching, decided to risk a little more. He leaned towards her and took her hand in his. "Do you really want the past? Or are you willing to give the future a try?"

Her fingers tightened around his, a sign of hope. "You know what I want. Who I want," she corrected, moving an inch closer to him. "That hasn't changed. Yeah, I have regrets. I can't stop that from happening. And it hurts to see your dreams crashing down around your ears, then just when you thought it was over, something happens and crushes those dream fragments into powder. As the Slayer, I don't get maternity leave, or even life insurance. Life happens all around me, but I can't join in."

"Life is what you're living right now. It's you and me, and your friends and your sister, Dawn. You're in the world, Buffy. It's just waiting for you to notice you're already here."

Slowly, she absorbed his words. He could see her struggle over it, wondering if could be that simple. "What about you, though? You can have a family, get a job, live the American Dream...even though you're British."

He shrugged, knowing this would come up eventually. "The normal life's not for me. It never was. And you won't get rid of me that easily, Slayer, so you might as well not even try."

Spike finally saw a smile emerge from her, more out of relief than anything. She didn't even pause to check whether anyone was watching when she pulled him close, matching her upraised lips to his. The kiss deepened in mutual assent, and soon the both of them were lost to their surroundings, unaware that anyone else was in the shop.

Which, of course, wasn't the case at all.

The sound of colorful and somewhat odd swearing drew them out of their embrace, the panic not setting in until they saw Xander standing in the doorway, his jaw slackened and his eyes nearly bulging. Buffy turned to Spike in dread, and he sighed in a gesture of mock defeat.

"Oops."


 

If there was one thing in the world that Xander never wanted to see again, aside from the time he caught his Uncle Rory coming out of the shower, it was the sight of Buffy and Spike kissing. He'd repressed the spell smooch-fest from a couple years ago, and knowing it was a robot Buffy had softened the scene in the cemetery somewhat, but this...no. This was a level of horror that was beyond all hope of being explained away.

"Ye gods. You...you're kissing. Real Buffy lips to real Spike lips, not spell-induced, or--or anything!" His voice raise in pitch and volume.

Buffy turned to face him. "Xander, this isn't...well, it is actually what you think it is, but I can explain. Spike and I, well, we're..."

She turned back to Spike with a pleading look, and he sighed in exasperation. "We're in the beginnings of what could be a brilliant relationship, and if you hadn't interrupted us, we'd be gettin'--Ouch!" Spike rubbed the spot on his arm where Buffy had slugged him.

"What he means is, we're...we're a 'We'. There is a 'We', and the 'We' is us." Buffy seemed satisfied with that assessment, which amused Spike to no end.

"But how did a 'We' occur?" Xander asked, still baffled and horrified. "I mean, I thought we all understood that you weren't even remotely interested in Spike, and now, it's like we all know it except you!"

Appearing to be at the end of his rope, Spike replied, "Look, I know it's a shock, despite the fact we've done this twice already, but for god's sake, I'm human now! No 'grr', no fangs, and sunlight-friendly, to boot. Give a bloke a break, would you?"

Xander frowned, then his eyes widened in realization. "Hey, you're right. Since you're an un-undead guy, there's no ickiness involved. Well, except for the disturbing thought that you guys were doing this before the transformation--"

"Xander?" Spike interrupted, his voice sounding awfully quiet.

"Hmm?"

"If you're finished being okay with it, d'you mind if you scamper off while we continue our snog?"

Buffy merely stood there, watching each of them with growing unease. Xander's face fell as he realized Spike was most definitely serious. "Oh. Ohhh. Sorry, I'll just be--and I'll close the door, no prob!" He added once he saw the former vampire's glare.

Xander shut the door and turned to see the rest of the gang staring at him. "Hey, guess what I just found out?" He smiled weakly, feeling the need for something like a chair, or maybe possibly a bed. He hobbled over to the table, figuring a bench seat would do.

"We heard," Willow replied softly, still a little stunned, herself. Dawn wasn't looking so good, either. She stared at her textbook blankly, her pencil forgotten in hand.

Anya, as usual, took the revelation well. "At least now Buffy has someone to have sex with, which should make her a little less irritable. And Spike is happy, so it's all good, right?"

Suddenly Dawn slammed her book closed, and stood up from the table, heading straight for the training room door.

"Dawn, I wouldn't--" Xander began, but she was already opening the door and striding through, as only a teenager in a huff can do. "--go in there, but okay, don't listen to me."

"Teenage crushes are very dangerous," Anya nodded sagely. "I really hope none of my kin are nearby."


 

Spike and Buffy hadn't continued their smooching. In fact, they were arguing about what to do next, when Dawn stomped into the room, clearly upset.

Buffy turned to face her sister. "Dawn, what--"

"I can't believe you! You tell me over and over again about how evil Spike is, how I can't see him, and now you're kissing him? Behind everyone's back? And don't tell me that this isn't what I think it is, 'cause I'm not stupid."

"I don't understand," Buffy said. "I thought you of all people would approve."

"I don't approve of you being a hypocrite," Dawn seethed. "This didn't just happen because Spike's human now, did it? It's only been a day and you're jumping his bones. How long has this been going on?"

Buffy stayed silent, but Spike felt the need to come clean with the irate girl. "A few days, I think. Whenever the singing and dancing was going on, it was that last night of it."

"It was before that," Buffy answered quietly, surprising both Spike and Dawn. Buffy looked up to see Spike's stunned expression; obviously, he'd never suspected a thing. "Ever since I came back, Spike was the only one I could stand being around. I didn't know why, exactly. I just kept going to see him, which apparently made things worse for him. And the singing made everything so clear, so obvious...it was scary. I ran from it, from him. He didn't let me go, though," she smiled wistfully.

"I couldn't," Spike added. "You gave me hope that night. I had to find out if there was anything more, before it ate me up from the inside. 'Bit, she was fighting this pretty hard--she was tryin' to keep with what she told you, but...things changed. And then I changed."

He couldn't keep the hint of sadness out of his voice. "I don't know what happens next. Maybe this works out between us, maybe it won't. Our combined baggage would fill a bloody Ryder truck. What I do know, is that you feel like you've been betrayed. It's justifiable, since Buffy wanted to keep things quiet, and she made me promise not to say a word. However, if this moment is all about coming clean, then there's something you ought to tell your sis."

Dawn's eyes widened in horror. "What...what do you mean?"

Spike's smile was pleasant, but with the slightest edge of danger. "You think I wouldn't know? Late nights out with your mates, or going to the mall but coming home without bags to show for it? Or are you the one teenage girl in America that pinches pennies?"

"Like you have any room to talk," Dawn replied sarcastically, but he could see her fear. He might not be able to smell it, but his powers of observation were as keen as ever.

"Dawn, have you been stealing?" Buffy asked, aghast.

"What? No!"

Buffy looked to Spike, who nodded. "She's been nickin' small stuff, jewelry, make-up, that sort of thing. I didn't say anything before because, well, I figured it wasn't any of my business. It's amazing what a soul does to you. Makes you want to confess all sorts of nasty things." Spike glanced pointedly at Dawn.

She took the hint. "Okay, fine. So I took a few things. It's not like Buffy didn't do the same thing when she was my age."

Now Spike was staring at Buffy. She paled. "What? It was lipstick. And maybe a pack of gum, but that's all. I never took jewelry."

"Well, well. Looks like we've got a couple of sticky-finger sisters," Spike replied, intensely amused.

Both Summers women gave him a dirty look, then turned to each other in barely repressed rage. Voices rose and fell; Dawn huffed and pouted, then nearly screamed at the punishment Buffy gave her--no phone and no hanging out with friends for three weeks, and returning all the stolen merchandise in person.

"God, Buffy--I'll be put in jail!" Dawn replied, freaking out. Spike seemed to concur, adding that it would be bad for Buffy's tenuous guardianship. Buffy sighed, realizing he had a point.

"Well, then how about leaving it behind in a bag, with a note inside? With the proviso that if you do this again, you will be talking to the manager face to face, guardianship be damned."

This was much more acceptable all around, and to Spike's observation, it seemed like Dawn was actually glad to get caught. In his vampire days, he wouldn't have understood the concept. With his return to humanity, however, he had a sense of Dawn's desperation in wanting attention, any attention. And it made him feel awful for nearly forgetting about the girl, himself.


 

"How long has Angel been sitting there?" Gunn asked Cordy as he noticed the dark, bulky lump perched on the edge of Angel's bed. Cordy whisked him out of the bedroom and into the foyer.

"A few minutes. He was stunned, then angry, then he sat down and started to brood. And man, when he broods he puts all of his energy into it."

"I can hear you, you know," Angel called out sullenly.

"Whatever," Cordy called back. "Anyway, did Wesley tell you...?"

"Yeah, he filled me in. I came up here because I wanted to smack the son of a bitch around a bit 'cause he didn't tell me 'bout this before," Gunn replied, anger evident in his voice. "My sister, my friends...they got turned into vamps, and now I here that it didn't have to be that way?"

"I know. Wes pointed it out to him, and me. Harmony was here, and I didn't even think about it."

Gunn did a slight double-take, but before he could say anything, Cordelia cut him off. "Yeah, I knew it, too. Not first-hand knowledge, granted, but Angel told me about the whole turned-back-time thing. So if you're here to smack the 'son of a bitch' around, you're gonna have to hit Miss Primo Bitch, as well."

She smiled when Gunn's anger faded into discontent. He sighed and sank down into a nearby chair. "So, what now?"

"Wesley has Lorne checking on possible Mohra demon sightings. If the vampire gang that did this to Spike was able to get the blood, we need to know where it came from. He's also thinking about heading up there to check out the samples they have."

"Wait a second--they have samples? As in, actual Mohra blood?"

Cordy nodded. "Seems that the vamps didn't use it all. No one knows if it's still good, though. But if it is..."

"You won't be using it on me," Angel interjected, now standing at the doorway between the two rooms. Neither Gunn nor Cordy said a word as he fidgeted in place, striving to make his point clear. "I've been thinking about this, and I know it's a big opportunity--I know I never thought I'd see it come up again. We all thought for the longest time that the Shanshu would make me human, but now there's enough evidence and doubt to make me rethink it. Maybe the prophecy just meant that I would create life, not become alive.

"Either way, I can't be human now. I have to protect my son, and I still have a mission to fulfill. I can't do either while being mortal."

"Hey, we mortals are doin' alright," Gunn said lightly. "Think I can't take you?"

"I know you can't," Angel replied with a good-natured smirk. "But you know I'm right about this."

"Totally on board with you staying undead," Cordy answered. "But what about Buffy? She doesn't know about the, y'know, you as a living, breathing human for a day. Are you going to tell her?"

"Not if I don't have to. It's better if she doesn't know. Besides, it's over between us, so what's the point?"

Cordelia folded her arms. "You didn't tell her about Connor or Darla, but she knows about that. Lying is just a way to avoid painful truths. I really think you ought to come clean, Angel. If nothing else, it'll be one less lie on your conscience."

Angel spotted Wesley standing just inside the entrance, a frown on the fellow investigator's face. "I'm going to Sunnydale to take a look at the samples in their possession. I was wondering if anyone wanted to come with me?"

"Why don't you take Fred?" Angel suggested. Gunn's face clouded over momentarily, but no one seemed to notice. "She's got a knack at figuring things out...I'm sure she could help."

Wesley smiled nervously at Angel, "Yes, I'm sure she could. I'll, uh, go ask her right now. Excuse me." He dashed out the door, to Angel and Cordy's amusement, and to Gunn's chagrin.


 

After Wesley called to update them, and to say he and a friend were coming to see the blood samples they had, Buffy decided that hitting the local demon haunts for information might end up yielding something substantial. Hopefully, she'd find out if any of the vampire gang was still around, and if so, where they'd gotten the blood of a demon usually considered dangerous and tricky to kill.

Willow still felt the answer to the question was moot. If she could recreate the effect of the blood as a spell, then finding the demon was a futile effort. However, her conscience prodded her, knowing that messing with magic had been the cause of her troubles.

Instead of arguing, she volunteered to go with Spike and Dawn back to the house, while Anya and Xander closed up shop. She noticed that Dawn was walking way ahead of them, as if trying to disown the former witch and former vampire by distance.

"'Bit, hang back a little," Spike called out, but the girl ignored him.

"Leave her--she just needs to cool off."

"What, because of me and Buffy? We had that out already."

"Yeah, but she's still miffed. She does have a crush on you, kinda." At his look of confusion, Willow added, "But she's not so much, now. It was awhile ago...in fact, I'm sure I'm wrong. Forget I said anything."

Spike looked back to the ever-diminishing sight of Dawn, and Willow could see comprehension beginning to form. "Oh."

If she didn't know better, she would've sworn that he was embarrassed. After a moment, she detected some blushing around the ears, and it confirmed the outlandish theory. He tried to avoid her stare of amazement, but in the end, he gave up.

"I didn't know--I mean, I always wondered why she hung around my crypt, but I never thought..." he trailed off, flailing helplessly for the right words.

"Well, you do have that effect on some women. Specifically any Summers of the female persuasion."

"Really?" He seemed honestly surprised. "Joyce, too?"

"I can't say for sure, but she never was very afraid of you. And she let you in the house all the time, didn't she? That's a sure sign of, well, something."

He smiled gently, and again Willow was struck by the dichotomy of his present and former self. "Yeah, I guess so."

They both drew their attention back to Dawn, just in time to see a pair of arms reach out from an alley and drag her out of sight. Spike was already running as she screamed, leaving Willow to chase after.

Spike twisted around the corner, then froze. Willow soon saw what made him pause--two vampires waited in the alley, one holding Dawn while the other prepared to feed. Willow quickly felt around for a stake in her purse, wishing that she could use magic just this once, as he prepared to bluster his way through the situation.

He didn't get much of a chance. The one leaning in for a meal recognized him almost instantly. "Spike, of all...people. What, you didn't really think word didn't spread about what Ash did to you? Except we thought you were dead."

"You thought wrong, then," Spike gritted out.

"Yay for me. Means I get to be the one to kill you," the vampire said, a cruel smile twisting his demon visage.

Willow slapped the newly-found stake into Spike's waiting hand. "Don't think so, mate."

The first one dusted quickly thanks to the element of surprise, but the second abandoned Dawn to lunge at Spike, raining blows that he was unable to counter or stop. The second vampire threw Spike into the alley wall, and he groaned in pain. The stake was barely clutched in his hand, his fingers nerveless.

Seeing this, Willow and Dawn started beating on the vampire with their fists, in the hope of distracting him. The second vampire fell for it and turned to attack them as well, but then the wooden tip of a stake was protruding out from his chest, and a moment later he was dust on Spike's boots.

He handed the stake back to Willow, and she noted that his left arm was hanging useless by his side, the stake having been switched to his right hand. "What happened to your arm?"

His jaw clenched in pain. "I think it's dislocated. Hurts like hell."

"Let's get back to the house before anything else plans on jumping us tonight."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dawn replied, a little shaken. "Although we're going to need to do a makeover on Spike sometime soon."

"Hey, I'm nobody's bloody Ken doll."

Dawn tugged on his good arm, and they headed back along the sidewalk. "I meant the hair. You're wicked conspicuous with the bleached hair, although I do like it the way it is. It's cool."

"And the coat would probably need to go," Willow joined in, and Spike gave her a look of utter betrayal. "Which I like, too, but it's your signature style. They know you're human now, and they know what you look like. Once they find out you're not dead--"

"I won't be able to go out at night," Spike finished.

"Or worse, they'll come and hunt you down. We have to let them think they succeeded in getting rid of you. Even if that means looking, well, normal."

Spike's brow furrowed in obvious distaste. "I don't like it. I never asked to be normal. If you ask me, it's highly overrated."

"I didn't say you had to be Mr. J.Crew. Just...something less Goth and Punk. Though just as a tip, you'll probably want to ditch the jewelry."

"Why? Isn't it...ow...trendy?" Spike shifted his hold on his left arm.

"Yeah, if you're, like, nineteen!" Dawn snorted. "Or a club-hopping sleazebag."

"All right, all right. No need to beat me over the head. It's gone." Dawn almost hugged him, then thought better of it. "So, um, what do you think Buffy would like?"


 

Willy's was quiet that night--only a handful of demons gathered around a table in the corner, while a human sat at the bar, either unaware or unconcerned about the typical clientele. Buffy spotted the short, dark owner of the place, and made a beeline to the counter.

"Oh, no." The dread in Willy's voice was palpable.

"I think you know why I'm here," Buffy said, leaning both arms against the surface in a way that didn't suggest casualness, so much as easy access to Willy's throat.

"I know nothing, I swear!"

"Really." Buffy reached for him, and Willy jumped back. "I don't have time for games. Do I need to hit you to make this look good?"

"Okay, maybe I heard something about Spike's little meeting with fate. But it's really foggy..."

Buffy pulled out a twenty and laid it on the counter, holding on to one side. "Does that help your selective amnesia?"

"Yeah, it's amazing what the color green does for the mind," Willy grabbed the other edge, but Buffy clamped her hand on top of his, pinning it.

"Tell me. Now."

"All right. Man, you Slayers are testy things, aren't you? Anyway, this vampire guy by the name of Ash came in a few days ago and sat at a table waiting for this Quathra demon to come in. They deal mostly in the black market, hard to get items, and so on. Money is exchanged, the Quathra hands Ash a vial filled with something green and glow-in-the-dark, and leaves. Without tipping, I might add."

"How can I contact this Quathra demon?"

"You can't. He only answers a summons by a demon. And he's really picky about vampires, too. I heard Ash was one of those Eliminati guys you took out when Balthazar came into town."

Buffy thought back, and frowned. Some of them had gotten away, but she thought that they'd all left by now. Or ended up on the wrong end of a stake. It explained the odd weapon choice, anyway. "Where's the rest of his gang?"

"I'm gonna need more than twenty bucks for that info, Slayer," Willy huffed, and after giving him a withering look, she pulled out another twenty she could barely afford to spare. "Okay, then. There's an abandoned warehouse at the docks, Pier 9. I don't know if they split or not, but that's where Ash was hiding out last."

Buffy lifted her hand, and Willy snatched the twenty away, followed closely by the second twenty she gave him. "Thanks for the starting place, Willy. And if you've lead me wrong...I'll be back for a refund."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and his held breath didn't release until the door closed behind her.



 

The Summers house was dark and lonely, seemingly deserted by its residents, but for Willow, Spike, and Dawn, it was a welcome sight. Willow opened the door as Dawn made sure Spike got through the doorway without bumping his arm. Boxes of his belongings littered the family room floor, the rescued detritus of Spike's undead existence. Mostly filled with books, it also had his extensive selection of old horror movies and various CDs. Dawn wandered over as a CD cover caught her eye. She picked it up before Spike could warn her away.

"My God, Spike. You have an Enya CD?"

"I like her singing," Spike mumbled defensively as he took the CD and placed it back in the box. "Like your dancing blokes are any better."

"Hey, at least I'm supposed to like them. What's your excuse?"

He stared at her in mock disgust. "Can't a fellow be a bit three-dimensional? I like punk and all, but sometimes you just need some Rachmaninov. Or Thelonious Monk."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Remind me to broaden your musical horizons later." He sagged into the couch, trying to hide the pain, which he did with little success. Willow came over with pills retrieved from somewhere, and he took them gratefully.

"I don't know how to reset an arm," Willow said, "but I can try if you tell me how to do it."

He wasn't sure if he wanted to risk it, not with a girl that looked like she would blow away in a strong breeze. If he'd still been a vampire...but he wasn't, he reminded himself darkly. Human medical rules applied here, not vampire ones.

"I don't know, Red. It takes a strong but firm touch. I'm sure Buffy could do it."

The Slayer herself walked through the door, just as he finished his sentence. She shut the door behind her, and blinked at the odd stares being thrown her way. "So, what's this thing that I'm supposed to be able to do, again?"

"We kinda ran into a couple vampires on the way home, and we think Spike dislocated his shoulder," Dawn explained. "He was great...except for the being thrown into a brick wall part, of course."

Buffy hurried over, her eyes taking in the bruises that were beginning to show. "Was this a random vamp attack?"

"It was until they recognized me," he replied, wincing as she examined his arm. After a few seconds, she confirmed his assumption.

"Yeah, this is dislocated. Turn around so I can get behind you."

He did as asked and felt her grab his elbow, while wrapping her right arm around his shoulders, resting her hand on where his arm and shoulder met. "I did this to Giles once, so I know it's gonna hurt a lot. And may I say, I'm glad you didn't try to knock it back yourself."

"To be honest, I was afraid of passing out," Spike replied quietly, attempting to calm his pounding heart. He knew how badly this would hurt, and the last time had been as a vampire. He didn't relish the idea of having Willow and Dawn wait for him to wake up, or drag his unconscious body back to the house.

"Ready?" Buffy asked, and he nodded. With a swift jerk, she pulled his arm back.

The pain was excruciating, and for a second he thought he might end up passing out after all. Slowly, he regained focus and noticed that Buffy was holding him, her head resting against the crook of his neck. He knew he'd screamed because his throat was now raw and scratchy.

When he stirred, she mumbled into his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"No, but I will be," he replied weakly. It appeared they were alone--he guessed Dawn and Willow didn't want to stick around for the torturous and awkward misery, which he completely understood.

"I should have realized walking around at night like that would only put you in danger. I should've gone with you."

He sighed, not loving the thought of Buffy tagging along to keep him safe--it reminded him too much of Soldier Boy, a comparison he didn't like. However, he knew something would have to be done. He just hoped the two girls knew best.

"Will and Dawn had an idea about changing how I look."

"Hair, clothes, and...everything?" Buffy seemed to be mixed about it, as well. "Do you want to do that?"

"I might have to, for longevity's sake," he said, turning around to face her. "I wouldn't miss the bleach, that's for sure."

"The vampires in town already think you're dead. Let's keep it that way. Now, as for this..." She squinted at his hair, as if trying to divine his original color.

"It's light brown," he replied in answer to her unspoken query. "Or at least, I'm pretty sure it was."

"Hmm. Your roots say otherwise. And believe me, I know all about roots." She still looked a little lost in thought, possibly trying to envision the sight of him without the peroxide blond. "You wanna go out tomorrow with me, pick something up?"

He smiled hesitantly, unsure whether to be flattered by her desire to be with him, or hurt. "Think I can't buy hair color by myself?"

"Yeah, but I want some input on it. And to prevent any hair color disasters, of course. In my capable hands, you cannot go wrong."

For some reason, her confidence reassured him enough to get him to agree to it. Just then Dawn came in, seeing the coast was clear. She had her sling in one hand, holding it out as an offering.

"I wanted you to use it until your shoulder's better. I don't really need it anymore."

Buffy looked at her sister, plainly not liking the idea, but she was silent on the subject. He took the sling as graciously as he knew how, Willow's earlier remark echoing in his head. Dawn grinned in relief, and he felt a little weird at knowing how the girl truly felt about him without her being aware of it. When she left to go back upstairs, he sighed in relief.

"I know she has a crush on you." Buffy then smiled, a rare sight for her. "Don't worry, I'm not threatened."

He laughed genuinely, partly amazed to be doing such a thing at all. "Well, you know, she did like me first..."

"Hey!" The elder Summers sister pouted, and Spike couldn't resist the temptation. He leaned over and kissed her, claiming her mouth as his own. She countered with gusto, and soon the couch was feeling a mite too out in the open for the places their hands wanted to travel.

He pulled away first, out of breath and needing a mental break as well as a physical one. "We, um, ought to go a little slower, here. Especially with Dawn in the house."

The dazed look in her eyes faded quickly. "Oh, sorry. You're right, definitely slower." She started to get up when he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

"Don't think that I don't want to, love. It's killing me to do this, but I want the next time to be perfect. No frantic ripping at clothes or worrying about what it all means. Just you, and me, loving each other completely. Like it's supposed to be."

She softened visibly, her eyes showing a mixture of desire and wonder. "Wow, that's...so not you. Or maybe it is, and I've never seen it before. But I like." She took in a deep breath, shuddering with something other than cold, then gave him a half-smile. "I like it a lot."

He kissed her again, gently, moved beyond words. They both lingered on the kiss a few seconds longer than necessary, loathe to pull away first. Finally, the sound of someone coming through the dining room broke the light embrace. Willow stood in the foyer, as if waiting for permission to enter.

"Sorry to interrupt the smoochies, but I just wanted to know if I could watch TV?" At Spike's curious glance, she added, "I'm a Junkyard Wars junkie."

"Oh! Junkyard Wars is on?" Spike grabbed for the remote control. "Man, I can't believe it's Wednesday already. Is it a rerun?"

"No, it's new." Buffy felt completely out of the loop as Willow joined Spike on the other side of the couch. The former witch gestured to the sling, "Do you need help putting that on?"

"I'll get that!" Buffy grabbed the sling before Willow could, and Spike grinned at her sudden possessiveness. "I just forgot, that's all."

As she helped him with the sling, she noticed that the show seemed decidedly British. When she asked Spike about it, he explained. "It's a Brit import to the States. They finally went back to the two original hosts. Couldn't stand the yanks they had on before."

"The first American guy host's on the daytime version of The Weakest Link now, and yes, I need a life," Willow replied to Buffy's glare. "Ooh! Look, they have to make snowmobiles! That's gonna be hard."

"Okay, Will, I can understand why you like this, but...Spike?"

He ticked off the list on his fingers, "It's got British people, heavy machinery with destructive power, and there's occasional swearing that the American censors miss. What's not to love?"

"Sorry I asked," Buffy said, rolling her eyes in amusement. "I'll leave you two to your TV watching, since I don't particularly want to see British men sweating like pigs over rusty pieces of metal."

Spike harrumphed at that, his eyes dancing in amusement. "I think you like seeing British men all sweaty, love, and you're just too embarrassed to watch with us."

Having gotten off the couch, Buffy now leaned over in a mildly seductive way, her lips poised close to his ear. "I'd like to see one certain English guy all sweaty, but he's not on the TV," she whispered, then stood and walked up the stairs without a backwards glance.

Stunned, he could only watch her leave, unable to follow due to the presence of an underage girl in the house, and the Wicca girl who was pretending she hadn't overheard a word.


 

Frustration was a horrible thing, and Spike knew this all too well. Hours had passed, the girls were all asleep, and now only he was left awake, tortured by the images conjured up by memory. He remembered the nights he and Buffy had spent together, wild and passionate, but more about lust than love. He'd meant it when he said he wanted the next time to be different; however, he didn't have the guts to tell Buffy he wasn't even sure how to start.

He knew everything about having sex as a vampire, but he'd never...well, it wasn't something that was done back in Victorian times. And he could feel the changes inside, not just the warmth of his skin and the heartbeat, but the sensation of being truly alive. There wasn't any way he could compete with his old self in that category, and he'd known it back in the hospital. He could hope that Buffy wouldn't mind, but he knew that she loved the ability to release the restraint and go all out, full strength.

And here he was, sitting on the back porch, fingering a cigarette he knew he shouldn't smoke. Knowing that his human body couldn't offer her what she needed. How long until the entity known as Spike was completely gone, replaced by the pathetic William?

A dark, hidden place in his mind told him that it wasn't so hard to go back to being Spike, the vampire. All he needed to do was get turned again, hopefully by someone willing to take money for it and ask no questions. He was surprised when the option slightly revolted him, as if he was above that sort of thing.

William had been at the time, he thought darkly, remembering the site of his death. He hadn't figured out what Drusilla truly was, assuming her to be a lady of the night, coming to him to sell her services. The glowing, glistening something she offered to him, he'd been naïve enough to think had involved love, because in his poetic heart that's what love was. There was nothing brighter than love, nothing more profound in its brilliancy.

Now, he was aware that it burned. He couldn't be William, not after what he'd seen, what he'd done. But he couldn't be Spike, either...so who was he?

He chuckled bitterly, amused at the spectacle he was making of himself. Spike wasn't one to brood and mope, and neither was William, despite all the heartache he'd suffered. It was odd, feeling like a stranger in your own skin. Maybe Buffy could learn to love this new person, because he knew for a fact that she would never have had William back in the day. Even a relationship with his old vampire self didn't seem much for permanence or stability.

He thought about Angel, who had made a slightly new name for his souled identity. Well, he certainly couldn't go by "Spi"...maybe Will? He shook his head at that, figuring the Scoobies would just get him and Willow confused. Randy was not even remotely an option. He needed inspiration, something akin to what had caused him to go by Spike in the first place, but without the humiliation and tears.

Sighing, he let it go for another day. Maybe Buffy could help, or even the poofter himself, since he had better renaming experiences than Spike did. Or maybe he ought to stay with his current nom de guerre, and be unconventional by changing his life without changing his name, as well.

He couldn't sense the encroaching presence of dawn any longer, but the weariness in his body spoke of needed rest. Giving one last look to the cigarette, he tucked it back into his coat pocket as he stood and turned to go back into the house. When he passed the kitchen's garbage can, he pulled up the lid and tossed it inside, then his pack of smokes quickly followed.


 

The next morning was mostly hassle-free, or Buffy deemed it so, anyway. Dawn missed her bus again, but Spike was there to drive her to school. Willow burned the toast and almost set off the fire alarm upstairs, but with some creative scraping and a lot of strawberry jam, it was edible.

By the time Spike came back, Willow had already left for class. Buffy was waiting in the kitchen for him to arrive, trying not to show her anxiousness at having the house all to themselves for the whole afternoon. She'd already cleaned the dishes to CDC level perfection, sterilized all the countertops and polished the chrome on the toaster. The kitchen radio was on, playing something mildly hip and young. Buffy almost felt like she ought to be wearing a shirt dress and a string of pearls.

When he found her in the kitchen, she smiled through the nervousness. Maybe he didn't notice, maybe he wasn't thinking about how alone the two of them were right now...

That idea was squashed as he pinned her between himself and the kitchen counter, his mouth lowering down to claim hers. It was animalistic and fierce, but not forceful. She countered with a possessive move of her own, her hand snaking around his waist to pull him closer, mindful of his sore shoulder.

Hands wandered everywhere, on top of clothing, underneath, tangled in once-coiffed hair, trying to relearn each other in a matter of minutes. Buffy's hand lowered from his chest to below his belt, and he gasped in a way that surprised and thrilled her. Spike had always been attentive to her ministrations, but never like this.

His hands trembled as he traced a path from her back to underneath the front of her blouse, fingering the line where her bra left exposed flesh. When she looked into his eyes and saw his own nervousness there, she felt a wave of tenderness for him rise up and nearly swallow her whole. Suddenly, the desperation altered into something gentle and slow, languid enough that Buffy feared they'd still be in the kitchen when Dawn came home from school.

"Should we, um," Buffy asked, her voice weak, "go upstairs?"

To her surprise, he looked almost relieved. His response confirmed it. "I'm glad you said something, pet, because as amazing as it would be to shag in the kitchen, I don't think it would fit into the plans I had in mind for us."

"Plans? Why does that sound like you've been writing notes and making charts?" Her tone was teasing, but the look on his face showed he didn't take it that way.

"I just didn't want to...look, Buffy. You know I love you. And I know we're working on this thing between us, but I don't want to fall into the same pattern we had before. The sex was bloody amazing, but I want more than that. I can tell that you do, too."

"So, are you saying you don't want to go upstairs?" She tried not to pout, she really did, but Spike saw it anyway and gave her a slight smile.

"I'm sayin', love, that a human male is far different from a vampire male, and there's a good chance that if we go upstairs now, all the errands and other plans for today will be scrapped."

"Oh. Okay." Her mind went into an interesting visual place at that thought, then she shook it off just in time for another thought to hit her upside the head. "Oh! Crap, I totally forgot! You're human, ergo one of the living. Meaning, if we're going to be doing anything anywhere, we're going to need protection."

"Protection from what?" Spike frowned in confusion, then he got it. Now it was his turn to look flustered. "Oh, right. Um, well. The drugstore, then?"

"Yeah. Let's just hope no one asks about the purchasing combo of condoms and hair color," she commented wryly, making a move for her purse. "Besides, I have to go to the docks for a little stray info gathering and slayage. You want to...um..."

"Hang out at home while you take down the bad guys, since I'm no longer any good in a fight?"

"No, it's...your shoulder, and I think we better get going while it's still daylight." Buffy leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, noting how he felt a tad distant; she hoped it wasn't at the notion that his sole value lay in his ability to fight demons. That he might be contemplating returning to his former source of power scared her in a way she didn't expect.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Buffy felt an indistinct twinge as she watched Spike walking around and bathed in light, the picture so surreal she nearly pinched herself. He was smiling when their eyes met, the distance and sadness in the kitchen having vanished as if it had never existed. Despite the sudden mood shift, she couldn't imagine not smiling back. She was grateful for whatever accident or design had allowed him to join her world, and as she slipped into her mother's old SUV, she hoped that she could persuade Spike to stay in it.



 

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