Title: Reminders
Author: Kimi
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After Spike's return from Africa, he and Buffy begin to deal with the past...
Spoilers: Season 7-ish, takes place after the fic, Voices in the Dark
Distribution: Just talk to me, I'm easy. Fanfiction.net and at Chris' site "Amare, Dare, Pardonare" http://www.geocities.com/cxyzjacobs/btvsfic/chrisindex.html
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Feedback: You betta, you betta, you bet!

This fic was written specifically for Linda J. Thanks for my new ... thing! It looks good and makes me v. happy!


I do want to thank Chris and Colleen for being there for me, as always...Chris for the piece-meal betas as I stumble through pieces and parts that make up my fic (no, I don't plan anything) and her constant encouragement; and Colleen for the end of the line read-throughs that always yield a bumper crop of bo-bos and the best kind of feedback.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Reminders



Buffy stomped upstairs from the lower level of the crypt holding a flashlight and wearing a distressed look that bordered on anger. Spike looked up briefly from the microwave and quickly ducked his head again to hide his sudden grin.

"I can't find anything down there," she grumbled, throwing herself into his 'comfy' chair, as Clem called it.

He smothered the grin and walked over with an innocent look on his face. "That's because there's nothing left, pet."

Ignoring him, she stared at the television screen, still wearing the same frown, and started flipping through the channels. Finding Lifetime at last, she looked up at him. "You still have cable, Mr. Shiny Soul," she said accusingly.

Spike raised an eyebrow and slowly turned his head to look the television screen. "Why, so I do," he said in surprise. "Hmm. Need to do something about that," he said, walking behind the TV.

"Don't even think about it." Buffy bit the words off in a way that brooked no argument.

Spike spread his hands, backing off and heading back to the refrigerator, allowing a silent chuckle to roll out once he was out of her sight.

The slayer wasn't finished. "You either need to move out, or we clean this place up. Starting with downstairs," she mumbled.

He stopped what he was doing and smirked at her stiff back and shoulders. "What?" he said innocently. "Don't like the little reminder of Cardy's visit last time 'round? Aw, luv, he'd be so hurt!"

"I hate it when you call him 'Cardy' or anything in the 'Captain' family. Or Whitebread. Frankly, I hate it when you bring him up. And don't try to change the subject! You wear this stuff like a hair shirt and then you're surprised when it starts rubbing off on me?"

"Buffy! Hair shirt? I'm impressed! You've been readin'."

"Have not," she snarked back at him. "History Channel."

"Ah."

"So when you wanna do it?" She asked sweetly.

"How 'bout ... never? Because the memory of my transgression is still too fresh," he said airily.

Buffy rounded on him, nearly snapping her spine in the process. Her eyes narrowed. "You like for me to feel guilty about this, don't you?"

"Luv, what do you have to be guilty about?" He looked at her even more innocently than before and threw a little 'apologetic' into the mix. "I'm the one that had possession of the, uh, illegals. A very bad man, I was. Bad."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, closed it and then plunged on. "I've offered to help. Clem has. Dawn has. Although I'm a little worried about what Dawn might run across down there...?"

Spike thought for a moment. "Dawn needs to stay upstairs."

She shot him a very suspicious look. "I thought you said it was all gone."

"Well, the metal didn't melt, Slayer."

A sudden look of understanding appeared on her face as she remembered her encounter with a certain pair of handcuffs. "Oh."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Staying or going?"

Spike looked at the image laid out before him in the bright doorway. There was Buffy, armed with a shovel and a huge box of industrial garbage bags. Dawn was holding a flat broom, a metal dustpan and a bucket full of cleaning products.

And behind her, Clem was wearing an uneasy look, very aware that he had come empty-handed. He stepped forward. "I brought the truck," he explained.

"Buffy...." Spike looked at her warningly.

"Stay or go. I don't care. But if you're going to keep living here, it's time to do something about this mess." She set her chin and charged downstairs, Dawn behind her like a baby chick.

Clem looked at Spike apologetically. "I was drafted."

Slapping Clem on the back, he smiled at him. "Half-expected her today anyway. Know how she is when she's bent her head around somethin'. Mix up some lemonade?"

"Yeah, sure, Spike," Clem said in relief. "That Slayer, she's a real go-getter, isn't she? One of a kind."

Spike shrugged. "Well, you know, Chosen One and all that."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy had strung orange electrical cord from the rigged refrigerator outlet to the industrial light she'd brought. Spike sighed. Knowing that this time was coming since she'd mentioned it the night before, he'd gone down and cleared out the drawers by the bed - or what was left of the bed. Those items had been carefully put away as 'mementos.'

Relieved that he'd had the foresight to go down and clear out items that Dawn might have found curious, he began laying waste to the endless bags that Buffy kept hauling up the stairs. There really wasn't anything to keep, and even less that he wanted a reminder of. And frankly, he'd seen more than enough of what the explosives had done to the lower level.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"But why?"

"Because there was a problem. And it was down here. All these eggs hatched and went all Aliens and Attack of the Killer Bees - at the same time. So I had to take 'em out. That meant everything that was down here."

"Ooh, look how pretty this was!" Dawn turned a blackened pillow over and admired the design.

"I know, Dawn," Buffy said with a sigh, trying to keep her mind on the glass she was sweeping up. It was much worse with the light on. She almost wished she'd stayed with the flashlight. Or talked Spike into moving out completely. The high-watt bulb cast distorted shadows and revealed far too much of what the chamber had once been.

Everything blackened her hands. She wondered why she hadn't thought of gloves. The smell, now that the soot was being stirred around, was sickening.

Dawn walked over, dragged a mass of burnt fabric off of what was left of the bed, and stuffed it in a three-millimeter contractor's bag. Pursing her lips, she looked back at the battered mattress peeping through the fitted sheet. "So this is where you, uh..." Dawn got a little tongue-tied and didn't quite finish the sentence.

Buffy rocked back on her heels. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"It is not. I like to help."

Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Spike anyway. Like to help Spike. It must be horrible to come down here and see all this," she commiserated, deftly changing the subject.

Picking up the edge of a singed photograph, Buffy squinted and looked at a picture of herself at sixteen with her mom at Thanksgiving. Her eyes watered. She slipped the slightly damaged photo in her pocket.

"Uh, Buff, I don't think this can be saved." Dawn was looking at the mattress, now stripped of all its tattered accoutrements. "I think it's a wash." She tilted her head as she thought about her choice of words. "Okay, not. As in so not a wash. Uh, washable. I mean..."

Her older sister walked over and grabbed the mattress, easily sweeping it off the bed and over her head. "I'll get the rest in a minute. Let me just get this up in the truck. We put mom's old mattress and box springs in the basement when she got her queen. They'll do fine." Buffy walked up the stairs.

"Which means more training space for the Dawnster," Dawn said lightly. "Yes!" She reached down and lifted the box spring, pushing it to one side so she could get to it and walk it away from where she was working.

Underneath there was a dark-colored sack. She picked it up, opening the sack and peering in. There was a flash of pale blue. Puzzled at the color, she pulled the fabric out and held it up.

It was a sweater. A size extra-small sweater.

Buffy came back downstairs.

"Did Harmony ever live here?"

"Huh?" Buffy returned to her inspection of the trash on the floor. "Oh. Yeah, I think she did for a while. Pretty soon after Spike moved in here. Why?"

"Well, I didn't think you and Harmony had the same taste in clothes, but..."

Buffy glanced up, eyes widening as she snatched at the sweater. Seeing Dawn holding the suspicious-looking sack, she grabbed it away, too.

"We got the mattress on the truck. Still got room for the rest of it and...." Spike's jaw dropped as Buffy turned around with her now white face and her old blue cashmere sweater in a shaking hand.

Dawn looked at both of them and jumped up, heading upstairs. But brushing by Buffy, she found she couldn't resist a smart-ass remark.

"Told you I didn't take it."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Spike's face fell as he saw the look on Buffy's. She immediately started digging in the bag, looking back up into his eyes accusingly each time she recognized a garment.

Sighing, he took the bag and set it to one side, taking Buffy's shaking hands in his own. "Pet, if we're gonna go through this every time one of us gets reminded of somethin' bad, we may as well walk away," he said softly.

"Those are my clothes. Were my clothes. Those are *old* clothes. You..."

"Nicked 'em. Yeah, I did."

Buffy stared at him. Spike prepared himself for an old-fashioned punch in the nose. After all, he had it coming. Just had to be a man about it.

Instead, she squealed and pinched him. Then, laughed long and hard.

"Ow." He looked at her in astonishment. "What?"

"You went in my ... house," she gasped for breath, "and stole my ... clothes?"

Spike's expression went from understanding and caring, to sheepish and full on embarrassed. "What? It's a thing."

"It is not a thing!" She continued laughing, giggling like a girl. "Surely it's not a thing. Cause that would be like..."

"Buffy," he said reproachfully. "They smelled like you."

The slayer sobered and looked into his eyes. "Oh," she said weakly.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy came in the door and threw Spike's duster at him. He caught it and looked guiltily at her.

"You left it."

He threw it back at her, eyes hardening. "Don't want it. No good in it."

She stalked over to him and held it under his nose. He wrinkled his face in distaste, then stopped, looking at her in surprise. Mixed in with the stale tobacco and the smell of liquor was a light, wholesome scent - her scent.

"It smelled like you," she said in explanation. "We'll finish up downstairs tomorrow. Good night, Spike."

He stared after her long after the door closed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spike craned his neck. "Where's the Bit?"

"Didn't want a repeat of yesterday. And today is the really grubby day anyway. And it's Monday."

"Oh, school."

"Yeah, school. As in whole new year and no skipped days yet."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

Nodding, she smiled. "It's okay. I've been checking. With the school."

He nodded in return. "Not the nicest way of bein' sure, but..."

Heading down the stairs, she called out over her shoulder, "But effective. Okay, your turn to help me today."

Spike took a deep breath that he didn't need and headed after her. He found her picking up the bag of clothes. "Upstairs please." He silently took the bag and headed up back to the upper level. Her voice startled him, coming so soon on his leaving.

"Uh, Spike. Spike."

He headed back down, wishing there were an elevator. It was going to be a long day.

"Bloody hell, Slayer. What..."

Buffy was kneeling on the crypt floor, holding a blackened eggshell in her hand. She sighed. "Okay, I never asked. I had other things on my mind that day, but will you please explain this?"

"Now's a soddin' fine time to ask. But I guess you were too busy breakin' up with me to worry about little things like the little killin' machines I was hatchin' up in my bedroom."

"So they were Suvolte demons. Just like Riley said."

"No. Not Suvoltes. Bezuines. They get no bigger than what you saw when they hatched."

She stared at him and started to protest. Thinking about his willingness to cop to anything and everything since his newly souled return, she closed her mouth with a snap.

"You can clean out a hefty length of sewer with a few of these. They're right hungry little buggers when they hatch. Would 'a headed straight out through there," he nodded, indicating the door where the sewers intersected with his crypt. "Place as full as this would clean out all the sewers in Sunnydale."

"Sewers?"

"Well, yeah. Sewer rats anyway. That's how their tastes run." He watched her begin to get a clue. "Pest control, Buffy. Clem has a contract with the city. Rats are real nasties in Sunnydale, what with all the demons, rottin' flesh and all. Bite more babies than the vamps ever did."

She stared at him, wanting to take her fingers and clean out her ears. "But you didn't..."

"Weren't really in much of a mood to hear explanations, were you, pet? And the last thing I expected to see in my crypt with you in my bed was that bleedin' wanker, Riley Finn." His voice grew hard. "Then, I wondered what was really goin' on. You comin' in like you did. Comin' on like you did."

"Nothing. Nothing going on." she said hastily, instantly on the defensive. "He even brought his wife and..."

Spike roared with laughter. "Wife! Never figured him for that. More the..."

Buffy slapped his arm, trying to find a dangerous glint to throw at him and failing miserably, only to giggle instead. Suddenly the giggle trailed off. "So this was a mistake?" She looked around and saw the damage that had been inflicted on his life for no reason.

He shrugged. "We live and learn, pet."

"But The Doctor?"

"Clem. The Doctor, Your Prescription for Pest Control in the Hellmouth," Spike recited. "Even has bloody business cards! Imported the little bastards straight from Belize. Told you I was just keepin' em for a friend. Didn't tell you when you first asked because I thought it was a bit of a lark. And then you..."

"I remember. I remember all of it. God, you must have hated me."

"Hated myself more. Should have been honest with you, luv. Should've, would've, could've. Somethin' like that."

Frowning, Buffy poked at the shell. "But Riley must have known," she muttered. Her eyes widened in remembrance.

Not noticing, Spike laughed again, but the sound was bitter. "Maybe not - just makin' the world safe for mum, apple pie and all that. Always was a stupid git. Look what he gave up." He smiled. "Anyway, we got another shipment of 'em. They didn't mind it down here - even with all the soot. And they're workin' out just fine, Clem says. Don't breed, so..."

Buffy jumped up and brushed off her pants. "Can we...uh, do this tomorrow? Or later? Or - "

Smiling sadly and a little hurt, Spike got up slowly. "Sure, Slayer. No rush."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Buffy slammed in the door of the house on Revello Drive. "Dawn! Dawn!"

Running downstairs at full-tilt, her sister slammed into her chest. "Ow. In the way much? What's wrong? Demons, vamps, Apocalypse?"

"Humans," Buffy said grimly. "Have you got Riley's email address?"

"Yeah. But Buffy, what is it?"

"He set Spike up. Set me up. Then asked me if I wanted him to kill Spike."

Dawn stared at Buffy.

"He gets fair warning right now. Riley or any of the soldier boys - or girls - come anywhere near Sunnydale, they've got me to take on."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

At eleven a.m., Spike opened the door as he heard a large truck pulling up. Outside the door were Buffy, Clem and Xander. His eyes almost popped out of his head. Opening his mouth to speak, he saw Xander cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't get any ideas, Spike," Xander said gruffly. "I'm still pissed." He hauled the nozzle and long hose attached to the pressure washer on the truck toward the stairs and started down to the lower level.

"Buffy..."

She gave her head tiny shake. He nodded as Clem followed Xander.

Clem turned back and looked at with a rueful grin. "See, I told you..."

"Right, Clem. Be down in a bit." Spike looked at Buffy. "What's this about then?"

"I talked to Xander last night for a long time." She nodded. "And he's right. He's still pissed. But we've got to stick together." Taking a deep breath, Buffy spit it out. "Spike, Riley told me he had orders to eliminate The Doctor."

Spike stared at her. Laughed. "What a drama queen!"

"This is not a joke. He asked me if I wanted him to - you know - you."

"Bugger that! Like to see him - " Running a hand through his hair, Spike frowned and looked back toward the stairs. "But Slayer, this is - Bloody hell! Clem!"

She nodded. "The Doctor. Now I've emailed Riley. Didn't explain much, but put him on notice. We see a glint of Kevlar in town, they're goin' down. I think it was just a one-shot deal, but we've got to be careful. Watch each other's backs. And you can't fight 'em, Spike." She looked at him speculatively. "Can you?"

Dumbfounded, Spike just stood there. Then he walked over the head of the steps.

"Harris! Harris," he bellowed.

Xander came up the stairs grumbling and walked over to Spike and Buffy. "What? Look, I'm doin' this for Buffy and I don't need..."

As Spike's punch to Xander's nose connected, Buffy heard twin cries of pain. Xander picked himself up off the floor and started toward Spike.

The vampire massaged his head even as he looked at Xander with a combative glint in his eye. "That's for leaving your bride at the bloody altar, you git."

Xander stopped dead in his tracks.

"And right, Slayer. Can't fight 'em," he said, swinging his head back around to look at Buffy thoughtfully.

Smiling encouragingly, she patted Spike's arm. "Hey. It probably was just a one shot deal, you know."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Xander and Clem had cleared out, Xander's nose still red from his contact with Spike's fist earlier in the day. He'd been toting the headboard to the bed like it was an albatross around his neck. Buffy and Spike were down in the lower level. Sniffing, she walked all around the now-huge room.

"Not bad. Xander did pretty good. And the water drained off just fine."

"Hello, luv. Sewers, remember? S'fine. Just don't know how I feel about startin' over down here. Upper's a'right for a flat."

"This is better," she said decisively. "I always liked it down here. Felt safe down here."

Spike sighed, as the wheels in Buffy's head began to turn. He could almost feel it. Sometimes, he imagined they squeaked a bit. He followed her upstairs.

Grabbing the sack of her clothes, she headed toward the door. "I'm gonna get rid of these."

He put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Don't just throw 'em out. Give 'em to...someone who could use 'em."

Her eyes twinkled. The soul thing was still a daily surprise. "They don't smell like soot or anything. Although I don't know why not!" She looked at him curiously. "You mean like Goodwill or something? "

"Yeah. Somethin' like that. And wait." Spike walked over and picked up the leather duster. "This, too."

Buffy gulped. "But Spike - "

"Buffy, the coat's got a bit of a history attached to it. Rather not have any reminders of it. Not here. Not ever." He took the bag and carefully placed the duster inside, handing it back to her.

Nodding, she took the bag and headed to the door. "Xander's gonna see if he can sandblast the headboard clean."

"Right. I got that. I also saw how he was tryin' not to touch it," Spike chuckled wryly.

Buffy grinned. "Dawn had a little to say about that, yesterday. Very little, matter of fact. See you tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Better not," she threatened teasingly. Buffy walked outside and closed the door.

Thoughtfully, she opened the bag and took the coat out of it, throwing it over her arm. Then, she headed home.

Title: Reminders 2
Author: Kimi
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After Spike's return from Africa, he and Buffy begin to deal with the past...and there's a lot to deal with!
Spoilers: Season 7-ish, takes place after the fic, Voices in the Dark
Distribution: Just talk to me, I'm easy. Fanfiction.net and at Chris' site "Amare, Dare, Pardonare" http://www.geocities.com/cxyzjacobs/btvsfic/chrisindex.html
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Feedback: You betta, you betta, you bet!

For Chris, who is the best writing partner in the 'verse. For Colleen, who makes something good even better. Every time.


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Reminders 2


Little Dawnie Summers looked up from a schoolbook (American History, oh, joy!) and started an irritated tapping on the open page with her pen. She was bored with the American Revolution and wished she were looking at one of those forbidden demon texts that no longer existed. Or maybe she could just be at Janice's. Or maybe -

"Buffy?"

The one and only (well, okay, one and only un-incarcerated) Vampire Slayer pulled on the shirttail of her bright orange uniform (eww, polyester twill!) and looked at the clock. Running right on time for a change, she wouldn't get the usual five-minutes-late, disapproving look. She'd actually made assistant manager - had it on her nametag and everything - despite her squalid time-clock history. Buffy was very aware that this was only because she just called out for apocalypse-type reasons and souled vampire crises. Even more attractive to upper management was the fact that she was still stupid enough to have not found another job yet, like so many of her peers had.

"Buffy!"

Startled, she realized that unconsciously she'd cultivated and actually succeeded in the fine art of 'tuning-out' her little sister - just like a real mom! She felt a surge of pride. She dampened it just a little.

"Sorry, just thinking about work."

"Why?" Dawn asked perceptively.

"Good question," Buffy sighed, sitting down across from Dawn. "What?"

Dawn's eyes brightened in anticipation. "I found some stuff. For Spike. For downstairs."

Buffy's eyes bored into Dawn's. "Are we using it?"

"Noooo." Dawn thought a little harder. "No," she said decisively.

"Does any of it belong to Willow?" Just because Willow was momentarily not living in the Summers home didn't mean she'd want her things given away.

The little Summers bit rolled her eyes. "Buffy...no."

Final question and most important of all: "Is any of it stolen goods?" This last was asked with the modicum of suspicion born of deep embarrassment.

Dawn squeaked in wounded pride and tossed her hair, effectively destroying or knocking over anything within three feet of her.

"No! I told you I took all that stuff back!"

Buffy grinned as she realized that Dawn's hair was wrapped around the back of the chair. Ooh, that was gonna hurt! She looked at the clock and sighed. "You need help?"

Dawn nodded her head. Buffy absently noticed that the hank of hair tightened a bit.

"Well, finish up your homework and call Clem. He'll help you get it on the truck. I'll be off in a few hours, and we'll take it over there."

"And the mattresses, too, right?"

"Not wet?"

"They were up on a table top. Old table, much space, leaned against wall. No wetness."

Buffy nodded once. "You and Clem leave space on the truck if you can't manage it. I'll do it when I get home. Load the big stuff, I mean."

"Can we surprise him? Spike?"

"Surprising someone means that it's necessary that they not be around when you do something for them," Buffy explained with a touch of exasperation. "Successful surprise parties rest solely on that premise. To my knowledge, he's left the crypt *once* in the last four months or so. And that was the night the three of us went patrolling. I don't know if we can pull off a surprise."

"Oh, c'mon, Buffy! We can try. Bully him out of there or somethin'."

"Cause that always works so well! Fine, I'll try. You call Clem. I'll be home later. Make sure you have everything you need for this little escapade, 'kay? I'll be back in no time. And see if Xander's done with the bed."

As Buffy got to the front door, she heard Dawn's muted cry of pain and the slam of a chair against the floor. A huge grin stretched across Buffy's face. She skipped down the stairs, giggling, at the thought of Dawn kneeling down, untying her hair.

Evil, Buffy, evil!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Buffy poked her head in the door of the crypt. "You decent?"

Involuntarily, Spike looked down. Chuckling dryly, he got up and walked to the door, where the Slayer had plastered herself between cracked door and sill.

"If you mean decent 'dressed,' yeah. If havin' a soul makes me decent-like, then, well - "

Sighing in mock-frustration, she grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him close enough that he could feel her breath on his face.

"Leave."

His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"Out. Sewers. Now." Her voice with delicious and the grin on her face doubly so. Spike's heartbeat would have sped up if he'd had one. He made do with a sudden surge of adrenaline - and something else - instead. Then he realized what she was saying. To punctuate her words, she dropped his shirt, reached out and pinched him.

"Ow," Spike exclaimed, pulling away and rubbing his nose. "Playing a little rough, are we?"

"'Rough' is punching you there, not pinching. Would you leave?" she demanded in mock-frustration.

"Any suggestions as to where I go?"

"None. Just want you out. Byeee..." She waved four little fingers at him.

Her color was high and her eyes were sparkling. Spike made a last bid for sticking around.

"Bloody hell, Slayer. There's UFO's on Discovery..."

"Which will repeat again sometime after 11. I know the drill." She grinned again and pulled a 'Dawn,' almost giggling as she did it. "Get out, get out, get out."

"Oooh. If the Nibblet heard you...," he teased.

"Sewers. Now. Don't be back before ten. Play poker. Go to Willie's. Go to the Bronze. Just leave."

Spike had a momentary fit of anxiety at the idea of leaving the crypt. Squelching it, he looked at her appraisingly, still pressed between the door and the sill.

"Fine. I'll go." He looked at her suspiciously. "Can't come out this way?"

"Nope," she said firmly. "Go."

Spike shrugged, headed downstairs and out, before he had time to think too much about it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Willie's hadn't seemed quite the place for him that evening. And poker at the demon bar wasn't very appealing either. He shuddered a bit at the thought of the kittens.

Oh, God, what a poof!

He slipped through the Saturday night crowd at the Bronze like a shark through open waters. On automatic pilot, he headed to the bar. A loud voice stopped him in his tracks.

"And so you're just - back! Like nothin' ever happened. Welcomed home by the Summers women, one and both!"

Spike slowly turned away from the bar and toward the sarcasm that was dripping from the small table to the left.

"Nice trick, turnin' yourself into a new man - uh, thing - like that. Pickin' up a soul cuts you a lot of slack around here. Ask Angel. He'll tell you."

Expressionless, Spike walked over to the table where Xander Harris sat alone except for twelve empty and two full bottles of beer and an empty shot glass.

"Course there's no cutting of the slack from this guy. Seen the all soul-having slink in and out of this town before, usually endin' up in a Buffy meltdown - Big Bad Bang right in the face of the Big Bad Buff."

For the first time in months, Spike was absolutely certain of something. "I'm not Angel, whelp."

Xander didn't blink. Just nodded. "True," he agreed slowly. "Except for the re-souled 'helpless now' part. And even when you were all, and I mean all, Evel Knievel, you were *never* in his class."

Spike winced at the 'helpless' line, but didn't let up on the man. "Went through something of an Angelus phase myself."

Waving a drunken hand in dismissal, Xander laughed ruefully. "Oh, not so much, I bet. Always had Dru's back to watch, didn't you? Then, Dawn's. Now it's the Slayer. Nope, not so much, Spike. Not so much. Hard to make plans to end the world if you're all swoony and lovesick. You know? Whipped?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy stared at the bed. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "I remember this." She walked over and ran her hand along the comforter. "Mom got this in L.A. for her and Dad's room. I haven't seen it since we moved."

"Well, it was all packed up, pillows and all. Boy, Mom really went all out, didn't she?"

The slayer picked up a throw pillow. It was a steely blue gray, with a bold tone-on-tone stripe. "Don't remember it looking this good in L.A. though."

"It's the walls," Clem said quickly.

The two sisters turned and looked at him expectantly.

"See? Everything just kinda blends together. But the rough texture of the walls with the shiny fabric kinda - well, it's pretty." He looked at his feet. "Or I like it, anyway."

Buffy rushed in to counter Clem's embarrassment. "It does look pretty. But not girl pretty. Guy pretty. I like. Lots."

Clem's face lit up. "I'll go see what else is on the truck. Your friend did a good job on the headboard. Nice guy." The demon walked upstairs with his usual heavy steps.

Stepping back to get the full effect of the cavern walls with the bedspread, she chuckled. "Clem's right. Death becomes it,"

Rolling her eyes, Dawn looked at Buffy. "Xander was an ass."

"Dawn!"

The younger sister stuck her lower lip out. "Well, he was! He's not very nice lately. *And* he'd already been drinking."

"Xander is going through a bad time. And it's not just Anya either. I tried to talk to him about it, but he just went to the refrigerator and got me a beer."

"He barely talks to me," Dawn said softly. "It's like he's mad or somethin'."

"He's pretty angry about Spike. He's pretty angry about everything."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Hey, Soul Man, want one of these? Here. Take it. You took Buffy. Took Anya. Take a beer. They bring 'em out in pairs anyway - so I don't have to wait." Xander's eyes narrowed. "If I wasn't so drunk, I'd stake your ass." He raised his beer high, nodded once. "Maybe tomorrow," he said in way of a toast and slugged down half the bottle. "Yeah, maybe." Xander pushed a full beer over toward Spike.

The vampire tried to figure out how he was going to get Xander out of the Bronze and home. The whelp was in a dangerous mood, and he'd be picking a fight sooner or later. "No thanks, mate. On the wagon these days. Spike, alcohol, Sunnydale - bad mix."

Xander laughed loudly. Spike underlined his resolve to get the little wanker home and in bed.

"Harris, s'gettin' a wee bit late. Take you til past Monday to sleep this one off... Workin' man and all that."

"Work? Hey, man of leisure here. Just kickin' back drawin' the checks." At Spike's puzzled look, Xander chuckled good-naturedly. "Laid off, buddy. On the dole. And not the Kenny Rogers pineapple kind either. Seems they didn't need me anymore." He took another big swig. "Mighty polite about it, too. Pays the rent, buys the snacks..."

"The booze," Spike finished for him. He was beginning to have a strange feeling in his chest, a kind of sadness, as he looked at the bloated man across from him.

"The Xanman dooze the booze, cause he got the blues," Xander sang off key. "Aw, c'mon, big, bad and souley. Tie one on. If we're both drunk, maybe I can stake ya. Never said you were sorry about Anya..."

"If I have any apologies to make, they go to the lady, Harris, not you. You left her high and dry. Didn't even have the balls to make it right, after."

"Oh, and you've made it right with Buffy now? Sure you did. She's a sucker for a soul. You're prob'ly boffin' the Buff again and everything. Probably no clauses on your end, you sneaky bastard. You sure got one up on the old L.A. soul-boy."

Spike sighed in frustration. If only Xander knew how wrong he was. After that first night when Buffy had told him she loved him, he'd backed off. Hadn't wanted to fall right back into the same game of slap and tickle that had doomed them the last time.

And it hadn't been that difficult, what with Clem showing up at all hours and the Bit coming by. Buffy had been giving him some odd looks but she hadn't said anything. Maybe she was thinking the same way.

He shook his head, got up from the table and walked around, easily lifting Xander out of the chair and onto unsteady feet. "You're goin' home now, if I have to carry you every bleedin' step of the way."

Xander tried to pull away. "I don't need your help!"

"Not doin' this for you, whelp," he growled. "Doin' it for Buffy and Nibblet. You're bait for any fledgling on the prowl tonight."

Xander swung at Spike over his shoulder and hit him with a glancing blow to the eye.

"Ow," Spike blinked and squinted. "That hurt!"

"Okay, that's enough. You two wanna spend the night in jail?"

Spike let out a disgusted breath. A bouncer. And a human one at that. "We were just leavin'."

"Speak for yourself! And hey! Drinking here. Workin' on the drownin' of the many sorrows. This sonovabitch slept with my girl. Well, they didn't sleep.... And now, he's sleepin' with my best friend. And I doubt they're sleepin' either. I'm gonna stake 'im, soon as I'm sober."

"That's it. I'm callin' the cops. This guy ain't goin' nowhere."

Xander threw a wild punch at the bouncer. Spike caught his fist and pushed him back. "Harris, that's enough."

The young man charged again at the bouncer. Spike tried to figure out how he could stop him - get him home. For his own good.

Spike's fist shot out and caught Xander in the jaw; he sunk and Spike caught him.

Looking up at the bouncer, Spike smiled. "No need to call anyone, mate. I'll get him home. In his cups, he is."

As he hustled Xander out, he marveled at the wonder of it.

The chip hadn't fired.

Title: Reminders 3
Author: Kimi
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After Spike's return from Africa, he and Buffy begin to deal with their past...and everyone else's, too!
Spoilers: Season 7-ish, takes place after the fic, Voices in the Dark
Distribution: Just talk to me, I'm easy. Fanfiction.net and at Chris' site "Amare, Dare, Pardonare" http://www.geocities.com/cxyzjacobs/btvsfic/chrisindex.html
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Feedback: You betta, you betta, you bet!

God, Chris, thanks. Best online beta around!


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Reminders 3


Spike strode toward the crypt. The sooner he made his way back and talked to Buffy, the better. If she heard it from Harris first, there'd be hell to pay. That wasn't likely, though. No more than an hour ago, he'd thrown Xander over his shoulder and literally carried him to his apartment.

As he'd begun to come around, Xander had cursed Spike, thumped, and even punched him in the back a few times - kidney punches at that. Spike had told him to shut his soddin' mouth or he'd hit him again. Xander dared him to. He had also tried to trip him up by slamming his fist into the back of Spike's knee.

Spike had thought about dropping him on his head. But suddenly, they were at Xander's apartment.

Once there, the problem of unseen barriers reared its head. He really hadn't thought about it - could have sworn he'd been inside there before - but he'd ended up just putting Xander down and shoving him toward the door. Xander had calmed down, opened up the apartment, invited Spike to come in and have a beer (again), and passed out in his overstuffed chair.

Spike had pulled off Xander's shoes, thrown a blanket over him, looked around the trashed apartment, checked the level of alcohol, and left.

"You are soooo late." A half-frustrated, half-teasing voice greeted him on his arrival. Spike ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he was going to tell Buffy about Xander - and about the chip not working.

"You better have a good explanation. Dawn stayed so she could be here when you got back. And I was beginning to get a little worried."

He grinned sheepishly at the Slayer and Dawn, but he was more than a little distracted. He looked down at his shoes, trying to think of a way to start.

Buffy missed the body language. Putting one hand on her hip, really beginning to warm to the subject, she drawled, "In fact, if you were my -"

In surprise, Spike looked up at Buffy. Her eyes widened, as her mouth dropped open. Brows knit with a frown, she sat down heavily in the chair.

He cleared his throat. Dawn looked from one to the other of them and jumped up, heading down the steps. "I'll be - downstairs, okay?"

No one answered - or even looked at her. She fled with a held breath, not knowing if this was a bad thing - or a very bad thing. Nothing about it had looked good. She just knew that this was one conversation she didn't want to witness.

Overhearing, however, would have been of the good. It was so quiet upstairs, you could hear a pin drop. Dawn strained her ears and finally heard footsteps. Someone - Spike - was on his way down.

He looked subdued as he reached the foot of the stairs. "Hey, Nibblet," he said weakly. "Show me - oh."

Spike looked at the bed, saw the two tables on either side, the lamp. His lips tightened. Dawn was sitting on the bed, looking at him expectantly. He looked at her searchingly, a little concerned.

"Bit?"

"We already had it. Had all of it," she said quickly, now seeing it through his eyes. "This," she touched the comforter, "was Mom and Dad's. I found it." She was jabbering, because suddenly everything had gone all weird again, just like it always was when Buffy got between her and Spike.

Walking over to the bed, he sat down, running his hand over the comforter, just as Buffy had. "Dawn..."

"There might be a chair or somethin'..."

"This is fine for now," he said firmly, squeezing her arm in thanks. "What you did is - well, too much. Thank you."

"I'm leaving now, right?"

"Yep. Big Sis and I need to talk. Saw Harris tonight, and it wasn't pretty. And - well, other things to talk about. I'm takin' you home. Give Buffy time to uh, think."

Dawn nodded her head. "I know what she was gonna say."

"But she didn't say it." His eyes locked onto hers. "And she shouldn't. It's complicated."

"Seems pretty simple to me," Dawn grumbled.

"Right. To you anyway. Now, home - or Janice's?"

Dawn thought for a moment. "Um, Janice's?"

"Fine then."

"Are you gonna talk to her about - um, what she *didn't* say?"

"Dunno. Can't believe I'm sayin' it, but Harris is my real worry at the moment. C'mon, let's go."

They walked up the steps in silence. Dawn looked over at Buffy, who was moving things around in the 'kitchen,' trying to look busy.

"Night, Buff. Headed to Janice's, okay?" Dawn's voice was deceptively light.

"Good," Buffy said absently, biting her lip. "Janice's is good."

Dawn shot a concerned look at Spike. He shook his head quickly, forestalling any discussion of Buffy's change of heart where Janice was concerned.

"Be back in a moment, pet. We'll talk then," he said in a normal tone.

Vampire and bit walked out into the shadowy night.

"So, what, Spike?"

"Dunno, Nibblet."

"Does this mean..."

"What it means," he said slowly and carefully, making certain that Dawn understood, "is that neither Buffy nor I have been payin' attention lately."

"You don't sound very happy about it," she said accusingly. "I mean, she was gonna say..."

"Something bloody stupid. There's too much up in the air to add more to it right now. I don't need it and neither does she," he snapped.

Dawn closed her mouth.

Well, fine then.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy wasn't upstairs when Spike returned from dropping Dawn off at Janice's. He made a rude noise and slammed open the refrigerator door, grabbing a container of blood and pouring it into a cappacino-sized mug.

She wasn't going to make this easy.

Impatiently waiting for the microwave to finish, he thought about how the evening had wound itself out. The beep was more than welcome when it came.

Taking a healthy slug, Spike looked longingly at the television and started toward the chair. That way lay sanity. Blowing out a breath and straightening his shoulders, he changed direction, going downstairs to the lower level.

Because of course, that's where she was.

Buffy looked up from her perch on the edge of the bed with a timid smile. "Okay, that was, um, well ... Did Dawn get there okay?"

Not what she wanted to say - and not what he wanted her to say either. He nodded and waited. She ran her hand over the comforter nervously.

"Clem thought this was pretty." She looked up. "I do, too."

Spike nodded again. "It is. But Buffy, this is - not right."

Her eyes got huge. "What?"

"Well, pet, we're just floatin' along here, right? You tell me when you're off work, I expect you by. You know more about what's in my refrigerator than I do. And now this - we're playin' house, Buffy. Driftin' into - what?"

"I just thought you could use some privacy," she said defensively.

"Buffy, I'm a vampire. S'very basic, really. Somewhere dark - doesn't matter where - to sleep during the day. Blood to eat. Not a lot of room for variation there."

"Okay, okay. I thought *we* could use some privacy. And you had - things. This was your bed!"

"The things weren't for me, they were for you. Make me a little less a monster in your eyes, little more like a man." He thought a moment. "Well, maybe for me, too, yeah."

He felt a twinge of pain as her eyes filled up with tears. Mercilessly, he went on, or he wouldn't be able to finish saying the things he needed to say.

"Furniture upstairs? For Nibblet. For when she would come by. The telly?" Spike chuckled, caught out. "Right, well, that *is* for me." He shrugged. "But this?"

Her chin quivered.

"Tried to tell you I wasn't sure about stayin' here. But you were all hellbent on cleanin' it up. And I let you do it. Dragged my feet, didn't say anythin', 'cause I was driftin', too.

"No matter what you do - what I *did* -- this is still a crypt. It'll never be a condo in a fashionable neighborhood. Never be a white picket fence outside."

The tears rolling freely down her face were more than he could take. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gingerly took her hand, trying to figure out how to make it easier.

"Buffy love, don't cry. Please. It's just - "

With a tiny sound she threw herself against his shoulder and shuddered with silent sobs. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "So, so sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry for. Just takin' baby steps here, right?" he said as he smoothed her hair.

She pulled back and looked at him with swimming eyes. "I miss you, Spike."

"I miss me, too, pet." He smiled sadly. "S'gonna take some time is all."

She held him a little tighter and laughed wryly. "And I miss - this." Through still-wet eyes, she looked at him with a little bit of her old mischievousness. "Can you tell me why we're not doing - this?"

"Because it worked out so well for us the first time?" he said with a hint of bitterness.

Sighing, he went on. "Buffy, there's nothing I'd rather do than crawl into bed with you right now and stay there until one of us starves to death. I'm not a bloody saint, even if I do have the equipment for it now."

"You sound like it's a bad thing," she said cuttingly.

"It is when you use it to hide away - like you did. I don't trust myself enough right now not to do just that."

"You're hiding now! You hide in this place! What happened to patrolling?
What happened to poker night?"

"Patrol?" he echoed. He caught her stubborn chin in his hand. "You want me? To patrol with you?" His eyes searched hers for an answer.

"Spike! You are so stupid! Of course, I do!"

He smiled. "Ah. Well." He sat back. "That's one thing settled."

"Well, what about the bed then? You'll sleep here? Like you used to, before I - blew it up."

Chuckling at her, he considered, then nodded. "Yeah, alright. S'long as it doesn't make me soft."

She smiled wickedly. "Don't think there's much chance of that."

Still chuckling, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "I love you, Slayer. God help me. Now. To business. Harris. And the bloody chip."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I don't see any other way to do it."

"He's not gonna like this. And I don't know if *I* like it."

"Well, I do. And I'm the Slayer. He just needs to be needed, Spike."

Spike chortled. "Oh, right. And all we need is love."

Buffy stuck her chin out. "Keep it up, and we won't need him. I'll just put you out of *my* misery myself." She looked at him thoughtfully. "But, really, do you think that might be it?"

He shrugged.

Xander trudged heavily down the stairs to Buffy's basement. "Uh, Buff, not really in the mood for bein' the plumber's friend. And my head is - " He saw Spike and stopped. "Whoa! Déjà vu. Demon in the basement!"

Smirking, Spike took a step forward. "Hello, Harris. Head a tad bit large?"

Xander looked puzzled. "Hey. You - hey, you hit me last night!" He rubbed his jaw. "Hard."

"Yep. Thought you might let me do it again."

Looking wildly at Buffy, he said quickly, inching back toward the stairs, "Well, let me go get a beer and - "

Spike reached out with a smile and pulled Xander in close. "And *that's* the magic phrase, mate. S'for your own good." He slung Xander away from the stairwell and into the far wall.

Xander gaped at him, as he grabbed at the wall behind him.

"Anything?" Buffy asked Spike, crossing her arms across her chest.

With another, even more self-satisfied smirk, he shook his head. "Not a twinge, pet. But I don't see what good this is gonna do."

"Holey socks, Buffy! What's goin' on around here?"

Buffy smiled sweetly at Xander. "Just a little experiment. Well, several experiments. You remember that old padded suit you used to wear when we trained?"

He nodded, eyes wide.

"Well, we need your help. Spike can do a few things without the chip firing and we need to see just how far he can go. We need to define 'intent to harm'. Since the chip doesn't work on me, or Clem, you're elected."

"This is *research*? Bring on the books then. Cause I'm not big with the bodily harm."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of research. We're gonna need your help, Xander. Not just as a punching bag, but your little military backstory, too. And remember, Spike can't really hurt you." She grinned. "Much."

"So this is a big? Like really important?"

"Yeah, monkeyboy. Need your help."

Xander absently stroked his jaw. "Just body shots, right?"

Twin nods answered him.

"Wait!" Xander reviewed the conversation. "Wait just a minute. The chip doesn't work on you?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Hasn't since Willow brought her back." Spike looked at Buffy. "You didn't tell him?"

She looked embarrassed. "Thought you might get staked."

"Bloody hell, Buffy. Don't you tell anybody anythin'? And - vampire. I can take care of myself."

Disgusted, she looked at him. "And we're doing this why?"

"Oh." Spike had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, right then. But Harris?"

"Hey! Standing right here!" Xander's face reddened. "Okay, I'll do it. I swear I don't know why - probably the hangover - but I'll do it."

Both Spike and Buffy whirled around to stare at Xander.

"Well, it's not like I'm - you know - Mr. Popular right now with the chicks. Or work. Or well, anyone or anything. Anyway, this could be kinda fun. Cause I get to hit you, right?"

Spike shook his head as Buffy nodded yes. He slowly turned his head to look at her, saw the affirmative and groaned loudly.

"Yes, Spike, he does. He's got to. We've got to see if self-defense is acceptable to the chip. You know, disarmey kind of stuff." She looked at Xander. "We think it might be a soul thing, Xan."

Xander rubbed his hands together. "Ho-kay! Zoot suit! I'll be right back and we'll start, Mr. Sun Challenged."

Looking at Spike for his nod, Buffy carefully broached the next topic. "And Xander, no drinking."

Stopping on his way up the stairs, the man turned and looked at Buffy strangely.

"You've got Spike all worried about you," Buffy heard Spike's snort and disregarded it, "and that could mess with the experiment. If you're, like, drinking. So no drinking while we're working."

Xander walked back down the stairs and up to Spike. "You think I can't handle it." His voice carried a hard twinge of anger. Spike held his eyes, not backing down.

"Well, I'll be damned." Xander shook his head. "Of all my friends, the undead thing is the one that noticed."

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