“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind, pet?” he asked at last.

They’d been in Standard Stargazing Position #1, side by side, flat on their backs, for about twenty minutes now, and he could practically hear her mind shouting with the need to talk to him about Something Big. He’d been rambling about the Seven Sisters and the bear and Devil’s Tower, but she clearly wasn’t paying any attention to the myth.

“It’s Buffy.” Dawn said at last.

He’d been expecting it, but his head still swiveled quickly toward her, catching her eyes. “She okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. I guess. I mean, no. I don’t know! Do you?” Dawn voice rose on a faint wail. “She’s all weird! Quiet and kinda nervy. She, like, hides in her room half the time, and I know she’s sneaking out her bedroom window almost as soon as it’s dark, just like she used to do before mom knew she was the Slayer. I don’t know where she goes, if she’s patrolling or what.”

Spike could have told her that big sis was coming to him, to his crypt. He wondered why the Slayer hadn’t told her herself. Maybe Dawn just hadn’t asked. Her appearances at his crypt had become a regular occurrence. It had been a week and a half since he’d opened his eyes to find her rocking at the foot of his bed, and since then, she came to him most evenings. Soon after the sun had set, she would appear, knocking politely on the door of his crypt.

‘Let’s walk,’ she would suggest. Or she would sort through the films he had on hand, and ask if he would mind watching this one or that one with her. The fairly large assortment of video tapes he’d managed to nick over the years had fallen victim to his crypt-destroying rampage last summer, but the number was slowly growing again. When she seemed to show a strong preference for moody old mysteries, that genre began to increase in number. She’d loved ‘Laura’ and, even though she’d seen and dealt with more scary things in her lifetimes than could be counted, ‘The Haunting’ had made her gasp in shock more than once. She always seemed pleased that he was willing to spend a quiet evening with her – like he was doin’ her a bleedin’ favor or something.

“Your sis is having some trouble, pet. Bein’ alive again.” His voice didn’t dismiss her fears as unfounded, but he tried to avoid letting his own concerns come through too clearly, which might upset his girl further.

“Yeah? I’d-a never guessed.” Sarcasm wasn’t ever much of a problem for Dawn. Didn’t mean the bit wasn’t genuinely worried. “Sometimes she seems okay and sometimes she’s like a complete stranger. Sometimes she looks at Willow and Tara like they’re complete strangers, like she can’t quite remember their names.”

“Does she?” Buffy did seem a little confused once in a while, particularly, he thought, about the passage of time, but she always seemed to know who he was.

“Yeah.” Dawn paused, and turned her face back to the sky, her eyes sliding away from his. When she spoke again, her tone had become confiding, like she was sharing secrets. “She forgets where stuff is in the house – even rooms, and half the time at dinner I don’t think she has any idea what we’re talking about. I don’t think she remembers a lot of thing s – lots and lots of things – or, um, even some…people. I mean really doesn’t remember them – not just their names.”

The fearful, almost horrified undertone in Dawn’s voice had Spike studying her more closely. She didn’t glance his way, but she was biting at her lower lip a little. Forgetting people was obviously pretty high on her scary things list, and he gave that some thought. Was she worried that because people had been manipulated into having memories of her, they could be re-manipulated into forgetting her? That could well shake a lot of people’s foundations, and, in her short lifetime, the girl next to him had already had her world shaken up more than most ever would.

He looked back up into the sky himself, keeping his voice casual. “The Slayer’s obviously not havin’ any trouble remembering you,” he assured her. “How many times have I seen the two of you all tucked up together on the sofa, bein’ all sisterly, since she got back?” he commented. He hadn’t spent a lot of time in the house with them – most of his time with Buffy was when she came to him, or during the night when terror struck – but he’d still had several chances to see the sisters interacting. “I got the impression the two of you were gettin’ on pretty well, doin’ quite a bit of chatting too. Right?”

“Yeah,” Dawn affirmed, then paused as she seemed to consider it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. She talks to me a lot more than she used to. Nothing deep, maybe, but she seems to kinda wanna spend time with me. Before I always felt like the annoying little brat sister, you know? Like for her it was this major huge deal that she spend five minutes with me. ‘Oooh, look what a good sister I am, I walked Dawn to the corner. Pat me on the back, and tell me I’m wonderful!’”

“You’re still the annoying little brat sister, pet. That hasn’t changed.”

“You are sooo not amusing, bleach boy,” Dawn announced. “But, yeah, she talks to me more, and for sure a lot more than she talks to anyone else. She practically scurries away from Willow, Xander, and Anya like she’s Amy or something.”

“Amy?”

“Willow’s rat. You know – that used to be a girl?”

“Oh, yeah. Met her that night she got out of her cage,” he nodded in recognition. It had taken them three soddin’ hours to find the stupid thing! He’d forgotten her name, but he hadn’t forgotten the general Scoobie reaction of horror when he’d suggested wringing the furry vermin’s neck. Would’a kept them from ever having to search her out again, wouldn’t it?

Spike would probably never be up for membership in P.E.T.A.

Or in any Wicca groups either, for that matter.

“Tara seems smart enough to hang back a little and give her some space. Thank god,” Dawn added with feeling. “I wish the others would grab a clue. I mean, it’s pretty obvious she can’t stand being crowded, and talked at. Sometimes I almost wanna bash Xander over the head and tell him to lay off.”

“You should go with that, luv. Probably be good therapy for you, and if it doesn’t relax you, watching would bloody well make my day. You should do it for that reason alone,” he urged, warming to the idea. “You know, to prove your undying devotion to me. Just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll trot along with my popcorn, get a front row seat. Have myself a real good time.”

Without turning her head, Dawn whacked him on the arm. “You would,” she laughed. The amusement quickly faded, though, as Dawn voiced more of her Buffy-centric concerns. “But even talking to her is so different. She’s all thoughtful about stuff, and um, I don’t know, kinda soft or something. And she’s so – polite.” Dawn made it sound like a serious character flaw. “Please, thank you, may I? It’s freaking me out!”

Knocking on his door… Asking rather than making demands accompanied by a fist connecting to his nose… Yeah, to use Dawn’s words, it was freaking him out a bit, too. Her decision making processes had changed as well. Would you mind? If you’d rather… What do you think? She’d always been in charge, issuing orders. It was so far removed from her usual style that this consensus version of Buffy was taking some serious getting used to. These changes – her desire for quiet, the politeness, the soft gentleness Dawn had mentioned, the – what? Womanliness? He wasn’t sure if that was the word he wanted. Old fashioned womanliness maybe. Some lofty ideal of womanhood from a few centuries ago. Something some brainless twit had written volumes about that hadn’t had that much basis in reality even then. Something William had believed in, maybe. Stupid git. All these changes, these new or newly revealed aspects to Buffy, felt different, and he was still adjusting to them. He’d spent some time wondering how permanent they were, too.

Not, he thought, back stepping a second, that his Slayer hadn’t been a damned fine woman, and he would guess she’d shown a softer side of herself to Angelus, and the soldier. But, for the most part, his own experiences with her would never have led him to associate the words soft and gentle with her before the tower.

‘Aggravating bitch’ was a lot closer to the mark in his memories. His mind drifted.

“Do you know she had me take her on a tour of Sunnydale a week or so ago?” Dawn drew him out of his fond musings. “We walked past the Magic Box and Xander’s, looked around campus. She had me take her to the Bronze, the grocery store, and the drug store, past the old high school, stuff like that.

“We walked past your crypt about four times, coming into the cemetery from every direction. She kept turning around and looking at things from the other side – you know, like you’re supposed to do in the mountains so you don’t get lost. Our dad used to make us do that when we went hiking on our camping trips.”

Was she implying all that camping gear stored in their basement had actually been used by them? By all of them? Spike’s inability to picture the Summers’ women embracing Mother Nature up close and personal renewed itself.

“I asked her if she wanted to walk by Giles’ too – so we did that. But I got this totally bizarro feeling that she didn’t know who Giles was. She was like, ‘Giles? Um, yeah, sure.’”

Spike thought his Slayer was doin’ a lot better than she had been that first week back, when all he’d seen from her was the empty eyes of pain and loss and shock, and all he’d felt was the fear in the night. She wasn’t her usual self, but she wasn’t that frightened shaking shell either. At least, not all the time. Dawn was seeing a few things he hadn’t been exposed to yet, but still – overall…

Even though he spent several hours with her each evening, they hadn’t been doing a lot of in-depth talking. They would walk, if that’s what she wanted, exchanging some inconsequential pleasantries as they strolled. She seemed to like the quiet, the peace of the night, and he’d been careful to direct their walks into the safest areas of town. Somehow, trying to make sure that Buffy found that peace seemed a lot more important to him than finding, or starting, a nice brawl, or even placing himself where one was likely to break out.

Love’s bitch.

If they watched a film they spoke little during it, and mostly about it afterward. Since she seemed to be enjoying quiet, he thought it best to avoid bringing up their past. Not many quiet times in their history to chit-chat about anyway.

Sometimes she just curled up on his stolen sofa and slept. He knew she didn’t always sleep well at night. The nightmares continued to come frequently, but they weren’t the only thing that kept her from sleep. Sometimes she just lay awake, quietly in her room. Her breathing told him she wasn’t sleeping, though she didn’t share why, even if she climbed out on the roof and sat next to him, which she’d done several times.

The quiet times, the silences – walking, at his crypt, on the roof – weren’t uncomfortable. The were just that – quiet. Peaceful.

Which was another thing he was adjusting to. Feeling comfortable and peaceful in each other’s company hadn’t gotten a lot of playing time in their pasts.

“You don’t think something totally freaky happened to her brain when they brought her back to life, do you? I mean, maybe there was brain damage from the lack of oxygen in the coffin or something.”

“Your sister does not have brain damage,” he asserted, his voice a little more forceful than he’d planned. “She just needs some time.” Just some time, right? ‘Til what? She’s her old self again?

“Are you sure?” Dawn asked, and her voice had dropped. Fear crept in. “Willow says Buffy was trapped in some horrible hell dimension, where she was probably being tortured. Maybe she went insane or something. Like, um, soft insane, not screaming maniac insane. I thought –” she hesitated. “I kinda thought she was in heaven. You know – she was a good person. Die. Go to heaven. We both thought so, didn’t we? You and me – we talked about it. About Buffy and Mom being together.

“But now I don’t know. Willow sounds so sure, and Buffy’s acting so weird… And, um, I’m – I’m kinda having a lot of nightmares about it. Willow says Buffy’s having nightmares about hell all the time, too. So it must be true.”

The Slayer wasn’t havin’ nightmares about hell, like Red insisted, but the witch had managed to ingrain the fears into little sis’ mind, and now Dawn was dreaming of hell in the Slayer’s place – half a dozen times or so in the, what – two or three weeks? – since Buffy had been back, he realized. The ones she wouldn’t explain when he went in to her. He hadn’t pressed her. Some things were too private to share, and she told him what she felt the need to.

Might be a plan if Willow would learn to keep her gob shut.

“Your sis’ nightmares are about the coffin, pet. That much I know for a fact.”

“Really?”

He eyed her. “Who goes in to her, luv?”

“You.”

“That’s right. Me. Not Willow.” Nightmare soothing was becomin’ a bleedin’ full time job, he thought. Pay was good, too, he smirked to himself, thinking of the warmth of his Slayer’s body, the tension of fear leaving it as she went all soft against him.

“Do you think she was in hell?”

“Have you talked to your sis about this?” he hedged.

“No.” Dawn sounded unbearably disheartened. “Sometimes, it’s like my real sister is still dead.”

“No.” His tone lurched a little, and he adjusted it. “Don’t say that. She’s back with us.” His voice was quiet and firm now. “She needs some time. If she was in hell, well, then, she’s hurting. And if she wasn’t, she just might be hurting more. Who knows?” It was as far as Spike felt he could go. Buffy had told him the others mustn’t know where she was, and even though he didn’t agree that the truth should be kept from them, he wouldn’t betray her confidence. He rolled onto his side, facing Dawn. “Look at me, bit.”

Dawn copied his motion, and propped her head on her hand. Spike opened his mouth to speak, but instead paused suddenly. His eyes narrowed and his head came up as he sniffed the air. Someone was…

“What is it?” Dawn asked, looking puzzled. Her head swung around to look over her shoulder, and Spike’s eyes went to her hair as it moved through the air. It was the same scent. He’d probably imagined…

“Nothing,” he dismissed. “You’ve had a pretty bad time of it this last year. No one could say different. But you’ve been strong, held up pretty good for a brat kid of fourteen.”

“Hey, I’m fifteen,” Dawn protested. “Remember – August, birthday, melty ice cream cake?

“Okay, fifteen,” Spike conceded. “Still, most of what you’ve had to deal with happened when you were fourteen, right?” His girl was growing up a bit too fast. Bloke should be able to put a stop to that, in his opinion.

Dawn waited.

“Gotta admit, you’re right. Your sis isn’t actin’ quite like her old self. First off, she’s not half as annoying as she used to be, and there’s a hell of a lot less of that whole ‘heinous bitch’ persona hoverin’ about her.”

Dawn gave a gurgle of laughter, and Spike felt the now familiar little glow of pleasure in his chest as he watched her trying to suppress her mirth. It was different from the feelings inside that he associated with Buffy. Similar in some ways, but containing something exclusively Dawn.

“Now, me? I happen to be right fond of her fiery side, gets me –” he broke off, reminding himself of inappropriate subject matter. “But you, bein’ her little sis, an’ all, I’m thinkin’ you might look at those things as an overall gain, right?”

She looked to be about seven years old right now. He thought the teen had done a lot of growing up over the past several months, but she was still just a tot. She could seem like a perfectly rational adult one minute, and the next either a giggling child, or a whiny, temper tantrum throwing hormone bomb had taken up residence in her getting taller by the minute body. She’d had to handle a lot, though, and he figured she was due to have some slack cut when she got in one of her whiny, bitchy moods.

“You know I’m damn proud of you,” he went on when her mirth calmed. “You took everything life threw at you, and you did all right, even kept me goin’ pretty good this past summer. I know it’s not fair – you bein’ asked to do more. But I’m askin’ anyway. Be strong a little longer for your sis. Whatever she’s goin’ through, she needs you. You can be a big help to her right now. Might not feel that way, but just being there – being yourself… You know you matter more to her than anyone on earth.

“I think –” he hesitated, thinking about his phrasing. “I think your sis is just a little confused. No matter where she was, she was yanked out pretty sudden like. Bound to throw her for a bit of a loop, don’t you think?”

Dawn absorbed his words, thoughtful again as she played with a piece of grass. “Maybe,” she agreed. “How weird is my life, Spike? I mean – my sister’s dead, and I’m supposed to pretend a robot is my sister. The bot – well, you know how she can act – waaay beyond perky. It’s just weird. First, no Buffy for two months. My friends are askin’ me where she is. Then super chirper girl is saying lame mom-type stuff whenever they come over. When she’s not blabbin’ about your abs or something, that is. You know, half my friends think you’re Buffy’s boyfriend, because of the bot.”

Yeah?” he sounded pleased, and Dawn rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Isabelle and Kimi yak about your abs too,” she groused. “What’s up with that, anyway? Shouldn’t you look at a guy’s eyes?”

Spike sucked in his cheeks. “If you’re smart, luv.”

Dawn got back on track. “Now, my real sister is back, and she’s acting kinda like the bot with a short circuit or something. Like she’s not really there – asleep or something. Like maybe part of her is missing?

“And my friends are wondering what happened to perky, smiley Buffy. God, why can’t I just have a normal life? Why does everything have to be so bizarro? Geesh – look at me! My best friend is a vampire!”

“Hey!” Spike was indignant. “Havin’ a vamp for a best friend is one of the best parts of your life, missy, and don’t you forget it!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dawn’s voice let him know she’d heard it all before.

“Normal, pet, is all relative. I’ve known a lot of different types – human and demon – and you are way up there on the normal scale.”

He realized his mistake when she rolled her eyes at him. “Really? Oh, god, thank you, thank you! I’m so glad, so relieved! I’m way up there on the normal scale when compared to demons!”

He knocked her elbow out from under her, so that her head flopped to the ground.

“Ouch!” she protested.

“Didn’t hurt,” he derided her. “Chip.” He gestured to his head, indicating the general state of him not writhing in pain. “You’re way up there on the brat scale, too, you silly bint! You bloody well know what I meant. And so what if your life’s a little different from the average girl your age? Doesn’t make it bad. In fact, it’s probably a damn sight more interestin’ than all your little friends’ lives. Bet half of ‘em envy you.”

“Huh?”

“Look at Summers. Gets to live with her sister and her sister’s Wicca lesbian lover friends. Oooh!” Spike did his best imitation of teen talk. It sucked, but he didn’t care. “They probably think you have the best set up imaginable.”

“Ha, bloody, ha!”

Spike glared. “’m not kidding, pet. Take my word for it – more than one of ‘em wishes she was in your place.”

“The crazy ones, maybe. My life sucks.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice melancholy. He looked away as he continued in a plaintive tone. “ Wish mine did.” He looked back at her and wagged his eyebrows.

“You are such a geek,” Dawn gave in, laughing.

“Badest person you know.”

“Geek.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Complete geekdom.”

“Liar. ‘’m bad. Through. And. Through.”

“Oh, yeah, baaad.”

“I am. What’s more, you love me.”

“As. If.,” she snorted, then relented. “Well, okay, yeah. But you’re still a geek.”

They had risen together during the last few exchanges. It was time to go home. They’d spent so many nights together at Joyce’s grave that they seemed to know instinctively when that time came.

“Night, mom! I love you,” Dawn said to the headstone. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the marker. She was smiling again, looking relaxed and at ease.

“Night, Joyce,” Spike added, copying her gesture. This had become a ritual. “Your might tell our girl here to have a little more respect for her elders.”

“Oh, pleeease,” Dawn groaned. “You are so far past ‘elder’ it isn’t even funny. You’re like 1000 or something in dog years. You’re ancient.”

“Yeah? Well preserved, though.”

“You are so totally full of yourself. Whoever made that no-reflection-in-mirrors rule for vampires? I bow down to them in gratitude every day,” Dawn suited action to words, bowing in exaggerated ‘we’re not worthy’ fashion. “’Cause it is such a good thing you can’t use one. If you could you’d probably stand in front of it all day, drooling over yourself.

“That good looking, am I, pet? I mean, I know I’m a handsome bloke – birds are always tellin’ me...”

“Could your ego get any bigger?”

They didn’t even break stride. The playful bickering continued as they headed toward Revello Drive.

~*~

“Hold up a bit, pet. We have company.”

With a squeak of fear, Dawn darted behind Spike. ‘Company’ was one of his terms for demons. He’d made it pretty clear to her over the months that her job was to stay behind him if they ran into trouble. She peaked around his duster, only to see her sister coming toward them. She straightened, trying to look nonchalant, as she strolled back to Spike’s side.

“Hey, Buffy,” she greeted her sister, waving a hand in front of her with a grimace as smoke from the cigarette Spike had just lit wafted into her face.

“Hi.” Her greeting included them both.

“Out for a stroll, Slayer?” Spike asked, and Dawn watched her sister shift restlessly from one foot to the other.

She smirked. “You ducked out to avoid Willow and Xander, didn’t you?”

Buffy eyed her. “Anya was coming over, too,” she contributed, and Dawn laughed. “We were gonna have a ‘game night’.”

“Told you,” Dawn pointed out to Spike. “They totally crowd her. Did you use the door or climb out your window?” She didn’t have to let her sister think she was getting away with stuff, did she?

“The window is a little easier,” Buffy confessed, looking slightly amused. “It only asks about half as many questions.”

“You could’a joined us in the cemetery,” Spike told her as they began walking again.

“Were you there?” Dawn frowned.

“Just passing by,” Buffy assured her. “You two looked like you were having a serious talk. I didn’t think I should interrupt.”

Dawn glanced behind Buffy’s back to Spike, who was walking on her other side. She mouthed “POLITE” slowly and carefully, just in case he was missing this example.

When they arrived at 1630 Revello, Buffy glanced at the house, her expression slightly fearful. They could see movement behind the curtains.

“Um… Maybe we could go for a walk?” She wasn’t begging, but Dawn thought it was near enough.

“Eeeww,” Dawn made her feelings on that suggestion pretty clear. “Much as the idea of a nice ‘walk’ thru the lovely streets of Sunnydale after dark appeals to me, I’m gonna pass. First, do these look like walking shoes to you?” She indicated the nearly two-inch soles and the much taller heels on the boots she was wearing.

“No, but they do look kinda familiar,” Buffy said, examining them.

“Oh, pleeease. Like your tiny little boots would fit me,” Dawn said. Unfortunately that was true. Couldn’t borrow her sister’s pants anymore either – too short, not too small in the waist. Even Buffy’s blouses sometimes didn’t fit because the sleeves were too short. If only it was because they were too tight across the boobs. That would be so totally cool! Dawn glanced down. Never gonna happen, she thought with woe. She was like one step removed from a training bra. Or maybe a half a step. Grrr. Ooh!, she thought, cheering herself. Buffy’s many tank tops, though? And those sexy halter tops with the strappy backs? Fair game. And accessories? Open season extravaganza! Yes!

“Plus, I have to be at the Magic Box by 8:00 in the morning, an hour that clearly has no business existing on Saturdays.” She gave a could-be-patented Dawn Summers’ Look of Disgust. “But you two go ahead. I’ll cover for you with the gang. Oh, and Spike?” She turned to him, walking backwards up the sidewalk toward the porch. “Next Friday night? Movie, in a theater, with popcorn. The big size, too. I mean it. You so owe me.”

Friday night was their night out together. It had been a steady date since school started up again in the fall, and she wasn’t gonna let him get away with one more Friday night in the cemetery. Not that she was getting tired of the star gazing or anything. She still thought that was totally cool. But, geesh! It was November, and it was getting pretty cold laying on the ground looking at the stars.

“Bossy bint,” he muttered affectionately. His eyes slid to Buffy. “Takes after her sis sometimes.”

Of course, there was no way Buffy and Spike could sneak away that easily, Dawn thought. Xander had, for some reason, come to the door to look out, and had spotted them lingering on the sidewalk.

“Come on in!” he invited. “We decided on a video night instead of games – ‘The Best of Saturday Night Live’ – one of the old ones. Chevy Chase, John Belushi. Candy grams and killer bees. Guaranteed to make you laugh ‘til you wanna hurl. You too, Spike,” he added, his tone indicating the afterthought.

Dawn almost managed to shepherd Xander back into the house. “They’re gonna patrol,” she informed him, wondering if he hoped to see Spike laugh or hurl. Her hand caught at his arm. Just a few more inches.

“Oh.” Clearly that had priority. He struggled against Dawn’s grip. “I didn’t know you were patrolling again, Buff.”

She shrugged, but didn’t respond.

“Well, take care, anyway. Spike – watch out for her. She might be a little out of practice. Want Ahn and I to come along?”

“They’ll be fine,” Dawn insisted. If he kept yakking she might have to tell Spike to grab his popcorn and get his front row seat, cause his ‘real good time’ was about to happen.

“Tomorrow night – ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon’.” Xander called out to them. “Some great moves in that one. Could be considered an educational film for you, Buffster.”

Dawn tugged him into the house, and pushed the door closed firmly. Success!

~*~

Buffy looked at Spike.

“Wanna patrol?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial. Her voice almost suggested quotes around patrol, and Spike tilted his head to the side as he tried to read her.

“You got a stake, love?”

“Do I need one?”

“Always best to be prepared,” he told her. A stake appeared from somewhere within the leather folds of his duster, and he handed it to her.

Buffy twirled it like a quick-draw artist dazzling the patrons of a saloon with her favorite six-shooter.

Spike eyed the move with approval, and relaxed a little. “See you haven’t lost your touch, pet.”

They set off toward a cemetery across town from his own. He tended to run a tight ship in his own back yard, because well, he didn’t need just any demon types trying to set up shop there, did he? A patrol there was bound to be uneventful, and he thought maybe it was time to bring the Slayer into contact with a vamp or two.

Had she been patrolling since she’d come back? He doubted it. Not with him, she hadn’t, nor apparently with the Scoobies, and he was willing to bet she hadn’t gone alone, either. He had a pretty clear idea of how most of her evening and night hours were spent, because, since her return, he’d been nearby during most of them. If this was her first time out, he was bloody glad he was along. Indications were his Slayer might not be quite in fighting trim yet, and it was best he was along to watch her back.

They didn’t rush. In fact, their pace could well be described as leisurely.

“I’ve just started doing some training with the bit,” Spike told her. “At the Magic Box – you know, when she gets done with work on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Nothing too intense,” he assured her. “Some practice staking, but mostly self defense. If you’re looking for a reason to get out of the house, Slayer, you’re welcome to join us.”

“I might take you up on that,” Buffy said. She hesitated, but then continued. “I don’t want you to think that I think they’re awful or anything. The others. It’s just…”

Buffy frowned slightly, and Spike watched her expressive face. Not frightened or empty, he thought with satisfaction. He hadn’t seen either of those expressions for nearly a week now. Not that she wasn’t still terrified during the night – caught up in nightmares, but she seemed to be doing better during her waking hours. He took that frown as a good sign, a step toward recovery.

“They’re just kind of…”

“Overwhelming?” he suggested.

“Yeah, in a way. I mean I’m home alone most of the day, so you’d think I get enough quiet time, but I can feel the tension starting to mount as the afternoon passes. Just anticipating all the people coming and going… It seems like there’s always so many of them. Willow and Tara pop in and out, maybe stay, maybe go to a study group or something. Then Dawn’s friends stop by with her, and the noise level becomes extreme for about an hour until they leave.” Her hands came up to emphasize ‘extreme’.

“And Xander…Sometimes I feel like he’s bouncing around me like a puppy, holding its leash in its mouth and wagging itself all over, looking at me with those big puppy eyes, and I know he’d gonna keep begging ‘til I actually break down and take him for a walk. And all the while I’m watching him, I’m thinking – ‘Why didn’t I get the kitten instead?’”

Spike gave a little snort of amusement. He could picture it perfectly.

“Which I kinda did,” she added as an aside. “Willow and Tara have one. Miss Kitty, er…”

“Fantastico,” he offered. “We’ve met.” He liked the cat a hell of a lot more than the sodding rat. He’d been a bit disappointed when it hadn’t been the cat that had found the rat the night of the big search.

“Anyway, Xander’s usually the ringleader, trying to drag me into his movie nights or game nights or whatever. I’m sure he has a good heart, really. He’s just –”

“Too much?”

“Yeah. Tara’s easier though. Soft. Like a warm blanket. I love watching her and Dawn together.”

“She’s been a good mum to your little sis, Slayer.”

“I can sense that. And they –”

“They what?”

“Tara and Dawn. They don’t stare at me all the time, and ask me how I am every two minutes, and have all these questions they want answered, that I just don’t…”

“Harris’ M.O., I presume?”

“Um, Xander’s. And Willow’s. Willow is...” Buffy’s shoulders moved in an odd little shrug.

“Will’s what?”

Her shoulders moved again, before a slight pout touched her mouth. “Um, kinda bossy. I think you should take this class, Buffy. Or I think you should see this doctor, Buffy. Or, I think you should tell…” Buffy trailed off. “Which is okay, I mean. You know. To care about me, and suggest stuff. But…I don’t know. If I don’t sign up for the class, or see the doctor, or whatever, she seems all surprised – like it had all been decided, agreed on, and I’m just not following through.”

Making decisions. Directing the troops. Red had been getting pretty involved in being the boss over the summer. Sounded to him like she was trying to bring the Slayer into formation. He smirked to himself. Sounded like the Slayer was being a bit rebellious, too.

Another good sign.

Maybe she’d stage a coup d’etat. Even better.

“And she makes me kind of twitchy,” Buffy added.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. Now, there was an interesting word. Red made him a bit edgy, too, once in a while. He hadn’t seen enough of her since Buffy’s return to suss it all out, but she didn’t smell right to him. Something seemed off, different. And her power – it had altered a little. Grown, maybe, or – shifted.

“Is that so? Twitchy how?”

‘I don’t know. Sometimes it’s like I can feel her eyes on me when I’m not looking and it’s –” Buffy’s shoulders did that uncomfortable movement again. It was as if she was trying to shake something off. “Creepy, I guess. Weird, and creepy.”

More interesting words. Might be time to have a little chat with the witch, see if he could pin down some of these descriptions a bit better, as well as some of the vibes he’d been getting himself.

“Has she always been like that?” Buffy asked casually, and Spike’s head swung toward her, his eyes narrowing for an entirely different reason.

“Slayer?”

“Told you it was the Slayer,” a voice interrupted.

Bloody hell. Spike groaned, eyeing the group of half a dozen vamps. What the hell was he thinking, walking right into this?

“And her boyfriend,” the group spokesman went on. “What’d’ya think it’d be like to date the Slayer, boys? Think you’d ever get to be on top?”

“Who the hell cares?” one of the others asked. “Look at her. She can climb on top of me as often as she wants.”

And we have a winner, Spike decided. ‘Who the hell cares?’ gets to die first.

“Dude, I think that’s Spike,” another one of the group injected, his voice squeaking.

How old had the git been when he’d been turned? Spike wondered in disgust. Thirteen? Fourteen? And how old was he? A few months? He should still be holed up with his sire, being initiated into the rites of unlife, taught, and, if his sire had half a brain, nurtured. It didn’t look like this bunch had half a brain between them, though, and he was guessing ‘Think you’d ever get to be on top?’ had sired the lot of them. It was a bleedin’ shame what depths a city could sink to when there was no one in charge.

“Spike?” The leader’s attention shifted to the taller of the two strolling blondes. “Spike? You – you son of a bitch. You killed my sire. Prepare to die.”

“We’re vampires, you stupid prat. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Huh?” The leader was completely taken aback by the question.

Spike rolled his eyes. “No pride,” he lamented. “Breaks my heart to see this kind of riffraff on the streets, sullying our reputation. To begin with, lackbrain, we’re evil. We don’t sodding quote from ‘The Princess Bride’.”

Buffy’s face revealed her surprise. “You’ve seen ‘The Princess Bride’?” she asked Spike.

He glanced at her, shrugging. “Well, yeah,” he admitted. “The bit likes it. Ropes me in to a lotta things.”

“I thought we were about to fight,” ‘Think you’d ever get to be on top?’ interrupted.

Spike looked the group over. “Well, I’m about to fight. You’re about to die.”

It was so easy sometimes.

‘Who the hell cares?’ did go first, as Spike had promised himself. Been a few weeks since he’d been in a decent fight, but he fell into an easy rhythm, his body singing with pleasure. He’d just dusted his third when he realized his Slayer hadn’t joined in. Did she want a show? He could put one on, demonstrate as few of the things he’d picked up over the summer… She could’a mentioned it, though, given him a heads up. Only polite…

Then he caught sight of her face – the indecision, the shock of fear. The red haired fledgling jumped her and she yelped and went down without even raising her stake.

“Slayer!” His voice was ragged with his own fear. It washed through him, flooding him with nausea. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. “Your stake!”

His fist flew out, smashing into the face of ‘Think you’d ever get to be on top?’, and he shook ‘Dude, I think that’s Spike’ off his back. When the younger one tried to hop back on, Spike roared out his rage, capturing the attention of all three remaining vamps. He whirled, his arm slamming into the side of ‘Dude, I think that’s Spike’’s head, and the kid flew through the air, landing a good fifteen feet away. He clambered to his feet and took off for parts unknown – kid could’a been a track star – and Spike ignored the leader, leaping toward Buffy. His stake came up and he was about to plunge into the back of the vamp on top of her when the redhead exploded into dust. Spike stake stopped it’s deadly descent just inches from Buffy’s breast.

For a second their eyes met in shock.

Spike spun away, running after ‘Think you’d ever get to be on top?’, who had apparently decided that ‘Dude, I think that’s Spike’ had had the right idea when he’d taken off. A flying leap brought the gang leader down. Spike flipped him onto his back, tangling his right hand into his hair to hold his head in place, as he used his left fist to hammer on him viciously for several minutes.

The physical violence, and the accompanying curses he heaped on the supine vamp didn’t completely appease his fear, but they bloody well helped.

“Spike!”

With one final growl he twisted the other vamp’s neck, decapitating him. Slowly, Spike rose to his feet, kicked at the vamp dust, and turned to stare at his Slayer.

He wanted to backhand her for her stupidity, and then lock her up against him, and let her pounding heart slam against his chest, reassuring him that she was unharmed.

He did neither. Instead his mind was racing, replaying moments with her since she’d come back. Little things she’d said when they were together, things she hadn’t said, the way she’d phrased some things. They hadn’t talked much about personal things, had, for the most part, kept things casual…

Spike felt a different kind of fear begin to take root inside him.

The dust had settled. Buffy was back on her feet and coughing, having inhaled a little of it. Even he disliked inhaling vamp dust. It had a unique and unpleasant quality to it that seemed to linger in the throat for several hours. Even hot, fresh blood couldn’t wash it away completely. When she’d recovered he stood directly in front of her, determination in every line of his body. His hands closed over her shoulders, and he dipped his head a little so that he could see directly into her eyes.

“Wanna fill me in, Slayer?” His tone was hard, but even.

She brushed some more dust from her jacket, and cleared her throat one more time. “Ugh! Why do I not carry water?”

Spike frowned. She seemed exactly like herself – her old self – the annoyed tone, the gestures, everything.

“Slayer?”

“Fill you in on what?” She looked genuinely confused.

Which, he suspected now, was a lot bigger deal than he’d thought.

~*~

He was angry.

Sometimes she could feel things in him, dark things. Violence and rage flowing under his skin. Those things were never directed at her, though. At least, not now, not since she’d been brought – here. Brought – back.

“You, this,” he gestured vaguely at the piles of dust surrounding them. “That complete lack of any fighting skill you just demonstrated. And more. Asking me about Willow. Wanna tell me what the hell’s going on?”

She took a step back from him, retreating from his anger. She could feel her body tensing up. He advanced.

“Dawn told me you sometimes look at the Scoobies like you don’t know who they are.” His eyes pinned hers.

She took another step back and he advanced again. He was toe to toe with her, his body leaning menacingly toward hers.

“Stop it,” she muttered, leaning away.

“Sonofabloodybitch!” he growled. “You don’t remember a damn thing, do you? Your friends, family, what you are.”

“That’s not true. I do remember.”

“Do you?” he sneered in disbelief. “Tell me, Slayer, who’s Giles?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Who’s Giles?”

“He’s my Watcher. I know who he is. At least… At least most – some – of the time. It’s just… It’s just not always – there. I have to stop and figure things out. Force myself to remember. And I do. I mean, mostly, you know. It’s just…”

“You shouldn’t have to.” His voice still had an edge to it, but it didn’t seem quite so – harsh.

“No. I shouldn’t. And I don’t understand why I do.” Her shoulders slumped a little as she dropped her defensive posture.

“How bad is it?” he asked bluntly.

“Not as bad as it was. For, um, awhile, I didn’t know who people were.” It felt kind of good to admit it, to share it with someone. “Their names. And I still have some trouble putting things all together in my head. Putting faces with names, last names with first names, how I know them, memories.” She paused, before forcing herself to go on. “God, Spike, my mom... I have pictures of her in my head.” Her eyes appealed to him, as she revealed herself further with a stark honesty. “But sometimes I worry that those pictures are there, not from real memories, but because there are pictures of her around the house.”

“Bloody hell,” he said, and his voice held sympathy now.

“And I have this horrible fear of running into someone who obviously knows me, ‘cause I’m afraid I won’t have a clue who they are. A lot of it…”

“Yeah?” he prompted.

“So often, I’m just confused.” She let some of her aggravation show. It was so frustrating sometimes! “It’s like everything has this – I don’t know – fuzziness to it. That’s what I call it. Like I kinda have to stare at it and squint a lot to bring it into focus. And then I remember. Everything seems clear. But then it might, um, get fuzzy again.” Her voice dropped at the admission.

“It’s like I don’t feel connected to things, or people. I’m having trouble remembering what the relationships were like.”

His jaw tightened. “That why you’re spending so much time with me? Don’t remember how it used to be between us?”

“No. I remember you, us.”

“Right,” he growled. “Don’t bloody lie to me, Slayer. We weren’t pals.”

“No. I don’t tell lies. I don’t know enough about anything going on here to lie!” she blurted out with some exasperation. “But I do remember you. Clearly. You annoyed me more than anyone I’ve ever met. All the time. You were like…” she broke off, searching for words to adequately describe the degree of annoyance he had caused. “The Godfather of annoying things, the Crown Prince, the…”

“Not the King?”

“Yes, sorry,” she said sarcastically. She took a step toward him, and now he retreated a step, giving her her head. “The King.” God, sometimes he could make her so…

“The bloody thorn in your bloody side?”

“That too!” she agreed, her hand gripping her stake tighter. She saw his eyes flicker to it. “We violently disliked each other. You tried to kill me. I tried to kill you. We were enemies. Mortal enemies.”

Her breath was almost heaving in and out, and Buffy stopped suddenly. Oh, god! She forced herself to calm down, loosening her grip on the stake. She fell back again, slightly shocked with herself. She’d been angry just now, really angry…

And that hadn’t happened in a very, very long time.

“And then – we – weren’t,” she finished.

“And when did that change, exactly?” He didn’t sound as if he was buying into her memories. Were they wrong? It was one of the few things she’d felt any certainty of…

“When you protected Dawn.” Her voice softened, and she felt the last of her aggravation with him melt away. “You let – someone – hurt you, torture you, to protect her. And then you promised me you always would. ‘‘Til the end of the world.’”

She looked at him. “I’m not wrong about this, about us. I know it.” But her eyes asked him to confirm her memories. She gave voice to the thought. “Tell me that’s how it was.”

His own stance relaxed, and she saw a kind of pain twist his face. He looked almost – haunted.

“Yeah. I didn’t do it, but yeah… You seem to have a pretty good handle on our history, how we were...”

Buffy frowned in concern. “Didn’t do what?”

He shook his head in silence, turning away from her.

“I remembered you,” she went on, softly. “That first night, on the stairs. I don’t remember time very well. It passed differently for me, and I’m having some trouble keeping track of it here.” Now there was an understatement! “But that was the first night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I remembered you then.”

“What did you remember?”

“That I could count on you. And that you watched out for Dawn.” She looked at him now, at the somehow vulnerable curve of his back, the hunch of his shoulders. Her eyes were as soft as her voice. Memories flowed through her. Warmth. “The two of you were standing at the base of the stairs, and when I saw you there together, I knew. I looked down at you, I knew your names, and that…”

That you belonged to me, she finished silently. Both of you.

And more. Not right then, at that moment, when she thought perhaps, now, that she’d still been too deeply in shock to get past their names, and the sense of belonging. But not long after… Hours, days, maybe, but sometime soon after…

She’d felt things running through her, vague pictures forming. Of him, of the two of them. Of – of time together, of other times, other things. Unfamiliar things. Glimpses. What’s to come. A lot of those pictures were gone now, and even when she tried very hard, she couldn’t recall them. Sometimes she felt desperate to remember them, to keep them close, but at other times, she felt at ease about the loss. Almost peaceful. It would be okay, she would soothe herself at those times. The lost images and the realities tied to them weren’t gone forever. At least, they might not be…

And some remained…

Within her…

Warmth and peace…

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice came to her, a hard edge to it.

Buffy blinked, focusing on him again. His hands were on her arms, and he looked a little panicky.

“What?” she was confused. “What’s wrong?” She glanced around, freezing as she realized she didn’t know where she was. Damn, damn, damn. Her eyes closed and she swallowed. Don’t panic, Buffy. It’s okay. At least you’re not alone this time. She drew a deep breath in through her nose, exhaled slowly.

“Nothing, love,” Spike responded, and his voice had taken on the soothing tone she heard against her flesh in the night. His hand slid down her arm, and closed over hers. He raised it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Let’s get you home.”

“All right,” she agreed. They fell into step together.

Damn, damn, damn. Oh, yeah. Earth. Hellmouth. Sunnydale. Patrolling. She’d dusted some vampires. Well, one. It was her job. She’d been picked for it. No, chosen. She was the Chosen One. She wasn’t sure she knew exactly what that entailed, but she was pretty sure the ‘Chosen One’ thingy was right.

They’d only gone a couple of blocks when Spike broke the silence.

“It might be a good idea for you to avoid going out alone at night, love.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Is this your way of telling me I sucked at the, um, fighting stuff?”

He seemed amused by the mixture of peevishness and amused self-derision in her voice. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Seen you do better, Slayer.”

“Flatterer. A few minutes ago you described it as ‘a complete lack of any fighting skill.’”

“Okay, yeah. You’re a bit out of practice,” he admitted. “And it might be best to skip patrol or make sure you patrol with someone else ‘til you’re feeling a bit less – fuzzy.”

Buffy snorted. “Well, yeah. I knew that,” she assured him. “Fuzzy, not stupid. I know the whole confusion thing is kind of a problem. And um, maybe some other stuff, too.”

She felt a little like she’d drifted away, gone somewhere else for a few moments. Peace. Warmth. Comfort. Had it been noticeable? She kinda thought maybe it had, judging by the look that had been on his face, and the fact that his body had been a lot closer to hers, his hands touching her, and she hadn’t seen him move.

“But it really is getting better.” He didn’t look too convinced, and she didn’t want him to worry too much. “If I patrol, I won’t go alone. Alright?”

“You know I’m always up for a bit of the rough and tumble, Slayer,” he said. “You wanna patrol, get back into the swing of things, you’re gonna need me at your side.” He puffed up a little. “None better, after all.”

She looked him over. “Before tonight, I thought it was gone,” she said, keeping a straight face with an effort. “But I was wrong.”

“What’s that?”

“Your ability to be annoying.”

“Haven’t lost it, huh?”

“No.”

“Good thing,” he said, satisfaction dripping from his tone.

“Why is that?”

“I figure your own annoying tendencies will be makin’ an appearance any day now. Wouldn’t want them to be lonely when they do.”

She kept her expression bland. “Was I annoying?”

He rolled his eyes. “How did you annoy me? Let me count the ways…”

~*~

Gone, just like that. In the middle of a sentence. Only for a few minutes, only two or three, he tried to calm himself. Not that long at all, really. No bleedin’ need to panic.

She seemed perfectly fine now. All there. Aware.

He’d even seen some glimpses tonight. The first ones, really. Of her. The other Buffy. The one who hadn’t come back. No, he told himself forcefully. She’s in there. You caught those glimpses of her tonight. You did. Your Slayer. All of her. She’s all in there. She’s just…

What?

Lost? Hiding?

…confused. Said so herself, didn’t she? Just confused.

Spike glanced at her. This slightly different Buffy. The one who had come back. Who didn’t remember a goddamn bloody thing with any consistency. She’d said it was getting better. That it wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few days. When she hadn’t fucking known who anyone was.

Except him, apparently. And Dawn.

She was looking up at the stars as they walked. She appeared to be calm. Almost serene.

In her right hand, she deftly twirled the stake with what seemed to be unconscious ease.

Glimpses. They gave him hope.

Still, he thought he’d feel a bit better if the Watcher got back soon.

~*~