Dawn loved the shop he took her to. It sold a variety of items, from live and silk flowers to statuary to garden structures to hand drawn greeting cards. It may have had stock similar to a dozen other stores in town, but the higher quality of the items as well as the creative displays set it apart. It was full of charming little nooks and surprises that had Dawn smiling and exclaiming with pleasure as she explored.

They wandered about the shop companionably, while Spike silently enjoyed Dawn’s excitement.

“Here we go, bit,” Spike announced. He indicated a statue of an angel about three feet tall. The male angel’s wings were spread, its’ robes billowing in an unseen wind, and it held a sword aloft, preparing to strike.

“Do you think we should get an angel with a sword?” Dawn questioned his choice. “How about this one?” she suggested instead, pointing out a cherubic little angel with a sweet, innocent face.

Spike practically snorted in disdain.

“Angels are warriors and guardians,” he told her. “Your mum was a fierce woman,” he recalled with pleasure. “Don’t think she’d want some insipid little cupid hanging around forever. But if you want something all cute with wings and such, go for a fairy. ‘Course most fairies are vain, bitchy little things, and I can’t see how they’d be a good choice for guardin’ a grave, but I do have to admit, they can be cute.” He said ‘cute’ as though it was an extremely distasteful word. “At least, some of them,” he qualified, frowning.

“You’ve seen fairies?”

“Well, yeah.” He looked puzzled that she needed to ask.

“Where?”

He made a sound that sounded rather like ‘pffft’. Dawn gawked.

“They’re around, bit, if you look. Easier to come by back home in England. Big in gardens. Some fairy communities have been inhabiting the gardens of the great estates for more than a thousand years. The colonies are still pretty young. Fairies tend to like things more established. Don’t like t’ have t’ pull up stakes too often. You try lookin’ in some of the older gardens on the east coast, and you’re sure to find some. And the Appalachian Mountains are bleedin’ full of the little buggers.”

Dawn was staring at him as though he had grown a second head. A neon colored second head. With ringlets.

“What?” he asked indignantly. “This is a flower shop. Ask Liza there about fairies. ‘Spect she knows what’s what.”

“Liza?”

‘The owner. Right over there - dark haired woman.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Never you mind. But if you want to know about fairies, and don’t wanna take my word for it, go chat her up a bit.”

Dawn looked at him as though he had just issued a dare. She lifted her chin and got that could-be-patented Summers Stubborn Look #7 in her eye, then headed over to ‘chat up Liza for a bit’.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, dear? How can I help you?” Emily Huggins asked, a hint of the British Isles still evident in her voice despite nearly twenty five years in the United States.

“My friend said you might know something about fairies.”

“I might,” Emily smiled. She nodded toward Spike. “Is that your friend?”

“Yeah. Spike. He said he knew you,” Dawn threw out.

“Yes, I guess you could say that. He saved my life one night.”

Dawn’s eyes lit up. “He did?”

“He most certainly did.”

“He’s saved my life, too,” Dawn told her in a confiding tone.

Emily smiled. Her eyes ran over the tall, pretty girl with the coltish limbs and gleaming hair.

“So he’s kind of a hero, is he?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But don’t tell him that. I don’t think he’d like it. He likes to think he’s all big evil and stuff.”

Emily looked thoughtful. “I’ve lived in Sunnydale since I graduated from Berkley - more than twenty years now. There’s not a lot that surprises me anymore. But, in some ways, he did.”

“Yeah. I guess you could say he’s kinda unique.”

“And just how does a young girl like you know, er, someone like him?”

Dawn hesitated. “He - he kinda worked with my sister.”

“But he doesn’t any more?”

“No. She - she d-died a couple of months ago,” Dawn admitted, totally forgetting that Giles had suggested they keep Buffy’s passing as quiet as possible.

Maternal instincts Emily had never used in her own life, and really hadn’t thought she possessed, seemed to bubble up. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You have my sympathy.” Her eyes slid to Spike, who was strolling around the shop, touching things here and there, picking up small art pieces to examine, then setting them back down. She thought of the flowers she had taken to leaving out back each night. Special, sometimes unique, blossoms that she placed in a small bucket of water to help keep them fresh. Flowers that were almost always gone in the morning. She thought of the blond hair that she sometimes caught a glimpse of in the faint light of the alley where he had saved her life. “He was in love with your sister, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Tears sparkled in Dawn’s eyes. “Big time. I thought he was gonna die too, when she did.” She glanced back at Spike too, and lowered her voice. “Sometimes I still worry that he will. You know, die.” She swallowed. “And he’s all I have. My Mom died too, just before Buffy.”

“Oh, my dear child,” Emily was clearly moved. “What’s your name?”

Dawn told her, wondering if everyone from England said things like ‘my dear child’. Well, everyone but Spike, that is. He would never say anything so - Gilesy.

Emily stroked a hand over Dawn’s hair, fighting tears of sympathy for a young girl she’d just met, then cleared her throat. “So, you want to know about fairies, hmm?”

“Yeah.” Dawn was glad to leave the tear forming subjects behind, and was grateful that this woman seemed to know that. “I mean, I do know a little. I have read ‘Shadow Castle’.

Dawn didn’t want to appear completely ignorant.

Emily’s face lit up. “That’s one of my very favorite books,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. One so seldom ran into another person who had read it. “Mika and Gloria...” her voice trailed off nostalgically.

“Robin and Bluebell,” Dawn chimed in, grinning.

“And Flumpdoria!” Emily finished, and they smiled at each other in shared delight. Some books are meant to be treasured for a lifetime.

“Let me show you the Flower Fairies. I think you might like them.” She led Dawn to an enchanting display of Cicely Mary Barker’s little flower fairies. An array of dried, silk, and living plant materials had been used to create a woodsy and magical little haven for the tiny statues which had been mounted, tacked, and wired into half hidden spots among the foliage, and made to look as though they belonged there. “Fairies are often tied in with garden and plant lore...” she began and Dawn lost herself in the little four inch depictions of the fairies from the famous artist’s books, listening to Emily’s descriptions of the fairies and their creator.

“And why do you want to know about fairies, anyway?” Emily asked after Dawn had admired most of the little statues.

Dawn looked surprised. “Well, actually, we were talking about angels. I want to get one for my Mom’s - well, for her grave. Spike says angels are warriors, and not cute and cuddly, and that we should -”

“He’s right.” Emily told her. She seemed to have no trouble following the explanation. “Angels can be pretty terrifying, by all accounts. Don’t think of the little things you see flying around in a good many paintings. Think of the Archangels Michael and Gabriel instead. Messengers and warriors of God.”

“Oh. Well, okay.” Dawn decided she was willing to bow to their combined, and supposedly superior, adult knowledge. “We were looking at that one statue...” She gestured, indicating spread wings.

“I know the one you mean. The angel brandishing a sword. It’s supposed to be Jhudiel, one of the lesser known archangels. He conquers evil with love and forgiveness, and bears the sword of justice and mercy. I love that one. His posture is so fierce, yet if you really look at his face, he seems so kind, too. Is this for your sister’s grave?”

“No. For my Mom’s. Buffy wouldn’t... Buffy would be able to protect herself.” Dawn mumbled.

“She must have been a very special person, your sister.”

“Yeah, she was.”

“Let’s take a look at that statue, shall we?”

The price tag seemed to have disappeared by the time the ‘looks like stone but is really made of some miraculous new material that is much lighter and doesn’t know the meaning of biodegradable’ statue had been carted up to the cash register. Dawn frowned at the price Liza quoted, sure that the angel had been priced much higher than that. Spike stood back a bit, letting Dawn take care of the transaction, but when he heard the price Emily gave Dawn, his eyes flew to those of the shopkeeper, and he inclined his head in silent gratitude. Emily smiled.

“This is great. Thanks so much, Liza.” Dawn was happy and letting both of them know it.

“Liza?” Emily’s brows rose.

“Isn’t that your name?”

Emily looked at Spike, considering. “Eliza Dolittle, right?”

Spike just shrugged. To Dawn’s amazement, he looked a little sheepish. Well, just for a moment, anyway. “Seemed fittin’ - flower shop and all,” he muttered.

Emily smiled at Dawn. “My name is Emily,” she explained. “And that’s what I usually go by,” she added, laughing. “I hope you’ll stop in again. Let me know how you’re getting on. Even when you’re not shopping. I always enjoy the company.”

“That would be great!!” Dawn enthused. “Your shop is really, really nice.”

“Thank you, Dawn. I enjoy it myself.” Her eyes went from Dawn to Spike and back again. “You’re both welcome here. Anytime.”

~*~

They were halfway to the cemetery with the angel when Dawn stopped short. Spike turned to her, head tilting, blue eyes slightly annoyed at the hold up.

“What is it, bit?” He wanted to get to the cemetery before anyone saw him carting an angel down the street. Didn’t exactly go with the image, did it?

“We didn’t get anything for Buffy’s grave,” she told him.

Spike’s lips firmed and he shifted the angel to his other shoulder, walking on as though she hadn’t spoken.

Dawn tried to see his face, which was now partially hidden by the statue, but with the additional shadows cast by the angel’s wings, it was too dark. She tried to ignore the sudden throb of pain in her chest, and followed him.

~*~

“The most famous star in Ursa Minor is Polaris, the North Star. It you were standing at the North Pole, Polaris would be almost directly overhead. That means that if you know how to find it in the sky, you can always tell which way is north. Comes in handy if you’re lost in soddin’ Moscow, let me tell you. It was also the most important star for navigating at sea. Sailors should still know how to navigate by the stars if you ask me. Can’t always count on all those dials and such. Brit sailors can still get by without the modern bits and pieces, of course. Best in the world, they are.”

He’d been talking for quite some time now, and the more he talked, the more he sounded like some sort of bizarro ‘Guide to the Night Sky’ book. Written by someone from England.

“Duh. I’ve known about the North Star since I was like - two, Mr. Keep Looking Up.”

They were lying side by side, flat on their backs, and just a few feet to the side of her mom’s grave. They had finally placed the angel to their mutual satisfaction. Dawn had been amused by the way Spike had stood back, looking at the overall effect, before moving the piece a few inches closer to the simple headstone. He’d adjusted the angel’s position three times before he’d seemed satisfied, sought her nod of approval, and drove the anchoring rod into the ground. He’d then mentioned the possibility of planting a rose bush and asked Dawn what type of rose her mum had preferred. Floribunda? Old English?

“Light pink,” Dawn had stated definitely, and didn’t understand why Spike had looked at her oddly, sucking in his cheeks.

“I’ll give it some thought, then,” he’d murmured, wigging Dawn out a little. What could Spike know about roses? Her expression must have revealed her surprise at associating Spike with gardening in anyway, because he had shrugged, and mentioned that his nan had been a keen gardener and had forced him to help her for hours on end when he was a boy. Dawn’s incredulity increased. The entire idea of Spike as a little boy, of Spike with a grandmother, was sending her somewhere far beyond wigged.

But now, laying there beside him, she had to admit she was enjoying his knowledge of the constellations and the night sky. It sure seemed to suit him more than gardening knowledge. She was impressed, and knew she really shouldn’t be. After all, he lived in the dark, in the night. And he was old. Really, really old. If you added up all the hours he’d probably spent on his back looking at the night sky, it could be like - years, even. Geesh!

Draco, Antares, Orion. Spike pointed out various stars and constellations, telling her their stories, the myths and legends surrounding them. When he showed her Scorpio, he made a point of mentioning that those born under that astrological sign were the sexiest.

“Huh?” Dawn questioned.

“Common knowledge, pet,” he stated with offhand confidence.

“And I suppose a certain blond vampire just happens to have been born under that sign?”

“Well, Dru turned me in November. So re-born, anyway,” he affirmed. “And, believe me, luv, I’m much sexier as a vamp than I was as a human. So - proves my point.”

“Really?” Dawn rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin in one hand as she studied him. “I bet you were, like, the coolest guy in your school. I mean - um - you did go to school, right?”

Spike rolled his eyes in disgust. “’Course I went to school, bit. Wasn’t born in the Dark Ages, ya know, when only a few people were educated. I graduated from Oxford. Spent a year studying in Rome after that, then another year in the Greek Isles.”

Dawn tried to work her mind around the idea of Spike studying in some stuffy English school, dressed like Giles. Ooh - or maybe he had dressed like Prince William. That picture was much better, she thought, visualizing the hunky young prince in whatever kind of jacket those tuxy looking things she’d seen him pictured in were called. The one with tails. She visualized him leaning against a stone pillar, head dipped as he looked up at her from under his lashes with his mother’s eyes. Oh, god, yum! Dawn blinked. Spike. Right. Spike in school. Spike in Italy and Greece. It was even harder to picture him there, in such sun-drenched countries. It was really much, much easier to picture Prince William - Wills. Or, oh, oh, Wills in Greece, bare-chested, jet skiing in the Aegean. ..

“What did you study?” she asked, forcing herself out of her day-night-dreams of the young royal. It was sooo not her fault he was so totally dream-worthy.

“Literature. Philosophy. History. Languages.” He spoke several languages fluently. It was one thing Angelus had actually appreciated about him - his ability to speak to the locals if necessary, as they traveled in Europe and Asia. He still found it easy to pick up languages and dialects, even demon languages.

It sounded awfully boring to Dawn. “I’m gonna major in art,” she told him. “I love sculpting and drawing, working in all sorts of different mediums. Creating things.” She swung her feet back and forth, relaxing with him in a way she rarely did with her friends. “I’m gonna be way famous someday.”

Spike raised a brow. “That so?”

“Yeah. Not, ya know, DaVinci famous. Or even Waterhouse famous. But famous.” She relented a little. “Or at least known. Known is good for an artist. Well, so long as ‘known’ also sells,” she grinned. “I’ve already talked to my art teacher about it tons of times. She is sooo cool. Ms. Nimue. Hey!” she said, struck by the similarity. “She studied in Europe too - three years in France after she finished grad school. Or maybe the years in France were part of grad school. I don’t remember.

“Anyway. She’s the coolest. Pretty and smart and funny. I love her classes. Wish I could have her all the time. If I have to go live with my dad in L.A., I’ll just die. It’d be bad enough leaving all of you. I’d have to leave the best teacher I’ve ever had, too. And she really listens to me, you know, about stuff. Not just art. Other stuff, too. Like you do.

“So, after you finished school, did you have a job?”

“Wanted to teach, and write, I guess.” Spike was feeling a little glow of warmth from her words about him listening to her. He hoped he didn’t somehow bollock that up too.

“You?”

“Yeah, I was a right wuss. No edge at all, sweets, believe me.”

“I just can’t see you like that. Booky. Oh, god. Like Giles.”

Dawn dissolved into giggles, rolling on the grass while Spike eyed her. The glow dissipated. She was looking tastier by the minute.

“Finished, missy?” he asked in annoyance, as her laughter began to abate.

“Yeah.” Another giggle escaped. “Well, almost.”

She calmed, catching her breath, and began brushing a few stray blades of grass from her tiny little top. Sometimes, with a sort of lingering Victorian sensibility, Spike wondered if there was some kind of magical barrier at the entrances to the Summers home that prevented shirts and blouses that actually concealed the body in any way from entering. Like a vamp barrier for loose fitting turtlenecks. Dawn picked a rather stubborn twig off her shorts and rolled over to toss it away, coming face to face with her mother’s tombstone.

Horror struck. “Oh. My. God.”

Instantly alert, Spike came up to his haunches, body poised, ready to strike. His eyes raced around the area, checking for danger. He’d sensed nothing. Was he slipping that badly?

“What? What is it?” His voice was urgent.

“Oh, god,” Dawn sounded distressed beyond words.

He moved to her side, curling his hand around her upper arm in a gesture of comfort and protection, eyes still darting about.

“Bit?”

“It’s Mom. I was...I was laughing. Right here. On her grave.” The last words came out in a horrified whisper.

Spike relaxed.

“Dawn,” he began, but she cut him off.

“How could I do that? I must be such a horrible person! Laughing on my own mother’s grave. How could I do something so awful?”

She’d never told him about how angry she was at her mother and Buffy for dying and abandoning her. That was truly too awful to talk about. Even Spike, who everyone seemed to think was so evil, wouldn’t love her if he knew that dark secret. This - this was bad enough.

He shifted around, putting himself between her and the headstone. “You didn’t do anything bad, luv. Your mum loved to laugh. How many times did I hear the two of you laughing together? Dozens of times. Why, I ‘spect she was laughin’ right along with you just now, glad to see her girl having a good time. Even if you were laughin’ at me,” he added, glaring at her.

“But -” Dawn respected Spike’s opinion, but this was so bad. Really, really bad. “-on her grave? Right on her grave?”

Spike shrugged. “Sure, why not?” he assured her. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You know she’s not here, right? ‘Spect she’s all happy and livin’ it up in heaven. Doin’ all the things she liked. Cookin’ and lookin’ at that god awful African art she liked. Watchin’ ‘Passions’ and listenin’ to the Beatles and Juice Newton. And bein’ able to read an entire book in one sitting. She told me once that was one of her fantasies.” His mouth quirked at the memory, and he smiled at Dawn.

Dawn’s eyes teared, even as she smiled shakily. “You think?” she asked for reassurance.

“Sure, pet.”

“You think Buffy’s with her now?”

He hoped so. God, he hoped so. Who knew what that portal had done? Had it thrown his Slayer into some hell dimension, or just allowed her to die, and go on to her reward? Chosen One, right? He reminded himself daily, hourly. Chosen One damn well better be enjoying her reward in heaven with her mum.

“Yeah, I do,” he tried to instill confidence in his tone. Needed to reassure his girl, didn’t he? “C’mere.”

He tugged her back down to the ground so that they were laying side by side again, looking at the stars as they’d been doing earlier.

“Pick a nice bright star, baby,” he urged her.

Dawn considered the night sky carefully. “That one,” she indicated one of the stars in Orion’s belt.

“Good choice,” he complimented. “Now, whenever you look at the sky, you can look at that star and think of your mum. She’s a lot closer to that star than she is to this slab of marble. And if you laugh, you’ll be able to see her winkin’ at you.”

Hell, could he be more of a poof? Spike thought disparagingly of himself. But Dawn seemed to enjoy the idea. Her head turned toward his on the dampening grass, and she smiled, almost shy now.

“Thank you,” she said with quiet sincerity. She took a deep breath. “How about Buffy? Should we choose a star to be Buffy, too?”

They never, ever went to Buffy’s grave. She’d tried to persuade him to take her there a few times, but he ignored her completely when she talked about it, not even acknowledging that sound was coming out of her mouth. So her visits to Buffy’s grave were made during the day, alone or with Tara. Once or twice, she’d gone with Xander. She had no idea if Spike had ever even seen the headstone they’d gotten her. But sometimes...sometimes she’d see something that made her think he might be stopping there without her, sometime when he was alone.

Spike didn’t reply. He just stared up at the star filled sky in silence.

“Don’t you think we should choose one to be Buffy, too?” Dawn pressed.

The silence lengthened. Then Spike swallowed and forced sound to move out of his throat, past the lump of pain. “You choose, luv.”

Dawn considered it carefully, then chose the North Star.

“It’s strong and bright,” she explained her choice. “And it guides.” Dawn struggled to keep the tears out of her voice. “It’s a good choice for Buffy. Strong.”

“Yeah.” The word emerged, barely more than a huff of air.

Silence fell between them, and they continued to lay there, side by side, looking up at the dark sky, at the miraculous sweep of the Milky Way, the infinite, unknown worlds it contained. Other skies. Other worlds. For a time, their thoughts were their own.

Long minutes later, Spike tried to lighten their introspective moods.

“Someday, bit, when your time comes, you and your mum and your sis will be together again. Probably sharin’ big group hugs all the time. Laughin’. Yakkin’ up a storm. An’ you’ll spend your days doin’ good deeds. Hero-type stuff.”

Dawn turned away from Spike and stared up at the night sky. She didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes, and she ruthlessly blinked them away. He talked about her eventual reunion with her mother and Buffy as if it was an absolute certainty, something he believed in without question.

She knew that vampires, except, of course, for the dark and brooding one, didn’t have souls. No Soul = Evil = No Heaven. Even though no one had really laid things out for her quite so bluntly, the whole situation with Angel/Angelus, with Spike, and with demons in general, had definitely led her to believe that was the way things were.

She wondered how it must feel to Spike to know that a reunion with his family and the people he had loved was something he himself would never, could never, ever have.

Blinking furiously, she would not cry, she stretched out her hand very slowly until it touched his. Then she curled her fingers around his pinky and squeezed. He didn’t acknowledge the move, but he didn’t pull away either.

She didn’t know if mystical key thingies made by monks had a soul. Spike seemed to think so, but neither of them could really know, could they?

Dawn gripped his finger more tightly.

She had Spike.

If it turned out she didn’t have a soul, maybe she could spend whatever eternity existed for soulless beings with him.

~*~

Spike sat silently on the roof, smoke curling around his head from the burning cigarette he held loosely in his left hand. He’d spent more than 120 years in the dark, and he still loved the sounds of the night. He listened to the calls of the various birds that hunted after dark, the chirping of crickets which he found so soothing. He’d enjoyed the cool, welcoming night air even when he was alive, and that hadn’t changed in all these years. Unlike some vampires, he rarely missed the sun. There was always much more to see in the night sky.

Daylight was the not the kind of light he craved.

He heard Dawn shift in her bed, heard her breathing change slightly, and his body tensed as he listened for any sounds of distress. None came, and her breathing evened out again. He relaxed. Perhaps there would be no nightmares tonight, no need to go to her and offer comfort, as he had so often these past weeks.

But he remained in his place, just outside her window. Guarding her, keeping watch, being there. Just in case she needed him.

How long could he keep this up? Giles wondered. He’d been back there for close to four hours already, and Giles could hear the repeated thwacks to the heavy punching bag. Now rhythmic, steady, now erratic, harder. Fists, elbows, knees, feet. And always back to fists. Hours and hours and hours. Pounding and punching. Sometimes he was cool, icy in his remoteness. Then, suddenly, he would change, attacking with a flurry of vicious heat, death burning in his eyes and in the set of his mouth. But aside from the panting of his breath, he was always silent. Not even a grunt or a groan. Just silent.

It was the fifth day in a row he’d shown up during the day to work out.

If he kept to the pattern he’d set on previous days, he wasn’t even half way through his work out. Once he finished trying to destroy the large bag, he would go on to other things. Next he’d be hanging by his knees from a rack he’d placed on the wall, doing inverted sit-ups in numbers too sickeningly high to count. Then he’d move to the weight machine he’d brought in and spend a few hours there. Weight machines like that were expensive. Where had he gotten the money to purchase it? Giles wondered. It wasn’t exactly the type of thing he could smuggle out of the shop under his coat, now, was it?

How long could he keep to this schedule? Days, weeks? Giles wasn’t sure how long he could endure listening to the relentless, punishing workouts. He was beginning to regret telling the vampire he was welcome to use the training room whenever he wanted.

Forty-five minutes later, Giles went out to a late lunch just to escape for awhile.

~*~

When he returned an hour later, Spike was still at it. He was on the weight machine now. Perhaps an intervention was in order.

“You look tired, Spike.”

Spike ignored him. Over the last few days, they’d met a few times to discuss the dragon and the research on it that was progressing. Spike was all for charging into the cave and taking his chances, but Giles persuaded him to wait for more information, and Spike had reluctantly agreed. Patience had never been the vampire’s strong suit. In fact, Giles was well aware that the blond’s impatience had been a great boon to them in the past, allowing them to defeat him, when they may have had less luck if Spike had laid out and stuck to more reasoned plans.

They’d also talked about several other demon problems. They had shared information, and had taken some steps to take care of threats. So far, those steps had consisted almost entirely of Spike stating, “I’ll go tear their heads off then, shall I?” and Giles agreeing to that. But Giles did feel that they were laying the groundwork for a more feasible future working relationship between the vampire and the rest of the group. Giles also had to admit that Spike’s knowledge of the demon world was much vaster than he had expected. He’d always thought vampires, for the most part, stuck to their own kind.

They’d outlined patrolling plans as well; some for Spike alone, and others for the group, who wanted to continue Buffy’s work as much as they could. While remaining business-like, the two had started to relax a little in each other’s company.

Giles found this new, quieter, and more serious minded Spike easier to tolerate, and in general, Spike respected the Watcher, but he was still pretty good at shutting him out when he wanted to.

Like now.

“Willow and Tara have told me you spend several hours each night on the roof outside Dawn’s room, standing watch. You’re here a good part of the day, working out. Are you sleeping at all?”

“Thought I told you once before, Watcher,” he said smoothly, not letting up. Press. Slowly lower. Press. Slowly lower. “Sleep is highly overrated.”

He tried a different tact. “I’m sure you know yourself best. For myself, I find insomnia affects my work - both my physical and mental agility.”

“Your physical agility can be worse than it is now?” Spike snarked, and Giles’ mouth twitched in amusement. Two days ago, he’d temporarily lost his mind and offered to aide Spike in his workouts by bracing the heavy punching bag for the vampire. Five minutes into the workout, feeling he’d narrowly escaped serious internal injuries, he’d retracted the offer.

“You slept well enough when you were living with me,” Giles reminded him. “I distinctly remember snoring was not unusual.” It had only been once, actually. But he had heard snoring. And why would Spike ever snore if he didn’t need to breathe? Giles wondered. For that matter, why did he pant when he was punching the bag, and practice correct breathing techniques when he was lifting?

Spike didn’t pause, but he glared at Giles. “I do not snore, “he said indignantly, proving that the standard response to an accusation of snoring was not limited to humans.

“Yes, well, I think I would be a better judge of that than you. You weren’t lying awake listening to yourself.” Giles could be a bit snarky himself sometimes. “My point is this - I would hate to think your refusal to sleep could in any way affect your ability to properly watch over Dawn when she’s in your care.”

Spike paused, holding the heavily weighted bar up, then he lowered it slowly, and sat up to stare at the other man.

Bingo! Giles thought, congratulating himself. Apparently Dawn was the key in more ways than one.

Spike looked as though he wanted to say something, but then he hesitated, and Giles was sure that what he did say was something altogether different.

“I’ll work on getting more rest then, Watcher.”

Giles studied him carefully. He wanted to press the subject further, but, for some reason, found himself unable to.

“Good,” he approved. “I think we’re ready to go after the dragon,” Giles went on, changing the subject entirely, and Spike’s eyes betrayed his gratitude for a moment before becoming bland.

“Scoobies all researched out, are they?” Spike asked, and Giles once again felt the amusement Spike seemed to almost effortlessly raise in him.

”It would seem so,” he agreed. “Tara’s research suggests that dragons hunt by night, which fits in nicely with the police reports, and that our best time for success would be while it’s still sleeping, or just as it wakes. We thought we’d go tomorrow - late afternoon. Will that pose a problem for you?”

“Not at all,” Spike assured him, explaining how the tunnels running under the city connected directly to the caves, courtesy of one of Sunnydale’s former mayors.

“Yes, Mayor Wilkins,” Giles acknowledged. “Historically, not one of Sunnydale’s finest electoral choices.”

Spike eyed him. There was a story there, he thought.

“I’ll be by, then,” the vampire said. “Four o’clock do?”

“Yes, fine.”

Spike slipped into his Docs, which he had removed for his workout, and picked up his duster, shrugging into it.

“Got a favor to ask, Watcher,” he said.

Giles wondered vaguely why Spike always called him ‘Watcher’ now, when he’d been calling him Rupert - one of very few people in the States that did so - almost as long as he’d known him.

He leaned a hip against the pommel horse casually. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s about the bit. About Dawn,” Spike clarified.

He hesitated. Giles waited.

“She’s worried about having to go live with her father,” he said in a bit of a rush. “Sonofabitch hasn’t even contacted her since - well, even since Joyce died. Gotta admit, it’s naggin’ at me - that he could come in and take my girl away.”

It had nagged at Giles a bit, too.

“She needs to be here. You lot - you’re like her family. Bit’s got friends here, teachers that matter to her. I don’t want her torn away from that.”

He lit another cigarette. Giles wished he’d quit.

“Don’t want her hurt,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “She’s been hurt enough.”

“I can only agree with you on that. However, I’m not sure what I can do.”

Spike took another long drag of his cigarette. “What if it turns out I’m Joyce’s brother?”

Giles’ brow went up.

“Lookin’ for custody of my niece?”

Giles couldn’t help it. He smiled. “I think we’d run into several problems. The first one being Joyce’s mother.”

“She’s alive?” Spike was shocked.

“Yes. And well. Living in Texas.”

“What is she doin’ there?” Spike demanded. “Why isn’t she here with Dawn?”

“That, I don’t know. I believe there was a falling out, some years ago.”

Spike couldn’t keep the anger and disgust from his face. “We are talking about family!” he roared in frustration. “Argh! Humans!” Spike slammed out of the training room and into the shop.

Giles didn’t have to follow him to know he descended directly into the tunnels below. He busied himself wiping down the exercise equipment. He couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was trying to visualize Spike, dressed in a conservative business suit, meeting with lawyers and judges and social workers, trying to gain legal custody of Dawn.

It was extremely odd, even puzzling, Giles decided, that he had such total trust in Spike when it came to the care and protection of Dawn. He wondered why it should be, but he couldn’t deny that it was.

And he knew with absolute certainly that both Buffy and Joyce had felt exactly the same way.

~*~

“Stay. Please, love, stay here, stay.” The groan faded away as Spike sat up suddenly.

Empty. The crypt was always empty. He’d been awake, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

What did it matter? She wasn’t here.

She always slipped away.

And he was alone again.

He lay back on his bier, and draped his forearm over his eyes.

A few minutes later, he pushed himself up, grabbed his duster, and escaped into the tunnels below.

~*~

Xander couldn’t remember ever really being afraid of Spike since the vampire had been chipped. He’d been angry with him, had sometimes hated him, and once in a while, very rarely, had even shared a few moments of male bonding with him. There was no question though, that for the most part, he found the vampire a grating annoyance. But, since Silicon had become their friend, he hadn’t been afraid of him.

Until a little while ago.

He knew he’d never seen anything like it. And, with his experiences, that was saying something.

He’d seen Spike fight plenty of times. He’d fought against him and alongside him. And he knew that Spike had a reputation in the vampire world as a vicious killer. Angel had been pretty clear about that. Of course, as it turned out, Angel would know, having been his grandsire and mentor. But until tonight, he wasn’t quite sure he’d believed in Spike’s reputation.

Well, he did now. Oh yessiree.

They’d had a plan of sorts. They had hoped to come upon the dragon as it slept. Once they were near enough to it, Willow and Tara would cast a spell to keep it asleep, and Spike could go in for the kill. Dragons could only be killed, Tara believed, by a sword directly into the heart. They knew the sleeping position might be a problem. Willow had spent three days researching ways to make the dragon levitate enough - or at least rearrange its position enough - so that Spike could get a clean thrust to the necessary spot, which, if Tara was correct, would be low, almost between it’s front legs.

It had been a good plan. They’d all agreed on that. Even Spike had nodded his approval. It was becoming a major annoyance to Xander that Spike continued to refuse to speak to anyone except Dawn and now Giles. What was the point? He was used to being annoyed by Spike, but still...

Stupid vampire.

Stupid, scary vampire.

He’d gone wild. There was really no other way to describe it, and wild summed it up pretty well. Completely berserk. Which was an old Norse word for ‘wild warrior’. Now, how did he know that? And why now, and not at some useful moment, like when he was flailing about trying to play Trivial Pursuit with Willow? Which, Xander reminded himself, he should never, ever do.

Spike had led the way to the cavern he had explored earlier in the week. They’d waited, about fifty feet down the passageway, as Giles had gone to check the status of the dragon. Willow and Tara were holding hands, chanting quietly as they mentally prepared to cast the needed spells. He’d been checking his weapons; a long silver sword, mate to the one Spike was carrying, and an axe. Spike had seemed a little edgy. He only noticed it because he’d often admired the vampire’s calm before battle, while he himself was often feeling shaky and scared. Sometimes, it was a damn bitch being the only one without special powers. The vampire had paced ahead of them a short distance, then returned, several times. Xander had seen him take a long swig out of his silver flask, emptying it. The blond had then stared at his hands, making fists, after replacing the flask in the inside pocket of his duster.

“You’re not planning to get drunk, I hope,” Xander had said to him, not even attempting to keep the disgust out of his voice.

Spike ignored him.

God, that was bothering him! He’d much rather put up with the blond’s snarky comments than this unending silence. He hated how it made him feel that Spike didn’t think he was even important enough to acknowledge.

Giles returned, and with him, bad news.

There were two dragons in the cavern. Thankfully, they both appeared to be deeply asleep, and he filled them all in on their locations in the cavern - curled together - and their body positions. But two dragons was one too many.

Giles and Willow started discussing the strength of the spells she and Tara had been working on, and whether or not they could be safely altered at this point to accommodate the changed circumstances. Giles pressed for caution, while Willow insisted she was strong enough to take care of both of them, with only a few small alterations in the spell. Tara looked alarmed, her eyes fixed on her lover, Xander tried to appear concerned and supportive, and Spike was practically bouncing with nervous energy.

When bickering began to break out between Giles and Willow, Spike went his own way. Xander didn’t realize what was happening until he saw Spike charge into the dragon’s lair, and by then it was too late.

The others rushed forward to give what assistance they could, but in the end, they did little beyond stare in amazement and a kind of sick fascination.

Spike was in his element. He seemed invincible, powerful beyond what they had ever seen from him before. He was a blur of movement, incredibly fast, leaping and somersaulting high into the air as he attacked the now awakened dragons with terrifying ferocity.

The first one went down quickly. As soon as it reared back on its hind legs, Spike moved in for the kill, finding the heart unerringly with the first thrust of his sword.

The second one, the male, roared in outrage over the death of its mate, and Spike’s eyes gleamed as he let the beast assimilate the situation.

He’s enjoying this, Xander thought, and it was true.

The thrill of the fight, the glory of the battle, was rolling off of the vampire in waves. This was what he was. A warrior. This is what he was made for. To fight. To maim. To kill. He gloried in the dance, taking risks and chances no sane person would ever take. And all the while, the wide, tongue wagging grin plastered on his face told them all just how much he loved what he was doing.

And then something odd happened. Spike seemed to freeze, a look of shock on his face, and he stumbled, looking for a moment as though he might actually drop his sword.

It only lasted a few seconds, and he was lucky it happened just after he had delivered a harsh blow to the dragon. If the dragon had not been regaining its feet, it almost certainly would have moved in for the kill at that moment of hesitation.

After that, the grin was gone, and Spike finished the huge beast off in a matter of seconds, his sword striking true when he dashed almost under the belly of the monster. He barely got out from under it before it crashed to the floor of the cave.

Spike stood there, chest heaving. He turned to them, seeing them all standing in the mouth of the large cavern with varying degrees of amazement on their faces. He moved toward them calmly, with that smooth flowing walk of his. They all backed away slightly, in order to give him a wider berth, but Spike stopped when he reached them.

Without a word, he reached for a corner of Willow’s sweater, and very casually, he wiped the blade of his sword in its folds, his eyes pinning hers.

No one said a word, and Spike moved off ahead of them, heading back the way they had come.

As they made their way out of the tunnels, Xander kept as much distance between himself and the blond vampire as he could. He had been reminded just now of something he rarely had to be reminded of. But somehow, this event had hammered the point home. Spike was a vampire. He was not human. He was wild and vicious, a killer. Right now, Xander feared him again, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

~*~

Spike had cleaned and replaced his weapons by the time Giles came into the training room.

The Watcher leaned against the wall several feet away from the vampire, and proceeded to clean his glasses. Spike eyed him. Five, four, three, two, one...

“Do you think that was the advisable method of attack?” Giles asked calmly.

“Got the job done, dinit?” the blond countered.

Giles replaced his glasses. “Yes, it did. However, I’m more concerned at the moment with exceeding acceptable levels of risk.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I wanted to go in days ago. You lot wanted to wait and plan. So I waited. Your plan wasn’t gonna work. Mine did.”

“Yes, “Giles agreed again. “Your methods of fighting were really quite extraordinary. I’ve seen you fight many times, Spike. But never like that. Moreover, your vampire visage never even emerged. Do you have an explanation for that display of power?”

Spike shifted uncomfortably under the Watcher’s steady regard.

“Been working out. You’ve seen me,” he offered.

“Hmmm. You must explain vampire physiology to me sometime, Spike. Humans usually need to work out for far more than a week to show such improvement in their physical prowess. Even more so, I should think, if they were reduced to an almost skeletal state only a couple of months ago.”

Spike remained silent, and Giles realized the vampire wasn’t going to offer him any sort of explanation at all.

“I see,” he murmured. He hesitated, then offered quietly, “Spike, if there’s anything you need to talk about...”

Spike’s surprise showed. He stared at the Watcher for a moment. “Long as you’re askin’ Watcher -”

“Yes?”

“Red.”

“What?”

“When I was fightin’ the dragons, she almost put the kibosh on it.”

“What?” Giles was shocked. “How?”

“Came into my mind. She’s strong, too. I think she was trying to give me a surge of power, but it didn’t quite work that way. Whatever she did almost made me drop my sword.”

“What?” Giles felt like he was losing his ability to say anything else. “I can’t believe - Willow would never deliberately try to ...”

“Not sayin’ it was deliberate, Watcher,” Spike said. “’m jes’ sayin’ what the result was.”

He watched the play of emotions crossing Giles’ face. He’d told the Watcher what happened. Wasn’t much more he could do.

“Look, I’ve gotta go. Promised the bit a movie. In the theater, with popcorn.” He smiled slightly, and shrugged his shoulders. His girl had a habit of making specific demands as recompense for being excluded from certain Scoobie activities. Without any further discussion, Spike left.

He wasn’t overly concerned about Willow. Really didn’t want the bint popping into his head whenever she felt like it, though. Bit unsettling, that. Made him just a bit edgy.

Normally, he’d just stay out of their little Scoobie relationships, let them deal with their own problems. But, as he’d already acknowledged to himself, his respect for the Watcher had grown over the last few weeks. And he’d felt it was something he should mention. Just so the Watcher was aware.

Perhaps he was a bit more upset over the fact that he’d felt a - well, almost a responsibility - to report the incident to the Watcher. He wasn’t part of the soddin’ Scoobie gang, and he didn’t have a bleedin’ responsibility to any of them.

There, he felt a bit better, having gotten that nice and clear in his head.

He went on to pick up Dawn at Harris’ apartment where she’d been staying with Anya, wondering what teen drama she was going to force him to take her to.

~*~

“Do you have a minute, Willow?” Giles asked as everyone was preparing to leave the Magic Box.

The redhead smiled. “Sure!” she replied cheerfully, and Giles was reminded of happier times as she followed him to his office.

“How are you?” he asked. Though he saw a lot of Xander and Anya, he saw less of Willow and Tara. After Buffy’s loss, Tara had left for a couple of weeks to spend some time with her Cousin Jean in Washington State. The trip had been short, though, because both she and Willow were taking two nights classes at the University. Willow also had a summer job at the University library, and her busy schedule was keeping Giles from seeing much of her, or of Tara either. Willow had offered to drop her summer courses to care for Dawn, but, by bringing Spike into the mix, they had managed to keep that from being necessary. Giles felt he had been out of touch with the girls, and he was concerned with how Willow, in particular, was dealing with her best friend’s loss.

“I’m good,” Willow told him. “Busy. Work, summer school, you know, same old, same old.”

“Tara seems completely recovered from her run in with Glory.”

“Yeah,” Willow’s smile revealed her love for the other girl. “She’s doing really well. I don’t think there are going to be any lingering problems. I was worried about that. You know, would she be the same, would she have problems that hung on, or nightmares. But she seems just the same as before.”

Giles smiled at her almost blissful expression. “I’m glad. And you - you’re um, dealing with Buffy’s loss alright?”

Her expression changed, growing solemn. “I miss her. It’s so hard being there in her house every day. I keep expecting to see her every time I turn around. And when I don’t… Yeah, it hurts.”

“I feel the same way whenever I walk into the training room. It’s so empty without her there.” He made a vague movement with his hands. “And having Spike working out in there this last week has felt odd.”

Willow looked down at her hands. “The two of you seem to be spending a lot of time together,” she observed.

Giles looked mildly surprised. “Oh, not really. It’s not like we’re chatting while he’s lifting weights. Just the occasional passing comment. We did talk about the dragon, and some other demon problems. Oh, and we set up some patrolling plans, too.”

“Hey! I have this idea for a series of spells that could keep vampires out of businesses in town. Like the de-invite, only for public places.”

“Really?” Giles was interested.

“Yeah,” her enthusiasm was clearly evident in her voice. “If we alter the wording a little, and make a few minor substitutions in the ingredients -”

“Do you think that’s wise, Willow?” he interrupted. “Magic can be a very tricky thing. And it should be approached with respect and care.”

“I’m fairly confident I can do this, Giles.”

“I don’t mean to discourage you, but you have cut corners occasionally in the past, and the results have sometimes been, er, a bit problematic.”

Willow’s lips tightened a little, and noting it, Giles relented a little.

“Keep working on it by all means. But let’s make sure to test it carefully. I’d like to point out as well, that we don’t seem to have a huge problem with vampires invading local businesses and eating the patrons.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, not a lot…” Willow’s voice trailed off.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” Giles began carefully. “The night of that final battle with Glory, I know you were successful at some mental communication with Spike.”

“Yes,” Willow was cautious suddenly. “I told him to run up the tower - that I would take care of moving Glory’s minions out of the way.”

“Injecting your thoughts into someone else’s mind is a very impressive power, Willow,” he told her, and saw the small smile of pride she allowed herself. “But it’s a power that has to be used with great care. That night, you merely used it to communicate with Spike. You must always use extreme caution to be sure it is never used to affect someone’s actions, to alter their perceptions, or even to influence decisions they make.”

“But if I can mentally persuade a vampire not to kill someone - well, that would be good, wouldn’t it?” She sounded so earnest, so hopeful that this developing power could be a tool for good.

“Is that what you were doing today? Trying to discover if you could affect Spike’s actions? Was it a test?”

“I - what do you mean?”

“Spike told me he felt you in his mind.”

“I - I, no.”

“He didn’t feel you in his mind?”

“I was just trying to add more power to his arm, make it easier for him to kill the dragon.”

“But you saw what happened, didn’t you? We all did. He froze. And if it would have happened just a few seconds later, the dragon would have been able to claw him open.” Giles studied Willow carefully.

“Wouldn’t have killed him,” Willow muttered. “He’s a vampire.”

“Perhaps not,” Giles said, inwardly rather appalled at the lack of concern her tone expressed. “But then the dragon probably would have turned its attention to us.”

She looked like she hadn’t had time to consider that, and Giles was further disturbed.

“Actions have consequences, Willow,” he reminded her. “Often they’re not easily foreseen. And magic - the consequences can be dangerous beyond any imagining.” He sighed. “I just want to caution you to take great care in your magic studies. Every time a component of a spell is altered, even in the smallest way, possible results must be very carefully tested and explored. It’s an exact science, in a way, and the same type of testing should be observed as you would use in, say, chemistry. Your powers have grown tremendously over the years, and you were always a wonderful help to Buffy, and to me. I caution you more for your own safety then for anything else.” He smiled. “I’m really quite fond of you, you know. I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to you.”

Willow studied him carefully. “I promise to take care,” she assured him. “But I’m also going to continue to study and practice magic. I know I can be even more help in the future.”

“Promise me you will use caution.”

“Of course I will,” she promised.

But her tone was light, and after she left, Giles had to admit to himself that he didn’t really feel she had taken anything he’d said to heart.

Perhaps she’d just acted on the spur of the moment, not taking time to carefully consider the possible consequences of her actions. He knew Willow was, at heart, a very good person. But even good people can make errors in judgment.

He was glad Spike had mentioned the incident to him. He needed to spend more time with Willow, try to give her a bit more guidance in her magic studies. Since Buffy’s loss, he’d been lax in several areas.

~*~

Willow lay awake for a long time after Tara had fallen asleep.

Every time she patrolled, every time she dusted a vamp or helped Xander dust one, or fought some other sort of demon or monster, she missed Buffy more. Fighting, going into battle, always left her restless and unable to sleep. It didn’t matter if they were successful or not. Either way, it just made Buffy’s death more real, her absence an ever-growing hole in her life.

Hopefully...

Oh, it was too soon to feel sure of anything.

She could hardly bear to think of how Buffy had died. How they’d all been right there, and they still hadn’t been able to prevent it. Going on without her was so hard. And it just seemed to be getting harder every day.

She’d gone to work, gone to her classes, gone through the motions every day, but sometimes it seemed like Buffy was all she thought about. If only...

She had to be able to do something to fix things. To make things better. If she worked really hard, if she could get the others to follow her lead, maybe she could help prevent any more bad things from happening. They’d all endured enough. Buffy’s death had been the last straw, in a way, the breaking point. She just couldn’t take any more. She didn’t think the others could either.

They’d all lost so much. None of them wanted anything more to happen. If she could just - just keep things under control - she knew she could stop more horrors from being visited upon them, destroying them all piece by piece.

She just needed to make herself stronger, and persuade the others to follow...

She knew she could protect them, if they’d let her.

Willow frowned. She didn’t understand the new relationship that seemed to be springing up between Giles and Spike, and she really didn’t think she liked it. She didn’t want Spike to be a part of the group. His fighting skills were better than anyone else’s, she knew that. But she didn’t think he would ever easily look to her for leadership and that could be a problem. He was like a loose cannon - far, far too difficult to control.

~*~

Spike had arrived a little early tonight and Dawn convinced herself that that was a good sign. Since the Scoobies and Spike had killed the dragon a few weeks ago, she thought he seemed to be relaxing just a little, becoming a little more open to the idea of joining in with the others. He hadn’t actually done any joining in yet, but sometimes it seemed like he might. Soon. Maybe. She hoped.

He did hang around more. If she wasn’t in bed when Willow and Tara got home, he stayed until she was. And she knew he sat outside her bedroom window on the roof almost every night. Maybe every night, she wasn’t sure. Keeping watch, he’d told her. Even though it was a little weird, she kinda liked it. It made her feel safe, and protected.

She knew that Spike was working out almost daily in the training room now, and that he and Giles spoke fairly often. Their talks seemed to be private conversations, though, because neither of them would elaborate on them even if she asked. Of course, he still hadn’t spoken to anyone else, or even done anything to acknowledge anyone else’s existence, but talking to Giles was a start - right?

Dawn sighed. Maybe she was just getting good at deluding herself. She felt a wave of sadness wash over her, when she’d felt optimistic just a moment before, and she wondered when things would ever be easy again.

“Giles wants to talk to you for a minute in the training room,” she told Spike.

Spike’s head cocked slightly to the side, and he took a step closer to her, lifting her face with a single finger under her chin.

“Everything okay, bit?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s just -” her voice trailed off and her eyes slid away from his blue gaze, but not before he was able to read her expression.

He took a breath. “Yeah,” he agreed with what he could see in her eyes, “I know.”

She looked back at him. “It’ll get better, right?” Please tell me it’ll get better, she begged silently, and now it was Spike’s eyes that left hers, as his face went blank.

“Someday, pet.”

They stood there for a moment, not touching, avoiding each other’s eyes, but somehow seeming comforted by each other’s presence.

Dawn took a deep breath and forced a smile.

“I think Giles has some important news. He’s asked me three times in the last ten minutes if you were here yet.”

“I’d best see what he wants then.” Spike touched her chin again. “As soon as I’ve talked to the Watcher, we’ll leave. So, what’ll it be? Poker? A movie?”

Her eyes lit up a little. “10 Things I Hate About You?”

“Again?”

“Pleeease,” she begged. Heath Ledger was so hot! God, if a guy ever sang to her like that, she’d - well, she’d probably die of embarrassment. But it would still be unbelievably cool.

Spike rolled his eyes, but nodded. Anything that made Dawn laugh was fine with him.

~*~

When he got back to the training room, Giles was nowhere in sight. With some longing, his eyes went to the chess board that had taken up permanent residence on a small table in a corner of the room. He had to acknowledge that the Watcher was a careful but innovative opponent. Not that Giles could beat him. Well, not often, anyway.

Spike wandered about the room, touching various pieces of equipment. He removed a saber from one of the weapon racks and slashed it experimentally a couple of times through the empty air in front of him. A vision of Buffy fighting Angelus back at the mansion just before she’d sent the older vampire to hell flashed through his mind. He accepted the accompanying increase in the pain that was so much a part of him now.

God, she’d been magnificent!

A small sound had him swinging about, and he brought the saber up instinctively, even though he was expecting the Watcher.

He stared, disbelieving. Something hit him hard in the chest, and vaguely he realized it wasn’t anything physical. Just for a moment, he was sure his heart had begun to pound in thunderous cadence. The saber clattered to the floor, falling from nerveless fingers.

“Buffy.”

She was standing less than fifteen feet away from him. After a few moments of stunned immobility that seemed to draw out forever, he moved toward her with infinite slowness, afraid that if he moved too quickly she would melt away, a mirage.

“Buffy.” His voice conveyed all the awe and wonder written so clearly on his face, the uncomprehending joy.

And then he was there, just in front of her, less than a foot separating them. She hadn’t moved or spoken, but her eyes were locked on his, and he was losing himself in their depths. Her eyes. Open. Alive. Oh god, alive.

“Ahhh love, hello.” His left hand hovered, oh so close; then touched her hair, the merest brush of his fingertips.

“Ahhh, love.” His hand moved, fingertips stroking over the length of her hair, still barely touching. His right hand came up, and again, there was that hesitation before he touched her, so afraid she would disappear if he moved too fast, believed too deeply.

“Buffy.” All his love poured out in the soft utterance of her name, and his roughened fingers curled gently and cupped her cheek.

“Ah - gah -” Spike jerked away from her, crying out in revulsion. He fell backwards, landing in an undignified heap of leather and scrambled in horror away from her, pushing with his heels and hands, desperate to get away.

From her - from it. The bot. Oh god, it was the fucking bot!

He was making horrible noises in his throat - gagging, gurgling sounds as he lurched to his feet awkwardly and tried to move, to coordinate his feet to walk, to run, to get him the hell out of there.

His arms curved over his stomach and chest, a useless gesture of protection, and he kept making those awful, gut wrenching sounds as he doubled over. His head turned, and he caught sight of Giles, who was standing just inside the doorway, his mouth hanging open in horror. Spike’s mouth twisted in a face tied up in agony, and his wild blue eyes screamed his betrayal at the Watcher, his shock at the ruthless and deliberate cruelty.

Spike stumbled toward the door to the alley, his usual careless grace completely gone. Instead, he appeared to have almost no control over his limbs as he made his way across the room, seeming to arrive at his destination more by luck than purpose. He crashed against the door and it flew open, throwing Spike to the ground outside, where he landed on his knees, vomiting violently.

He could hear voices behind him, could hear yelling and his name being shouted. But it was all just a jumble of angry sound, and he was far beyond trying to sort it out, or even to care.

Stomach empty, he surged back to his feet and started to move, to get away, to run. Away. Away from them, away from - it.

He ran, using all his preternatural speed. He’d never run so fast.

~*~

He reached his crypt only seconds later, but by that time, Spike’s emotions were lurching violently about, a maelstrom of pain and anger, of hurt and betrayal and a hopeless, helpless emptiness. He tore out of his duster, tossing it aside. He couldn’t do - this - this mockery of living, this empty existing. He’d been a bloody, fucking fool to think for one moment that he could.

The searing pain and loneliness that tore through his body every bloody minute of every bloody day had taken on greater degrees of intensity, feeding themselves off the encounter with the bot. He could feel screams rising in him, desperate for escape. Scream, just scream. Start and never stop. Scream and scream until someone dusted him just so they no longer had to hear it.

Raging, out of his mind with pain and anger and the ever present, overriding guilt, he morphed into his demon and went on a wild rampage, smashing everything he could lay his hands on. Every item in his crypt fell before him, furniture; statuary; even his telly was crushed to pieces. He smashed and bashed and broke until nothing remained sizable enough to attract his attention, and when that point came, he unleashed his fury on himself, viciously punching his fists into the concrete walls over and over and over as he, at last, felt the screams come. Primal and animalistic, his tormented roars carried out into the night air, echoing eerily around the graveyard and beyond, terrible and haunting to hear.

Finally, a long time later, Spike collapsed to his knees, spent. His head fell forward as he heaved in unnecessary air.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep - existing. The only thing holding him in this world was Dawn and it was sure as bleedin’ hell she’d be better off without him. Hello, vampire? What in bleedin’ hell had ever possessed him to give his word to the Slayer to protect little sis?

Why had Buffy even asked him? Told him she was counting on him? Had she been insane? Completely off her bird?

A. Fucking. Demon.

His head came up slowly, jaw tightly clenched as his eyes narrowed. Cold, cruel fury was crashing off of him in waves.

He needed to kill something. Anything. A light appeared behind his eyes as his lips pursed with purpose. He needed to kill. And he knew just who he was gonna go after.

Long tongued little weasel of a demon.

Spike hadn’t been able to get a single line on the creature he considered his most hated enemy, but tonight - tonight he would tear the town apart. If Doc was still anywhere to be found in the city limits of Sunnydale, tonight would see an end to his miserable existence. During the last few weeks, as he’d told Giles, Spike had hunted down Glory’s remaining minions. With Slayer blood flowing powerfully through him, he had made their last moments agonizing for them, and he had gloried in their fear and terror, had let their blood run like rivers over him in victory. But none of the pain he had subjected them to had elicited any hint of Doc’s whereabouts. Other sources had proved equally useless. And Doc had remained elusive.

Spike pushed up to his feet in a smooth, powerful motion. His body was once again under his command.

His mouth twisted in a mockery of humor as he opened the refrigerator. How had it managed to escape his destructive rampage? He reached a horribly mangled hand inside and pulled out the last remaining bag of Buffy’s blood. He still didn’t know if he’d be able to drink blood not laced with hers, but it made no difference. Fate would always work its’ will. He couldn’t do a damn thing to control or alter that. The last few years - and more - the last few months, had made that pretty bleedin’ clear to him.

With reckless defiance, he sank his fangs into the bag and drained it.

No kiddie cocktail tonight. This was the hard stuff, straight up.

He staggered under the power, feeling the heady rush shoot down his arms and legs, and up into his brain, racing into every nerve and muscle in his body. Even as he watched, his hands began to heal. The aphrodisiac properties of her blood stormed to his groin as never before, leaving him rock hard and hungry.

Spike put a hand to the wall, leaning on it as he struggled to assimilate the sensations and gain control of himself. God, so much power! He took a fierce pride in the knowledge that the blood of his Slayer was so incredibly strong, so potent. She’d been a bleedin’ miracle, his Slayer. Perfect. From the top of her shining head down to the very last corpuscle of her blood. Perfect.

He flung open the door, hot for the hunt. Once he located Doc, he knew that it would boil down to ‘kill or be killed’.

And that was fine by him.

The door banged back against the wall and Spike stopped short, frozen in place by the sight that greeted him.

Had they sent it after him? Was this some kind of soddin’ punishment they’d come up with? He was responsible for the Slayer’s death - he knew that. Were her friends now planning to seek revenge by torturing him to death with the most horrible mental pain they could dream up? Couldn’t they just bleedin’ stake him and provide satisfaction all around?

The bot smiled at him.

“Spike! You’re here!” She breezed past him into the site of mass destruction that had been his home only a fit of rage ago. Spike closed the door and leaned against it as he fixed his eyes on her. Narrowed, dangerous. She turned back to him, oblivious to his mood, and her smile slid into a look of anxious concern.

“Are you okay? You were walking funny when you left the Magic Box. I thought you might be mad at me because I didn’t talk to you. I couldn’t,” she informed him. “Willow hadn’t finished connecting everything inside me yet, and my voice didn’t work. Then, after you left, she was muttering and trying to finish repairing me, while everyone was yelling a lot. Dawn - she’s my sister - we’re both very pretty - hit Giles. Giles yelled at Willow. It was all very confusing, and upsetting. So I left.”

She walked over to him and reached up to touch his face.

“I was worried about you, and I wanted to see if you were alright.” Her hand stroked down his cheek, and her fingers traced the curve of his lips as the concern on her face became laced with affection. “Are you?”

Spike grabbed her, lifting her off her feet as he turned and slammed her against the crypt door. And then he was on her. His hands, his mouth, his entire body, getting as close as he could as quickly as possible. He sank his hands into her hair, holding her head in a vise like grip as his mouth savaged hers. There was nothing gentle or playful in him as there had been before with her - with it. This time there was just need, raw and desperate, taking him over and riding him hard. He grabbed one of her legs, lifted it and wrapped it around him as he positioned himself against her, grinding, thrusting his rock hard shaft against her in an obscene parody of lovemaking.

He came almost immediately. The short, intense orgasm, the first one he’d allowed himself in months, didn’t even give him pause. Certainly, it didn’t do anything to dampen the need raging in his body.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth, still thrusting violently against her. “Again. Now.”

Orgasm number two.

He tore his hands out of her hair, and reached under her, grabbing the perfect globes of artificial flesh he found there and hauling her harder against him. He writhed against her responsive body, grinding himself against her, harder, harder. More. Blunt teeth bit hard into her neck.

He came again.

“Spike! Oh, you feel so good.” The bot was gasping for unneeded air, just as he was. “I want you. I wanna feel you inside me, right now, deep and hard. Please,” her voice had taken on a carefully calibrated desperation. “Please, Spike.”

He wanted it too, ached to bury himself in her over and over through what remained of the night, to feel her eager hands and mouth on his body. Buffy’s blood was rushing through his veins, and he was still unbelievably hard, still half crazed with the need to come again. And again, and again, and again. He wanted to sate himself with her, to find the kind of release he hadn’t had since his Slayer’s death had seemed to steal, not sexual desire itself, but the desire to assuage it, from him. The bot was here, right here. Willing. Wanting.

Wouldn’t be so wrong, would it? To take comfort, find blessed relief, perhaps even some peace in a body that had been built for him, made for him? No one would be hurt. And who would ever know?

As soon as the desire crystallized, his mind was filled with the memory of Buffy’s reaction to the bot, the unaccustomed shame she had made him feel for having had the mechanical substitute for her created. Spike kissed the bot again, desperate to shake off the attack of conscience. Despite his efforts, he knew it was too late. The memories had washed over him, and he knew he wouldn’t have sex with the bot again. His fists slammed furiously against the door of the crypt, next to the bot’s head, and he released a roar of frustration. Why? He thought as a kind of helpless anger fill him - why do I still care about her opinion of me? She’d gone. Dead.

He was such a soddin’ git.

He’d already gone far too far. Three orgasms in less than five minutes. And not a bloody piece of clothing even disturbed. He could almost see the look of disgust on his Slayer’s face.

The anger that had fueled him since he’d left the Magic Box was falling away, leaving only the oh, so familiar emptiness.

“I’ve missed you so much,” the bot moaned, her hands crawling up under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his stomach. Apparently his fists missing her head by inches and his angry roar hadn’t had any effect on her libido. “Tell me you’ve missed me too.”

He froze, stilling the robot under his hands, his hoarse, tight voice commanding her to silence. Then he drew her closer, his arms wrapping around her as he buried his face in her neck. He was still achingly hard, but the desire to do anything more about it had weakened, beaten into submission by his dead Slayer’s past recriminations.

He just held her in silence for a few moments, trying to bring himself under control. Seeing the bot - so like his Slayer - and hearing her voice again, seemed to have torn something apart inside him. He hadn’t thought he could be any more emotionally devastated.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft, hushed, and drenched with loneliness, hitching unevenly. “I miss you too, love. Miss you so much.” His voice broke. “Miss you...so much.”

He tried to stave off the relentless prick of tears he could feel in his eyes as he slid down the bot’s body, his face pressed to her, his mouth open and moving over her shoulders, her breasts, sliding over her stomach. He buried his face against her abdomen as he knelt before her, his arms wrapping fiercely around her thighs. A desperate need for warmth, for Buffy’s touch, writhed through him, destroying him. He pressed his mouth between her legs, against the heart of her.

Words he would never, ever, utter to, or within the hearing of, any being, living or undead, made their way out of his mouth.

“Please, love. Please… I need you. Need you. You were the only light, everything….” He turned his cheek against her and let, finally, the tears come. Soulless sobbing, almost silent, and filled with a world of pain.

Buffy had never been his, but she’d been there. A presence in his life. And just her presence, the knowledge of her existence had somehow been enough. Their verbal sparring, the satisfaction of knowing he was the thorn in her side, having, toward the end, the chance to watch her back... It had been enough. But now - now, there was nothing, and he didn’t think he could continue to exist in a world without her in it.

“Show me.” His head tipped back, and the cry came from his heart, going out to whomever or whatever might hear the pleas of a creature like him. “Show me how to go on without her.”

Silence reverberated off the walls of the stark chamber in answer to his heart wrenching cry, an endless echoing nothingness. As ever, fate was mocking him.

Spike’s head fell back against the bot in defeat, and he ground his forehead into her abdomen.

He didn’t even know please what. Just…please.

A moment passed, and the silence was broken.

“Spike?” An anxious pounding came on the crypt door. “Are you there? Let me in, Spike.” She sounded like she was crying. “I need to talk to you. Please?”

It was Dawn.

~*~

Spike pushed away from the bot and rose, staring at the door.

Bloody hell.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Couldn’t deal with Dawn, with anyone who might be out there with her. He could barely deal with himself. He wasn’t in control, wasn’t...

He dashed at the tears on his face before looking at himself. Even though the power in Buffy’s blood had healed his hands, they were still covered in his own blood, dried now. And his jeans were drenched in - other bodily fluids - that Dawn didn’t need to know a bleedin’ thing about for a good ten years. Maybe longer.

“Spike?”

He looked toward the small chest that held his clothing. ‘Course it was gone, smashed to pieces, and most of his clothes were strewn about, some shredded by his demon’s claws.

“Spike, please!” She was definitely crying.

There was no help for it. He opened the door.

“I hate them!” she sobbed and fell against him, forcing his arms to close around her. “I hate every one of them!”

Spike held her, but, despite all the time he had spent with her in the last several weeks, there still remained a degree of awkwardness for him whenever any but the most casual physical contact with her came into the picture. He was never quite sure where to put his hands, how to touch her. It was different if he was comforting her from a nightmare. Then, the comforting embrace, the soothing hands came naturally. This wasn’t so different, was it? Just because she was completely awake and angry rather than scared? He allowed his arms to enfold her, stroking her back gently with his right hand and lifting his left up to stroke it over the length of her beautiful hair. Dawn nestled closer in to him.

How much had she seen, he wondered?

Guess she’d seen enough.

“Bit, listen to me,” he began, but Dawn cut him off angrily, alerted by his tone.

“Don’t you dare make excuses for them. They had no right to do that to you. No reason. It was hateful and cruel. God. How could they?”

She yanked herself out of his arms, fully intending to storm around the crypt in a full blown Dawn Summers tantrum.

“Why would you even think of...” her voice broke off as she looked around. “Oh. My. God. Spike, what happened? Did someone attack you? Are you okay?” Her eyes flew over him, taking in the dried blood, the dark stains on his pants. “You’re hurt!”

She moved toward him, but he held out his hands, warding her off.

“I’m fine, luv. Fine,” his voice soothed her. “Just let me clean up a bit, change clothes. Okay?”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Right as rain. I promise.”

Spike sorted through some of the rubble in the general vicinity of the spot his chest had once occupied and came up with a clean, or relatively clean, pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He dropped down through the hole in the floor and changed. Have to grab a shower somewhere later, he thought. Right now he needed to get Dawn home. He knew the Scoobies would be worried about her, and no matter what the state of his always strained relationship with the soddin’ lot of them, he wasn’t gonna do anything to bugger up his chances of stayin’ close to his girl.

“Can I talk now, Spike?” he heard the bot call out. “Dawn wants to know why I’m here.”

“NO!” he ordered frantically. No telling what the bloody bot would say.

He was back upstairs in a flash. Dawn and the bot seemed to be facing off. Dawn’s arms were crossed and she had that angry, fed up expression on her face that Spike had seen more than once this summer. It was usually directed at someone not in the room with them at the time - most often her absent father. The bot was smiling her usual cheerful smile.

Spike went directly to the robot, taking her upper arms in his hands and speaking with calm force. “You will never, ever, tell anyone anything what was said or done here in my crypt tonight. Do you understand me?”

The bot nodded and leaned in to kiss him. His head reared back in rejection and the bot frowned, looking confused.

“Just don’t talk at all,” he gritted out, and the bot nodded in compliance.

“What happened with the bot, Spike?” Dawn asked, and now that look was directed at him. Any second now, she’d be tappin’ her foot.

“Nothin’,” he insisted.

“Did you have sex with the robot again, fang boy?” she demanded.

“No!”

Dawn glared. “Did you?”

“No. Dawn, no. I didn’t.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? “It was something else, and I -”

“What?”

Bleedin’ -, sometimes she sounded just like her sister!

“Tell me!”

She was obviously on an emotional roller coaster tonight, and was just looking for another reason to go ballistic.

He stared at her, locking his eyes firmly on hers.

“I put my arms around her - around it,” he corrected. “And I cried.”

Silence screamed around the crypt.

Dawn didn’t think she’d ever been so shocked in her entire life. Well, maybe when she’d found out she was the key. That had been pretty shocking. And when Janice had told her about the existence of, er, blowjobs - and by the way, major eeeww - that had been another big one. She had seen Spike cry. At the base of the tower on - that night. Just that once. So she knew he could cry. But for him to admit to doing it again... That was almost beyond shock. It went into the whole new realm of mega-shock. Uber-shock.

They stared at each other, blue eyes on blue eyes. Then Dawn’s eyes flooded with tears again, but this time, they were tears of sympathy, and she tried to blink them away as she moved back into his arms to hug him.

“You smashed up your own crypt when you got back here tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, bit, I did,” he admitted, his hands stroking over her hair this time without having to think about it first. “Had some steam to let off.”

“I didn’t see everything that happened at the Magic Box. I just saw you falling out the door. You were hurling again, and I got so scared. Spike, you’re not gonna go into another vampire coma thing, are you? ‘Cause I know Buffy’s blood must be almost gone and I don’t have any more, and I don’t know what else we could do if we need more, and...” Words were coming out almost too fast to follow, as fear joined her previous anger and pain. “I just can’t lose anyone else. I just can’t. Promise me you aren’t going to die.” Her hands clutched the fabric of his t-shirt. “Promise me.”

So she was doubly upset. Angry with the Scoobies for using him to test the bot, and scared because she’d seen him heaving his guts out in the alley and was wondering if that would mean what it had meant the last time.

“I’m gonna be just fine, bit,” he reassured her. Not for anything would he suggest otherwise.

She calmed a little. “I could always give you some of my blood if you need it. It’s Summers blood. Buffy’s blood, really...”

“Shhh. Don’t say another word,” he hushed her, feeling something tighten almost unbearably in his chest as a result of her offer. He’d never take her up on it, of course, but just the same...

“You know it should have been me. I was the one who should have jumped. I was supposed to jump. It was supposed to be me. How can you still like me, when it’s my fault she’s dead? How can you even look at me?”

Spike pulled away from her and took her shoulders in his hands, holding her firmly as he put his eyes directly in line with hers.

“We’ve been over this bit before, Dawn. No one has ever, will ever, blame you for what happened. Ever.” He allowed his tone to mellow out. “And how could I not like you? You’re my girl, right?”

Her own eyes were very serious as she met his, and he could see the lingering pain and guilt in them. Then Dawn took a deep breath, closed her eyes as she blew it slowly out, and forced a smile as she raised her eyes again to his. It wobbled a bit, but then held.

“Right?” He pushed.

“Right,” she confirmed at last.

“Right then. And now I have to get you back home.” His eyes flashed her a warning when the mutinous look began to reappear and he knew she was about to protest. “People will be worried, bit.”

“Okay. But I still hate them all.”

“Can’t really fault you there, snack size,” he said, lightening the mood considerably. For some reason, that particular nickname usually seemed to elicit giggles from the teen. It didn’t tonight, but he could almost feel some of the tension leave her body. He grabbed his coat, told the bot to come along, and they went out into the night, shutting the door firmly on Spike’s destroyed home.

~*~

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