Prologue

She of the origin, she of the primal crack, she of the boiling beginning, she of the riddle, she keeps me here, toiling and toiling – Anne Sexton



They had been watching, waiting, guarding for a millennia, hoping against hope that the Beast would not arise on this watch. Thousands of years they had been watching, guarding the Key from the ones that sought to destroy it, to use it for their own ends and destroy the balance between dimensions. Regimes came and went, countries and powers rose and fell, and still they waited; and as carefully and closely as they watched, the monks were still caught unaware.

The Beast had been consigned to this dimension, chained, restrained and subject to the limitations of humanity, captured within a frail form, unable to wield its powers upon and within the Terran dimension. And still, they knew it was not a fail-safe, that eventually the Beast could overpower and sublimate the human host.

So they had begun forming a plan, a way of safeguarding the Key from the clutches of the latest threat. Seeking out guardians for the Key proved difficult, made further impossible by the strength of the Beast. In their search for a guardian, a champion, the elders of the order had stumbled upon the legends of the Chosen One. In time, they had discovered more than legends, they had managed to locate the Chosen One. Unfortunately for them, before they could introduce this One to the Key, she was killed by one of her foes. Her executioner, for that was what the foe was, intrigued some of the elders, given the ferocity of their battle.

Intrigued as the elders were, they had decided to investigate this new warrior. His history, as it was recorded, listed numerous battles against other Chosen Ones, defeating and outright killing two, damaging others. Never once had this warrior shied from battling the Chosen Ones, seeking out one after another, forcing battles and confrontations, never once backing down from a fight. The elders had decided to follow the path of this warrior, while seeking out the newly Chosen One. The next few proved less than able, despite their chosen status.

Time was slipping past too quickly, and the Beast was getting stronger, breaking through the human form to exert its control. Events had fallen in that the dark warrior had been hampered, neutered by demon hunters intent on forcing their will onto demonkind and now worked, albeit reluctantly with the current Chosen One. Working rapidly, concentrating, the monks began weaving the web of protection to shield the Key from the Beast. Using material at hand, the monks forged a substance and form for the Key.

And, like a cuckoo in the nest, the Key took shape and was transplanted into the fabric of the life of the current Chosen One . . . the Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers.

One – Rain in the Summertime


My grief lies all within,
and these external manners of laments
are merely shadows to the unseen grief
that swells with silence in the tortured soul.
There lies the substance.

Richard II, act 4, sc 1



Spike was exhausted. Resting his head on the cold tile of the shower, he finally allowed the tight rein he kept on his emotions to drop. Emotions were a weakness right now, a liability he refused to allow himself. He couldn’t let the mask of – well it surely wasn’t indifference, the impassive face he showed in front of the Scoobies, to crack. There was no fucking way in hell he’d let his real emotions show – not in front of Harris anyway. The birds might be okay, but he’d decided against that, given how shattered they all looked. Even Rupert looked hollow most days.

Dawn was asleep, curled up in the Slayer’s bed, tears drying on the pillows. He’d found her there after patrol and while he knew he should make her sleep in her own bed, he’d not wanted to wake her. Sleep had been elusive for the teen for the last three weeks. Sleep was elusive for all of them. Twenty-two days and a couple of hours since she’d lost the last piece of her family, since the Slayer had flung herself off the tower in an effort to save Dawn and the world. Twenty-two fucking days.

For the first couple of days, she’d coped, held up fairly well, all things considered. They’d been so busy, keeping busy, planning a funeral none of them were prepared to hold, and just going through the motions. And then, one night, for no other reason than some stupid song on the radio, Dawn had collapsed. Giles and Willow had tried, but she’d been inconsolable, unable to stop the tears or the sobs. Tara had stepped in, recommending that they just be there, not trying to get her to stop, but even that hadn’t worked. Finally, the quiet witch had spoken, ‘maybe we should get S. . spike.”


Well that had not gone over well. Or so he’d imagined. When Dawn had still not stopped crying after about two hours, Giles had caved in and gone his crypt. Spike had been deep in the contemplation of another bottle of stolen scotch, when the Watcher came to call.

Spike had barely looked up at him when Giles clattered his way through the crypt door. Barely acknowledged his presence even after the older man began speaking to him. He only turned his attention to Giles when he’d heard the girl’s name. “ . . been crying for a while, we can’t get her to stop.”

Tense jawed, Spike retorted “and you ‘xpect me to help?”

“Spike. We, well Tara thought it might help if you were there.” Giles hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to face it, but the girl had a valid point. Both Buffy and Dawn had come to trust the vampire in the final days, and it just might be his presence that would calm the girl. He knew it was an admission of sorts, an admission of something he wasn’t really sure he wanted to face. That of all of them, the vampire was the one the last Summers woman wanted. What Giles didn’t want to face was the fact that had it been Dawn that died, Buffy would be in the same frame of mind. Rejecting all of them in favor of Spike.

“She’s cryin?” Despite his tone, Spike rose to his feet and reached for his duster. “‘Spect she finally realized what’s happened. Is she talkin?”

“No,” Giles hesitated a moment, “well, she’s not talking to any of us. Tara thinks she might speak with you, or at least your presence will help.” Spike looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Must make you warm all over to have to come to me.”

A soft inhalation and Giles said “if we can get Dawn to calm herself, I don’t care if its Angel.”

A raised eyebrow was his only response. While Buffy might have fooled herself that her Watcher had forgiven the elder vampire, Spike had known that Giles would never forgive Angel for the destruction he’d caused three years ago. Hell, Spike didn’t know if Giles would ever get over what Angelus had done. There was nothing they could say to each other, Angelus had effectively taken both their women. But for Giles to admit that, Dawn must be in a bad way.

“Right then. Let’s go.”

The two made their way silently through the night to Revello Drive.


That had been over two weeks ago. Since then, Spike had nearly moved into the house. Well, almost everyone had. Willow and Tara were currently sound asleep in the room that used to belong to Joyce, and Dawn was tucked in tight. Sometimes the Watcher slept on the couch, some nights it was Harris and the bird, but every night since Giles had fetched him, Spike was back here at Revello, watching over the all girls, but mostly, he was watching over Dawn.

The poor kid was a mess. Her tears hadn’t stopped when he and Rupert had returned, but he’d managed to calm her enough so that she slept. The funeral had been a complete disaster, at least for Dawn. The others had managed to hold it together, at least outwardly. Dawn had clutched him desperately, not wanting to let him go, even after the others had subtly tried to get her to let him go. At least it had served the purpose of angering the L.A. crew, specifically Angel. The Poofter had swooped into town three days after he’d effectively moved into Revello, the night before the funeral was scheduled.

He groaned as the soapy water infiltrated his wounds. Patrol tonight had been fine, just a few vamps, and no other demons. But one of those vamps had given him a bit of a tumble, using a razor sharp blade, which eventually Spike had taken and used to behead the vamp. Now sporting long, thin cuts up and down his arms and one across his belly, Spike regretted not taking the same patrol as the bot. A grimace crossed his features. While he had moments of gratification from the Buffy-bot, too soon he’d been discovered and now, now that the real girl was gone, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the thing. He hated patrolling with it, and it was only his reluctance to let the others know how much he . . . . how much he missed her, how much he bled, how much of this whole mess was his fault.

Forcing his mind away from thoughts of Buffy, he focused instead on the things Angel had tried to do. At first, finding Dawn curled up in Spike’s arms he’d nearly growled the whole house down, then tried shouting at Spike. When Dawn, and then Giles, had come to his defense Angel had been forced to shut his mouth and momentarily keep his objections to himself. Thankfully, most of the others had been too dumbstruck to even speak, which was a surprise considering Cordelia rarely kept her mouth or her opinions to herself.

They’d left, going to stay at the mansion, which was still owned by Angel, only to return the next day, armed with more arguments why Spike was such a horrible person, why he shouldn’t be allowed near Dawn. Giles, in his inimitable way, had merely taken off his glasses, looked once at Spike and Dawn, then spoke very quietly and very clearly, so that everyone who was present heard and even better, understood his position.

“Are you prepared to stay here in Sunnydale and take over everything that Spike has been doing for the past week?” He looked at the elder of the two vampires present and waited patiently for his answer. “Are you prepared to patrol nightly and do whatever it takes to keep the Hellmouth quiet? Will you guarantee that you won’t turn your back on Dawn? “

Giles waited, knowing Angel would refuse to leave Los Angeles, and that he couldn’t promise to stay with Dawn as long as necessary. Angel stared at the Watcher, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “The truth is Angel, I don’t trust you. Haven’t trusted you since your . . . since Angelus appeared.”

At that, Angel had sputtered, while Cordelia’s voice rang out, “and you can trust Spike?”

Without hesitation, without any bloody hesitation, Giles had said the one thing that forever ensured Spike’s loyalty to him. “Yes.”

No one else spoke. Not a word of recrimination from any of the Scoobies, neither a denial nor an indrawn breath nor a break in anyone’s features to indicate that any of them disagreed with Giles. Not even Harris. Spike had been floored. He’d never expected that. Not once.

“How can you possibly . . .” “This is SPIKE, remember?” Came from both Cordelia and Angel, while Wesley hemmed and hawed out something unintelligible beneath their voices.

Giles spoke again, his voice strong and clear. “I trust him, Angel. Far more than I can trust you at this point. And Cordelia, I’m well aware of whom we are speaking.”

Growling deeply, Angel made a move to where Spike and Dawn stood next to the fireplace. Giles grabbed his forearm, his glasses hanging from his free hand. “Don’t. It’s neither the time nor the place, and it isn’t your place either.”

Xander had moved imperceptibly closer to the older men, knowing if Angel decided to strike out, Giles wouldn’t be able to defend himself. Spike stepped forward also, discretely pushing Dawn out of the way, toward the kitchen. Red, Glinda and Anya moved out of the way, crowding closer to Dawn, just in case. But it hadn’t come to blows, it had just been Giles’ voice, delivering a home truth to Angel that Spike had never, in a hundred years, thought he’d overhear.

“I don’t trust you Angel, and I am only allowing you here for what you once meant to Buffy. Joyce wouldn’t want you here, and Dawn doesn’t either. You are here on the memory of Buffy’s possible wishes only. You gave up your rights, if you ever truly had any, two years ago. This, what goes on here in Sunnydale, is not your concern.” His voice took on a tone that none of them, save Spike had thought Giles capable of. “I do not trust you Angel.”

Taking a deep breath, and looking over at where Spike waited, Giles continued “I do, however, trust that Spike would not hurt Dawn, that Spike would do everything in his power to protect the girl, from everyone,” and throwing a look that was inscrutable to everyone but Spike and himself, “including me.”

Giles was not surprised when Spike didn’t flinch. So, he thought, Buffy had told him about their last conversation. Somehow, that didn’t surprise Giles in the least. There was something . . . they were two of a kind, his slayer and the vampire, despite their vocalizations otherwise. It probably went a long way to explaining why neither could gain the upper hand on the other, despite numerous attempts on both their parts. It didn’t always sit well with him, but he knew, in the last days of the fight against Glory, Spike had earned Buffy’s trust, earned it to the point where the others had no choice but to accept it.

And because Spike had earned that trust, because Buffy had given it freely, Giles could do no less. It might give him moments when he doubted his sanity, or the sanity of his slayer, and it might keep him up nights, but it did not negate the reality of their situation. Dawn was safer with Spike around.

That had been the last anyone had said about the matter. While the Scoobies might accept him on a trial basis, they would band together against outsiders to protect that right – and for all his thinking and protestations otherwise, Angel, and his group, was now an outsider.


Spike didn’t fool himself for one instant that there hadn’t been numerous discussions about that, and about his living in the Summers’ house. He knew the whelp was just waiting for him to screw up and make a mistake. That Red and Glinda walked warily around him, that Giles only trusted him conditionally, but all of that amounted to no more than a hill of beans, because of the one person that did trust him without hesitation. Dawn. They welcomed him because of Dawn.

He took another unneeded breath, idly noting the bruises forming around his torso. Black and dark blue showed up in stark contrast to his alabaster skin, blooming darkly, the only color in the nearly all white bathroom. He wasn’t overly hungry, but knew he should feed, if only to facilitate the healing. Dropping his head to rest against the tiles, Spike drew in another breath, then another, and, on the third indrawn breath, his composure broke.

Tears slid down his cheeks, mixing with the hot water. Buffy. . . was gone. Whenever his thoughts stilled, and his mind was clear, he saw again her too-still body on the ground that fateful early morning. In the quiet moments, he re-lived those last minutes on the tower, when he tried and failed . . . he blamed himself, every single time he went over it, could have been sooner, could have been faster, should have moved differently. He ran through different scenarios, trying to figure out where he made a mistake, how it could have turned out differently. So far, he’d come up with 13 different outcomes, none of which ended the same way, all of which had one single good outcome . . . The survival of both Summers girls.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, the tears falling faster and faster, soft sobs now hitching despite his need to breathe. Buffy . . oh Buffy . . . ran through his mind, counterpointed with thoughts of Dawn. Now almost doubled over, Spike pounded a fist against the tile, her name a litany on his lips, his tears scalding his cheeks. Her loss was a physical pain, centered just over his belly, an ache resembling hunger. It hurt. . . God above how it hurt.

Every night on patrol, he’d find himself turning, expecting her to be there, a smart-assed comment waiting on her lips, feet tapping and hands upon hips. Every time he walked into the Magic Box, he expected to smell her perfume, hear the cadence of her heartbeat, hear her voice. And every single breath he took that wasn’t necessary inside her house he did because there was always a trace of her in the air. Every second he slept on the floor of her room, he did because it was hers. And every single bleeding god-damned second, she was gone. . . She wasn’t there.

Buffy was gone.

And Spike cried.

Two – Tangled Webs


It may be possible to deceive men, but one cannot deceive the gods. Chinese proverb

We are so used to dissembling with others that in time we come to deceive and dissemble with ourselves. Francois, Duc de la Rochefoucauld (1613-1680)



Willow Rosenberg was thinking. Well, she knew she was always thinking, but at this moment she was thinking about how things were bad. Okay, so things weren’t so bad, but they weren’t good either. Willow looked around at the Magic Box, noting the new (and expensive) things Anya had placed on display. Shaking her head, Willow knew she was mentally babbling, while outwardly trying to keep calm and away from Giles’ knowing gaze. In fact, she was trying to be invisible to almost everyone.

Looking around quickly, she ducked her head back into the book. The litany of thoughts looped around her brain again, circling endlessly. She tried to hum something softly under her breath, but nothing would come to mind. Her thoughts were stuck. Giles is gonna kill me. Gotta hide this stuff. Can’t let anyone see. Tara won’t like this. Buffy’s dead. Where is she? Has to be something I can do. Giles is gonna kill me . . . And on until she couldn’t focus, until it was only names. Giles, Buffy, Tara, Dawn, Giles, Buffy, Tara, Dawn.

She never heard the bell ring, never heard the footsteps behind her, didn’t hear Xander call her name in greeting, in fact was so lost in her own thoughts of hiding what she was doing, that when Xander touched her shoulder, her terrified shriek echoed loudly against the walls. Xander flew back, as startled as Willow was. His answering shriek rivaled hers for volume and was, in fact, a higher pitch than hers.

Gasping for air, Willow turned to look at him. “Xander don’t do that. You scared me.” At the same time he was saying, “geez Will, what the hell was that for?”

Using Xander’s presence as a distraction, she slammed the book closed and shoved it into her backpack, all the while mumbling about people that sneak up on other people wrecking their concentration and distracting them from research.

Their combined shrieks had disturbed everyone, drawing Giles out from his office and focusing Anya’s attentions away from the few customers to the two of them. Realizing that it was only the break in Willow’s concentration and nothing more dangerous than that, Giles muttered “really you two, must you make such noise?”

Neither one responded, since it was obvious that it was merely one of Giles’ rhetorical questions, and to answer would only put the two of them at a disadvantage. Shaking his head, Giles retreated back to his office, ignoring the group at the front of the store.

Willow, nerves inexplicably calmer, got herself back together, continuing to put books into her backpack. Dawn was scheduled to be home shortly, and Spike would be pacing the floors if she didn’t arrive on time. They’d kept the girl in school, so that life would appear as normal as possible. So far, they’d managed to keep it hidden that Buffy was gone, using their connections within Sunnydale to ensure that none of the authorities governing Dawn’s life got wind of her being alone. Spike had put the screws to the morgue officials, Giles had rigged the death certificate, so no official report of her death existed. The caretaker of Restfield had graciously, freely given a plot, having been rescued by both Buffy and Spike on more than one occasion, and even gotten the headstone free of charge. And, if necessary, they had the bot to cover for them. Not that any of them really wanted the bot around, Spike in particular.

That struck Willow as odd. Spike didn’t want the bot around, in fact every time it was activated, Spike left the room, or made himself scarce. It was odd, since technically, the damn bot was his. In a moment of insight into the vampire, Willow figured it was because of his feelings for the real Buffy. Well, she thought, might not have to worry about that too much longer. The thought was so strong that for a second, Willow thought she’d said it aloud. But no, glancing around, she realized she hadn’t said a word. Okay, that was it, she needed to get out of the Magic Box and do it now. Needed to stop thinking about what she was doing.

Everyone in the shop was busy doing their own things, and Willow took that opportunity to slip out and head toward Revello. The walk home should calm her nerves, should help her gather her scattered thoughts. For some reason, the need for secrecy seemed paramount. None of them would understand why she had this compulsion to fix the situation. And, she was suddenly sure, probably all of them would try to stop her. She couldn’t trust any of them with this, the idea she had swirling about in her head. I’m going to find a way. I’m going to do it. Can’t let her stay wherever she is, have to save her for all the times she’d saved me.

It was not going to be a walk in the park, and she’d probably have to do some oogly things, things she didn’t want to really think too hard about until it came time to do them, but she would do it. No matter what she had to do, she would do it. So far, all the methods of retrieval involved dark magics and blood. And eeeww, she so didn’t want to do that, but it was beginning to look like she didn’t have any choice. There were Gods and Goddesses she could invoke, but every single deity required a sacrifice. Some required more than one. Another eeewwww for that. Just the whole thing was eewww and ooogly and not something she really wanted to think about, and hello, this was a retrieval, not a resurrection anyway. Coz Buffy really wasn’t de . . gone, she was just trapped someplace else.

As long as she put it in those terms, she could deal with it. To think otherwise, just. . . . she couldn’t do it. Buffy was only just on a vacation. Okay, so slayers never really took a vacation, but that was easier for her to deal with than the other. Because thinking that Buffy was gone, dead and never coming back was just not something she could do.

So she thought all the way back to the house on Revello, and thought more while helping Dawn with her homework, thought all through dinner, and continued that pattern for the next couple of days. Thinking and planning and researching everything she could find about retrievals, because, darn it, it wasn’t a resurrection she was doing.

Thankfully, neither Spike nor Tara caught onto what she was thinking about, which surprised her. Spike could sniff out any minute differences in body temperature and heart rate and a whole host of other weird things about humans, but for some reason, he wasn’t picking up anything different from her. She wondered about that, in the middle of the day, far away from the house, when she felt safest to think about those things and let down her guard. Willow couldn’t imagine why Spike wasn’t figuring out her intentions and calling her on it, but she was grateful just the same. Maybe, just maybe it was because he was so concerned about Dawn that he’d focused all his attention on her well-being. It was plausible. In fact, the more she contemplated that, she was sure she was right.

He was so worried about Dawn, that Spike was bordering on excessively over-protective. It would be funny if it hadn’t been for something Dawn had overheard, something said between Spike and Buffy after Joyce had died, and had told the others about in secret. Those overheard remarks and promises had led to Giles’ open disavowal of Angel and the others standing solidly in the ‘Spike belongs to us’ camp. After, it surprised Willow that it was not only just a speech. It was true. Somehow, during the battle with Glory, Spike had become one of them.

So it wasn’t Spike she was really worried about anyway. Willow was more concerned with Tara or Giles for that matter, figuring out what she was up too. It was getting harder and harder to keep her mouth shut around Tara. Up until now, there had been no secrets between them, they shared everything. But Willow was holding back, keeping something from Tara and it wasn’t what she was getting her for her birthday.

This was big - potentially dangerous, world-saving big, and Willow wasn’t sharing. It was never-wracking. It was definitely not of the good, keeping secrets from her girlfriend, but Willow knew without ever having to even sort of broach the subject, that Tara would shoot her down in a heartbeat. Faster than a heartbeat if necessary. She was finding herself biting her own tongue, swallowing words before they were born, trying to bury – no, not bury – hide what she was doing from Tara. Because Tara would see, she would know, sense the differences in her girlfriend as she delved deeper and deeper into magics she had no business dabbling in.

It was dark. It was blood magic. It was dangerous. It was everything Willow knew Tara was against. It went against the natural order. It was exactly, down to the letter, everything they had cautioned Dawn against doing after Joyce died. It was wrong then, and it was wrong now. But Willow no longer cared about wrong or right. She only cared about getting Buffy back.

******************************* **************************************

For a group of people who were, for the most part, gifted in ways other than normal, not one of those super-natural beings caught a whiff of what she was up to. Giles was wrapped up in trying to maintain to the Council and to the California authorities that Buffy was still alive, Spike was doing his best to take care of Dawn and patrol, Anya was wrapped up in controlling the store while Giles did his thing, and Tara was bogged down by trying to make up all the classes she’d missed while Glory had her brain, and play house-mom for the Revello Drive occupants.

It shouldn’t have been anything of a surprise then, when the one person who wasn’t other than normal picked up on her nervous habits and her stuttering and being avoidance girl. Shouldn’t have been a shock, when Xander, her oldest friend, confronted her one day when no one else was around. Shouldn’t have been, but it was.

“Wills, we need to talk.” He stood looking a bit more serious than he did years ago, like he seemed to look all the time now. Dark eyes held her gaze, not letting her avoid him, or push him away. “Wills, what’s going on?”

Okay, I can hide this from him, he won’t know. I can keep him occupied with lots of big words and terms he won’t understand. I can do this. Xander loves me, he won’t push this.
His next words blew all her thoughts of hiding from him out of the water. “What are you planning?”

She gaped up at him, her mouth opening and closing. “Drat” was the only coherent thought in her head as she took in his expression. This was serious. He knew something was up. They stood outside the Magic Box, frozen in time by his words.

Xander’s hand on her forearm pulled her away from the door, into the alley off to the side. “C’mon, we need to talk,.” was all he said.

He looked around, checking to see that the back door to the training room was closed, crossed his arms over his chest, lifted his chin, and said “spill.”

And before she could stop the flow of words from her mouth, Willow spilled it all out in minute detail. How she’d been looking for resurrection . . retrieval spells, incantations, Gods and Goddesses to invoke, dimensions to travel, anything and everything to get Buffy back. Until “. . I think I can do it. I know I can. You have to trust me on this.”

“Truth is, I do trust you Wills, but I don’t know if this is right. I can’t say that I understand everything you just said, but I know that some of that isn’t of the good. And how do you know Buff’s lost in some other place and not really dead-gone? “

Good question. Not one she had any intention of really answering, because she was darn certain Xander wasn’t going to like her response.

Three – Can I be as my God am?


Hail Swallower of shades who came forth from the cavern, I have not stolen.
Hail Lord of Truth who came forth from Maat, I have not stolen bread.
Hail Pale One who came forth from Heliopolis, I have not babbled.
Hail Demolisher who came forth from Xios, I have not transgressed.
Hail Youth who came forth from the Heliopolitan nome, I have not been deaf to words of truth.
Hail Nefertum who came forth from Memphis, I have done no wrong, I have seen no evil.
Egyptian Book of the Dead, excerpts from the Declaration of Innocence, Hymn to Osiris


It was a lie, and she knew it. Long before the words came out of her mouth, Willow knew she was going to lie to her best friend and a part of her no longer cared. A smaller part gave her a twinge as the words were coming, but she squashed that and moved right into her explanation. “I’ve already checked. The dimensional doors to Glory’s world were wide open and that’s the place she and Doc were aiming for. It was the first place I looked and . . . I didn’t think she’d go where Angel went, since it was a different time . . . but anyway, that’s where I looked.”

So she didn’t actually say Buffy was there, which made it okay. At least in her mind it did. It should have been harder to lie to him, and some sort of sign should have shown, but it wasn’t hard, and no scarlet letter appeared magically on her forehead. In fact, it was so simple, and made so much sense, that Xander didn’t even blink. “Ok, Willow, I buy that. But how are you going to get her free of this dimension?”

“Xander, were you listening? I just explained all that.” Oooh, lie number two, just as easy as the first. Well, only sort of a lie, because she sort of did explain it, only just so that he wouldn’t really understand. “Look, I know you think I’m tilting windmills here, but I have to do something, I can’t just let her stay there. And I’m the only one that can do something.“

That was the absolute truth. Giles could maybe do it, with help from outside sources, and Anya probably knew a few demons that could do it, but Willow was the only one of them that could do it without help. It would take lots of preparation and she’d have to gather all her supplies on the QT, but she could do it. And she was going to, whatever Xander thought about it.

“Right, I get that.” He was quiet for a moment, looking away from her, staring down the alleyway into the shadows around the back entrance to the Magic Box. “So,” he said taking a deep breath finally looking down at her, “what can I do?”

This was unexpected. “What?” she almost yelped, her face giving away her total surprise. “You want to help?”

“Gee Will, you think so? Buffy was my friend, I loved her as much as you. I’d do anything to get her back, to have her here.” His hands rested on her shoulders, while his eyes looked deeply into hers. “I don’t think any of us wouldn’t not help.”

“Um. Well, I don’t know. I don’t think Giles or Spike would.” How the heck was she going to tell him she didn’t want anyone else to know what she was doing? How was she going to get him to keep silent also? The less everyone knew the better, then she would be able to do everything she had to. Somehow, she didn’t think Giles was going to be happy about the sacrifices, and she knew Spike wasn’t going to let her use Dawn, as it was beginning to look like she was going to have to. But short of that, she figured Spike would do just about anything to get Buffy back. The problem was, so far everything she’d researched had indicated that something, probably blood, from Dawn was essential.

“I have no problem keeping things from evil dead, but why Giles?” Ah, at least his demonic prejudices were still in place. Xander didn’t really like Spike and he’d been the most vocal about keeping him away from the others, especially Dawn. He’d been over-ruled, but that didn’t stop him from voicing his dissension with the current “Spike is one of us” party-line.

“Because I don’t think he would agree to opening up the dimensions again.” Ooh, lie number three. And the hits just kept coming. Willow figured that right now, she was up to as many lies today as she’d said in her whole life. The way she knew Giles, he’d probably be right there with Spike, bring Buffy back at any cost, and he might even be willing to use Dawn. If she was being honest with herself, and at this point she wasn’t sure if she was, she didn’t want Giles second-guessing and questioning everything she did. She doubted he would permit her to use dark magics, in fact, she knew he’d try to stop her. Given his past and the problems with Ethan and Eyghon, Willow was sure that Giles would have a whole lot to say about the sources she was preparing to use. And she soo didn’t need that. It was all weird enough without Giles giving her a hard time.

Somehow that must have made sense to Xander, because he was suddenly agreeing with her. “So, no telling of plans to the English. What about the girls? Don’t you think Dawnie should know?”

“NO” her voice was overly loud, but Willow really really didn’t want to let everyone in on this. “Do you really think Anya will keep her mouth quiet? And Tara, she’s just . . . Tara just got over being possessed by Glory, so not up to this much magic. No telling of Dawn either, what if it doesn’t work right away, I don’t want to get her hopes up and then . . . . no Xander, better we just keep it quiet.”

She watched his face, waiting for his argument about telling Anya. It never came. He couldn’t come up with any reason to contradict her, so he just let it go. Truth was, Xander knew Anya wouldn’t mean to, but she’d spill the beans and Tara was still shaky, even though it had been a couple of weeks.

It only took a moment for it all to sink in, but once it did, Xander was hooked. The look in his eyes underscored his complete trust in her, as misplaced as it currently was. With luck and hope, Xander would never find out just how badly she’d lied to him, manipulating his dislike of Spike, his trust in her, and his unrequited love for Buffy into believing everything she’d told him and not questioning what she’d omitted.

Goddess, wouldn’t it be nice if it all went like this?

******************************* ***************************************

The sun was sinking down, the sky wrapped in shades of clear blue streaked with golden amber. Dawn looked up, staring up at the sky. Light wispy clouds floated above, almost close enough to reach. There were so few moments like this, where there was nothing but herself, no one hanging about wondering how she was. She didn’t mind so much, when it was Spike, but the others were enervating. Spike let her be, knowing instinctively what she needed, when she needed it. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t promise her things would be okay, and didn’t treat her like a freak. At times she found Willow or Xander staring at her, strange looks on their faces and it just . . . made her want to shriek at them to stop it. But she didn’t shriek, she didn’t scream. She’d even stopped crying, except when she was alone. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, because she still curled up next to Spike and cried when they were alone, before everyone else came home for the night.

Home. Where no one was related to her anymore. Her family was either dead or didn’t want her, and the only one she really trusted was Spike. How weird was that? No one told her, but she knew that Buffy and Giles had a disagreement just before the show down with Glory, because Giles was acting way too nice to her.

Spike wasn’t any different. He didn’t blame her for Buffy dying, he didn’t treat her differently. If anything, he was more careful of her feelings than the others, more worried about her. His feelings about Buffy were obvious, and she knew he cried when he was alone. Sometimes, she would look at him through her own tears and know he was crying right along with her. They never talked about it, their grief, but it was a third presence whenever they were alone. He hid it carefully from the others, not wanting to listen to their stupidity over it.

Walking along Revello toward the house, Dawn tried to figure out why the sky made her feel happy. And then it struck her – the colors of the sky right now were the colors of Spike’s eyes. Blue and amber. Her favorite colors ever.

Sighing deeply, Dawn climbed the steps. It just wasn’t the same. Spike was inside waiting for her, instead of Mom or Buffy. It was nice having him here, living in the house, but it just wasn’t the same. At least he made schoolwork easier. Not that she was doing much of it, but when she did muster up the wherewithal to do it, Spike always knew the answers. He managed to hide his intelligence from most of the others, but he couldn’t fool either her or Giles. There were nights she couldn’t sleep, and she found herself sitting on the stairs, listening to the two men talk. The deep cadences of their voices soothed her in ways she didn’t really want to examine, but it was just the sounds calmed her. They had a surprisingly wide range of subjects to talk about, everything from demonology to music to British politics and nearly everything in between. The one thing they’d never talked about, unless they did it when she was asleep, was her sister. Hardly any of them talked about Buffy, at least not around her. She hated that. Buffy was her sister and she needed to talk about her and Mom. About how she felt being alone. About Spike. About anything.

But none of them except Spike talked to her about it. And that just sucked.

Clattering noisily into the house, Dawn dumped her books on the floor next to the door and yelled out “Spike”, wondering where he was.

His voice was soft, coming from the living room. He was parked in front of the television, not really watching it. It sounded like he was just waking up. “‘lo Nib. How was your day?”

“It was a day.” Things were so domestic between them, just as if they were a family. It was nice, comforting even. Only two things were missing. Joyce and Buffy. Dawn looked at him, noting his disheveled appearance. Her giggle subsided into a sob. He was up, taking her into his arms before she even realized she was crying. “‘s alright, pet. Shhhh. C’mon, sit.”

It was a long time before her crying stopped, but he never moved, except to hold her closer. Dawn was practically in his lap, her head resting against his chest, her arms clutched around him tightly. There was no comforting thump of a heartbeat against her ear, but that didn’t matter. He still smelled like Spike, leather and tobacco and well, home. She wiped her runny nose, snuffling into his shirt. His harrumph made her softly chuckle, but she knew it was an act. Nothing phased him, not demon guts or Dawn snot, well, nothing short of death anyway. “I’m such a baby.”

“Nah. You’ve just had a rough time of it. No worries, pet. Cry all you want. ‘M here to listen.” His hand rubbed her back, soothing the hiccups away.

Her arms tightened around him. Maybe it wasn’t so bad having Spike to come home to.

Four – Who’s that Girl?

If there is anything I really fear it is the mind of a young girl.
Jane Heap, as quoted in The Strange Necessity, part 1



Two more weeks. Two more weeks and she would have been home free for the whole damn summer. Two damned weeks. Damn. Damn. Damn. It was soo not fair.

Sitting in the principal’s office waiting for the lecture she knew was coming, Dawn was mentally kicking herself. This just sucked. She was busted. Skipping math class hadn’t exactly been the smartest thing she’d done lately, but it wasn’t the only thing. At least it’s the only thing I got caught doing. Looking around at the stupid motivational posters on the walls, Dawn absently twirled a finger in her hair. She wondered which one of her guardians was going to get the phone call and hoped that it was either Spike or Tara. Of the four constantly watching her, those were the two who wouldn’t give her the endless lectures and pep talks. They would probably understand. Wouldn’t give her as hard a time as the other two, at least she hoped so.

“Dawn Summers, follow me please.”

Grabbing her books, she made the long walk into the principal’s office.

***************************** ******************************

Distant chimes rang in his head, disturbing his sleep. Spike groaned and rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable spot in the cramped quarters of Dawn’s single bed. It was, as always, a futile quest. At least it was a bed. More than he had come to expect lately. He shifted his weight, easing a kink in his back that owed more to the injuries from last night’s patrol than his position. There it was again, that pounding. Who the hell was knocking on the door at this hour? Opening one eye, in an effort to find the clock, Spike realized how late in the day it was. After one. His mind registered the pounding on the door, grumbling about disturbed sleep patterns and what not.

Pulling on his jeans, he bellowed down the stairs, “hold on. ‘M coming.”

Reluctantly opening the door, a shirtless disheveled Spike was confronted by a well dressed, dark haired fairly attractive woman. She eyed him speculatively, noting his state of undress and his general all around grumpiness. He kept away from the sunlight, stepping back out of the open doorway. “Is this the Summers’ residence?”

Her voice was even, without an accent. She was about Willow’s height, little on the plump side, but nice curves in any case. Spike eyed her again, noting with interest the briefcase in her hand.

“Yah. Who’re you?” Scratching his bare chest, Spike realized his state of undress. “Um.. Yah, lemme get a shirt on.”

He moved toward the living room, where a relatively clean shirt was on the corner of the coffee table, where he’d left it yesterday after Dawn had sniveled all over him. His voice came out muffled as he pulled the shirt on. “So, who did you say you were?”

“I’m here from the school.” He looked up quickly at that, motioning her inside the door. No need to worry about this one. Purely human by the scent of her, not to mention the pounding heartbeat. Flashing her an assessing look, Spike motioned her inside to the living room. “What’s this about then?”

“We’ve noticed a, well, something of a pattern with Dawn over the past couple of weeks. And we know that her mother recently passed away. I understand her older sister has custody of her. “

“Ah, this is great, but who are you?” He sat down in the chair as she continued talking.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Ms. West, I’m the school social worker. Dawn’s teachers have been concerned about her missing class and skipping whole days since her mother died. We thought perhaps it was time for a meeting with her guardian.” Spike just stared at her, unsure of what to do or say.

The insane thought ‘we’d all like a meeting with her guardian’ circled round his head, but he said nothing. He had no idea if this was routine or not. His only experience with formalized education had been well over a century ago, and he sincerely doubted any of his headmasters or prefects had engaged in meetings like this with parents. More likely, they’d have just caned the miscreant and have done with it. He couldn’t get up and call Giles, that would entail leaving this woman alone, able to snoop at will. No, better he get rid of her as quickly as possible and then deal with Dawn later.

He had no clue she was skipping school. It was not a good thing. Education was important, and she wasn’t helping things by skipping out of classes. They’d all agreed, as a group, that keeping quiet about Buffy being gone was the smart thing to do, especially if they wanted to keep Dawn close. Otherwise, if the authorities found out, Dawn would be shipped off to a home, and none of them would be likely to have any right to visit. And Dawn was supposed to go to school and try to stay out of trouble, keep under the radar.

“Buffy’s not here right now.” Damn how that hurt to say. Thank god they put the bot in a locked closet in the basement. He didn’t think he could explain some of the responses they’d been unable to reprogram. Willow had been working on it, but a lot of the phrases were still inappropriate for everyday behavior, and nothing that would help him in this situation.

“She’s at work. Okay, is there a time when I can schedule a visit with her?” The woman wasn’t entirely interested in who he was, she was just too busy making small notations in her paperwork.

“Ah.. Not sure when would be a good time. I’ll have to have her give you a call so she can suss that out with you.” He couldn’t see what it was she was writing, but she seemed rather intent on it.

“Yes. That would be fine.”

Reaching out her hand, she held out a card to him. Spike looked at her sleepily, then realized what she was doing. “Right then. I’ll just give this to her.”

Quickly, the woman was on her feet again, putting all her paperwork back into her briefcase. He caught her looking at him from the corner of her eye, a slight blush covering her cheeks. Ahh . . . so the bird wasn’t immune. He thought she might be like the wiccans, because she didn’t even blink, but the telltale sign of interest gave him an edge.

“Well then. I’ll let Buffy know you were here. I’m sure she’ll want to speak to you.”

He grinned, looking her up and down. She was pretty enough, but not worth either the time or trouble, even if his heart was in it. And it wasn’t. Didn’t matter looking, but anything more required an effort, and not one he was willing to expend, not unless something came up with Dawn that the bot couldn’t handle. Which it might, so the intense looking was good groundwork, but he wouldn’t do more than that. The woman colored further, this time looking him straight on, giving him her own once-over.

Making her way toward the door, she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

Ushering her out the door, he considered using Spike, but he didn’t think that would help Dawn’s current situation. Spike didn’t sit well with authority-type figures. Deftly he opened the door and willed her to take the steps outside.

“Name’s William.” He didn’t elaborate further. Let her think what she wanted, but her next words threw him for a loop.

“I thought Dawn’s father’s name was listed as Hank.”

He stood there gaping at her, no answer crossing his mind. She was down the steps before he could think of anything to say.

**************************** *******************************

Hours later, he was still somewhat mystified over his encounter with the school social worker. There’d been no indication that Dawn was having a problem, no letters home, no phone calls from any of her teachers. Spike had decided first off that he was going to talk to Dawn before he brought this to Giles. The last thing the girl needed was a full blown lecture from the tweed one. And he doubted that the girls would be up for the kind of lecture Dawn needed, and forget about the whelp. He would be more of a hindrance than a help. So it was up to him. He hated doing this to her, hated being the one to put his foot down and make her tow the line, but this was important. Not just for all of the rest of them, but this was Dawn’s future at stake. The last thing he wanted was for her to end up in a foster home. The only good news about that was she would probably end up staying in Sunnyhell, but if they managed to contact her father, she could end up anywhere. Not that he personally had any problem following her – in fact, he was the only one that probably could leave on a whim. And he would, if that wanker of a father took her away.

He was still lost in his own thoughts when Dawn came in through the back door. It took him a long moment to identify the rustling in the kitchen as her rooting about for a snack, but when he did, he was on his feet and approaching her before he could second guess himself. “Dawn. How was school today?”

There, give the girl an out. Give her a chance to make good, a chance to come clean. Her head in the refrigerator, back to him, she said, “it was mostly a day. Nothing big going on.”

“Really? Hhmm.” He waited a beat, then “that’s good then, nothing big.”

Dawn froze in the act of moving around leftovers from last night’s dinner, then slowly backed up. “Yeah well. Nothing big is good.”

“Good then.” Spike knew his tone of voice signaled his total disbelief. He could spot bullshit a mile off, and this conversation reeked of it. But he said nothing more, just raised a brow at Dawn and tossed her an orange from the counter.

“Ah Spike, how mad would Giles be if I had to go to summer school?”

“Is this a rhetorical question or one with some basis in reality, pidge?” Spike moved to stand in front of the sink, his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching her carefully.

Dawn looked up at him, a sad look in her eyes. “Spike, I think I screwed up. I’ve been skipping classes, and I got busted today.”

Points for honesty, he thought, and knowing what she’d done was stupid. “Can’t imagine that Rupert will appreciate this, Dawn. You know how he’s been going on about keeping scoobie business away from prying eyes. Wanting to keep quiet about your sis.”

Dawn’s sigh was deep, ending in a quiet sob. “I know. I just couldn’t . . . I can’t explain it. I just, just. . . .” Spike could take a lot of things, could be impassive at a lot of emotional outbursts, but Dawn’s tears stroked something inside that he’d thought long dead and buried. Compassion. He no more wanted the girl to cry than he wanted a dose of syphilis.

He watched, trying to maintain some distance, while the tears started sliding down her cheeks. Part of him knew she was manipulating him and was well aware she knew he was a soft touch where she was concerned. Another part of him knew she really was sorry, but sorry for being caught, not for her actions. “Niblet, you know we’re trying to keep the authorities from takin’ you away. If they find out, you’re good as gone.”


No reason to sugar coat it or play it nice with her. Someone had to stress it, play the heavy with her, make her understand what could happen, because so far, it seemed she wasn’t getting it. “Do you wanna go to a foster home? Or worse, go with your father, far away from the rest of us? That what you want? Foster family might not let any of us near you, specially me. What would you do then?”

Laid out like that, Dawn couldn’t argue with him. She knew there was no way she wanted far away from them, knew she didn’t want to go live with her father – who hadn’t been heard from even after they tried notifying him when Joyce died. They’d not bothered after Buffy, knowing that in order to keep her death quiet, they had to pretend. Staying out of trouble, not making any waves in school was all they’d asked Dawn to do. Thing was, he understood why she was acting out, but knowing didn’t make it any better. Rupert was going to have to be told. The school could make life difficult, especially if Dawn continued to act out. Slumping onto one of the stools, Dawn laid her head down on her folded arms.

“I goofed, didn’t I?” Not waiting for a confirmation from Spike, Dawn kept speaking, “dunno why I did it, I just. . . . it seemed like a good idea at the time. I just . . . what point is there in going?”

He waited her out, knowing that she wasn’t finished. “My life sucks. Mom’s dead . . . Buffy’s dead, and I’m left here all alone. Who cares if I don’t finish school? What is the point anyway? Why . . . I mean . . . just why?”

Voice hitching quietly, she continued “its just, who is gonna care? What , I mean . . . . its just, Spike, what the hell am I gonna do? Who is gonna take care of me . . . when this is all done? Who?”

Enough was enough. Spike moved over to where Dawn was hunched over, tears streaking down her face, pooling on her hands. “Sssshhhh. Niblet, don’t cry. You know I’ll be here. Forever if you need me, not gonna leave you anytime soon. Made a promise, gotta keep it.”

It was the first time since Buffy’s death that he spoke about the promise he’d made to her, to look after Dawn. First time he let it slip to the girl in question, anyway. He’d had it out with Giles, just before they buried Buffy, before the LA crew arrived, after the watcher had come to get him while Dawn was hysterical. Spike had laid down the law to Giles, telling him in no uncertain terms that Dawn, and Dawn alone was his priority. He also had told him about his promise to Buffy. Somehow protecting Dawn had extended to doing patrols every night, and he had no idea how that had really started, but the truth was, he needed the physical release patrolling brought him.

Dawn lifted up her head, her big blue eyes full of tears, at his last words. “Spike, you made a promise about me?”

Fuck. He’d not wanted to tell her about it, at least not this way. “Yeah, did that. Made a promise to your sis, to keep you safe.”

“You promised Buffy you would take care of me?”

“Did. Would protect you always. Even without a promise. You’re m’niblet.”

She squeaked, throwing her arms around his torso, holding onto him. “Don’t leave me Spike, please don’t. . . . please.”

“Not goin’ anywhere, gonna stay with you. Even if someone else tries to take you. Gotta protect you.”

His arms came round to hold her close, his hands running through her long brown hair, waiting out her tears.

Five – School’s out for Summer?

No blessed leisure for love or hope, but only time for grief.
- Thomas Hood, The Son of the Shirt


Giles stood, arms crossed, watching while Spike paced back and forth across the floor of the training room. “Thing is Rupe, I understand why the girl is doing it. Doesn’t make it right, but she’s feeling lost.”

He whirled about, facing the older man. “Feels like she’s got no one to really care about her, what she does. ‘Swrong, but that’s what she’s feeling. Tried telling her she’s not alone, but . . . “ he shrugged, struggling for the words. This wasn’t easy for him, trying to be compassionate, but he cared for the girl. If he admitted it to himself, he loved her, worried about her like he would have for one of his own blood. Even without the promise he’d made to Buffy, he would have looked out for her. “Doesn’t help that she’s blaming herself for what her sis did. “

Waiting a beat, Spike continued, “she thinks everyone blames her. Feeling lost. Alone.”

There was no visible response beyond the tightening of Giles’ jaw. He couldn’t rightly refute anything the vampire was saying, because he was guilty of feeling that way about the girl. It should not have come down to a choice between them. It should have been clear-cut and simple. Destroy the key. Close the portals. Destroy Glory. Instead, it became a . . . situation akin to disaster. The key was a young girl, blood and flesh of the Slayer, and how do you destroy something you’ve come to love? Rupert knew it wasn’t within Buffy, even as he’d first suggested it. And even as he’d said it, he knew she wasn’t going to agree to destroy the key, knew he’d hurt her even by suggesting it. Despite the belief that it had to be said. Which was why, in the last hours before the battle, instead of turning to him, Buffy had turned to this vampire before him, made him promise to protect the key, even from himself.

“Spike. I know she blames herself. We’ve all blamed ourselves, including I think, you.” Gesturing over Spike’s words of “‘m not the issue”, Giles continued, “but it wasn’t her fault. Buffy made a decision on her own about how to close the dimensional walls. We cannot second guess that. It does her memory no service.”

“Right then. Girl’s been skipping classes. Needs to make up for lost time and got to watch her. Can’t have them take her away. Won’t be able to protect her.” Spike lost no time in getting to the heart of the matter. “Niblet trusts me to tell her what’s what. No sugar on it. But she needs to know legalities and what not and what could happen if her good-for-naught father comes back.” He stopped pacing, facing away from the other man.

“Needs to hear from someone else wasn’t her fault.”

“All right Spike. I’ll sit down and talk to her about it, though I’m not sure she’ll listen to me if she’s already ignoring what you tell her. “

“She listens, just needs to hear from someone else, not her fault.”

Without another word, Spike stalked out of the training room, voice trailing behind him. “Right then, I’ll leave you to it, ‘m off to kill the nasties.”

Rupert stood there long after he’d gone out, trying to get his thoughts together before speaking to Dawn. He understood the problems the vampire had in dealing with the girl, after all, it wasn’t everyday that a vampire undertook to protect a human child. That this one was not a normal child was immaterial, and he was beginning to believe the vampire wasn’t normal either. Dawn was human now and completely unprotected. They had no idea who or what might still be after the girl, what her ultimate purpose was, and how she could trigger her ‘gifts’. He and the others had talked it over, just before and again after they had buried Buffy, what to do. At the time, the last remaining Summers had been too distraught to be included in the conversation, and they’d only just informed her of what she needed to do to stay with them. Perhaps it had been something of a mistake in not including her.

Dawn was home, with Willow and Tara. Xander and Anya were elsewhere, no doubt planning the wedding they somehow thought was a secret from him. He would inform the girls of the situation, and hopefully enlist their help with Dawn, but, he realized it was up to him to convey the seriousness of her situation. Spike, much as he hated admitting it, was right. They couldn’t leave the girl to the mercies of the California social services, nor could they allow her father, if he could be located and forced to face responsibility, to remove the girl from their protection.

In for a long night, Giles locked up and made his way toward the house on Revello Drive.

************************** *******************************

Hours later, Giles was sitting on the couch, a tumbler of 25-year old scotch in hand, waiting for Spike to come back. The talk with Dawn had gone surprisingly well, though he suspected she was more upset with herself for getting caught than she was for the acts that got her in trouble. Oddly enough, she was just as afraid of getting shipped off as the rest of them were. Tara had been horrified at the thought, and Willow had agreed to start tutoring Dawn. He’d laid it out for the girls, coming down especially hard on Dawn. He sat up, waiting for Spike to come home, as they’d begun the ritual of going over his patrols. There was more bad news, news he didn’t relish sharing with any of them, but he no longer had a choice.

Most of the lights were off as he waited, preferring to in the relative darkness. Giles left the fax he’d received as he was locking the shop doors earlier. Somehow, some way, they had been discovered. He sat, sphinxlike, while Spike quietly clattered in the front door, locked up and made his way around the house, making sure everything was locked up tight. It wasn’t until he made his circuit round the first floor, coming back around to the living room that Spike found Giles.

“Sitting drinkin’ by yourself isn’t good mate.” He’d stopped short, dropping the short axe down by his feet, wondering why Rupert was sitting so quietly. Not that he was ever really noisy, but something about his posture was stiffer than usual tonight. “Not go well with Dawn?”

“No, it went as expected. She did need to hear from me.” Giles shifted a bit, easing forward, placing his drink on the table next to the paper. His motion drew Spike’s attention to the paper laying there. “What’s this?”

“Sit down Spike.” Giles managed to refrain from drawing off his glasses, but it was a near thing. He needed something to do with his hands, but instead he waited until Spike sat, then moved the paper across to him without lifting it in his hands.

It was just a short note. Just a small little communique. It should not have provoked the reaction Giles was giving it. Spike looked down at it, without reading the words, gauging the watcher’s body language.

“Rupes, what is this?”

“Spike, read it.” He reluctantly looked down at the paper, suddenly not wanting to even touch it. “Rather you tell me first.”

“Spike. Just read it.” He couldn’t resist any longer. Rupert dragged his glasses off his face, placing them on the table with delicate slowness next to his scotch. His breath was soft in the air, sounding very loud in quiet room. Spike finally picked up the paper, scanned it quickly, drawing in a deep unneeded breath.

“Fucking hell.”

“Rather” was Giles’ one word response.

“What are you gonna do?” Spike tossed the paper back down on the table, almost loathe to touch it. “Bloody fucking buggering hell.”

The younger man slumped back on his tailbone, his legs spread wide and hands dropped down between his legs. His expression nearly exactly mirrored the other man’s emotions. Giles waited a moment, knowing he’d had a bit more time to come to terms what the fax said, but also knowing his hands were effectively tied. While he was still a British citizen, he had “resident alien” status with INS, and also was the owner of a thriving business. Truthfully, he no longer worked for the Council full time, but he did owe them allegiance, and not to mention he still did consulting from time to time. But that was just semantics.

“Evidently, the Council has independent sources of information here in Sunnydale.” Both men shifted in their seats, neither one liking the implications of that. Spike looked away, then back at Giles, opening his mouth to speak, then shutting it again.

“‘S’not good Rupert. Can’t have them spying about.”

“I know. This doesn’t bode well at all.” Giles picked up his scotch, sipping it a bit before he spoke again. “I’m going to have to return, at least for a little while.”

“Hell of a time to leave, Rupert. Girls won’t like this a bit.” Spike somehow knew Giles hadn’t yet said a word to the others, didn’t need the other man’s confirmation of his silence. “How’re we gonna survive without you, even for a little bit?”

While he was flattered, Giles had no illusions about how well they would all survive. The only one that really needed him, avoided him at all costs unless forced to deal with him. Dawn was more comfortable with Spike and Tara, listening to the vampire as if he were the parental figure instead of himself, and Tara tried valiantly to fill Joyce’s shoes. “No doubt you will all be fine.”

The loud snort sounded like a gunshot in the quiet. “Doubt that very much. Don’t play games with me Rupert. Doubt anyone but Dawn listens to me, and you know Harris would just as soon leave me in a puddle of holy water than not.” He shifted forward in his seat, hovering over the loaded missive, “know the girls might not care to have me here if you’re long gone.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Shaking his head slightly, Rupert moved forward, so that they were nearly nose to nose. “I think the girls like having you around, at least they know nothing demonic can get past you. They feel safer with you here. There isn’t much I can do about Xander, I doubt anything will ever change his view. But” and he waved a hand to dismiss what he’d just said, “that’s not something we can worry over. I’ve at least got to return to file my final diary.”

His voice wavered a bit, and Giles took a moment to compose himself. “I don’t know that I trust you completely, Spike. Don’t know that I ever will.” Lifting his eyes to meet Spike’s look head on, he continued, “but I can’t deny that you’ve proven you won’t do anything to hurt the girls. I have to trust that will continue.”

Well. Another admission from the watcher. Spike was certain the hellmouth was going to open and swallow them all up. Sitting here, this moment, was nothing short of a bloody miracle. That racked up two in the plus column, both courtesy of the other Brit. Who’d have ever thought? Not himself, given the reaction only his presence had gotten right after his revelation to Buffy of his feelings. Looking away from Giles, Spike tried to mask how much this admission meant to him.

“Made a promise. Intend to keep it.” was all he said.

But it was enough. They both knew what it meant.

**************************** *******************************

It took a few days, but Giles managed to break the news of his imminent return to Mother England and the Council to the girls. As expected, Dawn took the news silently, then pitched a fit later on, when it finally sunk in that another support was leaving. This time, she didn’t take it out on anyone but the culprit. There’d been a letter home from school, indicating that Dawn was required to attend summer school, since she had missed so much time for one reason or another. Despite being warned, and knowing that he’d already spoken to her once about this, Giles confronted the teenager again.

He’d caught her just before bedtime, on a night when Willow and Tara were both out, and while Spike was out patrolling. It quickly escalated into a shouting match, something neither one of them had expected. Giles felt he had to impress upon her just how important it was that she behave and keep out of sight of officials, especially since he was leaving for an unknown amount of time. Dawn had immediately jumped to into defensive mode, shrieking that he wasn’t her father, he didn’t even like her and why should she listen to him anyway?

Her voice had ridden higher and higher, until it hurt his ears. She was near hysterics again, only this time Giles knew exactly what had triggered this. Spike had warned him, knowing the girl would lose her cool during any discussion with Giles. Internally, Rupert cursed the vampire’s insight with one breath and with another he thanked him for it.

“Dawn. Settle down.” He caught her by the shoulders, lightly shaking her. “I’m not staying in England, I’m coming back, I just don’t know when.”

She crumpled. Dawn just slumped forward into his chest, his arms coming round to hold her up. Incoherent words, half sentences and muffled hiccups escaped her, while Giles held her close, trying to soothe her.

That was how Willow found them, Dawn curled up next to Giles, while he explained to her where he was going, why and who he had to report to. He also told her he was going to try and unearth the identity of their informants, and get some agreement from the Council to remove the surveillance.

Contemplating the two, the redheaded wiccan prayed that Giles would stay away for a very long time.

6. A Girl in Trouble (Is a temporary thing)

there’s a time when every girl learns to use her head;
tears will be saved ‘til they’re better spent;
there’s no time for her to be afraid, so instead,
she takes care of business, keeps a cool head
a girl in trouble is a temporary thing
Romeo Void, A Girl in Trouble (Is a temporary thing) 1984


It was so much easier for her now. Not that what she was searching for was easy to find, just that she had so much more freedom to search for it. Giles leaving had been a really really good thing. In fact, she hoped he stayed in England for the rest of the summer. Willow sat up in the restricted book section of the Magic Box, looking for references to underworld gods. She’d been looking, researching for a way around using blood, but so far, nothing seemed to work. There was a pile of grimoires to her left, a note pad perched precariously on her knee, and an enormous book at her right, hieroglyphics scrawled across its cover.

There was no way around it, she was going to have to use the rites from the Egyptian Book of the Dead, with adaptations from other sources. And blood. She was going to have use blood.

Every ritual came down to one thing, using blood. She was about to tread down a path that she once thought never to follow. Willow glanced up as a customer entered the shop, her attention caught by the bell. Stretching out her sore neck muscles, Willow tried to block out all the misgivings and doubts that kept flooding through her mind. There was no way she could falter. Firmly pushing aside the doubts, she turned her attention back to the books strewn about her.

Preparation was key, and the list of supplies she was going to need was long and esoteric. Nothing on it, except for the garlic and water, were things she could just buy anywhere. Some of the supplies were going to come from the Magic Box, and she was going to have to search out via the internet. Time and money were her only constraints, especially now since Giles was gone.

That had been a huge weight from her shoulders, Giles’ return to England came at a fortuitous time. He’d been gone now nearly three weeks, and it didn’t look like he was going to be able to return anytime soon. Xander had been sworn to secrecy, though she still hadn’t told him anything of real substance. Dawn and Tara were still distracted with school issues, both girls now mired in summer sessions, and Spike was oblivious to her scheming. Anya had been giving her weird looks every once in a while, but she had been able to divert her attention. So far, everything was falling into place.

She’d ordered some supplies just this morning, using the Magic Box sources, but used her parents address. Now it was just a matter of putting the ritual itself together. This was going to be the time consuming part. Everything was going to have to be gone over more than once, and she couldn’t afford to be careless. Buffy was depending on her, even if she didn’t know it.

So far, the Egyptian Book of the Dead was proving her best source, but there were more than a few of the Celtic gods and goddesses that walked in many worlds, and could be called upon during the ritual. She just had to make sure everything was in place. Willow let her mind drift, wondering how long exactly Angel had been lost in the hell dimension Buffy had sent him to, and what had triggered his release.

If she could figure that out, this would be so much easier. Unfortunately, Buffy had not kept any notes, nor had she confided in Willow when that whole situation was going on. She’d tried to go through Buffy’s journal, but Dawn had started keeping the door to Buffy’s room locked, while everyone was out. Probably because she doesn’t want anyone to move things around. At least that’s what she hoped it was. She didn’t want to think it might be something else.

The truth, if Willow knew it, might not have made her happy at all.

************************** *******************************

Spike rolled over, unable to get really comfortable. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable, it was more the extent of his injuries. Lately, patrol had gotten a bit harder, with rumors of the Slayer being gone circulating about, though he’d been doing his best to dispel them. Being in the company of the Buffybot drove him round the bend, but he’d started taking the damned thing out on patrol every night since Rupert had left. So for the last nearly three weeks, he’d gone out, with the bot.

Two nights ago, he’d taken a hard blow to his side, breaking a couple of ribs. The cailleach-oidhiche they’d run across had been particularly difficult to kill, since it had both arms and talons. He’d finally managed to sever its head from its neck, but not before the she bitch had gotten her claws into his right side. The cuts and bruises were mostly gone, but the broken ribs were taking a bit more time to heal.

Groaning into the pillow, Spike shifted his back, stretching the sore muscles. Her scent hit him, making him reel with the loss. When she’d gotten a glimpse of his side, Dawn had insisted on wrapping him up, and then settled him, despite his angry protestations, into Buffy’s room. Arguing that her bed wasn’t going to be comfortable for him, Dawn over-rode his objections, pushing him into the room. She’d made him sleep there for the last two days.

He’d tried telling her that it wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be sleeping in Buffy’s room, but Dawn just shut him up. “Buffy would want to keep an eye on you. She’d be worried about your injuries” was what she’d said to him.

“Not this much, Nib, she’d’ve never let me sleep here. Probably would have put me in the cellar or some such.” Dawn had looked at him with her hip thrust out, and an eyebrow raised. She looked so much like Buffy in that moment, he’d almost laughed.

“No Spike, she wouldn’t have done that. Not now, not since Glory.”

He kept his mouth shut then, mainly because she had tightened the bandage around his ribs so much that for a moment the pain blinded him, but also because he had a feeling he wouldn’t win that argument. Buffy had been nicer, since he’d taken that god-awful beating from the hell skank, and she had trusted him to have her back and to watch over Dawn, so who really knew what was in her head those last few days? He surely didn’t, at least not completely, and he doubted Buffy had told Dawn everything. Spike figured that the two girls had talked some, but not enough.

And yet, here he was, sleeping in her bed. He made a promise to himself that once his ribs were healed, he was going to set up something in the cellar, so that he’d be comfortable in the day and still close enough to hear everything going on over his head. It was hard enough, being in this house all the time, memories swirling around. Confronted daily with the effects of his failure, Spike sunk deeper and deeper into depression. He had failed to keep both Summers girls safe. He hadn’t been able to save Dawn, and his failure had caused Dawn to lose Buffy. It was a vicious cycle he was unable to see his way out of, although he tried each day to come up with another way he could have saved both of them.

So far his favorite fantasy was instead of Doc being able to slip behind him and slice open his back he managed to grab the knife and slice Doc then pitch him over the side of the tower. Spike replayed that one over and over. Another one of his favorites was when he managed to grab a hold of Doc as he was sending him over the side and bring Doc tumbling down to the ground with him, crushing the spry demon beneath his broken body.

But nothing he did in his dreams consoled him. Because no matter how many different ways he came up with, no matter what scheme he thought of now, not one did what he most wanted. Nothing he could do would bring Buffy back.

Had he known someone was attempting just that, he might have been even more uncomfortable.

************************ *******************************

Xander was finding it hard keeping his promise to Willow. For the first time since they’d started dating, he had a secret from Anya, and it was beginning to bother him. He knew Anya could help them, she had so much knowledge but he also knew Willow didn’t want her to know. What he couldn’t figure out was why she wanted to keep everyone else in the dark. It didn’t make much sense to him, since everyone else was nearly as smart as Willow, and Giles was probably smarter. Xander knew he couldn’t compete with any of them in the smarts department, he had no self delusions in that respect. At best he could do grunt work and he somehow thought this wasn’t exactly going to be needed.

It made no sense, Willow wanting no one else’s help on this. He found himself biting his tongue a lot lately, ever since Willow had told him, especially around Anya. Not that he liked admitting it, in fact he preferred to pretend that his girl was just like everyone else and not over a thousand years old, but Anya knew stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuff he was sure would help Willow.

What he didn’t want to admit was that Willow didn’t want Anya’s help, for more than just her issue with secrecy. He tried to fool himself, thinking that it was just Willow being paranoid, but deep down he knew the girls didn’t like each other. Although, he had to admit that Anya tried, while Willow didn’t. It was hard to face, but his best friend didn’t like his girlfriend - fiance. And for the life of him, he couldn’t really figure out why.

Which was only one of the things that was bothering him. Why Willow didn’t like Anya, why Willow wasn’t trusting anyone but him with her plan, and why she wouldn’t ask anyone else for help. It made him feel like someone was always watching over him, like someone was following him. Xander didn’t like this. Something about this whole plan of Willow’s made him feel all. . . . it was like drinking milk that wasn’t good. Every time he thought of it, it made him more and more uneasy.

Xander had not a clue that things were about to get worse.

7. Shadows taller than our souls.

Mind the three-fold laws you should three times bad and three times good.
When misfortune is enow wear the star upon your brow.
Be true in love this you must do unless your love is false to you.
These eight words the rede fultill:
An ye harm none, do what ye will
The Wiccan Rede, Lady Gwen Thompson, The Green Egg, 1948

Even if we did bring him back, it wouldn't be Michael. It'd be something else. Something dark and unnatural.
Aunt Frances, Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman




One last thing she was waiting for, the last of a long list of supplies that could be gathered beforehand. Everything else was ready. She’d gone over all the lists, eliminating one thing, adding another, but always mindful of the fact that every single one of her supplies had a purpose. All the herbs were packed carefully, wedged together inside the cauldron she was going to use. It had taken weeks, far longer than she had expected to find the pure white bullhide she was planning on using, but she’d finally located one. Searching on e-bay had been the key to finding all the supplies she’d not been able to locate via the Magic Box.

That had been surprisingly easy. Finding the suppliers, calling them directly and having the items shipped to her parent’s house had been deceptively easy. She’d hit a snag with the bullhide though. The rituals were specific and explicit. The only one that would work within the confines of the spell she picked was a pure white bullhide. And it had to be a complete bullhide, no stitching, nothing pieced together to look like it was complete. As a last ditch effort, Willow had logged onto e-bay, after searching forums and chatrooms and every source she could think of. It had taken a while, in fact almost a month and a half later, she still did not have the bullhide in hand, but it was being shipped to her.

Aside from the blood, the bullhide was the last component she needed. And the blood couldn’t be spilled until she was in the middle of the ritual anyway. Willow checked off the supplies on her list, as she packed all of it into the large canvas bag she was using as a carry-all for everything. The bullhide was going to be huge, but it could be stored rolled up and tied while she waited to perform the ritual.

Consulting the astrological aspects, she’d figured that the best time to perform the ritual was another three weeks away, during the full moon. So far nothing had contraindicated that it wasn’t the right time, but Willow was learning to be very wary of thinking things were going to be perfect. She hated that, that she couldn’t pin everything down, and convince herself that it was going to be perfect and go off without a hitch. She might be able to put on a brave and resolved face for Xander and fool him, but she was a mass of self-doubt. Thoughts of not being strong enough, not having energy enough, of outside forces unexpectedly popping up to distract her, or goddess forbid, someone finding out and stopping her swirled about in her head all the time.

Three more weeks. Willow suddenly didn’t know if she could make it that long. All the secrets and lies were just sitting on the tip of her tongue, hovering there every time she opened her mouth to speak. She’d find herself humming mindlessly just to keep from blurting it all out. Xander was the only one that didn’t look at her with questions in his eyes. Instead he looked at her with something like pity or fear. Anya kept eyeing her, but had nothing to base her suspicions on, there was just a niggling feeling along her spine.

Thank the gods that Spike was still wrapped up in taking care of Dawn and patrolling. He was in near constant contact with Giles, phone calls going back and forth every couple of days. Dawn was in summer school, which was nearly over, and her focus was on boys and school.

The supplies were finally all packed away, and Willow turned her attention to the actual rituals.

The ritual itself was problematic. She’d pulled together various rites, rituals, invocations and incantations trying to come up with something specific to raise the slayer. Harnessing all the forces, without frying herself or someone else, was going to be nothing short of a miracle. She couldn’t rely on using anyone else’s magic, since she’d made the decision to shut everyone out, but she could pull energy from them. Tara and Dawn were both essential, at least their blood was. And since Dawn was made of energy, she should be able to tap into the power of the key and use it’s energy. At least that’s what she was hoping for.

Her biggest problem was how to fill the bullhide. Every ritual she found had called for the bullhide to be filled with water and the resurrected person, well, Buffy, should rematerialize and wake up inside the pool of water. At least, that was the way it was supposed to work. She had no idea if the ritual would work exactly that way, since every other ritual called for more than one person working the spell. There were variations in the numbers of people who should be present, and she supposed it all depended upon the amount of power generated and tapped into by the person conducting the ritual. Which was another problem. She was the only one doing the chanting, she was the only one calling on the powers, invoking the gods and goddesses, so there was a limit to the amount of power, unless she could figure out a way to channel some of the key’s energy into the ritual. She also had no idea how she was going to keep the water inside the bullhide.

Willow found her mind circling round and round and tried to focus her attention on something else.

********************************* ***************************************

Dawn was home from school when he finally woke up. They’d agreed that she would come home before going off with her friends, just so he could keep tabs on her. Not that getting around during the day was a real hardship, it was just that Spike had found himself sleeping more since he’d taken an active role in patrol and slaying. Lying on his bed in the basement, Spike thought about the irony of his life. He was of the line of Aurelius, a master vampire in his own right, feared by many, and now, he was stuck playing family to an orphaned girl. That the orphaned girl was truly constructed of mystical energy and he’d sworn to protect her eased his chagrin somewhat; that the girl was the sister of the object of his affection made it disappear completely.

He rolled over, stretching his muscles, feeling the bones pop and crack. Lifting his head up, Spike sniffed out who was upstairs. Three heartbeats registered, only one in a pattern he readily recognized. Dawn had brought friends home. His deep sigh broke the silence of the cellar. Sitting up, Spike reached for his pants and in one smooth motion slid out of the bed and into his pants. Not bothering with shoes or a shirt, Spike padded silently to the basement door. Girlish voices sounded on the other side of the door, and Spike leaned his head against the door for a moment trying to hear who was there. Dawn was easy to identify, and he thought one of the others was Janice, but had no idea who the third one was.

Opening the door, Spike was greeted with the sight of an array of various snack foods piled high on the counter, opened soda bottles and three teenaged girls gaping at him.

“‘lo niblet” was his rumbled greeting. She mumbled something around a mouthful of chips, and Janice just smiled at him, but it was the startled “eep” from the unknown that caught his attention. Her cute little face looked up at him, blue eyes nearly bugging out of her head and mouth open wide in surprise. Dawn and Janice shared a glance and then giggled a bit, while Spike just raised an eyebrow in question. Ambling over to the refrigerator, Spike passed Dawn and pulled on her hair.

“Who’s this then?”

“Spike this is Kirsten.” A deep blush was the only response, while Spike nodded at the introduction. A softly mumbled hey came from the girl, while her eyes traveled the length of his bare torso. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, nor button his pants up completely, and his hair was a mass of unruly curls. Dawn thought he couldn’t have looked any cuter, but decided to keep that thought to herself. Looking over at her friend, she continued “Kirsten, this is Spike, my sister’s boyfriend.”

He swung around to face her. His face was impassive, only his eyes showing what he was thinking. “Bit?”

Dawn raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the girls, silently communicating that this was the best cover she could come up with, waiting for him to understand. Spike stood there, staring at her, his mind not really registering what she had meant. He caught on, though her introduction didn’t please him, he partially understood why she’d done it. “Right. Where’s my stuff?”

Turning back to the refrigerator, Spike searched about for the blood he knew should be there. “Um, I put it in the freezer.”

His impatience with the whole conversation was evident when he slammed the door closed, then ripped open the freezer, looking for his blood supply. He started to rip it out, his temper inexplicably getting the better of him today, then abruptly realized who it was in the kitchen with him. Resting his head on the open freezer door, Spike sighed deeply.

“You ok?” A timid voice asked from beside him. The new girl looked up at him, concern etched on her features. Somehow she had managed to move past the other girls and sidle up to him, all without catching anyone else’s attention.

Spike cleared his features, “‘m fine, just tired is all. Work nights.”

“My dad works nights, so I know how it is. Did we wake you up?” Her voice was sweet, not too girlishly shrill like some of the others Dawn had brought home a time or two, holding the promise of being husky and deep when she got older. She was a pretty little thing, all blue eyes and blondish hair, a slight golden tan dusting her features. Her small hand reached out to touch him, and Spike automatically moved back out of her way. Wasn’t that he didn’t like to be touched, in fact if anything he enjoyed the touch of others, especially women, but this wasn’t a woman. This was a little girl, more importantly, Dawn’s friend, and he didn’t want to give any of them ideas. Oh he knew they all thought he was cute, hard to disguise their increased heart rates and breathing whenever he was around, but he didn’t want any reason for the authorities to come around. So he kept his distance from the girls. Wasn’t always this difficult though.

He stepped back away from her and wasn’t really surprised when she followed. Disconcerted a bit, but entirely unsurprised. There was something about this one, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but she caused his nerves to sing. Not entirely human was his first thought, which was cemented when she looked up at him again. A sparkle entered her eyes, making them appear purple. Spike stepped further away, into the patch of sunlight, and she pulled him away from it before he could react. Her whisper took him by surprise “shouldn’t do that. You could get all crispy.”

An impish smile flashed across her features, rendering Spike speechless. Her next sentence would have stopped his heart, if it had been beating. “Have to keep the key’s protector safe. Can’t break your promise.”

A harsh breath escaped his throat, which somehow went unnoticed by the other two girls. “What do you know of that?”

His hackles rose, every instinct screaming at him to protect Dawn and get this one away from her. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to attack the key. I’m here to . . . “ she thought for a moment, then “not help you, but to, I suppose the best way to put it would be to say, that I’m here to give you hope.”

The look of disbelief on his face must have been comical, because the girl let peels of laughter echo through the room. “Relax Spike. I’m not a threat. I promise.”

“Right, and how’m I supposed to trust that?” He didn’t trust her, didn’t know who sent her, and he’d learned over the last couple of years living over the hellmouth, not to trust even those that professed to be “white hats”. His experience at the hands of the Initiative had driven that point home quite clearly. “Dunno who you are pet, nor why you’re here.”

“I’m here to give you some hope.” Her eyes twinkled, almost whirling with color as he looked carefully at her. “What makes you think I need hope?”

Brilliant reply there mate, he thought. He shook his head, more in denial of the idea of him needing hope than the fact someone thought he needed it. She giggled softly once more, catching his full attention. That giggle . . . his unnecessary breath caught in his throat. God she sounded just like Buffy in that moment. Spike looked down at her again, this time really looking. She was tiny, barely coming up to the middle of his chest, her features small and delicate. She reminded him of Buffy a bit, nothing facially but more in just her impish side.

She raised her eyebrow, a wide smile crossing her features. His nerves were still singing, but for some reason he eased his apprehension a bit. Must be the resemblance to Buffy, he thought, then dismissed it, but the idea remained. Her tiny hand was still wrapped around his forearm, and Spike could feel his skin warming up from just her touch. This one burned warmer than others. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in her scent, listening to the cadence of her heartbeat. A wisp of some scent he never in al his years had come across wafted from her, and it somehow, even while it set his teeth on edge, somehow it soothed him at the same time. The absurd idea that this little girl was otherwordly surfaced, and Spike immediately discarded it.

Opening his eyes, he glanced down once at the creature before him, then over her head to focus on Dawn. She wasn’t human. Two of the girls in this room with him right now at this instant were other than human. Kirsten caught the direction of his gaze and a look he’d not expected cross her face. “My promise to William. I’m not here to hurt her.”

She’d said William. Not Spike, not William the bloody. . . but William. Spike shook his head, negating her words. “I will swear if you want me to.”

Once more he met her gaze, searching for the truth she wanted him to find. Her small hand reached up to touch his cheek. “I swear . . . on the soul of her sister, I’m not here to hurt the key.”

His mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come. There wasn’t a single thought in his head, save the repetition of her words. She’d sworn on the soul of the slayer. On the soul of Buffy. To him, there was nothing to refute that.

Clearing his throat, Spike tried to get words past his teeth. “Why then d’you think I need hope?”

Fuck. Wasn’t what he’d wanted to say at all, but those were the words that popped out of his mouth. Somehow, their voices had dropped down to a bare whisper, neither one of the wanting to be overheard by the other two. “‘Snot hope I need pet, well, I’m not the one needing it.”

His gaze fixed on Dawn, then unknown to him, softened as he watched her for a moment.

Kirsten smiled, watching him watch Dawn. She suppressed a giggle, all the while thinking, and the vampire thinks he doesn’t need hope. Speaking again, she said “you are a good man Spike.”

He swung his eyes back down to her disbelief shining through. “‘M not a man pet, vampire here.”

The little girl shook her head in defiance. “Still a man. Still good. Its why I’ve been sent here.“

“So tell me pet, why have you been sent? And who sent you?” Spike crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for her answer.

Again she looked up at him, her eyes almost whirling. A soft little sigh escaped from her mouth, and she settled in closer to him, not moving her hand from his arm. “I can’t tell you everything, so don’t get agitated with me.”

The girl he knew as Kirsten waited a beat, caught his imperceptible nod, then spoke “I’m just here to give you a message and hope.” Once again he had that look on his face that said more about him disbelieving the idea that he needed hope, but he nodded, waiting for her to continue. “It’s gonna be okay, you know, despite what you think, and even, despite what you see.”

Once more she waited, this time for the message to sink in. There wasn’t much she could actually come out and say, there were not really rules she had to follow, more like guidelines, but she still had almost said too much. A muscle in his cheek twitched, but otherwise his face was impassive. Kirsten stepped back then quelled her fear, retaking the step she had relinquished. “Please trust this. Trust that the slayer would never hurt the key, trust that she wouldn’t allow anything to harm her. And trust, William, in the trust that she had for you.”

He didn’t want to, but some niggling sense made him stop judging what she said and just let it be. Spike smiled a little, nodding his head to give her a chance to go on. He thought perhaps, that if he didn’t speak, didn’t contradict her in anyway or cause an argument, she might be inclined to spill more than she was. He wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot, and he didn’t get to be this old or a master vampire without having some smarts. So he waited.

And like any woman, when faced with a man who is listening intently, especially a very good looking one, Kirsten did spill more. The room started to recede even more, and Spike had a brief flashback to when Drusilla used to have her visions. “Watch out for the red one, trust in the yellow. The key needs protecting, and harm will come to her. The seer will dance with the devil beneath the stars and the souled one will be lost. One who was will return and will need you. You, and no other.”

The lights in her eyes began to sparkle and he nearly lost himself in her gaze. He very nearly missed what she said next, “someday, William, she will tell you.”

Now he knew something was up, because he had no idea what she meant. Spike stood there quietly, waiting patiently for more. It came, just a whisper and then her eyes changed back to the blue they were before. “Love, William, will come.”

She slumped forward, and he caught her before her head hit the counter. It broke the cloak of silence around them, and both Dawn and Janice jumped to their feet. “Oh my god! What happened? Is she gonna be ok?” Both girls were talking over each other, as Spike lifted Kirsten into his arms.

“Gonna bring her inside, Nib. Hang on.” Suiting action to words, he carried her into the living room, setting her down on the couch. With a hand on Janice’s arm, Spike spoke to Dawn. “Get a wet cloth, need to just wipe her face.”

Dawn sped off in the direction of the bathroom, and Spike looked at Janice. “How long have you known this one?”

The answer kind of surprised him. “Kirsten? Geez Spike, ever since I can remember. She’s always been here. We started kindergarten together.”

Well shit. That just blew his theory out of the water. It would have been easy to subscribe this to intervention if Kirsten was new to Sunnydale, but no, it had to be something else. Spike actually had no idea what she was, but she damn sure wasn’t completely human.

Dawn came back into the room, hearing their voices. “Kirsten is diabetic, Spike. She probably just didn’t eat enough today.”

He had no response for that. Diabetic was the least of what Kirsten was, but he knew enough to let it go.

Still, once the girls were gone, he was going to call Rupert.

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