Chapter Twelve: Revelations

"Different" didn't go very well after all. After one round of pure, romantic lovemaking, they were back to practicing their marathon sex matches of days gone by.

"Well, I never really liked that lamp anyway. I broke the matching one last week," Buffy said as she laid her head back against Spike's chest, her breath coming in short, heavy bursts.

"I know you said Red was out for the night at her mum's, but you gonna tell me again how lil' bit couldn't hear that?"

Buffy turned her head slightly, trying to look up at him. "Dawn sleeps like the dead. Really. Wouldn't know a broken lamp from--"

"Buffy are you okay?" The doorknob jiggled a little as Dawn twisted it from the other side. "Hey, it's locked. Is everything okay in there?"

Spike leaned down close to her ear. "You were saying?" he whispered.

"Everything's fine Dawn. Hold on." Buffy pushed herself out of bed and grabbed the robe she had left on a chair the previous night.

Spike turned on his side, watching her, the thin bedsheet draped provocatively over his hips.

Buffy's mouth suddenly felt very dry. "Coming Dawn," she said, as she tied the sash firmly about her waist.

"That's the plan luv," he said, with a sly smile.

Buffy inhaled a steadying breath. Dawn was at the door. There would be no thoughts about naked Spike. No thoughts about wicked, naked Spike. No, no, no, she told herself. She had to be good. At least for two minutes.

Buffy unlocked the door and opened it just enough so that she could squeeze through, using her body to shield Dawn's view of the bedroom. Once she was out in the hall, Buffy closed the door firmly behind her and looked at her sister. "Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Um? No? I came here to ask you the same thing. I heard some loud noises and a huge crash. Buffy, what's going on in there?" Dawn tried to push past her sister and reach the doorknob, but Buffy stopped her.

"Nothing! Just . . . having another nightmare. That's all. Nothing I can't handle."

"Right," Dawn countered cynically, obviously not buying it. "Do you mind if I see what this little nightmare looks like?"

"Yes. Yes I do," Buffy said, trying to sound appalled and protective at the same time. "I just, kind of, made a mess of my room, that's all. You know, thought I was battling demons in my sleep. Wouldn't be the first time."

"So you're totally okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." Buffy pretended to yawn. "But you know, battling imaginary demons can be so, so tiring. I think I'll go back to sleep now."

Her hand already on the knob, Buffy waited for Dawn to leave. She didn't.

"You have a guy in there don't you?"

"What ?" Buffy squeaked. "No. No guy. There is no guy. Please Dawn. Grieving left-behind here? Spike's been cold, what? Two weeks? Do you really think--?"

"Thirteen days," Dawn said coldly. "Spike's been gone thirteen days. God Buffy, what is wrong with you?" Dawn asked, obviously not caring to hide her disgust. "I thought you were supposed to love him."

Buffy instantly sobered. "I do." She let go of the door handle and reached out for her sister. "Dawn, it's not what you think."

"Oh really? So you don't have a guy in there you've been banging all night? Please Buffy, I'm not a child. I know what you were doing. And it makes me sick." Dawn pulled away and stormed back toward her room. When she reached the doorway, she stopped and turned around abruptly. "Do you think Spike would have forgotten you so fast? Do you think he'd be out jumping the first warm body that came his way?"

"It's not like that."

"I wish Spike were here to see this," she said, her voice trembling with a vicious undercurrent. "He thought the world of you. What would he think of his precious Buffy now?"

"That she's carrying the drama just a little too far," Spike said, as he finished opening the door to the bedroom and stepped out into the hallway. He had put his dark jeans back on, but he was still shirtless.

"Spike?" The color instantly drained from Dawn's face and she looked about two seconds away from fainting.

"Nibblet," he mumbled softly, the word tripping deliciously off his tongue.

"How? What? How?" Dawn looked from Spike to Buffy, and then back to Spike again. "You're dead."

"Was. Yeah."

"How?" She turned and stared at Buffy.

"We don't know how."

"The First." Dawn's eyes widened as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spike. "It's The First. It's taken Spike's form."

"No, not really," Buffy said. She lifted a finger and poked him in the chest. "See? Corporeal form. Can't really bang an apparition, can you? Uh, never mind," she said, blushing slightly. "Forget I said that."

"You're really here? Oh my gosh, Spike!" Dawn ran to him and wrapped her arms about him.

Spike pulled her close and hugged her tightly. "Yeah it's me lil' bit. It seems I'm here for good."

Dawn pulled back and stared at him for a long moment, her mind sorting though a wellspring of information. Finally, she seemed to snap out of her daze. She took a step back, pulled back her fist, and punched him. "You jerk!"

Far from just being knocked to the floor, the punch sent Spike flying down the hall. He hit the wall above the stairs, and came to land in a heap on the floor.

"Spike!" Buffy rushed over to him, kneeling on the floor beside him, trying to offer him comfort. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said, as he looked up at Dawn with murder in his eyes. He touched his nose tentatively, feeling for broken cartilage. "But if you didn't break my nose earlier tonight, I think little sis just did. What? You've been eating your Wheeties lil' bit?" he asked, watching her curiously.

Dawn looked down at her hand, which was still clutched in a tight first. "I . . . I don't know what happened. I didn’t mean to send you flying across the room. One minute I'm Dawn, weak-as-a-kitten girl, the next I'm--"

"The Slayer?" Buffy asked.

"What?" Dawn looked at her sister, her eyes filled with disbelief.

"The Slayer," Buffy said, pushing herself up from the floor and offering Spike her hand.

He struggled to push himself off the floor, needing both Buffy and the wall behind him for support. Finally, he stood beside her.

"No," Dawn said slowly. "There is no Slayer. The line is dead."

"Apparently not," said Buffy.

"Wait," Spike interjected. "The line is dead? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because it wasn’t important. There were other things that were more . . . pressing, that's all."

"You think I'm the Slayer?" Dawn interrupted. "Are you completely and totally insane? That is so not happening."

"It is."

"No, it's not!" Dawn yelled. "Buffy, you remember that locating spell we told you about? The one to find the Potential Slayer in Sunnydale? It didn't choose me. It chose Amanda. Went through me to get to her."

"Went through you," Buffy said succinctly.

"To . . . get . . . to . . . her," Dawn said slowly, as if Buffy were dimwitted and couldn't understand her.

"Dawn, it didn't go around you, or under you, or above you. It went through you. Who's to say it didn't know something? Something we didn’t? Dawn," Buffy walked the few feet to where her sister was standing and put her hands on both of her arms, steadying her. "It's possible Dawn. In fact, it's even more than possible. It is. You're the Slayer. It's okay. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll take care of you. It'll all be fine."

"It won't be fine," Dawn said, her tone turning harsh. "Because it means I'm gonna die. There's two Slayers now. Remember? That never means anything good. The power is out of balance again, which, of course, means The First could come back, and kill us all. A whole new Apocalypse just waiting to commence."

"It doesn't work that way," Buffy reassured her. "Dawn, I coexisted for years with Faith, and nothing, nothing, ever went wrong like that. It's because they brought me back from the dead. Manipulated forces that were supposed to be beyond our control, that the power was out of balance. It wasn't that there were two Slayers. It was that one of us . . . came back wrong."

"You didn't." Spike's voice broke through the silence.

Buffy paused for a moment, feeling his words hanging heavily in her chest. "Dawn, there's nothing to be afraid of. Everything has been made right. The First got what it wanted. It screwed with us, and got to taste the blood of a Slayer. That's all it wanted. It won't bother us again."

Dawn broke her eyes from Buffy's gaze and stared down the hall at Spike. "Speaking of being back from the dead. Exactly how is it that Spike is standing there, watching us? He got dusted. I saw it with my own eyes."

"We don't know."

Dawn turned accusatory eyes on Buffy. "Did you do a spell?"

"What? No. I didn't do anything." Buffy let go of Dawn. "We don't know what happened. Two days ago Spike woke up in the school basement, naked and apparently human."

"Human?!" Dawn asked, her mouth gaping open like a suffocating guppy.

"Go figure." Spike shrugged. "Wouldn't really have been my first choice, but hey? Not really complaining. The change doesn't seem to bother Buffy that much."

"I'll bet," Dawn said. She narrowed her eyes and took a few tentative steps toward him. "You're really human?"

"Yeah pet. Really."

She stopped a foot in front of him. "Prove it."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Bleedin' hell, you bloody Summers women," he cursed. "All right." He pushed past her and disappeared into Buffy's room. A moment later, he returned holding a small hand mirror. "See." He held it up at an odd angle, so that he and Dawn could both see themselves in it together, at the same time.

"Doesn't prove anything," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a distinctly "Buffy" look.

"Fine." He put the mirror down on a nearby table and grabbed Dawn's hand.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, trying to pull away.

"Just humor me, okay?"

He brought her hand up to his chest and pushed her palm down flat, right over his heart. Standing perfectly still, he waited for Dawn to feel the faint thump of his heartbeat.

For a moment she didn't react. Then her eyes widened, and she stared up at Spike in shock. Her mouth moved feebly, but no words came out.

"Proof enough?" he asked, releasing his grip on her hand.

Dawn just continued to stand there, her hand against his chest. She couldn't believe it. Spike was human? It was too much for her to comprehend.

Finally, something in her brain clicked, and she was actually able to move. She withdrew her hand from Spike's very naked flesh, and took a step back toward Buffy.

"I think there's been enough excitement for one night," Buffy said. "Maybe we should all try and get some sleep."

Dawn turned to look at her sister, a glazed look clouding her eyes. "I don't know if I can. How am I supposed to take all this in?'

Buffy came up and hugged her sister close. "It'll be all right." Buffy pulled back slightly and looked at her kid sister. Lovingly, she swept a lock of brown hair behind her ear. "I'll stay with you if you need me to. Whatever you need Dawn."

"Uh, don't you think Spike's gonna mind?" she asked, turning slightly to look at him.

Buffy looked across to Spike.

"It's fine, luv," he said. "Stay with her. I could use the sleep anyway." He brought his hand up to support his back where he had hit the wall. "I think I've had enough of the Summers girls for one night. I'm not a superhero anymore. I could use some recovery time." He walked back to Buffy's bedroom. "Night Nibblet."

"Night Spike."

"Buffy," he said.

She smiled. "Goodnight Spike. See you in the morning."

Chapter Thirteen: Haunted

"Damn it!" Angel thew off the covers and got out of bed. He glanced down beside him to make sure that he hadn't woken Cordelia, before pulling on his pants and stepping out onto the balcony.

He'd been dreaming about Buffy again. About Buffy and Spike.

Angel still wasn't sure that he had done the right thing. Yes, Buffy had woken from her coma, but had it been worth it? Couldn't he have found another way if he had just waited? If he hadn't been so damned impatient?!

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the same scene playing out before him, over and over again - Spike and Buffy in the bathroom - Spike trying to rape Buffy.

The memory haunted him, twisted in his gut and cut through him like a jagged sword. He had allowed that monster to be brought back. He had begged for Spike's life, even knowing what he was. Spike would come back from the dead, and Buffy would welcome him into her heart with open arms. Who was going to save her? Who was going to protect her from giving herself to such a monster?

There was only one thing Angel could do. He had to make things right. He had to protect Buffy. He had to make Spike pay.

Angel ran an agitated hand through his hair as he gazed out over the horizon. He was starting to worry in earnest now. He didn't quite understand what was going on - why Buffy was trying so hard to pretend that she was fine, or why there hadn't been any word of Spike yet. Whatever it was, wasn't good. Buffy had promised to call if anything unusual had happened. Why the hell hadn't she called?

Angel felt a presence move up behind. He knew who it was. He didn't even have to turn around.

"You're doing it again," Cordelia said, from just inside the doorway.

"What's that?"

"Worrying about her." She moved closer, coming to stand directly behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders comfortingly. "She'll be all right. She's a big girl now Angel."

He turned around, pulling out of her hold. "She's confused and she's scared."

"And grieving."

Angel scowled and turned away from her. "She shouldn't grieve that bastard, not after what he's done."

"Angel." She tried to touch him again.

He pulled away. "Don't."

"You can't protect her forever you know. Someday you're going to have to realize that you're not her knight in broody, dark armor anymore. You can't protect her. Let it go Angel. If she wants to love Spike, let her love Spike. Get over it."

"Not until he's dead," he said darkly.

"Oh great, here we go again. Why even bring him back if you were just going to kill him yourself?"

"Because I will forever treasure the feel of my hands breaking his neck."

"Fine," she said exasperated, "when Buffy calls and tells you that Spike's alive you can ride the first vengeance train back to Sunnydale and break his neck, or sever his head, or offer him a stake through the heart. Whatever you like. But until then, let it go. Or Buffy won't be the only girl who loses her vampire lover," she said, as she turned and walked back into the bedroom.

Angel turned back toward the cityscape below and gripped the railing tightly. Another day. Two at the most. Three tops! And then he was going to Sunnydale, with or without the call. He needed to see Buffy. Needed to talk some sense into her. And he needed to see Spike. See him, and kill him.

Chapter Fourteen: Xander to the Rescue

Late the next morning, Spike was standing in the kitchen trying to cook some breakfast. It had been a long time since he had done anything but heat a cup of pig's blood in the microwave. Hell, who was he kidding? He had never cooked a day in his life. In William's day, that was women's work, and vamp Spike had never had much use for anything he couldn't kill or order already prepared.

As Spike struggled feebly with the skillet and pancake batter, the back door opened and Xander stepped inside.

He took one look at Spike and immediately yelled, "The First!" Unable to make any other movement, he raised a trembling finger and pointed it at Spike. "Buffy!" he hollered. "Buffy!"

"Yeah, what is it Xander?" she asked wearily as she padded her way into the kitchen in her slippered feet. She had just woken up, and somehow, coming downstairs to a screaming Xander was not her idea of a fun way to start the morning.

"The First. He's taken Spike's form. He's right here, in the kitchen . . . cooking breakfast."

Spike turned and gave him an insufferable look. "Not bloody likely." Turning to Buffy he asked, "Will you please get that crying whelp out of the kitchen so I can get some peace? Already burnt myself once because of his yammering."

"But . . . Spike . . ." Xander stammered, looking back and forth between the former vampire and Buffy.

"Is back from the dead," Buffy finished for him. "Yeah, I know. He's human too. Just get over it."

"What?"

"Oh," she paused for a second as if remembering something, "and news flash number two, Dawn's the new Slayer."

"What?" Xander looked like a deer in headlights. Worse, he looked like a deer who'd already been run over by the truck bearing the headlights.

Buffy put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto a stool. She then went to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Just then, Dawn came shuffling into the room. "Someone please tell me last night was just a dream. Please!" she pleaded.

"Nope. No dream," Buffy said as she stood near Spike, coffee mug in hand, observing his pitiable attempt at making pancakes.

"I didn't know Spike could cook," Dawn said.

"Apparently, I can't," he countered, as he tried to flip one of the flapjacks over with a spatula. "Son-of-a--" He dropped the utensil and brought one of his fingers up to his mouth and began sucking on it. "Don't remember getting burned being that painful. Even as a vampire, flammable was just flammable. There was no searing, no long-term scarring."

"Here, let me do that," Buffy offered, moving between him and the stove, effectively taking over.

"Great. Something else I can't do. I need a cigarette," he grumbled, turning toward the door and grabbing his duster off the back of a chair.

"You're smoking?" Dawn asked, appalled.

"I'm still evil, okay?"

"Right. Whatever you say. Shouldn't you really be giving that up though? It could kill you."

"We could only hope," he growled, as he stormed out, closing the door behind him.

"But . . . but, it's daylight," Xander spluttered. "Doesn't he need a blanket or something?"

Buffy and Dawn both looked at Xander and then went back to what they were doing. Apparently his brain was working rather slowly today. He seemed to be on overload.

"What's up with Spike?" Dawn finally asked.

"I think he's feeling a little out of place, not being a vamp anymore. He doesn't know how he fits in."

"I don't know why. It's not like he's ever going to be a regular guy. I mean, he's no Riley. Riley, you take him off the Commando juice and 'poof,' goodbye Captain America. But Spike's not like that. He'll always be . . . unique?"

"Why don't you tell him that?

"Because I'm not sure I want to talk to him. I'm not sure I want to talk to anybody." Dawn moved over to one of the stools and sat down, pulling her feet up underneath her. She turned to watch her sister.

"So wait a second," Dawn said, as a thought struck her. "That was Spike the other morning wasn't it?"

"What?"

"Stealing our food? Creeping in our house?"

"Oh yeah. I think he must have been really, really hungry. Being dead can do that to you."

"What was he doing in the house? I mean, he must have been alive for like two days. Why did he just show himself now?"

"He didn't want to frighten us. And I think, also, he needed a little time himself. To adjust."

"Tell me about it," Dawn mumbled. "Don’t think I'll ever adjust. I don't want to be the Slayer."

"I know."

"There must be something we can do about it."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Hey? Maybe Xander has some ideas. Xander?" She turned to look at him.

He was still babbling incoherently to himself.

"Okay. Maybe Xander doesn’t have any ideas. Maybe he won't for the remainder of this century." She looked to Buffy again. "I don't want this Buffy. Really. I don't. We've got to find some way out it. Promise me?"

"Dawn I can't," Buffy said, sympathetically. "You know I can't. That's not the way these things work. Once you're chosen, you're chosen. There's no getting out of it."

"Why do we always get chosen for crappy things like Slayerhood and dying horrible, mystically engineered deaths? Why can't we ever get chosen for anything good, like the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes or something?"

Buffy gave Dawn a sly look. "You're telling me Ed McMahon isn't mystically engineered?"

"Why can't it ever be easy? Why can't things ever be normal?"

"Xander's normal," Buffy breezed, "and look at him. Are you really sure you want normal?"

Dawn took another look at Xander. He was still blathering. "Xander is so not normal. Demon magnet, remember?"

"Well, now you'll be a vamp magnet. Lucky you. You can have your pick of undead boyfriends."

Dawn glared at her sister. Pushing herself off the stool, she made her way out of the kitchen. She didn't care what Buffy said. She was going to find a way out of being the Slayer. No one could force her to perform her duties. After all, she didn't even have a Watcher.

Chapter Fifteen: Research

"Now again," Giles said, as he held the board up in front of Dawn and got ready for her to strike.

Dawn pulled back her fist and punched the board solidly, snapping it in two with ease.

"Remarkable," Giles mumbled, putting the two halves of wood aside.

"Whatever," Dawn sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look, can we just get on with this? How many evil, bloodsucking blocks of wood am I going to have to kill today? How about we just go back to you throwing knives at my head? At least that I can use as a decent party trick."

"Oh, all right," he conceded. "We can take a break."

Giles and Dawn ascended the basement steps and joined the others in the living room. The whole gang was there. Buffy, Spike, Willow, Xander and Anya. They were spread about the room talking in low whispers.

"So how goes it?" Xander asked, when he saw Dawn's gloomy face.

"Oh, just peachy keen," she said, smiling painfully. "Giles thinks I've got the strength of a Slayer. Go fig."

"Yes all right, that's enough," he said, motioning her toward the couch.

Dawn sat down in a huff, wedging herself between Anya and Buffy.

"So now what?" Buffy asked, leaning forward and folding her hands between her knees.

Giles removed his glasses and cleaned them briskly. "Well, now, we just have to decide what this all means." He put his glasses back on. "Dawn, apparently, is the new Slayer. Spike," he nodded his head in Spike's direction, "Spike's back from the dead. I don't know what we do next. Seems to me like a typical day in good old Sunnydale. I just don't know."

"Well, do we know why Spike's no longer a big pile of dust?" Anya asked, glancing in his direction.

"Not . . . really," Buffy answered. "Thought we'd cross that bridge when we came to it."

"Well, there's no time for speculation here," Giles interrupted. "What we need are facts. Willow, get on the net. Find anything you can about resurrection spells, turning vampires mortal. Anything at all."

"I'll get on it," she said soberly. Willlow already knew everything there was to know about resurrection spells, having succeeded in casting a whopper of a one herself once. It was that very resurrection spell that had unleashed The First in the first place. Willow didn't like her assignment, but she couldn't argue with Giles.

"Anya."

"Yes?" she asked, her voice sickeningly perky.

"I want you to use your demon connections to find any information you can. See if anyone knows how to go about turning a vampire human. Since we know it is, in fact, possible, someone somewhere must know something."

"I don't know how much luck I'll have with the demon community. Anyanka Jenkins is not really their favorite little ex-vengeance demon anymore. But I'll try."

"Good. Xander." Giles turned to look at him. "I want you to hit the books. There's a stack of volumes in my room back at your apartment. Again, cover the Spike angle. Buffy, Dawn and I will stay here and work the Slayer angle."

"What about Spike?" Dawn interjected. "Doesn't he get stuck with some lame researching job or something?"

"Oh, right. Uh, Spike, you can . . . you can . . ."

"Stay out of the way?" he provided.

"Well, yes, I suppose that works too."

Spike got up and grabbed his duster off the back of the couch. He swung it around his shoulders and shrugged into it. "I'm going out." He headed for the door.

Buffy got up and followed him out into the entryway. "Are you sure?"

He stopped and turned to look at her. "I'm not much good to anyone here. Go back inside, make with the saving the world. I'll see you later." He offered her a rye smile and turned to leave.

Buffy reached out and pulled him to her, placing a sweet, warm kiss against his lips. "Don't be too late," she whispered. "We never got to finish what we started last night."

"Actually, as I recall, we did. Several times in fact."

Buffy smiled at him. "Oh really? I guess you'll just have to refresh my memory when you get back."

Spike smiled in spite of himself. "I'll be back later. I promise." He kissed her gently and then turned and walked out the door.

A moment later, Buffy reentered the living room to find Dawn all alone of the couch, sulking.

"Hey," Buffy said, as she dropped down next to her sister. "How's it going?"

"How does it look like it's going?" Dawn said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Okay. Been taking lessons on being a spoiled brat?"

Dawn glowered at her. "Giles wants us to do research. No vamp slaying. No demon slaughter. Just research. You'd think if I was going to get stuck being the Slayer, the least he could do would be to take me out on patrol, show me the ropes."

"You already know the ropes. You've already double knotted them and turned them into a noose. You know the ropes Dawn. Intimately."

"Well, it still doesn't seem fair."

"Nothing ever does."

Just then, Giles came in from the dining room and sat down in the chair across from the couch. "I think I've discovered what it was I was doing wrong," he said, not bothering to look up from the open book he was cradling between his hands. "I've been researching this from the Slayer angle, not the Watcher angle. And therein lies the problem."

Buffy and Dawn both stared at him curiously. Giles was very much being Giles.

He flipped a few pages in his text and then began to scan the page. "Aha! You see. I knew it." He looked up at the two slightly bewildered girls. "I was looking in the wrong book all along. Among other topics, this one chronicles the history of Watching, and also makes some interesting predictions about it."

"What's it say?" Dawn asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

"Well," he flipped another page and traveled his index finger down the sheet as he read, "it says that after the root of all evil has been quelled . . ." he looked up at them. "That would be The First."

"Yeah, we got that," Buffy said.

"Well, after it has been quelled, a new Slayer will be called. One not born of the mortal world. One possessing great strength and mystical energy."

"You're just finding this now?" Buffy questioned, her voice slightly accusing.

"Well, I'm a Watcher, "Giles said defensively. "Never thought I'd have to read the bloody manual," he grumbled.

"Bloody, huh?" Dawn asked. "You been hanging out with Spike?"

"Oh yes, very funny. Moving on," he said, returning to the text. "It says that you will have a Watcher, one fitting your unique status. A . . . Wait that's not right." Giles flipped the page over, perused the other side, and then flipped it back again. "A guide chosen from among the lower beings. Hmm."

"Hmm?" asked Dawn.

"It's nothing," he shook his head absently.

"Aren't we all lower beings? Well, those of us who aren't great balls of mystical energy."

He took off his glasses and bit on the end of the earpiece thoughtfully. "Not in this case. This is referring to something else. That's strange."

"What?" Buffy joined the conversation.

"Nothing." Giles snapped the book shut, and got up from the chair. "I think that's enough research for one night. Why don't you girls go out and have some fun. Take a break from your Slayer duties."

Buffy and Dawn both turned and looked at each other. What the heck was wrong with Giles?

"Uh Giles?" Buffy said, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh yes, I'm fine. Quite fine. I just have some work I have to do. Nothing to concern yourselves with." He smiled at them wanly. "See you in the morning. Goodnight girls." He made for the door, and in a moment he was gone.

Dawn quickly recalled the morning the previous week when Angel had called Buffy, and she had told him she was "fine." Somehow "fine" never meant "fine" in their house.

Chapter Sixteen: Comfort

Early the next morning, Buffy was lying in bed beside Spike, watching him sleep. They had spent another glorious night together, although Buffy suspected Spike had been holding back a bit. He seemed a little self-conscious about the fact that Dawn was in the next room. She couldn't blame him though. She was going to have to start encouraging her little sister to go on lots and lots of sleepovers.

Buffy sighed contentedly and looked down at Spike. She felt so bad for him. She knew he hated being human. Knew he felt useless. Was afraid he was going to turn into another Riley. She knew it wasn't true of course, but she didn't know how to convince him. She could tell him she loved him a million different times, in a million different ways, but it didn't make a difference. That wasn't the problem. Spike was afraid he was losing himself, and he desperately needed to be convinced otherwise.

Placing her hand lightly against his temple, she began to stroke his hair. He was so beautiful. She couldn't believe that only two weeks earlier she had been grieving for him, believing that she would never see him again. He was everything to her. Now, with him by her side, she knew she could go on. Fight the good fight. Protect Dawn. Make her little sister into the best darned Slayer the world had ever seen. They would do it together, once she found a way to convince Spike that he hadn't lost his bite, even though - well, literally - he had.

Tracing the soft curve of his ear with her finger, Buffy sighed again. He looked so peaceful. It was amazing, watching him breathe as he slept. A new, and marvelous experience.

Staring more closely at him, she noticed the scar on his left eyebrow. Something was different about it. Slowly, she traced the tender flesh with her finger, feeling her way along the familiar arch. It had changed. She realized with sickening clarity that the wound was fresh.

Buffy's heart tore in two as she realized what he had done. Obviously Spike had come back without the scar, and in a desperate attempt to reclaim his identity, he had maimed himself. She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath to keep herself from crying. Whatever could she do for him?

In spite of being wrapped in a warm cocoon of sleep, she knew, even in his dreams, Spike was troubled and depressed. She wanted to do something for him. But what?

Sweeping her gaze down his body, Buffy grinned wickedly as an idea suddenly struck her.

Spike was lying next to her, flat on his back. A thin sheet covered him from the waist down. He was perfectly relaxed, deep in the arms of comforting sleep. But she was going to change that.

Slowly, as not to wake him just yet, Buffy moved closer to him and gently placed the palm of her hand over his unaroused member. Lightly, she began stroking him, tracing her fingers along his shaft, teasing it to arousal.

It didn't take long. Before she knew it, he was coming to life in her hand.

Wrapping her hand more firmly around him, she began to pump him rhythmically, glorying in the feel of his heated flesh against her skin.

Spike moaned.

Buffy watched his face as it contorted in pleasure. Then his eyes slowly opened and she smiled at him. "Good morning," she said, not stopping the movement of her hand.

Spike's eyes widened for the briefest second, then he said, "Morning luv."

She increased the pressure of her movement, and his eyes closed in response. He moaned again.

Reluctantly, Buffy removed her hand and slid it up his stomach and across his chest. As she did, she brought her left leg over to straddle him. Sitting atop him, she leaned down against his chest and hovered above him, their lips just inches apart.

He opened his eyes again and stared back at her. "Buffy," he whispered.

Gently, she kissed his bottom lip. Then, maintaining eye contact, she slowly began to slide her body lower.

Lowering her head, she kissed his neck, then his chest. Coming to one of his nipples, she opened her mouth and slipped out her tongue, lapping at the tiny nub hungrily. She felt Spike suck in a rush of air as she made contact with the sensitive flesh.

Moving lower still, she kissed his stomach, tracing the hard lines of his abs with her little pink tongue. When she got to his navel, she flicked her tongue inside it, eliciting a shocked gasp from Spike.

Buffy could feel Spike tightening. She was tight herself, her inner flesh swollen, wet, waiting for contact with his. Well, it would have to wait a bit longer.

Gazing up at him, making certain that he was watching her, Buffy pulled herself farther down the bed and settled between his legs. With slow, methodical strokes, she bathed his throbbing flesh with her tongue. He groaned this time, and arched into her. Buffy smiled and moved forward to kiss the tip of his shaft.

Lowering her mouth around him, she began to toy with him. Sucking gently, she moved her mouth up and down along his hardness, making him even harder.

Spike growled.

Knowing he was on the brink of losing himself, and desperately yearning for her own release, Buffy slowly slid her mouth from his flesh and stared up at him. Licking the taste of him from her lips, she rose up from her knees and straddled him once again, this time sliding herself down onto him, enveloping him in the soft, quivering flesh of her womanhood.

Spike watched her intently. He put his hands on her waist, steadying her, guiding her.

She rode him slowly at first. Then faster. He bucked his hips upward to meet her, their bodies locking deeper with each thrust. Then finally, in a great frenzy of passion, Buffy began to shudder. Her inner walls closed in tighter around him, urging him onward, trying to milk him dry.

Spike growled her name, and then exploded inside her, the sensation welcome and glorious.

A moment later, panting and spent, Buffy collapsed on top of him, her head coming to rest against his chest.

"Spike," she whispered softly, as she closed her eyes, and reveled in the feel of his body pulsating beneath her. He was a vampire no more. Instead of his flesh staying cold, his body recovering with amazing quickness, his body responded to hers like a human. His chest was heaving; his breath coming in short bursts. She could feel his heart pounding rapidly against her ear, playing the sweetest song she had ever heard. His skin was burning. On fire. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat that Buffy couldn't resist lazily swirling her fingers over. It was all proof, proof that he was alive, and that he was really there with her. She loved him. Every inch of him. She still marveled at the fact that he was human. It was the most amazing gift.

Slowly, Spike raised his left hand and brought it to the back of Buffy's head, stroking her hair lovingly.

She cooed and snuggled closer to him.

"You're amazing," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you Buffy. Oh God how I love you."

"I love you too Spike." She turned her head a little, and placed a chaste kiss against his chest. Then she yawned contentedly.

"Tired pet?"

"Mmm hmm," she hummed sleepily, her body lethargic with satiation.

"Good." He shifted a little beneath her and kissed the top of her blond head. "Sweet dreams, luv," he said, yawning himself.

"Mmm hmm." Buffy slowly drifted back to sleep.

Chapter Seventeen: A History of Twentieth Century Vampires - Part Two

A few hours later, Spike was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his head bent down, a mug held firmly between his hands. He was staring into a cup of warm pig's blood, trying to decide whether or not he should drink it.

Eventually, he heard the familiar sound of Buffy's footsteps padding into the room. But he didn't look up.

Buffy eyed Spike curiously, and then shrugged. She got herself a hot cup of coffee and sat down in the chair beside him. "Okay, so you wanna tell me what that's all about? Is there a magic leprechaun or something in there?"

He looked up at her. "I thought you didn't believe in leprechauns?"

"Oh please, Spike," she said, rolling her eyes and sliding the mug away from him. Before he could stop her, she looked down and saw what he'd been staring at. "Oh," she said weakly.

"Yeah," he said, pulling the mug back across the table and settling it between his hands. "I can't stop thinking about it. I know that sounds insane . . ."

"No." she said succinctly. "I don't think so. You've been drinking the stuff for like, what? Three years now? Not insane at all," she reassured him.

Spike cocked a questioning eyebrow at her and then pushed the mug away. "Well that settles it," he said, as he got up from the table and went to make himself some hot chocolate.

Buffy picked up the mug he had left and looked at its contents again. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled the pungent aroma, wriggling her nose in irritation. No, there would definitely not be anymore pig's blood in the house. She brought the mug over to the sink and prepared to empty the contents.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I'm sure. There are still some things I can do, even as a human. That's just not one of them."

He returned to the table with his fresh mug, and Buffy followed him.

"Spike?" she began hesitantly.

"Yeah pet?"

"You wanna tell me about the scar?"

"What?" He unconsciously brought his hand up to his eyebrow.

Buffy covered his hand with her own, gently pulling his hand away from his face so she could examine the wound again. Lightly, she traced it with her finger. "I know why you did it, I just . . ."

"It's all right," he whispered. "Didn't hurt."

Buffy leaned forward a little and brought her lips to his tender flesh. She knew he wanted to prove that he was still a monster, but she hoped he didn't destroy the man inside of him in the process. "I love you," she whispered against his temple. "Don't ever hurt yourself again."

* * *

As Buffy and Spike communed in the kitchen, Dawn was curled up on the couch in the living room, her arms wrapped around a book, reading. She knew Giles had told her to skip the research. And hey? She had no problem with that. But she wasn't doing research. Not important research, anyway. In fact, she actually felt more like she was snooping.

Absently, Dawn reached out her arm to grab her mug of hot cocoa off the end table. She brought it to her lips, took a sip, and put it back down again, all without taking her eyes off the book, A History of Twentieth Century Vampires.

Dawn was riveted. She knew Buffy had said there probably wasn't anything important in the book, but still, Dawn was curious. She was reading about Spike's time in China, what little was known about it. Then she traced the history of his career up through the next century, to his time in Sunnydale.

Some of what the book said was a little ridiculous. Dawn couldn't quite believe that Spike's animosity toward Angelus came from an infatuation with Darla. Puhleeze! Where did these stuffy authors get this stuff? Spike and Angel had enough reasons to hate each other without bringing yet another woman into it. If the author had only known. Wouldn't that have made a great volume? The Sunnydale Slayer and the Vampires Who Loved Her.

Dawn giggled at her own cleverness as she turned the page and scanned the new content.

There was a brief summary of what had been previously stated. "Railroad spikes," she mumbled absently to herself, "Evil, psychotic vampire skank . . . yadda, yadda, yadda . . . China . . . New York . . . Sunnydale. Hmm." Dawn stopped talking to herself and read the last couple of paragraphs.

"The Origins of William the Bloody," she read the title of the section aloud. The rest she read to herself.

"Jack the Ripper? Oh come on." Dawn rolled her eyes. "Give me a break." Shifting the book in her lap, she went back to reading.

. . . even though it is generally believed that William the Bloody first appeared on the scene in 1880, eight years before the Whitechapel Murders.

Dawn nearly dropped the book. "What the . . .?" She read the last paragraph again. "Oh . . . my . . . God."

Nearly knocking her hot chocolate to the floor, Dawn jumped off the couch and raced into the kitchen where she knew Spike and Buffy were. She found them sitting at the island table, Buffy was touching Spike's face, staring into his eyes. Apparently, she was interrupting a moment.

They both turned to look at her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were related to Giles?" Dawn asked, in a frantic rush.

"What?" Spike looked at her like she was insane.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were related to Giles? Look," Dawn opened the book up to the offending page and shoved it at him.

Spike's cool blue eyes scanned the text quickly. She saw him do a double take. "Bollocks!" he cursed.

"I don't think so," Dawn said harshly.

Buffy took the book from Spike and read it for herself. "Do you think it's true?" she asked him.

"How the bloody hell would I know?" He got up from the stool and started pacing the kitchen cagily. "Sometimes I can barely remember my own last name, it's been so long. You think I'd remember something as stupid as this? A distant great-great-grand-something-or-other named Giles? Please."

"Well apparently they've done research," Dawn pointed out.

He turned and glared at her. "And you should know better than to believe everything you read."

"Maybe Giles would know what's going on," Buffy suggested.

"Oh yes, let's call the great poncey Watcher in and ask him for advice. Hey, maybe he can break out the old family album and convince me how much I look like dear old Uncle Stick-Up-His-Arse. That would be great."

"You don't have to be so rude about it. I assure you, I don't have any old uncles with sticks up their anything," Giles said, as he stepped into the kitchen from the living room.

"Giles!" Dawn exclaimed. "You knew about this?"

"Well, actually . . . no. When I left here last night, it was with the unsettling impression that I had, in fact, found your Watcher. I didn't want to alarm either of you, so I went back to Xander's and searched through a few old books, looking for any information on William the Bloody." He leveled his gaze at Spike pointedly. "It was then that I discovered the connection to my family, and realized that I had my proof."

"Proof of what?" Dawn asked, afraid she didn't want to know.

"No," Spike interrupted, his voice hard. He glared at Giles with murder in his eyes. "Don't say it."

Giles ignored him. "Proof that Spike is your Watcher."

"Bloody hell."

"What?!" Dawn exclaimed. "No. No. That's not possible."

Giles lowered himself wearily into the empty chair across from Buffy. "It is possible. It's more than possible in fact. It's the truth." He looked up at Dawn, offering her a painfully sympathetic look.

"I don't believe this," Spike growled. "I refuse to believe this." He stormed past the table and rounded on Giles. "If you think for one minute that I'm going to go along with this, you're crazy. I'd kill you all first."

He pulled away and stalked back over to the counter, giving himself some space.

"Splendid," Giles said.

"Buffy?" Dawn turned to her sister who had yet to say a single word.

Buffy was staring down at the table, her eyes slightly glazed. "Yeah?"

"What do you think?"

Buffy raised her eyes to look at her sister. The entire room was waiting on her answer. "I think it makes sense," she said calmly. "I think it's right, and it solves everything." She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at Spike.

"And why, exactly, does it do that?" Giles questioned.

"Because it gives Spike a purpose, and it gives Dawn one hell of a Watcher." She locked her eyes with Spike's. "I don't think she could be in safer hands."

Spike seemed physically moved by the sentiment. He pulled his eyes away from Buffy's and stared into the sink.

"Well," Dawn said, "that's just more good news to tell the gang. You know, I'm surprised no one's had a heart attack yet. This week has been full of way too many surprises."

"Well, let's pray that's the last of them," Giles said.

"Don't say that," Dawn countered. "You're going to jinx it."

"At this point? I'll risk it."

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