Spike was well into his third bottle of scotch when Buffy came flouncing through his crypt door the following night. He was lying on top of the stone sarcophagus, swigging liquor directly from the bottle and allowing the languor of drunkenness to dull the pain he was suffering. Never mind the damn soul, the whole business of knowing what was going to happen and being powerless to do anything about it was enough to drive him to drink. The soul only added that extra knife twist into his gut just to make sure he was feeling the pain.

“Spike!” Buffy called, heading towards his prone body.

“Hmmmmmmmmm,” he cut her off, placing two fingers on his forehead. “Hold on, I feel a vision coming on… Don’t tell me… Little Sis has run off again.”

She opened and closed her mouth then put her hands on her hips angrily. “Yes. How did you know that?”

He dropped his hand to his side and giggled nervously. “I’ve got the Sight. Oh Dru, now I finally know how you felt all those years. Listen, the stars are singing.”

Buffy snorted, seeing the empty bottles strewn on the floor.

“Are you drunk?” she accused.

He laughed again. “Yeah,” he drawled with a lopsided smile, then his face grew serious. “Doesn’t help much, but it just makes everything so damn funny.”

“You’re pathetic, Spike. You’re useless to me drunk.”

He gave her a hard look. “I’m useless to you no matter how I am. I fail to see how a little liquor’ll make any difference.”

She snorted and gave him an angry glare.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I tell you a nasty truth that you didn’t want to hear?” he sneered, sitting up. “Whaddya gonna do, Slayer, break my nose?”

Buffy looked away and stepped back, pursing her lips. She shook her head slightly. “I won’t hit you again,” she said softly, then added with a sharp glare, “Not when you don’t deserve it.”

He gave her a smirk. “Givin’ yourself an out, eh, Slayer. Just lemme know when ya wanna play Kick the Spike again an’ I’ll be sure to book a one-way trip to Borneo on that day.”

He stood up, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his coat. “Well, let’s rally the troops, find the Nibblet. And hey, maybe I’ll even get my head bashed in by a Hell God. Might get rid of this bloody headache.”

She gave him an odd look, watching him as he put on the coat. When she kept staring at him, he glared at her impatiently.

“Well? Come on,” he said bitterly and stalked out, not bothering to see if she was behind him.

Moving purposefully through the cemetery, he heard Buffy fall into step beside him, but he didn’t look at her. In truth, he was feeling rather guilty for snapping at her, but there was only so much a man, or vampire, could take.

‘Useless to her the way I am. Useless to everyone’s more like it. No good for anything. All I do is bugger things up.’

He kept ahead of her until they reached the Magic Box, where he held the door for her just out of habit. She gave him a look as she passed him and entered the store, but didn’t say anything. He followed, straightening up as he entered, and putting on his bravado in preparation of facing the Scoobies. Giles, however, took one look at him and frowned, seeing right through his façade.

“I brought the Bleached Wonder,” Buffy announced offhandedly. “He deigned to pull himself out of his bottle long enough to help us find Dawn.”

Spike raised his eyes to meet Giles’ and the two men locked gazes.

“Could I see you in the training room, please, Spike?” Giles asked tightly.

He gave a quick nod and followed the Watcher.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Giles apologized, closing the training room door behind them.

“You’ve been drinking heavily.” It was a statement, not a question.

Spike flopped down on the old sofa, legs and arms spread-eagled. “Told you, Watcher, drink’s the only thing keepin’ me sane.”

“We need you sober,” Giles hissed.

“Oh what? Think I’m cagin’ in on your rep as the Scoobies’ drunkard? Lest you forget, Rupert, you were drinkin’ yourself into oblivion all last year, *and* with me not all that long ago,” he shot back.

Giles didn’t have a quick answer, but he did shake his head and glare disapprovingly at the vampire.

“That may be so, but in a crisis, I understand the importance of having a clear head.”

“Why?” Spike retorted. “Doesn’t help any. Doesn’t make it better. I still got all these memories in my head that I can’t do anything about!”

“That isn’t true! You are doing everything you can to use your knowledge to help us.”

“Fat lot of good it’s doing! I haven’t changed anything! You lot won’t listen to me. Half the time you think I’m lying! The clock’s tickin’ down. Dawn knows she’s the Key. Glory’s gonna start gettin’ creative with us! The bloody armored medieval rejects are pokin’ around! And Ben. Is. Still. Alive.”

Giles shook his head. “I told you, we only kill Ben if there is no other choice.”

“And I’m tellin’ you offin’ him solves all of our problems.”

“He is an innocent.”

“Bollocks! Dawn’s more of an innocent. At least she didn’t know what she was until last night, and if you lot had told her about it like I told you, she wouldn’t have gone scamperin’ off in the middle of the night to find out by herself and gone all slash and burn on us.”

“And how do you propose we should have told her?” Giles snapped back.

“Anythin’ was better than havin’ her find out the way she did. And if you hadn’t been whisperin’ and actin’ all weird around her, she would never have known somethin’ was up. Bloody idiots couldn’t keep a secret if your sorry lives depended on it.”

“And you, of course, are a stellar example of deference and stoicism,” the man snapped.

“Oi! It took a Truth Spell to drag it out of me, if you recall. Not even the Slayer gettin’ creative with my body parts made me spill. Took you and your nancy-boy spell to make me tell.”

“Yes, to my great regret, that is true.”

“So tell me, Watcher, how my knowin’ all this stuff, and my bein’ here is doin’ a whit of good?”

Giles sighed. “You have been able to affect some change, Spike.”

“So I saved the bloody bloomin’ onion! Bully for me! I haven’t been able to make any big changes! I haven’t been able to make sure that Buffy doesn’t have to die to save her sister!”

“We don’t know that! Altering history is a tricky business. There are a great deal of things that must be considered…”

Spike shook his head as his anger fizzled and the guilt he carried with him as a constant companion fell down on him.

“No. I figured it out, ya see. It’s all my fault.”

“How do you mean?”

He looked up at Giles, sorrowful and broken. “Everythin’. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t taken Dawn to Doc, then he wouldn’t have known she was the Key. If I hadn’t gotten that wanker Warren to make me a Buffy-Bot, Glory would never have gotten a hold of me…”

“But you didn’t betray Buffy and Dawn to Glory, even under torture,” Giles broke-in.

“I know I didn’t! Was still there, wasn’t I? Still made her get up close and personal with the Hell Bitch. Still failed to stop Glory from gettin’ Dawn in the first place. Still let Doc knock me off the bloody tower and cut Dawn. If I wasn’t here, then none of that would’ve happened,” he yelled.

He stopped, pulling himself back together when he felt as if everything was just coming apart at the seams.

“Dru’s comin’ back,” he said suddenly.

Giles looked up from cleaning his glasses. “What?”

“Dru. She’s comin’ back in a week or so. Comin’ in on a train. Thought I might go with her. Bugger out of here. Might be best for everyone involved.”

“So you’ll just run away then?” Giles responded with forced levity.

Spike’s head shot up and he snarled. “Not runnin’ away, Watcher. Didn’t you just hear me tell ya that it’s all my fault!”

“And I can think of a dozen different examples of how your presence has helped us,” Giles snapped back, losing patience. “However, if you would rather wallow in self-pity and drink, then by all means do so. If you would rather slink off with your ex-paramour and abandon us, then go ahead. I will continue to use the knowledge you have given me in the fight against Glory, and do what I can to alter history without your help. At this point, I really don’t care what you do because you are useless to me as you are, and if you can’t pull yourself together long enough to function properly, then maybe it is best that you do leave.”

With that, Giles walked out, leaving Spike still sitting on the couch. The vampire squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his palms against his temples, willing back the tears. Biting his lip, he struggled to compose himself and decide on a course of action. He was so wrapped up in his own pain that he didn’t hear or see Tara enter the training room until he felt her gentle touch. Snapping his head up, startled, he stared at her with moist eyes.

“Can I help?” she asked gently, her eyes soft and compassionate, and he knew her offer was genuine.

‘Sweet Glinda,’ he thought, looking at her.

Pretty soon Glory would brain-suck her, turning her into a babbling lunatic, and he frowned. She was the only one who had ever showed him any kindness, who had ever touched him with gentleness. Even when he was at his worst, she had still looked at him with compassion and patience. She didn’t deserve what Glory would do to her, or any of what happened after.

And he was in a position to stop it. The realization was a balm to his bleeding wounds and a look of infinite tenderness came to his face. She’d given him a reason to keep fighting. All of the invective and anger and indignation hadn’t touched him the way this girl’s simple touch and offer of support had done. He reached up and stroked back her hair with one hand, smiling with gratitude when she didn’t flinch away from his cool skin. Then he slowly rose to his feet, shouldering his burdens once again, and leaned over to kiss her gently on the temple.

“No, Glinda. But thank you.”

He gave her a final fond glance and composed himself, squaring his shoulders and walking towards the open training room door. He passed Giles on the way out.

Tara watched the vampire leave, her mind and heart in turmoil. She waited as Giles approached her with questions on his face. He must have seen her come in and wanted to see what was happening.

“He’s in so much pain, Mr. Giles,” she said softly, her eyes still focused on the open door.

Giles sighed and nodded. “He carries a very heavy burden.”

Tara looked at him, gathering courage to voice what she had suspected all along. “It’s his soul, isn’t it.”

The shocked and guilty look on the man’s face gave him away. “How…”

“I can see it. It’s in his aura. I just didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my place to give away his secrets.”

“Yes, well…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me about it. I understand. I’m just glad that he has someone else to help him. I’m sure it’s very hard for him, and it’s always easier if you’re not alone.”

She gave Giles a tender smile and followed the path Spike had taken out of the training room, leaving Giles a little more than stunned and chagrined.

“No, not alone,” the man sighed, and walked to join the rest of the group in organizing a search for Dawn. He tried to make eye contact with Spike, but the vampire refused to look at him.

Spike had wrapped himself up in his duster like a leather shield and withdrawn into himself. There would be no reconciliation with him tonight. Giles hoped they would come to terms with each other again sometime within the next few days, but for now there were more pressing matters.

*******

Following Buffy in her search for Dawn, Spike tried to remain calm. He knew that Dawn would end up at the hospital with Glory and he wanted to get there as soon as possible, but Buffy had her mission. They entered the park and passed the playground equipment.

“Dawn?! DAWN?!” Buffy called.

“Yeah, that should do it,” he groused, annoyed.

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“The Nibblet’s scampered off to get away from you. She hears you bellowing she’ll pack it in the opposite direction. Can’t say I blame her,” he responded.

Buffy sagged, defeated and stopped to look at him.

“You were right. We should have told her…”

He stood there awkwardly, hating to see her in pain and helpless to do anything about it.

“She probably would have skipped off anyway, even if she never found out. She’s not just a blob of energy - she’s also a fourteen-year-old hormone bomb. Which one’s screwing her up more right now? Spin the bloody wheel.” He paused, eyeing the night. “You’ll find her, just in the nick of time. That’s what you hero types do.” At her uncertain expression, he added sincerely, “You’ll find her.”

“And then what?”

“Then you bring her home. Joyce’ll ground her until she’s twenty-one and you won’t have to worry about her skippin’ off anymore,” he offered.

At the mention of her mother, Buffy smiled slightly. “Only if we cut down that tree, get rid of the trellis and padlock her door.”

Spike shrugged. “Suppose we *could* build a stone tower onto your house and put her in it, but I think that’d give it away just a bit.”

Buffy laughed softly, glad for the reprieve. “Just a bit.”

He gave her a smile and looked around. “How is Joyce doing anyway?”

“Better. Worried about Dawn, but we all are. Thanks for asking,” she answered sincerely.

“Like your mum. She’s a good woman. Doc put her on blood thinners?” he asked suddenly.

There was a pause, then Buffy answered slowly, “Yes.”

He nodded, distracted. “‘S good.”

“Why?”

“Huh? Why what?” he replied, pausing to look at her.

“Why is it important that my mom be on blood thinners?” she responded, fixing him with a knowing, expectant stare.

Caught off guard, he tried to back pedal, his mind working on a glib lie that would gloss over his concern with a plausible explanation. Buffy stepped up to him, cutting him off as he began to stammer his answer.

“No,” she said firmly. “Don’t you dare make something up. If it’s one thing I have learned, it’s that you don’t do anything without a reason. What’s wrong with Mom?”

He worked his mouth a few times and looked away from her steady stare.

“I…”

“Do you smell something wrong?” she asked suddenly, and his head shot up to look wide-eyed at her. Under his stunned look, she explained, “Giles told me. You knew about Mom’s illness because you smelled it on her. Do you smell something wrong now?”

And the lie that wasn’t really a lie at all was handed to him on a silver platter, wrapped up in a big red bow. Sighing, faking defeat, he hung his head and nodded.

“Yeah. I smell old blood. Could just be the incision healin’ but it’s been a while. Could be a hematoma… big blood clot.”

“I know what a hematoma is, Spike.”

He nodded, keeping his head down so she would think she had him. “It’s probably nothin’ but I figured it couldn’t hurt for her to be on blood thinners. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Spike,” she said softly, making him look up in surprise. His look made her squirm and she had to look away.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly.

He had to shake his head because he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly and it could have been the alcohol that he’d imbibed that had him hearing things.

“Pardon?” he stammered.

“I said: I’m sorry,” she repeated more plainly. “I’m sorry I beat you up. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you kept telling me to take Mom for a CAT scan. I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me that something was wrong.”

Spike hung his head again, unable to process her apology. “You wouldn’t have believed me anyway if I had.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have. And I’m sorry for that too.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence, each not knowing what to say, until finally, he looked at her and nodded.

“Thanks. Let’s go find Nibblet.”

He took a few steps, then smiled to himself at his own stroke of genius and made a show of sniffing the air. The action caught Buffy’s attention immediately and she was at his side in a heartbeat.

“What? What is it?”

“I smell Dawn. She’s been here, and recently too.”

“Can you tell which way she went?” she asked excitedly.

He sniffed and nodded, “Yeah, ‘s this way.”

Thankful that Slayers also had vampire speed when needed, he pretended to follow Dawn’s scent directly to the hospital. Buffy ran past him as they approached the building.

“You don’t think she…” Buffy breathed, hurrying into the ER waiting room.

Her absence while she checked to see if Dawn had been brought into the ER gave Spike enough time to catch Dawn’s real scent trail. He sniffed it out, walking slowly around the exterior. He knew that they had found Dawn on the third floor before, but there was no telling where she had been when she first ran into Glory or how she entered the building.

“She hasn’t been brought in,” Buffy told him, relief in her voice, as she rejoined him outside.

He shook his head. “No, I suppose not. Looks like she walked in on her own two feet.”

“You can still smell her?” Buffy asked, amazed.

He nodded, focusing in on a set of closed doors that led to an interior corridor. “Yeah.”

“Even with all these… hospital smells?”

“Once a vamp gets a scent and starts trackin’, very little can knock him off the trail. It’s this way.”

He moved forward, Buffy following close on his heels as he made his way through the unlocked doors and down the corridor. It was night, so the hospital staff was on graveyard shift. No one saw them come in as they moved across the hall and into a stairway.

“You sure she came this way?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah. Not long ago either. Scent’s strong.”

“Spike, the mental ward with all of Glory’s loonies is up this way.”

He paused on the stairs and looked at her. “You don’t think…”

“Crazy people can see what she is.”

There was no answer to that and they hurried up the stairs. Entering the mental ward, they found Dawn standing at the foot of one of the mental patients’ beds.

“You know what I am, don’t you? You all know? Tell me,” she was demanding of the man in the bed.

“Can’t hear it can’t hear it can’t hear it…” the man babbled.

“What am I?”

“Dawnie!” Buffy cried, running over to her.

“No!” Dawn argued, shrugging off Buffy’s attempts to grab her. “What am I!?”

“The Key!” yelled another mental patient.

Dawn whirled around to face the new voice and Spike recognized the man as one of the Knights of Byzantium at the same time Buffy recognized him too.

“Knights of Hack and Slash…” she breathed as Dawn hurried over.

“I found it!” the insane Knight said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Thank you. Thank you…”

Dawn edged in close to his bed.

“You know what the Key is? Where did I come from? Who made me? What am I? Please…”

“Dawnie…” Buffy tried.

“I want to know!” Dawn yelled back angrily, but jerked back as the Knight lunged for her, his restraints barely stopping him.

“Destroyer! Cracked earth and bones! The sun bleeding into the sky!” he cried.

“No…” Dawn choked, stepping back, crushed.

Spike stepped up to her, flanked by Buffy.

“Dawn,” he whispered, trying to get her attention.

“The Key is the link! The link must be severed!”

The rest of the mental patients went into fits, terrifying Dawn. She covered her mouth with her hands and turned to flee, just as Ben entered the mental ward.

“What the? What are you doing here?” the intern asked, surprised.

Spike moved forward immediately, placing himself next to Dawn as Buffy ran interference.

“Dawn... she was trying to understand how my mom could get so crazy with the… y’know brain tumor, so she ran here,” Buffy tried to explain hastily.

“Oh,” Ben answered, looking past them to the agitated patients. The Knight was still lunging for Dawn, pulling at his manacles.

“So… umm… we were just going. Come on, Dawnie…” Buffy said, grabbing her sister and dragging her, struggling, out of the ward.

“The Key! The Key! Bring back the Key!” they heard the Knight cry as the doors banged shut.

“No, no! I want to know!” Dawn argued, trying to pull out of Buffy’s Slayer grip.

“Dawn!” Buffy hissed, dragging her into the stairwell.

Spike guarded the door and gave Buffy a nod at her askance glance. “Benny stayed to calm down the loonies,” he said.

“Dawn, those crazies know you’re the Key!” Buffy scolded.

“I know! They can tell me what I am,” Dawn replied, squirming, tears running down her cheeks.

“What they can tell is Glory’s minions that you’re the Key so she can come snatch you!” Spike growled.

“But I have to know…” Dawn sobbed.

“Dawn… Dawnie… What you are is my sister…”

Dawn shook her head. “I’m not… I’m not anything…”

“You are. You are flesh and blood and we love you.”

“No! No! I’m not! I’m not real. I’m not real! I’m not…” the teen began to wail, growing hysterical.

Spike stepped forward and slapped her, stunning her out of her hysteria and making him yowl from the chip shock.

“You’re real, Bit!” he snarled, one fist to his temple. “Real enough to give me a migraine.”

“And that means you’re human,” Buffy affirmed.

“But…” Dawn stuttered. “Buffy…”

She broke down, collapsing against her sister in a sobbing heap. Buffy wrapped her arms around her and held her close, rocking her as she cried. Spike stood close by, knowing he didn’t have the right to join them, but desperately wanting to. He waited, fists and teeth clenched, until Dawn settled and they pulled apart.

“Dawn, we need to get out of here,” Buffy said softly.

Dawn nodded through her sniffles and Buffy helped her to her feet. They began making their way down the stairs, but Dawn tripped from exhaustion and emotional stress. Buffy moved to catch her, but Spike was faster, hoisting Dawn into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.

“I’ve got ‘er, Slayer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Buffy gave him a look and seemed to come to a decision. She gave him a short nod and watched from the corner of her eye as they walked down the stairs. They didn’t speak again until they were out of the hospital.

“You want to go alert the troops while I take her home?” Spike asked, still cradling Dawn. The teen had her head resting against his leather-clad shoulder, her eyes blank and staring.

Buffy looked at the darkened Sunnydale streets and frowned.

“I told the gang to check in at the Magic Box. I’ll run there and leave a message, then join you.”

Surprised and secretly pleased that she was trusting him with Dawn, he nodded. “Right then. See you back at your place.”

She gave him a final, pensive look, before heading off for the Magic Box. He waited a moment, watching her leave, before setting off for Revello Drive. He walked quickly, purposefully, taking the shortest route possible. Dawn’s fingers curled themselves into the lapels of his duster as he carried her, silent but strong, homewards.

Joyce was waiting at the door when he stepped up to the porch. Somewhere along the way, Dawn had fallen asleep and he was grateful Joyce was there to open the door so he wouldn’t jostle her awake struggling with the doorknob.

“Buffy called me from the Magic Box. She’s on her way,” Joyce whispered at his silent question.

He nodded, crossing the threshold and following her up the stairs to Dawn’s bedroom. He gently laid her down as Joyce held back the covers, and stood protectively by as Joyce removed Dawn’s sneakers and covered her with the blankets. They both looked at the exhausted girl on the bed whose face was still pained even in sleep.

“What monsters would do this to an innocent child?” Joyce wondered aloud. “Didn’t they think before doing this to her? Making her sentient, turning her into a human girl?”

“Brown robe types rarely look at the big picture, Joyce. All they saw was a way to protect the Key from Glory by giving it to the Slayer. I doubt they considered the consequences of making the Key human.”

Joyce shook her head sadly. “And messing with our minds, our memories… It’s like a type of rape.”

He grimaced, his soul constricting at the sound of the word rape.

“I dunno, Joyce. Just a vampire here. I don’t have any answers for you. What I do know is that we can’t make Nibblet feel less than human. We have to convince her that we love her just the same, whether she’s been with us 14 years or 4 months,” he replied.

“You love her, don’t you?” Joyce asked suddenly.

He started and stared at her, then he put on airs and shrugged. “What’s not to love? I mean, she’s a great kid even if she is a blob of energy.”

“I didn’t mean Dawn. I meant Buffy. You love Buffy.”

He squirmed under her piercing gaze and tried to weasel out. “Soulless demon here, Joyce. We can’t love.”

“A soulless demon who visits a sick woman in the hospital and brings her chocolate, who shows concern and protects her daughters, who laughs with her and watches soap operas, and cares about her health and well being. That doesn’t sound like a being that is incapable of love.”

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he said finally, emotion overwhelming him.

Joyce cocked her head and looked at him with a look only astute mothers could own. “Doesn’t it?”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”

“A year ago, I told Angel that if he loved Buffy he should leave and let her have a normal life. I didn’t know… I didn’t realize that Buffy would never have a normal life, that she would never have the life I envisioned for her,” Joyce admitted softly, her voice tinged with a sadness that could not be fathomed, the sadness of knowing that she would probably bury her daughter before her child’s 25^{th birthday.}

“I want her to have a normal life, Spike, but Slayers don’t live normal lives. They live short, desperate lives full of violence and darkness, and happiness is as fleeting as sand between your fingers.”

He watched her move about the room, smoothing Dawn’s coverings and brushing the girl’s hair from her face gently.

“I thought Riley was perfect for Buffy. He was military and fought the same darkness Buffy fought, but the darkness consumed him and he betrayed Buffy in a terrible way,” she continued, walking from Dawn’s room and coming to stand in the hallway. He followed, interested in hearing what she had to say.

“I remember you from 4 years ago, when you first attacked my daughter at the high school. I remember when you allied yourself with her to fight against Angel when he took my daughter’s virtue and turned evil. I remember when you returned the following year, heartbroken that Drusilla had left you. I remember the trouble Buffy had with you her first year of college, and your struggle with the chip that army operation put into your brain. I also remember how you helped Buffy this last year, how you helped me and looked after Dawn, how you have protected and aided both of my daughters. I have seen you change and become someone no one thought you could be, but I have seen you struggle with it anyway, without help or encouragement.”

She moved close to him, her eyes sad and resigned. “I know you are a soulless being, but you have more soul than some humans I know. You are loyal and faithful and strong, and you accept my daughter for all that she is, not just the parts of her that are attractive or pleasing to you. I don’t approve, but I do understand. And I have come to terms with the reality that my daughter is a Slayer, and that means she won’t be with me for very long. If she can find happiness with someone who loves her so fiercely that he would change his very nature for her, I can’t find any fault in that.”

He stared at her, unable to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes at her soft words and tacit acceptance.

“Thanks, Mum,” he managed, and allowed himself to dream of what it would be like to be accepted by Buffy and loved by her.

He dreamed of long nights slaying and loving, followed by quiet days watching soaps with Joyce, helping Dawn with her homework, and feeling part of a family again, of *belonging* somewhere. But it was a dream and he knew it, and he let it slip away, fading behind his eyes like a fond memory.

“However, your eldest doesn’t love me, and she never will, and that’s how it should be. Vampires and Slayers… they weren’t meant to be together. But I will love her until I am dust, and I will protect her and hers with every last ounce of strength I have inside me. I give you my word, Joyce Summers, as the English gentleman I once was. I will never hurt your daughter,” he promised, looking her directly in the eye.

“I believe you, William. I believe you.”

“Believe what?” Buffy’s voice came from the doorway, making them both jump.

Spike stared at her, horrified that she might have heard their conversation, and he didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Buffy’s mother was as glib as her daughter, and easily came to the rescue.

“Spike was assuring me that Dawn hadn’t put herself in any undue danger tonight by going to the hospital. He swore to me that he didn’t hear or smell any of that Glory woman’s minions around when you were there or when he was bringing her home.”

Buffy looked at him and he tried to see what she was thinking, but her face was closed and her eyes unreadable.

“That’s good. That’s really… good.”

“So, did you leave a message for the others?” Joyce asked.

“I ran into Willow and Tara on my way from the Magic Box. They promised to tell the rest of the gang. Is Dawn okay?”

“Yes,” her mother assured. “She’s asleep. Spike brought her safely home.”

Buffy graced him with a measured look. “I knew he would.”

He couldn’t hold her gaze and dropped his eyes.

“I’d best be off. It’s late and I’ve got telly to catch up on,” he said, suddenly feeling the need to run and run very far.

Joyce laid a gentle hand on his arm and gave him a fond look.

“Goodnight, Spike and thank you.”

“Night Joyce, night Buffy,” he mumbled, making his hasty exit. It was too much and he couldn’t take it. He had to get out of there before he lost it completely and started bawling like a ponce.

He didn’t see Buffy staring thoughtfully after him as he hurried out.

*******

“Spike, what’s a one word synonym for fear of heights?” Dawn asked as she did her homework in his crypt.

She was sitting cross-legged on his sarcophagus while he sprawled in his chair reading the newspaper.

“Acrophobia,” he replied without hesitation, not even bothering to look up.

“What about fear of people?”

“Anthropophobia.”

“Wow. You knew that right off the top of your head.”

He flipped the page of the newspaper idly. “What can I tell you, Sweet Bit. I’m a walking, undead dictionary.”

“I think it’s cool that you’re so smart. I’ll bet you were always smart. You just didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Got it in one, Nibblet. You’re too smart for me. Kids these days, I’ll tell ya…”

His comment made her laugh and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. She cast him a devilish look and flipped back her hair.

“That’s me: Too Smart Dawnie.”

“Okay, Smarty. I’ve got one for ya. What’s amathophobia?”

“Fear of algebra?” she piped back.

Now he did laugh and he let her see the humor dancing in his eyes. She preened, making him smile wider at her teenage antics.

“No, Bit. It’s fear of dust, namely mine, which I am in danger of becoming if you don’t finish your homework and toddle home soon. It’s almost dark.”

She pouted but returned to her work. “Don’t worry. I’m almost done.”

“You’d better be. You’ve been here since you skipped last period.”

Her head shot up and she blushed furiously. “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“Don’t even try it, Bit. I may be a vampire, but I can tell time, and I do know what time little kiddies like you get out of school. You were here at least 40 minutes before that, ergo you skipped,” he interrupted, giving her a knowing stare, one raised eyebrow included.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay okay. Busted. But it was just study hall and I didn’t want to spend fifty minutes reading Romeo and Juliet.”

Spike sat a little straighter at the mention of The Bard, his newspaper forgotten. “That what they got you readin’ in school, Bit?”

Dawn shrugged. “It’s boring and impossible to read and I’ve, like, seen the movie a gazillion times.”

He snorted in distaste. “Movie.” ‘My only love sprung from my only hate…’

“Hey! Do not knock Leonardo DiCaprio. He is like, so hot.”

“Oooo, Leonardo,” he said in high falsetto. “He’s soooo dreamy. I think I’m in luuvvv.”

“Stop it!” Dawn ordered, but she was giggling.

“All right, all right. I shall not sully the holy name of Leo-nerdo Di-Crap-rio.”

“Spiiiiike!”

He snickered, but had to add, “You do know that Shakespeare didn’t write ‘Romeo and Juliet’ out of his head, don’t you?”

“He didn’t?”

“Nope. He based it on an older story, an English translation of an Italian work called ‘The Tragicall History of Romeus and Juliet.’ He caused quite a scandal when he made the fair Juliet the tender age fourteen instead of sixteen,” he informed.

“Ewww. And they get married in the play. That’s like, gross,” Dawn said, crinkling her nose.

Spike shrugged. “Folks married young and died young in those days, Bit. ‘Sides, he probably did it so he could use younger boys for the role of Juliet and make it more believable.”

“Because women weren’t allowed to act on stage.”

“Precisely.”

“That is, like, so weird.”

“It was the Elizabethan Era. They did a lot of weird things in those days.”

“Yeah, like write these really boring plays that are impossible to read,” she sighed dejectedly.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Bit. Shakespeare never meant for his plays to be read. He meant them to be *heard* and *seen.* When properly produced and read, Shakespeare’s plays are some of the finest, most well written works of art ever created.”

She seemed unconvinced and so he recited Prospero’s epilogue from ‘The Tempest,’ the words falling from his tongue almost without his conscious thought.

His mind, however, was elsewhere; on a night set in the not-so-distant future when a sorrowful Dawn, bereft of mother and sister, had sat with him in the living room of an empty house that had once been a home. That night it had been ‘Hamlet,’ and he had tried to draw a smile to her worn face by acting out the part of the Danish prince in his manic state, welcoming the players and dancing about. She had laughed then, a thin and strained laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, so he had showed her the humor Shakespeare had written in the murder of Polonius and Hamlet’s disposal of the body and subsequent interrogation.

He was the only one who could make her smile then, and she had looked to him as the only thing keeping her sane. No one but her had ever seen him when he let William out to play, out to recite prose and offer insights into English Literature. It was their little secret and they had guarded it carefully.

While he knew that never having to go through the death of her mother and sister would be the greatest gift he could ever give the girl he had come to view as a little sister; he sometimes mourned the loss of the closeness they had shared during the summer of Buffy’s death. He hadn’t let William out in decades, and the freedom had awakened emotions in him he had thought as dead as his soul. He would miss it, even though he knew it was a small price to pay.

William lived full-bore in him now, and only Giles knew he was there, looking through Spike’s eyes. Who would listen to him after he had succeeded in his mission? Who would look at him as something other than a monster? Could any suffering or good deed ever atone for all the evil he had done? Perhaps Prospero’s soliloquy was more fitting than he imagined, and that was why the soul chose it to recite.

“…Now I want

Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;

And my ending is despair,

Unless I be reliev’d by prayer,

Which pierces so that it assaults

Mercy itself, and frees all faults.

As you from crimes would pardon’d be,

Let your indulgence set me free,” he finished, to Dawn’s shocked stare.

“Wow. Um... wow.”

He bowed his head, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No. No, don’t apologize. That was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“You know all of that by heart.”

He shrugged, brushing off her awe-tinged voice. “Know most of ‘em by heart; at least my favorite parts. ‘S not that hard when it’s somethin’ ya like.”

“I get that,” she said seriously. “I like how you talk to me like I can understand. Everyone else is acting all twitchy and weird. And I’m glad that you told me I could come here if it got too much for me. Thanks.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know. And I feel safe with you.”

Before when she had said that, he had been offended and annoyed, but now he was pleased.

“You’re welcome, Bit. Now finish your homework and then I’ll walk you home.”

Two hours later, an angry Buffy stormed into the crypt to find them both sitting on top of the sarcophagus, candles illuminating the small space. There was an old, worn book in Spike’s hand and he was reading from it.

“Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot,” he recited in a false, crotchety voice.

“Ewwww,” Dawn said, squirming.

“Spike! Dawn! What the...?” Buffy demanded, looking at them in confusion.

“Buffy!” Dawn greeted happily. “Spike’s reading Macbeth!”

“Mac-what?”

“Macbeth. Y’know, the play. By Shakespeare?” her sister clarified.

Buffy gave Spike an incredulous look. “Shakespeare?”

“Yeah. It’s the cursed play! Actors are afraid to call it by its real name…”

“What are you doing here? Mom is worried sick,” Buffy snapped.

Dawn looked chagrined. “Oh… I… I came here after school. Spike said I could!”

“Spike?” Buffy said accusingly.

He wilted under her angry glare. “I’m sorry. I was going to bring her home hours ago, but…”

He trailed off. There wasn’t much to say.

‘At least she didn’t catch me tellin’ Nibblet about my murderin’ that family and the little girl in the coal bin.’

“Dawn, get your stuff.”

“But… but he’s at this really cool part. There’s these three witches and they’re…”

“I said: get your stuff.”

Dawn huffed and jumped down off the sarcophagus to gather her things, leaving Spike to face Buffy.

“I’m sorry Joyce was worried. I really was going to bring her home hours ago,” he insisted.

“We didn’t know where she was. She never came home from school.”

“I told her she could hang out with me when you lot got too weird for her. I’m sorry, I don’t have a phone. But you do know she’s safe with me, don’t you. No one’s gonna snatch Little Sis while Spike’s on watch.”

The angry glare softened somewhat and she relaxed slightly. “I know, but things are very dangerous right now Spike. Glory is out there and so are the Knights of Hack and Slash. And now some vamp’s killed six people on a train at Sunnydale Station. We can’t be taking any unnecessary risks.”

‘Six people on a train…’ he thought, heart sinking. ‘Dru…’

He sighed. “I understand and I’m sorry.” He looked at her, wanting her to understand as well. “But you have to know, Buffy, that this is really hard on her. It looks like she’s takin’ it well, but she’s got a lot of hurt inside, a lot of anger. She comes here to hang out and get away. And I don’t mind. Not really. I know she’s safe and it’s better than her bein’ out there by herself.”

He leaned close and whispered. “‘Sides, I think she fancies me. Got a bit of a teenage crush.”

At her look of distaste, he pulled back and postured. “Not that I blame her, mind you. I do have a certain devilish charm,” he smoothed, giving her a wink.

“Touch my little sister, and I will hand your privates to you on a platter.”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Just kidding, Slayer. Nibblet’s virtue is safe with me. Not only is she a bit young for me, but I don’t fancy havin’ ta face Joyce if her youngest gets compromised. No offence, Slayer. You’re tough, but your mum wields a wicked axe.”

He knew she knew that he was joking because the impish glint came into her eyes. “Might give me a chance to use that axe you gave me for my birthday.”

“What? You haven’t used it yet?” he gasped in mock-offense.

“Not much in the way of chopping going on lately. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve got enough to worry about, y’know.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Okay, I’m ready Herr Fuehrer,” Dawn announced sullenly.

“Ok, let’s go, Dawn,” Buffy said, then turned to Spike. “Thanks for keeping her safe.”

He nodded. “Tell Joyce I’ll be by tomorrow to apologize. In the meantime, you might want to consider gettin’ Kid Sis one of those cell phones.”

Buffy gave him a smirk, then put one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and guided her out of the crypt.

“Or a pager or maybe even a homing device!” he called after them as the door shut.

Dawn giggled after they were out of the crypt. “Homing device. But hey, the cell phone idea is good. Emily Branchard’s got this totally cool one with an N’Sync cover…”

“I’ll ask Mom about it,” Buffy answered, marching them towards home.

“Really? Cool!”

“In the meantime, Dawn, I think you need to be more careful. We were really worried about you.”

“I know, but I was with Spike. He said I could hang with him if I wanted.”

“So he said. When did he tell you that?” Buffy asked.

Dawn grew quiet and subdued. “The night he carried me home from the hospital after what happened in the mental ward.”

Buffy frowned. “Oh.”

Dawn kicked at a stick in her path. “He said I could come to him if I ever needed to go somewhere to get away. I’d had a really bad day. Kirstie was being a total bee-atch again and I just wanted somewhere to go.”

She perked up and smiled. “Besides, I like hanging out with Spike. He’s funny and oh! You should hear him read Shakespeare! He knows most of them by heart.”

Buffy paused and shook her head. “Spike’s right. You do have a crush on him.”

“No, I don’t! It’s just he’s got cool hair and he wears cool leather coats and stuff. And he doesn’t treat me like an alien,” Dawn countered, flustered.

“He’s over 120 years old! And a vampire!”

“Right. That’s why you were never with Angel *for three years.*”

“Angel’s different. He has a soul.”

“Spike has a chip. Same diff. And even if I did have a crush, he wouldn’t notice in a million years. Not with you around.”

“What does that mean?”

“Spike’s totally into you.”

At her sister’s stunned silence, Dawn pressed, “Oh, come on. You didn’t notice? Buffy, Spike’s completely in love with you.”

Buffy’s face fell and she looked crushed. “I know.”

Now it was Dawn’s turn to look stunned. “You know?”

Buffy nodded. “I heard him and Mom… talking about it. Then I asked Giles and he admitted that loving me was one of the things Spike had said under the Truth spell.”

“So? What are you gonna do?”

Buffy looked away. “I don’t know. Both Mom and Giles insist that Spike won’t hurt me… or any of us. But I must admit I’m a little wigged and I don’t know what to do about it. Right now, we need Spike’s help with Glory and I don’t want to push him away. And part of me is kinda hoping that it’ll blow over and he’ll go back to wanting me dead,” she admitted.

Dawn shook her head. “Won’t happen.”

Buffy sighed and ushered them along again. “Then I’ll just have to wait and see what he does and deal with it when I have to.”

Dawn hurried to keep up. “Do you think you could… you know… love him?”

“Spike’s a vampire, Dawn. He’s a soulless killer.”

“But he’s different now. He’s changed and he has the chip.”

“The chip just makes him a serial killer in prison. Besides, Spike said it himself. Vampires and Slayers weren’t meant to be together. I’ll never love him and he knows it.”

Buffy stopped and looked back at the now dark crypt. She stared at it for a moment before turning back to the path, her face pensive and somber. “Let’s go home, Dawn.”

Dawn remained silent as she and Buffy left the cemetery.

*******

Rupert Giles was not stranger to duty and responsibility. In fact, with the small exception to his Ripper days, he’d lived Duty his whole life. At first, he was Bound to his family and its long, honorable traditions. Then it was the Council of Watchers, never realizing that they had set him up to fail when they assigned him to Buffy. And finally, his Duty was to his Slayer, when he turned his back on the Council and sided with the daughter he would never have.

So it baffled him that he was having so much difficulty reconciling himself with his duty to William the Bloody. As the perpetrator of the Truth spell and Spike’s only confidante, he had a certain responsibility to the vampire. Tara had so gently and innocently reminded him of that fact and he’d been struggling with it ever since. He thought perhaps things would be easier for him if Spike wasn’t committed to making things so difficult. Even ensouled, Spike was argumentative, crass and irritating, not to mention extraordinarily astute and bluntly honest. Time spent with the vampire almost always turned uncomfortable when Spike set out to turn everything he’d ever believed in upside down and on its head. And while those times were often- no, required to be- accompanied by massive amounts of alcohol, the resulting hangovers were made that much worse by the realization that Spike had been, once again, absolutely right.

Deferring graciously to the greater wisdom of a demon had never been one of Giles’ strong points, and things weren’t any different now, soul or no soul. Still, he felt he had to make some kind of recompense after his blistering taking-down in the Magic Box. He knew from experience that Spike often liked a few days to sulk before his acid tongue would fade and he would be anything other than condescending and defensive, so he waited a while before seeking Spike out in his crypt.

The tomb was dark and empty, even though it was still day. This surprised Giles because he thought Spike would still be asleep. Looking around, however, there was no sign of Spike and it looked as if he had been out for quite some time. The empty blood bags in the trash were completely dry and the liquor residue in the dirty tumbler next to the tattered chair had congealed on the bottom of the glass.

Wondering where the vampire could have gone in daylight, he looked around some more, searching for clues. He found nothing, or rather he found a great deal, but it was only enough to give him more insight into how the vampire lived from day to day and not on where he might have gone. He was surprised and impressed to find that Spike had amassed quite a collection of literature, which he kept on hidden bookcases behind a drape of black sheets on the lower level of the crypt. Some of the volumes were first editions and appeared very old.

A noise from upstairs caught his attention and he hurried to climb the ladder, not wanting Spike to think he was prying.

“Spike…” he called, rising from the subterranean chamber, but there was no answer.

He paused, looking around, his senses screaming that danger was lurking in the shadows. “Spike?” he called again.

“Bad man,” came a voice from the gloom and a figure floated into the dim haze of diffused light. “Come for my Spike.”

Ice washed through Giles’ veins as he recognized the vampire.

‘Bollocks! I forgot about Drusilla,’ he had enough time to think before she knocked him out with a cattle prod.

*******

Spike was glad that SunnyHell police were considerate enough to put the crime-scene car inside the station house. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought they had done it precisely so those fatally allergic to sunlight could get in. It was easy enough to force the door, the lock was pathetic really, and in moments he was inside the train car.

The police had taped the outline of the bodies, all sprawled in their seats, except for the outline for the station master who was on the floor, and he examined them, catching the splatters of blood the forensic crews had overlooked. He also found the dirty, blind-folded Miss Edith tucked away on the luggage rack.

Sighing, his heart heavy, he examined the doll, sniffing it to confirm that it was indeed Drusilla’s doll. The scent was unmistakable and he would know it anywhere. There was no longer any doubt at all in his mind. Drusilla had returned.

‘Bloody hell. Now what do I do?’

His first thought was to go to Rupert, but the Watcher wasn’t home or at the Magic Box when he went looking for him so he returned to his crypt. There he found signs of a struggle and smelled both Giles and Drusilla’s scents. The dread had already reached his throat when he found Giles’ glasses crushed on the crypt floor, right where he would be sure to find them.

In a way, the broken eyewear gave him hope. Drusilla was sending him a message. That meant the Watcher was probably still alive. Besides, Dru always did like to play with her prey before killing them. Like a cat she was, a big demonic Hellcat- who had Giles.

Spike knew he had no choice, but he dreaded it nonetheless. He had planned to apologize to Joyce for not bringing Dawn home. Now he had another reason to go over to Revello Drive, one much less pleasant. Bucking up, he tucked Miss Edith into his coat and headed out.

Buffy wasn’t there when he arrived, but both Joyce and Dawn were in the kitchen. They welcomed him warmly, Dawn preening like teenage girls were wont to do, her long brown hair in childish braids. Joyce made cocoa and talked about her duplicate shipments of Greek amphorae, making them chuckle while he sat on the counter.

“But they didn’t get that it was a copy of the bill of lading... they thought it was another order form, so now I’ve got two shipments of Greek amphorae on my hands...” Joyce explained, smiling.

Spike smiled too. It was good to see Joyce vibrant and healthy again. A quick sniff revealed that the old blood was still there, but it was fainter. It warmed him and made him feel so much better. Joyce was going to be all right.

“Funny. And really, how many of them do you need. Amphorae,” he commented.

Joyce looked to the kitchen entrance, her face lighting up, and Spike knew that Buffy had arrived home. Before, he had dressed smartly in grey pullover and black leather blazer, but this time, he stayed in his usual black on black. Having never lived through the other timeline, Buffy would never know the difference.

“Oh Buffy!” Joyce greeted. “Spike came over to apologize for yesterday,” she explained, teasingly shaking Dawn’s hands. “Our missing child drama.”

Buffy came in, looking at them all, her guard up and her eyes wary, but he smiled and tried to put her at ease.

“Then I got started talking about the gallery. See, there was this bill of lading...” Joyce began, seeing Buffy’s unconvinced look.

“Oh, don’t get us all laughing again, Joyce. Anyhow, I really need to talk to your eldest,” Spike interrupted, hopping down from the counter.

“About what?” she asked.

He beckoned her to follow him and led her away from Joyce and Dawn. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed and he wondered what he had done to make her angry. He sighed, not needing any more stress.

“We’ve got a problem. A big problem. I got a bead on the one who killed those people, the ones in the train,” he told her, his stomach sinking as he reached into his coat for the doll.

“Do tell.”

He pulled Miss Edith out and showed it to her. She stared at it for a moment, confused, then her eyes opened wide and she stared at him.

“Drusilla…” she gasped.

He nodded solemnly. “There’s more.”

“Oh great.”

“I think she has your Watcher.”

“Giles?”

“I smelled both their scents in my crypt, and there were signs of a struggle. And she left his glasses, all crushed up on the floor.”

Buffy looked as if she were going to be sick and he hurried to comfort her. “I don’t think she intends to kill him. At least not right away. The glasses were a message. It’s me she wants.”

Buffy huffed. “Oh great. Your crazy ho of an ex has my Watcher and is using him as bait. Why do I have the strangest sensation that I’ve lived this before?”

He had to suppress a manic giggle. ‘If only you knew, love…’

“Okay. We have to find them. Can you do your bloodhound thing and sniff them out?”

“I could, but Dru’s another vamp and she’ll know how to hide her trail. That said, I doubt she’ll be hard to find. She only knows a few places here and she’ll probably pick the place that’s the worst for Giles,” he replied.

Buffy’s brow furrowed and she hardened. “The mansion on Crawford Street.”

“‘S what I was thinking.”

The Slayer came out and was all business. “Let’s grab some weapons and go.”

*******

He was sore, and tied to a chair, but otherwise unharmed. Waking from his electricity-induced unconsciousness, Giles opened his eyes and took stock of his whereabouts.

‘The mansion where Angelus tortured me. Oh dear god. And Drusilla… why didn’t she bite me?’

“Don’t like the taste of Watchers,” Drusilla answered, floating into his field of vision. “All fish oil and old books.”

She had him tied to a chair in one of the mansion’s bedrooms. While dusty and neglected, there was still a large four-poster bed draped in dark velvet curtains. Drusilla had amassed quite a collection of weapons and torture equipment on the mattress. He shuddered.

“Shush,” the vampiress scolded. “Not for you.” She pulled out a set of manacles and placed them on the bed with a loving caress. “My Spike’s been a bad boy. Helpin’ the Slayer and killin’ demons. I thought it was the pixies lying to me, but then the stars told me it was true.”

The true motive for her kidnapping him and bringing him here became clear.

“You intend to torture him,” he said.

Dru gave him one of her blank stares, half here and half in the past. “Bad children need to be punished. Like me, and Daddy. Daddy taught me how.”

Giles shivered, remembering what he had suffered at Angelus’ hands, and realizing that not even family members had been spared the demon’s wrath. Angel had told him what Angelus had done to Dru. Could it be possible that Drusilla had tried the same tortures on her Childe?

“Oh yes. In the beginning. When William still cried,” she replied, reminding him again that his thoughts were not protected if he didn’t shield from her. “I would make him cry more. Sometimes Daddy would too. Then he learned that between my legs was better than across my knee, and he stopped crying. Became my beautiful, deadly boy who would be my darling… until the Slayer took him from me!”

She smashed a chamber pot that had been sitting on the floor, the porcelain shards scattering over the rug. Giles flinched.

“Pixies lie, they always lie, but I saw the Slayer floating all around him, laughing at me. He wouldn’t push her away, and then he left.”

She wandered, seemingly aimlessly, humming softly to herself.

“Grandmama helped, but I want my boy back. I want my family. Grandmama, Spike and Daddy.”

She drew a cat-o-nine tails from an armoire, along with a pair of pincers, and looked at them dreamily. “But I can’t get Daddy until I have my Spike. And William cries again. Need to teach him. Some lessons have been forgotten.”

He watched her as she placed the whip and pincers on the bed, feeling sick to his stomach even as a new understanding came to him. Drusilla and Angelus had used pain and pleasure to mold Spike into the demon he became, and his suspicion that Spike was a persona used mostly as a defensive mechanism was confirmed. Not that William the Bloody hadn’t been a killer, but he obviously hadn’t met the standards of evil required by Angelus.

“Daddy said; ‘Shut that miserable cur up or I’ll hack him into bits!’ And I couldn’t have that. He was my playmate. My knight. The fairest and bravest in all the land. So I taught him not to cry. Then Daddy said I had to share. Didn’t like that much. Daddy always made him bleed so much then made me clean the sheets.”

‘How inconsiderate of him,’ Giles thought.

“Daddy always knew what was best for us,” Drusilla sighed. “And I know what’s best for my Spike. He’ll be here soon. With the nasty Slayer. Left your spectacles for him to find.” She looked at him, her eyes cold. “I’ll kill her, and you, and then I’ll get my Spike back, and we’ll be a family again.”

With that, she floated out, humming again, and he didn’t relax until he couldn’t hear her anymore. He took in the bed covered with whips and weapons that would do a Spanish Inquisitor proud and he shivered.

‘God help them both,’ he prayed.

*******

“Are you going to be able to do this?” Buffy asked as she and Spike walked to the mansion.

He set his jaw tight and took a deep breath. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Even if it means killing Drusilla?”

“I’d rather it not come to that,” he admitted.

She stopped and gave him an angry glare. It irritated him. He’d told her about Dru and sought her help. What more did she want?

“What?” he demanded.

“You don’t want her dead.”

“Of course I don’t want her dead. She’s my bloody *sire* and my Dark Princess for a hundred years.”

“Need I remind you that you sought my help because she was a big ho?”

He scowled. “I remember very well, Slayer, and I remember her leavin’ me *twice* until I left for good. I was faithful to her until the end. Until she tossed me away for not bein’ what she wanted me to be.”

Her anger faded to sadness and recrimination, and he knew she was thinking of Riley.

“I get that. Speaking of ex’s, whatever happened to Harmony?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Packed ‘er off to LA a couple of days ago. She’d come back from a shopping spree over that way and I decided it was best for her to get lost with all the trouble with Glory hangin’ about. Bint’s too stupid not to let somethin’ spill. So I boxed up ‘er stuff and sent ‘er off.”

It hadn’t actually happened quite so caustically or as cruel as he made it sound. In actuality, he had sat her down and explained to her that he couldn’t love her because his heart belonged to another. He allowed her to think he was still in love with Drusilla and did nothing to correct her assumptions. They’d made love then, one last time, and the first time he had taken her without anger or fantasy in his heart. She’d cried afterwards, and he had shed a tear or two, but she hadn’t tried to stay. He saw her off the night before Dawn stopped by to visit him, her many piles of clothes stuffed in two burgeoning suitcases he had stolen from the mall. She’d kissed him good-bye, told him she loved him, and that if he could ever let go of Dru, he would know where to look for her. Then she was gone and he was alone, but that was probably for the best.

He came out of his memory to see Buffy glaring at him.

“What did I do now?”

“You don’t treat your women very well, do you Spike.”

“Bloody hell I don’t! I gave Dru everythin’ she ever wanted! I was her slave for a hundred years!” he snapped back.

“And Harmony? She loved you and you kicked her to the curb. I remember what you did to her during that whole Gem of Amarra fiasco!”

He flinched and gritted his teeth. “Harmony was a mistake. I admit it. Dru had left me again, I was weak and she was there. I was wrong to think I could love her and she…”

He stopped, sudden realization hitting him, and stared at Buffy like a deer caught in headlights.

‘She knows! She knows I love her! Oh, bloody hell!’

“You heard your mum and I talkin’ the other night, didn’t you,” he said.

She looked away, her lips pursed, and he knew that she had.

“Balls. I suppose that you will now tell me that I am a soulless, evil thing incapable of real feelings,” he accused.

He saw her choosing her words carefully, and when she spoke it was with forced calmness.

“Giles has told me that you admitted to… loving me while you were under the Truth spell,” she said, making him flinch and curse Giles. “That means, that whatever you think you feel, you believe it to be true.”

She looked at him, her face resolved. “But Spike, you have to know that whatever you think you feel can’t be real.”

“Bollocks!”

She drew herself up, facing him. “Demons can’t love. They don’t have souls. Both Angel and Giles have told me so.”

He snarled. “And if Watcher and the Great Poof say it, then it must be true! Is that it?! Newsflash Slayer: demons *can* love. We can love quite well. Your problem is if that’s true then Angelus could have loved you after he lost the precious soul. What you don’t realize is that he *did* and that was why he hated you so much. Love was and has always been a weakness for Angelus. You made him feel it and he couldn’t handle that. That was Angelus’ problem, not a demon one. Now me, on the other hand, I’ve always been love’s bitch and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

He advanced on her and she looked alarmed for a moment, so he stopped.

“I love you, Slayer. I know I love you. And I know it’s wrong and against everythin’ we both are but I can’t help how I feel.”

She shook her head, parroting back what she had been taught. “Demons can’t love.”

“Bollocks, and you know it. I love you. I love you so much it chokes me. Seein’ you in pain and knowin’ I don’t have the right to comfort you. Wantin’ so badly to touch you and knowin’ I can’t, that I’m not allowed. Acceptin’ what little crumbs you toss me. This is Hell for me, every day.”

“Fine! Then leave! No one is making you stay,” she snapped.

He scowled at her, eyes flashing yellow. “No. I won’t leave you. I won’t be like all those other wankers that left you and made you feel like you were unworthy of love. You may not love me. You may never love me, but I don’t walk out on the ones I love, and I protect them, with everything I’ve got.”

She looked at him and he knew she was recalling the words and promise she had overheard him make to Joyce.

“And Mom and Dawn? Are you just being nice to them to get into my good graces?”

He recoiled, offended. “Hell, no! Like your mum and Nibblet. They’re family to me. Wouldn’t hurt a hair on their heads even if I didn’t have this bloody chip in my brain.”

He stopped and they stared at each other, both reeling and breathing hard, until he looked away.

“Rupert and the Scoobies are family too. And right now Dru has one of ‘em. We got bigger problems that what’s goin’ on between you and me, Slayer. Let’s deal with the most urgent things first, shall we? Neither of us is goin’ anywhere and we can deal with all this stuff later.”

She stared at him a bit longer, then her shoulders dropped and she nodded. “Okay. Deal. For now, let’s go rescue Giles. But we’ll have to talk about it eventually, Spike.”

He sighed and agreed, following her as she marched off.

‘Don’t I know it.’

*******

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