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CHAPTER 8-PROPHECIES AND SLAYERS

 

Sunday Morning

 

Spike stared down at the phone. What the hell was he supposed to say to Buffy. "Honey, I'm human!" was just too weird. "Hi, I've got a soul. Let's shag," had the advantage of honesty but probably wouldn't work. "I was staked. Did you miss me?" was pathetic. He almost gave up, then decided to just wing it. He dialed Buffy's phone number.

 

The phone rang. And rang. At the end of three rings the answering machine clicked on. He stood speechless. The answering machine clicked off. Bloody brilliant, Spike! Yeah, that's how to impress the slayer. He glanced over at the small clock by the bed. It was four in the morning. Buffy would have loved waking up so that she could hear about how Spike spent his weekend.

 

If he didn't call now, however, he probably would never get up the nerve again. He composed a quick message and phoned again. "Buffy, this is Spike. I'm sorry I missed taking Dawn to the party but something important has come up. I'm with Angel in LA."

He hung up the phone and wished he could believe that she cared. She wouldn't, but Lorne's words stuck with him. "Someone called you a soulless demon. Now you have a soul. Its time for you to go back home."

 

For the first time in weeks, he fell asleep with hope in his heart.

* * *

 

It was getting close to dawn, a rough time for Angel. Connor had been an early riser and he and his son had always had the hour before dawn to themselves. He stood in the darkened hotel and ached to hold his child again.

He heard a muffled sob and turned. Anything was better than being alone with his thoughts. He followed the sound and found himself in front of Wesley's room. It was Spike. He hesitated and finally opened the door.

 

Inside Angel saw the blonde turning restlessly in his sleep with tears pouring down his face. Suddenly Spike woke. He blinked wearily and finally asked "Angel?"

 

"I didn't mean to wake you. I heard you and came to see what was wrong."

 

The human sat up. "Bawling like a great baby." He wiped his eyes angrily. "How do you stand it Angel?"

 

"The soul?"

 

"And the memories." Spike ran his fingers through his hair as if he could rip out his brain. He winced as he brushed the lump on his skull. "We've killed and hurt so many people. How are we supposed to live with the guilt."

 

One of the great torments to Angel's soul had been not only his own deeds but also the fact that he had created Drusilla and through her, Spike. Even when he had stopped killing, his creations had continued. When he had finally left his pack, one his last sights had been Spike, drenched in the blood of a slayer, swaggering through the streets of war-torn China. He tried to see the monster in the bed before him and only saw a miserable young man.

 

"The guilt never goes away." Angel admitted quietly. "But at some point you realize that other people are more important." He thought of Connor. "Helping other people doesn't bring a single victim back, but it makes living with guilt a little easier. Or . . ."the vampire smiled ruefully, "you can hang around in the gutters for a hundred years and wallow in self pity."

 

Spike sighed. "I don't think I'm going to last that long in a human body." He looked startled and shifted uncomfortable. "Speaking of bodies, where's the loo?"

 

"Down the hall to the right." Angel watched as Spike got up, muttering something about it being bad enough to be stuck with a bleeding human conscience, but having to put up with human kidneys was the last straw.

The vampire reflected on his own words. If Lorne was right, the young man was a pawn of the Powers-That-Be and their prophecies, as cursed as he and Darla and Connor. Angel sighed and left the darkened room.

* * *

 

Spike's stomach woke him up. The aches and pains from his bruises and cuts were minor compared to his hunger He hadn't eaten anything yesterday and was as ravenous as a fledgling.

 

Before hunting for food, he washed up and tried to straighten his hair. The haircut had made him look like a bloody fop a hundred years ago and now it was just a tangle of sandy curls. He needed a shave and it would be nice to have something besides these soddin' blood-crusted sweatpants, like a shirt, or shoes.

He found Fred at a desk in the lobby. "Food? Well we have some donuts and coffee. There's cream in the refrigerator. And we have tea that we keep for Wes . . . We have tea." She led him to the kitchenette and showed him how to heat a cup of water in the microwave. While getting the cream, he noticed a couple of Angel's bags of blood and realized, with some pleasure, that he would never have to drink pig's blood again.

 

One bite was a revelation. He stared at the donut in shock. He had nibbled on a donut out of curiosity back in his vampire days but it never tasted like this. Fried dough slathered with sugar was downright nummy. He gobbled it down and then ate another with delicious little sprinkles on it. The third donut had a cream filling. Human tastebuds were fun!

 

The green demon joined him, dressed in a terrycloth robe. Lorne poured himself some coffee and watched as Spike gobbled donuts two, three and selected number four, a little marvel dripping with chocolate icing. "Really into the calorie scene, aren't we?"

 

Spike gingerly put the donut down. Human bodies gained weight! How many ads had he seen on the telly for diets and pills and painful looking exercise equipment? After a century of living in a vampire body that remained unchanged, he now faced the possibility of looking like something out of Jerry Springer. Visions of bloated Harris rose and he shuddered.

 

Lorne was still speaking. "We need to find something for you to wear before those pants start walking on their own. Why don't you take a shower and I'll bring you something."

 

One thing about being in a hotel, there were plenty of showers. When Spike finished, he found some clothes waiting for him, bright yellow slacks and a charming blue shirt covered with swirls of chartreuse, lemon and purple. It was hard to find an outfit that would make him look more ridiculous than Harris's Hawaiian shirt and shorts had, but the Host had risen to the occasion.

 

To top it off Angel was waiting for him as soon as he returned to the lobby. The vampire's eyes widened slightly but he kept his face impassive as he said, "Follow me." He led Spike to a study heaped with books and documents.

The books were everywhere but if one looked there was a pattern to the heaps. "Wes. . . one of my former colleagues was studying the prophesies. The Powers that Be seem to be heavily involved with the Master's line. We were mostly concerned with the documents that involved Connor, Darla and myself. But there were others."

 

Spike looked at the papers. They were in piles. None appeared to be in English. He could recognize Latin, Greek, some archaic French, but most seemed to be in unknown languages.

 

"The references are coded. Connor, for example tended to be called the Child of the Vampire, Darla was the Mother or the Favorite."

 

Spike reflected. The Master had always liked Darla best and trusted her with the most important errands. "So what do they call you?"

 

Angel had the grace to look embarrassed. "The Champion. Also the Father. The one or two prophesies set before the curse call me Satan's Angel."

 

Spike smirked. Then his sire turned to the other documents. "Drusilla has quite a bit of stuff written about the Mad Queen, these are about the Master himself and I think these," Angel pointed to a modest pile, "may be about you."

 

Intrigued, Spike stepped over to the pile and leafed through it. "What do they call me? Do I get to be a champion or at least a mad king?"

 

"No, you are The Slayer of Slayers and I think the later references call you Keeper of the Key."

Spike whipped around, startled. "What? Keeper of what?"

 

Angel met his eyes. "It wasn't about Connor, so no one has examined the documents very much. But I think the prophecies say you are the Keeper of the Key. There's a lot of stuff written about a mystical Key and you seem to be tied to it."

 

Spike looked down at the documents apprehensively. Last year Glory, the hell-god, had tried to use Dawn as a key to return to her own dark dimension. Did the pile of documents mean others might try to hurt the Niblet? He frowned.

 

"I'd like to look at these."

 

Angel nodded. "Fine. But remember, prophecies are tricky and if you let them, they can dominate your life. But if Lorne is right, and a lot of them involve you, I guess you have the right to know about them."

 

If the documents were about the Lil' Bit, they could be important. Spike picked up the pile and took the papers over to the desk. His sire left and Spike sorted the documents out, trying to make some sense of things. He sighed; he really did not like studying. Back in the days of being William the Wanker in Victorian England, he had fancied himself a scholar. It was part of the past he had thought he had buried a century ago.

 

But he had promised a lady to look after Dawn and if these writings contained knowledge that could protect her, he would have to study them. So he brushed up his childhood Latin and Greek and began to wade through the papers.

 

Within a few minutes, his eyes ached and he searched the desk for some sort of magnifying glass. What do you know, this Wesley character had left a pair of glasses in the drawer. Spike tried them on and they seemed to help a little.

 

The material he could translate was infuriatingly vague. One document seemed to say, "The Key will allow the Bearded One to flush (pass?) to the Valley of the (Seaweed?). " Another seemed to read that " The (sorcerer?) shall chase the Key and it/she shall rise above (Raw Eggs?)." He was about to forget about it when he read "The Slayer of Slayers shall be humbled in the opening (Mouth?) of Hades and be brought to his (Knees?) in the metropolis of messengers.

Bollocks! He had certainly had his arse royally kicked in the Hellmouth and since angels was another word for messengers, the other line was probably referring to the wonderful time he was having here in Los Angeles. So some of this stuff was true and it probably meant that poor Dawn would have anything but a safe and quiet life.

He heard a noise and looked up. And met hazel eyes. Buffy was standing in the doorway looking at him.

 

He stared at her wordlessly, struck again by her sheer beauty. Then he suddenly realized what he looked like. Here he sat unshaven, with long soddin' curly hair, battered features, yellow pants and the ugliest shirt in existence and, oh yes, wearing glasses. Bloody, bloody hell! He whipped off the glasses, hiding them.

 

He sat paralyzed, gazing apprehensively at the woman he loved.

 

CHAPTER 9 - BUFFY

 

Sunday Morning

 

Dawn had not taken Spike's dusting well. If she had screamed or whined, it would have been a comfort, but the teenager had been quiet, too wounded to cry.

 

"Do you want to talk about it, Dawnie?"

 

Dawn had shaken her head. She had looked at her older sister with stricken eyes. "What's the use Buffy? It's not like you cared. I'm the only one that liked him and now he's dead."

 

Buffy wanted to protest, to say. . . What could she say? That sometimes she had liked him and sometimes she had almost loved him and other times she had hated him and loathed herself for wanting him. That the world without a bleached, swaggering vampire was suddenly a very empty place. She envied Dawn for the uncomplicated affection she had shared with Spike and the uncomplicated grief she could feel at his passing.

 

Tara had come over and taken care of Dawn last night while Buffy worked late shift and patrolled. It was the first time the blonde witch had spent the night in the same house with Willow since the breakup, but both Wiccas were concerned about the teenager and had put her needs first.

 

When Buffy had returned she had tried to get some sleep. She had only a few hours until the morning shift and she needed the rest. But sleep eluded her. She had too many memories.

 

Finally she had gotten up and gone out again. She was restless. With her mother's death there had been a funeral to arrange and things to do and a dozen activities to distract her from the raw pain of her loss. With Spike, there was nothing. No one holds a funeral for a vampire. There was no ceremony to mourn their passage. You couldn't even pray for them; they were demons. A dead pet received more respect than the dust from a complex and intelligent being.

 

She was going to his crypt to get his duster, she told herself. It would comfort Dawn. She entered the crypt and picked up the coat and almost unconsciously wrapped it around herself. It smelled like him, leather, tobacco, whiskey and something subtler, unique to her lover. My ex-lover, she told herself, and tears finally began to fill her eyes as she remembered the anguished look in his face when she had ended everything.

 

She decided to take the pictures with her as well. She lit a candle with his lighter and went down into the lower chamber. While she was there she looked around, drowning in the memories. The poor charred bed that they always seemed to miss. The dozens of candles he had used to try and make his dark world romantic. But of all his tattered property, only the pictures and the coat were worth taking, the rest would be left to decay.

 

She climbed back to the upper level, staring at the crypt for a last time. Her eyes fell on the pile of dust again. It somehow seemed wrong to ignore his remains, to leave it there for bugs and rodents to root through. She finally decided to use one of the cardboard boxes he had been using to clean up his crypt. She swept the ashes up and took them outside.

 

She carried them over to the woods outside of town. It was a distance and she was tired and sad. When she was finally there, she leaned against a tree and tried to figure out what to do next.

 

The sky was streaked with the first signs of dawn. If he was alive now, she thought, he would be returning to his crypt, preparing to spend another day hiding from the sun's deadly rays. He had spent over a hundred years in the dark.

 

As the sun rose, a breeze began to blow. She slowly took out a handful of the dust and watched the breeze lift and scatter it. Handful by handful she scattered the dust. She longed to think of something appropriate to say, some final benediction, but to say anything would be to admit that he was gone from her life.

 

Finally the box was empty. She was completely drained and exhausted. She made the long walk home and only had time to change before her shift at the Doublemeat Palace began. She buried herself in the mind-numbing job, because for now, anything was better than thinking and feeling.

 

"Welcome to Doublemeat Palace! May I take your order?"

 

"Buffy. Earth to Buffy"

 

Buffy's eyes focused. Willow was standing on the other side of the counter, smiling. A big glowy smile. Buffy glanced over and saw Tara and Dawn standing near the back of the restaurant. Smiling. Everyone was happy. Misery rose in Buffy's chest, threatening to explode. "Willow?"

 

"Buffy, Spike called. He's in LA."

 

It was suddenly hard to breathe. She tried to say something but the relief was so painful it choked her. Relief, joy, then anger. How dare he scare her so badly? The emotions battled within her, as she stood, speechless and paralyzed.

 

Willow leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. "Look, I didn't tell Dawn this, but he's been hurt. Really bad. And they say he's in a lot of danger and needs someone to get him away from the city. "

 

Fear joined the battle and won. Buffy turned and stepped over to the manager. "I'm sorry to do this, but an emergency has come up. I have to leave." The manager started to protest but Buffy was firm. "Look, you can put me on double shifts next week if you need to, but I'm leaving." She took off her hat and joined the Wiccas and Dawn.

 

Dawn was radiant. "Buffy, I got up this morning and Spike had left a message on the answering machine. He's at Angel's. So Willow called Angel and they said he's alright."

 

"Angel?"

 

Willow took over the narrative. "I called Angel's office and there was someone there and they said that Spike really needed someone to take him out of LA." She glanced back as Dawn, clearly not wanting to say everything she had been told. "So I told them that you would come and get him. "

 

"Me? But. . ."

 

Tara joined. "It should be you," she said firmly. "And you should take Dawn. She needs to see him."

 

"But driving to LA?"

 

Willow grinned. "I know your driving isn't pretty. But it's not a bad drive. Just get on Interstate 5 and get off at Sepulvida Blvd."

 

"Not pretty" was an understatement. Buffy and cars were very un-mixy. She could fight demons and slay vampires but driving on a freeway scared her. You had to change lanes and no one would let you in and there was always the risk of being in the wrong lane and discovering that you would have to exit to Bora-Bora. She had barely had a chance to shower off the grease and dress before she found herself behind the wheel of the SUV on the Highway to Hell.

 

It didn't help that Dawn was excited and bouncing and wanting to chatter. Buffy gritted her teeth and tried not to run into the truck that pulled right in front of her. She didn't even notice when Dawn turned the radio on to some obnoxious whiney boy band. "Sepulvida, Sepulvida," she kept whispering to herself, praying the she wouldn't have to change lanes to get to the exit.

 

It took three hours, but she finally pulled in front of the Hyperion. The fates were kind and she didn't have to parallel park. She shakily got out of the car and followed the bouncing sister up the steps and into the hotel's lobby.

 

Gunn greeted them. He introduced himself and explained that Angel was sleeping. "Spike's in the study. I can take you to him."

 

The study? Spike? Buffy was suddenly nervous. For three hours she had been concentrating on keeping the car on the road and hadn't had a chance to think about the blonde vampire. Now she realized that she didn't know how to react. She should be angry because he had broken his word to Dawn and scared them all to death, but another part of her wanted to hold him again.

 

Gunn showed them the door and she opened it and looked inside. And froze. Who? Spike? It couldn't be. Was he wearing a wig? And where had he dug up those clothes? Then he turned and looked at her and her heart ached when she saw his poor battered face. He was wearing glasses, which he awkwardly whipped off and tried to hide. One poor eye was swollen shut and the other looked so blue and vulnerable.

 

"Spike!" Dawn broke the silence, surging past Buffy and throwing herself into his arms. He winced in pain, but tried to hide it. She hugged him with tears of relief running down her face, "We thought someone had killed you. We found some dust in your crypt and you were gone!"

 

Buffy was almost envious as she saw his face relax into that tender grin he saved only for her sister. He hugged the girl and reassured her. "I'm fine, Niblet. I'm sorry if you were scared. But I definitely wasn't killed. In fact. . ." His grin became almost mischievous as he shifted the girl, laying the side of her head against his chest. "Listen."

 

Buffy started to protest, then she saw Dawn's eyes widen in wonder. "Spike! What's that?" Dawn drew back, looking at him questioningly. "Your hearts beating!" She reached out and touched his forehead. "You're warm. You're human?" Her mouth was open with astonishment. "How'd you get to be human?"

 

"Just lucky I guess. I got staked and someone worked some mojo and brought me back."

 

"Was it Willow?" Oh great, Buffy! She mentally kicked herself. Stupid, stupid thing to say.

 

Spike turned towards her. It hurt seeing how his face changed from the grin he had been sharing with her sister to uncertainty. "No, Red's in the clear on this one. It was some bloody lawyers!"

 

"What's with the hair?" Dawn reached over and ruffled his long sandy curls. He drew back and almost growled, despite being human. "Hands off, girl. I have you know this was the height of fashion a century ago. It made the birds swoon."

 

"Right," Dawn snorted. "And the clothes? Did those make them swoon or hurl?"

 

Spike grinned. "You got me there, Dawn. They're loaners and they look a lot better if your skin is green."

 

"Who hurt you?" Buffy finally was able to move. She walked closer to him. She wanted to reach out and touch his face. He looked up at her, and she could have drowned in his gaze.

 

He swallowed, then looked back at Dawn and tried to keep it light. "Nothing to worry about. I just had forgotten how delicate a human body is. I keep breaking it."

 

"Dawnie, could we have a moment alone?"

 

Dawn looked at Spike doubtfully. He nodded. "Look, Niblet, I think your sister had a rough time driving here. Why don't you go to the lobby and get one of the blokes there to help you fix her some hot chocolate. They have the type with the marshmallows like your mom made. It might settle the nerves."

 

"OK. Because you asked." She marched out, pausing only to look down at her shorter sister. "But you should have seen her; her knuckles were white the whole way down."

 

Dawn left. Buffy watched as his smile faded and he looked back at her. Involuntarily she reached out and stroked his cheek. It was warm, slightly whiskery. He closed his eyes.

 

Her hand moved down and felt the cut. Alarmed, she looked down and saw the ragged slash along his jawline. And below. . . Her hand reached up to her own neck and self-consciously touched the scar. "You've been bitten."

 

"Uh, yeah," He rubbed his neck. "Having a bit of a problem with Dru. She wants her old cold Spike back." He looked up at her again. " Lorne, that's the bloke that loaned me these spiffy clothes, suggested I get out of town."

 

For the first time in this entire awkward conversation, Buffy finally knew what to say. "That's why I'm here, Spike. I've come to take you home."

 

CHAPTER 10 - WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE

 

Sunday Afternoon

 

It was hard to breathe. She'd come to take him home, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He gazed at her and managed to choke out, "Thanks, luv."

 

And Angel came in the room. "Buffy?"

 

"Angel!" End of quality time for Spike. Buffy stepped across the room. As easily as Dru, she left him for the arms of his sire. The two of them smiled at each other with an ease and comfort she had never felt for him.

Why not? Peaches is her bleeding soulmate, the superman with the soul.

 

He looked down at his papers, afraid of what his face might show them if they looked back at him. He carefully straightened the paper like the proper scholar he used to be. A quick glance up showed his sire looking all-suffering and noble and Buffy holding a hand to his cheek. Right, the same thing she had done to him a couple of minutes ago and he had felt so soddin' happy about. No big thing, he told himself. If she came across a hurt hamster, she'd probably touch its puffy little cheek and gaze sympathetically at it. His blasted human hearing was too dull to hear what they were saying, but it was probably better that way.

Dawn came in with the hot chocolate and it was all hugs and warm fuzzies when she saw Angel. The Ol' Poof still looked pretty devastated over the loss of his kid, but he managed to rise to the occasion, looking noble, suffering and ever the gracious host.

 

"Angel, I think these scrolls might be important." It was a shame to break the little Walton's reunion scene but a bloke could only tolerate so much before he heaved. "Is there a chance I can take them with me?"

 

His ever so generous Sire consented, so Spike gathered the papers and carried them off to the lobby. It didn't help that he saw the Fred girl sitting behind the desk and Gunn sitting next to her, the two of them dripping sappy romance.

 

He felt the old familiar pain and smiled bitterly at the irony of it all. For weeks he had been telling himself that it must be some bizarre malfunction in the chip, twisting him until he wanted to love and protect the woman he should kill. Now he had no chip and he was still in love with the girl. If he had ever thought about turning human, (and he rarely had) he had assumed that his emotions would be less passionate, more Victorian and proper. They weren't. Here he was, no chip, different body, complete with a soul, still desperately in love with Buffy. There had been no miracle change of personalities, no switch from an Angelous to Angel. He was still the poor wanker who loved a woman who didn't want him.

 

He looked down at the papers ruefully. Did he really think having a soul would make a difference? Hell, if having a soul made a difference, monkey boy would have bedded her years ago. Captain Cardboard would have been the long haul guy.

"Spike, here you are." He turned with relief and saw Dawn coming toward him. "Let's get to the car. Do you need any help with those." When he shook his head, "What are those for, anyway?"

 

"Just some records. Angel said it might explain what's happened." Dawn bopped over to say good-bye to Gunn and Fred and he joined her and thanked the couple. Part of him cringed at displaying proper English manners.

 

The doorway was in shade, but beyond that was the bright California sunshine. Over a century of reflexes made him pause at the edge of the shade, then he stepped out in the sun. For a moment he just stood there feeling the warmth bake in his skin. Back when he had briefly worn the Ring of Amara, he had been too intent on killing Buffy to pay attention to the sun. But now the light surrounded him and the radiance was like a blessing. Colors were brighter, even the colors of his loathsome clothes, and he was dazzled. He found himself grinning like an idiot.

"Like it?"

 

He was looking up at the intense blue sky. "It's beautiful, Niblet. I can't wait to see if I freckle." He turned and saw Buffy behind him and flushed, remembering that the last time he had said that he had tried to kill her.

Buffy's face was still. "Do you want to drive?"

"Please Spike. Drive us home. You don't want to see Buffy drive."

 

"Sorry, pet, but I can't. My eyes aren't working very well."

 

Dawn groaned and got into the front. The Slayer took the driver's seat with reluctance. Spike stood for a moment, reluctant to leave the sun for the darkened car interior. He glanced over and saw Angel standing in the hotel doorway. A moment ago he had been so jealous of his sire he could hardly endure it, now he felt a flash of pity. For all his strength and experience, the souled vampire could never know the simple pleasure of walking in the sun. Angel was trapped forever in the dark. He gave his sire a rueful glance and got in the back seat.

 

* * *

It was the road trip from Hell. Sunday morning freeway traffic had been scary enough for Buffy, but by afternoon, Interstate 5 was busy. Traffic crawled, it was impossible to change lanes and they had to pass two accidents. After the first fifteen minutes, both of her passengers had gotten very quiet and let her concentrate on getting them home alive.

 

It didn't help that Buffy found herself distracted by Spike's reflection. She looked in the rear view mirror and saw him looking quiet and thoughtful. His bruised face looked so familiar. It's the way he looked after I beat him in the alley. He was just a thing, a soulless thing. The face behind her looked injured and human. He was human with the memories of how she had hurt and used him. She tried to concentrate on the traffic while she remembered beating him, insulting him and rejecting his every attempt to act like a man. And now he was a man, one who had seen and experienced her darkest side.

 

By time they reached Sunnydale, Buffy was tired and hungry. It was after five and they had skipped lunch. She should have picked something up, but she had paid the electricity bill and barely had enough money to get through to the next payday. She pulled by the cemetery.

 

Spike got out, then peered back into the car. "I've got a little money stashed away in my crypt. Let me get you some pizza or something. You're in no shape to cook."

Buffy started to protest, then Dawn over ruled her. She gratefully lost the argument. He went into the crypt and changed into his standard jeans and black T-shirt before returning.

 

She was a spectator at the meal. Dawn and Spike argued about the pizza topping and finally compromised on a half vegetarian, half extra meat and cheese combo. Her sister insisted on a salad, which Spike reluctantly sampled. He grumbled but seemed to secretly enjoy it.

 

The whole time, it was as if he was using her sister as a shield, a way to keep from talking directly to her. This was the being who had constantly followed her, demanding that they talk. Now, when he glanced at her, he looked almost shy.

When Dawn demanded that he tell them about how he had become human, he spun it into an epic. This was the Spike who could make even a story of killing families an entertaining tale for her sister. The whole weekend sounded like an almost comical adventure. Dawn laughed and Buffy wondered why he had fought so hard to keep from being turned back into a vampire.

The meal was almost over before she asked. "Where are you going to stay, Spike?"

 

The smile he had been wearing for Dawn faded slightly. "I'll be alright in my crypt."

 

"In a cemetery. Surrounded by newly risen vampires. I don't think so."

 

"I can take care of myself, Slayer. Been doing it for a century."

 

"It's not safe. You need to stay someplace else for a while, at least until you recover from your injuries."

 

"They aren't that bad. Besides," his voice was quieter. "I don't really have anywhere else . . ."

 

"Buffy, he could be with us. At least until he gets stronger. "

 

He frowned, "You don't need to worry. If it gets too bad I might be able to make some sort of arrangement with Clem."

 

"Buffy, you can't let him go back to the cemetery. He's human now and they'll get him!"

Buffy decided. "Spike, you should stay with us." When he started to protest, she added, "Dawn worries about you. It'll just be a few days until we can get you settled someplace better."

 

Dawn looked at him with big puppy-dog eyes and he snarled and agreed.

 

It must have been an act, Buffy decided later. Despite his grumbling, he fell asleep on the couch within five minutes of their arrival. She had gone to the back room to fetch his duster and pictures to return them, but by the time she was back, he was sleeping. He was leaned back, still sitting, so she coaxed him to lie down. She pulled off his shoes, looking at the blisters and cuts on his feet.

Dawn brought a blanket and Buffy covered him up. No one was looking, so she allowed herself to tenderly brush the hair back from his sleeping face.

 

* * *

 

She stood by the woods, slowly scattering Spike's ashes. The breeze swirled them around her and they smelled of leather and whiskey and cigarettes. She inhaled, then began to cry softly.

 

Her head was in Tara's lap. The blond witch was stroking her hair as she cried. "Do you love him? I-It's okay if you do. He's done a lot of good, and, and he does love you. A-and Buffy, it's okay if you don't. You're going through a really hard time, and you only have five days left."

 

"Five days?" She looked up at the Tara's face, but the wicca was staring up in the air, terror in her face. Buffy looked up. The dust was swirling faster, and flames were shimmering in the swirl. The flames were white and in them shone the image of Dawn, tied up in the tower, blood flowing from the slash in her abdomen. She was crying.

Buffy hugged Dawn, trying to stop the tears. But Dawn was staring up at her with frightened eyes. "I know. Buffy, I know about the ritual! I have to stop it."

" No!"

 

"I have to! Look at what's happening! Buffy, you have to let me go! Blood starts it, and until the blood stops flowing it'll never stop. You know you have to let me ... It has to have the blood..."

Buffy was running now, diving into the open portal. Amid the fear and the pain, she smelled the faint smell of leather and whiskey and cigarettes. The dust brushed her lips.

 

She woke up. She shivered, praying that the dream was just a nightmare. Don't let it be a Slayer dream! Please, don't let any of that be the future! But in her gut she already knew the truth.

 

Chapter 11 -- HUGS AND BAR FIGHTS

 

Monday Morning --

 

Buffy stared into the dark, fighting fear. If the dream was true, then despite all she had sacrificed, Dawn was still in danger. Despair washed over her and she felt helpless.

 

She didn't know what to do. She was the Slayer; she could fight. But it was never over. We just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of Hell besides and all we need is for one of us - just one - sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for. One... good... day. If it was just herself, she could face death. She no longer wanted death, but she could face it. But what if her death was meaningless? What if she died and the forces of evil still continued to come after Dawn?

 

God, she wished Giles was here. She longed for his cool analysis. She could see him, considering her dream, polishing his glasses, and then finding the right book with the right warning. But he had left. She knew he had said it was so she would learn to be responsible. But part of her wondered, was it because he knew it was hopeless and he didn't want to see her die? He didn't want to be here when the forces of darkness finally took her sister.

 

She got up and washed the tears from her face. She wrapped herself in her warm gray robe and went downstairs to the kitchen.

 

The silhouette in front of the kitchen window startled her. She turned on the kitchen light and saw it was Spike. He blinked in the light, then frowned and tilted his head. "What's wrong Buffy?" He almost moved towards her, then held himself back.

 

"I - I just came down to get some water."

 

"I was making some tea. Want some?"

 

She nodded and sat down by the table. It actually felt good to let someone take care of her for a bit. She was shivering slightly.

 

She watched Spike as he moved around the kitchen. He acted like he was familiar with the kitchen and she realized he had probably used it that summer when he had helped care for Dawn. She looked for differences, something that differentiate this man from the monster she had known for so many years. Something dramatic, like Angel emerging from Angelus, when the face of the enemy had suddenly faded into the confused face of the one she loved. But Spike moved and sounded like . . . Spike. He moved briskly, finally bringing over both cups of tea and sitting opposite the table from her.

 

They sat in silence drinking the tea. Buffy warmed her hands with the cup and let it sooth her dry throat. As she finished, she realized how comfortable she was. She glanced over at his face, battered yet still beautiful. The hurt lips held a gentle smile, as if just being with her made him content. She had always been told that you could see a man's soul in his eyes, yet Spike's eyes were no different when they gazed at her. He still loves me, she realized and it shook her. He was looking at her the way he had after she had crawled her way from the grave. She remembered the being who had made no demands, who had fought at her side. Spike who had listened to her and hadn't judged.

 

Maybe that was what allowed her to admit, "I had a nightmare and I'm afraid it might be a Slayer dream." She looked over at him. "Do you know what that means?"

 

He nodded quietly. "I've heard of them. They can warn you about events in the future."

 

He would know about slayer dreams, he had hunted slayers for a century. She looked for the Slayer of Slayers in the man opposite her. There was no hint of the monster, just a man quietly listening to her.

 

"At first I was reliving things. It started with scattering your dust."

 

He blinked, "You scattered my dust?"

 

"I'm sorry, I couldn't think of any sort of ceremony or anything. But, yes, I scattered it over by the woods."

 

He looked slightly taken aback. "Nice place, I guess."

 

"Then your dust swirled and made a portal and I saw Dawn. It was like it was back when Glory had her. And I had to dive into the portal again, to close it."

 

His face darkened. "We can't let that happen again."

 

We! He automatically considered it his problem too. She smiled, then said doubtfully, "It could just be a nightmare. Just reliving bad memories."

 

"Buffy," his voice was low now. "I brought some stuff back from Angel's. There are apparently a lot of prophecies about 'The Key.' Dawn may still be the Key and there still may be powers that want to use her. My Latin is rusty, but I did understand that much "

 

She didn't want to tell him about dreaming of Tara and her confused confession to the blonde witch. But she had to tell him, "In the dream, there were only five days left."

 

"Five days until what?"

 

But she couldn't tell him. She didn't know. Five days until someone once again tried to kill her sister? Five days until she had to die again? After fighting so long, clawing her way back to life. She had tried so hard to relearn how to live. She didn't want to face the pain and fire again. And if she did it this time, who would protect Dawnie the next time. There would always be danger, always people willing to kill the child to use the Key.

 

She couldn't say anything. Her eyes started to fill with tears. She got up, then found herself paralyzed, shivering. Spike whipped around the table. At first he could barely touch her, that strange hesitancy stopping him. She sobbed, despair filled her and suddenly he gathered her to his chest. She snuggled and felt his strength and warmth engulf her.

 

"It won't happen this time, Buffy. We won't let them take Dawn."

 

He lifted her face and gently kissed her forehead. "Listen, pet. One thing I did get from those documents. There are a lot of different stories about the Key. And some of the stories weren't violent; they were just of her allowing different beings to go to different dimensions. We'll save her, Buffy and she'll live a long life." She gazed up at his clear blue eyes, at the honesty and love in them and for the first time in forever, she felt safe.

 

Of course no moment of happiness can last forever. She got a call from her manager. The bastard had lost no time in taking her up on her promise to do double shifts. One of the opening shift workers wouldn't be there, so she had to go.

 

* * *

 

It was a long day. Spike found himself alternating between being concerned over the threat to Dawn and feeling almost giddy at the memory of Buffy in his arms.

 

The morning had bustled as both Dawn and Willow had gotten up and gone to their classes. He smiled at the memory of Red. Her face had lit up and she had given him a hug. She had always been the Scooby who had accepted him the most, using him as her lieutenant during the long summer when Buffy was dead, even comforting him when he had first been chipped and couldn't kill her.

 

Dawn was more difficult. A sleepy teenager going to school on a Monday morning is not pretty. But even she hugged him before going off to catch the bus. Then he found himself alone in Casa de Summers. The home where he had been invited to stay. He remembered the months when he had been uninvited and its golden warmth denied to him. How he had longed for the simple human affection he had felt in these walls, watching Passions with Joyce, teasing the Lit' Bit, and just being near Buffy. And now he was allowed to sleep here and he had been hugged three times in one morning.

 

It was bewildering in a way. He had tried for so long to win the approval of Buffy and her friends. Yet he had always been rejected. Now everyone knew he had a soul and, bang, it was Hug-the-Spike day.

 

He wasn't going to wear out his welcome. He needed some money and he'd eventually have to get a place of his own, someplace safer than a cemetery.

 

Spike went back to his crypt, packing up his clothes and looking for anything to pawn. It was amazing, really, how little he had to show for 120 years. His clothes and toiletries fit in a box, and aside from a few chains and cheap punk rings, there was little of value.

 

He sighed. As much as he hated to, he would have to sell the motorcycle.

 

It had been his pride and joy; not as useful as his beloved DeSoto, but it had perfected his image as Big Bad. But those days were gone. They had been gone for a while now, at least since the Initiative had captured him, and maybe since the night when he had first seen Buffy dancing in the Bronze. Now he had to admit the Big Bad was gone and he didn't know who he was supposed to be.

 

He hadn't returned to William and he didn't want that life again. But the easy days of drifting through life and taking what he wanted were over. He would have to find a job, pay taxes, buy food, meet schedules and the whole dreary routine of being human. Yet somehow, the more he thought about it, the more it felt like a new adventure. He had been very good at being a Master Vampire, good enough that he and Dru could stroll into any city and take over. He had even been able to casually become the Master of Sunnydale, home of the Hellmouth. This was a new challenge and he meant to master life far better than poor William had.

 

Most of the day was spent pawning and selling things. He bought some new steel-toed boots, groceries, and a couple dictionaries and made a point of getting home before Dawn arrived. He didn't think she was in danger yet, but he wanted to be careful. He had picked up a roasted chicken and some vegetables at the market and managed to heat everything up for dinner.

 

By seven o'clock he was restless. He had been a good boy all day and had even spent a couple of hours struggling with the Latin and Greek scrolls. It was enough to make a bloke want to kill something. He was a bit surprised that the desire for the old rough-and-tumble had survived.

 

Willow agreed to watch the Niblet, so he drove over to Clem's. He needed some help getting identification papers. The demon underworld had some good sources, but his access to them as a human was limited. Unfortunately, Clem, party guy that he was, was absent.

 

He had several hours before the Slayer got home, so he went over to the Bronze. He tried his hand at pool and was rather pleased. The difference in his human and former demon body didn't seem to have eliminated his basic skill at the game. When he finally got some glasses, he should be able to hustle up some good money.

 

He won his last game against some college toff and sauntered to the bar, feeling rather jaunty. He ordered some beer, turned and saw Harris, sitting at a table, gloomily drinking. He grimaced and wondered if he should leave. But if he was ever going to have a chance with Buffy, he needed to at least be on speaking terms with the whelp.

 

He debated for a moment and decided to get a blooming onion as a peace offering. Harris was turning into balloon boy and would probably respond well to food. Taking the basket, he wandered over to the table and planted himself down.

 

Xander glared at him. "Go away."

 

"Just thought you might help me finish this. I'm still a little full." He knew he was supposed to try to make peace, but annoying the boy always gave him a chuckle. "Had a really good meal over at Buffy's. I'm staying there, y'know."

 

Harris glared at him. The bricklayer was starting to look burly and with his eyes semi-glazed he reminded Spike of the elder Harris. During his stay in Xander's basement pad, surely the low point of his existence, he had seen the boy's father and the family resemblance was growing stronger. "I said GO AWAY!" With a growl, Harris swept the basket off the table and Spike's mug tumbled.

 

Spike contemplated his beer-drenched clothes and a lovely anger began to grow. "No need to be nasty, Monkey-boy. I'm not the one who drove the little vengeance demon away. If I remember, you’re the one who decided to do the big exit."

 

Xander stood up, towering over him. This is going to be lovely. I've been waiting to deal with Harris when I didn't have that soddin' chip in my head. Spike got up slowly, smiling. "Shall we take it outside?"

 

They stepped outside into the alley. Spike noted that the whelp had several inches and at least fifty pounds on him. But he hasn't had a century of down-and-dirty bar fighting. He backed up into the dark, "Come on, you pathetic poof. Let's see if you can hit something that can actually fight back."

 

Harris charged like a bull and Spike backed up quickly, throwing a quick punch to the nose. It gushed blood. Lovely! Then Xander's punch connected to his jaw and he flew backward. Bloody hell! He shook his head to clear it and realized how much weaker he was as a human. He might have the fighting instincts of William the Bloody, but his muscle tone was still that of William the Poet.

 

He sidestepped quickly when the whelp charged and chopped at the bigger man's neck. Xander blocked the punch and whirled.

 

"Do we let them kill each other or should we help?"

 

Spikes eyes widened slightly as he looked into the dark behind Harris.

 

"Why should human's have all the fun? Let's kill them ourselves." Three vampires stepped out of the shadows.

 

Oh Balls!

 

CHAPTER 12 - PICNIC

 

Monday Night

 

Xander froze. Without turning around, he asked, "How many?"

 

"Three." A quick experienced glance, "Just fledglings. They'll fight like idiots."

 

"Very strong idiots." Harris reached up his sleeve and took out a stake. Spike grinned. Apparently being part of the Scooby Gang was finally rubbing off on the boy.

 

Spike took out his own stake. Now that he was filled with human blood and qualified as a nummy treat, he had decided it was time to carry wood.

 

The three struck. Spike was insulted that they apparently considered Monkey-boy the bigger threat. Two attacked Harris and the small one came after him.

 

Fledglings were stone stupid and really didn't expect anyone to fight back. He aimed his stake for the heart. Small-and-Ugly brushed it aside with a simple swipe and Spike was reminded once again that William the Poet did not have the body of a warrior. The creature crowded in and penned him against the wall of the alley. It pushed Spike's head to the side.

 

Spike growled. If he hadn't let Dru take him, he bloody well wasn't going to be drained by a fledgling. He couldn't get the chest so he used an underhand swing and jabbed his stake deep into the vampire's groin. Might not dust the bugger, but it could really kill the appetite. The vampire turned a paler shade of pale and released Spike. It shrieked, bending over and clutching its wounded valuables. Spike grinned, tapped its shoulder and as it looked up, drove a the stake through it's heart.

 

Harris was actually doing a pretty good job of holding his own, considering he was fighting two vamps at once. Spike surprised himself by going over and tackling one. It must have been because of his squishy human soul, because it certainly wasn't due to any brain activity. He stabbed it in the back and hit a rib, instead of the heart. However it did distract the vampire and it let go of the whelp.

 

In turning around, it yanked the stake out of his hand, leaving him without a weapon facing a very brassed off monster. He backed off, throwing random bags of garbage at the vampire as if he could gross it to death. Slam, he was up against the wall. He kicked frantically with the steel-toed boots. Over the creature's shoulder, he could see Harris had staked his vamp and was surging to the rescue.

 

Of course the wanker only managed to jam his stake into the creature' ribcage. Apparently the vampire was half armadillo. The monster roared, let go of Spike and turned to choke Harris. Spike plucked the two stakes out of the creature's back and tossed one to Xander. The two of them then took turns trying to get through the ribs. It twisted back and forth. Finally Harris drove his stake in with a lucky stroke and the vampire vanished in a puff of dust. The dust settled on the two men and they stood and grinned at each other.

 

"Good fight, mate. Let me get you a beer."

 

Xander grinned and staggered back into the Bronze with Spike. "I'll get the onions."

 

He finally got back to the house on Revello Drive shortly after Buffy got back from patrolling. He strolled in with a cocky swagger. "Honey, I'm home!"

 

 

Buffy came out of the kitchen, where she had been munching on the last of the salad. "Spike, you've been drinking!"

 

"No, I've been male-bonding." He strolled over with the old smirk that had irritated and attracted her for years. "Onions, beer and dusting vampires. It was a glorious evening."

 

She smelled his beer drenched clothes and checked out the dust all over him. "Spike, you're a pig. She tried to keep her face severe, but it was difficult.

 

"Yes, luv, and you smell like a grease pit. But you don't find me getting insulting."

 

"Well, I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. And," she saw his mouth opening. "If you even offer to join me in either one, you can go back and sleep in your crypt and have a whole glorious night of fighting vamps."

 

She took her shower, carefully using all the hot water and went to bed. That left him taking a cold shower, which knowing his hormones, he probably needed. The last thing she heard as she drifted off to sleep was the ex-vampire singing a slightly off-key rendition of "We are the Champions" in the shower.

 

* * *

 

Casa de Summers was not a good place for a man with a hangover. Spike had awakened early with nightmares, as he had every morning since he was stuck with a bloody soul. Only this morning, he not only had a guilty conscience, he had a throbbing headache and a queasy gut. Apparently his human metabolism was a complete failure when it came to processing large amounts of alcohol.

 

Of course once the female population of the household realized what was going on, they turned evil. Buffy cooked bacon and the home filled with the smell of grease. Dawn was obnoxiously loud. Even Willow, sweet Willow, crashed and banged around the house. He frantically wondered what had happened to Hug-the-Spike day.

 

He took some aspirin and retreated to the basement.

 

After both Willow and Dawn left, Spike crept out of the cellar and went to the refrigerator. Buffy was sorting laundry and heard him. When she came back from Dawn's room, carrying dirty clothes, she found him scavenging through the kitchen cabinets.

 

"What are you looking for?"

 

"Hair of the dog."

 

It's not even eight in the morning and you're looking for alcohol?!"

 

Spike looked at her blankly. "Yes."

 

"Well, you won't find any. We barely have enough money for food, much less beer for you to guzzle at all hours." She started down to the basement, to the washing machine.

 

He followed her down. "Been wanting to talk to you about that." This was so familiar, the Spike who tagged after her wanting to talk. She turned.

 

He was still standing on the steps, looking down at her. His voice was surprisingly firm. "I'm not a charity case, luv. I do have some money and if you're letting me stay here, I should be helping out. Paying rent or something."

 

She was surprised. "Rent? You don't have to pay rent." Besides, paying rent would make his stay official.

 

"Then let me pay for the groceries. Something. You have enough to do taking care of your sister."

 

He stepped down the stairs until he was standing next to her, the basket of clothes between them. She stared up into his face, he looked so serious. Her mind flashed back to her first day at the Doublemeat Palace. His face had looked equally earnest. "I can get money," he had said. "How did you get the money?" she demanded.

 

For the first time he smiled slightly. "Sold the motorcycle. Don't worry, pet, it's honest money. I'm playing by the rules."

 

"By selling a stolen motorcycle?"

 

He winced. "Right. But you and the Scoobies made sure demon-boy won't be coming back for it, so I think you earned your share of the loot."

 

His face was serious again. "Will you let me help?"

 

Buffy swallowed. Finally, "OK, you can get the groceries this week. I mean we'll be needing more anyway if you are staying with us." He smiled and it made her heart melt. She turned around quickly. "I have to get these clothes washed."

 

When she came up from the basement, Spike was sitting at the kitchen table, reading old documents and jotting notes on a pad of paper. For a strange moment he reminded her of Giles, which was a very disturbing thought. Buffy remembered him wearing glasses when she had first seen him at the hotel and for an instance pictured him taking them off and polishing them, like the Watcher had. She shook her head at the ridiculous image and walked over to the table.

 

"Are these the documents you talked about, the ones that mentioned Dawn."

 

"Yeah, and a bloody pile of crap they are." Poof! There went her image of Spike as Watcher. "I think anytime any soddin' monk got drunk, he sat down and wrote one of these bloody prophesies! It doesn't help that it's been over 100 years since I've had to read Latin."

 

"Giles said that the Council of Watchers reported there were no documents on Glory or the Key."

 

"Right, and you trust that bunch of wankers? There's a lot here, luv. Just half of it doesn't make sense and the other half doesn't give a clue about her being in any danger."

 

"You should show these to the gang. I'll call a meeting for tomorrow."

 

She called up Xander's number and left a message. On a second thought, she also called Tara. If Dawn was in danger, she would need magic. After she put the phone down, she found herself thinking. What would she tell them? She had had a dream and was increasingly convinced it was true. Dawn was in danger. There was going to be another portal opening. If Spike was right, Dawn would survive. If her dream was accurate, she would have to jump again.

 

She remembered how afraid she had been back when she was sixteen and learned that the Master would kill her. She remember apocalypse after apocalypse and each time she had been threatened with death. The last time had killed her and still she was back to fight again. If she had to die again to close a portal and save Dawn, she would.

 

She did find, however, that she regretted the idea. She had been given a few more months of life and what had she done with it? She had spent most of the time being depressed, ignoring the gift of life. She had settled for a job she hated. And she had slept with Spike and treated him like a monster.

 

She looked back at the man studying at the table. I almost let myself love him, but he was a monster. Now he's a man. And I only have four days left to live. Suddenly a weight was lifted from her chest. If she had only four days left, she would live them fully. It was time to stop hiding.

 

"Spike, let's get out of here. "

 

He looked up from the documents, surprised but not disagreeing. "Where do you want to go, luv?"

 

"Let's go for a picnic."

* * *

Spike wondered how human men ever began to understand women. As a vampire he could smell hormones, the sweet smell of fear, the musky odor of passion. He could hear heart rates and breathing patterns. He could see the tiniest gleam of sweat. Even with all these clues, Buffy had baffled him. Now he literally was without a clue.

 

They didn't have a basket, so Buffy threw in some fruit, the leftover chicken, juice, paper plates and napkins in a bag. They carried a blanket in the another bag. They walked, which was certainly safer than being in a car with the Slayer. At first Spike thought they were going to a nearby park. They walked past it. All right, maybe they were heading for the green college lawns. They walked past them. By this time he had recovered enough from the hangover to be hungry.By the time they had reached the woods, he was ravenous.

 

Buffy finally found a clearing she liked and he spread the blanket. He looked around. Very isolated. He watched the Slayer with interest, wondering what was up. He had an idea but didn't want to push his luck.

 

Buffy seemed to be alternating between nervous and playful. She's flirting with me, he thought in wonder. Open, direct, jump-your-bones Buffy was flirting. How in the hell am I supposed to respond? Neither the Victorian Era nor a hundred years of loving a madwoman had taught him much on modern dating practices. The closest the two of them had gotten to dating was killing a few monsters before shagging each other silly.

 

Apparently modern flirting and dating involve food. That was fine by him, he and Dru had swapped blood and kisses in their time. And slices of apple were a bit tidier than hemorrhaging corpses. He wondered if this was supposed to be like a first date, since it was the first time he had been with her as a human, or it would be something more interesting. After the food got out of the way and they locked lips, all doubts vanished. Spike was going to get lucky.

 

The lovely reflexes started to kick in, (as if he could forget a moment of loving his Slayer). As his hands slipped under her top, he nibbled her neck exactly how she loved it. She moaned, throwing her head back and hugged him tighter. Bloody hell, he was in a vise and couldn't breathe! Buffy opened her eyes and, startled, let go.

 

"Did I hurt you?"

 

"No luv," he said, contemplating the superhuman he loved. "Just haven't quite healed from my trip to LA."

 

Somewhere, he knew, the Powers that Be were laughing their arse off. After months of cheerfully teaching his beloved the joys of rough sex that would eliminate any human competition, he was now the human competition. And he had to compete with his vampire past. He had been a being who could shag for five hour straight. And now he was stuck in the body of a bloody poet facing a lover who could crack him like a nut.

 

Still, if a bloke was going to get killed, this was the way to go. And if his body was that of a poet, his century old imagination was that of a pervert.

 

So Spike once again was in the arms of the love of his life and unlife. His last thought before things got far too intense for thinking, was that the universe certainly enjoyed the game of Kick-the-Spike.

 

CHAPTER 13 - SPIKE GETS LUCKY

 

Tuesday Afternoon

 

Spike was masterful, original and innovative. Maximum pleasure delivered with minimum permanent injury. Then somewhere in the process the bloody poet escaped. The next thing he knew he was babbling sweet nothings and they were making tender love.

 

A century of sophistication and they ended up loving like two giddy teenagers rolling on the grass.

 

* * *

 

It felt strange when Buffy woke up. She felt relaxed and lazy and very, very satiated. And, how interesting, there was an arm around her and a pale hand cupping her breast. In fact, she woke up thoroughly cuddled with a warm delicious man spooned against her back. It took her a moment to get oriented. She was in the clearing in the woods with Spike.

 

She was cuddling with Spike! How's that for amazing! She snuggled closer. Here he was, human instead of vampire, but he still smelled delicious. And, her hand moved backwards, he had those lovely lean muscles. He was sleeping next to her but certain portions of his anatomy woke up.

 

She rolled over so that she could watch him sleep. Her movement must have wakened him up. His poor battered face was finally starting to heal, most of the swelling had gone done except for the new bruise on his jaw he had gotten from "male-bonding." As she watched, his eyes began to open and she was once again struck by how impossibly blue they were.

 

He looked shy, almost hesitant. She suddenly realized that he was expecting her "kick him in the head and run out, virtue fluttering."

 

It hurt thinking she had treated him like that. He had been a monster but somewhere in the monster had been this man that she was with. So she smiled at him, "Wow!"

 

Spike started to relax, at least, as much as any man could with a beautiful naked Slayer stretched full length alongside his body. "Wow yourself, luv." OK, not great pillow talk, but it beat " I knew the only thing better than killing a slayer would be f-."

 

She smiled at him. God, she was glowing. She was so incredibly beautiful in the sunlight. She leaned forward and kissed him. Not a passionate kiss. It was a tender loving kiss, the type that would have put old William the Poet into cardiac arrest. He kissed back and let his hand play interesting games with her breast. She reached over to hug him and . . .

 

"Bloody Hell, woman!!" He flinched away, his back on fire. "What the bleeding, bloody, soddin' . . ?" It didn't help that the love of his existence started to laugh her head off.

 

"Oh, Spike! Oh my God, Spike! I'm so sorry." The sincerity of that last comment was blunted when she started to laugh.

 

He twisted back and saw his glowing red posterior.

 

"Oh Spike, you are so sunburned!"

"What the buggering hell did you expect, Slayer! I haven't been in the soddin' sun in a century. God, this hurts!!"

 

 

Buffy tried to look sympathetic, but cruel woman that she was, was unable to keep a straight face. "At least we made it hurt in all the right places!"

 

Spike proved that you didn't have to be a vampire to growl.

 

So much for sympathetic, the Slayer was laughing at him. "I can't wait to see if you freckle."

 

" I am a pasty pale Englishman. I do not freckle. My skin is going to fall off in sheets. What ever made you want to make love in the burning sun, Buffy?"

 

He probably should have been furious at her laughter, but she looked so damn pretty. He had seen so little laughter lately. Then she wiped her eyes and sighed. "Oh God, Spike. It is such a relief to be able to love you." She hugged him and it was (almost) worth the pain.

 

He wanted to say something, probably babble something stupid that would ruin everything. But Buffy's face had become serious, as if she realized what she had said. She kissed him quickly. "I think we have something at home that might help the sunburn. Oh, and for the future, Spike, try and find sunscreen 5000+. You'll need it."

 

They dressed, with only minor groaning from Spike, and walked back to Revello Drive. Buffy was happy and the conversation was light, with jokes, snarky remarks and lots of laughter. There were moments when Spike found himself unable to believe that this was really happening. I'm walking in the sunlight, holding hands with Buffy. She said she's able to love me. This is so bloody unreal. He had lived over a century and experienced many pleasures, but this moment of pure joy was unlike anything he had ever known.

 

Back at the house, Buffy cheerfully got into her role as nurse. He stripped off and let her rub ointment on all the right places and kiss where it hurt. Her version of nursing didn't match anything he had noticed going on at the Los Angeles hospital, but it certainly made the patient feel better.

 

It was only when she realized that she was going to be late for work, that they finally got out of bed. He offered to walk her to the Doublemeat Palace, but she had him stay for Dawn.

 

If Buffy's slayer dream was right, Dawn would probably be safe until Friday, but he didn't want to take chances. He had to see Clem and took her with him. Clem lived in the good part of town, but he wanted to avoid having her out after dark.

 

It was still daylight, so Clem looked sleepy when they arrived. Still he tried to be a gracious host. He wasn't terribly familiar with the teen set, but he brought out some videos for Dawn to look at while he and Spike were transacting business. "I have Titanic. I heard teenaged girls like Leo."

 

Spike raised an eyebrow, and the droopy-skinned demon got slightly defensive. "Sophie likes it. Besides everyone dies at the end, so it's not too bad."

 

Dawn had been looking through the other tapes. "Attack of the Clones? It's not even out yet!"

 

Clem had the grace to look chagrinned. "Actually it’s a bootlegged version. I have connections."

 

With Dawn cheerfully ensconced in front of the television, Spike and Clem got down to business. Clem was a bit startled about his buddy becoming human, but was too easygoing to ask many questions. Getting false IDs through the demon connection was much quicker and cheaper than depending on human sources. With vengeance (er . . . justice) demons and other denizens infiltrating human society, there was always a vast supply of counterfeited records available.

 

In about ninety minutes, Spike was the proud owner of a birth certificate, passport, social security card, and driver's license. When he decided what job he would apply for, they could come up with some fake college and job experience documents. It was all a bit pricey and would have been cheaper if he could have paid in kittens, but he had figured it would have been hard to explain the mewing to Dawn.

 

Dawn was disappointed that they had to leave. She asked Clem if he would let her borrow the tape to finish it. Clem looked over at Spike, Spike nodded and Clem agreed. "Just don't let anyone see it. It would tick off George."

 

"You know George Lucas?"

 

Clem shrugged. "Well you know, it wasn't really all computer graphics. Check out the bar scene in Star Wars, you can see me a couple of times in that dark corner."

 

The two of them stopped by the grocery and picked up the night's dinner. Willow was home from college when they arrived and she and Dawn fixed up spaghetti and a salad. Spike had a second helping of garlic bread.

 

After dinner, the girls worked on their studies and Spike went out into the back yard. He had picked up a pack a pack of cigarettes at the store and was determined to relearn how to smoke. He was slightly amazed how bad the tobacco tasted to his new human taste buds but some vices were worth keeping.

 

He stared into the night sky and tried to figure out what he had ever done in his century of existence to deserve a day like today.

 

* * *

 

Spike tried to stay up until the Slayer returned from patrolling. Unfortunately the past three nights of nightmares were catching up with him and he didn't even realize she had arrived. He woke up as she was pulling off his boots.

 

"Slayer?"

 

"Shhh. Let's get these boots off and you can lay down."

 

He reached lazily up and tried to pull her down for a kiss. "You're beautiful, Slayer."

 

"I'm greasy and I have dust all over me. I need a shower."

 

"Want me to wash your back?"

 

She smiled slightly. "We'd have to be quiet. I don't want to wake Dawn."

 

Part of him watched the smile, wondering why all this was happening. In the past, using him had been a convenient way for her to escape her problems. Why had the Slayer agreed to so much, so fast?

 

The other part of him reacted like any other male on earth would when offered a chance to share a shower with the beautiful naked woman he loved. Grinning like an idiot, he allowed the Slayer to take his hand and lead him upstairs.

 

Sometimes even the best days can be followed by better nights.

 

CHAPTER 14 - REVELATIONS

 

Wednesday Morning

 

The girl was shivering. She held her flowers tightly to her chest and stumbled forward into the tunnel. "Please don't hurt me, sir."

 

Spike's voice was gentle. "Don't worry, pet. We're going to take the flowers to a beautiful lady."

 

Dru was lying down on a coach he had dragged into their lair. She had been through one of her spells and he worried about her. He wanted to bring her something pretty.

 

"Shhh. This will just take a moment." Spike twisted one of the roses in the girl's hand and watched the blood seep from the scratch. "There that wasn't bad, was it?" The frightened girl shook her head.

 

He touched the scratch, then went over and touched Dru's cold lips. Her eyes opened and she sucked at his finger like a greedy kitten. He smiled then motioned to the girl to bring the flowers to his beloved. Dru cooed with pleasure and inhaled their fragrance, the subtle scent of rose petals and blood.

 

"I brought you something to play with, luv." Dru eyed the girl with the first enthusiasm she had shown in a week. He smiled and led the child back to a wall. She whimpered when he chained her arms above her head. "But, sir, you said you wouldn't hurt me." Tears flowed down her face.

 

He patted the child's face gently. "I won't." He turned and watched his love rise, golden eyed and sharp fanged. "She will."

 

"Spike." His eyes opened. Buffy was shaking him awake. "What's wrong?"

 

For a horrible moment he thought she must have seen what he did, then he realized he had been dreaming of his past. He must have stirred and wakened her.

 

He turned and looked into her sleepy eyes. "Nothing, luv. Just the sunburn making me a bit uncomfortable." He kissed her forehead and she sighed and fell back asleep. He pulled on his clothes and stumbled out of her bedroom. He turned and gazed at his Slayer, sleeping in her childhood bedroom with innocent teen-age posters on the wall.

 

Spike stepped outside and took out a cigarette. His hand was trembling so much he couldn't light it. Finally he tossed it away in disgust. The kid hadn't even been as old as Dawn. And he had killed thousands. The sky was just starting to glow with a pre-dawn light, but he couldn't see it through the tears.

 

He wondered how Buffy could have ever let a monster like him touch her. Even more, he wondered how she could believe that a mere soul could ever make him worthy of her love.

 

* * *

 

It was late in the morning when Buffy woke up. She stretched and lazily got up, pulling the old gray robe on. As she went downstairs, she noted how quiet the house was. Spike was sitting at the kitchen table, his back towards her, studying the scrolls.

 

She tiptoed behind him and hugged him. She reached out and ruffled his hair. "Good morning, goldilocks?" He turned his head and gave her a truly evil glare. Encouraged, she continued, "You know I love this hair. The way it bounces around when you-"

 

He reached up and pulled her head down for a kiss. That shut her up. He raised his head slightly, looking her in the eye. "Point taken, luv. I'll get a haircut. Just haven't had time."

 

"Your sunburn better?"

 

His face looked solemn. "I'll live. Let's get you some breakfast?"

 

Buffy sat at the kitchen table and watched as Spike made tea and toast. "I could get used to being spoiled."

 

He brought over the toast and some jelly, then got the cups and sat down. He watched silently as she nibbled at the toast. She glanced at him and stopped mid-bite. She could detect vampires with her special sense, but by now she could also recognize them by sight, even in their human guise. They had predators' eyes, sizing up their prey. She gazed at Spike's face and it was the first time she had seen those type of eyes in a human face. "What are you looking at. Do I have jelly on my face?" She touched her mouth nervously.

 

Spike stared at her intently. "Buffy," his voice was soft. "I hunted Slayers for a century. Got myself two. And if I saw one looking like you do now, I'd figure I was going to have a really good day. You've given up. Whatever this thing is with Dawn, you don't expect to live through this, do you?"

 

Buffy's eyes went wide, but she didn't deny anything. He was watching her intently and she felt naked under his gaze.

 

"Been thinking about yesterday. Don't get me wrong, best day I've had in 150 years of existence. But it wouldn't have happened if you thought you were going to live. You would have called a Scooby meeting, gotten to work on solving the problem."

 

The hard eyes were human now, sadder. "But you already think you know the answer, don't you. That dream has you convinced that you'll have to jump through a portal again."

 

Buffy looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

 

"You've given up, so yesterday you took a little holiday before dying." His voice had a bitter edge now. "You didn't have to say anything about love, Buffy. You know I would have done anything for you."

 

Buffy raised her head sharply. Spike looked so hurt. Suddenly in a world that was spinning out of her control, there was one thing she could fix. "I said I could love you because I meant it."

 

"Right, I've got a bleeding soul and, bang, you can love me." He sounded angry now.

 

"Yes, you have a soul and bang, I can finally trust you."

 

"Trust me? I would have laid my bloody life down for you. You and Dawn. I didn't need a soul for that!"

 

"Right. And what about if the chip came out? Could I trust you to not kill anyone? Maybe Dawn and I would be safe, but could I trust you not to sneak out and kill strangers? People didn't mean anything to you. How could I love you when I don't know if I would have to end up staking you?"

 

He was stricken. "Buffy, I wouldn't do that to you. I'd never . . ."

 

"No, now you wouldn't. You have a soul. But before you were a monster. And I knew what you were. And I kept coming to you." Her eyes were wet and angry. "Sometimes it was the only way I could feel. But every time I started to relax, I would remember that I couldn't love you. I loved Angel and when I couldn't stake him, people died. I was so afraid of falling in love with you and having it happen all over again."

 

She stood up and went to him and he surged out of the chair. They were in each other's arms, and she had to stop him from kissing her or she might never be able to finish. "Everything was so hard when I came back. The only thing easy was being with you. I could say anything or just be with you. And I started to love you and of a sudden, the only thing that felt right in my life, was wrong. I kept fighting against it and then I was fighting against you and everything was twisted and violent. Every time you were kind, like you used to be, it would scare me and we'd end up hurting each other. It was killing me. So I stopped seeing you. And that was killing me too."

 

She leaned into him. "Maybe, I will die in three days. But I want to live. I want to be able to feel again. And this time if I love you, it's not wrong. It's the most right thing in the world." She raised her lips and they were kissing. Something cold in her chest seemed to thaw and she could have wept with relief. Then even more of her body began to melt with the heat of their kisses.

 

The Slayer was late to work. And for the entire shift she found that she was unable to say the company line, "Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace, the home of meaty goodness" with a straight face.

 

* * *

 

It had not been a productive day. Spike had spent the day getting a haircut, making a few phone calls and reading documents. By the end of the day all he had were a few more anecdotes of the Key being helpful, aching eyes and decently short hair. He rather missed the bleached blonde look, but it was time to leave the Eighties behind.

 

The Scooby meeting had been even less productive. Buffy had told the group about her dream, the same edited version she had given Spike. Dawn grew pale and he had reached out to hug her shoulders. The memory of the past summer was as painful as an open wound for both of them.

 

When it was Spike's turn, he had pulled the documents and translation notes out of his backpack. "If Buffy's dream is right, Dawn is still the Key. When I was back in Los Angeles, I was given a bunch of documents about the Key. Here," he passed them over to the wiccas. "I translated enough of them that it's pretty clear that the Key," he turned towards Dawn, "you, have the power to open gates and portals to other dimensions. I know Glory wanted to use you, but according to most of these documents, it's a power that you will learn to control and use yourself."

 

That had caused a stir. Spike showed a few of the Latin prophesies to Willow, and she confirmed his translation. The two wiccas had examined the documents.

 

"When did you learn to read this stuff?" Xander had gaped like a goldfish.

 

"Back as a human. British education. It was a bit better than Sunnydale High. Besides, I've spent most of the last century wandering around Europe. I can say "Hey gorgeous, come out into the dark with me" in twenty-seven languages and dialects. Can't read that many, but I'm not a total git."

 

Nothing was resolved. Aside from Buffy's dream, there really was no indication that Dawn was at risk. Dawn was excited by the prophecies indicating she had special powers but none of the translations told her how to use them. In the end, Willow and Tara had stayed behind to work together and Xander had wandered off towards the apartment-of-manly-despair. That had left Spike escorting the Summers girls. When they passed a cemetery, Buffy left to go patrolling. "I'll be back by ten," she said, then gave Spike a PG-13 kiss, since Dawn was watching with avid eyes.

 

"So what's going on between you and Buffy?"

 

"You need to ask your sister, Niblet."

 

"Are you still in love with her?" He started to protest, then stopped remembering that the cat had pretty much been let out of the bag back when he had had the brilliant idea of chaining Buffy up and threatening to kill her. The whole episode had gotten him expelled from the Summer's house and almost cost him any chance of friendship with the teenager.

 

"Yeah," he said in a gruff voice. "Being human doesn't keep me from being besotted."

 

"That's cool, because I think Buffy really cares for you. You should have seen her when we thought you were dusted."

 

They had reached the Summer's house. Spike started to open the door and then hesitated. He sniffed, then realized that his lousy human nose wasn't going to tell him a thing. Still, even without vampire senses he could tell something was wrong.

 

"Shh, stay here Dawn." He slowly opened the door. The house was dark. He flicked on a light. He couldn't see anything different. But he was very aware of something being dangerously wrong. He entered slowly, holding the stake.

 

He heard a desperate squeal. Dawn! He dashed back to the door and saw the girl struggling in a giant's arms. Not a giant, Spike realized, but one of those guards that had been the bane of his existence at Wolfram and Hart. Only this time he wasn't weak from being a newly made human.

 

Spike wore a vicious grin as he sauntered up to Tweedledee, (or maybe it was Tweedledum.) "Hello there. Care to unhand the lady?"

 

The thug sneered down at him, his arms filled with the struggling child. Which meant he didn't have a free hand to block Spike, when the blonde jumped, whirled and kicked him in the face. It certainly wasn't done with the speed and grace that Spike had back in his vampire days, but his steel-toed boots made an impression. He felt the shudder of the impact through his body and there was the satisfying sensation of teeth and nasal bones breaking. Without the vampire reflexes, he fell on his back, but still, score one for the home team.

 

Dawn broke loose, leaving the giant exposed. Since Tweedledee was busy holding his bleeding face, Spike took advantage of the distraction to land a lovely kick to the crotch. It was a kick even Manchester United would envy. Spike felt his face twitch and he longed for his fangs. That would teach the bastard to scare Dawn. Since he couldn't drain the bugger, he waited until the giant leaned over to clutch his package, then gave a solid kick to the man's temple.

 

Spike heard someone shout, so he quickly dragged Dawn inside. "Quick, go upstairs. Call the police." Then he thought about the ineptness of Sunnydale's finest. "Also, call Harris. Even if he's not there, he has an answering machine. The people after you are Wolfram and Hart. Angel knows them. Two of the people involved in this are a Gavin Park and some old woman named Stanhope. Now quick."

 

"What are you going to do?"

 

He grinned with the smile that had terrorized Europe. "If our lawyer friends try to come in, I plan to give them a bloody welcome party."

 

Dawn started to run up the stairs. "Dawn!" She turned. "If I can't keep them distracted until the police come, climb out onto the tree by Buffy's window. No matter what happens, get away. Do you understand?"

 

The teenager gave him a long look, then nodded. She dashed upstairs.

 

There was a crash as a window in the kitchen was broken. The back door was smashed open and the forces of Wolfram and Hart poured into the house.

 

CHAPTER 15 - GRAVE DANGER

Wednesday Night

 

Spike's face muscles twitched again. He had fought groups larger than this with fists and fangs and managed to survive. But now he was in this blasted human body. Human's needed weapons. He threw open the Slayer's weapon's chest. Unfortunately there didn't seem to be anything really useful, like a flamethrower or even a decent shotgun, so he grabbed a battle-ax.

 

He scrambled over to the staircase just as five men surged out of the kitchen. Holding the ax with both hands he placed himself between them and the second story. With luck he could hold them until Dawn escaped.

 

The group stopped at the bottom, looking up at him. At most only two could come up the stairs at a time. Apparently it was an all-American goon squad since they all seemed to be carrying baseball bats.

 

The goon in the center unfortunately had not limited his weapons to bats. He pulled out a gun and pointed. "There's no need for anyone to get hurt. Put that down." Spike glared at the gun. A week ago he could have ignored it, now the weapon could kill him. He didn't particularly mind the idea of death, but he wanted to give Niblet some time.

 

"All right, no need to get violent." Spike held up his left hand in a sign of peace and gave his most ingenuous smile. He stepped down two steps and threw himself to the side. As he did, he grabbed the handle of the ax with both hands and swung at the gun. There was a scream and the gun and most of the goon's hand flew off. Spike reversed his swing and clipped one of the men on the right, then scrambled up the stairs again.

 

The injured man was screaming and swearing and one of the others turned to take care of him. That left the remaining three lunging up the stairs at him. He was so bloody slow compared to how he used to be. But at least the goons seemed to be used to terrorizing, not actually fighting. He swung the ax once, then they were too close and he had to use the handle to block blows from the bats. One landed on his side and he grunted as he felt his ribs give. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a car horn.

 

He threw himself at them, knocking two off balance and they tumbled down the stairs. He followed them down, landed a good solid chop with the ax on one of them, then whirled as the last standing goon, closed in on him. He ducked his head in time, catching the bat on the shoulder. The pain made him swear and the ax fell out of his hands. Spike growled and grabbed the other man, closing in too close to use weapons. The other man was stronger, but Spike had more experience killing people. He slammed the goon's nose with the heel of his hand, trying to force bones up into the brain.

 

A gun went off. Everyone froze.

 

"Stop right now or I shot the kid in the tree."

 

Oh hell! They found her. Spike stepped back. "Leave her alone! I'll go with you."

 

"You're damned right you'll go with us, you fucker!" the goon he had been struggling with swore and hit him across the face. The bigger man pounded on him until a cold voice ordered him to stop.

 

They cuffed Spike's hands behind his back and led him stumbling out of the house. Spike looked around the quiet suburban neighborhood where each house closed its curtains to the world outside. In an ideal world, neighbors should be calling the police when they heard the fighting or at least when they heard the gunshot, but this was Sunnyhell.

One of the men behind him shoved on his wounded shoulder, forcing to his knees. He groaned involuntarily. "Come on down, kid or we shoot him."

 

"Don't!" he started to yell. The thug lashed him across the head with the gun and for a moment he lost consciousness. When he came to, Dawn was on her knees, holding him and crying. Damn Summers woman. Not a one of them had any common sense. Back when he first fought Buffy, Joyce, who should have been cowering, had nearly brained him with an ax. Buffy herself, went out night after night, risking her life for an ungrateful world. And here was Dawn, giving up her last chance at escape to save the life of a being who had existed far too long.

 

"Where's the Key? They say you're the Keeper. Where is it?"

 

Here was a chance to stall them. "It's not here."

 

The gun holder put the gun against Dawn's head. "We need you, not her. Show us the Key or she dies."

 

"It's not here. It - it's in the basement. I'll show you." If he could get a few away from Dawn, lead them to the basement, maybe he could find some way to fight them. Anything to delay things until Buffy or the police arrived.

 

"We don't have time for this shit!" That was the weak voice of the attacker who had originally held the gun, the leader who had half of his hand cut off. "Pete, get the box out of the van. I kept it under the driver's seat."

 

The man with the bleeding nose went over to the van parked down the street and came back with a small box. "The old bitch said it shows where power is. The brighter the light on the end glows, the closer you are to the Key."

 

Looking doubtful, Pete turned it on. A faint light brightened visibly when he approached Spike and Dawn. "Hey, look how bright it's getting. He must have it on." Two of the thugs yanked Spike up and started searching his clothes.

 

"Hey, look!" Pete had noticed that the light dimmed when he pointed it at Spike after they had dragged him from Dawn. He turned it back towards the frightened child. "It's her."

 

"Get it," the leader ordered and the two thugs pushed Spike aside and grabbed Dawn.

 

"Where is it?" Tears were flowing down Dawn's face but she refused to talk. Impatient, the goons started to rip her clothes, looking for a hidden key. She screamed and struggled helplessly.

 

Spike lunged and was casually beaten back. "Stop it, you bastards." He couldn't stand it. They had ripped her top off, and were probing the pockets of her jeans. All around them, the neighborhood was dark and silent. "It's her, you bloody monsters. Get your hands off her. She's the Key."

 

The two stopped. "Is that even possible?" asked Pete. The boss stepped forward. He took the box with his uninjured hand and moved towards Dawn. He slid it over her body and finally grunted.

 

"Put them in the back of the van." They were manhandled to the back of the van and pulled in. There was rope and Spike's legs were bound. His hands were already behind his back in handcuffs, but they passed a rope around his elbows and pulled them together so tightly that the injured shoulder dislocated and he almost passed out. Dawn's hands and feet were tied and they were thrown in the back of the van.

* * *

It was hard to concentrate on staking vamps. Buffy sat by the new grave waiting for the vampire to emerge and tried to not think about Spike. It had been hard enough when he was "the evil blood-sucking fiend." But now he was the human that she had always seen inside the monster and she couldn't seem to focus on anything else.

 

Tender images filled her mind. Who knew he could make love like that? Of course other images, fierce and sexy came too, back from when he was a monster and she had involuntarily loved the monster too. She had told herself she couldn't love him and lashed against him whenever he had allowed his human side to show. But it was such a relief to stop fighting.

 

Then her mind switched back to the times they had sparred together, superhuman strength against superhuman strength. He had been the one being that she could fight without holding anything back and he had laughed and given as good as he got. Somewhere in the fights they would finally close in on each other and tumble together fighting and f. . . The new vamp was out its grave and she had been so distracted that he was on her. Of course he was only a stupid fledgling, so she staked him immediately.

 

She had staked three tonight, counting the newby. That was good enough. It was time to go home. She was dusty and definitely needed a shower. She grinned, remembering last night's shower.

 

A truck was pulling into the cemetery. Startled, she stepped back behind a tree. She heard Xander calling her voice before she recognized that it was his truck.

 

"Xander, what are you doing here?"

 

His face was pale and drawn. "Get in the truck, Buffy. It's bad." Buffy almost stopped breathing. He looked so scared. She slid into the passenger's side and he turned the truck and sped out of the cemetery.

 

Xander was swearing softly. "It's my fault, Buffy. I stopped by a bar on the way home. I just couldn't face that empty apartment. And when I got home, Dawn was on the answering machine."

 

"Dawn! What's happened?" They were pulling onto Revello Drive. She saw the police cars pulled in front of her house.

 

She got out of the truck and stumbled over towards her house. She saw the blood on the sidewalk and the two trails of blood leading out of her house. "Oh my God! What happened?!"

 

* * *

 

Spike had tried to comfort the frightened girl as the van carried them through the night. "Concentrate, Lit' Bit. If we can just get these ropes untied, we have a fighting chance. And this time, run. I can't fight them if I'm worried about you." The two of them were back to back fumbling with each other's ropes. The pain of his dislocated shoulder and the ropes cutting off his circulation made his fingers thick and clumsy.

 

Fortunately Dawn wasn't tied up as tight and her fingers were nimble. She managed to free his feet. Now she fumbled with the knots in the ropes around his elbows.

 

He was a realist and knew how slim their chances were. "Remember, they need you alive to be a Key. If I know anything about magic," and in his long strange existence he knew more than he wanted to, "they have to wait for the new moon. That gives Buffy two nights to find them. And," he hated to admit it, "with Angel helping her, she'll find you. Those bloody lawyers won't know what hit them when your big sis tackles them. And Peaches, he has a crew that looks like they can handle things. Even if we can't get away, they'll save you. Don't be afraid, they'll save you."

 

Dawn had gotten his elbows untied. He moaned with relief. He couldn't get the handcuffs off, but at least he could move them to the front of his body. His dislocated shoulder allowed him to pull his arms under him and wiggle through until his cuffed hands were in front of him. The pain was so intense that he almost threw up, but he'd think about that later.

 

Now that he could see what he was doing, he could work a bit better. He untied her feet first and was working on her hands when the van stopped.

 

"Listen, Dawn. I'll jump out and distract them. You take off. Don't look back, just run."

 

He worried that the littlest Summers woman would be as stubborn as the rest. The back of the van opened and he launched himself on the thug opening it. The man tumbled over. Spike scrambled up and head butted the next man. He could hear shouts as Dawn jumped out and dashed into the darkness.

 

"Be still." His muscles froze and he toppled over. "Be still." The sound of Dawn's running stopped. "Go fetch the child."

 

Spike found himself hauled up and held, facing the small withered figure of Stanhope. The witch was watching with interest and one of the goons fetched Dawn and held the frightened teenager up before her. He strained to be able to turn his head, but nothing moved.

 

The witch examined Dawn closely, stroking her face. The girl was quiet and wide-eyed. "How interesting. They chose to put the key into a human body." The crone smiled, "It will make the blood part of the ceremony so much easier."

 

She turned to Spike. "Well done. She was with you as you promised." Spike's eyes widened in shock and he remembered.

 

Back at his crypt, before he was dusted:

 

The Asian had said, "Ms. Stanhope is laying a geas on you, compelling you to honor the terms of the agreement."

 

 The small withered woman actually cackled. She finished the muttering and scuttled towards him. Her hand reached out, touching his cheek. "You'll do as you promised. Do you understand, boy?"

 

At Angel's hotel:

 

"They said they were in some sort of dispute with you and I agreed to help."

 

"How?"

 

"I'm supposed to call them. That's all. I don't remember all the bleeding details, but it all came down to calling them on the telephone.

 

This afternoon:

 

It had not been a productive day. Spike had spent the day getting a haircut, making a few phone calls and reading documents.

 

He had called Wolfram and Hart and told them that he would be alone with the Key at 1630 Revello Drive in Sunnydale that evening. They had been waiting for him.

 

He had betrayed Dawn!

 

He looked at Dawn's shocked tear-stained face and his soul died. He hadn't known what he had agreed to do and he had not remembered making the call, but he had signed the contract that doomed the child. He wanted to say something, anything, but the spell kept him motionless and speechless. The only movement either of them could do was the slow leak of tears from Dawn's eyes.

 

"Transfer the Key to my car. Put her in the trunk." The witch looked bored now.

 

"And this guy?"

 

"You know where to dispose of him. Hurry, it's getting late."

 

The two goons who had manhandled him before, dragged him into the brush. He was unable to look back, to say anything to the friend he had betrayed. Branches lashed at him and he could not protect his face. Finally they entered a clearing.

 

Before him was an open grave.

 

They threw him in.

 

 

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