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Dear Diary,

Part of me wants to tell you about the truly awesome fight that Spike and I got into tonight down near the warehouse district. It was exciting and we both had a great time. We surprised a small nest of fledglings that apparently didn't get the memo not to fuck with us. So, like the remarkably stupid creatures minions are, they attacked us. It was the last dumb mistake they will ever make.

I love staking vamps. Well...non-Spike vamps, but you knew that, right Diary?

Anyhoo...we had a blast. It was a beautiful star-filled night, warm with a light breeze. Spike and I enjoyed a witty and bantering conversation about nothing in particular, I got a good workout. Vampire dust rained from the sky. It was perfect...or would have been if Spike's shirt hadn't of gotten ripped by the last minion he killed.

And that's what I really want to talk about. Not Spike's ruined shirt in specific, but his "stuff" in general. Or rather...his *lack* of stuff.

Now, I know I don't have a lot of stuff myself. I simply don't have the kind of money to spend on everything I really want or need, but at least *I* can fill up a small apartment with my things. Or close to it. But Spike? He has *one* tiny little hall closet to hold his stuff. And there is *still* room for my tools. And as a professional carpenter, I gotta tell you, I have quite a few tools.

Spike doesn't need much from the kitchen, I got that. One shelf in the refrigerator for his beer and his blood, and one shelf in one cabinet holds his hard liquor and wheat-a-bix. The hall closet holds everything else. His *two*, yes count them: one - two, sets of clothes, his boots, his Legos, a few CD's and a few small shoes boxes of mementos. He's also got a few books too. Not many, but they *are* old and probably would make Giles drool for a while.

Still, that's *not* a lot.

So, I have been watching him to get to know him and understand him and it sort of hits me out of the blue. Spike owns practically *nothing*. I know what you're thinking Diary, neither do any of the minions we go out hunting almost every night. That's not the same though...Spike's *not* a minion. He's a Master Vampire. Like Angel.

And we *all* know that Angel has more possessions than the L.A. Museum of History and Art.

I mean, Angel owns property all over the world, he has numerous storage houses just filled to the brim with clothes, furniture, weapons, etc. He only uses his current "favorites" to decorate his current home. As for the books and weapons in his home, he stocks what he thinks will be most helpful and then he goes to get what he needs from storage if it becomes relevant. I've known this for years.

But Spike? Nada.

At first, I just sort of blew it off as Harmony habitually setting all his belongings on fire. But that doesn't really explain it. He *couldn't* have stored all of his things in the crypt. Hell, he's had over a century to collect stuff.

So, on Tuesday I plied him with whiskey. I used the excuse that he'd gotten sliced up pretty bad in our nightly adventure and that the alcohol would dim the pain as I stitched his back up, and I just kept pouring. Spike likes to ramble on when he's been drinking, so...I managed to get the story out of him.

Dru's got all of his things. She may very well be the craziest person on the face of the planet, but she's *not* stupid. After they split up, Dru had all of their things moved out of where ever they *were* stored to someplace else. Spike has no clue where. She took, not only her own things...but his as well. She also had all of the money that had been in their various bank accounts transferred to new ones. Accounts Spike doesn't have access to. So he has none of his hard-earned money and Spike can't even sell his antique crap to get more money to pay some disreputable Doctor to remove his chip. He's effectively bankrupt.

And living in my apartment and sleeping on my couch.

I've spent the last couple of days thinking about this. I mean, it's just such a strange kind of thought, ya know? It's not something I'd ever considered before. Maybe it's because I suddenly find myself having bills to pay this past year. I mean, besides "rent" to my parents. I buy my own food, plus Spike's blood. I pay the rent on the new apartment, not to mention the electric, the water, the phone, and for garbage removal. I have a car, granted, it's not the newest model or the fastest, but it's *mine* and it runs good. I paid for it all on my own and I pay the insurance and buy the gas. So, money has become a more important thing in my life and I'm more aware of it.

And Spike has none.

I've never considered how he survived without money. I always assumed that he did okay with what he could bribe out of Giles...but now I know how little that will actually buy. And none of us Scoobies ever questioned where Angel's money came from, we just accepted it without question. It never even occurred to us that Spike *should*, by all rights, be in the same situation as Angel.

It's not only *that* though. When Spike and Dru first came to Sunnydale, he was a Master Vampire and he held all the trappings of that station in unlife with an iron fist. He had a large defensible lair filled with minions and warriors and guards. He had power and respect and the fear of the community all scrambling at his feet.

Then, his world crumbled around him. First Dru left him and took all of their personal possessions and wealth with her. Then, he got chipped and lost his ability to hunt down and kill, what is essentially for him, his food.

Now he has me and the rest of the Scoobies. Not that we don't accept him as one of us, because we *do*, but we don't treat him as our lord and liege. Because he's not.

And that's a big change. I sometimes wonder how he survived this turn of bad fortune with his mind in tact.

So, I've decided to do something about it. Granted, I don't have much, but what I do have he pretty much has open access to. After all, he lives here. But I want to do more. Let him have back a little of the dignity that Dru and the Initiative stripped from him. I mean, I know he projects this image of being the Big Bad and not needing anything, but I know better. He's a sensualist at heart. And he shouldn't have to live like a minion. 'Cause he *isn't* one...and he never was.

Anyhoo...today after work, I swung by to the local discount superstore. It's this big monster place called AIMES and everything there is pretty much cheap enough that I can afford to shop there. I picked up a pack of three t-shirts in Spike's size. It had a black one, a navy blue one and a bright red one. Which is good, cause after tonight's escapade, he's gonna need them. I also picked up a new pillow and a light fleecy blanket for him. The knitted afghan that he's been using is tattered and falling apart.

When I got home, I just casually tossed the bags of stuff at him. He tried to act like it didn't matter or that he didn't care. Indifferent. But he was touched...I could tell. It made me wonder how long it had been since someone had done something nice for him. And then it hit me. No one had done *anything* nice for Spike since Joyce died because she was the only one of us who *ever* was nice to him.

That thought made me sad.

I'm going to have to remember to do more nice things for Spike. I get paid tomorrow...maybe I'll go out and get him some more stuff. I know he could use a few more pairs of jeans and some socks...the kind *without* holes in them. And maybe a new Lego filler set?

Alexander L. Harris

END