XII

By three a.m., Spike had finished exploring every nook and cranny of the house. Through the few pictures and knick-knacks that adorned the place, he’d tried to imagine whom she’d become, how she’d changed. But the house told few stories. The pictures of Dawn were a shock, with her grey hair and laugh lines, but she was every bit as lovely as he knew she’d be. And the kids looked like decent enough people, though they favored the Whelp.
 
There were no other photos in the house though. None of the Watcher. None of Red. None of the other Slayers. Any pictures of Joyce would have been buried in Sunnydale, he supposed. Sad, that. There were several paintings and sculptures though, which looked to be from various cities around the world she must have visited. And plenty of weapons, of course – not just in the basement, but stashed all over the place. It was a charming house he had to admit. But it felt empty.
 
From his window seat in the living room, Spike gazed out at the dark suburban street. He still wasn’t tired, but he didn’t want to lose a single moment with her, so he reluctantly got up and retreated to his room. After pulling down the shade, he threw a blanket over the window for good measure, then peeled off his clothes and climbed into bed. He was disappointed that the sheets smelled so little of her, but her scent still lingered in his nose from the rest of the house. Closing his eyes, it wasn’t long before he slipped into a light but peaceful sleep.
 
 
*   *   *
 
Meanwhile in L.A...
 
Gina had been kicking stones through Watts for three hours. “This shit is pointless, Pip,” she grumbled into her wrist piece.
 
Pipa’s disembodied voice was sharp and dissonant in the air. “I know. Torrance is sleepy too.”
 
“The Ellens seein’ any action?”
 
“Of course. Venice Beach is never quiet. I was glad for the swap before, but now…”
 
“I know, right? We could be home watching Animal Cops.”
 
“So did you dust anything tonight?”
 
“Nope. Haven’t dusted or beheaded a damn thing in two days. Somethin’ ain’t right, Pip.”
 
“What do you mean? You think it means something?”
 
“Hell yeah. When was the last time things were this quiet?”
 
“Hmm…” She paused. “Oh.”
 
“Well?”
 
Pipa let out a whine. “The September attack.”
 
“Exactly.”
 
“Great.”
 
“Chill out, Pip. We’ll be ready when the Dragvloks make their move.”
 
“Yeah but-”
 
“Uh oh, fellas! What we got up in here?!”
 
Gina turned around sharply to find five guys in colors walking towards her – gats at the ready on their hips. In the front of the pack was an overbuilt fuck in a tank top, arms covered in tatts. She figured him for the leader since he’d spoken up.
 
“Gina, who’s that?” Pipa whispered from her wrist.
 
“Just some homeboys, girl. Gotta go. Holla.”
 
“Be care-“
 
Gina cut the line.
 
“Wassup, fellas? Y’all in the wrong part of town wearin’ them colors. Better watch out.” Gina subtly checked behind her to make sure she wasn’t cornered. There was no one behind her, which was something. But she knew she couldn’t outrun a bullet.
 
“Bitch, wha’d you say?”
 
Shit. He angered easily. “Calm down, homeboy. I’m just lookin’ out for you. The brothas around here don’t play. I know this is border territory with Westmont, but barely. Nobody wants blood, do they?”
 
The lead fuck gave her a grin, saccharine and sly. “Blood? Nah. That ain’t what we want, is it fellas?”
 
The fellas all thought that was funny.
 
“Nah, shortie,” he continued. “Ain’t nobody lookin’ for blood tonight.” The lead fuck tilted his head to the side then, and passed an exaggerated gaze up and down her six-foot frame. “A bit o’ pussy might taste alright though.”
 
“Hell yeah!” she heard amidst the hoots and cackles that followed.
 
But Gina had heard worse. She kept her face looking bored. “Well, then. You know where the hookers hang, playa’. Turn your ass around and head south. I’ve got business to handle, and you ain’t it.”
 
“You motha fuckin’ bitch!” The lead fuck stormed straight towards Gina to backhand her with his nine, but she’d caught his forearm with two hands, snapped it into a ‘V’ and caught the gun from his limp hand before he’d even registered the pain.
 
“Agh!” he screamed, as he slumped to the ground.
 
The next moment, four guns faced one.
 
“Kill that bitch!” the lead fuck cried at her feet.
 
“Hold up!” Gina stepped out of his reach and a walked a few steps forward towards the pack. “Cause I can take out two o’ you motha fuckas before you even think about dropping my ass!”
 
“Bitch, there ain’t no way in hell you gettin’ outta here alive!” Another snarled. Second-fuck-in-command, she guessed. Walking towards her, he didn’t stop until their straps were barrel to barrel.
 
Fuck. This wasn’t how she was supposed to go.
 
“Look-“
 
“Shut up, bitch! Nobody fucks wit’ us in this neighborhood!”
 
Gina heard the sound of a dozen gats readied then.
 
And smiled.
 
“Nuh uh. Nobody fucks wit’ Gina in this neighborhood, punk-ass.”
 
Second-fuck shut his eyes in recognition, though he kept his heater in her face. That made Gina relax enough to look over his shoulder. More than a dozen of the brothas from Watts were locked and loaded behind the smaller pack from Westmont.
 
But the Westmont pack didn’t move, and four guns kept Gina in their sights.
 
Second-fuck opened his eyes again with a new resolve. “Gina, is it?” he yelled in her face, but for the benefit of the Watts crew behind him. He was breathing heavily but kept his face a mask. “Well… Gina’s gettin’ a bullet in the fuckin’ brain if y’all don’t step the fuck down!”
 
He was probably just scared enough to do it; and Gina suddenly found herself actually thinking about killing another human being. Just to live. At least… until his eyes grew twice their normal size in terror, and he slowly lowered his gun. He wasn’t looking at her anymore.
 
He was looking behind her.
 
He mouthed more than whispered: “What the fuck?!”
 
Whatever was behind her, Gina knew it was something only she could handle. That’s why the Watts boys always had her back: because she had theirs. They knew there were some things their bullets couldn’t kill. And when that shit showed up, there was only one real badass around.
 
Second-fuck started backing up – ignoring Gina and the strap she still had pointed at his face. The rest of the Westmont pack started backing up as well, until both gangs stood together in a clump - mouths open, eyes wide, guns forgotten in their hands.
 
Lowering her piece, Gina looked down to the lead fuck whose arm she’d broken. She flipped the gun in the air – catching it by the barrel – and gave it back. Grabbing the gun with his uninjured hand, he scurried to join the rest of the homeboys several feet behind her.
 
“Slayer.”
 
Gina took a settling breath and finally turned around to see the face that could stop a dozen gangsters. She swallowed. With more courage than she felt, she replied. “Yeah, that’d be me. Do I know you?”
 
She wasn’t prepared for the backhanded swipe that sent her flying back into the arms of the Westmont pack.
 
“The Dragvloks will know vengeance tonight, Slayer.”
 
For a moment, Gina saw nothing but black, before the throbbing in her face woke her up to the urgency of the situation. Dazed and choking on her own blood, she pulled herself out of their arms and stood tall. “I could use some help here, fellas.”
 
No one answered her.
 
With a press of a button on her wrist, Gina made a distress call to every Slayer in the immediate vicinity. “I’ve got reinforcements comin’, but I’m gonna need a distraction to get a head start on this bastard so I can meet up with my girls. Just give me some bullet cover. He doesn’t want you, so there’s nothin’to fear… unless you get in his way.”
 
“Fuck that! Ain’t shootin’ at the brotha gettin’ in his motha fuckin’ way?!”
 
Second-fuck really was a punk-ass. “Just shoot and run.” She looked him square in the eyes then. “Trust me.”
 
They were all silent, but she knew they did.
 
“On three,” she added. “One…”
 
Every man raised his weapon high in the direction of the beast.
 
“Two…”
 
The Dragvlok – seemingly unperturbed by their plans – started advancing.
 
“Three!”
 
The demon roared as a barrage of bullets pelted his leathery hide. They wouldn’t kill him, but they were enough to make him pause and shield his eyes while Gina made a run for it – the brothas doing the same, but scattering in every direction.
 
‘”Pip!” Gina was running west – as fast she ever had – and not daring to look behind her.
 
“I’m on my way, Gina! What is it? A Dragvlok?!”
 
“What the fuck do you think?! Yeah! Where are you?!”
 
“In a taxi headed north towards Watts. I’ve got your position. I see you’re on the move down Century Boulevard. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
 
“Ten minutes?!” Gina spat out the blood that had pooled in her mouth.
 
“This is L.A.! Just keep some distance between the two of you. Dragvloks aren’t so fast on the run. Just quick with the swipes. Where is he?”
 
Looking back for the first time, Gina saw him trailing about twenty yards behind her.
 
“He’s behind me Pip… but I’ve got some yards on him,” she panted.
 
“Just keep running until I get to you!”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“And don’t die!”
 
Gina rolled her eyes as she kept running west. A few minutes later, her wrist was talking again.
 
“Gina, I’ve got your position.” The disembodied voice was calm and confident.
 
“Sonny? Where are you?”
 
“Reseda was dead, so I was in Crenshaw, but I’ve got a bike, so I’m almost at Morningside Park. I’ll see you in five.”
 
“Where’d you get a bike?”
 
“Reseda.”
 
Gina didn’t have the energy to ask. Checking behind her again, she was dismayed to see the Dragvlok gaining ground. She was sprinting as fast as her legs could take her, but the muscles in her thighs were starting to cramp - making her seize up and stumble unexpectedly.
 
“I’m fit ladies… but I ain’t that fit!” Gina yelled at her wrist breathlessly.  “Sooner or later…” She took in two big gulps of air, making her choke again on her own blood. “I’mma have to turn around and fight.” 
 
“Gina, no! Just wait for us!” That was Pip.
 
“Gina! Is it a Dragvlok?!” Carla.
 
“Yeah!” Gina let out in an exhale. “Get your asses over here!”
 
“We’ll be there in twenty!”
 
Gina rolled her eyes again. Fuckin’L.A. was too damn big.
 
She kept running due west through Westmont, the Dragvlok’s low-pitched growl rumbling in her chest. 
 
“Slayer!”
 
At least they weren’t verbose.
 
She was starting to seriously fatigue, and her lungs were burning from the effort. Looking back again to check his position, Gina swallowed her fear when she found him not ten yards behind her.
 
She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d been running before she faintly heard the purr of a motorcycle engine in the distance. 
 
“That you, Sonny?”
 
“Yeah, I’m a few minutes north of you on Crenshaw Boulevard. Meet me in Hollywood Park. By the lakes.”
 
“Got it.” With a destination in mind and almost in sight, Gina found her second wind and picked up her pace.
 
“Hollywood Park, Pip!”
 
“Gotcha. Hollywood Park, cabbie. And quick!”
 
“Yeah, yeah,” Gina heard him mutter.
 
Gina had never been happier to see anyone than she was to see Sonny – all sixty-three inches of her. Not only did she look ready to brawl, but she was packing some serious steel on her back.
 
Sonny stopped the bike abruptly by the smaller of the lakes and Gina reached her in under a minute. Hands on her knees, Gina let herself breathe.
 
“How many?” Sonny asked calmly.
 
“Just one. But he’s got a vicious backhand” she added, as she wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve.
 
“Here.” Sonny had dismounted and pulled a short axe from her back, thrusting it in Gina’s hands. “You’ve got a longer reach. I get the long sword.”
 
“Fine with me.” Gina took two more gulps of air before her breathing started to slow. “Anything is better than a knife and stake.”
 
The two stood tall and positioned themselves side-by-side. There was nothing left to do but watch the Dragvlok rapidly approaching.
 
“You remember their weak spots?” Sonny asked coolly.
 
“Yeah. Eyes, neck and ankles. If you can reach ‘em.”
 
“Right. I say you go high, I go low.” Sonny’s eyes never left their mark.
 
“Alright, then.”
 
“Slayers!”
 
“Ready?” Sonny raised her long sword in front of her. She looked fearless, but Gina knew better.
 
“No. But let’s do this anyway.” Gina raised her axe to the side.
 
The Dragvlok ran straight towards them. They were expecting him to swipe with his talons immediately, so Gina jumped high and Sonny crouched low; but the Dragvlok surprised them both by jumping high and kicking out violently – landing a vicious blow to Sonny’s head, and a sickening kick to Gina’s middle. Both girls landed on their backs some distance away.
 
Stunned from the blow to her head, Sonny was too slow to recover. The Dragvlok snatched her ankle in his talon and dragged her further away from Gina to begin stripping her into pieces.
 
“Agh!”
 
He’d made a good start on her chest before the sound of Sonny’s torment shook Gina out of her nausea and pulled her up from the ground. As the demon’s talon descended to take another swipe at Sonny’s breasts, Gina’s axe flew up to slice off his arm.
 
The demon roared as the axe buried itself in the thickened hide of his forearm. Lashing out at frightening speed with his free arm, he cut three deep scores into Gina’s right shoulder – sending her scurrying back in pain without her axe.
 
Fueled by adrenaline and a desperate will to live, Sonny took advantage of the momentary reprieve to roll over and run to her bike.  Ignoring the lancing pain in her chest, she started the bike and headed straight towards Gina.
 
“Gina, let’s go!”
 
Gina hastily threw herself on to the back of the moving bike, but the Dragvlok was swift enough to score her back before the bike had carried her beyond the reach of his talon.
 
Shifting gears, Sonny ripped up the turf as she made a sharp turn to exit the park – leaving the Dragvlok behind in a cloud of dirt and exhaust.
 
“Gina! What’s happened? You’re on the move!”
 
Gina’s shoulder felt like it was on fire, and her back was starting to burn. She could barely breathe from the pain. “Leaving the park with Sonny, Pip,” she managed with effort. “Gonna try to lose him…” She grimaced as the wind blew across her shredded flesh. “… head home.”
 
“Gotcha. See you there. Cabbie, head southeast. Trimmold Street!”
 
“Gina? Where-?”
 
“Home, Sal,” she breathed. “If we can lose the fuck.”
 
“We?”
 
“Sonny’s here.” Gina was starting to feel sick.
 
“Oh. Good. You alright?”
 
Her breathing was getting laboured now. “Gotta get home.”
 
Silence. “Okay, see you there.”
 
Sonny was driving ninety miles an hour – far too fast for the Dragvlok to match, so Gina started feeling safe enough to relax. But after only a few minutes, the bike started to slow.
 
“How you doin’ Sonny?” Gina asked worriedly.
 
Sonny didn’t answer. And the bike started to swerve as Sonny’s head began to drop.
 
“Sonny!”
 
Losing speed, the bike wobbled widely before tipping over to the side – throwing Gina off her seat and pinning Sonny underneath. With a new burst of adrenaline, Gina recovered quickly – pushing the bike off the wounded Slayer and standing it upright. 
 
“Sonny! We gotta go, girl! We gotta go!”
 
Sonny laid still on the road.
 
Gina looked down at her unmoving form. “Sonny!” Gina shook her violently.
 
“Wake up, Sonny, for fuck’s sake!’
 
“Can’t,” she whimpered.
 
“Sonny!” She shook her harder still.
 
No answer.
 
Gritting her teeth through the pain in her shoulder, Gina pulled Sonny to a standing position and threw the girl’s arms over her uninjured side, before dragging her on to the bike behind her.
 
“Just hold on Sonny! I’ll get us home!”
 
Gina winced in agony as Sonny slumped against her shredded back, but forced her eyes open to drive. Restarting the engine, Gina thought only of getting home. So focused on the road ahead of her, she never noticed the red eyes glowing ever brighter in the rearview mirror.
 
 
*   *   *
 
 
Spike woke with a low growl to the intoxicating smell of blood. Slipping into game face, he shot up in bed, scanning the room quickly for the source. And then he heard it.
 
Buffy. Singing?  And making a racket in the kitchen.
 
As eager to see her as he was to follow his nose, he pulled on his jeans – forgoing a shirt – and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Stopping abruptly in the doorway at the sight of her, he leaned against its jam to admire the view.
 
He wasn’t sure of the time since all the shades were drawn, but she was already showered and dressed, in a pair of dark, fitted jeans and an off-the-shoulder T-shirt, deep red. Her hair was swept up in a messy pony tail that still reached her mid-back and her cheek bore only the slightest trace that he had marred it the night before.
 
She was humming happily – not singing – as she stood over a steaming pot of what, he was stunned to conclude, was his breakfast.
 
“Morning, pet.”
 
“Gah!” Startled, Buffy twisted towards him with a jump.
 
“Sorry.”
 
“You startled me…” she replied with a smile. Her eyes scanned the length of his body before she quickly turned back to her pot.
 
“You used to be more alert than that, Slayer.”
 
“No. I used to live with dozens of screeching girls, so I was never surprised when people snuck up on me. I’m not used to hearing anyone else in this house though.”
 
“Forgot I was here already?”
 
She frowned at him, lifting the pot from the stove and showing it to him. “What do you think?”
 
He lowered his head, raising his eyes to her shyly. “Me thinks the lady’s made me a bit o’ tucker.”
 
“Huh?”
 
“Breakfast. That’s for me, right?”
 
“No. I always have ox blood and Wheetabix in the morning.”
 
Spike felt his chest tighten. “You bought Wheetabix?”
 
“Yup.”
 
“And ox?”
 
“Double yup.” She smiled widely at him. “More too.” Putting down the pot, she dashed to the refrigerator and showed him a whole shelf in the fridge stacked with blood, plus the freezer with three times as much. “There’s ox, pig, deer, cow, and…” She pulled out a smaller bag from the freezer. “Get this. Wolf!”
 
Spike went numb, his mouth slack. That was a week’s worth of blood.
 
“You don’t like wolf?” she asked worriedly.
 
He swallowed and spoke cautiously. “Uh… who’s gonna drink all that, Slayer? You havin’ your vamp buddies over for a poker party or somethin’?”
 
“Funny. No… I just… Well, it was on sale, for one.” She threw the wolf blood back into the freezer and returned to her pot on the stove. “They don’t sell much blood at the butchers in Santa Lucia, since I keep the town vamp-free, so I got this from Bakersfield. But I’ve been thinning the herd there too, so they were happy to get rid of the stuff before it went bad.”
 
“You drove to Bakersfield this morning?!”
 
She looked back at him briefly before returning to stirring his breakfast. “Oh. Um, yeah. I mean, how else were you gonna eat? And anyway… I didn’t know what you drank these days. I remember you always hating pig’s blood, so I figured I’d get a variety to see what you liked.” She started stirring more wildly – unwittingly splashing blood onto the stove. “I was just trying to heat this up to 98.6… but it’s tricky keeping it at that temperature for very long… and I wasn’t sure if you’d be up… but then I figured there was so much that I could just practice with this one, and-”
 
“Buffy.”
 
“… if I ended up burning it, I could just micro-“
 
“Buffy.”
 
She stopped stirring.
 
What could he say?
 
“Thank you,” he said weakly, his voice cracking.
 
She’d burnt the ox blood and it smelt god-awful, but no one had ever done anything like this for him. He didn’t know what it meant. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he cared. It felt so bloody good just being thought of.
 
She looked at him then, with warmth in her eyes. “Hungry?”
 
“I could eat an ox, love.”
 
She grinned widely. “One ox coming up!” Buffy moved to take the pot off the stove and gasped.
 
“What?”
 
“The thermometer says 120 degrees! Oh… phooey! This is no good!”  He could hear the pout in her voice, though he couldn’t see the lip.
 
“It’s alright, love.” He couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to her.
 
“No. No, it’s not.” Buffy quickly turned off the burner and dumped the blood down the drain. “Let’s start over.”
 
Spike sighed again. He wasn’t sure he could handle her being this nice. Or this adorable.
 
He moved to stand beside her, but she kept her eyes on the drain. “Tell you what, pet. I’ll make another pot of blood and you make yourself something to eat.”
 
She looked at him them. “I’ve already eaten, Spike. It’s three o’clock.”
 
“Oh.”
 
Fuck. He’d missed half the day with her.
 
“Yeah, you slept a while.”
 
He sighed. “So… what else did you do today?” Grabbing the pot from her, he started washing it out so that he could start over. Buffy took the cue and took a seat at the island.
 
“Lots, actually. Had breakfast. Then drove the bike to the car wash in town and arranged for the guys there to pick up Queenie at the hospital. They’re gonna wash her inside and out and deliver her here when she’s ready.”
 
“Nice. How much did that cost you?” Spike grabbed two bags of ox blood from the fridge, tore them open with his teeth, and started heating them up on the stove.
 
“Um, lots, actually. But whatever. Better than us cleaning her. Anyhoo, after that was arranged, I drove to Bakersfield to get the blood, and then stopped off at a few stores to get some Wheetabix and other stuff.”
 
“What other stuff?” he asked with a studied indifference.
 
“You’ll see.”
 
He stopped stirring his pot but kept his back to her. “Yeah? When?” Maybe she’d let on how long she was expecting him to stay.
 
“After you pay me back for all the blood and goodies.”
 
“Yeah? How?” He lifted his pot off the stove to keep it from overcooking while he waited for an answer.
 
She answered shyly. “Spar with me after you eat?”
 
Spike furrowed his brow and turned to face her. “You wanna spar? We just bashed each other up less than twenty-four hours ago. Thought we were supposed to be recuperating?”
 
“We are. We did. Anyway, that was a fight. This is training. You got me one too many times last night, and I wanna see what else you’ve got. Steal whatever moves you’ve picked up.” She didn’t seem at all ashamed to admit as much. “No one’s gotten that many hits in for a long time.”
 
Spike smirked arrogantly to hide his happiness. He was gonna float away, he felt so light.
 
He had to find out how long she wanted him to stay. He went back to his pot before he spoke. “I suppose Vegas can wait. Can’t hit the road until sundown anyway. We’ve got plenty of time to spar. Wouldn’t mind learning a few of your new moves too, love.”
 
Silence.
 
He was too nervous to look back.
 
A minute must have passed – the only sound, the scraping of his spoon.
 
Finally, she spoke. “What about the penis lady?”
 
He looked back at her in confusion.
 
Her face was blank. “You came here to kill her.”
 
He nodded.
 
“And you helped her escape instead.”
 
He nodded again, but slowly this time and unconsciously, as if trying to process her real meaning.
 
“Yeah… guess I do have a job to finish…” he said tentatively, looking at her askance.
 
She didn’t reply.
 
“So… you offerin’ food and lodging til I do?”
 
Her face came alive again. “At a price.”
 
He studied her. “Sparring.”
 
She smiled.
 
He paused to consider – not his answer, of course – but her.
 
“Done.” Spike finished heating his breakfast, poured half of it into the mug she’d put out for him, and leaned against the stove to drink. Buffy looked at him expectantly.
 
“Well?”
 
“Tastes like ox.”
 
“Spike.”
 
He stifled a smile. “It’s good, pet. Fresh. And better than pig.”
 
And again she was smiling at him. “Good. Drink up. How’s your chest?”
 
“Fine. I could spar now. How’s the knee? You heal any faster with that immortality of yours?”
 
“Sadly, no. But I healed fast enough before. The knee is almost good as new.”
 
Finishing the mug, Spike poured himself the rest from the pot. “So how do we go about finding the old lady then?”
 
“Argh. I don’t know. She may have skipped town. But if I was a mother, and someone had just fried all my kids, I’d be looking for vengeance. Outside of the usual patrols and ass-kickings for information, we may just have to wait to see who shows up dead.”
 
Spike raised an eyebrow in surprise.
 
“I know. It’s not the kindest thing to do. But we need to be realistic here.”
 
Spike looked at her more closely. “You’ve changed.”  
 
“I’ve aged, Spike.” Buffy clasped her hands in front of her and looked down. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of people die because I couldn’t save them in time. Many of them Slayers who would’ve never died if Willow and I hadn’t woken them up in the first place. I could crawl under a rock and pity myself. Or I could delude myself into thinking that I can be everywhere, in the nick of time, to save everyone. Or…” She looked up then. “I could just do my best. And never stop trying.”
 
Spike just stared at her with admiration in his eyes.
 
She met his gaze. “You know, someone once told me, that that’s what he admired most about me.”
 
He looked at her questioningly.
 
“How I try.”
 
Bloody hell. It was too much. He couldn't...
 
So he drank his ox instead.
 
She watched him intently as he sipped his drink, and the moment soon became too overwhelming for him, so he downed the rest of his breakfast in two gulps and started cleaning up the mess.
 
“Meet me in the basement in five, pet. Just gonna clean up here and splash some water over my face.”
 
“Cool,” she replied lightheartedly. “I’ll go change.” 
 
And she was off.
 
Alone in the kitchen with his thoughts, Spike busied himself with the blood-splattered stove. He was painfully confused. What the hell had happened to his unlife? How had he ended up here? Everything he wanted was in front of him: Buffy. All to himself. In a cozy little house. Beautiful. Smiling. Kind. And young. Forever, young. Like him.
 
But not his.
 
He wished he understood her. If only she hadn’t been such a bitch to him back in Sunnydale and so aloof that last year, he’d be able to make some sense of her behavior now.  He didn’t know what to make of the thirty-one flavours of blood from Bakersfield, and the Wheetabix, and the hospitality, and the smiles and giggles, and the insistence that he stay. Was this just friendliness? Is that what old mates did? Is this how she treated Xander? Was Spike just a Scooby to her now? 
 
Was that enough?
 
‘Of course it's enough, you selfish prick’, he thought to himself. He’d promised her as much last night while he’d watched her sleep. He could be that for her. They could be friends. It felt bloody wonderful being friends. And he could have her friendship forever if he played his cards right. He didn’t have to be alone anymore. There could always be her.
 
She just wouldn’t be his.
 
Spike exhaled forcefully.
 
He still couldn’t believe she’d bought him wolf’s blood.
 
After finishing in the kitchen, Spike made a quick trip to the bathroom to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He felt ten times better for breakfast, and could feel his cracked bones mending all the faster. Walking through the house to the basement, he couldn’t help but notice that every shade had been drawn. There was nowhere in the house he couldn’t go.
 
He heard her pounding the bag before he saw her.
 
“Ready?” she asked as she saw him descend the stairs.
 
“Are you, pet?”