XXII

“You’re hiding in the kitchen? Pathetic.”

Gina looked up from her cereal, nonplussed. “I’m eatin’ Sonny. I ain’t hidin’.”

“Uh huh.”

“They done yet?”

“They’re just in the other room, Gina. Go find out for yourself.”

“I would, but I can’t eat soggy Crunch Berries,” she mumbled through a mouthful, milk dripping down her chin.

Sonny smirked.

Any other day, Gina would’ve countered that smirk, but it was the closest thing to a smile Sonny had managed since she’d seen Max yesterday.

“Are you gonna eat those cannoli, Sonny, or what?” Stevie had been eyeing them all morning.

Sonny frowned at the paper bag on the counter. “Knock yourself out.”

Stevie made a grab for the bag, almost spilling her coffee in her lap.

“But not the ricotta,” Sonny warned.

“Wha –?” Stevie frowned. “Humph.” She grabbed the vanilla instead.

“That was nice of him,” Gina treaded carefully.

No reply.

Gina tried a different subject. “Tori and Mel up yet?”

“Yeah,” Sonny replied. “They’re both bitching about Spike.”

“What the fuck for?”

Sonny raised both eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“He kicked their butts yesterday, Gina,” Stevie added.

“Correction. He tore their asses up. So?”

Sonny and Stevie exchanged looks.

“They’re Slayers for fuck’s sake,” Gina explained. “And Spike had it right. We all need to be able to handle ourselves against a Master Vampire. So they got owned.” She shrugged. “That’ll learn ‘em.”

“Someone’s got a cru-ush,” Sonny sang.

Gina stopped her spoon mid-air. “Do you really wanna go there, Sonny?”

That shut her up.

“And no. I don’t. I just think he’s a badass, and I don’t mind gettin’ schooled if it’ll keep my ass from dyin’.”

“Better him than Buffy,” Sonny grumbled, sliding on to a stool.

“You know what? Yeah,” Gina admitted. “This time, you’re right, Sonny. Cause Spike don’t play. Buffy wouldn’t hurt us like that.”

“Not with fists anyway.”

Gina exhaled wearily. “Give it a rest, Sonny. Seriously. Give the poor woman a break.”

“A break?”

“Yeah. A motha’ fuckin’ break. I know you think she’s lucky cause she can’t get killed, but she ain’t, Sonny.”

Sonny looked away.

“She ain’t,” Gina repeated under her breath.


* * * * * * * *


“You’re up early.”

“Dawn, it’s noon.”

“Like I said.”

Dawn leaned against the door jam, arms folded, watching Buffy bite the tags off her new clothes.

“Yeah, well… no late night slayage or… anything, so I got plenty of sleep.”

“Yeah, I thought I heard you come in during actual night-time hours. What happened? Spike kick ya out?”

“Ow.”

“What did Mom always say about biting off tags?”

“Guests are like fish, you know.”

“Huh? That’s not what she– ”

“I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, Dawn.”

“I don’t think you were in any danger of doing that.”

“He didn’t invite me to stay. And I wasn’t going to invite myself. And I wouldn’t have wanted to take his bed from him again. Also, there’s all this stuff.” Buffy waved her hands over the mountain of clothes on the bed. “It would have looked like I was moving in or something. Desperate much?”

“I see your point. Also, it doesn’t hurt to let him stew for a bit in his own juices.”

Buffy grimaced.

“You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder kind of thing. Granted, forty years was long enough, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting too long. He deserves better than that.”

“Okay. One, I’m not trying to play hard to get, if that’s what you’re suggesting. And two, I have no interest in Spike stewing in any juices. I just want to be nice to him.”

“Cause you want him,” Dawn teased.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Because he’s a good man, Dawn. And a hero.” She paused. “And like you said, he deserves better. From all of us.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m all with the forgiveness and the being nice to Spike.”

“Well, maybe you can work on Xander then.”

“I’m a ball of mystical energy, Buffy. Not a miracle worker.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes and started hanging her things in the closet.

“So what’s with all the color?”

Buffy shrugged.

“Spike likes red.”

Buffy pursed her lips.

“Leather too.”

“And you know what? So did I once. I’m just trying to bring a little life back into my wardrobe. Is that a crime?”

“Not in California. Maybe in Utah. So what happened with Spike? I assume you did the grown-up thing and explained the scene with Max.”

“I did.”

“And he believed you.”

“He did. But we still fought.”

“About what?”

Buffy sighed. “About his not telling me he was back for all these years. And about my dating Angel.”

“Well, I guess that was inevitable. But it ended well?”

Buffy stopped, forgetting the hanger dangling from her hand, her mind drifting back to Shakespeare and Slod tongue.

“It did.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“Kissage?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “No. But we… connected, I think.” She paused, her expression turning serious. “It’s so strange, Dawn.”

“Connecting?”

Buffy sat down on the bed, forgetting her clothes. “It was a long time ago, you know, but I still remember it all. Maybe because I’m forced to remember so many things when I resurrect?”

“What are we talking about?”

“Spike.” Buff’s face sunk into a frown. “I don’t think there are words enough to describe how much I used to hate him. No – not hate. Worse. I looked down on him. I thought he was pathetic. Annoying. I refused to see any good in him.”

Silence.

“I remember.”

Buffy looked up, her face slightly pained. “But now I don’t. I don’t think any of those things. I don’t even understand how I could’ve ever thought those things. It’s so obvious to me now how amazing he is. Strong. Brave. Caring. Patient. Even… gentle.” Looking down, she added quietly, “If you let him be.”

“He was all of those things to me, that summer you were gone.”

Buffy swallowed. “I know. I didn’t acknowledge it very much then though. And that’s the thing that worries me. How could I despise him so much one minute and admire him so much the next?”

“It’s taken a bit longer than a minute, Buffy.”

“I know, but the point is, he hasn’t changed all that much. I mean – okay, he has in some ways – what with the soul and the white hat stuff. But in other ways he’s the same.” She sighed again. “I don’t know. It just makes me doubt my own judgment – the fact that I hated him so much.”

“I get that.”

“So maybe my judgment is still bad. Maybe I’m projecting something on him or something? Some ideal? I mean, I thought Angel was a freaking saint with fangs. Maybe I’m seeing in him what I want to see?”

“I thought that was my bad habit, Buffy.”

Buffy flopped back on to the bed. “It’s just so disorienting.”

“That’s why they call it love, Buffy.”

Buffy shot back up. “Who, they? Call wha’?”

Dawn bit back a smile. “Is that your Compton and Watts impression or something?”

“Huh?”

“Did I really get all the brain cells from Mom?”

“Um, no. You got them from me. Remember? With the blood and the key-age?”

“Well, I think the monks gave me all the brain cells. And better hair. They just left you with the muscle.”

“Dawn, It’s been a lifetime. I don’t know how I feel about–“

“Yes, you do. You’ve always known, Buffy. You’ve just never let yourself acknowledge it because it was the last thing you were supposed to feel.”

Silence.

Buffy felt her heart pounding furiously as her brain seemed to fit and seize.

Dawn walked further into the room and sat next to her on the bed. “You’ve always lived for other people, Buffy. You’ve always cared so much about their opinions. Giles. Xander. Willow. Well actually just those three, really.”

Buffy swallowed with difficulty. Stupid lump.

“Mom always liked Spike, and yet you never gave her any credit for having good judgment when it came to boys. I looked up to Spike, but you never gave me any credit because I was a kid. Anya always liked him, but she was a vengeance demon, so you didn’t respect her opinion. Andrew adored Spike, and you–“

Buffy glared.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Anyway, we weren’t Scoobies. We were the supporting cast in the ‘after school drama’ that was your melodramatic life. No one ever listens to the chorus.”

Buffy lowered her head. She was quiet when she spoke. “Dawn, I just couldn’t–“

“No. You could have. But you were scared. That’s okay. Just don’t be scared now.”

Buffy dropped her head into her hands, her hair falling over her face.

“Or, you could just wait another forty years until we’re all dead, but then Spike might be dead too.”

She looked up in alarm.

“Newsflash, Buffy. Spike doesn’t have a get-out-of-grave-free card. He can dust anytime the Fates want. Or he can find someone else to spend his unlife with.”

Buffy’s guts twisted, making her suddenly nauseous. “Dawn, I just don’t know. And I don’t want to hurt him.”

“No, Buffy. You just don’t know how he feels about you anymore. And you don’t want to hurt yourself. Because if Spike doesn’t want you, then who does that leave you with?”

She was off the bed and standing over Dawn the next moment. “No. You think I’m using him too? Well, I’m not! And I can’t believe you of all people would think so little of me! That I’m some poor, pathetic woman desperate to find – what? – some vampire lover so she doesn’t have to spend eternity in the world alone?”

“Buffy–“

“Well you’re wrong! I don’t want Spike because he’s immortal, damn it! I want him because he’s Spike!

Dawn raised an eyebrow.

Buffy gasped – her hand reflexively covering her mouth.

Dawn smiled. “Here endeth the lesson.”

“Lesson?” Xander.

Buffy’s hand stayed frozen over her mouth, her eyes stuck open, unable to blink.

“So what are we teaching the Buffster this time, hon? The challenging science of telephone usage when we don’t come home for over a day?”

Buffy unfroze at that. “Okay, you guys are driving me nuts. Xander, I’m a senior citizen for goodness sake and you’re not my dad. If you were, you’d be screwing your secretary in Spain.”

“Whoa. Okay, how about we slow down to a complete stop. It was a just a joke, Buff. I make those from time to time, you know.”

“Don’t mind her, Xander. She’s just a little discombobulated at the moment.”

“Ooh. Check out the vocab on the missus!”

“Thanks,” Dawn replied with an impish grin.

“So, Buff, what’s got you all…” He waved a hand around. “…you know, that word?”

Buffy so didn’t want to have that conversation with Xander. “I’m just anxious to get back to the house, Xander. You know, to fix it up.”

“Well what’s stopping you? The Dragvloks are so last week, Buff. And there’s no new Big Bad yet.”

Buffy didn’t have an answer.

“Obviously, we love having you here. You could move in now if you wanted to. But if you’re eager to get home, why not head back to Santa Lucia?”

Buffy looked anxiously at Dawn, who looked back with amusement.

“Um… well, the girls are still grieving and everything.”

Xander shifted his eyes from one sister to the other and then smiled. “Right. Admit it, Buff.”

She could feel her heart beat quicken again and took a steadying breath. “Admit what?”

“That you’re here for Uncle Rory.”

She tightened her mouth. “Xander, can you not call him that? For one, I’ve met your Uncle Rory. Also, you’re hatred of Spike? So old. I was already over it forty years ago.”

Annoyance. That was a more comfortable feeling. But Xander was unmoved.

“You’re right, Buff. It is old. As in ancient history. Insulting him is just habit, really.” He shrugged. “It’s also fun. I mean, come on. I’m the aging, one-eyed man here, and he gets to be an immortal Ken doll, only – you know – with testicles. I gotta get my kicks in where I can.”

That gave her pause.

“The truth is, I don’t even dislike the guy anymore. I’m kind of used to him now – which is odd really, since I haven’t seen him since Hey Ya! topped the charts.”

Dawn brightened. “Ooh. I used to love that song!”

But Xander was serious again. “I don’t know, Buff. It’s strange… Even though it’s been forever since we’ve seen him, and even though he’s presumably been doing his own thing pretty happily…”

He paused.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“He doesn’t really make a lot of sense to me without you.”

Buffy’s mouth fell open.

“And now that he’s back…” Xander winced as if preparing for a blow. “Sorry Buff, but you kind of make more sense with him around too.”

And then her mouth went dry. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and her eyes said as much.

“Don’t get me wrong!” he rushed, hands raised. “I’m not saying you two should be, you know, slapping skins or–“

“Xander!”

“I know hon, I know. I’m cringing at my own thoughts here. But the point is… it makes sense… the two of you.” He gave Buffy an awkward smile. “I mean, look at you. You’re both short, blond, well muscled, not quite with the times, and – you know – kind of bitchy. Plus you both have super powers and age-defying beauty, and can I just say how annoying that is? Oh. And you both have funny names,” he finished with a grin.

Buffy fought back a smile. “I get it, Xander. You’re okay with Spike, now.”

“I’m not sure you do, Buff. The point was about the two of you, not me. It shouldn’t matter what I think. I realize that now. So should you. But for the record, yeah. My should-be-irrelevant-opinion is that he’s more than okay. I mean, he’s a Scooby now.”

Dawn frowned in annoyance. “What are we? T-Birds and Pink Ladies?”

But Buffy’s throat had constricted at his words, and she wondered when the men in her life would stop moving her to tears.

The sound of a cell phone broke through the solemnity of the moment.

“Oh. That’s me.” Dawn fished out her phone from her pocket.

“Hello?”

Dawn’s eyes widened at Buffy.

“Hi, Andrew.”

Buffy tensed instantly, Dawn signaling with a hand for Buffy to stay calm.

….

“Everything’s fine. Didn’t the Council guys tell you when they got back?”

….

Dawn nodded her head absently, a bored look on her face.

“Portal?”

She looked a bit more interested.

….

“Okay. I’ll look into it.”

Dawn looked at Buffy again. “So is this really why you called Andrew?”

….

Dawn was tight-lipped when she smiled. “Well I’m angry at you for hiding Spike’s existence from us, Andrew, so I’d imagine that Buffy is downright furious.”

….

Dawn smirked. “So did you want to talk to her?”

….

Dawn narrowed her eyes at Buffy as if considering her. “I’m pretty sure whatever Buffy has to say to you she’d prefer to say in person.”

….

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Andrew. I have to go. Thanks for the portal tip.” Dawn shut off her phone and stuffed it back in her pocket.

“Well?” Buffy didn’t really care what he had to say for himself. He was still getting a broken nose when she saw him. And maybe a broken leg.

“He said, and I quote, ’It’s so not my fault. And if Buffy tries anything, Spike will protect me to the death!’”

“Huh?”

“He means his labradoodle.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

Xander recoiled slightly. “Um… that pooch is pretty feral, Buff. Don’t let the blond curls fool you.”

Buffy sighed. “You know what? I don’t have time for Andrew right now. Or his stupid dog.”

“Why? Have you got something else to deal with?” Dawn asked, looking amused.

Dawn may have scored a victory getting her to admit… something, but Buffy’s life was her own. She wasn’t going to let Dawn or Xander walk her into anything.

“Yes,” she replied smugly. “As a matter of fact I do. My house, remember?” She looked at Xander. “Like you said. There’s no Big Bad at the moment, so I think I will go to Santa Lucia today. You know, to assess the damage. Make sure the place is secure.”

Dawn sighed in resignation. “Well, you know the Council will pay for the repairs, Buffy. Just let Willow know the cost in the end.”

Willow. Buffy thought back to Spike’s reaction towards her oldest friend after he’d found out that it was her spell that had doomed her.

“Guys…”

Xander and Dawn both looked at her.

“You don’t think that Willow knew about Spike, do you?”

Dawn wrinkled her brow in concern. “Buffy, you said you spoke to Willow about it. She said she had no idea.”

Buffy smiled awkwardly. “Right. Of course.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe her?” Xander asked.

“No, no, no. I –“ Buffy laughed briefly. “Of course I do. Forget I said anything.”

But Dawn looked disturbed. “Just let me know the costs, Buffy, when you know them. I’ll send the receipts to the Council.”

Buffy looked at her sister.

“In fact, I’ll send them to Andrew,” she added with a smirk.

Buffy smiled gratefully. “Do you think I could get enough money for a Comptel 5?”

“What?!” Xander.

Dawn laughed. ”I’m sure of it.”

“Hon–”

“Zip it, Xander.”

Xander huffed. “But I don’t get it, Buff. You’ve never been tech-girl. Since when did you want a Comptel 5?”

Buffy shrugged shyly. “Since now.”


* * * * * * * *

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought

Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

Spike smiled to himself as he finished reading. “Nothing new under the sun,” he muttered. What was he doing now, but waiting for her? Wondering where she was, and with whom.

Still naked in bed, he leaned back against the headboard and sighed.

Things seemed so much more complicated now than they’d been before. He shouldn’t have fought with her. Shouldn’t have been upset about the fiancé. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had lovers. Of course, Angel was another matter. Whether it made sense or not, that short-lived and ill-fated reunion was a bitter fuckin’ pill. But it was also in the past.

What upset him most, though, was his betrayal of himself. He’d promised himself (and her silently) to be a friend to her now. He’d had no intention of asking her for anything. He’d willingly – even blissfully – accepted a future with her as a friend in life and in battle.

But what had he done? He’d lashed out the very second there was any suspicion of another man in her life that might offer her that friendship. No. He couldn’t deny the truth any longer. He’d lectured her on that very thing once upon a time.

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children. It's blood – blood screaming inside you to work its will.

He was fucked.

He couldn’t leave her again, he knew that. But to see and smell, but not touch. Never taste…

Forever.

Spike stroked the vellum-bound book in his lap. He cherished it already. She cared for him, in her way. He knew that now. And she’d been very clear – painfully clear – about the fact that she could have any man she wanted – dead or undead. But she wanted him to stay. Maybe it was because he was the one man in all the world who wouldn’t ask her for anything. He knew her already – the best and worst of her. Understood her with perfect clarity. Accepted her for what she was.

Spike blinked with the realization. She didn’t want him: she needed him.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a bit of alright. A companion for eternity. That respected him. Made him laugh. Surprised him. Was beautiful and powerful and good. Kind, and kinder every day. And a hellcat in bed, if he could ever get her there again. He bit his lip at the thought. If that was settling… well, fuck it. Call him a bloody Pilgrim.

So he wouldn’t ask her for anything, which meant he wouldn’t call Dawn’s house to find out where she was and what she was doing. He’d have to set himself up properly in town now. He’d already made a good start of it before they’d rediscovered each other.

Spike reached over to his bedside table for his phone and rang his only mate in town.

“Spike! What’s up man? Levi’s tonight?”

“Bring your wallet, mate. Got no use for kittens.”


* * * * * * * *

Buffy slowed Queenie to a stop just short of her driveway as she took in the suburban ruin that was once her sleepy cottage. Dawn had said the house was still standing. She hadn’t mentioned that what stood was little more than the charred and battered carcass of her life.

Buffy shut her eyes and gripped the steering wheel, forcing away the memory of another California home destroyed, some forty years ago. She hated being right. In the end, everything did just get stripped away.

She refused to cry over a house. But there was a life lost here too, and for that, she could feel her eyes water. Angrily, she wiped at the moisture collecting in her bottom lids. If it didn’t reach her cheeks, then they weren’t tears. Blowing out a breath, she steeled herself for a proper inspection, and slowly turned into the driveway.

Her next-door neighbor appeared outside her car door before she’d even cut the engine.

“Miss Summers!”

Buffy got out of the car and forced her mouth into a smile. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Partridge.”

“Well, I don’t know what’s good about it, but I suppose that’s as suitable a greeting as any.”

Buffy nodded, though she had no idea what she was nodding about. Mrs. Partridge was dressed in her usual afternoon outfit of a button-down sack dress, slippers and curlers. She could never figure out when Mrs. Partridge actually took out the curlers. Her roots were showing too, which confirmed that the woman was deliberately coloring her grey hair blue. It never ceased to amaze Buffy that Ms. Partridge was only ten years older than her.

“Well!”

Oh. Buffy had forgotten they were having a conversation.

“What was that?”

“Well I’m glad you’ve finally come back to this place. I’ve been calling the town council every day about it, you know – wondering when the place would be seen to.”

“I’m not really sure that’s their responsibility, Mrs. Partridge.”

Her neighbor scowled. “Well this house of yours has to be attracting all sorts of undesirables, I dare say. I’ve been poking about the place every now and again, and there looks to be a few things missing now, though the police may have come back when I wasn’t watching to gather evidence. Either that or someone is stealing things in the evenings, Miss Summers. I go to bed quite early, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But I’m on that porch all day and don’t see anyone sniffing around, so if there are thieves, yes, they must be coming of an evening. I don’t like the idea of criminal elements sniffing about my property at night.”

“No one does, Mrs. Partridge.”

“And think of the children!”

“Right. Can’t forget them.”

“Well, there would be nothing to worry about if this place were seen to!”

“And on that note, I better see to it. Don’t ya think?” Buffy didn’t wait for an answer and turned on her heels towards where the front door should have been. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Partridge putter back to her own lawn, shaking her curlers to and fro.

The front door had gone up in flames, leaving a ragged mouth of an opening.

Buffy exhaled in a huff. This sucked.

“Buffy!”

Buffy turned towards the house on the left and saw her favorite neighbor running towards her.

“Hey Benji!” She went to give the fifteen year-old a hug but stopped short when she remembered his aversion to such things. He wasn’t much taller than she was, so she could easily give his hair a quick tousle instead.

Predictably, he ducked his head and looked away.

“Your house caught on fire,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, I know. I was kinda there when it happened.”

“You don’t look like you were burnt.”

“Nope. I’m singe-free. Thanks for asking. That’s more than Mrs. Partridge did. So how have you been? The jerks at school giving you any trouble the past week?”

Benji had been bullied mercilessly at school his whole life until he’d met Buffy – mainly because he was a bit – well, not like the others. He was a good-looking kid – dark haired with long lashes and big brown eyes. But he didn’t understand the finer aspects of socialization, which were a matter of life and death in high school. She’d spent most Saturdays over the last year training him in her basement in basic self-defense techniques, with extra lessons on how to disarm your assailants with witty puns and quips.

“I haven’t been to school at all this week.” His eyes refused to settle on one spot, but not because he was uncomfortable. They always did that.

“Oh. Don’t tell me Rodney and his goons have been harassing you again. You’re not avoiding him are you?”

“No. I’ve been suspended.”

“What? Why?”

“I gave Rodney a pneumothorax.”

Oops.

Buffy grimaced. “The kidney shot?” she asked tentatively.

He nodded.

Darn.

“Drop it lower next time. And, hey! Look on the bright side,” she said nervously. “I bet when you get back, Rodney won’t be a problem.”

“He’s got two flailed ribs. He won’t be back for a while.”

Buffy swallowed. “Right.” She looked anxiously towards his house for his mother. She was pretty sure his mother didn’t know about the lessons. She’d always told his mom that they shared an interest in Sci Fi movies and that he liked to come over to watch the afternoon creature feature with her.

The truth was, after she’d gotten to know him, and after he’d seen a vamp follow her home one night, she’d told him the truth about her identity. He didn’t have any friends unfortunately, so it wasn’t like he’d go telling anyone. And no one would believe him anyway. Ever since he’d found out about vampires and slayers, he’d become almost obsessive about them. She often wondered if the self-defense lessons were just an excuse for him to question her more about vamps. And Rodney had become much less frightening to him when Benji had learned about real evil.

“I’ve finished Merckel’s Compendium on the Vampyre.”

“Whoa. Benji, that book is like two thousand pages long.”

“Two thousand five hundred and thirty-two pages, not including footnotes.”

“You read the footnotes?!”

“Of course. But can I keep the book a bit longer?”

Buffy shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like I ever planned on reading it or anything. I don’t even remember how I got it.”

“I can give you back your other things though.”

“Other things?”

“Yeah. I’ve been gathering things every night from the house. It’s not secure. When you didn’t come back after the fire, I figured I’d better protect stuff until you got back. I know that vampires can’t enter the house without an invitation – even if the door is gone, but that wouldn’t stop anyone else.”

“Wow. Benji, thanks so much. So what have you got?”

“Well, the police must have taken your weapons, because there was nothing left in the basement when I went over there the first night. But I’ve got the motorcycle in the garage, a bunch of stakes, a few sculptures, and the paintings from the walls that hadn’t been burnt. And the few books you had on demons, of course.”

Buffy had forgotten about Spike’s motorcycle. He’d be thrilled to get it back.

“Benji, you’re a life saver.” She smiled warmly at the teenager. “Thanks so much. Think I could get the motorcycle now?”

Nodding, Benji turned towards his garage and Buffy followed.

“You know I hadn’t really thought about thieves taking my stuff when I left. I was a bit distracted at the time. So thanks.”

“No problem. I’ve been watching the house at night too. I can see the front and the back entrance from my bedroom window, so I just shine my flashlight on the entrance when someone tries to enter.”

Buffy stopped in her tracks. “Wait. You’re saying there really have been intruders?”

Benji stopped when he realized that she had. “Just the one.”

Buffy didn’t like the sound of this. Their neighborhood was pretty safe, so anyone sneaking around must have known who and what she was, which meant that he was unlikely to be human. “What did it look like?”

Benji wore his usual blank expression. “Five feet, ten inches. Approximately one hundred and seventy pounds. Male. Blue eyes. Gold teeth. Blond dreadlocks. Human.”

Shit.

* * * * * * * *

“Full house, fellas.” Spike grinned like a fledge after a feed.

“Arggh!” the Fyarl growled in protest.

“Very impressive, Mr. Spike,” the Caretaker conceded, as he finished his fourth whiskey of the night. At three feet tall, only the Devil knew where he put it all.

“It’s just Spike, mate.”

“Yes, of course.”

Milo was the only one who didn’t seem pissed off that Spike was cleaning house, which was curious, seeing as he still owed Clem two litters.

They started another game.

“So how are Missy and the sprogs, mate?” Spike asked Clem.

“All good, but they’ve been harassing me about getting a Comptel 5.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “In a crypt?”

“I know! That’s what I tried to explain. But then that only got Missy talking about getting a new place above ground.”

“Curb side, huh? I can get you in touch with my guy, mate. I think there’s a flat or two available in my building.”

“Really? Well… I’m actually pretty happy at Hollywood Memorial. But–“

“You’ve got a family to consider,” Spike finished.

Clem nodded glumly.

The conversation may have distracted the Fyarl and Milo, but Spike caught the ace Clem had slipped out of a skin fold. No wonder the shaman owed the Tergus two litters. Mates were mates, so he stayed mum.

“So what have you been up to, man?” Clem asked him.

“Ripped out a Slod tongue last night. That was fun.”

Clem made an ‘ick’ face.

“To what end?” The Caretaker asked calmly, his mop of black hair bowed low, eyes still on his cards.

“What was that?”

“Have you plans to sell this gentleman’s tongue?”

Bugger. Spike hadn’t thought of that. And he’d completely forgotten that the Caretaker might have been the one who’d bought the Slayer tongue from the Slod in the first place. Buffy had been right to be suspicious.

“Why? How much would it sell for?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. A few hundred.”

Bloody hell. He should have kept the slimy thing after he’d shown it to her. Two hundred quid wasn’t half bad for a few minutes work.

“Well, too late for that, mate. Chucked it down the garbage disposal. But uh… I could find the prick and get some other parts if they’d sell for just as much. What’s your fancy, Milo?” he asked with trained nonchalance.

The Caretaker looked up then – his face like a booger, white and wrinkly, with two specks of blood for eyes.

“A Slod hand is always useful, Mr. Spike.”

Spike kept a bored expression on his face, and one eye on the game. “That so? Why a hand?”

“As you may or may not know, the better pastes for healing are those that include elements of the method of injury. And a Slod injures others by way of his hands.”

“Interesting.” But it wasn’t really. “Does it matter right or left?”

“No.”

“All this talk of body parts is making me hungry,” grumbled the Fyarl.

Since the shaman was talking freely, Spike figured he might as well press his luck. “So uh, how much does a Slayer tongue go for then?”

The Caretaker stilled the hand holding his whiskey to his lips, and set the glass back down.

“Have you acquired one of those as well?”

Spike kept his poker face on. “No, but I could.”

Pause.

The shaman turned to face him again. “With respect to Vampire Slayers, the value is not in the tongue, Mr. Spike, but in the blood it contains. A Vampire Slayer does not injure her foe with her tongue.”

“Hmph. Some of them do.”

“Tongues are of greatest use if they’ve come from a spell caster, such as a witch, warlock or gypsy. And the blood of a Slayer is most useful for healing a fellow Slayer.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Huh. That all a Slayer’s blood is good for then?”

“And for healing vampires, of course.”

“Vampires don’t need Slayer blood to heal, mate. It’s the best there is, certainly. But any human’s blood will do.”

“Perhaps with physical injuries, Mr. Spike–“

“Just Spike, mate,” he insisted.

“Of course.”

“You were saying?”

“A vampire may suffer from other injuries. Mystical ones. In such cases, only Slayer blood will do.”

Spike snorted. “Magic. I fucking hate magic.”

“I imagine you do, Mr. Spike. I could not help but notice that you have a soul.”

Spike glared at the shaman with menace. “You got a problem with that, mate?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s a fucking curse,” he muttered bitterly. He wouldn’t trade it for anything now, but it only seemed to strengthen his love for her. And his heartache.

“How fortuitous then, Mr. Spike. As I believe I can be of assistance in that regard.”

Spike stilled momentarily, placed his cards face down and leaned back in his chair, turning his eyes intently on the shaman.

“You look doubtful, Mr. Spike.”

“It’s Spike,” he gritted.

The shaman nodded. “I assure you that I am well qualified in such matters.”

“What matters are those?”

“Why the binding and unbinding of souls, of course.”

Wait.

“Binding of souls?”

“And unbinding them, if that is your desire.”

Spike didn’t hide his curiosity now. “The vampire constitution is unique, Milo. Fucking with the soul of a Fungus demon or a Fyarl is one thing–”

“Arggh!”

“Calm down, Lionel,” Spike grumbled to the Fyarl.

“Indeed. But my experience is with a vampire, Mr. Spike. A rather old one in fact.”

Bloody hell.

“I’m listening.”

“Without betraying my client’s confidence, I can only say that I was able to lift a curse that was placed upon him a century ago, and bind the soul to him that had been thrust upon him. He was very satisfied with the result, I assure you.”

Spike’s mind was working a million miles an hour now, but his face was a sea of tranquility. “You said healing pastes and what not worked best if they included the method of injury.”

“I did.”

“So you must have used the spell casters tongue?”

“Not the original spell caster, no. But a member of the family line.”

“You collected that then?”

“Oh no. I’m no organ harvester. If I have not acquired such things in my business dealings, the client must provide them for me, as was the case in this instance.”

Spike swallowed the blood threatening to rise up his throat. “And Slayer blood? Did you use that too?”

“Tongue of a gypsy, blood of a Slayer. That was the best mixture.”

Bingo. Spike hadn’t mentioned a gypsy before. The whiskey was loosening the booger’s tongue.

Spike picked up his cards again and pretended to refocus on the game. “How much Slayer blood then?”

“Knowing the vampire appetite as you do, Mr. Spike, you must see that it would require completely draining a Slayer.”

Spike’s jaw tensed imperceptibly. That evil piece of shite. So much for redemption.

“But my client was loathe to kill a Slayer – a most curious attitude for a vampire. So we were forced to work around this.”

Spike couldn’t stop his eyes from twitching, but he betrayed little else. “How’d you work around that then?”

“My client was able to obtain a willing donor, from whom he drank on a regular basis for some time. The spell was therefore a protracted affair. But it was successful in the end.”

No.

Red, hot fury coursed through every vein in his body at the thought. He was a quiet inferno of rage behind a hand-winning poker face. There was only one Slayer in the world that would have wanted to bind Angel’s soul. That, he could accept.

But not this.

She’d let him drink.