The night sky was clear and still as Spike walked through the graveyard. The cemeteries of Sunnydale were large enough that the early evening sounds of the city did not penetrate the acres of graves and carefully tended grass.

To Spike’s vampiric hearing, the night was far from silent. Insects hummed, birds called to one another, and tiny creatures burrowed through the earth beneath his feet. The rustling of feathers and the occasional hiss or puff marked Meret’s presence as she darted around, exploring this strange new world.

Spike kept his eyes and ears open for other vampires and demons, but most of the lesser evils had gone to ground after the Hellions’ abrupt arrival and expulsion. There would be little sport to be had for some time to come.

The blond vampire sighed as he reached one of the cemetery’s small side exits.

Soddin’ cowards.

The gates were closed and locked, not unusual after dark, but this proved to be little hindrance. He quickly scaled the wrought iron fence and stood for a moment on one of the large stone dividers. The crisp night air held an array of interesting scents: people, car exhaust, burnt grilled cheese in the house across the street. Spike often chose this route when he wished to avoid company.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of humans, far from that, but some nights their presence only served to remind him of the life he had lost. The chip had effectively stolen his old world and thrust him into an awkward position: a predator bereft of the kill.

Spike had visited the Sunnydale Zoo once, after his second return from South America, after the military had seen fit to neuter him. He had stood for a long time in front of the tiger enclosure, locked eye to eye with one of the great cats. The animal had paced the fence, watching him with golden eyes. Spike had seen wild tigers in China before the Boxer Rebellion. They had virtually hummed with barely controlled fury at the vampires’ interruption and the desire to hunt, to kill. Drusilla had asked Angelus if she could try to turn one, a request that thankfully was denied. Spike remembered feeling like he had found kindred spirits. He had never before seen such a raw example of savage freedom.

On the perfectly kept walkways of the zoo, Spike had come face to face with another dark mirror. The cage, as large and well appointed as it was, had broken the great cat’s spirit. Years of captivity had made the animal accept its fate, to be stared at and fed cold meat by puny beings it could have killed with ease had it been free. The fiery spark that had so captivated Drusilla had long since been snuffed. Spike thought of tearing open the cage door before realizing that to do so could only result in the great cat’s death, either at the zoo keepers’ hands or the animal’s own inability to live in the outside world. He had wondered if the creature would have chosen a quick death after feeling freedom or if it even would have taken the chance to escape. He had the sinking feeling that the once proud hunter had been so thoroughly gentled by its captivity that it would have chosen to stay within the confines of the only home it could remember.

Spike had backed away slowly before breaking into a run that did not end until he had reached Willy’s bar. That night, like many more to come, had ended with him drinking heavily, reaffirming his vow to find a way to remove the chip at any cost. Since that day, he had studiously avoided the area surrounding the zoo, unwilling to face the horror it held for him.

It was the memory of that tiger that had prompted Spike to try to take his unlife that night in Harris’ basement. That evening, dressed in one of the whelp’s tacky Hawaiian shirts, marked one of the lowest points for a vampire who had survived decades of highs and lows. Had he not discovered that he could fight other demons just a few hours later, he was sure he would have finished the job that same evening. The short battle over the Hellmouth had given him hope and a returned feeling of self-worth. He had started thinking of the chip as less of a cage and more of a hindrance, something that could be lived with and endured. He still hated the little knot of silicon and wires, and he would react violently to reminders of its presence, but he no longer thought longingly of embracing sunlight.

For a time, he had convinced himself that he was free again, but that turned out to not be the case. Having sought out their aid in his time of need, Spike found himself in the company of the Scoobies at every turn. They came to him when they needed extra muscle and he traded information and his fighting skills for the money he used to keep himself fed and entertained. The situation was far from perfect, but it helped him retain some semblance of independence. That was until he realized something that bound him with chains stronger any governmental chip.

Spike had fallen in love with the slayer.

A pariah among his own kind and enamored with the one woman in the entire world who had cause to hate him the most, Spike had desperately sought acceptance among her circle of friends. He needed the companionship, the contact, but mostly he needed to be around her. He often wondered how she really felt about him before she had jumped from Glory’s tower and died, closing the rift only her blood could seal. He had fought beside her friends all summer, but they had always kept him at arms length. Their cold behavior after the slayer’s resurrection made it perfectly clear that any headway he thought he had made meant next to nothing to them.

In the darkest days of his depression over the long summer of Buffy’s absence, he had come to question the circumstances of his life and death. As a human the strict protocols of Victorian England had kept him constrained, a willing slave to society’s rules. Then his obsessive love for Drusilla had guided his existence for over a hundred years. When fate had thrust him into a truly independent role, he had return to Sunnydale to be effectively muzzled by the Initiative. Even without the chip, his love for the slayer and a promise had kept him bound to Southern California and her battles. Had Spike ever truly been free?

He did not begrudge his position as Dawn’s protector because he loved the girl deeply in his own way, but his tenure as her guardian had forced Spike to make a terrible realization. If he did manage to remove the chip one day, if someone threw his cage door open wide, he would sit inside his prison of his own accord. He had walked so far down his current path that there was no turning back.

That was why Spike refused to visit the tigers. That was why this night, and so many before it, he went out of his way to avoid contact with human strangers. He knew that the slayer had managed to tame him, and some part of him cried for the loss of something he wasn’t sure he had ever truly possessed.

Love’s bitch truly, to the bitter end.

*****

When Spike arrived at 1630 Revello Drive, it was to an empty house. Knowing that all of the residents tended to pop in and out at all hours of the night, he decided to wait. He leaned against the tree in the front yard, the site of many such vigils, and lit up a cigarette.

The few cars that had passed them on the road had frightened Meret and the little serpent had taken refuge inside the less cluttered of Spike’s deep coat pockets. He could feel her trembling against his thigh and offered a gruff pat to the outside of the leather. It was a little difficult to tell where his feelings left off and hers began, and her nervous emotions were quickly becoming contagious.

Thankfully, he did not have long to wait. A green SUV pulled into the driveway and Dawn leapt out of the nearest sliding door. He recognized the vehicle as belonging to Janice’s mother. Dawn walked to the porch and waved as the huge car backed into the street and pulled away.

Only then did Spike step out of the shadows. “’Lo Nibblet.”

Dawn, who had been unlocking the door, jumped a little, but a huge smile spread across her face. “Hey Spike! Shoulda known you’d be lurking around. C’mon in. I was going to make myself some dinner. Wanna take over fire extinguisher duty?”

Spike smiled indulgently as he walked up to the teenager. “As I recall, the last time I watched you cook, I suggested you start chargin’ admission.”

“Fine, that’ll be five bucks. Now come on, I’m starved!” Dawn grabbed the sleeve of Spike’s coat and tugged on the still grinning vampire, who barely had enough time to throw the butt of his cigarette into a flower pot before being drug across the threshold. “If you’re looking for the others, they’re all at the Magic Box.” She dropped her book bag on the dining room table before continuing on to the kitchen. “Buffy is training with Giles, and Willow and Tara are skimming some old books, looking for any prophesies about a slayer being… Well, you know.” She trailed off for a minute, face scrunched up in anxiety. The moment quickly passed and she started pulling various foods out of the refrigerator. “Anyways, they’ll all be here later if you want to stick around. As for me, I’ve got math homework.” She stuck out her tongue at the prospect and started dicing green and red peppers.

Spike stood in the doorway to the dining room, wide smile in place. It was good to see Dawn so animated. She had buried herself deeply in her grief over the summer, hardly talking and prone to sudden teary outbursts. With her sister’s return, Dawn’s normal, bubbly energy had returned in force. Spike envied the resilience and optimism of the younger Summers.

“Jus’ checkin’ on you, Nibblet. Would like to know how your big sis is doin’ though.”

Dawn eyed him critically. “You’re hopeless, you know that? Buffy’s fine. I mean, not skipping and singing show tunes fine, but much better than before.” She tossed the chopped peppers into a skillet before bringing the blade to bear on a chunk of beef. “Giles is working with her on the slaying stuff and Willow’s talking about getting her back into classes, ‘cause you know, more school is the number one way to cheer me up. She’s still not very big with the chatting, but I think she just needs some time.”

The meat joined the peppers in the skillet and Dawn turned up the heat before tossing in some spices and a little oil. Despite her protestations and Spike’s jokes, Dawn was actually a decent cook. Some of her concoctions ran towards the bizarre, but most proved to be surprisingly palatable. She was certainly much better than her sister, but that wasn’t saying much.

Spike watched Dawn leave the food to simmer on the stove while she put cold tortillas between paper towels in the microwave. He wondered how much of Buffy’s “recovery” had to do with the slayer’s renowned ability to close herself off from her friends when the going got really tough, and how much was the real deal. He hoped for the latter, but suspected the former.

Spike stood, head bowed in thought, as Dawn transferred the sautéed mixture into the tortillas and grilled the folded pockets in a second skillet. The teenager hummed a few bars from “La Cucaracha” as she retrieved a Coke from the fridge, switched off the stove eyes, and sat down to eat. The melody drew Spike’s attention back to the present.

“You know that song’s ‘bout a cockroach, right?” Spike tsked at Dawn’s horrified expression.

“Um… Ew?” Not to be deterred, Dawn took a large bite out of one fajita. “Want some?” she mumbled around the mouthful. She tore off a piece and offered it to him.

“Nah, you eat up.”

Dawn shrugged. “More for me.” She popped the piece in her mouth and washed it down with a gulp of Coke.

Spike reached down and pulled his present out of his boot. He turned it over in his hands a couple times before placing the ornate dagger on the table in front of Dawn.

“Um, what’s that all about?” She looked up from her dinner.

“’S for you. Pulled it off some dead vamps. ‘S too small for me.” Spike tried to act nonchalant, but he secretly hoped the little blade would be well received.

Dawn didn’t disappoint. She squealed loudly and grabbed the weapon, food momentarily forgotten. She admired the carvings on the sheath and handle before drawing the blade and wielding it inexpertly before her.

“Easy there Bit, I got it good and sharp for you. You lay yourself open and I’ll never hear the end of it,” he cautioned.

“You got this in a fight? And it really belonged to some vampires? That is so cool!” Dawn abruptly dropped the blade on the counter before running around the island to engulf Spike in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Spike stood frozen for a second before carefully returning the embrace. He still felt a little odd, hugging someone in simple friendship. Such gestures had been taboo during his human years, and after being turned very few physical acts had been initiated without leading to either fighting or sex, sometimes both. Dawn’s tactile exuberance had taken a little getting used to.

Suddenly, Dawn stiffened in his arms. “Spike, I think there’s something alive in your pocket.” She released him and backed up with a funny expression on her face.

“What? Oh. Bloody hell! That’s the other reason why I came over tonight. Here, l’me show you.” Without further preamble, Spike pulled a very confused and slightly squished Meret from his pocket. “Nibblet, meet Meret. Meret, this is the little Bit.” He held out his hand and the little serpent, hearing the reassurance in Spike’s voice, cocked her head at the girl and flicked out a forked tongue.

Dawn stood staring with comically round eyes. As the silence stretched out, Spike started to worry. “She showed up at my crypt and took a shine to me. Thought I could talk you into doin’ some research. Maybe bribe you with some more shiny weaponry…” He trailed off as Dawn continued to stand there, eyes impossibly wide.

“Spike?”

“Yeah Nibblet?”

“You have a snake in your hand,” she noted in a flat voice.

“Thought you’d notice that, yeah.”

“It has wings.”

“That threw me at first, too.”

“You’ve been carrying a red snake with bird wings around in your pocket.”

“We’ve already covered that.” Spike started shifting his weight from foot to foot. This was defiantly not going as he had hoped.

Meret uncoiled a little and fanned her wings.

“It’s pretty.” Dawn sounded uncertain.

“She,” he automatically corrected.

“Huh?”

“She. Meret’s a she and yes she is.” The serpent fluffed up her feathers at the attention.

Slowly, Dawn extended a hand. When the little snake made no move to strike, she ran a finger down its scaled head. Meret leaned into the caress, feathers rustling in pleasure. Emboldened, Dawn traced a finger over the creature’s neck and the curve of one tiny wing before snatching her finger back as if burned.

“She’s not a demon is she? Because Buffy has a very specific ‘no-demon’ rule for houseguests, minus you of course, and I guess I can see where she’s coming from. Slayer popularity and all,” she trailed off.

“Meret’s not a demon. At least I don’t think she is. Doesn’t smell like one. Smells like a bird actually. I was hopin’ you’d help me suss out what exactly she is.”

“Oh, well that’s okay then. I’d love to help you out, but the others still won’t let me do research. I might, I don’t know, accidentally learn something interesting,” she groused. “Don’t think I haven’t tried.”

“Oh,” Spike was crestfallen. Plan A was defiantly a bust.

“You could get Willow or Tara to help you out.”

Spike grimaced. He didn’t have the heart to explain that her friends would as soon see him dust as help him with a little recreational research. Also, the circumstances of Buffy’s resurrection made him even more leery of confiding in the Scoobies. He would keep Meret a secret for as long as he could.

“’S okay. ’Ll just do a little breaking ‘n entering sometime. Get in some late night reading at the Magic Box,” Spike tried to sound enthusiastic.

“Right, whatever,” Dawn said, letting the subject drop. With that, she returned to her dinner, but her eyes never left the little serpent cradled in the vampire’s hand.

Spike joined her at the counter and slid Meret on to the faux marble laminate. After a brief look to orient herself to the new environment, the serpent set off exploring the various utensils and other objects scattered on the island.

Spike could not count the number of times he had sat in this exact spot, sharing a cup of hot chocolate with Joyce. Even though the woman had been dead for months, her scent still lingered in the air of the house, permeating every object. His eyes grew wistful as he watched Dawn devour her meal. Joyce had been one of the few people who treated him like somebody instead of a rabid animal or a science experiment. He would miss her presence until the day he dusted. Until then, he silently promised to watch over her children.

Lost in thought, Spike did not notice the front door opening. However, the sound of a familiar voice sent a shot of panic through his body.

“Dawn, are you home?” Tara called from the front foyer.

Fuck!

Spike reached for Meret in a desperate attempt to hide her again, but his alarm had sent the little creature aloft, hissing her distress.

“Dawnie?” Tara walked into the kitchen and froze, mouth wide.

So much for secrecy.

Feeling the fool, Spike finally gave up trying to catch Meret and turned defiantly to face the staring witch.

“Hey Tara. Like Spike’s new pet? Kinda weird, huh?” Dawn mumbled around a mouthful of fajita.

“Look Glinda…” Spike started

“Is that a coatl?” Tara spoke at the same time.

“I don’t know what you... Wait. You know what she is?” Spike stared in disbelief.

“A, um, a cccoatl?” Tara stammered, obviously flustered.

Spike sank back into one of the kitchen stools. “And what, pray tell, is a coatl?”