Spike slipped into the Magic Box early the next evening after a quick stop by the Sunnydale Mall. Cross and tusks tucked safely away in another pillow case, he walked through the training room and stopped behind the door into the main store. One last time, he paused to take measure of Meret’s emotions. The serpent was a little nervous, but that might have been attributable to the vampire’s own state of mind. Mostly she just radiated waves of contentment. Her stomach was full of warm blood and she was looped lazily around the vampire’s neck, her favorite roost.

Knowing that he had to continue, but wanting to avoid doing so all the same, Spike opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped into the main floor of the Magic Box. He stood still in the shadows of the corner and simply watching the scene before him, wondering how long it would take the others to notice his presence.

Willow was pouring a circle of salt on the floor in front of the cash register. Dawn was next to her, placing smooth stones around the circle with larger rocks marking what could only be the cardinal directions. Buffy was toying with a few pillar candles, probably waiting for the circle to be completed before placing them, and obviously lost in thought. Giles paced around all three of them, waving a smoking bundle of sage and chanting the words of a common purification spell. Anya was sorting through a pile of polished rocks on the counter, and Xander was hovering behind her, pulling down jars of components from the shelf and lining them up next to his fiancé.

Dawn finished arranging the river stones and got to her feet. She stretched, reaching for the ceiling and standing on tip toes as if to defy gravity itself. She lost her balance and performed an impromptu hopping dance to avoid stepping on the circle and ruining all of their hard work. The redheaded witch shooed her away with a joke and a grin before drawing Buffy’s attention back to the present and indicating where the candles should go.

They joked and they laughed and the vampire saw a side of the Scoobies they rarely showed the rest of the world. One they certainly hid behind defensive walls whenever the vampire was present.

Spike’s concept of family had been built through his experiences. As a human, family had been about loyalty, blood, and duty. As a vampire: power, blood, and status. Always blood, and Spike had thought the Scoobies were no exception. Shared blood, through birth, rebirth, or battles, was his key to family. He had believed that if he fought by their side long enough, shed enough of his blood and saved enough of theirs, that he could become one of them. It was what experience had taught him, what the demon in him thought to be true, but as he watched the scene before him, it occurred to him that there were other things that constituted a real family.

Yes, the Scoobies had weathered many a battle together, but that was not where the heart of their bond existed. It had been strengthened by the fights, but it had been built in between over doughnuts and silly movies and homework, parts of their lives Spike rarely tried to touch.

But he had reached out with those things occasionally, first with Dawn and then with Tara, and the thought was a revelation for the vampire. For the preservation of his life and sanity, Spike had to learn how to fit back into human society after decades living as a demon. Without a soul, his moral compass was unreliable and he had only his wits and his experiences to guide him. Without a soul, he had to learn what was expected of him through observation and experiment. Building a conscience from scratch was difficult and confusing for the vampire, but it was possible and he was determined to try.

There were few beings, human or demonic, who could rival Spike in terms of sheer determination.

*****

The sacred circle was complete before anyone noted Spike’s arrival. It was a testament to the slayer’s distraction that it took her so long to sense him, but she still beat the others to the punch.

“You two gonna stop lurking and join in the fun?” Buffy called. She looked in his direction and Spike saw a glint of silver when her hair moved away from her neck. She was wearing his necklace.

Spike stepped out of the shadows and watched as a pall fell over the others’ previously cheerful mood. “I saw Nibblet spill goat drool on Ripper’s tweed and decided that the corner was the safest bet,” he tried to joke.

Dawn stuck out her tongue and flounced over to the research table. When Spike walked further into the room, feigning casual indifference, Meret left her perch to join the girl.

Giles cleared his throat. “Do you have a feather for the spell?” he asked.

“Goldilocks here was a mite unclear ‘bout what it was you wanted,” Spike drawled.

“Hey!” was Buffy’s response.

“I believe her exact words were ‘a feather or scale or whatever.’” His voice took on a ridiculously high soprano with a strong valley-girl accent in what was, admittedly, a terrible impression of the slayer. The next moment he had to duck behind the ladder to avoid a flying book.

Over Buffy’s indignant and somewhat incoherent protestations and Dawn’s uncontrollable giggling, Giles tried to bring about some order. “If you two insist upon acting like children I would appreciate it if you could at least show a little respect for the books.”

“Spoken like a true librarian,” replied Spike from his vantage behind the ladder.

Xander laughed and then looked so surprised at his reaction that it set off Willow and Anya. Giles simply cast his eyes heavenward and went to retrieve his precious tome. Buffy mumbled an insincere apology and glared at the vampire who returned her gaze with a smirk.

When he finally decided that he was safe from further attack, Spike stepped over to the table and called Meret to him. He placed his bag beneath the table and sat down.

Need a feather little one. This might hurt.

Meret slithered over to him and looked into his eyes, head cocked to one side. Then, ever so slowly, she extended her wings and tilted them for his inspection. Spike ran his fingers gently over the feathers, searching for the right one. According to the books, Meret was not ready to start shedding yet, but she was close. He avoided the flight feathers and fanned apart the smaller downy ones near the wing joint. There he found one that seemed to be a little askew. He grasped it between two fingers and hoped that the odd angle meant that the feather was loose.

Ready?

Meret’s thoughts conveyed acceptance, but the feathers along her spine folded down against her back in tense anticipation. As quickly as he could, Spike pulled the feather free. Meret hissed and jerked her wings tightly back into place. The vampire winced and offered her a silent apology. The little coatl rustled her feathers, but she rubbed her cheek against his hand with instant forgiveness.

Brave girl.

Spike realized the picture he was presenting to the Scoobies and snapped out of his quiet moment with Meret with a scowl, daring anyone to laugh. No one did. He rose abruptly and walked over to the circle arranged on the floor. “Make this one count, Red. I’m not gettin’ you any more ‘til they start fallin’ out on their own.” His voice was clipped, almost rude.

Eyes wide and somewhat subdued, Willow accepted the little red feather. “One last thing. You named her, right?” When Spike nodded reluctantly, Willow continued. “I have to know her whole name for the spell, and we all know how you are with funny nicknames and stuff…” she trailed off.

Spike blinked in surprise at the question. He had realized the duality of Meret’s name soon after selecting it, but it was something he considered rather private. Choosing what he considered to be the safest answer, the vampire shot a warning look at the watcher. “It’s Meretseger.”

Giles cleared his throat in surprise, or was it amusement? “That is an interesting choice of names Spike.”

“Yeah, what of it?” was the vampire’s defensive reply.

Xander looked on in confusion. “What is a Merit Cigar?”

“Not a what, a who,” piped up Willow. “Meretseger was the Egyptian goddess of punishment and mercy. She was also the guardian of the royal necropolis.”

“A woman with the body of a snake, very apt, but I believe that her name also means ‘She Who Loves Silence.’” Giles eyed the vampire critically. “You are many things Spike, but rarely silent.”

“The name refers to the silence of the tomb, you git,” the vampire bristled. “And why am I even arguing with you about this? It’s her name, get on with the spell!” Spike returned to the table and dropped into one of the chairs.

“Didn’t she kill grave robbers?” asked Anya.

Spike scowled darkly and chose to ignore the former demon.

Dawn leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “I like her name.”

“'S because you’ve got taste,” responded Spike, sulkily. He settled back to watch as Willow started casting the spell.

Once completed, the pattern on the floor had become a complex array of objects. The ring of salt and stones framed a circle split into four parts by rows of small animal bones. At the center, a stone bowl held a viscous liquid, a mixture of some truly distasteful substances if Spike remembered correctly. What goat saliva had not made it onto Giles’ pants leg had ended up in the bowl along with odiferous herbs, pond water thick with algae, curdled milk, and something Xander had jokingly called lizard juice. The vampire decided that he would be happier not knowing what that particular name really meant. A long-legged trivet stood over the bowl, providing a platform above the stinking fluid. Candles stood at the center of each quadrant and various dried herbs and magical talismans had been arranged around each. To Willow’s side another bundle of sage smoked, scenting the air. More salt in a small bowl and one of Anya’s banded stones completed the arrangement.

The redheaded witch moved the feather through the smoke four times towards each of the cardinal directions, whispering words of power with each pass. She held the feather before her in one hand and reached for the small stone at her side, never breaking stride with her soft chanting. Once the stone and feather were placed on top of the trivet, side by side, Willow sat back and started chanting a little louder. Spike could not put his finger on the language. The words were familiar enough that they tantalized him with their meaning without giving up their secrets.

As the chanting grew louder, the flames from the candles rose as well. Soon, the bowl of liquid was bubbling, adding a sickly smell to the more pleasant sage and herbs. Spike could feel the power flowing towards the young witch, coiling and dancing like a living thing in the air around the circle. He hated the feeling, distrusted it violently, but he kept his comments to himself, well aware of the dangers involved in interrupting a witch in the throes of her magic.

The vampire watched closely as the stone resting next to the feather melted into a swirled puddle of silver and red. The feather floated on the substance, seemingly unharmed by the liquid. Willow’s voice grew even louder, taking on a strange echoing quality as she sprinkled more salt from the bowl over the trivet and its contents. Slowly, the edges of the feather started to glow. The light grew brighter and started working its way inward until it was condensed in a bright line down the main shaft of the feather. As the light faded, so did the witch’s chanting until the room was quiet and calm again.

The room remained silent for a few seconds more. Then Willow reached forward and presented the feather like a treasure to the group. “And voila! Magic teflon!”

Giles leaned in and inspected the feather. “How do we know if the spell was successful?”

Willow pulled the feather back towards herself. She pointed an index finger at it and said “Fulminis!” A tiny bolt of electricity jumped towards the feather, but was deflected and instead zapped the tip of her finger. “Ouch! But hey, it worked!” Her wide grin was somewhat ruined by her vigorous hand shaking as the witch tried to get rid of the sting.

Spike stepped up and plucked the feather from Willow’s grasp. Ignoring her indignant squeak, he looked closely at the bit of red fluff. It did not seem to be any different than before. The smell was the same and, yes too, even the weight. He handed the feather back to the witch and met her gaze. “An’ this spell of yours, it won’t weigh her down or make her a horse or any other loopy thing I’ve come to expect from you, yeah?”

Much to his surprise, Willow did not angrily defend her magic as she would have only weeks ago. A dark red stained her cheeks and the witch glanced at Buffy, who was leaning against the counter, before glancing at Anya and dropping her eyes in embarrassment. “Not this time,” she said quietly and twirled the feather between her fingers. “No experiments, no improvisations, this time I’m going completely by the book with Giles’ help.” She looked up at him with a sigh. “We can try it out on a bird or mouse or something to make absolutely sure before we cast it on Meret if that would make you feel better.”

Spike’s eyebrows rose with surprise. This went beyond whatever Anya could have said to the redheaded witch. That must have been some “talk” that Buffy had given her friends. Willow chastened and working at controlling her magical impulses? Come to think of it, Xander had thus far opted for silence over his usual stream of insults, and even Giles’ behavior had seemed more civil. He would have given one of his fangs to know what the slayer had said to the Scoobies during his self-enforced period of exile.

“Bird’d be good,” he commented. “When can you put on this show again?”

“As soon as we get more tiger iron,” Willow glanced up at Anya.

“For two chunks big enough to do a bird and a coatl? I’ll have to go look through the inventory. I think we’ve only got one right now, but I think I’ve found a geology warehouse that will send me some larger pieces,” Anya mused. “I’ll look into it.” She turned to go into the back room where the former demon had recently installed a computer to make ordering and organizing inventory easier.

“Wait a tick,” Spike said to stop her retreat. He walked over to the table and retrieved his bag. “Might as well take these with you too.” He tossed her the plastic bag of tusks. “They’re clean this time,” he said with a leer in response to the suspicious look Anya sent his way.

“Species?” she asked.

“Vrilian,” Spike replied. With that, Anya nodded absently and exited the room with Xander in tow.

“That leaves this for you Rupes.” He handed over the wrapped cross to the watcher. “Thought having it with you might grease the cogs in Merry Ol.’ Worse comes to worse, you could always just hit ‘em with it. Bloody thing’s got heft.”

“Giles, don’t you dare smack Travers around without me,” Buffy quipped, joining the conversation. “That’s like withholding chocolate, or half priced Prada. I’d never forgive you.”

Giles smiled at his slayer. “I shall attempt to restrain myself, for your sake of course.”

“Well, this has been a slap an’ a tickle, but I’ve got a date with a nest of fledges that I’d hate to miss.” Spike rolled up his newly empty pillowcase and stuffed it as far as he could into his coat pocket. “Ta.”

“Spike wait.” Buffy’s voice froze the vampire in his tracks. “I’m game for a little slayage. Mind if I come with you?”

Spike looked at the slayer, gauging her request. She certainly seemed serious. “The more, the merrier.”

“Great! Let’s go!” As the slayer tugged him out of the front door of the Magic Box, Spike glanced over his shoulder to make sure Meret was following and met Dawn’s eyes instead. The younger Summers was grinning ear to ear and gave him a big thumbs up as the door swung shut behind him.

He had been wrong. He would be willing to give both of his fangs to know just what on Earth was going on with the slayer.

*****

Of all of the experiences in Spike’s long, long life, this had to rank as one of the silliest. He was ineffectually fending off the slayer’s half-serious attacks, and the weapon with which she was playing out her ire: his very own hip flask.

No good deed goes unpunished, huh?

The two had cleared out the small group of fledglings without much trouble, but Buffy had gotten a lungful of vamp dust and had started coughing uncontrollably. In what he had thought to be a chivalrous gesture, Spike had offered her his flask so that she could wash out her mouth.

Big mistake.

Buffy had taken a huge gulp of his last reserve of decent alcohol, which had almost instantaneously turned her coughs into choking sputters. She had leapt at him, half-heartedly battering at him with the newly-empty flask. Her eyes were watering and she could barely breathe, but Spike could pick out some words through her choked imprecations. Words such as “Buffy,” “alcohol,” and “unmixy.” Despite her dubious grasp of the English language in that moment, Spike believed that he understood her point.

“Jus’ meant for you to rinse your mouth out! I didn’t know you were gonna go and down the stuff!” he shouted as he tried to shield his head from the slayer’s ridiculous attack.

“Stupid… vamp,” she wheezed. “Trying to… poison… groady stuff…”

“Oi! That’s the last of my Jack! You could at least show a little gratitude!”

“I’ll… gratitude… you!”

It had quickly dawned on the vampire that Buffy’s open handed slaps lacked any real force. Oh, she was still the slayer and the blows still stung, but Spike had been on the receiving end of enough of her attacks to know the difference.

The fact that Meret was coiled on a tombstone nearby, hissing her little laughs and abjectly refusing to take either side of the “fight” was his other clue.

Traitor.

Meret only snickered more.

Finally Buffy staggered back against the side of a monument and shook herself like a wet dog. Spike eyed her warily and rubbed the back of his head where the corner of the flask had dug into his scalp.

The slayer coughed pitifully one last time before leaning her head back against the stone pillar and closing her eyes. “That was just gross.”

“You weren’t supposed to drink it, you daft bint.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

“Remind me to never hand you a bottle of Draino.”

She scrunched up her nose and glared at him. Spike opened his mouth to retort, but quickly closed it again when the reality of the situation sank in. He had been trying so hard to be on his very best behavior after leaving the Magic Box, but the first fight had seen an end to that. Brawling back to back with the slayer had Spike launching into the verbal sparring that had marked their interactions from day one. Surprisingly, Buffy met him quip for quip during the battle.

He had no idea what that meant.

Buffy tossed him his flask and shoved away from the stone spire. Spike caught the silver container, slipping it back into his pocket. The next thing he knew, Buffy was standing in front of him, poking him in the chest with one perfectly manicured fingernail.

“So here’s the plan. You’re going to pay for a latte at the 5th and Gill Golden Roast to get this nasty taste out of my mouth. Then we’re going to Shady Oaks to see if anything else is bumping in the night. Capisce?”

It might have been described as friendly teasing, and even if the slayer had an odd habit of looking at Meret while she was talking to him, Spike was too happy with the new turn of events to question. He grinned and gave the slayer a mock courtly bow.

“And no alcohol this time! Alcohol and Buffy are…”

“Unmixy. Yeah, I picked up on that.”

“Less chit chat, more mocha!”

*****

The two cleaned out another small nest and killed a particularly hairy Mortok demon before the slayer called it a night. They split ways at Restfield’s front gate after she had wheedled a promise out of him for a repeat performance the following night.

The next night led to the next, and the next, and soon Spike found himself rarely fighting alone. This new dynamic, this easy camaraderie with Buffy, had tossed the vampire into unfamiliar water and he was using every skill in his arsenal just to stay afloat. He was terrified of making a wrong step and bringing an end to their patrolling, but Buffy let slide some of his more spectacular blunders, and Spike found himself loosening up in her presence.

Giles left for London and, much to everyone’s surprise, had Willow join him once the school semester ended. She finally admitted that the watcher had asked a coven in Westbury to start working with her on understanding and controlling her magic. Spike had given that bit of news to Tara one night over hot wings and Passions. The shy witch had veritably glowed with happiness.

Anya was busily planning her wedding while Xander was obviously starting to panic at the prospect. The former demon admitted to Spike that she had threatened Willow with a sound cursing the next time one of her spells went sour. Even though Anya herself had lost her powers, she still had all of her old contacts in Arashmaha, so the threat was far from empty. Dawn attacked the winter break with her typical teenage gusto, stocking up on junk food and rented movies. Meret set to work charming all of the members of her adopted covey and Buffy signed up for classes at UC Sunnydale for the spring term. A check came from England that included enough zeros that Spike was sure that Giles must have taken his advice and beat the highest members on the watchers’ ruling council to within inches of their lives. He put the check into the bank and watched from the porch as Buffy used the “Christmas bonus” to pay off all of her outstanding bills and most of the house’s mortgages. The Summers had celebrated with a shopping spree at the mall. Spike had celebrated by redoubling his efforts to find more such treasures in the crypts and dark places of Sunnydale.

Spike set other plans into motion. He stopped fleeing the Magic Box whenever the Scoobies arrived. Theirs was an uneasy truce, but still a vast improvement over the violent dislike he had grown accustomed to over the past few years. Emboldened by the slayer’s behavior and the fact that she often wore his choker, the vampire decided to test his luck. The Sangre de Cristo ruby spent two weeks in the hands of a skilled jeweler. The man had been given the gem with a hand drawn design and a threat of dire bodily harm if anything happened to the stone. When the week of Christmas rolled around, a small red box tied with a black satin ribbon was hidden, with Dawn’s help, in the Summers’ household.

He was truly happy. He could not remember the last time he had been able to make that claim. Maybe that was why he let his guard down.