Spike managed to escape the Magic Box, paycheck in hand, before Giles roped him into helping research the jar. Rarely a week went by that the vampire didn’t regret telling Giles of his linguistic talents. It seemed that whenever a particularly nasty passage of Latin or Sumerian needed translating, Giles found a way to sting Spike’s pride in such a way that he soon found himself working on the texts without knowing quite how it had happened.

As for Buffy, she had been grabbed by Anya moments after entering the shop to discuss the former demon’s upcoming wedding. The horrified look on the slayer’s face and his own mental images of what constituted an appropriate bachelorette party in Anya’s eyes were enough to convince Spike that running was his best option.

Spike’s evening walks through Sunnydale had taken on a different cast ever since the chip had nearly burned itself out. Even though he had no desire to kill any of the people he passed on the street, the simple fact that he knew that he could seemed to dispel the bitterness that had eaten away at his thoughts ever since the Initiative had taken him prisoner. It was relieving in a way that he would never admit to the slayer.

Oh, there had been a couple of close calls. The latest example was a football player who had tried to cop a feel on Dawn on one of the rare occasions Buffy let her little sister go to the Bronze. A twisted arm from the slayer had sent the guy sulking to a dark corner of the club, but Spike was unappeased. While Buffy had dried her sister’s tears with hugs and promises of triple fudge swirl ice cream, the vampire had dealt with the situation in his own way. That was where Buffy had found him fifteen minutes later, snarling over the sobbing high schooler in the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

Even though a large part of him had wanted to kill the boy for daring to touch his
Nibblet, he hadn’t acted upon it, had barely roughed the boy up before Buffy found him. The brat was terrified, sitting in a puddle of his own making, but otherwise unharmed. For a second Spike had the terrible realization that he might have crossed the line, no matter how well deserved the boy’s treatment. He had steeled himself for the coming blow, perhaps even the coming stake, but neither had fallen. Buffy had simply placed a calming hand on the vampire’s shoulder without a word and waited until his features melted back into human guise.

Perhaps it was the understanding look in the slayer’s eyes when he finally worked up the nerve to meet her eyes, or perhaps it was the kick of her own that she added when she thought the vampire wasn’t looking, but either way, Spike began to think that they might still be okay. Without sparing a further glance at the weeping teen, Buffy had led him back to where the other Scoobies were getting ready to go back to the Summers’ residence to make good on the slayer’s promise of ice cream.

That evening, after the others had gone home and Dawn was safe in her bed, stuffed to the gills with chocolaty goodness, Buffy and Spike had sat down on the back steps. Companionable silence was something at which Spike had never excelled, so when the sound of crickets chirping and the rerun of X-files playing in the neighbor’s house started to grate on his nerves, he gave voice to the thoughts that had been swirling in his head since the Bronze.

“Wasn’t gonna kill the miserable git. Jus’ wanted to make sure he wouldn’t do it again.” He found the polish on his left boot fascinating after the admission, heart in his throat as he waited for her response.

“I know,” she had replied softly. At his confused look, she had tapped her temple with one finger and smiled mysteriously.

“Unfair advantage, that,” he had grumbled. “Takes all the mystery out.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” She either hadn’t noticed or had ignored his baffled look, turning her attention to the stars instead. After a few moments of contemplation, he followed suit. The silence hadn’t seemed as oppressive after that.

*****

“So, are you guys, like together already?” Dawn asked, eyes wide with false innocence.

It was hard to get a being that doesn’t breathe to choke on a beer, but the girl managed the feat admirably. Spike snarled in irritation at the feeling of foaming hops in his sinuses, and glared menacingly at her. He hadn’t come over to the Summers' household to play twenty questions, not when he could have stayed at the Magic Box and suffered the same fate, but on less uncomfortable subjects. Like vampiric coming of age rituals. Or Angelus’ preferences in sexual partners.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he drawled, trying for nonchalance while wiping his much abused nose. Needless to say, it was a complete failure.

“Uh huh. So have you at least kissed yet?”

“Nibblet!”

“Because if you have, I want to hear all about it since she’s my sister and all.”

“Gah!” The vampire leapt out of his chair and started pacing the room while Dawn and Meret just laughed.

The three had been sitting in the living room, watching some disgustingly saccharine romantic comedy that the teenager had selected. The vampire stormed out of the room and into the kitchen. He downed the beer in his hand and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. There was a small cache of the alcohol and a jar of blood stashed in the back of the fridge that he had brought over after he and the slayer had started working together. He grabbed another beer, knowing that it was going to take a lot more than what was on the shelf if he wanted to drink his way out of Dawn’s idea of the Inquisition. With an irritable snarl, he slammed the door on the refrigerator and stomped back into the living room where he promptly collapsed back into the easy chair.

With a final raspy puff, Meret took off from her perch on the back of the couch and flew to the vampire. When she dipped to land on his shoulder, he didn’t shrug away, as much as part of him wanted to. Her warm thoughts and whimsical humor had the power to interrupt even his most determined sulk. Sure enough, a few moments later, he was scratching the tuft of feathers between her wings.

Manipulative wretch.

Meret just arched her back more and rustled her wings in pleasure.

“You should, you know,” Dawn’s suddenly serious tone of voice caught the vampire’s attention.

“Should what, Bit?”

“Kiss her.” When he snorted in disgust, she rolled her eyes and continued. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could stake me.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“You’re right. She’ll just avoid me like the plague because big sis knows what I’m gonna do even before I do.” He stopped scratching Meret in the midst of his ire, an action that earned a nipped finger. “Oi! I’m scratching you, you selfish little bint!” He suited his words with actions, and Meret coiled herself around his wrist where he couldn’t get away. Spike scowled, realizing once again that he had a knack for surrounding himself with pushy women.

Itches. The word that wasn’t really a word blossomed in Spike’s mind. It was hard to explain how Meret “spoke.” It only happened when she seemed to feel that her message was particularly important, such as when the coatl warned him that she and Buffy were coming to his rescue, or if she itched. There seemed to be no accounting for serpentine logic. The only way Spike could explain the sensation was that the words were simply inserted into his brain, as if he was being prompted to think of them. The “voice” was low and pleasant, but he had no idea how much of that came from the tiny serpent and how much from his own imagination.

“If Buffy knows everything that’s going on in your head, which she doesn’t because pfft, I’ve been able to hear Meret way longer and I still can’t figure you out half of the time, then wouldn’t she have already run for the hills?” Dawn looked at his critically. “Plus, it’s not like a constant thing or whatever. I mean, we have to concentrate to really hear her unless she’s on about something or wants to talk to us. Why? What’s it like for you?”

Spike eyed her curiously. He didn’t have to think about hearing Meret. She was just there. “Little more… present,” he mumbled.

Dawn rolled her eyes at his non-answer. “Anyway, it’s not like you weren’t obvious about what you felt before, even without the snake-shaped play by play.”

Spike’s patience was wearing thin, and he finally snapped at the girl. “And look what it got me! A broken nose and a magical disinvite!”

“Ever tried flowers?” The nonsequitor stopped the vampire mid-rant, mouth hanging open. “They seem to go over way better than chains and ritualistic sacrifices.” Spike was still staring at her as if she had grown a horn. “Oh! Or chocolate! You know, schmoopy stuff.” The vampire blinked, fingers moving mechanically as he continued to scratch the coatl’s back, but he was listening. Oh, was he listening. “I bet you were all schmoopy with Drusilla, in a vampy way that probably involved ickiness that Buffy doesn’t want me to know about.”

Well, that snapped him out of his silence. “Why am I even listening to you? You’re two years old. Max.” He harrumphed to himself, but his thoughts did turn back to a vampire’s idea of romance. He had been creative through the decades, anything to keep his dark princess happy, and yeah, a lot of it had run towards the macabre, but not everything. There was too much of William in him for that.

“You’re listening to me because I’m your in. She’s my sister. And since you love bringing my keyishness into it, I’m made of her.” Blue eyes met blue eyes challengingly. “Trust me.”

Never had a teenager uttered a more terrifying phrase.

*****

Despite Dawn’s interesting schemes, and there were a great deal to be had, Spike finally had to flee before his head started spinning. The unfortunate thing about hope, or perhaps its greatest strength, was that is was almost impossible to kill. There were so many things running through his head that Meret started wheeling around his head on the walk home, agitated by his turbulent thoughts.

Buffy slamming the door in his face after revoking his invitation. Buffy kissing him after pretending to be the ‘Bot. Buffy telling him he was beneath her. Buffy entrusting Dawn to his care. Buffy slamming him into a wall, knowing he couldn’t fight back. Buffy offering him her wrist when the chip had almost killed him.

Buffy having access to everything he felt, everything he thought.

Buffy Buffy Buffy.

It was enough to drive a vampire mad.

So he did what any demon would have done in the same situation. He killed a few things, drank a lot, and went to bed.

And then he dreamed.