“Thanks Clem. I owe you one.” Spike slid the envelope into his coat pocket.

The floppy-skinned demon shrugged. “Manny’s always got a free ticket or two for his pit-mates. Just, you know, don’t be such a stranger. Poker night’s not the same without ya.”

“What? The others won’t sell their winnings back to you?” The vampire couldn’t help needling his old friend. Truth be told, he had started missing more of their weekly games as his job at the Magic Box and his growing relationship with the Scoobies consumed more and more of his time. He missed the camaraderie.

“Well yeah, but that’s not the point.” Clem looked at him, his drooping face all openness and earnestness. “Your friends are cool and all, but well, they are humans and sometimes a guy just needs to kick back with a few likeminded demons.” Suddenly the jovial demon’s face split into a toothy grin. “And Carl is an even worse winner than you.”

Spike chuckled. He could well believe that the moody Qorsian would enjoy flaunting his success in the vampire’s absence. “Well, I’ll try to make an appearance sometime soon. Put everyone in their place and restock your kitten collection.” He clapped Clem across the shoulder, which only made the larger demon smile wider. Any more and his face would split open and reveal his brow palps, a disconcerting sight, even after Spike’s long association.

Spike heard a crash from the kitchen and winced. “Right then, gotta run. Places to be, asses to kick.”

Meret, time to go!

The little coatl glided through the door which led to Clem’s kitchen. The two were about to make a hasty retreat, before their host found the mess the feathered menace had created in his sink, when the floppy-skinned demon’s voice stopped them both in their tracks.

“Uh, I was wondering if I could have my copy of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ back.” At the vampire’s flat gaze, he continued. “Tuesday’s date night and Marcy’s been wanting to see it. You know how women can be when they get their mind set on something.”

Spike looked down at the coatl who was hovering just out of reach. Meret returned his look with flat, unreadable eyes. Yes, he knew how women could be.

*****

The envelope slid through the vampire’s hands. Down the long side, tap tap on the sarcophagus. Down the short side, tap tap on the sarcophagus. Slide, tap tap. Slide, tap tap.

Likeminded demons.

Clem’s statement drifted through Spike’s mind, teasing the vampire. He wasn’t sure he knew any “likeminded” demons anymore. When had a vampire, except for the unmentionable, souled kind, ever taken up arms with, instead of against, a slayer? Loved one? Felt remorse for his kills? And really, how could Clem, or any other usually peaceful demon, really understand what Spike was going through?

In his less than sober moments, he sometimes wondered if his head would crack wide open from overpopulation. There were so many things floating around in his skull, he was starting to lose count. The chip. Meret. The Scoobies. Even Clem had started “hearing” an echo from the coatl. It was maddening. Now he had potentially prophetic dreams, the first slayer, and maybe a few gods to add into the mix. His mind was turning into a veritable peep show, and he wasn’t even able to charge admission.

He was becoming more and more distracted, worrying about who might be listening in on his thoughts and actions. Watching Meret and wondering if she was talking to one of the others. Sulking and brooding when he had once been prone to action. The only really calming influence in his life, Tara, was miles and continents away, beyond his ability to contact, not that his pride would have allowed such a thing. She always had seemed to come to him when stress was leading him to do something stupid. But now she was gone, and the vampire was about to explode.

Maybe Clem was right. Maybe Spike needed to spend some time with a likeminded demon. Maybe Spike needed some time with Spike.

A soft hiss accompanied the thought.

You too, little one.

The vampire suppressed a sigh from his perch on the sarcophagus. Apparently his period of groveling had not quite restored the vampire to her good graces. Or the coatl was milking the situation for all it was worth. Either way, Spike would play along.

Oh, he was still pretty brassed off over the fiasco the night before, but long years with Drusilla had conditioned him to suppress his ire at irritating, even infuriating behavior from the ones he loved. He might scream, rant and rave, maybe even throw a punch or two, but the storm would soon pass. He rarely kept grudges when his heart was involved, and especially not if he believed his feelings were reciprocated.

Spike’s residual anger and embarrassment at the coatl’s “discussions” with the slayer were more than overpowered by his bone-deep fear of alienating the feathered serpent. Meret loved him with the unpolluted simplicity of a child and the loyalty of her kind. On the most basic level, Spike dearly wanted to be worthy of that love.

He was a vampire, a monster in the most classic sense of the word, but the idealistic heart of a poet and the fierce passion of a demon had combined in Spike, melting together into a creature that was truly governed by his emotions, for better or worse. He loved like he did everything else: with his entire being, but that ability didn’t mean a damn if he couldn’t earn another’s love in return.

Slide, tap tap. Slide, tap tap.

But what to do about his current dilemma? If he didn’t get a break, a minute to stop and catch his mental breath, Spike was sure that he would go insane, but he had obligations. Things he had promised to do. Duties that tied him to the Scoobies. That made him belong.

The envelope came to a rest in his hands, and the sudden silence drew Meret’s attention. Spike looked at the paper in his hands and looked up at the inquisitive, if still imperious, eyes of his feathered companion.

Maybe there was a way.

*****

Dawn answered the door in sweats and a rumpled t-shirt. Spike took one look at her disheveled hair and bleary eyes and grinned apologetically. He really should have checked the time, but he never stopped to think of such things. Action. That was the order of the evening. “No rest for the wicked, Bit.”

The girl mumbled something that even vampiric hearing couldn’t pick up clearly and waved in the general direction of the living room. He swept into the house, Meret winging in his wake, nearly bouncing with energy and enthusiasm. Spike with a mission was an entirely different vampire than Spike without, and he was on the hunt for a challenge.

Dawn had other plans though. When the vampire opened his mouth to speak, the teenager threw a hand in his face and grumbled out some nonsense that might have made sense to a caveman, but really needed no literal translation. Wry grin still in place, Spike sat on the couch and propped his feet on the table while the girl wandered towards the kitchen and reappeared with an oddly thin can of some energy drink or another: the kind that had enough caffeine in it to give a vamp a buzz, much less a half-grown human. It was gone in a few gulps and the girl sank onto the far side of the couch with a loud, if partially dramatized, groan.

The vampire waited patiently, if constant finger drumming, foot shuffling, and half started sentences could really be described as patient, but his every action was cut short. After a few moments, the can-o-spaz, as Buffy called it, seemed to have taken effect and the teenager met the vampire’s gaze with clear, if irritable eyes.

“What d’you want,” she grumbled, ever the gracious hostess.

“Need your best file. Somethin’ concrete and covered in those glittery what’s its you love so much.”

Dawn blinked slowly. “You woke me up at,” she looked at the clock on the mantle, “two in the morning to talk about hunting another mystical doo-hicky?”

Before the famed Summers temper could really ignite, Spike removed the envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the couch between them.

Dawn glared at it. “What’s that?”

The vampire shrugged. “Bribery. Late birthday present. Payment. Insurance to keep you from setting me on fire for disruptin’ your kip. Open it.”

“This had better be good.” Her voice was still angry, but her eyes were glittering with interest. Spike only hoped that two tickets to see Justin What’s-His-Name were as good a present as he had thought, or else the fire scenario might not be too far off the mark.

Apparently it was. Even in her groggy state, Dawn gasped when she opened the envelope and saw the tickets, which had been sold out for weeks, much to every teenager from Sunnydale to Seattle’s distress. The vampire braced for the high pitched squeal and the onslaught of hugs, casually brushing them aside as if the gift in the girls hands wasn’t worth the obscenely large pile of cash, or human soul if you were trading in such circles, that the tickets could have garnered.

Dawn was awake, which was of course good. Dawn was also ecstatic, which was even better. Spike basked in the glow for a second before going in for the kill. “So, are those worth a file in the wee hours of the morning?”

The younger Summers struck a more serious pose. “You can live,” she tried to deadpan, but ended up giggling with delight despite her best intentions. “One sec.” Dawn dashed up the stairs to return moments later with a few folders in hand. They were hot pink, much to the vampire’s horror.

Dawn had taken to color coding anything she found for Buffy and Spike’s tomb raiding endeavors. Yellow stood for money, gold, or gems: anything that was valuable but presented little magical or physical danger. Blue folders stood for weapons, red for armor and purple denoted treasure troves that could contain any combination of the other groups. Green meant magical artifacts and colored stars denoted the type of magic: red for fire, blue for water, orange for earth, and so on. The number of stars indicated the artifact’s strength. Similarly, colored smiley faces with a carefully drawn X over each sticker denoted wards, guardians, or other hazards that could be expected. The system was convoluted and confusing in a way only the teenager really understood, but Spike could at least discern that more stars equaled better and more marked smileys equaled worse.

Spike had been expecting a purple folder. Then again, the pink monstrosities in the girl’s hands seemed to be bristling with stickers.

Dawn settled on the floor and started spreading the folders around her. “So, what kind of ooglies or widgets are you looking for?” she asked.

“Anything that involves some mean and nasties that’ll put up one hell of a fight. Don’t much care for the pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, but a'course, the bigger the better. Also, I’m looking to get out of town for a bit of a holiday, so distance it not an issue.”

“Hmm.” Dawn picked up one folder, glanced over the stickers and titles before tossing it aside and moving to another. “Aha!” She brandished a pink folder with a green backing and a whole host of silver stars, the symbol of spiritual magic, covering the front. When Dawn opened the folder, Spike caught a glimpse of the back. It was covered with black smiley faces.

Undead guardians?

“How does this sound? There’s this cave out in Nevada. You’ll have to hike a bit, but it shouldn’t be hard to find, what with the bioluminescent moss and zombie guards and all…” The more Dawn talked, the wider Spike’s grin became. It sounded perfect.