When they reached his crypt, Buffy had sobered enough to realize that she felt even worse than before. In between throwing up and the dizziness, she had had the presence of mind to swear to herself, aloud and repeatedly, that she was absolutely never, under any circumstances, going to drink again. She was completely convinced that her stomach had somehow twisted around her esophagus at one point, almost causing her to asphyxiate.

To his credit, Spike hadn't gloated. He hadn't even tried to hold it over her head that he'd seen her at her worst. He had simply stood next to her, patting her on the back until the storm had passed and she indicated that she was ready to go anywhere. Anywhere dark and quiet and secluded. His crypt was the obvious answer.

Once inside, he escorted her to the makeshift shower that Xander had somehow rigged for him. They'd tapped into the city's water system, dug out a special area for the stall, and made a drainage pipe that led straight down into the sewers. It worked like a charm and Xander was quite proud of his ingenious skills. Spike was too.
Spike showed her how to get the water on, apologizing for the fact that the water wasn't heated - Xander wasn't quite that ingenious - and then produced a baby blue toothbrush for her.

Buffy held it in her hand, examining it closely. "This was mine."

"I know."

"This was mine before - before I died."

Spike nodded. "I took it."

"You stole my toothbrush?" Buffy asked incredulously. "That's so gross! Did you use it? Did you lick it? Oh my god!"

"No, I did not lick it! I just kept it and I ... well, I kept it. And you should use it. No offense, Slayer, but tequila doesn't smell good when it's fresh and it really reeks when it comes back out used."

"And what exactly am I supposed to wear when I finish showering?"

"I'll get you something."

He left her then, returning to the main room to find her a shirt. He settled on an Alice Cooper relic left over from the seventies and laid it, and a towel, on a coffin that had broken free from the wall. Then he sat down on his bed and waited, chuckling when he heard her yelp under the cold water.

It was time that he did more than listen.

It was time that he talked and *she* listened.

Before life, and the fleeting hold she had on it, ended once and for all.

***

Buffy found the shirt and slipped it over her head, then tried her best to wring the water from her hair on the tattered towel. She was freezing. Nothing worked faster to sober someone up than freezing cold water on a drunken body. After the first ten minutes, she was numb, but now that she was out in the open again, her teeth were chattering like mad.

She used almost an entire tube of toothpaste before she was satisfied that she had chased away the sour taste in her mouth for good. When she walked back into the bedroom area, she found Spike sitting motionless on the bed, staring straight at her. The intensity of his glare caused her to fidget and finger the hem of the shirt, which skimmed her thighs.

She waited for him to say something, anything to break the monotony of his eyes upon her. It was almost as if he were reading her like a book, the way he skimmed her surface. She shivered and he stood, pulling back the cover on the bed. Wordlessly, she crossed the room and climbed in, eternally grateful in that instant for the warmth he was providing her with.
"We have to talk, Slayer."

"I'm tired," Buffy replied with a yawn.

"I don't really care." Spike, who was standing next to the bed, sat down on the edge of it and tried to collect his thoughts. "Do you want to die?"

"Are you offering?"

"God damnit, Slayer!" Spike stood and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from shaking her senseless. "Why are you doing this? It's like you're giving up!"

"I gave up when I leapt off that tower, Spike. I gave up, I gave in, I gave all of me that I had to give and I don't have anything else left in me. And I didn't ask to be brought back, you know?"

"Who cares whether or not you asked. Here it is. Life. A big old gift that you've been given."

"Death was my gift to give."

Spike, very familiar with what Buffy had been told on her quest, sat down again and leaned closer to her. "You're going to take the word of someone who tried to *kill* you and all your friends?"

"Hello, pot, this is kettle." Buffy smiled sarcastically. "*You* tried to kill me and all my friends so why should I even be listening to you?"

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Because you know I'm right."

"Whatever. Are you finished yet? I'm tired."

"What makes you think I intend on letting you sleep here?" Spike cocked his head to one side, waiting for her reply.

Buffy had no response. She leaned her head back against the headboard and returned his gaze. Several long minutes passed and then she asked, "Why did you come and get me?"

"Because someone had to."

"You could have gotten Willow."

"You honestly want Willow to see you like this?"

Buffy smiled a little. "She should see the monster she created."

"I hardly think you're a monster. And as one, I think I'm a good judge of it."

"I feel like one. A leper. I can't work construction because I'm too strong. I can't work at the Magick Shop because I lack fundamental people skills. And I can't go back to school because we need the money too badly. I'm a complete failure."

"I take offense to that, baby. Monster and failure are not the same thing."

Buffy rolled her eyes at him and snuggled further under the cover. "You know what I mean! I just don't belong anywhere. And I don't know why they brought me back when they knew that I'd face all this stuff."

Spike took a deep, unneeded breath, and exhaled softly. "Because they're selfish. I would have brought you back too, if I'd had the means. You don't know what it was like without you here, luv. If you did, maybe you'd understand."

"Seems to me that everything was going just fine. Tara and Willow certainly had no trouble making themselves at home in my mother's room. They had no problem stepping in and taking control of Dawn's life. And Giles - he had no trouble just packing up and leaving his responsibilities behind."

"What responsibility did Giles have? You were gone."

"So? This is still a hellmouth and everyone still needed him."

Spike shrugged indifferently. "And now he's back. And you're back. And you should be diving right back into life instead of drowning it with liquor."

"Please, this coming from the guy who got trashed over Dru and went crying to my mother. Again I refer to the pot and kettle commentary we had earlier."

"At least I cried out to someone! If we're going to refer to earlier commentary, let me again remind you that you are emotionally *dead*, Summers."

Buffy yawned again, covering her mouth with her hand. When she had finished, she blinked at him several times. "Is being tired an emotion?"

"No," Spike told her.

Sighing, Buffy rolled her eyes. "Maybe I should go kidnap someone like you kidnapped Willow and Xander when you were distraught. Would that make me a better person? Would that help me deal with things?"

"Maybe you should just *talk* to someone."

"Maybe I don't feel like it."

Spike stood, tossing his hands in the air. He was ready to just give up, let her destroy herself. And he would have gladly let her do it if it didn't mean that he would be destroyed as well. "When you're ready - you can come crying to me."

"I'd rather die," Buffy fired at him, using up the last of her energy to make it sound as hateful as possible.

Spike turned and looked at her, watching her sink further down into the pillows as sleep staked its claim on her. For several seconds, he simply watched her, then he moved closer and tucked the cover around her more firmly. Thunder boomed overhead, shaking the crypt walls and the earthen floor.
Spike shook his head. "Not on my watch, baby. Not on my watch."