Spike's neck ached. The pain could only be matched by the pain in his ass that the Slayer caused. And she had caused the neck pain as well. She had taken his bed, helped herself to it, and he had slept in a chair, his neck bent at an odd angle for the entire night. He had awoken when the Slayer rose and changed her clothing, but he hadn't let her know. Instead, he had enjoyed the view, peeking from under one eyelid as she pulled his T-shirt off and slipped back into her own attire.

Not that he'd seen much. She had stayed close to the shadows, but it was enough to take his mind off the pain.

He was draining his second cup of blood when Giles walked in, foregoing the custom of knocking before you entered. "Hello, Giles. Nice of you to knock."

"Is Buffy here?" Giles asked, scanning the area.

Spike glanced around the room as well. "Do you see her, mate?"

"No." Giles slammed the door, stepping all the way into the crypt. He paced for a second, then sighed loudly. "Damn it."

Spike set the cup aside and stood. "Why do you ask?" he queried, trying not to sound as interested as he truly was.

"I can't find her," Giles replied. He turned to look at Spike, studying him closely. "Was she here last night?"

"Perhaps." Spike gave him a small smile.

Giles reached down and retrieved a weapon from the floor; a weapon he had crafted with his own hands using brass knuckles and a sword of davron. "She had this last night."

With a shrug, Spike said, "She was here. Spent the night."

Giles' gaze grew more intense as he tightened his hold on the weapon. "I see."

Spike saw the man's knuckles whitening and shook his head. "No, you don't see. She got herself snockered at the demon bar and I went and got her. She slept in my bed and I slept here. So, you can stop Watcher posturing over your little Slayer, Dad."

It was Giles' turn to smile. Dad. He would soon find out what that truly meant. Then what Spike had said registered. "At a demon bar?"

"Mean little hole on the outskirts of town. They don't water down their spirits, though. My kind of dive."

"And I take it I have you to thank for showing her where that dive is?"

Spike eyed the dagger in Giles' hand. "Something like that. Want to tell me why you're on a Slayer search?"

"We had a fight. Or rather, she had one with me. I was merely trying to explain something to her."

Spike cocked his head to one side, indicating a chair in the corner. "Want to have a sit and share some whiskey?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I would." Giles caught the bottle the vampire tossed him and gladly took a seat. He took a drink and tossed it back to Spike, who was sitting opposite him. "I'm leaving Sunnydale and returning to England. To live."

The mouthful of liquor that Spike had drained from the bottle shot out, drenching the far wall and the floor. "You're what? Have you lost your mind? The Slayer - she needs a Watcher and a -"

"No, I don't think she does." Giles looked up at the vampire. "Let's be honest. For most of her tenure as the Slayer *she* has been the one calling the shots. Her judgment is impeccable and her timing, her skill-"

"And her needs? What about those? She needs *you*. You know that you're the father in the Scooby Gang equation, right?"

Giles scratched his jaw, deep in thought. "I don't recall ever hearing any mention of a father on that cartoon."

"Maybe you just didn't listen hard enough. You should start now." Spike pulled up another chair and sat down, facing Giles. "That Slayer has her hands full. Money problems, kid sister, saving the world, not to mention the whole dying thing that seems to be harder for her to handle than you'll ever know, and-"

"And my girlfriend is pregnant and refuses to come here. If I want to be a part of my child's life, I have to return to England."

Spike felt his jaw drop and had to force himself to close it. "What about your children here? Like it or not, the lot of them are yours in some way or another."

Giles studied his hands, unable to meet the other man's eyes for fear of admitting that there was far too much truth in his words. "My hands are tied, Spike."

"Untie them. You belong with Buffy."

Giles finally did look up, meeting the other man's gaze. "And where do you belong?"

Spike made a sweeping gesture around his crypt. "I guess right where I am."

"But where do *you* fit into the *Scooby Gang*?"

Grinning, Spike leaned back against his chair. "There were always vampires on Scooby."

"But they were real men dressed as vampires." Giles' brow creased as he realized the implications of his words. Spike may as well be a real man dressed as a vampire for all the good his fangs did him. "Have you given any thought to that higher purpose I once mentioned to you?"

"I don't know what you mean." Spike replied.

"Well, you're here. And you very clearly have feelings for Buffy and Dawn and - and I suppose you can be trusted - to a certain extent."

"You *suppose*? Do you know how many times I've almost lost life and limb taking care of this bloody gaggle of -"

"Spike-"

"Sorry."

Giles exhaled and leaned forward. "You could try to fill some of the void of my leaving."

"You mean walk around in a pair of glasses that I clean every three minutes, go 'hmmmm' a lot, and read until my eyes cross? No thank you." Spike was enjoying the conversation. The old man trusted him. That in and of itself was a pretty nice feeling.

Giles frowned and took his glasses off, cleaning them absently. "You know what I mean. You can help research. You can fight demons better than I ever could in any capacity. And you can - you can listen to her. Help keep her safe. Watch over her and-"

"In other words, you want me to be a Watcher while you go set up house with your girl?"

"Something along those lines. Never in an official capacity, but you could definitely assume some of the responsibilities that I have."

"With pay?"

Giles knew he was had. Buffy could use the money and he had little doubt that Spike would share. "With pay."

"Sold. I'm a Watcher."

"You're a 'Looker After'. You're a 'Seeing Eye Vampire'. You're not quite a Watcher."

"Suits me."

****

Buffy walked the streets of Sunnydale, staring at its residents through hooded eyes. In the park, she paused to watch children at play, listening to their laughter until it made her stomach ache. She had no memory of what that innocent laughter felt like as it bubbled forth. At the gates of Restfield Cemetery, saw a casket being carried over sloshy terrain to its final resting place. The ladies, adorned in black, dabbed at their eyes with tissues and Buffy figured if they knew where their loved ones were heading, the tears would be of joy. Or maybe jealousy.

Because it was the ones who were left behind that were unlucky.
And just like usual, she was being left behind again.

When her father had left her behind, packed his belongings into a green Volvo and waved goodbye as he pulled out of the cul-de-sac, her heart had shattered, leaving her crumpled on the front lawn. No one could comfort her. Not her mother. Not Dawn. Not the nice old lady who lived next door and baked cookies. No one. She stayed there until she fell asleep and someone, she never found out who, carried her to her bed.

When Angel left her, she had cried so long and so hard that all of her ached in ways that, even now, she couldn't begin to fathom. She had curled into a ball beneath her cover, shaking and sobbing until her bones, her very core, screamed for any kind of reprieve.

When Riley had left her, she had stayed relatively numb to the pain that accompanied the loss, but still, she felt it. She felt it in mundane ordinary things that made her cry, but she never just lay down and cried over Riley. Spilt milk had been safer in the long run.

And when she had watched them zip her mother into a body bag, all of the previous pain had paled in comparison. Losing her mother, losing her best friend, her one constant, had caused so many emotions that she somehow forgot that she was *supposed* to cry. Standing on the sidewalk, listening to the soft sobs a few yards away in the cemetery, she tried to remember if she had cried even once when Joyce died.

Surely she had. She was required to cry. Wasn't she?

Or maybe she had cried herself dry at all the losses before and she had grown immune.

But her heart told her otherwise.
She turned on her heel and walked back toward the old high school. What was left of it was charred and the horrible fried snake smell that surrounded the area never quite went away - even after so much time had passed. It was foul, putrid, and everything that a hellmouth should smell like. But it smelled like something else, too.

She closed her eyes and inhaled and she smelled the library, full of dusty books and Giles' tea - imported, thank you very much. She could smell his morning bagel, smell Ms. Calendar's perfume as she would walk into the room. She could even see Giles' face light up as he showed her some fascinating piece of text. She could smell chalk and disgusting lunchroom food. She could smell bagged lunches and the apple blossom air freshener in the girl's restroom.

If she concentrated hard enough, she could hear the laughter in the hallways, the static-y sound of the intercom, and the familiar footsteps of Giles as he paced back and forth in the stacks, tiring himself in an endless search for a certain book or ancient tome.
She opened her eyes and stared at what was left of the school. That chapter of her life was closed and she would never get it back. As hard as it had been back then, she'd still had Angel. She'd had her mother. She'd had friends who loved her unconditionally. And she'd had the promise that Giles would still be her Watcher the next day.

Now she had nothing but uncertainty. And it made her want to find another platform to dive from and find the peaceful comfort of death once more.

"Buffy?"

Buffy recognized the voice immediately, the voice that had soothed, scolded, given her sage advice, and been the father she had longed for time and time again. "Giles," she replied without turning.

"I've been searching for you all over town."

"And now you've found me."

Giles stepped around her so he could see her. "I - we need to talk."

"Are you changing your mind?"

"No."

"Then what more is there to say?" Buffy's eyes met his and she had to force herself to remain calm. "Just goodbye. That's it. And I'm not good at the big parting scene, so we'll just say it here."

"I'm not leaving for good. I'll come back when-"

"You say that now, Giles, but you won't. My dad said those same things to me. He said 'I'll come back every weekend and see you' and he never did."

Giles stepped closer and reached out for her. When she backed away, he crossed his arms and stood up straighter. "I'm not your father."

The words stung, but Buffy refused to let it break her. Instead, she turned his words around on him. "No, you're not my father. I only spent the past six years wishing you were."

If Giles' heart hadn't already broken a million times, he was sure it would have exploded from his chest. He felt his eyes well with tears and this time, when he stepped forward, he did take her in his arms. "I love you, Buffy. I love you as if you were my own child, but that isn't so. And my responsibility is to Olivia now."

Buffy, whose arms remained firmly at her sides, allowed him to hug her. Part of her wanted to collapse against him, every bit the distressed damsel, but another part, the stronger part, forced her spine to stiffen and her resolve to go unbroken. "Will they send me a new Watcher?"

"What?" He stepped back slightly, brow furrowed. He had not even considered the possibility. "I don't know."

Buffy pulled away completely, breaking his hold on her, and the loss she felt was immeasurable. It was a loss she knew she'd become intimate with in the coming weeks. "Is there a loophole in your Watcher book that says if you knock someone up you get to go?"

"No."

She raised her eyebrow. "So, you're just winging it. Not even death gets me out of being the Slayer, but you just go when you're ready."

"I'm not Chosen by some divine calling. I'm just a Watcher."

"Not anymore. You're giving that up, remember?"

"I'll always be-"

"How are you going to watch me if you're in England? How are you going to help me and be all rational when I'm freaking if you're a million miles across the ocean!?"

"The telephone-"

"The telephone doesn't have arms, Giles! It doesn't have *your* arms. It isn't a hug when the world is collapsing! It isn't a pat on the back for a job well done! It isn't a smile or a laugh and it- it isn't *you*. We were a team! You're nothing to me now. You're just someone I used to know!"

Giles finally allowed himself to cry. He'd been holding it in, holding it back since he'd first broken the news to her, but he could no longer do it. "I will always be your Watcher! I will *always* love you. I will *always* come if you call me." He almost broke complete, but he held it together, his tone taking on a harder edge. "But I will not stand here and let you continue to attack me. My plane leaves tomorrow at nine p.m. and I would love nothing more than to spend the day with you, but I can't-" He held up his hand and took a few steps back. "I just can't continue to do this."

Buffy watched him leave, watched the way his shoulders slumped and his hands went into his pockets, and it took every ounce of restraint not to chase after him and tell him she loved him too. But that would require more than she was able to give and she lacked the energy to do it. Begging him wouldn't change his mind.

But a good slaying would certainly help hers.

She made her way behind the school and poked through the woods until she found the sewage entrance, and dropped inside. She knew for a fact, thanks to listening to the chatter at the Lair, that a nest of vampires had holed up in the Master's old home. She sleepwalked her way through the tunnels, enjoying the darkness, loving the way the sounds of water echoed softly.

Before she knew it, she was at the mouth of the old broken church. She hadn't been back since she had died there and something about that made her stomach quiver in anticipation. She stepped into the doorway and glanced at the small puddle that had drowned her. Bending down, she dipped her hand inside and was startled to find that it was warm and inviting. Her reflection stared back at her, vacant and somber.
But the reflection of the vampire behind her was not there.

She watched herself smile in expectation and said, "You're about to have a really bad day."

Standing, she turned, and the smile on her face faded. There were easily thirty vampires assembled between herself and the entryway - her freedom.

"I'm going to have a bad day?" the vampire closest to her asked. "Sweetheart, you're the one with no weapons."

Swallowing hard, Buffy maintained her ground as they moved closer.
And each of them sported very sharp, very pointy, very deadly looking fangs.

// Lesson the first, a Slayer must always reach for her weapon. //

"Great," Buffy mumbled, as Spike's words filled her head. "Just great."



Dawn watched from the doorway as Giles packed his personal items from the bathroom: his shaving cup, his razor, his cologne. He put it all into a leather satchel, then set it aside, closed the medicine cabinet, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. She noted, not for the first time since he'd told her he was leaving, that his breathing was ragged and his hands were shaking. She stepped into the room and offered him her brightest fake smile.

"How are you gonna shave tomorrow if you're all packed up?"

He returned the smile, but his wasn't nearly as convincing. "I was thinking of growing a beard."

"Ewww." Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Face fuzz, as a rule, is kinda gross. And when your baby comes, you can't kiss it. It'll hurt it."

Giles considered her words thoughtfully. "You're right. I suppose I'll forego the ... er ... gross face fuzz."

Dawn nodded her approval and leaned on the counter next to him. "My dad used to let me shave his face until this one time that I almost completely took his nose off. He didn't let me do it much after that. It was always Buffy he wanted. He said she had graceful hands." She held her own hands up, and wiggled her fingers. "He always told me that I had Troll hands."

Giles took one of her hands in his. "I'd let you, and your troll hands, shave my face any day."

"And I wouldn't cut your nose off." Dawn sighed a little. "We're not really talking about what's important, Giles."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Buffy." Dawn glanced up at him. "She's not doing good is she?"

"I think she's doing as well as can be expected."

"But we don't know what to expect because we don't really know anyone who was dead for over a hundred days and then came back. We're winging it and I don't think we're doing it right."

It was Giles' turn to sigh. "I agree. Has she talked to you at all about her experience in the - afterlife?"

"Nope. I try to mention it and she either walks out or bites my head off."

"I know the feeling," Giles replied.

"She wasn’t keen on you leaving, huh?"

Giles studied the floor and shook his head. "Not keen at all."

"You understand though, right?" Dawn asked. When Giles looked up at her with curiosity, she added, "You're *everything* to her. When she first came back, she asked for you all the time. I mean, you're the one person in all the world who has always been there for her. For *us*. And it's hard to give that up."

"Yes, it is." He held his arms open and embraced the young girl. "I do love you, Dawn."

"I know." Dawn tilted her head back and gazed up at him. "And you have to bring the baby as soon as it comes so I can introduce it to American music. Remember that night you stayed and we listened to Britn-"

"Heaven help us all."