In a perfect world, Spike would have woken up to find a certain slayer, maybe topless, wiping his brow with a cool towel. Peeled grapes and a palm frond would have been nice too. Instead, the first thing he saw was Giles’ torn face, looking like a flock of butterfly bandages had taken up residence on it.

His hand shot out reflexively, before he remembered that Elaine was well and truly dead. Fortunately, his arm didn’t seem to want to obey his command right away, and Giles managed to duck away from the weak attack. “That you, Rupes? Took you for some kind of exploding paper demon.”

The watcher snorted wryly. “Yes, I believe that Dawn got a little carried away with the bandages. How are you feeling?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

The question took some consideration. Sore? Wounded? Not really, but even thinking about it took an effort of will. “Tired,” he finally said, but that wasn’t it either.

Giles seemed to understand, though. “Psychic wounds often manifest as mental fatigue. It will pass in a few days.” He offered a callused hand to the supine vampire. Spike noticed that under his other arm, he held a small pink bag.

Spike allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position. He found that he was on a canvas cot in a dark corner of the Summers’ basement. Meret was fast asleep on the corner of the stretched fabric, curled into a knot of scales and feathers. He really envied her. Spike started to raise a hand to wipe across his eyes, but it shook and he finally let it drop in his lap. “A few days, huh? Why’re you so spry then?”

“I believe that after you and Buffy destroyed her body, Elaine needed me contained, not hurt. Buffy and Meret were somewhat protected by Willow’s previous spells and the… ah, ruby apparently. You, on the other hand, seem to have taken the full brunt of her assault. And,” he paused to fish something out of his jacket pocket with his free hand. “I took two of these.” He tossed the bottle to the vampire, who barely managed to catch it. Caffeine pills.

Spike stared at them. Human medicines didn’t always affect him the way they should. He’d taken enough bites out of allergy sufferers, diet pill users, and junkies to know that. Then again, he remembered the night Dawn had convinced him to drink eight triple shot espressos. That had been… amusing. A small handful of little white tablets, bitter and chalky, went down his throat, and he handed the bottle back to the watcher.

“Buffy?” he asked, grimacing around the pills’ bitter taste.

The watcher smiled, even though the expression had to cause him some pain. “She woke up an hour ago, and has been running circles around the rest of us ever since.” At the vampire’s weary smile, Giles continued. “She wanted to make sure you got all the sleep you needed, but Dawn asked me to bring you this.” He handed over the pink bag, a toiletries case. On the outside, there was a note written in Dawn’s loopy script.

Here’s some stuff to make you feel a little more ‘human.’

Inside were a toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb and gel, some soap and a washcloth. The vampire couldn’t help but smile. Between the contents of the bag and the sink in the corner, he might well be back to his old self in no time at all.

Giles’ voice drew back his wandering attention. “On that note, I believe that I will go tell the others that you are awake.”

That brought a small glimmer of warmth to his tired mind. Spike leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as the man walked away. He could hear the heavy tread of footsteps, retreating to the far side of the room, but there they stopped. He cracked an eye again.

Giles’ hand was resting on the banister, his head bowed in thought. After a long moment of silence, he half turned back towards the cot. “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

Giles looked straight at him, face serious under its veil of bandages. “Thank you.”

“Good to have you back in the driver’s seat. You make a piss poor bird.” That earned a brief laugh and a wry look. The vampire smirked along with him. Nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said. It was a silent understanding between comrades-in-arms – between friends. Spike coughed, trying to shake loose the odd pressure squeezing tight inside of his chest. Pro’bly the damned pills.

Giles nodded to himself, and started up the stairs. Spike shut his eyes again, and listened to the retreating footsteps. The soft click of the door’s latch left him to his thoughts, and the odd sensation of half a bottle of concentrated caffeine melting slowly into his dead system.

When he started to feel a little more alive, metaphorically speaking, he eyes the sink in the corner. He might as well make himself presentable before facing the world above.

*****

“Buffy, I appreciate your concern, but I really am fine.” Giles sounded more embarrassed than irritated, at least from Spike’s side of the door.
“No you’re not.” Buffy, on the other hand, sounded like a mother hen. “You’re bleeding all over your stiff upper lip.”

“Very funny.” The man sighed in resignation. “Now please tell me again, when and how did you realize that I had been possessed?”

“Well, we knew something was up when you baked everyone a bunch of brownies and then pinched Xander on the butt.”

Apparently missing the sarcasm in his ward’s voice, Giles started to stutter. “I… I what?”

“Giles, get a grip. I’m teasing you.” The vampire could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Meret kept hitting us with weird pictures of you with no eyes and stuff, and then you ran off with a bunch of oogly things from the Magic Box. Spike checked your apartment and found your boudoir had exploded all over the place and the jar we found at the mansion dumped out on your dresser. By the time Willow and Tara used dial-a-vamp to tell us about a disturbance in the Force, we had pretty much figured it out on our own.”

“I would thank you to not remind me of the state of my flat. Now, what do you mean by, ah, ‘dial a vamp?’ And what kinds of, um, ‘oogly’ things?” Giles was certainly back in old form.

But then again, so was Buffy. “Less bleeding now, more grilling later.”

On that note, Spike slid the door open and walked into the kitchen. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the floor; diffuse enough to pose no threat. True to the slayer’s word, Giles was in fact bleeding again. The coppery smell fell flat across the minty flavor of the toothpaste. Some things just didn’t go together, like Oreos and orange juice, or blood and super whitening Winterfresh with fluoride. However, Dawn had been right. A little soap and a fraternity shower could do wonders for a vamp’s outlook on life.

Meret, who had woken up soon after Spike had finished taming his unruly hair, winged into the room after him, and immediately dove on a plate of sliced fruit. No ephemeral hello, no flash of emotions or images, just a hot flash of need. That effectively caught everyone’s attention.

Someone’s hungry.

Meret just hissed and lashed her tail over the mixed plate of apples, kiwis, and oranges before gulping down another slice. Maybe ravenous would have been a better word. He had never seen her eat something that didn’t have at least a little meat in it, so at the watcher’s questioning look, Spike just shrugged.

Giles started to pick up a ball point pen again, but at Buffy’s scolding look, he relented. The pen and a little notebook, cheap and spiral bound, made their way into his pocket instead. Thank the gods for small mercies. Leaning heavily on the counter, the watcher took a sip of the hot, aromatic tea that had been resting by his elbow.

Buffy, who had been rinsing off a washcloth in the sink, was watching the vampire with a worried half-smile. “Hey, Spike. Did you get enough sleep?”

“All I’m gonna, for now.” Truth be told, he was starting to feel a little twitchy. Maybe half a bottle of spaz-in-a-can had been a bit too much. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough to avoid all the heavy lifting,” she said jokingly. “All the spell gunk has been cleared away, Xander and I tossed the big rock in the garden out back, and Dawn has put stain stick on the carpet.” She grimaced. “We dripped blood on the floor.”

“Ah. Speakin’ of which…” Spike dipped into the refrigerator and started rummaging around. He needed something to cover the flavor in his mouth so that the bland pig’s blood would be palatable. He didn’t care what the crime dramas said; pig was a long way off from human.

A light tap on his shoulder drew his attention, and he found himself looking at a cup of tea, the same as the one in front of the watcher, cradled in Buffy’s hands.

“Giles said it might help.” She seemed shy, and when he took the cup, their hands met briefly. She dropped her eyes at the touch.

Behind them, Giles reached across the counter and retrieved the wet cloth Buffy had abandoned there. “I believe that I will be in the living room. The others should be back soon with dinner, or whatever Xander decides passes for a balanced evening meal.” He rose and patted the towel gently against his right cheek, retrieving his own tea with his other hand.

Spike watched the man leave, feeling vaguely as if he had missed something important in that one-sided conversation. Silence, broken only by the rustling sound of Meret’s feathers as she continued to eat with single-minded intensity, held sway for a long time in the man’s wake.

After a long while, Spike took a sip of the tea. It was good, even if he could feel it slowly growing cold against his fingers as the minutes ticked by. Or maybe it was his cold fingers, drawing away the drink’s heat. Maybe no time had passed at all.

“Hey, Spike.” The vampire turned at Buffy’s suddenly timid tone. “I was just wondering… I mean, before the night of the living school marm, I said…” The slayer was fidgeting and looking everywhere except at Spike himself. He wondered if she had also taken a hit off of Giles’ pep pills.

“Said a lot of things… Any one bit in particular?” There was a certain conversation Spike remembered, and the almost-kiss, cut short by Dawn’s incredibly bad timing, that had preceded it.

She wrung her hands, twisting the ring holding the Sangre de Cristo ruby around and around her right ring finger. Her mouth opened, as if to speak, but she was cut short by the back door swinging open.

“Hey Buffy!” Xander appeared in the kitchen, juggling a tall stack of pizza boxes. “Spike. I come bearing tidings of great joy! Otherwise known as four of Gino’s finest pizza pies.” His grin never faltered, even though Spike could have sworn that the room’s temperature had dropped a good ten degrees.

Willow appeared behind him, carrying a Blockbuster Video bag. Her bright eyes lit on Buffy first, but quickly slid to Spike’s. Her lips twitched, as if she was trying to suppress a smile.

Xander had continued talking, unaware that no one but Meret was really paying attention. However, even the little coatl seemed more interested with the boxes in his hands than the words coming out of his mouth. “…and we rented Invasion of the Body Snatchers, because irony always goes well with Coca Cola.”

“C’mon Xander,” Willow nudged the boy in the ribs with her elbow, trying to herd him along.

Buffy stuttered, finally finding her voice. “Everybody’s in with the TV. We’ll be there in a sec.”

Xander looked confused, but Willow’s persistent prods got him moving again. The redhead had the temerity to wink at Spike before she too disappeared. That earned a scowl and a flash of consternation. Did everyone else in the house know something he didn’t? When an eruption of giggles drifted in from the living room, he decided that the answer was an unequivocal “Yes.” Meret took off after them, hunger still at the front of her mind, leaving a scene of fruit devastation behind her. Soon, slayer and vampire found themselves completely alone.

Spike started spinning the little china cup around and around in its saucer. It needed lemon, or maybe some Jack, depending on where their interrupted conversation had been heading.

“So, uh, you know,” Buffy hedged.

Avoidance, thy name is Buffy. He smiled bitterly to himself. Pot, kettle.

Spike would have preferred a little time to collect his thoughts, to sleep until he was fairly certain he could keep his foot out of his mouth, before having this conversation. If it was even the conversation he thought it was.

The first glimmer of hope, fragile as a butterfly, fluttered inside of his chest. He ruthlessly squelched it. Buffy had started this little chat, and only Buffy knew where it would lead. The badly tattered rag that was his heart couldn’t afford for him to make any assumptions. Not now.

He took a sip from his tea, wishing that it was something stronger. “No, I don’t.” He could do monosyllables, even when suffering from psychic backlash.

Spike stole a glance at the slayer, keeping his expression bland. She was pursing her lips, pinching her face tight in frustration. After taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, green flecked eyes searching for and catching his own. “Did you mean what you said?”

Spike’s voice was husky in his throat. “’S been a long couple of days. P’haps you could jog my memory.” The line between coyness and cowardice was as thin as a razor.

Warm hands wrapped around his fingers, guiding the cup back to the counter. She licked her lips nervously, a motion that Spike found intimately fascinating. She kept her hands on his when he released the china. “That,” she paused, seemingly gathering her courage.

Least one of us is feelin’ brave. Spike’s silent sarcasm was biting.

“That I’m a hero,” she finished breathlessly.

“Yes.” The word was little more than a hiss.

Her fingers laced through his own, connected as they had been hours earlier by Willow’s magic. “That I can totally handle whatever mean nasty that gets sent my way.” Her voice was a little stronger, more confident.

Spike blinked, utterly transfixed with her mouth. “Seem to recall something like that.”

Suddenly she smiled, teasing and beautiful. “And that I make Audrey Hepburn look like a trashy skank.”

“Uh…”

“And that you bow before my superior fighting skills.”

Hot indignation flashed over the cold fear that had settled in his veins. “Oi! I don’t think…”

“And that you love me,” she whispered, but the quiet, uncertain words were more than enough to cut the blustering vampire short.

So there it was, the moment of truth. Even though this particular cat had long been out of the bag, he had never told her like this, when she was so close, holding onto his hand as if it was a lifeline.

Doubt gnawed at him.

Doubt in her motivations.

Doubt in himself and his ability to withstand another rejection.

Finally, Spike took a deep breath and a leap of faith. “You know I do.”

She was quiet for a long time. Every second that passed felt like the scrape of a blade over his frayed nerves. When she finally spoke, he was surprised that his heart didn’t roll out to be squashed in the toe of his boot.

“I’m not so great with the descriptors, so I thought maybe I could show you something instead,” she babbled.

Spike wanted to curl up on himself, shrivel up and crumple like a dying spider. What the hell could she have to show me after I said that? None of the ideas that sprung to mind were good. Probably some shockingly revealing passage that the watcher had found after waking. Hell, it could be a new pair of shoes, or even the fastest route to the back door. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. If she changed the subject now, started backpedaling or ignoring his words, well, his tab at Willy’s was going to grow exponentially over the course of a few short hours.

Soft fingers brushed against his jaw, clenched tight from the effort to control himself. “Spike?”

His indifferent façade cracked, twisting and bending his face, turning his eyes from icy blue to angry gold. “What?” he snapped, jerking away from her touch. It was too hard to think with her so near, and he needed to lash out at whatever was at hand. Even if it happened to be her.

When she didn’t flinch away, Spike got the sinking feeling that he had misjudged the situation again. He was fast loosing his objectivity, finding her harder and harder to read. Too much had been happening too fast, and he was still trying to catch up. Stubborn, even in his confusion, he let his demonic visage remain. Whatever this was leading, she could say it to that face.

“What?” he repeated, all anger bleeding out of his voice, leaving only resignation behind.

Her hand returned, cupping the contours of his cheek. He leaned into her; he couldn’t help himself. He was tired, strung out on too much worry and too little sleep, and loving her was the easiest thing he had done in a long time. Sometimes painful, always nerve wracking, but still easy.

And surprising too. Spike could honestly say that he was caught completely flat footed when she stepped forward and pressed her soft lips against his own.

Spike froze, not really believing what was happening. She was holding back, careful of his fangs, but not wary though. There was no tension in her lips, no fear. Only tender exploration. One hand trailed along his face, tracing the scar where it was pulled taut across one ridged brow. The touch broke down all his defenses. His hands bypassed his brain altogether and somehow found their way around the slayer’s thin waist, deepening the kiss when his features melted back into smooth lines.

In that moment, he could forget about Elaine and her merry band of the undead, the watcher’s upcoming questions, and even the traditional couch potato Scooby party that awaited them in the den. Nothing mattered, except him and her and the sparking, living thing that was between them.

In his heart, Spike knew he would have questioned the words, had she voiced them aloud. Her actions couldn’t be denied. He cursed himself for doubting her.

Words could wait. Forever, for all he cared.

And yes, she did still taste like raspberries.