"You're sure this is the place?" Xander shaded his eyes from the sun as he climbed down out of the van. "It's just – I mean, a greenhouse?"

"I suppose if you wanted to keep a vampire somewhere he couldn't get out of…" Buffy shrugged.

"Sure – by day," he replied.

"Hey, I'm just going by what the amulet is telling me," she said. "We drove past the place twice, there's nothing behind it… this is all we've got." She slammed her door and started crunching across the tiny gravel parking lot.

"And I'm sure this guy knows all about why we're here and will be able to help us no problem," said Xander. Nodded toward the old guy in overalls who had just come out of the nearest greenhouse, wiping his hands on an old red rag.

"Sure," said Buffy, "why not?"

The guy looked kind of like Santa Claus, if you took him out of the North Pole and put him on a farm, got rid of the elves, and maybe let him set up a whiskey still somewhere in the woods behind the house. He had dirt under his fingernails and was more barrel-chested than jelly-bellied, his hair was thinning and stuck up every which way, and his beard was more of a tuft under his chin than the full Ho-Ho-Ho Special, but it was still pure white and his face crinkled up as he beamed at them. Ancient. Somebody's favorite grandpa, you could just tell.

"Hello there, folks," he said. "Afternoon. Welcome to Figg's Farm-N-Floral. Figg would be me." He put out his hand and Xander shook it. Calluses from a lifetime of work. "It's just me today – my family's out. But they'll be back soon."

"Uh, hi," said Buffy.

"First greenhouse here is the pretty stuff," said Figg, "all the floral things are in there. Second greenhouse is the veggies, herbs and such." He shook himself, scritched at his head. "Oh for heaven's sake. Come in, come on in, what am I thinking keeping you out here."

Figg opened the door and herded them into the greenhouse. Colors everywhere, the air damp and clean, hanging baskets dripping overhead. A misplaced butterfly exploring a giant pot full of different kinds of plants. "The weather's changing, you know, must be going right to my head. Muggy like it is. My age, you expect it to go to your knees, not make you all forgetful and twitter-pated."

While he was rambling, Buffy leaned in to whisper to Xander, "Keep him talking while I look around, 'kay?"

Xander nodded. Went to open his mouth, but Figg beat him to it.

"So, what'll it be?" he asked. "What can I get you young people today?"

They froze for a second, then… "Flowers," said Buffy. Right over the top of Xander saying, "Veggies." They looked at each other, and Xander mumbled something about tomatoes for the backyard.

"Kinda both," said Buffy. "I mean, I just moved in… um…"

"Oh, course, o'course you did, young lady," said Figg, "and of course a lady likes to put a woman's touch on her new home, isn't that right?" He looked between them, smiled knowingly. "And congratulations. You let me tell you something, you two make a lovely young couple, you really do."

Buffy heroically managed not to say "ew" or deck the old geezer. The old nod-and-smile was almost as hard, but she managed that too.

She was faintly grateful for the way Xander seemed to choke as he said thanks.

"Well, if you two want to just browse, take a look around, you go right ahead," Figg was saying. "Way to the veggie greenhouse is through the potting shed there, at the end of the big aisle. Better yet, let me just take you through there myself," he said. "It's dark and there's an old cistern in the floor in one corner, big old hole in the ground. Don't want to fall in there," he chuckled. "It's where I compost my clippings. Big mess on your shoes."

The potting shed was indeed dark compared to the bright glass-roofed greenhouse, and much cooler out of the sun. Buffy felt the faintest shiver on her neck as they passed through to the second building, which gave her a first impression of smelling like a salad bar. No bright flowers here, but the beans crawled up wires as high as the ceiling and the tomatoes – "I planted 'em clear back in February. Get 'em before anyone else, out to the farmer's market" – were already ripening on their little shrubs.

The greenery almost completely blocked the view to the outside. Almost completely hid the car parked near the ruins of an old barn, back behind the house. The car was small, low-slung, dark, and vaguely intimidating. Predatory, Buffy's mind supplied. The thing seemed almost to be prowling around the yard even just sitting there.

If there was ever a car that existed exclusively to announce itself as "Spike", this one was it.

Buffy nudged Xander with her elbow. A little too hard, given his sudden wince. "Sorry," she muttered. Pointed out through the bank of tall herbs. Watched Xander do a double-take.

"Say, um, Mr. Figg," he stammered, "that's, uh, a really nice car." Buffy could have smacked her forehead.

"Oh, that," said Figg. "Belongs to a young man I have helping me. Just a temporary fellow, you know. Won't stay much longer. Fella owns a car like that, he's got places to be and things to do. You know how it is."

"You, uh, think he'd mind if I were to take a look at it?" asked Xander.

"Well you can't ask him," said Figg quickly. "He's busy. You can't. Can't bother him." Brought his hands together and started scraping dirt out from under one thumbnail.

"Oh," said Xander. "I really just wanted to take a quick gander at it. I'll come right back." Buffy watched him steel himself and… she wasn't sure… draw on his inner annoying child, maybe? Because suddenly he was out the back door and headed across the grass, tossing "Why don't you pick something out, honey?" over his shoulder as he went.

Honey. Buffy rolled her eyes. Caught Figg watching her, a little fearful. "Sorry," she said. "He gets like that. Uh… you know boys and their toys." Bright smile.

"I just don't know if my young man will like that," Figg said querulously. Old, old man, worried all of a sudden. "I – I should go ask him. I'll be back. Don't worry. In a jiffy. I'll be right..." He took off back toward the potting shed, limping on old joints. Buffy almost felt sorry for him.

Except then she pulled out the amulet and concentrated. It nearly jumped out of her hand – and was pointed straight at Figg's retreating back.

---

Hungry.

He was hungry, and hollow, and knew himself to be too weak to eat on his own.

Helpless.

Drusilla was standing in front of him, eyes serene. She still claimed Buffy would come. He almost thought he felt her, briefly.

Hallucinations.

The spell was killing him. Carving him out, bleeding him dry, emptying him. Soon there would be nothing left.

Hollow.

---

Buffy jumped when Xander tapped her on the shoulder – she hadn't even heard him come back inside.

"The windows are tinted pretty dark," he said, "but there's a cooler and empty liquor bottles in the back, and his duster and boots are in the front passenger seat." He looked at her. "Also, California license plates."

"He's here," said Buffy. She hardly recognized the sound of her own voice. Hollow. "I think… I think we walked past him. In the potting shed." She met his eyes, trying not to shake. "Where it's dark." She held up the amulet and focused again, making sure to hold the chain tightly. Once again, it shot straight out in front of her, the chain yanked taut and nearly cutting into her fingers. Aimed back the way they'd just come.

And there was Xander's resolve face.

They approached the potting shed as quietly as they could, slowing when they heard Figg's voice inside.

"Good day for travel," he was saying. "Good day for family to come. Your people. I think they're your people. You're going to leave me, aren't you. Now that your people are here. Company always does that. My family should come. I don't understand. Why haven't they come? They should come, I told you. Good day for traveling. They should be here. They should've gotten here before your people. It isn't right. It's not nice. I don't understand." By the end his voice was starting to rise, distraught.

They stepped into the potting shed and looked around. There was no one else there – no assistant gardener near the workbenches, no Spike conveniently chained to a wall for them to spot. Yet Buffy could still feel that faint almost-chill on the back of her neck. "Who are you talking to, Mr. Figg?" she asked.

"You," said Figg. "You're here. It's a good day to travel. Why are you here? Doesn't make sense. Why aren't they here? Why are you?"

Buffy caught a flicker of odd light across his eyes. She looked again and watched as they changed color, twinkling from dark brown to a silver-green the color of old coins and back again. Carefully, she extended her Slayer senses…

There it was. Subtle; she would have missed it if she hadn't decided to look for it. Figg wasn't human. He had that almost-smell she usually got off of demons, different from the not-quite-chill on her neck whenever a vamp was around, but she couldn't pick up much else. Whatever he was didn't trip her senses very far – he probably wasn't very strong or very dangerous then. But still – he was here, in the middle of nowhere, in the same place Spike was supposed to be trapped and in danger. Buffy wasn't willing to ignore that. Couldn't afford it.

Spike couldn't afford it.

"Why don't you show us what you really look like," offered Buffy, "and we'll tell you why we came."

"Buffy?" whispered Xander.

"Demon," she murmured back.

"I, I, I don't know what you're talking about," said Figg. "It's the weather. It's too muggy. That's what it is, boy I tell you what. They should be here. Not nice." He backed up toward the far wall of the potting shed. "Not their fault. He said – but it isn't true. Not kind. They just couldn't."

"Who said, Mr. Figg?" Xander asked softly. Took a cautious step toward the old man, holding his hands out to his sides.

"The help," he said. "Company came. They never stay. They help me wait, but they never stay. Don't even say goodbye. And he said harsh things. About the family. About my flock. Unkind things. Untrue." His hands flexing, curling and uncurling on the edge of the workbench. "They're coming back. They're not. They just went away for awhile. They're not. They're not."

"Not what, Mr. Figg?" said Xander. "I don't understand."

Figg paused, looked Xander in the eye. "I don't understand either," he said worriedly. "But you're not supposed to – " Reached out sideways and without looking, took a shovel down from its hook on the wall and swung it at Xander.

Buffy yanked him out of the way by the back of his collar, the shovel whooshing through the air where his head had been only an instant before. Using Xander's backward momentum, she propelled herself forward and kicked the old man in the stomach, hard enough to double him over. Something fell out of his overalls pocket…

…and just like that they were facing a demon who looked like nothing so much as an impossibly old sheep. His horns curled all the way from his temples to his neck and back around to his ears – which did a lot to explain why his hair stuck out the way it did in his human disguise – and his eyes were the color of old coins. Sideways pupils. His hands had thick almost-hooves for fingernails, but they still had dirt underneath and he still looked, somehow, like somebody's favorite grandpa.

If, you know, your grandpa happened to be a sheep demon.

"That wasn't nice," he said with a grunt. Lowered his head and pawed the ground. "Not ladylike. Not respectful. You young people today, I just don't know what they teach you."

He swung the shovel again. Buffy caught it, spun away, and slapped a sickle off the table. It twirled through the air and into her hand, and in one smooth motion she ducked under the shovel and around, and buried its curved point in Figg's chest. Perfect heart-shot as she danced backwards, out of range.

Figg dropped to his knees, staring at her with an expression that looked like nothing so much as simple confusion. "I don't –" he began. Looked past her to the doorway, and whispered, "Maglia?"

Smiled.

Buffy ducked and spun, but there was no one else there. She heard a thud and turned back in time to see the sickle pierce through Figg's back as he landed full on his face, and began to dissolve.

Somebody's favorite grandpa. Only now he was nothing but liquid, trickling across the floor and turning to steam.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the hissing of Figg's remains and the drip-plop of liquid falling into his compost pit. Finally he was completely gone, and Xander asked quietly, "Is it just me, or was that a weirder encounter than usual?"

"Who knows," Buffy said. He'd been charming. Harmless. Just a confused old man, right up until she had to kill him. "Since when does anything get to make sense for me?" She still wasn't even completely sure why he'd attacked. Wasn't sure Figg even knew. He'd only asked them odd questions and spoken gibberish at the end.

She didn't understand. Didn't want to think about it.

So she did the only thing she could and pulled out the skull ring on its chain again. Where are you, Spike? she asked it.

The chain snapped and the ring went sailing, arcing, falling with a "sploop" into the cistern in the corner of the room.

---

He was… almost… there was nothing… Drusilla standing there in front of him, keeping him company. Sometimes her mouth would move, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. He was pretty sure he was almost done. I'm sorry, Buffy, his only coherent thought.

Suddenly he felt something go away – a pull that he hadn't noticed until it stopped. A drain that wasn't there anymore.

The magic was done. Completed? Broken? Spike didn't know. He was still here, barely, as far as he could tell. Unable to move or see or hear or speak. Only able to feel pain and hunger… Maybe he wasn't here anymore. Or maybe he'd died, and that was what he'd felt just then. He was pretty sure he'd had that thought before.

Drusilla looked up and away from him, suddenly. At least he hadn't been alone, here at the end.

Something small and hard, like a pebble, smacked him in the side of the head.

---

A/N : Freedmont, IN does not exist. Fremont, IN does. But it turned out that Fremont has lots of hotels where Spike could have stayed which would have totally ruined this story from about Ch. 3 onward. :) Also, if you look at Google Maps (which I didn't until after I invented Figg, I swear), you'll see a greenhouse on the edge of town called Baker's Acres, which I now TOTALLY want to go visit.