Hello to all my readers:

My posting frenzy a few chapters back led me to skip a few steps in editing and proofreading, with the result that things kind of went off the rails from what I intended, and Buffy started behaving out of character compared to how I had planned for her to act in this story. If you've only found this story after January 17, 2012, then you have nothing to worry about.

However, if you were reading before that, I have since gone back and made edits to the following chapters:

Very minor changes in Ch 13 and 14 (like, a couple words, or one line)
No changes to 15 and 16
Minor Changes to 17
Big honkin' overhaul of Chapter 18
Minor changes to 19, in order to keep up with previous
Additions to 20, so as to clarify a couple points

If you don't feel like re-reading all that, I understand. But at the very least, please go back as far as Chapter 18, because the changes affect both Buffy's behavior and her motivations, and change the context of Chapters 19 and 20.

The danger of fanfic: stuff can go out for people to look at before it's really polished. The joy of fanfic: we writers can always take it back and fix it. I'm much happier now with how the story flows and how Buffy is portrayed. I hope you will appreciate the changes, too.

My deep and sincere gratitude to A Dreamweaver for her assistance and critique while I reworked these chapters.

Now, back to the story!

---

The next time Xander opened his eyes, daylight was streaming in through the living room windows. He yawned and stretched contentedly for a moment, before freezing as the realization hit.

Spike! He'd promised Buffy he would check on Spike and keep an ear out in case he needed to feed again overnight. And according to Buffy, he'd been drinking blood every few hours since they'd released him from the bindings of that spell that he'd been held under, so he had to have woken up at least once…

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap. Xander tried to jump to his feet and ended up staggering instead. Almost falling across the coffee table. He should have known better than to assume Spike would be loud enough to wake him up. Ordinarily, sure, he was obnoxious and kept a guy from sleeping, but right now? Between the broken ribs and the general weakness he probably couldn't raise his voice much at all. Xander smacked his forehead. Should have brought an alarm clock with him or something to force him to check on the vampire every so often. Crap. Mornings sucked. Mornings sucked without coffee, they sucked whenever you weren't on a job site, and they definitely sucked when…

"It's about time someone got moving in there," came Spike's voice through the doorway.

…when you had a pissed-off member of the bloodsucking undead in your garage to deal with as soon as you woke up. And not very loud, either, sure enough.

"Be out in a second," Xander grunted, fumbling his way to the kitchen.

"What," he heard Spike grumble, "you can't come out now?"

"Not unless you want your breakfast served cold," Xander grumbled back. "Which can be arranged, no trouble."

Finally he stumbled out into the garage, hadn't put his eye patch on yet, yawning and carrying a warm mug full of blood. Spike was glaring at the door, flat on his back and tugging at the belts that held his arms down. He wasn't in game face, at least.

"You're looking especially coherent this morning," Xander said.

"I'm starving and I've been laying here for hours," said Spike. "If you'd taken these bloody things off before your beauty sleep I could have found the microwave on my own."

"Don't kid yourself," said Xander. "Right now you have to pick between sitting up or breathing because your ribs won't let you do both at the same time. And I'm trying to imagine you doing anything that involves bending your knee – like, oh, standing up and walking to the microwave – and I gotta say, can't really picture it."

Spike looked away, tried to twist his wrists inside the restraints. Xander suspected he didn't realize he was doing it. "The least you could do was pick belts that matched," he groused.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Xander replied, "all my straitjackets are at the drycleaners, but I hear they're having a sale down at Shackles-R-Us." He set the mug down, leaned across the cot. Definitely inside Spike's personal space.

"What are you doing?" he said. Quiet. Afraid? Nah, thought Xander. Couldn't be.

"If you're really all here," he grunted, "if – ow – if your mind is back here with the rest of us and you can keep from going all feral-demonspawn on us, then you don't need the belts anymore." Released the buckle on Spike's left arm, sat up. "They were just a precaution anyway," he added.

"Buffy mentioned," Spike said. "Was it – was I that bad?"

"You almost bit her," said Xander seriously. Looked up to see Spike's eyes wide, disbelieving. "If you hadn't been too weak to break the skin, you would have had her. Here," he said, holding up his hand. Indicated the gap between finger and thumb. "Right in here – she was pretty much touching your face when she was taking those red cords off, so…"

Spike was silent for a moment while Xander undid the other belt. "Not a fatal bite, at least," he offered. Massaged his wrists once they were both free. His hands were looking better, at least.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Xander said. "Like she said – you weren't really in control. You were barely conscious, and you looked – you looked bad, man. Like, walking skeleton bad. Like you'd gone without for months. Way too many bones showing." Helped Spike sit up, settled a bleacher-back chair in behind him to lean against. Handed him the full mug.

Spike didn't move for a moment. "You wouldn't worry about it," he repeated. "About me, biting Buffy. Isn't this the part where you're supposed to threaten to stake me or something like that? Keep away from Buffy or else?"

Xander just shrugged while Spike drank. "You couldn't help it," he said. "Also, it isn't really my business whether the two of you spend time together or not. Which is good since I practically had to hit Buffy over the head to get her out of here last night." Watched as Spike processed that revelation.

"Why isn't she here right now, then?" Spike asked.

"I just – oh –," Xander yawned again, "I made her go get some sleep. She was up with you pretty much around the clock yesterday, so I offered to take a turn handling your feedings or whatever last night. And for what it's worth, I apologize. For over-sleeping. I promised Buffy I'd keep an ear out for you, and then I didn't."

Spike swallowed, licked his lips. "You wouldn't worry about it, you're not warning me off with threats of staking, and you're offering me an apology?" he asked. Squinted at him warily. "Who are you, and what've you done with the real Xander Harris?"

He chuckled. "He grew up. I know – I wasn't expecting it either." Xander rubbed at the little callus on his cheek, where the eye patch always rubbed. Sighed. "Seriously? I'm not that person anymore. And even if I was, I figure, if you single-handedly close the Hellmouth I can cut you a little slack. In the meantime," he smiled, "I'm wondering how it is that whenever you get in trouble, I end up being the one to play host while you recover."

"You'd have to ask Buffy that," said Spike, "I've never had anything to do with it." Tipped his mug back and emptied it with a wince. "Speaking of… do I remember it right? That she was here, last night?"

"Yeah," said Xander. "She still is. It's just early yet and she's sleeping. At least, she better be." He sighed. "She's…. she hasn't been doing very well lately. Kind of a long story."

"And I suppose her Watcher has something to say about whether you tell me any of it," said Spike. Sour expression on his face. "And all the rest of the Scoobies, too, yeah? Spike doesn't get to know… what is it you always used to say? 'What's the what?'"

"The rest of us aren't here," said Xander, shaking his head. "It's just me, and Buff until she finds her own place. And as for Giles… he's actually part of the long story. So are you, come to think of it." He paused, frowned thoughtfully. "And it isn't that I'm keeping things from you, it's just that it's not really my story to tell. Just don't be surprised when Buffy decides to have words with you over the part where you haven't actually been dead the whole past year."

Spike glanced at Xander sideways. "Look, mate, are you sure this isn't the part where you tell me it's good I was gone, and to keep away from her? Because I keep expectin' that part, and it's drivin' me sack-of-hammers that you're not sayin' it."

"No," said Xander quietly. "This is the part where I ask you to let her get some rest, and try not to push her too hard. She's… I dunno. She's right on the edge of falling apart. All this has really been hard on her."

"All of what?" Spike asked.

"Finding you," he replied. "Bringing you back here, especially in the shape you were in. Getting you back from the dead, more or less, since she thought you were gone this whole time. And… you know. The rest of the long story that isn't mine to tell."

Spike looked at his lap for a moment.

"Anyway, the rest of the Scoobies… Buffy hasn't been in touch with them since she got here a couple weeks ago. They don't know you're back, and as far as I know that's how Buffy wants it, at least for the time being."

Spike was silent, and Xander could see him struggling to find words. "Why?" he finally asked.

"You mean, why doesn't Buffy want to talk to her friends?"

"No," said Spike. "Though I expect I'll be asking that question too. No, I meant, why are you being this… civil… toward me? 'S not like you, Harris."

Xander chuckled again. "Well," he started. Then his face grew sad. "You, uh. I could give you the usual patented Xander Harris smartass answer, but the truth is…" He paused, rubbed at his cheek again. "The truth is another long story," he said finally. "And frankly, you should probably be resting instead of listening to it right now. Let's just say that I had good reasons in my own head, deeply personal reasons to hate your guts, and none of those reasons are valid anymore – and…" he looked away for a second, "and some of them probably never were in the first place. Like it or not, you're… God, I can't believe I'm saying this – you're good for Buffy, from what I can see. I could keep being an ass toward you, but I'd be a hypocrite if I did and I'm just… not really interested in playing those games anymore."

Spike blinked. Surprise wasn't an expression Xander had seen on him before, when he stopped to think about it. Considering he'd been a vampire for over a century, it was kinda cool that Xander had been able to put it there.

Spike studied him for a moment. Tipped his head and asked him, "Does it hurt?"

"Huh?"

"You're not wearing your eye patch," he pointed out. "You keep rubbing at it. Does it hurt?"

"Oh. No," said Xander. "No, I just woke up, and I don't sleep with it on – and sometimes the callus itches a little." He flushed, looked away. "I can go get it, if you'd rather…"

"Boy," growled Spike, "I've seen worse – created far worse – than your missing eye. Don't think I've gone all soft and delicate, just because of the soul. Going to faint because you're not wearing your patch." He snorted. "If it makes you feel better, go put it on," he said. "And bring back another mugful when you're done."

Xander stopped. A slow grin spread across his face. "I know what you're doing, you know," he said.

"Well, yeah," said Spike, "I'm distractin' you from that other topic and manipulating you into bringing me more breakfast." Stopped, shifted on the cot. "Is it working?"

Xander just snickered and left the garage. When he came back a few minutes later he was wearing his eye patch. And carrying a full thermos.

---

"So listen," Harris said after Spike finished another mug, "I got two things. The first one is that I'm thinking we might be able to get you moved into the house later today, after I get home from work."

"Was wondering about that," murmured Spike.

"We couldn't bring you inside before," said Xander, "because… okay, how do I say this. You were in the bottom of that cistern and you stank."

Spike snorted.

"Just telling it like it is," the boy said. "And then you weren't really in any shape to move – you kinda still aren't, really, and the cot doesn't fit through any of the doorways. Unless we bring you around to the patio, I guess, but it's kind of a hike clear to the back of the house and we didn't want to drop you on your head."

"If I'm not getting off this cot any time soon," said Spike carefully, "I'd just as soon be parked in front of a telly as stashed out here with the lawn furniture. If it's all the same to you."

"Actually I was thinking of bringing home a leg brace and just taking it slow, until we got you into a guest room," said Xander. "Buffy's in the main one, but I have two more rooms that would work for you with a little time to set up."

Harris's house was that large? Boy was moving up in the world. "Nice place," said Spike.

"Watcher's Council decided I deserved to get paid for traipsing all over Africa," he replied.

"Africa, was it?" Spike asked.

"I was playing Find The Baby Slayer for most of last year," Xander said.

Spike nodded. Explained a lot, that did. Africa was the kind of place that changed a person forever, if you let it. He drank some more, thought for a moment. "You said there were two things?" he asked.

"Yeah, said Xander. "Last night you mentioned something about those," and he gestured at the sigils on Spike's bare torso. "Something about crossing them out? I put a call in to a local witch last night, but she hasn't called back yet. Now that you're awake I can just ask you."

"You're not using Red?" Spike asked.

Xander shook his head. "Buffy still hasn't called anyone, remember," he replied. "Cathy isn't as powerful, but who is, you know? And she knows her stuff." He gestured again. "So, those."

"Yeah," said Spike. Touched them with a fingertip. "Figg recited the spell, but he also sealed it on me. That's these marks. You didn't do anything wrong getting the rest of the binding off, far as I can tell. You just need to cross out the seals to get the last of it."

"Yeah, and why does that sound like it involves slicing you up with a knife?" asked Xander. "I mean, what, we're supposed to just filet whole sections off of you to get rid of the words?" He shuddered.

Spike shook his head. "Nah, Harris. 'S nothing so drastic," he said. "You just draw a line through them, like crossing out writing. Yeah, it'll hurt, but not as much as putting them on did. Not even as much as they hurt now. They still burn – like they're all made of hot wire, under the skin."

"Ouch." Xander couldn't help but wince. "That's still going on? Like, right now?"

"Never stopped," said Spike. "But once you cross them out, they're meaningless. No more seals. The writing will stop burning and just be so many paper cuts." He shrugged, winced and reached for his ribs. "The crossing-out part will probably hurt less than what's going on right now."

The boy shuddered, and Spike marveled that Xander really seemed to give a damn what was happening to him. "Is there anything special we need to do?" he asked. "Like… a sequence, or stuff we should chant, or whatever?"

"There's probably an order to it, yeah, but the rest… not that I know of," said Spike, "but if I were you I'd check with that witch you've got handy. Not the kind of thing I'd want to see messed up, being as it's my own bloody skin."

"Literally," muttered Xander. Looked at the clock on the wall. "Listen, I need to get around, get to work. Will you be all right out here till Buffy wakes up?"

"Probably catch another nap myself," he replied. "You just leave a thermos where I can reach it, she can get as much rest as she needs. Made it sound like she needs it, earlier, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Xander. "Yeah, she really does." He chewed his lip and looked over his shoulder at the open doorway to the kitchen. "Buffy needs pretty much whatever we can give her right now."

She needs you, thought Spike, remembering all the coincidences, the reading, Drusilla's urging in his dream. Go to her.

"I can do that much," he said quietly.