The battle, again. Spike recognized this place, somewhere a little off from their planned meeting point. He was surrounded by dead and dying creatures, a couple of whom had gotten their licks in on him before he could finish them off, bit more rough than he usually liked his rough-and-tumble. He had a massive gash in his side, and some nasty or other had tried to take off his leg and nearly succeeded. Could barely walk. There were more coming and he wouldn't be able to get away.

He needed to find Buffy. She was here, somewhere, and he needed to go to her or she would be destroyed by the hordes, sheer bloody numbers overwhelming even her strength and skill, but no one would tell him where she was.

Could barely walk, but he needed to find Buffy.

Giles looked him up and down with contempt. "She's not for you," he said. "Unhealthy obsession." He held a chalkboard in one hand, dripping with water. William's marks were all smudged. He held a cane in the other, and it whistled when he swung it through the air.

"But I love her," whispered Spike. William. Spike. The words echoed strangely in their hiding place, the stews of London, a few blocks from Cecily's parlor. He was badly wounded, could barely walk.

"No you don't," said Giles, "but thanks for saying it." Took off his glasses and placed them in his crossbow. Fired them at the amulet Spike was wearing, and he felt himself dust. The shot from the crossbow was on fire and it burned him, burned him all up. Nothing left of him, but it was better than the cane, wasn't it?

Felt himself drawing back together again, bit by bit, back into Angel's office. Illyria was there, waiting for him. Drusilla stood to one side, next to His Broodiness, who just rolled his eyes and said, "Let Spike do it," over and over again. "Let Spike do it."

Seeing Drusilla made him feel tired.

"I wish to keep this one as a pet," said Illyria. "He makes noises." Spike didn't like that. But he said yes anyway, because he needed to belong to someone until he could find Buffy.

"Let Spike do it," said Angel. Turned his back and walked away into the fog. Left him behind. Angel always did that. Illyria held out a collar and leash to him, and he took them, but he wouldn't put them on.

Not yet. He needed to find Buffy. She had to be here.

Spike opened the door and stepped past them and into his car. Drove down the hallway, into Figg's potting shed. His hands on the steering wheel were wrapped in barbed wire. He was driving underwater and Giles was in the backseat. He kept giving directions that Spike knew were wrong but that he followed anyway, because Giles knew where Buffy was. Maybe if he obeyed them – but no. Because every time he took a wrong turn Giles frowned at him in disapproval.

"You can't have her," he said. "Not worthy of her, mate, not hardly." The cane whistled when he swung it through the air.

Spike ducked the cane and found he was in the cistern now; the armies of Hell were coming for him and he was badly wounded. Wouldn't be able to get away. Figg had wrapped him in chains and Giles had pushed him into the water while Illyria watched, her head tilted in annoyance. Drusilla stood off to one side. Seeing her made him feel tired.

"I wish to travel alone," said Illyria, and walked away into the fog. Left her pet behind. Spike felt bad for not putting on the collar and leash for her. Maybe then she wouldn't have left him.

But he was bound anyway, here in the cistern, and he still hadn't found Buffy. She needed him. He had to go to her.

He sank down through the water and through the mud, past the bones of the dead – humans, demons, all of them his – and found himself in a gray fog. Nothing and no one. The hordes weren't coming for him here. No one was. No one would.

They were all dead, dead or gone. He had no one left. He could never find Buffy; she wasn't here. Not in the void. He knew that much.

She wasn't here and he couldn't go to her. Badly wounded, could hardly walk, and his hands were bound in barbed wire. And he was tired, so tired from fighting the battle with no one at his back. No one by his side, his right side, he fought with his left, needed someone on the right.

Someone in the distance. Drusilla, walking toward him. Illyria, striding purposefully, ice-blue eyes wide. One or the other, or maybe both. One a princess, one a queen. Neither were the one he wanted. He wanted…

Buffy. Walking toward him silently, slowly, the Bringer's knife in her hand. She cut the leather thongs on his wrists and let him lean on her as they walked out of the cave. She cut the sigils on his skin and the magic died out, left him exhausted.

They had all left him alone, and he was so tired from it he could barely stand. But Buffy came. So now it was okay, right?

"You," he said, biting back a sob. You came for me. You're real. You're here. You came.

He leaned on her and found himself leaning into her, through her. His head rested on her shoulder. No, her head was on his shoulder. No, they were kissing. A Gaixo demon stood to one side, next to Drusilla who watched them and smiled.

"The Auspicious Body," said the demon, orange eyes glinting in the lamplight. They were in the garage, resting on the cot. They were in a bed in Sunnydale that didn't belong to them. It was the best night of his life.

"Basking is for cats," said Buffy.

"I will be a cat," said Spike. "I will be your pet." But she wasn't holding a collar or a leash, and he wasn't sure what to do.

"I need you in my life," said Buffy.

"No you don't," said Giles, but Buffy turned her back on him and kissed Spike instead. He felt himself melt into her, dissolving. He was so tired. He was so happy. He was badly wounded, could barely walk…

But Buffy was taking care of him.

"Can we rest now?" he asked her. Figg's greenhouse, row upon row of flowers in the dark, was so quiet. Peaceful. And the cross on the altar looked inviting. Something he could lean against. He was exhausted. The battle had gone on too long, with no one to fight by his side.

They had left him to fight alone, all of them dead or gone, left him behind. He was so tired from it he could barely stand.

Spike stepped toward the cross, and Buffy was in front of him. Drusilla was standing to one side.

"Can we rest now?" he asked her. She put her arms around him and it was better than collapsing onto the wooden cross. She was warm, but she didn't burn.

"Shh," said Buffy. "I love you." And he believed her.

His arms were heavy, shoulders weary. The collar and leash were cutting into his fingers and he didn't want them anymore.

Spike dropped them, and his eyes opened.

---

"To wake you guys up, or not to wake you guys up?" said Xander softly, standing in the doorway between kitchen and garage. "That is the question."

"Wouldn't that be… dangerous, or something?" asked the woman behind him. He turned around, watched as Cathy tucked a stray bit of hair behind one ear. "I mean, he is a vampire. You both seem so – I don't know – calm about that."

"Well," said Xander, "Buffy's the Slayer – the one before there were lots of them, I mean – so if he were going to get out of hand she'd be able to stop him." He smiled fondly. "In fact she's kicked his ass on numerous occasions in the past." Turned back toward the pair cuddling precariously on the narrow camp bed. "Plus, believe it or not, bleach boy there saved the world not too long ago." He sighed. "And if I wanted to be fair I'd tell you he helped with at least two other apocalypses, too."

"Vampires do that?" she asked quietly.

"This one does," said Xander.

"Be a cat," muttered Spike. Stirred, subsided. Buffy snuggled further into his side and they heard a faint, inhuman rumble from the cot.

Xander rolled his eyes. "What can I say, he's weird," he said.

Cathy chuckled, stepped back into the kitchen. "You sound like he's your annoying older brother or something," she said. "Like you don't want to admit that you actually get along."

"I plead the Fifth," said Xander. "Neither confirm nor deny, and all that good stuff." He dropped his keys onto the countertop, sighed at the blinking light on his answering machine. "I'm taking bets," he said. "How many of those are for me, and how many are for Buffy. Want to play?"

"Is it that bad?" she asked. Moved to a bar stool, sat cautiously. Polite. Not wanting to overstep. One of the things Xander liked about her.

"Well, you see," he replied. Xander peeled off his jacket, hung it up, offered to take hers.

"We love each other," he said, "but for the most part we have zero ability to keep out of each other's business." Pulled a can of pop out of the fridge, passed it to Cathy. Pulled a beer out for himself. "It would help if Buffy would ever answer any of these, but I can understand why she isn't."

"I appreciate that," said a new voice from the doorway. Buffy stood there, sleep mussed, clothes stained with dark brown streaks, yawning. "For what it's worth," she said, "Spike's been pestering me to talk to them, too." She shuffled into the room, holding a thermos in her hand. "Hi, Cathy."

"Is he awake now, too?" asked Xander.

"Yeah, Harris," they heard from the garage.

"Good," Xander called back. "Because I'm tired of you taking up space in my workshop." Took the thermos from Buffy with a wink, poured the blood out to reheat.

"Not my bloody fault you put me here in the first place," came Spike's reply.

"I see he's feeling better," Xander said to Buffy. Knowing good and well that Spike would overhear.

"Much," said Buffy. "Cathy, thanks for the advice about the spell. We got it off –" blushed bright red. Coughed. "I mean, we got the marks taken care of. He says he's not in any pain anymore."

"I never feel any pain once I've gotten it off," Spike replied, a purr lurking behind his words.

Buffy's cheeks were burning, and Xander couldn't help it. He snorted. Hadn't meant to give Spike the satisfaction, but funny is funny, after all. Smiled over his shoulder at Cathy and said, "Welcome to our world. If it's going to be too weird, let us know now so we can help you escape."

"I think I can handle weird," she said softly. Smiled back at him, which was more than a little distracting. She turned to Buffy, said, "Spike had mentioned taking care of everything at once. Would you mind if I took a look at your work – see if there's anything that we missed?"

"I don't mind," said Buffy with a shrug, "and Spike has no modesty or shame to speak of –"

"Oi!"

" – so I'm sure it will be all right with him too. Oh, and he says he has a cracked skull, so if he gives you any lip, feel free to smack him upside the head," she finished, raising her voice for the last part.

"And this is what she's like when she claims she's in love with me," muttered Spike.

Xander nearly choked on his beer. Got himself under control, raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "Something you care to share with the rest of the class, Buffster?" he asked.

"Not really," said Buffy, "if by 'sharing' you mean 'defending myself to God and everybody.'" The microwave beeped and she popped the door open. Poured the reheated blood back into the thermos. "I mean, I don't plan on keeping us under wraps – we're just going to do our thing, and I don't need the drama of a Big Secret Romance." She headed back to the garage, paused in the doorway. Looked out at Spike, said, "But I don't intend to have a discussion with each and every one of the Scoobies, either. Make sure it's okay with everyone before I start going out with Spike."

Xander's smile was slow and genuine. "Good for you," he said. Right about the same time that he heard Spike say, "That's my girl," from the garage. Xander couldn't miss the way Buffy's face softened. It was the most relaxed, the most genuinely happy he'd seen her since she'd gotten into town.

"You know Giles will have a fit," he said. Testing her reaction a little.

"Give you one guess just how much I care about Giles' opinion," said Buffy. Raised an eyebrow at him and stepped out into the garage.

Xander smiled wider. Looked like she was figuring out what maturity looked like without any help from him.

He followed her out, heard Cathy slide off the barstool behind him. Spike was sitting up again, spreading the blanket and pulling around behind him to cover his legs and waist. Still plenty of pale bare skin to go around, though, and most of it was smeared with dried blood. To be honest, he looked almost as gruesome as he had when they'd first brought him home.

Didn't stop Buffy from sitting down next to him and dropping a gentle kiss on his lips, a caress of fingertips along his jaw. On the one hand, Xander couldn't suppress a shudder – bloodsucking undead and all – but on the other, there was Buffy. Happy. In love. And the guy with the fangs looked like he couldn't quite figure out how he'd managed to win the lottery, when he didn't remember buying a ticket.

God help him, they were cute together.

"Well, I would tell you two crazy kids to get a room," he said, "but you already have the house and I brought that leg brace home for Spike to get him inside." Waggled his thumb in the general direction of the living room couch, where he'd dropped the brace when he and Cathy first came in. "I thought about renting a wheelchair too, but I don't know that it'd get through the doorway any better than the cot would."

"No wheelchairs," frowned Spike.

Xander shrugged. "Your call," he said. "I'll let you guys figure out whether Spike gets a separate room or takes up space in yours."

"Bring me a towel, then, Harris," said Spike. "I may not have any modesty or shame," he said with a glare at Buffy, "but I imagine your bird does and I could spare her the show. And I don't fancy putting clothes on over this mess," he gestured at the ruined sigils and blood smears, "much less the ribs and the knee."

"Makes sense to me," he replied. He turned to go, but Buffy ducked out and headed past him toward her room.

"Let me get it," she said. "Make sure the windows are covered, all that stuff."

Xander shrugged.

"Um," said Cathy. "You know, uh, Spike, I'd like to check you over for any residual magic, if you don't mind. But maybe it would be best to wait till you've gotten settled?"

Spike tipped his head gingerly, looked her over for a second. "Might be, at that," he said, "but let's see how I'm feeling first, eh, pet?"

When Buffy returned she had a bath towel over one shoulder and the leg brace – all metal frame and Velcro straps, looking like some kind of torture device – in her hands. Her face was screwed into a doubt-filled grimace.

"This looks like fun," she said.

---