"So what are you going to do now?" Xander asked. He could hear the girls talking in the kitchen, a lone cricket out in his backyard somewhere.

"You mean, now I'm walkin' again and you're not kicking me out?" Spike returned. His chair creaked, off in the empty space of Xander's blind side. Swallow of beer in the quiet. "Haven't quite thought that far, I guess."

Xander nodded, kept his gaze on the stars overhead. "I know Buffy has started looking for apartments, past couple days," he said. "I don't know what your situation is, post-LA. I mean money-wise."

"I can afford a place," said Spike. "Just don't know if I want the bother. There's papers and identities and all that rot to put together. Things an evil law firm can use to trace a fella, if they wanted to." Another long pull on his beer, then silence for a bit before he said, "And I don't want to bring that to Buffy's doorstep, if I can help it."

"Well, you deserve better than a crypt somewhere," said Xander. "Plus it's a total cliché, a vampire living in a cemetery."

Spike snickered, grew quiet again. "You're not suggesting I stay here," he said.

Xander could hear the note of disbelief in his voice. Shrugged to answer it. "I suppose you could," he replied. "Having another guy around, et cetera. And I'm not saying it'd be anything permanent. Just till you get back on your feet, or whatever." He made a face. "Gah. Pun not intended." Time for a drink from his own bottle.

"I should hope not," said Spike. "But – you're serious?"

Xander shrugged again, went back to spinning his bottle in his hands. "Well, yeah," he said. "Don't make a big deal out of it. I have the space, you need somewhere to crash. Besides." He rubbed at the callus on his cheek. "Partly I owe you. Partly I don't have a whole lot of people left around me who remember Sunnydale. Even if you did try to kill me more than once, and annoy the hell out of me when you stayed with me before, and sleep with my ex, and hey, you're right – why am I offering, again?"

"Heh," said Spike. "Habit, maybe."

Xander smiled, tipped his bottle back. "That must be it," he said.

They both kicked back, watched the stars for awhile. Listened to Buffy and the girls having a good time inside. It was nice to hear – not just Buffy laughing, although that was a rare and welcome thing and definitely of the good – simply having Dawn and Willow back alongside Buffy made Xander's heart warm in his chest. Listening as they all got to know Cathy and the easy way they slotted her into their group just made the sound even sweeter.

Life was good.

"Answering your question," said Spike after a few minutes, "reckon I'll look for a place of my own soon enough. But I don't know what I'll do. Or why." He sighed. "I'm here for Buffy, but apart from that… I don't want to be deadweight. 'Ve had enough of that to last the next century or so."

"You helped Buffy train all those Potentials, last time you were around," said Xander. "Maybe you could do something like that again."

"I suppose," said Spike. "Though the idea of getting my arse handed to me by a bunch of girls with supernatural strength seems less appealing than you might think."

"So go after the normal humans instead," said Xander. "See, the headquarters for the Council of Watchers blew up in a so-called terrorist attack right around the time that The First was making its play for the Hellmouth. Everyone is still trying to sort out their records and where all their money was, it's a huge mess."

"What's that have to do with me?" asked Spike.

"I'm getting there," said Xander. "One of the things Giles and Andrew did to keep the whole money situation from happening again, was to set up the different Slayer Centers to turn a profit on their own. The one in Cleveland is a martial arts school, open to the public. They have self-defense classes that people pay to join, sparring, the whole nine yards." He coughed, couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. "Could probably use an instructor who gets how to think like a predator."

Spike chuckled, low in his throat. "Defend against this, kiddies," he said.

"And hey, just think of all those cocky college guys who come in thinking they're the baddest thing in town," said Xander. "You could kick all their asses and then collect their money on the way out the door, and the whole thing would be completely legit." He grinned, took another swallow of his beer. "As long as you didn't break any bones, anyway."

"Hm." Spike took a breath, let it out while he played with the idea. "Never thought I'd hear myself say this," he said, "but I like the way you think, Harris." Reached over, clinked his bottle against Xander's.

"When I think," said Xander, "I'm actually surprisingly good at it."

"Hm." Off in Xander's blind spot he heard Spike take another drink. "Great Black Swamp Brewery," he said quietly. "What else they got besides Mosquito Red?"

The girls' voices carrying from inside the house, a lone cricket in the backyard, and another member of Xander's family – the annoying relative maybe, but family nonetheless – sitting on the patio with him and sharing his beer. Stars overhead, not too cold or too warm out. No one trying to kill them for the moment.

Yep, thought Xander. Life was good.

---

It was three o'clock in the morning in England. In Ohio, Spike was on the phone listening to it ring.

"Bloody hell," said a very tired Giles after a few moments, "who in the name of God is this and will you please stop calling?"

Spike hung up. Grinned. Christ, he loved disposable cell phones. He'd bought this one with enough minutes on it to burn through the next three nights, just saying hello to an old friend.

The wanker.

---

"So what are you going to do now?" Willow sat on the edge of Buffy's bed, next to the suitcase Buffy was currently filling with clothes. Two more empty ones sat on the floor waiting.

"What you mean?" asked Buffy. Armload of shirts, plop into the suitcase, smooth them out, turn back to the dresser for more.

"Well, I mean, I know you have the apartment and everything," said Willow, "and I guess you'll be working training new Slayers and stuff. But what about the rest of it? I mean – are you going to keep hunting evil yourself? Are you going to talk to Giles, ever?"

"Not if I can help it," said Buffy. "To the Giles part, I mean – I'm pretty sure I'll still do patrols. He can send me as many emails as he wants, I don't plan to read them."

"Shouldn't you tell him that much, though?" asked Willow. She picked at a stray thread on the bedspread. "I mean, at least tell him that you're not going to talk to him?"

"He already knows," said Buffy. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't being too vague when I said, quote, 'don't ever speak to me again you son of a bitch', unquote." Another armload of shirts. Plop, smooth. Pop a button off the top shirt… maybe a little less force behind the smoothing next time.

"Wow," said Willow.

"I'm also pretty sure I told you this stuff the night you and Dawn arrived," Buffy replied. "Or did you have one too many margaritas and forget?"

"Um," said Willow. "I think… no? I mean… I just – it's Giles, Buffy. He was like a father and everything and now you're just… you're…"

"Walking away from a relationship I've outgrown," said Buffy. "I'm not in high school anymore, but in a lot of ways I think Giles still is. We've all changed over the years, learned to deal with whatever, right? But what does Giles do? The going gets tough, the Watcher heads back to England." Armload of shirts. "He doesn't get his way, he heads back to England." Slam into the suitcase. "Buffy returns from the dead and can barely handle waking up with a heartbeat, he decides that this is when she needs to learn to 'stand on her own', and heads back to England."

There was one shirt too many on the stack. Buffy threw it on the bed, smoothed out the rest. "Spike has more influence on my judgment than Giles does, so he stands back and does nothing while Wood tries to kill him – no, more than that, he works with Wood to keep me out of the way so Wood can try to kill him – and then when he sees how wrong he was and Spike saves the world? He heads back to England. Oh, and he keeps his mouth shut when he learns Spike made it out after all – but he's not being jealous or petty or immature, clearly that's just all in my head and I'm the one with the problem."

Willow winced. "I don't think you're the one with the problem," she said tentatively. "It's just… Are you sure you're not being too harsh on him, Buffy? I mean… he really thought he was looking out for you, this past year."

"Yeah. That's what everyone tells themselves right before they interfere in my life," said Buffy tiredly. "And anyway, how do you know that's what he was thinking? You talk to him yourself?" She zipped up the suitcase, manhandled it onto the floor and brought up the next one to fill. "Which, by the way, go ahead, but if you plan on talking about me behind my back – don't. I'm over being everyone's favorite topic of discussion."

"Buffy!" said Willow, upset. "I wouldn't – I mean, not anymore. You – this is your choice. It really is. I just – I'm kinda worried that maybe you're moving too quickly, making your decision without thinking things through first."

"What is there for me to think through, Willow? What exactly?" She stepped back, started bundling socks together to pitch into the suitcase from across the room. "Giles had all year to change his mind about keeping me in the dark. A full year of watching me suffer because I was grieving Spike's death. The death of someone I loved, Willow." She stopped bundling and leaned against the dresser. Closed her eyes with a sigh, rubbed at her stomach. "If you can't see why I'm furious – why I'm done – then we probably shouldn't even be having this discussion."

"No, I do see – I do. It's just, I know Giles thought he was doing what was best," said Willow. "And I guess… I guess maybe I'm hoping that if you can forgive him, you'll be able to forgive me."

"I already forgave you, Willow," said Buffy. "As for the rest… we all think we're doing what's best for each other," tossed a bundle of socks across the room, "but that doesn't mean we're right. Plus we must not have a whole lot of trust in each other to start with, if we're that comfortable making other people's decisions for them. I've trusted you, Willow. And I've trusted Giles. And I'm sorry to say it like this, but the truth is? You've both burned me."

She fidgeted with a pair of socks before tossing them into the suitcase. Pulled another pair out of her drawer. "The difference is," she said more gently, "I've seen you grow up and learn from your mistakes, and regret them, and I think I can still trust you. That's why I'm willing to forgive you. It's why we're still friends, why I want you here with me right now. I haven't gotten that from Giles at all. All I see from him is guilt when he gets caught pulling this crap, and some kind of justification for why it isn't really wrong when he does it even though it's wrong for all the rest of us. And he still doesn't trust me enough to make choices all by myself like a big girl."

"So," said Willow, "you don't think telling him Spike is back is going to help make your point – that he's wrong and he doesn't always know what he's talking about?"

"I told Spike that it's up to him whether or not to say anything to Giles," said Buffy. "Especially since the last time they were on the same continent together Giles tried to have him killed." Started gathering up pairs of underwear for the suitcase. "As for making a point? I don't think anything I say to him has ever really sunk in. I mean, it never seemed to make an impact when I told him I needed him. He just – headed back to England. Literally or figuratively, whichever. So I figure I'll let actions do the talking this time around."

Willow nodded. "That makes sense," she said. "I'm just… really glad you think you can still trust me."

"I'm definitely still willing to try," said Buffy. Brought a stack of underwear over to the suitcase. Dropped them in, gave Willow a hug.

"So," said Willow, "do you think Spike will say anything? To Giles?"

"Not sure," she replied. "He kinda got this look on his face. Like he had an idea."

"I'm not sure I want to know what it is," said Willow.

"Me neither," said Buffy, "or at least, not till afterward. So I don't feel like I'm required to stop him."

---

"Hello?" Female voice, British accent. Static crackling over the line, US to Great Britain.

Spike looked over his shoulder at the back patio, listening carefully. Buffy and Harris were both still asleep. Willow and Dawn were stirring, though. Might be up and moving in a couple of minutes thanks to jet lag. He'd have to make this quick.

"Good day to you," said Spike. Wound his accent up a few degrees socially. "I was wondering if it might be possible to speak with a Mr. Rupert Giles – I believe he works at your firm?"

He could practically hear the secretary adjusting her attitude toward this obviously posh caller. "Yes, sir, he does work here, and ordinarily I'd put you right through, but I'm afraid Mr. Giles is in a meeting just now. Perhaps I could take a message for you?"

"In a meeting", his gleaming white arse. It was still morning there, Giles couldn't have been in his office for long enough to even start a meeting. Git was likely passed out on his desk and told the poor girl to hold all his calls while he caught a nap. If he was even there at all, after three nights of poor sleep thanks to Spike and his disposable cell phone.

"A meeting, you say?" he said. "Just my luck, isn't it, that I should be forced to speak with a beautiful young lady like yourself in his place." Waited while the girl fluttered and blushed. "Yes," he went on, "I suppose a message for him will have to do – but I'm afraid it might seem a bit improper or out of one's dignity if I were to relay it to you exactly."

"How do you mean, sir?"

"Well, you see," said Spike, "Mr. Giles and I have known one another for years, and we share a number of, oh, I suppose you could call them in-jokes, between us. Things that might sound offensive to anyone who didn't know the stories and the memories behind them. I'd like very much to leave him a message, but I shouldn't wish to upset your delicate ears."

"I'm sure whatever you have to tell him will be no trouble for me to take down, sir," said the girl.

"Are you quite certain?" asked Spike. "For instance, if the message started off – pardon me – 'Rupes, you sow-buggering wanker', and got worse from there? It's all in good fun, I assure you – foolishness between two old friends from university and whatnot – but I'm afraid the language is quite blue."

"Goodness," blushed the girl, and Spike grinned again. "I suppose, as long as it's all in fun – just don't ask me to read it aloud back to you or I'll likely be sacked for speaking that way over the phone myself!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear," he said. "Are you quite ready, then?"

"What name shall I put to the message, sir?" asked the girl.

"Pike," he replied with a smirk. "First name William, middle initial S."

Let me see," said the girl, "William S. Pike?"

"Quite right," he said cheerily. "Although I'm afraid it's been some time since we've spoken, so if the name doesn't ring a bell straightaway, you might wish to tell him it's 'Bloody William' – but don't mention that unless he asks, my dear. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for him."

"It sounds like the two of you must have gotten up to quite a lot of mischief, sir, if you don't mind my saying so," said the girl.

"Oh, you have no idea," said Spike.

---

"…And it turns out that the landlord is a demon that Xander knows from work, so as long as you promise not to hunt him and his clan, he'll cut the rent in half."

Spike glanced about the room, a cozy little den given that it had no furniture in it – carpet, paneled walls, heavy curtains on the windows. Not your typical basement apartment. Actually it was quite nice, or it could be once a fella had moved in and made it his own. But…

"Remind me again, love," he said, "why we're looking at digs for me when you said we were looking for a place for you."

"Well, I just –" Buffy slid her hands into her back pockets, shrugged. "Do you like it?"

He made a show of studying the walls. "Mm. Don't know how I'd feel about it," he said finally. "It'd depend on the neighbors. Always does." Made a face and shook his head. "Last place I had, the upstairs lot were a pair of idiots, but they mostly kept quiet when I needed it. Kept out of my business."

"Oh," said Buffy. "Well, you'd have plenty of privacy here. I mean, the entrance is even in back instead of out front with the other two apartments." It was an old house, one that the owners had chopped up into an apartment on each floor. Solid construction, quiet old neighborhood, close to the university campus. Spike found himself attracted to the place just for that, although he didn't plan to admit it.

Except Buffy had an almost shifty expression on her face. It didn't suit her, and besides that, in his experience shifty wasn't something she was any good at. What was she hiding? Spike walked over to stand in front of her, waited for her to meet his eyes. "You still haven't answered my question," he said gently.

"Um," she replied, "I forgot what it was?"

"Buffy." He trailed a fingertip under her jaw, watched her eyes drift shut. "Why. Are we looking. At apartments. For me?" Drew a line along her throat and across to her collarbone, leaned in to murmur in her ear. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked.

She hummed in pleasure, then sighed and looked at her feet for a second. "I kinda already signed a lease on the place upstairs," she mumbled. "I figured it was close enough to the station, I'd be able to take the train in to Cleveland in the mornings, save gas. And… if you took this one, we'd be neighbors. If you wanted."

Well.

Spike straightened, his fingers stilled on the back of her neck. He could safely say he hadn't seen that coming.

"You sure you want me that close by?" Not a question he wanted to ask, but it was necessary.

Buffy smiled, put her arms around his waist. "You're being a dork again," she said. "Or maybe I am. But I need you here – the closer the better. I just figured we'd drive each other nuts if we, you know, moved in somewhere together."

Spike blinked. Definitely hadn't seen that coming, either.

"I mean I'm not saying that we should! I just," she went on, "I came back to the States to have my own space away from Giles and everything else. And you've kinda always had your own place. Or at least, that's what I remember." She shrugged again, uncomfortable suddenly. "Plus I don't know – I mean – we've only just found each other again, and we've got… history, I guess. And I don't exactly have the best track record with relationships, so. I figured it was better to go slow. That, and I don't really know what you want."

"I want you," Spike said. "Always have. And… I need you, too." Dug his fingers into her hair with a little laugh. "You're right, I am a dork. Loving you is easy. Admitting I need you…"

"Not so much, huh?" said Buffy. "I know. I mean we had these messages from the universe practically throwing us at each other, and we both want to be together – I mean – I mean, we do, right?"

Spike kissed her. Just a gentle brush of lips across hers. Yes.

"But we still can't just say so," she finished. "God, I'm hopeless."

"No you're not," said Spike. "This is just new territory, for both of us."

"Well," said Buffy. "I had this fortune cookie once that said, 'if you know where you're going, it's not an adventure.'" Stretched up to kiss him again and he let her, slow and sweet, play of tongues making his heart kick in his chest with want. "Want to go on an adventure?"

Spike smiled, nipped at her bottom lip. "Anywhere with you," he said. "Sounds like fun."

"Was hoping you'd say that." Buffy dug her fingers into the furrows of his back and kissed him again. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, gently nudging her till she tipped her head back and bared her throat to him. He heard her breath catch when he growled, a deep inhuman rumble that vibrated his whole chest.

He couldn't help it. He was healed up finally, they'd been teasing each other like this all week, and Christ, it'd been too long.

Then his hands were on her arms, pulling her tight to him so she could feel him, hard and pressing against her leg as he kissed her neck, nipped at her throat, suckled her ear, nibbled all along the line of her jaw. Fingers tangling in her soft, soft hair and cupping her head as he kissed her hard, rocked his hips against her and bit her bottom lip, tongues and teeth clashing together. Pulled away just long enough to look over his shoulder, make sure the door was shut behind them.

The place didn't have any furniture in it yet, but that had never stopped them before.

"Think I like this apartment," he said afterward.

Buffy, still catching her breath underneath him, giggled. "Welcome home," she said.

---

And here we are at the end. So many thanks to all of you who have read and especially those who have taken the time to review. You kept me going through some difficult spots in the writing process, and I really appreciate it.