Dawn had absolutely not intended to wait up for them. But … sleep had refused to come.
 
Just as she was beginning to reconsider the merits of a glass of water and maybe something to eat, she heard the snick of the front door. Then muffled clanking as weapons were put away, accompanied by the low rumble of voices. She thought she heard Spike laughing at one point. It was comforting and familiar, hearing those noises. They meant everyone was home safe.
 
She heard Buffy come up the stairs and go briefly in and out of her room.
 
Just as the bathroom fan started humming, Dawn heard the stairs creak. She rolled her eyes. Spike thought he was so stealthy, but he could never remember which stair was the squeaky one. Buffy had mastered that their first week of living here.
 
She’d thought he might be coming up to check on her – maybe even nag her to go to sleep – but it was Buffy’s door that Dawn heard open and shut a few seconds later. Right after the shower started.
 
The calm assurance Dawn had felt only seconds ago was gone. She didn’t want them to be sleeping together. Not tonight. There were supposed to be consequences when you hurt someone. And Spike had been hurt – even if he didn’t know it. Because Buffy didn’t hit the people she cared about. Not ever. Even when they really, really super deserved it. She practically had an anxiety disorder about pleasing people. Dawn knew this, because she’d exploited it for years – in her memory, at least, if not in reality. And beating someone up? Not pleasing.
 
But stupid Spike with his stupid neediness didn’t see it. He still thought that as long as Buffy was paying attention, it meant she cared. Dawn felt like crying. She’d tried to tell him. She’d really, really tried. But she was so afraid that this was something he couldn’t understand.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
When Giles left the bathroom after his shower and saw the front door wide open, his first instinct was to panic. He nearly flew down the stairs, mentally preparing himself for the worst … only to be met by Spike’s face peering around the bottom of the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked highly amused.
 
Giles stopped dead on the last step. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh with relief or start yelling. He was really not enjoying mornings with Spike.
 
Spike called out, “‘S a cuppa on the side.” Then he twisted away from the doorway, sitting back against the wall on the porch floor. He tugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders, knees pulled in tight to avoid where the sun was creeping past the shade of the awning.
 
Desperately wishing for the universe to right itself, Giles forced himself to calmly walk into the kitchen. He stared at the steaming mug of tea for a few seconds before picking it up. Manners overriding everything else, Giles went back to the front door. Hovering in the doorway, he said, “Thank you.” He took a certain pride in not sounding overly astonished.
 
Spike looked up to nod an acknowledgement before switching his cigarette to his right hand and picking up his own mug to take a sip. Giles was at the wrong angle to see into it, but he fervently hoped it contained tea. The notion that Spike might make a cup for him and not himself was … not to be considered.
 
Giles took a sip of his tea. Disturbingly, it was exactly the way he liked it. Maybe just a touch too much milk….
 
Spike’s bruises from yesterday had almost completely faded. But one cheek was newly swollen and he was holding himself a bit more stiffly than he had last night. Giles suspected a rib injury. “I take it you had a, er, successful night?”
 
Spike had no idea how to categorise last night to himself, let alone to Giles. “That ninja i’n’t pining for his native fjords anymore, if that’s what you mean,” he said finally.
 
“Nor merely all squawked out?” Giles asked, completely deadpan.
 
Spike grinned. “Ceased to be like a pro. ‘Long with a few other nasties.”
 
Giles smiled. Perhaps there were some benefits to having Spike around.
 
When Spike had smoked through to the filter, he pulled a garish plaster ashtray onto his lap, and stubbed out the butt.
 
Giles stared in revolted awe at the ring of miniature human skulls with green rhinestones for eyes and the slightly sparkly blood painted to flow out of their mouths and into the bowl. “That’s hideous,” he said.
 
Spike smiled proudly. “Dawn ni— got it for me,” he said – rather relieved when Giles entirely failed to notice the slip. He shrugged. “Never had an ashtray before.”
 
Giles watched Spike take another sip from his mug. It suddenly struck him, again, quite how surreal it was to be here, at his Slayer’s home, drinking tea in the early morning light with a vampire. “Why?” he asked.
 
Spike frowned. “Not my choice, believe you me. Witches kept writin’ notes: ‘Leaves scorch marks’, they said.” Spike made a face. “Beyond me why anyone cares. Even I’ve replaced broken porch slats.” He paused. “Well, watched ‘em get replaced. Same thing, near enough.”
 
“Not that,” Giles said sharply, leaning against the doorframe. “How you ended up here. Cooking. Making the Hellmouth safe for ... for what ought to be your lunch. It’s – I should think it’s embarrassing for someone of your age and power.”
 
“Aw shucks, Rupes, you’ll make me blush.”
 
Giles harrumphed. “Everything I have ever seen or read has taught me that your current behaviour is inconceivable without a soul.”
 
Spike snorted. “An’ you’re the expert on vamp metaphysics, are you?”
 
“You were pure, unadulterated evil!”
 
Smirking, Spike lit another cigarette.
 
Giles rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “I’ve no idea where you fit in now.”
 
Spike laid his head back against the wall and blew out a stream of smoke. He was too tired and sore and most of all too goddamned sober for this conversation. “Does it matter?”
 
“Of course it bloody matters! If I’m to trust you….”
 
Spike’s eyes widened and his cigarette slipped through his fingers. “Trust me?! But you hate me!” Spike jerked and swatted at the cigarette as it started burning through his trousers.
 
Giles sighed. “Are you quite finished setting yourself on fire?”
 
Spike glared up at him.
 
“Hatred and trust are hardly mutually exclusive,” Giles said mildly. “They describe my feelings toward Angel admirably.”
 
Spike’s lip curled in distaste.
 
“He may be insufferable, but … predictably so,” Giles said. “I know exactly what to expect from him. But you’re all over the place! You betray every ally – even when it’s against your own interests. You’ve killed two Slayers, and yet Joyce of all people managed to stop you from killing a third. Unpredictable, inconstant … you make no sense!”
 
“What’s your point?” Spike snapped.
 
Giles dropped down to sit on the doorstep. “What if you ‘fall in love’ with someone else tomorrow? Will you offer her Buffy as proof of your devotion? You’ve done it before, and to your sire, no less.”
 
“Never happen,” Spike said. And it wouldn’t – not like that. But he didn’t have the unshakable faith in his own devotion to Buffy that he’d once had. He didn’t know how much longer he could continue walking the knife-edge between her and Dawn before having to choose, and it left him feeling adrift and unsure of himself.
 
“I see nothing but pain and uncertainty in your future here,” Giles said, not entirely without sympathy. “At the moment, you are … helpful. I might even go so far as to say necessary. But these are highly unusual circumstances. Eventually, Buffy will stand on her own two feet again. And Dawn will grow up.” Giles’ voice became harder. “They won’t need you anymore.”
 
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Seem to remember you crawled into a bottle soon’s Buffy stopped needin’ you.”
 
“Only after you practically shoved it down my throat!” Never mind how often it happened after that. “Besides, barring accidents and liver failure, alcohol never killed anyone. Your type of binge drinking is another issue entirely.”
 
Spike laughed. “I’m chipped, remember? Bit limited in the carnage department these days.” He briefly considered telling Giles that his chip no longer classed Buffy as human and hadn’t for a while now – it would prove his capacity for restraint if nothing else. But he wasn’t sure which direction Giles would jump – it might just push him to pick up a stake. And the chip would certainly still work on Giles.
 
“You were evil, and now you’re … something else. I want some assurance that you won’t immediately go back to your old ways when you’re forced to accept that Buffy will never love you.”
 
“I’m not completely delusional! I know she doesn’t love me.” Cares, though. A bit. Must do.
 
“But you have hope that one day she will! You’re … courting her. Performing favours. With the clear expectation of reward.”
 
Spike looked uncomfortable. “Right now? Just happy she’s alive. Don’ need anything else.”
 
“That won’t sustain you indefinitely. What happens when she falls in love? With someone else? Buffy can be very … focussed on her relationships.”
 
Spike scowled. “I love her!”
 
“Love!” Giles scoffed. “You can’t love without a soul.”
 
“Bollocks! Here, you ‘member the Judge?”
 
“How could I ever forget?”
 
“Mad keen to dust Dru an’ me.”
 
Giles was thrown. “Why?”
 
“‘Cause we loved each other, you berk!”
 
Giles snorted in disbelief.
 
“Only one that hulking great sod approved of was Angelus. Pure evil, he says.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Had a right job talking’ him out of killin’ the rest of us. Any idea how rare pure evil actually is? Or how much like hard work?”
 
“Did you have a point somewhere in there?”
 
“The Judge wanted to stamp out all human emotions! Including mine!”
 
“You’re the one who awakened him!” Giles spluttered.
 
Spike shrugged. “Pro’ly should’ve planned that better, thinkin’ ‘bout it now. Dru’s full to burstin’ with emotions. Y’know the Judge killed some tit for reading? Mind you, bloke was bloody annoying. Nearly offed him m’self more than once.”
 
“Still waiting for the point.”
 
“Point is, I love. Always have. An’ if even the soddin’ Judge could see it, why the hell can’t you?”
 
Giles snorted.
 
“What, you think I’m lyin’?”
 
Giles sighed. “No. More’s the pity. But whatever the semantics, your feelings for Drusilla did not stop you from attempting to kill her.”
 
“Proper sacrifice! I’n’t that what you keep banging on about? Real love being all about sacrifice?”
 
“I didn’t mean literal blood sacrifice! And murder is hardly an ideal method to prove one’s abandonment of evil.”
 
“That wasn’t the sacrifice I meant. Dru’s love was the only thing I ever had that was worth a damn. Was givin’ her up, permanent-like. Death was … incidental.” His expression darkened. “Dru understood that.”
 
Giles just stared at him.
 
“Dru always wanted me to kill the Slayer for her.” Spike shrugged. “Turnabout’s fair play.”
 
“I have no idea how to even begin to respond to that.”
 
“Never claimed I made good choices!” Spike laughed sharply. “Hell, I never claimed to be good!”
 
“I’m gratified to hear you’re not yet that delusional.” Giles sighed. “Sometimes I think it might be better for all concerned if you were to meet with an … unfortunate accident some night.”
 
Spike’s head snapped up. “That your idea of not interferin’?”
 
“I’m not….” Giles ran his fingers across his forehead. “I didn’t mean it that way.” And he didn’t. He actually quite enjoyed Spike’s company. Sometimes. But he didn’t believe that Buffy could ever accept him, and he was terrified of what would happen when Spike finally realised that.
 
“So you don’t want to murder me, then?”
 
Giles stared down at his feet. “It’s never been a question of what I want.”
 
“An’ here I thought I was the evil one.”
 
Giles looked over at Spike. “I believe we’ve already established that you and I both inhabit the grey.”
 
Spike took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “‘M goin’ to bed,” he said, standing up abruptly.
 
Giles stood, too, moving away from the door and into the sunshine. “It’s time I went in to the Magic Box, anyway.”
 
Spike grinned, although it never reached his eyes. “You just … rein in those homicidal urges a bit longer, yeah?”
 
“It wouldn’t be homicide,” Giles said quietly as he watched Spike cross over the threshold. “You’re not a man.”
 
Spike slammed the door behind him.
 
As Giles turned to leave, he noticed that Spike’s mug was still outside. He walked over to look inside it; it had contained blood.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Buffy twisted in her covers.
 
‘Did they tell you that you belonged here?’
 
It was back. That bitch demon was back.
 
“Did they say this was your home again?”
 
She could feel her eyelids twitching over her eyes, could feel the weight of them as she tried so hard to open them, to be awake again. But she couldn’t. She could only see the dream and its demon.
 
‘Were you offered pretty lies, little girl?’
 
She kicked and punched, but nothing was connecting. It seemed to be Slayer-immune.
 
‘Did they even give you a choice?
 
Buffy lunged, thinking maybe it was time to try hair-pulling, but the demon disappeared into smoke, rematerializing just out of reach.
 
This is a dream. Wake up, Buffy. Wake up!
 
Then shovelfuls of earth started slamming into her, knocking her off-balance. Her limbs were getting heavier; soon she wouldn’t be able to move at all.
 
Buffy screamed.
 
But dirt was pouring into her mouth while the demon’s cackling laughter filled her ears. Everything was closing in on her.
 
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
 
CAN’T BREATHE!
 
And then Spike was there.
 
Her screams had stayed locked inside her head this time; it was her silence that had brought him. “Breathe, Love. Bloody fuckin’ breathe!” Spike cried, terrified, shaking her, watching her lips turn blue.
 
He’d been about to start slapping her when her eyes popped open and she finally inhaled. She curled onto her side, drinking in great gulps of air.
 
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, revelling in the sensation of seeing nothing but the backs of her eyelids. She could feel the covers being tucked around her, Spike a solid presence at her back.
 
His hands moved gently over her, smoothing and straightening, anchoring her in reality. He was keeping the area around her face completely clear so the air smelled cold, and for all his closeness, her arms were never constrained. He was even being blissfully silent – practically a miracle for him. She wished he didn’t know so exactly what she needed. Her gulps of air turned to sobs.
 
“Safe now. Lights’re on. Sun’s up. You’re safe.” Spike lay down behind her and started taking slow, even breaths, his hands stroking over her to the same rhythm. She was twitching and fluttering beneath him like a trapped bird, sobs racking her body.
 
For a few minutes, she just let go while he held her.
 
Eventually, her breathing evened out and the shaking mostly subsided. “This isn’t me,” she gasped. “I can’t … I’m not….” Her breath started stuttering again. “Don’t see me like this!” Her words were choking her. The rippling tremors of the dream warring with embarrassment at being caught out so weak and helpless.
 
“Shut my eyes, shall I?” he said gently. He nuzzled her hair, letting her feel his face against the back of her head, giving her some illusion of privacy.
 
She hated the tone he was using – she had started thinking of it as his make-nice-to-the-psycho voice. But she hated herself so much more for needing it. “I’m not crazy!” she snapped.
 
“Course you’re not,” he said. His fingers were still stroking, soothing, in time with his breathing. “You’re perfect.”
 
A wave of self-loathing washed over her. “How can you think I’m perfect?” she whispered. “I’m falling apart.” I’m wrong. Came back all wrong.
 
“Not perfect like that,” he said, almost laughing. “All manner of flaws in you.”
 
She twisted around to look at him. “What?!”
 
He stared into her eyes – deep brown in this light. “You want me to list them?” He trailed his fingers down her arm until he reached her hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers, then tugged at her arm until it was curled against his chest.
 
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
 
He really did laugh this time. “Brings you back to yourself, doesn’t it?” His face became serious. “Whatever you need, Buffy.”
 
She could feel his breath on her face. It was warmer than she’d expected it to be.
 
She rolled over, turning her back to him. But she didn’t let go of his arm.
 
It wasn’t long before they were both asleep.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Xander was surprised and not a little bit freaked out to see Giles on the other side of his front door.
 
“Giles!” he gulped. “W-what are you doing here? Who’s in the shop?”
 
“I closed it. Where’s Anya?”
 
“Uh, doing a run of stuff to her new place,” Xander said carefully. Magic Box closed on a Saturday? This is big with the not-goodness. “She should be back soon, though.”
 
“Yes,” Giles said. “Right. Of course. Moving.”
 
“Yeah,” Xander said. “You, uh, you look kinda upset. You want a cup of tea? I think we have some Lady Grey somewhere. Unless Anya’s packed it already.”
 
“Er, yes, tea would be good. Yes.”
 
“What’s up, Giles? You are seriously freaking me out.”
 
“I just had a phone call from Los Angeles.”
 
Xander yelped. “Has Angel lost his soul again?”
 
“No, no. Nothing like that. Anya called Angel – hired him, in fact – to investigate—” Giles stopped suddenly, staring at Xander. “Something. Did you know Spike was working with her?”
 
“Uh, yeah, translation stuff,” Xander said. “Right?”
 
Giles sighed. “It’s a bit more involved than that.”
 
Xander moved his head around in a circle. “Aaaand that would be…?”
 
“Perhaps I’d best wait for Anya.”
 
Xander looked like he’d just been kicked. Giles faltered. “I didn’t know anything about this until very recently.”
 
Xander relaxed a little. Just recently, he’d definitely been avoid-o-guy. And big news was always in person.
 
“The reason Spike was so injured last week—”
 
Xander felt a brief, weird, stab of guilt that he’d never asked why Spike had been so much deader than usual. Sure, there had been a lot of things going on that night, but anything big and bad enough to do that much damage to Spike was probably worth paying attention to.
 
“—is because Wolfram and Hart hired the Magic Box to, well, to destroy a casino.”
 
Xander did his best impression of a guppy.
 
“My thoughts exactly,” Giles said drily.