~*~
Chapter 3
~*~
The first weeks of Spike’s recovery passed without his being aware of a thing. The next few were spent in more pain than the 120-year-old vampire remembered experiencing since his early days with Angelus.

Finally Spike was beginning to look like he was on the road to recovery by the middle of July. The rest of the summer saw a bemused vampire being coddled by the women of the house.

If Dawn wasn’t down in the basement checking on her hero and fussing over him, Willow was plying him with herb-laden, homemade chicken soup. "I’m Jewish and we know all about the healing goodness of boiled poultry." Spike had to admit the soup was tasty and seemed to ease some of the many aches and pains.

The biggest surprise of all was Buffy. The Slayer had taken to visiting at least a couple of times each day. She had also begun to bring bags of not-quite-stale human blood to aid his healing. She never said where she was getting the many bags of forbidden drink and he never asked.

Tara spent a lot of time with Spike through it all. She had a vague memory of having accidentally exposed the vampire to sunlight while in her Glory-induced brain damaged condition. She remembered how understanding he had been in spite of his hand smoldering. She had always felt that Spike was special. His aura clearly showed how different he was from any other vampire she had ever encountered. His actions over the past year only made it more obvious that he was more man than monster, even if that was supposed to be impossible.

She had discovered his dark secret by the second week after he regained consciousness and had begun to bring him books to read to while away the many hours of confinement. She had practically emptied the shelves in the poetry section of the library to feed his voracious appetite for the dance of words the books contained. They even had lively discussions about the merits of different poets and their works as Spike regained his strength. By the sixth week, Tara had firmly placed Spike in the small part of her heart reserved for friends and loved ones.

By the end of July, Spike was coming upstairs in the evening to share in the family meal and TV time. He was beginning to resent the rapid healing his body was doing. Each day was drawing him closer to having to leave the warmth of these women and this home and return to the coldness of his empty crypt. They were all being so good to him that he didn’t want to make them think badly of him again by faking the severity of his situation though, so he answered their concerned questions honestly.

He offered to move back to his crypt in mid-August, even though he still had some internal bruising and a bone or two that wasn’t one hundred percent yet. None of the housemates would hear of his leaving until he was totally mended, however, and Spike sighed in contentment.

***

One unseasonably hot September afternoon, Spike awoke to cold wetness in his bed. It wasn’t the first time in Spike’s long life that he’d woke to cold dampness, but this time it had nothing to do with sweet Slayer dreams and bodily fluids. A copper pipe overhead was leaking its precious water supply one slow drip at a time directly over the vampire’s bed.

"Bloody hell! All these years in crypts, abandoned warehouses and other run-down holes only to have middle class American construction target me for Chinese water torture!" Spike mumbled. He got up and moved his cot across the basement to a drier corner and put his bedding in the Slayer’s clothes dryer to make his nest cozy once more. "Gonna have to tell the Slayer she’ll need to get Donut Boy down here to have a lookey-see at these pipes."

Xander had been in a bit of a pout since Spike had moved into the charming residence on Revello Drive. He had given up on saying anything about the dangers of having Spike as a houseguest after even Giles told him to leave off and mind his own business. Spike had rather enjoyed the look on the boy’s face as Giles reminded the carpenter that Spike managed to save the world from the very jaws of chaos itself with his quick thinking and willingness to sacrifice himself.

Giles took Dawn back to London so that her "keyness" could be researched more easily. No one was sure what her abilities might turn out to be. To Spike, she appeared a normal teenage hormone bomb with the potential power to make pimpled boys come in their jeans , but the Watcher thought there might be some powers beyond her budding beauty that bore looking into.

Spike greatly missed his Bit. She had kept him company while the others were occupied. He had learned every board game and child’s card game in her
arsenal. They had laughed until they both hurt watching The Princess Bride and various Monty Python videos. No one connected with Spike’s inner child like his Niblet. She mailed a postcard every week from London, letting her hero know the progress in research (none) and share her adventures in tourism (many). Spike was utterly charmed.

When mid-September arrived, Spike announced he was kicking Clem out of his crypt and moving home at long last. Xander let out a cheer only to be greeted with dirty looks from ‘Spike’s harem’, as Xander snidely referred to the women of 1630 Revello Drive.

"But, pet, I’m all healed now. Need to be out there killin’ and brawlin’ before the demons in this town forget I’m the Big Bad. Wouldn’t do to have that lot lose sight of the fact! Besides if I don’t move back soon, the crypt’ll be crawlin’ with kittens and littered with crushed Bugles and spilled Country Time. You have no idea what a pig Clem can be." Spike didn’t want Buffy to think for a minute that he hadn’t been grateful to her for her hospitality. If he were honest, he’d love to stay permanently. Well, he’d prefer being moved up to the Slayer’s room if he were being perfectly honest.

That was the problem. Now that Spike was feeling like himself again, it wasn’t easy dealing with the love of his life sleeping, probably naked, only two floors above him. It was becoming sweet torture to lie on his cot and imagine Buffy in the shower, Buffy slipping into naughty little nothings under her slaying outfits, Buffy sleeping all alone in that double bed. Spike sighed wistfully and resolved to move out as soon as he could. ‘No point in torturing yourself, mate. Had more than enough of that already. This is worse than listenin’ to Peaches and Dru while I was in the damned wheelchair. Least I knew I’d have Dru again eventually,’ he thought.

Xander volunteered to help Spike move whenever he wanted to go. Somehow Spike didn’t think it was an offer of friendship on the whelp’s part.