It's Not Enough
By: Morrigan




A/N:  *Happy New Year!*   For those of you, who have already read this, you may want to give it another go.  There was quite a bit missing, from the end, that wouldn't post, originally, and I didn't have much luck posting it, seperately, either.  But, I did manage to get it all put in here, where it belonged, today.

A great big "Thank You" to all, who reviewed!  Your encouragement filled my inner muse with glee!

This chapter is Spike's POV following Buffy's return from the portal.  Hope you all like it.  


Disclaimer:  All characters are still owned by Joss Whedon and ME.  I, regretfully, confess that I still own absolutely nothing.  But I'd like to!  C'mon, Joss!  You know you wanna share!




Drip...  Drip...  Drip...

"Soddin'"  Drip...  "Bloody"  Drip-Drip...  "HELL!"

Spike sprang, suddenly, off of the cot, wiping his eye and searching overhead, to frown at the offending leaky pipe.

"What a bunch of rot!"  He grumbled to himself.  "I could have sworn the slayer had these replaced, just last year!"

Pulling on his jeans, he padded barefoot across the basement.

He hadn't been sleeping.  Lord knows, it wasn't nearly early enough for that, yet.  But, he had come down here, all the same, to lie in the dark and clear his head.

His mind rolled back to this evening, not six hours ago.


*  *  *  *  *


A scraping sound, as the match dragged along the tusk of the dead creature at his feet, igniting, and filling the the air with the sharp pungent odor of sulfur.

Bringing the flame to the smoke he held between his lips, he, cooly, began to address the corpse.  

"I don't know about you, but for me..."  

"The tip glowed softly and he tossed the match away.  

"Times, like these..."

He inhaled deeply, resting his back against the brick wall, and gazing down at the fallen demon, with a look of satisfaction.  

"Are good for the soul!"


*  *  *  *  *


'Ha!'  'Right!'  He thought.  'And the cleansing cold baptism from the Summers' water pipes is just the thing to keep it shining!'

Finding what he was looking for, he picked up the mop bucket and brought it back to his cot.

Placing it under the drip, he then went about the business of pulling on his shirt and boots and climbed the stairs to the main house, in search of Duct tape.

The soft sounds and scents of the living engulfed him the moment he stepped through the door.  Closing it, ever so quietly, behind him. He walked just a few feet and paused.  His own self, silent and still.

He contemplated, not for the first time, the intricate twists and turns of fate that had led him here.

He looks around the living room which was, for once, not occupied by tons of teenage girls. They were still out with Giles, on thier little Slayer in training expedition.

Now, there was just Xander, sacked out on the couch catching flies, and Anya on the floor, beside it.  Xander had two blankets, Anya had two pillows.

Spike grimaced and shook his head, thinking, 'Might as well make sure all is locked up, while I'm up here.  The'Slayer didn't seem up to it, herself, after this evening.'

And, so, he readied himself for the nightly business of the doors and windows check.

Still, breathlessly silent, he stealthily began heading for the front door. After a few steps, he stopped again, and exhaled sharply.

"Bugger this!"  He whispered, in agitation. "Un-dead, after all!"  And continued toward his destination.

He checked the deadbolt and the windows in the living room, being careful not to wake the ex-couple, as he checked those behind the couch.

"I like to breathe!"  He continued his muttering, as he progressed to the kitchen...

He passed the newly converted study, on his way through, and recalled the bits and pieces of conversation he had caught between Giles and someone on the telephone, the other day.

It was quite obvious that, Giles, although seemingly accepting of the situation, was quite uncomfortable with Spike's presence here.  And Spike made a mental note, based on what he gathered from the watcher's carefully chosen words, to keep a cautious eye, when dealing with the man.

Andrew was at the kitchen table. He, too, was sleeping.  Snoring away.  His face resting on a big dry-erase marker board, which he, conveniently, called "The Big Board."

He must have turned his head at some point, because he had a transfer of a demon...or something...on his cheek.

Noting that the kitchen, was secured, Spike also, noticed something else.  Andrew had something draped over his shoulders. Something long, worn and black.  Spike's duster.

"Oh, Bollocks!"  Spike, hissed, as he pulled his most treasured possession from the boy's shoulders, and exited the room.

Andrew scowled, in his sleep and mumbled, "I'm the Big Bad"...  "The Big Bad...

Up the stairs, Spike went.  He took time to gaze over the pictures, lining the staircase wall.

His fingers traced, gently over one of a beaming, six year old Buffy Summers, sitting on the sofa and holding a sleeping newborn Dawn in her arms.

Although, in reality, Dawn had only existed as Buffy's human sister for a couple of years, Spike, as well as the rest of Buffy's friends and family, accepted the magically implanted memories of her...But he still couldn't, wrap his mind around it, when he looked at all the pictures!

Once he reached the top of the stairs, he came to another one and stopped again. This one was one of those "dress up" shots, men and women like to have taken, at the carnival.

In the grainy off-black and white, Buffy and Dawn posed as saloon girls on either side of thier mother, Joyce, who was decked out like Mae West. This one made him smile.

But looking at Joyce, the lady he was so fond of, who talked with him for hours over hot-chocolate, in this very house, was long in the ground.

Gazing at her, now, drew him back into memories of this evening, as he recalled the look of terror on Dawn's teary eyed face.


*  *  *  *  *


"She's gone!"  She squeaked out.

Dawn was shaking, and holding the book, which looked so large and heavy now, in her small, trembling hands. She stared at the floor where the portal had previously been.

Spike, himself, didn't know what to do.  He thought of how he felt, when they had lost Buffy before.

He remembered crying, like a git, holding his head in his hands and kneeling, by her broken body, beneath the tower.  Un-caring of the sun which was slowly rising all around them.

His jaw clenched and his fists tightened as he fought to control the roar of fury and anguish that threatened to rise back up inside of him. And then, he remembered his promise.

He relaxed his fists and moved to stand at Dawn's side.  His arms coming around her, as she leaned her head into his chest to hide her tears.

"I can't lose her again!"  She sobbed.

Spike knew that he couldn't either.  But he kept it to himself.

Suddenly, the Monster had materialized, from the same spot that Buffy had just left.

"This must be the exchange student!"  Xander exclaimed, through gritted teeth, before he was hurled across the room and all Hell broke loose...


* * * * *


Spike turned from the stairs, and headed down the hall. Fighting to push the memories back, he listened, instead, to the sounds of the house as he passed the rooms.

He could distinctly make out two heartbeats from Dawn's room.  Only one from Willow's.

That didn't surprise him all that much. Ol' Red had given Kennedy quite the scare, this evening, with her "power-sucking mojo."  The spoiled little brat was shacking in with Dawn, tonight, instead.

He grinned and chuckled to himself. He quite enjoyed the thought of Kennedy being taken down a peg.  He didn't care for her, much, if at all. He missed his Glinda.

'Good on you, Red!' He thought, 'Show her who wears the pants!'

When he arrived in front of Buffy's room, he came to a halt and leaned against its frame. Laying his hand on the door, he listened to her heart. She was sound asleep.  His senses told him, as much.  But her dreams were bad. Her heart was racing and the smell of fear emanating from the room was powerful enough to make him shiver.

His inner demon would have, once, relished that smell. But it made his soul cry out to her. He resisted the urge to walk inside.

What could he do?  Say?  Offer a little cold comfort, just for old times, sake?...

'Not hardly!' He snorted, inwardly.  These were not old times.  And that was not his place, anymore.  In fact, Spike knew that most likely, that place had never been his, to begin with.

He sighed, wishing things were different.  Not quite so awkward, between them, now.  Regretful, that there was nothing that he could do for her. He was, also, wondering just what it was that she had seen over there to leave her in such a state.

'Not today, mate.'  He scolded himself.  'Leave her be.'  'If she spills to you, it will be on her terms.'

Spike turned away from her door and headed back down the stairs.  Fleeing from the lingering smell of fear and the drumming of her pounding heart.

Breezing, once again, through the kitchen, he found what he needed, under the sink. So, now armed, with Duct tape in hand, he made his way back to the basement.

He reflected, once more, as he descended, on his current situation. Not so long ago, all these sounds and smells and sights, held here, within these walls, would have meant nothing to him...Unless of course, he was hungry.

Now, for better or worse, they all meant something greater...  They meant he was home.

Back in his peaceful dark, the leak patched, and resting comfortably in bed, he could feel the sun rising.  It was earlier than he had previously thought, after all.

Spike, lazily, stretched his lean body before closing his eyes  Folding his arms around his blanketed form, he crossed over the threshold of dreams.


* * * * *


He was standing in front of the portal that Willow had re-opened.

With a groan, Spike hefted up the, now dead and very heavy, beastie that he had dragged all the way back from the Sunnydale streets.

With a final heave, he threw the Great stinking brute back in, to rest wherever it belonged.

Finally, with the last reserves of his energy spent, Spike allowed himself to sink to the ground in exhaustion. The rest of the group, however, had all gathered around to see what was now kneeling in the center of the room.

With a smirk, Spike reached out a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind the girl's ear.

"There you are, Pet!..."

Buffy was back.