The silence in the house was unnerving — it seemed colder, more distant. And then Spike remembered why it felt that way; Joyce was gone. She wouldn't ever be here again, making him feel welcome, chatting with him about whatever they felt like talking about. The loss of such a vibrant personality echoed with a hollow sound, as the noise of their entry tried to mask the emptiness.

He looked to his left, and sensed ... something. It tickled in the back of his brain, a knowledge that escaped him until he walked into the living room and could fully understand what it was. Death was in this room, not violent but sudden, unexpected. It was the smell, he realized, still able to recognize its scent, although not as well as before.

"She died here," Dawn said quietly from behind him, Buffy growing ever more anxious and perturbed. He pushed down the welling grief inside him, trying to keep it sustained since he had to tell them what he was sensing, in order to ease their minds.

"Yes," He nodded, the last of the pieces falling into place. "On the couch. It was very sudden, quick. She didn't have time to fear it."

"You — you can still sense that?" Buffy asked incredulously, maybe with a tinge of fear, or relief. It was hard to tell the difference.

"A bit. Not like I used to, though. The demon in me knows it, but you could say we're not exactly on speaking terms. It's just the memory of it." He could plainly see the anxiety in her, and said quietly, "She didn't feel it, love. There's no fear or panic in the air."

Buffy let out a deep, shuddering sigh, letting go of the dread. "The doctor told us it was probably very quick, but I thought he was just telling us what we wanted to hear. Now I know for sure," she looked at him with tears in her eyes. He desperately wanted to go to her and hold her in his arms, but he couldn't. Not with Dawn there, and especially since they had made an agreement banning anything but friendly behavior.

Still, he couldn't stand there and do nothing. He gave Dawn a shoulder hug first, then went to Buffy as if it was only a natural consequence, and placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb caressing along the edge of her collarbone. She attempted a smile and reached for his hand, patting it in a neutral way. As he dropped his hand, he moved so his body shielded his actions from Dawn's view, and stole a moment to briefly entwine his fingers with hers. She squeezed back gratefully, and the moment passed without Dawn being the wiser.

It was going to be a long, long month.

****

Where in the house Spike would be staying soon became a problem. With only three bedrooms, the logical choice would be for Spike to have Joyce's room. However, even if Willow and Tara had slept on the covers of the bed overnight, having Spike occupy it for however long it took for him to recover was another thing entirely.

So that was how Spike got Buffy's room, and Buffy got her mother's. He argued that the couch was fine with him, but Buffy became irrational at the idea. With no other flat, comfortable surfaces in the house, Buffy was willing to let Spike have her bed. He was more than willing to take it, although it was another reminder of that long month ahead of him.

In another moment of perception, he realized that he hadn't even seen his reflection yet. Spike almost dreaded the prospect of looking into a mirror for the first time in well more than a century, but his vanity won out, in the end. While Buffy and Dawn were downstairs, he walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light, nervous at what he would find in his reflection.

It startled him, but he couldn't stop staring. The scar on his eyebrow was noticeable, as he'd thought. His hair was a fright, hardly combed and looking like he'd just crawled his way out of a bar brawl. The cut on his cheek was nearly healed, and he could barely see the leftovers of the scratches from when the female robot tossed him through that window.

But what petrified him most was the gaze staring back at him, privy to all of his misdeeds and foibles, both as a vampire and a human being. He sucked in a painful breath, his chest aching both from the cuts and the agony inside. The face he beheld was the face of a killer, a man who had seen and done terrible, evil things. And laughed while doing it.

Sick to his stomach, he leaned on the counter for support. His gaze drifted away from the image, but it was still burned in his mind. Horrible, bad, evil, cruel ... all these words described him, and more. And the worst agony of all was knowing that nothing he did would ever be enough to atone for his actions.

The memories of his past sickened him to the point of nausea, and he retched into the toilet, shaking uncontrollably. He clutched the edges of the bowl until he was spent, too weak to even sit up. The shudders didn't stop, and the effort of vomiting had aggravated his existing wounds, causing wave after wave of pain.

That was how Buffy found him, having heard the sound of his misery while coming up the stairs. She pulled him away gently and dampened a washcloth, then placed it on the back of his neck. The cold eased the nausea somewhat, and after a while he was able to kneel, then stand with her help.

Spike caught a glance of himself in the mirror, and started to feel the sickening in his stomach again. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall and forced the reaction down. When it settled, he opened his eyes to see a very concerned Buffy staring at him.

"Are you all right? What happened — is it your stomach? Should we go back to the hospital?"

He shook his head slightly. "No, it's not that. I just ... couldn't stand the sight of myself in the mirror. I saw a killer staring back at me, a murderer who destroyed lives and did horrible, unconscionable things. I remember everything.... God. How does Angel live with this?" He hated how weak he sounded, how his voice shook when he thought back on what he'd done. "I thought I had this under control, but I had no idea ... not until I saw myself in the mirror. I shouldn't be allowed to live, Buffy. Not after what I've done."

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You told me yourself that you didn't want to waste this chance on self-pity. And I'm not about to let you start backing down on that."

"You have no idea what this is like," he put his hand over his heart. "You don't know what it's like to suddenly care about 120 years' worth of the appalling things you've done. I thought I knew, back in the hospital. I felt guilty, yeah, but I never looked at myself in the mirror. How can you even stand to be around me?"

He sank against the wall, despite the pain from his injuries. Buffy calmly filled a small paper cup with water and offered it to him. "Rinse out your mouth, first, then swallow some water. The acids in your stomach need to settle," she remarked, then watched him as he obeyed, making sure to avoid looking in the mirror. He took the damp washcloth and wiped his face off, the coldness helping to stave off the queasiness he felt.

He felt used, spent, wadded up then thrown into the far corner of a filthy room, but it was an improvement. Buffy took his left hand into both of hers, and make sure he was staring her straight in the eye. "You are going to get through this, because you aren't going to waste your life moping and crying about what you shouldn't have done. That part of your life is over, and nothing will bring those people back. It won't be easy to put this behind you, but you will. I know it, because I know you.

"I remember when you told us, a couple Thanksgivings ago, that we couldn't ever reconcile with the Chumash, because what could we say that would make them better for being slaughtered out of existence? We couldn't make atonement, not for something like that. And it's the same for you. You can't earn forgiveness for this, it has to be given. You have to ask for forgiveness, Spike. Can you do that?"

He shook his head. "I can't ask the dead for forgiveness, not like they'd grant it, anyway. And the living? Forget it."

"Then start small. Ask me."

He stared at her in amazement. "I don't understand. Why would you—"

"Just ask, Spike." He saw the determined look in her eye, and decided not to fight it.

"All right. Buffy, will you forgive me for all the loathsome things I've done to you and your kin? Even though in no way do I deserve it?"

"Yes, I forgive you. See? How easy was that?"

The thing that puzzled him most was why she would do something like this for him — whatever was between them was too new and too uncharted, and he wasn't accustomed to being treated with compassion in either previous incarnations.

But from the way she gazed at him, he almost believed it. He couldn't help smiling faintly, in the face of her upbeat attitude, "Wasn't so bad. But I can't do that with everyone, pet."

"I know, but you can't beat yourself up about this forever. Life's too short for that."

Another melancholy thought drifted through his head, and he sobered. "Yeah, that's the other thing — mortality. Growing older, weaker, and dying in old age, if you're lucky. I was twenty-five when I was turned, so I guess I have fifty years left, tops."

"More than me," Buffy replied wistfully. A slash of fear and dread tore through his heart, then he chastised himself for mentioning it altogether. She saw the reproach coming, though, and deflected it. "But I'm going to pack a lot of life in the time I do have. Gals in the nursing homes will wish they were me."

"Bloody right they will," he said softly, tightening his fingers around her hand. "But I'm gonna make sure that's not for quite a while, yet.

""Well, you're going to have to live in order to make sure of that. Think you're up to it?"

"More than ready, Slayer," he replied, using the term affectionately. "And I'd tell you how much I love you right now, but we're on that 'friends-only' thing for the moment, so I can only say how much I really, really like you in the friendliest way imaginable."

"You're making this month seem like forever, you know that?" she pouted.

He smiled. "I know. And the feeling's mutual."

****

When Buffy checked the answering machine, she found a message left by her father's office, amid the numerous return calls of relatives, her mother's co-workers and friends who wanted to express their deepest sympathies and sorrows over her death. Apparently Dawn had spent her time at home contacting everyone she could think of, sparing Buffy the effort of doing everything, herself. Aunt Darlene and Uncle Joe were coming right away, and her grandparents — her dad's side only, since both her maternal grandparents were dead — planned to make it for the funeral.

But it was the call from the office that grabbed her attention. Her father was supposed to call from the Riviera sometime soon. They'd left a message for him at the concierge desk, so he should be notified eventually. The lack of messages from her father wasn't a good sign. Maybe he wasn't picking up his messages? Or maybe he decided that he had to catch the next flight home immediately, and didn't have time to call? She wanted to believe in the latter.

Dawn and Buffy had a late lunch with Spike, and then they make sure he rested upstairs, much to his discontent. It was hard to tell which was more odd; her mother's absence, or a now-human Spike being in the house. Still, his presence helped ease the loneliness, and Buffy had plenty to fret about between making calls and checking on him.

It was after finishing those calls, that she remembered she hadn't called Angel. He would want to know, although she wasn't sure he could come to the funeral — for obvious reasons, Sunnydale didn't do funerals at night. Buffy dug through the phone address book and found Angel's card, then called the number.

Another answering machine. Did anyone stay home anymore, she wondered, but then the line was picked up just after Cordelia finished her recorded spiel. "Hello?" A male voice answered, and Buffy instantly knew it was Angel.

"Uh, hi. It's me, Buffy. Did I ... catch you at a bad time?"

Stunned silence on the other end, then he replied, "Uh, no, not at all. I just woke up. So, um, is something wrong?"

"Yeah. I thought you should know. My mom's been in and out of the hospital, and we thought things were better, but she — she died a couple days ago." She tried to stop the tears from coming, but nothing helped. "It was a brain tumor, or actually it was the complications after the surgery. An aneurysm, the doctor said. She wasn't in a lot of pain — it was very sudden."

"Oh God. Buffy, I'm so sorry to hear that, I really am. How are you and Dawn doing? You're not all alone in the house, are you?"

"No, we're being taken care of. Giles has been helping with the arrangements, setting up the funeral and everything, though I'll have to go finalize it. And we're dealing the best we can — it's been a chaotic couple of days. Got rid of a hell god, Spike turned human, but then he nearly died thanks to the hell god poking holes in him. Now that he's okay, we've just started settling down."

Another round of silence from the other end. "Spike is human? How the heck did that happen? And you took on a hell god?"

"It's a long, long story. When you come up, I'll tell you the whole thing. That is, if you want to come."

"Of course I do. I'm sure Wesley and Cordelia would like to be there — they knew her, too."

"Yeah, sure. They're more than welcome. The funeral's on Tuesday, in the afternoon. Not sure when exactly just yet ... I haven't talked to Giles in a while."

"You should give him a call. I'll be there as soon as I can, all right?"

Buffy sighed, "All right. Just call me before you leave, so I know when you'll be here."

"I will. See you soon." They said their good-byes and Buffy hung up the phone, wondering if she'd done the right thing by contacting him. She could've waited until after the funeral to let him know ... but then he might be upset at finding out so late. And it was going to be awkward having him here, with no Riley but a new, uncharted thing with Spike. An idle thought of sending Spike elsewhere for a couple days crept into her mind, then she just as quickly squashed it. She wanted him here, not somewhere else. If Angel couldn't deal with it, that was his problem.

Her next call was to Giles, and she mentally steeled herself for the coming ordeal — the preparations needed for putting her mother to rest.

****

The next several hours went by fast, almost too fast. From going to the funeral home, to making arrangements with the church and pastor, and having to ask people to think of sentiments to say at the service. Then coming home and having her father call at last — her grandparents had managed to track him down and tell him the terrible news — and he told her he would be in sometime tomorrow morning, if his flight wasn't delayed.

Relief poured into her — her father was coming home. Some of the burden of responsibility lifted from her shoulders, and she breathed in her first somewhat relaxed breath in three days. The possible complications that her father's arrival would bring didn't set in until right before she went to bed.

Buffy had already gone and fetched the rest of Spike's essentials — more clothes, and the toiletries had surprised her until she realized that, of course, even a vampire needed to brush his teeth. Healing powers didn't cover tooth decay. Putting them in the hallway bathroom made his residence there seem more real, and then she understood what her father might think of a man living — even temporarily — in a house with two young girls. She was going to have to do some serious thinking on a good cover story, or else have to explain her lifestyle to her dad, which wasn't even her last choice.

Both Willow and Xander called to check up on her, and she insisted that they stay home and take some downtime. It took some cajoling, but eventually she talked them out of patrolling that night. Or at least, she hoped she did. The rest of her night was spent in front of the TV, sitting in a chair while Spike rested on the close end of the couch and Dawn sat much too close to the TV, as usual. Unfortunately, the programming for that night could only pull her away from reality for so long, and she headed upstairs for some rest.

Settling into her mother's bed was easier than she expected. Maybe it was because the bed still smelled like her, that distinctive mom-smell that lingered in the sheets and pillows. It was a comfort she didn't expect to find, and her mind drifted back to a couple days ago, when Dawn had been able to contact their mother.

Now, it was clear how Dawn had done it, but Buffy had been jealous, almost envious. Her mom told her that she would always be there, watching over her, and that wherever she was, it was nice. Buffy wanted to believe it, and wrapped in the scent of her mother, feeling her presence so strongly in the room, she did ... and quickly fell asleep.

****

Waking up in the Slayer's bed was enough to make Spike think that he hadn't fully woken up, yet. But a few seconds went by, and he was still in her room, looking at the pure girlishness of it all. He'd been in here before, but seeing it now, he got a glimpse into the frailty that lay just beneath the Slayer exterior.

He almost panicked at the sunlight, then the last few days filtered back into his consciousness, reminding him that his days as a vampire were now over. Spike settled back into the pillows with a mixture of relief and uneasiness, glad that it wasn't just a dream, but worried about the rest of his life, and what he was supposed to do with it.

The linens hadn't been changed, so he could still smell her on the sheets, although now his scent mingled with hers, creating the illusion that they'd shared the bed. It wasn't true, of course, but the thought still caused the edge of his mouth to quirk upwards. Give it about a month, and that might change.

Spike dressed slowly, having more mobility than yesterday, but not wanting to push his luck. He managed to pull on a T-shirt and a button down shirt over that, and abandoned the jeans in favor of looser-fitting trousers. He tried to be less of a burden by helping with breakfast, but even with his better health, Buffy limited his chores to cleaning up. The little one went off to school — anything to get out of the house — but Buffy didn't have the luxury of a distraction from dealing with her mother's death. He wished there was something he could do to ease her pain, but aside from helping around the house, there was little he could do that wouldn't drift back into the area they'd both considered off-
limits.

The phone rang, and he obliged himself in answering the phone on Buffy's behalf, since she was in the shower. "Summers residence."

"Spike?"

Oh, bugger. It was the broody one, himself. He tried for a pleasant, innocuous tone of voice. "Hey there, Angel. Buffy's not available right now, but I gather you're letting her know you're coming, right?"

"What are you doing at her house?"

Spike sighed with exaggerated patience. "I'm her guest, thanks to the latest supernatural nasty. Carved me up but good, and she insisted on me staying here to convalesce."

"Really? I'll have to see that." Spike narrowed his eyes when he registered the melancholy in his former sire's voice. What could he be brooding about now? "Let Buffy know I'll be up sometime after sunset."

Spike told Angel he would, and hung up the phone. First Buffy's father was coming, now Angel. He considered the wisdom of fetching his car from the cemetery, in order to thwart any possible conflagrations by having a method of escape.

So when Buffy left to pick up her father, then take care of the final arrangements at the funeral home, he headed off to the one place he knew better than anyone, save the Slayer. Spike ached and cursed most of the way there, wishing he'd thought better of the idea. One thing hadn't changed ... he still didn't think things through very well. By the time he sank into the interior of the old DeSoto, he wasn't sure if he had the stamina to even drive.

But he did, if only because he feared the wrath of Buffy if he wasn't home before she was. If she found about his little trip, she would not be happy.

****

Spike parked the car around the corner and half-limped, half-dragged himself into the house about ten minutes before Buffy made it home. He was sitting on the couch when they came in, flipping through channels idly and wondering at the staggering amount of programming on TV that had little, if any, redeeming value during the middle of the day; Passions didn't count, since it was on in the afternoon.

He hid a wince as he stood, trying to appear as harmless as possible under the scrutinizing glare of Buffy's father. "You must be Mr. Summers. It's nice to meet you." He held out his hand, and the other man took it in a strong grasp.

"And you must be William," the older man gave him a cautious smile. "Buffy told me you were staying here to recuperate, while on the way home. How are you feeling? Any better?"

Spike took that as a subtle probe to determine how much longer he planned to sponge off of his daughter. He smiled back weakly, willing to play along. "It's a little better. Hopefully I'll be strong enough to be on my own in a day or so."

Buffy gave him a pointed look. "And who'll change the bandages on your back, in the meantime? You're staying here until I say so, and Dad, you're not to encourage him to leave, okay? He's a guest in this house, just like you are."

Her dad frowned. "What makes you think I'd do that, Buffy?"

"Because I know you, and you can be uber-protective. Sp — William is more than welcome here, since he saved Dawn's life and got all cut up in the process. I'm not going to toss him out on the street."

Her father reappraised him, then smiled with more warmth than earlier. "Well, if you saved Dawn's life, you can't be all bad," he said with a lightness to his voice, and the tension in the room subsided. Buffy grabbed a suitcase and headed upstairs and her father followed with the other one, leaving Spike to sag back into the couch in relief, from both the pain and the encounter.

****

Buffy thought Spike looked more exhausted now than he did when she left, but she shrugged it off — it wasn't like he was running around town, or anything.

The main focus of her worry shifted to Angel, and having him around not only Spike, but her father as well. It wasn't as if she could say, 'Here's my former boyfriend, who's a vampire ... but he has a soul. And here's Spike, who once was a vampire but is now some sort of hybrid, which I kind of am, too, possibly, but that's different, since I was chosen by these powers that be, and Spike just walked in and out of the portal to the realm of the dead. Or something like that.'

No, that wasn't the thing to say. Even if her father didn't laugh at her, first. If she had any concern about her dad, it was the fear that he would take Dawn back with him, and try to encourage Buffy to come along. How could she try to convince her father to let Dawn stay with her, and not raise suspicions? Or was that even possible, now?

Her father naturally put his suitcase in her mother's room, and Buffy bit her tongue. A part of her mind screamed that he had no right to be in there, and another part bemoaned the fact that he'd left at all. Her mind drifted into thought of how different the last few years would've been if he had stayed with the family, but she shook herself out of those notions fairly quickly. The monks had managed to tamper with the past, but she didn't have any such skills, not even with the gang's help.

Lunch was a good time to catch up with her father, and Spike tried to stay out of the way and conversation as much as possible. Her father kept trying to draw him in — she might say it was more like pumping him for information — but Spike gracefully sidestepped the probing questions and simply answered the rest with watered-down versions of the truth; Yes, he was from England, he had a degree in literature from Oxford, and he hadn't been in town long, but he'd visited in the past.

Her father asked Spike how he and his daughter had met. With a careful and slightly panicked look at her, he shrugged and said, "We met at the Bronze, about three years ago."

"The Bronze?" The older man frowned.

Buffy cleared her throat nervously. "It's a place where the high school and college kids can hang out, dance, and have fun."

"So, you would have been in your last year of college, William, right? Isn't that a little old for socializing with high school girls?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but Buffy responded with, "It wasn't like that, Dad, I swear. I was there with friends, and it was just a brief introduction, nothing really drawn out. He was new in town, and wanted to get to know people. We saw each other around town occasionally, then he left to go back to England at the end of the year."

Spike picked up the story from there. "I finished up school the next year, then headed back to Sunnydale since I'd come upon this opportunity for work in my field of expertise that I couldn't pass up. Then it all fell apart, and I scrounged around for something to take its place. And I've been scrounging ever since. If not for Buffy and her friends, I would be in worse straits than I am now."

Buffy nodded in agreement, surprised at how much of the truth could be told and still sound legitimate. Her father apparently thought so, too, and dropped the subject. Her eyes met Spike's in a moment of brief respite, both of them knowing at least one bullet had been dodged.

****

More relatives called as the day wore on, either on arriving in town or to express their condolences over the miles. Flowers and plants started to show up, sent from Joyce's co-workers and friends, family and even from Willow's and Xander's parents. Soon the living room looked more like a flower boutique.

Dawn came home from school, and smiled at the number of bouquets and plants in the living room — the smell of the flowers cheered up the room far more than anyone expected. She grinned even further at seeing her father at home, and broke down crying in his arms in a mixture of sorrow and relief.

Well after dinner, and after guessing how long it took to drive from LA to Sunnydale from sundown, Buffy pulled Dawn aside and told her about Angel coming over. They conspired to get Dad out of the house by insisting that the bulk of the flowers should be taken to the funeral home that night, so they wouldn't have to carry them from the house the next day. Dawn went with her father and they left in Joyce's car, leaving Spike and Buffy alone in the living room, him on the end of the couch and her in a chair.

He fidgeted for a minute, then sighed and said, "I ought to go. If Angel saw me, he might decide that he's not willing to let bygones be bygones. Wouldn't blame him, really," he said with a bit too much melancholy.

"Okay, that's enough of the throwing a self-pity party. You're staying right here. No muscles will be moving you from this spot, understand?"

He gave her a sullen look, knowing better, but he nodded in agreement. They both heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway just then, and with a deep breath, Buffy got out of the chair and headed to the door.

****

Angel was already at the door by the time she opened it, catching him in a comical moment with his hand raised, ready to knock. He smiled sheepishly and tucked his hand back into his jacket.

"May I come in?" He asked politely, preferring to ask rather than assume he was welcome. She gestured him inside and he followed her in, looking around in a wary method he never seemed able to shed.

He found Spike immediately, and the air in the room stirred with noticeable friction. Angel approached him as Spike stood with some pain, obviously hurt. Angel looked him up and down, smelled the air and said matter-of-factly, "So it's true. You're human now."

"Yeah, the whole package, soul and everything. The demon didn't vacate the premises, however."

"I could sense that, too, but it's not as strong. And I smell dried blood on you — the 'carving' you told me about?"

Spike nodded, then pulled up the edge of his shirt to show the wounds. Angel winced in sympathy as he recognized the shape of one in particular. "Sword wound in the stomach. Not a fun pain."

"Not by half," Spike replied, with a bitter grin. Somehow, the talking of mutual wounds softened the hard edge of the conversation. "This Glory chippie had some fun. But we got the last laugh, didn't we?" He looked to Buffy, who smiled. Angel caught the exchange, and again felt that sense of disbelief he'd had earlier, while talking to Spike on the phone.

'So, it looks like there's a lot to catch up on. But first," Angel turned and gave Buffy a tentative hug, which Buffy accepted and returned, gently. He could sense that seeing him again didn't bring back all the pain that his arrival usually did. Pulling away, he looked at her with resolve and regret — for the first time, he felt the end of what had been. And for some reason, it had ended here, at this moment.

He looked into her eyes and felt distance between them, something that had always been physical rather than emotional. Now, there was a calmness he couldn't explain. Maybe it was because she'd found someone else, and he'd learned to accept it. Or maybe, it was the beginning of the friendship Spike had told them that could never exist.

"Where's what's-his-name, Raimey?" Angel asked, and caught a glimpse of Spike's amusement, which turned into self-reproach when he noticed the stricken look on Buffy's face — directed at Spike, not Angel. His eyes narrowed at the unspoken conversation, something private that they alone shared. It unnerved him, for reasons that went beyond mere jealousy.

"Riley. He's not here. He left for Central America, to fight demons with his ex-Initiative buddies. We're ... not together, anymore." The tone of her voice succinctly told him the rest of the story.

"I'm sorry. He's a fool to let you go. Trust me on this," Angel replied, trying on a smile. She seemed to appreciate the effort, but the smile never made it to her eyes. If he ever found Riley, the beating he'd get would pale in comparison to the first one he'd given him.

Buffy clearly noticed this reaction. "And you're not going to do anything involving the infliction of pain, Angel. I mean it."

"Yes ma'am," he automatically replied, which earned a chuckle from Spike.

"Ever the polite one, aren't you. Well, it's my turn to be a bit impolite — Buffy, would you mind if Angel and I had a little chat? Alone?" He looked at her pleadingly. A vague notion tickled the back of Angel's mind, but he pushed it to one side.

Her eyes widened in alarm, then she relaxed. "Uh, no. I guess not. I've got some things to do, anyway." She headed off to parts unknown in the house, and Spike gestured outside. Angel lead the way, confused but willing to find out what Spike wanted to discuss. He had an idea, but he wanted to wait and find out, first. He remembered his mistakes with Darla, and he didn't want to repeat them.

The air outside was already cooling off for the night, and Spike wrapped his arms around himself carefully, as if staving off a chill. He led Angel to the side of the porch and sighed with resolve, the internal struggle plainly showing on his face.

"I'm sorry, Angel. About everything — the torture, all the stuff I ever did to you. I feel like someone's grabbing my heart and squeezing real hard every time I think about something horrible I did in the past. Sometimes it gets so bad, I want to hate myself, and then I hate the fact that I'm feeling this way. Then, I feel bad about hating the pain and guilt." Spike paused to swallow, trying to keep himself from losing control. He added after awhile, "Does ... does the pain ever go away?"

Angel felt what anger he'd held against Spike drain away. It was hard to hold on to it in the face of the other's misery, one that he knew so well. "Sometimes. Not completely, it's just ... easier to deal with on some days. Other days..."

"...you feel like you could die willingly from the misery and suffering," Spike finished.

"Yes," Angel replied, knowing it all too well. "What you're feeling now is the worst of it. It's new, and you can't figure out how to deal with it. Since you're human, and the demon doesn't compel your actions anymore, you don't have the burden of fighting against your nature."

Spike laughed darkly, "Oh, I know about that. I might not have it now, but I well know what that's like." Seeing Angel's blank look, he elaborated. "I had a government chip implanted in my noggin, preventing me from hurting people. I couldn't feed at all, and ended up having to go to your old butcher for blood. When I found out I could kill demons, it was the only way to release all the pent-up anger and need to destroy. And I became an outcast in demon society."

"I never heard about that," Angel remarked, surprised. "But then, I'm not a socialite in the demon realm, either."

"Yeah," Spike said, and patted his pants pockets until he recalled something. He sighed in downtrodden fury. "Damn, I really need a smoke right now."

"Going cold turkey?" Angel said, amused.

"Almost. My body's not craving it, but my brain is. Every time I've gotten nervous recently, I keep itching for a cigarette." He shrugged, then stuffed his hands in the pockets. "Better to stop now, I guess. I don't know what smoking'll do to me, and I want to live as long as I can."

Angel watched the blonde former vampire for a while, then asked, "How did you end up becoming human?"

Spike looked at him in surprise. "Buffy didn't tell you?"

"No, she said she'd tell me when I came up. Should I ask her, instead?"

"That's all right — it's no big secret. It's just ... bizarre." And Spike told him all about the past year, with the hell god named Glory and her brother Ben, Dawn being the Key to some portal to the netherrealm, and on to recent events, explaining it with details that seemed a little on the vague side.

"So they let me go into the portal, I snatch Dawn outta there, and then I collapse shortly thereafter. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital with the Slayer and her Watcher there. It's then that we figure out that I'm not as human as we'd thought."

Angel suddenly felt numb — was this the Shanshu prophecy, fulfilled in Spike instead of him? If so, the pieces to the puzzle didn't fit. But still, to think that if he'd been there, it could have been him ... he pushed the thoughts aside, having other things more urgent to think about. If what Spike said was true, why had he stayed all this time in Sunnydale? Why, when Drusilla had come to take him back, hadn't he gone with her? It didn't make sense ... and then, a piece slipped into place, that notion he'd had earlier helping to reveal the rest of the picture. He could barely believe it, but what else could it be?

"Are you in love with Buffy?"

Spike looked at him, dumbstruck. The fear, amazement, and guilt playing across his face confirmed it all. "How...? I mean, where on earth did you get that idea?"

"Spike, I happen to have a little experience with falling in love with a Slayer," Angel smirked, satisfied with catching him off guard. "I didn't make a connection until I realized that there had to be a reason you stayed in Sunnydale this long, and the rest just fell into place. The glances between the two of you in there ... she knows how you feel about her. The fact that you're staying in her house must mean there's a mutual ... feeling, of some kind. Which I still can't believe, knowing how well you two don't get along, but there you are," Angel held out his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Is this why Riley left?"

Spike shook his head, the volatile memories evident on his face. "No. I caught Riley paying vampire trulls for suck-jobs."

Now there was another eyebrow-raising moment. "Wow. That's ... really unexpected. He struck me as a white bread, straight arrow kind of guy. When he wasn't trying to kick the crap outta me."

"Yeah, he does have that volatile streak, doesn't he?" Spike replied with a touch of sarcasm, and Angel gave him a deadpan look in return. "Not unlike some people I could name. But Buffy didn't love him, not in her heart. I could see that, he could see that, but she didn't. I heard he left the next night, never to return, or so I hope."

Angel gave him a curious look, and Spike defended himself, saying, "Not that I don't sympathize with the bloke, 'cause I do — but that doesn't mean I want him back, messing up her head."

"Like I would," Angel said quietly, and Spike stayed silent, unable to argue. "But things between us have changed, Spike. I felt it tonight when I hugged her. She wasn't mine, anymore ... she hasn't been for a while, now, but tonight I knew it for a fact."

"I think I told you once that you'll never be friends, Angel."

"I know. Sure, we'll never be pals, but there's a calm between us now that I never felt from her, before. It's ... nice. Not perfect, but when is it ever?"

"No kidding," Spike shuffled on his feet to keep warm, feeling the cold seeping in. "Is there anything else we ought to talk over, so we don't end up fighting and trying to kill each other later on?"

"Just this — you hurt her, and I'll kill you," Angel said, patting him on the shoulder. Spike winced, then chuckled.

"Same goes for me, mate."

"Will you ever stop talking like that?" Angel asked as he started walking back to the door.

"Would you rather I was a prissy toff, spouting out my love from the highest rooftops?" Spike replied as he followed.

Angel grimaced at the image, then grabbed the door and held it open for the former colleague. "I take it back. Stay the way you are."

"Thought you'd see it my way."

****

Spike shifted in his chair in the dining room, as Buffy updated Angel on the whole Glory situation and resolution, college life, and everything else that had happened. When she carefully skipped around the recent developments between her and Spike, Angel stepped in and let her know that he knew there were feelings between them. She glared daggers at Spike until Angel told her that he'd figured it out himself, and that it wasn't a problem. Not a huge one, anyway.

Buffy was relieved at first, but then worried that she hadn't hidden things well enough. When Angel looked at her oddly, Spike explained. "We're trying to keep this low-key, so we don't spook the friends. Plus, things are still too raw from ... recent events, so it's better just to wait."

"How long?"

"A month," Spike answered, and he wasn't able to disguise the bleak tone to his voice. The edge of a smile quirked at Angel's mouth, but it was only for a moment.

"Is that why your car is around the corner? You don't want the gang to know?"

Several curses ran through Spike's mind, all directed at Angel. Buffy stared at him in confusion. "What's this about your car?"

Just then, the sound of a car pulling in the driveway stopped all conversation, and Angel glanced to each of them. "Is that your father?"

"Yeah, he and Dawn must be back. I'm sorry about this—"

"It's okay. No need for me to bring up questions you can't answer." He bolted out of his chair and headed into the kitchen. "I'll see you tomorrow night, after the service."

They waved good-bye and Angel went out the back door, just seconds before her father and Dawn came in. He looked over his shoulder and asked, "Who's black convertible GTX is that out there?"

Buffy feigned innocence, something Spike had noticed she was kind of good at. "Oh, I wouldn't know. Must be someone visiting the neighbors."

"Well, it's a beaut. Great condition," he closed the door behind him.

"Oh, Spike has an old car, from like the 50s, don't you?" Dawn said to him, and everyone in the room tensed. She glanced around, puzzlement growing on her face. "What?"

"Spike?" Her father reiterated, curiously subdued.

Buffy covered quickly. "Oh, that's a nickname of his, back when his hair was all spikey, and sticking out, so we called him Spike. He doesn't do that anymore, but we still call him that, occasionally. Right, Spike?"

"Oh, yeah. I go by either, but my name's William. Just William. And I do own a DeSoto, in good shape. Runs like a dream."

"Really? I didn't see it out there."

"Well, uh, it's around the corner. I knew you'd all be getting visitors, and I didn't want to hog a space near the house."

"And when did you do this, William?" Buffy asked, her arms folded. Folded arms was always a bad sign — he'd known this well before falling for the Slayer.

Caught, he slumped and said, "When you were out earlier. I went and fetched it." At her wide-eyed stare, he added, "But I took it easy with the walking, I swear. And it was only one way."

She nodded, but gave him a look that said they'd talk about this later. Her father missed the look and said, "Well, I can see it tomorrow, in the daytime. Dawn, I know you've got homework to do — why don't you go up and start working on that? Buffy, did you catch up with all of your classes...?"

"No, I didn't," Buffy replied, suddenly contrite. "I should work on that, later ... after I change William's bandages, first." Spike grimaced — this last comment certainly wasn't contrite, not by a longshot.

Her father agreed, and Spike felt a special kind of dread settle on him, one that seemed to be only associated with the Slayer.

****

"Okay, so what kind of excuse do you have? Might as well get it out in the open, unlike — say, the way you covered over the fact that you went walking halfway across town and didn't say a word about it?" She began peeling off a bandage on his back, as he sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom.

"Buffy, I was just..." he trailed off. What was he going to say? That he planned on staying at the crypt or sleeping in the car, if things didn't go well? He swallowed what little remained of his pride, and said, "I just didn't want to make a fuss, that's all."

"And what's that supposed to mean? I'm fussing now," she finished and frowned at the jagged cut now exposed. "I think you pulled a couple stitches, here."

"Great," he said bitterly. He should've known it would happen. "Anything else?"

"It's healing well. I think I'll be able to take out the stitches myself — how hard can it be? You snip off one end and pull out the thread very carefully."

"Don't mess with it for now. I'll show you how it's done tomorrow — there's one on my leg that's about due. Speaking of legs, how's yours?"

"It's doing fine, and don't change the subject." She wiped the cut with alcohol, and he sucked in a sudden breath. God, did that sting. "You shouldn't have done that, Spike. If some demon had seen you walking around during the day..."

He exhaled as the thought settled in, "Sorry, pet. I didn't think of that."

"You weren't thinking, period. But bringing the car here ended up doing a little good — Dad doesn't think you're a total mooch, anymore. He might even starting liking you."

"Wonderful," he hissed out as she started in on another cut, dabbing with more alcohol. "So, what happens afterward?"

"After what?"

"The funeral. Is he going to leave, just like that? Or is he taking Dawn back with him?"

"I ... don't know. I kinda didn't want to ask and give him ideas. I can't leave Sunnydale, but I can't let Dawn out of my sight — she's still the Key. And I can't tell my dad about being the Slayer, because he would majorly freak. Dawn would never be able to stay here, and I'd have to sell the house..." She blew out a frustrated breath. "It's a big messy pile of lies and half-truths."

"You can't ignore this, Buffy. If you're thinking about it, he's got to be, too. Giles could be one of those legal guardian types, right? Have the power to watch over the niblet?"

She peeled off another bandage in the intervening silence, then replied, "It's possible, if my dad would go for it. And it's not like he ever came to visit all that often. If he thought the buck could be passed, he'd have the bill in his hand, waiting for it to be taken."

He bit back a small yelp as the alcohol hit a sensitive spot, and Buffy said, "Sorry — didn't mean to hurt you."

"S'okay. Heh, there's a twist, right? I never thought I'd hear that from you," he added in a playful tone, and was rewarded with a self-conscious smile. "When I'm all healed up, you won't have to play nursemaid anymore."

"Sometimes I don't mind being a nursemaid," she replied coyly, and he had to bite back several comments that sprung to mind.

"Oh, you're killing me, Slayer. Friendly interaction only, remember?"

"I'm being friendly. Do you want me to treat you badly?" She finished on his back and came around to face him, her manner all playful and wickedly precarious.

"Only if our definitions of 'bad' match each other," he remarked in a low voice, and he noticed her eyes flash with more than a hint of mischievousness. Her fingers trailed along his chest, skipping over the bandaged parts and her gaze followed along, taking in every inch. It was driving him mad, loving and wanting her now, but needing to wait. Now he knew it wasn't easy for her, either. They were heading down the path to a long month, indeed.

Spike took her hands away, and kissed the back of each one. "Love, you're prolonging the torture."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Maybe we should cut it down to three weeks? Or two?"

He arched an eyebrow, and she sighed. "Okay, bad idea. I should stick to the plan — one month of adjusting for the both of us."

"I should find someplace else to live, then. Or head out of town for a month."

"No, no, no — remember, the being friendly thing is for the gang as well. You not being here kind of defeats that part, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So, where's a place that lets former vampires bed down for little or no rent?"

****

"No, Buffy. I've already done it once, isn't that enough?" Giles answered with a petulant tone to his voice. She hated to call him like this, but it was better to ask now and have him less reticent later.

"Giles, it's only temporary. And he helps out around the house now, cleaning up and everything," she added brightly. "Plus, it's either you or Xander, and knowing those two..."

"They'd end up killing each other on the second day. Very well, but on one condition — he has to help out at the magic shop, and he'll help you train as a sparring partner."

Images of her and Spike in the training room flared through her mind, throwing punches, landing kicks, rolling around and pinning each other to the mat ... "Done," she replied, suddenly a bit breathless.

"Good. Let me know when he's ready, and I'll get things set up."

"Giles, you're the best. And another thing ... it's about Dawn and the whole custody issue."

"I know — I've been thinking about that, as well. Your mother appointed me as a legal guardian for you both, after she was first diagnosed. I think it was in the interest of playing it safe, and wanting to make sure someone would be there for you and Dawn if something happened to her. I didn't tell you before because she didn't want you to worry, and after the surgery it didn't seem so important, anymore. I'm sorry."

"No, that's more than fine, Giles. I'm so glad she thought of that — it saves us the hassle of doing it now. I can't let my dad take Dawn with him, and you're the only one with legal authority to prevent it."

"Consider it done. I'll talk to him about it after the funeral." She thanked him, and hung up the phone silently, wary of her father listening in. But he was still in the living room, watching TV.

Buffy had glossed over the sleeping arrangements, but now she knew it had to be dealt with. First, she went upstairs and changed the sheets on her mother's bed — for some reason, she couldn't allow her father to sleep on them, maybe in fear that the lingering smell of her mother would be erased, or tainted. She thought over sharing a bed with Dawn, but then she remembered that they'd never been able to share without kicking each other out. Her mind skipped quickly over the idea of sharing with Spike, then just as quickly over sleeping on the couch. That couch.

They had sleeping bags somewhere ... she could grab a couple and it would be like camping, only indoors. She was about to walk downstairs when she heard Spike call her name, from her room. He'd been in there ever since she changed the bandages on his back, then insisted on doing the rest, himself.

"Yes?" She opened the door and peeked in, not prepared for the sight of an unclothed Spike sitting on her bed, with a sheet draped conveniently over his lap. Some of the cuts on his leg were dark pink lines, and the bandages were discarded in her trashcan.

"I was going to pull out one of the stitches tonight, thought you'd might want a look-see," he said, then caught the look on her face, and where she was looking, then stammered, "Well, uh, not that kind of look-see. Sorry, I don't have shorts or boxers."

It felt very hot in there, all of a sudden. "W-where is it? The cut, I mean."

"Here," he pointed to a faint red line on his right thigh. "But you don't have to watch, really. It was just a thought."

She closed the door behind her firmly, praying her sister wouldn't decide that now would be a good time to look for her. Or her father, for that matter. "No, I should watch now, in case the ones on your back are next."

He nodded, then proceeded to take out the stitches as she watched, memorizing everything he did and trying to ignore the allure of the well-defined muscles of his abdomen and chest, which had ensnared her earlier that night...

Don't go there, she chided herself, and focused back on what he was doing. His arms and hands moved with grace and precision, the movements of a lifetime and more of experience. Buffy had to again block out thoughts that began to drift, and refocus.

After several minutes of work and instruction, he finished and said, "And that's how it's done. Very simple." She nodded, already committing it to memory. And then some, her mind added naughtily, which she quickly stifled.

"Yep. And remind me to buy you some underwear in the future, Spike."

He grinned in an echo of the Spike of old. "Well, if you're going to, make 'em boxers. Preferably the silk kind."

"Black?" she asked demurely, although her blood was racing. "Or with little red hearts?"

"Use your imagination," he replied, his voice rough, like sandpaper on satin. The smile she gave him was about in the same condition as her knees, unfortunately.

Buffy got to her feet in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but her body betrayed her horribly as she wobbled a bit before standing straight. "Just my leg."

He nodded, then said, "Make sure you take care of it. Don't fret about me and forget yourself."

"I won't," she replied, determined.

"I could take a look at it if you want..."

"No! No, that's okay." Now she understood — this was payback for the moment in the bathroom earlier. But she wasn't going to rise to the bait — she wouldn't. "I've been hurt worse. And it's healing fine. I better grab my pajamas and go find the sleeping bags."

"Sleeping bags? What for?" The puzzlement in his voice erased the mood he'd tried to create.

"For the sleeping I'll be doing tonight. Dad is in my mom's room, Dawn is in hers, you're here, and I'll ... take the dining room. It has carpeting, which isn't so bad."

"No, you're not. I'll take the couch and you'll sleep here. No arguing."

His demeanor showed he meant it, but Buffy shook her head. "You're injured and need the rest. I won't be able to sleep, anyway."

And she knew it, too. The grief had abated due to so many things going on at once, but now with the day winding down and facing her mother's funeral tomorrow, it had come back in force. Weariness crept in, and she leaned against her dresser for support.

Spike fidgeted, not able to move from the spot. He wasn't really too forceful in his current predicament. "You should be in here. This is your room."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine. Really." She felt so tired, but she managed to push herself away from the dresser and in the general direction of the door. He couldn't stop her, not in his present state of undress, and she closed the door behind her as she left.

****

It only took a couple minutes before Spike came after her, having thrown on a pair of pants and a button-down shirt hastily, the latter still unbuttoned. He found her digging through the mess in the basement, looking for the sleeping bags with a single-minded focus that troubled him. She never even looked up as he approached.

"Buffy, please. I'll sleep in the car, or the couch, if you don't mind. Just don't make me feel like a bloody wanker, here. Take your room back."

"I just need to find the sleeping bags — they're down here, somewhere. Mom knew ... she knew where..."

She stopped, her hand moving to cover her mouth, to stifle sudden, unbidden sobs. "I can't do this, I can't ... I don't know how. I try, but I can't..."

He pulled her into his arms, knowing he shouldn't cross the line but needing to do more than offer bland comfort. Her arms tightened around him and he winced, but he said nothing of it. "Shh, it's all right, love. Let it out," he murmured into her ear, stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her.

She tried to explain through her tears. "I'm — I'm scared. I'm not in control of anything anymore — I can't be the Slayer like this, without being in control of what I feel and when. A Slayer has to be strong, and — and I'm not. I try to be, but I'm not."

She sounded so lost, so vulnerable, but unwilling to let go of the control she hoarded so preciously. "You're the strongest and toughest woman I've ever met, physically, emotionally, and mentally. But you need to grieve, whether you want to or not. Keeping it inside, it'll just eat away at you."

"But ... but Dawn. She needs me to be strong for her."

"She's a strong one in her own right — you don't give her enough credit. And don't forget, you've got your friends."

He felt her sigh shakily. "I haven't talked to them since you left the hospital. I've been so busy..."

"...Avoiding the grief by focusing on the details. But you can't hide from it forever." A flash of insight came to him, and he added, "Is that why you don't want to sleep in your room?"

She stiffened momentarily in his arms, and he got the feeling she wanted to avoid the subject. "I just want you to be comfortable, that's all.

""It's the memories, isn't it? Going back to the familiar is hard, 'cause you associate it with the way things were before. It hurts to remember so much." He'd come to know that personally, over the past couple of days. It surprised him a little when he felt her nod, releasing some of what she'd been holding inside.

"It's ... it's hard to be in there, alone. In my mom's room, it wasn't so bad for some reason. Maybe it was because I didn't have as many memories in that room as in mine. Her room was her area, her away place that we didn't go unless she needed us in there. But my room is the one place where I can't escape the fact that she's gone. All those childhood things that remind me of ... of her, and I can't be there."

He just held her, waiting for more. After a few seconds, she continued in a stronger voice, "I need to be in control, and I can only do that if I'm not thinking about it all the time. I need to do something, and I can't be weak and weepy like this — the hellmouth doesn't give you a leave of absence."

"What do you plan on doing, then?" He asked quietly, and she pulled away to look at him, her eyes red from crying. "Fight until the pain goes away? Avoid it until it leaves you alone? It won't. If I could make it different, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but the fact of the matter is, it's gonna take time."

"How much time?" She asked, sniffling.

"I don't know, pet. Maybe weeks, maybe months, or years. It'll be a hard road in the beginning, but that's what we're all here for. All of us together are stronger than one person, alone."

"But I have to be alone — I'm the Slayer."

" 'No man is an island'," he quoted, brushing away a few stray strands of hair falling on her face, "or woman, for that matter. You might feel like it at times, but it's more of a ... peninsula, with your friends and family tying you to the shoreline."

"Nice imagery, there," Buffy replied, some of the sadness beginning to subside. "And I think you've made your point. I'm not much of a leaner, but I'll give it a try."

He nodded, hoping that she would. "Let's go upstairs, before your father starts wondering where you are."

"But what about—" she broke off, her eyes fixed on something behind his shoulder. He turned and saw it, himself ... the sleeping bags were sitting innocuously on a shelf along the far wall. He looked back to her and she finished, "—never mind."

****

Her father had already gone to bed early, thanks to jet lag, and Dawn watched as Buffy and Spike came out of the basement, hauling the sleeping bags out. Curious, she walked over to find out what was going on.

"Planning on camping out tonight?" Dawn asked.

"No, it's for me," Buffy replied, and Spike gave her a resigned look. "I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Um, where? In your room, with Spike?" Buffy's eyes widened in alarm, and Dawn nearly smiled. Oh yeah, she was into him, big time. "Well, you can sleep in my room. We can share."

"I don't think so. Remember the last time we shared a bed?" Buffy said archly.

"You're forgetting that never really happened, Buffy. But if you want, you can have a place on the floor, free of charge."

"Gee, thanks," her sister answered dryly, and Spike smiled. Dawn started to wonder if gathering sleeping bags hadn't been the only activity going on downstairs, now that she noticed Spike's unbuttoned shirt.

"Well, I'm just making sure things don't get awkward — y'know, with Dad around and all. If you two want to sleep in the same room, that's fine with me."

Dawn was rather satisfied with the look on astonishment on her sister's face. Spike really tried to sputter out some sort of protest and defense, but it only made her more convinced that something was going on. She knew Spike still loved her sister — it was plain on his face that he did, whenever he looked at Buffy — and Buffy wasn't exactly the same around him, like before. It was more than kindness ... she was sure of it.

Buffy finally ushered her sister upstairs and Dawn smiled a small smile of triumph. She'd find out eventually; it was just a matter of time

****

Angel drove from Buffy's house and wandered around aimlessly, still trying to piece everything together. He wished he had someone to talk to, to hash through the jumbled thoughts and ideas in his brain, and he quickly found himself driving towards Giles' place.

Knowing the former librarian, he would still be up. Maybe he would know the answer to the question plaguing him. If not, Wesley might ... but even then, it wasn't clear.

He pulled up and parked, then peeked through the window. The lights were still on, but Giles had company. After a second or two, he recognized the others, and he smiled without realizing it. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he missed the old group. They hadn't ever really welcomed him in, but he still felt something for them all.

The door opened only a few moments after he knocked, and Giles' shocked face was the first one he saw. "Uh, hi there," Angel started, and shuffled a bit, his plan now seeming very stupid. "I was around and I thought I'd, y'know, drop by."

"Angel, you never just 'drop by' ... but please, come in," Giles replied, and moved aside so he could enter. The others turned in mild surprise, not thoroughly shocked to see him there. Willow was more somber than he was used to seeing, and Xander badly needed a haircut. A pale dark blonde was near Willow, and she looked around at everyone else, trying to puzzle out what was going on.

"Buffy must have called you," Willow said, after making a quick introduction between Angel and the girl whose name was Tara. "I didn't think of that — I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's still really overwhelming. Wesley and Cordelia are coming up tomorrow for the funeral — that's all right, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, that's fine. We were just going over the last details and everything. I, uh, don't mean to pry, but you look a little more broody than normal. Is something wrong?"

"Well, uh, maybe. Or maybe not, that's the thing. I wanted to talk to Giles about it, but it might be better with all of you here. I presume you know about Spike being human."

"Yeah, we were there," Xander answered, sounding somewhat melancholy. A hint of respect entered in when he mentioned Spike. "He wasn't supposed to live, with all that damage to his body. He even knew about it before going in there, but he did it anyway."

"I have to admit, it was very courageous of him," Giles added.

Angel looked at them all, astonished. How could Spike have done such a thing without a soul? "You mean he went in to save Dawn, knowing he'd die coming out? And he wasn't coerced, or anything?"

Willow nodded. "The chip was even gone. But he knew only a vampire could go in and save her. And he could've walked away, but he didn't."

"He could have tried to walk away," Xander emphasized darkly.

Same old Xander, Angel thought wryly. But this piece of information only troubled him further. "Giles, have you ever heard of the Shanshu prophecy?"

"It sounds familiar. I think I have a book that mentions it," he turned to his bookshelf and pulled out a thick volume. After thumbing through it for awhile, he found the passage. "Yes, here it is — the Shanshu prophecy is about ... a vampire with a soul, who will 'shanshu' after a series of trials. Shanshu can be translated either as death, or life, depending on the circumstance."

Giles took off his glasses and stared at Angel. "But for an undead creature, shanshu would be life, not death."

"I found the scroll with the original prophecy. It pretty much says the same thing, and Wesley — well, we all assumed it meant me. But now that Spike is human, I wonder ... if I was supposed to be here to fulfill the prophecy."

"I can see your dilemma," Giles said, putting his glasses back on. "If you weren't in a position to fulfill the prophecy, maybe the Powers That Be selected someone else to take your place. Since Spike still has the healing ability and strength of his former ... state, it does seem a bit predetermined."

"And Spike got chipped shortly after you left," Willow supplied. "After the whole Gem of Amarra thing, he came back and then got captured by the Initiative. But wouldn't it have been easier to just bring you here?"

"You would think ... but I wasn't exactly in a mood to be compelled to do anything, these past few months," Angel answered, ashamed. "I ignored what the Powers were telling me and went way off the path. Maybe this is their way of punishing me for that."

"Or maybe this wasn't what the Shanshu prophecy meant," the blonde woman piped up, and all eyes turned to her. "M-maybe it's just something that happened. Not shanshu, but something like it."

Angel mulled it over. "I'd like to think that, and I hope it's true ... but, well, I might have to talk to Wesley about it. He'll remember what the scroll said better than I do. Y'know, it's not even the part about being human that bugs me, it's the fact that Spike — that the process ended up giving him the same powers he had as a vampire, more or less. If I wanted to be human, I know how to—" he stopped, horrified at the slip.

The others stared at him, and finally Giles asked, "You know how to become human?"

Caught, Angel sighed and replied, "You can't tell Buffy about this, but I do know a way to turn a vampire into a human being. The blood of a Mohra demon has regenerative qualities for a vampire, but it has to mix with the vampire's blood in order to work."

"Why shouldn't we tell her?" Xander asked, somewhat outraged. "How long have you known about this, Angel? A month, a year? Years?"

"No, it's not like that. The thing is, Mohra demons are elite assassins and are both rare and tough to beat. They hardly ever leave the demon realm except while on a contract hit. You can't store the blood, and they aren't the type to give donations, anyway.

"I ran into one last year, that's how I know. But the prophecy made me think it wasn't the right time for it to happen, and if I turned human outside of the prophecy, then I wouldn't be able to fulfill it. Plus, I didn't want to be human if it meant I wouldn't be able to fight anymore."

Willow looked to Giles, who looked to Xander. Angel tried to follow the path, mystified as to what was going on. "What, guys?"

Willow's eyes didn't meet his, as she spoke. "What you said about fighting — Riley was kind of the same way. I don't think he could take being only human while Buffy was out there patrolling. He wanted to help, but he couldn't fight on her level. That's partly why he left."

The knowledge that he'd done the same thing, in a way, settled on him heavily. "I see. That ... fits with what Spike told me, sort of."

"You talked to Spike?" Giles asked.

"Yeah, over at Buffy's house." When he was answered with silence, he said, "You guys didn't know?"

"Well, kinda ... but you seem okay about it. In a non-violent way," Willow commented. "I mean, we figured he was staying somewhere, and since it wasn't any of us ... the only person left was Buffy."

"He'll be here for a short while as well, after he's recuperated," Giles added, not exactly thrilled at the idea. "But Willow's right, you don't seem rather ... disturbed by it."

"It's okay, really. Well, it's not dancing-on-clouds okay, but for the first time, I feel like it's really over between us. We both had the closure tonight that we didn't have two years ago, or even last year."

"That's good to hear," Xander said, meaning it. "Closure is always a good thing. You have to move on with life, see the paths that have closed and take the detour."

"You just have to pay attention to the road signs," Willow mentioned solemnly.

****

Dawn stared at the shadows on the ceiling, thin tendrils of darkness cast from a light hitting the tree outside, dappling the blank surface. Her mind flashed back to art class, and the teacher talking about negative space. She got it, now ... but it was easier to apply it to the shapes on the ceiling, though, than on herself.

She'd hid her day at class from Buffy, mostly because it was too embarrassing. She had managed to make it through the first two classes, only to cry through English and was sent to the office for most of the fourth period. People had stared, whispering. Most were sympathetic, like her friends at school and the teachers. Others just avoided her, as if her grief was contagious.

Art class was the hardest. Her teacher almost forced her to go home, but she had pleaded with her to stay. She regretted it later, after she started crying again halfway through the class. Kevin had squirmed, unsure what to do, while her friend comforted her and lead her to the bathroom to clean up and pull herself together. Kirstey was out there, watching. Maybe gathering more ammunition, or waiting for the crazy Summers girl to crack.

The dark forms on the ceiling moved in the wind, branches shifting and twisting into new patterns. She knew those shadows, because it was negative space ... just like her. She was the shadow, the empty part of the picture. The loss of her mother drained away a piece of who she was, her identity. More negative space.

"Dawn, are you asleep?" Buffy's voice cut through the silence, down below on Dawn's right.

"No. Just thinking."

"About what?"

Dawn shrugged. "Nothing. Well, and school."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. It was hard, I cried, but I don't wish I stayed home."

She heard the sound of nylon being shifted around, the jingle of the zipper against metal teeth. "I'm sorry I've been running around and ignoring you. I thought if I kept busy, I could avoid breaking down before ... before tomorrow. I haven't been there for you, and that's not how it should be."

"It's okay. I wanted to be alone. I think I need to — we're different that way. I used to run away to be alone, and you always ran away to avoid dealing. You don't run away now, but you still try to find ways to escape, somehow, either through fighting or being on top of things."

"Funny. Spike said almost the same thing..." Buffy stopped, then continued, "...but nevermind that. You're right, we don't deal the same way. But I want you to know that you can always lean on me, no matter what."

"I know, Buffy," Dawn said, swallowing away a brief moment of weakness. She focused her mind on what else Buffy had said. "Did Spike tell you that when you were down in the basement?"

"Yes — now go to sleep, Dawn."

She waited a few seconds, then said, "I like him, but you already knew that, I guess. I'm glad he's here."

"So am I ... but it's only temporary." Buffy sounded a bit too wistful about it to her ears. "Now, please get some sleep."

"Okay," Dawn answered, turning her head so she could no longer see the patterns of shadow on the ceiling.

****

The next day started off easier than the past few days, as long as Buffy thought of her mother's funeral as 'the ceremony'. If she focused on the details, she would come across as very strong and brave to her friends and family — Spike and Dawn would know the truth, but no one else needed to know.

Her Aunt Darlene and Uncle Joe came by before the funeral, mostly to try and console their nieces, and pay their respects. Her aunt resembled her mother just enough that Buffy almost started at seeing her, afraid yet almost hopeful that her mother wasn't really dead, after all. When reality kicked in, it hit harder than she expected. She had to run to the bathroom to compose herself.

Aunt Darlene let her know that she had already arranged to have food brought in for the family for when they all came back to the house, which Buffy had completely forgot about. She knew her family and friends would be coming over, but the food issue had slipped her mind. She felt foolish when she began to cry, upset over missing such a small but sudden important detail. Her aunt tried to comfort her, telling her everything was fine, but Buffy suddenly felt bitter and angry at the remark. Nothing was fine, anymore.

She retreated to her room only to dress for the funeral, searching through her closet for something appropriate to wear. The fact that most of her black clothing was tight, or made of leather — or both — sickened her. The one day she needed something respectable, decent, and her closet was filled with tawdry choices. The little black dress she owned was too much little, and not enough dress. She eventually found a pair of black pants, deemed it worthy, and tossed it on the bed to search for a suitable blouse to go with it.

She found a grey silk blouse, understated for what she normally wore. A knock on the door pulled her out of an internal debate over chunky heels or flats, and she opened it to find Spike standing outside, looking a bit meek.

"Uh, sorry about intruding and all, but ... my clothes are in here."

It took about a second for that to sink in. "Oh. Sorry — I didn't think."

He grabbed a folded pile of black clothes on the floor, but before he could leave, she asked him hesitantly, "Which of these should I wear, the heels or the flats? I can't decide."

He looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Well, wear whatever's the most comfortable, I guess. Nobody's gonna care what's on your feet anyway."

"Okay. Thanks." He was about to walk past her, when she spoke again. "I'm sorry — I'm obsessing on the details again, aren't I?"

"It's all right, pet. We're all a little scattered today," he rubbed her shoulder, and she tried to smile in gratitude. "Now I'm gonna get dressed, and then I'll pull my car around and we'll head out."

"Your car?" she asked, puzzled.

He shrugged. "Your father wanted to take a spin in it, and I offered to drive you all. It's the least I can do."

She smiled genuinely now, still amazed at the change he'd undergone. "Thanks. I'd — I'd better get dressed now. So ... shoo."

He grinned at the term, then disappeared out the door, closing it behind him.

****

Time seemed to hold still as they headed over to the funeral home, or so Dawn thought. Everything appeared to move slower, take more time. The silence was excruciating, prolonged. She brushed lint off her black dress for the seventh time, still seeing white flecks against the fabric.

This was the one Mom had bought her, because she said every girl needed a black dress, for any occasion. It had hung in her closet, waiting for a party or a dance. She never thought she'd wear it to her mother's funeral.

The service at the church was formal, and very moving. People from her mother's life stood up before everyone and shared memories of her. She started crying while Buffy was up in front, saying a few words about Mom. She didn't feel so bad when she noticed there wasn't a dry eye in the place after Buffy stepped down.

The wake was simple, and short — people she didn't know came up to her and tried to comfort her, or tell her how wonderful her mother was, and how deeply she would be missed. Even Brian had come to pay his respects, wishing he'd had the time to get to know Joyce better. Wesley and Cordelia also had come, having driven up from LA that day. They'd never been close friends of the family, but they too had the same haunted look as the rest of the people in the room.

The processional to the cemetery was slow, as expected. Dawn tried not to think about where they were going, but it was inevitable. Time might seem to slow, but it never stopped.

Another small service was held at the gravesite, and they stood in the midst of a day where the sun was shining, a hint of spring and new life was in the air, and they were burying her mother. It was unreal; she wanted to scream for it to stop, there must've been a mistake, this wasn't her mother — but she felt Buffy's arm go around her shoulder and the sorrow overwhelmed her, letting her cry once again.

She caught a glimpse of Giles pulling her father away, while everyone else hugged each other and left for their cars, some leaving for home and others heading over to their house. Spike was right there, as he'd been the entire time. The all-black wardrobe wasn't exactly like the old Spike — a collared shirt rather than the T-shirt — but even so he seemed more familiar this way. It was almost comforting.

Her father joined them last at the DeSoto, looking more pale and perturbed than before. When she asked him what was wrong, he brushed it off with a tentative smile and said everything was fine. Buffy shared a look with Spike up in the front seat, one she couldn't figure out, but he merely nodded and pulled away from the gravesite.

****

Whatever Giles had said to the man, Spike noted, it had apparently worked. Buffy's eyes connected with his, the first time he'd seen relief there in a long while. He shared that relief and nodded back, then joined with the rest of traffic leaving the cemetery and headed for home. Their home, he amended silently, not his.

People were already here, waiting for them on the porch. Xander and Willow, with Anya and Tara, were clustered together as Buffy's aunt and uncle were to one side, chatting with some cousin. They all went inside and soon talking filled the quiet halls of the house, a joyous sound compared the stillness he'd heard when they'd first come back from the hospital. The cousin and aunt forbade Buffy from entering her own kitchen, not wanting her to have to hassle with the food. Once reminded that she needed to be the hostess, Buffy backed down and mingled with the rest of group, waiting for the others to arrive.

Giles pulled Spike aside a short time later, away into a corner of the living room that was unoccupied. He was curious as to what the Watcher had to say, although he worried that his idle thought of Giles trying to make him a Watcher was now going to become reality.

"I've been considering your current ... status, Spike, and I feel I may have a solution to some of the more pressing problems. Namely, legal papers and the like. I've mentioned one idea to Buffy, and she approved of it, so it's up to you if you want it. Well, it's ultimately up to the Watchers' Council for approval, but I don't think they'd dislike the idea."

"What is it?" He asked, growing somewhat impatient with Giles' drawn-out phrases.

"Buffy needs someone to train her, at a level that I can't — physical training, that is. She needs a live target, someone she can fight against that's at the same strength level. Considering the fact that you're still at the same—"

"I'll do it."

Giles blinked. "You don't mind, being a-a punching bag, per se?"

"It's to keep her at fighting trim, yeah? Why would I mind? Besides, it's not like I wasn't her punching bag before this all happened," he remarked, trying to keep the smile off of his face. That Giles had thought of this all on his own was just too perfect.

The Watcher continued on, "Well, that — that's good. And, um, the Council has very powerful ties to various, uh, organizations, so getting the paperwork necessary for setting up an identity should be part of the package."

"Package?"

"Well, um, payment, of course. For your ... services." Spike was completely floored. Getting paid for fighting and training Buffy? He felt like he was dreaming. He had to be dreaming ... wasn't he? "I'm sure they'll insist on some sort of stipend, considering they also have one for Buffy. They realize that the Slayer isn't the sort of person who can hold down a normal job, and it's needed most when something happens to the Slayer's parents. That's one other reason they try to — to keep the identity of the Slayer a secret."

"To keep some Big Bad from using the parents against her. Makes sense. It looks like these blighters have thought of everything." So that was how she always had the cash to pay him. Not to mention the money to spend on all that leather...

He shook those distracting thoughts aside, and focused back on Giles. "If this all pans out, then I won't need to stay with anyone for very long, right?"

"Yes, that's one of the bonuses of the whole plan," the older man smiled mysteriously, then quickly sobered. "But I'm sure once I explain your ... special case, they won't hesitate to agree with me."

Spike got an uneasy feeling with the idea of informing a bunch of ponces about his new situation, but in light of how powerful these Watchers were, they might know already. "All right then. And I, um, have to thank you for thinking of it. I know I'm not exactly the type of fellow you'd want to help out, so ... it's appreciated. And I'm sorry about, y'know, being evil and everything before."

Giles didn't appear to know what to say to that. "Well, um, yes. That — that's rather decent of you to say, I must admit. You do mean it, don't you?"

The Watcher seemed a bit unsure, so Spike smiled as sincerely as he could. And he was sincere. "Yeah, I do. I didn't do so well the first time around as a human, and now I've got a chance to do it right. Now I understand why Angel does what he does," he replied, feeling the melancholy welling up again. Not wanting to appear so vulnerable in front of Giles, he shrugged it away.

Something in Giles' countenance made him think he hadn't been entirely successful, but if so, he never said a word about it. "By the way, Spike, was Angel around anywhere, today? I didn't see him."

"Unlikely that you would, if he didn't want to be seen, but no — I didn't see him, either. Maybe he took off, already."

"Maybe," Giles nodded, and took off his glasses to clean them. "He was a bit upset last night. He thought maybe you'd fulfilled the prophecy meant for him."

This was surprising news. "Angel has a prophecy? I thought that sort of thing was reserved for the Slayer."

"It's for the vampire with a soul, which as I far as I know, can only mean him. Apparently, the reward is to become human."

"Oh." No wonder Angel had been off, that night. "So he's thinking I took his spot? That's silly, even for him. I didn't have a soul."

"True, but the chip acted in a similar fashion, and your capture by the Initiative seemed to coincide with Angel leaving for Los Angeles. If he was meant to stay here and fulfill it—"

"—then him leaving meant someone had to take his place. But, why not just force him to come back here?"

"That's a good point," Giles relented. "Willow mentioned that to him, although I don't think he accepted it. I think what bothered him the most was that you kept your powers, and if the prophecy does end up with him turning human, then most likely he won't."

"Yeah, that would bug him," Spike said thoughtfully. "He always has to be in charge, on top of things." If Angel were human, it would've only driven a wedge between him and Buffy, like it did with her and Riley. He could never accept being unable to fight on her level.

This turn of events had given him an opportunity Angel would likely never have. It was a humbling thought. "Giles, if you see him later, tell him ... tell him that I don't think he should be worried about what some scroll or book says. If something's meant to be, it'll happen."

Giles nodded, and more people arrived just then, distracting them from the conversation. He apparently recognized one of the bunch, and Spike turned to see who it was.

Well, it was a couple of people, in truth. The two brunettes were unmistakable, although the man was much more laid-back than he remembered, and her hair was ... very different. Cordelia and ... Wesley, was it?

Cordelia flitted around, enjoying the company of people she knew while Wesley hung back, looking ill at ease. He spotted Giles and headed over, keeping his eyes on the former vampire. After the normal pleasantries, Wesley turned to Spike, obviously looking him over as a scientist would for a lab specimen.

"It's a bit hard to believe, you turning human and all ... but after what I've experienced in LA, I probably shouldn't say that," Wesley remarked. "How do you feel?"

"Genuinely miserable."

"Good," he replied with satisfaction. "You should. But try not to get mopey like Angel. It's bad enough having one of him around."

Spike grinned. "Yeah, isn't it?"

"Cordelia wanted to talk to you about an idea of hers, and I'm forbidden to speak to you about it because she's afraid I'll color your opinion."

"And you would, stuffy guy," a female voice piped up from behind Spike. He turned and found Cordelia standing with her hands on hips, her attitude subdued only out of respect for the present situation. "C'mon, Spike, let's let the British guys talk — except uh, you're British, too, but nevermind that," she amended, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. He winced from the pain, but gritted his teeth.

"So what's this all about?" he asked once she'd taken him a good distance away from the bulk of the others.

She glanced around for any possible eavesdroppers, then beamed with enthusiasm. "There's this demon in LA that owns a club ... well, it's really more like a bar. But anyway, he has the ability to read someone's soul and figure out what they're supposed to do with their lives. When I heard what happened to you, I thought — hey! Here's someone who could use some direction in their life."

"What's the catch?" Spike eyed her warily, knowing it couldn't be that easy. At least, not with demon foreseers involved.

Her face fell. "You, uh, have to sing karaoke. That's the only way the Host can see into your soul."

"The Host? Hold on, I think I remember a demon like that. Green skin, red eyes, kind of a poofter?"

"The first two are right, the last ... I don't know what poofter means, but that's probably accurate. You know about him already?"

"Last time I was in LA, I heard he was scrounging around. But he was calling himself Charlie back then. Didn't pay much attention to him, since I didn't have a soul for him to read. So he owns a bar in LA, now?" He mulled the idea over, then grinned. "Yeah, why not? Might as well. But we'll have to do this after-hours, since I don't think his clientele would be keen on seeing me there. Or rather, I'm not keen on them seeing me."

"Gotcha. After hours, we can do. Just give me a call when you want to come down, and I'll hook you two up. Uh, not that way!" she corrected herself, when she saw the horrified look in his eyes.

"Bloody right, you aren't," he replied testily, and took the offered business card from her hand. "That's the last sort of reputation I need, at this point."

"Touchy, aren't we? Well, don't worry, I'll arrange everything. Now, I'm off to mingle a bit more. See ya," she breezed over to where Willow and Tara were standing.

Things were falling oddly into place, Spike noted, and tucked the card into his pocket. Maybe all that stuff about the Powers was for real, after all. Then he shook his head for even having such a silly thought.

****

A couple hours went by, and relatives and friends began to leave, consoling Buffy and Dawn as they left. Buffy had been consumed with the arrangements, but now as everything was coming to a halt, reality once again set in.

Her mother was gone. She blinked away sudden tears as she hugged Willow, Tara and Giles, the last ones to leave. Think about something else, how pretty the sunset is, how cold it is outside. Willow waved good-bye, and it took all of her strength not to start crying right then and there.

Dawn hugged her around the waist, leaning on her as they watched them leave in Giles' car. Her father stood to one side, concerned for his two daughters. Spike sat in the living room, trying to rest his legs since he'd spent most of the day standing.

Her father coaxed Dawn away, telling her he needed to speak with her, alone. Dawn looked to Buffy, and she gestured for her to on. She wasn't sure how Dawn would take it, but it was for the best. Hopefully, Dawn would see that.

Buffy walked over into the living room, and sat on the coffee table, opposite Spike. They looked at each other, a bit dazed by it all. He spoke first, breaking the pensive mood.

"How are you holding up?"

She sighed in exasperation. "I'm so sick of people asking me that. It's all I heard today — How are you? It must be horrible, I don't know how you can be so strong. I can't say 'I'm the Slayer, and my sister needs me. I have to be strong'. But I feel anything but right now ... my dad's gonna leave, and then what? What happens next?"

He patted next to him on the couch, asking her to sit down next to him, but she hesitated. "I don't — I don't think I can sit ... there, right now."

"You'll have to sometime, Buffy," he said quietly. She could tell he wanted to help, but it was hard, not knowing what she needed. Taking a deep breath, she lifted herself off the coffee table and sat down next to him, on the far side of the couch. She leaned into him and put an arm her, pulling her close. They stayed like that until she began to cry, sobbing quietly.

It was several minutes later before she composed herself. It came almost automatically, now, the hurt subsiding into a dullness. Someday that dullness would leave, causing her to face her grief more head on, but for now she was glad for it. Buffy wiped her eyes and noticed he'd gotten teary-eyed, as well.

She looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head, almost embarrassed. "I just miss her."

The sorrow in his voice almost caused her to start again, but she managed to tamp the emotions down. "You know that sunset on the beach that I promised you? How about we go right now?"

"Now? Are you sure?" He watched her in worry, possibly wondering if she'd slipped around the bend.

She nodded. "I need to get out of the house, just for a little while. And I want to do something other than wait here for the next wave of grief to hit me."

He blew out a long breath, thinking it over, then said, "Well, if we're going, we'd better hurry."

They both rose out off of the couch, nearly leaning on each other for support. Buffy wrote a quick note to Dawn and her father, leaving it on the kitchen counter, then followed Spike out to his car.

****

Aside from the occasional couple walking by, the beach was mostly deserted this time of year. He'd never seen this beach except at night, so the sight of the water shining like diamonds in the light of the sun entranced him, a sight he'd last seen around 120 years ago. Clouds were streaked with shades of purple and deep pink high above, while orange strands decorated the horizon line. It was simply magnificent.

Buffy leaned against him while they sat on a bench, partly for warmth. The temperature was still dropping, and soon the coats they had on wouldn't be enough to stave off the chill, but it didn't matter.

He hated to break the mood, but he believed he should tell her about the talk he'd had with Giles and Cordelia. She was happy for what Giles had offered him, and ecstatic that it meant they could see each other without it being too obvious. Buffy wasn't quite so sure on the demon karaoke bar idea.

"Wait a minute. So what's this soul-reading? Is that like palm-reading?"

"Not quite," he smiled in amusement. "He sees what direction your life is supposed to take when you sing. Which could be a bad thing, as well as a good thing."

She wrinkled her brow. "How did Cordelia know about this?"

"I didn't ask. Although the thought of one of them up on stage..." he grinned. "I'd pay to see Angel sing karaoke. That would be a laugh. Wonder what he'd sing?"

"Be nice," Buffy scolded, then said, "He said he'd be back tonight, but I didn't see him lurking around at all, today."

"Neither did I, but that might mean he's getting better at it." He paused, not sure if he should ask the next logical question.

She beat him to it. "Seeing him yesterday was good, and it wasn't painful, for the first time in forever. I'm glad he came, but if he took off already, I don't feel sad about it."

He stifled a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good. Uh, right?"

She looked up, smiling. "Yeah, it's a good."

He smiled back, wondering if maybe it would be okay to bend the friendly-only rules, just this once. But then Buffy turned away, and the moment was lost. He wasn't too upset, though, since he planned to make up for it later. When he healed up and Giles finalized all that paperwork and stuff with the Watchers, their first training session would be very interesting, indeed.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the last of the sunset. When the sunlight dimmed enough that the frigid wing overpowered the remaining warmth of the sun, Spike tugged Buffy up from the bench and back to his old DeSoto, heading back to the house in case Angel did make good on his promise.

He saw a flicker of movement from across the street, a dark silhouette within the shadow cast from a beach shop. He felt his jaw tighten, not able to sense the presence, but more than sure of the identity.

Buffy stalled, waiting for him to catch up. He focused back on her, thinking that maybe things weren't as resolved as Angel said. Or maybe it was a case of jealousy. How ironic would that be? A de-souled Angel had taken Dru away from him, and now Spike, as a human with a soul, was walking away with Buffy. It was such a twisted turn of events that it lent Spike to think more about the possibility of interference from above, since it played out as such as delightfully cruel cosmic joke.

****

It didn't take long for Angel to show up. True to form, his face was dark and melancholy, consumed with too much reflection for his own good. Once it had been appealing to Buffy, but now she only felt sad that he was doomed to be perpetually unhappy — not due to any curse, but from his own making.

She was sitting on the back porch, since Dawn and her father were watching TV. She knew he would find her here, and he didn't disappoint.

"Buffy, I have to know something," he said without preamble, walking up to her as she sat on the top of the short flight of stairs leading up to the porch.

"Is 'hello' no longer in your vocabulary?" she replied wearily, and he noted it with a grimace and a shake of the head.

"Sorry. Hello, nice night we're having. There, now the pleasantries are over. Are you in love with Spike?"

Her eyes widened, both at the sharp tone to his voice and the question. "Where is this coming from? You said you were okay with it."

"I know. This isn't about us. It's about how you feel. You're not doing this because you feel sorry for him or something, is it?"

"What??" The word came out a little louder than she wanted, but it was too late to worry about it now. "Do you really think that I — that I'd just hook up with someone because I felt pity for them? I thought you knew me better than that."

He shrugged, his face downcast. "I got myself into a similar situation, once. It took me to a place I had no right to go, and it only ended up hurting a lot of people. I don't want you going down that same path."

"What do you think, that Spike's going to end up turning evil again, or something?"

"Well, no ... but maybe, your feelings for him aren't as strong as his."

Buffy took in a deep breath, feeling a totally different pain, now. "I know more about that than you know. But this is different. I asked for the month so we didn't rush into anything, and he agreed to it. It hasn't been easy, but we're doing this the way it needs to be done, so that it isn't ... what you're talking about.

"But as for your original point — Do I love him?" She thought back on the past few days, being with him in the crypt, seeing him at the warehouse and the long ride to the hospital, then waiting for news on his condition. When he'd kissed her, it felt like she'd waited years for it, even as the level of her desire surprised her. His presence in the house had been a comfort, and she'd started to fall for him on a completely different level.

She looked back to Angel, who was waiting for an answer. Buffy swallowed the dryness in her throat and replied, "I think I'm falling in love with him, yes. And it's scary when I think about it. But with Riley, I never let it get messy, or scary — I was too afraid of getting hurt again." A pained expression crossed Angel's face, since he knew exactly what she was talking about. "But it's not going to be that way with Spike."

"I ... I just wanted to know," Angel answered, his own voice sounding a bit choked. "It's good that you can feel that way."

She knew what he didn't say — 'because I can't'. Giving him a reassuring smile, she got up and hugged him, grateful that their feelings for each other had never turned to hate. He hugged her back, the sadness lifting for a moment, then it descended once again when she pulled away.

A rueful look crossed his face just before he spoke. "You know that even if I did become human, it would never have worked out."

Before, she might have denied it. But time had given her enough perspective to hear the truth in his words. "I know. You told me that your love for me was what put you on the right path, and now I think it wasn't necessarily supposed to be any more than that. Pursuing it only ended up hurting ourselves and others."

There wasn't anything he could say to that. He knew what had happened, the same as her. "I don't regret our time together, Buffy."

"I don't, either." Amazingly, she didn't feel any pain when remembering their shared past. It was a fond memory, but it no longer caused the sadness it once did.

She sensed the same from him, and he gave her a pale smile. They said nothing for a while, then he stepped away and she watched him go, another chapter ending in her life.

Buffy sat on the stoop for several minutes, and eventually Spike came out to find her. She beckoned him to sit down next to her and he did, the scenario not unlike one they'd shared only a few months ago.

"I saw Angel take off," Spike commented off-handedly, but there was a worried undertone to his voice.

The fact that he sounded worried proved to her that he hadn't listened in. But he might have watched, she realized with growing dread. "Angel and I are in the past tense, Spike. I think I told you that already."

He swallowed visibly, "He's always been the love of your life, though. And I guess I can understand—"

"Spike, he was my first love, and I'll always remember that. But I don't love him that way anymore. I have something else now, and I think it's got potential."

He smiled softly, as her meaning dawned on him. "Potential, huh?"

"Yeah, lots of potential. It's potent with potential." She felt herself leaning toward him a little, not much but he took the hint. He leaned in to complete the move, but the back door opened before much else could happen. Two people have never pulled apart from each other faster than they did. From the quietness of the approach, it had to be Dawn.

She was right. "Buffy, there you are — oh, woah. Sorry, did I interrupt a smoochy moment?"

"We were talking," Buffy replied, faking a smile. "Friendly talking, that's all."

Spike wiped a sour look off his face — or tried to — and added, "Yeah, just ... talking."

The comment didn't help. If anything, it only amused Dawn more. "Sure, fine. Whatever. Did Angel show?"

"Yes, he showed," Buffy answered, and stood up from the stoop. "But that's all you're gonna find out tonight. Let's go back into the house."

She ushered Dawn in, and Spike came up behind her while her sister wasn't looking. He leaned down and whispered affectionately in her ear, "Don't think this is over, pet. All I need is one good day."

She shivered, but not in fear — far from it, in fact. "In your dreams, Spike," she said playfully, and felt his hand trail down her back in a maddeningly light touch.

"Oh, no problem there," he grinned, leaving her with nothing to say that her sister couldn't overhear. But it was all moot, since Dawn had turned to watch.

They paused, and Dawn crossed her arms. "What? You think I haven't noticed? Hello — I'm fourteen, I'm not blind."

"What are you talking about?" Buffy tried to cover, her manner and tone all convincing innocence.

"Please, Buffy. I'm your sister." Dawn's confident gaze shook Buffy's calm veneer. "You two have been all over each other. I'm practically bathing in your hormones."

Buffy meant to offer a denial, but Spike touched her shoulder and shook his head. Even he knew when he'd been beaten by a teenager. Frowning, she replied instead. "You can't tell anyone, and I mean anyone. Not Dad, or the gang, or Giles."

"Why not? Is it some big secret?" She scoffed, then it hit her. "It is a secret!"

"Just for now," Buffy added quickly. "Please don't tell anyone. It's for their benefit, and ours. Now isn't the best time for ... things like this. You understand, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. But does this mean Spike is staying?" Dawn asked brightly. Buffy shook her head, and Dawn's face fell. "Oh. Well, that's all right. Buffy and I can do just fine by ourselves."

"I'm sure you can," Spike spoke up. "But I'll be around, niblet."

Dawn gave him a half-smile. "I think you need a new nickname for me, Spike. That one's a little outdated."

"I know that, I just haven't thought of a new one yet," he replied defensively. "'Sides, you're taller than Buffy, now."

Dawn laughed at the outraged look on her sister's face. "You shouldn't have said that, Spike. Now she knows."

"Hey, I'm perfectly proportioned," Buffy argued, then smiled when she noticed the grin on Dawn's face. It had been too long since she'd seen genuine happiness from her younger sister. She felt Spike's arm around her waist, a bit too close for their agreement, but she didn't mind.

"That you are, pet. I wouldn't have you any other way," he said, as Dawn grimaced.

"Oh, yuck. Now you're getting mushy. I'm outta here," Dawn turned and left the kitchen, leaving them behind in her wake.

"Now there's a useful bit of info," Spike said after a moment. "I turn sappy, and she leaves."

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Yeah right. If we're lucky, that'll last for, oh, three months?"

"I was hoping for two." He gave her a peck on the cheek, mindful of the deal they'd made, and pulled away. "C'mon, Slayer. Let's veg out in front of the telly."

Impulsively, she grabbed his hand, and he stopped, looking at her in confusion. She knew he could hear her heart beating faster than normal, and his concern showed plainly in his face. "Spike ... there's something I want to tell you, but it's going to have to wait for a month. Can you remind me to tell you?"

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you now. Ask me in a month, okay?"

He nodded, still confused but no longer worried. Maybe he suspected the truth, but if he did, he never said it. Spike squeezed her hand gently, and she returned it before letting go. Buffy followed him into the living room and joined the rest of the family there.

A peaceful calm presence fell on her as she sat on the floor, the sensation of warm arms wrapping around her shoulders, and she blinked back tears. A hint of her mother's perfume drifted in the air, and she smiled in recognition, the first time something of her mother's hadn't made her turn weepy.

Buffy looked to Dawn, who watched her back with the same smile. Her younger sister felt it, too. Their mother was still there in a sense, just as she said she would, and Buffy felt a huge weight lifted from her. And she knew at that moment that eventually, everything was going to be all right.

- The End -