Buffy glanced at her watch in annoyance, and then looked around Restfield Cemetery, expecting to see a white blond head at any moment. However, as always, her forced slaying partner was late. She had been standing there for an half hour past the time Spike was supposed to have met her, when, finally, she caught sight of him coming around the corner of a crypt.

       “About goddamn time!” Buffy groused as Spike came up to her, cigarette dangling between his lips.

       “About goddamn time!” He mimicked her in a shrill voice, shoving his hands in his pockets and glaring at her, “Showed up, dinnit I? So quit your bellyachin'.”

       Buffy gritted her teeth together, already seeing Spike was in one of his moods. She made a sound of disgust, then turned to stalk into the graveyard to start patrol, Spike several paces behind her, feeling no inclination to engage her in conversation.

       It was always like that. He had been hostile since the day he had first been dragged up Giles' front walk by the scruff of the neck by an extremely irritated Angel, and the dark-haired vampire had forced his Childe into helping out the gang, having some sort of power, or more likely, blackmail, that kept the blond in check. No one knew for sure, except maybe for Giles, but he would never spill the dirty little secret that kept Spike working for the Scoobies and not feeding off the populace.

       Most of the time, he was like Angel had been, only showing up when he was needed, and disappearing again to God knew where. No one even knew where he lived, and the only way to reach him when he was needed was by a cell phone he always kept with him. However, even if he was forced to help, he didn't even pretend to like or even associate with the Scoobies outside of a `business' setting.

       Right now, he was supposed to be helping her track a particular dangerous demon that had killed several people in the last few days, and if someone got hurt because he was half an hour late, she would gain a lot of pleasure in kicking his ass.

       They spent a greater part of the night, patrolling Sunnydale, with no words exchanged between the two blonds, and no luck at all in finding the demon and as a last resort, Buffy suggested the campus of Sunnydale University. Spike didn't agree or disagree, only following along behind her, shoulders slumped and a sour look firmly etched on his face.

       “We've been at this for five bloody hours,” Spike finally complained, stopping near the steps of the campus library, removing a silver flask from his pocket, “Face it, Slayer...your little demon has either moved on or met something nastier.”

       Buffy scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We have to find this thing before it decides to make a snack of someone else,” Buffy pointed out angrily, “So, move your lazy, undead ass and let's find and kill this thing.”

       “Y'know,” Spike glanced at his empty wrist, “I think this constitutes as overtime. I'm going to knock-off, head home, grab a brew and watch my own slow descent into insanity,” He started to walk off, and Buffy glared at his back.

       “Spike! Get your ass back here RIGHT NOW!” She bellowed angrily, but Spike merely flipped her off, then frowned when he heard a snarl, and whirled around in time to see a huge, black blur launch itself off the library steps at him.

       He was slammed backwards into the ground, white, sharp teeth flashing as the beast went for his throat before he could even attempt to defend himself.

       “BEOWULF! HEEL! NOW!”

       Hot, fetid breath fanned his face before the weight moved off his chest. Spike sat up to see a large, black German Shepard trotting away from him and Buffy, heading towardslibrary steps, where a pretty girl with long, ebony hair was standing. She held out her hand to the side, waiting till the dog nuzzled it before reaching down to slid her hand down the back of it's neck.

       Spike climbed back to his feet with a growl, brushing off his black jeans as he stalked towards the girl and her vicious little mutt, “Hey! Why don't you get a fuckin' leash for that thing?! He nearly bloody well ripped my throat out!”

       “Spike...” Buffy tried to warn him, but he shoved past her, glaring at the girl as she looked in his direction.

       “I'm sorry, sir...Beowulf...”

       “Needs to be bloody well to put down like Ole Yeller!” Spike shouted at the girl, and Buffy rolled her eyes.

       “Spike!”

       “Stupid bitch! Letting a vicious mutt like that run around?!”

       “You better mean the dog,” The girl said warningly, still kneeling and petting the dog, who was watching Spike warily, letting out a low growl, “And I suggest you keep your distance. Beowulf doesn't like you.”

       “Hey Andy,” Buffy greeted the freshman with a sigh, “How's things?”

       “You know this chit?!” Spike turned on Buffy, “Why am I not bloody well surprised?! Her fucking dog almost killed me! I ought to snap his fuckin' thick neck. I thought they didn't even let dogs on campus anyway.”

       “Special privilege,” Andy replied, her clear, blue eyes narrowing slightly.

       “What kind of fucking special privilege is that?!” Spike snapped, and Andy raised an eyebrow as she straightened, and Spike finally noticed the harness attached to the dog, the girl holding a specialized handle.

       “Down, Beowulf,” She instructed the animal, and he began leading her slowly down the steps.

       Spike gave Buffy a dirty look, “You were going to tell me I was screamin' my head off at a blind girl at some point, right?”

       “I tried to warn you,” Buffy shrugged, then brushed past him as Andy reached the bottom of the steps, bending down to pet the dog, who immediately began to wag his tail, giving Buffy's hand a calm little lick. “You're not vicious at all, are you? You're a good puppy, aren't you baby?.”

       Andy smiled slightly, listening to Buffy speak to her dog in baby talk, then looked in the direction she had last heard Spike's voice. “I'm sorry about that, though. Beowulf has never attacked anyone like that.”

       “Spike and dogs don't mix,” Buffy said with a smirk in Spike's direction, and the vampire glared at her, removing a cigarette from his pocket and grumbling beneath his breath. “Andy, Spike, Spike, Andy and Beowulf.”

       “Met the mutt,” Spike went to offer the pretty girl his hand, but the dog let out a growl, and he thought better of it, and withdrew his hand, “Would say it's nice to meet you, but your dog nearly took a chunk out of my hide.”

       “I'm sorry again,” Andy said sincerely, “He's really well-trained, he has never gone darting off away from me like that before, and, unfortunately, I wasn't really in the position to go running after him.”

       Buffy gave Spike a dirty look, and he rolled his eyes, “Fine, forget it ever happened,” He muttered, then glared at Buffy again, “I'm going home now.”

       “Are you on your way home, Andy?” Buffy asked, and the girl nodded, “You're still living off campus, right?”

       “Yeah...but I'm fine, Beowulf knows the way home...”

       “I know...but there's some really...weird people out at night in this town,” Buffy said, then glanced at Spike, “Spike, you wouldn't mind walking Andy home, right?”

       “What?” Spike looked at Buffy like she had grown a second head, “She has the mutt, she's fine.”

       “Spike,” Buffy hissed, giving him a deadly look, then said in a low voice, “I'll do clean-up duty next time we kill a demon if you just walk her home, all right?”

       “Next two clean-ups,” Spike bargained and Buffy rolled her eyes.

       “Fine,” She replied, “Start walking,” She indicated the girl who had started off by herself and was already halfway across campus, and Spike shook his head before jogging to catch up with her.

       She was alerted to his presence by the sound of his boots squelching in a bit of damp earth and the low, threatening growl that was issued from Beowulf, and she paused, waiting for him. “Changed your mind then?” She said in amusement as Spike fell into step beside her. “Was there a coin toss about who was going to walk the poor, little, defenseless blind girl home? Hush, Beowulf.”

       The growl was stopped at her command, and Spike glanced down at the large, bulky dog walking at Andy's side, “Nice bit of protection you got there,” Spike said, “Took me by surprise, anyway. Didn't think they trained Seeing Eye dogs to rip out throats.”

       “My family raises them,” Andy replied with a smile, staring straight ahead as she walked, her eyes expressionless, while her face was anything but. Her features were exceptionally open and clear, as well as cheerful and good-natured. “My dad wanted to make sure I had a little protection, especially when coming home at night from campus. German Shepard's are the best known animal for it.”

       “Smart bloke,” Spike said, eyeing Beowulf warily. The dog was watching him, he was sure of it. Animals never liked vampires...dogs and cats especially averse to their species, as if they knew they were something other then human. Unless the mutt was a demon, and was worried the vampire was honing in on his territory. Maybe he should ask the Watcher about that. “You don't make a habit of staying at the library till after dark, do you?”

       “No, not often. They don't usually have the books I need, but the librarian just came in with a whole shipment of Braille books. I got started reading some Jane Austen for my British Literature class, and I lost track of time.”

       Spike snorted, “Bloody awful, she is. All she writes about is a bunch of bleedin' women sitting around and whining about gettin' husbands.”

       Andy smiled, “It's outdated for you, I'm sure, but I like the language of the time. I suppose you like things written by the Sex Pistols and Buzz Cocks better.”

       Spike started in surprise, and glanced at her, “How did you...?”

       “I can smell ammonia from high up, probably because your hair is bleached, your leather squeaks and the Cockney accent...fake. Dead giveaway for a punk,” She replied with a smile as they turned off the campus and onto the streets of Sunnydale.

       “Hey! My accent is not fake!”

       “Your voice cracks on certain words...suggests that you still have problems pronouncing them in the Cockney dialect, but you're definitely English, probably from the more Northern part of the country.” Andy told him, assured of her abilities.

       “Jesus...that's bleedin'...amazin'.”

       “Not really,” Andy shrugged modestly, “My entire world is made up of smells, voices, sounds and sensations. I just learned how to interpret them all, and I've been studying accents since I was fifteen.”

       “That's just...neat,” Spike replied, looking at the blind girl with new admiration.

       Andy bowed her head slightly with a smile, glancing down when Beowulf stopped walking and paused with him, “This is my stop.”

       Spike glanced up at the apartment building, then at a street sign nearby, “You sure?”

       “310 Exeter?” At Spike's affirmative she nodded, “My place. Home sweet home. Not the nicest place on the block, but they allow dogs. Thanks for the walk home, and once again, I'm sorry for Beowulf's behavior.”

       “Well, just keep him from my throat, and we'll get along fine,” Spike said.

       Andy smiled, “Nice to meet you, Spike,” She said, “Up the stairs, Beowulf.”

       Spike cocked his head, watching her butt sway from side to side as the mutt led her up the stairs, then started up after her. Andy paused beside the front door of the building, then turned to face him, “Um...hi.”

       “Hi,” Spike grinned at the girl's sudden discomfiture, “Talk about coincidences, but this is my stop too.”

       “Really?” Andy raised an eyebrow, “You must be the mysterious neighbor Mrs. Dilling is always yapping about. The one that stays in his apartment all day and painted the windows black.”

       “Uh...” Spike hesitated, then fell back on the age-old lie that had served him well in the past, “I'm have an extreme allergy to UV. Can't go out in the sun or rashes, screaming, painful death...not a pretty sight.”

       “Well,” Andy removed her keys from her pocket, and felt along the edges till she found the one she was looking for and opened the door to the building, allowing Beowulf to lead her inside, Spike following at a safe distance to avoid the sharp teeth of her companion. “There's no sunlight in the hallway, and I'm in 66 if you ever get bored and need some company,” She told warmly, “And usually, I can be prevailed upon to provide some beer and conversation.”

       “Lock the mutt in the bathroom and I may take you up on that,” Spike replied, leaning against the wall of the hallway, watching as she opened the door to her apartment. She let go of Beowulf, the dog obediently trotting inside, and she looked back at Spike, her blank eyes almost eerily finding his.

       “Door's always open,” She told him with a smile, before going inside, “Just come on in.”

       “I'll do that,” Spike said with a slow grin, “Thanks for the invite.”

       Andy simply smiled, all warmness and congeniality, “You're very welcome.”

       The next morning, Andy was letting herself out of her apartment, when Mrs. Dilling, the only other occupant of the apartment building, beset her outside the door, offering Beowulf a biscuit.

       From what Andy could tell in her world of darkness, to her, Mrs. Dilling seemed to be a matronly woman, maybe of the age sixty or above, suffering from sore joints. She would bet anything, and she was right, that Mrs. Dilling had gray hair bound up in a bun, and was wearing a soft, knit sweater and an apron from when she had been preparing her breakfast.

       “Morning, Mrs. Dilling,” Andy greeted good-naturedly, smiling in the old lady's direction when she heard the sound of house shoes padding softly on the pitted, wooden floor of the hallway, and she slipped her keys in her pocket, dropping Beowulf's harness, “I didn't wake you up last night when I came in, did I?”

       “Not at all, dear...I don't fall asleep till almost two anymore,” Mrs. Dilling assured the girl, stroking Beowulf's soft fur, “Which, I suppose is a good thing, considering the hours the young gentleman down the hall keeps,” The statement was pointedly directed at Andy, and the dark-haired girl smiled as she slipped her sunglasses onto her face.

       “You saw him then?”

       “I just peeked out of the peephole,” Mrs. Dilling admitted, a bit sheepishly, then raised an eyebrow, though Andy couldn't see it, “Did you meet on your way inside?”

       “If only...no, he was on the campus...and Beowulf sort of went for his throat,” She glanced down at her dog, who perceived he was still in trouble and let out a small whimper.

       “Really?” Mrs. Dilling looked exceedingly surprised, “Strange...he is such a well-behaved creature!”

       “Spike or Beowulf?” Andy teased, picking up the harness.

       “Good Lord! That's his name? Spike?” Mrs. Dilling shook her head, “He doesn't sound pleasant.”

       “He's not suing, so I'm inclined to be grateful,” Andy replied with a smile.

       “Still...do you know he never leaves during the day? It's most alarming...”

       “He told me he was allergic to sunlight,” Andy informed the old woman, “I think he's just a little lonely...and maybe a little grumpy and coarse, but he seems nice.”

       “Allergic to sunlight?” Mrs. Dilling's voice immediately took on a sympathetic tone, “The poor dear! A sweet, handsome boy like him, stuck indoors all day!”

       Andy raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Dilling calling Spike sweet and handsome, when just moments before, he had been an unpleasant, strange creature to her, “I suppose I have to relay on your judgment for the handsome part, but yeah, I guess he's kind of...sweet.”

       “I bet he hasn't had a home-cooked meal in a long while,” Mrs. Dilling said thoughtfully, “Do you suppose he likes cookies?”

       “He's a guy, Mrs. Dilling...believe me, he'll like cookies,” Andy said, partly teasing, and Mrs. Dilling smiled, and then patted Andy on the shoulder.

       “I suppose I've kept you long enough,” The old woman sighed slightly, and then perked up when she thought of being able to acquaint herself with their neighbor, feeling the full force of Andy's recommendation of him. “I'll be sure to make you a batch as well, my dear. Don't think I don't know that you've been eating only macaroni and cheese lately. I've seen your trash...all blue boxes! Quite shameful for a growing girl like you!”

       “This growing girl is also a college student living on scholarship, and therefore, poor,” Andy replied cheerfully, “I wouldn't worry about me. I've survived on worse.”

       “Still,” Mrs. Dilling was persistent, “You should let me cook for you once in a while, and you mustn't mind me fussing over you a bit. All of my children are all grown up and left. An old lady like me needs someone to take care of every once in a while.”

       “I'll be ecstatic,” Andy told her sincerely, and then dropped a kiss on Mrs. Dilling cheek, “Have a nice day, Mrs. Dilling.”

       Mrs. Dilling smiled as she watched Andy go out the door, Beowulf leading her, meek as a lamb, before turning back towards her lonely apartment, heartened only by the thought that there was a young boy still in the building that needed cookies.

       Mrs. Dilling, having been widowed ten years before when cancer took her husband, was a sweet, affectionate woman, and left to mostly herself by her two children, a boy, John and a daughter, Abigail, who had both left her years before.

       Her Social Security check and a monthly allowance from her late husband's company allowed her to live, not in luxurious bliss, but merely in domestic comfort. She had no real need of material comforts, save for a few hot/cold packs for her arthritic hands, and her nice, feather mattress that had been the endeavor of saving her extra cash for three months. For several years, she had been living in 310 Exeter by herself, with barely any company, save a waning circle of friends that would visit her, which was strange, considering the easy walking distance from the college campus.

       She was pleased when she had found that an apartment had been taken, the year before, but the tenant's strange habits and never seeing him leave or return to his apartment put her off, making her vaguely frightened about the newcomer, and she had stayed away from him, which was remarkably easy, since they were never in the hallway at the same time, and they never kept the same hours. Not to mention, he had never made a single attempt to speak with her.

       However, with the coming of the new school year, Andy had taken the apartment, immediately drawing Mrs. Dilling's attention and affectionate sympathy when she learned of Andy's affliction, as well as the girl's easy-going attitude and sweet nature. She had a certain, motherly fondness for the child and was glad of the company, since Andy never begrudged her a conversation and always accepted little tidbits like homemade cookies or brownies with the sincerest of thanks.

       Also, Beowulf was always a nice bit of a company as well, Andy sometimes allowing her to take him out for walks if she wanted a bit of exercise, the canine never being a bit of trouble, and he always made her feel safer as well. After sixty years of living in Sunnydale, she knew there were strange things that couldn't be explained away easily. She would be sorry when Andy would be forced to move on, like everyone always did, but hopefully, now, she would have a bit more of company, for the time being anyway.

       Mrs. Dilling smiled as she removed a cookie tray from the oven, her famous chocolate chip cookies baked to picture perfection, and she let them cool for a few moments before sliding them off the tray and onto one of her favorite plate. Ten minutes later, she was standing outside of Spike's apartment, cookies held forward in supplication, bright smile on her face.

       She knocked on the door lightly, frowning when there wasn't an answer right away, then proceeded to pound on the door till a surly voice was issued from within, “I'm coming! Hold on a bloody, soddin' minute!”

       A few moments later, the door was slowly opened, and Spike peeked out, frowning when he saw the matronly old woman standing on his stoop, “Whatever you're sellin', I'm not interested,” He practically growled, about to slam the door in Mrs. Dilling's face.

       “I have cookies!” Mrs. Dilling called out before he could close the door, and was triumphant as the movement was arrested, and Spike opened the door once more.

       “Who are you?”

       “Mrs. Dilling, from down the hall,” The old lady smiled almost knowingly, “Andy told me you were a very nice boy and I should say hi.”

       “Oh...” Spike said tonelessly, “Lucky me. I got out of bed for this?”

       “My, she was right...you are a grumpy one,” Mrs. Dilling replied, not to be put off so easily, holding up her plate of cookies, “I thought you could do with a little home cooking...and I was right! Look at you! You're so skinny! You're all skin and bones!”

       Spike glanced down at his highly toned body, frowning, and then was surprised as Mrs. Dilling pushed past him to enter his apartment, clucking her tongue as she glanced around at the mess. His clothes were lying all over the floor, his couch bed was unmade, and there were dirty dishes in the sink, and God knew when his shelves had last seen a feather duster. “You really are a confirmed bachelor, aren't you?” Mrs. Dilling said cheerfully as she laid her plate of cookies on the island counter that passed for a kitchen, then immediately started gathering up his clothing.

       “Uh...” Spike inched towards the open closet near the door, and shut it on his weapons chest, which was open and overflowing with sharp, pointy objects that would be sure to arouse suspicion. “Mrs. Dilling? What are you doing?”

       “Just doing a bit of straightening up,” Mrs. Dilling answered, “Where's your hamper?”

       “Um...hamper?”

       “Hmm...it's worse then I thought,” the woman shook her head slightly as she settled for putting his clothes in a pile in the corner of the one room apartment. “How is Andy ever to get around in here if you leave all of your things lying on the ground?”

       “Excuse me?” Spike blinked in confusion, grabbing a cookie off the plate, “Who says she's going to be in here anyway?” Mrs. Dilling looked over her shoulder with a pleased smile as she watched Spike bite into one of her cookies, the vampire's eyes widening slightly. “Holy Christ...you made these?”

       “Yes, I did,” Mrs. Dilling replied, looking glad that Spike was enjoying them as he sat down at the counter and set into them. She finished straightening up his apartment with no further protest and started to do the dishes in the sink.

       “Listen, you don't have to do that...”

       “It's fine,” Mrs. Dilling replied, “Sit down, enjoy the cookies,” She ordered as she washed, “Andy was right. You are a pleasant, handsome young man.”

       Spike choked on his cookie a bit, and Mrs. Dilling chuckled at his reaction, “She said that?”

       “Well...truth be told...she just said you were pleasant...seeing as she can't...uh...see you. But I did assure her that you appeared to be a very fine gentleman. I'm just sorry I didn't get to know you before...but your strange habits were a bit...off-putting.”

       “What do you put in these things?” Spike asked, eyeing the chocolate chip cookie he was munching on, “They're...bloody well amazing.”

       “Old family secret,” Mrs. Dilling told Spike with a wink as she started to dry the dishes, and by trial and error, found the cupboard they were kept in. “Andy told me of your allergy to sunlight...such a pity. You could do with a bit of sun...you're far too pale to be healthy. Now, young man...now that I have you cornered, I very much intend to have my way with you.”

       This statement was accompanied by him choking on another cookie as he stared at Mrs. Dilling with wide eyes. “What?!”

       “Are you attending the college? Andy mentioned meeting you on the campus,” Mrs. Dilling continued, apparently oblivious to his distress, and Spike relaxed somewhat when he realized she just meant `way with him' question wise.

       “Uh...not really,” Spike replied, fishing for a good line, “I'm...a...writer, or trying to be, anyway.”

       “Really?” Mrs. Dilling looked delighted by that bit of intelligence, “That's wonderful! You and Andy will find quite a bit in common! She wants to be a writer as well, and she's such a voracious reader.”

       “Really...” Spike started to feel desperate for a change of subject, wondering why almost every word out of Mrs. Dilling's mouth was about Andy. “Sounds...neat.”

       “It is, isn't it?” Mrs. Dilling wiped off her hands and turned to face Spike with a kindly smile, “What are you parents like, Spike? Are they living in England?”

       “My parents died...a long time ago,” Spike replied, grabbing another cookie.

       “Oh! How sad,” Mrs. Dilling looked about ready to rush forward and hug him, and Spike was a bit frightened by the prospect, and shrugged, putting on an unaffected air.

       “Long time ago, barely remember them, really,” Spike was quick to assure her.

       “Well! It's still a sad thing for a boy to grow up without parents,” Mrs. Dilling said warmly, “Now! I insist you let me mother you to death, to make up for what you missed...”

       “Really...I'm fine...”

       “Piffle...nothing's going to put me off,” Mrs. Dilling smiled at him brightly as she decided she had monopolized the young man's time for long enough, then had a thought. “Oh! Andy's birthday is in a few days, and she doesn't have that many close friends...so I'm going to surprise her with a small, intimate gathering. I would be so pleased if you could come as well...”

       “Uh...I don't know...”

       “Please?” Mrs. Dilling pleaded and then played her trump card, “I'm making peanut butter cookies.”

       “I'll be there,” Spike said right away, almost without thinking, and Mrs. Dilling smiled as she headed towards the door, “Tuesday, eight o'clock. Good for you?”

       “Just...make sure she locks up the mutt.”

       “Of course,” Mrs. Dilling said cheerfully, “See you there, Spike!”

       Spike was then left to himself to recover from Hurricane Dilling, a bit confused as to how he got roped into attending a surprise birthday party for a blind girl, and then he wondered if he was supposed to bring a present, and he sighed heavily. “Oh...bloody hell...”

       “He screamed at Andy?” Willow frowned as she sipped on her iced mocha as she accompanied Buffy on patrol, “That's...kinda mean. Even for Spike. I mean...hello! Blind!”

       Buffy shrugged, “Beowulf tried to rip his throat out, but that really wasn't her fault...”

       “Beowulf? That sweet little doggy?”

       “That sweet little doggy doesn't like vampires near Andy, apparently,” Buffy grinned evilly, “He screamed like a woman.”

       “Nice. Maybe we should get an attack dog,” Willow said chirpily, “Oh! We can call him Scooby Doo!”

       “For the sake of my sanity, please, no...and I did NOT scream like a girl.”

       Willow jumped and Buffy rolled her eyes, looking over her shoulder and giving Spike a dirty look, “Once again with the creepy lurking. What have I told you about that?”

       “Don't know, don't care,” Spike replied impatiently, “Listen...”

       “Are you even supposed to be here? I thought you didn't show up unless we called...and then it's always like...an hour late,” Buffy said, crossing her arms over her chest.

       “I'm not patrolling,” Spike said, looking irritated, “Can I talk for two bleedin' seconds?”

       “Fine, what do you want?”

       “Nothing to do with you,” Spike reached out and grabbed Willow's arm, “Need to borrow the Wicca,” He said, and the redhead yelped as Spike pulled her behind a mausoleum.

       “Ow! Hey! Bruising!”

       “Sorry,” Spike said, still sounding annoyed, “Listen...you know the blind chit, right?”

       “Uh...yeah...” Willow said, “What's a chit?” Spike gave her a look,  “Not important, right?”

       “Right...listen...she lives in my building...”

       “Oh! So you're living in an apartment?”

       “Red!” Spike rolled his eyes, “Know what? Forget it...”

       “I'm sorry...I'm quiet now, really,” Willow pretended to zip her lips, “What about her?”

       “The old bint that lives there caught me unawares and is forcing me to a little birthday shindig...bribery came into play...nasty business, the whole of it. You don't need the sordid details. Anyway...what in the hell should I buy her?”

       Willow rolled her eyes, “Jeez, Spike...she's just like normal people! That's so bigoted of you to think that just because she's blind she's a big ole freak you can't buy gifts for!”

       “I don't know what to buy her because she's mortal,” Spike said, giving Willow a look, “Not because she's blind. The last person I bought a birthday present for was Dru...and somehow, I doubt that Andy would want the heart of a Gor'likiz demon with a nice, red bow.”

       “Oh,” Willow looked properly chastened, “Right. Um...I don't know...jewelry is always nice.”

       “Right...now what kind of jewelry do I buy for blind people?”

       Willow looked about ready to let him have it again when she saw his eyes glinting and the barely contained smirked, “Braille jewelry,” She said, crossing her arms over her chest, and Spike frowned.

       “They actually have that? Really?”

       “Really, really,” Willow said, “I'm sure you can find some at the mall.”

       “Great...thanks, Red,” Spike turned and headed off, and Willow giggled at his expense as Buffy came around the crypt.

       “That was evil, Willow,” Buffy said with a grin, “He's going look like an idiot when he's asking people where they keep the Braille jewelry.”

       “I'm evil? Who's the big eavesdropper?” Willow accused, and then glanced after the vampire, “Now I feel kind of bad.”

       “Don't, he totally deserved it. He screams at blind people. He's evil and should be punished,” Buffy assured Willow, sighing when she heard someone scream nearby, “Damn. When will people learn that cemetery equals not fun make out spot? That's...like the third one this week!”

       “Braille jewelry, my arse,” Spike grumbled beneath his breath as he stalked up the street later that night, vowing to himself to kill Willow later. After four shopkeepers had given him looks that clearly told him they thought he was insane, someone finally saw fit to tell him that there was no such thing as Braille jewelry. He should have known better then to ask any of the Scooby gang for help.

       “Beowulf! NO!”

       Spike looked up in time to be struck square in the chest by the German Shepard and sent crashing to the pavement, where he struck the back of his head against the cement. “BLOODY HELL!”

       “Not again! Beowulf! HEEL!”

       The dog growled in Spike's face, letting him know who was boss, apparently, before jumping off the vampire and trotting back over to his mistress. Spike sat up, rubbing the back of his head with a wince. He glared in Andy's direction, momentarily forgetting she couldn't see him, and then his eyes widened slightly.

       She was wearing a pair of short shorts, showing off her long, slender legs to full effect, and an iridescent blue bikini top, as well as a pair of sparkly blue...roller skates?

       “What in the bloody hell are you doing in skates?” Spike climbed back to his feet with a slight wince, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

       “Please...I've been doing this since I was like...ten,” Andy replied, “As long as I stay on the sidewalk and not roll into incoming traffic, I'm good.”

       “Look at those things,” Spike grinned slightly, “I haven't seen a pair of skates like that since the seventies...but even then, it was roller disco.”

       “Yes, I'm aware they're gaudy looking...they were my mom's, and I could never get the hang of inline skates...and did you say the seventies?”

       “I meant...you know...movies from the seventies? You see people in skates like those sometimes,” Spike hurriedly lied, realizing he had given himself away a bit, “And my aunt had a pair like that.” Great mate...you have dead parents...and now an aunt. Better start keeping track of your make-believe family. “Any particular reason while you're doing this in the middle of the night?”

       “Less pedestrian traffic,” Andy replied, “I don't want to be responsible for running down an old lady on these babies.”

       “You know...you really shouldn't...”

       “Relax...it's no big deal, really. I was just going to skate down to Main Street, maybe hit Baskin-Robbins or the Espresso Pump, and be back in time to write my explication paper on King Lear. I needed to get out of there. Mrs. Dilling got past me and is now vacuuming my apartment.”

       “She did my dishes today. Bloody bint just invites herself in, don't she?”

       “She's a bit nosy, but she's nice. I guess we can't complain about a woman who bakes us cookies and then does our household chores. Wanna join me for a little roll?”

       “Put the mutt up, and maybe I will.”

       “Beowulf, back inside...” The dog didn't obey right away, instead, he whined plaintively at his mistress, not wanting to leave her alone with the man with the funny smell. “Fetch my cane.”

       Beowulf almost seemed to sigh before running up the steps and nudging the front door open with his snout, and a few moments later, he reappeared, a collapsible cane in his jaws. He brought it down to Andy and she took it, giving him a pat on the head, “Good boy. Now, go inside and bug Mrs. Dilling.”

       Spike watched as the dog went back inside, but he immediately sat down on the inside of the door, watching Spike with his hackles up, growling softly as Andy took the vampire's offered arm. Andy snapped her cane open, allowing him to pull her for a little ways.

       “I still don't understand why Beowulf dislikes you so much.”

       “Me and animals never seem to mix, luv,” Spike shrugged, “Not a big loss on my part.”

       Andy let go of his arm, and gracefully swung her cane in front of her as she rolled on ahead a bit, treating Spike to a view of her butt clad in her tight shorts, the round globes flexing beneath the faded denim as she moved. “I'd hate it if animals didn't like me...but then again, look where I'd be if I didn't have Beowulf.”

       “Hmm...” Spike realized he hadn't been paying attention to what she was saying, his gaze having been fixated on her arse, “Uh...interesting name for the mutt. Why Beowulf?”

       “You're going to think I'm a big dork,” Andy replied with a smile, glancing over her shoulder, her blank blue eyes on his face, “I have a thing for British literature, especially in high school, and we were covering Anglo-Saxon poetry in class when Beowulf came to us for training,” She looked a little embarrassed, “I named his brother Grendal and his sister Welthow. My brother says I'm a total nerd...and he's probably right.”

       “So...” Spike smiled slowly as he started to jog to keep abreast of her, “Have a thing for the British, do you?”

       “Cute, real cute,” Andy replied, rolling her eyes as she did a quick, smooth spin, and Spike moved forward when she almost went into a bush, but she righted herself in time. “How far are from Main Street?”

       “Couple more blocks,” Spike answered, “You're not from Sunnydale, are you?”

       “Is it that obvious?”

       “Yeah, pretty much,” Spike said, thinking to himself that he would have been immensely surprised if she had been born in Sunnydale and had to yet ended up as a midnight snack for some resident nasty.

       “I'm from Kansas...and if I hear one tornado or Dorothy joke, I will hurt you.”

       “Is the little blind girl threatening me?” Spike teased her, then winced, “Sorry...I didn't mean...”

       She spun once more, cane snapping up to strike him squarely in the chest, and he yelped more in surprise then actual pain. “If you say sorry for teasing the poor, helpless blind girl, I will beat you to death with my cane.”

       “Nice little trick, that,” Spike observed thoughtfully, “Right in the chest too.”

       “My dad was a psycho...he made me learn all these self-defense moves,” Andy told him, turning once more, cane dropping back near the ground, and put to its proper use, “God, am I so glad to be out of that house. My father wanted me to become a recluse and never leave the house, ever, just because I was blind.”

       “Harsh,” Spike observed, “Main Street up ahead.”

       “Whoops,” She dropped back and took his arm again, “Don't mind, do you? People tend to get annoyed when I hit them with my cane,” She told him as she folded it up.

       “Not at all,” Spike said, taking her cane from her and slipping it in his duster pocket, “Where too first? Ice cream or coffee?”

       “Definitely ice cream. Residual coffee taste is so gross...plus, we need something to combat the brain freeze.”

       “Wise choice,” He said in amusement, noting the looks she was getting from several of the college guys that were staring at the attractive girl on his arm, smirking when several of them waved at her, unaware that she couldn't see them, and laid an almost possessive hand on the upper part of her arm as he led her towards the ice cream shop. “Steps comin' up,” He warned her. With his help, she carefully sidestepped her way up them, so she wouldn't slip on her skates.

       “Hey, Andy!” The cashier behind the counter greeted as soon as they walked in, and Andy smiled as she let go of Spike to roll up towards the register, the blond girl raising an eyebrow when she saw Spike, “Did you pick up a new pet?”

       “Funny, Cyn,” Andy rolled her eyes, and Cynthia smiled in Spike's direction before leaning towards Andy and whispering. “He's cute. Where'd you find him?”

       “Beowulf found him, actually,” Andy replied, and Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

       “Wow...since when did they start training Seeing Eye dogs to pick up dates?” Cynthia teased, “Want your usual?”

       “Yes, and it's not a date.”

       “Sure, whatever you say,” Cynthia rolled her eyes, then looked towards Spike, who was squinting up at the flavor menu above the counter, having trouble adjusting his eyes to the bright, fluorescent lighting, “So, what are you having, Cutie?”

       “Uh...” Spike glanced down at Cynthia, “I guess...fudge brownie.”

       “Good choice,” Cynthia said, “Sugar cone or waffle?”

       “Waffle,” Spike replied, pulling out his wallet and laying a twenty on the counter, and Cynthia almost squealed before leaning towards Andy.

       “He's paying...it's so a date, you big liar...and fudge brownie? He so wants you.”

       “Just get the damn cones, Cynthia,” Andy groused, pouting a bit, and Spike raised an eyebrow, his sensitive hearing picking up that small bit of conversation.

       “Fudge brownie means I want you?” He muttered in Andy's ear, watching as the girl's face flushed.

       “Don't listen to her, she's completely nuts,” Andy replied, embarrassed, “She has this whole theory about ice cream and people...she thinks that whatever flavor they pick is a reflection of their personality...”

       “It's true,” Cynthia called from behind the freezer, then returned with Spike's fudge brownie and Andy's chocolate chip mint. “See? She always gets chocolate chip mint. That means she's really shy, fears change, has problems committing to anything but what she's used too...and is afraid of losing control.”

       “Or...I just really like mint...”

       “Uh-uh...sure. Fudge brownie, though...extra, extra chocolate, usually a guy's favorite cone, means he's perpetually horny, confident about what he wants, is usually hostile and has problems letting go of grudges. Extra points for the waffle cone...inside, he's really sweet, maybe a closet romantic...intelligent...”

       Spike raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself, “That's...really good.”

       “See?” Cynthia stuck her tongue out at Andy, “I told you it wasn't insane.”

       Andy rolled her eyes, and then looked towards Spike, raising an eyebrow, “You're not falling for this crap, are you?”

       “I don't know...I think she's on to something there,” Spike replied, “You have problems committing?”

       “Oh, for the love of...Cynthia!”

       “It's so true...you know, her boyfriend back home asked her to marry him and she said no. She totally has problems committing.”

       “Or it could have been the fact that he was a misogynist Neanderthal who didn't know the difference between Walt Whitman and Walt Disney.”

       “Excuses, excuses,” Cynthia replied, “He was a complete hottie.”

       “Yeah, I can see how that should have been a big consideration for me,” Andy replied dryly, “Hello! Blind!”

       “What? Like that's an excuse for dating ugly people?”

       Spike chuckled as Andy let out a sound of exasperation, and he grabbed some napkins out of the dispenser, “Your cone's melting, pet.”

       Cynthia looked about ready to melt herself when she heard Spike call Andy `pet' and watched as he mopped up the bit of ice cream that had dripped onto her hand, “That is just too cute.”

       “What is?” Andy asked obliviously, and Cynthia rolled her eyes at her completely clueless friend.

       “I'm getting off my shift in an hour, And, you want to head to the Bronze with me, or are you and your `date' busy?”

       “He's not a date, and I can't.”

       “Why not?”

       “I don't think a blind girl on roller skates in a huge, crowded club is a very good idea, for one...and I have a paper to write.”

       “Gotcha,” Cynthia winked at Spike, “You wanna come, cutie whose not Andy's date?”

       “No thanks...I'm good.”

       “Oh, you have to come. Andy! Tell him!”

       “Good-bye, Cynthia,” Andy said pointedly, little roses of color appearing on her face as she took Spike's arm once more, “I'll see you later.”

       Cynthia smiled as she watched Spike carefully guide her friend out, “He so wants her,” She observed to herself with a smug look on her face.

       “I don't understand why a young man would have sixteen pairs of the same outfit,” Mrs. Dilling clucked her tongue in disapproval as she folded a basket full of Spike's laundry, unbeknownst to him. He had left as soon as the sun had set to do whatever it was he did, and she had let herself into his apartment to gather his dirty clothing and do a load of his wash.

       “What in the soddin' hell...?” Spike stopped in his door, holding a paper back, filled with scotch, a carton of cigarettes and a few containers of blood. “What are you doing?!”

       “Just a bit of wash,” Mrs. Dilling said cheerfully.

       “You broke into my apartment to do my laundry!?” Spike asked incredulously, “Are you daft?”

       “Not at all,” Mrs. Dilling replied, folding a pair of his boxers and lying them aside.

       “Hey!” Spike rushed forward and grabbed the basket, “I'll thank you not to mess with me knickers.”

       “Oh, pish-posh,” Mrs. Dilling took the basket back from him, “I'm almost finished anyhow, and Lord knows it will never get done unless I do it.”

       “You're...incredible,” Spike said in disbelief, and she took it as a compliment.

       “Oh, no, I'm not,” Mrs. Dilling told him with a bright smile, finishing folding and then crossed towards where he had put down his bag, and started to go through it, “Liquor, cigarettes and...” Mrs. Dilling frowned, pulling out a container of blood, “What is this?”

       “Uh...it's...tomato juice...for Bloody Marys,” Spike grabbed the container out of her hand, “Uh...fresh, from the source, only way to get it,” He went to the fridge and tossed the containers in. “Listen, Mrs. Dilling...I `ppreciate what you're doing...really...but I really wish you wouldn't just...come into my place whenever you please. This is my home.”

       “Don't be ridiculous, we're almost family,” Mrs. Dilling said with a dismissive wave, before starting to make his bed, “Have you spoken to Andy in the last few days? She's been a bit low...”

       “No, haven't had the chance,” Spike said, giving up on Mrs. Dilling, and decided to let her have her way for the time being, at least, until he could change the lock on his apartment door. At any rate, he perched himself beside the closet next to the door, determined to at least keep her away from there, not wanting to explain his abundance of weapons. “Been a bit busy.”

       “It's such a sad affair...one her friends has gone missing, apparently...Cindy, I think she said...”

       “Cynthia,” Spike corrected, his eyes narrowing slightly, “When was that?”

       “A few nights ago...I think it was the night you took her skating,” Mrs. Dilling said, “I told her not to worry...she probably met a boy,” She gave Spike a pointed look, “Kids these days, right?”

       “Uh...right...” Spike shifted a bit uncomfortably as she started to dust his shelves, thinking about the girl who had appeared to be close friends with Andy, becoming a bit worried. Hardly anyone ever simply `went missing' in Sunnydale, and if they did, they had a nasty habit of turning up again...usually without a heartbeat, and an appetite for former acquaintances. “Could you excuse me for a moment? I have to talk to Andy...”

       “Oh, you'll have to wait...she's at the library, tutoring someone, I believe.”

       “Bloody great,” Spike scowled, “That girl is determined to get herself killed.”

       “What? At the library?” Mrs. Dilling looked confused, “What are you talking about?”

       “Listen,” Spike laid his hand on the small of Mrs. Dilling's back and started to steer her towards the door, “Can you do me a favor and call the library and tell them to let Andy know that I'm coming? And for her not to leave till I get there?”

       “I...suppose...” Mrs. Dilling blinked in bewilderment, confused to his behavior, “Whatever is the matter?”

       “Nothing...just call, all right?”

       “Of course,” Mrs. Dilling allowed him to guide her out, glancing over her shoulder as he slammed the door behind him with a curse, “What a strange, strange man.”

       “All right...just remember the significance of the oak that Rochester proposed to Jane under...and how the destruction of it before the wedding portends to what is to come...” Andy said to the student she was helping tutor, gathering up her books and placing them in her bag. “It'll probably become an essay question on the test.”

       “Okay...right...what's portend mean?”

       Andy sighed, “Omen, Jack, it means omen.”

       “I'm so gonna fail,” The boy whined, “This is crap. Who cares about a tree anyway?”

       “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that,” Andy replied with a frown, “Just remember the damned oak.” She sighed when she heard Beowulf growl, “Down, boy.”

       “Right...but how does the oak...pretend or portend or whatever to what is to come?”

       “The burning of Thornfield...the separation of Rochester and Jane...did you even read the book?”

       “Parts of it...”

       “Oh Lord,” She shook her head, cocking her head slightly when she heard hurried, heavy footsteps on the wood flooring of the library, guessing correctly it was Spike, come to collect her. “Read the book, Jack. It may actually help you pass the test.”

       “But...it's so long...”

       Andy pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath as Spike came up behind her, “Read. The. Book,” She bit out in annoyance, “If you don't, you're just wasting my time.”

       “Ready to go?” Spike asked, sensing Andy's irritation, and the girl nodded, tucking a strand of her black hair behind her ear.

       “So ready,” She replied, “Beowulf, heel.” The dog trotted to her side and she reached down, grabbing up his harness, “I'm serious, Jack...read the book or no more tutoring,” She warned him, then nodded at Spike, and allowed Beowulf to start leading her off.

       The boy mumbled `bitch' beneath his breath. “Heard that,” Andy tossed over her shoulder without looking back, “Beowulf, hush!”

       Spike glared back over his shoulder at the boy, catching him in time to see him flip Andy off, and he allowed his face to change, enjoying the look of abject fear on the boy's face.

       “What in the world was that sound?” Andy asked as he morphed back into his human visage, “It sounded...like...were you cracking your knuckles?”

       “Yeah, something like that,” Spike replied, stopping with Andy while she said goodnight to the librarians, obviously well acquainted with them, and then held the door open for her and Beowulf. “I heard about Cynthia...”

       “Mrs. Dilling told me she would probably turn up in a few days, and I guess she's right,” Andy replied, then cocked her head, shooting Spike an inquisitive look, her blue eyes fixing on his, “Now...what I'm curious about, is why you came all the way down here just to walk me home. We only live a couple of blocks away.”

       “You shouldn't be walkin' around alone at night,” Spike replied, “It's dangerous.”

       “Oh, God...you sound like my dad. I hate it when people treat me like I'm made of frigging glass just because I'm blind!” Irritation was edging into her voice once more, “Christ!”

       “It's not because you're blind...it's dangerous for anyone...”

       “I don't see you escorting any other girl home like some kind of twenty-first century white knight, now do I? Nope! Just the blind kid!”

        “Oh...for the love...pet...it's not like that...”

       “Beowulf, down,” She ordered the dog, and started swiftly and surely down the stairs, mentally counting the steps in her mind, knowing exactly when she hit bottom, and Spike was forced to jog to catch up with her quick steps.

       “Andy...it's not soddin' like that!”

       “Right, sure, whatever,” Andy rolled her sightless eyes, “I've spent my entire life having to prove to everyone that I'm not child that has to be coddled! I am entirely not interested in having to prove it to you!”

       “All right...what crawled up your arse and died a painful, horrible death?” Spike asked, trying to keep his temper in check as she ordered Beowulf into a jog, and he easily kept pace with her, “I was just worried `cause the old bag said your friend went missing! So excuse me for caring!”

       “Shut up,” Andy said as she paused, and Spike's eyes widened slightly.

       “Well! That's a fine attitude...bloody hell, woman! I don't know what your problem is...” His words were cut off as she slapped a hand over his mouth.

       “Shut up and listen,” She told him quietly, and Spike frowned as she dropped her hand, cocking his head slightly.

       “I don't hear anything,” He said after several minutes.

       “Exactly,” Andy stepped away from him as Beowulf started to growl again, “The crickets have stopped chirping.”

       Spike realized she was right, and cursed beneath his breath, reaching into his pocket for a stake he always kept handy, only to come up empty. “Bloody hell...” He took Andy's arm, not allowing her to shake him off. “Come on, let's start moving, all right?”

       She nodded slowly, and allowed him to lead her on, then swore when Beowulf let out a snarl and the harness was jerked out of her hand as he took off towards the end of the campus. “Beowulf! HEEL! NOW!” Andy shouted, jerking away from Spike, “BEOWULF!”

       The dog didn't obey her, and she yanked herself out of Spike's grasp, trying to go after her wayward canine, “BEOWULF! COME!”

       “Forget the goddamn mutt and come on!”

       “I can't!” Andy started sprinting blindly in the direction of Beowulf's barks, “Here, boy! Come on, boy!”

       “Son of a...I hate that goddamn dog!” Spike fairly snarled as he started after Andy, surprised at the speed in which she was running, considering she had no way of knowing whether she was about to run into a tree or stick her foot into a sinkhole. If she did that at her rate of momentum, she'd either brain herself or snap her ankle like a dry, brittle twig.

       “Beowulf!” Andy raced towards the quad, and was surprised when her feet left the grass to land on the cement tiles that made it up, and then her shins hit the edge of a low, stone bench and went flying over it. She hissed in pain when she landed hard on her hands and knees, scraping the skin from her palms, and ripping the knees of her jeans open. She could feel warm liquid trickling down her hands, and she winced, not wanting to know what her hands looked like. “BEOWULF!”

       She nearly screamed when something brushed against her side, and then she breathed a sigh of relief as Beowulf whined and began licking her face. “Bad dog! No! You don't run off!” She said, and then gripped the edge of the bench she had tripped over and sat on it, fighting to catch her breath as Beowulf continued to whimper.

       Andy ignored his plaintive pleading as she wiped her hands on her ruined jeans, “Son of a fucking bitch...” She muttered beneath her breath. She heard a low snarl and she glared in that direction, “No! Bad dog!”

       Beowulf whined again, in the opposite direction in which she had heard the snarl, and Andy's eyes widened as she slowly stood. “Spike? Is that you?” She asked when she heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.

       Beowulf went to stand in front of his mistress, lip curling up over his sharp teeth, and Andy was forced to listen in a world of darkness as her dog snarled and then lunged at whoever had come into the quad with them. Before she could call her dog back, there was the sound of flesh striking flesh, and then a loud snap followed by Beowulf's yelp.

       “Beowulf!” Andy moved in the direction of the yelp when she was struck from the side, and she fell to the ground once more, landing hard on her back and the wind was knocked out of her.

       She gasped for breath as someone straddled her and gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. She started to struggle, but that only earned her a backhand that made her head sing in pain.

       “Like taking candy from a baby,” The person holding her growled out, and she heard the sound of cracking bones and she slammed her eyes shut as her head was roughly twisted to the side.

       Spike finally caught up, and saw Beowulf struggle to his feet before the dog launched himself at the vampire holding Andy down, and the vampire screamed as the dog's teeth fastened onto his arm.

       Spike immediately rushed into help, kicking the vampire in the chest, and knocking him to the ground. Beowulf immediately went for the vampire's throat, and Spike watched in admiration as the animal ripped it open, leaving a jagged, bloody mess where his neck should have been. Spike knelt down, and with a grunt, finished the canine's job for him by twisting and tearing the vampire's head off, his work sufficiently lessened by the neck wound.

       The vampire dusted, and Spike turned as Beowulf limped over towards Andy and began to nuzzle the girl's face, and Spike could see tears coursing from her eyes. The smell of blood in the air immediately made his nostrils flare, reminding Spike that he hadn't fed yet that day, but he shoved the deep-seated hunger down deep before going towards her.

       Beowulf made a token growl at him, but otherwise didn't object as Spike helped Andy to her feet, brushing her long, black hair away from her eyes, “Hey, now, luv...don't cry. It's over now...”

       “What happened?” She asked, her sightless eyes wide, and he could smell the fear fairly flowing off of her, “Who...what was that thing?”

       “The reason why you shouldn't be out at night,” He replied, “Come on, now...let's get you home, alright?”

       “Right...sure...” Andy's breathing was a bit labored, and she stumbled when Spike tried to guide her, her knees still weak. “Home...good. Oh God...how's Beowulf?”

       “He's fine,” Spike assured her, “Limpin' a bit, but otherwise okay.”

       “Okay...good...I'm good...everything's good...”

       Spike shook his head slightly when he saw she was disorientated. He sifted through her thick hair till he found an angry looking bump forming in the back of her head, and winced a bit. Concussion was most likely the problem.

       “Okay pet,” He swung her up into his arms, “Glad everything's good for you. Come on, you stupid mutt...and don't give me that bloody look...s'all your fault, you know.”

       Beowulf only growled again, but limped obediently behind the man carrying his half-conscious mistress.

       “Ow...” Andy winced as Spike disinfected the palms of her hands while she sat on the couch bed in his apartment, and the vampire glanced up at her before removing a roll of bandages from his first-aid kit. Beowulf was lying across the threshold of the front door, panting a bit, his front left paw already wrapped in gauze. He had been surprisingly compliant when Spike had wrapped his sprained paw, and was now just watching the vampire attend to his mistress, ready to attack if he sensed any sort of dismay on her part.

       “Sorry...” Spike said as he carefully wrapped her hand, “Alcohol's a bitch.”

       “Yeah,” Andy replied quietly, her gaze on a point above his head, “So...that thing...”

       “Aye...vampire,” Spike turned his attention to her other hand, gently removing debris from the scrapes before swapping it with a cotton ball dipped in alcohol. “If it hadn't been for your mutt, you would have been dinner.”

       “And you're...?”

       Spike smiled slightly at her still dazed tone, wondering idly if it was from the bump on the noggin or just the struggling to believe what he had told her. “Yeah, I am...”

       “Okay...so...he's a vampire...”

       “Was,” Spike corrected but she didn't seem to hear him.

       “And you're a vampire...but while he tried to...eat me...you're...fixing my hands.”

       “Right.”

       “Can I? I mean...just...one more time? Please?”

       Spike chuckled quietly, then lifted her hands to his face, and she felt along the smooth, human planes, and then she heard the sound of bones cracking, and his features transformed beneath her fingertips, becoming ridged and sharp. Spike patiently allowed her to run her warm fingers over his face, closing his eyes when they neared them, and then was horrified when a purr was ripped from his chest.

       She drew her hands away in surprise, “Was that you?”

       “Uh...would you believe me when if I said I have a cat?”

       “Nope,” Andy smiled tentatively, “You purred.”

       “Did not,” Spike denied as she lifted her hands again to feel along his face, and the sound was repeated against his will. “Okay...maybe I did.”

       Andy laughed softly, “Your eyebrows are gone,” She said as she felt where they should have been, “And your scar's bigger.”

       “Just the skin stretching over bone,” Spike explained, “It's not really bigger.”

       “So...all that vampire stuff...it's true then? Crosses...mirrors...wooden stakes? All of that?”

       “Yeah, well, most of it. Don't turn into a bat or nothin'...and I don't get tangled in fishnets on windows or count beans that are thrown on the ground.”

       “Too bad. I mean...turning into a bat...pretty cool.”

       “Not really...bats are just flying rodents with rabies. Why in the hell would anyone want be one?”

       “So, you can't fly?”

       “I can jump pretty high,” Spike replied, “If that's any consolation.”

       “Well...I guess...” She frowned suddenly, “Um...okay...you ever read Anne Rice?”

       “Yeah, why?” Spike asked, and watched as Andy blushed, “Oh! Shit! No! I'm not impotent or nothin' like her soddin' characters are. I can have sex. And I'm pretty damn good at it if I say so myself.”

       Andy laughed, then bit her lip almost shyly, “What's your story then?” She made claws with her hands, “Why aren't you know...grrr?”

       “Let's just say that I've been sufficiently curbed for the good of all,” Spike shuddered a bit, “You don't want details.”

       “I don't?”

       “You don't,” Spike asserted, “It's personal.”

       “But otherwise...?”

       “I would've eaten you in a heartbeat.”

       “Good to know,” Andy appeared almost nervous, “Good to know.”

       Spike chuckled, “Want a beer or something?”

       “God, yes,” Andy replied, and Spike straightened, heading towards the kitchen, leaving the girl to demurely fold her hands in her lap, unable to do anything else but sit there, since she was in unfamiliar territory. “So...what else can you tell me about vampires?”

       “Well,” Spike grabbed out two Heinekens from the refrigerator, “Crosses, holy water...generally work. But only on vampires with a Christian background.”

       “Why Christian?”

       “Why would a cross have any affect on a vampire that was raised Moslem or Buddhist?” Spike pointed out as he returned to her side, and sat beside her on his bed, handing her the beer. “Means nothing to them. Same with Jewish vampires. Star of David does the same as a cross would, however. Crosses are always good to have, but I suggest having something heavier around. Holy water works on vamps of all cultures, however, since it's actual blessed.”

       “Would a blessed cross work on all vampires?”

       “Not sure...but that's a good point,” Spike replied with a smile, “Would try it out myself, but for my own aversion to them.”

       “God...I feel like such an ass,” Andy glanced in Spike's direction, “Sorry about yelling at you before...if I had known that you were really just worried about me...”

       “S'alright,” Spike shrugged off her apology, “All's forgiven,” Spike glanced towards the door, where Beowulf was still sitting, “Your dog's leering at me again.”

       “Beowulf, wall.”

       To Spike's surprise, Beowulf stood up and turned to face the door before sitting down again. “What in the...? Why did you teach him to do that?”

       “Let's just say...if my dad found out I taught Beowulf to do that, he'd be completely freaked.”

       “Aw...” Spike raised an eyebrow, “You need your Seeing Eye dog in bed?”

       “Funny. No, if I don't let him in the room, he'll whine and scratch at the door...it's kind of hard to concentrate when he does that. Hey...how do you do your hair if you can't see yourself in a mirror?”

       “How can you?” Spike replied pointedly, and Andy rolled her eyes.

       “Right...okay, I'm stupid. How old are you?”

       “Twenty-five when I was turned...” Spike frowned, doing the math in his head, “134. Counting years I was living.”

       “Wow...so you really did see Roller Disco...I feel pity for you now.”

       Spike laughed, “Yeah...I even had the white jumpsuit for a while...that was before I discovered punk, a'course...and I never went back.”

       “White jumpsuit?”

       “Oh...right...whole Saturday Night Fever phase I went through. I had a John Travolta complex.”

       “Oh...okay, now I'm scared.”

       “What? Now you're scared?” Spike sounded insulted, “I tell you that you're in the same room as a big, scary vampire...and you only get scared when I tell you I wore a white jumpsuit in the Seventies?”

       “Actually...it was the John Travolta bit...I may be blind, but even I heard enough to know he's a horrible actor.”

       “Ah, right...then you're absolved,” Spike replied, “How's your head?”

       “Hurts like a bitch,” Andy sighed, reaching back to touch her bump and winced, “I'm going to have a huge headache tomorrow...maybe I'll just skip class and stay in bed. Exemption for near-death experience.”

       “Won't get any rest though...Old Lady Dilling saw us come in, I think.”

       “Oh...God...” Andy fell back on the bed and closed her eyes with a groan, “She's worse then both of my parents combined. Last time I had a little cold she acted like I had contracted the plague. She shoved so much soup down my throat I almost drowned in chicken noodle.”

       “Oh, poor baby,” Spike said in amusement, staring down at the girl lying on his bed, “I caught her folding my knickers tonight. The woman actually broke into my apartment to do my laundry. I think she's missing a few marbles upstairs.”

       “Could be,” Andy shook her head, “I'm never going to get a moment's peace.”

       “Could stay here...doubt she'd think to look for you here, and she hasn't broken in during the day yet.”

       “What? And kick you out of your bed? Couldn't do that.”

       Spike glanced towards Beowulf, who had finally fallen asleep, facing the door, that dog is really gonna cramp my style. He leaned over Andy, picking up a strand of her black hair and toyed with it between his fingertips as he lowered his voice, “Didn't say you had too. Big bed...little lumpy, I admit...”

       “What?” Andy perched herself up on her elbows, lifting an eyebrow, “I don't even know your name...and you want me to sleep with you?”

       “William, and no, you may never call me that,” Spike replied as he dropped her hair, and shifted his weight to his hands as he placed them on either side of her body.

       “Uh-uh...and what's my full name?” She questioned, smiling up at him coyly, and Spike frowned.

       “Um...Andrea?”

       “Nope,” Andy made to slip away, but Spike let out a low, playful growl, moving to prevent her escape.

       “Now you got me curious...afraid I can't let you go till you tell me,” He threatened her, “But...truth be told...I might not even then.”

       “Adriana,” Andy replied, “Adriana Collins.”

       “Adriana,” Spike repeated with a soft, thrilling purr, watching as she flushed a bit, hearing her heartbeat speed up a bit, “Pretty name.”

       “It's okay, I guess,” Andy replied with a shrug, then smiled, “You going to let me go now? Or do I have to sic Beowulf on you?”

       “Maybe I feel like calling your bluff,” Spike replied, then lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering, “Do you even know how beautiful you are right now?”

       A sharp intake of breath was his answer, and he smiled as he brushed his lips against her eyelids, and they closed over blue orbs that only saw darkness. When he captured her lips in a kiss, they parted without protested, and he nearly groaned as he deepened it, the heat of her skin seeming to seep into him. She broke the kiss suddenly, “Down Beowulf, wall.”

       Spike glanced over his shoulder too see Beowulf tensed to spring, but he immediately returned to the door at Andy's order, “Stupid mutt.”

       “Don't call my dog a mutt,” Andy said somewhat breathlessly, then shoved on his chest, rolling him onto his back, and Spike was about to protest till she straddled him and initiated the next kiss.

       Spike dug both of his hands in her thick, silky hair, maneuvering so that he could devour more of her mouth from his position beneath her, and Andy smiled against his lips before breaking the kiss once more.

       “What? What's wrong?” Spike asked dazedly, and she laughed quietly.

       “Had to breath,” She said, panting a bit, “Apparently something else vampires don't do.”

       “Not really,” Spike said, and then his throat went dry as Andy pulled her baggy sweater over her head and tossed it over her shoulder, and he stared up at the cream-colored lace bra she was wearing.

       Beowulf lifted his head as Andy's sweater hit him, and whined as he glanced over at his mistress before turning to face the wall again, laying his head on the ground and covering his snout with his front paws with a whimper.

       Hot, fetid breath was washing over his face, and Spike wrinkled his nose, nearly gagging at the smell. He cracked one eye open, then jerked in surprise when he saw Beowulf panting, with his head resting on the bed, mere inches from his face.

       “Goddamn mutt,” Spike mumbled half-heartedly as he closed his eyes again, reaching out for Andy, but only coming up with a pair of small feet with blue toenails.

       Spike lifted his head, staring at her feet a bit disjointedly, trying to remember how he ended up at the bottom of the bed, then grinned slowly, “Oh...yeah...”

       He righted himself so that he was lying beside Andy, her back to him, and he draped a possessive arm around her waist, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. She murmured in her sleep, and then turned to face him, opening her eyes blearily.

       “Hmmm...what time is it?” She asked, yawning widely, and Spike glanced over his shoulder at the alarm clock on the table beside his bed.

       “Nearly noon,” He replied before lazily tracing a finger over her face, and she snuggled up against him, closing her eyes again, “Your dog is eyeing me again.”

       “Ugh...” Andy sighed as she started to sit up, “He needs to be walked...”

       “No,” Spike pulled her back down to him, kissing her deeply, and Andy wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. However, Beowulf's whine forced her to break it off.

       “Dog...walk...unless you feel like taking him out for a stroll,” She disentangled herself from his grasp, “Uh...can you help me find my clothes?”

       “Fine, fine,” Spike rolled out of bed reluctantly and began collecting her clothes for her, glancing over his shoulder as she stood, stretching her back, breasts bouncing enticingly as she arched towards him.

       “God...I am so sore...” She rolled her eyes when she heard Spike chuckle, “The bed was lumpy!”

       “Sure it was,” Spike said as he gave her the clothes that had been tossed all about the room, pulling his own jeans, and then fished his pack of smokes out of his duster, as well as a long, rectangular velvet box. “Shit...it's Tuesday, right?”

       “Yeah, I think so...why?” She asked as she pulled on her light blue sweater, and then smiled, “Oh! I am so stupid! How could I forget?” She crossed towards where she smelled the cigarette smoke, and Spike removed the smoke from his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his waist, standing on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, “Happy birthday. Your present is in my apartment, and I'll grab it later, okay?”

       “Huh?” Spike blinked in confusion, “What? For me? I thought it was your birthday...”

       “What? Mrs. Dilling told me...” Andy rolled her eyes and Spike shook his head as they both realized they had been played. “She was trying to fix us up, wasn't she?”

       “Looks like,” Spike replied in amusement, and then tapped her on the nose with the box, “If it's not your birthday, then I guess you don't deserve this.”

       “Then you don't deserve the incredibly thoughtful and fantastic present hidden beneath my bed,” She replied cheerfully, “Too bad...I may have to burn it.”

       Spike pulled her back to him, trying to kiss her once more, but sighed as Beowulf started to growl. “Stupid mutt.”

       “My baby is not a mutt,” Andy defended her dog, bending as Beowulf came up to her, and started to play wrestle with him, “He's a big scary doggie, aren't you?”

       “He's not scary. He's a mangy little fleabag.”

       “Then why did you keep looking over your shoulder last night? Frightened he was going to take a chunk of your cute butt when you weren't paying attention?” She asked as she straightened, slapping said butt playfully, “Think I can sneak past Mrs. Dilling without her knowing I was here all night?”

       “Luv...unless she's completely deaf...I think she already knows...what with the fair imitation you were doing of a banshee last night.”

       “Oh God...” She dropped her head against his shoulder with a little laugh, “We traumatized poor Mrs. Dilling.” She lifted her head, “Oh my God...what's she going to think about the...Animal Planet sounds from your end, huh? She's going to think we're completely demented! You sounded like a petting zoo!”

       Spike chuckled, “Well...on the bright side...she'll probably start knocking on our doors before coming in,” He tried to comfort her, then kissed her forehead, “You're coming back after you walk the mutt, right? I think you mentioned something last night about staying in bed all day. I'm not too impartial to that plan myself.”

       Andy smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, reaching up to rest her hand on his face, already familiar to her fingertips, “I need a shower first, and then I need to change my clothes...need to feed Beowulf, and then feed myself.”

       “Nnnoo...” Spike whined, pouting, “Take too long...we'll shower together, eat the dog, and run around naked and never have to leave the apartment.”

       “Hmmm...tempting...but no,” Andy giggled as he nuzzled her throat affectionately, nipping at her skin playfully, “How's my hair look?”

       “Got that wonderful `just been fucked but good' look,' Spike replied, and Andy rolled her eyes, fishing around in her jeans till she found a stray rubber band in one of the pockets and pulled her hair back into a slightly lopsided ponytail.

       “So very charming. I'll see you later, all right?” She kissed his cheek, “Beowulf, come.”

       Spike reluctantly let her escape but not before stealing a few more impassioned kisses on her way out. He heard a door open down the hall, and he broke away from her lips to glance over at Mrs. Dilling, who was peeking her head out of her apartment. “Mornin', Mrs. Dilling. Sleep well?”

       Andy slapped his chest, then disentangled herself from his grasp, smiling in Mrs. Dilling's direction, “Good morning, Mrs. Dilling...”

       “It's nearly afternoon,” The old lady replied, sounding a bit scandalized, “Morning is long gone, dear.”

       “Right...” Andy straightened her clothing, “Uh...Good afternoon then...” Mrs. Dilling shook her head, retreating back inside her apartment without another word, and Spike stifled a laugh as Andy's cheeks flushed. “I am so going to hell for this.”

       “For scaring little old ladies? I don't think so...now...sleeping with demons...you might be in a little trouble for that...”

       Andy groaned, then gave him a playful shove, “Shut up! You're no help whatsoever.”

       “Probably not,” Spike grinned, then swatted her behind with a low growl, “Go walk the mutt and hurry your cute arse back up here. Not done with you yet.”

       “Oh...assumptions...who says I'm coming back?”

       “You don't, I'll be forced to hunt you down,” He threatened lightly, but meaning every word of it. “You will be back?”

       “Have too...have to burn your present, now don't I?” Andy reminded him with a smile, then sighed when Beowulf tugged at the hem of her sweater, “All right...now I really have to go. I'll see you later, Will.”

       “Hey!” Spike glared at her back as she started towards the door, “I told you not to call me that!”

       “You told me not to call you William,” She reminded him without looking back, and Spike shook his head as she slipped out the front door, out into the bright Californian sun.

       “Devious little chit...” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and then he scowled when he heard his cell phone ringing. “Oh...right...and now for the ruinin' of Spike's day...” He grumbled as he went back inside his apartment.

       “How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man? How many seas must a white dove sail, before she sleeps in the sand?” Andy smiled as she ducked beneath the hot water, rinsing away the shampoo in her hair as she sang without music, her voice echoing off the walls of the shower. “How many times must the cannonballs fly, before they're forever bann--”

       She jumped as the door to her bathroom flew open with a bang, a sharp breeze of cold air diving in at her, and she covered herself with a shriek. The door slammed shut again, only to be followed by a snarl and then a heavy thump that made the door rattle on its hinges. “HA! Take that, you soddin' git!”

       “SPIKE!” Andy reached for the towel on the rack, while trying to shut off the water at the same time, “You scared the shit out of me!”

       “Sorry, luv,” Spike turned from the door, grinning as he swept his eyes over her dripping, towel clad form, but then noted the deadly glare she was sending him, her arms crossing over her chest. “I wasn't planning on it, pet...but your dog almost took a chunk out of my hide. I had to go somewhere.”

       “Was that what slammed into the door? You killed my dog!”

       “He's not dead...probably has one hell of a headache though...”

       Andy shook her head slightly as she stepped out of the shower carefully, “I thought you were going to wait for me at your place?”

       “Change of plans,” Spike sighed, leaning against the bathroom door as he watched her at her toilette, “Got a call from those pains in the arses I was tellin' you about. Apparently...it's the end of the world...again.”

       “Again?” There was an end of the world before?”

       “Several times...third time this year, by my count,” Spike told her with a roll of his eyes, “Listen, I'm going to be busy tonight, and maybe for the next couple of nights. You have to promise me to stay indoors after dark...don't invite anybody inside your apartment unless they walk in of their own freewill.”

       “I can't stay indoors...I have another tutoring session tonight, and tomorrow, I have study group for Sociology...I can't blow them off.”

       “Poodle...I'm not kidding about this. You remember what happened last night...”

       “I know...but I promised...I have responsibilities to take care of, besides, I have notes to catch up on because I missed classes today. I have Beowulf, we'll be fine.”

       “Dog, I'm not worried about, you, I am,” Spike told her, sounding a bit frustrated, “And why do you have to be so damned dedicated to school?”

       “Because I can't depend on looks alone?” Andy suggested sweetly, dropping her towel to the ground, crossing towards her clothes that were resting on the toilet. “It's sweet you're worried, Spike...but I can't stay indoors all the time, too frightened to go out and live my life. Besides, most deaths happen in the home. I might slip on the kitchen floor, split my skull open on the counter, and then, after a few days, Beowulf will be forced to eat my dead, rotting body to keep from starving.”

       Spike grimaced, “Ugh...nice imagery there, turtle dove. That's just...gross.”

       “You see my point, though,” She stated as she buttoned up her blouse, then sat down on the toilet to pull on her socks. “Stop worrying about me, you big baby...but tell you what...if I get eaten, you can be the first to say `I told you so.'”

       “Bit of an empty promise, that,” Spike replied, troubled when he saw she wasn't going to change her mind. He was highly tempted to tie her to her bed, but Beowulf would probably rip his throat open if he tried that. “At least...call me when you leave and then call me from the library when you get there...and then I'll sneak out to walk you home again.”

       “I think I can live with that,” Andy replied with a sigh as she pulled her hair up into a bun and then opened the bathroom door, and then moved about her apartment easily, having the layout and position of everything memorized in her mind. “Feel like frosted flakes? Sorry, but I don't have much in the way of food...but I have macaroni if you want that.”

       “I'm good,” Spike replied, curiously looking about her apartment. She had several bookcases lining the walls, filled with Braille and audio books, as well as what looked like journals with thick, stiff pages. She had a sofa bed as he did, but it was folded up, a few pillows resting on top of the couch. She had a small TV cabinet, complete with a VCR and television, as well as a stand filled with CDs. In the very far corner of the room, there was a desk with a computer resting on top of it, and Spike frowned. “Why do you have a computer? I mean...you know...”

       “Voice recognition program,” Andy explained from the kitchen, “I can tell the computer what to do without needing to see the screen. Useful little piece of software...don't even have to type if I don't want too. But I still have to have someone spell and grammar check for me.”

       “That's just...neat,” Spike said, turning his attention from the computer as Andy came out of the kitchen with a bowl of frosted flakes, smiling a bit as he sat on the couch, and she plopped down beside him, curling her feet beneath her butt.

       “So...end of the world? Sounds big, huh?” She hinted not so subtly as Spike watched her smash the end of her spoon into her flakes, crunching them up so the milk moistened them.

       “Not really...happens so many times, I lose track,” Spike bragged lightly, “Gettin' to be an old pro at it.” He frowned, “God, I am so pathetic.”

       “Why's that?” Andy asked curiously, playing with her spoon absently, glancing up when she felt his weight shift, and then he was pulling her across his lap with an arm around her waist, his free hand keeping her bowl from tipping over.

       “Maybe `cause I think you're so cute when you eat frosted flakes. That has to rate high on the pathetic scale. Or maybe it's the whole `big, bad, evil vampire' getting bragging rights for saving the world. Take your pick.”

       “I think it's a toss-up,” She replied, finding it hard to concentrate on eating with the blond vampire nibbling on her earlobe. “How's the world going to end this time?”

       “Probably something involving earthquakes...hell on earth...fire and brimstone...big nasty, ugly bastard trying to eat people...you know, the usual bit,” He told her, “Put down the frosted flakes so I can ravage you.”

       “What? We're up to ravaging? I'm still stuck on the cute while eating Tony the Tiger...” She blushed as Spike burst out laughing and hid her face in his shoulder, “Okay...that so did not sound that dirty in my head.”

       “Oh, it was adorable...” Spike frowned, “Okay...now that was pathetic.”

       “Yeah, it was,” Andy agreed, then squealed as Spike tumbled her down to the couch with a growl.

       “This...doesn't make any sense,” Giles mumbled to himself as he looked over the prophecy for what felt like the hundredth time. He had almost memorized the entire thing, but it didn't help him to understand what he was reading.

       Willow was bent over a few volumes from his library, together with Tara, hoping to find something within them to help them understand the prophecy.

       Why must they always speak in riddles? Giles thought in annoyance, glancing at Buffy and Xander, who were sitting on the couch, looking bored out of their minds. Spike had yet to show up, even though the sun had set half an hour before, and he was growing annoyed, hoping the vampire would be able to throw light on the ancient prophecy. He found Spike was sometimes useful in interpreting things from the time he had spent with Drusilla and her mad ramblings.

       Finally, his front door was thrown open so that it banged against the wall, and Spike swept in, duster flying out behind him, ever-present cigarette hanging from between his lips.

       “Spike, so glad you could join us,” He said dryly, giving the vampire a look over his glasses. “I trust that this little gathering hasn't interrupted any of your plans for the evening?”

       “Yeah, it did,” Spike replied without sarcasm, throwing himself into his favorite chair. “Well? How's it goin' to end this time? Boils and pustules? Always a fun one.”

       “Ewww...gross...” Buffy gave Spike a disgusted look, and then glanced at Giles, “It's not that, right?”

       “I'm...not entirely sure,” Giles replied, shaking his head, “This prophecy...”

       “Oh! Let me guess!” Spike lifted an eyebrow, “Vague and one big pain in the ass riddle?”

       “Basically...yes,” Giles returned to the book he had been toiling over for the past few days. “Word of Scienant, black on appurys, resides in sandreks, the dark geporny that shall suconme all the rowld. In webbed somagoser threads, the doblo shall flow lefrey.”

       “What the...?” Buffy stared at Giles, “What in the hell does that mean?”

       “I don't know,” Giles shook his head, “I've never seen the likes of it...it...sounds partially translated...but the rest of it's in a language I've never seen or heard before. I was hoping Spike would recognize it.”

       “It's not in any demon language I know,” Spike replied, shaking his head, “Sounds like complete nonsense to me.”

       “The text that follows it implies that a great evil shall raise...possibly in the next day or so. However, if we can translate the rest of the text, we may have an idea of how or where it's going to happen...”

       “You called me down here for that?” Spike asked in annoyance, “For a freakin' riddle that you don't bloody well understand?”

       “Spike...we have too...” He was interrupted by a loud beep, and Giles watched as everyone in the room, save him, reached for their pockets, or purses, respectively, and pulling out cell phones.

       “Me!” Spike called, then jumped to his feet, darting into the foyer, “ `Ello?”

       “Hey, I made it, alive, dad,” Andy's voice came over the line, and he grinned, “How's the world saving gig working for you?”

       “Bloody horrible,” Spike glanced into the living room, scowling when he saw the Scoobies looking towards him, then lowered his voice, “They damn well called me down here to friggin' talk about a prophecy that's not even translated. Damn thing reads like a children's riddle.”

       “Sounds crappy,” Andy heard one of the librarians pass close to her, and turned to face a wall, “What's the prophecy?”

       “Huh? Why?”

       “I kick ass at riddles. Seriously...I actually won a contest at the Renaissance Faire one time.”

       “Not even in English, poodle,” Spike told her, “But if you wanna knock yourself out...” Spike crossed back into the living room, and stole the book out of Giles' hand, despite the Watcher's protest. “Word of Scienant, black on appurys, resides in sandreks, the dark geporny that shall suconme all the rowld. In webbed somagoser threads, the doblo shall flow lefrey.”

       “It's a book,” Andy replied right away, “At least the first part.”

       “What? You're kiddin' me, right?” Spike glanced at Giles, “She says it's a book.”

       “What?” Giles frowned, “There's no mention of a book.”

       “Maybe a scroll...what was the rest of it?”

       Spike repeated the prophecy, spelling out a few of the words that she asked for, while Giles watched on with a frown, asserting, “There's no mention of a book anywhere in it...can I?” Giles held his hand out for the phone.

       “Luv, I'm switching you over to the resident book-worm,” Spike told Andy, “He's British, so you'll like him.”

       Andy laughed as Giles took the phone, “Uh...hello? Whom am I speaking too?”

       “Hey,” Andy greeted, feeding a few more quarters into the pay phone, “I'm Andy, sir.”

       “Right...uh...Andy...why do you think the prophecy mentions a book? I've read it over and over again, and I can't find any mention...”

       “It's an anagram,” Andy answered, “Every third word is an anagram. Scienant translates to Ancients, appurys is papyrus, sandreks is darkness, geprony is progeny, suconme is consume, rowld is world, somagoser...I'm having trouble with that one...gossamer, I think, doblo is blood, and lefrey is freely.”

       “Word of Ancients, black on papyrus, resides in darkness, the dark progeny that shall consume all the world. In webbed gossamer threads, the blood shall flow freely,” Giles replaced the words that Andy indicated, blinking in surprise, “Good Lord...you're right. It is an anagram.”

       “Ha!” Spike grinned, “My girl figured out in three seconds what you couldn't figure out in three days?”

       “Shut up, Spike,” Giles replied absently, writing down the translation, “Word of Ancients, black on papyrus most likely does refer to a book...but webbed gossamer threads?”

       “You have a girl?” Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow at Spike, and the vampire glared at her before flipping her off.

       “Shut it, Slayer.”

       “A spider...has to be a spider...followed by the reference to blood. It's the only thing I can think of that has threads and is interested in blood.”

       “Of course,” Giles said thoughtfully, “Uh...right...thank you...Andy, was it?”

       “Andy?” Buffy repeated, eyes widening as she glanced at Willow, “Spike's girl is Andy?”

       “Yeah...and no problem...got nothing else better to do with my time,” Andy replied brightly, and then smiled when she heard Spike grabbling with Giles for the cell phone.

       “Hey, baby,” Spike apparently won the battle, and Andy rolled her eyes.

       “Did you beat up the old guy for the phone, Spike? That wasn't very nice.”

       “Yeah, well...” Spike glanced over his shoulder, scowling, “Gimme a sec, pet...they're all bloody well leering at me. Bunch of soddin' eavesdroppers.” He went back out into the foyer, and leaned against the front door, “So...what're you wearing?”

       “The same thing you saw me wearing when you left,” Andy replied, feeding another quarter into the pay phone, “I, unfortunately, did not change into a whip cream bikini before I headed to the library.”

       “Too bad,” Spike replied, chuckling, “Would've been nice imagery,” He dropped his voice even lower, “Black lace negligee...card catalogue...late fees...God, it's making me so hot.”

       “WE CAN HEAR YOU!” Xander screamed from the living room, “Please! STOP!”

       “Y'know...two years ago...I would've ripped out his throat and worn his intestines for a neck-tie for that,” Spike sighed heavily, “God, I hate my life.”

       “Poor baby,” Andy replied in mock-sympathy, glancing over her shoulder when the girl she was supposed to be tutoring called her name, and held up a hand, indicating she needed a few more minutes. “Okay, I'm probably going to be stuck here for an hour. If this one hasn't read the book either, I'm upping my tutoring fees. I'm not paid enough for this crap.”

       “At least you're getting paid,” Spike replied, removing a cigarette from his pack, “Listen...if I can slip out early enough, you want do something? Movie? Um...or not a movie...sorry...stupid question...”

       “No...movie sounds nice. I'll get someone to check listings for me from the library computer.”

       “You sure...? I mean...movie can't be too fun for you...”

       “Just be prepared to describe what's goin--” Andy yelped as the floor beneath her rolled suddenly, and she pitched forward into the payphone, striking her forehead on the cool, metal surface and she heard something crash in the back of the library, “Son of a fucking BITCH!” She touched her head, feeling warm, sticky blood, “Hey! My first earthquake...it sucked.”

       “Earthquake?” Spike frowned, “Luv...there wasn't an earthquake.”

       “Well, I didn't trip and split my skull open while standing in one spot,” Andy replied, “You didn't feel that? I think a bookcase fell over.”

       “Shit...Andy...pet...do me a favor, grab the mutt, and get out of there.”

       “Wait...after that big deal you made about leaving the library by myself...”

       “Adriana, I'm fuckin' serious, all right?! Get out of there!” Spike snapped, more worried then angry, then tensed when he heard a shrill scream on the other end of the phone, “Andy?!”

       “Wasn't me,” She assured him, but her voice was terse, “I can hear something moving around in there, Spike...”

       “Don't hang up the phone, and get out there, baby,” Spike leaned into the doorway, gesturing at the weapon's cabinet with an impatient grunt. “Now!”

       “Gone,” He heard the phone being dropped, and Andy impatiently calling for Beowulf. Buffy came up to him, carrying a double-sided axe and started to ask him something but he drew his hand across his throat, glaring at her as he pressed the phone to his ear, waiting to hear the sound of the library doors opening and closing. Instead, he heard a loud swear, and then Andy came back on the phone.

       “The security doors were tripped...I think the power went out,” She told him calmly, even though Beowulf was snarling and spitting, and she could hear an almost metallic, rasping sound deep in the stacks. “Listen...there's an office somewhere around here...I'm going to try to get in it and lock the door.”

       “Do that, then,” Spike said, “Is there a phone in there?”

       “I think so...”

       “All right...I'm going to hang up, as soon as you get in there, call me again.”

       “Okay...talk to you in a few...” Andy said, and Spike closed his eyes, sucking his cheeks in as the line went dead, and he lowered the phone slowly, punching the connection button.

       “Spike...?” Buffy started to say, but Spike shoved past her, heading towards the weapons cabinet and grabbing out a broadsword, and then started loading up on the smaller stuff, shoving them in the waistband of his jeans and pockets of his duster.

       “Okay...when the vampire's freaked out...not good!” Xander observed worriedly, and Buffy gave him a look before stocking up on weapons herself. She had heard enough from his end of the phone call to know something was drastically wrong.

       Spike kept glancing at his phone, then looked up at Buffy, “She should have called by now...it would only take her a few minutes to get in there...”

       “She doesn't know the layout of the office,” Buffy reminded him, “It may take her awhile to find a phone.”

       “What's going on?” Willow asked worriedly, “What's happening?”

       “Library...the goddamn prophecy's happenin' at the library,” Spike replied tensely, starting towards the door, Buffy on his heels.

       “Wait...we don't know how to...stop this...or even what this is,” Giles called out, “You can't go till we know what we're facing.”

       “What? Sit around while this thing eats my bird? Don't bloody think so,” Spike snapped back at him, “I'm not sitting here with my thumb up my arse, while my girlfriend becomes a snack for some fuckin' spider demon or whatever!”

       “Giles, you research, you have Spike's number,” Buffy broke in, “Call if you get anything. Wills, Tara? You guys come with us...we might need spell-casters.”

       “What about me?” Xander asked, and Spike and Buffy exchanged a look before replying in unison.

       “Research.”

       Xander scowled as Tara and Willow hopped to their feet, grabbing up their things together, “Hey! I can help!”

       “I don't have time for this,” Spike told Buffy, “I'll bloody well meet you there.”

       “Spike...you should wai--” Buffy started to say, but Spike ignored her as he threw open the door, and sprinted out into the night. “Shit. He's going to get himself killed.”

       Spike raced through Sunnydale, cutting through yards and practically throwing himself over the fences separating the yards. He held his cell phone clutched in one hand, still waiting for Andy's call, but the phone was being stubbornly silent.

       Come on, baby...give daddy a call...Spike pleaded silently as he leapt up, feet scrabbling along the wood of a fence, and he winced as a splinter slipped underneath his thumbnail, but he ignored the pain as he dropped down to the other side.

       He was on the very far edge of the campus now, and he could see the large, Romanesque building that housed the college library. All the windows were black from where he was standing, and there was a large, jagged crack running from the roof to the ground, and Spike shuddered at the sight of it.

       He started to run again, and started up the front steps off the library, only too see a large, metal grill blocking the doors into the library, and he swore profusely, having forgotten that Andy had said the security doors had been tripped when the power went out.

       “SHIT! CUT ME A FUCKIN' BREAK, WILL YOU!?” Spike snarled at the sky, and then frowned, looking up at one of the windows high above the doors. They didn't have a grill on them. He glanced at one of the columns beside him, then slipped his cell phone in his duster pocket. “Right...just like climbing the Eiffel Tower...” He said to himself, “Just less wind shear and footholds.”

       He reached behind him, making sure the sword and its sheath was attached firmly to his body before starting to scale the column, sliding down half a foot for every two feet he gained.

       His boots scrambled for purchase as the muscles in his arms burned as he hauled himself up, and finally, he found himself directly across from the windows, breathing a shuddering sigh of relief when he saw the thin ledge running beneath them. Finally...something he could work with.

       He took a few precious seconds to rest himself before curling his legs nearly up to his chest, almost losing his grip, but he vamped out, his fingernails sharpening, and he drove them into the stone, snarling when two of his nails were ripped off, blood from his fingers nearly making worsening his position. With a roar, he shoved himself off of the column and launched himself through the air, hands outstretched.

       He slammed into the ledge at chest level, and he started to fall downwards, but he managed to grab it before he could fall back to the ground. He swung his body to the side, using his leg to get a grip on the ledge, and then hauled himself up with a grunt.

       “Christ...” Spike looked at the column, then back down at the ground, panting for breath that he didn't need. His arms were burning from the strain he had put them under, and he glanced down at his hand, wincing when he saw the missing fingernails. “Goin' to feel that tomorrow,” He muttered, and then glanced at the window before slamming his fist through it, shattering the glass.

       He heard it twinkling to the ground, and then a strange, metallic, skittering sound that made his skin crawl. He kept his demon at the fore as he looked through the window, sweeping his gaze around the black library but was unable to distinguish much of anything save for the dark shapes of the shelves.

       He stepped onto the windowsill, and then dropped down to the ground, hitting the floor with no more then a rustle of leather and a crunching of glass beneath his boots. He heard the skittering sound once more, further back in the library, but he ignored it for the moment as he glanced towards the doors, seeing the payphone Andy had to have been using to call him.

       He straightened and silently made his way towards it, nostrils flaring when he caught the faint smell of blood, and he could see a black shadow gracing the edge of the phone. He lifted his finger to it, coming away with a bit of tacky substance, and licked his fingers, yellow eyes flashing. Blood...but not much. She had mentioned something about splitting her skull open and guessed that she must have accidentally slipped into the payphone during the `earthquake.'

       A small stack of quarters was resting on top of it, and he picked one up, absently toying with it before flinging it towards the back of the library. He heard it clang against something solid, and then a soft, wheezing sound, and the rasping of metal.

       Office...there was only one office he could see, and it was behind the check-out desk, and Spike made his way towards it when he saw the shut door, and he hoped that Andy had managed to make it to safety before whatever shit that had hit the fan had come flying at her head-on. Come on, you right bastard...have her behind that door and I swear, I will start going to confession every bleedin' Sunday...and I'll even fuckin' become the new altar boy.

       He tensed, glancing over his shoulder when he thought he saw a shadow move, and he stared into the darkness, eyes slightly narrowed as he waited for the motion to repeat itself. However, he waited vainly, and he started towards the office again when he decide he was allowing his eyes to play tricks on him.

       He opened the door carefully, half expecting Beowulf to barrel at him, teeth bared, “Andy? Poodle? You in there?” He asked quietly, “Adriana...”

       There was no answer, and he swore when he saw it was completely empty. “Shit...shit...SHIT!” He screamed the last, and he whirled when he heard Beowulf barking in the darkness, and he called for him, but he didn't obey. Spike was a bit heartened to think that the mutt wouldn't leave his mistress as long as she was alive. He stepped out of the office, staring off into the darkness, and this time, he was sure that he could see the shadows moving.

       “Right...you can play this smart...and wait for the Slayer and her little Scoobs to show up...” He heard Beowulf yelp and start to whine loudly, “Fuck it...you were never that smart anyhow.”

       Buffy paced outside the library, looking upwards at the shattered window, where they assumed Spike had gotten in, the bit of blood slowly dripping down the column seeming to support that theory.

       “Christ...” Buffy glanced at Tara, “How in the hell do you think he managed that?”

       “Pure adrenalin,” Tara answered quietly, “I think he really cares about her.”

       “Wills? How's it coming?” Buffy glanced at the redhead, who was kneeling beside the door, stripping the wires of the security system so that she could try and bypass the command that was keeping the metal grill down.

       “I'm not sure...I'm a hacker, not an electrician,” Willow replied, frowning slightly, “I'm not even sure this will work if the power's off.”

       “Are you sure you can't do a spell?” Buffy asked, glancing at Tara desperately, “There has to be something...”

       “I'm...there's spells to open doorways, but they're unstable,” Tara answered, “And...the energy I'm getting off this place...it's not good energy. It could completely backfire any spell we try to cast. Add an unstable spell on top of that...and it'll probably turn us inside out or something.”

       “I don't think I'm going to be able to get up there like Spike did,” Buffy said, looking upwards once more, “And I definitely don't think I'm going to be able to make the jump without falling and becoming Buffy vegetable matter.”

       Willow shook her head worriedly, then jumped when the wires sparked and she jerked her hands away, “OW!”

       “Are you okay?” Tara asked immediately, concerned for her girlfriend, and Willow nodded.

       “Just a bit singed,” She replied, sticking a finger in her mouth. “I don't think this is working.”

       “Great...the world will be ended because someone decided that a few copies of Huck Finn needed a fancy security system,” Buffy remarked in irritation, “I will never get this town.” She cocked her head when she heard tires screeching down below, rolling her eyes, “Ten to one, it's not a cop investigating the library's silent alarms.”

       Tara shook her head, “It's Xander...” She said, watching as the boy jumped out of his car, then opened up the trunk, removing a tire jack, and he ran up the library steps, brandishing it triumphantly.

       “Ha! Look who comes through in the end!” He said as he sat the tire jack down on the ground before the grate, shoving it underneath before cranking it. The metal grating started to lift with a groan. Xander watched the jack, not wanting it to slip and very likely take his kneecaps out in a spray of blood. “Okay...that's about as far as it's gonna go,” Xander said when he got the grill lifted about two feet off the ground, “It's going to be a tight squeeze, and one of us is going to have to wait here to get it open again.”

       “Great,” Buffy grimaced, then dropped to her knees and shoving her weapons beneath it before