Part One

       "Hard-working, industrious worker wanted..." Buffy read aloud, "$500 a night...oh, like that...experience needed...I got tons of that..."

       Spike took a drag on his cigarette, eyeing her warily as he snatched the classifieds out of the Slayer's hands, looking down at the ad she circled, "Um...pet? This is for an escort service..."

       "I can escort...I date...Well, I have experience in dating!"

       Spike raised an eyebrow, "Luv, not that kind of escort..."

       "What? What kind of escort...?" Buffy groaned as Spike raised his eyebrow suggestively. "Ewwww..."

       "Not that you wouldn't earn more then that..."

       "Once again...EEEWWW!" Buffy grabbed the newspaper from him, and slapped him upside the head with it as he smirked at her.

       "I got five on me right now...I was gonna buy some fags...but since you're in a bind..."

       Buffy snorted, "You're supposed to be helping...if you're not going to be serious..."

       "Fine, fine..." Spike put on a straight face as he hopped on a tombstone, "My opinion is that you wait on selling your body till I get to the bank. I hate sloppy seconds..." Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, and Spike held up his hands, "All right. I'm done. Promise."

       "Good," Buffy looked down at the paper, "There's waitressing at that Fifties diner..." Buffy grimaced, "I think they make you wear poodle skirts..."

       Spike shuddered, "There's a bit of Americana I coulda done without," The vampire muttered, shaking his head, "At least Dru rubbed some blood on her poodle's snout."

       "Drusilla wore poodle skirts?"

       "What can I say?" Spike shrugged with a grin, "She was insane."

       "What's everyone else's excuse?" Buffy shook her head, "Definitely last resort. Just above working the corner...but just."

       Spike chuckled, taking the paper from her, and glancing through them quickly, "Well...there's a hairdresser job..."

       "I have to actually attend school to do that, Spike."

       "What? Since when?"

       "They call them cosmetologists. They have trade schools."

       "Damn. I remember the days when the barber was a dentist too..."

       "Yeah, yeah, and you had to walk five hours, all uphill, in the snow, barefoot, to find a victim."

       "Haha, smart-ass," Spike pulled a grimace at her, but it was playful as he turned his attention back to the paper, scooting over a bit as Buffy sat on the tombstone with him. "Let's see...pet store..."

       "Animals hate me."

       "McDonald's?"

       "Grease equals pimples."

       "Teacher's aide?"

       "Dropped out of college."

       "Babysitter?"

       "Little kids are the spawn of Satan."

       Spike looked at her in exasperation, "Are you always this picky?"

       "I'm not picky...I'm choosy..."

       "Uhuh...I'm going to buy you a thesaurus, Slayer..."

       "Why? You think I'm going to read it like you did, nerd-boy?"

       "See if I ever tell you anything again!"

       "Oh...I'm sorry...I know immortality can be boring...oh wait...you did that BEFORE you died."

       Spike growled at her, "Keep that up, pet, and you're going to be looking into your new career as an organ donor."

       "Haha. Oh!" Buffy looked excited, "I could be a cop!"

       "You? A cop?" Spike snorted.

       "Hey, don't scoff. I'll have you know, when I took the career test in school, they said I could be a cop...they help people and stuff...well, except for the one at Career Day who shot at me."

       "The cop tried to shoot you?"

       "Well, duh," Buffy gave him a look, "She was working for your little assassin group."

       "Whoops?"

       "Hmmpphh..." Buffy cocked her head slightly, "How hard can it be, really? I mean...running after people...catching them...beating them up..."

       "Oh? So you're joining the LAPD?"

       Buffy gave him a look, then let out a snort that was almost a laugh, "My point was that I'm a natural. With my slaying abilities, I actually have an edge..."

       "Luv...I don't know...sometimes they have to shoot to kill...I mean...at people...is that seriously something you could do? You couldn't even do in that Ben chap, and he was harboring Glory..."

       "Oh..." Buffy frowned slightly, "Well...it's not like there's a lot of shootings in Sunnydale. Actually, I'm pretty sure our police force sit on their butts all day and eat donuts...but they get paid. Which is the real big attraction here."

       Spike sighed, shaking his head slightly, "I don't know, Buffy...but if this is something you want to do...I completely support you."

       She smiled at him slowly as she stood up, "Thanks. I really need that right now."

       Spike watched as she started to head home, then turned his face upwards, "Please, God...if this doesn't work...let her get that job as an escort..."

       "I heard that, William!"

       Spike grinned, winking at her before standing and sweeping towards his crypt, and the Slayer shook her head slightly with a smile, turning towards home.

       "All right, recruits!" The instructor barked at the lined up trainees. Buffy stood between two huge hulking men, only coming up to their chests. Her golden, blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she was dressed in tight, dark blue shorts and a t-shirt that had the SDPD logo on the breast. "Line up, and let me look at you, you filthy little maggots!"

       Buffy leaned over a bit to look at him, and he was on her in a second, screaming in her face, "Are you looking for something, recruit?!" He shouted, and Buffy closed her eyes as spittle flew in her face.

       "A spit guard..." She muttered beneath her breath, and the instructor drew back angrily, and she cursed her big mouth.

       "DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME FIFTY!"

       Buffy rolled her eyes, and dropped down, starting to do pushups as he looked down the line, "Let this be a lesson, you scum-sucking, sorry excuses for human beings! Don't talk unless you are spoken too...don't look unless I tell you too look! You don't even breathe unless I tell you to breath! GOT THAT?!"

       Buffy stood up, finished with even having broken a sweat, and he looked towards her, "I SAID FIFTY!"

       "I did fifty."

       "THEN DO FIFTY MORE! COUNT THEM OFF!"

       Buffy rolled her eyes, and went back to the ground, swiftly doing pushups, sarcastically switching to one-handed mid-way through, then bounced to her feet.

       "I see we have a smart-ass here," The instructor glared at Buffy, "Well, smart ass, If you're so amazing, do you think you could take me?! Or afraid you'll mess up your pretty head of hair?!"

       Buffy's eyes narrowed, and then her fist shot out of her own volition, and he hit the ground, unconscious.

       Buffy stood over his prone body, shaking her head slightly as she knelt a bit as he groggily opened his eyes, "Wow...and I didn't even break a nail." He grunted as she stepped on his chest to get over him, and stalked away. Maybe Spike was right...she was definitely not law-enforcement material.

       Spike was sitting in his chair, reading a book as Buffy came in, still dressed in the shirt and shorts they had given her, and he raised an eyebrow as he lit up a cigarette, "How'd it go?"

       She sighed as she plopped down on the couch across from him, muttering an obscenity beneath her breath in reply, "That good, huh? Well, no worries...you'll find something..." Spike said, starting to read again, "There's some coke in the fridge if you want it."

       "Thanks..." Buffy got up and went towards the mini-fridge, choosing not to note the prominence of real, people food and drinks that were non-alcoholic inside it, with Spike's blood bags shoved to the side. She only grabbed a coke and an apple, sitting back down on the couch. "It was like G.I. Jane...'cept I didn't have the urge to stop waxing my legs and shave my head."

       "Pity that," Spike replied, "I fancy you'd look good with the Sinead O'Connor style..."

       She tossed her apple at him, and he caught it without looking up from his book.

       "Spike...it's upside down."

       "I know," The vampire replied, looking up at her, "I like reading them like that...or I'll go through them too fast during the day." Buffy stared at him for several seconds, and he lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

       "You're too weird."

       "I'm weird? Who's sitting here with a vampire in a dank, dirty crypt on a perfectly beautiful day?" Spike sat his book aside, folding his hands in his lap as he leaned forward, his face crossing with a serious look, "Buffy...I want to talk to you about something..."

       Buffy's eyes widened slightly. Oh God...not this...not now...

       "I gotta go..." She stood suddenly, making a swift break for the door, and Spike jumped to his feet.

       "Buffy!"

       She turned, shaking her head, her eyes wide, "I can't do this, Spike...don't you understand? I just can't..."

       "Buffy, it's not..."

       "Night, Spike..." Buffy raced out the door, leaving the vampire to stare after her.

       Buffy let herself into the house, listening to Giles argue with a bill collector on the phone, closing her eyes as she leaned against the doorway, catching her breath. She had ran all the way from the cemetery as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

       She knew it had to be coming. She didn't want it too...but she knew he could only wait so long before he had to start asking questions. But why now? He knows I can't deal with this right now! She lamented. Since she had been back, he had been one of her closest friends.

       A rock for her to lean against when she was feeling weak, and just wanted it all to end again. A sympathetic ear when she just wanted to talk. He knew when she just wanted to mope, and remained silent, just sitting with her, and he knew when she needed cheering up, and he would make her laugh. He understood not only that she was the Slayer...but he also understood WHO she was, apart from the Slayer. It was almost ironic that her greatest enemy was now her best friend, even above Willow.

       Buffy sighed, shaking her head slightly. He had already become indispensable to her...and her day wasn't complete unless she had a chance to be with him alone. Sometimes, she was with him twice a day, and those were the days she didn't dream about heaven, and wake up crying for what she had lost.

       She couldn't deal with anything having to do with love or romance or anything. She just...needed him. That was it...why he wanted to discuss anything of the sort right now was beyond her.

       "Buffy?" Giles' voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and she smiled wanly at the Watcher, "How did it go?"

       "Did you get the morning paper?" She asked by way of an answer, and Giles sighed, shaking his head slightly.

       "Buffy..."

       "I know, I blew it, Giles..."

       "Buffy...you can't screw around now...I can pay some...but not all of the bills...I can't spend the rest of my life in Su...on the couch..."

       She looked at him sharply at his near slip-up, pushing away from the door, "I got it, Giles," She said a trifle coldly, starting up the stairs to her room.

       "Buffy..." Giles called out, but she ignored him, and he sighed deeply as he glanced at the now ringing phone. Ah...bloody hell...

       Buffy scratched at her large, padded bra, her hair piled up on her head in the parody of a bouffant hairdo. Her poodle skirt was rough and scratchy cotton, and she was sweating to death in her stupid costume.

       A notepad was tucked in the pocket of her apron, and she pulled it out as she waited on a group of rowdy college guys. At least she had some experience waitressing in LA...but she remembered now why she hated it. Everyone tipped lousy, and she was paid less then minimum wage.

       She sighed as she turned, gritting her teeth together when one of the boys grabbed her ass, resulting in raucous laughter.

       She stuck the piece of paper on a spinning wheel, and sent it towards the kitchen side, taking a few plates, and bringing them to a table with two elderly people at it. They immediately started complaining, and she had to bring the meal back to the kitchen. She had only been working there for two days, and already she was ready to fling her fake boobs at the manager and tell him to shove her job where the sun didn't shine.

       Her night just couldn't get any worse.

       "Summers, table five is yours," A bored hostess ordered, and Buffy nodded, heading towards a table in the back, then froze with a groan.

       "What are you doing here?"

       "Bein' traumatized, apparently..." Spike replied, staring at her huge chest, "Good Lord...what in the bleedin' hell is that?"

       "About sixty pounds of padding," Buffy replied, "What are you doing here?'

       "I got a bit hungry, and heard that there was a cute little blond workin' here," Spike replied with a rakish grin, and Buffy rolled her eyes.

       "Spike, we don't serve what you eat here. Take my word for it."

       "Hey, I eat normal food."

       "We don't have blooming onions either."

       "Really? What kind of crappy establishment is this?"

       "Spike...you're going to get me in trouble."

       "Fine, fine," He smiled as he looked over the menu, "What do you recommend?"

       "McDonald's...two blocks down, big golden arch...can't miss it."

       "Haha...I'll take the special..."

       "It's your funeral," Buffy said, then tapped her pencil against her lips, "Oh, right...you already had one of those. We should start a club...we could call it...The Undead Poet's Society."

       "Ha bloody ha. Maybe you should be a comedienne, pet. 'Cause you're just soo hilarious."

       "I could be a super heroine," Buffy thrust out her chest, "I got the measurements."

       Spike burst out laughing, then glanced around when everyone started staring at him, and he cleared his throat, "Better run along, luv. Those fogies look about ready to take a chomp out of you."

       "Old people are the spawn of Satan."

       "I thought that was children."

       "Well...same thing...it's kind of a backward spiral, I'm thinking."

       "Not all of us can stay young and beautiful," Spike said, batting his eyelashes at her coyly, and Buffy snorted, "Anything to drink with your meal, sir?"

       "Sure...just cut up one of the chefs, and dribble in the glass..."

       "Coke it is. I'm going to spit in it for that remark."

       "Could you at least bite your lip first...?"

       Buffy grimaced at him, "I'm spitting in your hamburger too."

       "I was kidding!" Spike said as she glided away from the table, grinning as he leaned back in his seat, glad to see a smile on her face once more.

       He watched as she carried a large tray towards the table with the frat boys, scowling when they made crude remarks, but she acidly cut them down, and she winked at him as she passed by again, her mood lifted considerably. Even so, he still checked his coke for spit when he got it.

       Buffy soon came with his food, and slid into the booth across from him, taking her ten minute break, and stealing some of his french fries. "Ugh...this place sucks," She said, "Those old people actually tipped me a dollar. I have mortgages, credit card bills and a kid sister to provide for...and they tip me a buck."

       "I could go corner them in the back...flash them a little game face...they'll drop their wallets and run like hell. Works like a charm..."

       "Yeah, Anya told me about your extracurricular activities. You're not still...?"

       "God, no. I do have some dignity, Slayer," He grimaced, "Stopped doing it around the time I officially joined the good side of the force. Specifically cause I kept thinking about you in that gold bikini Leia wore..."

       Buffy tossed a fry at his head, and he looked at her innocently, "What I say?"

       "Shut it, Deadboy. I'm trying to enjoy your meal."

       "So I see," Spike shook his head as she dug into his food, but didn't protest, "Don't they feed you in this dive?"

       "Nope. We're not supposed to eat on our shifts," Buffy grimaced, "Not that it's a big loss."

       Spike lit a cigarette as he contemplated the blond across from him, wondering if this was a good time to bring up the subject foremost in his mind. He pushed it aside for the moment as she stood up, her break over, "See ya later, Spike. I got to do a patrol."

       "All right," Spike stood, pulling on his duster, and reaching in his pocket, dropping a few bills on the table as Buffy headed towards the back to grab another order that was up.

       The hostess went to clean up the table Spike was at, then glanced down at the money, her eyes lighting up as she pocketed the two fifties, replacing it with a few dollar bills from her apron, glancing at Buffy as she did so, then moved away swiftly.

       Buffy headed over towards Spike's crypt, where they usually met for patrol, pausing as she stood outside the door, listening to Spike argue with someone. She peeked in the crypt, surprised to see Spike on a cell phone, angrily shouting into it in what sounded like French, and she raised an eyebrow.

       Spike hung up with a graphic threat in plain English, tossing the cellphone on the couch, running a hand through his hair, which was standing on end, muttering in annoyance, "Bloody red tape...I'll give you red tape, you froggy bastards..."

       "Spike, it's not nice to call French people that."

       Spike jumped, glancing at Buffy as she came in, "Were you eavesdropping?!"

       "Please...it'd only be eavesdropping if I understood a word you said. Now, if you were talking about touching cows on a weekday...I'd be eavesdropping..."

       Spike frowned slightly, then shook his head, "I'm just going to smile and nod and pretend I understand what you're prattling on about," Spike replied, lighting a cigarette, "Please tell me you're going to change before patrol. I'm not going to be seen in public with you dressed like that. I'm already the laughing stock of the demon-world."

       "Haha, fang breath," Buffy grimaced at him, "I brought a change of clothes. Is there somewhere...?"

       "Downstairs. Don't touch anything."

       "Oh, yeah...cause I'm just dying to touch anything in your dirty little crypt."

       "It's not dirty...well...not since Tara and Willow descended down on me like the tenth plague..."

       "Aww...did the big bad witches make Spike clean his room?" Buffy asked in a cutesy voice and Spike rolled his eyes.

       "Go change."

       "Tooouuccchhhyyyy..." Buffy sang out as she went downstairs.

       She glanced around as she shut the trapdoor to prevent peeking. She hadn't been down there since before she had died, and then it was only filled with dust, bones, a creepy Buffy-shrine, and of course, chains.

       She raised an eyebrow as she glanced around, noting the new additions such as a large, four-poster bed, and weapons lining the walls. There was a bookcase in the corner, filled to the brim with his books, and a small desk beside that, covered in what looked like blueprints and legal papers.

       Before, Spike's crypt had always been bare, without any sort of decoration, as if the vampire was always prepared to be gone in a hurry, without worrying about personal belongings. From the look of things, he was planning on staying for the long haul now.

       Buffy picked up some of the papers, looking over them, then sighed when she saw some were in French, and others in German. She turned her attention to the blueprints, picking one up. It looked like the plans to a castle...but why would Spike want blueprints of a castle?

       She dropped the blueprint when Spike pounded on the trapdoor, "Bloody 'ell, Slayer...you better not be snooping around down there!"

       Buffy shook her head as she swiftly changed, then retorted as she returned upstairs, "Like you can whine about people snooping in your room. Hypocritical much?"

       "Sheesh...steal a few knickers, and you never let a bloke forget..."

       "What? You stole my underwear?!"

       Spike would've blushed if he could, and he cleared his throat, "Um...no. Absolutely not. What kind of weirdo would steal a bird's doilies? Are we gonna patrol or what?"

       "Uhuh..." Buffy eyed Spike warily as he held the door open for her, "I'm going to count my underwear when I get home."

       "Doesn't prove a thing. Buffy-bot coulda lost it," Spike replied, looking a bit panicked, "She was irresponsible like that."

       "You're telling me that a robot lost my underwear?"

       Spike shrugged with a sheepish grin, "Could be."

       "Hmmm..." Buffy eyed the vampire as they headed into the night, "And how many pairs did Buffy-bot lose?"

       "Uh...you know...one or two...probably closer to six..."

       "Spike!"

       "I don't get it..." Buffy looked up at Giles, "I work my ass off all day...and I still can't pay my bills, Giles..."

       "Buffy...uh..." Giles cleaned his glasses, "Being a waitress just isn't raking in the big bucks...and I'm afraid that...you're simply not earning enough to pay the bills..."

       "This sucks..." Buffy pouted, "And people tip lousy."

       "I...do have a bit of a nest egg...not much, since I put so much into the Magic Box..."

       "I can't take your money, Giles," Buffy shook her head, "I'll just have to take more hours...maybe even look for another job...Spike can help with the Slaying at least..."

       "Ah....that brings me to another issue..." Giles cleared his throat a bit uncomfortably, "How...much time have you been spending with Spike, exactly?"

       Buffy looked up at him sharply, "Why is that an issue? It seems like a non-issue at the moment, don't you think?"

       "Buffy..."

       "I mean...my basement looks like the set of Titanic, my sister is thisclose to wearing clothes I steal off vampires, and I just found out that ten, not six pairs of my underwear are missing...Spike? Really not an issue..."

       "I'm...just going to pretend to understand that underwear comment," Giles said in some confusion, "And...perhaps you shouldn't...spend so much time..."

       "Giles, bills...losing my home...can we stick to the basics here?" Buffy asked a trivial coldly, "I got enough to deal with. I don't want new issues on the table till I deal with the old ones."

       Giles shook his head slightly, but gave in as he sat down across from her, "Right now...I suppose we should worry more about the mortgage...power and water won't do us any good if you don't have a place to send it too..."

       "Right...mortgage..." Buffy sighed heavily, "What's it going to cost me?"

       "Well...uh..." Giles gave her a figure, and Buffy's eyes widened, "Giles! That's what I make in two weeks!"

       "I'm aware it's a bit high...but with property values..."

       "Oh God..." Buffy buried her face in her hands, "Kill me now...please."

       "Buffy, I realize it's hard..."

       "Hard?! No...killing Angel was hard...dealing with my mom dying and my sister being a Key was hard...this is impossible!"

       "Nothing's impossible..."

       "Oh no...you sound like an inspiration poster...it's that bad isn't it?" Buffy groaned, then stood up, heading towards the door, "I need...to be somewhere..."

       "Buffy...you can't run away from this..."

       "I'm not running...I'm...avoiding...big " Buffy darted out the door, leaving an exasperated Giles behind.

       "I'm going to start charging you rent," Spike threatened lightly as Buffy slipped into his crypt, and she let out a strangled scream as she flopped down on the couch, and Spike stared at her, "Do I even want to know what that was about?"

       "Money...evil...root of all things that are bad."

       "That's only if you don't got it, luv," Spike replied, and Buffy sighed.

       "I remember when I was ten and I said I was going to marry a millionaire...why oh why didn't I follow through with that plan?"

       "Shame, luv...thought you were less shallow then that."

       "I am...just not right now..." Buffy lifted her head, "What was the number of that escort service again?"

       Spike chuckled, and then his grin disappeared, "You're not serious?"

       "Of course not! Well...not totally..." Buffy grimaced, "I have to do something, Spike..."

       "I thought burning down the house for the insurance was a good way to go."

       "You would..." Buffy snorted, "I can sell the jeep...but I don't actually own it. My mom was leasing..." She frowned suddenly, realizing that there was an empty table in front of the chair he was sitting in, "Um...where's your TV?"

       "Pawned it."

       "For what? Blood, booze and cigarettes?"

       Spike gave her a look, and then understanding crossed his face, "Who cleaned the table I was at the other night?"

       "Umm...Mandy, I think...why?" Spike growled beneath his breath, and Buffy raised an eyebrow, "What's with you?"

       "Nothing," Spike shook his head, "Never trust a woman with a bouffant hair-do. The bloody bitch."

       "Oookkkaayyy..." Buffy eyed him, "Have you been drinking?"

       "No," Spike sighed, "Sadly not."

       Buffy shook her head in confusion as Spike scowled at the empty spot his television had been in. "Any ideas?"

       "Had one, didn't pan out all that well," Spike grumbled, then shrugged, "Luv...me and finances? We're like oil and water. That's why I had Dalton. He got fried by the Judge a'course," Spike scowled, "I'm still kicking myself over that. He knew the code to my Swiss bank account. I can't seem to find it, and the bastards aren't being too helpful either."

       "Can we stop with the money talks?" Buffy pleaded, "It just reminds me I'm a few weeks away from being booted from my own home."

       "I'm sorry, luv...if I can do anything...?"

       "Only if you won the lottery suddenly," Buffy said glumly, then sat up with a sigh, "I better get going. I ran out on Giles and he's already kinda miffed with me. Says I'm trying to run away from the problem."

       "You are, pet..." At Buffy's look, Spike shrugged sheepishly, "Not that any of it is my business..."

       "Good," Buffy headed towards the door with a sigh, "Maybe I'll see you after work."

       "Yeah, I'll be here..." Spike said, sighing as Buffy shut the door, "Watching the bloody wall...like the nonce I am..."

       Giles and Willow tensely conferred with each other quietly in a corner of the living room, the heaviness of their argument before hanging in the air before them, but their disagreement was shoved away for the moment for a supposedly 'bad' influence in Buffy's life. Unfortunately, they were both agreeing with each other.

       "That's where she's been going every night, isn't it? I just thought...it was like...before...when she would sneak out to do one more patrol...I never thought that she'd..."

       Giles' face screwed up a bit, then he nodded slowly, "I imagine that's where she's going," The Watcher said tensely, and Willow frowned a bit.

       "Is it really so bad?"

       Giles stared at her like she had sprouted a second head, "It's Spike..."

       "I know...but for he helped us slay...and protect Dawn...he wasn't doing it for money or because he wanted to get into Buffy's pants..."

       "I know that," Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I--I don't doubt Spike has feelings for Buffy...but it's Buffy we have to worry about...you're of course noticed Buffy's...uh...strange behavior..."

       "Well...she just escaped from a hell dimension...she's adjusting...and everything's been stressful..."

       "This is different, and you know it...she won't let anyone near her...she even has trouble getting close to Dawn again...all she does is work, slay...and spend the rest of her free time with Spike...he could be taking advantage of her confusion, and vulnerability..."

       Willow looked worried, "You don't think..."

       "He may love her, somewhat, Willow...but he's still a soulless vampire...he has no moral code or..."

       "I get the point," Willow looked down at her hands, her lips tightening, "What do you think we should do then?"

       "I think it's time we finally persuaded Spike to move on."

Part Two

       Spike was lying on his bed, reading a book when he heard the crypt door open, then frowned when he heard Willow's voice calling for him. He marked the spot in his book, sliding off the bed, "Just a sec!" He called back, glancing around the crypt for a shirt, and found one on the floor. He sniffed it, then shrugged, pulling it on.

       "So...what's my favorite witch wanting with me?" The vampire came above, then blinked in surprise, seeing Giles, "Hey, Watcher...thanks for saying bye and all...made me feel warm and fuzzy..."

        "Spike..." Giles greeted the vampire somewhat coldly, glancing around the crypt, and Spike frowned, glancing at Willow, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

       "What's going on? Is it Dawn? Where's Buffy?"

       "No...Dawn's fine...and Buffy's..." Willow glanced down at her feet, "Buffy's at work."

       Spike looked suspicious as he glanced at Giles, "But it's about Buffy."

       "Spike..." Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them, "We have something to discuss with you..."

       "What's that then?" Spike turned his piercing gaze back on Willow, who still couldn't look at him in the face, and his jaw tightened.

       "We want you to leave Sunnydale."

       Spike's head jerked towards Giles and he gaped at him, "Excuse me?!"

       "As soon as the sun is down, we want you gone. Don't come back, or...we'll shall be forced...to take drastic measures."

       "Wh--" Spike shook his head, "Why?"

       "Because..." Willow finally spoke up, albeit it was in a soft tone that she hadn't used in a while, "We don't trust you..."

       Spike looked like he had been slapped as he stared back and forth between the Watcher, and the redhead. Soon, the shock in his expressive eyes was replaced with disgust and anger, "I see how it is then...ole Spikey's served his purpose. Now that you got the Slayer back, you don't need him anymore, so you send him scurrying home...I don't bloody think so."

       "We're not asking you, Spike...we're telling you. We...don't like what you're doing to Buffy..."

       "What I'm--what I'm doing too Buffy?!"

       "Listen, Spike...we don't want there to be a problem..." Willow started and Spike gave her a look.

       "Little late, Red," Spike replied, his tone laced with acid, eyes burning as he turned them on Giles, "Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out of my home and if I ever bloody see you here again..."

       "That's...not an option, Spike," Giles said, removing a stake from his pocket, and setting it casually on the sarcophagus. "I'm hoping you will just quietly leave..."

       "The bloody hell I will!" Spike snarled, taking a step towards Giles, but Willow held up her hand, stilling the vampire in place, and he threw a baneful look at her, "I cannot believe this shit. Red...you can't seriously think..."

       "I do," She replied, her eyes starting to swirl with black, "You have one chance, Spike..." The stake lifted off the tomb, and floated in the air, pointed towards the vampire. "Or we cut the Gordian knot, and get rid of the problem directly."

       "Th-the problem...?" Spike repeated, obviously hurt, "I used to be a man once. Stupid me, thought you people knew that..."

       Giles glanced at his watch, then at Spike, "Tick tock, mate."

       Spike closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and without a word, he whirled and stalked towards the entrance of his crypt. "Oh...and Spike...if you say a word of this to Buffy...and if you try and come back...we will find you, and we will kill you," Giles added.

       Spike didn't answer him, his shoulders squaring as he slammed the door behind him, racing for his car.

       Giles glanced at Willow, "Trash it."

       Willow looked at the Watcher in surprise, then nodded, lifting up her hands. A wind blew up in the crypt, and she closed her eyes as the roar nearly deafened the two people. Statues fell over, and the couch and chair were torn apart, becoming nothing but stuffing and little sticks of wood.

       Giles nodded as the wind died down, his hair standing on end from the powerful gusts. "We're agreed then...we tell no one what happened."

       "Yeah," Willow said, her shoulders slumping a bit. "Agreed..."

       Spike ripped his car door open, sliding into the front seat as he felt tears burning at the back of his eyes. He had once thought there was nothing more painful then watching Buffy die...he was wrong. It was the betrayal of people he thought he could trust, and who he had been stupid enough to believe trusted him.

       He slammed the steering column hard enough to bend the wheel, snarling in anger. He then crossed his arms over the wheel, and buried his head in them, allowing the tears to come, cursing himself for a poncy wanker as he did so.

       He lifted his head after a while, and leaned his head back against the seat, then slowly started the car with a low growl. He wanted to go right to Buffy, and tell her what happened. He was going to do just that when he thought better of it, realizing how painful it'd be for the Slayer to learn of her friends' betrayal, and he took a deep breath as, instead, he turned his car out of town. He destroyed the 'You are now leaving Sunnydale' sign for good measure, a dark, wry smile tugging at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.

       Buffy sighed as she threw open the door to Spike's crypt, nearly groaning, "God! I swear...if one more guy grabs my ass, someone's going to lose a han--"

       She froze, looking around the destroyed crypt, her eyes going wide, "Spike? Spike?!"

       No one answered her, and she raced downstairs, still calling the vampire's name frantically. She skidded to a stop when she saw Spike's duster lying over the footboard of his bed, and she felt like her heart had leapt up into her throat. He never went anywhere without his duster.

       She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, pulling his duster over to her, and she stared at it dazedly, then clutched it to her chest, closing her eyes with a small whispered pray that she wasn't sure anyone could hear, and waited for him to come back home to her.

       "Dawn...you're going to be late for school!" Tara called, dodging Giles, then Willow as they worked together in the kitchen, both of them oddly silent as they made breakfast.

       Tara glanced at them with a small frown, a troubled vibe coming off of them, then shook it off as she went to the foot of the stairs, "Dawn! Come on!"

       Dawn peeked over the banister, "Have you seen my gray sweater?"

       "I think Buffy has it...just don't wake her up. She had a late shift last night," Tara told her, then went back into the kitchen, starting to make Dawn's lunch.

       Dawn came down a few minutes later, looking troubled, "I thought Buffy was in bed..."

       "She is," Tara said distractedly, bagging a sandwich.

       "She's not...her bed wasn't even slept in."

       Tara glanced at Dawn, "She's not here?"

       "She wasn't all night from the look of things..." Dawn suddenly grinned, "Do you think she stayed with..." She glanced at Giles, then cleared her throat, "Uh...Anya and Xander?"

       Tara shook her head slightly, throwing a worried look at Giles and Willow, "Did either of you hear her come in last night?"

       "I...uh...not as such...no..." Giles stammered a bit, a guilty flush touching his cheeks, and Willow was putting more attention then was really necessary into buttering her bagel.

       Tara glanced at Dawn, who only shrugged in confusion, just as much in the dark as she was. "Come on, Dawny...I'll drive you to school..." Tara glanced at Willow, giving her a look that clearly said they would talk later.

       Willow glanced at Giles, who wouldn't meet her gaze, and the redhead sighed as she headed upstairs to sulk for a bit.

       Giles stared down at the tea in his hand, then with a grunt of frustration, hurled the cup into the sink, where is smashed into small bits. He ran a hand over his eyes, sighing deeply, "Bloody hell..."

       Buffy slowly trudged up the front walk, wrapped in Spike's duster, the soft, worn leather enveloping her small, slumped frame, the scent of him trapped within the coat he had worn for nearly thirty years.

       She felt weak, lost...and so very alone...much like had she felt the night she had come back from the dead. She closed her eyes as she paused outside her own front door, working up the strength and courage to open it.

       She could still remember the look on his face as he sat across from her, holding her wounded hands in his, his cool touch comforting against her warmed flesh after not knowing heat for what felt like an eternity.

       Buffy inhaled sharply, then quietly opened the door, chewing on her bottom lip, then attempted to sneak inside and up the stairs without anyone seeing her.

       "Buffy!" She froze on the bottom step of the staircase at her Watcher's voice, and she closed her eyes, not turning around.

       "Giles...I just...want to go to bed. I'm tired..." She said quietly, her tone dead, and Giles fidgeted nervously, glad she couldn't see him.

       "What's wrong, Buffy?" He asked, walking towards her and lying a hand on her shoulder. She immediately tensed at his touch, and he dropped his hand, "Please...tell me, Buffy..."

       "It's nothing, I'm tired," She said shortly, disappearing up the stairs and he closed his eyes as her bedroom door slammed shut.

       The fact that she was wearing Spike's duster wasn't lost on him, and his eyes narrowed a tiny bit, wondering if Spike hadn't left after all...but he would have told her everything about what he and Willow had done. There wouldn't have been disinterest then...there'd probably be screaming and yelling.

       Frankly, he would have been better prepared for that then her current behavior. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, troubled, but he shoved it away. He was sure that once Buffy got over Spike's departure...eh...'death'...as she was sure to think him dead...things would regress back to normal.

       God...he hoped things would return to normal.

       Buffy lay on top of her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had been lying there for the better part of six hours, wrapped up in Spike's duster. She closed her eyes as she buried her nose in the labels of the coat, inhaling his already fading scent deeply.

       "Buffy?" Willow called through the firmly locked door, "Buffy...dinner's ready..."

       "I'm not hungry," Buffy replied, rolling over to her side, and then sat up when she heard the lock pop, a shimmer of light falling to the floor.

       Willow peeked her head in and Buffy glared at her, "You know, there's a fucking reason I locked my goddamned door!"

       Willow drew back at her tone, eyes widening slightly. "I'm...sorry...but...I was worried...you've been up here all day..."

       "If you're worried about me, then respect my bloody PRIVACY!"

       "Did you just say bl--"

       "Go. Away. Willow," Buffy bit out agitatedly, drawing Spike's coat more firmly about her body, "I want to be alone."

       "You've been alone all day!"

       Buffy gave her a look that could have frozen fire, and Willow looked exasperated, "Buffy! What is your problem?!" She didn't mean to snap, not really, but she was getting fed up with Buffy's behavior of late. Well...of late a couple of weeks ago...she had been getting better, but now she was all...snappish...and mean...and..."Oh Goddess..."

       Buffy watched as Willow whirled and scurried out, nearly slamming into the doorframe on her way out.

       She raced down the stairs, nearly bowling over Tara in the process, and the blond yelped as she pitched backwards, and Willow held up her hand, suspending Tara in midair till she could catch her footing.

       "Oh, Goddess...honey...I'm so sorry..."

       "I'm fine," Tara took a deep breath, then looked at her girlfriend, frowning when she saw the slightly guilty look on her red face, "What's wrong?"

       "Um..." Willow hesitated, "Buffy...she's...upset about...something..."

       "About what?"

       "Um...I think...it has something to do with Spike," Her eyes skirted to the side for a brief instant, "She's wearing his jacket...and she hasn't left her room all day..."

       "Oh," Tara looked concerned, "Did she say what happened?"

       "Not so much...no..." Willow smiled a bit nervously, "I...uh...have to talk to Giles..."

       Tara frowned as Willow slipped around her, then continued up the stairs, hesitating outside Buffy's door. She then continued on to her and Willow's room, frowning as she knelt beside the bed, digging beneath it till she found a box of gourmet chocolates she had gotten Willow for their upcoming anniversary. She slipped it beneath her arm before returning to outside Buffy's door, knocking on it.

       "Willow! I said to FUCK OFF!"

       "It's Tara," The witch replied, a bit taken back by Buffy's sudden bad language, "I brought candy."

       There was silence on the other side of the door, and Tara smiled as Buffy finally replied, "What kind?"

       "We have problems!" Willow blurted out as soon as she entered the kitchen, and Dawn looked up from her schoolbooks curiously.

       "What's wrong?"

       "Uh..." Willow glanced at Giles, looking slightly panicked, "Can I talk to you...somewhere that's not here?"

       Giles frowned, then glanced down at the dinner he was making. "Dawn...could you watch the water? Put the noodles in when..."

       "I know how to make Mac 'N' Cheese," Dawn replied with a scowl, "And I'm not a little kid, people...you can talk in front of me."

       "Giles!"

       "Just...watch the water," Giles replied, then followed Willow out onto the back porch, closing the door behind him. "What's wrong? Is it Buffy?"

       "Oh, yeah," Willow chewed on her bottom lip, "She's completely...well...she's psycho, Giles! She's been sitting in her bed all day wearing Spike's jacket! And she told me to bloody respect her privacy! Bloody, Giles! She said bloody! An-and there was swearing...and she wouldn't even talk to me..."

       Giles sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, silently praying for strength, "Willow..."

       "What if she finds out, Giles? What we did?" Willow asked him, nearly hysterical, "She'll wig! Big time wig!"

       "Willow," Giles gripped her shoulder, giving her a small shake, "Calm yourself down...Buffy won't find out..."

       "But...she's..."

       "She's fine," Giles shook his head, "She's just a little upset, that's all. She'll be fine in a few days, I'm sure..."

       "She seems really upset though..."

       "Willow, it's only Spike...she's professed her hatred for him numerous times..."

       "Yeah..." Willow fidgeted, "But...that was before..."

       "She's vulnerable, Willow...he was taking advantage of the fact...we couldn't allow another Angelus incident to occur..."

       Willow chewed on her bottom lip, then sighed, "Right...alright...she'll be fine?"

       "I'm sure she will," Giles smiled at her reassuringly. "Buffy will be just fine..."

       Buffy's knees were drawn up to her chest, and she was eyeing the half-bitten piece of chocolate like it was going to bite her back.

       Tara sat cross-legged across from the Slayer, waiting patiently for the Slayer to talk to her. Buffy glanced up at her, noting she was using the same ploy Spike had used on her when she had come back and he wanted her to tell him things. Kept silent and watched her till she felt the need to fill the silence.

       Tara saw something change subtly in Buffy's stance, and she leaned forward a tiny bit, saying quietly, "Anything you tell me...it's between you and me, Buffy."

       Buffy looked back down at the half-finished chocolate, muttering, "I hate nougat..."

       Tara smiled slightly as Buffy replaced the chocolate in the box, and Buffy rested her chin on her bent knees, fingering the sleeve of the heavy, leather duster.

       Tara watched her closely, but not unkindly, her eyes full of understanding as she asked softly, "Did something happen with Spike? Did you have a fight?"

       At the mention of his name, tears started to fill Buffy's eyes once more, and then she buried her face in her knees, muffling her sob.

       Immediately, Tara's comforting arms were around her, and the blond witch made little sounds of comfort as Buffy sank into her embrace. After a long while, Buffy managed to calm herself down some, and she accepted a tissue from Tara with a tearful, awkward smile. "So-sorry..."

       "Don't be," Tara told her, "You're allowed to be sad just like everyone else..."

       "Am I?" She asked more to herself then Tara, and Tara frowned slightly.

       "Why wouldn't you be? Just because you're the Slayer? Why does that make a difference? You're still a being."

       "A being?" Buffy gave her a curious look, as well as slightly confused.

       "Well...it's not exactly P.C.," Tara told her, glad to have gotten some kind of dialogue going, "Emotions aren't primarily a human trait."

       Buffy sighed as she crossed her legs, looking down at her hands before bringing it to her mouth and started to nibble on the cuticle. "No...I guess not," She mumbled around her finger, and Tara took her hand away from her mouth and covered it with both of hers.

       "Buffy...what happened to Spike?"

       "He's..." Buffy took a deep breath, finding the words hard to shove out of her throat, "He's...his crypt...it was all torn up...an-and...he left his duster...he never leaves without his duster..."

       Tara squeezed her hand when she saw Buffy was about ready to go off again, "Are you sure he didn't make it out through the catacombs?"

       "The door to them was locked...from the inside...and it was daylight..."

       "Shhh..." Tara wrapped an arm around Buffy's shoulder when she started to cry again, and she pressed a kiss to the top of the Slayer's blond head. "I'm so sorry, Buffy..."

       "It's all my fault..." She sniffled again, swiping at her eyes, "It was probably a demon...'cause he was helpin' me...cause he...loved me..." She sobbed again and Tara held her tightly, rocking their bodies back and forth slightly.

       Buffy closed her eyes, taking deep, calming breaths, and then smiled wearily at Tara as she managed to compose herself, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

       Tara gave her an understanding look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and the Slayer sighed, lying her head on Tara's shoulder.

       "Buffy...I know everything has been so hard for you...between...pulling you out of heaven, or wherever you were...and coming back here...to the Slaying...and now, Spike..."

       Buffy looked at her sharply, immediately tensing, "What? What did you say...?"

       Tara ducked her head, hesitating, "I...I know, Buffy...when you left the shop that day...I was worried about you and I followed...I heard what you told Spike. I didn't mean too...but I heard..."

       "You...knew?"

       "I didn't tell Willow or the others...because...well...it's not my place to tell them," Tara shook her head slightly, "But...you will have too...soon. This isn't something you can keep from them..."

       "But..." Buffy shifted uncomfortably, "It'll...hurt them..."

       "Then good."

       Buffy looked at Tara in shock, and Tara sighed, "Buffy...what we did...it was wrong...I know it was wrong...I knew it before we did it. We did it because...we did it because we were frightened. An-and...we pulled you out of paradise...and even if they get a little hurt when they find out...it can't compare to what we did to you..."

       "It hurts..." Buffy whispered, "Everyday, it hurts a little bit more...being away from there...and it's like...I'm dying a tiny bit everyday...like...I'm not me anymore," Buffy shook her head, wondering if Tara thought she was as crazy as she sounded. She felt crazy sometimes. Maybe if she were, it'd be better. Hurt less.

       "But...when I was with Spike...I was me again. He made me...he made me laugh and he was there," Her voice dropped to a low whisper, "He was always there, whenever I needed him...even during the day...he was there...I didn't even have to ask...he was just...there."

       Tara cast her eyes down, and then pressed her lips together, "I'll...go to his crypt tomorrow...and...I can do a spell to see who did it..."

       Buffy lifted her head from Tara's shoulder, "You'll do that?" She asked softly, and Tara smiled at her.

       "As long as you promise to tell them...soon. It doesn't have to be now...just...soon..."

       Buffy exhaled slowly, and then nodded. "Okay...soon," She replied quietly, "Soon."

Part Three

       The next morning, Buffy called out of sick at work again so that she could accompany Tara to Spike's crypt. They had told her to come in later and pick up her last paycheck and return her fake breasts. Big loss there, she thought bitterly. Ohhh...please! Don't take away my double-Ds!

       She drew Spike's duster more firmly around her, chewing on her already swollen and abused lips. Tara walked a few feet in front of her, quietly muttering beneath her breath, going over the spell she needed to use to find out who had killed Spike. She had tried to engage Buffy in conversation, but the Slayer was unable to hold up her end of the discourse, and she had given up, knowing that Buffy was tired and anxious. Neither of them had slept much the night before, if at all. Buffy had mostly lain awake, staring up at the ceiling, Mr. Gordo cradled against her chest and the duster firmly wrapped around her. Tara had sat up with her, catching dozing for a few moments here and there, but mostly, she just watched Buffy worriedly, reading the pain and sorrow in Buffy's aura.

       Tara paused when she came to the door to Spike's crypt, hesitating slightly. Buffy stopped behind her and inhaled sharply and painfully when she saw the door was still standing ajar from when she had practically sleep=walked out of there just two days before. It felt like so much longer then that. "Right..." Buffy glanced at Tara, taking a deep breath, "Ready?"

       "Yeah," Tara replied, not really meaning it, but said a short, silent prayer in her mind, trying to draw strength from the earth and air around her. "All ready."

       Buffy pushed open the door without knocking, stepping inside into the dim, somewhat dusty crypt. It had been only two days, but already, it was desolate and lifeless without Spike's charged presence dwelling inside. She closed her eyes, taking another deep breath, almost believing she could catch a few, faint tingling teasers of his dying scent, but it was all in her mind. She couldn't smell anything beyond dust and the bitter scent of old booze.

       Every night I saved you...

       Tara started to lay out the components of her spell, drawing a large triangle in the middle of the crypt with blue chalk, and then drawing a closed eye within it with red chalk. She picked up a few of the candles that lined the sill of a small, barred window and placed them at the three points of the triangle and lit them with a small lighter she had brought with her.

       "Servant of knowledge," She started to chant as Buffy slipped out of Spike's jacket and folded it up tightly. "Harken to our cries. Fudo Myoo...guardian of the sword of knowledge, we beg a boon of thee..." Tara held up a small dagger, and Buffy stepped forward, holding out her palm to Tara. She didn't flinch as she closed her hand over the blade, and then jerked it so that it opened up her flesh. She let the blood dribble onto Spike's duster, and Tara took it from her and held it suspended above the triangle and closed eye. "An offering of blood, gift of her flesh. Champion against hate and champion of justice, please, hear us and grant us our request." Tara gingerly lowered the duster into the triangle, careful not to block the closed eye. As soon as Buffy's blood dripped onto the cement, there was a blinding flash of red light, and both girls averted their eyes.

       When the light subsided enough that Buffy was once more able to see, she looked back towards the triangle, seeing a red mist, flashes of lightening-like pulses of blue light erupting within it. It flowed across the floor and around their feet, but it didn't travel inside the lines of the triangle, and Buffy started when she saw a red eye rolling in a socket of cement. The blood on Spike's duster glowed with a dull, bluish light as it dripped onto the floor, and she watched as it started to pull itself into a pool, leaving not a drop on the leather, and she shuddered as she watched it started to slid over towards the eye, her blood being sucked down into the cement socket.

       "You seek answers of Fudo Myoo," A voice suddenly boomed, echoing off the walls of the crypt and making Buffy jump in surprise, her eyes going wide. "Ask, Witch."

       "Our friend Spike," Tara's voice was steady, and Buffy glanced at her, seeing the witch's stiff back and proud, firm stance. "He went missing a day or so ago. We want to know who killed him."

       The eye rolled in the socket, dimming a bit as it seemed to contemplate Tara's question and drew his answers from Spike's duster. "William the Bloody, vampire, love of a Slayer, death of past Slayers," The voice echoed, the eye rolling to gaze at Tara and Buffy. "The vampire still lives," The voice then took on a slightly amused tone, "In a matter of speaking."

       "He's not dead?" Buffy closed her eyes, feeling her knees weakening, "He's not dead..."

       Tara reached out to steady Buffy and she leaned against the blond Wiccan's side, "He's not dead?"

       The eye flashed red briefly, and the mist around their feet started to grow hot, and Buffy cried out as it suddenly started to burn their feet, "I answered your question, Witch. Release me. You disturb my rest."

       "I'm sorry," Tara bowed her head respectively, "May I ask a few more questions?"

       "You know the boon."

       Tara nodded and drew the dagger against her own palm and allowed her blood to drip into the triangle. The eye sucked it up, just as it had Buffy's, and the Slayer had to look away, the sight of the eye drinking Tara's blood disgusting her. "Ask your questions, Witch."

       "Where is Spike?"

       "Across the oceans and land, he has flown," The eye answered, "His destination is unknown, even to himself." It dimmed once more for a few seconds, and Buffy watched as the mist started to turn black, the blue lightening still flickering through it. "Inside, he screams at the injustice, at those that have driven him away. Much hate is directed at the Slayer's vampire."

       Buffy listened in pained confusion, "He just left me?" She asked quietly, "He left me...just like the others..."

       Tara looked at her sympathetically, but didn't answer her as she addressed the eye once more, "You said he was driven away. Driven away by who?"

       "The answer is not meant for you, Witch," The eye answered as it rolled in its socket till it was focused only on Buffy, "Ask me your question, Slayer."

       Buffy glanced at Tara, who nodded at her in support, and gestured for her to go ahead and Buffy faced the eye unsurely, "What happened here?"

       The eye flashed red, and Buffy cried out in shock as the mist suddenly thickened and surrounded her entire body, and she started to choke on it as it swarmed into her mouth and nostrils, choking off her breath, and her vision started to go black.

       Buffy blinked in surprise as the mist suddenly disappeared away from her, and she was standing in the middle of Spike's crypt once more. However, there was no sign of Tara, nor of the triangle and eye. She frowned in confusion, and then turned when she heard the door opening and watched as Willow and Giles came inside. "Hey! What are you guys doing here?"

       Willow ignored her as she called for Spike, and Buffy whirled when she heard Spike call from down below, her heart pounding in her chest. He was back! He came back!

       "So, what's my favorite witch wanting with me?" She saw Spike's head appear over the edge of the trapdoor and glanced towards them, eyebrow rising when he saw Giles, "Hey, Watcher. Thanks for sayin' bye and all...made me feel warm and fuzzy," He said sarcastically as he stepped up into the main room of his crypt, and Buffy rushed towards him.

       "Spike! I am sooo gonna kick your ass for scaring me like th--" She blinked in surprise when he stepped through her! She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide, and turned to stare at Spike's back. "What in the...?"

        "Spike..." Giles greeted the vampire somewhat coldly, glancing around the crypt, and Spike frowned, glancing at Willow, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

       "What's going on?  Is it Dawn?  Where's Buffy?" Buffy could hear the mild panic in his voice.

       "No...Dawn's fine...and Buffy's..."  Willow glanced down at her feet, "Buffy's at work."

       Spike looked suspicious as he glanced at Giles, "But it's about Buffy." Buffy blinked in surprise, and then glanced at Giles, the scene unfolding in front of her starting to wig her out a little. She realized she was seeing what had happened the day Spike had disappeared.

       "Spike..." Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them, "We have something to discuss with you..."

       "What's that then?"  Spike turned his piercing gaze back on Willow, who still couldn't look at him in the face, and his jaw tightened.

       "We want you to leave Sunnydale."

       Spike's head jerked towards Giles and he gaped at him, "Excuse me?!"

       "Excuse me?!" Buffy echoed, unseen and unheard by the assembled group, unable to believe what she was hearing. She felt her stomach start to sink, and she clutched it, feeling as if she was going to vomit at any moment.

       "As soon as the sun is down, we want you gone.  Don't come back, or...we'll shall be forced...to take drastic measures."

       "Wh--" Spike shook his head, "Why?"

       "Because..." Willow finally spoke up, albeit it was in a soft tone that she hadn't used in a while, "We don't trust you..."

       Spike looked like he had been slapped as he stared back and forth between the Watcher, and the redhead.  Soon, the shock in his expressive eyes was replaced with disgust and anger, "I see how it is then...ole Spikey's served his purpose.  Now that you got the Slayer back, you don't need him anymore, so you send him scurrying home...I don't bloody think so."

       "We're not asking you, Spike...we're telling you.  We...don't like what you're doing to Buffy..."

       "What I'm--what I'm doing too Buffy?!"

       "Listen, Spike...we don't want there to be a problem..."  Willow started and Spike gave her a look.

       "Little late, Red," Spike replied, his tone laced with acid, eyes burning as he turned them on Giles, "Get the fuck out.  Get the fuck out of my home and if I ever bloody see you here again..."

       "That's...not an option, Spike," Giles said, removing a stake from his pocket, and setting it casually on the sarcophagus.  "I'm hoping you will just quietly leave..."

       "The bloody hell I will!"  Spike snarled, taking a step towards Giles, but Willow held up her hand, stilling the vampire in place, and he threw a baneful look at her, "I cannot believe this shit.  Red...you can't seriously think..."

       "I do," She replied, her eyes starting to swirl with black, "You have one chance, Spike..." The stake lifted off the tomb, and floated in the air, pointed towards the vampire.  "Or we cut the Gordian knot, and get rid of the problem directly."

       Buffy stared at her best friend, mouth dropping open as she stepped up beside Spike, saying in a pained whisper, "Willow?"

       "Th-the problem...?" Spike repeated, obviously hurt, "I used to be a man once.  Stupid me, thought you people knew that..."

       Giles glanced at his watch, then at Spike, "Tick tock, mate."

       Spike closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and without a word, he whirled and stalked towards the entrance of his crypt.  "Oh...and Spike...if you say a word of this to Buffy...and if you try and come back...we will find you, and we will kill you," Giles added.

       Spike didn't answer him, his shoulders squaring as he slammed the door behind him, and Buffy watched him go helplessly, tears starting to sting the inside of her eyelids. Then, the sick feeling was replaced with anger, and she clenched her fists together, eyes narrowing as she watched her two closest friends betray her so completely.

       Giles glanced at Willow, "Trash it."

       "Buffy!" Tara shook the Slayer who was lying unconscious on the floor, becoming extremely worried. The Eye in the triangle had closed once the dark mist had engulfed Buffy, but Buffy had yet to wake up.

       Finally, Buffy let out a groggy half=moan and half-sigh, and then her eyes shot open. Tara was startled by the almost wild look in Buffy's eyes as the Slayer suddenly leapt to her feet, all grogginess disappearing as she looked around the crypt, and then she darted forward, scooping up Spike's duster and then racing out the door.

       "BUFFY!" Tara ran to the door, in time to see Buffy leaping over tombstones and anything else that got in her way as she ran full-out in the direction of her home, bewildered. "What in the name of the great Goddess is going on?"

       Buffy was running on pure, highly=charged emotion as she charged up Revello Drive, her eyes narrowed and tears streaming from them. She could still see Spike's crushed face as he raced out the door, the beginnings of tears moistening the blue orbs, could still see the cold expression on Giles' face, and Willow's glinting, reptilian black eyes.

       She slammed the door open, nearly shattering it with the force with which she had flung it out of her way, startling Giles who was on the phone to a bill collector. "Buffy! What in the world has gotten into yo--"

       She stalked up to him and yanked the phone out of his hand and slammed it down on the cradle, and Giles watched as the entire phone set was ripped from the wall, "Bloody hell, Buffy!"

       "Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Home." Buffy bit out in barely controlled rage, "You and Willow, both of you, OUT OF HERE NOW!"

       Giles blinked in surprise, taking a step back from Buffy, the aura of anger and danger almost palatable around her. "Buffy--"

       "Don't even," She seethed out, "Don't say a fucking word to me, Giles. I'm so goddamn angry, I could snap your neck and not even care."

       "Don't you threaten me, Buffy!" Giles eyes glinted as they narrowed, "Do you mind tell me what this little hissy fit of yours is about?"

       "Let's talk about threats, you son of a bitch!" Buffy was screaming again, "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO HIM!"

       "Him who?" Giles was trying hard to keep his temper in check, but was having a hard time of it. Not with her screaming at him and threatening to snap his neck. His head suddenly whipped to the side with the force of her slap, and he brought a hand up to his cheek, which he was sure was a flaming red color.

       "You asshole," Buffy clenched her fists, and forcibly shoved them behind her back, as if to prevent herself from doing him anymore harm. "I thought I could trust you...but I can't," She said quietly, "I want you out of my home now. And I don't want you near me or Dawn...ever again. You blew your second chance with me, Giles. You blew it big time. Now get out of my goddamn home."

       "Buffy, you have to understand..." Giles tried to reason with her, "He was taking advantage of your vulnerable state..."

       "HE WAS NOT TAKING ADVANTAGE OF ME!" She shrieked at him, "All he was doing was being there when I needed him! He was being my FRIEND! And you drove the one person that was making me happy AWAY! Because you were so goddamn jealous and self-bloody-righteous! GET OUT NOW!"

       "Buffy..."

       "NOW!" She made a move towards him, and Giles stumbled back with a small cry, expecting her to strike him again. He forced himself into composure, and took a deep breath.

       "Buffy, I will be back to discuss this with you once you're in more control," Giles told her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

       "I swear to God, Giles...if I do see you again, someone's going to end up hurt, and you can bet it won't be me!"

       Giles backed away from her and then headed towards the back door, "I will be back to talk to you later, Buffy..."

       She let out a snarl of rage and bent to pick up the phone, and Giles ducked out the door as she let it fly at him and he cringed as the phone set crashed through the glass, and he glanced down as the operator intoned lifelessly, "The number you are trying to call cannot be reached as dialed...please hang up and try again..."

Part Four

        Tara panted as she jogged up towards Buffy's house, carrying an armload of magic supplies in her arms and she paused on the sidewalk, eyes widening slightly. All of Willow and Giles' clothes and personal belongings were strewn all over the front yard, and she looked up as a wad of Willow's underwear was tossed out of an upstairs window to become entangled in the tree outside.

        Giles was walking around the yard, swearing profusely as he gathered his things, and she could see a bruise forming on his cheek, in the rough shape of someone's palm. She frowned slightly, and then her jaw clenched almost imperceptibly as Giles glanced up at her. "It was you, wasn't it? You and Willow? You were the ones that did this?"

        Giles' eyes narrowed when he saw the magic ingredients in her arms, and he dropped his armload of clothes as he stalked towards her. Tara cried out in surprise as he gripped her arm and shook her hard enough to rattle the teeth in her jaw. "What in the hell did you do?!"

        "OW!" She jerked away from him, and rubbed her arm with a wince, "She wanted to know what happened to Spike," She replied, steel lacing her voice, "You and Willow...whatever you said or did to him...you had no right."

        "We were trying to protect Buffy!" He snapped, "We were helping her!"

        "We all wanted to help and protect Buffy," Tara said softly, "But Spike was the only one actually succeeding." She slipped past him and hurried indoors, where he was very unwelcome at the moment, leaving Giles to collect his things.

        The house was thoroughly ransacked, and Tara found Buffy in her and Willow's bedroom, tossing Willow's things out the window, uncaring about the breakables, although, she did make sure not to toss any of Tara's things out along with her girlfriend's.

        "They threatened him," Buffy said without stopping her task, her eyes still narrowed, her aura suffused with crimson and black streaks, showing how angry she was at the moment. "They said the most horrible things to him...they thought he was taking advantage of me...OF ME!" She flung a box of Willow's incense out the window. "AS IF!"

        Tara did nothing to stop her, or rather, was unable to stop her, even if she tried. Better to let her vent her frustrations and hope she didn't break a priceless, magical artifact in her rage.

        "They said they would kill him if he came back," Buffy stopped long enough to swipe at her running nose before letting out a shriek and kicking the footboard of the bed, cracking the wood. Suddenly, all the strength seemed to be sapped from her body, and she sat down heavily on the bed and buried her head in her hands. "You should have seen his face," She said softly, almost brokenly, "They hurt him so bad. The things they said...what they did..."

        "You saw what happened? When you were unconscious?"

        Buffy nodded slowly, lifting her head, and laughing almost bitterly, "I wanted to know what happened...and I saw it all...in living color...and they were never going to tell me. They were going to let me think he was dead...make me think..."

        "Oh...honey..." Tara wrapped her arms around Buffy when she started to sob, and the Slayer buried her face in the Witch's shoulder, and Tara's lips tightened slightly as she thought of the part her girlfriend had played in driving Spike away.

        Oh...Willow...how could you?

        "Oh my Goddess..." Willow's eyes were wide as she stared around at the front yard, covered in her clothes and belongings, and winced when she saw her underwear entangled in the branches of the tree, flapping in the breeze for all the world to see. She frowned in confusion as she waved her hand, "Gather." Immediately, everything flew into a pile at her feet, including her underwear. She sighed as she looked down up at the pile and then glanced at the front door apprehensively, a bit confused as to what was going on.

        She jumped when the front door opened, but then smiled when she saw Tara coming out, "Hey honey," She greeted brightly, "Are we having a lover's spat or something?" She asked playfully, "There's got to be a better way to tell me we're having one then throwing my clothes out into the yard." Tara crossed her arms over her chest, not looking the least bit amused and Willow's face fell when she saw the look Tara was giving her. "Uh...did I do something?"

        "You think?" Tara replied uncharacteristically sarcastic, "What was your first clue? The clothes in the front yard? The underwear in the tree?"

        "Um..." Willow hesitated, "Okay, what did I do?"

        "Buffy and I went to Spike's crypt today," Tara told her, "I called upon Fudo Myoo to find out what happened to Spike. We thought he was dead, you see...at least, we were led to believe he was dead."

        Willow's face bled itself of all color, "Tara...I can explain..."

        "No, I really don't think you can," Tara replied softly, "You can't keep doing this, Willow...playing God with people's lives..."

        "I wasn't..."

        "You threatened to kill Spike if he didn't leave town. You trashed his home and then let Buffy find it like that, and let her believe he was dead when he wasn't! How could you? After everything he did for us? For Dawn?"

        "He only did it to get to Buffy..."

        "Spike may be undead," Tara replied, giving Willow a look, "But I don't think he's really all that heavy into the necrophilia."

        "Okay...ew..." Willow grimaced, and then cast her eyes down shamefacedly, lips pursing slightly, knowing her girlfriend was right...about that, anyhow. Nothing had been keeping Spike there. He made it clear that he couldn't give two hoots about the entire gang, except for Dawn, and Dawn had been the only one he'd respond too for the longest time.

        After Buffy had died, she had been sneaking out every night, once everyone had thought her in bed, and Spike was always the one to bring her home, scowling and spitting hostilities at anyone unlucky enough to be caught in her crosshairs, and she shoved everyone away, as hard as she could. She had been full of anger and poison and Goddess knew what else, and she spewed it at them with the reckless intent of a teenager. They had all shied away from her, tried to dodge the abuse she heaped on them angrily, and they had let her push them away...except for Spike.

        He took the abuse, swallowed it, and thanked her for giving it to him. The more she hit him with it, the happier he seemed, proving once and for all that William the Bloody was indeed some sort of emotional masochist. Of course, that would be what Dawn responded too.

        He let her scream, yell and beat on him till her heart's content, and eventually, her own conscience and sense of decency made her take a step back and look at what she had been doing to who she had always thought of as her best friend. Then, in what could only be described as Dawn suddenly developing multiple personality disorder, she suddenly started mothering everyone she came into contact with, especially Spike. It was like the Teenaged Twilight Zone. Even Spike had been incredibly wigged by the sudden change and suggested she had been possessed by the spirit of Betty Crocker, who, for some weird reason he never explained, he was sure was out to get him. All she had gotten out of him about that was a half mumble about brownies and the Sixties, and something about watching his hand for six hours.

        He did drugs in the Sixties...further proof that the was a bad influence on Buffy and Dawn. Willow was about to point that out to Tara but decided against it before she even opened her mouth. Okay, drug use forty years ago didn't exactly make for a good case on her end...and besides, she was pretty sure Giles had been into the pretty heavy stuff in the Seventies anyhow. Not to mention the one time Spike had scented weed on Dawn, he had hauled her out to the proverbial woodshed and let her have it verbally.

        Dawn didn't tell them what he told her and why she had been ten shades paler, but Xander had joked that maybe she finally found out the real reason Spike not-so-secretly feared Betty Crocker and had actually squealed in fear when Xander had tossed a box of her Zebra brownie mix at him. As far as she knew, Spike hadn't sniffed any other illegal substance on the teenager since then.

        Willow realized that for the first time in her life, she was mentally babbling...to herself, while Tara stood there, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for a rational response that wasn't going to be coming any time soon, if ever. "Okay...um...I'm...not entirely sure what to say to that..." Willow fumbled verbally, "I mean...I know what he did while Buffy was...was...y'know...but that doesn't make up for what he was doing NOW."

        "And what exactly was he doing now?" Tara asked, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

        Oh, boy, Willow thought, pained, she's really not going to let this go.

        "You...know...he...an-and Buffy...taking advantage of her?" Okay, that wasn't exactly the `confident, sure of herself and what she believed in' tone she was trying for.

        "Really."

        Oh, flat voice, not good. Willow was beginning to feel even more panicked about this conversation. It was obvious that no matter what wonderfully valid reason that had set her on her original path of Anti-Spikeism, it was not going to work at all on Tara. Willow ducked her head slightly, "What's Buffy saying?"

        "It's not obvious by the rummage sale out here?" Tara remarked coldly, "She doesn't want to see you, talk to you or even want you near her or Dawn," Tara softened her voice a little bit, "She's very upset at both you and Giles, Willow, and Dawn's going to take it just as bad. I don't think either of you should try talking to them till they've had time to settle down and adjust...to this." She cast her eyes down, "And...I'm not moving out with you."

        "What?" Willow looked stricken, "Are we...?"

        "No...I...I don't know," Tara shook her head, looking conflicted, "I think...I think you need sometime to...to start rethinking...about what's important to you..."

        "Tara!" Willow looked shocked, "You...You're important to me...I love you..."

        "You don't lie to the people you love, Willow," Tara replied quietly, turning to go into the house. She paused on the threshold, glancing back at Willow, who was on the verge of tears, "I...I'm sorry, Willow...but...you better...start hoping that he comes back home...soon."

        The Summers' home was in full-blown meltdown mode.

        Dawn had retreated into her bedroom, door slammed and for twenty minutes, the sounds of things being broken and thrown about were heard, till she put on a CD she had borrowed from Spike and had 'forgotten' to return, and cranked up the volume. The Sex Pistols were currently screaming about Anarchy in the UK, and giving Tara a world-class headache.

        Buffy was sitting on the couch, riding the shaky after-effects of her massive hissy-fit, wrapped very firmly in Spike's leather jacket. Tara was really glad that Fudo Myoo had sucked all of the blood of it before, so that she wouldn't have to worry about shampooing the upholstery.

        "Buffy?" Buffy looked up and dazedly took the cup of tea from the blond witch.

        "Thanks," She said, but only held the cup in two hands, staring down at the amber-colored fluid listlessly.

        Tara pressed her lips together a bit, but didn't comment as she sank down onto the couch beside Buffy, throwing a glance upwards at the ceiling when she heard loud thumping coming from Dawn's room, "Should we be worried?"

        "Probably," Buffy replied tiredly, "I'll go upstairs to talk to her in a second." Both women looked upwards when a string of caustic curses, peppered with many of Spike's more colorful British slurs were shouted at the top of teenage lungs. "Or never." Buffy laid her head against the couch and looked towards Tara, "You don't...have to stay here, if you don't want too. I...I don't want to have you caught in the middle between Willow and I...I mean...it's not really your fight..."

        "Buffy," Tara smiled at her gently as she laid a hand on Buffy's shoulder, "I want to be here with you...here for you and Dawnie," She glanced away with a sigh, "Besides...Willow...Willow and I need a little break."

        "Oh God...I'm sorry...You don't have too..."

        "It's not because of you, Buffy," Tara hurriedly reassured Buffy, and then sighed heavily, "It's been coming for a while. Ever since...ever since the summer, she's been...been too liberal with her powers...she doesn't...think before she uses them. She lied to me about the Resurrection spell...well...I think she lied...she didn't tell me what was going to be coming, didn't warn me about what to expect..." Tara shook her head, casting her eyes down, "I...I heard Spike tell Anya and Xander that the reason Willow didn't tell him about the spell was because there was a possibility you might...come back wrong...and...I think he was right. And she didn't tell me about what could happen during the spell because there was a possibility that we may not have raised you at all. Well, your body...but not...you."

        "Oh...great," Buffy snorted, "I might have come back as a flesh-eating zombie. Food for thought. Um...bad choice of words there..." She sighed heavily and both girls lapsed into silence for several minutes, the only sound in the room their breathing and Dawn venting her teenage angst upstairs.

        "Do you think he'll come back?" Buffy asked, her voice wavering with tears, and Tara wrapped an arm around her, hugging her to her side as the Slayer started to cry again.

        "I don't know, honey," Tara replied regretfully, "I'm sorry...I really don't know..."

        "This is all your fault," Willow grumbled, sulking in her chair, box of clothes sitting on the table. "I shouldn't have listened to you."

        Giles sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, glancing at Anya, who was blatantly eavesdropping on them, her eyebrows raised above her eyes. "Anya...don't you have customers to hassle?"

        Anya sniffed and returned to counting the money, mumbling some anti-boss nonsense beneath her breath and Giles returned his attention to Willow, wishing he could start drinking now. But, oh no, good, upstanding citizens who owned magic shops that contained books with all sorts of unspeakable evil contained within them didn't drink at twelve-o-clock in the afternoon. He'd wait till his tea break at twelve-thirty.

        "We discussed this before hand, Willow..."

        "That was before I had to climb a tree to get my Thursday underwear," Willow whined, and Giles gave her a look. "All right, I zapped them. Rhetorically climbed the tree. You said Buffy wouldn't find out...and she did."

        "Because of your girlfriend, I might add," Giles said in annoyance, "Calling on Fudo Myoo...that's irresponsibility in itself..."

        "Not really," Willow flushed, "Um...he's a knowledge seeker...not real big on the punishing of those that call on him...more bark then bite..."

        "Quite right," Giles said in the tone that meant 'no, it wasn't quite right, and in fact, he was on the 'border of restrained English polite annoyance and may actually dip a toe into sarcasm land.'

        Okay, time to keep the unhelpful, unwanted comments to herself.

        "Anything else to add?"

        Hell no. "No," Willow replied meekly, "Except...what should we do about Buffy?"

        "I think that Tara's advice may be the best recourse for us at this point," Giles replied somewhat stiffly, more then usual, at  least, "I'm sure that...whatever sort of influence Spike had over her will fade in time..."

        "Okay...um...Giles? Influence? I don't think he was pelting her with pheromone bombs..." Willow frowned, "Do vampires have phero--" She caught herself in time, "I...I'm not sure that's going to happen any time soon," She finished lamely.

        "I..." Giles glanced over his shoulder, and Anya looked down at the cash register, pretending to be engrossed in a sales receipt, "Bloody hell, girl. You have the subtlety of a four-year-old with a drum. Take a break."

        Anya pouted, but obeyed. Paid break time was better then listening to Giles whine and moan about Spike yet again, but Xander wasn't there to bring her iced coffee. Giles waited till Anya was out the door and turned back to Willow. "I will admit...that Buffy seems more attached to him then I originally thought...but most of her anger, I believe, is rooted in the fact that we went over her head without speaking to her..."

        Willow barely resisted the urge to shake her head. Tara hadn't mentioned that fact, and Willow believed that if Buffy was really pissed about that, her girlfriend would have known. Ex-girlfriend...maybe...Willow tacked on as an afterthought morosely. "Ma-maybe," Willow sighed, sinking down in her seat. "Maybe...maybe we should try to fi-find Spike?" All right...looking at her like she had sprouted a second head wasn't the reaction she was going for.

        "Try to find Spike. Bloody brilliant idea that," Giles said sarcastically, "Even if we wanted to find him, we wouldn't even know where to begin looking. The bloody bugger could be anywhere on the planet by now."

        "Then what are we going to do?"

        "We wait for Buffy to calm down, and try to make her see reason," Giles replied, waving Willow away, "She'll just need a little time to sort things out in her mind, and then, I'm sure, she'll decide what we did was all for the best.”

        “Right…” Willow barely stifled a sigh, adding in her mind, with the appropriate amount of sarcasm, yeah…that'll happen sometime soon.

        Spike despondently stared out the window, watching the French countryside sped by. There wasn't much to see, since it was as black as pitch, save for the odd cow grazing near the tracks or glimpses of the odd lighted town.

        Spike shifted uncomfortably on the seat, his legs stretched across the gap to rest on empty seat in front of him. His new leather coat, shorter and less broken-in then his beloved duster, shifted stiffly with him, and he scowled in annoyance as a bump formed in the leather at the small of his back.

        He snarled to himself as he practically ripped it off of his shoulders and tossed it at the opposite seat, and sulked down farther in his seat, only to nearly fall over as the train started to slow, rolling to a stop at a train station.

        He watched through the window as a few, tired and haggard looking citizens boarded, and sighed as he glanced at his watch. It felt like he had been traveling forever, though, in actuality, it had only been about two weeks since his banishment from Sunnydale. Well…possibly only a week and a half, if you didn't count his two day long drinking spree in Reno…and the two days it took to annul his marriage to Ryelyn, the Marilyn Monroe look-alike-slash-female impersonator.

        Spike shuddered slightly, not sure whether to hope that he remembered what had happened during that drunken black-out…or thank the PTB that he couldn't recall anything past the sixth bottle of vodka.

        He groaned softly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was falling apart, obviously. Every five seconds, something was reminding him of Buffy. For example, the cows…every time he saw cows, he'd think of Buffy mentioning cows touching her on weekdays. Same went when he tried to get his dinner from the butcher's. Blood-cow's blood-cows-Buffy! It was supremely frustrating. Seven Degrees of Buffy Bacon! Wait…that didn't sound right…great. Now whenever someone mentioned any sort of pork product, he'll think of Buffy.

        He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the vibrating window, the glass cool against his cheek, growling in frustration.

        He was tired, he was frustrated, he was lonely…and damn if he didn't miss Buffy and Dawn…and even a little bit Tara and Anya….hell…he was even missing the whelp a little bit; he was always good for a game of pool and a spare change. He almost added Willow and Giles' name to that list, but caught himself in time. Nope…they didn't deserve a place on the List of Loneliness.

        Bet by now, they're turned Buffy against me, he thought morosely, never be able to go back now…not ever again. Probably convinced her that I only bloody pretended to care to get in her knickers; second I step into that town again, I'm either dust by Red, Giles or Buffy's hand. Soddin' hell.

        That wasn't even the worst part of it all. Even if he had to once again face Buffy's hatred, he could deal with that. It'd hurt like hell, tear his bloody heart out of his chest…but at least, he'd still have his Nibblet. He was sure that no matter what anyone said about him, she'd still love him. However, dust particles, no matter how much you loved them, didn't really do anyone any good.

        Thus, he was at an impasse. He could stay away from Sunnydale, spending the rest of his unlife miserable and alone, until, eventually, unable to take it anymore, he either downed a bottle of Holy Water or walked out into sunlight. Or he could return to Sunnydale, spend most of his days miserable and alone, save for the days he got to see Dawn, waiting day to day for Buffy, Giles or Willow to eventually stake him…or eventually, unable to take it anymore, he'd down a bottle of holy water and walk out into sunlight once Dawn had forgotten about him as well.

        Spike slumped down in his seat, turning his despondent gaze out onto the French countryside, all the while thinking that he was truly one miserable bastard.

        “So…like…why do you want to work at `The Gap'?”

        Buffy forced herself to smile at the girl conducting her job interview. “Well…mostly because, according to the bank, I'm way overdue on the mortgage and they're THISCLOSE to foreclosing and kicking us out onto the street. My sister's jeans are starting too look like Capri pants because she didn't inherit my short gene and if I have to eat reheated macaroni and cheese ONE more night, I'm going to snap and torch the house for the insurance money…”

        That's what Buffy was tempted to say, at any rate. Instead, she smiled until the edges of her lips ached with the effort.

        “Well…um…I just love `The Gap',” Buffy tried to put the right amount of gush into her tone, “I mean…I bought clothes here and I always thought…WOW…it must be just great to work here…with…the customers and the register and pushing buttons and stuff…” Mentally, Buffy slapped her forehead and stopped her babbling before she could do some real damage. “And…uh…I just…like `The Gap'.”

         The supervisor conducting her interview narrowed her eyes slightly, and leaned forward a tiny bit, peering into Buffy's face. “You really need to exfoliate. We like our employees to have good skin…”

        “Wha-oh…um…okay,” Buffy decided to not question the absurdity of that policy. She really needed the job…and if that meant buying moisturizer, she'd do it…as long as she didn't have to dance around to lame-ass songs like on the commercials. The Slayer could handle anything but that.

        She could almost hear Spike's voice in her head right now.

        `Bloody hate this commercial,'  (insert growl here) `How's a couple of poncy git-preppies prancing around like a bunch of ballerinas supposed to sell clothing?!'

        That statement, of course, had been punctuated with several threatening gestures towards the TV.  Thinking of it now, Buffy was hard-pressed to hold back a little giggle; she had always been a little amused at the passion with which Spike watched television, as he did with everything else in his life…eh…unlife. His running commentary on everything was something she horribly missed now that he was gone, and hadn't appreciated it when he had been around.

        Buffy was now having to suppress a sigh, and rapidly drew herself to attention when she realized her name was being called, “Eh…sorry…what?”

        “Do you have like…any experience?” The interrogator repeated, huffing in annoyance.

        “Um…I fold laundry at home all the time,” Buffy replied, and the haughty look the self-important teenager gave her set her teeth on edge. “Not really, no.”

        “Oh, well…we advertised that we wanted someone with experience,” Was the reply, and Buffy gritted her teeth together. How much experience did someone need to work at the stupid Gap?! It wasn't exactly rocket science. It was folding sweaters and dressing mannequins in ugly ass striped sweaters. “We really don't want to have to go through the entire training process.”

        “I'm a quick learner,” Buffy asserted, feeling her heart sink into her stomach. If she didn't get this job, there'd be no way she could have the mortgage by the end of the month, and she was already two payments behind. That thought put a bit of desperation into her tone, “Listen…I really need this job…you won't get anyone else that work as hard as me! Unlike most of the bouncy-haired teens bouncing in here, I actually desperately this job!”

        “Yeah, well…” The look of sympathy on the girl's face made Buffy's stomach churn; it was as fake and as plastic as the expressions on the mannequins in the window. “We need someone with experience and…” She looked over Buffy's shoulder and grinned brightly, “And my next interview is here. We'll get back too you.”

        Buffy took a deep breath and nodded in resignation as she stood up. She was practically shoved aside as the other employment-hopeful brushed by her, and she turned, watching as the two girls squealed and embraced.

        Yeah…no way was she getting that job.

        Buffy dejectedly made her way up the walk later that night, weary from a hard patrol.

        It seemed like the vampires were out in full force these days. They were teeming especially in the downtown area of Sunnydale, and though there seemed to be more vampires, she was running into very few of them in the graveyards these days.

        Once again, another area Spike was dearly missed. Seeing as how she wasn't coming across many newly-risen vampires, but the activity hadn't lessened any, she had to attribute it to Spike's influence. She noticed that as soon as the news got around that Spike was gone, there were more vamps and more deaths in the obits that listed the death as animal attacks or PCP gangs. She had a hunch it had something to do that there had been no Master of Sunnydale since Spike's reign, and now that he was gone, the other vamps seemed to think it was up for grabs. She had already dusted a vampire that had been boasting that he was in charge of Sunnydale now.

        With any luck, the rest of the would-be Masters of Sunnydale would be as stupid and as young as him, but as of late, her luck really sucked. It would only be a matter of time before an older, and likely smarter, vampire to try and take over the Hell Mouth.

        Yeah, she was so looking forward to that. By now, there were probably already enough vampires to take her out if they ever got a little bit organized and figured out power was in numbers. Throw a Master into Sunnydale, capable of thinking beyond `me hungry, me horny, me hungry and horny,' and she was totally screwed.

        “Hey, Buff…hard night?”

        Buffy immediately brought up her stake, startled and ready for any attack.

        “WHOA! HEY!” Xander held up his hands, “Anya just bought me this shirt! She'll freak if you put a hole in it…and in me.”

        “Didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on the Slayer?” Buffy asked, lowering her stake and rotating her head on her stiff neck and tense shoulders, “Xander, if this is yet another attempt to convince me that Willow and Giles aren't in the wrong for doing what they did, I swear to God…I will stake you. Anya vengeance be damned. I've had a hard night and I'm really not in the mood.”

        “Oh, so not why I'm here…” Xander shifted uneasily, “Um…I just wanted to…um…” He sighed, giving up, “All right…so, that's why I'm here…”

        “Uh-uh,” Buffy moved towards the front door, but he stepped in front of her. “Xander…don't make me make you move.”

        “Listen…Buff…Wills and Giles feel really awful…”

        “Blah, blah, blah…not interested,” Buffy swerved around Xander and he let out a sound of exasperation.

        “Buffy, they were just doing what they thought was best for you…Spike was manipulating you…”

        Buffy whirled around, and Xander immediately fell back a few steps. “You know what? I'm getting REAL fucking tired of people telling me that Spike was manipulating me! You know who was manipulating me?! You, Willow and Giles! You're manipulating MY life, making MY choices, and screwing up my ENTIRE existence! So, why don't you go peddle your hypocritical bullshit somewhere else? `Cause I'm sure not appreciating it.”

        “Buffy, we just want what's best for you! Why don't you get that?” Xander persisted in pure bull-headiness. “You'd think you'd be grateful that we pulled you out of a hell-dimension and everything…but you just spit it back out at our faces!”

        “Oh, yeah, Xander, I'm real grateful!” Buffy snapped at him, “You know what? I'm tired of all this…I'm tired of pretending everything's hunky-dory with the world and Buffy, because it's NOT! I'm tired of everyone thinking I should be grateful because you guys were too damn stupid to take five seconds and figure out where I was before yanking me back!”

        Xander blinked in confusion, having lost his way during Buffy's angry tirade. “What are you talking about? You were in hell! Why would we…”

        “GOD!” Buffy raked her hands through her hair, letting out an almost hysterical laugh filled with bitterness. “I wasn't in HELL, Xander! I was in heaven! I was happy, and I was finally at peace!” She looked at him, her hazel eyes blazing angry, even as they filled with tears, “I was FINALLY able to rest! And you all stole that from me! You RIPPED me out of pure happiness and love! And don't try to tell me you did it out of love! That's BULLSHIT! You did it because YOU all wanted your normal lives, and have your happy little relationships and not have to deal with the everyday nitty-gritty details of keeping this stupid goddamn town safe!

        “And as soon as I was back, you expected me to be all happy and grateful to you guys, even though it was KILLING me! Seeing you all everyday, so damned smug and patting yourselves on the back for saving little old Buffy so that you can go back to your lives, hurt me so damned much that I was dying inside! And the only one…the ONLY one to see it was Spike! Not my supposed-best friends,  not my Watcher, SPIKE! And when I finally start feeling actually happy again, feeling more like my old self, Willow and Giles both decide to go and save poor little Buffy again! How many times are you people going to rip happiness from me!? HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO DIE INSIDE BEFORE YOU ALL WILL LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE AND LET ME LIVE MY OWN LIFE?!”

        She should have sucker-punched him, kicked him in the head…even driven her stake through his chest. It would have been kinder.

        As it was, Xander felt like he had been punched in the gut, as if all the air in his body had been knocked out of him. “Oh…Jesus…God, Buffy…I'm…” He faltered, not knowing what to say. `Hey! Buff! Sorry we ripped you out of heaven and ruined your life' just wouldn't cut it.

        She seemed to deflate in front him, the emotional and anger having taking the rest of her waning strength. When she went to run her hand over her eyes, it came away covered with moisture. “Just…don't come around here anymore, Xander…not for awhile at least. I just…can't stand to look at you right now…” She let herself into the house and closed the door on him when he tried to follow.

        As soon as Buffy was in the house, she collapsed.

        She sank down to the ground, great, wrenching sobs shaking her slight body. It was a cathartic release, though, a great boulder had finally been lifted from her shoulder. She finally shared her terrible secret. He was probably on his way to tell Willow and Giles…and finally, the redheaded witch would finally know what misery she wrought on her best friend.

        She felt warm, soft arms enfold her, and Buffy lifted her head to see Tara looking down at her with concern. “I…I told him…I told…Xander…ab-about heaven…” She only managed to get that out after several gulping breaths before collapsing into tears again.

        Dawn, who had been lingering on the stairs, somewhat shocked at seeing her usually strong sister reduced to a mess of tears, sent a confused look at Tara, who merely shook her head, and held out one of her arms.

        In half a second, Dawn was cradled on the other side of Buffy, Tara's arms around the both of them. She clutched onto her sister tightly, rocking back and forth with her, trying to wipe away Buffy's tears. She was a little bit scared to see her sister so broken, but she held on, giving what little comfort she could, knowing that for whatever reason, Buffy was hurting badly.

        After several minutes, Buffy managed to calm herself down some, and wiped her sleeve across her running nose and making a face. Dawn, seeing her sister a bit calmer, ventured to timidly ask, “Is…is that about Spike?”

        “Parts of it,” Buffy said quietly, “Just…I just got tired of everyone talking at me…and not knowing what the hell they're talking about.”

        “But…you said something about heaven…what about heaven?”

        Buffy bit her lip, looking up into her sister's wide, blue eyes…so filled with love and concern. She hated to burden her sister as she had been burdened…but Spike had told her a thousand times that no matter what she tried to hide from Dawn, she was a smart girl and would figure it out by herself…and then would be hurt that no one saw fit to tell her.

        “I…uh…when I died…I wasn't…in a hell dimension like everyone assumed…I was…in…um…”

        “Heaven,” Dawn finished quietly, “You were in heaven.” She took the news stoically, but inside, she ached for her sister. “Was…was it nice?”

        “Yeah,” Buffy smiled wanly, resting her head Dawn's, “It was warm…and loving…and beautiful…”

        “You miss it,” Dawn said astutely, drawing into herself a little, “You want to go back, don't you?”

        “I did,” Buffy answered truthfully, tightening her grip on Dawn when she tried to move away, “But…I missed you too…” She lifted her head, tenderly caressing Dawn's hair away from her face. “Don't even think for a second that I don't love being back with you…it was…just hard for awhile…getting used to being back in the world…and having to go back to the way things were after knowing…that kind of peace. It was hard…but I'm back now…mostly thanks to both you and Spike. You both kept me here even though I did want to go back…but Spike…he told me that I had eternity to look forward to in heaven…and only a little bit of time here on Earth, in comparison. That…that I should take what joy I could in this world before leaving for the next.” She smiled a little, “'Course, he said it with more `bloodys' and there was some un-PG language.”

        Dawn giggled, and Buffy felt her heart lighten a little bit more at the sound. She nudged Dawn with her elbow, and Dawn retaliated, shoving her against Tara with another giggle.

        The three girls then engaged in a shoving match in the middle of the foyer, until they all dissolved into giggles, and Buffy closed her eyes as Dawn threw her arms about her neck and hugged her tightly. For this…definitely…heaven could wait a little while more.

        She knew, right at that second, as Dawn laid her head on her shoulder and reached for her hand, that even if the bank stole their home out from beneath them, and even if darkness and evil came knocking on the door, they'd survive. Because they were Summers' women…and they were built for survival, no matter what the circumstances.

        Giles, for his part, was a little less worried about survival and more about the whereabouts of his bottle of good scotch when a frantic knocking came at his door. It was already three in the morning, and as always, whenever he heard someone pounding like that so late at night, a bolt of terror shot through him.

        Buffy…God please…don't let it be Buffy…let her be safe…he thought through his somewhat drunken haze as he stumbled towards the door. He was both relieved and irritated to see it was only Xander, looking panicked. “Xander…if this is about Anya and/or the upcoming wedding…I shall be very much displeased…”

        Xander made a face at the scent of alcohol on his breath, “It's not…it's about Buffy…she's safe!” He added hastily when he saw Giles tense up, “She's safe…but…um…can I come in? You should probably be sitting down for this…”

        Ten minutes later, Giles was very much sober.

        “That's not right,” Willow crossed her arms over her chest, “She's…she's just trying to make us feel even worse…”

        “You didn't see her, Wills…I did. Believe me…she wasn't lying,” Xander told her, slumped dejectedly in a seat across from her. “She was in Heaven.”

        Giles hovered nearby, picking up and putting down objects on the shelves absently, as if unsure of what to do with himself. It had been the tread for the last couple of weeks, after finding himself Slayerless and with nothing else to do but hang around the shop and generally annoying Anya by `hovering about, doing nothing useful nor leading to the sale or sales of profitable items.'

        “I didn't know that!” Willow defended herself petulantly. “She jumped into this portal thingy to a Hell Dimension! I thought she was in hell!”

        “Don't be stupid!” Giles snapped angrily, on edge, “Her body was here. Your spirit doesn't just jump out of your body and into portals! It has to be a physical form!”

        “I didn't KNOW THAT!” Willow wailed, and Giles clenched his fists against the temptation to slap her.

        Although the urge was strong, he knew that would be displacement. He was angry with her, yes…but he was also pissed off at himself. He was now very much regretting the business with Spike, especially in light of what Xander had told him Buffy had said. It was obscene, of course, that Buffy had very likely been going along on a path that would probably lead to Spike's bed, eventually. However, now it was apparent that Buffy had been very happy on that path…and even if he didn't approve, taking what little happiness his Slayer had from her was reprehensible, at the very least.

        “None of us knew, Wills…” Xander said carefully, “But…but you promised that you had researched the spell and everything about portals…you said you knew everything there was to know about them. Did…you ever think to try and figure out where Buffy was first?”

        “Oh, sure! Lay the blame on me!” Willow glared at him, “You guys were all leaning on me, expecting me to make everything right again! Begging me to bring Buffy back! But oooohhh! The second we find out something went wrong, it's blame Willow! It's all her fault.”

        “It is all your fault,” Anya sniffed, having listened from her spot behind the counter. “I told you we should talk to Giles first, but, oh no! You said that we should surprise him.” Giles shot a dirty look at Willow, who colored slightly. “Oh…and you told us not to tell Spike…because he wouldn't have understood…”

        “He probably understood better then all of us,” Xander muttered beneath his breath, remembering Spike's words outside Buffy's house the night she had come back. He glanced at Willow, “What was the real reason we didn't tell him?”

        “Because he wouldn't have understood! Besides, if we told him, he'd have wanted to come and we needed him to watch Dawn,” Willow defended herself. “Which is a good thing, because those demons rode into town…so hey! Good thinking, Willow. It probably saved Dawnie's life!”

        “Right. You should get all the credit. Because you were protecting Dawn from the scary evil demons yourself. Oh…wait…never mind. You were the one with creepy snake coming out of your mouth and then the running away in fear from the scary evil demons,” Anya replied in what was probably sarcasm, but as always, it was hard to tell. “And here, I assumed it was Spike doing the Dawn saving. Silly me.”

        “Spike said…that…uh…” Xander glanced at Giles, who was peering very closely at Willow, his face unreadable, “Spike said that Willow kept him out it…because there was a huge chance Buffy would come back wrong…and he wouldn't have…let her be killed…if she was a little bit Buffy…”

        Willow paled considerably, “Th-that's just stupid. The spell was perfect…it couldn't have gone wrong.”

        “Yes…and we know that your spells never go wrong,” Anya coughed into her hand, “Troll! Thy-Will-Be-Done!” Granted, Thy-Will-Be-Done was hard to cough out in a taunt, but Anya did well, considering.

        “I didn't hear anyone making objections before!” Willow snapped angrily, shooting Anya a deadly glare. “Hindsight is all good and fine, but it doesn't help anything!”

        “Do shut up, Willow…” Giles muttered wearily.

        “Hey! Don't tell me to shut up, Giles!” Willow shook her head in disgust, “And hey! You were the one who was all `Let's get rid of Spike! He's bad! He's evil! He's all manipulative!'”

        “Yes…and I've realized I've made a rather large mistake…which is more then you'll ever admit too,” Giles drew himself up straight, giving her a look that would have made Ripper proud. “Of all of us…he seems…seemed to be the one with the most level head on his damned shoulders. Which is vastly pathetic, to say the least.”

        “Raise your hands if you're eating a heaping helping of crow right about now,” Xander said with a groan.

        “So, now what?” Willow asked, slumping in her side and jutting her lower lip out in child-like ire, “Do we like…find Spike or something?”

        “Spike could be anywhere by now,” Xander replied, “How in the hell are we supposed to find him?”

        “I never thought I'd find myself saying this…but Spike's chip will prove to be a hindrance. The Council, even if they consented to help, which I very much doubt in the first place, wouldn't find him; he'd slip beneath their radar. He can't kill, so he'll be nearly impossible to track, at least, with the Council's resources. They very rarely try to track down a demon that isn't a threat. I suppose all we can do is wait for him to contact Buffy in some way.”

        “If he was going to do that, wouldn't he have done it by now?” Xander asked, “I mean, it's been almost a month, right? I don't think she's even gotten a postcard that says `Hey! In Hawaii! Wish you were here!'”

        “I don't think it likely,” Giles said with a sigh, “He may have already taken up with Drusilla again, believing he has no chance with Buffy…”

        “Don't know about that…last time he saw her, he held a stake to her chest and said he'd kill her for Buffy,” Xander pointed out, “Don't think she'll be taking him back anytime soon.”

        “She'll probably view it as foreplay,” Giles said wryly, remembering well Drusilla's madness. “If not her, he's probably already fixated his attention on some other girl…” Anya snorted at that, and Giles gave her a look, “Care to share, Anya?”

        Anya shook her head slightly, and Giles was about to return to the dilemma at hand once more when she finally said, “You're all stupid.” All three of them turned their heads towards her, and she snorted again. “You all have this whole belief that demons are incapable of love and hurt and any other emotions. True, we don't always feel remorse…but we are capable of love.”

        “Spike doesn't have a soul, Anya,” Willow said and Anya rolled her eyes.

        “Souls are overrated anyway. Souls don't make the person, you know…that's just stupid! Why would something you can't even see or feel or hear make you good or bad? People can be evil just as well as demons…and some demons can just be as good as people. It's not the stupid soul…it's the person/demon themselves! It's all about choices! You all sit around here, going `ppfffftt! Spike can't love Buffy for real, `cause he's a demon and therefore no soul.' If he can get pissed off and angry, why can't he love? Love's an emotion and everyone on the planet can feel emotions. And hey! Vampires? They're creatures of passion. They can feel emotions, but they're amplified at least twice what a human feels. If a vampire gets angry, it's twice as angry, or twice as sad, or twice as hungry or even twice in love. They might not be remorseful about killing…but who is about killing their food? Don't see you mortals sitting around and crying over a hamburger or a bucket of chicken…”

        “Ewww…did anyone else just get an image of Spike sitting around, eating a bucket of fried human legs?” Xander interrupted, and Anya gave him a look. “Sorry, honey…”

        “I think your point is made, Anya,” Giles said, looking a bit sickly himself at the image Xander had seen fit to paint for them. “However, the Watchers' journals say…”

        “What do the stupid Watchers know?” Anya waved her hand dismissively, “They paint a black and white picture of vampires and other demons, just so their Slayers don't have to worry about whether or not they're killing a good demon or a bad demon. Just leads to dissatisfaction in the workplace. You think Buffy's the first Slayer to be involved with a demon? I knew a Slayer back in the seventeen-hundreds who was mated to the Master of Kiev. He still killed and everything…he just did it out of town.”

        “I've never heard of that,” Giles protested, “And that is hardly a sterling example…she was letting him kill still, even if it was in another town…that's horrible…”

        “Yes…and Buffy would never do that,” Anya held up her hand, counting off the incidents that Buffy had done exactly that. “She couldn't kill Angel till he tried to end the world, she let Spike and Drusilla leave Sunnydale…several times, even before he was chipped, she has yet to stake Spike's old girlfriend…Melody or whatever her name is, and she was running around this town and eating people. She even bit Willow, and still, Buffy left her alive.” Anya lowered her hand, “At least the Slayer in Kiev just let one vampire have a by. Buffy lets a vampire off the hook every other week.”

        “She's very good at winning arguments,” Xander commiserated with a speechless Giles.

        “We got off the point,” Giles finally managed after a few seconds, “The point was…uh…”

        “Buffy in Heaven…and finding stupid Spike,” Willow offered, still sulking.

        “Uh…right,” Giles removed his glasses to polish them, his mind still obviously on what Anya had told them. “Perhaps…some sort of locator spell?”

        “Umm…no good,” Willow said, “Locator spells are iffy after a couple hundred miles….and even so, they don't really track well with vamps. Locator spells trace life-forces…and Spike's lacking in the whole life thing.”

        “Well…that's just bloody great,” Giles said in irritation, “We have absolutely nothing to go on here!”

        “Well…Spike's probably feeling very betrayed by you too…” Anya said, and then trailed off, looking contemplative.

        Giles, impatient, huffed, “Yes, I'd imagine so. What is your point?”

        Anya looked insulted at his tone, and stiffened slightly, “I was going to say that I could probably ask one of my ex-vengeance demon friends if they know where he is. He's got to be showing up on their radar, but if you're going to get huffy…”

        “Do we really want to throw Spike in the way of a vengeance demon?” Xander asked doubtfully, “Especially if he's feeling…vengeance-y?”

        “Quite right…” Giles shuddered, not wanting to know what damage Spike could do to them all with the power of a wish.

        “Oh…fine. Blow off the only good idea any of us have come up with,” Anya shook her head in disgust, and flounced off towards the cash register, muttering about `stupid mortals never listening to her.'

        “Perhaps…it's just as well,” Giles said thoughtfully, “Given time…we can mend things with Buffy...and if Spike comes back on his own…” He barely hid a grimace, “We deal with that when the time comes.”

        “We are so screwed,” Willow muttered beneath her breath.

        “Not another one,” Buffy grimaced as Tara came away from the front door, carrying a large arrangement of lavender, hyacinths and baby's breath. “Whose that one from?”

        “Um…” Tara peeked at the card, “Please, Please forgive us…love Xander…”

        “Put it with the others,” Buffy gestured towards the garbage can, which was already filled with black-eyed Susans, a heart-shaped chocolate box and a teddy bear the size of a real bear cub.

        “Do…you mind if I keep these ones?” Tara asked a little self-consciously, flushing a bit, “I love the smell of lavender.”

        “Knock yourself out,” Buffy told her, taking a seat at the couch again and sifting through the huge pile of papers littering the surface. Tara sat the flower arrangement aside and joined Buffy to help with the finances.

        “How does it look?” Tara asked, taking half of the pile for herself.

        Buffy made a face, “We got the check for Dawn's child support…but that really needs to go to new clothes for her…her shoes are getting too small and none of her clothes fit her anymore…”

        “New clothes aren't going to do her any good if she doesn't have a house or hot water,” Tara pointed out gently, frowning as she looked over the bank statement for that month, “What about your dad? Did he ever call you back?”

        “We haven't heard from him since before mom died,” Buffy glared at her pile of papers, “He knows she's dead. He stopped sending her checks…”

        “And you don't get child support anymore?”

        “Not since I was eighteen,” Buffy made a face, “I should have taken Spike up on his offer to track my dad down and put the fear of God in him…”

        “Hmm…maybe we can turn him into a toad?” Tara suggested, and the two girls shared a grin before turning their attention back to the bills, their smiles fading slowly. “I think…if I take some tutoring jobs, I could make enough to at least make groceries…or I could look into finding a part-time job…”

        “You can't do that…you're still trying to make up the classes you had to drop out of last year during the Glory thing,” Buffy protested, “Besides, you're already doing a lot...I mean, you pay rent, you cook and you watch Dawn for me when I'm on patrol…”

         “Tutoring is no big deal, really,” Tara assured her, “It's just a couple hours a day…and it's money we need…”

        Buffy looked torn as she looked down at the big red stamp on the bank statements that said `Past Due: Please Remit.'

        “I…I just don't want to drag you down into my problems…”

        “Buffy, don't say that…it's our problems…you may own the house, but I live here too…and I care about you. I want to help. So…please? Let me help?”

        Buffy smiled somewhat shyly, and murmured an `Okay.'

        “Good, then that's settled,” Tara chewed on her bottom lip as she did the math in her head, “Um…even if you manage to get a job this week and be paid within two weeks…we'll have to combine Dawn's child support check just to pay the minimum requirements of the mortgage…”

        “Would it be horribly, horribly wrong to beg for Giles check back and still ignore him?” Buffy asked.

        “Just a tiny bit,” Tara replied.

        “I hate this!” Buffy pouted, “Why can't we live in a utopian society where everyone works together to support everyone else?”

        “They have that…it's called Communism…didn't work too well.”

        “Oh, right…crap…then I'm just screwed.”

        “You're not screwed,” Tara assured her, “You'll find a job somewhere…”

        “Finding a job might not be so huge a problem,” Buffy pointed out, “It's the keeping it while also taking care of Dawn and slaying. Demons aren't considerate enough to consult my hours before doing evil. I doubt my boss is going to appreciate me taking off every time there's an apocalypse.”

        “Why doesn't the Council pay you?” Tara asked, “I mean…you've got a little sister to take care of, a mortgage, utility and grocery bills…”

        “Yeah, right…the Council is puckered up tighter then a whale's asshole when it comes to money. When Giles suggested they pay for my college… they freaked out…”

        “Nice imagery with the whale,” Tara grimaced, “Let me guess…Spikism?”

        “How could you tell?” Buffy smiled wanly, “They wouldn't pay me. All they care about is that I keep fighting evil. They don't care if I'm homeless…they'd probably say something like…” She mimicked a stuffy English accent, “`hardship builds character' or some stupid crap like that.”

        “Good to know that not eating and living in a cardboard box is all for the Slayer cause,” Tara said, letting out an indelicate snort. “Maybe they're the ones that need the fear of God put into them.”

        “It's just as well, I guess…they lord everything else over me. If they were actually giving me money, I'd never hear the end of it. `Do this or we'll take your money,' `do that, or we'll take your money,' `do this `cause I'm a pompous ass with a stick jammed so far up my butt that it pokes my brain whenever I sit down.'”

        Tara laughed, despite her somewhat somber mood, “That's awful!”

        “But true. You've met Travers, right?” Buffy shuddered, “The man seriously needs to get laid.”

        “I think he was…” Tara lowered her voice, “Anya said that he was getting all glower-ly when the lady Watcher came back from Spike's, gushing about finally getting to meet `William the Bloody.' Apparently, she was a little star-struck by him.”

        “Eewww…you mean Lydia?” Buffy wrinkled her nose, “She has a thing for Spike?”

        “That's what Anya thought…and she thought that Travers had a thing for Lydia…”

        “That had to cheese him off,” Buffy snickered, “Anyway…that's gross. He's way too old for her!”

        “Says the girl whose last love interest had a centennial,” Tara teased.

        Buffy immediately sobered, looking down at the papers on the coffee table, “Yeah,” She murmured, finally standing, and taking a deep breath. “I've got another job interview today, with the IHOP by the highway…”

         “Buffy,” Tara reached up and snagged her hand, offering her a slight smile, “I'm…I'm sure he'll come back…he can't stay away from you, you know…”

        “Yeah…” Buffy managed to smile back at Tara's friendly face, “He really can't, can he?”

        Spike was feeling a little bit better.

        Not exactly `dance in the streets, sing to the radio, smiling at the baby in the carriage,' better, but he was no longer thinking about walking into the sunlight every day, which was a definite improvement.

        He only thought about walking into sunlight every other day.

        Spike tossed a manila envelope from hand to hand, unconsciously relishing the heavy feel of it, the way it slapped against his palms whenever he tossed it. Inside the envelope was hope.

        Not so much for him, not at all, actually…he had very little to hope for these days, and really, he didn't think he deserved to hope for anything…it was hope for someone who truly deserved it.

        However, a little hope was hardly going to cut it. Not in this day and age, when hope was so very often buried beneath apathy and carelessness; but it was just enough to offer succor when it was most needed.

        Okay…so…maybe he wasn't getting any better, if the bitter, poetical leaning his thoughts had veered off into was any indication.

        He snorted at his own behavior as he removed a white card from his pocket, and peered down at the name and address printed on the front in bold, block lettering. `Lydia Waterhouse, 69 Exeter.'

        He tucked the manila envelope into the inside pocket of his duster as he started up the steps of the modest Victorian, grimacing at the bright yellow siding and powder-blue trimming. It was a bleeding travesty what accounted for taste these days.

        He rang the bell several times, hiding a grin at how obnoxious it sounded, and rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for someone to answer.

        His face bloomed out into a wolfish smile when a slender, timid woman answered the door, peering up at him through her glasses with both surprise, trepidation…and just a little bit of intrigue. “Wi-William?”

        “'Allo, luv,” Spike cocked his head, giving her a seductive smirk, “Goin' to invite me in for a spot of tea, or wot?”

        “I…” Lydia hesitated, but, apparently, the moral of the cat's previous fate when he had succumbed to curiosity was lost on the woman Watcher, and she blushed as she stepped aside, holding the door open for him, “Y-yes…please…come in…”

        “Ta, love,” Spike winked, “Promise you won't live to regret it…”

        Dawn pressed her lips together as she watched Buffy trying to cook dinner.

        Tara was off for the night, tutoring again to raise money for the household. Buffy was supposed to be working, but after a demon thrashed the International House of Pancakes, it had to be closed down for `renovations.'

        “Well,” Dawn had said when Buffy had told her, trying to put a positive spin on things, “At least you didn't get fired this time.”

        Apparently, she sucked at putting the positive spin on things, since Buffy had gotten all wide-eyed and had run from the room, crying.

        Dawn wasn't stupid, either. She knew exactly what the lose of that job meant to all of them. Tara and Buffy may get quiet about the whole finances thing whenever she walked into the room, not wanting to worry her, but she had seen the statements for herself. She could figure out the bank had basically told them, `PAY US NOW OR ELSE!'

        They were about to lose their home, it was a reality now; she wondered when Buffy was going to tell her they had less then a month to get the hell out of 1630 Revello drive. Maybe that was what dinner was about, since Buffy had put a nix on her plans to go to a friend's house, saying it was time for a family meeting.

        God…we're going to lose mom's house, Dawn bit her lip, shuddering a tiny bit. She didn't want to move. She wanted to stay here, where she could sometimes pretend that mom was just in her room, or soaking in the large bathtub in the master bathroom…or cooking breakfast on Saturday or Sunday. It wasn't really true…but it was easier to pretend here. It would be impossible to imagine her mom around every corner in another house or an apartment or whatever.

        And what if, because they had lost the house, the social worker decided Buffy wasn't able to take care of her?! Dawn glanced towards the front door apprehensively; she was half-expecting Lois Kroger to come bursting through it, shouting that Buffy was an unfit guardian and it was time for her to be carted off to a foster family. Or worse…one of those juvenile detention centers, because of her shop-lifting!

        “Dawnie?” Buffy's concerned voice broke her reverie, and Dawn's eyes came into sharp focus as Buffy's face swam in her vision. “Honey? You okay? You're hyperventilating…”

        “I…I was?” Indeed, Dawn felt a little lightheaded now, and she offered Buffy a strained smile as she seated herself at the island, “Sorry…just a little stressed…” Dawn inwardly winced when she saw the guilt arc across Buffy's face, “About school and stuff…got mid-terms coming up soon…”

        “Eyuch…mid-terms,” Buffy made a face, while looking relieved at the same time. Test angst, she could deal with at the moment. “You have studied, right?”

        “Duh…mid-terms aren't for another two-weeks, Buffy…”

        “Yeah? So? Get an early jump on studying…” Buffy flushed a bit at the look Dawn sent her, the one that so clearly said, `And you studied when?!' “Good to be prepared…right?”

        “Uhuh…two weeks of prepared will make my head explode,” Dawn replied, “Besides, it's better if you study the night before…you remember more stuff that way.”

        “That's not true!”

        “Sure it is…why study two weeks before when you'll just forget everything by the time the test is here? Believe me, the night before is the best time to study…”

        “That never worked for me,” Buffy insisted.

        “Um…duh…that's `case you said you'd study the night before…and then blow it off for patrol, Bronze or making out with Angel…”

        “Oh…” Buffy flushed, “Right. Okay…this is obviously one of those `Do what I say, not as I do' situations.”

        “Yeah, okay…bite me,” Dawn grinned at Buffy to soften her words, “I'm so not buying that crap.”

        “Can't you at least humor me?” Buffy whined, “I mean…just pretend you're listening to me?”

        “Fine. Yes, Buffy…I will study every single night for the next two weeks for my mid-terms. Or at least, I'll slip my Seventeen magazine between the covers of my Chem book, and pretend I'm studying.”

        Buffy rolled her eyes, “Haha…you're thisclose to losing your pudding privileges, missy…and yeah, I know how much of a lame-ass threat that is...so, please, no comments.”

        “I wasn't going to say a thing,” Dawn replied, smiling saccharine sweet.

        “Uh-uh…” Buffy eyed her suspiciously as she poured the spaghetti sauce over the noodles.

        “Um…Buffy? Usually…people drain the noodles before putting the sauce in…” Dawn said.

        “Son of a BITCH!” Buffy turned to see that she had indeed poured the sauce in with the water, and she hurriedly poured them off into the colander, making a face when she saw the mess she had made of dinner. “That was our last can of sauce too,” She muttered morosely.

        “Sooo…” Dawn smiled weakly, “Should I call the pizza place or are you going to do it?”

        Lydia's hands naturally shook as she steeped the tea, keeping half an eye on the blonde vampire moving about her flat. He was currently picking up and looking at anything that wasn't fastened down, and even peeping into her private journals. He appeared very interested in the journal in which she had kept her notes during her days as a Watcher-in-training. He had probably found the research she had done for her master thesis.

        He snorted suddenly, and she came into back into the sitting room, giving him a slightly offended look. “What, pray tell, do you find so amusing?”

        “Just this complete and utter bollocks,” Spike said, waving the journal he was reading from at her, and then read aloud, “While William the Bloody's mortal life is shrouded in mystery, strong evidence suggests that he is Robert William Haigh, a murderer/thief/rapist that operated in the White Chapel area before his capture by Scotland Yard, in the year 1882. He escaped prison before his trial, a month later, and was never heard from again. This was also the time-frame in which the Scourge of Europe, a trinity of vampires made up of Angelus, Darla and Drusilla, were nesting in London…”

        “Well…what's wrong with that?” Lydia asked, pouring the tea, “It's a perfectly acceptable theory, given the evidence I had to work with…” She narrowed her eyes when he snorted again, “Fine…what's wrong with it?”

        “Just everything,” Spike said sarcastically, “Wrong name, wrong date, wrong town...and it doesn't even bloody well fit Angelus' MO, does it?”

        “Well…that's why it's called a theory…it's speculation, not fact…” She looked him over appraisingly, “Don't suppose you'd be willing to…suss out my other mistakes and correct them?”

        Spike chuckled, snapping closed the journal and sprawling out on her couch, “Sorry, pet…don't think I'm partial to doling out my dirty little secrets to a Watcher,” He winked, “Even a pretty little one like you.”

        Lydia blushed prettily as she took a seat on the little space he had left her on the sofa, offering him a cup of tea. “Such a pity,” She sighed as he took it, and she offered him lemon and honey to sweeten it with, “What a font of information you would be! You're the only vampire in history, save for Lothos, to actively seek out Slayers to kill…”

        Spike made a face, “Lothos is a pansy-assed bastard who sought out newly-called Slayers…not very sporting, that…and he couldn't fight his way out of a bloody paper bag. Always had to have his creepy little minions do the work for him, and prance around in capes and tuxedos, putting a thrall on every person that walked by within thralling distance. And did you know he actually slept in a coffin?! A COFFIN! Talk about feeding the whole vampire stereotype. Only one worse then him is Drac...but just barely.” Spike grinned, “Bet he was real surprised when m'girl killed him without any bloody training. Would've loved to see the look on his face when she staked his poncy arse.”

        “Your…your girl?” Lydia raised an eyebrow, “Soooo…did the `poor little twig' finally start crying on your shoulder?”

        Spike stiffened noticeably, and she took special notice of the way gold flecks seem to expand in his irises, nearly overwhelming the cerulean blaze of his eyes. However, he seemed to restrain his temper before he could say something else he'd regret, and she was somewhat surprised to see what control he had over himself.

        Everyone in the Council was led to believe that vampires were little more then animals, sometimes cunning…but lacking in any real self-control. She wondered if it was because of his behavior modification chip; perhaps he was forced to learn to control himself, to prevent from coming to any pain? It was a theory she would dearly love to look into, if he would allow her. However, she decided that was not something he would volunteer to willingly; and unwillingly, he'd be next to useless. She had no doubt that he would be able to resist all humane forms of interrogation, and she had no taste for torture…especially of an apparent sentient and thoughtful…thing.

        “Listen,” Spike sat aside his barely touched cup of tea, “Obviously, I didn't come here for a friendly little chat…” He rolled his eyes when Lydia's hand shot up to the cross she wore around her throat, “Didn't come here to kill you either…don't usually share scones and tea with my victims…just adds insult to injury…”

        “Right…of course,” Lydia lowered her hands, but still fixed him with a suspicious glare, “What is your business here then, if it wasn't just a little visit?”

        “Don't know if you lot sitting up here on your arses while the Slayer does all the work know or not…but she's in hard straights these days. Her mum died, her father's a dead-beat bastard that needs to be staked with his own spinal cord, and she's had to drop out of school to take care of her little sis, while also holding down a life-sucking job, slayin'nightly and averting every apocalypse and big bad that comes down the soddin' pike. Sooner, rather then later…it's going to get her killed…”

        Lydia frowned, “And…you're telling me this…why?”

        Spike gave her an exasperated look, “She needs some help, for Chrissakes. She's already died twice for the bloody Cause, and it's done her no good. You'd think the least you bastards could do for her continued loyalty is to make sure she doesn't have to waste her little down-time in dead-end jobs and make it so that she doesn't have to worry about losing her home. She's sacrificed more then any of you lot can ever comprehend…and yet, you all continue to sit on your self-righteous thrones while she struggles to take care of what's left of her bloody family! Did ya know she doesn't even have soddin' health insurance?! She has to go the hospital once and she'll be completely bankrupt, and the bank will take her house! It's not fuckin' RIGHT!”

        Lydia was a bit taken aback at the passion Spike exhibited in championing Buffy Summers' cause. It was enough to touch anyone's heart,  really, a vampire, the Slayer of Slayers, completely and utterly devoted to another Slayer. However, she wasn't exactly in the position to offer him the assistance he needed.

        “William…I'd…I'd really like to help you…truly, I do…but you're overestimating my place in the Council,” She told him apologetically.

        “Please…” Spike cocked his head, giving her a skeptical look, “I know that you and that pompous wind-bag are slipping in between the sheets.”

        Lydia colored brightly, “I…I…uh…how did you…?”

        “Got my sources,” Spike said smugly, mentally thanking Anya for the inside track on what had occurred between Travers and Lydia during her little `fawning' session. “So…you gonna help me or what?”

        “I would like too, William…but Quent---uh…Mr. Travers is never going to approve this! Especially if he finds out it's coming from a vampire! The Slayer is the Council's tool…”

        “Bullshit!” Spike gave her a dirty look, “You can't possibly believe that! Without the Slayer, there wouldn't be a soddin' Council!”

        “I didn't say I believed that,” Lydia sighed, “Spike…my hands are tied. Nothing short of a miracle will ever convince Mr. Travers to pay Buffy Summers…” She jumped when Spike suddenly swung up from the couch and wheeled around on her. Her heart jumped up into her throat and she looked up into his vamped face with some trepidation.

        “If you won't convince him, then I want your help so that I can convince him!”

        “Wh-what?” Lydia squeaked as he leaned in towards her, and she pressed herself against the couch as a rumbling growl issued from his throat, his eyes blazing amber. “H-how?”

        Spike touched his temple with a wolfish smile, showing his fangs off to full effects, and despite her fear, Lydia shook her head falteringly, “I…I can't do that…it…it wouldn't be right…”

        “Not goin' to hurt anyone, ducks…” Spike pushed himself into a standing position suddenly, his demon face disappearing abruptly, “Way I see it, the only way I'm goin' to get in to see him is if I break into the CoW headquarters…an' if I do that, I'm going to get killed. Can't rightly defend myself against them, can I?”

        “Do…do you seriously think that'll I'd condone releasing a dangerous and deadly vampire onto the world?!” Lydia asked, shaking her head, “You're mad.”

        “You have no idea,” Spike said with narrowed eyes, “I'll give you two choices here, pet. One: I hire a couple inferno demons I know that can work absolute wonders with a couple bags of fertilizer…or two: you help me get this chip out, I have a calm, collected conversation with Travers…gently coerce him into my way of thinking…annnddd…I'll give you what you want most.”

        Lydia frowned slightly, “And that would be what exactly?”

        “Inside track on what makes William the Bloody tick,” Spike smirked at her, “You can write your bloody chronicle about me…no embellishing, no omissions,  just cold, hard facts…from 1857 to present.” He saw Lydia's eyes visibly light up, but then dim.

        “Tempting…but I can't do that…as much as you think of yourself, it's just not worth the deaths of countless innocents…”

        Spike sighed dramatically, “You drive a hard bargain, poodle…how `bout I throw in my word as an English gentleman that I will never hunt again…to be truthful, however, I may have to kill in self-defense…but only if there's no other bloody way…”

        “I can't just take your word on that,” Lydia protested, “And…English gentleman? I very much doubt it.”

        Spike raised an eyebrow at her, and she tensed as he removed a butterfly knife from his boot and flicked it open. He pressed the tip into his palm, drawing up a dark swell of blood. “I, William the Bloody, Spike, Childe of Angelus and Drusilla, of the Order of Aurelius, pledge with my blood, by penalty of death, to never hunt again, and to never take another human life, unless in self-defense.” He offered both his palm and knife to Lydia, and dazedly, she took the blade, looking up at him in confusion.

        “This…is a vampire blood pledge?” She asked in some awe.

        “Well…sort of…usually, it's done in vampiric…but no Watcher knows that language. It's just as binding as in English. Now…be a dear and cut yourself for me.”

        She pressed the sharp edge into her hand as she had seen Spike do before her, and she watched as he knelt before her, pressing their bleeding palms together. “Now, you say, `I, Lydia…blah blah…accept the oath of William the Bloody…blah blah…death, blood, penalty, blah blah…”

        Somewhat amused, despite the very ancient ritual she was taking place in, Lydia repeated what he had said, inserting the proper words where he had summarized, and gasped when she felt a sudden jolt of energy pass through her entire body. When Spike released her hand, she was shocked to see the wound had closed up entirely, except for a small, white scar. Spike had a matching one.

        Spike wiped his hand on his jeans, cleaning up the bits of spilled blood, “If the scar ever turns red, that means that I broke my oath, and I'm to come and stand before you to receive my penalty,” He told her, “Um…not sure how it works, but I think if you have children, the oath will pass down to them, just like it does with Childer. Hard to know for sure, that…don't think anyone's done it with a human before.”

        “Really? I'm...I'm honored…”

        “Yeah…just be honored in silence, if you please…already I'm a travesty to my species…probably end up dead for this one if word ever got out.”

        “Right…of…of course,” Lydia rubbed the small scar thoughtfully.

        “Don't rub it…you'll go blind,” She looked up sharply, alarmed and Spike laughed, “Kiddin'…kiddin'…now…” Spike removed a manila envelope from his pocket and dropped it on her lap, “That's all the money I got…should be enough to bribe whatever Council doc you can get to remove this soddin' nuisance in my head.”

        “All…all right, I'll see what I can do,” Lydia replied, standing up to clear away the tea things. As soon as she was up from the couch, Spike immediately hopped up on it and stretched out comfortably. She gave him a startled look, and he grinned.

        “Try not to wake me when you leave in the morning,” He told her, “I like my beauty sleep.”

        She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped before she could say a word, shaking her head slowly. She had a feeling that any complaints she had would be lost on him. Instead, she shoved his feet off of the couch, saying sternly, “No shoes on the love seat…and…” She also grabbed the fag he had tucked behind his ear, “No smoking in my flat. Unless you also want to pay my cleaning bill?”

        “Fine, fine…” Spike grumbled as he sat up to unlace his boots, and watched as a very smug Lydia picked up her tea tray and started towards her small kitchen. “I hope you don't mind, but I like to sleep naked!” He called. Lydia whirled with wide eyes as she stared at him, as if half-expecting him to already be naked; alas, he was still clothed, and for her troubles, only managed to bump against the wall and drop her tray.

        She swore over the crash of her good china, and Spike chuckled as he laid back on the couch and crossed his arms beneath his head. Yep…still got it with the birds, he thought just a little conceitedly.

        By the time Lydia had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, Spike was already asleep, completely dead to the world. She contemplated him for several minutes, rubbing the scar on her palm once again, wondering if, pledge or not, could she trust him? God…I hope so, she thought with a wince, realizing that if she didn't hold up her end of the pledge, her own life would be forfeit. This couldn't end well, she was sure…deals with the Devil never did.

Part Five

        Lydia winced as she walked into her flat to the sound of Spike shouting at the telly in outrage to a football game.

        “Come on, you stupid git! Stay on the ball! Stay on the ball! Oh, come on! It's the bloody black and white round thing rollin' about the soddin' field! Hard to miss there, you near-sighted ponce!”

        “I see that your day has been fruitful,” Lydia remarked dryly as she laid her briefcase on the coffee table, and than swatted Spike's feet off of it.

        Spike rolled his eyes as he switched off the Man U match, “I did the shopping,” He protested, “At my own personal risk, I might add. It could have stopped raining at any moment and I could have been dusted.”

        “If you don't scrape that black paint off the windshield of my car, you'll be in even more personal risk,” Lydia threatened, but Spike simply snorted and shrugged his shoulders, clearly not intimated.

        She rolled her eyes as she went into the kitchen to make herself something quick for dinner, and Spike got off the couch to follow her. “So…find me a doc yet?”

        “Not yet,” Lydia replied, frowning as she opened the fridge and saw nothing but liquor, blood…and little chicken wings covered in congealed grease. She shook her head as she headed towards her pantry, “I don't have much call to get close to the medical staff…and why is there nothing in the kitchen but weetabix, blood and booze?”

        “You told me to go shopping…you didn't say for what,” Spike replied with a smirk,  “And it's not weetabix,” He pulled out a box and waved it in her face, “It's Fruitabix. It's like dessert for my blood…damned Americans never have the good stuff at the market.”

        Lydia sighed as she grabbed the box out of his hand and replaced it, “And my mother asks me why I never married,” She mumbled beneath her breath. “I mean… with all this to look forward too.” She closed the pantry door and went back to the fridge, deciding that chicken wings were better then starving. When Spike looked about ready to protest, she sent him a deathly glare that immediately made him hold up his hands in surrender.

        “So, basically…you're just sittin' around on your arse all day and doing nothing?” He asked with a scowl, “What am I payin' you for, anyway?”

        “Excuse me…but my life did not immediately stop the minute you walked in the door,” Lydia pointed out in irritation, “I do have other duties to perform; and appearances must be kept up, or there'll be questions I can't answer without exposing myself. Do you even have any idea of what could happen to me if they find out I'm willingly associating with a vampire, especially William the Bloody? It'll make what they did to Rupert Giles look like a mercy!” She sighed when Spike looked away, jaw clenching. “Spike…I'm truly doing all that I can for the moment. You can't ask for more then that from me. It's just unfair.”

        “Unfair,” Spike repeated, turning his gaze back on her, his blue eyes blazing, “Believe me, pet, you haven't even begun to comprehend the meaning of unfair.”

        Lydia decided to not argue the point. She was tired, her feet hurt and she hadn't slept well in the last few days, as the vampire sleeping on her couch had a tendency to watch loud television shows filled with gunfights and car crashes to all hours of the night. “I'll try again tomorrow, Spike, but I'm not promising anything.”

        Spike simply snorted and stomped back into the living room with the air of a petulant child whose favorite toy had just been taken away. Lydia sighed heavily before tossing the wings in the microwave and leaned against the counter wearily. Actually, she hadn't been completely honest with him either. She hadn't spent the day trying to get into contact with the Council doctors. She had spent the day going through the reports Rupert Giles had sent to the Council over the last three months, including the ones that he had sent a little over three weeks before and had yet to be made known to Travers.

        She took a deep breath as she took out the chicken wings and went to join a sulky Spike on the couch.

        “Rupert Giles has reported you missing to the Council,” She told him nonchalantly before picking up one of the little wings with a slight grimace, the greasy sauce making it difficult to keep a hold of. “Since all of the reports come across my desk first, I managed to make a few…um…adjustments to it before I sent it to Travers.”

        “What kind of adjustments?” Spike asked, eyes sparking with suspicion as he slid a side-long glance at her.

        “Only that you're dead now,” She told him with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “I'm not sure if Rupert was aware of it or not, but the second you left Sunnydale, our best vampire trackers were to be sent after you...to…um…neutralize the threat you posed.”

        Spike's eyes narrowed dangerously at that, “He knew,” He said curtly.

        “Are you sure? I really didn't think that Rupert does…because…after all the help you've given them…”

        “He knew,” Spike asserted, and she could hear the sound of his back teeth grinding together, “Believe me, he knew…and he planned it that way. Rupes just didn't want to do the dirty work himself, I suspect.”

         Lydia laid down the chicken wing, realizing that she wasn't nearly hungry enough to force it down her throat, and turned a puzzled look on Spike. “You think Rupert wants you dead?”

        “Not think, know,” Spike ran a weary hand through his hair as he stood up, casting a glance towards the front window, where dim light gleamed through the slats of the blinds. Once the sun had fully set, he'd be out there, stalking and slaying any dangerous demon that he came across for a ten mile radius. He'd probably do a circuit of fifteen miles this time, as he was wound up from sitting on the couch all day, and from pissed off after hearing that Rupert had set him up to be killed by the Council's flunkies.

        If it weren't for the blood bond between him and Lydia, he'd be suspicious of her motives in changing the reports. However, as it was, he'd know the instant she tried to betray him, and he wondered if the mystical properties of the bond would allow him to circumvent the chip and punish her as the bond demanded.

        Probably not…but there was always hiring someone else to mete out justice. It wasn't his style, but a blood bond was a blood bond, and he'd be damned before he'd fly in the face of vampiric tradition. Especially one that would get him killed if he didn't honor it.

        “What else did they say?”

        “Nothing much about you, just that you had left Sunnydale,” Lydia replied, and then caught his look, “Oh…you mean…um…it said that she was doing well, despite the loss of a former ally…” She cleared her throat when Spike glanced away, a hurt expression briefly flitting across his face before he could stop it. “I'm still waiting for Rupert's updates for the past three weeks. I suspect there's been some heavy activity on the Hellmouth that has prevented his usually timely reports to come in.”

        She needs me…Spike thought automatically, immediately thinking of the fastest routes home. However, before heart could run away with him, his brain reminded him that he had no home, and that in all likelihood, Buffy was happier without him, if what Giles' report indicated was true. He's lying, a desperate part of him insisted, he has to be. She liked you…if not loved you…he has to be lying.

        Grow up, mate…you were good enough for a shoulder to cry on, but not anything to cry over.

        Even if it wasn't the loudest voice in him at the moment, Spike followed the advice of the pessimistic one, and resituated himself onto the couch. “Funny, that…the Council of Wankers thinkin' I'm such a threat…”

        “I very much doubt they do, really,” Lydia replied almost absently as she removed some files from her briefcase, “They'd be more likely to capture you for science…probably to run some tests on that chip of yours. They experimented in the Sixties with demon behavior modification, and you can imagine that they were a bit miffed about the American military accomplishing what they couldn't…”

        “Lovely,” Spike drawled sarcastically, “Maybe I'll send them the chip when it's out of my skull. Smashed into nothing but little electrical bits and pieces, a'course.”

        “Well…good to know that you're all for the advancement of science.”

        “Got nothing against the advancement of science…but I do have a problem with becoming Pavlov's dog. Love always makes me someone else's bitch, so I don't need science putting me on a leash as well, thank you very much.” He finally took notice of what Lydia was doing and raised an eyebrow when he saw her setting out a notepad and type recorder. “And all that would be for…?”

        “The way I figure it, I'm upholding my end of the deal swimmingly, while you sit here all day, doing absolutely nothing at my expense,” Lydia shot him a look, “At the very least, you can offer me the story of your turning for tonight.”

        Spike straightened immediately, his eyes going slightly wide, “That wasn't the deal. The deal was when the chip was gone, and then I'd give you my soddin' life story. That was it. No way am I telling you anything…”

        “Relax. It's not like I can go back on my part of the agreement,” Lydia reminded him, “I just want a little something to tide me over. I just want your turning…oh…and perhaps a little of your life before that. It's not much to ask.”

        Spike was already regretting his promise to tell Lydia of his life story. All of his pathetic little life…up to the day Drusilla finally set him free, was…pathetic, for lack of a better word. He knew the second he told her anything, it would be recorded in a Watcher's Diary. He also knew how incredibly easy it was to get a copy. He had stolen scads of them off of other Watchers, and had a good many chuckles over them. It wouldn't take long before another vamp or demon got a copy of this one and have a good laugh over William the Bloody Awful Poet.

        However, a deal was a deal, and he had to content himself with the fact that his reputation was already shot to hell because of Buffy Summers, and a little more humiliation probably wouldn't make that big a difference.

        “Fine,” Spike grumbled as he sulked into the couch, “I was born William Archibald Eton the Third…”

        Tara pressed her lips together as she surveyed the front of the Magic Box, debating with herself furiously. She needed herbs for a dispel spell for a friend with a poltergeist problem, and she needed a clouding spell for the people at Buffy's bank. The morals on that one was a bit hazy; she hoped to spell her account and records so that they would be `overlooked' for a little while. Nothing too serious, they just needed to buy some time for Buffy to receive a paycheck from her job at Payless Shoes.

        She inwardly cursed the fact that Sunnydale was sadly lacking a competitive magic store chain, (although, Anya was probably ecstatic about that.) She sighed heavily before figuratively biting the bullet and venturing inside.

        The bell jingled-jangled and even though everyone glanced at her, Tara only had eyes for Willow.

        “T-Tara?” Willow whispered hesitantly before a bright smile suffused her features, “Oh…honey…I'm so glad you're here!”

        “I'm just here for supplies,” Tara tried not to sound very curt, but it came out, nevertheless. She couldn't deny that she was still very much angry with her lover for Spike and Buffy's betrayal. She didn't want to give Willow false hope, since as of yet, she hadn't forgiven her for this latest transgression.

        Willow's face fell and she looked down at the tabletop, pulling her lower lip between her teeth to worry it.

        “Tara,” Giles greeted quietly as the young witch headed towards the protective wards, “May I have a word with you?”

        “If you have anything to say, you have to say it to Buffy,” Tara told him with the same curtness, “I'm not a messenger. And if you want information about her, you have to talk to Buffy again.”

        “She won't talk to me,” Giles said in some annoyance, “You know that.”

        “Sorry,” Tara said somewhat apologetically, “But I made a promise that I don't intend to break.”

        “Giles, stop harassing my customers,” Anya huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “She's a good paying customer and I don't want to lose her business.”

        “Tara…will you at least tell her that I'm doing everything within my power to locate Spike?” Giles asked pleadingly, “Please?”

        “Maybe, I don't know…” Tara sighed, “I'll think about it.”

        Giles pressed his lips together and then nodded tightly, knowing it wouldn't do any good to try and convince Tara to do otherwise. “Very well,” He muttered before heading back towards the training room…to do what, Tara wasn't exactly sure.

        Anya smiled brightly at Tara as she paid, “Tell Buffy that even if she's pissed at everyone else, I didn't do anything and actually liked Spike, so she still has to come to my wedding. She's already been fitted for the bridesmaid dress and it won't fit on anyone else I know. She's too tiny. Also, she's still obligated to get me a wedding present.”

        “Thanks, Anya,” A smile that was very nearly a smirk flitted across Tara's lips as she took the Magic Box bag. “I'll let her know.”

        Willow watched as Tara left, peeking out from beneath her bangs before standing up and hurrying after her girlfriend. “Tara!”

        Tara paused in the middle of the street, taking a split second to debate whether or not stopping was really prudent, but it was a moot point, since it gave Willow enough time to catch up.

        “Tara…I'm really sorry,” Willow said, her eyes pleading with her girlfriend to believe her, “I shouldn't…I shouldn't have forced Spike to go away and I shouldn't have done that spell to bring Buffy back without making sure she was in Hell and…and I'm sorry for everything else you're mad at me about…I just…I miss you, baby…why can't we just…make up?”

        “Because…I'm not entirely sure I can trust you right now. You keep on lying to me…to your friends…it's not right,” Tara's eyes were sorrowful,  “It's gotten to the point where I'm starting to think that you're not the girl I fell in love with.”

        “But I am!” Willow protested, “I'm still the same old Willow…”

        “No, you're not,” Tara  shook her head, “The old Willow would never have lied to me about what was supposed to happen during the Resurrection spell…the old Willow wouldn't have even tried the spell without at least attempting to figure out where Buffy was, and the old Willow wouldn't have driven Spike off because she was a little jealous of how much time Buffy was spending with him…”

        “What? I never…”

        “You were,” Tara said firmly, “You and Giles both were, but you're both too proud to admit it,” Tara clutched her bag to her chest, looking a little uncomfortable again, “I…I have to go now.”

        Willow's shoulders slumped dejectedly as she watched Tara walk hurriedly away from her, her head ducked against the crowd as she crossed the street. Willow kept her eyes on her girlfriend until she turned a corner and disappeared before returning to the magic shop, making a silent vow to do anything in her power to find Spike, if only to prove to Tara that she was the same old Willow.

        “I don't think it's so bad…” Buffy chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced around the small, dark apartment, only one window opening up onto the street from the living room. The view was marred by an ugly fire escape and the brick of the building next to this one. Very little light shone in and made the place seem danker than it really was.

        “This place sucks,” Dawn replied, “The roaches are bigger than me.” She was looking around sullenly and Buffy fought to keep from snapping at her.

        It wasn't like Buffy wanted to be here either, apartment hunting for when they inevitably lost their house…but they couldn't screw around right now, and she really needed Dawn onboard with this. Buffy offered a wan smile at the landlord who was leaning against the door jamb, his blood-shot eyes following Buffy's every moment. She suppressed a shudder at the leering and tried to ignore it as best as she could.

        “Yeah…but it's a three bedroom in our price range…”

        “It's two bedrooms and a storage closet,” Dawn argued, “You couldn't fit more than a cot in it. I'm not sleeping on a stupid cot just because you can't keep a stupid job…”

        Buffy closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before grabbing her sister's arm, ignoring the yelp when she squeeze a little too hard, “We'll get back to you,” Buffy told the nice pervy landlord before dragging Dawn down a set of narrow, dark stairs and out onto the street.

        “Okay…you need a total attitude adjustment, Dawn,” Buffy was trying to sound calm and reasonable, despite her anger. “I don't need you being a brat on top of everything else right now.”

        “You want nice, go talk to Tara,” Dawn tossed her hair over her shoulder, “Excuse me if I'm not all `yay Buffy!' right now. I'm about to be homeless!”

        “Yeah, well…so am I,” Buffy gritted her teeth together, “Incredibly, Dawn, not everything is all about you. This shit is happening to me too, in case you haven't noticed, and I'll thank you to not be a little spoiled bitch.”

        Dawn didn't answer her, just turned and walked at a fast, prissy clip, forcing Buffy to follow after her slightly longer stride. Buffy felt a migraine forming behind her eyes as she wondered about what the hell had happened to her sister in the last few days.

        When she had first broke the news to Dawn that the bank was foreclosing on their house and that they had a little less then a month and a half to be packed up and gone before the auction, she had been pretty supportive; even going as far as to let Buffy steal her `Vamped Scarlet' nail polish without protest.

        Well…apparently the Dawn temper tantrum vacation was officially over, leaving Buffy to almost weep over the lost dream. Buffy followed after Dawn with her head bowed and her lips pressed together tightly to keep from screaming out in frustration.

        It wasn't until she felt the hot squish of blood between her fingers did she realize that she was clenching her hands into fists so tightly that her nails had sliced past the delicate layers of skin to leave half-moon marks dripping crimson. Buffy relaxed her hands with some effort and shoved them into the back pocket of her pants to hide the mess she had made.

        She felt like her life was falling all apart again, like it had been with Glory, and she resented the hell out of everyone around her for it.

        She resented Dawn for making this so damned difficult, for not taking into account that Buffy was hurting over losing the only home they had, the home that they had shared for so many years with their mother. She resented her mother for leaving her and making her struggle to pick up all the pieces of what she left behind. She resented her friends, including Tara, for dragging her back into this bullshit life without thinking to consult her first. She resented her former best friend and her former mentor for betraying her, for driving away the one person that brought her comfort in her time of need, for the one person that saw her, all of her, and didn't think her unfit in anyway. She resented Spike for leaving her as well, for not having the courage to defy Willow and Giles and stay by her side. She resented herself for not giving him a reason to stay before it was too late, for not telling him that he was the only person that brought her comfort in her time of need, for not telling him that she loved and needed him and that she desperately wanted him by her side…always.

        Buffy felt like crying as she followed Dawn to the home that no longer belonged to them, but she violently denied herself the release that would offer. Now wasn't the time…she had to be strong Buffy, the Buffy that would make sure her sister had a roof over her head, no matter how shitty it was. Cover was cover, and last time Buffy had checked, that was one of the levels on the Maslow Hierarchy of Needs. She probably couldn't provide her sister with anything else, but at the very least, she would keep Dawn from living in a cardboard box on the streets. Or hopefully, from being hauled away by Social Services, a particular nightmare that haunted Buffy when she stared sleeplessly up at the ceiling every night. She couldn't fail her mother, she couldn't fail to protect Dawn like she had promised.

        Even if little sister was being a particular bitch today.

        Buffy bumped into Dawn and lifted her head, looking at her in confusion at the sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Dawn still had her back to her, but Buffy could see the slight shaking of her shoulders.

        “I'm sorry,” Dawn finally said, “It's not your fault, I know you're trying…” She took a deep breath, “It's just…hard.”

        Buffy's somewhat morbid mood faded a little when she heard Dawn's voice hitch. She lifted a hand and stroked it through a chestnut tress, “I know…it's hard for all of us,” Buffy swallowed heavily,  “I'm sorry that I failed you though…you're right…you depended on me to take care of things…and I screwed up big time. I'm just…I'm just not good at this real life stuff. Hey, give me some big slimy demon to slay, I'm all good…but tell me to make mortgage and utility payments on time…and…and I just can't do anything right…”

        Dawn didn't make an answer to that, probably unable to think of a suitable one for such a fatalistic comment. The best she could come up with was “I guess the apartment didn't suck all that bad…”

        “You kidding? It sucked monkey balls,” Buffy glanced over her shoulder, her nose wrinkling in disgust, “And did you see the way that guy was staring at my ass the entire time there? Ick. There's no way I'm moving my teenaged sister into the same building as that sleaze-ball.”

        “Thank God,” Dawn shuddered, “I wasn't going to say anything, but I saw a rat that was easily the size of a frigging great dane. It was nasty.”

        Buffy smiled wanly as she came abreast of Dawn, and reached out to tug a strand of hair lovingly, “Well…first thing in the morning, we'll check out the Obits and see who kicked it and left a fully-furnished apartment behind,” Buffy cocked her head, “Would it be wrong of me to deliberately not save someone I know who has a good apartment from being eaten?”

        “Maybe just a little,” Dawn replied, “But the way I see it, you got mad karma points built up, so I don't think one little lapse is going to put much of a dent in that.”

        Buffy shook her head, “Yeah…but I was saving those Karma points for a rainy day. Guess we'll just have to find an apartment the old-fashioned way.”

        “Yeah,” Dawn let out a sigh, “Damn.”

        It had been over a century since he set foot in this part of London. Spike pressed his lips into a thin line, blaming Lydia for this latest act of weakness.

        He'd never had cause to come here before, hadn't been here since his turning. Not even when he and Dru were booting around Liverpool, following the Beatles around before they had really hit it big. There hadn't be any point, really...that part of him had been dead and buried for the last 122 years. Demons didn't care about any of this crap. And thus, he shouldn't either.

        So...why, exactly, was he standing outside his childhood home again and getting misty-eyed about people that were long gone, and therefore, should have no hold over him? It was Lydia's fault. She had gone and dug up things that were better left buried. He was fine before. He didn't think about his mother, he didn't think about what had become of his big sister and his little nephews and nieces, didn't think of his father's death when he was only twelve. But she had gone and asked questions of him and had brought them all back to the front of his mind.

        Of course, it wasn't exclusively Lydia's fault. Buffy had to take some of the blame. He had been denying all aspects of his humanity for years, but then she had gone and made him fall for her. She had made him want to be a man, and with that came the pain in the ass emotions.

        Spike wrapped his fingers around the cool metal of a wrought-iron fence separating the front walk from the street and snorted mockingly at himself. "Fine vampire you make, mate," He mumbled to himself, "Fuckin' pathetic...seriously. Forget gettin' the chip out...should just have Lydia find someone to lobotomize my soddin' brain. Could only improve things. Bad enough I'm gettin' twisted all up in knots about the Slayer, but now the Watcherette's gone and thrown my damned family into the mix."

        Even as he ridiculed himself, his eyes swept wistfully over the front of the house and the side garden still filled with roses, wisteria and lavender that he so remembered. He could still remember his mother working in the garden, her white hands smelling of warm earth and flowers, her graying hair swept up beneath a wide brim hat that protected her sensitive skin from the sun. She'd smile as she looked over at him and Marianne as his older sister looked over his figures and when father would come home, he'd join them in the garden and after giving him and his sister a kiss, would help mother trim back the ivy climbing up the side of the house.

        "Fuck," Spike spat out as swept his hand across his eyes, and shoved away from the fence. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, slumped his shoulders and stalked down the street, making sure to exude an extra large dose of hostility and danger into his outside appearance to make up for his show of weakness. Not that there was anyone there to see it, but really, it was the principle of the thing.

        He caught the tube then to a particularly part of town that was a virtual hot-bed of vampiric activity and preceded to slaughter each and every vampire that he encountered. Well...except for the one vampiress who had 'recognized' him and begged him to sign her breasts. He had done it without thinking, and it seemed idiotic to stake her in the chest after writing his name on it. Plus it had been such a long time since he'd seen that nice a pair of tits.

        By the time he returned to Lydia's flat, he was in a much better mood, and he stomped through the front passage to the living room, grinning when he heard Lydia screaming at him from above to shut the hell up. After a brief stop in the kitchen to heat up some blood, he flipped on the television and flopped onto the couch. Unfortunately, Lydia's television was just about as old as the one in his old crypt, and she had gotten wise enough to set the volume at an acceptable level for his night-time viewing and removed the volume dial. Now he could barely hear it.

        He considered sneaking into her room and stealing it back, but that was probably a bad idea. You never knew what kind of weapons a Watcher slept with when there was a vampire in the house, but if Giles' bedside table was any indication, it could either end in a dousing of acidic holy water and a cross-bow bolt in the chest. Not the best ending to his already overall crappy evening.

        'Course, it wasn't as if there was anything good on television at that time of night. Just a couple episodes of 'Changing Rooms' he'd already seen and the BBC news. Which pretty much left him with enough brain power to sulk and miss Buffy and his Nibblet to his heart's content.

        Between 4 AM and sunrise, it was always the hardest. He didn't have sleeping and killing to distract him from his thoughts. He had to practically beat the urge to call up Buffy and Dawn up and check on them into submission and bury it in the backyard with a shovel, six feet deep, preferably. Unfortunately, rarely anything he was acquainted with stayed dead and buried for long, and the next evening, it would arise from the grave yet again. There's some sort of moral there, I'm sure, Spike thought, giving his head a disgusted shake, but damned if I know what it is.

        It was especially hard to resist getting in touch with Buffy, since there was no way for him to know if she was even in her house anymore. She had desperate money problems when he had left, hence the reason for shaking down the Council, and there was no telling if she had lost the house yet or not. God, he hoped not. The house was all that they had left that still breathed of Joyce's presence, and it was Buffy's only real sanctuary from the hardships of Slaying.

        Wonder how the Bit's doin' in all this, Spike thought with a perceptible wince. If anyone would take his departure to heart, it would be her. She was so very young and she had experienced so much loss already. Her mother, her father and Buffy...even if losing her was only for a short while. Right...he had to stop thinking about them or he'd completely cave in.

        Which left him with only one recourse; get shit-faced drunk and sleep straight through to sunset. Spike's lips twisted in a half-sneer of disgust at himself as he dug between the couch cushions and freed one of the many bottles of scotch he had secreted within Lydia's flat for easy access.

        "Cheers, mate," He mumbled miserably and brought the bottle to his lips.

        Inside the London Headquarters of the Watcher's Council, everything was always busy. The portrait-lined hallways were always filled with young Watchers-In-Training were running errands for their mentors, slightly older Watchers were hurrying back and forth constantly, their heads more likely than not buried in some ancient, priceless tome, and several of the more distinguished Watchers were constantly about, usually walking in small groups and talking in hushed voices, as if everything they said were a cause for secrecy.

        Lydia, in contrast to the others in the hallway, was walking rather sedately, a contemplative look on her face as she glanced over the portraits absently. All of them were portraits of former 'famous' Watchers that had gained either fame or notoriety in their posts as Elders in the Council.

        She had never really noticed before, but there seemed to be an inordinate amount of portraits and busts of Watchers, and very few of Slayers. The only ones she had ever remembered seeing were the somewhat more modest portraits that an Elder had commissioned because he was at least a bit fond of his particular Slayer. Those were always kept in the small library that was reserved for the use of authorized personnel only, which also happened to be where Lydia was heading.

        A guard stood watch before the library doors, a rifle loaded with silver bullets with hollow tips filled with a garlic and holy water mixture. Such guards could be found all over the compound. After a gang of vampires had broken into the Council over a century before and made off with priceless Watcher Journals, the Council had always employed the most modern weapons and the most elite Security force since. It was rumored that they could neutralize any threat within ten minutes or less. It was also whispered that they were skilled at silencing any 'dissention' in the ranks at the order of the Council Head. However, she was fairly sure it was a myth; at least, she hoped it was. If she got caught, she would most likely be finding out for certain whether it was true or not.

        She offered a tight smile to the guard, but he only checked her clearance and waved her through into the library.

        As soon as she was inside, she glanced around the library to make sure it was empty. Very rarely was the library in use first thing in the morning, but nevertheless, it was quite prudent to check.

        She opened up her large purse and removed a make-up compact with mirror. She whispered a few words beneath her breath and a faint mist rose up for the compact and curled around her head before shooting off among the library stacks. She waited a few seconds before closing the compact and moving farther into the library.

        Already, the mist should have found the cameras and whoever was watching the monitor from the other end should be watching her mirror-image grabbing a book from the shelf and sitting at a table to research. At least, that was what the warlock she had gotten the spell from had promised. If the enchantment had failed, she would be in severe trouble.

        She headed straight for the back of the library and glanced behind her at the door before feeling along the oak paneling. She breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers tripped a release and a panel swung outwards, revealing a passage behind the wall. She had stumbled across a blue-print during her many study sessions in the library and had found that the compound had many, many secret doors and passages within it.  

        However, the blue-print had been at least two hundred years old and she had been a little worried that the passages had been closed off by now. Thankfully, all was clear and it was apparent that either the Council had kept the passages open for quick getaways...or if the amount of dust on the floor was any indication, had simply forgotten about them.

        There was, however, the danger of any defense spells that had been put in place when the building had been constructed. Spells had the nasty habit of surviving long after their creators were dead. Luckily, she made it to her destination without being incinerated or melted into a puddle of goo, and she opened the secret door to Quentin Travers' office.

        She gingerly stepped inside the office and listened carefully for the approach of footsteps. Not that she was worried about the security force now. Travers' office was the only place in the whole of the building that was completely unmonitored by either cameras or listening devices. She was more worried about Quentin himself walking in on her, though it was supposed to be his day off. He was the epitome of a workaholic and could very rarely stay away for very long.

        "Then get moving, Lydia," She murmured to herself, glancing around the office quickly, trying to decide where was best to start. He kept his most important files in a mini-safe within his desk, and she had a feeling that all files on Buffy Summers and Spike would be there.

        She knelt before the desk and opened the drawer and took a few guesses at the combination.  She snorted in derision when she got it on the third try, glad that she had remembered the date of Mrs. Traver's birthday when Quentin had mentioned it off-hand. Really...and this was one of the most powerful men within the history of the Council?

        She quickly located Spike's file, smiling somewhat wryly when she saw 'Deceased' scrawled across the front in large, red letters. She stood and spread the papers in it upon the desk and quickly looked through them, her eyebrow raising in interest

        Apparently, after the review on Buffy the year before, Quentin had briefly toyed with the idea of having Spike's chip removed just to see how he would act once his leash was cut.

        Lydia scribbled down some names that Travers had obligingly wrote in the margins as possible surgeons who could perform the operation and then sat down in Quentin's chair to go over the file more carefully, puzzlement clouding her features.

        "Why did you change your mind?" She whispered to herself, unable to understand his motivations. According to the private notes he kept in the file, he had even gone as far as too contact some of the surgeons he had named. However, somewhat confusingly, right after Buffy's death, he had a change of heart and had instead ordered Spike's death if the vampire ever left Sunnydale, harmless or not.

        The only plausible explanation she could come up with was that he didn't see Spike's chip being removed as a necessity any longer. Had he been hoping that Spike would turn on the Slayer once it was removed? Was that why he ordered the hit on Spike after Buffy's death? Because he was no longer useful?

        She replaced the papers in the file, feeling somewhat sickened and started searching for Buffy's, hoping desperately to find something that would prove her conclusions wrong. However, Buffy's file was missing from the safe and she swore beneath her breath. He must've taken it home with him, for what purpose, she had no idea.

        The worry settled in her stomach like a hot stone, and she wetted her lips nervously, wondering what she was to do now. She had a few names for Spike, at the very least, but she had no idea which ones would be trust-worthy enough to perform the surgery without alerting Quentin and she did not know how she was to find out for sure. Plus, she now had the added worry that perhaps Quentin was at least thinking of doing something to Buffy Summers, if his files were any indication, and she was afraid that they were.

        Now, Lydia...don't jump to conclusions, she tried to reassure herself, he may not be trying to get rid of Buffy...the timing could just be coincidental. Besides, it's not as if we have a Slayer ready on hand...Faith's in prison...and even if she wasn't, surely Quentin wouldn't dream of letting her get out.

        Faith...Faith's file was missing as well. The hot stone in her stomach became a boulder as her mind readily provided her with all sorts of scenarios for why both Buffy and Faith's files were missing. None of them boded well for either of the Slayers. She knew Quentin...he wouldn't try to get rid of one renegade Slayer to set another, more unstable one onto the world.

        "Bloody hell," She murmured, "Spike is not going to be happy..."

        "Tara, we're going to need some more boxes!" Buffy called from upstairs, grimacing in disgust as she pulled a bright green ruffled blouse from the bottom of her closet, "Oh...my...God..."

        Dawn looked up from where she was wrapping some of Buffy's figurines in newspaper, "Oh! Cute! Can I have it?"

        Buffy stared at her little sister as if she was some sort of alien being and glanced back at the hideous blouse that just had to have crawled out of the Hellmouth. "Sure...as long as you only wear it around blind people. I think this thing was designed to make eyeballs bleed."

        "How's it coming in here?" Tara asked as she came into the room, carrying several disassembled boxes in her arms. She shook her head when she saw Buffy's room was already overcrowded with packed boxes and there was still much to pack up. "You know, I never realized before how much stuff you can cram into a house."

        "I know," Buffy sighed heavily, "I'm seeing a huge garage sale in our near future...but even so, we're still going to need to buy some storage space. There's no way even half of this stuff is going to fit in our new place."

        "Argh..." Dawn flopped down on Buffy's bed, throwing her arm over her face, "We're never going to be packed in time! We're not even halfway done and we still got the basement and attic to do." She lifted her head, "Can we just pay those packer guys to do it for us?" She whined pitifully.

        "Yeah, sure...as long as you don't mind giving up movie and food money for...like...the next year," Buffy pointed at her bureau, "Get back to work. I want to get my room finished tonight so that we can do yours tomorrow."

        "Why can't I have homework tonight?" Dawn grumbled as she got back up and went back to wrapping Buffy's valuables.

        Tara shook her head in amusement at Dawnie's whining, especially pleased that there was no malice behind it. After her blow up a little over two weeks before, things had been much calmer between the two sisters. Dawn seemed to finally acknowledge that Buffy was very near her breaking point, stress-wise, and lightened up on her a little. As a result, Buffy had relaxed a little bit more and both girls were starting to deal with their situation a bit better than before.

        Heck...a lot better, actually. When the bank officer showed up on their doorstep with the foreclosure notice and told them they had a month to be out, it hadn't erupted into violence or hair-pulling like she had feared. Buffy had accepted the news with surprising poise, while Tara had been fantasying about charming the man so that hair that could not be cut would grow out of his nose and ears. True, she probably wouldn't have done it, but if he had been any ruder than he was, she probably would have at least slashed his tires. No magic needed for that.

        However, Tara was afraid that with the encroaching 'get the hell out of the house' date, things would start to deteriorate once more. The stress of packing and the loss of their home would have to hit the two high-strung sisters at one point. Tara personally wasn't looking forward to being around when that happened.

        Buffy straightened up from her closet, arms full of clothing and she dumped them into a box, not even bothering to fold them. Tara shook her head affectionately, and stepped over to the box and began folding them herself. Good thing she had already finished her packing, otherwise they'd probably never be finished in time.

        "Tara," Dawn whispered, and the blonde witch glanced up, frowning a little as she followed Dawn's worried gaze.

        Buffy had taken Spike's duster out of her closet, where she had carefully hung it up. She was gazing into nothingness, absently stroking the coat, an unreadable expression on her face. "Buffy?"

        Buffy jerked out of her reverie at Tara's call, and smiled somewhat self-consciously as she hugged the coat to her chest and carefully folded it up before carrying it over to the box and settled it gently on top of her clothing. "Sorry...just kind of spaced out for a sec," Buffy tried for a bright tone of voice, but it fell a little flat, not convincing anyone there. Their skeptical looks prompted her to add, "I'm fine, guys...really...I was just wondering what he's up too right now..."

        "Please..." Dawn smiled, trying to cheer up her sister, "You know how Spike is when he's all depressed...he makes grandpa Summers look like the poster-boy for Alcoholics Anonymous."

         "Depressed?" Buffy repeated, a worried furrow appearing between her eyes.

        "Well...maybe not so much depressed as just...lonely," Tara softened Dawn's statement a little, "He's probably missing you both just as much as you miss him..."

        "Yeah...he'll so totally come crawling back here soon," Dawn sniffed, "And he better have some better damn good presents for us too, or I'm going to have to make him suffer for ditching us."

        "Yeah, he better," Buffy smiled, wondering at the ease with which she accepted Dawn's optimistic viewpoint, at least for the time being. She was right, though...Spike did tend to lack the survival skill to avoid Sunnydale when it was in his best interest to do so. "I'm thinking...big honkin' diamond earrings and an all-day shopping trip to Rodeo Drive."

        "Oooh...think I could con him into getting me that cute convertible they're selling at the used car lot?" Dawn cooed, and Tara looked at the both of them in bemusement.

        "So, when, exactly, did Spike sprout a money tree?" She asked teasingly, "Because as I remember, he was still stealing from Anya's 'leave a penny, take a penny' cup to buy an extra pack of cigarettes."

        "Fantasy-killer," Buffy accused with a pout, unaware that her fingers were still stroking along the leather of the folded duster. When she finally  noticed, she jerked them away as if the coat had become unbearably hot, "I'm thinking we need a snack-break," She announced, her smile wavering a little. "I can definitely go for some of those cookies you made this morning, Tara..."

        "Sounds like a plan," Tara smiled at her understandingly, "My mom used to tell me that cookies cure all that ails you, and she hasn't been wrong once."

        Lydia shook in fear, watching as the vampire rampaged through her living room, spitting, snarling and ranting angrily. However, she was in more in fear of her furniture than her life. Spike was more likely to kick her couch's ass than snap her neck in his anger and she knew it.

        "Well, this is just bloody great!" Spike punctuated his anger by stabbing his fists angrily into the air, "Not enough that I got Red and the Watcher trying to get me killed, but now you're now you're telling me the soddin' Council wants me to do their bloody dirty work?!"

        "They don't want you now," Lydia winced when that elicited an angry snarl and she was afraid he was going to pick up the vase on her mantle and dash it against the wall. He restrained himself, however, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he closed his eyes and started breathing deeply to calm himself down. "I'm not even sure of my conclusions," She cautioned him, "I may be completely wrong about Quentin's motives...perhaps he changed his mind at that time because he found out some vital information about your chip or he decided that unleashing you on the populace for the sake of an experiment was irresponsible..."

        "Right," Spike spat out angrily, sarcasm dripping from every word, "Quentin 'Slayer-Baiting' Travers decided that it was irresponsible...excuse me if I find that hard to believe from a man who's directly responsible for more Slayer deaths than I am."

        "What are you...?" Lydia shook her head in realization, "You mean the Cruciamentum..."

        "He's been involved in four, including the one for his own Slayer," Spike's lips turned up in disgust, "They all died. The least they can say of me is that it was a fair, evenly-matched fight. My Slayers were all at the top of their game...he sapped their strength and sent them after vampires five times stronger than them..." Spike gave an inward shudder as he thought of how close Buffy had come to dying during the test on her eighteenth birthday. If it hadn't been for Rupert's interference, Buffy would have failed and Joyce would have died as well. It pissed him off to no end; it was hard of him to hold a grudge against the Watcher who'd do anything to protect Buffy. He couldn't ever fault him for that, even if he an arrogant bastard.

        "I am completely in agreement with you about Quentin overstepping major moral boundaries," Lydia said carefully, "But...as barbaric as it is, the Cruciamentum has been used as a test of the Slayer's abilities for centuries..."

        "You cannot be that blind," Spike replied in disbelief, "It's not a test...it's a way to keep the Slayers on their leash. A younger Slayer is easier to keep in check than an older, independent one..." He shook his head in frustration, "But not the point. He wanted the chip out of my head...he was hoping I'd go after Buffy as soon as it was gone and when she died, he ceased to care, and you damn well know it."

        "I know," Lydia sighed, removing her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose, "I was...I was just hoping that maybe I was wrong," She replaced her glasses, looking at him sadly. "Do you know what it is like to find out the man you most admire is not what you thought he was?"

        Spike's mind immediately flitted to his first encounter with Angel in Sunnydale, before he had realized he had his soul. "Yeah...got an idea what's that like," Spike muttered, shoulders slumping as he flopped onto the couch. "So...now what?"

        "I got the names of surgeons he had written down," Lydia offered, taking a seat beside him. "However, I know none of these people and I have no idea if they're trustworthy enough to go to take you too. If they inform the Council that they were contacted to remove a neural chip from a vampire, it won't take them very long to connect the dots. You'll be vulnerable during surgery and they could take you out then."

        "The thought has crossed my mind," Spike commented dryly, grabbing his cigarettes off the coffee table. He ignored Lydia when she glared at him as he held the lighter to the tip. Screw the no smoking in the house rule, he needed the nicotine fix before he freaked out again. He frowned in thought as he drew a refreshing slurry of smoke into his lungs. "Could always kidnap someone off the list," He suggested, "Can't warn the Council if he doesn't know he's doing it."

        "Right...and what happens if we accidentally to kidnap one that cannot do it?" Lydia suggested, missing Spike's wince when he recalled the mistake with the Initiative doctor. "Besides...where in the world would we perform the surgery? It's not as if we can waltz into any random hospital and ask to use their facilities."

        "Well...it could always be the Council that hires him to do the surgery."

        Lydia glanced at Spike sharply in confusion, "What?"

        "Well...think about it. I'm sure Travers have little minions to do every task for him, right?" Lydia nodded, her bewilderment only growing. "Contact the doctors...tell them that Quentin's commissioning a job for them, something top secret, y'know? A 'this conversation never took place, we disavow all knowledge of all proceedings, this message will self-destruct' type of deal. They do the surgery, we pay them with my dosh, and they'll never be the wiser."

        "That is extremely fool-hardy," Lydia said uncomfortably, "That's placing more faith in an unknown variable than I'm comfortable with."

        "Oh, come on, woman," Spike rolled his eyes in annoyance, "You had to know when you agreed to this that there'd be some kind of risk. I'm tired of sitting on my arse and doing nothing! We don't have the luxury of time here, pet. The clock's ticking and the longer we take, the more likely it'll be we'll be found out."

        "We'll be found out faster if we go off half-cocked," Lydia insisted firmly, "You can't help Miss Summers if you get killed because of recklessness."

        Spike growled, "Yeah, well, we're not helping her now either. Let me worry about my recklessness...you get in contact with the docs. You have a week to set everything up. Any longer and you're in violation of our pact...and you know what happens when you violate our pact."

        Lydia blinked in surprise, "You can't do that!" She cried out, glaring at him as he stood up, "We never agreed on a time I had to uphold my agreement!"

        "Read the fine print, honey," Spike held up his hand, palm facing towards her.

        Lydia's eyes widened when she saw that the scar that marked where he had cut himself was changing color. When they had forged the vampire blood pact, both their scars had been white, and Spike had told her that if he violated his agreement, her scar would turn red. His scar was beginning to pink and the jagged edges of the scar were already turning scarlet. "You son of a bitch," She breathed in shock, "You never told me that it would be so soon..."

        "Yeah, well," Spike shrugged as he glanced at his scar for himself, "I gave you a month out of the goodness of m'heart...but your time's drawing to a close, poodle, so I'd start rethinking your whole obsession with being 'careful.' It's now becoming a matter of life or death...for you."

TBC

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