It was a good day. The sun was shining, the customers were steady but not too heavy and no one had been so stupid that Spike was tempted to even dream of eviscerating necessary body parts. No sign of Harris and Buffy had actually let him talk to her last night. A real conversation, as short and painful as it might have been. She'd let Spike assure her he had her back, hadn't flinched from his protestations of devotion and even let him hold her hands in his while other people were present. Life couldn't get much better than that.

Well, it could - and most of the possibilities contained silk sheets, candlelight, a nice bottle of wine, privacy and one very naked Buffy. That was for later, though. He'd woo her properly this time, give her all the romance she wanted, and make her feel like the beautiful, spectacular woman he saw every time he looked at her. All that's best of bright and dark/Meets in her aspect and her eyes indeed. Wasn't so cliché after all when describing his Slayer, although a few words about the grace with which she kicked demon butt might have been nice. Perhaps he should try poetry again…

"Spike, are you going to insist upon that infernal humming all day?"

Spike looked up from the crystals he'd been sorting to find Giles glaring at him. "Sorry. Didn't realize I was doing it."

A noise that sounded suspiciously like back molars being ground together was heard as Giles stalked away to deal with a woman who hovering about the candle display. "Have I been humming?" Spike asked Tara, who stood further down the counter.

"Ever since I got in." She smiled at him. "Good to see you so happy."

He couldn't resist smiling back. "Good to be happy. It's been a while."

Tara finished wrapping her customer's purchases and handed the bag over. "This doesn't mean you and Buffy are together again, does it?" she asked, taking advantage of the momentary lull to draw a little closer.

"Not in the least. But we're talking and that's gold to me. Even better, she told Harris I deserved to be treated with at least some respect. Definitely takes me out of the evil, soulless thing to be staked on sight category."

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the counter, remember green orbs looking up at him. "I once asked her for a crumb, a sign that there might actually be some small smidgen of hope. I didn't realize then that a crumb could taste like a whole damn cake."

A friendly pat caused him to look up. "I'm grinning like an idiot, aren't I?"

"I won't tell," Tara assured him. "Your reputation as the Big Bad is safe with me."

"My reputation as Sunnydale's Big Bad died quite some time back. I've just neglected to hold the funeral." Spike straightened, stretching to loosen a few kinks in his back. "What about you and Willow? How's that going?"

Tara shrugged, but Spike could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile. "We're talking. Willow would like to get back together, but I want to take it slow." The smile faded. "There's still…I need to trust her first."

Now it was his turn to pat her on the shoulder, offer a bit of comfort. The smile came back as she looked up at him. "It takes time. We're working on it."

"As long as that's happening, there's always hope."

The bell above the shop door jingled, admitting two new customers and Dawn. "Hey."

She moved behind the counter, stowed her book bag and favored Spike with a hug. "What's that for?"

"You and Buffy. The two of you. So cool."

"Don't get your hopes up, Platelet. Still got a lot of things to work out." His words of caution didn't prevent him from hugging back, though. It was definitely a good day.

"Good, Dawn's here." Giles had delivered his candle customer to Tara, and was checking his pockets as if looking for something. "I've got an appointment Colleen to go over some paperwork. I still need to figure out what to tell her about you because we're going to have to deal with the state requirements. You don't happen to have an identification card of some sort, do you?"

"Not current and not in the name of Ashbury-Smythe."

Giles sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope for. We'll have to deal with that. Tara, did you fill out those forms?"

Tara left her customer for a moment to dig the paperwork out of her bag and hand it over. Giles glanced at it, nodded, and tucked it into the folio he grabbed off the research table. "I'm off then. If you need me, you know where Colleen's office is."

Spike couldn't help but feel a bit relieved with Giles gone. He'd been getting on the Watcher's nerves today, no matter what he did. Poor sod. Had to wonder how much of it was "Oh, no, my slayer's falling for another vampire," and how much was "He's not worthy of being anywhere near my daughter." Giles was one person whose good opinion he would need if any relationship with Buffy was going to work.

More customers and the question of how to secure that good opinion was of necessity pushed to the back of his brain. In a way, he was going to regret the day Anya returned to the shop. Things would change; he and Tara probably wouldn't be needed anymore and even if one of them stayed, it'd be more likely to be Tara. It wasn't that he necessarily liked being a shopkeeper, but these weeks had given him a sense of place and purpose and that would be missed.

Giles had said earlier that he'd hoped his meeting with his accountant would take only an hour, but as the trail of customers died down shortly after five, it became clear it was taking longer. "Think he'll be done before we close?" Spike asked as the three of them shifted the role-playing material to its new home at the back of the shop.

"I imagine. I can't see Colleen working late on Friday. I mean, it's not tax season." Tara frowned at the books she was trying to shelve. "Why do the covers all have to be so similar?"

"So tonight's the big shopping night?" Dawn was practically bouncing up and down on her toes. "Sure I can't come along? I haven't been banned from the men's stores."

Spike sighed. "How did I ever let myself get talked into this?"

"Because you need something nice to wear at the mixer Tuesday." Tara shoved the last of the books into place.

"I thought I looked fine last time."

"We're the hosts, so we should dress up some. You know Giles is going to wear a suit and tie."

"No tie," he insisted. "I'll get a bloody jacket, but I'm not wearing a tie."

"I bet Buffy would think you look good in a tie."

For just a moment, Spike wavered, the idea of picking an outfit Buffy would find attractive very appealing. Dawn was grinning at him, the same grin she always wore when she was certain she had him wrapped around her little finger. He leaned in close. "No. I'm dressing for work, not to please your sister."

His refusal did not seem to disturb Dawn. "So why can't you do both?"

"Because, believe it or not, my entire world doesn't actually revolve around her." And he'd managed to say that with a straight face. "I just need to get something for the mixer and a few new shirts."

"Several new pairs of jeans," Tara commented.

"What's wrong with my jeans?"

The question went unanswered as shop bell jingled. All three turned to see who the new arrival was…and froze as they recognized him. "I believe you're holding some items for me?" Warren said in a far too cheerful voice, Andrew and Jonathon lurking nervously behind him.

Spike stepped forward, motioning Tara and Dawn to stay back. "What are you doing here?"

"Just come to claim what's mine. Well, Jonathon's, actually, but he's using it for something I want, so we need it back."

"And you're expecting me to just hand it over to you just like that?" Spike consciously let his body drop into hunt mode, stalking Warren as he moved forward. "Let you go on bothering Buffy without a care in the world?"

Warren grinned as pulled out a small box, though it might have been meant as a sneer. "No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die."

A flick of the geek's wrist and pain suddenly shot through Spike's head. Another flick and the pain drove him to his knees. "Took me some time to figure out the leads from your chip were heading into the pain centers," he heard Warren say, the words distant, as though through a fog. "Still don't understand what triggers it normally, but once I found the frequency for the pulse, it was a simple matter to program a remote. Jonathon, why don't you see if you can't find what we need?"

"Are you certain he can't hurt us?" Andrew's voice grated across raw nerves.

"Absolutely. He tries, I just turn the juice up."

Spike tried to move, tried to speak. He wanted to tell the girls to run for it, but he couldn't get his lips to work, couldn't see through the fireworks that were going off behind eyelids that were squeezed shut. This was what it was like to turn to dust, an endless agony before nothingness.

Somehow, the sound of a gun cocking managed to penetrate the haze. "I wouldn't move, girls. It might prove unhealthy."

He was hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. It would be so easy to give in and let everything slip away. He'd never done things the easy way. "Let them go," Spike managed at last, the three words taking more strength than he thought possible.

"And why would I do that? I've got the Slayer's little sister and one of her precious Scoobies." Warren giggled, an obscene sound. "Maybe I should take them with me, use them as a bargaining chip."

"Buffy is so going to kick your ass!" Dawn's voice was defiant, for all the good it would do.

"I'm the one doing the ass-kicking now. Of course, I have to decide if listening to you will be worth the advantage."

"Shouldn't we get going?" How did they stand Andrew's voice? "What if someone comes in?"

"Good point. Jonathon, aren't you done yet?"

"It's not here."

"What?"

"I found some of the stuff, but the books and the amulet, they're not here."

Struggling, Spike lifted his head a little to find Warren's eyes flitting between his hostages and the counter. "They've got to be there. We didn't find them at the lair, so they've got to be here."

"Maybe Mr. Giles took them with him."

"Well, look again." Warren angrily turned toward the counter, his weapon lowering. Spike tensed, focusing what strength he had left. He'd only have one chance and it had to be good.

Depulso!

The Latin was unexpected and so was the result. Both gun and control went flying from Warren's hands, arcing violently away from him. There was a crash as one of the items made contact with something, but Spike ignored it, doing his best to push past the pain and narrow his world to a single target.

It was far from the most graceful lunge he'd ever made. The change came surprisingly easy, though, human features falling away to reveal the demon below. Knowing it was going to hurt, he latched onto Warren's leg and bit down as hard as he could. The fangs tore past polyester pants and into flesh. Blood spilled over Spike's tongue even as his head started to explode again with a greater fury, but he ignored the pain, ignored the copper taste in his mouth, ignored the screaming all around him as he ripped his fangs loose and sunk them in again. At this moment he was reduced to the most basic of urges, to protect his own against those who would hurt them. Not even his own existence mattered.

Something was pushing at his head, trying to pull him free, but he kept at it, swallowing the blood even though it made his stomach boil, doing the only thing he could to hurt the man. In the end, though, the pain made him weak and he was pushed away. The last thing he felt was the blood forcing its way back up even as the dark claimed him.

***

Buffy covered the distance from the Doublemeat Palace at a run. Dawn wouldn't have called if it wasn't an emergency and the panicked tone of her voice had quickly settled that question. Lorraine hadn't been happy about Buffy's request to leave in the middle of a shift, but she did agree -- even if it was accompanied with a warning not to let it happen again.

She'd worry about troubles with the DP later. Right now, her attention was focused on getting to the Magic Box. Dawn was apparently fine, but there'd been a visit from Warren and someone had gotten hurt. Dawn didn't say who, but if she hadn't been harmed, it had to be Giles or Tara and she didn't want to contemplate that possibility.

Giles caught her almost as soon as she was through the door. "Buffy. Dawn said she'd called…" The rest of his words were cut off as she threw her arms around him. He was safe. Even as she drew and loosed a deep breath of relief, though, a single thought crossed her mind. Tara.

Before breathing could become an issue for Giles, she released him, turning to look further in the shop. Tara was emerging from the back, wiping her hands with a paper towel. Her expression was grim, but she appeared otherwise unhurt. If it was Giles and it wasn't Tara…

Her answer lay on the floor, his head cradled in Dawn's lap. She'd just assumed…Dawn hadn't said he was dusted, so she'd assumed…Warren couldn't possibly hurt Spike. He couldn't hurt her; how could he hurt Spike?

Sinking to her knees beside Dawn, she looked at the pale face, even paler now. For all that he was unconscious, there was no release of tension, as if whatever pain he was in pursued him even now. She'd seen him broken and bloodied by Glory's hand and by her own; this was worse. Then he'd been able to talk to her, even if words came between grunts of pain. There were no words this time, nothing save the fact he had not faded into dust to show he had not truly died.

"His shirt…" Buffy turned her eyes from his face, unable to bear the stillness any longer. "Why is there blood on his shirt?"

"It's Warren's." Dawn touched Spike's hair, as if that might somehow draw him back. "He bit him."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Buffy had always wondered what would happen if Spike pushed the chip to the limit. Now she knew. "Spike bit Warren."

"He came in demanding the things you took yesterday," Tara said, drawing near. "Spike told him no and Warren pulled out this device that made the chip go off. Then Warren pulled a gun and threatened us and…I'm so sorry, Buffy. I should have remembered my spells earlier, but I got scared and…"

Tara swallowed and took a second to calm herself before continuing. A hint of a stutter haunted her words, though. "I-I managed to send Warren's gun and the control flying. Then Spike kinda lunged and bit Warren in the leg. I don't know how he did it. Warren managed to get free and escaped. Spike passed out. Well, after throwing up all the blood."

Tara had been wiping her hands. She must have cleaned up the mess. Cleaned Spike up. All that remained were the dark brown-red spots drying on the front of his shirt. "It's probably ruined," Buffy said, apropos of nothing. "He's always had a red shirt, ever since I met him."

"Buffy." Footsteps approached her, but she couldn't bring herself to look away from Spike. "I managed to find the device. You know I'm no good at electronics, but it looks like it's some kind of remote control. I turned it off, hoping that would help. I can't tell if it made any difference."

There was a note of hopelessness in Giles' voice that made Buffy swallow. "We'll have Willow look at it," she managed. "Giles, you have your car, don't you?"

"Of course, Buffy, but I don't…"

"We can't leave him here. We'll take him home, back to my place."

"We can put in him my room," Dawn insisted.

For a moment Buffy was about to protest, suggest the couch, but she stopped when she saw Dawn's face. The last time she'd seen that anxious look was when they'd been waiting for the result of Mom's biopsy. Forcing herself to smile, she reached out and smoothed back a long strand of hair. "That's an excellent idea."

Buffy wasn't quite certain how they managed to get him home with the sun still up, but they did. Buffy on one side, Giles on the other, they'd just made it into the front hall when Xander's voice came from the living room. "That you, Buffy? Willow and I were thinking of grabbing some dinner and…"

He froze as he reached the doorway. "What is he doing here?"

"Warren was at the shop. He had a device that set Spike's chip off. Willow, I need you to look at it, see if you can determine what it did."

"And you had to bring him here? You couldn't just dump him in his crypt where he belongs?"

She didn't have time for this. Buffy opened her mouth to argue, but Tara beat her to it. "This happened to Spike because he was trying to protect Dawn and me," she said quietly. "I'm very disappointed in you, Xander."

Xander's mouth opened and closed again, Tara's words more effective than anything Buffy could have said. "You'd better get him upstairs," she told Buffy. "Giles, why don't you give me the control and Willow can take a look at it."

Giles did as she suggested, then helped Buffy maneuver Spike up the stairs, Dawn trailing in their wake. It was with relief Buffy realized Dawn had neglected to make her bed that morning like she was supposed to; it would make it easier to get him under the covers.

Once they had him settled on the bed, Giles turned to Dawn. "Could I speak with Buffy alone for a moment? I promise we'll call you if anything happens."

Dawn hesitated, but she went closing the door behind her. "You do realize we have no idea how much damage has been done?" he said when she was gone.

"I know." Buffy knelt by the bed, reaching out to undo the laces of one of his boots.

"It's quite possible he could never wake up or be changed if he does."

She stopped and forced herself to concentrate on a knot. "I know."

"I'm not trying to be cruel; I just want you to be aware of the possibilities. There might come a time when you might…have to make a decision."

"You mean, I might have to stake him; put him out of his misery." Get one boot off, pull the sock free. Smooth white skin, cool to her touch.

"Hopefully, it won't come to that. But we are dealing with the brain, however, and we don't know exactly how the chip works. I just want you to be prepared."

Unlace the other one. "I am."

There was a silence as she worked the laces of the second boot. At last, Giles said, "Buffy, are you certain you don't want Tara to do that for you?"

Buffy took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Giles, it's not like I haven't seen Spike naked before."

"Naked? I wasn't inferring that you actually strip him."

She looked up. "He needs to be as comfortable as possible. He's not going to be comfortable in those jeans; they're too tight. And I can't leave him in that shirt…it's got blood on it and…" She felt her voice begin to quaver and stopped, trying to stay calm. "I need you to go down to the butcher's and get some fresh blood. He'll need it when he wakes up."

They stood in silence for a long moment, and then Giles nodded. "Dawn will want to come up."

"Tell her to give me fifteen minutes. The last thing she needs is full frontal vampire."

When Giles was gone, closing the door behind him, she returned to her task. Once the shoes were off, she stripped him of his shirt and t-shirt. She folded them carefully into a bundle, tucking his socks inside, and laid them on a chair. Those would go into the wash, along with his jeans. Then, as she reached for his belt, Spike's chest suddenly hitched, more a spasm than a breath.

Buffy's hands drew back, waiting. He'd done this a few times before, and at each instance she hesitated, wondering if he was about to swim back to consciousness. He didn't, though, the movement followed by no other. Grimly, she returned to her task, undoing the buckle and pulling the leather strap free of the loops.

She forced her mind to other things as she finished her work, trying to keep her thoughts from dwelling on him as she removed his jeans and arranged him under the covers. Once the jeans were on the chair and Dawn's purple comforter tucked around him, though, there was nothing else to concentrate on.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, all Buffy could do is watch him. Only yesterday she'd told Giles she didn't think she could stake him if something went wrong with the chip; now there was a very real possibility she might have to do just that. If it came to that, Giles would probably offer to take on the responsibility, release her from the burden of killing a second lover. Xander would volunteer without hesitation.

Reaching out a hand, she gently laid it on his still chest. If it came to that, she'd do it, the last step in their dance. She owed him no less, but still hoped for another round.

"Buffy?" Dawn had slipped silently into the room and reached out to turn on the bedside lamp. "You shouldn't be sitting in the dark."

What light had filtered through the curtains was gone now, and Buffy had to wonder how long she'd been sitting on the bed with him. "I didn't realize."

"Giles said to give you fifteen minutes, but I figured you might want a little longer." She knelt on the floor, her chin almost level with the top of the bed. "Nothing's changed, has it?"

Buffy shook her head. "His chest will move every so often, but, no, he hasn't shown any sign of waking up."

"We can't call a doctor, can we?"

"What would they say? No heartbeat, he's cool to the touch…they'd just pronounce him dead. I'm afraid we just have to wait for him to wake up."

The two of them sat in silence for a while, just watching him. The sound of the front door closing floated up the stairs. "That's probably Giles," Buffy said, rising to her feet. "Stay with him, Dawn? I'm going to go down and see if we can't figure something out."

She took the clothes from the chair, wrapping them tightly in her arms as she made her way down the stairs. She could hear movement in the kitchen and headed directly there, not even pausing to glance into the living room.

Giles was pulling white Styrofoam containers from a bag and putting them in the refrigerator. "It appears Spike regularly visits the butcher's on Friday night; they had his order waiting," he said as she walked in. "They recognized me from the shop, asked if I'd come in to pick it up for him."

Buffy remembered Spike carrying a brown grocery bag through the cemetery with a carton of cigarettes protruding from the top. Every day mundane tasks. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. I mean, we knew he was getting it from somewhere."

She laid the clothes on the counter, then rested her elbows on the surface and let her head drop into her hands. "I take it there's no change?"

"None." She sighed and looked up. "Dawn's with him. I didn't really want to leave her up there with him, but I don't think she'd take too kindly to being told she couldn't."

"We'll have to take turns. He really shouldn't be left alone."

Buffy smiled weakly. "Thank goodness it's the weekend. No jobs, no…" That wasn't true. She was supposed to work tomorrow afternoon. She swallowed. "I'm going to see how Willow's doing with that thing."

"It's just a remote control," Willow told Buffy after she'd come into the living room. Tara was sitting on the couch next to her, papers from the raid on Warrens spread across the coffee table. "Somehow, Warren figured out how to alter the frequency of the chip signals and turned them up." Willow looked up apologetically. "There's the possibility the signal could have been so strong his brain went mushy."

"And we won't know until he wakes up." Buffy sighed. "Giles suggested we take turns. Dawn's up there now. I'll go up in a little while and the rest of you can figure out when you want to take your turn."

"Sorry, Buff." Xander rose out of the chair he'd been sitting in. "I'm afraid you need to count me out of this one."

His words surprised her, yet they didn't. Xander had always been loyal and steadfast, but even she realized there was a limit. Angel had almost reached it; Spike crossed it. Sadly, she watched as he made his way to the door. At the last moment he turned back. "Buffy, I…"

"Don't." She could feel her fingers curl in upon themselves and her throat tighten. "I don't think could deal with it."

For a moment it looked as if he might say his piece anyway, but he just nodded and told her, "I'll be back tomorrow morning with donuts," before heading out the door.

Buffy stared at the closed door, wondering how the bonds of friendship that had once seemed so tight had begun to fray. A touch on her shoulder and she turned to find Willow standing by her. She was drawn into a warm hug, full of sympathy and support, though she wasn't sure if it was for the awkwardness with Xander or for the uncertainty of the situation with Spike. At that moment, the reason didn't matter, just that the support was there.

***

It was far from an easy night for any of them. Buffy took the night watch, but by the time Giles relieved her at five, there was no sign of change. At his urging, she crawled into her own bed, nudging Dawn slightly to make room, to catch a few hours rest before facing the day. She was certain she'd close her eyes for just a minute.

The clock showed the time was after nine when she opened her eyes again. The sun was up and Dawn had already abandoned the other half of the bed. Every limb feeling like lead, Buffy dragged herself up, grabbing a pair of sweats and tank top before stumbling toward the shower. The water revived her only slightly, but it would have to do. Downstairs was the promise of coffee, caffeine to take her through the morning…and the phone call to the Doublemeat Palace.

Lorraine was sympathetic and understanding, but her words did little to lift Buffy's spirit. "When you get back, I think we need to have a talk. I'm not firing you, but I think some parameters need to be set."

Uttering what she hoped were the proper platitudes, Buffy hung up the phone and let her head drop forward to rest against the wall. Maybe she should just quit; she hated the job and it was obvious she would wind up fired sooner or later. If she hung in, though, she might get unemployment when the inevitable happen, the pittance enough to keep them moving forward just a little while longer.

Tara had made coffee, bless her, but Buffy declined her offer of pancakes in favor of one of the donuts Xander had indeed appeared with. Sugary goodness at the Summers' kitchen counter, the Scoobies in full force, even if Dawn had absconded to the back with Buffy's favorite crème filled.

"Any change?" Xander asked as she settled on a stool.

"None. He was quiet all night; I don't know if that's good or bad."

They sat silently for a while, downing sugar. "Buffy, I'm sorry," Xander said at last. "No matter how I feel about Angel, I'm not happy watching you go through this."

Buffy smiled and reached across the counter to squeeze his hand as Willow frowned. "Don't you mean Spike? You said, no matter how you feel about Angel."

Xander looked at Willow in surprise. "No, I said 'Spike.' I meant Spike. Why would I say Angel?"

Willow shrugged. "I don't know. Freudian slip, transference of feeling from one to the…"

"Willow, if you mention anything you learned in Dr. Walsh's class, I'll scream." Buffy hopped off her stool to refill her coffee cup. "That bitch is why we're going through this in the first place."

Taking her cue, Willow fell silent as Xander continued to stare at her. The front doorbell rang and Buffy decided to answer it when she heard Xander say, "I really said 'Angel'?"

Sheila Rosenberg stood on the front porch, smiling that smile Buffy had always found a bit patronizing. "Hello, Bunny. I was hoping Willow was here."

Make that a lot patronizing. Conscious of the contrast between her casual dress and Mrs. Rosenberg's Ann Taylor separates, Buffy did her best to smile and invite her guest to enter. She'd given up on the name thing years ago. "She's in the kitchen. Just make yourself comfortable while I get her."

"…so it's possible you may have simply transferred your dislike of Angel to Spike."

"And it might have more to do with Buffy liking him than…"

So did not want to hear the rest of that sentence. "Willow, your mom's here. She wants to talk to you."

At that moment, Willow's resemblance to a frightened rabbit was uncanny. Her head jerked up, eyes wide, mouth opened in an "o". Tara was at her side in an instant, hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Willow. We're here."

"Just stay calm," Xander said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "You know she's gonna try to punch your buttons; don't let her."

This was one instance where Willow seemed to take more comfort from Xander than Tara. She managed a weak smile at him. "Resolve face on."

Another squeeze of the hand and Willow hopped off the stool, Xander, Buffy and Tara following at a discreet distance. "Hi, Mom. Wasn't expecting you to drop by."

The forced cheerfulness met concern that was tinged with just a touch of ice. "I imagine you weren't. You haven't been by the house much lately."

"I've been, uh, busy. You know, school and all." The nervous note in Willow's voice at the lie made the three listeners wince.

"Really? And is all this," Mrs. Rosenberg indicated the papers and discs spread across the coffee table, "connected with school?"

"Ummm…"

"I see. Willow, I have tried to be understanding and supportive of your desire to experiment with lifestyle choices. My colleagues assure me that it's perfectly natural that a young woman your age might feel the need to explore different gender choices, which probably explains your identification with mythical icons. Recognizing and accepting your 'woman power' is good thing; I pleased to see so many young women in your age group making efforts to empower themselves and take back the night."

"Mom, I'm not 'exploring gender choices.' I'm a lesbian. You've met Tara; you invited her to dinner on Rosh Hosanna."

"And she seems a lovely girl, even if the idea of your bringing a girlfriend along gave your father fits. Those choices are not the point here. Being a lesbian is a valid lifestyle choice and I applaud you for having the courage to make it instead of suppressing your feelings."

In the dining room, Tara turned away, hurt etched deep on her face. It was probably a good thing, Buffy thought, that Willow couldn't see her from where she stood; the inevitable confrontation would probably get much hotter much quicker.

"However," Mrs. Rosenberg continued, her grip on the strap of her leather purse growing tighter, "while I accept that is necessary for you as an adult to make your own decisions and mistakes, I cannot simply stand by while you do yourself serious harm."

Willow didn't reply, though her fingers twitched. Mrs. Rosenberg didn't seem to notice. "I was deeply disturbed to learn you have not made the Dean's List this semester. I was even more disturbed to learn there's a possibility you might fail some of your classes. That is unacceptable."

"How did you…I haven't heard about Dean's list yet."

"Which shows you haven't been paying attention. It was published two weeks ago. I naturally assumed you were on it until Mrs. Purvoski happened to mention at Temple she didn't see your name and asked if everything was okay. You can imagine my surprise."

"But my classes…"

"I spoke with some of my colleagues who are at UC Sunnydale; I still wonder why you didn't take Miriam Wong's Psychology class to make up for your performance under Dr. Walsh."

"Dr. Walsh died."

"That's no excuse for blowing off the final. At any rate, I learned that you've had a number of absences since last fall, which is certainly not helping your grade point average. I've checked with the university, and I believe we can arrange for incompletes in most of them. While it's not the best solution, it will at least ensure you don't actually fail any classes and some you should be able to re-take during the summer semester. After all, you need to start submitting applications for graduate school soon."

"Oh, no. Can't have Ira and Sheila's Rosenberg's daughter fail." Willow practically spat out the word. "It would reflect badly on the family. Have you considered that just maybe, for once in my life, there's something going on besides school?"

"You mean Xander and Bunny? That's something else your father and I would like to discuss with you. I know Xander's been your friend a long time and that Bunny's going through a rough patch with her mother dying, but you can't let them hold you back. Maybe it's time to give up high school and move on."

Mrs. Rosenberg moved closer, reaching out to absently pat her daughter's hair. "We think it would be best if you moved back home. We had hoped that we'd given you enough grounding that you could make your own choices, but clearly there are too many distractions for you here. We still have your room ready and you find focus there."

"I'm twenty-one years old! Aren't I a little old to be living at home? Shouldn't I be learning to be out on your own?"

"Which is what we've been letting you do, but we're not happy with the results. Your impulse to live here and pay rent to Bunny instead of staying at the dorm shows you have a sense of community and responsibility, but it doesn't serve your needs."

"I'm happy here, Mom."

"I'm certain you think you are, but since your father and I are paying for your education, we have the right to expect certain things. You'll be comfortable at home and certainly Tara would be welcome to visit; I think I can even convince your father to accept the idea she might stay over on occasion."

Willow turned on her heel and started for the hall. Her efforts at a resolve face had failed, hurt and upset mixing with rage. For a moment it looked as if she might flee for the kitchen or upstairs, but she stopped and turned back to stand her ground. "I'm not fifteen, Mother. This is my life and you have no idea what's going on, what I've been through. You don't talk to me for months and then when you do, you don't remember half the stuff I've told you. Tara and I moved in here together; yet you expect me to just drop everything and come home because you think I lack focus? Yeah, my grades haven't been that good this semester. It's one semester in my entire life. Maybe I don't want to go on to graduate school; maybe my plans to become a psychologist have changed. I might want to write software or run an herb shop or something like that. But it's my choice. You don't get to choose how my life runs. What do you expect me to do, just wake up one morning and forget that I might have wanted to do other things because it didn't make you happy?"

The words were practically shouted, hanging in the air with an almost physical presence. Suddenly, she turned, eyes wide as she looked at Tara. "Oh, god, baby, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…I'm gonna go upstairs and sit with Spike."

With that she sprinted away, leaving silence in her wake. Tara looked like she wanted to go after her, but headed for the kitchen instead. An annoyed expression on her face, Mrs. Rosenberg started to follow her daughter, but Xander stepped forward. "I think Willow needs to be alone. It'd be best if you gave her some space for a while."

"I have always respected my daughter's space. However, if she goes completely off track, then I think it's my responsibility to bring her back to where she should be."

Buffy was itching to ask Mrs. Rosenberg why she was so certain she knew where Willow should be. The question would likely only result in a lecture on why Buffy, college dropout working in a minimum wage job, was hardly in a position to suggest anyone's life path and somehow the idea of strangling Willow's mother for being insulting and condescending didn't seem the best course of action, tempting thought it might be. Instead, she said, "Maybe it would be best if you and Willow talked later…after she's calmed down."

For a moment Buffy thought she'd get an argument, but Mrs. Rosenberg seemed to reconsider her choice of battlefield. "I think it's admirable that the two of you are willing to stand by your friend. Please tell Willow that her father and I will expect her for dinner Friday."

"You know, at least when my parents hit me they were upfront about it," Xander said once she was gone. "Funny, Willow and I are exact opposites. No one expected me to succeed…and she wasn't allowed to fail."

There were footsteps on the stairs and both looked up. "What the hell is going on?" Giles demanded. "Willow just burst into Dawn's room in tears. I did my best to calm her down, but she's damn near hysterical."

"Her mom was here." Buffy glanced toward the kitchen. "It wasn't good."

"Wants Willow to move back home," Xander supplied. "Apparently, Willow 'lacks focus' by living here."

Giles frowned, the frown he usually wore before he dispensed some words of wisdom to help ease the situation. "Stupid bint."

"Giles! You said a Spike word."

"He didn't invent it, and it's an apt description. Buffy, I had to deal with her last summer, you didn't. She was rather patronizing when she arrived to help Willow move in -- even worse than when she was part of MOO, if that's possible."

Buffy grimaced. "Sick as it sounds, there are times I'm glad I wasn't here. Xander, I know you didn't want to sit with Spike, but do you think you can check on Willow?"

"For Willow, I'll even deal with Captain Peroxide. If Tara's okay, you might want to see if she wants to come up."

As Xander climbed the stairs, Giles told Buffy, "I going to run back to my hotel and catch a shower. I'm afraid these clothes weren't actually made to sleep in. I'll be back quick as I can."

"Thank you." She hugged him. "I don't think I could get through this without you."

"You're doing fine," he assured her. "It'll be alright."

She wanted to believe him, but once he was gone, she wondered if she could. It wasn't that Giles was lying to her, but she was beginning to wonder if they'd get through this crisis in one piece. Then, realizing someone needed to see how Tara was doing, she did what she always did…push the fears and worries away to the darkest corner possible and pretend they didn't exist.

***

He was naked. That was the first thing he realized.

Opening eyes just a sliver despite the protest of his still throbbing head, all he could see was something so violently purple it pushed the throbbing up a notch. He quickly closed his eyes in self-defense.

He was naked and surrounded by purple.

The weeping came next, a low, keening sound. Naked, purple, weeping.

Somehow, he'd landed in one of Dru's nightmares.

A modicum of sense and logic kicked in, telling him that if he hurt this bad, he couldn't be dust. Another modicum took up the opposite position and insisted that hurting this bad was proof he was dust and currently residing in some horrendous purple hell dimension.

Realizing he was only postponing the inevitable, Spike forced his eyes open.

A horrendous purple hell dimension that included Red and the Whelp and looked amazingly like Dawn's room. "If part of this is listening to sodding boy bands for eternity, I'll dust myself again."

The words came out in a croak and started an ugly reaction down in his gut. At the same time, Willow shrieked, practically pushing Xander off his chair as she leapt to her feet. "Buffy! It's Spike! He's awake."

"Softly, Red," he begged, trying to lift his head from the pillow. Bad move. Stomach was strongly protesting now. Nor did his begging help; Willow was still shouting as feet pounded up the stairs and into the room.

"Spike!" Dawn launched herself on him, hugging him close. "You're alive!"

"Not really, Niblet. I, uh, I think you'd better, uh, bloody…"

His stomach rebelled and he instinctively rolled toward the edge of the bed, shoving Dawn away. Mercifully, someone shoved a trash can into range; unfortunately the purple color only helped things along. So much for dignity, but then only a fool would believe he deserved it as part of eternal torment.

There were voices around him, some harsh, some soft and feminine. He tried to concentrate on the latter, focus on their soothing tones. At long last, he managed to lift his head to discover green eyes looking at him, concern tempered with a strong measure of "eeewww." "Giles never told me vampires did that," Buffy said.

"Not in the manual they gave me either." Spike rolled onto his back. At least the pain was no longer blinding. His throat felt raw and he was going to need to feed, but he thought he might actually survive. "How the hell did I get here? What happened to Warren?"

"Warren got away," Tara said from her place near the door. "He lost a lot of blood, though."

"Some of which is now in Dawn's trashcan." Xander didn't try to hide the disgust in his voice. "If you don't mind, I'll just take it downstairs and dispose of it."

"So the loser managed to get away," Spike said, ignoring Xander's exit. "I was hoping I'd at least managed to severe an artery."

"And get your brain turned to goo while doing it. Real smart." Buffy had perched herself on the edge of the bed, giving him one of her various annoyed expression. A small frown crept in and he wondered whether it was for him almost turning to goo or managing to survive. Then she reached out and twitched the comforter up a little higher, making him realize he'd been in danger of giving the girls a free show. No wonder Xander had left so quickly. A slow, smug grin started to spread over his features…only to fade when he saw Dawn standing at the foot of he bed, arms crossed over her chest.

He pulled the covers up higher, covering more of his torso, which elicited a raised eyebrow from the teenager. "You are sooooo skinny."

The words were uttered with supreme boredom and Spike swore he could hear any crush Dawn might have had on him shatter. Worse, Buffy, Tara and Willow began laughing, which only served to further destroy what little dignity he had left. The comforter crept higher, settling itself firmly under his arms.

Dawn favored the others with a disgusted look and came around the other side of the bed to give him a hug. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

He squeezed back, thankful she hadn't been harmed. "Nobody hurts my 'bit."

Dawn was smiling when they pulled apart and she reached out to fluff the bed pillows, stacking them so he could lean back and still be upright. It was then he realized the purple he'd first seen when he awoke was one of the myriad cushions she'd populated her bed with. That went behind his head.

Buffy seated on one side of the bed, Dawn on the other, Tara and Willow hovering nearby. A fellow could get used to this. There was something wrong with the light that filtered through the curtains, though. It'd been late afternoon when Warren had entered, near to closing time; this light had a different, harsher quality. "How long was I out?"

The look between the women confirmed his fears he hadn't been unconscious for a short period. They'd never have moved him here if that had been the case. "How long?"

"About eighteen hours," Buffy admitted. "We weren't certain if you were going to wake up. How do you feel?"

"Other than the fact my head's threatening to explode if I move too fast, fine." There was something in her tone worried him. "Why?"

"Giles was worried Warren's device combined with the effort of biting him might have been too much. He said you might not wake up or there might be permanent damage."

"And when did he add medical doctor to his watcher credentials?" Spike tried to let the sarcasm hide the very real fear he was suddenly feeling. Warren knew about the chip. Warren knew how to set the chip off. For all his jokes about his head possibly exploding from the damn thing, he didn't particularly have the desire to see if it would happen.

"Just general knowledge, really." Willow was looking a bit better than when he'd woken up, though her eyes were awfully red. Unlikely the tears had been for him, especially given the way Tara kept sneaking glances. "Well, general knowledge if you've studied some basic anatomy. Too much stimuli applied to the brain and it goes mushy. Warren's control probably altered the frequency of your chip, made it hit your harder and on a more regular basis."

"Which leads to another question: how did Warren know he could hurt you that way?"

Buffy was looking at him with a steady gaze. There was no getting out of this one. "Um, Tara? Could you be a love and fix me some weak tea and dry toast? I'm going to have to eat soon and that might help settle the stomach before I do."

Her expression said she knew full well there was more to it than that, but Tara was discreet as always. Before she went, though, she reached out to grab his hand. "I'm glad you're alright. It wouldn't be the same without you."

She held on tight, her hand doing what Dawn had done with her hug. Spike planted a kiss on the back of it. "Nor without you."

Tara gave him a smile and hustled Willow from the room. They didn't go downstairs immediately; he could hear them outside, conversing in whispers about some set-to earlier. Must have been what Red was teared up about.

Buffy was waiting with a fair degree of patience, but Spike wasn't ready to speak yet. There was still one audience member that needed to depart. He was trying to figure out a gentle way to shoo Dawn away, but she seemed to get the hint. "I guess you two want 'alone time'?"

He had to be getting better; teenage sarcasm was returning in full force. "It would be appreciated."

Making certain they knew she was making a sacrifice to give them their space, Dawn left them alone, closing the door behind her. Spike figured they'd have five minutes at most before Xander found an excuse to come up and make certain Spike wasn't working his evil way with Buffy. Like Dawn's early boy band décor was a boost to amorous intentions.

"How did Warren know about the chip?" Buffy repeated.

A hundred witty explanations flew across his mind, but he knew she'd see through every one of them. Feeling too tired to engage in a convoluted verbal battle, he tried a new tact for him: simplicity. "I had him check it out."

That brought a frown. "When? Last year? Were you trying to get him to take it out?"

"You think I'd let that wanker near my grey matter? No, around November. I…when you hit me and I hit back and the chip didn't fire. You were the only one it didn't fire on. I wanted to know why."

"So you let him run some tests."

"Bloody stupid of me, I admit, but I wasn't thinking too clearly at the moment and I didn't know what they were up to. I just wanted…"

Egging her on until she slugged him, letting her know the chip didn't work for her. Brawling with a hint of the way they'd done it in the old days, before they'd both lost their fire. Falling into the house… "I wanted a lot of things. Got some of them; lost others."

She looked away and he didn't blame her. There was powerful stuff here and it'd be far too easy to rip open the wounds. "It was stupid," she said at last.

"Sing me another one. My head's telling me just how stupid."

"It's not just that." Buffy got to her feet, pacing the confines of the room. "I can't let you get anywhere near Warren. Spike, you're handicapped enough fighting against humans. If Warren can get an edge with your chip..."

"I can handle myself in a fight, luv."

She stopped pacing and turned toward him. "Like you did yesterday?" When he didn't reply, she continued. "We're going after Warren soon and I can't have you with me. I need to know you're safe."

Buffy looked toward the ceiling. "Not that I can guarantee anyone's going to be safe with all this insane equipment, cameras and the seemingly irresistible urge to play super villain." She frowned, one foot tapping as she folded her arms. "I know it's going to drive you nuts, but I'd be better if I knew I didn't have to worry about you. I just…I don't want to go through another night like the last one."

He sat up, no longer worrying if the comforter fell away. "You really think he might try that stunt again."

"It worked once."

"I took a chunk out of his leg."

"Which means he'll just turn it up higher quicker." She sat back down on the bed, their hands almost touching. "Just…be careful. That's what I'm asking."

He reached out, let the tips of his fingers brush the tips of hers. "If that's what you want, that's what I'll do."

She didn't pull her hand away, let her fingers linger under his. "I know it's hard."

"Bloody hard. I want to rip his throat out."

"Stand in line." She grinned at him. "Good job on the leg, too. When I managed to get a description out of Dawn, she said it was fairly gross. With luck, he'll limp away to heal, give us some time to figure out what he's up to."

"That kind never gives you long enough. They either heal faster than you think they will or they send their minions after you." Spike considered Jonathon and Andrew. "I don't think the second's a possibility."

"We'll be ready. I promise."

She got up then, heading for the door. Her hand on the knob, she paused. "Have I thanked you for saving Dawn? This time? With Glory? Watching out for her while I was gone? I'm a bit annoyed with you for teaching her how to stake vampires, but I think I understand why."

"I made you a promise - and I wouldn't want to see her hurt for her own sake."

"She's fond of you, too. Still, thank you."

There was something so sweet in those words. The dance was changing and he wasn't yet sure as to the steps or tempo, but he thought he might like it. "You know I've always got…"

"I know; you've got my back." Buffy smiled at him. "Rest. I'm going to call Giles and see where Tara is with that tea."

She left him then and he leaned back against the pillows, doing his best to let his shoulders relax. Another crumb. It'd be nice to see how they'd do without a crisis tossing them to and fro. Two weeks, that's all he asked. He'd settle for one.

Lord, he hoped they caught Warren soon.

Continue to Episode 10: The Return

Back to Episode 8: Discoveries