Return to Me (continued)

Chapter 4

With a deep sigh, Buffy slid onto one of the stools at the table in the kitchen. Finally, it was quiet, and she could hear herself think again. Xander was upstairs with Spike, helping the skittish vamp get into the bath. Willow and Mark had left, taking Dawn to drop her off at her dorm, despite the girl's protests. For the first time since Willow started spending all her time at Mark's, and her sister had started school, Buffy found herself longing for the silence of a mostly empty house.

Not that she didn't want Spike back. In fact, he was a lot of the reason she wanted them all gone. It had too much of a feeling of a death house with all of them hanging around, much like it did after her mother died. But this time, there were no dead bodies. Well, alright, no unanimated corpses, and she couldn't take the somberness anymore. She felt that she might scream from it, and had happily shut the door behind her friends. Now, all she had to do was get Xander out, then she could settle in for the night.

With a half crazed vamp that didn't remember anything about her, except her hair.

The Slayer rubbed the heels of her hands over her tired eyes, willing the headache away. Memories wrapped around her like a blanket, showing her a different time, when Spike was whole. He had been the first person she had seen when she'd woken up, cold and confused, on top of her gravesite. He'd been heading home after making sure Dawn was safely tucked in for the night and the witches had locked all the doors and windows. Apparently, he made it a habit of stopping by her grave every night to tell her about Dawn and anything else that struck his mind.

She didn't know who was more surprised when he drew up short, the most beautiful look of love, anguish, and disbelief on his face. He'd gulped, she remembered it clearly, because she thought about it later and had wondered why a vampire would feel the need to gulp, and took a shaky step closer. Buffy herself had been too disoriented to say anything, and tried hard to figure out how she had gone from being warm and safe and with her mother, to lying on top of a grave, cold and scared, with Spike.

When he'd reached her, he'd slipped his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders, too stunned to speak, but aware enough to notice her shivering. She hadn't said a word, just stared at him, wondering idly why she had ever thought he couldn't feel. It was all there, written on his face.

"Let's get you home, shall we?" he said, holding out a hand to her. She took it, feeling a shift inside. Almost as soon as their skin touched, she felt a connection, something she couldn't describe or put a name to, but it was there. She thought he might have felt it too, thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. But then he was pulling her up to her feet and sliding a cool arm around her waist to help support her, and started to walk. It only took a few stumbling steps for him to sweep her up in his arms, and carry her back to the house. A part of her, a part she recognized as the person she had been before she'd jumped, had demanded she protest and make him put her down. The larger part, the part that was tired, and confused, and afraid, had just snuggled down into the warmth of the duster, strangely comforted by the smell of cigarettes, and whiskey, and the strength of the arms holding her.

She didn't remember closing her eyes, or ever feeling so relaxed while on Earth. He moved so smoothly, so quietly, it just seemed natural for her to allow her eyes to shut, and to just forget. When she felt him hesitate, and his arms tighten ever so slightly, she opened them again, and looked to see what was wrong. All she saw was her house. And an almost paralyzing fear had gripped her.

She knew once that door opened, and the people inside saw her, she would have to go back to what she was. She had been so happy where she was, and Spike was doing a good job of recreating that feeling. But, the powers had decided she wasn't done, and the short rest she'd had was enough. It was time to go back and take up the sword once more.

They'd looked at each other then, a silent understanding between the creatures who should have been mortal enemies. He'd put her down and taken his coat back, fighting back the urge to gather her back up and protect her from the only world she had known for the last five years.

He didn't walk with her to the house, knowing his presence wouldn't be appreciated. He just stood at the foot of the walk, watching her as she walked away. Buffy fought the overwhelming urge to run with every step, wanting nothing more than to go back to Spike and beg him to take her away, away from this brightly colored life that only harbored pain. But she didn't, and soon she was at the door, tears glistening in her eyes at what she'd had to give up for the world. Again.

Much later, after she had knocked, and had been pulled into the house amongst tears and grasping arms, the door closing on the vampire without a backwards glance, and Xander had been called, she'd stolen away to her room. They'd let her go, thinking she was just traumatized after spending the last five months in a Hell dimension, and just needed some time alone. She didn't correct them.

Once she'd gotten into her room and looked at the things that she didn't seem to recognize anymore, she'd walked to the window and looked out. She found herself looking down at the tree just below, a single tear slipping down her cheek when she saw that distinctive orange glow in the darkness. She'd pressed her hand against the window, and leaned into it.

"Thanks Spike. For watching out for her. Goodnight," she had said. Lingered a minute longer, then turned away to go to bed, comforted in the knowledge that he would be there all night.

And had been, every night, until eight months ago.

"Buffy." She jumped at the sound of Xander's rough voice, not realizing how deep she had been in memory.

"Yeah," she said, turning to face him. She frowned at his stricken look, and stood up.

"What's the matter?" she asked, taking a step towards him. He seemed speechless and could only wave a hand in the direction of the stairs, unshed tears shining in his eyes. "Is it Spike?" He nodded once and cleared his throat.

"God, Buffy. His chest. His back. And his. . ." He couldn't find the words, and swallowed hard. "You need to come up," he finished, then turned away. With a sense of foreboding weighing down on her chest, the Slayer followed, bracing herself for what she would see.

Spike sat in the bathtub, his knees tucked up to his chest and his head resting on his arms. He looked up when they walked in, pain and fear glazing his eyes. Buffy stuttered to a stop at just the sight of his arms. Deep, purple bruises marred the pale flesh that had been hidden by the medical scrubs. Just along his collarbone was a bright red gash, extending from one shoulder to the next, making it look like they had tried to cut off his head, but had miscalculated where to cut.

"Hey, Spike. Need a little help?" He looked ashamed and dropped his eyes before nodding. "Okay. Xander, go downstairs and get the medical kit." Xander nodded and left the room, pulling the door slightly shut behind him. Buffy then turned back to Spike and took a bolstering breath, before walking over to the tub. "Well, this isn't too embarrassing, is it?" she asked sinking to her knees. Spike gave a short nod, never looking up at her.

Buffy busied herself by grabbing the washcloth and picking up the anti-bacterial wash she kept in there, just in case she got a nasty injury on patrol, and squirted a good amount on the terry cloth. Finally, when she couldn't put it off anymore, she raised her eyes to his back, and bit back the gasp that tried to escape.

Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of three open wounds, which looked suspiciously like stake holes, one evidently aimed for his heart. The edges were partially healed, but they hadn't closed. That told her they were relatively new. When she leaned a little closer, to gingerly clean them, she realized the flesh inside had been burned. Buffy didn't even want to contemplate by what. Several criss-crossing marks slashed his back, the burns red and bubbled. Some were in the shapes of crosses, others were just random spray patterns.

Fighting back the anger and sickness that rose from just seeing these atrocities, she gently washed them, picking out the pieces of his shirt and dirt. Underneath the back of his hair, the skin was raw and red, from where it had peeled away. They must not have allowed him to get clean, because she saw the same thing behind his ears, and under his neck. She could clearly see the outline of his bones through his ashen skin, his once sturdy frame painfully fragile now. She worked as quickly as she could, hoping her touch was soothing to the vampire.

With a grimace, she looked down at the water and decided it was time to change the murky liquid.

"Spike, scoot back, so I can drain this and get some fresh, okay?" She didn't think he heard her at first, and was about to say it again, when the water sloshed to indicate his movement. He didn't spread out his limbs, just shuffled back as far as he could, so she could reach the stopper.

"Here you go," Xander said, walking back into the bathroom, just as she restarted the water.

"Thanks, Xan. Look, why don't you go ahead home. I'll be alright with Spike," she told him, turning to look at the brunette.

"Are you sure you should be alone?"

"We'll be fine. Go on. Tell Anya I said hi."

"Will do. Spike. Glad you're back," Xander said, looking in the vampire's wide eyes. He then turned and left, walking back down the stairs and into the night, making sure the door was locked behind him.

"Well, it's just you and me now. So, what shall we talk about?" She looked at him for a second, trying to get him to look up, but he had turned his face away when Xander left. "Right. Guess I'll pick. Uhm, do you want me to tell you some about your life? Or unlife, I guess." She waited a minute, reaching out and pulling one of his arms to her. She leisurely washed it, using long strokes. After a second, he nodded slowly, causing his damp hair to fall in his eyes. "All right. Hmm, let's see." She switched arms, trying to think of something happy, so he wouldn't be reminded of what happened to him, and trying NOT to think that when she was done with his upper torso, she had to take care of the rest. She concentrated on his arms for the moment, ignoring the scabbed over knees, pretending she didn't see just the barest hint of bone through the lacerated flesh.

"Okay, there was this one time, I guess it was about two years ago, we decided we needed a night off. All of us. And so, of course that meant a trip to the Bronze. Well, when we got there, there was this big Karaoke thing going on. We didn't know, hadn't been in so long we had no clue they did Karaoke. Anyway, we get in there, and there's this god awful woman up on stage, with the frizziest blonde hair and more makeup than Tammy Faye during her Jim Baker years." While Buffy talked, she gently urged the vampire to lean back, putting all her attention on the story, so she wouldn't give in to the urge to vomit at the sight of his chest. More of the same had been done to that, as had been done to his back. A corresponding hole to the one over his heart on his back was on his chest, slamming it home that he could have died. And they never would have known. "Anyway, she was up there singing the worst version of 'Wind Beneath my Wings' any of us had ever heard." Her eyes flicked up to his to see if there was any recognition in them. Nothing. *Well, guess being engaged to me wasn't all that memorable,* she thought, remembering just how badly Spike had teased her that night about it. "You started to heckle her so bad, her boyfriend got up and got in your face. You just rolled your eyes and kept shooting off your mouth. Finally, just before we were about to get kicked out, he says if you think you can do so much better, get your ass up there and do it. Well, the rest of us just had to jump in then. Finally pushed you into doing it, and Xander got himself ready for some heckling of his own." She smoothed the cloth over his chest, trying not to count the ribs she felt as she did so. She glanced up at him, but he seemed to be intent on her hand. He was as tense as a strung bow, looking ready to flee at any second.

"So, you say 'Fine. Show you yanks what real music is.' To say we were a bit afraid, well, that would be like saying you like hot chocolate." His eyes shot up to her at that. "Oh, you remember hot chocolate?" He looked at her for a minute, then nodded. "You want some when we're done here?" Another nod. "Okay. Then let's get this done, okay?" He hesitated this time, but nodded again. "I need to. . ." She motioned down to the water, feeling her face start to flame. Spike didn't look much better, and he started to frantically shake his head. "Hey, I'm not exactly thrilled about it either," she told him, putting more body wash on the cloth. "Do you want to?" A frantic nod. "Okay, here you go. Want me to turn around?" Nod. "When did you get modest?" she mumbled, handing him the cloth and turning around. She continued to talk while listening to the soft splashing sounds of the water, and the grunts of pain Spike was letting out. "Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, you went up on stage, all cocky and swaggering, smirking at the audience and flipping people off." She chuckled a bit at the memory, thinking of the way he looked bathed in the stage lights. He looked just like any rock star she had ever seen, almost like he had been born to be there.

"So," she started again, settling herself onto the floor. "You talk to the guy doing the music, and get up in front of the mike. The next thing we know, the entire club is silent, almost like they're waiting for you to make an ass out of yourself. I know we were." She smiled, thinking of all the shocked looks that abounded when the first notes of the song he'd picked started. They were expecting the Sex Pistols, or one of those other eardrum splitting bands that he liked so much. The fact that it had been Edwin McCain should have been mortifying. The realization that the song was "I'll Be" should have had them all laughing hysterically. But, the truth was, they were all stunned into silence when Spike started singing, his voice sure and strong. Buffy had found herself enraptured, feeling like he was singing straight to her, even though he hadn't looked at her since he'd started. Just the way he was standing, the way his head angled to the side, just let her know his words were for her. "You brought down the house. Really excellent. We teased you unmercifully after that. Called you 'Lestat' and everything. Said you should start a band like he did. You didn't think it was too funny." When she didn't hear any more movement, she turned around.

And had to immediately turn back. Her heart slammed against her chest and she had to take deep breaths to keep herself from leaning over the toilet and losing all the coffee she'd ingested that day.

Somehow, while she was telling her story, she hadn't heard him dunk under the water. When she turned around, he'd been laying on his back, partially floating. Of course, her eyes had landed on an area she really had no business looking at, no matter how many times she and Willow had giggled over the way he filled out his jeans. It was the sight of his manhood that had her fighting to keep the contents of her stomach where they should be. It was the fact that it was an ugly purplish green, and swollen, that was curling her insides. A scarred over laceration edged the area above the dark curls of his pubic hair. She didn't even WANT to contemplate what that was for.

She jumped when she felt the gentle touch on her shoulder, and whirled around. Spike stood above her, his hair freshly washed, and a towel wrapped around his waist. What had her snapping to herself were the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"You ready?" He nodded, dropping his gaze from hers, shame written across his sharp face. "Hey, don't. What happened is NOT your fault. I'm just sorry we weren't there to help you. We looked, everyday we looked." She knew she was babbling, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "We looked. But there was nothing. Nothing." She stood while she talked, and raised a shaking hand to touch him, leaving it hovering just a breath away from his skin. He reached up and took her hand, bringing it to his chest and placing it over his heart. She looked at him in confusion, wondering what he was trying to say. He took his other hand and tapped lightly on the area next to her hand, the sound imitating a heartbeat. "What? Heartbeat? Spike, you don't have a heartbeat." He nodded his head, indicating that was what he meant.

"So, no kidding. Hello, vampire." He looked so sad when she said it, she replayed what she said to make sure she hadn't unwittingly hurt his feelings. She felt a touch of amusement at that, since she and Spike pretty much used to say whatever they wanted to each other, either in teasing or anger. "Spike, what is it? Wait, you don't think you DESERVED this, do you?" Buffy gasped, surprise evident on her face. She shook her head, getting ready to deny what he said, when he gently touched a finger to her lips.

"Monster," he said, his chin quivering, and tears leaking from his eyes.

"No, Spike. No." He just shook his head, stepped out of the now empty tub, and walked around her. She stood in the bathroom for a second, collecting herself, before she turned and followed him, grabbing the first aid kit as she went. She found him in her room, looking at the pictures she had taped to the mirror of her vanity. They were all of the Scoobies, Spike included, from over the years. Starting with when she first moved to Sunnydale with her mom and Dawn. All of them showing how they'd changed, grew. Except Spike. He always seemed the same, the brash, cocky one who smirked when the Polaroids were snapped. At least at first glance. Buffy could always tell the changes in him, just by looking in his eyes.

The first picture was taken at Christmas after she came back, and he had been so surprised at the invitation. That surprise was evident in those sapphire orbs, caught forever on film. Of course, the first time he had seen himself in over a century had spurred an hour's worth of staring and smirking from the vampire, but none of them called him on it.

The picture that was Buffy's personal favorite was taken before Dawn's prom. He had muttered and cussed about all the fuss and fanfare, subtly preening at all the cooing the girls were doing about him in a tux. And Buffy could admit, to herself at least, that was the night she saw him beyond 'friend'.

He'd made Dawn so unbelievably happy that night, taking the poor girl who the whole school thought was weird to the dance, and showering her with the attention every girl deserved on her prom night. Buffy had managed to catch him alone, while Willow was helping Dawn finish getting dressed. She had snapped a picture, after calling his name to get his attention. The look in his eyes was so vulnerable, so seeking of acceptance, that it shone through in the picture. She'd taken the picture, and instead of putting it in the album with the rest, taped it to her mirror, thinking he had never looked more human than in that moment. Except for the moment he saw her on her grave. And she didn't have a picture of that.

"Come on, Spike. We need to get you bandaged up. Then, this Slayer needs to get to bed." She threw the kit on the bed and went in search of something other than a towel for him to wear, digging up a pair of her father's old sweat pants in the bottom drawer of her dresser. "Here, put these on." She turned away from where he had settled on the bed, to give him a moment's privacy, not turning back until she felt the gentle brush of his hand against hers. She turned back and gave him a smile, then settled next to him.

She worked quickly, for his benefit and hers, covering up the wounds with care. When she was done, she found a t-shirt for him to slip on.

"Are you hungry? Do you want some blood?" He shook his head, staring down at his hands. "Okay. Well, do you want to watch some tv or something? I think Willow taped Passions for you." She chuckled a bit, thinking of the almost rabid way the witch made sure the tapes were made. Each was labeled in that meticulous way of hers and placed on the shelf by the tv, since she just KNEW Spike would be pissed that he missed so much. But, again he shook his head. "Uhm, you still tired?" A nod was her answer. "We can set you up in Dawn's old room, if you don't mind being surrounded by pictures of the Backstreet Boys." A shake of his head, and a nervous glance at her bed screamed where he wanted to sleep.

She started to say 'no way', until he looked up at her, his fear of being alone nearly starting her tears again. With a sigh, she nodded, standing and pulling back the blanket and sheet, then moving to the window to make sure the drapes were shut tight against the morning sun. When she turned back to the bed, he was already under the covers, his back turned towards her, and he was practically clinging to the side of the bed.

She crossed to the bed, pulling her bra under her shirt and sliding her pants off, after making sure he wasn't looking. Then, she grabbed a pair of cotton shorts off her chair and slid them on, before climbing into her bed. She lay there, staring at the ceiling for a minute, before impulsively leaning over the blonde and brushing a kiss across his cheek.

"I'm glad you're back, Spike. And you aren't a monster," Buffy said quietly, then turned on her side and snuggled under the blankets, wondering if she would indeed, be able to sleep.


AN: Here’s the words to the song I mentioned by Edwin Mccain.  I love this song.  Sigh.

I'll Be (acoustic version)

The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
Emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky
Never revealing their depth
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
I'll be your cryin' shoulder
I'll be love suicide
I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life
Rain falls angry on the tin roof
As we lie awake in my bed
You're my survival, you're my living proof
My love is alive and not dead
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up in the trappings of love
I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
I've dropped out, burned up, fought my way back from the dead
Tuned in, turned on, remembered the thing you said


Chapter 5

Spike jolted awake, momentarily disoriented as to where he was. But the soft mattress under him, the thick blankets on top of him, and the lingering scent of vanilla in the air reminded him that he wasn't in that OTHER place anymore. He glanced around the room, recognizing it as Gold's. No, that isn't right, that's not her name, he thought to himself. His mind was less scattered today, and he realized she had a name, and he even knew he knew it. The problem was, he couldn't retrieve it from that place in his brain that he locked away, so they, no HE, couldn't touch it. The one with the cold eyes and the hard words.

Panic seized Spike at the unwanted memory and he reached across the bed, searching for Gold. That panic got worse when he didn't find her. He shot up to a sitting position, eyes wildly searching the room, fear keeping him in the bed. He was alone, surrounded by her scent and her things. He breathed deep, taking it in and drawing it around him, much like he had the colors, before. He didn't need the colors anymore. He was home.

Relief flooded through him, as his fractured consciousness finally seemed to accept it. He flopped back on the pillows, hissing at the pain that still throbbed in his wounds. He held up the hand with the cross scar, and was pleased to see it was nearly gone, now just barely a white outline on his skin. And he was clean. Deliciously clean.

You're filthy, Spike. A filthy worthless piece of shit. Just sit in your own stink for awhile, and you'll know how they really feel about you. He squeezed his eyes shut against the voice in his head. NO, they helped him, they fed him and gave him a bath. Spike fought to remember the feel of the soft warm hands moving soothingly over his skin, and the sound of her soft voice as she talked. The way her eyes misted when he called himself a monster.

A feeling, a feeling he'd forgotten started to work it's way through him, increasing with each memory of Gold's face he brought to mind. It was something important, and huge, and instinctively he knew it was something he wasn't supposed to be feeling. Not for HER. Or was that what the voice said? Confusion settled over him, stifling him. He could feel the answers, the reasons why the voice had hated him so much, but something was keeping it from coming to the front.

Frustrated, he flung back the side of the blanket and started to get up. He'd just put his feet on the floor when he heard a slight clanking, like two glasses banging together. His eyes shot up to the door, the instinct to flee flaring bright in his chest. It deflated immediately when he saw Gold walk in carrying a tray with three mugs, still dressed in the t-shirt and shorts she'd slept in.

"Hello sleepy head," she said, her voice full of cheer. She moved over to him and put the tray on the nightstand, then picked up one of the mugs. "Your breakfast, sir. You should feel privileged. It's not every day I serve breakfast in bed." She handed him the mug and busied herself with looking under his bandages to see the progress of the healing. She sighed in relief that his vampire healing seemed to be kicking in. She gasped in surprise when Spike grabbed her wrist, his thin fingers like steel. Anger snapped in his eyes and he held up the mug of blood, all the while twisting her arm until the butterfly bandages were visible.

"What is it?" He jerked his head towards the mug, then tugged on her wrist, indicating he knew where the blood in his mug came from. And it wasn't the mix that she had been feeding him the day before. "Spike, don't. You know as well as I do it will help you heal." The fact that he was angry surprised her, until she thought of the night before, when he had called himself a monster. "Drink it, it's not like we can put it back." She gently pried his fingers free and moved to sit next to him on the bed. "And when you're done with that, I brought up some hot chocolate. We kind of got distracted last night."

Spike stared at her for a long minute, before finally conceding and draining the mug. He already looked so much better, the steady supply of blood and rest doing wonders for him.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She took the mug from him and got up, switching the empty one for the one filled with chocolate. "Spike," she waited until he raised his eyes to hers, the blue of his eyes free from fear for the first time since he had shown up the day before. She gave him a soft smile and reached out to brush a stray curl from his forehead, pleased when he didn't jerk away from her touch. "Do you remember what I am, who I am?" Confusion flooded his features, as he tried to figure out what she meant. The mug had paused on its upwards journey to his lips, the steam and smell tickling his nose.

"Slayer," he finally said, his eyes hopeful that that was what she had meant. She smiled again, then indicated he should drink before sitting back down beside him.

"That's right. Now, do you remember my name?" She hoped her voice didn't sound as anxious to him as it did to her. She didn't know why it was so important to her, since he rarely ever called her it anyway. Again, his hand paused as he struggled to remember. 'Gold' stuck out, but he knew it was wrong. He absently took a sip of the hot drink, his eyes then drifting closed at the explosion of flavor. An image flew into his mind then, of a woman with honey colored hair and kind eyes. Sadness hit him with the memory, and he realized that woman was gone. He looked up at Buffy then, tears shining in his eyes. "What's the matter, Spike? It's okay if you don't remember, I don't mean to push you." She stopped when he shook his head. "What is it, then?" He nodded towards the mug, one word slipping from his lips that had her tears starting as well.

"Mum."

"Yeah, that's right. My mom used to make this stuff for you all the time." Of course, that was before the whole Spike's-in-love-with-you-time-to-freak-out-thing. But she didn't figure she'd bring that up just yet. "You and Dawn would sit in the kitchen and laugh at her really stupid stories about her day at the gallery. Mom always liked you. Took me a long time to see what she always had. I'm sorry." She whispered the last part, taking a deep breath to try to settle her nerves. He shook his head again, silently telling her not to apologize. He then raised the cup again, and drained that mug as well.

"So, guess it's time to reintroduce myself. My name's Buffy. Does that spark anything?" 'Buffy,' the name rolled around in his head, trying to catch hold, but not succeeding. He looked at her, his eyes so full of sorrow at letting her down, she wanted to kick herself for pushing. "Hey, it's alright. Now you know. Right?" She tried to assure him that it didn't matter, but she couldn't help but feel disappointed. They had been through so much together, and it hurt that in the space of eight months, he had forgotten about her. Of course, she knew he had help, and she vowed again to kill whoever hurt him so badly. And he did come to her, not Angel, or even Dru. Her. Willow was right, that did mean something.

"All done?" she asked, gesturing towards the mug. He nodded and handed it to her, watching her as she got up again. She picked something shiny up off the tray, and turned to him with a smile. "Now that you're all clean, and your wounds are healing nicely, I was wondering." She reached out and fingered a curl again, before showing him the scissors she had. "Do you trust me?"

~*~*~

"Buffy?" Xander let himself into the Summers' house, carefully closing the door behind him. The house was quiet, and he thought she might still be asleep. He walked into the living room to put down his lunch, before heading upstairs to see where she was, when he realized the vampire wasn't on the couch. A smile spread across his lips, and he decided maybe he'd better stay put and wait for her to come downstairs. He pulled his jacket off and settled onto the couch, opening his bag and taking a deep breath.

"Aw, greasy goodness," he said before pulling out the cheeseburger and fries. He had just taken his first bite when the vampire and the Slayer came down the stairs, neither looking surprised to see him.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asked, tugging the vampire behind her.

"Just wanted to make sure all was well in the land of Summers. And from the looks of it, the vamp's doing better," Xander said with a nod.

"Yeah. He's healing nicely. Now, if we could just get him to remember things would be good."

"Still nothing?"

"No. And he had nightmares all night. I'm not sure I want to know what happened to him." The vampire had tossed and turned all night, his screams of pain and repetition of the word 'no' breaking her heart. She would try to wake him up, usually with no luck. But her touch seemed to soothe him, and she could get him to settle down. She was tired, emotionally drained and physically exhausted. And she could only imagine how Spike felt.

Buffy watched Spike as he moved around the room, gently touching certain things, then moving on. The scent of fried food finally caught his attention and he turned to look at Xander, his eyes landing on the cheeseburger the man held. He was talking to Buffy, so he didn't see the vampire's interest, until the food was suddenly snatched from his hand.

"Hey!" he snapped, watching in horror as his tone had Spike reeling back as if he had been struck, then dropping to the floor. Arms went up to cover his face and he curled up in a ball, waiting for the pain. The two humans shared a wide-eyed look, before they were on their feet and heading towards their trembling friend. The burger had fallen to the floor, where it now sat, forgotten.

"Spike, Spike. It's all right, Xander didn't mean to yell," Buffy soothed, running a hand over the newly shorn softness of his hair.

"Yeah, I'm sorry man. I can always get another one," Xander assured, trying to pry the arms away from the blonde's eyes, so he could see that he wasn't in danger. When he finally managed it, he scowled at the closed eyes he encountered. "Hey, Spike. Look at me. I'm not mad." One eye cracked open, and searched his face. After about a minute, he relaxed and his trembling ceased. But he hung his head when he sat up, embarrassed and still somewhat afraid. Xander grabbed the burger off the floor, and made sure it wasn't dirty, before holding it out to Spike. "See, here ya go."

"Ew, Xan. That's been on the floor." Buffy delicately wrinkled her nose up. The brunette just snorted.

"Buffy, we're guys. That just adds flavor," he said, his eyes telling her she had a lot to learn about the other half of the population. She rolled her eyes and got up, watching Spike to make sure he was all right with her moving.

"It's still gross," she reiterated, just as the blonde vampire reached out and took the sandwich from Xander. He still hesitated, before the human nodded and told him to eat.

"See?" he said smugly, laughing at the disgust on Buffy's face.

"Fine, I'm going to make some coffee. Want some?"

"Yeah. Come on, Spike. Let's get you on the couch." He held out a hand, and kept it out as he was put under scrutiny by the vampire. "I said I was sorry. Trust me, when you get your memory back, you're going to roll on the floor at my expense. We NEVER apologize to each other," he told the vamp, clasping his hand and pulling him to his feet. He kept a steadying hand on the vampire until he was settled on the couch, the burger disappearing in the space of a few bites. The brunette chuckled and sat next to him, picking up the carton of fries as he sat back. He heard the low growl just as he'd plucked one out, and sighed. Throwing it back in with the rest, he handed them to Spike, smiling despite the fact that he had just lost his lunch to a guy who didn't even need human food to survive.

Spike happily dove into the carton, his eyes shooting up to Xander's. He held it up, and nodded to it. It took Xander a second to realize Spike was thanking him.

"Hey, no problem. It's not like I needed all that yummy grease and red meat anyway," he replied with a shrug, patting a hand on his stomach. Satisfied, Spike went back to making the fries disappear, not noticing that the other man was studying him.

Xander tried to pinpoint the time that he and Spike had finally said the hell with it and became friends, despite their best efforts not to. He figured it started when Buffy was gone, and they had all watched the vampire nearly crumble with grief. They had all mourned her loss, but only Giles and Dawn had seemed to feel as bad, or worse, than the blonde. Spike had thrown himself into helping care for the younger Summers, and helping them patrol, never asking for anything in return. He and Dawn had clung to each other, like children, and their bond had soon become unbreakable.

Then, Buffy had come back, and they, meaning he, Anya, Willow and Tara, had just assumed things would go back to normal, and Spike's presence hadn't been tolerated anymore. At least not by him. The girls just accepted his assistance and constant hanging around Buffy like it was normal. Even Giles, before he went back to England, seemed to accept him into their group. Xander had reverted back to his usual obnoxious self with the vampire, often finding himself on the outs with the others. He didn't like the fact that Buffy would disappear, presumably patrolling. He followed her one night, and found out she went to the vampire, and not just for help. She would just sit with him, not talking, listening as he spun some tale.

Xander could look back now, and knew he was being childish then, but at the time it had enraged him that Buffy was seeking him out, instead of talking about whatever was bothering her with her friends. That was where she should have been, not with the evil undead. So, Xander had confronted her the next day, and had found out just how much she wasn't the Buffy of old.

He'd come in, guns blazing, and smart mouth shooting off, not listening when Willow told him to shut up. They were all in the Magic Box, researching some new demon or the other, and all of them were there. Spike included. He'd just sat silently through the insults Xander threw at him, a muscle ticking in his jaw the only outward response he gave. That was, until the brunette had said something not so nice about Buffy.

He couldn't even remember what he'd said, but he did remember the speed in which the vampire moved, and that even though the chip went off, he still found himself pinned against the wall with a vamped out demon in his face. Buffy had stepped in, prying Spike off the brunette. Xander had smirked, expecting the Slayer to punch Spike like she usually did, only to yelp in surprise when she reared on him instead. She told him, in no uncertain terms, to get over it. Spike was part of the team now, and if he didn't like it, he could leave. She didn't want to hear any of the evil, soulless shit, she didn't care. He was there for them when they needed help with a Hell God, he'd taken care of her sister when she was dead, for no other reason than a promise. And if he was so damned evil, that wouldn't have made him stay. She'd laid it out simply, her voice cold as she did so.

Deal with it, or leave. Those words reverberated over and over in his head, the look on her face telling him she was serious. He glanced around the room, searching for help, but all he received were disappointed looks. Including from Anya. He'd glared at them all, then stormed out into the night, swearing not to go back.

That had lasted until Anya had been kidnapped by that same demon they had been researching. He'd frantically run into the Magic Box, finding only Spike. After a few babbled explanations, Spike was walking to the training room and grabbing the biggest ax he could find.

"Come on, boy. Let's go save your woman," was all he had said as he left the store, fading into the darkness with ease. By the time Xander had caught up with him, the thing was dead, Anya was safe, and Spike had a gaping hole in his stomach from where it's tusk had impaled him. He'd passed out next to the demon, a dark pool of his own blood spreading around him.

They'd managed to stop the bleeding just as Buffy and the others had caught up to them. Willow had taken over then, and Tara had seen to Anya, while Xander slumped in a relieved heap on the ground. Buffy had walked over to him and kneeled in front of him. Then, in only a space of a glance, all was forgiven.

It had taken a little longer with the vamp. And it had only been after he'd had no choice but to stay with Xander and Anya when his crypt had become infested with crazed fairies. Willow had tried everything, but the little pests wouldn't budge, so he'd been forced to wait them out. It took a month for them to do whatever they had shown up to do, by then Spike and Xander had come to an agreement. They were the only two men in a group full of women, they might as well learn to tolerate each other. But, it had gone deeper than that, and Xander had been nearly as lost as Buffy when he'd disappeared. Spike had become as close a friend as Jesse had been, something he'd never say out loud, but it was true all the same.

A loud banging on the door pulled him out of memories. It also sent Spike off the couch, a wild shriek ripping from his throat. He huddled in the furthest corner of the room, arms in front of his face and head ducked.

"Shit," Xander said, crossing the room to him just as Buffy reentered. "Answer the door, I've got him," the brunette said, settling down in front of Spike and shielding him from the front door. Buffy looked torn, but the urgent knocking came again and she turned away to answer it. She looked out the peephole, but didn't see anything except a dark figure and. . .was that smoke? With quick fingers, Buffy threw open the locks and swung the door wide, stepping out of the way at the same time.

The blanket covered figure flew inside, sweeping off the smoking garment just as she swung the door closed. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and waited, a golden eyebrow arched in amusement.

"Well, now I see where Spike gets it," she said, staring into the eyes of her former love.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"How to make an entrance," she said with a smile. Angel returned it and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I didn't expect you for a couple more days."

"Cordy kind of pushed me out the door. Said my brooding was making her want to scream. So, here I am. How is he?"

"A lot better than he was last night. He's more aware now, but as you can see, loud or unexpected noises freak him out." She led him into the living room while she talked, gesturing to where Xander was in the corner.

Suddenly, the brunette was shoved out of the way, as Spike lunged at his sire. A sound that was a cross between a growl and a scream filled the air, and the blonde dropped to the floor, grasping his head in pain. Buffy cursed and dropped next to him, seeing that he was vamping. She tried to touch him, but he pushed her off, ripping one hand away from his hair and reaching for Angel. The older vampire was on the floor in a second, his hand clutching Spike's flailing one. Horror twisted his features when he saw what had been done to his childe's fangs, and a bloodlust like he hadn't felt in years filled him.

"Who did this?" he growled, his own demon surfacing in response to the pained sounds the blonde was making.

"We don't know. He's still not talking much, no more than a word at a time," Buffy explained, brushing a hand over Spike's ridged forehead, happy that he didn't shrug away again. In fact, his other hand clutched hers and he seemed to calm.

"Welcome to the party, dead boy," Xander said, getting up from where Spike had pushed him and rubbing his hip.

"Xander."

"Spike, do you know who this is?" Buffy asked him, her voice drawing his eyes to her. He looked back up at Angel and nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"Sire," he rasped, turning and crawling up into Angel's lap, his other hand never letting Buffy go, pulling her with him. Angel wrapped his free arm around Spike, holding him close and emitting soft growls which seemed to soothe the blonde further.

"I'm going to go get some coffee," Xander said, not expecting an answer. He felt like an intruder on the scene, and felt the need to leave. Buffy and Angel didn't even look up. They just continued to sit on the floor, each trying to give comfort to the desperate demon between them.


Chapter 6

Under the cover of night, a simple, nondescript black sedan with black tinted windows slid into Sunnydale. It went straight to the hotel in the center of town, where five men emerged from the darkened interior. No one leaving or entering the parking lot paid them any mind, as there was nothing remarkable about any of them. Young and good-looking, and altogether normal looking, they didn't harbor one second glance from anyone.

Four of the men waited by the car, unpacking the trunk, while the one with light brown hair and cool blue eyes made his way to the office to check in. Several large, black bags were sitting at the men's feet when he came back, three room keys in his hand. No words were spoken when he reached them. The other men just leaned down and picked up their bags, following him to the rooms, their movement eerily in synch and precise. When they reached their destination, the first man handed a key to one of each pair, keeping the last key for himself. Then, without a word having been spoken between them, he let himself into the first room, closing the door on the four men, knowing they would follow their orders.

Riley threw the bag of his clothes on one bed, and his weapons bag on the other. He then went straight to the phone and punched in a series of numbers. He listened to his messages, noting the ones he had to answer and the ones he could care less about. He'd kept it quiet about this mission, making sure the young scientist understood what would happen if he said anything. It hadn't taken much, since Johnson had first hand knowledge of just what Finn had done to Hostile 17.

Everybody back at the base just thought he was going home to visit his parents. And that was all they needed to know.

When the last message ended, Riley hung up the phone, went over to his bag, and pulled out two things. One was the file on Sunnydale, and the other was a small leather case. He then walked into the bathroom, stripping on the way. Once there, he turned the water as hot as he could stand it, then climbed in, scrubbing himself quickly, then washing his hair, before getting out and drying off. He padded naked back to the bed and picked up the leather case, pulling out its contents, carefully arranging them on the bed. He sat down on the edge and picked up the leather strip, wrapping it around his bicep, tying it tight. A few quick taps and a vein appeared, ripe for the sticking. Riley picked up one of the pre-filled syringes, pushed the air out, then stuck the tip into his skin, not even flinching at the prick of pain. He sighed, deep and satisfied as the clear liquid went into his body, the top secret concoction immediately melding with his cells.

He pulled the syringe out when it was empty and tossed it into the trash. He mentally reminded himself to put the 'do not disturb sign' up, so the maid wouldn't come in and find something she shouldn't. He waited a beat, then pulled off the leather strip and put it back into the case. He flopped back onto the bed, flung his hands over his head, closed his eyes and waited. It didn't take long.

Within seconds of the serum entering his blood stream, the mutation began. Riley's body went as rigid as a steel beam, his veins and muscles bulging with strain. He panted in harsh breaths at the familiar pain coursing through him. His eyelids squeezed tight and his teeth clacked together, his lips drawn back tight against them. Then the tremors started, erupting with a violence that almost threw him off the bed.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped, and the Commander was slumped tiredly on the bed, a smile on his mouth. He slipped into sleep, content in the knowledge that his prize would soon be returned, and he could get a little payback on the girl that had broken his heart.

~*~*~

"Are you sure Mark doesn't mind taking my patrol again tonight?" Buffy asked Willow. The redhead nodded, for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, Buffy. He doesn't mind. He doesn't have any cases right now, and he likes to kill things. So, works for him." Buffy snorted at that statement, and how unweird it was.

"So, what's been going on up there?" Willow asked, sliding onto a stool. Buffy shrugged and stirred the eggs she was making in the pan.

"I don't know. All I know is that right after he got here, he picked Spike up, took him to my room, and shut the door. Came out once for some blood and wouldn't answer me when I asked him what he was doing." The blonde sounded more than a little pissed at that. She was a bit resentful that he had come in and taken over, even though she called him to come help. Spike was her responsibility, and while she had thought Angel might have been able to provide some insight into how to heal the younger vamp, she hadn't expected to be shut out. She'd been so pissy about it, Xander had taken off not too long after the vamps had disappeared upstairs.

"Well, he is Spike's sire. I'm sure he knows what's best," Willow tried to placate. She felt a little out of sorts herself, having expected to see Spike when she got there, and getting nothing but a closed bedroom door. "Has Anya been by yet?" she asked, hoping to change the subject. Buffy scraped the eggs out of the pan, and set one of the two plates in front of Willow before answering.

"No, but she called earlier to tell me why she hadn't. She didn't want to overload Spike with too much at once." She stabbed some of her food and shoved it in her mouth, not really tasting it as she chewed. Her annoyance at her ex was written all over her face, and she half regretted calling him.

"Well, that's understandable," Willow commented, looking up at her friend and realizing she hadn't been heard. "Buffy?"

"Huh? What? Oh, I'm sorry Will. I guess I'm just a little distracted." The Slayer grimaced, wondering if maybe she shouldn't have shirked her patrol off. At least then she'd have something to do.

"It's okay," the redhead assured her, pushing her empty plate away and picking up her coffee. She watched the other girl push her food around on her plate, not taking another bite, seeming to be lost in thought. For not the first time since Buffy had come back, Willow wondered what was going on in her head. Spike would know, she thought, not feeling the resentment that would have followed three years ago. It had bothered her more than she liked that Buffy had taken to spending time with the vampire, but she had been more understanding than Xander. As long as she was talking to SOMEONE, even Spike, Willow was glad. It hadn't been until the dancing demon had breezed through town that anyone knew WHY she was going there. It had been then that they had found out where she had been, and why she had been acting so unhappy about being back. And Spike had been the only one who knew.

They'd found out a lot about each other over those few days. Tara had sung about her fear of living on the Hellmouth, and had left soon afterwards, breaking Willow's heart. Xander and Anya had finally admitted to each other how really scared they were about their upcoming wedding, and had postponed it for another year. Dawn had been feeling lost, and a little lonely, with all the adults wrapped up in their own troubles. Giles had decided he needed to go back to England, feeling he wasn't doing Buffy any favors by being there. Willow had a fear of not being needed. And Spike. Spike had let it be known that he was still very much in love with the Slayer, and deeply afraid of being left alone again. All the vampire seemed to want was to belong somewhere, and it was then that they all realized he did.

So afterwards, with the exception of Xander, who had taken longer to come around, they made an effort to fix the mistakes that had been done. They'd healed, with each other's help, and became a stronger unit. When one hurt, they all hurt. Including their former enemy.

Which was why the two women were sitting in the kitchen trying to talk while the Slayer's former love, and his childe, were upstairs in her room. Of course, Willow had a sneaking suspicion that Buffy's feelings went a little deeper than she was willing to admit.

Two sets of eyes shot to the kitchen doorway at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A tired looking Angel walked into the kitchen, a fresh bandage wrapped around his wrist.

"He wants to see you," was all he said, barely sparing her a look. Buffy was off the stool like a shot, not waiting to be told twice. "Willow, can I get some blood, please?"

"Sure," she said, standing up and walking to the fridge. She glanced over at the brunette while she worked, noting how weary he looked. He rested his forehead on his arms, and waited. "So, what's been going on up there?" she asked after she set the mug in front of him. He looked up gratefully, and took a long swallow.

"I was trying to see if he could tell me what happened. Started out with just demon speak, but he's so fractured. So, I reaffirmed our bond. Something that's going to piss him off beyond belief when he's aware again."

"Why?" Willow asked, sitting down again.

"Because, normally the bond is used as a form of control between Sire and childe, ensuring loyalty. And even though we patched things up, and he felt a certain amount of loyalty to me anyway, this sort of forces the issue. And we all know how Spike feels about being forced." They shared a smile at that.

"Did you find out anything?"

"No. Nothing concrete anyway. No names, no places. Just images and pain. A lot of pain." Anger skidded across his face, hardening his features and making Willow shiver. For a second, she thought she was looking at Angelus, until he looked back up at her, and she saw Angel in his eyes.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" she asked, getting up and putting hers and Buffy's plates in the sink. She suddenly felt the need to be busy, and started the water to wash the few dishes that were there.

"Yeah. He has a strong survival instinct. And he's got people he cares about. I think he just tucked himself away in his mind, to help him get through. Most of the physical scars are gone. Benefit of Slayer AND sire blood." Her eyes shot to his at that.

"Buffy gave him her blood?"

"Yeah. Quite a bit from what I could tell. You're surprised?"

"N-no. Not really, I don't think. I mean, I just didn't think about it. I know she's given him her blood before. But usually mixed with other human blood." Willow set the last mug in the drainer and pulled the plug on the water.

"It'll help him heal," Angel reaffirmed, draining his mug. "I'm going to go call Cordelia. Then do you think it would be alright if I could sleep somewhere? I haven't been to bed since yesterday."

"Yeah. Take Joyce's old room. There's heavy curtains up, so you should be alright."

"Thanks. Goodnight Willow."

"Goodnight Angel." The brunette got up and left the kitchen, leaving the redhead to her own thoughts.

~*~*~

Buffy paused outside of her bedroom door, suddenly nervous. With a scowl, she wiped her hands on her jeans, then pushed open the door, knocking softly.

"Spike," she called, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dark room. She saw him sitting on the opposite side of the bed, the moon coming through the window illuminating him. "Spike?" she called again, stepping inside and shutting the door. She crossed quietly over to him, and gently touched a hand to his shoulder.

"Buffy." Tears welled in her eyes at the sound of her name said in that rough, accented voice.

"Yeah?" she asked, walking around in front of him. He looked up at her, his blue eyes clear. What had her lip trembling, in addition to the tears, was the recognition she saw floating in those orbs. "Spike? D-do you know who I am?" Her voice was barely a whisper, hope echoing loudly despite its softness. His eyes burned into hers, pain, anguish and relief swirling in their depths.

"How could I forget you?" he asked, reaching up and taking her hand off his shoulder, turning it so he could lace his fingers through hers.

"Oh, thank god," she said, feeling herself nearly topple with happiness. "Can you talk about what happened? Where you've been?" she asked, kneeling down in front of him. He flinched and held up his free hand to still her words. He shook his head, sighing at the disappointment he saw in her face.

"No, luv. I can't. It's here." He tapped his forehead, then let his hand fall heavily into his lap. "But, I can't get it to be clear. It took everything in me to pull myself out of that state I was in this morning." With a lot of help from his sire.

"It's okay. I don't mean to push," she said, smiling at him.

"Thank you," he rasped, raising his hand and tracing the line of her cheek. A small smile touched his lips at the remembrance of a time when she would have cut his hand off before letting it touch her.

"For what?"

"For yesterday. For this morning. For giving a shit about a soulless demon." She saw him visibly flinch at the words, knowing instinctively he was hearing them in his head, said by a different person.

"Don't talk like that, Spike. You saved me. It's my turn," she told him, the look in her eyes telling him not to argue. She leaned over and turned on the lamp, so she could get a better look at him, apologizing when he squinted. He still looked so frail and thin, despite the rapid healing of the wounds. And the life wasn't back, that spark that just seemed to be a part of him, dancing constantly in his eyes and singing under his skin, despite him being technically dead. "You look exhausted," she said, moving to sit next to him, keeping their fingers interlocked.

"I am," he said simply. He felt jittery and weak as well. Two things he didn't like.

"Why don't you try to get some rest? We'll talk more tomorrow," she said, pulling her hand from his and making him lay down. He let her fuss over him, enjoying it as much as she seemed to need it. Once she had him tucked in, she smiled and straightened. She then went to the window and closed the curtains, making certain he was safe from the sun. "Goodnight, Spike," she said when she was done. Panic clutched him when she turned and headed towards the door.

"Buffy." She stopped and looked back at him, surprised he wasn't turned towards her.

"Could you. . .stay?" The soft question hung in the air for a long minute, and Spike felt like a class A ass for asking. He closed his eyes tight and willed himself not to concentrate on the sound of her heartbeat as she left the room. To his surprise, he felt the bed shift as she crawled into it, her heat sliding across the sheets to wrap around him and comfort him. When her tiny hand snaked around him, and her body pressed against his back, he had to fight back the tears at the thought that this beautiful, pure creature would want to touch him.

"Goodnight, Spike," she said again, her warm breath tickling the soft ends of his hair. He lay awake for a long time, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart, and her breathing, afraid if he closed his eyes, when he woke up again, he would find that it was all a glorious dream. That he would find himself back in the harsh white room, with cold metal furniture, instead of here, wrapped safely in her arms. However, the need to sleep eventually won out over fear, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

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