A Good Man

-1-

Buffy opened her eyes and saw Spike above her, his face flushed pink beneath his white hair, his teeth clenched, his hands grabbing at her. The bathroom floor was cold and hard beneath her injured back, and the light shone straight into her eyes, blinding her. This couldn't be happening. After everything they had been through, it couldn't end like this.

"I'm going to make you feel it," growled Spike.

"No you're not," she said, realising that this was ridiculous. She was the Slayer; no one could make her do anything. "No, Spike. We'll both feel it."

She flipped him onto his back on her bed and straddled his hips. Spike stretched out, his hands gripping the thin bars at the head of the bed, his blue eyes filled with tenderness. Buffy ran her hands over his white chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his soft skin. Her fingers explored the pulsating veins in his neck before curling into this short blond hair.

"I love you," said Spike. "I'm all yours, pet."

"I know." Buffy kissed the heartbeat on his chest, shifting her hips against his erection. "You're all mine."

"Well, folks, it's Friday morning, and we've got a song from the Red Hot--"

Buffy automatically hit the Snooze button on her clock radio as it interrupted her sleep for the third time. Another day to kill those calls and answer those vampires. Or whatever. She checked the time and switched the radio to Off.

Clothes. Bathroom. Breakfast. Wake up at some point along the way. Buffy opened her bedroom door and found herself staring straight at Spike. Which was disturbing, considering the dream she had just had.

Spike was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, right opposite her bedroom, wearing only his torn jeans. Buffy's face was level with his throat; lowering her eyes only a fraction, she had a good view of his bare chest. It was nearly as she remembered it in her dream; sculptured and smooth, except for the new burn above his heart and some extra hairs she hadn't noticed before. Spike's face was different, of course, hidden behind the glasses and the long hair. He hadn't shaved again.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Hey," she responded. "You have chest hair."

Spike looked down. "Chest hairs, more like. Side-effect of the resurrection. More hairs all around. It's a monkey thing."

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Spike indicated the master bedroom to his right.

"I need to, um..."

"Yes."

As Spike disappeared into his room, Buffy took the two steps necessary to cross the corridor and enter the bathroom. She locked the door and sat on the toilet, yawning and rubbing her eyes. When her eyes were suitably rubbed, she opened them and stared in disbelief. The grey shower curtain she normally looked at every morning seemed to have turned bright blue and grown a frieze of big green seahorses.

Looking around to see if any other artefacts had been changed in the room, Buffy noticed that the vanity mirror on the dresser in front of the window had been turned so that it faced downwards. There was also a towel thrown over the mirror behind the sink. It seemed that Spike had an aversion to mirrors; no wonder he hadn't shaved in days. On the other hand, he was trying to make amends for his past. Buffy looked at the new shower curtain and smiled.

Once she was dressed, Buffy went downstairs and found Dawn sitting on the living room couch, watching the early morning news -- a recent change from her sitting on the living room couch and watching the early morning cartoons. Dawn was still wearing her pyjamas and robe; she was on vacation, and liked to keep her options open as far as going back to bed was concerned. Buffy was pleased her sister made the effort at all to get up and have breakfast with her every morning.

"Where's Spike?" asked Buffy.

"Don't know. Haven't seen him. Guess he was up late putting in that shower curtain," said Dawn, her tone neutral.

"Well, it was a nice thought." Buffy glanced at the television, her eyes drawn to images of bodies being dug out of a collapsed building. "What do you think?"

Dawn followed her gaze. "What, about the situation in the Middle-East?"

"No, about the shower curtain."

Dawn's response was a shrug; despite her emotional scene with Spike two days earlier, she was still a little wary of the former vampire. Between work and her evening class, Buffy had seen very little of him since he had recovered from his fever. She just hoped Spike and Dawn hadn't been arguing behind her back.

"Anyway, let's get some breakfast," said Buffy, heading for the kitchen.

Spike made his appearance while she was cooking the pancakes, his arrival heralded by a coughing fit that echoed in the hallway. Buffy could tell he had been back to the crypt to get some clothes; he was wearing his paisley shirt and a pair of black pants she recognised. Best not to think about how she knew every item in his wardrobe. She concentrated on her pancakes.

"Nice shower curtain," remarked Dawn. "Very colourful."

"Well, it was cheap." Buffy heard the creak of one of the barstools as Spike sat down. "Seahorses are interesting little beggars. The males have the babies, you know."

"Gee, new age sea creatures." There was a smile in Dawn's voice. "Aren't there some demons that do that too?"

"Oh yes. Igrostoron demons, for instance. Female lays her eggs inside the male, says 'cheers, mate' and buggers off to find another male to lay some more eggs in. Last Igrostoron I met was trying to encourage his fellow demons to stick together, marriage-like. Apparently, they have a problem with the males getting so pissed off with the females, they start eating the eggs. Few sandwiches short of a picnic, those Igrostorons. If I had some eggs of my own, I'd keep them, and then raise them to know their Mum was a bitc--bad person."

Buffy turned towards them with her newly cooked pancakes. After all his inane chatter about seahorses and Igrostoron demons, she had no problem facing Spike. He didn't look or sound like the soulless demon she'd slept with. She distributed the pancakes, then joined them at the breakfast bar.

"So, what are you going to do today, Spike?" she asked.

Spike made an undignified gulping noise as he finished his mouthful. It made him cough, which in turn meant that it took a while for him to answer. "Oh, I thought I might read the instructions for your washing machine," he said in a voice that sounded like a wheeze.

"Washing machine?" repeated Buffy. "You want to do laundry?"

"I haven't washed my clothes for months." He bent down and pulled up his shirt to smell it, uncovering his white belly. He made a face. "They don't smell very nice. Vampires don't sweat, but I've become Elvis bloody Presley ever since I became human. Don't think anyone will be bidding millions for my sweaty shirts, either. So give me the instructions and I'll do some washing."

"Do we even have instructions for that machine?" asked Dawn. Buffy shook her head. "Tell you what, Spike. I'll show you how it works. Then you can repay me by doing all our laundry too."

"I don't think--" started Buffy, as visions of Spike sifting through her dirty underwear danced through her head.

"Well, okay," said Spike, though he didn't sound too enthusiastic about Dawn's proposal. "I suppose I should be doing something useful. Oh! Speaking of which--"

He got up and sprinted out the door and up the stairs. Buffy could hear him in the master bedroom above the kitchen.

"Was that conversation over?" asked Dawn with a giggle.

Buffy shrugged, but then pointed at her sister. "Hey, you're not letting Spike wash our underwear, okay? He can do the towels and the other clothes, but you do our stuff yourself."

"Oops. Didn't think about that," said Dawn, pressing her hand to her lips. "Maybe I should show him the vacuum cleaner instead?"

Spike came back, out of breath and carrying a small paper sack sealed with tape.

"I got my stuff from the crypt yesterday." He handed the packet to Dawn. "It's a bit late, and probably totally the wrong time, but... Happy birthday, sweet sixteen."

Dawn stared at the packet a moment, and then ripped it open. It contained a little bracelet made of shiny green beads.

"Saw it when I got to Africa, thought about your birthday," said Spike. "I was going to send it after I became human, but... by then, I thought it wouldn't go down too well, what with...but it's for you."

"Oh, Spike, it's beautiful." Dawn held up the bracelet for Buffy to admire, then slid it on her left wrist. "Thanks. I didn't think you'd even remember."

Spike looked down at his feet. "Well, I only knew the month, actually. I remembered us having that-- well, celebrating your birthday last year."

"Yeah." Dawn shook her head. "That was a miserable birthday. Even the cake and decorations were miserable."

"You had cake?" asked Buffy, curious about this birthday celebration Spike and Dawn had shared while she was dead. "And decorations?"

"Willow kinda conjured up the cake and decorations," said Dawn with a shrug. Her eyes were still on Spike. "I still have the diary, you know. I was going to throw it out, after-- But I guess I wanted to remember you the way you were last summer."

She frowned, and gave Spike a suspicious look, as if she was remembering his betrayal and was still unsure whether to open up to him again. Then she looked at the bracelet, and at Spike's apprehensive face, and stood up to wrap her arms around him. He was taken completely off-guard. In fact, he seemed to be struggling to get out of her embrace at first. But as Dawn persisted, keeping her head on his chest, Spike gave in. His arms slipped around her; he closed his eyes, pressing his lips to her hair for a moment, with a small smile of contentment. The look on his face put a lump in Buffy's throat. It occurred to her that Spike probably wasn't used to being hugged.

It also occurred to her that he had never given her a birthday present. But then she remembered the circumstances of her last birthday. Spike turning up at her back door with a black eye, still bruised days after she had beat him. She hadn't deserved a present then. Maybe next year. She'd make it up to him.

Not a bad patrol, all things considered. The two vampires were nothing special, easily dispatched once they'd started their "Wanna try a real vampire for size?" routine. But the Osra demon had given her a run for her money. Buffy flexed her bruised arm. Bit less of the colliding with tombstones would have been nice. Still, the fight had got the juices flowing nicely. Buffy was in a great mood. Being the Slayer was fun!

When she let herself into the house, Buffy was surprised to see light in the living room. Spike was sitting at the desk, several of the books and papers Giles had sent spread out in front of him. He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he barely acknowledged Buffy's arrival, even after she dropped her weapons bag noisily on the floor.

"What are you reading?" she asked, peering over Spike's shoulder at the leather-bound book in front of him.

"The Watchers' Diaries."

"You're cramming to become a Watcher?"

"Don't insult me!" exclaimed Spike, turning towards her with a laugh. "Just thought I'd see what it's all about. Lots of interesting things in here. Boy, they weren't joking when they said Slayers died young. Most of them snuffed it before they were twenty. It doesn't make for very enjoyable reading. Not right now, anyway. A couple of years ago..."

"...It would have been the vampire equivalent of Hustler magazine?"

"I never got off on--" Spike grimaced and tossed the book aside. He looked up at Buffy with a sheepish smile. "I-- Since Dawn isn't here, I might as well break the news."

"News? What news?" asked Buffy, seized with sudden panic. "Where's Dawn? Was there a demon?"

"Erm, no. That's unless you think the washing machine is possessed. Which is possible." He tilted his head and considered the possibility, then went back to giving Buffy his best contrite expression. "Dawn put all your underwear in with my clothes. Now as you know, most of my clothes are black..."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, no. Please don't tell me all my underwear is grey."

"More like a very pale sludge green, actually. Maybe it'll wash out. Dawn thinks it'll wash out, anyway. I didn't even know clothes could do that." He picked up a small spiral notebook. "I've written it down so I'll know not to mix dark and light colours next time."

"I wish Dawn would write it down too," said Buffy, opening her eyes again and glaring at Spike. "You looked at my underwear?"

Spike leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms. "Hey, you looked at my willy, I can look at your underwear." Perhaps realising that he was being over familiar with her, he stood up. "Anyway, didn't feel sleepy, so I thought I'd stay up and make you some dinner. Well, 'make' isn't really the word. These are the days of the microwave, after all. But I thought you might be hungry."

Buffy nodded and followed him into the kitchen, delighted at the prospect of food being made for her. Even if it was only microwave food. Leftover pizza was getting old. Not that they had had any leftover anything the last couple of days, with Spike the human eating machine living in the house. God, how the man could eat! He would give even Xander a run for his money. Buffy nearly regretted the days when all Spike needed was a mug of pig's blood.

She leaned against the centre island while he rummaged in the freezer. He extracted a cardboard box covered in frost and waved it at Buffy.

"I found this earlier," said Spike. "It's nothing exciting, just some spag bog. Spaghetti Bolognese." He wiped off the frost and showed her the container. "Five minutes in the microwave. I love food like that. When I was a little boy... um, things were different. Anyway, let's see... Ah, there we go. This is a machine I don't need instructions for. I remember your Mum showing me how to use it years ago."

It was bizarre to hear Spike talking about her mother. But thinking back, Buffy realised he had known Joyce quite well. They had spent a few evenings together when Buffy wasn't around. She felt a pang of jealousy at the thought that Spike had shared moments of her mother's life which she had not been part of. Moments she would never get back again.

"How did you know I would be hungry?" asked Buffy to change the subject. She moved closer, in case he needed help with the microwave.

Spike turned towards her abruptly, bringing them nose to nose. "Slaying awakens your passions, right?"

Unnerved by his proximity, Buffy lowered her eyes, fixing them on his paisley shirt. She remembered pulling it open in the past, and running her nails down his sculptured chest to the waistband of his jeans. She'd fondled those jeans, too, rubbing his erection hard through the rough material until he gasped with desire.

Realising that her eyes had followed her memory and that she was now staring at his crotch, Buffy took a step back and looked away.

"No. No passions," she said, delving into the cutlery drawer to get a fork. "Just hunger. Food hunger."

Spike gave her a funny look, but turned back to the microwave and coughed. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the uneven curls off his face. A moment passed before he spoke again.

"I've been thinking, Buffy. I think Xander was right: I shouldn't be living here. Now that I'm better, I mean. Things haven't exactly worked out well in the past, and I don't want... I can move back into the crypt--" Spike raised his hand as Buffy began to protest. "Or if you really think that's too unhealthy, I could move in with Xander. Unless I was hallucinating when he offered to take me in?"

"No, you weren't," said Buffy. "But I think that was Xander in one of his generous, compassionate moods."

Spike grinned. "Must admit, I'm taking it on faith that Harris has generous, compassionate moods. Last time I saw the guy, he tried to kill me! I mean, last time I saw him before I-- you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Buffy leaned on the breakfast bar again and gave Spike an amused look. "And I'm guessing his generosity will soon run out if he's living with the guy who slept with his ex-fiancée."

"But you find living with a guy who tried to rape you okay?"

Buffy winced. "Do you have to mention this every single day, Spike? It's over. It's okay. It wasn't even you, not the now you, anyway. Not really. So we can forget about it. And I think you living here makes sense."

Spike frowned at her and shook his head, but Buffy raised her hand before he could say anything.

"First of all, you're not fully recovered from your flu, so I don't want you living in the crypt," she said, putting on a Sensible Mom tone she was honing for interactions with Dawn. "And I don't think you'd get on with Xander for very long. Besides, this is a big house, and it seems stupid to have that big room lying empty. Now that you're human, you could get a job, and pay me some rent, if you like. Which would be great: I could do with the money. And you could stay with Dawn in case a nasty comes around when I'm not here. And you'd be an extra pair of hands for the chores. And you know how to drive, so we could get a car. You could drive us to the mall and take Dawn to school."

"Do you want a nice white picket fence to go with that little fantasy?" said Spike with an embarrassed laugh that turned into a cough. "I don't think I'm quite 'Wind Beneath My Wings' material yet, pet. Doing housework? Driving Dawn to school? And I've never had a job, Buffy. I didn't need one. I was going to live forever."

Buffy shrugged. "I know. I never thought I'd need one either. Thought I'd be dead by now." She smiled at the irony of them both avoiding work for such different reasons. "But you could live another forty or fifty years. You've got to make plans for all that time, or you'll just waste it until it's too late. It's what normal humans do."

"Yeah," said Spike with a sigh. "I wanted to be human; I suppose I should play the part, right? Yeah, I'll see what I can do."

-2-

"Tada!" exclaimed Spike. "Bought with dirty demon money, but at least it'll get me to work, and Dawn to school."

"Well. It's a car," said Buffy, looking at the thing Spike was pointing at. She knew nothing about cars, but she did know the monstrosity currently parked on the driveway was tiny and ugly. Looked old, too; the paint was peeling off the roof.

Squinting in the bright sunlight, Buffy was far more interested in the fact that Spike was wearing his tight, mottled grey T-shirt. Without an over shirt to add bulk to his thin frame, it made him look skinny and... kinda gay. Which was kinda scary. On the other hand, the half-grown beard and hideous glasses made him look like a geek. Which balanced the gay thing out, but still left Buffy wondering where the real Spike was. And shuddering at the thought that this was what human Spike might really be like. Maybe the demon was the one with the cool sense of style.

"Buffy, it's a Yugo." Dawn managed to imbue the two syllables with every bit of disgust a teenage girl could muster. Which was plenty. "I mean, a Yugo. Spike, do you have any idea how uncool that is?"

"Yes, I do, actually." Spike shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. "It's about as cool as a woolly jumper with patches on the elbows. But I needed a car to go to work, and it was cheap." All Spike's enthusiasm for his purchase seemed to have vanished. His shoulders slumped and he even let out a little sigh. "And available for immediate purchase first thing on a Saturday morning, which isn't bad either."

"And on the plus side, it is a car," said Buffy. She frowned. "Work? You have work to go to?"

"But--But it's a Yugo!" exclaimed Dawn, interrupting her. "An ancient, rusty Yugo." She turned on Spike. "You are not driving me to school in that!"

"You're going to school right smack on the Hellmouth. I should think the car I drive would be the least of your problems," said Spike. "Besides, when you're a normal human being, you have to compromise. Think of it as something grown-ups have to do." He looked at Buffy and grinned. "Like wearing a hat with a cow on it."

"Yeah, but Buffy never made me wear her hat!" protested Dawn.

Buffy crossed her arms and went into Mom-mode. "It's never too late. If you don't get another babysitting job soon, I know a good job that's just waiting for you."

"Actually, Mrs Koslowski next door says her daughter's coming over to stay next week. She said I could look after her grandson." Dawn didn't actually add 'so there', but Buffy could hear it in her voice. "Besides, it's not fair. You didn't have to work when you were in high school!"

"That's because Mom didn't have a job that could be done by a robot," Buffy pointed out. "They don't pay us mindless automatons much money for answering the phones and giving people details they could look up on the Internet. So we all have to work. Which reminds me, Spike, did you say--"

"Hey, there's an idea," said Spike, snapping his fingers. The finger snapping made the 'work' issue drop right out of Buffy's head. Since when did Spike snap his fingers? "When Willow comes back, she could use the schematics she has for the Buffybot to make robots that do mindless jobs. We could sell them to call centres all around the world!"

Buffy frowned. "Excuse me. A call centre full of Buffybots? Can I be the first to say 'ew'?."

"The Buffybot was kinda nice when you got to know her," said Dawn. "I sometimes miss her... I mean, not as much as I missed you, obviously. But she was kinda perky and cheerful..." She noticed Buffy's dubious expression. "Oh, is that rust on the trunk?"

"There's probably a great commercial market for robots like the ones Warren made," said Spike, staring thoughtfully into space. "I mean, they could be used for mining, and space exploration, and--"

"Sex?" suggested Buffy, her tone exuding disapproval.

Spike looked embarrassed for a moment, but then grinned. "Well, now you come to mention it, that would probably be their most lucrative function. I mean, that robot was...something I really shouldn't be talking about right now?"

Buffy nodded slowly, to emphasise her point that, yes, this was something best left to another day. Like, never. The sheepish look he gave her made her smile, though; the whole Buffybot fiasco was from another lifetime for both of them, and retrospectively, it was one of the more amusing events in their relationship. Which just showed how miserable the rest of their relationship had been. Spike grinned back at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief behind his glasses. He rubbed his hands.

"So, now I have my wonderful Spikemobile, where do you ladies want to go? Shopping, maybe?"

"You are so not taking us anywhere in this thing!" exclaimed Dawn. "Seriously, Spike, if you take us to the mall in this rust bucket, I'll die!"

"Not dead yet, pet?" asked Spike as they got out of the car in the mall car park.

Dawn glared at him, expressing all the frustration she felt at not dropping dead with embarrassment after being driven around in a Yugo. Buffy didn't think much of Spike's acquisition either, but at least it made the trip to the mall easier than walking or taking a bus. Maybe they could get a better car when Dawn passed her driving test.

Their original plan had been to go straight to the supermarket, but Spike had expressed an interest in acquiring new clothes, and in particular, shoes. So the mall was their first destination. When they had picked a suitable shoe store, Spike tried on various items in the men's section while the sisters explored the women's side.

"Do you think Spike will get sandals to go with his New Age hippy look?" asked Dawn.

"Sandals?" Buffy looked down at the pumps she was trying on, and which she totally didn't need. "Well, I guess 'New Age hippy' is still an improvement on 'Big Bad'." An image of a long-haired Spike wearing sandals and love beads came to mind. She kicked off the pumps and put on her own shoes. "Maybe we should find him, and just check that everything is okay."

Dawn grinned. "You mean check that his fashion sense isn't completely gone after the whole resurrection thing? Getting that Yugo could just be the tip of the iceberg."

The sisters searched for Spike in the store, but he was nowhere to be seen. When they returned to the main corridor, Dawn suddenly pointed at the stairs in the middle of the mall. One of the escalators had broken down, and Spike was helping a woman carry a stroller up the steps. He looked embarrassed when she thanked him, but they talked for a couple of minutes, and Spike even leaned down to admire the child. Giles had always told her that a soul made all the difference, but Buffy was still amazed at the difference it made in Spike. It made so much difference, it was totally scary.

When the woman left, Spike trotted down the stairs with a satisfied smile on his lips. It faded when he noticed Buffy and Dawn watching him. He approached them with something of his old swagger in his step, and a sarcastic smile on his face. Both looked very strange considering he was wearing glasses and carrying bags from different clothes stores.

"So, half an hour mooning around the shop, and you still didn't get anything?" he said. "I spent five minutes getting myself a pair of sneakers, three T-shirts and a pair of trousers, then decided to go off and do something manly for a change."

"Like help strange women carry strollers?" asked Buffy with a teasing smile.

Spike gave her a rueful look, as if he were ashamed of his act of kindness. "She isn't strange. In fact, she's very normal. Unlike some other people I could mention. Bet she's never even seen a demon."

"Speaking of which. Is that one there?" Dawn pointed at something behind Spike.

An old man was looking through the shirts on display outside one of the clothes stores. Although he looked like a normal person in a shirt and baseball cap, the brown skin on the back of his neck had curled away from his collar, revealing the grey scales underneath.

"Definitely a demon," said Spike, "but I doubt he's planning anything nefarious if he's shopping for a shirt. Come on, we have things to buy!"

"Don't want to take any chances." Buffy crept up on the demon, her hand already reaching for the stake she had in her purse. She would threaten the demon and draw it to a quiet place before deciding whether it needed slaying. Surprise was a key element; she needed to catch it before it had a chance to cry out.

"Oi, demon," called Spike. Buffy stopped and rolled her eyes.

The demon jumped and turned with a big smile on his face. "Spike! You're back."

"Do I know you?" asked Spike, tilting his head to see if the demon was more familiar when seen diagonally.

"Come on, Spike. It's me, Thork." He slapped Spike's back. "I couldn't believe it when Clem told me you were off in Africa to become human. Man, that sucks. But, on the other hand, I can't blame you. Being a vampire sucks worse. Not human, not demon. Vampires are a bad lot. I mean, you were okay, except for the bit about killing demons, but on the whole, yes, I guess being human is better than being a vampire. You could have chosen to be a demon instead, though. That would have been even better."

"Yes, well, went with what I knew," said Spike. He was still looking at the demon as if he had no idea who he was. "Well, Thork, it's good to see you again. Or your disguise anyway." He tucked the demon's fake human skin into his collar. "Better be careful. Someone might notice. Anyway, got things to do. Um, human things." He waved his hand vaguely. "Shopping and all that."

"Yeah. If you're not too grand now that you're human, come around for a game once in a while, yeah?" Thork patted his back again and then went off to look at more shirts.

Buffy crossed her arms. She'd been really looking forward to kicking some demon ass. Slaying and shopping was one of her favourite combinations. Just before slaying and eating, though behind slaying and sex.

"Okay, who was that?" she asked.

Spike was still watching the demon's retreating back. "Not the foggiest. Now, then, where's this food you promised me?"

"Not eaty now food. Cooky later food," Buffy reminded him. They'd had this conversation on the way over. For some reason, Spike didn't quite grasp the concept of food that had to be cooked for more than five minutes before being consumed.

"Whatever." He strode purposefully towards the exit. "Come along, let's get this shopping done with. Have a job to do, you know."

"A job? What kind of job?" asked Dawn.

"And what does 'not the foggiest' mean?" asked Buffy, though she realised Dawn's question was a lot more pertinent.

"It's the kind of job that goes with the Yugo." Realising that both sisters were waiting for more information, he stopped and raised his hands. "Okay, I saw an ad in the paper and I'm taking up window cleaning. Satisfied?"

"You got a car and a job on a Saturday morning?" asked Buffy. "I'm impressed."

"Yeah, it took Buffy months to get a job," said Dawn, blithely ignoring her sister's dirty look. "And she still hasn't got a car."

"Oh well, besting Slayers is a lifelong hobby of mine. What can I say? I'm a man of action!"

A man of impatience, more like, thought Buffy as she followed them out of the mall.

The next night, Buffy was following her usual patrol route past Spike's old crypt. The lights were off, and she felt a momentary twinge of regret. Much as she had hated and distrusted Spike the vampire, she had to admit that he had been an important part of her life. Just knowing that he was in the crypt, ready to spring out at the slightest hint of action, had been more comforting than she had ever realised. He didn't seem big on the patrolling now that he was human.

A tall young man with dark hair approached her. Good-looking guy, with a nice smile and a well-built body. Buffy leaned against a tree, watching him.

"Hey, sweetheart, got a light?" he asked, holding out his cigarette.

"Don't smoke," she said with a shrug. "Looking for a meal?"

He put away his cigarette. "Oh, you know, just hanging around, waiting for the right one to come along. Can't eat just anyone these days."

"Yeah, that must be real hard," said Buffy shaking her head. She looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. "Say, if you had a chance to become human again, would you take it?"

"What, like your boyfriend?" He laughed. "I've heard about him. He's a wuss. That guy's a total loser." He leaned towards Buffy with a predatory smile. "I bet he's no good to you now that he's human, eh, Slayer?"

Buffy smiled up at him flirtatiously. "Oh, I bet you think you could do better, right?"

"Of course I can." He moved closer, his face nearly brushing against hers. She could smell the blood on his breath. "Humans are weak and pathetic; they deserve to be eaten. They're not like you and me, Slayer. I wouldn't become human for anything on Earth."

"Thanks, that's all I needed to know," said Buffy, plunging a stake in his heart. "Just making sure Spike's the weird one."

There was definite weirdness in the new Spike's behaviour, thought Buffy as the Yugo shuddered to a stop in front of the new high school a few days later. He was like an entirely new person; a nice person, to be sure, but someone she didn't really know.

"Thanks for the lift, Spike," said Dawn as she got out of the car. "I think I'll use my bike next time."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad!" protested Spike. "It got you here, didn't it?"

Dawn lifted an eyebrow, but then ran to join her friends. Buffy sighed, remembering the days when she'd been at school with Xander and Willow. Back in the days when things were simple, and all she had to worry about was the Master. And Angelus. And Snyder. And Spike and Dru. And... Okay, so maybe things weren't so simple back then. She got out of the car and sat beside Spike in the front seat.

"So, what are you doing today?" she asked.

"Thought I'd look for a new job," he said. "Now I think about it, washing windows isn't really my thing."

"Gee, what a surprise. Took you all of three days to realise that, did it?"

"All right, since job counsellor is obviously one of your many talents," said Spike, "what kind of job do you think I should be doing?"

Buffy shrugged. "Well, I don't know. I just don't think you're a cleaning kind of guy."

"Well, you're right. I'm thinking hit man, something like that." He noticed Buffy's comedy frown, and laughed. "Hey, got to play to my strengths, right?" He shook his head. "One thing I do know; I'm stuck in low pay until I can convince people I can do something else."

"Maybe a résumé would help. A fake one, obviously," suggested Buffy. "You could use Willow's computer to type one up. She has a printer somewhere." She frowned as that plan's pretty basic flaw became apparent to her. "That's if you know how to use a computer, of course."

They stopped at a red light; Spike leaned on the steering wheel. "I know how to use a computer," he said.

"You do?" exclaimed Buffy with amazement.

"Yeah." Spike smiled as the light turned green. "Used to have one, actually. Sinclair ZX-81. God, it was crap. Even by the standards of its day, which was the early Eighties. Black and white, character-only resolution, insensitive keyboard, about as much processing power as your average washing machine nowadays. But I used to spend hours on that thing. You could get these magazines with program listings in them, and then once you'd typed in your program, you'd save it onto a cassette and use it again later. No CD-ROMs, no Microsoft, just your listing, your fingers, and a whole lot of tapes. Of course, Dru got jealous and smashed it after a few months." He noticed Buffy's glazed look. "Sorry. Got nostalgic for a moment there."

Buffy observed him in silence, then said, "You weren't kidding about the inner nerd, were you?"

"Well, at least it might some in handy," said Spike with a shrug. "If I get back up to speed with modern computers, I could probably get a good job. You know, IT engineer or something."

"Ugh. You do not want to work in IT. All the guys in our technical department are longhaired geeks with glasses and--" She looked at him. "--beards..."

He scratched his hairy face and grinned. "It's my destiny, obviously."

Realising that this was an opportunity to discuss a topic that was bothering her, Buffy looked out of the window and collected her thoughts. She didn't want to make Spike uncomfortable by staring at him. It made things easier for her, too.

"Spike. What is with all that? I mean, seriously." She took a deep breath when he didn't answer. "I noticed the mirrors in the bathroom the other day. That's why you're not shaving, right? You can't face yourself in the mirror?"

Spike didn't answer. After a moment, Buffy turned to look at him. He was staring at her, only just dividing his attention between her and the road. When he caught her eye, he chose to focus on the road.

"Didn't think you'd notice." He shrugged. "Doesn't mean anything. I'm just too lazy to shave and get a haircut. But I'll get it all chopped off if you think it's ugly."

"No." Buffy sighed. "Don't do that just because I tell you to. If you have your reasons, I'm fine with your new look. I just want to know what's going on."

"Nothing's going on. I'm fine. I did a lot of bad things as a vampire, but I'm going to be a really good person to make up for it. Ah, we're here." He parked the car across the road from her workplace, then looked at her with a friendly, but impersonal, smile. "Have a nice day at work." When she didn't move, his smile became warmer. "Buffy, I'll be all right, I promise. Trust me."

-3-

"Right, so now, we open the packet and read the instructions... Okay. Always a good idea to read the instructions before opening the packet. Make a note of that; it's a valuable lesson. Because right now, Uncle Willy is going to have to get some sellotape to work out what the bloody hell he's supposed to do with this stuff." A pause. "Ah, I think it says twenty minutes. Oi, I'm pretty sure aluminium foil isn't edible, half-pint. Give that back." A wail of protest from a very young set of lungs. "No, I'm not listening. No amount of effing and blinding is going to make me feed you aluminium foil. I might be a murderer and a rapist, but I'm a very responsible person now. New leaves turned over and everything. So I'll only feed you sensible things. Here, have a spoon. Wood, very edible, yum."

Buffy stood in the corridor outside the kitchen door and smiled. There was a stroller in the hallway, which had immediately alerted her to the fact that Dawn's babysitting job for Mrs Koslowski had materialised after all. But she hadn't expected Spike to be doing the babysitting. She entered the kitchen; she had to see this with her own eyes.

The scene that met her didn't turn out quite as homey as she had envisioned. There were toys strewn around the kitchen floor, as well as shredded bits of paper towel. The child perched on the counter beside Spike was a little Latino boy, approximately eighteen months old, wearing a pair of striped dungarees and a very startled expression on his dirty little face. Spike's long hair was tied into a ponytail, and he had acquired a shapeless beige sweater which was streaked with dust and grease. On the plus side, he didn't look gay.

"Hey, Spike. Who is that?" asked Buffy, pointing at the child.

"'That' is Pepito, Mrs Koslowski's grandson," explained Spike, who was arranging tacos on a plastic tray. "In theory, Dawn is looking after him, but she needed to go to a friend's house for ten minutes, so little Pepito and I have been doing some male bonding while I'm making dinner. Which is a very manly activity, right?"

"Dawn left you in charge of the child she's supposed to be babysitting?" exclaimed Buffy.

"It's okay. I offered. Her friend called with some crisis, and I offered to help out." Spike coughed and looked at Pepito with distress. "I haven't hurt him. He's fine, just a bit grubby, but that never hurt anyone." He looked around at the mess in the kitchen. "Um, I'll tidy up later. We got a bit carried away."

"Spike, I'm not saying you would harm him," said Buffy, realising that she had hurt his feelings. "It's just that Dawn has to learn that she can't dump her responsibilities on someone else like that."

"So what are you going to do about it? Move to England?" Spike smiled. "The point is, we all take the easy way out sometimes. She's sixteen. You didn't work at sixteen, and maybe you're not qualified to cast stones. Besides, you thought I was an okay childminder when I was a vampire, didn't you? First Dawn, now Mini Me here. I'm beginning to think I'm a natural."

"Yeah, same mental age. And talking about casting stones." Buffy put her hands on her hips. "First, I was the Slayer when I was sixteen. I had a far more important job than babysitting. Second, are you telling me you were Mister Responsibility at sixteen? I thought you were too busy being bad?"

Spike looked puzzled, then embarrassed. "Yes, well, I'm not the one casting stones." He opened the oven and prepared to put the breakfast tray in it.

Buffy rushed over to stop him. "Woah, not exactly Mister Responsibility right now, either. Plastic tray, hot oven, big disaster." Buffy took the tacos off the tray and pulled a metal one from the cupboard. "This: oven tray. This: breakfast tray. You: stupid man."

"Okay, me savvy," said Spike with that cute sheepish expression he got when he did something wrong these days. "It's weird, really. There's a difference between knowing something intellectually, and actually remembering it when it's relevant. I mean, I know plastic melts in heat, and that the real oven isn't the same as the microwave. But I forgot. Still, that's what this is for." He pointed at the spiral notepad on the counter beside Pepito.

While Spike put the tacos on the right tray, Buffy went over to take a closer look at the child, who had managed to insert the handle of the spoon into a banana. He held it up triumphantly when Buffy approached, but then his face crumpled when he saw her, and he started to bawl. Spike came over and picked him up, giving Buffy a very comical ' what have you done?' look.

"Hey, I only looked at him," she said defensively.

Spike stirred the meat for the tacos with Pepito on his hip. "Don't worry, tadpole. She might look like an ogre, but actually she's only the Slayer. Scary-looking, but not the same thing."

"Ha-ha," said Buffy, deadpan.

"While I have you here," said Spike, gesturing towards the door with his spoon. "I've left an envelope on the desk in the living-room. Can you take the cash in it and replace it with a cheque? I need to send some money to a friend, and it occurred to me that sending cash by post isn't a good idea."

Intrigued by the idea of Spike having a friend that he wanted to mail money to, Buffy went to get the envelope and her cheque book. The money was two hundred-dollar bills. She made out the cheque to the name on the envelope.

"Père Jean-Pierre Debaecke? You have a French friend in Uganda?"

"He's a Belgian missionary, actually." Spike put Pepito on the floor. The child picked up a piece of paper and started to eat it. "He got a bit of a shock when I came wandering out of the jungle. Definite Dr Livingstone moment. But he helped me a lot, so I thought I'd send him the last of my illegal cash. Well, the bit I'm not going to spend on the doctor."

Buffy was alarmed. "Why are you going to the doctor?"

"Oh, nothing serious. Just can't shake off this cough, that's all." He cleared his throat and grinned at her. "And I'm a bit behind on your average vaccinations. I'll have to find myself another demon to mug if I want to continue spending this much money."

"Or take up a job that pays more?" suggested Buffy. "Speaking of which, how's it going with the window-cleaning?"

Spike shrugged. "Well, I dropped that and got myself a job down the docks today. Get to drive a forklift truck and everything; it's a jolly sight easier than hanging out of people's windows. Tiring, though. But the lads have invited me out for a drink on Friday. Should be a laugh. Not to mention a novelty."

"What, you having friends? Yeah, that's new," said Buffy, though she realised she was being a little unfair. It wasn't as if people she didn't even recognise came up to her in the mall after she was resurrected. She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

They both looked at Pepito. He grinned at them. Spike looked appalled.

"You're a woman, you know how to change nappies, right?" he said, a note of panic in his voice.

"Oh, no." Buffy took a step back and raised her hands. "Nappies, diapers, Buffy. Totally unmixy things. I think his Uncle Willy should take care of that. You're Mr Natural Babysitter; you can deal with it."

Spike frowned with determination. "You're right, I can. I can do anything if I put my mind to it. You do the dinner. I'll do the nappy." Still holding on to Pepito, he rummaged around in a plastic bag on the floor and pulled out a packet of diapers. "Still, didn't have to do this kind of thing when I was a vampire. I used to have minions and everything," he grumbled as he headed for the bathroom.

Buffy stirred the meat, smiling at the thought of Spike changing a diaper. Maybe this was karmic payback for his past crimes. Forget agonising guilt and getting an honest job; changing a diaper was a true test of a man's redemption. She wondered if Angel had changed his son's diapers too.

Looking around, Buffy's eyes fell on Spike's spiral notebook. She hesitated, then decided that looking at the page it was open on wouldn't do any harm. Without touching the notebook, she glanced at the top page. After a few seconds, she realised that what she had initially read as 'donut leach dekic Hungo mith uot bunob' was actually 'Do not touch electric things with wet hands'.

"Boy, Spike should have been a doctor with handwriting like that!" she said, shaking her head. The other items in his list were equally uninspiring; most sounded as if he had copied them off signs and instructions, like 'do not refreeze once defrosted'. That one had a question mark beside it. Buffy couldn't blame him; she'd always meant to find out why too.

She noticed that the paper had several deep troughs in it, as if he had drawn something with very heavy strokes on a previous page. Buffy went to stir the meat, then chopped up a couple of tomatoes and some lettuce, trying to resist temptation. She had finished grating the cheese when she finally gave in. Flicking back a couple of pages on Spike's notepad, she found a crude biro drawing of a man gouging out his own eyes. The caption was in capitals, clearly legible. OEDIPUS PECCATOR. Totally freaked out, Buffy turned back to the last page and went back to making the dinner. Maybe there were parts of Spike's mind she didn't need to know about.

*Oedipus, In Greek mythology, king of Thebes who unwittingly killed his father, Laius, and married his mother, Jocasta, in fulfilment of a prophecy. When he learned what he had done, he put out his eyes. His story was dramatized by the Greek tragedian Sophocles.*

Great. Tell me something I don't know, thought Buffy as she closed the heavy encyclopaedia with a thud, and pushed it further down the dining table. She had hoped to find out something about Oedipus that would tell her more about Spike. But there was probably nothing more to his drawing than a straightforward parallel between two heinous criminals who had seen the error of their ways. She wondered if Oedipus had made amends the way Spike was doing. She smiled as she heard Pepito's squeals of laughter from the living-room.

She had started to do her evening class homework when Dawn came home nearly an hour later. As her sister crept through the front door, Buffy leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, waiting for Dawn to notice her.

"Oh, hey, Buffy," said Dawn with an embarrassed smile. "Have a good day at work?"

"Where have you been?" asked Buffy. "You were supposed to be looking after Mrs Koslowki's grandson."

"I know, but Charlene called. Her boyfriend dumped her, and when I told Spike, he said I should go see her, because that's what good friends do and he would be okay." Dawn's eyes widened in alarm. "He is okay, right? I mean, Pepito. Spike didn't do anything..."

Buffy kept a stern expression; Dawn deserved to feel bad for her dereliction of duty. On the other hand, she couldn't exactly lie to her. "Spike and Pepito are fine. They were having a great time when I came home. They're playing in the living-room right now."

The sisters fell silent for a moment, listening for sounds of play. When there were none, Buffy crossed the hallway and looked into the living-room.

"Okay, now I know Spike has been replaced by an alien," said Dawn, looking over her shoulder.

Spike was lying on the couch, buried in the large cushions and his oversized sweater. Pepito was laid out on his chest. Both of them were fast asleep, and, in Spike's case, snoring.

"Men. No stamina," said Buffy with a laugh. She indicated the kitchen. "Do you want some dinner? Spike made it. He's finally worked out that all you need to cook is to be able to read."

"Cool." Dawn got herself a plate. She sat down and turned to face Buffy, wringing her hands nervously as she spoke. "I'm really sorry about the Pepito thing. I know I said I'd do it, and I knew it was more important than Charlene's problems. But Spike seemed to really like Pepito, so I kinda let him talk me into going to see her. Which I know is totally my fault, because even though I'm saying it was Spike's idea, I really did want to go to Charlene's. The thing is, I've never looked after a child as young as Pepito, and it was kinda scary. So I totally realise I took the easy way out." She looked at the sink. "Tell you what. You forgive me, and I'll not only look after Pepito when he wakes up, but I'll do the dishes too, okay?"

"Sounds good to me. But you're still grounded."

"Aw, Buffy!"

Buffy smiled as she pulled the tacos and meat from the warm oven. She laid them out on a mat on the breakfast bar, then handed Dawn the salad. "Count yourself lucky. You're grounded, but I'll forgive you. Just this once, mind, and only because Spike was having so much fun. But you can't go around shirking your responsibilities just because you feel like it. I've been there, and I know it's a bad thing."

"I'm totally with you, Buffy. I won't do it again, no matter what Spike says." Dawn prepared her first taco. "Oh, before I forget. Xander called and wants us all to go out to the Bronze on Friday night. But I guess I can't go if I'm grounded." She shrugged, clearly not heartbroken about missing a night at the Bronze. "Oh well, television night with Spike, then."

"I think Spike is going out with his co-workers," said Buffy. She sighed. "It's weird. It'll just be me and Xander at the Bronze. There used to be so many other people. Willow, Tara, Anya, Riley, and...Cordelia, Oz, Angel. They're all gone. I used to have all these friends, and now it's just me and Xander."

Dawn smiled. "Well, maybe you should break the habits of the last six years, and actually make some new friends. I mean Spike's been working less than a week, and he's already got friends he goes out with."

"Yeah. I guess he's really fitting in now that he's human. He's adapting amazingly well." Her eyes fell on Spike's notepad. "Well, mostly."

"Yeah, mostly," agreed Dawn. "He looks like he's all happy and adapted, but I'm not sure." She frowned and bit into her taco, careful not to let it break. "He's so different. I know a soul makes a difference, and I guess when you think about Angel and Angelus, it makes sense. It's just kinda weird because we've only known Spike as a soulless vampire, so we think that's 'normal' for him. Who knows what's normal for human Spike? But still... It feels like he's putting on a show. I think you should talk to him about it."

"Me? Why me?"

"Who else is going to do it? Xander? And I wouldn't know where to start. At least you know something about being resurrected and not wanting to talk about it, right?"

Buffy guffawed. "Oh yeah. A whole year of depression really makes me Good Advice Girl. What am I going to tell him? Find himself a nice vampire girlfriend he can knock about...with. I don't think he'll be ready to take that kind of advice from me. He saw exactly how I was. Telling him to snap out of it would be really casting stones territory."

"But you got better. Spike knows that. Unless you're pretending again," said Dawn, giving her a suspicious look.

"No! I'm better. Totally fixed. Totally clueless about what to do with Spike, but totally fixed." Buffy sighed. "I promise I'll talk to him." She smiled at Dawn. "What would I do without my wise little sister?"

"Beats me. I'm way more grown-up than you sometimes," said Dawn as she broke her taco and got covered in gravy and tomato salsa.

The headlights of a car cast fleeting shadows across the sloping ceiling of Buffy's bedroom as it sped down the street. She turned to look at her clock and sighed. Buffy rarely woke up with a desire to pee in the middle of night, but when she did, there was nothing for it; she pulled on a robe and answered the call of nature. Coming out of the bathroom, she noticed a light downstairs and went to investigate.

Spike was sitting at the desk in the living-room; this time, Giles' books were cast aside, and he was working on Willow's computer. Buffy smiled at the thought of a nineteenth century vampire having computer skills. She sashayed into the room, the robe she had inherited from her mother creating a soft swishing noise as she came to stand beside Spike.

He didn't look at her, choosing instead to concentrate on the screen. His face was drawn and tired; not surprising, considering it was three in the morning. Buffy wondered how often he stayed up this late. It wasn't unusual these days for her to find that things had been moved during the night.

"Hello, staying-uppy person. What are you doing still awake?" asked Buffy. "Don't you need to get up in the morning to go down the docks or something?"

"Oh, I'll be all right. Don't need much sleep."

"Guess that's what you get for taking a nap after dinner."

Spike chuckled, but still didn't take his eyes off the screen. Looking over his shoulder, Buffy could see a picture of a young woman with straight blonde hair and a sad look on her face. It looked like a still from a security camera. Buffy's heart missed a beat when she recognised the man standing behind the woman.

"Angel?"

"Yeah, big fat slob these days, isn't he? He's obviously been going heavy on the old pig's blood." Spike shrugged and tapped the screen, on the woman's face. "I'm more interested in Darla, actually. Curious to know how she was when she was brought back human, before Dru turned her again." A wicked smile lit up his face. "Apparently, according to this web site, Peaches had a crisis of faith and jumped her, hoping to lose his soul. Gained a son instead. Darla obviously didn't have the Buffy touch."

Buffy glared at him. "Maybe you should be getting more sleep after all. Seems to be affecting your mood."

"Chance would be a fine thing," he muttered. Then he shook his head and, without looking at Buffy, stood up. "Anyway. Fancy a drink?"

Buffy indicated that she didn't. When he left, she headed for the door, intent on returning to bed. She was in no mood for an argument with a bad-moody Spike. She reconsidered when she reached the door. Spike really needed her help, and she had promised Dawn that she would talk to him. Three in the morning was a classic time to find out what was bugging someone.

She sat down in the seat he had vacated and scrolled through the web page, following random links to see what Spike had been reading. The site was dedicated to the Master and his vampire progeny. There were sections on Darla, Drusilla, Spike and Angel -- several pages' worth, in the latter case -- and of course, a whole page on his son Connor. Who seemed to be also called Stephen, and appeared to be in his teens. None of which made sense, though that wasn't Buffy's main interest at that point. Glancing to her left to make sure Spike wasn't coming back, she clicked on the section dedicated to 'William the Bloody'. There were several screens of text, pictures from his past, and a link to a thesis someone at the Council of Watchers had written on him. Buffy was most interested in the pictures.

The earliest showed him as a longhaired youth, dressed up like something from the Waltons, with an oversized shirt and buttoned pants held up by braces. Dru sat by his side, a deceptively demure figure wrapped in shawls and frills, her dark hair trailing on her shoulders. Buffy smiled at the couple's shiny Marcel waves in the Twenties, and at Spike's dark James Dean coif a few decades later. A colour picture showed him in a bowler hat, one eye made up with exaggerated false eyelashes, as he mugged for the camera with an evil smirk on his handsome face.

Less amusing was the picture of the vampire couple posing in front of a Nazi flag. And the one where Spike had thrown a casual arm around Dru's shoulder as she cradled the body of a dead child, its lifeless eyes staring at the camera from a small face caked with blood. The picture sent shivers down Buffy's spine as she remembered Spike and Pepito playing together earlier that evening.

Scrolling further down, Buffy was horrified to find that the most recent photo was one of Spike with her. They were standing together in the woods, Spike's hands resting on her shoulders, his expression grim but determined. Buffy's face was turned away from the camera, but she knew exactly at what moment this picture had been taken. It was the night of the wonky time demons, when she had discovered Katrina's body. Tears stung her eyes when she remembered what else had happened that night. But that was all in the past, like Spike's crimes and his desperate attempt to rape her. They were different people now.

"Doesn't make for cheerful reading, does it, love?"

Spike's voice behind her made Buffy jump. She sprang out of the chair and turned to face him. He was holding a cup of tea and a plate of cheese and biscuits.

"Still creeping up on people, I see," she said nervously.

"Old habits die hard," he said, managing to look sinister despite the glasses and beard.

With Spike standing so close, Buffy was suddenly acutely aware that she was wearing only a flimsy robe. Looking down, she noticed that it had fallen open, uncovering one leg almost to the crotch. She closed it with haste, then realised that Spike wasn't even looking at her. His red-rimmed eyes were still on the screen. He sipped his cup of tea.

"I see your nerdy friends made the most of their hidden cameras."

Buffy glanced at the photograph. "Guess so. It makes sense that they would send all their stuff out on the Internet." Spike looked miserable; she tried to think of something that might cheer him up. "I hope they didn't catch the two of us on film. That's definitely the type of thing they'd want on the Internet!"

Spike nodded, clearly not listening to her. He seemed to be lost in thought. Determined to keep her promise to Dawn and talk things out with him, Buffy put her hand on his arm.

"Spike, are you okay? You said you'd be okay, but I'm kinda getting the vibe that you're not. I know I've been all with the 'everyone is happy, lalala', but if something is bothering you, you'll let me know, right?"

"What, like the fact that you seem be channelling Anya?" he said with a smile, taking Buffy's hand off him. His smile faded and he went to sit on the couch. He placed his cup and plate on the coffee table, then leaned on his knees, looking down. "All right, I'll admit that I'm having some little problems with the guilt. Problems like not being able to sleep at night. It's to be expected, right? But I'm not going to sit around moping about it. I'm in control of my destiny as a human being, and I'm...controlling it."

"Good. Because controlling your destiny? Totally a good thing. If you're controlling it for good, obviously." She came to sit beside him and helped herself to a piece of Cheddar. "I didn't know you liked cheese."

"There are lots of things you don't know about me, love."

Evidently, thought Buffy as she sampled another piece of cheese. There were three varieties on the plate Spike had prepared; she made a mental note to check the wrappers in the morning to find out what they were. Somehow, she felt that initiating a conversation about cheese with Spike right then would be anticlimactic. She had a far more serious matter to discuss with him.

"Spike, can I ask you a question? How does Oedipus fit in to all this? I-I saw your drawing."

Spike's expression turned stormy. "You're spying on me?"

"No. I'm sorry, you left your notepad on the counter and I-- I thought it might mean something. Something I could help you with. I don't know much, but I know he's the guy who killed his father and slept with his mother, then gouged out his own eyes." She looked at him with fear. "Is that what you did? I mean, the killing and sleeping thing, not the eye bit, obviously."

"No." Spike rolled his eyes. "That's Angelus' brief. Mind you, technically, Dru was my 'mother' since she sired me. But Oedipus... It's a long story." He stood up and went back to the desk to look at the drawing on his notepad. "It's just a poignant image of a man who can't bear what he's done."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Buffy was disappointed. "I just thought there might be more to it."

"There is, actually," said Spike, his back still turned. "After his crimes were discovered, Oedipus was shunned by everyone except his daughter Antigone. He was exiled for years, until he became the subject of another prophecy, which said he'd bring a blessing to anyone who took him in and gave him a final resting place. Chap called Theseus did it and got the blessing."

"So... Does that make me Theseus?" asked Buffy, coming to stand beside him.

Spike laughed. "Very good, pet. You'd come first in a game of 'connect the dots'. Yeah, I can see you as Theseus. He's the one who defeated the Minotaur and founded Athens. Big hero type. Definitely very you."

"Cool," said Buffy with a grin. "So what happened to Oedipus? He just died?"

"Yes. But the interesting thing is, Sophocles never tells the audience whether he went to heaven or to hell. I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. He's done evil, he's done good, but we never find out if the good outstripped the evil. What's important is that he did good after he did evil, not whether he got a reward for it. Or maybe I'm projecting. Oh, I don't know." He shrugged and, realising that Buffy was standing right next to him, went to sit on the couch again. "It's late; you should be getting some sleep, not listening to me whinge."

Buffy sat beside him, wrapping her robe tightly around her. "You're not whinging; you've got good reasons to be unhappy. And I want to help. You tried to help me when I was kind of in the whole guilty about the way I felt thing last year, after all. And it did help. Sometimes." Spike was still looking away from her, his long hair hiding his face. "So, why don't we talk about it? Are you feeling guilty and you think you shouldn't feel guilty, or are you feeling guilty about not feeling guilty enough?"

"Oh, I've got the guilt, and I'm dealing with the guilt," said Spike with determination. "You deal with the guilt, you do good things, you move on, right? Brooding is just a waste of time. Just becomes self-pity after a while."

"Totally." Buffy nodded, though she wondered if the brooding bit was a dig at Angel. "I think you're doing really well, Spike." She put her hand on his knee. "You're a really good person."

Spike stood up with a sarcastic little laugh. "Not really. But I can be. It's all about potential, right? That's why I became human." Buffy watched his prominent Adam's apple quiver beneath his beard as he struggled to find the right words. "Thing is, it's not what I expected. I thought having a soul meant I'd know what's right and wrong, where I belong, what I need to do to be good. But it doesn't. I'm just as lost as I was when I was a vampire."

"Except that now, you're a good person," insisted Buffy. "You're connecting with people you don't know, even helping complete strangers."

"Skip the broken record, Buffy," he said, glowering at her through his glasses. "How do you know that I'm good now? I made friends and helped strangers when I was a vampire too. But I was evil, so it didn't matter, right?" He raised his hand before Buffy could answer. "I know, I know. Didn't have the whole good and evil concepts worked out right, and that's true. A soul makes a big difference when it comes to understanding things. Even caught the old September-the-elenventhitis."

Spike waved his hand at the television and started pacing. "Last year, it was all 'Brilliant, they knocked the towers down!', now I get the-- the whole thing. People waving towels out of windows above the point of impact, jumping out of the hundredth floor, that stuff. I get it. I understand why evil is bad." He smoothed his long hair back. "But that's the thing, isn't it? What's the point me being a bloody human if Ossama-blimming-Laden can kill as many people in one day as I ate in a year? Ten years, even!"

"There's no reason to think you're still going to be a murderer just because one other human is," said Buffy. She stood up and took a step in his direction, but he nailed her to the spot with a withering glare. "Most humans aren't like that, Spike."

"Most humans aren't like that?" exclaimed Spike, increasingly agitated. "I lived in bloody Nazi Germany. Given the right incentive, every human is like that. You know the first thing I saw when I came out of the bloody jungle and collapsed in Père Debaecke's mission? Rwandan refugees. Survivors of the massacre eight years ago. There was this little girl, about thirteen years old. Must have been five when the massacres happened. They'd hacked off her arms and legs. Probably raped her too, then left her for dead. She didn't speak. Didn't do much; couldn't, really, with all her limbs missing."

He lifted his heavy glasses for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose. "She smiled when she saw me; thought I was hilarious with my white skin and peroxide hair. But the point is, humans did that to her. No demons, no witches, just plain human nature. Neighbour turned against neighbour. And there I was, crawling out of my cave with my brand new beating heart, thinking it was going to cure me of being a monster. It made me realise I might have lost my physical demon, but the real one was still in here." He pressed his hand to his chest. "Made me wonder why I bothered. I mean, what difference does it make, being a vampire or a man when men do such awful things?"

"You know me. Not Philosophy Girl here," started Buffy, moving closer to him. "But I guess as I see it, the difference between a vampire and a man, is that the man has a choice whether to hack off the little girl's limbs or make her smile."

"I made her smile all right." Spike stopped his incessant movement and closed his eyes. "But last year, I made you smile too, once or twice. And in the end, I still couldn't bloody control myself." He opened his eyes again, fixing his shiny blue gaze on Buffy. "When push comes to shove, who's to say I'm not going to be the man with the machete?"

"I guess you're right: we don't know." She took his hands. "But things are different, Spike. That September-the-eleventhitis makes all the difference." Now that she had his complete attention, Buffy smoothed a lock of curly hair behind Spike's ear. "All vampires are killers. Only some humans are killers. So as a new human, I can assume that you're not a killer until you actually kill. I can give you the benefit of the doubt."

"I suppose so," conceded Spike. He pulled away from her and went to get some cheese from the coffee table.

"So we're all agreed," said Buffy, pointing at him. "No more 'some humans are bad so I must be bad' crap. You should repeat 'I am a good person' five times every morning, just to get used to the idea."

"Yes, mistress." He smiled at her, then lowered his eyes. "'I am a good person' will certainly make a change from the old 'I am an evil, disgusting thing'."

-4-

Buffy looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She had opted for a subdued look: hair done up in a loose bun, a top that hid her top and a bottom that hid her bottom. She looked nice. Not sexy or sassy, just nice. Seemed good for an evening with her last remaining high school friend.

When she came downstairs, Buffy was relieved to see Spike at the door, getting ready to go out with his co-workers. She had barely seen him since their quasi-heart to heart two nights earlier. He was gone before she woke up in the mornings, and stayed only long enough to have some dinner in the evenings.

Spike was putting on a brown corduroy jacket that looked like it came from a Goodwill shop. He glanced at Buffy's sleeveless knitted top with amusement.

"What happened - didn't have enough wool for the sleeves?" He grinned when Buffy gave him a dirty look. "You look lovely. I'm sure Xander will be impressed."

"Yeah." Buffy put her hands behind her back and looked at the floor. "So, I didn't hear you come home last night. What were you doing?"

"I had a job interview. Bartender; they thought I should see the place in full swing. Met someone I knew, actually." He raised his finger. "You sort of know her too. She's that English girl I was talking to the other week." Buffy wasn't sure what to make of that. He was seeing strange women behind her back? "She's a nice girl. Invited me to a party."

Attracted by the sound of the word 'party', Dawn came out of the living room. "A party? Can I come?"

"No, you can't," Spike told her. "It's adults only."

"Adults only?" Dawn made a face. "What is it, an orgy?"

Spike laughed. "I don't think so. Probably just means there'll be a great deal of booze." He gave Buffy a friendly smile. "It's a bring your own friends kind of party, though, so you can come along. Seeing as you're all free, white and twenty-one."

Buffy tried to frown, then returned his smile reluctantly. "Don't say that kind of thing in public!"

"Yeah. Politically incorrect is my middle name. Anyway, I must be off." He rummaged in his pockets. "Let's see, driver's licence, car papers, keys. I think I have everything."

"You have a driver's licence?" exclaimed Dawn with excitement. "Can I see it?"

"No," said Spike automatically. She gave him a pleading look, and he relented. "No laughing at the picture, right?"

"Promise!" Dawn snatched the card out of his hands and scrutinised it. "Gee, you couldn't have picked a worse picture, could you?" She looked up at him. "1977? You want people to believe you're twenty-five?"

"Why, what's wrong with that?" Spike snatched the driver's licence back. "You don't think I look twenty-five?"

"More like twenty-five going on forty," said Dawn with a mischievous grin.

"Well, that's not bad for someone who's 158," grumbled Spike as he opened the front door. He came nose to nose with Xander. "All things considered, I think I look a lot better than some 21-year-olds."

Buffy actually thought that Xander was looking very good. His hair was neatly cut and he was wearing a light blue shirt and dark slacks. By comparison, Spike looked old-fashioned and scruffy. He had slicked back his long hair into a ponytail; between that and the beard, all he needed was a beer belly and an earring, and he would have made a perfect Hell's Angel. Minus the corduroy jacket, obviously.

The two men glared at each other while Spike pushed out the door. As soon as the former vampire was outside, Xander turned to Buffy with an evil grin. Well, what passed for an evil grin anyway; it was kinda goofy.

"Buffy, did you know someone dumped their old car on your driveway?" He said in a loud voice. "I haven't seen a Yugo in years. You know the joke: 'Yugo, but it doesn't'." He looked over his shoulder and shook his head. "Wow. That is quite some pile of junk!"

"Well, you know me. Always wanted a little pile of junk to call my own," said Spike, standing behind him. He took a look at Xander's flashy new car and grinned. "What can I say, mate? Some of us don't need to compensate."

"Compensate?" repeated Xander with a laugh. He pointed at the Yugo. "You would have to be hung like a--" He noticed Dawn standing in the doorway to the living room and stopped abruptly. Spike laughed; Dawn and Xander looked at Buffy.

"Come on, Xander. Let's go," said Buffy, pushing him down the porch steps. Spike's need to compensate or lack thereof was not something she was prepared to discuss with any of them. "Dawn, make sure you keep everything locked up. I won't be home late."

"Evening with Harris, I should think not," said Spike as he got in the Yugo. "You take care of yourself, nibblet."

Dawn assured them both that everything would be fine, and Buffy followed Xander to his car. He leaned on his steering wheel for a while, watching Spike back out of the driveway and then rattle off.

"You know, I'm not a petty man," he started. "But I have to say that seeing Spike drive a Yugo has pretty much made my day."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Way to go with the not pettiness. I'm sure you and Spike can have a pissing contest later. Can we go now?"

The Bronze just wasn't what it used to be, thought Buffy wistfully. Gone were the hip teenagers from Sunnydale High. It looked as if most of the patrons were thirtysomething executives now; people with jobs, and mortgages, and responsibilities. Just like Xander and herself. Minus the being a thirtysomething executive part.

So far, the two high school friends had talked about the demons Buffy had slayed, about Xander's construction work, about how Dawn was doing at school. They had even touched upon the issue of whether the US should get involved in a war with Iraq. In short, they had talked about everything except Spike. Of course, that couldn't last.

"So, what is with the bearded wonder these days anyway?" asked Xander. "He seems very happy for someone who ate, murdered and raped his way across the world for two hundred years. You'd think he would at least have the grace to feel sorry about what he did. Especially what he did to you."

"Oh, yeah. Because what he nearly did to me was so much worse than all the eating, murdering and actual raping he did." Buffy shook her head. "Well, for your info, he's not happy, no matter how cheerful he might look. I live with him, I see him every day, and I know it's all a front. He doesn't sleep. He can't look at himself in a mirror. He's drawing garish pictures of himself as Oedipus tearing his eyes out. He's not all broody like Angel, but I know he's totally with the guilt."

"Oedipus? What, like the play we did at the high school talent show?"

"The play we did at the -- Oh, my God. I forgot all about that!" Buffy looked down into her glass of wine with horror. "I played Oedipus' Mom!"

"Yeah. Load of crap. And I am so glad I've never had to learn lines since. I'm totally not with the learning lines." Xander shrugged, then turned to Buffy with a shocked expression. "Spike slept with his Mom?"

"No, it's a guilt thing. Oedipus did horrible things, Spike did horrible things. Oedipus gouged out his eyes, Spike is kinda, well, not Spike anymore. But that doesn't matter." She noticed that Xander had finished his beer. "Here, I'll get some more drink."

Moving to the centre of the room, Buffy hopped up and down to see how big the throng around the bar was. Only two or three people deep, with two bartenders serving. She could probably get a drink in fifteen minutes.

Looking around while she waited, she noticed Spike leaning at the bar. He was talking to a big, burly guy covered in tattoos. The contrast in size made Spike look very small and delicate. His face was animated, and he was gesturing as if he were telling the man a fascinating story. Buffy wondered what stories he could tell; it would take an enormous pack of lies to transform Spike's past life into anything he could relate to a stranger. But it was good to see him so intense, a little of his old fire coming back. She pushed her way through the crowd to see if she could hear anything, slipping in behind Spike, where he wouldn't notice her.

"That's the thing, see?" he was saying. "It's nearly impossible to do on your own, but once you've got a leg up, and someone says 'Go on, son, you can do it', then you've got a fighting chance, right?"

"Yeah. I get that," said the other guy.

"See, the thing is, we've supposedly 'paid our debt to society', but now we've got to prove it. The rest of our lives has to be proof that we've learned our lesson and that we've changed our ways."

"Totally." The man leaned towards him and spoke in a low voice that Buffy's Slayer senses could barely pick up. "William, don't look now, but I think that girl behind you totally digs you."

"Blonde hair, big eyes, knee-high to a grasshopper?" Spike spun around. "Hello, Buffy. I know you liked spying on me, but this is getting a bit much, don't you think?"

"I don't spy on you!" She looked at Spike's friend with embarrassment. "I totally don't. He's lying. I just...wondered what you were talking about."

"Redemption. Joe here went to jail too," he said, giving Buffy a significant 'play along with this' look. "We were discussing how you become a good person again when you've been really, really bad."

The bartender came over with several beers. There were apparently more drinks to come; Spike said he would wait for them. Joe excused himself to carry the first batch over to the other workers.

"You're an ex-con now?" exclaimed Buffy the minute Joe was out of earshot. "Spike--"

"Had to come up with something, didn't I?" said Spike with a shrug. "When Joe gave me his sob story about being a jailbird, I thought 'hey, kindred spirit'. Told him I was in the clink in England, though, in case he started getting technical. I can always draw on old episodes of Porridge for witty anecdotes... Porridge is a British sitcom about a prison, in case you're wondering."

"The British have a sitcom about a prison?" Buffy raised her hand. "I know, British humour. I wouldn't understand."

"So where's hyena boy?" asked Spike, looking around. "Weren't you two having a hot date?"

"It was not a hot date, and he's over there, waiting for his drink." Buffy pointed to where she and Xander had been sitting, but he was nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, the seats were already re-occupied. She turned back towards Spike. "You think I'm dating Xander?"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "If you were, he'd be round your place every day marking his territory. But you could do a lot worse. He's a decent fellow when he's not being a jerk."

"So are you. Look, I love Xander very much. He's my best friend, the only person I know who has never abandoned me. But I would never date him in a million years; it's too squicky and he's just not my type. And why are you singing his praises all of a sudden anyway? I thought you--"

She realised that Spike was looking over her shoulder with a sheepish smile. "Oh, hello, mate," he said. "We were just talking about you." He picked up the drinks which had accumulated on the counter. "If you'll excuse me. I have a bunch of thirsty dockers to water."

"No, don't--" started Buffy. She watched him join his friends at the pool table, and sticking his tongue out as he lowered the drinks onto a nearby table. Buffy rolled her eyes and turned towards Xander. "Look, I didn't mean--"

"To hurt me. I know. I guess I have to face the fact that a long-haired murderer who drives a Yugo always gets the girl."

Buffy resisted the urge to punch him. "That's harsh, Xander. First, I'm not a 'girl' to be gotten. Second, Spike isn't getting me. I'm helping him through a very difficult period in his life because he needs me and it's the right thing to do!"

"The right thing to do is chuck him out and let someone else deal with him," said Xander, pointing at Spike. "He has friends now, and you don't owe him anything, even if he did become human to get back in your pants. I don't like seeing you being manipulated by that murderous rapist!"

"I'm not being manipulated. God, Xander, give me some credit here!" She clutched her purse and walked past him. "I'm going home. I told Dawn I would be home early."

Xander caught her arm. "Buffy. Don't let that asshole--"

"Oi, leave her alone!" Spike was now standing beside him. "You have a problem with the 'asshole', maybe you should take it up with him, not Buffy."

"Yeah. I will." Xander let go of Buffy and spun on Spike. They were roughly the same height, and were able to glare at each other eye to eye. "What's with the new Neanderthal look, Spike? Guess when you asked to be made 'human', you forgot to specify 'homo sapiens', huh?"

Spike rubbed his hairy cheek with a chuckle. "Well, ever since I've become human, I must admit I feel as if my knuckles are scraping the floor. It's not easy being a monkey again."

"On behalf of my six billion co-monkeys: 'hey!'," exclaimed Xander. He poked Spike in the chest. "I'm not taking that kind of talk from someone who looks like a mouldy old college professor."

Spike looked down at his beige sweater and dark pants. He spread his hands with resignation. "Just goes to show," he said, speaking to himself rather than Xander. "No matter how far you run or how hard you fight it, you always turn into your old Dad."

Xander blanched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your father was a college professor?" asked Buffy, though neither man acknowledged her.

A wicked smile lit up Spike's face as he leaned towards Xander; Buffy could nearly see the peroxide hair growing back. "That's right. Have some father issues, don't we, thumper? Old man always at your Mum, grinding her down, humiliating her in front of all her mates. Oh yes, I can see it writ large. All those years of picking over every little thing Anya said--"

"Don't you talk about Anya!"

"--poking fun at her unhuman ways. I know who you take after, mate. You might have left the basement and run all the way into a Chrysler Sebring and a flat in the sky, but you're still going to turn out just like your good old Dad."

Xander seized Spike's sweater and threw him against a column. "I'm not going to stand here and be insulted by a disgusting rapist like you, Spike. I'm not afraid of you. You're just a vile manipulative liar. I don't buy this 'I'm so sorry' routine, and I'm guessing you didn't become human to take up a job with Amnesty International. Why did you do it, Spike? Discovered that raping her wasn't going to work and decided to turn on the pathos instead? It's obviously working. She's so blinded by whatever it is that makes you so irresistible to her, that she's letting you walk all over her."

"Hey. 'Her' is standing right here!" exclaimed Buffy. She threw her hands up in the air when both men ignored her. "Oh. Testosterone poisoning. I forgot."

"I am not manipulating her," said Spike through clenched teeth. He shoved Xander away. "Buffy's a big girl. She doesn't need some toothless puppy dog to defend her."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Thank you."

"She's not that strong, or she wouldn't have let a creep like you even get near enough to try to rape her. If I'd caught you after you did that to her--"

"Believe me, there are days I wish you had. Look, I'll leave you alone." Spike went to walk past him. "I have no quarrel with you, Xander."

The other man caught him by the arm. "Hey, I'm talking to you, you bastard. Why don't you just explain why you became human, huh? Thought it would make you any less of a worthless asshole? You know what your problem is, Spike? You don't know when to give up. She'll never love you, not really. Whatever she felt was all about your strength and the thrill of you being a vampire. You're just a loser, Spike."

Buffy could only see Spike's face in profile, but even under the beard and glasses, she recognised the expression on his face. "Xander!" she warned.

But it was too late; Spike drove his fist back over his shoulder, dealing Xander a hard blow to the nose. He spun around and caught the other man by the shirt before he fell to the ground.

"Fair enough. But you know what your problem is, Xander? You're the kind of guy who thinks that being bullied at school gives you a right to be a jerk." Spike staggered back as Xander shoved him off. "Well, I know all about that, mate. Why don't we go outside and see who's the biggest bully?"

"Okay. I'm out of here!" exclaimed Buffy, waving her arms to make sure they both saw her. "I'm way too old to be playing in a sandbox!"

"Who do they think they were, anyway?" muttered Buffy as she hurried home through the alleys of Sunnydale. "Fighting like school kids! Way to go with the mature. Spike is twenty-five?" She guffawed. "More like five. When is he going to learn that his fists aren't going to solve his problems?" Looking down, Buffy realised that her outfit was covered in vampire dust. "Oh, crap. Vampire dust again. I should bottle it and sell it. There must be someone somewhere who could use it. God knows spells use every other bizarro ingredient in the universe. There must be one that uses vampire dust!"

Buffy kicked a can out of her way. She had killed two vampires and still she was in a bad mood. Very unusual. And it was all Spike's fault. That bastard, coming back all human and remorseful, and then not wanting to talk about things, and being all weird and different. And then picking a fight with Xander out of the blue. She had thought Spike had changed! But no, it was still all macho, 'I'm the Big Bad'-ness all around.

Buffy turned and punched her hand clean through the bulky demon that had been shadowing her, pulling out its guts and tossing them to the ground with disgust.

"Why won't he talk to me? Tell me how he really feels about having his soul back?" she asked the demon as it lunged towards her again. She kicked it hard. "And why does he get to be normal guy? It's just not fair." Buffy broke the demon's neck. "He gets to have all these friends and a normal job, and a whole future to look forward to." She pouted as the demon dissolved. "And the only friend I have left is Xander."

Infomercials. More brain-numbing and soul-sucking than a...brain-numbing, soul-sucking thing. Buffy stared at the screen, mesmerised by the whole idiocy of big-haired, toothy actresses waxing lyrical about the properties of a toilet brush. Dawn had long since gone to bed, but Buffy had decided to wait for Spike to come home. It was time she gave him a piece of her mind.

Unable to stand the inanity of late night television any longer, she turned off the TV and walked over to the desk to look at the papers Spike had left there. He had evidently continued his studies; there were print outs and pieces of paper with hand-written notes on them shoved into virtually every book. Most were about vampires, and in particular Darla, but one, written in very small handwriting on the back of one of her mother's old business cards, looked like a rhyme. Bringing the paper up to the lamp, Buffy was just able to read it.

So I return to the land of painted grass
Where in silicon breasts beat hearts of glass
Victorious in my trials, I bow my head in defeat
As I lay my weary warrior's body at my love's stony feet

Buffy stared at the paper for a moment, shaken by the idea of Spike writing poetry. What did it mean? Was she still the 'love' he mentioned in the poem? If so, what did the 'silicon breasts' and 'stony feet' mean? And did Spike really think fake breasts were made of the same stuff as computer chips?

She was still puzzling over the poem when she heard the sound of a key in the door. Caught unawares, Buffy hastily pushed the card back into one of the books, but not fast enough that Spike didn't notice.

"What are you doing?" he growled. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and she got the full effect of his blue-eyed glare.

"N-Nothing." She faced him and crossed her arms. "So who won?"

"What?" Spike was still looking at the papers. "Oh. You mean me and Xander. It was a draw." His lips twisted into something that was not quite a smile. "He broke my glasses; I tossed him into a dustbin. We called it quits. Spent the evening down the Jackrabbit with my mates from work. The Jackrabbit actually looks quite posh when you can't see a bloody thing. Though the girls looked a bit like gyrating Energizer bunnies: fuzzy and pink." He frowned. "Were you reading my things?"

"I wasn't-- I was bored and so I was looking around. And--And you left them there! It's not like I'm poking around your room." Spike lowered his eyes with a tilt of the head which acknowledged this point. "Anyway, Xander broke your glasses? What are you going to do?"

"Not see for a while. He said he'd get me a new pair." Spike smiled. "Seems we're best mates now. Mind you, he was pretty rat-arsed." He leaned against the wall, and stared at the floor with a gloomy expression.

Buffy approached, but tonight, he didn't pull away. The speech she had prepared to give him, berating him for letting Xander goad him into a fist fight, had completely dropped out of her head.

"What's wrong, Spike?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing."

Spike glanced at Buffy, then looked away, shaking his head sheepishly. He looked ashamed and upset. Even though she didn't understand what was wrong, Buffy slid one arm around his neck, drawing him close to her for a consoling hug. He nuzzled her cheek, his warm breath and prickly beard tickling her skin. Her heartbeat quickened as his arms slid around her. He smelled of shampoo and sweat; she turned her face towards his. Their lips touched once, barely brushing against each other, and then a second time, this time in a quick, chaste kiss.

Buffy drew away slightly to stare at Spike. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted by his ragged breath. She felt a rush of desire at the realisation that he wanted her, and leaned forward to renew the kiss. Spike pulled away.

"Oh, God." He stepped back and raised his hand. "Not a good idea. We agreed, right?"

"Yeah. Of course." He was right. Kissing Spike was not good. Not good at all. "You're right, we agreed. It-it's just because it's late, and you seemed so unhappy, and you... smell really good."

Spike burst out laughing. "God, that's-- That certainly puts things into perspective." He pressed his hand to his forehead and turned away. "Sorry, pet, I'm afraid my days of offering a stud service to the dumped, deranged and desperate of Sunnydale are over. We've been doing really well, yeah, and I don't want everything to be spoiled because I exude pheromones or whatever it is I do." He waved towards her as he backed away. "So that didn't happen, right?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Buffy put her hands on her hips as she realised what he had said. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, dumped, deranged and desperate? Are you talking about me?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Spike rolled his eyes. "Just forget it. I'm going to bed."

Buffy caught his sleeve as he tried to walk out the door. "No. Tell me. What do you mean?"

Spike twisted his arm out of her grasp, then grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her against the desk. Realising what he was doing, he let go of her and stepped away, though his expression remained angry.

"What I mean," he said through clenched teeth, "is that I know exactly what you want from me. You're dressing it up with Mother Theresa kindness, but the bottom line is that it's the same thing Dru, and Harmony, and Anya wanted from me. And what I want, is to be treated like a human being. Like a man." He pointed at her. "This stuff, you don't need me for. It's nothing a couple of fingers and the blunt end of a stake can't fix."

"Wh-What?" stuttered Buffy. "I never-- How do you know--What did you say?"

He didn't answer, just ran up the stairs and into his room without a further word. Buffy stood in the hallway, aroused and angry. And very confused. Spike was rejecting her; in what bizarro dimension did that ever happen? Maybe he had come to the same conclusion as Angel and Riley, and had decided to have nothing to do with her now that he was a fragile human. What if he really didn't want her? Nobody else ever did, after all; she had to be the worst girlfriend in the universe. Why would Spike love someone like her now that he had a soul and was trying to be good?

Buffy took a deep breath to calm herself down. It probably wasn't even her fault; he was going through a rough patch, and he still wanted her enough to kiss her. So it would be okay. She'd work things out with him another day.

"Is everything okay?" Dawn was halfway down the stairs, peeping over the banisters. "I could hear you and Spike fighting."

Buffy sighed. "It's me and Spike. Fighting is what we do, remember?"

-5-

Buffy groaned as the vampire threw her against a crypt wall, crushing the wind out of her. He turned her around, pressing her back against the fraying concrete.

"Not so cocky now, huh, Slayer?" he said, gripping her by the throat.

"No." Buffy ran her hand down the front of his outdated jeans. "Guess I'm not the cocky one now." She pushed him to the ground and straddled him. "This isn't what I want, you know." She moaned when he tore open her shirt. "I want a normal man. I want a normal life. It's my reward for being a good Slayer."

"Pigs might fly," said Spike, standing beside her in his leather coat, a cigarette in his hand. "You're not normal. You're a freak." He threw away the cigarette. "And now I'm human, I can't be your sex toy anymore."

"No, really, I don't need to do vampires," Buffy assured him. The vamp had stripped her completely now and slipped one hand in between her legs. Another vampire came up from behind and started to caress her breasts. She leaned back into his embrace, exposing her neck, letting him bite her. The first vampire sat up beneath her; she threw her head back and moaned as he penetrated her. She was surrounded by vampires now; overwhelmed by their desire and need for her. "No, I don't need vampires," she sighed. "This is a Slayer thing. I'm not like this."

"Oh, drop it, William," said Xander, walking up to Spike. "Leave the weirdo in Weirdsville. Come on, we have a game of basketball to play." He threw the orange ball at Spike. It missed him completely and bounded away in the cemetery. Buffy caught it. "Okay, so we'll play without the ball."

"We always have to play without balls," said Spike with a shrug. "She always takes them away."

Buffy looked at the ball, then at the vampires around her. She pulled out a stake and dusted them all in turn. Some struggled, some fought her, some even managed to get in a few blows. But in the end, they were all reduced to dust. It covered her, obscuring her naked body.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said, holding out the ball to Spike.

"You will anyway. You're a killer." He pointed at the dust covering her. "This is what you do to all your lovers. Grind them down." He dug his hands in his pockets. "The fact is, only a soulless being could love a bitch like you."

He turned away and walked off with Xander. Some other men were waiting in a basketball court down the cemetery path. Although they were far away, Buffy thought she recognised Angel and Riley among them.

"No!" screamed Buffy. "This isn't right. You're the one who came back, Spike. You can't just leave like this."

All he did was shrug. "It's for your own good."

Buffy woke up with a start, tears welling in her eyes. It was daylight outside. She resisted the urge to run into Spike's bedroom and check that he was still there. It had taken her two hours to get to sleep after her encounter with him the previous evening, and the night had been haunted with dreams of him abandoning her, telling her she was evil and disgusting, and that he didn't want her anymore.

"He's not going anywhere," she told herself. "He just doesn't want to sleep with me. And that's totally okay. Very reasonable."

Buffy got up and looked out of her bedroom window. Dawn was on the front lawn, talking to a young blonde woman who was carrying Pepito on her hip. Buffy assumed this was Mrs Koslowski's daughter Melissa, though she had never actually met her. She dressed in a hurry, but by the time she came downstairs, Pepito's mother had gone back into her own house.

"Hi, Buffy," said Dawn, leaning against the Yugo. "Melissa is baking cookies. She says she'll bring some out for us." She frowned. "How come you never make cookies?"

Buffy waggled a finger at her. "Hey, I'm still working on the Mom thing. You can't expect everything." She paused, before adding, "Is Spike around?"

"No." Dawn shrugged. "He was gone when I got up." Buffy felt a cold dread come over her, though her sister didn't seem to notice. "Maybe they work on Saturdays down the docks."

"He went to work without the Yugo?"

Dawn wasn't listening. "Say, isn't that Xander's car?" she added, pointing up the road.

Sure enough, the sleek silver vehicle was cruising up the street and stopped outside their house. Xander got out first, carrying a power drill.

"One more word from you," he told someone in the car, "and I'm gonna use this to drill a hole in your head!"

"I'd like to see you try!" exclaimed Spike, coming out the other side of the car. He frowned. "On second thoughts, don't. I've had enough people poking around my head."

Buffy stared at him as he sauntered over to join them on the front lawn. "Oh wow," she whispered.

He had had a complete makeover. The beard was gone, the hair was short, and the glasses were trendy, with a thin black frame. Added to the light blue turtleneck he was wearing, the new look made him look...hot. Buffy was rendered completely speechless. She had nearly forgotten how handsome he was under all that hair.

"Wow!" exclaimed Dawn. "Way to go with the makeover!"

Spike gave her a sheepish smile and jerked his thumb at Xander. "Well, you know, when people like Monkey Boy start calling you a caveman, it's time to take some action!" He laughed when he noticed the dirty look Xander gave him. "I mean, can't have Barney Rubble here outshining me!"

Buffy drew closer and felt her heart sink as she got a clearer view of Spike. His short hair was speckled with grey at the temples. Dawn was right; he didn't look twenty-five. Perhaps those 158 years were catching up with him. Buffy also noticed how piercing his blue eyes were. Especially rimmed with black bruises.

What are you gonna do, beat me up again?

Shocked by her own memories, Buffy took a step back. No wonder he didn't want to sleep with her. This wasn't me, she told herself firmly, I've changed. I wouldn't do that anymore. But how could Spike know that? His change was obvious, manifest in his beating heart. But there was no way to prove that she had changed.

She caught Spike's eye and wondered if he was thinking about the previous night. But he just looked away, concentrating on what Xander was saying.

"Can I just mention at this point that the whole makeover thing was entirely on me?" said Xander, shaking his head. He too had some minor cuts and bruises on his face. "This free-loading son of a b-- gun made me pay for everything."

"Hey, you broke my glasses, you berk. You owed me," said Spike with a smug grin. He pointed out his black eyes to Dawn. "We had a little argument yesterday. Pissing contest stuff. You wouldn't understand; it's a man thing. So anyway, since he redecorated my face last night; I thought he could pay to have it done properly today."

Dawn patted Spike's arm with false sincerity. "Aw, poor Spike. You're always getting beaten up, aren't you?"

"Jeez!" Xander took a step back and gesticulated at Spike. "That is so totally unfair. I get beaten up, knocked unconscious, and I pay for all the damages, but do I get any sympathy? Nadissimo. How do you do it and can I have some?"

Spike pushed his arms forward in a gesture reminiscent of the Fonz. "Hey, what can I say, mate? It's the 'knack'. Either you've got it--" He indicated himself. "--or you haven't." He indicated Xander.

"Okay, now I know why I hate you. It's not because of the whole vampire thing. It's the superior English thing." Xander poked Spike in the chest. "You're like Giles with a bad attitude."

"Ah, the famous American inferiority complex!" They scuffled playfully, trading further insults.

Buffy couldn't help laughing at their idiotic behaviour. She wished she knew what had happened that night to change them into best friends all of a sudden. Meanwhile, Dawn was observing Spike thoughtfully, her head cocked to one side. Then she pointed at him with an excited smile.

"I know who you remind me of. Wesley."

Xander guffawed. "Wesley? Oh, I like that!"

"Who's Wesley?" asked Spike.

"Faith's ex-watcher," explained Buffy. "Works with Angel now." Spike looked confused. "You do remember Faith. Psycho slayer?"

"Oh, yes, I heard of her. Seem to remember Sherlock Holmes here and his sidekick Dr Giles asking me to help them find her, actually." He smirked at Xander. "Never met her, mind you." He caught Buffy's eye briefly, but then looked over her shoulder. "Oh, hello, Melissa."

"William, is that you?" said Melissa. She handed around the tray of cookies she had brought, then stared at Spike in awe. "What a difference! Who would have thought there was such a handsome man under all that hair?" Spike looked pleased by the compliment; Buffy wished she had made it when it had first occurred to her. "And cool glasses. I told you new glasses would change your whole outlook on life."

"Well, they gave me a new prescription, so yeah, it's a different outlook all right. Kerbs and steps are a bit of a challenge right now." Melissa's hearty laugh suggested that she knew exactly what Spike was talking about. Buffy was mystified.

Spike introduced Melissa to Xander and pointed at the drill he was holding. "I'm a man of my word. I have procured the Tool." He wrapped his arm around Xander, pulling him none too gently towards the house. "Not only that, but the Tool Operator as well, who will be delighted to put up your Mum's shelves."

"What? You brought me here to put up shelves?" exclaimed Xander, as Spike and Melissa led him into the Koslowski's house. "Have I mentioned that I hate you, Spike?"

"Why the long face?" asked Xander, coming to join Buffy on her back porch later that day.

Buffy shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Not a long face." She moved over to let him sit beside her. "I guess I'm just worried about Spike, that's all."

"Yeah, me too." Xander sipped his bottle of beer. "Stuff we talked about last night. Not pretty."

The object of their discussion was kicking a volleyball around the back yard, trying to work up a soccer game with Melissa, Dawn, and Pepito. It was fortunate that backyard soccer was a simple game, because they were all hopeless at it. Even Spike. Definitely an armchair sportsman.

"You talked to Spike?" asked Buffy. "What did he say? I've tried to get him to talk to me, but he won't tell me anything. It's like this brick wall comes down every time."

"He can't talk to you, Buffy," said Xander. "Think about it from his perspective. You're his last victim. You're why he did this to himself. He's not going to tell you how hard it is for him. He doesn't want your pity."

"Is that what he told you?"

Xander half-shrugged. "No, but it's the feeling I got. To be honest, I don't think you'd want to hear all the stuff in his head. It's bad, really bad. No wonder Angel was such a brooding pain." He shook his head. "Jeez, Spike's so ashamed of everything he did as a vampire, and that's 99.9% of everything he's ever done in his life. I don't know how he gets up in the morning."

"Dawn knocks on his door... Which obviously isn't what you mean." Buffy looked down at the drink she was holding. "I know he's having trouble, and I want to help him. But I don't know what to do."

"Just do what you're doing now. Be supportive. Just be like 'go, Spike'! It means a lot to him. He did tell me that much." Xander chuckled. "For the rest, I know what he's going through, trying to adjust to life as a grown-up for a change. But once he finds a good job he's interested in, and a girlfriend who loves him, I think he'll be fine." His expression became wistful. "Maybe with a century of experience behind him, he won't mess things up like I did first chance he gets."

"You still miss Anya?"

"I wasn't talking about Anya, just about Spike getting himself a life..." Xander paused for a while, nursing his beer and watching the others playing with Pepito. "But yeah. I guess I do miss Anya. I know, that's not what I said before. But you know, Spike and I got to talking, and he's actually pretty good at the whole listening thing. Made me realise some things I hadn't thought about before. If Anya can forgive me, maybe I can do things differently this time..."

Buffy looked at Spike. "Yeah, me too."

Buffy listened at the bathroom door. Spike had been avoiding her in a variety of ways all weekend. Every time she asked him what he was doing, he had a good excuse; he was working, or 'meeting mates', or having a 'quiet time' in his bedroom. Any time she did manage to corner him for a moment, he avoided any mention of their kiss, or what he had said. Buffy had been trying to think of a way to initiate a talk with him, and she now thought she had found the ideal conversation piece. She would just sneak in and leave it on his bed; that way, he could talk to her if he chose to. If he didn't, she'd try something else.

Trying very hard to be quiet, Buffy slipped into his room with the box she was carrying. She hadn't been in here since he had first moved in. There were clothes strewn across the bed, books and printouts laid out on every other surface. The dresser had been pulled in front of the door that led into Dawn's room, and its mirror obscured with a towel. Looking at the mess in the room reminded Buffy that it was time the whole house was cleaned.

She didn't have time to lay out the contents of the box before Spike came into the room by the other door. He was too busy hopping on one foot, pulling a sock off, to notice Buffy at first. When he did notice her, Spike stopped hopping and covered his genitals with the sock, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Wow," said Buffy, still mesmerised by the vision of Spike hopping on one foot. "You're naked."

Spike looked down. "Well, no, technically, I am wearing one sock." He raised one finger, grabbed some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and was holding the sock in his hand. He gave Buffy a wary look.

"You know, if you're that desperate, I can satisfy you," he said with grim determination. "I'm not all go in the trouser area, but I still know a few tricks."

"Tricks?" Buffy grimaced. "No. And ew. And I'm not like that... Anymore. I never was, not really, though I know I didn't look like I wasn't when I was--" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Look, I brought you something."

Buffy pulled the item out of the box, and laid it out on the bed. Spike looked horrified.

"I-I thought you might like it back," said Buffy. Judging by his expression, this was a mistake. Big, big mistake. Stupid Buffy. "You-you might need it in the winter," she added. Yeah, like that made it better.

"I don't understand," said Spike, staring at her with his head tilted to one side. "Why did you keep it?"

"Because it's yours." Buffy rolled her eyes. "I don't mean that in a keeping your things fetish kind of way. But it wasn't mine to throw out." She looked down at the leather coat, which was worn and beaten, and not the better for several months up in the attic. "Besides, I thought you might come back for it some day."

Spike shook his head, staring at the coat. "You're a weird person, Buffy."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Spike sat down on the bed, pulling one knee up so he could sit sideways on and face her across the bed. "I tried to rape you, and now you want me to finish what I started? I don't understand, Buffy." He looked up at her pleadingly. "What do you want from me?"

Buffy felt a lump in her throat; this little talk wasn't going at all well. She had hoped that giving him back the coat would be a gesture of forgiveness, and that he would reciprocate by telling her what was wrong. She hadn't thought out just how wrong the wrong might be, and how right Xander was when he said she wouldn't want to hear it.

She glanced at the door, tempted for one moment to run away, but then steeled herself. She wanted to know what was bugging Spike, now was the time to find out. Whatever his problem with her was, it couldn't be worse than her best friend wanting to kick her ass. Or her boyfriend giving her an ultimatum just after she'd found him having...something with vampires. Or her other boyfriend leaving because...

"I want to help you." Buffy sat down on the bed and faced Spike with resolve. There was a whole lot of bed and a pile of clothes between them. "It's-- I know we kinda kissed, and I know me coming in here while you're naked is kinda something to give you the wrong idea. Though you do know there's a lock on this door, right?" She sighed. "But it's not about sex. I mean, really. Not that, I guess, if-- But that's not why I want to spend time with you. I like you. I'm kind of getting used to the whole new you thing, and..."

Spike turned away and plucked at his pants. "That's the thing, you see. There is no new me. There's just me and some guilt. Well, shitloads of guilt, actually." He sighed. "But if I want to become a better person, I have to turn myself into someone completely new, and that means no booze, no fags, and no bloody fighting just because I've had a bad day."

"Spike, I know you've done a lot of bad things as a vampire, but that doesn't mean you have to turn into Gandhi now you're human."

"Yeah, why turn into Gandhi when I could be Ted Bundy?" He frowned. "Can't you see? After everything I've done, I can't just go out and bop a few demons on the head. I'm going to want to bop a few humans too. If I start again, I'll never stop. I'm a violent man. I couldn't even control myself enough to stop from clobbering Xander."

Buffy shook her head. "That doesn't make you a violent person. It makes you someone who uses violence under provocation. Like Xander."

"I'm pretty sure Xander has never killed a child with his own bare hands." Spike rubbed his forehead. "You should read that thesis the Council wrote about me. That'll give you some idea of the ghosts in my head." He turned towards her again, his brow wrinkled with worry. "I need to work through all this stuff, Buffy. I just can't give you anything right now."

"That's okay. You don't owe me anything. You're feeling the guilt and you're trying to do the right thing. That's all I need to know." She observed his hangdog expression for a moment. "Want a non-sexual kind of hug?"

He smiled at her. "I think I'll settle for a nice relaxing bath. But keep that hug, I might need it some day."

Buffy leaned her chin on her hand, trying to read the Council of Watchers' thesis on Spike. The actual document was dour and pedantic, but the subject matter was fascinating. Murder, mayhem, railway spikes and a whole lot of Drusilla. The author barely mentioned the man Spike had been before Dru turned him, except to say he had been the son of a college professor best remembered for his mild manners and bad poetry. Buffy thought back to the poem she had found the previous week. Spike the bad-ass vampire had been a poet? The author of the thesis said this proved that there was no connection between the human and the vampire he became, but to Buffy it made perfect sense. Even when she was trying to resist her feelings, she had sensed Spike's sensitivity and desire for beauty. As well as his obsession with not being a geek. And now he had come full circle, back to a man who wrote poetry and tried to avoid violence.

The phone rang and she delivered her usual spiel, her mind on Spike while she waited for the potential customer to tell her what they wanted.

"Ah, um, Buffy. I forgot you worked in a call centre."

"Giles?" Buffy grinned with delight. "Oh my God, you're calling from England?" Her smiled faded. "You never call. Is there something wrong? Has something happened?"

"No. Well, we had an earthquake last night, but nothing to worry about."

"I thought they didn't have earthquakes in England."

"Just the occasional little one." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Anyway, I was going to leave a message on your answerphone asking if you got my last e-mail -- which incidentally rather defeats the purpose of having e-mail in the first place. So I called, only to find that your answerphone is now Spike. Which, as you can imagine, caused me some concern considering the circumstances under which he left."

Buffy twirled the phone cord around her fingers. "Oh. Well, I was going to tell you, but he's only been at home for a couple of weeks, and I just didn't have time to send you an e-mail, so--"

"It's all right. You don't have to keep me appraised of every event in your life. Well, except that this is quite momentous, of course." Giles sounded hurt. "A vampire going through gruelling trials in order to be resurrected. It's unprecedented. This calls into question everything the Council has ever believed about vampires. If Spike can choose to seek redemption, then it's possible that other vampires might do the same."

"I don't think so," said Buffy. "I've done a survey using a representative sample of the residents of Sunnydale Cemetery, and none of them were interested in being human again. So I figure Spike is weird, and that's all there is to it."

Giles sounded as if his mind was on other things. "I do wonder, though, if this ties in to the Shanshu prophecy. Until now, Wesley and I believed that it referred to Angel becoming human at the End of Days. But now that Spike has become human instead..."

"Please don't tell me he's Prophecy Boy. Prophecies are never of the good. I haven't had one in years, and I totally don't miss them. They're always about death and destruction, and it is so not good to know what your destiny is."

"Yes, well, I can't be sure that Spike is the subject of the prophecy either," admitted Giles. "And I haven't heard from Wesley in months. Look, I'm going to collect some information for Spike and send it to you by e-mail later this week. Do check your mail on Willow's computer and make sure he gets it," he added in a sterner voice.

"Thanks. I'm sure Spike will be pleased. He's been reading all your books. Even the Watchers' Diaries!"

"Oh, well. I must admit there is some irony at the thought of Spike reading my books." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, as I was saying in the e-mail you didn't read, Willow and I will be arriving in Sunnydale next week; all the flight details are in the message. Willow will be staying with her parents, but we can discuss my accommodation later. By e-mail."

"Well, we can discuss it right... Oh, phone bill. Yeah, we'll get something worked out." She smiled. "I'm so glad you're coming back! I've missed you both so much. So I guess if she's coming back to Sunnydale, that means Willow is better, right?"

"She's improving," said Giles in a soft voice that screamed 'Willow is not better'. "I think she and Spike will have a lot in common. In the meantime, keep a close eye on Spike. He sounds a little... fragile to me."

Fragile? Spike? Buffy leaned on the banister in the basement, watching him make the most of her little training room. His back was to the stairs; he hadn't noticed Buffy's presence yet. He was wearing his new sweatpants and a sleeveless T-shirt, and was pounding the punch bag with a ferocity not unlike his old vampire persona. It was gratifying to see him so active; she'd really been afraid that their conversation a couple of days earlier meant he was turning his back on violence.

Buffy frowned at that thought. And what was wrong with Spike turning his back on violence, exactly? She'd often wished she could just become a normal girl who didn't have to kill things. Spike had that chance now; why was she pleased that he didn't take it?

Dismissing the thought, she observed Spike's technique with a critical eye.

"You should really wrap your hands, you know," she told him.

Startled, he spun towards her, his face momentarily angry. His new glasses were folded on the washing machine; except for the dark hair, he looked just like he had in his vampire days. Lean, mean and dangerous. Sexy too. Buffy felt a shiver run down her spine. She half expected him to morph into game face.

"Sorry, I-I didn't know you were--" started Buffy, turning back towards the door. "I-I don't want to stop you from using my punchbag as a...punchbag."

Spike sighed. "Oh, it's all right. I was lost in my own thing, didn't realise it was you. Don't know who else I thought it might be. Sort of wandered off into-- Well, never mind." He went to get a towel from the pile on top of the washing machine, burying his face in it for a few seconds. Then he put on his glasses and turned to face her, his content human façade once more in place. "Quite a convenient setup you've got here. Not enough room to swing a cat, of course, let alone some decent punches, but not bad."

"Well, Anya decided to let the Magic Box go now that she's a vengeance demon again, so Xander moved all my training equipment here."

"Good idea," said Spike. He wiped the sweat off his upper body and headed towards the stairs. "I talked to Giles this morning. I assume he called you, right? I gave him your number."

"Yeah. He told me they're coming back next week." Buffy turned to go up in front of him. "And also that he had a long conversation with you. What did you talk about?"

"Things. All the stuff in my head."

"Gee, first Xander, then Giles. You sure have a line in confiding in people," she said, before realising how hurt she sounded. She tried to open the basement door before Spike had time to say anything, but he held it shut.

"Buffy, I know you want to know what makes me tick. But trust me, it's not good." He lowered his eyes and released the door. "I don't want to spoil everything by spilling out all the crap that's in my head. This living here with you means a lot to me. This sort of friendship we have."

"You think this is friendship?"

Spike frowned, his expressive face full of confusion. Buffy looked down; his sweat-drenched T-shirt clung to his well-defined chest, outlining every hard curve and hollow. He wasn't as thin as he had been when she had first taken him in, and occasional days in the sunshine had given his face and arms a healthy tan. Buffy wondered if he would be very offended if she leapt on him. She didn't just want him for the sex, but oh, God, sex would be very nice. She looked up at his face. He had moved closer, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her.

But instead, Spike looked away. He lifted his arm and smelled his own armpit. "Ugh. I really need to have a shower."

And they say romance is dead, thought Buffy. Spike started to open the basement door, but this time, she was the one who closed it again.

"Spike. I guess this is kind of a dumb question, but... do you still want me?"

"No." His expression was earnest; Buffy's heart sank and she let go of the door. "Or to be more precise, I don't want to want you."

Buffy looked up at him with hope. "Why not?"

"Because I can't be what you need." Spike opened the door. "And because it's wrong."