She flinched at the stern but worried tone of his voice. Dawn stood next to her, in sight of the frenzied vampire, while she leaned against the wall, eyes closed tight, heart pounding, head spinning, hands throbbing in pain. She swallowed hard, her dry throat becoming drier by the moment.

Dawn began her descent down the stairs.

“You. I could kill you,” he seethed, his voice shaky but carrying more of a fatherly tone than that of a soulless vampire.

“Spike,” she said evenly, still heading down the stairs, body stiff, eyes uncertain but ready for the big reveal.

“I mean it. I could rip your head of one handed and drink from your brain stem,” he added. Buffy could hear the floorboards creaking as he shifted from side to side, not wanting to stand still for too long. He sounded as if he’d been running around over half of Sunnydale in pursuit of the burden Buffy had left him with.

Dawn was level with him now, looking into his eyes. Hers were full of uncertain answers, his were full of angered questions. There was a standstill. Nobody spoke, and Buffy clutched her chest for a minute, trying to make sense of it all. Her heart was beating. She was breathing. But just hours ago, she’d been somewhere else, somewhere better. But she couldn’t remember it, and it made her crazy to know that there was something better than this life, and whatever it was, wherever she’d been for…how long…was already lost to her. But the residual feelings left over told her it was quiet, easier.

When neither spoke again, she took a deep breath that made her lungs ache. She began the descent, catching her first glimpse of him, hair a bit messy, no doubt from the evening he’d had. If it was anything in comparison to her own evening, he looked like he’d gotten off easy.

“Spike, look,” Dawn coaxed, as she heard her sister’s footsteps on the stairs. Buffy shivered, as Spike looked at her with first, indifference, which quickly turned to contempt, which slowly began to fade into something unrecognizable. His gaze burned her until it turned back to Dawn. “Yeah? I’ve seen the bloody Bot before. Didn’t think she’d patch up so…” His eyes flickered back up to Buffy, who moved as stiffly as her sister just had. And when he finally looked into her eyes, he saw.

He was silent now, and Dawn moved aside a little. Buffy found herself holding her breath, face expressionless, as she stared into his eyes. His features softened, and he realized that this wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some robot he’d originally created for his entertainment or pleasure. This wasn’t even the revamped Bot that Willow had programmed to fight as a Slayer. No. This was the real, true Slayer. He could smell her. Blood. Human blood. Slayer blood.

“She’s kind of, um…she’s been through a lot with the…death.” Buffy glanced away from Spike. Down. At her sister. Dawn turned to look at Buffy, and she avoided her gaze. “But I think she’s ok.” Looking down, Buffy realized she’d forgotten the rest of her buttons and quickly began working at them. It was then that he noticed the gashes on her knuckles, but he couldn’t speak. He could only stare, his eyes taking on a bewildered expression before changing back and forth between happiness and disbelief. “Spike? Are you ok?” Another pause.

“I’m…” he started, each moment that passed with her in front of him making it feel even more real. But how? Without taking his eyes off of the slayer, he spoke again. “What did you do?”

“Me?” Dawn asked, her voice high, surprised, happy, unwilling to believe that this was anything but a good dream. “Nothing!” She shook her head. Buffy, wanting answers herself but not really feeling up to asking the questions, looked back up at Spike, seeing the same man she’d seen just before they’d gone off to fight Glory. He wasn’t the same Spike he’d once been, and she could tell that, however much time had passed, he was still the man who’d taken care of her sister and helped save the world.

Her hands were clasped on her shirt now, just over the top button, and he finally found the words.

“Her hands…” He was still speaking to Dawn. Buffy moved her hands behind her so he couldn’t see.

“Um…” Dawn squeaked out, “I…I was gonna fix them. I don’t know how they got like that.” He could see the slayer struggling, as if part of her was trying to run away from the conversation. He knew. He’d been there once. He remembered the pain of gasping for breath when there was none, digging for air, clawing, ripping, bleeding.

“I do,” he breathed, looking down at her shadowed hands. “Clawed her way out of her coffin, that’s how.” He looked up again. “Isn’t that right?” Buffy’s head, still spinning, managed to let her know that he was in fact speaking to her, and she hesitated.

“Yeah,” she finally whispered, the words stinging her throat. “That’s what I had to do.”

“I’ve done it myself,” he said with a slow nod, not wanting to push her into any conversation she wasn’t ready for. He knew what it was like to wake from the dead, not really understanding that it had actually happened. Except she wasn’t a demon. She was Buffy. She had her soul all intact. That, he could see.

He realized by the strange look coming over Dawn’s face and the awkward avoiding grimace on Buffy’s face that he had been staring for far too long. He shook his head.

“Um…we’ll take care of you. Come on.” He reached out for her, and to both of their surprises, she didn’t slink away from his reach. He, however, hesitated when he grazed her shoulder, and he turned to give orders to a confused Dawn. “Get some stuff. Uh, mercurochrome, bandages.”

“Okay,” Dawn said softly, as she watched her sister and protector head into the living room before heading off to get what Spike had asked her to get.

Buffy sat down on the sofa, intensely quiet, and Spike sat across from her on the coffee table. He was close enough that their knees touched, and when he instinctually took her bloodied hands in his, she didn’t pull away. She looked down at their joined hands, and he did too, for a moment, but when he looked up, she was looking at him. He couldn’t read her emotions, but he knew she was in pain. Maybe not complete physical pain, but there wasn’t anything there in her eyes that screamed happiness for being back here.

After a few moments, Buffy found the words to speak. Seeing the worry in his eyes made her feel comforted somehow. But whatever question she had, she knew he wasn’t going to lie to her. What was the point? He had no reason to soften the blow. He had to reason to make her feel better about any of this. She knew Dawn would avoid talking about whatever had happened, and she knew her friends…well, they had something to do with it, she knew, but they would try to explain themselves first, and she didn’t want those kinds of answers.

“How long was I gone?” His hands tightened on hers, but he relaxed, not wanting her to hurt any more than she already was. Truth time.

“Hundred and forty-seven days yesterday, uh, a hundred and forty-eight today.” He smiled weakly. He couldn’t read her expression. It was lifeless. “Except today doesn’t count, does it?” He closed his eyes for a moment, looking back down at their joined hands. Her gaze followed his, and he could feel her trembling. She was scared. Or nervous. Or overwhelmed. Or something. Whatever it was, it was a human emotion, one he had found himself feeling quite often when he thought of her. He looked back up at her. “How long was it for you…where you were?” Her gaze slowly lifted to his eyes again.

“Longer.” Spike nodded knowingly, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but Dawn came back in.

“Got the stuff.” She placed it next to Spike on the coffee table, and he nodded.

“That’s Nibblet,” he said quietly.

“Anything else?”

“Put on the kettle,” he suggested.

“I’m not thirsty,” Buffy managed, as she examined her bleeding hands.

“That’s alright, but I need some tea to calm my nerves, luv,” he breathed.

“Sure,” Dawn said, realizing that she really wasn’t part of the conversation. She headed back to the kitchen. Spike gently held one of her hands at a time as he doctored them up, covering her scratches in gauze and bandages. She sat there without speaking, only staring at him as he worked. He could feel her eyes on his face, and once in a while, he would look up to meet her gaze, and she would look down, look anywhere but at him, and he wondered what she was thinking about.

“There,” he said warmly, placing her hands down on her lap. “All done.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.” The tea kettle screamed from the kitchen, and Dawn raced about trying to find the tea bags. Soon, she came out carrying a tray with three cups.

“I…I know you said you weren’t thirsty, but I…I thought something hot to drink might make you feel better.”

“Thanks,” Buffy muttered. Spike took her cup and set it aside to cool along with his own, while Dawn said down next to her sister, blowing over her own steaming cup before taking a small sip. Spike glanced at Dawn, wondering if she truly was out of the loop about everything that had happened. But he judged by her cautious gazes at her sister that she really had no idea. It had to be the rest of the lot. The witch. Of course. Who else? Something inside him boiled up angrily, and he reached for his tea, his hands shaking a bit. Buffy eyed him, wondering if he was okay. She was the one that was being taken care of, but apparently, somebody needed to take care of him too.

“Where are they?” Dawn asked, breaking the silence. “They should be here.”

“It’s ok, Dawn,” Buffy said slowly. “It’s late. You…you should go to bed.” Dawn, a little taken aback, gawked at her sister.

“I’m not going to sleep. Not after…look, I want to talk, and…”

“We can talk in the morning. It’s…it’s late.”

“Right,” Dawn said quietly. “I’ll help you up to…”

“I wanna sit up for a little longer. I was asleep for…”

“Oh,” Dawn said quietly. “OK.” She drank down the rest of her tea. “Want your tea now?” Buffy nodded, and Spike made a move to hand her her cup. She nursed it, each warm sip easing her raw throat. She closed her eyes, letting the steam caress her face, warming her. As cold as she’d been, she wondered if that was what Spike felt like every second of the day. “Spike? Are you…”

“I’ll sleep on the couch one more night, Bit,” he assured her. “Go on. Get some sleep. I’ll make sure your big sis gets her rest.”

“Well,” he said uncertainly, chewing her lower lip. “Ok.” She slowly wrapped her arms around her sister. Buffy flinched at first, but slowly drew her arm around her sister. “I love you, Buffy. Don’t ever leave me like that again.”

“Love you too, Dawnie.” She closed her eyes tightly, and after a few moments, she let her sister go. Dawn headed up the stairs, and Spike drank down his tea, standing up quickly and putting the dishes on the tray. Buffy took the last sip of her tea and handed the cup to him. He hurried off to the kitchen, and she couldn’t help but think it funny that he was cleaning up. He was nervous too. She could see it in his edginess. Was she making him this way?

She waited in the living room, hearing the clanging of tea cups as he put them in the sink. She sat, feeling too tired to move. She just stared. Despite the stillness of the house, uneasiness flooded over her, as if everything around her was moving quickly, and she was moving in slow motion. Wherever she’d been, this uneasiness hadn’t existed.

“Buffy?” Buffy looked up at the sound of Spike’s voice, seeing him standing in front of the couch, a concerned look creasing his face again.

“Huh?”

“I was calling your name. Are you…”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, standing up, the fastest move she’d made in front of him this evening. “You don’t have to stay.” Her voice sounded flat, defeated. He knew she didn’t mean it. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“Nothing important,” he muttered, sitting down across from her again. He wanted to reach for her hands, but he wasn’t sure she’d let him now. She slowly sat down on the couch again. Neither spoke for a few minutes, and Spike finally cleared his throat.

“You should try to get some sleep.”

“I’ve been asleep for months,” she breathed. “I’m not tired.”

“Yeah, but you look like you could drop at any minute.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Slayer, you’ve had a long night. I think…”

“Why am I here?”

“What?” She just stared at him. “You know as well as I do, pet. Don’t know a bloody thing.” He was shaking a little again. “I’m guessing your friends had something to do with it. Come to think of it, they’ve been acting a bit dodgy these past few days. But I’ve been on Dawn patrol for the past few months so…”

“How was she?”

“Your little sis? She was a wreck. Can’t blame her. Lost her mum and her sister in the same year. But Tara and Willow moved in.”

“Yeah, she said that.”

“I’m surprised they’re not here.”

“They’re probably still out looking for me,” Buffy confessed. “I took off. I…”

“I’ll wait up for them to come home, let them know you’re safe.” Buffy nodded, shivering. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she whispered. “I just…I don’t know.” She stood up, and he stood too, stepping out of her way. “I’m going to bed.”

“I thought…”

“You’re right. It’s been a long night.”

“Right,” Spike said quietly. “I’ll be here, Slayer. If you need anything. I mean that.” She looked into his eyes, and for the first time, he felt as if she truly believed him.

“I know,” she whispered. “Thanks. Um, for taking care of Dawnie and everything.” He only stared after her, watching her make her way up the stairs. He let out a slow breath, and he sat down on the couch, feeling the warmth she’d left behind. He closed his eyes, trying to still his busy mind from thinking about what all had happened.

He hadn’t had much time to calm down before the front door burst open, and in walked Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya.

“Buffy?” Willow asked. Spike stood quickly, anger rising in him again.

“She’s upstairs.” They all made for the stairs. “She’s sleeping.” He knew that wasn’t true. He could hear her up there tossing and turning, but they didn’t have any business seeing her tonight. Not after what she’d just gone through because of them.

“Spike,” Xander said quickly, stepping out in front of the group, “you don’t have to stay…”

“Neither do you,” he interrupted. “What’d you do? Huh?” He looked angrily back and forth between the guilty but worried eyes. “What’d you do to her?”

“A spell,” Willow finally explained.

“You used magicks.”

“Yeah, but, it worked, and…”

“And it just as easily might not have,” Spike spat. “She could have…she could have come back wrong. Who’s to say she hasn’t, either?”

“Spike,” Tara started.

“I worked beside you. All summer. And you didn’t have the decency to let me in on your plan to bring back the woman that…”

“You’re not going to start your little crush up again now that she’s back, are you?” Xander wondered. Before he had the chance to say another word, Spike had him by the collar and shoved up against the wall.

“Didn’t even tell her little sister.”

“We didn’t want to get her hopes up,” Tara spoke evenly.

“Because there was the chance it something would’ve gone wrong,” Spike growled. He glared at Willow. “And you knew that if I knew, and if something did go wrong, I wouldn’t let you destroy what did come back, even if it wasn’t all her.” He was trembling again, and Tara placed a hand on his shoulder, as Xander struggled and he tightened his grip.

“Spike,” she spoke, her voice like an angel’s whisper. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you. We just…we didn’t.” Spike let Xander go after a few seconds, and he moved toward Anya.

“Xander, maybe it’d be better if you two came back tomorrow,” Willow advised.

“Right,” Xander said quietly, eyeing Spike angrily. “First thing.” The two left, and Spike stood in silence with the two witches.

Willow looked toward the stairs, and she glanced at Tara.

“Spike,” Willow said quietly, “you’re right. We didn’t tell you, because we knew that something might go wrong.”

“And you risked destroying her just to have her back?”

“Having her back…having any part of her back…isn’t that better than not having her at all?” Spike eyed the witch. This was true. But if she’d come back different…would it be worth it? Would it be worth it if she wasn’t the same slayer he’d fallen in love with?

“I know you care about her, and…”

“You don’t know anything,” Spike said, shaking his head. “You think you know everything your pretty little books tell you, but you don’t know everything. You don’t know me. You don’t know how I feel.” Tara took Willow’s hand.

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s get some sleep. It’s been a long night, for all of us. Maybe in the morning we’ll all be a little more rested.” Willow nodded uncertainly and turned to gaze at Spike.

“She’s back. Let’s just be happy about that, okay?” Spike said nothing, only giving her a faint nod. Willow shivered at the thought of something going wrong. What if…what if she wasn’t Buffy anymore? Only time would tell. She and Tara headed up to bed, and Spike sprawled out on the couch, eyes focused on the ceiling, completely unable to sleep.

He could still hear the tossing and turning, and he knew she wasn’t sleeping, but still, he was surprised when her voice whispered to him from the hall.

“Spike?” He shot up on the couch, sitting to stare at her. She was still wearing the same clothes as she’d been wearing when he’d first set eyes on her this evening.

“Buffy?” His tone was soft, concerned. She didn’t sense any anger. Any hostility. It was as if he were a normal man.

“I can’t…I’m not…I can’t sleep,” she uttered. She slowly moved across the room.

“I don’t know how much company I’ll be, but I can give it a go,” he offered. She sat down on the couch next to him, eyeing him as she had earlier, only there was a hint of fear there. “We can talk about…about where you were?”

“I don’t wanna talk,” she managed to croak out, her voice sounded reserved, raw. She was close to breaking down, and he didn’t want to be the one to break her.

“Alright,” he said slowly, shifting nervously on the couch. “If there’s anything I can…”

“Would you hold me?” she asked, before she could stop herself. Spike swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. He pulled his arm around her, and she shivered at the instant cool touch. He pulled the throw off of the back of the couch and draped it over her. Her head leaned on his shoulder, and he pulled her up close. She sat next to him, her legs tucked under herself, and she breathed evenly, taking in his scent, closing her eyes, relaxing as her hand rested on his still chest.

“I’ve got you, luv. You can rest now,” he murmured, closing his eyes and feeling sleep wash over him, as it took her under too.





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