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A/N: Thanks for reading and I would really love to hear any of your comments let me know how I'm really doing on this story. Thanks a bunch.

Also, poem is part of Lord Byron's 'She Walks in Beauty', and Shakespeare's 'Othello'. The last one I wrote--sucks, I know! ; )

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By the time he could feel the sun peeking over the horizon, he started to drift off. His body, his mind, his soul, could now relax enough to let him catch some z's. He only needed a few hours really, and by the time all was up and bustling around the Summers' house, he would wake as well. Just as long as none of them decided to bloody act out 'The Waltons' and wake up with the rooster's crowing. But if he knew his Bit and even a little of Buffy at all, he knew it would at least be nine or ten a.m. before they stumbled into the kitchen for a morning morsel and cup of joe.

He struggled through the night, forcing himself to remember events, people, places. Most of them were not worth dredging up, of course, especially now that he was burdened with a soul. Those particular ones made him feel dreadful and depressed, and he quickly decided to drive them away from the block as quickly as possible.

Bloody soul. And with that, a bloody conscience. He really wished he could remember what drove him to ask for it back. He contemplated the whole jist of the matter most of the night. His deduction? It must have something to do with Buffy from the lack of insight.

He had to admit, in a way he was glad he had it, now that the chip was no more. In fact, the longer he examined the whole package deal, wasn't so bad. Sitting there on his cot most of the night, he had never felt so warm and secure, even with part of his memories vanquished from his head. He hadn't felt those elements in a very long time. It was always cold and hard after he was turned. These people, the ones who he ran with now, they had accepted him, respected him, cared for him. There was love there; he could feel it bubbling effervescently in the core of his being and it didn't make him feel loathing and disgust.

So, he made up his mind, right before settling down to rest at 5 a.m., just when the birds began their incessant twittering. He would be open-minded about everything, giving himself room to breathe, so to say, and to grow. Buffy was a friend, and yes he could see a possibility of something more. Seems they already had a past together, whether it was bollocked up from the get go or what.

He would have a chat with her, alone, just the two of them and discuss his reasonings and his beliefs. Not wanting to chance a loss of the friendship, he would ask her of the same, making it a point that there could be something deeper to develop further on down the road. Time and space, no pressures. He was sure she would be keen on the 'taking everything slow', what with all they had undoubtedly been through together already.

With this decided, he fell into a restful sleep.

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A knock on her bedroom door pulled her attention away from the flickering computer screen.

"Come in."

"Oh, hi. Where's Willow?" Dawn stood in the doorway, clutching a notebook to her chest.

"She had to run out and get some things. Did you need some help?" Meg nodded towards the pad of paper she carried.

"Oh--no, nothing like that. Summer school has been pretty easy. I'm glad I'm taking the makeup courses now instead of during the regular school year. I think I enjoyed it too much last summer when I actually had to go." she giggled.

"Then, you have a question, something I can relay to Wills when she gets back…or is this something private and personal you just…?"

"Oh, I just…well, I guess I have a slight problem. Something I'm not quite sure what to do about."

"Well, she should be back soon. I'll tell her you’re looking for her and send her scampering your way." Meg smiled at the girl.

"You see," Dawn looked out into the hallway before quietly shutting the door and walking over to sit on the corner of the bed, closest to the witch. Meg turned in her chair, giving Dawn her full attention.

"…when Spike was gone, looking for Buffy, I kinda…well, I sorta found this, down in the basement. It was hard just sitting around and waiting, so I decided to do his laundry for him, so when he got back he would have clean clothes, clean sheets, you know?"

"That seems awfully nice of you to do."

"Well, yeah, but I sort of stumbled across something of his. It fell onto the floor when I took the sheets off the cot. I was going to put it back, honest I was, but I picked it up and kept it. Don't know why, really. I thought I would just look through it, no harm, no foul, just glance through it and then put it back before he made it home. He would never know. Thing is I…I still have it." she shied away from her admittance.

"Oh…I see. That is a dilemma. What is it?"

"I think it's his journal, he wrote things in it, poems and little stories. Stuff mostly about Buffy, I believe. If that's the case, he won't remember it, right? Since he was writing about Buffy? And he doesn't remember how he felt about her."

"True, he probably doesn't remember writing anything in it, doesn't mean he won't remember having it, or where he had put it."

Dawn absently started flipping the pages, glancing over each page as she leafed through them. Meg stood and slid to hover over the girl.

"Should you be doing that, reading that I mean? That's personal stuff in there, his private, personal thoughts and feelings. Doesn't seem right to…oh. Wait, stop on that page. Hmmm." She plopped down on the bed next to Dawn.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

Lord Byron"

Dawn finished reading the poem and looked up at Megan.

"Wow, that was really beautiful. I remember having to read some of Lord Byron's writings in Lit class last semester. He wrote nice poems. Spike must like him. I still feel bad for reading…"

Just then the bedroom door flew open, causing the two girls to jump up off the bed and gasping, Dawn pulling the notebook around behind her, hiding it from the intruder.

"Hey, having a party and I wasn't invited? You two look as if I stumbled in on some secret club meeting or something. I…didn't, did I?"

They both relaxed instantly, sharing a look between each other.

"Okay, something's up. Do I get to know what's so secrecy and hidey all of a sudden?"

"It's nothing. I told Meg I found this when doing Spike's laundry," Dawn held up the item out from behind her back, almost reluctantly, "down in the basement, kind of under his pillow, on his cot, downstairs, fell on the floor."

"Oh, okay. And is it yours or someone else's? Possibly Spike's perhaps?" Willow admonished slyly.

"Well, yeah, it was mine, before, but I gave it to Spike a while ago. It's his now, yes."

"So," Willow sat down at the desk and slowly took the pad of paper, "you want to know how to go about getting it back without his knowledge of you having it, right?"

"Yes and…no. Meg and I were thinking that he may not even know about it, remember it, I mean. You know since he doesn't have certain Buffy memories. And if you read some of the stuff in there…"

"I'm not going to read any of his…whoa, Shakespeare. That's some…" Willow's eyes widened a bit.

"Read it, read it." Dawn chanted with eagerness.

"I shouldn't…I don't think, oh, alright.

O my fair warrior!

It gives me wonder great as my content

To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!

If after every tempest come such calms,

May the winds blow till they have wakened death!

And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas

Olympus-high, and duck again as low

As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,

'Twere now to be most happy, for I fear

My soul hath her content so absolute

That not another comfort like to this

Succeeds in unknown fate.

Othello to his love." Willow finished reading and the three of them sat there in silence for a bit. "Shakespeare's good, I enjoy a little Shakespeare. Not too many people get him."

"Yeah, but what do you think? Do you think he was writing that stuff just to write it or…do you think he was thinking of Buffy when he wrote it down?" Dawn asked, her eyes round with wonder.

"Well…could be either really." Meg and Dawn stared at her.

"Okay, okay. It sounds like he was thinking of her, I'll admit it. It's just, well, here, there's another on the back of this page." Willow turned the page slowly, knowing she was looking through something that was sacred to Spike and feeling the guilt swimming around and bouncing off her head. She cleared her throat.

"She's out of my grasp, out of my reach.

She dances in the darkness

Twirling and swirling under the stars

Playing with danger in the face of grace.

Dances in the dark with me,

Yet she belongs to the light,

the blinding yet comforting light.

So far from where I belong.

I am in solitude because

She's out of my reach.

~William E. Winters, III"

"I've never heard of that poet." Megan leaned over to look at the name underneath the poem, written in elegant script.

"No, I don't think you would have. But you know of him." Willow smiled slightly, looking at her girlfriend, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah," Dawn let out a sigh. "Because it's his own. Spike's poem. Or William's, whichever."

"Oh, I see. Now I really feel like we’re trespassing on personal property. What should we do?" Meg asked sincerely.

"Somehow, someway, it should be returned to him. I'll give it to Buffy, see what she thinks. Maybe she can decide what to do with it, or how to return it to him."

"I'll come with you, since I'm the one who took it. That way when she yells, you'll be there to cushion the screams." Dawn groaned slightly as Willow rolled her eyes heavenward.

Willow and Dawn headed down the hallway, stopping in front of Buffy's room and knocked lightly on the door. A faint 'come in' drifted to them from the other side.

Buffy was fully dressed and brushing her hair at her vanity when the girls entered.

"Good morning, Buffy. You look much better today. Sleep well?" Dawn was overly sweet.

"Why yes, dear sister, thank you for asking. Now, what did you do?"

Dawn's mouth dropped open and Willow had to stifle a giggle as she sat on the corner of the bed. She held the notebook up to give to Buffy.

"What's this?" she inquired.

"Dawnie found this, when Spike left to get you in the hellmouth. She was doing laundry and it fell on the floor. It's his; I believe a journal of some sort. Has poems in it, stories and such. Um, they’re mostly about…you, Buffy. In a good way, really. Most of them. We didn't know how to return it to him. We thought that you could come up with an idea, you know, so as not to anger him."

Dawn piped in, "We don't even know if he remembers having it, or writing in it, since you know, they were written for you."

Buffy sat there, book on her lap, looking down at it. "You read some of it?" she looked up at them expectantly. Both nodded.

"And…they were nice things? About me?"

"Buffy, he loved you." Buffy's face betrayed the anguish she was feeling deep inside. "…Oh, I'm sorry. Buffy you know that he loved you, and he can love you again. I just know it. And it can be different, the second time around. Much better for both of you. Buffy, you need to tell him how you feel. Don't keep it all locked up inside. You need to be honest with him." Willow reached over and covered her hands with her own.

"First things first, I need to be honest with myself."

"That's a good first step." Dawn put her two cents in. They all smiled.

"Well, I suppose I will just give it back to him, let him decide what he wants to do with it. Anybody hungry? I hear pancakes calling me."

"Yum, there's a pancake down there with my name on it. Let's go." Dawn jumped and headed for the door as Willow hooked her arm through Buffy's and followed the bubbly teen to the kitchen.

TBC





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