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A/N Thanks as always to my lovely proof reader April for giving my incoherrent ramblings the once over before I inflict them on the world at large

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Anya's chanting when they get back to Giles', her pretty face distorted with concentration while Willow, hands visibly trembling, wafts sweet-smelling incense around the doorway.

"Bring her in, Spike," Giles commands, and the vampire can't be certain whether it's sufficient invitation or whether he's never been taken off the guest list. It's important, in a way, because if they know about what he did to Buffy… But now's not the time to worry about it because his little custard cream is waking up and she's bound to be afraid.

"You brought him back here." And now there's no need to wonder whether they know or not, because the venom in Xander's voice is due to more than their ever-present dislike or the bruises still visible on the boy's neck. Suddenly he's ashamed, in front of these people he never really gave a shit about, so shamed he has to drop his eyes and pretend to be studying the slowly-waking child in his arm.

"Not now, Xander." There's weariness to the command that tells him she'd faced this before, and the guilt just keeps growing. He almost growls in frustration—he's not even supposed to feel guilt—but he holds back because he wouldn't want to scare the little one; what a poof he's become.

"Spike?" Her timid question silences the room, and he bounces her a little to calm her as she raises her head to glance nervously around before retreating again into the safety of his shoulder.

"Well, hello all." He summons the extent of his brittle bravado and looks at each one of them in turn. Their mistrust is palpable, but then that's nothing new and it's a shame about the watcher because in all honesty he did quite like the old bastard, but he doesn't care if Xander's glaring at him and Anya's looking awkwardly away. Or even if sweet little Willow is looking at him like a trembling mouse about to bolt for cover.

But then his eyes meet orbs as blue as his own, and he's never seen such ice-cold hatred in those youthful chameleon eyes. And he can't even swallow his shame anymore and play the part because, she had loved him, loved him as he'd always wished her sister would, and while it had been Buffy that he'd hurt, it was Dawn that he'd truly betrayed because it was only her who ever believed in him.

He feels water gathering in the corners of his eyes as she stares him down and has to turn his whole body away from her and focus all his care into the little one he holds, because no one else here would take a scrap of it.

"Come on, penguin." He gives her another encouraging bounce. "Come on and say hello to the scoobies. Remember, I told you they'd look after you right proper when we got you out."

Her little head rises slowly and she looks around with frightened, curious eyes before turning back to Spike and asking in a loud whisper, "Which one's the white witch?"

The silence is truly deafening and it only takes an instant to see it all in Willow's suddenly-devastated face when he turns to her questioningly. "Shit." It's just a breath, and for a moment he has to shut his eyes. Of all the bloody scoobies, it had to be Glinda. He'd never met a sweeter girl, and it had to be her that bought it.

Biscuit looks like she's about to ask again, and Willow's face is beginning to crumple, so he cuts the child off gently. "'Fraid Glinda had to go away, pet, " he tells her with solemn gentleness. "She'd be right sorry to miss looking after you, though, luv. She'd have been real good at it 'n' all. " It's the closest he can get to telling them how sorry he is, probably more than he has the right to be, even at that.

"Now," he continues with a bright smile for his little charge, "Red over there's a witchy one 'n' all. You gonna let her take care of you?"

A vigorous shake of her head sends dirty curls bouncing before she answers decisively. "You."

"Hey," Buffy tries, touching her frail shoulder. "I'm Buffy, what's your name?"

Her bright blue eyes widen in her grubby face and she gives a little awed gasp and shrinks back deeper into his arms. "Hey now, what's up, little one?" Spike asks after giving the slayer an apologetic look.

After a few moments silence and a few abortive attempts to get words out of her opening and closing mouth, she manages, "I never met a real super hero before."

She is simply adorable with her big blue eyes and awed expression, and Buffy finds herself smiling stupidly at her. "Sure you have, Ginger Nut." Spike gives her a cocky grin and she smiles broadly at him in response. "Met me, ain't ya?"

Xander makes a disgusted noise but he doesn't get a chance to voice his opinion before the little one does it for him. "You're not a super hero," she says with a giggle. "You're Spike."

"That I am." He gives her an affectionate smile, pleased somehow that she sees him that way. "Now be a good girl and tell the nice slayer your name."

She twists her mouth to the side and watches Buffy warily for a moment, gathering her confidence in front of this fantastical creature. "I'm Sesha," she whispers, eyes riveted to the hero of her bedtime fairytales.

"Very pleased to meet you, Sesha," Buffy greets with playful seriousness as she shakes her tiny hand.

For a long moment, Sesha studies Buffy with a small frown drawn on her face before she turns to Spike and tells him with a serious nod of her head, "She is."

"She is what?" Buffy asks with an indulgent smile. Such a cute kid.

"Spike said you were the prettiest girl in the whole world," she declares, more confidently.

"Ah, now, biscuit—"

"And that you were the strongest, too, and the fastest and the very bravest of all the super heroes." The kid's on a roll now and Spike's embarrassed shushing is going unheeded. "Spike said that you'd look after me because you're an angel, and that you could tell you came from heaven because you're so beautiful. Spike says—"

"Bath." The vampire's voice is loud as he cuts off the child's innocent exposition. He risks a glance at Buffy and he'll be buggered if she isn't blushing and giving him a coy smile, and for a moment he's lost in the sweetness of her before he adjusts his tone and continues more nonchalantly. "She's right filthy. Reckon one of you ladies needs to give her a bath."

"I'll do it," Dawn volunteers cheerfully, but as she steps forward to take the child, her accusing glare is for both Buffy and Spike.

"Need a hand?" Willow's offer is accepted with a shrug, and the girls disappear up the stairs to Giles' bathroom with the little one chattering happily as they go.

And with them goes his shield, his last defence against the righteous judgment of Buffy and her court. He should leave. He's done his bit; he should turn and leave before they send him away or stake him, but God help him, he doesn't want to go. Even now, after everything that's happened, he just wants to be there for her. A few scant hours of her company and he can't bear the thought of being without her again.

"Bitch had to have had at least a hundred minions," he blurts out before they get a chance to speak. Maybe she'll let him stay, just to help her fight the Mistress and her rabble. Maybe she'll let him watch her back again like she used to, just one more time before she sends him away.

She looks at him for a moment, quiet and unreadable, while the others wait silently for her to act. She holds his gaze for what feels like hours, and just when he thinks he'll have to look away, she speaks. "We figured out from what you said that they wanted to sacrifice the girl tonight, to open the hellmouth. Do you know anything else?"

He really wishes he did, because that might be enough to buy him a few more precious moments of her company. "Not much, 'cept that it was all for this 'Mistress' of theirs. I never saw her, but I'm guessing she's pretty powerful. They were talking about the Slavrok, it's—"

"We got that." She cuts him off abruptly and he starts mentally counting down to the moment she kicks him out. "It's still early. I think it's safe to assume they'll come looking for her. Giles, do you think the barrier spell will hold?"

"I doubt it. Anya did her best, but she's not a natural Wicca, and if they are as numerous as…" He pauses, as if saying the vampire's name is in itself distasteful. "As numerous as Spike claims, then it's likely they'll have mages of their own."

"Okay." She rubs her forehead briefly, then turns to the group again. "Giles, check the back's secure, barricade any doors and windows. Xander and Anya, you do upstairs. Take a weapon. Spike, you're with me." And just like that, she lets him back in, barking her orders in confident expectation that he will follow her.

And he does, of course—as if he were ever capable of anything else—and almost runs into her back when Xander's outraged voice brings her up short. "Great gods, Buff, what the hell is wrong with you?" She turns to face her friend, and he can see in her taut expression the dread of this confrontation. "You better be taking him with you to deliver a well-deserved staking."

"Please, Xander." She holds up her hands as if to physically ward off the fierce emotional punches he's capable of throwing at her. "Not right now. We don't know what's coming, but we know it's bad. Right now, we need Spike. Can we talk about everything else later?"

"We never need him!" The boy is virtually purple with rage and usually he'd find it pretty damned hilarious, but not when it's making Buffy's beautiful green eyes go wide and troubled, or when he's actually finally justified. "We can't trust him, Buffy. You of all people know that."

She seems at a loss to articulate whatever justification she has found for not doing just as the boy says and ridding herself of him permanently. "Buffy," he ventures carefully. "I'll go. These buggers know me. Maybe I can get them chasing after me, lead them off on—"

"Shut up, Spike," she snaps. Her patience always was short for him.

"Yeah, shut up, Spike," Xander agrees peevishly before his brain catches up with what the vampire actually said and he changes his mind. "Actually, no, for once you were making sense."

"No." Her lips are pursed, eyes shut as she regains her equilibrium. "Don't be an idiot. They'll kill you."

"Well, yeah." Hadn't she always known he'd die for her? He might be a colossal screw-up, he might have broken a trust he hadn't even realise she'd given him, hurt her in the worst of ways, but surely she still knew that much.

"No." Her voice is more urgent this time, rising with just the faintest hint of panic, before she turns on the slayer and takes charge. "No. I need fighters here for as long as there's a threat to Sesha. Xander, Giles, make sure this place is secure. Anya, tell the others to hurry up; we need to get ready and we need a Plan B in case the barrier fails."

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Giles' t-shirt swamps Sesha's body, making her look small and fragile as Willow gently rubs her curls dry with a big fluffy towel. "So, Spike told you about us?" Dawn asks when the towelling finally ceases and Willow deposits the child on the counter top by the sink.

"Hm-hm." She fingers her damp hair and answers distractedly. "He told me stories with monsters and stuff and the scoobies."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. And that you all liked to look after people and that you'd look after me."

"Well, he was right about that," Willow answers, tugging playfully at a springy straw-coloured ringlet. "We certainly like to look after you."

"That's what Spike said." As if that in itself made it indisputable fact. "He said you all saved a little girl before from the monsters, and because Buffy was so brave and all, saving her, she got to go to heaven for a bit."

Dawn felt herself stiffen at the casual mention of her own so similar experience. "Yeah, she did."

"Was it you she saved?" A question asked so innocently it couldn't help but be answered truthfully.

"Yes, it was. The monsters wanted to kill me, but Buffy stopped them."

"Oh." She looks straight at Dawn, the matched pair of baby blues locked for a moment before she veers off on a tangent. "Spike said you were pretty, like a picture, but I don't know what that means."

"Spike says a lot of things, doesn't he?" Willow observed indulgently.

"Hm-hm. He says that I'm pretty, too. He says that when I'm bigger I'll grow up to be a 'right little heart breaker,' just like you." Her fingers find Dawn’s glossy hair as she speaks, and the guilelessness of her flattery is enchanting.

"I think he's right," Dawn agrees with a sad smile. In her mind she can almost hear him spinning his stories for Sesha, just as he used to do for her. Turning the horror of their lives into fairytale adventures in which they were all, with the probable exception of Xander, cast like mythic heroes.

The memory of one night in that awful summer without Buffy is vivid in her mind. Jacob Jefferies—he of the droolsome eyes and cool alliteration—had totally blown her off in front of everyone at summer school and she'd been all sad and weepy when Spike had made his nightly check on her just before she went to sleep.

"Hey there, Nibblet," he'd murmured, sitting down on the side of the bed and drawing her face round to look at him. "What's got you all upset?"

So she'd told him, because that summer it had felt like she could have told him anything at all, and he'd listened, head cocked to one side, attentive and caring. Then he'd shaken his head and made a dismissive snorting noise. "Bloke’s a pillock platelet. Not worth your tears."

He'd caught her face when she'd tried to turn away, and stroked his rough cold thumbs across her damp cheeks. "You're gorgeous, pet, and don't you ever go thinking otherwise. Pretty as a bloody picture you are, and mark my words, couple of years you'll be a right little heart breaker, giving all those useless gits wet dreams and what all."

That had earned him a laugh and a playful, "Gross, Spike!" before he'd kissed her forehead and she'd gone to sleep feeling much better. A lifetime ago now, and how she had loved him then. Imagined herself with foolish teenage fervour in love with him, until he'd turned his existence over to her protection and she'd known that this love was so much deeper, so much truer, than scribbled hearts on school books and plucking daisy petals. No "he loves me not," because it was beyond doubting that he did, or so she'd thought.

"Are you cross with Spike?" Children are so perceptive, she wonders why adults continually try and deceive them.

"Yeah, I am." Although "cross" barely begins to cover the tumult of betrayed anger and impotent hostility she feels towards her one-time hero.

"Why? Did Spike do something wrong?"

"He really did." And how can such a massively complex question have an answer so very simple?

"But he's sorry. I know he is," she insists with all the passionate certainty of a child. "He's always saying how Dawn and Buffy were the most specialest girls in the whole world, and how he'd do anything for them. You are Dawn, right?"

"Yeah, I'm Dawn," she confirms softly, mind drifting to Spike claiming even now to love her, to love them both.

"I thought so." There's something strange about her voice, something indefinable that makes them freeze and turn quizzical eyes on her, but there's no time now to worry about it because the enemy is here and Buffy's voice, loud and urgent, is calling them downstairs.
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"They're just standing there like they're waiting for something." Willow lets the corner of the curtain drop.

"How many?"

"Lots." The redhead shrugs to indicate more than she could count. "Maybe a hundred."

"We have to get Sesha out of here." She doesn't really have a plan; all that matters is getting the child to safety. She's supposed to protect the innocent, after all. "Spike and I will go out the front, take them on head on. Hopefully we can distract them. Willow, can you help?"

"No." She shakes her head, fear and regret written in the tense, jerky movements. "I'm so sorry, Buffy."

"Fine." She can't help but snap. They don't have time now for weakness. She needs fighters, and right now the only one she can count is at her back. She can feel him across the few feet of air that separates them, his body, like hers, tensing, primed and ready for the fight, and she's plain grateful that he's here because facing a hundred demons all by herself? Not so much fun. "You, Xander, and Anya are the decoys. You come out behind us and make a break for the car. Hopefully they'll chase you while Dawn and Giles slip Sesha out the back.

"I admire your courage, slayer, but that simply wont be necessary." The voice that comes from the child is clear and loud, the youthful tinkle replaced with the confident lilt of a woman's voice.

"Nibblet, get away from her." That voice—Oh, God, that voice, like a thousand ancient voices speaking as one. They still don't understand; they're looking at her in confusion, still seeing the tiny, innocent child, but he's heard that voice before and he understands that he's been tricked.


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A/N Thanks so much for the reviews for the last chapter

MG - Ooh a choclate hob-nob, my favourite. Did you ever have the ones with caramel on as well - sickly yet delicious :)

Wow thanks for the offer CordyKitten. I'm kinda scared of LJ's though can picture it sitting therre alone and unvisited and how depressing would that be?

Cheers steph, glad you liked.

Oh DreamGirl be patient my lovely, have i ever not produced the spuffy? IT's coming I promise it's coming.





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