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A/N As always April must be thanked over and over for her indespensible herlp in proofing these shoddly written chapters. She mends them so well.

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"You know what the trouble is with a dead Slayer?" The demons look up, startled by his interruption, and he effects his cockiest pose as he searches his pockets for his smokes.

"Who are you?" The leader seems unperturbed by his presence, perhaps just mildly offended by the interruption.

"The trouble is…" He cocks his head and studies them with the air of deciding whether or not they were worthy of his words. "You kill one, and that's all good and fun—a real riot—but all you end up with is another one, brand spanking new and eager for the killing."

A long drag on his cigarette gives him a moment to assess their response. Curious but unconvinced; just what he'd expected. "So if you got some big nasty going down on the hellmouth, what you really want is to keep the slayer busy, distracted." Another pause and a sly twitch of his lips. Damn, he's good. Coulda been an actor. "Weak."

"Who are you?"

"And suddenly this conversation is so terribly boring." He turns away—bluffing, of course, but then he's always been a gambler.

"Wait." Hook, line and sinker. Bleeding idiots. "You know of a way to do this? To weaken this slayer?"

"I know a lot of ways." He leans his weight on one hip and studies the chipped nail polish on his left hand. "You see, me and the slayer, we got what you might call history."

He drags a chair over to the end of their table and turns it round to straddle it, elbows resting on the back, every inch the archetypal bad boy. "Tell me, you heard of William the Bloody?"

……………………………..

"Can I watch?" There was a time not so long ago when she would have dismissed her sister with an eye roll and an unequivocal "no," but those days are gone and Dawn is no longer the clumsy child who could always be relied upon to at best annoy and distract and at worst break something valuable.

"Sure." Still, they are sisters, so the law dictates that she has to give her a hard time. "But be quiet and don't touch anything."

"Right then, Buffy." Giles indicates vaguely toward the mats at the rooms centre. "When you're ready."

Twenty minutes later, Dawn slips quietly from the training room. Talk about boring. She’f thought there were going to be punches and backflips and stuff, but no, just Buffy doing a one-armed handstand, which was cool for like ten seconds, and Giles droning on and on about "reaching into your centre," which, when she thought about it, actually sounded kinda gross.

If she'd known what they would talk about just minutes after she left and Buffy finally finished her meditation, she would definitely have stayed a little longer.

"Excellent, Buffy." There is so much affection and admiration in his voice, and she can't get enough of his praise these days. "You've really progressed amazingly this summer. I can't tell you how proud it makes me."

"Oooh. Proud watcher." She grins impishly as she wipes her damp palms and turns to rummage through her kit bag for her antiperspirant. "Go me."

"Proud father," he corrects with a sincere smile, and she turns to him, touched and serious.

"I know." It comes out at little more than a whisper. It's so good to have him back, to feel like a family again.

"I'm so glad you're here," she tells him softly after a short, warm silence. "Last year was just…" There's no need to finish that statement; he knows how last year was, has apologised so many times for leaving her and not realising how very badly she had needed him.

"Yes." It's enough. They understand each other.

"But this year's going to be a doozie." He nods, and she continues candidly. "You know, people-missage aside." And if she hadn't tensed, if her eyes hadn't widened guiltily with the realisation of what she'd said, then he would have believed she was talking only of her mother and Tara.

…………………………………..

"Don't look like much," he comments, running disinterested eyes over the tiny shaking thing cowering grubby and silent in the far corner of its cramped cage. "You really think it's worth brining along?"

"The child does not concern you." His name is Renon, the demon priest he met at the bar. "Your only concern is the slayer." He huffs out a noncommittal sound through his nose. "Got that right," his mind answers silently as he turns again to study the child.

"Wait here while I inform our mistress of your offer." The limousine into which he disappears has blacked-out windows and polished chrome over its satin black sheen. No one sees her, apparently. Only Renon, her high priest, is permitted audience—usual demon hullabaloo: "not worthy,” blah blah blah, “sacred visage,” blah, “strike down,” more blah. Sort of thing that's always pissed him off.

"Are you a monster, too?" It's barely more than a squeaking whisper, but when he looks back at the child, its eyes are huge and curious, sparkling blue in a dirt-streaked face. Wide and innocent, so like a child's eyes he remembers from not so long ago. That coltish, trusting child he'd wanted so badly to take care of but hadn't known even how to begin.

"Yeah, biscuit," he tells it softly, but his voice is gentle and, emboldened by the sound, it raises its head. A little girl, with filthy, matted curls that are probably blonde and tiny, delicate features. Pretty little thing under all that muck. "I'm a monster."

"Oh." She bites her lip nervously. "Do you want to be my friend? This place isn't very nice."

So simply a child sees the world, so easy for her to make her first impressions of him based on his deep, rich voice and gentle eyes rather than on the monster he cannot deny being.

"All right." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "But it's gotta be a secret, okay? Can't have these nasties knowing I'm on your side, now can we, Hob-Nob?"

"Okay." She sketches a cross over her heart, face unnaturally solemn for one so young. "Promise."

The sudden fear on her face confirms what he has already sensed: Renon is returning, and he brings the verdict that will determine his fate, and with it, the child's and maybe even Buffy's.

"Your name is known to our mistress and she sees merit in your proposal." He eyes the vampire in what Spike assumes is supposed to be a threatening manner. "You will weaken this girl, use your knowledge of her and her loved ones to frighten and distract her, and you will be well rewarded when she whose name is great reigns again."

"Bugger that." He knows how to play this, how to make them believe he is what he told them he is: a slayer killer with a reputation for impudence. They'd bought his story, lies and twisted-up truth spun to make the last five years sound like running battles and cunning infiltrations rather than the great cosmic joke his life had actually turned out to be. Still wouldn't do to let 'em get suspicious. "The deal was twenty grand."

Such unsavoury mercenary creatures these vampires, but the mistress chooses him and so Renon must bite his tongue and do her bidding. "Of course."

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A/N Thanks to Niamh for my one and only review for the first chapter. Kiss for you, rasberry for everyone else.





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