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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to dusty273, kw and cordykitten. Here’s more for ya ;)

If you're familiar with season five, I'm sure you won't get lost, but it's missing scenes from "Intervention," "Blood Ties," and "Checkpoint."
In case you didn't read the author's note, the parts following "That Look of Peace" go backwards from that ep- "Intervention," "Blood Ties," "Check Point," etc...

Black Opal


She hesitated at the threshold for a moment, fighting the strong urge within her to flee. Buffy gave two, soft knocks, and opened the crypt door with gentleness and finesse that she was not aware was even possible when it came to dealing with him.

“Spike?” she called out softly in spite of her thumping heart, stepping inside.

“Slayer? What are you… what are you doin’ here in this neck of the woods?” he slurred out. He was leaning by the fridge, looking more bruised and battered than he had the day before, if it was possible.

“I figured… you couldn’t get around and that you, ya know, needed some blood?” She pulled out a blue thermos from the grocery bag in her hand.

“Ninety-eight point six, is it?” He gave her a crooked grin. The commented invoked in her several memories, making her blush. She mentally shook the images away.

“I bought you some Wheatabix for it. For texture, right?”

“Yea,” he said softly, watching her as she walked further into the crypt, heading towards the sarcophagus.

“And some cigarettes, cause I wasn’t sure if you ran out of those. I know how you like to smoke like a chimney. And of course—”

“Buffy,” he called out, making her pause in her ramblings. She placed the bag slowly atop the sarcophagus before turning to him.

“Why are you… What is this?” She picked up the thermos and walked over to him. Unscrewing the cap, she handed it to him.

“I need you well, Spike. You’re the best fighter I have. And I figured if I’m gonna play nursemaid, well… might as well attempt to go the full nine yards, right?” Buffy hoped she didn’t sound nervous. She watched him as he sniffed at the blood, brow crinkled, putting it to his lips slowly.

“It’s fresh. And human. I know it would help you heal all that much faster if—”

“Bloody hell!” he rasped, looking at her in shock. “What did you—”

“I was at the hospital. I know that you need—”

“But this is… Buffy,” he whispered. He felt beyond speechless, already knowing to an extent what she had done. She pulled back her sleeve, showing him the band aid atop a piece of cotton on the juncture of her upper and forearm.

“Human blood works faster than animal blood, and Slayer blood works best of all.” He just looked at her with his one good eye in a cross between awe and confusion. “I… donated some blood, and just swiped it afterwards. It was mine, after all,” she added hastily.

“Right,” he croaked out.

“Right,” she repeated, not looking at him. “I’ll go get that Wheatabix.” She turned away, heading to his sarcophagus. He hobbled after her.

They sat in silence atop the sarcophagus, Spike crumbling the crackers into the blood, sipping it slow as she watched, swinging her legs back and forth, her boots clanking against the stone on each impact.

“I’ll stop by the butcher’s tomorrow. Bring you some more.”

“Ok,” he said softly after a huge gulp.

“Spike?” His head shot up, looking at her intently.

“Yea, luv?”

“Why do you… why do you even care?”

“Besides the fact I care for the Nibblet and Joyce? Sorry, by the way. I didn’t get the chance to—”

“I know. Willow told me you stopped by.”

“Oh. Well… you know why, Slayer.”

“Yeah, but how? I mean, once upon a time, you hated me.”

“Things change. And I never hated hated you. You were my opponent. ‘S nothin’ personal.”

“Nothing personal?” she asked sardonically.

“I never brought the fight to your family and your mates, did I? ‘S not like I didn’t know where you lived—I made it my business to know all there was to know about you. But at home, you aren’t the Slayer. I didn’t have any interest in fighting some girl worried ‘bout her mum and bratty kid sis.” Buffy tried not to think about how that was the exact opposite of what Angelus had done. “And yea, it pissed me off when you consistently foiled my plans…”

“But… how is love possible? After everything that we’ve…”

“What can I say, Summers? My love is blind. It doesn’t care what you are or what I am. It just is.”

“Just is,” she muttered softly. “Oh.” She reached into the bag, pulling out a plastic bottle and some cotton balls.

“Is that—”

“That chipped, black polish has been bugging me for ages. You should really stop using it. Your hands look better without it. I mean, they should be used for playing the piano, or strumming a guitar, fighting…” she said in a light conversational tone, pouring the polish remover onto a cotton ball, grasping one of his hands. “Or back massages.” She as an afterthought, pausing when she realized she had said it aloud. She began scrubbing furiously around his cuticles after that.

“You just… shouldn’t use it in my opinion.” He turned his head, hiding a smile from her.

“Yea, alright.”

“And all that black and the—”

“Hey now. The clothes and the hair are staying.”

Shortly after she left, Spike limped (an improvement from his former hobbling) over to his counter, reaching down and grasping the little black bottle in his warmed hand—warmed from her blood and her body heat as she held it within her own, scrubbing off the polish.

He looked at the little bottle of Black Opal, shaking his head as he tossed it into the trash with a sigh.

“Made a promise to a lady, didn’t I?”

*******

Covert Sincerity



“Dawn! Dawn!” Buffy yelled out into the night.

“Yeah, that should do it,” Spike said with subtle sarcasm.

“Shut up.”

“The nibblet scampered off to get away from you. She hears you bellowing, she’s gonna pack it in the opposite direction.” They both stop walking as Spike looks around. “Can’t say I blame her.”

“You were right,” Buffy said quietly, staring at the ground. Surprise is written all over Spike’s face at the admission. “This is my fault. I should’ve told her.” Spike sighed at that, feeling guilty for god knows why. He just knew that he had to comfort her somehow.

“Look, she probably would have skipped off anyway, even if she never found out. She’s not just a blob of energy, she’s also a fourteen year old hormone bomb.” He paused again, exhaling another sigh. “Which one’s screwing her up more right now, spin the bloody wheel. You’ll find her, just in the nick of time. That’s what you hero types do,” he finished with a shrug. Buffy gave him a hopeful look, wanting to believe him.

“You’ll find her,” he reiterated firmly.

“And then what?” she asked quietly. Spike was silent for a moment, mulling over his answer.

“And then… and then you say—” He placed his hands on her shoulders, gripping them with a firm gentleness. “Hey now— chin up, yea? Everything will be okay. No matter what you are, I still love you. I’ll always love you. Nothing’s changed.” His voice gradually lowered and became thick with emotion as he went on. He slowly embraced her in a hug, and folded into his arms.

“We’ll make it through this,” he continued softly. “I’ll be right here, right beside you.” He secretly inhaled her delicate scent of lilacs and vanilla. He collected himself, and pulled away before she noticed something.

“See? Easy.” He cringed inwardly at the slight tremble in his voice. Buffy tilted her head to the side, looking down at the ground, though he was fairly certain she wasn’t seeing it.

“Wow. You should be a writer or something,” she said reflectively. Spike bit his tongue at that.

“Just be honest, love. Tell it from your ticker, and so forth.”

“Yeah. I suppose I could. It’s true after all.” She continued walk, still contemplating what she would say to placate her little sister.

“Bloody well is true,” he mumbled to himself before catching back up to her. He walked on her right side, being her silent pillar of strength.

*****

A Core of Mush


Spike, Joyce and Dawn turned simultaneously from the telly as his crypt door opened.

“That didn’t take too long,” Spike said, looking at her.

“How’d it go, sweetie?” Buffy sighed as she looked at her mom, closing the door.

“A little nerve wracking…” She paused, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Glory was a god. “But, I managed to get the Council to agree to my terms, and Giles reinstated as my Watcher.”

“Retroactively?” Spike asked.

“Of course.”

“Good goin’, Slayer.” Buffy walked towards the sarcophagus, motioning Spike to follow her as her mom and Dawn began to pack up their things.

“Thanks,” she said, handing him a couple of bills.

“Keep your money. It was my pleasure to play host to the Summers ladies. My door’s always open. Of course, if it wasn’t, they always have you to kick it down, don’t they?” he said with an arch of his eyebrow. Buffy looked sheepish at that. She avoided looking at him for a second as she put the money back in her pocket. Spike took pity on her.

“If you feel really bad about it, next time, just bring me some alcohol, or some of those spicy buffalo wings that I like so much, or something equally delicious,” he said, sotto voce, slightly leaning in.

“Spike you’re such a—”

“Pig. Yeah, I know. Not like you expected anything more of me, right?” he said with a casual shrug. Buffy’s upper lip quirked slightly upward, but she suppressed the smile that was threatening to show itself. She turned, and headed back towards her family.

“Ready guys?”

“Yeah. Spike and mom were boring me to tears, and he doesn’t have any cable.” Dawn hefted her bag on her shoulder, standing by the door impatiently. “And, I didn’t realize how much of a softy he was,” she said with an impish grin, looking at him.

“Oi! Big bad over—”

“Whatever. All you did was talk to mom about soaps, the art gallery and how much you were craving her hot cocoa. Way lame,” she sing songed.

“Okay, Bit. My hospitality has officially run out. Time for you lot to bugger off.” He stalked over to the door, holding it open.

“Aww… Dawn’s ruined Spike’s manly pride. Come on, mom. Let’s let him wallow.” Buffy walked to the doorway, all the while grinning at the only slightly irritated vamp.

“Ignore the girls, Spike. Thank you for having us. Come over any time for that cocoa,” Joyce said with a smile before stepping over the threshold into the night, followed by Dawn and then Buffy. Buffy stopped once she was one foot out of the crypt and turned to face him.

“Spike, um… I just wanted, wanted to say—”

“ ‘Thank you?’” he supplied for her. She nodded gratefully.

“Yes. Thank you.” With that, she turned and left. Spike stood by the door, watching as the Summers’ women made their way through the cemetery, closing his door softly once they were out of sight.

“Big, soft gooey center,” Spike mumbled with disdain. “How’s that for you? Whipped without getting any.” Spike headed to his counter to get a drink, thinking of what to get the Slayer for her birthday.





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