Tara had started panicking almost as soon as Buffy asked for help with bath-related activities: seeing her straight female friends’ naked parts hadn’t generally gone so well for her in the past. And even though it had ultimately got her a private dorm room, The Incident In Freshman Year had been beyond brutal.

But to Tara’s great relief, Buffy seemed way more bothered by needing help in the first place than about who was giving it. By the time she was safely in the bath (and covered by several strategically-placed washcloths), Tara was beginning to feel that special something Willow had described so many times – how helping Buffy made you feel like maybe you were a better person.

Then she oh-so-casually asked Tara to tell Spike that he’d left clothes on the bathroom floor again. All of a sudden, Tara’s brain processed the fact that Buffy had carried very definitely black things into the bathroom, and yet neither her pyjamas nor her towel had any black in them. At all. Whatsoever. And the pile of equally definitely black clothes heaped on the floor had not been there when Tara had brushed her teeth.

Tara stammered out “Sure,” before escaping to the safety of the hallway. She couldn’t understand why Buffy was still trying so hard to keep up the pretence: there was no way anyone living in the house could miss that Spike had moved into her room. But despite that, it didn’t really surprise her: the tried and tested Scooby way was to pretend everything was fine right up until it exploded in your face. Tara leant back against the wall, staring through the open doorway to her bedroom with its too-big bed, wishing the drama could be just a little less sleep-depriving.

Suddenly, she could hear Spike, angry and shouting from downstairs. More drama.

“You got a bondage fetish or somethin’? Sun’s up! What could I possibly do?”

Tara’s stomach started churning. She was a little afraid of Spike when Dawn wasn’t around to keep him calm: his emotions were always so … big. They filled the house. She decided to escape to the library as soon as she could. It was very definitely morning now, and midterms were only a week away.

------------------------------------------

Ever since she’d started working at the Magic Box, Xander’s Sundays had been reserved exclusively for Anya. She was unshakable in her refusal to share him with Willow or Buffy on the only day they both had off – written out a contract and everything, complete with a special clause for apocalypses and funerals. He’d thought it was kinda weird and overly clingy when she’d first brought it up, but in the end he’d come to appreciate their Sundays together. They felt decadent and special, even if they only ended up doing errands and watching TV. It was such a cosmic kick in the teeth that Sunday was their last day in the apartment.

And not even a whole day, either. Neither of them had managed to sleep much, so by 8.00 they’d finished the last of the cleaning and, minutes later, the last three boxes had been divided between Xander’s car and Anya’s backpack. Then they closed and locked the door and took their keys off their rings so Anya could put them into her change purse, ready to give to Giles the next time she saw him.

As Anya snapped her purse shut with a resounding click, Xander realised that she’d never again yell at him for forgetting to clean the dust from the back of the toilet stem. It made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. “So….” he said. “Guess this is it, huh?”

“Guess so.” Anya said shortly, wishing this part were over. She wasn’t sure that she understood goodbyes, but she knew that they hurt.

Xander suddenly stiffened – with that look he got when either he really needed to pee, or he was about to say something important. Anya’s traitorous heart hoped he was about to take it all back – tell her that he couldn’t bear to live without her and this had all been a terrible mistake.

“Uh, before I forget, there might be a thing on Tuesday … for Tara’s birthday?”

Anya’s face hardened. “So?”

“Did you wanna go?”

“Is there a post-break-up dating ritual as well? Because I’ve never heard of—”

Xander laughed, high-pitched and nervous. “There is not enough ‘no’ in the world to fully express the extreme no-ness that is the answer to that question. It’s just, I know Willow’s gonna go, and she kinda asked me if I could be there for moral support, and—”

“Tara’s not going to invite me, Xander,” she snapped.

He deflated slightly. “Look, all I know is that Tara told Willow she wanted to go somewhere she could drink legally. I figure that means it’s gonna be somewhere a bit … a bit more grown up than the Bronze, and maybe you’d like that. I don’t … I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone.”

Anya sighed. “I am alone, Xander. That’s what ‘not being together anymore’ means.”

“You don’t need to be! I mean, Giles made it very clear whose side he’s on.” Lips twisting slightly in distaste, he added, “And Mr Short, Pale and Bitey’s always hated my guts.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re too busy being on Buffy’s side to even know I have one.”

Xander looked sceptical. “Giles took the time to read me the riot act yesterday.” He twitched in memory. “And he kept in touch with you, after he left. He never spoke to the rest of us. Not once. That’s gotta count for something.”

Anya frowned. “I won’t go if it’s just you and Willow and Buffy. But … if it’s more people? And if it’s somewhere good, like the cocktail lounge at the Grand?”

They shared a smile.

“Maybe then.”

Xander’s smile broadened. With his third paycheque – the first one he could safely blow without having to worry about food or rent – they’d splurged on good fake IDs and gone to the Grand Hotel and drunk eight-dollar cocktails with silly names and Anya had tried to teach him to Charleston. It had been one of their few truly successful dates.

“That’s a really good idea,” he said. “I’ll suggest it to Tara.”

------------------------------------------

Thankfully, Buffy didn’t dawdle in the bath. It was only as Tara was halfway down the stairs that she realised the implications of what all she now had to tell Spike – and in front of Mr Giles, too. Tara made sure to step firmly on the creaky step, and reluctantly continued down to the kitchen. Man and vampire both were staring anxiously at the door by the time she came through it.

“She alright?” Spike asked, just as Giles said, “Is Buffy well?”

Tara nodded, thoroughly uncomfortable, then turned to Spike. “She said that you, um, that you left your clothes in the b-b-bathroom?”

There was a painfully long moment of silence while everyone very carefully avoided eye contact.

“She asked me to bring her some sleepy tea, a-and ice p-packs,” Tara continued quietly. “So, um, I’m just gonna d-do that.” Tara inched into the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients.

To her surprise, Spike didn’t get angry, he just slumped back against the counter, looking as if his strings had been cut.

Giles looked thoughtful. “That tea wouldn't work on vampires, would it?” he asked

“Might need to up the d-dose, b-but it should,” Tara answered slowly, looking up from her preparations. “Why?”

“Spike’s chip is no longer functioning properly,” Giles said grimly.

Tara froze rigid, staring over at Spike while her stomach started churning even more violently. He stared right back, making her feel even more exposed and vulnerable.

“Fine,” he snarled, finally breaking eye contact and slumping down even further.

Tara felt a flash of guilt at his reaction. She had never expected him to look so … was he disappointed?

With a look that seemed almost compassionate, Giles said, “It’s better this way. You must see that.”

“‘M takin’ the bed with the lock on the door,” Spike said flatly, gesturing towards the basement. Then, sneeringly: “For Brutus is an honourable man.”

“Self-important pillock,” Giles muttered under his breath, which seemed to perk Spike up a bit. Turning to Tara, he asked, “How long will it last?”

She shrugged uncertainly. “A normal d-dose lasts about ten hours, so if I make d-double….” Her eyes darted over towards Spike. “At least five hours, if it’s like alcohol?”

“An’ if it isn’t, could be out for twenty,” Spike said darkly. “Bloody hate magic.”

Tara wished for the floor to open and swallow her up.

“If you truly don’t want to drink it,” Giles said testily, “I can still get the chains.”

Spike sighed. “You ever gonna trust me?” He missed the look passing between Giles and Tara.

Squeezing her hands into tight fists and wishing she could close her eyes as well, she said, “Change needs time.”

Another uneasy silence settled over the kitchen while Tara finished making the tea.

As soon as she had finished, Spike snatched up his mug of extra-strength and stalked off towards the basement, stiff-backed and sullen. Even though Tara was mostly expecting it, she couldn’t help flinching when he slammed the door shut behind him.

Giles leaned across the kitchen sink to open the blinds. It was a beautiful sunny morning.

------------------------------------------

Dawn woke up early – for her – a little before noon. Still half-asleep, she unbarred her door and padded into the bathroom, where she saw Spike’s new sweats and a clean-ish t-shirt dumped on the floor. They definitely hadn’t been there when Dawn had gone to bed and it wasn’t like Spike to leave his clothes lying around. She went straight to Buffy’s room and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she opened it and stepped in, one hand ostentatiously over her eyes to give any naked people time to cover up.

Peeking through her fingers, she saw soundly-sleeping Buffy and no Spike.

“Buffy?” Dawn called out hesitantly. When there was no reaction, she stepped closer to the bed. “Buffy?” She said it louder this time, but still nothing. Weird that Buffy wasn’t waking up – she was a super-light sleeper normally. Dawn reached out and gently touched her shoulder. No reaction. Dawn prodded a little harder. Still nothing.

That was when she started to panic.

------------------------------------------

An ear-shattering wail propelled Giles to wakefulness. Dawn. Only just barely managing to untangle his feet from the throw, he scrambled for the weapons trunk, then ran for the basement, certain he was going to find someone dead or dying and then—

No blood or carnage; just a girl frantically trying to shake a vampire awake.

“What did you do to them?” Dawn screeched accusingly, voice high and panicked and thick with tears. As he continued down the stairs, she scrambled across Spike’s body and stood menacingly between Giles and the bed.

The intensity of his relief to find Dawn whole and unharmed was entirely unexpected. Giles sat down gingerly at the bottom of the stairs, placing the sword carefully on the floor beside him. Then, in his best reasonable voice, he explained that Spike’s chip was no longer working, and how magically-induced sleep was preferable to chains.

“And Buffy?” Dawn’s mind flashed to blank-Buffy with the pipe in the basement like some kind of demented Clue character. “Is she – did she do something?” She wiped angrily at her nose, still streaming snot like a stupid little kid’s.

“No,” Giles said calmly. “Buffy simply asked Tara to make her something to help her sleep.” He paused. “I understand it is, er, useful for her nightmares.”

Dawn relaxed slightly. “When will they wake up?”

“Buffy should be up in time for dinner. Spike could wake up in…” Giles checked his watch, “about an hour, or anytime up until the early hours tomorrow morning.”

Dawn tensed up again, almost vibrating with emotion. “You don’t know?”

Giles shrugged. “Tara is not certain how the tea will react to a vampire constitution. To all intents and purposes, they took sleeping pills. There is nothing bad or dangerous in it.” Seing the opportunity to drive home a lesson, he continued: “Spike, on the other hand….”

“Not to me!” Dawn shouted, suddenly angry again.

“He’s a vicious killer.”

“Used to be,” Dawn said mulishly. “He … he works for you now! You and Anya!”

Giles opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling the conversation escaping him. It had never occurred to him that Dawn would try to defend a chipless Spike. In retrospect, that had perhaps been unwise…. “Do you know what he does?”

“It’s in the shop, right?” Dawn said with a nonchalant shrug. “Lifting boxes or something lame like that.”

“Hardly,” Giles snorted.

Her stomach lurched. She’d been so angry when he’d said he was working for Anya. She’d just assumed it was one more thing he was doing for Buffy.

“He carves up demons for parts,” Giles snapped. “Just like the Initiative.”

Dawn flinched. She’d always known Spike sometimes did … things. Jobs. But he never told her about them. She sat down on the edge of the bed, inching backwards until she could feel his still form against her back. “Well if you’re willing to sell their parts, they must’ve needed killing.”

Giles resisted rolling his eyes. But really, this was an argument for Anya; neither a teenager nor a vampire was in a position to act as any kind of moral arbiter. “I understand that he’s – that you care for him, Dawn. Truly I do. But he is not safe to be around if his chip isn’t working.”

“What are you so afraid he’s gonna do?”

Giles sighed. “I don’t believe he would intentionally hurt you or Buffy. Not immediately, at any rate.”

Dawn waited expectantly for the other shoe to drop.

“But what happens after a few months of feeding off of people again?”

“He wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t he? He is a vampire, Dawn. It’s in his nature to hunt, and I do not believe that he, or any other creature, is capable of denying its nature indefinitely. No matter how much he may want to. And once he’s started feeding off of, er, his natural prey, he will find it difficult to distinguish between friend and … and lunch.”

“Do you really think if he didn’t have the chip anymore that he’d just go back to how he was before? Like the last two years never happened?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Or what you hope. I am unwilling to gamble with the lives of the people living in this house.”

Dawn’s eyes blazed. “This isn’t your house, Mr Giles. You’re not even family.”

He flinched.

“You know, I don’t even get where you had the right to make any decisions at all!”

“Dawn—”

“You left. You can’t just come back here and expect us to do whatever you say. You have no right!”

Giles pressed his lips together, waiting for the tirade to end. Buffy had taught him it was better this way.

“And I don’t hope,” Dawn shrilled. “I trust him. And I’m not stupid! I know he does bad st– did bad stuff. But so have you! I heard about your whole Igor thing, with the demonic body snatching.”

“Eyghon,” Giles corrected despite himself.

“Whatever.” Dawn paused for breath. “And he hasn’t done anything yet! Why can’t you just trust him until he gives you a reason not to?”

“He has already tried to hide the malfunction of his chip,” Giles said. “That hardly inspires confidence.”

“Wait-wait-wait,” Dawn held up one hand. “This isn’t just a last night thing?”

Giles shook his head. “He mentioned re-setting Buffy’s fingers … they were still taped up when I arrived.”

A wide grin split across Dawn’s face. “Oh my god. How dumb are you?”

Giles frowned.

“It’s Buffy!” Dawn said. “The chip just doesn’t work on Buffy.” Realising the wider implications of what she’d just said, the smile slipped from her face, leaving it horror-stricken. “It’s just Buffy…. Does that mean she’s—”

“We don’t know that it’s just Buffy,” Giles said quickly, suddenly wishing he’d never brought this up.

“Yes we do!” All the light died in Dawn’s eyes. “When he did that thing – when he nearly died – half the injuries were from his chip. A-and that first assassin made it go off. But the second one wasn’t human and Spike said that meant he could fight it!”

“I have seen what appeared to be his chip firing several times myself,” Giles said slowly. “He could still be faking it.”

A withering look peeked through the despair. “I’ve seen him play poker. He’s not faking.”

“How do you-?” He stopped, certain he didn’t actually want to know.

“What’s wrong with Buffy?” Dawn’s voice was small and unsteady.

“Buffy is fine.” Giles impressed himself with the certainty in his voice.

“Please don’t just keep pretending everything’s okay when it really isn’t.” Dawn whined, the tears threatening to return. “Is it – is she a demon now? Did something happen in the hell dimension to make her lose her soul?”

Giles was at a complete loss as to what to say. Perversely, he found himself wishing Spike were awake.

“Whatever’s wrong with her is my fault,” Dawn continued softly. “I have a right to know.”

Giles couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t think Dawn had noticed it. Feeling almost as if acting outside of his body, he got up from the steps and crouched beside the bed so their eyes were level. “It was not your fault.” He thought he’d choke on the words, but he didn’t. To his great surprise, he sounded clear and strong and commanding.

Dawn let out a faint whimper. No one but Spike had ever said it to her. And this was Giles.

“Buffy chose to sacrifice her life for yours,” he continued, his throat constricting around the words, making him sound hoarse. “She swore to me that if you died, she would give it all up. That the world wouldn’t be worth saving anymore without you in it.”

“R-really?” Dawn lost the fight against the tears.

“Really.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Giles straightened – his knees no longer supported extended crouching. “I can’t be certain. Not yet. There are books … experts in England I need to consult.” He went to sit down again on the steps.

Dawn wrapped her arms around herself, pushing back harder against Spike and trying to keep from shaking. “Can you fix her?”

“It rather depends on whether the problems are magical or psychological,” Giles said slowly. “Magical ones may be easily fixed, or not at all. Psychological ones will take time and effort on her part. There is almost certainly a mixture of both.”

Dawn looked terrified. “Why couldn’t you have just lied to me?”

He laughed. “Your – Buffy asked me to lie to her once.”

“What did you say?”

“That the world was divided clearly and visibly into good and evil, and that good would always triumph. That no one would ever die and we’d all live happily ever after.”

She snorted. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Giles felt a sudden burst of affection for her, something he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

Dawn stared down at Spike, who looked more dead than asleep. “Can you please just let me keep them? Please?” She swallowed audibly, trying so hard to stop her tears. “I don’t think I can stand to lose anyone else.”

“As soon as Spike is awake, he and I are going to find out what’s happening with his chip. And then we’ll … we’ll see.”