Et Lux In Tenebris Lucet (And the Light Shineth in the Darkness) by Enigmaticblue

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Chapter 3: Unlife

Giles leaned in hard against the punching bag as Buffy pounded on it. The rhythm of fists on canvas was soothing in its own way, speaking of thousands of afternoons spent together, training. But it was because of those thousands of afternoons that he knew his Slayer so well, and he knew there was something going on that she wasn't telling him.

It had to do with the weariness in her eyes, the slope of her shoulders. There was something weighing on her, and he didn't know what it might be. He had the sense that even the relative quietude of the summer had not given her the respite she needed, and while she was still fighting the good fight, there was a complacency about her attitude, a sense of futility, that had never been there before. Spike could have told him what that meant, though Giles had no thoughts of asking him, but instinctively, it frightened both the Watcher and the father in him.

"How are you, Buffy?" Giles asked once she decided to take a breather.

"Fine," she replied offhandedly, slurping from a water bottle. She gave him an odd look. "Why?"

He hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject, how to tell her of his fears without scaring her off. "You seem tired lately."

It was the bitterness in her laugh that frightened him. The sound of it made him remember painfully the child she had been, comparing her to the woman she was now. It wasn't always a favorable comparison. "Well, you know, what with the bills and the going back to school, and Dawn, there isn't a lot of time to sleep."

"Are things so bad then?" he asked carefully. He was trying to keep a careful balance of being her Watcher, and yet giving her the freedom to become an adult. It was the task of every father to learn how to let his children go, but it was nothing that was taught to Watchers. Their charges usually died before they had the chance.

Buffy gave him a rueful smile. "The bills keep coming in and won't let up. I've got a work-study job lined up for when the semester starts, but I have no idea if that's going to pay the bills or not. Dawn—" She paused. "Dawn and I were getting along really well for a while, but she's angry, Giles. She won't listen to me, and she keeps pushing me as far as she can. I have no clue how to handle her."

"Perhaps things will be better once school starts," Giles suggested, his heart aching for the girl in front of him.

"And that adds just one more thing to my list of things to do," she muttered. "How do I do it, Giles? How am I supposed to take care of Dawn and work and pass my tests, all while I'm trying to save the world?"

Giles wasn't sure what to tell her, other than she would figure it out, given time. And that wasn't what she wanted or needed to hear. He asked about the only thing she hadn't talked about yet. Frankly, he was concerned that with all the other things going on in her life, the last thing she needed to worry about was a vampire. "And Spike?"

She smiled again, a real one this time. "Spike's fine." She stopped and then amended. "Well, maybe not 'fine,' but he's dealing."

Her Watcher frowned. "I meant, is his presence too much for you, Buffy?"

Buffy actually looked surprised at that. "No. Actually, he's one of the few things that's completely worry-free," she admitted. "It's not that I don't think about him, but give him a pack of smokes every so often and make sure there's enough blood in the fridge, and he's okay. He's one of the few things in my life right now that isn't life and death, you know?"

Giles did know, and he still wasn't comfortable with the idea. "Perhaps it's time to move him back into his crypt," he suggested gently.

"So any nasty that wants to can dust him? No thanks," she replied. "Besides, Dawn actually likes having him around, and he's really not too bad most of the time."

Far from convinced, Giles decided to let it go. He didn't trust the vampire, but Giles was willing to admit that he was harmless, and Buffy had actually smiled when she'd talked about him. Not that he was completely happy about that either, but it had been so long since he'd seen a genuine smile from her that he was willing to take it. Whatever the source.

~~~~~

Spike was bored. Extremely bored. He hated waiting, and he disliked being patient, but that was exactly what he was being asked to do. Daytime TV could only hold his attention for so long, and he'd watched Joyce's Passions tapes that Dawn had found for him all the way through. Twice. And now, he was awake and home alone, and he wanted to do something. It was on afternoons like this that the sunshine was a strong temptation, especially since Buffy didn't keep alcohol in the house.

Finally deciding to do something, he made his way carefully down into the basement. He was always wary going up and down the stairs, mostly because if he fell he could be down there for a while, and because with his luck he'd probably wind up breaking his neck. He managed, however, and once down there he started poking around.

Spike had been exploring in the Summers' basement in the past, but not recently. Not since he'd made the incredible blunder of chaining Buffy up in his crypt. Nothing much had changed really, though there were a few more boxes, all of them labeled "Mom." He avoided those and chose one that said "School." Inside, he found old report cards, school pictures, notebooks; all the regular detritus of a high school chit. He winced at the grades on the report cards, all of them with the name "Buffy Summers" across the top. Apparently his Slayer hadn't been a stellar student. He also found a mostly empty notebook, the first page with a few scribbled sentences and lots of doodles of hearts with "Buffy and Angel Forever" written. He almost threw the entire book away in disgust, but the empty pages beckoned strangely, so he tore out the first two pages and stuck them back into the box, keeping the notebook for his own use.

Three more boxes caught his eye, all of them "Books." He hesitated. The Big Bad did not spend his time reading. Reading was not a scary activity; it was a nancy-boy past-time. He sighed. The Big Bad had never been laid up watching reruns of soap operas and Oprah for three months. This, at least, would be new.

Spike dug through the boxes, finding plenty of Harlequin romance novels and book of the month paperbacks. In the second box, however, he found Joyce's stash of culture, mostly classics she'd read for her book club. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, William Shakespeare's Complete Works, Les Miserables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, all of them familiar titles to Spike, who'd not forgotten nearly as much about his upper-class upbringing as he liked everyone to think. He stacked them up on the floor and moved onto the third box, which contained more paperbacks. This time he pulled out a few Stephen King novels, not understanding why anyone who lived on the Hellmouth would read a horror story, but figuring they might make interesting bedtime tales for a vampire.

Once he'd collected a stack, he looked around for a bag of some kind to carry them. The crutches ensured he'd have his hands full. After a few minutes he located a plastic grocery sack, filled it up, and managed to get himself back on his feet. Then he worked his way back up to his room, thinking as he did so that it might be a smart idea to move into the basement. It was darker down there, for one thing, and it might be a bit more private, but it was something he'd have to discuss with Buffy later.

Spike contented himself with the notebook and a pen he swiped from the Slayer's room for a while. He'd gotten to thinking recently that if something happened to him, all that would be left was dust and the misinformation the Watchers' Council had. It would be nice to leave something real behind, and while he wasn't sure anyone would truly be interested, perhaps Dawn or Buffy would care enough to want to know.

He had written down everything he remembered of his last day as a human, the blank paper calling forth an honesty he didn't know he had in him. There was no pretense here. More than that, there wasn't much use in pretending anymore anyway. When Buffy had asked him about the Slayers he'd killed, he'd given her the abridged version, letting her think what she liked of the human William. He'd had an image to protect at the time, but his image was a sham now. He was living a shadow existence, and in a very real way, the words on the paper were worth more than he was.

When he'd written as much as he wanted to in one sitting, he turned to the stack of books he'd put on the floor by the bed. Rifling through them, he picked one of the horror novels. He hadn't had a spot of violence since getting thrown off the tower, and he was hoping a little vicarious blood and guts would satisfy his thirst.

Spike was deeply into the novel, which had a high enough body count to satisfy even him, when he heard a knock on the door. "Spike?"

"Just a second," he called, shoving the book under the pillow, and quickly moving the other books under the bed. The notebook he'd already placed in the box Buffy had brought back from his crypt. It had a lock on it, and he could be sure that no one would find it in there.

The door opened and Buffy stuck her head in. "How's it going?"

"Fine, Slayer," Spike said casually. "You back from training with the Watcher then?"

"Yeah." She made a face. "He was asking all sorts of questions. He had his worry face on." Her gaze sharpened. "Watcha got?"

"Got?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow. It wasn't like he was ashamed to have been reading, it was just that...well, he was ashamed to have been reading.

Before he could move the book to a more secure location, like underneath him, Buffy was next to the bed, pulling it out from its hiding place under the pillow. "The Stand?" she asked incredulously. "Wait a minute. You were reading?"

Spike hid his self-consciousness behind a show of deep hurt. "I do remember how to read, Slayer," he replied. "And I was bored."

Buffy's face immediately softened. "Yeah, I know. And I know you remember how to read, Spike. I never thought otherwise." She hesitated. He'd been a bit isolated over the last three months, partly because he really didn't want to leave the house, and partly because he kept a different schedule from either Dawn or Buffy. He'd probably be less bored, and maybe a little happier if he weren't on his own constantly. "Do you want to come downstairs and watch me try to burn dinner?" she offered. "I can promise smoke and lots of indirect sunlight."

He looked as though he were about to refuse, but seemed to change his mind. "Yeah, pet. Might be a nice switch. Give me a minute and I'll be down." By tacit agreement, no one watched Spike as he put his braces on or struggled to stand. It was easier on everyone that way. It scared him to notice how easily he'd adapted, how quickly he could work around everything now. It frightened him that it seemed almost normal.

He entered the kitchen slowly, leaning on his crutches in the doorway. "You need any help?"

Buffy looked over at him in surprise and shook her head. "No, it's pretty much a one-woman show. You hungry?"

"Maybe later." After giving it a moment's thought, Spike swung himself over to the island and released the tension on the braces. One swift motion and he was sitting on top of the counter. Buffy thought he probably would have been swinging his legs, except that they didn't swing anymore.

They relaxed in comfortable silence until Spike asked, "So how's the wedding planning coming? Harris running for the hills yet?" It wasn't that he cared, mind you, but it was something to talk about with Buffy. Something that didn't remind him of the fact that there were a lot of things he couldn't do.

Buffy smiled. "Anya's excited. She thinks she's found the perfect dress, and of course, they're working on the guest list and trying not to forget anyone who would be mortally offended if they did. Xander was looking a little green when I left. They were talking about caterers, and what kind of food they'd need for demons and humans."

Spike winced. "That's going to cost him a pretty penny, I'd bet. Not getting jealous with all the preparations are you?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I might have before I realized exactly how much weddings cost and how many details you have to go over. Definitely way more money than I even want to think about."

Spike hesitated. "Look, Buffy, I know things are tight around here right now. Maybe it'd ease things up a bit if I weren't here."

She smiled at him, a touch of gratefulness there, and an odd expression for the Slayer to be giving him. "Thanks, Spike, but blood is cheap, and a pack of cigarettes every so often won't break me. Once school starts and the loan money comes in things will be easier."

"Still, if you need to run me off, just say the word, Buffy. If it makes it easier."

There was a long silence, and then she turned to him, uncertainty on her features. "You were right, you know."

He smirked, and it was an expression she hadn't seen on his face for a very long time. "About what exactly, pet?"

She gave an irritated huff, but continued anyway. "About what you said a while back, when I almost staked you." He was silent then, sensing her gravity and respecting it. "I keep having this dream, where it was me on top of the tower and I had to jump. And I'm not scared to die, Spike. Then I jump, and all I feel is peace, and I know that I'm finished. Some days, when Dawn is being a brat and all I get in the mail are bills, I wish you'd been just a little slower, or maybe not quite as strong, and I would have been the one to have to jump."

Spike was silent. He'd known, somehow. He'd seen it in her eyes, the same expression that had worried Giles so, and he'd known. Every Slayer has a death wish. "I won't be sorry you didn't die," he said.

"I know," she replied quietly. "And most days I wouldn't ask you to. But sometimes, at night..."

Spike didn't say anything, knowing that there was nothing he could say. It was what it was. And life went on, whether you wanted to live it or not.

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