Summary: Spike stops a warlock's spell, inadvertantly getting himself into deep trouble. Will Buffy be able to accept the changes in him? And what are they going to do about Glory?
Rating: PG-13
Buffy came downstairs the next morning to find Dawn staring in horror at the newspaper, a hand over her mouth. "Dawn, sweetie-" Joyce began, but her youngest daughter bolted from the kitchen, tears already evident.
"What happened?" Buffy asked quickly, concerned.
Her mother shook her head. "There was a story in the paper. A young intern from the hospital was killed in a car accident. Dawn knew him."
Buffy leaned in over Joyce's shoulder to get a better look at the story, and frowned as she saw the name and the picture. "Ben? Oh, wow. I knew him too. He was there when you were sick." She felt a sick sensation in her stomach. "That's so sad."
"I know," Joyce replied, hating the fact that someone so young had been killed so senselessly. It didn't make much sense. "The front page news was worse though," she said, turning the paper over so Buffy could see the headlines.
The Slayer shook her head as she saw the story about the train massacre. "I'm going to have to check this out."
"Alone?" her mother asked, a touch worried.
Buffy looked thoughtful. "No, I think I'm going to ask for a little assistance on this one."
The blood-smell still lingered in the air, though she could see the signs of cleaning. There was no sign of the vampire himself. Buffy sighed. Her mom had asked about him earlier that morning, had asked if he would be safe back in his crypt or if he shouldn't possibly stay with them for a while longer. Buffy definitely thought that was a bad idea, but had simply said that he had insisted, and she couldn't force him to stay. Now she wondered if she'd made the right decision.
Not that she thought she should drag him back to her basement, but the right decision about keeping their conversation private. She wondered if she shouldn't tell someone about his feelings for her, to make them aware of it. Except that he didn't seem to be doing anything about it, unless you counted his being marginally more helpful. And really, she had enough trouble at this point without dealing with a lovesick vampire. She would much rather ignore it and hope it went away.
"Slayer?" His voice startled her out of her reverie, and she realized that he'd come from some kind of lower level she'd never realized was there before. It was no wonder he could get around town so easily.
"You have a basement," she blurted.
He looked down at the trapdoor and then back at her, cocking his head. "You need something?"
Spike's face looked better, less swollen for sure, though he was still wearing a button-down, telling her that his chest hadn't yet healed. "There was a massacre on a train coming in from L.A.," she said bluntly. "I think it was vampires. I want you to help me catch whoever did it."
"Why?"
The question caught her off-guard. "What do you mean, why?"
"Why?" He rolled his eyes expressively. "The conversation we had last night never happened, which means you don't ask for my help without either offerin' me money, or a beating or possibly both. So I'm wonderin' why you're strollin' into my crypt askin' for aid from somebody you hate."
"You're a vampire," she said.
"That's obvious enough," he interrupted.
She glared at him. "Shut up, Spike. Look, our conversation happened. You now have an opportunity to give me a hand and get brownie points. Why pass it up?"
"Because I'm movin' today," he said easily. "And I don't really feel like helpin' anybody at the moment. Besides, you aren't givin' out brownie points to the likes of me, so why try?" He shrugged philosophically. "We both know it's true, pet. No use in fightin' reality now."
Buffy stared at him. Something was really, really not right. Spike wasn't acting like his old self. Except that he was. Buffy was suddenly both angry and confused, and just a tiny bit hurt. Apparently she'd come to rely on his help these last weeks, which should have scared her badly enough to immediately walk out of his crypt, but she didn't. Instead, she blurted out, "I'll help you move."
"Huh?" He stared at her, his mouth slightly open.
Buffy raised her chin just a bit defiantly. "I'll help you move, you help me track whoever killed those people on the train. Call it quid pro quo."
"When did you learn Latin, Slayer?" Spike asked with a smirk.
She glared. "Just answer the damn question, Spike."
Something in his face changed then, and he cocked his head to the side slightly, staring at her, measuring her. "All right," he said softly. "I've just got the one box and the TV to move anyway. With you to help, one more trip should do it."
"Where are you moving?" Buffy finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
He hesitated, and then replied, "The old house on Anders Street. You know it?"
"The abandoned one?"
"That's right." Spike waved her down the ladder, and followed close behind. He'd already moved everything down below; it was just a matter of carting it from place to place at this point. "There isn't anyone in there anymore; checked it out earlier. Figured it wouldn't be too hard to make it livable."
"Well, it'll probably be better than your crypt anyway," Buffy said, her tone just a hair away from friendly. "What are you going to do about the windows?"
"Dunno," he admitted. "I'll have to find some old blankets or something."
"Mom might have some you could use," Buffy half offered, and Spike stopped to look at her. "What?"
"Nothin'," he replied, picking up the TV, and motioning to the lone box with his head. "That's the last of it there. We can go through the tunnels. By the time we get there and drop this stuff off, should be safe enough to get to the train station above-ground."
Buffy watched as he started walking, and she reached down and picked up the box, which was lighter than she'd thought. "What made you decide to move anyway?" she asked, surreptitiously trying to figure out what was inside.
"Too many people know where I am," he said wryly. "Guess I'll need to keep my head down for a bit, try not to piss anyone off too bad. Don't really want to end up on another wall."
Buffy watched his back as he walked. The duster, which she'd thought physically attached to him, was nowhere to be seen. And, despite the fact that they were moving through sewer tunnels, he looked almost normal down here, carrying his TV, she carrying his box. And she was suddenly reminded of helping Xander move into his new apartment, and everyone else helping her move out of the dorms back home. It was odd to think of such normal things in conjunction with the blonde vampire, but then again, what in her life was actually normal?
Spike glanced back over his shoulder at the Slayer, and saw that she wasn't having a problem keeping up with him. Even in the tunnels, her beauty tore at his heart. He wasn't quite sure what to do with this new side of her, this almost-kindness she was showing him. Spike had actually expected quite the opposite after what had happened at the Bronze. He had expected her to avoid him like the plague, and here she was yet again. It was inexplicable.
At the moment, he was simply glad that he'd dismantled his shrine. The dreams had woken him after only a few hours sleep, and he'd been unable to drop off again. Lying there, Spike had made the decision that he really didn't like everyone knowing where to find him and that it was time to find a new place. The Anders place had been vacated about six months before by the most recent tenants, and no one was living there now, nor were they likely to any time soon. The place was rumored to be haunted, and a few lights at odd hours of the day would only substantiate the rumors.
So, he'd started packing. There wasn't much to move really; this was only the third trip and it took care of everything except his old armchair, which he might come back for later. What had taken the most time was the shrine, and he had carefully dismantled it, making sure the things like the mannequin's torso and stolen clothing were where they would never be found, burning some of it, and tucking away bits and pieces he couldn't bear to get rid of. Spike had been packing away a dream, and he knew it. If there was one favor the warlock had done for him it was to show him how desperately insane he'd been to even hope that Buffy might return his affections. How insane he'd been to go after the warlock in hopes of doing her a favor. He hadn't lied; he wasn't planning on telling her. On the contrary, he had been scheming to find out how to let her "discover" his aid on her own. Learning his lesson with Olaf the Troll, it didn't pay to point out his good deeds, since she didn't seem to care.
Well, it didn't matter anymore; he knew better now.
"Here we are," he said abruptly, stopping just below a manhole cover.
Buffy checked her watch. "I'll take the TV," she said. "It's going to be hard for you to make a run for it carrying that thing, and it's still light enough outside to do some damage."
Spike stared at her, not understanding where her consideration was coming from, and finally nodded. "Yeah, or I can come back for it later. Doesn't matter."
But she climbed the ladder and took the television from him, and then he came up and made a mad dash for the house. The front porch was old, rickety, and shaded. The huge, ancient trees in the front and the overgrown grass made it look that much less inviting, which was just what Spike wanted at the moment.
Buffy was already inside. She set the television down on the floor in the small living room and took a look around. "I guess there really aren't that many windows." It was an older house, which meant lots of walls and doors, and not a lot of light.
"One of the bedrooms upstairs faces north," Spike said quietly. "Shouldn't be too much of a problem during the day anyway."
She shrugged. "Yeah, but what if you want to watch TV or something during the day?" she asked pragmatically. "You could probably find a blanket or something to go over the window down here." And then she gave him a sly look filled with good humor. "Or, here's a thought. You could actually get curtains."
Spike stared at her, and slowly returned her smile. "Could. But shoppin' for that kind of thing isn't my idea of a good time." There was a beat when both of them realized exactly where they could go with that statement, that they were actually talking like friends, and time seemed to freeze-frame itself.
"I'll check with Mom," Buffy finally said. "She might have something you can use." He nodded, and then they both glanced out the windows, taking a look at the rapidly setting sun. "We should go. It should be safe enough by now, and I really want to get this over with."
"You got a flashlight, Slayer?" Spike asked, and she winced. "I'll take that as a no. Give me a mo."
He disappeared off into another room, and returned a few minutes later with a small flashlight. "I didn't think vampires needed this kind of thing," Buffy said with raised eyebrows.
Spike shrugged and grinned at her. "Found it at the dump," he admitted. "What can I say? I'm a bit of a packrat."
They made the trip to the station in companionable silence, Buffy wondering once again at the changes in him. It wasn't like he was different, she supposed, it was more like-She just couldn't put her finger on it. Something had altered, and she couldn't figure out what it was. And it was bugging her.
The train station was quiet and deserted, the car itself roped off with yellow tape and easily spotted. "No one's here," Spike said quietly, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently.
"Good," Buffy said. "Let's get this over with then."
At least the bodies were gone, but there were signs of blood all over the seats and floor. "What are we lookin' for exactly, Slayer?" Spike asked, his deep voice resonating in the small space.
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. Can't you do your vampire-sensing thing and tell me-I don't know, tell me if this was a vampire attack or whatever?"
Spike looked highly amused. "I don't know what vampire-sensing thing you're talking about, pet, but-" He froze in place, his eye suddenly caught by something in the luggage rack. Almost against his will, he walked over to it and pulled the doll down, turning it over in his hands.
"Spike?" Buffy stared at him impatiently. "What is it?"
He shook his head wordlessly, unsure of what to tell her. He could put her off probably; she might figure out that he wasn't telling her everything, but she'd get over it. The best thing to do would be to go hunting Dru on his own, tell her to get out of town. But if she decided to go after Buffy, or after the Slayer's family-That wouldn't be completely unheard of for her, and he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to any of the Summers women.
Spike turned and held out the doll. "It's Dru's, Slayer."
Buffy looked at him, and frowned, something in her face gentling. "You're sure?"
"I was with her for over a hundred bloody years," he reminded her. "I think I'd know her soddin' doll when I see it." Spike hesitated, and then looked over at her, "Look, I'm sorry, Slayer, but I don't think-"
"Shut up, Spike," she said, not unkindly. "I'm not going to ask you to kill her or even help me hunt her down. Just, don't let her hurt anyone, okay? If you need to, chase her out of town."
There was gratitude in his eyes when he looked at her, along with that emotion she'd begun to realize was love. Or a vampire's strange idea of love. Buffy suddenly wished that she could be certain that he wouldn't go all evil and obsessed with her, and then manage to get them all killed. Because really, if love made him act like a guard dog, keeping all harm from family and friends, it couldn't be a bad thing. Even if she did feel a twinge of conscience at using him.
"Thanks." It was all that needed to be said, and they stared at each other for a few moments more.
Buffy finally sighed. "Well, we're not going to find her tonight, and I'm tired. I hate to say it, but I think we should get out of here and let it go for now. I'll talk to Giles in the morning, and we can both figure something out."
He nodded. "Sure, ducks. I'll see you around, then."
Buffy followed Spike out of the car and watched as he turned to back towards his new place. "Wait. Spike." He looked back over his shoulder at her expectantly. "Why don't you walk me home. Like I said, Mom might have something you can use, and she was asking how you were anyway. Might as well put her fears to rest, I guess."
He shrugged and came back to her side. "If that's what you want, Slayer."
It was the second time that night that they'd walked somewhere in a way that bordered on friendly. There was silence, but it wasn't the silence you find between people who hated each other, but between those who had learned to enjoy each other's company. An odd sort of silence for the Slayer and a vampire.
When they reached the house, Spike opened the door for her and motioned Buffy to precede him inside. Buffy gave him an odd look, but she let it go, calling for her mom as soon as she was inside. "Mom?"
"In the kitchen, sweetheart," Joyce called back. She smiled at Spike when she saw him following close at Buffy's heels. "Spike. You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you."
He looked almost embarrassed, to Buffy's great amusement. "Yeah, well, thanks for fixin' me up."
She smiled at him warmly. "You're welcome. Are you sure you'll be fine at your, um, house? If you need a place to stay-"
Spike shook his head. "No, I've got a new place, should be safe enough."
"You found a new house?" Dawn came into the kitchen behind them, glaring at Spike. "Were you ever going to tell me?"
He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Just moved today, bite size. Your sis is the only other person who knows."
Dawn unbent enough to smile at him. "Okay, as long as you tell me where your new place is. You never know when I'll need to run for help."
"You aren't going to be bothering Spike all the time, Dawn," Buffy said in her best warning tone.
He shook his head quickly. "s okay, Slayer. She can visit. If it's all right with her mum," he finished quickly looking over at Joyce.
"We'll talk about it later," the older woman declared, and then gave Spike another smile. "Do you want to stay for dinner? I mean, I know you don't eat, but you could stay if you like."
Spike hesitated, and then looked over at Buffy who gave an almost imperceptible shrug, as though she didn't care. Perhaps she didn't. "That would be nice," he finally admitted. He liked the atmosphere of the Summers' house, and had no desire to go back to his own. When he was around people he could ignore the thoughts and voices that haunted him.
Buffy found herself watching him through dinner. Watched as he listened politely to all her mom's gallery stories which should have bored him to tears. Watched as he snitched food from Dawn's plate, and then looked completely innocent when Dawn glared at him. Watched as he watched her and pretended to be looking at something or someone else every time she caught him at it.
It wasn't fair, she decided. This was what she would have loved to have from Angel, to have been able to have him over for dinner, to see him getting along with her mom and little sister. And Riley had tried, to be perfectly honest. And he'd come so close, and yet there had always been a little distance between he and them. Maybe it had been her fault for not bringing him home sooner, and maybe it was because Dawn thought Spike that much cooler, but Spike was succeeding in a way no one else ever had.
After a while, Joyce sent Dawn off to bed, and then she sent Buffy to the basement to go find some blankets she didn't need anymore for Spike. The vampire had risen to follow, but the older woman held him back and motioned for him to sit again. "I need to know what you're going to do," Joyce said evenly.
Spike stared at her, and then swallowed. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"Of course you do," Joyce replied. "I know you have feelings for my daughter, Spike. I'm not blind or stupid."
"Never said you were," he replied, sighing. And then, "Nothin'. She knows, and I know she knows, an' we both pretend it's not there." Spike let his shield drop for a minute, looking her in the eye. "'m goin' to take care of her, much as she'll let me, an' 'm goin' to try not to let anythin' happen to you or the Niblet. 's all I can do."
"Maybe it will be enough," Joyce replied softly. "What else did he do to you, Spike?"
Spike stared at her, wondering how she knew, how she of all people had guessed. "Said he cursed me. Said it would take effect soon's anybody pulled me off that wall, guaranteed to give me perpetual torment, an' all that rot. Bunch of bollocks if you ask me."
Joyce hesitated, hearing her daughter's footsteps on the stairs, and then she stood swiftly, and dropped a kiss on the top of Spike's head, stunning him. "I'm glad you're looking out for her, Spike," she said softly, and then turned as Buffy entered the room. "I should clean up the kitchen, and then I'm going to head to bed as well."
Spike took that as his cue to leave. "I should get goin'. Thanks for the blankets an' all, Mrs. Summers."
Joyce looked at him, and a moment of understanding passed between them. "It's Joyce, Spike. Just Joyce."
Buffy walked him to the front door, and handed him the blankets. "Can I ask you a question?"
He stared at her for a moment, and then shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah."
"Who are you and what did you do with the real Spike?"
Spike suddenly smiled, cocking his head to the side with real good humor. "How do you know that this isn't the real Spike, Slayer? I'm a vampire of many facets."
Buffy smiled back. "Well, I like this side. He can stick around for a while."
He looked away. "I'll let you know if I see Dru, Slayer," he promised.
"Thank you." And she watched as he disappeared into the night.
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