“I have been temperate always,/But I am like to be very drunk/With your coming./There have been times/I feared to walk down the street/Lest I should reel with the wine of you,/And jerk against my neighbours/As they go by./I am parched now,/and my tongue is horrible in my mouth,/But my brain is noisy/With the clash and gurgle of wine cups.” ~Amy Lowell, “Anticipation”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re limping,” Spike accused.

Wesley shrugged off his concern. “I told you, Spike, I’m—”

“Yeah, fine.” Spike wasn’t buying it for a minute. “You got hurt while we were sparring earlier. You should have said something.”

He shook his head. “You and I both know that it would be unwise for you—or anyone—to go out alone right now.”

“Just like it’s not smart to go out when you’re hurting?”

“I twisted my ankle,” Wesley finally admitted. “But it wasn’t while we were sparring.”

“What happened?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Wes…”

He finally bowed to the inevitable. “I fell.”

“Where?”

“Going down the stairs in my apartment building.” The words came out in a burst, as though saying it quickly would reduce the embarrassment that he felt.

Spike refrained from laughing—barely. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“That’s right, it could have.”

Spike froze in place. They were heading towards Restfield, and he sensed that they were being followed. “We have company.” Shooting the other man a look, he asked, “Are you up for it?”

“Always.”

Nodding, Spike whirled to face their attackers, recognizing them for Lei-Ach demons. They were nasty buggers, but they generally didn’t go after vampires. And to think, all he had was a stake and a knife against the three of them.

“All right there, Wes?” Spike called as he grappled with one of the demons. He could sense a second circling him, waiting for the right moment to attack. The third would be Wesley’s problem.

“Just…fine,” the other man gasped out.

Spike twisted the Lei-Ach around, wrapping an arm around his head and twisting hard. He heard the crack of the spine as it broke and turned his attention to the second demon. He pulled the knife out of the sheathe strapped to his belt and, dodging a blow, sliced its throat.

When he turned to look at Wesley, the man was standing over the body of the dead demon. “Got it?”

“Yeah.” Wesley dropped the bloody stake onto the ground and began to buckle.

Spike grabbed him before he hit the ground, supporting his weight. “What’s wrong?”

“My bloody ankle.” Wesley was grimacing in pain. “The sodding demon tripped me, twisted it worse.”

“Probably saw you limping,” Spike replied. “It’s what I would have done.”

Wesley hissed. “Thanks. You’re a real friend.”

“It’s the truth.” Spike adjusted Wesley’s weight. “Let’s get you to the hospital, mate.”

~~~~~

Willow rushed into the emergency room, spotting Spike immediately. “Where is he?”

“He’s getting x-rayed.” He patted her shoulder. “He’s fine, Red. A little sore, but his injury is nowhere near his heart.”

“What happened?”

Spike sighed. “He apparently twisted his ankle falling down the stairs of the apartment building shortly before we went on patrol. One of the demons we ran into injured it again.”

Willow breathed a sigh of relief. “Then he’s going to be okay?”

“I can’t tell you anything about his ankle, but the rest of him will be fine, pet.”

“Thanks, Spike.”

“Mr. Brighton?” A man in scrubs approached him. “I have an update on Mr. Wyndam-Pryce’s condition. He wanted me to talk to you.”

“How is he?” Willow demanded. At the doctor’s expression, she quickly added, “I’m his girlfriend.”

“He’s going to be just fine. He broke his ankle, but he’ll have a full recovery.” The doctor smiled at her. “Normally, we don’t allow anyone but family members back there, but—”

“We’re his family,” Spike said smoothly.

The doctor nodded. “Go on back, then. He’s in the second exam room.”

“Thanks.” Willow rushed down the hallway, her mind more at ease now that she knew that the injury, while not minor, wasn’t life-threatening.

“Willow.” Wesley brightened considerably when she walked in. “The doctor let you come back.”

She raised her eyebrows; he didn’t sound quite like himself. “Did they give you something for the pain?”

“Yes.” He was speaking carefully, as though drunk. “I’m feeling much better now.”

“I’ll bet you are,” she replied, amused. “Do you want to go home if the doctor says you can?”

“Only if I can go home with you.”

Willow shook her head. “Down, boy. Let’s get you home first, then we’ll talk.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

She laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere except a ride home. Let me go talk to the doctor.”

Willow had never seen him this loopy before, and she suspected that it might be an interesting night.

~~~~~

Orlando had every intention of finding the Key. The Council had given them information as to where it would be—all he had to do was to locate it.

The Slayer was sure to know where the Key was, as would the Guardian. Follow them, and find the Key.

At least, that was the idea.

He stood outside the Guardian’s house; the address had been provided by the Council. The others on his team were stationed outside both ex-Watchers’ houses in hopes that if the Slayer or Guardian didn’t lead them to the Key, one of their associates would.

It was just a matter of time, surely, before they found the Key and destroyed it, as their credo demanded they do.

He watched as the Guardian unlocked the front door, his shoulders slumped wearily. A blonde woman Orlando recognized as the Slayer met him at the door with a warm embrace. Even from a distance, he could see their passion, and it gave him pause.

As any soldier knew, someone fought harder for a loved one. This may be more difficult than anticipated if either the Guardian or the Slayer refused to give up the object of their desire.

~~~~~

“Okay, I’m done,” Dawn announced, shoving her books to one side. “Can I watch TV now?”

“Won’t that rot your brain?” Spike asked, amused.

Dawn stared at him. “You watch Passions.”

“I do no such thing.”

She snorted. “I’ve seen you.”

He gave her a dirty look. “This stays between the two of us.”

“So, can I watch TV now?”

“Go on, then.”

Dawn was sprawled out on the couch when Spike wandered in to join her. “Move over.” She scooted over so that he could sit down next to her. “What are you watching?”

“Friends. There isn’t anything else on.”

The silence hung between them as Chandler and Joey went on about free porn. Dawn couldn’t help but wonder how Spike felt about her, if he hated the fact that he’d been saddled with her because of the monks and some prophecy.

“What’s on your mind, Dawn?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You look like you’re thinking pretty hard, and I’m fairly certain it’s not about the television show.”

“Matthew Perry is cute.”

“And he’s too old for you.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

He glanced over at her with a smirk on his face. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad at who?”

“I don’t know. The universe, the monks, whoever made up the stupid prophecy.”

“No, I’m not mad.”

“But you didn’t have a choice.”

Spike snagged the remote and turned off the TV, turning to face her, his expression serious. “You don’t always get a choice, pet. I didn’t have much choice about becoming a vampire, or getting my soul back. I certainly didn’t have any choice about getting tortured by Angelus for a few years.”

“So, you’re mad about that stuff, too.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But why?”

“Because without all of that, I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be with your sister.”

Dawn considered that for a moment. “She’s not really my sister, you know.” Spike might be happy with his lot in life, and she understood what he was saying. It was some variation of “everything happens for a reason.”

She just didn’t know if she believed that; after all, what if the reason was that someone made up a stupid prophecy? That didn’t mean that it would ever be worth it. Dawn wasn’t sure she wanted to think about that, though.

“You heard what happened with Tara, didn’t you?”

Dawn had no idea what the point of the question was, but she decided to go along with it. “Yeah, so?”

“Some people get lucky enough to be born into families who love and accept them,” Spike began. “And some people choose their own families, or have their families choose them.” He smiled. “The latter is true of Tara and us, and it’s true for you, too, luv.”

“Does it make me bad?”

“Does what make you bad?”

“Glory wants to use me to destroy the world.”

“You’re no worse than me, luv.”

“But you’re a hero.”

“I wasn’t always.”

“But that doesn’t matter,” Dawn insisted. “You’re a hero now.” At his lifted eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. “Okay, I get it.”

“Good. No more of this talk about you being bad, yeah? Glory’s the Hellbitch in this story.”

Dawn turned the TV back on, her mind a little easier.

~~~~~

Wesley levered himself up off the couch with the crutches he’d been given at the hospital. He’d been warned to stay off of his leg as much as possible, but he really wanted a cup of tea, and it wasn’t going to get made while he was sitting on the couch.

Filling the kettle, he rotated on his good leg to put it on the hob, balancing carefully.

“What are you doing up?”

He turned to see Tara standing behind him in the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Willow asked me to come stay with you while she was at class, for just this reason.” She put her hands on her hips. “Go sit.”

“Tara, I was just getting a cup of tea.”

“And now that I’m here, I can get it. Go.”

Wesley realized that he didn’t have a choice, and swung himself over to the couch. Tara brought his cup of tea a few moments after he heard the kettle begin to screech.

“How did you think you were going to get it back out here?” she asked, sitting down next to him on the leather sofa. He’d purchased it with Willow’s help to replace the second-hand velour one he’d bought at a yard sale shortly after moving to Sunnydale.

Wesley took the cup from her with a smile of gratitude. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest.”

“Well, I’m making dinner tonight, so don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you, Tara.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She patted his cheek. “So, just sit tight.”

He decided to do as he was told.

“Do you need more pain medication?”

“No, I’m fine.”

They passed the rest of the afternoon in companionable silence while Tara studied and Wesley spent time with the prophecy. He felt as though he was missing something—as though if he pushed just a little harder, he could find something that would help.

“What are you looking for?”

He glanced up at Tara’s question. “I’m not sure. I just think that if I keep looking at it, something will occur to me that hasn’t yet.”

“Do you think it will?”

“I have to try.” She nodded, and he decided to change the topic. “Didn’t you have lunch with Quinn the other day?”

“Coffee.”

He raised an eyebrow, hearing the defensive note in her voice. “Of course, because coffee is a little more noncommittal.”

She sighed. “I like her, Wesley. I’m attracted to her in a way that I haven’t been in a very long time, but we don’t trust her.”

“I think you might be making this a little broader than it needs to be,” Wesley pointed out gently. “The question is whether you trust her.”

“There’s too much at stake for me to make a decision on my own,” Tara objected.

Wesley met her eyes. “What you trust her with is up to you, but the secrets that we hold in trust for the others stay secret. There is a difference there, Tara.”

“It doesn’t feel different,” she objected.

“That I can’t help you with.”

“I know.”

“Relationships—good ones—are worth taking a risk on.”

“Even when the relationship is with a Watcher who’s being paid to spy on us by the Council?”

“I was a Watcher being paid to send reports back to the Council once upon a time.” Wesley smiled. “I don’t know that working for the Council should be an indelible black mark.”

“Maybe not indelible.” Tara returned his smile. “We’ll see.”

“I’m not saying that you should pursue this relationship, but I don’t think you should dismiss the possibility out of hand,” Wesley said. “You deserve to be happy, Tara.”

“A romantic relationship isn’t essential to happiness, Wesley.”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt.”

She shook her head, a reluctant smile on her face. “I’ll think about it.”

Wesley let it go at that. He’d only spoken the truth: Tara was one of those people most deserving of happiness and love.