Spoilers: I suppose through BtVS S5, but I'm doing some rearranging.

Summary: This is a sequel to "The Great Advantage of Being Alive." If you haven't read it, this one really won't make any sense. In any case, Spike's trying to find out what it means to be a man, and to fight at Buffy's side. Buffy's struggling with what it means to be the Slayer. Dawn wants to know if she's real, and Glory just really wants her Key back.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Archiving: The Sandlot, The Crypt, and anywhere else that already has my stuff.Otherwise, ask and it shall be given to you.

A/N: The title comes from a Pablo Neruda poem. The line actually goes "all the graces of the daybreak" but I liked my pun.
 

Chapter 12: Fragile
 

“If you want my heart/You have to promise not to tear it apart/’Cause my heart/Has been hurt a lot/And it always seems/Love is not sweet, like in dreams/Something falls through/ But I don’t want that to happen to me and you…” Jewel, “Fragile Heart”
 

Spike pulled in a deep breath and fought the cough that came. He shook his head ruefully when the spasm passed. Just what he needed—a cold. Spike bent his head over the invoices that needed processing and heard the bell ring out front.

With an annoyed grunt, he called out, “Just a minute.”

“It’s just me.” Tara stood in the doorway of the office, staring at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“’m fine,” Spike replied, not even bothering to hide his irritability.

Tara gave him a doubtful look. “You’re tired. And you don’t look like you’re feeling very good.”

“I said ‘m fine, Glinda,” Spike replied. He wasn’t fine, though. He was tired and he wasn’t feeling good; he wanted to go back to the way things were that summer when Joyce was healthy and he and Buffy were seeing eye to eye.

The blonde witch got a determined look in her eye seldom seen by anyone. “You’re going to take a nap.”

“What?” Spike stared at her. “I can’t! The gallery—”

“Will survive without you,” Tara cut him off. “If you don’t take care of yourself, you really will get sick.” When he still hesitated, she modulated her tone. “Are you sleeping at all, Spike?”

He shrugged. “In fits and starts. ‘s better when—” Spike broke off. It was better when Buffy was with him, but they hadn’t actually slept together for a while now.

She nodded. “Okay, I’m going to get something for that. I’ll come back and take care of the gallery for the rest of the afternoon so you can be well rested for the party tonight.” At the expression on his face, she added, “You don’t want to have to explain to everyone that you’re not feeling well, right?”

Hardly. The last thing Spike wanted was for anyone to fuss over him. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” Tara replied cheerfully. Then, with a gentle touch to his cheek, she murmured, “You took care of me, Spike. Let me take care of you. We’re family now.”

Spike shut his eyes, relishing the gentle touch, letting himself draw in strength. “As you wish, Glinda.”

It felt good not to be the strong one for once.

~~~~~

The tea that Tara gave him was so strong that she would only allow him enough for one cup. “It came from that book you gave me for my birthday,” she’d explained. “And I don’t want you to get hooked on it.”

Spike understood what she meant when the next thing he knew, Tara was shaking him awake around six. She’d told him she would come by and wake him before the party. “Hey,” she said gently. “Time to wake up.”

With bleary eyes, Spike looked over at the clock, and Tara gave him an apologetic smile. “I thought you might want to get cleaned up before we had to leave.”

“Yeah, that’s prob’ly a good idea,” he muttered, trying to shake the fuzz out of his head. Other than the slightly drugged feeling, he did at least felt better rested. “Give me a minute, Glinda.”

Tara gave him a pleading look. “Have you written any more?”

For a moment Spike looked surprised, then gratified that she seemed anxious to read the next installment. “Yeah, luv. I’ll pull it up for you.”

Tara read, keeping an ear out for Spike. She was more than a little concerned at this point, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do for him. Certainly, there was little he would allow her to do.

After a while, Spike emerged from the bathroom, dressed in blue jeans and the blue and cream shirt Tara had convinced him to buy so long before. While Tara was definitely attracted to women, only a blind woman could fail to notice Spike’s physical beauty.

It wasn’t Spike’s physical attributes that had drawn her to him, however.

“You look good,” she said sincerely.

He smiled, his expression almost shy. “Thanks, Glinda.” Spike ran a hand through his two-toned hair. “We’d better get goin’. Did you—”

“It’s still good, Spike,” she said. “In fact, it’s just getting better. I’m amazed you’ve been able to write as much as you have with everything that’s been going on.”

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. “Insomnia’s good for somethin’, yeah?”

They arrived at the Summers’ residence together, and Tara immediately went off to find Willow. It wasn’t really a party as such, since it was only the Scoobies, Giles, Joyce and Dawn, but Spike was satisfied with the turn-out.

The only thing Spike might have wished for was the same easy camaraderie that he and the Slayer had had at the end of the summer. He could tell that Buffy was slightly distant, though he wasn’t sure of the reason behind it. Life seemed terribly hard-edged these days, and Spike could only assume that it was normal for stress to elbow out the softer things.

It really was the best birthday that he could remember having though. Even when he had been human for the first time, there had rarely been as large a gathering of friends as with the Scoobies. And, as surrogate parents went, Joyce and Giles filled the bill quite nicely.

There was cake and ice cream and then presents. From Giles, he got the best of the Clash, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones, a collection of CDs that promised many happy hours ahead. Xander had built bookshelves for his apartment, and they showed some truly quality craftsmanship. Anya gave him money, probably because that was what she would have wanted for herself, and Willow and Tara had gone in together and gotten him some new clothes. Dawn announced—rather loudly—that she’d given Spike his present on his birthday, and then there was only one package from Joyce left.

When he opened the box, he found two nicely framed photos. One showed all three Summers women, laughing at something, though he wasn’t sure at what. It was just your typical family portrait, but Spike didn’t have any pictures of anybody. “Thanks, luv.”

“There’s one more,” Joyce replied gently.

Spike pulled back the tissue paper and stared at what lay beneath. He remembered Joyce taking this one. It had been soon after they’d defeated Adam, and Buffy had been teasing him about going to the beach and getting burnt. Joyce had insisted on snapping a picture, and they’d complied with some good-natured complaining.

Spike could see the way he had his arms around Buffy, the way she was leaning against his chest, smiling for the camera, and he was looking down at her with an expression of adoration on his face. Had things really changed so much?

“This is really great,” Spike finally said when he’d found his voice again. “Thanks. Just—thank you. ‘s perfect.”

There were no more packages, and Spike was very careful not to look at Buffy. He assumed that the others thought that Buffy had already given him her present, much as Dawn had done. If he didn’t look at her, Spike wouldn’t have to wonder if her omission had been deliberate or accidental; either way, it hurt.

The others caught Joyce’s yawns around nine and started drifting out. By ten, Joyce had sent Dawn to bed, and Spike was getting ready to leave. “I’ll walk you home,” Buffy said.

“You don’t have to, luv,” Spike replied. He loved her, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around her right then.

She fixed him with a stern look. “It’s not about ‘have to,’ it’s about want to. Giles already said he’d stay with Mom and Dawn.”

Spike looked past her into the living room where Giles was sitting next to Joyce on the couch. He had a feeling that part of Giles’ reasoning for staying was selfish, desiring to be near Joyce for as long as possible. Mortality seemed very present just now.

“Right then. We’d better get going.”

They said their goodnights and then left, mostly walking in silence, exchanging only the odd phrase. Spike thought it ironic that things had been easier between them when they had been enemies. At least he’d known where he stood.

“I did get you a present,” Buffy suddenly blurted out. “I don’t want you to think I’d forgotten or anything. I just wanted to wait until we were alone.”

Spike wondered if her present included sex, which he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for. Well, actually, he was always in the mood. Spike just wasn’t sure that he wanted the physical in lieu of the emotional and the verbal.

“And it’s not just sex,” Buffy said, reading his mind and the light in his eyes. “There’s more to it than that, though I was thinking that could be in the plan.”

“It’s fine, Buffy,” Spike said, a touch of impatience in his tone. He was exhausted, tired of not being able to find his balance with her anymore.

She glared at him. “It’s not fine. I could see you thinking that I hadn’t gotten you anything.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did.”

Spike sighed. “Okay, yeah, I did.”

“Shame on you.”

“I suck.”

“Not anymore you don’t.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Right, then. I promise I will never doubt you again, my love.”

“Better not,” Buffy replied tartly. She tucked her hand into his arm. “It’ll get better, Spike.”

“I know, luv,” he said quietly. “It has to.”

When they got to his apartment, Buffy followed him inside, pulling a small box out of her pocket as she did so. Sitting down on the couch, Buffy waited for him to sit next to her. Spike took the box from her hand, and slowly pulled off the ribbon.

Inside the box was a silver cross, hanging on a silver chain. Spike picked it up, letting the cross hang so that he could see a coin-shaped silver disk hanging next to it. He turned it so that he could clearly see the engraving. It said Forever and underneath it read, SS 8:6-7.

Spike frowned slightly, pulling up the memory from his distant past. “Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.”

“Mom was the one who suggested the verses. I asked her what she thought, and that’s what she came up with.” Buffy paused. “It’s also how I feel. Spike, I’m not good at this. I’m not very good at letting people know how I feel. And with the stuff with Mom and then with Glory on top of it—”

Spike put gentle fingers over her lips. “I know, Buffy.” He smiled at her. “That’s part of lovin’ you, ‘s knowin’ what you’re all about. I love you. Nothing will change that, not even death.”

‘Whose death?’ she wanted to ask, but couldn’t. Mortality seemed all too real these days, and Buffy was beginning to wonder what it was about being a Slayer that made it so appealing. She took the chain from his hand and fastened it around his neck, giving it a final pat. “It looks good on you.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe I can wear one of these again,” he murmured. Their eyes met, and they came together in equal measures of passion and desperation, each of them wanting to assure the other by their presence, that they were real.

Each wanted to reassure themselves that they really were loved, were known.

With hands and mouths and tongues, Buffy and Spike both said what was impossible to put into words. As the desperation dimmed, the Slayer began speaking, murmuring words of praise and comfort. “You’re so strong. I love you. I need you with me. Please don’t give up. You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m not so strong, pet,” Spike replied. “You are—”

“Weak, compared to you,” Buffy insisted. “What you do for me—”

“Is no more than you do for me.”

In joining, they completed the other.

~~~~~

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Giles asked softly. Dawn was already in bed, as the silent house attested, and he had his doubts as to whether or not Buffy would return. Not only was it Spike’s birthday, but there seemed to be some hurt between the two of them that needed to be addressed.

Joyce smiled ruefully. “I don’t think I would be very good company tonight, Rupert. I wish I wasn’t so tired, but—”

“I wasn’t planning on tiring you,” he said softly. “But if you should want me just to stay, I could sleep on the couch.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Then, seeing the disappointed expression on his face, she added, “But you could stay with me if you wanted.”

Giles kissed her gently. “I can’t think of a time I wouldn’t want to be with you.”

A light flush lit Joyce’s cheeks. “Oh. You’ll spoil me if you keep saying things like that.”

“That would be impossible,” he replied, kissing her again.

Joyce discovered she wasn’t nearly as tired as she’d thought.

~~~~~

“Came as soon as I could,” Spike said, slipping into the hospital room. “I’ll be off as soon as I can too.”

Buffy, who had gone to meet him at the door, leaving Dawn sitting on the side of her mom’s bed, wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thanks. Really, for patrolling, and—”

He returned her embrace. “They decide on a time yet?”

“Day after tomorrow,” she whispered. “Mom’s being great about it, but—”

“Shh,” he murmured. “They’re good doctors.”

Buffy appreciated Spike not telling her that everything was going to be fine, and he was right. Joyce did have good doctors. There was every possibility that her mom would pull through this just fine. It didn’t mean the Slayer wasn’t scared to death. Much of her worry stemmed from knowing that there was nothing she could do about it; there was nothing for her to fight. Buffy could wait, and take care of her sister, and keep her mother company, but that was about it.

“I know,” she finally said. “You’ll look after the gang tonight?”

“’Course. Told Giles he should head on over here once he closes up the shop.” There was a grave humor in Spike’s eyes. “Don’t think he feels like he can do enough, or be with your mum enough.”

“I understand the feeling,” Buffy confessed. “I wish there was more I could do.” She laid her head against his chest. “I’m way behind in school too. Willow brought some stuff by, but it feels like I’m running in place.”

Spike kissed her forehead. “You’ll be fine, luv. Both you an’ Dawn can work on it tomorrow, an’ you know I’ll help. Once the surgery is over, you can talk to your professors an’ let them know what’s goin’ on, an’ then you’ll take a few days an’ make it up.”

“But Glory—”

“Will wait, somehow,” Spike replied. “You’re more than just the Slayer, luv. More than just a daughter. ‘s a matter of findin’ a way to balance it all out. You need help jugglin’ all those balls, just ask.”

She gave a little groan. “You’re so good to me. You make me feel guilty.”

“No need for that, Buffy,” he replied. “You know I’d do anythin’ for you.”

She knew. Heaven help her, but she knew. Spike’s devotion was almost scary at times, since it made her feel as though she wasn’t doing enough, even though Buffy knew he didn’t look at it that way. The sense of relief and gratitude heavily outweighed the guilt, however, and she was glad he was there.

Spike was so solid, though she thought he hardly knew it.

“Spike?” Buffy let go reluctantly, watching as he greeted her mom and sister, pulling both of them into a quick hug. He fit, she realized, not for the first time. It was like Spike filled the space that no one had realized was empty until he showed up. People said you didn’t know what you were missing until it was gone. Buffy wondered if it wasn’t equally true that you didn’t know what was gone until you had it.

“I’ll pick you two up after patrol, okay?” Spike asked. “You need me before then, give me a call on the mobile.”

“Will do,” Buffy replied, grabbing a quick hug before he left. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Buffy wasn’t the only one who needed to work on homework, and so both she and Dawn sat down to try and do some of it. She supposed that it shouldn’t have surprised her that Joyce got agitated after a short while. Her mom had gotten disoriented that afternoon while Willow had been there, and it was only natural that it would happen again.

The Slayer wasn’t certain that it was such a good idea to take Joyce home, although she could certainly understand why her mom might want to go. It wasn’t like she was a big fan of hospitals herself. On the other hand, if Joyce needed a lot of looking after, Buffy was apprehensive about her ability to really pull it off.

Dr. Kriegel didn’t seem fond of the idea either, but Joyce was insistent, and Buffy would do just about anything to make her happy and comfortable. So, she did the only thing she could think of doing: she called Spike.

“You sure that’s a good idea, luv?” he asked. “If something happens…”

“I know,” Buffy said quickly, “but Mom really wants to go home. I just wanted to know if you’d stay. I’d feel better if—”

“I’ll be there soon as I can, Buffy, an’ I’ll stay as long as you need me,” Spike assured her. “’s not like I don’t have some experience with this kind of thing.”

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. “How’s patrol going?”

“We got a few vamps, nothin’ real excitin’,” Spike said, sounding almost disappointed. “They didn’t even put up much of a fight.”
 

She sighed. “It’ll have to be,” Buffy replied regretfully. “I wish—”

“After,” he said. “After we get your mum taken care of.”

Buffy sighed again. It would have to be after a lot of things—after her mom’s surgery, after Glory, after she caught up with her studies. “Sure. So, you’re coming?”

“On my way, luv.”

Spike hung up the cell phone and looked over at the gang. “Gotta go. Buffy said Joyce wants to go home.”

Giles frowned. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“No,” Spike said frankly. “But Joyce wants to go home, so that’s where we’re goin’. I’ll stay with Buffy tonight to help out, but over the next couple of days…”

Willow was the first to speak up. “You’ve got it, Spike. We’ll all take shifts.”

“Sure,” Xander said. “No big deal. You can count on us.”

“Anya can watch the Magic Box tomorrow, and I’ll stay with Joyce,” Giles promised.

Tara gave him a smile and a nod, and Anya looked overjoyed to have the shop to herself. “I can watch the Magic Box,” she agreed. “I can contribute too.”

“That would be great,” Spike smiled at the ex-demon, knowing that she really did want to help and didn’t quite know what else she could do. “I’m off. I’ll see you lot later.”

He took off at a jog back towards his apartment where he’d left the Desoto. Spike needed to get some clean clothes for the next day. If Giles was going to stay with Buffy and Joyce, he could go into the gallery. It seemed important that he keep things as normal as possible, and it was up to him to keep the place open while Joyce was sick.

Grabbing what he needed on hangers from the closet, and throwing a few things into an overnight bag, Spike hurried out to his car. He threw everything into the trunk, feeling an inexplicable need to hurry. Buffy had sounded slightly desperate on the phone and she’d said she needed him.

Yeah. She needed him. Even with circumstances as they were, it felt good to have her call on him.

By the time he arrived at the hospital, Dr. Kriegel was finishing up his instructions. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked again. “It’s going to mean some work for you.”

“She’s got help,” Spike said, from behind her, causing Buffy to turn and give him a grateful smile. “’m sure she’ll fill me in.”

The relief on the doctor’s face was obvious as he realized that Buffy wouldn’t be doing this by herself. “Good. There’s every possibility that Joyce’s dementia could get worse over the next couple days. You’ll need to watch her fairly closely.”

“Right,” Spike agreed, turning to the Slayer. “You ready?”

She nodded. “Let’s get Mom and get out of here.”

Spike thought he heard something as he was leaving the hospital, catching a glimpse of a scuttling, gray object. But when he turned his head, there was nothing.

~~~~~

“Shouldn’t we call Buffy?” Xander was not happy to not have anyone with superstrength or specialized fighting skills. “Or Spike?”

“We can’t call Buffy,” Willow said.

Giles nodded, staring at the meteorite that had cracked open, leaving a hollow center. “Spike’s helping Buffy with Joyce tonight. I don’t think we should bother either of them.”

“They need to be with Mrs. Summers right now,” Tara said firmly, surprising the group with her atypical forthrightness. “Both of them.”

Xander looked chagrined. “Right. Absolutely.”

There was a small pause and then Willow said in a little voice, “I really wish we could call Buffy.”

“Well, we can’t,” Giles said. “So we’d better just figure out what crawled out.”

“And slithered away,” Xander muttered, not looking thrilled with the idea.

Giles made a face. “In all fairness, we don’t know that it slithered.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it frisked about like a fluffy lamb,” Anya said, a definite note of sarcasm in her voice.

Giles gave her a dirty look. Tara lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe we should look around and try to figure out where it went.”

It didn’t take them long before Willow stumbled over the body of the crazy security guard she and Buffy had seen at the hospital earlier that day—the same one who had reacted so strangely to Dawn. “I think it went here.”

They gathered around, staring at the dead body, Giles having checked for the pulse. “Perhaps we should search the woods,” he suggested doubtfully.

All eyes went back to the woods, which were looking very uninviting. “I vote research,” Xander commented.

“I like research,” Anya said hopefully.

“Research is good,” Willow said, as they all started leaving. Then, in a low voice, she said to Giles, “I really don’t want to be the one finding bodies anymore.”

No one noticed the dark figure separating itself from the shadows.

~~~~~

Buffy had never been so grateful for Spike’s presence. As they were leaving, Joyce looked over at her, nearly snarling, “You look just like your father when you cry.”

Spike could immediately see the effect on the Slayer, and he quickly came over to Joyce, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t we get out of here, Joyce? ‘bout time we blew this joint.”

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asked as Spike led her out the door, throwing a wink towards Buffy as he did so.

He looked regretful. “Sorry, don’t smoke anymore.”

Buffy took the medications from the doctor with a pained smile. “Thank you. She’s been—but, you know, Spike is so good…with people. I should—”

“I’ll see you in a couple days,” Dr. Kriegel said with a kind smile.

They made the trip home with no trouble. Joyce seemed a little off, but she wasn’t as noticeably out of it as she had been earlier. The lights inside the house, when they’d been turned on, set her off again though. “Why don’t we go upstairs, Mom?” Buffy suggested gently. “We’ll make sure all the lights are off.”

When she’d gotten Joyce settled, she came back down to find Dawn and Spike watching TV, her sister curled up next to him. Buffy plopped down on his other side and breathed a sigh of relief when he put an arm around her. They watched TV in blissful silence, enjoying the respite offered.

A commotion from the kitchen alerted them to trouble, and all three of them stood to investigate the noise. Buffy and Spike both rushed into action when they saw what was going on: Buffy quickly turning off the stove and Spike grabbing the smoking pan.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Buffy asked.

“I’m cooking breakfast,” Joyce snapped. “And you shouldn’t eat any more. You’re disgustingly fat.” She glanced over at Spike. “And what are you doing here, you monster?”

Buffy took a step backward, knowing her mother didn’t mean what she had said, yet still feeling as though she’d been slapped, knowing that Spike probably had the same expression on his face as she did. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys,” Joyce said immediately. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“’s all right, luv,” Spike said, having put the pan in the sink, and giving her a gentle push towards the door. “Why don’t you go upstairs? You can get settled in, maybe get some rest. You’re just tired.”

It was more than being tired, and they all knew it, but it was a convenient fiction. Buffy shot him a grateful smile as she and Dawn started herding Joyce up the stairs. Spike began to clean up the kitchen, thinking that it was unlikely the girls had eaten, and hearing his own stomach growling. With a frown, he started rummaging around in the fridge, looking for something quick to make.

The house was fairly quiet, except for the muted sounds of the television from the living room and soft noises from upstairs. Spike had just finished pulling out the necessary ingredients for omelets when he heard raised voices and then footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Spike put the eggs down on the countertop and went to see what was wrong, just in time to run into Dawn. “Niblet? What’s the matter?”

The girl said nothing, burying her face in Spike’s chest and holding on for dear life. “Bit?”

Buffy came down the stairs, the look on her face one of distress. “Mom—said some things.”

“She called me a thing,” Dawn muttered, her voice muffled by Spike’s shirt. “She hates me.”

“Shh,” Spike soothed. “Joyce doesn’t hate you, Dawn. She’s just not herself right now.”

“No, it’s not just Mom,” Dawn insisted. “It’s other people too. They keep saying weird things to me. What’s wrong with me?”

Spike and Buffy exchanged a look over Dawn’s head, worried. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” Buffy assured her sister, running a soothing hand over her hair. “It’s just—”

“People’s brains sometimes are a bit wrong, luv, an’ then they see things that aren’t real.” Or that are real, Spike thought. They needed to make certain they kept Dawn away from crazy people, from people like Drusilla who saw things that others were blind to. “’sides, it doesn’t matter. Buffy an’ I love you. An’ your mum loves you too. She’s just sick right now.”

“I hate this,” Dawn said rebelliously. “I mean, I really, really hate this.”

“So do I, Li’l Bit,” he replied. “So do I.”

Dawn hadn’t wanted to be tucked in since she was very small, but now she wanted Spike to sit with her for a while that night. Buffy watched them climb the stairs, then went back into the kitchen, noting the ingredients that Spike had left on the counter. With a small sigh, she started putting them back into the fridge.

She turned the water on at the sink, and then turned on the radio for good measure, pressing a wet hand to her mouth as she finally let the tears fall. Buffy didn’t even hear the sound of footsteps behind her. “Buffy?”

Buffy wiped hastily at wet cheeks with a soapy hand, trying not to be too obvious about it. “Is Dawn okay?”

“I think she will be,” Spike replied quietly. “Right now, it’s you ‘m worried about.”

Forcing a smile, she turned to face him. “I’m fine.”

“Buffy—” At the gentle, chiding tone, she shook her head.

“I can’t, Spike. I can’t—”

And then he was there, with his arms around her, whispering promises into her ear, promises that it was going to be okay, that they would make it through this, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

They were promises that were beyond his ability to fulfill, and yet she loved him for it. Under his tender onslaught, she couldn’t fight the tears that had seemed to threaten all day anymore, and she finally broke down.

By the time she’d finally gotten herself under control, the front of his shirt was soaked. When she looked up, Buffy could see that his own cheeks were wet with tears, and she suddenly didn’t feel so bad. Spike was right; they were in this together. It was better than having to face this alone.

“I was goin’ to make us somethin’ to eat,” he said softly, not wanting to address either of their tears.

She shrugged in reply. “I’m really not that hungry.”

“You’re too thin,” Spike murmured. “You should eat more.”

“So should you,” Buffy replied with a smile. “Like any of us have been getting regular meals lately.”

“’s hard,” he agreed. Then he smiled. It was only a small twist of the lips, but it made him look boyish and young and so startlingly beautiful. “You want to make out?”

“Make out?” Buffy asked, hardly able to believe her ears.

Spike leaned in close, so he could murmur in her ear. “Want to be close to you, to touch you. An’ it’ll take our minds off things.”

Buffy was well aware that she shouldn’t even be thinking about this, but— “Mom…”

“Just makin’ out, promise,” he said. “All clothes will remain on, in case of emergency.”

Suddenly, Buffy thought that it sounded like the best idea she’d heard in weeks. “Okay.”

As it had always seemed to do, the world faded as they touched, reminding one another of their love through tangibles. In fact, they were just getting really into it when a shriek came from upstairs. “Buffy!”

They broke apart, each attuned to the sounds of disaster. “Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, as he followed the Slayer up the stairs. “We were havin’ a soddin’ moment.”

“Later, sweetie,” Buffy said over her shoulder, having every intention of making good on that promise.

The second floor was chaos as Dawn tried to explain what had happened. She was trying to wipe slime off Joyce’s face at the same time, so her explanation wasn’t the clearest. “It was some gray demon-thing, and it tried to get Mom.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look, somehow not surprised at this new development. Why would anything in their lives even remotely resemble normalcy? “Stay in this room,” Buffy ordered them. “Both of you.”

She ducked out, closely followed by Spike, and let out a surprised squeak when something dropped on her back. Spike gave a roar that was worthy of the master vampire he’d been before ripping it off of her. The Slayer whirled, looking around for it, but the demon seemed to have disappeared in the dim house.

“Where did it go?” she demanded.

“Scuttled down the soddin’ stairs,” Spike replied, looking rather freaked out. Buffy was feeling a little chilled herself; the small glimpse she’d gotten of it suggested that it resembled nothing so much as a very big bug.

Buffy didn’t like bugs, as a general rule.

Shaking off the heebie-jeebies, she ran down the stairs, Spike on her heels. It was way too quiet. Buffy looked around, desperate for any indication of where it might be. “Are you sure it’s down here?”

“Think so,” Spike said doubtfully. “Blasted thing blends right in.” There was a slight noise that sent both their heads up as one. “Kitchen?”

“Maybe.”

It turned out to be an accurate guess. The cockroach-demon dropped down on Spike this time, startling a yell out of him. Buffy rushed to grab a kitchen knife, and there was a brief, confused struggle as he tried to shake it off, and the Slayer tried to stab the demon without hurting Spike.

When it finally lay on the floor, dead, they looked up, relieved. Just as Riley burst into the kitchen through the backdoor. “Buffy, the demon—” He stopped. “Is dead.”

Buffy looked up, and in her exhaustion, couldn’t find the strength to be surprised. “Riley. How nice to see you again.” She glanced past him at the four other men in black combat gear. “And you brought friends.”