Many, many thanks for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter.

Realizing that stomping her foot wasn’t going to give her any advantage in the discussion, Buffy tried to calm down. Why were men so stubborn? And why did they have to side together against her? Wasn’t there a rule in that unread Slayer handbook that said Watchers had to side with their Slayer rather than a vampire, even a good one?

“It would be a great opportunity to infiltrate their organization,” she pointed out, not for the first time. “We’ll have insider information about what their plans are.”

“And if their plans are to open you up to see how a Slayer works, what will you do?”

She winced at Spike’s words; why couldn’t they keep getting along as they had not an hour earlier when they were both voiceless? She should have escorted him back to her mother’s house, as she had first suggested, rather than taken him to Giles. Why had she even mentioned to him that she was off to see her Watcher? Silence was indeed golden.

“Circumspection seems to be needed, Buffy,” her Watcher admonished. “Wait to see if the commandos approach you, if they know who you are, and how much they are ready to tell you.”

She threw her arms up in apparent surrender and shook her head.

“You two have to be the most stubborn people on this planet. Fine. I’ll keep a low profile.”

What she didn’t add was that, if Riley came to find her instead of her going to him as she had suggested, all bets were off. Sunnydale was her town, and she was going to know what the deal was with these commandos, she promised herself that much.

A discreet cough drifted down from the loft, and Buffy was suddenly very much aware of Giles’ state of dress – or, as it may be, undress. She refused to even wonder what he wore beneath his robe.

“We’d better be going,” she said, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s already late,” she thought she heard him murmur, and walked a little faster to the door, knowing without needing to check that Spike was following.

“One thing, though,” Giles stopped them. “If they are wary of you, they might keep an eye on the places you visit. It might be good if Spike remained with Joyce a few more days, so that they don’t pick up on his presence here.”

She looked at Spike, curious as to how he would react to that seeing as how he had all but thrown a tantrum when they had decided for him before. He seemed calm – unusually so.

“What do you think, Spike?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Here, there, ‘s the same to me. At least your mum will have some company.”

The hint of reproach was there, and she felt guilty when she heard it. Her mother must have said something for Spike to point out in this not so indirect manner that she didn’t stop there as often as she should.

“We’ll ask her, but I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll let you know, Giles.”

The first minutes of the walk home were quiet, comfortably so, and Buffy wouldn’t have minded if it had lasted until they arrived. Of course, it took demons and a town-wide spell to keep the vampire silent more than a few instants.

“Still planning to come out to that soldier boy wanker, aren’t you?”

Surprised, she turned to him and missed a step. “How do you…”

Too late, she realized that she had all but admitted it. He shook his head and lit a cigarette. A memory surfaced as she watched his long fingers play on the white stick; during their engagement, she had asked him to stop. “Anything for my love,” he had replied, and she had believed him so much that even now she wanted to remind him of the promise. She knew better though and didn’t say a word.

“I know you,” he said at last, starting so quietly she barely heard his first words. “’Ve been around you long enough to see past your words, sometimes. Rupert knows too, though he’ll pretend he doesn’t. He’ll let you satisfy your curiosity, and his, and keep his good conscience about…”

“Curiosity?” she couldn’t help but interrupt. “Is that why you think I want to know about the commandos?”

“Why else?” he shot back.

Annoyed that he couldn’t see her reason only seconds after claiming he knew her, she replied before realizing that she was talking too much.

“Once I know what they do and how they do it, maybe I’ll have a clearer idea of what they did to you. Maybe I’ll even know how to reverse it.”

Wincing at her admission, she kept her eyes straight ahead. Long seconds passed before Spike asked, his puzzlement clearly conveyed by his tone, as well as a touch of bitterness:

“Why would you want to reverse it? ‘Thought you liked me defanged?”

A dozen answers presented themselves to Buffy. She couldn’t remember seeing him smile – really smile – since he had come to them for help. He constantly seemed depressed. It wasn’t right that someone as strong as him, both inside and out, couldn’t protect himself. It wasn’t right that he had been experimented on like an animal. She missed his company on patrol. She missed sparring with him.

In the end, she chose the one truth that would certainly mean the most to him – the one, also, that felt the most innocuous.

“It’s not like I had any reason to distrust you with your fangs before, did I?”

He stopped walking, and she took a couple more steps before realizing that he was no longer next to her. Blue smoke seemed to surround him when she turned to face him. Head tilted to one side, he was observing her, his eyes unreadable.

“’S that right, now? From what I gathered, you warned your gang that I was stakable and dangerous again, didn’t you?”

She crossed her arms and refused to back down on that. “That’s the impression you gave me, and since you went away it’s not like I could check to see if we were still fighting on the same side.”

An almost indiscernible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’ll admit I’ve had my doubts too. Did think a bit about playing Big Bad again.”

She tensed at his words. Unconsciously she reached for the stake tucked into her pants’ waistband, but stilled her hand before grabbing it. She wasn’t going to stake him now for thinking about something. But why was he confessing such a thing just as she had declared trusting him?

“Then…” he continued, his eyes remaining on her face save for a brief flicker to her empty hand, “… I realized if I did that I’d only prove you right.”

“Prove me right?” she repeated, unsure of what he meant.

“I don’t know who you went to bed with that night, luv. But I’m pretty sure you woke up next to Angelus’ memory. Couldn’t go ahead and play the same tricks he played on you, could I?”

Her eyes widened and she stared at him as he walked by. She might have dreamed of the fingertips that brushed her cheek when he passed by her. Silent, she followed, her eyes glued to his form a few steps ahead of her, suddenly realizing how right he had been when claiming to know her.

There had been many times, in his hundred plus years as a vampire, when Spike had wished for a reflection. The invention of polaroids had been a blessing, and soon a necessity for he wasn’t above a bit of vanity. Right now however, he was quite glad he didn’t have any way to look at himself, as he was quite sure he looked like an idiot.

Out of the blue, Joyce had decided that he had needed new clothes, and she had come back from work with pants, shirts, t-shirts and boxers, all miraculously his size, all, also, in colors he hadn’t worn in more decades than he could remember. Trying to convince her that he appreciated her thoughtfulness but liked his usual garb just fine yielded the same kind of results as trying to stop the sun from rising, which was how he ended up wearing brown slack pants – sienna, she insisted they were – and a barely darker short sleeved shirt.

“I knew you’d look fine in these!” the lady exclaimed when he grudgingly came out of the basement and offered himself up for her inspection. “The color does wonders for your complexion. Now if you’d only…”

She gestured toward his hair and he stepped out of her reach, already shaking his head.

“No way. Don’t even think about it.”

“But…”

“Joyce, you’ve been really nice and all, but there’s a limit to what I’ll endure.”

A fleeting look crossed her features, and Spike knew exactly where Buffy had gotten her sulking from.

“Even with the hair, you’re quite dashing,” she smiled, and Spike was suddenly grateful he couldn’t blush. When she aimed that maternal streak of hers in his direction, he was always at a loss as to what to do or say, and ended up acting like a right git. Thankfully for his sanity, it rarely lasted long; this time, she gave him a way out by asking:

“Have you thought about getting back on the dating scene? It has been a while since Drusilla and I’m certain you could find a nice vampiress to…”

“To do what?” he interrupted her, the good son act forgotten as he looked at her grimly. “Kill for me so that we’d feed from the same corpses? Or you expect me to go and preach that animal blood is the new delicacy?”

She swallowed heavily; sometimes, it seemed that she forgot too easily what he was. Too bad she couldn’t forget it when it came to the subject of her daughter.

“Well, if you live on animal blood,” she insisted, “there’s no reason for other vampires not to do the same; then you’d have company.”

“I have all the company I want,” he said flatly. His gaze was daring her to even bring the topic of the Slayer to the table. He had noticed the worried look on her face when Buffy was around, and he didn’t like it. She didn’t take the bait however, and instead changed the subject abruptly.

“Talking about blood, you’re almost out of it. Let’s go to the butcher.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes. “I don’t want…”

“You need to get out of this house. It’s just not healthy for you to stay in all the time.”

He didn’t try to point out to her that he had been out only the night before when they had all lost their voices. Didn’t try to remind her either that ‘healthy’ wasn’t something that mattered much to a vampire. Didn’t even argue that there was a reason why he was still living with her instead of having returned to live with Giles, and that was to hide and keep a low profile. He just sighed and let her have her way. Sometimes, it simply wasn’t worth to fight.

As it turned out, he did fight that night and with more than his words.

I loved Joyce. A lovely lady, she was. I never entirely shook that feeling that she was a bit like my mum, however different they were. Might be because, more often than not, she treated me like her son, and it was all too easy to reply as such. I don’t know why she did, when for so long it was clear she didn’t want me involved with Buffy in anything more than a friendly way. I just know it meant a lot to me – hell, I even lost my soul at least in part because of it, didn’t I?

So. Makeover and fresh blood, that was her plans for that night. It was more than strange modeling what she had bought in front of her and the Bit, and oddly reminiscent of long gone times when I had done the same for Dru’s inspection. Don’t know what it is with women and trying to change my clothes. The Slayer still tries it, every now and then.

On our way to the butcher – and with Dawn’s awed and grossed out questions as to where the blood was from and whether the butcher would bleed a pig in front of us – I spotted the Slayer in the street, with Red and Harris tagging along. Stopped the car, little chat, and amused comments, mostly from Harris, about my new attire. I announced I’d go with them – if an apocalypse was on the way, I wanted a front row seat – and the Slayer argued for a minute before deciding that she really didn’t have time. She demanded that her mum and sister return home, and let me go with her.

Best bloody idea I’d had in months.

Three demons trying to open the hellmouth, sacrifice, talisman, blah blah, who cares? Isn’t it always the same story? The one part of the show I enjoyed is that somehow, I became involved in the fight, and it became a choice between major headache and major hit. I tried my luck with the first, and discovered I could fight demons. The first swing I took at that damn bugger… I don’t think I could explain how much it meant to me. After starting to fear, I’d be incapable to fight for the rest of my unlife, being given that much was as sweet as a first mouthful of blood after days of fasting. It wasn’t just about getting off on a bit of violence – hey, don’t turn your nose up at me, I’m a demon, what did you expect? Fighting is fun. It’s what vamps do. Fists and fangs, blood and power, I don’t know anything better save for a good fuck. Choosing to be a white hat never changed that simple fact – I need the fight about as much as I need blood.

What was I saying?

Oh, right. So, it wasn’t just about the pleasure of the fight in itself, even if that alone was worth so bloody much. It was about not being useless anymore. About being able to do something to help them, help her, rather than the help coming my way only without giving anything in return. It was about her seeing more in me than someone who needed to be protected. About restoring the balance, somehow, and make her think of me more as an equal.

So damn happy about it, I could have spent my night out and fought ‘til morning. Except I couldn’t, could I? I could fight demons, but I was still defenseless against humans – against the Initiative – and wasn’t it my luck, one of them showed up for the show. The same one as before. Riley fucking Finn. He didn’t recognize me – although for a minute I thought he would – and I think I can credit the poofy clothes for that. We sent him off with a pack of pretty lies, and then it was time for a little talk. Buffy argued with me until I agreed I wouldn’t tempt fate by going out to hunt by myself. In exchange, she promised we’d patrol together, like we used to. And that’s what we did that same night after Red and Harris went home. A good old-fashioned trip through Sunnydale’s graveyards, with a dozen kills between the two of us. She was tired though, that much was clear, and an hour or two past midnight she begged off. I didn’t protest then, thinking that we would have many more nights – many more kills – to share, and already exhilarated by the prospect.

Of course, it didn’t work that way, did it? She worked her way into the Initiative, and after that we couldn’t patrol together; it was just too dangerous. Instead, she was with the wanker and his friends. Can’t say I was happy about that, but it’s not like I had a say in it.