Title:  Father Figure

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG.  However, some content may be considered NC-17.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks:  I would never have started writing this without the encouragement and beta of DorothyL. She introduced me to the concept of fanfic and discusses BtVS with me endlessly.  I owe a tremendous debt to her insights.

Notes:   This is a sequel to “Daylight."

        “This movie doesn’t even have dialogue,” said Buffy, regarding the television in some consternation.

        “Yes, it does,” said Spike.  “You just have to read it.  It’s a silent film.”

        “It’s a classic,” explained Dawn.  “Nosferatu.  It’s the original vampire film.”

        “What a great way for me to relax from my job,” commented Buffy.  “Especially since this guy reminds me of the Master.”

        “Some people think the director met the Master,” said Spike.  “Makes it more interesting.  Like it’s about family.”  Buffy and Dawn stared at him.  “You know, the Master made Darla, Darla made Angel, Angel made Drusilla, and Drusilla made me.  It’s sort of like watching something about great-great grandpa.”

        Neither Buffy nor Dawn seemed to find this very comforting.  “Could we leave out the genealogy and just enjoy the horror like a normal family?” asked Dawn.

        Spike shrugged.  He leaned back in a corner of the couch and put his arm around Buffy’s shoulders.  She snuggled next to him with her head against his chest.  Like many active people, she enjoyed television mostly for its soporific qualities and had no real objection to a black and white silent film.  She nestled in so that she could listen to Spike’s heartbeat, a sound she found more interesting and certainly more remarkable than most movie dialogue.  She gave a sigh of satisfaction.  Her eyelids began to droop and she prepared to nap.

        Dawn curled up in the remaining corner of the couch, put her head down on Buffy’s lap, and carefully positioned the popcorn bowl on the floor so that it was just within reach of her questing fingers.  She also gave a sigh of contentment.

        Chip the cat wandered up from the basement, noted the total immobility of his people, and jumped up on top of the television to nap in its warmth.  From time to time, his tail twitched down in front of the flickering picture.

        They remained in this pose for about ten minutes.  Then the doorbell rang, interrupting their inertia.  Slowly, Dawn raised her head and looked at Buffy expectantly.  Buffy in turn looked at Spike.  Chip twitched his tail again.

        “What?” said Spike.

        “You’re closest to the door,” said Dawn.

        “You’re the man of the house now,” said Buffy firmly.  “It’s your job to answer the door.”

        “Yeah, right,” he said.  “And you’re Donna Reed.” But his smile showed that he was too fond of both of them to give them any real argument about their laziness.  He stood up slowly and reached the door just as the bell rang a second time.

“Check for monsters,” called Buffy with belated caution.

“It’s human,” said Spike. “I can smell him.”

“Ick,” said Dawn, but her comment was pro forma and without emotion.  She was still watching the movie.

Spike pulled the door open and stared at the middle-aged man on the doorstep.  There was something familiar about him, but Spike didn’t think they had ever met.  “Yeah?” he said in an unwelcoming tone, slouching just inside the lighted hallway.

The man stared at him in consternation and said nothing.

“Well?” asked Spike finally.  “Did you want something or are you just ringing doorbells?”

“I was looking for my daughter.”

At the sound of his voice, Buffy shot up from the couch and was suddenly standing next to Spike.  “Daddy?” she said incredulously.  She threw herself into the visitor’s arms.  It was a moment before he wrapped them about her, but then he hugged her firmly.  She pulled away after a moment, looking into his eyes as if searching for some clue to either his presence or his previous absence.

“Hello, Buffy,” he said awkwardly.  He looked past Spike into the hall.  “Where’s Dawn?”

Dawn stepped into the hall from the living room and stared at the newcomer for a moment.  Then she turned and rushed up the stairs.  A door slammed.

Buffy and Spike exchanged meaningful glances.  Then Buffy turned back to the new arrival.  “You’ll have to give her some time,” she said.  “Oh, Dad, this is Spike.  Spike, this is my dad—Hank.  Hank Summers.”  She stuttered over the introduction.

“Hi,” said Spike unenthusiastically.

Hank did not speak to Spike at all.  “So this is your boyfriend?” he asked.  His tone was as flat as Spike’s had been.

“Not exactly,” said Buffy nervously.

Hank frowned at this response.

Spike’s expression was sardonic.  “I see that you two have some catching up to do,” he said.  “I’ll leave you and see if I can talk to the Little Bit.”  He went up the stairs.

“The Little Bit?” asked Hank, following Buffy into the living room.

Buffy shut off the television.  She picked up Chip to interrupt his investigation of the popcorn bowl, and put the bowl on the coffee table.  “It’s what he calls Dawn,” she said.

“So, who is this guy called Spike who isn’t exactly your boyfriend and who’s on his way up to my fourteen-year-old daughter’s bedroom?” asked Hank.

Buffy looked as if he had slapped her.  Chip sensed her tension, twisted away from her, and jumped to the floor.  “First of all, his name is William,” she said.  “Spike is just a nickname.  Secondly, Dawn just turned sixteen.  Thirdly, he would never, ever do anything to hurt her.”

“I hope you’re sure of that.”  A thought struck Hank.  “He isn’t her boyfriend, is he?”

“What?  Of course not.  The reason I said he wasn’t exactly my boyfriend is because he’s my husband.”

“Your husband?”  Hank looked stunned.  “You got married and didn’t even tell me?”

“I tried.  The last phone number you gave me hasn’t worked for months and most of the mail I sent was returned.  I had no idea how to reach you.”

“I had to change jobs.  But, Buffy, this must have been very sudden.  Why--are you pregnant?”

Buffy’s face was white.  “No.  I—that’s not what this was about.  And it wasn’t sudden.  Spike has been a part of my life for a very long time.”  She looked into his eyes and saw what he was thinking.  He assumed Spike belonged to the part of her life that had caused him so much pain:  the fighting and trouble with authority that had led to his disappointment in his elder daughter.  And, of course, he was right in the most literal of senses.  Spike had come from that darker part of her life.  How could she explain that Hank was wrong in every way that mattered? 

She could not find any words to explain Spike to him.  Instead, she said, “You got a new job?  You’re not working in LA any more?”

“No, San Diego.  I—I went through a bit of a bad time, Buffy.  Cindy and I broke up.” 

His eyes looked for sympathy and she automatically sought to give it.  “I’m sorry to hear that, Dad.”

“Yes, well, I needed a clean break, and now I’ve found a good position.  I just wanted to check in on, on my girls.”

"Well, here we are,” said Buffy.  “Or here I am, at least.”  She tried to smile brightly, but her expression wobbled into a grimace.       

Upstairs, Spike knocked on Dawn’s door.  “Bit?” he called.

“Are you alone?” said a muffled voice.

“Yeah.”

“Then come in.”

He opened the door.  Dawn was sitting on her bed, staring straight ahead at some pictures on the wall.  “Shut the door,” she said coldly.

He did so, and leaned against the wall, waiting.

“Are you going to make me go down there?” she asked when he made no demands.

“No.”

She relaxed slightly.  “What are they doing?”

“Talking.”  He waited patiently.

Eventually, Dawn said, "He’s never really seen me before.  He thinks he has, but I didn’t exist then.  I’m just a figment in his memory.”

He gave this due consideration.  “Reality is what you make it, pet.  You know that.”

“But all the good stuff Buffy remembers never happened with me.  All he’s really ever been for me is someone who couldn’t even be bothered coming to my mother’s funeral.”

“That’s true.  But people can change.”

“And you think he has?”

“Don’t know.  Just mentioning the possibility.”

There was another long silence. Dawn’s mask of anger slowly changed to pain.  “I just wish the good times hadn’t been all lies,” she said finally.  “It’s not fair.  Too many of the bad times were real.”

“Yeah.”  His voice was sympathetic, but he didn’t expand upon the theme.

“I can’t go down there tonight.  Tomorrow, maybe I can talk to him.  Will you tell him that?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Thanks, Spike.”  She stood up.  “I’m going to get ready for bed now.”

“Good night, pet,” he said, and went out into the hall.

When he came downstairs, he found Buffy and Hank sitting at opposite ends of the couch.  Tears were standing out on Buffy’s eyelashes, but she was trying to control her features, refusing to give into her emotions.  Hank looked uncomfortable, and his expression turned to distaste when he looked at Spike. 

“Where is she?’ he asked, as Buffy said, “How is she?”

“She wants to turn in early,” said Spike.  “It’s a bit much for her, I think.  Needs some time to think it over.”

“But I want to see her tonight,” said Hank.

This was too much for Spike’s temper.  “If you were in such a bloody hurry, you could have stopped by any time in the past three years.”

“Spike!”  Buffy placed herself between her husband and her father.  “Dad, she’s just a little overwhelmed. Give her a little while by herself.  I’m sure she’ll want to see you tomorrow.  Why don’t you stay here tonight?  We have an extra bedroom.  Then you can talk to Dawn over breakfast.”

“Yeah, we can all share Weetabix and good will,” said Spike.

Buffy ignored him and smiled at Hank with rigid determination.

“Well, this is fun,” said Spike a half-hour later. 

“I could live without the sarcasm,” said Buffy.  They were lying in bed about three feet apart, staring at the ceiling.

“I could live with something to put me in a better frame of mind.”

“My father is just down the hall.  I can’t.”

“You did tell him we were married, love.  I think he’s made the logical assumptions.”

“Since when is this about logic?”  She sighed.

He sighed.  After a few minutes, he said, “You know, love, we never did catch that vamp that was hanging about the park last week.”

“We patrolled already.”

“Now, where’s your sense of duty, Slayer?  How can you fall asleep worrying about that dangerous fiend prowling the streets?  Won’t it leave you with a horrible, empty, unsatisfied, unfulfilled feeling?”  He drawled the last few words suggestively.

“Well, now that you mention it—”  Buffy was starting to sound marginally more cheerful. 

“We could go by my old crypt, make sure nothing nasty’s moved in since we last checked it,” he continued.

She was up off the bed and rummaging in the closet.  “Get dressed quietly,” she said.  “I don’t want Dad to hear us go out.”

“Enjoying the view, love?” asked Spike.  They were sitting on top of an old mausoleum, looking up at the sky.

“I thought we were up here looking for demons,” said Buffy.  “Not staring at the stars.”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the back of her neck.  “All business, that’s us.”

She relaxed against him, not bothering to continue with even a feigned argument.  “I love you,” she murmured.  “Tell me you love me.”

Spike recognized neediness when he heard it.  He didn’t enjoy seeing her in this mood, but he catered to it instinctively.  “You know I do, pet,” he said between kisses.  “You were my obsession, then my life.  Now you’re my constant joy.”  He pulled off his battered leather coat and spread it on the cold roof of the mausoleum.  “Let me prove how much I love you.”

They kissed until he felt her begin to relax against him, some of the tension draining away from her body.  Gently, he pulled off the sweatshirt she wore and then unhooked her bra.  His hands and lips moved slowly.  This would be an unhurried seduction, designed to show her how valuable and cherished she was.  He pushed her back to lie on his coat, and her passive acceptance of his lovemaking told him just how hurt and fragile she was feeling.  He kissed the soft underside of her breasts as his hands undid the zipper of her jeans and slid them down over her hips.  She began to moan and move underneath him as his hand slipped between her thighs.  Smiling with assurance now, his lips moved to her belly and then further down.  Buffy’s hands writhed in his hair, stroking him as she gave little gasps of delight and encouragement.  Suddenly, she sat up and they both rolled over on the hard surface.  She was astride him, her eyes gleaming in the darkness and her naked body white against the background of stars.  The illusion of vulnerability was gone.  He laughed lecherously.  “Invite me in, Slayer.”

She smiled, strong and in charge again.  “You’ve been a good boy,” she purred.  “I suppose you deserve a treat.”

As their hips rocked in rhythm to the beating of their hearts, they heard a noise from the graveyard below.  Buffy’s hand came up and covered Spike’s mouth.  Her voice was soft next to his ear.  “Demon?”  She moved her hand slightly so he could whisper.

“Human,” he said.  “No danger, I think.”

“Quiet, then,” she said.  “I don’t want any interruptions.”

“Or interruptus,” he muttered, and bit his lip as they fought to stay silent even as they continued their lovemaking.  In fact, the need for quiet added an extra layer of excitement to the moment, and they kissed frantically as they tried to repress any moans of pleasure.

Buffy collapsed against Spike’s chest as he gave a final involuntary gasp.  A gentle sigh escaped from her lips as she listened to the movements below.  “What idiot would be wandering around here at this hour?” she muttered.

Someone spoke just a few feet away from the mausoleum.  Buffy answered her own question.  “Xander!” she whispered.

“Huh?” said Xander.

“What?” asked Jonathan. 

“Did you call me?”

“No.  I was looking for that headstone.”

“Remind me again why we had to come looking for this tonight, without Buffy or even any ex-dead-guy protection.” 

“I have my magic bone,” said Jonathan. 

Both Spike and Buffy began to shake with silent laughter.  Buffy started looking around for her clothes.

“We had to do this right away,” said Jonathan.  “I only just figured out that it will be here at 1 a.m.”

“What kind of time is that for a mystical event?” asked Xander.  “Shouldn’t it be at midnight?”

“I think it’s got something to do with daylight savings or time zones or something.  Look!”

“What is it?”

“There’s something white and nebulous over there.  Maybe it’s ectoplasm.”

“Then you deal with it.  I’m not touching any ectoplasm.”

Jonathan moved closer to the mausoleum.  His voice sounded confused.  “It’s a bra caught in a bush.”

“Well there’s a mystical event, all right.”

The tone of Jonathan’s voice changed.  “It’s still warm.”

“Oh, please,” said Xander.  “Don’t let us make this expedition even lamer by scaring some horny couple out of the underbrush.  Hey, what’s that?”

“Did you hear that thump?” asked Jonathan nervously.

“More like two thumps.” 

“Uh, hi, guys,” said Buffy, strolling out from behind the mausoleum.  Spike appeared a few feet behind her.  “What brings you out tonight?”

Xander looked from the bra in Jonathan’s hands to the newlyweds.  Buffy’s expression was one of almost unbelievable innocence.  On the other hand, Spike looked like a cat who had just swallowed an entire aviary of canaries. 

“Oh, please, no,” said Xander.  “I know you two have a room.”

Buffy frowned.  “Unfortunately, my father is staying in the room next door to ours.”

“Your father?”  There was no surer route to Xander’s sympathies.  He looked concerned and forgiving.  “Parental stuff.  I’m sorry, Buffy.”

Jonathan was still staring at the wisp of lace in his hand.  “This is Buffy’s bra,” he said in awe.  Spike reached out and snatched it away from him.  Jonathan looked like a kid who had caught a home run ball at a World Series game, only to have someone else grab it from his glove.  He sulked, but didn’t dare protest the loss of his trophy.

“Dawn won’t even talk to my dad,” said Buffy to Xander.  “And he and Spike don’t like each other.”

“There’s a shock,” said Xander.  “But how upset is Dawn?  I mean, the poor kid’s been through so much already.”

“I’m not sure,” said Buffy.  “I had a brief conversation with her through a closed door.  She talked to Spike more.”

Spike shrugged.  “We didn’t say much.  She said that he doesn’t really know her, that he doesn’t realize she’s just some fake memories the monks forced on him.  And she’s upset that he hasn’t come before.”

“What did you say to her?” asked Xander.

“Not much.  I said people could change and that just because something doesn’t start out real doesn’t mean it can’t become real later.  But she’s got to work things out for herself.”

Xander looked surprised.  “I thought you’d tell her he was a crappy dad and she should tell him to go to hell.”

“You must think I’m a stupid git,” said Spike.  “I’m not bloody likely to say that.”

“Why?” asked Buffy with a touch of bitterness.  “It’s what you think.”  Her tone seemed to imply that she thought it too.

“What I think is my business,” said Spike.  “What she thinks is hers.  Mind, I don’t know how much longer I can go on being polite to him.”

“Polite?” said Buffy incredulously.  “You thought that was being polite?”

“Uh, guys,” said Jonathan.  “Can we look for the Giragorsh that’s going to appear in a few minutes?

“What’s a Giragorsh?” asked Buffy.

“Big, hairy demon,” said Spike.  “Sharp teeth.  They visit from another dimension when they want to cause trouble.  They’re pretty rare, though.  The last time I heard of one on the rampage was when a wizard down in South America tried to harness a volcano with black magic to increase his own power.  The Giragorsh shanghaied the energy and used it to inspire a civil war.  It was pretty bad news for the wizard, too.  Giragorsh need a source of mystic energy to exist in this world, so I suppose the hellmouth is their idea of a vacation spot.”

“Yeah,” said Jonathan, clearly irked that Spike had stolen his thunder.  “And at least one is going to appear here right now.”

“You’re sure about that?” said Xander, looking around.

“There’s a grave somewhere here of the last person to see a Giragorsh in Sunnydale.  The prophecy I translated said that the next monsters to arrive would appear near the bones of their victim, at midnight, so allowing for daylight savings time, that’s now.”

“Uh, Jonathan,” said Buffy, “we’re not on daylight savings time.”

“And it’s after two in the morning,” said Spike.

“You’re sure?” said Jonathan.  He looked at his watch and shook his wrist anxiously. 

Spike pointed up at the stars.  “After a hundred and twenty years of trying to avoid a sunburn at daybreak, you learn to keep track.”

Jonathan stared at his wrist again.  “The battery must have died.”

“So this Gormenghast thing got here over two hours ago and is now wandering around town,” said Buffy.  “Doing what, Jonathan?  What does it want?”

“Something very important to it.  I’m not sure, but I think it’s information it’s looking for instead of a thing.  Something to do with its power to access this world.”

“If those bloody things find a way to wander in and out of our reality whenever they want, life could get a lot more uncomfortable for the human race,” said Spike. 

“Jonathan, can you narrow this down a bit?” asked Buffy.

“I’ll try, but I’m having trouble with the Latin,” said Jonathan.

“Maybe we can fax a copy to Giles,” said Buffy.  “If he has time.  It sounded like things were really busy for him in England.  I can’t think who else—“

“Give me a copy,” said Spike wearily.

Xander stared at him.  “You read Latin?”

“I used to.  Maybe it will come back to me.”  He saw the other three staring at him.  “What?  Like I said, you pick things up over the course of a century.”  He stalked off towards the street.

“Touchy, touchy,” said Xander.

“Leave him alone,” said Buffy.  “There are things in his past he doesn’t like to be reminded about.”

“Because of the bad stuff he did?” asked Jonathan.

“In this case, I think it’s because of how far he strayed from the good stuff,” said Buffy.  “Just give him the book or whatever it is and don’t make a big deal about it.”  She went after Spike, trying to think of words that could reassure him without overemphasizing the importance of what he had just done.  Although he generally refused to discuss it, she knew each step back into the human world was hard for him, and this latest effort, which involved acknowledging what he had been before he became a vampire, must have been particularly difficult. 

While she worried about Spike, another part of her mind was working out strategies for dealing with trans-dimensional demons on the loose in her town, while a third corner of her brain was wondering how Dawn would handle the latest disruption in her life.  She was so busy worrying about the people in her care that the feelings of vulnerability and abandonment engendered by her father’s visit had no chance to bother her further, at least for that night.

Dawn was scrounging through the refrigerator when Hank came downstairs the next morning.  She had her back to him, and said as she turned to the newcomer, “Buffy, Spike’s drunk all the orange juice again—oh!”

“Hi, Dawn,” said Hank awkwardly.

“Hi,” she replied.  She searched his face for an anxious moment, then looked at her feet.

“You’ve gotten so tall,” he said, surprised.

“Yeah, I think it bothers Buffy,” she said.  “I’m not much of a ‘little sister’ anymore.”

“You’ve also gotten more beautiful,” he said.

This only increased her embarrassment, and she said nothing.

“I’ve moved to San Diego,” he said.  “Did Buffy tell you?”

“No, we didn’t talk much last night.”

“Oh.  There seemed to be a lot going on after I went to bed.  I thought I heard someone go out and come back in again later.”

“Probably Buffy and Spike.  They like to, uh, to walk around at night sometimes.  They have trouble sleeping or something.”  She tried to change the subject.  “Buffy should be down soon.  I heard her in the shower.”  Dawn clearly wished someone else would come into the room.  “Can I get you something for breakfast?  There’s coffee.  We’re out of juice.”

“Coffee would be great,” he said.  “Do you have to make your own breakfast in the mornings?”

“I usually get my own cereal and stuff,” said Dawn.  “No big deal.”  She opened a cabinet, displaying the options, and put a bowl with some bananas and apples on the counter for him.  Then she turned to pour him a cup of coffee.

“I see that Spike fellow isn’t an early riser,” commented Hank.  “Probably due to all that wandering around at night.”

Dawn looked surprised.  “Yes, he is.  He gets up every morning and makes the coffee.  Then he goes outside to watch the sunrise.  He’s on the porch right now.”  As if to prove her point, Spike came in at that moment, carrying his coffee cup.  Dawn smiled at him in great relief. “Hi. Give me a ride to school?”

“Sure, pet,” he said, nodding at Hank without enthusiasm.  “I’m heading in to the magic shop in few minutes anyway.”

“Kind of early to open it, isn’t it?”

“I need to look for something there.”

“Oh.  What’s the book?” she asked, noticing for the first time what Spike was carrying.

“Something Jonathan dropped off for me,” he said vaguely.

Hank interrupted this small talk, trying to draw attention back to himself.  “Dawn, why don’t I drive you to school?  I have a new car.  It’s a convertible.”

“That’s okay,” said Dawn. “You haven’t finished your breakfast yet.  Besides, Spike knows the way.”

“So do I.  I picked Buffy up a few times when she was in high school.”

Dawn stared at him.  “That building is gone,” she said.  “It blew up.  During Buffy’s high school graduation.  I’m sure we mentioned it.”  She grabbed her backpack and headed for the door.  “Besides, Spike has a convertible too.”

Spike looked at Hank, shrugged, and followed her out.

Buffy came downstairs a bare minute later, her hair still damp from the shower.  “Hi,” she said shyly to Hank.  “Is everyone gone already?  I heard the car start up.”

“Dawn seemed in a hurry to get to school,” he said sourly, frowning at his coffee cup.

“Oh, well, she’s doing much better at her classes this year,” said Buffy, with the air of someone who is determined to be positive. “She probably needed to go in early to work on her science project.”

“I’m sure,” said Hank sourly.  “She doesn’t seem very happy with me.  What have you said to her?”

“Said to her?” asked Buffy, bewildered.  “About what?”

“About me.  Did you tell her I was behind on the child support?  Because, you know, I went through some hard times.”

“I—I don’t think so.  It hasn’t always been easy for us financially either,” she said.  It still isn’t, she added to herself.  “But I didn’t talk to her about that specifically.  You have to understand, Dad, she hasn’t seen you since—well, to her it must seem like she hasn’t seen you since forever.  Just give her some time.  Maybe you can do something with her after school.”  She forced a smile.  “But I can get out of work this morning, so that the two of us can spend some time together.  What would you like to do?  There aren’t that many options in Sunnydale, but I’m sure we can find someplace to go.”

“That’s okay,” he said standing up.  “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your employer.  I’ll just look around town.”

He went out, not meeting her eyes and avoiding her hurt expression.

Hank opened the door to the Magic Box, his eyes adjusting to the relative dimness inside.  His senses were assaulted by the smells and sights of a thousand odd objects from candles to books to statuary.  Towards the back of the room was a round table, upon which sat a small television set, a teapot, and a cup and saucer.  Spike was seated in front of the television with his feet up on the table.  When he heard the bell over the door ring, he turned, leaning over momentarily to slip some object he had been holding under a jumble of papers on a nearby shelf.

“Well,” said Hank, walking further into the shop and staring at the television, “I can see that you’re hard at work this morning.”

“Every laborer is worthy of his break-time,” drawled Spike, not bothering to rise.  “Besides, Passions is on.  Cup of tea?”

Hank sneered down at him.  “No thanks.  I don’t need a break this early.  Of course, I wasn’t wandering around town last night doing—what exactly were you doing last night?”

“If you know I went out last night, you probably know Buffy was with me.  And if you think Buffy would be a party to anything wrong or criminal, you really don’t know your own daughter.”

“I’m not sure I do, or that I understand the way she’s living.  I wonder what Buffy’s mother would say if she could see the man her daughter married?”

Spike did stand up at that, and his angry expression made Hank step back a pace.  A muscle worked in Spike’s jaw, and it was a moment before he said levelly, “If Joyce were here, she would pour herself a cup of tea and say that it was awful what happened to Timmie.  This was her favorite show.”

“Oh. You knew Joyce,” said Hank in a faint, surprised voice.  “She liked you?”

“Better than you do, apparently.”

“You don’t seem to care for me very much either,” retorted Hank, recovering his equilibrium.

“Yeah, well, I’m a bit prejudiced.  I’ve never been able to imagine what kind of stupid git could walk out on not one, but three, Summers women.”  Spike turned off the television and wandered over to the counter.

“I didn’t walk out,” stuttered Hank.  “Joyce and I grew apart, that’s all.  Lots of couples divorce.”

“Pull the other one,” said Spike.  “I knew Joyce.  She’d been hurt, that was obvious, and there you were, the obvious candidate for the bloke doing the damage.  Cheated on her, didn’t you?  Let me guess.  She got older, and more assertive, and maybe didn’t cater to your every whim quite as much as she used to.  So you found someone younger, or maybe a series of someones.  I’m going to go with the series.  I’m willing to bet you didn’t spontaneously confess to your little peccadilloes, either.  Did she just stumble on the evidence, all unsuspecting?”  He watched Hank’s face with a mixture of anger and satisfaction at having his suspicions confirmed. 

“She told you?” said Hank, annoyed.  “Or did she tell the girls and one of them told you?  Is that why Dawn is angry at me?”

“No, she never talked to Buffy or Dawn about it.  Never said a word against you to me either.  Of course, that left Buffy and Dawn to blame themselves for your marriage breaking up.”

“No,” said Hank.  “At least, never Dawn.  Buffy—she was so uncontrollable, and Joyce and I were always fighting about it.  A young man like you can be self-righteous, but you don’t know how hard it can be, living with difficult women.”

Spike laughed outright at this, but refused to let Hank in on the joke. “You really are a bloody stupid git,” he said finally.  “Three of the most amazing ladies I’ve ever met, and they already loved and trusted you.  All you had to do was stick it out, help them with their problems.  Do you have any idea what I had to do—?”  He waved his hand, brushing this consideration aside.  “But, no, you wanted someone who would look at you admiringly and not make too many demands.  A nice, easy, boring, life.  Couldn’t get that with Joyce and Buffy about.  So you let them go, or drove them away, and you went off to shag Miss Secretary.  But what happened then?  Did she grow up too, just like all your other women?  Left you with nothing but some alimony demands?  And now you want someone else to look up at you adoringly, but you’ve been burnt by too many of your girlfriends. You’ve learned what it is not to trust instead of just being Mr. Untrustworthy yourself.  So you remembered your daughter.  Not the troublesome one always getting into fights, but that nice little girl who never gave you a moment’s worry.  That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?  You want Dawn.”

Hank’s teeth ground audibly.  “She’s my daughter.  I have a right to raise her.”

“Wrong.  You had a right to raise her.  You gave it up.  She’s part of my family now.”

“And you think you can offer her more than I can?”

“Buffy and I can offer her a chance to grow and become something more than just Daddy’s little girl.  I don’t think you have a clue how to do that.”

“Do you think Social Services will see it that way?  How will they react when they compare a successful businessman to a penniless shopkeeper as a father figure?”

“I’m not a shopkeeper, mate.  I don’t run this place.  I’m just minding it for a friend.”

“So you’re even more shiftless than I thought.  Is that supposed to improve your chances with Social Services?”  Hank taunted.

Spike grinned and turned on his heel.  He marched to the door and pulled it open, just as a middle-aged woman in a conservative dress was going by.  “Hullo, Mrs. Ellis,” he said amiably.

Momentarily startled, she peered up at him.  “Oh, hello, William,” she said.  “I was just wondering if I should stop in and ask if you’ve gotten any of that special tea I like.”

“And I saw you going by and wanted to make sure that you knew we’d gotten a shipment,” he said smoothly, taking her elbow and guiding her down the steps and toward the counter.  “The wit--, er woman who makes up the blend dropped some off yesterday.”

“Oh, how pleasant,” she said.  “It’s so relaxing, you know, and I do love a cup to help me deal with my busy schedule.  I’m so glad I have time to pick it up, before going back to the school.  It’s a half-day, today, you know, and I have to take a whole van of youngsters to soccer practice as soon as they get out of class.”

He nodded, handing her a packet.  “I won’t keep you then,” he said.  “But you know we all appreciate how much work you do on the children’s behalf.”

“Thank you, William,” she said. “And, may I say how glad I am you and that pretty bride of yours have agreed to help chaperone the dance next week.  The students seem to behave so much better when you two are around.  It’s almost magical.”  She tittered as she glanced around the shop.  “Oh, and I spoke to Mrs. Coe about the science projects, and she told me how pleased she was with the way Dawn’s effort is turning out.  We’re all so glad to see how well Dawn’s gotten over that bad patch since her mother’s death.  It must be so much better for her now that you and Buffy are able to offer such a stable environment.”  She smiled at him and left the shop.

Spike turned to grin at Hank in triumph.  “You want to go to Social Services over this?  I can bring along ten Mrs. Ellises to show what a good job Buffy and I are doing.  Do you have any testimonials to your parenting skills?”

Hank was stubborn.  “And suppose Dawn wants to come with me?”

“You go ahead and try to convince her, mate.  We’ll see how that works out.”

“And in the meantime, you’ll be poisoning her mind against me.”

Spike shook his head.  “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why would you do me any favors?”

“I’m not restraining myself for your sake.  It’s for hers.  I don’t want her tied up in emotional knots.”

The bell at the door rang again.  They turned to see Dawn standing there.  She looked shocked to see Hank.  “Uh, it was a half-day,” she said. “I forgot about that this morning.  So I came by to see if I could take over the shop so Spike could do, uh, anything else he had to do.”

“Thanks, pet,” said Spike smoothly.  “As a matter of fact, there’s some stuff I need to get from the cellar, and I didn’t want to leave the shop unattended while I went down there.  If you could watch the register and keep Hank here company, I’ll take care of it.”

She looked dismayed, but he only gave her an encouraging smile and headed for the cellar door.

Dawn walked behind the counter and stowed her backpack underneath it.  She attempted a joke.  “So, what brings you to the magic shop?  Can I interest you in a talisman to bring you success in your new job?”

“So you work here?” asked Hank.

“Yeah.  After school and weekends.  So does my friend Janice, sometimes.  It’s fun, and we get paid more than allowance.  Also, it helps Tara, our friend who runs the shop.”

He looked around with some distaste.  “If you had to take an after school job, wouldn’t something else be better?  A dress shop, or something like that?”

“Ick, no,” said Dawn.  “A friend of mine does that. I’d hate having to pick up and put away clothes that snotty people were trying on.  And Buffy worked in a fast food place for a while.  That was really dire.  I like this better.  You meet lots of different kinds of people, and the stock is really interesting.  When it doesn’t bite.  That last part was a joke.”

He didn’t laugh.  “Wouldn’t it be better not to have to work at all?”

“Well, maybe, but I like to contribute.  It’s not like Buffy and Spike have a lot of money.”

“But suppose you were to come live with me?  You wouldn’t have to work, and I could afford to send you to a really good school.”

She looked dismayed.  “G-go live with you?  Just like that?”

“Why not?  I’m your father.  Your sister has got a new husband and a lot of worries.  I’d be able to spend lots of time with you.”
        “Buffy and Spike do spend a lot of time with me.  Now.”

He didn’t notice the qualifier.  “And I don’t care for Spike.  He’s not the sort of person I want around my daughter.”

“Well, he’s married to Buffy, so he’s going to be around her.”

“I meant you.”

“Oh, well, Spike isn’t as bad as he seems.  In fact, he isn’t bad at all.  He and Buffy take good care of me.”

“I don’t like his attitude to anything, including you.  I don’t trust him around you.  Even that nickname he has for you is suggestive.”

“Little Bit?” asked Dawn.  When he nodded, she laughed.  “Do you know what it’s short for?  ‘Little Bitty Buffy.’  He’s called me that for years.  It’s all about my being Buffy’s sister, nothing else.”

        “And what exactly does he do?” continued Hank.  “There’s something strange about him and this whole situation.”

        Dawn was at a loss to deny this, and before she could think of a response, the rear door slammed open.  She and Hank turned around to stare at an enormous demon covered in shaggy white hair that masked its eyes but failed to hide its huge fangs.  Hank stepped backwards towards the front door as a second equally large demon appeared from behind the first.

        Dawn also tried to move to the door, but she was hindered by the counter, and before she could get out from behind it, the first demon was in the center of the room, bearing down on Hank.  Dawn shrank back behind the counter as the first demon chased Hank out the door.

        The second demon turned and headed for Dawn just as the cellar door flew open and Spike raced in.  Only then did Dawn realize that she had begun shrieking Spike’s name the moment the first demon appeared.  She struck out with one long leg, catching the demon in the stomach.  It grunted and reeled back just a few inches.  Spike hit it with a stronger blow and it turned toward him, snarling.

        Buffy was listening to Jonathan’s explanation of how he had stumbled across the information about the Giragorsh demon.  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

        “I have to agree,” said Tara.  “If they know how to get here, why would they be after a text that tells them how to get here?”

        “I don’t know,” said Jonathan.  “Don’t kill the messenger.”  They were walking down Sunnydale’s main street.  “But you could kill that,” he added, pointing.

        Buffy had already seen Hank stumble out of the Magic Box, followed by the huge white demon.  She almost flew across the street to catch it in the chest with a kick that knocked it down.  It struggled to rise, but she was already behind it, grabbing it by the neck.  As it twisted one way beneath her, she grasped its ears and yanked mightily in the other direction.  There was a snap of bone, and the monster was still.

        Buffy stood up.  “Dad!  What happened?  Are you okay?”

        He pointed into the shop.  “There’s another one.  Dawn—“

        Buffy ran through the door and almost fell over the corpse of the second demon.  Hank, Tara, and Jonathan stumbled in to find her staring at Dawn, who was leaning over Spike’s body.

        Buffy moved even faster than when she had seen the demon.  It took her only a moment to realize that Spike was wounded but conscious.  She helped him on to a chair and ripped open his shirt to expose a long slash down one arm.

        “That thing bit him,” said Dawn unnecessarily.  “These are even worse than the last batch of big, hairy monsters.”

        “The Giragorsh,” said Jonathan.  “I told you there was at least one.”

        “Yeah, well I hope there were no more than two,” said Spike.  “What happened to the other one?”

        “Dead,” said Buffy.  “We need to get the body inside.  Even in Sunnydale someone is bound to notice.”

        “Yeah, well, I’ll---“ Spike was about to stagger to his feet to perform this task, but Buffy shoved him down again. 

“You sit.  Dawn and Tara, can you patch him up?”

        Dawn had already run for the first aid kit and was unrolling a bandage.  Buffy turned her attention back to Spike.  “A bite from that thing?  Is it poisonous?”

        “Not to vampires,” he said. 

        “What about humans?”

        “Oh, to humans, it’s reputed to be deadly.  So you figure, fifty-fifty?”

        She turned pale.  “Not good enough odds.  Is there an antidote?”

        “I don’t know.”  He shivered.  He was already sweating profusely.

        Buffy snapped out orders.  “Jonathan and Tara, start looking for an antidote.  And get hold of Willow.  And call Ginger from the Seely Coven.  She’s the best at medicine, I think.  I want as much help as we can get on this, right away.  Jonathan, you help me drag the demons’ bodies into the training room.  I don’t want to dispose of them in case they’re needed to make an antidote.  And someone needs to find out if anyone in the demon community has seen these things and how many of them there are.  If there were two, there could be more.  That’s usually Spike’s job, but maybe Clem or one of his friends can help.  I’ll call Tom too, as soon as I have a chance.” 

        “Wait,” said Spike.  He tried to lean over, causing problems for Tara, who was wrapping a bandage around his arm.  He waited until she was done and then pulled the book Jonathan had given him out of its hiding place.  “This may help.  I’ll try to look through it—“

        Buffy snatched it out of his hands and tossed it to Jonathan.  “You’re in no shape to do anything, William.”  She turned, and found herself facing Hank.  She had forgotten his presence in the face of this new calamity.  “Dad?”

        “What?” he stammered.  “What were those things, and why is he talking about vampires, and you said demons– “

        “Dawn,” said Buffy, “Explain things to him.  I don’t have time.  As soon as I take care of those corpses, I’m taking Spike home before he gets any worse.” 

        Hank sat in the dining room of Buffy’s house, watching the activity swirl around him.  Willow, whom Hank vaguely remembered from his last trip to Sunnydale, was in the kitchen doing something with some very smelly chemical equipment.  At least, he hoped it was chemistry she was doing.  She was working with Tara, but seemed very uncomfortable around the other girl.  Tara, on the other hand, appeared to have no thought for anything except her concern for Spike.  She was constantly peering around the corner into the living room where a middle-aged woman named Ginger was on the phone.  Jonathan had been called to the door by another young man named Xander, and the two had driven off to find some ingredients Willow and Tara needed.  Dawn was very quiet, and her expression was bleak.  She did whatever Willow or Tara asked of her with a grim intensity.

        Hank wandered into the hallway, where he could hear a telephone conversation going on between Ginger and someone named Rupert.  “I just knew we could count on you for the information,” she was saying in an almost coquettish tone.  “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of the poor boy.  And Buffy too.  It must be so hard for the dear girl to have to go through this without a parent’s support.  But my sisters and cousins and I are more than happy to give her a mother’s care, and I’m sure she knows you’d be here if you could.  Now if you just dictate those instructions to me, we’ll get dear William well again in no time.”

        Hank looked down at the table in the hall and noticed several framed wedding pictures.  It looked as if Buffy had been married informally in the back yard, and as if several women with a strong family resemblance to Ginger had been present.  One picture showed Dawn and Buffy standing on either side of a smiling middle-aged man.  Both girls were looking at him with obvious affection. 

        “That’s Giles,” said Dawn. 

        Hank turned to see her standing in the doorway to the dining room. 

        “The guy on the phone,” she explained.  “Rupert Giles.  He was Buffy’s Watcher for a long time.  He lives in England now, but he came back to give her away at the wedding.”  She grimaced.  “Of course Sage, that’s who performed the ceremony, doesn’t like to call it that, but he and I represented her family.”

        Hank had trouble following this.  “What’s a Watcher?”

        “Every Slayer is supposed to have a Watcher to train her to fight vampires and to advise her.  Giles was posted here as Buffy’s Watcher when she moved to Sunnydale.  Her first Watcher was killed in LA.  You remember that mess with the gym?”

        “Someone died?” asked Hank.  At the time, he had thought that the only good part of that appalling situation was that no one had died in the fire that destroyed the gym.

        “A lot of vampires.  And Buffy’s first Watcher.  Giles moved back to England because he said Buffy didn’t need him any more, but he still calls a couple of times a week, and we miss him.  Spike knows tons about demons, and he does a lot of the stuff Giles used to do for her, but he kind of needs watching himself sometimes.  I guess Buffy needs help being the Slayer and Spike needs help just being a human, so they watch each other now.”

        Hank shook his head.  “You’re not making this up.  Buffy is married to a man who used to be a vampire?”

        “Yeah,” said Dawn.  “But don’t hold it against him.”

        “Certainly not,” said Ginger from behind her.  “Think how many people squander their humanity and act like demons.  On the other hand, it’s almost unheard of for a demon to become human.  Which would you rather trust?  The creature who made no effort to remain human or the one who gave up immortality to achieve humanity?”  She looked at Dawn.  “Who is this man, my dear?  I don’t think I quite understand what he’s doing here.”

        Before Dawn could reply, Willow called out something from the kitchen and Ginger bustled off, waving a paper filled with penciled notes.  Suddenly, the kitchen became a swirl of activity, and Hank found himself ignored again while Dawn fetched and carried for the three witches.  A few minutes later, Xander and Jonathan returned with a bag of supplies and things got even busier.

        Finally, Buffy came downstairs.  Everyone in the kitchen turned to stare at her.  “How is he?” asked Dawn.

        “Not good.  His fever is very high and I think he’s becoming delirious.  He still recognizes me, but he seems to be seeing other things that aren’t there.”

        “Well,” said Ginger slowly, “this is ready.”

        Buffy stared at the glass of green liquid the witch was holding.  “Will it work?”

        Ginger, Tara, and Willow exchanged glances.  “We got the best information we could,” said Willow.

        “Rupert was very helpful,” said Ginger.  “He consulted several rare books and called some experts he knows.  But—“

        It was Tara who finally spoke with quiet authority.  “Buffy, the information we have is incomplete.  This may cure Spike, but if we’ve misread one of the documents and used the wrong ingredient, it may not help.  In fact, in his weakened state, it could kill him.”

        Buffy didn’t take her eyes off the glass.  “Is there any way to test it?”

        “It would take too much time,” said Tara.

        “Yeah,” said Jonathan.  “And how would we test it?  I mean, what do we really know about Spike’s physiology?  It isn’t like there are a lot of people to compare him with.”

        “How long will it take to tell if it’s working?”  Buffy was still very calm.

        “In a half hour we could tell if it was poison,” said Tara.  “We might even see some improvement by then, if we got it right.”

        “What’s the dosage?” 

        “That glass full,” said Willow.  “And we have plenty extra, if it gets spilled.”

        “All right, then,” said Buffy, and swallowed the entire contents of the glass in one gulp.  She handed the glass to Tara and turned to go back up the stairs.  “If I don’t show any symptoms in a half hour, we’ll give it to him.”

        They all stood in silence until the bedroom door shut upstairs.  Xander finally spoke.  “‘We have plenty extra,’” he mocked.  “‘What do we know about Spike’s physiology?’  Did you guys have a stupidity attack or something?  You should have known she would do something like that.”

        “Sorry,” said Jonathan meekly.   Willow looked stunned, as if she had somehow betrayed herself again.

        “Buffy should be all right,” said Ginger, clearly trying to comfort herself.  “Eventually.  Even if we did use the wrong ingredient, the mixture shouldn’t be fatal to a healthy Slayer.  But it might make her very ill.”

        Hank was staring at the empty glass.  “Did Buffy just drink something that could be poison?  She’s risking her life!”

        “That’s what she does,” said Dawn.  “She risks her life for total strangers every day.  Why would she hesitate now?”  She looked very frightened.

        Buffy sat on the bed and took Spike’s left hand in hers.  He turned to look at her.  He seemed to have trouble focusing his eyes, but he said, “Hello, love,” in a quiet voice.

        She smiled at him. “Hello.  How do you feel?”

        “I didn’t remember what this felt like,” he said.  “Never had a cold or the influenza for over a century, you know.”

        “I know.”

        “I think I felt like this once when I was a child.  Can’t remember what it was that made me ill, though.  Mother said it almost carried me off.”

        Her hand tightened on his.  “This won’t carry you off.  You’re not leaving, William.”

        “Leaving,” he muttered.  “Need to leave, love.”

        “No!” she cried.  She touched the ring on his hand and forced herself to speak calmly.  “This means you promised not to leave me, remember?”

        He peered up at her, frowning.  “Not leave you.  But leave. It’s important.  First, we have to find her.”

        “Who?  Dawn?”

        He shook his head.  “No, not Dawn.  Dawn’s the key.”

        “Yes.”  She was relieved that he was rational enough to remember that.

        “A key needs a lock.  A lock is good for a door.  Bloody big door for a lock and key like that.”

        “William—“

        He ignored her, his thoughts still wandering off on some strange path.  “The door is an escape, you know.”

        “We escape through a door?”  She wondered if this was pure fancy or if he was having a vision.

        “No, we don’t go through the door, but that’s how we escape.  Like a bloody riddle.  But don’t forget.  Joy comes first.  Or is it after?  Or both.  Another bloody riddle.”

        Buffy didn’t feel very joyous.  She tried to keep him talking, and for a few minutes he continued to mutter about doors and locks.  Eventually, he fell silent, and she sat with her fingers against his wrist, monitoring his pulse.  She didn’t move when Dawn pushed the door open and stood quietly by the bed, anxiously watching Buffy for any signs of poisoning.

        Buffy was still sitting there when the others joined Dawn.  They looked relieved to see Buffy was apparently still healthy.  Ginger bustled forward and took Buffy’s pulse, then checked her heart with an ancient stethoscope. The witch put a hand to Buffy’s forehead and nodded.  “No fever.  The pulse is a little rapid, but that’s to be expected from the stress of the situation.  I believe it’s safe to give William the antidote now.”

        Tara stepped in front of Xander and Hank to pass Buffy a glass of the green liquid.  Buffy put it on the bedside table and turned to Spike.  She touched his forehead and said gently, “William?”  There was no reaction, and she shook his shoulder.  He moaned, but didn’t open his eyes.

        Buffy pursed her lips and pulled him to a more upright position against the pillows.  “William!” she said loudly, and struck him smartly across the cheek.

        His eyelids fluttered and he stared at