Sundown came and the Summers' house was quiet. Upstairs Dawn and Tara slept, both of them exhausted and a little heartsick, while downstairs, Buffy too lay curled up with her eyes closed. Spike doubted that she was truly asleep, even if she hadn't moved since she'd tucked herself into the corner of the couch hours ago, but he stayed up just the same.

Watching.

Waiting.

It wasn't a job that had been given to him but he took it up all the same. Maybe the Slayer would resent him for it, would snatch it back with hooked fingers and bitter words if she were herself, but she wasn't, was she? And anyway, maybe the others weren't demanding it of him or expecting it of him, but Dawn and Tara at the very least were trusting him with it. Sleeping deeply, quietly, because they knew that he was there, protecting them, guarding them. Keeping them safe.

Buffy though, who knew what she was thinking in that muddled up little head of hers. He didn't doubt that she was still angry about his cozying up to Lucretia, not when she'd hissed and glared and gone as far away down the couch cushions as she could without falling to the floor, but it was still closer and quieter than she ever would have allowed him otherwise.

She'd never turned her back on him before.

Sitting in the armchair he'd dropped into after a brief bout of pacing, Spike turned the ring on his finger nervously, the metal strangely warm against his cool skin. His more-than-human senses, his very nature seemed to recognize the charm, the warded magic now burned into the gemstones, and across the room, the little sapphire on Buffy's finger glinted at him like a taunt, reminding him of the last time the two of them had been charmed.

A quiet knock on the front door startled him out of his musings, pulled him away from thoughts of soft lips and golden hair, red paint and white dresses.

Listening, scenting the air, he got to his feet and crossed to the entryway, noting Buffy's opened, narrowed eyes following him as he moved. The Genthos was waiting on the porch when he pulled the door back, head ducked and arms wrapped tightly around his ribs, hands fisted in the cuffs of his jacket. He smelled like the ashy bitterness of anxiety-fear and he was trembling with it there on the threshold, like he expected Spike to lash out at any moment, hit him, break him, or hell, maybe just turn him away.

"I don't..." he began, voice low and quiet and shaky. "I don't have anywhere to go..."

The words came out before he knew he was going to say them, before he had a chance to analyze the apology he wanted to offer.

"Already there aren't you?"

Ignoring the way the Genthos' head jerked up, the wide, fearful eyes with pupils narrowed to paper-thin, vertical slits, Spike stepped back and gestured him into the house, waited patiently for him to hesitate before taking those steps that somehow felt like commitment. Closing the door, he turned around and nearly jumped when he found Buffy suddenly beside him, circling the little demon with sniffs and fleeting touches to his hair and shoulders. Jhexel stood stock-still, or as still as he could while still shaking like a leaf, eyes squeezed tightly shut and body tense, and it hit the vampire like a wave what it must be like for the young man; he'd lost his family, his home, his nest, everything he'd ever known, and now here he was entirely alone and throwing himself at the tender mercies of the Vampire Slayer and William the Bloody.

Jesus, this kid might just have the biggest pair of brassies he's ever seen.

Apparently satisfied with her inspection, Buffy came to a stop in front of the boy and waited until he opened his eyes, lifted his head to look at her before bequeathing him with a sunny grin.

"Good boy," she hummed, patting him on top of the head like a puppy. "Good heart's a good boy."

Swallowing, Jhexel nodded, stammered.

"Thank you ma'am."

Erupting into a burst of giggles, Buffy grabbed him by the wrist and starting dragging him up the stairs, snickering again when he floundered a bit and had to scramble to get his feet beneath him. Spike was spurred to laugh himself when the demon cast him a bewildered look over his shoulder, tried to keep up with the slayer as she tugged him along.

"Grab Glinda and the Bit," he suggested, glancing at the clock that hung in the hall. "Dark enough; time to head to the Watcher's."

The task seemed to settle him a bit because he was able to follow Buffy up the stairs more smoothly after that, disappearing down the hallway toward the bedrooms and leaving Spike alone.

Uncertainty.

Anxiety.

Fear.

The kid sure as hell wasn't alone in all of that.

Don't think about it.

Gotta get your head on straight, mate.

Stay focused.

Right.

Dinner first; make sure Buffy and the Bit and Tara too all got something hot in their bellies. Couldn't let the little things go to the wayside in the face of everything else, or where would they be? He had a pocketful of dosh – had dipped into one of his accounts with Wolfram and Heart earlier that week – they could stop by Asian House on the way to the Magic Box. Once they had Anya and the Watcher at their disposal, they could start dealing with the issues one by one, figure out what was the most pressing.

Willow and her rogue magic.

The portal that was slowly, slowly widening, spewing forth years' worth of demons back from the dead.

Buffy.

He knew which one he thought was most important, the one he needed fixed the most, but he was smart enough to know that Buffy was probably the very least of their worries. She was at least halfway stable right now, not getting any worse even if she wasn't getting any better. Willow though, Willow was getting worse, casting out little curses and black magic, and the portal threatened to end all things where they stood.

The Master, the Mayor, Angelus...

Soddin' hell, that was the last thing they needed.

He'd thought of that, of course he had, checked in on the poofter when he'd called up Wolf, Ram, and Hart. Was half the reason he'd left them responsible for his coffers when he'd learned his grandsire had taken over – they were bloody gossips, every last one of them, but it was reassuring to hear that good ole' Angel was his ever-annoying self, soul-cursed and brooding as ever.

Everything else he could deal, could take care of before it ever got close to Buffy or her family, but Angelus...

He didn't want to think about it.

It felt like drowning, the idea of it, his chest all filled up with ice water, and...

"Spike?"

Pulled sharply out of his musings, Spike looked up to find Jhexel coming back down the stairs, flanked on either side by Buffy and her sister, each of whom had taken possession of one of the young man's arms, elbows linked in a gentleman's escort as Tara followed sedately behind. Dawn, who had been the one to call his name, looked freshened up a bit, her hair combed and her face damp, a clean sweater tugged on over her shoulders, but he could still see the glint of a chain around her neck.

"All right lil Bit?" he asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Glinda?"

Both girls nodded, waited expectantly, and he got the sudden impression that he'd somehow become a leader here, a Lieutenant General to Buffy's absent General. They... they looked to him, and that... that mattered.

He didn't think he'd ever wanted to be worthy as much as he did in that moment.

"Ready to head over to the Watcher's" he asked, clearing his throat and looking to Tara. The wicca nodded and he returned the gesture firmly, tried to reassure her by showing some certainty himself. "Alright then. Let's head over to the Box. Grab some nosh on the way, and get this figure out."

Was a bit like watching soldiers then, as they all fell into line and collected jackets from the coat hooks, Jhexel neatly helping Dawn and Tara into thiers and offering his arms again, all ingrained politeness and hesitant etiquette. For her part Buffy declined an overcoat, already dressed in a light, hooded jacket that her sister must have stuffed her into upstairs, and availed herself of Spike's elbow when the Genthos came up short. Her hand was pale against the scuffed black leather of his duster, the ring stark on her finger, and the sight of it stuck him in place a minute, glued him to the floor of the Summers' front hall as the others stepped out onto the porch.

"Good man," Buffy murmured, and Spike lifted his head, expecting to see her looking out at the little demon leading her sister.

Instead, he was met with a strong, steady, hazel gaze, one that burned him right to the quick.

"Good man," she said again, staring straight at him, straight through him. "Good heart's a good man."

Well then.

Probably said something that, of all the emotions those words sent crashing through him, weariness was at the head of the pack.

"Whatever you say Slayer," he sighed, leading her out into the cool night air. "Whatever you say."

An hour later he had them all sufficiently fed and watered and safely sequestered inside the Magic Box, grouped up in little knots around wooden tables laden with books and scrolls and artifacts. It put a strange feeling of accomplishment in his chest, like realizing that yes, he could keep a pet alive if he put his mind to it.

Maybe he'd keep a kitten the next time he won the poker pot, he'd always rather wanted to. Tiny tabby, all fluff and ridiculous ferocity, not that he wouldn't just as soon stake himself as admit to that. Could always brush it off as needing a mouser around the crypt though, and Dawn would like it. Maybe even Buffy too.

Stupid thought, anything to distract from the fact that they weren't finding anything that suggested a way to bring Buffy back to herself, or to close the portal.

For his part, Spike had his own suspicions. Buffy and Willow had, in a sense, created this thing together, done this thing together. They'd opened a few doors that shouldn't have been opened, and it would have to be the two of them together to close them again. To put things right. And hell if that idea didn't send an icy chill down his spine, for more reasons than one. Beyond the point that Willow had currently gone dark witch on them, run off to god knows where and started sending little, zapping, poisoned gifts their way, Buffy herself was an even bigger issue.

By all rights she shouldn't be here.

Shouldn't be alive.

Would she be one of the things that the universe demanded back, that had to be fixed to set the balance right again?

She'd sacrifice herself to save the world, they all knew that by now, but Spike wasn't sure that he could do it again. Wasn't sure he could watch another coffin being lowered into the earth, watch Dawn break apart a second time, feel his still, silent heart shatter inside his chest.

Best to find a solution then – was no use standing around staring while the ship sank under your feet. Better to grab whatever might float and start paddling.

Casting a glance around the shop, Spike ran a speculative eye over Dawn, who was leaning in close while Jhexel pointed at something in the book that was spread open between them. Well good, that was two fewer people he had to worry about right now. The Genthos' nature would demand that he treat the girl with the utmost respect and protect her as best he could, and Dawn would take care of him in return, making sure that the boy felt welcome and that he too got fed and had a place to sleep. For whatever reason Spike had already taken a shine to the quiet little bugger, and he felt no small amount of guilt for what had happened to the Kid – he was glad that Dawn would be watching out for him, even if she decided she wanted to flirt.

He got the feeling the Kid would probably panic the first time she fluttered her eyelashes in his direction.

Something he'd actually like to see, but he had bigger issues; one of them a batty Slayer who was busy plaguing Anya by darting around picking up ever little item that wasn't glued down, and the other a sullen carpenter who was sitting hunched over a table with Tara and Giles, glaring at him more frequently than at the papers they were studying, and turning something small and glittering in his hand.

Stroppy git, what had his knickers in a knot this time?

Well, as long as he kept it to himself Spike would let it go – a few dirty looks from droopy boy wouldn't kill him. All bets were off if he opened his mouth though; Spike was looking forward to the pleasure of slapping the boy around a bit without the shocking repercussions of the chip. He could fake a few flinches – wouldn't do either of them any real harm.

"What've you got Watcher?" he asked, approaching the table to lean over Tara's shoulder, touched when the wicca didn't so much as startle or lean away.

"Nothing," the man said, pulling off his glasses and covering his eyes, his tone as close to despair as Spike had ever heard it. "Nothing. Thanks to Anya we have the spell that Willow used, but without Willow herself to guide it, the thing certainly cannot be reversed. With her help I believe that we stand a chance of closing the portal, but what other effects that may result..."

Dropping his hand, he stared across the shop at his charge, his Slayer, his adopted daughter who was dancing away from Anya's grasping hands with all the smiles and laughter of a carefree child, nothing like the burdened girl she'd been before, and for a moment the combined, quiet heartache of them all was nearly more than Spike could tolerate.

"Well, it doesn't matter," the older Brit said casually, brushing off the weight of the silence and clearing his throat. "Until we can find Willow and bring her safely back to herself, make her see reason..."

He didn't have a chance to finish.

The devil always tended to come when called.

Bursting back its hinges with a concussive slam and an explosive shower of sparks, the door nearly shattered apart as a ball of crackling energy came barreling in, sending them all back against the bookshelves as a black-haired, black-eyed Willow came striding in.

I miss Buffy. I miss Spike. I miss you guys - the amazing, supportive Buffy community here. I love you all 33