DEDICATION: TO Bunny! Happy Graduation

And huge thanks to LaurenceQuill, who asked for more and waited *evah* so patiently

And for those that asked…this one is a little longer!

Five

"Buffy."

She said the word and paused as if she expected the word to cause a reaction. Obviously, some type of reply was expected but he was at a loss, for the life of him he couldn't figure out what to do.

Silently, he mouthed the word, remembered how the young girl had shouted the same word as if were the solution to all that was wrong with the world.

"Oh!" The woman straightened her posture as if something just occurred to her and pointed her thumb toward her chest. "It's my name. I'm Buffy."

Then she thrust her arm toward him, palm facing to the side and waited.

The meaning of the gesture danced at the edges of his memory and he was certain something was expected of him. Slowly, he extended his hand until his palm touched hers and when he did, she gave a slight jerk of her hand upward. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward, lifting and twisting her hand until the back touched his lips.

It seemed right and strange at the same time. The action seemed appropriate and he felt a small ripple of pleasure but she stiffened and gave a slight gasp of surprise.

Not appropriate after all, it would seem.

His clasp on her fingers loosened and he straightened, back rigid. He meant to avoid her eyes, but she titled her head to the side and he was drawn to the movement. With a flash of small, even teeth, she bit on her bottom lip, then tightened her grasp before he could drop her hand.

"Sorry…I just wasn't expecting…we don't normally…" she jerked his hand upward and downward a few times. "Ummm…this is a handshake. It's a typical greeting here in the good ole' US of A. The kissing of the hand thing? It's considered old fashioned and…" she paused for a moment while he stood stiffly, jaw clenched and trying very hard to contain the wave of mortification he felt.

"It's okay, though. You know what? My bad. My total bad. Let me start over."

Abruptly, she turned his palm downward and raised the back of his hand to her lips. The press of her lips was gentle and lasted for the space of three beats of that strange pulsing rhythm that seemed to accompany her. When she raised her head, a pink flush appeared on her cheeks, the heat a compliment to the sparkling green of her eyes.

"Buffy." He said her name aloud slowly and she nodded. "It's a pleasure to…" he (tried to think of the correct wording- why was this so difficult?) hesitated then continued "…make your acquaintance. My name is…"

And he drew another blank.

"My name is…" he closed his eyes, tried to think, but the harder he tried, the more frustrated he became.

"I don't know my name."

At his confession, he carefully searched her face, but Buffy gave no indication of shock or surprise and he realized that she already knew. Rapidly, he sorted through the collection of memories that he did possess – a jumbled mess of unusual smells, snippets of senseless conversations and the assortment of unfamiliar faces, pitifully inadequate and he couldn't sort the real memories from ones that might have been dreams.

They knew.

The urge hide overcame him and he hated feeling so vulnerable…so exposed.

Her face softened and she stepped forward, neatly lifting his arm until it wrapped around her shoulder. He wanted to protest, make some attempt to let her know that he wasn't (weak) some swooning maiden but even as the words formed on his lips, a sense of déjà vu overcame him.

"Go ahead, don't let me stop you."

(He could picture it; her arms crossed, leaning against the wall, one eyebrow cocked in a challenge and him…falling gracelessly to the floor.

Did that happen? Or did he dream it?)

The confusing muddle of thoughts drifted away when she turned her head and he inhaled her scent. As she firmly nudged him in the direction of the bed, one arm around his waist, he thought that, maybe, being weak wasn't so bad after all.

She settled him back onto the bed, smoothing out the edges of the sheets (which smelled like cut grass, like they had dried outdoors) then covering him first with a light blanket followed by another heavier blanket (no…not a blanket…not quite…).

Before she could turn away, his hand reached out and grasped her wrist with a slight tug.

"Please…" he began, aware how desperate (pathetic…you're pathetic a voice whispered in his ear) he sounded. He took a breath, tasting the air on his tongue (cut grass, images of old books, lemons and an assortment of the things he couldn't identify – just random images of cut wood and long, heavy bars of metal, too big for one man to carry) and tried to sound polite. "Can you tell me what happened to me?"

"You…were…hurt." She said the words slowly, as if testing them out and this time he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Thank you so much," He said drily, raising his palms upward and gesturing toward himself. "I gathered as much, Pet -" she looked so startled at the endearment, he inwardly cursed himself for behaving so forward. "Buffy." He added hastily.

"You fell." She said abruptly.

"I fell?" he frowned, imagining some embarrassing moment, like tripping over a rug and hitting his head. She nodded.

"Dawn…my sister, was in danger. Someone wanted to sacri- uh, h-hurt her," a low growl sounded and he blinked when he realized that it came from him "a-and you stopped him. You saved her but before I – you fell off the tower."

"I saved her?"

"You. You saved her."

"How long was I –" once again he lifted his palms and gestured around him.

"Nine days."

You fell off a tower she had explained.

As soon as he was alone, he tentatively brought his fingers up to his hairline, fingers probing gently for a cut or a scrape. There was nothing. Folding back the blankets, he sat up, paying careful attention to each movement he made. He shrugged off the soft fabric of the long sleeved top and gave both arms and torso a thorough inspection then did the same with his legs.

Nothing. No cuts, scrapes, indications of broken bones or pain that he thought would accompany such an event. Towers usually indicated a higher elevation than that of a house or even building. Surely nine days wasn't near long enough for one to recover with nary a mark?

Perhaps that strange weakness (he cringed at the thought) was due to the fall? Still, he should at least have broken something?

With a sigh, he settled back into the bed, not bothering to put on the night clothing he had removed. Within moments, he was asleep.

"…that's a good idea, Buffy?"

"Just for now, Dawnie. Please?"

"He would never hurt me, Buffy, you know that."

His eyes opened as he looked around the room. The voices were so clear, it was if they were in the room but he was alone. Throwing back the covers, he stood and walked to the window to move aside the heavy drapes. A strange carriage (carriage couldn't be correct, there were no horses) was on the road and he recognized the red-haired woman from before standing next to another flaxen-haired woman.

"Not on purpose, Dawnie." He frowned when he heard the doubt that colored Buffy's words. Who were they talking about?

"Then why do I need to leave? It's my house too, you know."

"I know. And it won't be for long, I promise. It's just until I figure something out."

"I still don't know why…"

"He doesn't know who …what he is Dawnie. If he went all…grr!…argh!...you could get hurt."

"I already told you…he wasn't going to do anything. I mean…at first I thought that maybe he was going to…but then Xander and Giles burst into the room and they were all "get away from her you bloodsucker"! But then, he was protecting me…from them!"

"Dawnie…Stop. I believe you. I do…I just…" her voice thickened "It's too soon. Okay? I mean just a few days ago you were about to become a virgin sacrifice and I almost lost you. Please…just…I just need to know that you are safe."

"I. Am. Safe."

There was silence for so long, he wondered if the two sisters were still there, then he heard a deep, tired sigh. He stepped away from the window and walked toward the door to his room, then paused when he realized Buffy and Dawn were in the hall outside his room.

"What if it happens again?" Buffy spoke the words quietly.

"It won't. I know it won't."

"Will you stop and just listen to me? I don't mean Spike. I meant…them. What if they think that he was about to attack you and he gets dusted?"

A sharp inhale and a low whisper.

"You think Xander and Giles…?"

"It's just too soon Dawn. We are all a little…overprotective…of you right now. Okay. I just think that if the others think that you are safe, they will all be a little less jumpy and I can figure out a way to help him."

"Okay. I'll go. But just so you know - it is NOT because I think he will hurt me; if my moving in with Will and Tara keeps Spike safe, I will do it."

They…the people from before…they were afraid he was going to hurt Dawn. Whoever he had been (what ever he had been his mind supplied helpfully) it was clear that though these people knew him, they did not trust him.

What kind of person had he been?

Stunned, he picked the pair of sleeping pants he had tossed onto the floor before. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of dark blue fabric and turned his head just as he realized all he had glimpsed was the same pants he held in hand reflected in the mirror.

Before he could relax, he realized with great shock, that though he could clearly see the dark blue fabric in the mirror, the bed behind him, the walls and even part of the drapes that covered the window, one thing was missing.

Him.

He could not see his reflection.

His shriek of alarm was more girlish than manly, but that was the least of his worries as the two sisters burst in his room.

AN: Some chapters flow so easily, and some take a little work. This one took work!

So, this is a pivotal chapter. I knew from the beginning, that for Buffy, it would come to two choices. Spike does not know he is a vampire, so either she leaves with him or everyone else leaves the house and she stays with spike. Though she honestly believes Spike would not willingly hurt Dawn, she refuses to put her sister in danger. She is also realistic and knows that she might have to dust Spike, but until he gives her a reason to believe he is a danger to others, she won't do it.

Also, surprisingly, I am NOT a doctor and I do NOT play one on TV nor have I ever anyone who has experienced amnesia; if I am (way, way, WAY) off base, my sincere apologies and eternal gratitude for your patience!