Archive of Our Own ^beta

The pale moon shone out over the endless suburbs of Sunnydale. Most children were tucked away safely in bed, or as safe as anyone could be over the Hellmouth. One boy, however, was trying not to breathe beneath his bedsheets as his tiny fist clamped down the edge of his comforter. A nightmare had jolted him into wakefulness, not an unusual occurrence, but he could have sworn that he had seen something. The thing’s sunken, sagging eyes had seen him as well before it faded back into the shadows by the door. He did not dare to scream, though he was weighing his chances of making it into his parent’s bedroom. Everything had been silent for well over half an hour and his sweat was starting to build beneath the suffocating quilt. Finally, he heard his father’s familiar uneven gait through the living room to their kitchen, no doubt going to make himself some midnight toast. This wasn’t the first time his father’s snacking habits had saved him from the creatures of the night which lurked under the bed and in the closet.

The boy took one last deep gulp of stale air and steeled himself. He burst from the covers, dodging the Tinkertoys and Lincoln Logs that littered his carpet. He stumbled into the polished wood of the door frame and squinted in the direction of the kitchen. The refrigerator’s light carved out the silhouette of his father. There was a noise like the painful popping of an altitude drop. His father was gone. The open jam jar hit the linoleum with a thud, spilling its grisly contents across the floor. For just a moment, he heard the unmistakable cry of an infant, then another pop, and silence blanketed in the house.

The boy rushed to the open refrigerator, skidding on the jam, and felt a crunch like cartilage underneath his foot. His mother flicked on the kitchen light in sleep-weary annoyance just as he picked up his foot to examine what exactly he’d stepped on. A bludgeoned three inch fetus lay curled among the jam, oozing out onto the cold linoleum.

The boy screamed.

Buffy stood in front of her childhood vanity, carefully applying her new anti-aging cream to the beginnings of wrinkles around her eyes. Being raised from the dead helped instill the importance of moisturizing in a person. She could hear the noises of the rest of the house coming to life around her. The shower was on in the joint bathroom, as it had been for the twenty minutes Dawn insisted on in the morning. From downstairs there was the distinct smell of sausage and omelets frying in the pan and the sounds of Willow’s bare feet pattering across the tile, fetching ingredients for her girlfriend. Buffy finished applying her mascara, dropped the little tube back down onto the table, and adjusted her worn-in tank top to her liking.

Dawn was just leaving the bathroom as Buffy walked down stairs.

“If you don’t hurry up-”

“I know, I know, I’ll be late for school,” Dawn grumbled, toweling her hair dry.

“No, I’m going to finish your breakfast for you,” Buffy said slyly and started down the stairs.

“Buffy no! Buffy I’m serious! It’s the expensive sausage! Ugh!”

Willow raised her eyebrows when Buffy arrived in the kitchen.

“What? She needs to know that there are consequences for her actions.” Buffy began piling her plate with eggs.

“Hey now, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Willow lay her spatula down to guard against Buffy’s thieving fork.

“And the early bird gets the eggs,” Buffy grinned, “and here I am. Chirp chirp.”

“Buffy that’s um-” Willow looked concerned.

“What, cute?” Buffy asked, picking up a few pieces of toast.

“Cannibalistic,” Tara finished. Buffy merely raised her eyebrows as she slathered strawberry jam over the whole wheat bread.

Dawn came clattering down the stairs. “Buffy, there better still be-”

“Now, now, children,” Willow teased and handed Dawn her own plate.

Buffy sat down at the table, full plate in hand. “What can I say Dawn, need to keep up that slayer strength.”

“More like keep up with that slayer ass,” Dawn mumbled into her omelet.

“Hey!” all three women chimed in.

“What, am I not allowed to say ‘ass’ now?” Dawn made a petulant face at her breakfast.

“You let her say ‘ass’ when I was dead?” Buffy demanded.

“Buffy, you do let her hang out with vampires and- and- it was a tough time for Dawnie-”

The phone interrupted Willow’s stuttering. Buffy got up to answer it, gesturing to Dawn that this was not over yet. Dawn rolled her eyes.

“Hello?”

Giles’ voice answered on the line, “Oh, hello Buffy.” There was an air of chagrin to his tone. “There have been some, em, disappearances lately that I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Of course there are. How long have you been in Sunnydale now?”

“Well, yes-”

“I’ll be down to the Magic Box in a few.”

“That’s just it, Anya has momentarily, em, asked me to leave, as my ‘condescension’ was scaring away her ‘new agey, bourgie’ customers.”

“Ah, you’ve been kicked out!”

Buffy could hear Giles cleaning his glasses over the phone line. “Well, I’ll be home.”

An hour and a heaping pile of eggs later, Buffy walked along the pavement. She had her purse full of stakes, the occasional dagger, and a tube of lipstick over her shoulder — a girl needed to be prepared for all circumstances.

Circumstances appeared from the shady little alley between the butcher’s shop and a shoe store. “Buff?”

Buffy groaned. “What do you want, bleach boy? I have places to be.”

Spike gestured for her to come closer, glancing up warily at the encroaching sunlight. Sunnydale, as usual, lived up to its name. Fortunately, Buffy thought as she crossed her arms and made her way warily over to vampire.

“Stuck?”

“How’d you guess?” Spike smirked, “Keep me company in the dark, pet? I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time.” Spike bit his lip suggestively.

Buffy only blinked and then started back down the street. Behind her, Spike reached out a hand to pull her back into the shadows. He had barely brushed her arm when his skin began to sizzle in the sunlight.

“Dammit.” Spike cradled the injured limb.

It was Buffy’s turn to smirk, “Late night then, Spike?” She stood just out of his reach. “You know I just love the feeling of the sun on my skin, makes me feel all warm and bubbly and sun tan-ey.”

Spike glared and attempted to shake off the pain, “As a matter of fact, it was.”

“Oh, and I suppose the other girl looks worse than you?”

“Not that kind of night, Jesus, slayer. You know there’s only one-”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Buffy-bot. Or… didn’t she leave you for a more attractive android?”

“Ooh, are we a wee bit jealous?” Spike leaned forward, his nose barely brushing the wall of light that separated them.

“You wish.”

“You know I do. But to put your tired little heart to rest, I’ve got a demon on my trail. Been following me since last night.”

Buffy leaned against a brick wall, arms crossed. “At least someone’s interested in you, Spike. What kind of demon?”

“Oh, that’s what gets you excited, is it?”

“Slayer.” Buffy gestured to the stake that peeked out of her shoulder bag.

“You’re a lot more than that, love. You got a bit of a thing for demonic sorts.” Spike looked infinitely pleased with himself.

“And someone’s just begging to be slain,” Buffy muttered to herself. “Give me the specs, what kinda demon has got big bad Spikey stranded in the alley?”

“You know when I pictured you sayin’ that there was a lot more moaning-”

“God, gross!” Buffy feigned a gag and Spike rolled his eyes.

“Grow up. Anyways, I got this handled, it’ll be done in before your little patrol with the scoobies tonight.”

“You’re really one to talk-”

“You know I am, I’ve been dead a bit longer than you, and around a lot longer than that.”

Buffy chose to ignore that little comment. Getting lectured on the values of maturity was too much for her before noon. “Excuse me, Captain Pasty, but how exactly do you expect to defeat a demon when you’re stranded in your little gutter here?”

“Don’t put up such a fuss, just get a bloke a blanket and we’ll both be out of your hair.” Spike tried to be nonchalant, but the way that he glanced up from the pavement at Buffy hopefully said otherwise.

“You know, I wish I could believe that,” Buffy sighed.

“You don’t think I can handle a demon, that it? Have a little faith, pet. I can handle all your big, bad, and nasties.” Spike sucked on his teeth.

“You know I did try a little Faith, Spike, and she tried to kill me. Pardon my lack of confidence, I just can’t let a neutered vampire go at it alone.” Buffy paused, feigning consideration. “Or actually, maybe I can.”

“The chip doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft, blondie.” Spike snarled. “I’ll handle it.”

“Mmmm.” Buffy shrugged noncommittally, “If you’re so sure about it then-”

“You’re not nearly this bitchy to your little gang, are you? Are these your true colors, love?” Spike couldn’t help himself from asking.

Buffy rolled her eyes and started off down the street. She didn’t stop at the sounds of Spike’s protests.

“If you could just get me a blanket- or an umbrella- or a bloody parasol- Buffy!”

Buffy strode into Giles’s house and slammed the door, shaking the frame and making Giles wince from his seat on the couch.

“Shall I get the door for you?” Giles asked, eyebrows raised.

“I’m done with sarcastic Brits today, thank you, Giles.” Buffy threw herself down on the watcher’s couch. Over the years the house had become as comfortable to her as her own, despite the slight musty smell of books and expensive whiskey that had settled while Giles had been away in England.

“Regardless, you needn’t take it out on the house, Buffy. This is exactly why I built you the training room in the magic shop, to work these things out. That and Xander was getting too close to my biscuit tin for comfort.”

Buffy simply stared at Giles for a moment and then shook her head. “It’s Spike.”

“I guessed that, as he is the only other Brit in town.”

“He just-” Buffy groaned, “I don’t know why he has it in his head he’s in love with me. I mean, he wants to have sex with anything. Drusilla, Harmony…”

“Buffy?” Giles paused with a mug of tea at his lips.

Buffy continued, unconcerned. “And he has all these weird fantasies about me telling him he’s a ‘big bad-’”

Gile cleared his throat. “Please never speak to me about Spike’s sex life. Ever again. I rather like the idea of keeping down my breakfast.”

Buffy sat up. “Oh, um, sure.”

Giles sighed and set down his mug. “Now about these disappearances-”

“I did mention we live in Sunnydale? Which is oh so conveniently located on the mouth of hell? I’m honestly surprised the population hasn’t dropped,” Buffy interrupted.

“Cheap real estate and deceivingly low property taxes. And yes I do know where I am Buffy, I haven’t gone that senile yet, as much as everyone may hope. But these disappearances are special-”

“Once again I give you: Hellmouth.” Buffy gestured around the room as if the walls of bookcases and bland decoration would hint at what lay beneath.

“Usually disappearances don’t leave so much behind. Have you happened to notice the influx of children lately? The orphanage is nearly overflowing, particularly the infant ward. Police keep arriving at houses to find children abandoned there.” Giles was using his ‘I’m trying to impress upon you the gravity of the situation’ voice, but Buffy was far too used to it for it have any effect.

“So what then? A hard-core conservative demon that deactivates your birth control and runs an anti-abortion campaign?” Buffy grinned. “I’d believe it.”

Giles stared at her blankly for a moment before continuing. “No. This demon feeds off of age, at least as far as I believe after looking at some cases- There are a few that do this, at least as some kind of defense mechanism. Though I’m not entirely sure…” Giles trailed off, resuming his examination of the heavy leather-bound volume that was sitting on his coffee table.

“A de-aging demon? It’s not like we haven’t had that before.”

“That was a spell. And as powerful as Ethan was he was nothing compared to a demon. This demon is able to de-age your body as well,” Giles answered, still not looking up from his book.

“All right then, as long as I don’t have another meet and greet with Ripper I’ll be fine.”

“Ah yes well-” Giles paused remembering the incident, “I’ll try to keep that from happening. In the meantime, we have to figure out what this thing is and how to kill it.”

“Does this mean we’re doing research?”

Giles smiled kindly. “That’s the ticket.”

“Well… I guess I’ll head down to the magic shop then.”

“Buffy, you do know I was a British scholar, I have plenty of books here and I could really use some help re-organizing my collection since I moved back, as it happens-”

Buffy groaned and turned her face into the couch.

“Would you like some tea before we get started?”

Buffy could only groan louder.

A couple hours into book sorting, a steady dust-fall had settled over everything, including Buffy. Vampires may not have posed a threat to the Slayer, but allergies certainly did. Buffy blew her nose ruthlessly into one of Giles’ handkerchiefs and watched him wince. The piles of books that rose up from the floor like dilapidated pillars were beginning to rival her in height.

“Isn’t there a faster way to find it? Couldn’t we invite Willow over and have her do a magical Ctl-F?”

“It’s important you learn to do your own research, Buffy. It will come in quite handy-”

“I’m the Slayer. I slay. This-” Buffy coughed and gestured around her, “was not in that brief and brutal job description.”

“I was going to say it will be useful for college if you ever decide to finish your degree.”

“Oh.” Buffy attempted to hide her chagrin.

“Oh, and there’s another box of books I want you to get from the attic, far too heavy for me, I’m afraid.”

Buffy would have screamed if she wasn’t so congested. “Giles, I think you need to find a big strong man to help you out around the house,” Buffy grumbled as she hefted another dusty box down the stairs.

Giles smiled obligingly. “Think of it as training.”

“I really shouldn’t have come back to life-”

“Buffy.” Giles looked up at her sharply and she could feel the conversation she had been dreading coming on. There was a genuine ache in his eyes as he said, “You have no idea-”

“Spike!” Buffy burst out.

Giles creased his brows.

“Spike, he- um, he said something about a demon hunting him. Must have been pretty powerful too, he seemed… freaked out.” Freaked out wasn’t so much the word as pig-headed, but it worked all the same.

“Um well yes, if this demon does feed off of age like I believe it does, it would be incredibly dangerous if it were to get a hold of a vampire-”

“So, I better go then?” Buffy ended hopefully.

“Yes, yes of course but-”

Buffy dropped the books and headed toward the door.

“Please remember that I’ll always-” Giles cleared his throat and looked away.

“I know,” she finished for him and walked out into the sunlight.

It was high noon by the time Buffy made it back to the alley in which she had originally found Spike. She sighed as she glanced into the now sunny space. No piles of dust. Halfheartedly, she bent over to look under the dumpster — just in case the vampire had gotten desperate. Buffy wandered through the small labyrinth of alleys connected to the butcher shop and found nothing.

“Of course, just when you need him,” she murmured and absently kicked some gravel. Though, she did enjoy the silence. It wasn’t often the Slayer went unaccompanied by at least some of her gang.

The search spread out to a few of the neighboring shops, but there were no Spikes to be found skulking around in the back not even bothering to pretend to look at the merchandise, or in the local demon bar threatening the local demons.

Buffy made her way to the crypt Spike nested in. The graveyard during the day was rather more pleasant, she thought. She hardly got to see it when the threat of vampires wasn’t constant, but with the smell of the eucalyptus trees on the air and meandering grass paths it was actually quite beautiful. Or at least as beautiful as a burial ground on the mouth of hell could be.

Buffy slammed the door to the crypt open with her usual bang. “All right, lost boy, I’m looking for your demon.”

“Oh um- just excuse me.” A man pushed passed her out into the sunlight, bumping into her shoulder. It was unusual for Spike to have visitors, particularly human ones. “Oh, I’m s-sorry, Miss.”

More than two Brits in town, she made a note to tell Giles. She turned to look at the man as he stuttered his apology, words directed at her feet. A three-piece suit seemed excessive for such a hot day. There was something familiar about his face, but it was nothing she could recognize behind the wire-rimmed glasses.

“I’ll-” The man glanced up to her face and his eyes widened, “be… going…” He bit his lip and then turned and paced into the graveyard.

“Okay…” Buffy shook her head. “Time traveling demon. No time for- ha.”

The crypt provided a respite from the harsh heat of the day, but did not appear to hold any aggravating vampires.

“Spike! Spike! You know, I’m beginning to hope the demon got-” Buffy paused in horrible realization. “Oh god.” The face had looked familiar.

The man had almost reached the road by the time Buffy caught up with him.

“Spike!” She called and his quick walk broke into a sprint. It was easy to run him down and she grabbed hold of his arm.

“M-miss. I’m not exactly sure what you’re looking for, but I certainly do not have any spikes! Please unhand me.” Spike looked as if was about to faint, his human strength nothing against the Slayer’s grip.

“Er… William?” Buffy asked. The scar on his eyebrow was gone, the hair was different, the accent sounded more like Giles’s and the expression was new, but it was certainly Spike staring at her like a frightened deer.

“How do you know my name? And-” he paused, looking Buffy up and down, eyes lingering on the cut of her tank top, “why aren’t you wearing any clothes?!”

“These are clothes! I mean they’re a little worse for wear, but they are totally in the clothes category.”

A blush tinted William’s cheeks, regardless of her assurances. He attempted to jerk his arm away again, but Buffy didn’t even notice. “I don’t have any money, if that’s what you're after.”

“I know you don’t! You keep forcing me to buy you buffalo wings for information!” William looked increasingly confused and Buffy reconsidered that line of inquiry. “What was the last thing you remember?”

“I- um- I was just um- writing poetry and I was looking for this word… And then suddenly I was in a cave full of bones and shabby furniture and-”

“You were writing what?!”

“Well it was a poem for Cecily…”

Buffy gawked at him a moment. This could not be Spike. There was no way in any of the hell dimensions this could possibly be Spike.

“Um- Miss? Are you well?” William reached with his other hand to touch Buffy’s bare shoulder in a hesitant gesture before thinking better of it.

“You, you’re Wiliam? William what?”

“William Pratt.”

“Oh God.”

“A-and you are?” William’s voice was tinged with unignorable hope.

“Buffy. Now, I’m not sure what you think happened to you, but I need to know - did anything attack you? Anything at all, even if you think I won’t believe you-”

“Buffy?” William snickered. Buffy glared at him and he composed himself hastily. “Oh yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing unusual apart from looking up to find myself in a cave and um-” William watched, wide-eyed as a car cruised by, “those. You know, I think I’m feeling a bit faint, actually.”

Buffy sighed. She couldn’t take him to Giles - there was no way she could stand two posh Brits in one room - but she couldn’t just leave him.

“I’m not going to catch you like a swooning princess, so try to keep it together. Let’s just say-” Buffy paused, considering how she could say ‘You’ve been de-aged back to whatever prehistoric era you apparently came from.’ She decided against it altogether until she had reinforcements. “We’re going to try to get this sorted out.” She tugged William after her and saw him wince in pain. “Oh.” She loosened her grip, unused to the delicacy of Spike’s human form.

“Thank you, Miss.” William gave a hesitant smile that would have been almost sweet, if it had been on any other face. “Let’s do try to get this sorted out quickly I must get back to Mother.”

Buffy let out a burst of hysterical laughter.

In the Magic Box, Anya was hawking slug-scented sensual candles as Xander relaxed with his feet up on the Scoobies’ round table. Being a manager at his construction firm allowed him some perks, including extra days off work. Willow and Tara were cooped up somewhere in the bookshelves, but their giggling could be heard.

Anya turned back to Xander, continuing their conversation from before.

“I don’t know why you have to be so obsessed with Buffy when we have an entire wedding to plan.”

“She came back from the dead, An, it’s kind of hard not to at least wonder about her. She seems happy I mean- she seems like the old Buffy, but-”

“But something’s not quite right?” Willow asked from the top of the stairs.

“Willow!” Xander seemed surprised the redhead had been listening in. “I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with your magic-” Anya rolled her eyes.

“No, we’ve all noticed something,” Tara said from behind Willow, and her girlfriend nodded.

“She’s acting like she did in high school. I mean, it’s good, she doesn’t seem that depressed anymore- much. But it’s a little” Willow trailed off, unsure of how to explain their friend’s new found post-mortem constitution. “But so much has happened since then with Dawn and her mom and- and she’s acting like none of that ever happened, like she doesn’t have to worry about college or raising Dawnie…”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Willow. Buffy’s just a little more carefree, I guess. Really taking that whole carpe diem thing to heart. We’re just overthinking it,” Xander assured.

“But even you noticed something is off!”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Xander conceded.

Anya shook her head. “Buffy chose to die, she chose to go away. And you all are wondering why she seems ‘a little off’ after you dragged her back?”

“But it’s not like she’s acting depressed An! It’s like she’s more… immature or something.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Xander,” Anya sighed and returned to flipping through the stacks of bills in the cash register.

Willow and Tara remained silent.

William had nearly been hit by three of Sunnydale’s drivers who dared go above the twenty-mile-an-hour limit. He toddled after Buffy like a duckling through the door of the Magic Box. A cheery ring from the shop bell announced their entry.

“Oh Buffy!” Xander got up from his chair and stood at attention, his body tense and rigid.

“Oh, we were just talking about you!” Anya said as Xander made manic gestures in an attempt to silence her.

“Willow, get me that book that has William the Bloody in it.” Buffy yelled, distracted as William glanced warily around the shop. “It’s called electricity- elec-tri-city.” She sounded out the word to William, who adjusted his glasses.

“I do know how light bulbs work.”

“Just not cars then, or televisions, or mini skirts.”

“Yes, I’m still not quite sure what you mean by that last bit.”

Buffy’s friends slowly ground into motion around her, wary of the heavy atmosphere Buffy seemed ignorant to.

“Um, Buff, who’s this guy?” Xander walked towards them and William bridged the gap between them, holding out his hand.

“William Pratt. Lovely to meet you, Mister?”

“Xander.” He met William’s hand awkwardly, looking to Buffy for an explanation.

Buffy only shrugged, “Well, we’re going to find out. Willow?”

“Just a minute!” Willow rushed down the stairs, a leather-bound journal in hand. “Okay, what are you looking for?”

“Spike. Picture, painting, sketch, whatever of his early days, pre-Johnny-Rotten-wanna-be.” Buffy strode over to stare over Willow’s shoulder as she flipped through pages with magic. So magic ctl-f did exist, or Willow knew the collection more than she’d admit.

“Got it.”

The book was open to a rough sketch of William the Bloody, and he was looking particularly- well- bloody- Buffy thought. Trust watchers to have a gory aesthetic taste. She glanced from the sketch to William and back again.

“Do you think you could smirk a little more, like you’ve got a hard-on for yourself?”

William managed a shy smile.

“Buffy, are you saying-?” Willow asked tentatively, looking between the image and William.

“It’s him. It’s Spike.” Buffy sighed and slammed the journal shut, dropping into a chair.

“That’s Spike?!”

“Of course it’s Spike! Even I could have told you that, Xander.” All eyes turned to Anya, “Thousand-year-old demon, underutilized resource. Anyways Halfrek had a mission with him a while back. I could recognize that dour face anywhere.”

This only made William more dour.

“ That’s Spike?” Xander repeated, an accusatory finger inches from William’s nose.

William turned away, hurriedly moving to covet the seat at Buffy’s side. “I don’t know why you all must refer to me by that wretched name.”

“No.” Xander sternly considered him. “No. There’s no way.”

“Yep.” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest.

William leaned in closer to Buffy and whispered, “You’re right, none of them wear clothes,” like a gleeful schoolboy.

“Yep,” Buffy repeated in the same monotone.

“But- But- how did this happen?”

Buffy took a deep breath and covered Spike’s ears with her hands. William appeared pleased with this development. “Spike was being an ass and was attacked by a now-god-knows-how powerful demon that Giles believes feeds off of age and apparently makes its victims revert to their younger selves. Voila, teenage Spike.” She removed her hands.

Willow, Tara, and Xander gaped for a moment. Anya just went back to balancing the accounts, as “someone has to keep the economy going.”

“We’ll just- um- get some books for that then,” Tara suggested.

“Yeah, we’ll just-” Willow echoed her girlfriend.

“That’s Spike? ”

“For god’s sake Xander, this is Spike. We’ve just been over this,” Buffy snapped, and Willow and Tara looked up at her, startled at her sudden frustration. Xander blundered on, “But he’s just so…” he trailed off, gesturing his hand towards the entire three-piece suit that was William.

“You know, if you are fetching books, I wouldn't mind some Coleridge or Gay to read while I wait. I can even do some James Thomsen.” William smiled warmly at Willow, who went wide-eyed.

“What? What did he just say?! Translate!” Xander demanded.

William’s smile fell.

“He- I think he likes the Romantics,” Willow said, unsure of every word.

“You know, I think I’ve got a Norton in my bag,” Tara offered.

“The Romantics, the romantic what?” Xander glanced at Buffy, “This would explain the Casanova-esque tendencies.”

“The Romantic poets, they were like a reaction against the rationalist and satiric poets of the early-” Willow began, quoting from one of her lectures.

“Poets?!”

“Yes, I’m actually a bit of poet myself. Though I’m no good really…” William trailed off, blushing.

Buffy had really hoped he wouldn’t mention that.

“He writes poetry?! Spike writes poetry?! Oh tell me how it goes- no, let me guess!” Xander was grinning like a child who had wished for a pony and received an elephant. He cleared his throat and declared, “Roses are red, Buffy is blue, let me get with that cause I’m undead too?” Xander cackled.

“Xander!” Willow gasped.

“N-no!” William stood up, affronted, “Buffy and I only just met and to develop feelings in such a short time-” In spite of his words, he gazed longingly at Buffy.

“Oh my god. He does. Spike writes love poetry for you, Buff!”

Buffy stood up, placing a hand at her hip and looking imploringly at Xander.

“‘Oh how she leans her hand upon her hip, oh that I were a stake in that hand, that I might caress that hip!’” Xander declared in mockery.

“I do not!” William burst out, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket and rushing for the door. The bell tolled once more.

“If that’s over with-” Buffy grumbled.

“Oh come on Buff, it was funny!” Xander pleaded.

“Whatever William does, I’m sure Spike gave up on poetry a long time ago.” Buffy returned to her seated position, reluctantly picking up a book.

“Shouldn’t you, like, go after him? He looked a little upset,” Willow suggested, her hands fiddling with one another.

“Spike somehow managed to survive into vampiristic adulthood, if he’s going to keep running away I’m not going to watch him all day. I’m the Slayer, I slay. So figure out how I can do that.”

“But-”

A car screeched to a stop outside and a distant voice could be heard shouting to ‘get out of the damn road!’

Willow ran to the door, “Oh it’s okay- he’s still alive. A little worse for wear but-” she gave Buffy a worried look, “are you sure? Tara and I could-”

“No, I need you both here for research. It will be fine.” Even as she said it, Buffy felt a pang in her gut, without quite knowing why.

 Giles sat comfortably at his desk, scribbling his latest findings in his watcher’s diary. He took a long sip of tea, setting down his fountain pen and waiting for the ink to dry on his analysis of Buffy’s recovery. He still felt a shiver of horror at the thought of Willow — Willow the sweet girl who’d borrowed all his books, who was Ms. Calendar's aid, who had always been the quietest member of the Scoobies — parting the stone doors of death to drag Buffy through.

He’d been Buffy’s watcher for a long time and had done more than watch for most of it. He could tell when the girl was in pieces; when she tried to make her own/psyche’s/soul’s scattered puzzle look like a picture again. It was the same after her summer spent in Los Angeles. The same awkward attempts to reconnect. Though this time it was worse than that, Giles supposed. As awful as L.A. had been, it arguably did not have too much on hell. Still, Buffy had willingly come back from L.A. and this time-

Giles realized the soft scratching of his fountain pen hadn’t stopped. The noise still scritched on, almost too low to register. Yet, his pen lay motionless on the chestnut desk. He stared at it, puzzled. The noise grew louder and he recognized the sound of toenails scraping against his hardwood floor. He froze, wide-eyed. In a sudden motion he grasped the pen and brought it hurtling towards the creature whose rattling breath brushed against his neck. Two sunken, drooping eyes stared at him. Giles opened his mouth in a suspended scream.

The Scoobies sat in awkward silence, each hunched over their own book. Buffy supposed this was at least better than Giles forcing her to haul, read, and organize them. The rest of the Scoobies did not agree. Anya had joined them, as there wasn’t exactly an after-lunch rush for magical supplies. Every few minutes she groaned.

“You know… do you think we should even be attempting to revert this spell or whatever. It could be kinda nice.” Xander said into the silence.

“It’s more like a demon thing,” Willow offered, but Xander ignored her.

“I mean Spike may be a nerd now, but that’s better than bully Spike, or sexually aggressive Spike, or killing people Spike, or most Spikes.”

Buffy closed her book and dropped it onto the table, picking up a second. “We’re defeating a demon. Besides, other people have been affected and we can’t just leave Spike like this.”

“But he’s human, Buff, he actually cried . It was kind of great.”

“I’m not leaving him this way so that you can torment him.”

“What, he’s tormented me!” Buffy didn’t bother to look up at Xander, only continued flipping through pages. “Listen, I’m just saying that there are some benefits to this situation you may not have considered.”

“He’s kind of right, Buffy. I mean he’s harmless now,” Willow added.

“Not to himself,” Buffy muttered.

“But does that really matter? Spike the killer just turned into William the dork. And it’s better for him. It might just be the lack of black nails and bleached hair, but he seems happier.” Xander rationalized.

“Mmmm.” Buffy set down her book and stared into the distance. Something just didn’t feel right, but-

The shop bell clanged as someone threw open the door.

“Alright arseholes, which one of you is Buffy?”

The Scoobies looked up to see a leather-clad silhouette leaning against the door frame.

Buffy made out the man’s face, then groaned, “Ripper.”

“What is it with British men and demons?” Xander asked

“Not one to talk, Xander.” Anya reminded him.

The figure huffed and walked towards the table, “Not Ripper anymore, babe. That was just a phase.”

“Just a phase,” Buffy repeated skeptically.

Giles plopped down in a seat and put his feet up on the table, throwing the watcher’s diary down on it for everyone to examine.

“So far I figured out I’m a watcher, there’s an age-eating demon, and you’re all real shits to me,” Giles sighed. “Care to catch me up on the last thirty years?”

“Um- well- there’s no luck finding the demon,” Willow stuttered.

“Oh, you’re the witch.” Giles looked up, interested, “Bloody good job with that summoning death thing.”

“Well- um- thank you?” Willow looked concerned.

“Look Giles-” Buffy started

“Giles is my father, call me Rupert. You’re the Slayer, aren’t you blondie?”

“Yeah, right um- Rupert, do you remember anything?”

Rupert put his hands behind his head and stretched, the short sleeves of his black t-shirt proudly displaying the tattoo on his upper arm. “Last thing I remember I was on stage with the Who.”

“Who? The who? The who- who?” Xander repeated.

“Honey, you sound like a demented owl,” Anya quipped.

“I’m sorry, no one told me it was topsy-turvy day!”

Buffy ignored them. “So you have no idea what this thing looks like?”

“Well,” Rupert grinned, “I think I might have found your beastie. The Cannuil Sydd. Welsh demon. In its adolescent phase it will eat the flames from candles. A warlock must have let it escape, a few of them allow the demon to feed off of them over time to maintain their looks.”

Anya looked worryingly interested.

“So to the important question, how do I kill it?” Buffy asked

“Well that’s the thing. Usually when they overfeed they pop. But this one should have done that weeks ago.”

“So?”

“So, we have to find another way to kill it.”

“And the usual decapitation doesn’t work?”

Rupert flipped the watcher’s journal open to a bookmarked page before sliding it towards Buffy.

“I’m no artist but-” Rupert rubbed his nose and looked pleased with himself. A hastily scrawled black and white illustration depicted a snakelike creature of only about eight feet with many heads sprouting from its thin body like growths. “It grows a new head for each of its victims, and when one is detached it sometimes has the ability to grow a new body.”

“So I guess mincing it up isn’t the answer?” Xander asked.

“No.”

“And we can’t just catch it on fire?” He tried again.

“I already said, it eats fire.”

“So… more research?” Willow asked dejectedly.

“Look, it’s not my fault you people never even found the demon you were looking for-” Rupert started.

“No. Whatever. It’s fine.” Buffy picked up her book again. It wasn’t like Giles kept his promises anyways.

The bell dinged again and Buffy stifled a groan. Dawn stared at the scene in front of her, utterly confused.

“What the fuck?” She said, looking at Rupert, eyes squinting.  

“Who let her say ‘fuck’?!” Buffy demanded

All of the Scoobies locked eyes with their respective books. Rupert only grinned.

Dawn spent the next few hours with her nose pressed to her math textbook, when really, she could have been a lot more help if they let her in on this demon research thingy. It didn’t exactly look like they were having any more luck with that than she was having with line graphs. She’d still take demons over Algebra any day.

Buffy had read the same line over five times, something about using the sap from a chaos demon to make demonic face cream. She wondered if it was how Anya kept her hellish form as veiny as ever. At this point, Buffy was seriously considering just going and standing on a street corner looking like a little ingenue until the Candle-whatever attacked her itself. Demons usually went for that kind of thing. Spike and Giles had done it, how hard could it be?

“Ah-ha!” Willow interrupted Buffy’s imaginary stage play featuring Spike and Giles, the blushing damsels in distress.

“British accents! It’s attracted to British accents!” Xander burst out, apparently from a deep meditative trance, or in common terms, a nap.

Willow stood up, shaking her head, “No-no- You have to drown it! It consumes fire right? But water- water is ageless, I mean it’s been filtering through the bodies of living things since before the dinosaurs.”

“And I suddenly get the urge to buy a filter…” Buffy muttered.

“It says it right here,” Willow pointed to a page in the unmarked book that she clutched in her hands. Really, why didn’t they label their books at the very least? Or make a computerized search system? The work she had been doing earlier for Giles came back to Buffy and she thought it best not bring it up. “Might be a little hard to drown, though, with all those heads-” her eyebrows furrowed.

“I can manage. Not like I’m too unfamiliar with giant snakey things,” Buffy was already out of her seat, heading for the choice battle-axe Anya liked to keep behind the counter.

“Buffy-” Willow started, tense.

“What? Anything else I should know?” Buffy didn’t pause in her rummaging.

“I-It’s just-” Willow looked imploringly at her girlfriend, who jumped to her aid.

“You’ve been running off on your own a lot lately, and I think Wil and I- we’re all a bit worried.”

Buffy stared blankly at them, clutching her new-found battle-axe.

“We just think that you-you’ve been…” Tara trailed off, looking to the others for support and realizing she wasn’t going to receive any. “We just want you to be safe.”

“Of course I’ll be safe,” Buffy sighed. “Look!” She nodded toward the axe, “I’ve got this.”

“Buff, you don’t exactly have a great track record for ‘safe,’ gleaming weapons or no.” Xander shifted in his seat.

Rupert raised his eyebrows, remembering the last entry in the journal.

Buffy’s face hardened to a mask for a moment, “Look-” She started, voice steely. The false smiles had ended. Dawn looked ready to cry.

“I’m your watcher!” Rupert put in, standing up and distracting everyone from the conversation that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.  

“I don’t know if Giles happened to mention this in any of his journals, but his days as watcher are done,” Xander retorted.

“H-he didn’t actually,” Rupert betrayed his stutter, looking for a moment like Giles, glancing down and resisting the urge to shuffle books. “I haven’t made that decision yet in my timeline. And besides,” he grew more confident, gesturing at the ramshackle group in front of him, coming apart at the emotional edges, “you lot need a watcher.”

For a moment, Buffy looked as if she wanted to put her shiny new blade through his middle, but slowly, carefully, she tucked her anger away.

“Ok.” Buffy said. “What’s the plan?” Her voice was still hard, scratching against the edges of her throat.

“What? You’re just going to-” Xander looked between watcher and slayer, trying to find what he was missing.

“I’ve had enough of books-” Rupert began and Willow choked, her girlfriend patting her on the back in hopes to ease her horror at this new-found Giles. “We’re going out for patrol. The Cannuil might just try it’s luck with a crowd this time, syphon off a bit of age at a time — s’not difficult. Would there be any kind of place like that? WIth lots of dark corners? Maybe some loud music? Drinks?” Rupert raised his eyebrows, knowing exactly what he was suggesting.

“The Bronze,” Buffy offered.

“You’re brighter than I give you credit for.” Rupert winked. “Slayer, Red, you’re with me.”

Buffy was not prepared to watch Rupert slick back his hair as they entered the club. She and Willow exchanged a look. Willow still nervous to have somehow gotten on the ex-Ripper’s good side. As it was a Friday, the derelict line of patrons queued up at the Bronze’s door. Either out of a desperate need for athletic blondes or the realization that Buffy actually minimized the weekly casualties, Buffy and friends always managed to slip into the club after a curt nod from the bouncer. Tonight was no different, though the bouncer did glare at Rupert’s leather pants before allowing them to skip the line.

“You really have a thing for punks, don’t you? That blond Billy Idol wanna-be and-” The bouncer stopped as he caught the expression on Buffy’s face.

“I do. Not. Have. A. Thing.” Buffy spat through her teeth. The 6’6’’ man stumbled backward.

Rupert was thankful she hadn’t caught his snicker.

“We’ll search the perimeter, giant snake shouldn’t be too hard to find, but we’ll see… might want to check the bathrooms,” Rupert yelled over the music. Something crude was playing, louder than the Bronze usually had. Buffy vaguely recognized the band, Dachshund Gang or something like that. “I’ll be-”  Rupert nodded over to the bar, where two girls Buffy vaguely recognized from her old dorm room sat chatting, Solo cups of cheap beer in their hands. Rupert grinned at them, before shuffling his way through the crowd.

“Ripper is back after all,” Buffy grumbled. “You know last time he and my mom did it on a police car.”

Willow looked about ready to faint. Buffy could see the dance of blue lights across the whites of her eyes.

“Maybe we should keep an eye on him or-” Willow watched as Rupert ordered a double-shot of whiskey and leaned across the bar to the pair of girls who giggled.  

“I don’t know about you, Will, but I don’t exactly want to see this. I’m going to go check on the balcony, see if anything big, bad, and scaley is crawling through the crowd.”

“O-okay Buffy, but if you find it shout or-r something.”

Buffy was already walking away, edging in between patrons and trying not to get any beer on her new boots. The balcony was less crowded than the main floor, filled with couples frenching or a little more in the privacy the darkness offered them. The bass shook the rail Buffy leaned against. No snakes. A few vampires in the crowd, sure, but they looked much more enthused with the band than with blood. Willow stood nervously by the door as Buffy watched her. Without Tara at her side, she reverted back to the same timid little witch Buffy had known through high school. To share all that power between them was- well it must not have been so lonely.

It was obvious by this point that Rupert, had little intention of snake hunting, unless that snake was- Buffy shuddered at the thought. Though she was a little thankful for him, one more moment in that crushing atmosphere and she might just have cracked her hard-earned veneer of general okay-ness more than it already was.

There was something in the crowd she could see now, or rather sense. Something whose body wasn’t quite moving along to the music. It wasn’t a snake — perhaps it was simply her imagination. But usually the imagination didn’t exactly ignite the slayer pricklies.

And then along comes Mary — Mary, Mary.

And does she want to set them free, and let them see reality from where she got her name?

And will they struggle much when told that such a tender touch as hers will make them not the same?

“Buffy?” a hand landed on her shoulder and she had it twisted up against its owner’s back, pressing him against the railing with her body before she recognized the speaker.

“Buffy?” the man squeaked again.

“Sp- William?” She released him, stepping back a few paces. She ran into one of the groping couples who grumbled at her. She didn’t notice. “How did you get in?”

William gestured indignantly at the back door of the club. His glasses were askew and his vest had come unbuttoned. He straightened himself up as best as he could with lipstick marks on his neck and a shirt tail hanging out. “Miss, I need your assistance.” He stumbled into the railing again.

“Are you drunk?” Buffy asked, incredulous.

“I-I-” William started, “I was trying to get back to that- that place where you found me. It seemed safe as houses compared to the street and I-” he paused, looking nauseous. “Yes, I do believe I am rather fuddled.”

“When did ‘slayer’ become ‘babysitter’?” Buffy wondered aloud, leaning her arms back against the rail. William seemed to have Spike’s ability to run into her “coincidently” at the most inopportune moments, like a great annoying leather-clad homing beacon.

William simply looked at her with those two pleading blue eyes. He couldn’t survive on his own, Buffy realized, not at all. And thinking back on it, perhaps Spike never could be alone either. He’d always had someone, Drusilla- Harmony- Buffy. She wondered how he’d managed to survive the last few months alone — the Scoobies, she was learning, weren’t all that great at handling the undead.

“I’ll take you back, just-” she turned back to the crowd, looking for that same presence as before, but it had vanished. Perhaps it had just been William she’d sensed.

And then along comes Mary — Mary, Mary.

And does she want to see the stains, the dead remains of all the pains she left the night before

Or will their waking eyes reflect the lies, and make them realize their urgent cry for sight no more

“Thank you, Buffy.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. He gave her a tentative smile, more lopsided than before. She knew Spike must have thanked her sometime in the few odd years they’d fought on the same side and yet she couldn’t remember.

Why’d she ever let him run off?

“Is there something troubling you?” William leaned closer to her, though not out of any conscious thought it was apparent, adjusting his glasses to look at her face in the dim light.

“I- yeah- I’ll take you home. Probably best if you stay put until we get this all cleared up. I’ll just let Giles know on the way out and-” This new and improved candid Spike was probably going to be the death of her. What the hell had happened to him?

Rupert hadn’t moved and she motioned for William to follow. He stumbled after her, reticent to brush up against other bodies and muttering a mantra of “pardon me.” With a sigh, she reached behind her to grab William’s hand and pull him forward. Buffy’s heart raced at the unfamiliar spark of warmth in his hand as it cautiously closed around her own. She didn’t need to look back at William to feel his blush with her fingertips.

Rupert leaned in toward to the brunette he sat closest to. “Yeah, yeah, I play guitar. Used to play on stage with the Who-” He smirked, that was his usual clincher, but the girl’s smile dropped.

“Aren’t they like- old?” she asked.

“Yeah Rupert, aren’t you like-” Buffy mimicked the girl’s tone as she stopped behind Giles, looking displeased, “ old? ” she drew out the syllable.

Rupert glared at her, and the girls, taking Buffy’s hit, looked at each other before grabbing their drinks and heading out onto the dance floor.

“Who the hell is this?” Rupert asked, downing the last of his whiskey and turning his withering glare towards William.

“I’m um-” William went to reach out with his left hand, before thinking better of it and hesitantly dropped Buffy’s hand. “William Pratt.”

“Well the ‘prat’ is certainly right.” Rupert stared at the extended hand in disdain. “I ask again: Who the hell is this pillock?” He crossed his arms.

Buffy could see Willow’s red head bobbing towards them through the crowd, thinking that something was up.

“It’s Spike.”

Rupert’s attempt to maintain his composure wasn’t completely successful. William looked between them, confused, his hand dropping back down to his side.

“You mean- the Cannuil consumed over a hundred years in one sitting and you forgot to

tell me?”

“It didn’t seem all that important at the time and-”

“Why the bloody hell-” a look of genuine fear crossed Rupert’s face, “It can’t-”

“Listen I’m not the one who got themselves all gobbled up-”

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Willow interrupted the bickering. William gave her a tentative wave, she waved back.

“I’m taking William home- or to the crypt at least. And you and Rupert are going to wait here until I come back.”

“Yeah sure, like we’re your little lap dogs. Willow here could take you down in a second if she tried.”

“N-no I really don’t think-” Willow was looking nauseous at the concept.

“Besides,” Rupert carried on, ignoring Willow’s stutterings, “why is a slayer bothering with something like him,” he gestured to William, “when you could just let him loose and your little vampy problem will be handled.”

“He’s human.”

“For now.” Rupert’s voice was menacing. “And that’s why now’s the time to take care of-”

“I’m not listening to this,” Buffy snapped, and began leading William away.

“Yeah, I got that impression.” Rupert stretched out a hand to grab William’s jacket before he was out of reach, but Willow stopped him. He looked up at her surprise, “Come on, what use is he just hanging around — waiting to get that government-approved shock collar out of his brain so he can eat you all.”

“Spike is- he wouldn’t do that. Buffy could have dusted him a long time ago, but she didn’t. He’s helpless and-” Willow stammered on, looking anywhere but at Rupert. She had watched Spike nearly die saving Dawn’s life more than once and that didn’t mean she trusted the vampire, but it also didn’t mean he deserved to end up like a pile of dust.

“Oh I see, you got a thing for him too in’t?” Rupert smirked, “You do seem to have a thing for people who don’t deserve you.”

“What are you-” Willow was shaking her head, in disbelief at the direction that the conversation was going.

“You know,” Rupert hopped off of his stool, crowding Willow against the bar. “You’re so much more powerful than that girl of yours- what’s her name, Tara? I’m a warlock, I understand-”

“No. You have no idea.” Willow ducked away from him, and he could see the way her eyes glowed with the ember of magic. “I’m going to leave with Buffy.”

“Run off then! Join your little Slayer. You’ll understand soon enough-” Rupert shouted after her, ignorant of the wetness in her eyes.

It was then the club was plunged into darkness. A few girls shrieked. The amps went out with a crack of static, leaving the guitars to strum on with a sad, tuneless note.

“Oh bugger,” Rupert muttered, disoriented. “Willow!” She was already lost to him in the crowd of shadowy bodies; his eyesight really wasn’t what it had been in his teens. “Willow, dammit! Conjure a light or something!”

Willow could barely hear Giles’s voice as she was jostled by the crowd, surrounded by their chatter. Trying not to panic, she began murmuring a spell under her breath

A few yards away, Buffy and William were frozen near the exit.

“Oh god, what’s going on?” She could feel William clutch at her arm in the darkness.

“I don’t know, but we have to go back and find-”

An ear-piercing scream interrupted her, ricocheting around the concrete walls. There was silence for a moment, replaced only by the singular wail of a terrified infant.

“Wait for me!” Buffy shouted as she shoved William out the door, followed by the herd of people trying to escape the Bronze as more screams came from the crowd. She attempted to make her way through the stampede of bodies, but even slayer strength wasn’t useful against such crushing mass. She hadn’t been imagining that presence earlier, then:

“F-fiax Lux!”

Buffy heard Willow’s spell from somewhere to her right. Light burst forth like a sun dangling from the ceiling. The room was momentarily illuminated, and Buffy could see her friend hastily try to scramble to her feet, having been knocked down by the crowd mid-spell.

“Buf-” Willow was looking at something, something which made her voice stick in her

throat.

Buffy followed her gaze, seconds feeling like hours. There was something hunched over Rupert. Definitely not a snake-something. Even as Buffy stared in the harsh white light, it seemed to flicker and fade into the air around it like it wasn’t really there. As she watched, it took one wizened hand and began pulling back the slimy veil that covered its face. Somehow, Buffy knew that spelled bad news.

Willow’s spell went out, leaving them once again in darkness. The crying was growing louder. Buffy pushed her way through the bodies now, desperate to get to Rupert and whatever horror stood over him. She blindly groped in front of her, plunging her hand into something filmy that drifted over her fingertips like frog eggs suspended in formaldehyde.

An inhuman shriek pierced the air, forcing Buffy to rescind her hand in a desperate attempt to plug her ears. The lights flickered back on. A baby lay on the ground at her feet, swaddled in a beige houndstooth quilt.

“Oh god.” Buffy cautiously picked up the baby. Giles started crying, joining the growing wail of children. “I really made that babysitter joke too soon, huh?” She held him up awkwardly, unsure of how to support his bobbly head or the rest of his tiny body.

It was easier to see Willow now, as only a few other adults remained. Some, reverted back to the awkward, gangly teenage years, seemed to be wandering around aimlessly.

“Wil?” Buffy called in growing desperation, holding baby Giles away from her body. Willow moved to take him, holding him against her shoulder.

“This is really bad.” Willow stated the obvious. Buffy watched as a few nine-year-old boys absconded with one of the cups of beer. “Really, really, bad.”

“I know, I never thought we’d be the oldest ones in the club,” Buffy joked half-heartedly. “I’m having flashbacks to helping out with Dawn.” She paused and looked around at the mess of children. The man had once been the drummer hit the symbols and giggled. “That’s when I decided I was never going to have kids.”

“Buffy, that wasn’t a snake. It was- I don’t think I can even describe it.”

“Giles was wrong. We’ve got to get back to the books, figure out what this thing is and quick.”

Willow nodded, but glanced nervously around the room. “You don’t suppose we can just keep them here until we have this all figured out?”

“Um- yeah. I think that should work.” A few of the adults and teenagers were trying to gather up the babies and keep the younger children in line. “They look like they have this handled. I mean, stranger things have happened at the Bronze, right? Let’s just take Giles and-” She nodded towards the exit.

Buffy and Willow crept out of the club, Willow locking the doors behind them with magic. Buffy glanced at her.

“William was bad enough when he got in the road.” Willow’s voice was shaky. “They’ll get in less trouble in there than in the bad end of Sunnydale.”

Buffy acquiesced.

“Are you alright?” William jogged up to them from where he’d been waiting in the shadows, breathless.

“And I was half-expecting you to have run off again.”

William looked at her, sheepish. “You know, I’d wait for you forever if you asked me to.”

Willow and Buffy gaped at him.

“Well that’s um-” Willow started, looking away from William’s earnest expression. Giles cried louder.

“Why do you have a baby?” William seemed taken aback.

“Oh this is Ru-”

“Not important,” Buffy finished as she turned to Willow, “Go to the Magic Box. Get all booky. I’m taking William home. I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

“Why not just bring William?”

“Because I’m going to kill Xander the next time he makes a poetry joke and a good patrol isn’t going to hurt anyone. Besides, I’m useless with the book bit to begin with.”

“You’re not useless - you just haven’t had enough practice.”

“I’ve had all the practice I want, thank you.”

“Buffy-”

“No,” Buffy snapped, then softened at the expression on Willow’s face. “Look, I’m just going out to patrol with Spike- like usual whenever a big bad’s out and about. You have to get him home.” She gestured at baby Giles who was looking even more malcontent than he managed as an older man.

“Okay. But get back to us soon, I think I have an idea of where ickle Giles here went wrong.”

Buffy smiled at her old friend, “See, you could handle this on your own, Wil.”

“No I really-” Willow was stopped by the hand Buffy laid on her shoulder. “Just be safe out there?”

“No mortal wounds until I get back,” Buffy promised.

 It was comfortable with William, more comfortable than she’d been since it had just been her and the worms for company. He treated her like a normal person, not the Slayer, not the undead — a bit like Riley had been before the ultimatums and awkward silences.

“Come on, this is my dinner and I have dark forces to fight later,” Buffy mock-complained as William stuck his fork back into the dwindling mounting of fries.

They were walking again. Buffy had made the convenient discovery of the Doublemeat Palace near the crypt in one of her many ventures to get Dawn to stop hanging out with Spike. It was beginning to become a patrol staple.

“I wanted to thank you for accompanying me, again,” William said. His slurs were getting fewer the more they walked.

“It’s really no problem. I’m not the biggest fan of crowds these days anyway,” Buffy said, still concentrating on polishing off the fries. “Crowds” was putting it lightly. Mostly she just didn’t want to be trapped in another crushing silence with the crowd that was convinced death demanded therapy.

“The person who lives in the crypt,” William began, rushing the words, “he’s me, isn’t he?”

Buffy paused, considering him for a moment. “Yeah.”

William let out a long-held breath. “I was thinking that. I’m not going back, am I?”

“I mean, I don’t really know how this de-aging works, you might never go back.”

“But if I do- I’m just going to disappear, right? And future me is going to be there — Spike — what an awful name.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think you chose it. I think it was more your reputation…. That doesn’t make you feel any better, does it?”

William smiled and shook his head. Buffy took a moment to dump the remains of her dinner in a trash can.

“I just want to know- my mother- what happened to her?”

Buffy stared at him blankly.

“I know she was sick. She must be dead, but she didn’t suffer, did she? Was she okay in the end? Was I there?”

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know.” Watcher accounts tended to focus more on the blood and gory bits than family. And yet, this would explain the tender hand on her shoulder, the nights they spent on the back porch together, the way Spike ignored the tears she shed in the cover of her hands over her mother’s tumor.

William looked confused. “I thought you of all people-” he stopped. They were almost back to the crypt, the huge stone door in sight. “There’s something I need to show you.”

“I really should be getting back.”

“It’ll only take a minute. It’s um- you might enjoy it.” William said hopefully opening the door. Buffy could see him visibly flinch at the must of dust and death that generally inhabited tombs and crypts of all sorts.

Buffy followed him, but paused at the top of the ladder that led down into Spike’s nest. She hadn’t been there since passing out and waking up tied to a post. A wave of relief swept over her as she found the walls free of Buffy-shrines. There were a few drab rugs, records scattered about; the bed was the main attraction. It was luxurious for one person, though that probably wasn’t the case most of the time.

William rustled around by the antique barber’s chair, collecting a few scattered pieces of paper. Buffy considered sitting down on the bed but thought better of it. Spike was the sort of vamp who slept naked; no appreciation for cute pajamas.

“You know, I recognized you a bit when I saw you,” William said, looking over the papers in his hands.

Buffy looked up, startled. “You- what?”

“I- I had a feeling you were the girl from the poems.”

“The what? ” Buffy could hear her voice rising without being able to control it.

“Um- here, I’ll read them to you. You know I thought my poetry would have improved but,“ William eyed the papers, “these rhyme schemes are incoherent and the word choice leaves… something to be desired.”

Buffy was too stunned to move.

“Anyhow...” William took a deep breath.

Buffy felt her stomach drop. So much for comfortable.

“The old sun sinks beneath the swells, her earthly blush caresses the crests of waves-” William began, voice unapologetic and kind and so completely unlike Spike. Buffy ripped the papers from his hand, tearing the edge in her haste.

The old sun sinks beneath the swells,

Her earthly blush caresses the crests of waves

As golden tresses bob beneath the sea’s slick rim

And time attempts to seal her light away.

She settles betwixt continents and brings

The stretching vastness one last petite mort,

Her pleasure dips across the current’s sighs

Divine and playful in the tide, however short.

See ghostly thrashing arms across the foam

And that vermillion pool stain the oceans skin

The wrinkled flesh allowed to spread past ribs

Of water reaching out both cold and thin.

Ephemera drowning in the sodden earth

My lantern sealed beneath a frigid curse

Buffy blinked back something from the corner of her eye and shuffled through the crumpled notebook paper in her hands. There were dozens of poems, lines blotted out, water stains marking them, all in Spike’s distinctly messy handwriting and all in homage to her. Most were missing endings, just a few words scribbled down. Lines caught her eye, “My wings are clipped by Love’s abyss / I’ll make my home in listlessness” she dropped the page on the ground as if stung only to be greeted by more simpering lines, “ watch their tender flesh devoured / I want to stain her skin vermillion / and bleach it back again. / I could spend a year watching / Wine slip past cushioned lips / split as if to invite a sticky caress…” Buffy couldn’t tell if they were good or not; she’d only taken half of a poetry class in college, but something about them seemed to wrap its shaky tendrils around her heart, squeezing too tight.

“Um… Miss?” William asked, tentative.

Buffy’s head snapped up, noticing he was there for the first time in minutes. “Why would you show me this?” Her voice was low.

“I- I thought it might make you… You seem rather sad a-and- most ladies-”

“I am not ‘most ladies,’” Buffy spat. Her body felt too small — the feeling she’d been fighting since she’d awoken in her coffin months before. “In case you haven’t noticed, I fight monsters, William. I fight demons and giant snakes and gods and Spike knows better than to think I could ever have-” Buffy’s voice caught and she gestured at the pages scattered on the ground around her like the carrion of obsession that they were. “I can’t ever have this. With anyone. Especially him. Especially you.”

William bent down to gather up the pages without meeting her eyes, beginning the stutterings of an apology.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to-” Buffy paused, glancing at the ladder leading back to the surface and taking a deep breath to extinguish some of what was burning inside her. “I have a demon to fight.”

“I knew California adoption laws were pretty liberal, but Wil, really?” Xander asked, half jokingly as Willow cradled baby Giles in one arm and held a book with the other.

“I didn’t know human children were so… grotesque looking — not that far off from demon babies, really.” Anya commented, studying the child.

“Oh really?” Tara asked with genuine interest.

On the raised platform of books, a makeshift cot had been made up for Dawn, and the girl snoozed away into the early hours of the morning. Willow had thought it wise to watch her until Buffy could defeat the demon. After all, there wasn’t much age available to drain from her.

“I think I’ve got it,” Wil said, putting the book down and splaying her hand across the page. “And oh uh- Giles needs a change, I think.” She gingerly passed the baby off to Tara, who looked equally perplexed at the notion of changing Giles. “It’s not a Cannuil Sydd, it doesn’t feed off age, it feeds off time — the Temporis Comedenti.”

“Um, Wil, doesn’t seem like huge difference there,” Xander interjected, brows knitting together as he studied the page Willow gestured to.

“That’s why their clothes change? And they lose their memory?” Tara slowly nodded along to her girlfriend’s conclusion.

“It’s a demon that lives close to our world, in the fourth dimension. Like in the theory of relativity — the fabric of space-time? Well, this is the time part.”

Xander’s frown deepened. “So this thing has a cozy little cottage somewhere out in the fourth dimension? And how are we supposed to defeat this? Can we touch time?”

“Yes and no.” Willow paused for a moment. “From what we know, Buffy can make contact with this thing and as far as I can tell you can see it… kind of. At least when it’s attacking.”

“So… we need bait, then? It does seem to like Giles-”

“Giles is pretty close to being aged out of existence.”

“Well, what about Anya? She’s pretty ol-” A glare from his fiancee ended Xander’s sentence.

“Anya could de-age right into a vengeance demon and we don’t know if killing this thing will reverse the effects…”

“I-I could-” Tara offered, trying to still the trembling in her limbs.

A dangerous looked flickered across Willow’s face a moment. “No.” The word came out too harsh, but the memories of Glory’s effects on Tara were still too fresh. “No, I think that it’s better if we use Buffy.”

“What, really? I mean didn’t you just say that we don’t know if we can re-age people?”

“Yes but,” Willow paused, her voice tentative, “It’s not like losing a bit of memory for Buffy would be a bad thing… It could be just what she needs to uh- get back to normal.”

Her suggestion was greeted by silence. She twisted her hands together for a moment, waiting for someone to disagree. “Well, um, Tara and I should go look for a spell to freeze this thing in place long enough to let Buffy get a couple good punches in so we’ll be-” Willow gestured to the section of rare books Giles kept away from customers.

Tara and Willow made their way up to the book loft, careful not to let their footfalls disturb Dawn.

 Buffy could hear her heart in her ears, unable to fully distinguish it from the pounding of her footsteps on the sidewalk. She’d seen Spike’s shrine before, the endless pictures of her, the sketches, the memorabilia — some of her hair caught on a bush, the sweater she’d been looking for for ages. His obsession with her wasn’t new or even grotesque. But there was something now that she couldn’t quite stomach.

He hadn’t really changed when Drusilla turned him. He’d built up an elaborate wall around himself, but he was still William. He could still love like William could. And that’s what made it worse. Buffy had thought Spike understood, beneath all the solicitations, what it meant to be the Slayer. To want to taste one’s own art, to want to die — those were the words he’d sung to her behind the Bronze when she’d asked him how he killed slayers. There was no room for love in that. Even without Riley and Angel to prove that to her, she knew now that heaven was the only peace she could attain. Just like everyone else, he asked for something she couldn’t give. And yet the memory of him silently wrapping gauze over her raw knuckles after she’d risen, ignoring the way her body quaked, rose to her mind.

Buffy clenched her fist to suspend her reverie, pulling at the scar tissue that remained there. It was impossible, she reminded herself, impossible, whatever it might feel like. She couldn’t trick herself into believing they had a chance again.  

As she passed through the door of the magic shop, Dawn greeted her with a worried hug. She cautiously wrapped her arms around her sister.

“Are we going to have to raise Giles?” Dawn asked into Buffy’s chest. “He’s been crying for like an hour! He woke me up!”

Buffy looked to Willow for answers, only to see the witch already staring at her in concern.

“It’ll work itself out,” Buffy responded, unwrapping herself from Dawn and walking towards the  book lying on the table, surrounded by the odd herbs and crystals that could only indicate a spell. “Got new specs?” she asked, her voice harder than she meant it to be.

“Um- it’s called ‘Time Eater’ in Latin. You touched it last time, so you know how it isn’t quite solid? Well, when it attacks someone, it corporealizes, and there should be something inside all the folds that you can crush. The books are kind of vague about what that is- Tara and I should be able to freeze it in place for a few seconds, which will give you time.”

Buffy nodded, ignoring the way Willow was giving her a concerned look.

“Did, um- William get home okay?” She asked tentatively and watched the way Buffy’s muscles tensed for a moment before giving her another curt nod.

“I wanted to meet William…” Dawn complained. “Is it true he was wearing a suit?”

“You might still get a chance if we aren’t able to catch this thing tonight.”

“Well um- that’s the thing. It usually attacks the same people more than once.”

Buffy’s brows knit together. “So- the people at the Bronze? Spike? Should we be...”

Willow looked down at her feet for a moment, “It would’ve, but Tara and I did a spell, and since you touched it-”

The lights flickered out. Buffy felt a chill run down her spine.

 William lay on the floor of the crypt, his spine pressed into the frigid stones. There were a few tear streaks down his face that had long since dried and a bundle of papers crumpled in one hand. He had been planning to declare his love to Cecily tonight, and he wasn’t sure where it had gone so wrong. But there had been something about Buffy, a deep-set melancholy that seemed paradoxical next to her bouncy ponytail and easy smile.

He was sure things hadn’t gone well with Cecily either, as the crypt seemed barren except for Spike’s- er- belongings (it was incredible how far America had come in only a few short decades — people living in crypts, self-powered carriages). His poetry could hardly have won hearts, he just hoped it held some of his candid expression. He wasn’t a Wordsworth or Goldsmith or even Dryden, but he could still feel. He gripped the torn pages tighter in his fist, the paper biting into the un-calloused skin of his palm.

William stood up, aiming a despondent kick at the corner of the bedpost. His anger surprised him, a completely foreign feeling. But she had been too cruel. Still, he remembered the tears in her eyes that she’d blinked away as if she hadn’t noticed them as she’d muttered the words to the poems.

He hoped Spike wouldn’t hurt her the same way he had, that he was at least the sort of man that would never make her cry. Somehow he doubted that was true, with a name like Spike and a crypt for a house, but he at least hoped he could become that sort of man.

William steeled himself a moment, pacing back and forth on the threadbare rug before making his decision. He had to apologize to Buffy, no matter the cost.

 Buffy could hear Willow chanting somewhere to her left, the Latin phrases bouncing off the walls as Tara joined in.

“Get Dawn out of here!” she shouted, hoping Xander or Anya would take the initiative. Her eyes were still adjusting to the blackness that surrounded her, glancing in the direction she knew Dawn had been.

There was a rattling like that of dried bones which grew louder to accompany the witches’ chanting, an awful, hissing sound. Giles's wails only added the growing cacophony. Buffy twisted around, reminded of the overstimulation every noise offered after she’d dug her way out of her grave.

There was something moving around her in the shadows, but she could barely make out the glimmer of its shape as it crept around her, pacing like a wild dog.

The hissing and rattling grew stronger than the chanting, Tara’s voice breaking as it did.

“Buffy?!” Dawn shouted, and her sister could hear the fear in her voice.

For a moment, Buffy took her eyes off the thing haunting her shadows to look for Dawn. “Dawn, get outside-”

“Look out!” Willow shrieked, breaking off the spell as Buffy spun around to see the emaciated hand creeping towards her in the darkness. She ducked and the hand disappeared just as quickly.

“Wil, what’s going on?” she asked, staring wide-eyed into the darkness.

“Well- I thought we would be able to bind it so I-” Willow stopped her frantic speech and Buffy could hear her flipping through the pages of a book blindly.

“What did you do?” Buffy asked, watching again as the shadow drifted across her vision.

“I might’ve um- put it onto your scent? To make it easier to catch?”

“Fiax Lux!” Tara shouted. A small bauble of light appeared overhead, modest compared to Willow’s. It cast the room like a shadow play, acting as more of a night light. Anya, Xander, and Dawn were together near the door, Anya holding a weeping Giles and a hatchet and Xander attempting to usher Dawn outside.

“Where-” Buffy muttered to herself as Willow found the right page and resumed her chanting.

She tried to focus on the rattling sound, to hone her senses into the quiet buzzing that surrounded them, eyes closed. With hardly a thought, she threw her hand out and was greeted with the same gooey mess as before, accompanied by a shriek. A wave of force sent her flying backward over the wooden countertop, knocking her back into the cash register and landing in a pool of receipts.

“Well, why don’t you look at the time,” Buffy muttered her obligatory witty retort as she brushed herself off.

“Mind the money!” Anya shouted as she disappeared through the doorway.

As soon as Buffy had righted herself, another wave of power forced her back to the ground, sprawling on the floor. From the half light of Tara’s spell, she could finally wholly see the creature in front of her as it reached its claw towards her. Its eyes were long since lost in the folds of its face, its mouth a gaping hole opening and closing slowly like that of a fish. Buffy made a disgusted face and rolled to the side.

Outside, Xander and Anya attempted to placate Dawn.

“I don’t want to go home! Near Buffy is the safest place I can be, don’t you know that?” Dawn begged as she attempted to push past them.

“I think Willow has made sure that isn’t the case,” Xander muttered and pulled Dawn back again. “I know it’s tough, Dawnie, but you can’t be worried every time Buffy goes into a fight. She’s the Slayer, this is how things have to be.”

“B-but-” Dawn stuttered, resilience crumbling as she collapsed into Xander’s arms, tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t let her die again.”

“And Willow is in there making sure that doesn’t happen. Believe me.” Xander looked into her eyes a moment, before pressing her back to his chest.

“Um- ah- Hello, Xander. I’m um- looking for Buffy?” William jogged out of the darkness, glasses and hair utterly askew. “I’m so glad I managed to find this place again! Just really goes to show you-” He stopped abruptly as Dawn turned away from Xander’s chest to glare at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m so very sorry- Where’s Buffy?”

“Now, really isn’t the best time,” Anya told him as if taking a telephone call. As she spoke, Buffy slammed into the glass storefront and collapsed to the floor. Anya winced.

“Buffy!” William shouted, moving to run into the shop, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I’ll go-” Xander started, but William threw him off, eyes wild in the same way Spike’s always were before a fight.

“I have to do this. I-I think I love her,” William said, voice still wavering, but stronger this time. Xander was too stunned to pull him back.

Buffy’s body was just beginning to ache, and she could feel bruises blooming all along her spine as she stood back up one more time. The thing was slowing, she knew, mostly due to Willow’s spell, but it wasn’t quite enough to stop it from dematerializing every time she tried to strike it. She panted, trying to blink away some of the sweat and blood that had gotten into her eyes. By the time she cleared them, it was in front of her again, that mutilated digit was pressing into the split skin of her forehead and she knew it was too late. The last thing she heard was William yelling in the doorway and Tara’s footsteps as she ran towards her.

William had no idea what was going on, but he’d been told that apologies were usually better as grand gestures, and so he figured this should at least count for something. He ran at the crone that had just thrown Buffy across the room, sliding on the wood panels. It hissed as his fingers grazed its filmy skin before he was sent hurtling backward as well, the creature descending upon him. This was the end, he was sure of it. But it was also the most excitement he though he’d had in his entire life put together.

Willow was almost finished the spell. She’d heard the crashing around her, but was blind while her eyes were covered with the luminescent sheen of black as she contacted the spirits to do her bidding. She felt the crushing weight of the spell release itself from her and she blinked her eyes open, coming to again. “Buffy?!” she called, unable to distinguish her friend from the other blurry shapes that were taking form.

Tara was helping a teenage Buffy to her feet. “Oh god- Buffy, are you okay?”

Buffy blinked, shaking herself off, then let out a groan and ran towards the hunched figure.

“Bloody hell-” William murmured, close to passing out as he saw the face of the creature he attacked looming over him, frozen in time, and the angel that stood behind it, blonde hair gleaming in the soft light. She was younger now, he knew, the soft hints of wrinkles around her eyes were gone, her face was fuller, and she was so obviously brimming with life it brought a crooked smile to lips.

“And no one! I mean no one! Ruins my hair like that, buster!” fifteen-year-old Buffy plunged her hand inside the creature’s folds, groping around until she found something solid and ripped it out.

“Eww!” she shrieked as goo cascaded across the front of her “City of Angels” crop top. In her hands she clutched a tiny, wriggling, pink creature, hardly bigger than a child’s fist. “Oh, gross!” She dropped it on the floor where it splattered along with the rest of the viscera.

“Who are-” she started, looking into William’s eyes, and then stopped as the memories slowly came back to her. Before her, William slowly morphed into Spike, black muscle t-shirt replacing the suit and hair turning to its usual bleach blond.

The pair stared at each other for a moment, horror dawning on Spike’s face as he stared at Buffy’s incredulous one. A second later he was bolting out the door, sliding past a worried Dawn who ran to hug her sister.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Dawn murmured.

Anya surveyed the cracked glass and the remains of the countertop. “Next time let's not do this in the shop, okay, Willow?”

“Buffy, what do you remember?” Willow asked, ignorant to Anya’s chastisement.

“Everything,” Buffy responded, and buried her face in Dawn’s hair, breathing in the soft scent she'd come to think of as family.

 Two weeks later, Giles still hadn’t fully recovered from his  experience and was spending his time skulking around the dark corners of his house, nose consistently buried in a book as if it were a safety net. Buffy had noticed that he’d apparently run out of ancient texts and was now reading Stephen King novels. He still seemed skittish even after Tara assured him they had used a cleaning spell to empty his nappy, which only elicited a choked cough as he attempted to throw back another English Breakfast. After defeating the demon, Buffy had managed to slide back into the same routine as before, to re-apply her masks carefully enough that her friends stopped asking if she was okay.

Spike, likewise, hadn’t shown up for patrol since making his daring escape from Buffy the night in question. It wasn’t surprising to her, though she was beginning to miss his shadowy figure lurking behind dumpsters and making innuendos. Finally, after losing an entire outfit and nearly being gored by a chaos demon — something which Spike’s presence and super strength would have likely prevented — Buffy decided she was going to pay him a visit.

She paused at the crypt door, remembering how all week Dawn had been worrying over Spike’s disappearance from their lives. Xander claimed that he must have been embarrassed about revealing himself to be such a nerd, and Buffy only gave an uncomfortable shrug when confronted by the investigative powers of Dawn.

Buffy didn’t bother knocking, not wanting to give Spike a chance to run away. Instead, she kicked the door open, breaking the makeshift sliding lock that had been holding it in place.

Spike started from the chair where he’d been seated in front of the barely-color television he’d fished out of a dumpster.

“Bloody hell, slayer.” He stared at her over the back of the moth-eaten

upholstery. Buffy stood in front of the door, crossing her arms. Spike sighed in defeat. “You could at least wait a couple more minutes, Passions is on. Come back in a half hour and we’ll talk.” The attempt at banter was only half-hearted.

“When was it, exactly, that I started letting vampires set my schedule?” Buffy mused, walking closer and causing Spike to jump out of his chair.

“I’d say about round fifteen.” Spike put the television between them, switching it off as he did. “Now, for the record, before we begin another game of Kick the Spike - I never meant to show you those things. And I’m sure we can forget about it.” He gestured to the small pile of empty whiskey bottles beside the chair. “I’m well on my way to forgetting all about this, pet. I’m sure you can too.”

Instead of putting a stake through his chest, the way he’d been suspecting, Buffy plopped down into his chair and gave a drawn-out sigh. “I need you back on patrol before Dawn actually marches in here herself to drag you out.”

“All right, I’ll do it for the little bit. Forgive and forget, right?”

“William-” Buffy started and Spike looked up without thinking.

“William isn’t here no more, love.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “You write poems, Spike. Love poems. You can’t deny William isn’t trapped somewhere in there, and I’ve been thinking-”

“Well that’s a change,” Spike interjected, “Maybe you should just hit me before you injure yourself anymore.”

Buffy ignored him, taking a deep breath. “Do you really love me?” she asked, unable to hide the waver in her voice, and immediately Spike softened, his entire demeanor changing.

“Of course- of course I love you. How many times do I have to say it?”

Buffy nodded, then stood up from her perch on the chair and began walking towards the door. “Then I’ll see you on patrol.”

Spike didn’t know what the blonde was playing at. But there was some rawness to her words when she’d asked him that made him think she’d finally revealed herself to him. Finally let him in. And he had-

“I’m sorry, Buffy.” She turned to face him. “If I had my way you would never’ve seen that- that side-” He paused, looking for the right words. “I’m not going to lie and tell you I wouldn’t have dragged you out of heaven if I’d have known what the little witch was up to.”

Buffy scoffed. “Thanks, Spike-”

“But only because I know I never would’ve gotten there,” Spike interrupted her, looking down at the floor and moving a few steps closer. “I know you’re in pain- more pain than your little teeny-bopper friends could ever imagine. I know that kind of pain. And I also know that sometimes someone can come along and ease it just a bit if you let them in-”

“Do you think I haven’t let you in?” Buffy couldn’t hide the hints of her blush rising from beneath her collar. “Did you think that telling you about what happened to me, telling you about my mom, letting you sit beside me on the back porch while I cried, dropping all the fake smiles and placating words - did you think that didn’t mean anything to me? You’re too close not to hurt me.”

Spike’s eyes were wide, the same look of astonishment William always seemed to wear when he looked at her. “Then let me make you happy too, slayer.”

Buffy wasn’t sure when he’d moved so close, but suddenly she was nose deep in his scent, liquor and cigarettes and leather. With gentle hands, he caressed her jaw, cooling her flush. He leaned in and she realized he wasn’t holding her in place, wasn’t even directing the upward tilt of her chin as she rose to meet his kiss. He wanted her to run away if there was even an ounce of her left that still hated him. Buffy felt as if all the energy had been dragged out of her, like all the weight of pretending to be who everyone needed her to be had finally taken its toll as she sank into the plush curves of his lips. Finally, she pulled back, for a chance to breathe if nothing else. Buffy glanced up to Spike’s face and he was grinning. She wasn’t sure when his arms had made their way around her, hands gentling the tremors in her back.

“Well, love, I guess blondes really do have more fun.” He smirked at her, smugness already returning.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt in her fist and glared up at him. He wasn’t sure if she was going to punch him or kiss him. She still wasn’t quite sure either.