Chapter 1 - Lost and Found

Spike laid the roses on the street.

The alley hadn't changed much since Buffy died there. He had first returned a little over a week after the fight with Glory, when Buffy had saved the world again. The first visit had been uneventful, but the second time he had brought her flowers, he had found a pair of leftover minions.

He had killed them both.

The fifth time he had returned, he had found a female vampire luring an incautious young man. He had staked the vampire but had had to be content with terrorizing the man.

Gang Long knew of his growing obsession with the site of Buffy's death, but the young dragon remained quietly sympathetic. Spike didn't know if Ann Grove knew or not, but so far she had said nothing on the subject.

There was the sound of movement from behind him. He turned and caught a trace of white movement that vanished behind one of the dumpsters. Annoyed that his privacy had been broken, he followed.

Rounding the dumpster, he heard a stone or can land just out of sight. He ignored it, mentally sneering at such a poor ruse. He was totally unprepared for the blow that struck him from above. He had a glimpse of a 2x4, held in a grubby hand at the end of a filthy arm, below an upside-down face; the whole apparition hanging by its knees from an unsteady fire escape.

"Buffy," he said, before he lost consciousness.

"Wake up," someone was saying. He assumed it was the same someone who was slapping his face.

"That doesn't work with us," he muttered, opening his eyes.

"What doesn't?"

"Slapping my face, to bring me to. It doesn't stimulate my circulation, you stupid sod, since I...Buffy. It is you."

"You're Spike. I know you."

She was naked and filthy, wild-eyed and nervous. She was back, though, and he was happy for the first time since the spring. He focused on the strangeness of her phrasing.

"Yeah," he said. "We've known each other a few years. How do you feel?"

"Where am I?"

"Contrary as ever. That's normal, at least." He stood up and said, "You're back in Sunnydale. How do you feel?"

"Fine," she said defiantly.

"And that's a damned lie," he said cheerfully. Strange as she was, he couldn't stop smiling. He took off his leather coat and offered it to her.

She took it and just draped it over her shoulders. He held it for her and she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked, turning her around and buttoning the coat.

"Why do you want to know?"

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty. God, you ask a lot of questions."

"How long have you been here?"

"Part of last night and today and tonight."

"You slept here?" He touched the lump coming up where she had struck him.

"Sort of. I mostly dodged behind things. Sometimes I had to hide inside things. There are some very strange people walking around down here."

"Yeah. Right. We should get out of here," he said, looking around.

"Where should we go? Do you have an apartment around here?"

"Not exactly. My place doesn't have what we need, anyway. This certainly isn't one of the first things I've imagined saying to you if I ever saw you again, but would you like a bath?"

That simply, he decided where to take her. Thinking it over as he helped her into the passenger seat of the Viper, he didn't want to second guess himself.

"Where are we going?"

"A friend's house. You'll be safe there."

"I don't want to see anyone else." She grabbed his arm.

"Ow. Easy, OK!"

"Sorry."

"You seem to have a little continuity problem here, Slayer..."

"My name is Buffy! Not what you said."

"Again, easy. I don't know if you remember, Buffy, but you used to know I won't do anything to hurt you. You used to trust me, just a little."

"I do know that." She relaxed her grip, but did not release his arm completely. "I do trust you. Will you stay with me?"

"I have a room there, just down the hall."

"All right, then."

***

"Ann lives here, doesn't she?" she asked.

"She and her foster son, Gang Long. They're friends of ours."

"Why does she have such a big house?"

"She likes space, and it comes in handy when she wants to display her art collection."

"She's an artist?"

"She makes statues."

"What's that noise?"

"You can hear them now? That's Ann's guardian lions."

"Will they wake her up?"

"It's about two hours before sunrise. I wouldn't be surprised if Ann's awake. She's awake at the weirdest times."

"I don't want her to yell at me," Buffy said.

"Why would she?"

"She didn't invite me."

"She invited you before," Spike pointed out.

"She yelled at me before."

"She still likes you, you know."

"Does she? I was angry with her."

"We were all angry with her. She understood, she was angry herself."

"Spike."

"Yes," he asked when she didn't continue.

"Are you in love with Ann?"

"No," he said, stopping the car in front of the garage. He opened Buffy's door.

"Is she in love with you?"

"No."

"Do we have to go here? Can't we go away somewhere?"

"Buffy. Here's the best place for you to be. At least for now."

"I trust you, but I'm still worried."

***

"I'm filthy. I think I ruined the lining."

"Don't worry about it. It can be cleaned or replaced." He took the coat as she removed it and tossed it out the door. "Is the temperature all right?"

"I guess."

Spike helped Buffy into his huge shower. Buffy slipped on the slick tile. "Here, hold on." He took the folding bench from the storage cabinet and set it in the shower. Carefully, he seated Buffy on it. He stripped off his boots and his leather jeans and stepped into the shower with her. He turned on only the small hand-held spray, not the full array of shower heads.

"Warmer," she said.

"Like that?"

"Fine."

He shampooed her hair and rinsed it thoroughly, then handed her the sprayer and washed her, from face to toes. He took a brush to her feet, washing the last of the alley off her, then he rinsed her.

"Clean feels good."

"Tell me about it. Just lying on the street got me filthy." He tossed his shorts and T-shirt into the sink and showered himself. Turning off the water, he rubbed a towel over his head, then pulled on his toweling robe.

He tried to wrap Buffy's hair in a towel and made a botch of it.

"I can do that," she said.

He took another towel and dried her. He noticed there was another robe, folded neatly on top of the pile of towels. He wondered briefly if Ann was directly supplying material assistance or if her magic was flexible enough to handle a guest. He shrugged and helped Buffy into the new robe. He tied the belt and stepped back from her.

"What about your head, where I hit you?"

"Claire gave me some stuff," he said, opening the drawers under the counter until he found a jar of ointment. "Would you?" he asked.

"Sure." She dipped her finger in the paste and rubbed it over his lump. "It doesn't smell medicinal."

"It works fine, though," he said.

"Yes, it does," she said. "Look for yourself."

Amused, he smiled at her. "Sure. I don't have any slippers for you, but this place is clean, and the radiant heating keeps the floors warm. Have you eaten anything?"

"No, I haven't. I think I'm hungry now. I wasn't until you mentioned it."

"Let's go down to the kitchen. I'll find you something."

***

"You can cook?" Buffy looked around at Ann's huge kitchen.

"I've watched Ann and Señora Rivera. A boiled egg is within my abilities. Have some wine." He poured Buffy a glass of Ann's changeable wine and turned on one of the six burners on the restaurant size stove. "I've even attempted oatmeal, with varied success."

"A boiled egg and maybe toast will do. This is good," Buffy said, draining her glass.

Ann Grove walked into the kitchen. "Oh, hi, Buffy."

"Spike's boiling me an egg," Buffy said. Ann looked at her sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly, then she smiled at the girl:

"That'll be interesting to watch." Ann glanced at Buffy's glass, which refilled.

"Ann," Spike started.

Ann turned to Spike and smiled at him. Reassured, Spike said nothing. "Actually, he can boil eggs quite nicely," Ann said, turning back to Buffy.

"I never knew that," Buffy said. "Ann, can we stay here?"

"Of course. For as long as you want."

"And you won't tell anyone?"

"I may have to tell everyone at some point, Buffy, but I won't tell anyone in Sunnydale for a week. Is that all right?"

"I guess so; a week's a long time. Spike wouldn't take me away."

"He's been making all sorts of adult decisions lately. Do you want some slippers?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

"I'm going to the playroom. I'll be gone a while this morning, but I'll be back for lunch. Maybe we can talk more then. Check that egg," Ann said, and left, going out the west door of the kitchen.

"That was all right," Buffy said. "That wasn't bad at all. Does she always dress like that? I mean, just around the house?"

"I thought she looked OK," Spike said, considering Ann's heavy silk pants and fine gauge linen sweater. "She didn't look any different than usual."

"That's what I meant," Buffy said. "At least she didn't fuss. I was worried she'd fuss."

"Not Ann. Ann's calm," Spike said, running cold water over the boiled egg. "You don't like fuss?"

"No. Not now. It's all right here, just us and Ann."

"And Gang Long. You've met him, he's calm, too." He put everything on a tray and carried it to the small north room. Buffy followed.

"The table is smaller than it used to be."

"There's only two of us," Spike said, setting out their breakfasts. Blood and wine for him; egg, toast and wine for her.

Buffy nibbled on her toast, dipped it in the egg and drank another glass of wine. "That's enough, I think," she said, putting down the last bit of toast. "I think I'm full."

"I'll show you how to work the closet in the guest suite," Spike said.

"What do you mean?"

"You need some clothes. The guest suite closet is like mine, it dresses the occupant."

***

"Stand naked in front of the mirror," Spike told Buffy. "You may show up right away, but we'll wait a few minutes, then open the door." He moved back, away from the mirror.

Buffy handed him her robe, and watched the mirror. She appeared startled, then she laughed, and opened the mirrored door. "Look at this: heritage level lingerie! This is better than anything from Victoria's Secret," she said, pulling a linen lawn nightgown with white on white embroidery, pin tucks, insertions of ribbon and lace and a gently ruffled hem of layers of more lace, out of an open drawer.

"Put it on."

"I wonder what else is in here," she said, dropping the nightgown over her head. She removed a matching robe and started to open another drawer, then abruptly yawned. "Huh, I guess I'm sleepy." She tossed the robe over the chair and got into bed.

"Let me tuck you up. Now, sleep." She was asleep before he straightened the bedclothes over her. He hung her toweling robe in the bathroom and left the guest suite.

(Chapter 2)

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