Spike had been feeling strangely removed from events.  Which was most peculiar seeing as he was such an integral part of what was happening.  Despite his partner’s condition he felt an immensely strong…  Blood  …connection to Xander but beyond that…  People talked to him and he made appropriate responses, words put into his mouth by William, but half the time he didn’t have a clue what they wanted and found it hard to care.  He had one focus: Xander.

William dealt.  William paid attention, he was vigilant, possessive and protective, sharing what he felt he had to, otherwise he buffered Spike from the detritus of existence and struggled to free him from the worst of the PTSD that had flourished under these circumstances.  But he refused to let Spike retreat.  And he refused to let him give up.  Right now William was insisting on food and rest; Spike was weak from sharing his blood with Xander, tired for the same reason and from lack of sleep.  He’d wait for…  ‘Rafe, today it’s Rafe.’  …and then he’d go home for a while.  ‘We trust Rafe.’  If Xander was safe Spike could leave.  And…  We trust Rafe.  Hug from the big bloke, a dozen kisses for Xander, and the keys to the Jag were in Spike’s hand.

Home.  At the kitchen table and enjoying, really enjoying the peace and solitude and mug after mug of blood.  Spike sat and read back through what he’d written for Xander over the past month, that began with a simple…

‘Well, love, I’m assuming you’re reading this in hospital, which means you’re back, which means I’m so happy this old dead heart of mine is ready to go pop.  I’m looking forward to it.  The happiness not the popping.  I bought this laptop so I could download all the stuff I sent you when I was away and let you read it and feel a proper wanker for screwing up the computer at home so you didn’t get it and were left thinking I’d dumped you.  That’s so bloody typical, you can’t leave anything alone.  Anyone else would have taken a hint with all the security warnings but not you, not Xander Harris.  You’re a disaster waiting to happen.  But you’re my own disaster.  And I love you which is why I want to write this.  Let you know what’s happening out here.  When you wake up, WHICH YOU WILL, you can have a read and then we’ll delete the whole file and forget this fucking awful business forever.’

…and now ran to forty-odd pages, editing out anything that was too emotive or destructive, anything that would make Xander…  Yeah, okay, or me.  …uncomfortable when he eventually read it.

A month.  Update.

The hospital was the ugliest building in the whole town, state, you name it.  No redeeming architectural features at all except for the design flaw of having too few windows in various locations.  Patrick had made sure Xander was in one of these areas, and also made sure Spike could use the staff access to the floor so he could avoid the one corridor with a sunny disposition.  Spike and William occasionally pondered over what Patrick knew, what he’d figured out, and why he’d gone to so much trouble for someone who was reputedly allergic to a bit of UV.  Angel had suspicions about the unusual nature of the man but was he sharing?

Spike had taken a CD player in to Xander and played music continuously for the first week.  Now it shared airtime with Spike, who would talk and sing to Xander for hours as he sketched memories or imaginings, any family member or hospital worker who passed through his field of vision.  Spike accepted the presence of others more easily now and had given up chasing people away from Xander’s bedside, but he liked the nights, when Xander was exclusively his.  When he’d tenderly massage the slowly recovering body from scalp to toes, working the healing oil that Willow had prepared into Xander’s skin until it glowed.  Spike’s hands were invariably followed by his lips, and he took special care…  ‘Being nosey I had a look at what was on your camera.  Waste of good blood because what I’d eaten came up far easier than it’d gone down.  Cutting yourself up like that.  Why?  And why pictures of it?  Trying to wade through the quagmire that amounts to your mind I’d guess it was about some kind of permanence.  You’ve whined before that I haven’t marked you, but this is WRONG, Xander, and you won’t be doing it again.’  …with the areas that Xander had sliced into, arms and thighs, stroking away scars that were invisible to the eye but now ineradicably carved into Spike’s mind.

After that first time Spike had refused more blood from Angel.  He didn’t want to risk any kind of attachment forming between Xander and his sire and, although doubtful it could happen, he wasn’t about to take any chances.  He also didn’t want any more of an attachment forming between himself and his sire.  Spike had taken ten whole days of Angel’s infuriating, clumsy concern before driving the older vampire back to LA and only just resisting the temptation to physically kick him out of the car and burn rubber in an attempt to get away from him.  He’d persuaded Willow to go home two days later, promising he’d call her the moment there was any sign of Xander coming round.  Helping her pack, Spike had found a collection of magical paraphernalia that made him suspicious.  She blushed as she explained that it had been for restoring Xander’s soul: she’d originally thought the only reason Spike was letting Angel accompany him to the hospital was to turn Xander should his condition become critical.

Angel’s investigations into the attack on Xander were as frustrating as they were useless.  He’d stayed in touch with the investigating detective at the local precinct who had nothing better to offer.  Allegedly.  The website messages had been sent from within the Partnership computer network and were not traceable to any individual.  ‘Not that I expected it to come to anything.  The gits with the mouths are rarely the ones with the fists.’  The site was now dismantled; the partners had accepted three resignations.  No witnesses other than the young M’lura; further conversations with Samuel had proved fruitless, and the scene of the crime revealed no further information.  ‘I can’t believe this, love, I just cannot believe it but…’  Unless Xander came to and named names, the people who had hurt him were going to get away with it.

Spike learnt how to administer the hex; Jake wondered why he always slept better at Spike’s house and never turned down an invitation to stay there.

Giles visited for several days.  Spike drew him as he took his turns reading to Xander, pursuing the expression of love and hurt that Xander would never believe unless he saw it for himself.  Spike knew Xander needed to see it and drew the same picture time and again until he captured the expression perfectly.  Giles stayed at the house with Spike and ever-so-gently interrogated the vampire about his experiences the previous year.  When Spike finally saw the hyper-protective ‘Ripper’ look flicker over Giles’ face at one of his many deliberately clinical yet gut-wrenching explanations he knew he’d truly been accepted.  That acceptance tore away the last defences and Spike told Giles everything, hours of talking and crying and screaming, the things Xander knew, the things he couldn’t know because why should they both feel the pain?  When Giles told Spike that nothing like it would happen again, Spike believed.

Cora came to the hospital every few days, bringing flowers and gossip, never able to refrain from weeping long enough to tell Xander all the news from their workplace.  Christien Haakon visited.  Spike found him decent, charming, sincerely concerned about Xander, and subsequently disliked him intensely.  One look to Patrick and the Dane never returned.

Spike understood a little more about his new family, about their attachment to Xander and, by proxy, to him.  He watched their tenderness with Xander, listened to their one-sided conversations full of memories that told Spike how the friendships were founded and in many ways explained how they had deepened into the love he now witnessed.  Regardless of whatever unusual power Patrick did or didn’t possess, he was helpless right now, just like the rest of them.  Each evening Spike would watch his agonizing attempts to tear himself away from Xander; Spike sympathised because he dealt with a similar tumult of emotions whenever he himself left Xander’s side.  Love like an open wound.  Then it was talk, touch, kiss.  Last whispered words, fingers repeatedly stroking through the dark hair, lips resting on the smooth brow.  ‘Everybody in the whole family does the kissy, feely thing with you.  Can’t decide whether you’d love it or be embarrassed by the attention.  Probably both.  You’re lucky though, you’ll never again have to wonder how much you’re loved.’

The family spent time with Xander and then, deliberately – incomprehensibly for him - time with Spike, caring for him too and wresting the responsibility from him when it grew too heavy.  ‘Rafe’s a nice bloke.  My level.  Every few days he prises me away and takes me for a pint, and he never asks questions I can’t or shouldn’t answer, and if I say things, let things slip, that I wouldn’t if I wasn’t so knackered or distracted he lets them go without an apparent second thought.  Just buys me another beer and tries to understand the off-side rule.  I can get pretty maudlin after a few and he takes that in his stride too, even the tears.  He never fusses, does he?  An arm around the shoulders, that one heavy kiss on the head, and he’s done.  I didn’t understand before, when you said to me you loved him, one of your best friends.  I thought he was a bit remote compared to the others, harder to get to know.  But he’s – can’t describe this properly – a shield.  The family’s shield.  See, I said I couldn’t explain.  I think of him now, at this very minute, and I love him too, I love your whole family.  You’ll be pleased about that but it hurts.  It hurts, Xander, because I shouldn’t belong and I don’t deserve them any more than I deserve you.  There’s always something hurting and I’m just waiting for you to be here and make it better because that’s what you do.’

The Mercedes was repaired and delivered to Cedar House.  The scent of Xander in the enclosed space was intense and that night Spike slept in the back seat.  He couldn’t remember the dreams but he woke crying and couldn’t stop for the best part of an hour.  He didn’t go near the car again.

‘I know you’re going to come back to me, Xander.  There are times when you feel so close, and I’m looking at you and willing you to open those pretty eyes for me.  Okay, so you haven’t done it yet but what does that mean?  Means waiting, that’s all.  I can wait.  I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.  Don’t want to be another five years without you but if that’s what it takes then I’ll wait.  I’m bringing you home soon whatever happens, because I promised you and because I need you here.  No-one needs you like I do.’  Spike re-read and deleted ‘needs’, replacing it with ‘loves’.  Deleted ‘loves’ and replaced it with ‘wants’.  Re-read.  Deleted ‘wants’ and replaced it with ‘needs’.  ‘No-one needs you like I do.  You’re my honey, my love, my peace, my reason.  My sunshine in an existence of night.  You’re all.  Sometimes a bloke has to accept the now and wait.  You’re at my fingertips, Xander.  I can wait forever.’

…

Spike could, would wait forever.  But how much better did six days sound?

Uh-oh.  Blue screen.  Because this brain was not properly shut down, one or more of your cerebral hemispheres may have errors on it.  To avoid seeing this message again…

What?  Whe…?  This old feeling.  I’m alive so it must be Tuesday.  No.  Old news.

Jesus, I ache.  Up too late, always up too late.  Should learn.  Be okay with a good night’s sleep.

Strained a muscle.  Adjust the settings.  Check the weights tomorrow.  Later.  Today.  Clock?

Eyes work.  Just.  Ooh, fuck, lights, damn vampire, up all night and leaving the lights…

Spike.  Miss.  Need.  Miss.  Where?

Xander’s eyeballs needed oiling, okay, he accepted that.  Another tomorrow task.  Now if he could just…peer…along to where…  And, yes, Spike was there, by the side of the bed, and this didn’t make much sense, but he was clutching Xander’s hand, head resting hard against it and the vampire was very asleep so why wasn’t he in bed?

Awkwardly, achingly, Xander shifted slightly, grateful that both of them didn’t take up much more room than one of them because they fitted together so tidily.  Ah, that’d be a fucking hell, that smarts.  No more moving.  Staying still now.  He stiffly wriggled his fingers within Spike’s firm grasp, under the weight of his head, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse through lack of use.

“Hey, sweetheart, come to Xander.”

Spike stirred blearily, nodded, climbed onto the bed without question because this was Xander and this was Master and this was…right.  He snuggled into Xander’s creaky embrace and they sighed.  Maybe a hint of a purr and they slept.  Together.  And this was right.

…

Spike woke as he heard the soft, familiar humming in the room.

“Hey, Spike, wanna get up?” the orderly asked in a stage whisper.  “’Fore you piss off the day shift?”

Spike stretched languidly, using the move to spread himself further over Xander.

“Staying put,” he murmured as his eyes squeezed defiantly shut and he buried his face in the sheeted chest.  The young woman routinely tutted at him and grumbled good-naturedly as she left.  “Morning, love,” the vampire whispered, peeling the sheet down to kiss the smooth and perfect, thankfully flesh-hued flesh beneath.  “How did I get here, eh?  Not that I’m complaining.  Nowhere else I want to be but I doubt if I should be laying all over you until the last of the swishing stops.”  He laid his hand over the swishy area of Xander’s torso, listening hard, satisfied that last night’s repeated doses of blood had made quite a bit of difference even if they had left him wiped out.  The hand dragged over Xander’s body from throat to navel, Spike smiling as he registered the increasing tempo of heartbeat and breathing.  “You’re going to be so addicted to me after this.”

“Am,” Xander croaked.

Spike froze, not quite able to believe he’d heard that.  Then he sat up and spun around, searching Xander’s face for animation.

“Xander?”

“Hey.”

The vampire smothered the placid face with kisses.

“Xander.  Xander.  Fucking hell, Xander.”

“What?”

“Where you been, Xan?”

“Umm…”

More frantic kisses but the gentlest hug.

“Let me get you…”  Spike turned and picked up a glass of water and straw, carefully offering Xander a drink.   “Not too much.”

“Better,” Xander said, sounding smoother already.  He took a drop more water then managed to focus on Spike properly.  “Hey, Spike.”

“Hey yourself,” Spike smiled, caressing his cheek.

“Where’ve I been?” Xander frowned as the words sank in.  He looked around the room, slowly in deference to his spinning head.  “Where’s this?”

Spike put the glass down, got a little closer.

“Hospital.”

“What…?  I mean, how…?”

“You got hurt, love.  Don’t you remember?”

Pause for thought.

“No.”

Spike smiled again, furiously blinking eyes that were suddenly brimming with tears, and went back to the loving touches.

“Good.  Some things are better forgotten.”

“Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Get me out of here.”

“Soon.”

“Get me out of here, Spike.”

“Okay, I’ll get you out.”

“How’d I get hurt?”

“Someone picked on your car and you got in the way,” Spike answered automatically, having decided weeks ago the answer to that particular question should this situation arise.

“My car?  My car all right?”

“Is now.”

“Well…fuck,” Xander stated dozily.  Spike chuckled, sweeping a hand across his face and disposing of the few tears that had managed to escape.

“You sore?  Should I get…”

“Just tired.  So tired.  Late nights.  Can I sleep?”

“Yeah, you sleep, love.  I’ll be right here if you want me.”

“Here.”  A weak but unmistakeable gesture, and Spike laid back alongside Xander, draping himself protectively over his reason for existing.

…

This time it was a hand on his shoulder that woke Spike, and he recognised the essence immediately.

“The doctor will be here soon,” Patrick said quietly.  “I can deal with her.  Do you want a break?  Go get something to eat?”

Spike carefully removed himself from Xander and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.  He smiled at Patrick, silently rejoicing that he would no longer have to witness the heartache and remorse that had weighed the man down since Xander was hurt.  Spike took Patrick’s hand and joined it with Xander’s; Patrick didn’t question the move, just sadly, lovingly stroked the still fingers.

“Hey, Pat,” Xander murmured, corners of his mouth twitching as his hand was abruptly clenched in a vicelike grip.

Spike watched the shock, relief, joy sweep over Patrick’s features, imagining those same emotions on his own face a couple of hours previously.  And the tears, which Spike hadn’t expected because Patrick worked so damned hard at being strong for the people around him.  Xander’s free hand rose, reaching limply for his friend, and Patrick moved into an embrace, cradling Xander to him and whispering desperate and unintelligible words.

“How do you expect me to do my job?” Dr Brooking’s exasperated voice came from the doorway.  “I’m always the last to know what goes on in here.  Why didn’t you buzz?”

She hurried to the far side of the bed, not prepared to negotiate with Patrick for space beside Xander as she quickly gave her patient a basic check-up.

“Doesn’t matter,” Spike told her with a grin.  “I’m taking him home.”

“He shouldn’t be moved.”

“We’ll get an ambulance.  I can look after him as well as you lot.”

“We are trained professionals, there is no way…”

“Let’s face it, I’ve been looking after him.  Been washing him, shaving him, I’ve cleaned his hair, his teeth, cut his nails, I’ve massaged and exercised him to keep his muscles working, I’ve turned him to stop him getting sore.  I’ve learnt about the IV and the tubes and bags, I know how to deal with everything going into him and everything coming out of him.  The only reason I haven’t been seeing to his medication is I’m not allowed to in this place.”

“Spike, he’s just come out of a coma.”

“What have you done that I can’t?”  What did I do that you couldn’t?

“We have qualified medical personnel on hand…”

“That he hasn’t needed once since that tube came out of his throat.  Look, missus, we appreciate what you’ve done, but now we’re going home.”

Dr Brooking took a deep breath and released it as a sigh.

“Mr Harris.  Do you understand what your partner is proposing?”

“I want to go home,” Xander told her in as definite a tone as possible.  “He’s doing this for me.”

The doctor stared at Xander for a solid two minutes, trying to figure it out: people didn’t come out of comas speaking and hugging and thinking straight.  She sighed heavily.

“Mr MacDonald?”

“We’ll be taking Alex home.  Our own doctor will see him every day and I’ll arrange for some private nursing care if necessary.  Do you have the number of an ambulance service and agency you’d like to recommend?”

“I will have to officially record that I’m unhappy with this decision.”

“Of course, if you feel you must.  But you’ve seen for yourself that Alex has extraordinary recuperative abilities, and Spike has taken every care with him and will continue to do so.  With all due respect, Alex couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Give me an hour to run some tests?  I don’t want him to leave here if there’s any immediate danger to his health.”

Spike and Patrick thought, but it was Xander who spoke.

“No.  No tests.”

“Mr Harris…”

“No.  I’m discharging myself.  Get me something to sign.”

Patrick escorted the doctor to the main desk to make arrangements for Xander’s transport home; Spike moved back to Xander’s side.

“Sure about this?”

“Feeling pretty zingy here so I’m guessing I’m full of your blood, right?” Xander asked in a low voice.  Spike nodded.  “So tests, not a great idea.”

“You pick an excuse to leave this mausoleum and I’ll cling to it,” Spike said quietly as he leant into Xander’s neck and nuzzled.  “Just need you home with me.”

“Want to sleep for a week,” Xander yawned.

“Another one?”

“I’ve been asleep a whole week?”

“Something like that.  I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed as he drifted off.  “Do that.  Later.”

…

Less than two hours had passed when Spike drove the Jag into the garage at Cedar House and watched in the rear view mirror as the ambulance and a convoy of cars pulled up in the drive.  Triggering the garage doors he climbed from his car, pausing momentarily by the Merc, giving it the kind of pet pat he’d always teased Xander about.  He unlocked the house and switched off the alarm, taking the opportunity to rapidly drain a few bags of blood before waiting impatiently, trapped by daylight, as Patrick oversaw Xander’s removal from the ambulance and transfer into the hallway.  Spike directed operations from there, wishing he could brush the paramedics aside and carry Xander up to their bedroom himself but appearances had to be maintained and the stretcher trolley was manoeuvred up the wide staircase and along the corridor.  Xander was carefully moved to the bed and Spike sat with him, firmly holding his hand and watching suspiciously as various pieces of equipment were assembled.

A last check of the IV, confirmation of instructions, and Spike and Xander were left alone.  Spike was aware of voices downstairs, knowing people were waiting for permission to come and see Xander and prove to themselves he was back with them, but he tuned them out and listened to Xander’s body, pulling aside the covers and lowering his head until it eventually rested on the exposed stomach.  A touch to the back of his head told him the sedation Xander had been given for the journey was wearing off.

“Hello, love.”

“Hey.”  Spike turned his head, nuzzling, exploring Xander’s navel with his tongue until the human shuddered.  “Essential medical procedure?”  Spike could hear the grin in Xander’s voice and it thrilled him.

“Essential,” he replied in kind.  “How you feeling?”

“I ache.”

“Where?”

“Every.”

“Remember how it was in the hospital?  Worse now or about the same?”

“Same.”

“Good.  I don’t mean good that you’re hurting, but…  You know what I mean.”

“I know.”

“Half-an-hour and you can have some more painkillers.”

“Okay.”  Xander’s voice trembled and Spike turned quickly, stroking Xander’s face and studying him with wide-eyed concern.

“What’s wrong, love?”  Xander tried to turn his face away; Spike gently brought it back, finger catching a tear before it got to Xander’s ear because you didn’t love someone like this and not know they hated it when tears ran into their ears.  “Talk to me, Xander.”

“Why are you here?” Xander asked shakily.

“Where else would I be?”  More tears.  “Xander…?”

“I busted us up.”  The words were barely audible, crushed by distress.  “I told you to – to…and…and…  I busted us up.”

Spike shushed and calmed, doggedly refusing to indulge his own need to bawl and be comforted.

“No, you didn’t.  I’m here.  I’m here with you and I’m staying.  Told you before, you’ll need a stake to get rid of me.  Certainly takes more than a couple of fuck offs.”

“I’m sorry, I was so mad, too tired to think straight, I wanted that time with you so much.”

“I know.  I wanted it too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven, forgotten, and that’s the end of it.”

“But…”

“No but.  Any more and I’ll start thinking you like feeling bad.  Not a masochist are you?”  Shake.  “Then forget it.  You’ve got the entire family queuing up for an audience so you better start being a happy, reassuring bit of fluff or you’ll have all of them fussing instead of just me.”

“Do you still love me?”

“I do, I love you.  I love you, Xander.”

“Kiss me?”

They were just about the best two words Spike had heard in months.  He shuffled a little further up the bed, leant over Xander, lips almost touching.  Paused.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  I’m thinking about it,” Spike teased.

“You bastard, that’s my line.”

“Oh, right,” Spike agreed, closing the gap and softly kissing.

“More.”

Spike obliged, kissing more passionately, letting Xander’s tongue lure his into the hot mouth, groaning with pleasure as his memories of this wonderful act were reinforced.

Xander had what he wanted.  It was such a relief to have the taste back, the flavour of Spike that Christien unknowingly stole with that harmless and hated kiss.  His lips chased Spike’s as they withdrew.

“Family, then we can snog all night, right?”

“Right,” Xander grudgingly agreed, closing his eyes as he sank back into the pillow.

“I have to tell you something first.”  Xander’s eyes flickered open again and he turned a worried look on Spike.  “It wasn’t one week; you’ve been out cold for five, and everyone’s pretty traumatised.  So you be kind to them, or else.”

“Five weeks?”  Spike nodded.  “I’ve been asleep for five weeks?”

“So, like I said…”

“How badly hurt was I?”

“Very,” Spike admitted, knowing Xander would only pester or fret if he brushed him off.  “If you didn’t have a taste for my blood you’d be pushing up the daisies.”

“But…  So…  What…  Then…  If…”

“Yep, that about sums it up, shall I get…”

“Why can’t I remember?  If it was that bad why can’t I remember?”

"You can’t remember because it was that bad, love.”  Seeing Xander’s alarm, Spike went back to stroking and petting.  “It doesn’t matter, not now.”

“It does matter.  I can’t believe…  Why aren’t you angry?”

Spike’s best placating smile was contradicted by the flash of gold in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m angry, don’t you doubt that.  But you taught me about priorities and at this moment in time getting you better is what counts.”  Xander fell silent as Spike’s repetitive, calming touches pushed him in the direction of sleep once again.  “Just stay awake long enough to say hello.”

“Mmm.”

…

Late afternoon, calls having been made to Sunnydale and LA, Spike wandered aimlessly through the ground floor of the house, feeling the difference in the atmosphere simply because Xander was home.  The heart.  He glanced into the conservatory and saw Moira there, arms clutched around herself, swaying gently; Spike hit the control for the shutters and the conservatory darkened.

“You must miss the sun,” Moira said as he approached her, and for a moment he was quite shocked by her intuition, but he reminded himself that Patrick would have relayed the information about his ‘allergy’.

“Yeah, I do.  But I’m used to missing it.”  Without waiting for an invitation, Moira slid her arms round his waist, shaking as she clung to him.  Spike could feel the pounding of her heart reverberating through his entire body and held her back, not questioning her actions but feeling a little awed that she turned to this monster for comfort without a second thought.  “He’s all right.  Now he’s awake, now he’s home, he’ll get better really fast, you wait and see.”

“Thank you, Spike,” she whispered.

“What for?”

“You saved his life.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Spike protested, a little too quickly.

“Then thank you for what you didn’t do.”

“Just held his hand and sang him a few songs.”

“He told me.  Not a half-hour ago.  ‘Thank Spike,’ he said.  ‘Thank Spike because he saved my life.’  But maybe he didn’t mean now.  Maybe he meant when you turned up last year.”

“Sounds like he’s starting to ramble.  I think it’s about time I threw you all out and let him get some rest.”

“You’re absolutely right.”  Moira relinquished her hold.  “Is it okay if I come back tomorrow?”

“Let me check what Xander wants.  If he’s happier sleeping for twenty-three hours a day we have to leave him to do that.”  Moira agreed with a quick nod, trying not to look devastated at the prospect of being kept away.  “But I reckon I can persuade him to set some visiting hours.”  Moira brightened.  “He’s not going to cut you out.”

“I know, I just…  I know he's not going to turn us away.  But I need to be with him.  He’s hurt and I need reassurance.”

“Consider yourself reassured.  Xander’s going to get all better.  I’ll make sure of that.”

Moira looked deep into Spike’s eyes, so deep that it burned and he loved it and hated it, and he wanted to understand this family, this connection, so badly he ached.  A slow smile formed on Moira lips.

“Yes.  Yes, you will make sure.”

Spike felt a cascade of pride and trust and kinship.  Worth.  He returned the smile and casually wondered which of them had been doing the reassuring.

Repossession 53       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

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