31 OCTOBER 1976- LONDON, ENGLAND-

The anguished image was only before him for a fraction of a second. It had just begun to be part of his conscious mind when it left, amid the displaced air thrown about by some unseen force that seemed to hang heavily over his Grandmother’s room.

And, even though it had barely formed in his awareness, Rupert knew that the image he had fleetingly seen as he rushed to his Grandmother’s side when the monitors began to wale was the image that would define the very idea of grief, for him, for the rest of his days.
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Rupert Giles looked at the face across from him, “You were there, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice suddenly carrying the burden of his Grandmother’s death once more.

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “When?”

Giles’s breath shuddered and he averted his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look into those eyes and say the words, “When Rachel…” he whispered, distracted, unable to even say the word without faltering, “…When she…”

“Died?” Spike finished, his tone cold and flat, “Yes, I was there. It changed me,” Spike seemed to be strangely apathetic about the words he was using and the power they could wield, “more than you know. I killed my second Slayer not five months later. And,” he ground out, his jaw tightening, “tell me, when did my sister lose your respect!”

The vehemence of his words shocked Giles, and his head shot up. The fire he saw in Spike’s eyes made him instantly examine his words with more care, “Of course,” he whispered quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment climbing up the whole of his flesh, he was soundly chided, “I meant no disrespect,” Giles felt oddly comforted by the harshness of his tone, “I know what you meant to Grandmother. It is only reasonable to assume that she meant as much to you,” he released the breath he was unconsciously withholding when he saw the fire in Spike’s eyes was overcome by a gentle, shining, mist, “I am sorry.”

Giles watched with fascinated awe, and not a bit of horror, as Spike’s shaking, pale hand tried to wave the hurt aside, “No,” Spike said, his voice rough with emotion, “I know. It’s just that…now everything…even the thought of…It all seems so much more real than it did then. You know?” he asked, looking up at the Watcher with mournful, wet, eyes.

“I do.” Giles nodded, commiserating, “It was her love for you…The stories she told of you, that made me turn for solace where I shouldn’t have…”

“The magics?” Spike questioned.

“Yes,” Giles said, shamed.
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Dawn watched as Willow slowly climbed back to awareness. It was amazing that she could look so serene. This was the person who nearly ended the world, and here she was looking like a fresh-faced maid.


Dawn smiled. Life is definitely strange. Here I am, living in a house with some of the most powerful people on earth and the one that * looks* scary is the one who’s saved my life more times than I can count. And, the one that looks sweeter than pie is the one I wouldn’t want to run across in a dark alley!

Willow let out a calming breath, and slowly opened her eyes. She saw Dawn smiling at her as she sat on her bed with her, and she smiled back, “Happy thoughts?” Willow asked.

Dawn shook her head, “Nope, sorry. Just weird ones.”

Willow frowned, but her body bounced slightly on the bed in her eagerness to once again be helpful, “Can I help?”

Dawn bit her lip, and looked down at the bedspread, trying to lose herself in its white fluffiness. But, the harder she tried, the more she came back to the darkness that was hiding in front of her, “Um, yeah,” she looked up at Willow, “actually, you could. Do you know…”

When Dawn didn’t finish, Willow prompted gently, “Know what?”

“Why you needed the magic?” Dawn could see that that wasn’t the question Willow was expecting, but she had to know; she had to understand, “I mean, bad things happen all the time. And, when they do, most people don’t think, ‘I’ll do a spell and blow up the world.’ Most people just have a good cry and gorge themselves on cake and ice cream. Why did you automatically go there?”

“I didn’t…”

“Maybe not at first, but…I mean,” she continued, shaking her head as memories of that horrible time came back to her, “I do understand it. I was going to use magic…to bring Mom back. Spike even helped me. But, I realized that having Mom back was just…wrong. I don’t think Buffy would have been able to save me,” suddenly she felt a lump in her throat, “if Mom had been around. She wouldn’t have been the same person, the person that did that, if Mom was alive. And,” Dawn whispered, looking down at the bedcovers, “if I hadn’t wanted to do that spell, Glory might never have found me. Spike tried to tell me it was wrong. But, I was hurting, and he wanted to help,” she looked back up at Willow, and said, with a shaking voice because she suddenly understood some of the crushing guilt that Spike felt that summer. Rightly or wrongly, he felt responsible for losing Buffy because he was part of the reason her true nature was found, therefore, in his mind, he was the reason Buffy was gone, “There are reasons that things happen, Willow. If you try to change that, bad things can happen. Why did you do it, Willow?”

Willow’s brow creased, and she took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, “Boy…you think big thoughts, don’t you?” she asked, smiling self-consciously.

Dawn nodded, her eyes never leaving Willow’s.

“Well…” Willow began.
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Giles took a deep breath, and lowered his head, unable to see the truth of his Grandmother’s stories in Spike’s eyes, “I grew up, as did my Father, on tales of Uncle William’s…of your gentleness. Even though she was only six years old when her brother,” Giles looked up and was taken aback by the calm that seemed to have overcome Spike’s face. It was almost as if the mere mention of her had called her face to his mind. His Grandmother was obviously someone that he still had tender feelings for; whether that was due to the return of his soul or not, of that, he couldn’t be certain. He lowered his head again, and went on, “…when you…died, she still remembered you. She may not have understood exactly how you had changed, but she never spoke of you in anything but kindness. So, as I grew to understand what the word, ‘vampire’ meant, and that the gentleness she spoke of had been snuffed out…taken from my family by such a…creature…I was outraged.”

Giles stopped speaking as he tried to call up the words he needed to use in order to explain what had caused him to rebel in such a dangerous manner. His eyes drifted up to Spike’s, and he was surprised to find within their depths, the gentle encouragement he needed, “Grandmother Rachel tried to tell me…” he took another deep breath.

And, in the brief silence, Spike was transported through time…

27 APRIL 1883-LONDON, ENGLAND-

Rachel woke to a gentle tapping at the window. He was here again. She tried to tell Mother and Father about the ghost, but they did not believe that he was real.

Sometimes he came to her window, and would watch her through the glass. She felt safe when William was near. But now, he seemed upset.

She climbed out of bed and went to the window, “William,” she whispered, “is that you?”

“Yes,” the ghost whispered to her through the pane of glass, “Rachel, it is me.”

“Let me open the window,” she begged, her hands twitching at the edge of the sash, “You must be so cold…”

“No!” he hissed, the vehemence startled her, and she stepped back slightly in shock and hurt, “Never let me in, Sweetheart. I don’t belong with you anymore,” he looked to his side, nervously, “Listen to me. I am sure Mother and Father wouldn’t do so, but I want to tell you…in the next few nights…do not let anyone into the house whom you do not know, especially after dusk. If someone you don’t know comes calling…you hide. Don’t let him find you! You hide, until the sun is up in the morning,” his eyes seemed sad and lost, “Understand?” he asked, putting his hand against the pane that was between them.

“Yes,” she sniffed, pressing her hand against the glass, her hand mirroring his, she longed to touch his hand, “You look so cold,” she whimpered, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, Rachel, so much…” he whispered.

“…that there was more nuance to being human, and being…not human than just good and evil- black or white. But, I didn’t want to believe what she was saying. If a vampire could take someone as gentle as Grandmother’s dearest brother away from her, then they were all evil. The man she spoke of was good, and kind. He protected her…from evil things- from Angelus,” he again looked up at Spike, because now he had no words for what he was feeling.

“In all fairness…” Spike spoke quietly, “most vampires are more like Angelus and Darla than they are like Dru and me. But, I always had a hand on Dru and kept her from veering too far down the dark path. If I hadn’t been there…” he shook his head, sadly, “Angelus was so…and now…I don’t know,” his eyes shone, and the intensity was jarring, “So, your feeling, more often than not, is correct. Vampires are evil. So, a stake is the Slayer’s, and humanity’s, best friend.”

“I want to believe that,” Giles’s shoulders heaved, “I did,” he looked, imploring, into the face of an unlikely vampire, into the face that had been, and was, his Uncle’s, “But then, you came to Sunnydale. You kept me alive…when Angelus would have…he would have…”

“I know,” Spike muttered, “I couldn’t let him.”

“You see,” Giles’s voice was tired and rough, he sounded beaten by life, “You changed the rules. How do I deal with that?”

“Just as you always have, Rupert,” Spike said, gently.

“But how can I? You…there could be more like you.”

Spike gasped, “Dear God,” he chuckled, “I hope not. There’s only one me,” he shrugged one shoulder, “All right,” he smirked, “there is that boy that calls himself a singer,” he teased, “but, who do you think taught him his moves? He’s a pale imitation, but you gotta love a bloke who can still make the leather look that good…and at his age?” he laughed, “You know…in my more evil days, when he, and his mates were in town, I never went hungry. I would go to one of his concerts…and, well…” his eyes glinted with mischief, “You can figure the rest. But, that’s not the point. The point is, you and the Slayer need to keep doing your jobs.”

“I can’t,” Giles sighed.

“You have to,” Spike said, “I’m counting on you.”