The sad, small, crumpled figure that was before him now screamed exhaustion with every shuttering breath he drew. And, even though he was slumped in his chair, his hand covering his eyes, and Spike might never admit it to him, Giles knew that there had been tears during the course of the evening, on both their parts. The revelations were shattering to him, and he hadn’t been there. Spike had seen all of this first hand, and speaking of what he’d seen, seemed to be slowly torturing him.

Giles knew that he could no longer be a party to the pain he’d been through. He let out a heaving sigh as he stood up and walked to the front of the desk. He reached down and put his hand on Spike’s shoulder, and felt his body tense involuntarily as he drew back a little, flinching at his touch.

Rupert Giles again found himself biting back the rage he felt, at the man he’d called his friend. He closed his eyes and waited for him to relax, his hand never leaving his shoulder, before saying, in a hushed, thick tone, “It’s nearly dawn and you need to rest-perhaps eat something…”

Spike bowed his head, and in a tight, aching voice that was moistened by sadness and regret as well as anger, came the weary reply, “You know I can’t!”

A chill ran down Rupert’s spine at the sight of Spike’s whole body shaking with emotion. Even though he was trying to hide it, his body could not contain the violent flow of feelings that was coursing through him; feelings he was sure had been repressed for so long, but were now rushing to the surface because of recent trauma- because of the soul. He’d been right; and so had Buffy, “So…” he felt his throat tighten in anger and fear, “Buffy was correct, as was I. You want to die,” at once he realized the foolishness of his statement, and clarified, “You wish…not to exist,” he nodded, resigned, “Still, after all you’ve told me…after all this time…you want to die?”

The same anguished expression Rupert saw the night his Grandmother died surfaced once more in Spike’s eyes as they looked at him, “No,” he whispered, “I don’t. In point of fact,” his eyes lowered in shame, “I’m afraid…to die. What I do want and what I know, now, I’ll never have because I…took that away…” he wept softly at the agony of the millstone he’d placed, willingly, around his own neck, “is peace. I took it away. And now, all there is…is the pain. I want peace…” he raised his eyes, pleading, “and I know I’ll never have that…” his voice hitched, and he sobbed hopelessly, his hand covering his eyes to shield and protect himself from scrutiny, “…again.”
****************************************

The sobbing she heard as she came down the stairs only made Dawn more certain that she had to do this. She couldn’t bear to hear Spike cry, and she hadn’t heard him cry since the night Willow resurrected Buffy.

The sound of it made her want to cry, herself. She was about to come into the room, to try and comfort him, when she remembered something; and, turning around, she headed back up the stairs.

She knew what both Spike and Buffy needed, and she knew just where to find it. And, since they were both so stubborn, she would have to be the one to show them how much they really did love one another. She only wished she’d told Buffy what she knew before everything went completely crazy. If she had, then maybe none of this would have to have happened.

She went back into Willow’s room, and headed straight for the closet, where her suitcase was, and opened the small zippered pocket in the front. Opening it, she found the jet-black opal ring right where she had left it. She took it from its hiding place, “Bingo,” she whispered triumphantly, again leaving the room to prod her stubborn Slayer-of-a-sister along.
**********************************************

JUNE 12, 2001- SUNNYDALE-

Dawn took the key from around her neck and put it into the lock. As she opened the post office box, she smiled. Dawn had to wonder if anyone really knew who “Ian W. Mills” was. Although she supposed taking out a post office box under the name, “William the Bloody” might draw unwanted attention.

Looking inside the box she found a small package with the return address of the “Gem Emporium” on Main Street. * Why didn’t he just walk in and pick this up? It’s right down the street from his…Oh my God…I can’t believe I forgot about Buffy! It hasn’t been three weeks and I’ve already forgotten. *

The thought that he was probably sitting in the dark, while she was out here in the light of day, brought a tear to her eye. She wiped it away, took the small box; closed the mailbox, and headed for his crypt.
***********************************************************

“It’s really pretty, Spike,” she said as she admired the way the stone glinted in the candlelight, “I think…she’d like it.”

His eyes lowered and his voice wavered slightly, “It’s not meant to be liked, Bit,” he said as he slipped the ring, with a lock of her hair inside of it, onto his finger, “It’s for me, to remember her. I thought this was what I wanted,” he shook his head, “But it’s not,” his voice became gruff, and Dawn knew he was in tears as he stared at the ring on his finger, “I never wanted this. You believe me…” his eyes shone as he looked at her, and her throat tightened at the lost look in them, “Don’t you, Bit?”

“I do,” she nodded, trying to hold back her own tears, “I believe you, Spike.”
*********************************************************

He could remember crying himself to sleep at night as a boy. The more stories his Grandmother Rachel told about Uncle William and how gentle he was, the more he wished he could have known him and spent time with him.

And now the opportunity to know him was here. Giles knew that a great deal of the vampire sitting across from him was indeed his uncle, and had been, even before winning his soul. Giles could listen to his Uncle, could learn from him.

He sighed with contentment. He felt as if he was in Heaven.

Suddenly the weight of what Spike had said hit home. Could it be possible? There are so many aspects of this that haven’t been explored.

“All of us long for peace, Spike,” Giles spoke softly, not wishing to try the vampire’s jangled nerves any longer, “That is what you want to be called…isn’t it?”

Spike’s shoulders heaved, “Yes,” he said, the weariness straining his voice, “That’s what I’ve been called. It’s what I will be called. It’s my name…” Giles was comforted to see narrowed, suspicious eyes looking at him; so much so, that he got up from his seat and stood in front of him and placed his hand on his shoulder, in a gesture of budding friendship, “Isn’t it?”

Giles nodded, “Yes it is. It is. I know you are strong. And you are a very powerful fighter, as well as intelligent. You’ve allowed…” he stopped, as emotions began to overwhelm him, “my family,” his voice lowered in deference to the things that had been revealed tonight, and all he had yet to know, “to survive longer than I thought was possible. Would you deny me the pleasure of knowing that my Uncle William is living still…in you?”

“No, of course not!” Spike hissed.

“This is perhaps the greatest foe you’ve yet to face, Spike,” Giles’s voice rose steadily; steeling with determination that spoke of authority, “You cannot fight if you do not take proper care of yourself. You have to feed, Spike. Or, you will not win over this enemy.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and Giles rose to answer it; Spike’s voice followed him, though he did not turn his head to see his path, “Just what enemy is this, Rupert?”

“Yourself, of course,” he said easily.

“There’s more to this than food, Rupert,” Spike sighed.

“Maybe we can help with that,” Dawn’s voice grinned, “Can we come in? We have a surprise for you, Spike,” she grinned at his wide eyes looking at her.

Spike slowly stood, trying to be strong, though his shoulders were still hunched, “What is that, Bit?” he asked, though his eyes never left Buffy’s.

“You ready, Buffy?” Dawn whispered, smirking at her sister, and then looking back at Spike when she nodded, “On three. One…two…three…” simultaneously both girls’ left hands shot out from behind their backs. Each hand was adorned with a ring. One was shaped like a skull and the other was made of black opal.

Spike recognized the rings very well. The sentiment nearly moved him to tears. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and cursed his unexpected lack of language as he stared at them.

“…Well?” Dawn’s voice rang in his head.

“Will you have us, Spike?” Buffy’s now.

“We just thought you’d want to know that you’re more than a soul to us…” Dawn’s again, and now Buffy’s, saying the words he never thought he’d hear, especially after Angelus, “…And to me.”

There was no use fighting it anymore. They were his girls. His.

He ran to them, and held them tightly in his arms, “Of course I’ll have you,” he murmured into their hair, his voice weakened by starvation and torment, as well as tears, “You silly bints!”