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The next day started off very much like the ones that had gone before it.

Spike woke up shortly after Buffy did that morning, feeling a bit disoriented, and with a vague sense of wrongness – as if he should not really be waking up at this time, but rather going to sleep. He had felt the same way the morning before – but now, he understood why.

After drinking from his sire the night before, Spike had sat on the bed, allowing the older vampire to hold him close in a protective, parental embrace, as Angel had explained to him all the things that he had wondered about since coming to live here, but had not had the first idea how to express. Vague feelings and sensations and impulses that had disturbed and confused him, now made perfect sense, in the light of the things Angel had told him about his true nature and history.

When he had finished explaining, and both vampires were reasonably sure that Spike understood most of what Angel had told him, the older vampire had pulled away from him to meet his eyes, a solemn warning in his dark gaze.

“It’s not going to be easy – it goes against your nature, Spike – but you must *never* harm a human being. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Spike had nodded dutifully, surprised that Angel felt the need to tell him that – and surprised that he would say that to hurt people was a part of his nature. Since he had recovered enough to be aware of his own feelings, his own desires, he had felt no desire to harm anyone – only to keep them from harming *him*, and those he cared about.

"Except Xander," Angel suddenly added, as he took his childe back into his embrace. "If you get the chance -- it's completely okay to hurt him. Any way you like."

Spike had felt a strange sort of tingling sensation inside him at the deadly quality in his sire's voice, the vicious sort of amusement in the smile he could hear forming on Angel's lips -- as if the violence of the words somehow called out to him, and something deep within him answered its approval.

And that in itself was startling to Spike.

Buffy.

Dawn.

Spike could not imagine ever wanting to hurt them, or any of the other humans that seemed to frequent their home, for that matter. Angel had told him about what it meant to be a vampire, but he drank his blood from bags that Buffy brought home, not from people. That was all he remembered -- and that was okay.

Now that he knew the taste of his sire's blood, Spike earnestly hoped that he would be granted the privilege of tasting it again -- but the thought of biting a human, drinking their life's blood down, was not really all that appealing to him -- not when almost all of the humans he knew had been so very kind to him.

But at the thought of Xander hurting the ones he loved, Spike had felt a sudden sensation of protective anger rising up in him…and he thought that just maybe, he understood what his sire was trying to tell him. In that moment, he had wanted to tear the boy apart – to utterly destroy him, leaving him incapable of ever touching Buffy or Dawn – or *him* -- again.

A sudden panic had seized him, when he realized the direction his thoughts were taking – and how the boy would react if he knew. Spike wasn’t quite sure how he knew, but he *did* know that he could not fight Xander himself – not and win, anyway. The very thought of how brutally the boy would punish him if he ever dared to attempt it was almost enough to drive the thoughts of defending his little family from his head.

Almost.

Xander was bigger than him – stronger than him – and Xander carried a gun, as well as other terrifying weapons, on him almost all the time, as far as he could tell. The last thing he wanted was to attempt to fight him.

But he would – if he had to.

If Xander tried to hurt Buffy or Dawn.

He didn’t *want* to have to – the very thought of actually raising his hand to his former captor, the young man who still held such power over him, was terrifying, and he hoped that he would never be faced with the choice of standing up to Xander, or watching him hurt those he loved.

But if he ever *was* faced with that choice – he knew beyond all doubt what his decision would be.

That realization had startled him more than anything else he had learned that night – and he had learned an awful lot from Angel. He could not quite have put it into words, but every new fact, every thought, seemed to have taken on a new clarity of meaning and understanding, with the powerful sire’s blood that was still coursing through his veins.

His perception seemed somehow sharper, clearer; he found that it was less difficult for him to focus, to grasp the explanations that his sire offered him for the countless questions that seemed to suddenly flood his mind.

How long had he been a vampire?

Where had he been before what had happened to him?

What exactly *had* happened to him?

Angel had done his best to explain all that he could to him – and when he found himself running into questions that he had no answers for, he had told Spike to ask Buffy. Hours later, the younger vampire had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the intense encounter with his sire, and all the new ideas and knowledge that filled his mind.

As sleep surrounded him, pulling him down into dreams, a part of his mind protested anxiously -- certain that in the morning, he would have forgotten all that he had learned, all the questions he still had for Buffy; or worse, that he would awaken to find that it had all just been a strange and lovely dream -- but he was simply too tired to resist the call of slumber any longer.

And in the morning -- he *did* remember.

*****************************

Buffy had not been able to help feeling a bit jealous, when Angel had come back downstairs that night and told her that Spike was sleeping, and that he expected that the younger vampire would be feeling quite a bit stronger in the morning. She had nodded her acceptance without meeting his eyes – her gaze locked on the just barely healing puncture marks on Angel’s left wrist.

She had tried to shake her dark mood, as she had made her way up the stairs and went about getting ready to go to sleep, glancing occasionally at Spike, who appeared to be sleeping more peacefully than he had since she had found him.

*What’s so special about Angel?* she thought, her lower lip jutting out in a pout as she ran a brush ruthlessly through her hair before going over to the bed. *I’m the one who found him! I’m the one who’s been taking care of him! I’m the one…*

But as she had climbed cautiously into the bed, even in her jealous irritation, careful not to disturb Spike – her anger had melted away when she had felt his cool body shift back against hers in his sleep, as he instinctively sought the warmth and comfort of his connection with her.

A soft smile rose to her lips, as she raised a hand from behind him to touch his forehead briefly before running back through his hair. Her lips fell without conscious thought on the back of his head in a brief but tender kiss, as she snuggled in closer to him, wrapping her arm around him and settling in to sleep beside him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“I think,” she whispered into his ear – well aware that she would not be daring to say the words if she thought for a moment that he was actually hearing them – “I think I love you, Spike…”

Much to her relief – and a bit of disappointment – there was no response, no movement or sound from the deeply sleeping vampire. Satisfied for the moment in his nearness, and the reassurance that he did still need her, still crave closeness to her – Buffy nestled in close behind him, her body molded comfortably to his, as she fell into a peaceful and much needed sleep.

The next morning, she had left Spike to sleep, knowing that he needed his rest, as she had made her way downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself and Dawn.

She highly doubted that Spike would be very hungry just yet – after the very substantial meal he had had before going to bed.

She turned away from the stove to set the plate of pancakes on the counter – and jumped, when she found herself face to face with a quietly expectant, calm pair of wide, shining blue eyes, focused intently on hers.

She laughed softly with relief, as she set the plate down and smiled at him in welcome. “You scared me, Sweetie,” she informed him, moving forward to put her hands gently on his arms, smiling into his eyes. “Did you sleep well? Are you sure you got enough rest?”

Both of her questions were answered with silent nods, as his intent gaze never faltered. Buffy frowned slightly, puzzled by something that seemed somehow different about him this morning. She could not quite place it, but although he had yet to say a word to her, Spike seemed somehow – stronger…less fearful…more…*alive*.

“Buffy,” he said quietly, glancing away for just a moment before focusing on her eyes again. “May I – ask you a question?”

“Of course,” she assured him, nodding as she released one of his arms and guided him by the other to sit down at the counter. “What is it?”

“Well – really – more than one question. Lots of questions,” Spike admitted with a slightly apologetic little smile, his head tucked shyly for just a moment, before he met her eyes again, his smile fading to a solemn, earnest expression. “I need – I need to know some things.”

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly as she suddenly realized how very clearly he was putting his words together – and how much less like Giles, and more like *Spike* his British accent sounded this morning.

Over the past couple of days, Spike had been learning at an incredible rate of speed, and he had told her that a lot of words and concepts were simply coming back to him, without being taught. He had yet to remember specific incidents or events from his past, but basic knowledge did seem to be returning to him, to the point that his communication, while a bit uncertain and awkward, was definitely sufficient.

But now, he sounded almost as he had before his injury – without the casual slang and British curse words that had so peppered his language before, of course.

Was it possible that Angel’s blood -- *sire’s* blood – had helped bring some of Spike’s old self back to him?

“Whatever you want to know, Spike,” she assured him without asking the questions that filled her own mind. “Go ahead and ask me anything.”

He was silent, as she walked to the refrigerator and poured a mug of blood – but the words he spoke as she was placing the mug in the microwave froze her hand, before she could begin to push the memorized sequence of numbers that would bring the blood to the proper temperature.

“What was I to you? Before – I was hurt?”

A moment’s silence hung in the air between them, Spike waiting in anxious silence for her answer – Buffy not daring to turn around and face him, suddenly panicked at the thought of meeting those too-honest, too-perceptive eyes.

Stalling for time, she cleared her throat and then asked in a slightly tremulous voice, “What – what do you mean, Spike?”

As she spoke, she forced her shaking fingers to press the buttons on the microwave, and then leaned her hands on the counter in front of it, desperately trying to steady herself. She found herself wondering how much Angel had known to tell Spike, if he had thought to hold anything that he knew back from him – and just how much Spike might have remembered on his own.

“Angel – my sire – he told me – that I’m a vampire,” Spike began slowly, his words clear and certain, but still coming out with a cautious precision that was the only clear give-away as to how new those words really were to him. “He told me – what that means. What – he is to me. He – he made me what I am. He – he’s *family* to me.”

Spike was silent for a moment, and Buffy brought the warmed mug of blood, setting it down in front of him and taking a seat across the counter from him, though still not quite daring to meet his gaze as she waited for him to go on, her heart pounding in her chest, making it difficult to draw breath.

“I – I think I knew that already – before he told me. In a way,” Spike continued, and she could feel his piercing gaze boring into her, silently imploring her to look at him – but she just as silently refused. “I could *feel* it – knew that somehow he – he *belonged* to me – or – or I belonged to him – or…”

Spike’s voice trailed off uncertainly, and out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw him shaking his head, at a loss for the first time this morning.

And in spite of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach brought on by his questions – she felt incredibly proud of him.

His next words drew her attention back in, to the source of her anxious, fearful sick sensation.

“I – I feel it with you, too.”

Spike was silent for a moment, before going on, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I – I’m not sure what to call it. But – I feel it. With Dawn, too – but mostly with you. And – and I don’t know why. I asked Angel if – if you were family, too. He said yes…”

Spike paused for a moment, and Buffy finally did look up at him, startled by the words. A slightly rueful little smile on his lips, gratitude filling his eyes that she had finally looked up at him, Spike continued softly, and with an uncannily knowing tone that he should not have been able to have yet.

“…but he took a long time to say it. I – I’m not sure I believed him.”

The guileless question in his painfully expressive eyes would not allow her to look away again, as he repeated his initial question, with an earnest desperation in his solemn, apprehensively trembling voice.

“What was I to you, Buffy? What *am* I to you, now?”