Chapter 1

*****

I love you. The three words that had wrecked his life. Repeatedly. He considered picking up a dictionary to see if the meaning of the phrase had changed while he was gone. Sighing and shaking his head, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up, inhaling deeply. The thick smoke had very little calming effect; less than he had hoped for. 

He knew that she hadn't meant it. He knew that she knew she hadn't meant it. But he had hoped for more of a welcome than he had received. Swearing, he swerved around a piece of debris littering the highway. He'd been dead, dusted, gone. And he had been okay with that. Dying for the woman you love, saving the world, that whole bit. Granted, he didn't expect shining lights and the standard-issue wings and harp, but he did figure someone upstairs owed him something for the world-saving. 

What he got instead...he still wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. Not coming back as a human...well, he had never particularly missed being William, the little poofy poet...so no big loss there. But bringing him back as a vampire? The Powers apparently came up short when it got down to the creative genes. He could have come back as some really terrifying demon, or they could have given him some really cool powers...but instead he was back to the sunless blood-drinking. And to add insult to injury, when they did bring him back, they just dumped him in Utah. Utah! Sunshine and Mormons. His own personal hell. Not to mention the lack of good liquor. Which he seriously needed by that time. 

Taking another drag on his cigarette, he peered through the freshly blacked-out windows of his semi-new vehicle. Seeing that the sun was down, he rolled down his window so he could enjoy the cool night breeze.

Somehow he had managed to scrape together some clothing--bloody wankers brought him back naked--fags, a bit of cash, and a beat up old Camaro. He had slowly made his way to Sunnydale, and found it pretty much the way he'd left it. A sodding crater. He smiled at the memory, though. What a way to go... 

Taking another drag, he turned onto his exit. Cleveland. A world full of slayers, and does she leave the slaying to them? Of course not. Wouldn't be her style. So, when he had found out where his Slayer had gotten to, he stocked up on drinks and smokes and made his way to Cleveland. 

She wasn't too hard to find, being the Slayer and all. The Watcher and the scoobies had made the move with her, and had set up another magic shop. The only one that had been really happy to see him, though, had been the nibblet. And even then... He used what was left of his cigarette to light another. 

The worst part of it all was that he could understand exactly why they acted the way they had towards him-- "Nice to see you, Spike, great job saving the world and all...  Why are you still here?" It was like there was nothing left, chapter closed, end of story. And the Slayer... Angrily he slammed his hand down on the wheel. Sure, when she needs you to save the world, it's all "Oh, Spike, I'm just not ready for you not to be here." And now it's just, "Spike, you're welcome to stay, but there's not really a place for you here anymore, is there?" Bitch. 

He stomped on the gas but then, remembering where he was headed, he immediately slowed down again. Away from the Slayer was good, but he wasn't sure that where he was headed would be much better. He couldn't have stayed with the Slayer after she had said what she did, though. Despite how close they had become again... He just couldn't take being jerked around like that anymore. Sure, she was still his weakness and they both knew it, but he'd be damned if he'd just stand around and wait for her to destroy him again. 

The scoobies had given him money, clothes and had even offered to help him find and purchase a better car. They had even... Spike sniffed, then rubbed at his eyes, telling himself that it was just a bit of dust. They had even found him another duster, to replace the one he had taken with him when he died. It wasn't half as comfortable as his old one; it was still very new, not worn and broken in from years of use. Oh, well, give it fifty years or so. He hadn't wanted the scoobies' help, but somehow he couldn't refuse. Partly because he needed all that they could afford to give him, seeing as money would be a bit hard to come by, as he couldn't bring himself to mug people anymore. Damned soul. 

Which brought him back to where he was currently headed. He'd never thought, in his entire unlife, that he would be here. He needed a place, a job, a...purpose. He'd never really had one of those before. Sure, he'd had something close to it. Taking care of Dru, seeing the world, wreaking havoc, having a fucking good time. Then things shifted, and his life had revolved around the Slayer. He was still trying to figure out all of that mess... But none of that was a purpose. If there was one thing his soul had been insistent on, it was that. 

He wasn't qualified for much except writing horrifically bad poetry and demon-killing. At a stretch, you could include drinking and making snide comments. Not much purpose in any of that. And to top it all off, he needed a way to make a living. He'd die a third time before resorting to flipping burgers, and the thought of taking orders from anyone made him sick to his stomach, even if he would be doing it for the money. Which brought him back here. Again. He was almost there. 

Unlike his trip to Cleveland, he had no preconceived ideas about what this reception would be like. But he was ready for anything. And as much as it pained him to acknowledge it, he was desperately hoping that they would take him in. If they didn't... That was not a scenario he was looking forward to. 

He was there. This was it. He pulled into the drive and parked his car, and just sat there for a moment, staring up at the hotel. He looked down at himself to make sure he wasn't dressed too poorly, and sniffed a few times to make sure he didn't smell too offensive. He hadn't stopped much on the drive, leaving him few opportunities to shower. His clothes were a bit on the threadbare side, and he most definitely could have smelled better, but he'd do for now. He swung the door open, tossed his spent cigarette on the ground and ground it out as he climbed out of the car. 

"Spike." 

Spike jumped at the sudden sound of his name, overbalancing and falling all over himself and the still-open car door. Growling, he straightened back up and slammed the door shut, spinning around to face... Angel. The poof had the audacity to smirk at him. 

"Yeah, get your kicks while you can, mate," Spike grumbled. Wanker. Spike wondered how long the great poof had been waiting. It was pathetic, really. He's supposed to be helping the hopeless and all that, and instead he's lurking around just to play scare the Spike. 

The smirk wore off and Angel went back to his habitual brood-face. "Buffy called." 

Bleeding hell. So Angel already knew why he'd come. Was he going to make Spike beg? Was Spike so desperate that he would beg? He tried not to think of the answer. "And?" 

Angel was a bit thrown by Spike's one word reply. Sure, he'd help Spike, but he wanted to hear Spike ask for it. Spike was supposed to be desperate, plead with him for a place to stay, a job, be in dire need of Angel's help...okay, so maybe he wasn't being very realistic. But damn it, he wanted some begging. Maybe even some groveling thrown in for good measure. "Said you needed a job, place to stay." 

Spike ground his teeth. Angel was going to make him ask for it. Bastard. But Spike knew how to play the game. It was the same game that they had played for well over a century. "You going to help me or not?" 

Angel frowned, having already lost the first round of what was sure to be a long and continuing series of mind games. "Grab your stuff, and I'll take you to your room." He walked past Spike, through the front doors of the hotel, never looking back, coat swooshing behind him. 

Spike shook his head. Always with the big entrances and exits, you big poofter. He turned to get his stuff out of the car, then remembered that all his possessions in the world were squirreled away in the pockets of his duster. Shrugging, he followed Angel inside. 

*****

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