Reaching out in the darkness

***
Chapter two: Complicated comforts of home.
---

Spike woke sometime in the early afternoon with a small hand in front of his eyes. Dawn stood before him with a coffee cup and a box.

"We don't have any Wheetabix, but Giles sent you some Wheat thins."

A quick check out of the corner of his eye said all the blinds were closed and Spike sat up to take the cup. "Thanks, pet, it's just the right temp." Pushing aside the blanket he didn't remember wrapping up in, he crumbled a few crackers into his warmed pig's blood. "So, we got any plans today?" At the puzzled look in her face, Spike motioned his chin to the windows. "I can' leave until sunset, can I? So what do we wanna do?" Taking his first sip, he winced a little. Wheat thins were nowhere near as good as Wheetabix, but it still improved the taste of the blood. The bloke was certainly handy to have around.

"I've got some stuff to do in my room right now, but if you're gonna be staying here a lot, we could go get your stuff from the crypt at sunset." There was a little smile on her lips that warmed his unbeating heart. Dawn wanted him to stay. And recent actions on the part of the watcher would seem to say he wouldn't mind. It must've been Giles who had put him on the couch and covered him up, 'cause the last thing Spike remembered was seeing the opening credits of Red Dwarf from the armchair. Blood warmed to just above body temp. He loved the girl, no doubt about it, but Dawn always overheated the blood and Giles heated it perfectly. Sending him Wheat thins. The tenderness he whe watcher's voice with the words 'I'm here for you.' The way the touch of a warm hand on his shoulder made everything a little better. The way Giles had included both Spike and himself as part of Dawn's real family.

This place already felt more like a home than his crypt. Maybe Giles would even watch Passions with him.

"If it's alright with the watcher, sounds like a good plan to me, pet."

"He's the one that suggested it, so I'll be ready to go at full dark."

Spike sat there holding his cooling blood, shell-shocked as Dawn scampered up the stairs with a spring in her step.

Giles suggested that he move in. Giles wanted him, Spike, William the bloody vampire, to move in. This, this suggestion was so much more than a hand on the shoulder, comforting words, or a much needed slap in the face. This was... Spike didn't know what exactly it was but it was more than he'd ever been offered before. It was a place to belong; it was... family. And Giles, who had tried to stake him more times than either man could count, was backhandedly offering him something he hadn't found in his more than a century of unlife.

Setting his cold blood on the coffee table, Spike sat back against the couch cushions and glanced at the down to the kitchen. *Bloody hell, how do you thank someone for this. *

----

*Spike, help Giles. * Spike nodded at the sound of Willow's voice in his head, hurrying towards the scent of Giles' cologne. He should have been disturbed that he recognized the scent of it, and the scent of the skin under it without thought. He should have wondered about the reasons behind the urgency in his step. But Spike didn't, couldn't. The breathing he'd fallen asleep hearing last night wasn't in the right rhythm. Probably because the vamp standing in front of the watcher had the handle of an axe pressed across his throat. *Nobody hurts Rupert Giles, not when I'm around. * Stepping up close, Spike grabbed the vamp and met Giles’s eyes. Those eyes asked for help and he forced himself to slow down. He was not this eager to help Giles. The disturbance in Giles' breathing didn't matter that much to him, it couldn't. Spike was a big, bad vampire, The Big Bad and the sound of Giles choking meant absolutely nothing to him, really. Wrapping himself in indifference, he stepped back from the vampire and the shocked widening of Giles' eyes. Casually lighting a cigarette, Spike heard Willow again, more urgent this time. *Spike, help Giles! * Shutting off the lighter, he looked away from the eyes glaring at him over the vamp's shoulder. "I already did." Fire swept up the attacker's clothing and Giles stumbled forward as the weight pressed against him turned to dust. Spike stared down at the coughing, gasping watcher, trying to ignore the relief he felt at hearing the heartbeat and breathing returning to normal.

"It would have been nice to know your plan, Spike."

"Yeah well, what can I say. I'm unpredictable." Reaching down a hand, he unceremoniously pulled the watcher to his feet, swiftly releasing his hand.

*Giles, Spike. Anya and Xander need help, Northeast corner, by the fence.*

Leaning down, Spike lifted the axe and handed it back to its rightful owner. "Should take better care of your weapons, Giles, next time..." He heard something in his own voice and stopped. The words on the tip of his tongue 'I might not be there.' couldn't be allowed out for more reasons than Spike was willing to consider. Turning away, he looked straight ahead and walked towards the emergency that was far less complicated. The demons outside were simplhan han the ones inside.

***

*It shouldn't hurt like this, should it?* Giles rubbed his throat with one hand even though that wasn't where the real pain was located. That was divided between the spot between his eyes and a spot just inside his ribs. The sight of those blue eyes indifferently watching him try to breathe around the handle of an axe, that hurt. It hurt a lot.

No, it didn't hurt. He and Spike were only allies for Dawn's sake, there was nothing else between them. Felling the jerk on his hand, Giles hurried to stand, moving away stiffly.

"Should take better care of your weapons, Giles. Next time..."

Spike stopped suddenly and Giles stopped too. He could hear something in Spike's voice, in the silence instead of the words. He could see something in his face, a crack in the indifference Spike wore like a trench. Giles had see Spike's facades crack, but only for the people that mattered mto hto him: namely the Summers girls. *And apparently....me.*

Then, as if Spike had seen the crack himself, he turned and stalked off without another word, leaving Giles behind him with his face twisted with puzzlement. The mixture of the slow rescue and the real emotion left him completely baffled but somehow eased the aches he felt, both in hiroatroat and elsewhere. With his axe in a firm grip, Giles followed Spike's pale hair and dark clothes through the cemetery. They still had work to do.

-
Sl
Sleep was hard to come by and Giles was already awake when the early morning sunlight hit him in the face. And he was still trying not to think, rather unsuccessfully.

"Maybe a cup of tea will clear my head." And if he remembered correctly, there was a sinkful of dirty dishes waiting for him in the kitchen, conveniently close to the teapot. And the ibuprofen bottle. Pushing aside the sheets, Giles reached blindly for the glasses on the nightstand. With the world in better focus, at least visually, he found a bathrobe and moved carefully down the stairs. If he could stand the taste of them, one of those sickening sweet mochas the girls were always drinking sounded pretty good right now. Tea just did not have enough caffeine for how he felt right now. Maybe if he drank the whole pot.... ilesiles turned the corner and almost took off his glasses to clean them. The kitchen was spotless, not a dirty dish in sight. The counters were practically scrubbed. Moving woodenly to the cupboard, he took out and filled the teapot, his mind suddenly whirling even without caffeine.

If it had just been the dishes, he might think Dawn was being nice or she wanted something. But this, the amount ofk dok done in this room, was more than he'd expect from her. That concon mon made, his brain hurt with questions.

Had Spike cleaned the kitchen? It must have been him, but why? What could possibly make Spike spend hours cleaning? Dawn would never notice, and Spike knew her well enough to know it. It wasn't for the girl, though Giles knew Spike would do anything for her. He'd seen Spike's crypt, and the vamp didn't clean much for fun or for himself. That could only mean...*It must have been for me.*

Lifting his "Kiss the Librarian" mug to his lips, Giles remembered the look on Spike's face as he stopped midsentence and stalked away. He remembered the feel of a cool hand over his on Spike's shoulder. Giles remembered the quiet hours before dawn, sitting together sharing jokes and British humor. He remembered the panic he'd thought he'd seen in those blue eyes as Spike had rushed up behind his vampire attacker. Could it be that Spike...

No, maybe not. Maybe Dawn had decided to spruce up because Spike had moved in. Maybe that was what had happened.

A rumpled brunette padded into the kitchen and Giles looked up. Maybe that was a simpler explanation, one that wouldn't confuse him so. "Dawn, I wanted to thank you for all the work you've done in the kitchen."

She looked up from pouring strawberry milk over cinnamon flavored cereal. Another of her odd food inventions. "But I didn't do it, Giles, not even the dishes." Settling in at the table, Dawn casually ate. "It must've been Spike."

*Bloody hell, must it always be so complicated?*

***

It was dawn and Spike knew sleep still wouldn't come easy. Hours of constant movement, cleaning the kitchen, hoping the activity and noise would drown out the thoughts circling his brain, and he still couldn't stop or sleep.

But Spike could still hear them, over the movement and the noise. He could
hear them now, like they were voices whispering from theemenement's shadows. It was times like these that Spike missed killing. The hunt, the lure, the victim's fear and the hot sweet flow of blood could drown out anything, even his own mind.

*Sodding chip, Bloody humans and their bleeding trust in me.* Spike told himself that it was the look he'd see on Dawn's face that kept him in line. And he did care about her reaction, but it was Giles's face that kept wandering across his mind.

No, none of this had anything to do with Giles. A sharp turn and Spike found himself facing Buffy's old punching bag. Giles must have moved it out of the training room in the magic shop. Too many memories. Dragging the bag out into the middle of the room, Spike grinned. If he couldn't kill anyone, at least he could beat the bloody stuffing out of something.

His mind quieted slightly after the first few blows and an evil smile curved his lips. then, without his conscious knowledge, the punching bag slowly took on the mental overlay of a dark, broad, muscular vampire. Maybe one that had been holding an axe across someone's throat… in a cemetery... last night. As the picture sharpened, it suffered the increasing force of his punches, kicks and jabs. Something like panic filled his blood, poundinke hke his heart could beat. An unneeded breath burst past his lips in a cross between a shout and pained groan. *Nobody hurts Giles!* His fist hit the bag hard enough to split a seam and sand streamed to the floor to gather in a pile. Spike fell to his knees with his hands dangling nervelessly at his sides.

Dammit, he cared. Spike cared about the stuffy former watcher and there was simply no avoiding or denying it. The last time the thought of someone dying had buggered him up lihis,his, it had been Buffy and Dawn. Before them, in the earlier years, Druzilla had mattered that much to him. But, Rupert Giles...shouldn't have that much of a hold on him. Rupert Giles shouldn't inspire this level of concern, of worry, of mind-numbing, gut-wrenching panic at the thought of his death. At the thought of Rupert Giles getting hurt or killed. Or leaving.

Slumping further, Spike cupped a palm under the falling sand, his bloody knuckles dripping red into the pile below. It would hurt almost as much to watch Giles leave as it would be to see him die. Spike wanted to spend time with Giles. He would miss the touch of a warm hand on his shoulder, on his skin, if he couldn't feel it anymore. He would miss those crooked smiles and quiet chuckles. He'd miss seeing Giles clean his glasses and watching British comedies together.

Spike cared. And now that the thought had finally caught up with him, he could stop the constant movement and noise. Running wouldn't help him anymore. He didn’t know if anything would.

*God, I need a drink.*

Glancing at the basement's window, Spike decided it was still early enough. Rupert and Dawn should still be sleeping and if this house had any alcohol, by God, he'd find it. Quietly creeping up the stairs, Spike checked out the door for the blinds, all safely closed.

Rummaging through the kitchen turned up nothing stronger than caffeine. And caffeine was just not enough to drown out the damnably insistent train of thought circling his brain. *Cursed, bloody sunlight, I could go get roaring drunk if not for it.* There had to be something here.

One step past the dining room door, Spike was stopped short by two of the best things he'd ever smelled: Giles without aftershave and good whiskey. Spike mentally kicked himself for the thought. No, it was only the whiskey that smelled good, not Giles' skin without that horrid stuff Dawn had bought him for Christmas. He didn't like or think about the scent of Giles' neck or the faint shadow of morning stubble along his jaw. Of course Spike didn't react like that to the watcher. It was just the alcohol --anyone with alcohol would be a great sight this morning. By the scent alone he could tell that it was some damn good whiskey Giles was pouring into his tea. And good liquor was always
worth a double take. That's all it was.

The lie Spike told himself fell apart a little when Giles noticed him in the door... and looked away.

"Morning, Spike. Can't sleep?"

The way Giles avoided his eyes made the need for alcohol all the more intense. Pain was like that. "Nah, just need a drink before bed. Spare a shot or two, watcher?" Spike wasn't thinking about how that tea and whiskey might taste on Giles' lips. He wasn't and that was that, however much his mind might try to disagree. And it still hurt when Giles didn't look at him. He liked seeing those eyes. No, oursourse he didn’t. He didn’t like those eyes at all.

"Not much there, but help yourself." Eyes still averted, Giles slid the flask across the table toward the vampire.

“Thanks," Spike's eyes watched as Giles took another sip and nervously pulled his bathrobe tighter around his throat. Taking a swallow from the flask, Spike missed meeting those eyes and mourned (as he tried not to mourn) the closing of fabric over the strong lines of that throat.

"Well, I should go get dressed."

With that Giles disappeared out the door and up the stairs. And Spike finished off the whiskey, trying to tell himself he didn't care. Not really.

***

Giles felt eyes on him, felt someone watching him. It was Spike, he knew that. And he looked away. Giles had to, it simply couldn't be helped. Because if he looked at Spike now, he'd have to admit it. Not to Spike, of course. Giles would have to admit to himself that the pale man in the door was the reason behind the flask in his hand, the whiskey flowing into his tea, and the twenty minute search it had taken in the kitchen to find any liquor at all in the house. So he looked away and spoke to break the awkward silence.

"Morning, Spike. Can't sleep?"

The all too identifiable white and black blur at the edge of his vision shook its head. "Nah, just need a drink before bed. Spare a shot or two, watcher?"

Still focusedly keeping his eyes on the table, Giles tried not to wish that Spike would say his name. 'Watcher' was so distant. No, 'watcher', was just fine. Spike didn't need to get any closer. Giles didn't need him closer in any way. "Not much there, but help yourself." He slid the flask across the table. Otherwise Spike would take a step closer and reach for it. And Giles might have to look at him. Or even touch his hand. The hand that had waited to save his life but had then helped up to his feet and held on a little longer than necessary.

The hand that crossed into the clearer focus of his glasses with a bright red smear across the knuckles. Blood, Spike's blood. Spike was injured. And it wasn't from last night. Sadly, Giles admitted to himself, he would have noticed it as he had watched Spike all night. Giles had stared at the vamp when he wasn't looking, just trying to figure it out. Trying to understand what he'd thought he'd seen in Spike's face.

Giles could feel the concerned words on the tip of his tongue and swallowed them back. Closing his robe, he looked away again, mumbling some excuse to leave the room. He had to, otherwise he'd have to look at Spike. To ask him if he was all right. He might have to admit to himself that it mattered. That the wound on the back of Spike's hand worried him. That he wanted to know the why's behind what Spike had done, in the cemetery, in the kitchen. That those why's mattered to him. So Giles fled, because he had to.

The sight of that blood in that pale skin stayed with him as he walked up the stairs. The urge to go back down and bandage the wound coiled its way through his ribs. Giles fought it to a compromise. He would not go back down to take care of Spike himself, but he would make certain someone did. And Spike would get cared for.

"Dawn," Giles rapped on her bedroom door, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music she had on.

"Yeah, Giles." His favorite brunette gave him a little smile as she opened the door.

Giles couldn't help but smile back. Dawn had been doing so much better since Spike had moved in. They all had. "Dawn, Spike has hurt his hand. Would you be a dear and go help him bandage it?"

"Is he okay?" She leaned farther out into the hallway, looking down the stairs with concern written on her face.

"It's not serious, pet...uh, Dawn. But it's not easy to wrap one's own hand. And don't forget to take some gauze."

"Sure, like we don't have enough gauze in this house to mummify half of Sunnydale." Cocking an eyebrow in an expression comfortingly like those of a few months ago, Dawn brushed past Giles heading for the bathroom and its sizable first aid kit.

Three steps down the hall, Giles turned sharply. "Just don't mummify Spike, it'd be a waste of bandages." The smile on her face wasn't comforting at all as she laughed and walked backwards up the hall.

"But he'd be so cute all wrapped up in white gauze."

Yes, Spike's eyes would be simply gorgeous framed by all the pale cloth. White cotton sheets would do wonders for those eyes and that skin. The words that had passed through his brain suddenly stopped in front of his mis eys eye. And he couldn't help but see what he'd thought. What? No, he did *not* just think about how pretty Spike's eyes were. He did not just imagine that pale skin wrapped in something other than its normal black and red. Giles wished he could blame this sudden insanity on alcohol but he couldn't, not even having finished one cup.

God he wanted another drink. Polishing his glasses, Giles turned away and walked to his room at a slow pace. Maybe his mind would obey him if he managed to exert control over his body. No, he wasn't concerned or confused over Spike at all.

And that was that.

***