Spike carried Joyce through storm drains that, for once, were several inches deep in water after the recent heavy rains.

"I could walk," she offered, as he carefully let her down to stand on one of the ladders that led up to the streets above and rotated his shoulders.

"An' have your shoes fallin' to bits under you when you see your girls again? I think not," he replied, hanging the blanket that had been draped over one of his shoulders over one of the ladder's rungs and settling a black canvas kitbag where it wouldn't slip from his shoulder. Pulling a cigarette out, he used a cheap disposable lighter that he'd wrested from one of his patrol victims to light it. "You don't mind, do you, Joyce?"

The woman shook her head. "Better here than in the house. How far have we got to go?"

"Not far. Another couple of these ladders an' we're about as close as we get, provided some git hasn't gone an' parked on top of the manhole."

"And then?"

"I'll make a run for it. See if I can prepare the way a bit... assumin' they haven't all trooped off to the hospital with your eldest... an' she's not totally off her trolley. You can take your time. Might get a chance to send The Bit out back for a chat, let her work out you're who I say you are before Buffy starts arguin' for the sake of it."

Spike took a few minutes to stamp on a couple of areas where his blanket was smoking slightly before he gathered it up, ran a quick hand over his hair to check it was mostly in place and turned the handle on the back door.

"Mornin', all," he called out as he made his way through the kitchen, pushing both bag and blanket into an unobtrusive bundle in a corner.

"Spike?" Dawn's voice carried through from the dining room and Spike headed in that direction, resisting the urge to do more than peer through into the living room, where Buffy was sitting on her own, holding some photograph. She was staring at it way too intently for it to be good in Spike's opinion, but maybe that was for the better if it let him talk to his Niblet without Buffy trying to throw him out of the house.

"Here, Bite Size." As he entered the the dining room the printer connected to Willow's laptop finished with the chugging noise it had been making and he lifted the sheet of paper it spat out before the witch could. He looked at the picture on the page, not needing the legend underneath it. "This our beastie, then? Shan't bother askin' if the slayer's any better."

"You know about these things?" Willow asked.

"Well, yeah." The vampire seemed vaguely affronted by the question. "Have to find the thing an' use its stinger to make an antidote. Should try askin' now an' again, Red. Now, if you'll 'scuse us, I need to talk to the Bit." He took Dawn's hand and began to lead her away.

"Spike, I'm not sure Buffy..." Willow's words tailed off.

"Don't hear her makin' no objection, do you?" Spike was in no mood to be pushed around, especially by the lesser Scoobies and his voice held a threatening edge that he seldom used any more. "Why don't you go break the good news? Let her know that soon as it gets dark, we'll find her boogeyman."

"We thought Xander could take the tranquiliser gun," Willow half-mumbled, seeming hesitant to contradict the vampire to his face.

"Sure he can, but unless you want two babbling loons to look after, then he'd best wait until it gets dark an' I can go with him. Come on, Niblet. You an' me's got to talk." Spike pulled the girl along in his wake until they were both on the back porch.

As Spike fumbled for another cigarette, Dawn crossed her arms under her burgeoning bust and stood with her weight on her back leg in a stance that was so Buffyesque that Spike felt an ache in his chest. "What gives?" she demanded.

"Now, Bitlet. No need for you to get your knickers in a twist." He lit his cigarette and took a deep draw before he reconsidered. "Well, actually plenty reason to get excited but...

Look, you trust me, right?"

Dawn gave him a cynical glance. "Trust as in loan you the housekeeping money? No."

"Trust as in if I tell you somethin' as might be hard to believe that I'm sayin' it 'cause I think it's the truth." His eyes slid sideways to watch her reaction, though if Dawn hadn't been watching him closely, she would have thought that smoking was receiving his full attention.

"Spike, when Buffy was my age she wore skirts that would probably be illegal in some countries. I don't think having a two-inch gap between my jeans and my top is a big deal."

Spike's head swivelled and he gave the teen an appraising head-to-toe look, finding that there was no such gap in her current outfit. "Very funny, Bit. An' believe me when it comes to boys your age, any flesh on show is a big deal."

"Quit with the cryptic and just spit it out, Spike."

"Alright, Bite Size. Let's just say that your sis isn't the only one to come back from the beyond."

"Well, yuh, but other than America's hair care industry, no one was too bothered about Angel." Dawn's response was almost defensive as if she were too afraid to hope he meant anything different.

"He's not talking about Angel." The familiar voice came from off to Dawn's left and her head spun as if she were at a tennis match. Her mouth gaped open, her eyes misted over and Spike made a grab for her elbow as she seemed to crumple slightly for an instant before she threw herself off the porch and ran into the woman's arms.

Joyce's eyes met Spike's over the teenager's shoulder and he pressed his lips together and gave her a tight nod. "I'll, ehm. just go and see if your eldest's in a listenin' mood, Joyce." He dropped his cigarette onto the porch and ground it out with his boot before taking it with him to deposit it in the kitchen bin on his way to see Buffy.

Spike draped his coat over one of the stools by the kitchen island as he went in. He frowned slightly at the dried in blood on the front of his T-shirt but had no real choice other than to put up with it for the moment. Willow looked up as he entered the living room.

"Dawnie—"

"'S outside gettin' some fresh air." The vampire made his way over to where the slayer sat on the couch. He went down on one knee, bringing himself level with Buffy's eyes, searching her face for signs of recognition.

"Look," he told the witch without ever taking his eyes off of Buffy. "There's somethin' I need to talk to the slayer about an' it's gonna be hard enough to get through to her without any distractions."

"Spike, now's not th—"

Spike's tone of voice remained soft and reassuring, but the intent behind his words was more than clear. "Now's when she has to know, Endora, so just get on your broomstick an' piss off for five minutes."

"Look, Mr Crabby Vampire, this is—"

Finally, Spike turned away from Buffy rising to his feet once more and giving Willow his full attention. "None of your business. What? You really think I'm goin' to have my evil way with 'er on the livin' room couch while she's out of her tree? If you're that worried, why don't you go try to find your precious Xander so he can beat on the defenceless vampire again? Or did you want to get your own hands dirty instead of just standin' back an' watchin' this time?"

"Spike!" At Buffy's word, both of them turned. "You shouldn't be here."

Instantly, Spike dropped back to his previous position. "Buffy, I need you to listen to me."

"No." Buffy's gaze returned once more to the photograph she cradled like a lifeline and the vampire reached out to ease it from her fingers.

"Tha's a long time ago, kitten. It was real, but it's not who you are now. You've got to let it go," Spike crooned gently.

In a daze Buffy's gaze transferred from the picture to the man who had taken it from her. Spike reached out to cradle her cheek but the slayer flinched away turning her head to the side and refusing to look at him. "Listen to me, Buffy. Something really important's happened an' I need you to stay here with me until I explain."

"Get out, Spike."

Dawn's voice came through quietly but clearly from the kitchen getting closer with every word. "Buffy, it's important, let him tell you."

"Look at me, Buffy," Spike begged, needing to watch her eyes, to know that she remained with him as he talked. "I was talkin' to someone this mornin'. An' old friend," he added hoping that by piquing her interest he might gain her attention.

"You don't have any friends, Spike. Not here. Not anywhere. You don't belong," Buffy told him with a casual cruelty.

"Buffy Summers! You will not speak to him like that. He has shown nothing but consideration to you and you will return the favour."

Buffy's eyes filled with tears as she stared at the woman in the kitchen doorway. "Mommy?" she barely whispered, silent tears streaming down a face screwed up in confusion.

"Buffy?" Gentle fingers took hold of her chin, turning her head until she could only see her mother by straining to look out the corner of her eye. "I was talking to someone, an' I said that I wished yer mum could be here to talk some sense into the lot of you. That bint from your birthday party showed up out of nowhere an' said, 'Wish granted!' Look, love, I know there could hardly be a worse time to dump this on you... but it's the truth. Far as I can tell, that's your mum standin' there waitin' for you." Spike released his grip and rose to his feet, stepping back to the side that didn't block the line of sight between Buffy and her mother.

Buffy didn't move and tears continued to pour down her bewildered face but her eyes remained fixed on her mother the whole time.

Spike turned and picked up the bag he had left in the kitchen. "Red, how about you give me a hand with the washin' machine? Joyce said as I should do myself some washin' an' grab a bath while I wait for sunset."

Willow knew that Spike was perfectly well acquainted with the workings of the Summers' house's washing machine from the previous summer, but she nodded numbly and followed the blond down to the cellar in any case.

Willow waited and watched while Spike sorted his washing into darks... and more darks. When he pulled his black tee over his head, the witch took a nervous couple of steps backward, until she spotted the dried blood on his clearly defined six-pack.

"A-are you okay? Did you get hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah, right, like the battling builder could hurt me! Only thing he managed to hurt was my smokes an' my dinner for the next week."

"Oh!" Willow's air of apprehension disappeared and she donned her resolve face. "What really happened, Spike?"

"What the hell do you mean 'what really happened'?" Spike snapped, tossing the bloodied t-shirt into the washing machine and closing it. "You actually think this is all some big con-trick. You think I would do that to them?"

"Well, no, maybe not, but Halfrek's a vengeance demon. She wouldn't just return Mrs Summers from the dead... and she couldn't. There are laws. She died a natural death. There's no coming back."

"Then, you tell me who that is up there!. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned, she looks like Joyce, talks like Joyce an' knows stuff as only Joyce or The Bit would know. It might not be the body she had before, but if that isn't Joyce then I guess the slayer wasn't the only one as got a dose of Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik wacky juice."

"Wait, why do you say it might not be her body?"

"Well, for one thing, I doubt her bits would work too great after Quincy took them all out an' weighed them an' stuffed them back in however they'd fit an' the mortician drained all her blood out an' replaced it with formaldehyde or whatever they use these days. An' for another thing she smells different. She's more like The Bit than Buffy, now. That an' magic. She smells of magic, though I guess that'd be to be expected.

Look, the how's up to you to work out. Either that or you can dump it on the watcher. The why isn't that big a mystery seein' as I happened to mention a few things as I reckoned would have Joyce on the warpath. Figure the bint thought it was amusin' to send her back all armed an' dangerous. 'Cept Joyce isn't one to hold a grudge. An' believe me, if I wasn't sure as all hell about the who, then I'd never have brought her anywhere near them two, never mind left them alone with her."

"Maybe I should call Giles... and Tara. I should warn Tara that Halfrek's still around."

Spike pulled a folded pair of jeans from the bag on the floor. "You do that, Red. I'm going to go have that bath. If you hear voices, don't worry, it'll just be me wishin' out loud that this chip would quit workin'." He gave the witch a tight smile with no humour in it. "You never know. My luck might hold."

"Why's he here, mom?" Buffy demanded, catching a glimpse of pale hair and paler flesh as Spike made his way upstairs to the bathroom.

"He's here because he was kind enough to bring me. Perhaps you'd prefer if we both left."

"Okay, so he brought you. Now, you're here, he can go... Not hog the bathroom and clog the drain when all that bleached hair decides to fall out."

"Buffy, Spike is a person, not a convenience. I invited him here and you will treat him as a guest in this house."

"But, mom, you don't know what's happened. He can't be here. It's..."

"I know everything that's happened, Buffy. Do you really think that I could call anywhere heaven if I wasn't able to keep an eye on my girls?

If you're embarrassed about how you've behaved as far as Spike's concerned, maybe you should apologise instead of treating him like an outcast. And maybe you should think about being honest with your friends. It isn't fair to expect him to live a lie."

"Mo-o-om," Buffy whined, her gaze shifting between her mother and her sister, who was sitting so quietly on her mother's other side that she'd obviously been hoping she'd be forgotten. "Spike's evil. He's not some tame vampire you can take in like a stray dog and give a home to."

"And, if maybe you'd taken five minutes to encourage him to do the right thing, if you'd explained with your mouth instead of your fists where he'd gone wrong, if you'd ever given him help to be someone better instead of telling him how worthless he is, do you still think he'd be evil?"

"He doesn't... have... a... soul. He can't be anything but evil."

"Buffy, I know you're ill, and I know that you've been confused and that things have been hard, but I also know that I didn't bring you up to judge people by the colour of their skin, or by whether they're rich or poor or by any yardstick other than their actions. I also know that Spike isn't an angel, but whereas he has tried to do or be whatever it took to make you accept him, you've mistreated him physically and emotionally for no reason other than you felt like it. You need to put things right between you, whatever right may be. I was proud of you that day when you told him you would never forget what he went through to protect Dawn. Don't make what you said then a lie."

"Tell me what to do," Buffy mumbled. "Tell me how to make it better, daddy."

Willow pushed slightly at the ground with her feet, making the chains of the porch swing creak as Xander sat open-mouthed, trying to take in the things that Willow had told him. Somewhere in the middle of everything Willow figured his priorities had got kinda screwed around.

"You're telling me that Deadboy Junior has been sitting there all day, watching the soaps, and that suddenly he's got laundry and bathing rights."

"That and the minor detail that Mrs Summers is back from the dead.

Look, don't give Spike too hard a time. He's kind of a grouchy bear at the moment. He was making jokes about wishing his chip would stop working when he thought I didn't believe him, and you've got to go a demon-huntin' with him later." The redhead tried a placatory smile.

"I wish his chip would stop working," Xander argued loudly. "Then, Buffy would have to stake him, just like she should have done years ago."

"Wish granted," whispered Halfrek quietly from the next door garden. That was one request she thought would be far more amusing if it came as a nice surprise the next time Anyanka's ex pushed the vampire just a little too far.