Spike made his way down the stairs, vampire steps silent without meaning to be, as he made it downstairs and picked a corner of the front room to begin working. Giles had already left, he knew, the Niblet wasn't home yet and though the sun was out, Spike didn't feel afeared. It was kept at bay, walls and curtains (and, as of the fight, boards and nails) had blocked out the sun, so he went ahead and got started. The old tools that had been given to him the night prior were still handy, and he had been willing to attempt something more complicated where the need arose, as it came to the repairs of Buffy and Dawn's home.

  "Spike!" Buffy had exclaimed as she walked out of her kitchen to see what the noise had been, Spike turning to look at her from over his shoulder where he'd been crouched, picking through the tools.

  "Evening." He said and inclined his head straightening and facing her properly to address the lady.

  "What are you-? It's day!" Buffy told him, just in case he missed that he supposed.

  "Well, yes. But I figured that so long as I'm tucked away in here, that won't be much of a problem." He gestured vaguely to the window in the front room, closed up enough that he had no fear of the sun affecting him directly. But Buffy still watched him from where she stood at the other end of the room, and Spike felt that she was about to say something.

  "I am, not used to seeing you out of your room," she admitted. Spike felt his brow raise up in question. He knew she didn't distrust him, he'd heard her say so, it let him relax a little more around just her.

  "Shall I go back and wait until you fetch me?" Spike teased, which seemed to jar Buffy right back out of her surprise and cross her arms, wearing a bemused expression instead. Spike crouched back down at that, if only to hide the smug smirk he wore. She had already told him, more than once, how his mouth was a problem. If he recalled her words were, "Not a good look. So... smug! Like, like you know something everyone else doesn’t."

  "Said I'd fix things, didn't I? Reckoned I best get started," he mused, smirking as he rummaged through the small box of old tools, and wondered if Buffy could tell that he was smiling just from the sound of his voice.

  "Aren't you still, you know, he of a thousand cuts?" She asked and gestured vaguely at his back as Spike stole another glance at her over his shoulder.

  "Merely decorative at this point, adds character. Very rugged. Very tragic hero." he said lightly, even when he thought, Where did that come from?

  "Hardly feel the cuts now. You patched me up, Slayer, did a right tidy job." He assured her, letting the sarcasm fall away. Why did he feel a thrill when he bantered with her?! The man thought it was unreasonable, to poke and tease the lady that had kept him alive - or as alive as he could be in a manner of speaking at any rate - but it was fun. And she didn't balk. And she didn't mind. And they seemed to have a good back and forth about it. He glanced at her, Buffy rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move away.

  "Uh-huh. Tragic hero with stitches. I pulled half a dish set out of you last night. And anyway! Flattery does not get you out of medical rest." Buffy narrowed her powerful green eyes at that, making Spike go right back to the unreasonable banter that just surged right out of him.

  "And I was very gracious about it! Didn't make a peep when you were pulling all those shards out, did I?" He said and focused that complex blue gaze at the work of his hands, not looking at Buffy, because Spike thought that if he did, he might give it away. Buffy had said "He was bleeding all over my kitchen and didn't say a word, Giles!", Spike had heard her say it, and it made him feel such pride and relief at the praise such a human would give; Him, the monster, the vampire, she'd defended him.

  "What if I complemented that golden hair of yours, would you be bothered enough to let me suffer?" he said when the stunned silence had been left to simmer and Spike continued to face the shelf he'd fitted to the unit making sure that the dowels still bore its weight. He had only been joking, but it seemed to nail Buffy to the spot, posture blown wide and expression shocked. Spike's smile dropped when he looked back up, his blue eyes frowned. Had he said the wrong thing, once more? He'd thought that Spike and Buffy both enjoying the verbal spar. But his lack of memory had left him questioning his every word, Spike didn't know how people talked to one another, didn't know if he was sullying the air with his tongue, didn't know if he was making a fool of himself with every action. Yet, even with being a blank slate, being uncertain of everything he said, it was never more so than when he was with her, this blonde woman. He didn't mean to think it, didn't know how familiar it was, but al the same - Spike had been assailed by the thought - I wish I knew what to say to Buffy.

  Wasn’t flattery. Was observation." Spike tried to backpedal, bowed his head and let his soft curls fall about in tufts that might disguise the apology he'd felt, when pinned by her shocked expression. He shifted, testing his shoulder with a small roll. His eyes looked away, back on the tools he had worked with.

  "I’ve had worse, as I understand it; namely, whatever state you found me in before I woke up." Never mind the detail of having lost all memory, not the point, at least, not while Spike was trying to make a case for getting on. The, lost all his memories of it all, would sort of make it difficult to argue that he was fine to hammer away at the broken parts of her home. Buffy, standing beside him, seemed to soften. He felt it, even without looking at her. Spike spoke to her though his piercing eyes had stayed fixed on those tools.

  "Said I’d fix things," he repeated, softer.

  "Seems fair I try." Spike always wanted to try... For a long moment, he just worked away at repairs, but Buffy didn't see it, not until then.

  "You already did." Buffy choked out, voice tight, Spike thought it must have been because she was forcing out the words. He thought, She doesn't mean it.

  "Fixed the door, did I? Must’ve blacked that bit out," he scoffed. Buffy crossed her arms tight at that.

  "You know that's not what I mean." Buffy was back to being authoritative, that dominant tone that Spike clenched his jaw to. His head raised, her chin lifted, but Spike held her gaze this time.

  "Can't say that I do, pet." The room felt smaller for it. He said it straight, his eyes sharp and deep, but in confusion. Eyes, like the ocean, the woman had described them to him. Expressive, even when he was trying and failing to pretend they were not that at all... No, actually, when it came to this woman, the man didn't know much of anything at all. She confuses Spike, Buffy...

  "Before the demon attack, I mean. You-..." Buffy tried, then trailed off. Spike let go of the carpentry and wiped his hands on his trousers, slowly rose to stand before her. He recalled pressing his arms into the kitchen counter around her several nights ago, when he'd urged her to go on, to be brave and speak her thoughts. It had worked then, brute though Spike was to do it. Would standing up to her yearn the same results again, right then?

  "You know what I mean!" She threw her arms down and her voice pitched higher, Spike felt his head tilt, watching and thinking over her, because Buffy wanted him to read her mind it would seem.

  "I really haven't the foggiest, pet." Spike stood with his arms at his sides, not intimidating - leastwise, not intentionally - not to her. How did we get here?

  He wondered, having this standoff, Spike's piercing eyes on her, watching her for any sign of what Buffy might possibly have wanted out of the vampire. When he didn't expect anything, had asked for nothing, in total. He hadn't a clue of what possibly had been going through her, vaguely the vampire felt her - buzzing, like his skin was trying to tell his hair to stand on end, but he was incapable of even goosebumps - like the Slayer was under the vampire's skin.

  He ignored it, honed in on her breathing, on the way her heart picked up and was rapidly beating. What did she think? What was she saying? The amnesiac had no idea so he waited for her to speak, lest his words were wrong. He didn't remember how to speak, how to behave, bloody hell, he didn't remember anything, blank slate that Spike was, which left him silent when the Victorian man was trying to understand.

  "Forget it." Buffy said after all that waiting, backing down from him instead of saying whatever it was she thought and it made Spike avert his eyes, press his tongue to the inside of his teeth, lest he direct his disappointed stare at her. He flared his nostrils with a sharp intake of breath, tried for a smile, came out as a snarl of sorts:

  "That won't be hard, will it?" Spike said with a self-mocking sort of tone, because, "Forget it"? Reigning champion of forgetting right now aren't I?

  At least the thought was so ironic that it made the poet in him chuckle, as he knelt down in front of her, and went right back to hammering away at the repairs in the Summer's home.

  "You going to be doing the fainting thing if I leave you to it?" Buffy asked, her sarcasm then one he recognised like armour. Great. That you suss out, but you couldn't get her to speak up you pillock?

  "Vampires don't faint." He assured her with a tone that was reminiscent of the night prior. That almost got a smile out of her. Almost.

  "We're still unclear on that one, mister." Buffy answered, and it made Spike's shoulders relax a little. The man had gotten the shelving unit in a condition where it might be useable again, so he stood with it, lifting the thing and testing it, seeing if it would wobble once it stood straight on its own. That time her tone was more play, less attack, it put him somewhat at ease. Her, too, it would seem; as Buffy stepped a little closer and attempted to speak once more.

  "You're supposed to be healing." Buffy said without an altogether aggressive sharpness to her tone. Her arms were crossed again as she lent her hip and shoulder on the wall beside the furniture that he had put together for her, watching him with eyes that were worried and careful. He didn't want to see worry in her, so Spike tried to banish it. If she didn't want to handle being serious, he would joke. It might keep her from panicking once more.

  "I am healing... While fixing the skirting board." He said lightly, tone a quiet rumble, not wanting to scare Buffy off as he did before.

  "I'm multitasking." He said as he indicated the shelves that were stable for that moment. It seemed to succeed in disarming her, Spike charming in his approach. Buffy made a small, incredulous sound.

  That’s not how recovery works." She assured him as Spike shrugged and tossed a screwdriver in his palm, caught it, it felt light.

  "Look, love, I'm up, I’m not bursting into flames, and your wall’s hanging on by what I can only assume is spite." He said, careful to keep his tone light, calculated in design, since Buffy seemed allergic to drawing on deeper feelings.

  "I can't just sit upstairs reading about bleeding water colours when I might have a crack at fixing it." Spike assured her, having a difficult time of it, trying to curb his feelings, passion and strong feelings seeming to come easy to him it would seem, when compared to how the other people around him interacted with each other. She stepped closer, hands on her hips now, full Slayer stance.

  "Spike." There it was, that warning tone. He smirked anyway. It was his only point of reference with his memories gone, trying to observe how others behaved, last few nights telling him that Spike felt his emotions, felt them too much, and felt them all the time.

  "Buffy. I'm fine." Spike gave her a lazy once-over. He'd thought that that was just normal, at first, thought what he felt was just what all the world must experience. How was he to think otherwise? There was no reason for him to question that... Until Spike listened a little closer and a little longer to how the others seemed to interact with each other. Lost in his thoughts, Spike had worked in silence then for a moment, checking and re-checking a dowel to see if it would still fit... before he realised that Buffy was just standing beside him companionably. He turned his blue eyes on her then, wondering if she had something to say.

  "Something else I could do for you, Buffy?" He wondered up at her, Buffy's face soft, those effeminate features gentle and warm, like the sun had left her blushing and kiss-marked where she stood, her green eyes all that held some evident strength of the Slayer's power. Buffy just stared at him a long time, before she realised he'd said something.

  "Pet?" Her sun-kissed expression had turned to realisation then, whatever her internal narration had been coming to a halt as she'd been struck by outward features, those fiercely green eyes going wide and startled, cat-like. He wore that smug smirk she hated, realised what he was doing and tried to hide it - but Spike just ended up pressing his tongue between his teeth at her in a look that was definitely even more cocky and smug. It was just the way she looked at him, like she thought he was worth protecting, loving the way her eyes dropping briefly to the bandages on his hands.

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  "You start bleeding through those, I’m benching you." Buffy had said, in a tone that did not sound quite as sharp as Spike imagined she had wanted it to. She turned abruptly, looking flustered, practically marching from that room into the kitchen.

  "Would that entail anything different from being stuck in that bedroom?" He wondered at her back, but Buffy might not have heard, just continued marching off. Spike, amused, just shook his head and went back to the furniture. He was never going to understand her, memories or no, not at this pace at any rate!

  "Spike!" Dawn's voice came through the front door when she had come home from school, brown hair loose, blue eyes going wide when she'd found him elbows deep in the sofa in an inane attempt to fix the bones.

  "Where have you been all day, Nibblet?" He told her, and Dawn crossed her arms at him, backpack still slung over one shoulder, posture tilted in that manner that was immediately recognised as challenge. Cheeky Bit, he felt a brotherly surge of pride toward her, going on the offensive like that whenever any sort of authority was even vaguely directed toward her.

  "You've got some balls asking me that when you look like a pinata that was taped back together." The girl said to Spike with such flippance that he looked up at her, scandalised and aghast.

  "Oi! Who's been talking like that to you!?" He demanded, rising up out of the mess of torn fabric and stuffing like a butcher out of a corpse, looking the wrecked pinata she described him as. With his shirt off, all the bandages and plasters he'd been so tenderly bestowed by Buffy were on full display, showing how hurt he really was in the fight to protect her. But Dawnie, the little Bit, little sis that she was, had shown all of the same amount of pity as Big Sis.

  "You, dummy." She said with a giggle, then happily skipped off to dump her bag with all the books in it, the little girl able to leave Spike reeling with all of two words.

  "Bloody hell...!" The little Bit had never lied to him, which means that, it had been true. The one who had spoken in rebelious and crass terms to her, was Spike... He lit a cigarette, then went back to trying to figure out how to fix the couch that had its frame smashed in the conflict.

  "Ew! You're still on those?" Dawn, returned from where she'd found a not-smashed corner of her home to drop her schoolbag onto, had caught Spike mid-puff and made her approach. Spike thought she was going to go and do her own thing, done with the brief greeting and busying herself. But the little Bit came back over, practically skipping as she reached Spike, the girl's arm extended toward him with the offer of a small vial as if it were a golden trophy.

  "I enjoy them. What's this?" Spike answered about the cigarettes as he reached out, taking the little black bottle from Dawn's outstretched arm.

  "It's nail polish!" Dawn declared with great cheer, beaming with joy as she handed Spike the little thing, Spike observing the bottle that he then held in his pale fingers.

  "I picked it up for you! You know. Because I haven't got black." Dawn explained with brightness and cheer, treating the little gift with the sort of appropriate glee that came with such an offering.

  "Now if we get to do our nail day that Buffy interrupted last time, you'll have the colour that you always liked before." She explained with a gesture toward the bottle, Spike felt flattered.

  "That we do, Nibblet." He smiled, nodding to Dawn, then pocketed the polish bottle at the back of his jeans, touched at her gesture. Small, though it was, it showed that she had thought of him.

  "Thanks for that." He smiled.

  "You're welcome." Dawn said, rather proud of herself, standing straight and with her shoulder's back, brown hair whipped over her shoulder. Spike almost laughed, came off more as a scoff, she was so damn proud, but there was no begrudging that of her. He went to go back to work.

  "Why are you awake anyway? Did you forget you're a vampire or something?" Dawn asked, shuffling close and leaning over his shoulder, curious about what Spike was doing reaching into the tear through the couch.

  "Har, de, har." He dawdled, the amnesiac vampire not amused, because yes, in fact, he had quite recently forgotten just that! Embarrassing. that. Forgetting you were dead, and all.

  "Told Big Sis I'd fix things. Been at it a little bit." He looked at her over his shoulder as she was peaking at him.

  "Surprised I didn't wake you. You slept alright?" The Brit asked, checking on the little Bit, the night before had been tough on her, he thought. But Dawn just nodded and shrugged, like nothing could harm her.

  "Slept fine. You and Buffy took care of everything, right?" Dawn said with such confidence, confidence in Spike, the sort of earnest trust she gave him that had made him want to repay the favour. Trust in her Big Sis he could understand. It was the fact that Dawn had never been afraid of Spike that had boggled the mind. He saw as Dawn tilted her head, eyeing the bandages wrapped around his torso, the bruises peeking out like purple badges of honor.

  "Does it hurt? Like, a lot? You look like you got run over by a truck. Then thrown in a blender." Dawn asked Spike in turn, looking after him, checking if he'd been hurt. It was enough to make a dead heart feel the ghost of pride in her.

  "Nah, Nibblet. Despite your heartless joke at my expense, I do remember I'm a vampire. We seem to heal up quick." Spike gave a roll of the shoulders, feeling the pain of the wounds that had not yet healed, but Spike managed not to wince.

  "This is nothing. Way I understand it, it was worse when you lot found me and patched me up, when I went and took a dive. If I healed up fine from that then this is just a tickle." The vampire said, Spike flicking ash into the cracked remains of what was once a lamp, using it as a sort of ashtray. He then felt a shock of white pain, wincing and hissing. Spike sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes flashing. The hand that held the cigarette covered the bandaged wound where the demon had come a little too close to stabbing Spike in the chest and dusting him last night, clawing at the source of pain, while turning a icy, cold glare at Dawn, whose finger still hung in the air where she had just poked him.

  "That nothing?" Dawn had very intentionally prodded Spike right where it hurt most, just to prove her point. Bloody hell both these women were heartless!

  "Have you gone completely 'round the bend!?" he hissed, clutching the bandaged spot dramatically.

  "You said it didn’t hurt." Dawn teased him with a deep chuckle, the young girl utterly unrepentant over her actions. She actually teased him! With the power to press her little fingers right where it hurt most, the little menace!

  "That was rhetorical bravado, Dawn, there’s a difference between ‘doesn’t hurt’ and ‘don’t poke the open wound like you’re testing fruit at the bleeding market.’!" he snapped, straightening up and jabbing the cigarette accusingly in her direction. The vampire growled, words gritted out between his teeth, Dawn didn’t even flinch. She just raised one eyebrow at him, deeply unimpressed.

  "You totally winced." She grinned. Actually grinned. The little tyrant.

  "Of course I bloody winced! It's an open wound! Are you actively trying to dust me, or is this just a hobby you’ve taken up after school?" He winced again as the ache throbbed. He continued to growl and snarl, as the girl he saw before him did not flinch or shake or stutter, completely immune to his bad behaviour, and it really had hurt, so Spike saw no reason to calm his tone, Dawn could apparently handle it.

  "So it does hurt." Dawn folded her arms, rocking back on her heels. Spike glared at her with all the offended dignity of a man who had been skewered by both demon claws and a fourteen-year-old’s finger in the same twenty-four hours.

  "It will heal." The vampire insisted, bearing his teeth, even still in his human guise. He felt like he was arguing with a petulant kid, too angered and in pain to think of much of anything while he argued with the little Bit.

  "And yet, here we are. Apparently you're capable of feeling pain when a teenager barely poked you." Dawn insisted right back while Spike lifted the bandage just enough to check on his wound, not even 24 hours after he'd been stabbed with broken wood!

  "You jabbed me in the stake-and-claw souvenir section, you pint-sized delinquent!" Spike shouted in disbelief at her, he had no idea what the girl had been getting at, but bloody hell, ow! That hurt!

  "Okay, wow," she said, folding her arms, the sassy teenager was unimpressed. Pain be damned, she had a point and Spike was to suffer for it.

  "So the big bad vampire slayer-fighter guy can’t handle one little poke? I just wanted to see if it was still bleeding." Dawn said and tried to sound flippant about it, like it was no big deal...

  "A man can have a few bloody wounds without it being a national emergency." Spike snarled on, not seeing much difference with the wound then than it had looked a few hours prior, save for the fact that, at least, the bleeding had stopped. What was Dawn thinking when she prodded at him?!

  "Next time you feel the urge to verify my injury status, perhaps use your eyes instead of your stabby little fingers." Spike huffed, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the air out in a huff. Dawn stepped closer anyway, peering at the bandage with big blue eyes that couldn't hide seriousness then.

  "It’s not bleeding through, so you’re probably fine," Dawn told him, Spike glared at her. He watched her face soften just a bit as she checked the bandage. Then, Spike finally caught it, the way the Nibblet's sarcasm dimmed, replaced by something worried, that the little Bit didn’t want him to see. Spike tried - tried - to hold onto his annoyance. He really did. But there was something about the way she stood there, hands on hips, entirely confident he wouldn’t snap at her for real. She obviously knew, deep in her bones, that he’d never let anything hurt her. He dropped the glare with a grumble.

  "I was fine before you performed your field test." Spike stepped back and took another drag, if only to keep Dawn from worrying further. That's what all this was about, Spike realised belatedly; it was Dawn worried about Spike, wanting to check that he was going to be alright. Bloody cruel way that she went about it.

  "I told you I’m fine, Nibblet,” he muttered, less sharp then, turning back to her. He was injured, but he was fine. He'd heal. He tried to assure her.

  "You don't need to worry," Spike promised, eyes back on her, and the glare gone from those sharp eyes of blue. That had hit the nail on the mark, it seemed.

  "I know," the Bit said quickly. Too quickly. Spike offered her a knowing look and watched as Dawn redoubled her efforts to sound aloof.

  "I just- I mean, you got thrown through a table. Twice. And then you were all- growly and fighting and... bleeding." Dawn said, and flipped her hair, tried to look unafraid. But Spike had read her now and there was no more fooling the vampire who protected her. He tossed the burnt cigarette into the broken ceramic he had used as an ash tray.

  "Bit. Better me than you getting your pretty little head bashed in." Spike said as he once again turned towards her. He told her the truth, not lying to Dawn. Spike trusted that when he spoke to her, she could understand. So he went on, honest with the one person who had trusted the man.

  "That demon was a right nasty bugger, it was. I thought he had me - a half a dozen times... But he didn't. I ended up being the one still breathing." Spike stood tall, back straight, but his shoulders were relaxed, and his gaze unguarded. Dawn wasn't spoken down to, he didn't sugar-coat his words, just like the Nibblet had trusted Spike enough not to sugar coat his past when it was all told. Dawn believed that Spike could handle all that horror, Spike returned the favour. He'd meant it, when he'd told Dawn she was brave... Bugger, he was so wrapped up in what he was saying, he realised what he'd said belatedly.

  "In a manner of speaking..." The man corrected himself, because 'still breathing' was the wrong thing to say, Spike still breathing when his body didn't need it, being a vampire and all. Dawn managed a smile at that silly slip of the vampire, so she bumped him with her shoulder - lightly, in the arm that was less bandaged up.

  "You're such a dork," she teased lightly at him. He made a huff, almost a laugh, the girl was unshakable and mad.

  "I will have you know, I am a picture of restraint." Spike said, putting a hand theatrically to his chest, that was rising and falling with calm, even, entirely needless breaths.

  "You just called me a ‘pint-sized delinquent.’" Dawn reminded him, back to being the unimpressed teenager. But this time Spike just smiled.

  "Accurate description." Spike said, voice pitched higher, frowning at her as she shoved at him with her tiny palms. He went with it, letting the kid sister's shove move the big bad vampire a step. There was a beat of quiet, spike looking at the little Bit with pride, Dawn happy to smile at him smugly. Then, softer - almost shyly:

  "You were kind of amazing." Dawn admitted, earnest and honest.

  "And you saved me, again. You saved me," she added, Spike let her talk. He listened, after a pause Dawn went on; her voice almost inaudible.

  "You're like a super hero." Dawn said, blue eyes on the ground, before she lifted her gaze to the one who was hurt to keep her safe. Spike met her eyes.

  "Anyone tries to lay a claw on you, they answer to me. Simple as." Spike didn't flinch, said the words, voice steady and certain, no question about that. As he watched, Dawn’s expression flickered - something soft, almost reverent, appearing on the young girl's blue eyes, before she masked it with a hair flick. Spike blinked.

  "Don't make it weird." Dawn said, he scoffed, but the smile he wore was charmed and undeniable despite it. He reached for another cigarette.

  "Wouldn't dream of it." Spike grinned and lit the fag onehanded, his smug smile around the filter as he tried not to tease Dawn, for how bloody earnest Little Sis was. But Dawn could read him like an open book.

  "Shut up," she said immediately, even if Spike hadn't actually verbalised anything. Spike turned his head up and away, as if anything could possibly hide that smug and proud smile, but no. There was no covering that look that was all Spike.

  "I didn’t mean it like that. I just- You’re the one who actually listens to me." Dawn said and wiggled on her feet, fidgeted until she found her bearings, then she was the confident little Bit again.

  "And hangs out. And doesn’t treat me like I’m gonna fall to pieces or something." Dawn said. He turned to her when he felt like he could without grinning like a mad man, and saw once again the honest trust placed in him by Dawn.

  "Reckon I’ll keep the job, then." He looked at her steadfastly, steady and sure, for a long second, something fierce and protective settled in his chest.

  "You better." Dawn agreed, offering him a secret smile, the kind he hadn't seen her show anyone else, not even Big Sis. Then Dawn poked him in the ribs again, trying to rile him up - but Spike noticed how she'd dodged the bandages and poked at his pale skin instead. Somehow, all his wounds being visible around Dawn didn't seem like a big deal. Spike didn't feel like he was weak. Little Sis. She was family. She was just a girl, a girl he protected and cared for, and it was the one thing he'd felt sure of. He reached out and pulled her into a quick hug, one arm, pulling her by the shoulders briefly and let her go before she had even realised what was going on.

  "Hey! What was that for?" The kid giggled, surprised, but not bothered, the Nibblet making a show of fanning the air as though banishing his cigarette smoke was of utmost import. He was glad.

  "Glad you're alright." Spike told her honestly. Had no reason to hide that from her. Dawn wore a smile that was apt of her namesake, a brilliant, honest smile, that made Spike feel like he might be good. It made him breathe, finally able to fulfil a purpose in this confusing space he'd found himself in, ere since the moment he first regained awareness those few nights ago. He cared about the girl, little brat, little Bit.

  "I'm fine!... Thanks to you." Dawn assured and again Spike felt like maybe, he had done something right, something worth while. Dawn was about to tell him not to "make it weird" again, Spike could just tell from her look. So instead of embarrassing the girl, the man opted to go about trying to make repairs, once more. Dawn stuck close, watching when Spike tried to set the frame of the couch back together.

  "Do you even know what you're doing?" The little Bit asked, with a child-like curiosity, leaning over once more, watching as Spike tried to fix the broken couch.

  "Haven't the foggiest." He smiled around his cigarette in return, admitting that he was just winging it right then with the repair work.

  "Oh, good... Maybe duct tape?" the Nibblet said, settling in, as the two of them got to work together, fixing some of what was broken...