SHADES OF GRAY




Disclaimer: The characters presented in this story are all the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions, with the exception of Clarissa and the warlock. Those, Joss can have as well, because he is God.

Author's note: This is an alternate Season Six and the first few chapters were written well before the premiere of Bargaining. It contains spoilers only for that episode. This is a Spike redemptionist fic and the pairings are as follows: B/S and W/T. Feedback is greatly desired, including flames. Shoutouts to the gang at Dancing Lessons, who inspired this group writing project.





Chapter one


Dearly Departed


Written by


Leslie, CJ, Jules and Phil


*


Giles lifted the needle and carefully-very carefully, since he was drunk-set it back down at the beginning of "Stairway to Heaven." For the eighth time. Or was that the ninth? Didn’t matter, he thought. He liked the song, and listening to it again was less trouble than trying to find something else to fit his mood. Only slightly unsteady on his feet, he made his way back over to the couch and sat down heavily, topped off his glass-single-malt Scotch, thank you, none of that American swill from down south-and let himself slide back into self-recrimination.

Four months. It had been four months, and still he was mourning Buffy’s death, feeling the guilt of letting her die, as freshly as if it were yesterday. "Yesterday." There was a song he could get into right now. He thought about getting up and changing the record, but right now "she" was busy "buy-uy-ing guh stairway to heaven," so why mess with success?

He was a Watcher, and not a very good one. Or maybe too good a one. He’d watched-and Buffy had died. And now she was in heaven. Maybe. Given the way she’d died, painfully closing an inter-dimensional portal with her own blood, she-her soul, anyway-could be anywhere. He knew where the rest of her was, of course. Six feet underground, trapped and rotting in an airless coffin. As her headstone said, "She saved the world a lot." They might as well have added that she’d died doing it. The Slayer had found the one thing even she could not slay: death.

Bits of John Donne started running through his mind. "Death, be not proud" indeed. No comfort there, not when Death had won.

He thought about going down to the Magic Box. Maybe it would take his mind off things to see what was happening there. No, for one thing, he was too drunk to drive the "little two-door tramp" that was sitting in the garage right now. The memory of Buffy’s description of his car only served to plunge him deeper into depression.

He supposed he could ask Xander to come by in the Xandermobile and pick him up, but did he really want to hang around with all of Buffy’s friends, their very presence a constant reminder of the one person who was no longer there? It wasn’t even as if he was needed at the shop. Anya was doing just fine running the place; his own occasional appearances to establish his proprietary credentials had started to seem pointless, even to himself. He was the third wheel there and the third wheel everywhere else. Xander had Anya, Willow had Tara, and Dawn…? Dawn had everyone, actually, but even she had a Someone. Spike. Having failed to protect her on the night when the world almost ended, he was taking no chances now.

Strange to think of the onetime self-professed Big Bad as a babysitter, but then, Giles reflected, taking another swallow of Scotch, the world was a strange place. Place, he repeated silently. A place for everything and everything in its place. Except him. This wasn’t his place anymore. He wasn’t sure he even had one, but if he did, it was back in England, not here in Sunnydale, where his Slayer was dead and her friends didn’t need an over-the-hill ex-librarian hanging around, getting in the way.

Lord, he was getting maudlin, he thought, taking off his glasses and wiping the suddenly fogged lenses. But, as they said, in vino veritas, and the veritas was plain. He didn’t belong here anymore.

It was time to go home.


**

The front door to the Summers house burst open, and Dawn fled for the stairs as if being chased by a demon. Instead, she was followed into the house by Willow and Tara.

“That’s not what I said,” a very frustrated Willow pleaded with her lover.

“But its what you meant,” Tara responded.

“No, it’s not. If I wanted to say, ‘You’re not one of us,’ I would have said ‘You’re not one of us.” Willow’s eyes shone with desperation, “Please, honey, can we just drop this for a while, forget I opened my big talky mouth?” The redhead gave a hopeful smile, but that faded with her girlfriend’s response.

“No. We can’t just forget this. This i-is a problem, Willow. You think I can’t understand you and your friends’ pain over losing Buffy.”

“They’re your friends, too. Do you really think everyone just lets you tag along because you’re my girlfriend? You’re not Cordelia.”

“But you’ve made it perfectly clear lately that there’s no way I could possibly understand your grief. You know, it’s not as if I’ve never lost anyone close to me before.”

Willow, feeling very hurt, replied, “I never said you had to. I know about your mother and how much that must have hurt. But I’ve never lost anyone like this before, and I can’t handle it. The closest I’ve ever come to losing someone is Oz.”

Tara’s face had been softening until Willow uttered that last word. Willow realized her faux pas almost before she finished saying his name. That had been a big sore spot between the two lately. It wasn’t Oz in particular, just any man Willow spoke of.

Willow had been so excited when Xander and Anya told them about the engagement. She had gone on and on about how happy she was for them, and how great their wedding was going to be. Tara knew that she and Willow could never have a traditional marriage ceremony surrounded by friends and family, and that hurt her. She worried that Willow’s new interest in marriage would lead her to want a more conventional relationship. Then where would she herself be left? She loved Willow and her friends. She had just started to feel like maybe they were her friends, too. They always tried their hardest to make her feel like one of the group. But Tara knew whose side they would all take if anything were to happen between her and her girlfriend.

Before Tara could say anything, Willow began to apologize. “Oh, I can’t believe I just said that. Baby, that’s not what I meant. Why do I keep saying everything so wrong? I wish there was some spell I could do to just take back this whole conversation.”

The look on Tara’s face became even more upset. “Because that’s what you do now. Every time there’s a problem, you try to fix it with magic. No matter how powerful or dangerous that magic is.”

“What are you talking about?” Willow acted surprised, but her eyes had the look of a child that had just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

The denial enraged Tara even more, “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? That I don’t know about the books you read at the magic shop every day and hide whenever you hear someone coming? That I don’t know what those books are about? And for Goddess’s sake, I do know what an Urn of Osiris is for.”

Willow tried to interject. “But” was as far as she could get.

“Willow, you’re trying to resurrect Buffy!”

Willow started sobbing and let it all out, “She was my best friend. She’s saved my life so many times, and I couldn’t save her. I was supposed to be her big gun. I wasn’t even a pointy stick. Buffy died because I wasn’t powerful enough.”

Tara’s anger had turned to sympathy, and now she held her lover, letting her cry on her shoulder. “Shh, honey, you tried your hardest. There’s nothing else you could have done. I’m sure that wherever she is right now she’s proud of you for all you did.”

Willow looked at her girlfriend with desperation in her eyes. “But I need her. Without her, I would have been turned into a skanky, leathery vampire. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me without her.”

As Willow began to cry again, Tara cupped her girlfriend’s face in her hands and lifted her head so that they were looking into each other’s eyes. She wiped away one of Willows tears. “You’re going to hurt for a long time. You’re going to think about her a lot, and that’s going to hurt, too. But then you’ll begin to remember her for all the great things she did, and it will start to not hurt so much. It’ll get better. And she’ll always be in your heart, in her own special Buffy place.”

Willow gave a small smile, and Tara continued. “And that may not be as good as having her here, but that’s all there is. You can’t bring her back. Even if you could, it would mess up the natural order of things. You know that.”

“I know.” Willow sounded resigned. “It’s so hard, though. I can’t even grieve for her, because every time I turn around, I see her face smiling that stupid smile, and for just a second my heart gets all ‘ooh, it’s really Buffy,’ but then my brain reminds it that she’s dead and we’re using Spike’s sex-bot in her place. And then my mind inevitably comes up with mental pictures of what Spike has done with this thing that’s supposed to be Buffy, and it’s all too yuck.”

At that Tara couldn’t help but giggle a little.

Willow looked at her in horror. “It’s not funny. This is what I go through every minute of every day. This is what you don’t understand.”

“But, Will, I…” She stopped herself, looked at the front door and then back at Willow, “I think we both need some time right now, and I’ve got some things I need to do for class. I’ll be back later tonight, ok?” Willow nodded, and Tara kissed her on the cheek and walked out the door.

As the door closed, Willow fell into a lump on the couch and started to cry again. Her tears subsided as she briefly looked up and spotted a picture on the wall. She walked over and reached her hand to it. It was of the seven best friends in the Magic Box the night of the battle with Glory. Tara was sitting there in her pajamas, totally out of it. Xander and Anya had an odd glimmer of hope in their eyes. Giles looked as stoic as ever. She herself looked confident, even though she remembered being scared to death. Spike looked strangely serene, as if he had made peace with some part of himself. And then there was Buffy. Buffy looked worn out. It was clear that she was exhausted, yet at the same time she was so steadfast and determined. The visage that stared at Willow was a ghost of the Buffy they had always known, but now it was all they had. It had been Anya’s idea to take a picture of everyone once Buffy and Spike had returned from gathering more weapons. They’d all known why, even though nobody said it. It was in case they didn’t all make it. They could have something to remember their fallen friends by. But no one had thought Buffy would be the one they would lose. Afterwards, when the initial shock wore off, Anya had a copy made for each of them. Dawn had hers framed and had hung it here in their living room. She said that it made it seem like Buffy was still there, watching over her.

It was gut-wrenching to look at, Willow thought, but at the same time, it brought her peace. She could see the look in Buffy’s eyes, the exhaustion and the fear. Now that was all over for her. Her battle was won, her grand mission completed. She could be with her mother again. That though comforted Willow. She was sure Buffy was happy, wherever she was. The last few months of her life had been so overwhelming. Now Buffy could rest. But Willow still wanted her friend back. She remembered what she had seen in Buffy’s mind while she was in her catatonic state.

Buffy is sitting on a rock in the desert. It’s dark, and in front of her a large bonfire burns. On the other side is the first Slayer. She crouches and bobs back and forth. Then she eerily tells Buffy, “Death is your gift.”

“Death?” Echoes Buffy.

“Is you gift,” finishes the First.

“I wonder what kind of gift exchange policy The Powers have?” Willow wondered out loud.

“Willow.”

Willow jumped at the sudden sound of Dawn’s voice.

“Are you okay?” the young girl asked her Wiccan guardian.

“Oh, Dawn, you scared me.” Willow quickly wiped her face, hoping to conceal the fact that she’d been crying. She could tell by the look on Dawn’s face that it hadn’t worked.

Dawn didn’t say anything about it though. “I’m going to Sarah’s. Her mom invited me for dinner.”

“But, Dawnie, I thought I was going to cook dinner tonight.”

“I’m sorry, Willow, but I just don’t want to be here when it gets back.” The girl looked defiant.

Willow tried comforting her. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

It was a lie, though. Last night’s PTA meeting had been a fiasco.

“No, it was worse.” Dawn had so much anger in her eyes

. Willow knew it wasn’t really anger at the bot. The poor girl was angry with the world. The world that had taken both her mother and her sister from her in a few short months. The world where her father couldn’t be found, so she had to live with her dead sister’s two lesbian witch friends and a robot look-alike of said dead sister, built long ago to be a sex toy by the only real friend she had left, who was, of course, an evil soulless vampire. The world had not been kind to Dawn.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix the programming better.” Willow looked at her sadly.

“It’s all right. You did what you could.”

They exchanged a knowing look. They all hated that thing, but it was the only way for Dawn to stay with them.

“Well, I better get going. You know how Sarah’s mom is. All into eating dinner on time and stuff.”

“Okay. Be careful. And don’t be out too late, it’s a school night. Ooh, and if it’s dark when you’re coming home, make sure you have her mom give you a ride. Or call me. And...” Willow was cut off by the sound of the door slamming shut behind Dawn. “And when you get to his crypt, tell Spike I said ‘hi’,” she finished. How naïve did Dawn think she was? “I wonder if Dawn even knows a ‘Sarah’,” she thought out loud.

Just then the door from the garage swung open and the Buffy-Bot all but skipped into the house. “Hi, Willow.” It beamed its picture-perfect smile at her, “How are you this evening?” Before Willow even had a chance to respond it asked, “Where’s Dawn?”

“She’s eating dinner at her friend Sarah’s house,” Willow replied.

The Bot looked perplexed. “She eats there a lot. Common courtesy indicates that we should have Sarah over here to eat soon.”

Willow almost chuckled at the thought. “Sarah has some strange eating habits. I don’t think she eats anything you can cook.”

That confused the Bot even more.

Willow stood, turned and started up the stairs. “I’ve got some studying type stuff to do. If I don’t see you before you go, have a good patrol tonight.”



***

"Anya, I said no!"

"I think ruffles are sexy." Anya pouted, smoothing a crease on Xander's tux.

"You would," he teased. "Seriously, Ahn…I'm not going to wear a poo-brown tux with ruffles to our wedding," he replied, staring critically at his reflection in the tiny fitting room mirror.

"All right, so I'm not a fan of the color, either. But those ruffles…" Anya's hand played with the material of his shirt. "This is better than when you were shirtless and digging at Thanksgiving."

"Look, we have plenty of time between now and the wedding. I can find another tuxedo that makes me look just as sexcellent…" Xander brushed a lock of hair out of Anya's eyes. "And we can save the ruffles for the honeymoon."

Xander leaned in slightly, planning to kiss her. He stopped when he saw the pained expression in her eyes. "Ahn?"

"Guilt," Anya replied. "Once again, there's tons of it, and it's weighing me down."

She plopped down on the fitting room bench, avoiding Xander's gaze. Slowly, he pulled off the brown tux jacket and unbuttoned the top of his frilly shirt. Sitting next to her, he asked "What do you feel guilty about?"

"Just about everything. I'm so happy we're getting married, but I hated having to tell people after Buffy died. They all congratulated us, but it didn't seem right…being so happy when everyone else is sad." she glanced at Xander. "And I am sad. It hurts a lot thinking about Buffy, and it’s even worse when I look at the Bot."

"I miss her, too. A lot. We all do," he answered. "She died for us, and that's a hell of a lot to take in." His hand covered hers. "I know it's difficult. Sometimes I'll see something real funny and want to tell Buffy. When I realize I can't tell her anymore, it rips me up inside." His voice broke, and Anya squeezed his hand.

"It's confusing," she added. "Death is a horrible, painful thing. I don't like it. I don't like how I can talk to Buffy one day, then attend her burial the next. When Joyce died, I didn't know how to react...I still don't. Is there even a right way?"

Xander shook his head. "We all deal differently."

Anya caught his eye. "Help me," she pleaded. "Help me survive this."

"Always," he pledged, leaning in once more to kiss her and succeeding this time. After a moment he pulled away, flashing her a smile before standing up.

"Have you noticed the weirdness between Will and Tara lately?" he asked, removing the tacky tux.

"You mean the tension so thick I could cut it with a knife?" Anya thought for a moment. "That is, of course, if tension was tangible." Xander glanced at her, waiting for an answer. "Yes, I have noticed. Who hasn't?"

"It's just…" he paused, putting on the green sweater he’d come in with, "One more thing to think about." He slipped on his pants. "I think the last thing Dawn needs right now is for her guardians to be bickering all the time."

"She can always talk to Spike about it," Anya replied.

Xander rolled his eyes. "So in order to escape the trauma of living with a robot of her sister and two fighting witches, she seeks comfort with a vampire?" He opened the fitting room door, letting Anya walk out first, then following her out of the store and into the street.

"I don't think it's that bad," she responded. "Spike cares for Dawn. They have that whole brother-sister bond."

"I know," Xander admitted. "He does care for the her, but that still doesn't change the fact that she's had a difficult time this past summer."

"So has Spike," Anya added.

"So have all of us," Xander retorted bitterly.

Anya stopped walking abruptly and faced Xander. "Problem. You have one, and I don't like it. Is it about Spike? Because I thought you got over that a while ago."

“No. My problem’s not with Spike,” Xander replied. That was true. Xander had formed a truce of sorts with Spike since Buffy’s death.

The morning Buffy died, Spike had lost it. On the verge of hysterics, he’d tried to step into the sunlight. He’d wanted to stand over her as the flames engulfed his body, his ashes surrounding her. Giles had stopped him, grabbing Spike’s shoulders, throwing him to the ground. They had argued, Spike insisting he was to blame for Buffy’s death, until Xander had stepped in, trying to reason with him. Telling him it wasn’t his fault didn’t help; he just tried to push past Xander into the sun.

Xander had punched him at that point. It sent Spike flying off his feet, his head slamming harshly on the cement. Dazed and confused, Spike hadn’t put up much of a fight as Xander dragged him into the sewers and led him back to his crypt. As soon as they entered it, Spike had collapsed on the cold ground.

“Why, Harris?” he’d asked. “Why do you care what happens to me?”

“The last thing we need is to lose you, too,” Xander had replied. Suddenly remembering Buffy, he’d sunk to the floor next to Spike. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “You can’t die. Not now.” He’d choked up, struggling to keep the tears from pouring. “You can’t die because we need you. We need you because Buffy’s dead.” Saying it out loud was what had done it. Xander had cried. Suddenly uncomfortable in front of Spike, he stood up and brushed the tears from his face. “Just promise me you won’t give up.” When Spike nodded, Xander headed out the door, but he’d made it only half way across the cemetery before his legs gave out and he found himself on the ground once more. Grief smothering him, this time he’d sobbed freely.

Part of him had expected Spike to give up, one way or another. When he hadn‘t, Xander’s respect for him grew. Now, months later, they got along much better.

“Well, if it’s not Spike, what is bothering you? You know I don’t like angry Xander," Anya reminded him.

"I'm sorry, all right? I’ve just been having a hard time lately."

"Tell me about it. I've read in self-help books that sharing your feelings helps you deal with them. It better work, because I spent a lot of money on that book and…"

"Everything. Everything's bothering me. I don't even know where to begin. Why don't we start with the Buffy Bot?" Xander ranted. "It's bad enough one of my closest friends died, but it's even worse to be reminded of it every day. I look at that…that thing, and no matter how much it looks like her or talks like her, I know it's not her. Just a shell…a cheap imitation of the great person she was." He started walking faster. "Then, two of my other friends are constantly at each other's throats, mainly because of Will's magic. That's another thing…Will. She's been my friend ever since I can remember, and I'm starting to worry about her."

"She's gotten very powerful," Anya agreed. "That's why they're fighting, right? Because Willow's getting too powerful?"

"I don't know. Neither of them wants to talk about it, and I don't blame them. I don't want to talk about this anymore either," Xander finished, rubbing his eyes.

A thick silence surrounded them, the hot sun beating down harshly. The awkward pause grew, as pedestrians walked by without giving so much as a glance in their direction.

Anya took a step forward, closing the gap between their bodies. She pulled Xander into a fierce hug, clutching him and refusing to let go. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry things have been so rough lately, and it hurts me to see you suffer. I know I can't change what's happened, but there's one thing I can do… support you." She pulled away from the bear hug, cupping his face. "I'm going to be your wife. I will be there when you wake up and right by your side when you fall asleep. When your world crumbles, or something dark is tugging on your soul, I'll be ready to listen. I'm not just Anya anymore…I’m a part of you, too. So when you're wounded, I’ll be prepared with plenty of emotional Band-Aids.”

Xander grinned at Anya’s choice of words.

“I’m going to be Mrs. Xander Harris, beside you through thick and thin, sickness and health, rich or poor. As long as I’m around, you’ll never have to go through anything alone. Pain, anger, sadness, hatred…I’ll help you. Always.”

To Xander’s surprise, Anya’s speech had moved him deeply. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Anya insisted

“No, Ahn. I do. Thank you. Thank you for reminding me why I’m marrying you; why I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Xander’s hands found hers, and he held them firmly. “I love you.”

Anya, close to tears herself, whispered the words back and met Xander’s lips for a short but sweet kiss.

Hands still joined, they continued down the busy street, blanketed by a comfortable silence. Anya, of course, was the one to break it.

“I still like that frilly tux,” she persisted.

Xander groaned in protest. “I’m not changing my mind. Brown ruffles are definitely out!”

Anya pouted playfully. “You won’t consider it at all?”

“Never! I’ve already forgotten it exists,” he replied lightly.

“Fine,” Anya sighed, defeated. “You’re right. We shouldn’t even be thinking about tuxedos yet. We have plenty of time for that.”

Xander nodded. “Exactly.”

“What we should focus on are the invitations.”

“Oh, man!” He had totally walked into that one and hadn’t even realized it.

Anya grinned mischievously. “I saw some absolutely gorgeous ones the other day. They had classy calligraphy lettering and embossed roses. I want them.”

“How much were they?” he asked. They sounded nice; Anya must have better taste in invitations then tuxedos.

She sighed. “Too much. So I thought maybe we could buy one invitation and try and find some spell to duplicate it.”

“Ahn, they’re not going to print up only one invitation.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Xander reasoned, “if they did that people could just photocopy them, and…“

“Xander! You’re a genius! Who needs magic when there’s a copy place down the street?” Anya was getting excited. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Xander decided not to tell Anya just then, that he didn’t want photocopied invitations.

“We can use such fancy wording, too! This is going to be great,” she stated. “We agreed on an outdoor wedding, didn’t we?”

“No,” Xander corrected. “We considered it. We didn’t choose one or the other.”

“True. But you know what I just thought of?”

“What?”

“We haven’t even talked about the most important part of our wedding.” Anya looked troubled. “I was waiting for the right time to bring it up, and now’s as good a time as any.”

“Okay,” Xander replied, trying to think of what could possibly be so serious. He could have sworn they already discussed the major details.

Anya faced him and stared very seriously into his eyes. “Our wedding cake. Do you want chocolate or vanilla?”

“Well, I…“ he began.

“And we have to get those little people to put on top of the cake. Aren’t those customary? I’d like to have a mini-us on our wedding cake.”

Xander laughed. It had been an extremely long time since he had laughed. It felt wonderful; in fact just, being around Anya lifted his spirits.

He was looking forward to the wedding already.

****


She came to him again, as she did so often these days, her long, golden hair cascading down her neck and smelling of freshly picked lilacs. How beautiful she is, he thought to himself as she glided toward him. How utterly perfect. And just when it seemed to him that she couldn’t be any more lovely, she smiled at him, that devastating, glorious smile that had always reminded him of the midday sun. It had been a long time since he had seen the real thing, but now he basked in the warm glow of her, the scent...the heat. He allowed himself to smile back at her, a weak pathetic thing by comparison, but it was all he had to offer her as he reveled in her beauty. Suddenly he felt ashamed that he was so close to her, that something so vital, so pure, would be sullied by his unclean gaze. Who was he to look at her this way? What was he? Nothing. Evil. Twisted, corrupt, and evil. A vampire.

He tried to back away, but she was still coming toward him, no longer the figure of desire that she had been but now changed into something frightening. She was still fiercely beautiful beyond his capacity for words, but the warmth was gone, replaced by the cold, battle hardened features of the warrior that she was. She was the Slayer, the awesome killer of the undead, the destroyer of all that was unholy in the world, and she was coming for him. He was running now, desperately seeking an escape from her wrath. Try as hard as he might, though, there was no escape. Everywhere he turned, she was always there, always accusing, always asking the same questions.

“Why didn’t you protect her, Spike? I counted on you to protect her. Why didn’t you save her? Why did you let me die?”

He didn’t answer her. He never did. He couldn’t. There was nothing to say. None of the clever retorts that he had never seemed to lack when she had been alive came to his undead lips now. She had trusted him with the most precious thing in the world, the one thing that she had treasured above all else. Her sister. Dawn. He had promised that he would defend her until the end of the world...and he had failed her.

On cue, he found himself back on the tower facing the demonic creature known to him only as Doc. He watched helplessly as the demon plunged his knife into the girl, twisting it hideously and cackling with maniacal glee. She screamed, blood flowing everywhere at once, dripping down her legs and forming vast puddles that threatened to drown him. Her blood was everywhere now, at his feet, in his mouth...on his hands. As the blood poured out of her body, she continued to scream, his name a curse on her innocent young lips. He cringed as it became an unbearable chorus of despair. Spike. Spike. Spike.

“Spike?”

He woke to find himself lying on the cold marble slab that he used as a bed, staring up at the very worried face of Dawn Summers. He groaned as he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. Bloody hell, he thought to himself, how much more of this can I take?

“Morning, Niblet,” was what he actually said. “How was school today?”

The girl looked at him carefully and, with obvious concern in her voice, replied “Are you okay? I mean, you look like hell and all...”

“Yeah, I’m ok, luv, honestly. Could do with a cigarette, though. There’s a pack of smokes in my coat, if you’d be so kind.”

Nodding, she put down her backpack and grabbed his black leather duster from its perch atop his battered recliner and quickly rummaged through the pockets while he tried to pull himself together. The dreams were coming more frequently now-almost every night, in fact-and growing more and more vivid. He had never cared much for sleeping anyway, but now the very thought of slipping into unconsciousness terrified him. He fought it with every fiber of his being, but eventually he would feel himself sliding toward oblivion, and then a new round of horrors would begin. Dawn finally found the package of fags and tossed it to him.

“Damn” He muttered. “Only three left.”

“You shouldn’t smoke so much. It’s really not good for you...” Then she smiled as she realized the absurdity of lecturing a vampire on the perils of lung cancer.

It was good to see her smile, he reflected. She so rarely did it anymore. None of them did. Not since that terrible day. Had it been four months already? It seemed like only yesterday, but then again, since he had existed for nearly a century and a half as both human and vampire, he supposed four months was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

“Anyway,” she continued, “it’s not morning, it’s almost five in the afternoon. I’ve been out of class for a couple of hours now. And for your information, school sucks, and I’m never going again.”

She plopped down unceremoniously onto the recliner, a particularly bitter expression clouding her otherwise pretty face. Spike sighed. He had a fairly good idea what the problem was going to end up being, but he felt obligated to ask anyway.

“Ok, pet, what’s bothering you now? And it’s still morning to me. Sundown isn’t for over an hour yet. I’m a vampire, remember?”

“Gee, grumpy, much? What do you think’s bothering me, Spike? Huh? It’s that stupid thing again. It humiliated me in front of a bunch of people at school last night, you know at that PTA thing Willow and Tara made me go to-with it. A bunch of kids were laughing at me today at lunch hour. I hate it, Spike. I just hate it.”

While she spoke, she had been getting increasingly agitated. Spike took a drag off his cigarette but said nothing. Not a lot for him to say, really. He knew exactly what she was talking about, just as he knew without a doubt that it was all his fault. Not for the first time, he wished he had never met that bloody little wanker Warren or forced the nerdy computer genius into doing what he had done. But he had been desperate then. So bitterly lonely and rejected that he had come to the mad conclusion that if he couldn’t win the love of the woman of his dreams, then he would replicate her. Create a perfect woman out of nothing but wires, metal and plastic. Or something like that, anyway. Spike’s Victorian-era mind was incapable of grasping even the most basic concepts of 21st century robotics. All he knew was that it had worked. She had looked like Buffy Anne Summers. She had even sounded like her- well, a much chirpier version of her-but what was important was that she had felt like her. She had loved him and catered to his every whim, no matter how sick or twisted. She had been perfect in every way. Except for one. She wasn’t Buffy, could never be Buffy. It had all been a colossal mistake, just another in a series of Spike-initiated disasters, which he now regretted more than he could possibly express.

What really bothered him was that he knew this wasn’t actually about anything the bot had done or said at the Niblet’s school. It was her continued presence in all their lives that was the issue. As long as she existed, she made them face the undeniably harsh truth that the real Buffy Summers was dead; and had been since late May. It was killing all of them an inch at a time, just as if it were some form of cancer or another terminal disease. Even Spike, who had been technically dead for well over a century, could hardly stand to look at it without feeling an immense sense of loss and grief. And guilt, he thought. Never forget the guilt.

He knew that the others didn’t blame him for what had happened that night. Not really. They had been too lost in their own oceans of pain to point fingers at him. And if he looked at it logically, he was forced to admit that there wasn’t much he could have done to stop Doc from cutting Dawn and starting the ritual that had opened the portals to all the other dimensions. Doc had been a powerful demon, much too strong for any one vampire, even Spike. But grief and guilt were never logical; and Spike felt both with an intensity he had not experienced since his transformation into a vampire all those many decades ago.

“So what exactly did she say that was so bloody terrible?” He knew it wasn’t important, but he felt as if he had to say something to her.

“She... it...” To Dawn, the bot was always “it”. “It got up and told everybody in the room that I was a virgin.”

She said it with such a sense of exaggerated horror that he almost choked on the cigarette he still had in his mouth. As it was, he burst out laughing, which only succeeded in making her more angry.

“It’s not funny, Spike,” she fumed at him in the imperious manner she had clearly inherited from her older sister.

“Sorry, sweetie but it really kind of is.” He paused for a moment. “Er, you are, right? Still a you know...”

“Ewww, how can you even ask me that? As if. Besides, it’s none of your business.” As she said that, she gave him the American version of the old two-fingered salute, which in this benighted country consisted of an extended middle finger.

Spike shook his head in exasperated fascination. Sitting there, with her caught simultaneously in fits of anger, grief and utter heartbreaking charm, he realized how precious this girl had become to him during the past year. She was so much like Buffy but at the same time...not. Only a few weeks past her fifteenth birthday, she had her older sister’s charm and wit, and was definitely showing signs of developing the same breathtaking beauty that characterized the Summers women, not just the two sisters but their mother, as well. He felt another twinge of sadness at that thought, remembering how much he had always liked Joyce. She was gone, too, struck down by a burst blood vessel in her brain, only scant months before Buffy’s own tragic death.

It’s not bloody fair, he thought bitterly. The lil bit’s been through more sodding havoc than entire countries should have to deal with. And yet she seemed to be handling it better than the rest of them, at least on the surface. Spike, perhaps because he had so recently been accepted into their ranks, could clearly see that the Scoobies were slowly but surely coming apart at the seams. Willow was increasingly preoccupied with her magical studies, leaving more and more of Dawn’s welfare in the hands of the bot, even though she knew better. It was also obvious that the other half of the Wiccan duo was less than thrilled about that, but Tara had always been a tough read for Spike. He had a distinct feeling that there was more to her than met the eye-much more, in fact-but it was nothing he could ever put a finger on. That daft Harris whelp and his less than subtle fiancée seemed to be coping well enough, but then again, they had each other to lean on, didn’t they? That left Giles. Old Rupert’s a broken man, Spike mused. Why shouldn’t he be, though? Buffy had been more than just a Slayer to him. She’d been his daughter in all but name, and her death had shaken him as much as it had Dawn, or Spike himself. Of course, that begged the question of why Spike even bothered to grieve for her at all. Why did he care?

After all, what exactly had he lost in comparison to the rest of them? She hadn’t been a daughter or a sister or even a close friend, until very recently. What had Buffy really been to him other than a continual pain in the backside that he had never been able to successfully eliminate? She was the only Slayer he had ever come across that he couldn’t beat, no matter how hard he tried. Eventually it had come to him, long after Drusilla, his sire and lover for decades, had left him precisely because she had seen it. William the Bloody, one of the most ruthless vampires in the history of the world, had fallen madly, passionately in love with a girl whose sole mission in life was to end his. Who did not, could not, ever love him back.

S’truth, he thought. Why don’t I just bloody well end it now and take a brisk walk in the sun. It’s still light out. It would all be over in a few seconds. No more pain or guilt. None of it. Just eternal rest. Well, either that or endless suffering in the blackest pits of hell, depending on your belief system. He sighed again. Who was he kidding? Buffy might be gone, but Dawn was still here. She still needed him.

“What are you, spacing out or something?” The anger in her voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“No, luv. I’ve heard every word you said. I just don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“Talk to Willow,” she pleaded. “Please. Get her to get it off my back. No. Tell her to shut the stupid thing off. I can’t take looking at it anymore. It’s not her, Spike. It will never be her, so why do we have to keep pretending it is? Why? Tell me why!”

She was sobbing, the tears flowing down her face and her voice cracking in grief. Spike’s heart, cold and dead as it was, broke at the sight. He walked over to the recliner, where she had curled herself into a ball.

“Shh, Dawn, please, you know I can’t do that. We need her. As long as she’s up and running, the rest of the nasties that lurk in the shadows will stay away. I’m sorry, pet I just can’t do it. I know how much it’s hurting you. Don’t you think I know that? I see the pain in your face. It’s tearing all our guts into bloody little ribbons, but it’s got to be done. To protect the rest of Sunnydale, whether the daft buggers appreciate it or not. It’s what Buffy would have wanted, you see. It’s what she stood for. We all have to honor that. Do you understand, Dawn? Do you see that?”

He’d spoken a little too harshly, he realized, when he saw the look of agonized horror on her face.

“Oh God,” she whimpered softly, the sound of her pain tearing entirely new chunks out of him. “I’m a stupid, selfish brat. I know that’s what Buffy would want, Spike, I really do. But it hurts. It... hurts ...so much, so much... I can’t stand it. When Mom died, I thought I was gonna die, too. I missed her so much. Buffy...Buffy made me see that we had to let her go, because that’s what Mom would have wanted. But now they’re both gone Spike, and I loved them more than anything in the world, and I just don’t think I can take it anymore.”

She was weeping openly now, so hard that her breath was coming in short gasps. Spike, not knowing what else to do, knelt down and took her in his arms. She instinctively reached out and grabbed him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him for dear life.

“I want my sister back, Spike. She shouldn’t have been the one to die. It should’ve been me.”

“No,” he whispered to her as gently as he could, the stinging in his eyes making him realize that he was crying, too. “Never, ever say that. This was not your fault, baby. Please, if you never believe another word I say, believe that.”

And somewhere, deep within himself, he made a decision.

“I swear, Dawnie, I’ll get her back. No matter what it takes, I’ll find a way to bring her back to you.”

She pulled her head back and stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to fully grasp the enormity of what he had just said. Then, instead of saying anything, she leaned in closely to him and kissed him on his lips, an exquisitely pure gesture devoid of anything but love. The intensity of it nearly blinded, him but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her warmth. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she ended it, pulling back and resting her head on his shoulder.

They were still in that position when a very worried Tara came looking for them a few hours later.

*****

As she walked through the cemetery, the last on her list to patrol for this evening, she found herself thinking about the events of the past twenty-four hours. No matter how hard she tried, she could not understand why Dawn had been so upset with her. All she had done was state how proud she was that her little sister was not engaging in premarital sex. The fact that she had done it during a crowded PTA meeting in front of the majority of Dawn’s teachers, fellow students and their parents shouldn’t have bothered Dawn as much as it obviously did. As a matter of fact, she was becoming increasingly alarmed by Dawn’s continued acts of rebellion. The girl was constantly challenging her authority and creating friction within the household. Even Willow was starting to lose patience with her. Of course lately Willow seemed to be losing patience with everybody, so that might not mean too much. It was all just so puzzling.

She continued to check between the headstones in the older and more overgrown part of the cemetery, but there was little sign of any unusual activity tonight. Just as well, she thought to herself. She’d been feeling rather tired lately, a bit worn down. She’d tried to mention it to Willow but her friend had been so busy these days that most of what anyone said to her seemed to go unnoticed. Now that she thought about it, all her friends seemed a bit distant lately. Oh, it wasn’t that they were rude or anything. Never that. It was just that they always seemed to be in a hurry to be somewhere else.

She stopped short as something moved past an old crypt on her right. Crouching down, she used her heightened senses to their full extent, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when a large alley cat went tearing through the underbrush, leaving the overgrown grass dancing noisily in the moonlight. She paused to regain her composure and found herself staring at the side of the crypt. She had seen hundreds of them in her lifetime, but these days they all seemed to remind her of one thing. A very special thing. Of all the strange things that had been happening during the past several months, the thing that bothered her most was the continued absence in her life of the man of her dreams. Scratch that, she thought. The vampire of her dreams. Spike.

He was still in Sunnydale, of course. She knew that Dawn still sneaked out to visit him in his crypt from time to time, but every time she had gone there to see him, he hadn’t been home. And on those rare occasions when he did visit the house, it was always to see Willow or Tara. He never came over unless she was out on an errand or patrolling. She pouted at that. She would have been jealous if not for the fact that her two Wiccan friends had been lovers for nearly two years. It just didn’t make any sense at all. She and Spike had been so close once, so loving. How could he continue to avoid her like this? He was her vampire, and she was his girl. His Slayer. His Buffy.

Blissfully unaware of her mechanical nature and having completed her final sweep of the night, the robot walked back toward the entrance of the cemetery. As she reached the main driveway that led out to the street, she suddenly found herself confronted by three fairly large male vampires. She knew they were vampires because they were all in game face, sporting long pointed fangs and slightly raised ridges on their foreheads. Well, that and the fact that they all smelled like they had been dead for at least six months. The first one charged toward her immediately, perhaps in the vain hope that he could catch her off-guard. If that was his plan, then he was about to get the worst shock of his unlife.

She sprang out of his way with ease and quickly plunged a wooden stake through his back and into his heart. As he burst into a cloud of dust, she did a flip over the heads of the two remaining creatures and landed behind them. Startled by her speed, they hesitated for just an instant before whirling around to face her. That brief delay proved to be fatal, as she pulled another stake from her boot with her right hand and drove it into one vampire’s chest, at the same time hurling the other stake at his partner with her left. Both stakes hit their targets with a sickening crunch that was immediately followed by the inevitable crumbling into piles of vampiric dust.

“Geez,” she said out loud to no one in particular. “That was too easy. We really need to get a better class of vampire around here.”

“You really think so?” replied a voice out of nowhere.

Suddenly the bot was surrounded by a small army of vampires, at least ten of them, who had all seemed to materialize out of the darkness in an instant.

“Well then,” continued the speaker, a thin, dark-haired woman in a flowing red dress who was obviously the leader. “Let’s see how you handle us.”


******

Her name was Clarissa and, despite her relative youth, at least as the undead measured it, she was a fairly accomplished vampire. A very minor film star during Hollywood’s silent era, she had been turned in the late 20’s and had spent the intervening decades haunting the seedy underbelly of America’s movie industry. These days, though, it was hard to tell the difference between the seedy underbelly and the respectable mainstream. It was all sleazy, and for a vampire to admit that, there had to be something wrong somewhere. She’d lived in the sewers and back alleys of North Hollywood for years, but lately she had been becoming more and more discontented with the living conditions in the greater Los Angeles area. It just wasn’t the same anymore.

It was the people, of course. The time was when the buses would be loaded with fresh-faced young kids, right out of the heartland, all corn-fed, looking to make their fortunes and just ripe for the plucking. No longer, though. The continuous corporate downsizing that had attended the studio mergers in the 80’s and 90’s had managed to have an effect on nearly the entire population of Los Angeles. It was a wonder there was anything left of the film industry, and, as in all one-industry towns, everybody made a living off of the movies one way or another, even the vampires.

Especially the vampires, she had thought to herself grimly as she watched her beloved hunting grounds become havens for thousands of Central American immigrants, while at the same time, the handful of undead overlords who ruled the City of Angels continued to prosper and feed at will, leaving lesser beings like Clarissa to fight one another over the scraps. It just wasn’t fair. Besides, she had always detested Mexican food. It gave her gas.

So, some time ago, she had decided to try her luck in a smaller venue, somewhere up north. Sunnydale had seemed to be the logical choice. It was quiet but large enough to support the small number of vampires she had surrounded herself with over the years. Best of all, it was located directly on top of a Hellmouth, always a good sign. There was, of course, one very big catch. Sunnydale, California, was home to the one thing that chilled most vampires to the very core of their undead bones. The Slayer.

Clarissa had been hearing about this particular Slayer for years. She’d first surfaced in L.A. in the mid 90’s and had since proved to be a colossal pain in the ass for all of demon-kind. The rumors were that she was the best that had ever lived. That she was unstoppable. Unkillable. That very concept intrigued Clarissa to no end. She had never met a human who couldn’t be killed. Not if you applied the right kind of pressure. And over the last several months, she had thought of all sorts of interesting ways to squeeze. Now the girl that she had come all this way to meet was standing directly in front of her, waiting to meet her fate.

She was a luscious little thing, too. Not quite what she had expected, but certainly agreeable to her discerning palate. Small, blonde, extraordinarily pretty, and obviously very healthy. It was almost a shame she wouldn’t be able to turn her. She might be fun to play with for a century or two. But Clarissa had already planned this encounter and letting the Slayer walk away, in any form, was just not in the cards. She motioned to the vampires closest to the girl to hem her in, to keep her off balance, while Clarissa made her move. These particular vampires were a couple of the small group of local minions she had recently recruited to her cause. They were a pathetic lot, these Sunnydale vampires. When she had arrived in town a few weeks ago with her small clutch, she had been disgusted to find that they had been living almost entirely on a diet of rats, sometimes supplemented by the odd house pet or two. They hid in their crypts and cellars by day, and skulked through the shadows at night, never daring to challenge the fearsome killer of the undead. The vampire slayer known as...

“So tell me, my dear,” she practically purred at the girl. “Exactly what type of anti-depressants was your mother on when she named you Buffy?”

The four members of her clutch grinned at her. Clarissa was notorious for playing with her food. The five Sunnydale vampires simply looked sullenly from the slayer back to their new master, unsure as to who was going to get the upper hand.

“Oh, I don’t know,” shot back the girl, “probably the same ones that you were on when you picked out that dress.”

Clarissa detected no fear coming from the Slayer. As a matter of fact, her usually uncanny olfactory senses were picking up nothing at all. Strange, that. Still, she had never actually faced a Slayer before, so anything was possible. She continued on.

“Aren’t you a little worried that you’re slightly outmatched here, Slayer?”

The reply was curt. “I might ask you the same question.”

Clarissa actually laughed out loud at that. “My, my what an absolutely charming little creature you are. But I think you’re forgetting something here, my dear.”

The Slayer remained unfazed, continually looking for a point of attack while she considered her next response.

“And what’s that, exactly?” The girl fairly spat the words back into the vampire’s face.

“I have you outnumbered ten to one and completely surrounded.” As if on cue, the vampires closed in on their prey, taking care to stay as far out of staking range as possible.

The Slayer snorted in contempt at this revelation. “And you’re obviously forgetting that you’re dealing with a vampire slayer.”

As she uttered the words, the girl launched herself full-bore at Clarissa. The other L.A. vampires immediately moved to intercept her, but they needn’t have bothered. Half way through the charge, the Slayer executed a nearly perfect somersault, obviously attempting to land on the other side of the ever-closing ring of vampires. Nearly perfect. For whatever reason, the girl missed her mark and was swatted down by one of the Sunnydale vamps, who had been lurking on the edge of the circle. The Slayer went crashing down on top of him, and then as she rolled off, rammed a stake into his heart with a flawless backhand thrust.

“Very impressive, said Clarissa as the vampire exploded. She was smiling sweetly when she followed up with “but I’m afraid it’s you that forgot one tiny but important little detail, sweetie.”

The girl refused to comment, obviously trying to deny the vampire the full pleasure of her defeat. She was still trying to maneuver, to somehow salvage a victory, no matter how small, from this battle. Realizing that this was the closest she was going to come to a response from her prey, Clarissa sighed.

“You forgot the one eternal truth that plagues all of mankind,” she stated bluntly. “That no human is bullet-proof. Not even a vampire slayer.”

With that, Clarissa pulled out the semi-automatic pistol she had been carrying in a holster on her leg and emptied the entire magazine into the young woman.

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn the stupid little ho, can you?” she said to the vampires standing closest to her. She felt flushed with victory. Her first time out against a Slayer and it had been an almost flawless kill. She was almost giddy with relief and power. She was so nearly overcome with pleasure, in fact, that it took her a moment to realize that none of the other vampires were sharing in her obvious joy.

“What’s the matter with you idiots?” she demanded, “Haven’t you ever seen a vampire use a gun before?”

When one of the Sunnydale vamps, clearly almost in shock, pointed to where the slayer was lying, Clarissa turned to look for herself. What she saw nearly staggered her.

“What the...?” was all she managed to get out.

The slayer was moving. She wasn’t moving very fast, but she was definitely crawling along the ground. And there was something clearly not right about her. Well, in addition to the fact that she had just had fifteen bullets pumped into her stomach at point blank range that is. She appeared to be giving off some sort of electricity. Clarissa, now totally confused, cautiously edged toward the damaged, but still possibly dangerous girl. No, something was really not right here. Where was the sweet smell of freshly spilled blood? She was obviously leaking something from the gaping bullet wounds in her stomach, though. The vampire reached down and touched some of the fluid with her fingertips and then quickly pulled them back in pain.

“Acid!” she yelped. Acid? What kind of freak had acid for blood? Visions of Aliens quickly filled her mind. She had seen every single movie in the series at least twice. Even that really dumb one with Wynona Rider. Alien Resurrection. Oh, please.

One of the local vamps had worked up enough courage to approach the thing, for thing it appeared to be, and now he turned it over on its back. A collective gasp went up from the assembled bloodsuckers. Clarissa was, characteristically, the first one to recover her power of speech.

“The slayer’s a robot? Hey…”, she turned to a couple of the locals, “did any of you guys know the slayer was a robot?” When they all shook their heads negatively, she sighed.

“Well, don’t that beat all?” When they remained stationary, she barked out “Don’t just stand there, morons”. And then in her best Bruce Davidson as Willard voice, “Tear it up!”

The four remaining Sunnydale vampires, finally realizing that the person they had feared all this time was not only helpless but nothing more than a machine, went at it with gusto, pulling apart limbs and stomping moving parts into unmoving junk.

Clarissa soon tired of the fun. It had still been a good night, but now she was completely puzzled. How long had that thing been posing as the Slayer? More importantly, had there ever been a Slayer? Turning the idea over in her mind, she came to a quick conclusion and called Terry over. Terry was her current paramour and had been with her for a number of years now. She had first met him at a Vincent Price film festival at UCLA in 1965. He had been her favorite ever since. He put his arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her neck. She purred a bit at that. Slaughter, even of non-humans, never failed to arouse her. She turned around and kissed him lightly on his lips.

After moment she pulled back and asked him, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Uh, Silicon Valley’s made a lot more headway in robotics than we were led to believe by that article in ‘Newsweek’?”

She slapped him playfully across his cheek. “Well, that, too.” She smiled at him, a wicked smile full of cunning and blood.

“It means, my dear, that somebody put that thing here to scare us off. As if we’re a bunch of stupid crows. Which also means there is no real Slayer. She’s gone, probably dead. Maybe has been for a while now. Which means that Sunnydale is an open town again.”

Hah, she thought to herself. So much for the invincible Buffy Summers.

She looked at Terry with unadulterated lust in her eyes.

“Tell ya what, lover,” she said “Lets go out and find somebody to eat.”

Arm in arm, they strolled down the walkway to the street, flanked by the rest of her followers.

“ Oh yeah”, she chuckled softly, “I think I’m really gonna like it here in the ‘burbs.’

Chapter Two


“Buffy in the Sky with Demons”


Written by Phil and CJ


*


The door to Spike’s crypt squealed open, and Xander’s voice rang out “Spike, you home?”

“Would you leave if I said ‘no‘,” a voice mumbled from the chair. Spike was emotionally exhausted after the evening with Dawn. The last thing he needed tonight was a rousing game of “kick the Spike” with the whelp.

Xander gave him a sarcastic smile as he walked in and sat on the couch, then reached into his pocket, fished out a packet of cigarettes and held them out to Spike, “You left these at the Magic Box earlier. I was around, so I figured I’d drop by and give them back to you.”

Spike eyed the package suspiciously. They were his brand, but the box was unopened and still in the wrapper. They weren’t his. Did Harris just buy me a pack of smokes as an excuse to drop by and chitchat? He knew he should have been nice and not let on that he knew what Xander was up to, but that wasn’t his style, so he replied, “Those aren’t mine.”

Xander looked slightly panicked. “Yeah, they are. See, they’re your brand. And you’re the only one who smokes.”

“Nope, not mine,” Spike said calmly, handing the small box back to Xander. He chuckled just a bit, letting Xander know he was wise to his little scheme.

“You couldn’t just make this easy for me, could you?” Xander glared at him and tossed the package back to him.

Spike smiled. “Yeah, I could. It just wouldn’t be nearly so much fun.” Then he extracted one of the cigarettes from the new pack and lit it. “So, mate, what can I do you for?”

“Well, as horribly awkward as this whole idea is, I need to talk.”

Spike cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow at that.

Xander continued, “I mean guy talk. And since Oz has been gone for over a year now, and Giles has gone all solitary confinement, you’re as close as I’m going to get to finding another guy to guy talk with.”

“I’m deeply touched.” Spike said mockingly.

“Shut up, Spike.” Xander wasn’t amused and started getting up to leave.

Spike jumped up and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Then, with what almost seemed like kindness, he said, “Nah, mate, you need to talk. I’ll listen. I’ll be good. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in a mock salute.

“Spike, there’s no way you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“No, but one time I did eat an entire troop.” Xander gave him a horrified look, so Spike added, “Kidding, just kidding.” Xander calmed down and returned to sitting on the couch. Under his breath, Spike couldn’t help but mumble, “Kidding. Sure.”

Xander began letting out the problem that had bothered him enough to seek comfort in conversation with a vampire that had tried to kill him more times than he could count, “It’s this whole wedding thing. It’s really giving me the wiggins. I mean, one day I’m the glorified bricklayer living alone in my parent’s basement, the next I’ve got a steady job, a nice apartment, and I’m picking out invitations for my wedding to a girl lots of guys would kill for.”

Spike looked blankly at him. “And the problem is…?”

“Aside from the fact that I’m too destroyed over…over Bu-God, I can’t say it.” Xander’s eyes were watering up.

“Over Buffy’s death,” Spike finished for him.

Xander noticed how empty the vampire’s eyes looked as he said those words. He looked like he’d had his soul wrenched out through his chest, leaving only a large painful void in its place. But he would have had to have a soul in the first place for that, Xander thought. “Yeah, too destroyed over that to feel even the slightest bit happy. But every once in a while I do feel happy, and then I feel guilty for feeling happy and, and I’m just tired of feeling at all.”

“Bollocks,” Spike declared, “She died so you and Anya and the whole sodding world could live. And part of living is enjoying that life. She loved you both very much, and you know if she were here now she would be nothing but happy for you. You bloody well know she wouldn’t want you to be making the happiest time of your life miserable because of her.“ He had gotten a little quieter toward the end.

Xander looked taken aback, “Wow, that was actually good advice.”

“Well, when you’ve been around for over a hundred and twenty years, you pick up a few things,” Spike replied, now slightly out of it, memories of Buffy replaying in his head.

“There’s another problem, too.” Xander looked down at the ground. “I don’t think I deserve her. Anya’s the only reason I went from Captain Loser to Mr. Grown-Up Guy. What if she realizes how much better she could do than me?”

Spike looked deathly serious, “Listen, Xander, the girl loves you. A lot. Probably more than you could bleedin’ imagine. So what if you think you don’t deserve her? Being worthy of love has nothing to do with it. You can’t control it. You fall in love with that one person you know is right, and that’s all there is. It’s powerful. It’s irrational. It’s all-consuming. And it’s eternal. You two love each other. Whatever you do, don’t forget that. And most importantly don’t ever let go of it.”

Xander had a feeling that Spike wasn’t just talking about him and Anya anymore. For the first time, hearing Spike talk about Buffy hadn’t totally weirded him out. It had actually made him feel pity for the blonde vampire. Xander remembered when he’d first met Buffy and how he had pined for her back in high school. Those memories only served to plunge him back toward the sadness that was growing in his heart again. And now, on top of his grief over Buffy, he was feeling bad for Spike too. It was too much for him. He needed to be somewhere else. Now.

He got up from the couch and started to say a quick good bye to Spike, who never got out of his chair. “Just remembered, I gotta go look at some more stuff with Anya. For the wedding. Thanks for the little talk. It really helped.” He was almost at the door when he turned around and looked at Spike still sitting there, on the verge of breaking down. He felt like he had to do something.

“Hey, Spike, you know that problem I was having trying to find somebody to have a little guy talk with? Well, the same thing is happening with the whole finding a best man for the wedding thing. You wouldn’t want to…?” Spike shot a shocked and bewildered glance at Xander. “Right then. Stupid question. Forget I said anything.” Xander turned to walk out the door.

“I would be right honored,” Spike said sincerely, still somewhat taken aback.

“Great. That’s cool, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at the Scooby meeting.” Xander couldn’t believe Spike had actually said yes.

“Right, then. Tomorrow night,” Spike answered.

The door slammed shut behind Xander. As he walked through the cemetery, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Spike had just given him some of the most heartfelt advice he’d ever gotten in his life, and now the vamp was going to be the best man at his wedding. Out loud, he mused, “Gee, this has to be one of those ‘you know you live on a Hellmouth when…’ moments.” Just then he heard a faint popping noise in the distance. He could have sworn it sounded like automatic gunfire, but in Sunnydale? “Who uses guns in Sunnydale?” he asked the empty graveyard. He shrugged it off and walked toward home now at a slightly quicker pace.

“What the bloody hell?” Spike spoke into the silence of his crypt. William the Bloody, scourge of all Europe, killer of two Slayers, was going to be best man at a Scooby wedding. And it was all her fault. “If she’s looking down on us right now, she must be having herself one bloody good laugh.” He pictured Buffy laughing. She hadn’t done that for a long time before that night on the tower. She was so beautiful when she laughed.

He realized he was beginning to fall asleep. He couldn’t do that. Whenever he fell asleep thinking about her, he would have the dream. He couldn’t take that tonight. He had to find something to do to stay awake.

He picked up the TV remote and turned on his television. “Phoebe, Pru, get the Book of Shadows quick. We need to vanquish this Stink Demon now. And… ooh, I really like those leather pants. Are they new?”

“Bloody Hell!” Spike gasped and quickly began punching buttons on the remote. After flipping through the channels a number of times, he decided there was nothing to be seen on the telly tonight. Then what was there to do? There was no way he was going to patrol tonight. It was the bot’s night to patrol, and he wasn’t about to run the risk of bumping into that. “Might as well go have m’self a drink,” he mumbled, then grabbed his duster and headed for the door.


**


“Are you really sure you that know what you’re doing?” Anya asked in a more than slightly worried voice as she handed the tightly wrapped parcel over to Willow.

The witch nodded grimly. She had been sure about this for months. It had only been a question of when to do it. Now, she had run out of time. She took the package from the other woman’s hands and proceeded to tear the brown paper from it, her actions becoming increasingly animated, as she got closer to her goal. Finally, it was all off, revealing a lead box with an elaborately carved symbol on the top. Willow immediately knew that she had at last come into possession of the one final ingredient that she needed to make her desperate plan come to fruition. She could already sense the power emanating from within the container. It sent shivers up and down her spine and stiffened her resolve. I can do this, she thought. I’ve got to do this. She looked down again at the box and ran her fingers across the symbol, a white crown that was the mark of a powerful Egyptian God.

“Osiris,” she whispered in an awestruck voice. “It’s genuine. I’ve got it, Anya. I’ve got the urn.”

“Well, actually I’ve got the urn. It’s not like you’ve paid me for it or anything. You have no idea how much trouble I went through to get you that thing. Rare Egyptian artifacts are, well...rare. I had to use every icky contact that Giles has to find it. It isn’t as if you can just order one up on E-Bay, you know. It took me months. Hey, are you listening to me?”

Willow really wasn’t. She had too much to plan for without listening to any more of Anya’s prattle. Oh, she was okay in small doses but she was so, so trivial. If Willow had to listen to her wedding plans one more time she was going to scream. Like she cared what kind of pate’ they were serving at the reception. Didn’t Anya realize how important this moment was? Brushing all thoughts of Anya aside, she carefully lifted the box off the counter and placed it into her backpack. I am going to do this. Buffy is coming back.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Anya again. “You aren’t going to take that now, are you? Shouldn’t we wait for Giles? Or Tara, at least. That thing is far too dangerous for you to be monkeying around with all by yourself. It’s Necromancy, Willow. You can’t get any darker or more powerful than that. All sorts of really bad things can happen if you make even the slightest miscalculation.”

Willow shook her head. “No, I don’t have the time to wait for them. Besides, they wouldn’t…” she trailed off. “Well, it’s just that they might not understand, that’s all. I just don’t have the time for a debate with either one of them.”

She sighed inwardly. Debate was the least she could expect from them on this subject. Tara had been giving her nothing but grief about her research into resurrection spells lately. If she even suspected that Willow had actually set the process in motion, there would be no telling how she would react. Tara had very definite opinions on what could and should be done with magic. This was one of those “should not” topics. Willow doubted if she would ever get her lover or Giles to bend on this issue and she no longer had the time, or even the inclination to try. It had to be done and she would be the one to do it, even if that risked alienating the others. It was simply too important.

“Ok, then. I guess I can’t talk you out of it at all, can I?” Anya asked, obviously looking for reason to put off the spell. “At least wait until you’ve had time to talk Giles. It’s really his urn. I had to use store credit to get it you know.” She sounded hopeful.

Willow just stared at her, growing more annoyed.

“Is that all you can think of?” Willow shouted, “ This is our friend’s life we’re talking about, not some stupid balance sheet. This is Buffy.”

“I know very well what you’re talking about, but it just seems wrong that you’re not letting anybody else know what you’re doing,” Anya replied defensively. “At least let me tell Xander. He was just as much her friend as you were and I really don’t like keeping secrets from him. He’s going to be my husband after all.”

“No,” snapped the witch. “I can’t wait for anyone else. Not even him. And if you tell him about this Anya, I’ll make you very sorry.”

With that, Willow stormed angrily out of the Magic Box, leaving a very frustrated and confused Anya in her wake.

She was so angry in fact, that only when she reached the Summers house about a half an hour later, did she realize how much that last sentence had sounded like a threat. She hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. It was just that what she was doing was so important that she couldn’t waste time dealing with other people’s doubts. She didn’t need all the criticism and second-guessing. She had vitally important work to do. The others had no idea what was going on, how much danger they were all in. Only she knew the truth. That the bot was destroyed and something very bad was roaming the streets of Sunnydale.

She’d found it this morning, after it had failed to return from a routine patrol. Bits of the bot were strewn all over the Wilson Memorial Cemetery’s entrance drive like so much discarded junk. It had been torn completely to shreds. Willow had known then and there that the masquerade was over and that she couldn’t wait any longer. Without the bot, the carefully constructed fiction that Buffy was still alive would quickly collapse. Deep down, she’d always known that it was only a temporary solution anyway, but she had been hoping to delay it long enough to master the spell needed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now she had to take a much greater risk but she had no choice.

“Dawn?” She called out as she entered the house. “Tara?” Good, she thought to herself when she got no answer. They were both out. This will be easier alone.

She quickly went into the room where they had stored the Bot. Buffy’s room. That’s where she had hidden all of the necessary spell components. Dawn avoided it like the plague and Tara had no skill in robot maintenance. Willow took out the top drawer of the cabinet where she had stashed her precious cache of materials. Among the various oils and herbs were two vials that she absolutely needed. One contained bits of fingernail clippings, hair, and skin particles. The other, blood. All Dawn’s, of course. She had needed something with Buffy’s DNA patterns and the two sisters were identical, genetically speaking. She had felt a little guilty about that. The last thing she had wanted to do was hurt the girl but she had needed that blood and asking her for it openly would have aroused Tara’s suspicions. Besides, what real harm could one little sleep spell do to her?

Willow carefully removed the last piece of equipment needed for the spell from its hiding place, an ancient scroll case carved out of ivory and covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics. The Book of the Dead. She could still barely believe that she had a genuine copy of the most important book ever written on the subject of necromancy. It had been almost dreamlike, the day she had found it all those months ago. There had been no real reason to go to the shop that Doc had occupied. None at all. Spike had warned her that the demon had probably cleared the place out. She’d gone anyway, in the desperate hope that the expert on resurrection spells had left some sort of information intact for her to find.

And he had. Although most of the shelves had been emptied and the place apparently ransacked, she had been able to find the scroll, thanks to a handy magic locator spell. Since then, she’d studied the texts intently, sometimes for hours at a time. It hadn’t been too hard, once she’d gotten a handle on the translation spell. Now she was finally ready.

Willow gathered everything up and hurried into the room that she shared with Tara. It had been Joyce’s room, but they had converted it over to their needs and now it was a good place for concentrating the forces that she would need for the spell she was going to attempt.

Resurrection. Just a year ago, the very concept of bringing back the dead would have been unthinkable to her. But Dawn’s abortive attempt to bring Joyce back had gotten Willow wondering. It was obvious that someone who had died a natural death would not be able to be revived magically, at least not with the soul intact. Buffy had died by supernatural means however, and her soul could be anywhere, even trapped in the very vortex that she had closed with her sacrificial leap.

She began setting the spell components up, lighting candles, making the necessary marks needed to create a protective circle. Everything had to be perfect. The energies that she was about to harness were extraordinarily powerful and if they got out of control, the results could be disastrous.

Soon she was ready. She muttered a few short words, creating a spell of opening and the box that held the Urn of Osiris popped open. She placed the precious artifact in the center of the circle and took a quick breather. Showtime, she thought and launched into the spell.

Chanting in the halting Sanskrit that she had memorized, Willow quickly began to feel the power arise within the confines of the protective circle she had created. Her skin bristled with the energy, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She continued to chant and the power continued to grow within her as she did. She began to lose track of time as the mystical energy built slowly towards its climax. It’s working, she thought. I am going to succeed. I am going to save her.

Just as she reached the final stages of the spell, she was startled by the sound of the bedroom door being slammed open. Tara stood there, her eyes flashing in anger and her entire body trembling with apparent rage.

“Willow!” She screamed at her. “What the Hell are you doing?”




***


The huntress moved with blazing speed, circling her prey, dodging when she needed to, always just beyond the reach of the beast’s razor sharp claws and teeth. She was pure poetry in motion, gliding along like a force of nature, taking delight in the chase and not caring at all for world around her. She existed only for the hunt... and the kill. Nothing else had substance for her; the hunt was everything.

Suddenly the beast stopped running, rearing up on its hind legs and launching a desperate assault straight at her throat. The beast was fast, cunning, and extremely strong, but she was not afraid. She countered every lunge, every snarling attack of claw and tooth until she felt it begin to weaken. Holding back until the last minute, she allowed it a final chance for victory, acknowledging its savage courage, even as she plunged her spear into its heart. She felt its essence surround her as it left the dying carcass, and took delight in it. The hunt was over and she had triumphed once more. The huntress was elated, as she should have been, but even as she carved up the animal in preparation for her feast, she felt an absence at the very core of her being, as if there was a gaping hole somewhere within her. She felt, incomplete.

She could not remember a time when she had not felt the void deep inside her. It seemed to her that she had been on this vast plain forever, endlessly stalking and killing, knowing the thrill of the hunt but never being able to fully enjoy it. At nightfall, when the others that inhabited the plain with her gathered and shared their kills, she stayed away. A part of her yearned to join in, to share their fire and their stories and their sisterhood, but she was unable to bring herself to give up that last link to ...what? The huntress couldn’t say. She instinctively knew something was wrong, but she was unable to comprehend what it was. All she knew was that she was missing something, that she was utterly alone.

The girl stood on the edge of the clearing, unable to move or utter the smallest sound. She, too, was unaware of how much time had passed since she had been there. All around her, she could see the others moving about, talking, laughing, and playing. Engaged in a party, they were obviously enjoying themselves but they seemed to ignore her presence there among them. She could sense the peace and joy that permeated the gathering, but her inability to join in deeply saddened her. She so desperately wanted to join them because she knew them all. They had all been precious to her at one time and she longed to be able to be with them again, to share in the laughter and sheer bliss that they all shared with one another. No matter how hard she tried though, she just couldn’t move.

Her eyes kept being drawn to a table in the middle of the party, where a woman and a young girl were busy putting plates and dishes out, laughing and obviously delighting in the pure joy of the moment. She knew that she had loved them both, just as she knew they had loved her. She ached to go to them, to be with them forever, but somewhere deep inside of herself, she knew that she couldn’t, that a part of her was missing. She continued to watch them, not moving or even thinking, entirely caught up in the moment. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the woman looked directly at the girl, her indescribably beautiful face touched with just the faintest trace of longing.

“It’s not time yet darling,” she seemed to say, without saying it “You’re not finished.”

The world dropped away and she found herself in another place. Harsh and cold emptiness surrounded her. The place had a familiar feeling to it, and instinctively she knew she’d been here before, just as she knew that she was not alone. Another girl stood to the side, a girl much like herself. As she became more and more attuned to her surroundings, she could now see her clearly. Beautiful and savage. Pure in her ferocity and lust for killing. The Slayer.

The girl had no idea how she had known that but the knowledge seemed to be ingrained into her very consciousness. She was the Slayer. But then, who am I?

“Well, Princess, that’s a tale in itself, isn’t it?”

The voice seemed to be coming from all around her. Then she saw him- a short, badly dressed little man wearing a stupid, battered hat, whom she known once and who she had very nearly forgotten. Who she had hoped to forget. Whistler. And suddenly, it all came flooding back

“Oh,” thought Buffy Summers to herself, “Crap.”

****


“I should have known,” Tara spat bitterly, as she took in what was happening in front of her, “I didn’t want to believe you’d actually go this far, but I should have known.” She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the circle where Willow sat, eyes black as coal from the forces she was channeling.

“I don’t have time for this Tara”, she snarled back, her face a mask of rage and power, “If I don’t finish this part of the spell soon, it’ll all be ruined.”

“G-good, it should be ruined. You can’t do this Willow. I know that you’ve changed a lot, but you’ve gotta know somewhere deep down that you just can’t do this.”

“Of course I can do this. Don’t you see me doing it? I’m doing this because it has to be done, and I’m the only one to do it. Who else is gonna do it, Tara?” Willow sneered, “You?”

“It‘s wrong, Willow! Giles knows it and so do I. Why in the Goddess’s name can’t you see that?”

Willow snorted. “You both sit there in your little ivory towers, telling me what’s right and what’s wrong and what’s proper and you do... nothing. You never do anything! The rest of you always left it to her. To us. And now she’s gone and we have to get her back. If I’m the only one with the guts to do it then... fine. Just stay out of my way.”

“This has nothing to do with how much guts you’ve got, Willow. I know you’re w-way more powerful than I am. It doesn’t make you right.” Tara saw her words weren't making much of an impact, and quickly decided to take another approach. “Look, I know how much you miss her. We all miss her. We all loved her. But she’s gone. She made the choice and we should respect it. It’s the balance, the nature of how the universe works. If you tamper with that, you risk destroying everything we care about.”

The red-haired witch just shook her head; her eyes still black from the magic.

“Don’t you dare tell me how much you loved her. Don’t you dare! She was everything to me, Tara, everything. She was my best friend. I was a big nobody before I met her. I was the loser that followed Xander around like a lost puppy dog, the one who got picked on, got forced to do other kids’ homework, and got pushed out of the lunch line by people like Cordelia. Newsflash, Tara! I’m not that pathetic little girl anymore. Do you have any idea what I could do to any of them now? I could make them all scream. I’ve become that strong… strong enough to make and take life and it‘s all because of Buffy, so I‘ll be damned if I‘m not going to bring her back when I know I can.”

Tara just stood there, letting herself be pummeled by her lover’s rage.

“ Don’t try to pretend you cared about her that much. If you did, you wouldn’t question this. You’d accept it and help me. But you don’t. Dammit, even Spike and Anya cared more about her than you did. At least Anya helped me get what I needed. You and Giles just sit around congratulating one another on how morally righteous you both are.”

Tara was aghast. In all the time that she’d known Willow, she’d never thought her capable of this kind of rage and desperation. The thought that the person she had loved so much could do something like this and treat her fears so casually and with so much contempt was almost more than she could take.

“You’ve got to stop. Now”, she added forcefully. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you do this.”

Willow stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. And then she laughed. A bitter, painful laugh, full of anger and loathing. It was so incredibly horrible that Tara could almost feel her soul freeze at the sound.

“You won’t let me do this? How are you going to stop me, little witch? I’ve got more power in one finger than you’ve ever dreamt of. You’ve got no real power,” Willow’s features twisted into an ugly leer as she continued, “Face it honey, you can’t stop me and we both know it. I don’t need you for this and what I do need you for isn’t really at the top of my agenda right now. When it is, I’ll let you know. Now get the Hell out of here before I get really angry.”

Willow pulled her gaze away from her horrified girlfriend and began to chant again, the energy once again surging throughout the protective circle.

As emotionally devastated as she was by Willow’s outburst, Tara knew she had to do something to stop her. Gathering up her resolve, she launched a spell at the circle, desperately hoping to break Willow’s concentration again long enough to permanently disrupt the resurrection. The energy sped towards Willow and flared as it crashed into her wards, creating a multicolored burst of light, but doing no actual harm to the circle.

Willow stayed stationary for a moment and then lifted her head back up, staring intently in Tara’s direction. A bolt of energy caught Tara in the chest and knocked her backwards into the bedroom wall. She felt a searing pain in her head and lost focus for a moment. Blood began to seep onto her face from a welling cut on her forehead. She struggled to her feet, ready to try once more, even though she could feel the energy drain from her. This wasn’t Willow, she was sure of it. This wasn’t the woman she loved. Something had taken hold of her, causing her to behave this way.

“What...Tara?”

She turned to see Dawn standing in the doorway, confused and horrified at the damage. The girl looked past her guardian to where the other witch sat, completely lost in the spell-induced trance again. Tara was gripped with a sudden fear for the teenager’s safety. If she got caught in one of Willow’s spells…

“Dawn, get out of here, now!” She shouted at the bewildered girl.

“But, what’s happening, what’s…?” Dawn replied, more lost than ever, and seeming to be on the verge of hysterics.

Tara tried to calm her down. “Dawnie, it’s okay. Everything will be all right. I-I just have to talk to Willow.” As she said it, she groped around looking for something to wipe the blood out of her eyes. Dawn was already moving forward however, right up to where Willow sat. As she reached out to touch her, Willow seemed to snap out of it.

“Get that miserable brat of here, you bitch!” She screamed at Tara.

Dawn was stunned. She looked in horror at her guardians. Overwhelmed by utter panic, she bolted out of the door again, leaving Tara to face Willow’s wrath.

What am I going to do? She thought. I can’t stop her. I can’t even slow her down. Added to that was the question of Dawn’s safety. She was gone, fled into the night, where anything could happen to her. Faced with the worst possible decision to make, Tara decided that the younger girl needed her the most right now.

“This isn’t over, ” she said coldly to the other witch, leaving in search of Dawn.

“You got that right,” Willow muttered, as she continued the spell.



*****


Buffy still for what seemed like the longest time while she tried to piece together exactly where she was and what had happened to her. Her companions said nothing. The other girl crouched on her haunches, sniffing at the air like some kind of dog and showing no sign of acknowledging either Buffy’s or Whistler’s presence. For his own part, the little demon messenger seemed content to merely stand along with her, occasionally shifting his weight from one foot to another and looking somewhat bored. For some reason, that really pissed her off.

“I’m sorry, am I taking time out of your busy schedule? Got someone else you can torment through all eternity or something?” He didn’t respond, which made her even angrier. “I mean that’s where I am, right? Some kind of Hell dimension? Cause if it is, then I gotta say...so not impressed. No lakes of fire or even a guy in a red suit with a rusty pitchfork? Phfffft.”

Whistler shrugged. “You’ve been watching too many Daffy Duck cartoons, kid. Doesn’t work like that. And actually, there is no Hell, although I hear Los Angeles is getting close.”

“Was that supposed to be funny?”

“Well, it was when Rip Torn said it,” Whistler said defensively, “but then again the man has impeccable timing. I’m telling you, he carried Gary Shandling for years. Well, him and Jeffrey Tambour. Nothing like a good character actor to really put some life into a script, right?”

Buffy groaned. “Oh yeah, I’m definitely in Hell.”

“Geez, quit feeling sorry for yourself for a couple of minutes, will ya? I told you. You’re not in Hell. You’re not even close. But you do have a major problem.”

Buffy let out a bitter chuckle. “So, let me get this straight. I’m dead, right? But I’m not in Hell. So where am I… some kind of limbo? Purgatory? You’re not telling me this is Heaven, are you?”

“No, of course not. Yeah, I suppose you could call this limbo, in that it’s a place in between the various realms of existence and yes, you are technically dead.”

“Oh, just technically? Gee, I feel so much better now,” Buffy rolled her eyes. “So exactly how dead am I, technically? In the middle of getting the ‘kiss of life’ dead, or buried six feet under, rotting, smelly corpse dead? Oh, and if I’m dead, why am I standing here talking to you out in the middle, of well, this place?” She gestured at the wasteland that completely surrounded them. “ How can I talk at all?”

Whistler shrugged again. “Short answer is you can’t and you aren’t. You just think you’re standing in a desert talking to me. You don’t have a body anymore so you can’t actually do any of that stuff. It’s just your consciousness trying to deal with the fact that you no longer exist in any physical sense. It’s all totally rad and cool...in a metaphysical sort of way. You’re completely formless, which is kind of too bad, cause you did have a really nice form.” He finished with a smirk on his face.

“Oh great. I’m dead and formless and being sexually harassed by possibly the most annoying demon that I’ve ever met. And I know a lot of them, believe me. You’re absolutely sure this isn’t Hell?”

“Been there, asked and answered, move on.”

Growing more frustrated, she tried another approach. “Ok, fine I’m dead. I accept that. Now why am I here? I mean out here in the middle of nowhere, in this wilderness that you say I’m creating?”

Whistler got a sly look on his face. “That is the $60,000 Bonus round question, ain’t it, sweet cheeks? But you’re asking the wrong guy here, sweetheart. I didn’t put you out here. You did. You, and nobody else but you.”

She was completely blown away by that answer. “But-that’s-how can I do anything? I’m...”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re dead. I’m not really here, and this is all a scenario created by your mind, such as it is, cause that’s all that’s left of you. Blahdy, blahdy, blah. We’ve covered this already. This isn’t getting us anywhere, kiddo. Like I said, you have a problem and obviously you need somebody to talk you through it, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. So simply stated, you are here because you couldn’t be where you’re supposed to be.”

“ Wanna try that again without the vagueness? Where am I supposed to be?”

“You know, for the Chosen One, you can be a real thickie sometimes, girl. You died to save the world. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember,“ she shook her head sadly, “But that’s not why I did what I did.” A name came unbidden to her thoughts. Dawn. She remembered it all now. The horror of seeing her sister cut and bleeding, the cracks in the very fabric of the universe opening up, threatening to destroy all living things, everywhere. But at that last second, all there had been for her was the thought that Dawn was in danger and had to be saved. Nothing else had mattered. She hadn’t given the countless billions of lives that were endangered a second thought. It had all been for that one precious life, the one thing that she could never have lived without. They gave her to me. The monks created her out of me. She’s mine.

“I’d do again, you know,” she looked straight at him. “I’d do it all over the same way in a heartbeat.”

That seemed to touch a cord with him. “I know you would have,” he nodded in apparent acknowledgment of her sacrifice. “You did what had to be done. Nobody’s blaming you for it. Except yourself, of course. And that’s always been your trouble. You blame yourself for stuff that you never had any control over. You deserve some peace, an eternity’s worth of it in fact. Why not just accept that and move on, instead of torturing yourself like this?” He said it very gently, almost sweetly, but something about what he said jarred her, tearing at her very soul.

Torturing myself? Well, he had a point, she supposed. She’d been able to save Dawn and her friends and managed to stop Glory from killing, well everybody. Why did she feel so empty then, so utterly incomplete?

“Soul” she muttered, half to herself. “That’s what I am now, right? Just a lost soul wandering in the desert...forever?” She felt numb. Not afraid exactly but just numb. And empty.

“You’re not lost. You’re right here. Both of you.”

That startled her. “Both of us...?” Realization hit. For the first time, she looked over at the savage girl, who had been sitting there during the entire conversation with Whistler, not saying a word. Buffy examined her closely, growing more horrified as she realized what had happened. What had been done to her.

“Yeah,” said Whistler in a very quiet voice that nevertheless struck her like a ton of bricks crashing down on top of her skull. “You got it. She’s you.”

******

Willow could feel the energy surging through her again, as she began the final portion of the spell. A part of her still raged at Tara’s foolishness for interrupting her during the ritual, but she quickly suppressed the thought. Added emotion would be very dangerous to her during this last crucial phase. All that mattered now was seeing this through to the end. It was working, she could feel it.

Like water seeking a lower level, the magic poured into every inch of her being, changing, altering, becoming. She felt an awesome power imbuing her with the kind of strength that she had always secretly longed for but had never been able to bring herself to admit to wanting. But she had always wanted it. Buffy had always been the powerful one, the one that they all turned to for protection. The one who had saved Willow so often. No longer. This was her time.

“Let my will be done!” She screamed, and everything went black.



********


Buffy stared at Whistler, trying to take in what she had just discovered. It wasn’t working.

“How...what? Wait...t-this just isn’t possible. How can I be two different people? How can she be me?”

Whistler sighed. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this one coming. You were bound to have to face this eventually.” He grinned. “Welcome to eventually.”

Buffy had pretty much reached the end of her patience by this time. She grabbed him by his ragged shirt collar, and tried to lift him into the air. To her great surprise she couldn’t even budge him.

“Relax honey, you’re only going to pull a muscle or something. You can’t hurt me.”

“”Why?” She asked bitterly, “Because I’m dead?”

“Naw. That’s got nothing to do with it. It’s because you’re not the Slayer. She is.” He pointed to the other girl. The one who looked exactly like her. Well, except for the fact that her face was streaked with mud and she was almost completely naked. Other than that…

“And I’m…?”

“Buffy Anne Summers, of course. Born 1981. Died May 2001. Former high school cheerleader. Sunnydale High School Class of 1999. The girl who wanted to be Homecoming Queen. The one that dated varsity swim team guys. You know. The one that never wanted to be the Slayer? Who hated the concept of having to give up her comfortable little suburban existence. Hated it to the point that she built this wall of denial between herself and that part of her that made her miss out on all the cool things she wanted to do before she got called.”

“Wall? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Although a part of her was beginning to realize that she knew exactly what he meant.

“That right, kid? Come on, you can’t lie to me. I can see our thoughts as you think them. I’m in your consciousness, remember? You and I both know that you’re responsible for this. You built the wall in your subconscious, brick by brick, year after year, until you finally managed to completely wall the slayer off from the rest of yourself. Oh, you could always call on it when you needed to. But deep down in your soul, you shut the slayer part of you out until it became a separate entity.

“Now, you see that’s the thing about you. No other Slayer has ever done that. Usually, the power takes them over a bit at a time, until there’s nothing left but the Slayer. You’re the first one to ever keep that from happening. It’s what makes you, well made you, truly unique, and I’m guessing is what kept you alive as long as it did. It’s also what probably killed you in the end.”

“I don’t know…”

“What I’m talking about?” he cut in. “Ok, let me run this up the flagpole and see if you salute it. Tell me something. That last moment, when you jumped into that portal. What did you feel? I mean really feel?”

Buffy thought about it for a long moment.

“Relief,” she said finally.

“Exactly. It was all over then, wasn’t it? The pain, the guilt, fear, anger, frustration. Loneliness. All of it. The whole miserable bloody mess that we laughingly call life. Of course, there is all the other stuff too.”

“As in?”

“Love, joy, fun. The thrill of just simply existing? But you really didn’t have that any more did you. Not after...”

“After mom died,” she finished for him sadly.

“Uh-huh. You said it yourself to old watcher pops. You were shutting down. Big-time. All that baggage from the last five years was catching up to you. It was getting harder and harder to access the Slayer when you needed her, and when you did, it was harder and harder to get back to, well… you. It got to where you just couldn’t do it anymore. Not until the very end. Am I right?

Buffy simply nodded. What else was there to say? They both knew he was right.

“So you took the swan dive of a life-time and saved the world. And now you just want to rest, right?

She nodded again.

“But you can’t, can you, sweetheart?” He said it in a very gentle way, like a father cooing to his newborn daughter.

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, even though on some level she knew that they really weren’t there.

“N-no. I-I just can’t,” she admitted. Why can’t I? Isn’t what I’ve done...had to do, enough? Why can’t they all just leave me alone? What more do I have to do for them?”

Whistler shook his head. “Nix on the them part, hon. None of this has anything to do with the Powers or anybody else. Nobody except you. This is about what you want. What you expect from yourself. I told you, nobody ever expected you to live past your sweet 16. You’ve been a free agent for a long time, Buffy. You’re not bound by prophecy anymore. You’re completely outside the box. And what’s even more remarkable is that everyone around you is too.”

“What?” she asked, even more taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you think it’s a coincidence that the Order of Tarnis picked you to safeguard that sweet little package of theirs? They knew that you weren’t under any obligation to destiny, fortune or anything else like it. They knew they could count on you to accept what they were offering and to make it the center of your life. And you did, didn’t you? Lock, stock, and the proverbial barrel. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded once again. “But you’re wrong. I did have to. You couldn’t know her and not love her. She’s my whole life. My...”

“Gift?”

“Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. My gift. I seem to have a lot of them these days. Love, death...”

“Hey- love death, sex… pretty much what makes the world go round. Well, that and Philly Cheese steaks. But out of all those things it’s love you should be concentrating on. That’s what will take you to your gift.”

“I thought death was my gift?” she asked him, totally confused.

“And is death everything you hoped it would be?”

“No,” she said bleakly. “It really isn’t. I’m not happy here either, am I? I mean, I wanted to be. I just wanted to end it all, and be with my mother and not have to worry about having the weight of the world on my shoulders all the time. Am I so selfish for wanting that?” She looked at him, desperately needing him to reassure her that she wasn’t.

“Not at all. But like I said, nobody expects you to be perfect but you. You can’t move on because you won’t stop and admit to yourself what it is you really need. It’s not rest. It’s forgiveness. Forgiveness and acceptance.”

“Forgiveness? From who?”

“From Yourself. To yourself.”

“What?”

“Pretty obvious to me. You walled the slayer off form the rest of you because you resented the hold she had over your life. You locked her up in a cage and divorced her from yourself so you wouldn’t have to deal with her. You never forgave her for messing up your ‘perfect’ little life and you’ve never forgiven yourself for doing that. I think it’s about time that you did. And deep down, so do you.”

His words cut into her deeply, more deeply than any knife could have done. Nothing but the truth, the words had an added harshness. She’d always resented that part of herself-the part that had caused her to experience so much death and pain in her short life. It was the Slayer in her that had sent Angel to hell, that had never let Riley get too close to her, that had attracted all the evil that had threatened everyone Buffy had ever loved. That bitch ruined my life.

She was sitting there now, still oblivious to everything around her. Buffy looked at her again but this time really looked at her-seeing, really seeing her-for the first time in her life.

She wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t greedy, or demanding, or evil. She was just a girl. That was all. Nothing else to it. And suddenly, Buffy recognized the truth. The Slayer wasn’t a separate entity at all. Never had been. Whistler had been right. She had always convinced herself that the Slayer was a being outside of herself that she was forced to share a body with. Slowly, and very tenderly, Buffy reached out to touch her forehead. As she did so, the Slayer seemed to sense her presence. She grabbed Buffy’s forearm in a vice-like grip and in a forced and broken voice, husked out one word:

“Forgive.”

Shocked, Buffy tried to pull back but the other girl’s hold on her was too strong. Had always been strong. A feeling of panic began to suffuse her but as it did, she also felt something else. It was an instinctive sense of understanding. She knew what the girl wanted. What they both wanted, and needed. And at that single instant, Buffy forgave herself and melted into the other girl’s arms.



********


Dawn continued to run through the streets of Sunnydale as if all of hell was after her, and in some twisted sense, it was. She’d never been that scared before, not even when Glory had had her tied up on top of the tower she had built to sacrifice her. Until now, that had been the most terrifying night of her life, but what she had seen in Willow’s face had nearly made her blood freeze. Dawn had never seen that much anger in one person, or even known that it could exist. That she could see it someone who she loved as much as she loved Willow was simply too horrifying for her to contemplate.

She ran without direction, just desperate to get as far away from 1630 Rivello Drive as possible. Her first instinct, as always, was Spike’s crypt. She knew that if anybody would understand her fear, it would be him. He’d protect her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. And he’d make her believe him. He always did. Ever since Buffy’s death, he was the only one in her life that she could count on, no matter what.

He’ll bring her back, she thought to herself. He said he would and he never lies. Not to me. The rational part of her of course, knew that what Spike had told her was impossible. That he had only been trying to comfort her. Buffy was gone and there was no way to bring her back. She’d already come near to making a disastrous mistake by attempting to resurrect her mother last spring. She knew how impossible it was. How wrong it was.

Willow. What was Willow doing? Dawn stopped running. For the first time in several minutes, she calmed down enough to think about what she had witnessed in Willow and Tara’s bedroom. It had been very quick, but she’d seen the spell components spread around Willow’s circle, the scrolls, and...

Suddenly, Dawn realized what had been going on.

“Buffy. She’s going to resurrect Buffy,” she muttered.

Getting a bearing on where she was, Dawn reversed course and headed away from the direction of the cemetery where Spike made his lair, and instead began to run towards the one place that made the most sense to be at this particular moment.

Buffy’s grave.


*********


“Are you all right, kid?” Whistler asked, with obvious concern in his voice.

Buffy sat on the ground hugging herself tightly but saying nothing.

“Umm, look I don’t mean to push you or anything but...”

“It’s all right,” she finally said, as she stood up. “I’m here, I’m good.”

The other girl had vanished. There was no longer any need for Buffy to keep up the fiction that they were two separate entities. They weren’t, had never been, and now for the first time, she accepted that fact.

“So now what?” she asked as she dusted herself off.

“Well, for one thing, how do you feel? Universe makes a little more sense, does it?”

She thought about it a minute. “Yeah, I guess it does. I feel more, I don’t know, complete? Is that the right word?”

He shrugged. “Could be. You’ve jumped a major hurdle here but there’s still a long way to go. Miles to go before you sleep and all that jazz.”

“So, what does that mean? Where do I go from here?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On the choices that are being made even as we speak. So to speak.”

“Do I get any say in them at all” Do I even get a vote in my own destiny?” she asked, a slight note of bitterness one again creeping into her voice. She felt buoyed by her acceptance of her Slayer persona, but even that failed to dissuade her from her perception that even after all this time, she was being used as a piece on some cosmic chess board.

“Nobody ever gets entire control over their destiny, kid. Not ever free agents like yourself. We’re all a product of the choices we make. Those, and the ones made by the people closest to us. Still, you get to make more choices than most ever do. All I can say is this. What you are, what’s to come. You still have no idea. But you will.”

The demon started to walk away from her, leaving her more confused than ever.

“Wait,” she called after him. “Wait a minute, dammit. What’s to come?”

Whistler turned back to her and as he did so the mask of humanity that he had been wearing dropped away to reveal a cherubic blue face, with a large bulbous nose. He smiled at her then, a smile full of joy and hope.

“Something wonderful.”

With that the demon was gone, leaving her alone in the empty desert. Seeing nothing else to do, Buffy began to walk. As she moved along the sandy landscape, she could see, no feel, the barrenness of the place giving way to a bright light that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.

“Well,” she muttered to herself. “This should be interesting.”

Buffy Summers squinted as she walked into the light to meet her destiny.





**********




Spike was in a state of near panic as he cruised the streets in his battered old Desoto, desperately looking for any trace of Dawn Summers. It had been nearly a half an hour since he had arrived at his crypt, still slightly inebriated from yet another nightly drinking binge at the Bronze, to find a highly distraught Tara waiting for him. The young witch was in a pretty miserable state, her forehead was cut and still bleeding somewhat, and she seemed to be almost in shock from a combination of physical pain and emotional distress. She had babbled a bunch of nonsense about spells and great evils and a lot of other bloody tripe about Willow that he had no way of comprehending, but there was one thing he had been able to get from her. Dawn was missing.

Tara, in as sad a state as she was, had managed to make it as far as his place, but had nearly come completely unglued when she realized that the girl was nowhere to be found. Spike had been forced to drop her off with a bewildered Giles, who had also more than slightly drunk. That detour had cost him precious time and he cursed bitterly because of it, but there wasn’t much else he could have done. Something seriously wrong was going on at the Summers home, that much he knew, but for now he would have to leave it to Giles to sort it out as best he could. Dawn was his first priority.

Gunning the engine, he drove down Crawford Street, past the old mansion that he and Drusilla had once shared with Angel, after he had lost his soul. Spike shook his head sadly at the memory. These days he didn’t like to dwell on those times too much. They had, all of them, changed more than he had ever thought possible at the time. That there had ever been a time when he had wanted Buffy dead still amazed him.

“And if you don’t get your stupid arse moving, you’ll have another dead Summers girl on your hands, ya bloody wanker,” he muttered aloud to himself.

Driving through the main part of town, he began to think about what Tara had been mumbling about when he first saw her? Something about an orb, or gem or something like that? Something like...

Oh bloody Hell. The Urn of Osiris. He remembered now. He’d heard Red and Glinda arguing about it a few times, during those God-awful Scooby meetings that they’d insisted on having. Some sort of sacred vessel used by ancient Egyptian Priests to contact the spirits of their dead Pharaohs, not that Spike had cared about that sort of rubbish. Somehow, Willow must have gotten a hold of it and was using it to-to bring Buffy back?

Think, Spike. If the Niblet had walked in on that, where would she go? It really didn’t make a lot of sense. She should have come to him. She knew she could trust him. But supposing she had figured out what the witch was up to? She was a bright enough girl, smart as a bloody whip in fact. What would be her first reaction, if she thought that Buffy was about to be resurrected? The answer was ridiculously simple.

“She’s gone to her grave site.”

Spike pulled hard on the steering wheel and turned the car in direction of the woods where they had buried her, to a small glade in the middle, miles away from any traffic or other signs of civilization. Fortunately for him, traffic was pretty light right now and he managed to get to the edge of the woods within a few minutes.

Jumping out of the car, he didn’t even bother to pull the keys out of the ignition, as he grabbed the shotgun he kept under the seat, and headed into the woods. He ran like he never had before, moving faster than any human would ever have been able to. As he reached the glen, he could hear something that sounded a lot like a woman’s sobs. He charged through the trees but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was in front of him.

Dawn was kneeling in front of the grave; her hands covered in freshly dug up earth, holding another young woman, one who Spike knew only too well. Her hands were also dirty, and covered in blood as well. She was still wearing the black funeral dress they had buried her in all those months ago and sobbing uncontrollably into Dawn’s shoulder. For a long moment, he just stood there silently, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing. Finally, just as he was about to say something, Dawn looked up and saw him. Her eyes were brimming with tears and it looked as if she didn’t quite believe what was happening was real, but she wasn’t quite ready to break. Not yet. Spike understood instantly. She had to be strong.

“She’s back, Spike,” was all that she said. “Buffy’s come back to us.”

Disclaimer: The characters presented in this story are all the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. We own none of it, except the few characters that we create, and those we freely give to Joss. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rating: PG-13

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Chapter Three


Home Is Where The Heartbreak Is


Part I


Written by Phil and Jules




*


Rupert Giles had never been a big believer in the existence of miracles. Oh, he had always known about and accepted the fact that demons, vampires, and even the occasional deranged Hell-God roamed the four corners of the earth, but an actual ‘honest to God’ miracle? Hardly. Which is why, as he approached the front door to the Summer's house, he couldn’t quite seem to get his mind around what had happened during the past few hours.

The events of this evening had been one enormous blur, starting with a semi-sloshed Spike dropping a completely incoherent and physically battered Tara off in his apartment without so much as a by-your-leave. Then, with the barest of explanations, dashing out again in search of a newly missing Dawn. Tara herself hadn’t been much help at all. Having apparently told Spike everything she knew about what had happened earlier, the girl had lapsed into a state of near catatonia, brought on no doubt by extreme mental and physical trauma. The head wound she incurred had looked particularly nasty.

Since he was in no fit state to drive any more than Spike had been, for precisely the same reason, Giles had been forced to call Xander and have him take them to the Sunnydale General’s emergency room.

The drive over had been filled with uncomfortable silence, occasionally punctuated by Anya making an inappropriate remark or two about the treatment of festering wounds and the effects of gangrene on the human body. Fortunately, it had been a very slow night at the hospital and they were able to get Tara in to see a doctor fairly quickly. Anya and Xander had stayed with Tara while the young doctor, who struck Giles as being barely old enough to be shaving, let alone practicing medicine, stitched up the young woman’s forehead.

Giles, feeling decidedly queasy from the combined effects of the scotch malt he had consumed that evening and Tara’s messy head injury, retreated to the lobby, in order to check his answering machine for any possible messages from Spike or Dawn. He had, of course been hopeful that the vampire had already found the girl, but what he had heard on the machine had shaken him more than anything he had ever dreamed possible.

“Giles. It’s Dawn. I’m-I’m home, and…I‘m, uh…okay. But listen. You’ve got to come over here right away. It-It’s Buffy. She’s alive.”

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. Buffy’s alive. Alive…

And now, after rushing over in a cab, here he was, standing on the threshold of a place he had been to so many times before and yet, at this moment, which seemed so utterly alien to him. After what seemed like an eternity of being trapped in indecision and fear, Giles steeled himself and pushed the door open. In you go, Rupert, he thought to himself. What are you afraid of? What, indeed. The mind simply boggled.

It was very dark and quiet in the living room as Giles entered the house, his sense of foreboding increasing with each footstep. Noticing that the light was on in the kitchen, he went to investigate, hoping to find somebody who could explain to him exactly what was going on. As he reached the doorway he could make out the barest of sounds. It was low and muffled, and sounded for all the world like a sob. Like a wounded creature in desperate, unbearable pain. Added to that was the unmistakable aroma of burning tobacco.

“Spike?” the former librarian asked tentatively.

At the sound of his name, the vampire visibly tensed, but did not turn around from where he was leaning on the sink with both hands; nor did he raise his head, which was lowered over the sink. Instead he merely pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it carelessly on the cutting board next to the dish rack.
“Look here, are you quite all right?” Giles was amazed at the amount of concern he could hear in his own voice.

“Right as rain, Rupert, old boy,” Spike said in a falsely cheery tone as he turned to face the watcher. “Life’s just a bowlful of cherries and a plateful o’ raspberry scones, don’t you know.”

“Spike, I don’t really have time for this,” snapped Giles, suddenly annoyed by the vampire’s flippant manner. “What’s happened? Is Dawn-is she-”?

“The niblet’s fine, mate. She’s upstairs. She needed a quick shower, is all. They both did.”

“Both-you mean she and Buffy?” The words were out of his mouth before Giles could even process the information that he had just been given. “It’s true then. This isn’t just some sick, twisted joke?”

Spike let out a bitter sounding chuckle at that. “Oh, it’s sick and twisted enough, and it probably is a bloody joke. On all of us. But yeah, Buffy’s alive. For what that’s worth.”

Giles felt an icy fear growing in the pit of his stomach. No, it couldn’t be something that horrible. That couldn’t happen to her. Not to Buffy. Not to my darling girl.

The vampire seemed to sense his unspoken horror and quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not that. She’s human enough. She’s just not…all there.”

“What the devil do you mean, she’s not all there?” Giles hadn’t meant to raise his voice but he was finding it hard to keep control of his emotions and Spike’s vagueness wasn’t helping to quell the rising feeling of absolute panic he was experiencing.

“Keep your bleeding voice down, you prat,” the vampire snarled back at him. “Do you want them to hear this tripe?” His voice softened a bit. “What I mean is that she-she, oh sodding hell. She had to crawl out of her own grave, Giles. She had to scratch and claw and dig her way out like a frightened little animal. And Dawn had to help her do it. Do you have any idea what it’s like to climb through that nasty little hole, trying to get out before all that dirt comes crashing back in on top of you? No, of course you bloody well don’t. Why would you? Well, now she does.” The pain in Spike’s voice was apparent. Pain remembered…and now shared.

Giles understood. Whatever else he had done in his lifetime, Spike had loved her. That much they had all been forced to acknowledge on that dreadful morning in May. It was something the watcher could relate to very easily. What Buffy was going through right now must be hideous. Which brought Giles to another subject he would rather not think about, ask a question he already knew the answer to, but nevertheless, needed to ask.

“Spike, do you have any idea how this happened? Who’s responsible for it, I mean?"

The vampire stared at him in disbelief. “Are you that daft, watcher? You know good and bloody well who’s responsible for this mess. Or you should anyway. Let’s see here. I know it wasn’t Glinda, and I’m fairly sure it wasn’t you.”

“Willow,” Giles muttered. Of course it had been Willow. She was the only one with the power and the determination to do something like this. Something this…monstrous. He felt sick to stomach, and it wasn’t the whiskey or the blood this time. How could he have been so blind, so isolated all these months?

“Where is she?” He asked wearily.

Spike answered by pointing to the ceiling. “The witch is up in her room. Checked on her when we came back. She’s sleeping off the effects of whatever she did, I reckon. Couldn’t shake her out of it, but not to worry, Rupes. Your little protégé’ is safe enough. For now.” The emphasis that he put on the last two words left little doubt as to what Spike thought of the Wiccan’s actions this evening and what he would do about it if given half the chance.

Just as he was about to respond, Giles was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and the infusion of voices into the otherwise gloomy silence of the house.

“Giles? Willow? You guys okay in here?” There was no mistaking Xander’s less than dulcet tone.

“Bloody hell” the watcher muttered. “That was quick.” He turned back to the bemused vampire. “All right. I’ll need to handle this. You go upstairs and check on the girls. See if Dawn can get her-can get Buffy to talk to me for a few minutes. Oh, and Spike,” he said as the demon started to go out the kitchen entrance. “You touch one hair on Willow’s head and you’ll have considerably more to worry about than a mere migraine. I’ll deal with her when the time comes. You stay out of it. I trust I am making myself perfectly clear?”

“As a sodding crystal, mate, “ Spike muttered as he brushed past the irritated patriarch of the Scooby clan.

Giles sighed and followed him into the living room. There, a clearly confused Xander was watching the vampire march up the stairs while Anya was trying to get a still dazed Tara to sit comfortably on the sofa.

“Okay, I’m just a little out of the loop here, Giles,” Xander said uncomfortably. “Spike’s being more surly than usual. I just asked him if the Dawnster was okay and he told me to ‘piss off‘. I don’t have to take that from him. Best man or no best man.”

“Xander, what on earth are you talking about?” he snapped, at about the same Anya asked, “Spike’s your best man? Why didn’t you mention that?”

Xander’s discomfort was clearly growing “Honey, not now, okay? I’m trying to ask the nice man about the reasons why certain 'undead men walking' are beginning to look awfully stake-worthy again.”

“Oh do be quiet,” Giles interjected. “ Sit down the pair of you. I’ve got some extremely important news for all of you.” He looked over at Tara. “Is she saying anything yet?”

“Nothing of interest, no,” replied Anya. “Of course, it’s not like I ever understand half of what she says anyway…”

“Look,” cut in Xander again, without taking any notice of the hurt expression on Anya’s face, “What the Hellmouth is going on, Giles? You ran out of the hospital pretty fast, and that note you left with the ER receptionist? Vague, much?”

“Good lord, Xander, will you shut up for one moment? If you would just stop talking, I could tell you what you want to know. Something’s happened. Something incredible and wondrous and…” He stopped for a moment, overwhelmed by an incredible wave of raw emotion. Without even paying attention to what he was doing, he removed his glasses and began wiping them furiously. It took him a few moments to get control of himself before continuing

“It’s, well it’s Buffy you see, she’s…”

“Buffy’s alive,” Tara said abruptly, in a hollow, emotionless voice. “What? What do you mean Buffy’s al-?” And that was all Xander managed to get out before they all heard Anya gasp in disbelief.

Before he even realized it, Giles found himself staring at the top of the stairwell. Even though he had known she was back for over an hour, this was the very first time he was faced with the undeniable truth. There she stood, with Dawn at her side and Spike hovering behind them. The same girl that he had known and loved for nearly five years.

Well, no. Not quite the same. Wearing a white cotton bathrobe, her still hair still wet and hanging limply down past her shoulders, Giles thought that he had never seen her look so helpless and lost, not even on the night that had Glory had taken Dawn. She was dreadfully pale, paler even than the platinum blond vampire who trailed her and her sister down the stairs. And so thin. My God, she looks like she’s lost 20 pounds, he thought to himself. But it was her. It was Buffy.

"W-what, how-who...?" Xander managed to stammer out before lapsing back into disbelieving silence.

Anya's response was considerably more interesting to Giles. "Oh my God. She actually did it. I never really thought she could do it."

"Just a minute," the watcher said, an angry tone creeping into his voice. "Are you telling us that you knew about this beforehand, Anya?"

"Well," the ex-demon replied. "It's not like I did all that much. I just helped her get an Urn of Osiris, is all."

Xander looked decidedly uncomfortable at this. "Umm Ahn, you helped who get a what, now?

"Don't be obtuse, Xander." Giles snapped. "She means Willow. Willow did this." He couldn't hide the utter disappointment and shame he felt at this moment. "Why did you help her, without telling me?" he asked Anya with a touch of steel.

"Willow just-well she needed an urn and she knew that I could get one for her because, goodness knows, my head hasn't been stuck in a bottle of booze for four months..."

"Now just one bloody minute, Anya. Who exactly do you think you're talking to..."?

"Everybody. SHUT UP!" The voice came from behind them. Dawn's voice.

All of them turned to where Dawn was standing, holding on to Buffy's hand, her eyes filled with tears and at the same time blazing with raw fury. Buffy was weeping openly and clinging to her younger sister's side like a frightened child. Giles watched as Dawn guided the distraught young woman to the couch and sat her down next to Tara. Spike moved behind the sofa, placing himself directly behind all three girls like some sort of demonic watchdog, his glare pretty indicative of his current state of mind. At Giles nod, both Anya and Xander moved back a bit, giving them some breathing space.

Giles approached Buffy carefully, trying to do his best to avoid upsetting her further.

"Is she-how is she?" He asked Dawn.

"She's...better, I think." the girl responded, gently stroking her sister's hair. "She just needs a little time." She looked over at Tara. "Are you okay?"

The blonde witch nodded. "Yeah, I-I'm okay sweetie. Just a little shaken up." Looking at Buffy, she shook her head in wonderment. "I didn't think it was possible. She's really here. It's a mira..."

"A miracle?" came another voice from the top of the stairs. "Maybe. Maybe not."

It was Willow, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. As she came down the stairs, radiating an air of complete confidence, Giles could feel his heart sink even deeper into his stomach. There was little trace left of the sweetly innocent girl he had adored for so long. She reeked of power...and arrogance.

Suddenly, everyone was talking at once. Xander demanding explanations to questions he could barely form, Anya pleading with Willow to exonerate her, Dawn trying to reassure Buffy that everything would be all right, and underneath it all, the low, menacing growl of an extremely angry and overprotective vampire. It was all too much and not just for Giles. As he tried to get control of the situation, a tortured little voice cut through the din.
"Please...no more."

It took about all the energy she had left in her, but Buffy's plea brought everybody back to their senses long enough for Giles to realize what he had to do.

"Dawn, I think you should take Buffy back upstairs and put her to bed. Tara, you look as if you could use a good night's sleep as well, particularly after everything you've been through tonight. As a matter of fact, I think all three of you should settle in for the rest of the evening." He pointedly ignored the look of outrage that crossed Willow's face like a cancer. Time enough to deal with you later, young lady, he thought.

Tara merely nodded and took a hold of one of Buffy's arms and, together with Dawn, helped the fragile Slayer up the stairs, both of them brushing past Willow without acknowledging her presence. Spike moved to follow them but Giles stopped him short.

"Spike, just hold on for a moment. I may need you in a bit." The vampire looked rebellious, but thought better of defying the watcher openly.

Giles turned to the remaining scoobies, no longer in a mood to brook any kind of interference.

"Right. Now, Xander you and Anya should probably go too-just for the evening," he added as they both started to protest. "We'll all meet back at the Magic Box tomorrow afternoon. Right now, everyone needs to calm down and get some rest, and possibly contemplate the ramifications of their actions" That last bit was aimed directly at Willow, and everybody in the room knew it.

"Giles, I know you disapprove of what I did but it obviously worked..." the witch started to explain but he cut her off angrily.

"You know nothing about how I feel, and I obviously don't know as much about you as I thought I did. Not that it matters anymore. What's done is done, and we won't discuss it now. But we will, Willow. You can rest assured of that."

"Look, I don't remember much of anything, but I'm sure that everything will be okay," she replied defensively.

"Enough. This isn't doing anybody any good. Xander, please be good enough to give Willow a ride to her parents home." He turned back to the girl. "You will be able to stay there tonight?"

"Well, yeah, my mom's back in town for a while, and I have a key anyway, but I don't see why I should have to be the one to leave. I live here too, and I didn't do anything wrong," she added, sounding for all the world like a whiny and petulant child which, as far as Giles was concerned, she was.

"Xander, I think it would be best if you all left right now. There's nothing left to be done here for the time being. Anya, I may be a bit late in the morning so please open the shop up yourself."

Xander and Anya both nodded, knowing that there was no point arguing with the watcher when he had made his mind up on something. Willow on the other hand, seemed unwilling to let the matter drop.

"Hey, where do you all get off making decisions for me..."

But the discussion was over for Giles. He abruptly turned his back and began speaking to Spike.

"Come on, Wills," Xander said, grabbing a hold of her arm. "Let's talk about this in the car." And he and Anya half-dragged the pouting witch unceremoniously out the door.

"Oh. Good Lord," Giles muttered half to himself. This had been one hell of a night.

"Nice job, Rupert," the vampire said, smirking at him. “Way to get rid of the wankers. Very watcher-like.”

“Oh, do shut, up, Spike. Now it’s your turn to leave.”

“Hey, you can’t toss me out!” Spike was no more thrilled than Willow to be thrown out. “I’m not leaving them. Not this time. I won’t let them be hurt again.” The vampire said this with a fierce intensity that Giles recognized as being genuine.

“Listen to me, Spike. I am not tossing you out. I need you right now. Someone must patrol tonight. Nobody else around here is in any fit state to do it, and apparently the Buffy-bot doesn’t seem to be anywhere around.”

“Yeah, come to think of it, I haven’t seen her since the other night either. I wonder if she ran out of juice again, and Red just forgot to give her a boost. Mind being on other things and all.” The vampire seemed genuinely puzzled.

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then I suggest you go out and look for her, err it, rather. I’ll check around and see if it’s here. Do a standard sweep of the east side cemeteries and report back if you find anything out of the ordinary. If not, I‘ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”

Spike started to say something, but obviously thought better of it and merely nodded the way Xander had a few minutes earlier. He vanished out of the door into the night without any fanfare, leaving Giles alone to contemplate what to do next.

The watcher sighed as he slipped onto the sofa, all of the energy finally draining out of his body as the incredible events of the evening caught up with him. Spike had been right earlier. This was a mess. A horrible, bloody awful mess, ultimately one of his own making, and one that he was going to have to try to clean up. It was also the most wonderful night of his life, which made his fear, guilt and uncertainty that much worse. Ah well, Giles thought to himself. Nobody said that being a watcher was ever going to be easy. With that, he got up and wandered into the kitchen to make himself a stiff pot of tea. He had the sinking feeling that tonight was only the beginning of a long journey for all of them, and it was one he’d rather not face without at least keeping a trace of civilization about. He only hoped that the girls had managed to remember to buy some tealeaves. The thought of facing the rest of the night with tea brewed from bags was simply to horrifying to contemplate. He was still British, after all.



* *

"Xander! Your Fruit-Loops are getting soggy!" Anya shouted from the kitchen.

"I’m not hungry," was the muffled response from their bedroom.

"You will be later if you don't eat now!" She responded.

"Thanks, mom," he called out bitterly.

Realizing her efforts were futile, Anya settled down at the kitchen table and poured herself a bowl of Trix, careful to keep the rabbit covered at all times. As she ate the fruity cereal, she tried to think of ways to fix things between herself and Xander. Things between them had been tense for almost a month now- ever since Buffy had come back. Anytime Anya would say something, Xander would come back with a short, irritated remark.

Anya really hated it. She hated the way he wouldn't listen to her, the way he kept his anger bottled up. No good ever came of Angry Xander, and Anya absolutely loathed having to walk on eggshells around him. Not saying exactly what she felt wasn't something Anya enjoyed, and she was about ready to vent.

He finally emerged from the bedroom, walking right past her without a "Good morning" or any sort.

"Come out to eat breakfast?" She asked.

"No," he answered. He picked up the newspaper lying on the counter, and sat at the other end of the table.

It took all of Anya's resolve not to verbally lash out at him, and she finished her cereal in silence. Glaring at him, she stood up from the table and cleared her dishes. She threw glances at him, but he was doing his best to ignore her. His eyes never left the print on the paper.

If there's one thing Anya hated more than Angry Xander, it was silence. Especially the type of angry-lover silence that was blanketing them at the moment. Determined to make him talk about something, Anya ventured over to the fridge.

"Xander? Where's the fruit punch?"

"In the fridge, by the cheese," Xander replied curtly. "Where you always keep it, Ahn."

"I see it," Anya exclaimed triumphantly, pouring herself a glass of the red liquid. As she drank it, she glanced over at Xander. He had been staring intently at the newspaper for a while now, but hadn't turned the page.

"I’m closing early at the shop today," she broke the silence. "Do you want to go to that restaurant you like so much?"

"No."

"How about the Bronze? There's always music and fun there," she tried again.

"No." Was his short response.

"Okay," she set her glass down, "You've been like this for a while and I want it to end. You know how I feel about Angry Xander."

"And you know how I feel about lying, Anya," he shot back, hastily folding up the newspaper.

"I didn't lie! It was more like keeping someone else's secret."

"That's not the point, Ahn. You knew how torn up I was about Buffy's death. You stood right in front of me and told me you'd be by my side, no matter what. Then you knew Willow's going to bring Buffy back and you didn’t tell me? That's not standing by my side, that's leaving me out of a really important loop."

"I wanted to tell you, Xander. I thought you should be the first to know, but Willow told me not to tell you-"

"Hey, if Willow told you to jump off a bridge, would you?"

Anya was taken aback. "Who are you, and why are you using elementary school arguments?"

"How does what Willow say have any affect on what you choose to do?" He clarified.

"Why are you so mad at me in the first place? You and Willow are Buffy's best friends, and Willow's been yours since you remember. Shouldn't you be mad she didn't tell you anything?"

"Leave her out of it."

"Are you defending her?" Anya's voice grew louder, laced with disbelief, "So what, just blame me for everything? You know being a human confuses me, and death confuses me even more. So when one of my friends decides to resurrect the other and all but threatens me to keep it a secret, what am I supposed to do?" Xander's glare didn't soften. "How am I supposed to know what to do?"

"You're supposed to love me, Anya. I'd think that honesty is part of that."

"Oh, and you're the perfect lover- is that it? I'd think that not being ashamed of who you're with is part of love too, and you all but hide your face when we go out. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing you're embarrassed by me?"

"How did this turn into a 'flame Xander' fest?" He asked, dodging her question. "You still haven't given me a good reason as to why you didn't tell me about Willow's plan to bring back Buffy."

"Since when do I need to explain all of my actions to you?" Anya retorted. When Xander didn't reply, Anya snapped, "How's this for you: Here I am, getting my purse."

Xander stared in confusion as she walked around him, snatching her purse.

"And this is me walking away from you and this stupid argument," she added, heading towards the door. "Is that enough explaining for you?" She finished, storming out.

"Anya, wait!" Xander called, sprinting to the hallway. For a fraction of a second, he feared that she wouldn't turn around, and the thought of losing her filled him with an intense dread. When she did stop and face him, he exhaled loudly- suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath.

"What?"

"Please come back," he begged slowly. "I didn’t want to argue, I- I just want to talk about it."

Anya contemplated the proposal, finally walking towards Xander. "I'm staying- under one condition."

"And that would be?"

"Angry Xander stays out of it."

Xander smiled, "Check. No Angry Xander."

Anya turned to face him. "I'm sorry, okay? If it makes you feel any better, I hated keeping a secret from you. Part of me wanted to tell, but the other part wasn't sure if I should. I was so upset I couldn't do my money dance that day."

Xander sighed, tentatively stepping closer to her. "I didn't mean to be so harsh. I'm just extremely stressed, and I needed to vent."

Anya nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. "Do you want to get married?"

Shocked, Xander asked, "Don't you?"

"Yes, but not if we're still arguing about so much. I mean, I've seen plenty of things go wrong in relationships, and I don't want it to happen to us. I don’t want to wind up hating you; wishing terrible things upon you- I did that for over a thousand years, and I'm ready for a change."

"Anya, honey," Xander began, "We've been together for about two years now. I know every detail of your face; I've listened to your dreams and soothed your nightmares. I know you absolutely loathe the Easter Bunny-"

"What's with that, anyway? Bunnies don't lay eggs!"

"…And I know we'll be great together," he finished. "It's completely normal and healthy for couples to disagree, to argue with one another."

"It's not just the arguing I'm worried about, Xander," she insisted. "It's the way you treat me."

Xander's face twisted with pain. "I don't want to hurt you-"

"I know. But if you're not proud to be my fiancé right now, what's to keep you interested in me as my husband? What if I fail you, what if you leave me?" Anya choked up, taking a deep breath. "What if I walk down the aisle only to realize you aren't there? I don't want to rush if it means I'll wind up with a shattered heart."

She collapsed onto the couch, as if too exhausted to stand.

"You know the last thing I'd ever want to do is shatter your heart, right?" Anya met his gaze, nodded her head yes. "I'm glad you brought up your fears, because I've been bothered with fears of my own, Anya," Xander admitted quietly. "Sometimes I lie awake all night, thinking about my parents. If I close my eyes, everything around me disappears and I'm only nine years old." his eyes were closed now, his voice hushed. "I'm huddled under my sheets, trying to block out the sound of my father yelling…" he paused, reliving the moment. "He never stopped yelling…"

Anya absorbed every word he said, incredibly touched he was opening up to her. She always knew Xander hated his parents, hated the way they fought. He had never gone into much detail, however, the subject of family caused him to clam up. Sometimes, after he woke up after a fitful nightmare, he'd just sit at the kitchen table and stare straight ahead, troubled thoughts flying through his head. He never talked about what horrific images those dreams held, and Anya ached to know them.

Xander's eyes were still glued shut, his mind reeling. "All I wanted was for them to be happy, to stop hating each other. I wanted them to love each other," his voice cracked, "To love me."

Anya stood slowly, wanting to hold him but afraid to touch him, to rip him out of his trance. Seeing him so torn up, hearing the misery in his voice ripped a hole in her heart. After centuries of causing pain upon countless men, all she wanted now was to soothe the suffering she saw in front of her.

"I hoped it would get better, but it only got worse. One night, their ritual-screaming match got out of control. Mom said things he didn't want to hear; he kept telling her to shut up-" Xander shook uncontrollably now, his voice wavering. "She wouldn't stop though, and he lost it. He hit her."

His eyes flew open, brimming with tears. "I'll never forget the sound of her crying that night. Every single gut wrenching sob made me loath my father, and I swore that night I'd never turn out like him." Tears spilled down his cheeks as he hoarsely whispered, "But what if I do? What if I turn into the very man I've hated all my life?"

Anya embraced him, pulling him close and letting her shirt soak up his tears. "You won't, Xander. You don't have it in you."

"I love you so much," he declared quietly into her ear. "I love you so much that the thought of ruining your future because of my past has been eating me up inside."

He pulled back slightly, looked her straight in the eye, "Please don't be upset with me," he pleaded. His nervousness and vulnerability showed clearly now, he was terrified of letting her down. "But can we please hold off the wedding for a little while?"

Anya's eyes began to water.

"I'm not ready," he admitted. "When we get married, I want to promise you the very best life I can give you…but I can't do that. Not yet. Will you give me some time?"

"Yes, Xander! Of course I will," she promised, her own tears of relief beginning to overflow. She pulled him back into their desperate embrace, this time it was she who soaked his shirt.

Xander held on tightly, glad he had voiced his troubles. He felt his anxiety and apprehension melt away as he realized he had made the right choice in speaking up. Amazed Anya had understood him so well, he also realized he had made the right choice in asking her to marry him.

Standing in the middle of their living room, clutching each other, it seemed as if no force could come between the two. The past had no bearing here; the couple had a future of their own- a future that wouldn't be tainted by an unfortunate history. A firm believer in making his own destiny, Xander Harris vowed to be the best damn husband Sunnydale had ever seen.

***

Even though Willow had been calling 1630 Rivello Drive home all summer, she felt like a complete stranger as she knocked on the door. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, leaving Willow alone to briefly consider leaving. Just when escape seemed perfect, the door opened slightly to reveal a smiling Slayer.

“Hey, Will,” Buffy greeted quietly, appearing to be quite happy.

“Hi,” Willow responded awkwardly. “I just came to-“ she stopped suddenly as Dawn appeared behind her sister. Upon seeing who was at the door, Dawn quickly turned away.

Willow cleared her throat. “I came to pack up some of my things.”

“Oh, right,” Buffy replied, opening the door and offering a silent invitation. “I, um, put some boxes in your room.”

Willow nodded, not sure what to do.

“I’ll be down here,” Buffy informed her. “Just holler if you need anything.”

Willow nodded once more, and began her trek up the stairs. Everything in this house was so familiar; the slight dents on the banister, the pictures on the wall. Yet Willow felt completely out of place, as if she were lost in an area she’d never seen before. She had walked down the hallway countless times, sometimes to say good night to Dawn and others she was stumbling towards her bed, wrapped in Tara’s embrace. Now she felt like an intruder, as if the house were protesting her presence with every creak of the floorboards.

As she passed through the entrance to her room, Willow was momentarily shocked. Her clothes were in various piles, her books stacked in different locations. Already at work, Tara had many of her things packed already. Tara sensed her presence instantly, glancing up from her work.

Willow stood frozen, her heart in her throat. She desperately wanted Tara to smile, to welcome her company. She wanted to be forgiven, wanted the blame to vanish.

"There's an empty box by the door," Tara stated icily. "You can start where ever you want."

Not quite the warm welcome Willow hoped for, she numbly followed orders and began placing her clothes in a box. With every article of clothing she placed inside, she tried to think of something to say. Several minutes passed in a painful silence, the only sounds were the faint scraping sounds the material made against the cardboard.

"Look, Tara, I-"

"Here's all your stuff from the dresser," she spoke at the same time.
"I think that wraps up just about every thing you need for your parents' house."

Willow glanced around. She had her clothes, favorite books, personal knick-knacks, but was missing a very vital part of her life.

"Where are my magick supplies?" Willow asked, noticing for the first time that they where nowhere in sight.

"I got rid of them."

"You what?" Willow exclaimed.

"I hid them. Locked them up," Tara stood firm, "You don't need them."

"I don't think you get to make decisions for me," Willow replied angrily.

"Why not? You seem to make decisions for everyone else."

Willow's voice lowered as she struggled to keep her temper in check. "Give me my magicks."

"No," Tara's voice was just as measured. "You don't need magick anymore. Look at where it's gotten you so far!"

"It got my best friend back so far, that's what!" Willow countered. "It helped get us through the summer when demons where roaming wild."

"And it almost got me killed!" Tara yelled, her voice filled with pain.

"No, it got you a cut and a few stitches," Willow sneered.

Tara was speechless. Willow's words cut her deeply, and she felt her anger boil over.

"You shot me with a bolt of magic, Willow. If I had landed differently, I could have snapped my neck!" Tara's voice rose, "And this was after you basically told me I was nothing but a pretty face to you!"

"I never said that," Willow replied defensively.

"Yes you did!" Tara cried shrilly. "You sat right there and said the most horrendous things I've ever heard in my life."

"I don't remember," Willow said quietly. Tara's expression softened, and she continued. "I was channeling dark forces, Tara. That wasn't me you heard; it was some creature with my voice."

Tara's face hardened. "You shouldn't even be touching those sorts of Magicks," she hissed. "You just got a taste of something powerful and now you've gone over the edge. Why can't you see that? Do you even listen when Giles or I talk to you?"

"Oh, please," Willow rolled her eyes spitefully. "I really don't need a lecture from you; I already got yelled at by Giles this week."

"You never listen, Willow! That's why we keep talking."

"I don't understand either of you! You're happy Buffy's back, right? So who cares if I dipped into some dark magic to bring her back? She's here, that's what's important. Stop treating me like an incompetent little child!"

"That's the only way you've been acting lately," Tara protested.

"I've been the incompetent one? I've been the only strong one all summer! Everyone else sat around while I was busy making things happen. I had to take action," Willow sneered, "Who else had the power to do it? You?"

Without another word, Tara brushed past Willow and stormed down the hallway. Willow flew out after her, grabbing her arm halfway down the stairs. Tara furiously shrugged out of her grasp, pounding down the remaining steps and pacing in the living room.

She quickly turned to Willow, stopped dead in her tracks. "You."

Willow looked confused. "Me?"

"You," Tara's voice was dripping with disgust, "You said almost the exact same thing to me when you were doing the spell," her eyes narrowed. "I think the only 'dark creature' speaking was yourself."

"I don’t need this," Willow replied, a bored tone in her voice.

"No," Tara corrected, "I don't need this."

"Please," Willow jeered, "You're whining almost as much as-"

Dawn bolted from the kitchen and raced up the stairs.

"You have changed, Willow," Tara continued. "I don't know when, but you've become a power-hungry control freak. You've crossed a line and you can't go back."

Willow continued to stare into Tara's eyes, almost in shock. There was no way Tara was doing this; no way Tara was dumping her.

"You've hurt me on so many levels, and somehow you always seem to blame it on me. I don't even know you anymore."

"What do you want from me?" Willow asked in disbelief.

"I want you to leave," Tara answered plainly.

A few beats passed between them before Willow cried, "What?"

"You heard me. I need away time from you. I can't bear being around you anymore."

Buffy appeared in the living room, tentatively speaking up. "Guys-can you tone it down? Dawn's really upset."

"Let me ask you what you think of this, Buffy," Willow replied, trying to think of a reason to stay. "Tara wants me to leave- basically telling me to move out. You think that's such a hot idea?"

Willow's smug grin vanished when Buffy failed to back her up. Her best friend in the world, the one she had risked so much for, just stood there, shifting her feet uncomfortably and looking anywhere but at Willow's face.

"Buffy?" She asked, suddenly becoming quite hurt, "You can't mean that...”

"I don't know, Will" the Slayer responded somewhat nervously. "Maybe what you need is be alone right now. Think about some stuff and all. Maybe?"

Willow's anger flared, any composure she had before was gone.

"You want me to leave too?" She exclaimed, incredibly wounded. Her expression hardened, her rage evident. "Fine, you know what? I'll give you two what you want. I just hope that you'll both be very happy together!"

She uttered a chain of words, and instantly her boxes were teleported downstairs. Willow hastily grabbed them, giving the other two women an icy stare as she headed to the door. One glance in its direction sent it flying open, and Willow quickly disappeared outside, effectively shattering Tara's heart and leaving Buffy in a deepened state of consternation.

Disclaimer: All the characters presented in this chapter are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter rating: PG-13

Feedback: Please review. We’re not kidding here. We crave feedback the way Spike craves blood and Buffy craves, well you know . You can also send us e-mails at BuffySpikeshiper@aol.com

Author’s note: This is the second half of what turned out to be our longest chapter to date. The trouble with these expository chapters is that you have so much ground to cover that you either leave a lot of stuff out, or you write 12,000 words-and still leave stuff out. Not to worry though. The action is now getting underway so we should have lot shorter chapters, filled with much kicking of demon/and or vampire posterior.





Chapter Three


Home is Where the Heartbreak is


Part II


Written by Phil and Jules




****


"So much for a nice, relaxing evening at home," Buffy muttered to no one in particular.

The really ironic thing of course, had been that up until Willow had decided to breeze in and out again like 'Hurricane Wicca,' Buffy had actually been having what could be described in some cultures as fun, pretty much for the first time since coming back last month. It had taken her weeks to get to the point that she could bring herself to enjoy even the simplest of pleasures, like getting an ice cream headache or smiling at one of Xander's lame jokes. The whole readjustment back to the land of the living had been very hard for her. So much had changed in the last five months that she sometimes had a really hard time remembering that this had been her life. Everything seemed so strange and different, like it was all happening to someone else. Like she was watching a stupid soap opera about some strange girl she had never heard of before. This week on "The Adventures of Buffy the Reanimated Corpse..." Great. Just freaking great.

Not that she was entirely unhappy to be back home. Not at all. She didn't really remember much of where she had been while she was "gone"-a term that made her decidedly queasy, but one that the gang all insisted on using. It was just that everybody was acting so weird around her. Then again, they didn't seem to be acting too normally around each other, either.

Xander and Anya were arguing a lot these days, so much that they had put off their wedding for a while. The fact that they had been getting married in the first place had been enough to completely baffle her. She could remember her exact words on first hearing the happy news too. "Umm, okay?" Shudder. Now she had no idea what to think.

Giles had been wonderful since she had been back, a total tower of strength, but Buffy could tell that the strain of trying to sort out everybody's problems was getting to him. He looked old, something she had never noticed before. Old, and tired and just plain worn out. He and Willow were constantly fighting, a lot more than even she and Tara had been. It was now so bad that Willow avoided the Magic Box all the time which, Buffy had to admit, seemed to help everybody's comfort zone.

Willow. God, she just couldn't get her mind around how much her best friend had changed this year. She had always been the sweetest person in the world, one of the most important people in her life; one Buffy had always been able to count on no matter what. She had saved them all against Glory that night, but now she was turning into somebody that Buffy could barely recognize. It was hurting all of them, but it was slowly killing Tara.

Poor Tara. It had really pained Buffy to listen to that fight. To watch Tara have to push Willow away because she couldn't take what was happening to them both was just heartbreaking. After everything that had happened in the past five years, the last thing that she needed was more heartache in her life. In all their lives.

And then there was Dawn. Buffy allowed herself a small sigh at the thought of all the grief that her little sister had been forced to endure in her very young life. This was just the icing on the cake. Geez, I thought my life sucked.

"Is she gone, then?" Dawn's voice abruptly cut into her consciousness from behind her.

Taken a bit by surprise, Buffy responded rather absent-mindedly “Who, honey?”

“Mega-witch beeyotch. Who else would I mean?” Dawn added, a touch of defiance creeping into her voice.

“Dawnie, don’t say things like that. Not about Willow. I know you don’t mean them...”

“Don’t tell me what I mean. She’s acting like an evil bitch, whether we say so or not-so why not say so?”

“Stop it, Dawn!” Buffy snapped a little harder than she had wanted to. Seeing the hurt expression on her sister’s face, she felt a huge surge of guilt. “Please, sweetie. You’ve got to understand. This is all so, well it’s hard to explain but Willow is going through some majorly bad stuff right now and we kind of need to cut her a little slack, okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Dawn hissed at her. “She’s out of control, Buffy. Look what she tried to do to Tara. Look what she did to you.”

“Dawnie, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m fine...”

“You’re not. I-I know you say that, but I can see how much you hurt. I can feel it. Don’t you think I can feel everything you’re going through? I can. We’re the same, Buffy. You've got to know that by now. It’s like a knife in my stomach whenever somebody hurts you, just like that night...”

"Please, Dawn. Please don't. I can't-I can't talk about that now-" Buffy pleaded with her sister, desperately trying to shut out memories of that last night with Glory.

"No. Of course not," Dawn snapped back at her. "We can't talk about anything anymore. We're all just going to pretend that Willow isn't using too much magic, and that Tara isn't sitting up in her room crying her eyes out right now, and that you're not crying yourself to sleep or waking up with nightmares every night."

As she finished saying that, Dawn headed towards the front door, causing a slight tremor of panic to suffuse her older sister.

"Dawn? Where are you going? You can't go out there right now. Not in the dark. It's not safe." Already, Buffy was gripped with a fresh feeling of rising terror.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Dawn shouted. "I’m just going onto the porch to get some fresh air. It's getting really smothering in here." Seeing the look of abject horror on her sister's face, she relented a bit. "Look, Buffy, I'm just going outside for a little while. Janice said she might stop by for a few. I promise not to get kidnapped and sold into a harem between here and the front lawn, okay?"

Buffy, realizing how insanely overprotective she was being, backed off. "All right honey. It's okay, really. It's just that-you know how much I love you, right?" She said to her sister's retreating back. Dawn raised her arm in a 'luv you too' gesture used exclusively by the under twenty set and disappeared through the door.

"Wow. That should get me into the 'smothering lunatic substitute mother' Hall of Fame," she chided herself. Even as she said it out loud though, she realized that the situation really was not all that funny. It was in fact, growing into a serious problem.

Her need to protect Dawn from as much as she could had always been a powerful motivation for Buffy. She had long suspected that it was a trait that the monks of Tarnis had programmed into her, but she had never really paid it that much attention because it was something that she would have done anyway. To Buffy, protecting family wasn't something that you thought too much about. You just did it. Now however, it was obviously getting out of control. Oh, my God, she thought to herself. How do I tell my sister that she scares me to death?

The worst of it had occurred the night she had come back. After only an hour or so of sleep, she had woken up screaming. She could no longer remember the specifics of the nightmare, but its affects were still very palpable. Buffy trembled whenever she thought of it. That night, she had been shaking so hard that Giles had considered taking her to the hospital. She had refused, instead pleading with Dawn not to leave her alone in the dark. The younger girl had slipped into bed with her, like they had done so often when they were children, and held her until she had drifted off to sleep. It had been nearly two weeks before Buffy could bring herself to go to sleep without her sister lying beside her, and that had only been after Giles and Tara both had begun expressing some reservations about the two of them sleeping together so often.

Being separated from Dawn for any length of time still made Buffy nauseous, although it had been far worse the first week or two. After a few days of staying home from school to help Tara look after her sister, the teenager had gone back to class, leaving Buffy in a state of absolute panic. She'd pleaded with them both for Dawn to stay with her, but Tara had been insistent that she not miss any more school. Buffy had begun crying within the first few minutes of her leaving the house and hadn't stopped until she returned over seven hours later. The crying jags had gone on for the next several days, but she had eventually been able to get them under control...for the most part. She still lived in stark terror that something could happen to her baby sister at any moment and it ate away at her bit by bit, causing her, despite her better judgment, to act irrationally at times. Like just now, she thought.

"I guess I'm not doing much good here," she said aloud, deciding that the best thing for her to do right now, was to go out and get some fresh air herself. Maybe even do some patrolling. Now that was an idea. She hadn't done any since she had been back, and it suddenly made perfect sense that she should start up again tonight. It had always been a way for her to work off tension and anxiety in the past. Yeah, that was it. Kill some dead things.

Filled with a new sense of purpose, Buffy walked up the stairs and quickly darted into her room to grab a jacket. As she passed by her mother's old room, she could hear sobbing coming from behind the door. Knocking delicately on the door first, she opened it to find Tara sitting on the bed, holding onto a blue sweater that Buffy recognized as having belonged to Willow. Her face was stained with tears.

"Tara." Buffy said as gently as she could. "Is everything okay?"

The blonde witch nodded. "It will be, sweetie. I'm just-well you know how it goes. One day at a time."

Buffy nodded. She really did know. It was just that she could feel Tara's pain so keenly that it felt like her own.

"Buffy," the other woman continued. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for a little while. I mean, if you have a minute."

"Sure," the Slayer nodded. "You know you can tell me anything, Tara. You've been so good to Dawn and me. I owe you so much for taking of us, for taking care of her, while I was gone..." She trailed off as she noticed the look of pain that crossed the witch's face.

"That's just it. I haven't been." Tara said gloomily. "You don't owe me anything, Buffy. I owe you. I tried to stop her, you know. If I had, you wouldn't be here-you wouldn't have come back...and I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was for that. And that I would understand if you wanted me to leave. You should never have been forced between Willow and me like that. It's not fair. You two have been friends for so long. I-I should leave."

Buffy shook her head. "No. You really shouldn't. Tara, you belong here as much as anybody else. Don't you think I know what Dawn means to you? After all this time, you should know what you mean to us. You're a part of this family, Tara. You always will be. Whatever happens with Willow happens, but that fact doesn't change. You're one of us now. Unless you don't want to be," she added rather shyly.

"Oh, I want to be. I want that more than anything. I never had any sisters, you know. Just my cousin, and well she..."

"I know." Buffy said with just the slightest hint of distaste in her voice. "We've met. I think Dawn calls her "The Wicked Bitch of the West."

"Oh." Tara said simply, and then broke out in a fit of giggling, which Buffy immediately joined.

"You know," Buffy managed to choke out, "We shouldn't be laughing at this stuff. Dawn really is terrible."

"Yeah, she is," replied the witch. "And I wouldn't have it any other way." She gave Buffy a quick hug of sisterly affection, one that the Slayer was eager to return.

"Anyway." Buffy said, as they pulled apart. "I need to get going. I really just stopped up to get some stuff for a patrol. Thought I'd check out the Sunnydale nightlife again. See if things are still hopping on the old Hellmouth."

" I'll make sure that Dawnie finishes her homework, then. The math has been giving her some trouble lately."

"Yeah, you do that," replied Buffy with a shudder. "Because there isn't a vampire around that can strike more fear into my heart than having to solve for factor X."

Leaving a grinning Tara behind her, a newly energized Slayer headed back down the stairs and out the front door, stopping only long enough to chase off Dawn's juvenile delinquent friend Janice, while ordering her sister into the house to get started on her homework.

"That's right." She said out loud. "Vampires of the world beware!" With that, she marched down the street, happier than she had been in a long time.

*****


"Well, gee- they didn't have to take me so darned literally."

The fact that no one was currently within earshot to hear the Slayer's rather disappointed declaration only served to prove her point. Tonight had been a complete bust as far as demon hunting was concerned. Buffy had been patrolling for nearly three hours now, and the closest thing she had come to staking had been a large striped alley cat, which had the temerity to jump off a headstone in front of her as she investigated the cemetery.

"Stupid cat." she had called after the quickly retreating feline, but that hadn't made her feel any better. The sinking feeling that she was totally irrelevant began to grow in the pit of her stomach. Worse still, that desperate, harping voice whispering, “Where is Dawn? Protect Dawn. Be with Dawn,” began echoing in her head again. Damn. This is just...lame. I can’t do my job for five minutes without turning into psycho-mom.

"Okay," she said out loud, hoping that the sound of her own voice would reassure her. "One more sweep and I'm gonna call it a night." With that, she headed off in the direction of the main gate.

She passed row after row of tombstones, searching for a freshly dug grave and a possible fledgling vampire. The chilling realization that she too had been in the ground mere weeks ago caused her entire body to shiver, and she forced memories of clawing her way through the earth from her mind.

All of a sudden, Buffy heard a twig snap, and instantly focused her heightened senses on her surroundings. She heard more rustling and felt the familiar twinge her Slayer sense gave her when a vampire was near. Buffy crept closer to the sounds, prepared to beat something up tonight. She leapt over a few bushes, poised for a fight when the vampire she had sensed turned around and nearly collapsed from shock.

“Spike?”

“Slayer?” Spike asked, looking almost as stunned as he'd been the first time she’d seen him last month. “What are you doing here?”

Buffy grinned, amused in spite of herself. “It’s kinda in the job description. You know-vampire Slayer. I slay vampires. They hang out in cemeteries. It's a pretty simple concept, actually.” He didn’t reply, however- he was too busy fumbling through all of his pockets in search of a cigarette. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you, I suppose. Looking for evil and whatnot.”

“Been doing a lot of that lately, huh? I haven’t seen you since…” His gaze lifted then, and Buffy was surprised at the pain in his eyes. I haven’t seen him since I came back, she thought, and as she matched his piercing stare, she realized he still couldn’t believe she was alive. Yeah, well join the club.

“Yeah, well,” Spike shrugged, finally finding his lighter. “Been busting my ass to find out what destroyed the ‘bot, but I’m fresh out of leads,” he took a drag from the cigarette, “I keep winding up in this spot where the bloody thing was wrecked knowing even less than I did before.”

“Aw, poor Spikey- upset about your smashed up little girlfriend? Don't worry, I'm sure you can order another one up on-line at Chippies.are.us.com or maybe 1-800-Loser.” Buffy teased.

She instantly regretted it the moment she heard the words come out her mouth and saw the brief flicker of hurt in his eyes. God, where the hell had that come from?

Just as she was about to apologize for going too far, he coolly retorted: “What can I say? She was a good time. Better than the original, I expect. Certainly a lot prettier...”

"Another remark like that pal, and your ass won't be the only thing around here being busted." she shot back. Damn him, he always does this, she thought as he threw up his arms in mock surrender and smirked at her.

"Whatever you say, luv. It's not important anyway. Hasn't been much going on in good ole Sunnyhell these days, so I thought I'd have one more stab at it, take the edge off the boredom. Doesn't make a lot of sense, though. My sources have all pretty much dried up lately."

Buffy shrugged. "Probably all got sick of you promising to pay them in IOU's and stolen blood bags. Why are you even going through all this trouble? I mean, you're not trying to avenge it or something, are you?"

Spike shifted his gaze to spot on the ground that must have struck him as particularly fascinating. “I, um, just wanted to take out whatever destroyed it. Figured it’d give you one less thing to worry about. You know, while you're still readjusting to everything and all.”

He said that with such an air of sincerity that she found herself being genuinely touched.

"Thanks, Spike but I'm sure it will be fine. Maybe it was just some passing uglies, not locals. You should probably check out some other sources though. Did you try Willie?"

The vampire shook his head, rather puzzled by her question. "Willie? Sorry pet, but you're a bit behind the times. Willie sold up and moved out last year. Heard he went to New York and ended up as a building super or something. Bloody ponce, if you ask me."

Not really knowing what exactly a ponce was, Buffy only nodded. Wow, yet more proof I have no idea what's going on anymore.

“Red have any leads?” Spike asked abruptly.

“Not that I’ve heard of. She kind of, well, moved out.”

Spike quietly accepted this information, once again bringing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply. If he detected the stinging pain in her voice, he said nothing about it. Buffy stood still, stiffly crossing her arms and softly kicking the earth beneath her, almost daring him to say something nasty about Willow. Instead, Spike tossed the butt, loudly clearing his throat.

“How’s the little Bit?” he asked, gently changing the subject.

“She’s…Dawn’s angry,” Buffy replied. “I’m not sure if she’ll ever forgive Willow, and I can’t seem to talk to her for more than five minutes without getting into an argument with her.” And why in the hell am I even telling you this?

“Give her some space,” he suggested. “Don’t push her, but make sure she knows you’re there to listen.”

Buffy blankly stared at him. “Thanks for the parenting lessons,” she responded dryly.

“I’m just trying to help you out, Slayer,” Spike retorted defensively.

“I think I know how to take care of my sister.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “But I was there all summer. I think I know a thing or two about her moods.”

“Yes, well…I have things to kill,” Buffy declared, not wanting to be reminded of the summer and her death. "So, unless you want to be one of them. I suggest that you be on your merry undead way."

“Bully for you,” Spike muttered. “I got things to kill too. Why the bloody hell should I be the one to leave?”

Her temper suddenly getting the better of her, Buffy brushed past him and started walking to the gate. “Fine. You know what? You're right, Spike. By all means, let me leave you alone so you can continue brilliantly investigating every dead end connected with the bot. I'm going home.” She crossed to the driveway and was gone in a few moments, leaving a more than slightly pissed off vampire behind her.

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d never leave!” he hissed at the disappearing Slayer, his tone of voice not even remotely betraying the fact that he had already begun missing her the moment she had passed the gate.



******


"I'm sorry but I just don't get this at all. You can't just pick up and leave, Giles. Not now. I need you here." Buffy said, her voice betraying the rising sense of panic that she was feeling.

"We've already been through this twice, Buffy." Her watcher responded rather sternly. "I don't know how many more ways I can say it. I'm leaving tomorrow morning bright and early, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop arguing with me about it. I still have a number of arrangements to make and I need to pack a couple of suitcases."

"But, I don't see why you have go all the way to London just because Lord Whathisface slipped on a banana peel or whatever..."

"Sir Robert Evesham-Hewes has been the Chairman of the Watcher's council for over twenty-five years," Giles replied. "His death is of considerable importance and, for your information, he did not slip on a banana peel. He died of a heart attack, I believe."

"Okay fine. But why do you have to be there? Can't that Travers guy deal with it? I thought he was supposed to be in charge of the Watchers anyway." Buffy asked, hoping against the odds that she could talk Giles out of flying to England and leaving her without anyone to lean on.

It had been a hectic twenty-four hours. Giles had gotten the phone call from London yesterday afternoon while they had been training together. Now, suddenly, he was all fired up about leaving town. Leaving her.

"It's not quite that simple,” her watcher answered. "As First Secretary of the Council, Quentin Travers does indeed hold most of the authority when it comes to the operational aspects of the organization, but that authority itself comes from the Chairman, as set down by the Revisions to the Charter of 1668."

"Umm, once more in English?"

Giles sighed. "He runs things but he's not technically in charge."

"Oh. Well, all right but..."

"Buffy, I'm not really any more excited about the prospect of leaving right now either, but Quentin specifically requested that I attend Sir Robert's funeral and I could hardly refuse him, especially since protocol demands that the watchers of all active slayers be present. Since Faith is currently without an official watcher, that pretty much leaves me, doesn't it?"

Buffy winced at the mention of the rogue Slayer. It had been a long time since she'd given her any thought, not since her murder conviction at any rate. It was not something she liked to think about too much. Shaking the bad memories from her mind, she tried another tack.

"So maybe we can come with? Dawn and me, I mean. I've kind of always wanted to see England, I guess-and ooh, it might be educational for Dawn. All those old museums and libraries and stuff. I know she’d love it. I’d love it. History is just so...historical.”

“Aha” replied Giles, sounding vaguely amused. “Your enthusiasm for umm, knowledge is truly inspiring, but I don’t think it’s a very good idea, Buffy.”

“Why not?” She pouted at him.

“For one thing, Dawn just started the fall term last month and she’d end up missing quite a bit of school. I plan to be there at least three or four weeks, possibly a lot longer. Her grades are spotty enough as it is.”

“Why so long?” Buffy asked him, genuinely puzzled now. “Just for a funeral I mean?”

“Well that’s just it, you see. That’s really not the reason I’m going, although as I said, it is expected of me. Apparently, there is some question in the mind of a few of the council members, about the nature of Sir Robert’s demise. Not everyone is convinced that he died of purely natural causes.”

“Really? You mean like somebody whacked the old guy?”

“Honestly, Buffy,” replied the exasperated watcher “You really need stop wallowing in the depths of American popular culture. This is what you get when you watch fifteen straight episodes of ‘The Sopranos‘.”

“Hey, is it my fault Xander got the DVD box set for his birthday?”

“At any rate, the answer to your question is I have no idea what caused his death. He could very well have died from a heart attack. He was nearly 80 and I gather that he had a long history of cardiac problems. The point though, is that Quentin fears that rumors of anything unnatural might tend cause some unrest among the voting members of the council come the elections for his successor. He‘s asked me to look into the matter, unofficially of course, just as a precaution.” Giles paused for a moment before continuing, not meeting her eyes the entire time. “You can see that I‘d have little time for sightseeing and I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you both on your own in a foreign place, well foreign to you anyway. Besides, I'm not sure it's a very good idea to let the council get too close to Dawn. They still have no idea about her extraordinary origins, and I think we're all agreed that we should keep it that way for the present.”

Buffy took a moment to digest this information. She was going to lose the argument this time and she knew it. This really sucked, though. Really, really. Still pouting, she nodded her head in tacit agreement, hating herself for feeling this way.

“Okay. You’re right." She sighed wearily. "You need to go then. I guess I can hold down the fort while you’re gone. It’s not like there’s a lot going on in the slayage department anyway. Nothing, actually.”

“Odd,” Giles responded. “You would think there would be some sort of activity going on this close to the Hellmouth. After all, something destroyed the Buffy-bot rather handily.”

“Yeah well as far as I’m concerned whatever did that, did us all a favor. Me mostly I guess, although Dawn seems less than broken up about it. What made you guys use Spike’s sex-bot as my replacement, I’m never going to figure out.”

“Necessity,” he replied with such pain in his voice that she could almost see it in him. “But it was never meant to replace you, Buffy. Nothing ever could. You have no idea how much...”

“I know,” she said simply, her voice breaking with emotion. “But that’s all in the past.“ After a few moments, she managed to get a grip on herself. “Anyway, like I was saying, I haven’t picked up any signs of vamps in the last few days and Spike says the town’s been dead for weeks. Umm, dead as in the lack of walking dead people, I mean.”

“You spoke to Spike, then?

“Yeah, I ran into him the other night, patrolling- if you can believe that. Since when does Spike do patrols?”

“Since May,” the watcher responded. “Look, Buffy this is rather a delicate point, and one I haven’t felt comfortable broaching until now, but I feel that with me leaving for a while that perhaps this would be a good time to discuss something. About Spike, I mean.”

“Umm, okay” she said, suddenly growing vaguely uncomfortable on the training room couch she had been sitting on.

“Well,” Giles continued on hesitantly. “I’m not sure that you should be spending much time around Spike. Or any, really.”

“Giles, I haven’t been spending any time with him. I haven’t seen much of him at all really. Except for the other night, and well-”

“-Well?” He asked.

“Oh nothing. Spike being Spike is all. It’s no big. Why do you think I shouldn’t be hanging around him? I mean, out of curiosity’s sake.”

“It’s just that over the summer, I came to realize, we all did I think, that Spike’s feelings for you, as extraordinary and impossible as they are, are quite genuine. He really does-umm love you, in his own peculiar way.”

“Yeah, I guess he does,” she muttered, half to herself, the memory of their kiss earlier in the year reentering her immediate consciousness unbidden. She quickly shook it off. Do not think of the evil, blood-sucking fiend, she told herself. Even if he is that freaking beautiful. Crap. “It’s not a problem here, Giles. Really. Vampires and me do not mix. Never again. Been there, mixed that. I’m non-mixy Buffy.” She added nervously, trying to block out the image of Spike’s piercing azure eyes.

“All the same. I don’t think it’s a good idea to encourage him, wittingly or not. I know that he and Dawn are very close, and that he can’t harm anyone with that chip still in his skull, but all the same, I think you should distance yourself from him as much as possible. We’ll all be happier that way, I’m sure of it.”

“Check. I’m all about being happy right now, believe me.” She tried to sound cheerful.

Giles smiled at her. “That’s my girl. Now buck up. I know things have been very difficult for you this past month, but it’s all bound to snap into place for you again soon enough. You are sleeping better now, I trust?”

“Sure thing,” she replied, lying through her teeth, telling him what he obviously wanted to hear. “Nightmares are pretty much gone. Don’t worry, Giles. I’ll be fine. You go. Enjoy England...if that’s at all possible. Solve some murders in Colonel Mustard’s drawing room with a lead pipe or something.” She even managed to plaster a semi-believable smile on her face as she said it. Please don’t leave me!

“Right, then. I guess I had better get back to the apartment. I’ll need to catch a connector flight to LAX in the morning. Shouldn’t be a problem, though. Quentin has already promised to grease a few wheels so there should be a ticket available for me to get to Heathrow as soon as possible...”

As Giles rambled on, making plans for the trip, and not bothering to notice just how much pain she was in, Buffy couldn’t help but feel that she had been here before. Many, many times before, in fact. It never seemed to matter how much she needed them. How deeply their leaving hurt her. They always left. Always. Oh yeah. Home sweet home.

Disclaimer: All the characters presented in this chapter are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter rating: PG-13

Feedback: Please review. Pretty please? We’re not getting enough .

Editor’s note: Our continued thanks to those few but generous souls who review our fic whenever we’re able to get a new chapter up. Chapter five should be up in no later than three weeks, hopefully sooner. In the meantime, please enjoy this solo effort from our youngest and brightest writer...



Chapter Four


"All's Fair in Love and Slaying...”


Written by Jules


*

"All right, who rented this?" Buffy snorted in disgust.

"I did," Anya answered. "It looked scary, and you told me to get a scary movie. I thought we'd all be scared."

"I wouldn't call Dracula 2000 scary, Ahn," Xander explained. "I'd call it-"

"Crap?" Buffy finished for him.

"Yeah," he grinned, "Something like that. But hey, it’s movie night…a night for movies, fun, and good ol’ Scooby-"

"This depiction of Dracula is all wrong. They don’t know the first thing about Vlad," Anya interrupted.

"He needs to be scary for the sake of the plot," Tara pointed out.

"There’s a plot?" Buffy asked archly.

Willow shrugged. "I say we stop the movie now and forget we ever watched it."

"We can't stop now! Don't you want to know how it ends?" Xander persisted, pretty obviously wanting the gang to be together for at least little while longer.

Buffy felt badly for him, she really did. She knew from talking to Anya that all summer long he had dreamed of having things back to the way they were; having the group united as a whole. He'd talked of little else apparently and now they'd barely had time to relish the fact that she was back, the group once again complete, before Willow had moved out and Giles left. Just rounding up everyone tonight had been nearly impossible to pull off-and it seemed that there was no way he was going to let it all fall apart now.

"Why do you want to watch it so badly? Dracula made you his spider-eating man-bitch, remember?" Willow remarked curtly.

"Okay, no more movie," Xander agreed, not appearing thrilled to have that brought up again. "Anyone want more popcorn?"

"No, thanks," Tara declined. "I should really be going to bed. I'm about to fall asleep any second," she yawned. "Good night everyone."

"Not yet! The night is still young. Who wants to play Twister?" Xander asked with forced enthusiasm. "Although I’m not much for bending. Who’s up for Scrabble?"

"I should probably get going too," Willow added. "I have my British and Irish lit class tomorrow morning."

"Skip it!" Xander practically cried. "Friends are more important than the Irish!"

The only response he got was a bored eye-roll from Willow as she turned her attention back to Buffy.

"How's the class going? You didn't finish telling me about it," Buffy mentioned as she carried empty soda cans into the kitchen.

"Oh, it's great!" Will gushed, following Buffy. "You know me, I love just about everything that has to do with books. Plus, the professor's amazing. He's actually from Ireland, you know- a senior fellow at Trinity College in Dublin, I think. He's totally brilliant."

"He's a creep," Tara muttered.

"What did you say?" Willow snapped.

"You heard me. I said I don't like him. He gives off big creepy vibes," Tara replied as she headed towards the stairs. "Good night," she repeated tiredly.

Willow hastily cleared dishes from the counter. "Whatever," she spat. "Tara just hates any guy I talk to-" she turned fiercely, her elbow knocking a plate to the floor.

"Let me get something to sweep that up with," Buffy offered.

"No, it's fine. I broke it, I can fix it," Willow insisted. She bent down and waved her hand over the countless pieces scattered across the tile. The sections came together, making the plate good as new. As she handed it to Buffy, she added "Sorry about that- I just get kind of edgy around Tara. Things are pretty weird between us."

"No need to apologize, Will," Buffy replied, forcing a grin as she took the plate from her. She placed it in a cabinet and turned back to Willow. Weird was the mildest way of describing the tension that existed between the two wiccans. Tara had made a point of ignoring Willow all night, and the red-haired witch had returned the favor with gusto. Dawn hadn't helped anything by openly siding with Tara, either.

"You know I'm here if you need to talk to someone, right?" Buffy meant every word of it, of course but she wasn't sure if her best friend believed her. They hadn’t really talked much since she'd come back. They hadn’t talked at all since Willow had stormed out that night.

"I know," the witch responded, in a manner that seemed just a bit too strained to Buffy.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to say bye," Xander explained as he stuck his head in the kitchen. "I gotta get some sleep so I can get up nice and early and do manly labor. You guys busy later this week?"

"I’ll make sure to take a day off from my busy schedule," Buffy joked, giving Xander a hug. "Just stop by when you get a chance."

"I gotta head out too, Buffy," Willow admitted. "I’ll keep you updated on my class, though."

"Sounds great," Buffy said, and genuinely meant it.

"That movie left me so unfulfilled," Anya pouted as they headed for the door. She looked hopefully at Xander. "Will you fulfill me?"

Buffy laughed as she opened the door for them. "Next time we have a movie night, I'll pick the flick."

"Catch ya later, Buff," Xander said before stepping out, obviously in a hurry to fulfill Anya.

Buffy waved a good-bye, slowly closing the door and sighing. Keeping everyone together and civil in the same room had been quite a chore- she felt completely wiped out. Turning around to see Dawn sleeping on the couch, she quietly cleaned the living room a bit more before gently picking Dawn up and carrying her upstairs. Once she had tucked Dawn in, Buffy realized how extremely tired she was. She collapsed onto her bed and felt her heavy eyelids begin to close.

Who knew being alive was could be so exhausting?


**


"The paper must be at eight to ten pages long and should cover the rise and fall of the Heroine," Dr. McDermott informed his class. "Just a reminder: fooling with the margins and using large font won't cut it. This is an upper level course, people." He added, flashing his students a grin. "Have a nice day."

Willow remained seated as the other students filed out of the class, lost in thought.

"Ms. Rosenberg?"

Willow's head snapped up, and she found herself meeting McDermott's intense gaze. There was something about his piercing hazel eyes that captivated her during lectures, yet now she felt helpless under his stare.

"Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure," Willow replied, hastily gathering her things. She was in big trouble, she sensed it.

"I'll be honest with you," he began as she reached his desk, "You're my best student. Some of the papers I get in here are downright pathetic, and it's a nice break to read some quality work once in a while."

Willow found herself somewhat speechless after his compliment. She had been expecting major criticism for zoning out, not praise for her work. She thought he was a spectacular instructor, and almost always found herself completely engrossed in his lectures. Willow really admired him, yet never thought he noticed her. She was just a 'Plain Jane' that sat in the fourth row and never raised her hand. With a small smile on her face, she managed to mutter a thank you.

"However, lately your work has been somewhat lacking. I'm thinking it may be due to your classroom daydreams," he stated, slowly removing his glasses and rubbing his temples.

Willow started intently at her feet. Here it comes, she thought. She tried to concentrate in class, but always found herself re-hashing the fight she had with Tara when they broke up. She knew her work had been lacking, but her brain just turned to mush when she thought of everything that happened with Tara.

"I don't mean to sound harsh," the professor explained. He gently touched Willow's shoulder. She raised her eyes to meet his, and for the first time looked at him without his glasses. His words seemed sincere; his voice soothing. "I'm just worried about you. Is everything alright?"

Normally, Willow would have promised him she was fine and that she'd improve right away. For some reason however, she couldn't bring herself to lie. No- she didn’t want to lie. The past few months had been an emotional roller coaster, and Willow was not okay. And for the first time in a very long time, someone was asking her how she felt. Someone cared about her. Someone wanted to listen. So she decided to talk.

"Actually, no. I'm not alright."

Dr. McDermott removed his hand from her shoulder and sat on the edge of his desk. "What's wrong?"

"I've just been under a lot of stress lately…" she glanced at him, and noticed how worried he looked.

He wasn't just playing the role of a concerned teacher, he really seemed like he wanted to help. That had never happened to her before. Her instructors had always praised her, sure. They adored her-she had always been the ideal student, but being the 'ideal student' wasn't all it's cracked up to be. Teachers soon expected you to always do outstanding work, to have the right answers, and always assumed everything in your life was perfect. Even she had problems, and McDermott was the one who both noticed and cared.

"And I've had some serious relationship problems."

"Well I can assure you anyone who doesn't appreciate how lucky they are to have you is a bloody fool," he replied.

Willow smiled at his remark, feeling good for the first time that day.

"I'm sure you have another class to get to, so I'll let you go," he finished. "But if there's ever anything bothering you, let me know."

He reached out and lightly touched her hand. Willow suddenly felt slightly giddy, and her arm tingled. She softly squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I appreciate it Dr. McDermott. I really do." She said rather shyly.

"The name's Crispin." He said. "And anytime. That's what I'm here for."

He flashed her another grin before she headed out. She found herself returning the smile, her spirits lifted.

***


"So how did you punish him?"

"That one was easy-eternity with his mother," Anya explained.

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "That doesn’t sound very vengeancey."

Anya shrugged. "You obviously never met her."

"Hey guys," Willow greeted as she entered the Magic Box. "Slow day?" She remarked, noticing the lack of customers. She felt great-a lot happier since her brief talk with her professor last week. She hadn’t seen a whole lot of the Magic Box lately, and decided today was as good a day as any to swing by.

"Yes, but it gave me plenty of time to re-organize everything," Anya replied happily.

"And we talked about Anya’s demon days," Dawn piped in. "Did you know that there are over a hundred uncomfortable and embarrassing rashes that are commonly used for vengeance?"

"Have to say I was blissfully unaware of that detail," Willow responded.

"Rashes are nothing," Anya replied. "Just wait until I tell you about boils and warts."

"I think I’ll respectfully decline from that conversation," Willow teased. "Is Buffy in the back?"

"Yeah," Dawn answered. "She’s doing the whole training thing." She turned to Anya, "So, what’s the best place for a wart?"

"Face is best for public humiliation. Especially hairy ones," She explained. "But the second best place would have to be that hard-to-reach spot on your back."

"You mean this spot?" Dawn asked, twirling around and trying to touch it but failing.

"That’d be it," Anya affirmed as Willow went to check up on Buffy. "And then of course, warts are great on feet…"

"Buffy?" Willow called out as she cautiously entered the training room. Making sure no weapons were being chucked through the air, she walked all the way inside and closed the door.

"Hey Wills," Buffy breathed in between punches. "How was class today?"

"Just fascinating...until it got really boring."

"I know how that goes," Buffy empathized as she stepped away from the punching bag.

"Although, I’ve been able to focus a lot more since last week."

"Last week?" Buffy arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah- he caught me day dreaming and talked to me after class," Willow explained.

"Was there lots of chastising?" Buffy asked as she stretched out her wrists.

"Actually, no," Willow responded. "He-"

"Can you move to the side? I want to practice some tumbling," Buffy asked.

"Oh, sure," Willow stepped aside, "Sorry."

Buffy gracefully executed a round-off back handspring, and Willow continued. "It was amazing, Buffy. He totally cared about me and what was wrong."

"Uh-huh," Buffy mumbled as she started another tumbling pass.

"He was attentive and completely focused on what I had to say…"

"Yup," Buffy replied dully.

"…And you aren’t really listening," Willow said as Buffy threw a few roundhouse kicks at an invisible opponent.

"Uh-huh," Buffy replied indifferently, focused on her moves.

"Silly me, what with interrupting your training and all," Willow remarked bitterly. "Since I don’t have anything important to say I’ll leave you alone," she snapped, not waiting for a reply as she left the room.

"…had to suffer public humiliation. I’m talking a speech in front of his whole town, completely naked."

"Now that is cruel," Dawn laughed.

"Hey Dawnie, wanna go get something to eat?" Willow offered. "My treat."

Dawn fidgeted and refused to meet Willow's gaze. "Um…I-I can’t. Tara and I already made plans to go window shopping today, and-"

"That’s fine," Willow said brusquely.

"You can help out here if you want," Anya suggested. "But no touching of the money."

The familiar chime of the bell above the door hung in the air as a moderately tall man with chestnut hair entered. His posture was very balanced, very classy. His cheekbones were finely chiseled, however his features were more delicate than rugged.

"Welcome to the Magic Box! We’re running a special sale on Love Potions: buy a book of different spells and get the ingredients at ten percent off! We also got a new shipment of Mandrake Root yesterday-"

"Ms. Rosenberg?" Crispin McDermott asked incredulously.

"Hey!" Willow exclaimed as he brushed past Anya to speak with her. "What inspired you to swing by here? And it's Willow," she added, blushing just a tiny bit.

"Okay, well, um...Willow, things of the occult have always intrigued me. The books are just fascinating," he replied, "And you know how much I love books."

"We have a great selection here," Willow said. "You could borrow one any time," she offered.

"Or you could buy them," Anya suggested. "Buy three, get the fourth half off…"

"Actually, I came in here for some candles and other materials for meditation," Crispin explained, grinning at Anya. "But that sounds like a great deal. I’ll come back when I have more money."

"You meditate?" Willow asked, obviously surprised.

"Regularly," he nodded. "Helps clear my mind and calm my nerves."

"Well, when I meditate I use aromatherapy," she suggested. "The smells are much more distinct."

"What kind of scents do you have?"

"Let’s see…" Willow glanced at the selection, removing a tiny bottle. "This is one of my personal favorites." She uncapped it and held it up to his nose. "What does that remind you of?"

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and thinking. "It smells…exotic," he decided, opening his eyes. "It reminds me of flowers, beaches…" He gazed straight at her. "Seclusion from the rest of the world. Paradise."

Willow smiled. "That’s why I like it so much." She sorted through the rest of the bottles, picking a different one. "What do you think of this?"

After a faint whiff, he wrinkled his nose and gagged. "What is that?" He asked, backing away. "And who uses it?"

"It’s ginger," Willow pouted, "And I like it."

"I’ll let you have it then," he teased. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah," she replied. "What does this remind you of?"

He took the bottle from her and breathed in slowly. "It’s vanilla," he grinned. "It reminds me of you."

"Does that mean you’re going to buy it?" Anya interjected.

Crispin cleared his throat. "Yes, I’ll take the vanilla and exotic oils."

"Great! I’ll ring that up for you," she smiled, heading towards the cash register. "A new order of oils should be in next week. You can come back and smell them with Willow if you’d like."

He nervously scratched the back of his neck. "I think this should last me for a while, but thanks anyway," he declined, paying her.

"Thanks for choosing the Magic Box," Anya said appreciatively. "One-stop shopping for all your mystical needs!"

He said a quick good-bye to Willow as he headed out the door.

"So what does he smell like?" Buffy asked, leaning against the training room door.

"My guess is Old Spice," Anya chimed in. "He looks like a spicy guy."

"Shut up," Willow ordered defensively, trying in vain to hide her flushed face.

"I thought it was sweet," Dawn said, and after a pause continued, "And somewhat kinky."

"What’s kinky?" Tara asked as she walked through the door.

"Willow’s professor," Anya offered; oblivious to the way Tara’s face fell.

"There was nothing kinky about it," Willow hissed. "And I’d appreciate it if you’d all get off my case."

"We’re just teasing," Buffy argued.

So you have time to harass me, but no time to listen when I have something to say? Willow thought, growing increasingly angry by the second. "And yet, you’re not funny," Willow snapped, not waiting for a response as she stormed out of the shop. Once outside, she paused to take a deep breath. McDermott was only a few shops down, staring at something in the display window.

"Crispin!" She called, "Wait up!"

****


"I don’t even understand what your problem is. You’ve worn things twice as slutty when you were my age, plus you were dating a vampire. Spike and I are just hanging out," Dawn complained.

"First: this is so not about me, so don’t change the subject. And second: you are not going out wearing that tank top, so you can either change or stay home," Buffy countered.

"But-"

"And don’t insult my intelligence by saying that Mom would have let you wear that, because we both know she wouldn’t," Buffy interrupted. Dawn’s scowl only intensified, so she tried to lighten the mood. "I was only dead a few months, not born yesterday."

"That’s exactly my point!" Dawn exclaimed. "You were…gone," she said, still not comfortable talking about the summer. "You weren’t around, and I managed by myself. I can take care of myself, and I can wear what I want," she insisted, clearly not about to budge on the subject.

"Dawn." Buffy said, voice low and steady. "Change."

Dawn placed her hands firmly on her hips.

"Now," Buffy ordered, growing angry at the continued defiance.

"No," Dawn replied in an equally rigid tone.

"Fine," Buffy shrugged. "You can just stay home."

"Why are you doing this?" Dawn asked. "Do you want to make sure I don’t have any fun? Do you want me to be unhappy? Because you’re doing one hell of a job."

Her words cut Buffy deeply. "You know I care about you more than anything. Your safety always comes first, and believe me when I tell you to cover up. I’m looking out for you, not trying to hurt you."

"Yeah, and you’re smothering me," she replied. "Be a good Mom and back off," she sneered.

A hollow tapping reverberated through the Summers home, interrupting Buffy. She glared at Dawn and hissed, "Don’t you ever talk to me like that. Now, go change your clothes before you get downstairs if you ever want to leave the house again."

They continued staring at one another, silently challenging the other to speak. After a brief pause, the rapping continued.

"I’m coming!" Buffy called, rushing down the stairs to answer the door. Before she reached it, the knocking grew louder and more impatient.

"I’m not deaf!" Buffy cried, exasperated. She flung the door open to reveal Spike standing restlessly on the porch.

"Evening, Buffy. Is Dawn ready?"

"Yeah, she just…wait. Where are you two going?"

"Little Bit and I have a sort of weekly date. Dinner, ice cream…lots of wholesome, legal fun."

"Oh, right," Buffy mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot for forgetting. Dawn had mentioned all of this to her before. She always looked forward to it, couldn’t wait for it. The days in between their outings dragged for her, and she was always in a good mood upon returning from a night out with Spike. It pleased Buffy to see Dawn so happy. Setting aside one night a week was actually a brilliant idea, and had become a tradition over the summer. While Buffy was dead, Dawn had Spike to count on. He was there every Tuesday at eight, ready to devote the night to her. He was there to listen, to make her laugh, to be her constant when everything around her was confusing.

"Hey Spike," Dawn welcomed as she came down the stairs. "Where are we going tonight?"

"Nowhere unless you put something on over that tank-top," he replied frankly. Upon seeing her eyes roll, he innocently added, "It’s cold outside."

"Alright," Dawn complied, getting a denim coat from the front hall closet. "Can we go now?"

Shocked by how Dawn listened to Spike and not her, Buffy found herself seething with anger.

"I don’t believe you!" Buffy cried. "I had to spend 20 minutes arguing with you just so you can change when Spike says so?"

"What can I say?" Dawn shrugged. "Spike just knows what he’s talking about."

"That’s it. You aren’t going anywhere, young lady."

"Stop me," Dawn threatened, walking past her.

Buffy’s hand shot out instantly, grabbing Dawn’s forearm. "I really don’t think you want me to."

That was all it took for the two to get into a full-fledged screaming match.

"Stop treating me like I’m only two years old!"

"You are only two years old!"

"You were the one being a stubborn brat!" Dawn yelled.

"I was right all along! It just took you a while to figure that out!" Buffy argued.

The argument continued until it boiled down to petty insults such as "You’re an idiot!" and "I hate you!" Their voices continued to climb, shouts turning to screams and cries turning into wails, neither of them bothering to notice just how annoyed Spike was obviously becoming at the sight and sounds of their petty bickering.

The vampire took a step forward, raised his voice, and asked, "Can’t we all just get along?"

Silence.

"One-hundred and twenty-something years of snarky insults and putdowns, and that’s the best you can do? A Rodney King impression?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"It did the bloody trick, didn’t it?" Spike retorted. "It got the two of you to finally shut your traps."

"I want to go, Spike," Dawn insisted. "Now."

"Not yet. Apologize first," he answered.

"What?"

"Say you’re sorry, Niblet."

For a moment, Dawn looked like she would defy him, but then she rolled her eyes, and muttered an apology.

Buffy was grinning too much, basking in the fact that Spike had sided with her. Her smile vanished when he said, "You too, Slayer."

She shot him a glare which would have knocked him dead if only looks could, and if he hadn't already been dead anyway, then apologized in turn.

"I still don’t want you going out tonight," Buffy added. "Not after what you said to me."

"Oh, piffle," Spike retorted. "Little bit’s coming with me, and so are you."

Buffy stared at Spike, waiting for an explanation while Dawn’s jaw hung open with shock.

"Come on, Slayer. It'll be good for you to get out of this sodding house for a bit. Shake some of the cobwebs out. Enjoy yourself for a change."

Buffy stood there for a moment, suddenly wanting to take him up on his offer, but remembering what Giles had said about staying away from Spike. Oh screw it, she thought. Giles isn't here right now. "Okay. Fine. Whatever." She finally said. I guess one little night out won't hurt anybody.

"Now, this way, 'bit' and I keep our date, and you can make sure she doesn’t have too much fun," he smirked. Dawn stormed past him, once again rolling her eyes as she waited outside for Buffy to grab a jacket.

"But I’m not trying to ruin all her fun," Buffy replied defensively as she emerged with Spike, closing the door behind her. "I’m just trying to be a good parent…"

"You’ll make a lovely Mum, pet," he assured her, his statement punctuated by a heavy sigh from Dawn. "Teenagers are supposed to rebel. It’s part of human condition, I suppose. Reach a certain age, and agreeing on anything is practically impossible."

"I’m not rebelling," Dawn pouted bitterly.

"See what I mean?" said Spike smugly as he ushered them both off the front porch and out onto the sidewalk. “Now ladies, let me show you what fun is really all about.”

*****


"So, what do we learn from that book?"

"All humans are inherently evil."

"Precisely!" Crispin agreed. "The point is that without the strict rules of civilization, we fall back on primal instincts. We fit into natural roles. For example: one boy became the leader, others hunters, another the brains of the group. However, knowing that they made all the rules, that there were no adults to stop them, these boys-these children- turned to a darker primal instinct. You saw what happened to the brains of the group."

Willow nodded. "I always thought that book was fascinating, even in ninth grade when everyone else thought it was dumb."

Crispin flashed her a wide, gorgeous smile. "That just shows how you’ve always been ahead of your classmates."

Willow smiled, enjoying the bright sun and cool breeze as they walked across campus. "I’m not that much smarter than everyone else," she replied.

"Of course you are," he insisted. "I noticed it right away."

"Yeah, well…you're different from any other teacher I've had."

"How so?"

They stopped walking, and Willow turned to face him. "For one thing, you don't abuse your educator status. I've had some teachers who favored kids and graded unfairly. You also don't assign lame projects. One of my teachers in High school actually wanted us to write a letter to Abe Lincoln, assuming he's alive today. And I'm like, 'So, is he supposed to be 137 or-' " Willow stopped talking when she spotted Tara across campus. With another girl.

"Why don't we sit down?" Willow suggested as she eyed the two girls, her knees suddenly feeling dangerously weak. The sun beat down on Tara's golden hair, and suddenly she seemed twice as beautiful as Willow remembered her. Quickly doing a once-over of the girl she was with, Willow noticed her stunning black hair (which was too shiny), her Abercrombie shirt (which was too tight), and her faded denim skirt (which was way too short).

What a skank, Willow thought darkly. The two of them were talking, laughing, joking. Clearly, they were happy and enjoying themselves. It wasn't fair.

Anger and jealousy filled Willow. A breeze rustled the leaves in the tree above her, and she shivered despite how warm it was in the shade. In fact, she was freezing. Seeing Tara like that had frozen her heart, consumed it with a somber sadness.

"Willow?" Crispin said softly, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she replied, still focused on Tara.

He seemed to know better, and kindly touched her hand. "Are you sure?"

As soon as his hand touched hers, Willow felt…warm. The ice that had encircled her heart began to thaw, and the look of pure compassion she found in his eyes brought a smile to her face.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Tara and the girl part, going their separate ways. Tara was walking towards them, in fact. Good, Willow thought, I'll give her a taste of her own medicine.

She reached forward and covered Crispin's hand with her own. "You know, Crispin McDermott," Willow grinned, rubbing her thumb in a lazy circle over his hand, "That’s the other thing that makes you different…you care about your students."

"Not true. I couldn’t care less about the chap sitting next to you. Or the person in front of you. Or anyone else in the lecture hall, for that matter."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"What other girls?" He asked innocently, and Willow giggled.


******


Tara stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Willow with Crispin. Giggling.

They were pretty much holding hands, her body language clearly flirtatious. He said something else to her, and Tara watched, stunned, as Willow blushed. Intense pain clutched her heart, a wave of jealousy swept over her body.

Willow and another... man.

Tears stung in her eyes as Tara wondered how long Willow had felt this way about her teacher. She also wondered how strong those feelings were. Strong enough for her to decide she's met someone better? If that was the case, there was no use obsessing over it. Willow had found someone else. She looked happy. He looked….extremely pleased.

Willow turned her head slightly and made brief eye contact with Tara. She faced Crispin again, this time a smug smile encased her lips. Tara's blood boiled. I can't believe it, she seethed inwardly, She's just making me jealous.

Tara quickly regained her composure; not allowing Willow's petty tricks hurt her. Slowly, deliberately, she walked towards them.

You still want to hurt me, don't you? She thought, You haven't changed a bit. Tara was nearing them now, and Willow's laugh coincidentally grew louder. You think I'm so damn feeble I can't see through your lies? Tara kept her gaze in front of her, she had already seen enough. Two can play this game, she thought as she passed Willow and Crispin, not looking at them at all. Her head held high, she walked right by, completely ignoring the two. And it looks like I just won.

This time, the smug smile was plastered on Tara's face.


********


Crispin watched as Willow's face fell. He was no idiot. He knew what had just happened. Willow's hands dropped from his, her head hung low in dejection.

"Willow," his voice dripping with worry, "What's wrong?"

She could not bring herself to meet his gaze. "Nothing…I, uh-" she mumbled.

"Willow," he repeated, voice low and smooth. This time she glanced up, her eyes brimming with tears. Her lower lip trembled. Perfect.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He offered. "I’ll listen as long as you want me to."

His words stuck a chord with her, and Willow was grateful he was there with her. The way he focused all his attention on her, the way he was ready to listen, to talk, to soothe her pain-- it all reminded her very much of Tara. Sometimes over the summer, especially in the beginning, Willow had been very unsure of herself. She had to take care of the bot, and Dawn, and patrolling. It wasn’t easy, and occasionally she felt helpless. When she felt her absolute lowest, Tara would be there, ready to give her a boost.

This time, however, Tara made her feel miserable, and Crispin was there to support her. She wanted to tell him everything-- from her vampire slaying best friend to her fights with her Wiccan ex-girlfriend. Too complicated to tell from the beginning, Willow decided to talk about Tara. Tara, who had been her emotional center for so long, who had been the beginning of so many new and exciting experiences. Tara, who she no longer had.

"I lost her," she stated. Her lip quivered. She looked at him, her vulnerability reflecting in her eyes. "I lost all of them," she whispered, as if saying so quietly would make it untrue.

He shifted in his seat, turning more towards her. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed aside a lock of hair, letting his finger trail down her cheek. "Lost who?"

"Everyone. Tara, Giles…" her voice broke. "They look at me like I'm some sort of monster."

Her entire body trembled now, and Crispin realized she had just completely let her guard down. She looked so frail, so completely delicate, that he yearned to hold her. The small coffee table between them kept him from embracing her, so he gently squeezed her hand. She shyly pressed back.

Seeing Tara walk past her without so much as a glance in her direction really shook her up. It crushed her to think that Tara didn't even care about her, or who she was with. Is this really the end? Willow thought miserably, Have I lost her forever?

She had been edgy since she spotted that other girl -that tramp- with Tara. Her heart rate had picked up; her entire body had grown tense. As anger had welled up inside of her, she felt an urge to use magick to destroy something, anything. As soon as Crispin's hands draped over hers, all of her rage, her surge of power, vanished. She didn't feel anxious or irritated anymore, she only felt relaxed. Calmed.

She spoke up again, telling him how empty she had felt lately. How it stung when Buffy suggested she leave. How her best friend since kindergarten could barely look at her anymore. She told him all of this, and he hung on to her every word. Willow had opened up the floodgates, emotions she had been bottling up for so long poured out of her. It felt so good to finally talk about these things, to voice them to someone who would listen and not blame her.

Willow looked at him, at his stunning eyes behind his glasses, his light brown hair slightly covering his forehead, and smiled. She could get used to seeing that face, recognizing it as one of the few friendly ones she knew.

It seemed like he was the only one to understand her these days. She rarely spoke with Xander; he was too busy with wedding arrangements. Anya was too unimportant. Dawn frequently avoided her. Giles was in England, and she and Buffy lacked the connection they had shared for so many years.

Who else did she have left?

********


The bell clanged piercingly as Tara stormed into the Magic Box.

Dawn glanced up from her homework. "What's wrong?"

"What's the deal with Willow and Crispin?"

"What-pin?" Xander asked.

"Crispin McDermott. Her lit professor."

"I fell for a teacher once. Did I ever tell you about that? Turned out she was a big insect-"

"Yes, I heard the story, Xander. Although I doubt Crispin's a praying mantis."

"Well," he replied cautiously, "Maybe she really likes him."

"He is quite attractive," Anya pitched in. Off Xander's glare, she added, "I mean, for single women. And uh, for straight ones," as Tara joined in the glaring.

"I saw them together today," Tara continued. "I think she was trying to make me jealous."

"Did it ever occur to you, Tara, that maybe my actions don't revolve around you?"

Tara spun around at the sound of Willow's icy voice.

"Whoa, who turned down the thermostat?" Buffy quipped as she emerged from the training room, noting the chilly atmosphere.

"I can't believe you," Willow hissed. "How can you be angry with me because of Crispin when you're walking around campus with another girl?"

"What are you talking about?" Tara realized what Willow meant, "Do you mean Troy?"

"If that’s what you call her."

"Troy is my friend, Will. We met in class," her eyes narrowed. "But you saw me with her and decided to make me jealous. I knew it!"

"Or maybe I just enjoy his company. Did you ever think of that?" Willow countered. "Maybe I enjoy the way I can speak my mind to him and he doesn't judge me with some holier-than-thou attitude."

"I see- it's all my fault...again," Tara sighed. "Isn't that right? It's always my fault when you do something wrong. It's my fault I'm not powerful enough to do a resurrection spell, so you have to do it. It's my fault I don't like the way you've been treating me, so we have to break up. And I guess it's my fault you decided the best way to hurt me would be to flirt with some guy you barely know."

"This has nothing to do with gender."

"Doesn't it?" Tara retorted. "To see you with a girl is a slap in the face, but another man? That's a punch in the gut. I guess it didn't take all that much for you to catch that boat back to ‘boys town’ after all, did it?"

"Oh please," Willow shot back. "Stop with the poor, martyred lesbian routine, Tara. It's such a tired cliché."

"Guys? Maybe you should cool it for a while," Buffy suggested, becoming appalled at the venom being thrown around between her friends. "I know that when I get emotional, the best thing I can do is-"

"And once again, you've managed to make this about you," Willow snapped at Buffy, her voice filled with ridicule. "You know what? I don't care what works for you." "I'm just trying to help."

"You really help out a lot these days, don’t you?" Willow remarked snidely. "When I actually want to talk with you, you choose a punching bag over me. You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me."

"Willow," Xander said tensely, trying to warn her that she had just crossed a major line.

"No. You know what? I've had it. I'm sick of being ignored, chastised, and blamed by all of you. I'm done." With that, she stormed out.

"Should someone go after her?" Dawn asked quietly, extremely shaken up by the confrontation.

"No, Buffy's right- w-we should let her cool down," Tara answered.

"You want me to talk to her, Buff?" Xander put in. "After what she said…"

"She has a point, Xander," Buffy replied, concealing the pain Willow's words had inflicted. "I did ignore her the other day. I'll stop by her dorm tonight, after patrol."

"I’m really worried about her," Dawn spoke up. "She’s changed a lot this summer. For the first time, I saw something really dark in her."

"What do you mean, Dawnie?" Tara asked.

"For one thing, I’ve never seen her so angry and possessive. It scared me to see you guys fight." She glanced down at the work in front of her, scribbling in the margins. "I was afraid to say the wrong thing, to make her upset. When she did the resurrection spell, I’ll never forget the ugly edge to her words, or the way she looked at me with those cold eyes," Dawn shivered.

"She needs to know that we care about her, and that we are worried. Hopefully she'll feel like talking to me tonight," Buffy responded. "I’m sure she's going through some difficult things right now, and needs her friends to support her." Buffy looked at Dawn reassuringly. "It'll be okay."

"I don't really think it'll be okay," Anya piped up.

Thank you, Captain Obvious, Buffy thought, but instead said, "Why not?"

"Willow's been like this for a while. It goes deeper than 'difficult things'. I'm not sure how we can help her when so much of it is her own personal conflicts."

Buffy sighed. Anya had a point, however bluntly she stated it. "We can't expect for things to change right away," she agreed, "Knowing we're here for her is the first step."

"Maybe," Xander spoke up, "But are we really here for her?" He began to pace, "Granted, things have been very rough for everyone this past summer. I'll admit that sometimes I focused all my attention on the wedding, and turned Willow down when she wanted to get together."

"I miss her," Tara stated, voice filled with heartache. An unspoken understanding passed through the group as they related to what Tara said. She didn't only miss her in the physical sense; she missed the person Willow used to be. "I'm also really worried," she made eye contact with everyone in the room, "And I hope it's not too late to help."


*********


Fury filled Willow's veins, pumped through her body at a rapid pace. She could not believe her friends-those fools. How long had she been good, trusty old Willow? Since the very beginning, before they were even called the Scoobies, she had been supportive and dependable. If anyone needed help, she was there. Always cooperative, she'd scan the Internet in an instant for information; do a spell for added protection. So where were her friends when she needed them?

Buffy said she wasn't happy in the afterlife. How could she have the nerve to be so ungrateful? Willow freed her, saved her from eternal unhappiness, and Buffy repaid her by kicking her out of the house and ignoring her? Unbelievable.

Willow stormed through the streets of Sunnydale, not paying any attention to the people surrounding her. They were all unimportant; weak and stupid. Speaking of simple, what did Xander think he was doing back there? Warning her? As if he could stop her. Ever since the engagement, he'd shown a complete lack of backbone. Still, when things get rough he always sided with Buffy. His precious little Buffy, who was only back in his life because of her-Willow.

A sharp breeze cut through the material of Willow's shirt, causing her to shiver. For the first time this evening, she glanced around. It was a typical sight, people filling the streets, oblivious to the creatures that stalked the night. What a bunch of idiots, with their selective amnesia. How long would it take for people to finally notice the strange things that go on in Sunnydale? They were oblivious to the truth, clueless to the sort of power that seemingly ordinary people around them held.

Glancing at her watch, Willow realized she had been out for hours. She had no intention of turning in for the night though, she felt wired-more awake then ever. She continued walking, her body filled with adrenaline. She bumped into pedestrians, refusing to mutter an apology when she had more imperative things to think about. Voices echoed in the late night air, mixing together, blending to form subtle background noise.

"What's a nice girl like yourself doing out alone on a night like this?"

The sound of his voice alone pierced through the din, causing a sly smile to form on her lips. She turned around and practically crooned, "You following me?"

"I could ask you the same question," Crispin grinned. "I live right down the street."

"What an uncanny coincidence," she quipped. "You headed somewhere?"

"Actually, I was on the way to check out new arrivals at the book store," he admitted, at Willow’s confused look, "I know, I know. I’m a, umm what's the word you Yanks use-a geek?"

"Yep, that’s us ‘yanks’ to a tee, and it’s all right, because I’m a geek at heart," she assured him, smiling widely. "See, we really do have too much in common."

**********


Buffy felt a moment of satisfaction as she slammed her fist into a vampire's nose.

"Come on, Slayer, is that the best you can do?" The vampire taunted, stumbling backwards.

"No," she replied casually, blocking a kick and introducing her stake to the vamp's unbeating heart, "But you're not really worth the effort."

She continued through the cemetery, mulling over the day's events. She was having a difficult time placing her finger on what was so different about Willow. When Buffy returned, she wanted to be with her friends, her loved ones. Of course, it hadn't been easy- she was disoriented at first, trying to ease herself back into life. Maybe she had subconsciously overlooked Willow, giving her the idea that she didn't care.

That was just ridiculous. Buffy would always care about Willow- she'd been her best friend since her move to Sunnydale. But those things she said, Buffy thought, That was not Willow.

Willow had never been so icy, so cold and cruel. Buffy picked up on her odd behavior immediately, but decided it was best not to bring it up. She soon found she couldn't ignore it anymore- her fights with Tara were unsettling. What was even more unnerving was her casual use of magick. It seemed like Willow searched for reasons to use it. Changing outfits, doing the dishes, cooking-she even almost froze time once because she was late to the movies.

Sometimes Buffy thought her memories of Willow as a struggling, pencil-levitating Wicca were false. She was so powerful now; so strong- I couldn't even stop her.

The realization made Buffy shiver. When did I start thinking of Willow as a threat? She wondered, wandering towards Willow's dorm. When did so much change?

Walking through the streets Buffy had seen countless times, she felt completely lost. A stranger in her own town, she lacked support and guidance. Buffy missed Giles. She missed the way she could always count on him for an answer, the way he'd always clean off his glasses, his sporadic outbursts of "Dear Lord"…

Hell, she even missed that stupid sombrero he wore on Halloween.

Most of all, she missed his love. He had crossed the line from Watcher to surrogate father a long time ago, and Buffy was devastated when he left. She didn’t care in the least if some British guy had kicked the bucket- she had kicked the bucket, and now she was back. And Giles left. She didn’t really buy his whole I-need-to-play-Sherlock-Holmes-and-solve-murder-mysteries excuse. Her being alive again scared him, and he needed to get away. She could see it in his eyes.

Usually, Giles had a slightly confused, somewhat irritated expression whenever Buffy made a mistake, or lied to him about something. Ever since she came back, that seemed to have been his only expression. Well, except when he talked about Willow. Then he wrinkled his forehead and really looked pissed.

That’s right- Willow. The whole reason Buffy was walking towards campus right now, the reason she started thinking of Giles in the first place. God, how she wished Giles were here to help her. To tell her what to do.

"Slayer!" Her train of thought was shattered.

"Yes?"

"Are you ready to die?" The newly- turned vampire threatened, switching into his game face and rushing towards Buffy.

"Oh, please," she replied, blocking a blow and punching him fiercely in the stomach. "If I had a dollar for every time I heard that-,” she continued, easily knocking him around. "I mean, is it so hard to be original?" She asked, shoving him against a crypt.

The vampire responded with a snarl and lunged again, which led to him being impaled on Buffy's stake.

"Newbies," she muttered to herself, placing the stake back in her jacket and continuing on.

Still lost in thought, Buffy quickly found herself outside of Willow's dorm. It was one of the nicer dormitories UC Sunnydale had, incredibly spacious and impossibly hard to get. She briefly wondered how Willow managed to get a room, and then decided it was best not to let her mind wander.

She glanced at a piece of paper in her hand- Willow had told her which number her room was and where to find it. Buffy hadn’t visited Willow since she’d moved out. She found her way to room 112, and knocked patiently on the door. No answer. Buffy tried again, listening closely to see if Willow was inside and just not coming to the door. All she heard was absolute silence. Willow wasn't home, which left Buffy with one thing to do: sigh. It seemed like that was all Buffy had been doing lately- lots of heavy sighing. She headed back towards home, winding through various cemeteries to complete patrol. She spotted no unusual activity, and was very grateful for that. Already tired, Buffy wasn't in the mood for anymore fighting.

She heard dull smacks, the sound of a fist pounding flesh, off in the distance. Sprinting to see what was going on, Buffy paused when she made out Spike's figure. He was kicking the un-living crap out of a vampire, completely unaware of the two lurking behind him. Just as he went in for the kill, another lunged at his back, knocking him to the ground. Buffy ran to help, quickly getting the upper hand in the fight and making dust of the demon. Spike had since managed to throw the second vampire off of him and stake it as well.

"You need to be more careful," Buffy advised. "Big Bad should watch his back."

"Big Bad's got his back covered," he replied, shooting her a cocky grin.

Buffy only had an instant to answer before she heard more footsteps. She spun around, fists raised and poised in a battle position.

Another vampire had arrived, a tough looking female in a trashy red dress, flanked by two males. Buffy had never seen her before and instantly doubted that this was going to be a pleasant meeting.

"Hurry up! Last time we were late the Boss almost busted a nut-" the vampire hissed to her henchmen before stopping dead in her tracks. A slow smirk spread across her pale face as she glanced at Buffy and Spike. "Well, well. No matter how many times you get knocked down you always bounce back, huh?" She sneered.

"Actually, yeah," Buffy replied, a little confused. "That seems to be the trend."

"Too bad," the vampire yawned. "Repetition bores me."

"Allow me to spice up your life," Buffy offered, delivering a swift kick to her chest that sent her flying backwards.

The two minions promptly attacked Spike as their leader took on Buffy. Buffy's punches were right on target; the female vampire barely had time to react before another fist was flying in her face. She managed to catch Buffy's foot before she landed another kick, and forcefully wrenched it aside. As Buffy recovered, the vamp backhanded her sharply, sending her to the ground.

"Why-" she bent forward and hauled Buffy to her feet, "Wont-" she smashed her fist into Buffy's face, "You-" she backhanded the Slayer once more, "Die!" She cried, pouring all of her strength into an uppercut that launched Buffy into the air, causing her to land painfully on her back. Searing pain shot through her body, and all she could do was writhe on the ground.

"Boys!" the vampire leader called, getting the cronies' attention, "Let's get out of here. We have important business to finish."

They backed away from Spike and moved to the female’s side. She looked down at Buffy and pronounced in an over-exaggerated manner, "I'll be back," before vanishing behind the crypts.

"You okay?" Spike asked, offering his hand.

"I'll manage," Buffy winced, taking his hand and hoisting herself up.

"What the hell was that?" He muttered.

"I'm not sure," Buffy replied, "But I think we just found what destroyed the bot."


***********


"'I'll be back'?" Xander laughed. "Who'd she think she was, the Terminator?" He finished in a thick, Austrian, Schwartzenegger-esque accent.

"She sure had killer strength," Buffy snapped, holding an ice pack to her back. "She's no newbie- definitely an older vampire. Lots of years of experience and power there."

"And you're sure she killed the bot?" Dawn asked.

"Almost positive. She made a comment about how I keep bouncing back and I just won't die, so I figure she's killed 'me' at least once before. Besides, she's the only half-way competent vampire I've come across in a long time…she seemed totally capable of destroying the Bot."

"Do you want me to check if we have any more healing tea back at the Magic Box?" Anya offered. "You seem to be making squinty pained faces a lot."

"No, thanks," Buffy answered. "I'm sorry I called you guys over in the middle of the night, but I figured this was Scooby-gang material. This vampire and her Boss- whoever that is- are probably behind something big, and we need to come up with a way to foil the Bad Guys' plan."

"I can talk to some of my sources," Spike volunteered, "See if anyone's heard of this bint before."

"Great. I'll do extra-extensive patrols; see if I can get any clues to her whereabouts. I want everyone to be on guard- Dawn, no going out alone at night, at least not until we know more about what's going on."

"Buffy-"

"Dawn. Please," she pleaded. "You can still go out, I just don't want you walking around alone while this nut is out there."

Dawn nodded. "Okay."

Buffy reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Thanks."

"I can look into some magick books," Tara suggested. "I'll search for any spells that could help us find or fight her."

"What about Willow?" Anya asked.

"I tried calling her when I got home," Buffy answered. "I haven't been able to get a hold of her. She can be part of the spell-search-" off of Tara's worried look, she added, "Although maybe it'll be best if she helps research with Xander, see if this vampire is recorded in any of Giles' books."

"So you couldn't reach Will at all?" Xander queried, clearly worried. "Any idea where she is?"

Buffy shook her head, but had a pretty strong feeling she was out with someone. Someone she had been seeing a lot of lately, someone who always seemed to find Willow when no one else could, someone who's name would cause Tara a lot of grief. A new bad guy had shown up in Sunnydale, knocked Buffy around and put the gang on full awareness mode. Research had to be done, Dawn needed to be supervised, thorough patrolling had to be initiated instantly...and Willow had no idea.

She’s out with Crispin bloody McDermott, she thought to herself, and then winced as she realized how much that had sounded like Spike.

Before she could day anything else, the telephone in the kitchen started ringing. Tara, being the closest, instinctively moved to answer it.

"Maybe that's Will now?" Xander asked hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe" Buffy replied, somehow knowing in her heart that it wasn't.

"Umm, Buffy," Tara said nervously, as she stuck her head back into the living room. "It's for you. It's -uh..."

But Buffy was already racing for the phone. It was Giles. It had to be. She'd been waiting for this call for days. Giles would be able to help her, even all the way over in London. He'd know how to handle Willow, know what to say to her...

"Giles?" she said quickly as she picked up the phone. "Is that...?"

But the voice on the other end of the line, although very familiar, wasn't Giles at all.

"Buffy. God, is that really you? It's me. It's Angel. I, uh, need to see you."

And, for a very brief moment, the world came to a screeching halt.

Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' is the property of Mutant Enemy Productions Inc. and Joss Whedon. We do not own any of the characters in this story, other than the ones we make up, and those we freely give to said Cod of the Buffyverse and his crusty minions.

Rating: Pg-13 for this chapter

Feedback: Please, please please, do leave a review here at fanfiction.net or if you want to, feel free to send an e-mail to BuffySpikeshiper@aol.com. At this point we will take any kind of review, we're that desperate for feedback...of all kinds.

Author's note: Just for those who asked about the last part of Chapter four, Angel will not be making an appearance in this fic. We had originally planned some AtS crossovers, but have since decided against it for story purposes. Therefore, as far as this ficverse is concerned, everything that happened on season three of "Angel" is considered to have happened here. We plan on touching briefly on the Buffy/Angel meeting in the second half of this chapter but that is it. The writers of this fic (well, the majority of us, Sasha ) maintain a deep commitment to the beauty and the glory of the B/S and C/A ships. As for why we came up with the name Crispin McDermott, well honestly, can you see Willow falling for a guy named Bob the plumber? Huh? Really? And yes, I know all about Joss's recent proclamation regarding Willow's sexuality. This is an alternate season six so; as far as we're concerned, essentially ...screw him. Willow's Bi-end of story. Besides, you guys don't know what's really going on here anyway- because we haven't told you yet.




Chapter 5


"The Time Has Come the Walrus Said... "


Part One




Written by Jules and Phil




*


Dawn paced her room anxiously, walking over to her stereo and turning on the Michelle Branch CD Janice had let her borrow earlier that week. She felt a soft breeze, and turned to look out her window. The air was pleasant, not too hot or cold. The stars were shining brilliantly in the sky, and she could hear laughter down the street. It was an absolutely beautiful night, and Dawn was stuck inside.

I'm a prisoner in my own room while Buffy runs off to see Angel, Dawn thought bitterly. What was so special about Angel, anyway? She hadn't seen him for a good two years; he hadn't been around during the hard times. He wasn't there the way Spike had been, and she just runs off as soon as he calls? She didn't even notice how hurt Spike was when she bolted straight for a place to meet Angel.

All they're gonna do is make big angsty eyes at each other while trying to make up for lost time, Dawn sighed, lying down on her bed. She left us here, with so much going on, just to go stare at Angel's lame hair in person? What. Ever.

It just wasn't fair, end of story. There’s supposedly some new Big Bad in town, and Buffy just peels out? If she's so worried about me, why doesn't she stick around to protect me? Dawn mused. If this vamp is as dangerous as Buffy's claiming, she wouldn't have ditched me for her broody ex.

Dawn got up again, feeling too edgy to just lie down. She heard noises again, this time the laughter outside was louder, closer. Frustrated at being cooped up, Dawn angrily punched her pillow aside. She could take care of herself, for Pete’s sake. There was no reason she had to stay inside- she knew how to handle herself in Sunnydale. She wasn’t oblivious to the dangers that haunted the town like the other citizens, she wouldn’t do something stupid and wind up in the company of vampires.

The phone rang shrilly, Dawn raced to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"What you up to tonight, Dawnie?" Janice asked sweetly.

"A whole lot of nothing," Dawn replied angrily.

"Sis keeping you down?"

"Just about," she answered. "She's decided to keep me on a tight leash. I'm more whipped than her last boyfriend."

"Well then, I'd say it's about time to shake off your collar and bare your claws, D," Janice suggested. "Wanna meet up with some people tonight?"

"Yeah, about that: I'm grounded," Dawn reminded her.

"Is Buffy doing hourly checks on you again? That is so stale.”

Dawn sighed. “No…she’s not home tonight, but she has Tara filling in as watchdog.”

“So give her a hug and sweetly declare you’re off to bed. She’ll believe you.”

“I dunno-“

“Come on, D! You really gonna pass up a chance to chill with Brad and Jake? Buffy’s not even around—you won’t get caught!”

Dawn hated lying to Tara, but Janice had some good points. Buffy totally smothered her when she was home, and now that she was gone, Dawn might as well enjoy some freedom. It was total crap that she had to say inside tonight, anyway.

"You know what? I'll be there. We gonna meet in the usual place?"

"Actually, we can pick you up a few streets from your house. Brad just got a bitchin' ride for his birthday, it'll be good for his ego if he drives it around tonight," Janice explained.

"Okay- gimme a few minutes to pick out a good outfit. I'll meet you guys at Hiller and Walnut in fifteen minutes," Dawn confirmed.

"Great. See you in a few."

"Bye," Dawn hung up the phone and stood in front of her closet. If Buffy can drop everything and leave when Angel calls, I can go out when my friends call, she decided. Sighing at the lack of decent clothes in her wardrobe, she quietly snuck across to Buffy's room. She sifted through her sister's clothes until she found the perfect leather duster. She tossed it on, giving her hair a final brushing before slipping out the window and quickly climbing down the tree adjacent to her room.

She took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp air. As she walked to the intersection to meet Janice, she felt a smug smile spread across her lips. It really was turning out to be a lovely night.



**


Tara watched a happy couple stroll down the sidewalk, hands intertwined and voices hushed with new-romance excitement. She felt a smile creep across her face as she sat on the front porch, getting some fresh air. A breeze cut through the air, raising the hairs on her neck and causing her to tug her sweater closer to her body. She glanced at the empty steps next to her and heaved a heavy sigh. This is where Willow had come during the summer when she was distraught, the front steps is where Tara spent countless minutes beside her, steadying her.

Now she sat alone. She had contemplated checking up on Dawn but decided against it- she seemed like she needed some time alone. Besides, it was a gorgeous night and Tara loved gazing at the stars.

Tara’s heart skipped a beat as a twig snapped, her body quickly tensed as her head turned in the direction of the sound. A wave of relief crashed over her the instant she recognized her visitor.

“Hello, Spike.”

His step faltered slightly at her greeting, although he hastily regained his posture and nodded his head. “Evening.”

A sly smile crept upon Tara’s face. “Buffy’s not home yet,” she informed him.

He shrugged and gave a manly sort of grunt. “That’s not why I’m here, anyway,” he replied casually, even though the disappointment in his eyes betrayed him.

“Is that so?” His act hadn’t fooled her in the least.

“Yeah,” he answered gruffly. “Came to check up on the Little Bit, and you look like you could use some company.”

It was now Tara’s turn to put up a front. “I like sitting outside alone,” she insisted.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Spike mused, glancing up at the sky. He shot a look at her and grinned, “Not all it’s cracked up to be, though.”

She returned his smile and once again took an appreciative look around, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. Her thoughts wandered back to her ex-lover and the history they had shared on the very steps she was sitting on.

“So what do you expect is taking her so long?” Spike’s voice shattered the silence. “I mean, how much could she and Peaches have to talk about?” He added, taking a seat next to her on the creaky porch.

“A lot,” she replied quietly. “There’s lots of history there, too much emotion to cram into a casual talk.”

Spike scowled.

“Not that I think they’re doing anything but talking,” Tara quickly added. “But there was a lot of pain between them. A lot of passion. That sort of stuff isn’t easily forgotten,” she finished softly, staring down at her feet.

“Yeah, well, I wish they’d hurry up and do a bloody recap and get in enough puppy-dog looks to last them the next century or so,” mumbled Spike bitterly. Off Tara’s amused expression, he carried on. “I mean, there’s some big baddie out there- no time for her to spend a day away.”

“Right- and there’s no way Big Baddie Spike is getting his knickers in a knot over Buffy visiting a past flame?” Tara inquired, all too innocently.

“Peaches isn’t just a sodding flame- he’s the bleeding bonfire of her life,” he shot back playfully.

“Why, Spike- that’s rather poetic,” teased Tara.

He chuckled and reached for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. “It’d look smashing on a Hallmark, wouldn’t it?”

“Definitely copy-right worthy,” she agreed.

A pleasant calmness blanketed them once more as Spike brought a lighter to the tip of his cigarette. A few puffs of smoke later, he was once again the first to disturb the peace.

“How’s Nibblet holding up?”

“Would you believe me if I said she and Buffy had a civil conversation about her rendezvous with Angel, they hugged, and Dawn went up to her room happily?”

“Not if my unlife depended on it,” he quipped.

“Wise choice,” she commended him. “They didn’t stop bickering until the moment Buffy got in the taxi, and even then they were shouting through the window.”

Spike shook his head at the thought. “Let me guess: Buffy was being too over-protective, and Dawn wasn’t being careful enough?”

“Basically,” she confirmed. “They just go around in a big circle, don’t they? I mean, I can see both points of view here, but neither of them is willing to meet in the middle. It’s their way or the highway. Dawn seemed really upset after Buffy left, I decided to leave her alone and let her deal with it her own way.”

“You do know Summers girls have a habit of sneaking out, right?” Spike asked.

“Of course- but I heard her pacing upstairs before, and she had music playing. She doesn’t run out every chance she gets, you know.”

Spike’s only response to that was an incredulously arched eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up,” Tara ordered, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Her summer has been rough enough- what with dealing with the Bot, to getting Buffy back, to the fights Willow and I had…” he voice trailed off. “I think it was mostly our arguments that hurt her this summer. She didn’t need to hear them, I shouldn’t have put her in the middle like that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What happened between you and Red wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, well…” she didn’t finish her thought, instead she found a loose thread on her sweater to be incredibly fascinating.

“Hey- listen,” he ordered. “After losing her mum and her sis, having you around was the best thing that could have happened to the ‘Bit. I never said anything over the summer, but I noticed how important it was to her that you were looking after her. Our Tuesday night plans always consisted of Tara-talk- she always had something wonderful to say about you.”

“I still feel terrible,” Tara admitted. “I can’t help but think I didn’t do enough for her.”

“Also nonsense,” Spike dismissed the thought. “If anything, you were the one holding her together when everything else went to hell.”

“What about now? Before, Willow and I would fight—but we also had our good days. Now I can’t even be within twenty feet of her without getting into a screaming match.”

“I take it this Crispix bloke is causing major problems?”

“Crispin,” Tara corrected bitterly. “And yeah, he’s part of it. I wouldn’t mind if Willow found someone else—I mean, of course I would mind, but I could deal with it if who ever she found made her truly happy. But I can tell she’s just trying to spite me…at least, that’s how it all started. And he- he just smacks of shadiness. He’s her teacher, for Goddess’ sake.”

“If she lets you slip away due to petty tricks, then it’s her incredible loss,” he told her sincerely. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into her; she’s been a right silly bint since she touched the Urn of Osiris.”

Tara agreed with Spike to some extent; however she found that rehashing the summer’s previous events caused painful stabs in her heart. A flood of emotions and memories bombarded her then, flashing before her eyes and whispering ugly words in her mind. She instantly had no desire to continue on the topic, and spit out the first thing she thought of.

“So what about you and Buffy?”

“I ask myself the same question,” he replied. “Although I never really have an answer. I ‘spose the reason for that is there is no ‘me and Buffy’. And I don’t know who I think I’m fooling; there never will be.”

Tara cupped her face in her hands, resting her elbows against her knees. “Ain’t love grand?” She asked bitterly. “You love someone-“

“They don’t feel the same way,” Spike finished. “You think you’re making progress-“

“And then you see her with…with someone else,” Tara spat. “And you’re totally crushed, because-“

“What if there’s something there? What if she decides he really is better-?”

They both paused, glancing at each other and laughing ruefully at the similarities in their love lives.

“Bloody hell,” Spike groaned, “This calls for another smoke.” He proffered the pack to Tara. “Want one?”

“No, thanks,” she declined. “I don’t-“ a shrill ring pierced the air. “Hold on,” she instructed as she hurried inside to get the phone.

“Hello?” Her voice carried clearly through the still summer night. “Hey, Anya—oh, that’s right! I forgot—Yeah, let me call her—“ She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and shouted up the stairs, “Dawn!”

The screen door slapped shut, causing her to flinch. She spun around to see Spike right behind her.

“What’s going on?”

“Dawn was supposed to help out at the Magic Box tonight- make up for stolen goods-“ she turned her head again and called out to Dawn.

They both waited in an apprehensive silence, the tension only growing when there was no answer or sound from upstairs.

Tara looked pleadingly at Spike. “Maybe she forgot about it, like me—she fell asleep?”

“Not bloody likely,” he growled as he began to ascend the stairs.

Tara returned her attention to Anya. “She’s not answering—yes, I’ll send her over as soon as possible—I’m sorry you were waiting for her to do your money dance—I’ll get back to you. I need to go,” she ended the conversation quickly, taking the stairs two at a time. She paused in Dawn’s doorway.

Spike was shaking with rage. His duster was waving from the breeze that blew in from her open window. Dawn’s make up was haphazardly strewn about her dresser, obviously having been recently applied. Various articles of clothing were draped over her bed, tossed on the floor-she had rifled for a good outfit. Tara suddenly felt as if she had swallowed an ice cube, her chills increasing when she saw Spike in full game face.

“Spike, wait-“ she began.

“No,” he interrupted. “She’s gone, and I’m going to find her. Now,” he snarled, leaping effortlessly out the window Dawn had escaped from not long ago. Tara ran to the window, but Spike had already vanished. How could she have been so stupid? She should have checked up on her—now it was too late, and she didn’t even want to imagine what Spike was going to do once he found her.

Never mind Spike, Tara thought, What will Buffy do…?

“Hey! Is anybody home?”

Tara heard her voice and froze. Of all the times she could have come home, she had to do it now. Tara headed out of Dawn’s room and met Buffy halfway down the stairs.

“Hey, Buffy? You have a good trip? Great. Listen, you might wanna sit down…”









***


"So, Dawnie, are we having fun yet?" Janice practically shouted into Dawn's ear, trying to make herself heard over the sound of Eminem blasting on the CD player in Bradley Johnston's brand new Miyata.

"Yeah...loads," replied the younger Summers sister, her voice giving no indication that she was having anything resembling fun. "Why didn't you tell me I was going to be, like, the seventh wheel or something?"

Janice shrugged as she glanced over at the rest of the group, which in addition to Brad, Jake and their friend Donnie, included two of the prettier members of the junior varsity cheerleading squad. "Hey, how was I supposed to know that Sunny and Theresa were going to invite their skanky asses along? Relax. It's no big, D, really. Jake thinks you're a major babe."

Dawn found herself blushing at that, despite her best efforts to appear cool to her best friend. "Really? He told you that?" she asked, nervously brushing her hair past her ear.

"Well, not me, no," Janice replied, quickly taking a swig of the can of Budweiser she had been nursing for the past half hour. "But Brad said that he was checking you out after Gym class last week. That's why I said we'd hook up with them tonight. Nobody told me that Donnie would be bringing the gruesome twosome, though." She waved the bud at the two cheerleaders and gave them a phony smile, both of whom made a point of ignoring her. "Sucks the big one I know, but what'cha gonna do, D? They're here. They're queer, get used to them. Go ahead, wave to the stupid sluts."

Dawn giggled as Janice grabbed her arm and made waving gestures with it. Dawn like Janice a lot. They'd only known each other a couple of months, but she was already the closest friend she'd ever had in school. Tough, outspoken and wonderfully bitchy to the stuck up snobs who ran Sunnydale High, she was the epitome of cool, as far as Dawn was concerned. In fact, Dawn was absolutely convinced that Janice was twice as cool as Buffy had ever been.

Letting go of Dawn's arm, Janice flashed her a quick grin and shouted across the hood of the car to the outrageously gorgeous football player who was rummaging through the cooler. "Hey, Jakie! How about a couple of cold ones for two hot and thirsty mamas?" Ignoring Dawn's mortified groans, she batted her eyelashes at the boy in a way that all but screamed: Hey come and jump me right here, hottie.

Oh my God, Dawn thought to herself, Jake van Atter is actually coming over to talk to us.

He was a god too. At seventeen, he was already over six feet tall and incredibly well muscled, and supposedly the best offensive lineman Sunnydale had put in the field in years. She'd actually seen him play a couple of times, after Janice had dragged her to a few after school practice sessions, on one of her "stud hunts." He'd smiled at her once in the hallway, on the way to math class and she'd about melted after he passed her. And now he was bringing her beer.

"Here you go, ladies," he said, handing them each a can, and flashing a set of nearly perfect teeth at them both.

They went along with his deep California tan quite nicely, Dawn thought. For a moment, she looked at the can with a slight sense of discomfort. She'd had beer a couple of times and really couldn't stand the taste, but the last thing she wanted was to look like a total spaz in front of everybody. She carefully sipped at the bitter brew, while Janice continued to flirt shamelessly with Jake.

"So, like you guys think you're going to beat Fondren at the Homecoming game this year?" Janice asked in a pretty good imitation of somebody who actually cared about football.

"Umm, yeah, piece of cake," he nodded knowingly. "They've got a really weak front line this year. I should know. I'm not on it anymore." He finished, grinning at Dawn.

"Yeah, that's right. You just came over from Fondren, right?" Janice asked him. "Since they reopened S-H?"

"Uh-huh," Jake answered, taking a hit off of his own beer. "They packed up a bunch of us and shipped us over here to fill up the classes. It was getting pretty crowded over there anyway. My dad says they should have tried to rebuild the old one, but I guess those gas leaks are pretty heinous. Not worth fixing, I bet."

It took all of Dawn's self-control not spew beer all over him and Janice. As it was she broke into a pretty severe coughing fit.

"You okay, Dawnie?" Janice asked her curiously.

"Yeah, I-uh, I'm fine," she replied, finally getting control of herself. Gas leaks. Riiiight. Because the old Sunnydale High exploding had absolutely nothing to do with giant mayor snakes and school librarians armed with hundreds of pounds of dynamite.

"Anyway," the god of all offensive linemen continued. "You guys are freshmen, right?"

"Right. Lowly bottom of the heap types, that's us." Janice agreed. Dawn nodded along with her, but was too engrossed in examining the future father of her children to pay much attention to her friend's lame attempts to keep him occupied, and out of the reach of those two stuck up bitca cheerleaders who were even now, shaking off the unwanted attentions of Donnie and Brad and making a direct line for Jake.

"So, you gonna try out for the cheerleading squad next year, Dawn?" The football player asked, actually calling her by name. Oh. My. God.

"Well, maybe," she replied, all too self-consciously. "I haven't really thought about it much."

"Thought about what?" broke in the unwanted voice of Theresa ‘I'm such a spoiled rotten little poser I make my own mother want to hurl’ Colifono, who managed to plant herself firmly between Dawn and the object of her affection. Her constant shadow, Sunny Watkins, a girl that Janice had once described as being so dumb that cows got the better of her in polite conversation, got around the other side, blocking Janice.

"Cheerleading." repeated Jake, not bothering to look at Theresa. "I was just telling Dawn she should go out for the squad. I think she'd be great."

Theresa gave Dawn a cursory look absolutely filled with contempt, and nodded her head in a decidedly practiced manner. "Oh sure, because it's every squad's dream to have cheerleaders whose shoe size is bigger than their bra size."

Dawn felt duel waves of anger and embarrassment wash over her, as the other girl flashed her a vicious smirk and her flunky unsuccessfully tried to stifle a major giggle. To his credit, Jake looked really uncomfortable. Janice, though, was royally pissed.

"Oh, kiss my ass, Colifano, you stuck-up bitch. It really doesn't matter what her bra size is anyway. It's gonna be higher than your IQ no matter what." she snarled at the cheerleader.

Any further reply on Theresa's part was suddenly cut short, as the sound of a gunning engine and squealing tires crashed through the music and the arguing that had dominated the parking lot up until that point. Dawn groaned inwardly as she instantly recognized the huge black car that barreled towards them and in a truly dramatic fashion, stopped directly in front of where they were standing, barely missing the front bumper of Brad's pride and joy.

"Hey!" The teenager shouted at the unseen driver of the car. "Watch where you're driving, dude. Man, I should kick your..."

The threat died on Brad's lips as the single occupant of the DeSoto emerged from behind the steering wheel, a shotgun in his hand and an extremely pissed off expression on his face. Not even bothering to acknowledging the boy's presence, Spike strode up to Dawn in that seamless manner he had and glared at her.

"So, you wanna tell me exactly what you're doing out here with these wankers on a school night, bit?" he asked in an icily calm voice.

Dawn, sensing just how angry he was, tried to explain. "Spike, I uh, we that is..." she managed to stammer out, without actually meeting his gaze.

"On second thought," he broke in, "Skip it. Not particularly in the mood to listen to any of your nonsense right now. So instead of you trying to come up with a bunch of idiotic explanations why you're a complete waste of space, you're going to get in the back seat and we're going to leave. NOW."

It seemed to Dawn that he had shouted the last word, even though he had never changed the inhumanly calm tone in his voice. She'd rarely heard him used that tone but she knew what it meant. Do not screw with me on pain of death. Or un-death either. He was deadly serious. Knowing that she didn't have a leg to stand on, Dawn wordlessly moved to comply, but of course Theresa, being the utter bitch she was, just had to get her two cents in.

"So, is this your babysitter or something, Summers?" she asked in the most obnoxious manner humanly possible. "Does he bring you your bottle and change your diapers too?"

The vampire whirled to face the girl and got so far into her face that Dawn thought he was going to come out the other side.

"Right, like I have time to spend on a dozy cow like you just now. Tell you what, ducks. Why don't you snap your bloody trap shut and stay out of family business and I won't rearrange any of your body parts accordingly."

It was almost worth the inevitable chewing out that Dawn was going to get to see every last ounce of color drain from Theresa's face. Spike, having dealt with that little problem, now turned back to face his main concern.

"Car's that way, pet," he continued, speaking to Dawn as if he had never stopped. "Clock's ticking."

The wholly rational part of her mind had to admit that waving the shotgun towards the Desoto was a very nice touch. Dawn shrugged and trying to salvage a least a tiny bit of dignity quickly muttered "Night, guys, gotta split," before dodging into the back seat of Spike's car. The vampire grunted in a minor display of victory and turned towards his next mission, which happened to be Janice.

"You're next, luv." He said in an entirely too cheery manner. "In you go."

Janice, not knowing Spike at all, decided to pick the worst possible time to show her toughness to the rest of the group. "Hey, you're not the boss of me," she whined, using one of the oldest clichés in the teenager handbook.

Spike eyed her very casually and inclined his head ever so slightly, a sure sign that he was losing his patience. "You're bloody well right. I'm not. And to be perfectly honest, sweets, I couldn't care less if you stayed and got turned into kibbles n' bits with the rest of this lot of ruddy wankers. But you see, the nibblet does care, for some odd reason, and I don't particularly fancy explaining to her big sis why I let Dawn's best mate wind up on somebody's dessert cart. So let's just say that you'd be doing me a favor and I'll owe you one, eh?"

Janice, whatever else she might be, was far from stupid. She shrugged, grabbed her purse off the ground and flounced past Spike towards the car. "It was a boring party anyway," she groused to Dawn as she slid onto the seat next to her.

Having accomplished his mission, the vampire slung the shotgun over his shoulder and got back into his car, scowling at the five remaining teenagers, all of whom were doing very good impressions of 'Cletus the slack-jawed yokel.'

"Oh," he said in a casual manner. "If I were you any of you gits, I'd hightail it back home to the loving bosom of dear old mum and dad before the nasties came out to play. Fortunately for me, though, I'm not any of you..." With that, he gunned the engine again and the DeSoto soon disappeared back the way it had come.

After a brief moment to let the shock wear off, Brad let loose with a fairly choice set of obscenities, and Donnie grabbed another beer, while Jake stood in place shaking his head in confusion.

"Okay," he said in a tone matching his mood. "Does someone want to tell me what the hell just happened? Who was that psycho? And has anybody told him the 70's are over?"

Donnie tossed him a beer and shrugged. "Not sure. I've seen him around once or twice. I think he's Dawn's crazy sister's boyfriend."

"Yeah," said Theresa. "That fits. Who else but a total lunatic would be caught dead with that nutcase? I hear she used to walk around school with wooden stakes in her purse all the time. When she wasn't getting into fights, that is. Anyway, he did us a favor. The last thing we needed were those two little pests spoiling the fun." She smiled at Jake in her best attempt at seduction.

The star of Sunnydale High's offensive line nodded and motioned for her to get in the back seat of Brad's car.

"Dude," Brad whispered in his friend's ear. "You've gotta be joking. Theresa's screwed half the football team and about three-quarters of the basketball team. You'll be getting up close and personal with most of the guys we know-and their bacteria. Besides, I thought you only liked virgins. That's why I set you up with those two frosh PoA's in the first place."

"Hey," Jake replied. "Right now, I'll take what I can get. A man's got needs after all. Don't worry man, that little girl was totally into me. I'll have a pair of her panties for you by the end of the month at the latest. Same stakes as always?"

Brad grinned at him. "Yeah. Seventy-five bucks for Janice. A hundred for Dawn. Actually, with that babysitter freak around, I'll make it a hundred fifty. Just to show I'm a good sport," he added playfully.

"Good deal." Jake responded. "Hey, how much will you give me for nailing Theresa?"

"Hmm, about seventy-five cents and an empty beer can?" Brad burped.

Grinning back at his friend, Jake walked back to the Miyata while Brad went over to where Donnie was busy trying to pour as much beer down Sunny's throat as he could get away with. Neither of them bothered to notice the five shadowy forms that had emerged from the woods at the edge of the parking lot and were now advancing slowly towards the two parked cars.

Disclaimer: The characters from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" belong entirely to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. This work of fanfiction is not being written for any financial gain. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rating: PG-13 this chapter.

Feedback: Please leave as detailed a review as you possibly can so we know wheth4ere we are doing this right or not. Our many thanks to those loyal fans who have encouraged us so far, and who await each chapter anxiously.

Author's note: Apologies for the delay in getting this one up. We are going to try to get the next one up within the next two weeks. Mega shout-outs to the gang at "The World of Buffy and Angel" boards at AOL for all their support in encouraging us to keep going with what has turned out to be fairly time consuming undertaking. I have a feeling that a few people might get either offended or at least annoyed by this next chapter. All I can say is that there is method in our madness, even is there is too much madness in our method :-)





Chapter Five


The Time Has Come the Walrus Said


Part II


Written by Phil, Sasha, and Jules








****


There had been a night, a very long time ago when she had been about fifteen, that Buffy had sneaked out of the house to go meet her boyfriend Tyler in downtown L.A for some late night clubbing. Her mom had been waiting for her when she slipped back into her room at 1:30 in the morning and it had seemed to Buffy that no human being in history had ever been that furious. Joyce Summers had quite literally turned red during a heated conversation that had quickly turned into a brutal screaming match. Buffy had never seen her mother that angry before and the memory of how oddly out of character it had been had always stayed with her. Now, for the first time, she clearly understood where that rage had come from.

Fear. Overwhelming, gut-churning, soul-harrowing fear. It was the understanding that someone you loved beyond words could be in mortal danger that cut deeper than anything imaginable, and it was accompanied by the knowledge that it was all caused by a level of stupidity and willfulness that went beyond Buffy's comprehension. The rising anger, combined with remnants of the sickening fear still roiling around in the pit of her stomach, only served to push her past the point of reason. She simply needed the tiniest of excuses and, true to form; the petulant teenager now standing in front of her provided the spark.

"Look, take it easy, okay? It's not like I did anything that you haven't done before," Dawn whined to her older sister. "I mean, you used to sneak out all the time when you were my age and..."

"Trust me when I tell you that this conversation is so not about me at the moment." Buffy cut her off, the anger continuing to rise. "How could you be so stupid, Dawn? How? After I specifically told you not to go out by yourself as long as this new vampire is running around loose out there? Did you even bother to listen to me? No. You didn't. You lied right to my face and said you understood what I was telling you and instead you run out the first chance you get to hang out with a bunch of your friends, drinking beer? How could you, Dawn?" She finished, trying desperately to fight back tears of stinging outrage and betrayal.

"Me? What about you, Buffy? You rant and rave about some big bad lurking in the shadows out there, and then you completely run off to hang out with Angel's broody self? How come I have to take this ‘new evil’ threat any more seriously than you do?”

“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me,” Buffy snapped back at her. “Visiting Angel is a hell of a lot different than hanging out in the middle of the Hellmouth at night. This is all about you, Dawn. How can you be so arrogant? So damned foolish? You’re just lucky no vamp was strolling by at the time- and what’s worse, you were drinking! Dawn, what do you even know about those guys? What would have happened if they got you totally plastered, alone in their car..."

“Brad and Jake aren’t like that!” Dawn yelled.

“Yeah, and I’m Mother Theresa!” Buffy yelled back at her. “I don’t care what you think of those jocks, underage drinking is not acceptable! None of what you did tonight is. Forget the vampires for a minute, how were you going to get home? Have that boy drive you home drunk? Did you even think about that? Did you even think? Or did you just want to be cool and chug some beers?”

Dawn looked decidedly bored with Buffy’s lecturing at this point, and said rather uninterestedly, “Yeah, well I guess if I had turned into a cavewoman, I’d be more cautious about beer too.” It took her a second to fully realize just how far she had gone.

Buffy felt a sharp stab of anger, which was quickly washed away with a deep sense of disappointment. She took a deep breath, taking a moment to collect herself. "You know what, Dawn? I'm Sorry if I’ve been over-protective lately. I’d just rather know my sister is safe at home then having to worry about burying another person I love. So, I apologize if my concern for you is such an inconvenience to your social life, but you've pushed me too far this time and now it's time that you paid for it.”

"Buffy," Dawn continued, foolishly trying to dig herself out of a serious mistake. "I'm sorry, okay? I know what I did was wrong...and I promise I won't do it again. I swear."

"Yeah, I think we all know just what your promises are worth after this, don't we?" Buffy replied icily. "But you are right about one thing, you won't do it again. Ever. As of right now, you don't go anywhere except to school and back and when you do go, you'll go with either Tara or me. We'll drop you off every morning in front of the school and pick you right after class. That okay with you, Tara?" she asked the witch, who had been standing next to Buffy the entire time, looking both relieved and decidedly uncomfortable at the conflict shaping up in front off her. Dawn looked rebellious but didn't seem eager to push it.

Tara nodded quickly. "I guess I should go get started on that spell, then?" she asked.

"Uh-huh, " The Slayer responded. "Right now, if you could."

"What spell?" Dawn asked suspiciously, watching Tara walk up the stairs.

"She's going to put a warding spell on your bedroom. Nothing will be able to get in or out through the window. Just so you know, she'll be putting a temporary one on the door too, every night after you go to bed. You won't be able to leave once she casts it. Not until she dispels it in the morning. And that's how it's going to be around here from now on, young lady."

"For how long?" the teenager asked sullenly, realizing that she was totally defeated and that her sister was dead serious abut punishing her.

"Until I say so. That's how long. At this point, Dawn, I'm thinking of making it permanent. You've proved that I can't treat you like an adult. Fine, you get the toddler treatment. We can do this until you're eighteen if we have to." Buffy answered her, the anger still playing havoc with her stomach.

"WHAT?" the younger girl screeched at her guardian. "You can't do that! It's not fair..."

"Fair?" Buffy nearly hissed at her. "You want to talk about what's not fair? Okay then. What's not fair is sneaking off in the middle of the night without telling Tara anything. Not fair is having Xander and Anya drive all over town for nearly an hour looking for your sorry ass. Not fair is Spike having to hunt through every sleazy make-out spot in Sunnydale when he had better things to do. And not fair, you thoughtless little brat, is scaring the hell out of me, letting me think you could be hurt or worse...just so you could meet some losers with that worthless idiot Janice."

She was nearly sobbing with rage and frustration. She hadn't been this terrified since she'd been back and it was hitting her now, all at once.

Dawn, her eyes brimming with tears, finally seemed to grasp the enormous stupidity of what she had done. "Buffy, I'-I'm so..."

"What? You're sorry Dawn? Yeah, you are. You're about the sorriest person I know, and as far as you're concerned, the saying "grounded for life" should be taken as a valid alternative lifestyle and not just another really annoying TV sitcom. Now, please get out of my sight before I do or say something that we'll both regret."

As Dawn ran crying from the living room towards the stairs, Buffy shouted after her "Oh, by the way, that upstairs phone is coming out tomorrow afternoon. And I don't want you talking to Janice again. EVER!"

Suddenly, she found herself feeling very lightheaded, as if the only thing that had been keeping her together was her intense anger at Dawn. God, she hated feeling like this about her sister, but tonight had been the last straw. Dawn's rebelliousness had been getting worse for weeks and she knew that the younger girl had some unresolved issues about Buffy's death and subsequent resurrection but this? This evening had just been...insane.

Tara came walking down the stairs shaking her head. "Okay Buffy, it's all done, but you might want to check on her later. She's really upset and..." She stopped short as she saw the tears on her friend's face. "A-Are you okay?"

Buffy nodded. "I'll live, Tara. It's just-God. How could she be so stupid? She could have been killed...or worse." She shuddered at the thought of how many things could happen to her sister with a powerful vampire gang running loose in town. "It's not like we didn't go through this last year with Harmony."

""I know. I think she gets it now, though Buffy. Or she will, when she calms down and gets a good night's rest. Maybe you should too. Get some rest, I mean. You’ve had a really rough day, what with seeing Angel again after all this time and this thing with Dawnie." Tara smiled and put her arm on Buffy's shoulder. "Things will be better in the morning."

Buffy smiled wistfully at that. "I think you're right. Can't be much worse, right? Anyway, I didn't get much to eat tonight. You want a sandwich or something? I make a pretty mean peanut butter and jelly," Buffy asked, suddenly not wanting to be alone.

Tara shook her head. "I had a pretty good supper. As a matter of fact, if you don't mind I have something that I should probably take care of tonight-unless you want me to stay."

"No, that's okay. "I'll be fine. Honestly," She added quickly at Tara's pensive look.
"Okay then, I won't be gone very long though. Promise. Cross my heart...and stick a needle in my eye." She grinned at the Slayer.

"Go on, and thanks ever so much for leaving that middle part out." Buffy grinned back.

As Tara closed the front door behind her, Buffy made her way into the kitchen-and stopped dead in her tracks, not really sure she was seeing what she was seeing. Spike was standing in front of the sink, with a dish in one hand and a towel in the other, making what appeared to be a very half-assed attempt to dry the plate, and managing to get cigarette ashes all over the floor. The absurdity of watching the vampire do kitchen work, suddenly struck her as hysterically funny and she burst out laughing.

Spike looked positively chagrined as he fumbled with the plate. "Bleeding Hell, Slayer. You could give a fella fair warning before you burst in on 'im like that."

"What are you talking about? This is my kitchen, remember? Which begs the question: what are you doing in it? I didn't think you were still here." She replied, still chuckling. Oh well, at least he isn't wearing mom's kiss the cook' apron. That sobered her a bit. Thoughts of her mother always did.

"I thought I'd stick around a while. In case you needed me for anything, that is. Patrols or the like. Umm, is the 'bit’ okay?" The concern in his voice was palpable.

Buffy nodded grimly. "She'll get over it. She'll have to. And yeah, I wouldn't mind the break tonight. If it's not a problem?"

"Not at all," the vampire said, putting the dish down and reaching for his duster, which was sitting on the back of one of the breakfast table chairs.

"What, taking off already?" she asked him, suddenly desperate for his company, anybody's company.

"Well, yeah, I kinda figured you'd want to be left on your own tonight, what with nibblet going missing and you visiting 'peaches' an all." Spike's voice dropped a bit on that last part.

"Sit down," she commanded, trying to brush away thoughts of her meeting with Angel. "I was just about to make myself some dinner. PB and J okay with you? I'm afraid I don't have any blood in the fridge though. You'll have to make do with milk like normal people, for a change."

Spike shrugged and promptly sat down at the table. "Who am I to argue with the mistress of the house?" He leered at her in his usual obnoxious manner, putting special emphasis on the word 'mistress'.

"God, could you possibly be any more annoying?" she muttered back at him while dragging the bread and peanut butter out of the refrigerator.

“Suppose I could give it a try, luv. It’s what I do best after all-well second best. Umm, extra jam if you please. I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

Grunting with annoyance, Buffy slopped the jelly on the sandwich, whirling it around a bit with her knife. You know you lead an interesting life when you find yourself making snacks for vampires at 10:30 at night, she thought to herself morbidly. Finishing quickly, she cut the two sandwiches up and slapped them each on a plate, placing Spike’s in front of him, along with a tall glass of milk.

He took a quick drink and made such a bitter face that she almost laughed again.

“What’s the matter, not high enough in type O pos for you?”

“Nah, it’s just that I hate skim milk. Don’t you have anything a mite stronger than this?” He said, pushing the glass back.

Sighing she reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer, “Here you go. I think it’s one of Xander’s. He must have left it here the last time the gang was over.”

Spike appeared to be in the middle of making a snarky comment at Xander’s expense but at the sign of her scowl, he merely popped the lid and drank deeply. Buffy sat down and began eating, rolling her eyes in mock-disgust as the vampire slurped the sandwich down and licked the excess jelly off his fingers with relish.

"Not bad," he said, grinning at her. "I prefer a bit o' blood with my peanut butter but that hit the spot quite nicely. Tar, pet."

"Happy to oblige," she relied, playing with the edge of her sandwich somewhat absent-mindedly.

"Umm, something wrong, Buffy?" He asked. "Other than the obvious that is."

"No. It's...it's nothing. Okay? Nothing I want to talk to you about anyway." But a part of her did need to talk to somebody and Spike, while not her preferred choice was here. Not Giles, not Xander, not even Tara at the moment. And Willow? The less she thought about that right now the better. Spike was here, now, and he seemed to actually care about what she thought... and since when did he do that? God, this is so weird.

"Sure about that? Might be that a sympathetic ear is what you need. So, spill then. What is it? Dawn? Trust me luv, she'll get over it eventually. She just needs time to realize how badly she bollixed things up tonight, and she'll see that you were right to lose your bottle. I nearly took her head off my own bloody self, and you know what an easy going sort, I am."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She said, slowly ignoring his attempt at humor. "But it's not really that. I mean yeah, it's that-on top of other things, but it's also..."

"Angel." He finished for her. "So how is Grand-Dad these days? Still prancing about La-la land like a great bloody poof?" Seeing her displeased expression, he relented a bit. "Sorry about that. I can't help it. The bugger gets under my skin."

"It's okay Spike. You've gotta be you. But you're right, he does...umm get under your skin, I mean," she replied testily. "Anyway, he's fine. More than fine, actually. He seems to really have his life together these days."

Buffy desperately hoped that the slight taste of bitterness that she felt in her mouth when she said that hadn't come out in that statement. After all, who was she to resent the fact that her ex-lover seemed to have finally got to a place where he seemed content with his life. He's moved on, she thought to herself, the bitterness increasing just a tiny bit. He's moved on and it's not with me. Rationally of course, she had always known that they were never going to be together again. They'd been through too much, hurt each other too much, and grown too far apart to ever have made it work, as much as they still loved one another. But that all that didn't change the fact that there had always been the hope, buried all the way down in some nearly unreachable crevice in her soul, that they would somehow find some way to be together in the end. Tonight had seen the final severing of that hope.

"Well, good on peaches then." Spike's voice brought her out of her brooding. "Bleeding marvelous in fact." He sounded somewhat less than sincere. "Say, how did he find out that-about you know, you being back and all."

"Willow told him." she said glumly. "Or actually, Willow told Cordelia-and Cordy told Angel."

Spike raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. "So the cheerleader's still with the old boy, eh? Again, I say: Good on peaches. She always was a bit of a dish." The vampire was actually smirking at that, which managed to raise her blood pressure just a bit.

"Shut up, Spike. They're just good friends. There's nothing more to it, if that's what you're not so subtly getting at. God, you're disgusting," she snapped at him.

"So you've said, luv. Repeatedly. I'm not about to deny the charge. Besides, I'm told it's one of my better qualities. I do find it rather interesting though, that you're getting so defensive about it. Where there's smoke there's fire, an' all that." He leered at her again, in that incredibly annoying, and terribly sexy manner he had about him that never failed to make her blood boil.

Angel and Cordelia? What load of crap that was. They'd been friends for years, although Buffy had never quite been able to understand how Angel put up with her for so long. Fifteen minutes with Cordy and I'm looking for an escape hatch, she thought. And yet, she had to admit that there was something different about Angel these days. Calmer, more confident, decidedly better grounded and quite...well, just different.

They'd talked for hours, after getting over the initial shock of seeing each other again. Of course there had been the awkwardness, the questions that she couldn't answer, and the feelings of regret that he could barely express. After that though, it was almost like it had been in the past. He'd gone on about how his business was doing, his hotel, and more importantly, all the new people in his life, and how dear they were to him. Angel had told her all about how much Wesley had matured into a confident and skilled leader, something she could still barely believe, and all about these other people so much a part of his life now, and so utterly alien to her. Names like Gunn, Fred, and Lorne, which had no meaning for her, but obviously meant the world to him. In all that time though, he'd barely mentioned Cordelia. Just once or twice and then only in passing. Curious as hell.

She realized that she had almost drifted off again, and found herself looking at Spike, who was staring at her unabashedly.

"What?" she asked nervously.

"Nothing," he said rather uncomfortably. "It's just that..." He seemed lost for a moment and then gathered himself together. " It just hit me that this is the first time that you and I have ever been alone together. Like this, I mean. Talking over a sandwich and a glass of milk in your kitchen. Like normal people. I guess it's a bit strange, is all, considering what we've been through."

Buffy shrugged. " I guess. To be honest, I've had worse evenings, if not lately." She attempted a wan smile, suddenly wanting to cheer them both up, but the vampire almost seemed to have something caught in his throat; something he needed to say.

"Buffy." He stopped for just a second and then pushed on with it. "Like I said, we've haven't been alone until now, and there's something I want-no, need to tell you about the night- that night that you...."

She could feel his anguish now and had a good idea what he was talking about. "Spike," she said gently. "You don't have to..."

"No!" he said, a bit too loudly. "I do. I failed you. That night. I told you that I'd protect her. I swore it. And I swear I tried, pet. Honestly, I did. But I couldn't stop it. God, if I'd only been a bit faster or stronger, maybe it wouldn't have happened that way...but it did. We lost you and everybody's suffered, but it's all my fault. I'm to blame...and I just wanted to tell you that. Tell you how sorry I was that I killed you."

Buffy sat listening to his heartfelt confession raptly, watching this creature without a soul un-bare himself to her in a way she would have thought impossible less than a year ago. She believed him though. She could feel his anguish, his remorse and guilt welling up in his words and her heart wept for him. Seeing the tears forming in his eyes, she tenderly reached out and touched his hand with hers.

"It's all right, Spike. You did what you could. I don't blame you for anything. How could I? What you did for us-have done..."

"It wasn't enough," he relied bitterly, recoiling from her touch. "I could have found some way-I should have found a way to save her...to save you. You're both all I bloody well care about and despite my big talk, I'm nothing but a failure. A man's useless if he can't protect what's dear to him. Even if he is just a monster."

"You're not just a monster, Spike. I know I've called you that in the past, but you're more than that. I know that now. You have to be. You couldn't care so much about us and not be more than that." Buffy said, as gently as she could. His pain was almost a physical thing. Who knew somebody without a soul could suffer like this? She thought. "I'll always be grateful for everything you did for Dawn, and the others while I was gone. They've all told me how much you helped them..."

"Gratitude," the vampire snorted, his vast pride reasserting itself. "Keep it, Slayer. I don't want your gratitude or your sympathy. What I want..."

"Spike, I do know what you want from me," she responded firmly. "And I'm sorry. I can't give it to you because I don't love you."

"How do you know, Buffy? You've said that you didn't want me before and we both know what a load of rubbish that is. I can smell the lust in you whenever we're fighting together. I know you feel something for me..."

Buffy broke in before he could complete his sentence. "What do you want me to say? Do I have feelings for you? Yes, I admit it. Am I attracted to you a lot more than I should be? I'd be a liar if I denied it. But it's not love Spike, and even if it was, we could never act on it. Not after everything that I've been through, not with what happened with..."

"Angel." He finished for her. "It's always all about bloody Angel and his bloody on again-off again soul. Well, I don't have a soul, pet. I've got nothing to lose, nothing to make me stop loving you. That psychotic bint Glory nearly pulled me apart piece by sodding piece just to get me to sell Dawn out, but I wouldn't do it because I love you!"

"You do, though. Have something to lose," she said sadly. "You've got that chip. That's what's keeping you from acting like a vampire."

"The chip doesn't make me love you, Buffy. It doesn't have a blessed thing to do with how much I care about Dawn. That's me. And it's real. Everything I feel-It's real." He sounded desperate now.

"No, you're right about that. You do care about us. I don't know how or why, but you do. I think you even care about my friends, even Xander. But it's not about them. It's about everyone else. To you, most humans are just snacks. What did you call them once? 'Happy Meals' on legs? If that chip ever came out, how long would it take for you to start hunting again? What, months, week, days? How long, Spike before I would have to come for you, because I'm the Slayer? Have to do what I did to Angel? I can't, Spike. I can't go through that again and I won't let Dawn be put through it even once. I'm sorry Spike, but that's the truth. You may be more than a monster, but there's still too much monster in you for me ever to trust." She had been speaking quietly, but by the devastated expression on his face, she could tell that screaming at him wouldn't have made the blow any harder for him to bear.

He sat there, for what seemed the longest time. Then he got up determinedly and grabbed his duster. He stopped just as he reached the kitchen door and turned back to her. "Will you say goodnight to Dawn for me?" He asked, the pain in his voice almost more than she could stand.

Buffy nodded. "I'll tell her before I go to bed," she said as he turned back to the door. " And Spike. I'm so very sorry."

"Yeah, you said." He muttered, without facing her again. And just like that, he was gone.

Buffy picked up the two empty plates and set them on the counter. As she turned on the faucet, she noticed that he had left a half empty pack of cigarettes on the counter-top where he had been doing the dishes earlier. Slowly, a solitary tear made it's way past her tear-duct and slid down her cheek, eventually winding up on the floor in the middle of Spike's cigarette ashes.



*****


"Oh, my. That was simply...delicious." Clarissa purred as Terry crawled slowly back up along her body and began to nibble on her earlobe.

"Glad to be of service, hon." the male vampire said as he began to caress his sire's breasts with his hands, while moving his lips over to nuzzle her neck. "It's why you keep me around, remember?"

" I certainly do," she smiled at him, still full from a wonderful meal and lazy from an intense few hours of frenzied lovemaking.

The two of them lay on the ornate four-poster bed that Clarissa's minions had installed in their new lair just a few weeks ago. She had to admit that even though she had been against the idea at first, the choice to settle here had proved to be an excellent one. It was also somewhat ironic, considering what they had all been snacking on earlier that evening. Imagine, me living in a high school, she thought. What would mother say? Well, the sub-basement of one anyway, and a long abandoned burnt-out shell of one at that. Still, the remnants of Sunnydale High did make a comfortable enough refuge for Clarissa and her ever-growing band of vampires.

The progress she had made in the last month had been extraordinary, even by her own high standards. She'd nearly tripled her little gang and set herself up as the most powerful vampire in Sunnydale, building alliances among the demon community here that she would have thought impossible a year ago. Now she was ready to expand her power even more. Tonight had been the first in a series of raids designed to strike fear in the heart of human population of the town. Even more importantly, it was calculated to provoke the Slayer into doing something foolish.

Noticing that his lover was no longer as ardent as she had been a moment ago, Terry nipped her neck, his vampire's teeth drawing small droplets of crimson that stained her porcelain neck. "Penny for your thoughts," he murmured as Clarissa growled with pleasure.

"Umm. If you really most know, dear, I was thinking of how to deal with that pesky little Slayer problem we've got. She's beginning to get on my nerves."

"Are we even sure this is the real Slayer? For all we know, there's a whole army of those damn robots running around this burg." Terry replied, still licking at the blood welling up from the bite marks he had made.

Clarissa nodded. "Oh, she's real enough, lover. No doubt about that. And entirely human. I could smell her blood and anger when we tangled the other night. Little bitch hits like a freight train, too." The vampire rubbed her jaw in memory of the brief fight with Sunnydale's self-appointed guardian angel, who had somehow returned from beyond the grave, without having become a vampire or anything else of an undead nature.

"So, what are we going to do about her then? Same plan as last time?" he asked.

"I don't think so. We won't get another shot at an ambush with this girl. Our new "friend" says she's pretty smart and learns quickly. She'll be expecting us now. So..."

"So?" Terry had stopped nibbling and now flopped over onto his back, shifting back into human form and dragging his lover on top of him.

"So, as long as we're expected we might as well make the most of it. Besides, I love a good entrance." Clarissa grinned at him and began kissing him again quite passionately.

"Geez, don't you two ever get enough?"

Clarissa and Terry were both brought up short by a voice from the makeshift doorway to their private suite. Veronique and Karl, two of Clarissa's L.A. vampires stood at the entrance smirking at them.

"Is it my fault you two have the sex drive of a couple of turnips?" Clarissa groused at them. "What the hell do you want anyway? I'd have thought you'd both be playing with Lysette's new toy."

Karl shook his head. "Still too early for that. The girl hasn't risen yet. Uh, Lysette did want to know if you wanted to call dibs on her when she was ready though, you being the master and all."

Clarissa yawned. " I don't think so. She's got cow eyes and I don't make a habit of screwing livestock, even if Lysette does. Never did understand that girl's tastes. She's all yours. I think I'm covered in that department anyway." She shot Terry a wicked a smile, which prompted a quick kiss. "Just make sure you have somebody to feed to her when she does wake up, and kindly tell Lysette to get her something decent to wear. No member of this family is going to be caught dead in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. I have an image to keep up, you know."

The two vampires nodded. "So, are you planning on getting out of bed any time this week?" asked Veronique.

"Eventually, I suppose." Clarissa replied. "I have to work off that meal somehow though. Man, what a feast. Didn't I tell you the blood had to be sweeter on the other side of the subdivision? I haven't eaten like that in years."

"Yeah, they were tasty enough." Veronique agreed. "But I'm still a little miffed we had to let those other two get away. Especially the really pretty one with the long, shiny hair. She was positively yummy."

The master vampire shrugged. "Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do about it? It's not like I knew the 'Dark Avenger' was going to show up and thin the herd. I got a sneak peek at his act the other day and believe me, I do not like it. What I want to know is what the hell another vampire is doing rescuing little girls and fighting alongside the Slayer. That makes no sense to me whatsoever." She turned back to face her favorite, who was slowly stretching on the bed. "Terry, did you ever check this guy out with the locals for me?"

"Uh-huh." He said as he sat up and regarded the other three vampires. "His name's Spike. The grunts tell me he used to practically run this town, back in the day, that is. Now he works with the Slayer. Nobody really knows why. Something about him not being able to hurt humans anymore, I heard, but no specifics."

"Say," Karl broke in. "When we were back in Hollywood, wasn't there talk of a vampire who hunted demons for a living in L.A.? Supposed to be some sort of super bad-ass? Can't remember his name though. I think it starts with an A or something..."

Veronique frowned. " Right, but I don't think it's him, Karl. Wasn't he supposed to have soul or something like that?" She visibly shuddered at the thought. "This guy doesn't have a soul, does he, Clary?"

"Nope," her sire responded. "Not a whiff. Whatever his major malfunction is, it's not that. Still, he's obviously a threat if he's hanging around with the 'girl wonder' and carrying her cape or whatever it is he does for her. I'm thinking he may need an attitude adjustment. You know, a little wake-up call to remind him which side he's supposed to be on?"

Karl and Veronique grinned at her like twin Cheshire cats. "What exactly did you have in mind, Clary...and does it involve hot pokers and various exotic farm implements?" Karl asked her, his curiosity clearly bubbling to the surface.

The master vampire merely lay back on the bed and motioned to the other two to leave. "Tell you what, guys. You go find a way to amuse yourselves and I'll get back to you after I think about it a bit. Seriously-we'll do lunch. Hey, while you're at it, get some of those worthless minions and go re-stock the larder. We're down to a mailman and a substitute teacher-and people, that's just not gonna cut it."

As the two vampire henchmen left to go on the prowl, Clarissa grabbed Terry's shoulders and none too gently pushed him back down onto the bed.

"Now, where was I before we were so rudely interrupted?" she asked her lover, who was already becoming aroused again.

"I think you were planning on figuring out ways to screw the Slayer and her vampire flunky," he said, his face shifting back into vampire mode.

"Right." Clarissa hissed back at him, also shifting as the passion took her over. "But first things first. One screwing at a time, I always say."



******

Standing in the ladies room on the third floor of Anderson Hall, Tara peered into the mirror for what seemed like the tenth time. Her dark blonde hair looked fine, and she’d chosen the shirt with Willow in mind, tight enough to be attractive, but not overly aggressive. “I look okay.” She told herself. "Willow will want to talk…work things out.” A small voice inside her head was mumbling about what a horrible idea it was; Willow would never stop using magic. The rest of Tara’s instincts screamed at her not to give up, there had to be some love left in Willow’s heart, in spite of all the changes that her lover had gone through during the past summer. Tara frowned at her expression in the mirror, briefly. The expression just wasn’t natural on her face, so she couldn’t hold it for long, “Well, here goes…”

As she approached Willow’s room, Tara’s trepidation about taking this route seemed to double with each step, until she was nearly choking on her doubts right outside the door. At the same time, a small part of her wondered exactly how Willow had managed to snag a solo occupancy room in one of the exclusive dorms on campus. She shook off all the negative feelings and steeled herself to what do what she had come for. “It’s much too late to turn around now,” she told the door. “If I do, I’ll never know for sure.”

She hesitated for a brief moment as she thought again about the things that had happened between them and the nagging self-doubt washed up over her in waves. She knocked quickly, before the urge to run became overpowering.

“I'll get it!" Willow yelled through the door. Then Tara heard her calling to someone else. "It's probably the Chinese food. Hang on, I'm..." Willow flung the door open, holding her robe closed, barely. Tara could see she had no shirt on underneath it, “coming.” Willow finished lamely, apparently realizing a little too late how bad that sounded.

The two women stared at each other for a very long moment before Tara spoke, “I…uh…came to talk…” Tara began but the rest of her words died on her lips as Crispin McDermott emerged from what appeared to be the bedroom.

"Willow, darling did you see where I put my shirt?" the literature professor asked before he realized that they were not alone. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know that you had a guest."

I could say the same thing, Tara thought bitterly as she realized exactly what was going on. At least McDermott had the decency to look somewhat uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for Willow. Her ex-lover stood in the doorway with a decidedly smug expression on her face.

"Sure, Tara. I'd love for you to join us. Crispin would probably get a kick out of it too." Willow's leer made it pretty clear what she was suggesting and it made Tara sick to her stomach.

"N-no, I-I made a mistake," was about all she could manage in response. "I s-should go."

"Suit yourself, honey. Too bad though because you really don't know what you're m-missing," Willow said in a more hurtful a manner than Tara had ever heard her use.

That last bit, the deliberate taunting using Tara's stutter against her, was the final straw. “Willow! How could you? How could you talk to me like l-like...that? How can you have changed this much?” The words were out before Tara could even think about, or temper them, at all.

Willow’s blue eyes darkened, and her pretty features twisted into a furious, blushing scowl, “I can talk to you the way I want to. This is my dorm room and I didn't invite you here. Who are you to judge me anyway? You left me!”

“I had to, Willow! It’s for your own good, can’t you see that?” Tara exploded, just as angrily. Willow's arrogance was plain to see, and the sight of McDermott standing there shirtless, desperately trying to zip up his pants, had stripped away what was left of her self-control. “Using all of this magic is NOT good for you!” she shouted, her fear and hurt pushing her beyond the limits of self- control. “The Urn…” she said, suddenly remembering Spike’s comment. “Maybe it had some effect on you…”

McDermott, who had been standing there all this time, looking somewhat appalled by the confrontation going on in front of him, chose this moment to attempt an intervention. "Willow, maybe you should calm down a bit. Why don't you both take a breather and sit down? We could all discuss this rationally, like adults. It's obvious that there's been some miscommunication here." He reached out and gently put his arm around her should, trying to comfort her, which only made both Willow and Tara angrier.

Willow pushed McDermott away, none too gently, to confront her ex-lover. “Nothing is controlling me but me. I am Willow. You aren’t. Giles isn’t. I know what is good for me! I know how to take care of myself! You all don’t even care that I brought Buffy back. I DID IT! ALONE! Little, timid, pathetic Willow got hers-she likes it and that's what none of you can stand,” she finished bitterly, her eyes flashing with pure rage.

McDermott tried to put his arms around her again, to soothe her, but Willow would have none of it. She shoved him hard enough to make him stumble and fall back onto the couch. Wisely, he chose to stay there, looking up at Tara and Willow with a bewildered expression, while the blond witch dissolved into helpless tears.

“Willow, please, I love you-I’m sorry. After Buffy died, it was horrible. I have no idea how much worse it was for you, but…I want to! We all do-we love you, Willow. I love you…more than anything.” Tara sobbed.

“You love being in control. You love weak, pitiful Willow who does what everyone else tells her to!” Willow snarled in back Tara’s face, any love that may have lingered disappearing, as she got angrier with her lover, her friends, and the world in general. “No one even thanked me for bringing her back!”

“This isn’t you!” Tara countered desperately. “Something's put a spell on you, I know it! I know you. This isn't you. Why else would you be with him? This is wrong, Willow. Something's in control of you. Something...evil." She knew it was a mistake before she’d even gotten the last word out.

“Get out.” Willow hissed, her red hair crackling with suppressed energy and power, the blackness seeping into her eyes again. It struck terror in Tara’s heart, and for the first time, it was true fear for her own life.

Tara hesitated for a long moment, staring at the still beautiful, powerful witch she loved so deeply, then turned and ran as fast as she could, in spite of the tears streaking down her cheeks.

“I love you, Willow," she whispered to herself as she fled the building, and stumbled into the night.



*******




Willow slammed the door shut a little too forcefully, the wood shaking slightly in its frame. Coincidentally, Willow was shaking as well. She had sworn to herself that she was over Tara- after all; she was with Crispin now- but just seeing her made Willow lose control.

She didn’t realize how long she had been staring at the door until Crispin spoke gently behind her.

“Willow.”

She turned, fiercely fighting back the tears that burned in her eyes. She was not going to cry. Not again, not over Tara…not when she had him.

“I brought her back,” Willow whispered, throat aching from the desire to cry, “and they all hate me for it.”

“They don’t hate you,” he assured her, inching slowly towards her. “They just don’t understand. They don’t know everything you’ve sacrificed to give them their friend back.”

“Not even Buffy,” Willow’s continued hollowly. “I worked so hard and…”

“I know,” finished Crispin. They stood a few feet apart, completely silent. Willow stared blankly at the floor, mind still doing cartwheels over her latest argument with her ex-lover. Her morose thoughts where interrupted when Crispin chuckled.

What could he possibly be laughing at? Willow thought furiously, shooting him a piercing glare.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he explained, a small smile on his lips. “I just thought of the time you first showed me magick.”

Her mind reeled, trying to remember…

“I was so curious- I mean, I had dabbled around in some magicks before, read just about every book about the occult- but I had my doubts…” he recalled, his grin widening as his eyes locked with hers. “But you-you were so powerful, so skilled- there was nothing I could do but stare in awe.”

Willow couldn’t stop the shy smile that formed from his compliments.

“Impressive show you put on,” his eyes were teasing. “All those flames-“

She laughed. “Wasn’t too smart, though- flames in a an office usually result in sprinklers.”

Crispin laughed too. “Are you saying you didn’t have fun being drenched? Because I did.”

“It was fun,” she agreed, “But I had to reverse everything-“

“Also impressive, I might add. Just as quick as it had happened, you made everything normal again. The look on the janitor’s face when he rushed in-“ Crispin stopped because they were both laughing too hard for him to continue.

Willow felt some of her anxiety melt away as she chuckled at the memory. She finally brought her eyes level to his, was temporarily surprised at how closely he was standing next to her. He had gradually advanced towards her, now they were mere inches apart. He never broke their gaze as he brushed back a lock of her flaming red hair. Willow felt herself shudder slightly at his touch.

The laughter in his eyes had vanished by this time. They were now filled with seriousness, shimmering with concern. “You,” he breathed, softly kissing her forehead, “Are,” his nose brushed against hers, “Beautiful.” This time his lips met hers. After a moment he pulled away, cupping her face with his hand. “I pity your friends for not realizing what they’ve lost.”

His words deeply touched her, but for some reason Willow couldn’t stop thinking about they way he was touching her. His nearness was dizzying; the skin he stroked was tingling furiously. Willow felt a surge of magick within her; the air around them seemed to be crackling with energy.

Her response to his words was to wrap her fingers in his hair and bring his head closer for another kiss; this one more passionate. Her worries of Tara and the rest of the gang soon vanished, as her mind grew foggier with every caress of Crispin’s hand, the only thing that remained in focus was him. He was there. He cared about her; he adored her for the person she was, not who she used to be. He was all she needed.

She was so wrapped up in the security he was providing for her that she never even saw the gleam of complete victory in his eyes.

Disclaimer: The characters in "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions Inc. Any similarity between those characters and the ones found in this work of fanfiction are purely deliberate . Again, we do not own any of them, except the few that we create, and those are available to anyone who wants them.

Rating: PG-13. Warning. This chapter contains some material of a slightly sexual nature. There is also some mildly graphic violence. Not too much mind you, but enough for me to discourage readers under the age of 13 or 14 to avoid reading this chapter.

Feedback: Yes, please. We would appreciate as many reviews here at FF.net as possible. I'd like to thank those folks, especially the gang at 'The World of Buffy & Angel' boards on AOL for their continued support and wonderful reviews. Keep them coming gang. We also accept e-mail at BuffySpikeshiper@aol.com




Chapter Six


"Something Wicked This Way Comes"


Part I


Written by Phil


*


"So what exactly do you think we should tell her?" Tara asked tentatively. "Or I mean, what y-you should say to her. I don't want to get in your way or anything. After all it's not really my business, is it?"

"Don't be silly, Tara," Buffy responded. "Of course it's your business. I keep telling you; you're part of the family now, whether you like it or not. Now more than ever. We'll both tell her."
"Okay." Tara nodded and took a sip of her coffee. "And thanks again for, you know, everything you said yesterday. It really helped."

Buffy nodded. "I meant every word of it. We're going to get through this, all of us together. Trust me on this, Tara."

She really hoped that her words sounded more convincing to her friend than they had to her own ears. The truth of it was that it had been an emotionally grueling thirty-six hours or so. Her conversation with Spike had shaken her up more than she had at first realized. His confession-and her response to it-had left her swimming in a sea of moral self-doubt and confusion. She hadn't meant to say those things to him; they'd just popped out. His pain had hurt her as well, more profoundly than she had ever thought possible- and that troubled her deeply.

Tara had been almost a complete wreck when she had made it home Wednesday night. She'd gone straight to her room and had cried so long and hard that Buffy had been tempted to kick the door in to make sure she was all right. Instead, she'd backed off and let Tara come to her the next morning. They'd talked long and hard about Willow's bizarre behavior, her treatment of Tara, and her totally strange 'relationship' with her lit professor. Buffy had always had a lot of questions about Willow's sexuality, ever since her announcement that she was involved romantically with Tara, but this was just too weird.

To top it all off, Dawn continued to play the martyred teenager, indulging in her penchant for theatrics beyond her usual level. Buffy honestly had no idea where that came from. She was fairly sure she'd never given Joyce that much trouble. She was also dreading Dawn's reaction to this morning's news; which was far from good.

It was at that moment that Dawn came sauntering sullenly into the kitchen, only half dressed for school and looking as angry as she had for the last couple of days. She brushed past Buffy, nodding to Tara with the minimum amount of politeness allowed and grabbed the orange juice out of the refrigerator. She quickly poured herself a glass and was obviously about to beat a hasty retreat back upstairs, when Buffy interrupted her.

“Dawn. Sit down. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Dawn frowned, already in mid-pout. “I don’t want to talk to you about anything. Besides, I have to finish getting ready for school...”

“Dawn,” Buffy commanded. “I said sit.” She put a clear tone of authority into that last command, one that her younger sister was sure to recognize as her ‘not fooling around voice.’

Dawn sighed, once again really overdoing the dramatics and slouched into one of the chairs, the very one Spike had been sitting in the other night as a matter of fact. Buffy cringed internally at the stray memory, shook it off, and launched into what promised to be an emotionally charged conversation.

“You didn’t catch the news last night did you?” She began.

Dawn shook her head. “You’re not letting me watch any TV, remember?” The insolence in her voice was absolutely maddening.

“Right. Then you can listen to what we have to tell you, then. Look, there’s no easy way to even start this. Those kids you were with the other night. Were they good friends of yours? How well did you know them?”

“Not well, I mean I really only met them. Janice kinda introduced me to Brad last week, and I just met Jake and the rest of them the other night.” Then her eyes widened as she picked up on what Buffy had just said. “What do you mean, ‘Did I know them'?" What’s wrong? Has something happened to them?”

Buffy sighed inwardly. This was just going to suck. “Tara... could you?”

She watched grimly as the witch gently pushed the front page over to Dawn, who read it thoroughly, the color in her face waning as she did so. Buffy didn’t have to ask her which part she was on. The horror in the young girl’s eyes was clear indication of what she was reading. Buffy knew that part only too well; she’d already read it five times this morning:

The bodies of four teenagers were found early Thursday morning at the edge of Thompson Park. The victims, Bradley Johnston (17), Jacob van Atter (17), Theresa Colifono (16) and Donny Kreutzer (17), all attended Sunnydale High School. A fifth teenager, sixteen year old Samantha ‘Sunny’ Watkins, who was last seen in the company of the victims, is listed as missing and is being sought in connection with the deaths. The police have listed the deaths as homicides and are continuing the investigation...

Dawn dropped the paper, a look of abject misery on her face. "It-it doesn't say what time they were killed.."

"No honey. It doesn't. Why?" Tara asked, instinctively trying to comfort the distraught girl.

"It's just that it must have happened sometime after Spike picked up Janice and me..." She didn't finish the sentence. She couldn't. "Oh my God." She added, reaching the same conclusion that both Buffy and Tara had earlier.

All I can say is, thank God for Spike, Buffy thought. If he had been ten minutes later...

"Was it...was it the vampires?" Dawn had tears in her eyes now, as she realized just how close she had come to joining the others.

Her sister nodded. "Yeah, I'm afraid so, Dawnie. There are a couple of vague references to 'neck trauma', which is Sunnydale code for having all your blood sucked out of your body by demons. Honey, I'm really sorry about this. I know you liked them..."

"It's okay," Dawn mumbled, trying to sound tougher than she really was. "I guess that's life on the Hellmouth, right?"

The tearstains on her cheeks though, belied her outwardly tough facade. This was the first time she had really lost any classmates to Sunnydale's constant vampire threat. Buffy, who had lost more friends and acquaintances over the years than she cared to remember, could only shake her head at the waste of it all. There were times when she really hated this town.

"Dawn," she said carefully "I know this hurts, but it's important that you understand what I, what we've, been trying to tell you about hanging out at night here. I'm not trying to ruin your life honey, honestly, but it's dangerous and you can't afford to get careless. I mean you see that now, right?"

"Yeah, you were right. I admit it. I'll stay in my room and be a good girl from now on." Dawn replied bitterly.

"Look, this isn't about who's right or who's wrong," Buffy snapped. "It's about your safety. You're the most important thing in the world to me, Dawn and if anything had happened you, if you'd been killed like those other kids or worse, like that one girl..."She gulped a bit as the fear and anger started to get hold of her again.

"What other...oh you mean Sunny? Why what do-oh," Dawn finished weakly as she realized what Buffy meant. "Why would they- I mean why did they take her?"

Buffy heaved a weary sigh. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with her fifteen year old sister. Giles would have been better prepared to deal with it. Still there was nothing to do but to tell her the truth. She'd have to know about this stuff eventually.

"This girl, Sunny. Was she kind of pretty?"

Dawn nodded. "Yeah, she was a cheerleader. Really pretty, I guess. Why?"

Tara chose that moment to break in, giving Buffy a much-needed reprieve from her sister's morbid curiosity. "They took her for a trophy, Dawnie. Vamps do that sometimes. They see a person that they find a-attractive -and they turn them into a vampire to...well, umm..."

"Thanks Tara, I think she gets the point," Buffy finished, seeing the queasy look on the girl's face and the frozen 'O' her mouth had shifted itself into. "Anyway Dawn, that's not going to happen to you-ever. Not as long as we're around." She reached out grabbed her sisters hands with hers. "Promise. Now, maybe you finish getting ready for school. We've only got about five minutes before we have to leave. "

Dawn nodded wordlessly, hugged both women and rushed out of the room, sadder but hopefully a littler bit wiser too. Well, I can always hope, Buffy thought.

"Well, that didn't go too badly," Tara said, breaking into her thoughts.

"No, not at all. I mean after all, it's not really that big a deal to tell your baby sister that she missed possibly becoming somebody's eternal sex-toy by that much." Buffy agreed wryly pinching her fingers together as an illustration. "Let's face it, Tara. We all just had one gigantic close call and there are at least five families out there who weren't as lucky as we were."

"I suppose you're right, but what do you want to do about it-t-the vampires, I mean. You're thinking it's this new woman, right?"

Buffy nodded, slipping from concerned parent into Slayer mode. "I think so. We don't have much to go on, granted, but it sounds like her. She struck me as the aggressive type, and this is a lot more ambitious than most of the local vamps are willing to try."

"So what's the plan then? Put Spike on it?" The witch asked.

More memories of the other night invaded Buffy's thought processes. Wincing internally she replied "Maybe. I don't know." God, I really don't want to have to face Spike right now. "It's probably a good time to get the gang together, though. Anya and Xander, I mean. And we can discuss what's been going on with Willow too, that is if you're up to it?"

"Sure. I-I can handle it. Pain is a growing experience, right?" Tara smiled wanly at her.

"If it is, then we all must be like, a hundred feet tall by now..."

"Okay," a fully clothed Dawn re-entered the kitchen, with her backpack on her shoulder. "Got all my stuff."

Buffy and Tara both got up from the table, the witch grabbing the keys to Joyce's SUV from off the countertop. I really should start driving for myself, Buffy thought as they headed out the door. As they got in, Dawn asked, "Hey, Buffy have you talked to Spike? He hasn't been by to see me since the other night and I kinda wanted to thank him for, you know."

"Nope," her sister replied, just a bit too quickly. "Haven't seen him either."

"Weird. I wonder where he is?" Dawn mused.

"Yeah, so do I." And more importantly I wonder what the hell he's up to? She pondered worriedly.

**


"Now, isn't this just a bleedin' pain in the posterior," Spike muttered to himself as he approached the back door to Willie's Bar. Standing next to the entrance were two very large Mrix demons, the only size they came in really, looking decidedly unfriendly. Which, to be perfectly honest, was quite all right with Spike. He wasn't in much of a mood to make new friends either. In fact, he was in a seriously belligerent frame of mind and in need of a bracing bout of violence, and it looked like he had come to the right place.

Taking another swig off the bottle of bourbon he had been drinking out of for the better part of the hour, the vampire lurched drunkenly towards the two demons, taking care to exaggerate his condition by humming loudly. As he stumbled into the light provided by the fixture above the door, he brushed up against one of the Mrix, who oddly enough, appeared less than happy to see him.

"Get lost, vampire," it snarled at him in what Spike had to admit was a fairly menacing tone. "Your kind isn't welcome here."

"Is'sat so?" Spike slurred, putting on his best drunken impression. It helped that he was already half in the bag for real. "It's a bar, in'nit it? Bottle's getting empty, need a refill, mate."

"This is a private room. If you've got to get something else to swill, try a liquor store. I’m not going to waste any more breath on your worthless, undead carcass." The Mrix shoved him hard, nearly knocking him off of his feet.

"Here, now. No need to get all violent and the like. I get the point. No vampires allowed. Gotcha. Just gonna finish me drink and be off then," he replied genially enough on the surface, to seemingly placate them.

Spike made a show of dusting himself off and drinking deeply from the bottle, all the while moving closer to the two demons, who had dropped their guards, ever so slightly, thanks to his pseudo-drunken antics. Seeing an opening, he quickly brought the bottle down on top of the one demon's head, while delivering a powerful roundhouse kick into the right knee of the other one. Both of them went down, howling in pain as Spike viciously alternated kicking each one into unconsciousness. He was having fun now, working off the anger and frustration that had been plaguing him for the last two days. Every kick and punch that he delivered served to channel his rage, and he reveled in the release that it provided him. Is that monster enough for you, bitch?

Finally, seeing that neither one of them was moving anymore, Spike ceased the beating, allowing for one more well placed kick to the one demon's groin, and proceeded to focus his energy on the door itself. It flew open with a pleasurable 'thump' and the vampire strolled into the back room of Willie's bar and Grill, the site of the largest underground poker game among Sunnydale's demonic community.

It took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to all of the smoke that lingered in the small and overly crowded room. The overpowering smell of demon musk though was something that his heightened sense of smell would never allow him to adjust to. Combined with the affects of the bourbon, it caused his stomach to engage in several somersaults, but he forced the queasiness down, and walked over to the card table, which was being presided over by a lizard-like creature, known to Spike as a major player in the demon underworld.

"Hey Vrock, how's the wife and hatchlings?" He asked nonchalantly, exactly as if he hadn't been banned from this card game two months earlier.

The demon regarded him critically through hooded eyes-slits for a moment before hissing back "Ssspike. You've got a lot of jshlugash, smashing your way into one of Teeth's games. He'll have your fangs on his charm bracelet for this," Vrock threatened, referencing Sunnydale's chief demon crime lord.

"Yeah well, you can tell baby-seal breath from me that he can kiss my undead wrinklies. I go where I please in this bloody sinkhole of a town, and do what I jolly well like. Any of you buggers disagree with that, can sod off. Or better yet, line up for a good thrashing. I'm just in the mood for a good bloodletting" None of the assembled demons moved a muscle, Spike's reputation being what it was. The vampire grunted in satisfaction. "Didn't think so."

Turning toward one of the players, who had been sitting quietly this entire time, Spike grinned evilly. "Why Clement, me old son, I haven't seen you in ages. Bout since the time I loaned you that 100 dollars, wasn't it?"

Clement, a floppy eared creature with loose skin, and a serous overbite, smiled weakly back at the vampire. "Uh, yeah. Hiya, Spike. I guess it had been a while."

Spike nodded. "Yeah, time flies when you're trying to welch on a debt. Pay up mate, or I'll beat it out of your mangy hide."

"Well, you know I'd like to but I'm a little short this week and um..." Clem stammered out nervously.


"Right, plan B it is then," Spike said, as he grabbed Clem by his shirt and dragged him out of his chair. "Uh, with your kind permission of, course," he asked mockingly of Vrock.

"Take him and good riddance to you both," the demon snarled . "He's losing badly anyway. But don't kill him until Teeth gets his cut or there'll be Hell to pay. Literally."

Spike grinned back at him and then yanked Clement towards the door. "Guess it ain't your lucky night, is it?"

"Oh and Sssspike," Vrock called after the retreating vampire and his helpless prey. "If I catch you in here again, you'll be dust, and hiding under the Slayer's petticoats isn't going to save you next time."

"Yeah, I'm all a-quiver," Spike replied cheerily and forced Clem through the wrecked exit.

The demon continued to howl as Spike dragged him around the corner and onto the next block.

"Bloody hell, Clem," Spike said. "You're making enough racket to wake up the dead and I don't mean me. It's not like I'm hurting you all that much."

"Yeah, I know, but I've got really sensitive ears," the demon complained. "The tiniest of pressure and they bruise for a week"

"Oops, sorry about that," Spike apologized. "Had to make it look convincing, though. Seem to remember you insisting on realism though."

"S'ok, I'll live." Clem shook it off and grinned at the vampire. "So what's so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow? I was about to draw into an inside straight."

Spike genuinely liked Clem. It was rather hard not to. The demon had a certain air of, well... niceness, that the vampire found irresistibly refreshing. He was also the only member of Sunnydale's demon community that would speak to Spike these days without threat of great bodily harm. As it was, they had concocted this elaborate fiction that allowed them to communicate in front of the seedier elements in town without raising too much suspicion. Even so, Spike counted the demon as one of his two closest friends, the other being Dawn Summers.

"Information," he relied. "New vampire gang in town. For some odd reason I can't get the locals to cough up on their whereabouts or the like. Usually, they can't wait to spill their guts for a free pint of plasma. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction."

Clem looked rather pensive for a moment. "Well, I can tell you what I know but it's not much, and to tell the truth I'm not sure that I should be saying anything to you at all." As Spike gave him an annoyed look he continued. "Okay, okay. All I know is that they showed up sometime in late September from L.A. or thereabouts and that they've been recruiting a bunch of the vampires around here."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "For? Other than the usual, I mean."

Clem shrugged. "No idea, really. All I know is that a few that told them to get lost wound up with major cases of getting the crap kicked out of them. That, and they're supposed to have some kind of major league heavyweight from the demon realms behind them, but I have no idea who. Or what."

Spike snorted. "Lot of good that does me. I need to know what they're up to specifically."

"Dunno, Spike. I really don't. Maybe it's just to cause trouble. This leader of theirs is supposed to be kinda, well you know-out there."

"Right, a brunette skank in a slutty red dress?" Spike pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, taking instant pleasure from the acrid taste as he pulled on it.

"Yeah that's her. I hear she's a pretty nasty customer, even for a vampire. Umm, no offense meant of course."

Spike chuckled a bit at that. Clem had to be about the most polite demon he had ever met. "None taken, mate. I've met the bint. Nasty doesn't begin to describe her. And we vampires do seem to have the corner on the 'nasty' market, don't we?" As he said that, a feeling of melancholy came over him, as Buffy's words the other night came back to haunt him yet again. I don't love you. There's too much monster in you for me ever to trust.

"You okay, Spike? You look a little down," the demon asked with a concern in his voice that somehow managed to touch the vampire.

"It's nothing, Clem. Honestly." For some reason though, a part of Spike desperately wanted to share his pain with somebody and since he could never talk to Dawn about something like this, Clem seemed a logical choice. "Well, it's just a spot o' woman trouble. The same old thing really. I'm just not good enough for 'er, no matter what I bleedin' do."

Clem nodded sagely. "Yeah, I think we've all been there before. This is still that human girl you were telling me about, right?"

"Yep. Same girl. Always going to be the same girl for the rest of my sodding existence."

"Well, gee Spike. I dunno. These inter-racial relationships are pretty tricky things to manage. I mean, I know it's the 21st century and all, but cultural differences being what they are, maybe you should try to meet somebody that you have more in common with. Maybe find a nice lady vampire or something?"

Spike grimaced at that. "No thanks, mate. Had me one of those. Well, two actually, tho I suppose Harmony really doesn't count for much. Fraid moving on is not an option here. This girl's the one for me. It's just convincing her that I'm the one for her that's the problem. It seems like no matter how much I do for her or try to change for her, it just isn't enough. I mean, it's not like she doesn't like vampires. Her first boyfriend was my grandsire for Chrissakes."

"Hmm, well then, I'm not sure what to tell you, Spike," Clem replied. "Sounds like it's more her problem than yours. All I can say is that if she really loves you, you just gotta hang in there until she comes around. If she doesn't...well, then I guess you're just screwed."

"Thanks ever so. You've been a big help," Spike groaned as he flicked his cigarette butt on to the pavement and ground it in with his boot.

Clem gave him a goofy grin. "Hey, what can I say? Women. Can't live with them..."

"Can't drink 'em dry and sire them." Spike finished for him playfully. "Or I can't anyways, since they put this bloody chip in my skull. Thanks for the pep talk though. You're probably right."

"Glad to help out a friend. Um, if there isn't anything else you need though, I really should be getting back to the game. I think I've figured out the dealer's giveaways. Uhh, I don't suppose you could let me hold a twenty, could you? Just until payday that is."

Spike sighed heavily as he fished a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the demon. "Worth it for the sympathetic ear, I recon. Oh, and Clem..." he added as his friend started to turn and walk back to the bar.
"Yeah? OWWW!" Clem yelped as the vampire's fist came crashing into his jaw. "What the frilly heck did you do that for?" he whined, rubbing his jaw in pain.

"Had to make it look convincing, din't I?" Spike grinned back at him evilly. "You can't just stroll back in there pretty as a picture after I threatened to knock you about a bit. Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd really be in pain about now."

"I'll take your word for it," Clem muttered, still massaging his rapidly bruising face. "Talk to you later Spike, and hey...I hope everything works out with your girl," he added, trotting back in the direction of Willy's.

"You and me both, mate," Spike said to himself as he watched the demon disappear around the corner. "Oh well, suppose I should do a quick recky before I call it a night."

Spike turned around and headed off away from the downtown area of Sunnydale, planning on doing a sweep of the residential areas in the vicinity of Revello Drive. Not that he planned on talking to the Slayer again, but maybe he could get a quick glimpse of her before she headed out for her nightly patrol. God, you're a pathetic sod, he chided himself. All this misery over a tiny chit of a girl who wouldn't know her own mind if it reared up and kicked her in her perfect little arse. Oh Bloody Hell.

As he walked along, a tune popped into his head, a song that he had first heard when he had been living with Drusilla in London in the 1960's. Spike thought it was a silly piece of nonsense, but it had delighted his sire to no end. There were many times that she had insisted on him singing it with her as they had prowled the East End looking for unwary victims in the wee morning hours. For some odd reason, it comforted him and it wasn't long before he was singing it out loud as he strolled along.


"Oh, I'm Henry the eighth, I am.

Henry the eighth, I am, I am.

I got married to the widow next door,

She's been married seven times before.

And every one was an 'enery.

Wouldn't have a Willie or a Sam.

I'm her eighth old man, I'm Henery.

Henery the eighth I am.

As Spike reached the 'second verse, same as the first' line, his cynical mind began creating his own lyrics, directly linked to his own personal troubles.

"Oh, I'm William the Bloody I am.

William the Bloody, I am, I am

I fell in love with the Slayer next door,

She's been bedded many times before.

And every one was a wanker,

Wouldn't have a William or a Spike

I'm not her fourth old man, I'm not anything

No matter what I'd bleedin' like.


Chuckling at his own cleverness, and suddenly feeling the affects of that bottle of bourbon that he had consumed earlier, Spike continued down the street , wavering a bit as he went. He stopped for a second, just to get his bearings, and as he did so, he heard a voice hiss in his ear:

"You sing very well. Do you scream so prettily, I wonder?"

"What the..." was all he managed to get out as the world exploded in a bright flash of extreme pain, right before his vision went black.



***


Spike came awake slowly, and groaned loudly as an incredibly intense wave of pain washed across his entire body. It felt as if every fiber of his being was on fire.

"Oh goody," a sultry feminine voice said, somewhere in front of him. "He's awake. Now you can have some real fun, Karl."

It took a few moments for Spike's vision to adjust and he also had to make allowances for the fact that his left eye was swollen shut and his face felt like somebody had been beating on it with a mallet. Apparently his captors hadn't been able to wait until he regained consciousness before they started the party. They'd smashed him in the mouth a few times as well, judging by how badly his tongue and lips had swollen up. Deliberately, and very carefully, he tried to sit up but he found himself restrained by iron manacles on his wrists and ankles.

"Absolutely bleedin' typical," he managed to grit out amid the torrents of agony, before sinking back down onto the table he was chained to.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" cooed another female voice. "Accommodations not to your liking? Sorry about that but we haven't the maid in...since- Hey when was she last here, Karl?"

"Right before we ate her, I'd have to say, Clary," came back the amused reply.

"Oh well then, there you go. Good help is just so hard to find these days. They keep making the most impossible demands. Pay me; feed me; don't suck out every last one of my blood vessels. Bah."

Spike heard several grim chuckles at that. Seemed this bint liked playing to her audience. Fine, he could play to, even if he was trussed up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey. "Nah, pet the lodgings are fine. All the comforts of home, in fact. It's the company I could do without."

That little piece of insolence earned him another fist to the side of his head, courtesy of the big male vampire leaning over him, but the female standing behind him merely laughed.

"Well, well what a delightful houseguest you are. William the Bloody, I presume? What an imaginative name...and so appropriate too." She moved up close to him and dipped one of her fingers into the blood that welled up from one of the gashes on his forehead to illustrate her point. As she sucked on her bloody finger, she gave the other vampires in the room a sadistic grin.

Spike could see them better now. The female who had been talking to him was the one he and Buffy had tangled with last week. There was another dark haired one in a black dress hanging off the arm of the bastard who had been beating on him. Behind the leader was another male who was positioned in a protective stance to guard her back. That would be the boyfriend, Spike mused. To his side were two more females, both blondes. The younger of the two was a fledgling, and Spike bit his lip as he recognized her as one of the kids that Dawn had been with the other night. Bugger. Buffy will have my guts for garters when she finds out I let this happen. I should have made them all go home. The girl, who was wearing very little, hung off the older blonde and smiled lustily at him as he continued to stare.

"Like what you see?" the leader inserted herself into his line of vision. "Maybe after we have our little talk, I'll let you play with her. Or if you're a very good boy, I'll let you play with me."

"Don't see what we've got to talk about," he managed to growl back at her, spitting up blood as he did. "An' if it's all the same to you, I'll pass. I'm allergic to skank."

"Ooh, fiesty," she grinned back as Karl smashed him in the stomach with a meaty fist and Spike let out a stifled grunt of pain. "But that's not what I heard. Maybe it's only human skanks you like though."

Spike didn't reply to that, preferring to weigh his options, which he had to admit, were far from good. These vampires had him, no two ways about it and this bitch was a professional.

"So," she continued, "You've got nothing to say? I'd strongly suggest you start talking soon. It's either polite conversation or..." She pointed to Karl. "Not so polite screaming. Take your pick, honey. No skin off my ass, whichever way you play it."

Ahh, what the hell. Might as well play this out. "Fine," he said, the pain in his mouth making each word agony. Bollocks, they've knocked out a tooth. "If we're gonna be all polite about this, then maybe you should introduce yourself. You know my name but I dunno yours. Makes it harder to pick you out a nice Christmas gift."

"It's Clarissa, if you really must know. Not that I'd expect any of the hicks up here to know who I am. That's about to change soon though."

"That so?" Spike queried her, figuring that as long as he kept her talking, he'd keep his body parts relatively intact. "How do you reckon?"

Clarissa smiled at him very sweetly. "Why I plan to be the vampire who kills that precious Slayer of yours, that's how, Gorgeous."

Despite the serious situation he was in, Spike couldn't but laugh out loud at that. Karl moved to hit him again, but Clarissa stopped him.

"Now, what's so funny about that, William? Or is it Spike? I'm not even going to bother to ask how you got that one." She leered at him. "But as for your Slayer, it shouldn't be too hard. After all, I took out that silly machine of hers easily enough."

Spike snorted. "The bot was nothing. Look, do you any idea how many bleedin' idiots have tried to take this girl out over the years? Can't be done. She's the best. Trust me, I learned that the hard way."

"Oh, really?" Clarissa appeared intrigued by that. "Is that why you fight for her now? Because you couldn't beat her?"

"Not exactly," Spike said through gritted teeth. "I'd tell you of course, but then I'd have to kill you. And I know you wouldn't want that."

"No indeed. I must say dear, that as much as I admire your ferocity, I'd be considerably more impressed if you weren't strapped to a lab table in the science department of a dilapidated old school building. So, if you're not going to tell me, then I suppose I should guess, is that it?"

"Suit yourself," he snarled at her, really not liking this game.

"Hmm, let's see now," she said, obviously relishing his discomfort. "I understand that you can't kill humans anymore. Something about a piece of government hardware in your brain? Tsk tsk. What a perfectly horrible thing to happen to such a sweet boy like yourself. See, now this is exactly the reason why I don't pay taxes. Well, one of several reasons really. You just can't trust the government. Those people give me the creeps." She shuddered mockingly, which elicited several throaty chuckles from her assembled henchmen.

Spike said nothing. He just glared at her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing just how uncomfortable this conversation was making him.

"So here's poor little Spike with a problem," Clarissa continued. "He can't hunt anymore. So what does he do? Does he try to get it out? Well if you did, it certainly didn't work now, did it? Failing that, does he set up shop running the local fiends to do his dirty work for him? That would have been my choice, and I'd think it would be easy for you because from my vantage point, slick, it sure looks like you can hurt us. Again, I am forced to conclude that the answer is ‘no.’ So..."

"So what," Spike broke in. "Are you gonna bleedin' talk me to death?" He winced in preparation for the inevitable blow from Karl, but it never came. Clarissa merely sighed and went on.

"Such a poor audience you are, sweet William. Can't even let a girl finish her train of thought. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, so instead of actually acting like a vampire and doing something about your admittedly revolting predicament, you turn around and get all house broken. I mean, really. A vampire playing tag along to a Slayer? And not just any vampire either. William the Bloody, the guy who killed two Slayers in mortal combat. I'm sorry, but I just gotta ask myself: What the hell does he think he's doing?"

"It's a free country," he spat back at her, although the pain was slowly draining his ability to maintain a decent level of belligerence.

Clarissa ignored him this time. "The question is then, what exactly is so different about this girl, that instead of trying to kill her you want to act like her tame little puppy? Come on Spike. Tell me. The suspense is killing me." She grinned at him again, which only served to fuel his going rage and frustration at being prodded and poked like a lab rat.

"Get stuffed," he told her.

This time, his defiance did earn a blow, as Karl brought a fist down into his jaw. Clarissa, still grinning moved in very close to him, and bent down so that her lips were hovering just above his ear.

"You know what I think, hon? I think you are getting something out of this deal. Tell me, is she as good in bed as I think she is? A Slayer must have all sorts of interesting muscles. To tell the truth, I wouldn't mind a taste of that myself. After all, if she'll spread her legs for one vamp, why not another one? Heck, why not the entire gang? Say, wouldn't that make for a really fun party."

Somewhere in Spike's consciousness, a little voice was screaming at him to keep control of himself, that this was just a ploy to provoke him. Unfortunately Spike had never made a habit out of listening to little voices. He reared up with what strength he had left and tried grab Clarissa's throat, hoping to twist her head off with his bare hands. "Shut your filthy gob!" he snarled at her, the pain and anger pushing him past the point of reason. He was doomed to fail though, and Clarissa easily jumped out of his grasp, while Karl moved in to rain a series of heavy punches on his already badly damaged face. Spike screamed in intense agony, as the rest of the vampires leered at him. No question about it, they were all thoroughly enjoying this little drama.

Clarissa, still playing the consummate ringmaster, was far from being finished with her victim.

"Well, well. I appear to have struck a nerve here. Protective of the little wench, are you? What's the matter; did I cast aspersions on the good name of your piece of tail? Don't tell me you have genuine feelings for her?"

Spike, as physically damaged as he was, still felt a jolt of embarrassment as the vampire prodded at the one great weak spot he had. When he didn't say anything, she began to cackle victoriously.

"You've got to be kidding. You mean I was right? Okay, now I've heard everything. A vampire in love with a Slayer? How utterly..."

"Poetic?" cut in the brunette female, who had moved closer to the table and was grinning along with Karl and the others.

"Well, I was going to say 'lame,' but since I absolutely detest poetry, why the hell not?" Clarissa replied mischievously.

She turned back to Spike "You poor loser. That's got to be the most pathetic thing I've ever heard of. What is this crap? The 'old monster being transformed back into a man because of the love for a good woman' thing? Words cannot express how much I hate that old chestnut of a plot." She began to laugh out loud. "Jeez, Buffy and the Beast? Sounds like a really bad Disney flick."

The rest of the vampires joined in her raucous laughter, as wave after wave of humiliation and derision washed over Spike. He'd never been this low in his life, not even when Glory had nearly killed him earlier in the year. This is what she's forced you to become, a voice seemed to say. You're a miserable excuse for a vampire.

"So anyways," Clarissa finally stopped laughing. "As amusing as this conversation is, I think we need to discuss what we're going to do with you, William. After all, you do need to pay for your crimes."

"What the hell are you talking about you daft trollop?" He could barely speak now but he had to admit that his morbid sense of curiosity was getting the better of him. Either that or the pain was driving him bonkers.

"You've broken the oldest law in the book, William. Vampires do not kill other vampires."

Spike couldn't help but snort at that. "Rubbish," he rasped out. "What sodding Anne Rice novel did you get that one from?"

"Oh please. Like anybody reads anymore. But I saw "Interview with a Vampire" about ten times, now that you mention it. I'll probably go see "Queen of the Damned" when it comes out too. I just love a good comedy." Clarissa paused for a moment, a positively feline smile playing across her lips. "You know though, you've given me the most delicious idea."

"You actually think?"

"Silly boy," she purred at him as she moved closer and linked some of the blood off his face. "You're not really in a good position to keep up with this macho stuff. Now, since you're such an expert on Anne Rice, do you remember what happened to the little girl in the story?"

Spike's eyes widened with horror as he realized what she was getting at. It was the one thing that terrified all vampires beyond all other things.

"Relax, stud," she said clearly reveling in his fear, "That's a little too extreme even for me. Still, where there's smoke there's fire. It's time to send the Slayer a little message, and baby...you're gonna be my special delivery package."

Clarissa was interrupted from expansion on her plan by one of her minions, a vampire Spike recognized as being one of the bottom feeders that still haunted Sunnydale. A barely contained whispering match followed for a few minutes, with the master vampire finally throwing up her hands in disgust. “Look,” she snapped at the minion. “I know he’s got a time table to keep, but I do things at my own pace. Tell ‘his magnificence’ that as much as I appreciate all the information on the Slayer and her little brat-pack, I’m running things on this end. We’re making our move tonight. Now, get lost. I’m busy.” The minion lost no time in beating a hasty retreat out of her irritated presence.

Turning back to the rest of her henchmen, she clucked her tongue in frustration. “Boy, do I hate ‘hands-on’ employers. You’d think my word would be good enough for him but no; we have to be all ‘professional’ about it. Fine, whatever. I’m done playing with this idiot anyway.”

“What do you want me to do with the traitor while we wait for sunset?” Karl asked ominously.

Clarissa shrugged her shoulders, the dark hair swirling around her neck making Spike think of Drusilla for some odd reason. “Leave him be for the time being. He’ll suffer enough later tonight, along with his girlfriend. “

Spike, who had allowed himself to relax slightly on hearing that the physical torture appeared to be over at least for now, found himself tensing again. Whatever this bitch had planned for Buffy, it didn’t sound good. He was also forced to admit that he didn’t really care for his own chances at the moment either.

Having apparently lost interest in Spike, Clarissa turned and addressed her little cadre of henchmen with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Now, since we have some time to kill, what do you guys say to a George Cloony marathon? I’ve got “Three Kings and “The Perfect Storm” on DVD.”

It could have been the severe trauma that he had suffered playing tricks on him, but Spike was fairly certain that he wasn’t the only vampire in the room groaning in pain at that particular moment.

(To be continued)

Disclaimer: The characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. None of the writers of this fic are collecting any monetary compensation for it whatsoever, mores the pity . Any characters that we create we freely give to Joss, as recompense for borrowing his.

Rating: This chapter is PG-13-for some fairly intense violence. Nothing you don’t see on the show though.

Feedback: Please leave a review here at fanfiction.net. We appreciate all feedback, particularly in-depth reviews and we welcome negative ones as well. Flame away of you want, although no one has so far. We also accept feedback at BuffySpikeshiper@AOL.com.

Author’s note: As an explanation: Someone mentioned that they were unfamiliar with Anne Rice. Simply put the little girl vampire in the story Clarissa is referencing (she actually only saw the movie-Clary doesn’t read) was sentenced to death for the crime of murdering her grandsire. She was burned to death by sunlight, which is what all vampires fear above everything else, even the Slayer.



Chapter Six


"Something Wicked This Way Comes"


Part II


Written by Phil


****


"Hey, Buffy I've got some really bad news," Xander said ominously as he plopped down onto the couch next to Anya. At the Slayer's raised eyebrow, he continued. "You're out of cheesy chips." Ignoring Buffy's look of exasperation, he grabbed a handful of pretzels and popped them all into his mouth. Anya glared at him in a disgusted manner as he asked, "What?" with his mouth full of pretzel bits.

Buffy shook her head. "Okay, guys can we focus here a bit? We were, umm, are, talking about Willow. I think Tara has a point. Something's seriously wrong with her and whatever's causing it has got to be something very powerful. Tara thinks it’s the Urn of Osiris, right?" She looked over at the witch who, like Dawn and Anya, was watching Xander gobble down snack food at a horrifying rate.

"I-I'm not sure," she said. "What I do know is that Willow's been acting more and more strangely ever since that night that s-she...she brought you back." For some reason, she couldn't seem to meet anyone's gaze.

There was a very brief but incredibly uncomfortable silence in the room that Buffy felt compelled to disperse. "It's all right, Tara. I don't blame anybody in this room for what happened that night. I don't even blame Willow, but I do know that she's doing hurtful things to people that she cares about and that does bother me. So what I want to know now is what we are going to do about it. Is everybody on board with that?"

When they all nodded in agreement, she continued. "All right, then. What exactly do we know about this Urn of Osiris? Anya, you got it for her. What can you tell us about it?

Anya, who had been brushing pretzel crumbs off of Xander shirt, shrugged indifferently and mumbled something under her breath, which had the effect of immediately getting on Buffy's already frayed nerves

"Hey, Anya you want to be a little more cooperative here?" She snapped at her friend, which turned out to be a mistake.

Anya's eyes narrowed just a little bit while Xander shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Fine. I said that it wasn't the Urn. The Urn of Osiris is a tool for channeling the spirits of the dead across the various panes of existence. It has absolutely nothing to do with what Willow is going through right now and I resent the implication that I had anything to do with it."

Buffy, nonplussed, tried to lighten her tone a bit. "Look, Anya nobody is suggesting that you did anything wrong. We just need some answers is all. I thought..."

"No, you really didn't," Anya snapped back at her. "That's the problem here. Nobody is looking at things the way they really are."

"Ahn.." Xander said, trying to defuse what appeared to be an increasingly tense situation but Buffy cut him off, her ire rising just slightly.

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" she asked archly.

Anya sighed deeply. "You know, Buffy, I love all of you, I really do. You're the closest thing to I've had to a family for over 1,100 years, but there are times when your way of looking at things makes me want to stick my head into a gas oven and light several dozen really flammable matches."

Xander looked positively disturbed by this turn. "Okay Anya, I think maybe we need to table this discussion for right now.."

"No," said Anya, her eyes suddenly flashing in anger. "We're not going to table anything, Xander. For once, you're going to let me speak my mind, instead of hushing me because you're afraid I'm going to embarrass you in from of your precious 'family.' Well, they're my family too now, and I get a say like everybody else." She turned back to Buffy. "Right?"

Buffy nodded, although her anger was starting to rise as well. "Sure Anya, you get a say. Why don't you start by telling me what the hell you're talking about. What 'way of looking at things'...exactly bothers you so much?"

Anya pursed her lips before continuing. "Buffy, you're a hero and I respect that. A lot, if you really must know the truth, but you and Xander have this way of seeing everything in such black and white terms and I'm sorry; most of the time it really isn't that simple."

"Okay, I've gotta stop you there Anya, because a lot of the times things really are that simple. I'm the Slayer. I fight evil. That's pretty much what I do. When you live on the Hellmouth, things are usually black and white," Buffy responded.

Anya sighed. "Yes, some things are. But not the majority. Most of it is one big gray area. Look at you. Magical resurrection is supposed to be against all the rules, but here you are and there isn't a person in this room who isn't thrilled beyond words to have you back."

That shook Buffy ever so slightly. "Look, Anya," she replied. "This really isn't about me..."

"Oh no? What about Spike, then? He's an evil soulless killer hundreds of times over, and yet you don't have any problem letting him watch after Dawn, or letting him hang around with the rest of us."

"Hey!" jumped in Dawn. "That's not fair. Spike's not evil. He just saved my life the other night. And what about you, Miss vengeance demon for over a thousand years?"

"Uh, Dawnie, maybe we should just let this drop, okay?" Xander practically pleaded with the girl.

"No," Anya said forcefully. "Let's run with that. She's absolutely right, you know. I wreaked bloody vengeance for centuries and caused a lot of hurt to people. Okay, well unfaithful, cheating, good for nothing creeps who would have saved the world a lot of trouble by never having been born, but people nonetheless...I suppose. Which is exactly my point. I'm on your side now. I help you guys do good, and you know what? I kinda like it. Spike probably does too, in his own twisted 'I have a bleedin' chip stuck in my skull and I want to have hot monkey sex with the Slayer' sort of way. Which, I can hardly blame him for because hot monkey sex really is the only way to..."

"Umm, Anya is there actually a point to this?" asked Buffy nervously, definitely not liking the reference to her, Spike, and hot sex all in the same sentence. At least Dawn and Tara had the decency to blush. Xander, on the other hand, was about two seconds from foaming at the mouth.

"The point is that while it might appear that all demons are evil on the surface, we all know that it's not true, don't we? Therefore, we've just established it's not necessarily about black or white, it's about perception forming our reality. Things are really various shades of gray, you just choose to see them as black and white."

"You know, Buffy," Tara said, piping up for the first time during the conversation. "She kind of has a point there."

"Yeah, okay, fine," Buffy said wearily. "Not every demon is evil and not everything is black and white. I'll go along with that, I guess, but I don't see what any of this 'Philosophy of Good and Evil 101' stuff has anything to do with Willow?"

"Don't you? Well, maybe not, which is another major blind-spot that every single one of you has."

"And that would be?" Buffy was getting annoyed again at Anya's continued implications.

"Willow, of course. Xander is the worst, probably because he's known her his entire life, but you and Tara can be incredibly obtuse about her when it suits you."

"Hey!" all three of them yelled at her, while Dawn looked uncomfortable at all the arguing.

"No, I'm serious," Anya continued. "We all know that something's definitely out of whack with her, so you three put your heads together and come up with evil spells and bad magical artifacts when the truth of it all is staring you in the face. This is not about evil."

"Okay, Anya," Tara asked. "What is it about then?"

"Power," the ex-demon replied. "She's absolutely in love with it. Oh come on!" she said in an exasperated tone as the room suddenly went silent. "You mean to tell me that none of you noticed what's been going on with her for the last few years?"

"Well," said Xander slowly. "I mean we all knew she was changing, what with the gay thing and all. Umm, no offense," he said clumsily to Tara he realized that she was sitting right there.

Tara gave him an amused smile. "Ahh, no offense taken, hon."

"Gods, and they think I'm thick," Anya half-muttered to herself. "This has nothing to do with her sexual preferences. Look, I can't expect Tara to really know this, but the rest of you have to remember what a little mouse she was in high school."

"Well, I wouldn't call her mousy...exactly," Buffy countered. "Maybe a little muskraty, possibly kittenish?"

"Fine," Anya replied waspishly. "Engage in your 'make fun of the silly ex-demon' banter if you want, but I'm telling the truth here. Willow's probably the most powerful magick user I've come across in a very long time. We all know this, right Tara?" When the blonde witch nodded, she continued. "So what happens when you take all this crap from people your whole life and then one day you realize that you can literally pound the snot out of anybody who crosses you, without so much as breaking a nail?"

"Actually," Buffy answered, "I think I can speak to that..."

"No, Buffy, I don't think you really can. I mean, it's not like you were ever picked on in school or treated like a leper before you became the Slayer, were you? You were Miss Peach Fuzz, or something equally preppy at your old high school, right?"

"Fiesta Queen, actually," Buffy replied sullenly.

"Right, and at Sunnydale High you ran for Homecoming Queen, I understand."

"Well, it's not like I won or anything. As a matter of fact, if it wasn't for the fact that Cordelia lost as badly as I did, that night would have made the top of my all time top ten sucky evenings out list."

"Buffy," Anya said in a deeply frustrated tone. "You're missing the point here...again. You were the center of attention throughout your formative years and let's face it, everybody in this town relies on you. You've always been a somebody. Willow never even got close to having any of that. From what Xander tells me, about the only people that ever noticed her were the two of you and Oz. Umm, no offense," she said quickly to Tara.

This time, Tara's 'no offense taken' seemed a trifle forced.

"Anya, I think I do see what you're saying here, "Xander cut in. "I really do, but don't you think you're overstating the problem just a bit? I mean I got picked on through most of high school and I haven't been trifling with any dark magicks. Well, not ever since that Valentines Day fiasco in the eleventh grade."

"No offense, Xander, because you know I love you beyond description, but you have all the sensitivity of a brick wall. You laughed it all off, like you do with everything else, but Willow couldn't. And it's not like you are tuned into the powers that she is. Even Tara isn't, and she's no slouch in the magick department."

"I'm not really very powerful at all, you know," Tara said quietly.

Anya looked at her very strangely for a moment before muttering, "Right and I'm Jennifer freaking Lopez."

"All right, everybody. Time out," Buffy interrupted. "So what you're essentially saying here Anya, is that Willow isn't under an kind of evil spell, she's just an angry, power mad bitch with a massive inferiority complex?"

"Well, I'm not sure we should use those exact terms..." Xander started to explain.

"Why not?" Dawn said, suddenly breaking into a conversation that until now she had barely been involved in. "Sounds about right to me."

Anya smiled in triumph. "See, the fifteen year old child gets it. Why is it so hard for the rest of you?"

"I'm not a child, "Dawn groused at her. "I'm a woman."

Anya gave her one of patented 'aren't you the most adorable little creature' smiles. "Right, sorry. I meant the child-woman gets it, of course."

Dawn grunted in frustration and stormed into the kitchen to grab a soda.

"Anya," Buffy said, trying desperately to get back control of the conversation. "It's not that I don't get what you're saying, because I think I do, I guess. It's just that I don't think it's really in Willow's character to act this badly. Um, not that you don't have a point," she added quickly as Anya started to frown again.

Just as Xander was about to throw his two cents back into the ring, a very loud knocking at the door, saved Buffy from having to continue what had degenerated into a pointless round robin on Willow's essential nature.

"Umm, I'd better get that. You guys think of ways we can approach her without setting her off. Even if she isn't under some sort of spell, we should try to reach out to her somehow."

Shaking her head in consternation, Buffy walked over to the front door, even as the frenzied knocking ceased. She yanked it open crankily.

"Yeah, all right. What's so important that you have to..."

That was about as far as she got. Just as she noticed the large Persian rug that had been left on the doorstop, and the fact that it reeked of gasoline, she heard a sharp whizzing noise fly past her left ear. She heard a loud 'thunk' as whatever it was struck the edge of the door and lodged there.

"What the..?" was all she could get out before she heard a loud popping noise and the shattering of glass as something else crashed into the front window of the house.

"Dammit!" she heard a shrill female voice coming from the street. "The sights on this thing must be screwed up. I know I'm not that bad of a shot."

Buffy eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, as she made out several shadowy forms standing in the middle of Revello drive, one of them wearing a bright red dress. Oh great, she thought. Just what I needed right now. Quickly, she slammed the door shut, as the rest of the gang flooded into the living room.

"Buffy, what's going on?" Dawn asked, just as the entire front window exploded under the weight of a hail of gunfire and the world dissolved into utter chaos..

There was glass everywhere, from the window, the lamp near the edge of the couch, and even a beautiful antique clock that her mother had picked up a few years ago. All shattered and turned instantly into instruments of jagged death, as everyone tried to dodge. Buffy's first thought was to try to push Dawn down onto the floor and out of harm's way. She was beaten to the punch by Tara, who had thrown herself onto the girl, thus succeeding in knocking them both onto the couch, where they hit with a loud thump and rolled off together, landing on the floor. Tara kept Dawn pinned on the ground, instinctively shielding her from the flying bullets and glass that had ricocheted all across the room.

Buffy found herself leaping for the relative safety of the hardwood floors as well, finding herself relieved to see that Xander had dragged Anya out of the line of fire too and was crawling along the edge of the wall, towards her.

"Is everybody all right?" She asked as loudly as she dared. When they all nodded after checking themselves for bullet holes, she allowed herself a very brief sigh and waited for Xander to inch up to her.

"Okay," he whispered to her as they sat there panting on the floor. "Is there any particular reason that we just got transported into an Arnold Schwartzenegger movie?"

"Way to date yourself, Xan." Buffy grimaced back at him. "It's Jett Li now. Heck, I was dead for four months and even I know that."

"Excuse me," Anya hissed at them both from her hiding place under the table. "Instead of discussing rapidly aging Austrian movie stars, do you think you could try to find out why somebody just tried to kill us all with a machine gun?"

"Umm, technically, Ahn, that wasn't a machine gun." Xander told her. " It sounded more like an assault rifle. You can tell by the short bursts..."He stopped short as he realized that every woman in the room was staring at him with combined looks of horror and disgust on their faces. He shook his head. "I know I've said this before but if I ever get out of this thing alive, I really need to get some male friends."

"Men," Buffy muttered grimly to herself. Slowly, and very carefully, pushed herself off of the floor and onto her knees, grabbing the wall as she did so. She then inched her head ever so delicately up to the sill of what had been a large front window, and which was now a gaping hole in the middle of her living room.

The vampire leader was still standing there, surrounded by several members of her gang. One of them, a very large male, was holding an assault rifle and a couple of the others had torches. Torches? Vampires hate open flame. As she mulled this information over in her rattled brain pan, the female began to click her fingers together, making a bizarre rapping sound with them. Taking a closer look, Buffy realized that she had a couple of small bottles on her fingers.

"Slaayer...Come out to play!" She screeched "Slaaayer...come out to plaayy! Slaaaayer...come out to PLAAAY!"

Buffy sank wearily back down onto the floor. "I don't know what's worse," she complained to Xander. "The fact that demented bitch just shot up my mother's living room..."

"...Or that she's doing a scene from 'The Warriors.' And doing it very badly, I might add." Xander cut in. "Is she for real?" He asked in horrified fascination. "She's like, well like..."

"Darla on crack?" Buffy responded.

"Well, yeah, now that you mention it..."

"Hey, sweet cheeks, you still alive in there?" The vampire's high-pitched voice cut through the rest of what Xander was going to say. "We're getting a little bored out here waiting for you to bleed to death. Why don't you do us all a favor and stand up for a minute?"

"Yeah and why don't you take a long walk off a very fiery pier?" Buffy yelled back at her. "Shut up," she whispered fiercely at Xander, who was looking at her with that 'could you be any more lame' stare of his. "Go grab a couple of crossbows and some stakes out of the weapons chest."

"Don't you think we're slightly outgunned?"

"Just do it," she barked at him, her tolerance being seriously strained at this particular moment. "We've got to use what we have."

Nodding, he started crawling towards the main hallway as Buffy turned her attention back to the undead menace on her front lawn. "Hey, 'Vampira Mistress of the Night,' you got a name? I feel all informal calling you 'that really annoying piece of bloodsucking trash that I'm going to turn into a ball of dust in about sixty seconds,'" she shouted through the opening.

"Oh, sorry about that dearie. Where are my manners? I'm Clarissa and I'll be playing the part of the super hot chick who slaughters you all tonight," the vampire snarked back at her.

"Xander," Buffy called back into the hallway. "Where are the hell are those weapons?"

He came running back into the room, sticking close to the walls once more, and handed her one of the crossbows. Keeping the other one, he quickly loaded it and leveled it out the window, trying to get a clear shot off. "How many of them are there?" He asked.

"Not sure. At least ten, and a couple of them have some pretty heavy hardware."

"Well, on the bright side, they can't get in here without an invite. Maybe they'll give up eventually." He didn't appear to be all that hopeful.

Buffy shook her head. "Does that super vamp tramp look like she's the giving up kind? With the kind of firepower they're carrying, they don't need to come in here. They can just blow the house down around us, one piece at a time. Which kind of begs the question, doesn't it?"

Xander looked at her blankly. "What question?"

"Why haven't they done it already?"

"Yeah, and believe me when I tell you I am so not wanting to hear the answer to that one," he said.

Buffy nodded in agreement. "Let's not sit around waiting for her to give us chapter and verse then." Turning toward the couch, where Tara was slowly pushing herself up off of Dawn, the Slayer asked, "What about it, Tara? You got anything we can use against that band of beasties out there?"

Shaking the stray shards of glass off of her dress, the witch nodded grimly. "Yeah, I think I can manage something that might shield us all, but it's going to take a few minutes to get it working, Buffy. If they attack again while I'm in the middle of the incantation..."

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. We're screwed?" Xander asked bitterly.

"Then, we'll just have to make sure we give Tara enough time," Buffy rasped at him. "Keep that crossbow pointed at what's-her face-and if you get the shot, take it. The rest of you stay down," she finished, looking at both Anya and Dawn, who were scrambling for some kind of cover. When they both nodded their agreement, she turned back to the window.

"Hey, Vamprissa or whatever your name is, you still lurking about out there?" Buffy shouted at the vampire.

"Yeah, Still here," came back the amused reply. "I was just betting the boys on how fast it would take you to realize how completely doomed you were, come to your senses and surrender to us all. How are we doing so far, honey?"

"I'll let you know. You know, instead of waiting out there in the chilly night air, you could warm yourself in a nice bonfire, or something like that. Ooh, and I bet we could even find a nice blowtorch to get you started."

That only made Clarissa laugh. "We're quite comfortable here, thank you very much, dear. But now that you mention it, maybe your boyfriend could use a little lighting up. It's probably pretty chilly wrapped up in that old rug, with all that smelly gasoline all over him."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Buffy yelled at her. "I don't have a ..."

Then it hit her. That bundle on her front porch, the smell of gas in the air. The bitch had captured Spike. Not only that, she was apparently planning to set fire to him as well. Buffy watched in horror as the two vampires with torches, who she had pretty much forgotten about, charged up the lawn towards the front porch.

"Xander! Fire!" She shrieked as she dove for the door.

Swearing loudly, Xander let a bolt loose at the vampire in the lead, which while missing its heart managed hit the arm that the torch was in, knocking the torch into the vampire's face. It screamed horribly as the flame engulfed it and reduced it to a pile of dust. The other vamp though had managed to get past his compatriot and was well within throwing range of the front porch

Buffy, in the meantime, had flung open the door, only to be greeted with yet another poorly aimed shot from Clarissa. This time the bullet ricocheted off the brass light fixture. As the vampire continued to howl with rage, Buffy bent down to drag the gasoline soaked Persian rug into the house. She could definitely feel somebody squirming within the rolled up rug. Before she could get into the house though, the vampire with the torch managed to heave his fiery weapon up onto the porch, which landed almost directly on top of the makeshift prison that currently held Spike. The entire section of the porch that she was standing in suddenly burst in flames. Screaming for Xander, Buffy instinctively grabbed the burning rug with both hands and dragged it into the house.

Hanging on for dear life, despite the searing pain in her hands, she managed to pull Spike through the doorway, with Xander slamming the door behind them both. Anya, meanwhile, showing more presence of mind than the Slayer would have thought possible, had already grabbed a large comforter and was trying to smother the flames with it. Xander dropped his crossbow on the floor and joined her in beating out the remnants of the fire. Unfortunately, this left a gap at the window, where the really big vampire with the assault rifle, apparently taking advantage of the commotion on the porch, had positioned himself to get off one final, deadly burst in the direction of Xander and Anya.

Without even thinking, Buffy launched herself at the window, picking up a stake off the floor, the violent pain in her hands increasing, as she somersaulted towards the vampire. Before the demon could get a shot off she plunged the stake into its heart, the rifle falling into the dusty remains directly in front of the window.

That proved to be the last straw for Clarissa. Throwing all sense of playfulness or restraint to the winds, she screamed at her remaining henchmen to charge the house. Several of them had armed themselves with torches and one appeared to have picked up a makeshift Molotov cocktail. Egged on by the now enraged master vampire, they dutifully launched themselves at the front of the house. Just as they managed to get close to the window to hurl their deadly missiles into the living room, Buffy heard a powerful, commanding voice yell in a language that she did not understand. Instantaneously, a curtain of blue light appeared to insert itself between the walls of the house and the vampires. Howling in anger and frustration, they repeatedly threw themselves against it to no avail. They were effectively sealed off from doing any further damage to Buffy's house. Tara's spell had apparently worked like a charm.

Buffy swore loudly as she surveyed the damage. The living room was a total shambles, and her hands were already badly blistered and scarred from the second degree burns she had suffered. Tara, who had just saved them all with her timely magick, had passed out on the floor. Dawn had crawled out from under the table and was cradling the witch's head in her lap. The worst of it though was Spike.

Having put the fire out successfully, Xander and Anya had managed to cut through the remnants of the rug and pull the vampire out of his bonds. To say that he had been badly hurt was a massive understatement. Spike was an absolute mess. The fire had singed his hair in several places, and had blackened much of the skin on his unprotected arms and chest. His face was a mass of welts and scorch marks, and it appeared that the only reason that he wasn't screaming in utter agony was the fact that he still had the gag in his mouth that Clarissa and her gang had obviously put there. Buffy's could feel his shame, and deep sense of violation, and it wounded her very deeply.

Kneeling down next to him, she very gently took one of his hands in both of hers, trying not to cry at the wreckage of his formerly beautiful face. "Spike," she whispered to him. "You'll be okay. Everything's going to be fine now. You're safe. We're all safe."

Although he had to be in incredible pain, the vampire nodded his understanding and slipped into unconsciousness. She sat there holding his still holding hand even so, until she heard Xander clear his throat worriedly.

"Uhh, Buffy.."

"Yeah, Xan," she acknowledged him wearily. "I know." She pulled her self reluctantly back onto her feet and walked to the window. The vampires had retreated back onto the street and were clustered around Clarissa, who was still hurling obscenities at he house.

"This isn't over, you little bitch!" The master vampire snarled at the Slayer. "I'm going to have your guts for garters for this, no matter what else happens." The rest of her threats though were drowned out by the sound of approaching sirens.
""Oh peachy," Buffy muttered to herself. "Sunnydale's finest to the rescue. They really have that day late and a dollar short thing down cold, don't they?" Looking back out the window, she wasn't surprised to see that the street was now absolutely empty. The vampires had all vanished without a trace.

She felt lightheaded now, as the pain from the burns and the delayed reaction to the attack finally began to take its toll. Catching herself from stumbling against the wall, Buffy shook it off and began to issue orders, because, well it was in the job description. First things first though.

Looking over at Dawn she asked "Is she going to be okay?" When her sister nodded affirmatively, Buffy allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief. " Alright then, Anya, you help Dawn get Tara to her room. She's going to need to sleep off that spell I think."

"What about, Spike?" Xander asked her quizzically. "I don't think he's really in good enough shape to take back to his crypt, and I'm not sure I could get him past the cops right now anyway."

"Doesn't matter," Buffy replied. "He's not going back to his crypt. We're going to put him in my room. I'll bunk in with Dawn for the time being."

"Umm, Buffy, are you sure about this? I mean I know he took one for the team and all but..."

"That's right, Xander," she snapped back at him. "He took one for the team. Now the team is going to take care of him. It's how this family works. I don't think I really have to explain this to you, do I?" She wasn't in any kind of mood for an argument, and Xander knew her well enough to realize it.

"Fine, whatever. Come on then, Spike," he said to the unconscious vampire as he picked him up. "Time to go see the Promised Land."

Not bothering to ask him just what the hell he was talking about, Buffy sighed as she picked up the shattered remnants of the Swiss clock that Joyce had given her for Christmas. Already the block was swarming with police cars and a fire truck or two. For some odd reason, the one thing that keep swimming around in her head was that old Chinese curse that Giles had taught her when she had first met him. May you live in interesting times.

"Things get any more interesting around here," she said to herself. "I may have to apply to FEMA for disaster relief."

She was saved from any further morbid thoughts by the sound of loud knocking on her door from what sounded to be several very angry police officers.


*****


Several hours later, Buffy woke up to find that her hands were aching quite a bit. Slayer healing might be incredibly fast by most standards, but as far as she was concerned, it could never work fast enough. Lying there on her back, staring at the ceiling, it took her a minute or two realize that something was not quite right about the bedroom. All of a sudden it came to her what was missing. The bed had gone cold. Dawn was not there.

Sitting straight up, she threw the covers back and jumped out of the bed, heading out the door into the hallway without even bothering to stick the battered old pair of slippers that she had worn earlier that evening back on her feet. Her first thought was to go downstairs and check to see if Dawn had slipped down to watch a little late night TV. Don't panic, she told herself. She's probably just getting a snack. As she passed by the door to her room however, she noticed that it was slightly ajar. Knowing that she had closed it tightly when she and Xander had put Spike in there that evening, Buffy gently pushed the door open and crept quietly into the room.

The vampire was lying right where they had left him, partially covered by the bedspread which was somewhat askew. A sigh of incredible relief escaped her lips as she realized the reason for the rumpled state of the bed. Lying next to Spike, on top of the covers, was the very familiar form of Dawn Summers. From the regular sound of her breathing, Buffy could tell that her younger sister was sleeping quite peacefully.

Tiptoeing silently as she could to the edge of the bed, Buffy found herself staring at the two of them for a very long time, torn between taking Dawn back into the other room and not wanting to wake her up. Shaking her head at how absolutely unfazed she was at the thought of her baby sister in bed with this particular vampire, and wondering to herself just why that was, Buffy finally decided to pull the covers back and tuck Dawn up under them. As she moved the girl's legs however, she felt her stir a bit.

"Buffy?" Dawn asked sleepily as her sister finished covering her up. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine, honey," Buffy replied. "I just didn't want you to catch cold."

"I-is it okay that I'm in here? I'm sorry about leaving you alone, I just kinda thought Spike could use the company. I didn't feel right leaving him all himself in here, after everything that he...well, you know after everything that happened tonight." When Buffy said nothing, she continued. "Do you, do you think he'll be all right? I've never seen anybody in that much pain before." She said that with such a profound note of sadness and worry that Buffy could almost reach out and touch her sister's anguish.

"He'll be all right, Dawnie. I promise. Vampires heal fast-especially Spike. It's going to take a little while, is all. Fire damage is bad, but it's nothing he can't handle. We'll make sure he gets through it too, you and me...together."

"Promise?" the girl asked, her voice betraying her obvious fear that despite his enormous strength, he wouldn't be able to recover from an injury this severe.

"Cross my heart," Buffy smiled gently, as she turned and started to leave the room.

"Buffy," Dawn said quietly. "Don't leave us ,okay? Please?" The words she didn't speak were just as palpable though. Not again. Not ever.

Shaking her head for what seemed like the millionth time since she'd been back at how weird her life had become, Buffy walked back to the bed and pulled the edge of bedspread back.

"Move over," she told her delighted sister. "And you'd better not snore. Either of you."

Some time later, Tara woke up from a particularly nasty dream. She wasn't sure what it had been but it had left her with a very bad case of cotton-mouth. She quickly went into the bathroom in the main hallway to get herself a glass of water. Downing two cups in rapid succession, she found herself staring into the mirror, wondering who the strange, weary looking girl staring back at her was. Failing to shake off the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion she was suffering from, the blonde witch headed back to her room, noticing as she did so that the doors to the other two bedrooms were open. Hearing the sound of steady breathing coming from Buffy’s room, she popped her head in put of curiosity. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she realized that the vampire had plenty of company. The two Summers girls were sprawled out on either side of him, arms and legs draped over one another. There in the dark, it was very hard to tell where one of them began and the other two ended, and for some reason that struck Tara as being the most natural thing in the world.






******


"I still say it's entirely too risky," Crispin McDermott said, his voice touched with an air of obvious concern. "This is not the type of magick that you should be playing around with, Willow. This sort of spell always has consequences."

Willow just snorted in annoyance. "Consequences, schmonsequences. I've raised the dead, dear. Something like this is nothing by comparison. I use more energy than this walking to lit class."

The professor shook his head and sighed. "Sweetheart, this isn't the same thing at all. You're dealing with supernatural forces here, and with all due respect, while it may not be quite as draining as Necromancy, transmogrification does require enormous amounts of stamina and concentration. The results can be disastrous if you're not very careful."

"So, I'll be very careful," she replied. "Relax, I've got stamina and concentration by the boatload. Besides, how do you know all this stuff? I thought that you were strictly a dabbler."

Crispin chuckled at her implied slight. "What I said, Ms. Rosenberg, was that I didn't practice very much. I said nothing about reading, which I happen to do quite a bit of. Just because my knowledge of the mystical arts is largely theoretical, it doesn't stand to reason that it is less valuable than your practical experience." He laughed as the witch stuck her tongue out at him.

"Yeah, okay Grandma. Your concern is duly noted," she said dryly. "Geez, since when did you turn into an old woman? It's so totally boring. If I had wanted more of that I would have stayed with Tara."

Willow realized that she had pushed what should have been gentle teasing a little too far when she caught a fleeting glimpse of hurt on his face. "Hey, I'm sorry. That was really insensitive of me, I know. It's just that for once, I'd like somebody to support the choices I make, instead of all the endless lecturing about responsibility and duty and blah, blah, blah. I just want to have fun with my power for a change. Is that so wrong?"

"No, it's not. Look, Willow, I'm not trying to stifle you, honestly. Lord knows you've had enough of that from, umm...other people in your life. I just don't want to see you get hurt." His voice dropped just a tiny bit. "You've become very dear to me, you know."

Willow walked over to the table and kissed him passionately. "I know that, honey. Don't think that I don't appreciate everything you do for me. Or to me," she added mischievously.
"Mmm," the professor said with his mouth full of the witch's probing tongue. Slowly, and with obvious regret, he disengaged from his lover's advances. "Stop trying to change the subject, young lady. That particular trick only works the first dozen or so times you use it. I'm building up an immunity to it."

Willow grinned lustily at him, becoming aroused even more. These days it seemed like she wanted him more with every passing hour. They'd already made love twice this morning and she had to fight very hard to resist the urge to abandon her current project in favor of another trip to the bedroom. "Okay, Okay. I'll stop trying to seduce you. I've got to say though that this is the first time I've ever gotten complaints."

Crispin looked more than slightly amused. "Oh, of that I have no doubt whatsoever. Then again, your last paramour didn't really strike me as the demanding type, if I may say so. She seemed the more submissive sort of person. Rather helpless in fact."

"No, you may not," she snapped at him, suddenly irritated at his mentioning of her relationship with Tara, even though she had brought her up first. "It's obvious that you don't know her at all. If you did, you'd see that she gives strength away by the bucketful. She could be a very powerful witch if she would ever develop a backbone and use it instead of hiding behind her Wicca mumbo-jumbo; not that it matters to me anymore. Tara and I are finished, you know that. I'm yours and you're mine and that's all to be said about it."

He shrugged at her outburst. "You brought it up, dearest. I have to admit that I am more than a little curious about her though. She doesn't really fit the preconceived image of a lesbian after all. I just find it all to be...interesting."

"Meaning what, exactly?" She asked him archly. "That we all wear flannel shirts, refuse to wear make-up, and drive trucks for a living, and what the hell are you smiling about?"

"The fact that you felt the need to use 'we'. I hadn't realized that you considered yourself to be a lesbian, that's all. I'm a little intrigued though as to where that leaves me though. The last time I checked, I was still classified as a male, unless of course you know something that I don't."

That made Willow smile again. "As far as I'm concerned, any man who can use his tongue like you do deserves the title of 'honorary dyke.' Anyway, screw Tara. She seems to be very happy playing at being 'Mrs. Summers,' so more power to her and Buffy and let's leave it at that. What?" She asked as Crispin's face took on a puzzled look.

"I just hadn't realized that your friend Buffy was...well, like you, sexual preferences speaking, that is."

Willow burst out laughing. "Oh God. I was joking, Crispin. Honestly, Buffy Summers is about the least gay person I know. Besides, even if she was gay, she wouldn't be interested in Tara. Not unless Tara's heart stopped beating and she grew a set of pointy teeth."

"Eh?" He asked her, genuinely confused.

"Oh nothing. Bad joke. My lame way of saying that Buffy's into bad boys-not nice girls. Let's just end this discussion, okay? I have work to do, which I'm sure you're aware of since you just spent the last five minutes trying to take my mind off of it."

The professor threw up his hands. "I give up. If you're going to do it, though, at least let me help you. Do you have everything you need? Besides me, of course."

Willow suddenly found herself giggling like a high school girl." I do, kind sir. But I've got it covered. You have a lecture to prepare for anyway, don't you? You should probably do it in your office. It may get a little...distracting here for a bit." When he nodded reluctantly, she added, "Now give me another kiss, before I get started."

Reaching in, he planted a firm kiss on her forehead and quickly grabbed his jacket and briefcase from off of the table. "Until later then, my sweet." Blowing her a mock kiss, he closed the door behind him, leaving Willow pouting in the middle of the dorm room.

Brushing off the fleeting sense of helpless isolation that she always felt when Crispin left her on her own, Willow began to trace a pentagram on the floor with the materials she had gathered for the spell. Mumbling briefly in Latin, she grabbed the cage that had been sitting on her desk and opened it. Acting quickly, she grabbed the squirming rodent that had been resting on the bottom of the cage and placed it onto the floor in the middle of the pentagram. As she continued to chant, the rat's shape began to shift and expand until it became a human woman. Sitting on the floor, completely naked, all she could to was to stare at the redheaded witch in complete shock.

"Why, hello there, Amy." she crooned to her friend. "It's been a very long time, hasn't it?"

The other witch stared at her a full minute or so before letting out a blood curdling shriek and collapsing unconsciously onto the floor.

Disclaimer: The characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. None of the writers of this fic are collecting any monetary compensation for it whatsoever, mores the pity . Any characters that we create we freely give to Joss, as recompense for borrowing his.

Rating: This chapter is PG-13-for some quasi-intense sex. Nothing you don’t see on the show though, in fact I‘d say it is much less graphic than either “Smashed“ or Dead Things.” You be the judge however.

Feedback: Please leave a review here at fanfiction.net. We appreciate all feedback, particularly in-depth reviews and we welcome negative ones as well. Flame away of you want, although no one has so far. We also accept feedback at BuffySpikeshiper@AOL.com

Special thanks to Linne who has joined the B/S SS editing staff, and who has done a wonderful job of clearing up a lot of my often jumbled hen scratchings :-)

At any rate, we sincerely hope you enjoy the chapter, and will please tell us what we are doing right...and wrong. As you will see, the story is coming to a close, and we promise a slam-bang ending. Until then...







Chapter Seven


"Strange Bedfellows"


Written by CJ and Phil


*

The bell above the door in the Magic Box jangled as Xander walked through the door. “Pizza delivery man,” Xander announced and then corrected, “Ok. Less pizza and more outdated bags of donated blood, but same delivery concept.”

“Thank you, Xander.” Buffy greeted him and took the two paper shopping bags from him. She laid the bags on the counter and began taking out a packet.

“Must you play with bodily fluids at my checkout counter? It is discouraging patronage of the store.” Anya looked disapprovingly and tapped her foot. Buffy rolled her eyes and moved the bags over to the big research table.

“She kinda has a point there though, Buff,” Xander said rather uncomfortably. “Looks to me like Spike is getting to the point where he can go out and scrounge up his own bags of blood. Don’t you think you’re taking this nursemaid thing just bit too far?”

“What I think, Xander is that we don’t need to be discussing this anymore,” she snapped at him a bit too quickly. “It’s okay, Xan,” she added in consciously softer tone of voice. “ I’ve got it all under control, honestly.” She really hoped that had sounded convincing to everybody else, because she certainly wasn’t buying that line of crap.

Tara held a mug for Buffy to pour the blood into. “So how is the patient today?” She questioned, concerned. They had set up a corner of the training room for Spike. He was still somewhat injured, and they weren’t comfortable leaving him alone in the house when they all had to go out during the day. This way there was always someone around if he needed anything.

“Dawn’s in with him now.” Buffy offered, “He’s doing a lot better these days, but…”

“Ooh. You’ll never guess who I ran into on my way back here.” Xander interrupted. The group all stared at him with a 'this better be important' look. “Jonathan,” he answered. Everyone’s anticipation deflated and they went back to what they were doing.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Tara asked.

Anya answered, “He was in that movie. The one with the computer world within the real world and the ‘There is no spoon.’”

Xander and Buffy just shook their heads. “Well,” Xander continued. “He said that this morning he saw Willow walking around campus with Amy.”

“Amy? Rat Amy?” Buffy said disbelievingly.

“The one and only, but now in new and improved non-rat form.” Xander replied.

The look on Tara’s face was pure chagrin. “So you’re saying that Willow’s been practicing transmogrification? She knows how dangerous that is."

Buffy quickly moved over to her and put a comforting arm around her. “I’ll go talk to her. Could you heat this up and have Dawn give it to Spike?” She handed Tara the mug as she got up to leave. Tara just nodded. It broke Buffy’s heart to see what her supposed best friend had done to a person who cared about her more than life itself. With that she got up and headed out the door.



About an hour or so later, Buffy found herself standing outside of Willow’s dorm building, debating with herself about whether this was really a good idea or not. Concern for Willow finally won out over her caution and she entered the building. She made her way to Willow’s room and was relieved to hear only female voices inside. She knocked on the door and was greeted by Amy. “Buffy!”

“Amy.” Buffy smiled

“Wow. It feels like its been forever.”

“Not forever, just a couple of years.”

“Hey, for a rat a couple of years is a life time,” Amy tried to joke.

“For some people it is too.” Buffy had intended that to sound a lot less self-pitying than it came out.

Amy didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, Willow told me about the whole dying thing. That’s just so weird. Dead, poof, not dead.”

“Almost like rat, poof, not rat.” Buffy retorted weakly.

Amy tilted her head, “Huh, guess you’re right.”

“Would it be alright if I talked to Willow for a little while?” Buffy was wondering why her friend hadn’t come to the door yet.

“Sure,” Amy gestured for her to come in, “I’ve gotta go out and get something to eat any way. I’ve got this strange craving for cheese. Go figure.” She smiled and walked off.

I think that girl was a little more sane when she was a rat. Buffy thought as she entered the room. The first thing she noticed was that the room was completely different from the last time she'd seen it. There was an extra bed made up and Amy apparently had her own half of the room decorated as well. And Buffy could swear that the privacy wall hadn’t been there before. Either Willow had been on Trading Spaces in the past few days or there had definitely been some magical remodeling going on.

“Well, look who finally decided to drop by.” Willow snapped Buffy out of her surveying of the room.

“Hey Will. I tried coming by a few days ago, but you weren’t home.” Despite the bitter tone that had been in Willow’s voice, Buffy decided that she should stay friendly and unassuming as long as Slayerly possible. It was then that she noticed how badly Willow really looked. The witch was sitting in bed, propped up against pillows looking, well, old. She had bags under her eyes, she was pale, and it even looked like there was some gray in her hair.

“Are you ok?” Buffy hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so “oh my god, you look awful. Are you ok?” but she couldn’t help it. Here was her 21-year-old best friend looking like a woman in her late 40’s.

“Never better.” Willow spat at her.

Buffy swallowed hard at the discourtesy and tried to stay calm as she went on, “I’ll take your word for it.” She sounded doubtful. “You’ll never guess who Xander bumped into earlier.” She tried cheerfully.

“Should I care?” The response was bitter.

Buffy pretended she didn’t notice the barb. “You remember Jonathan?” Willow opened her mouth to reply, but Buffy hurried on not really wanting to hear whatever nastiness was sure to spew from Willow’s mouth next. “Well he said he saw you and Amy earlier and we were all like ‘wow, rat Amy?’ so I figured I should stop by and see what was up.”

“Oh.” Willow sounded hurt. “So that’s the only reason you dropped by. To see what bad things Willow’s up to. What ‘abuses’ of magicks have I done now. Well you know what? I don’t need that kind of friend anymore. You and your moral superiority. All of you. I’ve got people that really understand me now.”

That was all Buffy could take. “Listen Willow, we are all concerned for you because we love you, but you’re scaring us.” Willow just smiled at the last sentence. “You’re getting into deep dark stuff here and we are afraid we’re going to loose you. And all this with Amy? Did you just decide to make yourself a new friend that you could keep her here and get her to do your magic with you?”

“You think I have to conjure friends for myself and hold them prisoner to keep them? Well sorry to inform you, but Amy’s just staying here while she adjusts enough to go talk to her dad. She can leave whenever she wants. Why would I need an amateur like her to help me with magic anyway? I’m way above her level. Crispin says I’m…”

Buffy cut her off, “Crispin. That name again. Willow, this guy seriously weirds me out. Me and everyone else. I don't think he's good for you, Will. Seriously. Look what being with him has done to you!”

“Being with him is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Look how far I’ve come with my magic. You were supposed to be my friends and all you ever did was stifle me. ‘No Willow. That’s not right Willow. You’re using too much magic Willow.’ He’s helped me gain so much power.” Willow was ranting now, and beginning to scare Buffy. “That’s it! You’re just jealous. I’ve become more powerful than you and you can’t handle it.”

“Willow,” Buffy tried to interject.

“No, Buffy. That’s it. I know I’m right. I’m stronger than you and you can’t take it.”

“That’s not even…” Buffy tried again.

“No. You know what. I’m sick of this discussion, and I’m sick of you. Crispin was right. You all don’t really care about me at all. Now get out before I throw you out.” Willow demanded.

Buffy stood in shock for a brief moment. Willow looked so angry. She held up her arm, flicked her wrist and the door slammed open. Feeling a deep sense of sadness and bitter disappointment in her best friend, as well as a creeping feeling of impending doom, the Slayer turned and strode out haughtily, attempting to hold on to some of her pride.

Just after Buffy ran out Amy walked in through the door. “What was that all about?” She asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Willow responded, “You know what a bitch Buffy can be some times.”

Amy looked a little puzzled, “She always seemed pretty nice to me.” Then Willow lifted her arm, looked at Amy, passed her hand in front of her face. “Yeah, what a total uber-bitch. Who does she think she is?” Amy replied in a drastically altered tone.

“I know.” Willow smiled.







**


Tara checked her watch casually as she headed into the courtyard between the Bramwell Arts & Sciences building and the University's Administration center. She'd been in class and at the library since early this morning and was more than ready to call it a day and make for home. A faint smile came to her lips as she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she really did have a home, with a real family. It was a good feeling. She was also reminded that she was supposed to pick Buffy up this afternoon so the two of them could hit the Sunnydale Mall for some Christmas shopping. Dawn had asked for a leather coat and Tara had seen one advertised on sale. Besides, it was a good way to get Buffy's mind off her confrontation with Willow last week.

Tara certainly knew what that felt like. Confrontations with Willow were getting to be as common a thing as taking a breath. She simply wouldn't listen to anything that any of her friends had to say anymore. According to Xander, who had made one last ditch effort at talking to her, Willow spent most of her time closeted with her new lover. Tara had also seen her once with Amy the one time rat, but both witches had made a decided point of snubbing her. The look of pure malice on Willow's face had been enough to make Tara's skin crawl. It still did. God, Willow, what's happening to you?

Silently chiding herself for morbidly dwelling on something she had no control over, the young witch shook off her melancholy and opened the door to the Bramwell building. She often used it to cross the campus to the parking deck because she could cut at least five minutes off her walk. As she walked down the corridor, she heard a voice calling her name.

"Hey, Tara! Hang on a sec!"

She turned around to see a young blonde woman heading toward her, who was obviously out of breath. Tara instantly recognized her as one of the students in her 'Feminist writers in the 20th century' study group.

"Oh, hi Chris. How are you?" Tara barely knew Christina, but she seemed nice enough, if a little forward at times.

"Pretty good," the other girl replied. " Listen, did you happen to get that reading list from Dr. Carter? I think I missed class when she passed it out. I was wondering if I could make a copy of yours, umm if it's not too much trouble."

"Sure. I have it at home but I'll run by Kinko's later. I'm going to the mall this afternoon anyway. I'll take care of it for you then."

"Thanks, Tara. I really appreciate it. I mean, really, if there's anything I can ever do for you just let me know." She really had the most beautiful smile.

"You're welcome," Tara smiled back at her "Anything I can do to help."

"Well, I gotta book. Late for French class but like I said, anything you ever need, don't be afraid to ask. Umm, maybe we could go out for a drink sometime?" She added rather shyly.

"Uhh, s-sure. I'd love to...sometime," Tara managed to stammer out as the other girl blew her a kiss and sauntered out the door. Okay, she thought to herself as she watched Christina's extremely well put together form disappear down the concourse, I really need to not be thinking what I'm thinking. For all I know, she's not even gay. Still, three months without sex will do that to you.

Shaking off a couple of nagging impure thoughts she turned around and walked straight in Dr. Crispin McDermott.

Too stunned to think straight she just stood there, unable to even mutter a half-assed apology, which would have been her normal response. She had made a point of avoiding Willow's current lover and had been pretty successful at it. Until now, anyway.

"Miss McClay? What a pleasant surprise. I trust that you've been keeping yourself well?" The Professor said brightly, which immediately set her teeth on edge.

"Yeah, I'm g-good. Very good. Well, I need to get going. If you'll excuse me..." She blurted out. She had planned a very hasty retreat but before she could go however, McDermott grasped her arm.

"Miss McClay, umm Tara. May I call you Tara?" Without waiting for a reply, he pushed on. "It's rather fortunate I ran into you. I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you. About, well I suppose you can guess what I want to talk about. Or who, rather."

Regaining some of her composure, she pulled away from his grasp and back off a couple of steps.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we have anything to talk about," she stated firmly as she prepared to walk back out the door.

"She misses you, you know," he said quietly.

That brought her up short. For the first time she took a long look at him. He seemed totally sincere-and well, rather worried.

Seeing her indecision, he continued. "I know things are bad between you and that you've both been hurt by what's happened and I certainly know that I really don't have any right to be talking to you about this, but..."

"Why are you, then?" Tara snapped at him, regretting it the instant the words were out her mouth, as she saw the hurt expression on his face. "I-I'm sorry, Dr. McDermott, I didn't mean to be rude but I'm not sure what us talking is going to fix. Willow and I are through. She's made it very clear what she wants, and it's not me. You should know that as well as anyone. You win-I lose. What else is left to say?" All the pain that she had thought had been locked away over the last few months was threatening to surface again. It was all she could do keep from breaking down and crying in front of him.

"Tara, please," he responded. "This isn't about winning or losing. Willow still loves you very much. She's just going through a very rough time right now. She does need you though, and I thought that if I talked to you maybe we could find some way to work together to get her to ease up a little. I've tried telling her that she's making a mistake by shutting all of her friends out of her life, especially you, but so far I'm making little progress. I do want to see you back together though."

"Why? Why would you do that? Don't you love her?" Tara was absolutely stunned by this revelation.

"I do," he said. "And it's just because I love her that I want to see her completely happy. She's not, you know, and I don't think she'll ever be until you two are reunited. I promise you that if you agree to help me talk to her, we will work everything out. Scout's honor," he added warmly as he reached out and took her hand again. This time she did not pull away.

He truly loves her, Tara thought to herself. How could he not and come to her like this? She could hardly believe how much she had misjudged this man, as she felt his love wash over her. It was a nearly a living, breathing thing. Who was she to question that love? She'd never encountered anything that pure before and it touched her deeply. It also made her feel ashamed that she had ever doubted his sincerity or Willow's love for him. They were perfect for one another. She knew that now.

He continued to gently stroke her hand as he continued. "I want you to know that I do understand how much Willow means to you. You should be together. I can do that for you, Tara. I can make it possible for the two of you to be with each other for the rest of your lives. You deserve that Tara. You're very special, you see. You're the most important person in the world. Surely you must understand that."

She did understand. She could feel his love and his compassion for her. All he wanted was to be with her, to love her, to see her and Willow happy together. As he continued to talk to her, visions of the three of them together filled her mind; glorious pictures of perfect love and contentment... and pure joy. The things they could do together; the power they could wield together was overwhelming to her. Her, and Willow, and Crispin together forever. It would all be so wonderful, almost too good to be true...

Then almost out of nowhere, she heard a voice. A voice she had not heard in a very long time, but one she could never forget. If someone offers you the world, check the price tag first.

"Mom?" She muttered, utterly bewildered.

Crispin stopped for just a second. "I'm sorry, you said something, my dear?"

And just like that, Tara came screeching back to her senses.

Sonofabitch! A voice in her head sounded the clarion call. A spell. That bastard is using a spell on me.

It was a powerful one too. She could sense it now as she regained her sense of equilibrium. Incredibly subtle, but yet at the same time almost overwhelmingly compelling...and evil beyond the telling of it. It had to be a high order enchantment. Which meant that whoever, or whatever, this Crispin McDermott was, he had to be a very powerful user of majicks.

“At any rate,” he continued, apparently unaware that his enchantments had failed to seduce his intended victim. “I am afraid that as much as I hate to do it, I must leave you for the time being. I have to be at a student conference in a few minutes. You’ll think about what I said about coming around to see Willow tonight, though?”

Suddenly taken aback, Tara found herself fumbling for an excuse. “Uhh, that sounds wonderful, Crispin, really but I-I uh may need to help watch Dawn tonight, umm baby-sit for a friend that is. Could we do it tomorrow?”

If he felt any disappointment at that, he certainly hid it well. “Of course my dear. No rush at all. You need time to adjust to...things, and I really should speak to Willow first. Lay the groundwork, as it were. Shall we say tomorrow evening then, maybe around 9 o clock?”

“Sure. I’m really looking forward to it,” she said, trying desperately to sound like a woman in the thrall of seduction. She even managed to subtly adjust her body language just a tiny bit in order to let him think that his ‘charms’ were working on her. Of course, it took conjuring up an image of Christina’s backside to actually pull it off convincingly.

“Well, then, I must be off for the time being. Until tomorrow night then, my darling.” With that he bent down and brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it gently, before smiling at her again and departing back down the hallway to the faculty offices.

Goddess, she thought to herself, as she stood there quaking with rage and feeling terribly violated. Do women actually fall for that crap, even straight ones? I think I need a shower.

Now that she had stumbled onto his sorcery, it became apparent to her that something dreadfully wrong was going on. If he had done that to her there is no telling what he was doing to Willow. She had been right all along. Something evil had gotten control of her lover; it just hadn’t been the Urn of Osiris.

I’ve got to tell Willow, she thought. If I go to her now and tell her what I know...she’d laugh in my face.

Sighing inwardly with frustration, the witch forced herself to see the truth. Without any proof of McDermott’s enchantments, Tara would sound like the bitter and jealous scorned ex-lover that Willow had been making her out to be all this time. She didn’t really know anything; all she had were suspicions and intuition to go on. She needed proof, and she needed to know what she was facing, and there was only one place that she could think of that might hold some answers for all of the questions that were now rapidly filling her mind.

Steeling herself for a long night, Tara shook off the feelings of dread that were threatening to suffuse her entire body and made resolutely for the parking garage. She just hoped that Anya kept plenty of coffee in the Magic Box. She had a feeling that she was going to need it.



***


"So, exactly what am I supposed to do now, your greatness?" Clarissa asked, the anger in her voice quite apparent to everyone who could hear it.

"Well, for starters, you could try following orders for once, instead of engaging in your penchant for amateurish theatrics," replied the demonic creature she had been addressing. "Or is that a tad too difficult for you, my dear?"

"Hey, it's not my fault that they had a witch with them, which is a bit odd considering that you told me that their witch was being taken care of."

"She is. They have another one. I'm sure you were informed of that fact."

"Yeah, but nobody said she was that tough. I'm afraid that what we have here is a failure to communicate, and I for one am getting sick and tired of it, buster."

The demon appeared bored by her outburst. "Keep a civil tongue in your head. You forget who you are dealing with. Do I really have to remind you...again?"

Clarissa, angry as she was, still managed to keep her rage in check and choked off the nasty reply that had been forming on her lips. She may have been seething with rage, but even so, she was far from stupid. Openly challenging her patron was akin to suicide and she had been around long enough to know it.

"No, of course not," she said in a more placating tone. "I'm just saying that I've taken a lot of losses recently and so far, have jack to show for it."

That was putting it mildly. As far as Clarissa was concerned, the raid on the Slayer's house had been a disaster. Sure, she had messed up the little bitch's windows a bit, but that was nothing in comparison to what it had cost her. The two or three minions that had gone up in smoke she could live without, but having the Slayer stake Karl was causing Clarissa all sorts of grief.

For one thing, Karl had been her strong right arm for a very long time. Terry of course had his uses, but he lacked the sheer hulking ferocity that had been Karl's trademark. Sure, it had been incredibly stupid of him to get that close to the Slayer's stake but it had been typical Karl: Kill first-think about the ramifications second.

For another, the effect his death had on Veronique had been devastating. They had been together for over fifty years, and she had very nearly lost her mind. As it was, she could barely bring herself to eat anybody and Clarissa had been forced to put Lysette on suicide watch, so instead of just putting one vampire out of action, the Slayer had cost her the use of two others as well, both of them very powerful and cunning killers in their own right.

The worst of it though was the detrimental effect it was having on the overall morale of the minions. It had been difficult enough for her to whip them into any kind of fighting shape when she had first swept into town, due to their inherent dread of the Slayer. Finally, after instilling some order into them, she had been cajoled into that premature assault against the Summers household. All the progress she had made the past few months had vanished in a puff of smoke. And the real kicker is that they hadn't managed to kill any of the Slayer's people, not even that blasted turncoat vampire of hers, who according to Clarissa's spies, had been seen walking around town again, despite his massive injuries of only a few weeks earlier.

Before she could actually voice any of her complaints, though, her patron held up a scaly arm, indicating that he was not interested in hearing her side of things. Oh, isn't that just so typical of these underworld big shots, she thought bitterly. You have to sit and listen to them blather on about their great schemes for unholy devastation, but do you get even the slightest chance to express valid concerns about worker morale? No, of course not; because that would make too much sense. Damn the infernal power structure.

" Now, now, no need to be so upset," the demon said, adopting a much more even-tempered tone, which nonetheless struck Clarissa as being condescending. "I do sympathize, really I do, but to be perfectly honest, I don't think we've lost all that much, in the grand scheme of things, that is."

"Well, maybe you haven't lost much, your unholy magnificence, but from where I'm sitting it sure feels like a box office bomb to me," she snapped back just a little too quickly.

"Believe me my dear, when I tell you that how you feel is of absolutely no concern to anyone. You were contracted to do a job for me, plain and simple. Your losses, such a as they are, are your own affair and I do not want to hear about them again. In fact, I would urge you to trust me that if I do hear another word about it from your pretty little undead lips, it will be the last thing I ever hear from you. Is that understood?"

The demon had not changed the tone of its voice even the tiniest of decibels, but Clarissa realized that she had gone to far in questioning him. Gulping visibly, she nodded.

"Fine. Now that the matter is settled, I can tell you that I am not entirely displeased with the recent turn of events. In fact, I'd say that everything is going pretty much according to plan. We're already moving into the last stages of this endeavor and I should be ready to make the final preparations very, very soon." He, (Clarissa assumed it was a he anyway) finished with what appeared to be a smirk on his face.

He was certainly a strange sort of being, Clarissa mused to herself. Reptilian in nature, he seemed to enjoy adapting an almost human style of conversation, emphatically insisting on using polite forms of address. She didn't know much else about him except that he was a Malthusian demon, and that he was some sort of major league heavyweight in the demon realms. Other than that, she neither knew nor cared.

"So cheer, up," he continued "You'll have your chance to wreak your vengeance upon the Slayer and her pack of annoying do-gooders soon enough."

Clarissa nodded, pretending to be mollified, although she was still inwardly seething. "Okay, whatever you say, but I'm telling you right now that once I get my hands on her, I'm going to take it out on that little slut's ass for the next three or four centuries."

"Yes, well, I have other plans for her, but feel free to help yourself to the rest of the human population of this miserable excuse for a town. For right now, I want you to cool your heels a bit, replenish your numbers by all means, but do it quietly. No more wholesale slaughters of high school students for the time being. Take a few of the marginal city dwellers if you must, but don't provoke the delightful Miss Summers any further until my agent can complete his mission properly."

"He's taking his own sweet time of it," she complained. "If you ask me he's enjoying it just a little too much."

"Then I suppose it's a very good thing that nobody asked you, isn't it?" Another voice, coming from behind the demon, broke into the conversation.

"Ahh, there you are, my boy, "the Malthusian said in a manner that Clarissa found to be almost fawning. "We were just talking about you."

"Nothing but good things I hope," the man continued as he stepped into the meager lighting that the several torch sconces on the wall of the cavern provided.

"That probably depends on your definition of 'good' she sneered at him. "Does being an overly confident and self-important weasel count?"

"As much as being an incompetent and melodramatic slattern, I would imagine," he shot back at her, in an infuriatingly smooth manner.

The demon interrupted them at this point. “Children, children. Enough is enough. Do I have to spank you both and send you to bed without supper? Now kiss and make up, if you would, so that we can get on with the business at hand”

Crispin McDermott merely smiled breezily and him and nodded. Clarissa, still fuming at his insolence, nevertheless gave the Malthusian her own curt nod of acquiescence. There was no point in pushing the matter...for now.

The demon‘s face contorted into what appeared to be a smile of approval. “Very well. So, Crispin where are we with the witch? I take it that I don’t have to stress just how important she is to the big picture.”

“Everything is going according to schedule,” McDermott replied. “ She’s completely isolated from her friends and using more magic than she could ever possibly hope to control. She’s getting weaker and more dependent on me every day. I’d say that it was only a matter of a few days before she’s completely open to your designs.”

“Excellent. Very good job, my boy, especially considering just how powerful our little Miss Rosenberg is.”

McDermott shrugged. “She’s not that strong. Yes, she may have a lot of mystical capability, but she’s still a woman; weak, emotional and foolish. I managed to twist her around my little finger with relative ease. She’s certainly no harder than any of the others I’ve had to deal with over the centuries.”

Clarissa snorted. “Well, lookee here. Somebody has deep-seated issues with strong women. What’s the matter, dear? Afraid that us poor little ladies are going to crush that delicate little ego of yours?” She said that last bit in a mock southern belle accent, a la Scarlet O’Hara.

He glared at her with studied contempt. “Exactly what would you know about it? Any similarities between you and a ‘lady’ are purely coincidental. Besides, just because you look like a woman, it doesn’t make you one. You’re just a bloodsucker with a slightly better sense of makeup application than your undead playmates.”

Clarissa felt her anger rise as he laid on his latest insult. Terry, who had been standing at her side the entire time without uttering a word, growled menacingly.

The Malthusian demon grunted his displeasure at this latest outbreak of discord among his followers. “That’s it. I have better things to do than listen to this nonsense. Clarissa, you have your instructions for the time being. I’ll send word when I need you again. Until then, no more overt signs of aggression. Are we clear on this point?”

When she nodded sullenly, he waved his hand in her direction. “Fine then. You are dismissed.”

McDermott watched the two vampires disappear down the passage that led from the cavern and shook his head.

“Something wrong, my boy?” The demon asked him.

“I just don’t know why you bother to put up with that trash. Vampires are little better than animals, and far less trustworthy.”

“Tut-tut, Crispin. We use the tools that we have. Besides, you must admit that she does have a certain panache’.

“I admit nothing of the kind. She’s an unstable and unpredictable element. Typical bloody female. You should destroy her and her pack of jackals before they the turn on you or bring the wrath of the Slayer down on our heads.”

The Malthusian merely grinned at his friend and long time associate. “No need to worry about her. Rest assured that I shall dispose of all unnecessary entanglements once we have finished what we set out to do.”

“And when will that be?” McDermott asked. “The year is almost up. The Winter Solstice is nearly at hand. If we try a Revivification ritual of this magnitude after that, it’s bound to blow up in our faces."

“Relax, things are going swimmingly. Trust me. Everything is in hand. We will be ready by the time the Solstice rolls around in a couple of weeks. And then...”

“And then, what?” McDermott asked his demonic patron.

“Then SHE will arise from the ashes and this world will know a torment that it has only dreamed about in the darkest recesses of its collective imagination. The rivers will run red with the blood of millions of victims and the Sun itself will quake in dreadful awe and reverence.” He paused. “What do you think? Am I going overboard on the apocalyptic imagery?”

“Well, maybe just a tad. It could use a little polishing up.”

The Malthusian sighed heavily. “Damn. I really should just bite the bullet and hire a professional speechwriter. Do you think Pat Buchanan would be willing to do a little free-lance work?”

“Trust me. If he’ll co-host a talk show on FOX News Network, he’ll do anything,” McDermott replied.

“Tell me about it," the demonic creature shuddered visibly. "I don’t know about you, my boy, but Rupert Murdoch scares the hell out of me.”




****

Buffy glanced at her watch for the tenth time in an hour. She’d been on plenty of do nothing patrols, but this one was taking the cake. Just the night she felt like working off a boatload of tension and there weren’t any vampires handy. Nothing new there, though. Clarissa and her little gang of wanna-be Slayer slayers had been as hard to find, for the last few weeks, as a good, inexpensive cream rinse. It was as if they were deliberately avoiding her, and while she knew they had to be up to no good, it was nice to have the breathing room. For a while, at least.

On the other hand, the extreme lack of vampire activity meant that she was forced to think about things she'd rather forget. No luck there, though. She’d have to deal with them sooner or later, and sooner always seemed to come so, well…soon.

The real biggie of course, was Willow. Buffy had finally been forced to see just how out of control her best friend really was when she'd visited her last week. She was still thrown by how much Willow had changed since September, physically as well as emotionally. Here it was less than two weeks before Christmas, less than three months since Buffy had come back, and Willow was an entirely different person; one that Buffy could barely stand to be in the same room with. Something had to be done about Will, but like everybody else, Buffy was totally stumped. The mere fact that she was as clueless and lame as the others was driving her nuts, she was supposed to be the Slayer after all.

Willow was the reason Buffy found herself wandering aimlessly through the Sunnydale Cemetery instead of doing something socially redeeming, like Christmas shopping. That actually frosted her quite a bit. Here she had been all set to contribute to the crass Holiday commercialism that Giles detested so much, and Tara had cancelled at the last moment, muttering something about ‘having an idea what might up with Willow.’ Right now she was holed up in the back room of the Magic Box doing research, too engrossed in her work to be concerned with shopping.

Dawn was also out of the house, having finally convinced her big sister to spend the night at Janice’s. That girl still got seriously on Buffy’s nerves but a couple of days of being forced to look at Dawn’s pleading and pouty face had ultimately cracked Buffy’s resolve. She had to admit that Dawn was far better at emotional manipulation than she had been at that age. I’m such a wishy-washy pushover. Still, Buffy had gotten a little of her own back by insisting on walking Dawn right to the Penshaws’ front door. The look of total horror her sister’s face as Buffy loudly offered, in front of half the neighborhood, to go back and get Mr. Gordo so Dawn could sleep better, went a long way in balancing the scales. Buffy chuckled at how much mileage she was going to get out of that one.

Her mirth at mentally torturing Dawn quickly faded as she realized where she was, smack in the center of the partially overgrown cemetery.

Spike’s crypt.

It still amazed, annoyed, and confused her how badly she had missed him these past several days. After spending nearly two weeks as an invalid, first at her home and then at the Magic Box, the vampire had abruptly left without a word one evening. She hadn’t seen him since and now she was becoming worried, and worried that she was worrying so much. God, life used to be so much simpler when we were mortal enemies, she thought. Oh well, no sense in putting this off. And a one, and a two…

She pushed back the door to the crypt and walked brazenly forward into the gloom. There was really no sense in pussyfooting around with this. She was worried about him, she wanted to check up on him and that was all. She’d make sure that he was all right and then she would beat a hasty retreat. Right? As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room, she realized it was empty. Spike wasn’t home.

Relieved and disappointed at the same time, Buffy turned to leave when she heard a sound from somewhere deep in the bowels of the crypt. Oh right. Spike’s little underground lair. She’d nearly forgotten about it since the last time she had been here. The memory of Spike tying her and Drusilla up, then going off on them for ruining his life, was less than pleasant. Okay, do you really want to go through with this? He’s a vampire. Why are you still trying to play nursemaid to a monster who’s tried to kill you all several times, no matter how much good he's done?

Good questions all, and ones to which Buffy did not have answers. She’d come this far though and there wasn’t any point in coming back another time. Besides, Spike might actually need her help.

Easily finding the hole in concrete floor, she climbed the ladder down to the small cave that Spike used as a retreat. It was certainly different from the last time she had been here. There was now an ornate bed set up against the wall, as well as a nightstand with a glowing lava lamp. The one piece of furniture she noticed above the others, however, was the battered recliner sitting in the middle of the rough-hewn floor, the one that had once sat on the level above. The reason it figured so prominently of course, was the platinum blonde vampire sitting in it. Spike held a cigarette loosely in his left hand, and a bottle of bourbon tightly in his right.

Buffy stood there for a long moment, unnerved by his lack of acknowledgement. Finally, she worked up the nerve to say something.

“Spike? Are you all right? I haven’t heard from you in a while and...”

Her voice trailed off as she realized that he was not listening to her; just sitting there staring at the bottle in his hand. He looked well enough though, the burns had healed completely and there was virtually no scarring left on his perfect face. Oh, God, not this again, she thought to herself, trying to cleanse of her mind of thoughts she knew she should not be having.

Spike remained silent, but he took a quick drag of his cigarette and then crushed the butt against the arm of the recliner.

Buffy felt her irritation rise a bit as she realized that there was nothing wrong with him.

“So,” she began again. “It looks like you’ve made a full recovery.”

“Does it?” he replied in a voice entirely devoid of any emotion. “Well, good on me then.” He took a swig of the bourbon and continued to stare straight ahead, not bothering to look at her.

“Look, I came here to see you were all right…”

“I’m fine, luv. Cheers and thanks for the visit.” He took a pull from the bottle and went back to focusing on the cavern wall, which proved too much for Buffy’s already frayed nerves.

“Spike, what the hell is going on with you? Are you just going sit there on your ass, swilling booze all day?"

He shrugged almost imperceptibly. “”Certainly seems that way, don’t it?”

Buffy was angry now. After everything that had happened lately, with the danger that was still looming out there, threatening to bury them all, she needed a strong right hand. With Giles gone, and Willow...the way she was...a Spike in full control of his faculties was essential. Instead of what she needed, she got this pathetic lump.

"Spike, I don't know what your problem is but you need to get over it, and fast."

This time he did look at her. Setting the bourbon on the floor, he sat back in the chair and glared at her with those incredibly piercing blue eyes.

“Do I now? Is that a command, Slayer? Cause if it is, you didn’t bloody well use the royal ‘we.’ You didn’t even say ‘mother may I?’” The vampire giggled, and it became apparent to Buffy that he was almost completely drunk.

“Okay, I’ve just about had enough of this crap from you, Spike. I need you to…”

“Right you are then,” he snarled back at her. “There it is. You need, the Slayer needs, Buffy needs. What about Spike, huh? Did you ever think about my ruddy needs, you self-centered little bint? Did you ever once think about what you’re doing to me?”

“Doing what to you, exactly? Nursing you back to health? Feeding you cups of blood, to the point where I may never eat red meat again? Is that the terrible thing I’m doing to you, Spike? Taking care of you?” She was getting pissed off now, and hurt by his ingratitude.

“Oh yes,” he continued bitterly. “You’ve certainly taken care of me. You’ve turned me in a sodding eunuch, is what you’ve done.”

“How dare you blame me for that?” She fairly screamed at him “I didn’t put that chip in your brain. I took you in when nobody else wanted you. I made you a member of the team. Let you into my…”She balked at finishing the sentence but the word hung around her tongue like an angry ghost. Family.

“I’m not talking about that blasted chip. Sod the flaming chip!” He yelled back, gesturing towards his head with his index finger as an illustration. “This is about you, Buffy. I told you once that you were all I thought about. It’s truer now than it was then. I thought...” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before lashing out again. “You have no idea how much I missed you when you were…gone. No idea how hard it was for me to…to go on. I don’t think I’ve ever hurt that much in my whole miserable, sorry life. You were everything to me. And then, a miracle happened. We got you back; well, Red brought you back, and everything changed.”

He snorted in self-derision as he continued. “Only it didn’t, you see. I still don’t have you, and you want to know the real joke? I’m closer to you now than I’ve ever been, than I ever dreamed I could be, and I’m even further out in bloody Siberia!”

Shaken by his anger, Buffy nonetheless felt her own ire rise. “No way are you doing this, Spike. You are not blaming me for your feelings. You know how I feel about you. I’ve never given you any reason to think I loved you, and we both know that. Right?”

“No, of course not. The high and mighty Slayer would never lower herself to care about a piece of trash like me. I’m only good enough to do your dirty work. And you’re right, pet. I did know all that. I know it’s not your fault or your bloody problem. I just allowed myself to forget about it for a bit. Sorry, won’t happen again.”

He reached for the bottle again, but she kicked it out of his reach.

“Stop it! Stop wallowing in your own self pity and listen to me.”

“Why should I?” He sounded utterly defeated, in a way she had never heard before, not even that night in her kitchen. He didn’t even seem interested in yelling at her for spilling his precious Bourbon. “What’s left to say? I’m useless…to you and to myself. I can’t even do my job anymore. You know how that miserable trull managed to get her hooks into me? Because I was pining over you; over the fact that you don’t love me. I’ve become a walking joke among the rest of the vampires in this sewer. I just can’t do this anymore, Buffy luv. I’m too tired.”

“Tired of what, Spike?”

“You, me, this whole stupid game we play with each other. This sodding dance that we do,” he told her. “You want to know the truth? The absolute, unvarnished and thoroughly useless truth?”

“Can I stop you?” she asked through clenched teeth.

He flashed her a dazzling and deeply cynical smile. “With this much liquor in me, probably not. The fact is, I could handle it if you just told me to sod off like you did on Valentine’s Day. I’d miss the niblet terribly, but I suppose I could live without her, for a while at least. You know, I was getting to the point where I had a purpose again. Dawn needed me. Hell, even Giles and rest of those wankers depended on me. There were even days when I only thought about you a few hundred times or so.”

.‘Now you’re back, and I see you everywhere, all the time. I hear you and smell your scent wherever I go. You’re all over Dawn, Glinda, even Harris and his demon girl. I can feel you in my blood. It’s driving me bonkers, but that’s not the worst of it.”

Buffy, knew that she should turn and leave at this point but she found herself unable to move.

“Go ahead, Spike,” she seethed at him. “You know you’re dying to tell me your great truth.”

He smiled again, this time at her attempt at sarcasm. “Fine. The truth. The punch line to the biggest joke ever played on William the Bloody. The truth is that the woman I so desperately desire, the one I can’t live without and who says she doesn’t and can’t love me, wants me as much as I want her. More even, if the real truth be told. Isn’t that one for the books, pet?”

She should have expected something like this but he caught her flatfooted anyway. “Spike, we’ve already had this discussion. I admitted that I find you attractive…”

He cut her off with a snort. “Bollocks. Don’t try to pass this off as some sort of girlish infatuation; one you’ll grow out of in a few weeks. That might have worked before, but you’ve changed. I can sense it. You’re not the same person you were when you went off that tower.”

“What kind of lame crap is this? God, you really will say anything to get what you want. And you know what? I’ve had it! I’m tired of your mind games, Spike.” She sounded far too angry, even to herself. What was worse, she knew she wasn’t fooling the vampire.

“I told you Buffy. This is about you, far more than it is about me. What you want, what you need. I can smell it on you, more and more every day. The desire to shake loose all the rules of polite society and toss out your Chosen One obligations. You’re becoming more like me with each week. Chained by artificial forces that are becoming less binding by the moment. Every time you go out patrolling, your need to hunt and kill becomes that much stronger. So does your need to mate. You’re becoming less human, more primal. More like a demon.”

She felt a chill in the pit of her stomach as his words sank in. She couldn’t be that way. And yet…No, it’s all bullshit, she told herself. Some sick, twisted game that Spike was playing to push her towards him. Some stupid con game he had worked up to impress her with his cleverness. But in the back of her mind she heard a voice that she had thought long suppressed.

You think you know. What you are. What you will become. You haven’t even begun.

Buffy remembered Dracula’s words, and his bite vividly. In some ways, it had been more intense than forcing Angel to drink from her. That had been about her lover’s survival; Angel hadn’t wanted to do it and she knew that he hadn’t enjoyed it. The ugly truth of the matter though was that she had, completely and unreservedly. While she’d never felt anything resembling affection for Dracula, when he bit her, she had wanted him almost as much as she had wanted Angel. The way she wanted Spike now.

There it was. Spike was right, in that maddening way that he was usually right about her. She did want him. She wanted him so badly that she could almost taste him--a musk of stale cigarettes, flat whiskey, and lust that was driving her wild. It was getting harder and harder to think about anything but him. The fact that she didn’t love him and could never really trust him didn’t seem to matter at this moment.

She could tell he sensed her confusion and desire. The cocky grin that she adored and hated was back.

He rose from the chair and leaned in so close to her that she could smell his breath. “See now,” he whispered in her ear, “My girl knows I’m telling the truth.” She felt his tongue pushing a strand of hair off her ear as he began to nibble around the edge of her earlobe.

“I’m…I’m not your girl,” she said weakly, overcome with battling the heat rising slowly up from between her legs, threatening to overwhelm her.

“No?” He questioned her, his voice husky with alcohol and lust. “Why did you come here, Slayer? To tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story? To show me how much you missed me? Well then…show me.” He moved his tongue to her neck, working slowly and carefully down towards her nape.

“This...this is wrong,” she muttered, half to herself as his teeth scraped along her skin, setting her whole neck on fire.

“No argument from me, luv” he said soothingly. “I’ve known that since the beginning. It’s so bloody wrong it scares the hell out of me, and that’s saying something.” He was moving further south with his tongue, caressing her throat with it, while at the same time his hands found their way under her shirt and bra and onto her breasts before she could stop him.

Why, a voice screamed at her through the lust-induced fog that had settled over her consciousness, why are you letting him do this to you? He’s a monster!

She couldn’t seem to stop him, however. As his hands caressed her rapidly hardening nipples, she felt his tongue reach out and touch her lips. Lingering there for a few moments that lasted a tiny slice of eternity, it slowly found its way to her tongue, setting off an electrical charge of wanton lust deep in her core.

I’ve got to leave, she told herself, though her feet seemed welded to the cavern floor. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. It wasn’t until his hands reached her crotch and unbuttoned her jeans in a fluid motion though, that she gathered enough resolve to push him off her.

Still panting heavily, she wiped his saliva off her mouth with her sleeve as he watched her, his beautifully inhuman face glowing with exertion and desire.

“Leaving so soon, Slayer?” Spike husked at her, moving towards her seductively and seamlessly.

His movements weren’t threatening, though; just the opposite. They were altogether inviting. As she tried to make her way towards the ladder that lead to the upper level of the crypt, and safety, his hands shot out and grabbed her tiny waist. Very slowly, he pulled her back to him. Her body continued to give in to him, even as the diminishing voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to stop what she was doing in the name of everything decent she had ever believed in.

“Spike, please. Let me go,” she begged, even though her body was now betraying her by demanding that she submit to sheer carnal need.

The vampire merely smiled at her, a smile of victory that made his features even more inhuman. He had her now and they both knew it.

“Tell you what, pet,” he whispered in her ear as his hands slipped into her tight jeans and nearly soaking wet panties. “Make me.” He kissed her so hard that it seemed she would shatter.

When she finally came up for air, and found that same cocky victory grin on his face, she’d had enough.

She broke free of his tight grasp and shoved him hard towards the far wall. As he fell backwards, he landed on the bed, all cockiness and arrogance knocked temporarily out of him. Before he could sit up, she launched herself at him in a pure, cat-like pounce and landed on top of him.

He struggled briefly as she straddled his chest, until he realized that she was leaning in to kiss, not attack.

“Oh, I’ll make you,” she rasped at him after a fiercely passionate kiss, letting him tear off her shirt and bra with one hand. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you,” she told him, unzipping his jeans.

“Yeah, I know” he said, lost in a fog of lust and raw need. "That's half the bleedin’ fun, luv.”

Chapter Eight


"Sleeping With the Enemy"


Part One


Written by Phil


*


Buffy came awake very slowly, her head pounding as if she had been kicked repeatedly by a mule. Well, possibly a mule on steroids; really, really powerful steroids. After the terrific pain in her head, the next sensation she experienced was nausea, as the throbbing in her skull mixed with the smell of stale alcohol that hung all around her. It was all she could do from tossing the contents of her stomach all over the bed.

The bed. Spike’s bed. The bed where she had just spent the better part of the night and early morning…Oh My God. What have I done?

That, of course was the question, wasn’t it? Or more to the point, why? What could she have possibly thinking, although even as she formed the question a part of her was telling her exactly what she had been thinking and what with. No, she chided herself; I am not going to even think about that. Clothes. Clothes would be of the good right now.

Sitting up slowly, and not without some pain, she scanned the crypt cavern for her blouse and jeans, discovering that they were nowhere near the bed. The bra and panties were lost causes; she remembered that part of the evening’s lust-a-thon only too well. Chiding herself for being the biggest moron in Sunnydale, or at least the biggest since Harmony Kendall had left town, she slipped out from under the covers and grabbed the jeans from off the floor.

Harmony. Buffy hadn’t given the dumbest vampire in the history of the known universe a thought in a while, but now she couldn’t help it. Great, I’ve just screwed Harmony’s ex-boyfriend. What in the Hellmouth does that make me? She thought as she pulled the jeans on and attempted to zip them up, even as she remembered that Spike had torn off the top button with his teeth….

Such a good question, to quote Giles. Oh, great. Giles. She remembered what he had told her about staying away from Spike just before he had left. Was that only two months ago? It seemed like a lifetime. A lifetime that she had just managed to blow to hell in a few hours. Giles had been pissed off enough when she had gotten engaged to Spike that one time because of Willow’s wacky ‘My will be done’ spell. What was he going to say when he found out she was literally sleeping with enemy. Even as she thought that though, she realized she no longer really thought of Spike as the enemy. He was…, well there was no clear-cut way to describe Spike anymore in relation to her life, but he certainly wasn’t that anymore.

Okay, genius, so what is he then? The nagging voice in the back of her brain kept at her as she found her blouse lying on top of Spike’s recliner, the majority of the buttons torn from it as well. Other than the best lay of your entire, admittedly limited, sex life. Dammit. That was one place where she didn’t want to revisit again. And yet…

To say that the sex had been the most intense physical experience she had ever had was probably not too far from the truth. If someone were to ask her to describe it in one word, Buffy would have been forced to say volcanic, which would have made her die of sheer embarrassment in and of itself. It certainly hadn’t approached anything resembling the emotional purity of her one, perfect night with Angel. Nothing ever could. But on a purely primal overload level? In this case, she would have to use a favorite expression of Xander’s: ‘Zoiks and Jinkies.’

As she finished doing up the few remaining buttons on her virtually un-wearable blouse, she found her gaze being drawn back to the bed, and to the cause of the destruction of her wardrobe. He was lying on his back peacefully, appropriately sleeping the sleep of the dead. God, he really is beautiful, she thought to herself in what was getting to be a very bad habit.

A bad habit. Is that what Spike was to her? Something that she just couldn’t stay away from, no matter how bad she needed to. Yeah, that’s it. He’s bad for me, no matter how much I think I want him. This was a mistake, pure and simple. It will never happen again. I cut double mocha lattes out of my diet. I can do the same with platinum blonde vampires.

With that, the Slayer gathered up what was left of her badly shaken resolve and left the chamber, never looking back at Spike, who remained motionless on the bed. The dawn was just breaking as she emerged from the crypt, and she stopped just for a moment to marvel as the Sun sketched its morning patterns across the eastern sky. Taking a deep breath, Buffy shook off the doubts that were beginning to form in her mind and began the journey from the Kingdom of the Dead back to the land of the living.




**

It was well past 7:30 when Buffy walked through the front door, finally reaching the safety and comfort of her home. Not wanting to disturb Tara, she quietly crept upstairs to her room and quickly changed out of her ruined clothing. As she did, she couldn’t help but smelling Spike’s scent all over them, his cigarettes and bourbon in particular. That brought back memories that she didn’t want brought back. Putting on a sweatshirt and a faded pair of blue jeans, she decided to trash the old clothes later, when nobody was around to ask potentially embarrassing questions.

Heading back downstairs to the kitchen, Buff planned to get something to eat without making Tara aware of her presence, and the fact that she had been out all night, but her hopes were dashed as she discovered the witch sitting at the breakfast table, pouring over the contents of a large, leather-bound book. Tara didn’t acknowledge the Slayer’s presence as she entered the house, not even to look up as Buffy casually opened the refrigerator door, trying to pretend that she wasn’t desperately hungry. Sex had always given her a huge appetite. In fact, the better it was, the more ravenous she became. Riley had once joked that his ego got boosted every time she wanted to go out afterwards to eat a pancake breakfast at the I-HOP on Route 58. This morning she could have devoured the contents of several large French restaurants.

Quickly grabbing and peeling a banana off the top of the refrigerator, she gulped the fruit down in a couple of perfunctory bites, reveling in the taste. Deciding that she wanted something to drink, she took a few scoops from the coffee can and turned on the coffee maker. Noticing that Tara had still not acknowledged her presence, she tried to start up a conversation.

"Hey, Tara. You want a cup?"

"Ummm?" was the only response she got.

"Coffee. Do you want some?" she asked again, a little puzzled by the response. Tara was usually bright and chipper in the morning, a trait that Dawn never ceased to complain about. The again, the list of things that Dawn liked to complain about must be about three miles long by now.

"Uhh, yeah. I guess." The witch never pulled her eyes out of the book. Instead she continued to read, thoroughly engrossed, only stopping occasionally to turn the page, or make a brief note on the legal pad she had perched on her lap.

Buffy waited while the coffee finished, then poured it into two cups and sat down at the table across from her friend, offering her a mug. When Tara failed to respond, Buffy cleared her throat rather forcefully, which caused the other woman to look up at her for the first time since she had entered the kitchen.

Tara looked rough, as in "I’ve been wrestling live alligators all night armed only with a pocket knife’ rough. There were large purplish circles under her eyes that were threatening to turn into a particularly ugly shade of black. It was obvious that she hadn’t gotten any sleep the previous evening. Nodding silently, she took the mug from Buffy and proceeded to go back to what she had been doing.

Growing a bit concerned, Buffy scanned the cover of the volume in Tara’s hands, hoping to strike up a conversation.

‘The Origin and Mythology of Mind Control Spells," huh? A little light reading before bedtime? You may want to try something else next time though Tara cause you’ve totally missed it. That’s okay, though. I can pick Dawn up if you’re too…"

The rest of the sentence died on her lips as Tara looked back at her with haunted eyes. Buffy had seen her look hurt before, devastated even. She’d never seen her this…possessed.

"I can’t figure it out, Buffy. I’ve looked all night long and he’s not in here. There’s nothing in here about how he’s doing it." She sounded as if she had been pushed beyond the point of all reason.

"Okay, you’re going to have to slow down and run that by me again, because I didn’t get any of that. Who is doing what to who? And who is he?"

"Crispin." The name sounded like a curse on Tara’s lips. "He’s casting some kind of mind control spell on Willow. He’s the reason she’s been behaving the way she has. I thought I could find something on him at the Magic Box but this is the best reference that Anya could find and he’s just not in here."

"Tara," Buffy began carefully. "Are you sure that you really know what you’re saying? I know we’ve all had our doubts about him, but what you’re suggesting, is, well it’s…"

"Evil?" Tara replied coolly. "Trust me, Buffy. I know how demented I sound, but I’m not delusional and I’m not acting out of petty jealousy. He tried to cast some sort of spell on me yesterday. He’s incredibly powerful…and evil. I felt it. He has to be controlling Willow. It’s the only thing that makes any sense." She still sounded desperate, but Buffy could hear something else in her voice. Resolve.

She’s absolutely convinced of this, she thought. And to be fair, as far fetched as a powerful witch like Willow being led around by the nose seemed, the simple fact of the matter was that this was still the Hellmouth. Anything could happen here. Besides, Tara was convinced of it and if there was one thing that Buffy had learned in the past couple of years, it was that Tara’s instincts were usually right.

"All right," she said, making up her mind. "I believe you. You’re right, it would explain a lot of Willow’s weirdness lately. Do you have any idea at all how he’s able to do it? I mean, he’s got to be some kind of demon, right?"

"Maybe," Tara replied hesitantly. "Anya hadn’t heard of any demon species that practiced that kind of magic though. At least now the kind that would affect a witch as strong as Willow is. It’s very powerful magic, Buffy but it’s incredibly subtle too. I don’t think most demons could pull something like that off. I don’t know though. Anya and I are totally baffled by it."

"So you’ve discussed this with her and Xander already then?"

Tara shook her head. "Just Anya. She told me that I was grasping at straws because Willow had obviously outgrown the allure of lesbian chic and returned to worshipping at the altar of the penis, but she agreed to help me anyway. I think she’s starting to have her own doubts about Crispin too, though. She mentioned that Xander’s been suspicious as hell."

"Well, that’s Xander for you. Suspicion is his middle name. Actually, it’s really Lavelle, but I think we’re all agreed that suspicion sounds a lot better."

Tara smiled wanly at that, finally showing some signs of the inner beauty that Buffy knew she possessed in huge quantities. "So, if we all agree that something bad is going on, what do you want to do about it?"

Buffy folder her hands underneath her chin, mulling over her rather limited options. "Okay, I don’t see a lot of room to play with here. If you and Anya can’t get a handle on this guy, I only know one person who could.

"Giles, you mean."

Buffy nodded. "In the watcherly flesh. Or actually not… since he’s still in Merry Old England playing sleuth. We can work around it though. We’ll call him and get his advice. If there’s some record of this guy anywhere, Giles will know where it is."

"That makes sense," the witch agreed. "Do you want me to call him and let him know what’s going on?"

No, that’s all right. I think I’ll let Anya set it up for us. She keeps in better touch with him than I do these days, what with the store and all. You go get some rest and I’ll pick Dawn up this afternoon."

"Thanks. I really am beat. So, do you think Giles will have the answers we need?"

Buffy grimaced. "He’ll have to. I swear Tara; I don’t know what else could possibly go wrong. First we have these damn vampires from Hades running all over town and now we have this guy…"She stopped in mid-sentence as a small, nagging feeling that had been residing somewhere in the darkest corners of her brain suddenly pushed it’s way to the top of her thoughts. "Oh, crap."

"What?" Tara asked her worriedly.

"Damn it. I’m so stupid. It actually makes sense now." Buffy shook her head in amazement at her own obtuseness.

"Buffy, what are you talking about? What makes sense?"

"The gang that couldn’t bite straight. We’ve always known that they had somebody pretty powerful behind them. ‘What’s her teeth’ said as much the first time I met her and Spike’s sources all say the same thing. I think it’s safe to say that we’ve just figured out who their boss is."

Tara looked stunned at her friend’s turn of logic. "You’re right. That does make perfect sense. I don’t know why we didn’t make the connection before."

Buffy shrugged. "I’m not sure. Maybe Willow’s boyfriend is casting an idiot spell to go along with the mind control ones. If you stop and think about it though, it’s almost too obvious. Say you want to take over Sunnydale and you know that the only thing standing between you and it is us. What do you do you do? You go after the strongest member of the group and turn her to your side, while you keep the rest of us busy with los vampiros. "

"Divide and conquer, you mean," agreed Tara, catching on.

"Uh huh. And we fell for it, like a bunch of rookies. God, if I had known that being dead for five months was going to make me this rusty, I wouldn’t have bothered."

Tara snorted at Buffy’s attempt at gallows humor. "So, what do we do now that we know they are probably connected?"

"Nothing we can do right now, other than what we planned. We’ll talk to Giles tonight and lay out the sitch for him. Right now, you go to bed and get some sleep."

"Check. On my way to sleepsville, right now. Uhh, do you have any plans for the day?"

"Yeah, I’m going to eat breakfast. I’m absolutely starving," the Slayer replied as the witch turned to leave the kitchen. "Say Tara, you don’t happen to know where the pancake mix is, do you?"



***


It was just after 6:30 in the evening when the Scooby gang assembled in the training room of the Magic Box. Xander was the last one to file in, muttering apologies about having to work overtime to get a load-bearing wall put up. Not bothering to ask what that was, Buffy launched into Slayer mode.

"Okay, everybody knows what’s going on, right? That we think that Willow’s professor is putting some sort of whammy on her to make her act all Dark Phoenix?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah, I got the full scoop from Anya." He nodded at his fiancée’ who was busy hooking up a speakerphone. She smiled back at him but kept working. "I gotta say Buffy, that it sounds more logical than Anya’s power-mad bitca theory."

"Oh, I don’t know about that…" Dawn began but Buffy quickly cut her off.

"Dawn, it’s not the time for that right now."

The teen started to reply, saw the determined look on her older sister’s face and thought better of it. Instead she put on one her best pouty faces and shifted restlessly in her chair. After a few minutes, she looked around and asked.

"Hey, Buffy, how come Spike’s not here? I thought this was to be like this big Scooby war council thingie. You’re gonna need the Big Bad to help fight the big bad, right?"

"Umm, let’s just take this one step at a time," Buffy said, as calmly as she could, even though internally she was screaming: He’s not here because I am never going near him again! "This is research mode, not head knocking time. When we need him, I’ll let him, and you know. Okay, Dawnie?" Now, shut up and stop asking embarrassing questions you annoying little snit!

"Fine, whatever," and the girl lapsed back into her sullen routine, which for once, Buffy was grateful for. Tara, who had been sitting quietly next to Dawn reached out and patted her on the shoulder in sympathy, while giving Buffy a ‘take it easy‘ look.

"Hey Anya, how are we doing over there?" Buffy asked, trying to get her thoughts off a certain blonde vampire, and failing miserably at it. She had been brooding about walking out on him, and the reasons for it, all day. Now she was nearly a nervous wreck, at the one time she had to be on top of everything at once.

The ex-vengeance demon smiled triumphantly. "Got it. Whenever you’re ready, just say the word and you get instant conference call. You gotta love modern communications technology. It’s the cornerstone of the current dominance of the American capitalist system…"

"Just make the call," Buffy said through clenched teeth.

After what seemed a very long moment of endless ringing, there was a click at the other end of the line and a very tentative "Hello?"

"Giles?" Buffy asked, a combination of hope and relief sweeping through her at the sound of her watcher’s voice.

"Buffy? Is that you? Yes, it’s me. Err, how are you?"

Hoping she didn't sound too, well hopeless, she chuckled grimly. "Oh let’s see. Vampires running loose, heavy use of witchcraft, possible demon mind control and my living room still has a giant hole in it. By the way, we are never having another meeting at my house. Did I miss anything guys? Nope that’s about it." Best to leave the all night sex party with the soulless vampire off the table for the moment.

There was a brief pause at the end of the line for a moment, followed by a ‘Oh dear lord." There was a split second where she could have sworn she heard him cleaning his glasses.

At this point, Xander chose to speak up. "Hey G man. How’s it going in the land of stiff and upper lips? Eat any good blood puddings lately?"

The change from bewilderment to mild annoyance in Giles voice was evident as he replied "What a pleasure it is to hear your voice again, Xander. I’ve missed the constant ringing in my ears. I take it that everyone is there, then Buffy?"
"Yes, we are," Anya leapt in.

"Me too," added Dawn. "And Tara."

"Yes, and Tara," Anya agreed cheerfully. "We’re all here."

"Except Spike." Dawn again.

"Yes, except Spike." Anya agreed again, just as cheerfully.

"Ahh, yes, the marvels of modern technology. Bloody nuisance if you ask me." The frustration in Giles voice was palpable. "At any rate, I believe Buffy called this meeting for a specific purpose? I suggest we focus on the matter at hand." Translation: quit wasting my time with you childish blathering, you twits. God, how she had missed Giles.

"Yeah, good idea," she said, glad to have the conversation back on track. "Did Anya fill you in on what’s been going on Giles?"

"She did mention that you suspect that Willow is under some sort of mind control spell or device, yes. Tara, you believe that this McDermott fellow tried to use it on you, correct?"

Tara nodded, and then realizing that Giles couldn’t actually see her replied, "Yes."

"Did you see him make any specific gestures or hear any incantations?"

"No, I just felt this overwhelming urge to believe everything he was telling me. It was incredibly compelling. I’m not sure how I shook it off, exactly."

"Hmm," was the only response she received from the speaker.

"So, Giles, any clues as to what’s going on?" Buffy asked.

"Well, to be honest, Buffy, I’m not sure what to tell you. There are all sorts of creatures that use spells that can be used to influence the human mind. From what you tell me though, it doesn’t sound like Willow is being controlled outright. It seems to be far more subtle than that, and most demons that I am aware of with this kind of power, don’t possess the patience or the intellect to attempt it, particularly against a magical adept of Willow’s caliber."

That was not what Buffy wanted to hear. "So, what? You’re saying we don’t have any way to identify this guy? That’s not exactly helping me out, you know. You watcher’s are supposed to have all the answers, remember?"

"What I remember is that your lack of patience is as well developed as it ever was." He snapped back at her. The others shifted somewhat restlessly in their seats at the sound of irritation in his voice. "Now, let me see. Are you sure you’re telling me everything about Willow. Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary; besides her behavior?"

"Well…"Buffy began.

"Yes?"

"The last time I saw her she looked pretty bad. Umm, old I mean."

"Old?" was the reply.

"Yeah, she looked, oh well, at least forty-five. I thought she was just tired at the time so I didn’t say anything about it."

"Hmm."

"Would you stop ‘hmm’ing me, Giles? Do you have something or not?" She asked him, getting as irritated as he was.

"I’m not sure. I seem to recall reading something about this once when I was doing research on certain practitioners of the ancient black arts. It’s rather a fascinating topic really. I spent an entire summer just compiling texts from the Mesopotamian era…"

"As much as I would like to stroll down dusty memory lane with you, we’re kind of in a hurry," Buffy interjected, cutting him off in mid-ramble. "Do you have something for us nor not?"

"Err, possibly. I once read of an individual who could tap into a witch’s power source and bend her to his will or something along those lines. If I remember correctly the subsequent power drain does cause an effect that looks remarkably like premature aging. If this is what is going on, you’re probably not dealing with a demon."

"So, who and or what is this guy then?"

"It sounds like a warlock to me, an extremely old and powerful one, I’d wager. I don’t have a name for you off the top of my head though. Crispin McDermott isn’t ringing any bells, but then again if he really has been around a while, he’d hardly be likely to use his own name."

"So, what do we do?" she asked worriedly. "Go up to him and ask him which ancient evil warlock he is?"

"Hardly necessary," he replied. "Anya, are you still there?"

"Sure am, although I don’t think I know who he is either. There are several of the old warlocks still running around. I haven’t met them all." Anya told him.

"That’s quite all right, Anya. What I need for you to do is to go back into my private stock of research material and find a black, leather bound book. It will have "Tobin’s Guide to the Sorcerers" inscribed in Latin on the front. If our friend has been around a while, he may very well be in there."

"Okay, she agreed. "Tara you want to give me a hand. My Latin’s rather rusty."

"Sure," the witch replied, obviously glad to have something to do. She’d been even more quiet and withdrawn than usual since waking up this afternoon and Buffy remained worried about her emotional state. This thing with Willow was still taking a big toll on her

"Before you all go, I do need to stress something," Giles voice broke into Buffy’s consciousness. "If what you are dealing with is what I think it is, then you are all in a great deal of danger. It doesn’t help that Willow could be under his influence. You may be forced to take actions that go against, well…"

"You’re saying that we may have to fight Willow," Buffy finished for him, carefully noting the pained expression of Tara’s face as she did.

"I’m afraid that it’s a distinct possibility, yes." The watcher said wearily. "I think that it might be advisable to hold off any action until I can catch a flight back to California."

"No, we don’t have time for that," Buffy said determinedly. "This mess has been going too long as it is. I’ll tell you what we are going to do. We’re going to figure out who this guy is and what he’s up to…and then I am going to slay him. It’s that simple."

"Umm, Buffy, I hate to be a big buttinski here," Xander put in abruptly. "But what exactly do we do if Willow decides she doesn’t want you to, you know, kill her boyfriend to death?"

"He has a point, Buffy," Anya said. "She’s really powerful and since we’re working on the theory that he’s bending her to his will, you have to figure that he’s even more powerful than she is. We’re kind of outclassed in the magick department."

"In case you both didn’t noticed, we actually have a pretty strong witch of our own. Tara managed to drive off those vamps you know." Buffy replied, even though it was a concern that she had already considered herself.

"I also know that it made her sick for two days. Besides, we’re not talking about a bunch of vampires here. We’re talking about potentially taking on two very powerful practitioners of magick. More even, if that rat girl is in on it too…"

"Damn. I’d forgotten about Amy," Xander cut in. "She’s right, Buffy. I think we need to seriously rethink this whole thing."

Buffy shook her head vehemently. "No. We’re not going to back down. Not now. Something evil has Willow. Now is not the time to be wringing our hands and crying about how badly outnumbered we all are. In case you hadn’t noticed Xander, we are always outnumbered. We’re usually outclassed too. It’s never stopped us from winning in the end. Have you forgotten that we took on and beat a God this year? Or are you too busy agreeing with Anya to remember?"

"Yeah, I remember, " he said firmly. "I also remember the price we had to pay to do it. I think I speak for everyone here when I say I’m not prepared to go through that one more time. We lost you once. I don’t want to lose you again."

"And how about Willow? Are you prepared to lose her? Because if we sit on hands we just may…"she bit back angrily

"Has it ever occurred to you that we may already have?" He shot back at her. "Face it, Buffy. Willow’s changed. Even if we can figure out how what this guy is up to and show her how evil he is we may not be able to get through to her."

"Xander, how can you say that? Of course, we can get through to her. She’s still Willow. Come on guys, you all see that, right?" When nobody responded she found herself looking at the one person she could count on to agree with her. "Tara, you know I’m right."

Tara refused to meet her gaze. "I don’t know anymore, Buffy. I don’t know what I think or feel. It’s all just too…much."

"Buffy," Giles voice cut back into the conversation. "I think you should let Anya and Tara get started on their research. Perhaps Dawn and Xander will be able to give them a hand."

"But…" She started to protest, even as the others moved instinctively to obey Giles.

"Go ahead you lot, " her watcher reiterated firmly. "Buffy and I need to talk alone for a few minutes.

The rest of the group filed silently out of the training room, leaving a confused and shaken Slayer in their wake.

Disclaimer: The characters in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. We do own them and are not receiving any monetary compensation for the writing of this fanfic. It’s being written for our own pleasure and hopefully for the amusement of our fans, who we love dearly.

Rating: PG-13. Actually there’s nothing really graphic in this chapter, just a minor allusion to deviant sex acts, which unfortunately for you all, we’re not going into just yet .


Feedback: Also, if you want to correspond with us directly, please send any e-mail to BuffySpikeShiper@aol.com




Chapter 8


Sleeping With the Enemy


Part Two


Written by Phil




****


"Buffy, are you still there? "Giles asked her a moment or two later.

"Yeah, I am." She replied. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You, of course. How are you?"

"Uh, you asked me this already. I told you."

"No", he said somewhat crossly. "What you did was give me a list of everything that is going wrong in Sunnydale and I can assure you that I’d just as soon remain ignorant on that subject. What I want to know is how you are. How you’re getting on?"

"Gee, now’s a really peachy time to be asking that. It would have been a lot more timely if you had asked me that, say…before you left." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could take them back. It was a completely unfair accusation to make. On the other hand, it was how she felt.

"Buffy," and this time she knew she could hear him taking his glasses off. "Please sit down."

The tone in his voice suggested that asking him how he knew she wasn’t already sitting was probably not her best possible move so she sat.

"So," he repeated "How are you?"

She sighed deeply. "I don’t know, Giles. I really don’t anymore. Just when I think I have a handle on things, something else jumps out at me and everything goes haywire again. It’s like living on a giant emotional roller coaster and what’s worse? It never goes away. Every day just seems to get more and more confusing and frustrating…"

"How so?" He asked gently.

"Well, I mean, first you leave, which, okay, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with, but hey I was dealing, I guess. Then there’s the whole Willow mess, Dawn keeps wavering between trying to be a perfect kid sister and be a total pain in my butt, and on top of it all, I’ve got this psycho vampire bitch who likes to play with guns shooting my house up. But you want to know the worst part? Everybody keeps looking to me to figure out questions that I can barely understand, let alone answer. Sometimes it’s all I can do from screaming at them to leave me the Hell alone and go get their own lives. So you tell me, Giles. What am I supposed to do?"

Buffy hadn’t realized until that moment just how bitterly angry, lonely and frustrated she had been. Now that she thought about it though, yeah she really wished they would all go take a flying leap into the Pacific Ocean sometimes. They all seemed to need or want something from her and there was too much pressure to please them all and do the job she needed to do. It wasn’t just Dawn’s constant need to be mothered, although that remained her primary concern. Everyone wanted her to take the lead in ‘fixing’ Willow, but they all insisted on challenging her at every turn. Xander and Anya were beginning to really annoy her lately, and while she could understand Tara’s confusion, a part of her wished that the witch had been more supportive of her when Xander had challenged her about Willow. On top of all that there was always her relationship with Spike, if you could call it that. Oh, God I so don’t want to think about him right now.

"Buffy," Giles’ voice cut back into her thoughts. "I was being quite serious earlier. If you need me to be there, I’ll catch the first flight out of Heathrow. I could be in California in about a day or so."

That brought her up short. "What…Do you really mean that? Does that mean you’re done over there?"

There was a long pause. "Well, not exactly. I have managed to discover what happened to Sir Robert and we’ve managed to avert a major crisis within the council, but there needs to be considerable work done before things are truly right again. I’m afraid it’s all a terrible mess here, Buffy. That's all beside the point however. If you feel that I'm absolutely needed there, I will come back and help out. Do you need me there, Buffy?"

It was all she could do to keep from screaming: Of course I need you, you jerk! I've needed you since the moment you left me. She'd been waiting him to make this offer for months. The one thing she wanted more than anything else was for him to fly right back, hold her hand, and tell her everything was going to be all right. It's what he did. It's what he had always done for her, since they had first met. And yet, even as she readied herself to leap on his offer and plead with him to come back and take all of this weight off of her shoulders, she found herself hesitating.

This was really the first time she had ever been left alone in charge. After her mother had died, she’d had a lot of responsibility dumped on her but she’d had been able to lean on Giles and Willow during those last frantic weeks fighting against Glory. Now, Giles was gone and Willow was the problem and everyone was counting on her to make the right decisions and at the same time complaining when she did something they didn’t agree with. It was frustrating, annoying, and totally unfair. It was also the first time she had ever really felt like an adult, and as terrible as that feeling often was, it also made her feel more, well…complete.

So now she had a decision to make. The first choice was the safest. Tell Giles she needed him, have him drop the important work he was doing in England, and then sit back and let him shoulder most of the responsibility for dealing with Willow. She’d do most of the grunt work of course, but at the end of the day, she’d be relying on his judgement and his ability to make things seem less complicated. Or she could do what her mother had after the divorce. Take charge, make the decisions and deal with the consequences and the second-guessing that came with it. This was what she had feared all along, even before her ‘death.’ But…

You’re not a little girl anymore, she heard a voice in the back of her mind. You’re a woman now. Act like it. Well, she’d known this day was going to come eventually and like they said, why put off til tomorrow what you can do today. Well, okay it was a really lame way of putting it, but it was still true. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision.

"It’s okay, Giles. Really. I’ve got it covered this time, I think," she told him.

"You’re positive?" He sounded surprised, and just a little bit relieved. She wasn’t sure about how to take that.

"I’m sure," she said firmly. "The way I see it, I’m kind of the head of the family these days. I should probably start acting like it. You pretty much told me that after…after Mom died. I guess it’s just starting to sink in now."

"Buffy, I really don’t know what to say." She was certain she thought she could actually hear him start to tear up. "I mean, yes I do, actually. I’ve told you this before but I am immensely proud of you. Now, more so than ever."

"Gee, thanks dad," she replied wistfully. It did mean a lot to her though. Giles’ opinion of her always had. She continued just a little more softly. "We’ll be fine. No matter how far gone everybody thinks Willow is, she’s still Willow. I’ll...make that we’ll, get through to her and everything will be fine; just in time for Christmas. Uh, you’ll be able to make it back by then, won’t you?"

"Well, we’ll have to see, Buffy," her watcher replied. "I certainly hope so, at least for a week or two. In the meantime, is everything else under control? No problems?"

"Such as?"

"Umm, nothing in particular I suppose. I take it that Spike’s, umm feelings, haven’t been a concern?"

Buffy paused for a moment, trying to get her breath back and thanking her lucky stars that Giles couldn’t see the expression on her face, which she assumed made her look like a complete moron.

"Uh, yeah. Fine. No problems. Got it completely under control. You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about there." Okay, end of conversation now, please.

Thankfully, Giles didn’t seem to want to press the conversation in Spike’s direction any further. "Good. I suppose I should let you get back to your research. You’ll keep me informed, if you need my help though. The offer is still open, you know."

Buffy smiled to herself. "I know it is, Giles and I appreciate it. I really do. I’ll have Anya give you a call once we find out exactly what’s going on here and give you all the juicy details, okay?"

That seemed to satisfy him. " Well, then. Good luck and good hunting. Give everyone my best. And, Buffy, do take care of yourself."

"I will. Bye Giles." With that, the phone clicked off. He had hung up.

That didn’t go too badly, she thought, at about the same time she felt her knees starting to buckle. Damn, why do I feel so exhausted after a lousy phone call? Feeling a sudden need for some fresh air, she walked to the back door of the training room that led out to the alley behind the Magic Box.

It was a typically beautiful California evening in December. Clear and cool, but certainly not cold. Taking a deep breath, she felt the air rushing into her lungs, calming and steadying her for the long night’s work ahead. As she stood there, staring at the stars and contemplating her next move, she suddenly became aware of the combined smells of burning tar and tobacco.

"Hello pet, " a very familiar voice said behind her. "Out taking an evening stroll?"




*****

"Hello, Spike," she said carefully, turning to face the vampire who had taken her totally by surprise. "What are you doing here?" Of course, she knew the answer to that one, but hey, what else was she going to say? It was obvious that he wanted to talk, and what he wanted to talk about.

"Out of cigarettes. Figured I could bum one off of one of the Scoobies. They’re usually gullible enough," he stated breezily. Underneath it though she could sense uneasiness in his voice. God, am I starting to know him that well?

"Right, because the fact that none of them even smoke never occurred to you?" she replied shortly.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Is that so? One less reason to bother with them, I suppose." With that, he reached into his pocket and dug out a near empty package of cigarettes. Removing the last one and lighting it in a single fluid movement, he brought it to his lips and took a pull.

Buffy felt her blood begin to do a slow boil, whether out of frustration, annoyance or plan old down and dirty lust, she really couldn’t tell. All she knew was she didn’t have any time for distractions, and when it came down to it, there wasn’t anything more distracting than Spike.

"What do you want, Spike?" She finally asked in a weary voice. There, it was out. The lead in question to a series of answers she knew she wasn’t ready to hear. Not now. Not here.

"I dunno, luv. What does any vampire want? Nice, cozy tomb with a view. Hot and cold running blood on tap."

"I don’t have time for this," she snapped at him and turned towards the doorway.

"Buffy…wait."

Even though she knew better, Buffy found herself turning around to face him again. I guess I owe him this much, she thought.

"You weren’t there when I woke up this morning," he said tentatively. If she hadn’t known better she’d have thought that he sounded exactly like a teenaged boy asking for his first date. "I was hoping that we could have talked a bit. You know, about…things."

Oh God, the morning after talk. The one that only girls are supposed to want. "Spike, this really isn’t the time for this. We’ve got a serious situation here."

He chuckled at that. "Oh, I’d say that was putting it mildly, Slayer. What I want to know is what we’re going to do about it. In the future, that is."

"Future? What future?"

"What are you purposely trying to be daft, girl? I’m talking about our future together. You and me. You know…us." The hope in his voice was almost tangible and it pained her a lot more than she would have thought or cared to admit.

"Spike,’ she began as gently as she could "There is no us. There never will be. Last night, was…last night, and there’s nothing more to be said. It’s done."

"Just like that?" The vampire asked incredulously. "One minute you’re telling me to hold on to you forever and the next it’s ‘wham, blur, thank you sir? Sorry pet, but I don’t accept that."

"You’re going to have to accept it Spike, because that’s the way it is. I’m not going to take back last night. It happened, and it was…special to me. I do want you to know that." She paused as the memories began to creep back, threatening to break her resolve. "But it’s not going go any further than it has already. It’s over Spike. I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t, but this, this thing between us can’t happen anymore. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place."

"Why? Why do you keep pushing me away when we both know you want this as much as I do." The panic in his voice reminded her of their conversation in her kitchen all those weeks ago. God, so much had changed since then between them and at the same time she knew it really hadn’t.

"Maybe, I do," she replied quietly. "But we also both know that I’m the Slayer. I can’t be involved with you because… because it’s wrong; and that’s something we both know too. Just because you can ignore that fact, it doesn’t mean I can."

"Right," he snapped back at her. "Because I’m a monster and I don’t know right from wrong." The desperation in his voice was giving way to anger.

"Look, Spike. It’s more complicated than that. It’s…"

"Save it, Slayer. It’s really not complicated at all. In fact, it’s bloody simple. I’ll admit it’s taken a while to sink into my noggin, what with you changing your mind every minute, but I guess it’s about time that I faced the truth about you."

"What truth?" She asked him, growing more irritated the longer the conversation continued.

"You’re afraid. You’re afraid to be with me because if you were, then you’d run the risk of actually being happy for once in your life, and we couldn’t have that now, could we?"

Buffy scowled at him."Oh, great. More Buffy psychoanalysis from the undead guy. You know what, Dr. Spock? Just save it. I’ve got a job to do here, in case you hadn’t noticed. In fact, I’m right in the middle of figuring out what’s going on with Willow so the last thing I need is an argument with you about how screwed up I am."

That brought him up short. "What’s that about Willow?"

"Oh, that’s right. You haven’t heard," she told him. "We think that Willow’s lit professor, you know that Crispin guy, is some kind of warlock. Giles and Tara think he may be casting a mind control spell or something on her."

"Might explain a few things, I suppose," Spike responded, sounding thoughtful for a change. "Can’t say as I’m surprised, though. I’ve thought there was something off about that bog trotting Irish prat since he came into the picture. So, you’ve been in contact with old Rupert, eh?"

She nodded, rather grateful to have had the previous topic of conversation dropped.

"Tell him about our little shagfest last night did you?" When she just glared at him, he smiled wanly. "Thought not." He shrugged. "Well, it’s not like I didn’t see this coming, is it?" He added bitterly.

Although she remained adamant about ending their relationship, if that’s what you wanted to call it, there was a fairly decent sized chunk of her that regretted the necessity of it. If she was truthful with herself, she had to admit that he had already become a much bigger part of her life than she ever could have imagined when she had first met him. She’d known that it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d never thought it would hurt this damned much.

Any further contemplation of her extremely messy and overcomplicated love life was interrupted by the sound of the back door to the Magic Box opening. Buffy turned to see her sister’s head pop out of the doorway.

"Hey, Buffy. Who’re you talking to?" Dawn asked.

"What? I was talking to…"She managed to get out as she turned back into the alley, only to find that she was now the only one in it. Buffy experienced a brief feeling of longing and abandonment as she realized that the vampire had vanished, but she shook it off. After all, it was probably for the best.

"No one," she told the girl. "I was just out getting some fresh air. What’s up?"

"Xander told me to get you. He said he’s found something you should see."

"Yeah, okay," Buffy replied. "It’s getting chilly out here anyway."

With that, the two young women headed back into the warmth and safety of the building, neither one of them giving the now abandoned alleyway so much as a backwards glance.



******

Buffy found the others in the front part of the building, Xander and Anya each hunched over a small pile of reference books and Tara standing over Xander’s shoulder.

"What’ve you got, guys?" she asked, actually somewhat grateful to have her mind back on the problem at hand.

"I’m not sure yet, Buff," he replied. "There wasn’t too much in that book Giles told us about but I did get the names of some other sources. This one is about legends of Irish magicians in the 18th and 19th centuries."

"I guess I must have missed that one when I was in college," Buffy said wryly. "Is there anything in there we can use?"

"Well," Tara broke in. "There is something in this chapter about an Irish priest who was accused of practicing witchcraft in 1748. Uh, let’s see. Father Patrick Duffy of Templecrone, county Donegal was reputed to be casting ‘dark magicks’ affecting the minds of young women in the parish, causing them to have grave discourse with the devil…"

"Gotta love those catholic school girls." Xander jumped in. "I think the girls at Sunnydale High would only go as far as to have grave discourse with the swim team, which, okay isn’t too far off. But I think Tara may have something," he added, quickly getting back on point after the withering looks he got from the four females in the room.

"Yeah, that kind of sounds like our guy." Buffy agreed. "Do we have any idea what this Father what’shisname looked like?"

Xander shook his head. "Not in this one. We’ve still got a couple of these books to go through though. It may take a while, Buffy."

"We don’t have a while, Xander. Willow’s in trouble now, " Buffy told him, perhaps a bit more strongly than she would under normal conditions. The sense of impending doom she’d had all day was rising though, and it was becoming more difficult to get a lid on it. Still, she was the Slayer and it was her job to stay calm, even in times like these. Especially in times like these. "It’s okay," she went on a little more calmly. "I know you guys are doing your best. We just have to focus and figure this out."

"We’re trying, Buffy. Honestly." Anya pushed back a book that she had been searching through. "This isn’t easy work however, and Xander’s right. It’s going to take time, and well, to be perfectly blunt about it, it’s not like you have your nose in a book like the rest of us."

Before Buffy had time to compose a retort to the ex-vengeance demon’s barb, the bell to the front door rang and in walked Amy Madison. It has been a few weeks since Buffy had seen the witch-turned rat-turned witch again and the changes were noticeable. She looked tired and haggard, and above all…scared.

"Uh, hello Amy" she said, trying to get over her surprise as quickly as she could. "I’m sorry but the store’s closed right now. We’re kind of in the middle of something…"

The witch shook her head. "I’m not here on a shopping trip, Buffy. I need to talk to you. About Willow. It’s kind of urgent," she added nervously as Tara and Dawn joined them at the front of the store.

"Sure thing. Umm, you remember my sister, Dawn right? And don’t think you’ve met Tara. "

"Ahh, not officially," Amy said, apparently dropping her guard ever so slightly. "I’ve seen you around. And oh, hey Dawn. Jeez, you got big, didn’t you?"

"Yeah, anyway you wanted to talk about Willow?" Buffy wasn’t particularly interested in keeping the small talk going right now. "Did she send you. Does she know you’re here?"

"God, I hope not." Amy regained the frightened expression that had started to slip a moment ago. "She’d probably skin me alive if she knew that I was here. And no, I’m not exaggerating," she added as she saw Buffy’s bemused expression. "She’s totally out her control, and I think she’s losing her mind."

Glancing briefly at Tara, Buffy took in the other woman’s concern. "Are you sure it’s that bad, Amy. I mean, we know something’s up with her, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it." She stopped just short of telling her what they knew about Crispin. No point in tipping her hand just yet if Amy was acting as a spy for the others.

"Yes, it’s that bad," the witch responded in an exasperated voice. "Look Buffy, I know we haven’t been in touch lately, what with me being a rat for three years and all, and we were never really all that close but please trust me on this. I’m not the enemy here and I don’t think that underneath it all, Willow is either. I think it’s him." It wasn’t hard to notice that her voice had dropped almost to a whisper as she finished.

"Go on" Buffy told her. "Tell us."

Amy continued. "She was casting magic all the time. For everything. I told her she was using too much, but it was almost like she was addicted to it or something. When I tried to get him to help me stop her he just laughed and said it was none of my business and I ‘shouldn’t worry my pretty little head’ about it. Then, about two days ago she collapsed. Now, it’s almost like she’s in a trance most of the time. The only time that she ever snaps out of it is when he wants her to…"She stopped, blushing furiously.

Buffy, realizing what she meant and seeing the stricken look on Tara’s face turned to her sister. "Dawn, I need you to go help Xander and Anya, okay?"

Dawn started to say something and then seeing the looks on their faces, nodded grimly and obeyed the older girl’s command.

"H-how, how bad is it? "Tara asked, once Dawn had moved out of earshot.

Amy shot Buffy a questioning look and, on getting an affirmative nod from the Slayer, continued her story. "I can’t, I won’t go into too much detail. The things he says to her and makes her do. It’s…"She shuddered visibly. "They always send me to my room when they’re going to, you know, but I hear things and it’s killing her, Buffy. She never says anything when it’s over but I can tell. He’s destroying her, one piece at a time. And he’s enjoying it."

She was nearly on the verge of tears and she looked utterly alone. It was Tara, with tears already in her own eyes, who reached out to her first. Taking the other witch’s hands in her own, she said, "It’s okay, Amy. You’re with us now, with friends. Willow’s strong too. I don’t care how much power he’s got, underneath it all, she’s really strong. She’ll survive it. We just have to help her and be strong too. Okay?"

Buffy, marveling at how much courage her friend had shown by reaching out to somebody she barely knew in the middle of her own despair, was about to add her words of comfort when she caught the sound of Xander’s voice.

"Uh, guys, I think you need to see this."

Buffy turned and started walking towards the table, followed closely by Tara and Amy. "Do you have something? Do you know who he is?"

Anya pushed the book she had been reading towards her. "Yes, we think so.

"And?" Buffy asked, suddenly dreading the answer.

Xander sighed. "Put it this way. I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat."

Rating: PG-13/15. Some viewer discretion is advised the chapter contains a mention of at least one sexual act that was outlawed in several southern states until a recent supreme court decision. For you non-US readers-never mind ;-)

Feedback: Please. All reviews are welcome. Even flames will be considered.

Author’s Note: Well, well. After seven months and a whole lot of soul searching later, chapter nine is now finished. I can’t apologize enough to those faithful who stuck with us all this time. Special thanks to our editor Linne, aka the Red Pen Goddess for taking the time to correct the apparently numerous errors in the chapter. There will be two more chapters, hopefully being added no later than the end of January. Obviously there are no spoilers for either seasons six or seven, since this is an alternate season six. We won’t go into whether or not it is a better telling of the television seasons here. I’ll let each reader decide for his or her self.







Chapter Nine

Season of the Witch

Written by Phil and Jules

*

“So, what exactly are we supposed to be looking at, Xander?” Buffy asked as she craned her head, trying to see past Anya’s shoulder.
“Hang on a sec, Buff. I had it here a minute ago. Okay, here it is,” Xander mumbled as he pushed the book forward so everyone could get a better view of it.
“Hmm, is this the part you mean?” Anya asked him curiously. “The sorcerer known only to the people of Roscommon as dubhthlach…”
“What in the heck does that mean?” Dawn cut in.
“The Dark One. It’s old high Gaelic.” Tara explained to her. As everyone turned to look incredulously at her, she blushed and muttered something about getting a life.
“Anyway,” Anya continued huffily, “he was often known to consort with demons and devils...pffft. As if there were actually such a thing as a devil. I swear I don’t know who researched this thing but…”
“Anya,” Buffy was hardly in the mood for one of the ex-demon’s tirades.
“But,” Anya continued unfazed, “It says that he consorted with several powerful lords of the netherworld, real heavyweights in fact. Let’s see, ‘the chieftest being Lord Tigranus of Malthus, who wast his patron...Oh Hell! And I mean that literally by the way.” she added as they all stared at her in confusion.
“So who is this Tigger that’s got you so spooked?”
“Well, it’s not so much who he is as what he is, Buffy” Anya told her. “The Malthusians are an ancient and incredibly powerful order of demons who usually serve in the armies of the underworld as generals and advisers to the Overlords of the demon realms.”
“Overlords?” Xander questioned her.
“Oh you know-the greatest of all the Ultimate Dark Powers in the known Universe, beings like…”
“Hell Gods.” Buffy finished for her quietly. “She means these things work for Hell Gods. Right?”
Anya nodded. “Among other things. Some of them much worse.” They all shuddered a bit internally at that.
“So does this mean that Crispin is working for someone else?” Tara inquired. The ex-demon shook her head. “Oh, not necessarily. In fact, as far as I know, most of the Malthusians were wiped out a few centuries ago. I’d be far more worried that Crispin or Father Duffy or whatever his real name is, at the moment if I were you. From what it says here, Giles pretty much called it. He’s a warlock of the first order-centuries old, with a special talent for mind control spells. His favorite target appears to be witches-the more powerful and arrogant the witch, the better he likes it. I guess he flatters their egos first, and once he gets his hooks into them, he drains them of their supernatural power over a period of time. Willow must have seemed like an all-you-can-eat Jewish buffet to him.”
“And he’s still at the dessert cart,” Xander muttered angrily.
“Well, I guess it’s time we go pay Professor Snape a visit and feed him to a troll or something.” Dawn, who appeared to be just as pissed off as Xander, added.
“Are you nuts?” Anya snapped at her. “Don’t you get it? It’s not just him we have deal with. He’s got Willow pretty much under his control right now, if he’s keeping to his usual schedule. Either one of them alone is enough to kick our collective asses. Both of them combined, and a small army of vampires behind them? We’re outclassed here, people.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it, Anya,” Tara said in a quiet voice. “And she’s right. We have to stop him now. Willow can’t survive much more of this. He’ll kill her. We’ve got to…”Her voice trailed off as the immense danger that Willow was in overwhelmed her sense of composure.
“Tara,” Xander responded as gently as he could. “We all understand what you’re going though and believe me, we all want this guy stopped as badly as you do, but Anya has a very good point…again. There’s a lot we don’t know about him still, including how to beat him. We’re not ready to take them all on, yet.”
“Then we get ready,” Buffy cut him off with a tone that was tempered with pure steel. “We don’t have all the information we need to fight him at his own game? Then we get some. And we start right now. We’re already too far behind in this fight and I’m not going to waste any more time sitting around waiting for him to make his next move.”
She paused for a second to focus her thoughts as the others stared at her. “Okay, the first thing I need to know is what’s in our arsenal,” sounding for all the world like a general taking stock of a coming battle. “Amy, I know you haven’t been back with us very long but we are going to need your help, and it might not be pleasant. Are you up to it?”
Amy looked at her for a very long moment and then nodded.
“Good. You’re our eyes and ears in the enemy camp right now. I need you to go back and pretend like nothing’s happened. As far as Crispin knows, we haven’t figured out his little game yet and I want to keep it that way. It’s probably the only advantage we’ve got. Just make sure you don’t give him any sign that we know what he’s up to.”
The witch nodded again and Buffy turned to Anya, Xander and Dawn. “All right, you guys are my research team. I need you all to keep hitting the books. Tear the shop apart, hell the whole town, if you have to, but I want to know everything there is to know about that bastard.”
Not bothering to wait to acknowledge their acceptance of her orders, Buffy turned her attention to the last member of the group.
“Tara, I know how hard this has been for you, but I need you to be strong. With Willow gone, you’re the biggest gun we’ve got and trust me, I’m going to be pointing you at Crispin as often as possible. This whole thing hinges on you, you know, and I have to be sure you can face the possibility that we might have to fight Willow if we can’t get her away from him. Okay?”
Tara looked straight at the Slayer and nodded far more vigorously than Amy had. “I understand what needs to be done, Buffy.”
“Good. Then we’re all agreed. This is how it’s going to have to be…”
“Wait a minute,” Dawn said breaking into her older sister’s sentence. “Shouldn’t somebody go get Spike? Isn’t he going to need to know what to do.”
“Just let me worry about Spike, okay Dawnie?” Buffy replied curtly. “He’ll know what he needs to know, when he needs to know it. Now, everybody better get comfortable. We’ve got a lot of stuff to go over tonight…”
“Should I put on a pot of coffee, Buffy?” Anya inquired.
“Tell you what, Anya. Why don’t you make three?”
And with that, the Slayer began to lay out her plans to the gang.


**

Crispin looked up from the ancient Babylonian text he had been studying for the past few hours and rubbed his throbbing temples. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have bothered doing his own research (he had always hated studying) but time was currently of the essence and he didn’t trust anyone else with the knowledge of what he and his patron were attempting. The Rosenberg girl certainly had the ability and research background but the less she knew the better, and he needed her to reserve her energies for what he had planned later.
Now that was a subject he could bear not thinking about. God, but he was sick and tired of her constant whining. Of course he had been seducing and corrupting witches for well, centuries and had dealt with a lot of annoying women, but this one was emotionally weaker than most. She needed constant assurance that she was still pretty, that he still loved; the list of disgusting little ‘nothings’ he had been forced to whisper into her rapidly aging ears was nearly endless. Not that there weren’t some fringe benefits involved. He had to admit that she was fairly entertaining in bed, and her appetites were nearly as inexhaustible as his were. Still, even a good thing palled after a while and he was more than ready to move on to the next stage of the plan.
The sound of clattering in the living room of the campus apartment he currently shared with the red-haired witch momentarily aroused him from his thoughts. It was a little early for Willow to be up, considering how thoroughly he had put her through her paces last night. Little bitch definitely has staying power, I’ll give her that.
“What, up so soon my pet?” He asked lecherously. “You’re not ready for another go around are you?”
“Umm, it’s just me,’ came the meek reply, as Amy Madison stuck her head around the corner. “I was just going to go out for some, umm, coffee.”
“Don’t we have any more in the ice-box?” He inquired, in a much less seductive tone.
“Umm, yeah, I guess so but I was kind of in the mood for a Starbucks. I was just going to go out for a few hours. That’s okay, isn’t it?” When the warlock casually dismissed her with a wave of his hand, she nearly fell over herself rushing for the door.
Crispin shook his head as he watched Amy leave. The blonde witch’s mousy ways were an increasing source of irritation to him. Wherever he turned these days he seemed to find her lurking furtively just at arm’s length. It had occurred to him very briefly that she might be snooping around but he dismissed the idea as ludicrous. The stupid girl lacked even the weakest of backbones, and was incapable of doing anything that required courage. She’d never dare challenge him openly or otherwise.
In fact, of late he had been contemplating disposing of her altogether. He had agreed to suffer her presence in the first place only because Willow had begged him ceaselessly for the blonde’s company, and she had a calming effect on the temperamental redhead. Of course, added to this was the fact that she was physically attractive and a reasonably powerful witch in her own right, although certainly not in Willow’s league or even that of Willow’s ex-lover. Compared to either one of them, Madison wouldn’t make much more than a tasty snack. But she remained a potential source of energy, should his current target slip beyond his grasp.
Tara MacClay. Now there was a name that was constantly in his thoughts these days. It had been nearly 48 hours since he had attempted to gain control of her mind and the fact that she had not yet presented herself to him was a bit disconcerting. Although he sensed that she was tempted, he couldn’t be sure that the spell had worked, and that was unusual.
The warlock’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud pounding at the door. Smiling to himself, he gracefully rose from his chair and walked very slowly and deliberately to entrance of the apartment. He knew who it was of course and was fully intent on enjoying the situation. He was rewarded a few moments later with continued pounding punctuated by a shrill voice.
“Open up, you arrogant bastard. I know you’re in there, damn you!”
Slowly opening the door, he was greeted by a scowling Clarissa and her two of her henchvamps.
“It’s about time,” she snarled at him. “Believe me when I tell you I’ve got more important things to do than stand around in this crummy hallway all morning.”
“Your personal calendar is no concern of mine whatsoever,’ he replied acidly. “And you’re late. I summoned you hours ago. How did you get up here anyway? It’s light out.
Bristling at the thought of being summoned by him, she shot back through clenched teeth, “We used the tunnels and got in through the boiler room. How else do you think we move around in this pit of a town, you blithering idiot? Now let us in, before you regret it, buster.”
“I think not,” he sneered at her. “I’ll let the lady of the house do it.” Turning to the bedroom, he called out loudly, ”Come out here for a bit, my dear. We have guests.”
The three vampires fumed while they were kept waiting as they watched a pale and haggard looking woman, who appeared to be in her early 50’s, emerge slowly from the bedroom. She stopped for a moment to stare at Clarissa and the vampire could smell her fear, suspicion…and jealousy.
Sensing her hesitation, Crispin nodded his head in the vampire’s direction. “It’s all right Willow, he said soothingly. “They won’t hurt you while I am around to protect you. They work for me. Invite them in.” Turning his back perfunctorily, the warlock sat down on the couch in the small living room
Willow muttered a forced invitation to the vamps and quickly sat down next to Crispin.
Recovering some of her composure, Clarissa swept in and glared at them both. “Well, well. Mr. and Mrs. Warlock at home. How charmingly domestic you look. Are you and your mother enjoying the Holiday season?”
“Spare me your feeble attempts at witticisms, you ignorant, blood sucking trollop. Oh and don’t sit down. You won’t be staying,” Crispin told her as the vampire started to glide towards the easy chair next to the couch.
“Fine, whatever. Make it fast then, Skippy. I’m a busy woman. I’ve got places to go…people to kill.”
“Yes, you do, but you don’t seem to be very efficient about it, do you?”
“Bite me, you misogynistic twerp. How I run my gang is my own business.” Clarissa snorted.
“Not when you’re taking orders from Lord Tigranus, it’s not. He’s not happy with your repeated failures and foot-dragging with regard to the Slayer.” Crispin couldn’t fail to notice that Willow stiffened a bit at the mention of her former friend.
“Hey, he’s the one who told me to lay off her for a while. I’m only following his orders”
“Fine, then. You can follow these. You’re to take the kid gloves off and go after her people with full force. They have a place they use as a sort of headquarters; a shop called the “Magic Box.” You know it?”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “It’s uptown in the business district. I do have a question for you though, your magnificence.”
“Which is?”
“What the hell am I supposed to do about that damned witch of theirs?”
Crispin smiled sweetly at her, cherishing the look of frustration on her face. “I would think the answer would be obvious to even an intellect as lacking as yours. To beat a witch, you send a more powerful witch against her.”
Willow, who had been sitting quietly all this time, rubbing up against Crispin and attempting with limited success to nibble on his earlobe, suddenly found herself the target of intense scrutiny by three sets of demonic eyes.
“Hmm,” Clarissa mused. “Might work. But then again, how much juice does the old girl have left in her? Looks to me like you’ve been snacking a lot. And how exactly do I know she’ll listen to me? Aren’t those pests supposed to be friends of hers? You sure you have her under control?”
“Shut up,” Crispin hissed at her. “You’ll do what you’re told… and so will she. Won’t you, my dear? He said in a much sweeter tone to the witch.
As Willow nodded silently, the warlock began running his fingers through her hair.
“That’s right, love. You be a good little girl and go along with my friend Clarissa and back her up if she gets into any trouble. But before you go, I want you to do me a little favor. Stand up.”
As Willow got up off the couch, Crispin leaned back and spread his arms out along the top of it.
“Now, get down on your knees,” he ordered her.
She dropped down in front of him and he smiled wickedly at Clarissa again.
“I think you know what to do, pet.” When she hesitated, he grabbed her hair at the back of her head and forced her forward.
Gulping audibly, the witch lowered her head and began to service her master, as the three smirking vampires watched her humiliation with obvious amusement.



***


Spike had a bad habit of muttering to himself when he was alone. Never comfortable with total silence, he tended to talk more the longer he spent without company. This particular moment was one of those times.
“I must be bloody well out of my mind. I’m not a soddin’ bloodhound.’
The thing of it was though that, for all intents and purposes, a bloodhound was exactly what he currently was. Almost literally, in fact.
He had been trailing his quarry for nearly three hours, ever since shortly after sunset, and the smell of fresh blood from their kills was still thick in his nostrils. He’d actually watched them kill the last one, a loud speaking and overweight delivery driver who couldn’t believe his luck when he had been propositioned by two pretty and scantily dressed blonde women, one of them still a teenager.
“Not so lucky after all, were you, mate?” Spike had muttered over the corpse, whose jugular vein had been sliced open with a solitary fingernail.
The two had certainly been busy little vampires. Now, fully fed and feeling the afterglow of their meals, they ambled slowly down the street, paying no attention to the rooftops or the shadowy leather clad figure that lurked above them dogging their every step but making no move to interfere with their activities.
He supposed he would get an earful from her if she ever found out that he had blithely hung back in the shadows while they ruthlessly killed three people without lifting a finger to stop it, but that would have to be her damned problem. That was the matter with her, well one of many things; she could never keep sight of the big picture, could she? What exactly was the point of shedding a solitary tear over some poor bastards that wouldn’t have shed one over her, even if they had known about all of the sacrifices she had made for them over the years?
“Stupid, bloody, pigheaded woman” he muttered again, this time a bit too loudly.
The older female stopped in her tracks for a moment and shushed the girl, who had been singing some god-awful Michael Jackson tune. Spike instantly flattened himself against a nearby chimney and hoped that they were too drowsy from eating to notice him. His hopes were rewarded as the older one sniffed the air for a few moments and then shrugged. The younger one, the girl who had been with Dawn on Halloween, whispered into her ear suggestively and ran her fingers across the other’s nearly exposed bosom. Giggling, the two continued to saunter almost drunkenly down the street.
That’s right, you stupid bints. Take me to your leader. Spike’s mood had been getting steadily worse since his confrontation with Buffy behind the Magic Box and right now he was in the mood to rip somebody’s head off and he wasn’t very particular about whose head it would be. As he followed his quarry towards the center of town and out through the main part of the business district, he continued to stew over his problems with the Slayer.
“She’s driving me bloody bonkers, she is,” he muttered out loud again. This time the two females were far enough ahead of him not to notice. “If she keeps blowing hot and cold like this, I’m going to need to be fitted for a straightjacket.”
He had to admit that she had done a masterful job of completely confusing him. Just when he thought he’d never see her again, she nearly screwed him to death, and now she can’t get involved with him? What, she thought he was just going to gamely submit to her wishes and disappear into the ether?
Not bloody likely sweetheart.
Spike suddenly stopped as he came upon an unexpected gap of about 50 feet between rooftops. Although it was a wide margin even for a vampire, he leapt it without a second thought, landing on the roof of a car dealership within clear sight of the old Sunnydale High School.
“Bingo.” He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, as he watched the vampires glide over the grounds and eventually stop near the ruins of the old flagpole that still stood in front of the school’s main entrance. The entire gang of vampires that still followed the trollop from Los Angeles was assembled there, with the trollop in question at their head.
“Well, golly gee, Lysette,” he heard Clarissa snort at the older blonde as she joined the group. “I’m so glad you could take time out of your busy schedule. Now, if we’re all here, I think we can get started with our plans for this evening.”
“Which are?” Lysette asked in a decidedly disinterested voice.
“Why, to finish off that interfering busybody of a Slayer and her crew of do-gooders, of course. We’ll start with the mouseketeers first.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ve heard that before,” came a voice from the back of the group. “All it ever gets us is more dusted friends.”
“Oh, then you haven’t heard?” Clarissa replied in a surprisingly even tone. “We’ve got some help this time. Allow me to introduce you to our new secret weapon.”
Spike could feel his jaw drop involuntarily as a familiar figure emerged from behind the vampire gang leader. There weren’t enough ‘bloody hells’ in the world. He watched silently, and helplessly, as the vampires filed off the school campus followed by a black clad Willow Rosenberg.
“Well, this is going to be more fun than barrel full of Fyarl demons, “ he muttered as he braced himself for a very interesting evening.



****

Quiet, Dawn thought desperately. Blissful, serene, all encompassing silence.
The younger Summers sister sighed. Her head throbbed from searching pages and pages of ancient text for information, and by the look of things her headache wasn’t going to lighten up any time soon.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to clear her mind again. I’m on a desert island—a loud noise made her flinch—alone. A sly grin crept up her face. Well, I don’t have to be alone. I can share the island with Orlando Bloom. He’ll be sunbathing naked, of course…
“All I’m saying is, I’ve gotten rusty in my non-demon days!” Anya persisted loudly, oblivious to the way Dawn’s eyes flew open at her outburst.
“Bloody hell,” Dawn muttered under her breath, rubbing her agonizing temples.
“You’re not rusty. Crispin fooled us all,” Xander countered.
“I should have known something wasn’t right the moment he strolled in, all namby-pamby and ‘I like to meditate, please take my glorious money in exchange for scented oils while I seduce Willow with my gentle, nice-guy charm’,” Anya replied, imitating his accent.
Xander paused a moment before commenting, “Crispin doesn’t have a lisp.
“Whatever. The point is that Anyanka would never have fallen for it,” she pressed, her eyes falling on the cash register before her. “Although Anyanka never got to handle this much money…” she shook her head. “I’m falling apart in my old age!”
“You’re not old,” Xander said soothingly. “Or falling apart,” he added hastily.
“You think so?” Anya asked hopefully.
“I know so,” he answered.
Dawn slammed her eyes shut once again to prevent herself from being subjected to one of their mushy, make-up/make-out sessions. I’m lying in a grassy field…in the middle of the night, staring at the spray of stars above…with Shane West…
“Dawnie?”
“What?” Dawn snapped, angry at being torn out of her second fantasy.
“Would you like to help me count the money?” Anya offered, pulling the cash drawer out of the register and setting it on the counter.
“No, thanks,” Dawn declined, not in the mood to be any closer to Anya or Xander at the moment. “I should probably keep researching.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied, happily counting the bills before her.
Dawn collapsed on top of the books spread all over the table. Her head ached miserably. I’m in the restricted section of a library…late at night, very daring stuff…with the kid who plays Oliver Wood…
The chime of the Magic Box’s doorbell snapped her out of her latest dream. Dawn glanced up, expecting to see Buffy but found herself staring at Amy’s distraught face.
Amy rushed into the store, looking anxiously behind her. “Is Buffy here?”
“No, but she should be back any minute,” Xander answered. “What’s up?”
“I really need to talk to her,” Amy insisted, shaking slightly.
“She’s bound to walk through the door in a second,” Xander repeated, keeping his voice steady and confident as he walked around the counter and towards her. “Why don’t you sit down until she gets back—” he reached out to touch her arm but she withdrew quickly.
“N-no. I’m fine standing,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Well, maybe sitting isn’t such a bad idea after all…” she sat down in a chair next to Dawn.
“Why do you need to speak with Buffy?” Xander asked slowly, after a moment.
“Because…” Amy took a deep breath, “Something bad is coming,” she said uneasily. “Crispin is up to something majorly diabolical—”
“Oh, that hurts,” an airy voice came from the door. “Whatever happened to Girl Power? Let’s not give the men all the credit,” Clarissa finished, smiling demonically as her vampire minions stormed into the store.
Dawn counted four vampires as they swept in. Amy sprung up from her chair, Xander braced himself for a fight, and Anya frantically tried to replace the money drawer. Dawn blinked; the next thing she knew she was face-to-face with a snarling vamp.
She clutched the heavy book she was holding to her chest and ducked, narrowly missing the vampire’s swinging arm. Without hesitation, she stood up again, bringing the book up with all her strength. It collided with the underside of the vamp’s chin and the demon let out a growl as its head was jerked to the side from the force. Dawn swung again, but the vampire’s reflexes were much faster and it caught the book inches from its face. Wrenching it from her hands, the minion wasted no time in swinging its arms again, this time catching Dawn’s cheek in a nasty backhand.
The pain in her face was momentarily forgotten as she sailed across the table she had just been sitting at. Books flew at every angle, splattering the floor as they fell. Dawn crashed into a chair on the opposite side, destroying it as it broke under the force of her fall. Gasping for air, she clutched a piece of the wooden chair and stood up again, only to find that the vamp was already waiting for her.
Before she had a chance to strike, the demon grabbed her wrist and twisted it mercilessly until she dropped her only weapon. In another fluid motion, the vampire brought her arm around her back, wrenching it painfully as it stuck a leg between hers to prevent her from kicking or stomping. It draped it’s other arm tightly around her neck, allowing her just enough air to stay conscious.
Panting, Dawn surveyed the situation before her. Amy had been knocked unconscious, a slow trickle of blood dripping down her forehead as the vampire that attacked her watched her tensely. Xander was pinned in a similar fashion, his nose and lip clearly busted in the fight. Anya was squirming behind the counter, eyeing the money that had been tossed everywhere during the struggle.
The sound of someone clapping brought Dawn’s attention back to the entrance of the shop. Clarissa was applauding.
“Nice work, nice work,” she praised, slowly advancing. “It’s good to have dinner wrapped up and ready to go in no time.”
Xander spit blood on the floor.
“Now to decide what to do with each of you—ooh!” Clarissa paused as she reached the few stairs leading to the floor where they all stood. She stood straight, tossed her head back and descended the stairs, saying, “I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
Dawn’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
Clarissa chuckled. “Oh my, I’ve still got it, haven’t I?”
“Yeah,” Xander agreed, “You’re well-set on the crazy.”
He was met with a very self-righteous, I-can’t-believe-you-said-that-on-our-first-date kind of slap.
“Manners, boy,” she snarled. “I hope that’s not the way you treat all celebrities.”
“No, it’s the way he talks to pathetic, psycho vamps who are nothing more than a tool in a real mastermind’s scheme,” Dawn hissed. “By the way,” she added sweetly, “I hope you got that shirt at half-price.”
Clarissa advanced on Dawn, appearing un-insulted.
“You have no idea of what I have planned, honey,” she said sweetly, looking Dawn up and down in a sickening way.
“Oh, and just so you know,” Dawn continued, her eyes narrowing in hatred, “It’s ‘all right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up’, dumbass.”
Correcting Clarissa’s acting performance pushed the vampire over the edge. Rage flared in her eyes as she lifted her arm to strike Dawn. She hesitated for a brief moment before bringing her arm back down and grinning wickedly.
“No, no…I don’t want to hurt your pretty little face, do I?” She said, more to herself than anyone else. She spun around, walking back to the middle of the shop.
“I believe I was about to reveal my gruesome, evil, and overall villainous plans for the group of you,” she turned to Xander. “I think someone has a little trouble holding his tongue,” she smiled. “Perhaps I’ll do you a favor and just remove it?”
Xander struggled against the vampire restraining him, but he was unable to free himself. He pressed his lips tightly together as Clarissa pressed herself against him, trailing her fingers along his jaw.
“Say ‘aah’,” she ordered.
“NO!” Anya cried. “I can’t—I won’t—Xander does very good things with his tongue!”
Clarissa’s eyebrows shot up. “Does he, now? Hmm, I might take that into consideration,” she purred as she pinched his cheek.
“But you,” she turned on Anya, “What do you have to offer me?”
“Well…I’m very knowledgeable about demons, as I used to be one myself.”
“Aww, is that all?” Clarissa pouted, leaning on the counter.
“N-no…I’m an excellent entrepreneur—just look at this shop!”
“You own this place?” Clarissa asked with mild interest as she began playing with the money in front of her.
“I do much more than that,” Anya continued. “I’m very out-spoken, in a good way I believe, although sometimes Xander tells me otherwise—” she paused as she watched Clarissa touching her hard-earned cash. “I, uh, I’m all for the extermination of all bunnies—and—”
“And what?” Clarissa asked.
“Could you please stop touching my money?”
“Excuse me?” The vampire snarled.
“My money. You’re touching it, and I don’t like it. I’d appreciate it if you’d get your trashy, undead fingers off of it,” Anya clarified.
“So you like money?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“Would you like more?” Clarissa asked.
“Are rabbit’s feet the scariest things on key chains?” Anya replied. Off Clarissa’s blank look, she clarified, “Yes, I want more money.”
“Here,” Clarissa said, tearing the twenty dollar bill she’d been holding in half, “Now instead of one, you have two. Would you like me to rip more?”
“Oh, I’ll rip you another—” Anya was cut off by the vampire behind her covering her mouth.
“You sure that’s such a good idea?” Dawn said loudly. “After all, I’m sure what’s on that counter is more than you ever got in the movie business.”
“Meow, this kitty’s got claws!” Clarissa remarked, leaving Anya still fuming at the counter as she got in Dawn’s face once more. “I like a little spunk.”
“Tell me more, I care,” Dawn replied sarcastically.
“If you insist, kitty,” Clarissa said, the nature of the remark seeming to have gone way over her head. “Hey, weren’t you friends with a girl, about your age—a cheerleader?”
“I was never friends with any cheerleader,” Dawn answered.
“Is that so? But you were at a little late night party with one, weren’t you?”
“Sunny,” Dawn whispered.
“Ah, yes. That’s her name. Well, she’s been pretty bored lately, I figure she could use a playmate. I could use an eternal playmate, if you catch my drift. Now tell me, who in this room is the youngest, prettiest, and feistiest?”
Dawn bit her lip in silent fury.
“It’s okay, baby,” Clarissa crooned, touching Dawn’s hair. “It’ll only hurt for a minute. ”
Dawn continued to struggle against the vampire holding her while trying to think of a plan. Her mind went completely and utterly blank however; all she could think about was the demonic face in front of her, the iron grip holding her in place, and the fact that there was nothing she could do to stop Clarissa from biting her…
There was a quick blur of moment before her, and it took Dawn a second to realize Clarissa no longer stood in front of her, and that the vampire that had been holding her was now a heaping pile of dust. Twisting her head, she saw Spike wrestling with the vampire gang leader, his game face on as he jerked her to her feet. Clarissa squirmed as Spike held a wooden stake dangerously over her heart.
“Hurt another hair on their collective heads,” he growled at the minions, “And her agent can look for lead roles to be played by a pile of dust.”
Clarissa’s henchmen considered the ultimatum a moment too long, however, as she wriggled under his grip and spat, “Let them go! I’m way too pretty to die!”
The vampires reluctantly moved away from their prey at her command.
“Move together,” Spike snapped. “Towards the door.”
Suddenly, a vampire standing near the edges of the store dived forward over a chair and bowled Dawn over. Moving with incredible speed, it jerked the girl up by her sweater and held a clawed finger to her throat.
“Now it’s your turn, “ it snarled at Spike. “Let her go.”
“Thanks, honey” Clarissa blew a kiss to the big vamp. “Okay, blondie” she turned her head to Spike, even as he kept the stake leveled at her chest. “Ball’s in your court. Me in exchange for the pretty little human bitch. Deal?”
Spike, looking worried, nodded his head in ascent. “Your move, mate,” He said to the vamp holding Dawn. “You don’t get your ‘better half’ here back until you let the girl go.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” it snarled at Spike. “How can I trust you not to stake her once I let this one loose?” For emphasis, the vamp traced a path down Dawn’s throat with one fingernail.
“Look, chuckles. We can sit here all night, if you want. I’ve got plenty of sun-block in my coat. If you really feel like playing dodge the daylight in nine hours, let’s break out the cards,” Spike responded airily.
“Terry,” Clarissa hissed Dawn’s captor. “ Since I don’t feel like spending the rest of my existence on this tacky floor in a pile, I think we can trust him just this once. Let her go.”
Reluctantly, the vampire pulled his hand away from Dawn’s neck and didn’t attempt to stop her from scurrying behind Spike and the others. He then eased around the table to where the other vampires were gathering in front of the door.
There they stalled, only moving again after repeated head-nods of approval from their captive boss. Once they were almost out, Spike shoved Clarissa in their direction.
“Get. Out. Now,” he roared.
“Fine. Fine!” Clarissa shouted. “It’s not like I could continue, anyway. You ruined my whole spiel with your ill-timed entry. Argh!” She tossed her hands in the air. “Can’t any of you simple minded, warm blooded creatures ever just let me have my moment?”
“Have you ever actually watched a movie? The good guys always win,” a new but very, very familiar voice cut in.


*****


Dawn’s head snapped up along with everyone else’s, to see Buffy by the side entrance with Tara just behind her.
Buffy’s mouth quickly twisted into mock horror as her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh God, I hope I didn’t ruin the ending for you…?”
Clarissa let out a cry of fury before lunging at the Slayer. Her minions followed suit, heading back into the store towards their previous targets. Dawn swiftly squatted, retrieving her makeshift stake. She stood up, only to see the vampire that Clarissa had called Terry.
He glanced at her fist clenched around the stake and laughed. “Ooh, I’m so scared.”
Dawn felt a surge of power and slammed her fist into his face before realizing what she had done. He stumbled, crashing into a bookcase. “You should be,” Dawn snapped before plunging the stake into his chest. To their mutual surprise, he didn’t dissolve into dust.
“The stake’s not deep enough,” Buffy called while exchanging blows with Clarissa.
“Oh. Right,” Dawn mumbled. Still dazed from the blow she delivered earlier, the vampire was too sluggish to prevent her from taking a thick ancient volume and swinging it into the end of the stake, driving it home. She tossed the book aside and turned to survey the rest of the action.
Abruptly, the powerful sensation she felt before left her body. A second later, her knuckles burned and she glanced down to see they were raw and slightly bruised. Putting two and two together, she glanced in Tara’s direction. A burst of light flew from the witch’s hands, knocking the vampire hovering over Anya clear across the room and impaling it an upturned table leg. Dawn then looked at Amy, who had recently regained consciousness on the floor, and caught a wink.
“Thanks for the help,” she said as she extended a hand.
“No problem,” Amy smiled as she accepted Dawn’s help in standing up.
Seeing her paramour bite the dust, Clarissa screamed with rage. “You killed Terry! You bastards! Kill them all, you morons!”
Meanwhile, Xander writhed under the grip of another minion that had pinned him to the floor. Before Dawn had a chance to help out, Anya brought the now-empty cash drawer down upon its head, allowing Xander to gain the upper hand. Without hesitation, he snatched a stake that had been lost earlier in the fight and used it to end the vampire’s un-life.
At nearly the same moment, Spike successfully decapitated one of the other surviving minion, using an old scythe from one of the Magic Box’s many weapon chests. The only pair still fighting was Buffy and Clarissa. Rather, Clarissa had already lost pitifully and was attempting to crawl away before Buffy wrenched her up and shoved her into Spike’s grip.
“Now,” she panted, “It’s my turn to talk.”
“You can’t beat the answer out of me!” Clarissa yelled defiantly.
“I didn’t even ask you a question,” Buffy replied impatiently. “Now listen—tell me what Crispin’s planning.”
“No.”
Buffy wasted no time punching her. “What is he ordering you to do?” She demanded harshly.
“Nothing!” Clarissa shouted, cowering from the previous blow.
Buffy raised her arm again, but just before delivering another hit she let it drop. “How very unlike you to hold back your plans. I mean, don’t the bad guys always spill their ingenious plans sooner or later? Perhaps all you need is a little…persuasion.”
“What…how…are you going to persuade me?”
“Oh, I think a little sponge bath should do the trick,” Buffy answered sweetly.
“Sponge bath? I think I like your kind of torture,” Clarissa purred.
“Really? Well, you might change your mind,” Buffy rummaged through a weapons chest in the back, “After you’ve experienced it.”
Apparently having found what she was looking for, Buffy strode back to where Clarissa was being captive by Spike’s grip, grabbing a decorative cloth from one of the display shelves.
”You see, this is a very…special kind of water,” Buffy added.
“Pretty sacred,” Xander agreed.
“You might even call it ‘holy’,” Tara smirked.
Clarissa’s eyes widened in fear. She thrashed wildly against Spike, but her efforts were fruitless. “Get that away from me!” She demanded as Buffy began to pour the holy water on the cloth.
“Aww, but I thought you said you’d enjoy it?” Buffy said, holding the dripping material inches from the vampire. “You have a smudge on your face—did I do that before? I’m sorry, let me clean it up for you…”
Slowly, the Slayer brought the cloth near Clarissa’s right temple, where something had indeed smudged her face. The material was so saturated that several droplets fell from it and landed on her shoulder, sizzling as it hit skin. A second before it touched her face, she yelled, “Stop!”
Buffy withdrew the cloth. “So, you’ve decided to tell the truth now?”
“I was telling the truth before, you idiot,” Clarissa snapped. “I’m not taking any damn orders from Crispin,” she practically spat his name.
“You’re not?”
“No—ouch!” Clarissa cried as some excess holy water dribbled on her arm.
“Sorry,” Buffy replied, moving her arm away.
“Crispin’s not in charge! He’s taking orders too.”
“What?” Tara exclaimed.
“You’re lying,” Buffy stated, although she instinctively knew that the vampire was not.
A smug look crossed Clarissa’s face. “Well, looks like the plot thickens after all! And you were so sure you’d figured everything out.”
“Would you prefer I use this as eye drops?” Buffy threatened, shoving the cloth in her face again.
“No! Sorry, I’ll shut up now,” Clarissa replied.
“On the contrary, I think you’ll tell us exactly who is running this operation,” Buffy corrected her. “And don’t waste my time.”
Eying the dripping material in Buffy’s hand, Clarissa sighed and mumbled, “He’s a Malthusian.”
“What was that?” Note to self, Buffy thought. Pay more attention to Anya.
“We’re taking orders from a Malthusian demon, okay? Tigranus of whatever. Crispin is just a stupid Irish tool he needed to seduce that witch to complete his plans.”
“I’m starting to think you don’t like the guy,” Xander quipped.
“What sort of plans would those be?” Buffy pressed.
“A resurrection-dealie. I dunno, he’s all hung up on bringing back this Goddess chick—Gabby, or something.”
For a moment, the very briefest of moments, time within the store came to a halt, as the enormity of what Clarissa had said sank into the Scoobies collective consciousness. Then, just as suddenly, the moment was shattered as Buffy’s free hand shot out and gripped Clarissa’s throat.
“Do you mean Glory?”
“Yeah, yeah” Clarissa squeaked, “That sounds about right.”
“How is he going to resurrect her?”
“You’re on top of the hell-fricking-mouth, how do you think he’s going to do it?” Clarissa spat. “He keeps talking about harnessing the demonic energies that are coming out it right now. It’s got something to do with the Winter Solstice or something pointlessly boring like that. And that’s all I know, I swear.”
“Yeah, I believe you. Tie her up,” Buffy ordered. “We can force more out of her later. Dawn, Anya, Xander-hit the books again. I want to know anything and everything about this Tigranus character. Strengths, weaknesses, whatever you can find. Tara, Amy, I’m assuming you can help us out in the Magical department?”
“It won’t matter,” a familiar voice boomed from behind her, “Since you’re up against me.”
Buffy barely saw Willow’s face before a bolt of green light hit her in the chest and sent her skidding across the floor. A moment later she was joined by Spike as he too was hit by a spell.
“You,” Willow pointed at Clarissa, “Come with me.” The witch was surrounded by three female vampires, one of them a blonde looking little older than Dawn.
Buffy attempted to get to her feet but the task seemed impossible; the spell that hit her must have drained her power. Her limbs felt heavy and discombobulated, and she merely collapsed again. Something was wrong with Willow’s voice; it was unnaturally low, as if she were being possessed.
Tara attempted to stop Willow with magick of her own, however the blonde witch was knocked clear across the room with a simple flick of the other’s hand.
Seeing her chance to escape, Clarissa bolted for the door. As she reached it, she turned to smirk at the incapacitated Scoobies, all of whom were struggling against the effects of Willow’s magick.
“See you later, nimrods, and please always remember and never forget these immortal words of wisdom: Evil will always triumph over Good…because Good is dumb.”
With that, she spun on her heel and motioned Willow and the others follow her.
“Come along, dearie.”
The witch did as she was told, following the vampires out of the shop and into the darkness beyond.



******

“You know, I think I’m beginning to see a pattern here,” Xander moaned out loud to no one in particular as he pulled himself off of the floor. “That vamp is definitely a ten on the destructo-meter.”
Looking at the carnage that Clarissa and Willow had left behind in the shop, Buffy had to agree, as she grunted in pain and struggled to get back on her feet. Halfway up, she was greeted by an extended hand. She grasped it instinctively and allowed herself to be pulled up, only to come face to face with Spike.
“Easy, Slayer. You’ve had a bit of a shock. Are you all right?” He asked the question with genuine concern in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she said shortly, although she was fairly sure she had bruised a couple of ribs when she hit the floor. Brushing past him, she “Look, I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but is everyone all right?”
There was a chorus of muttered responses, all indicating that nobody had suffered any serious damage. The shop itself though was another matter entirely.
The Magic Box was an absolute wreck. Shelves had been knocked over, scattering dozens of books all over the floor. Several scorch marks, the results of Willow’s random bolts of magick, now adorned the walls. The large meeting table that they often used for research had several scratches in it and at least two of the chairs were smashed beyond all hope of repair. The chief casualty of the raid though had been Anya.
She stood staring at the damage, tears streaming down her face, as Xander put his arm around her in comfort. All that was left of the money that Clarissa had been fondling was smoking ash.
“Anya, are you okay?” Buffy asked her.
“What am I going to tell, Giles?” the ex-demon wailed. “He trusted me to run the place in his absence…and look at it!”
“That’s okay, Ahn,” Xander told her gently. “The damage isn’t too bad. I can fix it without too much trouble. I think we can replace the chairs easily enough…”
“Oh screw the damned furniture,” she snapped at him. “What am I going to do about the money? There must have been almost fifty dollars in there!”
“Oh brother,” Dawn, who was just now brushing vampire dust off her sleeves muttered.
Buffy cut her off with a savage glare. “I’m sorry for your loss, Anya, but I’m sure you’ll make it back. Okay, now that we know everyone’s all right I guess it’s time we made a decision.”
“About what?” Xander asked her.
“Don’t be a ponce, Harris,” Spike jumped in. “She’s talking about ‘Red.’ It’s bloody well obvious that she’s playing for the other side now.”
“So, what are we supposed to do. Kill her? Just shut up Spike,” Xander sneered back at him angrily. Looking around the group for moral support against the vampire, he quickly realized all he was getting were a lot of downward glances.
“Buffy, you can’t be seriously thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of…”
Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about Willow, Xander, but it’s pretty clear I’m going to have to do something and do it now. You heard super slut. Crispin and this Malthusian thing are planning on resurrecting Glory somehow using the Hellmouth. Do you have any idea what would happen if it somehow works? Who her first target would be.”
All eyes shifted involuntarily to Dawn.
“I’m not going to let that happen,” Buffy continued. “I don’t care what I have to do to stop it. I don’t care who I have to kill to stop it. Are we all clear on this? Because if we’re not, you all can just…”
“Buffy, you can’t,” Dawn interrupted her older sister in a stricken voice. “It’s Willow. You can’t even be thinking about hurting her.”
“And what’s the alternative, Dawnie? Do I watch you get sliced open again? Gee, maybe Glory will finally go home this time? Do you honestly think I would ever let that bitch touch you again? The discussion’s over. I’ve made up my mind.”
“But…” Xander tried to argue.
“No.” Tara’s voice broke into the conversation. She had been helping Amy clean herself up, but now she walked over to Buffy and stood at her side. “Buffy’s right. Crispin has to be stopped. That’s the main thing here. I don’t want Willow hurt any more than you or Dawn do, but this is bigger than either of us. Or any of us. We’ve got to do what needs to be done and face the consequences afterwards. Like we always do”
She looked at Amy who nodded her agreement. Slowly, the rest of the group nodded.
“All right then,” Buffy continued. “That’s settled. We’re going after Clarissa and Crispin tonight and we’re going to end this once and for all. Tara, do you have any idea how to get past their defenses?
“I-I’ve been working on some new spells with Amy this week,” she replied. “I think that together we can get past them...if we time it just right and we have a distraction.”
“Right,” the Slayer nodded. “That’s where I come in. Spike, you’re sure they’re laired under the old High School?”
“Yeah, they’re still using the place all right. I followed them here from there.”
“Fine. You and Xander can break out the heavy weapons then. We’ll hit the place in about an hour. Tara, you and Amy follow behind us, just to make sure ‘Warlock boy’ hasn’t left us any nasty magical surprises.”
She turned to Anya “I want you to take Dawn home and stay with her.
“Umm, I don’t know, Buffy. I should stay with the money…”
“Anya, listen to me carefully,” Buffy said in an even but obviously forced tone. “If things go really badly, I want you to take my mom’s car and get out of town. Go to LA. I’ll give you Angel’s address before you leave. He knows what to do in case, well…just in case.”
“Well, I suppose I could use a vacation. I wonder how Cordelia is doing these days? Probably still having major relationship problems…”
“Hey, just a minute,” Dawn spoke up. “Buffy, you can’t just send me away like this. I’ve got a right to help.
“No, you don’t. You’re staying with Anya and that’s that.
“She’s right, Nibblet,” Spike added. “This fight is for the grownups.”
“But it’s not fair,” Dawn continued to whine. “I can help you, you saw me stake that vampire…”
“You got lucky, Dawn” Buffy told her. “Look, I know you mean well, but we’re going into battle soon. You’re got no real combat experience and no magical skills. And you’re only fifteen years old. I want you to live to see your sweet sixteenth birthday party. I’m serious Dawnie. You’re going home with Anya and you’re going to do what she tells you, okay?”
The teenager stuck her chin out defiantly for a moment but she quickly realized that her sister was right and that the others completely agreed with Buffy.
“Yeah, fine” she pouted.
“Okay, then,” Buffy took a deep breath and exhaled. “If everybody knows what they need to be doing now, then we should all start doing it.”
The group began to go off in different directions. Spike and Xander immediately began arguing about who was going to get the best broadsword. Tara and Amy began gathering up magic supplies, while Dawn helped Anya pick up books. For the first time that evening, Buffy was left on her own for a minute.
Well here we are again, she thought to herself. Another desperate fight against desperate odds. You’d think dying twice would earn me a little break once in a while but apparently I lost the ‘you deserve a break today’ sweepstakes at birth. Oh, well. Enough with the introspection. Time to go into Slayer mode again.
She started walking to the back of the store where she could hear Xander demanding to know the location of the battleaxe from Spike.
“Showtime.” She said out loud to herself as she strolled into the training room to get ready for the coming battle.

It was a seriously pissed off Clarissa who reached the safety of her underground lair some forty-five minutes later, her remaining henchvamps, a handful of minions, and the redheaded witch still in tow. Her incredible fury at losing her lover was only heightened by the sight of Crispin McDermott sprawling in the chair she had set up as a throne in the cavern she used as a meeting hall for her gang.
“You!” She snarled at the warlock. “This mess is all your fault, you lousy punk. I’ve lost most of my people because you assured me that this worthless lump of a witch would back us up. Fat lot of good she did…”
“Hey, just a minute,” the witch whined. “I saved you from Buffy. She was going to tell them everything, Crispin, honestly.”
“That’s a filthy lie!” the vampire screamed at her. “You sat on your sagging ass and let us get ambushed, you decrepit old slut! How did that bleached blond crusader know where we were going to be? I’ll tell you how. That ho-bag is ratting us all out to her buddies. You should let me slice her jugular open right now.” Clarissa moved closer to Willow, one hand extended, seemingly intent on doing just that.
The warlock had other plans however, and a blast of bluish light knocked Clarissa away from Willow. Hissing, the irate vampire looked as if she would throw herself at him, but the expression on his face was enough to make her pause.
“That will be enough of that, I think,” Crispin said coolly. “The witch belongs to me and it’s my place to punish her…or not,” he added as Willow began to show signs of panic. “That’s all right, my dear. I’ll protect you from the nasty old vampires.”
Willow scurried behind her master and grasped his outstretched hand, holding on for dear life. Crispin smiled benevolently at her and stroked her hair. Turning back to Clarissa and her vampires, his face hardened into a scowl
“I’ve had about all I can stomach of your bungling, you miserable excuse for a demon-spawn. You were instructed to do something as simple as eliminating a handful of children and you failed even that little task.”
“Now, just a minute, pal.” Clarissa bit back at him. “You and your demon buddy keep sending us into ambushes and telling us how simple it’s going to be. I haven’t seen your pale, skinny ass out there in the firing line just once. That Slayer bitch is a hell of a lot tougher than

anybody bothered to tell me. I’ve lost Karl, and now I’ve lost Terry- all because you guys sold me on this soft little burg with almost no resistance. So as far as I’m concerned buster you can take condescending attitude and shove it where the Sun don’t shine!”
“Is that a fact?” the warlock sneered back at her, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically working class tone. “Let me tell you something, you revolting little bloodsucker…”
Willow; who was trying to snuggle a little closer to him, momentarily interrupted his impending tirade. Enraged at the unwanted attention, he turned his fury on the witch, callously backhanding her across her mouth with great force. She stumbled backwards, tripping over her feet and landing in a heap on the cavern floor, mouth bleeding from a cut. As tears as started to well up in her eyes, Crispin snorted with contempt and turned back to Clarissa, who appeared to be as disgusted with Willow’s plight as the warlock was.
“Now that we have that little soap opera out the way, spanky, shall we get back down to business?” she said in a more conversational tone. “For instance, what do you think the Slayer is doing while you’re busy slapping Witch Hazel there around?”
Whatever the warlock was going to say in response died on his lips as a new voice broke into the conversation.
“That’s all a matter of interpretation now, a’int it?”
The assembled group turned to see Buffy the vampire Slayer, sword in hand, flanked by a tall dark haired man brandishing a battle-axe, and the bleached blond vampire who had been giving all them so much trouble lately. It was the latter who had spoken.
“Personally,” he added with a smirk on his face, “ I do believe she plans to kick your collective asses. But then again, that’s just me.”


**


The first one to recover from the shock of being surprised in their sanctuary was Crispin, who instead of addressing Buffy, turned on Clarissa.
“Idiot! Can’t you do anything right? What did you do, leave a trail of breadcrumbs for her to find?”
The vampire leader was aghast. “It’s not my fault, dammit!” Casting around desperately her eyes settled on Willow, who was once again cowering behind the warlock. “She did it! She’s sending signals to her buddies with witchcraft!”
“She’s lying, honey. I swear to God,” the witch whimpered again.
This time however, Crispin seemed to have no patience left with her. “Shut your mouth, bitch. If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.” Turning back to the others, he shot a cold look at Buffy.
“Well, well. The incomparable Miss Summers, I presume. Not quite the introduction I had in mind, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Save the customary James Bond type villain speech, pal. I’ve heard it before. Still not impressed, even with the European accent,” Buffy scoffed at the warlock.
McDermott merely chuckled. “Well, then my dear,” he said suavely as he took a step backward and laid a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Let’s see if you’ve heard of this…”


Before anyone else in the cavern had time to react, the witch mumbled a quick phrase in Latin and suddenly the area immediately surrounding her and the warlock was covered in smoke.
Buffy instinctively leapt towards the space that the two had occupied but was met with nothing but a wall of thick, burning clouds that drove her back on Spike and Xander, who were both having troubles of their own.
The vampires, not needing to breathe, had been less inconvenienced by the spell than the two humans and had managed to launch a counterstrike of their own. The remaining minions desperate to escape, had found themselves cut off from the exits and had hurled themselves at Spike, apparently in the vain hope that they could overpower him and then flee. Spike had managed to stop them for the moment, but Buffy could tell that they’d get past him soon.
Xander though, was in far worse shape. As the smoke quickly dissipated, Buffy could make out the forms of Clarissa’s three female henchvamps circling him, looking for an opening to attack. Currently he was keeping the two blondes away with his axe, but the dark haired one was already halfway around him. It was painfully obvious that he wasn’t going to last very long at those odds. Cursing to herself, she decided that Spike would have to deal with his problems unaided for the moment, and hurled herself against Xander’s opponents.
Crashing into the older blonde, Buffy managed to unbalance the younger one as well, as the two females went sprawling onto the cavern floor, as the Slayer threw a series of lightening fast punches. Xander, momentarily relieved from having to protect himself from three directions at once, tried to take advantage of her distraction and decapitate the brunette still moving behind him. Unfortunately, the younger vampire that Buffy had hit now stumbled into him and knocked him off balance as well. Wasting no time, the vampire behind him kicked the axe out of his hand and then slashed him across his left shoulder with a razor sharp claw.
Xander let out a curse as he went down on the floor, blood oozing from his shoulder wound. The vampire, smelling fresh blood, moved in for the kill without bothering to notice that the Slayer had regained her own balance. Buffy leaped over the prostrate form of her friend and blocked the vampire’s killing stroke with her left arm, and at the same time brought her right hand, which contained a wooden stake, towards its heart. As the vamp exploded, Buffy had to duck to avoid breathing in a cloud of dust.
Seeing that they had lost the advantage, the two remaining females fled across the cavern and though the mouth of a tunnel. Spike, just putting the last minion to the stake, was unable to prevent their escape. Suddenly Buffy found herself alone except for her two companions. The vampires were all either dead or gone. The Slayer swore aloud as she realized that Clarissa was one of the missing.
“Damn. That bitch pulls more escape acts than Houdini. Did either of you guys see where she disappeared to?”
Xander shook his head and then grimaced at the effort. “Sorry, Buffy I was a little busy getting my shoulder dislocated.”
“Oh, geez, Xander. I’m sorry,” she said worriedly, noticing for the first time just how bloody his shirt was. “That looks pretty bad.”
“I’ll live,” he grunted, obviously in a lot of pain. “Just let me catch my breath for a minute and I’ll be good to go.”
“Yeah, right, Harris,” Spike put in as he extended the carpenter a helping hand. “You look like you’d last about two rounds with a one legged girl scout right about now.” The tone in his voice was typically acidic, but the quick glance he shot at Buffy told her that he really didn’t think Xander was in good shape.
“No, Xan,” she said quickly. “I think you’ve done enough for now. I’ll feel a whole lot better knowing that I don’t have to face Anya with news of your untimely death.”
Xander pushed away Spike’s still outstretched hand and struggled to his feet on his own. It was clear that he was making a point about how fit he was. “But-“ he started to object.


“Decision’s final,” she cut him off in mid-sentence. “They’ve got a pretty big head start on us as it is and we’re not going to be able to watch our backs and yours too. You’re a liability right now, Xander. I’m sorry but that’s the truth.”
Although it was blatantly obvious that she’d hurt his feelings, he nodded his acquiescence. Spike said nothing but from his manner, there was no doubt that he agreed with her. They all knew she was right
“Can you make it out all right on your own, or do you want Spike to go with you?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t been too harsh.
“I don’t need any help from Captain Peroxide,” he bit back at her. “I’m not a baby. I can get our of a tunnel by myself, you know.”
He started to go back the way they had first come in but stopped before she the Slayer could turn away.
“Oh and Buffy?”
“Yeah, Xander?”
“Kick their asses,” he grinned at her and limped off into the blackness of the tunnel.
Smiling wanly at that show of encouragement, despite herself she looked over at Spike.
“Do you have any idea where they went to? I mean, you know these tunnels, right?”
The vampire nodded. “Yeah, I’ve a got a pretty good idea how this place is laid out. I’d say by the smell of things that Red and her boyfriend hoofed it up the same tunnel that Harris just went out. They must have gotten by us during the smoke and mirrors act. That leaves those two over there.” He pointed to the other side of the cavern.
Buffy could barely make out the two openings, sitting within ten feet of one another. They were both narrow, but certainly big enough for a female vampire to get through.
“Oh, crap on a stick,” she muttered, not wanting to have to make any more decisions.
“Why, Slayer,” Spike said, the faint outline of a smirk on his lips, “I had no idea you had such a potty mouth on you. Somebody should wash out it with soap…or something.”
“For the last time, Shut the hell up Spike,” she muttered in annoyance, not having the time or energy for his usual banter.
“Fair enough then, pet,” he replied, getting down to the business at hand. “Looks like we split up from here. Which one do you want, right or left?”
“Like it really matters.”
“You have a point there, luv,” he agreed with her, and with that he charged in to the one on the right, leaving her alone in the near dark.
“Jerk,” she said to an empty cavern and headed into the other tunnel in search of the escaped vampires.



***

The tunnel that Buffy found herself in, was little more than a roughhewn hole through the rock that twisted and turned every few feet. At one point, she was forced to her hands and knees to navigate the treacherous passage when it became too cramped for even her slight frame to walk upright in. There was no telling how long it was, or even where ended up, but Buffy pushed herself forward through the darkness as fast as she possibly could. There was no way that she was going to let that pack of sleazeball vamps get away from what they had coming to them tonight.


Her efforts were seemingly rewarded as she reached a wider opening in the tunnel that was better lit than the section she was currently in. Scrambling through it, she attempted to get to her feet, but was met with a powerful blow to her face that knocked her backwards against a wall of what turned out to be a fairly spacious and partially lit cavern. She had been hit so hard in fact that for a few moments she thought she was going to black out. Even as she struggled to hold on to her consciousness and regain her balance, a part of her Slayer trained mind wondered why her unseen opponent hadn’t bothered to finish her off with a killing stoke by now. Her curiosity was immediately sated by the cackle of a familiar and highly irritating voice.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Muffy the vampire layer.” Clarissa said in her customarily mocking tone. “Kind of walked into that one, now didn’t you? I always said that you weren’t all that…oooph.”
The master vampire was cut short in the middle of her gloating as Buffy managed to take advantage of her mistake and drive a fist into her stomach, which forced her back a feet, and gave the Slayer enough time to regain her equilibrium.
“What’s the matter, Vanessa?” She taunted the vampire. “Slowing down in your old age?”
“For the last time, you underdeveloped barbie-doll, the name is Clarissa,” Clarissa snarled back, even as she launched a combination of a right hook and a left undercut.
“Yeah, yeah, like a pile of dust really needs a name.”
Buffy dodged back along the edge of the cavern wall just out of reach of the vampire’s furious but largely ineffectual assaults. Now that she had her breath back, she had time to study her enemy’s combat style first hand. She wasn’t impressed.
“Awwwww” she continued to tease. “Is that the best you can come up with?” Blocking a kick with her left foot, she threw an elbow into Clarissa and sent her sprawling towards the wall. Quickly, she moved forward to press her advantage but the vampire proved to be very agile and merely scrambled up the wall instead of crashing into it.
“Is this a little bit better for you, sweetie?” Clarissa purred at her as she launched herself full-bore at the Slayer.
It was a powerful attack, and against most opponents, it probably would have succeeded on pure ferocity alone. But Buffy was not an average fighter, even when compared to other Slayers, and she nimbly dodged the vampire’s charge and delivered a full roundhouse kick that knocked her back yet again.
“Okay, this is seriously starting to bore me, Corissa,” Buffy taunted her, hoping to goad her into a fatal mistake.
Her attempt was rewarded by an inhuman snarl of rage as the master vampire charged straight ahead with no thought of anything except pulling the Slayer apart piece by piece. Whirling
so fast that no human could have followed her movements, Buffy sidestepped her and plunged a stake through her back and directly into her heart. Gasping in shock, the vampire turned to face her kiler.
The expression of utter disbelief on Clarissa’s face was so exaggerated that Buffy almost had to suppress a giggle. It never ceased to amaze her how they all thought that they were always going to win.
“But…it’ not fair,’ she whined. “I wasn’t ready for my close-up yet…” Whatever else she was going to say remained a mystery.
“Well, that’s one down,’ Buffy murmured to herself as her most recent antagonist exploded into a cloud of dust. Looking around her surroundings though she realized that she already had another problem.
“Okay, where in the hell am I and how do I get out of here?” she asked to the now empty cavern. She was greeted by a resounding silence as she faced a small cavern that had no fewer than six small tunnels branching off from it.
“Oh, crap,” she muttered and wondered if anybody had bothered to invent a six sided coin yet.


****


Spike raced through the cramped tunnel he was in, paying little heed to rough hewn dirt walls as his leather coat frequently brushed them. He was on the hunt now, and the scent of the two blonde female vamps he was chasing was thick in his nostrils. A part of him realized that Buffy was probably facing the ringleader right now, but any concerns he had for the Slayer too a back seat as he came to a wide spot in the tunnel and straight into an attempted ambush. Attempted only however, as Spike had been expecting something along those lines, having reasoned that neither one of them was going to outrun him for long.
It was the older of the two that struck, trying to throw him off balance with a raking claw, which he easily blocked. She tried again, and then reeled backwards as he caught her fist with one hand and smashed the other squarely into her face. Slowly and methodically, he drove her into the cavern, repeatedly blocking her kicks and punches, which were growing more desperate by the moment. She clearly wasn’t much of a fighter and she was certainly no match for a warrior of Spike’s ability.
“Damn it, Sunny!” she suddenly screamed. “Help me!”
It was at this point, that Spike noticed the younger female, cowering in a small niche’ of the cavern wall. When she made no move to help her mate, the other began berating her at the top of her lungs, even as Spike continued his assault.
It was only a matter of time before she slipped up, and when she turned her head to call the girl a ‘stupid and worthless little bitch’, Spike brushed her arms aside and twisted her head right off her neck in one fluid motion. As she dissolved into a cloud, he turned his attention to the young fledgling, who was now sobbing in terror.
Spike advanced on the girl, who was still not attempting to either defend herself or even flee and whose name he remembered was ‘Sunny.’ This would be about the easiest kill he had ever made. All he had to do was to take the stake from his coat and plunge it into her chest. It would be a mercy, really. And yet, for some strange reason that he wasn’t even sure he could articulate to himself, he hesitated.
Maybe it was that she presented him with no challenge, something Spike had always craved in a fight. Perhaps it was the fact that she was so weak and helpless that there was no sport or pleasure to be found even in ridding the world of a dangerous predator. Of course, if Spike were to be honest with himself, he’d have to admit that the real reasons were totally alien to his natural demonic nature. Pity. Pity…and guilt. After all, she had been there the night he had rescued the ‘niblet’ and her mate from the Hollywood vampires. While he had borne absolutely no responsibility for her safety, he damned well knew that if it had been Buffy in his place that night, she would have made sure all those kids had gotten home in one piece, instead of ending up like they had done.
This is getting to be bloody ridiculous, he thought to himself. Vampires weren’t supposed to give a brass farthing about anything but themselves, least of all some chit who’d been stupid enough to get caught after he’d told them to get out of there. It did bother him though, and the fact that it bothered, him bothered him even worse. He was changing. He knew it and it scared the …well Hell was probably not the right term for it, but whatever it was Spike was not enjoying the sensation. Realizing that he didn’t have any more time to waste with his uninvited crisis of conscience he made a decision, figuring that if it was the wrong one, it certainly wouldn’t be the first he had made in his 150+ years of existence. After all, nobody was perfect, not even the Slayer.
Putting the stake away, he approached the sobbing vampire and held out his hand to her.
“It’s all right, luv’ he said as gently as he could. “I’m not going to hurt you today.”

Utterly bewildered and still in the throes of panic, the girl shrank away from his touch, but when she realized that he was not threatening her, she took his outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled up to her feet. She stared at him for quite a long time, before asking him the inevitable question.
“What do you want?” It was pretty obvious what was going through her mind at the moment.
To the victor belong the spoils.
“Not that, pet,” he told her.
“What then?”
“Up to you. You’ve got a ‘get out of staking free card’, just this once. But it’s only good for tonight. My advice to you, for what it’s worth, is to catch the first midnight train to anywhere but here that you can. After today, there won’t be any place in this town that the Slayer won’t be looking for you and what’s left of your lot. Savy?”
Sunny gulped a bit but nodded.
“Right then, how about doing me a favor and pointing out where the rest of your pals are hold up. There’s got to be some more of them lurking about, yeah?”
She nodded again and immediately began heading down the tunnel in the opposite direction that he had come from. It narrowed and widened at various intervals, finally emptying out in a massive cavern, which contained the openings to an uncountable number of tunnels. For some odd reason, the place felt familiar to Spike.
“Is this it then?” he asked her.
The female vampire shook her head and pointed to one of the wider passages. “Clarissa used to go down that one every once in a while when she was meeting with the Warlock. Lysette told me once that the Big Boss lived there.”
“That Malthusian bloke?”
Sunny shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never seen him, though.”
Spike nodded. “Okay, Princess. You’ve earned your reprieve. Make use of the head start.” He waved his hand in the direction of one of the other tunnels.
She started to go but halted for just a second to say “For what it’s worth. Thanks for not staking me, I mean.”
Damn, me if she doesn’t remind me of somebody right now, Spike thought. And then he remembered who it was. Harmony. Damn it, that’s the last bint in the world I want on my mind right about now.
“No trouble at all, luv. Glad to oblige. Just remember what I told you.”
“Yeah, I will. And good luck,” she added as she vanished into the darkness.
“And don’t think I’m not going to bloody well need it,” he muttered to himself. ”Oh well, Spike my boy, nothing ventured nothing gained, as mater used to say.”
Steeling himself to meet, well the devil only knew what, Spike began to carefully traverse the passageway. He’d never faced a Malthusian before and had no idea what to expect. Of course, if he were to be the least bit cautious, he knew that should be heading back to where he had last seen Buffy and try to find her. Together they would probably have a far better chance against the unseen demon, but then again, caution had never been one of Spike’s strong suits.
Unlike the other tunnels, this one did not wind around much at all. Instead, it grew wider and straighter as he progressed. It also went downward and it seemed to grow warmer the further down he went. Spike continued on for quite a while until finally it opened up into a cavern that was even larger than the previous one. Not even hesitating for a second, he marched through the opening and discovered that the place was also extremely well lit by what seemed to be hundreds of torches, ensconced on the walls. And it was at this precise point that Spike realized that he had been here before.


“Bloody Hell,” he swore as a blast of heat caught him and nearly drove him back out of the cavern. Regaining his balance in his customary catlike fashion, he moved forward to the source of the heat, already knowing instinctively what it was. His worst fears were realized when he saw a gaping trench in the floor, which was widening by the second. It hadn’t happened in nearly two years but it was a sensation he remembered only too well.
Someone, or some thing, had opened the Hellmouth.
As he moved forward towards the unholy thing to investigate, he could hear chanting coming from directly in front of him. Within a few moments, he had located the source of the chanting, a small huddled figure in front of the widest part of the trench. Whatever it was, it made no attempt to stop him as he inched closer, or even to show an awareness of his presence. That for some reason, only served to seriously tick the vampire off.
Clearing his throat in an exaggerated manner, Spike loudly announced his arrival. “Well, mate, looks like you’ve got some company. Feel like playing the proper host, and serving some tea n’ biscuits?”
The figure had stopped the chanting but did not turn to face him. A bit irritated, Spike tried again. “What’s the matter, didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners? Don’t you have anything to say?”
At that moment, the figure began to turn. “Why yes. Yes I do,’ it said in a vaguely familiar voice.
Before Spike could speak again, the creature had revealed itself to be a wizened little man with a shock of nearly white hair, wearing a pair of horned rimmed spectacles and a crisp black suit. Just the way he had appeared nearly eight months ago.
“Hello, there Spike,” Doc said to the totally shocked vampire. It’s been a while. How’s the boy?”