Buffy had seen the sapphire blue, silk dress swaying in the shop window every day for the past two weeks. Some enterprising clerk had trained a fan on the hem so that the skirt did an inviting little sashay. Even though passing the dress meant adding an extra ten minutes onto her work commute, Buffy didn’t mind. Seeing it was sometimes the best part of her day. It was good “Anywhere but here” fodder.

She’d picture herself wearing the dress on a white sand beach while the volleyball game from “Top Gun” went on in the background. As she passed, Iceman would stop mid-leap to stare at her and that stupid Kenny Loggins song would stop playing. Buffy was convinced the dress would look so good on her that it would momentarily turn the cast away from homosexuality, at least for the few minutes she was striding by.

Then they’d go right back to homosexuality, which would comprise the rest of the day dream until she got to the Double Meat Palace.

She’d worked a month of double shifts, and her dad’s last three support checks had finally come in for Dawn. Since they cut out the cable, cut back the newspaper to once a week and started clipping coupons things were looking up. At last she’d paid off the plumbing bills and the electricity was definitely staying on.

Giles had been writing letters occasionally with small sums of money enclosed. It was so like him to correspond with pen and paper; at least his missives weren’t sealed in wax. Buffy always let Dawn open the Giles letters. She told herself it was because her little sister liked to read them, but part of her knew that wasn’t true. Buffy felt a stab in her chest just seeing his familiar spider-web handwriting on the envelope; she didn’t want to put herself through the act of reading an entire letter.

Between her dad’s contribution, Giles’ little gifts and her own efforts, they actually had extra money in the checking account that week. It was just a tiny stash for the inevitable emergency. And there would be an emergency.
On her way back from depositing her paycheck at the bank, Buffy walked past the dress shop and stopped. The object of her fantasies was on sale. That was not the emergency she’d been saving for, even though she dearly wished it were.

Buffy stood on the sidewalk. She didn’t know how long she’d been hovering when a bell clanged and a sales girl came out. The girl had on a silver name tag that read Tawnee, and she looked remarkably like Kendra. Thinking about the other slayer made her breath catch in her throat. Buffy couldn’t get the memory of finding Kendra’s body on the library floor out of her mind as she gazed at Tawnee.

“You OK?” Tawnee asked. She had a slight California accent, not the impenetrably exotic dialect that Kendra spoke. The girl smiled at her. Her eyes were gold, different than her fallen friend’s, and Tawnee’s chin was a bit rounder, too.

“Yeah, fine. I just wanted to try on the blue dress in the window,” Buffy said, putting on a smile.

“I’ve got to warn you, that dress is what we in retail call a glass slipper. It looks beautiful on the dummy, but there are three, four women on the planet who can actually pull it off. I’ve seen ladies that looked like they stepped off the cover of Vogue look kind of dumpy in that dress. When I tried it on, this decolletage looked like a side order at the International House of Pancakes,” Tawnee said, sweeping her hand across the low neckline of her red shirt.

Buffy laughed.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Well, because my manager put that dress up there to lure in women, systematically destroy their self esteem and then get them to ease the pain with retail therapy. It’s my job to make you buy clothes you can’t afford, and I’m getting pretty sick of my job. Do you still want to try it on?”

“I’ll risk it.”

“What’s your size?”

Buffy told her. The girls went into the store and Tawnee strode over to a sales rack that was groaning with the dancing blue dresses. She roughly pushed the hangers against the metal rack, making a screeching sound, until she found a Buffy-sized silk confection. Buffy glided to the changing room reassured that at least if the dress made her look bad, the temptation to buy it would evaporate. She’d been having trouble giving into her impulses lately.

Even standing in her ankle socks, Buffy knew the dress was perfect. She’d never looked better in anything, ever. A year ago, a find like that would have made her happy; at that moment tears started to spring up in the corners of her eyes. Where would she wear this dress? To work while she flipped burgers? In the graveyard where it would be covered with ancient vampire dust and demon gunk? Spike’s crypt?

She was startled by a knock.

“So, how bad is it?” Tawnee asked.

Buffy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and opened the door. When she saw Buffy, Tawnee’s smile widened.

“I think our glass slipper has finally found its Cinderella, you look stunning,” she said.

“Stunning, really?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Tawnee said.

“I’m not, it’s just kind of a lot and right now I’m only pulling down Double Meat money, that sounds kind of gross, but you know what I mean,” Buffy said.

“Sorry, but you have to buy that dress, no matter what. I’ll take up a collection for you, but this needs to become part of your wardrobe. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Um, sort of, not really,” Buffy said.

“Um, sort of, not really? No. You show up in that dress tonight and Mr. Not Really is going to become Mr. Right,” Tawnee said.

The other girl put her hands on Buffy’s shoulders.

“Turn around, turn around and look at that mirror,” Tawnee said.

Buffy was not the type of person to let just anyone touch her, but part of her felt numb and vulnerable enough that she allowed the other girl to move her.

“Look at you. Really look in that mirror. You’re a knockout, girl. Plus, we’ve got lay-a-way,” Tawnee said.

Buffy looked. The dress made her nostalgic for memories that weren’t ever hers. It was a very non-slayery outfit. It made her wish things were different, that she was different. Buffy wondered fleetingly if the silk was inlaid with a spell, like the cursed gown she bought at Ethan Rayne’s costume shop. Maybe if she wore this dress, she’d become the girl who had picnics with her friends and walked on the beach with her non-vampire, entirely human boyfriend.

Would that be so bad?

“For someone who doesn’t like her job you’re pretty good at it,” Buffy said.

“Guilty!” Tawnee said, and then threw up her hands and laughed. She gave Buffy’s reflection a bright smile in the mirror, then left the changing room.

Alone, Buffy twirled, watching herself in the mirror. The motion made the skirt of the dress flare out like a pool of blue, blue water. She stopped and felt the silk sliding against her bare legs. Slowly, Buffy unzipped the back and then untied the halter at the base of her neck. The dress fell, shimmering as it went. She looked at herself standing naked save her white, cotton underwear and felt incredibly diminished without it.

Dawn was already home when Buffy came back from the store, a shopping bag in her hand.

“Oooooh, what did you buy?” Dawn said, careening into the living room from the kitchen holding a wooden spoon.

“What are you doing?”

“Making spaghetti sauce. What did you buy?”

“It’s a dress,” Buffy said.

“For me?”

“No.”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Not for a couple years, like when I get done paying for it. Now go away with your messy spoon before you get it all saucy,” Buffy said.

“Are you going to let me see it, at least,” Dawn said.

“Of course, but put the spoon away.”

“Right, dense me.”

Buffy’s sister whirled around and ran back into the kitchen. She came back a moment later.

“See, clean hands,” Dawn said, holding up her hands.
Buffy took the dress out of the bag.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” Dawn said.

“I’m wearing it to the Bronze tonight. Xander stopped by work this morning to scam free hash browns and invite me out. You want to come?”

“No, Tara and I are having a slumber party at her dorm tonight, I thought I told you,” Dawn said.

“You did, but if you wanted to come before, and bring Tara,” Buffy said.

“I don’t think she’s ready to hang out with Willow yet, and I don’t think Willow is ready either,” Dawn said, her voice getting quiet.

Willow had called and told Dawn she was going straight to the Bronze after class in order to avoid an awkward conversation with her ex-girlfriend.

Buffy and Dawn had a leisurely, normal dinner. Dawn had been going through a rough time for awhile. She’d been forced to accept some truly heartbreaking things about herself, mainly that she was a key, a tool created by indifferent forces that were using her in a way she couldn’t understand.

Her memories were fabrications, the only mother she’d known was dead, her beloved sister sacrificed her life for her, and then unwillingly came back from the dead. Dawn was acting out in some typical ways, like throwing tantrums and missing school. It would have been perfectly expected that she might be acting out in less traditional ways, like setting fire to buildings or sliding into a catatonic state. The fact that she generally just acted like a grumpy teenager was kind of amazing in itself.

That night Dawn wasn’t even feeling pouty. The sisters just made each other laugh. After they were done eating, Buffy took a shower and got dressed.

She took extra time applying her make-up and fixing her hair, almost as though she wanted to feel worthy of the dress. Buffy walked down the steps carrying her high heels in one hand and a spangled, silver purse in the other. Dawn was sitting on the couch in the living room, skipping through the channels when she saw her big sister. Dawn gasped.

“You look AMAZING! You’re like a mermaid and a unicorn at the same time inexplicably,” Dawn said.

“Really?” Buffy asked. She smiled, wide, and smoothed her blonde hair behind her ear.

Dawn stared at Buffy for a moment, then got up from the couch and rushed over to her making a squealing little “yeeee” sound.

“Ohmygod! I haven’t seen you smile like that since you were the Buffy bot!” Dawn said.

Her little sister crushed her in a hug.

The doorbell rang and Dawn let her go to answer it. Tara was standing on the other side, a half smile playing on her lips.

“Look at Buffy,” Dawn said.

“Dawn, geez,” Buffy said.

Tara stepped inside and her sleepy eyes opened wide when they rested on Buffy.

“You look really hot!” Tara said, with uncharacteristic bluntness. Tara looked around uncomfortably.

“I,I, I d,don’t mean that in a l,l,lesbian recruitment way, just a statement of fact t,t,type of thing,” she stammered.

Buffy gave Tara a hug. Dawn grinned and then told them she had to gather up a few things before she was ready to go.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, but I was hoping we could do it away from the house. Maybe you could stop by my work on Monday,” Buffy said.

“That would be fine, what is it about?”

“I can’t. Not with Dawn here,” Buffy said.

She wanted to ask Tara about a spell. The Spell. The one that brought her back to life and tore her away from the most complete peace she’d ever known. After her resurrection, Buffy felt different. Then one night Spike hit her, and she realized she was different. He had a chip implanted in his brain that prevented him from hurting human beings, but it didn’t stop him from laying his hands on her. He shouldn’t have been able to touch her, unless, maybe, she wasn’t a human being anymore.

Buffy shivered, and a look of concern dashed across Tara’s face. Tara gently touched Buffy’s arm. Dawn trundled down the steps with a sleeping bag and a back pack in her hands. She hugged her big sister goodbye and then fluttered off with Tara, not noticing that the other girls looked worried.

As Buffy watched them go, she saw a black shape flickering by the tree in her front yard, and knew it was Spike. Buffy could feel him, like a cold pressure squeezing her chest.

She dropped her black high heels to the floor and stepped into them, waiting for him to make his presence known, but he didn’t. She heard the sound of his long leather coat scraping against the tree bark in time with the wind, but the rest of him was preternaturally still. Buffy stood in the entryway of her house with the door gaping open for just a moment.

“Whatever,” she said aloud as she walked over the threshold.

Buffy closed the door and locked it, feeling him move behind her. Still, he didn’t speak, or try to brush her bare back with his cold hands. Spike’s eyes were blue, the color of a stormy sky lit by lightning; she could feel the energy of them crackling all over her skin. She didn’t call his name. He was playing a game and she was in no mood to throw her Monopoly money down.

She knew what he wanted.

Spike wanted her to say his name; it had become a point of pride for him.

After the first night they’d had sex she’d told him he was just a convenience. Every time they’d been together he couldn’t get her taunt out of his mind. So the third time that she’d come knocking on his door he’d gotten her good and hot, then demanded she say his name.

She wouldn’t.

He’d been lying on top of her, hard and about to slide inside. As he stared down at her face he thought about how nightly he dreamed of seeing her that way. Yet every time she closed her eyes he wondered if she was imagining Angel lumbering over her. Spike had twined his fingers into her bright, blonde hair and leaned in close to her ear.

“Say my name,” he said.

She’d kissed him then, as though that would change the subject. He’d kissed her throat, twisted his hands tighter in her hair. He’d repeated himself. She started rolling her hips against him, which was more persuasive than anything she could have said. It took everything in him not to take her then.

“Say it.”

She’d fixed him with her green eyes and a wicked little smile played on her lips.

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you.”

Suddenly, she flipped him and he felt the ground slamming up against him. She was on top of him, arching her back, her breasts swaying in his face and her long white neck elongated as she threw her head back. Buffy looked like a lioness claiming her gazelle.

“Make me,” she said.

Spike wanted to smack her in the mouth, mess up those perfect orthodontics. Instead he did the last thing she ever expected. He stood up and she fell to the floor. Then he walked over to the red leather chair he sat in to watch T.V., his hard on wagging like a dog’s tail. Spike plopped in the seat, grabbed a pack of smokes from the table beside it and lit himself a cigarette.

“What are you doing?” Buffy asked, rising up onto her knees.

“Having a smoke then topping myself off, apparently,” he said.

“Come on, I was just teasing you,” she said. Buffy stood up and walked over to him, the smile gone from her face.

He couldn’t look at her body shining in the candlelight and say what he wanted to say, so he focused past her shoulder to a water mark on the crypt wall.

“I’m through teasing, and playing. I’m not asking you to say you love me,” he faltered on the last words, so he just stopped talking.

This bloody bitch-goddess was on the verge of making him cry, moving toward him like she’d just sunk from a cloud to accept a golden apple in the hollow of her hand.
God, this girl really brought out the old thee’s and thou's in him, Spike thought. If he didn’t watch he’d be scribbling out an epic poem about the perfection of her knees or the tiny divot under her nose. He was glad his heart had stopped beating because it would probably be trilling like a fucking lark.

Buffy knelt between his legs and touched his knees. She rested his cock against her soft face, then she moved her lips to touch the tip.

“Spike,” she said.

He trembled, but his voice kept that rough edge to let her know he was still angry.

“Say it.”

“Spike.”

She moved up his body, kissing his stomach, making the muscles dance under her mouth. Buffy kissed her way up his chest, pausing a breath on each of his nipples. She moved along his collar bone, grazing it with her tongue, brushing her lips over his neck. They were face to face, almost nose to nose. She yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it in the ashtray on the table next to him. Spike swallowed and tried to speak.

“Do you want me, Spike?” she asked.

“God yes,” he said, and tackled her.

That night he’d demanded she say his name over and over again until it was stretched out to a moan. After that, he’d beg her to say it, and she’d always complied—but only when they were in the thick of it. He could sense that the very act of saying his name had started to turn her on. That had made Buffy more reticent about saying his name when they weren’t having sex, which drove him absolutely crazy.

“What is it, Spike?” Buffy asked, knowing that calling him by name was the only way he’d stop lurking around.

She felt him fall in step with her.

“You look gorgeous in that dress, pet. It’s not for me, is it?”

“I don’t think it would fit you.”

“You know what I mean. All painted and perfumed, you are. Got a hot date?”

“None of your business,” she said.

He grabbed her arm and they stopped walking.

“Isn’t it?” he asked.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Spike loosened his grip and started stroking her bare arm with light fingers. Buffy looked away, ashamed of what she’d said, but unable to tell him.

“Please, just go away,” she said, and turned from him.

The cool hand resting on her arm disappeared.

“Spike, wait,” she said.

His name had become a sort of apology sometimes, at others a symbol of her supplication. This time it meant nothing, because he was nowhere nearby to hear it. Buffy had never known him to leave with so little argument. Maybe tonight was a night when wishes really did come true. Now, if she could will herself not to want to see him again, that would be magic.

The Bronze was crowded but Buffy found her friends quickly.
Willow had never been so relieved to see Buffy, which was saying a lot given how many times Buffy had saved her life.

Anya and Xander were in the throes of another wedding argument. The succession of matrimonial planning debacles had left cute several months ago and had entered into the realm of hellish torture. Willow could only imagine what it would be like to be in the eye of the storm and was almost glad as a lesbian she wasn’t allowed to get married. It was the first time she’d been kinda grateful for the government violating her civil rights.

Anya was elbow deep in a plate of onion rings covered with cheese and possibly bacon while Xander was eating a sleeve of Ritz Crackers he’d apparently brought with him. They’d both been stress eating, which added the element of flying crumbs to the already toxic atmosphere. Willow was sitting with her head propped up on one hand, chewing on the tiny plastic sword that had once pierced the olive in her martini.

“Maybe if we put up bunk beds, or possibly hammocks?” Anya said.

“Ahn, I’m not setting up barracks in my living room to house our guests. Either don’t invite the hive or tell them to get a hotel like normal…they’re not people are they? Whatever the preferred term for what they are is. Besides, they chew through everything,” Xander said.

“That’s what locusts do. I had no idea you were so prejudiced,” Anya said.

“Buffy!” Willow said. Willow’s face lit up and she folded her hands in her lap. “You look so pretty, is that a new dress?”

“This? I just tore down some curtains, whipped it up for tonight,” Buffy said.

Xander looked up from his rapidly diminishing pile of crackers and smiled.

“Those are some lucky curtains,” he said.

“I wish I could strip that dress off of you,” Anya said.

Xander’s eyes got dreamy, while Willow and Buffy just looked at Anya in confusion.

“Strip it off of you to have for my own. It’s an item of clothing I’d like to possess, I didn’t mean it to sound so aggressively sexual,” Anya said.

Xander stood up and grabbed his fiancée around the waist.

“Let’s go dance,” he said. She started blushing, and he practically carried her over to the dance floor.

“I think your dress saved their marriage,” Willow said.

“I’m here to help.”

Buffy pulled up a chair and sat beside her friend. They used to be able to talk about anything, but lately a gulf of experience had opened between them. Buffy had intimate knowledge of one of the biggest mysteries of the universe--death. Even more impressive, Willow had power over life and death.

Buffy was convinced her life was never going to be any more than a string of minimum wage jobs and escalating violence. Her responsibilities as a slayer and caregiver for Dawn outweighed whatever personal goals she might have. She was going to die fighting. Again.

Willow had become addicted to controlling the people around her which had cost her the love of her life. Trying to get a handle on her own power was affecting Willow like a junkie going through withdrawal.

Given all that, why was the fact that Buffy was shagging a vampire the hardest topic for her to breach? In the scheme of things, it wasn’t really a big deal, it’s not like she’d never dated a vampire before, if you could call marathon sex and vehement denial, dating. It sure felt more like dating than chaste cuddling and never-ending emotional grief. If she could just get over her hang ups about kink and evil, everything would be fine. Right.

Buffy had arrived at a few unpleasant revelations about herself through her thing with Spike. She realized that Riley was right about her not opening up to him emotionally, but wrong about the reasons why. Riley had gone down a dangerous path to try to understand her, dabbling sexually with female vampires. These exchanges weren’t sex, sex; more the equivalent of paying a dominatrix.

What he didn’t understand was that Buffy didn’t want Riley to relate to her darkness. Part of the reason she wanted Riley was because she wanted him to protect her from her own impulses.

Riley was all about wholesome, endless missionary lovin’ and he got most of his erotic tips from Maxim. After they'd watched “Henry and June” on Cinemax, Spike claimed to have had sex with Anais Nin. And her father. At the same time.

“O.K., liar, then why didn’t you eat them,” Buffy had asked.

“I wanted to see if I’d make the diary,” Spike said.

“Did you?”

“No, I think we did a few things she was embarrassed about,” Spike said.

Riley would take a shower and brush his teeth before they would even start to do the deed; Spike smelled like a drunken ashtray that had been fighting and fucking in equal measure. Although, that wasn’t entirely true anymore. He still tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, but Spike had begun washing himself up in the sink at the gas station bathroom around the corner from his crypt. He called it a whore’s bath.

Riley fucked like a drill bit, which is great if you’re a block of wood. Spike was more like a safe cracker; he’d use his fingers with subtle delicacy but if that didn’t work he’d employ other methods to get inside, and once he left she always felt empty. Riley thought kissing outside was extremely naughty and shuddered when he described Faith’s attempts to initiate role playing.

And Spike was…Spike.

The types of feelings she was exploring with him frightened her. Buffy liked to hurt him, really hurt him. Spike’s body was designed to take an incredible amount of pain, and he gladly offered it up to her. He enjoyed it. His pleasure pushed her to extend the agony, just to see how much he could take. Buffy didn’t like pain much, but she longed for it with a mindless abandon. She couldn’t stand when he was gentle, because it made the guilt for hurting him too much to bear.

Once she woke up to find Spike just holding her, his lips pressed to her forehead. Buffy was disgusted with herself; it was the one type of touch she would’ve denied him had she been awake. He’d craved that connection so much he’d reached out for her in his sleep. Buffy had to remind herself that he wasn’t a person and he didn’t have a soul, so he didn’t really feel things like love, no matter what he said, no matter how he made her feel. It was the only way she could keep getting what she needed from him.

That’s the kind of girl she was.

Riley was supposed to keep her safe from herself, but in the end she couldn’t keep him safe from her. What she desired had ruined him, just like it did to Angel. Angel had been so fascinated with her “purity” as he put it, so in love with the fact that she was a virgin and his alone. Once she threw away that purity to be with him, really be him, it had all gone to hell. Literal hell. Buffy sometimes wondered if she had driven Parker away, maybe he’d sensed it when they were together that one time. Parker had asked her if she was a virgin and seemed disappointed when she admitted she wasn’t. Willow had said it was probably because he had a notebook stashed somewhere with stats and had been hoping to add another hash mark to his devirginization table.

Thinking about her one night stand with scummy Parker meant she’d sunk into the dank marshes of self pity. That was no good, Buffy thought. Instead of focusing on herself, Buffy decided to make a conscious effort to genuinely listen to Willow. Her best friend had been going through just as much as she had, maybe more. Buffy’s mind snapped back to the moment.

“So, how goes with Willow?”

“It goes pretty well. Better than before, actually. Been keeping my nose clean, no magic, and, and my classes are really interesting. I’m learning cuneiform,” Willow said.

“Like with stone tablets?”

“Yeah, we just read the stone tablets though, we don’t have to take notes on them,” she said.

“Saves time,” Buffy said.

Willow cast a sidelong glance at Buffy.

“So, you saw Tara today, when she came to pick up Dawn. How did she seem?”

“Good.”

“Did she ask about me?”

“She said she hopes you’re doing well,” Buffy lied.

“How did she look?”

“Pretty much the same. She had on cute shoes,” Buffy said, lamely. She didn’t know what else to say.

“I still love her. It hurts so much, I mean, it would hurt anyway, but it’s worse to know it was all my fault,”

Willow said.

Buffy took her friend’s hand. Willow smiled.

“You know I never thanked you for what you did when I was gone,” Buffy said.

“What, tearing you out of heaven, ruining everything?” Willow said, moving her quirky mouth around the words as though they tasted bitter.

“You didn’t ruin everything,” Buffy said. She hoped saying it out loud would make her feel it, but if she could make Willow believe that, it would be enough.

“What you did for Dawn. You didn’t even think about it, you just started taking care of her. You and Tara could have gone on with your lives and let her go live with my dad, or you could have finally transferred to an Ivy League school, gotten out of Sunnydale,” Buffy said.

“I didn’t do anything,” Willow said.

“See, that’s why you’re you, that’s why you’re amazing,” Buffy said. She gave Willow a hug.

“Am I dying?”

“What?” Buffy gasped, letting her friend go.

“You’re just being so nice. Not that you’re not always nice, but you’re being, you know, extra,” Willow said.

“Is it bad?”

“No, it’s just kind of weird to see you so emotional. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you,” Willow said.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Buffy said.

The girls started talking about less weighty subjects; school, work, the way Willow’s mom had started a relentless campaign to set her up with someone now that she and Tara had broken up. Buffy mostly just listened to Willow talk. It was therapeutic to step out of the vicious circle her thoughts had become lately and just think about someone else. Buffy wasn’t usually the type to really listen.

Buffy did most things in her life for other people; she patrolled to keep the anonymous populous safe, she quit school and started working to support Dawn, she hid her tears from her friends.

But the truth was, she didn’t think about these things as
sacrifices, she just did them reflexively. Despite all that, there was an inherent, if not selfishness to her personality, than a self-contained quality. Buffy tended not to listen to other people as much.

Though she had a hard time admitting it to herself, she didn’t see them as equals because when it came down to it, she was the one who took responsibility when they died. She was the leader, and if she doubted it for a second, opened herself up to the possibility that somebody else could do a better job, she wouldn’t have the strength to carry on.

The power Buffy had tended to corrupt people—Faith and Willow both buckled under the pressure in their own ways. Faith, another slayer who was currently being incarcerated for her lapses, stopped caring about other people entirely. When Willow became the leader of the group after Buffy’s brief sojourn in the after-life, she totally overstepped right and wrong. Buffy was always a little afraid of her own power, her own strength and its limits.

The only place she ever lost control was with Spike.

Did that count? He was dead, after all. Wasn’t she just engaging in incredibly elaborate masturbation, Buffy thought. Scratch that, what she was actually doing was necrophilia, which was much, much worse.

Oh God, she was making a point to try to listen to Willow and she’d failed miserably, zoning out thinking about Spike’s hands and the way the cracked black nail polish he wore always made them look dirty. She loved watching those dirty fingers sliding inside her. The last time they’d been together he’d dragged it out, made her wait while he gazed between her parted legs.

“God, you’ve got a beautiful cunt. It’s like a soft, little flower dripping with dew. The way you suck my fingers in, like you’re aching for me the way I am for you, like you’ll pull me in and swallow me. I know it’s a cliché and all, but I always was a shite poet, and besides my brain isn’t working so well right now. Blood’s headed in a different direction,” Spike said, stroking her there reverently.

Buffy remembered smiling at him and meeting his eyes; she didn’t even bristle at his crude word. Maybe the English accent made it sound better.

Willow had trailed off and was looking at Buffy with her head cocked, like a dog that was waiting for a treat.

“What?” Buffy asked.

“Nothing, I was talking about Professor Landry’s lecture on ancient Mesopotamia and you turned beet red,” Willow said.

“I just realized I didn’t understand what you were saying, Will, and I got embarrassed. I think I lose about a year’s worth of information every month I’m not in school,” Buffy said. It was mostly true.

“Sorry to get all rambley on you, that topic was sort of esoteric. You still remember what esoteric means, right?” Willow asked, smiling sweetly. She was so cute when she wheedled.

“Yeah, I got it covered,” Buffy said. She paused for a moment and looked down at her hands, then looked back up at Willow.

“I’ve got kind of a weird question to ask you,” Buffy said. She took her hands off the bar and hid them from view in her lap.

“Weird can be good,” Willow said, nodding encouragingly.

“How did you forgive Spike?”

“Well, you sort of forgave him first, and he was strong enough to protect Dawn, so I thought it was a good choice. Did I do wrong?”

“No, not at all. Not then, I mean before. He tried to kill you, and before that he kidnapped you, but when he tried to kill himself, you stopped him. Why?”

Willow had not anticipated this question. She screwed up her brow for a moment.

“Did he hurt you, or something? I mean, not that he could with the biting or anything, but did he hurt you some other way?” Willow asked.

Buffy couldn’t breathe for a second. Of course he hurt her, sometimes she begged him to, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to tell Willow that. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. Buffy found her breath again, and her voice followed cautiously after.

“It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to know,” Buffy said.

“Well, he’s always been more than your regular vamp, I guess, and at that point he couldn’t hurt anyone,” Willow said.

“What do you mean, more?”

“Well, most of them don’t give you nicknames or tell you jokes. They’re either like rampaging monsters or super-evil like Angelus. Even when Spike was scary, he was less scary. He cared about things, so you could kind of reason with him most of the time, even though he was pretty stocked up with the crazy. Then he was all chipped, and he was like that miserable relative you get stuck hanging out with at the family reunion and then you both realize that you like Stanley Kubrick movies so you have a decent conversation about that but then they make a racist comment and you feel embarrassed for liking them for a second. Not that Spike is racist, which is kind of neat for a guy who’s that old, or wait no!” Willow’s face suddenly lit up and she clapped her hands together, which made Buffy start back.

“He’s Cookie-pie!”

“What’s a Cookie-pie, and why are you saying Spike is something so delicious sounding?”

“Cookie-pie isn’t a literal pie, it was my Nana’s dog, this adorable, little, white teacup poodle,” Willow said.

“Wait, what, you think Spike’s adorable now?”

“No, not adorable. He’s got an amazing body, though. I walked in on him by accident when he was in the shower after one of his and Dawn’s beauty nights …” Willow said.

Buffy threw up her hands and interrupted Willow before she could go any further.

“Hold it, first off aren’t you gay now? Second, what is beauty night and why does it involve a naked Spike with my baby sister? And third, Spike, really?”

“I am gay, but I’m sort of 90/10, if you know what I mean. I could never marry a guy, but I can enjoy their aesthetic properties. Second, beauty night is just what Dawn called it when she’d help dye Spike’s hair. She got a big kick out of doing his nails, too, so he’d put up with it. Anyway, he’d shower—alone--no Dawn in sight for that portion of beauty night, in order to wash the dye out. Also, I don’t think his crypt has plumbing. And third, I guess you can see answer one. Sorry to freak you out, I was just trying out the girl talk. Must be rusty,” Willow said, ticking off her fingers.

“Sorry, that was a lot of information to process all at once, so what were you trying to say about Cookie-pie?” Buffy asked.

“Well, Cookie-pie was just the cutest dog in the whole wide world, but he didn’t like anyone but my Nana. The people who owned it before abused the poor little guy horribly. I don’t even want to think about what they did to him. Anyway, my Nana saved the dog from being put down and when I went to her house I’d try to coax the puppy out of his little puppy hideaway. One day I succeeded, and we were playing fetch. Everything seemed like it was fine, but when I went to pet Cookie-pie, he bit me. It hurt, but his mouth was super-tiny, so it didn’t hurt that much. When my Nana asked me why I needed a bandage, I lied. I was afraid she’d put Cookie-pie down. So Spike’s like that. He can hurt you, if you let him, but then that’s really your fault more than his,” Willow said.

“So, you’re saying he’s like an animal?” Buffy asked. She found that idea both comforting and disturbing.

“No, not exactly, unless Cookie-pie started walking on two legs and talking with an English accent. And for some reason I’m picturing him using a monocle, like that pig in ‘Animal Farm.’ I guess I haven’t worked out the moral ramifications of my metaphor,” Willow said.

“So ethically Spike is somewhere between your racist cousin and a cute, little dog?”

“Right, but closer to the cousin, because it would be wrong to kill Spike just because he got expensive to take care of, but it’s still O.K. to kill him if he hurts people. Besides, he can be sensitive, I guess you could say. He was the first person I came out to,” Willow said.

Willow ducked her head, a little embarrassed.

Buffy’s mouth fell open and she felt a pang of guilt and some jealousy, too, that her best friend hadn’t shared the news with her first.

“I’m sorry, Will, I should have been there for you,” Buffy said.

“It’s not like that, I mean, it happened by accident. We were in Xander’s basement, watching ‘The Hunger’ and that scene with Catherine Deneuve and Susan Sarandon came on. Spike could do that icky vampire smell thing with the pheromones and he figured it out. He was looking at me after Xander went upstairs to talk to Anya and I blurted it out, ‘hey, kinda gay now.’ I figured Spike would be the last person to judge me. He was sweet about it, he said that he’d hooked up with Angel a few times when they were both evil, to make me feel less alone,” Willow said.

Buffy thought about when Spike had showed her how he and Angel used to have sex.

Spike had been following her around on patrol like a teacup poodle and they’d somehow gotten onto the topic of Angel.



“This isn’t remotely the same thing as me and Angel. This is not love,” Buffy had said, as they were picking their way through rows of tombstones.



“Love, that’s rich. If that fickle ponce loved you so much, why didn’t he visit Dawn once during the time you were gone? You die, and instead of helping your friends take care of little sis, he traipses off to Tibet to grieve in the most melodramatic way possible. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a full orchestra trailing him to heighten the effect.



‘Meanwhile, yours truly and your little band of misfit toys here are trying to muddle through, keep what you held dear safe. Mr. King of Pain didn’t even come to your funeral. Cordelia Chase and that watcher whose career you ruined came, but Forehead had to go find himself. Oh yeah, and he’s supposed to be running a detective agency, but when Tara calls to see if they can track down your dear old dad because he’s stopped paying child support, they tell her that they don’t do that sort of thing,” Spike said.



“Did they know it was for Dawn?” Buffy asked.



“Yeah, ‘cause Willow called the next day asking and they said the same thing. I ended up finding him, had Anya pretend to be a lawyer to get him to assume his responsibility,” Spike said.



“Thank you,” she said, quietly.



Spike seemed taken aback by that; he looked like he’d been preparing to continue his tirade. They walked in silence for a little while. Buffy knew what Spike had said about the funeral was true; Angel had told her himself that he couldn’t handle it, or seeing Dawn again.



It hadn’t really hurt her as much then, but seeing it through Spike’s eyes, the eyes that had watched the people she loved grieving, Buffy felt embarrassed. Angel seemed to think nothing of everyone else in her life, unless he needed Willow for a spell. He’d moved on and was helping the helpless with his own makeshift family. He’d moved on from loving her.



“Nothing you can say would change the way I feel about Angel. You have no idea what we had,” Buffy said, in her same quiet, measured tone.



She wanted to put the subject to rest, and she absolutely meant what she’d said. Buffy had wished so many times that she didn’t love Angel. Caring about other people didn’t alter her affection for him to any degree. Her love for Angel was a little like the scar over Spike’s eye; imperfect, sure, but it was so much a part of who she was it would be impossible to imagine her without it. Buffy couldn’t really explain that though, least of all to Spike.



Spike threw his hands up in the air.



“Oh please! I’ve shagged him more times than you did, and that was just for a laugh,” Spike said.



She turned to look at him, and the expression on her face made his narrow, gas-blue eyes widen and his lips stumble wordlessly.



Then Buffy tripped over a tombstone and spilled onto the ground.



“You’re kidding, right?” she said, but of course she knew he wasn’t kidding; decadent vampire orgies are sort of a given. Her voice was muffled because she was face down in the grass. He squatted beside her and offered a hand.



Buffy sat up on her haunches without taking it. Spike folded the rejected hand and stuck it in the pocket of his long, black, leather coat.



“Guess he’d have no reason to mention it,” Spike said. He smiled, curling his tongue behind his teeth.



Buffy glared at him, wiped her muddy palms on her jeans and stood up. He rose beside her.



“Look, you live a hundred years, you get bored,” he said.



“I don't want to hear it,” Buffy said.



“The first time we were very, very drunk on absinthe and I think there was some opium involved,” Spike said.



“Not making this better,” she said.



“We were different people then, him quite literally,” Spike said.



“Just shut up.”



They kept walking in silence until they reached his crypt. He went to the door.



“Coming in?” he asked.



She ignored him and kept walking home. When she tried to sleep, Buffy was tormented by images of Spike and Angel rolling around naked, their bloodless skin gold in candle light. It wasn’t just a jealous type of torment, either.



She was sick with desire.



The next morning she got Dawn off to school and then headed in for Double Meat Palace duty. She watched her hands folding the hamburgers in wax paper, scrubbing silvery, metal counter tops, taking money, sliding the drawer closed and passing back change. They didn’t feel like her hands.



Her mind was somewhere else; in bed with her former lover and her current lover. Spike was her lover. It felt strange to put that word into what they were doing.



Right after the lunch rush, Buffy burnt her wrist while she was dropping a basket of fries into boiling oil. To her credit, she didn’t scream, even though the searing pain took her by surprise, leaving a red welt shaped like a question mark on the soft skin.



Her manager saw Buffy clutch her hand to her chest. She came over and grabbed Buffy’s wrist to examine the underside of Buffy’s arm. The manager sent her home early, probably hoping her employee wouldn’t try to file a workers’ comp claim.



It was only one-thirty when she got home. As Buffy tried to shower away the greasy smell from her hair with a third application of shampoo, she thought about what she should do.



She should meet up with Tara so they could both pick up Dawn from school. It would be nice to catch up with her friend and it would make Dawn happy to see her…probably. It was always hard to tell what kind of mood her sister was going to be in.



She shut the water off and stepped onto the bath mat, being careful not to drip on the floor. She dried herself mechanically, then began rubbing ginger scented lotion onto her strong, slim legs.



Spike hated it when she wore perfume. He said he preferred the natural scent of her body; he said all the chemicals made his chip buzz for some reason. Buffy realized she was anointing her skin in a deliberate attempt to keep herself from going to see Spike.



It didn’t work.



In less than twenty minutes’ time she’d dressed and made her way to his crypt.



She found him asleep in the underground chamber. He was naked, of course and she took him in as she approached the bed. He was lying on his back with one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting on his chest. His lips were parted and his hair had fallen into loose curls. His skin reminded her of moonlight pooling on her window.



In this supine position and without the need for breath, he looked like a statue. Spike was a beautiful object, made to be touched, made to be wanted. Drusilla made him for that purpose. He was a monster created by another monster so she could be loved.



His legs were spread and he had an erection that was snagging the red sheet, keeping it from sliding to the floor.Buffy sat beside him, but he didn’t stir. She started stroking him under the sheet and he let out a little shudder.



“Oh Buffy,” he whispered.



She gripped him tighter and he gasped, then his whole body jerked. The arm covering his eyes fell back and he was awake. Buffy let go of him.



“Oh. Buffy?” he asked.



“Yeah.”



“What time is it?” he asked, his voice gruff with sleep.



“Afternoon, I got out of work early, wanted to see you. I need you to tell me about you and Angel,” she said.



“Yeah, well, I don’t think so,” he said, pulling the sheet around him.



“Spike,” she said, her green eyes wide and imploring. She hoped saying his name would be enough to make him want to indulge her.



“Gonna take more than that, love, a lot more,” he said, softly.



“What, why?” she asked. Her frustration was starting to overwhelm her.



“I’m not letting Angelus play around in here,” Spike said, touching her forehead, “not without a price.”



“What do you want?”



“I want you to beg,” he said.



Buffy backhanded Spike across his lovely face. She pulled the punch because she didn’t want to send him flying to the other side of the room, but she struck him hard enough that it would have broken his jaw had he been a mortal man.



Spike did not pull his punch when he hit her back, and Buffy careened along the bed before she slammed into the stone wall, face first.



Buffy felt the stars exploding behind her eyes when his hand made contact and felt the second impact of the wall. Slowly, she regained her footing and stood. She brought her fingers to her burning lips and then looked down at her hands.



They were covered in vivid blood, but at least they felt like hers again. She was trailing blood from her mouth like Kali the death goddess.



Spike was suddenly in front of her, lids heavy over his blue eyes, mouth drinking and sucking at the tiny wound he’d made.



It wasn’t the first time she’d let him drink her blood. He’d never bitten her, but he’d take a taste of any cuts or scrapes she earned on patrol or during one of their sessions. Buffy blanched to think of anyone finding out what he’d done when she was on her period.



Spike was pressing up against her. He was so hard, that when she gripped his cock she feared the tight skin would split apart.



“Tell me,” she said. His balls rested in her free hand, and she gave them a little squeeze.



He laughed, his lips still pressed to hers.



“Hear you loud and clear, love. Take your clothes off,” he said.



He stepped away from her, conceding defeat and Buffy slid out of her clothes. Her damp panties landed with a slight splat on the floor. The sound made her cringe.



“Lay face down on the bed,” he said.



“What are you going to do?”she asked, not moving.



“Look, if you want this, you’ve got to do what I say, right?”



She nodded, and then got onto the bed.



“If you and I were going to pretend it was the first time, for historical accuracy’s sake we’d need a few more girls. Since I don’t think you’re ready to phone Red, we’ll just do it like the last time,” he said.



She could almost see the little smile turning up his lips; see the tip of his tongue poking out.



“The last time you slept with Angel?” she asked in a small voice.



“Yeah. “



She heard him move to the side of the bed, open a drawer and withdraw something. He let her wait a second, as though he were just looking at her. That was just enough time for her adrenaline to wear off and she started to wonder what she was in for. They hadn’t tried anal sex yet, but this looked like it would be the big moment. She was scared, but she’d never let that stop her. She couldn’t stop when she was this close to finding out.



Spike knelt between her parted legs. She could feel his cool hands on her lower back, then oil dripping along her spine. He began rubbing in sweeping circles, picking up the oil on his thumbs as he massaged her.



“He used to have me rub his back, thought I wouldn’t figure out what he was really after. He always thought he was making me fuck him, I guess he had to. I liked it though. I liked that I wasn’t supposed to get off with another bloke; I liked making him cum. I liked having that power over him. It was one of the only times I had any power over Angelus,” Spike said.



“What was he like?” Buffy asked. Her voice was shaking.



“Selfish, greedy and needy as hell,” Spike said.



“Like me,” Buffy said.



His hands stopped moving.



“No, not like you. You give when you’re with me like this. You care, even though you say you don’t, it’s the only time you’ll let yourself feel for me. That’s why I’m always trying to get you in bed,” Spike said, his voice catching.



She twisted her torso so she could look up at him.



“Aside from the obvious reason,” she said.



“Yeah,” he said, smiling down at her. He brushed his slick thumb against her lower lip.



“Cut’s already healed,” he said.



Then he bent to her mouth and kissed her. Buffy rolled onto her back and angled her hips so that when she wrapped her legs around him, he glided inside. Spike moaned.



“Don’t you want to keep playing?” he asked.



“I want to make you cum first,” she said.



“That could take hours, love,” he said.



Buffy smiled up at him and then clenched her legs tighter. She rolled her internal muscles with as much strength as she could, a trick she learned when she was desperate to make Riley finish. Riley had stamina but lacked finesse and sometimes after one of their bouts he’d pound her tender bits into numbness.



Spike’s smug grin disappeared as soon as she started her slayer death grip. He let out a choked groan, mumbled something about the queen and then collapsed into orgasmic twitching on top of her. After a few minutes, he recovered his capacity for speech.



“You’ve been holding out on me, slayer,” he said.



She almost told him that she’d never wanted to make him stop before, but that would’ve been admitting something to herself.



“I like power, too,” she said. Buffy had been absently stroking his hair. She suddenly realized she loved the feel of his weight on top of her, the way the over-processed curls crinkled under her fingers. Buffy gently pushed him away.



“So,” he said with a sigh, “game’s back on, is it?”



“Yeah,” she said.



“Well, roll over and we’ll start strolling back down memory lane,” Spike said.



He pawed the sheets until he found his bottle of oil, then resumed her massage. He kept stroking her until her body was soft and pliant. The sound of his voice made her start; despite the need that had been twisting through her all day, Spike had managed to nearly lull her to sleep.



“Now, I’m going to tell you what to say, just repeat it, yeah?”



“Yeah,” she said.



“Say, fuck me, William.”



“Fuck me, William.”



She felt his fingers slide down the cleft of her ass and then penetrate her. He started rubbing her clit, which alleviated the awkwardness. Then there was no awkwardness, just pleasure. She was moaning, she knew because the sound was filling the room.



“Say, you love me William, that’s why you do this for me,” Spike said.



“You love me William, that’s why you do this for me.”



“Say, and I love you.”



“I love you,” she moaned, without thinking.



Suddenly, he replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock. It burned, and she nearly told him to stop, but that would be a sort of defeat. He took it slow, until she got used to the ache, before he buried himself completely.



“Say you love me,” he said.



“I love you, Spike.”



He started rocking shallowly inside her, his fingers kept up their delicate play on her clit. They moved gently together until an orgasm undulated throughout her body. Spike came tumbling after, moaning in her ear. He was panting unnecessarily against her, sending strands of her hair spinning. They tickled her face.



“Tell me the truth, baby. Let’s say the soul’s a non-issue. Would you wish I was him right now?” Spike asked.



His voice was a cool whisper against her ear.



“You're the only one I could be with like this. He’d never love me if he knew what I was really like,” she mumbled into the pillow.



Spike was grabbing her, moving so they were lying face to face. He was still hard inside her.



“You listen to me. You don’t need him, you don’t need anybody. You have me and I’m always going to love you. If I exist to see the end of things, I’ll be sitting on this burnt out ember of a planet, watching the stars blink out with the memory of your taste on my lips. When the universe shudders and coughs to a halt the last word it hears will be your name, your ridiculous, fucking name, Buffy Summers.”



She kissed him, devouring his lips and wished she could believe him.

The memory came to Buffy in a flash. A deep, red blush spread over her face which Willow misinterpreted.

“Angel never told you, did he?”

“No,” Buffy said, truthfully.

“I don’t think it was a love thing, I think it was a naughty, vampire thing,” Willow said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy said.

“Yeah, anyway, so Spike’s changed a lot since the old days,” Willow said.

“He can’t change, not really, he’ll always be evil,” Buffy said, defensively. Willow looked at her friend a long moment.

“Has he done something? Did he start following you around again or declare his love?” Willow asked.

“No,” Buffy said.

“Then why are you all about Spike suddenly?”

“I’m just worried…about Dawn…getting too attached to him. He’s going to get sick of us eventually and move on. I just don’t want her to get hurt again,” Buffy lied.

Willow didn’t quite buy her friend’s explanation, but she decided to let Buffy decide if she wanted to tell her more. They were quiet for a second.

“Where are Anya and Xander?” Buffy asked.

Willow scanned the dance floor but didn’t see either of their friends.

“They have been gone a long time, haven’t they,” Willow said.

A cold trickle of panic slid around Buffy’s stomach. She wondered if Xander and Anya had been attacked while she was wasting time talking about Spike.

“I’ll go outside, you start checking the bathrooms,” Buffy said. Her voice had taken on a note of command.
Willow nodded in agreement and the girls went their separate ways.

Buffy slipped into the alley behind the Bronze. She froze when she heard Anya crying.

“Ahn, enough with the waterworks, I dusted the baddies, the world is safe again,” Xander said.

“That’s not the point. It just never stops and sure this time you were safe, but what about the next time and after that. You don’t understand what it’s like. Since I became mortal it’s like the only thing I have is you. When I was a vengeance demon I was like one of those career girls in the romantic comedy. I had my work and I didn’t need a man, just like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman.’ Now I have the shop, but it’s not enough. When I’m with you it feels like money has no inherent value,” Anya said.

“Actually, money doesn’t have any inherent value,” Xander said.

“I’m trying to be honest with you and you’re making enigmatic jokes. What I'm trying to say is I love you more than any of the material goods I could ever purchase with money and even money itself,” Anya said.

Buffy smiled, then whirled around and grabbed the vamp that was lurking behind her by the throat. Confusion registered on his distorted features before they turned to dust.

“I'd tell you to lay off the Old Spice but it's sort of a moot point,” she said.

Buffy shook the dust from her slightly rumpled, but still stunning dress, and went back inside the Bronze.

Buffy knew she should not be picking her way through his cemetery. At the very least she should change out of the dress. Spike would know everything, he'd smell it. Maybe that's what she wanted after all; to be found out finally. To be known.


Spike was sitting in his television chair with an acoustic guitar across his lap. The instrument was one of Harmony's finds. She'd eaten a busker and thought they might be able to sell the guitar for a little petty cash, at least he thought that's what she said. Never listened very closely when she'd go off on a tear.

If Sid Vicious could teach himself to play in one night, Spike reasoned he ought to be able to do it in half the time. Highly attuned vampire senses and all that.

“I think this line is mostly filler,” he sang under his breath as he tried to pluck out a half-forgotten tune.

Then he sensed her, heels sinking in the earth, skirt rustling against her thighs; the silk whispered to him, chanted his name. And the scent. Her skin was awash in a chemical garden that he could feel buzzing in his back teeth. Fucking chip. There was another smell, too, one that turned the handle of the guitar he was holding into splinters.

Spike stood up and threw the instrument against the stone wall of his crypt. It shattered just as Buffy walked through the door. She jumped. He made The Slayer jump.

“Bad time?” she asked.

No snark. Huh.

“No, love, I was finished practicing,” he said.

“So, when will I see you and your pile of garbage at Carnegie Hall?”

There it was.

“Date not go so well, or very well?”

“What, I didn't. It wasn't a date,” Buffy said.

“Well you sure reek of another man. Could smell the flop sweat and the Polo Sport pouring off you before you made it past the threshold,” Spike said.

Buffy looked at the shiny, silver purse she was holding. It was shaped like a puffer fish on a string.

“I danced with a boy at the Bronze,” she said.

Her embarrassment got Spike's attention. He moved toward her slowly. She sounded like a little girl who'd just been caught at something naughty.

“You like it, dancing with him?”

“It was nice. He was nice. We used to have a class together,” she said, still focused on her bag, her hands, anything but his eyes.

“Make you laugh, did he?” Spike asked. His voice had gotten lower, and he took another step toward her.

“He did.”

Spike took another step.

“S'why you let him kiss you, shared the laugh, thought you might have something in common, didn't you?” He asked.

He sounded almost sympathetic.

Spike took another step. He was so close, within arm's reach.

“I did, I kissed him,” Buffy said.

Spike ran his cold fingers across her clavicle.

“What did you feel?” he asked, his voice held quiet menace and his nostrils flared.

Buffy finally met his eyes.

“What did you feel, pet?” he asked.

“Nothing, just alone,” she said.

He stroked the hollow of her throat with one hand while he took her waist with the other.

“And you want me to make you feel something, because I'm the only thing who can anymore, that right?”
He added an emphasis to the word, thing.

She couldn't even say yes, she only nodded.

He smirked at her and continued lightly touching her chest.

“You look so beautiful tonight, frock really suits you. Should buy one in every color,” Spike said.

He fingered the tie at the back of her neck. It was ticklishly thrilling.

“Can't afford it,” Buffy said.
He leaned in close to her ear.

“Shame, that. I'm gonna make you feel everything, make you scream, and the only thing I want in return is to be the last man ever to see you in this dress,” Spike said.

Buffy froze. This was the moment that their whatever-it-was, had always been leading to. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her and she was going to let him because of all the things she'd done that night, this was the only thing that felt remotely real.

Spike grabbed a handful of her hair and bent Buffy's head back. He licked her neck and then kissed her open mouth. She closed her eyes. Then Spike tore her dress off like, well like a Peter Paul's Almond Joy.

Let me show you, baby, I’m a talented boy.

One minute she was sure she was dying, the next she was acting out smutty Prince lyrics with her mortal enemy. God her existence had become so strange; she didn't even like Spike. She didn’t even like Prince. Although, at that moment both of them seemed entirely appropriate.

Buffy was standing in front of him naked save for her black panties and matching, muddy heels. It was almost perfection. Who was he kidding, the dirt made her better. The blue dress had parted and she'd emerged as if from deep, churning waters; his Aphrodite. The grave clinging to her shoes made her Buffy.

The dress was a bright rag, forgotten like ticker tape after the parade, streamers after the party. The panties followed and then he was lifting her up.

Buffy draped her legs around his shoulders and dug one filthy stiletto heel into his back. He groaned happily into her beautiful, flower-like, flowery cunt. He was working his fingers inside her, and she could feel the cold bite of his skull ring, the stupid ring he’d given her when they were fake-engaged. Now that he really loved her that moment felt even more remote, Buffy thought.

The real thing hurt for both of them, but at the moment it felt so good. His tongue was pulsing against her clit and his fingers were moving in concert, moving inside her. Her torso bowed over his head and her blonde hair spilled over her face, tickling the nape of his neck. She was gripping the back of his head so tight and he didn’t have to stop to breathe; one of the other perks of vampire sex besides the super-duper, gravity-defying strength.

She came, and then slowly dripped down his body until her heels were hooked behind his head, she was folded almost in half and they were face to face. He kissed her lips with her taste all over him. Marked.

Then they were on the stone floor and he was driving into her. Buffy didn't know where his clothes went, they were just gone and she was sandwiched between cold and hard on both sides. Spike roared. He was holding her crossed ankles, then her legs were involuntarily acting like a springboard and he was flying across the crypt.

Something broke, but it wasn't either of them, so they kept going.

He made her scream and moan. She returned in kind. At some point she chipped one of his teeth and then watched it grow back while she was bouncing in his lap. Like time-lapse photography. He was eagerly lapping along the length of her skinned shins, but then they were kissing, but then they were falling asleep and light was burning through the cracks in the crypt door.

Light. Daylight.

Buffy had to get to work, but at least Dawn was still with Tara, right? All she needed was to find her...her clothes were thrashed. Like they'd been through a thrasher thrashed. This would be an epic walk of shame.

Buffy crawled over Spike's sprawled body and retrieved the tatters of her magical, perfect dress. Yesterday she'd thrown away $99.97 on nothing; today she was on her hands and knees cradling less than nothing. It was all because of a monster created by another monster to love her.

Dawnie was eating Ramen noodles and they couldn't even afford the brand name mac 'n cheese. What the hell had she been thinking? She hadn't, just reacting, just existing.

Spike woke up to the sound of Buffy sobbing.

She let him hold her, that was a first.

She was sitting between his legs, resting her arms on them like he was a Lazy-Boy recliner. Spike stroked Buffy's hair until her sobs had slowed to sniffles.

“What is it, love,” he asked.

“This dress cost us a week's worth of groceries, and I was stupid for buying it and even more stupid for letting you rip it off of me,” she said.

“Can buy you another dress, pet,” he said.

“Don't want another dress, it's not about that,” she said.

“No, I get it. Wish you could be free from the worry and the want,” he said.

“Yeah. Now I have to walk home naked, unless you've still got a stash of my clothes that you've been huffing,” Buffy said.

“Got rid of that lot after...and then you were back. Had you, didn't need it,” Spike said. His voice took on a soft, wistful lilt that made Buffy's heart crunch.

“You don't have me,” Buffy said. She stood up, gloriously cold, hoping to freeze out all the warm fuzzies she was feeling for him right then.

“Not what you said last night,” he said, and stood up with startling speed. He grabbed his jeans off the floor and yanked them on.

“Let's not have this same argument now, I need to get back,” Buffy said with a sigh. Spike picked his leather duster off of his chair and threw it at her. She caught it with a deft movement.

“If I wear that, everyone will know I was with you,” Buffy said.

“It's all you've got, love, and you've cut your hair. Can't use that for cover when you're riding your white horse home,” he said.

“Horse?”

“Just go. Run into somebody, tell them a demon melted off your frock and after some prodding my chivalry kicked in, wouldn't let you wander off naked,” Spike said.

Buffy put on the coat; the lining slipped against her skin. It felt so intimate and dirty to be wearing Spike's coat, like he was touching her whole body with each sway of the leather. Spike watched her adjust it with his mouth slightly open. Riveting, it was. He wanted to take her again right there, his slayer donning his armor.

Buffy walked to the door, then paused before she reentered the outside world.

“Thank you,” she said, and then was gone.

She didn't see anyone familiar on her way home and the house was mercifully empty upon her return. Buffy hung Spike's leather in the back of her closet, took a shower and tried to put the night's failure out of her mind.

Buffy thought Spike would be by that evening to pick up his coat, but he didn't show. After patrolling, she went into his crypt and found him sitting on his chair watching a rerun of Falcon Crest.

“Hey,” she said.

“Here for a little cold comfort?” he asked, without turning from the television.

“No, just wanted to return your thing,” she said, walking down to him. Buffy had his duster neatly folded in the black back pack she was carrying.

Spike looked up at her and smiled.

“Got something for you, too,” he said. Spike got up and pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. He handed it to Buffy.

She peeled open the flap and found a neat stack of bills.

“S'for the dress, don't want the bit to starve,” he said.

“I can't take this, you probably stole it or did something worse to get it,” she said.

He held up both his hands to show her that his fingers were bare.

“Hocked my rings, pet,” Spike said.

They stood in silence for a beat. Spike was shocked when Buffy seized him in a tight hug.

“Spike! I never thought I'd be so happy that somebody pawned my engagement ring,” she said.

Spike laughed, surprised that she was hugging him like he was one of the Scoobies. He was shocked she remembered a detail like the engagement ring from the time they were under Willow's love spell, something he'd completely forgotten until then.

That night instead of frantic sex, they went to the grocery store. Buffy insisted they buy a bottle of dye for him, though he wanted to nick it off the shelf, and he went home with her.

“It's time you and Dawn had another beauty night,” Buffy said.

Dawn was glad to see her sister home so early and went into a tizzy trying to find her polish so she could touch up his chipping nails.

Spike was sitting in a kitchen chair, his head over the sink. Dawn was peeling the plastic gloves off of the paper instructions and Buffy was simply watching him. It was so foolish, so small and yet all he wanted at that moment. All he ever wanted.

If money was what his girls needed, he could get that. Spike had a line on a few things, not so savory but lucrative things. Some ghastly little Suvolte demon eggs that would put the Summers women in a thousand silk dresses in every imaginable shade.

If he could make that come through, he could tear them off of Buffy three times a day and throw them out like tissues without batting an eye.

Buffy watched as Dawn chattered cheerfully with Spike and rubbed the dye into his hair. The smile he gave her little sister was so genuine, so sweet.

Maybe Willow was right. Maybe he could change, fundamentally change. Dawn went into the other room, leaving her alone with Spike. In that brief moment as he was lying with his eyes closed, the Jiffy-Pop, plastic hairnet on his head, he never looked more appealing to her.

Buffy kissed him, softly. She couldn't speak, had no idea what she'd say, so Buffy went to look for Dawn.
Spike smelled her, felt her for a second; warmth pressed against his lips.

Then she was gone, just like the sun behind a cloud.