The sunlight streaked across Buffy’s room, unrestrained by the curtains she hadn’t bothered to pull. It fell across the bed, sloppy from the night before, and sliced across Spike’s face. It pulled him from his sleep as he felt it against his eyelids, piercing, painful, and realized, suddenly, that something was wrong.
The sun was burning him up.
“Jesus!” screamed Spike, diving off the bed into the shaded corner of the room. Frantically he reached up to slap the flames from his face and found … nothing. No fire, no burned patches. Not even a crispy eyelash. “What the hell?”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Buffy asked groggily, sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes.
The throbbing in Spike’s head told him well enough what it was. “Hangover,” he growled, feeling stupid. He’d enjoyed enough of them as a vampire to know what they felt like, although he’d had to drink a shitload more in the past to get pissed. Say, a fifth. As opposed to the lousy half a pitcher he’d had the night before. Pathetic human constitution.
Buffy was having trouble focusing her eyes, so she shut them and massaged her temples. “What did we do last night?”
“Drank a little,” Spike mumbled.
“I mean, did we have sex?” Buffy said, rolling her eyes before a shooting pain in her head made her stop all movement.
Spike groaned. Wonderful. His first time as a human, and he couldn’t even remember it. Assuming he’d even been sober enough to perform.
He glanced down at himself. He hadn’t gotten much of a sense of things, what with being worried about catching fire and all, but he was wearing his jeans. “If we did, it was extremely safe sex,” he offered, unsure whether to be relieved or not. He thought he was relieved. When he was sober, he’d probably be more sure.
Buffy didn’t seem to have heard him. “I hurt,” she whimpered, slumping back down and covering her eyes with her arms.
Tenderness shot through him. “I’ll take care of it, baby,” he told her, struggling to his feet and feeling his way, eyes averted, to the window. He fumbled around until he found the curtain pull, and shut the drapes. “Better?”
Buffy sniffled and nodded. “Still hurts,” she complained.
“I know how to do you,” Spike reassured her, blinking as he became acclimated to the dim light. “Hold on a minute, love.”
He made his way into the bathroom and rooted around in the medicine cabinet until he found a bottle of aspirin. He tucked it into his pocket, and slowly, carefully, made his way down the stairs into the kitchen.
He’d never disliked stairs more in his life. They were so high and steep—didn’t seem safe, to have something like that right in the middle of a house, now did it? A health hazard. Many more nights like the last one and they should look into having an elevator installed.
Xander and Willow looked up at him from their breakfast as he entered and shambled past them.
“Uhh,” he said by way of greeting.
Xander smothered a smile at Spike’s obvious discomfort. Just because the guy was no longer an evil rampaging vampire, and just because Xander had evolved and everything, didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the blond’s hangover. Schauden-something, there was nothing like it. “How you feeling there, buddy? There’s some eggs left, if you’re hungry. Scrambled, still kind of runny.”
Spike tried not to gag as he fought back nausea at the image. “That’s okay, I’m good,” he managed, rummaging through the refrigerator and trying not to smell the eggs or anything else. “Got what I came for.”
“Uh … yeah,” said Xander, staring at the bottle Spike had pulled from the refrigerator. “You know what they say about beer—it’s not just a breakfast drink.” Willow glanced at him. “Or, you know, in this instance it kinda is.”
“Hair of the dog that bit you,” said Spike, and Willow laughed a little. Spike glanced at her. Something about last night niggled at him … something odd … like she was out with him and Buffy, except not that. More like….
Oh, Christ. “Red? Did we, uh … get into bed with you last night?”
She gave him a kind look. “Yeah, you kinda did.”
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, looking down at the bottle in his hand. The apology would have been easier if he hadn’t tried to bite her so many times. Bite her and worse. Kind of got in the way a little. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”
Willow nodded, blushing a little. Amazing how Spike could make her blush—she thought she’d gotten over that sometime around near-world-destroyage and everything. “It’s okay, I know you weren’t doing anything.”
Spike nodded and started past her before a memory jolted. “And, uh, it’s not because you’re not pretty,” he told her awkwardly, patting her shoulder with his free hand before drifting out of the kitchen, already working on the bottle top. As he disappeared, Willow could swear she heard him mutter that the beer cap was “made out of lead or something,” and maybe Buffy would have better luck with it.
“What in the heck did that mean?” Xander asked in puzzlement, looking at Willow’s blush deepen.
“He’s just being nice,” she mumbled, hoping he’d let it drop. She’d told the others, years before, about Spike’s failure to perform when he attacked her after first being chipped, but she hadn’t shared her fear that it was because she wasn’t bitable. Partly because it was stupid, but mostly because it made her feel like a wallflower again, and after a couple of years of not being one, she didn’t want to feel that way again.
She didn’t think anybody would mistake her for a wallflower now. Wallflowers almost never dated musicians, or tried to end the world, or helped save the world. Or were loved by really neat people.
She wasn’t anyone’s wallflower.
But still, they didn’t have to know about her little bitability-inadequacy fear.
“So what’s the plan for the day?” Xander asked, to her relief; he’d accepted her answer.
“A little homework, a little settling in, a little … going over to my place—Kennedy’s place—and picking up my stuff?” Willow suggested hopefully. “You’re not working today, right?”
“No, I try not to work on Saturdays,” Xander agreed dryly. “It’s a little reward I give myself. Also, I usually give it to the guys, otherwise they might try to disembowel me. Or possibly something less pleasant.”
“What’s less pleasant than disemboweling?”
“Well, dating springs to mind.” Which, when he thought of it, really wasn’t the most tactful thing he could have said, so he hurried to add, “Sure, we’ll get your stuff.”
Willow smothered a sigh of relief. She could have asked Buffy, but things were always so tense between her and Kennedy—it would have been snap, snap, snap, the entire time. Usually Willow was able to handle it, but she just wasn’t up to it now. Just seeing Kennedy would be bad enough.
For a moment panic threatened to swamp Willow. She didn’t want to see Kennedy again, couldn’t. It would be unbearably uncomfortable.
And now that she thought about it, it was probably completely unnecessary. Willow really didn’t need her things at all. She could get new clothes, right? And new furniture. And new books, and magic supplies, and personal photos, and god, who was she kidding? She had to get her stuff. There were no two ways about it.
“Maybe we can phone first and make sure she’s out,” Willow said hopefully, getting up and putting their empty dishes into the sink. That would be better, right? It would be uncomfortable to do it with Kennedy there. Instead Kennedy would just come home and it would be over. More over. Over-er.
“Fine with me,” Xander said. “Think the truck will hold everything?”
Willow smiled a little weakly. She had to do it, but the thought of going over there, separating her things from Kennedy’s, nauseated her. It just seemed like too much, too hurtful to Kennedy, like insult on top of injury. But what was the alternative? “Too bad we didn’t keep the school bus,” she joked.
“Maybe you should make a list to be sure you get everything that’s really important,” suggested Xander.
Willow raised her eyebrows as she followed him out of the big kitchen. “Look who’s being all organized,” she marveled.
Xander winced. “Yeah, I’ve got a little more practice with the whole bitter breakup thing,” he reminded her.
Willow didn’t respond. He didn’t really have more experience in the area. His were just more final. He’d broken up with Anya and Cordelia for good, but she’d been lucky enough to reunite with Oz, for a while, and with Tara. For one day—one wonderful day….
The sound of the front door slamming barely registered, so lost was Willow in her thoughts. It wasn’t until she bumped into Xander that she snapped back to reality.
Xander was frozen, staring. At Kennedy.
“Hey,” she said casually.
Willow stared at her, horrified. Kennedy? Wasn’t that some kind of breech of breakup etiquette, just dropping by and everything? It wasn’t right, not at all. “H—hi,” she answered, faltering.
Xander stared at the two of them. It was awkward as hell. Kennedy’s body was stiff with pride, and Willow seemed to be shrinking back, as if she could disappear if she just tried hard enough.
Actually, Xander reminded himself, she did know how to do that, so it wasn’t really all that out there.
The two women continued staring at each other.
“I’ve got to, uh, see about the—the thing,” Xander said, backing out of the room. “Will? Call if you need anything.”
Neither woman bothered to watch his exit. Willow wished Kennedy had looked at him, so she wouldn’t be looking at Willow with that long, opaque stare that Willow couldn’t read at all.
For a moment, stupidly, Willow wondered if she’d imagined breaking up with Kennedy. ‘Cause she had—right? Otherwise she wouldn’t have spent the night at Buffy’s; she would have gone home, with Kennedy.
Right?
“We broke up, didn’t we?” Willow blurted out. The second the words were out she clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified.
Kennedy’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Yeah, we broke up.”
Ouch. Okay. “Then why are you here?” asked Willow, unsure. Kennedy just continued to stare at her. “I mean, it’s kind of awkward. And it’s completely my fault!” she added in a rush. “My fault, but still, it’s … you know, awkward.”
Kennedy studied her silently, and Willow began to squirm a little under her close regard, which wasn’t so unreadable now. Kennedy had never looked at her that way before. Cold and implacable. Actually, it was how she usually looked at Buffy.
Finally Kennedy broke the silence that followed Willow’s little speech. “You may have broken up with me, but Giles is still my Watcher,” she said coolly. “I don’t really know how you thought this would work out, but I’m not going anywhere.”
***
Buffy wandered into the kitchen, feeling almost normal. Slayer metabolism—it was a good thing, as insane-o craft queens and future felons said. Once Kennedy left, Buffy thought she’d go down and hit the bag a little, get her aggression out. She couldn’t play-fight the way she used to with Spike; she’d just hurt him. He didn’t have the strength and stamina he used to.
Idly she wondered if all his old stamina was gone. Because five hours? Very nice.
She’d left Spike in the living room, reading old magazines while Andrew mumbled to himself and worked on his new game design and Dawn laid out her many bottles of nail polish and arranged them according to color, then according to preference, and then according to order in which she would wear them and would, perhaps, actually do her nails before the afternoon was over.
Spike said he wanted to catch up on things that happened while he’d been away. He’d held up a Newsweek to convince her of his deep nature, but she could see one of Dawn’s Soap Opera Digests peeking out from beneath the stack of magazines. Like he cared how the economy was doing, as long as he knew whether whoever was doing … whatever on Passions, she thought in amusement.
“Mmm, Tab,” Buffy murmured, opening a bottle. Was it wrong that she started the day with beer, and proceeded on to Tab? Somehow that just seemed off. And probably some time she should actually think about food, but that time was far, far in the future.
Her carbonated beverage musings were interrupted by Willow walking into the kitchen. “I told you, not today,” Willow said over her shoulder. Xander followed her into the room a moment later, trailing after her as she got a bottle of water out of the fridge.
“Today’s perfect,” he argued. “Cut it off fast, cut it off clean. And we know she’s not there, right?”
“I said no!” Willow snapped, shutting the refrigerator door with a bang. “Leave it alone, Xander. We’ll do it another day.”
Xander opened his mouth to argue further, then shut it abruptly. She knew what she was doing, or at least what she wanted. And he was nobody to give breakup advice, was he? All he needed to do was go upstairs to remind himself of that one. “Fine,” he told her finally. “Whenever you want to do it, Will. Just gimme a shout.”
Willow managed a smile and nodded at him gratefully before he left the room. He was the best friend she could ever have; sometimes she felt guilty because she wanted to share things first with Buffy, ask her opinion first, when Xander had always been there for her. His advice wasn’t always the greatest, but it was straight from the heart. It was the only way he knew how to do things.
It was what made him special.
“Will? Is everything okay?” asked Buffy gingerly as Willow sat down across from her.
“I broke up with Kennedy,” Willow told her without preamble. She hoped her forthrightness would preempt any big talk about it—last night she’d wanted, desperately, to talk to Buffy, but Kennedy coming by the house had rattled her. So she really couldn’t listen to any condolences, becau—
“Thank god, I don’t know how you stood her this long!” Buffy exclaimed. A moment later she realized what she’d said. “Oh god, Will, I’m sorry, I meant—”
To her surprise, Willow laughed a little. “That’s what Andrew said when I told him,” she admitted. “What, were you all just counting the days?”
Buffy looked sheepish. “Umm … no?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Liar.”
Contrition nipped at Buffy. “I’m sorry. I know it had to hurt.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Even if it’s really really for the better.”
“Yeah,” Willow sighed. Everyone seemed in agreement about that, except maybe Kennedy. Whom she’d be seeing regularly for the rest of forever, apparently.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Willow shook her head. “I think I’m talked out for the moment.”
The sharp ringing broke the silence in the kitchen. “Dawn will get it,” Buffy said to Willow as she got up and crossed over to the phone. In fact, Dawn would probably hurt anyone who picked it up before her.
Willow ignored her. If she and Buffy sat there together much longer, Buffy would eventually badger all the details out of her, and she was too darn tired and frustrated and … and something to deal with it now. She’d been so rattled when Kennedy had walked in that Xander had taken her out to lunch to settle her down, but it hadn’t worked. Especially since she had a latte with lunch. She’d just make it through the day, and tomorrow, when things had settled down a bit, she’d tell Buffy everything and they’d eat ice cream and bond and be all best-friendy. Maybe Dawn could join them. But not today.
“Hello?” she said, picking up the receiver.
“Hi, Willow!” exclaimed a cheerful voice. Willow smiled, immediately pegging it as Fred Burkle, the really smart girl who worked with Angel and Wesley. Really really smart. Chris Epps smart, although hopefully Fred wasn’t sewing dead bodies together or anything. Willow had met her a couple of times now, and sometimes Willow thought she’d never liked anyone as much as she did the wispy brunette.
Except Buffy, Willow thought guiltily. And Xander, and Tara. And Oz. Well, she just liked her a lot, okay?
“God, it’s been so long,” Fred continued. “Why don’t you come by for the weekend some time? I could show you Wolfram & Hart—it’s got everything! It’s like being a kid in a candy store, except all the candy can kill you if you’re not careful. Okay, that doesn’t sound good, but it really is, mostly.”
Willow laughed. Fred was so cute. It was impossible not to be happy when you talked to her. “That sounds good,” Willow admitted a little shyly. They’d had so much fun before, and Fred was so adorable. Hey, maybe next weekend I can—okay, focus, Willow lectured herself. You just broke up with someone, that doesn’t mean you have to leap into another relationship right away. Besides, we’ve still got to keep our eyes out for the thaumogenesis demon—make sure it didn’t make a move towards Spike....
Buffy automatically tuned Willow’s voice out once she realized the call wasn’t for her; she had her own stuff to think about. She was still a little embarrassed about the night before.
It had all gone exactly according her plan, except not. Spike hadn’t wanted to drink alone, so they got a pitcher—mistake number one. Buffy hardly touched it, knowing what alcohol did to her. Besides, she wanted to remain alert, to prevent anything from happening to Spike. And he exercised impressive self-restraint as well, pacing himself nicely and inhaling most of a blooming onion and a plate of jalapeno poppers with no help from Buffy.
Neither of them wanted to get drunk. Unfortunately, both of them had, very quickly.
Okay, that was probably the only mistake, but it was a biggie.
God, she was lucky. If something had happened—if the demon had attempted to strike—she couldn’t have done a damn thing; she’d been too smashed to think clearly, much less dispatch a baddie.
After a few moments she became aware of Willow saying her name.
“Will? What is it?”
“That was Fred,” said Willow dazedly.
“Fred? Fred from L.A.?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d she want? A little quality quantum physics appreciation between kindred spirits?” suggested Buffy.
“Actually, she had a message for Kennedy,” said Willow quietly.
“For Kennedy?” repeated Buffy in surprise.
“Yeah. Apparently they talked earlier. She wanted to tell her—” Willow broke off.
Buffy waited expectantly, but Willow didn’t continue. “Wanted to tell her…?” Buffy prodded.
“That she found out more on thaumogenesis.”
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