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Author's Chapter Notes:
Same as the first chapter - the epilogue was too short, so it's included with this chapter.
Part IV: Let This Harmful Spell Be Broken

“Ever since the spell… I just…” Buffy felt extremely uncomfortable, to say the least. “I was… thinking about you. All the time. And I didn’t want to be alone with you, because I was afraid I would do something, and something like, well, last night would happen. And I kind of – told myself not to, but I still did. Not like, all day long, but when I saw you. Or was asleep. Or something.”

Buffy wanted to look away, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Spike. He, on the other hand, had no such problem, and was staring fixedly at a spot on the floor.

He coughed, and muttered something that sounded like the word “honest,” but Buffy couldn’t be sure. Then he swallowed, and looked up.

And stood, and walked closer.

For a moment, Buffy felt cold fear, but then she remembered – a kiss for every answer – and she felt warmth wash out from her middle. Spike stopped in front of her, and took a deep breath, licking his lips. Then he sighed, and leaned down.

Buffy doubly cursed her tied hands, because it meant that Spike could pull away whenever he wanted. But he was fair, she had to admit that; the kiss, though close-mouthed, was long and lingering.

When he did pull away, it was abrupt, and he quickly stepped back, a hand reaching up as if to wipe his mouth, though it never actually did.

He frowned, obviously choosing his next question carefully. Buffy couldn’t help but be a little annoyed; it was obvious he was trying to reduce the number of kisses by picking good questions. But it wasn’t against the rules, so she couldn’t really say anything about it.

“Did… Do you…” Spike frowned, and now he did scrub a hand across his mouth, as if trying to remove the memory of her lips. “But you weren’t upset… after. Why not? What happened to the righteous Slayer anger and superiority?”

Buffy frowned at the way he phrased it, but knew what he meant. “I don’t know.”

Spike gaped at her. “You don’t know?”

Buffy shrugged, a calm feeling stealing over her. Why not be completely honest right now? It wasn’t like she had anything to lose. “I just… didn’t care. I don’t know why I haven’t freaked out. I mean, logically, I’m acting completely insane right now.”

Spike smiled suddenly. “Tell me about it,” he muttered.

Buffy shrugged again, not bothered by his comment. “But I don’t really care. And, if we both really wanted to… we could be a couple. My friends would freak, but they’d be okay about it after a while. We wouldn’t tie you up anymore. You killing people wouldn’t be a problem since you can’t, and you’re already sort of helping me patrol. If we wanted to, it’s possible. And I guess I’ve just decided I want to.”

Spike’s smile was gone as if it had never existed. “You want to be a couple?” his voice almost cracked, and he cleared his throat. “You want to be a couple,” he muttered under his breath, turning and beginning to pace.

Buffy felt downright serene now, and the brief thought passed through her head that she might have been poisoned or something, or got a personality transplant because this was not any Buffy she’d ever been before. “That’s right,” she agreed. “It really depends on you right now.”

Spike whirled on her, “Can’t you see that it’s just wrong?”

Again, Buffy nodded. “Yeah. Traditionally, no vampire/Slayer relationships, or actually human/vampire, are right. They’re all wrong. But you know, I’m not actually a traditional kind of person. And neither are you. Angel was, more. That’s probably part of why he left – ”

“Don’t you dare mention that bastard to me!” Spike roared. “Do you want me to hit you?”

Buffy’s smile didn’t even waver. “No. I want you to kiss me.”

Spike stared at her, looking defeated and tired. He slowly sank back into his chair. “Could you not be so fucking honest?” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is so fucked-up.”

Buffy sighed, then perked up. “You have to kiss me now.”

Spike didn’t move, speaking through his hands. “Do I have to?”

“Yeah… Once for every answer, remember?”

Spike looked at her, then groaned again. “I have a headache.” He stood and left the room, Buffy staring after him.

“Cheater!”


Spike came back a few hours later. Buffy was no longer smiling, scowling at him. “I have rope burn,” she announced. “And couldn’t you have even turned on the TV?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You sound like Harris’ bird.”

Though disturbed by this comparison, Buffy didn’t dignify the insult with a retort. “So? What have you decided to do? And when do I get my kiss?” Oh god, she thought, I do sound like Anya!

Spike looked at her again, his eyes unreadable. “You really want to be a couple.”

Buffy blushed. “Well… yeah. I guess.”

“And you don’t care what your lot thinks.”

“I do. But… I mean, I won’t let it stop me, or anything. Why?”

Spike didn’t answer her question, just looking at her.

“And you wouldn’t expect me to become a member of your little gang, or anything?”

Buffy shook her head, “Well it would be nice, but… Wait, are you saying…?” She began to get a light-headed feeling, even more so when he slowly approached her.

Spike’s eyes never left hers. “And you wouldn’t mention the git?”

Buffy was smiling now, smiling radiantly, even as he pulled a pocketknife out of his pocket. “Spike?”

He slit the rope holding her wrists – it was made so that the person who tied it could cut it loose easily, that was one of the good things about it – and dropped the knife. Buffy pulled her hands free and massaged her wrists, still staring into Spike’s eyes, a bright smile on her face, and now inexplicable tears in her eyes.

“Or call me impotent again?”

At this, Buffy laughed out loud, shaking her head. A smile slowly graced Spike’s face, and he shrugged. “I guess I could try it then.”

Buffy tried to kiss him, but he pulled away from her. “It’s my turn, remember?”

Then he bent his head, his hands coming to rest on her hips as he gently touched his lips to hers, then again in another one of those kisses that melted everything else out of existence.

And Buffy’s eyes fell closed as they kissed, her limbs becoming Jello again, and her heart beating so hard it was almost painful, as they held onto each-other and simply kissed, on and on in a never-ending heaven.

Only one thought was left in her brain:

Ah, Spike lips. Lips of Good.




Epilogue: Guilt Cookies

Willow glanced up from her book at the knock on the door. She got up slowly, taking the time to wipe her face free of tears and blow her nose once before answering the door.

No one was there, and at first she thought it was some sort of prank, but then she noticed the box sitting on the floor.

Frowning, she picked it up and went back into the room, closing the door behind her. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and sighed; just as glad no one had been outside the door. She looked a mess, from her hair, tangled and greasy around her head, all the way down her ratty old sweater and sweatpants-clad form, to her feet, covered in humongous puffy slippers. Her face was the worst: blotchy red and white, with visible tear-tracks and swollen, puffy eyes.

Willow sighed heavily at her reflection again, then picked up the box and went to her bed, sitting down with it in her lap. Right now she looked about as bad as she had just after Oz had left; now, however, her tears weren’t those of self-pity – no, these tears had everything to do with guilt.

She still felt extremely guilty about the will-be-done spell, but she hadn’t been able to let her tears out when Buffy was still in their room, because she knew it would make her friend feel bad.

It was Buffy she was worried about the most. The normally upbeat and quippy Slayer had been quiet and withdrawn in the week following the spell. Willow knew she was probably severely traumatized by the event of the spell – imagine, being in love with someone and about to marry one second, and the next, finding yourself kissing your mortal enemy! No wonder Buffy was acting weird.

Shrugging the thoughts out of her head, Willow set about opening the unmarked box. It was a little difficult, and when she finally got past the Duct tape, she blinked in surprise at the two giant Ziploc bags of chocolate-chip cookies.

Pulling the bags out of the box, she noticed a note beneath them, and pulled it out, recognizing Buffy’s handwriting from the Willow written on the outside. Unfolding it, she read,


Dear Willow:

You probably remember making all those batches of Guilt Cookies for me after the will-be-done spell went wrong. Well, I felt like I had to make you some, too. You see, I’m sure that right now you’re probably torturing yourself with guilt now that I’m finally out of the room, thinking you trivialized me.

So, I’m guilty that I’ve caused you so much guilt, especially considering how things turned out. I’m telling you first, so keep the secret, but let me tell you: after a lot of thought and sampling, I’ve decided. Spike lips: very, very, very good!

Don’t be guilty. Eat the cookies. And take a shower! I know what you get like when you’re mopey, and I won’t be back for another week (I have to baby-sit him all alone at home, remember? I could kiss Giles – except eww, Giles kisses. My poor mom...)

Love and guilt,
Buffy
(and Spike – he actually made the cookies, which is why
you can eat them at all. But the note’s all mine, I swear!)


Willow read the note three times, deciphering the Buffy quirks (trivialized instead of traumatized, for instance) and it’s general meaning. Then she put it down and slowly unzipped the bag. Holding a cookie in her hands and staring at it as if it were an alien, she turned it in her hands a few times.
Then she smiled, and bit into it with a crunch.





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