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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.





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