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A/N: Okay, now we’ve got the setup pretty much taken care of. Time for things to start happening, right?

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Chapter Four

Buffy’s eyes flew to the window where sunlight outlined the closed curtains. Still in the house then. She was almost to the doorway when she heard Giles call her name. So much for a discreet exit.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Nope, nothing wrong.” Buffy shook her head, innocence personified. “I just…I was going to check up on Spike. See where he went. Make sure he hasn’t changed his mind about helping out tonight.”

Noting the vampire’s absence, Giles frowned. “Yes, well…there are a few more details to be discussed. He should be here for that. And we still have to procure a tuxedo for him to wear tonight.”

Xander raised his hand. “For the record, can I just say…all the insults, all the aggravation, all the attempts on my life? So worth it for a chance to see Spike in a bow tie…and laugh hysterically.”

“Um…yeah. So, I’d better haul him back in here, then,” Buffy said. “He probably got bored and decided to raid the refrigerator or something. You know what a short attention span he has. I’ll just…” She pointed toward the kitchen. “…go.”

Without waiting for a response, Buffy fled. She found the sack of groceries still resting on the counter but no sign of Spike. That familiar tingling sensation, however, was as reliable as radar. She located him in the basement, sitting at the foot of the stairs.

Flipping on the light, Buffy made her way down the steps, settling a little above him – close, but not too close. He didn’t turn around.

“You disappeared.”

“So I did. Can’t get anything past you, eh, Slayer?”

Considering how things had been between them lately, that should have been a teasing remark. But it wasn’t. There was a hint of bitterness and something else she couldn’t quite name.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned his head, revealing the lightning-shaped scar that marred his left eyebrow, a present from another of her kind. She wondered absently what that Slayer would have thought of this cozy little conversation? Or of the strange dreams she’d been having since some time before Halloween. Dreams that involved strong arms, and moist kisses, and blue eyes smoldering with passion.

Fevered dreams that burned and made her long for the sweet, searing promise of sleep.

Buffy felt her whole body flush as a deep wave of desire coursed through her, the sheer unexpectedness of it leaving her shaken and a little breathless. Spike’s scarred eyebrow shot up.

Oh god. Where had that come from? And could she have it again, please?

Except…she shouldn’t want to, not with Spike, of all people. Just like she shouldn’t want to spend time with him or confide in him or care if he suddenly vanished from a room when he was supposed to be there waiting for her to notice him. But it was happening, whether she wanted it to or not.

He still hadn’t answered her question, so she tried again. Anything to get her mind – and his – off of things best not contemplated. “Giles wasn’t finished outlining the big plan. I think you hurt his feelings.” She marveled at how steady her voice sounded.

This time his whole body turned to face her, and she forced herself not to fidget under his steady regard, returning his curious stare with a level gaze of her own. Slowly, one side of his mouth quirked up as a hint of amusement warmed his eyes. “Didn’t make him cry, did I?”

Her mouth twitched. “Just a little. I don’t think anyone else noticed. He pretended it was something in his eye.”

Spike snorted. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he stood up. “Best go make it up to him then, hadn’t I? Think it’ll cheer him up if I let the sun sizzle me a bit on the way to rent the monkey suit?”

She smiled and took the hand he extended to help her up. “I think he’d be happier if you promised to knock off the geriatric jokes and never again raid his liquor cabinet. If you’re lucky, he’ll settle for sizzling. But, yuck…stinky car. Maybe you should think of something else.”

As it dawned on her that she was still holding his hand, her wry grin faded and she pulled away, his grip tightening imperceptibly then loosening almost at once. Her hand slid free, fingertips brushing his, evoking delicious, butterfly shivers that chased each other up and down her spine.

No, it was a chill. It was cold in the basement. It had nothing to do with Spike. Right.

With her higher position on the stairs, they stood face-to-face mere inches apart, the air thick with something she couldn’t name. The silence stretched between them, his gaze darkening as she watched, a fathomless well drawing her in. So deep, so warm, so filled with longing…

Flustered, Buffy dropped her gaze, which didn’t help since she wound up focusing on his mouth instead. His lips parted slightly, and her eyes remained riveted, following the curve of his lower lip, skimming down a chiseled jaw, settling on the strong, smooth column of his neck with an Adam’s apple that just begged to be nibbled. She didn’t know how long they stood that way. Could have been a minute. Could have been a week.

“Buffy…”

And she really liked his voice, especially now. All plummy and rough at the same time, a smooth, rumbling whisper buried deep in his chest as he reverently breathed her name. Slowly, her gaze rose and locked with his. There was that expression, the one she’d seen earlier in the living room. Only then it had been guarded, a pale shadow of what it was now. Staring into glittering eyes she found a swirl of emotions, breathtaking in their intensity. Warm approval, naked longing, and more than a little desire resided in those depths. For one, brief instant, she felt as if she could lose herself forever in his eyes and never regret the loss. It was all there to see, Spike’s very soul laid bare for her.

Except that he didn’t have one.

She’d secretly wondered, since her return, if maybe she didn’t have one either. The thoughts she’d been entertaining with increasing frequency these last few days added to the doubt in her mind. Forbidden thoughts about a soulless creature who was wild and reckless and violent and irritating and devious and ruthless and fearless and determined and strong and vibrant and loyal and gentle and passionate and sexy…

What had he said last year about drowning in her? Was this how it felt?

She panicked, grabbing for a lifeline. “Shoes!”

Spike frowned, “the look” fading as confusion set in. “Come again, pet?”

Buffy tore her eyes from his, swallowing hard. She felt…different…around him, lately – off balance. Like the rules had suddenly changed in a game she didn’t know she was playing. She didn’t like it.

Trying to look unaffected, she fought to get her racing pulse back under control, replaying the last few moments in her head.

Shoes? The Slayer, the Chosen One, the lone girl in all the world destined to vanquish evil and save humanity couldn’t come up with anything better than that? As distractions went, it really sucked. But she was stuck now, and worse yet, she could feel a dreaded babble attack coming on.

“I…uh…just remembered. No shoes. To wear with my dress, I mean…the one I’m going to wear tonight? I got it last year. You know. Before. But…I never had a chance to wear it. Lucky thing, huh? Cuz it’ll be all fresh and new and I really hate wearing an old dress to a big, important gala, don’t you?” Her eyes widened. “Not that you would wear an old dress,” she added hastily. “Or…any kind of dress at all. Cuz you’re not a girl. And that would be way too weird.” She laughed awkwardly, risking a quick peek at him through her lashes.

He was staring at her as if she’d just announced her presidential candidacy, but that was a look she could deal with, so it was all to the good. With any luck, he’d be dazzled by her raving insanity and forget the momentary vibey-ness between them.

He blinked. “Riiight.” Nodding solemnly, he drew out the word. His head tilted. “Guess you’d best be off, then. Can’t save life as we know it without a proper pair of shoes.”

Outwardly, Buffy kept her smile in place, but inwardly she cringed. It was the same tone of voice her mother had used when a four-year-old Dawn had tried to blame a broken table lamp on poor Mr. Gordo.

“You’d…be surprised,” she agreed, smiling weakly.

Great. She’d managed to wriggle off the hook and Spike, for who-knows-what devious reasons, had let her. So why was she still standing there like a moon-struck loon, gazing into the most mesmerizing blue eyes she’d ever seen? She had to leave before he got the wrong idea.

Or the right one.

Forcing herself to break eye-contact, Buffy looked away. The abrupt loss of the connection caused a pang so sharp it was almost physically painful. Ducking Spike’s searching gaze, she retreated behind a mask of stoicism and slowly mounted the basement stairs, intensely aware of the vampire’s presence behind her as he followed her back to the living room.


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It didn’t take long for Giles to go over the few remaining details of the plan, and he and Spike departed for the tuxedo rental shop soon afterward. But not before Buffy had surprised the others – and herself – by suggesting that Spike return to her house to get ready, rather than travel the slightly longer distance to Giles’ apartment. She’d drawn more than a few odd looks as she mumbled something about not wanting to ride “in a stinky car” or show up at the gala with “a toasty escort” on her arm.

Buffy instantly regretted that last bit, which had practically launched Spike’s left eyebrow into orbit and brought a wicked smirk to his lips. But Dawn had chimed in, offering to let him use her room, and Giles had hastily agreed, so all Buffy could do was brazen it out and pretend she hadn’t really just implied that Spike would be her date for the evening.

Because that was just…wrong.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Dawn had disappeared upstairs, probably to straighten her room before they headed out on the shoe-shopping mission. As lame an excuse as it had been, Buffy hadn’t been lying about needing shoes to wear with the dress, and Dawn had quickly volunteered to go with her.

Excusing herself, Buffy left the others to fetch her purse from the bedroom but only made it a few steps before remembering the groceries she had abandoned earlier on the kitchen counter. Making a quick detour to put them away, she was returning to the stairs via the back hallway when Xander’s voice brought her to a dead stop.

“I’m telling you, Will…something’s going on with those two.”

“Oh, pish! You’re overreacting,” Willow scolded. “Buffy’s just being nice to Spike, that’s all. It’s not like she wants to marry him or anything!”

In the long, pointed silence that followed, Buffy imagined Willow’s face turning red. Probably guilty fidgeting was involved, too.

“Well…so, okay…there was that time with the spell and…but…so not making that mistake again!”

There was a heavy sigh from Xander. “That’s not what I’m talking about here, okay? I mean…Buffy wanting to get hot and heavy with Spike when she isn’t under the influence? That’s about as likely as…” He trailed off, clearly wracking his brain for the equally unthinkable.

“…as something that will never, ever, ever happen!”

And clearly not finding it.

“Actually, Xander,” Anya’s clipped voice contradicted him, “if you had lived as long as I have you would know that absolutely anything is possible.”

“Anything except that,” he insisted, then sighed again. “But they are both acting weird. I mean, Willow just used ‘Buffy,’ ‘Spike,’ and ‘nice’ all in the same sentence! That’s wrong on so many levels!”

Buffy eased forward, positioning herself so she could see their reflections in the wall mirror. They could see her, too, if they looked, but that was a chance she was willing to take.

“Maybe…maybe she’s just grateful,” Tara offered. “He stayed in Sunnydale and helped out when she was…gone. He protected Dawn. He didn’t have to, really. He could have left town.”

“It would have been better if he had.” Xander’s voice was quiet, steady. “He may have been batting for our side for awhile, but only because he didn’t have a better offer.”

Tara traded a quick glance with Willow. “It seemed like you were starting to trust him a little,” she said. “Over the summer. Did something happen?”

Xander shook his head, his face grim. “I worked with the guy…for Dawn’s sake and because everybody thought we needed him. I never trusted him. I’m not saying he didn’t pull his weight. He did. I’ll give him that. But he’s still a vampire. You forget that and you could wind up regretting it for the rest of your life. Assuming you still have one, that is.”

He snorted. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I don’t get it. Spike falls for Buffy and that’s supposed to magically make him okay? Yeah, all right…I think he does want to help, because that’s what she wants. And, yeah, something comes after one of us? It would probably have to go through him first. But what about everybody else? You think he gives a damn about old Mrs. McCaffrey down the block? Or Joe Blow out on the street?”

Xander’s reflection vanished from the mirror as he paced away. “What about everything he’s done? Everything he’d still do if he could? That chip in his head changed what he does, not what he is. Do you think he’s sorry for the things he’s done? For the people he’s killed? Have you ever once heard him say it?”

There was silence as he waited for someone to contradict him. No one did.

“Look…bottom line is, I’ll fight alongside him. We may even play a game of pool and knock back a few brewskies together from time to time. But he’ll never be one of us. Buffy’s losing it if she can’t see that.”

Another moment of silence, then Mirror Willow raised her eyebrows, giving him a pointed look. “Um…Xander? Before you get all critical of Buffy…remember that thing they say about stones?”

“They can’t get no satisfaction?”

Willow cranked up the look a notch or two.

“I don’t live in a glass house, Will.”

Willow didn’t respond, but Buffy saw her slide a quick glance in Anya’s direction. Though Anya was facing away from the mirror, her posture stiffened noticeably.

“She means me, Xander. I’m the glass house.”

Buffy could tell she was hurt, though not particularly surprised.

“I’m sorry, Anya.” Willow sounded sincere. “It’s just that…well…you tell all those stories about what it’s like to wreak vengeance and you sound like you’re talking about a trip to Disneyland or something.”

“It’s not the same thing, Will!” Xander leapt to her defense. “Anya just doesn’t know how to…she doesn’t understand how it sounds. She doesn’t mean it that way.”

“You don’t have to apologize for me, Xander Harris. I’m not three years old. And I’m certainly aware—”

At that moment, Dawn came thundering down the stairs, killing the conversation and sending Buffy into a quick retreat to the kitchen. Seconds later, the front door opened and closed, announcing the departure of Xander and Anya. After waiting a few more minutes, Buffy ventured forth again. By that time, Willow and Tara had gone up to their room and Dawn was the only one waiting.

“Private Summers reporting for shoe duty!” She sketched an awkward salute, Buffy’s purse dangling from her arm. “You ready to head to the mall?”

“What?” Buffy stared at Dawn blankly. Her head was filled with troubling thoughts raised by the conversation she’d overheard.

“Shoes? To go with the dress you’re wearing tonight? You said I could help you pick them out.”

“Oh…right.” Buffy nodded. “Shoes.” At the puzzled frown that crossed Dawn’s face, she smiled brightly, hoping to head off any uncomfortable questions. “Better get a move-on then. We don’t have much time.”

As they moved toward the door, Buffy cast a glance back at the now-empty living room. She couldn’t believe how far she’d let things go. If Xander had picked up on the vibes between her and Spike, how much longer would it be before the others noticed, as well? Especially now that it had been pointed out to them.

She had to put an end to this…thing…they had, whatever it might be called. No matter how isolated she felt, no matter how sympathetic an ear he offered, no matter how she responded, mind and body, to him, Spike would have to be off limits to her. In every respect. Just as soon as they took care of the obelisk, she would put him behind her once and for all.

Buffy’s eyes widened as that last turn of phrase took her mind to a place she hadn’t at all intended. Gritting her teeth, she banished the erotic images to a remote part of her brain where she hoped they would never, ever be heard from again.

Then, with a little nod of determination, she followed Dawn out the door, closing it firmly behind her.


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TBC in Part 5





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