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The following evening seemed to creep by slowly. Oz and Willow were leaving in the morning, once the sun had risen. For now, however, the witch was locked in Wood’s study with the man himself, as well as Giles, Tara and Dawn. Occasional bursts of triumphant words came through the door, but otherwise they were quiet.

Xander and Anya had decided to stay at home that evening. Buffy could tell that Dawn unnerved the young man slightly, though Anya seemed pleased not to be the only former non-human now in mortal form. Buffy, technically, was still a demon, despite the soul.

She thought she knew why Xander was so jumpy around her sister, too. Dawnie was no longer the immature teenager she had been. She had a serenity about her that seemed to radiate control and power, and although she laughed and smiled with the others, she always seemed to be apart from them, often lapsing into thoughtful silences.

Buffy, for the most part, accepted this as a change in her sister that growing up had caused. After all, she was hardly the same as a vampire as she had been as a human. A lot of her inhibitions had dropped away after her turning, and she knew something she’d never known before. She knew that she had the capacity to hate.

The slightly creepier thing about Dawn’s new Key godliness was the ease with which she used the tremendous power at her disposal. She’d barged into Buffy and Spike’s room not long after daybreak, the content that the couple seemed to radiate making her smile even as she ushered them into the living room.

When a highly irritated Buffy asked her what in the frilly heck was going on, she dropped the bombshell. She was, she informed them calmly, going to put a very, very powerful protection spell on them. When her sister merely raised a brow and waited, she rolled her eyes and pouted at Wood, who commanded that they all follow her orders.

Sighing reluctantly, they had sat still while Dawn and, surprisingly, Tara circled them with smelly herbs and candles and other witchy things. They’d refused Willow’s offer of help, Dawn turning her down with a gentle smile and a rational explanation. They didn’t want the baby to be addicted to magic, so Willow should limit her casting to only minor spells while she was pregnant.

Once they’d all been anointed with a vile-looking paste, Tara chanted the final words and Dawn began to glow softly. For a moment Buffy’s skin felt tight, then her ears popped silently and everything was back to normal. Apparently, however, Dawn’s glowing had wigged out Xander, as he refused to come too near her now.

Spike, meanwhile, was doing his best to distract Buffy from her thoughts. Trying out the claim for the first time, he concentrated hard.

//Well, whaddya know. It works.

He heard something like a snort over the link, her wry amusement flooding through to him. /Of course it works, Blondie. Sheesh, I do know what I’m doing.

Spike’s reply was a low growl, suddenly serious. //Been practicing, have we?

Hearing the jealousy and the insecurity in his voice, she sent back a wave of soothing warmth. /Don’t be silly. But I’m a vampire. It’s like… instinct or something.

Relieved and suddenly wanting to take her mind off his insecurities, he grinned. She felt the imminent mischief, her head snapping around to face him as her eyes narrowed. When the image of her tied to the bed, his head between her thighs as she screamed his name, finally reached her, she gasped. Oz looked at her from his seat outside the study, nostrils flared. She saw his lips twitch slightly before he nodded sombrely, turning back to his waiting.

Spike, noticing the interaction, grinned to himself. Until she replied with an image of him tied to the bed, blindfolded, as a leather-clad, stiletto-wearing Buffy sucked voraciously on his cock. He groaned, said appendage swelled to almost painful hardness. Her smug voice sounded in his head.

/Gotcha.

Leaping up, he dragged her into their room. Oz watched them go with a shake of his head, pressing his hands firmly over his sensitive ears. As he threw her onto the bed and leaped on top of her, the Slayer looked down into her eyes with a smile that was both savage and tender.

“No, Buffy. I’ve got you.”

She purred, her lips meeting his in the sweetest kiss of his life. “Always.”

The morning found them wrapped in each other’s arms, a comfortable tangle of limbs. The rising sun woke Buffy, whose body had adjusted to human time, though it felt strangely unnatural to be waking in the day and sleeping at night. Groaning, she rolled away from her lover, a satisfied smirk on her lips at the sated feeling inside.

She shook Spike awake gently, realising the Oz and Willow would be leaving in just under an hour. In silence, they showered together, their thorough wash of each others’ bodies an act of intimacy and love rather than heated desire. Once dry and fully-dressed, they stepped out into the living room.

Just half an hour later, everyone was ready to say their goodbyes. Tara went first, giving Willow a tearful hug. She hesitated before giving Oz the same treatment. The two Wicca friends promised to stay in touch, their parting both sad and joyful at the knowledge that while they would be separated, they would see each other again soon.

Spike, Giles, Wood and Xander embraced Willow, extracting promises to stay in touch, before giving Oz a manly clap on the shoulder. The men exchanged looks, their silent messages clear enough. Take care of her. We’ll miss you. Good luck.

Anya grinned cheerfully, wishing the couple many happy and well-deserved orgasms after the baby arrived. The witch laughed and hugged her friend, and the group could have sworn that Oz blushed.

Dawn and Buffy watched from the sidelines, both smiling. When Willow turned to them, she gave a half-bow to Dawn before smiling tremulously at the vampiress. They embraced on another, the fast but steady heartbeat in Willow’s body making Buffy smile through her tears. She exchanged a final glance with Oz, their silent friendship and their respect for one another clear.

The witch turned to Wood, carefully drawing out a sheet of paper, on which were written strange characters in Willow’s neat, precise handwriting. Handing the spell to the Watcher, she gave him one last hug and a sad smile. Stepping back, she gripped her partner’s hand tightly before they turned.

“Good luck with the spell. Let me-” Her voice broke for a moment. “Let me know how it goes.”

Then they were down the steps and in Oz’s old van, driving into the distance. They didn’t look back, but everybody understood. Sometimes, looking back was too painful to even try. The silent Scoobs filed into Wood’s apartment, each remembering a special moment with the bizarre couple. The rest of the day was quiet, contemplative. Things seemed strangely empty without Willow there.





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