A faint sheen of blood and sweat and dust clung to Buffy’s skin. She was panting slightly, her breasts heaving. She stalked towards Spike, her body poised and ready for a fight. He could smell her anticipation.

And her arousal.

If it weren’t for the fact that the girl had abandoned her body to the Slayer, it would have been one of Spike’s favourite fantasies come true. As it was, he was mostly wishing he hadn’t brought a stake to this particular party.

That and willing his cock to shut up and lie down.

Then he was feeling the rush of air kissing his cheek as he dodged her first kick. He was less successful with her follow-up punch, which glanced off his right shoulder, sending his arm temporarily numb.

She was thinking better, this time – not relying so much on instinct – and it was harder to keep out of her reach. Last night, although her movements had been contained and perfect, there had been no imagination, no poetry. Now, though – now she was dancing to that beat only she could hear, all fluid grace and lethal precision.

He joined her dance, following her lead, letting her breath and her eyes tell him where she was going before she even started the movements. He spun away, drawing her in to chase after him, or he pressed into her, no more than a hair’s breadth between them and too close for her swinging feet or fists to reach. 

How I love dancing with you.

She was getting frustrated. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to fully connect; everything was glancing, oblique. And he hadn’t touched her, not once. She wanted him to.

Then she noticed the stake tucked into his waistband at the small of his back, mostly hidden under his shirt. The next time his back came within reach, she grabbed it.

As soon as he felt the stake being drawn out, he turned to face her. This is it. Music's stopped and she’s gonna dust me. She pinned him against a wall, and he closed his eyes, waiting for her to finish him.

But seconds later, he could still feel her breath warm on his face, and when his eyes fluttered open, hers were waiting to catch his gaze. He could see frustrated fury there, and confusion. The tip of the stake was digging into his chest, hard enough to hurt, but not yet breaking the skin. She’d left his arms free, trusting the stake to control him.

“Why won’t you fight back?” she growled.

He raised his arm, so he was half cradling her as she pressed the stake into him. He stroked a lock of hair behind her ear, then ghosted his fingers down the length of her neck and along her upper arm until he was almost cupping her elbow in his hand. His not-quite-touches made her skin buzz, every hair standing on end.

“I can’t,” he said, his eyes soft, still staring into hers.

He made a small pain sound as she pressed the stake in harder.

“Fight me,” she commanded, louder, more frustrated.

“I won’t,” he said, gently, quietly.

“Fight!” she screamed.

“No,” he whispered.

And then he could see the Slayer slipping away and Buffy swimming back to the surface of her jade green eyes.

The stake clattered to the ground.

She stared at him in horrified confusion.

“I almost … why did you let me?” she whispered.

“You didn’t. That’s all that matters.”

He ran his hand back up the outside of her arm, moving to cup her face but still stopping just shy of actual contact. All too briefly, she leaned into his palm and the enclosure of his arm. Connecting.

Then she moved away.

“I remember waking up … and wanting to kill something.”

He smiled proudly. “You took out eight vampires, mostly at the same time, on your own and without a stake.”

“Oh.” She looked around, remembering flashes of movement and sensation, but everything was hazy and dream-like. “Go me, I guess.” She looked down at her filthy pyjamas and bare feet. “I—” she started, then, tasting blood on her lips, “Ewww … is this-?”

He nodded, grinning now. “Bit someone’s ear off.”

Buffy was caught between ick over her clothes and hair and – double ick – mouth, terror over the memory loss, and awed shock that Spike must have been the one who brought the stake. Ick won.

“I think it’s time I spent some quality time with Mr Shower. And mouthwash. Definitely lots of mouthwash.” She started going through everything she remembered from the last 24 hours. Then, looking sideways at Spike, asked, “So do you, like, live with us now?”

------------------------------------------

When the Scoobies arrived at Revello Drive to warn Buffy, she and Spike had already left. Dawn – from behind her bedroom door – said they’d gone out for an early patrol and would be back soon. She also told them that she wasn’t coming out from behind the barricades until Spike came home.

Dawn worried that mentioning any … oddness … on her sister’s part might draw more suggestions that it would be better to just put her back. She was quite proud of her subterfuge: “early patrol” had a nice ring of truth to it, and her heart rate had stayed nice and steady the entire time.

Having no more information to impart – and feeling more than a little ridiculous talking through a locked door – the Scoobies asked Dawn what she wanted on her pizza and went downstairs to wait.

------------------------------------------

Buffy burst through the front door, followed by Spike at a more normal speed. She ran straight up the stairs and into her room, without looking around or saying a word.

Spike stopped when he felt the Scoobies staring at him from the living room.

Everyone except Anya was thinking some variation on: Could he have tried to do something to her? He had delusions that he loved her. Were we wrong to trust him?

Anya was mentally calculating how much revenue she’d lost by closing the Magic Box for the day.

Willow, heart breaking from Dawn’s pointed display of distrust, was feeling particularly protective towards Buffy. “What did you do to her?” she asked, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“She got a bit mucky on patrol,” Spike ground out. They all heard the shower going on upstairs. “An’ she’ll tell you that herself once she’s done washin’ it off.”

“Oh,” Willow said, embarrassed. “Slayage can get kinda icky.”

Spike leaned against the doorframe, really not wanting to join them, but not wanting to leave either.

“Spike!” shouted Dawn from upstairs. “Is that you?”

“Yeah!” he yelled back. “You can come out now!”

Willow cringed internally at his phrasing. It’s so unfair I passed out when we got interrupted. Dawnie should have woken up safe at home with no memories of the spell. Stupid demon bikers.

Dawn stomped down the stairs and stood next to Spike. He snaked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her hair.

“Jerk,” she said. She swatted his arm and gave him a shove with her hip.

“Brat,” he replied, shoving back.

They grinned at each other, and Dawn tucked herself into his side, his arm curling protectively around her. There was a softness to his eyes that he hadn’t let out since his turning, and a lightness to hers that everyone thought had left with Joyce.

That was the point at which Xander’s whole world shifted on its axis. Even years later, he would still remember every single detail of the scene.

He’d already known that Dawn and Spike were spending a lot of time together, but this was the first time he’d actually seen them together. He had assumed that Dawn becoming functional again had been all down to Willow and Tara. Spike was just … convenient. Important for things like making dinner – even if he is more of a Nellie Lovett than Julia Child – but definitely not important for the emotional stuff. Only now, seeing this – seeing Dawnie grinning again – he knew in his heart that it had to be Spike who’d made all the difference. Spike made her happy and safe. Xander groaned under his breath. We make her into a magical zombie and he makes her grin again. Dammit! I love hating that guy!

Seeing how relaxed and easy Dawn and Spike were together, Willow could feel the jealousy and resentment bubbling up to the surface again. The grinning! Dawnie hasn’t smiled like that around me since before Joyce died. She should smile like that with me, not Spike! Then Willow remembered her guilt, and used it to tamp down everything else.

“Oh, Dawnie!” Willow said, reaching over to the box of store-bought bakery cookies she'd put on the coffee table earlier. “I got you cookies: cranberry and white chocolate.” She smiled shyly, offering the bag. “I know I didn’t bake them myself, but what with the unconsciousness and the researching, I kinda haven’t had time today.”

Dawn’s smile dropped off her face and her eyes went cold. “Spike put a bar on my door so I’d feel safe in my own house. You can’t buy back my trust with your stupid guilt cookies.”

Willow reeled like she’d been slapped.

Just then, a blood-, mud-, and dust-free Buffy came down the stairs and stood in the doorway next to Dawn and Spike.

“Hey guys, what’s with all the unhappy faces? Someone die?” She waited a beat, looking at her friends. “Too soon?”

Not quite sure what to make of the tense silence, Buffy continued into the living room and sat on the sofa next to Willow and Tara. Spike gently nudged Dawn towards the last remaining armchair. She perched on the arm while he sat.

“Since you’re all back here,” Spike finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m guessin’ you’ve worked out what we’ve got to kill?”

“Ooh!” Buffy said. “I’m good at killing. What are we killing?”

“Um,” Willow said, trying to find her equilibrium again. “Buffy, the spell we used when we brought you back had a, like a ‘cosmic balance’ clause, so, to equalise the goodness that we brought back into the world with you, it kinda created some evil to come along for the ride. It’s just energy, with no physical form of its own, but it can, like, body-snatch, and it’s already possessed Dawnie and Tara and Anya, and—”

“And we don’t know how to kill it,” Anya cut in.

“Yet!” Willow corrected. “We don’t know how to kill it yet.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Spike sighed.

“On the bright side,” Anya continued. “If it can’t kill Buffy by midnight tonight, it’ll just disappear on its own.”

“B-b-b-but it knows that too,” Tara added. “So it’s probably gonna be trying to kill her soon.”

The doorbell rang. Everyone jumped, startled.

Dawn hopped off the armchair and ran to open the door. Turning back towards the living room, she called out “Pizza’s here! Who’s got cash?”

“Don’t look at me,” Buffy said. “I was all busy being dead until yesterday.”

The delivery guy laughed nervously. Dawn scowled at him.

Much patting down of pockets and searching of wallets ensued, but none of the Scoobies had more than a couple dollars between them.

“God!” Dawn huffed, rolling her eyes. “Which one of you bozos said we’d pay cash on delivery without checking someone had cash first?”

“Uh, that would be me,” Xander said, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Spike sighed and put his face in his hands. “I’ve got enough to cover it,” he muttered. “But I expect to be paid back!” He looked over at Dawn. “Bit?” he nodded in the direction of his duster hanging on the newel post. “Left pocket.”

Dawn pulled out the biggest roll of twenties she’d ever seen. She liberated a few and paid the delivery guy. Once the door was closed and the pizzas were on the coffee table, she turned to Spike. “That was not poker winnings. What’d you do? Rob a bank?”

“No, I bloody well didn’t!” he retorted, offended. Then he grinned. “Would’ve had much more after a bank job.”

Dawn rolled her eyes again. “You never have this much money, Spike. C’mon, where’d you get it?”

Anya opened her mouth to explain, but Spike barked “Shut it, you!” Anya’s eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.

“Hey, you can’t talk to Anya like that!” Xander said.

“I’ll talk any way I damn’ well please!” He looked over at Dawn. “’S all legal ‘n’ above-board, Pidge. Swear.” He glared at Anya again.

“Mmmm, pizza!” Buffy said, forcing a grin onto her face. “Let’s eat.”

They managed an uneasy silence through the first few slices.

“I’m getting a soda,” Xander announced, finally. “Anyone else want?”

Willow and Tara’s hands shot up. Anya and Dawn shook their heads.

“Beer for me. As you’re getting’ up,” Spike said, face perfectly bland, but clearly spoiling for an argument.

Xander nodded in assent, clenching and unclenching his fists, chanting, Must stop hating Spike over and over in his head.

“Beer would be good,” Buffy said.

They all stopped and stared at her.

“But … but you hate beer, Buffy,” Willow said. “You’re all ‘beer bad’ and, and … ‘alcohol and Buffy are unmixy things’.”

“Root! I meant root beer,” Buffy covered. “Did I not say the root part out loud?” She forced out another smile. It hurt her face. Silence is easier. I’ll just stop talking now. She stared at her hands. Nails are growing back. Huh.

Everyone kept staring.

“Ookay, Buff. One root beer, comin’ up,” Xander said, watching Buffy’s face carefully for signs of imminent mental breakdown. He looked over at Willow. “Do you even have root beer?”

Willow shrugged and looked at Tara, who nodded thoughtfully. “I think there’s a can in the fridge, at the very back.”

Xander saluted, and went into the kitchen to get the drinks.

“So,” Willow started. “I have some ideas for how we can keep Buffy safe until midnight.”

Tara smiled at her encouragingly.

“There’s this really great protection spell – it invokes the elemental power of earth to just surround a person so nothing and nobody can get at them.”

Xander was looking straight at Buffy as he came back through from the kitchen, so he saw her full-body flinch at Willow's words. But Willow had turned away slightly – towards the rest of the group – and she missed it entirely.

Spike swallowed a growl, watching Buffy close her eyes and concentrate on taking slow, controlled breaths. He could smell her fear. It was like sickness, rolling off of her in waves. Before all this, he'd only smelled fear on her once: when Glory took Dawn. And even then it hadn't been this strong.

“Uh, Will, maybe surrounding Buffy with earth is not so much of the good right now,” Xander said hesitantly.

Willow made a half-whimper, realising the implication of what she’d said. “O-of course! No surrounding! Um, there’s another elemental protection spell – an air one – that could work.”

Xander passed cans to Tara and Willow, and a bottle to Spike. He put the root beer on the table near Buffy.

“Buffy’s the Slayer,” Dawn said scornfully. “Why would she need a protection spell?”

“She doesn’t,” Spike said. He caught Buffy’s gaze and held it. “Slayer can take anyone in this room, includin’ me.” Buffy almost smiled at him. The fear smell was starting to dissipate.

“Oh, I know she doesn’t need protecting,” Willow faltered. I just thought it might be nice for her, being protected for once. Let us do the fighting for her sometimes.

Tara took Willow’s hand in hers. “I’m sure there’ll be other times when we’ll need spells like those.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Willow said, trying to smile.

“So do you have other ideas, or was that it?” Anya asked.

“Ahn,” Xander said. “Be nice!”

“Well I don’t want to be possessed again! And I don’t see how a protection-from-harm spell for Buffy will keep me safe.”

“Oh, an elemental spell wouldn’t protect anyone from possession,” Tara said, “because that’s not harm in and of itself. All the really old magic is kinda tricksy that way.”

“Yeah,” Willow said. I didn’t know that. How did Tara know that? Is she doing magic without me? Willow started feeling slightly sick.

“’Kay Wills, what else have you got up your magical sleeves of power?” Xander asked.

“I, um, I had this idea about how we might be able to make the evil thing corporeal. Then we could just regular-kill it.”

“That sounds promising,” Tara said. “What’s the spell?”

Willow brightened a little. “Well, it’s based on some old Hebrew stuff I was reading last month about golems—”

“NO!” Anya shouted. “Golems are a bad, bad idea.” She shuddered. “If the summoner isn’t perfectly pure, they get violent. And not creative, fun, violent either, just endless destruction violent. And they’re really hard to kill.”

“Ookay, so that’s a no to the golem idea, then,” Xander said.

“I wasn’t going to make a golem!” Willow said.

“Good,” Anya replied.

“Maybe we should try to find a non-magical solution,” Tara suggested quietly.

“Nothing’s happened since it took over Anya at the Magic Box, and that was, what, four hours ago?” Xander looked around. “Maybe it’s given up.”

“Yeah right,” Dawn scoffed. “What Hellmouth did you grow up on?”

Then the power cut out.

Tara turned around to look out past the curtains. “It’s just us. All the other houses on the block still have lights.”

“Xander!” Anya hissed. “Maybe you shouldn’t have suggested that the manifestation of evil gave up.”