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Tabitha looked at her in confusion. Buffy left the animal with her curiosity, rushing into the front hall to grab her purse, then throwing on her coat and boots before she sought out her keys. She collected her cell phone next, dragging a hand through her hair while taking quiet, nonplussed breaths.

*Thank God I have my car back,* she thought frantically, running out the door. She hopped in the driver's seat and started the engine mere moments later, phone in hand, Anya's name and number floating above the Call button.

Buffy listened to the ringing with an anxious heart as she sped out of the driveway. It took almost a minute for her friend to pick up.

"Hey boss!"

"Anya, I need your help."

"Anything for you."

"Okay, I- Uh, wait. Why are you using that voice you use when something's wrong?"

"What? What voice?" The voice in question shot to the moon. "I'm not using any voice! Except my own normal, completely un-guilty, dutiful employee who certainly didn't spill pop all over the computer tone of-"

"You spilled pop on the computer?!"

"No!" She inhaled loudly. "Xander did."

"Ahn!" came a furious protest.

"Well, you did!"

Buffy sighed. "Look, I don't even care right now. Please just clean it up. We'll get a new computer if we have-"

"And I can't lie to her, she's my employer!"

"But I'm your husband!"

"And do you pay me for my work? Certainly not."

"Guys!" Buffy shouted.

"We love each other, that's supposed to eliminate the need for compensation."

"How about a 'thank you' once in a while?"

"Thank you for being my wife," Xander said, placating, "and for loving me so well that I knock beverages onto expensive pieces of electrical equipment."

"Ugh," Buffy shook the image out of her mind. She prayed the blinds had been closed.

"Go clean up the mess, honey."

"Anya," she beseeched, "I'm kind of in the middle of a crisis!"

"All right, all right! Jeez. What's wrong?"

"Putting aside your current, possibly hostile opinion of the opposite sex, what would you do if you realized you wanted someone back?"

"'Back' like 'getting back together' back?"

"Um... yeah." *Hopefully. I think.*

"It would depend on why we broke up to start with." A light bulb suddenly dinged on. "Wait. Are you giving me a vague metaphorical scenario that isn't really metaphorical at all because you're thinking of seeing William?"

"Uh..."

"Don't try and lie to me now. Trust me, I'll know."

Buffy scoffed a nervous laugh. "Long story short, he's been... around lately. And I think I can... trust him again."

"That's great! So he's proven himself."

Buffy thought about it, listening to the deepest echoes coming from her heart, the flowering anticipation in her gut. "Yes. I'd say he has."

"Then what are you waiting for, call him!"

"Actually, I'm on my way to see him."

"Wow," Anya breathed. "Brave."

"Well, he just left my house and-"

"Wait, he was at your house?"

"Long story," Buffy reminded, "which I will tell you later. But yeah, he was."

"Was there finally sex? I'm beginning to think your legs are super glued together."

"Thanks a lot, Anya."

"Just sayin'."

"If I had a dime."

"You still wouldn't be rich enough to sell those prudish values you carry around."

"Will you just help me out here?" Buffy whined. "I need some advice. What should I say to him? How do I make it clear I've-... That I know he's changed?"

Anya didn't answer right away. She didn't quip, she didn't laugh, she just thought.

So when the answer finally came, Buffy nearly drove straight through a red light. "Offer to have sex with him."

"Are you kidding me!"

"What?!" she cried. "That would make any man believe you really want him again. Especially after holding yourself back for months- And that includes the time you guys were still together!"

Buffy scowled at the wintry landscape through her windshield.

Anya sighed at her silence. "You want to hear what Xander thinks?"

"Really not." Buffy drove quickly through the green. "Let me know if you come up with something better."

"Hey, you asked me for advice, and I gave you my best."

"Just make sure the computer isn't fried," Buffy muttered. "If it is, start shopping for a new one on your laptop."

She hung up without waiting for a response. Halfway to the cemetery, her heart was beating like a drum. The winter sky was deep ocean blue against plump silver clouds, stars, hundreds of them, blinking and twinkling like opposing city lights. Stark glimmers poised in frozen darkness. The moon was smaller now, but as white as a dove.

Buffy made a series of turns and swivels, cutting three people off to get through this town's premium version of rush hour. She pulled onto a gravel road she hadn't been down in months, and never for such a purpose. Tall, black iron gates loomed ahead. A familiar black DeSoto sat idle and cold before them.

Buffy gulped as she slowed down. It took a minute, but eventually she put her car in park and killed the engine. The eerie stillness in white shadows of winter and leafless trees made her savor the heat of the Jeep for a moment longer, before steering her floundering courage into a straight line.

She aimed it in one direction and got out of her car. Following that path, Buffy sidled around the DeSoto. Her breath turned to fog. Approaching the gates, she suddenly hoped she wouldn't have to call Spike to let her in. She didn't know if the cemetery stayed locked while he was here, but she prayed against probability.

Amazingly enough, the gates were chained but the padlock was open. It appeared closed from a far distance but when she rattled it, the thing simply fell to the ground. Buffy retrieved it from a pile of leaves. Taking another deep breath, she pulled the gate open just enough to squeeze through.

She slipped the misleading lock back into place, making it look as it had before. A frosty chill blew across her bare hands and throat. She turned around. Stepping away, her feet crunched old snow no longer clean and bright. What patches of dirt remained were as black as the shadows around her, tombstones and hills and a mausoleum or two barely visible in the darkness.

She shivered, then muttered to herself, "Chill out, Buffy. You've done this before. Lots of times."

But then she'd been in high school, with friends, never entirely alone. It was impossible not to wish for a flashlight as she strayed further from the entrance gate. Her eyes were adjusting, but ever so slowly.

She needed to find the guardhouse. That's where she knew he'd be. Spike once told her he occasionally roamed the cemetery while he was working, just checking on things, enjoying the quiet. Except it was freezing and no sane person would be out in this arctic climate by choice.

Not including her, because she couldn't see a damn thing and forgot exactly where the guardhouse was located. Buffy pulled out her cell phone to use the screen as a makeshift flashlight.

She focused on counting her steps to try and distract from the thin trees and tombstones. Nothing was moving, not even the air, and she was starting to feel immensely stupid. Not because of the reason she was here, but because she was actually starting to get scared.

She didn't scare easy, either. Buffy was no novice when it came to sneaking around in the dark, and she certainly didn't believe in ghosts.

On the other hand, she hadn't when she was with a group during her midnight excursions. Now, well... she was rethinking that disbelief.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder. Had she heard footsteps?

She shook her head. No, of course not. And if she had, it was Spike no doubt. She turned around again, saw nothing, kept walking.

A shadow moved to her left. Buffy jolted, pupils widening. A loud rustle emitted from a shrub of sticks and shiny icicles. She froze against her will.

A fat mouse scurried by. She jumped, then quickly calmed. Scoffing quietly, she said, "I'm starting to act like Xander in the dark."

Moving along, Buffy faced forward again and plowed right into a cross-shaped tombstone. "Mmph!" Blinking, backing up, she veered left. *Okay, I deserved that,* she thought, and then suddenly, Buffy fell.

The shadows seemed to rise around her like mausoleum walls. She screamed and hit the dirt with a much firmer punch than the one dealt by the cross. New cold, darker and deeper, radiated through her body like bone shivers. Her phone flew out of her hand.

It took several moments to regain breath. Pain traveled across her chest but she ignored it, flipping onto her back.

She saw the sky, the bare tree branches reaching towards glittering stars; and oh, there were four towering walls encasing that view like a picture frame. Illumination disappeared. Buffy turned her head, saw nothing but black, and all the warmth in her body melted into the earth.

She was in a grave.

"Crap."

She climbed to her knees. The shoddy light from her cell phone was like a star beside her boot. Buffy grabbed it and used the meek illumination to examine her surroundings. Yep. Definitely six feet under.

Maybe more, now she stood up. There was no way she could hoist herself out of this; though she'd be damned if she didn't try.

"Fuck," the lady muttered. Gathering her will and tamping down panic, Buffy tucked her phone into her coat pocket. She tried digging her nails into one of the earthen walls. She could barely get a grip. The dirt was frozen solid.

She considered trying to soften it with hot breath, wondered if some vigorous rubbing would do the trick, then rolled her eyes at the thought. Even making a leap for the opening, and pulling herself over the edge seemed more plausible. When had they dug this thing? Back in October before the snow came?

Buffy knew she ought to use that nifty little gadget in her pocket for what it was actually meant to do; call for help. Only, in this case that meant Spike, and despite the fact she had gotten herself into this mess with the intention of tracking him down, Buffy was not keen on the idea of looking like a fool. Not in the eyes of the very guy she was trying to date again.

With determination, and a huff of tired indignation, she stepped back. Going all the way to the far side of the grave, she took a running leap and reached up, missing the edge of the opening by mere inches. She tried again, this time falling on her ass on the way down.

Grumbling, Buffy sourly reexamined this barren situation, tempted to scream bloody murder. She bit her tongue. Spike might hear.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached. She noticed a dancing light high above, much brighter than the one peeking out from her coat pocket, and the situation itself felt entirely more real.

Before she could swallow her pride and call out for help, that light fell on her like a shooting star. Easily blinded, she held up her arms as a shield. "Jeez! Is that thing meant for exploring caves or something?"

The light moved from her face to her feet. She looked up to find Spike, all stark white hair and leather, gaping down at her. "Buffy?"

"Hi," she offered weakly.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Here, as in this hole? Or here as in the cemetery?"

He blinked and said, "Both."

"Oh, well, ya know, nothin' quite like a quality grave these days." *I was measuring this one for when that rock finally decides to fall from the sky and knock me dead.*

He stared at her like she was insane; at this moment, Buffy felt she could be. "Do not tell me you fell."

"Okay, I won't." She smiled uneasily. "Only I did."

"Bloody hell," he groaned. "You're like that sodding Daphne bint from the cartoon with the dog. Always gettin' yourself into a fix, aren't you?"

"Scooby Doo?" Buffy scowled. "Are you kidding? And how do you even know one of their names?"

"Never mind." His jaw clenched. "Why are you here?"

"I came to see you." She sighed with defeat, palms slamming against the dirt.

"Not the best detective skills, love. This is a sorry place to start."

"Will you please just get me out of here?!"

"It'd be my pleasure." He grinned cheekily then. "Be right back." He stepped away from the grave, muttering about how he wished he had a camera.

"Wait! Where are you going?" She sprung to her feet, but he was already gone. Him and his flashlight. Buffy slumped against the wall and pouted. Not only did she look like a fool, but he was making fun of her. It had been so long since he'd done that, she wasn't sure it was a good sign or a bad one.

Maybe he was still mad at her. Those flowers had hurt him, and pain was something easily turned into anger. Then again, maybe Spike was just tired of rescuing her. She did seem to be getting into a lot of trouble lately.

Buffy kicked at an icy clump of dirt. "I am so not Daphne."

The flashlight reappeared a moment later, and inside its illumination hung a rope. Buffy hurried to the wall and latched on. There were several knots tied in the line.

"Got a hold, pet?"

"Yes!"

"Climb up when you're ready."

Buffy immediately started to ascend. She used her feet against the wall as leverage. The second her hands breached the opening, Spike grabbed her forearms and hauled her the rest of the way.

She stumbled onto higher ground, falling against his chest. Spike held on for a brief, secure moment before letting go. He stepped back an inch. "You all right?"

"I'm fine." She sighed with relief. "Thank you." Buffy looked down. She frowned at what she saw beneath his leather coat, secured around his waist. Her eyes shot back to his. "You tied the rope around yourself?" she exclaimed.

Spike shrugged. "And?"

"I- I just-" She didn't know you could do that. Spike had, though, and she really should not be surprised. "What if I had pulled you in?"

"Would've had to lose my footing for that to happen." He smirked. "If I had, the deacon usually comes by in the mornin', does a few rounds."

"We could have been stuck in there all night?"

He cocked an eyebrow. She blushed, realizing how that sounded. "Was safer than pullin' you up by my hands, knees on the ground. Would've risked a real tumble then." He got a slick glint in his eye which she ignored. A shiver raced down Buffy's spine, not due at all to the cold. "Besides, it was your fault. You got yourself into that hole."

The shiver became a needle. "It's dark out. And people shouldn't just leave open graves..."

One brow rose. "Open?"

"Yes! There should be cones or something."

"Maybe ladies shouldn't be sneaking around cemeteries at night when they can't see 'em."

"I was trying to find the guardhouse," she grumbled.

"Not traditionally built underground, so I'm told."

She threw up her arms. "I get it, all right? I was a blind idiot. Buffy's a klutz! Can't see in the dark! Go ahead, laugh about it!"

Spike chuckled in return, smiling fondly down at her. The irritation tinged her cheeks even pinker than embarrassment and the cold could manage. He said, "You want to come warm up 'fore you go?"

She deflated. A familiar gratefulness overtook her. "Please."

He led the way, obviously. Spike held the flashlight and maneuvered around gravestones and hilly mounds of earth and snow expertly. He made it clear he knew this place like the back of his hand. Towering tombstones and gaping holes were what Buffy watched for. The soft, careful touch of Spike's guiding arm ghosted the small of her back, ensuring security and tension at the same time.

She took a deep breath. She wasn't sure why he didn't speak, but then again, neither did she. Levity was easily lost and gained with them, it seemed. One minute Spike teased her about falling into an open grave, the next they were tightlipped and striding through the dark.

Then again, maybe she was the tense one. Spike appeared relaxed as ever.

Doubt crept into her mind. She had no clue how she was going to start off here. No idea how to bring up the things she wanted to say.

As if sensing the dilemmas bubbling up, her chest reminded her it was aching. Buffy frowned, cursing distraction for not lasting a few minutes longer. She tried to rub the pain away. A flinch resulted, and she sighed. This kind of discomfort would not help with organizing her thoughts, or putting seldom acknowledged feelings into actual words.

"Somethin' botherin' you, pet?"

She looked to her right, at the concern in Spike's sharp eyes. "I'm fine, just fell kind of hard."

That made him frown, a look as familiar to her as the setting sun, only second to his smirks. "Might have a bruise. We- You can check it out once we get inside."

Buffy nodded. She caught that. The 'we' before the 'you;' and she smiled.





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