Bloody hell.

Yes! She'd said yes.

What had he expected to hear? "I'll give you a chance when hell freezes over"? Or, "Take a chance on this!" accompanied by a fist to the nose? Or, his all-time favourite, "You're beneath me"? But just a simple, "Yes"? That was different. Fresh. Unique.

Actually, it was damn frightening. What if he screwed it up? What if she found out he was really just a stupid, lovesick bloke who wrote bad poetry and . . .

"Spike?" Buffy looked worried. "Say something here. I'm feeling a little, um, exposed. I just said yes. I thought you'd be happy. I thought . . ."

Right, Spike. Less thinking, more action.

He licked his lips and moved closer. "So, does this chance start now?"

Buffy nodded.

"Great." He slid his hands around her and lightly traced his fingers down her spine. "Brilliant." His voice was husky as his lips trailed slowly up her neck. Buffy didn't flinch.

"You trust me, pet." The words were whispered against her fluttering pulse. What did he feel at that moment, nestled in the curve of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin? Wonder. Gratitude. But he knew he bloody well didn't deserve it-- this chance.

Buffy put her hand under his chin and looked into his glistening eyes. A small smile crossed her lips as she moved in to kiss him. Saying yes to Spike might be fun.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Willow's eyes welled up with tears. "Oh God! Tara! Sweetie? Don't you know me?"

Tara's keys jangled as her hand began to shake with suppressed terror. "P-p-please. I-if you just leave, I won't tell any one about this." She glanced at Willow's hands, almost as if she expected to see a weapon there. "Or I could just come back, and when I-I-I come b-b-back you could be gone." Tara backed nervously towards the door. "I'll just leave."

"No." Willow sobbed. "I'll go, Tara."

Tara's fear began to subside in the face of Willow's near hysterics. She considered the small redhead with a mixture of suspicion and concern. "Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I-I think you might need some kind of help."

Willow gulped and responded with a broken and wavering voice. "Y-you have no idea."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Xander Harris squinted at his alarm clock. 5 am. Who could be knocking on his apartment door at 5 am?

Anya continued sleeping soundly beside him. Sleeping the sound, untroubled sleep of an ex-vengeance demon. A little banging on the door paled in comparison to the plaintive wails of unfaithful lovers after you'd just made their bits fall off. Anya smiled in her sleep and turned over. She was obviously not dreaming about Bugs Bunny.

Unsteadily, Xander rose and donned a scruffy-looking robe. Come to think of it, most of his wardrobe looked kind of scruffy. Anya had been on his case to buy some new stuff, but clothes seemed stupid to him, especially when they were just going to get construction site junk all over them.

Shuffling into the living room he approached the door and peered through the peephole. After all, it was Sunnyhell. Couldn't be too careful.

Lena Petrovich.

Figured. Did the woman ever sleep?

Slowly, Xander unlatched the door. "What do you want now? I've already told you, I'm not killing Spike."

Lena thrust a large, yellow envelope into his hand. "You might change your mind, Mr. Harris, after you've seen what's in this envelope."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Poke.

"Spike, wake up."

Poke, poke.

"Spike!"

"Huh?" Groggily, he opened one eye and noticed the pale sunlight creeping inexorably towards the pale flesh of his exposed arm.

"You'd better move, Spike, or you're going to be vamp flambé." Dawn giggled, but there was a hint of concern in her voice.

"Wha . . ." Spike slowly regained some degree of consciousness and noted with vague displeasure his location.

The couch.

That's right, kiddies, the bloody couch.

After Buffy had agreed to the "chance", after a pretty damn spectacular snogging session, she’d shut him down. "Spike, I’m not ready for this."

OK, he'd understood. He’d even respected her for it. But it didn't make sleeping on the sodding couch an attractive option. Especially when she was right upstairs, probably in something silky and lacy and . . .

"Bloody hell!" Spike yelped as his flesh began to smoke. Grasping a comforter around him he scrambled into the shadows.

Dawn shook her head and adjusted the curtains. "Didn’t make it upstairs, huh?"

"That's none of your sodding . . ."

Dawn raised one eyebrow.

"Oh, alright Niblet. No, I didn't. But she's said she'll give me a chance."

"Yeah, I heard. I think the whole neighbourhood heard." Dawn rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Bugger off." Spike growled. Sexual frustration had put him in a foul mood, but he had a chance, dammit! That was worth something.

Dawn smirked. "You're grumpy this morning. You must be hungry. I think we have a blood packet left."

"Hey, Little Bit," his tone softened. "Don't put it in one of those frilly, girlie mugs. It's blood, not Hazelnut Mocha."

"Fine, Spike. Oh, and we have Weetabix in the cupboard above the sink. But if you want some, you're on your own. I'm not going there." Dawn disappeared into the kitchen and Spike heard the refrigerator door open.

Weetabix did sound good. He was a bit peckish.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Xander yawned. "OK. I give. What special little surprise have you brought me at 5:05 in the morning?"

"Evidence, Mr. Harris. Evidence."

Slowly, Lena Petrovich spread the contents of the envelope across the table. Pictures. Black and white. Surprisingly clear, considering they were taken at night.

With growing horror Xander saw Spike. Homeless guy. Fangs. Feeding. That could only mean one thing.

No chip.

Xander's heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Well, not literally, but it sure as hell felt like it. He gulped. "Does Buffy know? Have you shown these to her?"

"My source tells me she knows. He kills innocent people, and yet she does nothing."

"He killed this guy? It wasn't just a midnight snack?"

Lena's eyes widened in horror.

"OK. That came out all wrong. Snacking is most definitely not OK. But I just don't believe Spike would really kill . . ."

"The man is dead. You may check the morgue if you like. I did."

Xander shot her a skeptical look.

"I have my sources, Mr. Harris. Very powerful sources." Lena's mouth twisted bitterly. "Money can buy many things, Mr. Harris." She sighed and ran one perfectly manicured hand through her perfectly styled brown hair. "Yes, it can buy many things, but it cannot bring your parents back to life." She paused. "It can, however, buy justice."

Her eyes met his. "Will you help me now?"

Xander considered the pictures one last time. He shook his head, then pushed them away in distaste. "Yes."

End Part Twenty

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