The front bell rang at the Summers house, and Buffy opened the door. There stood Spike.

Instead of his usual black T-shirt, he was wearing a light blue cotton golf shirt, the kind that is nubby to the touch, with a little left breast pocket. He still had his standard black jeans, though, with hands stuffed in the front pockets as he slouched slightly to one side. His hair was freshly bleached.

"Hello, Buffy," he said hesitantly. "Are you and Nib-, errr, Dawn ready?"

Buffy wriggled her nose. "Dawn decided she didn't want to go. More exactly, she said she couldn't go because of some science fair thingy that's due on Monday. She went to her friend Trisha's house tonight to work on it."

Spike's face fell in obvious disappointment. He looked down at his boots and said, "Guess you won't be wanting to go either, then."

"No!" Buffy said quickly. "I still want to go. I mean, if you want to go."

Spike shrugged as nonchalantly as he could muster given how badly he wanted to spend the evening with her. "Long time since I been to one. As a spectator. Just for fun." He bit on his lower lip and looked up at the blonde young woman whom he loved but knew he could never have.

Buffy hesitated for only a moment. "I'm bored, and I'm tired of having just two options—moping or patrolling. I'd like something in the realm of normal and fun. I'm game."

Spike brightened instantly. "Right, then, let's go."

**********

No matter how tiny an American town is, even if it is merely an oil spot in the road, it has to host at least one carnival per year. Somewhere this condition is written down in a book of rules governing small town rituals.

These carnivals are dusty affairs featuring gobs of greasy fried food with outrageous names such as elephant ears. They also are obliged to have creaky amusement rides that look as though the last time they had a safety inspection was during the Eisenhower administration. First term.

They are high on the tacky scale and are run by people who call themselves 'carnies.' The preferred term in some law enforcement circles is 'parolees.' Despite—or perhaps because of—the kitsch factor, the locals always flock to them.

Thus, Spike and Buffy found themselves on a Friday night in early spring at Sunnydale's version of this slice of Americana. Buffy was picking at her tube of cotton candy, while Spike was making short work of a corn dog.

"I have one request," Buffy said.

"Name it," Spike said.

"No freak shows," she replied. "Because, like, I see enough freaks in the cemeteries on a nightly basis without paying for the privilege."

"Agreed."

**********

They headed for the Midway first because Buffy wanted to go on every ride. And then she hit the fastest ones over again. She shrieked and held her arms up in the Tilt-O-Whirl, even after being warned by the ride attendant with the black eye-patch to keep her arms in the cab.

When they got to the bumper cars, Spike took a pass because he suspected that intentionally running into people with the car might set off the infamous no-violence chip that was still stuck in his brain. "No reason to tempt a migraine," he said, tapping his head.

Buffy, however, had no such restrictions. She strapped herself in and prepared for some kamikaze missions.

Spike observed that when she approached a child, she went easy on the punishment. But when she saw an adult in another car, she make a beeline and smacked right into him or her. Then, she laughed a bit maniacally at her take-no-prisoners style.

When she rejoined him, Spike said, "For someone who doesn't like to drive, you did a good imitation in there."

"That's fun-driving," Buffy responded. "Besides, it's a lot easier to hit things than it is to avoid them."

"Ummmmm," Spike mumbled. Then, he said, "Perhaps we could find something a little slower paced." He looked around and got a sly glint in his eye. "How about that?"

Buffy followed the direction he was pointing—to a boat-ride titled, "Tunnel of Love." She gasped. "Oh, no. I'd never get on that thing. Not in a million years!" As she continued to walk, she realized that Spike no longer was beside her. She glanced back and saw him frozen in the spot, looking as though she had kicked him in the stomach, and then had gone back and kicked his dog for good measure. "Spike?" she said. "What's wrong?"

His face hardened and his voice had an edge to it that seemed part way between despair and anger. "I was just joking with you. I KNOW that you would never want to go on that boat ride with the likes of me. But did you have to be so bloody cold-hearted about it?"

Momentarily, Buffy was confused. And then it dawned on her why he was upset. "What? Oh. OOH! Spike, I wasn't even thinking about you. I was thinking about me. Guess I need to work on that focus, huh?" She looked sheepishly at him and then sat down on a nearby bench. She patted a spot beside her, and he reluctantly sat down. He stared straight ahead.

"When I was a sophomore, there was a spring dance," she said. "Mom bought me a dress to wear. She was so happy for me. That was before. Before, you know, that she found out about me being the Slayer. Anyhow, I couldn't go because the Master was about to open the Hellmouth and bring a reign of terror on the Earth. Yadda, yadda, yadda."

Spike nodded his head. He knew this part of the story.

"So, I had a choice. Go to the dance and party-hardy until the Master and his minions brought on the Armageddon, or go to his underground lair and try to stop him. And did I mention that Giles found a prophecy that the Slayer would die that night? Spike, I wasn't much older than Dawn is now, and I didn't want to die."

Tears welled in her eyes, and Spike's resolve to be angry at her began to crack. He took a neatly folded handkerchief from his back jeans pocket and handed it to her. She blew her nose with a loud honking sound.

"But I went. It was my duty. My destiny," Buffy said with a frown, and bitterness in the tone. "And then his fangs were sinking into my neck and then I was, like, plunging headfirst into a shallow pool of water. To drown. Thank God Xander had stayed awake in Health class on the day they taught lifesaving. Personally, I think that was a fluke: he got certified so he could cop a feel on CPR Annie." She tried to laugh.

"Knew the basics of what went down," Spike said as he turned his head toward her. "Heard you offed the Master that night, but I didn't know the rest. Truth is, Buffy, when I first came to Sunnydale, I didn't care about the rest. But I do now."

"I know," she said softly. "Anyhow, dark tunnel. Water. It reminds me too much of that night with the Master. But that's no excuse. I so should have thought how it would sound before I just blurted out a big fat 'no.'" She looked at his now-soiled handkerchief. "I'll wash this for you." And she tucked it into her little handbag.

After a few seconds, and without a word, they both rose simultaneously from the bench and started to again walk down the Midway.

"Buffy?" Spike asked.

"Yeah?"

"Was it a pretty dress, luv?"

She snorted. "It was drop-dead gorgeous."

**********

"You know," Buffy said, "if you wanted to wig people out, you could go in there." She pointed to the House of Mirrors.

Spike grinned. "Why Buffy. I'm deeply ashamed that a woman of your high moral character might suggest I spook the local citizenry with my lack of reflection."

"I'm a Slayer," she said, kicking the ground. "Not a saint."

"Guess not," Spike said in an approving tone.

"What's it like?" Buffy asked.

"What's what like?"

"Not being able to see yourself in the mirror?" she asked. "I guess it must not be as tough for guys. But I could just see me smearing lipstick all over my face without a reflection."

"Not so bad," Spike answered. "Blind women learn to put on makeup without benefit of seeing themselves, you know. As for me, I remember my reflection. Not much to see as I recall. Not much to miss." He shrugged.

Buffy frowned a bit. She didn't know what he looked like back in the nineteenth century. But Spike definitely had moved into stud-muffin territory by the twenty-first, especially since he'd stopped slicking back his hair and had allowed it to go all curly. "But you can have your picture taken, right?" she asked.

"Yeah. Read some bloke's explanation about that once. That one who does those vampire shows on telly. What's his name? Anyhow, said mirrors reflect the mystical world while cameras mechanically record the real world. Don't know if that's right, but it sounded good. What are you thinking?"

Buffy got a know-it-all smile on her face. "Follow me," she said, as she beckoned him with her index finger.

They walked to one of those little photo booths, where they could get three instant photos for a dollar. "Here we go. Sit down in there."

"Ack!" Spike balked. "Don't want to do this."

The young woman looked at him sternly. "I said, 'sit.'" Then she took one hand and pressed on his chest until she forced him into the seat. "Now, smile for the camera."

Buffy put a dollar in. "Spike, I said 'smile.'"

"Don't wanna."

"Smile. I'm not wasting a dollar," she said, tapping her foot and looking faux-annoyed.

Instead, he stuck out his tongue while the camera flash went off.

'Wow,' Buffy thought. 'I never realized how long Spike's tongue was. I mean, really. I wonder if anything else is extra-long .... Whoa, Buffy. Don't go there. No, don't! Damn. Too late.'

Spike looked over at her. "Like that one, Buffy?"

"Wonderful," she said sarcastically. How about trying one a little less juvenile."

He shot her a 'you're no fun' look and then turned very serious and dignified for the second picture. Buffy wonder if that was the way he posed back in the Victorian Era.

"OK," Buffy said. "Now for the last one. Happy medium, huh? Some smiling."

"Oh, you want smiles, eh?" Spike asked. "Mebbe you should show me how." With that, he grabbed for her and plopped her right on his lap.

Buffy let out a mock scream and laughed as the flash went off. After she got her breath back, she realized that not only was she sitting on his lap, but she had landed with an arm around his neck.

Spike eyed her and waited to see what she chose to do next.

She chose to take her hand and gently massage his neck. He rubbed his cheek on her hand.

Buffy studied his soft, pale-white face. She didn't hold any illusions. She realized he'd never be human or 'normal.' She had made that mistake with Angel. Pretended like he was just another boy. Another boy with rather large incisors. And then reality blew up on her and nearly took humankind with it.

She knew Spike was a vampire, and would always be part demon. She had seen him at his worst. She had fought against him. Almost died at his hands a couple of times. In turn, she had paralyzed and nearly staked him.

Yet, she also knew in her heart that he had come to love both her and Dawn. That could not be ignored. And he was trying so hard to do good and to be someone she could respect. 'Would it be so wrong for me to show him some affection, that I do care?' Buffy thought.

She wouldn't have a chance to answer that question at this time, however, because a boy of nine or ten with freckles and red hair suddenly stuck his head in the photo booth. "Gross!" he yelled. "Grandma! There are people in here making out!"

A stern woman in her sixties took the boy's place. "Excuse us for wanting to use the photo booth to take photos," she said with a huff. "There are motels along Highway 101 for this kind of thing."

Buffy and Spike scrambled to their feet.

'Bollocks,' thought Spike.

'Dammit,' thought Buffy.

When Spike brushed by the little boy, he gave a low, guttural growl in the annoying tyke's ear. As the boy jumped with instinctual fear, Spike grinned in satisfaction. 'The Big Bad still has it,' he said to himself.

Buffy examined the three instant photos in the tray of the photo booth. "Dawn will get a kick out of these two," she said, as Spike looked over her shoulder. "But this one," she said as she considered the photo with her blurry self, "is definitely circular file material."

"No!" Spike said quickly. "Don't throw it away. I'd like to have it." Then, he quickly added, "Don't have any photos of you. Not anymore." He certainly didn't want her to think he still was maintaining a Buffy shrine. That abhorrent behavior seemed like another lifetime ago now.

Buffy politely chose to ignore the reference. "It's not a very good photo," she said. "What with me moving and being blur-girl." She took it and placed it in Spike's hand. "But if you really want it, It's yours."

He looked at it again and then slipped it carefully into his breast pocket, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. He patted it in place in that pocket over his heart.

**********

Spike looked around to see what rides they may have missed. That's when he spotted it. "Ah, a roundabout!"

Buffy looked confused. "A roundawhat?"

Spike laughed. "A carousel. Merry-go-round." He quickly strode toward the ride, obviously entranced by the calliope music and the blinking lights.

As she caught up with him, he looked impressed. "They've improved the mechanics over time. Still, this one has some years on it. Look at the detail in the carvings." Then, he laughed. "You Yanks. Always doing things backward."

"Huh?" Buffy said.

"Drive on the wrong side of the road. Have your roundabouts going in the wrong direction. Look at the horses," he said as he pointed to the ride with the animals' "romantic," or more-detailed, side facing to the right. "You mount a horse from the left side. Any ninny who's ever watched John Wayne knows that. In Britain, they were built to go clockwise so you'd mount them correctly. Rest of the undereducated world followed the bloody French and put 'em counterclockwise."

Buffy stared at him.

"What?" Spike asked.

"Nothing," she replied. "You just surprise me sometimes. Did you ride horses. I mean, when you were ..."

"Human?"

"I was going to say 'younger,'" she shot back.

"Oh. Everybody pretty much did then. Not much of an accomplishment," he replied.

Buffy looked a bit sadly at the merry-go-round and then at Spike. "I used to dream of having my own horse when I was a little girl. Way too many viewings of my 'National Velvet' video. But not much chance of a horse under the Christmas tree. I guess there are places to board horses in L.A. Stables. If you have a lot of money. We were comfortable middle-class, but not wealthy enough to own a horse."

"Know the best part of roundabouts?" Spike asked. "You can imagine they are anything you want them to be." He gently took her hand. "Come on, luv."

As they hopped onto the platform of the ride, Spike pretended to check out the horse's teeth. Buffy giggled.

"A fine looking steed," he proclaimed. He presented a great flourish of a bow and said, "M' lady," as he cupped his hands so that Buffy used them instead of the stirrup. After he boosted her up, he stood there and held on to a pole as the ride started.

"Aren't you going to ride?" Buffy asked.

"No, I'd rather watch," he said.

And that's what he did. He watched as Buffy held onto the reins of the horse as it went up and down and the ride went 'round and 'round. She laughed as if there no longer were any cares in the world.

Spike cocked his head to one side and smiled back as he hung on to the pole. For a few precious moments, he could almost imagine they were in a pasture. Buffy was on a real horse, and they were bathed in rays from the sun, rather than cheesy multicolored bulbs.

After the music and the ride stopped, Spike put his hands around the young woman's waist and lifted her off her horse. For a second or two, he held her close and breathed in her luscious scent. She didn't object. When he reluctantly released her, he asked where she wanted to go next.

"The arcade," she said with a gleam in her eye.

**********

A word of warning. If you ever play the arcade games at a carnival, be aware that you are engaging in a sucker's game. That's not to say that they are all 'fixed.' Not exactly, anyhow.

But they are rigged to favor the guy running the game. That is, the dart you throw to burst the balloon is weighted to be a little 'off.' The hoop in which you try to throw the basketball is a little smaller than standard.

Spike knew all of this, of course. Can't be around as long as he had been without knowledge of the cons, the grifts. Still, with the right combination of skill and luck, a fellow could beat the odds.

Buffy and Spike exchanged their cash for tokens and sized up the games. Over the course of the rest of the evening, they hit about every one in the arcade. Three were of special note.

1. Milk Jugs. Throw a softball. Knock six stacked metal milk cans over in three tries. Win a prize.

"Step right up," said the old bald man with no teeth. "You look like a strong lad. This should be a snap for you," he said, smacking his gums together.

Spike actually thought he had a reasonable chance at this one. After all, he did have a strong arm. He picked off three of the jugs with the first two shots. The third, however, went wide.

"Oooooh! My turn," Buffy said. She wound up her arm and threw the ball right down the middle. Not only did she knock down the jugs, she also destroyed the softball in the process.

She smiled sweetly at the old man and shrugged a shoulder. "Beginner's luck." He grumpily handed her a large stuffed bear.

2. Rope Ladder. Climb the rope ladder, keeping your balance on the way up. Honk the horn. Win a prize.

No one was faring well here. Game contestants tried to steady themselves on one of the two rope ladders but ended up twirling around on it until they were forced to let go and drop ingloriously into a pile of sawdust.

"Race you to the top," Buffy said, as she winked at Spike.

"You're on," Spike replied.

They started up their respective ladders at the same time. "Bloody Hell!" Spike yelled, as the ladder spun around. As he was hanging upside down, he saw Buffy reaching for the horn to honk it. He finally gave up, let go and fell with a thud into the waiting pile.

As he brushed himself off, he saw Buffy collecting her second prize. Another bear.

"Good thing I'm secure in my masculinity," Spike said to her. "Otherwise, I might be taking up crochet about now."

Buffy let out a hearty laugh.

3. An old carnival favorite, the High Striker. Take a very large mallet and hit a platform. A bead rises in a tube. Ring the bell. Win the prize.

"Step right up," said the barker with slicked back dark hair and shifty eyes. "Prove to the world that you are no ninety-pound weakling. Ring the bell. Win a prize for your sweetheart."

Spike took the mallet and the challenge. He swung the mallet back and forth a couple of times and traded it between hands. Then, he pounded the platform. The bead rose and rose. It went two-thirds of the way up to the seventeen-foot height. And then gravity took over.

Buffy just stood there holding her two bears.

"Gimme the bears," Spike said.

"What?" Buffy asked innocently.

"Oh, you KNOW you want to try," he said with a knowledgeable smile.

"No, really, I don't," Buffy said.

The barker looked at Spike and then Buffy and then Spike again. "Son, don't think you should let the little lady try this one. She might hurt herself. This ain't fer weak little delicate things like her."

That was all Buffy needed to hear. She handed off the bears to Spike, spit on her hands, rubbed them together and hefted the mallet. She brought it down with such force, she broke the platform, and the mallet, crushed the bead, and sent the bell flying a hundred feet into the air.

"What the?" the barker cried out as he looked at his broken equipment.

"Oh, sorry," Buffy said. "My prize?"

As the still-shocked man handed over a stuffed dog, Spike patted him on the shoulder with faux-sympathy. "Good thing you caught the little lady on one of her 'weak' days, mate."

It was nearing midnight as a voice came over the P.A. to say that fairgoers needed to make their way toward the exits. And still Spike was prizeless.

"There must be something yet I haven't tried," Spike said, pacing and casting his gaze in all directions.

"What happened to the guy who is secure in his masculinity?" Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Spike gave her a tight smile. Buffy didn't understand. He didn't care about winning some sodding stuffed animal for himself or in showing the Slayer he was as strong as her. Hell, he didn't care if she were stronger. He admired her strength.

He wanted to win at one of these games so that he would have something to actually give her. A real gift. He had observed how pleased Anya was when Xander gave her things. But it wasn't that easy for Spike. What little cash he picked up hustling pool mostly went toward buying the blood he needed to eat. And it wouldn't sit well with Buffy to accept a gift that he nicked.

But if he won something fair and square, he could give it to her, and maybe it would make her a little bit happy. More than anything, he wanted her to be happy.

Just as Buffy was ready to drag him to the parking lot, he spied a little booth to the side. "There!" Spike said, as he walked quickly to it and handed off the three stuffed animals to Buffy. A bored teen-age boy with glasses and pimples looked Spike up and down.

"Wanna play the game," Spike said.

"We're closing," the boy yawned.

Spike clenched the boy's T-shirt. "I said, 'I want to play the game.'"

Buffy glanced at the little yellow duckies floating in the fake pond. "Uh, Spike, I think this is a kids' game."

As Spike continued to give the boy the evil eye, the boy handed him three rings. "Toss a ring around a duck's neck. Win a prize," he said, without much conviction.

Spike aimed carefully. Tossed. A miss. He breathed in deeply. Tossed. It grazed the top of a duck's head, but it was still a miss. He looked at the boy, thought for a moment and snatched the glasses right off the kid's face.

"Ow! Hey!"

Spike put the spectacles on and mumbled, "Better," as he looked back at the pond. He set his sights on one duck, steadied his aim and let fly what turned out to be a dead-ringer.

An air of smugness engulfed him, as if he had known all the time he could do it. As he was returning the glasses to the face of their owner, Buffy just rolled her eyes.

"This one's my gift to you, luv," he said, smiling and rapping his fingers on the counter.

The kid reached under it and said, "Here's your prize. Now, we're closed."

Spike took one look and bellowed. "Wot!? You call that a prize?"

Sitting on the counter was a lopsided, pink stuffed elephant with a too-small trunk. And it was covered with red polka-dots.

"Look. This isn't the hardest game in the arcade, so you don't get that great of a prize," the kid explained. "And don't be greedy, dude. You already won all those other toys for your old lady. Chill out."

Spike snatched it from the counter, and Buffy did another bemused eye roll as she tried to hang on to her own booty.

**********

"Home safe and sound," Spike said as he eased the DeSoto up to the curb.

"Tonight definitely was of the fun," Buffy said. "I needed that."

Spike did nothing but nod. Inwardly, however, he was extremely pleased she had had a good time and that he had not screwed anything up too badly.

She looked to the back seat where her prizes were lined up in a row. "Not sure what I'm going to do with the stuffed animals. Dawn's at that stage where she gets insulted if I give her something she considers childish."

"Hope she doesn't feel a need to grow up too soon," Spike said with genuine concern in his voice. Then, he added: "As for those, I could swing by Sunnydale General and drop 'em off for the whelps who are sick-like in pediatrics."

"What?" Buffy said, looking at him in astonishment. "I can't believe you thought of that."

"Why?" Spike asked, swallowing hard as he looked at her and then studied his hands clasped in his lap. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Because I'm a soulless demon?"

Buffy took two of her fingers, gently put them under his chin and raised his head back up so that he was looking at her again. "Nooooo. Don't put words in my mouth, Mister. It's just that it was a very considerate thing for a single guy to suggest. Most men who don't have kids would never think of that." Then she sniffed. "And men like my dad who do have kids wouldn't think of it either."

Spike winked and said, "If it makes you feel any better about my motives reaching the lowest common male denominator, I can nick some O-negative while I'm there." Then, he reached over the seat to retrieve the poor little stuffed elephant. "Guess this will find a home in the nearest Dumpster."

Buffy snatched it from him. "Don't even think about it. 'Spot' is mine. You won it for me. You can't take back a gift."

"Spot?" Spike laughed out loud. "Appreciate the gesture, Buffy. But that thing is freakish."

"Is not!" Buffy said, as she hugged it to her. "He's just ... misunderstood. And so what even if he's a little different? Different is good. I'm different, too."

Spike shook his head. "Different? You're not different at all! Piffle!"

"Hellooo," Buffy replied back at him. "Chosen One, remember? Stamped a big old 'Different' right in the middle my forehead at fifteen."

"No stamp marks there. All I see is a beautiful girl," Spike said.

"Uh, yeah, right." Buffy said, as she felt her face flushing. Time to get back on subject. "Spot here reminds me of a Christmas story I watched on TV as a kid. There was this Island of Misfit Toys. Every year, they waited and waited for Santa to pick them up so that they could find a real home. There was nothing wrong with them. Not really. They just needed someone to love them and accept them as they were. That's all."

Spike nodded slowly. He knew the pain of the outsider all too well. "We misfits got to stick together," she continued. "Spot will get a place of honor right in the middle of my bed, so that he'll know that I love him. Mr. Gordo will understand."

"Whatever makes you happy, luv," Spike said.

"It does. And Spike, I want to be happy again." Buffy looked at the darkened house. "It's going to be weird, staying there alone tonight. I'm not used to Dawn being gone. But I can't mother hen her to death, either."

"Buffy, I was wondering," Spike began slowly. "Did lil' sis mebbe set this up so that you and I—what I am meaning to say is that might she have fixed it so that we could go to the fair alone? Together alone, that is?"

Buffy laughed. "It was totally a setup, Spike. It hasn't been THAT long since I was in high school to know that no one works on their homework on a Friday night! Not even Willow, when she was the undisputed queen of science fair projects three years running."

"You ... you wanted to go with me?" Spike asked. He didn't want to press her, but he needed to know.

"Yeah. I did, " she said without hesitation.

Spike's eyes started to water up. 'Bugger it,' he thought. 'Last thing I need is for her to see me blubbering away.'

"I may not always show it, Spike, but I have noticed the change," Buffy said, "and it hasn't been just for my benefit or for Dawn's. It's been for yourself. I guess I've changed, too, and not simply in a Buffy-comes-back-from-the-dead-wacky way."

He looked out the side driver's window and tried to discreetly wipe back the tears. "Know your friends don't fancy me much." He glanced back at her.

"No, guess they don't," she said and then shrugged. "I love the gang. But I'm not letting them plan my social calendar. Look at Riley. They were gaga over him. Hell, if Riley were a girl, Xander would have jumped him! Uhhh, that made sense in my head. You know what I mean."

Spike let out a chortle. He understood.

"I mean, look how spectacularly, disastrously wrong the Rileyship went," Buffy continued. "From now on, I'm my own 'Buffy.' I make my own choices. Go my own way. That's what misfits do," she said with a smile of satisfaction and peace. "A-n-n-n-n-d, speaking of going my own way, I guess it's time to call it a night." Her voice carried a tinge of regret in it.

Spike had watched enough dramas on telly to know this was the point where the guy made his 'move' and kissed his date goodnight. But is that what she wanted? Did she think of herself as his date? He didn't want the night to end with her punching him in the face because he got too fresh.

'Is he going to kiss me?' Buffy thought anxiously.

'Should I kiss her?' Spike worried to himself.

Buffy considered that perhaps if she leaned in a little toward him, he would catch her signal.

Spike not only snatched the signal but leaned in himself. He tilted his head slightly and then gently pressed his lips upon hers, which were soft, warm and surprisingly inviting. 'Easy does it,' he told himself. 'First time date-kiss and all that. Don't try to devour her. Keep your hands on the seat. All right, that's long enough, Spike. Let her breathe.'

As he pulled his head away, only then did he consciously realize he had closed his eyes during the kiss. He opened them hesitantly to see Buffy looking playfully at him.

"A girl could get used to that," she said in a low and—dare he hope?—sexy voice. She sighed. "I ... I really should hit the hay now. And did people ever really sleep on hay? Hello to the allergies!" ('All righty,' Buffy said to herself. 'You can stop babbling now. God, he's such a hottie. And he's becoming such a sweetie, too.') "Thanks for taking me. Really. See you tomorrow night? On patrol?"

Spike nodded and watched her walk to the porch. She turned and waved. Then, she wagged Spot's arm or leg—or whatever the hell it was—so that it waved to him, too. She went into the house and turned off the porch light. A few seconds later, other lights inside the place began to flick on.

**********

As he sat there in the car, Spike took the fair booth photo out of his shirt pocket. This had been, without a doubt, the best night of his life and unlife combined.

He smiled as he reexamined the fuzzy image of Buffy. A picture of Buffy laughing in his company. He rubbed his thumb over her face lovingly. 'I wonder how that story came out,' he thought. 'The one about the misfit toys. Did they ever get off that island?'

He returned the photo to his shirt pocket and was about to start the car and leave for the hospital, when he noticed the porch light flashed back on. Buffy emerged from the house.

She stood there, staring directly and intently at the car. That little bump that popped up on her forehead when she was in deep thought was practically throbbing.

The first thing that came to Spike was something had happened. Something terrible. Perhaps to Dawn. Worried, he opened the car door.

By the time he was out, Buffy stood beside him.

"Buffy, what's the matter?" he questioned. He was relieved to see she had a faint smile on her lips. That surely meant she wasn't bringing him bad news. He looked back over his shoulder into the car and craned his neck. "Forget something, luv? Something you need?"

When he looked back around, Buffy's smile had deepened, and her eyes were soft and accepting. She extended her hand. To him.

The End