One Good Lay: Affinity by Ginny

Every now and then something would happen which made Buffy realize just how odd her life was. Saving the world from the Master in her coolest dress? That was weird. Seeing the Mayor turn into a giant snake? Again---- fairly high place on the Weird-O-Meter. Having a commando boyfriend? Positively tame. After all, he had a pulse.

Watching Spike look at the toppings list for pizza thoughtfully, as if he were just any other guy on a humor-the-girlfriend-type-of-a-date? That had to be in the Odd Top Ten. Of course, the whole Spike thing was Oddness personified; and the oddest thing about it, was how unweird it felt. Which brought the whole weirdness thing up again, because she suddenly wondered what would happen if Giles found out. This produced a slight wince-- half cringe, and half irritation-- because he was gone, and why should she care?

“You sick of pepperoni, yet?” Spike asked. Buffy thought about it; what, really, was there to life except pepperoni? Leave it to a guy, living or undead, not to figure that one out.

“What are my options?”

“Bacon, sausage…?”

“I’m looking for cholesterol.” Buffy pointed out.

“So…you want the maximum in artery-clogging, is it?”

Buffy deflated abruptly at mention of ‘artery.’ Damn, hit by reality yet again. Why did he have to use that word? It just made her think of…reality…yet again.

“Yeah,” she said dispiritedly. She suddenly remembered Tara’s words, and knew she’d be nibbling on the toppings anyway. She could practically denude a pizza while remaining morally sure that she hadn’t eaten more than a few little snippets off the top. “I want dietary badness. Why can’t we just skip the pizza, and just order the toppings?”

“Well, we could,” Spike said thoughtfully. “But you’re the one who’s going to explain to this poor bloke what it is you want.”

“What?” Buffy shook her head, seemingly disappointed. “You mean you’re not going to tell him what I want?”

Spike eyed her. “Well….It’s just that it does seem to change every day.”

His eyes were on her, considering, wondering if his name would come up, and the joke fell flat. “Pepperoni’s good.” Buffy said quietly.

Lorne wondered if there was some sort of bylaw about vengeance demons being insecure. He could practically smell it on her; that, and the smell of sulfur.

He slowly drew Hallie away from the girls, out onto the deck, while Willow and Tara performed hopelessly lame magic tricks in the living room. He wondered if it was just the gig that did it to them, or maybe it was just her, but looking at the former Anyanka, he doubted that. Or maybe it was just having heard the conversation between the two of them.

“You don’t much care for Anyanka’s hubbie to be, do you?”

“Oh!” Hallie waved the remark away, then glanced around. “I never said that.”

“I’m good with instincts.”

“What do you do, by the way?”

“I, ah, I sing.” Lorne said modestly, brushing away a speck of pollen from his linen lapel. Really, why had he chosen linen? He’d never get the wrinkles out. It was possible the suit could survive another trip to LA in the Spikemobile, but he doubted it would survive Greyhound. And there was as much chance of Angel giving him enough money for plane fare as there was of Spike getting a suntan. “And, well, I try to ah, help, as it were, other people to express themselves in song.”

“Really? Is that your job…or your, ah, talent?”

“I’m lucky.” Lorne said quietly. “It’s both.”

“Oh, I know what you mean.” Hallie giggled. “I’m the same way with dismemberment.” She giggled even harder. “And I do mean…dis mem—“

“Ah, yes, thank you, I’ve got that particular mental image burned in already.”

“Oh,” Hallie giggled again. “You men…No matter what kind of demon you are, that’s the topic that really gets you touchy.”

“Well, it’s just that castration isn’t exactly something one could do over, could one? It’s not like liposuction, is it? Don’t fat cells always grow back? At least mine do,” he added thoughtfully. He sighed. “My clan has the biggest hips in the region, it’s a curse. Terrible inconvenience; that’ s how our enemies always caught us during clan wars.” He sighed again, both relieved to be somewhere where hippiness was only an inconvenience rather than a death warrant, and also where convenient payment plans meant that he would never have that ghastly nightmare again, about being criticized for his figure, and then executed for it.

“So..” Hallie eyed his sleeve. Interesting. A demon who chose linen for spring. “Where are you from?”

“LA.”

“Originally?”

“Is anyone in LA really from there?”

“But, originally?”

“Oh, honey, if I told you that, you could dig up my old yearbook, and find out how old I really am. And no one is pretty enough for that.” He batted his eyelashes at her. “But why are we talking about me? What about you? Where are you from?”

“Oh, England, originally.”

“And you and Anya met…How?”

“Oh, it was just terrible. There was this terrible person chasing me around, just completely beneath me, and you know…” She leaned forward. “And that’s how I met Hallie. I just wanted to get rid of him. He kept distracting me. He kept distracting this…man.” She giggled. “It’s too funny, all of us meeting up this way.”

“All of us?”

“Oh, Anya and I, even him---that vampire…”

The light dawned. “That vampire.” She preened a bit, as if primping herself in the mirror.

He drew away a little, wanting to see her clearly. There were some things that he didn’t need singing for. “What about him?”

“Who knew it would turn out like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I wished he was dead, I never thought….”

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Why five?”

“Because we got one free that way.” Spike said, injured. Much as he liked having all that money in his pocket, he was suddenly, acutely, aware of prices. Certainly, it was Buffy’s money, but that didn’t stop him from feeling very protective of it. And here she was, dissing his financial acumen.

“But why do we want one free?” Buffy wrinkled her nose at him. “They’re hyooooooge.”

Spike had to bit his lip to keep from commenting on the two-syllable pronunciation, knowing that it would sink any and all hopes for nudity any time in the extremely near future. “Something wrong with leftovers?”

“Fine.” Buffy shook her head. “You get to convince Dawn to eat leftover pizza for the next week.”

“She’s a teenager, don’t they inhale food?”

“Not if anyone’s looking.”

“Well, maybe we should make it forbidden or something, then she’ll be mad for it.”

“How do you know so much…?” Buffy shut up abruptly and looked out the window again. The pizzas, steaming, and sweating oil through the cardboard, were heaped between them, and he suspected that tossing them in the back seat and grabbing her would not be well-received.

“How do I know so much about women?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Which means I’m right.” He glanced over at her shrewdly. “You always have lots to say when I’m wrong.” Of course, sometimes she also had lots to say---torrents to say---when he was right, too, so it wasn’t an absolutely airtight theory.

“Well, maybe that’s because I get lots of practice.”

“Oh? Name one example.”

Oh, hell. Buffy thought. Perfect opportunity, but worse circumstances could hardly be imagined. The weirdfest that is my life. Trying to have a conversation with Spike. Trying to have a normal conversation with the person I’m sleeping with….The vampire I’m sleeping with. It somehow seemed below the belt to bring up anything pre-chip, and post-chip was like an open wound. Whoops. I guess he’s not like a normal boyfriend after all, she thought. The silence had gotten to the point where it hung in the car, as much a third entity as Spike’s eternal cigarette smoke, making known with its presence her inability to come up with a light answer.

But then…Inspiration struck. “Harmony!”

“Bloody hell.”

“What was that, Spike? C’mon, I’m sure she was sensitive, intelligent, witty---“

“And not prone to gloating.” He pointed out.

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes, mimicking. “My boyfriend’s going to…” She hummed a few bars of “My boyfriend’s back…Hey la, hey la…”

“Bloody hell.” Yet another twinge; Harmony calling him her boyfriend at the slightest provocation; Buffy, steadfastly refusing to. How could he get any more lucky?

*~*~*~*~*~*

“So, sweetness…” Lorne settled himself on the deck, knowing what it was going to do the linen, but well, some things had to be done. “I’m not completely clear on the whole wishing thing…”

“Well, this is how it happens.” Hallie said cozily, settling in beside him. “You make a wish, and the wish is done. But I had such potential that D’Hoffryn---he’s the head of the division----offered me a job. I have a real talent for it.”

“For death and pain and torture?” Lorne enquired softly.

“Don’t forget maiming,” Hallie pointed out. “Or dismemberment. I’m sort of known for my dismemberments.”

“I’m not clear, either, on how you got invited here…”

“Oh, I’m not allowed to divulge that information.” Hallie said primly. “But I only go where I’m needed. Or my presence is requested. Now, Dawn, for example. Everyone was leaving her behind, so I fixed that.” And myself, a voice said, but never mind. Let’s forget that embarrassing little episode.

“You…fixed that?” Lorned shifted uncomfortably around on the step, wishing she hadn’t used the word, ‘fixed.’ “How did you do…”He gulped…”that?”

“Well, I can’t really divulge that, can I? But someone has to look out for these girls.”

“Girls? What about boys?”

Hallie brushed that off. “Why would they even need demons? You should just hear what my coworkers tell me about other places, the things they have to do just to keep up.” She sighed for a moment, and her shoulders slumped. “You know, as much as we do do, we’re still terribly short- staffed. And that’s despite the fact that a lot of people never even wish because they don’t even have hope enough for revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Justice,” she amended. “These politically correct times, you know. But really, if you cut off a woman’s---well----you know, what do you think she’s going to want in return?”

“Now there’s a job description I’d like to see.”

“Well, really, what was I supposed to do when I was human? All I did was go to parties, look pretty, and pretend I was flattered by men. And so many of them were so…so…beneath me. And gossip; I did lots of that. I perfected that, but it was so—so---circumscribed.”

“So you became a vengeance demon because you had a talent for it, huh?”

“Oh, yes. It’s very subtle, sometimes. I mean, when I was still human I did a few things, but it was so difficult. I just didn’t have the opportunities as a human that I had when I became a demon.”

“Why were they beneath you?” Lorne asked curiously.

“What? Well,” Hallie shrugged, dismissing the question. “They just were. That vampire, for example. Nothing like the other men, always writing poetry.”

“What were the other men like?”

She sighed, as if it was a pleasant memory. “Oh, very masculine. In control. But he was…Well, he was so sensitive! He was always thinking about things that spoiled the fun.”

“Such as…?”

“Oh, I remember this one! There was this terrible woman who was always at parties; terrible bluestocking. And William was so nice to her, even though she was really worthless.”

“Worthless?”

“Shopkeeper’s daughter or something.” Hallie explained. “And William was nice to her. Asked after her mother, actually had conversations with her. Some of the women did like him. All the tacky ones, that is.”

“Tacky?”

“Low-class, you know. The spinsterish ones. Probably grateful for any man, even him.”

“And, sweetheart, I hate to interrupt, but was he poor? Tacky? Low class?”

“Well, there was that poetry….” Hallie said thoughtfully. “But no, he was respectable enough, except he always wanted to think differently than the rest of us. He kept spoiling it for the rest of us. We stopped going to little get-togethers at his mother’s house, because he caught one of our boys with one of the maids, and booted him out of the house. Can you imagine?”

“Can I…?” Lorne looked at her. “What?”

“One of the maids.” Hallie said significantly.

“One of the…maids?” Lorne asked. “What was he doing?”

“Well…Anyway, who cares?”

“Aren’t you a justice demon, you said?”

“Yes, but…that was different.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Hallie shrugged, trying to put into words something she’d always felt but tried to articulate. “It just didn’t matter to men then. She was just a little Irish shanty girl. She should have been grateful she had a job.”

“And if the job included being….?”

“Oh, that? Well, I knew the man!” She exclaimed. “And he was perfectly nice to me!”

“Like you knew that vampire?”

“I didn’t want to know him, that was my point! And he kept insisting on bothering me!” She frowned at him, a face that hinted at what she looked like at work. “I didn’t want to be bothered.”

“Like what vampire?” Buffy asked curiously. She was followed by someone who appeared to be Spike, but who was obscured by a pile of pizza boxes. From behind it emerged a thin trail of smoke. Hallie peered around to get a side glimpse at him, and smirked with satisfaction at Lorne.

“Like that one.”

They all stood and stared at each other, Spike shifting the pizza boxes to one arm and eyeing Halfrek with no recognition whatsoever; Buffy glaring at Hallie and attempting to look like she really actually tolerated the demon’s presence; and Lorne shifting further away. “Yeah?” Spike said. “Do I owe you money or something?”

“No, it’s just for nostalgia’s sake….William. You don’t remember me?”

Spike pricked up his ears at this, noting the tell-tale I-know-you-but- I’m-going-to-draw-it-out singsong. Who in the hell was this woman? Or vengeance demon, he remembered now. At that thought, he glanced over at Buffy, mouthing, “Dawn?”

Buffy shook her head at that. “I’d ground her,” she promised. “She tried that once.”

“Yeah, and look what happened.” Spike brushed past Hallie into the kitchen where he dumped the leaning tower of pizza on the table and stomped down the hall. He hesitated before the living room, wondering if he should cover his eyes or something, then decided his best bet was bellowing. “DAWN!”

The chattering in the living room got cut off like water from a tap. Holy Hell, it was one in the morning, what were they, fledglings? “Come here!”

Dawn’s worried face appeared at the door. “What?”

“Dawn, if anything happens to any of those Backstreet Boys….”

Dawn’s trepidation turned to bewilderment. “Why would something happen to them? Didn’t they, like, retire, or something?”

“Well, roomful of teenage girls, vengeance demon, what am I supposed to think?”

“So you just naturally thought we’d…uh, what? Get, uh, vengeance? For what?”

“For being an abomination to the idea of music?” Spike suggested, then realized he was ruining his Strict Male Figure impersonation.

“I still totally don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dawn said.

“Well, just don’t go wishing any revenge on people.”

“Especially tacky boybands?”

Talk about temptation, but Spike manfully bit his tongue. “You heard me.”

“Heard, but well, comprehended, that’s still kind of…?”

“Just no….”

“Yeah, yeah, when did you become my dad?” She flounced back into the living room, to be greeted by a highly descriptive silence and then a burst of whispers. Spike shoved both hands through his hair in exasperation, wondering how he had become the savior of All Things Tacky, before turning away. He almost smacked into Hallie, who’d followed behind him. “Who are you?” He snapped, irrigated. Woman—or demon---moved like a ghost, which she wasn’t, but he could do something about that.

“You don’t remember me, do you William?”

That smile, he thought sickly. That smug smile, those predatory eyes, gleaming with malice. Something else, too, glimpsed behind the confidence, something small and frightened lurked like a monster behind her eyes. She had the smile of a fighter who always picked a smaller opponent, a conqueror who picked smaller armies. That smile was most definitely familiar; he’d last seen it on the face of a woman who’d found him revolting, but believed his adoration only her due. And she expected him to adore her still, he saw; she was waiting eagerly, poised to say something, watching for the moment he crumbled. And then what? Would she console him, or just watch and gloat?

Watch and gloat, he saw. That clinched it for him. “Hello, Cicely.” He said quietly. Bloody hell, but the air was dry inside this house. See what smoking for a century did to you throat; the Surgeon General had a point. He brushed past her, past Buffy, who had followed Cicely, and out the back door.

Buffy watched him as he went past, seeing his face work with emotion before he was gone. Then she turned to the demon standing there. Behind them, Anya hovered in the living room doorway, and glanced brightly from one to the other. “Oh, did Spike bring pizza?” She turned back into the room, “More pizza, girls!”

There was a rumble, like a gathering avalanche, and then the two demons and the Slayer were buffeted by a powerful current of teenage hunger. Tara and Willow bobbed past, like corks caught in a flood, casting worried glances at the little cluster of demons and Slayer in the hallway. Then they were alone again. Anya looked from Buffy to Hallie and back again. Desertion definitely the better part of valor, here. She started to tiptoe past, but Buffy grabbed her arm and twisted. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

“What?”

“Spit it out, Anya. Why was Spike so upset?”

“Spike was upset?” Anya dodged. Who knew what got a vampire pissed off? O positive shaken and not stirred? “Uh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Anya probably doesn’t even remember.” Hallie said softly, slowly, and Buffy turned on her, hearing the malice in her tone. Looking into the woman’s eyes, she could see it as well. It was all Hallie could do, she saw, from not going after Spike and not rubbing some more salt in whatever wound it was that she’d just opened. “Do you, Anya?”

“Huh? What?”

“Remember me? What happened?”

“When?”

“When you granted my wish. When I became a Justice demon.”

Anya looked even more puzzled, if that was possible, and just frowned at the both of them, starting to get irritated. “Of course, I remember that. You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t I remember that?”

“Remember the man?” Hallie smirked. “Or boy, really. Remember him?”

“Not really,” Anya said regretfully. “I really didn’t have to do a lot of work on that one. You did most of that yourself. I hardly did anything at all.”

“Did what?” Buffy asked in a firm voice.

Uh, oh. Anya thought. Buffy’s arms were crossed, and she had that mustslaysomethingnow look on her face that Xander always talked about. Better not be me, she thought. “I can’t remember everything I did,” Anya whined defensively. “I mean, you should have seen my filing system for just the maimings alone! Plus it was a thousand years of this stuff. It’s not like I had a stenographer or something.”

“Think,” Buffy said, and this time her voice had gone from firm to hard. Anya knew she was in real trouble, but she couldn’t quite figure out why.

“Well, I don’t know.” Anya said carefully. “I really, really, didn’t do much; I’ve never seen an amateur who had such command of the craft, you know? So ask Hallie, and let me go. I like having blood run through all my veins.”

“What did you do, Hallie?”

“Nothing much. I just wished he was dead.” Hallie examined her fingernails.

“You didn’t say that before.”

“It didn’t come up.”

“Well, I wonder why not?” Buffy said tightly.

“Well, I’m not a fool.” Hallie glanced up from where she was examining her fingernails. “How stupid would I have to be to tell the Slayer her vampire boyfriend used to be some git who tied his cravat wrong and stuttered?”

Anya goggled. “He’s your boyfriend?”

“What’s a cravat?” Buffy shook her won question aside. “Never mind. Is that it, Hallie? That’s all? That’s all he had to do to irritate you? God, how shallow.” Hallie sniffed.

“I just have high standards.”

“Yeah, that explains why you’re stuck on a Saturday night, trolling a kid’s pizza party for vengeance? What’s the matter? Can’t get anything more glamorous? Getting a little bit too into your work? Homelife suffering?”

“He didn’t just irritate me,” She snapped. “He---“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we went over all this before. Gotta wonder, Hallie, I really do, why you keep coming back to that. You mentioned it before, but methinks the demon protests too much. I mean, I’ve only seen you the three times, and every time you bring it some how.”

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t a vampire slayer who doesn’t so much slay vampires as---AWK!” Buffy slammed her against the wall so hard the pictures rattled, and there was sudden silence in the kitchen.

“My personal life is my personal life, and that includes Dawn. If I ever catch you or any other vengeance demons sniffing around here again, I’ll….” She dusted her hands off, as if they were covered with something dirty. “I’ll slay you. And that’s my job.”

Hallie snarled at her; there was no other word for it. “There are lots of people who’d love to know what the Slayer is doing with a vampire---“

“What is she doing with him?” Anya asked eagerly.

“Really? Then where were they with Angel?”

“Angel was a good vampire.”

Buffy laughed. “What makes you think you’re in any position to judge?”

“I bring justice!”

“You torture people.” Buffy said quietly. “You say you do it for justice, but you’d do it for any excuse at all.”

“And what do you do?”

“Well, I don’t torture people, but I could change that.” She grabbed the demon by both upper arms and propelled her toward the front door. “Starting with you.” She yanked open the door, and tossed the woman out on the front porch. She reeled as far as the first step before she caught herself. Adjusting her rumpled outfit---and dignity---she collected herself on the top step and glared into Buffy’s eyes. For just a minute, Buffy swallowed and forgot she was the Slayer. Slayer, hell, there was nothing more frightening than the prospect of fighting high-maintenance women, the sort who hoped to divorce well. Add the demon factor in, and Hallie made Glory look like a head cheerleader with mildly bad PMS.

“This isn’t over.” Hallie said.

Buffy pulled out a stake, and brandished it. “It could be. Wanna try for now?”

Hallie disappeared in a poof of smoke that smelled like some department- store perfume Buffy knew she was never going to be able to afford. She inhaled for a moment, then turned to Anya, who was fidgeting in the doorway. When Buffy looked at her, Anya waved nervously, her eyes huge.

“You should have told me.”

“Why would I?” Anya muttered guiltily. “I didn’t know he was your boyfriend!” The last word sarcastically emphasized. “If I had known that, I would have told you, except I don’t even know that I knew that stuff, because Hallie really was the one who did most of that. They were just convenient.”

“Who were?” Buffy asked tiredly.

“The vampires.”

The vampires. Angel, prowling the streets. “Spike.” Buffy said carefully. She couldn’t figure out why she was asking, or even what she was asking. “Did he cry?”

Anya winced. “Well…”

“You have to tell me.”

“I---think so. Hallie might have exaggerated, though. She always did love that part.”

“What part?” Buffy asked sickly.

“The gloating.” Anya flinched at Buffy’s look. “Hey! Look, for me, it was just a job with benefits! For her, it was like…A religeon.”

“Stop, you’re making me sick.” Buffy grimaced. Then they both looked at each other, Buffy stepping back to the door, and glancing out. No Hallie, thank God, just some char marks on the porch.

And Spike, leaning against the passenger side door of the DeSoto, smoking a cigarette with furious pulls.

“You’re not telling Xander anything, Anya.” Buffy warned.

“Not eve…?”

“Nothing.” Buffy snapped. “You and I are so going to have a talk.”

“About what? Sex?” Anya quailed at Buffy’s look. “Well, what else are we supposed to talk about? Boyfriends?”

“Seeing as how we both have one, yes, we could.” Buffy stepped out on the porch and glanced back at Anya, who was curiously peering out the door from her to Spike and back again. “Just so long as you don’t share this with any of the girls.”

“Fine.” She didn’t move.

“Go away, Anya.”

She saw the way Spike looked down as she approached, tossing his cigarette to the sidewalk with careful finesse, as if he were doing a cigarette ad. “Was she the one?”

“That was her.” He agreed. He looked up into her face, then shook his head as if he’d just suddenly remembered something. “Wonderful taste in women I have, innit?”

“Present company excepted, I hope.” She tried to smile at her own joke, but Spike gave her such a intense, questioning look that she bit her lip. She hesitated, lifting one hand, then reaching for his arm, and could not have been more surprised when he raised his hands, not in surrender, but in protest.

“You’re never going to love me.” Spike said flatly. “Just finally realized it now, I did. Not going to happen.”

“I---“ Buffy took a deep breath. “You can’t tell me that.”

“Why? Because we shag? “ He lit another cigarette, and Buffy noticed his hands were shaking. “That’s all it is to you, in’t it? I keep telling myself otherwise, but I know it now.”

“I can’t say yes or no right now.” Buffy said quietly. “I’m not like you, Spike.”

“Neither was Angel.”

“I don’t mean that.” Buffy said, but this time her voice was even softer. She had to take a deep breath to steady herself. “It’s---You know, you’re part of the reason.” She looked up at him. “Afraid I wasn’t worth the second go?” Her breath trembled this time. “You meant it.”

“You said that before.” Spike said flatly. “We talked about this before. Is that what you’re always going to say?”

“No.” There was a long pause, during which Spike wondered if she could hear his nerve-endings jangling. He hoped not, because it seemed very important to be mad at her right now--- very mad at her, because he had to cling to the sudden certaintly that there was no hope at all. He wanted nothing so much as to leave before she saw things he wasn’t ready to show, no matter what else she’d seen. Not just yet. “But Angel…”

“Yeah, Angel…” Spike said scornfully. “Bye, then.”

She stumbled back as he swept around the car, slamming victoriously into the driver’s seat before she could form syllables through a dry throat. She dropped her head as he pulled away, so she wouldn’t see him leave.

Buffy trudged back to the house, to find the kitchen full of bright-eyed girls who wolfed down pizza with what seemed like several hands apiece. None of them showed any sign of conking out, and she wondered what it would take. The last thing she needed was to be confronted by cheerfulness. She was feeling distinctly uncheerful, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she was actually right in feeling that way.

How badly had that little scene gone? She really wanted to be the angry one, but she was back to being ridiculously tired again. She avoided Dawn’s eyes, snagged a pepperoni slice, then had to avoid Tara’s glance as well, as the witch suddenly shot a glance at her. I’m depressed, she thought, I’m entitled to cheat on my diet. Besides, they’re eating me out of house and home. She sighed and then glanced around, hoping no one had seen that. Maybe they’d get so exhausted by cholesterol they’d fall asleep and she could….? Dawn caught her eye. “Where’d Spike go?”

All eyes were on her. “Um…he went to get some stuff.” She glanced down, to find a plate in front of her with an obscene piece of pizza on it. She looked up at Tara, who looked half concerned, half amused, and Willow, who just looked confused. “My theory about men….” Tara said. Post adolescent ears perked up. “Not that it’s worth much, you know.”

Buffy looked around frantically, wondering if any of the girls had gotten that reference. None of them looked interested in the slightest, which was the proper approach to some boring adult saying anything about theories. “Yes?” This fulfilled her basic minimum of conversational requirement for the evening, she hoped.

Suddenly every eye in the kitchen was poised on Lorne, hovering in the doorway, and a bit flummoxed as to his status. As the guest of a guest, he was suddenly feeling rather at sea. “Want some pizza?” Buffy asked.

“Yes, I do.” He looked around, scooping up the biggest slice with impressive speed, and an adept wrist flick. “So where’d Spike go?”

“Stuff,” Buffy mumbled. She demolished half her slice at once and discovered that everyone was eager to avoid looking at her when her mouth was grotesquely full. “Tara?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right.” She took another bite---as a delaying tactic, Buffy saw----and then chewed delicately and swallowed. “Well, see, you ever notice that---“ They all turned and looked at Lorne as the representative sample. “It’s just that, well, you remember how in school, all the girls always grew up faster than the guys?”

“Tell me about it,” said one little blonde creature, managing to pack a lot of bitterness in that phrase. Buffy was suddenly glad again that she’d tossed Hallie out of the house.

“Well, I just think that’s true most of the time.” She glanced around, deflating. “That’s it. That’s my theory.” They all looked at Lorne. He was patting his chin with the handkerchief he’d pulled from his breast pocket, a paper towel spread over his lap. “A lot of guys.” She added.

Hoo boy, Buffy thought. “You know, let me get some of those boxes out of the way.” She collected the remains of previous boxes from the counter, and headed out for the garbage cans. She dumped them in, picking up the pizza box Spike had tossed away earlier so they could be alone.

“Hey, Sweetness,” Lorne said from the porch. “You want a little advice?”

“On men.” She cocked her head at that. “Men, vampires, demons, whatever.” He dismissed inter species differences the same way he’d dismiss white shoes after Labor Day. “Tara was right, I think. Hm. Maybe disinterest is the key to understanding something, because that girl did have a point. Should have known. She never paid the slightest bit of attention to this suit.”

“Always good, trying to cope.” He sat down on the porch and gestured for him to join him. I should just live out here, she thought. The only thing I haven’t done out here is…”What? I’m sorry?”

“I figure you could use my perspective.” He stared off into the back yard as if there was something fantastic and exotic there occupying all his attention. This was technically true; he’d never seen quite as decrepit a selection of lawn furniture as that which was arrayed before him now. “I’m not, after all, a friend of Spike’s.”

Buffy tried to decide what that meant. The truth was, she didn’t really care. So Angel got a full report about her goings on? She was starting to think that if people cared as much about her as they claimed to, they could start demonstrating it in a more concrete fashion. She thought about Angel, trying to conjure up the old feeling, but all that surfaced in her mind was the feeling of effort. They’d had one tense meeting since she came back, and she realized that the thought of him finding out about her and Spike bothered her less than thought of Xander or Giles finding out. Damned if she was going to regard it as some sort of infidelity.

“Well, that’s sort of the problem. I don’t know that he won’t ask, but I don’t think it’s his business.” He found himself absurdly pleased by the firm look of approval Buffy gave him. “But if he asked?”

“I’d tell him, you have a lot to deal with. I’d tell him that perhaps, you have too much to deal with. Too many worries, not enough money. And then I’d see what he’d say. I can’t help it, Ms. Slayer, but the big buffoon is my friend. You can’t help but have your friends.”

“What if they don’t know they’re not acting like friends?” Lorne countered. “Sweetie, I can’t tell you much, until you sing, but I can tell you this; I’ve seen a lot of heartbreak in my day----“ Here, he examined his buffed nails with a certain pride, then returned to the topic at hand. “----and the only thing I’ve learned from it, is, that there’s only one way to find out what’s wrong.” He leaned closer. “And that’s why you have to ask.”

“He’s not my----“ Buffy said automatically, then caught his look and dropped her eyes.

“Then who is he?” Lorne prodded her gently. “Of course, you may toss unstable vengeance demons out of your house on a regular basis for vampires you don’t like, but I think that’s a pretty good indication of something.”

“Well, here’s the deal….” He said. “Why don’t you sing for me and we’ll find out?”

The worst thing, the worst thing about America was the alcohol selection. Granted, her travels as a vengeance demon exposed her to lots of different cultures, but she remained convinced that England still had had the best vintages. Nothing she’d tasted since then----and that’d included the heart of a Republican politician---had had quite the flavor of the things she remembered from England.

Even though she wasn’t in game face. Hallie could still be pretty ferocious when she felt like it. And now she definitely felt like it. How dare that little Slayer throw her out? And how dare Spike----what a ridiculous name!----not die! Although, technically, he had died, since he was a vampire, obviously, but he wasn’t supposed to be so…so…

No, he was supposed to have died an ignominious death, or at the very best, arisen and become someone she could safely hate with all the fervor she had. Somehow she’d always felt obscurely guilty for hating him, which of course, had made her hate him all the more. For a brief while after his demise, she’d forgotten about him, as she settled into the new job and everything, but then remorse had arisen about him, and she was appalled at the way he refused to stay dead. Just like a man.

She knocked back half her drink in one swallow, earning her raised eyebrows from the barman, who then blinked rapidly like a cornered rabbit, and whirled around so he could wipe his glasses in peace. She patted her lips delicately, and looked around. Really, the place was a dive, but what else was open in this little human town? Even demon bars had to close, though, and closing times were usually ripe pickings for vengeance. She licked her lips, trying to look approachable. She’d had awfully good luck that way, pretending to accessible, prying details out of unsuspecting men, and then visiting their exes. Of course, though there were some humans here, the clientele was mostly demon. Which meant they tended to cut out the middleman, so to speak. Why wish for vengeance when it was right at your fingertips?

She finished her drink and artfully slid the glass behind her so that she could accept if someone offered. Except no one looked like they were going to. She faced away from the bar on her stool, and licked her lips as she surveyed the room. Of course, all the demons knew what she was, but the humans didn’t, and they weren’t even doing the ogling thing she’d punished so many men for. She waited a few more minutes, hooking one foot over the rung of the stool, and placing the other one on the floor so her breasts jutted out more than usual. Not so much as a flicker. With a disgusted humph, she turned back to the bar.

The drink appeared with flattering speed, and she gulped this one back, too. The bartender was watching with extreme nervousness, putting another shot in front of her without being asked. “Did someone buy me that?” She asked coyly.

“No, I figure you’d need it. We’re closing in ten minutes.” She gave an exasperated sigh. Maybe it was Monday or something.

“Fine,” She snapped. “Just fine.” God, humans, what stupid little rules they always had. Unwilling to give the impression of being the last person to leave the bar, she got up and with careful steadiness, headed for the door. She managed the door, but the motion of the heavy door yanked her out with it. She paused in the door overhand for a moment, befuddled. Stupid American vodka, she thought, terrible tasting and strong.

She heard the voices just a second too late, turning in the darkness toward them, but her reflexes were just a second off. She realized that she hadn’t had enough pizza to absorb the alcohol. There was a strange burst of light, green with flashes, and then she slumped to the ground.

Are you afraid I’m gonna..? Buffy remembered suddenly. She closed her eyes, and felt him, not the sex, but the afterward, or the before, all the moments beside sex that didn’t have names. I’m afraid that the world is way more complicated that it used to be. I’ve never felt this way, and I’m afraid to find out what it is. I’m afraid I feel something toward this---this---vampire----that is utterly wrong. I’m afraid I don’t. I’m afraid I do. She looked at Lorne. “Everything,” she said simply.

“Well….” Buffy said briskly. “I know this much, I felt lots better just before I opened the checkbook and found out how much money I didn’t have.”

He had her there. She’d dismissed the niggling feelings haunting her as being byproducts of being so recently dead. Once she’d confronted the whole debt issue, some of those feelings had cleared. Wonder if that would work with certain vampires?

“Just a few words, sweetie. I’m not asking that you go all diva on me. This isn’t ‘Behind the Music.’”

“Just sing a little, okay? Doesn’t have to be loud—or long-----just so long as you sing.”

Anything? Buffy wracked her brain for something, and drew a blank. She leaned back on her hands, and tried to think.

Still nothing. She was very conscious of him looking at her. She wondered if he was surreptitiously checking his watch, while she wracked her brain to find something that wasn’t too out of date, too hard, or too stupid. Unfortunately, everything she came up with was at least one of those things. Be dead a few months, and you get hopelessly behind on your hit songs, she thought.

“Look, honey, would you just blurt it out? I need to get ready to leave sometime soon.”

Startled, she blurted out, “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream….” And was interrupted by a sniff from the doorway. They turned, and found Dawn and several of her friends crowded into the doorway, staring down at them with identical expressions of disdain. Buffy cringed, and then resented them for making her cringe. Hey, I’m the Vampire Slayer. I just tossed a demon out of this house. So..why did the disapproving gazes of a bunch of teenagers make her feel old, out of date, and unfashionable?

“Sure,” she answered with her best but-I’m-a-cool-older-sister-dammit!-look, then sagged with relief once they were gone.

“Well….” He surprised her then, by wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and squeezing her. “You certainly hit the ground running, didn’t you?”

“Well, this is the deal, sweetie. I can you when you sing, but sometimes it’s just potential that I see. Like one of those Polaroid negatives.” He shuddered for a moment. “What an appalling name for a retail product. It just sounds like something that you need to treat with prescriptions and pads. Anyway, where was I?”

“No, I was talking about potential.” He looked at her, and she was rather disarmed to see the kindness in his eyes, despite the horns, the green skin, the neon suit, he looked at her, and for a moment, there was so much compassion being directed at her that she could feel it. She had to blink and look down. “You haven’t much luck with love, have you?”

“Really?” Lorne looked down at his hands and considered his words carefully. “Because the guy’s my friend, but I have to tell you, I wouldn’t be ready to put him into the plus column.”

“Hear me out, sweetheart.” He braced himself. “Not a good foundation for a relationship there, was there? How old were you? How old was he? Knock off two hundred years and you’ve still got a problem; actually, knock off two hundred years and you can maybe see the problem clearly. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s over, but it casts a shadow, doesn’t it? Because he left. For you. “

“I just want you to think about it, sweetie. Maybe it might help to get another perspective. You need to let it go.”

“Well, this is the real dilemma, isn’t it? You and Spike. You’re afraid of that, and I can’t blame you. You’re a vampire slayer, but you’re not exactly Miss Chatty Cathy, are you?”

“Hon, it took me five minutes to get you to sing; usually---“ He preened a bit, here----“I have to beat them off with a stick. Nevertheless.” He sighed. “What do you know about dealing with this? Nothing. There was Angel on your resume, again, a much older guy, but not a democracy there. Then there was the unilateral one-night stand guy. Sweetheart, don’t look like that, I’ve gotten dumped a few times myself. Now I just make everybody sing before there’s any nudity. It just solves so many problems, let me tell you. Anyway, where was I? Hm. Oh, yes. What a jerk.” He waved away a mosquito with his hankie, and for a second, Buffy thought he was talking about the insect. “It’s a shame he’s not a demon, isn’t it? Then you could slay him in exactly the fashion he deserved, and feel a lot better. Instead he’s going to keep doing his little thing with all sorts of girls, and what can you do?” Buffy nodded. “Sometimes, you can’t really slay the people that really need slaying. And this other guy, this soldier…Hm.” He smiled, and then explained. “Tara’s little theory. How cute. Not too far off, either. You just don’t have enough experience with men to tell there’s the crap that nice guys do, and there’s the crap that bad guys do. And when what you think is a nice starts pulling a bad guy’s tricks, it’s really confusing, isn’t it? And vice versa, too, am I right?” She nodded again, looking down at her hands.

“And now this.” Lorne said. “Now, I’m not supposed to tell you stuff I read off of someone else, but I don’t think telling you that the guy loves you will come as much of a surprise, will it?” Buffy shook her head again, not meeting his eyes. “Sweetie, don’t look like that. How often does a person get to be loved in their life? It’s not something you plan; it’s not something you fill out a job application for. It has no logic at all; you can make up shopping lists for what you want in a guy, but that doesn’t matter. You just don’t have any choice in the matter. C’mon, sweetie, you know you’re not afraid of what your friends think. Not really. If they’re really your friends, that is. Of course, if they were really your friends, they should have noticed a lot of stuff before now, shouldn’t they? You can’t use them as an excuse much longer, sweetie, and you know it. And---“ Here he answered a question Buffy hadn’t even been able to form: “Do I think this would have happened if they had been better at the friendship job?” He patted her hand. “I think so; you just stepped up the pace a bit. No, sweetie, it’s not them you’re afraid of. It’s yourself. You felt something wrong a lot sooner than Soldier Boy did; but what you’re feeling now isn’t a warning, sweetie. You know it and I know it. Who can really disapprove of you, anyway? Anyone else been in your shoes? Anyone else picking up your slack? No, then they don’t get to judge you, either.” Buffy took a deep shuddering breath at that. “Sweetheart, I don’t think it was ever them that you were worried about. You’re worried you’re doing something wrong. Either he’s right and you’re wrong, or he’s wrong and you’re right. “

“You have this idea that you can only love good people, or at least, people who aren’t vampires. Simplifies things, doesn’t it? Except, sweetie, you don’t go about it like you’re looking for a new employee. It’s like roses and candles, and all that cuteness. That’s just exterior.”

“But, you know, what if I’m wrong?” Buffy asked softly. “I never felt like this before.”

“It’s the whole sex thing, isn’t it?” Buffy glanced away and Lorne laughed. “Sweetie, good girls have sex, haven’t you noticed?”

“No, it’s not that.” Buffy sighed. “It’s just that… it never was like this with anyone else.”

“Nope, not quite. Uh, sweetie, it’s not that that’s the problem; it’s your previous boyfriends. Who knows why there’s a shortage of decent guys on the Hellmouth. If you really want to see a sorry bunch, though, you have to come to LA. Now, there’s a bunch of losers.” Buffy gave a little smile at that. “Not that I’m naming names, you know. Professional secrets and all that. But still….”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Buffy looking down at her hands. “Spike told me I’d never love him.”

“That’s why he left? Ah. Tara was right. Seeing his ex who broke his heart? Such a guy thing. Girls cry. Guys mope. Even vampire guys. It’s universal. Ah.” He gave a deep sigh. “Ah, L’amour.”

Buffy eyed him sideways. “Oh, yes, I know, but I’m bored and I’d really like to go home now. I think I’ve done about all I can do here.”

“Uh, thanks, sweetie, but…no. I don’t need to read burning thoughts about, uh, some post pubescent hottie who has yet to shave or complete a thought. Can I use your phone?”

“Uh…” Uh-oh, Buffy thought. That sounded like long distance. But what could she do? “Uh, sure. How are you getting back?”

“Oh, I’ll just call Angel and see if I can’t badger him into wiring me some money out of petty cash.” He sighed deeply. “This should be fun.”

“But this was now.” Buffy leaned in the kitchen doorway, and looked at Anya fidgeting at the center block. The ex demon looked distinctly guilty, and that was just fine with Buffy. Stay that way, she thought.

“Oh, no, that’s stupid. She didn’t even like the guy, and who knew you were boinking him? She was the one that rejected him and men don’t usually like that. Maybe the person we should be worried about is Spike.”

“Don’t even try that with me, Anya.” Buffy said icily. “What happened all this summer, when I was…dead?” She swallowed, throat suddenly closed. “You might be able to overlook that, but I can’t. I won’t.”

“A vampire who hasn’t hurt anybody in forever. The thing is, Anyanka,” Buffy said, deliberately stressing her former name, “if Spike’s changed, it’s because he’s changed himself. You got forced into it.”

“And you were stopped. Giles did it, and you weren’t happy about it. What made you change so much?”

“Why do you think what you do with him is so different than what I do with Spike? Is that----“ she shuddered a bit---“boinking?”

“Because I never figured you’d be one to like the French maid’s outfit or the handcuffs…..?”

“Uggghh, that’s it, out. There will be no possibility of continuing this conversation. I just meant…” She had to look down to collect herself. “Is it just sex with you two? That’s all? Nothing more?”

Anya also looked away. “I had sex. When I was a demon.” She studied her toes. “That’s not what it’s like with Xander.”

“Then you know why I don’t want you to use that word about…Spike. And. Me. I just don’t like it.” She was struck by a sudden thought. “Is that all it was for you when you were a demon? Just…you know…?”

“Well, she plays the field a lot.” Anya said thoughtfully, considering it. “And then she levels it.”

“Really.” Anya crossed her heart. “Can I go now? We’re obviously not going to talk about sex any more, and I’m not real good at the other subject.”

“Who is?” Buffy asked sadly, and they looked at each sympathetically, a bit startled. “And….Anya…..?”

Buffy watched her leave, uneasy. Having sex and making money were Anya’s two most favorite hobbies in the world; talking about sex came in third. How long would it be before she just forgot and blurted it out? It was too juicy a tidbit to keep to herself. She stared at the door as if it had caused her problems, the impulse to get up and slam it almost irresistible. She settled for glaring at it instead.

Buffy tiptoed through the silent house, easing by the sleeping girls in the living room, past Willow sleeping at the door, past Tara sleeping in the hallway. Tara mumbled in her sleep as she glided past, and Buffy smiled just slightly at the witch as she went past. She hopped up the stairs, avoiding the fourth one, which squeaked, and slid through her own door with a sigh of relief. She plopped down on her bed with a sigh.

After being tired all day, she was suddenly un tired; she was more than un-tired, she was positively restless. The little discussion with Anya had gotten her blood pressure up, and she couldn’t very well do jumping jacks to relieve the tension. Maybe she should patrol a bit. No, definitely not. Girls downstairs, and Lorne rooting through his pockets looking for Angel’s phone number, which she carefully avoided mentioning that she of course had. Not giving him Angel’s number meant A) she could avoid that whole subject; and B) have an excuse to ask Spike a favor. Not that she was going to, though. She absolutely was not going to go to him. Nope, not her. She was morally certain she was right, and defending Spike to Anya had really clinched the deal.

She couldn’t believe she’d actually defended Spike to Anya. But ‘boinking’? There was simply no way she could allow Anya to use that word.

Spike flopped down in his old chair and scowled at his TV as if it had personally offended him. The perils of not having cable. That was the only reason he’d gone to the door twice so far this evening, and both times had stopped as if slapped. Nope. He was morally certain he’d been right to go stomping out in a hissy fit. That woman had broken his heart---actually she’d stopped it, if you wanted to get technical, and he was going to have a little chat with Anya sometime soon as well. He might very well include Harris in it, as well; especially after finding out that not only had Anya played a part in his changing circumstances, but hadn’t even mentioned to him, either.

He started patting his pockets, looking for cigarettes, ignoring the one hanging, unlit, from his lips. Damn. No fags. He was just going to have to go get them, then. He stood up, scanning the area for his lighter, even taking the cigarette out of his mouth absently because he couldn’t see around it. Nope. No cigarettes. With a noticeable lightness to his step, he grabbed his duster and shrugged it on, heading for the door. Shame about the convenience store being so close to Buffy’s house, but…

Jamming his hands in his pockets, he encountered a small, hard object. He was just opening the door to his crypt when he pulled out his Marlboros, and looked down at them. Full box, too. Damn. He stopped, annoyed, then tossed the duster on its hook and flopped back down in his chair again

“What, are you my mother? Just send me some money out of petty cash and I’ll pay it back to you.”

“Well, could you stop doing whatever it is you’re doing? Because it hurts.”

“It hurts? Well….What was that you were drinking? I must try that stuff. Absinthe?” He rolled the word off his tongue. “It even sounds decandent. Now there’s something you don’t see everyday in a beverage.”

“You’re a vampire; I’m a demon. Don’t we get exemptions or something like that?”

Angel was either still extremely drunk or was just getting extremely hungover, but either way his voice sounded like something rattling over a gravel road. Even so, he sounded amused. “No, I’m afraid. No tax deductions for us. Hang on.”

I’m in Sunnydale, Lorne thought. Is there something else I could be doing except for lounging around this suburban kitchen, and critiquing the décor? He heard rattles, shuffles, papers crinkling, banging doors, and after each of these individual sounds, a slight moan from Angel. There was a completely silent pause, during which he pictured Angel standing motionless in the center of the room, letting the phone dangle, clutching his head with both hands.

“Well….we don’t seem to have any petty cash.” Angel said. “Just stay there. Where are you?”

There was an eloquent silence, which, in the nature of guilty people, he felt compelled to fill. “I found her. Only person I knew, you know.”

A voice in the background asked Angel something, and Lorne sagged against the counter in relief. The phone dropped to the floor with what sounded like a crash, and then a different voice came on. “Lorne?” Wes said. “I’ll come get you.”

Buffy rolled over on her side and stared at the window and was confronted by an all too vivid mental image. Spike climbing in the window, after she’d left it open. What a far cry from strands of garlic that was. She turned over on her back, and looked at the ceiling. This brought the mysterious stain into view, which was not exactly relaxing. She turned over on her other side, staring at the bathroom door, scene of far too many bubble bath extravaganzas with Spike. Well, now there was a restful thought. Cranky bastard.

She kept comparing and contrasting the two different faces she saw; private Spike and public Spike. That was the thing she kept coming back to, since that night--- The night that dare not speak its name. She sighed. He had this way of wrapping himself around her, cradling her head in the crook of one elbow, while he toyed with the strands of her hair with just his fingertips. And then there was the kisses, some of them so light she could barely feel them, or taste them, others so forceful they made her go limp and boneless and shaky. Too say nothing of everything else he did. It wasn’t even the way he moved when he was inside her, lost in it, driving into her, making her crazy, making her scream; it was the way he stared into her face, as if he was looking for something. She’d almost expected the sex to be the way it was; what she hadn’t expected was the man.

And her! That took some getting used to, as well. She had been so certain that both her faces were identical, that she was always the same Buffy, that this whole thing had come as a terrible shock. She had always been the same, before this, before Spike….Now she knew she was a different person in private, and the shock of what Spike had turned out to be like in private had scared her. She remembered her confusion the first night, the night she couldn’t think about too often. She could only think about bits and pieces; the way he’d actually glanced down as she came down on him, as if he couldn’t believe it; the way something more than clothing had seemed stripped away from him. She couldn’t shake the thought that she had seen him for the first time in years, and maybe he had as well.

Who could love someone like that? She thought. Not anyone she knew. And who could be loved? She went back to that thought. To be loved; that was something. You had to allow that, give consent to that. It was something that could be accepted…or not. And what came after?

Now there was a wonderful thought. She flopped back on her back, and crossed her arms, glaring at the ceiling as if it was the ceiling’s fault. Fine, then. She’d just have to go patrolling. She’d never have to think her way in circles before. He wanted to be that way, it was just fine…

She jumped out of bed, grabbed sweatpants and tee shirt, and yanked them on. He wanted to play games, well, good, that just wasn’t going to go over well with her, not after…She started to climb out the window, then found herself face-to-face with Spike, and jumped at the sight of him. They goggled at one another for a minute, and then he pulled himself through the window, while she backed up as far as the bed. He followed, reaching for her, reaching for her face, and the kiss dissolved all her irritation and made her liquid. “Mmmmm….” She sighed, a sound that went straight down his spine. Then she remembered that someone had to be the voice of reason.

“Stop.” This was somewhat contradicted by the way her arms climbed around his shoulders, and pulled him closer, even while her mouth continue kissing him.

“I will if you will.” True up to a certain point, but he was rapidly reaching that point, and Buffy actually got there before he did.

“Yes, I know.” Fumbling her onto the bed, wiggling against each other, desperate for skin and sweat and friction, pulling and tugging clothes aside, stopping for a second as Spike shrugged out of the duster. Somehow he managed to do that and pull her sweats down, kissing his way back up her body and pushing inside her all at once. “Quiet. Quiet. Oh, quiet…” He braced himself, not daring to move, trying to imagine the consequences of being found in this position…But then she pulled him in, arms and body and motion, and he didn’t care if Angel himself found them, just so long as he could look down at her face and see every flash of pleasure across it. He rocked into her, barely moving, holding himself off of her, but she spoiled his self-control, shoving his tee shirt up, trying to find skin somewhere. “Shhhh….” He whispered. She pulled him all the way down to her, all the way in, and they rocked together, silently, Buffy panting in his ear, hands grasping at him as if she were going to drown. She struggled and wriggled beneath him, shoving away her sweatshirt, pushing his tee shirt up. They stared into each other’s eyes, willing silence, doubting it, starting to feel a shudder every time he surged forward, starting to wait for it. “Oh, God,” Buffy whispered. “Oh, oh, oh, oh…” She heaved under him as if she was trying to buck him off of her, but instead she was pulling closer, her arms tightening, all her muscles tightening. He felt it, felt it all along his skin, inside him, inside her, and black things danced before his eyes. It seemed to start at the base of his spine gathering strength, surging up his nerves. He stared into her eyes, thinking, I love watching you do that. She was clutching his face in her hands now, watching him shudder, feeling him, which only seemed to prolong it. He threw his head back out of her grasp, beyond all control now, shoving hard into her, feeling something break inside him, shatter and implode, breaking all his bones, blackening his vision. He sagged to her shoulder, blinking at the spots dancing in his eyes. He knew he was gasping for air like a beached fish, knew she must be, too, but his ears were so numb he couldn’t hear it. His head was throbbing, but he couldn’t understand why, any more than he could understand his fingers tingling. But some dim corner of his mind was aware that she was stroking his bare back under the shirt he still haphazardly wore, and that her other hand was twined with his.

Buffy clicked off the bathroom light and stepped out to find Spike hovering between the bed and the window. He was dressed again, or rather completely dressed, because neither of them had gotten undressed, exactly, and he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing. It was if they hadn’t just been silently struggling on that bed scarcely fifteen minutes earlier. Every trace of that intimacy had been erased. What struck her was that it made her uncomfortable.

He looked like he was going to leave. At the very least, he didn’t look as if he was sure he could stay.

Boy, isn’t this great? Buffy thought. Fight, shag, kiss, all sorts of things, but say, ‘Please stay’ and it’s impossible. But it was. She couldn’t meet his eyes, because he was staring at her with William’s eyes, and that made it worse. Worse still was the thought of him not being here. No arm beneath her cheek in place of a pillow, or cool body around hers. But she couldn’t even get the words on her tongue.

Instead, she maneuvered toward him, brushing her hair at the vanity, dropping her earrings off at the nightstand, turning off the light, and finally coming round the bed to draw the blinds so there’d be no sun on them in the morning. She kept her eyes to herself, hoping he’d notice the significance of that little gesture, but even with an extra century, he was still a guy, post orgasm. So she padded up to him in the dark, touching his stomach with hands as light as blown leaves, hesitating, not daring to look into his eyes, shoving his coat down his arms and lowering it. She heard his breath catch in his throat, then, and had to look away, so she took the coat away and hung it over the bathroom door. When she turned back, he was undressing in front of her, and she found herself mentally stumbling over yet another one of those odd moments that seemed to lurk where she least expected them.

She’d seen him nude, obviously, it couldn’t be that. Not to put too fine a point on it, they’d been about as intimate as you could get with another person, so why did she feel so strangely frightened, so suddenly, at Spike casually tossing his clothes on the floor? Maybe it was the casualness of it. She checked her mental list of Guy irritations to see if it was a typical guy-being-messy-type-of-reaction, but it didn’t seem to be that. She padded forward on silent bare feet, and let the drapes fall closed. Turning to him, she found the pitfall she’d been avoiding.

He was naked, and she was struck by it. Naked, he reminded her of all the times he’d forced her to look into his eyes when they’d had sex, and now it was just being forced to look at him while not in the throes of arousal or ecstasy. Naked, quite simply, he was just a man, not Spike like at all, not a vampire, not frightening. In fact, with his hair all mussed, and his eyes smudged with tiredness, the very idea of applying the name ‘Spike’ to him seemed amusing. He leaned back on his hands and cocked his head at her, the way he’d done so many times before, but this time, she climbed into his lap and kissed him. It wasn’t exactly a ‘hello sailor’ type of kiss, not with her fingertips on his face, in his hair, her lips barely on his, but he slid down onto his back and took her with him. “William, William, William…”

“Hm?” He paused, blinking up as she pulled away, and propped herself on her elbow so she could trace circles on his stomach. “What?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes; afraid she’d see the response she was always afraid of getting, afraid he’d suddenly look at her the way she’d once looked at him. Except I really deserve it. The thought unnerved her.

She sat back up and took off her sweats, getting up and going to the door to toss them haphazardly somewhere in the general direction of the bathroom. She must not have aimed really well, throwing them backhanded and blind, because they hit something in the bathroom, and knocked it to the floor with a clatter, a clatter that made him flinch.

Vampires, no. She thought. Dawn did, though; that was a very Dawn-like thing to do, when Mom’s name came up; she supposed she herself did it, when Riley’s name surfaced. She’d seen Xander stiffen abruptly in his parents’ basement, when they reminded him of their existence by anything, and even Anya gave a little involuntary shudder at the thought of poverty, free giveaways, and celibacy. All perfectly human, given the provocation. But here was Spike, twitching at a loud noise around her. And that, she thought, I did deserve.

He sat all the way up and watched her, watching her watching him, intrigued, wondering what had shifted. There was something in the air, something in her eyes, because she wasn’t a girl who was comfortable enough in her own skin to walk around nude and not care if he watched. Except….Except, just now, for some reason, he got the feeling that she had jumped past the getting-accustomed stage to the part where…..He shook the thought off as being too optimistic. She tugged at the bedclothes under him and he obligingly shifted so she could slide under them and cuddle next to him.

She could see practically nothing, and hoped that he could. In the dark, she felt invisible, but not carefree as she had before. It was different than escaping her responsibilities, it was as if she could cope with them differently because they had different shapes and incomplete forms. In the dark, she was only aware of warmth and comfort and cool skin; his lips against her forehead, her hands pulling him closer. In the dark, she could do the things she wanted to do, and hoped that feeling them was as good as seeing them. So she traced his lips with her fingers, over and again, as if she were writing her name there, holding his palm to her cheek while she buried her hot face against his chest, and tried not to let it overwhelm her. His hands stroked her back, up and down, just fingertips, as if he were tracing her for memory. She did his gesture; his head on her arm while she curled her fingers in his hair, tracing his face with the back of her fingers. She couldn’t see at all, only feel, and it gave her the courage to put motion to her feelings, completion to her impulses. She pressed her face to his, and braided her fingers with his, wrapping arms and everything around him, not even thinking, not even worrying. Maybe she couldn’t say it with words, what it was that she felt, but this was her declaration. She pressed her lips to his palm and held his hand there till he pulled it away to take the gesture from her and give it back. In the dark, she was no longer a vampire slayer, and he was not a vampire. He was love and comfort, and all the sorrow that had permeated her melted in her fibers and seeped away.

Lorne picked through the pizza leftovers and wondered if the microwave would make too much noise. At least LA was a big city where he didn’t have to worry about what would happen to his green behind if some parents found him lounging around the kitchen while their nubile daughters slept the sleep of the innocent in the living room. Where’s Emily Post when you need her?

He stepped out on the deck, checking to see if the door would lock behind him. He considered his options; wait in kitchen, sit in chair, stretch out on dining room floor or dining room table, steal Spike’s car and drive himself back to LA with his unkicked-butt in tow, win the lottery and just go wild? He wondered if he did win the Lottery if it would be worthwhile to go on working. On the one hand, there was helping the helpless, that sort of thing. On the other hand, Angel had that pretty well covered, and there was Club Med.

He sat down and looked up the stars. Shame about not getting Hallie to sing. He must be getting old, that was all there was to it. Once upon a time, he’d been young and could have done a whole room full of people at once; now he had to take them one at a time, and then rest a bit between them, unless they were really shallow. He glanced at his watch. Two hours away from LA. Two hours away from LA. Good God, what did these people do for fun?

“Yeah, well,” Warren said, “You don’t want to do the dirty work, you don’t get to pick. She’s not bad.” He cast what he hoped looked like an experienced eye over the woman’s silent, sleeping form. “Besides, after what happened, I gave her an extra large dose.”

“Is it gonna last longer this time?” Andrew asked cautiously. It was so easy to say the wrong thing around Warren; he just erupted over everything, especially since the Katrina debacle.

“Yes, of course it’s going to last longer, Curious George. Why don’t you go away and count pimples or something?”

They both looked at the unconscious woman again. “Hope I didn’t give her too big a dose,” Warren said thoughtfully. “She’s bigger than---than----the other one.”

“What are you talking about? This would be perfect. She’ll never know.” Warren drummed his fingers impatiently against the coffee table. “Then we can just get rid of her and find the perfect one.”

No more ice. Angel winced into the freezer and tried to remember if being killed had hurt this much. Actually, being evil, he’d been pretty much impervious to pain, so perhaps this was an okay development. Anything, anything at all that kept his aggrieved brain cells from thinking about the hammers attacking them was a good thing. He closed the freezer and took a can of soda out of the fridge and pressed it against his skull.

Cordelia watched from the doorway, sympathetic but amused. Connor snoozed in her arms, emitting tiny baby snores. “That’s a new look for you.’

Angel didn’t even bother talking. Sarcasm was wasted on him while he was this embalmed with alcohol; nothing could hurt as bad as his skull did now. Nothing. He carefully placed one foot in front of the other in her direction, but she shook her head and took a compensating step back. “Nuh-uh. Get away from this baby. You’ll get him drunk with your breath.”

“Well, you do something, because I can smell alcohol, and I don’t want to have to go to toddler AA. No Barney DT’s for me. So back off, buddy. Besides, you’ll get me drunk, too.”

That hit the conversation with a certain force, bringing to mind as it did certain incidents which had proceeded while under a drunken sensation. Not drunken, technically, but just as intoxicating. They both avoided each other’s eyes. “He’s wet. I have to change him.” She risked an impish look in his direction, Cordelia in charge yet again. “Besides, his diaper’s soaked with alcohol fumes.”

“Good point.” He pretended to skirt around her while she made a huge point of plugging the baby’s nose, but that was an excuse and he knew it. He was so drunk that he was still intoxicated rather than really starting on his hangover, and he wondered if he could just die before that happened. Of course, the fact that he was already dead could mean a number of different things, all of which he desperately wanted to avoid thinking about. Maybe Wesley knew a vampire hangover remedy or something. Maybe Wesley just had an extra stake he wasn’t using. He staggered down the hallway, trying to find a pain-free position, but none of that was working. He finally came to a door, and fetched up against it to keep from falling over.

Inside, Wes looked up guiltily, and Angel wasn’t so drunk he didn’t notice. “Going to get Lorne?”

He eyed the stuff spread out on Wes’s desk; weapons, Tupperware, and Thermoses. Some clothes. “Either you pack like Buffy, or you’re taking your vacation time.”

“Thoroughly weighed down?” Angel winced as a thought made his brain cells hurt.

“Well, I just like to have everything I might need.” Wes straightened up from where he was tying a knot on a sleeping bag’s tie sack. “There’s nothing worse than needing something, hundreds of miles from home, and not having it.”

“Well, makes me wonder.” Angel said. “How long are you going to be there?”

As long as it takes me to get away from Fred for a while, Wesley thought. I’ll do some research, whatever. I’ll work.

Looking at Angel’s sodden face, he thought with a shudder, Perhaps I’ll get drunk. With Spike. There was a certain rebellion in his face as he returned Angel’s curious look.

That’s what people do when they’re miserable. I’ll get drunk and I won’t work. I’ll…drown my sorrows. Just the thought of getting away was lifting his spirits.

There, that was the Boss tone. That should work wonders. And it did; even drunk, Angel bristled a bit. “I just think it’s interesting. Spike comes to town, asking for money, petty cash disappears, Lorne drives off into the sunset with Spike, why wouldn’t I ask questions?”

“Well, you’re really in no condition to be doing much except sleeping it off, are you?” Wes jammed a pile of stuff into his overnight bag, but knocked his Tupperware container of sandwiches to the ground, and thus missed Angel’s carefully-blank face.

“It’s just that I get the feelings there’s something going on here that you’re not telling me.”

“Sometimes employees don’t need to know everything.” Wes said quietly. He wavered a moment between shame and triumph, then Angel finally looked up and met his eyes, and he felt something entirely unexpected.