Burn for Me

Author: Emily

Parts: 21 - 30

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~Part: 21~

Willow was alone. She hated being alone. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. After all, Anya had been at the sleepover the night before; it was only natural that after that, she'd want to spend the next night with Xander. It was only natural that Buffy would want to spend time with her mother and Dawn now that they knew they had found a way to defeat Glory. And as much as she adored Giles, it was only natural that he would feel a little awkward trying to cheer her up over the loss of her lesbian lover. So she was alone. She hated being alone.

She had decided to stay in her parents' house for the time being. They were away at conferences (naturally) so she knew it wouldn't be a problem. She knew she couldn't stay in the dorm where everything reminded her of Tara. The half hour that she had spent there, getting her things together, had been enough to cause an hour's worth of crying when she got home. She had packed up a suitcase with some clothes, grabbed Miss Kitty Fantastico and Amy, packed up her laptop and a few spell books (most of them were Tara's) and locked the door behind her. She didn't know when she'd come back.

It was easier being at the house. Tara had never been to the house. There had never been any reason to take her there. Even when her parents were in town, they showed no interest in meeting her friends. But the house was very large and very empty and even with Miss Kitty and Amy, she still felt very terribly alone.

She tried to cheer herself up. She played around a while on her computer. She gave herself a facial. She watched silly 1980s movies with Molly Ringwald and ate popcorn and chocolate. It didn't work. She couldn't recapture the contented feeling she had had the previous night.

She was watching `Sixteen Candles.' It was one of her favorite 80s movies. Wonder why? Shy, introverted redhead who is mostly ignored by her family falls in love with tall, dark, handsome upperclassman that, inexplicably, falls in love with her as well. Plus, she thought the nerds were funny. She had actually forgotten that one of them was John Cusack. She watched the movie dreamily, while the big football player times shoved John into the trunk of a car and her eyes drifted to her laptop.

She remembered the dare from last night. It would be easy enough to do. It would give her something to think about… With a smile, she grabbed her laptop and got on-line. Maybe a little hacking was just what she needed.

In fifteen minutes flat she had found the unlisted, heavily protected personal home number for John Cusack. She was pretty proud of herself. She smiled down at the screen. She wouldn't do anything with the number, of course. She just wanted to see if she could find it. She hadn't had to take the dare the previous night; she had answered all the questions. She didn't need to make the call.

She picked up the phone to call Buffy. She wanted to tell her that she had found the number. She wanted to laugh about it with her best friend. But she hung up after dialing the first three digits. Buffy was having a family night. Buffy DESERVED a family night. After all the stress and all the grief they had gone through with Glory, the Summers women needed a night to bond back together again. Willow didn't want to disturb them. Willow hung up the phone and felt even more alone. The laptop balanced on her knees still held the screen with the number she had found. She picked up the phone once again and cradled it, along with her computer, in her lap.

Spike was bored. He had been patrolling for about an hour, hoping for something to pass the time, but was having little to no luck. The slayer's rampage over the past few weeks, combined with the dangerous aura that Glory gave off, had a lot of demons making vacation plans as far the hell away from Sunnydale as they could get.

His route took him by the slayer's house, as it always did. He saw her inside with her mother and sister, watching an old movie on TV. They looked so happy. The house was overflowing with warmth, and contentedness, and love, and family, and all the things he could never have, all the things he could never be. He was cold and dead and restless and alone and as he watched the window, he became increasingly convinced that he would be for the rest of eternity. He walked away and didn't allow himself to look back.

Usually the slayer's house was his last stop before returning home to the crypt but he couldn't bear the thought of going back there just yet, so he continued to wander. He barely noticed his surroundings until a very distinctive scent caught his attention. His witch. She was close by. The binding ritual had tuned him in to her scent. It didn't matter if she was inside, outside, behind thick walls, underground, or overhead in a helicopter; if the witch was within a hundred yards of him, he'd know. He looked up and finally noticed where he was. It was a quiet, respectable looking street with two rows of quiet, respectable looking houses. So why the hell did he smell the witch? He could tell she was in one of the houses. He knew she lived in the dorms with her little witchy frie— but maybe that was the problem. Maybe now that the wishy-washy witchy had hit the highway, she didn't want to stay in the dorm any more. Still didn't explain what she was doing in this neighborhood. He told himself he was just curious. He told himself he had nothing better to do anyway. He told himself it was too early to go back to the crypt. He told himself lots of things to explain to himself why he felt the urge to follow the scent to its source.

He tracked it to a nondescript house in the middle of the street. The house appeared to be deserted. In contrast to the slayer's house, which had been over-flowing with lights and warmth and feminine chatter, this house was dark and quiet. He could see a single light on. It appeared to be a lamp in the living room. As he looked in the window, he saw his witch, haloed by the light of the lamp, sitting with a computer on her lap and a phone in her hand as she dialed in the numbers.

Willow cradled the phone in her hand and held her breath. She couldn't believe she was actually going to do this. She exhaled as she dialed the number. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Four times, and then a computerized voice picked up, telling her that she had reached the voicemail box of "John" and that if she left a message, he'd get back to her later. <Beep.>

"Um, hi." she said. "My name is Willow Rosenberg and I, I looked up your number and called you on a dare. My friends, well, they dared me to call you and tell you that I've been a big fan of yours since I was nine years old and first saw the movie `Say Anything.' I… I apologize for calling when you don't know who I am. I'm not a stalker, I promise! And once I hang up the phone, I won't call again. I just…" Willow sighed, and her voice grew very soft. "I just was really alone tonight, you know? The kind of alone where you wonder if the rest of the world disappeared and you just didn't notice… I guess we all have days like that. And I thought maybe you'd like to know, for the next time you have one of those days, that there's a girl out there who has loved and admired you for ten years, even though we've never met, even though we never will meet. And I… and that's all."

If her house had been full of lights and laughter like the slayer's house, he would have left. If she had been surrounded by people who cared about her, like she had been the night before, he would have moved on without a second glance. Even if she had been alone, but cheerful, watching a movie or playing on her computer, with the lights all on, solitary but content, he wouldn't have stayed. But she was so achingly alone, just like him.

He had formed plans about what he'd do the next time he saw her. After the way she had thrown him off balance with her kiss that afternoon, he had spent the remaining daylight hours plotting ways that he could tease her, attack her, throw HER off balance instead. But at that moment, all his plans came crumbling down. The teasing, confident girl who had kissed him into confusion and then walked out on him was gone. In her place was a girl who was sad, sweet, broken- hearted and totally abandoned.

Oddly enough, he preferred it this way. Oh, he would have enjoyed the little games he had planned for her (and she would have enjoyed them, too… oh yes, he would have seen to it that she enjoyed every second) but the light-hearted, devil-may-care girl who laughed as she left his crypt would have enjoyed his games and then walked away without a backwards glance, leaving him alone again. And now, instead of confident and mocking, his witch was vulnerable. She was sitting, practically in the dark in a deserted house, pouring her heart out to a stranger's answering machine, and it made him think that maybe, just maybe, if he knocked on the door, she'd be glad to see him. Maybe they could find a little bit of comfort in each other. Maybe, just maybe, for the next few hours, they could both be a little less alone.

~Part: 22~

Willow felt surprisingly better as she hung up the phone. Maybe all those self-help books were right when they said it was cathartic to confess your love. She was glad she had gotten a machine. She never would have had the courage to tell him if he had answered the phone. But she didn't regret making the call. She felt calmer than she had before. More peaceful. Almost content. She smiled to herself. Strange, she hadn't thought she'd be able to feel this content without Spike being nearby. Maybe she had misunderstood some of the reading that she had done on the bond. After all, she was feeling almost perfectly content and there was no way that it was being caused by Spike. He'd have absolutely no reason to be nearby. Her neighborhood was mostly elderly couples who didn't go out at night, so Spike and Buffy never bothered to patrol the area. And it was inconceivable that Spike would come to visit her. He didn't even know she was staying there. And then there was the knock on the door.

She opened the door to find Spike leaning in her doorway. <Well, that explains the contentment> she thought. He looked as he always looked; cool, confident, slightly condescending, but he couldn't quite meet her eyes. That was unusual. <Oh, no. Is he upset about the kiss? He doesn't look upset. But maybe he's hiding it? Maybe he came to yell at me. Maybe he came to kiss me again… hmm… if he did, what would I do?>

"Hello, witch." he said softly.

"Hi, Spike." she said. She was surprised to see him, but saw no reason not to be polite. "Come in." she said, holding the door open for him.

He looked up at that, surprised. He wasn't accustomed to humans inviting him in like that. Well, humans who knew what he was, that is. But she was looking at him with those wide green eyes and he saw no trace of fear or distrust in them <and maybe, just maybe, was that a spark of anticipation in those lovely eyes?> A small, half smile crossed his face as he stepped inside. Willow didn't notice. She was too busy trying to figure out why Spike was there.

"Did Buffy send you? Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No one sent me, pet. And nothing's wrong, that I know of. Why would you think that?"

"I'm just surprised to see you. You've never been here before." she stated simply. "How did you know I was here?"

He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. "I was patrolling." he said, avoiding her eyes again. "I ended up in this neighborhood and could smell that you were nearby. I followed the scent and when I saw the light on, I thought…" he shrugged again, too embarrassed to continue. After all, what could he say? I thought I could stay here and spend time with you and not go back to my crypt where there's nothing for me to do but get drunk and cry over the slayer? Yeah, that would go over real big. This was ridiculous, if she didn't want him there, he wasn't going to beg. "If you want me to go, I'll go." <Please ask me to stay.> he thought. <I don't want to go out there and be alone again. Please, please, let her ask me to stay.>

"No!" she said. "It's not that. It's just… I'm just surprised to see you. But, you don't have to leave. You can stay. And sit! Would you like to sit?" she led him over to a chair and held her breath for a moment. Goddess, how she wanted him to stay. She couldn't bear the thought of being alone for another minute, and being near Spike brought her some much-needed contentment through the bond they shared. <Please, please let him sit.> she thought. <Please, let him stay.>

He seated himself in the chair she led him to, and they both breathed a sigh of relief, as they mentally thanked their personal deities that their prayers had been answered and they wouldn't have to be alone.

Spike looked around, taking in the room. It looked rather bare. The personal touches were few and far between. Maybe it belonged to someone who used it as a summer home? But why would you want a summer home in Sunnydale?

"So whose place is this, anyway?" Spike asked, relaxed enough now to make conversation. "Are you house-sitting?"

"I guess you could say that." Willow answered with a wry smile. "It's my parents' place, but they're out of town a lot. I stay here every now and then; to go through the mail, pay the bills, clean out the fridge, keep everything running. I… I didn't feel comfortable staying in the dorm alone, so I figured I could crash here for a while. My parents won't be home for another month."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Had no idea you had parents, pet. I take it they're not around much?"

Willow sighed. "It's better that they're not around much. Last time I really spent a lot of time with my mom was when she was trying to burn me at the stake."

Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Don't think you've told me that story, yet." he said. "When did that happen?"

"Senior year." she answered.

"Then I guess it will take awhile before we get to that one." he replied, absently, not noticing the look of surprised pleasure that crossed her face. He had said it would take a while before they got to it. That meant he was planning on hearing the rest of her adventures. She smiled, pleased. He really did enjoy her stories.

He noticed that the TV was on the blue screen that you get when you press stop while watching a movie. "So what are we watching, witch?" he asked, casually, trying to hide his sudden resurgence of nervousness. If they just sat around and chatted, he didn't know how long she'd let him stay. But if they were watching a movie, it would be two hours at least before he had to leave. He hoped they were watching `Gone with the Wind' or maybe `Lawrence of Arabia.' Something nice and long.

Willow grinned. "Well, I was watching `Sixteen Candles,' but I can always put in something else if you'd rather not watch it. Xander hates it. I think the Anthony Michael Hall character reminds him a little too much of himself in high school."

"Don't think I know that one." Spike answered. "Is it any good?"

"It's classic Molly Ringwald." Willow answered.

"Who's she?" Spike asked.

Willow looked at him in unabashed shock. "You don't know who Molly Ringwald is?" she asked. "Where were you during the 80s?"

"Italy, mostly." Spike answered, smiling at the way her eyes lit up at this revelation.

"Italy, really?" she asked, obviously impressed.

"Yeah." he said. "Dru and I had a villa outside Florence. Nice place, but too many Catholics."

"What's wrong with Catholics?" Willow asked, innocently.

"They all wear crosses, pet." Spike answered, amused at the flush that rose on her face at his answer.

"Oh, um, well, I can see how that would be… inconvenient. But Molly Ringwald! Right, Molly Ringwald! She was a big deal teen actress in the 80s. Her movies are classics! Like it or not, you need to watch `Sixteen Candles.' I'll rewind it back to the beginning." She bounced up and hit the rewind button on the VCR, then headed for the kitchen.

"I was going to make popcorn." she stated. "Do you, um, would you like some popcorn?"

"With extra butter?" he asked.

"Sure, why not!" she grinned. "Popcorn with extra butter coming right up. Want some hot chocolate to wash it down?"

"Always!" he answered, with a corresponding grin.

She giggled as she headed off into the kitchen. He pulled off his duster, hung it up, and made himself comfortable on the couch, leaving room for her, so they could share the popcorn. He figured he'd probably hate the movie, but he knew he'd enjoy spending time with his witch. In the kitchen, Willow couldn't stop smiling as she microwaved the popcorn and started the hot chocolate. They were both broken hearted. They were both abandoned. They were both shortly to risk their lives by performing a ritual to fight a goddess from hell. But for the moment, they were happy.

~Part: 23~

During `Sixteen Candles,' they sat separated by the popcorn bowl. By the time they got to `Pretty in Pink,' the bowl was empty on the coffee table in front of them and she was seated next to him. And by the end of `Breakfast Club,' he had his arm around her and she was curled up against his side. There was nothing romantic or intimate about it, they told themselves. She was simply tired and had started leaning against him. He put his arm around her to make them both more comfortable. And… well… they both liked to cuddle during movies. Was it so wrong to crave a little contact? Was it so wrong for a vampire to enjoy the feel of a soft, human body pressed against his so trustingly, the warmth of her skin warming his and her sweet scent surrounding him as she nestled just a little bit closer? Was it so wrong for her to enjoy the gentle, cool feel of his fingers stroking her hair and his strong arms holding her close, keeping her safe? The world outside was dark and scary and the two of them knew that better than anyone. Was it so wrong to take a little consolation in the body next to you, to enjoy the give and take of warmth, and comfort, and trust? Besides, it didn't mean anything, they told themselves. Right. Of course. Without question, it didn't mean a thing.

Spike had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed himself. Of course, the movies were crap. Well, that Bender guy in `Breakfast Club' had been a bit of all right; the boy had panache. But the rest of it? Garbage. Beyond question. It was, however, *enjoyable* garbage. He could see why she liked watching it. And he had liked it, too. Because of her. He knew he enjoyed spending time with his witch, but he hadn't realized she'd be such fun to watch movies with. He loved her whispered commentary, the way she talked to the characters, the way she blushed in sympathy when a character was embarrassed, the way she bounced excitedly in anticipation of her favorite parts, the way she mouthed along with her favorite lines. Spike had always been a movie fan, but it was pointless going to a movie with Drusilla. She'd laugh at all the wrong places and get up in the middle of a movie to dance in the aisles or sing to the stars and end up getting them kicked out. Harmony only went to movies to drool over the leading men. He had finally gotten in the habit of going to movies alone. The thought ran through his mind as to how much fun it would be to take his witch to a movie; to watch her response to a film she had never seen. He shook the thought out of his head. Only couples and friends went to movies together. They weren't a couple. And they weren't friends. Vampires don't have friends.

Spike picked up the remote control and pressed stop on the tape, and then rewind. He held perfectly still for a moment, afraid that she'd pull away from him now that the movie was over. He let out a little sigh of relief when she simply snuggled closer.

"You know, detention isn't really like that." she murmured.

"Really, pet?" he asked, amused. "And how would you know? Been sent to detention often, you troublemaker?"

She giggled. "Well, not exactly. But my friend Jesse was sent to detention once freshman year and Xander and I hung around to keep him company and things got a little out of hand."

"Well, you can't leave me with a teaser like that, witch. What's the whole story?"

She lifted her head to look into his eyes, surprise clearly written on her face. "You-you want to hear the story?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, confused. Surely the chit knew he liked her stories. He thought he had made that perfectly clear.

"But it was freshman year." she said, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, love, so you said." he replied patiently, still not understanding what she was driving at.

"Buffy didn't move here until sophomore year. She's not in this story." Willow explained.

Ah, so that was the reason. Spike thought about it for a minute. Sure, when he had first asked her for stories the previous night (gods below, had it just been the previous night?) at the crypt, it had been because of Buffy. He had spent years finding out everything he could about the girl; at first to defeat her, and then lately to win her; but the slayer remained a mystery to him. The relationships she had with her family, her friends, her boyfriends showed her to be capable of great warmth, loyalty, and devotion, but she closed her heart, her mind, and her soul whenever she was near him. He admitted freely that when he first asked the witch for her stories, what he really wanted was a glimpse from an insider's perspective of what the slayer was truly like. How did she act, speak, look, sound when only people she loved and trusted surrounded her? He saw how she had changed as a fighter over the years. He wanted to know how she had changed as a person. What had she been like when she first came to Sunnydale? Did she always crack jokes as she staked her vamps? What did she think of Angel when she first met him? Why had she become friends with that moron Xapper in the first place?

But now Buffy was not the only one who had him intrigued. The slayer was an enigma to him, but the little witch who lay so sweetly in his arms was every bit as much a mystery. He'd always known she was useful; he'd kidnapped her once for her witchy abilities, and her computer skills had been the crux of his plan with that Initiative Frankenstein, Adam; but outside of her abilities, he had never paid much attention to her. His goal had always been the slayer. Kill the slayer, shag the slayer; didn't really matter to him either way. He just knew he wanted the slayer to be his. In all the times he had used and abused the witch, she had always been merely a means to an end. Until now.

In the past forty-eight hours, she had surprised him at least a dozen times.  Had he really been so oblivious that he had never noticed how fascinating the girl truly was? He had seen her resoul Angelus, fight side by side with the slayer, hack into government files, perform spells that had D'Hoffryn himself begging for her services, avert apocalypses and put up antics from Xapper that would try the patience of a saint. How had it escaped his notice that she was extraordinary? Was he truly that blinded by the slayer? His arms instinctively tightened around his witch, pulling her just a little bit closer. He still wanted to hear stories about the slayer, still wanted to know how she had become the woman that he loved, but maybe, for a change, it would be nice to hear a story about Life Before Buffy. Freshman year, his witch had been a complete innocent. Vampires and witches were still fairy tales to her. What had she been like then?

"You in detention is too good a story to pass up, pet. So spill." Spike finally replied.

She tilted her head up to look him in the eye again. "Really?" she asked, a bright smile blossoming on her face.

"I'm sitting two inches away from you, love. Can you not hear me? Do I need to repeat myself?" Spike answered.

Her grin got even bigger as she settled herself more comfortably against him, and started to tell her story. One story led to another, which led to another, which led to… more of the same, with both of them enjoying every minute of it. Finally, Spike looked at the VCR clock and noticed that it was 4:00 AM.

"Well, Red, I think that's enough for tonight." he said, shifting her body gently off of his so that he could stand.

"Red?" she said, questioningly, and more than a little nervously. "Are you mad at me?" She yawned. "I mean, I know it's late and all and maybe I rambled on too long with the stories, but you could have told me to stop, you know."

Spike turned to her, confusion clearly written on his face. "Why do you think I'm mad at you?" he asked.

"You called me Red." she answered, quietly. "People only call me Red when they're mad at me. Faith called me Red when the mayor was holding me hostage. And you called me Red when you were angry with me because Xander and I stopped you from staking yourself. Remember? `Red here, - you couldn't even keep dog-boy happy.' That was right before you told us that you didn't want pity from geeks more useless than you were and that Xander and I were just the same tenth grade losers we've always been, but Buffy's too much of a softy to cut us loose."

He was shocked. If she hadn't been so upset, she might have found it funny to see the always-in-control-William-the-Bloody standing there with his mouth hanging open. As it was, she didn't notice. She was too busy worrying over how she had managed to make him angry. She had thought… well, she had thought that things were going so well between the two of them, that maybe they were becoming friends. But she must have been wrong.

Spike couldn't decide what stunned him the most. On one hand, he winced as he remembered the incredibly biting things he had said to her and the moron. Well, maybe the moron deserved it, but not his witch. Spike was used to fighting with the likes of the Angelus or the slayer, who used verbal sparring as part of the fight. He expected his words to sting for a few hours, maybe even a few days, and then be forgotten. But she had recited his words verbatim. It had been over a year; she had gotten over dog-boy, left the geek image almost completely behind, and saved Buffy more than once, clearly proving that she was a valuable member of the team over and over again, and yet she still remembered every word he had said. It would appear that the barbs still stung. He felt an unfamiliar pang of remorse.

On the other hand, he found himself wondering, for the first time, what the girl truly thought of him. It had simply never occurred to him to wonder before. In all the time that had passed where he hadn't noticed her, he knew that she had noticed him. He had heard enough of her stories to know about her attention to detail. The girl was practically a watcher in training. She took in everything around her. What did she think of when she thought of him? Did she think of the vicious, conceited killer he had been when he arrived in Sunnydale? Did she think of the pitiful drunk who kidnapped her for a love spell and cried on her shoulder? Did she think of his thwarted rage when he discovered the chip in his head? Did she think of the times that he hurt her and her friends, insulted them, betrayed them, attacked them as best he could? He had spent the past several hours holding her in his arms so closely that he felt the warmth of her breath as she spoke into his ear and yet after hours of nestling so trustingly against him, his choice of a nickname had her convinced that he was angry with her, that he wanted to hurt her. Is that what she really thought of him?

"Pet, I… You shouldn't listen so closely to what people say. You read too much in to things. I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?" she asked, and the hopeful look on her face made him smile. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that, like he had the power to break their heart or make them happy with the next words out of his mouth?

"No, love, I'm not mad. I liked your stories. All of them. But it's four in the morning and you need to get some sleep. You have a very important appointment at two o'clock this afternoon."

"That's right." she answered with a smile. "I do. I had forgotten." she teased, affecting a lofty tone. "I have so very many pressing social engagements that these things sometimes slip my mind."

"Well, I have some nail clippings that will be heartbroken if they can't make your acquaintance." Spike teased in return, as he pulled on his duster and prepared to leave. He was pleased to hear her giggle in response. She stood to show him out.

"Ah, I'm a slave to my public." she sighed in a dramatic voice. She pulled open the door and leaned against the edge, her eyes on him as he stepped out onto her front porch.

"Good night, witch." Spike said.

"Good morning, Spike." Willow corrected. "And hey," she said, grinning, "call me Red. I always liked the name, just not the way it was used."

"Till later, then, Red." Spike replied, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She thought she felt his thumb gently stroke her cheek, but before she could be sure, his hand was pulled away. She stayed in the doorway, watching him as he walked away. When he turned the corner and disappeared from her sight, she smiled, then yawned, then shut the door.

~Part: 24~

Willow woke up and instinctively reached for Tara but all she felt was empty space. Goddess, she hated waking up alone. For a moment, she wished she had stayed in the dorm. Tara still wouldn't be there, but she'd have Tara's pillow that still smelled like her shampoo. She could have held that close for a while. She closed her eyes. She'd get through this, she KNEW she would; she had no choice but to get through this. The last thing that Buffy and Dawn needed was for her to fall apart right now. But it was… so hard… and Willow knew it wouldn't get any easier for a while. She closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep. But… what was that smell?

Willow rolled over and checked her clock. It was nearly noon. She might as well get up. She needed to see what that smell was. She'd be worried that she had left the stove on, but she had never turned the stove on in the first place, so that wasn't possible, was it? After a few stretches and groans, she managed to drag herself out of bed and down the stairs into the kitchen. She could hear someone moving around in there. Was it a burglar? Not very likely, there weren't many burglars in Sunnydale; the late night lifestyle tended to lead to attacks with barbeque forks by gang members on PCP. Besides, what kind of burglar would break into a house in the middle of the day and rustle around in the kitchen of all places? Were her parents back? They weren't due in town for weeks. Maybe their conference was cancelled? The smell was stronger now that she was closer to the kitchen. It smelled like something was… well, not exactly burning, but within a minute or two of beginning to burn. Finally, Willow entered the kitchen.

"Dawnie? Sweetie, what are you doing?"

Dawn whirled around to face Willow with a guilty expression on her face.

"Um, they're supposed to be pancakes, but they're not exactly turning out how I planned. I think I forgot to grease the pan. And now they're kinda starting to scorch to the pan and I can't find a spatula…"

Willow smiled and walked over to join the girl at the stove. She took the pan off the heat and turned off the stovetop. She then dug a spatula out of the drawer in front of them, and peeled the pancakes off the pan to place them on the plates that Dawn quickly provided. She took the plates over to the table and set them down, steering Dawn into a chair at the same time. She remained standing, quickly pulling out knives, forks, napkins, glasses, butter, syrup and juice. She set the table quickly and efficiently, then placed a quick kiss on Dawn's forehead before seating herself at the table across from her.

"Thanks for making me breakfast." she said.

Dawn grinned back. "You're welcome." she said. "I'm sorry that they're kind of a mess."

"They're not a mess." Willow interrupted. "They're… unique!"

The two girls started giggling.

"Much as I love my unique pancakes, was there any special reason you decided to make them?" Willow asked.

"I came over to check on you." Dawn said. "I figured you'd be staying here, and I wanted to make sure you were doing alright, and then when I saw you were still asleep, I thought I'd surprise you by making you breakfast. So, um, surprise!"

Willow smiled. "Well, I was definitely surprised." she answered. They both giggled.

They ate in comfortable silence. That was one of the things that Dawn loved about being with Willow. Oh, sure, the two of them could talk for hours and never run out of things to say, but also, sometimes, they could just sit quietly. The Summers house was always noisy. If she and Buffy weren't fighting over the bathroom, or someone's music, or clothes that Buffy claimed Dawn had borrowed, then Buffy was complaining about Spike or slaying or the demon slime she had gotten on her new sweater. Dawn loved her sister and knew that Buffy loved her in return, but unless it was a life or death situation, they just seemed to rub each other the wrong way. Buffy saw Dawn simply as her sister. She was fiercely protective of her, but she didn't bother to really know her as a person. It wasn't like that with Willow. She knew that Willow loved her not for what she was or why she was, but for who she was. She didn't have to talk or complain or play her music loudly to get Willow to pay attention to her. She didn't have to do anything at all. They could sit in silence and Dawn still felt closer to her than she felt after any and all conversations with her sister.

They finished their pancakes at about the same time. Willow gathered up the plates and glasses and utensils and started washing them in the sink while Dawn gathered all the other stuff (the butter, juice and syrup as well as the ingredients she had used to make the pancakes) and put it away.

"Want to go for a walk?" Willow asked. "I need to stop by the Magic Shop and pick up some supplies, anyway."

"Sure." Dawn said. She wanted to talk to Willow, and a walk was as good a time to do so as any.

"I need to shower and get dressed." Willow said. "Why don't you hang out in the living room, and watch some TV while you wait for me?"

Wandered around the living room while she waited for Willow. She saw the signs of a movie fest. There were a few grains of popcorn on the floor, coasters on the coffee table to hold drinks, and a few movies stacked on top of the VCR. Dawn noted the movies. It appeared it had been a Molly Ringwald night. Dawn sighed. She had wanted to come visit Willow last night, make sure she wasn't lonely, but Buffy had been determined to have a Summers family night and hell hath no fury like Buffy when she was determined. Before long, Willow rejoined her downstairs and they set of on their walk.

"So Dawn," Willow asked, as they strolled down the sidewalk. "What's bothering you? Is it my bond with Spike, the ritual, or Tara leaving?"

Dawn opened her mouth to ask Willow how she knew, but stopped herself. Of course Willow knew. Willow always knew.

"All three." she answered. "What is it… what is it like being bonded to Spike?" she finally asked.

Willow smiled. She knew that Dawn had a little crush on Spike and that he, in return, was very protective of her. Willow thought the friendship between the two of them was sweet. She didn't want to endanger it and she knew that Dawn would be very angry with Spike if she thought the bond he had initiated would, in any way, be harmful to Willow. As a result, she was very careful to describe the bond in a way that would soothe Dawn's fears.

"It's a little like being in love." she answered. Dawn perked up immediately.

"Like being in love?"

"When you're in love, you get hypersensitive to the other person. I'm like that now, with Spike. I get restless when I'm not near him. I find myself wondering where he is, what he's doing, stuff like that. And when he's near me, I can relax. It makes me happy just being in the same room with him." Willow neglected to mention that, with the bond in place, Spike's touch felt absolutely amazing. On an analytical level, it made sense. The bond was triggered by proximity. It was, therefore, logical that the closer she was to Spike, the better she would feel. Nothing in her life had felt as good as nestling in his arms the previous night. She had had to consciously restrain herself from purring in satisfaction. It wasn't just the absence of pain that she associated with having him near by; it was the actual manifestation of pleasure. And his kiss… she couldn't let herself think about the kiss. She'd start shaking again. She started shaking, head to toe, whenever she thought of it. No need for Dawnie to know about that.

"So that's it?" Dawn asked. "Just feeling good when he's nearby and restless when he's not?"

"On the human side of things, that's pretty much it. The demon side of it is a little different. I can sense him now, kind of like the sire/childe bond. It's like pin the tail on the donkey. Standing right here, right now, you could blindfold me and spin me around, and I'd still know exactly which way to go to find him, and how far away he would be. He can sense me, too. He says it's the scent. His claim on me left some tangible traces, one of them being that I smell like him now. But really, on both sides of the equation, it has been pretty low key so far. I've seen enough of him to the point where the bond hasn't really bothered me. If I were to go twenty-four hours without seeing him, I imagine I'd get more than a little uncomfortable. If I go too long without seeing him, it would get downright painful." Dawn's expression turned worried and Willow hastened to reassure her. "That will never happen, though. Spike wants me healthy so I can find a way to take out the chip. He won't let this bond hurt me. Besides," Willow added with a smile, "I'm his now. He has to protect me."

"Do you mind?" Dawn asked. Willow shot her a confused look. "Do you mind, you know, being his?"

Willow thought about it for a moment, and then smiled. "It's kind of flattering." she answered. "Oh, I know he's just doing it to protect himself and that the one he really wanted to be bonded to was Buffy, but still, it's… well… it's nice to be wanted. It's nice to know that he even wanted me to be his."

Dawn smiled back.

"We're going to be fine, Dawnie. All of us. The ritual is going very well so far. Spike will defeat Glory, I'll find a way to get rid of his chip, he'll end the bond with me and everyone will live happily ever after."

"When you take out the chip, Spike is going to leave, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to miss him."

"I know, Dawnie, but it's better this way."

"Will you miss him when he's gone?"

Willow stopped to ponder the question. Would she miss Spike? She remembered when she first met Spike, when he came into town intent upon killing Buffy. She had hidden herself in a closet with Cordelia for hours (a situation which she would have previously described as a fate worse than death) in order to escape him. She remembered when he kidnapped her, when he threatened her, when he nearly killed her on top of her bed in her dorm room. If Spike had left town forever at any of those points, she would have said unhesitatingly that she'd be thrilled never to see him again. But now she had newer memories, wiping out the sting of the old ones. She remembered the times that Spike had saved her life and protected all of them on patrol. She remembered how gentle he was with Dawn and how considerately he responded to her obvious adoration. She remembered how patiently he listened while she told her stories. She remembered how wonderful it felt to be in his arms, how she had wanted him to hold her there forever. She remembered his kiss…

"Yes, Dawnie, I'll miss him very much when he's gone."

~Part: 25~

They were within a block of the Magic Box when a new question occurred to Dawn. When she had looked at Willow's coffee table, she had seen signs of popcorn and movies and *two* coasters on the table. Dawn knew that Willow's parents were compulsive about keeping the place clean, and that if there was any mess out, Willow would clean it up within a day, which meant that those two coasters had come out last night. Willow hadn't had her movie night alone. Who had been with her? Dawn knew it wasn't Buffy and she was pretty sure it hadn't been Xander or Anya either. It simply wasn't possible that it had been Giles. Even if it had occurred to him to check on Willow, he never would sit through three Molly Ringwald movies, not even for her. So who had it been?

For the first time since Operation Matchmaker began, Dawn had doubts. What if there was someone else that Willow wanted to be with? Maybe there was some other boy (or girl!) that she was friends with from UC Sunnydale who had come over to comfort her. Willow hadn't mentioned being particularly close to anyone, but she hadn't mentioned Tara for a long time when the two of them first got together. Was there someone else in Willow's life? There was only one way to find out.

"So," she said to Willow, attempting nonchalance, "I saw that you had a Molly Ringwald movie-fest last night. Sorry I missed it."

Willow smiled in return. "It would have been fun to have you there, Dawnie, but I think it's good that the Summers women had a family night."

"Yeah, but I hate to think of you having to sit there and watch the movies alone." Dawn added, then held her breath. She KNEW that Willow hadn't been alone. She wondered how Willow would reply. If she said she had been alone, she'd be lying. And if she was lying, that would mean that she was interested in the person who had been with her and was trying to cover it up. If she told the truth, and blushed, it would mean the same thing.

Willow blushed, and Dawn's heart fell. So she WAS interested in this other person. Damn. There went all her plans. The dream castle she had built in her mind for Spike and Willow crumbled to the ground.

"I wasn't alone for most of it." Willow replied. "Spike was in the neighborhood and he stopped by. He lived in Italy for most of the 80s so he'd never heard of Molly Ringwald. I gave him a crash course in the Brat Pack."

And suddenly the dream castle sprung back up, bigger and brighter than ever. Spike stopped by? This was perfect, this was WONDERFUL! She tried to play it cool and hide her grin. She wasn't very successful, but luckily for her, Willow didn't notice. That just made Dawn's grin even harder to hide. Willow must have really enjoyed whatever had happened the previous night if just the thought of it got her this distracted. She wanted to ask more questions, but they had arrived at the Magic Box. Oh well, the questions could wait. And in the meantime, she had the beginnings of a plan to share with Anya.

Anya looked up from the register when Dawn and Willow walked in and flashed them a smile, but was too busy ringing up a customer to be able to say hello. Willow knew the shop like the back of her hand and immediately began seeking out the ingredients that she required. Dawn browsed around the store, as usual. Despite the countless hours she had spent there, she never got bored looking around. Besides, Buffy wasn't there this time to tell her to stay away from the more dangerous artifacts and supplies.

Anya finished with the customer, told them to have a nice day and to come back anytime to buy lots more stuff and support the capitalist way of life, and then went to say hello to Willow. She noted the supplies that Willow was gathering, and recognized them as ingredients for the ritual.

"You're going to take things for the ritual and then not pay for them because you'll be using them to save the world, right?" she asked with a valiant attempt at a smile. It came off as more of a grimace. "And I'm okay with that!" Anya hastened to add. "Go out and save the world! Good for you! We're happy to help by providing our materials… free of charge."

Willow smiled. "Thanks, Anya. I appreciate it. I won't take much." Anya gave her another forceful attempt at a smile, and then went to say hello to Dawn. Giles came out from the back and joined Willow, discussing with her the ritual and the ingredients, so Dawn and Anya were able to talk fairly freely without fear of being overheard.

"I've come up with a plan." Dawn whispered. "Well, kind of a plan. It's not really much of a plan, because there wasn't any, you know, `planning' done, it's more of an idea. Well, maybe it's just a thought. But still, I've come up with, well, something and I think that maybe—"

"Dawn spit it out, already." Anya interrupted, in a normal tone of voice. "You don't need to whisper, Giles and Willow are busy talking. But if you have something to say, you'd better go ahead and say it. They won't keep talking forever."

"Oh. Right." Dawn answered, in a normal tone of voice. "Anyway, like I was saying, I have this thought." Anya opened her mouth to interrupt again, so Dawn rushed ahead before she had a chance. "WehavetostopWillowfromtakingoutSpike'schip." she blurted out, far too quickly.

"What?" Anya asked, obviously confused.

Dawn was afraid she had spoken too fast in her rush to get it out, so she repeated herself, more slowly. "We have to stop Willow from taking out Spike's chip."

"Yes, I heard you the first time." Anya answered. "But I still don't understand. Willow promised she'd take out Spike's chip. We're supposed to make him fall in love with her by making her look like a liar?"

"No!" Dawn said. "She won't be lying, we will be."

"So your master plan is for Willow to tell the truth and for us to be liars. I'm still not understanding how this will make them fall in love. Is it some human thing that needs to be explained?"

Dawn slowly and deliberately took a large breath and then exhaled it. Anya wasn't being difficult on purpose, she sincerely didn't understand. Dawn knew that Anya was as committed to fixing up Willow and Spike as she, herself, was. All she had to do was make Anya comprehend what she had in mind.

"Last night, Spike came over to Willow's house and watched six hours worth of Molly Ringwald movies with her. Do you know what this means?"

"Willow has an extensive collection of 80s movies?" Anya guessed.

Dawn sighed. <I will not lose my temper, I will not lose my temper.> "All this time I've been worried about how to get Spike and Willow to spend time together. I was coming up with some pretty crazy ideas."

"You could always lock them in a room together. That tends to get pretty consistent results." Anya observed.

"Well, yeah." Dawn replied. "Most of my ideas were kind of variations along those lines. But anyway, what I'm saying is, if Spike voluntarily chooses to go to Willow's house and watch six hours worth of Molly Ringwald with Willow, then maybe getting them to spend time together isn't what we need to worry about."

"Alright then." Anya conceded. "What do we need to worry about?"

"As soon as Spike gets his chip out, he's going to leave town, right?"

"Right." Anya agreed.

"Well, then we can't let that happen. We have to make sure that Spike sticks around. And if he stays around and keeps spending time with Willow, then maybe they'll fall in love all by themselves."

"Then we don't get to be matchmakers?" Anya asked, obviously disappointed.

"Not exactly matchmakers." Dawn replied. "More like match facilitators. They fall in  love on their own; we just do everything we can to help smooth the way."

"Okay." Anya answered. "Match facilitators. I like the sound of that."

"And part of our job as math facilitators is to make sure that Spike doesn't leave before he has time to fall in love. Agreed?" Dawn asked, sticking out her hand.

"Agreed." Anya answered. They shook on it. Coincidently, this happened at the moment that Willow finished her discussion with Giles. Willow gathered her purchases, said a quick goodbye to Giles, apologized to Anya for the necessity that required her to save the world at the expense of the shop, and she and Dawn headed outside, on their way to Spike's crypt.

~Part: 26~

Spike was unaware of the grin that crossed his face when he heard the knock on the door. If challenged, he would have denied that he was smiling at all. He would also have denied checking his watch ten times in the past hour, waiting for two o'clock. But two o'clock was here now and so was his witch. <Red.> he corrected himself mentally. <I've got to remember to call her Red.>

She entered the crypt, followed by Niblet. Spike hadn't expected the girl to come along, but he wasn't surprised to see her. The girl flat out worshipped his Red and had a keen interest in the magic side of things also. She also, if appearances were to be believed, had a keen interest in Spike, himself. All in all, it was not too shocking that she'd want to tag along.

Willow flashed Spike a quick smile and then went to start setting up her ingredients. Dawn, on the other hand, rushed over to Spike and starting rambling on something about a Brat Pack and some bloke named Andrew McCarthy. Spike had no idea what she was talking about. He looked over her head to Willow, who was watching with an amused expression on her face as her hands automatically prepared the ingredients. Spike's expression was a mixture of confusion and pleading as he silently mouthed the word <Help> several times in a row.

Willow giggled. It was kinda fun to see the big bad master vampire helpless at the hands of a fourteen-year-old girl, but she couldn't resist the wistfully pleading look on his face and eventually took pity on him. "She's talking about the movies we watched last night, Spike. I told her I was introducing you to the joys of 80s cinema. The bunch of teenagers who were in all the movies were called the Brat Pack. And Andrew McCarthy was the lead from `Pretty in Pink.' He's Dawn's favorite."

"That git is your favorite?" Spike asked.

"He's not a git, he's adorable!" Dawn answered.

"Adorable? Not even close. Bloke looks like he was run through the ringer a few too many times. Completely washed out, no substance at all. Even his arse of a best friend was more appealing than him."

Dawn continued to defend Andrew McCarthy while Spike continued to criticize him and Willow continued to giggle as she prepared her ingredients. In any argument, on any topic, Spike hated to lose and REALLY hated to let anyone else have the last word. It was amusing to watch him seriously and aggressively attack an actor he had not even heard of until the night before so that he could win an argument with a mortal (well, mostly mortal) teenage girl.

Sadly, Willow found herself forced to interrupt when the ritual ingredients were finally prepared. She cut off Dawn in the middle of a scene-by-scene description of Andrew McCarthy in the movie `Mannequin.' Spike looked distinctly grateful to have the discussion end.

Spike didn't own nail clippers. He liked to keep his nails long for when he painted them and when they got too long, he tended to bite them shorter. Yes, William the Bloody had the habit of biting his nails. Vampires really enjoy biting things. Besides, Spike always had more restless energy than he knew what to do with. It's why he liked fighting so much.

Willow dug her nail clipper out of her purse. It was small, designed to be added on to a key chain though why anyone would want nail clipper on a key chain is something Willow had never really understood (although, in typical Willowy fashion, she had given it considerable thought). The nail clipper was so small, in fact, that Spike was convinced he'd break it if he tried to cut his nails himself. Willow took his hands in hers and gently cut his nails. He sat quietly, oddly relaxed, enjoying the warmth of her hands and the softness of her touch. Dawn sat off to the side, watching with a smirk as she noted how comfortable the two of them already were holding hands.

The ritual itself went very smoothly. As before, Willow mixed the potion, and then lit the candles. Spike recited the words of the ritual. There was the flash that lit the entire crypt, and then the candles blew themselves out. Willow immediately began packing up the ingredients and tucking them out of the way so that they'd be ready the next day without being underfoot for the rest of today. Meanwhile, Dawn was frantically wracking her mind to come up with some excuse for them not to leave, just yet.

"Spike, I never heard the real ending to your story." she finally blurted out. Both Willow and Spike turned to face her with looks of surprise. "That time I came over here, you were telling me a story. You'd just gotten to the good part when Buffy walked in and started yelling at you and wouldn't let you tell me the real ending. I want to know how the story ends. Willow wouldn't mind hearing it, would you Willow?"

A playful smile crossed Willow's face. "Does Spike tell good stories, Dawnie?" Willow asked. The question was directed at Dawn, but Willow didn't take her eyes off Spike.

"The BEST stories." Dawn answered, forcing herself not to do a happy dance in the middle of the crypt. Her ploy had worked. She could tell.

"Not as good as yours, Red." Spike replied, smirking at Willow, his eyes sparkling.

<Red?> Dawn thought. <That's new. I like it. It suits her. I wonder if I should start calling her Red, too? Or maybe she wants that to be Spike's name for her. I kinda like that idea; that Spike has a special nickname for her. Not that it's all that original, I mean everyone calls redheads Red but still when Spike says it, it sounds—>

"Bit? Are you paying attention or not?" Dawn looked up, startled to see that she had lost herself in her thoughts to the point where she hadn't noticed Spike talking to her.

"Come on, Dawnie." Willow laughed, pulling Dawn over next to her, seating on the floor facing Spike. "It's storytime." The two girls giggled together for a minute, squirming into place. Finally, Willow looked up to Spike with a pseudo-innocent look on her face. "Spikey, tell us a story!"

Spike rolled his eyes at her antics, but Dawn noticed that the grin hadn't left his face. His tone was mocking when he began his story but his eyes were surprisingly gentle and totally focused on Willow. Dawn grinned. No need to hold it back. As centered as the two of them were on each other, she knew they wouldn't notice.

An hour, Dawn and Willow had tears streaming down their faces, they were laughing so hard at one of Spike's stories. After making them shiver with one of his most deliciously terrifying horror stories, they had demanded some lighter fare. And so he recounted, in detail, a story of a particularly cloudy Thanksgiving when he and Dru and some vamps they had been crashing with took over a float at the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade.

"It's just like Ferris Bueller." Dawn sighed with a dreamy look on her face.

Spike raised a questioning eyebrow at Willow.

"Another 80s movie." she replied to his unspoken question. "A very good one, in fact. I think you'd like it."

"Don't think I'll be getting much movie watching done without a VCR, Red." Spike replied.

"You could come over and watch stuff on my VCR." Willow said, and then blushed. After all, she had no reason to think that Spike wanted to have any more movie nights with her. It had probably been just a one-time thing.

"We might have to do that." he answered. Willow's blush turned darker. <He said "we." Not just "I'll come over some time and watch a tape" but "WE" might have to do that. Is it even possible that he wants to watch more movies with me?> Desperate to find something else to look at, she checked her watch and let out a small groan of surprise.

"Goddess, I need to go!" she squealed.

"What's the rush?" Dawn answered. She hated to see Willow run off. The afternoon had been going so well!

"I have class in half an hour and I've got to get to campus."

"What class?" Dawn asked.

"Organic chemistry." Willow answered with a sigh. "Not the kind of thing you want to be thinking about from four thirty to seven on a Monday evening, but it was the only time slot that fit my schedule. Come on, Dawnie," she said, standing at last and gathering her stuff, "I'll walk you halfway home."

Reluctantly, Dawn stood and stretched, getting ready to leave.

"Bye, Spike." she said. "This was fun. We should do it again some time!" she added hopefully.

"Bye, Niblet. Bye, Red."

"Bye, Spike. I really did like your stories." Willow said, giving him a sweet smile before leaving. When the door shut behind them, Spike sighed unnecessarily, and smiled. It had been a good day. Even better than he expected. Even though he had been hanging with the slayer's sister, he had barely thought of Buffy at all. He had been comfortable, relaxed, almost… happy. His smile grew. He was forming a plan to make a good night.

~Part: 27~

Spike wandered around slowly, with pretended casualness, trying to look as if he was just out taking a stroll. <I'm turning into such a bleeding poof.> he thought to himself. <Next thing you know, I'll be buying stock in hair gel.> Yeah, he was just taking a stroll. Around the UC Sunnydale campus. With a bag from Blockbusters. Searching for a little redhead whose class had ended five minutes earlier. Meanwhile, he was mentally cursing himself in a variety of languages and demon dialects for acting like some kind of damn puppy, showing up (with videos, no less!) hoping that this chit of a girl would be willing to take him home.

He had tracked her to the building by her unmistakable smell fifteen minutes earlier. Now, finally, students were starting to leave. He wrinkled his nose. College boys always wore too much cheap cologne and the girls weren't much better with the perfume they used. A smile crossed his face when he was able to pick out the scent of his Red who, in contrast, smelled like heaven. She spotted him and came over with a smile.

"Spike! What are you doing here?" The grin slid off her face, replaced by a worried expression. "Nothing's wrong, is it?"

He had relaxed slightly when he saw her smile when she spotted him. She was glad to see him. That was a good sign. "Why is it you always think something's wrong the second you see me, Red? A bloke could start to get a complex." he teased.

"I take that to mean that nothing's wrong?" she asked again, the grin slowly returning to her face. It occurred to him that she had a lovely smile.

"No, Red. Nothing's wrong."

She noticed the Blockbuster bag in his hand. "What's that?" she asked.

"It's called a bag, Red. And see those pretty shapes on it? They spell the words Blockbuster Video."

"Very funny, wise guy. Since when do you shop at Blockbuster?"

Spike looked away. If he hadn't been dead, he probably would have blushed. "Well, after the way that you and Bit went on about that Ferris Bueller movie, I thought I had to see what all the fuss was about. And since it was getting dark out and I knew you'd be walking home from class, I thought… <I thought that maybe I could convince you to let me walk you home and then you'd be too polite not to invite me in to watch the movie.> he completed in his head.

"Spike, I hate to tell you this" Willow said gently, hating to be the bearer of bad news, "but you wasted your money." She knew how Spike hated wasting money. The closest thing he had to a steady source of income was the money that Giles and Buffy gave him for info or backup with demons and he had to use most of that to keep him stocked in bagged blood.

His expression hardened. She didn't want to watch the movie with him. Hell, she probably had other plans for the evening. She had been talking to some boy as she walked out of the class. Did she have a date? Looking for a replacement for her little friend already. He was in no position to judge, Harmony had practically had "rebound" tattooed on her forehead but still, he couldn't help but feel a little hurt at her dismissive attitude. She didn't even brush him off with a flippant "maybe some other time." It was out with the old and in with the new for her. No more time to spend with the neutered vamp. He returned to his mental litany of curses, cursing himself as a daft fool for letting himself get excited over the prospect of spending time with yet another girl who wanted to be no where near him.

"Waste of money?" he answered. "Waste of time, too, no doubt." he muttered under his breath. What had he been thinking? Of course she didn't want another movie night with a ruthless demon who had tried to kill her. It had been a waste of time. He had spent over an hour at Blockbuster. There had only been one girl on the register and her boyfriend had come by to visit, showing up around the same time as Spike, so it had been pulling teeth to get the membership application from her. Getting her to enter his information and give him a card, not the mention the joys of checking out behind a large family who kept changing their minds about what they wanted to rent, had ranked right up there with a nice bath in holy water. Time, money, effort, hopes were all wasted as he saw his plans for the evening slip down the drain.

"Well, yes. I guess it would count as a waste of time, too, for the time that you spent at Blockbuster, but we can always drop the tape back off on our way so you won't have to go back later."

A look of total confusion crossed Spike's face. Did she say we? "On our way? On our way where?"

"On our way back to my house to watch Ferris Bueller." she answered, surprised that he seemed so surprised. She was also a little worried about the hardness that had entered his face. Was he mad at her? Had she said something wrong?

"Isn't that what you wanted to do?" she asked, then blushed. Maybe that wasn't what he wanted, at all. Maybe she had the wrong idea entirely. "Or did I misunderstand you? Because if you just wanted to use my VCR to watch it and weren't planning on having any company then that's fine, too, it's just that I really like the movie so I thought maybe I could watch it with you, but if you don't want me to then I can find something else to do or even someplace else to go, if you'd rather I—"

"Red, stop. Breathe. Now either you're not making any sense or I'm just not understanding, so let's start over."

"Start over at the very beginning?" she asked.

"It's a very good place to start."

"You like `Sound of Music?'"

"Yes." he answered defensively.

"I wouldn't have thought that vampires went to many musicals. Except maybe `Rocky Horror Picture Show' or something like that."

"Red, I thought we were going to start over."

"Right. Where would you like me to begin?"

"At the very beginni— nope, not going to go through that again. How about this? Ask me why I'm here." Spike asked, unable to hold back the twinkle in his eye and the grin growing around his lips.

"Spike, why are you here?" she asked, obediently.

"I thought I'd walk you home and we'd watch Ferris Bueller together." he replied, his grin fully in place by now. Even though the conversation didn't seem to be making much progress, he was enjoying his time with the witch. And from what she said, he was pretty sure he'd be watching Ferris tonight, and he wouldn't be watching it alone. "I brought the tape and everything. All you have to provide is the VCR. And the popcorn. And maybe some hot chocolate."

"Like I said, Spike. You wasted your money."

"Yeah, and that's the part I'm still not getting. If you want to watch the movie with me, then how was it a waste of money for me to get it?"

"You shouldn't have spent your money to rent it when I have my own copy at home." she answered.

Spike laughed at loud at her response, much to Willow's confusion. The tension drained out of his posture and his face took on the open, relaxed look that she was learning to like so much. She had never realized how much he closed himself off around the Scoobies until she started spending time with him when he was truly relaxed. He watched her forehead wrinkle in concentration as she tried to figure out what was so funny. He knew the minute she deduced what had happened by the way her expression softened.

"You thought I didn't want to watch the movie with you?" she asked gently. He didn't answer, but she knew she was right. "Spike, I'd love to have another movie night with you. And it doesn't have to be a waste of money." she added, after a few moments of additional thought. "Maybe we can stop by Blockbuster and see if they'll let you trade the tape for something else."

"Nah," he answered, "I can't handle any more Blockbuster for tonight. I'll return it some other time. Let's head to your place now. I'll let you make me some hot chocolate." He took her hand and laced it over the crook of his elbow so they were walking arm in arm. It was an instinctive gesture on his part, a throw back to his upbringing in nineteenth century England, but it was new for her. She decided she liked it. But that didn't stop her from teasing him.

"You'll let me make you hot chocolate? Oh, my! Such a gentleman!" she mocked.

"Well, you know me, Red." he answered, with a smirk.

"Not really." she replied. "Not yet." She gently squeezed his arm. "But I will."

~Part: 28~

They put in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" as soon as they got to her house. Spike loved it, just as Willow knew he would. She practically had the movie memorized, so instead of watching the screen, she spent most of the time watching him. Again, she was amazed at the contrast between the cold, sarcastic, closed-off Spike she was used to seeing at the Scooby meetings and the open, expressive, no-holds-barred Spike who got emotionally invested in cheesy eighties movies and yelled at the screen. She felt honored, in a way, that Spike allowed her to see him when he was being silly and natural and fully relaxed. She couldn't stop smiling, smugly. It was nice to know that Spike felt as relaxed around her as she felt around him.

After the movie ended, they just sat, talking, bragging, swapping stories, and making s'mores. Spike had never had s'mores before. He had grumbled as Willow set up the fire and the marshmallows on the ends of fondue forks and mumbled something about being a vampire, not a bloody boy scout, but his grumbling stopped when he took his first bite. Willow had giggled at the look of bliss that lit up his face as he practically inhaled his first s'more. He growled at her for laughing at him, which only made her laugh more, so he had resorted to chasing her around the house. He forced himself to move slowly, not tapping into his vampire speed. He was enjoying himself too much to want to end the chase too quickly.

When he finally caught her (which was ridiculously easy to do, even without vampire speed since she was laughing so hard she could barely stand, much less run), he tickled her till she begged for mercy. He told her he wouldn't stop until she pleaded for his forgiveness. He held her squirming body firmly against his, taking in the way the laughter made her eyes light up and the way her smile drew attention to those beautiful lips. Gods below, she was gorgeous. Warm and soft and sweet and delicious in every imaginable way. He inhaled deeply. Of the five senses, the sense of smell is the sense most closely connected to memory. This was a moment he wanted to remember. He breathed in the smell of the fire, the scent of roasted marshmallows and melted chocolate, and the intoxicating, overwhelming fragrance of the beautiful girl that he held in his arms.

"Submit to me, Red." he whispered in her ear. He wasn't sure whether or not he was joking. "Tell me what I want to hear."

She shivered at the husky sound of his voice and the feel of his cool lips as they brushed against her ear. When he had grabbed her, she had only been intent on getting away, but in that moment she became intensely aware of their position. She was overwhelmed by the sensation of his body pressed almost intimately against hers. Goddess, he felt good.

She told herself that she was just hungry to be touched. She had always craved physical contact. Chalk it up to absentee parents who never held her enough. Was it any wonder she had formed a crush on Xander, the only person in her life who hugged her and held her hand? She didn't have the confidence to look for someone who would give her more. Then she had gotten together with Oz, who loved to touch her. She had reveled in the intimacy of their relationship, finally feeling fulfilled for the first time in her life. When he left, she had shuttled immediately into a relationship with Tara. She had loved her, yes, but at first, she had simply craved the contact the other girl offered so freely. Tara had always been very touchy-feely, and now, without her, Willow was like a junkie longing for a fix. For a moment, she couldn't stop herself from leaning closer to Spike, relishing the feel of his body sprawled over hers, surrounding her in the feel of him. He felt absolutely incredible. For a single, beautiful instant, she contemplated nestling even closer, pressing her lips against his, touching him the way she ached to, letting herself get completely lost in him.

But she pulled back away. She had no reason to believe that Spike would welcome her touch, her kiss. He was in love with Buffy. They usually were. It's not like she hadn't been in that situation before. Spike had, unaccountably, become her friend. He even let her cuddle up against him during movies. She wouldn't risk that, wouldn't risk offending or upsetting him. It would be more than foolhardy, it would be dangerous, she reminded herself. As long as the bond was in place, she *needed* for Spike to spend time with her. There was too much at stake.

"I'll never submit!" she replied, forcing herself to laugh. "And if you kill me with tickling, I won't be able to make you the hot chocolate I promised to go with the s'mores."

He could tell that her laugh was forced. Was she that upset over being close to him? She hadn't minded before. Suddenly, another possibility occurred to him and he abruptly pulled away.

"Make me hot chocolate *immediately*" he said, "and I *might* forgive you." He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. Years of experience at hiding his emotions gave him the necessary aplomb to pull it off successfully. Holding her so close, with her heart pounding, her blood pulsing under his hands, her scent engulfing him, his body had… responded. She must have felt it, he reasoned. That was why she pulled away. That was why her laughter was forced. In typical Willow fashion, she was trying to ignore the issue to keep him from being embarrassed. Well, he could certainly follow her lead on that.

Relieved (and just a tiny bit disappointed) to be removed from the path of temptation, Willow leapt up and headed for the kitchen.

"Hot chocolate, coming right up!" she said. She stopped a few steps from the doorway as another thought occurred to her. "If I ask really nicely, will you toast another marshmallow for me?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow in response. "Convince me." he purred.

"I'll be your best friend?" she said, with such an adorably overdone "sweet-and-innocent" expression on her face that he couldn't help but laugh.

"Not much competition there, Red. You're already my only friend."

The "sweet-and-innocent" smile dropped off her face and her eyes widened. "I am?" she asked, softly.

"Yeah." he shrugged, looking away, cursing himself again for acting like a bloody poof. He silently prayed that she wouldn't make a big deal about it.

"Then I guess that means" she said, in the same soft voice, "that you'll be toasting me another marshmallow, right?" she asked. He looked back up and saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye. He threw a marshmallow at her. She ducked it, giggling, and headed into the kitchen.

He went over to her movie collection and began searching it frantically. Talking was well and good, but he felt the irrational need to "save" the conversation for an emergency. He didn't want to run the risk of running out of things to say to her while it was still so early. He was determined to watch movies until she was too tired to watch any more and only then would he bring out the conversation, as a last ditch method to keep from having to leave. The last thing he wanted was to leave, to return to his cold, empty, miserable crypt that smelled like spilled alcohol and death.

He wanted to stay exactly where he was; in a warm, comfortable house that smelled like chocolate and his Red. His Red. His Red who let him hold her during movies and made him hot chocolate and teased him and laughed at his jokes. His Red who understood his sense of humor and appreciated his intelligence and showed consideration for his insecurities. His beautiful, brilliant, fascinating Red who smelled like Heaven and tasted like the essence of temptation.

His broken-hearted Red. He forced himself to remember that; forced himself to remember that if she clung to him at all, if she relished his company in any way, it was because she was lonely and he was convenient. The slayer had made it abundantly clear that while Spike could be useful in an emergency, he was beyond the pale for social consideration. If the slayer, the heterosexual slayer who had slept with a vampire before, found him to be undesirable, then his innocent little lesbian witch wouldn't want him in a million years. Not that he wanted her! Of course not! He was in love with the slayer, wasn't he? He wasn't the type to change loyalties so quickly; he had loved Dru for over a century! All he wanted from the witch was a little of the companionship she seemed to offer so freely. He'd take it while he could get it. After all, he was lonely and broken-hearted as well. And she was convenient. And when she found a way to get rid of his chip, he'd break the bond and they'd go their separate directions. He told himself that he did not doubt that they both preferred it that way.

But he hadn't broken the bond yet. She hadn't taken out the chip; he hadn't even fought Glory. And no matter what the reasons or why they felt the need to seek each other out, they were both lonely and broken-hearted and conveniently located to cling to each other for a little while. For at least the rest of the night. Which meant that he had to make sure she let him stay for at least a few more hours. He finally picked a movie and set it up in the VCR. He had just settled himself into the couch, remote in hand, when she returned to the room, holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She handed one to him with a slight, hidden smile on her face. He took a sip and raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Blood?" he asked.

"Yes." she answered. "Half and half. Half hot chocolate and half blood. My mom does it the same way, only with coffee instead of blood. I thought you might like it."

"I do." he answered with a smile. He did like it. And he liked her for thinking of it, for planning ways to make him happier and more comfortable. He patted the seat cushion next to him, motioning for her to join him. She seated herself next to him and immediately snuggled up against him, tucking her legs up underneath and leaning her head on his shoulder. His smile grew wider as he slid an arm around her, settling her comfortably against his body.

"Wait till you see what I picked out." he said. She lifted her head to look up at him with a questioning look on her face, but he refused to answer, merely grinning at her as he pressed play. With a sigh, she settled her head back on his shoulder, then began to grin herself as the opening credits played across the screen.

~Part: 29~

She had mentally run through all her selection of movies as she waited for the movie to begin. Which would he choose? She had a pretty large collection. There were several action movies (she had, after all, been best friends with boys until she was fifteen); maybe he chose one of those? He seemed like the action movie type. Since he couldn't hurt people himself, he probably enjoyed watching them hurt each other.

Or maybe one of the old movies? Willow's grandmother had gotten her hooked on them years before and she owned a pretty wide variety. Spike had probably seen some of them when they first came out in theatres. Maybe he'd want to watch one of those? She kind of hoped he had chosen one of those. He'd be sure to have an unusual story to tell about it. She loved his stories.

But she also had a few vampire and witch-based flicks; mostly gag gifts from Buffy and Xander over the years. Maybe he had chosen one of those. She had a couple different versions of Dracula. It would be fun watching one of them with Spike, getting his perspective since he actually knew the guy. Knowing Spike, anything was possible. And judging from the grin on his face, she was pretty sure he had chosen this movie with the intention of surprising her. But even knowing this, she was still surprised when the movie finally began.

`Mannequin.' He had chosen to watch the movie `Mannequin.' She couldn't believe it. He had explained it to her, saying that he wanted to have ammunition for his arguments for the next time he saw Niblet, and since she seemed to think that this movie was the McCarthy bloke's shining moment, he knew he had to see it for himself.

Of course, that was a load of crap. He didn't actually think he'd gain anything from watching the movie (in fact, based on what he had heard from Li'l Bit, he was reasonably sure that watching the movie would actually decrease his intelligence) but he figured that with a cover story like that, Willow couldn't refuse to watch it. He was right. She settled comfortably against him, sipping her hot chocolate and giggling at the horrible movie all the way through to the closing credits.

"Well," Spike said, when she stopped the movie and hit rewind, "that just may be the worst movie I've ever seen in my entire unlife."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe." Willow replied, sitting up and stretching.

"You don't think it's awful?" he asked, looking down at her with raised eyebrows. Did she realize that when she stretched like that, her shirt rode up and he got a glimpse of bare midriff? Knowing how self-conscious she was about showing any skin, he figured that she probably didn't know.

"Oh, it's awful, alright." she answered, cheerfully, unaware of the direction that his thoughts had taken. "But you've been around since the beginning of the movie industry. I'm sure you've seen lots of really bad movies. There must be a movie out there somewhere that's even worse. At least this was a comedy. It doesn't attempt to be taken seriously."

Spike laughed. "Only you, Red, would put that much thought into whether or not this piece of garbage could actually be the worst movie ever made."

"Not the worst movie ever made," Willow answered, distractedly, her words muffled by a yawn, "just the worst movie you've ever seen."

"I don't know, Red." Spike teased. "I'm pretty sure it's the worst film I've ever seen and it just might be the worst piece of drek ever made."

"Oh!" Willow gasped and jumped up as a new thought occurred to her. "It's not the worst movie ever made and I have proof!" She rushed over to the movie cabinet and rummaged around for a minute before returning to the couch, triumphantly, with a videotape clasped in her hands.

"It can't be the worst movie ever made," she explained, "because they made a sequel and it's even worse!"

With a look of pure shock on his face, Spike took the tape from Willow. Sure enough, there was the movie, entitled "Mannequin 2: On the Move."

Willow giggled at the look on Spike's face; it was the same kind of revolted fascination with which people look at car accidents on the side of the highway.

"They made a sequel?" he asked.

"Well, it's not exactly a sequel, because it doesn't deal with the same characters, but it's sort of the same premise, revamped, with some of the same supporting cast."

"They made a sequel?" he said, in the same stunned tone. It was obvious he was having trouble with the concept.

"Yes, Spike." Willow repeated patiently. "They made a sequel."

"They made a sequel," Spike said, "and you paid money for a copy of it?"

Willow blushed. "Actually, Dawn bought it for me." she mumbled.

"But you've watched it, right?" he said. "You'd have to have watched it to know that it's worse than the original."

Her blush grew darker and Spike hid a grin. Oh, he was still shocked and horrified that a sequel had been made, but she sure was cute when she blushed. It made him want to whisper suggestive things in her ear and see how long she was capable of continuous blushing. He wondered if she blushed when she made love. She probably did. Right beautiful she must look, face flushed, and eyes shining, with only that blush covering and coloring her beautifully white skin…

Then he remembered that the only ones who had seen how she looked when she made love had been wolf-boy and the spineless sorceress. As much as the thought of his Red in his throes of passion turned him on, the thought of her partners turned him right back off. What a magnificent waste. With the right partner, he was sure that she could teach the torches to burn bright.

Where the hell had that come from? Spike made a mental note not to associate his only friend with quotes from `Romeo and Juliet'. Sure, she was desirable. He would have to be blind not to have noticed. But he couldn't allow her to be makes-you-think-of-poetry-and-flowers kind of desirable. Bad things happened when women made him think of poetry. He was better with lust and passion and anger. He was master of those emotions. It was what he felt for the slayer and he knew, even though she denied it, that it was what the slayer felt for him, as well. He could handle that. But poetry… he couldn't deal with that again. Red seemed instinctively suited for the poetry kind of love. His Red wasn't for the likes of him.

He deliberately shook off those thoughts, and looked at her again. He noticed that she was still blushing, and took pity on her.

"You know what this means, don't you Red?" he asked.

Hesitantly, she looked up. "W-what does it mean?" she replied.

"It means that *this* might possibly be the worst movie ever made." he answered with a grin.

"I still think that a comedy couldn't possibly be the worst movie ever made." she said, slowly recovering her aplomb.

"Well, there's only one thing we can do." he said, in a mock-serious voice.

"And what is that?" she said, in a breathless tone of mock-suspense.

"We have to watch it and let me see for myself." he replied, smirking.

Willow rolled her eyes, but walked over to the VCR to put the movie in. Spike exhaled a tiny sigh of relief. It had worked. He would get to stay a little longer.

Willow returned to the sofa, and tried to make herself comfortable. After squirming for a minute against him, she finally sat up.

"Stretch out." she ordered Spike. He looked at her with a confused expression on his face. "I want to stretch out," she said, "and there's not enough room for me to stretch out without you getting in the way unless you're stretched out, too. So go ahead and lie down." Spike was surprised, but obedient. He lay down, pressing as far back against the back of the couch as he could. She lay down in front of him, settling down into the couch cushions and nestling back into his waiting arms.

"Aren't you afraid of falling off?" he asked. He certainly was thrilled with this turn of events. He was currently relishing the feel of her softness and warmth pressed full-length against him and the sweetness of her smell completely surrounding him. But he was worried that she might fall and hurt herself. The couch was fairly wide, as couches go, but it wasn't exactly designed for this.

Wordless, she reached behind her for his hand and took it in her own. She wrapped it around her waist, securing herself in the circle of his arms. "Nope." she answered. "Not worried at all. Now, be quiet, and watch the horrible movie."

She both heard his chuckle and felt its vibration in the strong, hard chest pressed against her back. She shivered slightly at the sensation, and pressed just a little bit closer to him as the movie began.

~Part: 30~

Within fifteen minutes, they were both fast asleep. It was for the best. It truly was an awful movie. Willow was right to be embarrassed about owning a copy, even if it was a gift. They were tired, they were very comfortable, and the movie was very bad. It was only natural that they would drift off in short order. Spike fell asleep first. Willow, with her back to him, was unaware of it. After all, she couldn't see his face and couldn't feel him breathe. Also, even in sleep, his arm still remained firmly around her waist, holding her close. Anyway, she fell asleep shortly thereafter, herself. For the next few hours, the two of them slept quite peacefully and contentedly, blissfully oblivious to the horrible movie playing out in front of them.

Willow woke up about two and a half hours later, surprised to see that the tape had ended and rewound itself. She remembered closing her eyes for a second near the beginning of the movie, intending to just rest her eyes for a moment. She blushed, immediately embarrassed as she realized she must have been asleep for hours. Poor Spike. She could feel him still lying perfectly still in his position behind her. He probably hadn't wanted to move for fear of waking her, since she had, essentially, trapped him with his body pinned in place behind hers.

She rolled over, turning in his arms, intending to apologize, but she stopped with the words still half-formed on her lips when she realized that Spike had fallen asleep, as well. Her expression softened. He looked so relaxed when he slept. Willow took advantage of the unguarded moment to conduct a detailed, up-close-and-personal examination of his face. She adored people watching. It was a habit she had developed over years of being a wallflower. She loved to watch people's faces and see the play of their expressions when they didn't realize they were being watched, and most people never picked up on the quiet, unobtrusive redhead who watched them so closely. Of course, she rarely got a chance to do so with Spike. He always seemed to notice when she was observing him, even across a crowded room. His reaction was always the same. He would turn to face her with that trademark smirk and one eyebrow raised, causing her to blush and look away. She had learned to sneak glances at him, only a few seconds at a time. This current opportunity for unabridged, uninterrupted examination was something she had been waiting years for.

His face was exquisitely formed and the vampiric paleness suited his finely chiseled features. She thought that he looked like an artist's exercise in the precise planes and angles of perfect beauty. The impression was aided by the calm, peaceful expression on his face, which would have looked almost innocent if it hadn't been contradicted by the bleached blonde hair and black clothes. Willow smiled at her thoughts. She knew that he would be horrified to hear that she thought he looked even remotely innocent. That was the whole point behind the Billy Idol ensemble. Spike was all about image. He had carefully and deliberately made himself into the Big Bad. Innocent was the last impression he wanted to project. But innocent or evil, he was still so shockingly beautiful. Willow's fingers ghosted over his profile, aching to touch him but afraid of waking him up.

She wondered what he had looked like when he was human, before his days and long, dark nights of bleach and black leather. Had his sleeping face looked completely innocent, then? Years before, when Spike first showed up in Sunnydale, Willow had gone through the watcher's diaries and examined all of their accounts of him. As with most vampires, very little was known about his life before he was turned, but from his viciousness, even in the early years just after his turning, the watchers had surmised that he had probably been a violent, dangerous man even as a human. Maybe he was the perpetrator of some elaborate, mysterious crime that caught the attention of Drusilla and made her seek him out to sire him.

Willow was inclined to take the opposite point of view. If he felt the need to form an image of himself as dangerous and lethal, it seemed more likely that he was doing it to get away from what he had been like as a human. She remembered what Angelus had been like when he returned during her junior year. He had wanted to destroy everything that reminded him of what he had been like when he was souled. And Willow still shuddered whenever she thought of her vampiric self from the alternate dimension. She had been turned so young, when she was still so innocent. And in reaction, she had become ruthless, insatiable, and far too fond of very binding leather. Spike was probably the same way. If he was determined to be a ruthless vampire, was it possible that he had been fighting against his memories of himself as a gentle man?

Willow sighed. She could spend hours analyzing Spike, but it wouldn't change the situation they were in now. Spike was fast asleep on her couch and had her wrapped in his arms. What was she going to do about it? She contemplated her options. She knew what she *should* do. She should wake him up, send him away to his crypt, and then go up to her room to sleep in her own bed. Alone. That was the proper, appropriate thing to do. But she really, really didn't want to. She was so very comfortable in his arms. They were the nicest arms she had been in in years. She didn't want to leave them, didn't want to leave him.

Oh, she knew it was partially the bond. Since his proximity automatically gave her warm fuzzies, it stood to reason that sleeping in his arms would feel comfortable and satisfying. But it was more than that. The feel of his arms around her affected more than just the bond. She had always hated sleeping alone, loving the feeling of another body close to hers. But it was more than that, as well. There was something in the way that he held her, the sensation of him cradling her in his arms, that made her feel safe and protected and even a little bit cherished. She knew that while he held her, he wouldn't let anything hurt her. And, in a part of her mind that she tried to ignore, a purely feminine part of her admitted that it felt amazing to have his beautifully muscled, very masculine form wrapped around her.

Carefully, she maneuvered her position, moving slowly so that she wouldn't wake him up. After all, if he woke up, she was sure that he would want to leave, and all her work to get them comfortably settled would be wasted. They were already in the dark. Spike had claimed that the last movie required his complete attention, and he had turned off the lights. The blank blue screen of the television was all that lit the room and the slight hum of the very old VCR was the only sound. She just managed to reach the remote controls where they lay on the coffee table without having to pull herself out of his embrace. Punching the necessary buttons on each of the remotes, she switched off the TV and the VCR, leaving the room silent and dark, except for the light from the streetlights shining in through the windows. <Oh, right.> she thought. <Windows. Must figure out how to take care of those, too.>

She thought about getting up to close the curtains, but decided against it. The whole purpose of the exercise was to arrange things so that she wouldn't have to leave Spike's arms. Instead, she shifted her body around so that she faced the windows. "Claudette." she whispered at the curtains, and they silently slid shut. She smiled, pleased with herself. She hadn't tried that spell before. It was nice to know that it worked. The windows didn't face east, so there probably wasn't any danger in leaving them open, but she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. It wouldn't do to wake up to a big pile of Spike-dust in the morning.

Then she pulled the throw blanket off the back of the sofa and settled it over the two of them. Facing him this time, instead of with her back to him, Willow snuggled back into extremely pleasant sensation of Spike's embrace, wrapping her arms around him, as well. Within moments, she had drifted off to sleep, her face nestled against his shoulder and covered in a contented smile.

Later, Spike's demon kicked in, automatically waking him about an hour before dawn. As he woke, he thought he was still dreaming. He had been dreaming that he was human again. When he had first been turned, he had had that dream all the time. He'd dream about being outside, in the sunlight: feeling its warmth and basking in its brightness. He didn't really miss most aspects of humanity. But he missed the sun. Well, really, what he missed was feeling warm.

Vampires aren't exactly cold; it's more like they're consistently room temperature. Of course, since most of them choose to live in crypts, room temperature usually tended to be rather cool. It's a problem that bothers most new vampires: never really being warm. Some try to combat the chill by buying electric blankets, some keep human concubines, some feed right before going to sleep, knowing that the fresh blood will keep them warm for a few hours. But electric blankets don't work very well in crypts, human concubines die too quickly, and feeding right before bed only makes you warm when you go to sleep. When you wake up, you're cold again.

After a couple of years, most vampires get used to it. It's not exactly that they enjoy being cold, it's just that it becomes harder and harder to remember what it felt like to truly be warm. How can you miss something you only barely remember? Spike was unusual in that he still dreamed about the sun, on occasion, but the dreams had become increasingly rare over the years.

That's why, when he woke up, he thought that he was still dreaming. It had been over a century since he had woken up feeling this warm. A soft, pleasant, luxurious heat had soaked into his very skin, warming him through and through. He fought against waking up, not wanting the beautiful feeling to fade. Finally, he couldn't fight it anymore. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

He was shocked to discover that the warmth didn't fade. It still surrounded him, sweet and perfect, and smelling like… Red? He looked down at her, fast asleep in his arms, and realized what had happened. They must've fallen asleep during the movie. <A right blessing, that.> he thought, relieved that he hadn't had to watch the movie after all. From the few moments of it that he had seen before falling asleep, it had proven even worse than he had feared.

He looked around, noting that the VCR and TV had been turned off. Red had obviously woken up at some point. He wondered why she hadn't woken him as well, and kicked him out while she was at it, but he was profoundly grateful that she hadn't. He smiled at the shut curtains. It was so like his witch to take care of that, take care of him, take care of anyone who would let her. He noticed the blanket she had wrapped around the two of them. With that blanket holding in her warmth, she didn't seem too cold cuddling against a corpse. She certainly didn't seem uncomfortable.

He knew he should wake her, get her off of the too-small couch and let her sleep in her bed. But really, he persuaded himself, what would that accomplish? She was comfortable. He was comfortable. The room was sun-proofed and the sun was already rising. He wouldn't have time to get back to the crypt anyway. Besides, it would be a shame to wake her when she was sleeping so peacefully. With a smile, he settled back into the couch, pulling his witch just a little closer.

He noticed another thing she had changed when she had woken up. Before, she had had her back to him, held against him solely by the grip of his arm around her waist. Now, she was facing him, her cheek nestled against his shoulder, her face only inches from his and her arms wrapped around his body. No wonder he had felt so warm when he woke up. He was, quite literally, surrounded by her. It felt amazingly good. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. He was unable to resist the temptation of her face so close to his, and he brushed a small kiss across her warm cheek. Though she remained fast asleep, she let out a little murmur of pleasure and snuggled closer to him, tightening her arms around him. With a little purr of pleasure of his own, Spike settled into her arms, and soon fell back asleep.

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