Burn for Me

Author: Emily

Parts: 41 - 50

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~Part: 41~

As Willow headed over to the crypt Friday afternoon, she was shocked to realize that they were only a day away from the end of the ritual. They had already completed the first five stages. In about an hour, after they watched `Passions,' they would complete the sixth stage, and then the next day he would drink the potion, and fight Glory. Willow shivered. She didn't like to think about it. She didn't like to think that he might get hurt. She didn't like to think about the damage Glorificus could and would inflict on his body or his mind. She didn't like to think of the danger inherent in letting the First take him over. And she didn't like to think that their friendship was one step closer to over. The deal had been straightforward: if Spike agreed to fight Glory, she would take out the chip, and Spike would leave Sunnydale. Once Spike kept his word, she would have to keep hers. And Spike would leave.

Everyone had been so pleased with the thought last Saturday. Buffy and Xander had been ready to burst into the Hallelujah chorus of Handel's "Messiah" at the thought of Spike leaving town for good. They probably still felt that way. Spike had seemed pleased with the thought, as well. She had seen the way his eyes lit up when he thought of getting out of the town that had caused all of his recent misery. He probably wouldn't even look back as he left Sunnydale, and Buffy… and Willow. Willow never thought that the idea of Spike leaving and not coming back would cause such a heart-rending ache deep inside her. <It's the bond> she tried to tell herself. <It's the bond that telling me that it would be painful to be without him.> Willow sighed. She wasn't having much luck convincing herself of that. She squared her shoulders and resolutely shook away the thought. Spike wasn't gone yet. She still had some time to enjoy his company and his friendship. When he left, she'd get over it then. She wouldn't torture herself by starting to miss him before he was even gone. However, despite her best intentions not to dwell on it, the thought of Spike leaving kept bouncing around in her mind for the next hour while she watched TV with Spike. It wasn't driven away until a few minutes after three o'clock when something happened to drive all thoughts out of her head, but one.

She should have known that it was coming. She should have prepared herself. But it simply slipped her mind. She knew that as the ritual progressed from stage to stage, the process of anointing the supplicant grew more complex. The first few days, it was fairly simple. She only had to add some of the potion on to his shirt, then his skin, then his blood. Then, on the fourth day, when she anointed his hand, there was a small, simple design she had to make, using the potion to draw on the palm of his hand. The next day, the design she made on his forehead was larger and more elaborate. A much larger and more elaborate design was for the sixth day, when she anointed his heart. She knew this. She had practiced the design on scrap paper at home so that she would be able to draw it perfectly. There was just one factor that she had forgotten. She had somehow blocked it out of her mind that she would be drawing the design on Spike's bare chest.

It wasn't like Willow had never seen a guy without his shirt on before. Her father wasn't the type to wander around the house in boxers, but she had seen him in a bathing suit a handful of times. She'd seen dozens of guys at swimming pools or mowing their lawns shirtless. There were entire summers when it got so hot that Xander went shirtless more often than not. She and Oz had dated for two years and been lovers for nearly a year. She had seen him strip off a lot more than just his shirt. She had even seen Spike without his shirt, when he gave it to her the first day of the ritual for her to anoint. And anyway, gay now! Since all she cared about was female anatomy, male anatomy shouldn't phase her. A bare chest shouldn't have had the ability to bother her. But for some reason, her highly logical and well-thought out reasoning was not quite enough to stop her from blushing when Spike took his shirt off.

Maybe she could have handled it if Spike had been acting normally. After all, there was no reason why either of them had to make a big deal out of it. It's not like she'd be feeling him up for the fun of it. It was a necessary part of the ritual. But when she told Spike what she needed him to do, she realized very quickly that "not making a big deal of it" was quickly becoming a non-option.

"Guess you'll have to undress me then, Red," he purred, noticing with satisfaction that she was already starting to blush, just from his tone of voice.

"W-w-what?"

Spike smirked. <I've got her stammering, too> he thought, with evident satisfaction.

"Still got some of this gunk on my hands, pet," Spike answered. He had helped her prepare the ingredients by cutting up a particularly sticky herb that needed to be finely sliced. Even though he washed his hands, traces of it still remained. "Wouldn't want to mess up my shirt. Better if you deal with it, don't you think?"

Spike's grin grew even wider as he watched her blush escalate with each second that passed. At the rate she was going, he figured her entire body's supply of blood would be resting in her face within a minute or so. He knew that she'd yell at him later, when he was fully dressed again and she was fully recovered, for teasing her like that, but for the moment, he was just going to enjoy it. He loved making her blush. He loved the way she stammered and tried to pull herself together, and tried to look away, and babbled a bit. And he liked most of all knowing that he was the one who made her blush like that: that the thought of taking his shirt off was capable of turning that remarkably intelligent girl into a blushing, stammering, mindless mess. It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel attractive. He had missed it. His grin softened slightly. He should have known that his Red would give him whatever he needed. She always did.

Willow was too busy trying not to look at Spike to notice when his smirk turned into a smile. She didn't know how she was going to do this. She could barely even look at him. Heaven only knew what would happen when she tried to touch him. The way her hands were shaking at the moment, removing Spike's shirt was more than she could handle. She had no clue how she was going to get through the rest of the ritual. In her current state, she'd have trouble drawing stick figures, much less the elaborate design that the ritual called for.

Spike softened even further when he saw how hard she was trying to pull herself together and how completely she was failing. It was cute and it was endearing and it was lots of fun to watch, but he didn't like the thought of making her that uncomfortable for long. He opened his mouth to tell her that he would pull off the shirt himself (after all, it was just a plain black t-shirt. He had ten more just like it. He didn't really care if it got ruined) but shut it again when he saw her resolved expression slide over her still-blushing face as she started to walk toward him.

The silence grew electric. Resolutely refusing to look him in the eye, she pulled at his t-shirt, untucking it from his jeans. With her hands still slightly shaking, she grabbed the bottom hem in both hands and starting pulling the shirt up over his chest. Neither of them spoke a word, both absorbed in the sensations.

Spike inhaled sharply when he felt the soft warmth of her fingers graze ever so slightly over his ribcage and he fought against the urge to moan. The shirt rose higher and higher. Spike was taller than Willow, so she had to step closer and closer to him as she lifted the shirt. He lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head. To get the shirt over his hands, she had to stand on tiptoe, pressing up against him. He could feel the warmth of her skin against his through the thin t-shirt she wore, and the softness of her breasts against his chest. He could hear her heartbeat pounding in his ears and smell the intoxicating scent of her nervousness mixed with the slight, growing smell of her arousal. Willow, meanwhile, was all too aware of the feel of his cold, hard body pressed almost intimately against hers and the texture of his bare skin under her fingers.

When the shirt was finally removed, everything seemed to switch to slow motion as Willow's hands slowly drifted back down his chest. Spike's hands slid to her waist to hold her steady. Willow's blush faded and she forgot to be embarrassed as her eyes lifted questioningly to his.

He wanted to kiss her. He really, really wanted to kiss her. From the look in her eyes, he didn't think she'd pull away. She'd let him kiss her, and maybe even kiss him back. He could wrap his arms around her body and feel every inch of her pressed up against him and explore all the sweetness he knew he'd find in the taste of her mouth. And then… and then… and then…

Nothing.

There was no point in continuing the fantasy. No matter how much he wanted her, there was too much that could go wrong if he seized the moment and took her to his bed. She could get angry or scared, and push him away. He'd lose her friendship. She could run away from him and tell the slayer. He'd get staked. Even if everything went perfectly and they both enjoyed everything they found together, the morning after would break her heart. His Red deserved more than a one night stand, and as long as he still loved Buffy and she still loved Tara, that's all it could be. She was lonely and hurting and if he touched her, she probably wouldn't stop him, but after it was over, she'd be left feeling hurt and betrayed. He could never do that to her. She looked up at him with those innocently questioning green eyes, so obviously willing to accept anything he might say or do and he couldn't bear the thought of betraying that trust. The silence grew uncomfortable, and Willow dropped her eyes, embarrassed. With an unnecessary sigh, Spike pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then pulled away.

Willow opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, and started to take a step forward to reach out and touch his arm, when she was interrupted by the feel of something vibrating in her pocket. Her cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Wills." Buffy. Damn. Of all the inconvenient timing… "Can I borrow your pink sweater tonight?"

"My pink sweater? The fuzzy, button up one? I thought you hated that sweater."

"I don't hate it, it just isn't my kind of thing."

"Then why do you want to borrow it?"

"Bronze tonight is a sock hop! Don't you remember? I thought your sweater would look cute with that white blouse my grandmother sent me and that full blue skirt I got at Nordstrom's to go with my wrap- around top, remember? I got it in black, too. You can borrow it if you want. It would look nice with your red sleeveless shirt. Very 1950s."

Willow snuck a glance over to Spike. He was rummaging through a pile of things, still shirtless, pointedly avoiding looking at her.

"I don't know, Buffy. I was kinda thinking I'd skip the Bronze tonight." A little static crackled while she spoke, breaking up the connection. Apparently, her phone didn't get very good reception in a crypt.

"Where are you, Wills? I can barely hear you," Buffy asked, apparently having noticed the same thing.

"I'm at Spike's."

"Oh," Buffy answered. It was a single syllable, but her voice lost all of its warm enthusiasm. "What are you doing there?"

"The ritual."

"Whatever. Anyway, what's this about skipping the Bronze?"

"Are you sure it's a good idea? I mean, tomorrow's the big day. Don't you think we'd be better off getting a good night's sleep?"

"Pfft. We aren't meeting tomorrow until 3:00. We can have a good day's sleep, tomorrow, instead. Besides, tomorrow we're going to save the world. Tonight we should party. Seize the day! Live in the now! Go for the—"

"Alright, Buffy! Alright! I'll come to the Bronze tonight. When were you planning to get there?"

"Why don't you grab your things, and your sweater for me to borrow, and come over here around six-ish? We can have some dinner and then get dressed together."

"Okay, Buffy. I'll see you at six."

"Oh, and call me before you head over! I want you looking at your shoe selection so I can tell you which ones you should wear. And then I can help you pick out the jewelry and maybe—"

"Buffy, I need to go. I'll call you later."

"What's your rush? Why would anyone be so anxious to get back to Spike?"

"I have a world-saving ritual that I need to perform now, Buffy. Fashion advice can wait."

"Fine, fine, fine. I'll talk to you later!"

"Bye, Buffy." Willow rolled her eyes as she put away her phone. "Sorry about that," she quietly apologized to Spike.

"S'alright, Red. I know how the slayer gets. So," he said, trying, and failing, to force the awkward moment away, "where do you want me?"

"You'd better lie down for this," Willow answered. "I don't want the design to run while I apply it."

Nodding his head, Spike went over to the bed and lay down. Willow seated herself next to him with the cauldron containing the potion. With gentle, tentative hands, she traced the design on his skin. Spike grinned when he realized that she was, ever so slightly, blushing again.

"What is that? It feels like something's vibrating," Willow asked, curiously, looking up and around the room. It was Spike's turn to blush. Or rather, it was Spike's turn to look embarrassed. He was incapable of blushing.

"Um… I… ah, think it's me, Red. It's just that… well… it felt kind of nice what you were doing, and I…"

"You were… what?"

"Purring."

"Oh," Willow answered, blushing again. "I… um… made you purr?"

"Yeah."

"That's a… um… good thing, right?"

"Yes, Red, that's a very good thing."

"Well," she replied, "good. I'm glad I made you happy."

Spike couldn't help himself. He grabbed the hand that was still gently tracing over his chest and raised it to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss against the back of her hand.

"You always make me happy, Red."

Willow's fingers were still coated with the potion, so she responded by stroking the back of her hand gently against his cheek.

"You make me happy, too, Spike."

And after that, they stayed silent as she drew the rest of the complicated design. The silence was no longer uncomfortable.

~Part: 42~

Willow sat at the table in the Bronze, nursing her Diet Coke and idly playing with the end of the black ribbon in her hair while she watched her friends dance. It had been a while since she had seen them all look so happy. Anya had really gotten into the retro thing, digging out an authentic poodle skirt from heaven only knows where, along with a beat up pair of saddle shoes. With her hair carefully pinned up at the sides and her cardigan sweater, she looked the perfect image of the 1950s girl. She even got Xander in the spirit, forcing him into a pair of tight jeans and a white t-shirt with his hair slicked back. They were dancing wrapped in each other's arms and as Willow watched, Anya whispered something into Xander's ear that made him smile. Willow was glad to see her friend so happy. Anya truly seemed to complete Xander, in a bizarre, Hellmouthy, wonderful kind of way.

But it was Buffy who was really glowing. Willow's eyes softened as she looked at her friend. She was slow-dancing with Ben, the intern at Sunnydale General she had met when her mom spent time in the hospital. Willow had seen the smile on his face when he spotted Buffy entering the club. He seemed like a nice guy and was definitely interested in Buffy. Buffy looked happy in his arms. Willow knew that her friend still missed Riley, but it was pretty obvious that the commando had left for good. Buffy seemed ready to move on. She had, in fact, casually mentioned Ben five or six times while she and Willow were getting ready earlier that evening. Willow was happy for her. After all that Buffy had been through the past year, she deserved a little happiness. Willow even found room to forgive Buffy the torturous hour the blonde had spent fixing Willow's hair and make- up, and forcing her into the rather revealing outfit she had chosen. Willow mentally resolved to have one more drink with her friends, and then head home where she could change into some sweats. Maybe she'd call Spike. He had given her the number to his cell phone

"Rosenberg?"

Willow turned.

"Percy?"

"Hey, I thought it was you." Willow smiled a little uncertainly as Percy seated himself in the chair next to her. She and Percy had gotten along well enough in high school once her alternate dimension vampire self taught him some respect, but she still felt a little uneasy around him. It still hurt when she remembered the conversation she had overheard between him and his girlfriend at the frat party the year before. He had called her the captain of the nerd squad, and said he wasn't interested in her because he liked his women hot. And then when she had ducked into a bedroom to cry over what she had overheard, she stumbled across a dead body. It hadn't been a good night, and she hadn't seen Percy since.

"So, um, where's Laurie?"

"Laurie?" Percy asked, looking confused. "Oh, I forgot that the two of you met. We're not together anymore."

"Oh. I'm… um… sorry to hear that." Willow hadn't liked the girl, but she wouldn't wish a bad break-up on anybody. Well, maybe Harmony. But no one else.

"Don't be. It happened a while ago. Are you here with Oz?"

"No, Oz moved away last year."

"Geez, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have brought it up if I'd known—"

"Percy, it's okay. Don't worry about it. Like you said, it happened a while ago. So what are you doing around here?"

"It's my mom's birthday tomorrow and she's having a big party. I don't have any Friday classes, so I decided to drive down early. Thought I'd stop in here and see what was happening, but you're the first person I've seen that I know. Also wish I'd known it was going to be period night here. I'm not really dressed for it."

"You look fine," Willow assured him.

"You look nice," he replied. "Stand up and let me see the whole thing." Smiling slightly, Willow stood and did a slow turn, letting Percy see her outfit from every angle. <I didn't know Percy was that interested in 1950s clothes> she thought to herself as she watched his eyes slowly scan her with obvious approval. <But he certainly is taking in every detail of my outfit.>

"Wanna dance?" he asked, standing as well and offering her his hand.

"Well, I… um…" Willow searched for the words to turn him down politely, and then stopped herself. She had broken herself of the habit of dancing with anyone but the Scoobies because it made Tara uncomfortable, but she wasn't with Tara anymore. She could dance with whomever she wanted. Not that she particularly wanted to dance with Percy, but it would be easier than sitting around trying to make conversation. The way he was staring at her was making her a little nervous. If they were dancing, she wouldn't have to talk. "Alright," she answered, taking his offered hand.

They danced the next few songs together. Willow had to admit; Percy was just as graceful on the dance floor as he was on the football field. She enjoyed the dances more than she had expected. By the time that Willow insisted on taking a break, the others had returned to the table. Willow expected Percy to wander off at this point; she had noticed some other people from their graduating class wander in, and figured Percy would want to talk to them, but instead, he went back to the table with her, pulling up a chair and joining in the conversation. Buffy spent the next five minutes trying to catch Willow's eye so that she could ask her, in that nonverbal code known to all best friends, what was going on with her and Percy, but Willow was oblivious. Finally, Buffy dragged Willow to the ladies room "to freshen up" so she could cross-examine her friend and figure out what was going on. Willow assured her that Percy was just happy to see a friendly face after not recognizing anyone else at the Bronze. Buffy was unconvinced, but agreed to let the subject drop.

<Whether she's interested in him or not, he's obviously interested in her.> Buffy thought as they headed back to the table. She hadn't missed the way that Percy's eyes followed Willow as she crossed the room. <Maybe he'd be good for her. Sure, he's not that bright, and he and Willow don't really have anything in common, and he's been really mean to her in the past, but that was a long time ago. Besides, he certainly seems to like her now. And he'd be better for her than Spike.> Determined to encourage Percy in his pursuit of Willow, Buffy flashed him what she considered to be a supportive smile when they reached the table. Percy, naturally, had no idea what she was grinning about, but he didn't really care, either. His focus was solely on Willow. He was just dragging her back out to the dance floor when Spike walked in.

His eyes immediately went to the Scoobies' usual table. Buffy was still there, with Ben and Anya. Xander had gone to get more drinks. An amber spark flashed in Spike's eyes when he saw the way Buffy had settled herself into Ben's arms. <She doesn't even know the prick> he thought to himself <but she'll wrap herself all around him when she won't even let me touch her.> Growling slightly, he forced his eyes away, searching for his Red. Seeing her would make him feel better.

It didn't take him long to spot that distinctive red hair. His growling grew a bit louder and the amber spark expanded when he saw her step on to the dance floor with some overgrown moron who had his arm wrapped around her waist. He was holding her very close, and she didn't seem to be complaining. Spike bit back the urge to storm over to them and drag them apart until they had at least a foot of space between them while they danced. He wasn't her father, what did he care if she wanted to let some idiot with roving hands plaster himself against her? She was wasting her self on the jerk, absolutely throwing herself away, but if she wanted to, then it was her choice. He wouldn't stop her from making a fool of herself over a worthless pretty boy.

He headed over to the bar. It was time to break back in his drinking skills. He hadn't had a drink all week. His Red had become his cure for depression. But since she was too busy dancing with the idiotic looking boy-toy to spend time with Spike, he'd have to return to his older remedy. He threw some cash on the bar and told the bartender to get him a shot glass, and a bottle.

Willow felt it through the bond the moment Spike walked in. Her eyes found him quickly. He was staring at Buffy with an intensified version of his usual look of pain and desire. It wasn't difficult to figure out why, considering the way Buffy had wrapped herself around Ben. Willow ached to go over to him and comfort him but Percy, oblivious to her distraction, chose that moment to pull her into his arms. By the time she got herself straightened out, Spike had headed over to the bar. Willow tried to return her focus to Percy, at least until the song ended, but her eyes kept returning to Spike. In the middle of the song, she quietly excused herself and headed over to the bar.

Willow seated herself on the barstool next to Spike and waited for him to look up. He didn't. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the top of the bar, and his bottle of Scotch. He didn't even acknowledge that she was there. He looked crushed. It hurt her to see him like that. She searched desperately for something she could say, something she could do to make him feel better, but she couldn't come up with a thing. She couldn't change the fact that Spike loved Buffy, or that Buffy wanted nothing to do with him. Willow wanted to hug him hard and tell him that she'd always be there for him and prove to him that just because Buffy was too much of an idiot to appreciate his love, that didn't mean that he had to be alone. But she knew that Spike would never allow himself to show emotion in public. If she tried to hug him, he'd probably push her away. She watched him gulp down another shot of Scotch, and tried desperately to come up with some way she could comfort him. Finally, a solution appeared.

"Spike," she whispered, touching him gently on the shoulder. He didn't turn, but she could tell that he knew she was there. Her hand slid from his shoulder, down his arm, to his hand. She grabbed it in hers. "Dance with me, Spike?"

He turned and looked at her in surprise. After a moment, he nodded, and stood. She led him over to the dance floor and slid her arms around him, snuggling in against him and resting her cheek against his shoulder. His arms slid around her waist and he started rocking her gently back and forth to the music.

"You can dance-every dance with the guyWho gives you the eye, let him hold you tightYou can smile-every smile for the manWho held your hand `neath the candle lightBut don't forget who's taking you homeAnd in whose arms you're gonna beSo darling, save the last dance for me"

Spike felt the tension start to drain out of him. He held Willow close, resting his cheek against the top of her head and breathing in her scent. Smelling his claim on her always soothed his demon. His arms tightened around her ever so slightly and he wondered why his mess of an unlife always seemed a little easier, a little gentler, a little better when she was with him.

"Oh I know that the music's fineLike sparkling wine, go and have your funLaugh and sing, but while we're apartDon't give your heart to anyoneCause don't forget who's taking you homeAnd in whose arms you're gonna beSo darling, save the last dance for me"

They turned slightly and Spike caught sight of the Scooby table again. Xander kept glancing over at them with an uneasy look on his face, but the things that Anya was whispering in his ear while she squirmed on his lap seemed to make it difficult for him to concentrate. Anya grinned at Spike and winked, before returning her focus to distracting Xander. Buffy focused half her attention on flirting with the moron she had draped herself around, and the other half on shooting Spike death glares over the boy's shoulder. The other boy was still seated at the table, with his eyes glued to Willow. Spike felt the unaccountable urge to cover her up, turn her around, hide her from the other boy's eyes. He shouldn't be allowed to look at *his* Red like that.

"Baby don't you know I love you soCan't you feel it when we touchI will never, never let you goI love you, oh so much"

"So who was the idiot you were dancing with when I came in, Red?"

"Oh, that's Percy. I used to tutor him in high school."

"Tutoring? Is that what you crazy kids are calling it these days? What did you tutor him in, pet? French?"

"No," Willow shook her head, confused, "history."

Spike laughed. "Just wondering if he fancied you even then, Red."

"Fancied me?" Willow asked, looking even more confused. "You mean you thought he was interested in me? Not a chance. Percy never gave me a second look."

"Well, he's certainly looking now."

"You can dance, go and carry onTill the night is goneAnd it's time to goIf he asks if you're all aloneCan he take you home, you must tell him no'Cause don't forget who's taking you homeAnd in whose arms you're gonna beSo darling, save the last dance for me"

Willow glanced over to Percy. He certainly did seem to be watching her. Bizarre. She shrugged it off. She never spent much time thinking about the popular crowd when she was in high school, and she certainly wasn't going to waste any thought on them now. She didn't care what Percy thought.

"If he wants to keep watching me then he'll be watching the door, in a minute. I'm planning to head home at the end of the song."

Spike glanced over to the table as well. His face tightened when he saw that Buffy had shifted herself on to Ben's lap, and he flinched as Buffy whispered something in Ben's ear. Ben smiled and Buffy giggled, and then placed a soft string of kisses from Ben's cheek over to his lips. A shiver of pure pain that made him physically shudder shot through Spike. The kiss wasn't deep or erotic, it wasn't even as passionate as the kiss that Spike and Buffy had shared in the crypt only a few days earlier, but it was a kiss with potential. It was a kiss designed to lead up to something more. It was a kiss that showed that Buffy wanted something more… with Ben.

Willow felt Spike shudder and leaned back a bit so that she could look him in the eye. She was momentarily confused by the tense expression on his face. He had seemed so relaxed just a minute ago. Her confusion faded as she followed his gaze back to the table. "Neither of us really have any reason to stay," she stated, very, very gently. "Wanna walk me home?"

Spike's smile in return was soft and slightly bitter. "Are you asking because you really want to leave, or because you're trying to spare me from having to look," he nodded in the direction of Buffy and Ben "at that," he spat.

"You try dancing in Buffy's shoes for an hour and see if you don't grab any opportunity to leave," Willow retorted. "Her feet are half a size smaller than mine, but she insisted that none of my shoes would work with this outfit." Spike managed a tight smile in return. "I'm not asking out of pity, Spike," Willow continued, softly. "I really want to leave. And I really want to take you with me." She raised her hand to his face, gently turning it so that his eyes were focused on her and not on Buffy. "Please, Spike? Walk me home?"

"`Cause don't forget who's taking you homeAnd in whose arms you're gonna be"

"Alright, Red. Let's go home."

"So darling, save the last dance for meSave the last dance for meSave the last dance for me....."

~Part: 43~

Willow told Spike to wait for her outside while she grabbed her purse and sweater. To her surprise and relief, he obeyed. She figured that the less time Spike spent in the same room with Buffy, the better. Besides, she wanted to get out of there as quickly and as painlessly as possible, before she lost her temper and yelled at Buffy. Even though Buffy was obviously interested in Ben, making out with someone she barely knew in the Bronze simply wasn't Buffy's style, no matter how interested she was. Buffy had only done it because Spike was watching. Willow knew that Buffy would do anything to discourage Spike's affections for her, but her actions lately had been downright cruel. More than Spike's sadness, more than Percy's slightly disconcerting persistence, more than her aching feet, Buffy's behavior made Willow want to leave. She wanted to just grab her stuff and run, but she knew that wasn't an option. Her friends would expect some kind of explanation. Sighing, she headed over to the table.

Buffy's face lit up and she winked at the oblivious Percy when she saw Spike walk to the door while Willow returned to the table. She was pretty proud of herself. She knew that Spike was stubborn, but she had gambled that not even *he* would be able to stomach sitting around the Bronze and watching her make out with someone else, and the results had proven her right. Now that Spike was leaving, she could finally start setting Willow up with Percy. The smile melted into confusion when she saw Willow start to gather her things. They had finally gotten rid of Spike. The party could really begin now. Why was Willow leaving?

"Willow? Where are you going?"

"Home," Willow answered, succinctly. Her smile looked apologetic, but her voice was firm and her expression was resolved. There was no way they were talking her into staying. "I'll stop by your place tomorrow and return your clothes."

"But it's still early! Why would you want to go home now?"

"Buffy, I'm tired, my feet hurt, I have a headache, and I have a lot that I need to get done tomorrow. I'm ready to head home." Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but Willow cut her off before she had the chance. "Spike said he'd walk me, so you don't have to worry about me heading home by myself. Stay here and have a good time. When I come by tomorrow, you can tell me all about everything that I missed. Percy, it was really nice to see you. Tell your mom happy birthday for me, and that I hope she has a nice party. Ben, it was nice to meet you again. Guys, I'll see you tomorrow at three o'clock, just like we planned. Have fun, and goodnight!"

For once, Willow was truly pleased that she had developed her babbling skills to such an extent. Thanks to all her years of practice, she managed to get all of that out practically in one breath, not leaving any of the others the chance to interrupt. She very nearly made a clean getaway. Nearly. But not quite.

"Rosenb— Willow, wait!" Percy managed to grab her arm before she could scoot away. Damn those athlete reflexes. "About the party tomorrow. Would you like to come? Mom said I could invite some friends. It's a big blow out for her fortieth birthday. Lots of food, tons of people, live band, we're even setting up a dance floor." His fingers moved gently against her arm, caressed caressing it slightly, and his voice grew softer, more intimate. "We didn't get to finish our dance."

Willow glanced over desperately to her friends, hoping one of them could bail her out with some kind of excuse. She had always been lousy at coming up with cover stories to disguise their world save- age activities. After all, she could hardly say `Sorry, Percy, but I already have plans for tomorrow night. I'll be busy for most of the evening defeating a hell goddess and all of her lumpy minions.'

Percy misinterpreted her look, and remembered his manners. "You're all invited, if you'd like to come. It should be nice; my mom goes all out on these things."

"Sounds great!" Buffy squealed, enthusiastically, grinning widely. "We'd love to come, wouldn't we, guys?"

"Buffy!" Willow hissed.

"What?" Buffy answered, truly oblivious.

"We have plans tomorrow, remember?"

"What plans? Come on, Willow, this party sounds like fun."

Willow sighed in frustration. When Buffy was buzzed on a couple of drinks and a cute guy, she tended to push all slayage thoughts from her head. It was a dangerous habit.

"We're supposed to meet Spike at three o'clock, remember? He's going to take us to see… that girl, remember?"

"Oh." Buffy's smile faded as the memory returned. "Right. I forgot. We have to meet Spike. Does it have to be tomorrow? Couldn't we… reschedule?"

"No, Buffy," Willow sighed. "We can't reschedule." <No matter how many times I explain it to her, she never seems to understand that certain rituals can only be performed in certain phases of the moon. Buffy may be able to command every male on earth, but even she can't control the moon.>

"But if you're meeting this Spike guy at three o'clock, then you might be able to make it to the party," Percy suggested. "It doesn't start till eight o'clock."

"I really don't think it will work out, Percy, but thanks for the invitation," Willow answered with a tight smile, slowly backing away. She wasn't going to make the same mistake this time. By the time she finished her monologue, she wanted to be out of arm's reach. "Buffy will explain. I should be going now; Spike's waiting for me. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Good night!" She had backed away enough at this point, so she turned and rushed for the door before they could grab her again. This time, she got away.

For a moment after she left, the table was silent.

"So the party doesn't start until eight o'clock, huh?"

"Buffy!" Xander exclaimed. "You don't really think that—"

"Well, like Percy said, we're meeting Spike at three o'clock. It shouldn't take us all *that* long. We should still have time to get cleaned up and to the party by a little after eight o'clock. We could be fashionably late." She turned to Percy. "Is this party black tie?" Percy nodded. Buffy turned to Ben. "Do you have a tux?" Ben nodded. "Great!" Buffy continued. "I have the perfect dress. I've been waiting for a chance to wear it."

Buffy gave a little smile of satisfaction. Tomorrow night, they'd destroy Glory, getting rid of the big, bad evil hanging over their heads, and then they could go and blow off some steam at a nice party with free food and a live band. She'd get to wear her new dress, she'd get to see Ben in a tux, she'd get Willow away from Spike, and maybe she could even fix Willow up with Percy! It would be perfect. Absolutely perfect. Her satisfied smile grew as she leaned back against Ben and relaxed in his arms.

Meanwhile, Willow joined Spike outside. He smiled when he saw her exit, and tossed his cigarette to the side.

"Shall we, pet?" he asked, sliding his arm around her shoulders. She nodded in reply, slipping her arm around his waist and nestling closer into his side. Touching him had become so natural, it was almost automatic. A combination of the bond, their developing friendship, and their inherent mutual need to touch and be touched meant that holding Spike's hand, or leaning against him, or settling herself into his arms at every opportunity felt as instinctively natural as breathing.

She was glad to be away from the noise and the chaos of the Bronze, gladder still to be away from the upsetting behavior of her friends, and gladdest of all to be headed to home and safety and peace and quiet with Spike, but she still couldn't completely relax. Spike was probably still upset over Buffy's behavior. She wished she could think of something to say to make it all better. She hated the thought of Spike hurting. She opened her mouth to apologize for Buffy, but Spike's arm pulled her closer against him, leaving his hand free to slide over her mouth. She looked up at him in surprise, and saw that he was watching her with that slow, lazy, dangerous grin that sent tingles up her spine, in a purely platonic way, of course.

"Were you planning to apologize for the slayer, Red?" Spike didn't move his hand from her mouth, so Willow was forced to nod her response.

"You know she did it on purpose?" Again, Willow nodded.

"And you know she's not sorry? In fact, she's probably pretty proud of herself." Reluctantly, Willow nodded a third time.

Spike stopped walked and turned Willow so that she was facing him. The grin was gone from his face and his expression was serious. He kept his hand covering her mouth. It was very important that he say this, and he wanted to make absolutely sure that she would not interrupt.

"And you know that it's not your fault? You know that there's nothing you could say and nothing you could do to make her treat me any differently?" Slowly, reluctantly, Willow nodded again. Spike took his hand off of her mouth, moving it over to stroke her hair gently, tucking it behind her ear.

"I just hate to see you hurting, Spike," she admitted, softly.

"I know, Red," he answered continuing to stroke her hair. "But you make it better. You always make it better."

"I do?" she asked, smiling.

"Absolutely," he answered. "This friendship thing is great; I should have tried it years ago," he stated, grinning, determined to break up the far-too-serious mood. Willow giggled, and Spike slid his arm back around her shoulders, pulling her back against him as they began to walk.

They were about a block from her house when Willow spoke again, her eyes carefully averted and a forced casualness to her tone.

"Spike?"

"Yes, love?"

"What if I offered you another trade?"

"A trade?"

"Something you want for something I want."

"And what do you have that I want?"

Willow shrugged, continuing to avoid his eyes. "A comfortable bed, TV with cable and a VCR and free blood?"

"Sounds pretty good. And what do you want in return?"

Willow nestled a little closer to him as she worked up the courage to answer. When she spoke again, her voice was halfway muffled in his shirt. Without vampire hearing, he wouldn't have been able to hear her.

"Stay with me tonight?"

"Of course, Red. I was thinking we'd watch that movie you told me about with the bloke that—"

"Not just for a movie. Could you… could you stay all night? I mean, we're doing the ritual tomorrow, and I'm nervous about it, and I'm scared about Glory and afraid that you'll get hurt and afraid that the whole mess won't work and it will be my fault and I just hate the thought of staying in my house all day long by myself with nothing to do but worry, and—"

"I'd love to stay," Spike answered, cutting off her babble.

"Really?" Willow asked, looking up, at last.

Spike smiled at the eagerness of her tone. "Yes, pet. Really."

"Good," she answered, sighing in relief. They walked in silence for another minute.

"So this trade includes free blood?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "Yes, Spike."

"Any chance of getting some hot chocolate with that?"

Willow giggled. "Yes, Spike."

"And cable? I forgot you had cable; we always end up watching video tapes."

"Yes, Spike."

Spike nodded, smiling. "Good trade."

Willow tightened her arm slightly around his waist and snuggled even closer. "Yes, Spike."

~Part: 44~

When the gang showed up at Willow's house at three o'clock the next afternoon, she put them straight to work cutting the herbs for the potion. For this final application, she needed to anoint designs on Spike's chest, his forehead, the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet and still have enough potion left for him to drink before the incantation. It would take a lot of potion. Hence, a lot of carefully prepared herbs. Besides, as long as they were concentrating on cutting the herbs and Willow was (giving the appearance of) concentrating on accurately measuring and combining the ingredients, they couldn't ask her why they were meeting at her house instead of Spike's crypt… and why Spike was obviously wearing the same clothes from the day before and looking far too familiar with his surroundings.

By four o'clock, the potion was finally ready. Giles and Buffy headed into the kitchen to wash the sticky, smelly traces of the herbs off of their hands. Xander and Anya headed into the bathroom to wash their hands and have a pre-world-save-age grope, while they had the chance. Willow settled herself comfortably on the floor while Spike stripped off everything but his jeans.

"Where do you want me, Red?" he asked. Once again he was shirtless, as the ritual required. But this time, Willow didn't allow herself to get distracted. She was too worried about everything to enjoy the sight.

"Lie down here," Willow answered, motioning in front of herself. Spike obeyed, stretching out in front of her, and flashing her a grin. She didn't notice. Spike reached out and grabbed her hand, his smile disappearing when he felt it shaking in his.

"Need anything, pet?" he asked gently.

"Could use a little courage," Willow replied, trying to smile, and failing.

Spike sat up and snagged his duster from where he had thrown it across the back of a chair, pulling something out of one of the pockets and pressing it into her hand. Willow looked down at it. A flask. <I should have known,> she thought to herself as a true smile blossomed on her face.

"The real kind," Willow stated, pushing the flask back into his hand. She squeezed his hand gently. "But thanks."

Spike nodded, and put the flask away. The flask had sort of worked. At least it had made her smile. And her hands weren't trembling anymore.

"Promise me something, Spike?" she asked, very, very softly.

"Anything, Red. Just name it."

She shook her head.

"How can I promise you something if you won't tell me what it is?"

Willow shook her head again. "Just promise me," she whispered.

"Alright," he answered, after a few moments had passed. "I promise."

She smiled gratefully, and then surprised him by leaning forward and brushing her lips softly against his.

As far as kisses go, it wasn't anything very special. Contact lasted for less than a second and there was nothing terribly passionate about it. It wasn't a kiss of love or even lust. It was, quite simply, pure affection and friendship. It told him that she cared about him, in a way that was outside of bonds and rituals and promises and trades. And that was enough to bring Spike closer than he had been in a century to tears. He wanted to say something, wanting to do something, to show that he felt the same way. He wanted to let her know how much her sudden, unexpected friendship had come to mean to him. But he didn't know what to say or what to do. Friendship was a new thing to him and he was still uncertain how to express it.

Her eyes met his as he struggled for a course of action, and she smiled. "It's okay," she said. "I understand."

She didn't speak again as she began anointing him with the potion. Spike didn't speak anymore, either. Everything that needed to be spoken had already been said. Even Giles, Buffy, Xander and Anya respected the silence when they returned to the room. Everyone seemed to understand that it was a sacred moment. Words would only intrude. The ritual had begun.

It took Willow nearly an hour to anoint Spike with all the necessary designs. When she finished, she reached over and grabbed his shirt to hand to him. It was the one she had anointed the first day of the ritual. She had gone by the crypt earlier that afternoon to pick it up. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers for a moment, thinking of all that had happened since that first day, then she forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand. As Spike finished getting dressed, Willow lit the candles and prepared the final portion of the potion. Wordlessly, she handed the glass to Spike. He took it, grinned at her with that trademark smirk that made something clench in her heart, and then threw his head back and drank it down in a single gulp.

The glass dropped from his suddenly nerveless hand and shattered as it hit the floor. Spike nearly screamed as he doubled over at the rush of pain that shot through him. He felt like he was being torn apart, ripped open, seared through and through. His eyes slammed shut and he forced ragged breaths in and out of his lungs, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to push his mind beyond the pain. His hands clenched so tightly into fists that his nails pierced the skin, the blood from his hands mixing with the designs anointed onto his palms. Spike forced his eyes open, then quickly shut them again. It was pointless to leave them open; his eyes were swimming. He couldn't see a damn thing; everything was a blur. He vamped, calling on all the strength of his demon to give him the willpower to get through this. It helped, a little. The demon was, at least, able to orient him in the right direction. Facing east, he hissed the incantation through clenched fangs, thankful he had memorized the repetitious passage days before. He turned south next, muttering the appropriate words, then west, then north.

Instead of flaring, the way they had before when the incantation was finished, the candles seemed to explode. The light that shot out of each of them was pure white and so bright that the humans, in spite of themselves, turned away, blinded by its radiance. Spike felt a rush of power go through him, a thousand times stronger than anything he had ever felt before, and then came the fiery sensation, like holy water or daylight, magnified to a mind-dazzling extent, like walking on the face of the sun, ripping through him. Never in over a century had he ever imagined such pain. He screamed, a high-pitched, unearthly sound, as shattering as the candle light had become blinding. For a moment it seemed that time froze.

Then it ended.

The sound stopped abruptly at the same moment that the light went out. After a few seconds, the humans opened their eyes and uncovered their ears to see Spike still inside the circle created by the four candles that had blown themselves out. He was crumpled on the floor, silent and completely motionless. The palm of his hand lay facing up, and Willow saw, when she looked closely, that the design she had made on his hand was glowing red, like it was being burnt into his skin with a branding iron. She shivered, and stepped away. At that moment, the hand moved.

Slowly, carefully, Spike's body stood. Spike's *body*, not Spike, because it was clear from the way that body held itself, the way it moved, and the expression on its face that Spike was no longer there. The First had arrived. The body that used to be Spike turned to face them, its blue eyes focusing on Willow.

"Witch," it said, the word sounding like a term of respect in the strangely resonant, unearthly voice that, like the expression, held nothing of Spike in it, "your petition has been granted." Willow nodded, unable to speak.

The eyes shifted from Willow to encompass the rest of the group. "Are you ready?" it asked. They nodded. "Good," it said. "Follow." Without another word or a backward glance, the First exited the house and headed into the streets of Sunnydale. Hastily, the rest of them gathered their weapons and rushed to follow it.

"Well, not exactly the St. Crispin's Day speech, was it?" Willow said to Giles, trying to smile. It didn't seem right, somehow, for the Scoobies to be so solemn before going off to battle the Big Bad. At least someone should be trying to make a joke. Spike would, if he was there. But he wasn't there.

"We few..." Giles answered, shouldering a bag of weapons.

"...we happy few," Willow continued.

"We band of buggered," Giles muttered, under his breath.

In spite of herself, Willow laughed. "Sounds like something Spike would say," she stated.

Giles smiled back at her. "Yes," he answered, "it rather does, doesn't it?" She nodded, wistfully. "He'll be fine, Willow," he said, gently.

"I know," she answered, smiling slightly.

<He'll be fine,> she repeated to herself, silently. <After all, he promised.>

~Part: 45~

Willow felt oddly detached as she watched the fight play out. It didn't seem quite real, somehow. It felt more like a dream, or a movie reel, or some sort of magical illusion: realistic, but not genuine. Everyone played their parts perfectly. The First, as planned, led them directly to Glory. As soon as they arrived, Willow concentrated all of her energy on making a magical barrier, surrounding the area immediately around Glory and the First so that no outside forces could interfere in their personal fight. Glory, recognizing her opponent, knew that if she did not walk away from this battle victorious, she would not be walking away. Unlike her skirmishes with Buffy, she didn't bother with small talk or chit chat. Instead, she focused all her strength and energy to throw absolutely everything that she had at the body that looked like Spike. The battle began.

Meanwhile, Buffy, Giles, Xander and Anya concentrated on fighting off the minions who swarmed out in droves to protect their mistress. Fortunately, they weren't very good fighters. Their strengths lay more in bowing and scraping and coming up with ridiculously extravagant ways to build Glory's ego. Buffy knocked them down like bowling pins. She barely even broke a sweat. Even Xander, Anya and Giles seemed to have no trouble holding their own. Willow didn't bother to watch them. She knew they could handle themselves, and that they were fully capable of making sure that she was protected so that she could concentrate on her barrier spell. Instead, she watched the fight between Glory and the First.

It was mesmerizing, in a strange kind of way. Willow had always been in awe of Buffy's fights with vampires and demons when the slayer and her opponent moved with supernatural speed, but even Buffy's honed, skilled movements seemed slow and clumsy in comparison to this fight. Both fighters moved with lightning speed, unparalleled precision, and astonishing grace. Though they had never fought each other before, their movements seemed as perfectly choreographed as a ballet. If it hadn't been so terrifyingly lethal, it would have been beautiful.

They didn't bother with weapons. The fight was hand to hand, up close and personal, with no rules, no restraints, and no holds barred. Willow's eyes weren't fast enough to follow the individual blows, but even she could tell that they were both bloody and bruised very quickly after the fighting began. The First seemed stronger, but Glory was definitely the more desperate of the two. After an hour, Willow could tell that they were both injured. But they did not stop, and they did not slow down. The fight went into its second hour.

The sun had been low in the sky when the battle began, the presence of the First protecting Spike's body from damage from the sun. The sun had fully set and the moon was visible long before the fighting ended. The dome shaped barrier surrounding the fighters that Willow had constructed took on a strange sort of glow when the moonlight hit it, shining against the darkness, giving Buffy and the others the light that they needed to fight, and spotlighting the battle that the barrier itself enclosed.

As Willow watched, mesmerized, three things happened in quick succession. Glory, broken past the ability to cling to control of her mortal body, shifted into Ben. With cool efficiency, the First wrapped its arms around Ben's body and calmly snapped his neck. With the battle over, the First immediately vacated Spike's body, and both bodies hit the ground at the same moment. After all the fears and rituals and preparations, the destruction of Glory was almost anti- climatic. The Scoobies, engrossed in their personal battles with the minions, didn't even realize that the main fight was over. They didn't turn around until they heard Willow scream.

Willow couldn't describe the sheer panic that hit her when she saw Spike's body hit the ground. She didn't even realize that she had screamed. Her only thought was that the battle that had destroyed Glory had destroyed Spike as well. She ran towards him, enraged beyond belief when she hit the barrier that she, herself, had constructed. Beyond all rational thought, she couldn't think clearly enough to dissolve the barrier, and pounded on it instead, tears streaming down her face, as she fought desperately to get to Spike. Fortunately, without her concentration giving it strength, the barrier quickly melted away. With speed she didn't know she possessed, she ran to Spike's side.

To say that Spike looked bad would be like saying that fields of slaughter with the dead stacked like cordwood looked bad. Spike didn't merely look bad. He looked destroyed. The combination of the battle combined with the impact of the ritual itself and the devastating shock of the First leaving his body had caused an unprecedented amount of damage. If his body hadn't been recognizable by process of elimination, Willow wouldn't have known it was him. Some of the blood covering him was his, some was Glory's. Willow couldn't tell the difference. All she knew was that he was bloodstained, battered and bruised and probably broken in more than a few places, and lying very, very still. The First, like Glory, had powers and strengths that surpassed the merely physical. The injuries the two of them sustained did not distract them from their fight. The First's goal had been to destroy Glory. Nothing else mattered, not even protecting the body that served the First as a vessel. But once the First left Spike's body, all the injuries on his body came crashing in on him all at once. It's not surprising that he fainted.

Willow was kneeling by his side, frantically checking his body for the extent of his injuries, when the rest of the gang joined her, abandoning their fights with the minions. Truth be told, there wasn't much of a fight left for them to abandon. Once Glory died, the minions quickly scattered. They were servants by nature, not by circumstance. All they were capable of was servitude. When they followed their leader, they fought without thought of their own safety. Without their leader, they were cowards, at heart. They served Glorificus solely for the power that she represented. When that power was destroyed, they fled. No one bothered to follow them. Without a goddess to serve, they presented very little danger to society.

At the moment, the gang was far more worried about Willow who was soon covered with blood as she checked Spike over. Tears continued to stream silently down her face but Willow ignored them, merely blinking them out of her eyes so that they didn't interfere with her examination of Spike. Only when she was satisfied that his injuries weren't life threatening and that he would only require a few weeks to recover did she relax, and pull herself together. Impatiently, she wiped away the tears, oblivious to the fact that the hands that swiped at her face were covered in blood, leaving traces of it all over her face. The gang approached her slowly, cautiously, more than a little frightened by the macabre image she presented.

"He'll be alright," she told them, the relieved smile on her face contrasting sharply with the tears and the blood.

"A-are *you* alright?" Giles asked, hesitantly.

Willow's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Me? Yes, I'm fine." She didn't understand why he was asking about her. Didn't he realize that Spike was the one that mattered at the moment? She shook her head. Spike. She had to focus on Spike, and getting him the help that he needed. Anything else could wait. "We need to help Spike now." She turned back to the body at her feet, trying to figure out the best way to move him without causing him more damage, and nearly missed the gasp of surprise behind her.

"Ben?"

They all turned to face Buffy who was standing over the other body on the ground, looking at it with an expression of shocked disbelief.

Everyone else rushed over, staring down at the body that Buffy had been wrapping herself around the night before. Even Willow reluctantly left Spike's side to go help Buffy who looked so very lost.

"He was Glory," Willow explained, softly, more to Giles than to Buffy. Giles was thinking clearly enough to understand the explanation. Buffy was… not. "I-I think they were sharing a body," Willow elaborated. "It wasn't his fault, but he was Glory… and when he died, she died, too."

"No," Buffy stated, shaking her head violently, her whole body trembling slightly. "He-he's just Ben. He's a medical intern, a-and a bad dancer, and he was going to take me to Percy's party. He's Ben, and I know him and I *kissed* him and I-I don't understand." Giles stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Buffy's shoulder. She didn't acknowledge it, but kept staring down at the body with the same expression of disbelief.

"Buffy, we should go, now," Giles said softly, trying to lead the girl away. She didn't cooperate.

"He's dead," she whispered. "He's dead," she repeated, louder this time. "And it's his fault," she hissed, turning toward Spike as her eyes narrowed. She had planned everything so carefully. Once Glory was dead, she was supposed to go to Percy's party with Ben. She'd dance with him and wear her new dress and fix Willow up with Percy. She couldn't do any of that now. And it was all Spike's fault.

All the stress of finding out about Dawn, and her mom getting sick, and losing Riley, and fighting Glory, and watching her best friend bind herself to a demon and being unable to interfere finally crashed down on Buffy. Seeing Ben's dead body was the final straw. She was sick of her life being chaotic and messy and out of control. She needed something to vent her anger on, and Spike, unconscious on the ground, made a very easy target. She headed towards Spike, obviously intending to thrash what remained of his unlife out of him. Willow intercepted her.

"Buffy! No!" She grabbed the girl, keeping her from getting to Spike's body. "Giles, help me!" Giles immediately rushed over, grabbing Buffy around the waist and pulling her away from Spike.

"Why do you have to ruin everything?" Buffy screamed at Spike's unconscious form. "You ruin *everything*!" Suddenly, her screams turned to sobs and she turned in Giles' arms, crying on his shoulder. Giles looked up apologetically at Willow and she smiled weakly in understanding.

"Giles, why don't you take Buffy home?" He nodded, and led Buffy away. This time, she followed. Once they were gone, Willow turned to Xander and Anya. "I need to get Spike to my house. Can you guys help?" Still somewhat shell-shocked from the touchdown of Hurricane Buffy, they merely nodded. Willow straightened, going into commander mode.

"Xander, would you mind carrying him? I don't think I can lift him by myself. Anya, I need you to go to Willie's and pick up some blood. I have some in the fridge, but it's not going to be enough. Just bring it by my house. I'll leave the door unlocked. I can't handle all the weapons by myself, so I guess we should dump them for the night and come back for them tomorrow. I wish we hadn't brought so many; we certainly didn't need them, but it's too late to do anything about that now. I don't think anyone will disturb them."

Xander and Anya nodded again. Anya turned to go.

"Anya, wait!" Xander called out, shaking off the daze that encompassed him. There was something he needed to say, a question he had promised Anya, in their pre-world-save-age grope, that he would ask, when the world didn't end. Suddenly he felt as if he couldn't wait another minute before knowing the answer. Obediently, Anya stopped, and turned around.

"Will you marry me?"

Anya looked at him appraisingly for a moment, and then smiled.

"Yes."

Xander turned to Willow. "Wills, will you be best person?"

"Yes," Willow agreed, smiling as well.

"Good," Xander said, relieved. And after that, they simply stood there for a moment, silently, while Xander and Anya smiled besottedly at each other, and Willow watched the pair of them with quiet amusement. Eventually, however, she got impatient.

"Was that all you needed to say, Xander?" Willow asked gently.

Xander nodded.

"Well, then, now that that's settled," Willow commented, "we should really get going. Xander, you need to get Spike. Anya, you need to get the blood. We'll see you back at the house."

"Right," Xander said, scooping Spike up into his arms.

"Right," Anya said, turning back to head to Willie's.

"Right," Willow agreed, walking over to where Xander stood, holding Spike. Spike's arm hung loose, his hand dangling down. Willow wrapped his hand in hers, bringing it up to her lips, and kissing it, gently. Then she looked up and smiled and Xander.

"Let's go."

~Part: 46~

It was less than a mile to Willow's house, but to her, the walk felt endless. All she wanted in the world was to help Spike, to heal him, to take care of his injuries and make him better, and it frustrated her that there was nothing she could do until they got to the house. She pushed herself to walk just a little faster each second, as if she thought that she could fly home, if she just tried hard enough. Xander watched her with wide, worried eyes but, with surprising perception, kept him mouth shut and simply followed the increasing pace that Willow set toward the house. She was out of breath when they finally arrived, but she didn't notice.

She immediately led Xander upstairs to the bathroom. The blood was obscuring all of Spike's injuries, and Willow wanted to make sure that he didn't have any bits of wood or rock trapped in his wounds before she gave him the blood that would close them. Between the two of them, they quickly had him stripped and placed in warm bathwater that turned pink in seconds from all of the blood. Willow hissed in sympathetic pain when all the injuries were finally revealed, and her eyes filled with tears yet again. Gently, gently, gently she reached her hand out and softly stroked his cheek and his hair, completely forgetting that she and Spike were not alone in the bathroom.

"Look what she did to you," she whispered. "I'll make it better, Spike, I promise. And you know that I always keep my promises." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, not noticing the blood that now covered her lips just as his blood covered the rest of her body. The only thing she was aware of was Spike as she slowly and carefully began the process of treating his injuries. Meanwhile, Xander sat in the corner of the bathroom, watching the picture Willow made as she tended to Spike.

"Is it the bond?" he asked, a few minutes later.

"Is what the bond?" Willow asked, keeping her eyes and her attention on Spike.

"The way that you're acting toward Spike. Is it because of the bond?"

"Nope," Willow answered, almost cheerfully. She was nearly done cleaning out Spike's wounds, and once she was done with that, she could move him to the bed, and get him some blood. The thought of his injuries finally starting to heal kept her from being annoyed with Xander. She was pretty sick of everyone assuming that any feelings she might have for Spike were because of the bond.

Xander had never been very good at understanding things. He wasn't stupid, he just needed someone to sit down and explain things to him, which his teachers never had the time to do. If his parents had cared about him, they might have gotten him tested for a learning disability. That might have helped. But they didn't care about him. So they never did. As a result, ever since she was four years old, that had always been Willow's job: she was the one who explained things so that Xander could understand. She had taught him the alphabet and the multiplication table. She taught him how to conjugate French verbs and solve for the x in an equation. Up until their sophomore year of high school, it never even occurred to Xander that there might be any problem he would ever face that Willow would not be able to explain to him, so that he could understand.

That changed, of course, when they met Buffy. All of the sudden, there were dark, scary things wandering in the night that not even Willow knew about. But Buffy and Giles would explain it to Xander, or they would explain it to Willow and she would tell it to Xander in a way that he could understand. They explained to him that vampires were evil, soulless creatures who needed to be destroyed, or else they would hurt people. As always, once the concept was explained to Xander's satisfaction, he accepted it completely, without question.

When Spike showed up their junior year, Giles had explained to all of them that Spike was a truly dangerous opponent: fierce, cunning, and lethal. Giles had explained Spike's history to them in great detail to make sure they understood exactly how much of a threat the bleached blonde represented. An explanation like that was not one that Xander was likely to forget. Even after Spike was chipped and Xander was convinced that the vampire was no longer physically dangerous, Xander still saw Spike as the enemy: someone who could never be truly accepted, or trusted, or believed. He had hated the thought of Willow being bound to him, hating the idea of her being at the mercy of someone he saw as a monster, but Willow had explained it to him so carefully, the way she always did, that it was just a temporary situation, that they needed Spike so they could destroy Glory, and that Willow, herself, wouldn't get hurt because Spike was only using her as insurance that he'd get his chip out. But there was more to it, now. There was something between Willow and Spike that Xander had never expected to see. Willow truly seemed to care about Spike. And Xander didn't understand.

"The bond can't make me feel anything, Xander," Willow explained carefully. "It doesn't affect me at all, mentally or emotionally. The whole reason that Spike chose this bond was because its control lies purely in the physical. When he thought he was going to be bonded to Buffy, he liked the idea that he could compel her to spend time with him without having to brainwash her, or use a spell that made her care about him. And then when he realized he was going to be bonded with me, I think he wanted to be sure that I'd be able to think clearly so I could find a way to get rid of his chip. The reason that I'm taking care of Spike is that I care about him, and it has nothing to do with the bond."

"Then why?" Xander asked. Willow let out a sigh of relief. Xander didn't sound hostile or accusatory, he just sounded confused. If she could explain this to him well enough, then maybe, just maybe, Xander would be able to understand her friendship with Spike. Willow knew that Buffy absolutely refused to understand it, preferring it ignore it and sabotage it whenever possible. But Xander might be able to accept it, if she could just explain it in a way that he could understand.

And so Willow began her explanation. It continued while she finished cleaning Spike up. It continued when she had Xander carry Spike into the guest bedroom. It continued while she bandaged Spike, realigning his broken bones so that they would heal properly. It continued while she warmed some blood for Spike and fed it to him slowly, at short intervals. It continued all the way until they heard the door slam downstairs, signaling that Anya had arrived.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Anya called out as she headed up the stairs. "I wanted to pay with a credit card, but Willy insisted that he only took cash." Anya finally appeared in the doorway with a large cooler in her arms. "I told him that I liked my cash right where it was, sitting in the bank, and that I would much rather give him a piece of plastic where I wouldn't get stuck with the bill for another month, but he was very unreasonable. So I had to run to the ATM."

"It's alright, Anya," Willow answered, smiling, "I haven't even finished giving him the blood I had in the fridge."

"He looks better, already," Anya commented as she seated herself next to Xander on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Willow replied, turning her attention back to Spike. The blood she had given him had made an amazing difference. Already, the wounds had closed over. If he kept feeding heavily for the next few days, they wouldn't even scar. The broken bones were a little trickier, but Willow was certain that she had set them properly, so it was only a matter of time before they healed.

"But you look like shit," Anya continued, bluntly.

Willow looked up, startled, and then looked down at herself. It was true; her clothes were kind of a mess. Willow stood and walked over to the mirror on the door of the room. Anya was right. She looked like shit.

Anya walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come on," she said, "this way." Willow started to make some sounds of protest at the thought of leaving Spike, but Anya refused to listen. Willow had been running off of pure adrenalin when she took care of Spike, but now that she knew he was doing better, the adrenalin faded and Willow was left feeling mostly weak and tired. Anya didn't have much trouble pushing her around. "Xander and I can keep an eye on Spike. We'll keep feeding him, I promise," she stated, knowing that that was Willow's major concern. Sure enough, Willow stopped struggling, and followed obediently. Anya led Willow into the hallway, and then into the bathroom. "Take a shower, and put on some clean clothes." Willow nodded, and Anya returned to the bedroom, where Xander was feeding Spike. The vampire was still unconscious, but his demon rose instinctively to take in the blood it needed. Xander looked up as Anya walked through the door.

"She really cares about him, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does," Anya answered, seating herself beside him again.

"I don't really understand it."

"You don't have to understand it. You just have to accept it. Just like she accepted me even though I was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years and brought a vampire version of her back from another dimension that tried to kill her."

"Right."

"So can you do that?"

"Accept it, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"For Willow?" Xander looked over at the still form of Spike on the bed and remembered how Willow had looked, seated next to him, watching him like he was all that mattered in the world. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Good," Anya stated, settling herself in his arms. They stayed like that, silent and unmoving except for the time when they fed Spike more blood, until Willow came back into the room. She had washed away all of the blood, but it was obvious that she had rushed herself to get back into the room. Her clothes were askew from being thrown on quickly, and she hadn't bothered to brush out the tangles in her hair. She immediately seated herself next to Spike on the bed, and took his hand in hers, holding it with one hand and stroking the back of it gently with the tips of her fingers on her other hand.

Anya left the room, and returned, triumphant, a minute later with a hairbrush in her hand. Seating herself behind Willow, she gently brushed the knots and tangles out of her hair, while humming softly, a sweet, soothing tune that Willow didn't recognize.

Willow turned and smiled at her, without letting go of Spike's hand. "That's nice; the song you're humming. It's pretty. I don't think I've heard it before."

"My mother used to use it to sing me to sleep," Anya answered. "I hum it myself, now, when I need to relax. I thought it might help you relax, too, so you could get some sleep."

"No, I can't sleep now, I have to stay up and take care of Spike. Tell me about your mother, Anya. I don't <yawn> think you've ever mentioned her before," Willow replied, trying very hard to sound alert and interested, even though she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

"I'll tell you all about her, some other time. When you're more awake. Right now, you need to sleep. Don't worry about Spike. Xander and I will stay here in your parents' room. We'll be up for a few more hours, so we can bring him some more blood, and we should be able to hear if either of you needs anything."

"You're more than welcome to stay, but I'll stay up with Spike. I'm awake. Really, <yaaawn> I am!"

"Sure you are, Willow," Anya replied, pressing her gently down beside Spike and covering them both with the blankets.

"Maybe just a little nap," Willow conceded. "But then I'll get up and take care of him. You won't have to worry about it."

"It's not a worry to help a friend, Willow," Anya said, fussing over the blankets. "You taught me that. Now sleep."

"`Night, Anya, `night, Xander," Willow murmured sleepily, too tired to argue anymore.

"`Night, Wills. Don't you worry about a thing; we'll take care of Deadboy, Jr."

"`Kay," Willow answered, already half-asleep. Anya gently shut off the lights and closed the door behind her as Willow nestled against Spike and fell asleep.

Spike woke up a few hours later, convinced he was dreaming. The last thing he remembered, the First had exited his body, leaving him in a monumental amount of pain as he collapsed to the ground. It didn't seem possible that he could go from that to a warm, clean bed with his injuries treated and already half-healed, and plenty of warm blood running through his system. It had to be a dream, especially the redhead in his arms. She was just a warm, sweet, wonderful dream. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. If it was just a dream, he was going to hold it as close as he could, for as long as it lasted. He curled himself around her, burying his face in her neck and relishing the feel of her soft warmth against his skin. <Nice dream,> he thought to himself as he drifted off again.

Willow had awakened when she felt Spike shifting against her. When he finally settled in, she opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of him nestling against her. She maneuvered a hand around to gently stroke his hair. Even asleep, he purred with pleasure, making Willow's smile grow even wider. She placed a soft kiss against his hair, which she continued to stroke until she, too, fell back asleep.

~Part: 47~

Willow couldn't remember the last time anything felt as good as waking up in Spike's arms. There was just something in the way he held her made her feel warm, and safe, and cherished, and protected. It was nice. So nice that she lay still for a while after she had woken up, just enjoying the sensation. She felt an irresistible urge to settle herself against Spike, and never move again. <Well,> she thought, looking over at the still-fast-asleep vampire, <what's to stop me? I don't have anywhere I need to be. Neither does he. He's too unconscious to mind, and I'm far too comfortable to move.> Content with her not-quite-awake logic, she closed her eyes and snuggled closer to Spike. She didn't move until she heard the bedroom door open, followed by Anya sticking her head in.

"Oh good, you're awake," she whispered, loudly, when she saw Willow's eyes reluctantly open.

Willow nodded, sleepily. "What time is it?" she asked. The guest room's windows were thickly covered, making it too dark for her to be able to read the clock on the wall.

"It's a few minutes past noon," Anya answered. "You've been asleep for a little over fourteen hours."

"I slept for fourteen hours?" Willow asked, slightly dazed. The last time she slept fourteen hours was junior year when she caught the flu from Buffy. For a second, she wondered if she was coming down with something. But no, she felt fine. In fact, she felt more than just fine. Thanks (in part) to the bond, sleeping next to Spike had been— Spike! Sleeping next to injured Spike who needed blood to heal! All thoughts of her own health flew out of her mind as Willow turned frantically to Spike. "Has he not eaten in fourteen hours? We need to feed him, right away! We need to—" Willow tried to get up, intending to get Spike some blood, but the vampire, still fast asleep, growled and tightened his arms around her, refusing to allow her to leave his bed.

Anya laughed. "Relax, Willow. He's fed. Several times, actually. We've been feeding him a bag of blood every two hours."

"Has he woken up?" Willow asked, still struggling to disentangle herself from Spike. She wasn't having much luck. If anything, her struggles made Spike wrap himself even more firmly around her.

"Nope. We've been pouring it down his throat, which was kind of a problem at first since he didn't want to stop nuzzling your neck. But eventually he'd turn when he smelled the blood. We'd feed it to him, and then he'd shove his face right back into your neck again. Like now," Anya answered, barely managing to hold back a giggle at the sight of Spike cuddling into Willow like she was a life-sized teddy bear that he positively refused to release. "Give it up, Willow. He's not letting go."

Ignoring her, Willow kept trying to extricate herself, until her struggles caused her stomach to press against a rapidly hardening part of Spike's body that was obviously enjoying the way she was squirming against him. As soon as she realized what she was rubbing against, she turned beet red and immediately stopped moving. Spike grumbled slightly in disappointment, but happily gathered her now- unresisting body against his, and buried his face once more into her neck.

"Does he have a morning erection?" Anya asked, oblivious to Willow's embarrassment. "Xander told me it was a very common thing with men, but I didn't know if that applied to vampires as well, since they don't—"

"Xander!" Willow interjected, pouncing desperately on the opening to change the subject. "You and Xander were here all night! Oh no, I'm a horrible hostess. I've been sleeping all morning while you've been feeding Spike. I didn't even get up to make you breakfast! Did Xander show you where to find breakfast stuff?"

"Don't worry about it, Willow, we were fine. Xander could find his way around your kitchen blindfolded. We had breakfast hours ago. In fact, we were about to have lunch. That's why I came upstairs; I wanted to see if you were awake and would like to join us."

"Well, I'd like to," Willow answered, "but…" Wordlessly, she gestured to the very strong arms wrapped unyieldingly around her.

"Gotcha," Anya nodded. "Want me to bring you a sandwich?"

"That'd be great," Willow sighed in relief.

"Coming right up," Anya promised, disappearing into the hallway. She came back up ten minutes later with a tray holding a sandwich, an apple, a glass of orange juice, and a mug of blood, with a neatly folded napkin to the side.

Willow sat up, shoving her pillow behind her to prop herself up. Spike moved with her, adjusting his position so that he remained wrapped around her. Once she got herself settled comfortably, Willow picked up the mug, holding it near Spike's nose so he could smell the blood. Reluctantly, he pulled his face away from her neck, enabling her to hold the mug to his lips. He vamped, and began to drink. The taste of blood on his lips, combined with all the moving he had been doing, caused Spike to awaken. His eyes opened, slowly coming into focus.

"Is he waking up? Oh, good. Pouring blood down an unconscious vampire's throat can get messy, let me tell you, especially since I couldn't turn on the light since I didn't want to wake you up. I, um, hope you aren't too attached to these sheets… Xander suggested using a flashlight, but I didn't know where to find one, so instead we would leave the door to the hallway open with the hall light on and just hope it didn't bother you, and it must have worked since you didn't wake up until a minute ago—"

Spike began to sit up, disentangling himself from Willow. When he first woke up, he had thought he was dreaming; his sweet Red cuddling up in bed against him, keeping him warm and feeding him human blood seemed plausible only in a dream; so he had been perfectly content to remain wrapped around her, savoring the dream while it lasted. But demon-girl most definitely didn't belong in his dreams. Hearing her voice snapped him into reality. Vague bits of his actual dreams from the past few hours floated back to him and as he remembered the way he had rubbed against the warm body he held in his dreams, not to mention the way his body was still responding to that remembered friction, he struggled to put some distance between himself and Willow before he embarrassed himself. Unfortunately, he overestimated his strength and found himself collapsing right back into Willow's arms.

"Don't try to move too quickly," she said softly, holding him gently against her while she arranged his pillow behind him so he could lean back against it. "You took quite a beating last night." She settled him back against the pillow and raised the mug to his lips again. He drank obediently, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized that he was drinking human blood. He had thought that that sweet taste in his mouth was just part of the dream.

"Where'd you get the blood, Red?" Spike asked when the mug was drained. "It's first-rate stuff."

"Anya picked it up for you at Willy's last night while Xander and I brought you here," Willow answered.

Spike turned to look at Anya, surprise clearly written on his face. "You laid down extra money to buy me human blood while Xapper carried me here?"

Anya shrugged. "Willow told us to. Anyway, you had it coming. After all, you saved the world. Consider this a bonus. Besides, Xander likes coming here because Willow has cable." They heard a muffled shout from downstairs. Anya rolled her eyes as she looked over at the door. "I should go check on him," she muttered as she exited the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

Spike lay back against his pillow, shifting so that he could watch Willow. "Feels like it's about noon. Have I been asleep all this time?"

"You know, that whole vampire internal clock thing is kinda creepy. And yes, you've been asleep the whole time. At least, that's what Anya said. I've been asleep, too, so she's been checking on you."

Spike nodded, trying to remember if he had woken up at any point, but any memories he had were mixed up with his dreams. He figured the best way to find out what had happened was to ask. "So tell me about what happened last night," he asked.

"We won," she answered, smiling.

"Yes, Red," he replied, rolling his eyes, "I remember that much."

"You do?" she asked, biting into her apple. "I figured the ritual would be the last thing that you remembered.

"Nah, I was there the whole time, watching the show; it was just the First who was controlling things."

Willow nodded as she thought this over. "Like Angelus inside Angel, I guess. Full sensory perceptions, but someone else calling the shots."

Spike grimaced. "Well, I don't like being compared to that wanker, but yes, I guess it was kind of like that. But the last thing I remember, Glory shifted into someone else. I think it was a man, there wasn't enough time to tell. Anyway, whoever it was, killing him must have done the trick, because the First broke his neck, and then everything went black."

Willow explained as best she could the situation with Ben and Glory. She kept the story simple, leaving out the part where Buffy tried to attack Spike. She figured he didn't need to hear that. It would only upset him. Then she explained about bringing him home and cleaning him up. "That's when I fell asleep," she concluded, "but Anya told me that she's been feeding you a bag of blood every two hours since then."

"Didn't mean to put you all to so much trouble," Spike mumbled, avoiding eye contact. He wasn't used to anyone caring about him and taking care of him; he didn't know how to respond. "When nightfall comes, if you could just unload me back in the crypt, I'll be out of your way."

Spike didn't see the way that Willow's eyes widened with panic at the thought. She had assumed that Spike would stay while he healed. She WANTED Spike to stay, partially so she could look after him and make sure that he was taken care of as he got better, and partially… well, partially just because she liked having him around. She hated the thought of him leaving. Now it was her turn to look down and avoid eye contact.

"I… um… thought you'd be staying."

Spike felt a surge of pleasure rush through him. She wanted him to stay? No one had ever wanted him to stay before. It was so wonderful to hear, so amazing, so… impossible. Spike felt his pleasure deflate like a pricked balloon. She couldn't mean it. Not like that. She didn't really want him to stay, she just felt sorry for him. That had to be it.

"Taking pity on me again, Red?" Spike asked, his voice deliberately cold to hide the pain.

"It's still not pity. I… I want you to stay." Willow's voice was hesitant. Spike sounded so detached. Didn't he want to stay? Unfortunately, Spike read her hesitance as confirmation that she was just taking pity on him.

"You offer me free blood, a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, running water, electricity, and cable TV, in exchange for… what? The watcher barely agreed to let me stay chained up in the loo in exchange for fighting demons and providing information. I won't be much good for either until I'm up and about again, and that will take at least a week. Sounds like pity to me, pet."

"It's not pity!" Willow repeated, exasperated out of shyness by her annoyance at the way he put himself down. "It's a trade. Just another trade."

"And what is that you'll be getting that you want?"

"You!" Willow answered, staring him directly in the eye. "In exchange, I get you. And that's what I want."

There was a long moment of silence. "Me?" Spike asked, softly. "You really want me?" The look on his face was so vulnerable, it nearly broke Willow's heart.

"Yes," she whispered, softly but with absolute sincerity, not taking her eyes off of his.

"Okay," he replied, just as softly, just as sincerely.

"You'll stay?"

Spike tried to smirk, "You talked me into it, Red."

"Good," she replied, trying to smirk back, and having just as little success. "Now I don't need to hire a chef. I can just use you."

"Using me for my cooking skills, Red? I'm insulted!"

"What, you don't like being considered a good cook?"

"Nah, I just prefer being used for my body." Spike grinned when he saw her blush.

"Well, I'm used to be loved for my mind, not my cable access!" Willow retorted, making Spike's grin grow even wider. The banter continued back and forth for a while longer as they both relaxed into the simple pleasure of being together.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, Anya stepped away from the doorway with a smile. Her neck hurt a little from pressing her ear against the door, but it had been worth it. She grinned as she tiptoed down the stairs. She couldn't wait to tell Dawn.

~Part: 48~

It had been three and a half weeks since the battle with Glory. Xander and Anya had announced their engagement to the gang and Willow had thrown them an engagement party. As soon as the party was over, Anya shoved a ‘Bride’ magazine into Xander’s hand, along with a copy of ‘Weddings for Dummies.’ After that, wedding plans pretty much took up all of Anya’s time and, whenever he wasn’t quick enough to escape, Xander’s time, as well. In fact, Anya devoted so much time and concentration to her wedding (and to having the extra amount of sex that she seemed to feel was necessary for engaged couples) that Giles was busy running the store practically on his own. The Summers women were doing lots of family bonding activities, enjoying the freedom to wander around town without worrying about running into Glory or the Knights of Byzantium. Willow was immersed in papers and study sessions as she took her midterm exams. And Spike was officially living with Willow.

They had moved all of his stuff out of the crypt and into Willow’s guest bedroom during the first week of his stay, saying that he might as well have his stuff with him while he recovered. They never discussed the fact that there was nothing left in the crypt. They never discussed the fact that Willow’s house had slowly been transformed into a fully vamp-friendly space, with a protective coating painted over the windows, a constantly replenished supply of blood in the fridge, a gradual redecoration of the guest room to suit Spike’s tastes, and a large number of ashtrays scattered around the house. And they certainly never discussed the fact that Spike had healed from the fight within a week and was back to full strength by the end of two weeks, and showed absolutely no signs of leaving. Buffy brought it up every now and then, but Willow always managed to dodge the question and since Buffy didn’t receive any support in her we-must-keep-Spike-away-from-Willow-at-all-costs campaign, she grudgingly stopped asking when the bleached pest would be moving out.

Buffy didn’t fully forgive Spike for killing Ben. She knew, rationally, that Ben had been sharing a body with Glory and that his death was necessary, but a certain stubborn part of her persisted in feeling that it was Spike’s fault. That small part of her was helped by the fact that she made absolutely no effort to convince herself that it WASN’T Spike’s fault. Once again Spike had exposed the dirty secret of a boy she had feelings for and, as with Riley, Buffy was left feeling foolish for being so easily duped. She was the slayer; she was supposed to know better. She hated feeling foolish, so she pushed the feeling away by blaming Spike. Blaming him always made things simpler.

Of course, she never fully forgave Spike for any of his actions, even the ones he couldn’t control (she still hadn’t forgiven Spike for kissing her during the my-will-be-done spell even though she had responded with unquestioned enthusiasm at the time), so her behavior to him was not markedly different. As always, when she was in a good mood, she ignored him and when she was in a bad mood, she took it out on him. That was just the way that things worked. Saving the world hadn’t earned for Spike Buffy’s love or her respect or even a greater amount of her toleration.

None of this surprised Spike. He hadn’t expected her behavior to change. Of course, his behavior didn’t change, either. He still loved her. Being treated badly had never stopped him from loving before, and it certainly didn’t stop him now. He still watched her, still followed her, still covered her back during patrol and made sure she was safe. All of that was unchanged. But there was one major difference in his life. Now, when patrol was over and he had followed Buffy home to make sure she had arrived safely, he’d head home, himself. To Willow.

Willow’s house had become home to him, in a way that no place had been in a very long time. They joked about it, saying that they were the twisted, demon-friendly version of a 1950s sitcom. Willow would come home from class at night to find Spike waiting for her, with dinner on the table. She’d eat, and tell him about her classes and the things she had done during the day. They’d clean the kitchen together, and then he’d head out to patrol. He’d come home to find Willow sitting up for him, with warmed blood waiting for him. He’d tell her about the demons that he had fought and then they’d curl up on the couch to watch TV. On weekends and nights when she didn’t have to study, they were practically inseparable. The staff at Blockbuster knew them by name. So did the delivery boy from the grocery store and Sunnydale’s one and only Chinese delivery. Spike had learned all of Willow’s habits from exactly how long she took in the shower to the precise look she got in her eye when she mentally put together a plan. Willow, in turn, knew exactly how he liked his blood heated and how long she had to wait till he was coherent after he woke up. He knew her moods, her expressions, her tastes and preferences. And she knew his.

So she knew that he was planning something. For the past week, he had had that unmistakable glint in his eye. He had that aggravating I’ve-got-a-secret smile plastered on his face whenever he looked at her. A neon sign couldn’t have been more obvious. It wasn’t that Spike was bad at being devious. After all, he had centuries of experience and some of the best training imaginable. When he was planning something, no power on earth (or above, or below) could force or trick or persuade the details of it out of him. But any five-year-old child could tell that something was up. Spike simply couldn’t hide it when he got excited about something, and he was definitely edgy. He had something up his sleeve, and Willow would have taken any odds that it was some kind of surprise for her. She just didn’t know what.

That Wednesday evening, Willow walked into her house and then leaned back against the door with a sigh of relief. At long last, her midterms were done. She had turned in her last paper and taken her last exam. Spring Break didn’t officially start until the end of classes on Friday, but since her midterms ended before the end of the week, she was free two days early. She tossed her backpack onto the couch with a smile of triumph. She was done with it for the next week and a half. Then the smile faded from her face. Something was different. The house felt… off somehow. Something was wrong.

It took her a minute to place what it was. Finally, she realized. The smell. Every night when she came home, Spike had dinner waiting for her. She could usually smell it from outside the door. But there was no smell coming from the kitchen that night. They always planned in advance if they were going to go out to eat or ordering in, so Spike wouldn’t bother to cook, but they hadn’t made any plans that evening. Willow felt fear clench in her stomach. Had something happened to Spike? She knew he was in the house; she could feel it; but that didn’t mean that he was alright. He always shouted out a greeting as she walked through the door, even if he couldn’t leave whatever he was making in the kitchen. Had something happened to him? Fear caused her stomach to clench as she slowly walked through the living room and through the swinging door into the kitchen.

The overhead light was off, but there was a small, flickering light coming from somewhere that was casting shadows over the room. It took Willow a moment to track its source. Sitting on the kitchen table was a small, lit candle, stuck in a… cupcake? Willow stepped closer to investigate, then shrieked as a strong, cold pair of arms slid around her waist, pulling her tightly against a hard body.

“Surprise,” an unmistakable voice whispered in her ear.

“Spike!” Willow squeaked, turning to face him while she twisted her way out of his arms. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

“Five times so far this week,” he answered with an unrepentant smirk. Willow crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him wordlessly with a single eyebrow raised. Spike gave a mock sigh. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Happy now?” Willow grinned triumphantly and nodded.

“Good,” Spike replied. “And moving right along from the embarrassing spectacle of a little girl making the Big Bad apologize, turn around, pet, and blow out your candle.”

Willow turned to the candle and giggled. “Um, Spike… it’s a lovely cupcake and all, but why is it here?”

“It’s the beginning of the celebration, Red.”

“Uh huh. And what are we celebrating?”

“Spring Break, of course. Eleven whole days when you don’t have to run off and go to school. Sounds like reason to celebrate to me. Now blow out your candle and make a wish, like a good girl, so we can get this party started.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Willow lisped, rolling her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, smiled as she thought of a wish, and blew the candle out. While Spike switched on the lights, Willow seated herself at the table and carefully divided the cupcake in half. Spike joined her at the table and grinned at the look of bliss on her face as she devoured half the cupcake.

She pushed the napkin with the other half toward him. Spike shook his head and pushed it back to her. “Nah, pet. This is your treat. You’re not supposed to share.” Willow flashed him a chocolate covered smile and pushed the napkin toward him again, and then went to wash her hands. Spike smiled softly to himself as he ate his half of the cupcake, glad that Willow was at the sink with her back to him and couldn’t see how happy her little gesture had made him. He pulled himself together as she returned to the table.

“Grab your jacket, Red. We’re stepping out.”

“I thought you said yesterday that we’d be staying in tonight?” Willow asked as she pulled her jacket out of the closet and slid it on.

“I lied,” Spike smirked as he shrugged on his duster. “Toss me the keys.”

“Why do we need the keys?” Willow asked as she handed them to him.

“Because you get mad at me when I hotwire the car,” Spike replied. “Ready to go?”

“Spiiiiiiike, where are we going?”

“We’re going to your surprise.” Willow pouted as she realized she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him, and followed him to the car. When Spike first moved in, Willow hadn’t trusted the DeSoto. After all, the car had looked like it was on its last legs for years by then. But Spike took her with him to a mechanic, and the man confirmed what Spike had said: the car may have looked ready for the trash heap, but it was actually in very good shape. But since then, she had only been in the car two times. They hardly ever went anywhere they had to drive to.

Once she was seated, Spike fished a black scarf out of his pocket and reached around to tie it over her eyes. Willow pulled away, a questioning look on her face.

“How can you be surprised if you see where we’re going?” Spike asked. Willow looked unconvinced, so Spike started pouting. “Don’t you trust me, Red?”

Willow sighed. She knew she might as well give in now. Once Spike started pouting, he didn’t stop until he got his way. “You know I do.” She leaned forward again and let him tie the scarf over her eyes.

Willow tried to start questioning Spike about where they were going, but he cranked up the radio and starting singing along. Loudly. Far too loudly to allow for conversation. She pouted all the way to the highway, hoping he’d break down and tell her. He didn’t, so she finally stopped the pouting act, and started singing along with him to the radio. She had no idea where they were going, or why, but she trusted Spike. They kept going, singing along with the radio, for nearly two hours.

Finally, the car stopped. Spike pulled the blindfold off of Willow’s eyes and looked around eagerly. They were parked in front of a huge mall she didn’t recognize.

Spike was grinning widely. “Surprise, Red. Welcome to L.A.”

~Part: 49~

Willow kept looking back and forth between the mall and Spike with an expression of mingled shock and confusion on her face. “You drove me all the way to L.A.,” she stated slowly as she regained her ability to speak, “to surprise me by… taking me shopping?”

Spike chuckled at her tone of voice. He knew that she hated shopping, but could tell that she was already trying to cover that up so she could pretend to be pleased with his surprise.

“No, Red, I drove you all the way to L.A. to surprise you by taking you *dancing*. But you don’t have anything fit to wear, so we’re going to get you a dress first. Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. He stopped when he realized she wasn’t moving to follow him. He turned to face her again and saw with surprise that there were tears in her eyes and that tremulous, watery smile on her face that she got when she watched the ending to ‘Return to Me’. For a second, Spike considered looking behind him to see if Minnie Driver and David Duchovny were there, making out in front of the mall entrance (after all, they were in L.A. Stranger things had been known to happen) when he realized that she was staring directly at him.

“Hey now,” he said softly, stepping closer to her and raising his hand to her cheek, “what’s this about? I know you hate shopping, pet,” he grinned, trying unsuccessfully to tease her out of her tears, “but there’s no reason to cry over it.”

“I told you I wanted to come to L.A. to go dancing someday and you brought me here,” she answered, sniffling slightly. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

Spike opened his mouth to contradict her, and then shut it again. She was right. He couldn’t remember a single time any of her friends had surprised her with something she wanted. Hell, he couldn’t even remember any time when they surprised her with something she *hadn’t* wanted. Willow usually seemed to be the one who organized surprises. So they had birthday parties for Buffy and engagement parties for Xander and Anya and new, ancient, dusty books for Giles with a big bow on them for Librarian Appreciation Day and homework break surprises of an ice cream cone for Dawn, picked up on the way to the Magic Box when Willow remembered that Dawn was stressing over a test, and even the surprise rental of the Godfather Trilogy sitting on Spike’s bed just the other day for no reason at all except that he’d mentioned, casually, that he’d never actually seen it. And as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember a single time any one of the gang had done anything like that for Willow.

“You need a better lot of friends,” he growled.

“No, I don’t,” she replied, wiping away her tears. “I have you.” And the next thing he knew, Spike had his arms full of Willow as she clasped him surprisingly tightly around the waist and hugged him hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. Spike slipped his arms around her and held her close, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her head.

“Anything for you, Red. You know that.”

Without removing herself from his arms, Willow tilted her head up to smile at him hopefully. “Does that mean I don’t have to go shopping?”

Spike laughed out loud and released her, grabbing her hand and dragging her after him toward the mall’s entrance. “There’s no getting out of it, Red. You brought this on yourself. Not my fault you don’t have any proper dancing clothes in your closet. In we go.” Willow pouted adorably and dragged her feet until Spike added, “The sooner we get your dress, the sooner we can stop by the Dairy Queen in the food court.” Spike laughed again at the way that Willow’s face lit up as she started pulling *him* to the door. Her momentum halted when they entered the mall. Willow had never seen a mall that size. Her first time in an L.A. mall was intimidating the hell out of her. Spike, seeing her discomfort, immediately took the lead.

“This way, Red. There’s a little shop on the second floor that I think might have just what we’re looking for.” Willow followed obediently, glad that Spike seemed to know where he was going. She remained silent and dazed as they crossed part of the mall and went up the stairs. In fact, she didn’t snap out of her daze until they reached the shop that Spike had chosen. Then, she froze.

“Spike, we can’t go in there,” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve to pull him away. He stubbornly refused to move.

“Why not?” Spike asked, honestly bewildered. He had thought that she’d like the shop. It was far more up-scale than most of the stores in the mall and in stark contrast to the tacky, sparkly, migraine-inducingly bright “trendy” clothes that lots of the other stores held, these clothes were tasteful and sophisticated. They were expensive but not flashy, classic but not boring, dressy without being too formal, and elegant without being impractical. They would be perfect for Willow, and they’d be perfect for the club where Spike was planning to take her.

“Look at this place!” she answered. “I don’t think I can afford the breathe the air. I wouldn’t be able to buy a scarf, much less a dress.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not going to be the one paying,” Spike replied airily, dragging her into the shop.

“May I help you, sir?” a perfectly poised, perfectly groomed, perfectly styled salesclerk approached to ask.

“Yes, she’ll be needing a dressing room,” Spike answered, ignoring Willow when she tried to protest.

“Right this way, please,” the clerk responded, leading them into the back of the shop, and unlocking a dressing room. Spike led the clerk aside and spoke with her for a moment, too quietly for Willow to hear. The clerk nodded, and left them. Spike steered Willow into the dressing room and then shut the door behind them.

“Spike!” Willow hissed when they were alone. “What are we doing here? Look at this dressing room! The *dressing room*, for heaven’s sake. I’ve seen dorm rooms that were smaller than this!” The dressing room was, indeed, about the size of the freshman singles at UC Sunnydale, but instead of a single bed, a cheap dresser, an off-kilter desk and harsh, fluorescent lighting, the space had a couch, a chair, a small built in closet, a large three way mirror with a small raised platform in front of it and careful, in-laid lighting that lit the space fully but gently.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Spike replied, dismissively as he sprawled out on the couch. “Hey, the couch is comfy. Wonder where they bought it?”

“Are you even listening to me!” Willow yelled in frustration.

“‘Course I am, love, but I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about. Yeah, it’s a nice store. Nice clothes, nice dressing room, nice everything. Why is that a problem? Were you planning on doing your shopping in a dumpster?”

“The problem is that everything here is way too expensive for my budget. Why are we wasting time in a store I can’t afford?”

“Because you’re not the one who will be paying,” Spike explained, patiently.

“Do you think they’ll just give the clothes to me out of the goodness of their hearts?”

“Once I hand them my credit card and they make the charges to it, I’m sure they will.”

“*What* credit card?” Willow asked, exasperated. “You don’t have any money.”

“What gave you that idea, Red?” Spike asked, an impish grin covering his face as he watched her transition from furious to confused.

“You have money?” she asked, giving into her curiosity.

“Scads of it. Carefully tucked away, of course.”

“Why do you have money?” she questioned, sitting next to him on the couch. <Spike was right; it is comfy> she noted, absently.

“At first, it was Angelus’ thing,” he answered. “We’d go to a new town, buy our way into high society, snack on important people.” Spike shrugged. “It was his idea of fun. I was more into barroom brawls, but Angelus always enjoyed outwitting his meals: getting invited into their homes, winning their admiration, making them think that he was cultured and sophisticated before draining them dry. Following me so far?” Willow nodded, and Spike continued.

“Of course, before you can buy your way into society, you need money. So he learned how to play the money market. When I came along, he taught me how to invest. And once you start investing, all you have to do is get a decent accountant and your money will keep making more money. Flash them a little fang and you can be sure they won’t try to steal you blind. Once the money was set up, I ignored it most of the time. After all, I didn’t really need it. But Dru liked nice things that couldn’t always be taken by force, so it came in handy on occasion. When I got chipped, taking things by force stopped being an option, so I started spending bits here and there, just to keep me in blood and smokes. But the amount I spend is not even a drop in the bucket.”

“But all those times you came to Giles to trade information for money…”

Spike shrugged. “The watcher’s pretty tight-fisted. Not to mention that he hates when I have information that he can’t find in his precious books. Making him pay me for information was more for the fun than the cash.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Spike opened it, revealing the picture-perfect salesclerk with a stack of dresses in her arms. Spike hung them in the closet and began sorting them. “Yes, no, yes, yes, no, yes, *definitely* no, yes and yes.” The ‘no’s were handed back to the clerk. “Bring in a few more,” he instructed. “She’ll need at least three, and I want her to have plenty to chose from.”

“Right away, sir,” the clerk replied, exiting and shutting the door discreetly behind her.

“Try this one first,” Spike said, pressing a dress into Willow’s hand. “I’ll be waiting out there. Come out when you’re dressed and let me see how it looks.” He headed to the dressing room door.

“Spike, wait!”

“You want me to stay in here while you change?” he replied, turning to face her with a teasing grin on his face. “Well, if the lady insists, who am I to object? Go ahead and strip down, Red. Don’t be shy.”

Willow blushed scarlet, but refused to be distracted from what she was trying to say. “Even if you have money, I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive. I don’t need a dress from here. We should go somewhere else. Somewhere where I can afford to buy the things myself. Besides, what do I need with three dresses? And—”

Spike walked over to her and placed his hand over her mouth, his tried and tested means of cutting off her babble. “First of all. You can accept this. It’s not too expensive. I have money to spend and I want to spend it on you. Deal with that now, because I’m not going to change my mind. We’re not going to another store; these clothes are perfect for you. And you need three dresses because we’ll be staying in L.A. for five nights and you might want to go dancing more than once.” He saw her eyes widen. “Yes, five nights. I’ll be paying. For everything. No arguing. Every time you tell me I’m spending too much money on you, I’m marching out to the closest jewelers and buying you a thousand dollars worth of jewelry. I’ve been planning this for weeks and I will not let your overdeveloped scruples keep you from accepting it. And before you start asking, I’ve cleared it with the watcher. He’s knows how to reach us and he said to have a nice time and enjoy the vacation. He said you’ve earned it. I couldn’t agree more. Everything clear now?” Willow nodded hesitantly, and Spike finally took his hand down from her mouth.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she replied, shakily.

“‘Thank you’ will do nicely.”

“Thank you,” she repeated, automatically.

“You’re welcome,” he answered. “See? Wasn’t that easy? You say ‘thank you,’ I say ‘you’re welcome’ and then we never have to have this discussion again.”

“But I—” Willow began.

“Are you going to try on these dresses and pick out three that you like, or am I going to find a jewelry store?” Spike asked, cutting her off. “I think I saw one down the hall.”

“I think I’ll try on the dresses,” Willow answered hastily.

“Thought you might,” Spike replied, grinning smugly. He loved getting his way. “I’ll just be out there, then.”

“Um, Spike?”

“Yes, Red?”

“If I were to start thanking you, oh, every five minutes or so, would that send you running to the jewelers?”

Spike chuckled. “Probably.”

“Oh.” Willow looked momentarily discouraged. Then she brightened. “I’ll just have to come up with some other way of phrasing it! Just give me time. I’ll think of something.”

Spike laughed again. “I know you will. You always do. Now try on your dresses.”

~Part: 50~

Willow sat at the vanity table, fixing her hair and double checking her make-up and trying to behave as though she was accustomed to staying in hotel rooms whose bill for the five nights of their stay equaled her housing costs at UCS for the previous year. Of course, it wasn’t as if the room was overpriced. Considering the size of the room, the quality of the furnishings, the spectacular view, the incredible location, and the unbelievable service, five nights there were easily worth as much as a year in a cramped, stuffy, noisy dorm that occasionally had problems with mice and took months to fix a broken toilet. Yes, definitely worth as much. It just… took a little getting used to. Willow’s eyes kept wandering away from her reflection to look at the rest of the room, as if she expected it to disappear, or turn into a Holiday Inn. It didn’t.

She still couldn’t believe that Spike was spending all of this money on her. Well, she still couldn’t believe that Spike had all this money to spend in the first place, but the fact that he *had* the money and that he wanted to spend it on *her* was absolutely mind boggling. She started wracking her brain, trying to think of ways that she could make it up to him, things she could do for him once they got back to Sunnydale. She was so caught up in her thoughts that her hand went slack and dropped the hairbrush. A hand swept out from behind her and caught it before it hit the table.

“Spike!” Willow squeaked, spinning around in her chair so she could look at him. “Haven’t I told you—”

“Not to do that?” Spike finished for her. “Of course you have. *Six* times this week, and that was the second time today. You don’t actually expect me to stop, though, do you?”

“No, but how much fun would it be for you if I stopped protesting?” she countered.

“Not much,” he answered with a grin, pushing away her hand when she reached for her hairbrush. “No, let me. Turn back to face the mirror.” Willow obeyed, then purred with pleasure as he gently ran the brush through her hair. She adored having her hair brushed. It was a little strange having her hair brushed by the invisible man, but she didn’t let that stop her from enjoying it. After a minute, he put down the hairbrush and picked up the hairpins with which Willow had been attempting to pin up her hair. She watched as her hair seemed to twist and wrap itself into position while pins floated up to hold it in place. In a few minutes, her hair was done, out of her face and off her neck in a beautiful, old-fashioned style that suited her perfectly.

“‘Bout ready then, Red?”

Willow nodded. “I just need to put on my earrings and necklace. She slipped on her earrings quickly, but when she reached for the necklace, he pushed her hand away.

“Allow me,” he said, then pulled something out of his pocket and strung it around her neck. The necklace was gorgeous: a delicate lacework of pearls in a choker setting.

Willow’s hand flew to her neck. “But… but… but I didn’t say you were spending too much money on me!” she protested. “You didn’t have to go to the jewelry store!”

Spike chuckled. “I didn’t. Picked this up before we even left town. It was a special order item. It’ll let the demons in town know that you’re spoken for.”

“Spike, I—”

“Just say thank you, Red.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Spike trailed a gentle finger over her neck, admiring how well the pearls contrasted with her skin, pleased with his purchase. He’d had a feeling that pearls would suit her. It was fortunate that they also suited her dress, because there was no way in hell that he would have let her set foot in L.A. after dark without some kind of mark of protection on her. He’d never let anything happen to his Red. Not if he could prevent it. “Ready, then?”

“I think so,” she answered. “You tell me.” She stood up and turned in a slow circle. “Do I look alright? Have I forgotten anything?”

“You look stunning, Red,” Spike replied with such sincerity in his voice and such obvious appreciation in his look that Willow blushed.

“It’s the dress,” she murmured, looking away.

“Didn’t say the dress looked stunning, did I? I said *you* looked stunning. And I meant it.” Spike gently folded her wrap around her, and took her hand. “Come on, kid,” he said, deliberately lightening his tone and flashing her a grin. “Let’s go paint the town red.”

When she asked Spike how far away the club was, his answers were vague. She soon discovered why. The club was easily accessible, especially from the hotel where they were staying, but you couldn’t exactly say that it was close by, mainly because it was in an alternate dimension. They accessed it through a portal in the alleyway behind the hotel. She had laughed when she saw the large sign proclaiming the club “Rick’s Cafe Americain”.

“Fans of ‘Casablanca’?” she asked.

Spike laughed. “Other way around, pet. You might say that the people who put together the movie ‘Casablanca’ were fans of this place.” He laughed again at the way that her eyes widened. “No, Humphrey Bogart was not a demon,” he stated, preempting the question he knew she was about to ask. “Neither was Ingrid Bergman. Jack Warner was, but that’s another story. The movie was based on a play called ‘Everybody Comes to Rick’s’. The pair that wrote it were demons.”

Willow looked confused. “But it’s a story about the Nazis. What did they have to do with a demon bar in another dimension?”

“The war years weren’t just rough on humans, you know,” Spike explained. “Nazis were pretty much out to rip apart everyone who wasn’t like them. Wasn’t a problem for vamps,” Spike smiled in remembrance, “because we had no problem fighting back. But there were masses of peaceful demons who didn’t know how to defend themselves. They were easy targets. There’s a portal to Rick’s in a couple different places around the world; Casablanca’s one of them; and every demon who wanted to get into America would crowd into this dimension, waiting for authorization to come through the portal on this side. Hell, last time I was here, some of them were still waiting.”

The club was beautiful in a way that most modern clubs don’t bother to be beautiful anymore. Instead of flashing lights and overpowering bass, everything about Rick’s showed elegance, from the discreet, efficient waiters in their crisp tuxedos to the world-weary blonde on the raised platform with the band, wearing a skinky evening dress and purring the lyrics of an old Ella Fitzgerald song into the microphone. Willow half expected to see Cary Grant walk through the door, or Charles Boyer. It just seemed like that kind of place.

The head waiter offered to show them to a table, but Spike shook his head. He wanted to dance with his Red, first. The brilliant smile she gave him as he pulled her on to the dance floor showed that she felt the same way. As he pulled her into his arms, the singer segued into an old Dinah Shore song. Willow settled herself into his embrace, and they began to dance.

“You'd be so nice to come home to
You'd be so nice by the fire”

Spike grinned as the lyrics began. So nice to come home to? So true! He squeezed Willow’s hand where it lay in his. She was so very nice to come home to. He loved coming home to her after patrol, especially after a rough night. When the slayer ignored him, or took her frustrations out on him, when the demons called him a turncoat, or laughed at him for being a fool, the only thing that got him through the night was knowing that when it was over, he would be going home to his Red. And thinking of sitting by the fire with Red made him think of the first time he made s’mores with her: chasing her around the house for laughing at him, and then catching her and holding her close. It was a memory he cherished.

“While the breeze on high sang a lullaby
You'd be all that I could desire”

That part was true, too. When the weather was lousy and neither of them felt like going anywhere, Willow would light a fire in the fireplace and they’d order Chinese delivery (with a side of delivery from the butcher, who had no problem delivering blood in a paper sack if you paid him enough), snuggle under blankets on the couch and watch old movies on TV. As long as he had his Red with him, he was perfectly content.

”Under stars chilled by the winter
Under an August moon burnin' above

You'd be so nice, you'd be paradise
To come home to and love”

Spike almost froze as the caramel-smooth words washed over him. Yes, he was content with his Red, yes, he loved coming home to her. Yes, her house was the first home he had had in longer than he cared to remember, and yes, she was the first friend he had at all, in his memory. It was nice, it was paradise to come home to her… but… love? It wasn’t love, was it? It couldn’t be. Could it? Just because she was his friend and his family, just because wherever she was felt like home to him, that didn’t mean he loved her.

Did it?

“You'd be so nice to come home to
You'd be awful nice by the fire”

Willow bit back a giggle as she remembered the first time she and Spike lit up a fire in the fireplace to make s’mores. He had grumbled about being forced to act like a boy scout, but after his first taste of s’mores, it was always his idea now to light up a fire. She settled herself in Spike’s arms and concentrated on following his lead as he propelled her through the dance. She fought the urge to close her eyes and stand perfectly still, to freeze in hopes that she could freeze the moment, as well. It was so perfect; exactly what she had hoped for when Spike first danced with her and she asked him to someday take her to a dance club, and it was so like him to give her precisely what she dreamed of. It was so nice to dance with Spike. It was so nice to have Spike to come home to, and to be part of her life.

”While the breeze up on high sang a lullaby
You'd be all that I could desire”

Willow smiled, in perfect agreement with the song, and thought about all those nights when she glanced at the clock in the lecture hall every other minute, living for the moment when class would end, knowing that when she finally got out of there, she’d be heading home, where Spike would have dinner waiting. After years of absentee parents, and then one year of rooming with a slayer who always had other commitments, it was a novel and very pleasant experience for Willow to be able to head home happy, knowing that she had someone to go home to. It was, indeed, all she could desire.

“Under stars chilled by the winter
Under an August moon burnin' up there above”

Willow wondered if she’d be able to share those things with Spike. She wondered if he’d still be around in August. Would she have succeeded in removing the chip by then? She knew that the time she spent with him had an expiration date. Once the chip was gone, he wouldn’t be sticking around. She held on to him a little tighter, determined to enjoy every second of being with him while she still could. They may not have stars chilled by winter or an August moon, but they did have here and now, and she was going to savor it for as long as it lasted.

”You'd be so nice, just like paradise
To come home to and love”

<Love?> she thought, and the smile momentarily disappeared from her face. She wasn’t in love with Spike. She couldn’t be. She was still in love with Tara. And Spike was very much in love with Buffy. Falling in love with Spike would be silly, and dangerous because she would be setting herself up for a broken heart. <No,> she told herself firmly. <It isn’t love. It’s friendship and companionship and that’s enough that it will hurt like hell when I lose him. It isn’t love. It can’t be love, because if I was in love with him, it would destroy me. It isn’t love.> she told herself, and tried to believe it. <He’s just nice to come home to. So very, very nice to come home to.>

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