-4-

Buffy looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She had opted for a subdued look: hair done up in a loose bun, a top that hid her top and a bottom that hid her bottom. She looked nice. Not sexy or sassy, just nice. Seemed good for an evening with her last remaining high school friend.

When she came downstairs, Buffy was relieved to see Spike at the door, getting ready to go out with his co-workers. She had barely seen him since their quasi-heart to heart two nights earlier. He was gone before she woke up in the mornings, and stayed only long enough to have some dinner in the evenings.

Spike was putting on a brown corduroy jacket that looked like it came from a Goodwill shop. He glanced at Buffy's sleeveless knitted top with amusement.

"What happened - didn't have enough wool for the sleeves?" He grinned when Buffy gave him a dirty look. "You look lovely. I'm sure Xander will be impressed."

"Yeah." Buffy put her hands behind her back and looked at the floor. "So, I didn't hear you come home last night. What were you doing?"

"I had a job interview. Bartender; they thought I should see the place in full swing. Met someone I knew, actually." He raised his finger. "You sort of know her too. She's that English girl I was talking to the other week." Buffy wasn't sure what to make of that. He was seeing strange women behind her back? "She's a nice girl. Invited me to a party."

Attracted by the sound of the word 'party', Dawn came out of the living room. "A party? Can I come?"

"No, you can't," Spike told her. "It's adults only."

"Adults only?" Dawn made a face. "What is it, an orgy?"

Spike laughed. "I don't think so. Probably just means there'll be a great deal of booze." He gave Buffy a friendly smile. "It's a bring your own friends kind of party, though, so you can come along. Seeing as you're all free, white and twenty-one."

Buffy tried to frown, then returned his smile reluctantly. "Don't say that kind of thing in public!"

"Yeah. Politically incorrect is my middle name. Anyway, I must be off." He rummaged in his pockets. "Let's see, driver's licence, car papers, keys. I think I have everything."

"You have a driver's licence?" exclaimed Dawn with excitement. "Can I see it?"

"No," said Spike automatically. She gave him a pleading look, and he relented. "No laughing at the picture, right?"

"Promise!" Dawn snatched the card out of his hands and scrutinised it. "Gee, you couldn't have picked a worse picture, could you?" She looked up at him. "1977? You want people to believe you're twenty-five?"

"Why, what's wrong with that?" Spike snatched the driver's licence back. "You don't think I look twenty-five?"

"More like twenty-five going on forty," said Dawn with a mischievous grin.

"Well, that's not bad for someone who's 158," grumbled Spike as he opened the front door. He came nose to nose with Xander. "All things considered, I think I look a lot better than some 21-year-olds."

Buffy actually thought that Xander was looking very good. His hair was neatly cut and he was wearing a light blue shirt and dark slacks. By comparison, Spike looked old-fashioned and scruffy. He had slicked back his long hair into a ponytail; between that and the beard, all he needed was a beer belly and an earring, and he would have made a perfect Hell's Angel. Minus the corduroy jacket, obviously.

The two men glared at each other while Spike pushed out the door. As soon as the former vampire was outside, Xander turned to Buffy with an evil grin. Well, what passed for an evil grin anyway; it was kinda goofy.

"Buffy, did you know someone dumped their old car on your driveway?" He said in a loud voice. "I haven't seen a Yugo in years. You know the joke: 'Yugo, but it doesn't'." He looked over his shoulder and shook his head. "Wow. That is quite some pile of junk!"

"Well, you know me. Always wanted a little pile of junk to call my own," said Spike, standing behind him. He took a look at Xander's flashy new car and grinned. "What can I say, mate? Some of us don't need to compensate."

"Compensate?" repeated Xander with a laugh. He pointed at the Yugo. "You would have to be hung like a--" He noticed Dawn standing in the doorway to the living room and stopped abruptly. Spike laughed; Dawn and Xander looked at Buffy.

"Come on, Xander. Let's go," said Buffy, pushing him down the porch steps. Spike's need to compensate or lack thereof was not something she was prepared to discuss with any of them. "Dawn, make sure you keep everything locked up. I won't be home late."

"Evening with Harris, I should think not," said Spike as he got in the Yugo. "You take care of yourself, nibblet."

Dawn assured them both that everything would be fine, and Buffy followed Xander to his car. He leaned on his steering wheel for a while, watching Spike back out of the driveway and then rattle off.

"You know, I'm not a petty man," he started. "But I have to say that seeing Spike drive a Yugo has pretty much made my day."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Way to go with the not pettiness. I'm sure you and Spike can have a pissing contest later. Can we go now?"

The Bronze just wasn't what it used to be, thought Buffy wistfully. Gone were the hip teenagers from Sunnydale High. It looked as if most of the patrons were thirtysomething executives now; people with jobs, and mortgages, and responsibilities. Just like Xander and herself. Minus the being a thirtysomething executive part.

So far, the two high school friends had talked about the demons Buffy had slayed, about Xander's construction work, about how Dawn was doing at school. They had even touched upon the issue of whether the US should get involved in a war with Iraq. In short, they had talked about everything except Spike. Of course, that couldn't last.

"So, what is with the bearded wonder these days anyway?" asked Xander. "He seems very happy for someone who ate, murdered and raped his way across the world for two hundred years. You'd think he would at least have the grace to feel sorry about what he did. Especially what he did to you."

"Oh, yeah. Because what he nearly did to me was so much worse than all the eating, murdering and actual raping he did." Buffy shook her head. "Well, for your info, he's not happy, no matter how cheerful he might look. I live with him, I see him every day, and I know it's all a front. He doesn't sleep. He can't look at himself in a mirror. He's drawing garish pictures of himself as Oedipus tearing his eyes out. He's not all broody like Angel, but I know he's totally with the guilt."

"Oedipus? What, like the play we did at the high school talent show?"

"The play we did at the -- Oh, my God. I forgot all about that!" Buffy looked down into her glass of wine with horror. "I played Oedipus' Mom!"

"Yeah. Load of crap. And I am so glad I've never had to learn lines since. I'm totally not with the learning lines." Xander shrugged, then turned to Buffy with a shocked expression. "Spike slept with his Mom?"

"No, it's a guilt thing. Oedipus did horrible things, Spike did horrible things. Oedipus gouged out his eyes, Spike is kinda, well, not Spike anymore. But that doesn't matter." She noticed that Xander had finished his beer. "Here, I'll get some more drink."

Moving to the centre of the room, Buffy hopped up and down to see how big the throng around the bar was. Only two or three people deep, with two bartenders serving. She could probably get a drink in fifteen minutes.

Looking around while she waited, she noticed Spike leaning at the bar. He was talking to a big, burly guy covered in tattoos. The contrast in size made Spike look very small and delicate. His face was animated, and he was gesturing as if he were telling the man a fascinating story. Buffy wondered what stories he could tell; it would take an enormous pack of lies to transform Spike's past life into anything he could relate to a stranger. But it was good to see him so intense, a little of his old fire coming back. She pushed her way through the crowd to see if she could hear anything, slipping in behind Spike, where he wouldn't notice her.

"That's the thing, see?" he was saying. "It's nearly impossible to do on your own, but once you've got a leg up, and someone says 'Go on, son, you can do it', then you've got a fighting chance, right?"

"Yeah. I get that," said the other guy.

"See, the thing is, we've supposedly 'paid our debt to society', but now we've got to prove it. The rest of our lives has to be proof that we've learned our lesson and that we've changed our ways."

"Totally." The man leaned towards him and spoke in a low voice that Buffy's Slayer senses could barely pick up. "William, don't look now, but I think that girl behind you totally digs you."

"Blonde hair, big eyes, knee-high to a grasshopper?" Spike spun around. "Hello, Buffy. I know you liked spying on me, but this is getting a bit much, don't you think?"

"I don't spy on you!" She looked at Spike's friend with embarrassment. "I totally don't. He's lying. I just...wondered what you were talking about."

"Redemption. Joe here went to jail too," he said, giving Buffy a significant 'play along with this' look. "We were discussing how you become a good person again when you've been really, really bad."

The bartender came over with several beers. There were apparently more drinks to come; Spike said he would wait for them. Joe excused himself to carry the first batch over to the other workers.

"You're an ex-con now?" exclaimed Buffy the minute Joe was out of earshot. "Spike--"

"Had to come up with something, didn't I?" said Spike with a shrug. "When Joe gave me his sob story about being a jailbird, I thought 'hey, kindred spirit'. Told him I was in the clink in England, though, in case he started getting technical. I can always draw on old episodes of Porridge for witty anecdotes... Porridge is a British sitcom about a prison, in case you're wondering."

"The British have a sitcom about a prison?" Buffy raised her hand. "I know, British humour. I wouldn't understand."

"So where's hyena boy?" asked Spike, looking around. "Weren't you two having a hot date?"

"It was not a hot date, and he's over there, waiting for his drink." Buffy pointed to where she and Xander had been sitting, but he was nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, the seats were already re-occupied. She turned back towards Spike. "You think I'm dating Xander?"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "If you were, he'd be round your place every day marking his territory. But you could do a lot worse. He's a decent fellow when he's not being a jerk."

"So are you. Look, I love Xander very much. He's my best friend, the only person I know who has never abandoned me. But I would never date him in a million years; it's too squicky and he's just not my type. And why are you singing his praises all of a sudden anyway? I thought you--"

She realised that Spike was looking over her shoulder with a sheepish smile. "Oh, hello, mate," he said. "We were just talking about you." He picked up the drinks which had accumulated on the counter. "If you'll excuse me. I have a bunch of thirsty dockers to water."

"No, don't--" started Buffy. She watched him join his friends at the pool table, and sticking his tongue out as he lowered the drinks onto a nearby table. Buffy rolled her eyes and turned towards Xander. "Look, I didn't mean--"

"To hurt me. I know. I guess I have to face the fact that a long-haired murderer who drives a Yugo always gets the girl."

Buffy resisted the urge to punch him. "That's harsh, Xander. First, I'm not a 'girl' to be gotten. Second, Spike isn't getting me. I'm helping him through a very difficult period in his life because he needs me and it's the right thing to do!"

"The right thing to do is chuck him out and let someone else deal with him," said Xander, pointing at Spike. "He has friends now, and you don't owe him anything, even if he did become human to get back in your pants. I don't like seeing you being manipulated by that murderous rapist!"

"I'm not being manipulated. God, Xander, give me some credit here!" She clutched her purse and walked past him. "I'm going home. I told Dawn I would be home early."

Xander caught her arm. "Buffy. Don't let that asshole--"

"Oi, leave her alone!" Spike was now standing beside him. "You have a problem with the 'asshole', maybe you should take it up with him, not Buffy."

"Yeah. I will." Xander let go of Buffy and spun on Spike. They were roughly the same height, and were able to glare at each other eye to eye. "What's with the new Neanderthal look, Spike? Guess when you asked to be made 'human', you forgot to specify 'homo sapiens', huh?"

Spike rubbed his hairy cheek with a chuckle. "Well, ever since I've become human, I must admit I feel as if my knuckles are scraping the floor. It's not easy being a monkey again."

"On behalf of my six billion co-monkeys: 'hey!'," exclaimed Xander. He poked Spike in the chest. "I'm not taking that kind of talk from someone who looks like a mouldy old college professor."

Spike looked down at his beige sweater and dark pants. He spread his hands with resignation. "Just goes to show," he said, speaking to himself rather than Xander. "No matter how far you run or how hard you fight it, you always turn into your old Dad."

Xander blanched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your father was a college professor?" asked Buffy, though neither man acknowledged her.

A wicked smile lit up Spike's face as he leaned towards Xander; Buffy could nearly see the peroxide hair growing back. "That's right. Have some father issues, don't we, thumper? Old man always at your Mum, grinding her down, humiliating her in front of all her mates. Oh yes, I can see it writ large. All those years of picking over every little thing Anya said--"

"Don't you talk about Anya!"

"--poking fun at her unhuman ways. I know who you take after, mate. You might have left the basement and run all the way into a Chrysler Sebring and a flat in the sky, but you're still going to turn out just like your good old Dad."

Xander seized Spike's sweater and threw him against a column. "I'm not going to stand here and be insulted by a disgusting rapist like you, Spike. I'm not afraid of you. You're just a vile manipulative liar. I don't buy this 'I'm so sorry' routine, and I'm guessing you didn't become human to take up a job with Amnesty International. Why did you do it, Spike? Discovered that raping her wasn't going to work and decided to turn on the pathos instead? It's obviously working. She's so blinded by whatever it is that makes you so irresistible to her, that she's letting you walk all over her."

"Hey. 'Her' is standing right here!" exclaimed Buffy. She threw her hands up in the air when both men ignored her. "Oh. Testosterone poisoning. I forgot."

"I am not manipulating her," said Spike through clenched teeth. He shoved Xander away. "Buffy's a big girl. She doesn't need some toothless puppy dog to defend her."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Thank you."

"She's not that strong, or she wouldn't have let a creep like you even get near enough to try to rape her. If I'd caught you after you did that to her--"

"Believe me, there are days I wish you had. Look, I'll leave you alone." Spike went to walk past him. "I have no quarrel with you, Xander."

The other man caught him by the arm. "Hey, I'm talking to you, you bastard. Why don't you just explain why you became human, huh? Thought it would make you any less of a worthless asshole? You know what your problem is, Spike? You don't know when to give up. She'll never love you, not really. Whatever she felt was all about your strength and the thrill of you being a vampire. You're just a loser, Spike."

Buffy could only see Spike's face in profile, but even under the beard and glasses, she recognised the expression on his face. "Xander!" she warned.

But it was too late; Spike drove his fist back over his shoulder, dealing Xander a hard blow to the nose. He spun around and caught the other man by the shirt before he fell to the ground.

"Fair enough. But you know what your problem is, Xander? You're the kind of guy who thinks that being bullied at school gives you a right to be a jerk." Spike staggered back as Xander shoved him off. "Well, I know all about that, mate. Why don't we go outside and see who's the biggest bully?"

"Okay. I'm out of here!" exclaimed Buffy, waving her arms to make sure they both saw her. "I'm way too old to be playing in a sandbox!"

"Who do they think they were, anyway?" muttered Buffy as she hurried home through the alleys of Sunnydale. "Fighting like school kids! Way to go with the mature. Spike is twenty-five?" She guffawed. "More like five. When is he going to learn that his fists aren't going to solve his problems?" Looking down, Buffy realised that her outfit was covered in vampire dust. "Oh, crap. Vampire dust again. I should bottle it and sell it. There must be someone somewhere who could use it. God knows spells use every other bizarro ingredient in the universe. There must be one that uses vampire dust!"

Buffy kicked a can out of her way. She had killed two vampires and still she was in a bad mood. Very unusual. And it was all Spike's fault. That bastard, coming back all human and remorseful, and then not wanting to talk about things, and being all weird and different. And then picking a fight with Xander out of the blue. She had thought Spike had changed! But no, it was still all macho, 'I'm the Big Bad'-ness all around.

Buffy turned and punched her hand clean through the bulky demon that had been shadowing her, pulling out its guts and tossing them to the ground with disgust.

"Why won't he talk to me? Tell me how he really feels about having his soul back?" she asked the demon as it lunged towards her again. She kicked it hard. "And why does he get to be normal guy? It's just not fair." Buffy broke the demon's neck. "He gets to have all these friends and a normal job, and a whole future to look forward to." She pouted as the demon dissolved. "And the only friend I have left is Xander."

Infomercials. More brain-numbing and soul-sucking than a...brain-numbing, soul-sucking thing. Buffy stared at the screen, mesmerised by the whole idiocy of big-haired, toothy actresses waxing lyrical about the properties of a toilet brush. Dawn had long since gone to bed, but Buffy had decided to wait for Spike to come home. It was time she gave him a piece of her mind.

Unable to stand the inanity of late night television any longer, she turned off the TV and walked over to the desk to look at the papers Spike had left there. He had evidently continued his studies; there were print outs and pieces of paper with hand-written notes on them shoved into virtually every book. Most were about vampires, and in particular Darla, but one, written in very small handwriting on the back of one of her mother's old business cards, looked like a rhyme. Bringing the paper up to the lamp, Buffy was just able to read it.

So I return to the land of painted grass
Where in silicon breasts beat hearts of glass
Victorious in my trials, I bow my head in defeat
As I lay my weary warrior's body at my love's stony feet

Buffy stared at the paper for a moment, shaken by the idea of Spike writing poetry. What did it mean? Was she still the 'love' he mentioned in the poem? If so, what did the 'silicon breasts' and 'stony feet' mean? And did Spike really think fake breasts were made of the same stuff as computer chips?

She was still puzzling over the poem when she heard the sound of a key in the door. Caught unawares, Buffy hastily pushed the card back into one of the books, but not fast enough that Spike didn't notice.

"What are you doing?" he growled. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and she got the full effect of his blue-eyed glare.

"N-Nothing." She faced him and crossed her arms. "So who won?"

"What?" Spike was still looking at the papers. "Oh. You mean me and Xander. It was a draw." His lips twisted into something that was not quite a smile. "He broke my glasses; I tossed him into a dustbin. We called it quits. Spent the evening down the Jackrabbit with my mates from work. The Jackrabbit actually looks quite posh when you can't see a bloody thing. Though the girls looked a bit like gyrating Energizer bunnies: fuzzy and pink." He frowned. "Were you reading my things?"

"I wasn't-- I was bored and so I was looking around. And--And you left them there! It's not like I'm poking around your room." Spike lowered his eyes with a tilt of the head which acknowledged this point. "Anyway, Xander broke your glasses? What are you going to do?"

"Not see for a while. He said he'd get me a new pair." Spike smiled. "Seems we're best mates now. Mind you, he was pretty rat-arsed." He leaned against the wall, and stared at the floor with a gloomy expression.

Buffy approached, but tonight, he didn't pull away. The speech she had prepared to give him, berating him for letting Xander goad him into a fist fight, had completely dropped out of her head.

"What's wrong, Spike?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing."

Spike glanced at Buffy, then looked away, shaking his head sheepishly. He looked ashamed and upset. Even though she didn't understand what was wrong, Buffy slid one arm around his neck, drawing him close to her for a consoling hug. He nuzzled her cheek, his warm breath and prickly beard tickling her skin. Her heartbeat quickened as his arms slid around her. He smelled of shampoo and sweat; she turned her face towards his. Their lips touched once, barely brushing against each other, and then a second time, this time in a quick, chaste kiss.

Buffy drew away slightly to stare at Spike. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted by his ragged breath. She felt a rush of desire at the realisation that he wanted her, and leaned forward to renew the kiss. Spike pulled away.

"Oh, God." He stepped back and raised his hand. "Not a good idea. We agreed, right?"

"Yeah. Of course." He was right. Kissing Spike was not good. Not good at all. "You're right, we agreed. It-it's just because it's late, and you seemed so unhappy, and you... smell really good."

Spike burst out laughing. "God, that's-- That certainly puts things into perspective." He pressed his hand to his forehead and turned away. "Sorry, pet, I'm afraid my days of offering a stud service to the dumped, deranged and desperate of Sunnydale are over. We've been doing really well, yeah, and I don't want everything to be spoiled because I exude pheromones or whatever it is I do." He waved towards her as he backed away. "So that didn't happen, right?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Buffy put her hands on her hips as she realised what he had said. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, dumped, deranged and desperate? Are you talking about me?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Spike rolled his eyes. "Just forget it. I'm going to bed."

Buffy caught his sleeve as he tried to walk out the door. "No. Tell me. What do you mean?"

Spike twisted his arm out of her grasp, then grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her against the desk. Realising what he was doing, he let go of her and stepped away, though his expression remained angry.

"What I mean," he said through clenched teeth, "is that I know exactly what you want from me. You're dressing it up with Mother Theresa kindness, but the bottom line is that it's the same thing Dru, and Harmony, and Anya wanted from me. And what I want, is to be treated like a human being. Like a man." He pointed at her. "This stuff, you don't need me for. It's nothing a couple of fingers and the blunt end of a stake can't fix."

"Wh-What?" stuttered Buffy. "I never-- How do you know--What did you say?"

He didn't answer, just ran up the stairs and into his room without a further word. Buffy stood in the hallway, aroused and angry. And very confused. Spike was rejecting her; in what bizarro dimension did that ever happen? Maybe he had come to the same conclusion as Angel and Riley, and had decided to have nothing to do with her now that he was a fragile human. What if he really didn't want her? Nobody else ever did, after all; she had to be the worst girlfriend in the universe. Why would Spike love someone like her now that he had a soul and was trying to be good?

Buffy took a deep breath to calm herself down. It probably wasn't even her fault; he was going through a rough patch, and he still wanted her enough to kiss her. So it would be okay. She'd work things out with him another day.

"Is everything okay?" Dawn was halfway down the stairs, peeping over the banisters. "I could hear you and Spike fighting."

Buffy sighed. "It's me and Spike. Fighting is what we do, remember?"

-5-

Buffy groaned as the vampire threw her against a crypt wall, crushing the wind out of her. He turned her around, pressing her back against the fraying concrete.

"Not so cocky now, huh, Slayer?" he said, gripping her by the throat.

"No." Buffy ran her hand down the front of his outdated jeans. "Guess I'm not the cocky one now." She pushed him to the ground and straddled him. "This isn't what I want, you know." She moaned when he tore open her shirt. "I want a normal man. I want a normal life. It's my reward for being a good Slayer."

"Pigs might fly," said Spike, standing beside her in his leather coat, a cigarette in his hand. "You're not normal. You're a freak." He threw away the cigarette. "And now I'm human, I can't be your sex toy anymore."

"No, really, I don't need to do vampires," Buffy assured him. The vamp had stripped her completely now and slipped one hand in between her legs. Another vampire came up from behind and started to caress her breasts. She leaned back into his embrace, exposing her neck, letting him bite her. The first vampire sat up beneath her; she threw her head back and moaned as he penetrated her. She was surrounded by vampires now; overwhelmed by their desire and need for her. "No, I don't need vampires," she sighed. "This is a Slayer thing. I'm not like this."

"Oh, drop it, William," said Xander, walking up to Spike. "Leave the weirdo in Weirdsville. Come on, we have a game of basketball to play." He threw the orange ball at Spike. It missed him completely and bounded away in the cemetery. Buffy caught it. "Okay, so we'll play without the ball."

"We always have to play without balls," said Spike with a shrug. "She always takes them away."

Buffy looked at the ball, then at the vampires around her. She pulled out a stake and dusted them all in turn. Some struggled, some fought her, some even managed to get in a few blows. But in the end, they were all reduced to dust. It covered her, obscuring her naked body.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said, holding out the ball to Spike.

"You will anyway. You're a killer." He pointed at the dust covering her. "This is what you do to all your lovers. Grind them down." He dug his hands in his pockets. "The fact is, only a soulless being could love a bitch like you."

He turned away and walked off with Xander. Some other men were waiting in a basketball court down the cemetery path. Although they were far away, Buffy thought she recognised Angel and Riley among them.

"No!" screamed Buffy. "This isn't right. You're the one who came back, Spike. You can't just leave like this."

All he did was shrug. "It's for your own good."

Buffy woke up with a start, tears welling in her eyes. It was daylight outside. She resisted the urge to run into Spike's bedroom and check that he was still there. It had taken her two hours to get to sleep after her encounter with him the previous evening, and the night had been haunted with dreams of him abandoning her, telling her she was evil and disgusting, and that he didn't want her anymore.

"He's not going anywhere," she told herself. "He just doesn't want to sleep with me. And that's totally okay. Very reasonable."

Buffy got up and looked out of her bedroom window. Dawn was on the front lawn, talking to a young blonde woman who was carrying Pepito on her hip. Buffy assumed this was Mrs Koslowski's daughter Melissa, though she had never actually met her. She dressed in a hurry, but by the time she came downstairs, Pepito's mother had gone back into her own house.

"Hi, Buffy," said Dawn, leaning against the Yugo. "Melissa is baking cookies. She says she'll bring some out for us." She frowned. "How come you never make cookies?"

Buffy waggled a finger at her. "Hey, I'm still working on the Mom thing. You can't expect everything." She paused, before adding, "Is Spike around?"

"No." Dawn shrugged. "He was gone when I got up." Buffy felt a cold dread come over her, though her sister didn't seem to notice. "Maybe they work on Saturdays down the docks."

"He went to work without the Yugo?"

Dawn wasn't listening. "Say, isn't that Xander's car?" she added, pointing up the road.

Sure enough, the sleek silver vehicle was cruising up the street and stopped outside their house. Xander got out first, carrying a power drill.

"One more word from you," he told someone in the car, "and I'm gonna use this to drill a hole in your head!"

"I'd like to see you try!" exclaimed Spike, coming out the other side of the car. He frowned. "On second thoughts, don't. I've had enough people poking around my head."

Buffy stared at him as he sauntered over to join them on the front lawn. "Oh wow," she whispered.

He had had a complete makeover. The beard was gone, the hair was short, and the glasses were trendy, with a thin black frame. Added to the light blue turtleneck he was wearing, the new look made him look...hot. Buffy was rendered completely speechless. She had nearly forgotten how handsome he was under all that hair.

"Wow!" exclaimed Dawn. "Way to go with the makeover!"

Spike gave her a sheepish smile and jerked his thumb at Xander. "Well, you know, when people like Monkey Boy start calling you a caveman, it's time to take some action!" He laughed when he noticed the dirty look Xander gave him. "I mean, can't have Barney Rubble here outshining me!"

Buffy drew closer and felt her heart sink as she got a clearer view of Spike. His short hair was speckled with grey at the temples. Dawn was right; he didn't look twenty-five. Perhaps those 158 years were catching up with him. Buffy also noticed how piercing his blue eyes were. Especially rimmed with black bruises.

What are you gonna do, beat me up again?

Shocked by her own memories, Buffy took a step back. No wonder he didn't want to sleep with her. This wasn't me, she told herself firmly, I've changed. I wouldn't do that anymore. But how could Spike know that? His change was obvious, manifest in his beating heart. But there was no way to prove that she had changed.

She caught Spike's eye and wondered if he was thinking about the previous night. But he just looked away, concentrating on what Xander was saying.

"Can I just mention at this point that the whole makeover thing was entirely on me?" said Xander, shaking his head. He too had some minor cuts and bruises on his face. "This free-loading son of a b-- gun made me pay for everything."

"Hey, you broke my glasses, you berk. You owed me," said Spike with a smug grin. He pointed out his black eyes to Dawn. "We had a little argument yesterday. Pissing contest stuff. You wouldn't understand; it's a man thing. So anyway, since he redecorated my face last night; I thought he could pay to have it done properly today."

Dawn patted Spike's arm with false sincerity. "Aw, poor Spike. You're always getting beaten up, aren't you?"

"Jeez!" Xander took a step back and gesticulated at Spike. "That is so totally unfair. I get beaten up, knocked unconscious, and I pay for all the damages, but do I get any sympathy? Nadissimo. How do you do it and can I have some?"

Spike pushed his arms forward in a gesture reminiscent of the Fonz. "Hey, what can I say, mate? It's the 'knack'. Either you've got it--" He indicated himself. "--or you haven't." He indicated Xander.

"Okay, now I know why I hate you. It's not because of the whole vampire thing. It's the superior English thing." Xander poked Spike in the chest. "You're like Giles with a bad attitude."

"Ah, the famous American inferiority complex!" They scuffled playfully, trading further insults.

Buffy couldn't help laughing at their idiotic behaviour. She wished she knew what had happened that night to change them into best friends all of a sudden. Meanwhile, Dawn was observing Spike thoughtfully, her head cocked to one side. Then she pointed at him with an excited smile.

"I know who you remind me of. Wesley."

Xander guffawed. "Wesley? Oh, I like that!"

"Who's Wesley?" asked Spike.

"Faith's ex-watcher," explained Buffy. "Works with Angel now." Spike looked confused. "You do remember Faith. Psycho slayer?"

"Oh, yes, I heard of her. Seem to remember Sherlock Holmes here and his sidekick Dr Giles asking me to help them find her, actually." He smirked at Xander. "Never met her, mind you." He caught Buffy's eye briefly, but then looked over her shoulder. "Oh, hello, Melissa."

"William, is that you?" said Melissa. She handed around the tray of cookies she had brought, then stared at Spike in awe. "What a difference! Who would have thought there was such a handsome man under all that hair?" Spike looked pleased by the compliment; Buffy wished she had made it when it had first occurred to her. "And cool glasses. I told you new glasses would change your whole outlook on life."

"Well, they gave me a new prescription, so yeah, it's a different outlook all right. Kerbs and steps are a bit of a challenge right now." Melissa's hearty laugh suggested that she knew exactly what Spike was talking about. Buffy was mystified.

Spike introduced Melissa to Xander and pointed at the drill he was holding. "I'm a man of my word. I have procured the Tool." He wrapped his arm around Xander, pulling him none too gently towards the house. "Not only that, but the Tool Operator as well, who will be delighted to put up your Mum's shelves."

"What? You brought me here to put up shelves?" exclaimed Xander, as Spike and Melissa led him into the Koslowski's house. "Have I mentioned that I hate you, Spike?"

"Why the long face?" asked Xander, coming to join Buffy on her back porch later that day.

Buffy shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Not a long face." She moved over to let him sit beside her. "I guess I'm just worried about Spike, that's all."

"Yeah, me too." Xander sipped his bottle of beer. "Stuff we talked about last night. Not pretty."

The object of their discussion was kicking a volleyball around the back yard, trying to work up a soccer game with Melissa, Dawn, and Pepito. It was fortunate that backyard soccer was a simple game, because they were all hopeless at it. Even Spike. Definitely an armchair sportsman.

"You talked to Spike?" asked Buffy. "What did he say? I've tried to get him to talk to me, but he won't tell me anything. It's like this brick wall comes down every time."

"He can't talk to you, Buffy," said Xander. "Think about it from his perspective. You're his last victim. You're why he did this to himself. He's not going to tell you how hard it is for him. He doesn't want your pity."

"Is that what he told you?"

Xander half-shrugged. "No, but it's the feeling I got. To be honest, I don't think you'd want to hear all the stuff in his head. It's bad, really bad. No wonder Angel was such a brooding pain." He shook his head. "Jeez, Spike's so ashamed of everything he did as a vampire, and that's 99.9% of everything he's ever done in his life. I don't know how he gets up in the morning."

"Dawn knocks on his door... Which obviously isn't what you mean." Buffy looked down at the drink she was holding. "I know he's having trouble, and I want to help him. But I don't know what to do."

"Just do what you're doing now. Be supportive. Just be like 'go, Spike'! It means a lot to him. He did tell me that much." Xander chuckled. "For the rest, I know what he's going through, trying to adjust to life as a grown-up for a change. But once he finds a good job he's interested in, and a girlfriend who loves him, I think he'll be fine." His expression became wistful. "Maybe with a century of experience behind him, he won't mess things up like I did first chance he gets."

"You still miss Anya?"

"I wasn't talking about Anya, just about Spike getting himself a life..." Xander paused for a while, nursing his beer and watching the others playing with Pepito. "But yeah. I guess I do miss Anya. I know, that's not what I said before. But you know, Spike and I got to talking, and he's actually pretty good at the whole listening thing. Made me realise some things I hadn't thought about before. If Anya can forgive me, maybe I can do things differently this time..."

Buffy looked at Spike. "Yeah, me too."

Buffy listened at the bathroom door. Spike had been avoiding her in a variety of ways all weekend. Every time she asked him what he was doing, he had a good excuse; he was working, or 'meeting mates', or having a 'quiet time' in his bedroom. Any time she did manage to corner him for a moment, he avoided any mention of their kiss, or what he had said. Buffy had been trying to think of a way to initiate a talk with him, and she now thought she had found the ideal conversation piece. She would just sneak in and leave it on his bed; that way, he could talk to her if he chose to. If he didn't, she'd try something else.

Trying very hard to be quiet, Buffy slipped into his room with the box she was carrying. She hadn't been in here since he had first moved in. There were clothes strewn across the bed, books and printouts laid out on every other surface. The dresser had been pulled in front of the door that led into Dawn's room, and its mirror obscured with a towel. Looking at the mess in the room reminded Buffy that it was time the whole house was cleaned.

She didn't have time to lay out the contents of the box before Spike came into the room by the other door. He was too busy hopping on one foot, pulling a sock off, to notice Buffy at first. When he did notice her, Spike stopped hopping and covered his genitals with the sock, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Wow," said Buffy, still mesmerised by the vision of Spike hopping on one foot. "You're naked."

Spike looked down. "Well, no, technically, I am wearing one sock." He raised one finger, grabbed some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and was holding the sock in his hand. He gave Buffy a wary look.

"You know, if you're that desperate, I can satisfy you," he said with grim determination. "I'm not all go in the trouser area, but I still know a few tricks."

"Tricks?" Buffy grimaced. "No. And ew. And I'm not like that... Anymore. I never was, not really, though I know I didn't look like I wasn't when I was--" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Look, I brought you something."

Buffy pulled the item out of the box, and laid it out on the bed. Spike looked horrified.

"I-I thought you might like it back," said Buffy. Judging by his expression, this was a mistake. Big, big mistake. Stupid Buffy. "You-you might need it in the winter," she added. Yeah, like that made it better.

"I don't understand," said Spike, staring at her with his head tilted to one side. "Why did you keep it?"

"Because it's yours." Buffy rolled her eyes. "I don't mean that in a keeping your things fetish kind of way. But it wasn't mine to throw out." She looked down at the leather coat, which was worn and beaten, and not the better for several months up in the attic. "Besides, I thought you might come back for it some day."

Spike shook his head, staring at the coat. "You're a weird person, Buffy."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Spike sat down on the bed, pulling one knee up so he could sit sideways on and face her across the bed. "I tried to rape you, and now you want me to finish what I started? I don't understand, Buffy." He looked up at her pleadingly. "What do you want from me?"

Buffy felt a lump in her throat; this little talk wasn't going at all well. She had hoped that giving him back the coat would be a gesture of forgiveness, and that he would reciprocate by telling her what was wrong. She hadn't thought out just how wrong the wrong might be, and how right Xander was when he said she wouldn't want to hear it.

She glanced at the door, tempted for one moment to run away, but then steeled herself. She wanted to know what was bugging Spike, now was the time to find out. Whatever his problem with her was, it couldn't be worse than her best friend wanting to kick her ass. Or her boyfriend giving her an ultimatum just after she'd found him having...something with vampires. Or her other boyfriend leaving because...

"I want to help you." Buffy sat down on the bed and faced Spike with resolve. There was a whole lot of bed and a pile of clothes between them. "It's-- I know we kinda kissed, and I know me coming in here while you're naked is kinda something to give you the wrong idea. Though you do know there's a lock on this door, right?" She sighed. "But it's not about sex. I mean, really. Not that, I guess, if-- But that's not why I want to spend time with you. I like you. I'm kind of getting used to the whole new you thing, and..."

Spike turned away and plucked at his pants. "That's the thing, you see. There is no new me. There's just me and some guilt. Well, shitloads of guilt, actually." He sighed. "But if I want to become a better person, I have to turn myself into someone completely new, and that means no booze, no fags, and no bloody fighting just because I've had a bad day."

"Spike, I know you've done a lot of bad things as a vampire, but that doesn't mean you have to turn into Gandhi now you're human."

"Yeah, why turn into Gandhi when I could be Ted Bundy?" He frowned. "Can't you see? After everything I've done, I can't just go out and bop a few demons on the head. I'm going to want to bop a few humans too. If I start again, I'll never stop. I'm a violent man. I couldn't even control myself enough to stop from clobbering Xander."

Buffy shook her head. "That doesn't make you a violent person. It makes you someone who uses violence under provocation. Like Xander."

"I'm pretty sure Xander has never killed a child with his own bare hands." Spike rubbed his forehead. "You should read that thesis the Council wrote about me. That'll give you some idea of the ghosts in my head." He turned towards her again, his brow wrinkled with worry. "I need to work through all this stuff, Buffy. I just can't give you anything right now."

"That's okay. You don't owe me anything. You're feeling the guilt and you're trying to do the right thing. That's all I need to know." She observed his hangdog expression for a moment. "Want a non-sexual kind of hug?"

He smiled at her. "I think I'll settle for a nice relaxing bath. But keep that hug, I might need it some day."

Buffy leaned her chin on her hand, trying to read the Council of Watchers' thesis on Spike. The actual document was dour and pedantic, but the subject matter was fascinating. Murder, mayhem, railway spikes and a whole lot of Drusilla. The author barely mentioned the man Spike had been before Dru turned him, except to say he had been the son of a college professor best remembered for his mild manners and bad poetry. Buffy thought back to the poem she had found the previous week. Spike the bad-ass vampire had been a poet? The author of the thesis said this proved that there was no connection between the human and the vampire he became, but to Buffy it made perfect sense. Even when she was trying to resist her feelings, she had sensed Spike's sensitivity and desire for beauty. As well as his obsession with not being a geek. And now he had come full circle, back to a man who wrote poetry and tried to avoid violence.

The phone rang and she delivered her usual spiel, her mind on Spike while she waited for the potential customer to tell her what they wanted.

"Ah, um, Buffy. I forgot you worked in a call centre."

"Giles?" Buffy grinned with delight. "Oh my God, you're calling from England?" Her smiled faded. "You never call. Is there something wrong? Has something happened?"

"No. Well, we had an earthquake last night, but nothing to worry about."

"I thought they didn't have earthquakes in England."

"Just the occasional little one." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Anyway, I was going to leave a message on your answerphone asking if you got my last e-mail -- which incidentally rather defeats the purpose of having e-mail in the first place. So I called, only to find that your answerphone is now Spike. Which, as you can imagine, caused me some concern considering the circumstances under which he left."

Buffy twirled the phone cord around her fingers. "Oh. Well, I was going to tell you, but he's only been at home for a couple of weeks, and I just didn't have time to send you an e-mail, so--"

"It's all right. You don't have to keep me appraised of every event in your life. Well, except that this is quite momentous, of course." Giles sounded hurt. "A vampire going through gruelling trials in order to be resurrected. It's unprecedented. This calls into question everything the Council has ever believed about vampires. If Spike can choose to seek redemption, then it's possible that other vampires might do the same."

"I don't think so," said Buffy. "I've done a survey using a representative sample of the residents of Sunnydale Cemetery, and none of them were interested in being human again. So I figure Spike is weird, and that's all there is to it."

Giles sounded as if his mind was on other things. "I do wonder, though, if this ties in to the Shanshu prophecy. Until now, Wesley and I believed that it referred to Angel becoming human at the End of Days. But now that Spike has become human instead..."

"Please don't tell me he's Prophecy Boy. Prophecies are never of the good. I haven't had one in years, and I totally don't miss them. They're always about death and destruction, and it is so not good to know what your destiny is."

"Yes, well, I can't be sure that Spike is the subject of the prophecy either," admitted Giles. "And I haven't heard from Wesley in months. Look, I'm going to collect some information for Spike and send it to you by e-mail later this week. Do check your mail on Willow's computer and make sure he gets it," he added in a sterner voice.

"Thanks. I'm sure Spike will be pleased. He's been reading all your books. Even the Watchers' Diaries!"

"Oh, well. I must admit there is some irony at the thought of Spike reading my books." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, as I was saying in the e-mail you didn't read, Willow and I will be arriving in Sunnydale next week; all the flight details are in the message. Willow will be staying with her parents, but we can discuss my accommodation later. By e-mail."

"Well, we can discuss it right... Oh, phone bill. Yeah, we'll get something worked out." She smiled. "I'm so glad you're coming back! I've missed you both so much. So I guess if she's coming back to Sunnydale, that means Willow is better, right?"

"She's improving," said Giles in a soft voice that screamed 'Willow is not better'. "I think she and Spike will have a lot in common. In the meantime, keep a close eye on Spike. He sounds a little... fragile to me."

Fragile? Spike? Buffy leaned on the banister in the basement, watching him make the most of her little training room. His back was to the stairs; he hadn't noticed Buffy's presence yet. He was wearing his new sweatpants and a sleeveless T-shirt, and was pounding the punch bag with a ferocity not unlike his old vampire persona. It was gratifying to see him so active; she'd really been afraid that their conversation a couple of days earlier meant he was turning his back on violence.

Buffy frowned at that thought. And what was wrong with Spike turning his back on violence, exactly? She'd often wished she could just become a normal girl who didn't have to kill things. Spike had that chance now; why was she pleased that he didn't take it?

Dismissing the thought, she observed Spike's technique with a critical eye.

"You should really wrap your hands, you know," she told him.

Startled, he spun towards her, his face momentarily angry. His new glasses were folded on the washing machine; except for the dark hair, he looked just like he had in his vampire days. Lean, mean and dangerous. Sexy too. Buffy felt a shiver run down her spine. She half expected him to morph into game face.

"Sorry, I-I didn't know you were--" started Buffy, turning back towards the door. "I-I don't want to stop you from using my punchbag as a...punchbag."

Spike sighed. "Oh, it's all right. I was lost in my own thing, didn't realise it was you. Don't know who else I thought it might be. Sort of wandered off into-- Well, never mind." He went to get a towel from the pile on top of the washing machine, burying his face in it for a few seconds. Then he put on his glasses and turned to face her, his content human façade once more in place. "Quite a convenient setup you've got here. Not enough room to swing a cat, of course, let alone some decent punches, but not bad."

"Well, Anya decided to let the Magic Box go now that she's a vengeance demon again, so Xander moved all my training equipment here."

"Good idea," said Spike. He wiped the sweat off his upper body and headed towards the stairs. "I talked to Giles this morning. I assume he called you, right? I gave him your number."

"Yeah. He told me they're coming back next week." Buffy turned to go up in front of him. "And also that he had a long conversation with you. What did you talk about?"

"Things. All the stuff in my head."

"Gee, first Xander, then Giles. You sure have a line in confiding in people," she said, before realising how hurt she sounded. She tried to open the basement door before Spike had time to say anything, but he held it shut.

"Buffy, I know you want to know what makes me tick. But trust me, it's not good." He lowered his eyes and released the door. "I don't want to spoil everything by spilling out all the crap that's in my head. This living here with you means a lot to me. This sort of friendship we have."

"You think this is friendship?"

Spike frowned, his expressive face full of confusion. Buffy looked down; his sweat-drenched T-shirt clung to his well-defined chest, outlining every hard curve and hollow. He wasn't as thin as he had been when she had first taken him in, and occasional days in the sunshine had given his face and arms a healthy tan. Buffy wondered if he would be very offended if she leapt on him. She didn't just want him for the sex, but oh, God, sex would be very nice. She looked up at his face. He had moved closer, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her.

But instead, Spike looked away. He lifted his arm and smelled his own armpit. "Ugh. I really need to have a shower."

And they say romance is dead, thought Buffy. Spike started to open the basement door, but this time, she was the one who closed it again.

"Spike. I guess this is kind of a dumb question, but... do you still want me?"

"No." His expression was earnest; Buffy's heart sank and she let go of the door. "Or to be more precise, I don't want to want you."

Buffy looked up at him with hope. "Why not?"

"Because I can't be what you need." Spike opened the door. "And because it's wrong."

-1-

"That was lame."

"That is so not true!" Dawn brushed the vampire dust off her jeans as they walked through one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries. "I totally had him."

"Oh, so that's why I'm the one who had to slay him?"

Dawn pouted and kicked a stone. Buffy looked around at the familiar tombstones; Spike's old crypt was somewhere in the distance, though they were heading away from it now. She twirled her stake, itching for something to slay, and wondering how many vampires and assorted nasties she had killed since she was called. Far too many, and yet never enough. Still, it was something to do.

After walking in silence for a few minutes, Dawn spoke again.

"So, you looking forward to seeing Willow and Giles again?"

"Yeah. I've missed them." Buffy cast her sister a sideways glance as they continued through the cemetery. "You don't sound too happy."

Dawn shrugged. "I'm totally for seeing Giles again. As for Willow... What do you expect? At least she won't be living with us this time. I mean, letting her try to kill me twice is pretty bad, but three times would be downright careless."

"It won't happen again," said Buffy, lowering her eyes. "With the therapy, or whatever, she's been getting from Giles and the coven in England, she'll be back to normal Willow again."

"Oh, so not world-destroying Willow. Just Willow who cheats on her boyfriend, wipes the minds of her friends and casts wonky spells when things go wrong, then?" Dawn sighed. "Yeah, I know, she's your best friend, you have to give her the benefit of the doubt and everything. And as long as you two déjà your vu away from me, I'm cool with it."

"You weren't this harsh on Spike," remarked Buffy.

"You have a short memory, Buffy. I know you haven't noticed, but Spike and I aren't exactly best buddies. He's okay, though. And it's easier, because I know he really isn't the demon who attacked you. Plus, he never actually tried to kill me, which is a big bonus. Closest I got to meeting Spike at his most evil was when he was sitting in the living-room asking me where I got my nail polish."

Even though she now knew that Dawn hadn't really been there, Buffy smiled at the memory. It was comforting to remember her mother and little sister sitting on the couch while Spike, the evil vampire who only wanted to skip town with his evil girlfriend, sat with them and waited for Buffy to come up with a plan to stop Angelus.

Buffy raised her stake when she heard a sound nearby. A man walked out from behind a tree a few feet away. She lowered the weapon and crossed her arms when she recognised him.

"Boo," said Spike with a chuckle.

"Speak of the devil." Buffy shook her head in consternation. "Still hiding behind trees, I see."

"What can I say? Hard to break the habits of an unlifetime."

"Now, there's something we don't see very often," said Dawn.

Spike frowned. "What, me in a cemetery?"

"No, just you." Dawn walked around him, looking him over as if he might be a hallucination. "You've been kinda scarce this last couple of weeks. So, you leading a secret life in the cemetery you're not telling us about?" She raised her eyebrows and pretended to give Buffy a worried look. "Maybe he's a vampire again!"

"In that corduroy jacket?" exclaimed Buffy. "I don't think so. People who wear brown corduroy just can't be evil. It's a fact."

"I dunno, Buffy. Wasn't that vampire wearing cords the other day? Spike is a kinda geeky human being; I guess he'd be a bit geeky to start with after becoming a vampire. I mean, along with the being evil and soulless."

"Dawn is right." Spike waggled his finger at Buffy. "You're assuming I would be turned back into the vampire I was before I became human again. You're forgetting that it took over a century to get just the right combination of hairstyle, coat and attitude to strike fear in the hearts of my victims." He grinned. "I got a bit of a fright myself when I finally saw myself in a mirror!"

Dawn put her hand on his arm, radiating false concern. "I didn't want to tell you when you were a vampire. But it's true. You're really butt-ugly. I don't know what Buffy saw in you."

Spike leaned closer to Dawn. "Neither do I. But on the other hand, she did go out with Angel."

"Point taken."

Buffy crossed her arms and glared at both of them. "Har-di-har-har. If I laugh any harder, I'll bust a rib. Anyway, what's with the cemetery visit, Spike? You picking up stuff from the crypt?"

"Oh you know," started Spike with a vague gesture that suggested he was making something up, "I was just passing by. Heard the pair of you making enough noise to attract every vamp in town. Thought I'd drop in and see what you were up to. Aside from the slaying, that is."

"Nope, it's just the slaying." Buffy tossed him a stake. "Since you're here, you can help. Or have you forgotten how?"

Spike handled the weapon gingerly. "Not so much forgotten how as got all my strength sucked out with the demon. I'll have to pass, I'm afraid; I'm not in the mood to be knocked unconscious."

"So if you're not here to pick up your stuff from the crypt or help us slay things, why are you here?" asked Dawn, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Bloody hell, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition?" Spike laughed. "Can't a chap take a stroll through the local graveyard without being interrogated? Well, if you really want to know, I've joined this ex-con support group thing. They meet over the road from the cemetery, so I thought I'd wander in here on the off-chance that you were here. So there you go: nothing nefarious."

Buffy looked at Spike with a dubious expression. "An ex-con support group?"

"Giles seemed to think I should talk to someone impartial - in the vaguest terms possible, obviously. The counsellor there wasn't bad, but I think I'll be better off talking to Giles when he gets here. I think I need to get a bit more specific in my confessions."

"You could always talk to m--" started Buffy, though Spike wasn't listening.

"Watcher and Red are back in town tomorrow, aren't they?" he asked. "What's the plan?"

"We'll pick them up from the airport in the afternoon and then have dinner at our place," explained Dawn. "I guess they'll want to rest after that."

"I don't know why Giles wouldn't stay with us," said Spike. "I offered to let him have the room I'm in, but he insisted on staying in a hotel. Maybe he thought I would come and kill him in his sleep or something." He glanced at Buffy. "Either that or he's tasted your cooking."

She gave him a friendly punch. "Shut up! It's not that bad."

"I'm glad he's not staying with us," said Dawn gravely. "We really don't need to have two guys who leave the toilet seat up!"

"Hey, when you're a man, you need a big target!" exclaimed Spike. "Besides, I have to put the toilet seat up every time I go to the loo. You can jolly well put it down again." He gave the girls a goofy grin. "Just count yourselves lucky I don't just leave the toilet seat down and piss all over it."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Okay, leaving aside the fact that we're having a conversation about Spike's peeing habits--"

She interrupted herself and spun around when she heard a woman screaming a short distance away. The three of them ran in that direction and found a young woman being attacked by two vampires, a man and a woman. Buffy threw the male vampire into a tree, knocking him out for a moment while she fought the female vamp.

"Run!" she told the victim.

The girl was too traumatised to follow her order. Instead, she just sank to the ground, crying and shaking. Spike helped her to her feet.

"You okay, love?" He looked at Dawn. "Can you walk her out of the cemetery, pet? Make sure she's all right."

Dawn did as he suggested, guiding the girl to safety. Buffy returned her attention to the fight. The vampire was a good opponent; she and her mate were clearly not fledglings. The male vamp came back to his senses and attacked Spike, barrelling into him and knocking him breathless. For a moment, Buffy was afraid she would have to rescue Spike, but he recovered enough to punch the vampire. Before it had time to use its superior strength, he planted his stake firmly in the creature's chest, a smile of triumph on his lips.

Buffy dispatched her own assailant. Her heart was racing, its rapid rhythm pounding in her ears as the adrenalin coursed through her veins. Spike looked at the stake he was holding, a mixture of shame and pride on his expressive features, then raised his eyes to Buffy's and smiled. Pride had won out. He was a good fighter and he knew it. Hyped up by the slaying, Buffy couldn't help looking over Spike's well-concealed body and thinking about what might happen if she took a step closer. Slayage and sex. The best combination ever. She missed that.

"Gee, Spike," said Dawn, who had returned. "Guess you really meant it when you said you weren't in the mood to be knocked unconscious."

"I've read about human demon hunters," said Willow the next evening, holding her mug of cocoa with both hands. "A well-trained human with good weapons can usually take on a vampire. Spike might be human, but I guess he's still a good fighter. He certainly kicked Xander's ass. Though I guess that's not saying much."

Buffy stopped observing the oven and turned to look at her, puzzled. "No, he didn't. It was a draw. Xander broke Spike's glasses."

"Yeah, and then Spike knocked Xander out cold." Willow smiled. "Xander sent me an e-mail about it at the time. I guess they didn't give you all the details; kinda puts them both in a bad light."

"Yeah, the light where they don't tell me the truth about what happened," said Buffy. She frowned. "Now I think about it, I guess Xander did mention something about being knocked unconscious. I don't know why Spike said it was a draw. You'd think he'd want to brag about winning the fight."

Willow half-shrugged. "I've only exchanged a few e-mails with him, but he seems kinda down with the violence thing. Like he feels he should be all pacifisty to make up for his past."

"Oh." Buffy was puzzled, and a bit irritated. She could understand Xander confiding in Willow, but Spike? She turned her attention back to the oven and pulled out the casserole she had made.

Her misgivings about Spike sending Willow e-mails notwithstanding, Buffy was really happy to have Giles and Willow back. They had been such a large part of her life for so long that Buffy was amazed she had actually gotten used to their absence. Giles seemed very much the same as always; a little distant, but affectionate in his quiet way. Willow had put on weight, and appeared happy to be back in Sunnydale. She wasn't quite the sweet, innocent person she had once been, but then, who was?

The two returned to the dining room with the casserole. Spike was sitting at the table, while the other Scoobies looked over his shoulder at the photocopy he was holding. Buffy craned her neck to see it when she put the dish on the table.

"Hey, you're all doing something interesting without me," she said. "What's up?"

"You know, we do have lives outside what we do with you," remarked Spike with a grin.

"No, you don't," said Buffy. "You all cease to exist the minute I leave the room. I know this. Seriously, what are you doing?"

Spike held up the paper. "Taking a trip down memory lane. My lane, to be precise, though I seem to have a lot of passengers." He glowered at the Scoobies.

"I contacted the Watcher who wrote her thesis on Spike," explained Giles, "and asked her to provide me with some of the documents she found during her research."

"It's amazing," said Xander. "There are pictures of his family and everything. Spike had a family!"

Spike lifted one eyebrow and cast Buffy a long-suffering glance. "Yes, that certainly put to rest all the rumours that I burst spontaneously from a molehill."

Buffy laughed and came to look over his shoulder. The photograph Spike was holding pictured a typical Victorian family. The women wore enormous crinolines and unflattering hairstyles; the men had mutton-chop whiskers and high collars. The parents were seated on a couch, glaring at the camera with unsmiling faces. A little girl with blond ringlets sat on a low chair in front of them, while an older boy and girl stood behind the couch. Buffy assumed that Spike was the older boy, though his face was blurred, and it was difficult to make out his features clearly.

"Wow, you don't look like you're having much fun," said Willow.

"Yeah, guess Queen Victoria's 'we are not amused' pretty much sums up the era, huh?" Xander frowned when everyone turned to look at him in surprise. "What? Just because I'm 'didn't-go-to-college-guy' doesn't mean I don't know anything, right?"

Spike shook his head. "It's funny, really. I remember when this picture was taken. It wasn't every day you got photographed." He ran his fingers over the figures on the page. "We were all trying so hard not to laugh, we ended up looking as if we were going to a funeral. But you had to pose for so long that you were better off not trying any fancy facial expressions."

"Why were you laughing?" asked Dawn.

"Well..." Spike pointed at the little girl. "If you look carefully, you'll notice that my sash is actually wrapped around the back of the chair. My breeches were so shiny and new that I kept slipping off the chair just as the chap was about to take the photograph! Seems silly now, but you know how it goes; you get the giggles and can't stop."

"That's you?" exclaimed Buffy, peering at the golden-haired child.

Xander chuckled. "Oh, yeah. That's Spike. We've already had the 'Spike was a little girl when he was a little boy' conversation."

"It was the fashion of the time, okay?" said Spike defensively. "I bet there are some pretty embarrassing pictures of you as a child, Harris."

"He used to have ringlets too."

"Willow!" exclaimed Xander. "What is this, reveal embarrassing secrets time? Cause I know all sorts of embarrassing things about you, Wills...things like...things I'll remember later."

"Buffy's childhood pictures are kind of cute. Except she had dark hair," said Dawn. "Which proves she's a bottle blonde."

"Tell us something we don't know, nibblet," said Spike, reaching for a stack of papers. "I don't believe some of this stuff. These are photocopies of my mother's diary!" He stared at the papers for a moment, then turned to put them all on the sideboard. "Anyway, let's have some nosh, eh? It smells delicious, pet." He cast a bright smile in Buffy's direction. "Maybe I'll change my opinion about your cooking."

After dinner and a round of Pictionary, Buffy and Spike took out the dirty plates, still laughing about the game. Spike started on the washing while Buffy went to get another load of dishes. By the time she came back, she found him standing in front of a sink full of soap suds. A whole mountain of soap suds.

"What are you going to do with all that foam, doofus?" she laughed.

"Oh, I don't know." Spike lowered his head and gave her an evil look. He scooped up a handful. "Toss it at people who criticise my washing-up skills, maybe?"

"Don't you dare! I'll stake you if you do that. Hey! Argh!" Buffy screamed as the handful of suds caught her right on the head.

Spike backed away to avoid her playful blow. "See, that's actually a great improvement. Way better than the usual 'ponytail of repression' look."

"You don't like my ponytail?" asked Buffy, touching her hair.

"It does make your ears stick out," he said. Buffy pouted. Spike laughed. "Don't worry. I wouldn't have fallen for you if I was bothered by your hairstyle."

Buffy brightened up at the mention of him falling for her. Seeing him playing games and laughing with her friends had reminded her just how much he had changed. What a great guy he was now that the whole vampire thing was over. Great guy, and a great fighter too. Just perfect. She got some foam and flicked it at him. They chased each other around the kitchen for a few minutes, their squeals of protest prompting only one rather disinterested visit from Xander, who had been sent to investigate. After he left, Spike won their haphazard little game of tag, pinning Buffy against the refrigerator.

Breathless and exhilarated, Buffy looked up at him. Even with the glasses, he was just as sexy and exciting as he had been the previous year. Except that now, he was also a great guy. If she lifted her face just so, maybe he would take the hint and kiss her. A long, slow kiss, followed by the caress of his hands on her hips, the feel of his strong body pressed against her, his hard--

"Hey, is that Watcher Boy playing Stargazer out there?"

Her sensual mood completely broken, Buffy turned to look out of the back door. "Oh. Yeah. It is."

"I didn't even notice him go out," said Spike. He seemed concerned; Buffy was merely annoyed. "Maybe you should see what he's up to. Just in case he's feeling left out with all us bright young things in here."

"Yeah." Might as well, if Spike was more interested in Giles than in kissing her.

She pulled away from the cold refrigerator and went out to join her former Watcher. Just as Spike had pointed out, he was looking up at the stars, his glasses glistening in the pale night lights.

"So, I guess you're not that into Pictionary," she said, coming to stand beside him.

"No," admitted Giles with a chuckle. Then he turned towards her and sighed. "I thought I had grown used to the idea by now. That two weeks of research and reflection was enough to prepare me. But seeing Spike in person only makes me even more aware of the magnitude of what has happened."

"So one vampire became human again," said Buffy with a half-shrug. "He isn't the first. If someone could mojo Darla back to life, Spike's resurrection isn't exactly special."

"Oh, but it is," said Giles, shaking his head. "He wasn't just 'mojoed' back to life. He chose this path. As a soulless being, he made the decision to travel halfway around the world, and battle untold monsters to become -- from his point of view -- weak, mortal and powerless. And he did it all for--"

"Me?"

"I was going to say 'love'. But yes, he did it all for you."

Buffy smiled with delight. "It's quite something, isn't it?"

"Yes." Giles took off his glasses and cleaned them. "Quite something. A demon chose to switch sides in the great cosmic battle of good and evil. It goes against everything the Council ever taught me." He put his glasses on. "However, you shouldn't feel beholden to him, Buffy. I realise you have good reason to be impressed by the lengths he went to in order to make himself acceptable to you. But this doesn't mean you have an obligation to return his feelings, or that you should resume your previous relationship with him."

Buffy frowned. "Who said we wanted to get back together?"

"I did see you chasing each other in the kitchen just now. And the e-mails I exchanged with Spike suggest that he is still completely besotted with you." Giles noticed Buffy's look of surprise. "I gather he hasn't been pursuing you as he did in the past."

"No, not really. We agreed it would be wrong anyway. I-I mean, well, after everything... But he's changed."

"Yes, I suppose he has." Giles fixed Buffy with a stern expression. "But he isn't a different person. He feels very strongly that he is the same person who assaulted you, and I'm inclined to agree."

"I know, Giles," Buffy assured him. "I'm not some naïve teenage girl who believes in magic wands that turn a monster into the perfect boyfriend. But there were things I liked about Spike, even as he was. Now he's not so obsessed with being the big bad or impressing me, I guess those things are more evident. And... I don't know. It's-- we'll see what will happen." She shivered in the cool night air. "You wanna come back in?"

"No, I think I'll stare at the stars and ponder this extraordinary change for a little longer. A hundred years or so should do the trick."

When Buffy opened the back door, she could hear voices coming from the small room to her right. Spike was sitting in the corner armchair, while Willow leaned on the window sill beside him.

"...It's just a question of scale," Willow was saying. "It doesn't matter if I killed one person or ten thousand. And it doesn't matter if the two guys I killed were the worst scum in the universe. Maybe Warren really deserved what I did to him. But it doesn't change the facts. I am a murderer. Just like you." She put her hand on his. "And, hey, kinda tried to kill another six billion here."

"Were you planning to individually rip their throats out and drink their blood, or just snap their necks?" Spike sighed, his forehead a mass of worry lines. "I don't really see what your little Angelus-wannabe jaunt has to do with my problems. I still think you come off better, pet, no matter what you say."

Willow squeezed his hand. "I'm just saying, I know how you feel. I see Warren in my dreams sometimes. See myself torturing and murdering him. And I guess it helps if you have someone to talk to. Someone who understands. Giles and I understand, Spike, even if we killed people for different reasons."

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about the Watcher's dark past." Spike chuckled. "We're a fine bunch, aren't we?" Then he winced and stood up. "But you've just got a couple of faces in your dreams. I can lie there for hours, picking a victim to brood about. 'Now, should I agonise over the little girl I ate in Llansa, or what about the guy in Bergen? Or no, I know, the entire family Dru and I terrorised and murdered in Bangalore.' And after a while of this, I take a sleeping pill and knock myself out instead."

He turned slightly and noticed Buffy standing in the doorway. Willow followed his gaze and smiled. "Oh, hey, Buffy. Spike and I are comparing notes."

Spike gave Buffy a wan smile. "Turns out we have a lot in common now we're both murderers with a guilty conscience. We're thinking about founding a club, actually."

"Great," said Buffy uncomfortably. "Any room for me in your little club?"

"Nah." His smile broadened. "Got to be a murderer, innit?"

Buffy stared at them. She remembered the last time a former lover and an erstwhile friend had stood before her, united in their shared quest for redemption. But Spike wasn't Angel, and Willow wasn't Faith. They were her friends, standing in her home, and she was going to help them. Somehow.

Willow went through to the living-room to join Xander and Dawn, who were still playing the game. As he followed her, Spike leaned towards Buffy.

"Apparently, part of this murderer bonding process involves going to the beach this Saturday," he said. "I'm pretty sure they never said anything about that in the redemption manual!"

Spike was sitting on his own in the dining room when Buffy came down to get a glass of water later that night. She watched him reading the documents Giles had brought, his expression serious and sad in the orange light of a single table lamp. For a moment, she hesitated, tempted to walk into the room and demand to be shown what he was looking at. To be made part of his life.

Shaking her head, Buffy turned away, intending to go into the kitchen through the corridor. Before she had gone very far, she heard his voice.

"Buffy, is that you?"

She came back into the dining room. "Who else wanders around the house spying on you?"

"You're not spying. I could do with some company, actually. The ghosts get a bit tiresome after a while."

Spike held out his hand, inviting her to come and sit beside him. When she joined him, he showed her a picture of a middle-aged woman. She was small and thick-set, with a serious, austere expression to match her dark clothes.

"Your mother?" asked Buffy. "She looks... kinda scary, actually."

Spike laughed. "She does, doesn't she? So much for photographs capturing life. She wasn't scary at all. She ruled all our lives, but she wasn't scary." He looked at the picture with a tenderness that tugged at Buffy's heart. "I remember one day, after my father died. Mother got this idea that she should have a sewing machine. She was the world's worst seamstress; she just didn't have the patience. But anyway, she got this sewing machine and set about making a jacket for me."

"A jacket?" Buffy was no great seamstress herself, but she had sat and watched her own mother working at her sewing machine often enough to know a little about the craft. "She didn't know how to sew and she decided to start with a jacket?"

"I know." Spike grinned. "I told you; no patience. I was sitting in the library, and I heard these shrieks of laughter. So I went downstairs, and there were my mother and the maid actually rolling on the floor laughing! It turned out my mother had somehow sewn her dress' sleeve to the jacket."

Spike's laughter rang out in the dining room, loud and frank. Buffy laughed with him, trying to imagine this austere Victorian matron rolling on the floor with mirth.

"She was terrible," said Spike fondly. "She had a very sharp tongue; used to make fun of everyone. Including Father and us children, of course. Taught me to see the humour in things. Very useful skill when you've lived the life I've led. I didn't really appreciate it at the time; took myself far too seriously. I shudder to think what she said about me in her diary. In fact, I think I'll give it a miss," he added, pointing to the pile of papers he had set aside. "There are some things I'd rather not know." Then he sighed and looked at the picture. "God, she would have been so ashamed of me."

Buffy hesitated, and then put her hand on his, trying to comfort him. "I don't think so," she said softly. "I think right now, she'd be really proud."

Spike's lips twisted into a sad smile. Buffy put her other hand on his and his smile grew more confident.

"Of course, you realise that's poppycock," he said. "She'd have disowned me forever the minute I shacked up with Dru. But it's a nice thought." He slid one arm around her; Buffy resisted the powerful urge to kiss his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder instead. "Well, let's see what other maudlin sentiments this lot can inspire in us before the night is over."

-2-

"I'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her."

Spike's lips were moving to the rhythm of Julia Roberts' voice. Buffy watched him, amused by his fascination for the British comedy they were watching. In a way, she could understand why he liked Notting Hill. Floppy-haired Englishman with glasses meets supercilious American bitch and wins her heart. It was probably Spike's favourite fairy tale.

Buffy had come home from her evening class to find Spike, Willow and Dawn lined up on the couch watching the movie and eating popcorn. It was like old times, except that Xander was out on a date with some girl he had met, and Spike had never participated in one of the Scoobies' popcorn-and-movie nights before. Buffy drew her eyes away from the former vampire, who was sitting in between her and Willow, and then settled down to watch the movie, smiling with contentment.

"I love that film," said Spike when it finished.

Dawn grinned at him from her position on the floor. "Of course you do. It has a guy called Spike in it."

"I like a romance with a happy ending," said Willow with a sad sigh.

Buffy and Dawn exchanged a look, unsure what to say. Spike put his arm around the former witch, pulling her into a friendly, consoling hug. It warmed Buffy's heart to see him so compassionate. Now that he was human, he seemed to know exactly how to connect with people. It was something that had never come naturally for Buffy.

Comforted by his embrace, Willow leaned against Spike with a smile, and then looked at the sisters.

"We're going to the beach on Sunday, by the way, not Saturday," she said. "Better weather, according to the forecast."

"It's just as well, because we have a party to go to on Saturday," said Spike with a grin. "Can't have too much excitement in a day!"

"Party?" repeated Buffy. "What party?"

"Is this the orgy you mentioned a couple of weeks ago?" asked Dawn.

Willow's eyes widened. "It's an orgy?"

"No! It's not an orgy. It's exactly what I said it was: a British-themed fancy dress party." Spike gave Dawn a dirty look. "There's just going to be a lot of booze, and the girl who's organising it doesn't want trouble with little tiddlywinks running around."

"You never told me it was a costume party!" exclaimed Buffy, suddenly remembering what 'fancy dress' meant. "What am I going to go as?"

Spike pulled his arm out from around Willow and drew back to look Buffy over. "Good question. I'd say Kylie Minogue, because of the pint-sized aspect, but she's not British. I'll have a think about it."

"A quick think about it, if the party is on Saturday." Buffy shook her head. "I can't believe you didn't remind me!"

"Yeah, well, you have a mind like a sieve." Spike shrugged. "Besides, I never see you."

"And whose fault is that?" demanded Buffy. "You're the one who works all the time. You're never here!"

"Okay!" said Willow in an artificially cheerful voice. She seized the popcorn bowl. "Want to help me make some more popcorn, Dawnie?"

"You want to see more of me?" exclaimed Spike in disbelief once the other two had made their hasty exit.

Buffy crossed her arms and looked away from him. He seemed genuinely bewildered, and the last thing she wanted was a long conversation about why she wished he was around more. Mainly because she wasn't sure herself.

"Forget it," she said.

"No." Spike put his hand on her arm. Again with the empathy thing. The touch of his warm hand on her bare arm sent shivers down her spine. "What's this all about, pet?"

"It's about you never being around," she snapped, drawing her arm away from his hand and scooting to the other end of the couch. "You kiss me, you show me pictures of your family, and then I don't see you for days, and it's like we're strangers again."

"Oh." Spike looked thoughtful.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Buffy could hear Willow and Dawn laughing in the kitchen. Well, that was one weight off her mind; she didn't like the idea of her sister holding a long-term grudge against her best friend. Now, if her sister would just forgive her ex-boyfriend, all would be right in the world. And if her ex-boyfriend would just forgive her, it would be even better. Buffy turned to look at Spike.

"Maybe we should date," she blurted out.

Now he just looked puzzled. "'Date'?"

Oh God, he was going to make things difficult. Buffy wished she hadn't said anything about dating. Here she was throwing herself at a guy who thought being with her was 'wrong'. What was she thinking?

"Come on, Spike," she said with a sneer, embarrassment making her aggressive. "I know you're like a born-again nineteenth century guy, but you do know about dating, right?"

He smiled. "Well, I've only been on one date since I became human again, but yes, I'm familiar with the concept."

"Well, we-- You've been on a date since you became human again?" Buffy was hurt; she was supposed to be the one he loved, the one he had become human for. He'd been on a date with someone else? "Who did you date?"

Spike rolled his eyes. Clearly, it wasn't something he had planned to tell her. "Okay... Melissa next door asked me out before she left. She was lonely, she fancied me, I... thought it would be good if I tried to be a bit more normal. Giles reckons it's good for me too. Get out, meet other people, go on the pull. Learn... normal stuff." He glanced at her. "Not that anything happened. I mean it was dinner, a movie -- spectacularly stupid movie -- and then we came home and that's it. Had to give her a little 'that was nice, but don't let's ever do this again' speech. Probably helped my maturity tremendously."

Buffy was too shocked to say anything for a moment. She remembered him playing with Pepito and Melissa in the backyard. She'd had absolutely no idea he was going out with the woman! Anya she could understand. Hell, even Harmony. But Melissa was a plain dishwater blonde with glasses. And Spike had gone out with her while he was living in Buffy's house. While Buffy was trying to--

"That's why you wouldn't-- that's why you said it was wrong! You were going out with someone else!" exclaimed Buffy. She shook her head in disgust. "And going on a date with a near-stranger before dumping her is your idea of maturity?"

"Compared to mooning after a woman I've tried to rape and murder, yeah." Spike stood up, breathing hard to calm himself. "Look, forget it. I'm sorry. I'll try to be around more in future, okay? And we'll discuss what you'll wear to the party. Plenty of time to get you a costume. It'll be fun."

"So you're not going to the party," said Dawn, looking at Buffy with suspicion while the latter made dinner for two.

"No. I'm not." Buffy smiled brightly. "I'm going to spend some quality time with my little sister."

Dawn nodded with a knowing smile. "Or you're pissed off at Spike and don't want to go to his party."

"It's not his party," said Buffy with a shrug. "And I'm not pissed off at Spike."

Which wasn't entirely true. She was still digesting the whole Melissa thing, and Spike's ridiculous working hours had conspired to keep them apart ever since. That and the fact that Buffy had arranged to go shopping with Dawn and Willow on the one day when Spike wanted to go looking for a costume for her. But who wanted to go to some dumb British costume party, anyway?

"I just don't want to leave you all on your own," she added. "We can spend the evening together. Just you and me."

"Yeah, like we do every evening." Dawn leaned on the breakfast bar. "I know you're trying to be like a good Mom and everything, but it doesn't mean you can't have fun too. I mean, even Willow and Xander have gone to the party. You don't have to stay home with me all the time."

Buffy poked at the pasta she was cooking, then gave Dawn a suspicious look. "Were you planning to have a party here or something?"

"No, but I was planning on a quiet evening on my own." Dawn smiled and crossed her arms. "Come on, Buffy. Swallow your pride and go to the ball. Maybe you'll meet someone who isn't a cheating, raping, homicidal maniac for a change."

Buffy could hear the vibrations of loud dance music from inside the house as she rang the doorbell. It was a while before a spaced-out girl dressed as a dominatrix opened the door. She disappeared without saying anything, leaving Buffy standing nonplussed in the doorway. Okay, not quite the kind of costume she'd imagined for British night. Maybe Dawn's assessment that this was an orgy wasn't so far off the mark after all. Buffy looked down at herself. Rather than get a costume, she had opted for the Grown-up Buffy look; little black dress with sheer pantyhose and high-heeled sandals, hair done up in a loose bun, just enough makeup to make her eyes beguiling and her lips luscious. It was a look designed to fit in anywhere. Except possibly at an orgy.

Deciding not to give herself time to ponder that thought any further, Buffy walked into the house and made her way toward the noisiest part. A large room at the back of the house had been converted into a club, complete with flashing lights and loud music. The walls were decorated with one Irish and one British flag, as well as some others Buffy didn't recognise; a red dragon on a white and green background; a red cross on a white background; a white X on a blue background. There was also a tabloid-sized picture of the Queen.

It looked as though the whole of UC Sunnydale had come to the party; Buffy scanned the crowd for any of her friends, but could see no one she recognised. Some of the costumes made her smile; there were at least two Dr Whos with long multicoloured scarves and a complete set of moptop Beatles, as well as someone dressed in a red phone box made of cardboard.

Still chuckling at the sight, Buffy went to get herself a drink in the next room. Xander was standing nearby, wearing his normal work gear, and having an animated conversation with the Indian girl who had organised the party. He saw Buffy and gesticulated wildly for her to come and join him.

"You look great, Buffy," he said, looking her over with appreciation. Buffy smiled at the compliment and wondered if Spike would feel the same way when he saw her. Perhaps it would even make him forget about how 'wrong' he thought they were for each other. Xander indicated the girl beside him. "Buffy, this is Amrita. I don't know if you've met before."

"We haven't. Hiya," said the girl with a bright smile. She was wearing a scarlet sari and enough golden jewellery to put Mister T to shame. Which was an incredibly outdated simile and the kind of thing Buffy's mother would have said. "So you're Buffy. I hear you're Spike's ex. He's a pet, inne?"

"Yeah, I guess--" Buffy caught Xander's eye. "But you know, kinda not with the whole 'pet' thing seeing as we're exes and all."

Amrita nodded. "Yeah, he told me it was all over. Mind you, I reckon he still fancies you. Thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread, the way he goes on about you. But he told me about his dark past, and I think you're probably better off without him. Can't trust them dodgy types to stay on the straight and narrow. He's very fit, though." She grinned at Xander. "Don't worry, mate, you're very fit too."

She offered to get Xander a drink and headed for the drinks table, her jewellery chinking as she swayed her hips to the music from the other room. Buffy turned to look Xander over with a critical eye.

"Fit isn't a word I'd use to describe you," she admitted, before realising how callous that sounded. "I-I mean, not that--"

Xander was too busy admiring Amrita's gyrating hips from a distance to notice Buffy's slight. "Apparently, 'fit' means 'hot' in British-speak. It's weird. I always thought British people were all like Giles and Wesley. You know, stuffy, pompous, kinda old-fashioned."

"Oh yes," said Buffy, deadpan. "Because all of that describes Spike just perfectly. Speaking of British people, who are you supposed to be?"

"Some cartoon character called Bob the Builder." He looked down at his checked shirt and jeans. The ensemble was completed with a hardhat. "I was going to come as James Bond, but Amrita thought this was more me. Not sure what to make of that. She's big with the British sarcasm; I'm never sure what she's really thinking."

Buffy was amused. "Sounds like a reverse Anya."

"No, more like Anya with all of Spike's snark. Not big on the demon thing, though, which is a refreshing change." He smiled at Buffy. "Your costume looks really great. Who are you?"

"Erm... A James Bond girl?" Xander didn't seem convinced, so Buffy changed the subject. "Speaking of Spike, where is he? And Willow?" she added, in case he thought she was only interested in seeing Spike.

"They're dancing." He waved toward the club section, then gave her a sharp look. "Tell me, Buffy; are you still interested in Spike?"

"No! Yes. Well, maybe," said Buffy, caught unawares by the question. "Spike and I have made our peace, and I've forgiven him. So we're starting off with a clean slate. And that's kinda none of your business, anyway."

Xander lowered his eyes. "I know it's not my business, but Spike is in a bad way, and I don't want to see him get hurt."

Buffy was about to ask him about this curious statement when Amrita came back with the drinks. Unable to find out what had caused Xander's change of attitude, she turned away and went to look for the others.

The people in the club room were performing a silly dance to an energetic song Buffy vaguely recognised. It involved bending down and jumping up, which was quite a challenge for the guy dressed as a telephone booth. Observing the multicoloured crowd, it took Buffy a while to realise that Spike was in the middle, jumping up and down like the rest of them, and looking as if he was having a great time. She couldn't help laughing; she'd never seen him dance before, and this song really didn't do much for anyone's dignity.

Spike's costume was a predictable choice. His glasses were nowhere in sight; he was wearing a Union Jack T-shirt and his ubiquitous jeans; his hair was dyed black and coifed into uneven spikes; his nails painted and his eyes circled with black eyeliner. The return to his punk look, albeit minus the slicked-back peroxide, reminded Buffy of the days when he was her formidable opponent, the one vampire she enjoyed fighting with above all others.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again
You ain't never gonna keep me down"

Buffy smiled at the appropriate lyrics. Getting the chip, falling in love with the Slayer, becoming human, suffering all the indignities of the previous winter. Every time life dealt him another blow, Spike just got up and kept on fighting. She watched his narrows hips moving to the music, shimmying sexily towards... Willow? Buffy barely recognised her friend. Black wig, heavy eye shadow, encased from head to toe in a leather catsuit; she looked like Vamp Willow and Darth Willow rolled into one. Just a costume, Buffy told herself. Just a very disturbing costume. And only slightly less disturbing than the sexy way she was dancing with Spike.

Buffy's pang of jealousy turned into disappointment when she also noticed that Spike was smoking. Then her heart sank right to the pit of her stomach when she realised he was holding the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, and had just handed it back to the person beside him. Shocked and disappointed, Buffy turned away.

She got herself another drink, then leaned against the wall and watched the crowd for a while. One girl had come as the golden woman from Goldfinger and was wearing little more than a golden bikini and a lot of glitter. The telephone box was trying to make conversation with a woman in school uniform. The music changed to a modern disco tune, but Spike was still dancing with Willow and another girl Buffy didn't recognise. And a guy who might as well have had 'I Am Gay' tattooed on his forehead, and seemed to have designs on Spike's ass. Not that she could blame him.

"It's murder on the dance floor
But you better not steal the moves, DJ
Gonna burn this goddamn house right down"

Again with the appropriateness. Murderers on the dance floor, banding together and flirting while she stood on the side like an old maid. Buffy shook her head. This was ridiculous. So what if Spike was misbehaving; it didn't mean she wouldn't have fun. She put her glass down and threw herself into the fray. She was young, pretty and desirable, damn it. How could Spike resist her?

A delighted smile lit up Spike's face when he noticed her dancing towards him. Willow grinned as well, and moved back to dance with the other girl. Spike's hips swayed in rhythm with Buffy's as she approached. He leered at her, his lips parting as he ran his tongue along his top teeth. Buffy felt a surge of tenderness and desire at his lustful expression, but then repressed it with severity when she remembered why he looked so happy. He was high. She made no effort to hide her disgust at that thought.

Spike sensed her change of mood. Unable to speak to her over the din of the music, he frowned, returning her scowl with puzzlement. Buffy turned away to dance with the gay man, who seemed happy enough to oblige as long as he could keep staring at Spike. A quick glance over her shoulder told Buffy that her ex was not at all pleased. It took another two songs before Spike's patience ran out. He touched Buffy's arm gently, trying to get her attention. When she deigned to look at him, his face was contorted with anger. Given his reaction to Buffy's cold-shoulder treatment, she was surprised all he had done was tap her gently. He nodded toward the other room. Buffy hesitated, and then followed him out of the makeshift disco.

"What's going on?" he demanded, looking at her with bewildered black-rimmed eyes.

"You tell me."

"That's not very helpful," he growled, struggling to control his temper.

Spike's self-control made Buffy feel very contrary. "You're the one who wanted to stop dancing."

"You had your back to me!"

"Well, excuse me!" She put her hand on her hips. "You were dancing with Willow, I was dancing with your gay friend. Ergo, perfectly good reason to have my back to you."

"You're jealous because I was dancing with Willow?" Spike laughed. "You need your head examined!"

"She's done up like some kind of new Drusilla and I'm the one who needs my head examined?" As she spoke, Buffy was aware that this statement wasn't going to win her the argument.

"A new Drus-- Buffy, she's Emma Peel from The Avengers!" He laughed at her again and headed for the other room. Buffy stared at him for a moment; who was 'Emma Peel' anyway?

"I take back what I said," she called after him. "You're not a good guy, you're just a creep who takes drugs." Again with the lame statements. "I saw you! You said you weren't going to drink and smoke anymore, and now you're doing drugs?"

Spike spun towards her and rolled his eyes. "It was just a spliff, Slayer. It's not as if I'm going to be injecting my toes next week if I have one drag off a reefer!" He shook his head. "For fuck's sake, since I've been human, I've given up smoking, I haven't drunk so much as a beer, and I'm a bloody eunuch. Give the dog a bloody bone, Buffy."

"That doesn't mean you have to take drugs!" exclaimed Buffy, trying to keep her voice down to avoid attracting too much attention.

"Christ, I can tell you grew up in the Eighties," sneered Spike. "I'm having fun, love. Not that you'd know the meaning of the word." He looked her over with disdain. "You didn't even have fun when we were having sex."

"What?"

"You'd get this frown on your face, like you were thinking 'Insert part A into slot B, then stimulate part C'," he said, mimicking Buffy's accent.

She stared at him in disbelief. "That is so not true! And I totally know how to have fun."

"Oh yeah?" Spike lifted an eyebrow at her. "I've been living at your house what-- Two months? And the most fun you've had is a night at the Bronze with Xander Harris!"

Buffy could feel her bottom lip quivering. "You bastard."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot." Spike was really furious now. "It's always my fault. Every bloody thing." He shook his head. "Just don't let the beams in my eye make you forget the motes in yours."

"What does that mean?"

Spike rolled his eyes again. "It means you should have paid more attention in school, for a start. And it means..." He looked around, as if he was debating what he should say to her. "It means I might be a bloody ex-demon, but you're no saint yourself. And-- Oh, bollocks, I'm not talking to you about this now."

He turned and started to walk away. Buffy grabbed his arm. "Hey! I'm not finished with you."

Spike twisted his arm out of her grasp and shoved her away roughly. A few people in the room turned to look at them, although fortunately, Willow and Xander were nowhere to be seen. Staggering back, Buffy lost her temper. She couldn't punch him because he was human, so she resorted to a slap on his arm.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his arm like a petulant child. "You want to know what's wrong? That's what's wrong. You using me as your fucking punching bag cum dildo every time you feel an itch." His face was flushed with rage. "Do you think I like this? Being weak and feeble, reduced to half a man? I've lost my strength, my invulnerability, my immortality. Can't fight, can't shag. Can't sleep. Trying my best to be good, working hard, no drinking, no smoking. What's left for me? Being your lapdog again?"

"You chose that life!" exclaimed Buffy. "I didn't ask you to become human. You're the one who went off half-cocked and came back alive."

Spike raised his hands in frustration. "I'm not complaining about being bloody human. I'm complaining that you're pursuing me just because you want a roll in the hay, when I have a million other things to worry about. And when I say no, you start knocking me around again!"

"I'm not knocking you around! It's just that I-- I don't know how-- I can't--" Buffy felt tears stinging her eyes. "I don't know how to do this."

"Oh, God. Don't cry," said Spike, his anger immediately vanishing. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her to a quieter spot. "Buffy, please. Please don't cry." He cupped her face in his hand, sounding a lot as if he was about to start crying himself. "Please don't let me make you cry."

"I'm not crying!" She swallowed hard and gave him her best Buffy glare. She leaned against his chest. "Oh, I hate you!"

Before Buffy knew quite what was happening, she had raised her face to his, and her lips were touching Spike's, their tongues entwined in a deep kiss. His hands embraced her waist while her arms encircled his neck, both of them conspiring to pull her up his body. She hooked her legs around his hips as he shoved her against the wall. This wasn't the right place to be doing this; she could hear voices behind Spike, people walking by and staring at them. Detaching one arm from his neck, Buffy fumbled behind her for a doorknob she could see out of the corner of her eye. She turned it, and the two of them stumbled out into the garage, colliding with the side of a car.

Spike placed Buffy on the cold metal hood, still kissing her mouth and neck, his hands now pulling at her clothes, trying to hitch up her skirt. Buffy slipped her hands under his Union Jack T-shirt to run her fingers up and down the cleft of his spine. God, she wanted him. She had forgotten just how much she had missed this. Parting her legs further, Buffy slid to the edge of the hood and rubbed herself against the hard seam of Spike's jeans. Too many clothes. She pulled her hands out from under his shirt and started to unbuckle his belt.

He caught her hands and took a step back. Still breathless and flushed with desire, he lowered his eyes and shook his head. Surprised by the unexpected change of behaviour, Buffy slid off the hood and ran her hands up his chest.

"Spike, what's wrong?"

He caught one of her hands and pulled it to his crotch. She could feel the rigid texture of the thick denim, but only soft flesh inside. "That's what's wrong," he said through clenched teeth. "Mechanical problem." He released her and headed for the door.

"Hey, it's okay," she said. "I remember you told me. Resurrection side effect." She smiled, although he wasn't looking at her. "At least I know it isn't because you don't want me."

"No. It's because you didn't want me."

Spike placed Buffy on the cold metal hood, still kissing her mouth and neck, his hands now pulling at her clothes, trying to hitch up her skirt. Buffy slipped her hands under his Union Jack T-shirt to run her fingers up and down the cleft of his spine. Parting her legs further, she slid to the edge of the hood and rubbed herself against the hard seam of Spike's jeans. Too many clothes. She pulled her hands out from under his shirt and started to unbuckle his belt.

He let her ease him out of his jeans, grinning lecherously when she started to stroke his hard erection. He grabbed her head and kissed her hard, his tongue sliding in and out of her mouth, making her dizzy with passion. Buffy let out a cry of surprise when he tore open the top of her dress, uncovering her breasts.

He slid his hands under her skirt, pulling her pantyhose and underwear downwards, exposing Buffy's naked buttocks to the cold surface of the car hood. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her against his naked groin, his erection rubbing against her pubic mound. Buffy threw her head back with a loud moan, then another, each one louder than the last as he slid inside her and kissed her and stroked her and thrust into her until he made... her... come. Oh. Just like that. God, yes, just like that.

Buffy caught her breath and wiped her sticky hand on the bed covers. She looked at the sloping ceiling above her and thought back on the events of that evening. Spike wanted her and she wanted Spike, but they couldn't have sex. It was like Angel all over again. Only this time, the problem was physical rather than metaphysical. Or maybe it was psychological. Maybe he was afraid she'd hurt him, just like Xander said.

She sat up in bed when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Spike was home at last. Checking that the pyjamas she was wearing were decent, Buffy slipped out into the corridor. He had only just gone into his room; the door was still ajar.

"Spike?" whispered Buffy, pushing the door open so that she could look into the bedroom.

He was sitting on the bed taking his boots off. He glanced at her, then continued to undress without a word, starting with his sweater and T-shirt.

"Look, about tonight--" she started.

"Yeah, me too," he interrupted.

Buffy leaned against the door frame. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He rubbed his eyes, smudging the mascara and eyeliner onto his cheeks. "Look, pet, it's late and these new contacts are killing my eyes. Can we do this some other time?"

"Yeah, sure." She put her hand on the door handle, ready to pull it closed. "Just... I want you to know. I don't want to hurt you."

He looked at her sharply, and for a moment, she was afraid he was going to bring up the past again. Of course, he'd never wanted to hurt her either, and they both knew how that had ended. But he lowered his eyes again and said nothing.

Maybe he was right; they could talk about this another day. Buffy pulled the door towards her.

"Goodnight, Spike."

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