Chapter 7:

      *************

"That's it! Vampires, demons, hellhounds and flesh-eating zombies I can take. That's my job. But this weird time-shifty stuff that's been screwing with my head all week is just too much. I can't deal. And now it's all with the dancing and singing and everyone's making atrocious rhymes!" Buffy entered the Magic Box for the first time since the day that wouldn't end and found the others already assembled and mulling over the latest "virus" to infect Sunnydale.

"I know. I couldn't get my Breakfast Burrito this morning until I'd listened to the complete Ode to the Doublemeat Medley performed by Stan at the drive up window," Xander commiserated. "That was a wacky start to my day."

"Hey, don't knock the Doublemeat. Looks like fast food is in my near career future. I start next week," Buffy said.

"Do you get an employee discount?" Anya enquired. "You and Dawn can eat really cheaply if you work it right."

"Buffy are you sure you want to work for a corporation that is based on the slaughter of innocent animals?" Tara asked gently.

"I'm not saying I'm going to love it," Buffy replied. "But it will get some cash flow into the house while I look for something better." She shrugged. "Anyway, back to the ongoing musical ... what do you suppose that's all about?"

"I've got a theory," Giles began and the others tunefully joined in with their own hypotheses.

        *********

Willow held back on the group sing, mortified that anyone might hear her off-key croaking and afraid that the truth about her forgetting spell might come out and undo all the progress she'd made with Tara. She wished again that she had never told Buffy about Miss Kitty's resurrection. If necessary she would perform the memory spell on her friend too, but for now Buffy was so wrapped up in her own life she appeared to have forgotten what Willow had told her. Typical! A spell the magnitude of a resurrection was something to be praised for and all Willow had received was Tara's stunned dismay and Buffy's casual disregard. Thank goddess, Giles hadn't found out. She would have received a tongue-lashing from him for sure.

What was so wrong with her getting better, stronger and more knowledgeable in her chosen field? No one faulted Buffy when she colored outside the lines, refused to follow the Council's orders and used her intuition to solve a problem. But Willow, oh no, she was strictly research girl as far as the Scoobies were concerned. They couldn't see her vast potential. They never even looked for it.

The Research Song was over and Willow tuned back in, hitting the books hard until Tara nudged her leg under the table and suggested going home for a particular volume that didn't exist. Willow enthusiastically agreed and soon the lovers were out in the beautiful, sunshiny day, prancing through the park and falling into their bed together. Tara had such a gorgeous voice, it made Willow's heart race to hear the love trembling in every word of her song.

As she sank between her lover's thighs with a contented sigh, Willow was convinced more than ever that she'd been right to smooth over the little spat between them with magic. Anything that could bring this joy, this bliss, could only be of the good, right?

        ************

Xander watched Anya go through her nightly beauty regimen; hair receiving exactly 120 strokes with a soft bristle brush, lotion liberally applied to all elbows, knees and heels, and tonight some weird blue herb poultice Tara had given her to reduce fine lines and wrinkles was lathered across her face. Hm. That meant no nookie. Anya wasn't in the mood when she wasn't looking her best.

Xander sighed and shifted back in bed, hands clasped behind his head. This was it. Much as admitting it felt like battery acid in the eye, Spike was right. This was what life was all about: end of a hard day's work and your beautiful honey getting ready to cuddle beside you to sleep, to hold you and be your friend and companion forever and ever.

As he felt Anya's weight settle on the mattress next to him, Xander licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Wait! Don't turn out the light yet. An, I have something I want to say."

Only he didn't say it so much as sing it with growing dismay as each verse poured unbidden from his mouth.

        Xander's Doubts "Anya, I have something big to tell ya. I'd really like for you to be my bride. But Anya, there are issues I must spell ya. Things that I keep deeply locked inside.... Like... Did you know I killed my best pal Jesse? Even though he wasn't human at the time It tore me up and shaped my hate of demons. It's really hard to tell you this in rhyme,

But sometimes when we're lying close together And I think, "This is my girl so soft and warm," Remembering the creature that you once were I fear that you'll take back your demon form.

Then there are my issues with my father A man I never want to emulate But I'm told sons often turn out like their fathers And don't know if I can e'er escape my fate.

I also have some problems with self-image Years of getting crapped on helped shape that. And pals like powerful witches and a Slayer Make me feel dumb, clumsy, useless and quite fat.

I hope you understand my hesitation To pledge my troth and walk you down the aisle, Spike said I should just do it and be grateful So I choke my fears and hide behind a smile.

But Anya, I still loooove ya, And will marry you, if you want it too," he warbled.

"This is a proposal?!" Anya cried, jumping up from the bed. "Thanks for nothing, Harris!" She slammed the bathroom door behind her as she left.

Xander was humiliated. He'd truly meant to propose to her. It was horrible to have his deepest anxieties and dreads reduced to a few catchy phrases that couldn't begin to sum up the complexity of his emotions. The snatches of songs he'd heard all over town today suddenly seemed heartbreaking instead of amusing. No one deserved to have their feelings so belittled and dismissed.

He was just damn grateful the song hadn't included a verse about the fact that his deepest buried fantasy included himself, Anya and Spike in a threesome.

        **********

The next evening Dawn assured an obviously upset Tara that she would be fine alone, and then watched her friend, clutching some type of dried weed, scurry distractedly out the front door.

Silence settled on the house, magnifying the drip of a faucet and the creak of wood expanding and contracting in the newly repaired stairwell.

Dawn was getting used to the quiet since she spent so much time alone now that Glory was no longer a threat. It would be great when Willow and Tara moved in at the end of term. Half their stuff was already in mom's old room. Dawn would love having them here, especially at night when Buffy went patrolling. Of course, Dawn had told her sister she was way too old for a babysitter, which she was, but it still got kind of lonely and creepy night after night.

Dawn wandered up to her room and, closing the door carefully behind her, got out her Secret Box. It held a jumble of jewelry, old Barbie shoes, a rabbit's foot, special stones, one of Buffy's old lipsticks, shells and sea- glass she'd picked up at the beach, and just lately it held a number of trinkets with price tags still attached which she'd shoplifted from stores all over town.

Suddenly the young girl felt a swelling in her throat. It was that choked up feeling you get just before you bawl your eyes out, but instead of crying she found herself bursting into song...

        Dawn' Lament I'm an orphan. No one feels my pain. My sister's the Slayer. Try living up to that! I used to be a Key. At least then I was special. Now I'm nothing and we're really poor besides. If I sometimes take things, can you be surprised? Janice has so much crap, and I have squat. I don't even get a good song. I hate unstructured verse.

Woe is me. I'm a misunderstood teen. Woe is me. I wish I had a boyfriend. Woe is me. I think Spike's really hot. Woe is me. He only has eyes for Buffy. My life sucks!

Luckily her song was cut short as two Howdy-Doody-style minions burst into the room and gagged the teen, then dragged her away.
        **********

Buffy walked toward the Magic Box, hands jammed in her pockets, head down, thinking about what had just happened in Spike's crypt.

Earlier in the week she had told the vampire she was sick of constantly tripping over him and couldn't he please find someone else to stalk. But when he followed her command and actually stayed out of her way the past few days, she found she missed his company.

So tonight she had gone, ostensibly to see if he knew anything about the rampant musicality around town, but actually to check up on him. After inviting her in and settling her with a cup of herbal tea in his ratty old armchair, he had listened to her complain about the time shifting and job disasters she had suffered. He agreed with Giles that it sounded like someone was testing her abilities and said he'd keep an eye out for that black van.

Then unexpectedly, he opened his mouth and began to sing in his sexy, smoky baritone and she listened in amazement while her insides melted into a puddle of goo.

It was a beautiful, simple ballad in which he told her, "I'll always be there for you." And he sang it so soulfully that it didn't seem like an "I'll be watching you," kind of stalkery badness but a promise of fidelity that made her ache all over. Damn! Why did this curse or whatever it was have to involve singing? She was such a sucker for a serenade.

The idea of relying on Spike was very seductive, as overwhelmed as she felt these days. She had to guard against it. Letting him into her life would be bad. Very bad. And wrong. Very wrong. Out from under the spell of his voice it was easier to remember that.

She looked up and found herself already in front of the Magic Box with no memory of walking there. She squared her shoulders, shook off her ruminations about Spike and entered the shop.

Willow, who had also just arrived, greeted her with a smile and started chatting on about the hilarious altercation at a fender-bender she'd witnessed that afternoon. As the people involved in the accident had argued in three quarter time, a host of mimes had waltzed in the background.

"You wanna talk surreal ... I've had nightmares that made more sense!"

Tara came down the stairs from the upper level.

"Baby! I didn't know you were here," Willow exclaimed. "I thought you were spending time with Dawn tonight?"

"I - I was." Tara appeared flustered. "I needed to check something out in one of the books here." She lifted her chin and gave Willow an almost defiant stare.

Buffy looked back and forth between Willow and Tara in consternation. Something was happening. She had rarely seen Tara so upset, almost angry. Anger and Tara were not two things you expected to mix 'n' match.

The fact that Willow didn't ask 'what's the matter' let Buffy know that her friend knew perfectly well why Tara was furious and didn't want to open the subject. It must have to do with that Kitty Fantastico fiasco Buffy decided.

The tense silence held a moment longer and was broken when Giles wandered in from the back room at the same moment that Tara, as if making a decision, asked, "Willow. What is this?" and held out a crushed sprig of dried flowers.

"That?" Willow's voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. "It's just ... I found it and thought it was pretty so I, um, put it under your pillow to, uh, give you s-sweet dreams." Her smile wavered.

"It's not a charm?" Tara demanded, searching Willow's eyes with her own. "It's not part of a spell?"

"N-not that I'm aware," Willow's voice trailed off. Her eyes grew wide and she clutched at her throat. She managed to croak out an 'oh no' before she began to sing...

        "I Can Make Things Better" "Tara, I can't lie to you, you always see my heart. I want to keep you happy, never drive us apart. I gave you back the pet you loved. Made her alive and strong. But you didn't want the gift I gave. You told me it was wrong.

Why baby, why is it wrong to show I care? It can't be wrong, when I brought some comfort there. Why baby, why is it so hard to see That I am the magic and the magic is me.

I did a little spell last week, so you'd forget our fight And it worked out so good for us, I'm sure that it was right. Haven't we been happy? Hasn't it been swell? With just a tiny shift of mind I made heaven out of hell.

Why baby, why is it wrong to show I care? It can't be wrong, when I brought some comfort there. Why baby, why is it so hard to see That I am the magic and the magic is me.

A shocked silence followed Willow's revelation. Tara was weeping. Buffy was open-mouthed. And Giles looked ready to burst into an apoplectic rage.

"I am aghast, simply aghast, at your cavalier misuse of magic and ... and manipulation of someone's mind. How could you possibly think your actions were correct, Willow? Had you even taken into account the possible long- range effects of performing a resurrection spell? Had you considered the ramifications of...."

The doorbell jangled as Xander, trailed by a listless Anya, breezed in. "What'd we miss?"

The others looked up.

"Holy Mama, what happened?" Xander asked, eyeing their expressions. "Who's been singing?"

        **********

A half hour and a Bill of Rights length Giles' rant later, the door opened again. A goofy looking creature with the plasticine head of a marionette was pushed into the room, followed by Spike.

"My master has the Slayer's sister hostage at the Bronze because she summoned him and at midnight he's going to take her to the Underworld to be his queen."

"What does he want?"

The minion pointed at Buffy. "Her." He abruptly pushed Spike to the side and hightailed it out the door, very quickly for such a top heavy being.

"Dawn's in trouble, must be Tuesday," Buffy muttered. "All right, everyone. I'll go in first. See what this Andrew Lloyd Webber Wannabe is all about. The rest of you can back me up, take care of any of his puppet pals that give me trouble."

There was a murmur of agreement. The accusations, questions and reprimands were put aside as everyone grabbed a weapon from the chest in the training room and followed Buffy to the grand finale.

        *********

"...I feed off your need and I feast on your greed. This plethora of rancor is the food that I need. If the truth sets you free, then that's where I wanna be As anger, rage and discontent spill their precious seed. My hunger is filled and my spirit is freed."

As he sang, Sweet tapped danced across the stage where Dawn was ensconced in a high backed, throne-like chair.

"Sorry I asked!" Buffy interrupted impatiently after the third verse. "You live off the trouble you stir up. I get it. Pleeease no more choruses."

"What about you, little miss?" Sweet struck a pose, steepling his fingers and cocking his head curiously toward Buffy. "What's your ditty, kitty? Haven't heard much about what makes a Slayer tick"

"Oh no," Buffy shook her head and backed unconsciously away. "Not going there. There's no way I'm going to start telling all my personal busi...."

Before she knew it, Buffy was facing her friends and belting out her big number.

        Buffy's Burden "There's something I've been hiding. I was afraid to tell. But keeping it a secret. Has been a taste of hell. I know you're all my friends and you want the best for me That's why I fear to disappoint and let the truth fly free:

But...

I'm pregnant. Though I know it doesn't show. You'll see I'm pregnant, when my belly swells and grows. And yes it's Riley's. Did you think I was a whore? Don't think I'm careless. Sometimes Trojans lose the war.

Interlude: I'm keeping it even though it's wrong. I can barely take care of myself and Dawn. But this life inside is so precious and sweet To one who brings death to every creature she meets.

So... I'm pregnant. You'll be uncle, grandpa, aunts, I'm really pregnant. Already stretching out my pants. Having a baby, isn't in the Slayer game, But I will love it. And I hope you'll do the same."

When her song was finished, Buffy heaved a huge sigh of relief, grateful that it was over without the revelation of her erotic dreams about Spike.

Everyone but Spike looked shell-shocked, gazing at her wide-eyed. He was watching her with a little half-smile on his lips and nodded approvingly when their eyes met. His earlier advice had been right, of course, Buffy felt lighter and better than she had in the past few weeks now that her secret was unburdened.

The nattily dressed demon began to applaud. "Lovely. Mm-mm. Even you humans must be able to taste the delicious emotions stewing in this room." He smacked his lips with pleasure.

Sweet stood and extended a hand to Dawn, who cowered in her chair. "I think my work here is at an end. Come, my queen."

Buffy started forward, fists raising threateningly. "You're leaving all right, but you're not taking Dawn."

"She summoned me. Gave me a chance to play in your world for a little while. Now I'm giving her the opportunity to play in mine. Besides, she's a pretty young thing." The demon stroked Dawn's long, silky hair and she cringed away.

"I didn't!" she swore. "I never ... Buffy, I don't know what he's talking about."

"My talisman, dolly. Round thing about yea big made of silver with lots of fancy writing on it...."

"Oh. OH!" Xander stepped forward, one hand upraised. "In a little blue pouch. Yeah. I found that when I was unpacking a box at the shop. Oh my god, I did this!"

"What on earth are you...." Giles began.

"I was..." Xander blushed, "thinking about the future. Wondering what I should do. I guess I made a wish while I was holding it. But I didn't mean to or anything," he rushed to add. "And I certainly didn't know there'd be singing and dancing involved."

"What did you wish?" Willow asked. "To be punched in the schnoz? Cause that's likely to happen real soon."

"For the truth," Tara said quietly. "He just wished to know truth, Willow." She gave her lover a hard look.

The demon chuckled at their discord then with a sweeping look up and down Xander's body he said, "Sorry baby, not my type," and turned back to Dawn. "As for you, sweetpea," he sighed with regret as he gave her head a final pat, "we would've made such a lovely couple. Ah well."

"What a lotta fun, you guys have been real swell And there's not a one who can say this ended well All those secrets you've been concealing Say you're happy now, once more with feeling, Now I gotta run, see you all in hell."

As his song ended, he disappeared in a swirl of blue smoke. The group watched as it drifted up to the ceiling and dispersed.

"Wow," Dawn commented. "That was ... something." She turned to her sister. "Buffy...."

"Don't even start." Buffy held up a warding hand. "I'm not ready to discuss this. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. There's been enough sharing for one day."

Anya piped up to anyone who would listen, "You know why this spell didn't affect me, don't you? I mean, yeah I sang and all, but I didn't reveal any embarrassing secrets and do you know why?"

No one asked so she continued on. "Because I don't keep secrets. What you see is what you get. I'm honest and direct and not ashamed of my past like some people." She looked pointedly at Xander. "This should be an object lesson to all of you." She slung her purse over her shoulder and marched toward the door.

Xander looked sheepishly around at them. "I'm really sorry I caused this. Dawn, sorry you got kidnapped ... again."

She shrugged. "Getting used to it. He was less creepy than Harmony, anyway."

With a last apologetic smile and a "You gonna be okay, Buff?" Xander followed Anya's exit from the building.

Red-eyed, Tara gave Buffy's hand a squeeze. "Whenever you're ready," she murmured, "We can talk." Then she too left without looking back at Willow.

"Tara! Wait. I'm sorry," Willow rushed after her.

"Buffy is there anything I can do...." Giles began, walking toward his charge.

She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. "No. Really Giles, I'm just not ready to discuss it yet. You could see Dawn home for me, though. I want to take care of these dead minions before the Bronze staff comes in tomorrow and gets an eyeful."

"All right then," Giles acquiesced, inclining his head. "Dawn?"

Dawn flounced after him with an angry glare at Buffy as she passed. "You could've told me, you know. I'm your sister for cripes sake. You're supposed to share stuff with me!" She tossed her hair back and walked stiff-legged after Giles.

The Bronze was empty except for Buffy and Spike.

Wandering onto the stage, Buffy sighed and sank down on the throne Dawn had vacated. "Well, that was strange ... and somehow unfinished. I felt like there should have been a big group number at the end there. Weird."

Spike perched on the edge of the stage at her feet. "Know what you mean, love. I thought there might be a final kiss or something of that sort."

"Like 'Moulin Rouge' without the dying," Buffy agreed. "Xander and Anya missed their cue, I guess. And Willow and Tara ... who knows how that will end. I mean where do they go from here?"

"Hm." Spike stood, jumped up on the stage and prowled around for a bit, toying with a mic stand and kicking aside some sheet music that had fluttered to the floor. "'Course," he began, "happy couples aren't popular in today's musicals. But in my day, the fella always got the girl at the end." He stopped behind Buffy's chair, his hands resting on the back of it.

"You went to the theater, Spike?"

"Often." His hands slipped down from the back of the chair to rest lightly on her shoulders. She didn't shrug them off so he began to gently massage.

"Is that where you learned to be such a romantic? Silly Victorian musicals?" She unconsciously leaned back into his strong hands. "How long have you been a vampire now? You should know better. Love never triumphs and the couple always splits."

"Bit cynical for such a young thing aren't you?" he asked, leaning down over the back of the chair so his mouth was near her ear. "Doesn't have to be that way."

She looked over her shoulder at him and found his face was far too close. For a moment she was transfixed by his lips then she sat up stiffly, forcing his hands to drop away from her shoulders. "Doesn't it?" She stood abruptly. "Come on, Spike. Let's take care of business." She leaped off the stage, headed for one of the discarded bodies and seized it under the arms.

He sighed and trudged after her, picking up the heels of the minion. "Rising music and a big romantic kiss would've been more interesting," he muttered as they dragged the super-sized Howdy-Doody out the door.

To be continued....

Chapter 8:

        *********

"So I'm going to be an aunt. Hah," she giggled. "Auntie Dawn." Popping a handful of dry Cap'n Crunch in her mouth, Dawn chewed noisily. She followed it with a big gulp of orange juice, then set the empty glass down with a bang. "Anti-Dawn. Cool."

"Yeah, real cool," Buffy said sarcastically as she rested a hand on her upset stomach.

"You should eat plain toast and tea. That'll help with the nausea," Dawn informed her practically. "That's what Peggy Marick said. You know she was pregnant in eighth grade! Her mom's raising the baby."

Buffy shuddered at the thought of being lumped in with teen moms. It so wasn't her.

"How are you gonna get ahold of Riley," Dawn said thoughtfully. "You have to tell him." She gave her sister an evil look. "You can't wait for some demon to force you to sing it at him!"

"I told you, Dawn, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do yet. I wasn't ready to tell everybody."

"I'm not everybody. I'm your sister!"

Buffy grabbed a dishcloth and started wiping spilled milk off the counter. "Did you do your laundry like I asked yesterday? Willow needs to wash a load so you have to get your stuff out of the dryer if you haven't already."

"Yeah. Sure I did it," Dawn mumbled. "Almost." She picked strings off the banana she was eating and carefully cut out a bruised part. "Buffy, do you think Tara will be moving in too? After last night ... she was so mad and hurt. Do you think they can make up?"

"I don't know." Buffy paused in her cleaning. "Willow's got a lot of 'sorry' to do. We'll just see what happens."

Both girls looked simultaneously toward the stairs, but Willow hadn't risen yet. She had shown up on their doorstep late last night after arguing with Tara for hours. She claimed Tara just needed a little time to think and that everything would be all right soon.

All of the Scoobies were supposed to meet at the Magic Box in another couple of hours so Giles could share some information on a possible new threat to Sunnydale. Buffy wondered if Tara would even come.

"Well, whatever happens between them I hope we can still be friends with Tara. I like her," Dawn bit into her surgically corrected banana. "She's like a sister. Only nice."

Buffy tossed down her dishcloth. "I'll go see if Willow's ready to get up," she said through gritted teeth and left the kitchen.

        ********

Buffy and Dawn ended up leaving for the Magic Box a little ahead of Willow, who insisted they go on without her, that she would catch up. Pausing in front of the shop door, Buffy steeled herself to face the inevitable questions and sympathies from her friends. Tara, if she were there, would be supportive and sweet. Anya could be counted on to make rude remarks about Buffy's carelessness in allowing herself to get in this position and possibly share yet another detail from her and Xander's love life. Xander himself loved her like a brother and would probably be all protective-guy, with jolly heartiness on the surface and an undercurrent of 'I'm so disappointed I you'. And Giles? Buffy plain didn't want to think about Giles' level of disappointment and disapproval.

Dawn grabbed her arm and pulled.

"Stop dawdling. Mom always said, better to just get it over with - like pulling off a band-aid," Dawn counseled as she guided her big sister into the building.

"Buffy! How you doin'?" Xander's voice was overly hearty and cheerful. "Come sit down." He pulled out the chair next to him at the table. How ya feeling? Can I get you anything? Boy, that was some musical review we had yesterday, huh? I'm still sucking throat lozenges. You want a sweet roll, Buff? Cause I could do a doughnut run if you're hungry."

Giles looked up from a text he was studying over by the ladder to the loft where the Dark Arts books were kept. He managed a tiny welcoming smile before setting down the book, pulling off his glasses and starting to polish.

"You should have a cup of tea. You're looking peaked," Anya added, lifting the pot from the hot plate. "Though these days I think they want you to steer clear of caffeine when you're pregnant, maybe a juicebox....?" She fell silent under Xander's quick glare.

Tara, who was sitting at the table with Xander, also acknowledged Buffy with a gentle smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed and Buffy doubted she had had much sleep the previous night.

"Okay, everybody," Buffy said. "Thanks for being nice and solicitatious or whatever, but I'm not fragile. You don't have to be so edgy and weird."

"That's a relief," Anya replied. "I hate when things are awkward and Xander gives me dirty looks every time I say something he thinks is wrong. What's wrong with saying you're pregnant when you are and everybody knows you are?"

Dawn offered her support. "That's right. The sooner it's out in the open the better."

"All right." Buffy drew a deep breath. "Everything I sang last night was true. I'm about three months along and didn't have a clue 'til just recently. Obviously Riley doesn't know about it and since he left no forwarding, it may take some time to give him the news. And I've thought long and hard about terminating the pregnancy. Don't think I haven't. I know it's terrible timing, if there's anything like good timing for a Slayer to be pregnant, but I want to have this baby anyway. And ... and that's about it. Any questions?"

"Buffy, you don't have to explain yourself to us," Tara said quietly as she rose and walked toward her. "Whatever you want to do is the right thing to do."

"It-it's not completely unknown for a Slayer to have a child," Giles added. He offered Buffy another tentative smile followed by a concerned frown. "However, it is not an easy proposition. There are many ramifications to consider both during the pregnancy and after, not the least of them being your ability to function as Slayer and your personal financial situation. You must give thought to who would raise the child if.."

"Hey, no problem," Xander overrode him. "We'll take over the slaying while Buffy's out of commission and after the little kiddle's born Uncle Xander's babysitting service will kick in. I'm sure all of us will be happy to help out in any way we can!" He gave Giles a hard stare.

"Of course. That goes without saying," Giles backpedaled and struck a reassuring tone. "I may be a bit taken aback by your news, Buffy, but we'll muddle along and find a way to make it work." He slipped his glasses back on and met her eyes for the first time since she'd entered the Magic Box.

"And if Buffy should bite the big one, Xander and I could adopt Riley Jr. . or Baby Buffy," Anya suddenly interrupted. "Of course, we plan to have children of our own, but we would very generously take Baby Buffy into our home and look after her as if she were ours, giving her the same advantages as our natural offspring." She nodded happily at the thought and gave Buffy a wide grin. "So don't worry, you're covered if you get wacked."

"Thank you," the Slayer said drily.

The front door bell jangled and Willow entered the shop. "Hey, everybody. What'd I miss?"

Tara, who was now standing by Buffy and resting a hand on her arm, dropped her eyes and studied the nearby candle display.

"Willow," Giles acknowledged with a nod.

Willow's face crumpled a little at all the disapproving expressions aimed her way. "I...." she opened her mouth, then screamed and jumped to the side as Spike came banging through the door behind her, smoking from every bit of exposed skin.

He was wearing a cap with earflaps, oversize sunglasses and the ugliest orange suit ever manufactured by man. He shed the hat and sunglasses, boosted himself up onto the checkout counter and straightened his tie nonchalantly.

"Morning, all. Or afternoon, anyway."

"What's with the suit?" Xander asked. "Finally changing your style?"

"It's a disguise. There are some gentlemen I'd rather not see just now."

"Of course. You should...."

Xander's head dropped to the table in mid-speech and he began to snore lightly. Spike fell back onto the counter in a dead faint. Anya's cup slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor with a crash with Anya right behind it. Giles dropped his book and collapsed against the ladder before sliding down to the floor. Willow, Dawn, Buffy and Tara all tumbled into individual heaps. In a moment absolute silence reigned in the still, musty air of the Magic Box.

        ***********

Several hours and a vampire attack later, the besieged group was peering through the blinds at the horrible creatures prowling outside the shop.

"It seems that I'm the one these monsters are after, although why they're calling me 'Spike' I have no idea," Randy said to Joan who was handling one of the pointy whittled sticks with an appraising look in her eye. "I have to lead them away from the others."

"You can't do it alone," Joan protested. "And since it looks like I'm a superwoman of some kind I'd better go with you to protect you." She turned to the shopkeepers, the teenager and the group of college kids. "The rest of you bolt the door behind us. We'll distract the vampires and get them to follow us."

"You're so brave!" Dawn, who may or may not be Joan's sister declared. "I want to be just like you when I grow up. A hero."

Joan brushed a hand over the girl's cheek. "I'm sure you will be. But for now you just keep safe." She looked up at the older man with the glasses. "Take care of her for me?"

"Certainly."

"Couldn't we just call the police or have an ambulance sent from the hospital?" the other shopkeeper, the one named Anya, interrupted. "I mean, there's a phone right over there...."

"Ooh! I remember what to call. It's 9-1-1," the red-haired girl, Willow, proclaimed.

Anya was already at the phone dialing the number. "Can you believe it? Busy! Holy crap, how can an emergency line be busy?"

"Do you really think anyone would believe us or come anyway?" the heavy young man named Xander said condescendingly. "I mean when we say, 'oh yes officer, I've lost my memory along with a whole group of people and there are scary, monster-guys trying to get us,' that'll bring the police running!"

"You have a better idea?" Anya huffed.

"Enough arguing," Joan interrupted. "Anya, you keep trying 911 if you want. The rest of you just sit tight while Randy and I go for help. Okay?" Her tone brooked no argument so everyone nodded dutifully.

"Uh, just a minute, son," Rupert Giles said as Randy and Joan prepared to battle their way out the front door with the stakes they had found.

"Oh, right," the young blond man stepped up to his father and hugged him awkwardly. They separated with a manly clap on the back.

"Take care, my boy."

Randy nodded. He took a deep breath and nodded a second time at Joan, who pulled the door open and launched herself out amongst the vampires. Randy barreled after her with a war cry, head and shoulders down, pushing through the foe like a linebacker.

When he looked up Joan was yards ahead of him, whirling and jabbing with her stake. He saw it pierce one of the fanged creatures right through the heart and dissolve it into dust, the same feat Joan had accomplished in the shop earlier. Randy gasped in amazement and from the foot that had just kicked him in the stomach. He seized the offending foot and twisted, sending its owner spinning around and face down onto the ground. He decided this would be a good opportunity to test one of the stakes for himself, driving it through his opponent's back with a satisfying squelch. Again he was amazed to see the human form burst into a cloud of dust.

But behind his surprise there was also a sense of familiarity to the rhythm of kick-kick-punch-pummel-thrust. Randy found himself grinning as he waltzed through another fight with practiced ease.

"Hey," he called to Joan, "I think maybe I'm a superhero, too! Watch this!" He leaped into the air and came down with a kick to the back of Joan's latest opponent, cracking the vampire's spine.

"Randy, that one was mine!" the girl protested, pushing him out of the way and staking the assailant. "There's enough here for both of us. Too many, in fact."

She was right. The next pair of vampires was already upon Randy. One held him by the arms, while the other practiced tae-bo on his face. Randy took the blows for a moment, then, using the vampire holding him for a base, pulled his legs up and kicked out at the one punching him, sending him backward. He then wrested his arms away from the other vampire's grip.

"Come on!" Joan was beckoning. "Just run!" She grabbed at his arm and pulled him behind her as she pelted down the sidewalk. The couple ran until they had left the last of their pursuers far behind.

Joan finally paused in an alley entrance, leaning against a brick wall and looking up the empty street. "They're gone," she panted.

"You don't think they've turned back and will hurt the others?" Randy asked worriedly. "Or wreck Dad's shop."

"No. It seemed pretty clear that you're the one who had something they wanted," Joan replied. "What have you been getting mixed up in, young man?" she asked with mock severity.

"I have no idea!"

"And why in god's name are you wearing that horrible suit!" she added only half-teasingly. "There's no way I could be dating you. I'd never be with someone who has such lame fashion sense. I'm sure of it."

Randy stopped looking for pursuers and eyed Joan sharply. "What makes you think that you and I might possibly be an ... an item?" he asked with interest.

"An item! I didn't say that. I said we wouldn't be a couple." She looked him over from head to toe. "No way."

"I say, that's a bit rough," he protested. "I'm not that repellant."

"No," she agreed. "It's just the outfit. You're actually kinda...." She examined his cut-glass cheekbones, white blond shock of hair and rakishly sliced eyebrow, then decided she'd be damned if she admitted he was hot. She pushed off from the wall and led the way up the street again.

Randy trailed after her. "Actually, I think it's highly likely we are a couple. I feel ... something. Don't you?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," she replied airily.

"Come on," he moved up alongside her and grabbed her arm. "You're telling me it doesn't feel somehow familiar. You. Me. Walking together in the dark. Fighting things. Arguing with each other. Feels like the most natural thing in the world."

"You're not my type," she continued to protest.

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"Tell you what, let's give it a test run and see if anything feels familiar."

"Give what a test run?"

"A kiss."

"I am NOT letting you kiss me." She walked a little faster but he kept pace with her.

"Then you kiss me," he persisted.

"No."

"Just one. Just once. If it doesn't feel right, if it doesn't feel like ... us, I'll drop it."

"You'll drop it," she repeated, deadpan. "I get the feeling you're one of those types who never drop it even after they've been dropped. That's it. I probably just broke up with you and you still keep harassing me. I should get a restraining order."

"So why were you in my dad's shop?" he asked with a smirk. "Maybe I dumped you and you still keep coming back for more, eh?"

She whirled on him, a comeback ready on her lips, and he stopped it with a kiss. Joan froze in surprise as Randy pressed against her, drawing her body to his and delivering a series of light, nibbling kisses to her lips. She gave a startled 'o' and he took advantage of it, slipping his tongue neatly inside.

She was surprised at how cool he was, not just his hands which she could feel through the thin material of the shirt pressing against her back but also his lips and the tongue exploring her mouth. It was like a scoop of ice cream on a hot summer's day, sliding deliciously around and soothing her own parched tongue.

She didn't think. She just responded and kissed him back. And it was as natural as a hundred percent cotton India wrap skirt. As natural as the supple leather of a Prada shoe. As natural as coming home and finding somebody has left the light on for you.

His hands began to roam down her back as he nestled his groin firmly into her front. Joan found her own hands grabbing at his ass, it was so tight and fine! She pulled him into her even tighter, feeling the manly lump in his jeans rubbing against her feminine mound. She gasped and kissed him harder, their teeth clicking together slightly from her enthusiasm.

Randy groaned deep in his throat and with a twist of hips, thrust against her a few times. He tore his mouth away from hers long enough to pant, "See. It's us. I told you," then was back at her again.

Twined together in a tight embrace, they shuffled back until she was pressed against the wall of a building. His hands braced on either side of her against the plate glass window of a shop. She could feel the cold hardness of the glass against her back and rear. He drew away from their fervent kissing again and looked straight into her eyes. "We might even be engaged," he said breathing raggedly. "I feel like I'm in love with you."

"So where's my ring?" she demanded coquettishly smiling and pulled him back in for another hungry kiss. She moved from his lips to his jawline, then down his neck - until the stupid collar and tie stopped her. She fumbled at the tie with unschooled fingers. "Take this thing off!" she whined. "The jacket and vest too. You look like such a dweeb, honey."

He complied, jerking carelessly at the tie and ripping the silk lining of the orangey-brown coat as he tugged his arm out. Joan helped him with the vest buttons - by ripping it open and sending them flying onto the sidewalk. He looked much better with just the tailored white shirt and open vest, with the bonus that now she could reach his body with her seeking mouth.

He gasped slightly as she licked and kissed her way down the column of his throat and over the hard planes of his chest. The top buttons of the shirt having gone the way of the vest buttons. She pulled her mouth back and ran her hands over that rock hard chest, relishing the way his skin flowed under them - so smooth and again weirdly cool like touching the robes of that marble angel which guarded the Hammermill crypt. And where did that thought come from?

His lids were lowered as he watched her hands roam over him. Pretty black lashes rested against his too-white cheeks.

"Have to get him in a tanner," she made a mental note. "Then clothes shopping and maybe a new 'do. Like the platinum, but need less gel."

As her hands skimmed further down onto his abdomen, popping more buttons on the way, she heard him emit a reverberating growl. It was almost inhuman.

As the growl died away she realized with a shock that there was no other vibration in his body ... like a heartbeat. She slid her hands back up to his chest to make sure. No bah-boom, bah-boom. Suddenly it all came together, the cool skin, the animal growl, he was one of them! She pushed him away.

"What," he asked still grasping for her as she held him at arm's length. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Don't sweetheart me. You're dead! You're one of the undead like those creatures we fought. You're a vampire!"

"Am not!" he protested vehemently. "How can you say that?"

She wrapped his fingers around his own wrist. "Feel that. No pulse. And I distinctly heard you growl just now. Go ahead. Try to change your face."

Still shaking his head in disbelief, he complied. With no effort at all the bones of his face shifted and reformed into hard ridges and a pair of fangs descended in his mouth.

"I am!" his tone was shocked and wondering. "I'm a vampire. But - but why am I with you, helping you?" He looked at her searchingly, feral yellow eyes lingering on the pulse in her throat. "I should be killing you, but I don't want to."

Joan was searching for the stake she had tucked in her waistband. It must have slipped and fallen down her leg while they were running. She was still trapped between the vampire and the building with only an arm's length between them.

"I think," he pondered, "we must be lovers, two mortal enemies tied together by the bonds of love."

"Ridiculous," Joan murmured looking up at him. But she was suddenly taken with the idea and couldn't resist adding, "unless . unless you were a vampire with a soul, on the path to redemption all for love of me."

It was Randy's turn to scoff. "Vampire with a soul? Now that's ridiculous. No. I see us more as dark and light, yin and yang. I reach for your purity and you embrace my evil." Here Randy took a moment to give the word 'evil' a double meaning as he thrust his tongue against his fangs and stroked the bulge in his jeans.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Randeee. The point is you go against your nature to prove your devotion to me - Super Vampire Killer Girl. There's a word for that, you know: pussy-whipped," she teased.

"I'd like to do more than whip her," the vampire growled as he eyed her crotch. "Wanna find out what?"

"Get over yourself. You were perfectly normal 'til you found out you were a vampire. Why do you have to act like that? Like you're some kind of Big Bad?"

"Isn't that what the evil guy does." He sounded perplexed. "How should I be?"

"Just be yourself, like you were before." Joan had dropped her arm by now, instinctively aware that there was no threat from this creature before her. "Quit posturing and convince me you're sincere."

He slipped back into his human guise and took a tentative step toward her. Lifting his hand he brushed back her hair sending a shiver down her back. "Like this?" he asked, leaning slowly in for a gentle, lingering kiss. "This how you like it?" He kissed her again.

"Just like that," she whispered after a moment, sliding her hands up to his shoulders.

Joan was released. Some deeply buried part of her was telling her things about shouldering responsibility and going against nature and fulfilling a destiny, but she didn't understand those things. Wasn't even interested. All she cared about was living this moment and she accepted the star- crossed lovers scenario without another word, without question or hesitation.

She resumed kissing the undead anti-hero with passion, wrapping her body around his until there wasn't a finger's worth of space between them anywhere.

He responded in kind, running his hands down her back and cupping her ass firmly as he drove against her through two sets of clothing. She groaned low in her throat from the friction.

Suddenly Randy drew back, "I have just one question," he said, regarding her with serious blue eyes.

"Yeah?" she murmured breathlessly.

"Do you think my dad knows what I am?"

        ********* Back at the Magic Box the rest of the gang was wading through rabbits and battling a group of skeleton warriors, as Anya, standing on top of the table, proclaimed the words of a spell in halting Latin.

"It's not working! Just because you work at this shop doesn't mean you know a thing about magic. Look at the mess you've made already," Willow yelled over the melee as she snatched the book from Anya's hands. "You're a retailer!"

She flipped pages looking for anything that could correct the chaos.

"And we still don't know who we are," Dawn shrieked as she threw a jar of some round objects which looked suspiciously like eyeballs floating in alcohol at one of the attackers. "We were better off with the vampires. I wish that girl Joan was here."

Giles and Alexander were back-to-back, swords flashing in opposite directions, but they were barely keeping the skeletons at bay. Meanwhile ominous gray clouds were forming against the ceiling above them.

"You'd better find something quick!" Alexander yelled. He noticed the shopgirl, Anya, screaming in terror as yet another rabbit poofed into existence right next to her foot. Instinctively he started toward her, dueling his skeletal opponent as he backed toward the table. Then he tripped over a rabbit and fell to the ground where he was almost beheaded by his attacker's blade.

Anya, with a final scream, kicked the rabbit off the table and straight into the head of the skeleton that was hacking at Alexander. The bunny bounced off the skeleton's head, landed and hopped away. Alexander crab- scuttled backward and Anya reached down from her perch on the table and hauled him up by the collar to his feet.

Meanwhile, Tara pushed her way to Willow's side and peered over her shoulder at the magic book. "What about this?" She pointed.

The two women recited the words together, "Severus finite, Redondo venite." They joined hands and lifted them slowly as power coursed through their bodies and poured out into the room.

Giles' sword thrust through open air as his nemesis disappeared. The momentum carried him forward into a bookshelf into which he impaled the sword. Books bounced from the upper shelves onto his head.

Anya was hurling books at the skeleton that had continued attacking Alexander. When his opponent disappeared, the book sailed across the room right into Dawn's face. The teen screamed and clutched at her nose.

Xander staggered sideways, regaining his balance after the skeleton he was fighting abruptly released him. His foot cracked down on a small black crystal, grinding it into shards.

In that instant the spell was broken.

        **********

Buffy woke with a start to her memories and the fact that Spike's fingers were buried deep inside her and his mouth was latched wetly onto her nipple. Spike's memories must have come back too because he froze in his movements, fingers stilling, mouth ceasing its suckling.

He was crouched before her and she was braced against a tree in the park where they had moved after their play became too down and dirty for the sidewalks of Sunnydale. From momentum her pelvis thrust against his hand once or twice more before she forced herself to still as well.

Still clinging to her breast, Spike turned his head and looked up at her quizzically before disengaging his mouth with a pop to enquire, "Buffy?" She knew from his tone and the questioning head tilt that he wasn't verifying her identity but asking permission to continue. As her mind retreated from him, her body betrayed her, still reaching for his touch. She grasped his shoulder.

He smiled that infuriating smile of his at what he took to be encouragement and bent toward her breast again.

"No," she whispered, and her pull turned into a push. She tightened her hand on his shoulder, shoving at his arm, rejecting his fingers so firmly and deliciously entrenched in her depths. "Off, Spike," she commanded. He removed his fingers from inside her but stroked his hand slowly up over her belly, continuing to give her that begging look.

"Buffy," he breathed again almost soundlessly.

She shook her head. "No," she repeated more forcefully. "I mean it, Spike."

"You're killing me," he groaned, rising to his feet to face her. "Please Buffy, just be Joan again and I'll be Randy. No one else has to know."

She stepped back from him, pulling at her gaping blouse. "No. Whatever the hell happened to us, it's over now. It wasn't real."

He stepped toward her and reached for her and just for a moment Buffy thought she was going to have to punch him in the face to prove her sincerity. But with a heavy sigh and a pouting lower lip, he gently tucked her breast back into its lacy bra cup and began buttoning her blouse. "Whatever you say, love," he said quietly.

"I'll do it," Buffy thrust his hands away and continued to put herself back together, buttoning and tucking furiously, refusing to meet his eyes.

"We'd better go back to the Magic Box and check on the others; see if we can figure out what caused this," she muttered, setting off through the park at a brisk pace. Spike followed moodily along behind.

        **********

Later, after everyone had had a turn yelling at Willow and they were leaving the Magic Box in varying degrees of indignation, Spike passed Buffy on his way to the door. He leaned in toward her and murmured, "We can play Randy and Joan anytime you like, pet, just let me know," then drifted out.

Even later that night, alone in his crypt, Spike made himself a bourbon and blood cocktail and dropped down into his armchair to stare blankly at the TV. He pondered which woman he'd rather kill for jerking him around, Willow or Buffy. If the little witch messed with his head one more time, he'd find a way to end her.

As for Buffy, well he couldn't strictly lay blame for the on again-off again sexual vibes at her doorstep. She had told him clearly enough that she wanted no relationship with him and it wasn't her fault the witch's mojo had clouded her thinking, but..

He sat up straighter as a singular thought struck him. Without the trappings of responsibility that went with being the Slayer, Buffy had been ready to tumble for him like a house of cards. So there must be some feeling underneath her icy exterior, right? On some level even she recognized the elemental chemistry between them. It was only a matter of time before those chemicals combusted into an all out explosion, and for that he could wait.

Spike leaned back in his chair again, half closing his eyes as he stared at the flickering image of Mr. Brady dispensing wisdom to his children. Time was something he had plenty of. Yes, he could wait.

To be continued..
 

Chapter 9:

"Bloody caterwauling is what it is," Spike complained as the final contestant on American Idol histrionically emoted her song. "Listen to her. She has no more tonality than...."

"How can you say that? She's got a gorgeous voice, way better than that guy, what was his name? Casey or Jacey, something like that," Dawn interrupted.

"The whole concept is flawed anyway," Willow opined. "How can you compare male and female singers at all? It's like apples and oranges, two entirely different things."

"And look at the way she throws herself about," Spike continued. "The judges place far too much importance on stage presence and not enough on actual musicality. That other girl, Rhianna had a much better voice but she's too restrained for that lot."

"Like you'd know about 'musicality' and 'tonality', Mr. Music-died-with-Sid- Vicious. I haven't heard one of your '80s punk 'classics' that wasn't a load of screaming crap." Dawn pushed Spike's shoulder with her knee and he lightly slapped her leg.

"We agreed last week," Willow admonished, giving both of them a stern look. "No violence during American Idol no matter how stupid someone's opinion is." She grabbed the popcorn bowl from the coffee table and settled back into her corner of the couch. "Besides I'm sick of hearing the same arguments week after week. Spike always complains about pop music. Dawn always thinks it's the pinnacle of entertainment. And I'm tone deaf so it all sounds about the same to me. Can't we watch something else?"

"NO!" Spike and Dawn cried in unison as they both reached for the remote that was laying on the couch between Dawn and Willow. Dawn got it first and clutched the precious black device close to her heart, while Spike settled back into his place on the floor with a disgruntled mutter.

"If you hate it so much, Red, why don't you do something else? We don't require a babysitter. You could go out, you know. Find another little bird to nest with."

"I don't want to," Willow moped. "I'm not interested in.... Besides, what about you? Why aren't you out fighting demons or drinking or playing poker or ... or doing whatever else it is that chipped vampires do? You've got nothing better to do than hang out with us?" she challenged him.

"Nothing pressing," he answered truthfully, leaning over and wresting the popcorn from her grasp.

"Have you talked to Tara lately?" Dawn asked Willow tentatively. "'Cause, you know, I'm sure she misses you too. When she took me out to the movies Saturday afternoon I told her how good you were doing with the no magic and all. She was really glad. If you called her I know she'd be happy."

"Really?" Willow's expression brightened.

"For sure. You just have to make the first move. I know she'll forgive you."

Spike snorted. "And if she doesn't you can magic her up again 'til she thinks you're Liv Tyler, Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta Jones all rolled into one."

"Hey!" Willow frowned and threw the couch pillow at Spike's head, successfully knocking the popcorn bowl from his hands and all over the floor.

"Great! Now look what you've done. Clumsy bint," he growled as he retrieved popcorn kernels from under the couch and tossed them back in the bowl. "Truth stings, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't.... I don't.... Not anymore. Not since the thing with Dawn. I get it now. There's a time and place to use magic and messing with your friends isn't one of them."

Dawn rubbed her cheek, still feeling conflicted about Willow's help with her acne problem. As pissed as Buffy had been, Willow really had fixed Dawn's face that evening, giving her a pristine complexion for the school dance. And because of it Ryan had danced with her and everything. For Dawn that had been worth what came after. It's not like Willow had known what the side effects of her spell would be. She was just trying to help.

"So you've learned your lesson, have you?" Spike continued, his tone turning vicious. "A mess of boils on Dawn's face and you finally realize that magic is all about cause and effect; that every magic action requires a payment?"

"I just told you I get it, didn't I?" Willow's voice was cold and calm and kind of scary.

"Well, time will tell, won't it?" Shoving the half-filled bowl of fuzz covered popcorn at her, Spike jumped to his feet. "Clean up your own mess, witch. I'm going to see if Buffy needs any help patrolling after work." He stalked off, popcorn crunching under his boot heels.

Dawn flinched as the door slammed. She sighed. "Why do our TV nights always end up in a big fight?"

"Because Spike is a stupid, insensitive jerk, who doesn't know when to keep his fat mouth shut?" Willow offered.

"Could be," Dawn agreed. "He is a little moody." She scooted off the couch and bent down to pick up more popcorn. Willow quickly joined her.

"Dawn?" she asked after a moment. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you with that spell, right? I mean, it was only a simple glamour. I didn't think it would...."

"You've already said you're sorry about fifty zillion times, Willow, and I've already forgiven you twice as much so wouldya drop it!" Dawn added, "Unless you want to bake more cookies...."

        ************

Spike could smell Buffy coming long before he could see her, the stench of sweat and burger grease making his sensitive nose crinkle. He clocked along the pavement with big strides that quickly took him to the cemetery which was her shortcut home. Leaping lightly over the stone wall, he crept among the tombstones playing his favorite cat and mouse game. Of course, he was never sure if he was the cat or the mouse, since Buffy usually called him out long before he had a chance to sneak up and jump her.

"Gonna have to do better than that, Spike," she drawled, twirling a stake in one hand as she sauntered along. "You sound like a herd of buffalo."

"Do not," he sulked, coming out from behind a crypt and falling in step with her. "I'm stealthy as ... as...."

"As a shadow? Hah. Only if the shadow had size 14 feet and wore big clomping boots." She smiled at her own quip.

"Well, you're in fine form tonight for someone who just worked an eight hour shift in a grease factory. Feeling better, love?" he enquired.

"Yeah, actually," Buffy sounded surprised, "I feel great lately. All full of energy again and ... and starving. If you have anything besides a Doublemeat medley on you, something chocolate for example, I swear I'll drop to my knees and ... uh ... well, I'd thank you anyway." She flushed.

"Just so happens," Spike said drawing a Hershey's with almonds and an apple from his pocket and tossing them to her.

"Eat your fruit first," he admonished as she tore into the candy wrapper.

"Mmm, this is so good," she mumbled through the chocolate, her eyes falling closed in rapture. Spike swallowed hard as her tongue darted out to lick a smear of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.

"How was work today," he asked, dragging his eyes away from her lips.

"Same old," she shrugged. "No old ladies tried to kill me, so I consider that a plus. Health inspector was in and he didn't look too pleased with the deep fryer. I smell a citation coming."

"You need to quit that place," Spike said. "The fumes alone could be toxic to the little one. You can do better."

"Tell you what, you find room in my schedule between working, slaying and taking care of the house and Dawn to go to some job interviews and I'll show up. Of course, when they find I'm a college drop-out with no skills whatsoever except beating things up and accessorizing, I'm sure I'll have businesses throwing job offers at me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Buffy," Spike gave her the serious eyes and head tilt, which always made her pulse quicken. "You're graceful and quick witted and charming when you want to be. You just need more self confidence."

Uncomfortable under his gaze, Buffy shrugged and turned away. Perching on a gravestone, she devoured the rest of the candy bar and the apple, while Spike continued to alternately watch her and pace about restlessly.

When she was finished he asked, "So, you up for a little rough and tumble?"

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"I heard from a source that a Hrathlok demon has taken up residence in the caves north of town. They can be nasty buggers and they breed like rabbits. You might want to put a stop to it before we're overrun with 'em."

"Oh." She relaxed. "Sure. I suppose I should. It's a long walk, though."

"Could take my car," Spike offered. "It's parked not far from here."

Buffy remembered the last time she'd ridden in his car, when the wedding ring fiasco was still ... fiascoing. The idea of sitting in the Desoto again, like a couple on a date - a date which involved demon-slaying and barbed banter - made Buffy uncomfortable. Still, it was just a car ride. Nothing of a sexual nature had passed between them since the Randy and Joan incident, and anything that would save her aching feet was good.

"Sure. That'd be fine," she agreed.

"Meet me at the street by the west gate. I'll bring it around," he said and dashed off before she could answer.

As she meandered toward the pickup point, Buffy wondered again if she was encouraging Spike in his little crush by letting him help out and hang around the house all the time. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but their relationship had moved from an occasional patrol together to a daily routine and now Dawn was inviting him to TV nights at least twice a week and Spike was sitting in on their Scooby planning meetings without even Xander questioning it!

Part of her knew all this was wrong, that she should put the brake on while she still could before there was a major freeway pileup. Trust in Spike? Only disaster could come of it. But the days drifted on and it was so much easier to accept his help and his presence than to fight him. He wouldn't go away no matter what. He'd keep badgering her and skulking around, so she might as well make use of him.

When you considered it, her situation with Spike was kind of like Frodo and Gollum in The Two Towers, Dawn's current favorite movie. Gollum was pleased to serve Frodo. It gave purpose to his miserable life. Only, unlike Spike, Gollum didn't have a barely concealed desire to jump Frodo's bones - or did he? Come to think of it, there was a lot of homoerotic subtext in Lord of the Rings.

The blare of a horn startled Buffy from her musing. She passed through the cemetery gate and caught sight of Spike's big black beast; engine rumbling so loud the whole frame shook, smoky gray exhaust belching from the tailpipe. With a sigh, she took hold of the handle and wrenched open the heavy door. Beer cans, an empty blood pack and a Snowball wrapper came spilling out. She realized the wrapper must be from their Vegas journey over a year ago

She slid into the front seat. "Jeez Spike, do you ever clean this thing?"

"Nope." He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires.

As they sped along, Buffy's fingers clenched the seat cover in fear of his reckless driving, Spike pulled a can of juice from his pocket and tossed it to her. "Thirsty?"

"Thanks," she said, pulling the tab and downing it in several gulps. The moment the can was empty and she noted that he had pulled a beer from the other pocket, a thought occurred to her. "You didn't pay for these, did you?"

Spike scoffed. "No. Didn't need to. I have an arrangement with the guy at the Speedie Mart. He gives me free stuff and I offer him personalized protection from some of the more dangerous elements in town. It's a symbiotic relationship."

Buffy puzzled that one out. "Like the corrupt cops in the movies," she finally deduced.

"Like a vampire who needs to survive without hurting anyone," he corrected.

"It's a payoff!" she said indignantly.

"It's good business!" he replied. "Buffy, I'm working as best I can within your white hat rules here. Cut me some slack."

She fell silent and looked out the window.

The silence dragged on for several minutes.

Clearing his throat, Spike ventured, "So, you picked out any names for your sprout yet?"

"I like 'Lindsey'," Buffy said.

"You did say that ultra-thingy told you it was a lad, right?" Spike asked, "'Cause you better expect years of nosebleeds and black eyes if you saddle the kid with a name like that!"

"Oh and I suppose you have a better idea? Something classy and intelligent like ... Rocko? Or maybe Butch?" She rolled her eyes at him.

"Both manly names," Spike agreed. "But I was thinking more along the lines of Jack. Simple. Straightforward. It's a good, solid name for a boy."

Buffy shrugged. "I like Lindsey."

She resumed staring out the window, and in a few minutes the throbbing engine of the car lulled her into a light doze.

In her dream Spike was feeding her. He was feeding her luscious, cool, mint chocolate chip ice cream, not from a spoon but from the end of his finger.

"Good?" he asked, grinning as she sucked his finger long after it was ice cream free.

"Mm hm. Need more," she moaned.

He reached into the tub that rested on his naked lap, unfortunately hiding his goods from her view, and scooped up another healthy mouthful.

Buffy opened her mouth and extended her tongue, but before she could accept the treat he dropped it on her chest.

"Oops," he drawled, "Guess it's my turn." He bent down to lap at the cold nugget that was sliding down her hot skin, leaving a sticky, melting trail behind it.

She smiled and threaded her fingers through his hair, caressing his scalp.

"Off, puppy," she said after a moment when he continued licking beyond what was necessary. "I'm hungry. Feed me!"

He obligingly sat up and fed her another fingerful of minty sweetness. It was so good and she was so HUNGRY. And she wanted to know what it would taste like if she ate it off other parts of his body.

With a snort, Buffy jerked awake. Naughty, sexaholic Buffy, she chastised herself. Why did her dreams all revolve around food and sex lately? Her sleepy eyes flicked over to Spike, but he was fully clothed, humming to himself and tapping the wheel as he stared through the windshield at the rushing darkness.

Again her eyes drifted closed and her forehead pressed against the window. This time she was only half asleep, and memory and dream were all jumbled together.

It was the infamous 'honeymoon' night. They were twined together sharing post-coital bliss. Spike's hands were running restlessly up and down her body, over her arms, across her face. He seemed determined to touch every inch of skin to verify the truth of her in his arms.

"I can't believe this is real," he murmured against her hair.

"It's real," she confirmed. "And it's forever."

"Forever," he repeated reverently, then added bitterly. "Forever until you die, you mean."

"Everyone dies, Spike."

"I don't." He paused, stroking her back and resting his lips against her forehead, bestowing a thousand tiny kisses. "And I won't let you, either," he promised fiercely.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably at his words. "What do you mean?"

"Relax," he chuckled. "I'm not offering to turn you if that's what you're thinking. You wouldn't be my Buffy then. But you will live longer than any Slayer ever. I will keep you safe and whole until you're such an old woman you'll be embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Oh, that's a pleasant thought," she said. "Ninety year old Buffy and her studly, young gigolo. Yuch!"

"I won't care. I'll worship every wrinkle in your leathery face," he teased. "And when you finally go I'll go too. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."

"What about after?" Buffy mused. She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes. "Where will we be then?"

"You asking me about heaven 'n' hell?" He held her even tighter and returned her serious gaze. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I really don't know."

She tucked her face against his throat and hugged him fiercely.

"But wherever I am, I will always love you," he promised solemnly. "Always...."

"Hey!" Spike's real voice tore away the veil of sleep and Buffy sat bolt upright.

"We're here," he explained. "You awake enough to tackle this or what?"

"Yeah," she snapped. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jeez. Just give me a minute, all right?"

She rubbed her hand over her bleary eyes and focused on the cold, dark night around them. For a moment she felt a physical pain at the loss of that warm cocoon of sheets and blankets and Spike's arms around her on that tawdry motel bed. It had felt so real. She shot a glance over at him and he was looking at her with concern.

"You sure you're up for this? Cause we can come back another...."

"I said I'm fine! Just point me in the right direction." She grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door with a wrenching creak of hinges. "Come on. Let's fight."

        ***********

After a rousing good tussle and laying the wiley Hrathlok to rest, Spike drove Buffy home. He bid her goodnight and she responded distantly before closing the car door and walking up to her house. Then Spike's real mission for the evening began.

Every three or four weeks he had provided Buffy with the money to help pay her bills. The silly bint still thought it was Uncle Giles' generosity in those unmarked envelopes, which burned Spike no end. But he still worked for her anyway, reveling in the role of unrecognized benefactor. There was always that damn Victorian poet in him, heart swelling at noble, selfless gestures. Downright sickening, is what it was.

Tonight he was several hundred short of where he'd hoped to be this week, knowing that Buffy still had a huge plumber's bill to pay. It was time for another round of shakedowns and break-ins. Spike cast away his white hat and firmly jammed his metaphorical black hat down over his ears.

First stop on his circuit was the U-Lock-It on Fourth Street. Usually the bays held very little of value, just households in transition and Grandma's estate, but sometimes you could hit a gold mine. Spike knew just where to strike that gold. Parking his car several blocks away, he approached the storage units from the rear, located number 12 and, using vampiric strength and a pair of humongous bolt cutters, quickly entered his target.

In addition to demons and other supernatural predators, Sunnydale had its share of human burglars and miscellaneous criminals. Spike had his finger on the pulse of both halves of the underworld and knew that the contents of a wealthy home on Barton Blvd. now resided in U-Lock-It number 12 waiting to be fenced. No one was going to complain to the police about a few missing items. Although he must be careful of humans, given his disability, Spike thought the robbing from the robbers angle was fairly clever and safe, not to mention rather satisfyingly ironic.

It was certainly safer than the last time he'd flashed fang at a convenience store intending to clean out the till and gotten a shotgun to the head instead. He had been forced to back down and hightail it from the store, and Spike hated backing down. Sure, a shot to the head wouldn't kill him, but it would take a helluva long time for a vamp to come back from that kind of trauma.

Once inside the unit Spike busily puttered around gathering smaller pricey objects and putting them in his pockets, then selecting the larger items he could easily sell to Clem. Within minutes he was back out, over the fence and into his car with the merchandise.

On to stop number two.

Most demons had little that would be considered of value in the human world, but vampires were a different breed. Spike knew many who, like old Angelus, enjoyed living in stylish comfort. Minions and fledglings were of no use to him and it required going a little farther afield to find his quarry. Luckily he had a mate from the old days who lived only a town away and was going to be Buffy's meal ticket for the month.

A few years older than Spike, Alexei Baranzykov was an old country anachronism living in the U.S.A. In one hundred and forty years he had made no effort whatsoever to adapt to the time or place in which he lived. Spike often wondered why he'd left Russia at all, since walking into his lair was like touring the palace at St. Petersburg. Religious icons and ornate crosses adorned his velvet-flocked walls. One had to be careful not to brush against anything that singed.

Spike had met Alexei during Spike's first go-around in Sunnydale, when he was laying low after the debacle at the high school. They had met over cards and became as friendly as vampires ever did with one another. Spike enjoyed Alexei's acerbic wit and well-read sensibilities. They spent hours discussing the intricate worlds and words of Doestoevsky until Drusilla would wander in, tremulously complaining about Spike's lack of attention.

Alexei was the only person Spike had ever met who 'got' Dru. He treated her with a courtly respect and listened in fascination to her visionary ramblings. He believed every word she uttered had significance if one could but unlock the symbolism.

Spike had truly appreciated the companionship of a fellow literary fan. That is, until he was laid up in a wheelchair by the Slayer, was thwarted in his attempt to resurrect the Judge, was humiliated and cuckolded by that bastard Angelus, and fought to regain Dru then slipped off to Mexico with her. Those things rather distracted from quality socializing time.

Tonight he was off to pay his old friend a visit.

        *********

"Spike, my friend, it has been years since I heard from you. Where have you been?" the Russian grabbed him and enveloped him in a bear hug. Spike patted his back gingerly.

"Good to see you too, mate. I had some trouble in Sunnydale and had to leave, but I'm back." Spike was ushered into the plush room, which hadn't changed an iota since the last time he'd been entertained here.

"I have missed our discussions. There are so few of the undead who care to read the classics. A hundred years may pass between meetings with a kindred spirit who truly enjoys literature. Please sit." Baranzykov gestured to a heavily upholstered armchair and Spike sank into it gratefully. It really had been a long night and he could sense the imminence of sunlight.

"Where is your lovely lady?" the Russian enquired as he poured blood from a samovar on the sideboard.

For just a moment, Spike thought he meant Buffy. "Oh, Drusilla. Yeah, well, we had a parting of ways shortly after we left the area."

"That is too bad. A rare gem such as she is something to be treasured unto eternity. You must have been shattered to lose her."

"Indeed I was," Spike agreed sincerely. "But time and circumstance have allowed me to discover an even greater love." He was annoyed to find his speech pattern unconsciously changing from his everyday slang to the cultured language of his youth.

"Impossible." Baranzykov set the warmed cup of blood before Spike. "I have never seen such devotion exhibited between two of our kind. You can not have found a replacement for such a unique creature in such a brief time."

"I have. She is Dru's opposite in every way, but she is also a pearl. Such radiant incandescence, I cannot describe to you. Strength, power, vulnerability, and sweetness are inextricably combined in her to create such a paragon of...." Spike stopped himself before he could wax even more rhapsodic. "That is ... She's a right lovely bird and I'm mad about her."

"Well, that is wonderful news. May I be so lucky to find even one great love in this endless immortality." The other vampire sighed and dropped into the seat across from Spike. "There was a human girl, once.... She, I could have loved."

"But instead you ate her," Spike surmised.

"Unfortunately, yes," his friend replied. "And a tasty morsel she was, too. But I would have preferred her company, which would have passed many a long, lonely night, to that one brief moment of sustenance so quickly finished."

"I hear you. It is a conundrum."

"The lack of companionship is almost more than I can bear sometimes," the sad-eyed Russian admitted. "I would not share this with anyone but you, my friend, but the hunt and the kill do not thrill me like they used to. There is a void inside.... Do you ever feel it?"

"I have," Spike replied quietly. "And the lady I told you of, she is the only thing that can make it go away."

The unsuspecting Baranzykov exploded into a shower of dust.

"That's why you have to die, mate. Because I'm hers now." Spike drew back his stake hand and blew off the remnants of the Russian. He sat back down, drained his cup of blood, and stared at the empty chair his philosophical friend had occupied.

Almost a quarter hour elapsed before he rose and began gathering his loot; a Fabergé egg, icons, miniatures and fabulous jewels. But the prize piece in the collection was unexpected. Alexei had somehow managed to secure one of the eight swords of Rugievit and it was beautifully displayed in a glass case over his mantel. Spike shook his head as he broke the glass with his fist and took down the perfectly balanced weapon. What kind of a vampire used a sword as artwork instead of a weapon?

As he walked past Alexei's armchair Spike noticed the book his friend had been reading. His hand hovered over a priceless first edition of Doestoevsky's 'Brothers Karamazov', then descended on the book and began to fan the pages. Bits and pieces of passages leaped out at him.

"In the town I was in, there were no such back- alleys in the literal sense, but morally there were. If you were like me, you'd know what that means. I loved vice, I loved the ignominy of vice. I loved cruelty; am I not a bug, am I not a noxious insect?"

"I could never understand how one can love one's neighbors. For any one to love a man, he must be hidden, for as soon as he shows his face, love is gone."

"I'm not guilty! I'm not guilty of that blood! I'm not guilty of my father's blood. . I meant to kill him. But I'm not guilty. Not I." "Oh, if I, too, could sacrifice myself some day for truth!" said Kolya with enthusiasm. "I should like to die for all humanity."

He slammed the book shut, picked up his box of expensive trinkets and the sword then headed out to his car.

To be continued....

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