Chapter 10:

She might not be the proverbial 'big as a house' but looking down at the little round mound that used to be her beautiful flat belly, which she had loved to flaunt in crop tops and bikinis, Buffy was sure she was at least as big as a small tool shed. If Riley could only see her now! And there was a reminder she didn't need right now. Yes it was true she was busy, very busy, but she knew in her heart she didn't really want to make time to track down her baby's father. She hadn't made any effort at all up to now.

As usual when she didn't want to dig too far into the truth, Buffy turned her attention to a more solvable puzzle than her own twisted psyche. The mystery that was currently stumping the Scoobies was the attack at the museum. A frost monster or some kind of ice spewing demon had stolen a huge diamond, leaving a security guard encased in a thin layer of ice. The man had been thawed out and was in intensive care, hooked up to life support unable to answer questions about what he had seen before getting zapped.

Their research had turned up nothing, no creature that lived on diamonds or came from a frozen climate, with the unlikely exception of the Abominable Snowman. In all of her years of watching 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' at Christmas, Buffy had never dreamed she would be considering the furry, white, jagged toothed Abominable as the possible perpetrator of a diamond heist. If her life hadn't been ludicrous before this took it to a new level.

Buffy entered Continental Hair Design and took a seat in the lobby, paging through stylebooks. She may have a new, unlovely figure, but that was all the more reason to give her spirits a boost with a makeover. Anya was throwing her a baby shower and the guest of honor intended to show up in a snappy maternity dress with a brand new hairdo and a much-needed manicure.

Buffy's feelings toward Anya had warmed considerably over the past two months. Ever since Buffy had announced her pregnancy, Anya had been fascinated and concerned. Never one for subtlety, the Anya had made it obvious that she herself fiercely desired a child. Since Xander wouldn't oblige her with marriage and children, she was living the motherhood fantasy through Buffy. She devoured parenting magazines then marked the most pertinent articles for Buffy to read. She enquired about Buffy's diet, making sure it was adequate and that she was getting enough rest. And she often bought baby clothes and toys and presented them to Buffy with the admonishment that it was never too early to start decorating the nursery and had she thought about her theme yet.

Although overwhelming and annoying, it was also quite touching, especially since Buffy was in emotional overload these days and missed the pampering she would have received from her mother.

"You sure you want to do this, honey?" the beautician was asking as she began pinning up sections of hair in preparation for the cut. "'Cause it'll take a while to grow back."

"Cut away," Buffy commanded. "Create a whole new me."

The woman grinned and patted her on the shoulder. "All right. A bob it is. And I'm sure you'll look cute as a pixie in it."

Buffy's smile faltered. She had actually slain a devilish pixie before and found it as wrinkled and ugly as a week old banana peel.

        ********

Buffy shook her head as she left the shop, enjoying the light feel of her new shoulder length hair. She looked down at her shiny nails and ran her thumb over their smoothness. She vowed to keep them unchipped for at least a week, even if she had to wear gloves while slaying.

A sudden jolt of electricity went through her and she was tossed to the ground.

"What the fu...?"

She slowly raised herself from the sidewalk, palms scraping on the rough surface. Looking down to check on the state of her poor fingernails, Buffy saw ... nothing. No hands where hands should be.

"Urgh!" She let out an unintelligible squawk. "What now?"

        *********

Anya's silence today was ominous Xander thought. His balls shriveled when she got all icy polite like this because he knew it was just a matter of time before she exploded.

"Well, you must be pretty happy finally being in charge." He ventured a toe into the pool of non-conversation. "I mean, Giles didn't even leave you with a checklist this time and he's going to be in England for at least a month."

"Yes. He trusts my judgment, as well he should since I'm an extremely competent businesswoman," Anya replied, not looking up from the Magicks for Daily Living catalog. She checked the price on a lovely stone pestle, shook her head and deleted it from her list.

"That's great and you are," Xander praised enthusiastically. Maybe her renewed interest in being Super Businesswoman would distract her from the motherhood kick she'd been on lately. Anya's biological clock had kicked in with a vengeance, no pun intended.

"As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of opening a retail shop of my own," she added. "Heaven knows real estate is cheap enough in this town. There's always a vacant storefront in a prime location."

"Really?" This was the first Xander had heard of the idea. "What would you sell?"

"Magic supplies, of course. A town like this can use more than one magic shop and mine would be geared toward a different clientele. Demons need to buy things too, you know." She paused, then added, "And I thought I'd have a nice aromatherapy section."

"A magic shop! You'd compete against Giles?"

"Why not?" Anya shrugged. "Capitalism is founded on the basis of healthy financial competition."

"An, are you sure you know what you're getting into?" Xander said hesitantly.

"Oh, here we go." Anya slammed the catalog shut. "Go ahead, Xander, list my inadequacies! Give me reason one hundred and one that Anya can't function as a proper human being."

"I'm not...." He placatingly held up his hands and counted to ten before speaking in a quieter tone. "I'm not saying you couldn't do it. I'm sure you could do a great job of managing a business. I just wondered if you'd considered the ... the ethics of undermining the man who gave you your start, and of selling merchandise to the beings we kill on a daily basis."

"Well I have to do something with my time and since devoting myself to home and family seems to be out of the question...." Anya grabbed a feather duster and began flicking furiously away at the candle display.

"Anya, we've been over this. I told you my reservations about marriage. Hell, I even sang them to you and then, if you recall, I proposed. So if you want to get married, let's get married!" Xander's voice was steadily rising and Anya was dusting faster and faster.

"Not when you ask that way! With a negative attitude like that you're likely to ... to stand me up at the altar or something. No. When you ask me to marry you, I want you to mean it with all your heart."

"I do," he protested, growing more exasperated by the second. He started toward her.

"No you don't." Anya slapped the duster down on the counter and whirled to face him. After one sorrowful look she lowered her voice and repeated. "No. You don't. And that's why I think.... I think it's best if we had some time apart."

"Time apart? You're giving me an ultimatum?"

"Not an ultimatum. I'm telling you I've already rented an apartment. I've been thinking about this for some time."

"Wh-what?" He shook his head, not believing what he'd heard.

Anya crossed the room and clutched his arm. "We can still date. I'm not breaking up with you. I just think some distance...."

"Distance?" He backed away from her beseeching hands.

"Some time to think," she explained. "To prioritize. Maybe we should even try dating some other people."

"You are. You're breaking up with me. My god."

The front door bell jangled and they broke their freeze frame to look up. No one entered the shop.

"Hey guys!" A familiar voice came from nowhere. "Guess what happened to me today."

        ********

Buffy was exhilarated. Once the initial shock of finding herself invisible wore off she began to feel like she was on a vacation. She dumped the research and problem solving into Xander, Anya and Willow's hands and went off to explore Sunnydale unseen. It was a real kick to observe people who had no idea you were there.

She decided to visit the social worker who'd been giving her a hard time about Dawn's school attendance. How could anyone explain pulling a child from school because she was in danger from a hell god? Buffy had gone with an explanation of mono and now the woman wanted proof from a doctor's office. She had had the audacity to tell Buffy she found her parenting 'suspect' and that she would be 'keeping a close eye' on her.

When Invisible Girl was done playing, Doris was no longer the pompous little bureaucrat who had invaded Buffy's home and threatened her family. She was a nervous wreck who doubted her sanity and was likely to be fired from her job. Feeling justice was served, Buffy went whistling off to her next adventure.

After wandering around the mall, watching people and being severely tempted to take a few things just because it would be so easy, Buffy was getting bored. Here she was practically omnipotent and yet unable to break any rules because she was too moral. Surely there was something she could do that was fun, wouldn't hurt anyone, and could only be done while invisible.

She somehow found herself at the door of Spike's crypt, a place she'd avoided like the plague ever since ... always. Although she'd come by for his help once in a while since, the only time she'd spent any time here was That Night, the one that marked the end of their short-lived marriage. Most of the time Spike was the one to seek her out on patrol, at the Magic Box or at Revello Drive.

Buffy didn't knock. She slipped into Spike's home as quietly as the fog on little cat feet.

He was sprawled in his one and only armchair in front of a flickering TV, watching some black and white horror movie. Despite her silence his head turned to the creaking door and he stood up from the chair frowning.

"I know you're there. Whatever beastie you are, I know you're there. And I hurt beasties."

She circled him, padding like a stalking leopard.

"A ghost is it? Go haunt the living."

She pounced, throwing him against the wall and tearing open his shirt in two swift moves.

His nostrils flared as he caught her scent. "Buffy?" He twitched as she licked up his chest, his throat, the side of his face all the way to his ear.

"No," she whispered. "Guess again."

"Uh, J-joan?" he stuttered, half choking on lust.

"Bingo!" She seized his lips with her own and bore down on him like a wild thing, grappling with his shirt, tearing it off his shoulders, then going to work on his jeans.

        **********

He gasped at the unexpectedness of her warm hands, unseen but everywhere at once, touching, stroking, scratching, probing, pulling his clothes away until he stood naked before her. He felt an unconscious urge to shield himself from her eyes. It was too strange to be examined and not be able to see in return. Not registering every flicker of emotion, every subtle change in her face meant not knowing how to respond. What did she want from him other than the obvious? How should he be? Teasing or serious? Sexy or tender? Aggressive or passive?

Well, the last question was answered quickly as she grabbed his arm and spun him toward the ladder to the basement level.

"You have a bed now, right?" she asked, breathlessly. Even her voice sounded different, husky and rough. He wondered if she were under a spell which conferred more than invisibility.

"Yeah," his voice broke on the word like a pubescent choirboy. He led the way downstairs.

When he reached the bottom rung of the ladder, Spike waited until he could feel her warmth sweep past him. Then he stood, not sure of where she was until he heard the rustle of clothes over by the bed. He gulped and his whole body tightened at the awareness that Naked Buffy was within a yard of him and that he would be allowed to touch her in a matter of seconds.

The bed creaked, the covers were thrown back and suddenly there was a depression on the pillow and the mattress. He stared, paralyzed.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked petulantly.

"Engraved invitation," he answered, attempting humor.

"Don't be a such a goof, Spike. Get over here," she commanded.

He obeyed, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed and sliding his hand along the sheet until it reached warm, human skin. His dead heart must have been jumpstarted because his head was suddenly suffused with blood, his ears rang and he thought he might faint. He swallowed again, hard.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" she taunted, wiggling a little under his seeking hand.

"Uh, not if you're going to kill me tomorrow because I took advantage of you while you were out of your head."

"Relax. I'm invisible, not insane or enchanted." She suddenly became gentler and he felt fingers encircle his wrist and draw him down onto the bed. "Come on," she breathed. "Hold me."

"All right," he said inanely and crawled up the bed until his body could envelop hers.

        **********

He kept up a stream of words the whole time, pouring over her in waves as if sounding her presence, verifying that it wasn't just a fantasy in his bed.

When they were finished and lying quietly together, he stroked her invisible arm over and over. "What are you thinking, Buffy?" he whispered.

"That you have very sharp bones." He could feel her head moving into a more comfortable position on his chest. Her hair brushing across his skin sent shivers through him and his cock began to harden again.

"Already?" Buffy exclaimed. And suddenly her hand was on him, tugging playfully.

"It's you," he said. "Just being near you does this to me all the time. I'm in constant pain around you, woman."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be around me," was her flip answer.

"I could no more leave your presence than the moon could stop revolving around the earth."

"Oh, please!" He could hear the patented Buffy eye roll in her voice. "Spare me the poetry. You just wanted to get laid and now you have."

"You think that's all this is about? Getting you into bed? I told you I'm mad about you. Would do anything for you. I worship the bloody ground, et cetera."

"And if that chip failed tomorrow, you'd happily take a big chomp out of my neck," Buffy said drily.

"You don't believe that," was his outraged reply. "At one time, yes, but now I wouldn't dream.... A man can change, Buffy."

"But you're not a man," she answered softly. "I'm sorry Spike, but you're not. You're a monster. I could never ... love you." She sounded sad, almost apologetic.

"You loved Angel," he protested bitterly. "A creature, a demon, no different from me. Just another animated corpse."

"He has a soul. That makes him different," she explained as patiently as if speaking to a slow child.

"So if I had one you would look at me with something other than contempt? Would you allow yourself to come to me some time when you're not under an enchantment?"

"We don't need to talk about this." He felt her stretch and shift against him. "Can't we just enjoy today? Not pull it apart and examine it? I'd like to relax for once without having to worry about consequences."

Spike suddenly felt as if he were holding air, and the odd thought struck him that if they looked in the mirror right now there would be nothing there at all. 'So this is where we leave it,' he thought, 'I can't see her and she refuses to see me.'

"All right," he answered. "Whatever you want, Buffy." He reached a hand down and began to tickle her ghostly flesh. "We'll keep it light."

        **********

Dawn entered the dark kitchen as quietly as she could, opening and closing the door carefully. Thank god Slayers only had super strength, not super hearing. She really wanted to get upstairs before Buffy knew she was home. She began to tiptoe across the floor, hefting her school bag on one shoulder and a shopping bag in the other hand.

Dawn now had a system. Janice had advised her on it. The trick to getting really nice stuff was to buy at least one little thing at the store you were targeting. A salesperson was much less likely to suspect you if you took the time to purchase a necklace or belt. They never dreamed a second blouse was under the shirt you were wearing, if you were clever, if you were relaxed and chatty.

She felt like a secret agent on a mission when she went 'shopping' with Janice. Dawn had graduated from cheap jewelry and trinkets and was now outfitting herself in a new wardrobe. It was important not to introduce too many new clothes at once so Buffy wouldn't notice and question her. Most days Dawn wore one top and packed another to change into at school. Life was getting so complicated - but exciting.

Who needed to be a superhero or a mystical key when you could live fast and dangerous in the regular world. Dawn pictured herself as an antihero, living outside the law only not doing anything too evil. Kinda like Spike.

Although the light was on in the living room, the house was silent and it appeared Buffy wasn't home. Dawn relaxed ... then the refrigerator door suddenly swung open and she shrieked and jumped back, tripping over her own feet.

"You're home kinda late," Buffy's voice said and Dawn watched in amazement as the milk jug floated out of the fridge. "Want some supper? We have flying pizza." A pizza box lifted off the counter and also began moving through the air.

"Buffy? Wha...what's going on? What happened to you? I can't see you!"

"Yeah, funny about that. One moment I was there and the next ... poof. Willow, Xander and Anya are working on it." The milk settled on the counter and the pizza box lid flew open. A slice of ham 'n' pineapple levitated from it.

Dawn took a step forward, her voice rising in panic. "What about you? Shouldn't you be researching too? Why are you being all jokey about this? It's not funny!"

"Sorry. You're right. It's very serious. But look at the cool things I can do with the food." A pair of apples lifted from the fruit bowl and began flying through the air as Buffy juggled them.

"Stop it!" Dawn screeched. "You're freaking me out."

Buffy dropped the apples on the floor and they went rolling away. "Okay!" she said, laughing. "Sorry. I'm just a little giddy."

The phone rang.

After Xander explained that she might melt into puddinglike goo if she didn't get fixed fast, Buffy sobered right up. He told her that Willow was searching for the owners of the black van and would check in soon. Buffy had no sooner hung up than the phone rang again.

"Slayer, we have your friend. If you want to see her again...." Buffy's heart sank at the words. She listened to the kidnappers' instructions and agreed to meet at the arcade, hoping to exchange herself for Willow.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. First her opponents were invisible then they were revealed as a trio of loser geeks with delusions of being Lex Luthor. Then they were gone. It wasn't often that Buffy was forced to fight humans and it made her very uncomfortable not knowing how hard she dare hit without killing them. Sitting on the sidewalk with Willow afterward, she still couldn't believe that she had let the little rats slip away. They just seemed so pathetic she didn't have the heart to pursue them.

"Thanks, Will. If it wasn't for you and your super sleuthing I could've been mousse before we figured out who was behind it. The diamond heist is explained and the invisibility gun is destroyed all in one night because of you. And we know where their lair is, though I don't imagine they'll be hanging out there now."

"The question is how are you going to deal with them, Buffy?" Willow had on concern face. "You can't just kill them, and I don't know if tipping off the police would do any good."

Buffy shook her head. "You're right. I'll scope out their hideout tomorrow. Maybe that'll give a clue on Warren's ultimate plan. He's the leader, don't you think?"

"Definitely. This doesn't have the mark of Jonathan on it, and as for that other guy, he didn't seem bright enough to spell 'heist' let alone plan one."

"Well, at least we know who we're dealing with now but doesn't it seem kind of ... lame? I mean to go from battling a hell god with all kinds of super powers to having a spat with some weak human nerds?"

"Speaking as a reformed nerd," Willow said with slightly forced jollity. "I resent that. However ... yes."

        ************

As Buffy walked home, she looked down at her feet moving rhythmically over the pavement. She patted her little round belly as she had that morning, 'Hi, baby! How you doing?' She examined her manicure and found that it was still intact. She pinched her arm for the marvel of watching it turn white then pink. And then she saw another mark farther up her arm, a thumb shaped bruise delicately shaded purple. She stroked her hand over it and thought about how it had gotten there.

Sex with Spike was nothing like it had been with Riley ... or that jerk Parker ... or her one special night with Angel. It was hard and wild and kind of violent ... just the way she secretly liked it. And then it had been fun and teasing and silly, which she found she liked, too. But there was also the long and slow and deep, which had totally blown her away with its intensity.

Then stupid Spike, always with the talking, talking, talking mouth had to go and ask her 'What are you thinking?'

How could she answer that? How dare she put into words the knowledge that had begun to stir deep inside her? How could she say, "What I'm thinking is, if you weren't the evil creature that you are I could be falling in love with you."

To be continued....

Chapter 11:

Lying on the Summers' couch watching the golden glow of the sunlight through the thin draperies which were all that stood between him and fiery immolation, Spike was content. No, he was more than content. He was peacefully relaxed, smugly pleased, incandescently joyous, gloriously happy, downright bloody at one with the universe. He was on Buffy's couch and all was right with the world.

He was there by invitation, in the middle of the day taking a nap or, more precisely, gloating. An offhand 'It's so late now you might as well spend the day' and he was admitted to the inner sanctum. Actually the inner sanctum would be Buffy's bedroom, but this was a start.

When Buffy had burst into his crypt last night after avoiding him for over a week, Spike knew it was business only.

"Dawn's missing. She's gone off somewhere with Janice and I think they're in trouble. She should have been home hours ago."

Without a word Spike jumped up, grabbed his coat and followed her out. Although he considered it likely that the chit would turn up eventually when she was good and ready, he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to spend quality tracking time with Buffy.

Turned out the evening was a bit more exciting than that. Dawn and that little tart Janice had hooked up with a pair of teenage vamps who wanted to do more than feel up their drawers. There'd been some good fighting and staking of a whole band of youthful fledges, then the Buffy tongue-lashing and metaphorically dragging her errant sister home by the hair. Spike had accompanied.

Once a tearful Dawn was sent to her room, Buffy collapsed on the couch next to Spike and began pouring out her woes.

"I don't know what to do with her. She is so secretive lately. I don't know what she's up to. Her grades are starting to slip. I know Janice is a bad influence but I don't know how to get Dawn to make different friends. It's awful! Now I know what my poor mother went through when I went out at night. Of course I was saving the world, but she didn't know that."

"She's a teenager, Buffy. Give her enough time and she'll grow out of it."

"More like give her enough rope and she'll hang herself. We live on the hellmouth, Spike, I can't just let her 'work through it'. She could be dead by the time she realizes what is responsible behavior and what isn't."

"Well being more accustomed to dining on teenage girls than raising them, I'm probably not the best person to offer advice, but since you've brought it up...."

Buffy frowned and folded her arms in preparation for disagreeing with whatever ideas he might have.

"You might try giving the girl more responsibility and less coddling. She's not too young to have a job of her own, earn her own pocket money. And she'd be a damn sight safer in this town if you'd teach her some fighting skills and arm her with a weapon. I'll even help if you like. I can teach the Bit some defensive moves, give her the inside scoop on what predators look for in a victim, that kind of thing." He waited for the storm of denial and vitriol and was surprised by Buffy's continued silence.

She unfolded her arms and looked thoughtful. "Actually ... you have a point. Other girls her age go babysitting, don't they? I did back in L.A. before I became the Slayer." She paused and Spike let her wheels whirr and click for a bit.

"She really was pretty good with the stake tonight, wasn't she?" Buffy said, almost smiling. "Upset as she was, she kept her cool and did what she had to do."

"Mm-hm."

"All right." She looked at him. "I know she won't learn anything from me the way we argue, but if you're willing to train her then go ahead."

Spike was surprised by her capitulation but he just nodded.

Checking Buffy out from the corner of his eye, he saw she was pale and had shadows under her eyes. She looked exhausted. She was absently rubbing the sides of her distended belly with both hands. Although she really wasn't too large yet, on her small frame the bulge was obvious.

He nodded toward it. "The little spud getting a bit tiresome to haul around?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "It's not that heavy really, but it's just so . awkward. Throws my balance off when I'm fighting. I don't like it."

Spike shifted on the couch so that he was facing her. "Turn around," he commanded.

Her eyes shifted nervously and she sat up, poised for flight.

"Come on now, I'm not going to do anything untoward. Not with your little sis right upstairs. Just thought you looked a bit wired is all. Turn!"

With a 'you better not try anything glare', she turned her back. Spike's hands descended on her shoulders and began to massage. At first she was stiff under his kneading fingers, but as he started hitting pressure points and releasing tension, she relaxed like a cat in the hot sun. He worked from her shoulders up to her neck, spent some time easing the muscles there, then moved back down. His hands pushed the tightness ahead of them, leaving limp muscles in their wake.

Buffy moaned a little in her throat. Spike paused for a moment at the sound, gently stroking the skin where his hands lay, lightly circling his thumbs. It was a temptation to replace hands with lips and turn the comforting massage into something much more therapeutic, but he maintained control and forced his hands to resume their work.

After a couple of minutes he removed his hands, ending with a final smoothing stroke over her shoulders.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mm-hm." She sounded more than half asleep but he wasn't ready to let her go.

"So, you want to fill me in on how you got your body back? I hadn't heard from you since that day. Thought you might still be Caspering around SunnyD."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I got . busy. It turns out the invisibility was courtesy of the same idiots who provided my wacky time shift day, the M'Fashnik demon and both the bank robbery and the diamond theft. Three nerds who imagine themselves super villains are behind it."

"So you caught them," he surmised.

"Not exactly. Willow found out where they were based but by the time I went back the next day they had cleared out." Buffy sounded embarrassed. "I don't think we have to worry about them, though. I whaled on them a little after Willow revisibilized 'em. I think they got the message. They'll probably clear out of town."

"You had these berks under your fists and you let them go?" Spike's voice raised.

"They're human! What could I do? Kill them?"

Spike let that hang.

Buffy shook her head, exasperated. "I don't kill human beings, Spike! And I would've turned them over to the police but they kinda...." her voice lowered and she flushed red, "got away."

"So, you don't kill humans but if it were one of my kind, a demon, that'd done all those things you'd have'em sliced, diced and evaporated by now."

"They have to be exterminated. Demons are inherently evil," Buffy explained solemnly.

"So are some humans," Spike rejoined.

He could feel the tension mounting between them and didn't want to spoil this night so he waved a hand, brushing away the subject. "Whatever. It's your call. You're the Slayer."

"Yes. I am." She frowned.

"Where's Little Red tonight?" he asked, rerouting the conversation.

"On a date with Tara," Buffy's frown faded and she appeared to be making an effort too. "Willow got brave and called her since Dawn thought Tara was in a forgivey space. Hopefully, they're halfway to making up."

Spike glanced at the window. "It's nigh on to morning. I'd say they're probably more than halfway by now."

She smiled. "I certainly hope so. I don't know if I could stand much more of mopey-Willow. It was worse this time than when Oz left."

"Must be true love, then," Spike said.

"I guess so." Buffy sounded surprised, as if realizing for the first time the depths of Willow's feeling for Tara. "To tell the truth," she confided. "I kind of thought it was a phase when Will first told me she had a girlfriend. But now... I don't know, she's just desolate without Tara, and she was so ... complete when they were together. Maybe it is love."

Spike nodded. "Well let's hope the little birds make up, then. That white witch is a quiet one but powerful. Maybe she can keep your girl in line."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy was affronted. "Willow's not out of line. She's as inline as a ... a pair of skates!"

"You just keep tellin' yourself that right up to the day she magics the whole world into a hell dimension or something."

"What?!"

"Right now Red is an accident waiting to happen. She's got too much ability and too little brains to direct it."

"That's not.... Willow is the smartest person I know. She hasn't used magic in weeks now. She's learned her lesson and I trust her completely." Buffy shut down the discussion.

"She's your friend. I guess you'd know her best," Spike said mildly. He examined the flaking black polish on his fingernails, suddenly deciding that he was done with that look and wouldn't paint them again. "Just like I'm sure you were aware that she was gay long before she came out."

Buffy fell silent. She hated letting him have the last word, but there was really nothing to say to that.

After a moment she glanced out at the lightening sky. "It is almost morning," she mused. "You'd have to dash to make it home before sun-up."

Spike wondering where this was going made a non-committal, 'Mm.'

"It's so late now, you might as well spend the day," she offered.

His mouth practically dropped open in shock. "Yeah. All right," he managed.

"Here," she quickly amended. "On the couch!" She jumped up.

Buffy drew the drapes and Spike sat awkwardly for a moment, hands between his knees, before beginning to unlace his boots.

"I'll, um, get you a blanket." She skittered out of the room and was back in a moment, practically throwing the Rug Rats comforter at him. "This is all I could find. It used to be Dawn's."

"'s fine," he muttered. "Thanks."

"If you get thirsty there's ... well, there's no blood in the fridge obviously, and no beer or any other kind of alcohol, but we have, um, I think we have cranapple juice or something."

"Well, least it's red." The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"All right then," she blew out a breath and turned to go. "See ya."

After Buffy went upstairs, Spike was dying for a cigarette. He considered stepping out on the back porch and having one, but he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his new position. He had been invited in, and by god he was staying in.

He could hear Buffy up in her room. The floor creaked as she moved about getting ready for sleep. He could hear water running in the bathroom, the flush of a toilet, then a different kind of creak as she settled on her bed. He wondered if this invitation to stay was something more. Did she intend for him to creep upstairs and join her there? Better to stay put than misread her signals, he decided.

He sighed in frustration and closed his eyes. He would stay on the couch and go to sleep, although he didn't know how he would manage to get any rest at all with Buffy just a heartbeat away. When Spike opened his eyes again, it was afternoon and the sun blazed behind the thin drapes of the picture window.

        ***********

Spike's mental replay of the previous evening ended when the front door crashed open and Dawn arrived home from school. She threw her bag down in the hall and strode over to stand above him, staring down, arms folded. He blinked at her upside down face looming over him.

"You're just now waking up? Jeez, what a lazy ass."

"Well maybe if someone hadn't kept me out scouring Sunnyhell looking for her 'til all hours of the morning, I wouldn't be so tired," he replied dryly.

Dawn's face fell, but she covered with a scowl and a pout. "I would've been all right," she insisted. "I took care of Justin myself, didn't I?" She turned on her heel and stalked into the kitchen.

Spike yawned and stretched, enjoying the warmth if not the slight prickling sensation from the sun. He supposed he ought to smooth things over with the Bit so he got up and followed her from the room. The kid was obviously troubled and not sharing with Big Sis these days, so he'd see what he could do with her.

Dawn was cutting slices of cheese from a big wedge when he entered the room. Spike crossed to the counter and leaned against it watching her.

"Crackers are in there," she snapped after a moment, pointing to a cupboard. He crouched down to rummage them out.

"So Buffy still made you go to school today after your big night out?" he asked.

"She told me if she had to drag herself to work, I had to go to school," Dawn complained. "Janice's mom didn't make her."

"Janice's mom is raising a little hellion." Spike straightened, a box of Wheat Thins in his hand.

Dawn shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"You did well last night, Niblet," he remarked offhandedly. "So good in fact that I've talked your sister into letting me train you in some hand-to- hand. What do you think?" he asked, opening the box.

She dropped her knife and whirled to face him. "Are you kidding?! You are kidding - Buffy would never let me." She began to pout again. "That's not funny, Spike."

"Not joking," he said. "I reminded her you're a big girl now and you should be able to protect yourself and she agreed."

"That's fantastic," Dawn squealed and appeared about to launch herself into his arms. Spike sidestepped and turned toward the counter. The girl half hugged his arm anyway.

"Don't hyperventilate," he admonished. "It's not going to be a stroll in the cemetery, you know. You'll be doing some real work. Getting sweaty and bruised and knocked about, but when we're through you'll hopefully be a little safer."

It was obvious the sweaty and bruised part had passed right in and out of Dawn's ears and all she'd heard was that she was going to be transformed into a fighter just like her superpowered sister. She began chattering away as she arranged the sliced cheese on the crackers and topped each with a half an olive.

Spike tuned her out after, "...and I wanna work with nunchucks. They're the coolest. I'll be like a ninja, all stealthy and creeping through the night, then BAM! pouncing...." He smiled and nodded and daydreamed about Buffy coming home and asking him to stay for dinner.

        ********

Willow woke to a Tara-scented pillow under her cheek. She turned her head into it, breathed deeply and smiled. She didn't think she'd ever been so content in her life. Finding Tara and falling in love with her had been fantastic, but reuniting with her lover after almost losing her was even better. Willow was so blissed out she felt like she was on drugs - not that she knew what drugs felt like. No, it was more like the rush she got when the power surged through her while doing a spell. That's what loving Tara was like.

She checked the bedside clock and was surprised to find it was already mid afternoon and that she had missed the one class she was taking this summer. Then she saw the note propped next to the clock on lemon-scented paper. She seized and read it eagerly.

"Sweetie, I had to go to work, but I couldn't bear to wake you to say goodbye. You look so cute when you sleep with your hand all twisted up in your hair and that little frown puckering your forehead, and you make that adorable whistling 'pooh' through your lips. I could hardly stand to leave you. I know you have a class today. I'll see you after, though, same time same bed? I've missed you so much these past weeks. I love you, sweetheart. I know you're trying and that everything's going to be better now. Love, Tara"

Willow pressed the note to her lips inhaling Tara's favorite scent from the message. Oh god, she would never do anything to mess this up again. Never!

She counted the hours until she could see Tara again and realized there were far too many. Well, she would just have to visit her at work. Nothing said she couldn't stop by the health food store and browse, and if she just happened to run into her snuggle honey restocking herbal teas or those cardboard tasting fiber bars, so be it.

Willow leaped out of bed, dressed only in the wide, happy grin on her face, and headed in to the bathroom to shower.

        ***********

Xander trudged up the stairs to his apartment, beat from a long, arduous day of hauling drywall up two flights of stairs. He slipped the key into the lock and then paused. He could hardly bear to turn it, open the door and find the apartment Anya-free for six days and counting. He'd never dreamed he would miss her so much.

Since Anya stormed his life at their first date, the senior prom, Xander had felt rather like a flood victim. He was swept along in the waters with not a stick to grab onto. Helpless to fight it, he had just bobbed about in rough current or gentle eddies, but always at the river's mercy. Her moving out had left him high and dry and gasping for breath.

The first couple of days it was actually a relief to be apart but by the third day he felt an uncomfortable itch somewhere deep inside, which by the fourth day had turned into a sort of ache. The fifth day the ache was throbbing painfully like a boil that needed lancing. Today ... Xander was ready to see the doctor. And this was only week one!

True, Anya had made it clear that they weren't officially 'broken up'. All he had to do was call her and ask her out on a date. But she hadn't called him once. It was obvious that she was leaving the ball in his playground, waiting to see what he would do, and that just pissed him off. Testing! That's what it was. She was giving him some kind of boyfriend test to force him to admit how much he missed her, and he was not going to be played like that. He had pride, damn it. He would not call.

Xander turned the key in the lock and opened the door to hear his own voice on the answering machine, "...leave a message." He dove for the phone.

"Yeah? I'm here," he said, breathlessly.

"Good evening. Is this ... Alexander Harris?" A thickly accented voice spoke through both the phone and the answering machine speaker.

Telemarketer.

"No. I'm subletting." He hung up.

Damn telemarketers. His heart was pounding.

Xander's hand hovered over the phone and came to rest on the receiver. He started to lift it but put it back. Not yet. First a nice hot shower, some dinner and a beer then he'd see. Come to think of it, the shower could wait. Beer first.

He sat on the fancy little chintz-covered chair Anya had insisted on placing in the entrance hall. As he unlaced his work boots, he thought how she'd scream if she saw him on her carefully chosen upholstery in his dust coated clothes. Maybe he wouldn't call at all tonight. Nothing so bad about being a bachelor, after all.

There was no one to complain when he took his sweaty, smelly body into the kitchen and pulled a cold Pabst out of the fridge. There was no whining when he sprawled out on the couch in his dirty jeans and set the bottle on the table without a coaster. And there was no comment when he channel surfed so quickly the colors practically bled or when he landed on a channel that actually had mud-wrestling women. No one said a word when dinner was a bag of chips, crusty, leftover lasagna, no veggies at all, and two more beers.

A couple of hours later in the bathroom, Xander set the water running to warm it up. He stripped, entered the shower and totally wet himself down before he remembered that he needed a new bottle of shampoo. Cursing, he stepped back out of the shower and dripped across the floor to the cupboard where it was stored. He fumbled around, knocking ointments and cold remedies, lotion and hydrogen peroxide out of the way. No new shampoo.

Instead he pulled out a bottle of green liquid, stared at it and then unscrewed the cap and breathed deeply. Anya's apple scented bubble bath. An instant snapshot memory flashed in his mind of her emerging from the steamy bathroom, wrapped in a thick terry robe, her body redolent of a sweet orchard in springtime. He remembered her jumping onto the bed next to him, chattering all the while, untying the robe and sprawling full length along his body. She would be pressed against him, warm, moist, and smelling like the sour apple Laffy Taffy he used to love so much as a kid.

Xander clutched the bottle tight and tears welled. The ache inside him, which had been banked like hot coals all day, roared to fiery life. He rubbed the heel of his hand furiously across his eyes. Damn! He was losing it. This was just ridiculous. The woman had only been gone a few days.

He screwed the lid carefully back on the bottle and replaced it in the cupboard. Then he considered that he still didn't have shampoo and wondered if bubble bath would work just as well. He took Anya's scent into the shower with him.

        ********

Buffy arrived home bone tired from the previous night's search for Dawn and the even longer day serving up fast food to the hungry masses. It seemed like everyone in Sunnydale had chosen today to go quick and cholesterol for lunch.

She dumped her keys and purse on the hall table, checked the mail for another anonymous envelope from Giles, and walked into the living room where she found Dawn and Spike playing cards.

"No! One-eyed jacks are not wild. Nothing is wild. Do you want to be a serious player or not?" He broke off and a smile lighted his face as he saw Buffy.

"It's a game Spike! It's not supposed to be serious," Dawn argued, then greeted her sister. "Hey."

"Is this part of Dawn's education?" Buffy asked, eyeing the cards.

"Knowing how to bluff can be critical when facing an opponent," Dawn recited as her mentor had taught her. "Spike's teaching me poker face. See." She stared at Buffy, completely deadpan.

"Works in life as well as cards," he explained. "Doesn't do to leave your emotions out where anyone can see them."

Buffy almost laughed. The combination of being lightheaded with hunger, sleepy as a winter bear and hearing Spike wisely pontificate on the very thing at which he sucked made her feel quite giddy.

"We made soup," Dawn said. "And I'll fix you a tuna salad sandwich if you want to shower and change." It was always wonderful around the house for a while after Dawn had really screwed up. Buffy accepted the peace offering and went to clean up.

After eating her dinner and spending quality time listening to Dawn and Spike bicker, Buffy broke up the poker game and had Dawn pop in a video. The teen chose the Mandy Moore epic "A Walk to Remember" despite Spike's protests and was soon deeply engrossed in the weepy drama.

On the couch Buffy nestled against pillows at one end while Spike cradled her feet at the other. She hadn't intended for that to happen. She had curled her legs up so that she inhabited no more than her 2.5 share of the cushions, but when she shifted and her foot happened to brush against his leg, he had casually drawn both her feet onto his lap. It would've been too awkward to pull away as if it meant anything to her, so, with a quick glance to make sure Dawn was still wrapped up in Mandy's troubles, she just left them there.

Then he started with the rubbing and she couldn't have moved if Bob Barker himself had offered her a Hawaiian vacation and a new entertainment system. It felt so good, in fact, that she was soon half asleep.

The dozy spell was broken when Buffy felt a sudden pressure in her abdomen. Her eyes flew open and her hand went to her stomach. The weird, fluttery feeling repeated softly like an echo, then harder again. She could feel the baby shift and kick from the outside as well. It moved under her hand like a trapped bird.

Buffy sat up, pulling her feet back into her own sphere. "Dawn! Come feel this."

"What?" Dawn jerked from her doze with a start.

"The baby's moving."

"Really? Cool!" Dawn was on her knees by her sister's side in a second, eagerly placing her hand on the smooth, rounded surface under which life was swimming. "Wow!" she breathed. "It's really alive in there. It feels so weird."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed.

"Spike, come feel this," Dawn urged the vampire, who had remained silent but observant during this exchange.

"No," he said. "I don't think so."

"Come on. It's really neat."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

"Are you afraid?"

"No. I just don't want to," his voice began to rise in annoyance.

"You are. This creeps you out," Dawn crowed. "Big Bad's grossed out by a tiny, little floating human fetus!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he sulked.

"Then touch it. I dare you," Dawn jeered.

Buffy watched in amusement and approval as her sister baited and bullied the vampire.

"All right. I will," he exploded. He slid over on the couch and Dawn grabbed his wrist and put his hand on the pulsating life in Buffy's belly. Of course the baby chose that moment to stop moving.

"Give it a second. It'll probably start up again."

Buffy watched Spike's intensely concentrating face, as he stared at his hand resting on the thin white material of her shirt. Suddenly the baby kicked and Spike jumped and pulled back like he'd been burned.

"Christ!" he muttered. "You people carry little strangers around inside you and you think vampires are scary?"

Dawn burst out laughing and Buffy grinned.

"Oh, glad I can amuse," Spike huffed, withdrawing to his corner of the couch. "Could you stop your hen clucking so we can hear the movie?" he demanded.

Dawn got her giggles under control then teased, "I thought this movie was 'an example of the bloody travesty that occurs when a pop star thinks she can act.'"

Spike just growled - literally, sounding like a peevish tiger.

Uncharacteristically demonstrative, Buffy gave Dawn a big smile and a hand squeeze before her sister returned to her chair. The Slayer then curled back into a ball on her corner of the couch, still rubbing a hand absently over her mound of baby. She was feeling all motherly and nesty. This must be the famous 'pregnant woman glow' she'd heard about.

Staring at the TV screen, Buffy went off into a daydream about walking with her little son in the park; feeding the ducks, showing him nature type stuff and romping with him in the playground. And as her fantasy slipped into dream, she imagined a shadowy daddy figure with them. Only it wasn't Riley.

When she awoke again, the TV screen was blue and Dawn was sprawled in the chair breathing through her open mouth. Spike, too, was asleep with his head tilted at an awkward angle against the back of the couch, Buffy's feet cradled in his lap again, and his right hand loosely clasped around her ankle.

To be continued....

Chapter 12:

        *********

Nights passed. Days passed. Lovers reaffirmed commitment. Lovers crumbled apart. And some of them just avoided their partner like death.

Spike was broodily nursing a bourbon and staring down from the balcony at the happy dancers in the Bronze.

"One step forward and ten buggering steps back," he mumbled angrily to himself, cursing the day he'd first laid eyes on the Slayer. Tonight was Friday. It was a week since that one promising evening spent in Buffy's company hanging out like a real boyfriend and he was no closer to her than he ever had been.

He spent plenty of time with Dawn, training her a few evenings a week, sometimes stopping by for TV night. But Buffy was as elusive as if she were still invisible. When he did manage to meet her on patrol she would assign him some other part of Sunnydale in which to hunt, but many evenings she was impossible to find at all. The girl was a master of avoidance.

Spike didn't understand her shutter in the breeze changeability. He had been a perfect gentleman while in her home. Hadn't tried to touch her beyond the shoulder and foot massages. Stayed put on the couch where he'd been placed. What the bloody hell was her problem? He tossed back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table.

Just then his senses tingled and his eyes riveted on the door as a shiny blond head entered the building. Buffy was with her girlfriends tonight and they were all dressed to dance.

The four women were lucky enough to find a recently vacated table in the crowded Bronze. They clustered around it, flagged a waitress and ordered drinks. Anya was talking animatedly, punctuating her thoughts with dramatic gestures. From the glazed looks on the other girl's faces, she must have been regaling them with a list of Harris' faults for quite a while.

Willow pointed to the dance floor and Tara nodded. The two quickly slipped away and were soon entranced in each other's eyes as they slow danced, leaving Buffy to woodenly smile and nod at Anya's unending stream. The waitress placed four drinks at the table and Buffy grabbed and gulped hers down. (This is a silent tableau which Spike is watching. I don't want to move into it. All the audience need know is that Tara and Willow have made up.)

As the music changed from sappy to snappy, Buffy finally interrupted Anya. She spoke quickly, intensely and gestured toward Willow and Tara now gyrating and jiggling in happy abandon. Anya eyed the dancing throng, said something to Buffy, took another sip of her drink and then shimmied her way into the crowd.

Buffy visibly relaxed in her chair. Spike could almost hear her exaggerated sigh as he watched from on high. She chewed at the straw in her now empty glass.

'Come to me,' he mentally beamed. 'I'm waiting for you, pet. You don't have to sit alone. I'm right up here. Come.'

Buffy rose. Spike started in surprise, amazed that after all these years he appeared to be developing Dru's art of thrall. But then Buffy walked toward the ladies' room. He frowned and pouted and sucked on a whiskey soaked ice cube.

God, he wanted her so much. That afternoon of bliss, when she'd been unseen but in his arms and his bed for hours, had only served to whet his appetite. Since then he'd endeavored to be whatever it took to win her trust: patient, thoughtful, caring, undemanding, protective and all that other happy human bollocks. But his patience was wearing thin and his demon nature was roaring to be released. He simply wanted her to burn for him like he burned for her. Was that so much to ask?

He perked up as she emerged from the restroom and started toward her table.

'Come to me. Come. Need you, Buffy. Need you now,' he internally chanted. Suddenly she stopped, turned away from the table, looked at the stairs and began to walk toward them. He almost choked on his chip of ice. He stepped away from the balcony rail and back into the shadows.

Buffy stepped from the top of the stairs and onto the catwalk just as the last couple of humans pushed past her on their way down. Perfect! They were now alone. Spike watched her drift over to the balcony rail where he had stood only moments before and gaze down at the milling throng below.

He prowled out of the darkness to stand behind her.

"Hello, Spike," she said resignedly.

"Could you hear me calling you, love?" he purred seductively as he crowded her personal space. "Could you feel me in your mind?" He placed a hand on her waist.

"No. I saw you when I came in," she said. "And I was perfectly aware you were lurking in the shadows when I came upstairs. You always think you're way more mysterious than you really are."

"Oh." His bubble burst, Spike started to remove his hand from her waist when he suddenly realized she wasn't pulling away and was, if anything, leaning into his touch.

He tightened his grip and moved his body even closer to hers. He could feel that delicious human heat rolling off her in waves, her backside warming his front. He pressed against her and she relaxed into him. His other hand slipped around and caressed the firm round bulge of her stomach.

His lips stole down to her neck and began to feather lightly across her exposed skin. Fortunately she was wearing one of those sexy peasant blouses so he had access from jaw line to bare shoulder. He took advantage of that playground and was rewarded with the sound of her heart racing.

When his mouth had worked its way back up near her ear, he paused to whisper, "You missed me, too." It wasn't a question.

As Spike's left hand continued to stroke her belly, the right snaked around and began moving rhythmically well below the pregnant zone.

She gasped. "D-don't."

"Why not?" he whispered. "Feels good, doesn't it? Nothing wrong with that."

"I can't ... don't want to encourage you," she managed. "It...it isn't right."

He ignored her; kissing, licking, murmuring endearments and touching some more.

"I ... don't ... love you ... Spike," she gasped out.

"So I've heard. Doesn't matter," he said and nipped her earlobe. "You want me, anyway. That's enough." 'For now' his mind supplied the rest.

His body enveloped her back like a heavy velvet cloak. Reaching up his left hand to cradle her cheek, he gently turned her head toward his as he loomed over her shoulder. Their lips met and tongues entwined.

After a moment of this, Buffy pulled back. "You're killing my neck," she complained and turned to face him for the first time, wrapping her arms around his back, clutching fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him as tightly to her as her stomach would allow.

They kissed rough and hard, slow and gentle; hands moving and sliding over each other's bodies. They kissed until Buffy was breathless and Spike was in pain from desire. He rubbed his hardness against her crotch, trying to relieve the pressure but only becoming further aroused. He reached between their bodies and unfastened his fly.

"What? No! Not here, Spike. Are you crazy?" Buffy snapped out of her sexual stupor as if someone had dashed cold water in her face. She backed away from him.

"Where then? When? Let me take you somewhere. I can't ... can't wait any longer, Buffy," he panted. "Please. Please don't change your mind again. I need you."

"I can't just leave. I'm with my friends." Buffy glanced down to where Willow, Tara and Anya were still dancing with loose-limbed fervor if not grace. She looked back at Spike, whose eyes were burning as blue as the center of a match flame.

"Later then," he begged. "Come to me after." He reached a beseeching hand toward her. "Not just for sex but a real date. I'll feed you ice cream and ... and chocolate. Whatever you want."

Hysterical laughter bubbled under the surface and threatened to burst from Buffy's lips. She wanted to make some smart-ass remark about strangers offering candy but was sickeningly aware of how close to the truth it would be. Who knew how many innocents had been lured to their destruction by the creature who stood before her with his charming manner and his beautiful face.

"I don't.... I can't...." She turned away from him and moved toward the stairs. She paused. "I'll come," she promised before disappearing down them without a backward glance.

Spike stood there blinking in surprise for a moment, processing her words. Then a slow smile crept over his face. She was coming. She'd said she would.

He found his coat in the corner where he'd discarded it and shrugged it on. He had to hurry. There was a lot to do to make his home presentable for their first official date.

        *********

Spike took a final look around his crypt, which was glowing in the light of dozens of flickering candles and heady with sandalwood from the brazier of incense burning in the corner of the room. A white cloth covered the sarcophagus in the center and placed on it was a brass vase of colorful flowers picked from gardens he'd passed on the way home. A delicate porcelain bowl he had gleaned from Clem's pawnshop also graced the table.

In the mini fridge was a pint of cherry ice cream, and ready to warm in the microwave was a jar of hot fudge. Soft guitar music from the cheap stereo filled both levels of the crypt. The downstairs was also aglow with spicy scented candles and the bed made up with fresh sheets and scattered rose petals, courtesy of the urn by the Avery crypt.

Spike took a last look around and nodded, satisfied that he'd set an atmosphere that would touch a human girl's heart. He was ready. More than ready. He paced back and forth, fizzing with barely contained excitement. She was coming. She'd promised. She would be there. She had to. She wouldn't break her word, would she? Slayers were all true blue and honor bound so she would've just told him bugger off if she wasn't committed to it, right?

Any time now she'd break down his door. Or maybe knock hesitantly, even shyly. He would let her in with a courtly bow and she would be amazed and impressed by the changes in his crypt. She would exclaim how lovely it was and that she'd never guessed he had such a flair for decorating.

Then he would offer her a seat in his armchair, its ratty upholstery shrouded for the occasion in a deep blue cloth he had scavenged. A little nervous, she would settle back, anticipating whatever culinary surprise he had in store and he would proceed to serve her.

The vision got a little hazy after the part where her lips closed around the first spoonful of ice cream and pretty much devolved into pornography involving naked Buffy and hot fudge from that point on. God, he was a bundle of nerves and need!

Spike froze in mid-pace, his head swiveling toward the door. His anxious face relaxed into a smile and he glided over to stand by it. His hand caressed up and down as if already touching the body of the woman he knew stood just on the other side. After a moment, when she still had not knocked he threw the door open wide and found only darkness there.

        ***********

"I have to be responsible. I have to be smart," Buffy spoke aloud to herself as she walked through the cemetery, twirling her stake nervously. "I can't keep letting him get to me."

This was easier said. The follow-through was damn hard. Just a bare minute ago she had come close, so close to giving in to her Spike urges yet again. Standing outside his crypt door, she had felt his presence within pulling at her with the relentlessness of an undertow. As a matter of fact, the ocean analogy perfectly explained her relationship with the vampire. She was a rock, granite maybe, strong and hard and solitary and able to withstand wind and fire and possibly even dynamite. But he was water, working on her inexorably, lapping, flowing, moving around her until she crumbled and fell.

The only way she could survive, could keep her integrity intact, was to remove herself from the ocean's reach. So that's what she was doing. Walking away. Actually almost running away but if that's what it took to withstand the Spike ocean then that's what....

A scream and cry for help tore through the night. Buffy lifted her head toward the sound, grateful for the distraction from her personal demons. A soul in need! That she could deal with. She loped off, leaping tombstones and dodging branches as she headed toward the victim.

Then time went wonky again, which should've been her first clue that Warren and his cronies were behind it, but at the time Buffy couldn't register anything but the face of the dead girl at her feet.

Buffy was disoriented as she found herself in quick and jumbled succession; fighting demons, running, listening to Spike rant about their 'date' and trying to protect the dark haired girl the demons were pursuing. When the mismatched segments of time straightened out the only clear thing was that she had struck a killing blow to the woman she was attempting to save.

Buffy stared at the body, horror-struck as Spike tugged on her arm and begged her to trust him. In shock, she followed his instructions like an automaton, going home to hide her head under the covers, hoping to wake up and find it all a dream. But when she woke, after a nightmare filled hour's sleep, the facts hadn't changed. The girl was still dead and she, Buffy, Champion of the People was responsible.

Rising from her bed, she scribbled a quick note to Dawn and Willow explaining that she had some important Slayer business to take care of and not to worry. Then she walked out into the night intent on rectifying her hit and run by going to the police.

        **********

"I told you, I took care of it," Spike assured her for the second time.

"It? What 'it'? This was a girl, Spike. And I'm responsible for her death!" His words suddenly caught up with her and with mounting trepidation she asked, "How did you 'take care of it' anyway? What did you do?"

"No one will ever find her. No one will ever know," he said, attempting to sound calm and reasonable.

"Spike!" If it was possible, her heart beat even faster. "What did you do?"

From the back of the police station a trio of cops emerged talking loudly about the girl's body found floating in the river.

"Neck trauma?" one of the officers asked.

"Not this time," another replied. "Looks like she was stabbed and there's also a head wound."

They got into a car and took off, sirens screaming.

Trancelike, Buffy started to walk up the alley toward the police station.

Spike grabbed her arm. "Buffy, don't do this. It was an accident. Don't ruin your life."

"A woman is dead because of me!"

"And how many more are alive because of you?"

"That doesn't change anything. It doesn't make it all right." She shook off his hand and continued walking. He moved in front of her, blocking her path.

"I'm not going to let you...."

"Get out of my way, Spike." She shoved him - hard, and he stumbled backward. He quickly righted himself and intercepted her again at the mouth of the alley.

"Move!" Again she knocked him aside, but he clutched at her arm as he spun away, dragging her down with him. He fell to the ground, Buffy tumbling on top of him.

"Let go!" she snapped. Spike refused to release her wrist so she punched him with her other hand, snapping his head back against the ground.

"No," he roared. He tried another tack. "Think of Dawn. If you go to prison, what will become of her? Do you honestly believe your father will finally take up his responsibilities?"

"Shut up," Buffy cried, and hit him several times more in quick succession, driving his face into the pavement. She struggled against his viselike grip on her arm. His nose gushed blood and he raised his free hand to shield his face from her next blow.

"What about the sprog?" he asked, twisting so that her fist cracked against the pavement instead of his jaw. "Taking the moral high ground isn't going to help anyone who depends on you. And what use to the world is a Slayer stuck behind bars?"

Buffy wrenched herself from his grasp, shaking him off with all her strength. She stood and, for a moment, he thought she was going to kick him. Drawing a deep shuddering breath, she regained control.

"Leave. Me. Alone," she imbued each word with poison. She stepped over him and continued toward the police station. He rolled to the side and watched her go, but didn't try to stop her again.

        ********

Later, when Buffy realized that Warren and his crew had set her up, she knew that she had underestimated the danger of nerds run amok for too long. It was time to locate their new hideout and do some damage control.

Emerging from the police station after her near brush with the law, Buffy looked toward the alley, but Spike was no longer there. She felt guilty for treating him so roughly. He had, after all, been trying to protect her. He couldn't understand that she dare not start making special excuses for herself, bending rules to fit her need. That way lay Faith.

Anyway, she was sorry she'd hit him so hard and should probably find and tell him so, but tonight she had taken about all the drama she could stand. It would be an effort just to drag her body home and get to bed at this point.

She sighed and started walking.

        ************

With a roar of rage Spike swept his arm across the top of the sarcophagus, sending the vase of flowers and the pretty porcelain bowl flying across the room to shatter against the floor. He turned and smashed his fist down on the stereo putting an end to the shimmering run of notes that had filled the crypt with sound. In the subsequent silence, broken only by his stream of curses, he proceeded to tear apart everything in the crypt; kicking the TV over, ripping the makeshift slipcover off the armchair, knocking candles to the ground, tearing the refrigerator door off its hinges and throwing the slightly melted carton of ice cream at the wall where it dripped down to make a sticky puddle on the floor.

Then he stormed downstairs, snatching up a handy axe on the way. He rampaged through the lower level, slashing the bedding to ribbons and chopping at the bedposts, as rose petals crushed under his boot heels sending a thick cloud of sweetness through the dank room.

"Bloody, fucking hell, I hate her! Hate her! Why is she so stubborn? Why is she so much trouble? Drusilla on her worst night was easier handled! Christ, if I just had this chip out...."

His initial blinding fury spent, he collapsed against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, arms resting on knees. Sighing, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes and pictured the Slayer with her throat ripped out, bleeding to death at his feet. It gave him no joy. In fact, the image actually made him queasy instead of hard.

"She's ruined me," he muttered sadly. "Castrated me. Turned me into a toothless, biteless freak." He gingerly touched the side of his face, which she had ground into the pavement, and flicked away a speck of gravel embedded in his cheek.

Unbidden, an image of Buffy in all her fiery glory flashed in his mind's eye. "But god, she's magnificent when she's pissed," he remarked to the empty room.

To be continued....

Next