When he’d been human, being an Englishman in Scotland was begging for trouble; for some reason, the bloody Scots were still a little miffed about the whole Bonnie Prince Charlie debacle, conveniently overlooking the fact that they had lost their bid for independence in the soddin’ eighteenth century. So, considering Angelus’ barmy notion of keeping a low profile, Spike had never really spent a great deal of time in the northern country prior to the Council’s recent holiday offer. It was just as well. Most of the time, the place was colder than a witches’ tit, with a local menu that left a lot to be desired---outside of the actual locals, that is---and if a vamp wasn’t interested in the scenery, there wasn’t a helluva lot left.

Not anymore. As of last night, Scotland was officially Spike’s favorite place on this entire planet, for one simple reason; the Highlands had given him Buffy.

Well, not given, he quickly corrected as he stared up at the stone ceiling, hands folded behind his head. Not like anyone could ever actually own the Slayer. More like…offered a place at her side. In her bed. In her.

OK, so not actually in her yet. But after feeling her come apart around his fingers, hearing those satisfied little sighs she kept making while she’d slept on his shoulder, Spike didn’t doubt that that would soon be rectified, that tonight after the ritual, the pair of them would continue their little dance to its natural conclusion, and that once they got back to the Hellmouth, Buffy’d be dumping her little Soldier Boy faster than he could say, “Bite me.” God, did he want to be there to witness that. Serve the smug bastard right.

He’d only seen her briefly today, when he’d woken as she was heading down for breakfast, but he wasn’t fussed about it, the fact that he’d drifted back off, not fully waking until well past mid-morning, more than enough reason for her not to stay there. After all, she had a job to do. The Slayer couldn’t very well be lollygaggin’ about when evil was afoot.

Spike snorted. She was goin’ to turn him into a bloody Scooby yet, he thought, he could just feel it. Already thinkin’ in terms of afooting evil, and helping out, and…wait a minute . He frowned. He was goin’ to be seein’ a helluva lot more of those little friends of hers, which meant she was probably goin’ to make him treat them nicer. The witches were a bit of all right, and Anya was an ex-demon so at least interesting to talk to if a little long-winded, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t actually lived with Rupes for a while there…Maybe it wouldn’t be such a tough gig after all. Provided he didn’t end up throttling Harris. That might be bad. Buffy probably wouldn’t like that much.

Tossing his legs over the side of the bed, Spike stood and stretched, feeling for the first time since getting attacked in the dungeon that he was finally mending properly. The wound didn’t hurt any longer, though if that was due to actual healing or his flying good mood, the vampire didn’t know. Didn’t really care, for that matter. What mattered was the final result, and the result was…he felt good.

And hungry. Time for a trip downstairs.

*************

More than anything, she wanted to be upstairs right now, not sitting here staring at another of Colin’s flow charts, wondering just how much longer he was going to discuss the trail he and Giles had uncovered on their early morning excursion out on the mountain. After hearing about her encounter with the kelpie the previous evening, the Watchers had gotten excited about the possibility of catching it alive for the purposes of further study, taking notes about where she’d been so that they could go out after breakfast to see if they could track it down. Hello! she’d wanted to shout at them. Am I the only one who remembers the Initiative last year? You’re supposed to kill the demon, not study it. Especially if it’s eating the local population.

Calling all pots, calling all pots, came a small voice in the back of her head. This would be the kettle speaking. Spike’s a demon, too, and you’re doing a lot more than just studying him.

Buffy scrunched down in her seat, her pencil doodling aimlessly across the top of her notepad, hoping no one would see the blush that suddenly heated her cheeks. A lot more was an understatement. Though she’d certainly thought about the possibility of maybe kissing Spike---especially after his little game out on patrol---she’d not really considered that it might go any further than that, or that she’d wake up from her dream wanting him so badly that she felt hollow without him in her arms, or that his mere touch would feel like ocean waves breaking over her skin…powerful, exhilarating, and most of all…right.

The hardest thing she’d had to do was leave him there this morning on his own. When she’d woken, her first response had been to look up at him, and she found herself caught in the pale craftsmanship of his still face. It wasn’t perfect---the nose was too big, his brows too heavy---but that only added to its beauty, and the urge to trace the line of his cheekbones with her fingertips had been irresistible. Her touch had been feathers across his skin, because, though she wanted him awake, Buffy didn’t have the heart to disturb him when he looked so peaceful, settling instead to watch him for the few moments she was allowed.

It was only when she remembered Willow’s wake-up call the previous day, and the look on the redhead’s face when she’d seen Spike in the bed, that Buffy scrambled to her feet, hurrying to get downstairs before someone showed up to see the definite lack of a pallet on the floor, or the semi-naked vampire asleep where the Slayer should’ve been. She couldn’t really use his injury as an excuse anymore, and though she held no regrets regarding her choice, she wasn’t ready to have it out in the open with her friends just yet. After everything that had happened with Angel, she didn’t think another vampire boyfriend was going to fly too high with Giles and the rest of the gang.

Just as she’d been about to walk out the door, Spike had stirred, calling out her name in a fuzzy rumble. Buffy had stopped, turning to see his blue eyes blinking groggily at her, and smiled. “Go back to sleep,” she’d said, returning to the side of the bed to pull the blankets up around him.

“Not…tired…” he’d mumbled, and made a half-hearted attempt to grab her wrist as it brushed past his face.

“Uh huh, yeah, right,” she’d said softly. His eyes had flickered shut again, and she couldn’t resist leaning over and brushing another kiss across his lips, feeling him smile in contentment as her mouth lingered on his.

No. Definitely no regrets.

But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy. There were so many things to consider…how the Scoobs would feel about Spike being one of them when it hadn’t been that long ago he’d tried turning them against each other…Giles’ disappointment that she was pursuing another relationship with a vampire. And what about Riley? Everyone thought they were marvelously happy, even if she knew it wasn’t completely true; what would be their reaction to find out she was messing around with Spike behind his back? No, she was going to have to talk to Spike, to convince him they needed to keep this thing between them under wraps until they got back to Sunnydale. Then, she could officially break it off with Riley, and bit by bit, integrate the vamp into the Scoobies so that when it came out about them sleeping together, it wouldn’t be a major shocker.

And it wasn’t as if he was going to have wait very long. Though Colin and Giles hadn’t found the kelpie’s body in their trek, they had discovered significant amounts of blood, indicating that it was wounded quite badly, so both Englishmen figured it was just a matter of time before the demon’s dead form actually turned up. Which meant after the ritual was done tonight, they’d be packing up and home in less than twenty-four hours. Even Spike could wait a day and a half…couldn’t he?

A sharp poke in her ribs caused Buffy to jump, straightening in her chair as she dropped her pencil onto the table, and she turned to see Willow nodding toward the Watcher at the head of the table.

“I was asking, Miss Summers,” Colin said, carefully enunciating his words as if speaking to a child, “whether there were any other details from last night that you’d like to share before we break for lunch.”

As she watched her best friend silently mouth, “Sorry,” Buffy settled back in her seat, swiveling her attention back to the meeting at hand. “Not that exciting a story,” she said, shaking her head. “Demon run. Buffy chase demon. Buffy trip. Demon get away. Pretty straightforward stuff.”

“I still don’t understand why Spike didn’t go after it,” Giles asked.

“You’ll have to ask him that,” she replied. “I told him to, but he listens to me about as well as Dawn does.”

“Well, you were hurt,” Willow offered. “And you said you couldn’t even walk last night. It probably wouldn’t have been very smart to just leave you out there.”

Buffy glanced at her friend curiously. “Yeah, that’s what he said,” she mused. “But I still think it was a cop out. He could’ve caught it in no time. That thing had my knife sticking out of it, it was leaking blood all over the place, and with that bell harness, there was no way he could’ve lost it in the dark.”

The table went silent as everyone in the group turned to look at the Slayer, and she felt herself grow uncomfortable under their stares, her skin crawling as her gaze flicked from person to person. “What?”

“Bell…harness?” Giles prompted.

“Yeah, that’s how we heard the kelpie in the first place.” Her cheeks flushed. “Did I…forget to…mention that part?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Xander, and turned to the Watchers. “If it had a harness, does that mean it’s got a rider out there roaming around, wondering where his friend Flicka is?”

“Doubtful,” Colin replied, his brow furrowed. “Kelpies are notorious for being untamable.”

“Wait a minute.” The group stopped as Willow reached forward to grab a book from the middle of the table, thumbing through it quickly until she found the page she wanted. “According to the legends, putting a harness on a kelpie is how you control it, that while it’s wearing one, it can’t hurt humans or do the luring to the death thing. That you can even ride them.” She frowned. “Of course, it’s supposed to be an actual work-‘em-ride-‘em sort of harness. Not usually the musical variety. What did the one you saw look like, Buffy?”

“Well, it was kind of goldish, although I guess that might’ve been the moonlight, but it definitely had this shiny, metallic aspect going for it. Oh, and it had the bells. It was quite pretty, actually.” She laughed. “Spike made this joke about it when we saw it, something about being there with…bells on…” Her voice trailed off, her smile fading. “But I guess you had to be there to appreciate it.”

“We’ll do more research this afternoon,” Colin said firmly. “See if we can find anything about this---.”

The clearing of a throat behind them cut off his words, and the group turned to see Duncan standing just inside the door to the kitchen. “So sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But lunch is ready. Would you like it now, or would you rather I wait?”

“Oh, now is fine,” the Watcher said and began wiping down the white board behind him.

Tara jumped to her feet. “I’ll help you bring things in,” she said with a smile as she scurried to Duncan’s side.

“Me, too,” said Willow, followed almost immediately by Anya’s own exuberant offer.

Xander glowered as the three girls left the room, leaning forward to address Buffy quietly. “How long do you think he was standing there?” he whispered. “Do you think he heard anything?”

The Slayer shrugged. “I dunno. Does it matter?”

His brown eyes widened. “Does it matter?” he repeated. “How can you ask that? We’re sitting in here talking about demony things. What happened to our Slayer code of silence?”

“I didn’t realize we had one,” Buffy laughed. “And actually, we were talking about horsey things, so I think it’s OK.”

“But what do we really know about this guy?” Xander pressed.

“Well, we know he can cook, which is what he’s supposed to be doing, remember?” She was about to continue when the door to the hall opened, and Spike came sauntering in, lips pursed in a whistle.

“Mornin’, all,” he said, and let his cerulean gaze settle on the remaining female in room as he ignored his normal safe chair in the corner and crossed to her side, pulling out the seat Willow had just vacated to straddle it himself.

“It’s lunchtime, Spike,” Xander said, oblivious to the tension in his friend as she suddenly became interested in her pencil. “So technically, no longer morning.”

“Is for me,” he replied, and tilted his head to look at Buffy’s profile. “How’s the foot doin’? Feelin’ better?” His voice was softer, his concern for her plain to see, and she felt her fear rise in her throat, a hard lump that blocked off all but the smallest passage of air. Crap. She wasn’t even going to be able to look at him without giving everything away. How in hell was she going to keep this under wraps with him so near?

“Fine,” she said, too brightly, busying herself in straightening her pad and the books in front of her. “Gotta love that super Slayer healing.” When she felt his boot nudge the side of hers, she hesitated only briefly before pressing back, allowing the tip of her shoe to run along the side of his foot before curling itself for a lingering moment around his ankle. Can’t look at him, she thought desperately. Xander will know for sure that’s something up. I just hope Spike gets why.

When she saw him lean toward her, his arm rising to lie across the back of her chair, Buffy’s brain screamed out, “Too much! They’re going to know!”, and she leapt to her feet, her chair skittering behind her. “I think I’ll just go help Duncan and the others,” she said out loud, and practically ran for the kitchen door, leaving behind a frowning Spike and a furious Xander.

“She’s a bit…skittish this morning,” the vampire commented as he slowly turned to face the other man. “Sadler been playing with his flash cards again?”

It was as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Did you see that?” Xander hissed. “All four of them, in there like his own Stepford harem. How’s he doing it?”

“Who?”

The young man rolled his eyes. “Duncan, remember? Mr. Magneto? The reason we’re playing at I Spy?”

“Oh. Right.”

“We’ve got to do some more digging on this guy,” Xander continued, keeping his voice down so that the two Watchers at the end of the table couldn’t hear him. “So I was thinking, when we all go into town this afternoon, you come down---.”

“You’re all going into town?”

“Yeah. Colin can’t find some of his supplies for the ritual tonight so when he said he was going to check out the local market for substitutes, Buffy suggested---.”

“It was the Slayer’s idea?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Though he hadn’t expected her to be Little Miss Cheerleader about the changes between them, being left out in the cold hadn’t crossed his mind either.

“Yeah, she said she wanted to call Riley, find out how her mom and Dawn were doing.”

And the fun just kept on coming. The muscles in Spike’s jaw twitched as he turned his darkened gaze to stare at the closed kitchen door. Asking after her family made some sense, but not the calling Soldier Boy part. What exactly was she playing at? Running almost as soon as he showed his face…making excuses to be out of the castle during the day, knowing he couldn’t follow…not even looking him in the eye when he’d asked after her ankle. OK, the footsy thing had been nice but still…

He slumped in his chair, folding his arms over his chest as he ignored Harris’ continued prattling. Something was going on with Buffy. And if it involved Finn, it couldn’t be good for Spike.

*************

“You’ve got it?”

Spike sighed, looking at Xander in annoyance. “It’s a bloody waste of time,” he said. “According to the Watcher, we’re goin’ home tomorrow anyway. What’s the point in goin’ after the cook, other than the fact that he’s a prat and probably deserves a good roughin’ up?”

“It’s a…contingency plan,” Xander replied. “In case we don’t end up going home. Or maybe, he’s evil and secretly plotting to mess with the ritual. Don’t you think we should know that before we, you know, actually do the ritual?”

“If he’s so soddin’ evil, why are we even still here?” Spike countered sarcastically. “Bugger could’ve poisoned any one of us at any time. Well, you lot, anyway. And you were the one who pointed out the advantage to bein’ the cook when you’re tryin’ to kill your enemy, remember?”

“I just said, maybe he’s evil,” he defended, then hurriedly stepped away from the vampire as Buffy and the others rounded the corner of the corridor, approaching the pair where they stood by the front door of the castle.

“Ready, Xan?” she asked, carefully evading Spike’s probing stare.

The young man nodded and held the front door open as the girls and Watchers filed out, leaving Spike alone in the castle, his blue eyes blazing. His mood was blacker than his t-shirt, all remnants of his good humor entirely banished by the Slayer’s continued denial in acknowledging his presence. When she’d returned with lunch, she’d deliberately opted for a different seat, only answering him with the most perfunctory of responses whenever he spoke up, barely bothering to look him in the eye when he did address her directly. She’d been the first to excuse herself from the table, but when Spike had tried to follow, he’d been stopped by an impromptu interrogation on the part of the Watchers, as they inquired into the events of the past night to get his perspective on the whole matter.

He was so pissed off at her cavalier attitude that he almost told them what the highlights of his night really were, how Buffy had practically jumped him in his sleep and how he’d gotten her off without even having to go as far as to properly shag her. It was only remembering the look in her eyes when she’d kissed him---that first, proper kiss---that stopped Spike, forcing him to stay in his seat while he’d answered their questions as quickly as possible.

It still didn’t seem feasible he could’ve misinterpreted her thoughts so badly; he’d given her an out and she’d refused it. And the signals her body was sending certainly didn’t match the Ice Queen persona she’d adopted since coming back into the great hall for lunch. She’d spent the entire meal in a heightened state---heart racing, the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead---and though at one point their eyes had met, it had been fleeting, with it impossible for him to read her thoughts in light of the distance she forced between them.

None of it made sense, and with Captain Cardboard thrown into the mix…

With one last glance at the closed door to the great hall, Spike snorted and went stalking toward the stairwell, his boots loud against the stone floor. Bugger Harris’ plan, he thought. Not goin’ outta my way and riskin’ a bloody headache when we’re not even goin’ to be here tomorrow. The way my brain’s goin’ right now, I’d be halfway to killin’ the wanker before I’d get a word out of him anyway. The thought actually made him hesitate for a moment at the bottom of the stairs---could be a good way to get out my anger---but it got shoved quickly aside as practicality returned. Cook’s not worth it, he decided, and stomped up the two flights to his room.

His face was thunderous as he shoved open the door, and he was two steps over the threshold before he saw the man rise from the bed. “Who the hell are you?” Spike barked, blue eyes quickly scanning the grizzled face and portly form.

“I was looking for Spike,” the man said, his Scottish accent so thick the vampire almost didn’t recognize his own name. “I was told this was his room.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He folded his arms across his chest. “That still doesn’t tell me who you are, mate.”

The man motioned toward the still-open door. “Do you mind?” he asked. “This would be better if we were private.”

Without turning, Spike reached with his foot and kicked the door shut, the slam echoing through the tiny room. “Now,” he said, “you goin’ to tell me what this is about?”

The man smiled. “My name’s Hornbrook,” he said, all signs of his accent gone. “And I’m here to offer you a deal…”

“You really shouldn’t have suggested it, Buffy,” scolded Giles as he slowed the car to a stop before the castle. “If your ankle is bothering you that much, you should’ve just said so.”

“I know,” the blonde said, not even looking at her Watcher as her hand hovered over the door handle. “My bad.”

“I’m serious.” Shifting the car into neutral, he frowned as he studied her through his glasses. “You’re not taking this entire project very seriously. I realize that it’s rather distracting being in a foreign country and all, and perhaps my casual attitude toward Colin isn’t exactly conducive to instilling confidence in you, but tonight’s ritual is really the crux of the entire problem here at Dall Rath. You really must be in top form.”

Buffy flashed him an apologetic smile as she pulled the door handle. “And I will be,” she assured. “That’s why I insisted you bring me back so that I can rest some. I want this to work just as badly as you do.” She eased herself out of the car and stood, taking extra care not to put any unnecessary weight on her injured foot. Well, not so much on the injured side. More on the faking it hurts so she could get some alone time with Spike side. “I’ll be fine. Go shop. Have fun. Buy yourself a kilt or something.”

Giles shook his head as she slammed the door and began hobbling toward the entrance. She was pushing her body too hard and it was making her sloppy. It wasn’t her usual style, but he supposed that the novelty of being away from home was the culprit in sidetracking her so. Nothing else could really explain it.

As the car ground into reverse, Buffy glanced over her shoulder to see her mentor steer the vehicle back onto the narrow lane that led to the castle, hesitating as she watched it disappear around the bend. It had almost been too easy. Suggesting everyone go into town this afternoon for some shopping had been like offering Anya free money after a year’s supply of sex; convincing Giles that he didn’t need to babysit her while she rested from the mysterious return of her sore ankle had not. But, it was done now. She was here, the gang was in town, and all she had to do was get upstairs and sort things out with Spike.

She wasn’t one hundred percent sure what to expect when she got up there. Though she’d tried to keep things as casual as possible during lunch, Buffy suspected that she might’ve taken it a little far, if the look on the vampire’s face when she’d walked out with Xander was any indication. Definitely not the face of a happy camper. She’d tried to catch his eye a couple times, and she’d done the footsy thing before skipping out to help with setting the table, but somehow, she didn’t think it had been enough. Most likely, Spike was going to be just a little cranky until she explained everything to him. Then, he’d get it. And if he still didn’t believe her, then she’d just have to show him what he meant to her.

She’d barreled into him before she’d even realized he was there, her hands coming up to brace herself against his chest as Hornbrook stepped through the front door. “Oh, sorry,” she said automatically, then blinked as she realized who she was addressing.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” the man assured, smiling widely. “No damage done.”

“You’re the…doctor, right?” Buffy asked, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked over his portly form. “The one who came out about the…body we found?”

“That would be me,” he agreed. “I stopped by to talk to that young Mr. Sadler about the arrangements that have been made for Peg. He’d expressed some interest in knowing.” He scanned the area behind Buffy. “He’s not with you, by any chance? The only person I could find inside was young Davison. He said the group of you had stepped out.”

“Right. Everyone’s back in town. Colin probably won’t be back until close to supper.” She frowned and turned to look at the empty drive. “How’d you get here?”

Hornbrook laughed, brushing past her to get outside, tightening his coat around him. “You Americans,” he said. “You’re a funny lot, you.” As he began walking away from the castle, hands thrust deep into his pockets, he shouted back, “Just let Mr. Sadler know I stopped by, lassie, will you?”

“Sure.” She waited until he was gone, then bolted inside, almost running for the stairwell at the end of the corridor. Gotta get this done, she thought.

“Spike!” she called out as she pushed open the door to their bedroom, her heart thumping in her chest. Her feet stopped on the threshold as she stared into the empty space, the unmade bed mocking her from its position on the opposite wall, and her forehead wrinkled as she quickly scanned the room. He wasn’t there.

“Spike?” Buffy said again, crossing to the screen, hesitating only a moment before sneaking a peek around its corner. Nope. Not there either. As her shoulders slumped, her mind began poring over the possibilities. It was daytime, so he couldn’t have gone far. He had to be somewhere inside the castle. It was just up to her to figure out where.

*************

The beam from his flashlight wavered as he tucked the torch under his arm, pulling the string on the leather pouch so that he could dump the amulet into his open palm. The folded piece of paper that had been wrapped around it fluttered to the floor, and Spike cursed under his breath, stooping to pick it up. Not like I’m actually goin’ to bloody well read the thing, he thought. Not that daft. Just…curious is all.

The amulet itself was unremarkable, a small silvery blob that more closely resembled a lump of hardened quicksilver than anything else, but that Hornbrook had seemed pretty certain it was the thing to do the job. At the moment, Spike was wishing he’d gotten a better gander at the Watcher’s when he’d done his little open sesame trick; a little confirmation could go a long way, right about now. Still, according to his Scot/not a Scot visitor, it all worked on the same principle. Read the incantation, pass the amulet over the wall, unseal the opening to the tunnels. Simple.

The vampire shook his head. Not so simple. Shouldn’t even be down here in the first place. Buffy was goin’ to stake him for sure if she found out he’d been messin’ around with this stuff. ‘Course, that would mean the bitch would actually have to be here.

The thoughts were just lipservice. He wanted to be mad at her. In fact, he’d worked himself up into a pretty good lather just considering the things she was probably whispering to Soldier Boy at that very moment. Little love words she’d refrained from saying to the vampire during their little romp under the sheets last night. It wasn’t as if Buffy had ever actually come out and said anything that he could’ve construed as legitimatizing what had happened between them. “God, please,” was just a request for more of the same at that moment in time, not a declaration of her unending love. He didn’t know why he really expected otherwise. He hadn’t come out and announced his feelings in so many words, and she hadn’t pressed the issue to find out exactly what he’d meant, so the vamp could only assume she didn’t care.

So, he wanted to be angry with her. He really did. Problem was…he wasn’t.

Spike was hurt.

It had felt real, damn it. She had looked him in the eye and kissed him when he’d given her the choice to just say no. She had touched him, and curled into his arms, and slept on his shoulders, all like it had meant something. Even this morning, she had tucked the blanket around his shoulder, kissed him one last time before heading off to work, like she bloody well cared.

And then the mixed signals in the great hall. OK, to play footsy with…not OK to actually deign to talk to. Good enough to mess around with…not good enough to actually be allowed to join into the conversations like an equal or anything.

He wasn’t interested in being the Slayer’s little vamptoy that she kept hidden on the side, not while Captain Cardboard got the benefits of working alongside her, hearing her laugh at his stupid farmboy jokes, holding her in his arms when she needed the support. Sure, the sex would be pretty much phenomenal---even the hints of it that she had offered upstairs had rocked his notion of intimacy, those muscles squeezing around his fingers offering promises that aroused him just thinking about---but after seeing that look in her eye, Spike wanted more.

He grimaced. Wrong, he chastised himself. You want more because of what you thought you saw, not what you actually did, ‘cause if it was real, she wouldn’t have bloody well run off to phone home leaving you in the lurch, now would she?

It was then that he heard the door to the dungeon open and close, the distinct sound of footsteps descending the stairs alerting his senses. “Fuck,” he muttered, and shoved the amulet back into the little bag, pulling its string before he realized he was still holding the piece of paper.

“Spike?”

The vampire stiffened at the sound of Buffy’s voice, his head jerking up to stare at the open door. What was she doing here? They couldn’t have been gone for more than forty-five minutes on the outside; it made no sense for her to be roaming around in the bowels of the castle.

“Spike?”

She was closer now, and he could see the swathe from the beam of her flashlight as it bounced down the hall outside the small room. The realization that she was going to ask why he was down here gripped him in panic, and quickly, he shoved the leather bag into his pocket, losing his hold on the torch at the same time so that it fell with a clatter to the floor.

“Spike?”

He blinked into the sudden glare as she aimed her flashlight directly at him, holding up his hand to shield his face from its brilliance. “What’s the matter, Slayer?” he asked wryly. “Couldn’t find the local Bloomies?”

She ignored his question as she lowered the light to his chest, allowing him to look at her directly. “What’re you doing down here?”

Spike shrugged. “Got bored. Figured, didn’t get invited to your little party, might as well have one of my own.” Casually, he leaned over to pick up the flashlight as he slid the paper into the same pocket with the bag. That’s right, he thought as he straightened, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall behind him. Don’t draw attention to it. Not yet.

Moving her light had left his eyes hidden in shadows, and Buffy bit her lip as she fought the urge to shift it back, to illuminate those blue-grey depths so that she could see exactly how pissed off he really was. The nice thing about Spike was that he wore his emotions on his face like a fashion accessory; as long as she could look into his eyes, she was pretty sure she’d always be able to figure out what he was feeling or what he was thinking. But his aloof attitude prevented her from doing that right now; somehow, it almost felt like an invasion of privacy.

“I came back so that we could talk---.”

His snort of derision seemed to echo in the empty dungeons. “Didn’t think talkin’ was what you wanted from me,” he snapped. “Or wasn’t Soldier Boy around? ‘Cause gotta tell you, pet, I spent more than my share of years doin’ the second fiddle gig. ‘Bout had my fill. The whole business leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“What’s Riley…?” She stopped, her mind whirling as she tilted her head to stare at him. “How’d you know about that?” she asked.

“Harris said---.”

“Xander told you?” She took a step closer, daring him to step away, relieved when he didn’t back down. “That was an excuse to get out of the castle,” she said. “That’s not why you’re so pissed at me, is it?”

“As good a reason as any. But if you’d rather the full-blown, alphabetical list, I’d be more than happy to oblige you, Slayer.” Spike squared off with her, shoulders back, staring at her coldly, grateful for the mask the darkness allowed him to wear. He could do this. Wasn’t like the pair of them hadn’t had this little confrontation before. Just had to be strong. Don’t think about last night. Don’t remember how she felt…

Buffy felt the air of the dungeon suck in around her flesh, constricting her torso in anxiety as she heard the ache behind his words. She had anticipated anger, could deal with Spike storming around the castle, ranting and raving about how he always managed to be the one to get shafted in the mix, but this…this ran deeper. The hurt in his voice hinted at knives that had sliced through major arteries, but why exactly…she had no idea. The only thing she did know was that she somehow had to make this better.

“Look,” she started again, deliberately steadying her voice to as calm a decibel as she could manage, “I realize I handled lunch pretty badly, but I’d like the chance to explain.”

“Think skipping off to let your fingers do the walkin’ is explanation enough.”

“Are you hearing anything that’s coming out of my mouth here? I told you, that was just a cover.”

“You expect me to believe that you lied to your little friends?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I expect.” She took another step. “I had to get everyone out of the castle so that I could come back and talk to you in private.”

“Well, aren’t I Mr. Popularity today,” Spike drawled, and then wished he hadn’t. She would ask questions that he wasn’t sure he was in the mood to answer; hell, he wasn’t sure she deserved to know the answers after the way she’d treated him. Change the subject. “Well, you’ve got my back up against the literal wall here, ducks, so why don’t you just say your piece so you can run off and join your little pals.”

“If I wanted to be with them, I wouldn’t have come back here, now would I?” She bit her lip. Even she thought that sounded harsh. Try again, softer this time. “I thought…you know…last night…” God, she sucked at this. “It meant a lot to me. You should know that.”

For a long minute, the pair just stood there, each wishing the other’s face wasn’t hidden in black shade, neither willing to say the words that so desperately needed to be said. Finally, Spike turned his head, staring off at the wall, anywhere but at Buffy herself. “Y’know what I hate?” he asked, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. “I hate the fact that you can play me, Summers. No, I hate the fact I let you play me.”

“What makes you think I’m playing?” Yet one more step. “I’m not. I thought I made that clear.”

“As clear as mud.” He could feel her heat as she crept closer, heard the silent strum of her pulse as it kindled under her skin, and cursed his own traitorous reaction, the impulse to reach out and hold her battling with his pride. “Second thoughts should’ve been checked at the door, pet. Save us both a lot of headaches.”

He wasn’t getting it. How could she make him get it? Slowly, Buffy turned off her flashlight and set it on the ground, watching as he turned to stare at her. “Turn it off, Spike,” she said softly.

The room was in darkness just a moment later, and the soft click as the plastic came to rest on the stone floor was perceptible to both of them. “Please tell me there’s a good reason I---,” the vampire started, only to cut himself off as he felt warm fingers gripping his forearms, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, her breasts suddenly very much pressing into his chest.

“See?” Buffy’s voice was a breath against him, and he felt the tremor in her skin as his arms automatically came up, his fingers curling lightly around her waist, ready to either pull her closer or push her away based on the selection of her next few words. “I don’t need lights to find you. What do you think that means?”

“I think that means you’re the Slayer,” he replied slowly. “It means you’re good at your job.”

“You’re not a job, Spike. Not anymore.” He actually heard her swallow before taking in a deep breath to continue. “You’re a choice. My choice.”

Though her words reached into his gut and relit the flare of hope he’d allow to die down, Spike steeled himself for the worst, relaxing his grip even as he felt hers climb around his neck. “The choice you shoved to the curb in front of your friends,” he said.

“I know.” It almost wasn’t audible. “I’m sorry. I should’ve explained about that.” One finger began tracing the hollow that started at the base of Spike’s skull and ran down the back of his neck, only to lazily climb upward again as Buffy spoke. “This is about me being totally selfish, which, I know, isn’t fair to you, but it just seemed like the best way to spring this on the gang was…gradually…after we got home…” She sighed. “Which, in retrospect, seems a little lame, but that’s what was going through my head. And I just didn’t get a chance to let you in there as well.”

“It h…” Spike’s voice choked on the next word. There were two ways admitting it could go, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared for either.

“…hurt,” Buffy finished, and rested her cheek against his chest. “And again, I’m Apology Girl here. I just want this to be as…painless as possible. For everyone. Giles and the others…it gets…complicated.”

“What about Finn?” he asked quietly, unable to keep it contained. His grip had tightened, his body responding in fire to the gentle caress of her touch, and suddenly the scent of her skin seemed overwhelming.

There was a long silence. “When we go back to Sunnydale tomorrow,” she finally said, “I’m telling him everything. He deserves better than me. Someone who can commit to him one hundred percent. I haven’t been able to do that for a long time now.”

His internal debate lasted only a moment. “What if we don’t go back to Sunnyhell tomorrow?” Spike queried.

Buffy’s hands stopped as his words sank in. “Why wouldn’t we go back?”

“Better turn that torch back on and have a seat,” he said. “’Cause I’ve got a doozy of a story to tell you.”

*************

She stared at the amulet in her hand. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said, hazel eyes flicking up to gaze into the vampire’s face.

“Wish I was,” Spike replied. “I’m kinda lookin’ forward to gettin’ my feet back on California soil. See, there’s this girl…”

Buffy rolled her eyes at his put-on leer, half-smiling as she scrambled to her feet. “Maybe that Hornbrook was lying,” she said.

“Could be. Only one way to find out.” It took only a moment for her to nod in affirmation, and Spike pulled the loose paper from his pocket, joining her on his feet, the pair of them turning to face the wall. As he read the Latin text, Buffy passed the amulet over the stones, hoping she was remembering Colin’s placement correctly, and together, they watched as the wall disappeared before them.

The Slayer stood back, her lips tightly pressed together, the hand with the amulet dropping to her side. “I am sooooo going to kill that little weasel,” she said grimly.

*************

Her voice was a murmur as she slowly read over the words in the book, her green eyes squinting against the failing afternoon light. “Y’know,” came a voice from beside her, “if you read it backwards, it spells out the lyrics to Stairway to Heaven.”

Willow looked up from the tome to glare at Xander, watching as he played with the sprigs of herbs they had purchased in the market. “I’m practicing,” she said firmly. “I don’t understand a lot of this Gaelic and some of the words are kind of hard to pronounce. I just want to get this right.”

“You’ll be OK.” He used the sprays in his hands as puppets, bouncing them along the page of her text. “Yes, you will, o mistress of magic,” he singsonged, stopping in mid-dance as the redhead turned her annoyed face to stare at him. “You shouldn’t be reading in the dark anyway,” he grumbled.

With one last glance at her friend, Willow returned to the words before her, carefully selecting the phrases that were affording her the most difficulty, repeating them over and over under breath. She didn’t notice when Xander reached down for the bag at his feet, but when the car bounced over a rut in the road, she lurched against him, and heard the glass shatter on the floor.

“What was that?” Colin asked from the front seat, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror to gaze at his backseat occupants.

“Nothing,” Willow and Xander said in unison, and together they leaned over to begin picking up the shards that were now scattered over the young man’s foot.

“I told you not to play with the supplies,” she whispered.

“Tell Mario Andretti up there to take it easy then,” he hissed back, and grimaced as some of the container’s fluid stuck to his fingers, using the side of his shoe to try and get it off. “Do I want to even know what this stuff is?” he asked.

“Um, no. Probably not.” She grimaced as she snagged the herbs from his hand. “I knew I should’ve made you ride with Anya in the other car.”

“She wouldn’t let me,” Xander admitted. “She said I smelled funny after playing with those sheep.”

As they sat back, they saw the looming form of Dall Rath outlined against the dusky horizon, and Willow frowned as the Slayer stepped from the entrance to approach the oncoming cars. “Guess Buffy’s foot is feeling better,” she commented, closing her book and sliding it back into the bag at her side. She was halfway out of the car when she saw the blonde stride determinedly up and yank a startled Colin from behind the steering wheel, turning him around to slam him against the hood.

“Buffy!” Giles’ voice was sharp as he leapt from the other car. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

The gang just watched as the Slayer twisted the Watcher’s arm around his back, holding him down as he winced in pain. “Have fun shopping for the supplies for the ritual?” she asked Colin brightly, ignoring the shock on her friends’ faces.

Giles hovered at the front of the car. “What’s going on?” he quizzed.

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Tugging him back to an upright position, Buffy turned Colin to face her mentor. “I think you should be talking to Benedict Arnold here.” At everyone’s confusion, she gave him a little shake. “C’mon, Col, let’s chat about magic.”

“Miss Summers, I really don’t---.”

She tightened her grip on his arm, causing him to yelp slightly. “I am so tired of people lying to me. You’re just lucky I’m not taking Spike’s advice and beating you up first. He seems to think teeth are an optional accessory for people who are getting interrogated.”

“Actually,” Anya piped up, “he would be right about that. I always found---.” She cut herself off as Giles turned to glare at her. “No, beating up Colin would be bad,” she said simply, and stepped back.

“Buffy, really…” Giles inched cautiously forward as if trying to catch a rabid animal. “Why don’t you just tell us what this is all about?”

Sighing, her hazel eyes met his worried ones. “This is about rituals that don’t really do what we’ve been told they do.” Her gaze flickered over the waiting group. “The Council isn’t interested in closing these tunnels. They’re interested in controlling them.”

His eyes darted from the stiff form of the Englishman in the chair, to the grim American girl standing before him with her arms folded across her chest, to the remaining guests of Dall Rath scattered around the table, before returning to Colin’s face again. “You’re sure you won’t be needing me?” Duncan asked. “Because I’m more than happy to---.”

“We’re sure.” The assertion didn’t come from the man, but from Buffy, her gaze level as she stared down at the Watcher.

“Everything is already prepared,” the cook explained as he backed his way toward the exit. “You’ll just have to…warm it, should you…leave it for too long.” He glanced up at the bleached man holding the door open for him. “It’s much better if it’s warm,” he repeated.

“Right. We’ll remember that.” The blond looked pointedly out the door, his exasperation painted across his face, and Duncan smiled in farewell to the remainder of the group.

“See you in the morning then,” he said, offering them a little wave before disappearing from the great hall.

Spike watched him for a moment as he walked down the hall, his brow slightly furrowed. It was the first time he’d ever been really close to the cook. Something…didn’t sit right with him. Mentally, he shrugged, shutting the door. “Thought the annoying git would never leave,” the vamp said to no one in particular.

“Now that we’re minus an audience,” Buffy said, “I think it’s time to start the show.” She held out her hand to Spike as he sauntered to her side, waiting as he placed the leather bag in the center of her palm. Carefully, she extracted the amulet and held it up for Colin to see.

“Where’d you get that?” he blurted, his eyes wide. Though his body was rocking in tiny sways back and forth, his desire to reach out and take the talisman from the Slayer was curbed by his overriding fear of retribution, and his knuckles grew white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. “How dare you go through my things!”

“Did you come back just to rifle through Colin’s belongings?” Giles asked, his voice incredulous, disbelief slacking his jaw. “Really, Buffy, if you didn’t trust him---.”

“It’s not Colin’s.” Her eyes never left his face. “This one belongs to your pal Hornbrook.”

The room was silent while everyone waited for the Watcher to respond. Finally, Xander shifted in his seat. “Who’s Hornbrook?” he whispered to Willow beside him, just loud enough for everyone else to hear.

“Wasn’t that the name of the local doctor who examined that woman’s body?” queried Giles, frowning as he gazed at his charge.

“Yep,” she replied. “Except he’s not a doctor and he’s not local, is he, Colin?”

“I…wasn’t sure,” he murmured, and pressed himself back into his chair as if the added distance would keep him safe from the young woman before him. “I wasn’t…told…what was going to happen.”

“And what exactly is happening?” asked Xander. “Because color me confused here.”

Buffy turned to look at the vampire at her side. “You want to start?”

Their eyes met, locking for a long moment before Spike’s lip curled. “Right,” he said. “Seems as soon as you lot left, I had me a little visitor. This Hornbrook chap. Worked for the Council, he said. Was there to offer me a deal, and for some reason, thought I’d be the most open to their little plan.” He couldn’t refrain from chuckling as his gaze swept over the group. “Guess they figured I was the most corruptible choice they had.”

“That’s because you are, Spike,” Giles said wryly.

The vampire shrugged. “Probably.”

“What did they want?” asked Willow.

“There’s something in the tunnels that’s captured their fancy. They wanted me to go in and fetch it for them.”

“In exchange for what?”

Spike grinned, catching the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “Believe it or not, in exchange for services rendered, they’ve offered to do something about my little chip problem.”

The room exploded, a chorus of “What?” and “Huh?” and one “Bloody hell” bouncing against the walls. Even Colin’s face went white, though the stern shape of the Slayer in front of him kept him from speaking.

“That’s impossible!” Giles said harshly. “They wouldn’t do such a thing.” He took a step toward the small group at the head of the table. “As much as I’ve not approved of their methods in the past, it’s ludicrous to think that the Council could ever deliberately choose to unleash a dangerous creature such as yourself back onto the world.”

Buffy’s mouth was tight. “I think they’ve already proven they’re not too worried about what they let loose with this kelpie business, don’t you think?” She waited for some type of response from her Watcher, but getting none, nodded toward Spike. “Go on.”

“Not much more to tell,” he drawled, perching himself on the edge of the table. “I thought it was just a bunch of cack at first, and told him so. Asked him why they were bothering sealin’ up the tunnels in the first place if they were just interested in some good old-fashioned pillaging. Not that I’ve got anything against that. I’ve certainly done my fair share of plundering the spoils and all. It just didn’t make sense.” He directed his smirk to the Englishman in the chair. “That’s when he told me the ritual doesn’t actually close it up.”

“Yes, it most certainly does!” Colin shot up, only to shrink back in his seat as the group turned to look at him.

“You’re not seriously trying to get me to believe Spike’s lying about this, are you?” asked Buffy, a dangerous tone edging her words. She held out the amulet. “Because this pretty much says you’re a big fat liar, so the sooner you decide to come clean about the ritual and why we’re actually here, the fewer body parts you’re going to have to worry about not working when we’re through talking.”

Stepping forward, Giles took the amulet from her fingers, turning it over in his hands as he examined it. “And he just…gave you this, Spike?”

“Sure, after I said I’d do it for him.”

The Watcher turned narrowed eyes to the vampire. “And you expect us to believe that you’re telling us all this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Spike cocked his head, regarding the other Englishman in amusement. “Well, now that you mention it, I don’t think it’d be bang out of order if a little compensation made it my way. Y’know, let me go back to the Hellmouth with a little more than I came with. Dosh, I mean.”

Buffy’s cheeks flamed as she edged herself between the two men, the vamp’s innuendo not lost on her, even if it did go over the heads of the others. “Spike’s a member of this team,” she said firmly, and felt the vampire’s knee press into the back of her thigh, holding her position as she leaned just slightly into it. “He did what had to be done.”

“I just don’t see why we should trust him on this.”

“For one thing, because the amulet actually works,” she countered. “We tried it.” Her gaze slid past Giles to look at Colin. “And you Council guys are the only ones who know about it, right?”

“Right.” His voice was faint, his breathing shallow, and he looked for all intents and purposes that he was going to throw up. Colin swallowed hard. “But I honestly didn’t know about the ritual. I was instructed that it was for the closure of the tunnels. Why would I lie to you?” His eyes darted to Willow at the table. “You’ve read the spell, Miss Rosenberg. Tell her. It just closes them.”

All turned to look at the redhead, who blushed as she squirmed in her seat. “Just because I’ve read it, doesn’t mean I understand it completely. My Gaelic’s a tad on the sucky side.”

“Lucky for you, mine’s not,” said Spike, much to everyone’s surprise, and held out his hand. “Give it over, Red.”

He waited as Willow reached down to pick up her bag, rummaging through it as she brought it up and into her lap. When she pulled out the book, she quickly thumbed to the page and held it out to the vampire, keeping it open so that he could read it over. His brow furrowed in concentration, eyes carefully scanning the text before finally lifting to settle on Colin. “Looks like it’ll close it to me,” he commented.

“May I see it, please?” the Watcher asked, tentatively holding out his hand.

Spike looked to Buffy for confirmation, who shrugged. “Let him have it,” she said. “He’s only stalling the inevitable.”

Colin frowned as he took the book from Spike, reading over the text even more slowly than the vampire had, before closing the book to look at the cover. “Isn’t this the book you found the information about the moon cycles in, Miss Rosenberg?” he asked, looking up.

She nodded. “That’s the one I’ve been practicing from. I figured since it had the schedule we were using, I’d just stick with it.”

“Why?” Buffy quizzed the Watcher.

“May I?” He gestured toward the table, asking the young woman before him for permission to stand, only doing so when she nodded. Quickly, he picked up another of the books there, flipping the pages until he found what he was looking for, laying the two texts side by side while his gaze jumped between them. “Spike,” he finally said. “Do come here and tell me what you think.”

The vampire stood and sauntered around the edge of the table to stand beside the Watcher. “What am I lookin’ at?” As his blue eyes flickered over the pages before him, his forehead wrinkled, brows knitting together as his gaze moved faster, going between the spells even as he began to lean in order to get a better look. “Huh,” he finally said, and glanced curiously at Colin at his side.

“What is it?” Buffy asked.

Spike lifted his head to meet her gaze. “They’re not the same spell.”

“You said they were,” accused Willow, rising to her feet to join the two men in looking over the books.

“They’re almost identical,” Colin defended. “With the exception of just a couple words---.”

“A couple important words,” Spike interrupted.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I can’t believe I missed those.”

The group widened as Giles stepped around to join them, looking over Colin’s shoulder at the points on the pages he was marking with his two index fingers. It only took him a moment before he spoke. “How in blazes did you not see that?” he directed toward his colleague.

“It’s a rather long incantation, if you haven’t noticed!” The Watcher’s voice was rising, his confusion mingling with his fear to color his normally pale cheeks. “And the differences are buried in the middle. At the time it was brought to my attention, I was more concerned with the new information regarding the moon cycles than anything else.” He turned to stare at the young witch. “And you’re certain this book was in with the others?”

“For the millionth time, yes.”

“OK.” Buffy’s tone was firm. “What the hell is going on?” As her gaze danced over the group, it settled on her roommate. “Spike?”

The vampire sighed unnecessarily and picked up the two books, one in each hand. Holding up the one Willow had brought from her bag, he said, “This one---the one our mate Colin here said he didn’t bring---uses the word ‘duin’, while this one,” he shifted hands, raising the other while lowering the first, “uses ‘smachd.’”

“And for those of us in the English-speaking-only audience, that would mean…?”

Spike repeated the gestures. “This one closes it. This one commands control over it.” He glanced at Colin before tossing the books back onto the table. “Nice.”

“And I’m telling you, before Miss Rosenberg brought this one to my attention, I knew nothing of this book!”

The Watcher’s breath was coming in short bursts, and Buffy wondered for a moment if the man was going to start hyperventilating in front of her. “That doesn’t actually help your case here,” she said, folding her arms over her breasts. “Because that means you were planning on doing the control spell all along.”

He froze, the truth of what she was saying sinking in like a lead weight. “I’ll prove it to you,” Colin finally blurted, and rushed through his next words. “We’ll go do the closing spell tonight. Right now. Then you’ll see I’m not lying about not knowing anything.”

She had to work over his last sentence in her head more than once to determine what he was actually saying, but when she had, Buffy’s head tilted, hazel eyes narrowing slightly. His protestations had been expected, and she’d been prepared to confront the issue until he came completely clean. However, this thing with the different spells...and now the suggestion to do the closing spell as scheduled anyway…the Slayer was beginning to have her doubts. Maybe he didn’t really know anything. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Council played someone for the dupe.

“You’re on,” she agreed. “But this doesn’t get you completely off the hook, you know. Consider yourself pretty much still demon bait, Col.”

“Why?” asked Giles. “Not that I’m disagreeing, but…why?”

“Because closing the tunnel only messes with half of the Council’s plans,” she said. “There’s still the matter of what they wanted Spike to play fetch with.”

“But if we close it, surely we’ll be locking inside whatever it is that interests them,” her mentor argued.

She shook her head. “What they want isn’t in there anymore. It’s out on that mountain somewhere, probably wrapped around a dead kelpie.”

It took only a moment for Giles to nod in understanding. “The bell harness,” he murmured.

“Exactly.”

*************

Xander grimaced as he shifted his weight, the discomfort in his toes beginning to unsettle him to the point of fidgeting, but quickly froze at the dirty look from Anya at his side. “Sorry,” he whispered unnecessarily, and returned his gaze to the tableau before him, leaning back against the carved wall of the tunnel to alleviate some of the pressure on his feet.

Within a triangle of stones sat Buffy, Spike, and Willow, each at a different point, a clay urn at its center, while at the outer corners, the Watchers and Tara stood with lit candles. The shadows danced across their solemn faces, but all their concentration was focused on the trio within the cairn.

“Can you see OK?” Buffy asked, looking at her friend.

“Yeah.” Willow hefted the open book onto her lap. “You guys about ready?”

“Whenever you are, Red.”

For a moment, the only sound was the lapping of the water in the stream behind them. Even Xander found himself holding his breath as he watched the young witch settle her hands on her knees, all the time wondering if she was ever going to start reading the spell out loud. Any day now, Will, he thought, and felt Anya tense beside him.

The soft cadences of her voice swelled to fill the cavern as she began intoning the words of the incantation. As she’d instructed, Buffy and Spike had their eyes fixed on the urn before them, but even they weren’t prepared when it began to quiver of its own accord, its rounded bottom rocking against the earth. It quickened as the spell progressed, drumming its dull music into their flesh, until, when the last word fell from Willow’s lips, it froze upright, and three tendrils of…smoke?...floated from its mouth, slithering and entwining as they rose, only to break apart…separate…and drive each into the waiting chests of the three participants.

Both blonds immediately stiffened, their heads thrown back as their flesh seemed to glow from within. In the third corner, the witch felt the magic surge into her body, but almost as quickly, it was battled back, expelled by a fiery core in her gut that she’d never suspected existed. It left her panting, blinking as the smoke eddied before her, but before she could react, it started to wail, swirling in a tornado that seemed to gather its two other tendrils from the chests of Buffy and Spike before disappearing back into the urn.

Vampire and Slayer collapsed in a heap, both unconscious. Immediately, Giles and Colin knelt to check on them.

“Is Buff all right?” asked Xander, taking a step forward.

Colin nodded. “Her pulse is slightly elevated, but she appears to be fine.” He glanced at his colleague. “How is Spike?”

As he laid the vampire out onto the ground, Giles noted the burn mark that singed the front of the black t-shirt, and carefully edged aside the fabric to note the unmarked flesh beneath. “He’s not dust, so I assume he’ll live,” he said.

“Did it work?” This came from Tara, as her wide blue eyes darted from her girlfriend to the Watchers.

“I don’t know,” admitted Willow. “I didn’t…it felt…I don’t know.”

“Only one way to know for certain,” said Giles, and turned to face the tunnel as it disappeared around the bend. Everyone watched as he picked up the axe from the ground beside him and began walking away, footsteps too loud in the underground cavern, echoing in Doppler tones until both they and the Watcher were gone.

No one seemed prepared to speak, each lost in silence as they waited. It didn’t take long. Within a minute, Giles was back, his face grim.

“No,” was all he said.

“Didn’t Mr. Travers say it didn’t work the first time either?” Willow asked, slowly rising to her feet. “Do we know why that was?”

Colin looked uncomfortable, and he suddenly busied himself in re-examining the Slayer’s inert form before him. He stiffened when Giles clapped a firm hand down on his shoulder.

“Just because Buffy’s not awake,” the older man said, “doesn’t mean you can’t still get hurt for not telling us what’s going on.”

“I only know what I’ve been told,” Colin stammered. “And considering I’ve been left out of these other matters, I’m not sure I trust that information anymore.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that,” said Xander.

“The spell requires the three---the living, the dead, and the host,” the Watcher explained. “In Celtic magic, the power of three is tremendous. Well, apparently, the Council attempted the spell the night after Samhain using an actual corpse as part of the triumvirate, and it failed magnificently. In fact, I was told the corpse actually burst into flame.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “You never told that to us,” she accused.

The man flushed. “No. We thought it might be better if you…didn’t know. We weren’t certain you’d actually do it if you understood all the risks.”

“It’s probably a good thing Spike’s out cold now,” Anya commented. “Somehow I don’t think he’d be too thrilled to find out he could’ve been a bonfire.”

Colin glanced at the vampire’s unconscious form, the knowledge that he was well aware of the threat clearly written across his face. “Obviously, that wasn’t the issue this time,” he said. “Otherwise…”

“I’m the issue.” Shakily, Willow rose to her feet, using her girlfriend’s arm to steady herself as the room pitched around her. “It didn’t want me as the host. I could feel something…inside…pushing it back.” She turned worried green eyes to the Watcher. “Are you sure I can’t talk to the witch who did the spell the first time?” she pleaded. “Maybe she can tell me what happened.”

He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”

“Don’t tell me she burst into flame, too,” said Xander.

“Um, no.”

He was rescued from speaking further when Spike stirred, groaning as his eyes flickered open. “Bloody hell,” the vampire muttered, sitting himself up. As he did so, he noticed the new hole across his chest and scowled. “Been here three days and gone through three soddin’ shirts,” he growled. “Goin’ to start askin’ for a clothing allowance, this keeps up.”

“Are you all right?” asked Willow.

He started to nod, but as he shifted his weight to stand, his gaze settled on the still-unconscious body of the Slayer next to him. His senses immediately alerted, and the group watched in amazement as he hovered beside her form, his fingers deftly searching for her pulse. “Slayer…” he murmured, before turning thunderous eyes to pin Colin in fear. “This another little secret you were hiding from us?” Spike snarled.

“She sh-sh-should…be all right,” the Watcher said, backing away from the pair. The fury in the vampire’s face was unexpected, and though Colin’s worry for his own safety jumped another notch, he couldn’t help but wonder as to the origins of such ire. “It’s just an…after-effect of the spell.”

“Yeah, you don’t even want to know what after-effect you almost were,” offered Anya.

“We should probably get her upstairs,” Spike said, and carefully scooped her into his arms, rising to his feet, oblivious to the curious stares from those around him.

“I’d like to suggest we all get some rest,” said Giles, blue eyes surveying the ragged couples scattered through the cavern. “There’s really nothing more we can do tonight. We’ll have an early start, try to figure out where exactly the spell went wrong.” He glared pointedly at his colleague. “And you can finish filling in the details we’re so severely lacking.”

In his arms, Spike felt Buffy stir, and stopped in mid-step as her eyes blinked open. “Slayer…” he said softly.

“Please tell me…I don’t have to…do that again,” she murmured, grimacing in pain.

“Sorry, pet.”

She groaned, and pressing her palm to his chest, pulled her legs from his grasp to right herself, allowing the vampire to lower her the rest of the way to the ground. Swaying slightly, Buffy used his arm as guidance, noticing for the first time the burn mark on his shirt, and then quickly glanced down at her own chest to scowl in displeasure. “And I really liked this one,” she complained as her fingers pulled at the singed edges of the fabric. She straightened to gaze coldly at Colin. “This is soooo not over,” she warned. “I’m going to be expecting some answers and new clothes here very soon.”

As the group trundled through the tunnel back to the dungeons, the younger Watcher’s heart thumped within his chest, his fears surging up his throat in palpable blisters. The morning was promising to be a nightmare, especially since he knew they were going to have questions he would be forced to answer. No more evasions. No more half-truths. And somehow, Colin didn’t think they would be pleased to hear that the witch who had conducted the first ritual was most likely dead…

Colin watched as Giles laid the blankets out on the floor. “This really isn’t necessary,” he said. “Where exactly would I run?”

“It’s not about you running,” the older man said, straightening the corners so that they were square. “It’s about you trying to get into contact with the Council behind our backs.” His hand extended, waiting for the pillow that sat next to his impromptu roommate, his jaw tense. “At this point, I’m not certain what you might try to pull.”

“I understand you have reason to…not trust me,” Colin said slowly, handing over the cushion. “But I assure you, I’m not interested in seeing anyone get hurt. That’s not why I became a part of the Council. And neither is this…theft of demon artifacts, if what Spike says is correct.” He waited as Giles settled himself onto the floor, his fingers worrying his own sheets. “Do you…believe Spike?” he asked.

“Buffy does, and for now, I’m trusting her judgment.”

Slowly, Colin extinguished all but one of the candles at his bedside before sliding his legs beneath the blankets. “About Buffy,” he began, and then stopped when he saw Giles sit up to regard him with barely disguised anger.

“We are not having this sleepover for you to sit there and complain about my Slayer all night,” he retorted. “Nor do I wish to hear any more overzealous assertions regarding your innocence. I understand you have issues with Buffy, but the facts of the matter are, not only does she have an amulet you yourself admit could only have come from a Council member, but she ran into Hornbrook herself on his way out. So anything you might have to add or refute is pointless because I’m not going to listen to you anyway.”

“But…” He bit his lip as he caught the menace in the other man’s eyes, the silent warning steeling the air between them. The sensible thing would’ve been to drop the issue, to just lie back in the bed and pray that things would be better in the morning, and that the Slayer wouldn’t hurt him too badly when she found out what he knew about the first witch. But sensibility always lost the battle with curiosity in Colin’s head, and he barreled forward. “I don’t understand the relationship between her and Spike,” he rushed. “She’s been very…protective of him ever since we arrived. And did you see how angry he got when he thought something had happened to her during the spell? I thought he was going to rip my throat out.”

Giles sighed. “You’re reading far too much into Buffy’s actions,” he said. “She’s merely trying to keep the project focused. And as for Spike, well…” His voice trailed off. He actually had no response to that. There seemed no logical reason for the vampire to be concerned with a Slayer’s life, especially one he’d attempted to kill on more than one occasion. “He’s probably just concerned that if something were to happen to Buffy, the project would get cancelled and he wouldn’t get paid,” Giles finally said, only half-believing his own explanation. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than that.”

“I wish I could be so sure,” Colin murmured, and laid back, staring up at the ceiling. “Spike’s just so…volatile. I suppose I fear what might happen should something actually happen to Miss Summers.”

Giles rolled over onto his side, baring his back to the other Watcher, doing his best to ignore the continued observations that were coming from the bed. The implications of what Colin was suggesting were more than he was prepared to deal with presently; with the failure of the ritual and the added issue of the Council’s interest in the harness, there was more than enough at hand to worry about without conjuring additional specters to haunt his sleep. It was probably all nonsense anyway. Surely, if something was going on, someone other than an easily befuddled Watcher would’ve noticed?

*************

“You mean you really didn’t see anything?” She felt the slight shake of Tara’s head against her chest and frowned, her fingers playing absently with a tendril of her girlfriend’s hair. “I don’t know how you couldn’t. It just seemed so…obvious.”

“I was too worried about you,” Tara replied. “But if you want, next time we do a spell with Spike and Buffy, I’ll ignore you completely and pay all my attention to them.”

The redhead smiled as shook her head. “Stop teasing,” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.” There was a moment of silence, and then Willow’s face lit up. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Did I tell you about the bed?”

Tara frowned. “What bed?”

“Yesterday, when I went and got Buffy for breakfast, Spike was in the bed.” She waited triumphantly for her partner to respond.

“But…he was hurt.” She lifted her head to gaze at Willow. “Buffy probably let him sleep on the bed because of the whole almost-got-eaten-by-a-kelpie thing. He did save her life, you know.”

“Well…yeah…” The witch frowned and physically deflated. “And I guess there were blankets on the floor. She could’ve slept down there, I suppose.”

The corner of Tara’s mouth lifted in amusement. “Why do you seem disappointed by the possibility that nothing’s going on between Buffy and Spike?” she kidded gently.

“I’m not. It’s just…I was so sure…I mean, there were signals. Maybe not huge blinking green lights right in your face kind of signals, but signals, nonetheless.” She sighed. “It’s gotta be this Scottish weather,” she complained. “That’s why I’m so off my game. First the spell goes kaplooie, then I can’t shake this totally harebrained idea about Buffy and Spike.”

“Could be the water,” Tara suggested. “They say when you travel you should always be careful about drinking the water.”

Together, the two witches laughed softly, but as they snuggled down into the blankets, the image of a furious Spike hunched over Buffy flashed across Willow’s inner eye, and she bit her lip, staring into the dimly lit room even as she felt her lover’s breathing ease beside her. I didn’t imagine it, she repeated to herself. I couldn’t have. Maybe tomorrow, she could feel Xander out, see if he noticed anything was off. After all, he’d been watching the whole thing from the outside. If something was going on, he would’ve seen it.

*************

“I’m telling you, Ahn---.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Xander. I’m tired. Go to sleep.”

“But I’m serious---.”

“And I think you’re being ridiculous. It’s nothing. Go to sleep.”

“Maybe---.”

“For God’s sake, Xander, if Buffy and Spike aren’t complaining, I don’t see why on earth you are. Now. For the last time. Go. To. Sleep.”

The young man pursed his lips, fighting to keep the words inside, while at the same time, doing everything he could not to move and exacerbate the situation. But it was like pink elephants, and within a minute his toe had twitched, sending excruciating bolts of pain up the top of his leg. “I’m telling you, Anya, my foot really hurts!” he exclaimed and felt her roll over, sighing as she buried her head beneath her pillow.

*************

They had been the last to leave the Watcher’s room, answering their questions until Buffy had audibly yawned in front of them, not even bothering to cover her mouth as she gazed steadily at the pair of Englishmen. Their exit had been hurried after that, and it was all she could do to stifle her giggles as they climbed the stairs to the floor above.

Now, though, standing just inside her own room---our room, she hastily corrected---all sense of merriment had vanished with the near-silent closing of the door behind her. She couldn’t hear him, but Buffy knew that Spike stood just a few feet away, probably watching her, most likely waiting for her to make the first move. A truce had been reached this afternoon in the dungeons, and though she held no doubts about what she had done---either then or the previous night---an awkward quiet had settled between them, panicking her pulse so that it pounded in her ears.

“I hope for Giles’ sake that he doesn’t snore,” she joked, wishing that her voice didn’t sound so loud in the small space, or that it hadn’t done that little squeak thing at the end that she hated so much. “Not everyone can be as lucky as me and have a roommate who doesn’t need to breathe.”

“If I were Rupert, I’d be more worried about being bored to death,” Spike commented, his own voice just a little too jocular for his taste. “Betcha Sadler does a bleedin’ flow chart to explain their new sleeping arrangements.”

She laughed, in spite of the tension, and felt the familiar prickle on the back of her neck as she felt the vampire near. Her Slayer senses had been strong before, but now, in light of her decision and the recognition of her growing feelings for him, they were on hyperdrive, Spike’s every movement amplified across her skin so that discerning his presence was as comparable as breathing. Instinctive. Unconscious. There.

“Buffy…” he murmured, and she glanced back, saw him tilting his head as he watched her, blue eyes unfathomable in the dim light.

“And here I thought talking was going to make things easier,” she said softly.

“Do you want me to…sleep on the floor?” Even as he asked, Spike was wishing that he hadn’t, that he had the balls to just grab the Slayer by the horns and take her to bed. She wanted him---he could smell it on her---but he could also sense the anxiety seeping from her pores, the nerves that were stampeding through her veins, and refused to shatter what little confidence they’d already established just to satisfy his own impulses. That’s a first, he thought wryly, and waited for her to respond.

It took her only seconds. “No,” Buffy replied. “That would be kind of…silly, wouldn’t it?” Her eyes widened as she remembered her fear from that morning. “Oh!” she said. “But we’ve got to make it look like you did. Just in case, you know, Willow…or someone…for breakfast…”

“Right.” The vamp nodded, glancing past her to the bed before letting his gaze flicker to the floor. “Appearances and all.”

They worked in silence, operating in tandem as Buffy first laid out the sheet, then stepped back to watch Spike scatter the blankets haphazardly across it. “So that it looks slept in,” he explained at her raised eyebrow.

She just nodded, standing there, the pallet separating them in more ways than one, and felt the moment expand, lengthening into discomfort until she suddenly wished she were anywhere but in Scotland at the moment. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard; sorting out their miscommunications this afternoon was supposed to have paved the way to…Her brow furrowed. To what? What exactly was she thinking was going to happen now? No riding off into the sunset; she’d pretty much nixed that by making him wait to tell the others until after they were home. Sex? Was she really ready to be that person, even if it was against Riley…even if it was with Spike?

Except maybe she already was.

“You’re going to need some more shirts if we’re stuck here for much longer,” she finally said, gesturing aimlessly at his chest. Oh, that’s good, she thought. State the obvious.

He glanced down at his chest for only a second before looking back up at her. “Is that how you’re thinkin’ of it?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“Bein’ stuck here.” Pause. “With me.”

“No,” she said automatically. “I told you this afternoon---.”

“And this is now.” Spike looked pointedly at the bed before sliding his gaze back to her drawn face. “Saying the words is one thing. Doin’ somethin’ about them is another.”

It was a dare---both of them knew it---but this awkward, end of first date feeling that Spike had had since leaving the Watcher’s room was beginning to wear thin, his desire to get everything out, in the open, on the line, suddenly his only purpose.

Buffy’s shoulders straightened, eyes narrowing. “And you expect me to…what?” she asked. “Throw myself at you and beg you to make love to me?”

He couldn’t help his smile. “Not that that doesn’t have its own appeal,” he drawled, “but no. Unless, of course, that’s what you want. In which case, I’m certainly open to the idea.”

“What is it you are expecting?” Her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips. “What is it you want?”

“Easy. You.” Slowly, Spike stepped forward, ignoring the blankets on the floor between them, closing the distance so that he stood just in front of her, their bodies not touching but only inches apart. “Even if it means I just get to hold you all night.”

His words pricked the bubble of her tension, deflating it with an almost palpable sigh, and Buffy felt the first relaxed smile of the night curl her lips. “Somehow, I never pictured you as the model of self-restraint, Spike,” she kidded, letting her hands stray to the hem of his shirt, tracing the narrow line of flesh between it and the waistband of his jeans with the tip of her finger. “But…thank you. Even if I’m not…you know…totally convinced it’s going to be necessary.”

All the heat of her body seemed to be focused on the half-inch of skin that ran along his abdomen, and Spike felt his own flesh begin to swelter, his cock hardening even as he lifted his arm to brush back a tendril of hair that had fallen over her cheek. “Just don’t be spreadin’ the word,” he said with a smile. “Big Bad’s still got a reputation to protect, you know. Even if the one I already have is shot to hell.”

“It’s not my fault you get yourself beaten up by dangerous chocolate demons.” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes, barely able to conceal her amusement. “Speaking of which---.”

“No,” he said firmly, cutting her off, both of his hands coming up to rest on her shoulders to push her gently away. “I’m not tellin’ you what happened.”

“Aw, c’mon,” she coaxed, and pushed back within the circle of his space, fingers curling through his belt loops to tug his hips against hers. “It’s got to be a good story. Don’t you want to share?” She could feel his arousal then, pressing into her hip bone, and sensed her body responding in kind. Stupid head, she thought. Doing too much thinking. I should’ve just been listening to what my body’s been saying all along.

“Not for all the blood in China,” he shot back.

Buffy frowned, jutting out her lip in a pretend pout. “Fine,” she said. “Be a party pooper.” Releasing her hold on his clothing, she turned and walked to behind the screen. “And just for that, holding is probably all you’re going to get tonight,” she called out from behind the divider.

Spike shook his head, a wry grin twisting his lips as he heard her begin stripping from her damaged clothing, the soft swish as the fabric hit the floor a sultry promise he knew she was deliberately baiting him with. Getting involved with the Slayer was going to be the death of him, he just knew it, but at least it was going to be a helluva ride.

Pulling his own t-shirt up over his head, the vampire rubbed at the spot on his chest that had been exposed by the burn before fingering the frayed edges of the cotton itself. “How much longer do you think we’re goin’ to be here?” he asked.

“No telling,” she replied. “Willow’s the one with the moon schedule. We’re going to have to figure out what went wrong tonight, fix it, and then do the spell again so that we can close off the tunnel for good.” As she stepped out from behind the screen, the sense of relief for having gotten past the awkward first few minutes warmed her body, and she smiled to herself. This was better. Talking about business with Spike for some reason made sense. It felt…normal. “Why are you asking?”

“’Cause I think you’re right about me needin’ more shirts,” he commented dryly, and tossed the singed tee aside, watching as she walked over to the bed and climbed in. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into pickin’ some stuff up for me next time you’re in what passes for a shop around here?”

Her smile was wide. “You trust me to do that for you?”

It had been an off-hand request, made only because he knew bloody shopping hours in Britain meant no way could he make it out himself, but suddenly, seeing the unexpected glee on Buffy’s face, Spike began to worry about what exactly he’d just let himself in for. Slowly, he pulled off a boot, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the young woman on the bed. “Yeah, but nothin’ Harris would wear,” he warned. “And nothin’ with a print. Like my black.”

“Black’s boring.”

“Black’s classic.”

“How about a kilt?”

His gaze was level, but twinkled in mirth. “Don’t even think about it.” He pulled off his other boot. “Or you’ll be the one wearing it.” His lips quirked, the image of wrapping the Slayer in tartan suddenly showing up in his head. “Although that might actually be fun.”

“So I can get one?”

“No.”

He was halfway around the bed when he caught Buffy staring at him, and stopped, tilting his head as he looked down at her. “What?” he asked.

There was no mistaking the slight blush that came to her cheeks, or the way her eyes kept darting from his legs to his face and back to his legs again. “You’re…wearing your jeans,” she finally said. It was a bold question she knew, but she’d felt his arousal, understood how short the rein on his control actually was; as unsure as she was as to how quickly she herself wanted to proceed, she didn’t want to make things worse by denying him what he was probably expecting at this point. Or was he? He could’ve pressed the issue at any point, and hadn’t. Was she just reading too much into this? No, she decided. Just do it. Get it over with. It’s not like you don’t want him, too. That way, it’s done, it’s out there, and…Crap. She hated being confused.

“Yeah,” Spike replied slowly. “And you’re wearing your sweats.”

“I just thought…seeing as we’ve…” Buffy rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “I guess…I didn’t expect you to wear them to bed anymore. You said…that first night, about…not...And it’s not like you have to worry about getting cold or anything,” she finished with a rush, suddenly flustered and wishing that she hadn’t brought it up in the first place, not if it was going to make her feel like some silly sixteen-year-old.

His tongue tapped against the inside of his teeth as he regarded her. “How much sleep were you plannin’ on getting’ tonight?” he asked softly, his voice a gentle rumble.

Her pulse began to race as the image of a naked Spike pressed against her suddenly overwhelmed her inner eye. “Slayers don’t need a lot of sleep,” she replied. “I’ve had years of going without.”

“These come off and you won’t be getting any.”

“I can handle that.”

Taking the last few feet in just two long strides, Spike settled himself on the edge of the bed, twisting to look at her. There was no mistaking her arousal---if her heart beat any faster, he was sure it would leap from her chest---and god knew he wanted it, but the earlier awkwardness, even if it was now mostly gone, had told him one thing. She needed this to be slow. Baby steps. Which was fine by him as long as they were all forward.

“You don’t have to do this,” Spike said, and let his hand drop to rest lightly on the blanket, feeling the outline of her leg beneath the layers.

“Do what?”

His gaze was dark as he surveyed her flushed face. She was going to be thick about this. OK. Try again.

“This thing between you and me,” he started, “it’s something I’ve been…” What? How could he phrase this without sounding like a pansy or giving too much away? “…aware of, for a bit now. Not seein’ something specific there, mind you. More like, knowin’ it was something I…wanted. That it would be…good. Us.”

He’d started kneading the muscle of her calf through the coverlets, and Buffy felt a warmth begin seeping up her leg as she sat, rapt in his words. This side of Spike---the quiet, reflective side---was not one she was accustomed to, though he’d presented it to her more than once already on this trip, and she was finding herself mesmerized by his voice, wondering how she could’ve missed this aspect of the vampire for so many years. Was this something Drusilla had seen? She almost hoped not, wanting to believe that it was Buffy that was drawing it out of him. Foolish and romantic, she knew, but there, nonetheless.

“But I also know it’s kind of blindsided you,” he continued. “So I know it’s goin’ to take you some time to…adjust. You’ve got…” Fuck, he really didn’t want to say the name, but god knew he had to. “…Finn to consider, and your friends, and I want you to know…we do this at your speed. I mean, yeah,” and the twist of his smile showed her he was only half-kidding about the next, “I’d love to get crackin’ and spend the night shaggin’ you senseless, but there’s nothin’ sayin’ we have to do it now, not if you’re not ready for it.”

Releasing his grip on her leg, Spike slid himself to the head of the bed so that he sat next to her, pulling her against him with a firm circle of his arm, feeling her hair tickle his chest as she rested her cheek against it. “We’ve got all the time in the world, pet,” he said. “So…when you’re ready---and I mean you, not when you think I am ‘cause that’s pretty much a given already---you just let me know. I’ll be there with bells on.” He stopped, frowning. “I’m goin’ to have to stop sayin’ that now that this thing with that harness has come up, aren’t I?” he asked ruefully.

Buffy chuckled softly, the relief at hearing him let her off the hook suffusing her body with a heat that softened her muscles. “How come you know my head better than me?” she quizzed. “I’ve been sitting here, all wrapped up in these boyfriend/girlfriend issues---.” She felt him stiffen beneath her cheek and pulled away, gazing up into his face. “What?”

“You said…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Not important.”

She resisted when he tried to pull her back against him. “No, really, what is it?” she pressed.

The cock of his head stripped the mask from him, leaving behind the wide-eyed disbelief of a small boy who’d just been offered the gift he never thought he’d get. “It’s just…you said…boyfriend/girlfriend.” His voice threatened to crack, but he cleared his throat, returning to his confident façade with his next words. “Took me by surprise, is all.”

“Oh.” Buffy’s eyes darted to the curve of his lower lip before rising to meet his again. “Is that…bad?” she murmured, leaning in toward him.

He shook his head, watching in mute fascination as her mouth met his, lips gently pressing in a tender kiss that caused his grip to tighten around her, pulling her slight form into his embrace as their tongues lightly explored the other’s. It ached of unspoken desire, but as they parted, and Spike could look down into the Slayer’s face, he saw the gratitude buried in the hazel depths of her eyes and knew he had done the right thing, even if it meant they would both be dreaming of unfulfilled promises…that is, if either of them even managed to fall asleep.

As she snuggled down into his shoulder, Buffy’s arm wrapped around the vampire’s torso, pulling him closer as she breathed in deeply of his scent. “I don’t know,” she murmured, letting her eyelids flutter shut. “I think you’d look cute in a kilt.”

His chuckle echoed through her cheek. “Don’t even go there, pet…”

They were congregated around the room---Spike leaning against the wall by the door, doing his best not to laugh out loud; Willow and Tara on one side of the bed, the redhead looking particularly plagued by something as her brow creased in deep furrows; the Watchers on the other side, while Anya and Buffy stood at the foot. In the middle of the double bed, Xander lay with the blankets thrown off him, one sock on with its mate discarded at his side. His brown eyes were wide as he gaped at his girlfriend. “You have got to be kidding me!” he exclaimed.

Anya shook her head. “I wish I was,” she said. “But I’ve seen it a thousand times. Hell, I’ve caused it a thousand times.”

“But how is this possible? I was fine yesterday.”

Giles bent over, peering through his glasses at the swollen flesh around Xander’s big toe, the angry crimson radiating a heat that the Watcher could almost feel even several feet away. “I really don’t know,” he said, and glanced at Anya. “You’re certain?”

The ex-demon’s nod was met with an audible whimper from Willow, and all eyes turned to the witch. “I think I know,” she said quietly. “In the car yesterday…isn’t that the foot---?”

Xander didn’t even let her finish. “You were chanting!” he exclaimed, shaking an angry finger at his friend. “Being all magicky!”

“It was an accident!” she defended. “And if you hadn’t been playing with my supplies, it wouldn’t have happened!”

Giles’ eyes widened. “You gave Xander gout?” he asked, amazed.

At the name of the infliction, the laughter that Spike had been struggling to contain erupted in a loud guffaw, and he bent over as it shook his body, hands on his thighs as his shoulders rose up and down in rhythm with his chortling.

Willow shot the vampire a dirty look before turning her gaze to the Watcher. “I didn’t mean to,” she said. “And I can fix this.” She glanced at her friend on the bed out of the corner of her eye. “I think.”

“We’ll have to go back into the market,” Tara said. “We don’t have the things here that we’ll need.”

Anya brightened. “Oh, can I go?” she asked. “I saw the cutest little top yesterday, but I didn’t get a chance to haggle with the woman who ran the stall because Xander interrupted us.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” the young man argued.

“You smelled of sheep! She didn’t want you near her nice things!”

“You still could’ve bought the shirt.”

“Haggling’s no fun if the other person’s distracted.”

Giles shook his head. “I can’t believe you gave him gout,” he murmured.

Though his laughter had started to subside, the repeat of Xander’s condition renewed Spike’s hysteria, and several in the group turned to look at him.

“It’s really not funny,” Giles chastised.

“Oh, no, you’re right.” His blue eyes danced as he straightened. “It’s bloody hysterical.”

“I’m glad you think it’s so amusing,” said Buffy with a smile. “It’ll help to keep you entertained while you’re keeping Xander company.”

His mirth immediately vanished. “What’s that?”

“Seconding from the sickbed,” added Xander, “with my own, ‘Huh?’”

“Well, we have to go into town again,” the Slayer explained. “And since Xander obviously can’t walk, he’s going to need someone to help him out.”

“And why does that someone have to be me?” the vamp demanded, his tone petulant. “Make Giles do it.”

“He needs to drive.”

“The other Watcher, then.”

“I’m not letting Colin out of my sight until we’ve got this Council business sorted,” Giles said.

Spike’s eyes locked with Buffy’s. “He’s your friend; you stay and sit with the boy. You don’t need to go into town.”

Her gaze widened in mock innocence. “But Spike, you asked me last night to get you some more shirts,” she said in saccharine tones. “And since everybody else is already going…”

He knew he was beaten, even as he scowled at the man on the bed. “Bollocks,” Spike muttered, and kicked at the wall behind him.

*************

“I hope they don’t kill each other,” Willow commented as they strolled past a vegetable stand, her bag swinging lightly in her hand.

“I think we’re pretty safe there,” Buffy replied. “Spike’s chip’ll fire before Xander even needs to scream for help, and as for Xander, well…” She bit her lip as she tried to stifle her smile. “All Spike has to do is stay on the other side of the room out of arm’s reach, ‘cause Xan’s not moving any time soon.”

“He asked Anya for a long stick.”

“Then Spike just has to stay away from the pointy end,” the Slayer said. “Not like he hasn’t had years of experience doing that.”

Willow chewed on the inside of her cheek as she glanced at her best friend. There it was. Her opening. Ask and get it over with. Except what if she was wrong? Would Buffy totally wig at the suggestion? She was beginning to regret letting Tara go off with Anya; she’d know how to handle this. She was so good at the diplomat thing.

She watched as Buffy stopped and began fingering some men’s t-shirts, taking the cotton between thumb and index to test the thickness, before starting to walk again, wandering to the next booth. When the Slayer’s face lit up at the array of flowers that adorned the varying shelves there, Willow frowned. Good mood. Shopping for Spike. Excited over plants. Uh oh.

“Which do you think?” Buffy asked, turning to face her friend with a single flower in each hand. “Roses? Or…” She turned to the woman in the stall. “What was this called again?”

“That’s a dahlia, lassie.”

She smiled in gratitude and shifted her attention back to the redhead. “So, lassie,” she said good-naturedly, “roses or dahlias?”

“Um, not to be all bubble bursty, but why exactly are we buying flowers?” Willow’s eyes darted to the various displays before returning to Buffy. “I thought we were in clothes shopping mode.”

The Slayer shrugged. “I dunno,” she said. “I just thought that some foliage around the castle might make it a little more homey, seeing as how we’re not actually getting to go home any time soon.” She pondered the stems for a moment. “I think we’ll go for the tried and true. Roses. Definitely.”

She was halfway back to facing the stall when Willow grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. “What are you doing?” the redhead asked. “You can’t be buying roses.”

Buffy shrugged. “Fine, I’ll go with the dahlias then.”

“No, that’s not what I meant either.” The flustered witch took both flowers from the Slayer’s hands and laid them back on the display. “Where is all this coming from? Is there something happening between you and Spike that maybe best friends should know about?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but confusion and the need to know had gotten the better of her and sent her tongue wagging faster than she could catch it. Bad tongue.

The Slayer’s gaze immediately slid away as she turned to start playing with the flowers in the stand again. “Spike?” she said, her tone too light. “Are you kidding? Why would you say such a thing?”

Willow froze. “OK, see, now I know something’s not of the norm,” she said cautiously. “Because the first response from the Buffy I know would’ve been, ‘Oh my god, no!’” She paused. “Or hysterical laughter. That would’ve been appropriate, too.”

It took her a long time to respond. “Spike and I…we’re just making the best of an awkward situation,” the blonde said slowly, avoiding the other girl’s eyes. “We called a truce to make it easier on both of us. No big.” She began walking away from the flower stand, not even watching to see if Willow was following.

“OK, truce, I could get,” the witch said, scurrying after. “But since when do truces involve beds? Or long, meaningful looks? And yeah, maybe this really is none of my business, except I think it is because, hello, best friend here. Best friends share these kind of secrets.”

Buffy stopped and turned level eyes to Willow. “Really? You didn’t come clean about you and Tara until after that whole thing with Oz when he came back. Weren’t we best friends then?”

“That was…different.” The turnaround agitated her, and her brow wrinkled. “It was complicated. I thought you guys would freak out. Which you did, by the way. A little.” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. So there is something going on? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t say anything.” But she wanted to, especially since it looked like she hadn’t been as careful about keeping things mum as she’d thought. If Willow was picking up on sparkage between her and Spike, then that might mean the others were seeing it as well. Mentally, she shook her head. No, that was wrong. No way were Xander and Giles nearly as perceptive as the young witch. Maybe it was just her. And possibly Tara.

The fact of the matter was, Buffy was dying to talk to someone about it. All the events of the past three or four days were confusing to say the least. An outside assessment might help her clear some of the cobwebs from her brain to make sense of it. And they were best friends, she rationalized. If she couldn’t tell Willow, who could she tell?

“What’s got you thinking something’s going on?” Buffy asked carefully, keeping her tone relaxed, resuming her walking down the aisle past the stalls. “Not that I’m saying there is, but…why?”

“Well, Spike, for one thing. You should’ve seen him when you were still knocked out after the spell last night. He got all growly and hovery over you when he thought you were really hurt. For a second there, I thought he was going to rip Colin’s throat out.”

“Really?” She had to struggle to hide her smile of pleasure. For some reason, the thought of Spike turning into the avenging boyfriend just because he thought she was hurt kindled a flame in her gut, augmenting her confidence in the choice she had made. “He didn’t, though, right? No sudden attacks only stopped by the chip?”

“No, he didn’t.” Willow frowned. “Why? What difference does that make?”

“None. Just curious. Go on. What else have you noticed?”

“Well…that morning when I came and got you for breakfast. You were all…” She bit her lip. “…perky, and Spike was all…naked.”

“Spike was not naked,” Buffy defended. “He had on his jeans.”

“Semi-naked, then. But you were still all giggly. And he was definitely in the bed, like, under-the-covers in the bed.” She paused. “You’re not…both…sleeping in it…together…are you?” She was almost holding her breath as she waited for a response. If she’d had doubts going into this conversation, they were quickly dissipating. Every word that came out of the Slayer’s mouth only seemed to confirm what Willow had been suspecting ever since the previous evening in the dungeon, even if half of them were protestations to the contrary. But she just needed to hear it for herself.

“If I said yes---.”

“I knew it!” Willow stopped and smiled triumphantly into Buffy’s face. “I told Tara. She tried telling me it was the water here addling my brain, but I knew I wasn’t seeing things.” Her grin vanished, her green eyes widening. “You’re sleeping with Spike. Giles is soooo going to freak out.”

“Which is why I’ve been trying to keep this all hush-hush,” Buffy hissed. “I was going to wait until after we got back to Sunnydale, break it to you guys gently, but you’ve pretty much put a kibosh on that happening.” Her hazel eyes darted around, assessing the crowd surrounding them, and she lowered her voice. “And Spike and I haven’t…it’s just been cuddling. And talking. Major amounts of talking.” She gazed at her friend’s resolute face for a moment, and then ducked her head. “OK, and some kissing.” Pause. “Well, maybe a little more than some.” She bristled. “But, c’mon, can you blame me? The guy is hot. I mean, we’re talking serious voltage here. Oh, except maybe…” Her voice trailed off as she bit her lip, regarding the young woman with embarassment.

Willow rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said. “I’m gay, not blind. I can still appreciate a star player, even if I don’t play for that side anymore.” She hesitated. “But…what about…Riley? I thought you two were going good there.”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s so hard for me to put it into words,” she said slowly. “Riley’s always been…safe. You know…making with being Mr. Nice Guy all the time. Not that that’s bad,” she rushed to clarify. “It’s just…not enough anymore. I’m not sure it ever was.”

“I thought you liked the fact that he was normal.”

“I do, but…” She shook her head. “He’s never really understood me. Oh, sure, he’s tried, just like I’ve tried not to see how jealous he gets about what I can do and he can’t. But…it’s still there, and it’s always going to be about him playing catch up, and then getting upset when he can’t.”

“And you won’t have that with Spike.” It wasn’t a question, but there was a lingering doubt in the witch’s voice as she spoke that immediately put Buffy on the defensive.

“Spike’s different,” she argued. “Spike’s always accepted what I am. He even respects it.”

“That’s because you’re a death threat.”

“Maybe,” Buffy conceded. “In the past. But since he got the chip, that hasn’t really been necessary. Oh, sure, there’s been a lot of talk and smoke blowing, but that’s all it is. And…” Her eyes softened, a small smile curling the corner of her mouth. “There’s something…there. Between us. This…spark. And every time I look at him, or I think about him, it just gets bigger, and it only makes me want him more.”

Willow’s face was almost sad as she gazed at her best friend. “And you don’t think it’s the whole vamp/Slayer thing?” she asked quietly. “That’s a powerful draw. Maybe you’re just confused.”

The memory of the vampire’s face as he’d sat on the edge of the bed the previous night floated in front of Buffy’s inner eye, the dark longing that had gleamed there hiding the deeper feelings she was beginning to suspect were his true motivation for pursuing this physical relationship between them. “No,” she finally said. “I’m not confused.” Her gaze met her friend’s. “I know this is going to sound weird, but Spike’s been…different since we got to Scotland. It’s like, he doesn’t have to do all this posturing anymore. He can let his guard down. And I actually really like that person.” She grinned. “Believe it or not, he’s been kind of fun to hang around with. He plays a mean hand of slapjack.”

“There’s more to relationships than card games.”

“I know. But, for the first time in forever, I feel like I don’t have to hold back. That I can…push myself to do what I have to do, and that he’ll be right there beside me, matching me, stroke for stroke. And if he does happen to fall behind a little, he’ll be OK with that. Because, in a weird way, he’s proud of what I can do.” Scanning her friend’s face, Buffy’s eyes were dark with worry. “So spill. What’re you thinking? Am I totally off my rocker here?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Willow sighed. “I’m thinking we’re going to have to learn to be a lot more tolerant about Spike hanging around,” she said. “But if you two start acting like I heard you did last year during that spell…” She waggled a finger in fake reprobation.

Buffy laughed, and looped her arm through the young witch’s. “Consider me suitably warned,” she said as the pair resumed walking. “I’m not interested in joining Xander in the gout parade.”

“When are you going to tell the others?”

“Soon,” she promised. “As soon as this mess is cleared up with Colin and the Council. Do you mind not saying anything to the others until I do? Well, except for Tara, of course. You can tell her.”

Willow nodded. “I don’t want to be the bearer of that kind of news anyway,” she said lightly. “I think it might get kind of messy when Xander’s head explodes.”

After a moment of walking in quiet, Buffy spoke up, her voice reflective. “So, do you think I can buy a kilt around here someplace?”

*************

“For the last soddin’ time, it was not!”

“And I’m telling you, it was.” Xander leaned forward, being careful not to move his exposed foot. “I knew this guy in high school, who saw him on a talk show---.”

“Frank Zappa was not the son of Mr. bloody Greenjeans!” Spike exploded and began prowling around the edge of the room. “It was a song! And it wasn’t even spelled the same! Only a total git would believe the two had anything to do with each other. And why the hell am I wastin’ the energy arguing with you about this? I’m right. You’re wrong. End of discussion.”

“But---.”

“Don’t make me bite you.”

“You can’t.” Xander’s voice was gleeful. “You’ve got a chip.”

“The headache’ll be worth it if it makes you shut your gob about this.”

Pause. “I’ve got a stick.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” His jaw tensed. “I say, if you’re feelin’ up to bickering over some stupid show for a bunch of ankle-biters, you’re up to waitin’ on yourself. I’m out of here.” He’d stomped halfway to the door before his patient stopped him.

“I’ll tell Buffy you walked out,” Xander threatened. “And that I had to hobble painfully all the way downstairs to get a drink of water just because you disappeared on me. She’ll kick your ass into next Tuesday for deserting me.”

The vampire’s eyes were fierce as he glanced back at the bed. “You bloody little liar,” he growled.

“Yes,” the young man agreed. “But a very bored little liar. C’mon. I’ve got no TV, no Gameboy, not even a good comic book to keep me occupado. And the only other person to talk to in this place happens to be Duncan the Wonder Cook, and we both know how I feel about him.”

Pursing his lips, Spike glared at Xander as he marched back to his chair against the wall. “You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood,” he muttered, and flopped down into the seat, legs sprawled out in front of him. “But no more drinks,” he warned, a little bit louder. “I’m not carrying you to the toilet again. You can just poke me all you want with that little stick of yours, but you’re goin’ to have to hold it ‘til your little girlfriend gets back. She can be your soddin’ nursemaid.” He began picking at his nails. “Should’ve been in the first place. Certainly not sayin’ much for your relationship if she’d rather shop than make sure her little boytoy was fine.”

“I’m not her boytoy!” Xander defended. “And you’re hardly one to talk, seeing as how you’ve been dumped by both Miss Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs and the if-I-only-had-a-brain girl.”

He was about to shoot back that Harm was probably back in his crypt in Sunnydale right then, but remembered in time how Buffy and her gang didn’t know yet about the stupid bint’s idiotic notion that she was wanted by the Scoobies. Better to just let that one slide. “For your information,” Spike said instead, “there just happens to be little bit on the side who has spent her fair share of time tending to this sorry skin of mine.”

Xander’s eyes widened. “Spikey’s got a widdle girlfwiend!” he teased. “So, let’s see. You’ve done crazy, you’ve done stupid. Lemme guess. Blind?”

“She’s got better eyesight than you, I’ll tell you that,” the vamp countered. “And before you say it, she’s not a tart, and she wasn’t tanked up.”

“So cross off, paid for sex and too drunk to notice who she’s with.” He mused in mock seriousness. “Hmmmm. That would just leave---.”

“Drop it, Harris!” His tone had lost all sense of mirth, his words almost a snarl as he glowered at the man on the bed. “You prattle on about her like that any more, and I swear, you’ll be wishing it was only your toe that still hurt.”

The threat sliced through the suddenly too-thick air in the room, hanging before Xander in a delicate swing aimed at his carotid artery, wiping his amusement from his face. There was no mistaking the danger in the vampire’s face, and though he didn’t understand why, the young man knew he’d just stepped into risky territory. “Look, Spike…” he started, only to be cut off by a wave of the other’s hand.

“Forget it. Pick a new topic of conversation, mate. I don’t want to talk about this one any more.”

Xander frowned. “Wow. Are you actually in love with this girl?” he asked.

“None of your business.” He leaned back, closing his eyes as his head rested against the back of the chair. “Wake me up when you need something.”

The room was coated in quiet for a solid minute before he spoke up again. “Have you told her how you feel?” Xander ventured.

It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “No.”

“You should. Girls like to hear that kind of thing. Even demon girls.”

“Don’t think I need advice from you, Harris. Managed my love life a long time before you even walked this planet.”

Xander snorted. “Dragging around your crazy ex-girlfriend from country to country, hoping she doesn’t shack up or fool around with another demon? Even my track record’s not that bad, Spike.” He didn’t even flinch when the vampire’s eyes opened to stare at him in receding anger. “What about her? Does she feel the same?”

The sudden remembered touch of her lips on his…those tiny but powerful hands clinging to his shoulders…the unspoken gratefulness as it gleamed within the hazel orbs…they all softened the muscles in Spike’s cheek, dropping his gaze as he slipped away in time if not in place. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes, I think, yeah. Others, not a bloody chance in hell. It’s only been recent I even thought she could.”

“So…do something to find out for sure. Give her something romantic. Just make sure it’s not something Buffy’ll need to stake you for.”

The sound of the Slayer’s name startled Spike, and his head jerked as he sat up in his chair. Fuck. How did the boy figure out who he was talking about? She was going to kill him if she found out he’d leaked their little secret. “Buffy?” he quizzed stiffly. “What does she have to do with anything?”

Shrugging, Xander replied, “I assume romantic to a vampire usually involves carnage and dead bodies. I was just saying, don’t let your grand romantic gesture be something that might piss Buffy off. Might spoil the mood a little bit if the Slayer decides to go gunning for you or your squeeze.”

“Oh.” Spike visibly relaxed. “Yeah. Right.” His head tilted as he regarded the other man. “You’re bein’ awful helpful here, considerin’ you don’t like me all that much,” he drawled. “What’s your angle?”

“Can’t I just offer another guy some help when he needs it?” Xander’s face blanked at an attempt at innocence, but quickly broke, creasing into a smile as he shook his head. “Nah. Can’t do that with a straight face, either. I was just trying to get you not so mad at me so that you’d go get me something to eat.”

*************

He stood within the cell and held the leather bag before him, the gentle ring of the bells inside pealing through the dungeon. As he watched, the wall that had been there slowly disappeared, revealing the dark hole the magic had been concealing, and he smiled. He hadn’t been sure that the harness’ effect would work through the satchel; all other times he’d seen it utilized had been while it was actually being worn. This was good information to have. It would most definitely prove useful in the future.

As he stepped through the tunnel, he smelled the familiar rush of air as it wafted from the waters, and frowned. It was fresh. But that couldn’t be. They had done the spell last night; of that, he was certain. Had it not worked? Or…and the other possibility actually made him halt in his tracks. Maybe they had done the control spell after all, and someone from the Englishman’s organization was in there right now. He felt his control begin to slip, the hair on his neck prickling as his feet began to edge backwards, away from the cavern. If that was the case, he was already too late and should by all rights flee, risking his chances with the harness in spite of what he suspected about the Englishman.

But maybe there was another reason. The vampire and the young man remained upstairs, and the others had certainly shown no signs of packing up to leave prior to their excursion into town. Perhaps the spell had simply failed. In which case, there was no reason for him to run, not until he could ensure that the entrance to the Otherworld was sealed, once and for all.

Turning on his heel, he trotted as quietly as he could back to the cell, cradling the bag to his chest in an attempt to muffle the clarion’s call. He would wait until after lunch, listen to their conversations to determine what exactly could’ve happened, and make his decision after they’d eaten. An hour or two wouldn’t make a difference.

The thought of lunch made Duncan frown. Damn it, he thought irritably. I left the soup on high. I do hope it hasn’t boiled over…