DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'. Too bad.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Gino and Willow have fallen asleep at Buffy and Spike’s apartment, while Anya has successfully summoned H’roven, learning more of the painting’s deadly qualities.

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

The catch in Giles’ voice as the demon’s announcement hung in the air was enough to capture Anya’s attention. “Don’t you dare stop!” she ordered. “No matter what you hear him say!”

“They die?” Xander’s incredulous gaze fixed on the young woman. “You didn’t say anything about death being involved.”

“That’s because I didn’t know!” She glared at H’roven. “You are one sick puppy, you know that?”

“There was a time when you would’ve rejoiced in my genius, Anyanka. Mortality has tempered you.”

“You want tempered?” Her nostrils flared, the edge of her anger barely reined. “I can give you tempered.” The flick of her wrist surprised them all, the dust scattering through the flames as it left her fingertips, settling on the captive’s flesh in a fine pale layer.

The demon’s scream tore the air, and the men watched in horrified fascination as he threw himself against the fire, ricocheting within the column, trying to stifle the pain searing his spines. “You…bitch…” he snarled as he slowed, his crimson eyes glowing even brighter.

“Well, I’m sorry if hearing my friends are going to die just because of your little oil obsession, pisses me off,” Anya retorted as evenly as she could. “So unless you can tell me something that might actually be of some use to us, I think I might use this time to work through some of my anger issues.”

As her hand slipped into the sac again, H’roven bristled. “I never said they had to die,” he rushed. “Just that that was the portal’s ultimate intent.”

“Go on.”

“There is…another feature to the paintings,” the demon reluctantly offered. “A safety feature, you could say. In the event the owner should accidentally find him or herself pulled through the portal instead of the intended victim.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Xander commented. “What is it?”

“It’s not a what,” H’roven replied. “It’s a who. Someone on the other side of the portal chosen by the owner. Not something I have anything to do with,” he stressed.

“So…what? You go up to this safety someone and say, sorry, don’t like it here, let me go home?” asked Xander. “Or is this a tap your heels together kind of place?”

The demon rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he glanced back at Anya. “Humans have such narrow perspectives,” he said. “They lack our sense of destiny.”

The armed young man regarded the steadiness of the gaze held between his girlfriend and their hostage, her eyes unblinking but unable to hide their disappointment. “What’s he talking about, Ahn? Do you know what he means?”

“He means, a life for a life. If you don’t want to die, you have to kill the safety. Isn’t that right, H’roven?”

“I’d say it’s nice to know that at least part of you remembers what it was like to be a demon,” the captive snarled, “but that would be a lie.”

“So who’s the safety?” Xander demanded.

“Doesn’t he listen?” the demon asked Anya before swivelling his head to look at the young man. “I. Don’t. Know. The owner is responsible for marking him, not me. Only Melinda knows whose death will reverse the portal of that particular painting, so if you’re interested in getting your friends back, I suggest you go hunt her down instead and leave me and my work in peace.”

“Melinda? What’s her last name? Where does she live?” An excited Xander stepped forward, brushing against the corner of the desk as he did so. At the piece of furniture’s center, a candle resting amidst a ring of small stones flickered, wobbling gently before one of the crystals fell over on its side, the tiny reverberation of its carved planes splitting the atmosphere of the room like a knife.

In a flash, the column was empty, the spined monster disappearing even as if he’d never been there, the flames licking up the containment spell to protect the trio from…nothing.

Anya whirled to face her boyfriend. “How many times during the trial runs did I say, don’t move?” she accused before glancing down Giles sitting on the floor. “You can stop chanting now. Xander lost our demon.”

“He’s rather…colourful, isn’t he?” the Watcher commented as he rose to his feet, grimacing slightly as his knees popped.

“An asshole is more like it,” she muttered, plopping down on the end of the couch, as far away from the painting as she could manage. Leaning back, she rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “But we’re still alive. That’s always a good thing.”

“And now we know how to get Buffy and Willow back,” Giles added. He stood before the picture, head tilted, chewing on the ends of his spectacles as he gazed down at it. It was risky, but they had certainly faced harder. It only meant overcoming his own fears and---.

“You’re not seriously considering going in after them.” The disbelief in Anya’s voice was only matched by that shining in her eyes. “You’ll die. You need to know who the safety is first and even then, your chances of getting there in time are almost non-existent. H’roven is very good at what he does. That’s why he can charge so much.”

“We know the safety is marked,” the Watcher replied. “And I can’t imagine it would be so difficult to find, now that we know what we’re looking for.”

“Well, my part in this whole debacle is done.” The young woman rose and marched to the front door of the apartment. “I got you your demon. I am not going on some suicide mission on the slim chance that you’ll get there in time.” With her hand on the doorknob, she looked back at the two men. “Are you coming, Xander?” No one moved, and she finally sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Be that way. I hope you’re very happy for that split second before you die.” And with that, she slammed the wooden door behind her.

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

The click as the bedroom door eased shut resonated through the darkness, and Spike’s hand lingered on the knob, eyes quickly adjusting to the change in light, nostrils flaring as Buffy’s scent floated back to him on a red vanilla cloud. She didn’t wait for him, only strolled almost too leisurely to the edge of the window, pulling open the drapes to allow the moonlight to come streaming into the room. It outlined her in silver, catching her golden tresses in an iridescent bath that washed him with desire, and the blond vampire could’ve sworn he saw a smile play on those delectable lips.

“I know someone whose life philosophy used to kind of bother me,” she said, turning, slowly advancing toward his position at the door. “But in hindsight, I’m beginning to think that maybe it might be appropriate...” She stopped just inches before him. “…under the right circumstances.”

“And what would that be, luv?”

Reaching up, Buffy’s index finger played with the button at the open neck of his shirt. “It’s very simple,” she murmured, and traced a path downwards, no pressure under her touch, her hand skating over the cotton surface.

“Want…” Her other hand met its mate at the waistband of his trousers, deftly unbuttoning the catch they found there before sliding the zipper down with an erotic whish.

“Take…” Spike’s cock throbbed as it sprang free from his pants, the nearness of her heat offering a promise that sent shivers over his skin. He gasped as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft, squeezing him strongly as her thumb swept over its tip, taking the drop of pre-cum that had accumulated there along with it.

“Have…” Without releasing her hold on his erection, Buffy used her free hand to shove the vampire back against the door, lunging forward to press her mouth to his, all sense of propriety or tenderness tossed aside in the wake of her passion. The kiss was bruising, a ferocious attack that had nothing to do with gentility, little connected to rational thought.

This was an explosion of long-suppressed desires, fire and ice crashing…colliding…craving…animal instincts warring for control with sabered tongues as their weapons of choice…

This was hunger struggling to be sated, tasting…devouring…consuming the other while at the same time being consumed…

This was need…

Spike’s hands came up, lean fingers entangling in the long locks of her hair, meeting her desire with his own as his tongue swept through her mouth. He moaned as Buffy tightened her grip around his cock, the world trying to tilt around him, and he fought back with his lips, biting at hers, almost chuckling out loud when the young woman matched him by biting back.

It was the rich undertones of the wine in her breath that finally yanked him from the brink. Even as he kissed her, the blond vamp felt the door of doubt open, just a crack but open nonetheless, and the questions began to peep through. In spite of his attempts to ignore them, they refused to leave, choosing to multiply instead, and it was with extreme reluctance that his hands lowered to her shoulders, pushed her away from their kiss, breaking the contact of her grip on his arousal, while holding her at arm’s length.

In the shadows of the room, Buffy’s eyes were fathomless. “What is it?” she whispered.

“You’re drunk,” Spike said. “And I don’t want this ‘til I know it’s the Slayer doin’ the asking, not the alcohol.”

“But I’m not.” She shrugged his hands away, maintaining the distance between them. “I’ll cop a plea of guilty to being tipsy, but I’m not nearly as blotto as I was the other night. Trust me, Spike. I know what I’m doing here.”

“Do you? Do you really?” He tilted his head, the moonlight bouncing off his azure eyes. “If this happens, Buffy, everything changes. There’s no going back, pretending we didn’t do it. I won’t…I can’t…” That was as much of an admission of his feelings the vampire would allow for now. Yes, she’d been jealous of the stupid bint who’d taken a shot at him, and yes, there was no doubt about her wanting him physically, but until he was sure of some sort of reciprocity, there was no way in hell he was going to let her know how badly she’d gotten to him.

“Everything’s already changed, and if you don’t see that…maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.” She didn’t move---couldn’t move---could only watch him with her heart thumping in her throat. She’d acted so stupidly earlier; her Spike hadn’t done anything with that other dancer at the club and to think so…Her eyes widened, not even seeing him standing before her, the realization of what she’d just thought, how she’d just considered him, sending chilling tremors undulating down her spine. She had not just referred to him as hers…had she? Yet, there was no lying to herself this time, and she could hear the little voice’s amused chuckle echoing from somewhere deep inside her head.

“Trust me, Spike,” she repeated, and took a step towards him.

“Wait.” The velvet rumble of his voice held a note of command Buffy wasn’t accustomed to hearing from the blond vampire, and she froze, her hazel gaze locked with his. “I’m not done talkin’ yet.” The young woman realized she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled, waiting. “How many blokes have you been with?” he asked.

The question was the last she’d been expecting. “What?” she asked, shock rolling off her in waves. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything.” It was all he could do to control himself, and leaned back against the door, hiding his hands behind him, hands balled into fists as he fought to remain composed “How many? Just the two?” Her stunned silence was the only response he needed. “I know how it was with…Angel…” He had problems even saying the name, hating to bring him into this but knowing it was necessary. “And I can pretty much guess what happened with Mr. College Boy Sensitivity, so if that’s what you’re expectin’…if that’s what you want here tonight, this stops now, and I open this door, and I spend the night in my bed. Alone.”

“I don’t understand…”

Spike gritted his teeth. God, how he wanted to just forget the words, forget thinking so much, forget…everything. But he couldn’t, not now, not when they’d come so far… “I’m talkin’ raindrops on roses, luv. I’m talkin’ bleedin’ violins in the background. Not that I can’t do the soft touch, because it certainly has its place and time and I can appreciate that as much as the next bloke, but if you think that I can pull that tonight, you have no fucking clue what this is all about.” He couldn’t hold back any longer, had to touch her, even if for just long enough for her to kick him out. One hand stretched out, caressed the line of her jaw before stroking the satin of her neck.

“If this happens, don’t expect that I’ll be able to hold back,” he continued. “It’ll be raw…it’ll be primal…and you will scream. Because once I start, Buffy, I won’t be able to stop until I’ve consumed you, until…” The words choked in his throat, and he was grateful that the cloak of darkness barred her from reading the truth he knew shone within his eyes. It was bad enough he was saying as much as he was, but she had to understand what she was getting involved in. It was the only way Spike could open himself up for what fucking the Slayer was going to do to his life.

His honesty ate at her insides, and the young woman swallowed hard as she reached up to grab his hand, pulling it away from her skin, pushing it back toward his own body, almost throwing it at his chest. She saw the resignation flicker across his face before hardening into that familiar mask he wore for the public, and his shoulder started to turn toward the closed door, head already ducking. “Right, then,” he began to say, only to be jerked back to face her, the collar of his shirt caught within her thin fingers.

The ripping shattered the tension between them, and Spike growled as Buffy stepped back, his shirt dangling from her hand, the gleam unmistakeable in her eye. She ran when he leapt, diving for the bed, her laughter floating back to taunt him as he rolled onto the floor, shoulder hitting the corner of the bed as his trousers tangled around his ankles.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and grabbed the cuffed hems to yank them free. As they flew across the room, the vampire whipped his head around, spotting a crouched Slayer in the middle of the mattress. “Games like that’ll only make it harder on you,” he warned, giving her one final chance to turn away. God, he thought. Please don’t…

“That’s the whole idea,” she replied, peeling her blouse from her skin, smiling as he closed the gap between them.

Strong hands grabbed her arms, yanking her upward, crushing her to his chest as his mouth descended, not to her lips but to her shoulder, biting it…dragging his teeth roughly across her skin as he bent her backwards, folding her in half against the mattress. The Slayer’s breathing was a hearty rasp, catching in her lungs with a serrated edge, ruffling against the platinum curls bowed against her arm. She knew…could feel…the marks he was leaving in the wake of his hunger, the rivulets screaming their presence as they made contact with the cool air and his even cooler flesh, and revelled in how alive they made her feel. Yes, she thought as her eyes fluttered shut. My Spike…

When Buffy’s arms came up around his chiselled shoulders, the vampire tore his mouth away, reaching for her wrists with a feral languor that hypnotized the young woman, immobilizing her while he twisted her arms over her head, pinning them with strength only equalled by her own. She could’ve thrown him off, but feeling his weight forcing her down into the bed sent an electrical relay sparking among her nerve endings, jumping from a rock-hard nipple…to the tender flesh on the inside of her elbow…to the harsh throb of her clit, all within the space of a split second. It was maddening…and thrilling…and intoxicating…all at the same time…

His free hand reached down, grabbed the edge of her skirt, and yanked, rending the fabric as it melted away from her hips. The only thing separating them now was the thin satin of her underwear, and Spike chuckled as he hooked his thumb around the waistband…and pulled.

He may have stopped her arms, but there was no way the blond vamp could check the Slayer’s powerful legs as they scissored around his hips. Spike hissed as his dripping cock slid along her slick folds, tantalizingly near to plunging their depths but physically incapable as she locked their lower bodies together.

“You think that’ll stop me?” he growled, and slid his hand around to her ass.

She gasped as an icy finger pressed against the opening, hazel eyes widening as he slowly inserted the tip. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and the shock relaxed her thighs just enough for him to pull back…to angle himself over the juices seeping from her pussy…and to thrust forward, burying himself deep within her.

She screamed. She couldn’t help it. Although Buffy had known what to expect, had felt his hard cock more than once with her hot little hands, she had no way to anticipate how full it would make her feel, stretching her until she thought she would explode, freezing her insides while at the same time igniting her flesh in daggers of flame.

He silenced her with his mouth, bruising her lips as he savaged them with a hunger the vampire found unexpected. As he began thrusting…

…in…

…out…

…and then in again…

…his hand released her ass, scraping up her back to sweep around to her front, catching her nipple between his fingers and pinching with an inexorable power. The exquisite pleasure caused her to moan, and Spike tasted his own blood as Buffy bit down into his lip.

Each time he plunged, the force drove her into the mattress, surrounding her for a second in down before releasing her to the chill air as he pulled out…only to repeat the process…again…and again…and again…each time, rubbing her clit across the coarse hairs of his groin…pressing with sensual authority into the base of his cock when he’d bang against her core.

The rhythm was maddening, never changing, never easing, building within her until she lost all sense of here, or now, or who she was, or where she ended, or where he began. All that mattered was the man above her…

…the man within her…

…the man who clung to her in desperation as his own need swelled…

…swallowing her breath…

…encompassing her being…

…tasting her…

…consuming her…

…loving her…

…until it exploded…wave upon wave of pleasure shuddering through her body, creating a holocaust within her heart that threatened to leap from her chest, to ignite the vampire above and consume him as well.

As he felt her clench around his cock, Spike pulled himself away from her mouth, propping himself up on his hand so that he could gaze down at the golden beauty, her head thrown back in delirium, the fine lines of her throat a symphony of swelter. Her mouth worked, and he almost missed the whispered word as she exhaled along the crest of her orgasm.

“…harder…”

It drove him over the edge of control, and the blond vampire pounded into the Slayer’s pussy, each stroke rougher…deeper…more exquisite than the one before it, the kindle of her heat scorching his cock in painful pleasure…

…until it detonated, gushing deep within her center, drowning her in ice as he clung helplessly to her torso…

…continuing his thrusts even after the crescendo began to fade, her channel slick with both of their juices. His mouth found hers again, but their earlier fervor was now replaced with a sucking need, gentle and tender in its exploration as his tempo slowed, coasted to an erratic beat, their bodies quivering in the aftermath.

“Spike…” she murmured, and opened her eyes to stare up into those sapphire depths. All evidence of her intoxication from the wine was now banished from her system; her mind was clear, sharpened, and for the first time in ages, Buffy felt like she finally understood. “No going back.”

His face softened, almost smiling, and the tip of his tongue ran along her jaw to her ear. “Never dream of it, luv,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

The night was only beginning…

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

This was her favorite time of night. The moon, barely suspended over the edge of the horizon, glittered in a majestic chill as it invited itself into the room, creeping along the floor, climbing atop the bed to stroke her cheek in lustrous offering. This was the hour during which everyone, including the monsters, slept, and Buffy could allow herself to finally relax, even for that split second before the inevitable always occurred.

Her body was a mass of conflicting sentiments, at once both more aching and sore than her most rabid workout, while at the same time lending her an excruciating indolence that left her in a dreamy haze. If someone had told her just a week ago that such succor was possible, the Slayer would’ve laughed in their face, but now, with the reason for each mark, each bruise, each wondrous brand lying nestled behind her, his muscled arm thrown protectively around her waist, his still semi-hard cock cradled between her buttocks, she could no longer deny the truth he had shown her.

Spike slept, finally exhausting after their repeated couplings over the past few hours, and although Buffy had dozed intermittently, she was now wide-awake, staring out the window at the twinkling night sky, feeling every inch of her skin as it either burned or ached. The vampire had been true to his word; nothing about their joining had been remotely delicate or gentle, each of their desperation feeding their passion’s tinder so that they tore at each other with an even greater hunger every time they came together, riding their bodies hard and wet, drenching the sheets in sweat and just a little bit of blood. Each bore the other’s marks, totems of an impossible union proudly displayed for the other to relish, and the last thing Spike had done before drifting off into slumber was trail his tongue over her left breast, lapping at the blood that was already starting to dry along the bite he’d left there.

The Slayer was surprised that not once during their lovemaking had the vampire allowed his demon to emerge, holding it in check even as he came, or when the scent of her blood was so strong it even filled her own nostrils. The bites she wore were caused by his human teeth, just as his were made by hers, and she regretted none of them…well, maybe the one on her ass, she thought ruefully. That one kind of stung. But she didn’t know what that meant, why when it had been about their little game the previous night, he’d vamped out at the first hint of blood, but now, in spite of the intensity, the fervor, he remained…Spike, the man…not Spike, the demon.

He was right, of course. Everything was changed, probably in ways even he didn’t anticipate. No more ignoring him---how could that even be possible now?---, no more ignoring her own heart. Buffy didn’t pretend to understand how, or why, or even really what, but her belief was overwhelming that if the blond vampire knew the truth, he would laugh at her, deride what she felt right before abandoning her. That’s what they all did; how could she think that he would be any different?

No, he wouldn’t know the truth; she’d hide it from him with her life if need be, and just enjoy what little time they’d have together. There was no reason for him to know anyway; not once had Spike professed that this was anything more than some bottomless passion for him, a game to be played with the Slayer since he was now incapable of inflicting violence upon her. If he wasn’t willing to commit to anything more than a bit of fun, why should she be any different?

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

He sat at the head of a long wooden table, empty Chinese containers strewn haphazardly about, red wine spilling from broken bottles onto the teak surface. The others seemed oblivious to the licentiousness of the atmosphere; at the other end of the table, Willow was perched on the edge of the wooden top, a bowl of purple grapes bursting with juice in her lap, popping them one by one into a waiting Gino’s mouth. More closely at hand, a purring Buffy nestled into his naked shoulder, crimson-tipped nails tracing visible paths along his chest.

“Wanna play charades,” the Slayer pouted, leaning in to nip at his ear. “We never get to play what I want to.”

“Don’t be daft,” he scolded. “We’ve always played by your rules.”

“Don’t like the rules,” she replied and sat up. “Let’s change them.”

The redhead swivelled to gaze down at the blonde pair and Spike noticed for the first time the heavy make-up that streaked her tear-stained face. “Just go ahead and let her,” Willow said. “She’ll do whatever she wants anyway. That’s what the Slayer does. It’s part of her official job description.”

“It’s not!”

“It so is. But that’s OK ‘cause we’ll just cheat, won’t we, Spike?”

His blue eyes darted between the two women, wondering why they were going on like this before getting distracted by the feel of Buffy grinding her ass into his lap. His erection returned and she giggled.

“My Spike doesn’t need to cheat,” she cooed. “He wins all by his itty bitty lonesome.”

“I’m still hungry,” Willow whined, resuming her hand-feeding of the dark bouncer.

“Sorry, Red,” the vamp said. “No more Chinese. The kitchen’s closed.”

Buffy’s hand began to press more firmly into his bare chest. “I know what we can have,” she murmured. Her fingers stopped over his left nipple, and the vampire glanced down as the tips of her nails began digging into his flesh.

They ripped through his skin, embedding themselves as the Slayer’s fingers sunk deeper into the muscle, blood beginning to drip down the back of her hand as it reached…and dug…and excavated for its prize. His sapphire eyes widened, shocked as the pain seared him from the inside out, arresting what few bodily functions he still had, as Buffy’s hand curled around its treasure, squeezing, palpitating, beginning its outward path with infinitesimal power that submerged him in torturous agony.

The young woman’s smile was triumphant as she pulled the muscle from his chest, the blood still clinging to it as she swivelled in his lap and rested the unbeating heart on the plate that suddenly appeared before her. At the other end of the table, Willow looked up and pointed at the now-frozen vamp.

“Lookie,” she said lightly. “Buffy made the Big Bad cry. I thought you said they only cried blood tears in the movies.”

The other three laughed as the blonde picked up the knife and fork, poising them over the veined flesh that seemed to be shrivelling right before his gaze. “So what’s it going to be?” she asked. “White meat? Or red? Spike?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, waiting for an answer. “Spike…?”

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

“…Spike!”

His lids shot open, and the blond vampire found himself staring up at a frowning Buffy, propped up on her elbow to peer down into the chiselled planes of his face, one hand gripping tightly to his shoulder. Her dishevelled hair hung over her shoulder, the tips trailing across his chest, and the feather touch triggered his arm, shooting upward, brushing away her tresses as long fingers explored the smooth expanse of his skin.

Her hazel eyes flickered down, watching the frantic dance before her own hand released its hold on his flesh to trap his, halting his search. “What’s wrong?” she murmured, returning her gaze to the panic-stricken azure depths.

“A dream.” As the reality of his intact heart sank in, the tension eased from his carved body, and his platinum curls sunk back into the pillow. “Just…a dream.”

“A bad dream,” she elucidated. “You were…thrashing.”

Spike’s lids closed, blocking her from his vision, but still she remained, the dream Buffy replacing the real, that hungry smile mocking him, twisting into his chest as effectively as her tiny hand had. No, easier to face the hard, and the vampire re-opened his eyes, wondering at the minuet of emotions that seemed to be fighting for control on the Slayer’s face. “Just odds and sods,” he assured her. “Nothin’ even worth talkin’ about.”

The Slayer’s heart constricted at his words, tightening her skin until she felt as if she were going to pop. He was shutting her out, refusing to share the nightmare or let her shoulder some of his pain. If she’d had any doubts about whether he was taking this thing between them seriously, they were now banished, gone with his callous refusal to let her in. Yet, the need to assuage his still-racing nerves, to smooth back those tousled curls and relieve the lines that still furrowed his brow, was all-consuming, and she sat herself up, pulling him with her.

“C’mon,” she said, and slid off the side of the bed.

Spike slid across the sheets to his feet, muscles aching, confusion coloring his face. “What’re you doin’?” he queried.

“Making it better,” she said with a small smile, and led him toward the bathroom.

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

She didn’t know what woke her up, but the dryness of her mouth was enough to prevent her from going back to sleep right away, and swallowing hard, Willow debated whether it was worth it to open her eyes and do something to quench it. It was then that she felt the feather touch on her hair, the hard swell under her cheek. Oh goddess, she thought. I didn’t…

Green eyes flickered open, and the young witch lifted her head to gaze up at the resting visage of the dark-haired bouncer. They were his fingers she was feeling, stroking her red tresses with the most gentle of touches, a small smile curling his lips. Yep, she most surely had. Crap.

Her movement alerted Gino, causing his hand to hesitate, his black eyes to flit down to meet hers. The memories of what she had done, how she’d used the glimmer variation to change her cards, how she’d cheated just to see some of his muscles, brought flames of embarrassment to her cheeks, and she blinked rapidly, trying to regain her composure. “Hi,” she breathed.

His smile remained steady. “Hi.”

She didn’t remember falling asleep, and as she become more aware of her surroundings, Willow realized she certainly didn’t remember when they’d changed positions, the beefy bouncer stretching out on the couch, with the young Wicca laid out on top of him. It was weird; he was so much…bigger than any other guy she’d ever been with. OK, that officially constituted Xander, who probably didn’t count anyway because that was only some sneaky footsie and a couple stolen kisses, and Oz, who while super-sized in her heart was more…Willow-sized in real life, but still…She’d never felt so overwhelmed by a person’s presence before, while at the same time, feeling completely…safe.

“How do you feel?” Gino seemed hesitant to ask the question, but there was no mistaking the concern in his voice.

“Silly.” The redhead eased back, peeling herself away from the dark-haired man, and immediately felt bereft of his warmth. She caught a glimpse of his feet, one bare, one clad only in a sock, as he swung them over the edge of the couch, sitting up and sliding his bulk to lean back against the armrest, allowing her as much room as she wished on the cushions. “With just a smidge of ridiculous.”

“You’re just not used to the drink,” he said. “Nothing to be ashamed of. You were just using it to try and…forget. It’s OK. We’ve all been there.”

“I’m sorry about…your shoes.”

Gino glanced down at his feet before shaking his head. “You know, Willow, you apologize too much. You don’t gotta do that with me. You should know that by now.”

The silence that stretched between them bolstered the young witch’s nerve. “I think you should know,” she began, “for the record, I..ummm…well, this is embarrassing…I…”

“…cheated. Yeah, I know.”

Willow’s green eyes widened. “You know?”

“Well, yeah.” He chuckled. “I’m ace at cards. Never lost to a dame before, so I knew something was up. Even you couldn’t be that good.”

“But…you didn’t say anything.”

Gino’s smile grew. “Why should I? That was the most fun I’ve had in ages. I’d have to be jingle-brained to do something that would’ve broken it up.” The confession seemed to feed his confidence and Willow watched as he straightened, sliding over along the couch so that he sat right next to her, his powerful thigh pressing against hers. “You going to tip your mitt why you did it? Or would you rather I just come up with my own explanation? ‘Cause I’m thinking, you’re not going to like what I’m thinking.”

She blushed, but couldn’t help the giggle that rose to her lips. Whatever the painting’s purpose had been in setting up this particular piece of her faux history, having this man as her friend was probably the best thing that had happened to her since Oz’s departure. “I thought you…smelled good,” she admitted, keeping her green eyes on the carpet. “And with the wine, I just went a little loopy.”

“You’re the one who got it for me,” he replied. When her head swivelled to look at him quizzically, he added, “For my birthday? The Aqua Velva?”

“Oh. Yeah. Good gift. It definitely…works for you.” She wanted to look away, but his black gaze was locked on her, darting over her face before returning back to the intelligent clarity of her eyes. All of a sudden, the room was too warm…Gino was too near…her heart was too fast.

“You don’t even know how pretty you are, do you?” the bouncer murmured, and she was frozen as one of his meaty hands came up, hesitated, then pushed a strand of her bangs away from her forehead. He had no clue where he was gathering the nerve to do this, to be so brazen as to actually touch her, to say even just a fraction of the things he’d practiced in front of the mirror in the loneliness of his apartment. He’d wanted it to be perfect, so that he wouldn’t look like a total idiot, that he wouldn’t scare her away. But she wasn’t moving, just sitting there watching him with those clear emerald eyes, and he just knew…he had to take the chance.

“Can I…kiss you?”

Somehow, Willow had known it was coming, and couldn’t help looking at his mouth as she breathed, “OK.”

The hand touching her hair slid down her face, cupping her cheek, almost engulfing her flesh, and Gino leaned forward while slowly guiding her toward him, black eyes closing before their lips made contact.

It started out slow, gentle, both of them frightened…tentative…as their mouths caressed each other in a tender tangle. Willow was the first to part her lips, to slide her tongue out to savor his, her arms reaching up to steady herself against his broad shoulders, leaning into his easy power with a familiarity that startled her sensible nature. He tasted as good as he smelled, the mixture heady, enthralling, and she felt the tremors begin somewhere deep within her tummy, those giddy reminders of desire that she’d believed long dead, long gone.

It was the only encouragement the dark bouncer needed, scooping her into his embrace and pulling her firmly onto his lap as he deepened the kiss. The kaleidoscope of sensations, the whirlwind of emotions, it all threatened to overwhelm him, and he silently thanked whatever gods were looking down on him. Nobody could be luckier than Gino tonight…

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

Spike stood in the doorway, watching as Buffy’s naked form stood before the large corner shower, adjusting the knobs on the wall until the water seemed to sizzle as it hit the tiles, the steam already rising, wrapping itself around their bodies in a sultry embrace, while at the same time cosseting their tender and bruised flesh. He didn’t understand. He knew she wanted him, had experienced it firsthand; hell, he had the marks to prove it even if she had the nerve to deny it. But this…this went beyond their lovemaking; this bordered on genuine concern for his well-being, and that wasn’t something the vampire thought he’d ever actually experienced with the Slayer…outside of the influence of magic, that is.

His face was inscrutable when Buffy looked back at him, and she briefly wondered why she was bothering, why she was putting herself through this just to ease the burden of his nightmare. Because you have to, the little voice whispered. Because you…

“Feelin’ particularly dirty, pet?”

“No. I find it relaxing. The hotter, the better.” She folded her arms across her bare breasts. “Now, are you going to get in this shower on your own, or do I have to drag your undead ass over here?”

For a brief moment, Spike actually considered letting her drag him into the water, but the stiff reminder of his recent escapades convinced him otherwise. He sauntered through the steam, bathed in a sheen of condensation before he’d even crossed the room, and stopped just at the shower’s edge, cocking his already-drenched platinum curls as he gazed steadily at the young woman who stood within. “Now what?” he queried.

She didn’t speak, only reached forward, curling her fingers around his arm to pull him in the final few feet. The alabaster of his skin was carved in frozen glory, and, in spite of the bruising and bites that marred its perfection, Buffy found her mouth watering at his magnificence, revelling in the recent memories of their lovemaking. She wondered if the water was stinging his skin where it pelted against the rawness, or if he was oblivious to the discomfort, accustomed to lifetimes of pain from his experiences as a vampire. It certainly hurt her, although the longer she stood underneath it, the easier it got to bear, the tiny beads pounding against her flesh in a vicious massage, rinsing away the blood, cleansing away the sweat. Her only hope was that it would have the same effect on him.

Gently, Buffy propelled Spike directly under the showerhead, positioning his arms as if he were her own marionette, guiding them to the tiled walls so that they could support his weight as he leaned forward. When he tried to turn his head to look back at her, the young woman took it between her hands and redirected his gaze forward. “Just relax,” she said softly. “And trust me.”

The scent of vanilla suddenly saturated the air, and the vampire heard the indistinct sounds of the Slayer behind him. “Goin’ to smell like a bloody potpourri shop,” he muttered, but his tone was light, the arousal unmistakeable.

She didn’t bother with a sponge, just rolled the bar of soap between her hands until she had a good head of lather started, before placing her fingers at the top of his shoulders, massaging the muscles as the scented foam spread, dripped down his back in rivulets more stark than his skin. Taking care not to press too firmly on those patches that sported bruising, Buffy skated over his arms…down his sides to his lean hips…then stepped forward, pressing herself into his back as her hands danced to his front.

Spike’s eyes fluttered shut at the sudden contact, and there was no mistaking his audible sigh as she rested her cheek against his shoulder blade, the muscular mounds of his buttocks melding into the curve of her pelvis. The young woman’s touch coated his sculpted torso in creamy lather, the lowering of his head protecting that portion of his body from the shower’s torrent, and for what seemed forever, the world vanished for both of them, leaving behind only the close quarters of the steam shrouding them in its dusky caress.

As enjoyable as their earlier romps had been, they paled when compared to the ambrosial tenderness that now fused the pair, each of their body’s now singing with heat, and Buffy almost cried out in frustration when she felt the vampire’s muscles twitch under her cheek, her eyelids shooting open as she felt him straighten within her arms. One more minute, she thought bitterly. Stupid vamp, you couldn’t wait one more---.

And then his hand was on her wrist, and he was turning around, blue eyes darkened to black as he gazed down at her, the water pounding against his back. He saw the hurt fading away from those hazel orbs, witnessed the softening of her mouth as if she was swallowing whatever words had formed there, and knew, even if she wasn’t going to voice it out loud. One long hand came up, pushed back the damp hair from her forehead, and his thumb brushed over her mouth, watching it quiver under his touch. Bloody dreams, he thought. Always bollixing things up. Gotta learn to stop taking them so serious-like.

Buffy held her breath as his head lowered, lips meeting hers, sucking them in, and her arms came up around his breadth, clinging to him in mute desperation. The beat of her heart echoed into his skin, and rational thought ran away, dragging behind it---for the moment, at least---all the Slayer’s distress and doubts. Breaking away from the contact of his mouth, she slid her cheek against his, tongue lapping at the water beading on his skin, and she whispered, “Make love to me.”

There was no hesitation. In one clean, swift movement, Spike’s embrace lifted her from the tiled floor…positioned her hips above his erection…and slowly lowered her, her warm folds sucking him in…inch by inch…engulfing him until he was completely buried deep within her.

It was slow, each believing they had all the time in the world…

It was splendor, the water’s cascade drowning them in liquid fire as their mouths sought out the other’s…

It was peace…

The rumbling began deep within Buffy’s core, and her fingers entangled in Spike’s blond curls, deepening their kiss as the waves of her orgasm captured her breath, painting the shower in a blinding concerto as she rode atop its undulations. As the spasms buffeted her body, the vampire growled into her mouth, his muscles clenching as he came within her, clutching at her toned back as if it was a life preserver and he was sinking, plunging into heavenly depths unexplored…which, in all actuality…he was…

The young woman felt the sting of unbidden tears well out of nowhere, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away. He was so good at making it seem like it was more than just the act, that when she’d deliberately said, “Make love to me,” it had been an automatic response to an emotion, not to a physical need. She didn’t want to cry---didn’t want him to see her cry---but fighting it back was harder than slaying, knowing when they got out that she would have to face the truth and deal with it, believing with all her heart that she was alone on how she felt.

How could Buffy ever face Spike in the naked light of day without his being able to read her, to see that somehow, she’d fallen in love with him…?

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

“Are we just going to sit here and stare at it all night?”

It was the fourth time in the last hour that Xander had asked the question, each time hoping it would prompt Giles to break from the fugue that had seemed to settle over him since Anya’s departure. After moving the painting to the opposite chair, the Watcher had settled into the couch, removed his glasses, and scrutinized the picture, every so often tilting his head to get a slightly different perspective on it. Once, it had actually looked like he was going to say something, sitting up in the settee and clearing his throat, but Xander had been disappointed when the older man had merely shifted his weight.

“I betcha Ahn’s cooled off by now. What say, I give her a ring, see if she wants to come over.” He stood, crossing to the telephone, his brown eyes never leaving Giles’ hunched form. “Want some donuts? Maybe some nice jelly ones? She’d probably bring ‘em if we asked.”

No response. Xander’s hand hung in the air, the dial tone of the telephone audible in the quiet living room. Normally, he wouldn’t question the older man’s behavior---well, not seriously anyway---but this befuddled distance was beginning to border on the freaky, with a side order of deaky not far behind.

“It would have to be someone reasonably accessible, don’t you think?”

“He speaks!” Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Xander stuffed his hands in his pockets and ambled to stand beside the couch. “Thought I’d lost you to some exotic museum disease for awhile there. Staring off into artwork so much so that it sucks away your voice.”

Giles ignored his companion’s gibe. “Of course, I’m not certain I’d be able to take any weapons, but I’m sure Buffy and I could manage something.”

“So, is that the decision? You’re planning on going in after her and Will?”

“Can you think of another way to tell them how to reverse the portal?” The two men regarded each other, eyes steady, until the Watcher shook his head. “I can’t. Trust me, I’ve been trying.”

“Maybe she’ll figure it out on her own.” But even as he spoke, Xander knew how lame it sounded.

“My fear is that whatever desire the painting perceives they want will…distract them, perhaps with fatal consequences.”

“So we go. End of story.”

Giles frowned, replacing his glasses to stare up at the younger man. “We? You’re not going, Xander. I won’t allow it.”

“And you’re going to stop me…how?” He began pacing. “See, the way I see it, the more people we got on the inside, the better luck we have in finding this safety person.”

“Or the more people Buffy has to worry about protecting from being killed, perhaps?”

Xander waved away the suggestion in dismissal. “Unless the picture’s going to make me James Bond, I don’t think we’re in any danger of me getting my greatest desire, so color me safe.” He stopped, crouching down to look at Giles on an even level. “These are my two best friends we’re talking about here. They’ve saved my life so many times, on so many levels, that there’s no way I’m not going with you on this one. Besides, how hard can this be? We go in, take care of the safety, we come out. Easy as cake.”

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

Fluffy crumbs dropped to the small plate as Willow sank her teeth into the pastry, the grumbles from her stomach overly loud in the empty living room. She was ravenous, had woken up so, and as appealing as Gino’s offer to go out for breakfast had been, the redhead desperately wanted to be around when Buffy woke up. What she needed right now was some good old-fashioned girltalk, someone she could dish with about what exactly had happened over the last thirty-six hours, and, since neither one of them had really been in the position for that last night, hangover hell was really the only option.

Actually, as far as hangovers go, it wasn’t that bad. Sure, she had a slight headache, and her tongue felt too big for her mouth, but there was no nausea like she remembered from last time, and she didn’t feel like chopping off her own head. That was definitely a bonus.

She had a mouthful of muffin when the bedroom door opened, and she turned her head to see Spike saunter out, platinum head bent as he tightened the buckle on his belt. It took a moment for the connection to click, but when it did, her jaw stopped working, her cheeks puffed out from the unconsumed pastry.

He had already taken a few steps toward the kitchen when he noticed Willow staring at him. “Mornin’,” he said, and without breaking rhythm, continued on his way, leaving behind a confused redhead looking back and forth between the kitchen and the bedroom door.

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

Spike was standing at the stove, stirring a small saucepan over a low flame, when Willow showed up in the entrance. She heard the mindless humming first, and just watched him for a moment, tiny lines between her brows.

He had just come out of Buffy’s bedroom.

Getting dressed.

Which meant he’d been…undressed.

In Buffy’s room.

Wow…

“I’ve seen you in a kitchen before, Red,” Spike said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “I know you know what a cooker is for.”

“Is that…breakfast?” she croaked, getting up on tiptoes to get a peek inside the pan.

He tilted it slightly to allow her to see the contents. “I’m goin’ to say you’re not goin’ to be interested in this, not unless there’s somethin’ you’ve been keepin’ from us.”

Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the blood simmering away. That nausea she’d thought she’d managed to escape? It was actually right there, crouching down in the pit of her stomach, just waiting for something with a big enough ewwww factor to trigger it. She swallowed hard, inching away so that the vampire’s body blocked her view of the stove.

“Where’s Gino?”

The mention of the dark-haired bouncer brought back the memories from the early morning, and Willow was glad that Spike had his back to her so that he couldn’t see her blush. “He went home,” she said. “He said something about pinning on his diapers. I think he was talking about changing his clothes…at least, I hope he was, ‘cause if he wasn’t, I think I’m going to owe him a huge apology.”

He chuckled, and the redhead noticed for the first time how relaxed the vampire seemed, how at ease, how…peaceful. “Yep, that’s what it means,” he affirmed. “You two…sleep on the couch all night?”

Although he didn’t look at her, Willow noticed the hint of laughter in his voice and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very defensive. “Yes. All night. Sleeping. Nothing else. We’re just…sleep buddies.”

“Too bad.” He turned the burner off and reached overhead to grab a mug from the cupboard. “Thought your little cheatin’ trick might actually work. I would’ve sworn Gino’d jump at the chance to get a few jollies.”

Her green eyes widened. “You knew, too?” she squeaked. “Did everyone know? How obvious was I?”

“Doubt Buffy saw it,” Spike offered, then realized what she’d said, his lips curling into a smile as he leaned back against the counter. “So. Gino sussed you out. And you two just…slept.” Lifting his mug to his mouth, he took a long sip, his blue eyes dancing as they peered at her over the rim, the redhead’s discomfort enflaming her face.

“Yes. Mostly.” Goddess, how long was he going to keep this up?

“’S’ok, Red. Your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

She was desperate to change the subject. Somehow, the blond vampire had managed to turn the tables on her, changing the topic to her and Gino when they’d been talking about…Wait. She’d only been thinking those things, so really, she was still on the same side of the table. Fine. She would do the switcheroo then.

“So…where’s Buffy?” Willow asked coolly. There. Two could play this game.

“Still sleepin’.” Spike seemed unruffled by her question, answering with his usual cool detachment, sipping at his blood as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Buffy said…the other room was yours.” God, she was bad at this. “And I saw you come…out of, you know…her room.”

He didn’t reply, only watched her as he drained off his drink, sapphire gaze scrutinizing the redhead’s open features. How much did he want to tell her? And what would Buffy do to him if he did? “My clothes are in there,” he finally said. “As is the bathroom, in case you’ve forgotten.” Better to play it safe than sorry, he decided. Not that he was sorry about one bit of last night. No way.

“Nice try.” She was starting to feel stronger about this; although his unflappable explanation was more than true and certainly would’ve been sufficient under other circumstances, she wasn’t blind. She’d seen enough over the past day and a half to know something was going on; even last night, the way Spike had stripped those stockings off of Buffy’s legs had screamed conspiracy theory. And they thought she’d been too drunk to notice. Ha.

“Tell you what,” the vamp said, setting down his mug. “I’ll make you a deal. You dish the dirt about you and Gino, and I’ll tell about me and Buffy.” He figured it was a stand-off; no way would Red agree to such an arrangement, not with her and the Slayer being such bosom buddies. But…part of him was kind of hoping she would. When he’d come back to Sunnydale after Dru dumped him the first time, Willow had been the one to listen to him spill his guts, wallowing in his sorrow. And then, it had been Willow again when he’d learned just what those commando bastards had done to him. ‘Course, he hadn’t really given her a choice in the matter either time between the kidnapping for the love spell and the trying to bite her bit, but still… “Totally on the QT, of course,” he added.

Although she’d been hoping that Buffy would’ve been the one who helped her sort this all out, the young witch desperately wanted to talk about it, get someone to tell her just what was going on, not just with Gino but with this whole painting world. Everything here seemed too real, and Sunnydale already seemed like forever away, and that couldn’t be good…could it?
But this was Spike. Hello…vampire? Chipped vampire, yes, but evil and Big Bad and hating the Scooby gang…and hating Buffy…Except she wasn’t so sure about that last one anymore, and he’d certainly been nice enough to her since she’d come through. And he was a guy---an undead one, but a guy nonetheless---and maybe he’d be able to offer some sort of different perspective on the whole Gino thing…

“Deal.”

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

The ingredients were strewn about on the table before him, carefully portioned into each of the bowls, dull and lifeless in comparison to the vibrancy of the room surrounding it. Gathering them had been no mean feat; although he’d been fairly certain that there weren’t any vampires in this world before he’d come through, Tony had known that he’d need certain magics in order to protect himself from the dangers of the painting. He’d just never anticipated having to use the uninvite spell again.

He was still angry with himself for falling for Spike’s trick in the first place. You’ve been with Melinda for how long? he mentally chided. Didn’t that teach you anything? But the bouncer had seemed so normal---OK, it had been pretty obvious that he didn’t really care for Tony, but the musician had just brushed that off as boyfriend jealousy---how could he have known that he was a vampire? And then there was the whole Buffy situation. The way the two had acted around each other---the kissing, the long looks, that whole giddy I’m-in-love-and-I-don’t-care-who-knows-it thing---he hadn’t seen very many demons be so touchy feely around each other. Well, Melinda had been that way, and there’d been a couple others, but generally speaking, vampires were only interested on who their next kill was going to be, not their next kiss.

Except Buffy’s not a demon, he reminded himself. According to Spike, she’s the Slayer. That little twist only muddied the waters even further. It made no sense that the Slayer would be hanging around with such a bad-ass vampire as Spike. Her job was to kill them. Melinda had been very clear about that; the danger of living in Sunnydale was that death lurked around every corner in the form of a very powerful, very prepared young woman. And now that powerful young woman was here. In the painting. And probably pissed that she’d gotten sucked through in the first place. Shit.

Pounding at the fine powder with the pestle, Tony’s face was grim as the recriminations tumbled about in his head. Should’ve left the fucking state, he thought. Hell, I should’ve left the fucking country. But how could he have known Melinda would be so diligent about finding the painting again? Actually, a very small part of him was pleased at the thought that she’d missed him so much that she’d gone to such great lengths to get him back. Except he knew that wasn’t the whole case. She’d paid a fortune for the painting, using it to get rid of that gang of biker demons that had been blackmailing them two years ago. No way was she going to let such an investment slip through her fingers. Plus, there was that whole woman scorned thing she probably had going. Human girls might get bitchy when you wanted to break up with them, but they had nothing on vampire girls who got dumped. They turned into outright monsters.

Rising from his place on the couch, Tony crossed the room to the door of his apartment, the uninvite concoction resting in his hand. He knew he was lucky Spike hadn’t shown up again; exhaustion had prevented the musician from finishing the spell last night, so the fact that he was still alive to do it this morning was a good thing. Of course, revoking the invitation would have absolutely no effect on Buffy when she came around, but he had other spells in mind to take care of her…

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

Stretching languorously, Buffy’s eyes flickered open, a small smile playing on her lips. No hangover. Yay. If non-stop sex was the cure to over-indulging, she was definitely never going to have to worry about drinking too much again. Not when the remedy was so much fun, not when her partner was so amazing.

Spike was already up and about; she’d woken up briefly when the vamp had left the bedroom but had decided to just sneak in a few more minutes of rest, reluctant to escape the comfort of the soft sheets, eager to return to the dreams that had visited her during the night. He’s probably got breakfast ready by now, she thought, and glanced leisurely over at the clock, totally unprepared for the time it was proudly displaying.

The Slayer bolted from the bed, eyes wide. Three hours? She’d slept three more hours? Crap. Half the day was gone by now, and there was so much she wanted to get done today…get Willow’s take on this painting world, go see Tony and see what he meant the other night at the party, get a manicure before going in to the club tonight. Now that was all shot. She’d barely have time to get ready for work at this rate.

She got dressed in record time, trousers and a long-sleeved turtleneck hiding the various marks from her night’s escapades. No reason to freak Willow out before it was absolutely necessary. Her plan was to break it to the young witch slowly, maybe tell her about the dancing first before leading into the kissing. The sex would probably have to wait; maybe Buffy could tackle that subject with the aid of some more wine…

She stopped, her hand frozen on the door knob, the voices filtering through the heavy wood. Spike and…Willow? Her heart pounding in her throat, the blonde pressed her ear to the crack, straining to make out the words.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she heard Willow say.

“That’s ‘cause you aren’t seein’ the big picture here, Red.”

“But Buffy’s my best friend---.”

“Don’t be a silly bint. It’ll go down a treat. Trust me.”

She heard Willow laugh. “Do we have to go into your track record again, Spike?”

“You don’t do this, the whole plan’s not worth a toss.”

Buffy’s mind whirled. Plan? What plan? What in hell was going on out there?

“I’ve gotta be crazy for agreeing to this.”

“That’s why I like you, Red.”

“And you promise---.”

The Slayer didn’t catch the rest of the sentence. As she pushed open the door, the living room went silent, its two occupants turning in their seats to look at her standing in the doorway.

“Guess you were a little knackered, pet,” Spike commented, and lowered his leg from where it hung over the chair’s armrest, sitting up and reaching for the mug on the coffee table.

“I guess it’s not really good morning anymore then,” Buffy replied, stepping into the lounge, hazel eyes glancing back and forth between the pair. Neither looked like they’d been discussing anything more serious than the weather; just what in the world was going on? “So what did I miss?”

Willow shrugged. “Spike was just filling me in on some of the stuff at the club. No big.”

Buffy glanced over at the vampire, so casual in his seat. “What kind of stuff?” she pushed.

“The usual.”

The Slayer’s annoyance went up a notch. They weren’t sharing. Something was going on between Spike and Willow, something that required a plan, but for some reason, they were keeping her out of the equation, and the young witch was worrying that Buffy wasn’t going to like it. What she didn’t like was being shut out, but if she pressed much harder, they’d know she was eavesdropping, and then she’d have to start in on some embarrassing explanations to Willow about why she was anxious about what Spike might say to her, and that was a road she wasn’t ready to travel. Not yet.

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

“If the crowd likes you, I’ll make it a c-note a week, but for now, it’s just going to be the going rate, capisce?”

Giles blinked. Standing before him was a portly older gentleman, a cigar clamped between his teeth, watery blue eyes looking up at the Watcher. He couldn’t remember seeing him in the painting, but then again…His gaze darted around, drinking in the dark hallway, the closed doors. When he’d touched the picture, he’d been expecting to end up on the dance floor; this appeared to be someplace completely different.

“I…understand,” he murmured.

“Never had a male torcher before,” the other man was saying. “Folks usually like the dames to do the singing. But, if Buffy and Spike say you’re the best, then that’s good enough for me. Now, dressing room’s over there…”

But he didn’t hear the rest of the instructions, too engaged with analyzing the situation, figure out what exactly was going on. Buffy and Spike were here, and obviously still alive, and they certainly had some sort of connection with this particular fellow. And Giles was supposed to…sing? So many questions, so few answers, but the most pressing one at the moment was…

…What in the world had happened to Xander?

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

Even in the artificial light of the dressing room, the gemstones glittered in tempting beauty, peppering the walls with emerald and ivory sparkles, and Buffy tilted her head as she appraised her appearance one last time. The dress had been an easy choice, a strapless white confection complete with a full tulle skirt embellished in rhinestones and rosettes, and though the gown left her bruised arms bare, the satin elbow-length gloves that rested on her chair would more than adequately cover them. The wide jewelled choker finished the ensemble, and while she would’ve preferred to wear her hair swept up, the bite mark on the back of her neck dictated that it stay down.

Though she was tucked away in the dressing room, Buffy felt the silence of the apartment like a velvet cloak, and wondered what was keeping Spike. Gino had arrived earlier to take Willow back to her place, and the blond vampire had walked downstairs with the pair, saying he’d be right back. That had been almost an hour ago. They probably want to talk more behind my back, she’d thought bitterly. Willow’s supposed to be my friend, not Spike’s.

In spite of a few more indirect questions, Buffy hadn’t been able to get any more information from the duo, and she’d finally given up trying, concentrating instead on gleaning what information the redhead had on the painting. It had been precious little. Willow suspected that Giles had learned more about the picture, but when she’d confessed that she’d not listened to the message left on their answering machine, the Slayer had slumped in her seat. As each day passed, their odds of returning to Sunnydale seemed to be lessening, and though this world certainly had its appeal, it wasn’t home. Home meant slaying on a full-time basis---something she was very surprised to find she missed---but more importantly, home meant family, specifically, her mom.

Mom would know what to do, she thought sadly. We could sit on the couch, with cups of hot chocolate, and lots of little marshmallows, and I could just spill about everything…how funny and charming Spike has been…how he keeps managing to save my ass…how amazing the sex is…Well, maybe not the sex part. Talking about that with Mom might be kind of…icky. But everything else, most definitely. Especially since Willow doesn’t seem interested in the position.

She hated feeling like this. Having her best friend here was supposed to have made everything better; talking to the young Wicca would’ve helped Buffy straighten out her head, understand the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. Yes, last night had been fun in a girly, giggly way they hadn’t really done since graduating, but what she wanted now was strong, insightful Willow, not flirty, funny Willow.

The sound of the front door opening and closing captured Buffy’s attention, and she turned back to face the mirror, absorbing herself in touching up the make-up that was already flawless, pretending not to notice when the door to the dressing room opened. She knew he was right behind her, but seeing what he was doing in the mirror was absolutely no help. Stupid no reflection vampire rule.

“You want to do it now, or do you want to do it later?” his voice rumbled. “I’d like to vote for now.”

“Do what?” she asked, desperately trying to hold onto some semblance of nonchalance.

“We haven’t really had a chance to talk about last night yet.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she re-applied the third coat of lipstick. God, she hoped he didn’t see that. “There’s something to talk about?”

Even though she couldn’t see him, Buffy felt Spike come up behind her, and her heart began to pound. “Oh, you’re not gettin’ off that easy, luv.” She felt his mouth just behind her ear, and the thought of his body so close to hers brought goosebumps to her arms. “I told you. I’m not going back to the way it was before. And we’re going to sort this before it goes all to cock, understand?”

She couldn’t hold back the resentment any longer, and whirled to face him, the color high in her cheeks. “So, now it’s OK to talk to me?” she demanded. “When it’s your schedule, when it’s what you want.”

The vampire cocked his head, looking down at her flushed face. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“I’m talking about you and Willow! Being all chatty, and sneaky, and saying things behind my back, and she’s my friend not yours, and since when does Willow care about your track record, and what did she mean when she said that anyway?” It all came out in a rush, a torrent of pent-up frustrations, and not all of it about the overheard conversation. Buffy’s chest was heaving against the boned bodice, and she began to wish that she’d chosen something else to wear, something less constrictive, because all of a sudden, breathing didn’t seem like an option.

Spike’s face relaxed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wry smile. “Little Slayers who eavesdrop ought to get their ears boxed,” he drawled.

“So you don’t deny it.”

The vamp shrugged. “No. Red wanted advice, I gave it to her.”

“Advice?” Her voice was incredulous, and she folded her arms over her chest. “From you? On what, pray tell?”

“Seems our little witch had an impromptu assignation with a certain bouncer---.”

“No!” Buffy’s eyes widened. This was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “When? Why didn’t she say anything? When?”

“Early this morning. She was embarrassed, and you were still Sleeping Beauty. And I think I said. Early this morning.”

“But I heard you talking about a plan…”

“She wanted to know what to do next and seein’ as how I’m a guy, she thought I could help. That’s all it was.” His azure gaze watched her steadily, waiting to see if she was going to be satisfied with the explanation. She better be, he thought. It’s the only one she’s going to get.

It worked. The distraction of thinking of her best friend making out with Gino sent Buffy’s head into a whirlwind, and she leaned back against the edge of the dressing table. “I can’t believe inviting him over here worked,” she murmured. “And, oh my god, did it work.”

Spike waited for a moment, watching the play of emotions dance over the Slayer’s face. He loved seeing her like this, so animated, face flamed with excitement…even if it was over something so trivial as Gino and Willow. He almost didn’t want to break the spell by bringing it up again, but no way was he going to let this one go. “Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he finally said, “how ‘bout we get back to the topic at hand?”

“Hmmm?” She was still lost in images of what she had missed by being asleep.

“Last night, luv.”

That did it. Buffy’s hazel eyes lifted up to meet his, and the familiar thumping of her heart returned to her skin. “What about it?” she asked. “It was…fun.”

He almost winced at the sound of hearing her say the word. Fun. Fuck. “I wanna know…where you see it going from here,” he said.

“I hadn’t…thought about it.” God, she hated this, hated lying to him. I’ve been thinking about it all day, she wanted to scream. Thinking about it now. Probably think about it tomorrow. And all because I can’t get you out of my head. Or out of my heart. Jerk.

“That’s not a get-out-of-answering-my-question free card, Buffy. Think about it now.”

His calmness was infuriating, and the Slayer felt her anger begin to rise again. “Well, you seem to have it all figured out,” she said. “You tell me where you see it going.”

So far, it was going exactly like Willow had said it would. “You gotta keep at her,” the redhead had said. “Don’t let her be Evado Girl. If you confront her, she’ll just try to avoid the issue.” Spike hadn’t gone into specifics about the events of last night with the young witch---mainly at her request---but he’d told her enough for her to tell him what to do. And letting Buffy think she could get out of talking about it was not part of the plan.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult---,” he began.

“Difficult?” she spat. “I’m being difficult now?”

He gritted his teeth, tilting his head to look at her through hooded lashes. The urge to pin her down and just beat some sense into her was overwhelming, and it was all he could do to contain it. “All right,” he finally said. “I’ve managed to somehow bodge this up already, so I’m just goin’ to start over here.” His nostrils flared. “Last night. You. Me. Compatible body parts. Was. That. It.”

“For me or for you?” The question was out before she could stop it, and Buffy bit her lip, leaning back into the dressing table, trying to get as much distance as possible between her body and his without actually having to move her feet.

“Well, seein’ as how I already know about my head, I’m goin’ to say for you, luv. Was that it…for you?” He hadn’t wanted to bring it to this point, but Red had been adamant. “You gotta tell her,” she’d said. “You don’t tell her now, Buffy’s just going to get pissed and it’ll make it worse later on.” What the Wicca hadn’t mentioned was how pissed she was going to get now.

Do it, the little voice taunted her. Do it, do it, do it…until her head took control again and stomped down on the words, silencing that small part of her that just wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him exactly what she felt. “I would’ve thought you’d think compatible body parts was fun,” she said. “Besides, we keep it light and you can say thanks for the memories whenever you want, and nobody gets hurt.” Yeah, right. She was hurting already.

“I wasn’t interested in fun,” Spike growled, his anger finally beginning to surge out of control, hands balling into fists at his sides. “I thought I made that clear last night.”

“So now you’re saying you didn’t even have fun. Thanks. That does wonders for my ego.”

“You know, tryin’ to talk to you sometimes is like pounding my head into a brick wall. I told Red you’d do this, but did she listen? No.” The blond vampire began pacing in front of her, eyes darkening, flashing, never leaving her face. “What happened in the shower, Buffy? Was that just an attempt to seriously fuck up my head? ‘Cause gotta tell you, you win first prize. It bloody well worked.” His ire was rising, his steps becoming shorter, heels hammering into the floor. “You must think I’m a real git for falling for the softer side of Buffy routine. Hell, you probably get off on it. Mess with the vampire’s emotions. Give him the most amazing shag of his whole undead life and do it in the shower, of all places. Make me think for even a second it’s not about the sex. That there’s more to it than that. Well, congratulations, Slayer. You win the bleedin’ Oscar.”

She was getting dizzy from watching him, but even dizzier from listening. “I’m not the one doing the messing around here,” she barked. “I told you everything had already changed for me, but you just wanted to get into my pants. Well, I hope it was worth it, because it’s not happening again, you can be sure of that.”

Spike stopped in front of Buffy, his face inches away from hers. She saw the muscles twitching in his jaw, cheekbones standing out in high relief, blue eyes glittering, and felt the surge of adrenalin in her veins. “If that’s all I wanted, luv, I wouldn’t have waited. You would’ve been fucked senseless when I had you tied to my bed. Or have you so conveniently forgotten about that?”

Actually, she had. Uncertainty flickered across her face, and the little voice that had been kicked aside came scurrying back. He wanted more, it giggled. That’s what he’s saying here. Now, stop acting like a baby and just tell him. “It was…amazing?” she whispered.

A single finger came up, stroked the line of her jaw. “You were there, too,” he murmured, his fury suddenly gone in the wake of her mood change. “You tell me.”

“But you…wouldn’t tell me your dream, and I thought…”

“That’s ‘cause it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t want to upset you---.”

“Why? It upset you.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“Yes.”

Spike’s teeth tugged at his bottom lip, his head tilting slightly. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?”

“You’re…changing the subject.”

“No…I’m not.” It didn’t even look like he’d moved. One minute, he was watching her, cerulean gaze enigmatic. The next, his mouth was on hers, dancing over her bottom lip, soft, exploring…literally breathtaking…

Buffy melted against him, crushing the rosettes on the bodice of her dress, clinging to the tenuous belief that she’d been wrong about everything. When his lips disappeared, her gaze fluttered up to his, and she held her breath as she said, “Tell me it wasn’t about the sex. Even if you have to lie.”

“Don’t have to lie, ‘cause it wasn’t.” He paused. Maybe Red had been right, after all. “I want…more than that, Buffy. And if that’s all you’re after, you need to tell me, ‘cause I can’t handle gettin’ my heart ripped out again. I’m probably off my box here, but if this is just about having a spot of fun, then I’m gone. Now. Before I’m in so deep I can’t even breathe.”

She couldn’t help the smile that curled her lips. “You don’t breathe now,” she teased.

“And you haven’t answered my question.”

“Was there a question?”

“Damn it, Buffy---.”

She cut him off with a kiss, quick and intense before sliding to the silky line of his jaw. Tiny nibbles along his flesh brought groans from the blond vampire, and his lean hands came up to grip her arms, pushing her back. “Now you’re bein’ difficult,” he said.

She licked her lips. Hope you’re happy, she told the little voice. Because here I go… “I lied. About not thinking about it. Because that’s all I seem to be able to do here, and when you look at me like that, it just makes it all that much harder. There was a point last night, when I was watching you while you were asleep, that I thought, maybe it doesn’t have to be like every other time. Maybe he won’t go. Maybe he’ll actually stick around. Maybe, maybe, maybe. And then you woke up, and you were so far away, and it all went to hell. Because that’s what I want. I want you to not go.”

“Why do you think I would?” His grip loosened, sliding up to her shoulders, brushing the hair away from her neck. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

“Because they all do.” The prick of tears behind her eyes forced Buffy to steady her voice. “I care about someone, and they leave me. They say they love me, and they make these promises, and then they…Not that I’m saying I think you…love me…but…I don’t know…” Her throat choked, and she ducked her head so that the vampire couldn’t see the tears escape down her cheeks.

Spike leaned forward, resting his forehead on the top of her hair, letting her cry. Everyone I care about, she’d said. That meant…hope. “If I did…love you…would that make a difference?”

The young woman froze. He hadn’t…didn’t…wasn’t possible… “What?” she breathed.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Buffy, not for as long as you let me stay.” He swallowed. “Because not everyone who loves you, leaves.”

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

Gino’s heels clicked across the tile floor, dark head low as he headed for the door to the back. Willow, he thought. Gotta find Willow. She’ll know what to do. She can tell me how to handle this. As he reached the exit, he stood back, allowing the musicians to come filing in, taking their places on the bandstand, his impatient hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, itching to just grab the door and shove them all away. He couldn’t, of course; Mr. Lombardi would have his hide if he laid a finger on any of them. Especially since the new torcher was supposed to debut tonight.

When the last of the band had filtered through, the dark-haired bouncer bolted into the back, almost colliding with Lola. “Where’s Willow?” he demanded.

The dancer jerked her head toward one of the doors. “Still in the dressing room…” she started, but he was off before she could finish, brushing past her and knocking at the room before she could even blink.

It opened, and the redhead stood before him, a high-heeled shoe dangling from her hand. “What is it?” she asked, immediately sensing the tension that wound through his body.

Gino glanced at the empty room behind her. “Can I come in?” he asked, suddenly hesitant. In spite of their early morning kissing, or maybe because of, his self-consciousness around the young woman was actually augmented, and he felt more than ever that he had to tread lightly, lest he scare her away.

Willow stepped back, letting him hurry past, shutting the door softly behind him. “Is something wrong?”

“We got trouble. Well, actually Buffy and Spike got trouble, but seein’ as they’re not here yet and I’m the one out front having to answer all the questions, it’s partially my trouble, too,” he rushed, face flushed as his black eyes darted around.

“Hold on. Slow down. Take a deep breath.” She waited, watching him duck his head, deliberately following her instructions before raising his gaze back to her face. “Now, start over. There’s trouble?”

“Mack’s here. And he’s asking about Buffy. And seein’ as how he hasn’t been around since their little announcement, I don’t know what to say that’s not going to get me in dutch, ‘cause you know his boys always pack. Not that I’m scared of shooters or anything, but Mr. Lombardi doesn’t let me carry so it puts me at a serious disadvantage if something were to happen, know what I mean? So, what do I tell him?”

Her head was spinning. “About what?”

“About Spike and Buffy,” Gino said exasperatedly. “You remember last time Mack was here. He was talking about her and him getting hitched. I don’t think he’s going to be thrilled when he finds out she’s taken up with Spike.”

“Why hasn’t anyone told him about…them?” God, this was confusing. Too many players, too little information.

“You want to be the one to tell the bossman his favorite girl dumped him for a bouncer? I know, Buffy was only humoring him because he owns the joint, but still…”

The knock at the door jerked both of their heads around, and Gino jumped off the dressing table he’d been leaning against. “Who is it?” Willow called out.

Whoever it was, didn’t wait for anyone to answer, turning the knob and pushing it open before the words had finished coming out of her mouth. The redhead’s eyes widened at the sight of the genteel man who stood there, narrow shoulders expertly suited, thin lips curled into an amused smile, but it was the tall young man who stood directly behind him that captured her attention, causing her heart to skip a beat.

Xander…?

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

His grey eyes flickered over the pair in the dressing room, lingering just a fraction too long on Willow’s stocking-clad legs before travelling up to her whitened face. “Miss Rosenberg,” he greeted, his voice a silken rumble, the deep baritone incongruous with his diminutive form. “I heard you had another accident. You seem to have recovered…nicely.”

Something about his tone made the redhead blush, suddenly too conscious of her scanty costume. “Thank you,” she stammered.

“Are you alone?” the man queried, stepping further into the room, his gaze darting around.

For a moment, Willow was reminded of the Alice’s White Rabbit, and she had to stifle the giggle that bubbled to her throat. He pulls out a pocketwatch, she thought, I’m going to lose it. Out loud, she replied, “Just me and Gino. Nobody else. Just us.”

“Pity,” he murmured. “I was rather hoping…” His gaze settled on the dark-haired bouncer. “I’m surprised to see you back here, though. Shouldn’t you be at the door?” The furtive glance exchanged between Gino and Willow didn’t go unnoticed, and the small man smiled in amusement. “Ah. Well. I’m glad Miss Rosenberg’s finally recognized your charms, Gino, but I’m sure Mr. Lombardi would prefer you fraternize on your own time, not…mine.” He turned back to the young witch. “I assume your roommate is running late as usual. When she arrives, would you be so kind as to let her know I’d like to see her at the bar?” He didn’t even wait for a response. With a perfunctory nod, he turned and headed out the door.

Stepping aside to let him pass, Xander stayed the smaller man’s exit with a tentative touch on his arm. “I want to have a word with Will---Miss Rosenberg, Mack. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Take all the time you need,” the owner replied and disappeared into the hall.

Gino watched as Willow rushed forward, throwing herself into the other man’s arms. “Ohmigod, Xander!” she cried. “What’re you doing here? Are you stuck, too?”

“Hopefully not.” He broke out of the hug and stepped back. “Me and Giles found out how to get you and Buffy outta here.” His brown eyes flickered to the bouncer, whose countenance had been growing blacker and blacker, then back to Willow. “Should we be doing this in front of Conan here?”

“Oh.” The redhead turned to face Gino. “Do you mind? I kinda want to talk to Xander privately.”

“Nope, not going to happen.” Perching himself back on the edge of the dressing table, he crossed his arms over his chest, his jacket straining over his back. “I’m not leaving you alone. I don’t trust this guy.”

“Who is this?” Xander’s voice was incredulous.

“A friend,” she replied distractedly. To the bouncer, “Xander’s OK. I’m perfectly safe.”

“I don’t care. You’re not giving me the boot until he’s gone.”

“Look, here’s the thing…” Xander crossed the distance between him and Gino, only to blanch when the other man stood, straightening to his full height to glare down at him. “A very…big…thing…”

“That’s enough.” The redheaded witch stepped between the two men. “Xander, in the corner.”

“What did I do?”

“Corner.”

Gino couldn’t help the satisfied smile that curled his lips as the smaller man shambled over to the edge of the dressing room. That’ll show him, he thought. It quickly faded, however, when a very angry Willow whirled to face him.

“What’re you doing?” she demanded.

“He’s…one of Mack’s trouble boys,” the bouncer floundered as if that was enough of an explanation. Why was she so upset with him? Harris was bad news, always had been, and with him being the bossman’s right hand now, there was no way Willow was safe around him.

“Don’t you think I can take care of myself?”

“Well, no.” Gino’s black eyes were bewildered. “You’re just a dame---.”

“What?”

He flinched at the harshness in her voice. OK. That had been the wrong thing to say. Try again. “Willow, protecting you from guys like that is my job---.”

“Your job? I’m your job now?”

“No, that’s not what I meant…” He’d never seen her this angry before. The green of her eyes was bright, clear, glittering in righteous indignation, and two red dots lent her cheeks the only bit of color in her skin. He didn’t get it. What had he done wrong? “I just…can’t see you getting hurt,” the bouncer managed. “I thought…you know, after this morning…you understood that.”

In spite of the personal offence she felt, Willow’s resolve melted as she gazed into his face. His black eyes were averted from hers, his head ducked, and all of a sudden, she felt like an ogre. He’s just a big ol’ teddy bear, she thought. And, for some inexplicable reason, he’s genuinely worried about Xander.

“Hey,” she said, one hand reaching up to rest on his heavily muscled forearm. “I’m sorry. My bad.”

At the gentle tone of her voice, Gino visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping, returning to his semi-sitting, semi-standing position on the edge of the table. With a quick glance toward Xander in the corner, he extended a meaty hand to lightly grasp Willow’s hip, pulling her closer so that she stood between his legs, leaning just ever so slightly against his thighs. He didn’t remove his grip; another longer, more focussed look at the other man in the room stated it more clearly than if he’d said out loud. Mine.

“After what happened last time,” he started, “I just thought you’d want to steer clear of Harris. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Something had happened, something bad. That explained everything. “I know. But there’s some things he and I need to talk about, and it’s easier for me if it’s just a little more private than you standing over my shoulder doing the bodyguard thing.” When he opened his mouth to object, she rushed onward. “You don’t have to go, just…stay on this side of the room, OK?”

“I don’t like it, Willow. He’s packing. How’m I supposed to protect you from a gun if you’re all the way over there?”

“Trust me. Shooting is not what he wants to do.” Just the thought of it was enough to make the redhead smile, and she had to quickly check her mirth in light of Gino’s concern. “Relax, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she added. “You’re my guy, remember?”

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

“What the hell was that all about?” Xander hissed, sneaking glances over Willow’s shoulder at the looming form of the bouncer near the door.

“Gino’s just a little…protective of me,” she said. “It’s a long story. So you said, there’s a way for us to get home? How come you had to come through the painting? Isn’t it something you could do from Sunnydale?”

He shook his head. “It’s definitely an inside job,” he replied. “And odds of you guys figuring it out on your own were about as good as Giles getting lucky.”

“So, let’s do it then.”

“There’s a problem.”

“We can do a problem. No problem.”

“OK, actually, there’s two.” He ducked his head. “First of all, technically, we know how to reverse the portal, but we don’t exactly know the specifics of it. It’s going to need a little research and some hunting around on this end before we can actually use it to go home.”

“Oh, yay! Research, I can do,” Willow smiled. “What’s the other issue?”

“I’ve lost Giles.”

That wiped the smile from the redhead’s face. “What do you mean, you’ve lost Giles?”

“Well, we touched the painting at the same time, but when I got past the upchuck factor of coming through, he wasn’t anywhere around. So number one on the to do list, find Giles.”

“And you work for Mack?”

Xander nodded. “Seems like I’m his right hand. On the way over here, he kept asking my advice on all these issues, like what I said was important. Oh!” He brightened. “And, I’ve got a gun.”

As he began to reach into his coat, Willow grabbed his hand, freezing the movement, glancing behind her to make sure Gino hadn’t caught it. “Not a good idea to pull that out right now,” she hissed. “Not if you don’t want to end up a big pile of goo on the floor.”

“What’s up with that?” Xander straightened, peering over her head at the other man. “He’s acting all…boyfriendy.”

“I’ll explain it all later.” She bit her lip. “We should probably get to work. When Buffy and Spike get here, we’ll fill them in on what’s going on, then figure out a plan to find Giles.”

“So Bleach Boy is still around? I’m surprised Buffy hasn’t dusted his ass by now.”

“Um…yeah. About Spike and Buffy.” The memory of her earlier conversation with the blond vampire was all too fresh in Willow’s head. She hadn’t known what she’d been expecting when they’d first started talking, but it certainly hadn’t been a secret love confession for the Slayer, or the suspicion---hope, really---that she might reciprocate his feelings. “You’re delusional,” Willow had said. “It must be part of the effect of the painting.” But listening to him talk, hearing him spill out his fears, watching the play of emotions he couldn’t hide from his face, she’d been reminded of how broken he’d been when Drusilla had dumped him the first time. And the more he said, the more real it sounded, until she hadn’t had any choice but to believe him. “Things are…different here,” she started, only to stop when the door opened and two of the club’s dancers entered, giggling and chatting away. Willow blushed as they tossed knowing glances her way. “Well, better get off to work,” she said too loudly. “You know, selling cigarettes and all.”

Xander nodded and walked toward the entrance. “Hey there, Mr. Harris,” one of the girls said breathily, her eyes gleaming. When he smiled back at her, she burst into a giggle and scurried over to the corner where her friend was waiting, whispering behind one of her hands.

Willow’s eyebrows shot up as he just shrugged. “Must be my animal magnetism,” he commented before ambling out.

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

He was standing just inside the door when Buffy pushed it open, her arms full of her skirt as she held it away from the rough edges of the jamb. “You know, just this once, I’m actually glad that you can’t be on time to save your life,” Lombardi growled, grabbing her gloved arm and pulling her into the hall.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she commented dryly, carefully extracting herself from his grasp.

“I got no time for games right now,” he said. “We both got bigger fish to fry.”

“As long as it’s not halibut,” she joked. “I’ve never really been a halibut kind of gal.”

He glared at her, chewing on the end of his cigar. “You need to know. Mack’s back, and he’s looking for you.”

Buffy felt the fine edges of her good mood begin to fray. Now what? she thought. Hadn’t she gone through enough already in this stupid painting? Scorpions, near-prostitution, boyfriend getting shot. So far, the only thing to have gone right was Spike. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips at the thought of the vampire, the fact that she’d been completely bone-headed in thinking he didn’t care sending her into major guilt overload and totally overcompensating in making it up to him. That’s why she was even later than usual. Not that either of them minded…

“What does he want?” she asked.

“Whaddaya think? Nobody’s told him yet about you and Spike, though, and I don’t want you to say a word, either. I’ll be the one to break it to him.”

“And Mack should care because…?”

Lombardi sighed in exasperation. “For once, could you just do what you’re told? Play along with him, just ‘til I get a chance…” His voice trailed off, and Buffy watched as the older man’s watery gaze darted over her shoulder. She began to turn around, only to be stopped when an arm slipped around her waist.

“God, I missed this smell…” Stiffening, the Slayer felt whoever it was---this Mack maybe?---lower his head to her neck, inhaling deeply. Her throat went dry, the similarity between this and Spike’s frequent nuzzling too spooky, too…wrong. What is it about men and my neck? she wondered irrationally.

“Good evening, Mack.” The Lombardi Buffy knew had disappeared, only to be replaced by this smiling, acquiescent figure, and she began to question just who this new arrival really was.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up.” Without his hands leaving her, he turned her around to face him, grey eyes smiling into hers.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to think, but the first thing to flit across her mind was…god, this guy is really short. “Girl’s gotta make a living,” she said as lightly as she could manage.

Mack laughed. “That’s my Buffy.” She saw his gaze wander downward, stopping at her neck, his head tilting as he appraised the jewelled choker. “I knew that was one of my better investments,” he commented. “And see? The fact that you picked to wear it tonight is just…kismet.”

Lombardi cleared his throat. “Can I have word with you in my office, Mack? There’s some…business we need to discuss.”
“Can’t it wait?” The owner’s eyes never left the Slayer. “The joint’s still standing; it can’t be that serious.”

“Better we get it over with now.”

Mack sighed. “I’m just never going to get some alone time with you, am I?” Buffy’s eyes widened as he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. “Save me a dance,” he murmured, before stepping back to allow Lombardi to lead the way to his office.

OK, what the hell just happened here? the Slayer thought wildly as the two men disappeared behind the door. Mack…obviously someone with enough power to give Lombardi the wiggins…and she had some kind of past with him as well…he bought her the necklace?...and the kiss, major ick factor there…

With more questions than answers---isn’t that the usual in this place? she thought---Buffy headed for the entrance to the front of the club.

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

Willow was waiting for her as she entered the dance floor, grabbing Buffy’s arm to pull her aside from the throng. “We gotta talk,” she said conspiratorially.

“If it’s about that Mack guy, don’t worry. I’ve had the not-so-distinct pleasure,” the Slayer replied. “Who is he anyway?”

“He owns the place,” the witch answered. “And apparently he’s got a thing for you.”

“Yeah, kinda figured that one out already,” she said, still feeling the feather touch on her lips, doing her best to suppress the shudder of disgust.

“There’s more.” Willow was practically bouncing on her toes, the excitement wound tightly through her body. “Xander and Giles are here, and they’ve found a way for us to get back to Sunnydale. Only thing is, Xander hasn’t been able to find Giles yet---.”

The sound of the screeching microphone pierced the air, and both girls cringed as they turned to look up at the stage. Buffy’s eyes widened. “I think we just found him.”

In spite of his impeccably tailored tuxedo, the Englishman seemed flustered as he struggled with the mike stand. Blue eyes kept darting out over the crowd, and when the band began to play behind him, his initial response was to jerk his head around and just stare at them, almost as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “I don’t think he’s adjusting too well,” Buffy commented.

“Oh, yeah, because we just slid on in, no problems,” Willow came back with, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“What’s he supposed to be doing?”

The redhead didn’t even need to answer. As the music swelled, Giles cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “Seems like old times,” he crooned. “Having you to walk with…”

“I’m going to say singing,” Willow responded, suddenly lost in the gentle tones of the Watcher’s voice.

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Buffy murmured. “Did you know he could do that?”

“I do now.”

The pair just stood there, transfixed by the Watcher’s song, until finally, the Slayer yanked her gaze away from the stage. “Well, that’s one down,” she said. “Where’s Xander?”

Willow couldn’t help the smile as she pointed over to the bar. Buffy’s eyes followed her finger, only to widen as she saw the swarm of young women who stood around her suited friend, all of them giggling, most of them doing everything in their power to find some reason to touch him. “He’s not, like, a gigolo or something, is he? Is that why they’re all googly over him?”

“He works for Mack. I guess he’s supposed to be some hotshot.”

Buffy sighed and turned back to face her best friend. “This painting works in mysterious ways.”

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

Although nobody had bothered to approach him, Spike had seen the others, noting with dismay that he was going to have to listen to Rupert sing here as well as in the shower back in Sunnydale. He didn’t understand why the birds were so enamored with Harris, though, or why Gino wouldn’t tear his thunderous gaze away from him at the bar, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not tonight. Tonight, for the first time since getting chipped, Spike was truly happy.

Buffy loved him. He didn’t have to pretend anymore. And though she hadn’t actually said the words, he knew, could see it every time she’d looked at him…touched him…kissed him…He was looking forward to taking her back to the apartment tonight, although how the rest of the Scooby gang was going to figure into the equation, he had no idea. Their arrival probably meant they’d figured out how to get them back to Sunnyhell, but Spike didn’t care. They could whisk them away to Timbuktu for all that it mattered. As long as Buffy was with him.

He felt Gino stiffen at his side, his black eyes finally leaving Xander to dart over to the small suited figure striding across the dance floor. The vampire had seen him earlier before he’d disappeared in the back, and though he had no idea who he was, it was obvious he was someone of importance. Had to be with the way everyone was kowtowing to him.

“Evening, Mack,” Gino blurted as he approached.

The owner’s grey eyes barely flicked to the bulky bouncer, settling instead on his partner as he stood before him. “Spike,” he said smoothly, “could I have a word with you, please?”

The vampire shook his head. “I’m on the clock here. Sorry.”

Gino’s elbow in his ribs forced a scowl from Spike, but he refused to turn away from the man before him. “Well, since it’s my clock,” Mack said, “I believe you’ll do as I say. Out front. Now.”

Spike stepped back and watched as the smaller man brushed past, exiting the club. “You better do what he says,” Gino said behind him. “You don’t want to piss Mack off.”

Maybe, the blond vampire thought. But what about him pissin’ me off?

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

At his very first opportunity, Giles left the stage and rushed over to Buffy’s side at the bar, waiting patiently as the crowd of men surrounding her stepped back to allow her exodus. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” the Watcher said, ignoring the amused laughter from the others behind him.

“We need to confab ASAP,” she said. “You got a break right now?”

“Well, yes.” He frowned behind his glasses. “Is that important?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting on Lombardi’s bad side until I don’t need a paycheck anymore.” She scanned the crowd, catching Willow’s eye and waving her over. “I know it’s weird, Giles, but you’ll get used to it. I promise.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he murmured.

“What’s up?” asked the young witch as she joined the pair.

“Scooby meeting,” Buffy replied. “Go get Spike and meet us in the dressing room.”

“Gotcha,” Willow said, and turned toward the door.

Watching her walk away, Giles asked, “Spike? Is that really necessary?”

Buffy couldn’t meet his gaze, choosing instead to look around for Xander. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It is.”

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

Sauntering onto the sidewalk, Spike watched as Mack pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, playing with the gold foil for a moment before holding it out to the bouncer. He hesitated, then thought, what the hell, taking one of the white sticks as he reached into his own pocket for his lighter. Neither man spoke as they lit up, each taking deep drags and exhaling into the cool night air. The smoke swirled around their heads, dissipating into pale clouds as it floated away, and the vampire wondered not for the first time what this was all about.

“You’ve been very busy since I’ve been away,” Mack started, not even looking at his employee as he watched the cars pass by on the street.

Spike snorted. “Listen, you want to piddle about with small talk, be my guest, but I’ve got a job to do inside, so if you don’t mind…”

“I wonder how it was you actually got Buffy,” the owner mused. “I mean, you’re certainly a good-looking fellow, but let’s face it. I don’t pay you enough to keep her in the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed.”

Now he had his attention. At the mention of the Slayer’s name, Spike’s eyes narrowed, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “Buffy loves me,” he growled.

“Yes, I suppose you would think that. You know, she told me once she loved me.” For the first time, Mack looked at the blond vampire. “Right after I bought her a diamond bracelet. She can be very…grateful.”

“What do you want?” It was all he could do to keep his voice level, to keep his demon in check. He didn’t like what he was hearing, or how it was being said; the way this Mack was talking, it made Buffy sound like…

“…just a cheap whore, really,” the smaller man said. “Hardly worth losing your job over, don’t you think? Of course, she isn’t without her charms, and we both know that she is one of the best at what she does…don’t we?” He chuckled. “Still, I can understand why you’d be infatuated with her. What do you think it will take to…break you of her spell?”

Spike watched as Mack reached into his inside coat pocket and extracted a long, thin billfold, the fury rising in his throat like lava about to spew. “Whatever it is you’re suggestin’,” he snarled through gritted teeth, “I suggest you don’t.”

“No, really. What’s the going rate for girlfriends these days? One thousand? Two?”

That was it. With a roar, the blond vampire leapt through the air, tackling the smaller man, sending them both crashing to the sidewalk with a bone-crunching thump. His fist came up, swung down, connecting with the other man’s face, again…and again…his anger and disgust spilling out of him in waves.

“Spike!” Her hands tugged at his arm, trying her best to pull the vamp off his victim, shocked at how powerful his muscles felt under her grip. “Spike!” Willow tried again. “Stop it! Get off him!”

Chest heaving, the blond sat back on his heels, allowing the young witch to drag him away, his blue eyes never leaving Mack’s unconscious form. “I’m goin’ to kill him,” he growled. “I’m goin’ to rip him limb from limb and…”

Willow’s hands dropped from his coat sleeve like she’d been stung. “Spike…” His head swivelled to see her edge slowly back, away from him, her green eyes wide with fear. “You…hit him.”

“Yeah? You shoulda heard what we was sayin’ about Buffy!”

“But…” The redhead swallowed. “Your chip…”

He frowned, his hand going automatically to his head. For a moment, he’d forgotten, lost in his wrath and the sheer pleasure of pummelling the smaller man. But now…

As the realization dawned on him, his frown faded, to be replaced by a tight smile, a delicious gleam in his eye…

…The bloody chip had never been activated…