Lover's Knot

Lover's Knot
Helga Von Nutwimple

Was in the merry month of May
When flowers were a bloomin',
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.

-- 'Barbara Allen', Traditional Folk Song

Prologue
Halfrek Makes A Choice

"Fresh out of pleasure. That's why I'm here." Spike sighs, shooting Anya a look of pure misery. "I need something. Numbing spell, maybe."

Anya's returning smile stretches her face oddly, and the hackles on the back of Spike's neck rise. He's been looked at like that by things before; generally speaking, they wanted to eat him.

"Uh-huh... hang on..."

And Anya pulls her friend aside, that other vengeance demon bird, the one who came to Buffy's party. She looks so familiar, he wonders if he's fought her before; he searches his recent memory, and comes up empty.

Whatever they're talking about, they've got their knickers properly twisted; Anya's so excited she looks like she's running a fever.

"Sorry to bust up the little girls' night out," Spike calls.

Anya's friend -- Hoofex? Hornflox? Stupid demon names -- walks towards him, a speculative look in her eye.

"You go by 'Spike' now... that's correct?" she says, a Mona Lisa smile on her lips.

"S'right, pet." So he does know her.

"My friend Anya needs a wish. And you're in so much pain you're making my blood sing." Hoofex or Hornflox or whatever smiles predatorially. "I haven't seen you like this in a long time. So ripe..."

Bint must be a friend of Dru's, then...

"I never got to finish what I began with you, Sweet William," the demon smiles tenderly, reaching up to touch his face. "So much raw emotion. So much potential. I suppose I wasn't the only one who noticed."

Spike's brain is screaming at him, red alerts everywhere.

And the demon begins to sing, laughter in her voice. It's an old song, one his mother used to sing... all about Sweet William, who died for the love of a hard-hearted woman.

And the last piece falls into place. "Cecily?"

Her lips curve into a delighted smile. "My William. So very slow."

"You were a vengeance demon? Bloody well explains a lot."

"And you were a masterpiece I never got to finish." She drinks him in with her eyes, lingering on the scar at his eyebrow. "So many changes on the outside, Sweet William. So few on the inside. Would you like to be finished now?"

"Can't say as I fancy it," Spike says casually, trying to hide his unease. "Lovely to catch up and all, Cecily, but I came here to talk to Anya..."

"A wish for a wish, Sweet William. You help Anyanka... I help you."

"Look, I don't want vengeance," Spike growls. "I know how your kind work. I'd wish she wasn't hurting me anymore, and you'd pop her out of existence and we'd all be in some bloody nightmare dimension where Lord Googleymoogley of Evil Incorporated runs the Hellmouth. No bloody thank you."

Spike shoves his hands into his pockets. "Anya, I'll talk to you later, pet."

Halfrek takes his arm. "Sweet William..."

"Bloody well stop calling me that. The name's Spike."

"Spike, then. There is another name for a vengeance demon, Spike..."

"Oh, yeah? What's that, then? Pain in the ass?"

"We are also called Justice Demons. Spike, I'm well over quota for the month. I have no need to turn your little Slayer friend into something squishy. Vengeance and justice can be simple and subtle, too."

"Your kind's as subtle as a concrete block to the face, love. I'll be seein' ya."

He heads for the door. Halfrek raises her voice. "She doesn't know how much your love means to her, Spike."

And he freezes.

"It's like oxygen, food. Something she needs but takes for granted. All I would have to do is remove it. She would suffer more than enough for my purposes."

Spike turns slowly to face her. "Say again?"

"All I would do is remove your love for her. Subtle, simple. But effective."

Spike shakes his head. "Wouldn't work. Too late. Already made a right ass of myself. And if you're offerin' to make it so I never loved her, no. Somethin' worse might've happened to the Bit otherwise."

"That's not what I'm proposing, Spike. I'm proposing a solution that would allow you to maintain the relationships you've built, regain your pride, and end your pain."

He lifts an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"

"You have to make a wish for Anyanka."

"Is that right." He turns to face Anya. "What kind of wish is it you're wanting, pet?"

"I want... I want something bad to happen to Xander."

And Spike smiles... an achingly sad smile. "Pet, the whelp's tossed away the best thing that ever happened to him. That's going to haunt him for the rest of his days. What could I wish on him that's worse?"

Anya's eyes fill with tears. "Do you mean that, Spike?"

He touches her hand. "'Course I do, pet. Boy's in pain, it's clear to see."

"But I can't see, and it's not fair! He won't tell me, he won't show me! He was always yelling at me for being too honest, for saying whatever was on my mind, and he has to just... shove everything down and hide it from me!"

A slow, spreading evil grin takes Spike's face. "You want me to wish that Xander couldn't lie, then? That he always said what was on his mind, like you do?"

Anya's eyes widen. "Oh, yes... I think I'd like that, yes."

Halfrek steps forward so that they stand in a rough circle. "We have our terms, then? We are agreed?"

Anya and Spike share a look, nod.

"So mote it be," Halfrek whispers.

"Hang on... I've almost got the feed from the Magic Box... almost... there." Willow looked up, brushing a piece of hair from her face. "Y'know, as obnoxious as this is, it's almost kind of useful? I mean, there's Anya, gettin' her capitalism on... and if anything happened to her, we'd be able to tell instantly."

"You can see Anya?" Xander moved to peer over Willow's shoulder. "Man, I hate the way she has her hair today. It's all... crazy poofy. I still really want to have sex with her, though."

"Well, that's nice, Xander... okay, just a few more cameras... oh wow, they have one in Spike's crypt? Leave no stone unturned, no pun intended..."

Buffy's eyes popped open. "They have one in Spike's crypt? I mean, not that I... not that there's anything to see there, I mean, uh, how boring is Spike and uh, do you think they keep videotape backups?"

"Dunno..." Willow's fingers tapped. "Well hello, Mr. Abdominal Muscles! I wonder if vampires have to work out..."

"Spike does," Xander leaned over for a better view. "I went to find him once and he was doing pushups. In bed. He is such a freak. But you're right about the abdominal muscles, Will; I mean, just damn."

"No, he just has his shirt off. He's talking to someone, but I can't see their face."

"The nerds have a camera bank. We just found it." Willow swivelled her laptop to give Dawn a better look. "Everything from the Magic Box to Xander's construction site to Spike's crypt..."

"So, what's Angel doing there?" Dawn peered at the screen. "I thought he and Spike, like, hated each other."

"That's who Spike is talking to?" Willow swung the laptop back around. "Oh wow... that is weird. And no one's hitting anyone... that's weirder..."

"That is bizarre," Xander put his hands in his pockets. "Figured Spike'd be Angel Food after Angel found out about his sick little crush on Buffy."

"Looks like they're just having a conversation... actually, Spike's laughing..."

Buffy kicked the door of Spike's crypt open with a shuddering crash, revealing Angel and Spike's shocked faces, frozen in time as Spike poured more blood into Angel's mug.

Spike recovered first, grinning as he recapped the jar. "Speak of the devil and she appears. Don't suppose you have to worry about finding her then, mate."

"Yeah, I... I was..." Angel clutched his mug of blood nervously, watching as Xander, Willow, and Dawn filed in after her. "I, uh, was kind of hoping there wouldn't be quite so large of an audience..."

"Well, we're not leaving," Xander said. "I really want to see you kick each other's asses."

"He's right... I haven't even punched you yet, have I, Peaches? And it our standard greetin'." Spike chuckled. "Must be slippin' in my old age."

"We can do the punching parts later," Angel's fingers worked nervously over the handle of his cup. "Look, uh, Buffy... guys... I have a, a sort of confession."

"Embarrassin'?" Spike smirked. "I'd say I was the one it was embarrassin' for, mate."

"Right, yeah." Angel set his mug down, facing them with a sigh. "Look, um. I had... kind of forgotten something I did when I was Angelus, back when I lived here..."

Angel held up his hands. "The damage is all done. I owe you guys a big apology. It was so minor compared to the other stuff I did, it... kind of slipped my mind, but Spike here tells me that it's been really inconvenient for you, uh, especially you, Buffy, so..."

"Look, uh... back when I was Angelus, I uh, I told Spike once that to kill you, Buffy, he'd have to love you. Which gave me this idea, um, for how to get revenge on you both..."

"God, you're long-winded, Peaches," Spike groaned. "He mojo'd me into being in love with the bloody Slayer. Little parting gift from the diabolical Angelus."

"Oh, he buggered me up proper," Spike smirked. "First, I lost Dru, then I couldn't stay away from bloody Sunnyhell, got m'self chipped, started savin' you lot..."

"When, of course, I wasn't tryin' to kill you," Spike conceded, shaking a cigarette out of his pack.

"Wow, Angel," Xander said in awe. "You totally ruined Spike's life with one spell. Usually we have to rely on Will for that... OW!"

"Thanks for summing it up," Angel growled. "Starting to see how you dated Cordy. At any rate, I've canceled the love spell. Spike should be back to his normal, incredibly irritating self now."

"Yeah, I've got m'brain back," Spike said. "Bits that aren't all bloody wired up, anyway."

Spike's face softened; he moved towards Dawn, taking her by the hands. "Bit, there wasn't any hoodoo makin' me love you, pet. Nothin's changed."

"Sure I'm sure." Spike brushed a piece of her hair away from her face. "Nibblet, all that spell did was make me sack o'hammers over big sis, okay? Everythin' else is me."

Dawn flung her arms around Spike, and he looked vaguely embarrassed, smiling at the rest sheepishly. "There now, Bit, it's okay..."

"Me? Um, well, of course! I'm thrilled! And relieved! I mean, huh, what a weight off, right? Anyway, it's getting dark, so... I should patrol..."

The rest made their exits, Dawn giving Spike's hand a last squeeze. Spike hopped up on his sarcophagus, lighting a cigarette.

Spike sighed. "Look, Slayer. That bloody spell... it made me act like an bleedin' idiot. I know it. God knows I'd undo it if I could... but I can't... so I'm gonna have to just go with the sorry, right? Stalkin' you and the bot and bloody hell, the singing..."

"Well... we've all been under spells before... not exactly of the new." Buffy shrugged. "I gotta patrol."

"I know things have... er... gotten... a bit weird, lately. I'd uh, really appreciate it if no one found out about..."

"Well... how uh... how bad the spell got. The, ah, extent to which I was affected."

"Fine. The shagging, and the..." Spike's lips curled in revulsion, "All the... flowery twaddle I said when I was... ah... under the influence."

Spike paced, unwilling to meet her eyes. "Look, I know it's over, and believe me, no one is happier than me about that mercy. But the fact that it happened at all... right embarrassin' for me, y'know? I mean, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers... pantin' after one like a bleedin' dog in heat... I have to hand it to Angelus, the sadistic bastard got me by the short hairs. Knows me too bloody well, he does."

Buffy stared at him incredulously. "You're saying... you want to keep our little... whatever that was... a secret, because it's... embarrassing for you."

"Well, yeah! I'm a bleedin' Master Vampire, Slayer. Angel hoodooed my head, made me lose Dru, made me get this bloody chip... and then you, well... you right vanquished me, dintcha? Would have staked myself if you'd asked me to, doesn't get much more pathetic than that. Not exactly anythin' I want to take out a Times Square billboard for, right? Look, I'll make it worth your while..."

"Well... yeah. I mean, there is no us, right? You had an itch and I had a spell on me, the whole thing was meaningless and cheap even by my standards, but... look, I was under the impression that you didn't want to tell anyone either..."

"Good. That's settled, then. Let's just both pretend this never happened. Maybe Red can boil us up some kind of forgettin' potion, and we can both put this bloody revoltin' mistake behind us. Hell, maybe I'll get her to make mine extra-strength, see if I can wipe out a few years in one go." Spike shook his head in disgust. "Can't believe I had a bloody robot... there's a memory I'd love to flush."

"So... what, so all of your niceness and the helping was just... a spell? What now, you go back to trying to get me killed all the time?"

"Look... the disgustin', sick, revoltin'..." Spike broke off, his face overwhelmed with nausea. "The stupid crush on you. That was the only spell bit, Slayer. I still love Nibblet, I still like some of your little Scoobies, I still like punchin' demons. I hope things don't have to change too much. If you need me, I'll be here, I..."

Spike looked away. "Actually, I'd... if it's all the same to you, maybe we could split up. I'll take North of the Richardson crypt, n' you can..."

"Sure, sure I do. Eventually. It's just... when I look at you, it reminds me of... well honestly, Slayer, I'm kind of havin' trouble keepin' my blood down."

"I'm past the apology part, Slayer. This is the honesty part. C'mon, you said it yourself. The revulsion, the self-loathin', the skin-crawling need to heave... you felt it yourself, you told me about it all the time, right? I mean, you were right, you n' me is proper sick, it was just the bloody spell that made me all boo-hoo about it, and I'm past that now. We agree, don't we? I just... I just need some space."

"You need space, and you want to still be friends," Buffy drawled. "You do remember that I already dumped you, right?"

"You didn't dump me, Slayer," Spike smiled. "We never had a relationship to end. I was under a love spell and you wanted a sex toy. You only wanted me because you thought I didn't have any feelins... like a big, lukewarm blowup doll you didn't have to feel guilty for kickin' around... and in a way, you were right, weren't you? My love for you was never real."

"Look, Slayer. You and I have both loved in our time, and loved well. I think it would be bloody disrespectful to the memory of the people we did love to call the sick, degraded thing that happened between us a relationship."

Spike crossed the room, taking a brown-paper parcel off the top of the refrigerator. "Give this to Nibblet, will you? In all the excitement, I forgot it."

"Well, I was going to, but I forgot, didn't I? She needs it for the report she's writin' tonight."

"Bloody hell, Slayer. It's a book. Normal old borin' book that they don't carry in the shops here. Open it. Have Red check it for hexes. Hell, even read it -- you do know how, right?"

"Well, first off, I'm burnin' my bed. And one of my rugs. And anythin' else that smells like you and reminds me of spendin' four years dancin' on Angelus' puppet strings." Spike glanced around. "Hell, maybe I should move, this whole place reeks of you."

"Well, maybe you should smoke a few more packs of your nice, stinky cigarettes."

Spike nodded seriously. "Good plan. Maybe get some incense, too. I'll talk to Anya tomorrow about it. G'night, Slayer."

"Goodnight. See, that's British for 'get out'. Surely you've got better things to do than hang out with the evil dead, Slayer."

Spike put a hand on Buffy's shoulder, steering her towards the door. "Evil, soulless thing. I know. You've explained. Let the dead rest in peace, Slayer."

The crypt door slammed behind her, heavy and metallic, and Buffy finally allowed her freak-out to blossom across her face.

Look, I know it's over, and believe me, no one is happier than me about that mercy.

I'm burnin' my bed. And one of my rugs. And anythin' else that smells like you.

"You look great," Dawn reassured her for the seventh time, as Buffy adjusted her clothes critically in the mirror. "Really hot and stuff."

Dawn flopped across Buffy's bed. "Soooooo... why you getting all dressed up for Xander, huh? Something I should know about?"

"No, no, just... going to go to the Bronze, and have a nice, normal evening with the humans. You sure you're okay here by yourself?"

"I might call him anyway," Dawn mused. "We were watching Twin Peaks, and we're only about halfway through the tapes."

"No Spike, Dawn. I'm going to have Willow rescind his invitation into the house."

"That isn't true! He's my friend! Why can't he come over? It's not like he's stalking you anymore, he just wants to see me!"

"He does too. He came over yesterday! We played rummy, a-and he taught me German curse words."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, a wonderful influence. Dawn, I don't want you hanging out with that vampire anymore."

"Yes, you are! You're jealous because he liked you best when he was under that spell, and now he likes me best!"

"Oh, please! I never wanted him to like me! That was so gross, a-and wrong! I'm just... worried about you."

"You don't know him at all," Dawn snapped, jumping off the bed. "You never knew him. Not ever. All you ever saw was what you expected to see."

"Wow, Buffy," Xander said, taking her arm. "I love that outfit. I can see two-thirds of your breasts in it. It makes it really easy to imagine you naked."

"No problem. So, why are you dressed like such a slut? You gonna pick up some guy and rip his heart out of his chest like you used to do to me in high school?"

Heedless of Buffy's stare, Xander pulled her inside the club. "Can I buy you a beer?"

"That was a weird comment. I feel kind of like you're giving me an opening to ask if you're okay, but I had a really hard day at work and I'm just not up for more of your whining, so I'm going to pretend that was a flippant comment and go buy our beers."

Xander paused. "Oh, hey! There's Spike! Y'know, sometimes he makes me question whether or not I'm actually heterosexual. I'll be back with the beer."

No one could fight like he did, flowing with power and grace, and not have it translate... and she knew him, knew that body, knew he had rhythm... she'd felt it, pounding into her, beneath her, above her, huskily whispering her name into her neck...

It was his fault, he was reminding her, watching him with that girl, watching as they danced, Spike's hands trailing down the girl's side, the girl's neck arched against his shoulder, their bodies grinding together...

"Oh, damn," Xander said appreciatively. "That's a tableaux, huh? The things I'd do to that girl aren't and never should be legal."

"Huh, yeah, sure... in Bizarro World," Xander laughed. "What exactly about her do you find unappealing, huh? The perfect face? The waist-length curls? The huge boobies? That incredibly succulent ass? I mean, look at those lips. There's a word for girls like that."

"I was gonna go with lush. Like a ripe peach, y'know? I mean, look at her. You can just tell she's the kind that doesn't hold back. She's a screamer. Maybe just a little bit naughty. Yeah, she's the kind that likes to get dirty. And Spike's got that vampire endurance, right? They're going to have a fun evening. Almost feel sorry for Spike with that chip... I'd want to bite her."

"All I'm saying is, as a man, I'm a little proud of Dead Boy over there. I mean, way to celebrate getting that spell taken off. That's all I'm saying."

"Y'know, he only turns into a total goofball when he's with you. I've been out with him when he's had to charm info out of witnesses and stuff. He's insanely smooth. I mentally took notes. I wrote them down when I got home."

Xander gestured with his beer. "See? See? She's giving him the look. He is in like Flynn, my friend."

"How stupid do you have to be, anyway? I mean, hello, she's rubbing her butt against him like she's a belt sander, room temperature, hi, maybe your date's a vampire, dumbass?"

"Don't think she cares," Xander chuckled. "Besides, it's not like he can hurt her, he's got the chip. Oh, oh... look! He's doin' the move. She is so gonna be impaled on a Spike later."

"Oh, c'mon, that thing he does where he tilts his head and runs his tongue behind his teeth. Even Willow gets tingly when he does that."

"I have not! And you, you were the one always saying he was too much of a loser..."

"Hello, Buffy, welcome to a concept called denial. I had a crush on you for years, of course it's going to hurt my pride."

"Are you really that dense? I guess you are. C'mon, Buffy. For six years, I've stood by your side, fighting the good fight, loyal to the end. I'm exactly what you claim to want... a nice, normal guy. But no, you only get hot for the enemy. I mean, it's kind of sick. Two vampires, a dude with a God inside him that wanted to kill your sister, a couple of humans so creepy they might as well have been demons, and a science project for the Initiative. Doesn't exactly make a man feel appreciated."

"Just talking. Oh, hey, look... they're going up to the balcony, I think it's time for that impalation we discussed earlier."

"But it's the balcony. The balcony is where he..." Buffy broke off. "Where he should not indulge in such activities!"

"Anya and I did it lots of times. It's kind of cool, y'know, getting away with something like that in a room full of people. You should try it sometime."

Xander caught her arm. "Buffy, give the man a break. He's been chasing Unattainable You for years. Let him get on with the attaining."

"Xander, hello, I'm the Vampire Slayer. There's an innocent girl up there..."

"Oh my God!" Buffy squealed, moving towards the stairs only to be pulled back again.

"Well... we need him. For patrolling, and stuff. I'm not letting him get drained by some stupid vampyho when there's the good fight to fight. Now let me go."

Xander let go. "Y'know, in that shirt, you ought to just have your own balcony fun. I'd be happy to oblige..."

But Buffy was already gone, running up the stairs, slipping into the shadows of the balcony...

The girl had him pressed up against the railing, his neck arched back, his face in profile as he gasped in pleasure, his lips parted, Adam's apple throbbing, his eyes half-closed.

Just looking at his face like that made sensory memory sear through Buffy, a red-hot knife of arousal stabbing through her, only to twist as Spike let out a gutteral moan, his well-remembered hands rising to tangle in the female vamp's curls.

Spike's eyelids fluttered, his head turning until his gaze locked directly on Buffy's in the darkness.

"Hold up, pet," he whispered into the woman's ear. "We've got company. Slayer company."

The girl pushed herself up, going back into human visage as she turned to glare in Buffy's direction. "Should we run for it?"

"It's okay." Spike pushed himself off the wall, shrugging his duster back into place. "Slayer, you have something to say?"

A wooden stake flew through the air, impaling the female vampire into the wall. Moments later, only the stake remained.

"It's what I do." Buffy pulled the stake out of the wall. "I thought it was what you did, too."

"What is this? What do you want me to do, date humans? Hello! Fangs, bloodsucker, me? Any of this ringin' a bell, Slayer?"

"Bloody hell. Now you're going to stake me? Take a night off, Slayer. Besides, you don't want to move too much in that shirt -- two more inches either way, and I'm gonna be heavin' from nipple-induced flashbacks."

"That's not what I mean," Buffy advanced on him, swinging her hips. "You know what we did up here..."

"Well, here's some more." Spike advanced on her, his eyes locked on hers. "I don't want to touch you. I don't ever want to touch you again. I don't even want to punch you -- that's how serious I am about keepin' your cooties off me. When I think about what we did, it makes me physically nauseous."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Slayer, you're irresistable. I don't know what it is that lures me in more... your ridiculous haircut that makes you look like soddin' Gidget, the way you're always a bitch to me, or that pervasive Double-Meat aroma that, guess what babe, you can't ever wash off enough for a vampire's nose."

"I said a lot of things, Slayer. I was under a spell. C'mon, what, you thought you were the best I'd ever had? Bloody hell, girl, I spent a century with Dru. You're a blip on my radar... do you have any idea what kind of skills you can pick up in a century?"

He regarded her, running his tongue lightly over his teeth. "Never mind, suppose you do have an idea. Not that you ever experienced even a fraction of what I can do. That would have required you to lose control for a second; can't have that, can we?"

Spike pushed her against the wall casually, holding her in place with a hand, leaning over her to whisper in her ear. "You have no idea what I could have done to you, Pet. What I wanted to do to you. In my world, the dance lasts for hours... for days. I don't need to breathe. I don't need to stop. And I've had a hundred years of practice. What you experienced? Tip of the iceberg."

"But you, Slayer... you lack imagination. Throw a punch at me, kissy-kiss, hop on and thrash, insult, run away, lather rinse repeat. I wanted to show you a world of infinite pleasure... you wanted to round all the bases in proper order, check 'em off on the little checklist Captain Cardboard taught you. I offered you a Picasso, wild and colorful and unrestrained... you wanted a paint-by-numbers fuzzy unicorn poster. And I... wanted you to be happy." Spike scoffed. "You were an utter waste of me, Slayer."

"Right," Spike chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "Step One. Well, forgive me if I skip the rest, Slayer. I know this dance... the steps are the same every bloody borin' time."

"Better watch it, Slayer. All this threatenin' to kill my birds is remindin' me of Dru, and I was almost attracted to you for a second there." Spike sighed, then grinned. "Yep, it passed."

"Why are you doing this?" Buffy demanded. "Why are you saying all these things to me?"

Spike cocked his head. "Not gonna go for the old 'Duh, I'm evil', then? Fine. You taught me that this is the way we converse, Slayer. I'm evil, I'm a monster, I can't love. I'm beneath you, I'm just convenient... I can quote you all night, pet. Unless you'd rather I just beat you into a bloody pulp outside the police station? Sauce for the goose bein' sauce for the gander n' all."

"Yeah, I'm well aware. Y'know... I'm a pretty simple fellow, Slayer, although I can't blame you for not noticin', what with the spell muckin' up the works. People who treat me decent? The Nibblet, Glinda, your Mum? I'll move heaven n' hell to help 'em. And the people who treat me like dirt get back as good as they give. I don't have a soul, pet. Don't have Angel's need to help all of humanity. Just have my need to protect me and mine."

He took a single menacing step forward. "And Slayer? The Nibblet's one of mine. I'll protect that girl until the day I die... and there is not one bloody thing you can do about it... except make that day arrive faster."

"I won't. I'm the closest thing to a father that girl has. The only thing like a father she's had in reality. And I'm not abandoning her, especially not when you're too bloody self-centered to help her."

"Oh, boo-hoo, Slayer, is it time for another chorus of 'They Ripped Me Out Of Heaven'? They tried to help you, you daft bint. They thought you were stuck in a nightmarish hell dimension, like the one you sent Angel to. You think you're the only one in pain? Open your eyes and look around you! Every friend you have is in pain, and you're whingin' about being in hell!"

Spike took one step closer. "I'll tell you somethin', Slayer. If you're in hell, it's a hell you made for yourself. You've got friends, family... you ignore them. You're qualified for hundreds of jobs... you flip burgers. Your bloody soulmate or whatever Angel is down the bleedin' road, and you push him away. Everyone wants to help you, Slayer. Believe it or not, even me. But you don't want help. You want misery."

"One more thing," Spike said. "If you love your sister enough to die for her, then you ought to bloody well love her enough to live for her. Unless dying was never about Dawn? Unless dying was just about you givin' up? That little Slayer death-wish of which we spoke?"

3. Lust For Life

Buffy sat down heavily on the bench, arching her back to crack it. Amazing that a whole night fighting creepy crawlies left her feeling keyed-up and ready for more... yet eight hours in the land of Doublemeat could utterly drain her dry.

Everything hurt. Slayer strength was meant to see you through battle... not standing in the same place for hours on end, boredom becoming tedium becoming near catatonia. Standing over the grill, feeling the grease seep into her pores, waiting for the horrid screechy buzzer that told her to turn the patties over. Can't have variation. Variety is definitely of the bad. Each patty must be the same size, same shape, same amount of doneness, just like every day at work, a neverending monotony.

Why be alive? What was the point? Your days fell into this mind-numbing rhythm. She'd given Spike such crap for not having a soul, but she couldn't even feel her own anymore. She was trading her youth, her talent, her brain, her everything, for... what? Full copper re-pipe, upkeep on a house that was falling down around her head, this sucking vortex of need in the world that she alone was required to fill... and it would never stop, there'd never be a moment of freedom, a day when the bills didn't arrive and there wasn't a need to step into the machine...

Spike popped into her head then, such a random memory, that time he'd come to town all busted up over Drusilla... and she remembered him smashing this vamp's head into a table over and over. So incredibly lame, like everything Spike did, but... the glee on Spike's face, the huge grin, the obvious perverse enjoyment he'd gotten, the violence and joy all rolled together... hell, he'd looked almost innocent, like a little kid with a new puppy, just... pure happiness.

She'd felt that once, that savage joy, the adrenaline thudding in her veins, the goodness and rightness of her muscles in motion, the power surging through her. What had Faith said? Isn't it crazy how slayin' just always makes you hungry and horny?

Buffy didn't even realize she'd pulled a stake out of her purse and walked into the cemetery until the first vamp attacked, bursting her out of her thoughts. A few seconds of tussling and the stake slid into his chest without resistance, leaving him dust.

Her pulse hadn't even sped up.

So much for this stupid idea. Might as well go home, get in the shower, and scrub like hell... the problem with Slaying after work was that the grease made the vamp dust stick, made it into a sort of... meaty death paste.

Yes, this was the grand reason she'd come back, the calling she'd been ripped out of heaven for. Full copper re-pipe, and meaty death paste.

She realized she'd started humming under her breath, and laughed at the irony; "Lust For Life", by Iggy Pop. Of all the wildly inappropriate songs to get stuck in her head...

Except... wait. It wasn't in her head.

Party in the graveyard. Fabulous. That meant a vamp nest. She should probably go get... no, dammit, she could do this on her own, she didn't need...

Spike?

The door of his crypt was wide open, light blazing from within, the source of the music and pounding drums... and as she watched, he emerged... his hair wet, curly, and tousled, his red shirt untucked. Had she ever seen him wear it as just a shirt? With... the sleeves rolled up haphazardly?

Cigarette dangling from his lips, Spike crouched out of her line of sight. She moved to her right, sidestepping the tombstone, and she could see him... in front of a... hibachi?

He pulled his flask out of his back pocket, taking a swig... then poured the contents carefully over five steaks, sizzling on the grill.

Spike was... having a cookout?

Buffy stared, entranced, watching his face in the glow of the coals, his head bobbing to the time of the music as he flipped the meat. God, those cheekbones...

The ring on his index finger flashed orange in the firelight, drawing her eye up the length of forearm exposed by his rolled up sleeves. All sinewy and veiny and oh, she knew how it looked the rest of the way up his sleeve, the cut where his bicep met the rest of his arm, the way those arms could lift her so effortlessly, pin her against a wall as his mouth crushed down on hers...

Stop it, Buffy!

A shadow passed between the light and the doorway, a feminine figure leaning against the doorframe, backlit, her golden curls a halo.

Another date? God, he was such a manslut!

She wondered if this one was allergic to wood. Might be fun to find out.

"Y'know, for a really flammable guy, you'd think you'd be less of a pyro," the woman laughed.

Oh, God. Buffy knew that voice.

Anya.

Xander was gonna have kittens.

Anya moved from the doorway, peering over Spike's shoulder. "I didn't figure you'd cook yours."

"Like 'em rare, Pet," Spike grinned up at her mischeviously. "Not that rare. You, on the other hand... you look ready to eat."

Anya giggled. "Shut up, Spike. And come inside. You're missing all the fun."

Buffy heard a low growl and whipped around before realizing it had come from her own throat.

Another feminine head poked out of the door. "C'mon, Spike, Clem's no good at this girly stuff."

Tara?

Multiply those kittens. And wasn't Tara spending tonight with...

"Aw, c'mon, why can't I? I'm old enough to drive and stuff!"

Dawn.

A thin film of red began to cloud Buffy's vision. So this was Tara's idea of a wholesome place to take her little sister? A cookout with three demons?

Anya took Spike's hand, tugging him to his feet, and Spike rose in one graceful, catlike motion, letting Anya haul him inside.

Buffy crouch-walked behind the tombstones, aligning herself so that she could see through the door into interior brightness of the crypt... like a rectangular painting, lit from within.

Dawn moved into the frame and back out again, thrash-dancing wildly to the music, her long brown hair swinging in a curtain... then Clem, grinning broadly, arm stuck in a bag of Doritos. Anya next, a pile of clothing over her arm, holding up a shiny shirt and examining it critically.

And finally Spike, holding Tara by the waist, lifting her up and setting her on top of the sarcophagus, settling himself between her spread legs.

What... the... hell.

Buffy moved closer, trying to hear their voices over the jubilant music.

"Alright, Pet," Spike tilted Tara's face towards him. "Close your eyes."

What the hell was he...

Buffy blinked.

And did it again for good measure.

Spike was... putting eyeliner on her.

Dawn danced through the rectangle of light again, arms over her head, swaying.

Spike stepped back, regarding his handiwork critically. Tara grinned at him, taking a sip from a tumbler full of pale amber liquid, and Spike moved forward to do her other eye.

"Wow, you're really good at that," Anya said, moving into view and squinting over Spike's shoulder.

"Had to do it for Dru," Spike shrugged, putting the cap back on the eyeliner. "Give my princess an eyebrow pencil, and she'd play connect-the-dots with her face."

He and Anya switched hand contents, and Spike moved back between Tara's legs. "Give us a pout, love."

Buffy watched as Spike spread lipstick slowly across Tara's lips, Tara's face leaned back, her eyes closed in perfect trust. It was almost sensual, and God, he was being so incredibly gentle...

She tried to imagine Spike doing this for Drusilla, imagine the kind of patience he must have had to nursemaid a crazy woman for a century. Patience... it wasn't anything she associated with Spike...

In my world, the dance lasts for hours... for days. I don't need to breathe. I don't need to stop. And I've had a hundred years of practice.

She was shivering... because it was cold. Yeah. That was the ticket. And she was angry because Dawn had come here without permission. It didn't have anything to do with the way the inside of Tara's thighs rode the outside of Spike's, the way she was arched into him, the intensity with which he looked at her as he blended the lipstick with one powerful, beringed thumb, dragging it across Tara's lower lip with aching slowness.

She wasn't jealous of that soulless, evil thing.

And besides, Tara was gay.

She was all-the-way gay, wasn't she?

The doorway suddenly went black, full of Clem, trundling outside carrying a paper plate to get the steaks off the grill.

Move, Clem, move...

Finally, he did, ducking back inside the crypt, setting the plate of steaks on top of the sarcophagus. Behind him, Spike vamped out briefly, tearing the top off a bag of precut salad with his fangs. Tara moved into frame, setting a bottle of ranch dressing next to the steaks... then Anya, with an armful of sodas. Dawn scooted herself up on top of the stone, whirling around on her butt, cross-legged, laughing.

Spike took the soda Anya passed him. "Oi! Proposin' a toast here. Weighty occasion n' all."

"Hear, hear," Tara giggled. She sounded a little tipsy.

"To the Nibblet, our resident Francophile, and her..." Spike looked at Dawn expectantly.

"A hundred and five," Dawn grinned.

"On her test today All hail the mighty brain o' Nibblet."

They all clinked cans.

"Say somethin' impressive in Frog, Bit."

Dawn grinned evilly. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"

Spike spat soda, staggering backwards. "Bloody hell! Soddin' chip! Somebody hit her for me!"

Tara smacked the back of Dawn's head, which only made her laugh harder. "Okay, I hit her, now what did she say?"

"Somethin' she'd bloody well never say again!"

Buffy watched her little sister, bathed in light, giggling helplessly as she dumped a really obscene amount of dressing onto her salad, slapping Spike's hand away when it rumpled her hair.

It looked so... domestic. The warm yellow light, the laughter, the five of them bent over their plates, eating, talking, smiling. It was everything the house on Revello no longer was, with its long shadows and longer silences.

When did the grave of a dead guy become all... homey?

And when had Buffy's home started to echo like a grave?

Dawn looked so happy, grinning at Tara as Tara wiped off a blob of dressing that had ended up on the tip of Dawn's nose. How long had it been since Buffy had seen Dawn look like that?

"Time to get you dressed," Anya said, taking Tara's hand, leading her towards the ladder.

"Look, be careful down there," Spike called. "I've only got it partly cleaned up... there's a lot of rubble n' such."

"Hi, vengeance demon," Anya laughed. "Pretty good with the rubble navigation. And creation."

Spike stacked paper plates, shoving them into a trash bag he'd hung from the iron railing. "Right then. Just gonna change my shirt and make m'hair behave..."

Dawn caught his wrist. "Don't make the hair behave. You look way cuter this way."

"I'm the soddin' Big Bad, Nibblet. 'Way cute' wasn't exactly the look I was goin' for."

"Aw, c'mon. I made a hundred and five! There were bonus points involved." Dawn stuck out her lower lip, batting her eyelashes. "Pleeeease?"

Spike rolled his eyes, but he smiled. "My hair is at your command, O Genius One."

The CD stopped, and Dawn rolled over to restart it... but Spike stopped her hand.

"Hang on a sec, Bit. Hear somethin' out there."

Buffy turned and ran.

----------------------------------

They moved as a group into the streetlight at the edge of the cemetery, and Buffy stifled a gasp behind her hand.

They'd made Tara look... wow.

She recognized the clothes as Anya's, but the way Tara filled them out was... different. Between the clothes and the makeup Spike had put on her, Tara looked... exotic, sultry, maybe even a little dangerous.

Well, until she tripped over a crack and nearly sent Clem crashing to the ground.

"So h-hard to w-walk in these t-things," Tara whispered.

Spike was beside her in an instant. "Just have fun with it, Pet. It's a costume. Pretend it's Halloween."

"I f-feel kinda s-silly..."

"Well, you look bloody fantastic. An' that's the fun of it, right? Keep 'em on their toes, never let 'em know what to expect. Believe me, pet, this is gonna send Red's brain into overdrive wonderin' what you're up to. Not gonna be able to think about anything but you, gonna drive her nuts."

"He's right," Anya added. "This is a very effective tactic to lull humans out of complacency. I've seen it work thousands of times."

"I-I just don't know if I have the attitude to match," Tara laughed weakly.

Spike grabbed her by the forearms. "Glinda. Tonight... you're me."

Tara looked into his eyes for a moment, then laughed. "Okay. Okay, I think I can do that... pet."

Buffy's eyes nearly popped out of her head as Tara tipped her head to the side, giving Spike a laviscious look from peroxide to boots, her tongue circling naughtily over her teeth.

"Bloody hell," Spike whispered in awe. "Hundred percent certain on the gay thing, love?"

Tara laughed. "Hundred percent."

"Red's not gonna know what hit her," Spike grinned.

"That's the general idea, isn't it?" Tara smirked.

"You go on ahead. I'll catch up," Spike waved the other four off, and Buffy's stomach did a little flip at the very appreciative glance Spike bestowed on Tara's departing, sashaying ass.

"Slayer?" Spike called, shoving his hands into his duster pockets. "Come out, come out, wherever you stalk."

Buffy moved further into the cover of the trees, cursing under her breath.

"Slayer, this is bloody ridiculous. You could've come in and had dinner with us, y'know. Nibblet would have liked that. Do you good to eat some real food, too. That damnable Doublemeat would be more nutritious if it were made out of people."

At her silence, Spike rolled his eyes and headed straight towards her. Buffy sighed, stepping out of the shadows.

"Well," Spike smiled. "Aren't you stripey."

Damn her Doublemeat Palace uniform, and damn it for being so orange, and damn him for looking amazingly fantastic in a cobalt silk shirt she'd never seen before.

"I didn't know you cooked," she finally said.

"Been around a long time, Slayer. Picked up a few things."

"Like German curse words to teach my impressionable little sister?"

"Got captured by the Nazis," Spike sighed. "Certain words get repeated in your presence."

"Yeah, right. You were at Woodstock, you got captured by the Nazis..."

"Don't believe me? Ask Peaches. He's the one rescued me."

"Like Angel would ever rescue you..."

Spike shrugged. "So ask him. You think I make up stories where Captain Forehead saves the day? Not bloody likely."

"So what was this, tonight, huh?" Buffy huffed. "Little meeting of the second-string Scoobies?"

"Second-string Scoobies," Spike mused, lighting a cigarette. "Haven't heard it put quite that brutally before. Don't worry, Slayer. We all know where we stand in your fabulous Scooby club, namely on the outside. But hey... since we've all been chewed up and spit out, maybe we can call ourselves the Scooby Snacks."

"I cannot believe you said that."

"How'd you come up with that name, anyway? Always wondered. Figured the whelp was Shaggy and the witch was Velma... now, does that make Angel Fred? 'Cause I see definite hair similarities."

"I don't think we, ah, ever..."

Spike took a step towards her, his voice turning to a velvet purr. "Look bloody fabulous in a bright red ascot and smurf-blue bellbottoms, wouldn't he, though?"

Buffy managed to turn the laugh that threatened to escape her throat into a polite little cough.

"Y'know... I've seen Angel in bell-bottoms," Spike grinned. "Might even have pictures."

"You do not."

Spike shrugged again. "Suit yourself. I'm off, then."

"Spike?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Maybe, um. Maybe when you..." Buffy sighed, her hands clenching into fists. "Oh, never mind."

"If you've got somethin' to say, Slayer, spit it out."

Oh, God, that voice, making her knees go all twingley and floofy. Stupid, arrogant, soulless, evil, vain, condescending, annoying, obnoxious vampire...

"Nothing. It's not important. Go back to your harem."

Spike cocked an eyebrow, an insolent smirk spreading across his face. "My harem, eh? Must say, I like that better than the Scooby Snack thing. Not quite sure where Clem fits in, though. Lovely fella, not quite my type."

"Oh, and Tara is?"

Oh, God, I said that out loud!

The eyebrow soared higher. "Slayer. You're not... jealous, are you?"

"Don't be an idiot. Willow's my best friend."

Spike grinned innocently. "Fair enough. Need to be catchin' up with my harem, though."

He took two steps away and turned back to face her.

"Almost forgot." He reached in his pocket, pulling out a small white card. "Met a fella knows a fella has a martial arts school. He's tryin' to find an instructor for a new class. Self-defense for women. Full-time position, benefits n' all that. Told him I knew a girl might be interested in a career change."

Buffy glared at the offered card. "I don't want or need your help, Spike."

"Suit yourself." Spike let go of the card, let it flutter to the pavement. "Doublemeat bein' double-sweet an' all. You've got dedication to your chosen career. I respect that."

He gave her a little wave, turning in a swirl of leather towards the Bronze.

She should stake him. She should totally stake him. It would be so easy, so satisfying, to break the leg off this bench and hurl it towards him, watch that condescending smirk explode into dust, shut his teasing, taunting, tormenting, tempting mouth forever.

But... Dawn liked him, and she'd be mad, and stuff.

Buffy waited until Spike was out of sight, and picked up the card off the pavement. Wouldn't hurt to keep it around. Not that she'd trust any 'fellas' Spike knew any further than...

Well, she could throw people pretty far, actually. She'd thrown Spike all the way across that house, thrown him right against that staircase, thrown him into the wall so hard she'd cracked it, right before she...

Dammit!

Why did he have to be so confusing? He was bad, he was evil, he didn't have a soul, he'd tried to kill her countless times, not to mention everyone else... and yet somehow, he was the one her little sister ran to when she got a good test grade? He was the one taking her out to celebrate?

Hello! I died for her! I flip burgers for her, which is actually worse! What more do I have to do, huh?

And what the hell was he doing hanging out with Anya and Tara? Laughing and cooking and giving freaking makeovers? Having a barbecue, like he was some kind of... soccer dad? A soccer dad who lived in a freaking half-exploded crypt? Who didn't breathe or have a beating heart?

He was such a... such a big... girly girl! Couldn't get along with Giles, couldn't get along with Xander, couldn't get along with Angel, oh no, but he's all happy putting on Drusilla's eyeliner and buying her dollies for a century.

Y'know, he probably had, like, fourteen sisters when he was alive, and he was probably the baby, and they probably all spoiled him rotten and curled his hair and dressed him in dresses and treated him just like Dawn does, with her oh-your-hair-is-so-cute-like-that ridiculous crap and all the touching, why did Dawn have to touch him all the time and act like Spike was Dawn's own personal version of Angel?

Why couldn't he just be simple? Run around being evil and horrible all the time so she could dust him properly and not do stupid confusing things? What kind of Big Bad watched Passions and cried at that phone commercial with the lost puppy and risked his life to save her little sister and tried to find her a job she'd actually enjoy and gave her nine orgasms in a row that was, apparently, 'only the tip of the iceberg'?

"Hate him," Buffy muttered. "Hate him, hate him, hate him."