“Slow down a little, Dawnie. I can barely understand you.”

Spike was on his feet. The words didn’t matter. He could hear Dawn’s tone clearly over the telephone line and that was enough. His girl was hysterical. He fastened his jeans, and pulled his t-shirt on before stepping into his Docs.

“Where are you exactly? Is there a street sign you can see?”

Buffy didn’t seem to be getting much information.

“Where?” Spike asked.

“Somewhere near the docks, she thinks. She doesn’t even know, but she says it looks like the warehouses in that area, and she can smell the sea.”

“My cell phone -”

Buffy nodded, and spoke into the phone again. “If you see a street sign, or a business sign, call us back on Spike’s cell phone. Do you know the number? Good. Now listen. I know. Listen, Dawn. Yes, sweetie, take a deep breath. I know. Spike and I are coming. Watch for us, try to stay in one place, and unless you’re calling us, stay out of sight. We’re on our way, and we will find you. I promise Dawnie. Soon.”

Buffy tossed the phone onto the sofa, and picked up her blouse. Spike watched her struggling to calm herself as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“Vamps?”

“No, something else.”

“Demon or human?” In that part of town they could be equally dangerous.

“Demon.” That, at least, had come through loud and clear.

“Good.” I can kill them, he thought. “If there’s one scratch on her, I’ll tear their heads off,” he said grimly.

Her fingers were trembling as they struggled to fasten the buttons of her blouse - all those tiny little beaded buttons. Her bra remained, a scrap of black lace, on the floor next to the sofa. He watched for a few more seconds before stepping over to her and stilling her hands. Shaking and scared, she instinctively began to jerk away from him, and he clutched her hands more tightly, preventing her from pulling away.

“Hold on, love,” his voice was soothing. “You’ll never get all those little things. Run upstairs now and get something else to wear while I get some weapons.”

For a second he thought she’d refuse, but then she nodded. “Axe, sword,” she ordered as she ran up the stairs.

“My thoughts exactly.” He crossed to the weapons chest, yanking out the necessary weaponry. He was too upset to treat the items with his usual loving care. “What the bloody hell is she doing in that neighborhood?” he called up the stairs.

“I don’t know,” Buffy called back. “But I intend to find out. And I will.”

He opened the front door. “I’ll start the bike.”

“No.” Her voice sounded from right behind him and he turned to her, his eyes questioning. “Unless you plan to have Dawn sit on the handlebars on the way home.” A utilitarian deep red sweater had taken the place of the comely blouse.

“Right. Sorry. Wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

“Mom’s SUV. The keys are on that little bureau over there…” she pointed, then frowned as she noticed the bureau wasn’t there. “What? Where?” For a second she looked distraught, almost panicky. “I don’t know where the keys are!”

“Easy, love,” his voice touched her. “I’ll get you mum’s car started.” He tossed her a sword. “You wanna grab anything else?”

She hefted the sword and eyed his axe. “No, we’re good.”

Two minutes later, Spike had hotwired the SUV, and they were backing out of the garage.

“One? Two? More?”

“Only one. I think. I’m not sure.” Her voice was grim. “Dawn could barely talk.”

“We find it, and it’s anywhere near your sis - you tend to her, and let me take it out.”

“No.” She refused. “You tend to her. I wanna take it out.” Her voice was hard, inflexible. “I need to.”

Approval gleamed in his eyes at her words and tone. “Whatever you want, Slayer.”

He rounded a corner, tight and fast, and aimed the SUV in the general direction of the ocean. He could feel the rage running through her system as clearly as he could feel his own. He could feel her fear, too, for Dawn. Smell it.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” A passenger now, with nothing to do except look out the windows when they got to the right part of town, Buffy’s hands were clenching into fists against her thighs. “Like I said, she was pretty incoherent. But I got that some demon attacked her.”

“I thought she and Willow were going to a movie? What the hell were they doing near the docks? And where’s Red? Is she with her?”

Buffy just shook her head. He could see she had all the same questions and none of the answers.

“Spike, I -” She swallowed. “If anything happens to her…”

“Shhh. We’ll find her, love. An’ she’s gonna be fine.”

~*~

It took them more than half an hour of cruising up one street and down the next to locate her. Even then they might have missed her if Dawn hadn’t recognized the SUV and called out her sister’s name. Buffy bolted out the door before the slammed on brakes brought the vehicle to a full stop, and the sisters met at the curb where Dawn launched herself into Buffy’s arms.

Dawn was still trembling with lingering terror and shock when they got her home, and she wasn’t making much more sense than she had been on the phone.

“I’m going to get her cleaned up,” Buffy said. Dawn was clinging to her, oblivious to most of what was going on around her.

Spike had already noted the nasty, bloody scrapes on the palms of Dawn’s hands, and he tried not to stare at them. He could guess she’d tripped, put her hands out to break her fall, and had slid along the pavement. That was the least upsetting scenario he could visualize, and he clung to it as his own hands spasmed at his sides.

She’d said Willow had left her alone.

His voice when he spoke, though, was calm. “Go ahead. Thought I’d make some cocoa. You know, like your mum used to do?”

Buffy smiled slightly.

He’d long ago learned from Dawn that Joyce hadn’t used cocoa just to calm lovesick vampires. It was a Joyce Summers ritual, a bloody tradition. Bad day at school? Cocoa. Upsetting dream? Cocoa. Wanker of a father cancel out at the last minute on planned togetherness, again? Cocoa. Slaying getting you down? Cocoa.

Attacked by a demon on the way to a movie? Cocoa. Spike figured it fit in, and he was more than willing to step in for the unavailable Joyce.

“You wanna cup, too, love?”

“Please?”

“I’ll bring them up when they’re ready.”

“Oh, and don’t put any marshmallows in…”

“Yeah, the bit doesn’t like them - monkey brains, annoying older sister traumatizing her for life. I know.”

Dawn, who usually raised hell when she was talked about as if she wasn’t in the room, didn’t even seem to hear them. And she still hadn’t stopped shaking. Spike watched closely as Buffy led her sister out of the kitchen, and listened as their steps sounded on the stairs. Maybe he should make a cup of cocoa for himself as well. Joyce had obviously believed it to have calming properties, and he thought he might need whatever advantages he could get in order to remain in an acceptably non-violent state through the coming talk he was planning to have with Dawn.

He wondered briefly if there were any tranquilizers in the house. If that thing had touched his girl, he might explode before he could get out of her sight, and that would only upset her more. Oh, sod it all. Tranquillizers had to be pretty bleedin’ powerful to work on him, and he wasn’t about to drug himself up. Chances were he’d be hunting before the night was out.

She was home, safe, but the rage inside him wasn’t in the least appeased. Something had dared to go after his girl, his Dawn. He was gonna track down whatever it had been, and make certain its last moments were agonizing. But before he killed it, he was gonna find out it the attack had been a random act of violence, or if the bit had been targeted, and why.

And when he got his hands on the little witch who had exposed her to this, who had willingly left her alone, vulnerable…

Red would have reason to thank the Initiative doctors once again.

Of course, if Willow was injured in some way, or had some rational explanation…

Spike was feeling pretty bleedin’ sure that wasn’t gonna be the case, though. Something had definitely been up with the redhead the other night when he’d stopped in to tell his Slayer about the R’Ashaka-R’Habe demon. There’d been some sort of change in the witch. Something that had - shifted - before, had shifted further. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something different in her; a new confidence of sorts, or a mixture of cockiness and a calmer certainty that she was somehow - above - the rest of them.

The protection spell he’d had performed on himself had her mental invitations bouncing off of him, and even though the housemates had appeared to be simply enjoying an evening of togetherness, he’d gotten the impression Willow had somehow engineered both the evening’s events and the high spirited moods of the others. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed seeing them all laughing together, but Buffy’s mood hadn’t seemed in keeping with her reticence since her resurrection, and the fact that she had no memory of the film they’d been watching made him uneasy.

Spike frowned. He could, he admitted to himself, have that bit wrong. He’d been paying a lot more attention to Willow than to the flickering images on the small screen. Perhaps they hadn’t been watching The Ghost and Mrs. Muir at all. Perhaps he’d just caught some clips of the old film being shown for some reason on the telly. That could have been the case. None of them had been paying much attention to it, after all.

Spike paid no heed to the fact that it was rather unlike him to try to sift through all of the evidence before reaching a conclusion. Instead, he was wishing Giles was back from his business trip. ‘Course he might be by now. After all, it wasn’t his business to keep track of the other bloke’s schedule, was it? Was the Watcher supposed to be home this evening, or not until tomorrow night? Soon, Spike hoped, strong emotions jumping under his skin again.

Discomfort.

Fear.

For his girls.

He hated it. Hated the helplessness of it. They were his, to care for, to protect, and he didn’t know how to do that against a human threat, didn’t know how to…

Sonofabloodybitch.

He needed to hit something, kill something, commit some destructive act.

Instead, he struggled for control, willing his fists to unclench.

Cocoa. Right.

He forced himself to heat the milk, find the chocolate, set out the cups. He thought he was beginning to understand Joyce’s ritual. It gave his hands something to do, and he understood that the rite hadn’t just been to calm the receiver. It had been Joyce’s way to calm herself.

Smart woman, his Slayer’s mum. He missed her.

~*~

She was having trouble drinking any of the cocoa for the simple reason that she could barely raise the cup to her mouth. Eyeing the tremors that continued to wrack her body, Spike gritted his teeth.

“Describe this demon for us, pet.”

Dawn’s shaking increased, and Buffy scooped the cup out of her hand before the contents could spill onto the bedding. She set it safely on the bedside table along with her own and eyed the vampire with some annoyance.

“Maybe she could tell us tomorrow, Spike,” she said. “When she’s done shaking.”

“Best she fills us in now,” he argued coolly. “Wouldn’t want her to forget any details.”

“Like I’d forget,” Dawn retorted. Spike could sense her anger, could see the hint of betrayal in her eyes as she stared at him. “I’m not a total loser!”

“Of course you’re not!” Buffy agreed. She glared at Spike, and he met her eyes steadily.

<< Go with me on this, Slayer. >>

Their eyes held for another long moment before Buffy turned to her sister.

“Okay,” she said, and Spike had the odd impression she’d read his thoughts in his eyes. “Let’s give this a try. Be desripto girl. Fang boy here is annoyingly good at recognizing demons. Maybe he can figure out what you ran into, and we can find it before it attacks someone else.”

“Oh.” Dawn obviously hadn’t considered that they’d need a description in order to hunt it down, or that it might be after someone else now. “It was big,” she began.

Buffy rolled her eyes, and smiled slightly at her sister, tugging on a strand of her dark hair. “They always are. Well, except for that itty-bitty Gachnar demon.”

<< Perfect, love. You’ll relax her. >>

“Much taller than Spike,” Dawn jibed, allowing her anger with her best friend to show a little. “Reddish brown hair covering its - well, most of its body, I guess. It had yellow eyes, and really gross teeth. You know, majorly dentally challenged.”

“Were the teeth sharp?” Spike asked.

“No. And there weren’t very many of them. Either it got hit in the mouth a lot, or it ate waaay too much sugar and completely didn’t floss.”

“Anything else?”

“No nose, just holes in the middle of its face, and by the way, eeeww.” Dawn’s shaking had lessened as she continued to describe the demon. “It smelled funny, too. Gross, you know. Like um, I’m not sure…” she frowned thoughtfully.

“Like spoiled milk?” Spike asked.

“Yes!” Dawn seemed amazed that he had guessed.

“Vpastus’zyn demon,” Spike intoned with certainty.

Dawn’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?” she asked.

“He just does. Believe me, it’s irritating beyond belief, but he’s, like, this demon recognition expert,” Buffy informed her sister.

“I’m a highly intelligent fellow!” Spike puffed up. “I’m quite well read and I have a lot of hands on experience.”

“Yeah, irritating,” Dawn agreed with her sister.

“Vpastus’zyn, native to the Pacific Northwest. This one was pretty far south far its normal range,” he informed them, his voice taking on the toneless sound of a bored professor.

“IR-RA-TA-TING.” the sisters repeated together. Their eyes swung from each other to him.

“The Merriam-Webster definition of ‘Summers women’?” Spike inquired.

“Ha, bloody, ha, fang boy,” Dawn said. She looked down at her hands, which were twisted into the bedding, but Spike caught the slight uplifting at the corners of her mouth. His own tension eased.

“You ever see this thing again, bit, and get in a position where you can’t get away, go for its eyes. Not only is it blind without them, its brain stops functioning altogether.”

“Maybe I am a total loser,” Dawn groused. “Why couldn’t I kill it? Or at least de-brain it?”

“Not your job, bit. Your job is to live.”

“And be terrified and run away, I guess,” she said with disgust. “Why can’t I be more like you?” she asked, looking at Buffy.

Spike snorted. “Like her? Look at her,” he jibed. “Miss Skin & Bones 2001. She wasn’t the Slayer, she’d be demon dinner the first time out, believe me.”

“Hey!” Buffy protested. “I could be terrified and run away, too!”

“Probably wouldn’t be fast enough on those short little legs,” Spike said, looking them up and down. He turned back to Dawn. “You did fine, pet,” he told her.

“Did not.”

“Yes, you did,” Buffy assured her, before glaring at Spike again. “And my legs are perfectly proportioned for my body, you, you - Not So Big & Tall Yourself Guy,” she finished lamely.

“Right.” Spike’s tone clearly conveyed his disgust with her lack of wit. He looked back at Dawn. “You don’t think you did okay? Well, then, run it down for me. I’m a pretty good judge of demon/human run-ins. Havin’ been on both sides, so to speak. Should be able to tell you who got the best of the encounter.”

She had, he already knew. She was alive.

“Well, when it first came at me, I screamed.” She looked between them. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There was only one other guy there, in the room. When I screamed, he laughed.”

Spike felt rage at the unknown ‘other guy’ roll off of Buffy, matching his own. “This was in the waiting room at this place Willow took you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember anything else about this place? What the outside of the building looked like, if it was right on the water or a block or two off? Anything?”

“No. We were just walking down the street, and then we were, like, inside it.”

“You must have gone in a door, Dawnie. Glass? Metal?”

“We were just inside! I don’t remember going in a door! It was like we walked right through the walls or something!” Her voice rose, and she started to look shaky again.

Spike’s body tensed up in suspicion, but he didn’t pursue it.

“It’s okay, bit,” his voice was calm. “Forget that part. So, you got inside, and Willow left you waiting in a room with one other guy while she went into another part of the building to see someone, right?” He was making very sure he had this all clear, that he’d correctly interpreted her earlier, and much more hysterical, flood of words, and that his Slayer was absorbing all of it, too.

“Yeah.”

“She tell you who she was seeing, or why?”

“No,” Dawn admitted. “She just told me to wait; said she’d only be gone a minute.”

“And how long was it before this thing came at you?”

Dawn hesitated before saying with obvious reluctance, “More than an hour.”

“So then what happened?”

“I did the screamy thing. Then it grabbed me, and I tried to pull away. I couldn’t, so I kneed it in the, er, you know…”

“Dawnie, that doesn’t always - I mean with demons…”

“It was the right place, Buffy. The thing wasn’t dressed, you know. I could see. Not that I was looking for, um -” her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

“You did fine. It’s not always the right place, as you so delicately put it, but if the shape is basically humanoid, it’s bloody well gonna be effective about eighty percent of the time. Even if you don’t see anything dangling. Not all demons have dangly bits. Sometimes things - retract.”

“Eeeww!”

“Spike!” Buffy’s protest almost drowned out her sister’s reaction.

“What?” he demanded. “We’re talking about your sis protectin’ herself. No time to go over all shy and fluttery. She needs to know what’s what.” He stared Buffy down until she reluctantly nodded.

There was no need to mention, he decided, that some demons considered a blow to their genitals a come on, a blatant first step in foreplay. He was all for a little roughness in foreplay himself if the mood was right, but if Buffy ever brought a knee anywhere near his nautibitz that wasn’t bein’ used in a caressing type fashion, he bloody well wouldn’t be thinking about her shaggability. He’d be thinkin’ of ways to knock her unconscious without the chip firing. Thankfully, demons with that particular peccadillo as well as being, in his opinion, completely barmy, were relatively few and far between. The chances of Dawn running into one were slim, so he didn’t feel the need to cloud the issue by cautioning her about the possibility.

“And, of course, it could be female as well,” he went on. “Females can be more dangerous than their male counterparts, especially if they’re protecting or feeding young. That tends to run through all species. And general female bitchiness - near universal fact of nature.”

“Hey!” Buffy and Dawn protested together. The sisters looked at each other and smiled in blatant female solidarity. Spike felt some satisfaction as the tension in the room slipped down another notch.

“‘Course humans females excel at it, have the demon world beat all to hell.”

“Yeah - What. Ever.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it worked,” she told them. “The thing screeched like a Velociraptor, so I must’ve hit something it didn’t want hit.” She sounded calmer, and increasing sure of herself. “And then I clobbered it over the head as hard as I could with this lamp in the waiting room. It was ugly, too.”

“A lot of demons are ugly, Dawn,” Buffy reminded her sister, deadpan.

“Hey!” Spike protested, using the same tone they’d used a minute ago, and Dawn snickered.

“Relax, I’m sure she didn’t mean you. After all, you’re a ‘handsome bloke’. We know ‘birds are always tellin’ you…”

“That’s right,” Spike affirmed, preening, and this time it was Buffy who snickered. Rolled her eyes too. Bitch, he thought affectionately.

“And I meant the lamp was ugly.” Dawn went on. “It was one of those retro lamps that they never should have tried to bring back, because who would ever want to remember it - you know? Plus - orange…”

“Taking advantage of what’s at hand,” Spike nodded. “Resourceful. Destroying unfortunate decorating choices at the same time? Good thinking. Earns bonus points.”

“Then I ran.”

“Scream and run. They’re still your best lines of defense, sweetie,” Buffy praised her.

“The kick and the lamp to the head slowed it down a bit, too, I expect,” Spike added. “Gave you a head start and got you to a safe place to give big sis a call.” He nodded. “You did fine.”

“I did?”

“Sure you did. Don’t you think so, Slayer?”

“Yeah.” Buffy moved closer to her sister, and began to stroke her hair again. “You were strong, and kept your head together, following everything Spike and I have been teaching you. Get away -”

“-and get help.” Dawn finished the line they’d repeated dozens of times. Every self defense lesson began with it, ended with it, and got peppered throughout with it. “Yeah, I guess I did.” She was actually beginning to sound pleased with herself. “And hey! I’m a pretty fast runner, too. I didn’t even get tired. And, oh, yeah, Buffy? You were right about always having a dollar or two in quarters in your pocket for emergency phone calls, even if your pants are so tight that every coin shows.”

Spike’s eyes ran down Buffy’s body. Yup. At least seventy five cents, Maybe eighty five. Buffy shifted under his smirking expression, and his amusement deepened.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Dawn dozed off, aided by the two Tylenol PM’s she’d given her, and she and Spike went back downstairs. Spike seethed and paced, and made it very easy for her to read his rage, while she made phone calls.

People arrived. Giles, Xander, Anya. Worry, fear, and anger were running through the room, as Buffy briefed them on the situation. With Dawn safely tucked up in bed, their chief concern was Willow, and they didn’t have any idea what had happened to her or why. Was she hurt? Chained up? Dead? Possessed? Newly evil? Or had she just abandoned all good sense, along with her friend’s little sister?

Buffy and Giles, who had returned from his buying trip to L.A. only an hour before her call, started laying out search grids on a map of Sunnydale which they had spread out over the coffee table. The dock area was notorious for its seedy occupants, and even though Giles and Xander were experienced fighters, Buffy was very reluctant to send either of them into the dangers of that neighborhood alone. Forming two teams - herself with Xander and Spike with Giles - seemed to give them the best possibility of finding Willow quickly without any accompanying death, dismemberment or unnecessary bleeding of any member of their group. Anya, she hoped, would stay with Dawn.

Buffy looked at the map, groaning at the amount of ground they would have to cover.

“Anya, Giles, can either of you do some sort of location spell? If you can’t, I think I’m going to have to call Tara and ask her to come home. I didn’t want to take her away from her job, and I was really hoping to have Willow safely back here before telling her anything at all, but we have no idea what we’re looking for, and we have to narrow down the search. We can try to backtrack from where we found Dawn, but she doesn’t seem to know how far she ran or have any sense of what direction she ran from before she finally found a phone and called us. She doesn’t even remember what the building looked like.”

“How can that be?” Giles asked. “Surely she must have noted something about it…”

Buffy rose from her chair and moved toward the fireplace, leaning against the wall alongside the edge of the mantle. “She said they were just ‘suddenly in’ it, almost like they walked right through a wall.”

“Sounds like it was cloaked,” Anya said, before asking curiously, “Has Willow been seeing a power dealer?” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my god! Is that how she got the power to resurrect Buffy? ‘Cause that would be pretty scary. Purchased power is really unpredictable.” Her eyes ran over Buffy as if she was searching for signs of instability.

“What are you talking about?” Buffy asked. A wave of fear passed through her. Unpredictable how?

“There are demons that deal in power,” Spike explained. “Giving, taking.”

“Mostly taking,” Anya added. “If you’re stupid enough to go to one, that is. Which I’m not. I stay as far away from them as possible.”

“When the bit talked about the building, it made me suspicious,” Spike went on, leaning forward in his chair. “But Red would have to be…” His eyes met Buffy’s. “This is bad mojo, Slayer.”

“Whoa,” Xander cautioned. “Step back. Let’s not jump to any conclusions about Willow. She’s too smart to get caught up in something stupid and scary.” He paused, frowning. “And, ah, just how scary are we talking here?”

“Worse than being locked in a room full of fluffy hoppers,” Anya said.

“And bloody dangerous for a bird like Red. Humans aren’t power dealers’ usual traffic, an’ a human body isn’t designed to take in different kinds of demonic power. Could lead to - complications.”

“What do you mean?” Xander’s fear for his friend’s safety could be heard clearly in his voice. “What kind of complications?”

Anya shrugged. “Insanity. Coma. Death.”

Xander’s mouth dropped open in horror, and he sprang to his feet. “I am not gonna lose another friend,” he told them. “Not. Happening. We need to - ”

“We will, Xander,” Giles’ tone was like a calming hand on the younger man’s arm. “We’ll get her. But we need to know what we’re going into, so let’s take a minute to learn what we can first. You know it’s best to be prepared.”

“I - yeah, okay.” Xander was obviously reluctant, but seemed to understand the wisdom of Giles’ words. He sank back down onto the sofa next to Anya, who ran her hand over his shoulder comfortingly.

“What exactly is a power dealer?” Giles asked.

“Not all demons have the same kinds of powers,” Anya said. “So there are power dealers - demons who offer all sorts of extras. Whatever you don’t have, they can probably get you. Demons might go to a dealer for simple things - increased physical strength for a big demony fight, or the power to cast a particular spell. Sort of a one shot deal. But, more likely, they go to get permanent powers they don’t already have. Say you’re a Jl’piper demon, and you want to be able to turn your enemies into seaweed, which, you know, would be really effective at getting them off your back since Jl’piper demons are desert dwellers. Or say, you want to destroy Paris - a very popular choice, but so far not successful - at least not completely… Or maybe -”

“Yes, yes, Anya, we get the idea,” Giles interrupted. “Go on.”

“Okay, so you’re a demon and you want some sort of power you don’t have - for a particular reason, or maybe just to wield it, who knows? A power dealer might be able to help you.”

“So these guys just have all these different powers stored in some kind of warehouse? Wouldn’t all demons go to them if they can hand out superpowers to anyone who comes along? Why haven’t we heard of them before?” Xander asked.

Spike looked at Anya before replying. She tipped her head, deferring to him. “The powers might be contained within the dealer himself. He, or she, can take in huge amounts of power from different sources, sort of - store it - I guess, even if he can’t access all of it himself. If he can’t take the powr into himself, he might be able to store it in a vessel of some sort - orbs, crystals, talismans. Dealers are…” he grimaced. “This is dark magic. Deep. Bloody dangerous, too. Most demons aren’t stupid enough to try to hook up with them. Seekers are usually desperate in some way, willing to take any risk. Or completely off their nut. Power dealers don’t give things away for free. There’s always a price, and it’s rarely cash. Sometimes, it’s just information. But it’s usually more. The seeker might have a different kind of power, something the dealer wants. A little unique, maybe. Or the dealer might want a favor, and thinks the seeker is in a position to grant it. And even once a seeker thinks a deal has been struck, that they know what they’ve gotten themselves into…” He let his voice trail off.

“It usually ends badly,” Anya finished.

“The price is never quite what the seeker thought,” Spike added. “There tends to be a lot of fine print. And the real price is one anyone with half a brain would never agree to pay. It’s like signing your name in blood with the devil.”

“That’s a mistake, too.” Anya looked at Xander sternly. “Never sign your name in blood for anything. Not even free premium channels.” She paused, considering. “Not even porn.”

“And there’s always another fool that comes along that thinks he can outsmart the dealer, right?” Giles asked.

“Exactly.”

“So it could be that this creature has been here for quite sometime.” Giles concluded. “Working behind the scenes, so to speak.”

Xander’s hand moved expressively. “Doing his demon best to make the Hellmouth Hellmouthier. Should we be surprised by this?”

“Do either of you know where one of these dealers might be located?” Giles asked Spike and Anya.

“They’re pretty rare, but what with the Hellmouth serving as Demon Central for most of the Western Hemisphere… Rumor has it there are a couple of them in town, maybe three,” Spike said. “I don’t know any of them, and like Anya said, their places are cloaked. Only demons can detect them, and the locations shift about.”

“So they’re always hightailing it from one building to another to avoid former customers who are now pissed off revenge-seeking demons?” Xander asked.

“You don’t have to be pissed off to seek revenge,” Anya said, patting her fiancé’s knee. “In fact, it’s better to keep a cool head when you want to kill someone you once did business with.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Ahn,” he replied.

His sarcasm went past her, as it often did. “Why? Is there someone you do business with you’re thinking of killing? It’s not that nice Mr. Kodell, is it? ‘Cause he just gave you that promotion and a pretty hefty raise. He likes my breasts, too.”

“What?” Xander demanded.

“Oh, relax, Xander. He doesn’t try to touch them or anything. My breasts are your exclusive playground. He just looks at them a lot.” She glanced down with satisfaction. “As he should. They’re very pert.”

Buffy sighed in disgust as the eyes of every male in the room went to the other woman’s chest. Men, she thought. But her exasperation didn’t stop her from crossing her arms over her own, rather less well defined, breasts. Unfortunately, Spike caught the defensive movement, and she could feel herself flushing as he smirked at her.

<< No need for that, love. You’re perfect. >>

Buffy’s flush deepened as she seemed to hear his rumbling voice in her head, and Spike’s smirk momentarily softened to intimacy before he brought the discussion back to power dealers.

“The location shifts with them.”

Giles cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Anya. “Really?” he began vaguely. “That’s quite - .” His expression changed to one of awareness and confusion. “What? The buildings move?”

“No. I don’t know how they work, exactly, but they’re sort of illusions,” Anya replied.

“If only demons can detect these places, how would Willow know where to find one?” Buffy asked.

“She wouldn’t,” Anya said. “The first time, she would have to be invited by the dealer himself, which probably isn’t going to happen unless she has something he wants. Or she might have been guided there by another customer. If the dealer is interested in her, he’d give her an open invitation to come back, and she’d develop the ability to sense the place - like one of those insect things, only, you know, mental.”

“Huh?” Buffy’s question was being asked by Spike’s and Giles’ expressions as well.

“She means a bug,” Xander interpreted. “But I think she actually means a mental homing device of some sort. Is that right?”

Anya nodded, looking pleased that her intended understood her so well.

“So if she walked right in with Dawn, it sounds like this wasn’t her first visit,” Buffy said, her voice hard.

“Unfortunately, that would seem to be the logical conclusion,” Giles agreed.

Buffy straightened from her lounging, and deceptively casual, position. It was obvious Willow was in danger. They didn’t know if she’d fallen into it, or walked into it knowingly, but the danger still existed. To be honest, they didn’t even know if they were on the right track, but walking through walls wasn’t that common, and this was the best bet they had right now. “Can you detect these places, Spike?”

“Haven’t been to a power dealer in more than fifty years, Slayer, but I’m still a demon. Should be able to track this bloke down.”

“Good,” she told him. “What kind of security are we going to run into?”

“Depends on the dealer.” His eyes warmed in anticipation. “You know we can take on anything, love. Be a piece of cake.”

“Since it seems only Spike can find this place, there’s no sense in breaking into two teams,” Buffy decided. Her eyes went to Xander and Giles. “When we get in, I want you two to do whatever you can to find Willow, and get her to safety. Spike and I will take care of the dealer and whatever defenses he has.”

The men nodded, and her gaze swung to Anya. “I need you to stay with Dawn. Will you do that?”

“I like Dawn duty,” Anya said agreeably. “It’s much less likely to cause me physical harm than fighting demons, and it’s generally much easier on my clothing as well.” She smiled. “Just leave me a big old axe, and we’ll be fine.”

“In the chest - there,” Buffy indicated the weapons chest. “You’ll need to monitor the phone, too. If Willow calls, get her location and call Xander’s cell phone. We’ll pick her up.” Anya nodded. Buffy looked at the others, gathering her team together. “Xander, make sure your phone is on vibrate. I don’t want it ringing at the wrong time and messing up any element of surprise we might have. Spike and I already have an axe and a sword in mom’s SUV. You two grab whatever you want. Just remember - Willow is your first priority.” She looked at the vampire. “We just drive around until you sense it?” she asked.

“Wish there was a faster way, Slayer, but the cloaking is bound to make location spells worthless, and this isn’t the type of information we can beat out of someone at Willie’s. Places like this shift about too much. Could be moving every few hours. Maybe more. They have to be sensed. Cruising up and down the streets is our best way to start.”

Buffy led the men to the door. When she swung it open, though, their plans changed. Willow was standing on the porch, about to come in.

~*~

“Well, that certainly removes any doubt,” Anya said under her breath, looking at Willow, who was stretched out on the sofa.

“What?” Xander asked. “She’s drunk!”

“No, she’s not,” Anya said firmly. “She’s assimilating power.”

Xander stared at his oldest friend. She’d been unsteady on her feet, and had collapsed onto the cushions of the sofa almost as soon as she’d come into the room. She was mumbling and giggling in turns, and she looked pale and ill. Giles was in the kitchen, talking in low tones on the phone to someone in England. Buffy and Spike had disappeared into the dining room, leaving Xander and Anya alone with the witch.

“I’ve seen her drunk before,” he said. “And that is drunk.”

He moved toward the redhead, and Anya grabbed at his arm. “Don’t go any closer, Xander.”

Angrily, he yanked his arm from her grasp, and stepped closer to bend over Willow. Immediately, the air around her began to crackle, and little arcs of something ran from her body into his, like static electricity gone wild.

He yelped in surprise and jumped back.

“I told you not to go any closer,” Anya exclaimed. She looked him over carefully, checking for damage, and batted a hand at a small smoking hole in his t-shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, staring at Willow in shock.

Willow looked over at him. Her hand moved to her hair, and he gaped at the miniature bolts of lightning arcing between her fingertips and her head. She seemed completely unaware that anything odd was occurring.

“Hey, big buddy,” she grinned.

~*~

In the dining room, Spike turned to Buffy.

“I’m gonna go check on our girl.”

Buffy frowned, studying him. She was surprised he didn’t want to confront Willow.

“I can’t, love,” he answered her unasked question. “I hafta -” He paused, gathering himself. “I don’t trust myself to be in the same room with her right now.”

“But you - the chip…”

“Doesn’t matter. Not right now, not the way I feel. I might go for it, so it’s best I take myself out of the way. Besides, I know you and the Watcher can handle her. I’d just muck up the mix.” He pulled her close, and pressed a somewhat distracted kiss to her temple. “I’ll go sit with little sis. Be just a holler away if Red gets herself together and you need more muscle.”

Buffy leaned into him briefly, touching her own mouth to his collarbone. “I hope Dawn’s sound asleep,” she commented as Spike stepped away. Her eyes went to the ceiling. “But even if she is, I’m sure she’d appreciate having you there. She was pretty upset.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She’s run into demons before, and handled herself bloody well. ‘m a bit surprised she was so shaky tonight.”

“She’s usually with someone else,” Buffy reminded him. “You, me, at least one of the gang. Tonight she was alone.”

Spike bent his head, staring at the floor. “I’m gonna find this thing, Slayer; the demon that went after her. Take it out. I give you my word.”

His head came up and their eyes met. She could read his barely controlled rage, and his determination to seek revenge.

“Spike, don’t…” she began to caution him.

“Don’t what?” he gritted out.

“Don’t - do anything too reckless,” she amended.

Spike snorted softly at her obvious change of heart mid-sentence, and his grim expression lightened. “I’ll do my best to make sure only the other bloke screams.”

Buffy made a face. “You can make those screams really loud, right?”

“Oooh, there’s my bloodthirsty Slayer,” he approved, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Count on it, pet.”

Buffy watched him saunter out of the room, and listened to the sound of his boots on the stairs. She’d been annoyed with him when he’d pressed Dawn to talk, but had soon seen how effective the discussion was in calming her sister. And in reassuring her that she’d acted just as she’d been trained to. He so often seemed to know just what to do or say. Well, unless he was completely putting his foot in his mouth in a major way. But when he worked at it, he did pretty well, and he certainly had the touch with Dawn. She envied that. Even though her communication skills with her sister seemed to be improving, she still often felt like she was flailing about trying to find the right words in awkward situations, and, most of the time, failing.

~*~

Xander’s eyes followed Spike as the vampire climbed the stairs, and he turned to Buffy as she stepped into the living room, his brows rising.

“The going gets tough and the Spikey skedaddles? Why am I so not surprised?”

Buffy frowned. Hadn’t Spike been fighting alongside them all summer? Spike spent so much time with Dawn and Giles now that, for some reason, Buffy had assumed that his relationships with all of the others had improved as well. Of course, Willow had made some disapproving comments about him coming into her room in the middle of the night to wake her from her nightmares, and Spike mentioned that he and Willow didn’t always see eye to eye. But surely, if they were all fighting together…

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. He’s just ducking out, as usual.”

“Ducking out? You’re not suggesting Spike would duck out on a fight, are you? ‘Cause I’d have to say, mostly - no.”

“Okay, I guess he’s usually around for the fights,” Xander admitted. “At least lately. He’s still avoiding being in the same room with all of us, though. He’s hardly bothered to talk to anyone except Giles and Dawn since… well, since last spring. The Formerly Scary has developed quite the attitude.”

“He just thought it might be better if he wasn’t around Willow right now.”

Xander’s eyes went back to the redhead. “Is he afraid of her?”

Buffy looked at their friend as well. “No,” she said quietly. “He’s furious.”

Xander snorted. “I bet. He’s probably -”

“Can we not do this now, Xander?” Buffy cut him off. “Willow needs to be our priority right now.”

“I know,” he nodded.

Buffy went the rest of the way into the living room, and Xander followed. Anya was leaning against a wall as far away from Willow as she could get, her arms crossed, and her eyes fixed warily on the witch. Giles’ voice could still be heard in the kitchen.

Buffy squared her shoulders, and approached the girl who had been her best friend for years.

~*~

“Oh, get off it. Dawn wasn’t even with me. You really think I’d do something so reckless with our sweet little Dawnie? Pffft. Not a chance. Not even when she’s being a whiny brat.” Willow’s voice dropped as she muttered to herself. “Which is a lot of the time.”

“I have your note, Will.”

Willow put her hands over her ears. “La, la, la, la, la. Not listening.”

Buffy grabbed at her hands angrily, ignoring the crackling arcs that shot out at her. “You will listen, damn it. She was attacked! She could have been killed!”

“Liar! You’d say anything to try to keep me away from him, wouldn’t you? So scared of a little power!”

Since she’d been brought back, Buffy had often been uncomfortable in Willow’s presence. Sometimes, the other woman had even made her feel a bit twitchy, as she’d told Spike. But she was completely unprepared to see her old friend like this. It frightened her, made nerves twist sickeningly in her stomach. It hurt, too. Emotionally. How was it she hadn’t realized…?

“I don’t know why you all seem to think having a little power is so scary, sooo bad!” Willow ranted. “Or maybe you’re just worried ‘cause it’s me. Oooh, Buffy can have power, but not the little sidekick. Just ‘cause I didn’t get all ‘chosen’ and stuff - Well, guess what? I chose myself! I got my powers the old fashioned way - I earned them.” She guffawed at her own cleverness, while the others stared at her helplessly. “I worked hard. Studied. Okay, then yeah, a little help, a little enhancement from this totally cool guy, but still! Mostly on my own! Not like some people I could name - Buffy Anne Summers,” she identified under her breath. “Who think they’re so special…”

You want my job? Buffy wanted to cry out. You want to be the Slayer? And then her mind carried the thought further. Then why did you bring me back? Why didn’t you just take over? Why? Had Willow always felt like this? Buffy remembered her using the word ‘sidekick’ before. With accompanying anger. They’d sorta been under some kind of spell at the time, and she definitely wasn’t herself right now, but still… Was this how she really felt? Was it like in vino veritas or something? Only with magic instead of wine?

“This ‘totally cool guy’ -” Buffy began.

“I was just walking down the street and - poof! He was right there in front of me. All helpful and understanding.” Willow tried to sit up, but fell back weakly, looking even paler than she had when she’d first entered the house. “He knows having power can be good! He’s not like all of you… And he thinks I’m amazing!”

“Who is this guy?” Buffy was rather surprised that she sounded so calm. “Does he have a name?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? I’m not stupid, you know, like some people I could name - Buffy Anne Summers,” she muttered the clarification again. “If I tell you, you’ll probably kill him, even though he hasn’t done a thing.” She seemed to consider that statement. “Nothing wrong, anyway. ‘Cause that’s, like, your solution to everything. Kill, kill, kill! Slay, slay, slay! ‘Oooh, look at me! I’m the S.L.A.Y.E.R.’”

“For god’s sake, Will. Knock it off.” Buffy thought Xander looked as shaken and horrified by the disdain dripping from their friend’s voice as she felt. His eyes flew to hers. “She doesn’t mean it, Buff. You gotta know that. This is all some kind of magic-overdose induced - nothing. She doesn’t even know what she’s saying.”

“Of course I know what I’m saying!” Willow protested.

“Do you?” Buffy asked. “When did this ‘poofing’ happen?”

“It was that night!” Willow told her, obviously feeling triumphant that her memory was functioning and she could prove she knew what she was talking about. “That night you all told me how much you cared about me, but how everything I was doing was wrong, wrong, wrong! The night you said you’d kick me out of the house if I messed up again…”

An enormous wave of relief flooded through Buffy. Apparently Willow hadn’t met this demony power dealer guy until well after the resurrection, which probably meant she hadn’t used any of the ‘unpredictable’ purchased power Anya had described in order to bring her back.

“Funny you should mention that, Will,” Buffy began.

“Buff, I really don’t think you should make any rash decisions,” Xander tried to intervene.

Buffy’s eyes were cool as she looked back at him. “There’s nothing rash about it, Xan. I warned her, more than once.”

“Warned who about what?” Willow chirped. “Oooh, where’s my little witchiepoo? Oh, Tara! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Warned you!” Buffy said, her voice rising. God, she wanted to scream! She struggled to gain some control before she continued. “I care about you, Willow, I do. But you have some problems and you need to take care of them. And, I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here while you do.”

“Problems! Look who’s talking, Miss Mopey-pants. The only time you’ve even smiled since I saved your life was the other night when we stayed in to watch that movie together. We all had fun, didn’t we?” she said, with a sigh of satisfaction. “See? I made you happy! I can make you all happy! There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m so sick of everyone being all miserable and glum. All non-talky.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “You - you made all that happen? With me? And Dawn?” And then, horrified, “With Tara?”

“Yup!” Willow said with gleeful pride.

“Oh, god.” The kissing, the intimate looks and touches between the two women… The whispered words about how they’d spent the last hour before dinner preparations began. Reconciling. In bed. The nerves that had been twisting in her stomach morphed into nausea. “Willow, how could you? How could you do that?”

Willow seemed to realize she’d made a tactical error. “Maybe you should forget I said that,” the redhead said. “In fact, I could just make everyone forget I ever went to see that guy.” Her voice held the unevenness of her inebriated-like state, but darkness still ran through it like a blackened cloud. “No need for any of you to remember anything else about tonight, either. Or, you know that forgetting spell? I could make you forget you forgot!” The blackness dissolved as she laughed uproariously at the idea.

“Look,” Willow began again, once her laughter had died down. Her voice was calm, reassuring. “I love you guys. You know that. I would never do anything to hurt any of you. This power thing? No biggie! Really. You can relax. I’ve got it totally under control.”

Her eyes went from Buffy to Xander appealingly. When they didn’t respond, she frowned, and the bursts of electricity around her increased, the air crackling, as her voice became a threat. “I said I can control it. I can control you, too, you know. Both of you. All of you.”

“I think you’d better shut up,” Xander said. He turned to Buffy. “You’re right. She can’t stay here.”

Buffy reacted to the sadness and fear in his voice and reached out to squeeze his hand. “We’ll get through this,” she promised him. “We’ll get her through it.”

“Damn right we will,” he said, and pulled Buffy into his arms.

Buffy felt herself start to freeze up, but she forced herself to relax against her friend, and wrapped her arms around him as well. They held each other tightly, sharing their fears in the silent communication of hugging. Somewhat to her surprise, it felt good, almost - comfortable. Buffy sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation. It was the first time since she’s been brought back that she’d felt close to Xander, and she realized how much she missed their camaraderie.

Anya, who had refused to take a step closer to Willow, joined them now, wrapping her arms around them both fiercely. “I know it’s scary when one of your friends goes insane,” she offered. “But Tara recovered when Glory sucked her brains out, so I’m thinking insanity isn’t nearly as permanent as death.” She smiled reassuringly. “Normal, non-Buffy deaths, I mean.” She patted the Slayer on the back. “Your deaths never seem to be permanent. And, really, we’ve been through worse things. Multiple apocalypses, for instance.” She looked from Buffy to Xander and back again. “Right?”

Buffy looked into Anya’s bright, hopeful eyes. Unable to help herself, she gave a huff of amusement.

“You’re right, Ahn, we have. And we’ll get through this, too.”

“Oh, look, bonding!” Willow cooed. “So sweet. Even with the vengeance demon!”

Anya swung around to glare at Willow, her hands planting themselves firmly on her hips. “I’m not a demon anymore, missy,” she said. “And right now, I think I’m a hell of a lot less scary than you! Probably more human, too!”

“You’ll never be human,” Willow said. “You’re just playing at it. Taking human form, like some kind of pod person or something equally icky.”

Anya’s stricken expression brought Buffy’s anger back to the fore. “That’s enough, Will.”

Buffy stared at Willow, who was mumbling to herself again. Her own silent argument was raging. I can’t. You have to. It’s Willow. It’s Dawn. Dawn’s safety. She’s your oldest friend. Dawn could have died. And Willow doesn’t even remember that Dawn was with her! You can do this. You already said it earlier. Just because Willow didn’t seem to take it in…

“I’m sorry, Will,” Buffy said, regret in every line of her body. Regret and determination. “I wish I didn’t have to do this. But you have a problem, and I have a sister to protect. I warned you, told you what the consequences would be, and you ignored those warnings.” God, this was so hard. “You’re going to have to move out.”

Willow collapsed into giggles again. “Oh, yeah, right. Meek little Buffy who’s hardly said a word since I saved her life, is gonna kick me out?”

“Yes, she is. And her meek little Watcher is going to take you to his apartment until you’re in a fit state to be delivered to your parents.” Giles entered the room from the kitchen, and came to the foot of the sofa, where he stared down at the young woman still lying stretched across it. He looked tall and fierce and completely intimidating. The steely expression in his eyes matched the tone of his voice. “Xander, Anya, could you please put together some of her things? Enough for a few days? We’ll get the remainder of her belongings packed tomorrow.”

His eyes went to Buffy. “Where’s Spike?”

“Upstairs with Dawn.”

“Get him. Dawn can join us, too, if she’s awake. As soon as Xander and Anya are finished, we’re going to have a little talk.”

~*~

A simple sleeping spell had sent Willow, blessedly, into unconsciousness. None of them were sorry to hear the flow of words from her mouth end.

Dawn remained soundly sleeping in her own bed.

“My friend in Devon, Caia, was able to give me a spell that should be strong enough to contain Willow once she’s assimilated the powers she took in tonight. When I described her condition, Caia seemed to think we would need to keep her contained for about three days. We can do this at my apartment. The containment spell and Willow’s reaction to it may be, from what I was told, rather unpleasant, and I don’t want Dawn to see her like that, if possible. But she’ll need to be watched constantly, and I’ll need all of you to take turns helping with that. I can’t do it myself over that length of time.”

“Of course you can’t,” Xander agreed. “I’ll come home with you tonight.”

“Thank you, but I shan’t be needing anyone until sometime tomorrow. She’ll sleep through the rest of the night now, and the power won’t kick in until mid-morning at the earliest.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow as soon as Dawn leaves for school,” Buffy said.

Spike looked at Xander and Anya. “If you two want to take the late afternoon, early evening shift, I can spend the nights, hang about ‘til the Slayer can get over in the morning. That way the Watcher will never be alone with her.”

Giles waited for the engaged couple to nod their agreement. “Good. There’s something else we need to take care of right away. A protection spell.”

“Protection? From this power dealer?” Xander asked. “Will he come after her? Us?”

“Protection from Willow,” Giles corrected.

“From Will? Why? Isn’t that kind of jumping the gun? And should we be messing with anything else magic related right now? What if we overload the house or something? Besides, we really don’t know exactly what’s happening with her. She is our friend, though, and it’s not like she’d ever hurt us.”

“I’m sorry, Xander, but I’m not so sure about that.” Buffy filled them in on the happenings of the movie evening. “I didn’t even realize anything was off. Not until she said something tonight.”

“Getting you to laugh at a movie and have popcorn wars with your sister isn’t exactly a huge, hurting, mass of evil.”

“No, but she was enjoying moving us around like chess pieces.” Since Willow had gleefully confessed that she’d made them all ‘happy’, Buffy had been thinking a lot about the events of that day. It had seemed normal. But now, as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she was seeing those events from a much clearer perspective. “She altered my thoughts. I was all excited about using magic to make supper, to fight demons. It just wasn’t me. I never think like that. And…” Buffy paused. “And the things she did, the ways she manipulated Tara…”

“You mean -?” Xander read her expression. “Oh god.” He looked sick.

“Has anyone else experienced anything odd with Willow?” Giles asked.

“I think we did,” Xander said slowly, indicating himself and Anya. “We had plans to go out together. When Willow arrived, Anya suddenly remembered an appointment she had, so Will and I had dinner together alone.”

“Later, I couldn’t even remember Willow stopping over,” Anya finished. She looked at Xander, her expression disturbed. “We thought it was just something stupid - the stress of wedding plans or something.”

“But nothing harmful occurred?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“It’s harmful enough that she’s orchestrating some of our thoughts and actions. I had something odd happen myself.” Giles told them about the papers concerning Buffy’s resurrection that Willow had brought to him. He realized now that they were totally inadequate, but he’d been pleased as punch when she handed them to him with a smile. He winced, remembering how he’d been almost gushing in his gratitude. Apologetic for taking up her time.

“Caia was able to give me a fairly good protection spell. It would be better if we could get someone a bit more experienced to perform it, but under the circumstances, that may not be -”

“I know someone,” Spike volunteered.

“What?”

“I k now someone who can do the protection spell we need,” he elaborated. “Had her do one on me already. It worked.” He looked at Buffy. “When I stopped in to tell you about that demon the other night, I could sense Willow’s thoughts, the little ‘suggestions’ she was making to me. At the time, I thought it was just me. It wasn’t until you couldn’t remember the movie you’d been watching…”

“You told me she’d messed with your head before…”

“Yeah. Didn’t much care for it either. Decided to take steps to put a stop to it.”

“And her suggestions had no effect on you?” Giles asked.

“Didn’t say that,” Spike said. “They brassed me off good and proper. But I didn’t have any trouble not falling in line.”

“Who did this spell for you?”

“Reliable type. White witch. Name of C’erdd-Circe of Gwen.”

“Of Gwen?” Xander repeated in disbelief.

“’s not like I named the bint, lackbrain.”

“Where the hell is ‘Gwen’? Next to Oz?” He glanced at the others to clarify. “As in ‘Land of’, not short, and, god, I wish he was still around, werewolf friend.”

“It probably has something to do with her coven,” Giles inserted. “Or perhaps it refers to some powerful witch of yore.”

“Oh, of yore,” Xander nodded. “That should make her completely trustworthy. Well, that, and Spike’s recommendation.”

“Look, you stupid prat, I didn’t bring up the idea of you lot getting some protection.”

“Good, ‘cause we look to you for advice so often.”

So much for the mistaken impression that these two stubborn guys were getting along better, Buffy thought. Apparently, they just hadn’t been together in the same room for more than two minutes since she’d come back. The hostility flowing between them now was so thick she couldn’t have sliced it with her sharpest axe.

“Might be an idea for you to start. Your little pal is into things way over her head. And by her own words, directing your lives would be just fine with her. Do you want to spend your life balancing a ball on your nose like some sort of trained seal, falling in with Red’s every whim?” Spike ran his eyes over the young man. “I’m sure you could do the barking and the flipper clapping bits pretty well.”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Giles’ tone was flinty.

“I would not be falling in with her every whim!” Xander ignored the Watcher.

“Sure you would, honey. You did for Dracula, didn’t you? It’d be the same.” Anya nodded with calm assurance.

Buffy frowned. Dracula? Count Dracula, the famous vampire? She felt something shift uncomfortably inside her. Memory. That particular one hadn’t crossed her mind since she’s gotten most of her memories back.

Dracula.

Her hand flew to her throat for a second. Quickly, guiltily, she pushed it back into her lap, hoping no one had noticed.

~*~

“You were Drac’s bug-eater?” Spike smirked, enjoying the sight of Harris squirming. “Oh, I’d’ve paid to see that!”

“No,” Xander corrected. “I was his emissary.”

“Right,” the vampire drawled. “Which was tastier, Renfield-for-a-Day, the spiders or the cockroaches?”

“Spike, Xander, that’s enough,” Buffy firmly repeated Giles’s words, but she had a strange expression on her face, and Spike looked at her thoughtfully, his eyes intent. Her eyes slid away uncomfortably, and one of her shoulders lifted in an odd little shrug. Spike stiffened and stared at her neck.

Sonofabloodybitch!

More than a dozen much more vicious curses pounded through his brain, as fury flooded him.

That glory-hound had tasted her! That bitch. That bloody bitch had bared herself to that soddin’ publicity hungry ponce of a…

“Well, I wasn’t rolling in the pit of lust with the Dark Master’s vamp-honeys, like some people I could name,” Xander went on, obviously planning to ignore Buffy as well as the Watcher.

Everyone’s eyes shifted to Giles. Everyone’s but Spike’s.

“And you weren’t anywhere to be found, were you?” Xander turned his attention back to the blond. “Dracula too much for you?” he taunted.

“Wasn’t asked, was I? Soldier boy figured he had it all in hand.” His tone, vicious and sarcastic, had Buffy’s eyes swinging back to him. He glared into them and she frowned. “Take out the famous vamp, impress his Superhoney, win her exclusive and undying love and devotion.”

“Spike?” she questioned. “What’s wrong?”

Rage was rolling off of him, and everyone in the room could feel it.

“Not. A. Bloody. Thing. Slayer,” he growled, rising. “You lot can chit-chat about the protection spell; decide whether or not you want the witch traipsing though your heads. I’m off.”

He swept up his duster and moved to the door, stabbing his arms into the sleeves.

~*~

Buffy followed him onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her.

“What was that all about?” she demanded.

His jaw and fists were clenching rhythmically.

<< Control. >>

He stared at her neck, and her hand flew to the scars there. She could feel herself flushing. It was dark, but she knew he’d be able to see the flood of color, be able to hear the blood rushing through her veins.

“Spike -”

“Got things to kill, Slayer,” he grated out.

“Spike -”

His fist smashed into the door near her head, and her body jerked in surprise.

“Not. Now.” His eyes were hard, and his voice remained coldly furious.

Buffy’s chin came up, her own expression hardening, and even though she tried to keep her voice calm, some of that hardness had crept into it.

“I have a sister upstairs who could be having nightmares for the next month,” she told him. “And an old friend who has apparently lost her mind to deal with. If you’re going to go all bad/weird moody on me, you can stay away until I can deal with it. Which, I’m warning you, isn’t gonna be tonight or tomorrow. And it’s not looking good for the rest of the week either.”

He was breathing hard now, his head lowered, jaw still clenched. His hands, though, had stopped their rhythmic fisting. His head came up slowly, and his eyes pinned her in place.

“You…” he began.

He broke off, and instead of finishing his thought, he swooped down on her. His arms wrapped fiercely around her body, and he hauled her off her feet, and up against him, burying his face in her throat. She was shocked when she felt his teeth, blunt but still strong, biting against the scars on her neck. He wasn’t hurting her, and unless he started to suck at her throat, he wouldn’t leave marks, but there was nothing remotely casual about the action, either.

<< Mine. Mine. Mine. >>

She could almost feel the possessive vibrations rolling off his body, could almost hear him mentally staking some kind of claim.

“Spike, stop it. Right. Noooow…”

She jerked herself out of his arms, shoving him an arms length away. She had to. Even though his mouth was moving in a very different way, just having it pressed against her throat again was flooding her with memories of earlier. Of that unexplained and unbelievable experience on the sofa. And, oh, god, but she couldn’t afford to let that memory affect her now. No matter how arousing she found it. No matter that it, combined with the feel of his body, hard and strong against hers, hungry and…

…she couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything about it. Not now. There. Are. People. Right. On. The. Other. Side. Of. This. Door. Wrong time, wrong place. People waiting.

Spike’s eyes changed, took on a gleam, almost like she’d issued a challenge. He stepped right back up to her, determination in every line of his body. His hands found hers, and he twined their fingers together as he backed her into the door. He brought their hands up and rested them against the wood on either side of her head. His demeanor had changed, too. He might still be angry, but it seemed his anger had been tempered by…

<< You. >>

His body leaned into her, his weight pressing her further into the door, as he wedged his knee between her legs. It separated them, and, oh god, he slid his thigh up tightly against her body, just as he’d done that night at the Bronze. And then he seemed to just melt onto her. His entire body began to move against hers in an extremely suggestive manner, making her catch her breath. She moaned softly as his teeth moved back to her throat, biting again with light pressure.

“Spike…” There was still a hint of warning in the single word, but the passion flooding her was drowning out the protest. She knew him. He’d be able to feel it, to sense it in her body, even if her mouth didn’t say it out loud. She groaned out his name again. “Spiiike...”

<< Slayer… You’re bloody well mine. >>

Buffy wound her hands into his hair, and forcibly pulled his mouth away from her throat, guiding it instead to hers. She kissed him with her own show of passion and determination, and he responded eagerly, kissing her back, his tongue tangling with hers as he continued to move his body against hers in the most wonderful ways, arousing her, making her wish…

“Sonofa…” Spike yanked his mouth away from Buffy’s, shocking her with the sudden movement. His hands left her body, and she felt a jolt of sadness at the loss as he stepped away from her.

A second later, Buffy heard the approaching footsteps from inside the house. Damn, damn, damn. She’d been getting all - hot - and her body was practically shaking as she levered herself away from the door.

She succeeded just as it swung open, and Xander appeared.

“You still here, deadboy?”

“Jes’ leaving.” He nodded to Buffy coolly. “I’ll try to stop by in the morning if I can get about, check on the bit.”

Buffy stared. How could he look so calm and detached?

Her eyes drifted over him, coming to rest on his wildly disarrayed hair. Her lips curved in a satisfied little smirk, as little sparks of possessiveness darted through her. He hadn’t been so detached a few minutes ago. He’d been all - attached. To her.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine without you,” Xander said.

“Wasn’t talkin’ to you, Harris.”

“She’d like that,” Buffy ignored their exchange and addressed Spike, forcing her voice to match his in tone. “But don’t do anything foolish trying to get here. She can wait ‘til the sun goes down.”

“You know, Spike, Buffy’s back. She’s the Slayer. Chances are, she can watch out for Dawn all by her leeedle old vampire-staking self. And her friends can watch out for her. You really don’t need to be stopping by all the time any more. Or ever.”

Spike snorted.

Buffy’s eyes asked him not to get into it. < Not now. Please, not now. I just want everyone to leave so I can go check on Dawn. >

Spike’s eyes stayed on hers as he lit a cigarette, and she watched as he straightened suddenly, his hand going to his hair. He smoothed it, took a drag of his smoke, then inclined his head and turned away.

“What was he in a snit about?” Xander asked, after Spike had disappeared into the darkness.

“He didn’t really say,” Buffy evaded, though she was certain that Spike had somehow known Dracula had drunk from her, and was extremely displeased about that. Then she froze, as realization washed over her. He didn’t say… “Oh. My. God.”

“What is it? Buff?”

Anya came to the door then and distracted Xander just enough that her mumbled “Nothing” went unchallenged. Buffy went back into the house, and closed the door behind her without even saying goodnight to the couple.

~*~

Xander and Anya looked at the closed door, then at each other, and shrugged, before going down the porch steps.

“Were Buffy and Spike fighting again?” Anya asked. She smiled at him. “’Cause that would be just like old times. Buffy getting back into the groove of living, like you’ve been hoping.”

“I dunno. Maybe Buffy had already kicked his ass, at least verbally, before I got out here. But there was definitely something in the air reminiscent of better days.” Xander sounded pleased. “I wonder what…” He frowned, considering, and understanding dawned quickly. He snapped his fingers. “Riley. As soon as his name came into the conversation, Spike went all growly.” Xander’s lips curved with amusement. “Probably reminded him of all his inadequacies. And about how really far removed he is from the kind of guy Buffy goes for.”

They reached the end of the Summers sidewalk and turned toward their apartment.

“Buffy did seem more normal tonight, though, didn’t she?” Xander asked his fiancée to confirm his observations.

“She wasn’t hiding in her room, if that’s what you mean.”

Xander smiled faintly. “Getting involved, talking - that’s new - acting all ‘Let’s go get ‘em’ Slayerish.”

“Well, it’s the first time she’d had to since she came back, isn’t it? Be the Slayer?” Anya observed. “Sunnydale has been experiencing a remarkable lack of evilness lately. I don’t know if I should relax, or if I should pack my bags and hightail it out of here. You know, lickity-split.”

“The day to day uncertainty of life on the Hellmouth,” Xander agreed. He thought he’d grown, in some ways, comfortable with that.

“I heard Giles and Spike talking one day about her instincts, and how they hadn’t quite kicked in. Dawn getting attacked probably threw them into high gear. Made her wanna take charge and slay evil.” Anya jabbed an encouraging fist into the air. “Go, instincts.”

Seemingly not too concerned over the events of the evening, she swung along in carefree manner for a couple of blocks while, at her side, Xander was pondering things vastly more important than Spike, and even, he thought with some guilt, slightly more important than Buffy. Or, at least, Buffy at this minute.

Xander assured himself that it was okay to be more worried about Willow right now than Buffy. Plus there was the whole ‘best friends since forever’ loophole of caringness priority. The two girls seemed to be heading in opposite directions; Buffy, possibly, hopefully, finally, up, and Willow, scarily, maybe down. After all the emotional upheavals the group had gone through in the last year, he couldn’t help wishing they’d both pull themselves together and even out. And, if they couldn’t do that alone, he wished he knew how he could help them. He didn’t think he’d been any help to Buffy at all, and it hurt that he couldn’t seem to reach her, couldn’t seem to figure out how. His connection to Willow had always been deeper. Would he be able to be of any help to her? And just how badly did she need help? There was definitely something wrong with her, but he still wasn’t sure… A protection spell seemed kinda over the top. It was Willow after all. Willow.

“I don’t get this,” Xander said. “This whole thing with Willow. I still say she was acting drunk. What’s the magic draw to that? If she wants to get all intoxicated, high, whatever, why doesn’t she just plant herself on a barstool at the Bronze, and line up the Jaeger-Bombs? Knowing Willow’s tolerance to alcohol, it would only take two or three to give her the same effect.” He considered that. “Well, maybe four. She looked pretty plastered.”

And God, the things she’d been saying to Buffy! Where the hell had all that come from? It couldn’t be what she really thought, could it? The kill, kill, kill stuff, and the things she’d said about Buffy being stupid? Is that what she thought about him too? The stupid part? He knew his friend was a lot smarter than him, and Will had never deliberately put him down, but now he wondered what she might have been thinking privately. He hated his damned insecurities, had thought he was moving past most of them, outgrowing them… Funny how old fears could jump up and bite you in the ass when you weren’t expecting it. Yeah, funny. Hysterical even.

And if Willow hadn’t meant that stuff, what in god’s name was she doing spouting it out like that? He didn’t understand what was happening to his oldest friend, or why. Ahn knew a lot more about these ‘power dealers’…

“It’s not the magic. That’s just an avenue to the power. And it’s not tonight,” Anya told him matter-of-factly. “Tonight’s the bad part. She looks drunk, but like I told you, it’s just her body assimilating the power. What Willow’s looking for is the payoff she’ll get tomorrow. If she got a pretty good dose, and it looks like she did, it will probably last two or three days. She’ll be all with the oozing of the power, and looking for ways to use it all willy-nilly.”

“Using it how? To cast spells? She can do that already. Great Balls of Fire, Ahn! She brought Buffy back from the dead! I’d say she’s got power.”

“Yeah, that’s how it starts,” Anya’s voice suggested she’s seen it all too many times to count. “First you’re helping out, you fix some little things, help save the world once or twice, bring someone back from hell. Before you know it, you find out you like the power, like wielding it, and that you want more. A lot more, sometimes. And maybe you discover that you don’t like it so much when you’re not controlling things. It can get to be a real problem.” Anya nodded sagely.

“You really think Willow wants to control us?”

“Didn’t you hear her tonight? ‘I could control all of you!’ That seems pretty straightforward to me.” Anya eyed him with some surprise. “Didn’t you know?”

“No!”

“Really?” Her expression deepened from surprise to disbelief. “I thought you knew. ‘Cause, you know, you do everything she wants.”

“No, I don’t,” Xander denied automatically, but a frown creased his brow, and he began looking at his past with Willow, trying to see if there was any basis for Anya’s statement.

“In a lot of ways, you’ve always kind of gone along with her, Xander. But didn’t you see it growing last summer? She wanted to be in charge of all the patrolling plans, assign the duties, lay out all the demon hunting details. God, and didn’t she just have fits about Spike, who didn’t always toe the party line?” Anya rolled her eyes. “Believe me, she’d have zapped him into another dimension if she thought no one would’ve noticed. And,” Anya shrugged, “She probably didn’t know how. Then, anyway. She might now. Of course she never would have asked me. ‘Why ask the former vengeance demon? Like she knows anything worthwhile!’”

Xander winced. They’d just set the wedding date for June and with the plans underway, Anya had been growing increasingly verbal about feeling she often came in second to Willow or Buffy, or maybe both of them, in his life. Willow, especially, she insisted, still made very little effort to get to know her or even pretend to like her, and never seemed to think she had anything to contribute to conversations or Scooby meetings. Even, Anya had pouted, on the rare occasions she did. Willow’s attitude had always bothered Anya more than Buffy’s more detached, er, detachment. His fiancee’s sarcastic impersonation of Willow now made him shift uncomfortably. He’d tried to get the two of them to work out their problems months ago. Troll. Hammer. Babies being threatened. Couldn’t women just learn to get along?

“And, I’ll have you know,” Anya went on. “I’ve zapped plenty of men into other dimensions. My favorite was the dimension with nothing but men. Gives them a chance to really see what it’s like trying to live with them!”

Ah, the battle of the sexes, Xander thought. One of life’s constants.

“God, Xander, we even had to vote her ‘the boss of us’ just so it was all ‘official’.” Anya made air quotes around ‘the boss of us’, and ‘official’. “And she’d get annoyed when anyone questioned her about the resurrection spell, or if any of us asked for any details. Don’t you remember?”

Yeah, he kind of did. She’d gotten downright snippy about it a few times, with him, or with Tara. She’d always apologized not long after, explaining that she was researching half the night, and blaming her quick temper on fatigue. But Ahn was right; the annoyance only really flared up when someone questioned her. He’d been worried about her, concerned about how hard she was working, and he’d sorta stopped with the asking, just to make things less stressful for her.

“Not that any of us really questioned her much,” Anya had to admit. “Especially after she bit Tara’s head off that night when she asked about the wisdom of getting magic supplies off of e-bay. Of course I agree with Willow on that point. Sometimes e-bay is your only recourse for those hard to find items. Unicorn dander, for instance. And it’s a perfectly acceptable place to shop. Convenient, too, especially with Pay-Pal. I order things there all the time. Never had a problem,” she informed him, complacently.

Xander remembered that particular Willow/Tara argument pretty clearly, too. It had not been a pleasant exchange.

“And, of course, you’ll notice she kept Giles and Spike out in the cold about the whole resurrection spell. They probably would have asked a lot more questions than we did. And they’d have demanded answers, even if Willow did get defensive and all ‘How dare you question me?’ when they asked, like she did with us.”

“I don’t remember her ever saying that,” Xander pointed out.

“Not out loud, no. But her eyes said it all the time. Giles and Spike wouldn’t have backed down like we did. And did you notice how the ‘time was right’ and ‘everything was in alignment’ the minute Giles left for England?”

Xander hadn’t thought of the exclusion of Giles and Spike quite that way. And the timing had just been coincidence, surely?

‘Don’t call me Shirley’ flashed through his mind automatically. Sometimes humor was a curse.

“Willow explained about Giles,” he reminded her. “You know, how he’d be all British and stuffy about what was proper, would raise all kinds of objections, and probably try to delay things forever while he researched for so long that if he ever did give the go-ahead, we’d be casting the spell from our adjoining beds in Sunnydale Manor.” Xander took a needed breath. “Buffy was in hell, suffering. Did we really wanna wait for Giles to say okay? And what if he went a step further, and insisted on contacting the Council?”

Anya raised a brow. “And Spike?”

“Spike is not a part of our group,” Xander said, his irritation sounding in his voice.

“No, he just patrolled, and did most of the demon killing, and, when he wasn’t taking care of Dawn, he worked out all the time, so that he would be able to do a better job of protecting the town.”

“Look, I know Spike helped out,” Xander admitted. “But that doesn’t make him someone we can trust.”

“What does?” Anya was genuinely curious.

“Nothing. Spike cannot be trusted. Ever. No. Soul.” Xander said firmly. “And Willow didn’t ask Spike to help with the spell because he always acted so much better than us. Willow was right about his messing up her plans half the time. He always thought he knew better than us, never seemed to understand the whole teamwork concept. How could we ask someone like that to help out in a spell that was really complicated and had to be followed perfectly? There was no telling what he might do!”

“You’re not forgetting that Spike is a vampire, are you?”

“I never forget that, Ahn.”

“Well, fighting is what vampires do. Now, Spike is still just a young fella, but he’s still a hundred years older than you, and I’m guessing he knows more about demons and fighting than you and Willow, and maybe even Giles, all put together, do. So if he went his own way in a fight, it was probably because he could see a better way to win, no matter what Willow had planned. Teamwork? No, not his thing, but he was getting the job done.

“The resurrection, though? That’s a different story. You’re right that the spell couldn’t be messed with once it was in progress. But any problems from Spike would have come while the details were being worked out. He’d have gotten his questions answered then. If you really think he’d have done something during the spell that might have endangered Buffy, you don’t know a single thing about him. And what exactly do you mean, he acted so much better than us?”

“Why are you defending him?”

“Is that what I’m doing?” she asked. “I thought we were having a conversation about Willow and who she thought she could and couldn’t control.”

“It sounds like you’re defending him to me. And what do you think I meant? He spent the whole summer not talking to us. Too good to talk things over, or to listen to our opinions. He could only talk to Giles, couldn’t he? Couldn’t even stay for pizza with us, or watch a movie unless Dawn asked him. And he’d just glare at us once in a while when he wasn’t too busy refusing to sully himself by looking us in the eye.”

After Glory had tortured Spike, Xander had felt a slight shift in his opinion of the vampire. God, the guy had been so smashed up! And when they’d discovered that he hadn’t talked, even during all that… Okay, maybe the tiniest bit of grudging respect. An almost infinitesimal glimmer. Maybe. And he’d fought by their sides against Glory, had started to be someone they could almost depend on… But any tendencies toward acceptance of the blond had seemed to fade away as the summer months slipped by. That icy remoteness of his, the cold, empty eyes… There was nothing human in Spike, and Xander knew they couldn’t afford to forget that.

Anya stopped walking altogether, and stared at her fiancé in amazement. “Alexander Harris! Are you blind?”

“What?” he demanded.

“He blamed himself for Buffy’s death and he couldn’t face any of you - didn’t want to see the accusations in your eyes. God, he hated himself so much that he practically let the guilt eat him alive!”

“Guilt? He doesn’t feel guilt, Anya. You should know that. No soul, no conscience, no guilt.” Where the hell had she gotten that idea? None of them had ever suggested that Spike had screwed things up. And none of them thought he had. At least, he didn’t, and he’d never heard any of the others suggest anything like that. And even if they had felt that way, even if they’d openly blamed him, Spike still wouldn’t feel guilt. He couldn’t.

“You are blind,” she said, and anger had entered her tone, replacing the incredulity. “What do you think turned him into a skeleton?”

“Giles thought it was poison on the knife Doc stabbed him with.”

“Right! And it affected Spike, but not Dawn, who was stabbed with the same knife. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.” She shook her head. “It was guilt and grief. He was in mourning. You know,” she said bitterly, “That soulless thing - mourning the woman he loved.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Xander demanded. “Spike can’t love!” He was calling the words out after her, though, because Anya had turned away and had moved off swiftly down the sidewalk. She wasn’t running, but her pace was fast and angry, and Xander was puffing a little when he finally caught up with her less than a block from their home. His hand curled about her arm as he drew her to a stop.

“Why are you so upset about this, Ahn?”

“Sometimes, you’re just so -” she paused, trying to contain herself. “You’re a bigot, Xander Harris,” she told him, her voice tense.

“Because I don’t like Spike?” he was incredulous. “Well, sorry, Ahn. If not having a lot of love for someone who’s killed thousands of people, and has tried, more than once, to kill people I care about, makes me a bigot, then call me Archie Bunker.”

“He’s one of the good guys, now, isn’t he?”

“Spike?!”

“Yeah, Spike,” Anya insisted. “You know, the guy who looks after Buffy and Dawn like he’s their guardian angel or something.”

“Oh, please! Let’s never use that word in association with Spike. It just doubles the misery of thinking of him if I have to think of Angel, too.” Xander attempted to calm his breathing. The whole subject of Spike grated on his nerves. And now that the image of Angel had been thrown into the mix, he just might fall over the edge into real anger. There was a whole truckload of issues involving the older vampire that he didn’t want to get into.

At least Angel had a soul. Part of the time, anyway. Spike didn’t even have that. He could never understand why Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, always seemed to have a vampire somewhere in her entourage.

For that matter, he’d never gotten why either of the vampires in question, once they didn’t/couldn’t kill humans anymore, had decided it would be an idea to hook up with the Slayer. Did they just wake up one morning thinking, ‘Hey, I think I’ll look up the one person in the world who should be my most mortal enemy, and see if I can’t go hang with her? I’ll fight at her side once in a while, make sexual advances that either hurt her or piss her off, or both, and generally bring assorted massive problems into her otherwise dull world.’ Maybe that’s why they’d done it, Xander thought. ‘Can’t kill her, so I’ll get my jollies by screwing with her life in other ways…’ And boy, didn’t that sound like a Spike line of reasoning? In fact, that had been a Spike line of reasoning. Witness Adam.

“Look, he might be playing at the semi-helpful/morally ambiguous thing right now. But we can never trust him, never forget what he’s done in the past. He was a killer, Ahn. And, believe me, he’d still be killing if he didn’t have that chip in his head. He’d be enjoying it, too. Have you ever watched his face during a fight? He likes killing. He likes being a monster. I never, ever, forget that we are one short circuit away from being dinner to him, and anyone who does is living in the land of denial big time.

“He’s changing -”

“Demons don’t change. Spike said that himself.”

“So why should he try?” Anya was clearly still angry. “After all, he can never overcome his past, can he? That’s what you believe.”

Xander’s focus changed as he realized how his words could be misconstrued by her. God, he thought they’d dealt with this. “Ahn, it’s different with you, you know that. You’re human now. You’re not a demon anymore, and never will be again. You’re new, a new being. You, Anya, cannot be held responsible for what Anyanka did.” He looked down into her face seriously, and brushed his hands over her hair, the gesture tender. “Is that what this is all about? This defense of Spike?”

Anya just gazed up at him silently, but he could see the worried, warring emotions in her eyes.

“I never equate you with that thing, Ahn. And I never will. I love you. I wanna spend my life with you, have children with you.”

Anya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned her cheek against his hand. “You love me? Really love me?”

“Yeah. You know I do.”

“Just the way I am?”

“Yeah. Every smile, every curve, every thought, every hair color.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled. It was time to lighten the gloomy mood. “Sure as shootin’, pardner,” he drawled.

Xander wanted to drop this whole topic, and using the cowpoke talk usually worked. Lighthearted teasing, possibly followed by sex. Anya was always in the mood for sex.

But she surprised him. “I’m tired,” she said. “And I don’t feel like doing the ‘ride ’em, cowgirl’ routine tonight. Let’s just go home and get some sleep.”

“Alright,” Xander agreed, letting the cowpoke talk go. He got a kick out of it sometimes, and Ahn usually went along with it. For some reason, the cowpoke talk also reminded him of Riley. Um, not the cowpoke during sex talk. That definitely did not remind him of Riley. No. He didn’t think of Riley and sex together. But the cowpoke talk brought to his completely heterosexual mind memories of his farm-raised guy F.R.I.E.N.D., even though Xander was pretty iffy on whether or not Iowa farm boys actually said things like ‘Smile when you say that, pardner’.

He missed the big lug.

Shrugging, Xander slipped his arm around Anya’s shoulders, tugging her close, and they walked the last block home together.

~*~

Finally! Geesh! Am I going to be saying that after every chapter? Honestly, I was home from the (wonderful) gymnastics meet for about two days when my (still new, mind you) computer died again (scream, rant!), and they had it in for repairs for two and a half weeks! I’m beginning to think I’m cursed or something. Or perhaps it’s just the computer itself…

For those of you who misunderstood the gymnastics thing - my daughter was NOT competing. She’s retired. And it was gymnastics - you know, beam, bars, vault, floor. NOT cheerleading. Plus, she was wonderful when she was competing, and very good, but never aspired to this level. Sorry for the confusion. We had a great time, though. Four days of gymnastics is like heaven for us. There was much bonding, and mutual drooling over guys with great bods. Next year - the Olympic Trials! Woo-hoo!

I want to take a minute to thank those who have been nominating ‘Journeys’ all over the web for awards, to those who’ve voted for it in popular vote award contests, and to the judges who’ve chosen it over some wonderful competition to receive other awards. Thank you! It’s much appreciated.

But especially, as always, thanks to everyone who’s reading. I’m thrilled that you’re enjoying the story, and sticking with it through these long waits between chapters.

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