After a horrible start, the day was shaping up very nicely.

When she’d fallen into bed this morning at about 5:00, she’d felt terrible. Drunk or stoned. She didn’t have enough experience with either one to tell the difference, if there was one. But she definitely felt like she’d overdosed on something. She’d felt weak and out of control, which she hated, and pretty darn sick to her stomach on top of that.

She should never have gone. Never.

She should be smarter than that. She was, wasn’t she? Smart? She’d always been 4.0 plus girl, and that hadn’t changed. And she was demon smart, too. She’d been working with Buffy - the Slayer - for more than five years. So she was pretty demon savvy. Not just any old demon could pull the wool over Willow Rosenberg’s eyes. Nosiree. You had to get up preeetty early in the morning…

He’d heard of her.

That had surprised her, and sent a little thrill of pleasure through her. She remembered how Buffy had been all kind of ‘Oooh, Dracula said he’d heard of me’, when they’d met the famous vampire. She’d thought it was kind of lame at the time, but now she thought she understood how Buffy had been feeling.

He’d seemed so understanding the other night, when they met on the street. Rack. He really seemed to ‘get’ that the others didn’t understand her, didn’t support her, that she only wanted what was best for them. He’d told her that was often the case when someone who was meant to have power started to acquire it. People were wary, they didn’t understand, and being humans, they tended to want to control what they didn’t understand.

Because they feared it. And if they claimed that their concerns stemmed from anything other than fear, they lied.

Rack had explained that when a new power started to bloom in town, there were others who could sense it, and he’d been sent by one of them. He didn’t go into any detail about who this mysterious someone was, referring to him only as ‘The Grey’. ‘The Grey’ had sensed her, had felt her growing powers, and had sent him, Rack, to check her out. Willow, immersed in reading ‘The Lord of the Rings’ for the fifth time as prep for the upcoming film trilogy, had immediately thought of Gandalf, and had envisioned some elderly wizard, powerful and wise, his robes billowing about him as he decided to send an emissary to her so that he could learn more about her.

Which was really pretty darn nifty when you thought about it.

Still…

She never should have taken him up on his invitation to visit him, to talk more, and perhaps, to begin and exploration of her power. No matter how understanding he’d been, no matter that he’d known things about her, that he’d… She never should have taken a risk like that. She’d been perfectly well aware that he wasn’t human - he hadn’t tried to hide that - and, well, demons were inherently evil, weren’t they? And a big honkin’ ‘No!’ on the trustworthiness. Even if they did say flattering things about you, and seemed to understand parts of you that your closest friends just didn’t seem to get.

Yeah, she should have been smarter than that.

And this was her stupid punishment for taking that stupid chance. Sick, drunk or something, completely out of control. What if she’d acquired some illness and that’s why she felt so horrible?

And she’d even let him…

Oh, god.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Even bemoaning her recklessness, sick and shaking with fear and regret, Willow was asleep half an hour after stumbling into bed.

When she woke up at 10:00, her whole perspective changed. Radically. She felt energized. In fact, she felt unbelievably great. Strong. Very strong.

And she was. Powerful.

Full. Of. Power.

She could practically feel it crackling under her skin. It felt hot and deep and it was running through her veins, pumping through them, riding her circulatory system right along with her blood, piggybacking on every corpuscle.

So, yeah, the day way shaping up very nicely, indeed. It was late afternoon now, and the wonderful sense of well being, and the rush of something much deeper - invincibility? omnipotence? - hadn’t dissipated at all. In fact, it seemed to have increased. So had the feelings of power. The nausea and the drunken feelings were completely gone. Her head felt clear, as though she was seeing things from a slightly different vantage point. A stronger place. A higher place.

It was all - amazing. And utterly intoxicating in a totally in control way.

Only resurrecting Buffy had been a bigger rush than this. That had been the ultimate, and Willow knew instinctively that, no matter how long she lived, the resurrection would always be the most exciting, the most wonderful thing she’d ever done - bringing her friend back to life, saving her from the torments of hell.

It had been worth anything… everything. She would never, could never regret the steps she’d taken, the decisions she’d made in order to save her friend from that terrible fate.

She’d felt power greater than this before - during both the resurrection and the re-ensoulment spell she’d used on Angel. And although this wasn’t as strong, it was, in some ways, more - interesting. It felt different, in a way she couldn’t quite define.

But she knew she liked it.

Oh, yeah. She liked it a lot.

She could almost hear the voices whispering in her head, telling her that this was what she’d been seeking, this was what she needed. What she was made for.

“Someone who was meant to have power,” Rack had said.

Like - destined.

Her. The sidekick.

Power.

Finally, real control.

Buffy, Giles, Tara. They’d all fallen in line today. Effortlessly.

Suggest to hide-in-her-room-and-don’t-talk-to-anyone Buffy that the housemates have a movie night tonight - just the four of them? Sure. Sounds great, Will. We need to spend a lot more time together.

Deliver the most basic first draft of the long overdue resurrection spell to Giles without any of the accompanying documentation he’d been demanding? Thank you, Willow. This shall be a great help. I’m sorry for harping on it so.

Smile, and ask Tara to give up this silly sleeping on the sofa stuff and come back to their bed where she belonged? Shy smiles, soft hands, hungry, loving mouth.

Oh yeah, this was exactly what she’d been seeking.

And she liked it.

A lot.

Willow walked into the living room, debating how many candles she should magic up to give the room just the right mixture of glowy romance and family fun for the evening ahead.

Miss Kitty Fantastico eyed her from her usual perch on the back of the sofa, wide eyes blinking curiously. Willow reached out to her casually as she moved past.

“Hey, Miss Kitty. How are you today?”

The cat hissed loudly and scrambled to her feet, her back arching in warning. Willow stopped moving and she and the cat stared at each other for a long moment before Miss Kitty leapt from the sofa and flew up the stairway. Willow watched her go.

“Stupid cat,” she muttered.

~*~

Emily looked up when Dawn entered the shop.

“Hello, dear. How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“Swamped with work, and wondering how I can possibly survive through the rest of the holiday season, but otherwise, I’m doing fine!” Emily treated her to her usual warm smile. “Are you Christmas shopping?”

“Please! It cannot be time to Christmas shop yet! I have no money.” There was a faint wail in her voice.

“Then, of course, I’m sure the holidays will wait for you to save up.”

“That would be so cooperative of them,” Dawn smiled. “No, I just need a birthday card for a friend.” Emily always seemed to be in a good mood. It was nice to hang around with someone who didn’t seem to be full of all kinds of emotional ups and downs, which seemed to pretty much describe everyone she knew right now. “You do have the nicest ones in town.”

“We have some great local artists,” Emily said. “I’m extremely fortunate that some of them have agreed to do limited edition or one of a kind cards for me.”

“Oh, I can’t afford the art cards,” Dawn groused. “But the others are nice, too.”

“And how did your art show go?” Emily asked as she continued to open boxes of silk flower stems and fit them into the aluminum flower cans that she used to display them.

“Not bad.” Dawn picked up another card and looked it over. “My charcoal drawing got a first place, and my watercolor a second. The oil painting didn’t even get an honorable mention. I have no idea why Ms. Nimue thought it should be included, but she picked all the pieces, so…”

The school district art show had actually gone pretty well, considering it was held in the high school gymnasium, which, to Dawn’s way of thinking, was just asking for trouble. But, if you didn’t count Spike, who had come with Buffy and Tara, the night had been demon free. Or at least free of any demons causing trouble. Willow had had to work the evening of the main reception, so she’d dropped in earlier in the day, and even Xander and Anya had stopped in briefly before doing some wedding shopping. All in all, it had been of the good.

“Not every piece is going to win something, and it’s good for you to experiment in different mediums. But a first and a second! That’s wonderful. I’ve told you before, luv, you have a lot of talent. I hope you stick with it.”

“That is the plan.”

“How’s everything at home?” Emily asked a few minutes later. “Okay?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. And I’m completely without funds right now. I’m trying to save for a new set of really good brushes. I think I’d be more successful if I didn’t have so many friends with birthdays in the last three months.”

Not too many months ago, Dawn would have been staking out the art supply store, trying to figure out the best way to smuggle the coveted brushes out under her jacket. But the whole stealing thing? Sooo over it. Of course, a lot of that was due to the fact that Giles had caught her in the act one night toward the end of the summer. At the Magic Box. It had been one of the most completely humiliating moments of her life. Even though she figured he’d be cool with it, she hadn’t even wanted Spike to know. She tried to tell herself it was because she didn’t want him to know she’d been stealing, but she was kinda afraid it was really because she didn’t want him to know she’d been caught. And by Giles.

She’d been terrified, too, that Giles would tell the others, but he had told her he wouldn’t tell anyone if she agreed to stop forthwith. She thought that meant right away. He had also docked a dollar an hour from her paycheck for the last three months, as an estimated payback, but he hadn’t even told Anya about that. Dawn didn’t tell him that that wasn’t nearly enough. Guiltily, she tried to work harder while she was there to sort of make up for the rest.

Dawn swallowed, remembering the fear that had gripped her at the thought of her stealing being revealed to Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya. They would all know. They would look at her differently, and they would see her, inside her. They would start to wonder about her, about her past, about the things they’d heard… about Glory and her ties with her…what she’d been…

Dawn pushed away the memory. It hadn’t happened. Giles hadn’t said anything, and the others didn’t know. They weren’t looking at her differently, wondering about her. She was safe. For now. And if she was careful…

Since she’d come back, Buffy seemed to be spending a lot of time with Spike, almost like they were friends now. Dawn was pretty sure that Spike was patrolling with Buffy a lot of the time, they were training together at the Magic Box, and her sister hadn’t raised any objections to him sitting out on the roof every night, either. Maybe…maybe being in heaven had changed some things in her sister, in how she felt, what she thought, in how she thought… Maybe she wasn’t quite so hung up on - stuff - anymore. Maybe she was willing to look more at what people were now, not what they had been…

Dawn gripped the card in her hand so tightly that she creased it. Damn. Now she’d have to buy it, and she’d really liked the other one better. She glanced at Emily, and back at the cards, debating. Emily had been a good friend to her, she really liked her… Dawn sighed, knowing she’d buy the creased card.

Buffy had been treating her a little differently, too. Lots of times now she even acted like … like maybe like she… liked her or something. Okay, sisters. She got that. She supposed she’d always known that Buffy loved her. But it had mostly seemed to be in that obscure ‘we’re sisters, but I don’t ever want to be seen in public with you’ kind of way. Dawn was pretty sure she’d experienced more ‘togetherness’ moments with Buffy since she’d been resurrected than in all the rest of their lives together. She’d always felt like she was some gawky, clumsy pest, plaguing her oh-so-cool sister’s life. The other night, Buffy had said she was starting to feel more like her old self. Dawn hoped that didn’t mean things would be back like - before. When Buffy would look at her like she was some kind of huge - problem - or something. Since their dad had pulled the great disappearing act, Buffy was her only real family, and she…

Dawn’s lips twisted, as she reminded herself that she didn’t have any real family. Not real family. You had to be real for that and she…

The familiar icy cold feeling - which she’d figured out was about an equal mixture of worry, pain, and sheer, blinding terror - ran through her. She should be used to this by now. It had been happening for months and months, ever since she’d found out she wasn’t real, that she was just some fake thing…

Dawn’s eyes fell closed, and she clenched her fists. Easy, Dawn, she told herself. Just take it easy. It doesn’t matter where you start out…

Slowly, Dawn wandered over to the display of Flower Fairies Emily had shown her the first night Spike brought her here. The display was considerably larger and more elaborate than it had been last summer. It had begun to attract a lot of customers, too; people who heard about it, stopped in to see it, and stayed to shop and buy. Dawn loved the enchanted little world Emily had created, and she’d been excited when Emily had asked her for a few suggestions on the display. But when she’d actually asked her to start helping with it… That had been totally ‘Eeek! Wow! Me?’ stuff. Everything in it was sorta delicate, and Dawn liked that Emily didn’t think she was too klutzy to be trusted handling the little fairies or their surroundings.

It was a great place to avoid reality, to lose herself. Sometimes Dawn thought she used it almost like a drug.

She touched a couple of the twiggy vines, adjusting their positions slightly. Gradually, the display started to work its magic on her. Within a few minutes, she had set aside the creased card and her school bag and started making a bigger adjustment to the positioning of one of the fairies. It should be just a bit more hidden, she thought, peeking out through those leaves… there, just like that… Now she needed to get some of that sticky green gummy stuff, and use a little to make sure things didn’t shift around too much…

“Perfect,” Emily said from behind her. “You have a great eye, Dawn.”

Dawn turned her head, smiling. “Thanks. I still can’t believe you let me help with it.”

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” Emily said.

“About me helping with the fairies?” Dawn was confused. “Did I, um, mess something up?” Her eyes swept over the large display, looking for problems.

“No,” Emily smiled. “Not at all. It’s just… I know you work at the Magic Box, but I’ve decided I really need to hire some help. At least on Saturdays. You and I get along pretty well, and I know you’re very familiar with the merchandise.” She tipped her head to the side. “I’d like to hire you, but I don’t want my name to be mud with Anya and Mr. Giles. If I’m out of line trying to lure you away from them, just let me know.”

Dawn’s eyes lit up. “Me? Really?” She loved this store, and working here would be great. Not that she disliked the Magic Box or Anya and Giles or anything. But she thought that Enchantment Floral & Gift offered a little more in the way of creativity for her artistic leanings. Or it might, anyway. The fairy display, and the other normal store type displays, and flower arranging, and maybe, just maybe, she could sell some of her drawings, or create some of her own cards. Plus, she really did like Emily a lot.

Dawn had never forgotten that Emily didn’t complete freak or look at her like she was a freak, when she discovered her dead sister was suddenly alive again. She’d tried to give Emily some totally lame excuse that Giles had come up with, blah, blah, blah, mistaken identity, hospitalized up the coast, blah, double blah. It had sounded like something from a soap opera. Did he still watch those? she wondered. But Emily didn’t seem very interested in that part of it. She’d just sorta did this eyebrow-raising thingy, like the reappearance of formerly dead family members was almost boring, or at least happened all the time, and didn’t ask any questions.

And, oh, another good point? Emily liked Spike. Which was kinda weird when you thought about it. She was pretty sure Emily knew what Spike was, even though they’d never actually talked about it, and Emily seemed to treat him like a normal person. Not talking about things came really close to being an art form in Sunnydale. Dawn figured she already had a master’s degree in that particular art. Maybe, since Spike had saved her life, Emily didn’t care that he wasn’t exactly human. Or - er, when it came right down to it, even alive. She’d been kinda surprised that Spike brought her here to visit and hang out, and that he seemed to kinda like Emily, too. Well, maybe ‘like’ wasn’t the right word. But he didn’t completely ignore her, and, for Spike, especially while Buffy had been - gone - that had been saying a lot.

Dawn groaned inwardly. Sometimes, she thought she was a freak, her life was so completely weird. So it was a pretty big deal when she found someone who seemed to know a lot about her and still looked at her like maybe she was okay anyway.

Lots of times, there just seemed to be these big bouldery, um, rocks - oh, What. Ever. - of not-normalness sitting around in her life. Not that all of them were bad or anything. Like Spike. She loved Spike. And she would want him to be a part of her life no matter what. Even if having a vampire as a sort of brother/best friend didn’t rate real high on the normal scale. And living with witches? That was okay, too. Well, most of the time, anyway. Willow had freaked her a little once in a while in the last few months, but she’d known Willow like, forever, and figured things would seem easier with her again soon. And Tara was totally cool. Having a sister who was the Slayer, and had been brought back from the dead, er, a couple of times? She could mostly deal with that. Um, most of the time. The green glowy energy thing, though? Harder, and the cause of a few more nightmares, and…

Maybe being normal was waaay overrated.

“Really,” Emily assured her. “I can’t pay a lot, of course. But I’ll do my very best to beat the Magic Box by a dollar or so an hour.” She glanced at Dawn’s eager face. “A dollar fifty an hour more,” she amended. “How does that sound?”

Dawn’s eyes were huge, lit up with excitement. Then she hesitated.

“Um, I’d have to ask Buffy,” she confessed. “And she’d want to meet you and, er - stuff.”

“She’d want to check the place out. Check me out, too, I imagine.” Emily seemed completely understanding. “Bring her by. We’ll talk.” She winked. “See if I pass muster.”

She did understand! Another reason she liked Emily so much.

~*~

Buffy looked around quickly, wondering if she’d just committed the dreaded mistake of thinking something positive, which was usually a sure way to bring about instant misery, followed by likely mayhem. Nothing around them changed. The sun kept shining, the giant worm monsters from ‘Tremors’ didn’t explode out of the middle of the street, and nothing jumped out at them from the shops they were walking by. Maybe the jinx thingy only kicked in if you actually spoke out loud.

The list of things going okay was kind of impressive, though. Memory working; check. She and Dawn getting along; check. Tentative re-establishment of Slayer/Watcher bonds underway; check. Former best friend making the wonderful suggestion that the housemates have a movie evening at home tonight to help re-establishment of their strained relationship; check.

Why hadn’t she thought of that, Buffy wondered? It was such a simple idea, and perfect really. An easy night at home, just the four of them - Willow, Buffy, Tara and Dawn. She already felt relaxed with Dawn and mostly relaxed with Tara, so sliding Willow into the mix should be something she could easily handle without drawing into herself as she’d been doing so much since her return. It was a good step. She quite distinctly remembered thinking about the whole situation between her and her old friends often in the middle of the night, telling herself that tomorrow she would start rebuilding relationships. Tomorrow and tomorrow and again with the tomorrow. Well, enough of putting it off, delaying things. Let the re-bonding commence. Tonight.

Willow was a wise, wise woman.

She, Willow and Tara had just been beginning dinner when Dawn came home all excited about the possibilities of a new job, and begged Buffy to come with her immediately to meet the potential employer. Buffy had looked to Willow for a decision, and the redhead had just smiled, telling them to go on; that she and Tara would take care of dinner. Which was kind of too bad. Willow had been going to show her a spell to make the salad dressing, and that would have been totally cool.

Why hadn’t she ever tried magic before? Buffy wondered. Hmmm. Good question. She’d have to talk to Giles. Maybe she could learn some spells to kill demons from a distance. Oooh! She’d never have to deal with those pesky blood stains on her clothes again. Major plus.

Dawn seemed to be kind of big on normal lately. It slipped into conversations on a fairly regular basis. So Buffy assured Dawn that it was one hundred percent normal for her to meet Emily. Their mom had wanted to meet Ken and Lauren, the couple who owned the restaurant Buffy had waitressed at back in L.A. Well, strictly speaking she hadn’t actually waitressed. She had bussed tables. But she had been working her way up to waitressing, until that whole incident with that Julibeidira? Julbiredia? Buffy shrugged. Until that Julbie-type demon had wanted to order her meal off the employee roster rather than the menu, forcing Buffy to kill her, which had resulted in Buffy getting fired. She’d also been grounded for a month by their totally unsympathetic mom. Buffy didn’t think it was necessary to tell Dawn that part of the story.

Even now, um, er, lots of years later, she was pretty sure, it still seemed unfair to Buffy that she’d gotten fired for trying to save people’s lives. What was up with that, anyway?

Dawn knew enough about life in Sunnydale to understand that Buffy would be looking for slightly different things in this meeting with Emily than their mom had been looking for when she’d vetted Ken and Lauren. Not - is this an honest person who will treat my sister with respect, but - is this a demon who will try to eat her the first time the moon goes into a new phase? Or even sooner?

This Emily person. Dawn really liked her. But the things she’d been told about her? Nobody was in that good a mood all the time. Or was that nice. It reminded her a little of Mayor Wilkins. So checking Emily Huggins out had definitely taken on a high priority. Slayerly/sisterly duties combined into one meet and greet.

She’d considered asking Willow or Tara to come up with some magic demon detector thingy. Something that she could just point at Dawn’s potential boss and it would beep or something if there was anything even a little not-human about her. But there really hadn’t been any time, and they’d been busy with dinner, anyway.

Buffy frowned. Tara had been upset about something to do with magic, hadn’t she? What had it been? Had she been jealous of Willow’s power, had that been it? She wasn’t sure. Buffy felt a momentary sense of panic that she might be forgetting things again, but a quick run through her mind seemed to suggest most of her memories were accessible. She shrugged. It couldn’t have been that important. Will and Tara had certainly seemed to be getting along just fine this afternoon. They’d been making with all the touchy-feely-smoochie stuff in the kitchen.

Anyway, no demon detector necessitated a good old fashioned checking out of this Emily person to see if she had an aversion to sunlight, or kept elaborate and detailed track of the phases of the moon on her calendar, or could unload her delivery truck by lifting the front end and dumping the contents out the open back doors or something else that generally suggested Not. Human. Oh, and if she could get a look in her refrigerator, that would also be helpful.

It would have been handy to be able to bring Spike along, have him find some way to hit Emily if she thought there was anything questionable about her. But Emily would probably object to that, and change her mind about giving Dawn a job, which would make the whole undercover demon detection visit a waste of time. Spike might not want to chance the headache either. Besides, Dawn said Spike liked Emily. Spike liking Emily might be a bit odd, but it wasn’t necessarily reassuring in and of itself. But Spike trusting her with Dawn was.

The guy was almost scarily protective of her sister, and Buffy had certainly come to believe that his instincts about Dawn were ones she would be wise to follow.

Oh, god. Spike.

She’d been drowning in him.

Every touch of his hands, his mouth, everything he’d done had been so… perfect. God, the pleasure. The unbelievable, mind-blowing pleasure. The whole night had been so… She’d never experienced anything like it, and she’d been awash in memories of it ever since. She wanted a repeat, and more.

If she could just get him to kiss her breasts again - even that. Her body tightened. He had the most amazing mouth. It did things to her…

And that thumb. Oh. My. God.

He’d been wearing a thumb ring, and it had… Oh. God. Buffy stopped walking, her face flushing. She could feel heat building in her body, tension coiling. She could feel...

“Buffy?”

Pleasure zinged through her body, almost like an orgasmic aftershock.

“Hey, older sister!”

And again with the Oh. My. God. and the frissons of pleasure.

“Buffy? You’re not wigging out or anything, are you?”

Buffy focused on her sister. “Um, no, I’m fine.” Her eyes widened guiltily at the hoarseness in her voice. Damn! She cleared her throat. “Fine.”

Dawn didn’t look convinced, but she dropped it, and started prattling on about her new history teacher again. The old teacher had been the first one to mysteriously disappear this year, and seeing as it was already December, the students were duly impressed with this record.

Buffy let her sister’s voice drift over her and away.

She should be more cautious. She knew she should. But she didn’t want to be. At all. Didn’t wanna pull away, pull back, plod along the safe path. She wanted to… She wanted to…

Damn it. What did she want?

But maybe… Maybe she could slow things down a little. Not pull away, but just take a step back. Just a step… He’d understand. She knew he would. Because… Well, because he was Spike. The one who…

The one who knew her.

The one who understood her.

The one who belonged to her.

And she… she…

Oh, god, what? What?

They were going to be together. Sometimes, she could feel it - like a physical thing - a certainty running through her. It unsettled her, that certainty, made her feel restless and nervous. And excited.

Slow. Things. Down.

The whole relationship thing was sooo not her strong suit. And with everything that was going on in her life, the problems and confusion, the aftereffects of dying and being reborn, she knew getting involved with Spike wasn’t the sensible thing to be doing, knew she shouldn’t be making big decisions like this. Getting involved in a - a what? A relationship? That was always a big decision, and with Spike, there were lots of - other - things that should be considered. Extenuating issues, so to speak. And even putting those aside, her track record in relationships sucked big time. 0 for 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or whatever. The important part was the big fat zip, zero, nada in the success column.

And telling everyone? Now that would be a whole heap of ‘I don’t wanna do this’ Buffy fun.

Not only did her track record suck, but, after Angel, she’d been - crippled somehow. Unable or unwilling to lose herself, or, perhaps more importantly, to find herself, in another relationship.

Which led, inevitably, to thoughts of Riley, and a different kind of pain. The pain of failure, of trying so hard to, to make it work, to make it be right. And it just - hadn’t. Been right.

She’d tried to believe their relationship had been good, had been what she needed, wanted. Something normal. A normal guy. Human. And that it had been working. But he hadn’t made her forget Angel for a minute. Well, maybe there hadn’t been much Angel thinkage during that whole possessed house thing…

Which had been the best sex they’d ever had. The magically enhanced sex. She felt kinda guilty and disloyal for even thinking such a thing, but… Great sex isn’t everything in a relationship, Buffy, she told herself. That produced more guilt as she remembered how often she’d told herself that while she was seeing Riley. It’s not that the sex hadn’t been… nice. Kinda… warm. And he hadn’t gone on a killing spree or turned into a total poophead, as Willow would say, after the first time, so that had definitely been a plus. Sometimes it had even been… cuddly.

When she hadn’t been leaving their bed to hunt vampires, or he hadn’t been leaving it to get a suck job from one.

Before she died she’d been giving a lot of thought to her ability to love, so afraid she was losing it… And the whole Riley thing had been a huge contributing factor in that. Xander had tried to tell her that she had shut down after Angel, and that she’d been treating Riley like the rebound guy, when he was the one who came along once in a lifetime.

Well she couldn’t argue that she’d shut down after Angel. She’d known it, never doubted it. She’d loved him so much… Buffy felt the long familiar ache in her chest. Their whole relationship had been so intense, so…

But Riley being the guy who only came only once in a lifetime?

In retrospect, maybe that was a good thing.

Oh god, there was that guilt thing again.

Xander had thought she should beg Riley to stay.

And she’d gone, running, crying out into the night sky. Unheard.

So desperate to hold on. To have someone. To belong to someone, and to have someone who belonged to her. To do what Angel wanted her to do. Have what Angel wanted her to have. A normal, human guy. Someone who could take her into the sun. Even though she lived in the night. Someone who could give her children. Even though she’d never live to see them grow up. Someone, maybe, to help her see herself as normal?

Because he’s not what I need…

Things could be difficult and complex. And sometimes they were just that simple.

For a while she’d thought things were going really well. She’d started opening up to Riley more and more, sharing parts of herself with him. But then something had changed. She’d never been quite certain what it was, but…

Her life was always going to be so complicated, so messy.

Riley had told her more than once that he ‘got’ the whole thing - the Slayer gig, the Buffy package. But for some reason, she’d felt that he didn’t get it - didn’t get it at all. He may have said the right things, but deep down, she’d so often felt like he really wanted her to change, to be different, to be not stronger than him, to be normal.

To not have a complicated, messy life.

To not have her life.

And once the whole Angel thing came up, she knew somewhere inside her that he would never really understand and accept the part the vampire had played in her life; that their relationship would always stick in his craw, to use one of her Grandmother Robinson’s sayings.

She should have known, then. She should have realized that there were going to be major problems. She was not going to apologize for Angel, not ever, or be made to feel that her love for him had in some way tainted her. And she knew, somehow, that it would have come to that. Eventually. Riley had been a decent guy, but the fact that he had, for so long, completely bought into the Initiative’s methods, should have been a red flag to her. For Riley, the world had been fairly black and white, and Buffy knew that loving Angel had greyed her out more than a little. Perhaps she’d always known, somewhere inside her, that her past with Angel would someday have killed any future with Riley.

She hadn’t remembered them, Buffy realized with a slight sense of surprise. Riley or Angel. Either of them. They’d been among the fade in/fade out parts of her past, lumped in with everyone who wasn’t Dawn or Spike. That fact made her feel a little guilty, a little sad, and maybe…

…maybe just a bit relieved.

“We’re here,” Dawn said, and Buffy broke off her musings to look up at the neat plaque over the door.

Dawn was eyeing her with that ‘just act normal and don’t do or say anything to embarrass me or I will poison your food’ look again as they entered Enchantment Floral and Gift.

Hmm… Enchantment, Buffy thought. Suspicious already.

~*~

They were laughing.

Spike was pretty sure he hadn’t heard the housemates laughing together since his Slayer had been brought back, and he took a moment to savor the sound. Dawn’s giggle and Buffy’s deeper belly laugh, the one he’d only heard once or twice, and then by chance, nearly drowned out Tara’s soft chuckle as Willow finished the story that had apparently sparked their mirth.

He stepped toward the living room from the kitchen, pausing in the doorway between the rooms to survey them. Buffy and Dawn were sprawled out on the floor, a bowl of popcorn between them. As he watched, Dawn pelted her sister with a kernel. Judging by how many lay on the floor around his girls, this had been going on for a while. Willow and Tara were curled up together on the sofa, snuggling under a chenille throw.

Spike frowned slightly. He’d thought the witches were on the outs. Must’ve made up.

“Hey, Spike!” Dawn called out, gathering more ammunition from the popcorn bowl. “Wanna help me slaughter Buffy?”

“Ha! I am the Slayer! Like you could slaughter me!”

“I’m sooo kicking your ass.”

“Are not.”

“Am.”

“Not.”

“Am.”

“Not.”

“Hi, Spike.” Tara’s voice reached him over the riveting conversation of the Summers’ girls that was leading to whole handfuls of fluffy whiteness, rather than individual kernels, being flung about the room.

“Ladies,” he nodded, including Willow in the offhand greeting.

“What’s up?” Tara went on.

“The usual. New demon in town. Thought the Slayer might like to be in on the kill.”

Buffy looked up. “Do I hafta?” she pouted.

Spike eyed her. There was that lip again. “No. I can handle it,” he said evenly. They looked like they were having a grand time of it. In addition to the popcorn, evidence of an earlier meal was spread out on the coffee table, and the final scenes of an old Rex Harrison film - The Ghost and Mrs. Muir - were flickering across the television screen. His gaze went around the room, halting abruptly when he met Willow’s eyes.

Locked on him.

“Would you like to join us for awhile first?” she asked affably. (( Stay. Sit down. I wanna know if I can make a vampire laugh. ))

Spike’s eyes narrowed.

“No thanks,” he said, his voice cold. “This demon likes to feed on humans. No time to dilly-dally tonight.”

Willow’s own gaze hardened. (( What have you done? ))

“Oh, well, then,” Willow smiled. “That does sound more important.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, rising to her feet. “Looks like I’m outta here.” She looked at the others. “You know - sacred duty, yada, yada, yada.”

Dawn’s face fell at the apparent end to their evening, before her eyes lit up with hope. “Can I come with?”

“Not tonight,” Spike refused. “This demon is pretty vicious. Don’t wanna take any chances with that pretty skin of yours.” He looked at Buffy. “Crossbow, love. Best to kill this one from a distance if you can. There’s a slime factor.”

“Eeeww. Thanks for the warning.”

Buffy retrieved a crossbow and arrows from her weapons chest and handed them to Spike while she went to get a coat.

Spike held Willow’s eyes, but his words were directed to Dawn. “’bout time for you to be all tucked up for the night, isn’t it, bit?” ((( Harm a hair on her head, and chip or no chip, I will tear you to pieces. )))

“What are you, my dad?” Dawn grumbled.

“Hardly.” ((( I’ll do more than try. I will hunt you until I’m dust. ))) “It’s late. Don’t you have to work in the morning?”

(( Dust can be arranged. ))

“Oh! I got a new job!” Dawn enthused. “I don’t start ‘til next Saturday, but guess where, Spike?”

His eyes finally left those of the redhead and focused on the teenager. He stepped closer to her, reaching out to touch her hair. “Where’s that, pet?”

“With Emily! You know - Liza! At the flower shop.”

“Yeah?” he smiled. “You’ll like that.”

“I know! I can’t wait! And she wanted me - me, Spike! Even with the whole klutziness issue.”

“You are not a klutz,” he objected, not for the first time. “You’re jes’ growing into those legs. Bound to take a bit of time. And of course she wanted you. She’s a smart woman, isn’t she? Bein’ a Brit an’ all.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Right. Ups the base IQ by at least fifty points, doesn’t it?”

“Minimum,” he agreed, and Dawn snorted.

Buffy rejoined them. “Ready?” she asked.

“Always, pet,” he drawled, and took delight in the faint flush that touched her face. His eyes went back to Dawn. “Go on up to bed now, there’s a good girl.”

“Oh, Pleeease! ‘There’s a good girl’”, she mimicked. “Are you shooting for grandfather now?”

“Be shooting a kick at your arse soon, luv.”

“I am sooo sure.” Dawn tossed her head. “What. Ever.” She looked at everyone. “I’m going to bed!” she announced with false enthusiasm, and Tara started to laugh softly.

“Good idea, sweetie.” She stole a sideways glance at her lover, and Dawn rolled her eyes again, before relenting.

“This was really fun tonight. Pasta, movie, popcorn wars. Yeah, good times.”

The housemates smiled in agreement, then, to Spike’s disgust, followed the smiles with hugs all around.

“Are you birds quite finished?” he asked. “’m not sure how much longer I can control my gag reflex.” He didn’t pull away though, when Dawn’s arms closed around him. He even hugged her back as his eyes met Willow’s once more. ((( Not a hair on her head, Red. )))

Willow smiled calmly.

Spike suppressed a growl. The Watcher had left late this afternoon on a brief business trip to L.A. But as soon as he returned, they were going to have a talk.

~*~

He was very quiet, Lorne thought. And he didn’t seem to mingle much. He’d only seen him exchange greetings with a couple of the other patrons. Usually, he ordered a drink, sat alone at a table and seemed to enjoy the singers.

He wasn’t human, but Lorne didn’t know what kind of demon he was. He certainly looked harmless. Meek, mild mannered, unfailingly polite. Lorne had to admit his curiosity about the man grew every time he came in. Perhaps it was time to introduce himself, ask the harmless looking demon some harmless sounding questions.

The man looked up as Lorne put a hand on the back of the chair next to him.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“I - why, no, please do.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a perfect little bow.

Lorne sat down. “I’m Lorne,” he introduced himself. “The owner here.”

“Bellamy.”

“Welcome to Caritas. I’ve seen you in here several times in the last few weeks.” Lorne told him. “I thought it was time to introduce myself, and thank you for your patronage.”

“And check me out?”

Lorne smiled. “That, too.” He paused. “You’re not human…”

“No. A Daxis-Nocte pixie.” At Lorne’s blank look, he sighed, giving a small shake of his head. “We’re not very well known, I’m afraid. There aren’t many of us in this dimension. It can get a little lonely, so rarely being around your own kind.”

“Sometimes, it’s a blessing,” Lorne had to add, thinking of his own world, and Bellamy nodded.

“I imagine that can be the case, if one is an individualist.”

He still seemed harmless, Lorne thought. Polite, articulate. Hmmm…

“You seem to enjoy the singing - especially the karaoke singers.”

“Yes. I find it fascinating, trying to put a personality with the singers, based on their choice of song, and their delivery.”

“You should give it a go.”

Bellamy blushed a little, and looked down. “Me? On no,” he shook his head. “I do so enjoy the cabaret, but I’m afraid if I got up on stage, I would send all your customers scurrying out the nearest exit.”

Lorne let it go. “Believe me, there have been people on that stage who should never be allowed to lift their voices in song of any kind.” Even good friends. He shuddered visibly in remembrance. “Some of them have been up there more than once. The crowd usually survives.”

“I wonder why they feel compelled to perform.”

Lorne shrugged. “It’s show biz.”

Bellamy laughed softly, and took a sip of his drink. “Well, several of them certainly exercise my professional interests.” At Lorne’s questioning look, he explained. “I’m something of a demon psychologist,” he said. “Not really licensed, I’m afraid,” he added in a self depreciating manner. Could one be? “But I’ve been talking with various demons for many years, helping them to work out some of the issues and difficulties of living in a human world. Some species adjust very well, but for others there’s so much trauma, even great suffering, as they try to make their way.”

Lorne had heard of psychologists dealing with the demon populace, of course, though he’d only ever met one other. The vast majority of demons, leaning toward evil, didn’t care about adjusting their psyches. But some types of demons did care, and really needed someone to talk to or to offer guidance. He looked Bellamy over again. He could sense no evil in the man. He was a little too self-effacing for Lorne’s more brash style, but he liked him. The pixie made him feel comfortable. Perhaps that was part of his ‘counselor’ persona. Lorne imaged it would be an asset.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “If I hear of someone who could use an ear to listen, I’ll give them your name. Do you have a card?”

Bellamy patted his pockets, then came up with a slightly crumpled business card. It was plain white, with simple block letters in unrelieved black. BELLAMY. A phone number. No frills there, either, Lorne thought.

Lorne stood, and placed the business card in the inside pocket of his lavender jacket. “I hope I’ll see you here again. Enjoy the show.”

Bellamy smiled sweetly. “I always do.”

~*~

Her back was to the door, and he was kissing her.

Did he have to be so damned good at it? Buffy wondered with some irritation. The irritation was mixed with a pretty hefty dose of not caring, because - well, because he was so damned good at it.

They’d done a brief early patrol, and planned to make another sweep in a couple of hours. Buffy had suggested they rent a movie to fill in the time. Spike had looked at her suggestively, but she’d ignored him, reminding herself that she’d quite logically worked out that they needed to Slow. Things. Down. and dragged him into the nearest Blockbusters.

They’d argued and bickered about which film to rent. She’d wanted to rent another romantic haunted house film like The Uninvited and the clerk had suggested The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Spike opined that since she’d just seen that, they might wanna choose something else. Buffy had looked at him, puzzled. She’d never seen that movie. She’d looked at the picture on the box, and re-read the description, but it didn’t look familiar to her.

She was determined that they were going to watch the film at her house rather than the crypt. She figured it was much safer because of the whole not being alone because-half-the-people-she-knew-lived-with-her thing.

That well laid plan had fallen through, though, when they’d come home to find all those other people missing. Dawn had gone out for dinner and to a late movie with Willow, and Tara was doing one of her twice monthly all night stints at the local crisis hotline. When she’d first learned that Tara did the phone counseling, Buffy had been a bit surprised. Tara didn’t seem - what, assertive enough? - for the job. But watching her with Dawn, and giving it some thought, Buffy realized that Tara’s calm demeanor and clearly caring tone was probably much more important than assertiveness. In fact, it was probably a far better approach to a lot of problems that might come up.

Spike had read the side-by-side notes from her housemates over Buffy’s shoulder, and the next thing she knew, she had backed him up against the front door, pulled his head down to hers even as she was trying to climb up his body, and had started kissing him like crazy.

Since the night in his crypt he’d apparently been waiting for her to make the first move, and a girl can hold out just so long.

Eventually, they’d gotten turned around, and now here they were, her back pressed to the door, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, mouths locked together, and a very hard, very aroused ridge of very male flesh was rocking snuggly against her in a very, very pleasant way.

“I’m so bloody hard for you, Slayer,” he groaned. “I feel like I’m gonna explode.” He made a strong thrusting motion against her. “Feel me?”

‘”Yes. Oh god, yes.”

“I’m aching for you, love. So much. Want it all tonight. Wanna bury myself inside you, feel you all around me.”

“Spike -”

“Come inside you, deep, fill you up with me.”

“Spike, we can’t…”

“We can, love.”

“We can’t,” she insisted, but her words lost some effectiveness when she moaned and bucked against him again.

“Ah, ahhh,” His body answered with its own movement, and he was grinding himself against her now. His voice was rough, ragged, but still cajoling. “Buffy,” he whispered along her jaw. “You know this is gonna happen. You know we’re gonna be together, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she didn’t hesitate. She’d known since the minute she’d seen him when she’d first come back, since she’d stood on the stairs, and looked down at him looking up at her. She’d known. Had he? It had been like a distance glow at the time. He belonged to her. She’d known, but for some reason, she hadn’t really realized it, or understood it or something until that night in the Bronze, or maybe not until the night in his crypt. She still didn’t feel like she understood what was happening with them, what she was feeling. But that knowledge had been growing, shifting and changing inside her since the moment on the stairs, when she’d first come back, and right now the certainty of it, of him, of them, was running through her body, into every nerve ending. She knew.

Slow. Things. Down.

His hands clutched her bottom, fingers digging into firm flesh. “Inside you, Buffy,” he urged. “Let me in.”

“I can’t. I have - it’s the wrong - I can’t.” Argh! She wanted to scream. Why could she never talk about, um, things?

“Because you’re bleedin’?” he asked bluntly, and she could actually feel her face heating up. It must be stained with color. She’d never talked about this with a guy. Ever. It had certainly never come up with Angel, not enough time, Buffy, she told herself, and God, she’d never even talked about it with Riley. When she had her period, she’d just mutter a vague ‘no’, and he’d look away, avoiding her eyes, and they’d go see a movie or something.

“You can’t think that matters, love?” Spike lifted her face, and pushed her hair back so that he could look directly into her eyes.

“I can’t,” she repeated. She tried to meet his eyes.

“You know it’ll just make it better for me,” he whispered, right next to her ear.

“Oooh.” Oh god, oh god. Did he mean? Of course he does, Buffy. Vampire.

“Look at me,” he said quietly.

She tried again. Failure.

He sighed, unwrapping her legs from around his waist, and letting her slide to the floor. He winced a little as her body rubbed hard against him.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“’s okay, pet. I can wait. I’ve waited a long time for you. And we have time now. Few more days…”

He lifted her face to his, forcing the eye contact she’d been avoiding. His expression was so soft, the curve of his mouth… Buffy felt her heart move almost painfully in her chest.

“How about a nice long snog on the sofa instead?”

“No,” she said quietly, and he tilted his head, eyeing her.

“No?”

“I don’t want you to wait.”

He turned his hands, and ran his palms down the front of her thighs. “Change your mind, love?” He was practically purring. “Woman’s prerogative…”

That tone of voice should sooo be illegal.

“No, not about…” she shifted a little, then looked up at him from under her lashes. Her own tone changed, flirtation creeping in. “I thought maybe tonight, I could ‘see’ to you. Sort of - return the favor?”

“Take away some of my tension?” His tongue curled against his teeth.

“Yeah…” Her right hand slid into his hair. “Wouldn’t want you too - tense.”

“No,” he agreed, his mouth returning to hers.

He picked her up, and oh god, she loved that - that effortless strength of his - and she wrapped her legs around him again as he carried her over to the sofa. A movement, another, and they were lying together, duster discarded, and their bodies pressed close. He’d positioned her on the inside of the sofa, she noted, with his back exposed to the room. One of his instinctive moves of protection. He did them a lot, and she had just recently begun to notice.

When her hand slid to the fastening of his jeans, he stayed it.

“Don’t rush, love,” he murmured. He brought her hand back up, wrapping it around his neck, and leaned back in to kiss her again. “Just let it happen.”

God, he was so… For some reason, even after the other night, she still expected him to be a bit - rougher, quicker, more demanding. And she knew he could be, would be… even, in some ways, had been in his crypt… But this incredible tenderness, this patient, slow seduction - oooh.

They were kissing again. Oh, good, good… but different. Less urgent. Deeper, slower. After all, he was right, there was no real rush, was there? They had time. Time.

Their limbs entwined, and their bodies began moving together. Mouths dragged across the curve of cheek and jaw, sliding down, touching a strong throat, a slim neck, retracing their paths to join again. Tongues entwined too, stroking, one against the other. He gave a low groan as she drew back to nip at his lower lip, she gave a soft gasp as his tongue brushed against the roof of her mouth. The sounds of desire wrapped around them.

He feels so good. She was enthralled by the hardness of his body, the muscles bunching and moving under the taut skin of his torso as she tugged his t-shirt over his head. He lifted his arms, aiding her. Her hands swept over the skin of his shoulders, down and across his chest.

So strong.

His strength pleased her, aroused her.

And all of - this - is mine.

She loved watching him work out; loved watching the shift and play of his muscles. She’d found herself staring at his shirtless form more and more often at the Magic Box. She wondered now if her eyes had revealed her hunger to him, wondered briefly if Giles had ever noticed it, as he wandered in and out of the training room when they worked out, or when he supervised their more intense training sessions. This was the first time she’d touched him like this, really. She’d wrapped him in her arms the other night at his crypt, slipped her hands under his shirt, but he’d left his clothes on, even when she’d urged him to at least take off his shirt. “Too much skin contact, love”, he’d protested. “I’d never be able to hold back.”

Maybe that’s what she’d wanted. For him to not hold back. And now… Damn! The joys of womanhood. At least her periods were always short and light. Another day or two, and they could…

Oh, yeah, Buffy. You’re so good at slowing things down.

Her hands swept over his back, savoring the feel of smooth, cool flesh. She felt almost like she could get drunk on the feel of him alone. And it wasn’t just the physical strength of his body, the rippling of muscles that called to her. There was more, something more. Power. He had it in spades, and she could feel it running under his skin, through his body.

Power.

Her hunger for him deepened. God, she wanted…

She wanted to take it into herself, blend it with her own, savor it, use it, share it with him. And she wanted to give him hers.

Her mind almost exploded at the thought, a revelation to her. She’d never felt like that, like this. She was the Slayer. All that that meant had been coming back to her since the night of Joan, flooding her. She had power.

Real power.

She’d doubted it at first, worried about it, but Spike’s reassurances had done what they’d been intended to do - reassured her. He’d been right about the memories, and she’d started to put faith in him. He’d told her that everything she needed was inside her, and she’d believed it. Believed him.

She couldn’t feel it all yet, but she was sure it was there. Maybe just waiting for something to jog the last pieces loose, as he’d suggested, or perhaps renewing itself in some way… The mystical power of the Slayer. At this moment, she felt almost like she was craving it, like she could barely wait to feel it back at full strength. Because she wanted to explore it, share it, with him. She didn’t understand that at all, but the longing moved through her like an unusual force, dark and light, swirling through her thoughts. Had they just formed? Or had she just not recognized them or their meaning until now?

She’d carried so much confusion around since she’d been resurrected, and still had so many things to straighten out. At least she could remember what they were now. It was so freeing to not have to spend hours trying to remember Xander’s name or struggling to recall the details of her mom’s face and how it had moved when she’d spoken, how her eyes had lit up when she laughed.

Spike’s fingers worked the buttons of her blouse. They were tiny little things, difficult even for her to fasten, but she’d loved them, all those tiny sparkling little beads of black. He worked them carefully, deftly, not dislodging a single one from the fabric. His drew the soft black fabric down off of her shoulder, letting his mouth move to the newly exposed flesh.

“Sweeter than honey, love,” he whispered into the skin of her upper arm. “Especially…” his hand tugged the cup of her black lace bra down, exposing the firm mound of flesh, the taut nipple to his eyes, his fingers, his mouth. “…here.”

His lips closed over the hardened flesh, teased it, then opened to draw it strongly into his mouth, as he stripped her bra from her. She gasped with pleasure. For some reason she simply couldn’t fathom, she’d never had any idea her breasts were so incredibly sensitive. Since the other night in his crypt, it seemed she’d spent half her waking hours thinking about ways to get Spike’s mouth and hands back on them. Stroking, twisting, sucking…

“The first time,” Spike said quietly, “I wanna come in your hands.”

Her body clenched at the words.

“Then I wanna come again,” he went on. “Spend myself - here.” His finger traced a winding path from the inner curve of her breast to her navel. He looked at her, his gleaming blue gaze tempting her and gauging her reaction. He bent over her, and his tongue followed, in reverse, the path his finger had drawn. “The third time,” he continued hoarsely, touching his finger to the corner of her mouth, “You decide.”

Oh god, she was gonna… Just thinking about it… And, god, the other night, too… His mouth, his fingers… that thumb…

“I’m gonna…”

“It’s okay love,” his assured her, his mouth hovering over hers. “Go ahead and come. You smell so good afterward. Jes’ make it that much better for me.”

“No, for you” she managed to get out. “This is supposed to be for you.”

“You come, Buffy - it is for me. To watch your face, feel your body go all tight, feel you quiverin’ against me… Does things to me you can’t even imagine.”

God, that voice. It made her feel like she was melting into a big old pile of - melty stuff - inside.

He shifted her, just a small movement, and then his mouth was back on her breast, and his fingers touched her, sliding between her legs, stroking across the smooth fabric of her pants. One stroke, two, oh, just a little more, one more, just a little harder…

Explosions of light. Pleasure flooding her, flooding… So gooood.

Panting, Buffy began to calm. She pressed her face into Spike’s throat, nuzzling him, as her body recovered. She could feel the heat starting, and she smiled, welcoming it - that wonderful flood of warmth she’d felt with him several times now. Mmmm. She liked that, too.

“You think we can figure out exactly how this heat thing is triggered, so we can make it happen whenever we want?” he asked. His voice was muffled by her hair, but she could still hear the amusement and the satisfaction in it.

“Dunno,” she murmured. “I’m thinking it’s, like, you know, one of those bonus features.”

“Worth waiting for the special edition DVD, though, innit?”

“Oh, yeah.” She didn’t know what caused it, but she knew she liked it.

She pressed closer, sliding her mouth down his chest so that she could touch her lips to the spot over his unbeating heart. This time, when her fingers went to the fastening of his jeans, he didn’t try to stop her. She could feel the tension in his body, the anticipation, as she worked the button, drew the zipper down slowly.

Tugging at the denim, pulling it down a little, a little more, just enough, oh, just enough. She felt the hard length of flesh pop out of his jeans and tap her high on her stomach, just under her breasts. She pressed her body more tightly to his, cushioning his aroused flesh between them and began moving her body in a way he obviously approved of, if the low groans escaping him were anything to go by. Just a little lower, brush her breasts against that hard flesh, make him shudder. He did.

She slid back up his body, tipping her chin back as her mouth sought his, and when she caught it, she curled her hand around his cock, giving it one long smooth stroke from base to tip.

Oh god. So long, so thick. So hard. Oh, so hard.

He’s strong here, she thought, with hazy pleasure. All that passion.

Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, and when she opened them again, she was looking into Spike’s eyes. They were dark with need, soft with… with…

“Buffy… “

Could he please never stop saying her name? He made it sound…

“Oh, love… Stroke me.”

“Oooh.” Her hand closed more tightly around him. Oh god, he felt so good. Smooth, soft skin. So soft. Stretched so tightly over the length of him. Strength and power pulsing in her hand. Like a heartbeat. It shouldn’t… “Oh, god.”

“Tighter, love. I won’t break.” His voice fell to a soft groan. “You never have to hold back with me. Never. Give me your power. Show me all of you. ‘s what I want. What I’ve always wanted.”

She felt a little shock go through her to hear him use the word power when it had been so heavy in her mind.

“So hard,” she whispered to him, and felt his body jerk.

“For you,” he told her. “You.”

He began to rock into her hand with greater force.

“Use your other hand, too. Wrap them both around me. Stroke me hard. Yeah. Oh yeah, Buffy. Like that. You have wonderful hands, love. Been thinkin’ about them. Wantin’ to feel ‘em wrapped around me, strokin’, squeezin’ me tight.”

“Oooh.” Her grip tightened, and she began to pick up the pace, which he seemed to want. She was surprised when one of his hands left her hair, and he brought it down over hers, slowing her.

He leaned his body out a little and bowed his head.

“Oh, god. Just lookin’ at that - at your hands on me.”

Buffy’s eyes followed his, and she watched her hands pumping his length. She pulled one of her hands away, and used it to stroke over the head of his cock on each down stroke, then slid it lower, cupping the sac of flesh that had drawn up close to his body as his excitement built. She was strangely fascinated by the actions of her hands, and more so by the way his shaft was throbbing in them, growing, if that was possible, in hardness.

“You like that, don’t you? Seein’ what you do to me? How much I want you? Don’t stop,” he urged her, when she paused for a second, as his words sent a little surge through her, a mixture of embarrassment, surprise at his words, and good, old fashioned lust. “’s okay, love. I like it, too. Like watching your hands on me, stroking me. I like watching you, too. Watching your face when you’re about to come, knowing I did that to you.” His eyes were riveted to her hands, as they continued to caress him. “So good, Buffy. Your hands feel so good.”

“Ahhh, oh god.” There was that whole lust thing again. No one had ever said things to her like he did. And, oh, god, she liked it. Really liked it…

“Tell me how I feel.”

…a lot.

“Tell me, Buffy.”

“Power,” she moaned. “I feel all your power. I want it. Want it… Spike. I want…”

“Ah, fuck, Buffy.” He pulled her hand back over the head of his cock, and slid his own over it, entwining their fingers. His body jerked, and he pressed their hands down tighter, squeezing. “Take it, then, love. Take me.”

He came hard into their entwined hands.

His hands stayed over hers, over both of hers, now, holding them in place as his body shuddered against hers. She watched his face, watched how pleasure twisted it, made it go so taut, jaw clenched, and chin jutting forward as he arched his neck. He was right. She did like that - knowing she’d done that to him, had given him that pleasure.

Slowly, he opened passion glazed eyes to meet hers.

“Ah, look at you, pet. All smug and satisfied.” Oh, god. Is that how she looked? His mouth did one of those sorta-wicked, kinda-smirky, taunting-teasing things that it sometimes did. He seemed to have a repertoire of them. His voice dropped even further to pure intimacy. “Deserved, too, sweetheart. You have magic hands.”

“Oh, god.” Was there a limit to how many times she could say that in a twenty-four hour period?

He lifted their entwined hands to his mouth, and pressed a kiss into her palm, his open mouth taking in his spilled seed. She watched him, entranced. She’d never… never seen…

“Taste?” he offered, his eyes locked on her as he turned their hands toward her. How could he make one simple word sound so completely decadent? She was absolutely certain now that that voice must be illegal in at least several states.

She was slightly shocked when she opened her mouth to accept. She’d never… She felt his cock jump under her other hand, the one he still held wrapped around him, as she licked some of the fluids from their palms. His pleasure in her participation increased her own.

Buffy moaned and thrust her tongue out, sliding it between their fingers, tasting him, drinking him in.

His mouth joined hers, as they licked their hands clean. Then both his hands were in her hair and he was kissing her wildly, passion igniting as though he hadn’t just come hard.

“Bring me off again, love, “ he urged into her open mouth. His body pressed closer to hers, pushing her into the back of the sofa. One of his hands found one of hers, and he wrapped it around his hardened flesh again. “Hard,” he muttered. “Jerk me hard and fast. Yeah. Oh god, Buffy. Hard.”

Rougher, quicker, more demanding. She’d known it was lurking inside him, and she was proven right.

~*~

She was sitting up, slouched lazily against the back of the sofa, and he was next to her, alongside her, kneeling on the cushions with his body arched over hers as he kissed her.

“God, Slayer, I could kiss you all night long. Your taste, the way you feel, your scent -” His mouth returned to hers.

All night long. That’s what she wanted, too. Exactly what she wanted. To curl up into his arms, and just spend what remained of the night wrapped up there, kissing him.

Ohhh. If that mouth was headed back to her breasts, she was gonna have to do everything she could to encourage that.

She arched her back, and he groaned, but instead of trailing his mouth down to her breasts as she wanted, his lips lingered on her neck, arched, exposed to him. They moved from just under her chin to the small hollow at the base of her throat. His hand wrapped more tightly into her hair, and he turned her body so that he could tug her head back even further, and Buffy willingly complied, dropping her head back as far as she could, and bracing herself on her arms to support them. His mouth continued to move up and down her throat, and they both began to moan.

Oh. My. God. What? What was that? What was happening?

She suddenly didn’t care that his mouth wasn’t finding her nipples, because this, oh, god, this was even better…

~*~

He could hear her blood rushing through her body, racing faster and faster. Her heart was pounding, and the sound of it was intensifying, beginning to fill the room.

Sonofa…

Excitement, emotion, amazement; something was gripping him, and it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

His awareness shifted, pulled back from the scene. He was there with her, and he wasn’t. No control. Taken over. His body moved. He was still on his knees, but they were straddling her thighs now, pressed close to her as he loomed over her. He could hear the rumbling in his throat - a strange sound, somewhere between a growl and a purr - a sound he was quite sure he’d never made before. He pulled back just enough to look into her face. Their eyes locked, and he was riveted by hers - glinting with golden lights, intent, pulling him in. A challenge? He knew his own eyes were flashing gold. Streaking. She dropped her head back, exposing herself to him. His hand sank into her hair, and he tugged her head back even further, as his mouth moved over her chin, and began to trail down her throat.

Her heartbeat was even louder now, stronger, the very air around them was pulsating in rhythm with it, thudding, thudding. Louder, stronger.

And then…

She was covering him, consuming him, her body joining with his, closer, merging, closer, closer, oh, there, there. She was in him, and he realized that he was in her too, that she was crying out sounds of mingled shock and pleasure. Oh god, she was there - on him, inside him, with him - she was part of him, she was him, inside, outside, all over him. He could feel her blood pounding now, matching the beat of her heart as it should, but now it was pounding through him, through his veins, through his mind.

Your blood, my blood, our blood…

Remembered words whispered through his mind briefly, and were lost in sensation.

Buffy.

Power, pain, passion; mingling, roaring through them, around them, capturing, escaping. Hold on, hold on. Stay. Give. More. Fear and longing. Wonder. Endless. Endless. Stay.

And then, with only his hands wrapped in her hair, and his mouth touching her throat, they were both climaxing violently, their bodies convulsing.

Lost.

The world went dark.

When awareness returned, he was sitting on the floor next to the sofa, and Buffy was laying on her side on the cushions, her arm draped loosely around his neck. They were both panting, hard, dragging in air that one of them damned well shouldn’t even need, but seemed desperate for right now.

“What the hell was that?” he groaned out as soon as he felt capable of stringing together coherent syllables.

“I don’t know,” she sounded as dazed as he felt. “But I want more.”

Bloody hell, so did he. Right now. Just as soon as he could move.

“Tell me what you felt.”

“You. I felt you.” Her voice, so close to his ear, was raw, husky. “I still do. I feel you.”

“Inside you?”

“Yes. All over me. All through me. Oh, god, so incredible… And now, peace and warmth, and I - oh god, Spike…” Her voice changed, becoming a soft desolate wail. “Oh no, no…please -”

It was slipping away.

The peace and warmth she’d spoken of, the incredible aftermath of whatever the sodding hell that had been, was fading away, leaving them, eluding them. He wanted it back - not just the after glow, but the whole thing, wanted to experience it again, the fierce pleasure of being inside her that way - in her body, in her mind, her heart, in her soul, maybe, to feel her in his body, in his heart and mind, moving all through him.

A part of him. As he’d been a part of her. Been her.

One.

“Nooo…” she moaned again. “Nooo…”

He turned, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her down onto the floor with him, onto him, across him, back into his arms, and buried his face in her throat.

“We’ll get it back, Slayer, I swear. We’ll bloody well find it again…”

“Promise me.”

“We will…”

The phone rang.

“Don’t answer that,” he urged into her open mouth.

“I won’t - the machine…”

Her mouth was trailing over his face now, lips touching themselves to the corners of his eyes. “Take me back - where we were. Take me there again…”

“I will,” he vowed. “You take me, too.”

“I will,” her vow was a solemn as his.

“Buffy? Buffy - are you there?” Dawn’s hysterical wail could be heard on the machine, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sob. “Oh, god, please, please, please, be there. I need you, need you, please…”

~*~

Whew! Finally! I’m so sorry that it’s been more than a month since the last update. Please feel free to send me nasty e-mails and complain! *g*

I must admit the end of the series hit me a bit harder than I expected it to. I thought I was braced for it, but I guess, when I spent two days in my office with the door closed so that no one could see me crying, it was a hint that I was going to have a bit of difficulty letting go. I heard from several people, wanting to know how I was dealing with it, and a week after the series ended, when I felt able to actually discuss it (I did okay in chat right after it was over, but by the next day I was a complete mess), my computer died, and, busy at work, I was unable to get back to a lot of people. Work has slowed down somewhat in the last week, though, and I hope to be catching up with my e-mails soon. Or, at least, attempting to. Argh! I’m not going to comment on the finale here, because I know I have readers who’ve not yet seen it.

At any rate, the dying computer (only 3 months old, mind you!) set me back on ‘Journeys’ too. So today I offer, in an attempt to suck up to all of you - two chapters! Yeah, me! I suffered from a bit of writer’s block, which pretty much had the same effect on me that Michael Flatley has on Chandler Bing, but today went well, so I’m hoping I’m past it.

As always, thank you so much to all the wonderful sites that are archiving this fic for me, and especially to First Rabid, who has created an awards page for me as well. I appreciate all of you. And to the people who have been nominating ‘Journeys’ for awards all over the place - I’m incredibly touched that you find the story worthy. Most of all - thank you to everyone who sends feedback. It means so much to me to know people are reading and enjoying the story. Additional feedback is, ahem, always welcome!

To Kirs and her chat group - a little something special for you in Chapter Ten. You’ll find it. Thanks for the laughs. And Kirs, now that I have a computer at home again, I will get back to you. Guilt is covering me for not doing so yet.

I’m off to the U.S. Gymnastics Championships later this week with my daughter (the retired *cough* state all-around champion *cough*, also on the *cough* National High School Team *cough* gymnast). I’m completely pumped! I think the U.S could well put together a kick-a$$ (stolen from Valerie of ‘Super Food World’ fame) team. Watch on TV! I’ll wave to you! I’m not totally ugly and look nowhere near my real age, and my daughter is a knock-out! I’m sure you’ll have no trouble spotting us!

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