Chapter 8: A Dangerous Visit

Buffy never bothered to knock when entering Spike’s crypt. Usually, his door was open anyway, but she loved the crash and bang she made with her regular entrance. Thrusting open the large, heavy door, her usual habit was to briskly stride up to his bed, where he was always waiting, grinning in a mad spirit of desire, and feverishly peel off her clothes as she quickly straddled him. It warmed her body just to think about it. But today she gingerly opened the door, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. It hardly mattered, though, since she found him asleep in bed. Creeping quietly, she crossed the room and stood, conflicted, beside his bed. He looked so peaceful, Buffy thought. So deceivingly sweet. The way he always looked after they had both been satiated and collapsed into each others’ arms. Hesitant at first, she slowly reached out her hand to stroke his hair and neck, his back facing her. His eyes whipped open when he felt her feather light touch and he tensed with expectation. He then felt her hand drop. Sighing, he pretended to roll over in his sleep so that he was now facing her. Opening his eyes gingerly, then looking at her with mock surprise, he jumped slightly. "Oh it’s you," he said coldly.

His curt words stung. "Yeah, it’s me." She backed away from his bed. Now that he finally had a chance to look at her, his eyes drifted all over her body, scanning her skimpy outfit. He gulped slowly. She could feel his eyes piercing her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps where he stared. She could feel the growing tension between them that usually was relieved by her jumping into his arms and tried to embarassedly avoid him by taking a feet steps back. She let him get out of bed and put some clothes on, her back turned to him.

"What do you want Slayer? Let me guess, hell hath overtaken Sunnydale again and the Scoobies aren’t up for the job, so you come a runnin’ to me. At least tell me that the whelp was fatally wounded in action."

"It’s Willow," her voice hardened in response to his bitter tone. "Rack has got to her again."

Spike whirled to face her. "She hasn’t hurt Nibblet again has she?" he asked angrily. "Because if she has, by God, she’s done for."

"Dawn’s fine. Willow is the one in trouble. Rack has evidently been able to find a way to take over her body."

"Oh that," Spike said, reaching for a cigarette. "Yeah, that’s kind of Rack’s bartering price. People get a magic fix from him, he takes over their bodies. Not a very good bargain is it?"

Buffy gaped at him. "You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?"

Spike shrugged as he took a deep drag. "Well I kind of forgot about it, luv. I haven’t heard about the likes of Rack for awhile. Besides . . ." He paused and gave a penetrating look at Buffy, "I had other stuff on my mind."

Buffy shifted her arms awkwardly. "Oh . . . . .Well he said he would be back and we can’t let that happen. We have to find Rack and stop him before he hurts Willow again."

"Yeah, I figured that was the plan." Spike sighed. "Well wait a bit Slayer, lemme get m’things."

Soon the both of them were prowling around a dark, ratty-looking back alley, miles of silence between them. They hadn’t spoken ever since leaving the crypt and barely made eye contact. And both of them felt about ready to explode from the tension.

"So . . ." Buffy started softly, in a desperate attempt at conversation, "How have you been Spike?"

Spike let out a sharp, frustrated chuckle. He walked away from her quickly then turned again. "How have I been? What do you care?" His voice brimmed with hostility.

Buffy stood with unease. "I care, Spike," she said, her fists clenched.

"Do you? Cause I recall hearing you spout out exactly how much you don’t care."

Buffy grimaced at her own words. "I . . ."

"And you don’t care because you think I’m twisted." Spike already knew this to be true, but he couldn’t help himself from throwing her own words back in her face.

"I didn’t say that," Buffy said slowly, shaking her head. "You’re twisting my words."

"Oh I’m sorry, luv, I forgot. It’s our relationship that’s twisted. But that sparkling metaphor’s not even necessary right, because we don’t have a relationship do we?"

"Right . . ." Buffy said, suddenly very confused.

"So no need for the pleasantries, Slayer. You can save that for your ‘relationships’." Spike resumed walking at a brisk pace and taking deep drags from the stubble of tobacco he had left.

Buffy resumed walking, but her anger got the best of her. After a little continued silence, she cut back to the conversation sharply. "You know, I try to be nice to you, knowing how anti-social you are, which is completely understandable, you being the biggest unliving buttmunch known to man."

Spike snorted. "Oh right. Because that’s been such a habitual trait between us. Niceness. Bloody soddin’ politeness"

"It could be," Buffy pointed out insistently. "It could be if you tried to be less . . . you."

Spike smiled crookedly. "Does it even matter Slayer? Forcing ourselves to be nice to each other? You and I know it’s simply business between us, kill the big baddies, protect the world, preserve it for the likes of shiny happy people and their daisy flower beds and their friggin’ puppies?"

Buffy winced at his obvious tartness. "I don’t even know why I try. Or why I even come to you. You’re more a pain in the ass than any crazed warlock."

"Fine then, why don’t you try to find the invisible, undetectable, fatally dangerous warlock’s coven your bloody self then," Spike snapped, walking away from her.

Buffy sighed exasperatedly. "Real mature Spike. This is about Willow, remember?"

"Not my bloody problem pet. Not my fault the Wiccan’s been pushin’ the magick like it’s chronic."

"What about Dawn?" Buffy challenged him. "Would you want something to happen to her again? Because it could if Rack gets to Willow again."

A look of tired knowledge passed over his face. "Yeah," he said haggardly.

Buffy felt her heart pierce briefly as she stared at Spike, filled with devoted love for her sister. He would die a thousand deaths for Dawn. And for Buffy herself, as well. Buffy knew this and often pondered on this. For such a soulless, irritating bag of bones, Spike was everlastingly loyal. It had complicated things so much. It would be so much easier if he hadn’t made it clear that Buffy could depend on him. She wouldn’t be feeling this burning spot of guilt towards him as she did right now. "So . . . let’s keep going," she reminded him softly. They resumed walking, falling back into silence.

"Wait." Spike stopped abruptly and stiffened as they passed another alleyway. "I think I feel something."

"What? Rack’s coven?"

"Ssshhh." Spike cautiously edged toward an open space in front of maintenance building. He stuck his arm out in front of him and poked the air around him. Buffy watched as the air turned jelly-like and wavered. "This is it," Spike said, motioning towards Buffy. "C’mon." He started slowly towards a door in the wall. "Get in back of me," he hissed.

"And we’re hiding from who? The big bad, demonically evil . . . janitor?" Buffy looked at the sign on the door that read "Janitorial Entrance".

"It’s just a cover Slayer," Spike whispered menacingly. "So shut your gob and watch your back, cause places like these are plenty sketchy."

"And seriously lacking in interior decorating sensibilities." Buffy wrinkled her nose at the ratty, greasy-stained furniture, scattered debris and inherent filth. "Where’d they get their home fashions? The Mastercraft and Interior Store of Ugly?"

"Never said Rack was a man of style. Just incredibly dangerous. So save your girlish criticisms for another day while I check this place out."

It was apparent that it was Rack’s floating coven. Outside, there was a small waiting room where a few scattered addicts curled in fetal positions and writhed in pain. Others sat, shaking and convulsing uncontrollably. Buffy and Spike walked around gingerly, not knowing what to do.

"I guess we just knock?" Buffy said, motioning to the ominous closed door where muffled screams and moans could be heard behind. "Hmmmm. Doesn’t sound like a barrel of monkeys in there but I’ll bite." She walked up to it and was poised to rap on the door.

"I’m first!!" A gangly, shaky, bug-eyed guy grabbed Buffy’s arm and desperately tried to push her away from the door. "I’ve been waiting all night to see him, you can’t just cut ahead, Blondie!"

"Here now, I think you better get your grubby hands off the lady," Spike said fiercely, pushing the guy off violently. "Youch!" A stinging pain erupted in his head. "O come on!" he yelled, gripping his skull. "That was bloody nothing! This goddamn chip!"

"All night? We can’t wait that long," Buffy interrupted him. "Who knows what he could be doing in there. It’s time to take some Buffy-like initiative." Striding up to the door, she quickly and easily kicked it open.

The goggled-eye guy stepped back. "Geez, what is she on? Whatever it is, I want some."

"Anyone home?" Buffy asked brightly as she peered past the door. Two dazed girls, their pupils dilated to the color of night stumbled out of a sumptuously decorated room. Rack sat lounged on a low, silken bed, resting amongst several pillows. "Hmm. Now I kinda get why people are in such a rush to see you. Not much to look at it in that other piss-hole of a room, but here---"

"Silence!" Rack commanded, holding up one hand commandingly. Grinning he got up from the bed and walked slowly towards her. "I didn’t think you would be able to find me." He glanced over towards Spike. "But I suppose you were aided by your . . ." He sniffed the air around Spike before looking back at him. "Vampire boyfriend."

"On I’m not her boyfriend," Spike explained seriously before Buffy could interject. "I wouldn’t mind, but she’s not haven’t it."

Buffy shook her head in disgust. Here we are, and he’s complaining about our ‘relationship’. "Shut up, Spike," she snapped. She turned to face Rack. "Look, you know why we’re here. Willow’s my friend, you’re a freaky-assed warlock and I would really appreciate if you could cut that pesky habit of possessing her body."

Rack chuckled at her rapid-fire explanation. "You speak succinctly, but you’re not very convincing. "Besides, it’s not really your place to tell me how to conduct business. She came to me, seeking help and I only ask for my due reward."

"Yeah, well maybe you should have clued her in on what it said in the fine print. It’s too bad, because now you’ll have to deal with me. Not a lawyer, mind you, but I’m just as litigious . . . and I pack a mean roundhouse." She immediately jumped towards him and tried to swing a rousing uppercut. Rack avoided her by melting into a cloudy mist before forming again together on the other side of the room. She sprinted to the other side of the room and tried to lunge upon him again but rammed into the wall as he dissolved again.

"Very strong. Very quick. Very stupid." Rack continued to chuckle menacingly as he formed once more next to her. "You thought you could come here and try to bully me out of getting only what I deserve from Willow? What kind of tragically foolish person are you?"

"The kind that kills bad demons dead. Even tricky ones like you that transubstantiate. That’s just an old parlor trick y’know. Ol’ Dracula thought he had me fooled with that one. Showed him good."

Rack eyes gleamed with fascination. "You’re the slayer."

"Yup. I guess that accounts for my apparent flaming stupidity. Oh yeah, and my super-human strength." She launched at him again, catching him by surprise for a moment. She gripped him tightly but he dissolved into cloudy particles once more.

"Dammit! How about you stop doing that. It’s going to take a lot longer that way." Buffy wiped her hands to her skirt in frustration.

Rack appeared again, back on the bed. "So you’re the slayer. I can’t believe I have the pleasure." He turned back to Spike who tensed, waiting to find the opportunity to attack him. "And you’re a vampire. How deliciously maudlin. Star-crossed lovers. That’s terribly romantic."

"That’s it. You take over my best friend’s body, you terrorize my sister. And now you demean my private life. Dinnertime says you’re done, man-witch." Buffy glared at him as she rushed up to him once, but stopped abruptly when she came within inches of him, afraid he would dissipate again. He smiled devilishly. He opened his jacket baring his chest.

"What are you waiting for? Do it. Hit me. I’ll not run." Rack hissed and suddenly Buffy could see a swirl of chaotic colors, mixing within his pupils. She suddenly felt light, yet deeply drowsy. She watched, fixated by his eyes and holding on to them as she was rendered motionless. He chuckled as he gazed intently at the spellbound Buffy and backed away from her a few feet. "I really can’t believe my luck. Running into the Slayer like this really helps move my plan along. First step: kill the Slayer."

"Not bloody likely," Spike snarled. "You’d have to get through me first." Roaring, he rushed to attack, but Rack caught him by the throat and lifted him feet from the ground. He rumbled with laughter as he squeezed tighter, lifting a wooden stake with his other arm and lunging it slightly into him, inches away from his heart. Spike howled with pain. Rack thrust the stake back out and raised it over his head to lunge again, but by this time, Buffy kicked the stake out of his hand, punching him in the chin.

"Look I just told you. Hypnosis? Just parlor tricks. And I’m a restless chick. I DON’T-LIKE-PARLOR-TRICKS." She punched him, accenting on each syllable. She had backed him against a wall and whipped out a large dagger, ready to finish him off. Spike rushed to him also, ready to beat the living crap out of him as well. Raising the blinding knife over her head, Buffy was abruptly caught by Rack who held fast to her wrist. Spike, who had rammed his fist against the side of Rack’s face was promptly gripped by Rack as well. He forced their hands upon his chest as they stared, maddeningly and alarmed at each other. Suddenly a flash of light threw all three heads back and they felt a powerful, painful force pulse within them. Although Spike and Buffy limped against Rack’s chest, he held the tight and explored their minds.

Chapter 9: Dreams of Reality

Buffy felt everything go completely cold and black. She could feel everything falling, falling, beneath her. And when it felt like the fall was going to be endless, she felt the ground beneath her feet again. Blinking, she’s fought to get the darkness out of her eyes. Where am I?

A montage of clipped scenes raced in front of her face feverishly like a nightmare. Buffy running through the graveyard, staking vampire after vampire. Buffy stiffening as the Master overtook her and threw her into the water. Buffy, battling demon after bloody demon. Her eyes became filled by endless darkness, watching her plunge stakes, knives into countless victims. It became a cloud of fast-paced death, pacing her mind so fast that she felt she was about to burst. Suddenly, everything slowed and became blindlingly bright.

When her eyes became accustomed to the light, she found herself in the hospital, watching Dawn and herself crouch and hold to each other’s hands tightly. "It’s blood," she was saying. "Just like mine. Summers’ blood."

She was watching the past. Reviewing the memories. Or rather, Rack was, and he was allowing Buffy to see what he was viewing, deep-rooted in her subconscious.

Later she watched as she breezily entered the house, smiling at an abundance of flowers. She watched as her face turned from casually curious to frightened, stricken. "Mom . . .MOM?! . . . Mommy?"

Standing in front of a roaring fire, she watched herself, sitting in front of a tribal-looking woman, who slithered and shook in the cold desert air. "Death . . . is your gift," the first slayer whispered ominously.

She watched as she knelt, amidst an army of ancient looking knights, flames and rubble. Willow screaming at her to get up. Watching Glory grip Dawn as they fled into darkness. Seeing herself once more, with the same fear-filled look she had when she first saw her mother, lying haphazardly on the couch.

She watched as she stood from the tower with Dawn, garbed in a long, ancient dress. Blood pouring from her sides. Her eyes teary blurred and grasped with the look of deathly fear. Buffy running from her, running into a pool of light, jumping, diving into an abyss of death.

She watched herself form from a skeleton to herself, gasping for air in the tight coffin. Gripping, punching, wrestling with the confining earth, the dense soil. Splitting wood, cotton, silk, her hand erupting from the ground in dreadful triumph.

She watched as she stood in front of her friends at the Bronze, each filled with concern, confusion, then horror when they heard her sing the barely audible line: "I think I was in heaven . . ."

Then all of sudden, watching herself, the look of hurt, pain, coldness as she stared down at him from the staircase, marveling secretly at how beautiful he looked as he gazed back at her in awe and aching wonder. Him tenderly nursing her bruises, counting off the days she had been gone. "147 days . . . would have been 148 today. Except today doesn’t count does it?"

She watched them in the alley, practically in the sunlight, yet the both of them so much in the dark that they could see nothing but each other. Then him, a look of shock pass over his face at her words. "They can never know Spike," she was saying softly before creeping away.

She watched as they sat together in the darkness, perched out on the back stoop. "Why are you always here when I’m miserable?"

"Cause that’s when you’re alone I reckon’."

She watched as they stood, tied to each other, thrashing violently against each other amongst a collapsing house. She watched as they gripped to each other so fervently, so savagely that she felt her whole body blush just by the memory. And as she watched them crash and buck feverishly into each other, hands groping, lips everywhere, she could hear an eerie, yet familiar voice call, "All alone . . . They all ran away from you . . . They always will."

Suddenly she wasn’t watching anymore. She was there, in a large bed, amongst silken sheets. "What? What happened?"

"Buffy." Spike was there. He lay beside her, gasping heavily. "What’s going on?"

"I think it’s Rack. He’s . . . inside our heads. He’s been looking at my memories."

"Yeah," Spike gasped again. "He’s made me watch myself . . . my childhood . . . when Dru turned me. . . . why?"

"I don’t know." Buffy was gasping herself now. "How do we get out of here? This is some kind of hallucination that Rack set up."

"I dunno Buffy. This guy is all kinds of powerful." Spike gazed at the ceiling and at the room around them. "Whose mind are we in? Yours or mine?"

Buffy shook her head. "I d-don’t know, I---" she turned to look at Spike. Their eyes locked. "I----" She was cut off by the fire she saw burning beneath Spike’s eyes. They both tensed.

They rustled among the sheets furiously to get to each other. Their lips met and fused immediately. She plunged and felt the soft sweetness of his tongue and she sucked on it. She moaned and heard him do the same. He roughly grabbed her back and flipped her over, so that he was on top of her. Curling her legs around his waist, she felt this cataclysmic pressure growing in her and she pulled tighter to him, desperate to relieve it. His body stirred and he ground his pelvis against her, prompting Buffy to arch back and moan. Mouths and fingers roamed and grasped, explored. Gripping to his hair and shoulders, she found herself panting with extreme anticipation. He was sinking his mouth deep into the groves of her neck, kissing, stroking, whining softly, "Oh God, Buffy, I love you so much."

"Spike . . . Spike, I love you too." Her eye’s flew open at the realization of what she said. He only responded by kissing her deeper, more urgently. She moaned and forgot about all the ramifications or implications of what she had just said and relished in the feel of his body. She clung tighter to him, her fingernails digging into him as she began to feel waves of searing pleasure rip through her body. He thrust into her savagely and was filling her up, bucking, thrashing, taking her over completely. Deeper, higher, faster until-----

Both of them felt an intense explosion, one so powerful that they had never experienced, and then------gone. They blinked away the blinding pleasure as they released and felt everything go black again.

Chapter 10: Awkward Moments

They were left back in the alley, out of Rack’s coven, out of the shining silk bed. Just left where they were, confused and shaken.

"What----what happened?" Buffy asked shakily, groggily getting to her feet. She looked all around, trying to locate Spike with her eyes, but when she saw him, she suddenly had the compelling urge to look down again. He saw the quick flash of embarrassment and shame that sparked in her eye’s so briefly that she hadn’t even recognized it and sighed.

"I dunno." He winced with pain as he put his hand up to his chest where Rack had stabbed him. Buffy, rushed over to his side, with more concern than she intended to show.

"A-are you okay?" She lightly put her hand up to his chest, but he recoiled from her touch.

"I’m alright. It stings a bloody bit, but I’ll live . . . or remain dead, whatever."

It hurt Buffy how fast he jumped from her touch. "Maybe you should get that looked at---"

"Look I’ve had worse," Spike cut in sharply. "That beefstick boy a’ yours dished out worse damage." He sighed when he saw the look of hurt and anger on Buffy’s face. "Look, we should be more concerned about this Rack guy. He’s obviously a highly dangerous baddie. I mean, he’s been inside our heads."

Buffy turned to him, alarmed. "He wouldn’t use our bo----"

"No," he interrupted her. "He can only do that with witches."

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. She had still been recovering from what she had just experienced of what she had just seen. It was only a hallucination, but it felt so real, so vivid. She wondered if he remembered what had just happened.

"We have to get home. We didn’t accomplish anything, but we have to find out more about this Rack guy."

Spike’s body slumped. "Yeah . . .yeah I guess." His voice tinged with weariness.

Buffy tuned and looked at him, worryingly, penetratingly. He did remember. It had felt so real, how could he not remember? "Spike, that was . . . that, well, what I said----"

"That’s was just the hallucination pet." Spike interrupted her grimly.

Buffy stared at him, surprised, disappointed at his firm answer. "Yeah. It was." She was at a loss for words again. She felt her mouth suddenly go dry and she struggled to lick her parched lips. Eager and jumpy to fill the endless silence and unspoken words that had suddenly risen, she pushed her hand through her hair roughly and asked "So . . . what do we do now?"

Spike kicked the ground tiredly. "I’m not sure, luv. We can’t just ignore what we’ve seen here tonight." He avoided her eyes, which he knew at the moment was avoiding his. "I mean . . . this guy Rack is powerful. It seems like he can’t be killed that easily. This isn’t like one of your "all-wrapped-up-in-an hour" jobs. We gotta be careful with this. Plus . . . he said he had some plan of some sort."

Buffy nodded slowly. "It’s probably your average let’s-take-over-the-world-type gig. I’ll go back to the Magic Box and see if Anya and Xander have come across anything in researching."

"Oh, then . . . um," Spike scratched his head uncomfortably. "Well, I got stuff to do, so I’m gonna . . . "He motioned with his thumb that he wanted to leave.

Buffy stared at him puzzedly, a little hurt by his obvious desire to get away from her. Usually when she went to Magic Box, he rudely invited himself into the researchy fun, if only to get into a humorous spat with Xander or just disgustingly insinuate himself into her presence for a little while longer. "Oh . . . um okay." She looked down at her hands and at back at him. "I’ll see you . . . later then."

"Yeah," Spike said rushedly. He turned quickly and took off, his black duster billowing behind him like the shadow of night. Buffy stood there a moment, and tried to ignore a certain, persistent pain inflaming her heart. What had just happened? Why had Spike been so desperate to run away from her? It’s so strange, she thought. I’m the one who should be running away.

Chapter 11: Sordid Discoveries?

Buffy sighed deeply as she closed the door to her house behind her. She said she was going to Magic Box, but after the evening she had, she didn’t feel like dealing with Anya’s random quips about her and Xander’s copulation habits and Xander’s attempts at wittiness in an effort to cover up his discomfort. "Dawn? Tara? Willow?" she called.

"Here!" a voice called from the kitchen. Buffy walked in to see Dawn and Tara sharing a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. They were giggling over something, but Buffy could see Tara’s face was lined with worry underneath her laughter.

"How’s Willow?" Buffy asked, reaching for a spoon.

"We put her down to sleep. She’s ok now, a little shook up, but ok." Tara tried to conceal her impatient worry. "S-so did you find him?"

Buffy sighed as she lunged her spoon into the half-empty pint of Chubby Hubby. "I did, but . . ." She looked over at Dawn. "Hey, shouldn’t you be in bed?"

Dawn sighed exasperatedly. "I get it. You know, it would be so much easier for you to just to say ‘Get you to your prison cell while I discuss highly interesting matters with all my other friends’." Dawn shook her head back and forth emphatically while using a horrible mock British accent.

"Or it would be easier for you to go to bed so you can wake up in the morning and discuss highly interesting matters at school." Buffy shot her a look.

"Right, because in school we always discuss warlocks that invade the bodies of our best friends." Dawn tugged Buffy’s hand insistently. "Please? I want to stay and listen to all the fascinating thingies that go on in the deep, evil underbelly of the demon world."

"To bed!" Buffy said firmly pointing towards the stairs. Sighing, Dawn tromped up to her room. As soon as she heard the thunderous slam of Dawn’s door, Buffy turned to Tara.

"W-well what happened? Did you find him? Did you kill him?" Tara’s eyes widened in panic.

"Well I found him. Or rather, Spike did." She paused at how sharply she had said his name. "We found his floating coven and we charged in."

"And killed him? Get to the part where you killed him." Tara was frenzied now over worry for Willow. Buffy was about to say something before Xander and Anya burst through the kitchen door.

"Buffy," Xander exclaimed. "What happened to you? I thought we were gonna meet up at the Magic Box. We didn’t know if you were alright."

"I---"

"We’re so glad you’re safe," Anya surprisingly said as she quickly engulfed Buffy into a bone-crushing hug.

"Ummm, thanks," Buffy said confusedly as she pried apart from Anya’s tight grip.

"Yes, we were afraid you were dead and then that would be tragic, because I already picked out your bridesmaid dress. Put down a down payment on it and everything. We’ll be expecting you to be chipping in some too, by the way." Anya’s pretense of actual caring faded quickly.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "What’s going on?"

"Buffy, we were researching this guy Rack, and we found that he was incredibly dangerous. We were worried that he got to you." Xander dispensed a hug also, a little less fervent and violent than Anya’s.

"You thought that guy Rack could take me?" Buffy scoffed. "Pfffffft, I’m Super Buffy. You know, the one who took down the likes of the Master? Dracula? Glory? And basically every other harbinger of the Apocalypse?"

"But if he’s impossible to kill," Tara interrupted hastily, "What happened? What did you do to him?"

Buffy bit her lip. "Well . . . I roughed him up a little." She sighed "But Xan’s right. The guy is impossible to kill. He’s all hypnosisy and he can transubstantiate." She turned to Xander. "What did it say it say in your research?"

"Basically what you said. This Rack guy has existed for centuries and has traveled all over the world with his floating coven. He’s recently come to Sunnydale, with the plan to what else? Open up the always fun-filled Hellmouth."

"Again?" Buffy groaned. "These evil-type dudes need to up their creativity factor. So what’s his plan? What do we do?"

"Well, as powerful as this Rack guy, he can’t just flip open the Hellmouth. He needs more ammunition."

Buffy cocked her head confusedly. "Really? Cause Rack doesn’t seem like the straightforward lock-and-load type."

"No-Buffy. That’s not the type of ammunition I mean. He uses . . . people as ammunition. Like Willow. He takes over their mind and uses them in order to create havoc. Hopefully, with the proper amount of havoc, he can create total confusion and chaos and it will be all that easier to open the Hellmouth."

"But why doesn’t he just open it up himself? If he’s such a powerful warlock?" Tara looked back and forth from Buffy and Xander.

"He’s had a curse put on him by a group of Franciscan monks back in the 18th

century that curbed his powers considerably. The only way to get them back full force is to re-open the Hellmouth. Hence, his wacky plan for city-wide terror." Xander sighed as he took a much-needed breath.

"You sounded so much like Giles right then," Anya mused as she curled a hand through Xander’s arm. "So smart and bookwormish."

"Really?" Xander’s eyes brightened. "Yeah you’re right. Dear lord," he imitated in an appalling Giles accent.

"So how do we kill him?" Buffy interjected sharply. "Obviously the regular tactics won’t work."

Xander tore himself from Anya’s adoring gaze. "Well, this is kind of the downer Buff. You can’t kill Rack. He’s untouchable. Think Mayor-touchable. The only way to kill him is . . . by killing a person who Rack chooses to manifest at the time."

Buffy began to pace, clutching her arms together. "Willow," she murmured. She whirled around to face Tara. "Tara, is there anyway you can do a sort of protection spell to keep Rack out of Willow’s body?"

Tara breathed deeply. "I guess. I mean, I don’t know if it’ll be strong enough to keep someone as powerful as Rack out, but I can try . . ." Her voice broke slightly. "What am I saying? I have to try." Tears played down her face. "I mean . . . it’s Willow."

Buffy gripped her shoulders tightly and gave her a hug. "Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out." She let go and in frustration, smacked her head. "Geez, can’t we ever fight someone easy? Like that dancing guy, y’know? At least with him we got to sing a few songs . . . and . . . a few more songs. But this . . ." She sighed deeply. God what a long night. It wasn’t as boring as Buffy suspected it was going to be, but she had forgotten how boredom became more and more of a frequently desired visitor in her life. She hated it, yet inevitably longed for it in the end. Kind of like a certain vampire she knew. She turned to the rest of the Scoobies abruptly. "Hey, I think things are under control, at least for tonight. So . . . you guys can bail if you want."

"Oh, oh yeah, sure Buff," Xander tugged at Anya’s arm as they prepared to leave.

"E-except you, Tara," Buffy said quickly. "Can you stay for a minute?"

Tara widened her eyes in confusion. "O-okay."

Xander and Anya exchanged suspicious glances. "Well, we’ll just be leaving then," Anya said as they motioned towards the door.

"Yeah okay guys, I’ll see you tomorrow." Buffy seemed impatient for their departure. As soon as they were out the door, Buffy slammed it quickly behind them.

"What do you think that was about?" Xander said as they stood on the back stoop.

"What do you mean?" Anya asked absently, gazing down at her engagement ring.

"Buffy, and that slight show of the rudeness and the wanting-us-out. But not Tara." Xander was hurt. He was becoming impatient with Buffy’s continual shows of avoidance towards him. But not Tara. He found them talking about something obviously upsetting at the Magic Box that one time, and lately, it seemed like Buffy was going to Tara more and more, talking secretly. "What do you think is going on with them? Do you think they’re in cahoots or something?"

"You mean, do you think they’re lesbians?" Anya piped up loudly.

"Thanks so much for putting that rather erotic, yet uncomfortable image into my head Ahn," Xander said grimacingly. "That’s not what I meant."

"Why not?" Anya widened her eyes in recognition. "You know, you might be right, I think they’re lesbians."

"That’s not what I said!" Xander exclaimed. "I said---"

"Honey, they are so obviously lesbians. Come on, they go off together all the time in other rooms and talk about secret lesbian things, and did you see that back in there? The touching?"

"Buffy was just comforting Tara about Willow. You know? The real lesbian girlfriend?"

"But, Xander," Anya probed on, "What if that’s it? They always said bringing back Buffy would have consequences. That she would come back wrong. Maybe that’s it. Not that I’m saying that’s wrong, hey I mean whatever floats your boat---"

Xander interrupted Anya’s efforts at political correctness. "You don’t honestly think us resurrecting Buffy made her gay do you?"

"Well yeah! I mean it’s been know to happen."

Xander glared at her pointedly. "Is it really?"

Anya shrugged. "No, not really. But I honestly think that’s it. Not that I’m surprised, I mean, it’s not like she’s had the best experience with men. And you know that whole theory of like, peer pressure. With her best friend switching teams, it would seem logical that Buffy would follow suit. Look how easy it was for Willow."

"T-that’s ridiculous," Xander scoffed. He suddenly pondered a second. He turned back to Anya in panic. "Unless it’s NOT. Oh my god, Buffy’s gay! I can’t believe it! She’s gay and she’s having an affair with Tara! What are we going to tell Willow?"

"Maybe they can all get together and it can be just a whole type of girl-girl-girl thing," Anya suggested. Xander’s eyes gleamed with momentary arousal. He shook it off hurriedly.

"Let’s go home," Xander said, pushing Anya from the house. He gazed back at the back door in disbelief. "Buffy gay? Who’d thunk it?" he mumbled.

"So basically, I was just wondering if you could consider . . . moving back in."

Buffy faced Tara from across the kitchen island and looked at her hopefully, waiting for her response.

"Buffy, I---"

"I know it would be awkward, with Willow and everything, and I know it’s a lot to ask. I mean, I could sleep with Dawn and you could have my room. Or, or, Dawn could sleep with me and you could have her room. It’s just that . . . I need someone to look after Dawn and Willow, especially after what we found out tonight." She looked deeply into Tara’s eyes. "Please Tara."

Tara smiled shyly. "O-of course Buffy. You know I would be happy to. And don’t worry about the sleeping arrangements, I can take the couch."

Buffy relaxed and got up to throw her arms around Tara. "Thank you so much Tara. I can’t tell you what it means to me."

"I kind of wanted to move back in. I was really concerned over Willow and well, the protection spells are really short lasting. Someone would need to be there to constantly administer them." Tara looked up. "And I know now how much Willow needs me. God, if only I didn’t leave---"

"No Tara, don’t blame yourself. It was nobody’s fault. All we can do now is cope and take care of what needs to be done."

Tara nodded. "I know." She looked into her lap and back up at Buffy. She could detect the absent look of sadness that danced in Buffy’s eyes. "Hey," Tara said, laying a hand over one of Buffy’s, "Are you okay?"

Buffy shrugged, trying to smile. "It’s nothing. It’s just . . . at Rack’s. I didn’t tell you . . . He went inside my head. But he can’t use my body," she assured Tara, seeing her widened eyes. "Anyway, he made me look at all these memories of mine and then all of a sudden, he put me through this hallucination."

"What kind of hallucination?" Tara gazed more concernedly at Buffy.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "It was really . . . vivid." She blushed slightly. "Spike was in it." She sighed, releasing all of her tension. "Tara . . . I said I loved him."

Shocked silence. "Did you mean it?" Tara asked quietly.

"I don’t know!" Buffy exploded. "I mean, it has to have been the hallucination. What else could it be? I . . .don’t love Spike." She made a face at the words. "But when then afterwards, when I was around him, I---" Buffy turned to see the microwave clock blaring 2:30 AM. "I . . . should let you go home," she said hesitantly. "You should get your stuff and----"

"No Buffy, it’s okay," Tara said soothingly. "I want to . . . listen."

So she did. She listened well into the morning as Buffy poured her heart out to her.

Chapter 12: On Again

"Two mochachinos, one green tea, one oblong tea, and one Yohoo. Xander, that’s yours." Buffy gave him a comically stern glance as she handed him the chocolate milk.

"Didya get the swirly straws too, Buff?" Xander asked excitedly as he grabbed the bottle.

"No Xander, I’m trying to desperately maintain my identity as a twenty-something adult. Get your funky colored straws yourself." Buffy tried to suppress a smile when she saw his crestfallen face. She handed the mochachinos to Anya and Dawn and the teas to Tara and Willow. They all sat around the table at the Magic Box, burrowed deeply into heavy duty researching. Just like old times, all of them gathered, the usual comical banter flying back and forth, the feeling of ease and familiarity. This had been one the first outings out of the house Willow had made in weeks, and she looked so happy and so typically and Willowishly cheerful. She and Tara sat together, whispering quietly and smiling sweetly at each other, a resurgent spark of bad, lusty feelings glimmering in both their eyes. Anya and Xander were arguing as usual, Xander with the exaggerated hand motions and Anya with the petulant, whiny bluntness in her voice. Dawn just sat and was staring at the volumes of the old books, trying to find old engravings of strange, highly dangerous beings. For the first time in a long while, Buffy surveyed the cozy scene with a feeling of pleasantness, although a small chunk of coldness still remained in her heart. As much as she relished this old feeling of Scooby togetherness, she couldn’t stop herself from reverting her thoughts back to a certain somebody. It had been so long since she felt the cool comfort of his body and as much as she reasoned to herself that she didn’t need him, it was like an intoxicating drug that claimed her desire, her thoughts.

"Buffy!"

"Huh?" Buffy quickly shook her head to face Dawn.

"Zone out much? What was that? You thinking deep, hard thoughts? Although I seriously doubt that."

Buffy shot her sister a look. "As a matter a fact I was. I was thinking about Rack."

"Really? Cause you had this dreamy big-shirtless-guy-on-romance-novel-cover look. Rack must be a major stud."

Buffy gaped at Dawn, raising her eyebrows at an alarming rate. "What about romance novels?" she asked, her voice tinged with threatening apprehension.

"Umm . . . Not like I would know about that kind of thing. Janice’s mom reads them by the dozen and she leaves them out all over the place." Dawn stammered, blushing a deep crimson hue. She ducked her head back into the book in front of her quickly. "Hey look!"

Everyone swiftly turned their attention to Dawn, who held up a book proudly. "Look it’s Spike!" she said, pointing to an old engraving of William the Bloody, pre-bleached follicle days. Buffy stiffened, so slightly that no one except Tara could sense it. Xander raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"We care why?"

"It’s just, I get excited every time I come across him in old books," Dawn explained. "I forget he’s really old and world-famous and all that. I mean look, it’s like finding him in like the 19th century of People’s Weekly. If People’s Weekly was more like Demon’s Weekly . . . and well, you know what I mean."

"You don’t know what it’s like knowing someone world famous?" Xander asked pertly. "How ‘bout having a sister whose a world known Slayer?"

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Buffy’s . . . Buffy. She clogs the sink and clips her toenails into the carpet. Spike’s . . . cool." Dawn smiled playfully. Xander nearly gagged with disgust.

"Spike? Cool? If you mean him being lifeless and centuries older than your average 98.6 degree Joe, then yeah, he oozes cool." No one noticed how Buffy suddenly shuddered, remembering the feel of his ever-cool skin on hers. "Besides. How can you encourage this fanciful fixation you have with Spike when you have a studmeister like me?" Xander puffed up his chest proudly.

"I do not have a crush on Spike!" Dawn yelled embaressedly. "I don’t---Buffy, did you tell them?!!"

"Huh . . . oh sure Dawn." Buffy replied hazedly.

"Buffy!!!!"

"Honey, you can’t expect a teenage girl like Dawn to have a crush on you when she could have a crush on Spike," Anya pointed out.

"I do not have a crush on Spike!"

Xander used his arms to frame Anya in an exaggerated manner. "And presenting Anya. . . my ever devoted, always emasculating fiancée."

"I’m serious. Why would Dawn pine after a gawky construction worker when there’s Spike?" Xander started to gesticulate furiously. " . . . With his penetrating eyes, and that sexy accent . . . those high, chiseled cheeks . . . and his washboard abs . . . not to mention that killer bad boy routine. Being dead helps out with that bit. How could a girl resist his charms?" Anya cocked her head, smiling slightly while Buffy stifled a high pitched moan in her throat.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Xander exploded. "I mean, it’s SPIKE. Scary, annoying, perverted, freakish Spike. Any girl who’s dumb enough to fall for him deserves to become his next undead playmate." Buffy’s eyes widened as Xander went on, lips quivering. "I mean look at all the other loves of Spike’s unlife. Blood, carnage, a mental patient with a creepy fixation for dolls and scariest of all, Harmony. The guy’s obviously lacking in the taste department. Except for you Buffy. But we can just put that under the "Not If You Were the Last Vamp on Earth" column right?"

"Right. Excuse me," Buffy said abruptly, rushing to push her chair from under her as she ran back to the training room. Tara looked up from Willow and got up to follow her.

"Was it something I said?" Xander said innocently, responding the to silence that pervaded over the room.

Tara found Buffy savagely attacking the punching bag in the training room. Punch after punch, the poor bag rattled and sagged and was about to combust before Tara lightly put a hand on Buffy’s shoulder, and was promptly rewarded by a elbow in the eye when Buffy snapped her arm back.

"Ow!" Tara’s hand flew to her eye.

"Oh my god, Tara, I’m so sorry," Buffy gushed apologetically, running to get an ice pack from the freezer. "I’m so sorry….are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I’m fine" Tara stammered, accepting the ice pack. "Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to see if you were okay." She looked back up earnestly at Buffy.

"Oh that," Buffy sighed, motioning towards the door. She slumped over to the couch and collapsed on it. "Xander’s right," she mumbled. "He’s was just reminding me of how seriously warped I am to even give Spike a second thought." She buried her head in her hands. "Oh god Tara. And I have been giving him second thoughts. And third ones. And fourth ones. What’s wrong with me?!"

Tara sat to next to Buffy and edged her arm around her shoulder. "Buffy, it’s okay," she soothed. "It’s completely normal to be attracted to someone like Spike."

"You mean something like Spike?" Buffy’s voice was razor sharp. "He’s not a person, Tara, he’s a thing."

"A thing that’s staying away from you," reminded Tara. "Isn’t that what you want?"

Buffy jumped up and wrung her hands. "I don’t know!!! I don’t know what the hell I friggin’ want. I mean, I hate him more than any being on the earth. . . but . . . I can’t stop feeling . . ." She gripped herself tightly.

"You can’t keep denying this to yourself, Buffy, it’s not healthy. You have feelings for Spike. Deal with it. Forget about what Xander said in there." Tara’ voice had an unusual, but more frequent tone of firmness.

Buffy rubbed her head. "I can’t. I can never forget. I’m the Slayer. I can never let myself have anything with someone like Spike. Besides," her voice softened. "It’s not like anything could happen. It’s pretty evident that he doesn’t even care. I mean, I haven’t seen him for days now."

Tara was becoming more and more used to Buffy’s 180-degree jobs. She smiled. "He’s probably staying away from you because he knows you’d only get more and more confused around him."

"Right, like I’m not already swirling in a hot, sweaty mosh pit of confusion," Buffy grumbled, ruffling her hair messily. "Trust me to make the Queen mother of mistakes to actually tell him that I . . ." Buffy tightened. "Love him. Uggghhh!"

"But Buffy, how is it a mistake if he’s actually staying away?"

"It’s not!" Buffy reverted back again quickly. "I mean, ends to means and all that, but the fact that I said that. He knows I didn’t mean it. Why does he have to make such a big deal about it?"

"And he’s showing his extreme overreaction by not talking to you and avoiding you? Face it Buffy, you’re going way too fast. You have to think this through. Spike is not the problem here. You have to sort out what you want."

"Why, when it’s so much easier to blame it on him?" Buffy curled her lip sulkily. "I know, you’re right." She slumped. "I think I . . . miss him."

Tara smiled and patted her hand. "I know."

"What do you think they’re doing in there?" Xander whispered to Anya in a conspiratorial tone.

"Something lesbiany," Anya replied absently as she leafed through a bridal magazine.

"Sshh!" Xander motioned toward Willow and Dawn, absorbed in volumes of books over in the corner. "You really think so? God, and right in front of Willow too. Have they no shame? I have a half a mind to go in there and join them, I mean reprimand them." Xander rubbed his hands back and forth in excitement. "I mean, it was obvious enough with Tara moving back in suddenly---but this!"

"Hey where’s Tara and Buffy?" Willow called from the table. Xander looked over in worry and alarm.

"They’re just probably doing each other," Anya quipped, her voice devoid of emotion.

". . . Nails!" Xander supplied quickly seeing Willow’s quizzical face. "They’re doing each other’s nails. Buffy’s taking up the hobby of painting nails lately. She told me she wants to go to cosmetology school, you know get back up on that occupational bandwagon o- fun." He breathed a sigh of relief when Willow shrugged and looked back at her book. "I can’t believe what they’re doing to Willow." Xander shook his head. "It’s bad. It’s as bad as---" Xander’s eyes widened when Spike sailed through the door breezily. "Him."

"What’s up ducks," he announced, his voice full of mocking fun. "Red. Nibblet." He nodded towards the table.

"Spike!" Dawn jumped out of her chair to wrap her arms around him. "I haven’t seen you for such a long time! I was just thinking of you! We found this old picture of you."

"Oh yeah," he remarked, gazing down at the yellowed picture of him in the opened book. "Back in my early snacking days. Good times, Good times." His eyes gleamed with nostalgia.

"As fun as sharing time has been," Xander cut in critically. "Why the hell are you here Spike?"

"Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Harris," Spike smirked. "I’m just picking up some taggis root, as usual. My blood’s pretty partyless without it." Xander gagged.

"Stay!" Dawn insisted. "We’re just researching that Rack feller. Hot drinks, musty books, what else could you ask for in a fun-filled evening?" Dawn gave Spike her best puppy dog face.

Spike wavered and looked around to glance at Willow’s warm expression, Anya’s indifferent one and Xander’s enraged one. How he glowed with smirkish joy inside to see Xander like that. Almost as much as seeing Buffy’s gleaming smile. Buffy. "Umm, she’s not ‘ere, is she? Slayer, I mean." His face was lined with caution.

"Like you would be really crestfallen if she was, Spikester," Xander sniggered.

"Well I’m not much for her bitchy antics tonight," Spike snarled. "I just want to get my taggis root and get on my way."

"No you have to stay Spike!" Dawn was tugging at his duster. "I never see you! You don’t even visit." Dawn’s face hardened.

"Now Platelet, you know that wouldn’t be very kosher, with me not bein’ the most welcome houseguest at chez Summers. You know you can visit by crypt anytime you want."

"I know, but Buffy---"

"Buffy." Spike’s eyes drifted past Dawn to the back door. Buffy stood framed in the doorway, looking beautifully fearful as her eyes locked into his.

"Spike." Everything around them was disappearing, leaving only hazeled and blued orbs, tied to each other. Worried, disgusted faces became blurred and Buffy could only see the soft clarity that was his eyes.

"I, uh . . . just came to get my root." .

"Oh." Buffy’s voice was so much softer than Spike expected. It had been nearly two weeks since he last touched her, and the memory of what she felt like around him, her velvety, sweat-slicked, honeyed skin, was driving him crazy.

"How ya been, Slayer?" His head cocked.

Buffy squinted. "What do you care?" she shot back, remembering his response that one time.

Spike straightened. "Don’t." he growled. He whirled to face all of the other Scoobies, who by this time was totally confused by this recent display. "I’ll just go down stairs, get m’root and be off on my way." He rushed towards the basement door, his black duster trailing behind him.

Everyone was silent for a moment while Buffy fidgeted where she stood. She waited a few minutes before announcing to the rest, "I um . . . have to get something downstairs . . . a book." With that, her heels clacked the floor as she rushed downstairs.

Xander turned to Anya. "What was that about?"

Anya shrugged. "Dunno." Her eyes widened. "You know what?! I bet Spike knows about her and Tara and she’s going downstairs to get Spike not to tell."

"You don’t think-" Xander asked , his eyes widened.

"Geez, can you believe this shameful deception that’s taking place? I mean, it’s so obvious how can Willow not tell? Honestly, these things are totally in front of one’s nose, who could be stupid enough to ignore them?" Anya tsked pointedly as she walked away.

Spike waited a few minutes for the sound of Buffy’s footsteps on the basement stairs. As he waited he reflected on the past few days.

Bloody torture. Every night, he lay awake, writhing and thrashing in discomfort, wanting her warmed body beside his to lure him to sleep. Feeling the only way for release was in her arms and on her heaving chest. He wanted her so much he could hardly breath. Not like he needed to breath, but the irony was not lost on him. But he had stayed away. Because of her bloody hurtful words, her continual denial, her total willingness to continue to play with him like some beggin’ wanker. Because he had to do what he could to retain the little pride he had left. Because of the shamed look in her eyes that night she told him. Those three little words that made time stand still and made Spike feel totally complete for the first time in his existence. He could never forget the way she had so quickly forgotten, how she continued to sit content in her own bloody walls.

He thought he could stand it. Maybe ease her out of those walls gradually. Tease her, irritate her with his usual smarmy cockiness. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. It had hurt when she was gone and dead, but this. He writhed in pain at the inconceivable idea that she could possibly love him, and he had somewhat dulled the pain by giving up entirely, yet dreaming of her still. But now that he tasted her, he touched her, there was no way he could pretend that things could ever be the same. He was so close, yet so painfully far. For her to know how deeply he was devoted to her, how quickly he would have staked himself to dust for her, and to still play with his emotions, curling her lip over seductively and stiffening it the next minute, twirling his emotions up and down like a friggin’ Chinese yo-yo . . .well, that made darker than anyone he had ever met. Yet he hated and loved her with a passion he could barely comprehend.

Buffy gingerly walked down the steps and found Spike sitting on a crate, smoking a cigarette. She had expected him to have jumped out from her in the darkness, his cool hands possessing her mouth and hands. But he just sat there, tired and angry. Not the fiery Spike she knew. She had done this to him. Tired him, but never, ever made him leave. She stood in front of him uncomfortably.

"Spike, I----"

"I know what you’re gonna say Slayer." He held his hand up affirmatively. "Nothing’s between us, I’m a monster and the rest of that jazz. You can save it, cause we’ve soft shoed this dance more than once, and I’m in no mood."

Buffy lowered her head. "Spike, why did you come here?"

"I told you, for my root." Yet he was just sitting there, with no root in his hand and no intention to move.

"Really? Then why are you just sitting here when you know all the taggis roots are in the crate over there?" She pointed towards the far side of the room. Spike scoffed slightly.

"Can’t a bloke sit around for bit, smokin his fags? This is a public place and I’m not botherin’ no one."

"Spike," Buffy repeated. She took a few steps towards him, her hair glistening in the dim light of the basement. Her smell was intoxicating, lavender and vanilla, as well as the distinct scent of arousal. Spike could never get that smell out of his clothes no matter how hard he tried. Her small breasts were erect, as she stood straightened. Spike was so tempted to bury his head in what she was currently offering. "I know you’ve been avoiding me."

Spike hesitated as he smirked and cocked his head. "What, you can’t imagine that a creature of the darkness has other things to do than moon after the likes of you?"

She continued to slither towards him slowly. "I . . I know that you’re angry . . . and well, impatient with me."

Spike’s eyes widened. What was she trying to say. Was she actually apologizing?

"And I know that I can send mixed signals sometimes . . ." She was cut off by Spike snorting.

"That’s the understatement of the year," he smirked.

Buffy paced herself. "But, I just wanted to tell you that . . ." she took a deep breath. "I missed you."

Spike could not believe what he was hearing. Her? Missed him? Could it be that she wasn’t all namby-pamby happy when he was strangledly trying to stay away from her? He paused to look into her eyes and could see the telltale sign of desire in them. He breathed out sharply as she moved in and stood only a few inches from him. "Spike?" she repeated gingerly for the umpteenth time.

Suddenly, he grabbed her head and rammed her lips to his, hungrily seeking her tongue. She needily gave it to him as she wrapped her arms around him and panted against his mouth. He brushed his hands through her long locks and his mouth drifted to her neck. She groaned softly and he lifted her up, hands cupping her backside, drawing him close to the valley between his legs. He whirled around, settling his weight on top of her, with her leaning against the crate. Grinding his hard arousal between her legs, he smirked at the small gasp emitted between Buffy’s parted lips. She instinctively curled her legs up against his hip, drawing him into her waiting, pulsing warmth that lay beneath the light obstructive layer of silk and lace. Groaning low in his throat he ripped open her buttoned shirt, causing her to fly into a fit of giggles as he continued to trail kisses down her neck. Arching her up, he positioned her so that he could have her right there, on the crate.

"What’s taking so long?" Xander fidgeted from the front desk. "Oh my God!" his eyes widened in shock. "What if . . . oh no."

"What Xander?" Anya asked, trying to ease an answer out of her cherry tomato colored boyfriend.

He grabbed her arm and whispered anxiously into her ear," What if Spike does tell? What if Buffy is taking so long because he’s blackmailing her? Like, he’ll tell everyone if Buffy doesn’t give him what he wants? That undead lowlife would do a thing like that too, anything to get to Buffy." He rammed his fist into his other hand, threateningly, but later winced from his own strength, shaking out his hand. "We can’t let this happen!" He fretfully said to Anya, who by now was too absorbed in admiring the money in the cash register to care. "I mean, we can’t just let Spike come in with his ‘bloody hell’s’ and his hideously bad imitations of Sid Vicious and break up our well formed pool of Scoobiness. The Scoobiness must be preserved." Xander stuck an assertive finger in the air. Anya, unimpressed with his firm declaration, continued to count the money.

Buffy came back upstairs by herself, looking unusually disheveled. Her clothes all looked slightly awry and her shirt was buttoned wrong. No one had seem to have noticed. She was eternally glad that the basement was for the most part soundproof, since she was paranoid that she would come up to questioning looks about the large amounts of thumping noises coming from downstairs. As well as the alarming amount of "Oh Gods" and stifled groans. She was also glad that there was a window that Spike could furtively whisk out of downstairs, leaving her only with a passionate kiss and a promise to see her later. She tried to smooth her tangled hair, noting that some of his musky scent still lingered there. Trying to be casual, she plopped into a seat next to Tara who gave her a knowing smile.

"Where’s Spike?" Xander asked apprehensively, seeing the furtive exchange between Tara and Buffy, and noting the sudden disappearance of Spike.

"What, huh?" Buffy turned with stiffened fear at the acknowledgement of Spike by Xander. "He, um, left, you know, right after he got the taggis root." Xander did not look convinced.

"Where’s the book?" Dawn questioned casually.

"Huh? Oh . . ." Panic spread through Buffy as she rushed to find an excuse. "I couldn’t find it downstairs. I tried looking everywhere, and I couldn’t find it."

"What were you looking for?" Willow’s voice tinged with her old, remarkable alacrity.

"Umm . . . ." Buffy was horrible at this lying thing. She couldn’t understand how she was able to keep the secret of her slaying habits from her mom for so long. "Magical . . . Chronicles by John . . . Brown," she said, inwardly smacking her head for thinking of such a lame title.

"Here it is," Dawn said, giving her sister a puzzled look. "It was sitting right in front of you all evening." She handed her the voluminous book that Buffy accepted with a thud.

"So you and Spike are. . . . ‘cool’ right?" Xander tried to give Buffy an understanding nod, but only provided confusion and sheer panic on Buffy’s part. Oh my God he knows! she cried internally.

"If you mean ‘cool’ in a fifties dancing street gang sort of way, no," she garbled breezily, trying her best to sound as flippant as possible. "If you mean ‘cool’ in a casual, professional slaying type of way, yes." She looked up at Xander and was immensely relieved to see the suspicion drain out of his eyes. Wow, she thought, noting the relaxed acknowledgement in Xander’s eyes. I can’t believe he’s handling this so well. Oh well, that’s one less person I have to tell. Suddenly feeling much lighter, she turned around to face to utterly confused faces as Dawn and Willow exchanged worried eyebrows. They looked about as lost as Tokyo business tourists. She suddenly began to spontaneously giggle, feeling so much better about these frequent slayer cram sessions they had than she had for a long time.

Next