And They Danced

by Sandy S.

This next part is a little long, but the tale marks the beginning of the end of my stay in Sunnydale. Actually, I’m quite surprised I stayed as long as I did.

* * *

Although well projected in the echoing church building, Spike’s voice was a bit gravelly with forced down emotion. “That’s me. I’m Spike. What do you want with me?”

“Why didn’t you say anything this evening when I came down?” Spike asked.

Sheepish, I ducked my head. “I forgot.” Suddenly, I felt like I was in second grade again when my mother found a pile of hidden “bad” grades in the back of my desk. How stupid was I? I’d stared death in the face too many times in the few months I’d been here to make that kind of mistake.

“It’s okay,” Buffy reassured me. Her head turned to face Mr. Smith and crew. “So when do we go see what you have to show us and explain what you need help with?”

At that, Mr. Smith grinned. His teeth were extremely crooked. “Now, if you like.”

Buffy shrugged. “What else are we going to do? Sleep?”

Mr. Smith laughed as did a few of his demon companions.

I was startled by Buffy’s seemingly flippant attitude toward Mr. Smith. Going to investigate this situation seemed rather reckless. On the other hand, we were badly outnumbered by the demons; she seemed to have little choice about going with him. Also, maybe she believed she should check every set of circumstances to determine if the ultimate evil was somehow involved.

Turning on his heel, Mr. Smith began marching toward the church doors, demon friends hot on his heels. “Let’s go.”

As Spike and Buffy followed, I noted that Buffy surreptitiously reached into her pocket where I knew she hid a cell phone. She punched a few buttons in rapid succession; I assumed she was calling for aid. I attempted to melt into the darkness, planning to contact her friends as soon as the strange man and his demons left the church.

However, at the door, Mr. Smith caught my eye. “You’re coming with us.”

“What? No,” Buffy said firmly. “Mr. Fisher stays out of this.”

Mr. Smith wasn’t fazed. “He’s already waist deep in the middle of it. He comes with us.” Dread launched a new campaign on my stomach. He nodded at me. “I could use all the help I can get. He’s experienced.” The unspoken, “he’s coming or else” hung in the air.

That said, he shoved open the doors to the church and let in the night.

* * *

I won’t go into the details about how we got to our destination. Suffice it to say that Mr. Smith and his demons lived in a rather large mansion in a prestigious housing edition in Sunnydale. What made the largest impression on me was what Mr. Smith had displayed in the house.

* * *

“Bloody hell.”

Spike’s words echoed my sentiments exactly.

“Glad to see my humble space provokes such a reaction,” Mr. Smith declared, clapping his hands together. His demon companions were fewer in the safety of his home, but a handful remained hovering around him.

The room was virtually dark but from the dim lights scattered throughout, the ceiling appeared to be quite high. The room was also so vast that I couldn’t make out the far wall. What produced the most intrigue were the objects that were lit by the dispersed spots of radiance. Although I didn’t recognize what I was viewing, I was distinctly certain that they were quite important and rare.

“What the hell is all this stuff?” Buffy demanded, hovering close to Spike’s side and making certain I was shielded by both of them.

Mr. Smith let out a giggle. . .yes, a giggle. Maybe he was a little bit insane. “What do you think it is?”

His eyes wide, Spike let out a slow breath. “You’re one of those collectors,” he stated evenly.

Turning to Buffy and I, Mr. Smith smiled knowingly as he waited for Spike’s words to sink in with us. He placed the tips of his fingers together expectantly.

“I don’t understand. Collectors?” Buffy was confused. I had less inkling of the truth than she. I noticed that her arm brushed Spike’s almost unnoticeably, but she kept her eyes glued to Mr. Smith.

Mr. Smith looked to Spike to provide an explanation. Spike acquiesced, “Pet, he collects demon and mystical artifacts.”

“Artifacts? That’s not so unusual. My mom collected those for the art gallery.”

My heart sunk as the truth dawned, and I thought that I would perhaps never see Amber again.

Buffy was obviously still in denial land. What was housed in this room was more than a simple collection of artifacts for an art gallery. Yes, the museum contained ancient relics that possessed who knew what kind of powers, but as my eyes focused more on the objects in the room, I recognized body parts. These body parts weren’t animal or human. . . they were demon.

Mr. Smith held up a tiny device and pushed the surface button.

Instantaneously, a glass case along one wall began moving toward us smoothly and rapidly. Two demon bodyguards hurried out of the way of the heavy container, and my eyes widened as my gaze focused on the contents that had been hidden by their bodies.

“Oh, my g. . .” Buffy whispered.

That was the understatement of the year. (Have I had more than one of those in this tale?) Colorful fingers and toes and limbs and a head or two littered the display. Each piece was clean. . . no gore clung excessively to the flesh. They were carefully mounted and preserved with a label, informing the viewer of the name of the demon and date of capture. . . or death. A jar held a large grayish brain that appeared slightly bloated in the formaldehyde. What looked like twelve-inch spines from an unknown part of some creature’s body were mounted in a long row. And these were but a few of the horrors that greeted my eyes.

“Yes, this is my favorite display,” Mr. Smith said with a wistful expression on his face. Something akin to icy fingers crept along my spine at his words.

Buffy cast Spike a fleeting look, but the vampire remained stoically staring forward, unreadable. She wanted to touch him; I could tell. Hell, I’d be reaching for my ex-wife if she were here. I didn’t care how much animosity might exist between us.

“Can you guess what I want from Spike? What I need help with?” Mr. Smith asked with a trace of eagerness.

Silence met his query.

“He wants my heart.” Spike’s words were strong, resonant when he interrupted Mr. Smith, and his face stayed impassive.

Buffy frowned. “Now how would that work? He’d be dust before you could get to it. And how would that help you?”

Mr. Smith stared into the distance and smiled dreamily. “I’ve always wanted to see a vampire’s heart. It doesn’t beat. . . right?” He transferred his attention to Spike who nodded dumbly. The vampire clenched his fist, and a vein made its presence known on his jaw line. “What does it do in there? Does it get smaller and smaller over time like the Grinch’s in that Seuss Christmas tale? Or does it simply rot? Or maybe it gets as hard as a rock. . . like a petrified stone. . . . It’s the one piece that I could use to complete my collection. . . to be considered the foremost collector in the world. You would have the honor of helping me achieve this formidable. . .”

While Mr. Smith was lost in his tangent, Buffy and Spike were surveying the room for exits and possible means of escape. She seemed to have formulated a plan after a few seconds because she disrupted his reverie, “Listen, somehow I don’t think we’ll willingly let you experiment on removing Spike’s heart. At least, not tonight. I mean it’s really a lot to think about. So, we’ll just show ourselves out.”

With that said, Buffy tugged on my arm, and the three of us starting proceeding to exit the way we entered.

The two demon bodyguards that were still present didn’t hesitate and blocked our trajectory within seconds. Mr. Smith’s face hardened. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere. You’re going to help me.”

*My* heart practically flew out of my chest. The vampire from earlier this evening was nothing compared to the danger I was now faced with.

Before I knew what was happening, Buffy and Spike were leaping on the demon pair. Arms and legs flew in a rapid whirl of motion that would almost be elegant if I wasn’t so afraid. Dizzy at being in the midst of their dance, I maintained enough presence of mind to approach the door. . . the threshold of freedom.

Just as I reached my goal, Mr. Smith stepped sideways into my path, blocking me with a small smile. I reacted before I thought, and my fist went sailing across the gulf between us. Pain shot through my arm as I connected with his jaw, and he fell to the ground with a small howl like a small wounded animal.

He didn’t move, and I was triumphant.

However, his cry was a danger signal.

Twelve more demons crowded the doorway and flooded the room. Somehow they seemed to be bigger than in the church.

I looked around for Buffy and Spike who were standing over two lifeless demon bodies, breathing heavily. Dread spread over me.

We were doomed.

With a cry of rage, Spike slipped into his vampire face and launched himself at the throng. The demons parted, apparently unnerved that this insignificant little vampire would dare to take them on alone. They parted like the Red Sea, creating a path to the door.

Buffy started to follow Spike’s lead, but he stopped her with a growl as he punched a demon in the face and back-kicked the one behind him. “Buffy, take Sam and get out of here.”

Freezing for an instant, she protested, “But. . .”

Ducking an enraged demon’s slower movements, Spike shouted, “Go!”

Instantly, I knew we had to get help. Without hesitation, I started running. Buffy overcame her reluctance, and soon she had passed me, using her instincts to lead us through the maze of the house to world outside.

Not used to such physical exertion, I was gasping and gulping in the cool night air with relief. Fear and desperation fueled my run until we neared the cemetery where we’d started. Just past the first row of tombstones, I stopped by a tree and bent forward, trying to regain some energy. Buffy was impatient, but she saw that I couldn’t keep going.

Needing to do something, she whipped out her cell phone and dialed a number. A brief, clipped conversation led to us being picked up in a red convertible by a man who identified himself as Rupert Giles, a few minutes later. I wasn’t sure where we’d be going next. . . if we’d be going back to the mansion.

A bit thankfully, I realized that we were heading away from the fray and toward Buffy’s home. No discussion was made about taking me home. In fact, no mention of what had happened occurred the entire drive.

* * *

I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t we go back to the mansion? I wasn’t sure myself, but I wasn’t about to protest. I wasn’t ready to face the monsters again. . . not yet. And as I look back on it now, I understand there were two different agendas on the table. . . .

* * *

The eerie quiet pervaded the atmosphere, and I could feel the proverbial shoe about to drop when we entered the back door of Buffy’s average-looking suburban house. The home was hardly the place in which I expected warriors to reside.

Once in the kitchen, Giles spun to face Buffy, his mouth a grim line. Slamming his hand on the island in the center of the room, he announced, “What the hell do you think you were doing gallivanting about with Spike?”

I read uncertainty on Buffy’s face, and the power Giles had over her became abundantly clear. Her words came out fairly neutral, “I wasn’t ‘gallivanting.’”

The girl from the cemetery. . .Willow, an average-looking dark-haired man, and a teenaged girl appeared in the doorway to the rest of the house, wearing expressions similar to deer caught in headlights. I’m sure I bore a similar visage.

“Buffy, you *have* to be serious,” the older man stated as if he’d said the same words hundreds of times. He probably had. “There is *real* danger out there, and you can’t keep getting into side trouble. Your focus at the moment is needed elsewhere.”

Buffy tensed in front of me, and she took a few steps forward, meeting him halfway and placing her hands on the surface of the kitchen island. “Like I went looking for it.”

“Well, it certainly seems like you always find it when you’re with Spike.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Buffy’s temper was flaring now, and I could see her point. Granted, I had no idea of her full history with Spike, and he *was* a vampire, albeit a soulful one.

Giles planted his fingertips on the counter and leaned toward Buffy. “It means just what I said. Another of your girls is dead. . . *dead*, Buffy, and you’re out with Spike! And now he’s in trouble, and instead of re-grouping with the girls, you want to charge out there. . .” Giles punctuated his point by jabbing a finger toward the kitchen window, “. . . and waste precious time and energy rescuing someone who seems of late to always need rescuing!”

“He doesn’t always need rescuing,” she said resolutely. “He’s been very helpful in our fight against evil.”

“And he’s also been a huge liability. He’s very vulnerable to attack from the First.” (Then, why did they send him to protect me if he was so fragile?) “You should have come back straight away from patrol and been with the rest of us.”

“So, that’s it? You wanted me to come back here and babysit the girls?” Buffy asked.

Giles stepped back and crossed his arms. “Not babysit. . . show them. Show them that you actually care about what happens to them. . . that you aren’t putting your feelings for a vampire, a *vampire,* above their needs. They’re especially fragile after the recent death.”

“And where are they if they’re so needy?” Buffy attempted to peer around Giles but saw only the three behind him.

This was an excellent point as I expected that they’d be clamoring into the kitchen if they heard the fight.

Willow cleared her throat and interjected hesitantly, “Um, Andrew and Anya took them to the Bronze.” When Giles removed his wrath from Buffy to glare briefly at Willow, the redhead became defensive with him, “Anya thought it might help them reconnect with reality a little to dance and let off some steam. We thought you knew that. You were here when they decided to go.”

Buffy jumped on the revelation, “Oh ho! So, they get to let off some steam, but I don’t? Why is it that I always have to take responsibility for how everyone else feels? Half the time, I don’t even know how *I* feel!”

“Letting off some steam is *not* the same thing as getting in trouble with some strange man and his demon horde,” Giles countered. “And your job is not to feel but to work past your feelings and deal with the matter at hand. The time for feeling comes later.”

“For me but not the rest of you,” Buffy concluded for him.

Giles’ eyes took on a glazed and tired appearance. “Your job, Buffy, is to always be on alert, always be ready. You are *the* slayer. . . not the rest of us, not the slayers-in-training. . . *you*.”

Buffy’s face fell, eyes filling with tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall. “And that means I’m not allowed to be human.”

“Buffy, you *aren’t* human,” Giles pronounced quietly. Regret radiated from him as soon as he finished his statement.

Despite this, Buffy’s face hardened, and her eyes glinted with a steel I had never seen in anyone else. She seemed to retreat inside herself as she spoke her next words with soft defiance, “I’m going after Spike. Tonight. The girls won’t even notice that I’m gone.”

“Buffy. . .”

Refusing to meet his eyes, Buffy held up a hand and turned to Willow. “What can you tell me about those demons I described to you over the phone?”

Opening her P.D.A. and reading off the tiny screen, Willow didn’t acknowledge Giles either. “Dak’tosh. They’re big. And they’re strong.” (Gee, that was helpful.) Her brow furrowed as she scrolled down further. “And they are especially vulnerable to magic but not physical prowess.”

“What kind of magic?” Buffy asked, reading over Willow’s shoulder.

Willow grinned. “The kind I’m an expert at.”

“You’re *not* coming. It’s not your fight. There must be some kind of portable mojo that I could take with me.”

“Well, there is, but I’d rather go with,” the redhead said in protection of her friend’s decision. When she read the questions in Buffy’s eyes, she added, “I want to be at your side. . . if you’re going in, I’m there.”

Buffy nodded her acceptance. “You got what you need?”

“Just a sec.”

As I attempted to process the information that Willow could perform magic, she hurried to a kitchen cabinet and rummaged through the clutter while Buffy headed into the other room. Willow produced a packet of herbs, and Buffy returned with a large battle-ax.

“Let’s go,” Buffy said, hefting the weapon. “Mr. Fisher. We’ll drop you off at home on the way.”

“Okay,” I agreed, straightening from where I’d been leaning on the kitchen cabinet.

As Willow, Buffy, and I were going out the door, the dark-haired man stopped us by reaching out an arm as if he didn’t want us to go. “Guys. . . Willow. . .”

Willow was resolved. “I’m going, Xander.”

Xander backed down. “Be careful.”

“We will.”

* * *

At this point, I was exhausted and ready to go home. Did I? Of course not!

* * *

A horn blared at us when we were halfway to my home. Being tired and slightly on edge about my surroundings, I nearly jumped out of my skin at the noise. Buffy and Willow stopped when they recognized what I later knew to be Xander’s SUV.

A window rolled down with urgency. Xander’s head poked out, and he smiled at us. “Need a lift?”

Willow fairly skipped to the door. “Xander! You came!”

“Of course!” he said cheerfully in contrast to the concern he showed at Buffy’s house. “I couldn’t leave my two girls to walk into danger alone. How would that look with me as the token male of this threesome?”

Buffy joined Willow at the door. “Careful, Xander. You may come across as sounding like you’re talking about something else.”

“Your mind. . . always in the gutter,” Xander quipped. Then, he sobered thoughtfully. “We okay?” he asked Buffy.

Buffy grinned. “Of course!”

“So, are we ready to Three Musketeer our way into the fortress of doom?” He winked at Buffy.

“Hey!” a voice rose from the passenger seat. “What am I? Chopped liver? I’m here to help, too!”

“Dawn!” Buffy exclaimed in dismay. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? I’m helping my big sis break the Big Bad out of prison!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Dawn shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m just here to have the getaway car running and ready for our take off after you guys rescue Spike.”

“*You?* You, drive the getaway car?” Buffy was amused.

“Well, yeah. I technically *almost* got my driver’s permit,” Dawn noted.

“*Almost* and *actually* are two different things.”

Dawn rolled her eyes skyward. “Well, you know. The hellmouth didn’t let me take the test on time.”

“Sounds very fishy to me. Kind of like the excuse that the dog ate your homework,” Buffy teased.

I could definitely see them as sisters. Sometimes I regretted that Amber didn’t have at least one sibling. She’d probably be far less lonely.

Buffy was still talking. “. . . and I think it might be wise if Mr. Fisher came and sat with you in the car. . . just in case some demons slip past us and come after you.” Buffy twisted to confront me. “Do you mind, Mr. Fisher?”

What could I say to that? I couldn’t leave the girl. . . Dawn alone. . . not when she reminded me of Amber. “Sure. No, no, I don’t mind.”

* * *

The next part of the tale is very boring because all Dawn and I did was sit in the car, but I’ll tell you what happened anyway. The events to follow our car discussion were quite exciting.

* * *

Dawn started the conversation first. As a person who deals mainly with dead people, I very rarely spoke to teenagers, and I could hardly consciously remember my own teenage years without cringing.

Granted she didn’t start with the most inspiring statement, but hey, she at least thought of something to say.

“So, um, you’re the funeral director.” She sat behind the wheel, gripping the circle firmly and staring at the mansion as if she expected the group to come back out any second. They had only gone in a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, and you’re Buffy’s sister.” So my statement wasn’t particularly brilliant either.

“Yeah.” She chose that moment to sweep up her hair in a bun on the top of her head. Her hands automatically returned to their position on the steering wheel.

“So what’s it like to have a sister like Buffy?” I wondered aloud.

She shot me a quick glance and ducked her head to her lap. “Sometimes very wonderful. Sometimes not easy at all.”

I nodded even though she wasn’t watching. “I understand that.”

Dawn started again in a gush, and I was so startled that all I could do was listen. “Buffy’s great, but sometimes she’s so distant that I wonder if she sees me at all. And sometimes she’s really there, and I know she’s with me. A-and I really worry about her. I worry about how she’s feeling, what she’s thinking. I worry that she’s not really living.” She bowed her head a little lower. “And I worry that it’s my fault.”

My stomach turned over. Here was a girl who blamed herself for her sister’s unhappiness. I said what I would have said to Amber. “It’s not your fault if your sister’s not having the best time right now. She’s got a lot on her shoulders, and you are definitely not at fault for that.”

Dawn looked up with eyes wide and soft with unshed tears. “But I wouldn’t even be here if Buffy wasn’t the slayer. She only has to worry about me because she is the slayer.”

I opened my mouth to say something but found I wasn’t sure how to reply.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of brilliant red light shot out from every window of the mansion, saving me from having to answer her. Straightening in the seat and feeling all my senses rise to hyper-alert, I gripped the ax that I’d forgotten I was holding in my lap.

“What the hell was that?”

Emotional revelation forgotten, Dawn grinned at me. “Willow.”

“Willow?” I was confused.

“Willow’s a witch. . .an extremely powerful witch.”

“Oh.” And I’d thought Willow could perform a few spells. . . not almost level a house!

The front door to the mansion burst open, and two figures rushed toward us surrounded by a haze of red smoke and crackling electricity. One was leaning heavily on the other. Reacting to my instincts, I jumped out of the SUV and scrambled to open the back door.

Buffy’s features clarified from the jumble of leftover magic, and I saw that she was relying on Spike to move. I wasn’t sure what was wrong until they got even closer, and when I hurried toward them to assist, I noted that Buffy’s right leg dangled at an odd angle. . . no doubt broken. A red stain was rapidly saturating her shirt.

I took the burden of the slight figure on his arm, helping Buffy to the back seat of the car and gingerly helping her position her leg into a more comfortable position. She slipped into unconsciousness as soon as she sank against the seat. Dawn crawled back beside Buffy and stroked her face tenderly as she inspected her for wounds.

Spike’s face was disfigured with bruises and blood, and his clothes were ripped in several places. He leaned against the car and placed his hands on his thighs, attempting to catch his breath. . . although from what I’d heard, vampires did not need to breathe.

He cast me a sideways glance. “The witch and the boy are still inside.”

I nodded.

“I can’t get both. You up for coming with me?” he asked next.

“Um. Sure.” I held up the ax.

He waved his arm at the weapon. “You won’t need that. The bad guys are all dead.” He turned to Dawn. “Be back soon, bit.”

Her eyes not moving from her sister, she said, “’Kay.”

I set the ax aside and followed the vampire to the house. In the back of my mind, I wondered why the neighbors weren’t the least bit curious about the hubbub.

As we reached the front door again, he warned me, “Get ready, there’s still magic hanging in the air here, and you might find it a bit hard to breathe.”

Steeling myself for discomfort, I plunged into the house after the vampire and promptly almost stumbled over a demon carcass lying in the front hall. My stomach tightened as something I’d never felt before rolled over my skin and filled my lungs with a burning sensation.

A firm hand grasped my elbow before I fell, and through the haze I caught Spike’s eye. “Careful.”

Scarlet sparks sizzled over my skin, singing the hairs, and I forced back the decision to cry out in pain. After a few seconds of wading through the remains of demons and magic, I adjusted and ignored the lingering discomfort, focusing on the mission. The mansion was larger than I remembered from earlier tonight. Demon bodies lined every room, every hallway. How did they all fit in here? How could they possibly all live here?

“Do you know where they are?” I asked at one point. A wave of fire swept over my lungs, and I touched a wall to steady myself.

“I have an idea,” he responded, continuing to pick his way through the mess.

I was better prepared to speak the second time. “An idea?”

His voice was slightly muffled as we rounded a corner. “Yeah. I follow the magic to the source. And I can hear heartbeats.”

My hand went to my chest to feel the steady thrum against my fingertips.

A trace of humor laced Spike’s response. “And no, yours isn’t too loud for me to hear the others.”

“G-good.”

Several minutes later and deep inside the mansion, the magic became thicker and heavier against my lungs. Spike deftly leapt over a large demon blocking a doorway and offered me a hand as I struggled to climb over the same hulking form.

As soon as I’ve made it to the other side, a coughing fit struck me, and I bent at the waist as I attempted to catch my breath. Spike clapped me on the back a couple of times to make sure I’m taking in air before he left my side to move aside the demon. When I recovered enough to wipe away stray tears and stand halfway straight again, I observed Spike gathering the slight form of Willow into his arms on the other side of the room.

“She’s unconscious,” Spike informed me. He tilted his head toward a semi-conscious Xander who was slumped in a corner. “Can you help him? I think he’s okay enough to walk on his own if he has support.”

Afraid to open my mouth and utter words, I nodded assent and headed toward Xander who lifted his head on my approach. Spike was right, and I was able to bring him to a standing position without much effort. Together, we half-limped, half-shuffled back the way we’d come in.

When we reached the fresh night air, Xander was recovered enough to move without my aid. He patted me on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

I bobbed my head and gulped in the air like a fish that had been out of the water too long.

Bringing medical supplies and an extra set of wheels, a repentant Giles had arrived since our entrance into the mansion. Within minutes, we were all bundled safely inside one vehicle or the other and were whisked back to the Summers’ home.

* * *

After that final experience, I pretty much decided that it was time to leave Sunnydale. Turned out that the reason why no one came out of their homes to witness the disturbance was because most people in Sunnydale were fleeing town. Wealthy families had abandoned the city first.

Before I left, however, I decided to do something for Buffy and Spike as a small gesture of thanks for their protection. . . .

* * *

Arriving at my apartment at exactly seven in the evening, Buffy was on time, her long blonde hair freshly washed and curled. I’d never seen her with her hair down, and she was stunning. She wore a simple black dress and long silver earrings that matched the silver accents on the straps across her shoulders. She was less like a slightly damaged, tireless slayer and more like the young adult she was.

Embarrassed by her appearance, she smiled a bit shyly at me with shining eyes. “I don’t ever dress up anymore,” she explained.

I gave her a valid compliment, “Well, you look lovely.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes immediately searched the living room behind me, and I allowed her to slip past me and into my home. Most of my belongings were packed away, hidden in squares of brown cardboard that I’d finagled from the one grocery store still open in town. Therefore, the walls were bare, and the shelves contained no pictures or knickknacks.

But Buffy wasn’t examining the contents of my home.

“He’s not here yet.”

Buffy’s shoulders dropped just slightly. “Oh. Well, I haven’t seen him all day.”

“But he’s coming. He wouldn’t miss the thank-you dinner I’ve planned for you. He R.S.V.P.’d.”

“Why don’t you have seat.” I gestured toward the sofa. “Would you like some wine?”

Her expression revealed the hesitance of one who wasn’t used to drinking. Then, as she lowered herself onto the sofa, she cautiously asked, “What kind do you have?”

“I’ll pour you a glass of the Riesling. It’s got kind of a fruity aftertaste. How’s that?”

She was relieved. “Sure.” Before I could leave, she pointed at my keyboard that remained on its stand across the room. “You play?”

“Yep. I do.”

“For funerals?”

I laughed lightly. “No, not at all. Actually, I play, write songs, and sing them.”

“Really?” She sounds amazed as if she can’t believe that a funeral director did something so creative.

I headed to pour the wine. “Yeah. I’ll play for you after dinner if you like.”

“That’d be great!”

Entering my tiny kitchen, I grabbed the chilled bottle and filled us each a glass of the white wine.

Buffy’s voice rose from the adjacent room, “So when are you moving back to L.A.?”

“In a couple of days. I have a couple of friends, Lisa and Jim, coming in town that are going to help me load up.”

As I re-entered the living room, I handed Buffy her wine, which she briefly cradled in both hands before taking a tiny sip. “Thanks. Are your friends from L.A., too?”

“Well, they’ve been vacationing in Florida for the last month or so. Sunnydale’s only a little out of the way on their way back to L.A. I guess to answer your question, they are from L.A.” I perched on the couch next to Buffy, making sure she had plenty of personal space.

“That’s cool. I have some friends there. . . and some family.” The way she said friends and family made me wonder about her personal history with them. . . if they’d hurt her somehow.

Before I could ask her about her hesitation, the doorbell rang followed by a sharp knock. Buffy’s head shot up with mine, and eagerness lit her face before she hid it away.

Balancing my wine glass on the coffee table, I rose and opened the door for the only other person I was expecting. . . Spike. He wore the outfit I’d provided him earlier that day because we were the same height and build. He’d managed to iron the pants and seemed freshly showered like Buffy.

“Good evening,” I greeted.

Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and proffered a slight smile. When he hadn’t moved after several seconds, I stepped back to make him more room.

Buffy giggled from the sofa. “You have to invite him in, Mr. Fisher, because he has to have an invite into people’s homes.

“Sam,” I reminded her.

“Sam,” she repeated.

“Come in, Spike.”

Spike stepped into the living room with a grin. “Actually, I didn’t need it, pet. The earlier invite from Sam was enough.”

“Earlier?” Buffy asked.

Spike tugged at the shirt he was wearing. “The clothes.”

“Oh.”

“Sam loaned them to me earlier today,” Spike admitted. “Thanks,” he told me for the fourth time.

I smiled. Part of me still couldn’t believe I was putting trust in a vampire.

“Well, you look nice,” Buffy conceded.

“Thanks. You look. . .” Spike studied her with obvious love. “. . . beautiful.”

She ducked her head as she’d done with me. “Thanks.”

“And *you’re* drinking wine,” he commented in a way that I knew I was missing something.

She raised her glass playfully. “Yep.”

“Would you like some?” I offered.

“I’d love some.” His eyes never left the young woman on the sofa.

The oven conveniently went off in the kitchen.

“Well, that’s actually dinner. Why don’t you go ahead and sit in the dining room while I get the chicken out.”

“Let me help you,” Buffy suggested, avoiding Spike’s gaze as she stood and self-consciously smoothed her dress.

“No, no,” I insisted. “You two go get a seat.” Before Buffy could insist, I hastily exited into the kitchen to shut off the shrill timer.

After I’d arranged everything on the kitchen counter, I discovered I couldn’t possibly manage everything by myself with any speed.

“Actually,” I called, “I could use some help in here after all.”

The pair appeared in the kitchen doorway at virtually the same time so that their arms brushed. Electricity spun through the air, and I smiled happily to myself. Silly me, playing matchmaker for a vampire and a slayer, but as I was learning, love doesn’t take into account such rules.

They parted when it became obvious they were touching, and each grabbed a dish to bring in the other room. Together, we made it all in one trip, and I chose specifically to sit across from them so that they had to sit next to one another at the rectangular table.

Raising my glass, I cleared my throat and announced, “You probably know the reason I asked you here tonight. Well, I just wanted to officially thank you both for saving my life more than once since I’ve been in Sunnydale. If it hadn’t been for you two the first night at the funeral home, I’d be long dead by now. I might even be undead. . . no offense to present company meant.”

“None taken, mate,” Spike said gruffly.

“And I know I don’t have blood for you, but I didn’t know where to procure any.”

“It’s okay. I enjoy these sorts of meals just the same.” He glanced purposefully at Buffy, and she smiled at him.

“So, anyway, thank you for your protection. Dig in. The one thing my ex-wife loved about me was my cooking.”

With that, dinner commenced. Throughout dinner and small talk, the pair snuck glances at one another, and when they were sure the other wasn’t watching, their expressions were tender and loving. I watched enthralled and took note because I wanted to find that kind of connection one day.

After dinner was over, Buffy and Spike assisted me in cleaning the kitchen despite my protests. When everything was neatly put away, I entered the living room and switched on my keyboard.

Spike raised his eyebrows at me.

“Buffy wanted me to play after dinner,” I clarified.

He exchanged a look with Buffy. “You did?”

Buffy lowered her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t scare you off with my singing,” I joked. “I’ll just play you a few original instrumental pieces. How’s that?”

“Sounds great!” Buffy responded with enthusiasm.

Positioning myself on the small stool, I closed my eyes, blotting out the two curious figures before me. Within seconds, I was lost in the ebb and flow of the chords and rhythms. I wasn’t half bad, and I knew it, but I was still curious about my audience’s reaction. Halfway through my first piece, I opened my eyes.

What I saw didn’t surprise me. I didn’t know if their actions were to be taken as an accolade to my work, but I knew it pleased me.

Spike held Buffy fast against him as they moved to the slow, flowing music. Her head leaned against his chest, and her eyes were tightly shut as he rubbed her back softly and held one of her hands in his own. His cheek rested atop her head, and his eyes matched hers.

While I was watching, she opened her eyes and moved her head. Startled, his eyes flew open at her gesture, alarm painted on his features. She brought her other hand to his cheek then and smiled, and relief pulled itself over his face. In reassurance, she moved her arm from his face to his waist and drew him closer. As she repositioned her head on his chest, he resumed his with a contented expression.

She caught me studying them, and with the comfort she had always shown around me, she smiled before closing her eyes again. Somehow, I knew she didn’t display this sort of behavior in front of most people. Happy with her trust, I threw myself into the music wholeheartedly, determined to make their moment extra special.

Without break, I launched into my second piece even though my fingers were tiring because I hadn’t played in a while and hadn’t warmed up. At an easier section of the music, I turned my attention to the pair again just in time to witness something that had to be historic for them.

Buffy gently pulled Spike’s lips to her own and stared into his eyes with a smile before kissing him softly. Spike seemed absolutely shocked but didn’t let grass grow under his feet. He was soon kissing her back with a slow enthusiasm, mindful of where he was.

Allowing them a moment, I returned to the music and ended after the second song, partly because I was tired and partly because I didn’t have anything else decent to play.

They drew apart reluctantly, told me how beautifully I played, and bade me good night. As they exited, Buffy handed Spike the dinner leftovers, which I’d given her because I wouldn’t have time to eat them. Without reservation, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me briefly.

“Take care,” she whispered in my ear. “And *thank you* for tonight.”

Spike, of course, heard everything she thought was inaudible, and he added, “Yeah, thanks.”

As they headed down the stairs together toward Buffy’s vehicle, she called, “Be careful in L.A. and stay in touch!” She bounded down the stairs.

Spike followed more slowly and nodded back at me before he reached the stairwell. “Night.”

I merely lifted my hand in goodbye.

* * *

And that was the last time I saw them. They were happy; they’d danced, albeit more deliberately and gently than the first time I’d seen them. I’ll never forget them. I don’t know if they shared anything remotely similar after I left Sunnydale, but I felt a certain peace, knowing that such love and mutual respect was. . . is possible.

How was I to know that L.A. was worse off than Sunnydale in the evil department this spring? I didn’t, but I’m coming to you because Buffy gave me your card that evening when they came to dinner and told me to look you up if I ever needed help.

Were you close to Buffy, Angel? From the look on your face, you don’t seem too happy to hear this story. Well, you don’t have to answer, but I’m sorry if my tale bothered you in any way.

Aside from that, I *do* need your help. You see, Lisa and Jim have this little problem with the demon who lives across the hall from them, and Amber said that there’s a scary monster living in the girl’s restroom at her nursery school. . . .

The end.