It was nearly 3 am when Buffy finally saw the inside of her apartment again. She felt dizzy, weak, and strung out. The insides of her stomach seemed to be gripped in a tight, uncomfortable knot.

She dropped her things carelessly on the living room floor and pulled off her clothes as she walked to the bathroom. As soon as she flicked on the light, she grimaced and blinked against its glaring brightness.

Bits of the conversation that had taken place after Drusilla had left flitted through her head.

"... met her at university in London in '96..."

Buffy opened her bleary eyes and stared at the face in the mirror.Her mascara had been cried off into long, black smudges that trailed down to her chin. Her eyelids were red and puffy, her eyes themselves bloodshot, the left one sporting the nasty-looking bloom of a popped vessel.

"... I have dual citizenship, my dad was born here..."

She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, then washed the rest of her makeup off with lavendar-scented soap. Patting herself dry, she ran a comb through her tangled hair, and stared at herself again, clean and cold.

"... both Dru and I wanted to come over and thought it would be a good idea as any to..."

She turned the light back off, went to her bedroom, and slid under the blankets, shivering, naked, waiting to warm up, closing her eyes and replaying the rest of Spike's revelation like a scene in a movie. A very sad movie.

"A good idea to what?" she asked him warily when he didn't finish.

He was pacing back and forth in his living room, while she watched him with wide fearful eyes from the couch.

Spike kept his back to her when he finally said it.

"To get married."

She waited for more, but he stayed quiet. "So, she's your ex-wife, not your ex-girlfriend," she finally said.

He turned. His own eyes were looking misty around the edges. He started to say something, then hung his head. "Almost ex," he admitted so softly that it took her a moment to register what he'd said.

She didn't reply to this, too stunned to speak. Slowly, he walked to the couch and knelt down before her, took her hands in his. Now the glistening drops in his eyes rolled freely down the angular planes of his face. He took no notice of his tears, just gazed at her with such earnestness that Buffy felt a sharp pang in her chest.

The rest of his words were a blur, for Buffy could only look deeply into his eyes, watch as more tears came, think how much darker a blue they looked in the dim light.

Snatches of words and phrases. "... divorce final in the next few months...," "... she refuses to recognize it...," "... anullment...," "... dragging her heels...," "... her visa expired...,"
"... cheated on me..."

This last admittance caused Spike to take his eyes from Buffy and crumple from his knees. Now sitting on the floor, he took his hands from hers and buried his face in them.

He started to laugh, but it was bitter and cold.

"Cheated," he said again, "yeah, well, she set a new record with that one, she did. Hell, she even cheated on the blokes she was cheatin' on me with."

Buffy laid a hand lightly on his back, moving it tenderly between his shoulderblades in slow circles. He fell against her, putting his head in her lap, and began to sob.

She let him just cry, let everything out, all the pain and anger and the maddening state of flux this strange woman had left him in. He told Buffy about Harmony, how he never told her about Drusilla, and couldn't let her in, really, couldn't tell her why he wasn't really free for her.

"But you," he whispered, stroking the side of her leg, "You're different. I wanted to tell you even if Dru hadn't crashed the party and forced the issue."

"Is that why you..."

"Got all distant and stupid?"

She nodded.

"Now you know," he said, heaving a sigh. He pulled himself up onto the couch next to her, wrapped his arm around her. Her head fell against his chest. "I'm going to get myself out of her clutches if it's the last thing I do," he assured her, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "I want to start over."

With me? Buffy wondered briefly, but still... she felt for him, she hurt at his hurt, yet it was all so much to take all at once.

They'd sat like that for a long time together, but they didn't discuss anything weighty any further. Buffy just wanted to be held, and she suspected Spike felt the same way.

When at last he drove her back to her car, he'd stroked her cheek, almost wistfully as though he believed it would be the last time he ever touched her. She leaned closer to him and gave him a sweetly chaste kiss.

"I care about you, you know," he said, his voice tired and grave. "I don't want this to mean... but... I understand if --"

"Give me a little time," she said. "I just need to process all this."

Now, running the little scenes through her head 'til she couldn't take it anymore, Buffy curled herself up into a tighter ball under the covers and fell, at last, into a restless sleep.

When he woke up, he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, not the clean bisque of his own bedroom, but a glossy cherry red. Odd, he thought. He tried to sit up, but something was weighing on him. Not heavily, but it took some doing to finally free himself from it.

It was an arm, a long, toned arm with pale olive skin. It was a very lovely arm, but he didn't immediately remember why it was draped across his chest.

Now he was sitting up, and his head started to pound, a steady, fiery thud against his temples. He groaned and lay back down against the sheets. They were black silk, topped with a satiny comfortor the same shade of red as the ceiling. The walls of the room were white, and the first hint of dawn was starting to peek through the slats in the blinds.

The figure beside him stirred, and he looked over at her, a shock of dark, tousled hair moving against the pillow. She turned her face to his, eyelids droopy from sleep, and at the sight of him, a small, sexy smile played itself across her lips.

"Hi there," she said. "That was some night, huh?"

"Er, y-yes, apparently so," he stammered.

She pouted. "What, things a little fuzzy up there?" she asked, patting him on the head.

He winced. "Not so much fuzzy as bloody painful," he answered.

She giggled. "Well, when you're feeling better," she said, pulling herself closer to him and laying her head against his bare chest, "maybe I can remind you of the highlights." Her hand disappeared beneath the sheets.

His eyes opened wide when he felt where her hand ended up. "Oh, my," he said with surprising composure. "That's, ah, yes, that's very nice."

She looked up at him, grinning ear to ear. "My god, Rupert, you really are always proper, aren't you?"

Jenny's mouth looked so terribly good to him just then. He raised an eyebrow at her. "No," he said, "no, dear, not by a long shot."

Giles's hangover was forgotten as he proceeded to show her just how improper he could be.

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Willow's mouth had been open for five straight minutes. Her eyes had also proceeded to get so wide that Buffy half-feared they would pop out of her head.

"Well?" Buffy asked the redhead. "No comment?"

Willow still sat open-mouthed for another second. "Shit!" she finally cried, a little louder than she'd meant to.

Buffy giggled and looked over at the other diners in the cafeteria, but no one had noticed.

"Calm down there, girl," Buffy instructed her friend with a smile.

"Well, geez, Buffy! I mean... damn! That is some big-ass news!"

Buffy shrugged. She'd felt strangely calm and almost okay with things the past three days, which she'd spent mostly doing homework and having conferences with a couple of her students. Concentrating on her demanding studies and her duties teaching a freshman composition class were surprisingly good medicine for someone trying very hard not to think about personal matters. Spike had called the day before, and it hadn't been awkward, but she also had been vague about when she'd see him next. There were still some things she felt nervous about, and she hadn't yet told any of her friends what was going on.

But Willow had managed to weasel it out of her today at lunch, and now, finally bringing the matter of Spike-as-somebody's-husband out into the open... Buffy began to think it might not really be that big of a deal.

Willow, however, seemed to have a different reaction.

"Y-you committed adultery!" Willow squeaked.

"Since when did you get all with the 'live life by the rules' attitude, Will?"

Willow shook her head. "I'm sorry, it's just, wow! I guess I'm still reeling from the idea of anybody near our age being married at all, you know? Like, hello, I still remember my sixteenth birthday party as if it happened last week."

"Was that the year Oz tried to get you to play spin the bottle?"

Willow laughed at the memory. "Yeah. With conveniently only two players."

"Well, you know, I mean, we're grown-ups now! Yeah, some people are going to get married and stuff, and some people get married young," Buffy tried to explain. "Which is a big hairy mistake, apparently," she added. "Plus, I mean, Spike's a little older anyway."

"Really?" Willow asked, intrigued. "How old is he?"

Buffy told her, and Willow's eyes proceeded to get even bigger. "Shit!" she said again. "You're okay with that?"

"Experience can be a very good thing," Buffy said with a tiny smirk. She shook her head to clear the resulting tumble of dirty thoughts that rolled through her mind.

"No, but, really, Buffy, is he seriously getting the divorce?"

"He told me they're signing some stuff today, actually."

"Okay, but then, like, rebound, you know? You don't want to be transitional girl," Willow pointed out.

"I'm not," Buffy assured her. "He's apparently already had his transitional girl."

Willow frowned. "I want to trust this guy. I want him to be good for you, you know, but..."

Buffy patted Willow's hand. "You worry. I know."

"It's my job."

"And I appreciate it," Buffy said. "Sincerely."

"It doesn't count, doesn't count, not a bit of it." She was practically singing the words at him, running claw-like nails over his cheek. Spike pushed her hand away.

"It counts," he informed Drusilla curtly.

She raised her hands to her temples and frowned like a scolded child. "My little Spike doesn't want to play anymore."

He was seething. "That's damn well right, I don't." He took her arm and led her from the front of the lawyer's office out to his car, shoved her roughly inside, and slammed the passenger door. He glanced at his watch as he walked to the other side. Bloody hell, he thought, I should be working on a paper right now, but no, got to take care of the sodding princess.

He got into the car, rolled the window down halfway, and lit a cigarette. At least she'd signed the papers, at least it was now truly finished with legally, even if her royal highness still required further effort. "I'll go with you to the priest on Monday," he said, exhaling a small flume of smoke, "get all the information on making this fucking thing count from your end."

"But I don't want to!" Drusilla whined. She lowered her head so she was looking up at him through her thick dark lashes. "Marriage is supposed to last forever, sweet. You took vows."

That did it. He pitched the cigarette out the window and flew across the seat, pressing her against the door. Her smile only grew wider, and she began to giggle ghoulishly.

"You took vows, too, you know!" he yelled, his face inches from her. He wanted to pound her laughing mouth into a bleeding mess, but he released her and retreated back to his side of the car. "Didn't seem to stop you any."

Drusilla stopped laughing and looked somewhat shamed. "I can't help it," she said. "I love to make people happy. You know you were always my dear precious darling, and our love was sweet and pure and --"

"There was never anything pure about us!" he interrupted. "When I met you, I was naive enough to think you were exciting, but you were always really just a sick, twisted bitch!"

Both of them stayed silent a moment, and Spike turned the engine of the car on. "You're fucking insane, Drusilla," he said simply. "As deeply and passionately as I once loved you, that's how much I hate you now."

She had the gall to reach over to him and stroke his arm. "Thin line between those, there is," she purred. "Love, hate, call it what you will. Can't deny I'm a part of you forever."

He hated himself for feeling that, at least to some extent, she was right.

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"No, no, no, I'm not up for something like that," Buffy protested.

"Aw, c'mon, the whole department will be there, all the students, faculty. Big group. What could be more fun?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. A holiday party had to, by necessity of timing, be right in the midst of finals, and Buffy wasn't sure how social she was feeling with the cloud of multiple stress factors hanging over her. "Almost anything, really," she said with a chuckle. "Besides, I'm surprised you're going."

Tara shrugged, sat down on the corner of Buffy's desk. "I've been trying to break out of my shell a little," she said. "I really should meet more people, and... I dunno." She blushed a little. "You can bring a friend if you want."

Buffy looked at Tara a little more closely. She figured Spike already knew about the English department gathering, though they hadn't talked about it, and now she was wondering who exactly Tara meant when she said she could bring a friend.

"You want to be fixed up, don't you?" Buffy asked her gently.

Tara looked down, smiled, clearly embarrassed. "I, well, I didn't meant to suggest..."

Buffy didn't know Tara well enough to be familiar with her tastes, and didn't even know until now that she was necessarily single. Remembering certain things she'd noticed during class, though, a thought occurred to her.

"Why don't you see if Xander's coming?" she suggested. "I'm sure that would be..." She trailed off when she noticed Tara's odd expression, a mix of distaste and nervousness.

"Actually, um, I was wondering if you'd bring that one friend I've seen you with at lunch sometimes," she admitted. "The, uh, you know, the girl with the pretty red hair."

"Oh!" Buffy was taken aback for a moment, then realized this would be a truly splendid idea. Willow had been single far too long, and if she managed to become otherwise occupied, maybe she'd begin to worry less about Buffy's love life. She hopped up from her chair and gave Tara a little hug. "I think Willow would be nuts not to come!"

"H-her name is Willow?" Tara asked tentatively. Buffy nodded. "That's a very pretty name. Does, do, um..."

"I think you two have lots in common," Buffy assured her with a wink. Tara let out a sigh of relief. "But, do you mind if I come with a few other people, too?" she asked.

"The more the merrier," Tara replied.

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He didn't call first, he didn't give her any warning, he just showed up on her doorstep, a small bundle of daisies clutched in his hand. The thought of surprising her, breaking the trend of intermittent and strained phone calls they'd exchanged for the past few days, had come to him as he'd showered earlier, and he'd thrown on clothes and dashed out the door before he had a chance to change his mind. His hair had dried into messy platinum curls, disheveled and fluffy without the gel he usually liberally applied to keep it neatly smoothed back, and he was wearing a worn denim jacket in lieu of his long leather duster. He felt like a scared fourteen-year-old preparing to ask a girl out for the first time.

Buffy opened the door only a crack, and Spike caught a glimpse of bare shoulder and the scent of strawberries. Candlelight flickered inside the apartment.

"Spike!" she said, surprised, but her smile told him she was pleased. She pulled the door open wider, pulled the towel around herself a little tighter.

The stereo was playing soft strains of slow music, the sleeve from a Miles Davis record lay empty on the floor beside one of the speakers, and Buffy's hair was tied up in a neat little knot on the top of her head. "Having a little night in?" he asked her as he stepped further inside.

"Trying desperately to relieve stress after finishing my last paper," she explained. "Rewards include getting to read the new issue of The New Yorker cover to cover, a bubble bath, a glass of wine, you know, just trying to relax."

"A lady's prerogative to romance herself," he said. "How luxurious." He smiled and pulled the flowers out from behind his back. "They're not much, but they certainly add to the evening's ambiance."

Her slightly unpleasant anxiousness at his sudden appearance diminished when she saw the tiny bouquet. "Oh, those are so cute!" she said.

"Cute, yeah, well, cute was all I could afford," he explained. "Sorry, pet, would've loved to get you decent flowers."

She took them and went to the kitchen with him following her. "They're perfectly decent," she said. She started to try to reach for a vase, then realized her towel was precariously close to falling off. "Um, will you excuse me just a moment?" she asked. He nodded, and she made a hasty retreat to her bedroom. He pulled a vase down from the top of her refrigerator, filled it with water, arranged the flowers, and went back to the living room to wait for her.

When she returned, her hair was flowing down her back in gleaming tendrils, and she was wearing a long, silky, white nightgown with a matching robe. He couldn't help blurting out, "You look beautiful."

She looked shyly at the floor. "Thank you," she whispered. She sat down on the couch, leaving a small space between them. "So..." She wanted to ask him what was going on, wanted to ask him to the party, and wanted to leap on him and shower him with kisses, but instead she merely offered him a glass of wine.

He accepted, but insisted on getting it himself, and returned after a moment with two glasses poured from the open bottle of chianti he found on her counter. Resettling himself on the couch, now a little closer to her, he took a sip of the deep red liquid before saying anything.

"Well, I'm divorced now," he said.

"Really?"

"Still a few kinks to work out, Dru has to have her little anullment to make things all... proper or something." He made a sharp "tsk" sound at the thought of her. "She's completely off her nut right now, but I really couldn't care less."

Buffy could tell he was more hurt than he was letting on. "I'm sorry," she said.

He shrugged. "I'll be all right. I just want to get past this, it's been up in the air too long for my liking."

Mine too, Buffy thought. She took a sip of wine, then put her glass down on the coffee table and took Spike's hand. "I think the nice surprise of your visit merits no further talk of things that are icky."

He laughed at her choice of words. "Oh, yes, 'icky' should certainly be off limits."

Buffy pulled him to his feet. The music still played, low and melancholy. "Dance with me," she said, her eyes belying a hint of worry that he'd refuse.

But he didn't disappoint her. He enveloped her tiny frame, folding his arms tightly against her waist, and she reached to embrace him around the neck. They swayed together, slowly, both of them feeling as though they were somehow coming home after a very long time away.

When the song, the last on the record, ended, they still stood holding each other, and as the sound of needle against empty vinyl fizzed through the speakers, Spike leaned down and kissed Buffy. It was so tender, so sweet, but not merely friendly, not without a hint of fire in it. She swept a hand further up his neck, burying her fingers in his messy hair, and opened her mouth to his, their tongues gliding against each other, lingering and tasting, but not demanding.

The kiss broke languidly, and Buffy gazed deeply up at Spike, wanting him, needing him, but not with fervor, not with angst and ache, just wanting to be near him.

"Stay with me tonight," she said. "Just sleep beside me. I don't -- I'm not --"

He put a finger to her lips. "I know. We rushed things before," he whispered. "We have all the time in the world now."

He bent down and scooped her feather-light form up easily, carried her to the bedroom, and laid her, almost reverently, down on the bed. He climbed up beside her, and she reached for him, pulled his jacket from his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt for him while he unlaced his boots and took them off.

She shrugged out of her robe and tossed it to the foot of the bed, and now he lay beside her, brushing her hair from her eyes and laying little kisses on her forehead and nose. She snuggled against his bare chest, and he pressed her closer, wrapping both arms around her protectively. She released a sigh of contentment.

"Buffy," he whispered after a moment. "I was serious about something... before, the other night."

"Hmm?"

"I... I had already started to think of you as my..." God, it was harder to get out than he'd thought. He wished he had more wine in him, a little extra jolt of liquid courage to loosen his tongue.

"Your what?" Buffy asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Girlfriend," he finally managed.

She looked up at him, waited for him to say more.

"Am I wrong to saddle you with that label, pet?" he asked. He'd said it calmly, but Buffy could feel his heart beating faster.

She wanted to immediately latch onto what amounted to an offer, a small step forward on the scale of commitment, but she didn't say anything yet, just thought of everything they'd been through since they met.

She remembered the first time she'd seen him, a scant four months ago, the first night of class. She'd been running late for everything all day, and had only gotten in the door a few minutes before class was due to start, when normally she would've gotten there much earlier. Breathless and harried, she'd flopped into the first empty seat she saw, and when she looked across the table, there he'd been, this handsome stranger, all peroxide and leather, huge eyes and, even then, a grin that seemed downright naughty. And then when class began and discussions commenced, not only was he brilliantly insightful from the outset, he was hilariously witty, his accent dangerously charming... and even before they ever exchanged any private conversation, she felt flirted with, each glance and smile, each nod and each exchange within the confines of the class session... Then, later, talking alone, and kissing alone, and the night of passionate sex that left her downright sore the next day.

The little steps backward wouldn't matter in the long run, she realized. When it was just her and Spike, she felt amazing, alive, and free. She'd never been so free with anyone before, and she didn't want to stumble any more on their path together, she decided.

She took a deep breath. "You're not wrong," she responded.

Relief washed over him, and he held her tighter. "Thank you," he said.

Spike had been his own man for exactly ten hours, and now he never felt so good in his life as he did knowing that was all over.

Now he belonged to Buffy.

Jenny was standing on a short stack of phone books atop a precariously wobbly chair, stringing twinkly gold Christmas lights around the windows of the English department's outer office. Her brows were knit in concentration as she tried to apply a piece of masking tape to a wire just barely out of her reach. The chair's legs teetered, and she felt her shoes skid from the topmost phone book. As she started to spin from her perch, arms were immediately encircling her waist, and she was placed gently back to earth.

She grinned up at Giles. "My hero," she said proudly. "When did you get in?"

He was still holding her. "Just a moment ago, and just in time, apparently." He kissed her, then looked over to her handiwork. "Very lovely job, Jenny," he said.

"Thanks." She pinched his ass playfully, then moved to admire the effect of the half-strung lights. "Hope it's a nice little shindig. Do you know how many we're expecting?"

"Dr. Travers has the final count, I believe," Giles replied. "Should be a fairly big group, I expect."

Jenny peeked at her watch. "Oh, geez, it's getting late. I've got to finish this and go pick up the refreshments."

"Already done the latter," he told her. "Everything's waiting in the kitchenette."

"Aw, Rupert, you really are my hero!"

He put his arms around her again. "Saving you from certain disaster, not to mention giving you a little extra time..."

She reached up and took his glasses off. "Time for what?" she asked innocently.

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As Buffy stirred from sleep, her first thought was that she had to call Willow and invite her to the party that evening, which meant trying to come up with a creative explanation as to why she should look particularly fetching without telling her about Tara. Willow was skeptical about being set up, best to let her decide for herself if there was sparkage between the two. Her second thought was to notice the faint sound of the shower running, then she saw that Spike was no longer in bed beside her.

She remembered his comment that they now had the luxury of taking things slow between them, and, though she agreed, she was still a warm-blooded female in great need of doing something just a little bit bad.

She slipped her nightgown off over her head and crept to the bathroom, opening the door as quietly as possible. A wall of steam hung in the room, and Buffy stifled a giggle when she heard Spike softly singing "I Wanna Be Sedated" from behind the dewy blue shower curtain.

He was rinsing the suds from his hair, slicking it back against his scalp, when he heard the tiny clink of the curtain being drawn back, and he stopped singing, his lips pulling themselves into a mischevious grin. He didn't turn, but could feel her behind him, and then small warm circles of breasts were against his wet back.

"Well, hello, there," he said as her hands swept up to his chest, stroking lightly along the trim, tight muscles. Spike sighed when thumb brushed against nipple, teeth grazed shoulderblade.

He turned, and his lips were on hers, blazing water streaming down Spike's face onto Buffy's. It was sweet but slightly forceful, and he brought her closer to him, drenching her under the spray. His fingers entwined in her hair, he set his mouth now at her neck, kissing and nibbling, eliciting deep moans of pleasure from her. As he reached the apex of neck and shoulder, she pressed even closer against him, causing his back to connect with the wall. He sucked at her wet skin with his lips and tongue, gently biting this delightfully tasty area. His fingertips ran down her ribcage to her hip, and he squeezed the small curve he found there briefly before continuing down to swiftly thrust fingers between her curls.

She gasped, and his lips were back to muffle the cry as he drew his fingers in and out of her, a long thrust followed by a quick retreat, and she ground against his hand, meeting the steady rhythm.

He broke the kiss, gave her a final thrust, then suddenly dropped to his knees, the porcelain hot and hard under him as he traced the outline of her from knees to hips. He looked up at her, eyes beseeching, before he proceed to curve his tongue around the inside of one thigh, finally nuzzling her mound.

When his tongue dove eagerly into where his fingers had been, Buffy shuddered, legs trembling at the sensation. Spike licked along the line to her swelling clit, reveling in the flavor of her, and sucked gently, tongue drawing circles around the quivering button.

Nails were now pleasantly scraping his back, and when he reached fingers inside her once more, tongue still dancing against her, she could hold back no longer. Her walls tightened around his fingers, and she cried out his name.

He pulled himself from her, eased her down to meet him, the water still raining down hard, hot pellets. He meant to kiss her neck, but she devoured his mouth instead, pulled him down on top of her 'til they were both lying in the shallow pool of water collecting in the tub. It was only slightly cramped, but she drew her legs up and around his waist to afford him more room. Her hair spread out in long wet spirals, her eyes wide and hungry, lips swollen, he thought she'd never looked more amazing.

Spike didn't enter her, just ground his pelvic bone slowly against her, wanting her to come again, which, after he sped up his motions and began to simultaneously suck hard at her right breast, she did, feeling a dizzying swell and release spread through her. He collapsed upon her with more bruising kisses, and she held him tight against her 'til the water began to run cool.

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"Dude, I so don't want to go to this thing!" Xander told Andrew. They'd run into each other at the library, returning stacks of books used in last-minute research, and on their way out, Andrew had reminded him about the holiday party. "I don't have a date."

Andrew ignored the tiny twinge of disappointment. Girls, he reminded himself. I need to meet girls.

"Well, yeah," Andrew said, shrugging, "but Jonathan and I are going stag, and if you come, too, then we're, like, three guys on the prowl, instead of --"

Xander laughed. "A couple?"

"Wouldn't want the chicks to think that, would we?" Andrew's own laugh was nervous.

Xander frowned. There was a girl he'd been in Giles's Shakespeare class whom he'd always wanted a shot at. He wondered if she'd show up, but he couldn't remember her name. She was pretty, though, big eyes and bouncy titian hair. He recalled with amusement how she'd state firmly at each class meeting how much she hated the sonnets. "Too much with the flowery words," was how she put it. "Even poetry should be more forthright."

"All right," he agreed, clapping Andrew on the back. The shorter man felt a small thrill at the gesture. Girls, he thought again. Dana Scully, Seven of Nine, Princess Leia...

"Cool," Andrew said, trying to sound casual.

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"C'mon, c'mon..." Buffy was wheedling into the phone, swatting Spike's hands away as he tried to pull the tie open that held her robe in place. He raised an eyebrow at her, then pushed her down against the pillows, straddling her terry cloth-clad body with his naked one.

Willow was protesting, claiming she had to do laundry or something, but Buffy wasn't able to concentrate on the specifics of the excuse, as Spike clasped her free hand and encircled her wrist against his back so she was unable to stop him as he again went for the belt of her robe.

"... and, besides, I don't have a date," she finally caught.

"Oh, um, that's..." Buffy was going to say that was no problem, but the words left her when Spike parted the robe and began kissing her stomach. "That's good," she said instead.

"Huh?" Willow asked. "How is that good?"

"N-n-no," Buffy managed, pushing Spike away. He laughed as he tumbled from her, then tried to kiss her neck instead, but she sat up and held her hand out to stop him. "No, I mean, that's not good, but, you know, you could, like, meet somebody there!"

"Buffy! You're not trying to fix me up, are you?" Willow sounded suspicious.

He had managed to scramble behind her, the towel wrapped around her hair was being taken down, and she shivered when she felt him lick the nape of her neck. "God, yes," she murmured.

"You are! I knew it!" Willow cried.

Buffy elbowed Spike away. "No, I mean, no, I'm not!" she said lamely, then sighed, and gave up on everything, laying back down on the bed. "Fine, yes, I'm trying to fix you up. No arguments. Look pretty. We're picking you up at seven." She clicked the phone off before Willow could argue any further, and she tossed the handset onto the floor.

She rolled her eyes in mock surrender. "All right, all right," she said. "I give!"

Spike grinned and descended upon her.

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Jenny finished changing into her dress in the ladies' room, and emerged to the sight of Giles in an uncharacteristically snazzy suit, the usual brown tweed eschewed in favor of charcoal silk, with a light grey shirt and skinny black necktie completing the ensemble.

"Wow, you look quite handsome, sir," she told him.

He beamed at her, taking in her simple black dress that was pleasingly short, showing off slim legs encased in shimmery stockings. "I'd say you don't do too badly yourself --"

A small group of students began to approach and, noticing their progression down the hall, he cleared his throat. "Dr. Calendar," he finished.

She spun to greet the little crowd, directing them to the office, telling them where to find drinks. "Go easy on the brewskies, Mr. Harris," she warned Xander with a smile.

Xander grumbled as he followed Andrew, Jonathan, and Tara in the direction of the festivities. "What, does she think I'm a big lush or something?" he asked.

Tara smiled. "Maybe she thinks that's the only way to explain your comments in class."

"Hey, now, really! Who knows, 'The Cask of Armadillo' could've been an Oedipal conflict!" he insisted.

Jonathan shook his head sadly. "'Amontillado,'" he corrected as they disappeared inside the office.

In the hallway, Jenny was looking slightly annoyed at Giles. "So, this is a secret affair, then, is it?" she asked.

Giles looked hurt. "Oh, no, no, I didn't mean to --"

"Fine," she said. "Well, too bad, 'cause I was going to grope you under the mistletoe and everything."

She drifted into the office behind the students, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

"Damn," Giles said.

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Willow opened her door to find Buffy on her doorstep in a gossamer red dress overlaid with black lace, small sparkling beads sewn into the fabric, a long-sleeved velvet shrug around her shoulders.

Behind her stood a slim man with white blond hair slicked back neatly wearing a black suit over a crimson shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck. Buffy was positively beaming as Willow ushered the couple inside.

"Willow, this is Spike," she announced happily.

"Lovely to meet you," Spike said. He swept her pale hand into his and gave it a gallant kiss.

Willow blushed. "Well, you're certainly the charmer, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle.

"Oh, you look so pretty!" Buffy saw, as she noted her friend's pale pink blouse and silky black tuxedo pants, her hair swept into a mass of fiery curls on top of her head.

Willow cringed. "Really? 'Cause I was thinking about going with my green dress instead."

Buffy made a face. "Ugh, no, no, sorry, Will, but that green dress?"

"No good?" Willow pouted. "But it's all festive!"

"A little too festive, hon, it makes you look like Charlie Brown's sad little Christmas tree." Buffy smiled. "No, no, this is very good, you look perfect. Doesn't she?" she asked Spike.

Spike nodded. "Little Red here is an absolute vision," he agreed.

They left Willow's apartment, both girls climbing into the backseat of Spike's car ("Ah, I see, I get to be chauffeur, is that it?"), giggling as Buffy described Tara to her.

"Yeah, but is she hot?" Willow kept asking.

"I don't know, I guess..." Buffy was at a loss.

"She was the hottest girl in our Poe class, I'll tell you that, Red," Spike chimed in. This remark was rewarded with a hard flick on the back of his head.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing the spot. "Obviously, present company excepted."

"Don't you forget that, buster!" Buffy said.

They made one final stop before heading to campus. With Willow and Spike waiting in the car, Buffy knocked lightly on the door of the small used bookshop, hoping the clerk was still there. The lights were off, and no movement stirred inside, but the door was finally opened, and a tall strawberry blonde greeted her, vibrant red knit dress neatly hugging her trim curves.

"Well, it's about damn time!" she said affably. "Sorry I made you pick me up here, I had to close tonight." She shut the door behind her and locked it with a snap. "Gotta love those holiday shoppers. I am much in need of drinking vast quantities of alcohol now!"

Buffy giggled. "I'm just glad you could make it at the last minute, Anya," she said. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever!"

"No, not forever," she replied matter-of-factly. "The last time we hung out was when we had that wretched War Literature class together, the final meeting of which was in May."

Buffy laughed at the other woman's literal take on life. "Right, right," she said. "Silly me." She led Anya to the car, opened the back door for her, and slid into the front next to Spike.

"Oh, I warrant your company now, then?" he teased. Buffy kissed him on the cheek, then turned around to Anya.

"Anya, this is Willow, she's doing the whole med school thing, and this is Spike, he's second-year lit, like us."

"Ah, yes, William!" Anya said brightly. "We were in Shakespeare together!"

"Right, where Alexander the Great Poofter mooned over you all quarter," Spike laughed, pulling the car away from the curb.

Anya's eyes widened. "You mean Xander Harris?" she asked, her voice now quieter. "You thought he was interested in me?" She swallowed nervously. "Xander is rather a handsome fella," she said to Willow. "I'm surprised he even noticed me."

"Aw, I'm sure he did," Willow replied politely.

"Do you think he'll be there?" Anya asked anxiously.

"Dunno," Buffy answered. "Is he single?" she asked Spike.

He laughed. "I'd wager so. Rather a pathetic git, if you ask me. Anya could do a lot better."

Anya sniffed. "What, like you, William?"

He glanced at Buffy, whose eyebrows were raised. "No, Miss Jenkins," Spike replied, "I'm afraid I'm off the market now."

"Oh, you got back together with that little counter girl at Starbucks? What was her name?"

Buffy was now looking extremely amused as she watched Spike squirm. "Eh, um..." he faltered, "I think you must have me confused with --"

"No, no, it was you, I remember you talking to Giles during break one night about this pretty girl who worked the espresso machine --"

Spike felt a sharp little pinch on his inner thigh. He squeaked out in a mix of mild discomfort and arousal, and Buffy grinned at him.

"Ah... that was Harmony," he admitted, "but I've moved on to much, much greener pastures now."

"Good answer," Buffy said.

Anya looked back and forth at the two in the front seat. "Huh?" she said, then it finally dawned on her. "Oh! Oh!" she said excitedly. "You two?! Oh, how very precious!" Buffy and Spike smiled shyly. "I never would have put you together, though," Anya continued. "Oil and water, night and day, good and evil..."

Willow shrugged. "They say opposites attract, although I never really subscribed to that theory myself."

"Oh, right, yes, Buffy told me of your lesbianism," Anya chirped.

Willow blushed. She decided she wasn't terribly fond of this Anya chick's lack of tactfulness, and was relieved when the car finally turned into the lot behind Martin Hall.

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She was talking with Travers and Snyder, and the spectacle of it was giving him heartburn. Scratch that, not so much "talking with" as "chatting up," he realized, watching her throw her head back as she laughed at some stupid joke Snyder was telling. Travers was far too old for Jenny, Giles thought, and Snyder? Well, Snyder was a weasely little man who looked like he'd be more at home as a "Star Trek" alien than as assistant dean of liberal arts.

How very uncharitable of you, Rupert, he thought guiltily. He skulked away to get another tumblerful of scotch, which he now desperately needed.

Jenny excused herself from the two boorish men she'd been using to make Giles jealous and followed the natty Englishman into the kitchenette. "Feeling a little neglected?" she murmured.

Startled, Giles whirled around. "Er... no, no, not a bit of it," he stammered.

Jenny glided over to him. "Isn't that your third one?" she asked, indicating his full glass of amber liquid.

With righteous indignation, Giles slammed back the drink in one quick swallow, grimacing slightly. "Keeping track, are you?"

Jenny shrugged. "I know it's none of my business, but you don't hold your liquor very well, Rupert."

"You're right, it's none of your business," he said with a hint of anger. "And I'll stop drinking now. Wouldn't want to make any... mistakes," he finished pointedly.

Jenny's face fell. "The other night was a mistake?" she asked quietly.

Seeing her hurt, Giles softened. "No," he answered after a moment. "It was..."

She looked up at him with fear and worry.

"It was beautiful," he said, smiling at the memory of their limbs entwined. He put his glass down on the counter, reached to brush an errant lock of raven hair from her forehead. "Jenny, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make it seem as though I was ashamed of you."

She regarded him tenderly. "Don't worry about it. I know it's still kind of new, and it probably is wise to keep it quiet. That is," she said, her expression turning concerned again, "if you want to continue --"

"Wisdom... hmm, yes, wisdom... " he interrupted wistfully. "I definitely want to continue, Jenny, and propriety be damned." He took her in his arms, and she gasped in surprise as he proceeded to give her a dramatic kiss, holding her tight as he dipped her.

"Jinkies!" Xander said, shocked at the sight of the couple in such a romantic-movie-clinch. "I, uh, I really don't need that beer now." He breezed back out of the room, flushed with embarrassment, yet gleeful now that he had possession of major gossip fodder.

Giles and Jenny never noticed him.

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The foursome entered the office and took in the crowd of mingling students and professors, Vince Guaraldi piping through unseen speakers. As Anya drifted off to find Xander, Willow nervously asked Buffy to point out Tara. Buffy scanned the room briefly, then spotted her in conversation with Jonathan.

"There she is," she said.

Willow's eyes widened. "Oh, goodness, she's..."

"Hot?" Spike offered with a smirk.

"Um... yeah," Willow murmured.

"She's also very shy, Will, so wait and let us introduce you, okay?" Buffy started to pull off her shrug, then stopped as she saw Willow's eyes widen.

"What?"

"Ah, Buffy, you might not want --" Willow's eyes darted around, trying not to look at her friend. "Just, um, leave that on, okay?" She straightened the short velvet jacket back over Buffy's shoulders. "I'm gonna go get a drink, be right back." The redhead swept out in search of a beverage, and Buffy turned to Spike, who was regarding her with utter amusement.

"What?!" Buffy repeated, now totally baffled. "Why should I leave this on? It's warm in here."

Spike leaned over her, his lips brushing her ear. "I don't mind if you take it off, pet," he whispered, "but you've got one helluva love bite, right here." He patted the right side of her neck where it met her collarbone. "Surprised you didn't notice." He backed up an inch to take in her reaction.

Clearly, she hadn't noticed, but she didn't look truly annoyed or shocked, just gazed up at him as he continued to smile with guiltless pride, thinking of the brand he'd left on her.

"Why didn't you tell me, you bad thing?" she whispered.

"And ruin all the fun?" he replied. "Too bad Red warned you, would've loved to see you try to explain it to all your little friends." He chuckled, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Pig," she accused, but it came out sounding like an endearment.

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"And so I told him, 'The Merchant of Venice' isn't about racism, it's about --"

"Capitalism," Anya finished.

Xander was surprised, turned from Dr. Snyder and looked at Anya with awe.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed.

"Well, of course it is, any ninny can see that!" she agreed.

Snyder looked bored. "I think Dustin Hoffman's interpretation of Shylock negated that perspective, Mr. Harris," he offered, but no one was listening to him. He glanced about the room, then spotted something requiring his attention.

"You there! That tree is highly flammable!" he called as he moved from Xander and Anya. "Put that cigarette OUT!"

"Spike's so pretentious," Xander said, shaking his head sadly. "He thinks he's this brilliant guy with all the answers."

"He does tend to reach for the most circuitous explanation of things," Anya said. "I prefer more direct routes to interpretation."

"Me, too!" Xander cried happily.

Anya smiled. "Well, perhaps we should talk somewhere a little less crowded," she cooed. "I'd love to hear more of your theories."

"Aw, shucks, ma'am," he said, offering her his arm. "I got a million of 'em."

She curled her arm around his. "I just finished Dr. Wood's children's literature class," she told him as they walked out of the office. "What's your take on the rabbit in 'Alice in Wonderland'?"

"Never really thought about it," he admitted.

Anya gasped. "You should! Xander, it's a symbol of pure evil! The whole book can be seen as an allegory of Dante's 'Inferno,' with Alice's first encounter with the rabbit as her initiation into a land of dark vileness!" She shuddered against him. "Nasty little hell beast, that bunny, all 'I'm late! I'm late!' Damn right you're late, late for your meeting with Satan!"

Xander chuckled. This girl was fascinating.

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Willow found the kitchenette, nearly bumping into a couple on their way out. The man mumbled an apology in a clipped English accent, and Willow thought she heard the woman whisper something to him about finding an empty janitor's closet. She shook her head. The holidays made everybody horny, she thought.

She reached for the last MGD Light in the refrigerator, when another hand fell upon the bottle at the same time.

"Oh, I'm sorry," a timid voice said.

She turned to see Tara behind her.

Willow gave her a tiny smile and handed her the beer.

"I couldn't, no, no, that's okay, you had it first," Tara protested.

Still not saying a word, Willow looked around the kitchenette and spotted a stack of red plastic cups. She poured half the bottle into one and handed it to the other girl.

"We can share," she said. Tara grinned.

"Thanks."

Willow offered her hand to the shy blonde. "I'm Willow, I'm a friend of Buffy's."

"Y-yeah, I, um, I know," Tara said. Instead of shaking Willow's hand, she just held it, and it didn't seem odd or awkward to Willow, just warm and... right. "I've seen you around, hanging out together."

Their hands finally parted, and each took a sip of their drinks. "Nice party," Willow observed. "You guys in the English department know how to get down."

Tara laughed, tiny and musical, a beautiful sound to Willow's ears. "Yeah, we're bad to the bone," she joked. "You should stay 'til at least midnight, that's when the strippers are coming."

"I'd say the night was a rousing success," Buffy sighed, flopping down in exhaustion on Spike's couch. He locked the front door, then went to the kitchen to begin making coffee.

"You're quite the little matchmaker, aren't you?" he called. "Harris and Anya, the two pretty little birds... you ought to think about a sideline, run your own dating service."

With the machine beginning to gurgle and spurt, he went back to the living room, finding Buffy now sans jacket, the scarlet bruise flagrantly adorning her neck like a full-blossomed rose. He sat down next to her and scooped her up onto his lap.

She snuggled against the lapel of his blazer and kicked her shoes off. "What about Calendar and Giles?" she asked. "I think there's something going on between them, too."

"You have something to do with that one, blondie?"

"No, that one's just gravy."

"Like to see people all happily paired off, do you?"

She nodded. "Everyone should be in love." Immediately, though, she worried at the implication of that. She didn't necessarily really believe the comment, it was just something to say to explain her joy at seeing people find someone. Even finding someone didn't mean you loved them, not completely, not in the way that could consume and destroy you with its power.

When he tipped her face to his to kiss her, electric tingles running through her tipsy head, she decided these worries were not a pressing matter. She moved to straddle him, silencing all coherent thought with the distraction of more kisses.

He sat up, his back away from the cushions, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, the hem of her dress hitching up to reveal flashes of creamy bare thighs at the line between stockings and garter belt. He braced one forearm against her back, the other beneath her legs, and stood up, carefully easing them into the bedroom.

The forgotten coffeemaker gave one final hiss and sputter before it finished percolating.

Kneeling on the bed with him standing before her, Buffy scrambled to remove his jacket and shirt, Spike deliberately offering no assistance. One thin strap of her dress had fallen, and he gilgerly slid the other from her shoulder. She was eager, moving quickly, wanting him badly, but he continued to touch her gently, slowly, softly, in return. He allowed himself to be pulled onto the mattress on his back, watching delightedly as Buffy peeled off her dress. Underneath, she wore a lacy strapless bra that pushed her breasts together into small, perky snowdrifts, and he reached to tenderly coax one nipple free from its confinement, brushing his fingers against the hardening peak.

She lowered herself to hover above him, weight resting on her wrists, more hungry kisses falling on his lips, long ash-blond hair in a curtain of soft curls around his face, then she slowly let herself fall completely on top of him, sliding her tongue along his throat as she moved to undo his pants.

He couldn't continue playing passive any longer, and Spike whipped off Buffy's bra in one quick motion, flinging the offending garment across the room. He raised himself up and took one nipple in his mouth, kneading her other breast with his hand. She pulled him back into a seated position, wrapping her legs around his back again, and tried valiantly to finish removing his pants, managing only to free his cock. She began stroking it, slowly at first, then with more zeal.

Spike cupped both her breasts together in his hands, admiring the tantalizing line of cleavage, then ran his tongue between them and up the small spate of breastbone to her neck, pulling her closer to allow him access to her mouth. He sucked hungrily at her bottom lip as she kept her hand wrapped around him, getting him harder, making him ache for her.

He wondered if they should stop. They hadn't really made love since that first time, not really, not completely, and he began to feel his conscience get the better of his libido. The crotch of her panties was maddelingly close to his balls, and he tell how wet she was becoming. He briefly tried to remember how much she'd had to drink tonight.

He took her hand in his and slowly moved it from his penis. She let out a little whimper of disappointment, and he held her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes.

"I want you," he said, his tone serious. "We're together. We've played around quite a bit these last couple of days, but if we keep doing that, I'm going to want you even more, and I don't know..."

Buffy tried to steady herself, considering his words through her heady, passionate haze. Take things slow, she reminded herself. Always better to take things slow. He was right before.

But his erection still pulsed against her, and she didn't know if she cared anymore about what was better.

"What do you want?" she said, her voice husky and low. "I'll understand either way, but... what do you really want?"

He was breathing heavily, and he closed his eyes. "Oh, god, Buffy," he murmured.

He swept her into his arms again, his lips lighting fires that burned through her entire body. "I want you," he said again, the words muffled against her neck. "I love you."

She stiffened imperceptibly at the last three words, then let herself relax briefly when she felt him push her panties to one side and pull her onto him. He fell, and she moved her legs out from under his back, riding him hard, harder, 'til finally her movements were almost violent. She felt a sudden strange need to punish him for saying he loved her, to fuck the terror out of her heart that this... this perfect thing... could really be real.

Hell, he'd been married once, and clearly that was ending in a blaze of hatred. Her own parents had split with nearly as much animosity between them. Having him as a boyfriend, a lover, a friend and partner... that was one thing. Actually admitting love...

He groaned beneath her, nearing his climax, and when Buffy came, tears were streaming freely down her face. "Goddamn it!" she cried as she felt the shuddering whoosh of her orgasm. "Goddamn you, William."

She collapsed next to him, and he propped himself up on one elbow to look at her, sobbing and shaking. "Little one," he said comfortingly. He stroked her hair, gently kissed her forehead. "What is it? What did I do?"

He could hurt her again, he could leave her, he could crush and destroy her now. Hell, maybe he had even more exes out there, just waiting to make life miserable. He held all the cards now, because he'd said what she'd been only thinking before.

"You made me love you, you bastard," she choked out, pounding a tiny fist against his chest. "I love you, I love you..." she repeated, dissolving into tears again.

And when she was finally quiet, he kissed all her tears away, whispering her name as he administered each one.

It was a bright, sunny winter morning, and the sight of the priest adding a final flourish to his signature filled Spike's heart with glee. He didn't look at Drusilla, who sat in the chair next to him, melodramatically clad head-to-foot in black, or else he would've seen her face screwed up into a bitter scowl.

Copies were made, words of advice were spoken by the priest about the implications of anulling a marriage, but Spike wasn't listening, just counting the seconds 'til he could walk out of the church, free now not just in the eyes of the law, but in the spiteful little heart of his ex-wife, too.

They'd taken separate cars this time, and Drusilla caught his arm as he unlocked the door of the DeSoto.

"It's not too late to start over," she said.

He thought of pulling away from her, but didn't. He sighed, pushed away all other thoughts for the time being, and decided to listen to her for a moment.

They had been together, they had been husband and wife, and, crazy and eccentric and cruel though she may have been, Spike realized that perhaps he did owe Drusilla a few final moments of his time.

He let himself recall the good times, the passion, the heat, the way he used to watch her sleep, impatiently waiting for her huge brown eyes to flutter open every morning to greet him. She had always been beautiful, even as her actions had gradually turned ugly, even as her mind had hardened into a bizarre, twisted funhouse mirror image of her once sweet self.

For all her claims about believing marriage should last forever, clinging to one last shred of her Catholic upbringing and all its dogmatic implications, Spike knew Drusilla's claim to want to start over was actually hollow, and in all her half-hearted attempts to win him back over the years of their separations, she'd really only been going through the motions, saying what she thought she was supposed to.

"You don't deserve me, Dru," he said quietly. "You deserve excitement, intensity, insanity, even."

She looked surprised at his sudden gentility. He caressed her cheek.

"You'll always be my dark princess," he said.

He kissed her forehead, and then he was gone.

Drusilla let out a shaky breath, held a hand to her heart to calm its fluttering, then proceeded to her rental car and drove away.

She never saw the man who'd been her husband again.

His arms laden with bags, he had no hand free to unlock the door himself, so Spike was left to bang on it with the steel toe of one boot. He kept kicking the wood 'til the door flew open, the abruptness of it causing him to lose his balance and topple onto the stoop.

"Oh, honey!" Buffy cried. She knelt beside him and lifted his head from the concrete. "Are you okay?!"

Spike smiled when he saw her. "Just fine, luv," he assured her. She helped him to his feet, but he stopped her when she tried to pick up his packages.

"Ah, ah, ah! There's things you shouldn't be seein' in there!"

"Christmas presents? For me?" she asked.

"Now, now, now, get inside, missy," he instructed. She smiled and walked back into the apartment.

He came in after a moment and made a mad dash for the spare room, the door of which he shut soundly after dropping his bounty inside. "Off limits for you now, pet," he told her.

He crossed the room and kissed her deeply. "So, what've you been up to today, then?"

"Well, I got the last of my applications sent out for doctoral programs, and, oh! I almost forgot! Xander and Anya's engagement party is tonight. She called to remind us."

Spike grumbled. "Bloody hell, I can't believe Harris is makin' me be his best man." He sat down in his easy chair, and Buffy perched on the the arm rest.

"Come on, Spike. They said we were responsible for them getting together, so it was only natural we should be best man and maid of honor. Anyway, the wedding's still months away." She tried to coax a smile out of him by playing with the soft messy curls of his hair. "This is just a little party..."

"Can't believe those two made it through a week together, much less a year," Spike said. Buffy leaned over him and began to nibble his earlobe. He sighed. "All right, I'll go, I'll go, I'll do anything you want, as long as you keep... doing that..."

She giggled. "Not now, I still have a few more presents to wrap." She started to get up, but Spike pulled her down onto his lap.

"I have a present for you right now," he said.

"Oo, does it have a nice package?" she purred, wriggling a little against him.

"Mmm, ah, hey, don't distract me," he smiled. He eased her off of him and got up, then indicated the chair. "Sit down, and stay quiet," he told her playfully.

Then, suddenly, his joviality was replaced with seriousness, and he knelt at her feet.

"Don't know the right words to say, really," he said, sounding fearful and young. "Just know that I love you, and I'll be damned if Harris shows me up at anything."

He pulled a tiny blue box from the inside of his coat, opening it to reveal a modest but perfect diamond set in white gold.

She was smiling, shocked, but giddy and beaming. "I don't know what to say!" she managed, knowing full well what she wanted to say.

"Just say yes," he replied, "and make me the happiest man on earth."

It was yes, ("A thousand times yes!") and when Buffy and Spike arrived at the party that night, the engagement ring sparkled on her left hand.

Xander and Spike stood together by the punch bowl, an uneasy truce now forged between the two, as they watched their fiancées squeal over respective wedding plans.

"Anya's ring is bigger," Xander informed Spike.

Spike took a swig from his Heineken. "Yeah? Well, we're gonna have our wedding a month before yours, just to piss you off."

"Whatever, dude, that just means I get an extra month of freedom," Xander countered.

"No, means you don't get honeymoon sex as soon as I do," Spike replied.

"What, is honeymoon sex better than regular sex?" Xander asked.

Spike didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow at Xander.

Flustered, Xander tried to come up with a retort. "Well, well, you know, Anya's ring is bigger," he said again.

Feeling wicked, Spike smiled sadly at Xander. "Yeah, mate, I know. And Buffy's is smaller. But, hey, inversely proportional, you know, you gotta make up for it somehow, don'tcha?"

Then he winked.

"What?!" Xander cried. "Hey, man, I am not --"

Spike waved a hand in the air. "Pish, Harris, you know what they say, 'size doesn't matter.' Hang on to that hope."

"How would you even know --"

Spike leaned in conspiratorially to Xander. "Women. They talk. A lot."

With that, Spike left Xander to fume alone, sneaking up behind Buffy, grabbing her in a bear hug, and pulling her away from Anya to disappear into the crowd.

"Anya!" Xander called. "We need to have a little chat!"