Spike’s ears were apparently not deceiving him, as the reply came, again from behind him. “The one and only.”

He turned, having regained control of his motor functions, and they stared at each other from across the room. Clem looked from one to the other, a goofy smile on his face, then realised he probably wasn’t wanted. “I’ll… um… I’ll let you… uh… talk.” He made himself very quickly scarce.

They stood a reasonable distance apart and continued to stare across the void. Spike had a Hell of a lot of things he wanted to say, and he knew that simply blurting in with an “I’m sorry” wasn’t going to cut it. Instead, he stayed on common, safe ground. “So… Dawn’s fine?”

Buffy swallowed her nerves, still recovering from having him practically land on her a few hours earlier. “Y-yeah. Just a little shaken up at seeing you back.”

“Right.”

The Slayer took a step forwards. “Okay. You wanted to talk, so let’s talk. You can start with where you’ve been, why you left, and how the heck you ended up in my bedroom.”

“That’s my starter for three, is it?” he asked, rhetorically. “Afraid not, love. See, I’ve got this sorted in my head. Or thought I had. Plan was, I got sent back to Sunnydale, sought you out, apologised, then spent the next few weeks living with you hating me, until I managed to make you realise you loved me.” He removed his duster, throwing it over the back of the armchair. “But that all went a bit wrong, didn’t it?”

“I think I prefer my way,” she said, her voice emotionless. Spike could tell it was forced, however.

“Fine,” he muttered. “We’ll do this your way. You, uh, might wanna sit down for this.” He gestured in the vague direction of his sparse furniture. Buffy chose the couch, sitting down and on her hands so she wouldn’t be forced to fidget. Spike remained standing and leaned on a wall, wincing as one of his wounds complained at the contact.

“I’m sitting,” she pointed out when he still hadn’t started explaining. “So let’s get this over with.”

Spike gazed at her, attempting to figure out what sort of a mood she was in. Could he get away with jokes? Was she expecting him to pour his heart out to her? Her expression was completely blank, however, so he decided to just get it over with. “First question,” he clarified, “was where I’ve been.” Buffy nodded. Matter-of-factly, as if he did such a thing every day of his unlife, he said, “Africa.”

“Africa?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Doubtless the ‘why you left’ part will cover that…”

“Yeah.” He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and prepared himself for the worst. “I left after… that night.” Neither of them particularly wanted to remember that, so he hastily carried on. “I just couldn’t stand it any more. Do you realise, Slayer, that was only the second time I’ve felt guilty in over a century? The first time was after you died… your buddies’ll all tell you that much.” He was digressing a little far from his point, so he stopped, and regrouped his thoughts before continuing. “Anyway. I thought it was all to do with that bloody chip. The guilt… being in love with you… all of it. So I went to Africa to see this shaman bloke and asked him to make me what I was, so I could give you what you deserved.”

She looked incredulous, having read between the lines and come to the logical conclusion. “You went to get the chip out?”

“Short of ripping out my undead heart, Buffy, what else could I do?” His tone was bitter as he said this, and she winced, only slightly. It was still enough that he noticed, however, and he carried on, owing her an explanation. “So, he put me through a load of trials; all sorts of things. Fighting big buggers with torches, beetle swarms - you name it, I probably went through it.” Realisation dawned, as the scars she’d seen suddenly made sense.

“God…” She shuddered at the thought, then shook it off. “Well, you’re still here, so I’ll assume you passed them all.”

“You’d be assuming correctly. I did pass, just; damn near killed me, though.” This would, ordinarily, be the part where he told her about the soul. Except it didn’t feel like the right time, not yet, so he skirted around it. “The shaman kept his end of the deal and granted my request, then, to cut a long story short, made me wait three weeks in the blistering African heat before he sent me back here. I wasn’t anticipating to fall straight through your bloody bedroom ceiling, though, believe me. Oh, and incidentally, your floor is really hard.”

“I apologise,” she said, sarcastically. “I’ll install nice, fluffy pillows, should you feel to drop in unannounced again…”

He ignored the comment. “Well, that’s the long and short of it, love. But we’re not done talking, yet.”

“You’re damn right we’re not,” she said, getting up from the couch and pacing. “You left without a word. Not that I cared, not after what you did. But Dawn, Spike… you didn’t even say goodbye to her. She knows, by the way. About what happened. Xander told her.”

“Wanker… How did he find out?”

“He found me in the bathroom- Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s old news, and I do not want to discuss it.”

“Giles knows, too, doesn’t he? It’s not like him to make death threats without good reason.”

“He does… because I told him everything about a week ago.”

“So the happy band of Scoobies is back together again, huh?” She nodded. “Hey, wait a minute… Giles is back… When?” Then something else dawned on him. “And where’s Tara?”

Buffy’s head dropped. She’d forgotten that Spike had missed the entire apocalypse situation. “A lot of stuff happened while you were gone. Right after you were gone, actually… We managed to separate the three geeks, got Jonathan and that other one thrown in jail. Warren got away… for about a day. Then, he came back, with a gun, and tried to kill me.” Spike, concern etched into his features, made to move towards her, but she gestured for him to back off. “I’m fine… But Tara… she… she got the second bullet that was meant for me… she died. In Willow’s arms.”

“Oh my God…” Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Poor girl. I liked her. She was one of the good ones…”

“Yeah, she was.” Buffy sniffed. “Afterwards, Willow just went crazy and absorbed all this Dark Magic. She pulled the bullet out of me - saved my life, in fact - then went after Warren on this insane rampage. We ended up having to protect Jonathan and his buddy from her. Willow tried to hurt us all; she nearly turned Dawn back into energy, ended up fighting me… and that’s when Giles appeared with a load of borrowed magic, to battle her. His plan went horribly wrong and she decided to try and end the world. Dawn and I were stuck underground fighting off earth-monsters, Anya was trying to keep Giles alive after Willow practically ripped him apart along with the Magic Box, and Xander… well… saved everyone.”

“The Whelp?” She nodded. “How?”

She shrugged. “What I heard, he just… told her he loved her.”

Spike snorted somewhat derisively. “If only it was that simple all the time.” He looked at her. “So even if I hadn’t succeeded in the trials, it really wouldn’t have mattered much, would it? I’d’ve ended up dead either way.”

Buffy rounded on him, all of her previous frustration finally coming to a head. “You think you had it so bad, don’t you, just because you had to undergo some stupid trials! We needed you, Spike, down in that crypt with the nasties. I needed you to protect Dawn, and you weren’t there…”

Equally frustrated, Spike started yelling back at her. “I did it all for you, Slayer! I left because of what I’d done, to you. I wanted the chip out so I could get revenge, on you, or so I thought. The bloody shaman showed me what I really wanted, and it wasn’t vengeance. So before you start worrying about me going off and killing all your little friends, don’t - the sodding chip’s still in my head, and I have a sparkly new soul to go with it…”

They both stopped dead still as his sentence trailed off, Spike in shock at his letting it slip, and Buffy figuring out how to react. She chose anger. “Oh… I get it… You think that you can just go off and get a soul and I’ll fall into your arms. Doesn’t work like that, Spike…”

“Maybe not. After all, I’m not your precious Angel, am I? I never will be, and I’m not trying to be.” His tone softened again, and he retreated to his armchair, sinking into it heavily. “The last thing I wanted was to turn into the annoying broody type, but I’m beginning to see the advantages…”

Buffy refused to be taken in by what she assumed to be an act to gain sympathy. Her anger had dissipated, though, but it meant she resorted to cruel jibes instead. “Well. I guess that’ll teach you not to eat people, won’t it. Or try to rape them.” She’d forgiven him, and told herself, her sister, and Giles the same thing… but she was definitely not ready to admit that to Spike. He looked up at her, his expression suddenly different, more pleading.

“Buffy… please…”

“Please what?”

“Listen to me… I’ve relived that night so many times I’ve lost count; you have absolutely no idea how much it hurts. And I know that no amount of apologies in the world would be enough.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “And what makes you think I’d accept any apology you make?” Spike could do nothing but stare at her. He was sure they’d be able to talk it through like grown ups, but apparently, all Buffy wanted to do was make him feel worse. “I could never accept it, Spike…” she continued, “not when there’s so much I have to apologise for, too.”

That one threw him for a loop and it took him several seconds to react. “Like what?” She didn’t answer; she hadn’t been anticipating this part of the conversation, and both of their mouths had run away with them. In truth, she wasn’t ready to deal with even thinking about the implications of Spike’s having a soul, and was attempting to avoid the issue completely. She moved back to the couch she’d recently vacated and sat down heavily. When she still hadn’t answered, Spike got up from the chair and moved to stand closer so he could see her better. “Buffy?” he pushed.

“I used you…” she murmured.

“We’ve been over this one, love,” Spike said, quietly.

“I know…” Dropping her head so she wouldn’t have to face him, she said, “I’m sorry. For… for everything. Using you. Putting you down. Not believing you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Gimme a chance, here, pet… I wasn’t expecting a full-blown apology from you.”

“Well, you got one.”

“Yeah.” There was a brief pause, as Spike decided to risk decapitation and sat on the opposite end of the couch, a safe distance from her. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. More than you know.” They sat there, next to each other but not touching, both staring at the floor as he continued. “You remember I said that every night after you died, I dreamt that I saved you?” He sensed rather than saw her nod. “Well, every night in Africa after I got the soul, I dreamt that I managed to stop myself before…” He trailed off and let it linger, not really wanted to carry on.

After a few seconds, Buffy looked across at him. He was leaning forwards, head in his hands. She could tell he’d changed; gone was the cocky, sarcastic Spike she’d known only a month or so ago, and in his place was a broken, hurting shell, battling with his own memories. He was a far cry from being like Angel had been, but, then again, he hadn’t been given the soul as a punishment like Angel had. Buffy doubted that Spike was seeing it that way, though; he appeared to be struggling with something even as she watched him.

Spike sensed her staring at him and looked up, straight across at her. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were red-rimmed as if he’d spent the last week crying - she supposed that was a logical side effect of receiving a soul and coping with it for the first time - and then, shocked, she saw all the pain and hurt of over a century’s-worth of victims reflecting back at her as he relived them all, one by one. He was wearing the exact same expression as he had in her bathroom, right after she’d kicked him across the room, only the remorse and guilt were three times worse and far more obvious. She had to look away.

“Spike,” she said, her voice trying to be reassuring. “We both know that nothing happened that night…”

“No… but it could have. Because I was too stubborn to notice that you didn’t want me in your life anymore.”

“I’ll agree with you on the last point.” She aimed for a humorous tone, but was only partly successful. “But… but you have to stop beating yourself up over it. Nothing happened. Okay, something nearly did… and it’s probably partially my fault for coming to you in the first place, all that time ago… but you did nothing wrong.” She hoped she sounded convincing enough that he’d believe her without his personal guilt trip taking it the wrong way.

He smiled a weak smile of gratitude. “Thanks, Slayer…” The smile disappeared again. “I’m not gonna ask for your forgiveness, though. Don’t think I deserve that, somehow.”

Buffy looked up again, so he could see she was serious when she replied, “You don’t have to.”

Well, it wasn’t an ‘I forgive you’, but it would do. Spike smiled again, wider. Neither of them knew how to continue, and an awkward silence filled the air of the crypt as his smile fell. He’d realised what had been inevitable from the moment she arrived. “So… this is it, then… This is the part where you tell me it really is over.”

Buffy said nothing. She still wasn’t ready to admit just how much she’d missed him, but, despite the fact she’d forgiven him, being around him still reminded her of that night, and it still hurt her to think about it. When he appeared in her room only a few hours previously, it had taken every ounce of her will power not to throw her arms around him and never let go; she was still irritated with herself for breaking down in hysterical tears in front of him. He’d nearly kissed her - that had been like a jolt of electricity in her brain, telling her to be sensible.

Spike wasn’t good for her, and she wasn’t good for him, and if they carried on like they had been, they’d end up destroying each other. Now… how to tell him that…

Sadly, she finally said, “Spike, it was always over. You know that.”

He nodded. “Yeah, well, it was a nice sort of ‘over’ while it lasted…”

They’d reached that stage of serious conversation where neither of them really knew what they were saying, but everything made perfect sense in their heads. Neither of them particularly seemed to care, either. Then, in a sudden burst of pro-activity, Buffy got to her feet. “I should go. Gotta work tomorrow.”

Spike made no effort to stop her, at first, merely continued staring at his feet. Before she reached the ladder and the trapdoor, however, he suddenly got to his feet, attracting her attention again. “Buffy, wait…” She raised her eyebrows to indicate that she would comply, for the moment, and waited for him to continue. He felt like a teenager trying to ask out his crush. In fact, he felt like William the Bloody Awful Poet again. Very quietly, knowing it was pathetic, but not really caring, he asked, “Am I going to see you again?”

The question, in its innocence, surprised her. “Uh… Maybe. Dawn’ll probably want to see you so I can’t say ‘no’ and stick to it, reasonably. But… I think we both need time. I need time…”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” He waved his hand to indicate she could leave. She got halfway up the ladder when he spoke again, not looking in her direction. “You’re the reason I came back, y’know…” Buffy dropped down again. He’d obviously got some things he needed to say and she couldn’t leave without letting him do so. “How’s that for feeble-bloody-minded? I left because of you and then couldn’t stand being away from you. Truth be told, I missed you every soddin’ second I was there…”

He raised his head to meet her gaze, infinite sadness in his eyes. Buffy hoped beyond hope that he wouldn’t start crying; she wasn’t sure she could handle it if he did. “See, the thing with this soul is, it… it hurts. Every single moment, every memory, the whole package. If I’d thought I could cope with this on my own, I’d be elsewhere right now, not botherin’ you or anyone else again. ‘Cept I can’t. Cope with it. And…” He lost the battle with his pride, and fell to his knees directly in front of her, grabbing onto her as if his life depended on it. To both their surprise, she didn’t push him off. With his head on her stomach, he sputtered out, “I need you, Buffy… I can’t… can’t do this… alone.”

Despite her better judgement, Buffy let sympathy win her emotional battle. She ran a hand softly over his hair in a vague gesture of comfort, slightly shaken by his sudden show of weakness. “Spike-“ A loud sob cut her off, which he’d obviously tried to stifle and failed. She tried again. “Spike, get up. Come on…” He did the exact opposite, holding on tighter; she reached around behind her and prised his hands away, tugging on them slightly to make him move. “C’mon… you’re gonna hate yourself for this in the morning…”

He shook his hands from her grasp and let them drop limply at his sides, staring at the floor. “’Bout time I had something else to hate myself for-“

“Stop it!” Her raised voice caused him to look up, tear-streaked face strangely curious. She’d adopted the same expression she used when Dawn was being stubborn, and it somehow had the desired effect of making him get to his feet, finally, although he said nothing. “Good… Now. Listen. I know it’s all horrible right now; I imagine this is a lot like how it was for me when I… came back. But you’re stronger than this; I know you are. You don’t need me-“

“Yes, I-“

“No, you don’t.” He obviously wasn’t going to believe her. She frowned. “Let me put it another way. I am not going to be the one who sticks Band-Aids on all your scrapes, or… or kisses it all better. You won’t be alone - you can see Dawn. Or Dawn can see you. Whichever works best. But I can’t make the pain go away, Spike. I’ve been through that once with Angel, and I’m not doing it again, you hear me?”

He nodded, numbly. “S-sorry… I never thought about that. Bloody idiot…” he chastised himself. Then, a glimmer of the old Spike, the one she knew and… knew, resurfaced. “But I’m not going to lie to you about how I feel, Buffy.”

“Didn’t think you would. I think I preferred it when you hated me; life was easier that way.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a fine line between love and hate, pet. A heartbeat.” For some reason, Buffy found the profound statement incredibly moving. “I thought I could jump that line; thought it would be that easy, to just switch back, with the shaman’s help. But the heart wants what it wants… and mine, as non-functional as it is, still wants you.” Unbidden, memories of whatever had constituted as their past together came back. With all the honesty and sincerity he could muster, he said, “I love you. Probably always bloody will. I won’t make you stay, or get back to where we left off, but… just promise me you won’t… leave me. I can’t handle it.”

Buffy, blinking back tears of her own when she realised how serious he was, could do nothing but nod weakly. “I… I promise.”

Content with that, and knowing that she meant it somehow, Spike stared at her for a few seconds as he tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came, except, “Thank you.”

After a moment, they came to an unspoken agreement that the Conversation was officially finished. Buffy started to make her way back up to the upper level of the crypt as he watched her. She disappeared from view momentarily, then stuck her head through the open trapdoor again. “It’s… good to have you back,” she admitted quickly, then vanished again.

Spike waited until her footsteps were no longer audible before collapsing into the armchair with a half-bottle of strong vodka. He certainly hadn’t expected his return to be balloons and fireworks, but he’d had no idea whatsoever that it would end up being so damn difficult. He couldn’t cope with any more soul-induced guilt trips tonight, so, flipping on the television, he drowned his sorrows in the alcohol, and hoped he’d pass out before sanity kicked in and reminded him of his pathetic display earlier on…

Outside, in the cemetery, Buffy had managed to get approximately two metres from the crypt door before her knees gave way. She was now sitting on a small headstone, head in her hands, wondering how on Earth she was going to get Spike through it all. Her Slayer training didn’t cover vampire psychotherapy. In the back of her mind, she wondered, only briefly, if Spike’s soul had the same conditions that Angel’s had…

Buffy returned home just as it was getting light, having spent the entire rest of her night sitting on the same headstone, just plucking up enough courage to get up and not go back to Spike’s crypt. She was too close as it was, and she knew that he knew she was out there. Eventually, as the sun began to rise, and she was certain he wouldn’t venture out to follow her (at least, that’s what she told herself), she headed home.

She got back just before five, and closed the door quietly so as not to wake everyone, before tiptoeing up the stairs. She was stopped in her tracks by Anya’s frantic whisper.

“Buffy!”

The Slayer gestured for Anya to come closer so they wouldn’t wake Giles. “What is it, Anya?”

The justice demon leaned closer, and, looking around conspiratorially in case they were being listened to, said, “Spike’s… uh… got a soul. Hasn’t he?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “How did you…?” Then she realised that Anya, being of the demonic ilk, was bound to have noticed just by looking at him. She nodded. “Yeah, he has.”

“Well, I know it’s not my place to say this - and I’ll understand if you decide to ignore my advice - but I think he’s going to need you to help him through it.”

Buffy blinked at her. Anya, of all people, was being insightful, and she was also right. “He seemed to think so, too,” she said, thoughtfully. Snapping out of it, she nodded again. “Thanks, Anya.”

With that, she headed up the stairs. Anya watched her go, briefly considered sleep until she heard Giles snoring from the armchair, then realised it would most likely be impossible. She made her way upstairs to the bathroom, intending to get a headstart on being up and about, since she was now awake and fairly alert. She could surprise them all by making breakfast.

Upon emerging from the bathroom, she noticed, in the dim, early-morning light, that Willow’s bedroom door was open. Ordinarily, Anya would have thought nothing of it and ignored it, but then she heard the quiet, anguished moan emanating from inside. Curiosity piqued, she approached and peered inside.

It was dark, but still light enough that she could see. Willow was evidently having some kind of nightmare, as she was writing under the covers and talking in her sleep, and her face was set in an expression of utter despair. Next to her, dead to the world, Xander had crashed out, practically unconscious, his legs hanging over the end of the bed. He’d obviously been sitting watching over her before exhaustion had set in and caused him to keel over where he sat.

He couldn’t hear Willow’s cries, and therefore couldn’t comfort her. Rather nervously, Anya entered the room completely and headed over to perch on Willow’s side of the bed (which, in fact, had used to be Tara’s side.) The red head calmed momentarily, sensing the presence in her sleep even though she had no idea who it was, and Anya relaxed. She hadn’t been entirely sure how to calm her down. Just as she was about to leave, something compelled her not to. Instead, she remained where she was, and watched Xander sleeping.

He looked troubled, as they all did lately (Giles had gone to sleep with a frown on his face), and yet oddly peaceful, too. Anya had always enjoyed watching him sleep; sometimes, his facial muscles would twitch involuntarily, or he’d smile or frown at something in his dreams. She noted, only half-aware, that it still happened. At times like this, she felt like trying again with him, to ‘forgive-and-forget’, as so many people seemed to say. Then, he’d open his mouth and the spell would be broken again, and she’d remember the frightened child who couldn’t handle marrying her. She was a centuries-old vengeance demon, and, although in the body of a twenty-year old girl who seemed outwardly naïve about the world, had seen more and done more than Xander probably ever would in his remaining mortal years. Reflecting, she wondered how they’d ever managed to make it work, with such a ridiculously large age difference.

But then again, she’d heard that relationships with an age gap could work. Maybe, with some patience on both their parts, they could start over, although Anya doubted that either of them would want to try ‘the marriage thing’ again. “Well,” she muttered to herself, sighing, “it worked for Norma Desmond. Of course, she did end up shooting-“

Her verbal thought process was cut off by Willow again, as one of her moans turned into something more identifiable. “No… no… Tara!” Anya winced. This was the one thing she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with. Willow’s head began to shake from side to side. “No, you can’t die. You can’t leave me, baby…”

Her arms were now starting to flail about, so Anya intervened before she ended up getting hit. Somehow managing to grasp both of Willow’s wrists in one hand, more by luck than judgement, she placed her other palm tentatively on her hair, attempting to calm her.

To her surprise, Willow shot up to a sitting position, her back ram-rod straight, and looked about herself wildly. She focussed her attention on Anya only briefly before looking away again, still caught up in her half-nightmare. Anya gasped when she saw her eyes. They were dark, nearly black, and not simply because of the low lighting; Anya could see the Dark Magic within her, still lurking and trying to take hold, while Willow fought it with all her might.

When the ex-Wiccan looked back, her eyes were almost normal again. Anya grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Willow,” she hissed. “Wake up!”

She blinked. When she opened her eyes, she seemed to be aware of her surroundings again. “A-Anya?”

“Yes. You were having a bad dream.”

Willow nodded, then, not entirely aware of what she was saying, added, “My whole life is a bad dream without her…” Tears threatened to fall, until she realised who she was talking to. Only Xander was allowed to see her cry; that was the rules. “Sorry…” she muttered, blinking them back, and attempting to become ‘I’m-okay-honest Willow’.

“It’s fine,” said Anya. An uncomfortable silence hung between the girls. “I… I woke you up. In case you hurt yourself.”

“Th-thanks.” Willow frowned. “But… why are you in here? Thought you were all, y’know, cozy with Giles in the lounge.”

“Hardly cozy,” she admitted, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Xander, although he seemed to be completely out of it. “Buffy’s back. She woke me up and I decided sleep was futile and I should get up. I heard noises, so…”

“Oh. Me?”

“Yes. Bad dream?”

Willow nodded. “You have no idea…” She looked across at her sleeping friend. “Gee, poor Xander. I think I kept him up late again.” Then, just in case Anya suspected any bad intention, she clarified: “That is, what with the whole crying thing…”

Anya wasn’t concerned, not now she’d witnessed some of Willow’s true condition first hand. They both watched him a while. “He looks different like that,” she noted. “I almost…”

She let it linger, but Willow seemed to understand. “You know he still loves you. I mean, he doesn’t say so, but I can tell he does. And he misses you.”

“I know. The apartment is empty without him, too.” She sighed. “I think it’ll take a lot of time for the two of us to regain trust.”

“I guess…” That sounded familiar to her brief break-up with Tara, and tears stung her eyes again. Before she could think about it any further, though, Anya interrupted her thoughts, whether she’d realised or not.

“Xander loves you, too, you know. He always has.”

“Yeah. Things coulda been different if-“ Then, seeing that Anya’s expression was dropping, she backpedalled. “Hey, don’t worry. I love him in a friend-only way. Still very much of the gay.” Her supportive smile soon fell. “Well, actually, pretty much of the not-feeling-anything right now…

Anya had been watching Xander for some time, only really half-listening to Willow. When she tore her gaze from him, and noticed Willow looking sad again, she seemed to snap out of her own moping and adopted a chipper expression, one that she hoped didn’t look too false. “Oh, come on,” she urged. “Buck up!”

Willow proffered a weak smile, which seemed to satisfy. Then, she remembered something she’d mentioned earlier. “Oh! Did you say Buffy was back?”

“Yes. About an hour ago.”

“I didn’t know she was gone. Where was she?”

“Spike’s.”

“Is she-“

“She’s fine.”

“Good…” Remembering the incident in the hall, she asked, “Th-there’s something wrong with Spike, isn’t there?”

Anya nodded, surprised that she’d noticed it, too. “He’s got a soul. Somehow.”

“A soul? Like, the broody kind?”

“I don’t know, but Buffy’s confirmed that he has one. We’d better wait until she tells everyone, though, because I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”

“Sure…” Suddenly, they both realised it was a lot lighter, turning to face the window. “Wow. Guess I’d better get up.”

“Yes. I was going to make breakfast.”

“You… you want some help?”

Anya beamed, feeling very accepted by Willow’s simple request. “That would be lovely.”

“O-okay. Down in a minute.”

With a nod of gratitude, Anya headed downstairs again, and left Willow to get dressed. The red head got up carefully, trying not to disturb Xander - he’d managed to sleep through the entire conversation, somehow - then covered him with her half of the duvet so he’d be more comfortable. She made sure he was nicely ‘tucked in’ before leaving the room.

They spent a good two hours in Buffy’s kitchen trying to make enough pancakes for the entire household, occasionally nibbling on any that were too ‘funny-shaped’, but otherwise being silent. They were currently preparing the last batch, when Willow decided to strike up conversation again.

“Anya?”

“Mm?” she replied, through a mouthful of pancake.

“Uh… thanks… for being there this morning.”

Anya swallowed the pancake. “No problem.”

“Don’t tell anyone I was… y’know. I don’t want them to worry.”

“I won’t.”

“And I, um, wanted to apologise for… for destroying the Magic Box. And for… trying to kill you.”

“Apology accepted. I… hope you’re better soon.”

The two shared a smile of mutual acceptance. Anya couldn’t believe she’d almost dismissed Willow’s friendship over something that seemed so trivial. The Magic Box, after all, could be rebuilt in time. It would take far longer to reconstruct a broken friendship.

At that moment, everyone started waking up and filing down into the kitchen somewhat sporadically. First was Dawn, who ambled in and immediately sat heavily at the island, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She only vaguely noticed that breakfast was ready.

“Mornin’, guys…” she said, yawning. Anya placed a plate in front of her and a glass of orange juice, while Willow brought over a large dish piled high with ready-prepared pancakes. In keeping with tradition, she asked:

“Funny shapes or rounds?”

Now slightly more alert as the delicious smell of the pancakes assaulted her nose, Dawn sat up straight. “Do I really get a choice?”

Willow laughed slightly. “Funny shapes it is…” she said, dishing them out, just as Giles wandered in. “Oh. Hey, Giles.”

“Good morning, girls.” He sat opposite Dawn and the serving process started again, Anya laying the plate and Willow providing pancakes. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“No particular reason, really,” said Anya. “We were both up and decided to do something productive.” Willow shot her a thankful glance for not mentioning that morning. As Anya reached over to put a bottle of syrup in the middle of the island, she started sniggering. Dawn looked up and joined in.

“What?” asked Giles, suddenly self-conscious.

Anya ruffled his hair vigorously. “You got a visit from the hair monster.” Giles caught his reflection in one of the cupboard doors and saw what she was talking about - his hair was sticking up in every direction. “I hear they’re rampant this time of year.” He batted Anya’s hand away to stop her making it worse and set about trying to calm it down.

Xander chose that moment to emerge, still groggy from his heavy sleeping as he stumbled through the door. He smelt the syrup Dawn was liberally pouring over her breakfast and his eyes widened. “Pancakes. Pancakes good.” With that, he sat next to the teenager and banged his plate on the island like a caveman. “Me want pancakes.”

Willow rolled her eyes and put three on his plate. Xander looked up at her. “Come on, Will. I’m starving. I’m also a man; we need more than you puny females.”

“Fine,” she muttered, “you get one more and that’s it, or there’ll be none left for Buffy.”

“That’s okay,” said the accused from the doorway. “I’m really not that hungry anyway.” She seemed to have perfected a knack of entering a room unnoticed by its occupants.

“A-are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the offer, though.” She took a place at the island with the others, and the two impromptu chefs sat at either end, digging into their own breakfasts. Everybody ate in silence while Buffy sipped half-heartedly at a glass of orange juice, staring off into space. Anya didn’t want to bring up their early morning conversation, and Willow didn’t want to let on that she knew Buffy had left the house to see Spike.

Eventually, it was Giles who broke through the silence. “Buffy, did you sleep well?”

“Wha-?” she asked, snapping out of it. “Oh… yeah. I mean, considering Spike’s sudden reappearance.”

Xander suddenly put down his fork and applauded with just a hint of sarcasm. “Well done. Let’s see, you managed to go an entire…” - he checked the wall clock - “five minutes without mentioning him.”

Buffy wasn’t in the mood. “Xander, don’t even think about arguing with me.”

“Let me get this straight. I couldn’t complain about Spike when he wasn’t here. Now he’s back, and I’m not even allowed the satisfaction of complaining about him behind his back?” He scoffed. “What does that leave, hm? Complaining about Spike to his face?”

“Xander, please…” That was Willow. “We finally got everyone back together again. Don’t ruin it.”

Buffy nodded gratefully at her friend and shared a look with Anya. The justice demon smiled supportively to indicate that she should tell everyone, and that she was there to back her up if needed. “Okay, guys,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I oughta ‘fess up, right?”

“’Fess, um, confess to what, exactly?” asked Giles.

“I went to see Spike last night.” Noting that Xander was struggling to keep himself calm, she carried on. “And before you all… yell at me, or say it was the wrong thing to do, let me explain…” When she was certain everyone was going to listen and comprehend, she told how Spike had fallen through her ceiling, how she’d made him leave, and that she’d known she had to talk things through with him before she lost her nerve. “I knew he wouldn’t come to me, not this time. Not after what he… didn’t do.”

“So did you manage to talk everything through?” asked Dawn.

“Well-“

“Do we know why he left? Why was he in Africa? Why is he back? What-“

“Calm down, Dawn…” said Buffy, softly. “We talked about that. Basically, he went to get the chip out and didn’t succeed after all.”

“And it took him this long?” she asked, bitterly.

“Trials,” she said, simply. “That and the shaman thingy made him wait before he sent him back.” Dawn seemed to accept this. Xander was still dubious but kept his tone non-sarcastic for the time being.

“I’m not going to ask why he went to get the chip out; I don’t think I want to delve that deeply into Spike’s mind. But if he’s still got it, what did he want to talk to you about?”

Buffy looked to Anya for support, who nodded. “Turns out he came back with more than a non-removed chip…” She surveyed her friends’ curious expressions before continuing, knowing there was now no backing out. “The shaman gave him a… a soul…”

The room fell into stunned silence, save for Anya and Willow. The former saved Buffy. “It’s true,” she clarified. “I could tell when I saw him last night in the hall.”

“I knew there was something different in his eyes,” added Willow.

“Yeah… same here,” admitted Buffy for the first time. “When he spoke, it was more… I don’t know… genuine, maybe. And I could really tell he was hurting, the same way Angel was.”

Giles had listened very carefully throughout and chose this particular moment to intervene. “In all fairness, I don’t think you can really compare them.”

“No, I know, but… as far as I can tell, a soul comes with bad memories when its given back, whether it’s a curse or a gift.”

“So… what now?” asked Dawn. “Is he ever going to come back here?”

“I… I don’t know, Dawn. Probably not for a while, but before you ask, yes, you can see him. He wants to explain everything to you.”

“I have to go to him, right?” Buffy nodded. Dawn looked briefly thoughtful. “C’n I go today?”

Buffy was about to say no, then reconsidered, not wanting to cope with another bout of Dawn’s tears. “Okay,” she said, slowly, “but not until tonight. I imagine he’s probably sleeping off whatever he went through to get back here.”

Dawn accepted this without arguments, and returned to finishing her pancakes. After a brief silence, Willow spoke up again, quietly. “B-Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you gonna do now? I mean, the Spike thing…”

She sighed. “I really don’t know, Will.”

Cautiously, Willow continued. “H-he still loves you, doesn’t he? Even after…” - she looked at Anya, then Giles, ascertaining there’d be no angry reaction from either of them - “…everything…”

“He says so.”

“And he has a soul now. That makes him… good… doesn’t it?”

“I… guess so,” she said, wondering where Willow was going with this.

“Well, c-could there be any chance of you-“

“No,” she cut her off. “That’s not even something I wanna think about at this stage…” Willow nodded understandingly and adopted an apologetic expression to imply she was sorry for even bringing it up.

The Scoobies continued their breakfast in silence, each lost to their thoughts and their own opinions on Buffy’s situation, their own problems momentarily forgotten. Peace never lasted in Sunnydale, and chaos seemed to follow most of them in their wakes; this was twice as true for Spike. Everybody wanted to help - or, in Xander’s case, merely wipe Spike off the face of the planet - but they all knew that Buffy needed to sort this particular problem out on her own. They knew nothing about her situation with the vampire. She’d gotten herself into this alone, and she’d have to get herself out of it the same way…

The days that followed Spike’s return were reasonably uneventful, at least by Sunnydale standards. Immediately after Buffy had explained everything to her friends at breakfast, Dawn had headed off to see him at his crypt. He seemed pleased to see her; this wasn’t a patch on how pleased she was to see him, now that her initial shock had worn off. They’d both been ridiculously overemotional - first, Dawn had hugged him tightly enough to suffocate him if he’d needed to breathe, then she’d followed it up immediately afterwards by slapping him hard.

“Oi, Nibblet,” he’d said, rubbing his cheek where she’d hit him. “What was that for?”

“Buffy,” she’d said simply, and he’d understood. It seemed that everyone knew; Dawn, however, had forgiven him now that she knew he’d got a soul, and she’d held onto him tightly again to prove it. She didn’t let go until after he’d finished explaining about Africa for what felt like the fifteenth time since his return. She’d promised to see him again - every day, in fact - and left the crypt feeling much better about Spike, and far less confused about how she felt about him.

Spike knew that Dawn would support him to the end. She didn’t give her affection away lightly, and to regain her trust - or, in fact, to keep it - was an achievement in itself. He wanted Buffy to be his sole anchor through the impending Hell he was going to face, but until such time as that became a reality, or even remotely plausible, he’d just have to muddle through with Dawn. He couldn’t gain Buffy’s love - which was what he needed, even in the smallest dose - but Dawn’s would see him through to some degree. It was far easier to be dependable than it was to be dependent.

Buffy, even though she had given Dawn strict orders to only see Spike at the crypt and not invite him to the house (mainly for his own safety while Xander was still there), still found herself half-wanting him to appear at the kitchen door. Finding the tree outside her room devoid of any occupants, despite hearing noises from within the branches, was surprisingly disappointing. She refused to force herself to see him, because the fear in his eyes terrified her, and because she knew he thought she was the one to help him. In her heart, she also knew he was right, but thinking about it brought back memories of Angel. Spike being in the same situation had secretly always been something she’d dreaded. The ‘evil, soulless thing’ excuse wasn’t going to cut it any more.

Patrol-wise, there had been surprisingly - and worryingly - few vamps around the town. In fact, since the near-apocalypse, she’d seen maybe six in total. There were barely even any random demons to fight. Buffy should have been glad of this fact, but her Slayer senses were telling her something was up, and if it was scaring off the demon population, it could only be a really, really Big Bad. Spike would have been able to tell her what was going on… but that would entail unnecessary conversation, which would then lead inevitably to a barrel-load of angst that she couldn’t deal with. For this reason, she stayed wondering until such time as whatever it was decided to manifest itself as something she could fight.

Willow was steadily recovering with Xander’s help, and, to the latter’s relief, was now confiding more in Giles than before. Tara’s untimely death, she had almost recovered from, but the guilt of everything she’d done was still haunting her, and fighting the residual Magic dwelling inside her was becoming increasingly more difficult. Twice they’d had to sedate her before she hurt herself or anyone else; her eyes would completely glaze over with the familiar blackness, and her finger tips would glow or spark, sometimes to such a degree that it would interfere with the house’s electrics. The Magic controlled her body while her mind struggled to regain control, leaving her shaking from the effort and unable to move hours later.

None of them liked to admit it, but her recovery was going in two directions at once. As her mind became stronger and her will to fight the Magic increased, it doubled its efforts to take her over. It was an entity in and of itself, existing separate from her and using her as some kind of host, thus resulting in her body becoming increasingly weak as the days went on. Willow wanted nothing more than to rid herself of it for good, and the only way to do that seemed to be to use it, and thus, her resolve began to weaken. It was a terrible, vicious circle, and it was very slowly killing her.

Giles, with the help of Anya, had consulted every one of his books and all those they’d managed to rescue from the Magic Box, in an attempt to find out how to help her. The coven that had leant him the magic he’d used to defeat her had offered suggestions, including, as a last resort, several purging spells, but nothing had worked. They’d even tried to think of how to word a wish in such a way that Anya could grant it as an act of justice, but it was impossible.

On top of this, he was also getting worried about Buffy again. Prior to Spike’s return, and after her heartfelt talk with him about everything, she seemed to have sorted most things out in her mind. Now, with the additional bonus of Spike’s new soul, she was just as confused as before, and, although she wouldn’t admit to it, more worried about him than when she hadn’t known where he was.

Xander, while still looking after Willow, was attempting a slow reconciliation with Anya, at her rather humble request. It was going to take a very long time. Xander couldn’t help but think that if a certain blond vampire wasn’t around, it would take a Hell of a lot less time. He trusted Anya - admittedly not as much as before - but he definitely didn’t trust Spike. He was waiting for a time to come when he’d be alone in a room with just him and a stake so he could end the madness once and for all. As far as he was concerned, everything was Spike’s fault. He’d probably be doing him a favour, too.

In quiet moments, he would sit by the sleeping form of Willow after one of her inner wrestling matches with the Magic, and let silent tears flow freely, knowing it would be disastrous if she found him like it, but unable to stop. His pride, at being her choice of the one to help her, was slowly turning into a desperate feeling of complete helplessness as her condition worsened. If she tried to be happy for the others, it was even more horrible, because he got the inevitable crash later on. He could only watch as both of his best friends collapsed, one physically, and the other emotionally.

Anya had been overseeing the rebuilding of her shop, unaware of Xander’s inner torment, but trying to be everybody’s rock in their time of need. She’d worked through her demons - she hated that phrase, but was becoming used to using it - and was beginning to feel like the only sane, stable member of the group, with Dawn coming a close second when she wasn’t having a teen-tantrum.

So far, she’d had to reassure Buffy that, from what she knew about shaman demons, Spike’s soul came with no nasty clauses, curses, or strings attached, other than the obvious one of however many days of torment he’d have to go through before his brain learnt to cope with having a conscience. And, since he’d already had to get used to having a chip, she assumed it would be fairly quick and relatively painless. Then she’d had to convince Dawn that he was all right, honest, but he’d be a little quiet and subdued for a while. When Giles was reaching breaking point with Willow and Buffy, she’d had to take over his research while he got much-needed rest. Finally, she’d had to distract Xander enough that he wouldn’t worry quite so constantly about Willow.

In such a way, the lives of the Scoobies continued, problem-filled, but with just enough friendship and loving support between them to keep everyone going from day to day. And, on an average, post-apocalyptic, stressful day on the Hell mouth, Buffy was patrolling, not because she thought there’d be an army of vamps to dust, but because she simply needed to go for a walk. For the past week, luckily, she’d not encountered Spike, either, because he hadn’t left his crypt for days. She’d spotted Clem with an armful of bloodbags at one point, glad that Spike had at least found a kind and concerned friend, no matter how badly he cheated at kitten poker…

On this particular night, a night she’d wanted to be eventless, something happened. Typical. There was a rustling some distance behind her, followed by a few random yelps, and then pounding footsteps as something - or someone - ran for its life. She spun around just in time to be knocked flying by the oncoming vampire, who was clearly terrified for his life, and they both ended up in a dazed heap on the ground. She ignored her automatic instinct to stake him on the spot, and instead pinned him down, the stake aimed at his heart but not piercing it just yet.

“Slayer…” he began, predictably, baring his fangs.

“Oh, please,” she said, “like that’s the most original line ever…” The vamp growled in what he supposed was a menacing way and she rolled her eyes, moving the stake closer. “Shut up.”

“You’re gonna pay for this, Slayer!” he told her, unconvincingly. “I’ll-“

She punched him neatly in the nose. “I said, shut up.” He obeyed this time. “Don’t get me wrong; I am going to kill you, but first I want information. Got that?” The vamp nodded, eyeing the stake nervously. “Good. Now, I’ve noticed a severe and frankly disturbing lack of undead activity lately and, while I should probably be glad of the time I’m getting off, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on.”

“So? What’s that gotta do with me?”

“Let’s see,” she said, mock-ponderingly. “You’re the first vamp I’ve seen in… let’s think… a week. In a week, I’ve normally dusted about a dozen of your kind and massacred a couple of demons on the side. So when nothing happens, I worry. And then, when I see you running for your unlife, I start to think maybe whatever’s scaring you guys off is too close to my life for comfort, and then I worry more.” Punctuating her next command with a sharp prod of the stake, she said, “Talk.”

The vamp, clearly a college kid who’d made the idiotic mistake of walking alone after dark on the Hellmouth, stared at her dumbly for several seconds, attempting to form her overlong wording into something he could understand. It seemed these days that no matter how smart they were as humans, the turning made them morons. Back when Angel and Spike had been turned, sires obviously knew what they were doing, and it was a talent that must have gotten lost down the lines somewhere. Finally, the lightbulb came on and the vamp explained. “Oh, right. That. Well, it was pretty big. I couldn’t see what it was, but… yeah, it was big.”

“Big evil? Big good? Big run-like-hell? What?” asked Buffy.

“The first one. And kinda the last one…”

“Big run-like-hell?”

“No; ‘what’. Ain’t never seen anything like it before.”

“Well. That was a big help,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Before I kill you, how’s about you take a wild guess as to what it could be, hm?”

“Uh…”

Before the vamp dug himself into an early grave, a familiar voice from behind Buffy said, “Let ‘im up, pet. He doesn’t know what it is.”

She froze at his voice momentarily, mainly because he’d succeeded in sneaking up on her unnoticed, then frowned and let the fledgling to his feet. Two seconds later, she whipped around and staked him anyway. As he crumbled, she said, “What? You never said not to kill him…” Spike said nothing, which worried her; normally there’d have been some kind of sarcastic remark by now. Then she remembered that there wouldn’t be, not for a long while, and was almost regretful of it. Shaking off the feeling, she pocketed her stake again and took a step towards him, cautiously. “It’s probably a wild shot, but do you know what it is?”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not. But I do know it’s bloody huge and very pissed off, and currently on the outskirts of town. I sent Clem to find out more.”

“Have you seen it, whatever it is?”

“No, just seen the results.” When she raised a questioning eyebrow, again, there was no sarcastic comment. She’d been at least expecting some jibe about her delicate stomach coping with it, but… nothing. “It’s got all the vamps scared out of their wits, that much I do know. The only two I managed to get any information out of - that is, the only two who could still speak - told me that they’d seen this thing rip the skin clean off one of their biting buddies.”

“Nice…” she noted, something niggling at the back of her mind that this was familiar. “Well, I’ll let Giles know. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s in some book somewhere.”

“Yeah.” The conversation ended surprisingly amicably and silence immediately descended, filling the foot between them like a chasm. Spike was watching her, waiting for her to move, just like he always had… but it was different. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, or was re-evaluating her, remembering her for future reference.

Buffy watched him watching her, wondering what was so fascinating. After a few seconds, his eyes locked with hers for the briefest of moments, and then he tore his gaze away to look at the floor. In that split-second, Buffy saw the pain there again and found herself struggling to swallow a lump in her throat. Knowing she was going to regret it, she took another step closer, and said, “Spike… are… are you okay?”

He looked up again, a little confused by her concern. She wondered when exactly he’d started questioning her sincerity; then again, it was inevitable, and he’d had a lot of time alone to think about things. “Great,” he said. “Just fine.”

“How are the, uh, the scars holding out?”

“Nearly healed. Still smart a bit.”

This was all wrong. It was too formal, too awkward. His spark had gone. “When was the last time you saw Dawn?”

He thought about it. “’Bout two days ago, I reckon. Nibblet seemed a bit worried about Red.”

“That’d be about right; we all are…”

“She’s not doing so well?”

“She’s… I don’t know… but I get the impression she’s gonna get worse before she gets better.”

Spike nodded sympathetically. “Well, tell her I said ‘hey’. And that I hope she works through it.”

Buffy, a little surprised by this side of him, nodded her consent. She suspected he’d never really fallen out with Willow, and Willow herself had no personal problems with him. They seemed to have a silent, unspoken friendship.

The silence, and Spike’s somewhat distant expression, finally got too much for her, and she began to head past him. Something was still bugging her, however. “Spike, why did you come out here?”

“Was lookin’ for you, of course.”

“Oh. Of course…”

Quietly, he added, “Took me three days to pluck up the courage, mind you…”

Buffy stopped where she was, next to him, but facing the opposite direction, and looked up at him. “That bad, huh?”

Her light-hearted comment seemed to have a minor effect on him, as he smiled slightly. “Yeah. You were right - about hating myself for that pathetic performance the other night. You’ll be glad to know that was a one-off…”

She swallowed. “It’s… it’s okay. I get it. I do… Believe me, I know about inexplicable crying…” Without changing position, she very cautiously put her palm to his and linked their fingers, squeezing his hand reassuringly. She felt his entire body tense with the action, but he didn’t speak, just looked down to face her. “I’m… I’m really sorry you can’t come to see Dawn, but… everything’s kinda messy there right now. And Xander’s still mad. You… you know he’d kill you if he saw you.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d think you were protecting me, Slayer…” A glimmer of the old Spike shone through suddenly, as if released by her touch. He didn’t wait for her to reply, merely squeezed her hand back. “You’d better get back and find out what this Big Evil is…”

“Yeah…” They simultaneously released each other’s hands. Casually, as she walked off, she said, “See ya, Spike…”

He turned to watch her leave until she vanished into the night, and the rising mist. With three tiny words she’d managed to give him huge hope, and, although he was well aware that he looked like an idiot, he couldn’t help but smile as he headed back to his crypt.

Buffy stormed into her house and banged the door open, shocking Giles and Anya as they sat around her coffee table perusing books. The breeze she’d caused blew the book her ex-Watcher was working on ahead several pages, thus making him lose his place. Anya scurried in pursuit of some loose pages that had drifted to the floor, while Buffy gave an apologetic look and closed the front door quietly. Dawn entered the lounge from the kitchen, having heard the noise.

“Uh… come in, Buff…” she said, sarcastically.

Her sister ignored her and addressed Giles. “We got a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” he sighed.

“That’s what I need you to find out for me.” Giles gestured for her to calm down and explain, indicating for her to sit. “Sorry… Okay. So, you may or may not have noticed that lately there’s been very little cause for my Slaying powers. Well, it turns out there’s some big… thing on the edge of town that’s scaring the demon community.”

“A big thing?” asked Anya. “What sort of thing? Demon?”

“I don’t know.” Slightly reluctantly, she admitted, “I ran into Spike-“

“You did?” interrupted Dawn. “That’s so great; he’s been so nervous about leaving the crypt. How’d it go?”

“I-it was fine, Dawn… a little awkward, but… fine. Anyway, as I was saying - I ran into him at the cemetery and he told me that, from what he’s heard, this thing is huge and annoyed, which is never a good combination in my book.”

Giles closed the book he’d been sifting through and sought out a different one, adjusting his glasses on his nose before opening it. “How long has it been around, do you know?”

She shook her head. “Well… not specifically. But it’s been quiet around here for ages, since… since saving the world again. I didn’t think much of that at first, but now you come to mention it… yeah, there’s been barely anything since then.”

Giles nodded thoughtfully, turning to a section on post-apocalyptic demon behaviour. “Did, uh, did Spike tell you anything else?”

“Not really… just that Clem’s looking into it. Oh, and that a couple of vamps saw it skin their friends alive…” she trailed off, the same thought as before niggling at the back of her mind. Then, the light came on and she looked at Anya. “Skinned alive… Warren…” she whispered.

“Warren’s dead, Buffy,” clarified Dawn. “It can’t be him.”

“No, I know that…” she said, absently, willing Anya to understand what she was getting at. “But… Anya, don’t you remember what happened to him?”

She rolled her eyes; it was a stupid question. “Of course I do. He was-“ She stopped, her eyes growing wide. “Oh…”

Buffy nodded, knowing that she’d got it, and cast her eyes towards the stairs. “Oh, my God…”

“What?” asked Dawn and Giles simultaneously.

“Dawn, go upstairs and tell Xander and Willow to come down here…” said Buffy. Her sister nodded, a little curiously, but obliged nonetheless, heading upstairs.

“Buffy, what on Earth is going on?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute, Giles,” she promised. “Anya.”

“Yes?”

“Could it be possible? Could this be… what I think it is?”

She thought for a while. “It’s… I’ve never seen it happen, but… yes… it’s entirely possible.”

Buffy closed her eyes painfully; she’d been hoping her hunch was way off the mark. She opened them again when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Dawn came first, her expression now worried as to what the Hell was going on, and behind her came Xander, carrying Willow. The redhead’s physical condition had worsened considerably; she was now unable to walk more than a few steps before her legs gave up, and she’d lost far too much weight. Her originally slim build was now painfully skinny. Her mind, luckily, was as sharp as ever, when she wasn’t temporarily incapacitated in a battle against the Magic.

Giles moved up on the couch so Xander could sit Willow down, and everybody positioned themselves to be able to hear Buffy.

“Wh-what’s goin’ on?” asked Willow. “Dawn said it sounded serious.”

“It is. At least, I think it might be…” said Buffy. “As I was just telling Giles, there’s a new Big Bad hovering near Sunnydale, and until about a minute ago I had no idea what it could be… but now…” She sighed and looked apologetically at her friend. “Will, I’m really sorry about this, but I’m going to have to ask you about… the Magic… Are you going to be okay if I do?”

She nodded, weakly. “I… I think so…”

“Good. Just say if it gets too much and I’ll avoid it.” Willow nodded again. “Okay. So far, all we know is that this thing is really big, and really irritated, and that it skinned two vamps. I have a theory; Anya agrees with me on this. Will?” She crouched near her and kept her voice low. “When you were filled with the Magic, do you remember…” She swallowed nervously. “Do you remember what you did to Warren?”

The flinch Willow gave implied all too clearly that she did. Xander almost answered for her, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand, wanting to do this herself. “Y-yeah… I… I…”

“It’s okay. So long as you remember. Anya, fill Giles in…” The justice demon leant nearer and whispered it to him; his expression reflected his shock - he’d known that she’d killed Warren, but until now didn’t know exactly how. Now, it seemed he’d come to the same conclusion as Buffy. “Okay, Will… now, when Xander managed to pull you out of your… trance, most of the Magic left you, right?” She nodded. “And we know that some of it’s still in you.” She nodded again. “And it’s powerful.”

“It’s m-more than powerful, Buffy,” she admitted. “It’s… it’s alive, like… like a parasite… It’s bent on d-destruction.” Xander placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“That’s what I was afraid of…” Buffy shook her head defeatedly. “All right; last question. The Magic that left you - where did it go?”

“I… I don’t know… I mean, I w-wasn’t really thinking about it, b-but I assumed it just… found its way back into the books…”

Anya spoke up. “The books are still blank… I found them in the debris of the Magic Box and the pages are still empty.”

Buffy stood again and addressed the whole group. “So. The books are blank. The Magic left Willow, but we don’t know where it went. There’s something out there skinning vamps. Anyone else seeing the connection here?”

“Good Lord…” muttered Giles. “In all my years as a Watcher, researching such things, I’ve never known of this to occur…”

“But can it?” pushed Buffy. “Could that thing be a whole lotta Dark Magic?”

“It… it is possible,” he clarified. “A-and considering that it also contains the borrowed magic of the coven, it’s more than just the Dark Magic from the textbooks…”

“Great…” she murmured. Dawn looked worried.

“It… it won’t hurt Clem, will it?” She looked expectantly at Giles, then at Buffy, the latter of whom wrapped an arm around her sister.

“I really don’t know, Dawn. Knowing how much of a coward Clem is, he won’t get close enough for us to find out.”

“What about Spike? Is he gonna be safe?”

Before Buffy could answer, Xander interrupted. “Enough with the theories. How do we get rid of it?”

Instinctively, all eyes went to Willow, except for Giles, who started thumbing through another book. She wished, for the first time in a long while, that Tara was there. Willow had a powerful witch, but Tara contained the knowledge that would have been their only hope in this situation. She fought back tears as she answered. “I don’t know…”

Giles finally found something promising. “I think I might have found the answer… but I need some time to translate this.”

“Good,” said Buffy. “You and Anya get onto it. Willow, I want you having nothing to do with this - the further you are from this Magic, the better; Xander, you stay with her and if I need you, I’ll let you know.”

He gave her a mock salute. “Yes, General Buffy.”

“Dawn…” Seeing that her sister was now deeply worried for Spike’s safety, she realised she needed a distraction. “You… you help Giles, too.” Dawn beamed - she loved helping - and sat herself on the floor by the coffee table, ready for action. “I will go back to the cemetery and tell Spike what’s up.”

“Why does he have to be in on this?” asked Xander, bitterly.

“Because, for starters, he gave me the heads-up on it. Secondly, he might be useful. Thirdly, I’m not leaving him out of the loop; he doesn’t deserve that.” With finality in her tone, she finished: “If we’re going to destroy this thing, your battle is with it, not Spike. Save your energy.”

With that, she turned and left in much the same manner as she’d arrived, leaving everyone slightly bewildered. It just went to prove that, even if you managed to save the world, something would inevitably come along to try and destroy it again…

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