Anya woke up feeling distinctly aware that she wasn’t alone in the lounge. It was rather unnerving, especially when she knew she’d gone to sleep being the only one there. Giles didn’t count - he was in the dining room, and had been all night, researching Buffy’s predicament. So, she was a little nervous about opening her eyes, just in case whatever was in the room with her was a Bad Thing.

She opened first one eye, then the other, adjusting her vision to the light in the room, and then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw who it was. “Oh… Xander.” She smiled, sitting up. “I thought you were a demon.”

He smiled back. “Pot; kettle; black.” He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching her at eye-level, and seemed to have been there for a while. Anya gave a large yawn as she stretched, then looked at him somewhat curiously.

“What are you doing? And how long have you been there?”

“Watching you,” he said, matter-of-factly, “and for about an hour.” Then, by way of explanation, he added, “Willow woke up about half an hour before that and said she wanted to be by herself for a while, so I came downstairs…” He trailed off, shrugging. “And now I’m hungry.” He got to his feet, also stretching. “What say we impress the others with our combined culinary skills?”

“You mean the culinary skills that resulted in us getting take out every night?” she said, standing up, smiling at him knowingly.

“If you and Will can make pancakes, then you and I can definitely throw together an omelette or two,” he said, as they headed to the kitchen. “And with any luck, the smell of the food might wake Buffy up along with everyone else…”

Upstairs in Joyce’s old room, Willow was dressed and sitting cross-legged in the centre of the bed, her expression becoming gradually more worried. In front of her was a selection of small items - a few dried flowers, a couple of pens, and a CD. She stared at them somewhat sombrely, then took a deep, determined breath, and picked up the disc. She held it aloft in front of her nose, horizontally, and then muttered, “Leviosa.”

She let it go. It dropped to the bed. She frowned.

Picking up the pen, she tried again, more determined. “Leviosa!”

The same thing happened. Picking up the dried flowers, she tried it one last time. “Leviosa? Please?” And, again, they fell straight to the bed.

This was exceedingly worrying. She could accept that the previous night she’d been tired, and it was hampering her powers, but after a long rest and clearing her mind, she should at least have been able to perform a basic hovering spell. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t having any effect, however - that happened sometimes, even though it was annoying - it was that she couldn’t even feel any power within herself any more. There was, quite simply, nothing happening, no matter how hard she willed her magic to flow.

She felt empty, completely drained. Her powers had been her one last connection to Tara, and without them, she was suddenly lost. Lost and useless to the group. She’d promised herself that, once she’d fully recovered, she would only use her magic for helpful, good purposes - location spells, the occasional bit of invisibility, and so on - and now, she couldn’t even levitate a feather-light flower.

There didn’t appear to be anything she could do, and she didn’t really know why it had happened, either. However, brooding about it wouldn’t help matters much, and she had to break the news to someone. Despite their argument earlier in the year, she realised the most important person to tell would probably be Giles, so they could figure out if the situation was redeemable before she had to tell the others. If she didn’t have to tell them at all, even better. Besides which, he was already trying to get the borrowed magic out of Buffy’s system, so maybe he could help get personal magic back inside hers.

She put everything back where it had been, and made her way downstairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, she looked in both directions, trying to find Buffy’s ex-Watcher; she couldn’t help smiling when she found him. He’d fallen asleep in the dining room with his head on the table, and was snoring quietly. Stifling her laugh, she approached quietly, and tapped him on the shoulder.

Giles snorted ungraciously, and lifted his head a little groggily. His glasses were askew on his head, and he had an imprint on his cheek of the book he’d fallen asleep on. Shaking his head to clear it, he straightened up in his chair, stretched the crick out of his back, then looked at who had woken him. “Willow…”

“Mornin’, sleepy-head,” she said, smiling, even though she felt far from jovial.

“Remind me not to research-til-I-drop any more. I really don’t think it’s good for me.” She smiled, but it soon disappeared as her thoughts returned to her problem. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah…”

That made sense, he thought. Scooby problems did tend to come in batches. “What is it?”

“I… um…” She tried again. “Uh… last night, while you and Xander were gone, I… I tried to do magic.” Before he could reprimand her, she broke in with, “o-only a little, teeny-tiny spell, honest. We couldn’t find the control for the TV and I just thought, y’know, I could do a little electric energy spell. I wanted to get some practice in on the small stuff anyway, and I figured it was as good a time as any to start. Anyway… it wouldn’t work. I pointed and said the words and” - she made a zipping noise, gesturing with her hand at the same time - “nothing.”

“Well,” said Giles, “you were all very tired last night.”

“Yeah, that’s what Anya figured, too.” She sighed. “But I tried again this morning and it was still nada. Giles, I… I can’t do magic. I can’t even feel it inside me any more.” She swallowed, a little nervously, not entire sure how he’d react. “It’s really scary…”

“Yes, I can imagine it would be… um…” Giles thought for a moment. “Did you… notice anything strange after you’d purged the Dark Magic last night?”

She frowned, slightly annoyed. “I was kinda unconscious… Didn’t really notice much of anything.”

“Oh, of course. What about when you woke up?”

“I was tired, I guess. And you saw me, Giles, I was pretty woozy all night, even when I was helping you guys. I didn’t feel this… empty.” She realised where his train of thought was leading. “Oh, you don’t think… when I purged?” Giles nodded. They were on the same wavelength, it seemed. Willow shuddered, all of a sudden, which soon turned into shivering as she began rubbing her hands up and down her arms, despite the relative warmth of the house. “God, I feel so violated… it just… ripped it outta me.”

Giles was at a loss. He seemed to have spent his entire time since returning to Sunnydale attempting to sort out the problems of the Scoobies, or comforting them in one way or another. Buffy was decidedly easier to comfort in comparison to Anya and Willow - he knew her better, and knew her reactions and mannerisms, and, therefore, when it was safe to offer actions or words. With Anya, it was difficult to read her, and with Willow, he wasn’t sure if she was still too fragile. Opting for the safest thing he could think of, he placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuringly.

“Willow, if you can just bear with me a moment, I may have something resembling a plan.” She looked at him, hopefully. “You know about Buffy’s predicament. That’s my top priority at the moment. Which isn’t to say,” he added, quickly, “that yours isn’t just as important. If my plan works, I may be able to help you at the same time.”

“Well, what’s your plan?”

He debated whether or not to tell her. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her undue worry. But then he realised he’d have to tell the rest of them eventually, and Spike’s reaction was bound to be the worst. “The coven who gave me the magic to help you when I came back - I know the leader; she’s a friend of mine. She thinks she can help Buffy by gathering the rest of the coven and recalling the magic. If they can do that for her, then it’s entirely likely that they can help you, too. The only problem is…”

“Yes? Come on, Giles, it can’t be as big a problem as this one…”

“I have to take Buffy to England with me.”

Willow blinked, not sure if she’d heard him right. “What?”

“I have to take her to England. Only for a while. They can’t work the spell ‘overseas’, as it were. However, they may be able to tell me how to help you, so…”

She wasn’t keen on the idea, but knew she couldn’t be the cause of any undue aggravation for Giles, so conceded defeat. “All right, I’ll hang in there. And I’ll… keep practising, or something.”

“Good. Thank you.” He stretched again, before getting up and going into the lounge, Willow following him. He sat himself down on the couch, relishing in the comfort it provided by comparison to the dining chair he’d spent the night in. Willow cast a brief glance in the direction of the kitchen, with a smile when she spotted Xander and Anya getting along while they were serving up the omelettes. The lounge fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence.

“So…” ventured Willow, “you’re really going to take her to England with you?”

At which point, Xander wandered in. “Breakfast is r- whoa, who’s going to England?”

With a defeated sigh, Giles recounted what he’d told Willow to Xander, and then to Anya when she came into the lounge in pursuit of him. Amazingly, Xander didn’t object. “Makes sense, I suppose. Do you think she’ll agree?”

“In all fairness, Xander, she doesn’t really have much choice,” he said.

“He’s right,” said Anya, “but I can almost guarantee that Spike’ll have a few words to say about it.”

Dawn had been standing in the doorway of her sister’s bedroom for quite some time, just watching them. Only once had she ventured cautiously inside, when she noticed that Spike, in his concern, had completely forgotten to draw the curtains and was in danger of being char-grilled any moment. Both the Slayer and vampire were fast asleep, Buffy still unconscious (or so she assumed, anyway) and Spike from sheer exhaustion. He’d been alert enough, however, to put Buffy into her bed properly, covers and everything, and to remove her shoes before doing so. He’d pulled a chair next to the bed to keep a vigil, and his plan had backfired somewhat when he’d fallen asleep himself.

The young brunette smiled. Assuming nobody else came to relieve Spike or woke him up to remove him from the room, he’d be the first person Buffy saw when she woke up. That was just how it was meant to be. She could sense a change between them, somehow; the atmosphere on Spike’s return had been somewhat awkward, and when they’d made the plan two nights ago - which seemed an eternity away, in retrospect - they’d barely managed to speak two civil words to each other. That, of course, was hardly anything new, but Dawn could tell there was something wrong. Buffy’s tone had been too apologetic, and Spike’s far too spiteful. Something had happened between them beforehand, that much was obvious, but nobody seemed to have a clue what.

Whatever, it didn’t seem to matter any more. Before Buffy had run off on her almost-suicide mission back at the derelict building site, Dawn had watched her with Spike out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to impose on what was obviously a private moment, but deathly curious just the same. What she’d seen, but not heard, was enough to convince her that their problems were finally over, and, even if they weren’t, they’d at least be able to talk them through with no bloodshed and very little heartache. She could only imagine what her sister had said to Spike, though, to cause him to react to her running off the way he did. It had obviously been a catalyst in their recovery, whatever it was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by movement inside the room, as Spike stirred, waking up. He opened his eyes slowly, yawned, and then took in his surroundings, momentarily confused until he saw the comatose Slayer and remembered. Then he saw the closed curtains and looked even more confused - he was sure he’d left them open before he nodded off, although he’d fallen asleep literally a split second after he realised what a bad idea it was. Turning around slightly as he sensed another presence nearby, he finally spotted Dawn standing in the doorway.

He cocked his head at her curiously. “How long have you been there, Bit?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. I just thought, y’know, you were supposed to be watching Buffy, so I’d better watch you. It sorta completes the cycle.”

“Protecting me from the Big Bad Xander, eh?”

“Something like that…” she said, smiling. “Although I think he’s over that now.”

“Yeah, well you can never be too careful.” He stretched, trying to shift a kink in his neck. Noticing that Dawn was plainly itching to come out of her place in the door, he indicated with his head that she could enter the room. Gratefully, the brunette straightened from her slouching position and sat down on the edge of the bed, somewhere in the region of Buffy’s knees. She looked at her sister blankly for several seconds, not sure what she was even looking for.

“I don’t suppose there was any change while you were awake, was there?” she asked.

He shook his head, sadly. “No. Couple of times, I thought she was wakin’ up, but… I think it was that bloody Magic in her system. Makin’ her muscles all jumpy, it is.” He sighed. “I watched her as long as I could, in case I could think of a way to help. I don’t know what time I fell asleep, but I know I didn’t do it willingly.”

Dawn nodded, and a vaguely awkward silence descended on the room as they both watched Buffy, hopelessly. Something had been bugging Dawn for a while, and she’d not yet found the time or the courage to find out about it. Now, as she was alone with Spike and he was more or less unconcerned about Buffy, she decided the time had come to just out and ask him about what was on her mind.

“Spike?”

He tore his eyes from Buffy and met Dawn’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He raised a dubious eyebrow, then gave her a lopsided smile and attempted something resembling humour. “Of course I’ll marry you. Although I don’t know how Big Sis’d react to that…”

“No,” she admonished him. “Seriously, can I?”

“Go on…”

She took a deep breath. “Okay… um… so, you know this whole… soul… thing… Uh… well… it’s just…” Closing her eyes tightly shut, she blurted it out. “Does it hurt?”

She opened her eyes again to see Spike’s thoughtful expression as he pondered the simple question. “Well…” he began.

She interrupted him before he could continue. “And don’t make it all fluffy and pretty for me. I’m sixteen years old. I can handle it. I just want to know, okay?” As explanation, she added, “I mean, you’re all… I don’t know… not you… and it’s scaring me.”

“All right, Nibblet. The truth it is.” He paused. “When I first got it, it was agony. I thought the torture’d never end. I got a century’s-worth of Bad Things in fifteen seconds, in one blindin’ fast-forward… and then, the conscience kicked in. I thought I wasn’t going to survive even one more minute of the guilt that came with it… And then, after a few days, it started getting a little better. I started thinking about things… mainly about things I’d done, but even that helped, because it meant all the memories stopped for a while. And then I started thinking about Sunnydale, about you and the Scoobies - even the Whelp - and it became my sort of… constant. A goal… And I thought of Buffy, of course. Couldn’t bloody stop thinking about Buffy… About what I’d done.” He stopped again, for breath, and to let it all sink in. Off Dawn’s urging expression, he continued, “Then, before I knew what was happenin’, I was back, right at her feet almost. And I knew we had a lot to talk about - God knows, I didn’t think she’d forgive me, but she did. And the longer I stuck around, bein’ in contact with everyone, the better it got.”

Dawn sniffed, and nodded understandingly. “But does it still hurt? I mean, now?”

He sighed. “A little. Sometimes. If I… think about things. I’m still having nightmares, but I can forget them quickly enough.”

“I see…” She looked vaguely guilty. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help? Isn’t there, like, a vampire soul-medicine or something?”

“If there is, the bloke who invented it’s probably sitting on a fortune. Anyway, you have helped, just by being around. You and Buffy, pet; you’ve been the cure.”

Dawn offered him a weak smile. “It’s not going to go away, though, is it? I mean, even Angel was broody and he’d had his for years…” Immediately, she regretted making the comparison, but it had slipped out. Luckily, Spike was getting used to it - he’d been anticipating it from the start, in fact - and he instantly disregarded it.

“It’s not going to go away, you’re right. But at least with you two around, it’ll feel like it has.” Pause. “All right?”

“Yeah. Thanks…” Silence descended once more, and they resumed watching Buffy. They hadn’t been watching for long at all, when suddenly, she moved. Her head turned slightly on the pillow, only a tiny movement, but they both noticed it. Dawn sat bolt upright on the bed, and Spike leaned forwards in his chair. “Was that one of those Magic shock thingies?”

Spike shushed her and waved a silencing hand, concentrating on something. After a few seconds, he broke into a smile. “No… no, she’s waking up. Her breathing and heart rate are speeding up. God, she’s waking up…” His relief was obvious, and he made no attempt whatsoever to hide it.

Dawn’s smile mirrored Spike’s and she breathed a sigh of relief as she got up. “I’ll go tell the others.”

“Don’t you want to be here when she comes ‘round?” he asked.

“No, I think she’d rather see you.”

He smiled gratefully. “All right. Tell the others… but tell them to stay put, and I’ll make sure Buffy’s fine before she goes anywhere. I don’t want her being crowded by them all.”

She saluted. “Got it.” With that, she bounded off down the stairs, leaving Spike to wait not-so-patiently for Buffy to fully wake up.

He took up Dawn’s previous place on the edge of the bed and grasped one of the Slayer’s hands in his own. A slight shock went down his arm, but he ignored it. She was definitely coming around; it was just a matter of time before she regained consciousness. He muttered all the while. “Come on, love… come on, you can do it. That’s it… just wake up, come on… please…”

He lost track of how long he sat there. Dawn had obviously convinced the others to stay put, because nobody appeared at the door, and it was strangely silent downstairs. Although, he had to admit, his hearing was completely attuned to Buffy’s heartbeat, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed if a bomb had gone off. Finally, to his utter relief, she started moving again; he released her hand, and waited. Her eyes opened, slowly, and for a brief moment, she panicked, obviously remembering the final phase of her ordeal. She sat up, looking around wildly, and began scratching roughly at both of her lower arms - they were looking decidedly red, Spike noted, no doubt from the sheer force with which the Dark Magic had purged from her system, and not helped in the slightest by the remaining magic within her - and then, suddenly, she focussed on him, and everything was calm.

Her scratching stopped straight away, just short of drawing blood by the look of the angry red marks she’d left behind. She stared at him, slightly bemusedly, then took in her surroundings properly, becoming more relieved as she realised where she was. Then, suspiciously, she looked down, even more relieved to discover she was fully clothed, and focussed back on Spike again.

Nothing happened for a good five seconds.

Then, with a cry of relief, she flung her arms around him, unaware of the slight jerk he gave as another shock ran through him. He ignored it, holding her close until she’d calmed down, as she was still incredibly jumpy. Eventually, he said, “Welcome back, love…”

She pulled out of his arms and looked at him, confused. “What happened?”

“You tell me.” She frowned, and began scratching at her arms again, less viciously than before. “What do you remember?”

“I… uh…” She struggled for a while, then a light seemed to come on. “Oh, yeah… I finally managed to get that damned magic out of me, and then… I remember being thrown backwards… and then… nothing. Until just now.”

“Well, that’s good. At least you haven’t lost your memory.”

She scratched harder, the itch getting worse and making her decidedly tetchier than she should have been. She knew it was wrong to take it out on Spike, but there was nobody else around, and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t make up for it later - they were still long overdue on a Conversation, and one more apology wouldn’t hurt to add to the list, after all. “Cut the crap, Spike. What happened after that?”

“It knocked you out, as you can probably guess. We couldn’t wake you, so we just brought you back here. Everyone’s downstairs recovering, and the books are back at the Magic Box in a safe place.”

“So it worked?”

“It worked,” he clarified, smiling. “You did it.”

That made her feel slightly better, but the itch soon blackened her mood again. “God, why does everything itch so damn much? My arms feel like they’re on fire.”

Spike, noticing that she’d finally succeeded in drawing blood, pulled her hands away and kept a hold of them, by now so used to the shocks that he barely noticed them. “That’s the other thing. Um…”

“What?”

“Well, you managed to get all the Dark stuff back into the books where it belongs, but… the magic that Giles borrowed from the coven, that Willow took from him, is now still in you.”

“Why didn’t it just leave with the rest of it?”

“Don’t know. Dark Magic didn’t want it, I reckon. Anyway, we’re still figuring out what to do about that, but that’s probably why your arms itch. You purged that magic pretty fast, you know.”

“Yeah, and Willow lied. She said it was ‘tingly’…” Buffy pouted. It was enough, combined with his relief at her being conscious, to send Spike into a fit of laughter, much to her consternation. “Gee, thanks. Some help you are.” Spike’s laughter was infectious, however, and she couldn’t help but smile.

He stopped, wiping an amused tear from his eye. “Sorry, love. I’m just… I’m just happy to see you awake.” Letting go of one of her hands, he reached up to stroke her cheek. He noticed that, for the first time, she leaned into his touch; before, she would have remained stock still, fighting against it. “You had me so worried.”

Taking a deep, calming, refreshing breath, she said, “I had me worried for a while, too. It was scary out there for a while. But hey, I did it.” Now that everything made slightly more sense, her mood was lightening. “I wish my arms would stop itching, though…”

He let go of her completely and got up. “Do you have any cream or anything?”

“Yeah, I think there’s some in the bathroom.” The statement came out before she had time to think about it, and she instantly wanted to take it back. His eyes filled with fear and self-loathing almost instantaneously at the mere mention her bathroom. He refused to meet her gaze. It was time to put this particular demon to sleep for good. “Spike…” He mumbled something she didn’t catch, which was probably something self-hatey anyway. “It’s okay… There’s nothing in, outside, around, or to do with that room that can hurt you.” Understanding her meaning, he looked at her, the same deep sadness in his features that she’d seen on his return. “I promise…”

He thanked her with a look that said more than he could work out the words for, and, determined, headed for the bathroom. He got in and out of there as quickly as possible, and without looking up until he got to the medicine cabinet, from which he quickly retrieved an antiseptic cream, and got out of there as fast as he could, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it and breathed out, calming himself down. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, ready to face up to what had happened in there, but at least he’d succeeded in helping Buffy.

He went back into her room and handed her the tube of cream, which she took, gratefully, as he sat back down again, this time in the chair he’d been originally occupying. As she began to apply the antiseptic to her arms, she glanced across at Spike, to make sure he was all right. He looked like he’d fought a war single-handed, and had buried his head in his hands, elbow resting on his knees. “See?” she said, attracting his attention. “You survived.”

He looked up. “Yeah. Only just, though…”

“It’s okay, Spike. I know it’s difficult, but… it’ll get easier. Trust me.”

“I do,” he said, and then another uncomfortable silence fell between them. Something wasn’t quite right, Buffy realised. She remembered full well what the last thing she’d said to him was before she ran off to save the world again, and she was pretty damn sure he heard her. In which case, why hadn’t he even mentioned it yet? He hadn’t even alluded to it in any way whatsoever. Just as she was about to question him about it, she worked out why he hadn’t. He wasn’t going to push her this time. He wanted to talk it out just as much as she did.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to just reassure it. “Spike?”

“Yes?”

“You remember… that thing I said? Back at the building site?” He nodded, looking terrified she was going to renounce the statement. “I want you to know that… I meant it.” He didn’t reply, so she added, “I meant it then… and I mean it now… and I’ll still mean it tomorrow.” He smiled, but continued saying nothing. Under the circumstances, however, she didn’t blame him. It was then that she noticed he was watching her intensely. “What?”

Finally, he spoke. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now…”

“Well, why aren’t you?”

“Because…” he began, then stopped, and instead of explaining, he pointed at her. She looked incredibly confused.

“Now what?”

“Bloody hell, haven’t you ever seen the ceiling of the Sistine?” He received a blank stare in response. “All right, fine, E.T., then.”

“Ohhh,” she said, getting it. Copying his gesture, she pointed, and brought her fingertip to his. A very large spark flew before she made contact, causing them both to jerk their hands back again. “Cool!” she said, shaking her hand to rid the pain. “Major ‘ow’, but… cool…”

“Exactly, and now you see why I’m not…”

“Oh, well…” she said, only mildly disappointed. “But hey, we’ve got sparks flying. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?” She smiled warmly. He smiled back, mutual understanding passing between them for once. This, however, was a conversation that they’d have to continue at a more opportune time.

“You ready to go down and show the others you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, getting up. “I bet they’ve been worried, too, huh?”

“Of course, pet. Giles especially. I think he blames himself, a bit.”

“He always does when I get hurt.”

Their conversation descended into friendly banter as they headed down the stairs, and at the bottom, Buffy was greeted by a row of five worried faces, which slowly changed to relief as her friends saw she was obviously unscathed. Then, she was enveloped in five different hugs, although only briefly, and each one accompanied by an “Ow!” - she could tell being electrified wasn’t going to be fun once the novelty wore off.

As a group, they all headed into the lounge, where Xander presented her with a plate of omelettes. “We saved you some breakfast,” he said. “Just in case.”

“Thanks.” She started tucking into it, realising how hungry she was as she did so. “And you guys all owe me a bunch of hugs when I’m back to normal.” They laughed nervously, which worried her. “I am going to get back to normal, right? Giles?”

The ex-Watcher avoided her gaze out of habit, sighing wearily. For some reason, it always fell on him to break the news to her. Unfortunately, as he’d discovered, there was no other option. So, preparing himself for an argument, he looked up to face her, wondering exactly how she was going to take the news…

Giles composed himself, taking some healthy breaths. For some reason, breaking bad news to people never seemed to get any less difficult. It was quite a while before he met her eyes again. Buffy, beginning to get impatient, repeated her question.

“Giles. Am I going to get back to normal?”

He sighed. Now or never. “Yes… but…”

“But what?”

“I spoke to the leader of the coven, in Devon. Her name is Vivienne. She said she’ll be able to help you. The only problem is that she can’t help you while you’re here… I have to take you to England. It’ll only be for a few days, so the coven can reverse the spell and call back the magic, and then you’ll be back here.”

Buffy shrugged. “That’s fine, Giles. So long as it stops this goddamn itching.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. I’ve never been to England. It’ll be fun.” She grinned. Giles still looked worried, so she looked more serious. “Honestly. I’m okay with it.”

“If you’re sure-“

“I’m sure.”

At this point, Spike interrupted. “I’m not…” Everyone looked at him. He addressed Giles. “Do you really think she can fly in this state?”

“I checked that with Vivienne. She’s a very experienced witch, and she says there’ll be no problems with the flight so long as Buffy is asleep for the entirety of it.”

“Well, that’s easy,” she said, “just pop me some sleeping pills and give me one of your research books and I’ll out like a light.”

Spike turned to her, concerned. “Pet, we’ve only just got you back from bein’ unconscious. Now you want to be out of it again?”

“I never thought I’d say this,” said Xander from the other side of the room, “but I have to agree with Spike on that one…”

“Guys. Chill,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”

“Besides which,” said Giles, “there is no other option. Believe me, I’ve tried to think of one. Vivienne was my final hope, and, thankfully, she’s come through for me…”

Willow had been listening, and finally felt it was time to comment. “Look, if Giles thinks it’s okay, then it must be, right?” There was a murmur of agreement. “Right… And it’s not like Buffy’ll be gone for good; it’s only going to be a few days.”

“She has a point,” noted Anya.

Willow nodded gratefully. “We can do all the Slayer-stuff for a while. It’s not like we haven’t done that before…”

“Thank you, Willow,” said Buffy, firmly. Clearly, there was going to be no arguing with her on this one, and eventually the Scoobies had to concede defeat. Spike sighed heavily.

“I’m not going to even pretend to like the idea. But if it’s got to…” Suddenly, he had a thought, and let his sentence trail off as he pondered the plausibility of it. “Hey, wait a minute. ‘Snot like you lot need me to help with the patrollin’ and such, so… Why don’t I go with you, Buffy?”

She seemed happy with that idea, and looked to Giles to confirm it. He didn’t seem impressed by the idea, to say the least, and explained, grimly: “I’m afraid that’s not an option…” Before either Spike or Buffy could take that the wrong way, he added, “It’s nothing personal. The flight leaves in the morning. It’s physically impossible for a vampire to travel that far by air, and not just because of this particular flight. Even if I were to rebook it - which, by the way, is going to be difficult on such short notice - there’s still no guarantee we’ll arrive after dark.”

“You’re right…” sighed Buffy. “Geez, how do you cope with these time zones, Giles?”

“Practice,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Well, it looks like I have to pack… I take it we’re leaving soon?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow morning. I know it’s incredibly short notice, but the sooner we get that magic out of you, the better.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me on that one.”

It was becoming exceedingly obvious that Buffy and Giles were going to win the argument about her going to England, so, eventually, everyone conceded defeat. Everyone except Spike, of course, who was holding his own silent (and unsuccessful) protest against the matter. The room had fallen into silence at this point, nobody exactly sure what to say next. Buffy was going to England, and that was that. She had no other options. It was far more practical to take Buffy to England than it was to fly an entire coven to Sunnydale.

It was Xander who broke through the silence, realising that they ought to leave Spike alone with the other two to at least try and talk it through. “Okay, guys, let’s go… wash up. Come on, An, you can be Head Scrubber.”

“Huh?” she said, her attention focussed on the change she could sense between Buffy and Spike. Then she caught his ‘let’s-let-them-talk’ expression. “Oh, right…”

“Yeah, I’ll… dry,” added Willow, nudging Dawn as she walked past her.

“And I’ll put away,” said the brunette, as the four of them filed into the kitchen quietly. General washing-up-type noises started in the kitchen, which meant that they either were washing up, or were listening in and pretending to wash up, but either way, the three remaining in the lounge didn’t seem to mind. Buffy had positioned herself on the couch for the duration of the almost-argument, and, getting up, she started to head towards the stairs again.

“Well, I guess I’d better pack. What time’s the flight?”

“Seven,” said Giles. “You need to be up by four-thirty at the latest.”

“Ouch…” she muttered. “Okay, get someone to wake me up.”

Giles smiled. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

With that, Buffy smiled and disappeared upstairs once more. Spike had been silent for a while, but Giles could tell he was biting his tongue, and he was grateful that he hadn’t made a scene while Buffy was around. The worry was plainly obvious on his face. After a while, though, apparently giving up on the scene entirely, he began to follow Buffy. Before he could get very far, however, Giles cleared his throat.

“Spike…”

The vampire stopped, and faced him. “Yes?”

“I know you’re concerned for her well-being. We all are.” Spike seemed to wonder what he was getting at, so he changed direction slightly. “I may have been rather harsh to you in the past, but… these last few days, you’ve proven yourself to all of us, especially Buffy.”

Spike wanted to put his hands in his pockets, to fight the overwhelming urge to fidget. Unfortunately, his duster was still upstairs in Buffy’s room, and his jeans didn’t achieve the desired effect of nonchalance that he was looking for. Instead, he stared diligently at the floor. “Yeah. Well, I had to do something. I love her… I needed to prove that.”

“You have,” said the ex-Watcher. “We can all see that you do, now. Even Xander, believe it or not - and, although he hasn’t forgiven you, exactly, I think he’s beginning to understand.”

“That’s good to know,” he muttered. He was beginning to feel decidedly awkward, and was still staring steadfastly at the carpet. Giles, also feeling awkward, still had a few things to say, however.

“She… um… she loves you.” His statement was partially a query as to whether Spike knew this, although he was sure he did. At this point, Spike looked up again, the barest flicker of a smile on his face.

“Yeah, she does.” Then, just to prove he hadn’t gone completely soft, he added, “It took her bloody long enough to realise.”

Giles laughed. “Yes…” He cleared his throat again, killing for time. Then, rather too nonchalantly, he added, “I want you to know that you have my blessing… Not that it’s my place to say so.”

“It’s as much your place as anyone’s. You’re like family to her. And thanks. That means a lot.” A slightly more amicable silence passed between them. “I think I’ll go and help her pack,” he said.

“Yes. Oh, and Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll look after her. I promise.”

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Usually, it was Spike promising that to Giles, not vice versa. “I know…”

On that more positive note, Spike headed upstairs. He wanted to talk to Buffy. He knew he couldn’t talk her out of it - it was pointless, really, because there was no other option - but he wanted to at least make sure she really was fine with it, and not just putting on a façade for the others. Aside from that, he’d only just gotten her back from being unconscious, and he wanted to spend at least a little time with her before she went gallivanting off to England for however long it took.

Alone in the lounge, with the noises of the other Scoobies still laughing as they did the washing up in the kitchen, Giles sat down, and fumbled in his inside pocket for the plane tickets. Taking them out of the envelope, his pre-flight paranoia already kicking in, he checked that they were all present and correct. Yes. In his hand were three tickets. An open return flight for Buffy, depending on how long the process detained her, and a one-way, no-going-back ticket for himself.

What Giles had neglected to tell anyone was that he wasn’t going to be coming back from England with Buffy. He’d been too cowardly to tell them. He’d left them twice that year, and doubted they’d forgive him for doing so a third time. The goodbyes got harder every time. After Buffy’s death, their “as-if-we’d-make-a-scene” scene at the airport had almost made him want to stay, and he couldn’t have that happening, not this time.

He’d never got to say goodbye to Buffy, either time he’d left. The first time, she wasn’t even there. Then, the second time, she’d been too angry to even see him before the flight, feeling hurt and betrayed that he was leaving her at a time when, in her opinion, she needed him the most. In fact, only Xander and Anya had been there at the airport, and the latter could hardly look at him due to the embarrassment she felt after the kiss they’d mistakenly shared under Willow’s spell. Willow had been too wrapped up in trying to save her relationship with Tara to think of anything else; Tara, likewise, was doing her own leaving, and she, at least, understood why his departure was the best thing for everyone. And Dawn… Dawn had no way of getting to the airport, because Buffy had been wallowing in self-pity and “bad kissing decisions” at the Bronze.

So, Buffy would be the only one he got to say goodbye to, this time. That was how he wanted it. He knew it was going to be painful, and she wouldn’t be happy about it… but he wasn’t prepared to keep on bailing everyone out when they got themselves into minor trouble. Apocalypses, fine, then he was perfectly willing to help in any way he could. But he couldn’t always be there to help them through their lives; they had to do that themselves. He’d been a catalyst for them while he’d been around, but now it was up to each and every one of the Scoobies to carry on off their own bat.

And Buffy would hate him forever for making her be the one to explain it all to them when she got back, but she’d get over it. He almost hated to admit it, but now she had Spike around, she needed him less.

“Hey, G-man, whatcha doin’?” Xander’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he hastily stuffed the tickets back into their envelope, and into his pocket again.

“Just checking on the tickets. You know, pre-flight nerves and all that.”

He nodded, as the others came out of the kitchen, chattering amongst themselves. Anya was drying her hands on a tea-towel as she talked to Willow, and Dawn wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. Giles watched them as Xander took a seat next to him and searched for the (still broken) remote control for the television, and he suddenly realised they’d be absolutely fine without him. He’d managed to reunite Anya with the rest of the group, and she was steadily on her way to a recovering relationship with Xander, although they had a long way to go; Dawn would probably continue to train as a Slayer with Buffy and Spike’s help; Willow, aside from her current lack of magic, was far better than she had been; and Xander had matured, he noticed, after the fight with Spike. Their conversation in the car had proven that much. They’re all going to be fine. Everything’s going to be all right…

Xander clicked the remote a few times, each time pressing harder, but nothing happened. “Dawnster! While you’re over there, turn on the TV, would you?”

She rolled her eyes, but obliged anyway. “What am I, your servant now?”

“Oh, ignore him,” said Anya. “He just thinks he’s superior because he’s male.” To Giles, she added, “No offence…”

He smiled to indicate none was taken, and shuffled down the couch to make room for her and Willow, while Dawn, rather perturbed, sat herself on the floor at the latter’s feet. They sat and watched the seemingly endless commercials for a while until the show started, at which point, Xander groaned.

“Mork and Mindy?? Do we have to watch this?”

“Yeah,” said Dawn, “unless you wanna get up and change the channel…”

He muttered something that caused Anya to giggle, but that nobody else heard, and they conceded to watch the programme. At the far end of the couch, Giles smiled to himself, suddenly feeling a lot better about leaving them. All he had to deal with now, was how to break the news to Buffy once they got to England…

Buffy’s door was half-open as Spike reached the top of the stairs. There were various thumps emanating from within the room as she searched for things, and he approached somewhat cautiously in case he got caught in the crossfire. Peering into the room, he could see clothes strewn about the place, both wardrobe doors wide open, and a half-empty suitcase, into which a few things had been haphazardly flung. A small overnight bag also sat next to it, half of its contents tipped onto the bed. Buffy wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Carefully, he knocked on the door. “Buffy?”

“Come in…” she said, from somewhere within. He pushed the door open fully and entered, just as she re-emerged from the wardrobe with her arms full of clothing. She looked at him. “Hey, you’re the expert. How cold is it in England, anyway? I mean, are we talking hats and scarves, or will I be okay with a sweater?”

He laughed. “It’s been a fair few decades since I could tell you, pet. Take layers…”

“Right, layers it is.” So saying, she dumped the pile onto the bed along with everything else and began sorting through it with the ease of one who regularly makes order out of chaos. “God, I wish I knew how long this was going to take…”

“Same here…”

Apparently unaware of the worry in his tone, she continued, “I’ll just pack enough for a week and live with it…”

Spike watched her in silence as she sorted the clothes into the suitcase, then made himself useful by attempting to put away the things in the pile she’d deemed ‘unsuitable for England’. This in itself proved to be fairly tricky as he had no idea where anything she owned actually went, and he was constantly asking questions. It registered that she didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was rooting around in her wardrobe, but he didn’t mention it. Several minutes later, she’d finished packing the case, with far too many for any normal person to be able to close it again afterwards, and put the overnight bag in the middle, thus making the load even bigger. Using her Slayer strength, she clipped it shut with no difficulty, and hauled it onto the floor by the door, ready for the morning.

Looking around afterwards, prepared to put everything away that she’d left out, she seemed almost surprised to find nothing there. She’d only been half-paying attention to Spike, despite giving instructions. “Oh… Thanks, Spike…”

“No problem,” he said, although he had got a problem. This time, however, now her attention wasn’t entirely focussed elsewhere, she detected the façade he was putting on.

“You’re really not okay with this, are you?”

He shook his head, kicking at a stain on her carpet with the toe of his boot. “Not really, no.” With a heavy, defeated sigh, he continued, “I mean, I know it’s the only option. It’s just…”

“You don’t want me to go now you’ve just got me back?”

“Exactly…”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Spike, sit down a minute…” He looked up to see her indicating for him to take his seat in the chair again, and he obliged, a little curiously. Once he was seated, she sat on the edge of the bed, opposite him, looking serious. She took a deep breath. “We need to talk. I think you know that.”

“Yeah. I wish we didn’t have to, though.”

“Me, neither… but… if we’re going to make anything work between us, we’ve got to put everything behind us. And the only way to do that is to talk about it.”

“Now?”

“No. That’s my point.” She reached out to take his hands, and pulled back again instantly with a curse as the sparks crackled between them. Pulling her long sleeves down to cover her hands, she tried again. “See? How can I talk to you if that’s going to happen every time I touch you?”

“I suppose you’re right, love… I want that stuff out of you about as much as you do, it’s just… you’re going so soon. And God knows how long you’re gonna be away.”

“Well, we’ve got…” She checked her watch - it was early afternoon. “We’ve got at least ten hours, maybe more, depending on how much sleep I wanna get before this flight. In fact, I may as well just stay up all night.”

“As tempting as spending ten hours with you sounds,” he said, “you should spend it with your friends.”

“Yeah…” she agreed. “But there’s no reason you shouldn’t join me, right?”

He beamed at her. “You’re sure they won’t mind?”

“I’m pretty sure they won’t. Besides, you should spend some more time with Dawn. And anyway, if they object, they’ll have to answer to me.”

Spike was lost for words. He’d been accepted by three people in the same twenty-four hours - first Xander, although indirectly, then Giles, and finally, by Buffy, to spend time with her friends. Things were definitely looking up. Shaking his head at his sudden good luck, he tried to kiss her, but was stopped by her sleeve-covered hand on his mouth.

“Still high-voltage Buffy, remember?”

She got up and started to head downstairs, taking the packed case with her. After a thoughtful pause, Spike followed her. At least if he started as he intended to go on, by making friends - proper friends, not just acquaintances that he was refraining from eating - with the gang, then maybe Buffy’s absence wouldn’t be so difficult after all. At least he’d have someone to talk to in the form of Dawn, at the very least. Maybe even Willow, after the conversation they’d had after the fight. And perhaps he could even hold a civil conversation with the Whe… with Xander, for Buffy’s sake if no-one else’s.

Listening to the chattering, laughing voices in the lounge, he suddenly realised it might not even be as difficult as he’d anticipated…

“Where the Hell did I put my case?!”

“It’s by the front door, love, where you left it yesterday…”

Buffy had been frantically running around trying to sort out non-existent problems, which had somehow miraculously manifested themselves overnight. The Scoobies were all standing in the lounge watching her as she ran about the ground floor, and Spike was following her around in an attempt to calm her down. As he didn’t seem to mind, they left him to it, watching the entire scene with some amusement. They would have slept through it, had Buffy’s frantic running about not woken them all up.

She ran into the kitchen and flung open the fridge, pulling out some cellophane-wrapped sandwiches before closing it again and running back into the hallway, stuffing them into a rucksack. Then, after a second’s thought, she ran back in there again and grabbed two drinks cans, running past Spike going in the opposite direction. She stopped, finally, and did a mental count of everything she needed to take. As an afterthought, she headed to the weapons chest and grabbed a stake.

“Planning on doing some Slaying, are we?”

She shrugged. “You never know what might happen…” As she stuffed it down the side of the rucksack, Giles nonchalantly came down the stairs, picked up her case (on the second attempt, with a grunt), and went out to put it in the car. Buffy looked up to find it gone and panicked again. “Now where’s it gone?”

Giles came back in. “Buffy, calm down… It’s in the car.”

She settled down slightly, taking a deep, calming breath to put her nerves at ease. “Sorry, I’m just… I want to make sure everything’s fine before I leave.”

“I know,” said the older man. “But there’s no need to panic. I’m sure Spike will make sure everything’s kept in order.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, surprised by the vote of confidence. “No nasties are going to get in, trust me.”

“And patrolling-“

“Will be taken care of. Stop worrying…”

There was momentary silence after the previous activity, then, suddenly, she left out a “Dammit!” and started running up the stairs. Spike ran after her and caught up with her halfway, forcibly dragging her back downstairs again.

“What now?”

“I forgot to pack a jacket…”

He sighed heavily. “Bloody hell… All right, fine, wait there and I’ll get one. You’re too flustered to think straight.”

“Thanks…” While he went upstairs, she started calming herself down again and headed into the lounge to say goodbye to her friends. “Okay, I guess this is it… I wish I could hug you, but, y’know…”

“It’s okay,” said Willow, “we’ll save them all for when you’re back, all healthy and non-electric.”

“I’ll try not to be too long, guys, I promise. Just, uh, try not to get killed or start a war or anything…”

“Buff, chill.” That was Xander. “It’s not like we haven’t worked without you before.”

“Yeah,” said Anya. “We’ll be fine.”

Buffy smiled at them all by way of thanks, and turned as she heard Spike coming down the stairs again. He had retrieved and was wearing his duster, but had apparently failed in his attempt to find her a jacket.

“Um, I thought you were getting me a jacket.”

“I have,” he said, cryptically. “Well, more of a coat, really…” So saying, he met her halfway out of the lounge and removed the duster. “Here.” He held it out, and, a little shocked, she turned so he could help her into it. It was miles too big; the sleeves completely covered her hands and it touched the floor, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Wow… are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s warmer than those pathetic denim things of yours, and… I thought… it might remind you of me… or something…”

She moved as if to hug him and then simultaneously remembered that she couldn’t and shrugged instead. “Thank you…”

“Yeah, well, just be careful with it…” he said, mock-defensively. Then, quieter, he added, “And be careful with yourself…”

“I will.” There was a moment of silence between them where they merely stared at each other with mutual understanding. Giles didn’t want to disturb the moment, but, seeing that they were going to be late if they didn’t hurry, he had very little choice.

He cleared his throat. “Buffy. We need to go.”

“Okay.” Tearing her gaze from Spike’s, she picked up her over-stuffed rucksack and followed Giles out to the waiting car. She took one last look around and shouted “’Bye, guys!” to the general direction of the lounge. She was answered by varying “See ya, Buffy”s and “Good luck!”s from the assembled Scoobies. “’Bye, Spike…”

“’Bye, pet.”

Smiling, she turned and left the house, allowing Spike to close the door after her as she hurled her rucksack into the back seat of the car and prepared to get in. Giles, ever the gentleman, held open the door for her and waited for her to get in. Just as she was about to, Spike called after her, not venturing out for fear of the early morning sunlight, but hovering in the doorway.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated, as if he’d been going to say something incredibly long-winded and had suddenly changed his mind. Instead, he simply smiled, and said, “I love you.”

He wasn’t anticipating a reply, or even that she’d say it back, because he knew she still needed time, even after already telling him. And if her promise the night before that she’d meant it still held true, then, for now, he didn’t need her to say it back. He just felt the need to tell her anyway, just so she knew.

“I know,” she said. Then, getting into the car as Giles shut the door after her, she rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “A-and you know I…”

He didn’t wait for her to struggle with it. “Yeah, I know…”

Giles got in, and started the car. Fighting down her sudden feeling that she didn’t want to go after all, Buffy waved from the car window, as her other friends joined Spike in the doorway and out on the porch. They all waved and shouted words of farewell as the car pulled off the driveway and onto the road, and disappeared from view as it turned the corner. Shrugging defeatedly, and hoping for the best, everyone started to file back inside, and set about something resembling a normal routine.

Approximately two hours later, at seven o’clock, Spike was up in Buffy’s room, staring out of her window, with a blanket over his head to protect from the sunlight pouring into the room. The familiar white streak of an aeroplane engine moved slowly across the pale blue sky, and he sighed. He only became aware of the other presence in the room when a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

“How’s it going, Broody the Second?” Xander stood next to him at the window, watching the same patch of sky. “Well… there she goes. Off to good ol’ England.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not really wanting company, but trying to be civil nonetheless.

Xander could tell he wasn’t wanted, and didn’t push his luck. In truth, he’d been sent up by Willow, whose tone had been too authoritative for him to refuse, who wanted to make sure Spike was okay. Other than looking slightly sunburnt, however, he obviously wasn’t in immediate danger of damaging himself, and seemed to only be moping. “Okay, just checking… We’re, uh, gonna start formulating a patrol rota in a few minutes, if you wanna help out.”

Spike eyed him curiously, but didn’t ask questions. “Right. Yeah… I’ll be down in a minute.”

Xander patted his shoulder somewhat awkwardly, and vacated the room. Spike watched the plane’s path a little longer until the plane itself became a tiny white dot and finally disappeared, then he rolled his eyes at himself, and followed Xander down the stairs, bundling the blanket into a messy ball as he went. If he was going to make friends, he’d better start now. And in any case, it was better than brooding like Peaches until Buffy came home again…