A/N Okay so heres the skinny:

Saw Mary Sue (or is it Mary Jane) fics all over the place. Heard them much maligned and derided and I couldn't help myself I just had to write one. MInes different though and I mean WAY different!

So I writes it and April patient with my silliness and incurable blondness proofed it for me. So now you can all read it and think "Eh? What? has she gone barking?"

Post As You Were.

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It was eating again, shovelling messy handfuls of curried rice into its mouth with fluffy paws. It had been here precisely forty-five minutes and it had eaten all the food he had in the place including the extremely soggy half bag of chips Clem had left last week.

The last of the rice disappeared and it sucked the traces of flavour out of its paws before looking at him, dog-like teeth exposed by its broad grin. Then it blinked once, opened its mouth wide and belched loudly. The noise seemed to please it, and it clapped and gurgled happily and rubbed its stubby paws over the round expanse of fluffy stomach in a gesture of replete contentment. Wouldn't last. The damn thing would be scavenging again in a minute.

"So," he addressed it in a suitably menacing tone. "What the bloody hell are you and why shouldn't I kill you right now?"

It looked at him quizzically for a moment, button eyes wide and shiny. Then it gurgled again and toppled itself off his couch like a toddler, rolling onto its belly and searching for the floor with stumpy legs, its Winnie the Pooh behind waving comically in the air.

It toppled as its paws hit the ground, and landed on its bottom with a surprised squeak. Unhurt though, its arse was plenty padded enough to break its fall. He watched it with impatient disdain as it waddled over to him. "'Otty," it gurgled, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Unfazed and unafraid.

"Lotty?" he asked, irritated. "I didn't ask your bloody name. I wanna know what you are. And make it good or old Spike's gonna have a rare time of it ripping your fuzzy little throat out."

"'Ike," it declared in a delighted shout, and then it was on him, stubby arms wrapped around his leg, its head resting against his thigh. "'Ike."

"Oh, bloody hell."

…………………………………..

She'd finished it. She'd finished it and that was a good thing. More importantly, it was the right thing. She drummed her fingers on the counter impatiently. God, she hated this place. Hated it worse when it was quiet. No greedy customers with fat spoilt children or spotty teenagers to distract her from the awful monotony of working in Double Meat Hell.

Or, more importantly, to distract her from thinking about him. She hadn't seen him since she'd done it. Not that she was avoiding him, apart from in the way that she was really avoiding him. It was just that she'd hurt him so badly. The way he'd looked when she told him it was over—all disbelieving and heartbroken—she couldn't even think of it without getting this awful ache in her chest. She really didn't need to see it again.

But somehow not seeing him didn't seem to translate into not thinking about him. Especially when she was stuck in this dive with nothing to do but think of him. Where was fat America when you needed it?

She'd had to finish it. She'd come too close that night, too close to… She didn't even know to what. But when she'd seen the patheticness of her life through Riley's eyes, she'd found herself with Spike. When every part of her life had seemed shabby and tawdry, somehow he'd been the one thing that had made sense, that had seemed worthwhile. So she'd gone to him, demanded his love, his desire, basked in the unconditional adoration he offered, and that was just too close to… to something bad.

She'd been worried. Worried that he'd left town or done something stupid or just something. So worried, in fact, that she'd been on the point of going to see him, just to check he was okay. But then Dawn had casually mentioned that Spike had been acting weirder than usual when he'd helped her with her English homework, and the relief she'd felt had been frighteningly intense. Intense enough to keep her away from him at least a little while longer.

Not long enough, though. She was already itching to go to him. And she really should do a sweep through Restfield, couldn't let her personal life get in the way of Slayer duty. Yeah, she'd do a patrol in his cemetery. Not to see him. Just because it was her job, and if he was there, well, then she'd deal.

Oh, thank God. A customer. "Welcome to Double Meat Palace. How may I help you?"

……………………….

Why in the name of everything unholy had he rescued this bloody thing? Not like it was human. Shoulda let the bloody G'hrickal have its meal. Just stayed the hell out of it. Thing was cute enough, he supposed. Kinda like a teddy bear crossed with an Ewok. He scratched its ear and it purred and gurgled in his lap, clumsy paws patting his chest in a comic parody of a caress. Yeah, cute enough. Not that he cared about cute, him being evil and all.

But it had been plucky, too. When the G'hrickal had got the upper hand and held him by the throat, suspended and helpless against the wall, it had attacked the demon's armoured leg with a high-pitched growl of fury and flailing paws. Not very effective, true, but it had distracted the thing for the split second Spike needed to deliver a debilitating kick to its less-well-protected groin.

"Well then, Lotty Bear," he asked in a thoughtful mumble. "What the hell am I gonna do with you now?"

It pulled itself up from his lap and looked around, fuzzy face scrunched up in what he guessed was a frown. Then its stomach rumbled loudly and it was off again, searching the corners of his home for something to eat.

……………………………

It wouldn't mean anything if she went in. She'd just be checking that he was okay. No. No. She'd be checking he wasn't up to anything evil. Like the eggs. He could be storing more dangerous demon eggs.

Why the hell had he had those damned eggs anyway? If he hadn't been up to badness, then Riley wouldn't have caught them together and then maybe… No. No good came of thinking that. He'd had the eggs because he was bad and evil and bad. Okay, so she'd said bad already, but he was. "I can get money." His words played in her mind and she pushed them aside. She was so not going down that road. Even if it was true. Say he was doing it for her. Which he probably wasn't because he was bad. Bad again, see. But even if he was, it made no difference. The eggs were dangerous, and it was definitely not of the good to be keeping them.

She glared accusingly at the closed door of his crypt. He probably wasn't in there anyway, so she could go in check for signs of evilness and leave without him ever knowing.

The door creaked with B movie melodrama as she gingerly began pushing it open. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and shoved hard so that it swung against the crypt wall with a loud bang, announcing her presence in typically violent style.

He was sprawled in his ratty armchair, one leg thrown over the arm, beer in hand. Far too casual a pose to be trusted. "Slayer," he greeted coolly, his voice and expression bland as if he could hide the swirl of emotions in his eyes from her. Like she of all people wouldn't see through his frosted glass façade.

Oh, she saw all right. She saw pain and anger. Saw the hurt she'd caused him, and her chest ached for a moment. Only a moment, though, because she saw something else as well. He was hiding something. It wasn't guilt, exactly, but he was definitely hiding something.

"Spike." She made her voice hard, accusation and threat hanging unmistakable in the air. Then she heard it; a tiny sound from the lower section of his crypt, too loud for rats. He had something down there. Or someone.

Her mind reeled with implication. He had someone down there. Down there where his bedroom had been, where he never took anyone but her. He had someone down there. Had he fixed it up? Cleared out the charred remains of his possessions, got a new bed? Someone new to fill it?

She flashed him an accusing glare and turned towards the ladder. God, he was fast. He was barring her way before she'd even taken a step. "Out of my way, Spike." It was a demand, quiet and unequivocal.

"I don't think so, luv." And if he called her "luv," she didn't care. Not one tiny bit. "You gave up the right to poke around whenever you please when you handed out my marching orders."

"And you gave up the right to privacy when you started trafficking demon eggs," she spat angrily as she moved to sidestep him. He mirrored her movements, keeping himself between her and the ladder. Hiding something down there. Or someone. A girl he had a girl down there. She knew it. That's why he'd looked guilty when she came in.

God, it didn't take long, did it? She could still smell him on the sweater she hadn't got round to washing yet, and he was leaping into bed with the first skank to come along.

"Fine," she ground out, eyes riveted on his, blood pumping angry suspicious adrenaline through her veins. She drew her hand back and punched him square in the face, hard enough to send him flying back against the wall clutching his nose and swearing imaginatively.

"Buffy, don't, please." It was the desperation in his voice that stopped her at the entrance to the lower level, and when she looked at him it was embarrassment that she read on his face. "It's nothing. Please, pet. Leave it."

And she would have acquiesced, because he said please and he looked so sincere. But another noise from below called her attention downwards and she saw it. Making its way up the ladder with obvious difficulty short arms stretching for each rung, little legs groping blindly beneath it for purchase.

"Bloody hell." He reached past her into the hole and hauled the thing up unceremoniously by the scruff of its neck. It didn't seem to mind; quite the opposite, in fact. It made an inarticulate noise that sounded a little like, "Whheeeee," as it was propelled up into his arms.

She stared. What else could she do? It was just too surreal. The creature, a light brown teddy bear of a thing with incongruously large teeth and an almost spherical plumpness, was clinging to Spike with short stubby arms and making contented gurgling sounds as it nuzzled his shoulder.

"Go on then, Slayer." He sounded embarrassed and strangely resigned. "Laugh it up."

And she did. A tinkling genuine laugh that she hardly recognised as her own, it had been silent for so long. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and carried the creature over to the stone sarcophagus where he dumped it with more care than he'd probably admit to.

"Spike, what is it?" And her voice sounded lighter than it had the last time she'd spoken. A wonder what a little laughter could do.

"Buggered if I know," he mumbled as he rummaged around in his fridge, coming out empty handed. "Say, Slayer, you got any food on you? Bloody thing's always hungry."

"Um…" She felt around in her pockets and found a half-eaten pack of mints. "These any good?" She tossed him the packet and watched as he offered them to the creature. It took the slim packet between both paws and gurgled in what could have been appreciation.

"Buffy, meet the Lotty Bear. Ah ah." He intercepted the mints as they headed towards the Lotty Bear's mouth, wrapper and all. "Found it about to get eaten and brought it back here." He unwrapped the mints as he spoke, passing them one by one into its eager paws. "No clue what it is or what to do with it."

………………………………………………………..

"And you say I'm evil," he huffed as they made their way through Sunnydale towards the magic box. "You know I'll never hear the end of this from the whelp, don't you?"

She laughed. It didn't sound so alien to her this time. She'd been laughing at him intermittently since she first saw him with his fuzzy little ward. She'd laughed when it had stopped dead in the middle of the cemetery and held its arms out wide to him in a silent demand to be carried. Laughed when it had beaten its paws against his face and gesticulated wildly towards McDonald's.

He'd shot her a dirty look and she'd had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing while he bought it two happy meals and unwrapped the free beanie toy for it. She hadn't been able to contain her laughter, however, when he'd had to rescue the toy from following the McNuggets down Lotty Bear's throat.

"We need the gang on this," she insisted with a smirk she knew was more than a little evil. "Or do you want to live with this thing forever?"

"Fine," he grumbled, glowering angrily at the creature in his arms. It didn't escape her notice, however, that his hand was still scratching its ear.

………………………………………………………..

"I'm sorry." Willow didn't sound sorry. She sounded highly bloody amused. "We're ready now. Seriously. We're ready to help."

He rolled his eyes and stayed silent. This was bloody humiliating. Worse still, the girls were looking at him like he was a big fluffy puppy himself. Tara grinned up at him from where she and Dawn were kneeling on the floor, the Lotty Bear between them on its back, stubby arms and legs splayed out to expose the paler fur of its belly to their attentive tickles.

"I gotta say, it's pretty cute," Xander chimed in, and he just knew what was coming. "So, dead boy, what's the deal with teddy bears? You feeling the need for evil snuggles?"

"Maybe it's a security thing." Bloody hell, even Dawn was getting in on the mockery. "Like Buffy and her stuffed pig."

He raised an eyebrow at the slayer and she flushed prettily. "Mr Gordo is totally different. Besides, I'm not a vampire. I'm allowed cuddles of the fluffy variety."

"Yeah, well, entertaining as all this is, maybe we could turn our attention to getting rid of this bloody thing. Don't fancy being stuck with it."

"You sure you don't wanna keep it, like a pet?" Dawn suggested, grinning at him in malicious amusement

"It'd be c-company for you." Bloody Wicca, she loved to tease. He hadn't forgotten her snide "cramp" comments at Buffy's birthday party. Minx.

"Ha-bloody-ha" He turned away, heading out for a smoke, but was stopped at the door by the scuffle of feet and a panicked cry of, "'Ike!" and then it was tugging at his jeans and looking up at him with big scared eyes. "'Ike?" it asked in a small, frightened squeak.

His jaw twitched in annoyance. He could hear the others giggling but he chose to ignore them in favour of squatting down to be at eye level with the creature. "Hey there, Fuzzy Bum," he addressed it, his voice more gentle than he imagined it would be. "Just going out for a fag is all. You stay here with the super friends. They'll keep an eye on you for a minute, okay?"

It seemed to consider for a moment and he was unsure if it understood the words or just the tone. Then it seem to make up its mind because it grinned at him and held out its arms with a jolly cry of, "'Ike!"

"Fine," he groused as he picked the creature up and balanced it on his hip. "But if you get lung cancer, don't come whining to me."

………………………………………………………….

She could watch him from just inside the back door of the magic box. Could see him from here without being seen. So she did, because her curiosity was peaked, and because—heaven help her—one week without seeing him and she was aching to just look at him. It really didn't help her resolve, she mused petulantly as she watched him take a long drag of his cigarette, eyes focused intently on the creature perched on the crates opposite, that he always looked so damn good.

"See what you've done now, Pooh Bear?" he addressed it with half-hearted annoyance. "Got that load o' wankers in there thinking I've gone soft. Got me a reputation to protect, ya know."

It didn't respond, just kept watching him with that dumb adoring look on its oddly expressive face. He snorted and let out a humourless chuckle that seemed to come from the deep well of bitterness she knew was inside. "Who the hell am I trying to kid?" He moved to sit next to it and she had to press herself against the wall to keep from being seen. "Reckon you're more menacing than I am right now." He lifted an arm in invitation and it crawled into his lap with a happy gurgle.

She stepped out from the shadows while his head was bowed and greeted him with a soft, "Hey," that was far more gentle and intimate than she'd intended.

"Hey." Nothing else to say. She shouldn't have come out here and they both knew it. If it was over, and she had said that it was, then she couldn't keep doing this. Keep finding him in the darkness, keep drawing him in with the softness of her voice. It was weakness rather than cruelty, but the pain it caused him was the same so it probably didn't make much difference.

And, God, it hurt to look at him. To see the pain she caused him written in every defeated line of his body, every muffled sigh of air through dead, useless lungs. And his eyes. His beautiful eyes, blue and wet as the ocean, iris damns cracking under the weight of the tears behind.

"Stay or go." The unspoken plea of those eyes. "Just make up your bloody mind."

"Tara wants to check its aura." She can't answer him. Can't be with him, can't bear to burn her bridges yet.

…………………………………………………………..

"There's magic all around it," Tara told them as she ran her hands over the Lotty Bear's fluffy head. "And it's not white magic."

"Is it dangerous." Spike looked over at Buffy when she spoke. Typical bloody slayer, always on the defensive.

"I don't think so." She scratched its ear and it gurgled happily and pawed at her chest. "Its aura is…almost human. I think something was done to it, a curse or something."

"Can you break it?" Spike asked. Bloody magic. He hated the stuff; it was nothing but bleeding trouble.

"I think s-so." He grinned at her stutter and she blushed and looked down. He liked her, always had. Wouldn't have bothered with the headache he got from hitting her back when she was all scared she was a big bad if he hadn't liked her. He almost laughed at the thought, sweet thing she was, not a single speck of bad in that witchy body of hers. "It's just a simple incantation. I have everything I need here."

He found himself looking at Buffy for a decision. Bleeding bitch, even after everything she done to him he couldn't help following her.

She met his gaze and for a moment all there was was the connection of their eyes. She felt it, too, he knew. She bloody well did by the way she looked away and nervously wiped her palms on her Levis. "Do it."

……………………………

He wasn't playing fair. He wasn't supposed to rescue cute fuzzy little creatures, wasn't supposed to be reluctantly kind to them and at the same time guilelessly charming. He wasn't supposed to be sweet and it obviously not be a ploy to get into her pants. "Again," her mind supplied unhelpfully, and she almost growled in frustrated annoyance. Damn vampire.

"So, slayer." He'd got behind her without her noticing. Was standing dangerously close to her shoulder, speaking low and husky in her ear. "I meant to ask. What were you doing in my crypt? Was it business, or…" He paused, letting her stew before he purred seductively in her ear, "Pleasure?"

Her eyes flashed around the room in panic. God, what was he doing? Anyone could overhear. "Drop it, Spike," she hissed, quiet and threatening.

He chuckled, that evil mocking sound she hated so very much. He never laughed, not really, just chuckled evilly. "Don't think so, pet." It was little more than a murmur, dangerously intimate.

She had to get away from him before she gave herself away. "Ah ah." He grabbed her arm as she moved, holding her in place. "Don’t want to make a scene now, do we?" He was such an arsehole. A real Grade 'A' arsehole.

"Spike." As so often before, his name was a whispered threat on her lips

His grip tightened on her arm and he opened his mouth to speak, something she very effectively prevented by punching him in the face. "Bloody hell, Slayer," he growled as he checked his nose for blood. "What the hell did you do that for?"

She cocked her hip and produced a stake from her pocket. "You know, Spike…" she began, only to be interrupted by a savage attack from the Lotty Bear.

"Gah-argh. Essh grragh!" Its little paws were beating furiously against her midriff with all the strength of a kitten. But what it lacked in actual menace it attempted to make up for in enthusiastic growling. Well, she supposed it was growling. It actually sounded more like gurgling.

"What—what is it doing?" she asked, bemused by the creature's strange display.

"I don't think it likes you threatening Spike," Dawn suggested through girlish giggles. "It's protecting him."

She couldn't help but grin. "It's very protecty." Looking at Spike, she saw him watching its antics with baffled amusement. "Do you think it'll do this for long?" she asked, looking down as the Lotty Bear renewed the vigour of its attack with a loud cry of "Agug!"

"Hey, Fuzzy Bum." Spike's voice stopped it in mid flow and it turned towards him, head cocked curiously to one side. "Come here, Humpty."

It waddled obediently up to him and he swung it round in a circle before settling it, gurgling and clapping, onto his hip. "Slayer didn't mean any harm, Stinky," he told it when it glanced suspiciously over its shoulder at the blonde. "Jus' likes hearing herself talk is all."

"I'm about ready anyway." Tara's voice cut off the caustic response forming on the slayer's lips as she waved vaguely towards the circle of coloured sand she and Willow had laid out in the centre of the magic box. "Take it into the circle. You better hold it in-in case it moves. D-don't worry, it's safe."


"Do we have to change it back?" Anya asked suddenly from her position by the cash register. "It's adorable. I want it at our wedding to amuse and delight our many guests." She rolled her eyes and huffed at the stern disapproving looks the offers gave her. Looks like she'd stumbled onto another human faux pas. They were all so sensitive.

"Ready?" Spike asked the little witch from within the circle. The Lotty Bear was clinging to his side, short legs sticking out straight on either side of his waist, his hand supporting its furry haunch while it ruffled his hair into tousled curls that Buffy was refusing—positively refusing—to find adorable.

"Encante termine. Let the curse be lifted."

A cloud of blue smoke covered them, and for a moment Spike felt disorientated by the dispelling magic. It only took a moment, however, to realise that it was no longer the Lotty Bear's furry rear in his hand, but rather a generous handful of soft female behind.

"Spike?" Buffy asked, as the smoke cleared and she saw that the Lotty Bear was gone and in its place, legs firmly wrapped around Spike's waist, was a very surprised, very naked woman.

She looked around in confusion for a moment, glanced at Spike, then down at her own state of undress, and said the only thing she could think of. "Um, hello."

He had his hand on her ass. Her great big bare ass. Why the hell hadn't he moved his hand? Buffy glared daggers at Spike but he was looking at the woman so her efforts were wasted. "Um, pet?" he prompted, and she seemed to realise suddenly that she was pressed naked against a complete stranger.

"Oh God. Um…oh, sorry." She moved to get off him but that only exposed her tiny delicate breasts to his amused gaze, so she clamped herself against him again.

"Um, does anyone have anything I could put on?"

"Er, hang on pet." He turned them around so his back was to the assembled group and let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. "Here." Shielding her from the others, he removed his coat and handed it to her, enjoying her embarrassed blush at his blatant perusal of her figure. Not bad, nothing really special either, flat stomach but a pretty flat chest to go with it. Soft layer of fat over her strong athletic frame. Nice arse, though, he noticed as she turned away shyly, plenty of wobble.

"Who are you?" Anya, easily bored as always, was the first to speak.

"Um…" The woman pulled the duster tight around her naked body and stepped out from behind the amused vampire. "Lotty. I, um, I think I may have pissed off a warlock."

Buffy frowned at the accent. British, she guessed, but different from Spike and Giles. Husky and musical. "Where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from Wales. I had a falling out with a Druid over a spring on… But that doesn't matter. He cursed me, turned me into a Care Bear and sent me here. Can I call my husband, please?"

……………………………………………….

The woman, Lotty, was, it seemed, a kind of mystical horse breeder. Anya and Tara had known what she was talking about. Essentially, she bread Fairy horses on the ancient holy island of Anglesey. A sacred place, all lay lines and old magic. They watered at a blessed spring summoned centuries ago by the fabled witches of Llanddona.

She hadn't really got it, but Willow and Tara had been excited by it and Anya typically knowledgeable in her own blasé way. Anyway. Some warlock type had tried to keep the horses from using the spring and the dispute had left Lotty cursed and miles from home.

But everything had worked out, because Spike had saved her. "My hero." She'd laughed and he'd smiled and bowed gallantly. Her frantic husband had arranged a flight back to the UK the next day, and now the whole group was gathered at the bronze, including Lotty and Spike. It had been Willow's fault. She'd invited them and there'd been nothing Buffy could do about it except lend Lotty that too-big pair of jeans she'd bought just because they were on sale and grit her teeth at the thought of spending the evening in close proximity to the very person she was trying to avoid.

Not that it was turning out to be a problem because he wasn't exactly hanging round her. He was dancing. Dancing! Had she ended up in bizarro world or something? Spike and dancing. Two things she had pegged as totally un-mixy, and yet there he was, twirling Lotty in dizzying circles until they both laughed and she clung to him for balance. Tramp.

"Is Lotty pretty?" she suddenly asked, cutting across Xander and Willow's conversation.

"Um…" Xander frowned and glanced over to the dance floor. "I guess she's okay. Nothing special. Good ass, though."

She knew it. She knew Spike had been hanging onto that ass longer than necessary. She looked over at the woman again. She was older than they were—late twenties—and time had drawn fine lines around her eyes and mouth. She was thicker set than Buffy and her hair was mousy and lacked any real body or bounce, and yet Buffy found herself inexplicably jealous. Jealous of the easy, self-effacing humour and the straining seams of the jeans she had lent her. But most of all, she was jealous of Spike's laughter.

After Lotty had called her husband, she'd wandered back into the Magic Box and glanced sheepishly around before asking hopefully, "Anyone got anything to eat? I'm starving," and Spike had laughed. Not a chuckle, nothing evil or dark. He'd just laughed. He never laughed for her.

"I'm bored. Let's dance." Willow caught her eye and they shared a grin at Anya's bluntness as she dragged an unresisting Xander onto the dance floor.

"Is she prettier than me?" Buffy asked her friend after they had watched the dance floor for a moment in silence.

"Who? Oh, Lotty." Willow shook her head in obvious confusion. "No. Not even close. You're gorgeous and she's… she's just all right."

"She's a ho," Buffy mumbled as she watched Lotty swinging her backside in Spike's direction on the dance floor.

"Buffy?" Willow drew her attention back. "Lotty's okay. She's had a tough time."

"The way she's getting down with her funky self I don't think she's too traumatised," Buffy huffed and crossed her arms. "And she's married. She shouldn't be behaving so, so slutty."

"Buffy." Willow wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "What's got into you? She's just making the best of being stuck here and you're making with the crazy like she's swooped in and tried to steal your boyfriend." Her laughter faded at the expression on her friend's face.

Buffy's eyes were wide and startled, fear and guilt flashing over her face. "Buffy?" Willow asked when the blonde's eyes flicked to the dance floor guiltily, and the redhead turned her head slowly in that direction, the feeling of being on the cusp of realisation settling on her. As if there was something here that she should really know. Then she saw what Buffy had glanced so surreptitiously at and the numbers began to add up.

"Oh." Confused and disbelieving realisation, another glance at the dance floor where Spike pulled Lotty close and whispered something in her ear before spinning her away again, and understanding solidified to concrete certainty in her mind. "Oh!"

"Oh God." The slayer buried her face in her hands with that breathy exclamation. "Oh, God."

"Buffy?" The slayer wasn't looking at her. She had her head firmly planted in her hands. "You and Spike?"

Buffy let out a small squeak that Willow took for confirmation. "Oh." She shook her head, trying to process the weirdness of this revelation. "I mean, 'oh.'"

"Oh, God." Buffy looked up suddenly, eyes watery and imploring. "Are you disgusted with me? God, you are. I—"

"No." Willow cut in firmly. "It's just, it's Spike. Which is just weird because you hate him and he's a vampire and it's Spike and he doesn't even have a soul like Angel. Not that Angel was Mr Perfect either, but it's Spike, and—"

"You are disgusted." Buffy looked so shamed and dejected that Willow stopped abruptly and tried to force her whirling mind into calmness.

"No, Buffy." She paused, groping for the right words. "I was, and I quote a very good friend of mine, 'startled.' You gotta admit, it's kinda outta left field. It's Spike. Okay, I'm done saying that now." She leaned over and placed her hand over Buffy's in a gesture of friendship and support. "How? And since when?"

"Since the dancing, musical thing. Kinda." She sat back and met the redhead's eyes. "But it's over." She made an emphatic slicing gesture with her free hand. "It's extremely over." Then her voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes darted briefly in the vampire's direction. "Over."

"Buffy?"

"Don't tell Xander, please." It twisted her gut to see the slayer so desperately shamed. And worst of all, she knew that it was their doing, hers and Xander's. Giles' too, she supposed. She saw it clearly now how they took from her, unconsciously demanding that she remain always perfect while they blundered through life's mistakes in truly human style.

"Buffy." She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. This had to be said. "We hurt you. Me and Xander and the others." She held up a hand to stop whatever protests the slayer was about to offer. "No, we did. We didn't mean to, but that doesn't matter because we did. We hurt you so bad and if you can find some happiness, any little tiny moment of happiness with Spike, then we have no right whatsoever to judge you."

"But Xan—"

"Xander will suck it up and do as he's told." Her eyes gleamed determinedly and her jaw set in that tell-tale expression of resolve.

"I love you, Will." She hadn't said it for so long she realised then, but at that moment, faced with the redhead's boundless capacity for understanding, it was surprisingly easy to say. "But it doesn't matter. It was really, badly, messed up. It's better that it's done with."

She seemed sad, though, and unconvinced. "Buffy, do you love him?"

The fear in her eyes, the panic, was enough to answer the witches question but she waited patiently for Buffy's answer all the same. "I don't know, Will," she admitted, slumping down in the chair, the very image of defeat. "I should hate him. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I do hate him." She stopped then, as if searching for the right words, the elusive collection of syllables that would explain exactly what she felt. "But then there are times—just moments, less, maybe only seconds—and it's like he's the whole world and then I think, I think I know that I do."

"Oh, Buffy, I wish you could have told me."

"Me too, but it was so hard and I thought you'd hate me for it, or, I don't know, something. I was so ashamed." The tears were in her eyes again and Willow felt a pang of guilt. They had done this to Buffy, had made her believe that she couldn't just be with whomever she wanted to be because it was unconventional. God, were they just like Tara's family?

Looking over at where Tara was playing pool with an ecstatic-to-be-here Dawn, she found herself blessed with one of her girlfriend's, ex-girlfriend-on-the-road-to-being-girlfriend-agains, shyly beguiling smiles. If the others had judged her for her relationship with Tara, she would have been devastated and hopelessly torn between new love and old loyalty.

"Come on." She grabbed Buffy's hand and hauled her to her feet.

"What? What are we doing?"

"We're cutting in." She tugged determinedly on her friend's arm.

"What? Oh no." The slayer pulled back, shaking her head vigorously.

"Buffy, I may not know everything, but I know enough to see that it is not over, and it's hurting you to pretend that it is. Do you want him, Buffy?" She knew the answer, had seen it in Buffy's jealous eyes, but it was the slayer herself who needed to hear the truth. "Everything else aside, if it were just the two of you, no vampire/slayer thing, no Angel, no well-meaning but interfering friends. Would you want to be with him?"

From the look on the slayer's face, she could see that this was new to her. That in distilling it this way, she was giving Buffy new eyes with which to see her relationship. "Yes, I'd want to be with him."

"Right, then, we're cutting in." Because if Buffy wanted to be with him, then Willow was going to make sure she could be.

"No!" That came out louder than intended, and she had to drop her eyes from the sudden curious looks of a group of college kids standing nearby.

"Yes, come on. Don't make me turn you into a frog. Not that I would, me being on the wagon and all, but I could get Tara to do it for me." She turned back to look into her friend's eyes, trying to communicate understanding and acceptance. "Buffy, listen to me, because I have some recent experience on this. Do not let anything get in the way of being with the person you love. Don't mess it up because you're scared or stupid or because you're so pathetically insecure you have to go throwing your weight around just to feel… Okay, my stuff and way off topic, but you know what I mean." She grinned. "And don't worry about Xander. We'll gang up on him and he'll come round. He loves you, Buffy. We all do. We only want you to be happy."

It made sense. And with Willow and Tara onside and Giles in England, that only left Xander who would blow a gasket. But like Willow had said, if the girls stuck together, he'd come round. She felt a slow smile creep across her face as for the first time since she'd thrown herself full of need and desperation into Spike's arms outside The Bronze, it looked like she had a shot at trying to make a go of it.

"Okay." Suddenly another spectre of insecurity rose. "Wait, Willow. What if he doesn't want to dance with me?" She huffed and looked over at the dance floor. "He's having fun with her."

"Oh, Buffy, come on." Willow shook her head in irritated disbelief.

"No, seriously. She's all fun and British with the slang and everything, and I so caught him checking out her big fat ass, and… and she made him laugh." Suddenly, she was all pouty and girlish and it warmed the witch's heart to see her so human. "I never make him laugh."

"He doesn't look at her like he looks at you. Trust me on this. He wants to dance with you." Willow was pulling her again and fighting would just make her look like a disobedient child, so she followed the redhead as they weaved their way across the crowded dance floor.

"You mind if I steal your partner?" Willow asked Spike with a grin as she took Lotty's hand. "You've been monopolising her all evening."

"Be my guest, Red." He stood back and watched as she and Lotty broke away from him and launched into some energetic dance moves that he hoped were being preformed with a healthy does of irony. Then a tap on his shoulder whirled him round and there was Buffy, looking beautiful and nervous, chewing her lip and fingering the hem of her blouse.

She took a deep breath and he couldn't help but smile at the expression of grim determination that took over her features. "Wanna dance?"

……………………………….

"Don't even think about it, Xander," she said, resolved face firmly in place. "Leave them."

"Will, are you crazy? He's got his filthy un-dead paws all over her." Typical Xander, with his almost hysterical righteousness. No wonder poor Buffy didn't tell them.

Willow rolled her eyes. "And you'll notice her lily-white chosen one paws are reciprocating willingly." She touched his arm, turning serious and pleading. "Don't make this hard for her, Xander, please."

He shook his head and began to speak, but she cut him off. "She needs for us to be on her side. She's been through so much, and if being with him helps…" She let the sentence hang unfinished in the air. No need for her to say what they both knew, that the slayer was hurting, that she was broken and that they were the ones who had done the breaking.

The rhythm of the music sped up and the dancing couple broke apart. The slayer whispered something in his ear and he nodded and wandered over to the pool table where Anya was attempting to recreate a trick shot she had seen on television to a sceptical looking Dawn and an indulgent Tara.

He gave Dawn's hair an affectionate tug and grinned at the girls. "Where'd Fuzz go?" he asked as he leant across the table to adjust Anya's arrangement.

"She's gone to call her husband," Dawn told him, handing him a cue and rolling her big blue eyes. "For like the millionth time."

"Right." He bent over and struck the white, sending coloured balls ricocheting around the table and into the pockets.

"See?" Anya threw up her hands. "I told you it was good."

"Soooo?" Dawn dragged the word out into a question and grinned excitedly at the vampire.

"So, what?" he asked, trying not to let his own smile, pushing hard at his indifferent expression, break through.

"She wants to know why you were dancing with Buffy," Anya supplied helpfully.

"Best ask your sis, pet," the vampire responded cagily. "Don't wanna get myself staked by telling you the wrong thing."

"So there's stuff to tell?" She was practically bouncing on the spot. "Have there been smoochies?"

"Niblet." His voice was a warning growl. "Save it for your girly mates at school; you're getting nothing from me."

"I would suspect there have been, Dawn," Anya told the teenager sagely. "They were dancing in a very intimate manner."

"Ah!" Dawn clapped. "So cool. I knew she'd come round eventually."

He moved over to where the good witch was perched on a high stool watching the proceedings with a small smile. "Not looking too surprised, Wicca," he murmured too quietly for the others to hear. "Someone been telling tales out of school?"

But Tara just gave him that shy, sly smile of hers and turned away.


…………………………………………………………

She took a deep steadying breath and wiped her damp palms over her hips. Straightened her shoulders and headed into the breech.

"Hey, Buf," Xander greeted and she could tell by the set of his jaw that he was ready to unleash. "So, you and the bleached wonder? Gotta say…"

"Xander!" That stopped them both. Sure, Willow was scary when she was all out of control with the magic but not nearly as scary as when she wielded the power of oldest friend. She saw Xander comply with the single command to let it go. It'd come later for sure. Xander would bitch and whine and dig at Spike at every opportunity, and Spike—being Spike—would make it a hundred times worse by goading him, and she and Willow would end up playing referee.

She saw it all in her mind, exactly as it would be: Dawn ecstatically happy until Spike first told her to do something she didn't want to do, they'd push and pull and bicker like children and he'd get more compliance from her than Buffy herself ever would; Tara quiet and supportive would make it easy and he respected her, he really did, so maybe she'd help keep him in check; Anya indifferent and disinterested in all that wasn't about her, annoyed possibly with her fiancée's angry preoccupation with the new couple. And Willow. Willow, who had been just longing for a chance to make amends, would be her greatest ally.

She smiled one of those slow, dawning smiles that come right from the very centre of you. Right from that place inside that knows, suddenly and definitely knows that it's going to be okay. Difficult, probably. Infuriating, certainly. But for all that, okay.

"Thanks, guys." Even Xander isn't immune to the love and gratitude of her simple words, and the accusation and judgement are gone from his eyes as he nods his acceptance.

…………………………………………………………….

She hadn't liked the way Lotty had kissed Spike in farewell. Hadn't been keen on her offer. "Any time you feel like seeing the old world again…" She'd smiled and touched his hand with her fingertips. Weren't the British supposed to be all stiff and stuffy about the touching?

"You take care of yourself, Fuzz," he'd replied fondly, and she hadn't liked at all that he still had pet names for her.

She'd slipped her arm through Spike's in a blatant gesture of possession that had had him raising an eyebrow at her in surprise, and smiled sweetly at the woman, barely keeping her claws withdrawn. Jealous. It was insane, but there it was, and the sooner the damn minicab got here and took her out of their lives the better.

When she was finally gone, she pulled away from him, saccharine sweetness turning to vitriol with the closing of a door. She stomped around the Magic Box, straightening chairs and gathering up books with noisy, aggravated clatter.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" She didn't dignify that with an answer, just glowered at him and turned back to the task of restacking already-tidy books on the polished wood table.

"Buffy?" Exasperated, he stilled her hands and turned her to face him. "What's wrong?"

She pursed her lips and looked away, embarrassment and awkwardness taking the edge off the anger that only a moment ago had felt so much more justified. Her lip came out in a disgruntled pout. "You liked her," she accused with adorable petulance, and he couldn't help but smile, even if it did piss her off even more. She was jealous. Buffy was actually jealous, stupidly irrationally jealous of some woman who passed briefly through his life, a woman who could never ever hold a candle to his Buffy.

It was so normal, like the girl who gives her boyfriend a hard accusing look for glancing at a short skirt or low cut top as they drive on by. It was just so coupley that he grinned.

But only for a moment because she pulled angrily away from him and he was pleading like any penitent boyfriend who has for a moment too long enjoyed his lady's jealousy. Pleading and telling her that she was the only woman he would ever want. Buttering her up with reassurance that to him she was more beautiful and special than any other woman on the whole planet. And she, like any girlfriend fishing for just that reassurance, smiled coyly at him and play-acted reluctance until he kissed her with indisputable passion.

"Only you, Buffy," he told her when she was breathless and had forgotten what they had been arguing about. "I love you."

"I know." It wasn't what he wanted, at least not yet, but it was enough. She moved a millimetre towards him before she changed her mind and pulled away. "Come on. Time for patrol."

And he went willingly, of course, because she was his girl now, and whatever she wanted, he would give to her.

........................................................................

A/N I told you it was stupid, you didn't have to read it :)

Okay so it was me I am Lotty. And the creature; that's me too. That's the me only my husband can see; the furry greedy inner me. I am the Bear! (The Lotty Bear you see?). Notice how I gave furry me lots of Spike cuddles, you want them too you know you do.

So you can review if you want. You know point and laugh and generally mock me.