Burn for Me

Author: Emily

Parts: 81 - 86

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~Part: 81~

“So the bald-headed man with the lisp spends the entire cartoon chasing after the same evil rabbit?” Anya asked skeptically.

Willow and Xander nodded their confirmation.

“And when he doesn’t manage to catch it, instead of just going home and being grateful that he’s not stuck with a rabbit, he keeps chasing after it, coming up with more and more elaborate ways to capture it?”

Again, Willow and Xander nodded.

“And in the end, the rabbit always manages to outsmart him, catching him in his own traps and usually blowing him up, as well?”

Another double nod.

“Explain to me again why this is funny,” Anya asked.

The look on Anya’s face was so completely serious that Willow couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe you should imagine it’s something else *other* than a rabbit,” she suggested brightly, winking at Xander. “The hunter guy speaks with a lisp so he never actually says ‘rabbit,’ he just says ‘wabbit.’ Imagine that a ‘wabbit’ is similar in appearance to a rabbit, but less scary.”

Anya’s face brightened. “I can do that,” she replied happily before poking Xander in the side with her elbow. “How come you never make helpful suggestions like that?”

Willow started giggling again as she watched Xander try to placate Anya (and fail miserably). Life was good. She had cartoons, she had friends, and most importantly, she had mobility that finally extended beyond Spike’s room, the bathroom, and the corridor that connected the two.

Yes, Spike had finally relented and allowed her downstairs. He still wouldn’t allow her out of the house, he wouldn’t let her read anything, and her schoolbooks remained hidden away, but Willow couldn’t help but be optimistic about the progress they had made. Every little bit of progress had to be counted when you were dealing with an incredibly stubborn vampire.

The most liberating new development was that he even let her out of his sight now for more than a minute, as long as someone was with her, and he was in earshot to hear if his help was needed. In fact, at that very moment while Xander and Willow attempted to explain cartoons to Anya, he was in the kitchen, making her chicken soup, from scratch.

Dawn sat on the counter and watched in semi-fascination as Spike diced bits of vegetables at superhuman speed while humming along to the oldies song on the radio. If it weren’t for the superspeed, she would have almost thought that Spike looked . . . *normal*. In spite of the propaganda she had been exposed to as the sister of the slayer, Dawn knew that vamps could be generous. They could be selfless. They could be genuinely helpful, and demonstrably loyal, and truly in love. She just hadn’t known that they could be so *domestic*.

“You’re sure I can’t help?” she asked again.

“Nah, Bit, I’ve got it under control,” Spike replied, looking up to grin at her while his hands continued dicing. “A spot of company’s all I need; making soup takes a while and can be dull without a pretty girl around to keep me entertained.” He winked at her and she fought the urge to blush.

“If it takes so long, why bother?” Dawn couldn’t help but ask. “You can go to the store and buy fifty different kinds of soup that’ll be ready in five minutes.”

Spike snorted. “Ever taken a good look at what they put in those canned soups? The broths aren’t so bad; that’s why it wasn’t really a problem those first few days; but now that Red can handle something a little more substantial, I’m not about to give her soup stuffed full of rubbish that belongs in a chemistry set.” Spike snorted again at the absurdity of the very thought. “Only the best for my Red,” he murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for Dawn to hear.

Dawn grinned and fought the urge to bounce a bit in her seat. The pieces were finally falling into place. She and Anya wouldn’t be needed as match facilitators for Willow and Spike much longer . . . if they were ever really needed in the first place. She had always known that Spike and Willow were perfect for each other, but she had wondered just how long it would take them to get with the program and realize it for themselves. She still couldn’t help but shudder when she remembered that awful moment in the hospital when it sunk in that Willow loved Spike, and the horrible hours that followed before Spike arrived when the realization struck her with an aching, persistent pain that their story might not have a happily-ever-after ending after all.

But that was all in the past now. Willow was out of danger and getting stronger every day, Spike was devotedly at her side every possible minute, and from the way he was acting; fussing over *something* Willow-related every second; Dawn couldn’t help but think that Spike just might be falling in love as well. The castles in the air had rebuilt themselves in her mind, and she was starting to believe again that every day brought her friends that much closer to their happy ending.

The kitchen door swung open as Willow stepped inside, flashing a grin at both of them as she walked over to the cabinet.

“Are you two almost done in here? You’re missing out on lots of quality cartoon time,” she informed them as she fished out a cup and opened the fridge.

“The soup’ll be set to simmer in just a minute or two, and then we’ll come join you,” Spike promised, watching Willow with a ridiculously soft smile that faded into a frown as he saw her discreetly grab a bottle of soda, attempting to keep her body between Spike and the bottle to block his view. It didn’t work.

“And just what do you think you’ll be doing with that?”

Willow’s eyes went wide and innocent as she hid the bottle of soda behind her back. “Do with what?” she asked as guilelessly as she could manage.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Do with the soda you’re hiding behind your back, love. You weren’t planning on *drinking* that, were you?”

“Drinking? No! I . . . well . . . Willow studiously avoided eye contact, staring instead at the traitorous bottle of Coca Cola Classic. “Yes. Maybe. For the . . . um . . .  nutritional value!”

“Nutritional value?” Spike asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“Each serving has thirteen percent of the daily recommended allowance of carbohydrates!” Willow pointed out eagerly, showing Spike the nutritional value panel on the side of the bottle.

“Sure, pet,” Spike replied, not even looking at the nutritional panel. “I’m sure those carbohydrates, along with all that sugar and caffeine would be just great for you during your recovery.” He reached for the kettle and added some water. “I’ll make you some tea,” he announced.

The look on Willow’s face grew pleading. “Soda,” she begged.

“Tea.”

“Caffeine-free soda?”

“Tea.”

“*Diet* caffeine free soda?”

“Tea.”

“Diet caffeine-free soda with lemon added? That’s vitamin C!”

“Tea.”

Willow considered pouting for a minute, but decided against it. It was quite clear that Spike wouldn’t give in, and if she didn’t come up with a compromise soon, she’d be stuck with another mug of tea.

“Orange juice?”

Spike paused and gave this a moment’s consideration. “Deal,” he agreed, watching her like a hawk to make sure she really did pour orange juice into her cup instead of trying to sneak in the soda again, and grinning at the exaggerated face of disgust she made at the taste of it.

“If it bothers you that much, I can always go ahead and make that tea . . .” he teased.

“No, no, no, orange juice good!” Willow insisted. “Orange juice very good. Yummy. All that . . .  orangey goodness, and all.” Cupping her hand over her mouth she whispered loudly and theatrically in Dawn’s direction. “Here’s your chance, Dawnie. I’ll get him distracted, and then we can run for it before he starts drowning you in tea, too!” Pulling her hand away from her mouth to point it out the window, she opened her eyes wide in pretend shock as she called out, “What in the world could that be?” before darting out of the room, giggling.

Dawn could hear the low sound of Spike’s laughter over her own giggles as the redhead made good on her escape. Turning away from the door, she opened her mouth to say something to Spike, but stopped herself at the look on his face as Spike continued to stare at the kitchen door, still slightly swinging from Willow’s exit. Biting her lip hard, Dawn leaned forward to fiddle with her shoelaces, letting her hair fall into her face to hide her triumphant grin from Spike’s view. Not that she really thought Spike would notice. Apparently it took a minute or so even after her exit for Spike to come back from Willow-land. The grin on Dawn’s face grew wider. The happily-ever-after she’d been imagining for Willow and Spike might be even closer than Dawn had thought.

“She looks like she’s almost back to her old self,” Dawn stated happily once she had gotten her smile under control. Expecting Spike to be just as pleased as she was at the signs of Willow’s recovery, she was surprised to see the smile on Spike’s face fall.

“Yeah, she does,” Spike agreed quietly, turning back to the counter to chop some vegetables with just a bit more force than he had used before.

Spike’s gut twisted uncomfortably. Dawn was right, of course, Willow did look better, *much* better. Another day or two, and she’d be back to one hundred percent, without any trace of the sickness that nearly killed her. She’d be completely well, completely healed, and completely self-sufficient once again . . . and he hated the thought of it.

He was an awful friend. Terrible. Horrible. No good. Very bad. Downright dreadful in fact because . . . he didn’t really want Willow to get better. He didn’t want to be without an excuse to spend every minute of every day with her. He felt faintly sick at the thought of not being able to fuss over her and take care of her and spoil her and love her . . . the way he had for the past few days. And he absolutely hated the idea of waking up cold and alone when he’d grown accustomed to waking up to a bedful of warm Willow curled up in his arms. He hated the thought of giving it up. He knew that made him selfish, but he couldn’t help it. There were so few pieces of her that he could truly consider his, and he dreaded the thought of giving any of them up, just because she would soon be well enough not to need him anymore.

Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to focus on the soup. Thinking about could-be and would-be and probably-will-be wouldn’t do anything but hurt him. For now, he had something concrete he could do to help Willow: he could finish making the soup. With renewed concentration, the vegetable bits were chopped and ready in short order.

“Alright, the hard part’s nearly done,” Spike told Dawn, forcing himself to smile as he put down the chopping knife. “I just need to dump in the vegetables and add the seasonings, and the whole lot will be ready to sit and simmer.” Matching his actions to his words, Spike lifted the cutting board to dump the vegetables into the pot, not realizing how close his elbow was to the salt shaker.

“Spike, look out for the sa—” Dawn started to call out, a moment too late as she watched his elbow bump the salt shaker, knocking it off the counter.

Spike froze in place as he watched the shaker fall toward the floor. With both hands holding the cutting board, he knew there was nothing he could do to catch it without causing the vegetables to spill, but also he knew the glass salt shaker was fragile, and would probably shatter on impact with the tile floor. Once it crashed, he’d be left with no choice but to spend at least the next twenty minutes making sure he got every single granule of glass and salt off of the floor (Willow had the habit of walking around the house barefoot and Spike wouldn’t take any chances of missing a bit of glass just to have it turn up in time to hurt her) which meant that he had that much longer to wait until he was able to go into the living room and join his Red. His eyes narrowed in a glare at the salt shaker as he mentally willed it to hold still and stop causing him problems . . . but his eyes widened in shock when it actually *did*.

“Nibblet?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah?” she answered in an equally hesitant voice.

“Do you see the salt shaker hanging in mid-air?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh good,” Spike replied, gently setting down the cutting board with slightly shaking hands. “S’not just me, then. Any thoughts on how it got that way?”

“Well, it was falling, and you were looking at it, and your eyes did this flashy-thing, and then it just kind of . . . stopped?”

“My eyes did a flashy-thing?”

“Yeah.”

“And then the shaker stopped falling?”

“Yeah.”

“Well . . . that was unexpected.”

“*Oh* yeah.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Um, Spike?”

“Yeah, Bit?”

“Do you think you could . . . um . . . do something about that? It’s a little creepy just to watch it hanging there in mid-air.”

“Dunno. Reckon it’s worth a try, though.” Reaching out his hand, Spike stared at the salt shaker, waiting to see if it would rise or fall or . . . well . . . do anything other than hang motionless in mid-air. It didn’t.

Spike’s annoyance grew the more he stared at the salt shaker. Stupid little piece of glass; it’s like it was *deliberately* taunting him, demanding his thoughts and attention, keeping him away from his Red. The more aggravated he got, the harder he glared until, without his awareness, his eyes *flashed* again, and the salt shaker moved smoothly and directly into his still-outstretched hand.

“Well . . .” Spike stammered, clearing his throat. “That was . . . um . . .”

“Absolutely *amazing*!” Dawn squealed. “Spike, why did you never *tell* me you could do magic?”

“Because I can’t?” Spike answered, dazedly.

“But you just *did*! I *saw* it! Oh my God, I have to get Willow,” she continued, scrambling off of the counter. “She’ll be so—”

“No!” Spike yelled out instinctively. “No, you can’t tell Willow.”

“But why not?”

<Because it’s not possible,> Spike thought to himself. <Because magic comes from a connection with the earth that vamps just don’t have. Because in over a hundred years, the only vampire I’ve seen who was able to pull off any type of magic in any kind of circumstances was Dru, and that’s because she always was wired a bit differently than everyone else. Because Red will know that it wasn’t possible; my girl always knows these things; and she’ll worry about me if you tell her. Because she’s still weak and I can’t stand the thought of her wasting energy worrying over me.>

“I think it was just a fluke,” Spike answered, working hard to make his voice sound natural and normal. “It’s what I get for cooking in a witch’s kitchen, yeah? Might have been a bit of leftover magic in the salt from one of Red’s spells. I know she uses a circle of salt in a lot of them.” A lie, of course. The salt Willow used for spells was kept in a different cabinet, but Spike didn’t bother to bring that up.

“No need to worry Red about it until we know for sure what happened,” he continued. “I’ll ask Rupes about it later.” Turning back to the counter before she had a chance to protest, Spike sped through the last steps of the soup preparation as quickly as he could, dumping in the vegetables and the seasonings, and putting the lid on the soup so it could simmer.

“There, that’s all done, then!” he announced, smiling with forced heartiness for Dawn’s benefit. “Let’s go in with the rest now. And remember, we’re keeping this just between you and me for now, right?”

“I . . . I guess so,” Dawn answered hesitantly. “But are you sure that—”

“Sure I’m sure,” Spike cut her off. “No need to get Red all worked up over this just yet.”

A trickle of fear ran along his spine as he wondered what, exactly, had happened . . . but he resolutely pushed it away. This wasn’t about him. This was about Willow, and doing what was best for her. Spike would worry about himself later.

~Part: 82~

“Anyone else still hungry?” Xander asked as he put down his spoon, having swallowed the last drop of chicken soup in his bowl.

Anya and Willow stared at him in shock.

“Xander, you just ate three sandwiches and two bowls of soup,” Willow reminded him.

“So you think I should have another bowl of soup?” he asked. “Even out the numbers?”

“I don’t think Spike would let you have another bowl,” Anya answered. “He’s already annoyed with you for taking seconds; he made the soup for Willow, not you.”

“But I appreciate it more than Willow does, don’t I, Wills? Haven’t you been saying for days that you’re sick of soup?”

“You’d be sick of it, too, if it was all you had,” Willow grumbled.

“You know, you’re right,” Xander answered. “No wonder I’m still hungry. After all that healthy stuff, I could really go for some good, old-fashioned grease. Hmm, maybe I’ll have some potato chips; I know you still have some in the cabinet. Or maybe something sweet, like your chocolate chip cookies. Oh, and that reminds me, I think I saw some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer . . .”

“Dirty rotten tease,” Willow pouted, sticking her tongue out at him. “How unfair is it that *you* get to eat my food and I don’t? And if you even think of touching that chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream . . .”

Xander grinned in reply, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Think happy thoughts, Will. You talked him into letting you come downstairs, didn’t you? At this rate, I’ll bet Spike’ll have you eating ice cream again by . . . oh . . . maybe as soon as your thirtieth birthday!” Ducking the pillow Willow threw at him, Xander disappeared into the kitchen.

“Why do we put up with him?” Willow muttered.

“Lots of reasons,” Anya replied, not realizing it was a rhetorical question, as she picked up the pillow from the floor and brought it back over to the sofa. “He’s got nice muscles, and he smells good, and I like the way he looks without a shirt,” she elaborated as she seated herself next to Willow on the sofa. “He’s very loyal and he likes to take care of the people who matter to him and even though his jokes aren’t usually funny, I appreciate the way he tries to cheer everyone up. He makes me feel safe and loved and very happy to be human, even though I never thought I’d want to be mortal again. And I love him. A lot. So do you. So I guess that’s why we put up with him.”

Willow smiled softly, remembering a five-year-old boy with a yellow crayon who always knew how to make her smile. “Yeah,” she agreed softly.

“Of course, the sex is great, too, but there’s no need for you to find that out for yourself, even if you aren’t gay anymore,” Anya concluded. She liked Willow, but it was still important to make it very clear that whether Willow was gay or straight, Xander was off-limits. Of course, she didn’t think that would be a problem now that Willow had Spike. After seeing the devotion so clearly apparent between the two of them, she had no doubt that they had fully committed themselves to each other. In her pleasure at the successful conclusion of her first attempt as a match-facilitator, she didn’t even mind that Willow wasn’t gay anymore. As long as she remembered that Xander was taken.

“I . . . I’m . . . w-w-what?” Willow stammered.

“Not gay,” Anya answered succinctly. “I don’t know if we can say that you like men again since Spike isn’t exactly a man, but he’s definitely not a girl.”

“But Spike and I . . . why would you think . . . I mean, I never said . . . I mean . . .”

“If you’re afraid I’m going to ask you about the sex, you don’t have to be,” Anya replied, misinterpreting the cause of Willow’s discomfort. “I’m learning,” she added proudly. “Xander explained that it makes people uncomfortable when I ask them about the sex they have.”

“Spike and I are *not* having sex!” Willow managed to gasp out.

“You’re not?” Anya questioned, obviously confused. “But why—” The confusion gave way to understanding. “Oh, it’s because you’re still recovering, right? I suppose Spike wants you to rest instead of having sex. Of course, I always rest better after a couple of orgasms, so I’m not sure I agree with him, but—”

“Anya, stop!” Willow stated in the most commanding tone she could muster. “Spike and I aren’t having sex because we aren’t together. As a couple. At all.”

If Willow thought this would clear up Anya’s confusion, she was wrong.

“But why not? You’re in love with each other, aren’t you?”

“No!”

“You aren’t in love him?”

“He isn’t in love me.”

The response was so utterly and completely unexpected that Anya wasn’t able to formulate a response right away. For a few moments, the two girls sat in silence, half-listening to the TV and to the faint sounds coming from the kitchen as Spike and Dawn cleaned everything up from lunch, and Xander raided the fridge.

“You think Spike doesn’t love you?” Anya managed at last.

“No, of course Spike loves me, but he loves me as a friend, a *best* friend. Like Xander loves me.”

“If Xander loves you like Spike does, then I need to have quite a few words with my fiancé,” Anya muttered in response.

“No, Anya, really,” Willow insisted. “It’s true. Spike isn’t in love with me. He’s in love with Buffy. You know he’s in love with Buffy. *Everyone* knows he’s in love with Buffy.”

“Everyone knows he *was* in love with Buffy. But Willow, you didn’t see him when he came to you in the hospital. I’ve seen people in all kinds of pain through the years. Hell, I’ve *put* people in all kinds of pain. I’ve never seen pain like that.”

“Because he felt guilty,” Willow argued. “He felt like it was his fault that his best friend had gotten hurt. Of course he was upset.”

“No, it was more than that; I’m sure of it. He—”

“*No*, Anya,” Willow interrupted, her voice cracking slightly on the word. “Just . . . please. No more.”

Willow looked like she was on the verge of tears, and Anya felt a corresponding sinking feeling in her stomach. Sure, Willow was spectacularly oblivious to her own charms; that went without saying; but there was more here than just modesty making her believe that Spike couldn’t be in love with her. Something had happened. Something big. Something that was conclusive, in Willow’s mind, as proof that Spike would never love her.

“Willow, what is it? What happened?” Willow’s only answer was to shake her head, sniffling slightly and blinking hard to keep the tears from falling as she hunched forward with her hair falling down to hide her face.

Anya scooted over on the couch so she was right next to Willow and pulled the other girl into a gentle hug. With a soft sigh, Willow let herself be held and comforted.

“What happened?” Anya asked again, very, very softly, waiting patiently for a minute or two afterwards until Willow finally began to speak.

“I could feel him, when I was in the hospital. I could feel what Spike was feeling.”

“I know,” Anya replied. Willow lifted her head off of Anya’s shoulder to look at her in confusion. “You started describing what was happening in the fight at the Hyperion when you were delirious,” Anya explained.

“Oh, right,” Willow replied, laying her head back on Anya’s shoulder. “Did . . . did Xander tell you what I said, right before I slipped into the coma?”

“You said that Spike wasn’t coming.” Anya could feel Willow nod against her shoulder. “Why did you think he wasn’t going to come?”

“Because I knew what he was doing.”

“And what was he doing?” Anya questioned patiently.

“Buffy.”

“What!”

The revelation made Anya literally jump in her seat, knocking her shoulder into Willow’s head and nearly pushing the redhead off the couch.

“Everything alright in here?” Spike asked, poking his head out through the kitchen door.

“Fine. Girl talk. Go away,” Anya replied, making a shooing motion with her hands. Throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Spike stepped back into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. Once Anya heard the sink turn back on, she turned back to Willow.

“He was doing *what*?” she hissed.

“Maybe we should talk about this later . . .” Willow hedged, her eyes still on the kitchen door, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of continuing her story after the reminder that Spike was so close by.

“No, no, no,” Anya replied. “You can’t just say something like that and then not finish the story. That would just be . . . wrong. *Communism* kind of wrong.”

Willow managed a weak smile before continuing her story.

“I was so tired . . . but I was holding on because I knew he was coming back. He was anxious to get back; I could feel it. But then he and Buffy stopped somewhere. A hotel, maybe. It was Buffy’s idea, I think; I could feel Spike’s surprise. But then I felt,” Willow swallowed, “. . . lips on his, and I could feel his reaction. It was mostly surprise at first, but then I could feel him start to get . . . aroused. Something happened, I don’t know exactly what, but a moment later I could feel how much he wanted her. It took over everything else and wiped out every other thought and feeling. And in that moment, I knew she was all he was thinking about . . . and they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. That’s why I stopped holding on.”

“Oh, Willow,” Anya sighed, uncharacteristically lost for words. She could practically feel the waves of sadness and despair and heartbroken resignation pouring off the other girl and her own heart clenched in sympathy pangs at her obvious hopelessness. But on the other hand, Anya’s emotions never triumphed for long over her common sense. Anya knew what she had seen, and she knew, she just *knew* that Spike was in love with Willow and that any feelings he had for Buffy were in the past. There was more to the story than what Willow had seen; there *had* to be. Something had happened between that motel room and Spike and Buffy’s arrival at the hospital, something that closed the door on any feelings of love Spike harbored for Buffy and sent him running to Willow’s side. But whatever had happened was between Buffy and Spike, and unless she could get either of them to open up and share (which Anya knew was unlikely, at best,) she knew that Willow would remain unconvinced.

Willow was making a valiant effort not to cry, but her voice seemed to get softer and shakier with every word. “They became lovers then; I’m sure of it. And they’d still be lovers now if Spike didn’t insist on spending all of his time taking care of me because he feels so guilty about not getting here sooner. I’m the reason he can’t be with who he wants. It’s not fair to him to have him spend all his time with me, and it’s definitely not fair to Buffy. I should be happy for them that I’m getting better and that he’ll be going back to her soon. I should be happy about it; I *want* to be happy about it, but I . . .” In spite of herself, Willow’s voice broke on a sob.

“I . . . I love him, Anya, I really do. I love him so much, and he . . .” Her voice trailed off completely as Willow gave in to the sobs that were choking her throat. Anya felt some tears work their way into her own eyes as she started to reach for the redhead—but she didn’t get the chance.

The kitchen door flew open so hard that it nearly cracked the paint of the wall it slammed against as Spike, clearly furious and in full vamp-face, stormed out of the kitchen to growl at Anya.

“What the bloody hell did you do to her?” he hissed through clenched fangs. He didn’t wait for her response as he hurried over to the couch. Anya didn’t even have a chance to open her mouth to answer before she found Spike seated on the couch with Willow perched on his lap, bound securely in Spike’s arms as he cuddled her body close to his, pulling her head down on to rest on his shoulder. “There, there, love,” he crooned gently. “Spike’s here. Don’t cry, Red, please don’t cry. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it better, I swear I will. Won’t let anything hurt you ever again.”

The feel of Spike’s arms cradling her so gently, combined with his soft words, undid all of Willow’s resolve. She hadn’t let herself cry over the reality of Spike with Buffy since that single tear before slipping into the coma, but it felt like the pain of it had been building every day and she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. Unable to stop herself, she buried her face against his offered shoulder and full-out sobbed into his shirt, her arms snaking around his shoulders to hold him tightly.

Spike alternated between soft soothing words to Willow and death glares at Anya as he tried to figure out what had gotten his love so upset. “If I find out that you did something or said something to make her cry like this—” Spike growled in a voice promising death and destruction, and not necessarily in that order, but he didn’t get a chance to finish his threat as Willow sat up abruptly, nearly knocking her head with his in her haste to set the record straight.

“It wasn’t Anya; she didn’t do anything wrong!” Willow insisted, sniffing hard and wiping hastily at her face in an attempt to clear out her nose and eyes. The look on Spike’s face made it abundantly clear that he didn’t believe her. “It was . . . the TV!” Willow insisted in a sudden burst of inspiration, nodding her head energetically to support her statement.

“The TV made you cry?” Spike asked, his skepticism still clear. “With *this*?”

Glancing over at the TV, Willow saw that at some point either she or Anya had jostled the remote and switched the TV from the Cartoon Network to the Home Shopping Network, which was currently displaying a set of gold earrings shaped like monkeys.

“Monkeys make me sad?” Willow offered.

Spike’s answer was to raise a single eyebrow. Forgetting for a moment about her tears still soaking through the material of his shirt, he bit back the urge to smirk as well. She was so adorable when she tried to lie.

“No, really,” Willow insisted, more firmly this time. “They do!”

“Why would monkeys make you sad?” Spike asked, clearly still doubtful, his lips twitching against the smirk aching to blossom.

The adorably innocent oh-no-sir-I’d-*never*-tell-a-lie expression faded into a slight frown and all of Spike’s desire to smirk disappeared as he saw a shadow of . . . something; he wasn’t sure what; pass through her eyes. “They make me think of Oz,” Willow answered quietly but with obvious sincerity.

Spike’s jaw clenched as he grabbed the remote, switched the TV off, and tossed the remote to the other side of the room, wrapping both arms around Willow and slipping a hand back into her hair to guide her head to rest against his chest. She burrowed into his arms with a soft sigh and let him hold her close.

“You miss him that much, pet?” Spike asked with studied nonchalance as he continued petting her hair.

“Not him, not really, but I do kind of miss—” the way Oz had looked at her when he said she had the sweetest smile he’d ever seen; the first real compliment from a boy she’d ever gotten; and the lovely floaty feeling that had come with the thought that she might have finally found a boy she could care about who could care about her, too. After years of pointless, *painful* pining over Xander, she had been so helplessly pleased that day to have finally discovered just how much fun it could be to fall *mutually* in sort-of-kind-of-just-beginning-to love. Willow bit back a grimace as she recognized the irony of the situation. Three years, two break-ups, and a handful of apocalypses had passed leaving her older, wiser, far more experienced, and . . . once again hopelessly and unrequitedly in love with her best friend.

“Being in love?” Spike finished for her.

“Yeah,” Willow whispered.

“I know,” he replied, planting a soft kiss on her shoulder, rubbing his cheek briefly against hers. “I know.”

Spike rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, allowing both of them to draw comfort from holding and being held. He didn’t notice when he started purring, or the way Willow smiled at the feel of the soft vibrations rumbling through his chest. He didn’t notice Xander and Dawn standing there and watching them from the kitchen doorway, having followed Spike into the living room after he all but broke the kitchen door to get to Willow. He didn’t notice when Anya got up from the couch to usher Dawn and Xander back into the kitchen to give Willow and Spike some privacy. And he certainly didn’t notice the last look Anya gave them, along with a softly smug smile, before disappearing into the kitchen, herself.

No one ever realizes all the small things vengeance demons learn about love, over a millennium or so. After seeing one broken hearted girl after another and manipulating them for her own devious purposes, it was impossible for her *not* to pick up a thing or two about what love *really* was. The hardest lesson of love she had ever encountered was this: If you find yourself yelling at your boyfriend because he never treats you like he loves you . . . it’s because he doesn’t. Those acts of love can’t be forced and can’t be faked. The proof of that was right there, in Spike’s arms, as he cradled Willow like she was the only thing of value in the entire world. Anya didn’t bother trying to hold back her smile at the progress of her match facilitating, knowing that neither of them would notice her at that moment, wrapped up as they were in each other. Oh, the two of them had quite a tricky bundle of issues to work through before they’d let themselves be happy, but the real core issue; the love at the heart of it all for both of them; was clearly not a problem.

Anya bit back a snort of laughter as she remembered Willow’s words from before. <Right, Willow,> Anya thought to herself. <Spike’s in love with Buffy, and I’ve taken a vow of poverty.>

<And chastity.>

~Part: 83~

Surprisingly enough, Xander was wrong about the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Spike let her have it that very afternoon (after he kicked the rest of the gang out for upsetting her), as he practically smothered her in the things he knew she liked best to cheer her up after the ‘monkey incident’. Not so surprisingly, it worked. Willow found Spike ridiculously irresistible even when he was at his most annoying. She simply had no resistance against him when he was trying so hard to please. In spite of all her exhausting internal angst, Willow couldn’t help but smile as she snuggled in Spike’s arms as he wrapped the two of them up in Willow’s favorite fuzzy blanket to cuddle on the couch, eat chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and watch BBC’s version of Pride and Prejudice with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth. If Jewish Wiccan spellcasters really did go to heaven, Willow had no doubt that her own personal corner of paradise would look a whole lot like that afternoon.

She had no way of knowing that Spike, cradling her in his arms, was thinking the exact same thing. In the cozy little cocoon that the two of them had created, hidden away from the rest of the world, they were both utterly and completely content, with their happiness seeming to increase every hour, as if the happiness of each of them grew and expanded off the happiness of the other. They sat through all six hours of the movie together, munching on the sandwiches Spike made (he decided that the glowing smile she gave him when he presented her with something other than soup was worth admitting that she was recovered enough for solid food), and then falling asleep in each other’s arms in the midst of the ‘happy ending’ final hour. It was, for both of them, a rare slice of perfect happiness.

It was quite a pity it couldn’t last.

Despite Willow’s protests, the gang had been told by Spike in no uncertain terms to stay the bloody hell away until they figured out how to be around Willow without making her cry, but Dawn knew that Spike wouldn’t stand firm on that against her. He might be aggravated with Anya since she was the one he actually blamed for upsetting Willow, and he might have been annoyed with Xander just on general principle, considering how the two of them delighted in pestering each other, but he never stayed angry with her. Secure in that knowledge, she arrived bright and early the next morning, bouncing into the house loudly and eagerly, ready to spend some time with two of her favorite people, just to find them curled around each other on the couch, fast asleep.

It was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and she was torn between cooing, bouncing up and down in sheer happiness at seeing them like that, and tiptoeing quietly out the door so she wouldn’t wake them, when she realized she was already too late. Her noisy entrance had done its damage, and Spike and Willow were waking up. Spike, in theory, had the more sensitive ears, but he only moved to tighten his arms around Willow and bury his face more firmly in her hair. Willow was the first to open her eyes and smile sleepily up at the teenager in front of her.

“Morning, Dawnie,” she whispered around a yawn. “Did you just get here?”

“Yeah,” Dawn replied with an embarrassed grin. “I guess I made a kinda noisy entrance. Sorry I woke you.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Willow insisted, stretching a bit before settling back against her Spike-shaped cushion. “The sun’s been up for hours; it’s high time we got up, anyway.” Tilting her head back to look at Spike, she continued, “And that includes you, sleepyhead. No use faking, I know you’re awake.”

“Am not,” Spike protested, keeping his eyes firmly closed. “Vampire. Nocturnal.”

“Liar,” Willow responded cheerfully. “If you don’t get up, then I’ll have to make breakfast for myself.”

“All right, all right, no need for threats.” Spike removed his face from her hair reluctantly with one last nuzzle before uncurling his body from hers just enough to allow him to get up. “Breakfast it is, then,” he announced as he stood and stretched, oblivious to the way both of the girls watched the hem of his shirt as it rose, revealing a strip of perfectly toned stomach. “Hungry, Bit? I’m making scrambled eggs.”

“Hmm? Hungry? Yeah . . .” Dawn replied absently, her mind still lazing around in its happy place from the glimpse of Spike’s body. When Spike nodded at her answer and turned to walk into the kitchen, her eyes slid automatically from bare stomach to retreating ass, and it took another moment or two (plus the disappearance of Spike behind the kitchen door) before her brain kicked and her eyes snapped back into focus.

“Did he say scrambled eggs?”

“Yup,” Willow confirmed, grinning. “To cheer me up yesterday, he let me eat real food again, and since it didn’t seem to do any damage, I guess he figured it’s safe, now.”

Dawn’s face lit up with a huge smile. “What else did he do to cheer you up?” she questioned eagerly as she seated herself on the couch next to Willow. “Just food, or food and snugglies, or . . .”

“Food, snugglies, and Colin Firth.”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

“All six hours.”

“Wow. He must really love you.”

Willow’s smile faded for a moment and was replaced by a brief look of pain, but she caught herself after a second. Her renewed smile might have been a bit forced, but it was once again perfectly bright.

“Let’s go see if he loves me enough to give me bacon to go with my eggs.”

Dawn wanted to force the point and get Willow to explain what had upset her, but it was too late. The older girl was already half way into the kitchen, watching Spike as he started pulling all the ingredients out of the refrigerator, bacon included. It seemed he loved her that much, indeed.

“So Spike,” Dawn began with exaggerated casualness as she entered the kitchen, crossing over to the cabinets to help Willow set the table, “I guess the new diet means that you really do think that Willow’s doing better.”

“Looks that way,” Spike agreed cautiously. He could tell Dawn was up to something, but he wasn’t certain what she was aiming for just yet.

“And now that she’s back to real food, I guess she’ll be getting stronger every day,” Dawn continued as she dug around in the silverware drawer until she found three forks and three knives that all matched.

“True.”

“Of course, she doesn’t need to be all that strong with you around, looking out for her and making sure nothing hurts her,” she commented as she folded the napkins while Willow lay out plates, glasses, and mugs.

“Hmm.”

“So I guess if she’s strong enough to have a solid breakfast, then she’s strong enough to come visit the Magic Box after sunset,” Dawn concluded as she helped Willow bring the milk and juice to the table. “Table’s ready!” she announced, grinning widely at the pair of them. They really were both so adorably clueless; it was almost too easy to manipulate them. Just a bit more work, and she’d have them all set up for her plan for the evening.

Even though the plan had come to her somewhat spur of the moment when she saw that Spike had Willow on solid foods again, it was still a good plan. A strong plan. A plan based on sound, logical thinking. Sound, logical fact number one: no matter what Willow might think, Spike definitely loved her. Sound, logical fact number two: Spike would never act on that love until he got over feeling guilty for putting her in the hospital. Sound, logical fact number three: The best way to get Spike over that guilt would be to get both of them out of the house-turned-daytime-drama-hospital-ward and into the real world where Spike could see that Willow really had gotten better. Sound, logical fact number four: Once Spike realized that Willow really was better, he could finally start wooing her as she deserved to be wooed.

Besides, Willow clearly needed to get out. She needed a change of scenery, and a chance to have some fun. Spike needed to see that she really was recovering, and that she was ready to have some fun. And they both needed to come to that realization (helpfully prodded along by her) right about the time they passed the movie theatre only a few blocks from the Magic Shop where America’s Sweethearts was playing. Romantic comedy, girl who always saw herself as the ugly duckling gets the guy who previously wanted the flashier girl before he came to his senses, and John Cusack in the lead. What could possibly be wrong with that? It was the perfect later-on-they’d-acknowledge-it-as-their-first date movie.

She’d convince Spike to take her and Willow for ice cream at the little ice cream shop a few blocks from the Magic Box that just so happened to be right next door to the movie theatre. Nature would take its course, and the two of them would go on their first, real date, and high time, at that! They’d stop being sickroom-Spike&Willow and would become movie-Spike&Willow, hopefully followed by kissing-Spike&Willow, then confessing-their-real-feelings-Spike&Willow, concluding with happily-ever-after-Spike&Willow.

The plan was perfect and she beamed her satisfaction with it at Spike and Willow as she faced them. The plan was so simple and logical to her that she was certain they would fall right into it without hesitation or complaint. Their reaction was not quite as she had anticipated. For a split second, both Spike and Willow froze in place.

Willow’s breath caught in her throat. A day and a half ago, she’d been climbing the walls, suffering from serious cabin fever and more than ready to get away from the soap-opera-gone-wrong that was her sickroom. But that was a day and a half ago, before the ice cream, and the Colin Firth, and the six hours spent with her world being confined to the space between Spike’s arms. She had liked that world. The outside world lost its charm in comparison.

Spike, as well, had been more than happy to let the rest of the world bugger off while he played house with his Red. As long as he had his adored and adorable girl with him, he hadn’t needed anything else and had been pleased to think that she needed nothing else, as well. It hurt to be reminded that he alone wasn’t enough to keep her happy. In that single moment where he froze, he wondered if Willow had put Dawn up to asking about this, and the hurt got that much sharper.

The moment passed, and Spike returned his attention to the eggs and bacon while Willow seated herself heavily in a chair at the neatly-set table.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, Bit,” Spike stated with forced casualness, focusing all his attention on the stovetop.

“Sure it is!” Dawn responded, enthusiasm unabated. “Willow needs to get some exercise in order to get the rest of her strength back. Besides, she could stand to look at something other than this house, for a change. She could see the new window display Anya put up at the shop and those ugly plastic flamingoes Mr. Robinson on Elm Street put up on his lawn, and maybe we can stop by that little ice cream place just a few blocks down! That guy, Chris, who works the cash register, was asking about you when I was in there the other day. He heard you were in the hospital. Everyone will be so glad to see you out and about again!”

In spite of herself, Willow found herself warming to the idea. It would be nice to get back out into the real world, and see something other than the uninspiring walls of the house. Anya had gone on and on about her window display, and Willow was more than a little curious to see it. Besides, the ice cream shop had a really good Rocky Road that they made themselves which she was sure Spike would love, if she could talk him into giving it a chance. And as an added bonus, maybe if Giles and Xander saw that she really was capable of getting around again, they’d stop treating her like she was made of some particularly fragile type of glass.

“I could get some fresh air,” she mused.

“See the sights,” Dawn added.

“Restock my supplies.”

“Catch up with friends!”

“Return that book I borrowed from Giles.”

“Flirt with the guy at the ice cream shop,” Dawn interjected slyly, watching Spike out of the corner of her eye so she could catch his inevitable reaction. “That way, he’ll give us lots of free samples again.”

Willow blushed bright red and studiously avoided eye contact while Spike growled and poked at a chunk of mostly-cooked egg with rather more force than was required.

“If flirting’s going to be going on, then maybe you girls should just go now, without me. You’d be safe enough on your own in the daytime, and then I wouldn’t be in the way.”

“No, no, no!” Dawn interrupted, before Willow got a chance to reply. “You can . . . um . . . you can be our back-up plan! If flirting with him doesn’t work, then you can go all vampy and scare him into giving us free ice cream!” It was possibly the weakest cover story she had ever formulated, but at least it was a start.

“Besides,” she continued, “You have to come to the Magic Box with us so we can use the training room. You haven’t helped me train in ages. If I get eaten by vampires because you didn’t teach me to fight them off, then you’ll have to deal with the guilt for eternity. Oooh, and maybe I can come back as a ghost and haunt you and nag you while you’re watching Passions and interrupt your poker games, and—”

“All right, all right!” Spike interrupted. “I get the idea.”

“And anyway,” Willow added, “if we go to the ice cream store without you, then how can we give you your free samples? They’d get all melty before we got them back here.”

Spike’s expression visibly softened. “You want me to try the free samples, too?”

“Of course,” Willow answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was surprised that he’d even doubted it.

Spike carried the pans of eggs and bacon over to the table and slid into his seat. “You know, I’m still not sure about this whole outing.” Both girls could tell it was a token protest, but they pretended to take it seriously.

“It’ll be good for Willow,” Dawn insisted.

“And I’ll be very careful not to strain myself,” Willow added.

“And you’ll be there to take care of her.”

“To take care of both of us.”

“And you’d never let anything happen to us, would you?”

“No,” Spike replied softly. “No, of course I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“And?” Dawn and Willow asked in unison, batting their eyes outrageously and grinning widely at him.

Spike snorted. “Do I really need to answer? You two always seem to know when you’ve gotten your way.” Dawn and Willow grinned at each other before returning their focus to Spike. In spite of himself, he smiled back at them. “You know I can’t say no to both of you. As soon as they sun sets, we’ll go.”

And they did.

Hours later, Dawn led the way, practically skipping down the street while chattering away at a mile a minute. Willow and Spike followed along behind her, smiling contentedly, until one word changed it all:

Buffy.

Dawn had, without thinking, made mention of the fact that Buffy would probably be at the Magic Shoppe, as well. After saying that, Dawn went on to talk about rhododendron plants, pencil sharpeners, and the science teacher at her school, but Willow had stopped paying attention. All she could think about was facing Buffy again, and having a face-to-face conversation with her best friend for the first time since Buffy and Spike left for L.A. The thought scared Willow to death. She knew Buffy well enough that she could usually make a pretty good guess at how Buffy would react to any given situation, but this set of circumstances was entirely new. Spike had, in essence, abandoned Buffy since they returned from L.A. so that he could devote all his time to Willow. What would that do to her relationship with Buffy? Did Hallmark make cards for those sorry-your-boyfriend-ditched-you-to-spend-time-with-me situations? Was there a proper, Emily Post Etiquette Guide way to apologize? And even if she could find the words, how would Buffy respond to them? Would she forgive her? More importantly, would she forgive Spike?

Would Buffy be angry with him? Would she have to watch Spike break his own heart as he tried to earn the forgiveness of the woman he loved? Or would Buffy forgive him, leaving Willow to watch Spike break her own heart as the happy couple reunited? Which option was worse? Was there any option that actually sounded good?

With her head, heart, and stomach churning at the possibilities awaiting her, Willow considered saying that she had changed her mind; that she wasn’t ready for this after all, but she can’t quite bring herself to do it. For better or for worse, the first confrontation had to be faced eventually, and they might as well get it over with.

Besides, it was too late to turn back; they were already there.

~Part: 84~

Willow felt kind of like Norm from “Cheers” as she walked into the Magic Box, except for being skinny, and red-haired, and *female*, and such. Giles, Anya, and Xander even did that thing where they all called out “Willow” in unison as she walked in the door. It was nice. Really nice. But not quite nice enough to calm the butterflies dive-bombing around in her stomach. She could hear some faint strains of clubbing music blaring through the sound-proofing from the back room, which could only mean that Buffy was back there, training. The butterflies sped up, and Willow got so tense that she literally jumped when Spike reached out to touch her shoulder.

“You sure you’re all right, love?” Spike asked, turning her to face him and tucking a finger under her chin to force her to look him in the eye. She did look a bit strained, like she was carrying a load that was just a little heavier than she thought she could handle. Perhaps the walk to the shop had been too much for her. “We don’t have to stick around, if you’d rather not. I can take you back home . . .” Spike swallowed hard to keep himself from finishing the rest of his thought out loud. How pathetic would he seem if he told her that he just wanted to take her away to be alone with him so he could cuddle her and fuss over her and pretend that she was as happy to be with him as he was to be with her?

He wouldn’t have had a chance to finish saying that, anyway, even it he had wanted to. Another voice filled the silence just moments later.

“Hey, what’s with all the—Willow!” Buffy exclaimed, stopping shock still halfway in and halfway out of the training room.

“H-hi, Buffy.”

“You’re . . . all right?” Buffy asked, sounding more tentative and uncertain than Willow had ever heard before. “Not that you don’t look all right! You look good, great even, compared to how you looked last time I saw you, but last time, you looked—” Buffy cut herself off abruptly and gave Willow a weak smile. “Okay, I think I need to start over. You’re doing better, right? Well enough for a slayer-strength hug?”

Willow nodded, and both girls teared up a bit as Buffy crossed the room and pulled Willow into an aching gentle embrace. “You had me really worried, you know,” Buffy whispered in her ear. “It’s the most important Scooby rule,” Buffy lectured in a mock-stern voice as she pulled away. “No dying. Don’t go thinking you can get away with breaking the rules all willy-nilly just because I happened to be out of town and couldn’t keep an eye on you.”

“Right,” Willow replied, grinning genuinely at her friend. “Note to self: Must get permission slip from Buffy before dying.”

“That’s right,” Buffy nodded sagely. “See that you remember that, next time.”

“Not that there will *be* a next time,” Spike growled, stepping forward to slip an arm around Willow’s waist. And as quickly as that, the sweetness of the moment was lost. The smiles slipped off of both Buffy and Willow’s faces as The Problem That Was Spike came between the two of them once more.

“And here we go again,” Anya muttered to Dawn, who nodded silently in agreement, bracing herself for Spuff War Number 527. Buffy and Spike always managed to bring out the worst in each other, and now, in their first confrontation since that awful day in the hospital room, it was instantly clear that this would *not* end well.

When it was just Buffy around Willow, both of them were happy. They were best friends, they understood each other, and they supported each other unconditionally. When it was just Spike around Willow, both of them were happy. They were in love, they took care of each other, and they were content just being together. But when Buffy and Spike were around each other, they got petty and spiteful and utterly determined to hurt each other in any way that they could. Throw Willow into the combination, and guilt would start to mix in with the anger for both Spike and Buffy, making everything about ten times worse. Now that Spike had spoiled the nice reconciliation moment between Buffy and Willow, Dawn just knew that the excrement was about to hit the air-conditioning.

“Because *you’ll* be there to take care of her?” Buffy sneered.

Buffy meant it as a dig at how he’d failed to protect her before. Spike took it as an insult saying he wasn’t good enough to take care of Willow. Willow took it as a show of anger over how he’d abandoned Buffy since returning from L.A.

“Damn right, *I’ll* be there,” Spike snarled, “taking care of her just like I *should* be.”

Spike meant it as an allusion to that Motel Six outside of L.A., wanting to remind Buffy that *he’d* been the one to worry about his Red, while *Buffy* had been worried about no one but herself. Buffy took it as a taunt, a reminder of the bond he had forced on Willow: the bond he had so *clearly* used to deliberately hurt her. (She didn’t like that tone in his voice when he talked about ‘taking care’ of Willow. He had something bad planned for her; she just *knew* it, and as Willow’s best friend, it was her job to protect her from scum like Spike.) Willow took it as further proof that Spike’s stubborn insistence on taking care of her was ruining his chance of a relationship with Buffy.

“Do something!” Anya hissed at Dawn.

“Like what?”

“You’re neutral territory; they all like you. Interrupt them!” Not giving Dawn a chance to decide for herself, Anya shoved her forward with a little too much enthusiasm, propelling her directly in between Spike and Buffy and smack into Willow.

Oddly enough, it worked.

Buffy’s hands had been clenched into fists and her face had hardened into its I-am-slayer-watch-me-stake mask, but her hands unclenched and her expression softened into confusion as her sister went whizzing by her.

Spike’s eyes had been shifting between blue and amber as he fought to control the demon raging inside him, but he forgot a bit of his rage as he watched his surrogate little sister fly through the air.

Willow had been on the verge of tears, but crying was abandoned as she struggled to stay upright as she was barreled over. “Um, Dawnie?” she asked as she regained her balance and steadied the girl on her feet. “Was there . . . something you wanted to tell us?”

“I . . . ah . . . didn’t want Spike to forget that . . . um . . . he promised to help me train!”

“Right, Bit,” Spike replied, relieved to have an excuse to get away from the slayer before he gave into his urge to hurt them *both* by plugging that mouth of hers with his fist. “Let’s get going on that.” He started to head toward the training room, but was stopped when Buffy grabbed hold of his arm as he passed.

“Training? What training?” Buffy’s voice was hard and accusing. “Just what sort of training were you going to teach my little sister without asking me?”

“Figured showing her some ways to take care of herself would be a sight more useful than telling her to cover her eyes and hope that if she can’t see anything bad, nothing bad can see her,” Spike snapped in reply, yanking his arm out of her grip.

“It’s useful stuff, Buffy, really,” Dawn added quickly, trying to get her sister’s focus off of Spike. “Ways to break holds, and . . . and stuff like that,” she wrapped up quickly when she realized Buffy wasn’t paying any attention to her at all.

“Well then,” Buffy replied, in words that sounded like they’d been carved out of ice. “Let’s see.” Without waiting for a response, she stomped forward to the training room, leaving Dawn and Spike to follow behind. Wrapped up in their righteous anger at each other, neither Spike nor Buffy spared a look behind them. Dawn was the only one of the three who glanced back and saw the look on Willow’s face.

Fortunately, she was not the only one who noticed. “Tea!” Giles announced, so suddenly that it made Xander, Anya, and Willow jump. “I’ll . . . ah . . . make some tea for you, Willow. You look a bit peaked and I think some . . . hmm,” he kept talking as he disappeared back into the tiny pantry the store afforded, muttering about the different types of tea that he had on hand, and which of them would be most likely to produce beneficial results.

Willow groaned softly as she settled herself into a chair. “When all of this is over,” she announced to Xander and Anya, “and everyone agrees that I’m completely healthy again, I’m giving myself a year long *vacation* from tea.”

Xander laughed as he seated himself beside her, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “That’s my girl! Stand strong. Just say no. Leave all the leaf-drinking to the Brits who were raised without the *clear* advantages of beverages with lots of good, healthy, high-fructose corn syrup. With all that tea in their systems, it’s no wonder the British are such deadbeats. They’ve been practically embalming themselves their entire lives!” Xander’s face lit up. “I’ll have to remember that to say to Spike next time he makes tea.”

Willow managed an absent smile as she rested her head on Xander’s shoulder and let her thoughts drift to Spike. She had known that Buffy and Spike weren’t happy with each other; that much had been clear from Spike’s reactions when Buffy’s name was mentioned; but the sheer intensity of their anger when they were finally face to face with each other had caught her off-guard. She knew them, *both* of them, far to well to imagine that they would be able to work through that kind of anger with anything other than violence, and while she knew better than to interfere, she couldn’t help but worry. Whatever it was they were up to in the training room, it wasn’t loud enough to be heard through the sound-proofing. She wasn’t certain if that was a good sign or not.

She never would have guessed that there was no violence taking place in the training room at all, but that was, in fact, the case. Even as Willow sat there worrying, not a single punch or kick had passed from anyone. Not even Dawn.

Oh, Spike had tried to work Dawn through the routines that he had taught her, but every time either Spike or Dawn made a move to begin working through them, Buffy would always interrupt.

“So Dawn,” Buffy began when they first entered the training room, “have you and Spike,” she spat out the word like it was an insult, “been having these little sessions *behind my back* for long?”

“My guess is that big sis is just bent out of shape that she got left behind on this. But it’s all right,” Spike said, to Dawn but *at* Buffy, “sooner or later, she’ll learn that not everything’s about her.”

“Right, Dawn,” Buffy replied, keeping up the pretense of talking through Dawn as she glared at Spike, “because why would fighting vampires have anything to do with the *vampire slayer* after all.”

“Which routine to start with?” Dawn tried to ask, but neither Spike nor Buffy noticed that she had spoken.

“You see, Nibblet, that’s the problem with slayers. They go out, stake a few vamps, maybe stop an apocalypse here or there, and they think they’re done, that the world’s saved. They forget that while they’re being so self-congratulatory over the half-dozen vamps that they *did* stake, there are still thousands of non-staked vamps out there at large, just looking for a nice, soft neck. A vampire slayer doesn’t make the world safe. She just makes it dusty for a minute or two before another vamp steps in to take up the empty space. And those are the slayers who can be bothered to even *try*, instead of the ones who get so ‘woe is me’ that they stop even *worrying* about the rest of the world while they drive up to a crappy mot—”

“You know Dawn, maybe I *should* take slaying more seriously,” Buffy spat out, so far beyond furious as she got up in Spike’s face and grabbed hold of his collar that she didn’t even notice her little sister trapped between the two of them. “Maybe I should just grab the nearest stake, like, oh, the one I have in my hand right now, for example, and grab the nearest *vamp* I can find, and go for gold.”

Dawn’s eyes widened with panic as she felt disaster quite literally closing in around her. The only thing in between Spike and a dusty death right at that moment was her, and she knew perfectly well that to a pair with supernatural strength, she didn’t present much of an obstacle. With her adrenalin racing and her heart in her throat as the menacing force closed in on her from behind, her mind went blank and she responded instinctively in precisely the way she had been trained. The violence Willow was fearing kicked in at last, and from a most unexpected quarter.

Dawn stomped hard on Buffy’s foot, and then elbowed her in the ribs, just the way that Spike had showed her.

It worked like a charm. Bewildered and distracted by the pain in her foot, Buffy didn’t even see the elbow-in-the-ribs coming, and was caught so off-guard that it literally knocked her backwards.

The shocked silence that followed was broken when Spike burst out laughing.

“That . . . was . . . *perfect*, Bit,” he managed to choke out, while laughing so hard, he was nearly doubled over.

Her face scarlet with embarrassment, Buffy jumped to her feet. “That was good, Dawn,” she stated in a tight voice, never taking her eyes away from the still-shaking-with-laughter Spike. “Really good.” Dawn brightened at the praise and grinned at her sister, but the grin faded fast when she realized that Buffy still wasn’t looking at her. “And when you’ve got a vamp distracted and can catch him off guard like you caught me, here’s another thing you can try,” Buffy continued, crossing over to Spike and slamming her fist into his jaw.

The blow knocked Spike backwards and by the time he slammed into the wall, his laughter had stopped. “The problem with that, Nibblet,” he lectured while glaring at Buffy while crossing back to the center of the mats, “is that instead of a distracted vamp you can escape from easily, you’ve got a pissed-as-hell vamp who’s going to want a piece of you in exchange.”

“And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Buffy snapped back, facing off with him and beginning to circle around, defining the boundaries of the inevitable fight that had both known was coming. “You want a piece of me, any way you can get it; through any sick means you can think of.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Spike spat. “You know damn well the very minute I stopped wanting anything from you other than for you to get the hell out of my way. Or do I need to draw you a picture? I bet you Peaches could draw it up for me in grand style. After all, he already knows the exact look you get when you’re being reje—”

Buffy cut him off with a stunning roundhouse kick that slammed right into his jaw. It stopped him from talking and knocked him back a bit, but he was braced for it this time, and was only thrown off balance for a second.

“The golden slayer, so full of noble intentions,” he taunted, stepping forward again and initiating a series of punches and kicks. He didn’t throw anything at her that he knew she couldn’t block; of all times, this was *not* the time for a migraine; but he *really* wanted to hit her, and this was the closest he could get. *Physically* this was the closest he could get. Mentally and emotionally . . . well, that gave him some more room to work with, didn’t it?

“What exalted motives have you assigned yourself this time, pet?” he continued. “What plotline is running through your one-track mind telling you that this whole mess is just another way for you to save the day? What way have you twisted this story to make it just another episode in a show that’s all about you?”

“I’m going to save *all* of us from *you*!” Buffy yelled in reply, punctuating her words with a series of blows, most of which were blocked. Buffy always got sloppy when her blood was up. So did Spike, for that matter, but he had the advantage of calculated calm for the moment.

“Take a good look around, slayer, and you’ll see that no one is asking to be saved! The only one around here who has a problem with me is you, and the only problem you have is that I’m not your own personal satellite any more. I got over you, slayer. Deal with it. Shouldn’t be that hard to understand,” he smirked. “Hardly the first time a bloke’s gotten over you, is it?”

Red with rage, Buffy had eyes only for her target as she rushed him, oblivious to everything else . . . including the ten pound free weight Spike had slyly slipped into her path. Tripping, she fell sprawling onto the mats, but didn’t let it keep her down for long. “That isn’t what this is about!” Buffy insisted, jumping to her feet.

“Enlighten me, then. What *is* it about?”

“You hurt Willow!”

“*We* hurt Willow. I freely admit *my* part in it and am doing everything in my power to make it up to her! You haven’t even set foot in the house the whole time she’s been recovering. Are you totally incapable of taking responsibility for your actions?”

“Not my fault!” Buffy yelled, the words repeating in an endless mantra in her head. Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault. It was a fighter’s most basic defense mechanism: focus on the task at hand and never burden yourself with more than you can handle. She could lift a linebacker over her head with one arm tied behind her back, and she could bend steel bars with her bare hands, but there were some things Buffy would simply never be strong enough to take. ‘Not my fault’ had become her slogan for those situations. Shifting the blame had been the only way she could stay strong enough to deal with the situation.

She couldn’t accept that she had broken Angel’s curse and released Angelus. <Not my fault; it was the gypsies.>

She couldn’t accept that she had nearly killed, had been *willing* to kill her fellow slayer, who had once been her friend. <Not my fault; Faith started it by poisoning Angel.>

She couldn’t accept that she had driven Riley away. <Not my fault; if Spike hadn’t taken me to that bites-for-cash place, I wouldn’t have fought with Riley in the first place.>

And she couldn’t accept that she had nearly caused the death of her best friend. <Not my fault. Not my fault. Spike shouldn’t have initiated the bond. Spike shouldn’t have turned Angel against me. Spike shouldn’t have rejected me. Not my fault. Not my fault.>

“It wasn’t my fault!” she repeated. “I wasn’t the one who locked her into that bond in the first place.”

“Sure it was,” Spike retorted. “Incapable of taking one for the team, aren’t you? Could have been you under the bond but that was a bit too much for you to take, wasn’t it? So you pushed your best friend into it, instead.”

“The bond is *sick* and *wrong* and you never should have insisted on it in the first place!”

“The bond is *real* and *in effect* and arguing ‘should haves’ isn’t going to make it go away. Right or wrong, you knew the bond was in place, you knew Willow was in danger without me around, and when *I* was worried about her, when *I* showed some concern for the people you claim that you love, you *lied* to me because you were so wrapped up in self-pity that you were incapable of caring for anyone other than yourself!”

“*You’re* lecturing *me* about only thinking of myself? Look in a mirror sometime!” Spike rolled his eyes condescendingly, driving Buffy’s anger up yet another notch. “I meant that metaphorically, you bastard! Before you start accusing me of being self-centered just because I couldn’t predict the effects of a bond I know *nothing* about that even *Giles* said should be safe while we were gone, take a look at what you’re doing, yourself!”

“All right, slayer, let’s take a look at what I’ve been doing. Hmm, I’ve been fighting nasty demons. I’ve been staking evil vampires. I’ve been feeding Xapper and making tea with the Watcher and putting up with Demon-Girl’s nonsense. I’ve been having the odd cuppa here and there with your mum. I’ve been training your little sister in how to defend herself, and I’ve been spending time just being with Red, except for this past week when I’ve been nursing her back to health. Gee whiz slayer, it sounds like I’ve been doing all the things . . . that *you* should be doing.”

Buffy jerked as if she’d been hit with an electrical shock, and Spike’s eyes widened as he took in the look of pain on her face. Those words had *hurt* her, he realized, really *hurt* her, far more than he ever would have expected. And the only reason they would have hurt her like that was . . . if they were true. Up to this point, he hadn’t known what was really bothering her. Now he knew. The real, true reason that she hated him wasn’t because of that hotel room outside of L.A., or the bond with Willow, or his exposure of Riley, or even his ill-fated love for her. Oh, she hated him plenty for all of that, but the real root of it went further. She hated him because she was scared: scared that he was going to take over her place in her life.

Buffy’s fists clenched so hard that she drove her nails into her palms as she forced herself not to cry. It was just a lucky shot; he didn’t really know how she felt. He had been there for Angel’s rejection of her; a rejection so beautifully and painfully contrasted by Angel’s new closeness to Spike; but while that hurt more than hell, it wasn’t the worst of it. Spike didn’t know what it was like for her to have Giles yell at her; something that had happened only a handful of times in her whole high school career but which had happened *repeatedly* in just the past few months; because of Spike. He didn’t know how it felt when Dawn, who Buffy (thanks to the monks) remembered as idolizing her when they were younger, suddenly looked up to *Spike* as her hero instead. And he certainly didn’t know how low and petty she appeared, even to herself, when even Xander, He of Infinite Bitterness Toward All Vampires, told her she was overreacting when she went on one of her ‘Spike is Evil’ rants.

All the things she liked about herself; all the things that she felt made her strong and capable of being the protector that the Hellmouth needed her to be; were all the things that Spike was taking away from her. Her family and friends were more than her support system; they were her foundation. Without them holding her up and securing her, she was left with only the worst, meanest, hardest parts of herself. A slayer could be a hero and a champion, but her love for the people around her was what gave Buffy her humanity. Without it, she was little more than a killer, after all. The thought of losing it, and losing it to *Spike*, had her so angry and so scared that she literally couldn’t think straight. Forgoing all the fancy fighting techniques she had learned over the years, she lashed out in the most instinctive way she could manage as she literally lifted Spike and threw him headlong across the room, smack into a table which collapsed under the force of the impact, scattering the area with splinters.

They had both lost awareness of everything outside of their fight. They didn’t remember their friends in the main part of the shop, protected by soundproofing from hearing the worst of the fight, but still wincing every time something slammed against a wall with an unmistakable thud. (Xander was practically sitting on Willow to keep her from going back there to check on the two of them. He knew his Willow; she’d rush in there full of concern for both of the fighters and would try to get in between them to stop the fight. The last thing she needed as she recovered from the fever was to get knocked out by a misplaced punch. He sent Anya in instead, knowing that his girl would have the sense to stay well out of the fight.) And they certainly didn’t remember Dawn, still standing in a corner of the training room, warring between the instinct to get as far away from the fight as humanly possible, and the instinct to get closer so she could hear every incendiary word that was exchanged. Her decision was made for her when Anya stuck her head in the room.

“They’re breaking my shop!” she exclaimed when she saw the shattered table. “Why would they want to break my shop?” she asked Dawn.

“I think they mostly want to break each other,” Dawn replied in a low voice, trying to keep from attracting the attention of the fighters. “The shop is just a casualty of war.”

“Can I send them outside? There’s nothing I care about that they could break out there.”

There was another crash as Spike made a remark that the girls didn’t catch that resulted in Buffy throwing a free weight at him. He ducked, of course, and the free weight hit the wall, denting the plaster.

“Probably best not to interrupt them,” Dawn suggested, “or they might break . . . um . . . *you*.” Anya nodded with a frown on her face, and Dawn could practically see her totaling up the cost of repairs in her head. The frown deepened the more she thought about it.

“At least it’s just the training room,” Dawn consoled her. “None of the customers come back here, anyway.” Another slam of something or some*one* made the walls shake a bit, and Dawn began to frown as well as a new practical concern occurred to her. “But you might want to go into the storeroom and make sure all this knocking-things-and-each-other-into-walls isn’t making anything rattle off the shelves in there.”

Anya’s eyes widened in horror at the very thought. “You’re right,” she said, grabbing hold of Dawn’s wrist. “We should go check on that right now.” Keeping her hand firmly clamped onto Dawn’s arm, she pulled the smaller girl behind her out of the training room, shutting the door behind her.

“They’re fine; they’re just beating up my shop!” Anya called out as they entered the edge of the shop on their way to the storeroom. “We’ll be back in a minute!”

“I wanted to stay!” Dawn pouted when they ended up in the storeroom. “They were saying all sorts of interesting things!”

“You can tell me all about them while we move these things away from the walls,” Anya countered. “And besides, I have things to tell you, too: things that Willow told me yesterday.”

“The things that made her so upset that she started to cry?” Dawn questioned eagerly, her interest in Spike and Buffy’s obscure references fading in light of some real, concrete information.

Anya nodded.

Dawn bounced excitedly and gestured for Anya to begin. Sadly, before she got a chance, they were interrupted by another thud that rattled the storeroom wall. Fortunately, nothing had fallen yet, but some things were pretty precariously perched on the edges of shelves. Dawn hurried over to catch an Urn of Anubis that was wobbling its way to destruction.

“We’ll rearrange as you tell me,” Dawn announced. “So go ahead.”

Anya frowned. “I don’t think I want to tell you this news while you’re holding a $500 Urn of Anubis. What if you drop it?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’m a ball of mystical energy. I live on the Hellmouth. My sister is the slayer. I really don’t think anything you tell me could shock me *that* much.”

Nodding agreeably, Anya nonetheless removed the Urn of Anubis from Dawn’s hands and replaced it with a five dollar scented candle. “Here!” she announced cheerfully. “If you want to not-drop something in your non-shock, you can not-drop this, instead.”

“Alright, then,” Dawn sighed. “What’s the oh-so-shocking news?”

“Are you prepared to be shocked?”

Dawn bit back a sarcastic reply, knowing it would only drag things out longer. “Yes, I’m prepared.”

“Are you braced?

“Yes, I’m braced.”

“. . . Are you sure?”

“*Yes*, I’m sure. For heavens’ sake, Anya, just spit it out already!”

“Buffy had sex with Spike.”

The candle didn’t make a sound as it dropped like a lead balloon to the floor.

~Part: 85~

Anya beamed at Dawn. “I must really be getting the hang of this human thing!” she announced cheerfully, “because that’s almost exactly what my reaction was.”

“Okay,” Dawn stated in a strangled voice, “Good for you. Congratulations. But right now? Right now, you need to explain what you just said. Because you can’t just say something like that and then not explain. It would be just—”

“Wrong?” Anya interjected, her smile growing even wider. “That’s exactly what I said when Willow started to tell me! Oh yeah, I’ve so totally got this human thing nailed. Yay, me,” she added, bouncing slightly in her enthusiasm. “Xander would be so proud of me . . . if I could tell him about this, which I can’t, because he doesn’t know about us being match facilitators and I don’t think he’d approve so it’s become one of those little things that I keep from him for his own good, like where I hide my secret stash of chocolate and those magazines I bought of naked men in chains and—”

“Sex!” Dawn shouted out.

“Where?” Anya asked, suddenly all attention.

“Buffy and Spike. Had Sex. I need an explanation. Because it’s just wrong.” There was another thud as something (or perhaps someone) from the training room crashed into the wall again and Dawn nodded, as if the thud had been in confirmation of her statement. “Wrong on so very many levels.”

Wincing in silent agreement, Anya proceeded to tell Dawn everything that Willow had told her. Sadly, there wasn’t much to go on.

“Okay, let’s think sequence of events,” Dawn said as she paced back and forth through the narrow floor-space in the storeroom. Anya stood over by the chalkboard Giles sometimes used to outline a strategy, with her chalk at the ready to take down what they knew.

“Buffy and Spike left Angel’s just after sunset.” Obediently, Anya drew something that faintly resembled a car and wrote underneath it ‘Left at sunset.’

“Willow told you that she could feel Spike was looking forward to coming home.” Dawn snorted. “Big shock, there. Buffy is no fun at all on car trips.” Underneath the words ‘Left at sunset’ Anya added, ‘Spike want home. Buffy no fun.’

“Then Willow got the feeling that they stopped at a motel somewhere—”

“And that it was Buffy’s idea,” Anya added, drawing an arrow from the car, and then sketching in a tall rectangle that she labeled ‘Sex Motel’.

“Right,” Dawn agreed. “Willow could feel Buffy’s lips on Spike’s—which is whole new worlds of eww—” Anya wrote in ‘Icky Kissing’ under the Sex Motel, “and Spike stopped thinking about Willow at all. And right after that happened, Willow went into her coma. The coma started at 8:23, and sunset was . . .” Dawn paused. “When was sunset?”

“Around 7:45?” Anya offered.

Dawn nodded. “Sounds right. Buffy wouldn’t have wanted to use the first motel she passed; she’d want to get outside of L.A., first. Everybody knew who she was after she burned down the gym at her old high school, and she wouldn’t want to run into anyone who’d recognize her.” Anya used a dusting rag to erase half of her motel, redrawing it taller so she could fit into it the words ‘Sex Motel Outside L.A.’

“They got back to Sunnydale right around eleven, which means that whatever they did in the motel was done by nine o’clock, or maybe a little later.” Dawn frowned. “From 8:23 to 9:00 doesn’t leave much time, especially since they had to get dressed and check out once they were done. Did they really have time to have sex?”

“For Willow’s sake, I hope not,” Anya replied, writing in ‘Leave Sex Motel at 9:00’.

“Well yeah, I hope they didn’t have sex, too, but that’s not what I meant—”

“It’s not what I meant either,” Anya corrected. “Spike is in excellent shape and is very experienced. I’d hope that he’d be able to keep it up for longer than fifteen minutes. If not, then Willow’s in for some frustration.” Underneath ‘Leave Sex Motel at 9:00’, Anya added ‘Erectile Dysfunction’ with a question mark. “Although,” Anya continued, “it would explain why Buffy’s been so angry with Spike ever since. It can be very upsetting for a girl to be left unsatisfied.”

“Okay,” Dawn exhaled slowly, looking faintly green. “Well, that’s one theory. What other possibility is there?”

“Maybe they had a fight and stopped in the middle?” Anya suggested.

Dawn brightened immediately. “Yes! I like that one! Write that down!” Anya obeyed, and Dawn smiled happily before visibly deflating.

“It doesn’t matter, though,” she stated morosely. “Figuring out what happened will help, but it won’t change the major problem.”

“Spike’s erectile dysfunction?”

“No! Willow!”

“Don’t be silly; Willow can’t have erectile dysfunction. And I certainly don’t think she’s frigid; Xander once sent me up to Tara and Willow’s room when we were supposed to give them a ride to the Magic Box so they wouldn’t have to carry some books they had borrowed from Giles across town, and when I walked in on them, Tara had her hand up Willow’s skirt and Willow was—”

“Too much information!” Dawn yelled, covering her ears. “Way, way too much information. And totally off topic! What I meant,” Dawn continued after she had taken a few deep breaths, “was that no matter what actually happened in that motel room, Spike still chose to go into it instead of heading home to Willow. Even if they did get in a fight later and stop half-way through, in that moment, he still chose Buffy over Willow, and now—”

“We’ll never be able to convince her that Spike wants her as anything other than a second choice since Buffy clearly,” another thud resounded through the wall and Anya frowned at the obvious damage the wall was taking on the other side, “clearly isn’t having sex with Spike anymore.”

“Right,” Dawn sighed. Anya wrote ‘Willow Insecure Because Spike Followed Dick Instead of Heart’ on the chalkboard. Dawn opened her mouth to continue but was cut off by the sound of Willow screaming Spike’s name from the main room.

Rushing out to see what the commotion was about, Anya and Dawn found Xander and Giles standing in the doorway of the training room, watching Willow as she knelt on the blood-spattered training mat with Spike’s head resting on her lap, alternating between soothing him and throwing hurt looks at Buffy who was resolutely avoiding eye contact.

Anya tugged on Xander’s sleeve. “What did we miss?” she whispered.

“Spike threw a real punch, and when the chip went off, Buffy clocked him right in the jaw, nearly knocking him out,” Xander explained. “Willow must’ve heard something: she was yelling out Spike’s name and bolting in there before Spike had a chance to hit the floor.”

On the other side of the room, Willow helped an unsteady Spike to his feet. “We should head home,” she announced. She looked over at Buffy, waiting a moment to see if the slayer had anything to say, but Buffy still refused to make eye contact. With a disappointed sigh, Willow grabbed hold of Spike’s hand and pulled him toward the main room of the shop. Giles, Xander, Anya, and Dawn quickly stepped out of her way.

Xander pulled Spike aside to ask him something while Anya dragged Giles back into the doorway of the training room. She couldn’t hear what Anya was saying, but her animated gesturing to the training room and the damage to the walls made the message pretty clear. Meanwhile, Willow stepped up to Dawn with a small, sad smile.

“Dawnie, I don’t think we’ll be doing ice cream after all. I really need to get Spike home. And I’m . . . feeling pretty drained, myself. Raincheck?”

Dawn fought the urge to growl at her sister for ruining her perfect plan for Spike and Willow’s first date. Of course, the growl would have been wasted since Buffy was clearly determined to ignore everything and everyone in the main shop, so Dawn managed to muster up a shaky smile for Willow instead.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “I wanted to stay and—” scheme with Anya over how to get you and Spike to finally realize that you belong together? Nope, can’t say that . . . “—help Anya clean the supply room.”

Dawn could tell from the look on Willow’s face that the other girl didn’t entirely believe her, but a Spike In Need took priority over a Dawn Who Might Not Be Telling The Complete Truth, so with a quiet goodbye to everyone, Willow led Spike to the door, with Xander trailing after them. Apparently, when Xander had pulled Spike aside moments before, he had been offering him a ride home. After a round of subdued goodbyes, the three of them left.

“Well,” Giles stated when the door had closed behind them, “Anya informs me that Buffy and Spike’s . . . sparring . . . led to some damage aside from the possible structural consequences?”

“I didn’t say that,” Anya countered, looking confused. “I said that Buffy’s slamming Spike into things nearly smashed down the wall to the storeroom, which would have broken all the expensive merchandise that I plan to sell to customers for lots of money.” Anya nodded in confirmation of her words. “And even though she didn’t break down the wall, she did slam Spike into it enough that some things were knocked off of shelves. Things that I think she should be required to pay for.”

Giles sighed wearily as he cleaned his glasses. “Very well, then; I’ll send Buffy in to assess the situation, and the two of you can total the cost of the damages.”

“No!” Dawn yelled, making both Giles and Anya jump in surprise. “Buffy can’t go in there because she’s . . . um . . .” bound to be really insulted when she sees what we wrote on the chalkboard, and go whining to Mom and get me grounded for a month “. . . still too keyed up from her fight with Spike. She’d probably just knock more things over. In fact, you’d better keep her in the training room until she calms down, or she might end up breaking things in here, too.”

Anya looked distinctly horrified at the idea, and went to stand in front of the doorway to the training room, widening her stance and crossing her arms over her chest as if she could keep Buffy out of her precious, breakable shop by sheer determination. A loud thud made them all turn to look inside the training room, where Buffy was currently beating the stew out of a punching bag.

“Yes, well . . .” Giles stammered. “Perhaps you have a point. I’ll just go and check on the damages myself then, shall I?”

The words didn’t register right away with Dawn; she was too busy watching her sister flat-out attack the punching bag. It was . . . odd, for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Dawn had seen Buffy fight, in cemeteries and in training, more times than she could count, but there was something different about it this time. Buffy’s punches and kicks were landing with just as much—if not more—force than usual, but something about her precision was . . . off, as if she was striking out blindly instead of aiming her blows. And her eyes . . . there was something about her eyes . . .

Dawn’s breath caught in her throat as she realized that Buffy was crying.

It had always been easier for Dawn to relate to Willow instead of Buffy. Sister or not, Buffy was so very many things that Dawn had never been: boldly beautiful, self-assured, strong, tough. Buffy kicked ass while cracking jokes and wearing heels. Dawn tripped over her own feet even in sneakers, and could never manage to think of anything cool to say until everyone had already gone home. Buffy had tragic, doomed relationships with mysterious older men. Dawn had crushes on mysterious older men . . . who all treated her like a little sister. Buffy drew attention everywhere she went. Dawn blended into the background so well that her own family sometimes forgot she was there. Buffy had problems, yes, but they were big, dramatic, important problems that made her seem heroic. Dawn had small, awkward, embarrassing problems that made her seem . . . just like the normal teenager she was supposed to be.

Buffy and Dawn were (fake) sisters and had (fake) family ties and (fake) childhood memories drawing them together, but when you got right down to it, they really didn’t have much in common. Willow was much easier for Dawn to connect with and understand. And the latest situation with Spike? No one had more experience than Dawn with what it felt like to be in Buffy’s shadow. Willow’s situation was most definitely one where Dawn could sympathize. And it had felt good to know that she was working to make her friends happy, in spite of all of Buffy’s interference. Buffy was hurting Willow and Spike, but she would help them.

She hadn’t given much thought to the idea that Buffy might be hurting, too. Dawn had been so busy trying to think of what had happened to upset Willow and what had happened to upset Spike that it hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder what, exactly, had happened to upset Buffy. But something clearly had upset Buffy; something was continuing to upset her, taking away that confidence that had always been her trademark and making her lash out, making her hurt the people she cared about, making her cry. (Dawn hadn’t thought there was much of anything in the world that could make Buffy cry.)

It messed up Dawn’s tidy picture of the situation, where Buffy was the villain, Spike and Willow were the lovers, and Dawn was the hero, come to put everything to rights. Villains weren’t supposed to have feelings, too, and you weren’t supposed to feel bad for them. But now Dawn was starting to wonder if, as her mother had always said when she and Buffy fought when they were little (and when they were not so little . . . and last week . . . and the week before . . .), there were two sides to the story.

Whatever side of this story she chose to look at, it all looked like one, big mess. The whole situation had gotten badly tangled up somewhere, and it all seemed to be getting worse, not better. There were too many secrets, too many unknowns, too many things being hidden away out of pride or anger or fear. Buffy’s actions had hurt her friends, but she seemed to be hurting, too, and none of it made any sense. Clenching her jaw in a stubborn frown, Dawn mentally resolved that she’d get down to the bottom of it if it was the last thing she ever did. And when she had figured everything out and straightened everything up, Willow and Spike would have their happily ever after. And maybe, when the lovers were busy riding off into the sunset, (er . . . possibly not the sunset; maybe the post-sunset, non-crispy-for-vamps part of the evening) Dawn, as a truly great and benevolent hero, might even put some effort into seeing what she could do about whatever it was that had made Buffy so unhappy. Because maybe, just maybe, when you got right down to it . . . Buffy might possibly deserve a happy ending, too.

Happy in her resolution, Dawn straightened her spine and nodded her head decisively, ready to charge forward in her quest to Set Things Right. No matter what she had to do, no matter who she had to face, no matter what obstacles she had to overcome, she was braced for all of it, armed to slay any dragons in her path to reach the happy ending, prepared to do whatever it was that needed to be done . . .

“Dawn.” Giles’s voice held a quiet inflexibility to it that she hadn’t heard since the time she spilled her Diet Coke on the Griffinhurst Guide to Ridiculously Obscure Prophecies. “Would you mind stepping into the storeroom for a moment? I believe there’s something you need to explain to me.”

Dawn winced. The chalkboard. Right. Giles had gone into the storeroom to see the damages and he had . . . yeah. Great. Perfect. Storybook heroes got dragons, and demons (and werewolves, oh my!) to battle; Dawn got a newly-reinstated Watcher with a you’ve-got-some-explaining-to-do-young-lady glare.

Where’s a dragon when you need one?

~Part: 86~

Dawn knew that stalling wouldn’t do any good. In fact, it might make things worse, especially if Buffy got into the act and followed her into the storeroom. So into the storeroom she went, trying to figure out the best strategy to deal with the situation at hand. She could play the strictly innocent card. After all, everything on the board was in Anya’s handwriting, not hers, and Anya was still guarding the main room of the shop from Buffy’s destructive impulses.

Anya was, therefore, in no position to either confirm or deny anything that Dawn said. And really, there was no way for Giles to prove that Dawn had been in the storeroom when all the stuff on the board was written. (Why, no, Giles, I have no idea how all of this got written here! I’m just as surprised as you!) But no, he probably wouldn’t buy it. And to think, he used to be so gullible. It was really rather sad what spending five years constantly around teenagers could do to a man’s ability to trust anything any of them said.

She could play the possessed-by-a-demon card. It wouldn’t even be all that implausible. Heaven knows, she was probably the only one of them who hadn’t been possessed by some kind of demon at some point. And if you could have demons that controlled people through the internet, or took over unconscious bodies, or made people harvest eggs, then why couldn’t you have a demon that made you write weird things on chalkboards? (The last thing I remember was going into the storeroom with Anya . . . and then I heard Willow scream out Spike’s name. I don’t remember anything that happened in between!) On the downside, though, even if he did believe her, he’d probably want to do one of those depossession rituals that involved burning lots of smelly herbs, which would seriously suck since she’d just washed her hair.

She could—

“Dawn,” Giles interrupted, “how sure are you of what’s written here?”

Not sure at all! every instinct in her screamed to say, because I’ve never seen that chalkboard before in my life! Innocent by-stander, here!

But then she took a good look at Giles’s face. Oddly enough, he didn’t look angry. Or annoyed. Or even all that disapproving, and Giles usually had that whole ‘silent aura of disapproval’ thing nailed. Instead, he looked . . . sad, and a little worried. For the first time, it occurred to Dawn that Giles might not have asked the question to get her to confess, as a prelude to allotting out her punishment. He might actually be asking because he genuinely wanted to know. Huh. Novel concept. Dawn decided to match it with a novel response: the truth.

“Pretty sure about some of it,” she began, cautiously. “For one thing, we know that they left at sunset. Our best guess was that sunset was around 7:45. Do you think that’s right?” Giles nodded his confirmation, so Dawn continued. “I’m sure about the ‘Spike wanting home’ part, too. You remember how Willow could feel what Spike was feeling when there was that fight in L.A.?” Giles nodded again. “Well, apparently that whole extra-sensory ESP thing kept going. Willow told Anya that she could feel it through the bond that Spike was impatient to get back when they finally got on the road. ‘Buffy no fun’ was just my guess, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about that, too. I’ve been on plenty of car trips with her before, and let me tell you—”

“Dawn, as illuminating as this is,” Giles interjected, “I think we both know that that’s not what I want confirmed.”

“The sex motel?” Dawn asked, nervously.

“The sex motel,” Giles agreed.

Dawn hesitated for a beat, then dove right in. “It happened. We’re sure of that. At least, we’re sure about most of it. Willow told Anya about it just the other day, but since she wasn’t exactly herself when all of that was going on, she couldn’t really give that many details.” Dawn pointed to where Anya had written, ‘erectile dysfunction’ and ‘had a fight and stopped in middle’ with a question mark next to each. “Hence the guessing game.”

Giles sighed, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “What exactly did Willow tell say?” he asked, a moment later.

“I got it second-hand from Anya,” Dawn hedged, “but as far as I could tell, she said that she could feel it when Spike and Buffy stopped somewhere along the road. And then, she felt . . . someone kissing Spike. Look at the timeline, Giles; it had to be Buffy, who else could it have been?”

“Agreed,” Giles sighed. “So Willow felt them kiss; then what?”

“Then she felt his response.”

“Which was?”

“Surprise, at first. But then he started to . . . um . . .”

“Yes,” Giles interrupted, blushing furiously, “I get the idea. He started to react?”

“Yeah,” Dawn confirmed, unspeakably relieved that she hadn’t had to explain to Giles that kissing Buffy had gotten Spike horny. “According to Anya, Willow said that he stopped thinking about anything else other than his . . . reaction, and that was it.”

“That was . . . what, precisely?”

“That’s all that Willow felt,” Dawn explained. “At that point, she decided that Spike wasn’t coming back after all, and so she stopped waiting for him. That was when she went into the coma.”

“Good Lord,” Giles gasped, seating himself heavily in the nearest chair. “That’s what drove her into the coma? I had no idea . . .”

“Oh yeah,” Dawn agreed, sitting down in the chair next to his. “I totally know how you feel.”

“Does Buffy know? Does Spike know?”

Dawn shrugged. “Not as far as I can tell. I think Anya’s the only one that Willow’s told. Buffy and Spike don’t know what time Willow’s coma started, and none of us thought to ask Spike and Buffy just what they were up to at exactly 8:23. I mean, they know that if they’d gotten back sooner, they might have gotten home before the coma started, but I don’t think they know that they caused the coma.”

Giles stared at the blackboard for a minute or two, blinking repeatedly as he tried to assimilate this new information. “So,” he said hesitantly, awhile later, “the rest of the information here is—”

“Our best guess,” Dawn replied. “The ‘before’ part is easy. Sunset was at 7:45 and ‘icky kissing’ didn’t start until 8:20ish means they did some driving before they got to the motel. Makes sense, too. Buffy wouldn’t want to run into anyone she knew from when we lived there before. It’s the ‘after’ part where things get sticky.” Giles shuddered, and Dawn paused to think back over what she had just said.

“Bad choice of words. The ‘after’ part is where things get harder . . . no, not harder—don’t want to even think about things getting harder . . . um . . . more difficult to figure out.”

Giles frowned, finally falling into his classic ‘silent aura of disapproval’ stance Dawn had expected to see so much earlier, directed at the blackboard, though; not at Dawn. “If Buffy initiated an interlude at a motel, and Spike’s interest in the proceedings were unmistakable, then how difficult can it be to extrapolate what happened next?”

“Exactly!” Dawn replied excitedly, jumping to her feet. “I mean, that’s exactly what Willow’s thinking, but what if your extrapolationing is wrong?”

“Dawn, there is no such word as ‘extrapolationing’—”

“Not the point! I mean really, Giles, look at the timeline! They had to have finished by nine o’clock, or they wouldn’t have gotten back home by eleven, right? I mean, does that sound logical to you?”

“I suppose so . . .” Giles agreed hesitantly.

“Right, so they had to leave by 9:00, but Giles,” Dawn continued, pacing excitedly, “they only got started at 8:23! And by 9:00, they were done, cleaned up, dressed, and checked out of the motel? That can’t be right, can it?”

“I suppose that’s where the . . . ahem . . . erectile dysfunction theory comes into play?” Giles asked, cleaning his glasses furiously.

Dawn made a face. “That was Anya’s idea. Personally, I’ll all about the ‘they had a fight and stopped in the middle’ idea, and really, there might be other possibilities, but we didn’t really get a chance to come up with any more before Willow started screaming and we all went running into the training room and then . . . well, you know what happened from there.”

“That wasn’t quite all that you and Anya decided on, was it, Dawn?” Giles asked gently, putting his glasses back on at last, and looking Dawn in the eye.

For a second, Dawn genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. Then she glanced over at the board, and the answer was (quite literally) staring her in the face.

“Willow Insecure Because Spike Followed Dick Instead of Heart.”

Yeah. That. Riiiiight.

“You and Anya weren’t just mapping this out because you were concerned about the tensions between Buffy and Spike, were you?” Giles asked, rising to his feet to stand next to her.

What should she say to that? Yes? No? Please repeat the question? Darn it, what was the right answer?

“Because from the look of things, I would wager a guess that this has less to do with Spike and Buffy, and more to do with . . . Spike and Willow. Am I correct?”

What was it that he wanted to hear? The honestly thing had been working for her pretty well so far . . . but that didn’t mean that she was completely comfortable with spilling all of the beans. A girl had to have some element of mystery, right? And in the interests of not having Giles call her mom and get her grounded, Dawn was thinking that this might be one of those times where a bit of mystery would really come in handy. Giles had been surprisingly cool about the whole ‘using the chalk board to detail Spuffy sexploits,’ but Dawn didn’t know if that would carry over to actual matchmaking (or match-facilitating, as the case may be) between Willow and Spike.

Giles sighed audibly. “I know you children are in the habit of thinking of me as . . . something of a fuddy-duddy—”

“Only when you say things like ‘fuddy-duddy’,” Dawn argued in Giles’s defense. Truthfully, she felt like she’d kind of lucked out in the whole cool parents lottery—except for the fact that Giles wasn’t actually her parent, though that little detail was usually pretty easy to forget that.

“—but,” Giles continued, undeterred, “I’m not yet entirely unaware of what’s going on around me. I have long been aware of the progression of feelings developing between Willow and Spike, and while it goes somewhat against my nature to encourage any degree of attachment between a vampire and . . . well, anyone, actually . . . I do feel that specific cases deserve specific consideration, and in the light of the interactions I have observed between the two of them, I cannot help but feel—”

Dawn couldn’t be entirely sure, but it almost sounded as if he wouldn’t mind the idea of Spike and Willow getting together. And that was . . . somehow really shocking and really not, all at once.

Yeah, Giles was a Watcher to the core, with the whole knee-jerk “Vampires are evil, and that is why we slay them” philosophy, but he also loved their little band of slayerettes more than any Slayer’s handbook in the world. If it came down to choosing the Watcher philosophy or choosing what would make his “children” happiest and safest, Dawn knew he’d choose his children every single time.

He said he’d noticed something building between Willow and Spike. And he certainly didn’t seem angry about it. Maybe the vampire thing didn’t matter as much to him as the thought that Willow might finally get the love she deserved from someone who could be as devoted as Spike. Maybe he wanted the same thing she and Anya wanted, after all. Maybe it was time to put the mystery aside and just tell him the truth. And maybe . . . well, maybe she and Anya would come out of this with another match-facilitator to add to the team.

“Bottom line, Giles,” Dawn interrupted, knowing that once he got into Long-Winded Mode, it could take days for him to actually finish a thought, “the idea of Willow and Spike as a couple: does it bother you?”

“Because,” she continued, deciding that now was the time to put all the cards on the table, “Anya and I have been hoping for it for a long time. And whatever went on between Buffy and Spike—aside from being icky and just all-around wrong—is getting in the way because of . . . um . . . that.” Dawn pointed to the “Willow Insecure Because Spike Followed Dick Instead of Heart” line on the chalkboard. “So Anya and I were trying to figure out just what happened, so we could work out how to put things right.”

Giles stared at the board silently, and didn’t reply.

“So . . . what do you think about that?” Dawn prompted a moment or two later.

“I think . . .” Giles began, then paused. “I think I want to help.”

“Yeah,” another voice piped in from the doorway. Giles and Dawn turned to see Xander standing there, watching them. “I think I want to help, too.”

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