Title:  Male Bonding

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG.  However, some content may be considered NC-17.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks:  To DorothyL for the beta and for her wonderful friendship.

Notes:   This is a sequel to “Ladies' Man." It has occurred to Buffy that Spike has been just a little too well-behaved lately.  She’s determined to find out the reason, but, unfortunately, her judgment is hormonally impaired at the moment.

        “Thanks for helping with dinner,” said Spike to Tara.

        “It’s okay.  I worry about what you’re eating over there, even when Buffy isn’t too sick to cook,” she replied, looking over the produce in the supermarket aisle.  “Can you get me some fresh coriander and lots of mint?”

        “How much is lots?”

        “About two of those bunches.  I need some for the meal and some for a potion that may help Buffy.”

        “Help her how?”

        “It may relieve the nausea.  It’s not really magic, just an herbalist thing.  Why, Spike, what did you think?  You haven’t been watching Rosemary’s Baby and getting crazy ideas again, have you?  I thought Buffy and the doctor were able to convince you that everything was all right.  And it’s perfectly obvious to me that the baby is fine.”

        “Obvious to you.  But you were off gallivanting somewhere instead of being about when I needed you to read Buffy’s aura and let me know that we weren’t about to act in a remake of The Bad Seed.”

        “That just wasn’t possible, Spike.  Both you and Buffy have souls, so of course the baby does too.  And I wasn’t gallivanting.  I was digging through a very dusty archive and examining some very boring bits of pottery.  Which I’m only doing because Sage has convinced me that the world needs more museum curators with psychic powers so that nasty things aren’t accidentally unleashed.  Don’t get that orange juice; Dawn likes for the low pulp kind.  What ill-conceived ideas do you have about the baby now?”

        “Buffy has teased me with that pun enough already, thanks.  It’s not the baby who’s worrying me.  It’s Buffy.  The Little Bit thinks she’s gone insane, but I have too much experience with deranged significant others to buy that explanation.  Buffy’s just suffering from some bloody great hormonal shift.  But that doesn’t mean life is all beer and skittles right now.  I can cope with the vomiting, the crying during McDonalds commercials, and the weird mood shifts, but lately things have taken a more sinister turn.  Why doesn’t this market carry Wheatabix?”

        “Just one of life’s mysteries.  Or maybe now that Giles has moved back to England, you’re the only person in Sunnydale that eats them.  What’s Buffy doing?”

        “Well, she was carrying the sisterhood thing to such extremes that the poor Little Bit finally locked herself in her room for four hours the other night.  I think Buffy was afraid the Niblet would feel neglected because of the baby.  Dawn couldn’t make a phone call or even go to the loo without a Slayer on her tail.  But I’ve noticed the past couple of days that my lady has her eye on me now.  I’m not sure quite what the problem is, so I’m trying to stay home as much as possible, keep my face washed and my hands clean, and say ‘yes, ma’am’ when spoken to.  I don’t want to give her the least cause for concern.”

        Buffy sat in the living room with her sister, listlessly turning over the pages of a magazine.  Her brow was furrowed with concern.  Chip, who was lying on the coffee table in front of her, was watching the magazine pages flip with the air of a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.  “I’m worried about Spike,” said the Slayer.  “Have you noticed how he spends all his free time with us?” 

Dawn rolled her eyes.  “Buffy, doesn’t that fall into the category of a good thing?”

“Can you believe that he actually offered to help Tara shop for dinner?  He must be so bored.  He doesn’t do any guy stuff.”

        “He probably went with Tara because he wanted more chunky peanut butter or that Wheatabix cereal or something like that.  You know how important food is to him.  And, Buffy, last night he helped you kill a demon with three-foot-long tusks.  I know that because you two brought back the tusks in case they had magical properties.  And incidentally, I’d appreciate it if you got them out of the laundry room.  Anyway, if that’s not disgusting and violent enough to be ‘guy stuff,’ I don’t know what is.”

        “But he doesn’t have any real guys to hang out with.”

        “What about Clem?”

        Buffy picked up the cat to keep him from shredding her magazine to bits.  “Clem is out of town on some pilgrimage that his kind—whatever that is—have to make every three years or so.  He explained it to me for about an hour before he left, and I still don’t get it.  I didn’t think a ritual could be bizarre and boring at the same time.  It’s worse than that offside soccer thing that Spike’s always trying to get me to understand.  Besides, Clem is a demon.  Spike has made a lot of progress in acting more human.  He needs a human friend to talk to, not someone who sacrifices falafel.”

        “Falafel?  Buffy, you must have heard that wrong.  I’m sure that even Clem— But never mind about Clem.  Anyway, what about you and me?  We’re human.  Mostly.  And Spike talks to us all the time.  In fact, he almost never shuts up.”

        “But there have to be things he can’t talk to us about.  Guy talk.  Sports.  Cars.  Girls.”  Chip jumped out of her arms and stalked away, his tail flicking in the air as if to express his incredulity at her words.

        Dawn was equally incredulous.  “Girls?  Buffy, he’s married to you.  What kind of conversations do you want him to be having about girls?”

        “I don’t know.  The article I read in this magazine says I shouldn’t know.  He needs an outlet.”

        Spike carried the grocery bags out to Tara’s car and loaded them into the trunk.  She got behind the wheel and tried to start the engine.  He heard it whine and fail, and walked around to open the hood.  She joined him.

        “This bloody awful heap of yours is in worse shape than mine,” he said.

        “I know,” she said.  “But I thought I could fix it up.  I still think I can, if I can find the time.”

        “Where did you learn to fix old cars?”

        “Growing up.  Where I came from, this car would not qualify as ‘old.’  You had to learn the basics or you spent a lot of time stranded on deserted country roads.”

“Well, if you buy me a six pack someday, I might be able to help you make this thing more road-worthy.”

“Ok.  Thanks.  As long as you drink the beer after you work on the car.”

 “It’s a deal.  So you bought this wreck because you want to tinker with it?”

        “No,” she said. “I bought it because I thought it would be a babe magnet.” 

He laughed, his head still bent over the engine.

“Anyway,” continued Tara, “I might understand cars, but I always preferred horses.”

        “Me too.  Hand me that spanner, will you?”

         “That what?”

        “Wrench.  You know, what, pet?  We should take Buffy and that Natalie girl and go horseback riding.”

        “I don’t know enough about Natalie to know if she would like that.  I don’t even know if she really likes me or if she was just affected by those pheromones.”

“The only way to find out is to see her again now that those bugs are done honeymooning in Sunnydale.”

“I don’t know.  I could take Dawn horseback riding instead.  She’d like that.”

        “You’re missing my point, Tara.  This should be a romantic opportunity.  Ladies like horses.  Riding makes them feel like Liz Taylor in National Velvet.”

        “Not if they don’t know how to ride.”

        “Best way.  You have to help them mount and dismount, give them pointers.” 

Her smile was ironic.  “You mean lots of opportunities to cop a feel.”

“Now you’re catching my drift.”  He raised his head from the engine.  “I think that’s it.  Try it now.”

        “Buffy, this is Spike we’re talking about,” said Dawn.  “Are you sure you want him to go looking for an outlet?  Think about some of the recreational choices he’s made in the past.”

        “Exactly.  If he doesn’t have a reasonable way to get rid of some of that—that pent up whatever, he might do something crazy.”

        “Pent up whatever?  Whatever what?  He hasn’t been acting like he’s got anything pent up.  He’s not acting like he wishes he could go out and start a bar fight or something.”

        “But that’s just not natural for Spike.  Psychologically it doesn’t make sense.”

“Buffy, don’t you remember that the last time you got into psychology, it turned out that your college professor was building Frankenstein monsters?”

        “You can’t condemn the entire discipline because of one mad scientist.”

        “How about one crazy pregnant woman?” muttered Dawn under her breath.  Aloud, she said, “You can’t pick out Spike’s playmates like he’s in kindergarten, Buffy.  He’s over a hundred years old.  Don’t you think he can decide who he wants to hang out with by now?  And don’t you think he’s trying hard enough to be human without you pushing him more?”

        Buffy frowned more fiercely.  “It’s not that I don’t think he’s trying, Dawn.  It’s that I think he’s trying too hard.”

        “What do you mean?”

        “I’m not sure.  But sometimes it seems like there are things he’s not telling me.  About how he feels.  I remember how hard it was to talk about some things when I was getting over being dead, and I keep thinking that there may be something like that going on with Spike.  I wish he could talk to me, but if he can’t, maybe he could open up to another guy.  I mean, sometimes there are things I can’t say, even to Spike, but I can talk to Willow and you and Tara, or, in a weird way, even Xander.  Spike has a wife and a sister now, but he needs a best friend too.”

        “So you want Spike and Xander to go off to the woods with a bunch of drums and a talking stick and try to bond?  I don’t think so, Buffy.  Don’t you remember that they had a fight not so long ago?  Spike tossed Xander out of the house—literally.”

        “I wasn’t going to suggest the drums and stuff.  That would be silly.  And the fight happened because Xander was infected by those pheromones.  He won’t hold that against Spike.”

        “Not the fight, maybe.  But Xander said things that went beyond just a magically-induced brawl.  Anyway, ever since he found out you’re pregnant, Xander’s been acting like a Victorian father whose daughter was seduced and ruined.”

        “Well, it’s not like he can blame Spike for that.”

        “Well, I certainly hope he can blame Spike.”

        “I didn’t mean that.  I meant that I’m as responsible for this pregnancy as Spike is.  Besides, I’m married.  Where does Xander get off deciding there’s something wrong with having this baby?”

        “Exactly,” said Dawn triumphantly.  “If Xander is being so illogical that he thinks there’s something wrong about you getting pregnant, he would be a bad influence on Spike.”

        “No, he’ll just have to get over it.  I mean, Spike is my husband and Xander is one of my best friends.  The more I think about it, the more I think those two need to bond.”

        Dawn gave up the argument because in spite of her conviction that Buffy’s plans would end badly, she could understand why her sister wanted Spike and Xander to get along.  Spike’s relationship with each of the other Scoobies had improved since he had become human.  Dawn herself had always had a bond with him, and the strange incident that had restored him to partial humanity had cemented a relationship that, for lack of a better definition, she considered to be that of brother and sister.  Willow, in a change of attitude Dawn still found bizarre, seemed to look up to Spike and even asked him for advice.  Tara’s generous and gentle nature would have led her to be kind to him even if she hadn’t always been grateful to him for proving, however painfully, that she was not a demon herself.  Jonathan, who was on his way to becoming an honorary Scooby, had gone from fearing Spike to fawning on him like a puppy who adored its master, and Spike tolerated this behavior with an obvious effort.  Even Giles occasionally asked to speak to Spike during his frequent phone calls, and the conversations were not overly acrimonious, although they did seem a bit full of unwanted advice from the Watcher.

But Xander had grown more jealous as Spike had become more human.  Dawn suspected that when Spike was a vampire, Xander had felt enough sense of superiority to allow him to be tolerant.  But now Spike had not only a dark past but a bright present, while Xander lived alone, the woman he had once planned to marry thousands of miles away.  And to make things worse, it was Spike who routinely fought by Buffy’s side, robbing Xander of his old role as military support.  To Xander, it must seem that Spike had everything, from an encyclopedic knowledge of demonology, to superhuman strength, to a beautiful wife, to the promise of fatherhood.  To Dawn, it seemed that Spike had problems that no one in his right mind would envy, and she suspected that each day was still a struggle for him.  The fact that Spike was hiding his battle so well while Xander trumpeted his angst for all to hear didn’t make Dawn any more sympathetic to Buffy’s old friend.  Sooner or later, Xander would have to deal with his jealousy.  Dawn just wasn’t sure that the time was right.  The next few days could be painful for all concerned.

        “Ow.  Ow,” said Spike, and then added, more emphatically, “Ow!  Slayer, what part of this message are you not getting?”

        “I know it hurts a little,” said Buffy.  “But trust me.  I can feel this big knot of tension in your shoulder, and if you just give me another minute--”

        “Uff!” said Spike, and then added reluctantly.  “That does feel better, now.  Mmm.”  He was naked and sprawled face-down in bed.  Buffy, also naked, was seated astride his butt.  She was assiduously massaging his shoulders, neck and back.

        “Told you,” said Buffy.  “Anyway, it’s your own fault.  If you hadn’t come over the big protector and insisted on throttling that demon all by yourself, you wouldn’t have gotten so tensed up.  You know that the doctor said I didn’t have to restrict any of my physical activities yet.”

        “I don’t think the doctor realizes just how physical some of your activities are.  And I didn’t get a sore shoulder from fighting, love.  It happened afterwards, when a crazy woman was riding me like a pony while I was on my back in someone’s very rocky garden.”

        “Was that a garden?” asked Buffy without much remorse.  “I hope we didn’t ruin someone’s flower bed.  And you could have said something at the time.”

        “At the time, all the brain cells that controlled speech were on vacation somewhere.  And even if they hadn’t been, I was too busy paying attention to other sensations to notice.”

        “If it’s any consolation, I liked my pony ride.”  Buffy smiled with remembered satisfaction.  She stopped caressing his back and instead ran her fingers through his hair.  It was still damp from the shower, and she fanned the long strands out.  They reached to his shoulders now, and he had started to tie them back at the nape of his neck during the day.  Slowly, her smile faded.  She didn’t mind that he had let his hair grow.  But she had noticed how he still averted his eyes from every mirror, not even checking his own reflection to shave.  There were lots of mirrors in barber shops and hair salons, and Buffy suspected that the current length of his hair had more to do with the desire to avoid his own reflection than any attempt at a fashion statement.  Is there even a word for fear of mirrors? she wondered.  Whether there’s a word for it or not, he suffers from it.  And it’s getting worse, not better.  I don’t need a psychology degree to tell me that he’s repressing something.  The way he hid his fears when I first told him about the baby tells me just how capable he is of keeping things from me.  I don’t even know if memories of his past are starting to come back to haunt him or if fears for the future are filling him with dread.  And I’ve prodded and hinted enough to know that he won’t talk to me about it. 

        Spike gave a huge sigh of contentment.  Buffy had to admit that he didn’t sound like a conflicted soul at the moment.  She leaned over and blew into his ear gently, her breasts rubbing against his back.  He snorted happily into the pillow.  She jumped off him, slapped him on the butt, and threw herself face-down on the bed.  “My turn!” she announced.

        He gave another sigh, this time one of mock annoyance, and sat up to massage her back.  She purred happily as his strong hands moved along her neck, releasing whatever tension had survived a fight with a demon, vigorous sex on the ground, and more acrobatic but less wild sex in the shower. 

        Buffy could almost have fallen asleep, but soon he began to deviate from his assigned task.  One hand slipped between her thighs, and the fingers of the other slid along her ribs to caress the side of one breast.  She rolled over onto her back and smiled up at him.  His blue eyes were gleaming with mischief.

        “I like massaging this side of you better, love.”  His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing their sensitive undersides. 

        “Me too.  We can tandem massage this way.”  Her hands strayed over his chest and down to his belly.  She touched his cock, which needed far less encouragement than she was willing to give to become fully erect. 

        “Just like riding a bicycle,” he said.  One of his hands slid over her still-flat abdomen.  “Not that I wouldn’t have to have a very short memory to forget the last time we did this.”  His hand moved lower, and she wriggled with pleasure. 

        “What is it with you and the riding metaphors tonight?” she asked.

        “I thought you liked your pony ride?”

        “I did.  But what about you?  Do you want to take a turn?”

        “Yes, but I hope you don’t mind if I don’t take it at quite such a gallop as you did.”  He slipped inside her and began to thrust unhurriedly.  “‘Run slowly, slowly, horses of the night.’”  He raised himself up on his hands and bent his head to brush her lips.  She moved her hips in rhythm with his, trying to plumb the depths of his gaze in the lamplight. 

“What are you looking for, love?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“A happy man.”

“I think you found one.” 

She could see no shadow to his pleasure at this moment, but she could not help asking, “Nothing more to wish for?”

“This beggar is riding already.  I have more than I ever dared—well, I was enough of an arrogant bastard to wish for this.  But I know I never deserved it.” 

        “No one deserves happiness or unhappiness.  But whatever we have, you earned it.”  She gasped and panted.  “And you continue to earn it, William.  Have I mentioned lately how impressed I am with the way you strive hard and long?” 

        His shoulders began to shake and he collapsed on to his elbows.  Their lips met again and again between intermittent gusts of laughter and moans of delight until they both shuddered to rest in each other’s arms.

        “William?”

        “Mmmmm?” he asked. 

        They were curled up next to each other, allowing their bodies to settle into the mattress as they nestled under the bedclothes.  From his voice, Spike was close to sleep, but Buffy felt his body tense slightly even before she spoke his name.  He knows I’m up to something, she thought.  It’s unfair that he can read my emotions so easily while I know he can hide so much from me.  Aloud, she said, “I talked to Xander today.”

        “Oh?”  The tension had now moved to his voice.

        “Jonathan’s convinced him that there really is something hidden down in the tunnels by the cemetery off Halcyon Street.”

        “And?”

        “They want to go look for it.”

        “In the tunnels?  Laurel and Hardy?”

        Buffy winced, but tried to turn his incredulous tone to her advantage.  “I’m worried about them going alone,” she said.

        “So you want us to go with them?”  So far, he sounded only mildly annoyed.  “I suppose we should.  When do they want to go on this bloody quest?”

        “That’s just it.  Jonathan says the whatever it is needs to be retrieved very soon, and I can’t go tomorrow.  Tom needs me to help with a tag sale.  All the relatives are fighting over that Trondek demon’s estate, and we have to keep order.  The only reason Tom doesn’t want you there too is that one of the heirs used to play kitten poker with you, and Tom’s afraid that would make us look biased, although I’m not sure if he means biased for or against your poker buddy.”  She realized she was wandering from the point and brought herself back to the main issue.  “So I told Xander you’d go with them.”

        “You want me to spend a bright sunny morning helping those two wankers stumble about the sewers looking for a probably non-existent something or other?”

        She started to say, “If you don’t mind,” but caught herself in time.  He would certainly respond that he bloody well did mind.  “It’s not a particularly dangerous area because we patrol those tunnels so often, but I’m worried about Xander and Jonathan going by themselves.  I’d ask them to give up the whole thing, but you remember what happened when we didn’t take Jonathan’s information about the Giragorsh seriously enough just because he got some of the details wrong.”  She hugged Spike fiercely.  He had almost died because of a poisoned bite from one of those demons. 

        “So I’m supposed to be a baby-sitter?”  Not even the hug seemed to be reconciling him to this idea.

        “It will be good practice,” she said, pulling his hand down to her abdomen.  “And it will give you and Xander a chance to patch up that little misunderstanding you had.  Besides, you don’t have anything else to do tomorrow.  Tara’s back, so you don’t have to watch the Magic Box.”

        “Yeah, but I could help Tara do inventory.”

        Now it was Buffy’s turn to sound incredulous.  “You hate inventory!  You said that now there’s no point in stealing anything you find in the shop, inventory is like breaking into a liquor store full of empty whiskey bottles!”

        “Yeah, but Tara hates it too.  It’s unfair to expect her to do it all by herself.”

        “Then Dawn and Janice can help her.”  Buffy’s tone became extremely serious.  “William, I want you to do this.  I—I ’m asking you to do this—for me.”  She felt a twinge of guilt as she said the words.  There was no surer way of making him agree to anything, but she felt that using this magical phrase for a mundane purpose was not playing fair.  It’s for his own good, she told herself, trying to ease her conscience.

        “He’s actually going?” said Dawn in disbelief.

        “Of course he’s going,” said Buffy.  “Xander needs help, so of course Spike is going along.”  She peered out the window of the magic shop, looking for Xander and Jonathan.

        “And how did Xander react when you told him he needed help?”

        “Well, he wasn’t completely happy,” admitted Buffy.

        “Maybe we shouldn’t let them go alone,” said Dawn.  “Maybe you should tell Tom you can’t work today and go with them.  Or maybe I should go.”

        “That would ruin the whole point of this trip.  I’m sure that without us around, they can have a free and open conversation,” said Buffy.

        “I’m not sure I’d want to hear a free and open conversation between Xander and Spike,” said Dawn.

        “Me either.  You know what guys are like.  They can’t even have a discussion about their tools without making all kinds of sexual innuendoes.”

        At the other end of the room, Tara was showing Spike a sword.  “What do you think?” she said.  “I bought it because I sensed something about it.”

        “Yeah,” he said, picking it up.  “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something magical there.  It’s a bloody good weapon, too.”

        “Is it?  It doesn’t look like much.”

        “You judge a sword by its feel and the temper of the blade, not the prettiness of the hilt, pet.”

        “I guess I wouldn’t know.  Thrusting and parrying is more your area of expertise than mine.”

        He grinned appreciatively.  “Where did you get it?”

        “That kind of crazy woman who goes to all the garage sales.  You’ve seen her.  About thirty or so, long black hair.  She’s always bringing things in, usually garbage.”

        He shook his head.  “Can’t place her.”

        “She wears these really tight sweaters.”

        “Oh.  Yeah.  The one with the--”

        “Spike!”  Buffy called from the front of the shop and he looked up guiltily.  “Yeah, love?”

        “What are you doing?  Xander’s waiting outside.”

        “Uh, just looking over some new stock with Tara,” he said.  He put the sword down and said in a low voice to Tara, “I think this might be too dangerous to sell to just anyone.  Can you put it in the training room?”

        She nodded.  “You don’t want to talk to Buffy about it?”

        “Not this morning.”

        “Spike!”

        “Coming, dear.”

        Buffy gave him a pained look.  Tara bit her lip, and Dawn laughed outright.

        Jonathan and Xander came in.  Tara watched from the back of the store, and it seemed to her that all three men were unhappy about the arrangement.  Spike looked like an unwilling sacrifice upon the altar of Buffy’s whim, and Xander looked like he would rather have done without Spike’s company under any circumstances.  Poor Jonathan looked like a puppy whose masters were having an argument.  He couldn’t seem to make up his mind who to placate, tried to get on the good side of both men at the same time, and wound up sounding foolish and miserable.

        In spite of these bad omens for the afternoon, Spike left with Xander and Jonathan.  A few minutes later, Buffy went off to work, leaving Tara and Dawn in the shop.

        “Poor Spike,” said Tara.  “He may have an evil past to expiate, but nobody deserves this.  Can’t you do something to distract Buffy?”

        “No way,” said Dawn.  “When she’s not worrying about him, she starts in on me.  But I’m fighting back.  I don’t have to go to school because all the teachers have conferences today, so I’m going to do some research on this.”  She pulled a book out of her backpack and started paging though it.

        “What’s the book about?” asked Tara.  “Demonic possession?”

        “No, it’s one of Spike’s pregnancy books.”

        “You mean one of Buffy’s.”

        “No.  Buffy has one book.  Spike has a whole stack that he got from the library.  Which kind of worries me, because I don’t think he has a library card.”

“He refused to get one because he’s mad about the card catalog,” explained Tara.

“The card catalog?”

“Because there isn’t one.  At least there is, but he doesn’t see it that way.”

“Never mind.  I can’t deal with Spike’s strangenesses right now.  I have enough to worry about with Buffy.”  Dawn kept turning pages.  “I’m looking up insanity.  I want to see if it only happens during the first months or if she’s going to be like this until she has the baby.”  She frowned at the book.  “I don’t see it in the index.  What trimester is Buffy in?”

        “I think she must be getting close to the end of the first,” said Tara.

        “Ok, then.  Second trimester.  Let’s see what we have to look forward to.  Less vomiting.  That’s good.  More emotionality.  That’s bad.”  Dawn’s face crinkled into a grimace.  “Oh, no!  This had better not be right!”

        “Why, what does it say?”

        “Increased libido.  This is worse than the insanity.  Tara, if those two get any more libidinous with each other than they are already, I’m running away from home and showing up on your doorstep with my sleeping bag.”

        The door opened, and a pretty dark-haired woman came in.  She smiled shyly at Dawn and even more shyly at Tara.

        Tara smiled back and stuttered a greeting.  “H-hi, Natalie.  H-how did you like that new herbal tea?”

        “It was as good as you said,” replied Natalie.  “I’d ask for more, but you have to let me pay for it this time.”

        Unnoticed by the two women, Dawn picked up her book and headed for the back room.  It occurred to her that Tara’s place might not be the best place to avoid being a third wheel in someone else’s romance.  She might need to move in with Janice.

        “So explain to me again,” said Spike, “how you know this thing is so bloody important when you don’t even know what it is.”  He clicked on a flashlight and shone it down a side tunnel.

        “It’s supposed to ‘protect the protectors,’ whoever they are,” said Jonathan.  “And the text was clear that it could only be retrieved during a certain timeframe.  And that’s up when the moon rises tonight.”  His eyes followed the beam of Spike’s flashlight.  “I think that’s the way we need to go.”

        “And you think that because—?”  asked Spike.

        “It slopes down?” said Jonathan in an interrogative tone that did not inspire confidence.  “The text I worked with suggested it might be lower than this level of passages.”

        “You do realize that the lower down we go the more likely it is that we encounter a big bad,” said Spike.

        “Yeah,” said Xander sarcastically.  “You don’t have to act like neither of us has ever set foot in these tunnels before.  We’ve lived in Sunnydale all our lives, Spike.”  He started down the tunnel Jonathan had pointed out.  “We do know how to handle ourselves without your—”  The end of this sentence was broken off as Xander gave a yelp and slid first to the floor of the tunnel, then partway through the floor. 

        Spike dove forward and grabbed Xander’s hands as more of the tunnel gave way.  Jonathan came running up behind with some idea of helping, but was knocked down as Spike yanked Xander backwards and staggered away from the ever-enlarging hole.

        More rock slid down the opening, and the three men were unable to scramble away from it fast enough.  The floor beneath them continued to give way, and it was all they could do to keep from being buried as they slipped down to the next level of tunnels.

        Finally, the world stopped shifting under them.  Xander moaned and muttered as he pulled himself to his feet and tried to keep his balance on the uneven surface.  Spike contented himself with a single curse as he tried to brush the dirt off his clothes.  Jonathan looked up at the clouds of dust around him and said in surprise, “Wow.  We’re still alive.”  All three were bruised, scratched and extremely filthy.

        “Well, Alice,” said Spike as he helped Jonathan to his feet, “it looks like you got your wish to visit further underground.  But this isn’t exactly a visit to Wonderland.”

        “Another rockslide,” said Xander.  “It seems like even horrible old Sunnydale is running out of bad stuff to throw at us and is starting to repeat itself.”

        “I wouldn’t bet on that,” said Spike.  He ran his flashlight over the walls of the tunnel.  “Curiouser and bloody curiouser.  Something’s been undermining this rock, and that’s why our arses slid down this rabbit hole.  I’m willing to bet a fluffy white bunny that the same thing that caused this rockslide was mucking about that cavern where you ran into the insect world’s answer to Viagra.”

        “You know, you could let me try and forget about that incident,” said Xander.

        “You’re the one who brought up that other rockslide,” Spike pointed out.

        “And you’re the one who knows these tunnels,” said Xander.  “Can you figure out which way out before this theoretical rock-munching demon of yours catches up with us?”

        “There used to be a passage through there,” said Spike, pointing at a pile of rubble directly behind them, “but whatever’s been enjoying sedimentary layer cake down here has plugged that up good and proper.”  He shone his flashlight on a depressingly wide and deep chasm on their right.  “And there’s another passage that leads to the Zephyr Street cemetery over there, but it’s a bit of a hop to get to it.”  The beam of light moved along the wall again.  “I have no idea where this last tunnel leads.  I’ve never had any pressing need to go down it, and it didn’t strike me as a pleasant stroll.”

        Jonathan and Xander looked at the tunnel and didn’t bother asking why.  It was low, narrow, steep, and very dark.  They turned and played their flashlights across the chasm.

        “Ok,” said Xander.  “We’re stuck on the wrong side of a big hole in the ground.  How do we get across?”

        Jonathan shook his head.  “I don’t know any spells that will distort reality that much.  Besides, most of what I do are illusions and I think we need a real bridge.”

        “It will take more than a nip of a magic mushroom to get us over that,” agreed Spike.

        Xander looked at Spike.  “Can you jump across and go get help for the rest of us?”

        Spike considered the gap.  “I don’t know.  If I were still a vampire, I’d try.”

        “I thought you were stronger now than when you were a vampire.”

        “I am.  But when I was a vampire, missing the other side would only be a temporary inconvenience.  Of course, the landing would hurt like hell.”  He looked down the chasm.  “On the other hand,” he said meditatively, “it would probably hurt less now.”

        “But you’d be dead!” said Jonathan.

        “It’s not like it would be a new experience for him,” said Xander.  “But never mind.  Spike jumping is not Plan A.”

        “What do we do then?” asked Jonathan.

        “Well,” said Xander, “Cell phones won’t work down here, so we can’t call for help.  I guess that if we can’t go that way,” he pointed over the chasm, “we have to go this way,” and he pointed down the entrance to the slanting tunnel.

        “Your logic overwhelms me,” said Spike.  He bent over and started down the dark hole.  The other two followed.

        “So, Spike,” Xander asked sometime later, “just why have you decided to join us on this trip down the rabbit hole?”  They had emerged into a series of rock caverns that were both older and much scarier looking than the sewer tunnels where they had started.

        “Buffy asked me to come,” said Spike briefly.

        “Oh.  She told me you’d want to know if there was anything strange going on in the tunnels.  But I suppose she just said that because she didn’t want me to know that she was sending you to keep me out of trouble.”

        “You mean like when I kept you from being flattened by that rockslide?”  Spike stopped suddenly and stood very still.  “Let’s go this way.  The air in the other tunnels smells stale.  I think they’re dead ends.  And I don’t much like the things that set up nests in the cul-de-sacs down here.”

        No one argued.   Spike was in the lead, with Jonathan staying as close to him as he could without actually treading on his heels.  Xander followed several steps in the rear, occasionally muttering to himself.

        “You know what this place reminds me of?” said Jonathan.  They had stopped to rest in a fairly spacious cavern while they tried to decide which of several branching tunnels to investigate next.

        “What?” asked Spike.

        “The time we all got taken over by that Bezor thing and we were helping her collect her eggs.”

        “I must have missed that bit of fun and games,” said Spike.

        “And I was never taken over by those parasites,” said Xander.  “Buffy and I saved everyone that time, because we killed our eggs before they could infect us.”

        Spike cast him an ironic glance, but said nothing to this bit of braggadocio.

        “Yeah, but almost everyone else wound up down in that hole digging,” said Jonathan.  “Even the popular people.  I remember Cordelia was there.”

        “Yeah, I had to hit her,” said Xander, seeming to savor the memory.  “Of course, she hit me first.”

        “She got all upset later because her clothes were messed up,” said Jonathan.  “Remember how Cordelia and Harmony and all that crowd used to put everyone down and make fun of all our problems, but when something went horribly wrong for them—”

        “—like a broken fingernail,” supplied Xander.

        “Yeah.  They’d go crazy?  Of course it wasn’t always bad.  There was that time that demon invaded the cheerleaders’ locker room just before a game and they all came running out, most of them less than half-dressed.”

        “Yeah,” said Xander.  This was obviously a pleasant memory as well.  “We never cheered so loudly as we did at that game.”  He and Jonathan snorted with laughter.  Spike’s expression was beginning to change from boredom to annoyance.

        “Yeah, and remember when that werewolf was running around?”

        “Yeah, Oz.”

        “That was Oz?” Jonathan sounded vaguely surprised.  “I never knew that.  But I was hanging out by the Bronze one night and that big hairy thing scared Harmony and Devon when they were making out in the alley, and the two of them rolled out in front of everyone with his pants down and her skirt up.  They mooned half the school, including Devon’s current girlfriend.”

        Both the ex-Sunnydale High students roared at this memory.

        “Subtlety, thy name is not Xander or Jonathan,” commented Spike.  He didn’t look amused.  He stood up and started down one of the side tunnels.  “I’m going to go see where this leads.  You two enjoy your sophomoric walk down memory lane while I’m gone.”

        Xander watched him go, obviously fuming.  Finally, he jumped up from the rock and said, “That’s it, I’m having it out with him.”  He strode off after Spike, leaving Jonathan alone.

        Spike was about fifty feet down the hole, trying to move some rocks that were obstructing another opening.  When he heard Xander coming, he turned around and shone his flashlight at the other man’s chest.  “Anything up?” he asked.

        “Oh, yeah,” said Xander.  “Something’s up.  My dander.”

        “Your dander?”  Spike started to laugh.  “How eloquent.”

        “See, that’s what this is all about.  You and the way you look down on me.”

        “I look down on you.”  Spike’s tone was flat.

        “Oh, don’t bother to deny it.  You’re always looking at me like I’m in the way.  Like I take up too much space that would be better left empty.  And I’m sick of it, Spike.  I’m sick of being looked down on by someone I can’t even stand to be around.  Because, in case you haven’t noticed this, I don’t like you.”  Xander was well off on his rant now, and Spike made no attempt to stop him.  “I don’t like the fact that you’ve gotten away with your murderous past.  I hate it that you’re married to Buffy, and I can’t even imagine what kind of father you’ll be to her kid.  It churns my stomach when Dawn looks up to you like you’re her big brother.  And I’m tired of your damned sarcastic comments and the way you push me aside when there’s a fight.  I’m tired of the fact that you’re always watching old movies with Dawn when I want to watch old movies with Dawn.  I’m tired of the way Willow acts like I’m still an idiot but your opinion counts for something.  I’m tired of the way you—oh, never mind.  I’m just tired of you, Spike.  So go ahead, man.  Finish clearing the air.  Tell me how much you dislike me.  Let’s get it all out into the open.”

        “But I don’t dislike you,” said Spike, his expression calm, as it had been throughout Xander’s speech.  “I’ve never really disliked you.”

        “Oh, come on, that’s a lie.  How many times did you say you hated me?”

        “When I was a vampire, sure, I hated you.  I hated everyone then.  It came with the territory.  It doesn’t mean I disliked you.  Yeah, you were annoying some of the time, but you usually had good entertainment value.  Of course, later on, I was jealous of you.”

        “You.  Were jealous.  Of me.”  Xander spoke the phrases slowly, in a disbelieving tone.

        “Well, you were human, and you had a girl who loved you and wanted to marry you, and you had friends who would have actual conversations with you without threatening you with bodily harm.  It seemed like you had everything.  Then you broke up with Anya, and I thought you were a pretty stupid git.  But it doesn’t mean I don’t like you.  In fact, since I’ve become human and soulful, I’ve started to realize that you were only trying to do the right thing for Anya, but you just faced up to your feelings too late and expressed them with your usual lack of eloquence.  Given the way I handled my own affairs, I’m not the one who should be pitching stones.  At least you wanted the best for the people you cared about, even if you hadn’t the foggiest idea what that was.  Of course, you do crazy things, but you’re not so much stupid as you are willing to take risks, and I admire that.  And you have broad areas of competency in the human arena, which makes it practical to keep you about.  You used to be able to laugh at yourself, too.  If you could get rid of that sodding chip on your shoulder, I might actually enjoy your company in a knock a few beers back and watch the telly together sort of way.”

        It took Xander almost a full minute to take all this in.  “Are you saying you want to be my friend?” he asked finally.

        Spike seemed to give this idea due consideration.  “That’s about right.  If you ever decide to stop hating me, let me know, and we’ll give it a try.”

“Oh, that is just great.”  Xander walked around in a circle, overwhelmed with anger and nervous energy.  “Do you have any idea how annoying that is?  I tell you I detest you, and you turn around and—”  He stared at Spike.  “You’re saying this to make me crazy.”

        “Well, yeah,” admitted Spike cheerfully.  “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.  After all, if you can’t drive your friends crazy, how will you ever be able to make your enemies go bonkers?”

        “You are trying to drive me crazy.  You just admitted it.  I’m going to tell Buffy.”

        Spike grinned.  “Tell her what?”

        Xander paused and tried to imagine recounting this conversation to the Slayer.  Clearly, he lacked the narrative skill to make Spike sound like the bad guy in this.  He fumed impotently, but before he could think of even a stupid comeback, he was distracted by a yell from Jonathan.

        Xander and Spike raced back down the tunnel to the spot where they had left Jonathan.  He was nowhere to be seen.  However, he uttered another scream at that moment, which directed them to one of the smaller side tunnels that they had not yet investigated.

        They emerged into a cavern filled with what looked like children in monks’ robes, at least until one of them looked up and Spike and Xander saw what passed for faces under the cowls.  Jonathan was backed against one wall and surrounded by four or five of the things.  For once, he towered over his enemies, and he was trying to smite them with his long, heavy metal flashlight.  The midget monsters had only clubs as weapons, but they were using their sheer numbers to overwhelm Jonathan.  He was being brought slowly to his knees.  Spike waded into the fray and started tossing diminutive demons aside.

        Two of the demons were trying to protect a rectangular box about the size of a child’s coffin.  Xander grabbed one creature by the collar of its long robe, making it drop its end of the box and causing its companion to stagger into the wall.  Xander tossed his demon to one side and grabbed the box.  It was heavier than he expected, and he lurched backwards, dragging it with him.  He looked up and saw another one of the hooded demons rushing at Spike, who was already battling five of the things. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Xander yelled.  “If he dies again, Buffy and Dawn will kill me.”  He shoved the box to one side, tripping the demon up and sending it reeling just as it was about to leap on Spike from behind.  Xander joined Spike in the battle, but although the creatures were small, there were dozens of them, and they kept coming.

Jonathan was sinking to the floor, but now he was muttering in Latin.  Suddenly, there was a puff of smoke, and a half-dozen new demons appeared in the cavern.  They were huge, white, and very vicious looking.

“Giragorsh!” yelled Xander.

“Illusions,” said Spike.  “Concentrate on these little buggers.  Ow!”  A demon had jumped on his back and was beating him on the head with its wooden club.

Xander forced himself to ignore the hulking white shapes and yanked the cowled figure off Spike’s shoulder, tossing it into a wall.

        One of the demons from whom Xander had stolen the box jumped up again, but instead of attacking, it jabbered at the others and began to back off down the tunnel.  There was a rustle of robes and the petite horde began to move off.  The bigger, but much more insubstantial, demons became transparent and slowly faded away.

        Jonathan pulled himself to his feet as the demons retreated.  His face had acquired new scratches, and he was shaking with reaction.  “Thanks, guys,” he said.

        “Why the bloody hell did you wander off by yourself?” said Spike.

        “Well, you two seemed preoccupied, and I recognized the signs from the text,” said Jonathan.  “The markings on the tunnel walls.  So I went down to see.  And those demons had just gotten the wall to open.”  He pointed, and the others saw that an oblong section of the rock wall had neatly recessed itself, revealing a hole slightly larger than the box at Xander’s feet.  “Anyway, I got those little things to run away with that illusion I made of the Giragorsh.”

        Xander ran his flashlight over the floor.  “These markings are chalk.  They must have done them today.  And they look like those star sign things.”

        “Astrological symbols.  They probably had to wait for a specific time to do their spell,” said Spike.  He reached for one of the handles on the box.  Xander bent to grab the other one, but before he reached it, Spike had swung the whole box up on one shoulder and was carrying it easily.  Xander’s teeth ground audibly.

        Spike ignored him.  “Let’s get out of here before those things come back.  I don’t want to collect yet another set of bruises today.”

        He entered the most promising looking side tunnel, a wide passage that looked as if it had been traveled more frequently than the others.  It also slanted upwards.  The others followed him, and were cheered when they emerged into what looked like part of the sewer system.

        “Now this is my idea of a Sunnydale thoroughfare,” said Xander.  He almost crowed with happiness when he found a doorway.  “This looks like it could let out into somebody’s basement.”

        “Lucky somebody,” said Spike, but he put down the box and helped Xander force open the door.   An acrid stench greeted them.

        “That’s nasty,” said Jonathan.

        “And oddly familiar,” said Xander.  He led the way up a flight of rotting stairs to the next level of the building.  Jonathan trailed behind him, and Spike shouldered the box again and followed.  Light filtered down on them through the charred remains of the roof.

        “It’s Sunnydale High,” said Jonathan.  “The old one.  The one Buffy blew up.”

        “Yeah,” said Xander, pointing.  “And that’s right where the library used to be.”

        They picked their way along what had been the main hallway, stopping to regard the pit from a safe distance.

        “The mouth of hell,” said Spike.  He didn’t waste much time meditating over it.  He turned and made his way outside. 

        Xander and Jonathan followed him, blinking in the sunlight.

        “This is where we used to sit before and after classes,” said Xander in a nostalgic tone.  “And when we were supposed to be in class but weren’t.”

        Spike put down the box and looked around him.  “Pining for the good old days?” he said. 

        “Not me,” said Jonathan.  “High school was just one big torture chamber as far as I was concerned.  I would have been happy to see the place blow up even if we weren’t fighting a giant snake.”  He looked down at the box and changed the subject.  “At least now we know why we had to retrieve this today.  The demons were the ones who knew how to find it, and we had to stop them from stealing it.”

        “Yeah,” said Spike.  “Or, from the demons’ point of view, we came along and stole it from them after they did all the work.”

        Jonathan thought about this and nodded reluctantly.  “But we’re the ones who are supposed to have it, right?” he said.  “I mean, we’re the good guys—aren’t we?”

        “You don’t sound very confident,” said Spike.  He knelt down in front of the box and reached for the lock.  “I don’t think I should force this open.”

        “We’ll have to take it back to the magic shop and see if Tara knows any unlocking spells,” said Jonathan.   But Spike had already pulled a set of picklocks from his pocket.

        “Yeah, we’re the good guys, all right,” said Xander sourly.

        Spike ignored him, and within a few seconds the lock clicked open.  He lifted the lid and stood up so that the others could see the contents.

        “Shirts?” said Xander.  “We did all this for a box of shirts?”

        “They’re not regular shirts,” said Jonathan.  “They’re like, chain mail.”

        “Exactly like,” said Spike.  He picked up the strange garments and held each one up in turn.  “There are four of them,” he said.  “In different sizes.  All too big for those munchkins down there, though.”

        “They don’t look very sturdy,” said Jonathan.  “I don’t know how long they’d last in a fight.”

        “I think these are meant for a very specific fight,” said Spike. 

“Do you mean, they’re like the mystical equivalent of Kevlar?” asked Xander.

Spike bent to look at the inside lid of the case.  “There’s something written here.”

        “It’s Latin,” said Jonathan, squinting with the effort of translation.  “One to—to seal, two to fight, one to—to ducere—”

        “One to lead,” said Spike. 

        “That’s four,” said Xander.  “And there are four of those shirts.”

        “Your powerful mathematical skills are all that they ever were,” said Spike, dropping the garments back into the box and shutting it.  “Now let’s go home.”

        “I really need to get back to the Magic Box,” said Tara.  She peered out the entrance of the coffee shop as if expecting to see some evidence of disaster down the street.

        “You have to let Janice solo sometime,” said Buffy.  “And this way, we’re just around the corner.”  She drank the last of her tea.

        “I know,” said Tara.  “But I’m responsible for the shop.  Leaving Janice in charge—”  She seemed to be having trouble even uttering the words.

        “Oh, please,” said Dawn.  “You leave Spike in charge all the time.  What could be more irresponsible than that?”

        Tara considered.  “You do have a point.  Although he knows the stock and can make change, and the customers don’t usually try to shoplift when he’s around.  On the other hand, people don’t seem disposed to browse much when he’s there.  He doesn’t encourage it.  He likes the shop best when it’s empty.”  She stood up and dropped a tip on the table.  The others rose and followed her out on to the street.

        “Do you think the guys are back yet?” asked Dawn anxiously.

        “Either that or someone’s created a nasty illusion to drive my customers away,” said Tara, pointing down the street.

        Just outside the magic shop, three incredibly filthy and dejected figures were seated on the curb with their feet in the gutter.  Their faces and hands were scraped and bruised, their clothes were torn, and their expressions were glum.  Spike’s elbow rested on one knee, and his hand was shading his forehead.  Jonathan was rubbing behind his ears as if he had experienced a sudden change in air pressure.  Xander had both elbows on his knees and was pressing his fists to his mouth, as if some force were required to keep him from screaming in anger or pain.  The three of them looked like a very dirty and dilapidated parody of the see, hear, and speak no evil monkeys.

        Buffy approached them cautiously.  “Are you guys all right?” she asked.

        Xander, Spike, and Jonathan gave her equally incredulous looks.  “Well, we’re all alive,” said Spike.

        “What happened?” asked Dawn.

        “Why didn’t you go inside?” asked Tara.

        “We tried,” said Xander.  We took the box we found inside—and you ladies will be happy to hear that this entire search was for some very unfashionable items of wearing apparel—and that friend of Dawn’s had a fit.  She said we smelled bad and looked worse and that we’d get the place dirty.  She let us drop the box in the training room and then kicked us out again.  After she started screaming so loud that she almost broke Jonathan’s eardrums, we decided not to try to argue with her.”  He frowned even more deeply when he saw Dawn bite back a smile.  “And may I say how happy I am that our predicament affords you some amusement.”

        “Why don’t you guys come back to the house and get cleaned up,” said Buffy soothingly.  “We’ll get some beer and order some pizza and make things right again.”  She reached a hand down to Spike, who accepted it and stood up.  She took him by the arm and started to lead him off.

        Xander looked ready to explode with wrath until Dawn helped him to his feet and tucked her hand through his arm.  “Come on,” she said.  “We’ve got those old work clothes of yours down in the basement, so you can shower at our place, and we’ll pamper you tonight.  I’ll make sure that when Buffy orders pizza she gets a supreme with extra pineapple.  And I’ll go to the video store and rent whatever you want to watch.”

        “Really?” he said in a pathetic tone.  “I get first choice?  Even if I want an Austin Powers?”

        “Absolutely,” she assured him, controlling an involuntary wince.

        Both couples wandered off down the street, arms still linked.

        Jonathan looked up at Tara hopefully.  She looked back incredulously.  “I have to get back to the shop,” she said, and left him sitting