One Good Day

Title: One Good Day

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, Kes, and Wendy for making so many great suggestions and fixing so many of my mistakes.

Notes: This is a sequel to “Separation Anxiety."

Willow’s eyes darkened, the black cloud of her pupils expanding until looking at her was like gazing into a black hole. She turned an expression of fierce concentration on Spike, and he flew through the air as if tossed by a giant’s hand.

“Ow!” Spike landed in a bush by the side of the cemetery and struggled out, staggering slightly as his feet hit the ground. He looked around wildly.

“Are you all right?” Dawn was at his side, her face anxious.

“Slayer!” he cried.

“Buffy’s fine. She’s using the strap from her purse to strangle that demon. What about you?” Dawn pulled a twig out of his hair and started checking him over for any obvious signs of damage. She exhibited the worried and proprietary air of a car-owner whose bumper has just been tapped by another vehicle. After a moment, she nodded, apparently deciding that it would not be necessary to make a call to the insurance company.

“I’ll live,” he said. “Stop fussing.” He looked up at Willow, who was standing beside Dawn, her eyes wide but normal. “And thanks for the ride, witch. The landing was a bit bumpy, though.”

Buffy ran up and hugged Spike. “Are you okay?” Apparently satisfied, she turned to her friend. “Willow, what did you do?”

“That demon was about to skewer Spike when Willow grabbed my hand,” said Dawn. “She tossed him into that bush.”

Willow looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Spike, but I wanted to be sure that whatever I did would work. A hundred spells ran though my mind, only I didn’t know how to kill that thing or even what kind of demon it was, but I knew I could toss you thirty feet in the air. It was a sure thing. I didn’t want to take any risks. I just—”

Tara, who had just run up, was staring at Willow with a strange expression on her face.

“You just saved my life, Red,” said Spike. “Thanks.”

“I aimed for the bush.” Willow looked at the foliage in question and winced. “I didn’t realize it had so many stickers.”

“There’s no rose without thorns,” said Spike. He apparently thought things were getting too somber, so he added in a lighter tone, “Come on. Slayer, before that demon showed up, you said you wanted to go dancing. Let’s go to the Bronze. You can pick stickers out of my back, and I’ll buy the witch a drink.”

Dawn also seemed to think the mood was becoming a bit thick. “Hey, I helped. What about me?” she demanded.

“Well, I’m not buying you a drink,” Spike said. “Not unless it’s lemonade. Besides, all you did was hold the lady’s hand. Get over yourself.”

“You know, Spike, you just don’t appreciate me enough.”

“Yeah, it’s bloody shameful the way we force you to draw attention to yourself all the time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started down the path. Dawn kept pace with him, hands waving as she talked, her wild gestures and loud assertions contrasting with his self-contained manner and even, sarcastic tone.

Buffy linked her arm through Willow’s, and the two of them followed the sound of Spike and Dawn’s bickering. Tara, her eyes downcast and her expression pensive, walked beside them.

“There’s one thing I’ve learned growing up around people with more issues than the guests on a Jerry Springer show,” Dawn was saying. “There’s always something else going on here, and if you want any attention, you have to scream out for it.”

“No!” Spike heard himself screaming as he jerked into consciousness. A bare second later, his mind was cringing away from the fear and horror in his voice. He realized where he was almost before he felt Buffy’s arms around him and heard the banging on the bedroom door.

“Is everything all right?” yelled Dawn from the hall.

“He’s fine,” called Buffy. “Go back to bed.”

Dawn’s footsteps moved slowly away towards her own room, as Spike’s ragged breathing slowed to something approaching normal. Another door opened in the hall, and Giles’ startled voice was answered by Dawn’s steady tones.

“We’ll have the Watcher banging the door down next,” he muttered, humiliated.

“No we won’t. Dawn won’t let him. Are you all right?” Buffy’s voice was gentle.

“It was just a dream.” Spike collapsed against Buffy’s bare shoulder for a moment, wincing away from the memory. Then he pulled himself to a sitting position.

“Sorry, love,” he mumbled. He started to climb out of the bed. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll take myself off to the couch downstairs. You need your sleep.”

Her strong hands were hard on his shoulders as she pulled him back beside her. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said in her most authoritative tone.

He didn’t argue, although the impulse to avoid what came next was almost overwhelming. Bloody coward, he thought. You were trying to run away from this. You’ve no right to do that. She deserves better. You promised her better. But her next words confirmed his worst fears.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “Please, William. I know it’s hard, but trying to ignore these dreams isn’t helping either.”

His mind still screamed at him to flee, but, traitorously, his body melted against hers, taking comfort in the warmth of her flesh and the gentle rhythm of her breathing. He forced himself to speak. “This one was different. It must have been triggered by what happened tonight. It started like most of the others. On the subway. Where I—” He didn’t finish that thought. He didn’t have to. Buffy knew that he had killed a Slayer on a subway train once.

He went on. “Then I was somewhere else. Another memory. Of waking up in the factory after Willow had thrown me up against the wall.”

“Of waking up human,” said Buffy.

“Yeah.”

Something in his tone must have alerted her. “It wasn’t a pleasant memory.” He heard the shock in her voice.

How could he explain this? By telling the truth, you stupid bugger. Don’t fool yourself that she can’t handle it. You know that’s not true any more. You’re the one who’s hiding. “Do you remember how I was, love?”

Her arms tightened around his shoulders. “You were frightened. More than that. You looked like I felt when I crawled out of my grave.”

“Yeah. It was like that. You’d been exiled from heaven and I’d been exiled from hell.”

“Exiled? Oh.” Somehow, she put a world of meaning into that one final syllable. Suddenly, she reached over and snapped on the bedside lamp. In the glow of its light, she stared at him, her own face showing astonishment and something approaching awe.

To his amazement, the crushing sensation that had overwhelmed him from the moment of waking disappeared, and he felt almost lightheaded. He could tell she understood now. Paradoxically, the fact that she understood it all made it easy and even necessary to say the words. “I thought I was beginning to feel remorse before then, but—That day, I’d have gone stark mad if you hadn’t been there. The daylight helped a little too. It was so different from the darkness in my memory.”

The first words came out in a rush, but now he continued slowly, almost doubtfully. “Then you shoved me in that shower, and I felt some of the filth of the past wash away. I realized as I stood under the water that I had to step out as the man you wanted to create. I had to be someone who wanted to be in this world, so that you would want to be here too.”

Buffy’s voice was harsh. “But you never told me. You never had any intention of telling me how you felt. Why? I do understand why you couldn’t just chuck that coat in the Goodwill collection box, but how could you put that thing on every day and never tell me what it meant to you?”

That horrible day when the dead Slayer’s Watcher had broken her shattering news, Spike had sobbed out his feelings of guilt and remorse in Buffy’s arms, but he had been too incoherent to do more than utter frantic apologies. She had held him and reassured him, but made no demands for an explanation. Now, he could tell just how patient she had been to wait until he was ready to talk.

“I couldn’t tell you how guilty I felt about one crime without confessing how I felt about all of them.” He paused, and added with some reluctance, “Besides, I thought when you found out I’d taken that coat off a dead body, you’d assume I was still enjoying the memory of killing a Slayer.”

She stared at him in blank astonishment. “Way to go with the keen observation of my character. How dumb do you think I am?”

He grimaced, but her annoyance was more reassuring than the most earnest declarations of her faith in him could have been. “You’re right love, I should have trusted you. But I didn’t trust myself. And I knew how much you hated being here after Willow made you crawl out of your grave. I was twisted up with the fear that if you had any doubts about me, or even if you knew that I was hurting too, you wouldn’t want to stay here.” He slid his hand over her belly. “Instead of celebrating a new life, we could have lost ourselves in a bloody bacchanal of death.”

“So you hid everything you felt. For so many months,” she whispered. “To protect me. I failed you.”

It was impossible to allow her to think such a thing. His next words came out in a rush. “No you didn’t, love. You made me the man I am today. It just took longer than it seemed from the outside. I still think I was right not to tell you at the very first. Don’t you see, pet, I had to give you a reason to want to keep living so that I could want to live as well. If I’d given in to that avalanche of guilt while you were still dealing with the discovery of what you really were and while you were still uncertain you wanted to be alive, we would both have gone under together.” He was unable to restrain a smile as he felt a slight movement under his hand, which still rested on Buffy’s abdomen. “There would be no Joy.”

“Hey,” she said. “Who said you could make the puns in this family?”

He allowed himself to savor the rush of pleasure he always felt when he succeeded in making her smile. “You made me what you are. You said so yourself. I suppose bad puns come with the territory.” He closed his eyes, his head pillowed on her shoulder. “In spite of these dreams, and the memories, I do achieve happiness with you, Buffy.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Achieve happiness. I get that. When I was younger, I would have laughed if someone told me that I would have to learn how to be happy. I assumed it was something that just happened if you were lucky. I know better now. And now, I’m not just happy, I appreciate being happy. Because I feel like I earned it. And I know that you did.”

“I didn’t earn it, love,” he muttered. “It was a gift. There was nothing I could ever do to deserve it.” He was astonished to realize that their conversation had relieved some of the guilty horror that had shocked him into wakefulness. Unbelievably, he felt at rest and near sleep. Could there be something in that bloody rot about it helping to talk about feelings? Next thing, I’ll wind up on Oprah, he thought sleepily.

Buffy brushed Spike’s hair back from his face and murmured gently, “You had better get used to gifts, William. Because there are more coming your way.”

He was already asleep and didn’t hear her. She felt the warm, reassuring weight of his head on her shoulder, and the gentle respiration that trembled through the lean, muscular body pressed against hers. At this moment, she felt more hopeful about his dreams than she had since the night he came back from his trip to England. Getting him to talk had helped, she was sure of it.

She waited for sleep to carry her off, but time passed and her mind continued to wander restlessly. She wondered if she would dream tonight. She had not had a vision of Joy from the moment that she had decided the only way to save her unborn daughter was to attack the Hellmouth. She was sure that this meant that she had made the right decision, but she longed for the sight of her child. She couldn’t remember the last time she had approached a battle of this magnitude with so little guidance from her Slayer dreams or visions. A piece of herself had been stolen and bestowed instead on the man in her arms. She told herself that she resented the loss only because its form had been distorted in the transition from a gift into a curse.

She stroked Spike’s hair and thought about his nightmares, her optimism fading. The previous visions that he had described to her had all been about the killing on the subway. Tonight, one had also touched on his transformation. But all his dreams were mired in the past, and they only reinforced his feelings of remorse. There was nothing there to guide them in the upcoming battle, and everything to increase her fears for him.

She looked at the clock on the bedside table. Little more than a day remained before they were to attack the Hellmouth. She was running out of time.

The next morning, Spike was gone when Buffy woke. Sighing, she pulled herself out of bed. A few moments before dawn, she stepped out the kitchen door and went to sit next to him on the porch steps.

“I tried not to wake you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” she replied, nodding at the rosy glow on the horizon. “That did. It’s harder for me to ignore it every day.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. It’s part of becoming what we are. I’m able to sense more things each day—like that vamp in the Bronze the night you came back. And I can hear Joy’s heart beating now. That’s reassuring, in a weird, creepy kind of way.”

His hand was warm on her belly. “She’s asleep.”

“I know. She must be tired. She spent most of the night up and kicking.”

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“Hmm. Fine for you to laugh. Whenever I woke up, you were lying there snoring.”
“Sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. I was glad to see you were resting. No more nightmares?”

“Not last night.”

She was quiet for a full minute before she said, “You said that you just started remembering your dreams when you were in England. Did you ever dream before? When you were a vampire, I mean.”

He hesitated. “Not often. Over the past few years, there’s only one dream that really comes to mind.” He stopped.

She kept her eyes on his face and waited. She felt guilty for doing it, but she needed to keep him talking, so she said nothing. This was an old trick of her mother’s that she had never thought she would have the patience to use.

At last, he grimaced and spoke. “It was after the Initiative chipped me. Back when the thing I wanted most was to get rid of the bloody thing so that I could go back to killing and feeding on humans. Or, at least, I had convinced myself that was what I wanted. Then, one night, I had this dream.”

She continued to wait patiently.

He cast her a resentful look, as if she were badgering him mercilessly. “I dreamed that you came after me, and I was so frustrated because the chip had turned me into a bloody eunuch that I demanded you stake me. But you didn’t. You smacked me around a bit, and—” He paused again. “We wound up shagging.”

Buffy bit her lip. “A nightmare, huh?”

“At the time, I thought it was.” His eyes were laughing now.

She laughed too, reveling in the fact that those awful days had finally become distant enough to be the subject of humor. But then she remembered the horrible nights after she had returned from the dead, when she had dreamed over and over again of sinking her fangs into Spike’s neck and making love to him as a feral beast. Back then, her dreams had seemed like nightmares too. Her smile wavered.

It was very hard to keep secrets from him. He came directly to the point. “Buffy, there’s something you need to say, but you’re not letting the words come out. Don’t protect me from it, whatever it is. I’m a big boy, remember?”

She responded as reluctantly as he had recounted his dream. “I have to ask you to do a terrible thing. William, as hard as it is, you should try to remember your dreams. I’m convinced they mean something.”

He shook his head. “You’re the one with the prophetic dreams, love.”

“And you were the one who could sense vampires and demons,” she said.

Before he could respond, the back door opened and Dawn bounded down the steps, followed more slowly by Giles.

“There you are!” announced Dawn in an accusatory tone.

“Yes, we are nefariously lurking on our own back porch in broad daylight,” said Buffy.

“Good morning,” said Giles mildly, as if to reprove Dawn’s rude behavior by example.

“Good morning,” said Buffy.

“Watcher,” commented Spike in a tone that Giles could take as a greeting if he wished. He stood up reluctantly and turned to Dawn. “All right, Little Bit, let’s go.”

“Go where?” asked Buffy.

“To do something he promised,” said Dawn slyly. She cast Spike a cautionary look, and then froze, staring at him. “What’s the matter with you? Buffy said everything was okay last night, but—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Spike.

Dawn took a step closer and stared at him unblinkingly. “If you’re lying . . .” she said in a warning tone as she slapped him on the arm.

“Ow!” said Spike. “Brat! I’m not lying. Buffy and I were just talking about something. Everything is fine.”

Dawn looked at Buffy, who nodded. “Okay,” said the teen reluctantly. She turned back to Spike. “But if you’re hiding something again and I find out, you know that I’ll blast you into a dimension populated entirely by boy bands!”

“Yeah, I’m terrified,” said Spike.

“Oh, come on,” said Dawn in an exasperated tone. She grabbed Spike’s arm and dragged him around the house toward the driveway.

The sound of Spike’s and Dawn’s bickering faded slowly.

Giles looked uneasy. “What was that about?” he asked.

“It’s just them,” said Buffy calmly.

“Since I’ve come back, I’ve noticed that Dawn treats Spike rather differently than she was used to,” her Watcher said cautiously. “She was never precisely polite to him, but lately—” He seemed to be seeking a word to describe the depth of the teenager’s rudeness.

Buffy nodded. “Even after he changed, he kept up—walls, boundaries,” she said. “Dawn’s stopped respecting them. She won’t let him slam any doors in her face.”

“Oh,” Giles looked even more puzzled. “What did she mean about him lying?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” said Buffy. “More a lack of understanding than a lie.”

“And the yelling last night?”

“That. It’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about today.” She stood up and smiled at him. “But first, this morning is our last chance to have some quiet time together. Just you and me. I want you to tell me everything that’s been happening in England.”

“Oh?” Giles was successfully distracted by her teasing tone.

“Yes. First of all, how is Anya?”

“A very good job,” said Sage approvingly, as she stood up from the table. “Thank you for bringing these, Willow.”

“No problem,” said Willow. “Making them was a good distraction while I waited for my grades from final exams.” She was uneasy standing in the confines of the Magic Box. This place had once been comfortable and familiar, but she had visited it only rarely over the past year, and now she felt like a prodigal child unsure of her welcome. She glanced down at Tara, who was seated at the round work table with an array of talismans in front of her. Carefully, she avoided meeting the other girl’s eyes, continuing to speak nervously. “Final, final exams. I can’t believe I—we are about to graduate from college.”

Willow had begun to notice that when she started dithering, Sage would simply ignore her. Today was no exception. “It is, of course, an illusion to imagine that we can be fully prepared for tomorrow, but we are close to completing all that is magically possible. Do you mind finishing here?”

“The amulets need to be activated,” said Willow, focusing back on the task at hand. “That takes two witches.”

“Yes,” said Sage, reaching for her purse. “And there are two witches here.” She looked from Willow to Tara. “I’d like to stay and help you, but there are things I need to do. I have to be ready to harmonize the psychic flow from a dozen different covens, each with its own philosophy, practices, and fashion preferences. I have to distract Marjoram and Ginger from their efforts to distract the warlock who leads the Byzantine Coven. And I want to spend some time with the children.”

At the mention of the children, Tara shifted uneasily. “I understand that Laurel needs to stay,” she said. “And maybe Hawthorne in case something happens to—just in case. But can’t you send Lavender and Thyme out of town?”

Willow was astonished by the expression of misery combined with determination that she saw on Sage’s usually serene countenance. “Nothing would give me greater happiness,” said the head of the Seely Coven. “But the destruction of this Hellmouth has been the focus of my coven’s energy for nearly a hundred years. My children were born into this task, just as I was.” She opened her purse and took out a set of car keys. “And we will all support the many others who have voluntarily made it their own.” Her voice strove for a lighter tone. “Including a very handsome warlock who I promised to pick up at the airport in about a half hour.”

Willow smiled. “Who is he coming to see? Is he a distraction for Marjoram or Ginger?”

Sage looked surprised. “Oh, neither. He’s been distracting me whenever we’ve been able to get together over the past few decades.” She laughed at the girls’ expression of astonishment. “Why? Did you think that because I was old I had no romance left in me? Real passion and desire don’t lose their flavor over the years. In fact, they become rather more delicious as they age.” She turned away, and the bell above the door jangled as she left Willow and Tara alone together.

Willow looked at Tara with a combination of dread and longing. She gestured at the amulets. “I’ll understand if you’re not willing to help me,” she said in an almost inaudible tone. “We could call someone else.” Her mind conjured up the image of the woman she knew Tara had been dating, and she wondered if that girl had enough power to help Tara with this task.

But Tara didn’t blush and look away. She bit her lip and stared back, embarrassed but undismayed. Willow swallowed hard, trying to read the emotions behind those beautiful eyes.

“I’ll help,” said Tara quietly.

Willow’s mind barely registered the sensation of her own body sinking down into a chair. She could focus only on Tara’s hand, reaching across the table to clasp hers and initiate the flow of magic between them.

“Well, it’s good to see your appetite is intact,” said Giles.

Buffy looked down at her body. Her breasts and stomach had swollen over the past few weeks to an extent that she considered grotesque, although she was able to comfort herself somewhat with the recollection of Spike’s very different description of the transformation. And she really had enjoyed the lavish, leisurely lunch that she and her Watcher had just shared. Almost as much as she had enjoyed watching him squirm while he described his and Anya’s current living arrangements. “I’m eating for two and all that other clichéd stuff,” she said lightly, as she and Giles walked slowly along the Sunnydale streets. “That’s why the chic sweatpants and big shirt ensemble again today. But not for long. Willow and I are hitting the maternity shops at the mall this afternoon. I understand that they now make things more stylish than the basic muumuu for swinging chicks in my condition.”

“You’re going shopping the day before—” He looked astonished.

“Of course,” she said in a sturdy voice. “After we win this fight, we’re going to want to party, right? And this grey on grey number isn’t going to turn any eyes in my direction at the Bronze.”

“Oh,” he said. But after a moment he smiled, and she knew that he understood her desire to make this a normal day. He dropped the subject and started polishing his glasses.

“Uh, oh,” said Buffy.

“Excuse me?”

“The glasses. I’m not doing anything particularly embarrassing right now, so the polishing of the glasses must mean portentous stuff is about to emanate from my Watcher’s mouth. Out with it.”

“Very well. Buffy, you may have noticed that I’ve been watching Spike rather carefully.”

“If ‘watching him carefully’ means looking at him as if you expected the creature from Alien to burst out of his chest at any moment, yes.”

“I must confess that there was a moment last night when I was afraid, not of that precisely, but that something quite nearly as cataclysmic had happened.”

“It was just a dream. He dreams about—what he was before.”

“Oh. Dear.” More frantic glasses cleaning ensued. “And that doesn’t worry you?”

“Worry me? Of course it does. But not in the sense that you mean.”

“Buffy, it’s clear to me that Spike has become more physically powerful over the past year—”

“I know,” interrupted Buffy. “He’s at least as strong now as I was when I first became the Slayer.” And that’s only when he’s in human form.

“If this continues, he may eventually become as strong as you.”

“Of course,” said Buffy. “In fact, he will be stronger than me, at least temporarily, in the very near future.” She rubbed her hand over her stomach. “I’m glad to think he’ll be strong enough to protect me and the baby when I’m in labor.” I remember a vision of Spike with my blood and Joy’s blood on his hands. I can’t make any sense of it. Maybe that dream wasn’t a true prophecy, but only Drusilla’s influence on my mind. But, perhaps, my child and I will be hurt and he will have to fight for us.

Buffy’s expression was now very serious. “It’s scary, you know, Giles. Realizing that in a few more weeks, I won’t be able to do all the things I usually do. And that, for a short time at least, I’ll be completely dependent. I haven’t really felt like that since I turned eighteen. I keep remembering that birthday and what it was like when I lost my powers. How it made me feel like less than myself. But, at least, this time—” She broke off, suddenly realizing how stricken her companion looked.

“At least this time, the person sworn to watch over you should not engage in an act of betrayal,” said Giles tightly.

“He won’t,” said Buffy. She put her hand through his arm. “And you didn’t either, Giles. You broke with the Council and saved me, in the end. In spite all the indoctrination and stuff they had done on you. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have survived.”

He was silent for a long time. “Buffy, Spike had to break bonds much stronger than any I fought against. Are you sure those bonds are completely severed and that he will protect you?” said Giles. “That he’s not—”

“—becoming evil again?” She finished for him. “Changing back?”

“I—Buffy, I don’t want to believe this. I’ve tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, but I can’t. There was a moment, in England, when he was fighting a demon for that sword, and I thought I saw—” His eyes told her how much he was afraid of hurting her with those words.

She smiled wryly. “I know what you saw, Giles. But it doesn’t mean what you think. And it happens to me too.”

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at her.

“Why are you so surprised?” she asked. “I mean, I didn’t expect it, either, the first time it happened, but it makes sense. I don’t know if any other Slayer has ever been able to do it, but I can fully access the power of the demon. I can change, game face and all. I’m not very good at coping with the change, by the way, but I’m learning.” She stared at him earnestly, her eyes begging him to understand. “I’ve never hurt a human with that power. It doesn’t mean I’m evil, Giles. In fact, Clem seems to have mistaken it for a fashion makeover. You know, are you a Summer, a Winter, a wrinkly-forehead demon--?”

Giles reached out to hug her close for a moment. “If anyone can cope with this kind of responsibility, it’s you, Buffy. I trust you.”

Buffy started off down the sidewalk again, turning the corner towards her house. “Actually, Spike is a lot better at coping with it than I am. I’m learning from him.”

“Buffy, you can’t be serious.”

“I am. We both have demons inside us. But Spike’s monster escaped into the freedom of pure evil, and he somehow managed to rein it back under control. I’m not sure I could do that if my demon ever got completely free of my human half. It was hard enough—” She shook her head. “Giles, you haven’t been here this past year, and you haven’t seen what he’s gone through, and the things he’s done.” Trying to shock her Watcher out of his obviously anxious state, she added slyly, “In fact, Spike has done things for me that I thought no man ever would. I mean, you’re with guys, and they say they’ll do anything to please you, but when you ask them for something that goes against their macho self-image, forget it. But Spike is different.” She watched Giles blush, and added, “Let me tell you—”

“Buffy!”

“But I have to tell you, Giles, so that you’ll understand just how amazing it was.
I mean, I just never thought I would finally be with a guy who would take me to a professional ice skating revue.”

“Really, I don’t want to hear—what?”

Buffy smiled smugly. “He took me to Champions on Ice. I couldn’t get even you to do that. Why, what was going through that nasty mind of yours?”

“Buffy, Spike didn’t really do that?”

“Yes, he did. And I didn’t even nag. He bought the tickets as a surprise. He could have behaved better while we were there, but no actual blood was shed, so, you should be able to appreciate how far he’s come.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to appreciate anything until I get over the vision of Spike watching a man in a leotard glide around the ice to the theme from Titanic.’” Unwillingly, he started to laugh.

“Savor that image all you want—I know I do—but don’t say anything to him about it. It’s still supposed to be kept a deep, dark secret to preserve his dangerous reputation. But you have to see by that how much he’s changed! In a good way. And you certainly can’t point to a single truly evil thing he’s done since he started breathing again.”

They had turned the corner and were walking along the sidewalk near Buffy’s house. Before Giles could reply, Spike’s convertible coasted to a stop next to the curb. Buffy stared at the driver in astonishment. “Dawn! What are you doing?”

Dawn bounced out of the car. She was radiant with excitement. “Driving!” she said.

“That’s just great.” Buffy’s severe tone and expression contradicted her words. “And when should I come and pick you up at the police station for driving without a license?”

“Never.” Dawn reached in her pocket and pulled out a laminated rectangle. “Look! I passed the test today!”

“You—you took the driver’s test? But you can’t parallel park!”

“I couldn’t until this morning. That’s what Spike promised to do with me today. He showed me how. He’s much better at explaining than the Drivers Ed guy, even if he does swear a lot more when you do something wrong. Then he drove us to the DMV and did that thing he does when he talks to the PTA ladies. It works on the women at the DMV too. They agreed to let me take the test, even though I didn’t have an appointment, and I passed the first time! Spike let me drive his car to show off to my friends, and he says I can have it to take Janice and some other kids to the beach for an hour or two.”

“And just where is Spike?” demanded Buffy.

“Watching TV, I think. I’m going to get my bathing suit.” Dawn ran into the house.

Buffy stared at the car for a moment in consternation. “I wonder if he’s watching Dead Again?” she muttered. “Because that may be very appropriate.” She stormed up the front walk.

A worried Giles trailed Buffy into the living room, where they found Spike slouched on the couch with a beer bottle in his hand, watching television. He looked up and noted Buffy’s infuriated countenance with an expression of mild curiosity.

“Spike, how dare you take Dawn for her driving test without even asking me?”

Spike raised one eyebrow. “The Little Bit’s of age to drive, so I saw to it. I didn’t think it was a matter for heartfelt discussion.”

“You didn’t think I would want to know something like this about my only sister?”

“I didn’t expect this much melodrama about it, love. What’s the bad here?”

“As a pedestrian, Dawn could get into trouble at record speed. Now she can go all sorts of places and get into all kinds of trouble even faster. I can’t believe you just gave her the keys to that wreck of yours and told her she could go to the beach with who knows who!”

Spike stood up to respond to this onslaught. “I know bloody well who she’s going with because I asked. And compared to what you’ve agreed to let her do, this expedition is a stroll though Sunnybrook farm.”

Buffy stared furiously up into his face. “Driving is dangerous!”

“Sunnydale is dangerous. Our lives are dangerous. We’ve been through this, Buffy. The only way to keep Dawn safe is to teach her to take care of herself.”

“And how does helping her get a driver’s license do that?”

“It may just give her one more option in a crisis. If she can jump behind the wheel of a car and drive away, maybe she can escape a big bad someday. It makes her faster, which makes her stronger.” He reined in his anger with an obvious effort before continuing. “Besides, maybe she can just have a bit of extra pleasure today and enjoy being a teenager for once without having to worry about having a destiny and a bloody perilous mission to complete. Maybe it was the only thing I could think of to make this day special for her without creating a maudlin scene.” He dropped back onto the couch, picked up his beer, and took a long drink.

Buffy stared at him for a long minute, made a small, exasperated sound, and turned to stomp up the stairs.

Spike let her go and looked at Giles, who had been observing the quarrel from a safe distance. “Well, Watcher? Do you have something to say?”

“Has Buffy ever gotten a driver’s license?” asked Giles carefully.

Spike snorted. “That’s not a subject I’m stupid enough to bring up with her just now.”

“No,” agreed the Watcher. He cleared his throat. Spike raised a wary eyebrow and waited. “I couldn’t help noticing the game you’re watching,” said Giles. “Is that Manchester United?”

“It’s not the bloody DC United.” Spike reached down beside him and picked up two more beers.

“Not much better if you ask me.”

Spike, who had been about to pass one of the beers to Giles, pulled back his hand.

The Watcher, who had seen the label on the bottle by this time, made haste to switch to a less critical tone. “I didn’t think you could get the English football league in Sunnydale unless you had satellite,” he said, sitting down on the couch next to Spike.

“The cable company added a new channel.” After another moment’s hesitation, Spike relented and passed one of the beers over to Giles, who took it gratefully.

“Really? When was that?”

“About a month after I saved their programming manager from being eaten.”

Giles took a sip and looked thoughtful. “Now, there’s a strategy that never occurred to me.”

“Look!” said Willow. “This is perfect!”

Buffy stared dubiously at the ruffled dress. “Yeah, if I was Maternity Barbie,” she said.

“You don’t like it?” said Willow. She dropped the dress and flew over to the other end of the store, which was filled with baby paraphernalia. “Oh! Isn’t this so cute? Look at this sweet dress! Can I buy it for Joy?”

“Kind of on the frilly side,” commented Buffy, watching her overly hyper friend in some concern. “Kitchy, kitchy, coo.”

“But baby girls should have frills and cutesy stuff,” said Willow. “Don’t you think she’d look adorable in it?”

“After she’s born and ready for her first Easter Parade,” said Buffy. She regarded the dress for a few more seconds and winced as she imagined Spike’s reaction to it. She added, “Maybe. But it’s kind of early even for newborn clothes, and I think that’s meant for a toddler, Willow.”

“Oh, okay,” said Willow, distracted again. She grabbed a yellow plastic carryall. “Look! Spongebob Squarepants!”

“I’m not quite ready for diaper bags, either,” said Buffy. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be quite ready for diaper bags and all the horrors they represent.” She stared around the store. “I really don’t think this store is my style, Will. There’s another one further down. Let’s go there.”

They went back out into the mall, but their progress was slow. Willow darted into a bookstore when she saw a display of baby books, but Buffy firmly removed them from her friend’s grasp and put them back on the shelves. “Spike has read most of the baby care ones already,” she said. “And we’ve already picked out Joy’s name. Willow, you can’t afford to be buying all these things for me. Remember, graduation fees, the lack of a firm job offer, the way you hyperventilated for hours after your student loan exit interview—” Her words were wasted. Willow was off again.

The Slayer followed her friend into another maternity cum baby paraphernalia shop and looked at the long tunic Willow was holding up. “That’s not bad. But I’m not going to let you pay for it, Will.”

Willow looked away and spoke hurriedly. “I just need to do something nice for someone. Something right.”

Buffy took the tunic from her friend and tossed it aside. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just—I want to make sure I’m doing good things.”

“But you are, Will. You have been for a long time. Why are you worrying now?”

“Because the last time things went wrong, I thought that what I wanted was right, but it wasn’t. Because I was trying to make people be what I thought was right. But now I know that was wrong.” Willow was pawing through a display of maternity pants, creating havoc with the neat display.

Momentarily, Buffy thought that she understood. Perhaps that scene in the cemetery last night had dredged up bad memories for Willow, just as it had for Spike. But her friend’s next words added to her confusion.

“I mean, you can be good for a long time,” said Willow, “and think that you’ve forgotten all the things you wanted so much that they made you do bad things, but then something happens to remind you how much you want them, and suddenly you have to remind yourself again that they’re big no-nos.” Willow’s forehead was furrowed with worry.

Buffy sighed. She remembered that look well. It was rarely a cause for panic. Willow’s worst behavior was usually accompanied by a scary level of certainty, not a flood of gibberish. When Willow looked and sounded like this, she was usually merely panicked about some minor sin.

“Will,” she asked cautiously, “are you worried about tomorrow?”

“No!” said Willow, picking up a soft, pink doll and kneading it nervously. “I mean, yes. Of course, but it’s just—I did something today. Not a bad thing, in fact, it was definitely a good thing, but it made me want, not a bad thing, but a good thing I can’t have. Because people have other things happening in their lives. Things that make it wrong for you to want to do stuff, even though it’s not really bad stuff.” Her eyes were gentle and overflowing with tears of confusion.

Buffy sighed again. Clearly, this discussion was going nowhere, and experience told her it would continue to progress in that same direction no matter how much she prodded and probed.

“I just want to do something good,” said Willow. “I just need to know right now I can do something right when I feel like this, instead of getting crazy.”

Buffy carefully pried her friend’s fingers away from the doll before it was mangled out of recognition. Clearly, it was time to find a source of distraction. “I know what you can do,” she said. “Naughty and nice.”

Willow perked up and looked inquiringly.

Buffy pointed at a store across the mall. “Go in there with me and help me pick out a few things.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Buffy!”

Buffy looked only slightly embarrassed. “No reason why I shouldn’t. I’ve even got a license from the state of California that says it’s okay for me to buy sexy lingerie, as long as I only use it to turn on a significant ex-vampiry other.”

“I don’t think it says ‘ex-vampire’ on your marriage license. Or “sexy lingerie.” And does that place even have a maternity department?”

“I checked,” said Buffy. “Accoutrements for ladies with and without passengers. So maybe you can pick out something for yourself, in case you find someone to be naughty with.”

“No,” said Willow, “No naughtiness for me. But I will be glad to contribute to your delinquency.”

“We should have waited for Spike,” said Jonathan.

Xander hissed in annoyance. “You’re always saying that. ‘We need Buffy. We need Spike.’ Can’t we do anything on our own? And try to keep your end up higher.” The two were carrying an oblong box along a Sunnydale back street. Each had a grip on a handle on either end of the box, which was consequently tilted at a severe angle.

“How am I supposed to do that? I’m at least a foot shorter than you. Besides, we could have used him for more than protection, since your car’s in the shop. If we waited, we could have driven over to the high school.”

“When I talked to Spike this morning, he said he’d loaned his car to someone for the day, so he’s as pedestrian as we are. Anyway, he didn’t show. I thought Marjoram wanted these mail shirts right away so that she could do her witchy stuff and make sure they were all attuned or whatever.” They turned to take a short cut through a familiar cemetery.

“Saffron asked for them, not Marjoram. And she’s going to make sure that there’s no interference in the spell that will protect you down there, Xander. You should be grateful to her instead of always complaining when someone uses magic. If it weren’t for magic, we would never have found this armor. And I wouldn’t have been able to cast a spell on us just now.”

Xander yelped and dropped his end of the box. “You did what?”

Jonathan, unable to support the box alone, dropped his handle as well and jumped back, wringing his hand in distress. “I caught my thumb on that thing! It’s just a glamour, Xander. Don’t wig out on me!”

“A glamour? What are we, magazine models?”

“Not that kind of glamour. It makes it hard for anyone to see us.”

“Anyone like that?” Xander pointed towards some bushes. The creature standing near them was at least seven feet tall, with massive shoulders and arms showing through tattered armor, and an almost as massive and impressive beak of a nose. The thing’s greenish, mottled head swiveled in his direction, and a pair of small, beady eyes seemed to be trying to focus on him. Crimson lips opened, revealing several rows of rotting, yellow teeth.

Xander pulled a knife out of his pocket. It looked a lot smaller than it had when he’d grabbed it that morning before leaving his apartment, and the demon looked depressingly large.

“I don’t think it can see us!” cried Jonathan, dodging wildly as the demon lunged towards them. “I think it’s using other senses—smell, hearing, demonic perception. Keep moving!”

“Great, so only nasty things that bite can tell where we are? Way to go, Jonathan.” Xander stabbed out with the too-small knife as the demon flew past him. Then he jumped as high and as far as he could, just as the creature whirled around.

“And don’t talk!” added Jonathan. He, too, changed course quickly as the demon lurched towards the sound of his voice.

The only good thing was that it appeared the demon had no idea where the treasure they had been carrying was. But sooner or later—damn! At Xander’s thought, the creature tripped over the box holding the chain mail and gave a whine of satisfaction. As the monster bent to feel the edges of the box that it apparently could not see, Xander clenched his fist around the knife and prepared to defend this important prize. He looked over to see Jonathan, even less well-armed, also bracing himself to attack.

But before they could move, a familiar figure in black jeans and a t-shirt stood between them and the demon. There was a quick skirmish, followed by the sickening crunch of a heavy blade striking bone. Spike straightened up, his back still turned towards the other two men, one hand holding a large axe. He was looking down at the demon’s body.

Xander stepped back involuntarily and swallowed hard. Only nasty things that bite and hunt with demon senses can find us. He hadn’t seen Spike’s game face since the day the vampire had resumed breathing, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to discover how it had been transformed. But the countenance that Spike turned towards Xander and Jonathan a moment later was merely human and annoyed. His eyes flicked over the area where they stood.

“Why didn’t you wait for me? And where the hell are you, exactly? You could at least have left some breadcrumbs for me to follow. Instead, you’re off playing under a bloody cloak of invisibility. If I hadn’t sensed that demon, I might never have tracked you down among all the other humans in this town.”

“We’re right here, Spike,” said Jonathan, and he muttered something under his breath in Latin. “I’ve exempted you from the spell.”

“And we did wait for you, man,” said Xander. You’re late.”

Spike met his eyes and shrugged. “Penalty kicks,” he said.

“Huh?” Xander’s was confused. “Is that some kind of kinky thing you and Buffy were up to, or an invitation to beat your ass for forgetting about us?”

“Oh, come on, Xander,” said Jonathan. “Even I know he just means the soccer game went into overtime.”

Embarrassed, Xander leaned over and grasped one of the box’s handles. Spike had bent to do the same, but when he saw Xander’s movement, he pulled back. Jonathan stepped forward and again took the other end of the box. The two young men carried it along the graveyard path, even though they both knew Spike could have handled it easily by himself. He’s letting the little boys pretend they’re grown-ups, thought Xander resentfully.

“Do you know where you’re supposed to take this?” asked Spike, falling into step beside them.

Xander ground his teeth. “No, we’re just aimlessly dragging important mystical objects around Sunnydale.”

Jonathan’s voice was hesitant. “Saffron has everything ready in the park near the old high school. They got a permit to set up an encampment by telling the city they were going to stage a Renaissance fair. All the tools we need will be well protected until morning. I’m going to help her with the spell.”

“And you’re fighting with the witches tomorrow?” asked Spike.

Jonathan nodded. “Saffron says I’ve learned enough to stay in harmony with the main Coven.”

“So you’re in sync with the pretty ladies?” said Spike. “Or is there one pretty lady you find particularly harmonic?”

In spite of the satirical words, Xander thought there was a respect in the ex-vampire’s voice for Jonathan that was utterly lacking for Xander himself. And Jonathan looked not so much embarrassed as guilty. I wonder if he’s dating Laurel? Willow mentioned she was seeing someone. Damn it, even Jonathan has more of a social life than I do.

“They need everyone with magical power,” said Jonathan. “Even someone who can just manage illusions, like me. I can try to confuse the attackers.” He looked around. “And maybe I can do a better job than I am right now.”

Spike wheeled about, flinging one arm out in a smooth arc. A knife flew from his hand and pierced the heart of a small, scaly demon that had been slithering behind them on a half-dozen stubby legs.

“It’s so nice that everyone but me seems to know what to do tomorrow.” Xander muttered resentfully. He hadn’t even had time to register the existence of the demon before it had been killed.

Spike raised one eyebrow. “You’re coming with Buffy and Dawn and me.” He pointed at the box. “One of those mail shirts is meant for you. The coven’s magic verified that.”

“And what exactly are we going to do?”

Still holding the axe in one hand, Spike walked over to the dead demon to retrieve his knife. “Dawn’s been practicing for weeks. Once the Lock is placed in the heart of the Hellmouth, she’ll know exactly what to do.”

“Great. So we know just how Dawn will be risking her life. But what about the rest of us?” asked Xander. He twisted around to face Spike, and caused Jonathan, who was still clinging gamely to the other end of the box, to utter an inarticulate cry of protest.

“That’s why we need the twin swords,” said Spike, with an obvious effort at patience. “There’ll be a few things down there that won’t want Dawn to shut that door. So Buffy and I will make our vorpal blades go snicker snack.”

“We’re leaving a lot of demon bodies around,” said Jonathan nervously, as Spike kicked the demon’s corpse behind some shrubbery.

Spike shrugged. “I’m not worried about citations for littering today. Besides, so many little scavengers are swarming around in anticipation of a battle that the bodies will be stripped down in no time. I saw the demon equivalent of a flock of turkey buzzards on my way over here.”

Xander interrupted this discussion. “But what about me? What sort of weapon am I supposed to carry tomorrow?”

Spike raised the axe. “You’ve used this before. I’m guessing you’ll find something to do with it down there.”

“So Dawn gets the big, shiny, mystical Lock, and you and Buffy get the big, shiny, magical swords. And Xander gets an ordinary axe out of the weapons chest. Why don’t I feel special?”

Spike lowered the axe and started off at a pace the other two had trouble matching. “Bloody hell, Xander, I’m sorry I didn’t find you something more special, but Toys R Us was fresh out of enchanted axes when I went shopping for this party.”

“I just don’t get it,” puffed Xander. “I don’t have any magical tools or superpowers. And I’m not even the strongest human fighter you could take with you.”

Spike slowed down and looked over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow. “If you want to back out—”

“I don’t want to back out!” Xander shouted. Embarrassed, he lowered his voice. “I just don’t know why I’m going. Am I the plucky comic relief on this mission, or is there a real reason I’m supposed to wear one of those shirts? I mean, if there’s something I need to do down there, shouldn’t I know what it is?”

Spike seemed to consider this. “Yeah,” he said finally.

“Well?” Xander waited for a response. They had almost reached the ruins of the old high school, and he had nearly given up on a straight answer, when Spike replied.

“I didn’t say I knew what it was. I just agreed that there would probably be less of a cock-up if you had a sodding clue. We’ll just have to take things as they come and hope you bloody well figure it out.” He turned away to greet Saffron.

Xander stared after Spike in consternation.

“Well, Tara, you seem to have done remarkably well in keeping the payroll costs down,” said Giles. “I only hope you haven’t been stretching yourself too thin by staying in the shop constantly.” He looked around at the neat, well-stocked shelves and attractive displays.

“Oh, no. I’ve had Dawn and some of her friends working for me, especially during the busier hours. And Spike opens up for me a lot in the mornings when things are slow and Tom doesn’t need him. He even watched the shop for a few days when I had to be out of town. He won’t take any money for it, so that’s reduced the cost.”

“Spike has been watching the store?” Giles was simultaneously incredulous and horrified.

Tara laughed at the Watcher’s expression. “He’s been working on those translations about the hellmouth in here so that he can use the books you left behind, and he insists that ringing up the occasional sale is his way of paying his rent. He’s not the best salesman in the world, but he doesn’t actually bite the customers. Although, as soon as the place gets busy, he usually dodges off to the training room or the cellar.”

“How extraordinary.”

“What, that he knows how to work a cash register and make change?”

“No, although the mind still boggles there. I was referring to the fact that he has been applying himself to that extent. I knew he had translated that prophecy, but I haven’t had a chance to review the original, and I had no idea it had taken so much time and effort.”

“Buffy asked him to do it, so of course he spared no effort.”

“I only hope that Buffy’s—and your—faith in him is not misplaced.” After a moment’s fussing with his eyewear, Giles continued. “I won’t lie to you, Tara. The real reason I came here was not to go over these books, which are clearly in order. I trust your opinion, and I wanted to know what you had observed of Spike lately.”

Tara stood up, tidying away the papers they had been working on. “Lately? He’s tired a lot. It’s the dreams. Buffy and Dawn are both afraid—” She hesitated. “Not that he’d deliberately try to die. But that he won’t fight hard enough to survive the battle tomorrow.” She saw Giles’ expression and added, “Why does that surprise you?”

“Spike has never struck me as the suicidal type.”

“Think about what he was like as a vampire, Giles. How he sought out Slayers and any other fight that would challenge him. He continually put himself into danger, and he fell in love with the Slayer—the one person in the entire world most dangerous to him. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but why would he have done that if he didn’t long for death at some level?”

Giles shifted uneasily. “Even if I accept that explanation of his extreme recklessness, his circumstances have changed now. If he was seeking death back then, it was because he recognized and hated the evil in himself. He must have done so, or he could never have transformed successfully. But there is no reason for him to wish for death now.”

“I admit that I’m not as afraid of it as Buffy is. But she knows him better than anyone. She’s sure that Spike would never do anything to endanger her or Dawn or Joy, but if he convinced himself that his sacrifice could keep them safe, he might—” She stopped, clearly distressed at the thought. “That’s why Buffy’s agreed to this crazy thing tonight.”

“I must say,” said Giles, “that I found the plan rather extreme, but Buffy and Dawn seemed adamant. And I still have my doubts about your analysis of Spike, especially when I recall his behavior in England. Although there is no one thing I can point to as evidence of evil, his attitude seemed less suicidal than merely reckless and antisocial. He would disappear for hours on end, apparently spending the nights on the streets. And when he fought—well, Buffy has explained that to me, and I can’t say I found the explanation reassuring. Spike changed once. There is always the chance that he could revert to type.”