Title:  Enemies and Friends

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.  Lyrics by Cole Porter.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks:  I would never have started writing this without the encouragement and beta of DorothyL. She introduced me to the concept of fanfic and discusses BtVS with me endlessly.  I owe a tremendous debt to her insights.

Notes:   This is a sequel to “Control Freak." 

        “Willow, we’ve gone over this and over this,” said Buffy wearily.

        “But you won’t admit that it’s too much of a risk.  You can’t trust him.”

        “I can and I do.  Willow, I have to go now.”  Buffy stood up and dropped a few bills on the restaurant table.  This attempt to spend time with Willow had gone no better than any of her other recent efforts.  She could only be glad Dawn was not there to be alarmed at the monotonous argument.

        “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

        “I’m not really into food this early.  Too much adrenaline building up.  You know I usually eat after patrolling.”

        “With Spike.”  There was tremendous accusation in those two words.

        “Yes, with Spike.  I’m meeting him later and we’ll patrol.  That’s what he does now in the evenings.”

        “When he’s with you.  That’s not all night long.  It’s dark already.  He could be doing anything before he shows up all innocent and helpful to patrol with you later.  Do you even have any idea where he is?” asked Willow.  “He may be attacking some helpless person right now.”

        “No, dear, I’m fine,” said the elderly lady patiently into the telephone.  She listened patiently to the voice on the other end of the line before adding, “There’s really no need to drive all the way across town.  In fact, I’d prefer to be on my own tonight.”  She waited again, turning her head away from the receiver for a moment so that her caller would not hear how ragged her breathing became for a moment.  Finally, she said, “Yes, dear, lunch tomorrow would be lovely.  I love you too.”

        She hung up the phone and pulled herself up carefully using her walker.  She struggled across the big kitchen of her old house and began to fill a kettle.  She had to place it in the sink and let the water run in, then lift it to the counter with both hands and move it in short hops across the scarred Formica to the stove’s burner.  Cautiously, her shaking hand turned a knob, and a gas flame burned brightly under the kettle.

        She turned back to the sink to fetch the teapot, but before she could make the journey, there was a knock on the kitchen door.  She took a few more laborious breaths and turned, scraping the feet of the walker across the floor to the door.  She stopped to call out to the figure she saw framed in the glass of the door, standing under the porch light.  “Be patient, I’m coming.”  Finally, she reached the door and turned the knob of the dead-bolt.  It swung open to reveal a slender young man dressed in black and carrying a grocery bag.  His striking features, highlighted by beautifully chiseled cheekbones, would have drawn most people’s attention even if he had not dyed his hair dead white. 

        The old lady blinked up at him.  “Oh, you’ve brought my groceries,” she said happily.

        “That’s right, pet,” he said. “May I come in?”

        “Willow’s so difficult to talk to,” said Buffy to Tara.  “I tried changing the subject to Dawn, my redecorating plans, to anything but Spike.  But Willow kept with the obsession.  I couldn’t get her to talk about herself at all.  It’s as if she can’t move on with her own recovery because she’s so worried that I’m making a mistake.”

        “You can’t make yourself responsible for that, Buffy,” said Tara.  They were sitting in the living room of Buffy’s house, talking softly while Dawn struggled with homework in the dining room.  “Willow has to accept that you’ve made this decision.  I’ve tried to talk with her about it too, and I think she’s using worrying about you to avoid facing some of her own problems.”

        “That doesn’t keep me from the guilt and the gloom.  And after talking with Willow, I always have to wonder—am I making a mistake trusting Spike?”

        “Only you can decide that,” said Tara.  “But he hasn’t given you any reason to doubt him lately, has he?”

        Spike stepped into the kitchen and put the bag down on the counter.  “Can’t have you starving to death just because the market has decided it can’t deliver any more,” he said. 

        “Not that I would have gone hungry, dear,” said the old lady, slowly pushing the door shut and locking it again.  “You know that my daughters or one of the grandchildren would have done it for me tomorrow, William.”  Her accent was as English as his own, but indicative of a higher social class.

        “Yeah,” said Spike, “but you would have gotten sod—er, tasteless tea bags and cookies instead of some decent Darjeeling and biscuits.”  He held up two boxes.

        “True,” she sighed.  “I love my family, but sometimes they are so American.”

        Spike grinned.  “We Brits have to stick together, pet.  No, I’ll put this away for you.  I know where everything goes.”  He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he moved around the kitchen, noting how long it took her to move toward the sink and reach for the teapot.  He stepped over and gently took it from her.  “I’ll take care of that, Rosemary.  Why don’t you rest in the other room and I’ll bring the things in when they’re ready?  You can trust me to warm the pot first, you know.”

        “Yes, William, you do know how to make a proper cup of tea,” she said.  “I admit I’m tired and would be grateful.”  But she did not immediately move towards the doorway.  Just saying those words had sapped enough energy to leave her slumped over the handles of the walker.

        Spike moved to her side and put his hand on hers for a moment.  “May I?” he said, and lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the living room like a baby.  He settled her into a comfortable recliner and tucked the blanket that had been lying over its arm across her lap. 

        She smiled up at him, her cheeks almost flushed.  “My, that was exciting!  One doesn’t expect to be swept off one’s feet at my age.  Mind you, it used to happen on a regular basis when I was younger.”

        “I can believe that,” he said.  He had no trouble envisioning the wild young flapper she had once been.  She would have been beautiful, with clear, bright eyes that demanded adventure.  “I’ll be right back.”

        Rosemary closed her eyes and rested a few minutes, listening to her visitor move around the kitchen.  When she heard the kettle begin to whistle, she made an effort to revive and sit up straighter.  By the time he came back in, carrying a tray with the tea things, she was smiling brightly.

        “This is lovely,” she said, sipping from her cup.  “It’s so good of you to take the time to come by, especially when I know you have a younger woman waiting these days.”

        “I’ll meet up with her later,” said Spike.  “I won’t deny I’m looking forward to it, but, much as I love my lady, she has no real appreciation for a good cup of tea.”  His own accent had softened and moved up a few notches on the social spectrum.  It usually did so a few minutes into one of his visits.  Rosemary wondered if he realized that.

        Her hands began to shake then, and he had to take her cup and saucer and put them back on the tray for her.  “You’re very tired tonight, pet,” he said. 

        “Yes,” she agreed, but returned to the previous topic.  “Is she very pretty, this young lady of yours?  Describe her.”

        “Beautiful,” he said.  “Tiny, powerful, worries about doing the right thing.”

“Oh,” she said flatly.

“With a big bad streak she has to fight to control.  And a taste for puns that she indulges in a bit too often.”

        “That’s better.  For a moment, I was afraid she was boring.  And does she appreciate what a fine fellow she has found?”

        His smile became rueful.  “Let’s just say that I think she sees me as I am.”

        “I wish I could tell her about that night we met.  It was just before I had to start using that stupid walker thing and the last time I tried to fetch my own groceries.  It seemed like it was taking forever to walk home from the market.  Suddenly, that creature was about to grab me.  I was terrified for a moment, but you stepped out of the shadows and it was as if he vanished in a puff of dust.”

        “Yeah, well, he wasn’t as tough as he looked,” said Spike.

        “And then you were so kind as to help me home, and it was so nice to learn we were both Londoners.  I’ve enjoyed your visits so much, William.”

        “Yeah, well, where else in Sunnydale could I get a proper cup of tea?” he muttered, trying to make light of this.

        “I can tell you’re truly English when you get embarrassed because the conversation turns serious.  I’m only bringing this up because I’m afraid I may not be here the next time you come.”

        “What?”  He looked indignant.  “If they’re trying to move you to a bloody nursing home—“

        “No, no, there’s no talk of that.  My family can’t seem to do enough for me, and, of course, with the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, there are plenty of them to help out.  No, I’ll be going a bit further away than a nursing home, soon.  Oh, don’t look so shocked, dear.  I’m well over ninety and my heart is wearing out.  There’s only one way for it to end, and I’d like it to happen here, quietly.”

        There was a long pause. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

        “Don’t be.  The alternative is to live on without really being alive, and I wouldn’t care for that.  Although I suppose that’s not a very tactful thing to say to a vampire, now is it?  My mother always wondered if I’d outgrow that habit of saying the wrong thing, and I’m afraid I haven’t.”

        Spike was staring at her in astonishment.  “You know?”

        “Of course, dear.  I was a powerful witch for almost eighty years, after all.  One doesn’t survive that long, especially not in a place like Sunnydale, without being able to recognize a demon.  If I hadn’t known immediately, the way you always avoid the front hallway with that big mirror would have given it away.”

        “But you invited me in here!”

        “As I said, I’m over ninety and not long for this world.  When you rescued me from that other vampire, I was curious.  I’d never known one of your kind to act like that.  You don’t expect adventures at my age, any more than you expect to be swept off your feet.  Knowing you has added a certain cachet to my declining years, William.” 

He leaned back in his chair and stared at her with respect and dawning amusement.  “It’s been an adventure for me too, pet.  I’m not really one of the good guys, you know.  I wouldn’t have kept coming back if you hadn’t charmed me with your outrageous stories that first night.”

She regarded him steadily.  “Does that young lady of yours know?  That you’re a vampire?  From the things you’ve said, I assume she’s human?”

“Well, mostly I think,” he said.  “She’s the Slayer, as a matter of fact.  And, yes, she knows.”

“The Slayer and a vampire,” she murmured.  “What a romance!”

“Yeah, it’s been bloody romantic,” he said slightly gloomily.  At her glance of alarm, he added, “Oh, it’s going all right now, but it wasn’t easy at first, I can tell you.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been.”  Rosemary paused, then said, “William, will you get that box off the mantelpiece for me?  The small blue one.  Thank you.”  She opened it and pulled out a small piece of jewelry, like a charm for a bracelet.  It was a roughly shaped piece of silver with a red stone set in the center.  She handed it to him.  “This is for you, I think.”

He held it gingerly.  “What is it?”

“It’s been in my care for the better part of a century and I’m still not sure.  I only know that when it was given to me, I was a silly girl on a wild road to a great deal of pain.  A few months later, my powers of witchcraft had been unlocked, and I discovered a purpose for all that insane energy.  Finding out I was a witch probably saved my life.  The man who gave it to me opened a few other doors for me as well.  I never discovered exactly what he was, but that boy was the most amazing lover I’ve ever had.”

“How did this release your power?” asked Spike, regarding the talisman with respect and a little alarm.

“I don’t know.  It was only active for a short time after I was given it.  My lover said that it would remain inert, but that I should guard it carefully.  He said I would know when the time came to pass it on and who should have it next.  I must say, I thought he was wrong about that last bit.  Until a few months ago, I thought I would die without ever finding its next owner.  Oh, I think you can trust it not to hurt you, William.  If you trust me not to give you something that will harm you.”

“It doesn’t seem to be doing anything magical now,” said Spike cautiously.  “And I’m no warlock.  Perhaps I’m only meant to have it until I pass it on to someone else.”

“Perhaps,” she said in an unconvinced tone.

He slipped it into his pocket.  “Thank you,” he said.

She closed her eyes for a second.  “Now you go on and find your sweetheart,” she said gently.

“I’ve only just got here,” he protested.

“No, William, you have other things to do, and, frankly, I’m exhausted.  I’d like to rest here and think of the past.  Talking with you has brought back memories, and I’d like to enjoy them.”

There was obviously no point in protesting.  Rosemary’s eyes already seemed to be looking at eternity.  “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” Spike asked, feeling helpless.

“You could put on one of my records.  The one I want is on the turntable.”

He went over to the old player in its wooden cabinet and picked up the record to look at the label.  It was a 78, heavier than vinyl and a lifetime away from compact discs and MP3 players.  He slipped it back on the turntable and pulled the arm of the player up and off to the side, so that the song would repeat endlessly. 

As the music started, he stepped over to pull the blanket up around her and take the tea things back to the kitchen.  She was already nodding off as he let himself out the back door.  The lyrics of the old song swirled around him as he wandered off down the street, his fingers absently playing with the talisman that rested in the pocket of his worn leather coat.

The day is my enemy, the night my friend,

For I'm always so alone

Till the day draws to an end.

But when the sun goes down

And the moon comes through,

To the monotone of the evening's drone

I'm all alone . . .

Spike reached the cemetery and stopped a few feet away from his crypt.  The night was quiet but bright with moonlight, and nothing moved in the shadows of the headstones.  He stood in apparent solitude for a moment, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the final words of the verse coursed through his mind.

I’m all alone . . . with you.

A small, dark figure shot out of the shadows and caught him by the shoulders, knocking him on to the ground and rolling him over on to his back.  He grabbed his attacker’s arms as she jumped astride him, but he made no attempt to fight back.  “Hello, Slayer,” he said.

Buffy’s pale face grinned down at him.  “You’re late,” she said.

“Maybe I had another girlfriend to visit.”  He reached up to pull the black cap she wore off her head and began to run his fingers through her sunny hair.

Her head twisted to kiss the palm of his hand.  “You had better not.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’ve been saving my body for you.”  He moved his hips underneath hers, the force of his arousal underscoring his words.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, rocking her own hips in time with his.  They both wore jeans, and the heavy fabric moved with her, stimulating him and frustrating him at the same time.  He rolled over, leaping to his feet and pulling her up with him.  She began to kiss him frantically as they stumbled into his crypt, trying to make progress without ever letting go of each other.

He pulled her toward his bed, but she was too eager and pushed him into the first chair she saw.  He sprawled into it, and before he could move she was pulling down her jeans and kicking them aside.  She jumped astride him, reaching for the zipper of his pants, as he began to pull at the black t-shirt she wore under her leather coat, tearing the fabric aside.  Then he was inside her, and they rode the wave of their passion, kissing passionately until they were both sated.  They collapsed against one another, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you know, love,” he said eventually.  “I’m not complaining, but there is this thing called foreplay, which most women seem to insist on before shagging.”

“Hmm,” she said, gently nipping the side of his throat.  “Foreplay is fine.  Foreplay is good.  But if you think I need more than just watching you walk across a graveyard to get excited, you’re wrong.  We can do foreplay later.”

“Insatiable wench.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not in my book, love.” 

They kissed again, and she stood up reluctantly, looking around for her discarded jeans.  “First, we need to patrol.  Tara is staying with Dawn, but I know she has an early class tomorrow, so I don’t want to get home too late.”  She frowned down at her chest.  “Look what happened to my shirt.  I can’t go home like this.”

“You can’t patrol like that either,” he said, looking at what was revealed by the tattered fabric.  “Although it would distract the monsters.”  He went downstairs and came back with a red shirt much like the one he wore under his coat.  “Take this, pet.”

She pulled off her own coat and put on the shirt.  It was too large, but she buttoned it over the black t-shirt and donned her coat again.  She looked at him and laughed.  “Hey, we’re twins.”

“I haven’t seen myself in a mirror lately, love, but I don’t remember I was as pretty as you.  Let’s go.”

They wandered through that graveyard and on to the next one, two slender blond figures in long black leather coats.   Sometimes they held hands, but mostly they were professional about their work, checking all the usual hot spots and guarding each other’s back.  The night was quiet, however, and they ended up in a playground, sharing a child’s swing, with Buffy in Spike’s lap as they kissed in the moonlight.  It was a gentle, loving moment, and Spike thought for a moment that he heard again the sound of his old friend’s record and its scratchy version of the Cole Porter tune:

All through the night,

I delight in your love,

All through the night, you're so close to me.

The brief idyll ended when he sensed another presence.  “There’s someone nearby,” he said.  “Several someones.”

“Vamp?” asked Buffy, reaching into her pocket for a stake.

“No,” he said, frowning.  “Human.”

        A half-dozen figures stepped onto the playground and came forward to surround them.  They were biker types, unkempt and surly.  They would have looked dangerous to almost any other young couple caught in a lonely place after dark.

        “Aren’t you two pretty,” said one of the newcomers.  “This is going to be fun.”

        “I don’t think so,” said Buffy.  “At least, not for you.”

        One of the bikers grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Spike.  A moment later, her attacker was halfway across the small park, reeling from a head butt and a kick to the groin.  The first one to reach Spike found himself rocking back and forth, his feet kicking in mid-air and his head and chest twisted in the chain from the swing.

        Buffy whirled around.  A couple of kicks took out two more bikers in short order.  She grabbed another before he could strike and twisted his arm behind him. 

        The last biker was a huge, burly man, who had started to move toward Spike, but then had a sudden attack of self-preservation.  He turned and raced toward the street, only to find that his intended victim could move faster than was humanly possible.  The man he was fleeing somehow appeared in front of him and lifted him up by the throat, holding him off the ground with one hand as if he were a doll.  “Got all the buggers, I think, pet,” said Spike in a casual tone.

        Buffy looked over at him and gulped.  “Spike,” she said in a very even tone.

        “Yeah?”

        “You do know that if you break your nice new toys you won’t be allowed to play with them any more?”

        “Huh?” Spike looked at the man he held and realized that the biker’s face was turning a bizarre shade of greenish purple in the moonlight.  He opened his hand and let the man drop to the ground.  “Sorry, mate,” he said to the biker. “I’m not used to fighting things that need to breathe.”  His would-be assailant did not seem to find this apology very reassuring, but was too busy gasping for breath to run away. 

Buffy shoved the man she held to the ground and put one foot on his chest to hold him there.  “Who are you, besides a deeply stupid person?”

The man was obviously stunned.  “We just got to this fucking town.  We—we saw you.  It looked like fun.  I don’t know why.  We don’t usually.  I mean, we usually check things out first.  It just seemed like this was the place for us to go.”  He seemed to get more confused as he spoke.

Buffy looked at Spike.  “What do you think?”

“They’re nothing special, unless you fancy cowardly bastards with a taste for other people’s pain.  But something got at them, sent them here.”

“They don’t seem to have any idea what it was.”

“I don’t sense much.  Whatever had hold of them is gone. And what bugger with that kind of power would be stupid enough to send this bunch against the Slayer?”

“Seems pretty pointless.”  She looked at the bikers.  The ones that had regained consciousness were trying to inch away.

“So what do we do with the wankers?” asked Spike

“They’re from out of town.  Do you think we can make sure they don’t settle down here?”

“Not a problem.”  Spike bent down and grabbed one man by the hair.  “Let’s have a word, mate.”

“Please, let me go,” whined the man.

“I’d like you to go far away and never come back,” said Spike.  “The question is, can I trust you to do that?”

“Yes, yes, you can.”

“Good boy,” said Spike.  His face transformed, and the man stared in horror at the vampire’s mask of evil.  “Because I’d hate to have to bite you.”

Now the others were whimpering, too.  Spike shook his head, and his features were human again.  “You really want to keep that promise.  Because, you see, I’m just a housebroken puppy being taken out for a walk.  She,” he gestured at Buffy, “is the big gun of this outfit, and you don’t ever want to see what she really is.”  He let go of the man’s hair and stood up, wiping his hands fastidiously. 

Buffy and Spike strolled away down the street as the bikers picked themselves up and limped off as quickly as they could in their battered condition.  “Well, that wasn’t much fun,” he said, kicking at a stone.

“Not much of a fight,” she agreed.

“There’s no challenge with humans after you’ve spent a few years fighting demons.  Very unsatisfying.”

“Sorry we disappoint you.”

“Present company is excepted,” he said, pulling her towards him.  “Speaking of satisfaction, where were we before those poofters interrupted us?”

“Business first,” she said, pushing him away.  “Is there anything else around?”

He stood still for a moment, tasting the air, his vampire senses seeking for danger.  He frowned.  “There are humans about, a lot of them.  But since we’re surrounded by houses, that’s no surprise.  I don’t sense any vampires or any other big bad.  There’s still some power in the air, but it’s very faint and I can’t place it.”

“Sounds like whatever sent those lunatics after us has scampered off,” said Buffy.  “It wasn’t a very competent big bad, whatever it was.  Let’s go home.”

        They went on their way, oblivious to the small red-headed figure that had watched the entire scene from behind a tree a safe distance down the street.

        Buffy and Spike came home to find Dawn crying.  They were both alarmed until the cause was revealed to be an argument with Janice over the color of the dress Dawn wanted to wear to a school dance.  Buffy correctly interpreted this to mean that Dawn was suffering normal adolescent fear of looking ridiculous and had overreacted at something her friend had said.  Nonetheless, she dutifully went up to Dawn’s room to listen to the entire saga of the argument and a minute explanation of her sister’s feelings throughout the ordeal.

         Spike found a beer in the kitchen and wandered into the living room where Tara was watching television.  “Bad night?” he asked her.

        “About medium,” said Tara, as he sat down on the couch next to her.  “I had to hear the whole story three times, but the hardest part is showing sympathy for Dawn without saying anything bad about Janice.  Because they’ll probably make up by tomorrow, and if I agree with her now, Dawn will accuse me of not liking her friends later on.”

        Spike smiled at this analysis and sat back, watching the television screen.

        “By the way, I checked out that thing for you,” said Tara.  “It’s fine.”

        “You’re sure?”

        “I wouldn’t take any chances with something like that.  I tried everything.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

        “Thanks.  In fact, there’s something else—” he looked around with the aimless air of someone trying to remember where he had left an object.  “It must be in my coat.”

        “Something else you wanted me to look at?”

        “Yeah,” said Spike, but was distracted by something on the television screen before he could say more.  “Whoa.”

        “Wow,” agreed Tara.  “That’s a very interesting, er, breastplate.”

        They both leaned forward in their seats, watching.  “So,” said Tara finally, “did you like Gabrielle better with long hair or short hair?”

He gave the matter due consideration.  “I liked the clothes that went with the short hair better.”

Before Tara could respond, Buffy came in.  “Hi, guys.  Dawn’s on the phone to Janice right now, so I think everything will be okay.”  She frowned at the television.  “You’re watching Xena?”

“Uh, just channel surfing,” said Tara quickly. 

“Yeah,” said Spike, snatching up the remote and pushing buttons. 

“Oh, look,” said Tara.  “C-Span.”

Buffy said, “Whatever turns you on.  I’m going to check on Dawn.  Are you two okay here?”

“Fine, fine,” said Tara.

“Just ducky,” said Spike.

“Ok,” said Buffy, leaving again.

“Quick,” said Tara.  “Change it back.”

Spike hit the remote.  They both leaned forward.  Tara vaguely remembered Spike had been about to ask her something, but then she was distracted again.  “You’ve gotta like a girl with a chakram,” she said.

Finally, Dawn was asleep and Tara said good night.  Buffy closed the door behind her and went upstairs.  She wandered into her old room, now cluttered with items she had moved out of the master bedroom, and opened the window.  She climbed out onto the roof and looked up at the sky.  “Hello, Spike,” she said softly, sensing a presence in the room behind her.

“If you want to be alone, pet—”

“No, I want to be with you.  I just wanted to sit out here for a minute.  Join me?”

He climbed out the window and sat beside her.  “You used to spend a lot of time out here.”

“Not as much as I wanted to.  Too often, I had to climb down and patrol or fight some other good fight that I wished hadn’t come my way.”

He put his arm around her, as if uncertain what to say.

She dropped her head on his shoulder.  “It’s just that sometimes, it would be nice to just be normal, you know?”

“Yeah.”  His tone was surprisingly heartfelt.

 Slowly, savoring each moment, they began to kiss.  He hadn’t been smoking recently, Buffy noted.  Instead of ashes, he tasted of something tart and exciting, and the pressure of his mouth on hers made her feel more alive.  She ran her hands along his arms, up to his shoulders, and pulled him closer.  His hands came around her waist, then began to creep up under the red shirt she still wore.  He started to push her down on the shingles, but they felt rough beneath her back.  She noticed that a sharp breeze had started to blow.

“Spike?”

“Hmm?” he said into her hair.

“Do you remember that discussion we had earlier about foreplay?”  His only response was a salacious chuckle.  “Well, it seems like a good idea.  But in bed, on top of nice comfortable sheets.”

He lifted up his head in surprise.  “Slayer, you never cease to amaze me.” 

They climbed back into the house and crept down the hall to her mother’s old room.  Every time she used it, Buffy felt a sense of loss and a fear that she was usurping something she had no right to take.  Tonight, she thought, she would try again to make it her own.

Spike took her request very seriously indeed.  He made a ceremony of undressing her, caressing and kissing the flesh revealed when he removed first the shirt he had loaned to her, then the tattered remnants of her t-shirt, and then the blue jeans that she had discarded with such abandon during their earlier encounter.  Finally, she was clad only in a flimsy pair of panties.  Teasingly, he did not remove them, instead slipping his hand inside and stroking her gently while his lips sought the soft underside of her breasts.  She climaxed, completely caught up in her own pleasure until the shock of her orgasm ebbed and she fell back on the sheets, smiling up at him from half-closed lids.

“Enjoyed that, did you?’ he asked unnecessarily.

She laughed softly.  “We’re just starting,” she said.  He was still fully clothed, and now she returned the favor he had done her, touching and kissing him with deliberate passion until they were both naked.  They explored each other’s bodies with hands and lips for a timeless interval.  He was fully aroused, but refused to rush their lovemaking to its conclusion.  It was Buffy who finally whispered an invitation, and he entered her with a soft moan, but still did not climax.  Each time he came close to orgasm, he urged her to shift their position, enabling him to prolong her pleasure.  First he was on top, then she was, and finally they lay side by side in the moonlight, sated and at rest.

Again Spike thought he heard the words of Rosemary’s favorite song:

All through the night, you're so close to me.

All through the night, from a height far above,

You and your love bring me ecstasy.

He felt different tonight, as if something had changed profoundly.  He told himself it was just the aftereffects of lovemaking, and he sighed as Buffy ran her fingers along his side. 

“Why such a sad sound?” Buffy asked.  “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“Ah, pet, each time with you is better than the last.  ‘Custom cannot stale her infinite variety’ and all that.  No, I was thinking that I don’t deserve this, not after my little lapse.”

“What lapse was that?”  Her tone was genuinely worried now.

“In the park,” he said, sleepily.  “I had that bugger by the neck, and I could have killed him.”

“Oh, that.  You’ll be more careful next time.  You will, won’t you?”

“I promise, love.  I was surprised you weren’t royally pissed off about it at the time.”

“You weren’t paying attention,” she said.  “If I thought you meant to do it, I would have been as angry as you expected.”

“I should have paid attention,” he muttered.

“I’m surprised it concerned you.  That rudimentary conscience of yours seems to be working harder all of a sudden,” she said, but looked down to see that he was already asleep.  She settled down next to him, wondering why she was so undisturbed by either his momentary lapse with the biker or by his failure to tell her why he had been late meeting her for patrol.  She had noted both events, but hadn’t obsessed about them as she usually did.  Some tension seemed to have left him, and she felt almost convinced that she had finally succeeded in her attempts to pull him into her world.  He had given up his earlier efforts to force her into his demon existence, and no longer insisted that she belonged in the darkness.  And she no longer feared that the strange waves of anger that used to overwhelm her would cause her to harm him.  If only she could stop having the strange dreams in which they were both something other than human.

Buffy’s hand rested for a moment on his still chest, then pulled away.  She could not delude herself that he was human, a creature of the day.  But perhaps they had found a twilight world where they could coexist, at least for a time. 

In spite of her resolute determination not to lapse into romantic dreams that could only be upset by the intrusion of reality, Buffy dreamed of the words to an old song:

When dawn comes to waken me

You're never there at all.

I know you've forsaken me,

Till the shadows fall.

She awoke to the sound of her sister’s voice and sighed.  Spike would be gone; he always woke just before daylight and used the sewers to get back to his crypt.  Groggy with sleep and remembered pleasure, she sat up in bed, the sheets sliding over her naked body. 

Then she blinked in surprise.  There was a blond head lying on the pillow next to hers, and Spike began to move sluggishly.  He grunted and sat up, smiling with narrowed eyes at the spectacle she made, her hair tousled, her eyes soft and luminous, and the sheets falling away from her breasts.

“I overslept,” he commented sheepishly. “I guess I’m stuck here for the day, love.”

“You could grab a blanket and run for the sewers,” she said.

He looked at the blinds covering the windows.  “Seems awfully sunny today.  I don’t much like my chances.  Besides, I have nothing else to do until dark.  If you don’t mind, I’ll just hang about here and watch the telly.”

“Oh,” she said, wondering why she didn’t quite believe him, when she had accepted so much more than this on faith.  “Maybe I could keep you company—”

“Don’t you have that job to do?” he asked innocently.

“Oh, yeah,” she said.  It was true.  She had taken a temporary position in an office.  It was boring, but it paid better than flipping greasy burgers in a fast food restaurant.  It was also nothing he could help her with, and he would have been equally useless to her hanging around his crypt, but she felt an unreasonable resentment that she had to go to work while he planned to hang about her space, enjoying himself.  But before she could think through her feelings, she heard Dawn call her name again.  This time her sister was in the bathroom, banging around looking for something in one of the cupboards.  Buffy looked with horror at the door that linked that bathroom and the bedroom where she and Spike had spent the night.  It was ajar.

She jumped out of bed, snatching up a nightshirt from a chair.  “Uh, Dawn, I’m up.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

“It’s no big,” said Dawn.  They could hear her turn the water on in the sink.  “I was just wondering if you wanted coffee or tea for breakfast.”

“Uh, coffee,” I think, said Buffy, pulling on the nightshirt and making urgent shushing motions at Spike.  Far from taking this seriously, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  Buffy frowned at him. 

“And can I borrow your red sweater?” asked Dawn.  It sounded as if she were moving towards the door.

Buffy jumped in between the door and the bed, and pushed the door almost shut.  “I think it’s downstairs in the laundry room.”

“No, I brought it upstairs for you yesterday.”  Now Dawn seemed to be laughing.  “But that’s okay, I’ll get it later.  Spike, is coffee okay with you for breakfast?”

“Perfect, pet,” he called back, completely unembarrassed.

Dawn went downstairs.  Buffy dropped into a chair, looking glum.

Spike got out of bed and began looking around for his clothes.  “It could hardly be a shock to her, love.  It’s not the first time she’s caught us together—and not the most embarrassing time either.”

“I know—but having someone here all night all the time seems wrong, somehow.  I don’t think I’m a very good role model.”

        He grimaced at this.  “No, saving the world and fighting evil is not something we want to teach little girls to emulate.”

“You know what I mean.”

        “Don’t worry about the Little Bit.  She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”

        “Everyone seems to be smarter than me today,” said Buffy, wandering off to the bathroom.

        Buffy wanted to probe more into Spike’s reasons for staying on after daybreak, but her sister didn’t give her a moment to think how to frame the question.  Dawn seemed obsessed with what she was going to wear to the dance.  She kept reminding Buffy to pick her up after school so that they could go to the mall.  The fight with Janice had been made up the night before, and both girls wanted Buffy’s opinions of the dresses they proposed to buy.  Spike listened to Dawn’s ravings with a twisted, indulgent smile while he ate breakfast with them.  Buffy was surprised again by how much he liked human food; it was something he had no need for, but as far as she could tell, he would eat at least three meals a day whenever he had the opportunity. 

        When the front door closed behind Dawn and Buffy, Spike went up to the front bedroom and watched them from a cautious distance behind the blinds.  He waited about five minutes after they had disappeared from sight, went to the phone, and dialed a number.  “It’s safe,” he said. “Yes, I’m sure.  She should be gone until nightfall at least.”

        In fact, it was a few minutes before dark when Buffy was able to return home.  By that time, she was ready to drop Dawn down the nearest bottomless pit just to get a few minutes respite from the teenager’s endless obsession with her new dress, Janice’s new dress, the boys likely to see either or both dresses, and what the other girls were likely to say about the dresses.  Only the realization that she had behaved in exactly the same way a few short years earlier kept her from losing her temper.

        As they got to the front door, Dawn suddenly said, “You know, Buffy, I think I forgot something.  I need some more shampoo.  Can we go back to the—”

        “No, Dawn, not again.  Absolutely not now,” said Buffy, opening the door.  “This dance isn’t until Saturday and I need a few minutes to—” she stopped.  Spike was coming down the stairs, and something in his face made her remember her suspicions of that morning.  What—”

        Before she could finish her question, a loud thump sounded from the floor above.  She stared at Spike.  He was looking at Dawn, who glared back at him.  Spike shrugged his shoulders.  “You promised another hour,” he said.

        “Even I can only be annoying and whiny for so long,” said Dawn.

        There was another thump, and Buffy decided to go to the heart of the mystery instead of wasting time with questions.  She ran up the stairs and threw open the door to the room that had once been her mother’s but that she was now using as her own. 

        Xander was lying on the floor next to a stepladder, trying to pull himself upright.  This circumstance would have been surprising enough, but it faded in comparison with the fact that the room had been completely transformed in her absence.

        Buffy had wanted to redecorate the room, but had held back because she knew she really couldn’t afford it.  She had contented herself with imagining what she would do once she had the means.  But now all the plans she had made and discussed with her friends had been put into effect.  The wallpaper she had picked out was hung, the trim was painted, and the bed linens she had admired were in place.  The pictures she had purchased and designed the room to match hung on the walls.  She stepped into the room and turned around, staring.

        “We wanted to do something nice for you,” said Dawn hesitantly.

        “I was just finishing hanging the new blinds, but I was rushing because we heard you coming and I fell,” said Xander.  “Spike here couldn’t hold the ladder for me after I took down the old ones on account of his photophobia thing.”

        “You guys did all this?” said Buffy in a stunned voice.

        “The three of us and Tara,” said Dawn.  “I kept track of what you wanted and they helped me get it—I didn’t steal anything, honest, and neither did Spike.”

        “Tara came by this afternoon for a while and Spike and I did the rest,” said Xander.

        Buffy shook her head in amazement.  “It’s like that show on television where people come in and fix up your house, except this looks good.”  She turned suddenly and hugged Dawn, then did the same to Xander.  “Thank you,” she breathed in his ear.  “Nothing could have been more perfect.  It makes me feel normal and right.” 

        Xander felt an unbearable tension leave his body.  He knew that he had succeeded in making things right between him and Buffy again, and that he had been forgiven for his part in Willow’s spell to bring her back.  He pulled her away from him so that he could look again at the real happiness in her face.  He reveled in the realization that for this moment at least, she was happy to be alive and that he was partly responsible making her feel that way.

        Spike had stepped out of the room, but he now came back, holding an object covered in a gray cloth.  It was about a foot high but not nearly as wide.   He handed it to Buffy.  “I didn’t have time to find a place for it, what with Xander here slowing me down.”

        She ignored Xander’s token protest at this and unwrapped the present.  It was a statue of a Chinese woman in battle garb.  She held something like a long knife, but it had no hilt and a sharp point, and seemed to be elaborately carved in one piece. 

        “It’s a Woman Warrior,” said Spike unnecessarily.  “The woman who sold it to me had some wonky New Age story about it, but I think it’s a Slayer.”

        “I think so too,” said Buffy, turning and setting it in a place of honor on the dresser, centered in front of the mirror.

        “Tara checked it out,” continued Spike.  “It’s guaranteed not to be cursed, or to have given a short term lease to the spirit of some demon that will try to carve out your heart.  Just a lump of stone.”

        “No,” said Buffy softly.  “More than that.”  She put her arms around him and kissed him gently, then stepped away, conscious of the presence of Xander and Dawn.  Then she smiled widely.  “And since you’ve done all this, the money I’ve been saving for redecorating can find another use.  Why don’t I take us all out for dinner tonight?  We can call Tara and make it a party.”

        “Tara won’t be able to come,” said Dawn.  “She has a class this evening and has to study for exams pretty steadily the next few days.”

        “But we’ll eat her share of the food,” said Xander.

        “I want it rare,” said Spike to the waiter.  “I mean really, bloody rare.  In fact, I’d be happy if you didn’t even cook it.”

        “Health department says it has to be cooked,” said the waiter.  “But, don’t worry, we’ll just toss it on the grill and then pick it right back up.  You’d be surprised how many people in this town order their steaks that way.  And you, sir?”

        “Well done,” said Xander.  “In fact, I changed my mind.  I’ll have the fish special.  And another beer.”

        Buffy had looked a bit uncomfortable when Spike ordered, but Dawn seemed unfazed.  “Do you still need blood when you eat something like that?  Or could you just live on a Porterhouse diet?”

        “Blood is blood,” said Spike.  “But it would take a lot of it.”

        “I guess it would be bloody expensive,” said Dawn, proud of her pun.  Buffy and Xander both looked a little wigged out and rushed to change the subject. 

        “I still can’t believe you guys did all that for me in one day,” said Buffy.

        “Well, we had everything ready and down in the basement last night,” said Xander.  “And Dawn here promised faithfully to keep you good and gone.  She even made up with her friend last night to make sure the surprise wasn’t spoiled.”

        “That’s okay,” said Dawn.  “I felt better not fighting with Janice anyway.  No more stomach thumps.  I’m sorry I was so crazy with you at the mall though, Buffy.  I had to keep changing my mind to pass the time.  I’m surprised you didn’t slay me.”

        “No problem,” said Buffy.  “I didn’t notice anything different.”

        “Very funny,” said Dawn in an even tone.  “Tell me that was a joke.”

        “It was a joke,” said Buffy.  “I noticed.  I even noticed Spike was up to something this morning.  In fact, I was starting to wonder what horrible demony thing was about to happen.”

        Willow walked down the main street in Sunnydale.  Her head was down and she seemed lost in thought as she approached the Magic Box.  She stared at the items in the window gloomily, then moved on.  It was the dinner hour, and there were people moving about, sometimes pushing past her as she moved too slowly for the rest of the pedestrian traffic.  To avoid a crowd of students bustling noisily past, she stepped back towards a wall and found herself staring into the window of a nearby restaurant. 

        The people in the closest booth were clearly visible. They were finishing their meal, and obviously having a good time together.  Xander waved his beer bottle at Buffy and Spike, making some sort of dramatic point, and then noticed that Dawn was stealing the remains of his French fries.  He was distracted and immediately started a good-natured argument with her about it.  The pantomime was painfully easy to follow; she had been a part of so many conversations like that she could have written the dialogue. 

        Willow’s eyes strayed to Buffy and Spike.  They were smiling at their companions like indulgent parents.  But they were only half-listening to Xander’s foolishness; Buffy’s hand had strayed along the seat of the booth and now rested on Spike’s thigh.  His own hand crept under the table to cover hers, and they exchanged what they thought was a secret smile.  Willow felt her stomach lurch painfully, and turned away, unable to bear the sight.

        Later that evening, Xander and Dawn were arguing in front of the TV.  “That is such a lame movie,” said Dawn.

        “Not the best,” agreed Xander.  “But at least it has special effects.  What’s so good about Gilmore Girls?  It’s, like, normal.”

        “In my life that practically is a special effect,” said Dawn.  The doorbell rang and she stood up to answer it.  “Anyway, it’s better than Lost in Space, which is even stupider than the TV show it was based on.”  She opened the door.  “Willow!”

“Danger, Will Rosenburg, danger!” cried Xander.

        “That was too obvious, Xander,” moaned Dawn.

        Willow stood outside, looking uncertain.  “Hi, Dawny.”

        “Come in,” said Dawn, pulling the door open wider.  “And ignore Xander.  It’s good to see you.  It’s been so long since you dropped by.”

        “I had the feeling I wasn’t welcome.”

        “Buffy never meant that,” said Dawn earnestly.  “Not that you shouldn’t come and visit.  We’ve told you to come lots of times.”

        Willow didn’t answer.  She was staring at Xander.  “Hi,” she said slowly.

        “Hi,” he said.  “Are you okay?  You look a little down.”

        “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she said, sidling across the room, her eyes darting in every direction.  “I just was free this evening and I thought I’d try to spend some quality time with, with my friends.  Is Buffy here?”

        “She and Spike are patrolling,” said Xander.  “I was just staying with Dawn until they came back.  We were gonna watch Lost in Space.”

        “Gilmore Girls,” said Dawn firmly.

        Willow smiled weakly at this.  “I just wanted to hang, you know,” she said.

        There was a squawking noise.  Xander reached down and pulled a beeper off his belt and looked the number it displayed.  “Uh, oh,” he said.  “I need to use your phone, Dawn.”

        While he was making the call, Willow smiled at Dawn.  “So, how is school?  Everything working out okay?  Are you still spending a lot of time with Janice?”

        Dawn answered, but Willow didn’t seem to be paying attention.  Xander got off the phone and explained that the police had called about a possible burglary at a construction site; he had to drive there and see if anything had been stolen or damaged.  “Good thing you’re here, Will.  You can keep Dawn company.”

        “Yeah, that will be great,” said Willow.

        Xander left, and Dawn started to talk about her dress for Saturday’s dance.  Willow interrupted her in mid-sentence, standing up and saying, “You know, Dawn, since I’m here, I need to pick up some things I left upstairs.  I’ll just run up and get them now.”

        “Oh, but they won’t be—“ Dawn started to say, but broke off because Willow was already halfway up the stairs.  Dawn followed her, catching up as Willow opened the door to Buffy’s room.  She stared around, astonished at the transformation.

        “We fixed it up for Buffy,” explained Dawn, so proud of her contribution to the surprise that she didn’t realize how dismayed Willow was.  “She wanted it like this, but she couldn’t afford it yet, so we pitched in.  And the coolest thing is, now she has some money left because Xander did so much of the work himself and showed us how to get stuff cheap, so maybe I can do something to my room.  Xander’s going to help me and –”

        “Buffy is using this room now,” said Willow slowly.

        “Well, Buffy and Spike,” said Dawn with a giggle, “but Buffy thinks I’m not supposed to know that.  They kinda had to move after Buffy broke the other bed.  Xander thinks he can fix it up a little better so that we can use it for guests, though.”

        “And Xander doesn’t mind that Buffy and Spike are together?” asked Willow incredulously.

        “He does, but he told me he’d mind more if Buffy didn’t want to—you know, stay with us.  And we can all see that having Spike around is helping her.  Anyway, Tara went through most of your stuff when she was helping us plan this room, and –”

        “Tara?” interrupted Willow.  “Tara knew about this?  That our room was gone?”

        “Your room?” Dawn looked puzzled.  “But it was always temporary, wasn’t it?  I mean, it was great of you and Tara to move in and take care of me while Buffy was gone, but now she’s back and—” she stopped, not sure what else to say. 

        Willow stepped over to the dresser and picked up the warrior statue.  Dawn seized on a new topic.  “Isn’t that neat?  Spike found it for Buffy.”

        “Spike?” said Willow, her voice muffled.

        “Yeah, but don’t worry.  It’s not enchanted or possessed by dancing demons or anything.  Tara checked it out.”

        “Everyone seems to have been involved except me,” said Willow, putting the statue back.  She gazed at Dawn’s reflection in the dresser’s mirror.

        “But I asked,” said Dawn slowly.  “You remember, a couple of weeks ago, I told you Buffy wanted to fix up her room, and you said you didn’t think that would help much.  If you had wanted, you could have helped.”

        Willow turned to face her.  “I didn’t know you meant this room.  I didn’t know you meant something like this.”

        “Sorry,” said Dawn, “but I’m sure there’s something else you can do.  Maybe you could help her fix up her old room for guests or something—“

        Willow turned around and smiled tautly.  “That’s okay.  Where did you say Tara and my—I mean my stuff was?”

        Willow followed Dawn into the basement and looked at the cardboard boxes that contained the clutter removed during redecoration.  Some of it had belonged to Buffy’s mother, so she had to sort through carefully to find what belonged to her.  There wasn’t much, and Dawn was surprised Willow had bothered.  There were a few faded t-shirts, an ancient pair of sneakers, and some toiletry items. But Willow bundled these items into one of the boxes and then added an old sweatshirt, after feeling through its pockets.  “This is everything, I think,” she said, and started up the stairs.

        “Would you like a cup of tea or something?” said Dawn as she turned out the basement light.

        “That would be great,” said Willow, putting the box down by the front door.  She stayed behind while Dawn went into the kitchen and snatched up the sweatshirt.  She pulled something out of the depths of its pockets and put it in her jeans.  She was turning to follow Dawn when she noticed the coats hanging by the door.  It was a warm night, and apparently Buffy and Spike were patrolling in shirtsleeves. 

        Willow quickly rifled through the pockets of both coats.  She snatched up Spike’s lighter and was about to slip it into her own pocket when she found the talisman.  She turned it over and over in her hand, frowning.  Then she returned the lighter to Spike’s coat and kept the talisman instead.  “This is even better than what I came for,” she muttered.

        Dawn brought the tea into the living room, but seemed uncomfortable in Willow’s company.  Finally, she asked if Willow would mind if she ran upstairs to get her clothes and things ready for school the next day.  Willow said she would be happy waiting downstairs until Buffy returned.  “I need to talk to her,” she told Dawn.  “There are some things I need to get straight with her.”

        “That’s good,” said Dawn, smiling hopefully.  “You should clear the air.  Get back to being good friends, the way she and Xander are.  Remember how the two of you always used to talk everything over together?”

        Dawn had only just left when the back door opened and Willow heard voices in the kitchen.  She moved towards the rear of the house, where she could hear the conversation and see what happened in the kitchen.

        “I don’t feel good about this,” Buffy was saying.  “I just don’t trust him.”  Willow heard the refrigerator door open.  “Maybe we should just not have anything do to with it.”

         “Yeah, because avoiding someone who may be up to no good is such a great way to keep tabs on him.”  Spike shut the back door and joined her in her quest for food.  “That’s the way to find out what the nasty monsters are up to.”

        “Great.  You want me to be Mata Hari.  You know I suck at undercover.  Besides, the whole thing just gives me the wiggins.”

        He shrugged.  “Whatever you say.  Deciding what’s right and wrong is your job.”

        “And what’s yours, besides picking up information at poker games and using the mighty force of sarcasm to criticize my decisions?”

        “You tell me where you want the punches, and I’ll throw them, love.”

        “Just following orders?  That’s your new philosophy?”

        “No, but since I don’t have any better instincts to follow, it seems like a good idea to trust yours instead.”

“I still say—Willow!”  Buffy noticed her friend.  “When did you come in?”

        “I’ve been staying with Dawn,” said Willow.  “Xander had to go, so I was just hanging.  Except Dawn went upstairs to get ready for school.”

        “Yeah, it’s been major trauma week for her,” said Buffy.  “I’m sure she’s recited the whole epic to you.”  At Willow’s blank look, she added, “Buying a dress for the dance, fight with best friend, what to do about her hair.  Remember when you and I used to go on endlessly about that stuff?”

        “Yes,” said Willow slowly.  “It doesn’t seem that long ago.”

        Spike had been standing the corner, unacknowledged by Willow.  “It wasn’t,” he said.  “In fact, why don’t you two have a good chat while I go watch the telly?  I’m sure Buffy has a lot to tell you.”

        Buffy, in fact, looked alarmed at the prospect of a heart-to-heart conversation with Willow.  Willow saw the hesitation in her old friend’s face and backed away.  “No,” she said.  “I think I have to be going.  I’m sure Buffy has other people she can talk to.”  The last sentence was punctuated with an angry glance at Spike.

        Willow went out to the front door and picked up the box of things she had gathered in the basement.  “Oh, you got some of your stuff,” said Buffy, trying for a cheerful tone.

        “Yes,” said Willow.  “I don’t think there’s anything of mine left here now.”

        Buffy looked forlorn as the door sh