CHAPTER 15

“Hey, Xander!” Dawn greeted him at the door. “Big day? I’m guessing you’re not going to feel like getting demon goo on that shirt.”

Xander looked down at his carefully pressed shirt and chinos. “I can’t make patrol tonight, Dawn. I’ve got a date.”

Dawn grinned. “That’s great! Who with?”

“She’s one of the secretaries at the high school,” Xander explained. “I got to know her while we were finishing off the classrooms. Anyway, I sort of ran into her yesterday, and I’m taking her out for dinner tonight.”

”But I thought you and Anya –”

Buffy dumped the dinner plates on the table with a crash and hurried in. Her intervention wasn’t needed, however, as Xander was already shaking his head.

“She’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want me. Besides, demon and human? BAD idea.”

Buffy opened her mouth to disagree, then thought better of it. The last thing she should be doing was letting Xander think he might have another chance with Anya. Or talking about Spike with Xander, a voice inside her head prompted.

“So which one is it?” Dawn asked with a grin. “It can’t be the redhead, because I heard she’s having a thing with Coach Sutherland. Marcy saw them getting hot and heavy in the gym one day last week.”

“Her name’s Erin,” Xander replied. “She sits by the window. I got talking to her after someone broke it, and she asked if we could fix it. There was glass all over her desk.”

“I know her! The one with the brown hair, right? She seems really nice!” Dawn enthused. “But isn’t she kinda … well, short?”

“Hey!” said Buffy from the doorway, “Watch the heightism, Dawn. I’m still your guardian, you know.” The sisters shared a smile. They’d not expected to both be as happy with that situation as they were now.

 “She’s not that short,” said Xander absently, looking anxiously at his watch. “I have to go.”

As the door closed behind him, Dawn turned to her sister. “So can I patrol with you tonight?”

“Homework,” was the pointed reply.

Dawn smiled. “All done. And I got a B on my history test.”

Buffy tried to look stern. “That should have been –” then gave up, not feeling like playing the hypocrite right now. She had hardly been the sort of model student that could complain about a B. She smiled. “Sure you can come on patrol. Spike’s coming too. In fact, I asked him to dinner as well.”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed with interest as she looked at her sister.

“What?” asked Buffy defensively.

“Just checking for the antennae that prove that you’re really Evil Robot Buffy,” Dawn replied. “What’s going on? You’re all ‘I’m going to Spike’s now’ and ‘Wanna see if Spike can come to our party?’ After what he did, even if you’ve forgiven him, isn’t that kinda weird?”

Buffy sighed and sat down on the stairs. “Nothing’s going on with me and Spike. We’ve decided to be friends, that’s all.” She remembered her vow to be more open with Dawn and added, in a small voice, “So far, at least.”

The casual observer would not have recognised Dawn’s usually pretty face at that moment. Her eyes bugged, her jaw dropped, and she actually squealed in excitement. “Tell me,” she demanded, grabbing a chair and dragging it to the hall, so as not to let her sister escape.

Buffy sighed. “First, you have to understand that Spike never realised what he was doing that day. Not at the time – though he did afterwards, and beat himself up about it. All the time we were together, I denied that we had a relationship. I wouldn’t let him tell anyone about us. I’d be kissing him and saying no all at the same time, telling him it wasn’t real, that it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter.

“I went to see him a few days ago, and I kind of did something similar. I didn’t mean it that way – I don’t know how I meant it – but he overreacted, and told me to get out.” She looked at her sister, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to do that, Dawny. It just slipped out.” Tears flooded her eyes as she continued. “Later, when I was talking to Giles about A- something else, I realised I don’t just want to be his friend.”

Dawn frowned. “You and Giles? Buffy, that’s just sick.”

Buffy smiled wanly, wishing she had a pillow to throw at her sister. “Spike, dummy.” Dawn clutched her chest in mock relief. “We had a talk, and we’ve decided to be friends.” She picked at one thumbnail with great concentration. “When he came back, he told me he still loved me. After what he said, though, I don’t think he does anymore.” She brushed at her tears.

Dawn leapt up, took her hand, and hurried her up the stairs.

“Why are we going up here?” asked Buffy, puzzled.

“We’re getting you changed,” replied her sister, surveying her jeans (designer) and sweatshirt (different designer) in disgust. “And since Sexy Patrolling Clothes-R-Us isn’t an option, it’s Raid-Buffy’s-Wardrobe-Time.”

***

”I just feel like things are out of control,” said Willow, munching on a pretzel.

 “What kinds of things, love?” asked Spike sympathetically.

“Oh, everything,” she replied. “Dawn’s still not speaking to me, Anya won’t trust me near the Magic Box. Xander’s busy with work all day, and we can’t hang out every night. I’ve been out on patrol with Buffy once or twice, but without my magic I’m just a liability to her. I mean, I can carry her weapons bag and scream when I see something coming, but that’s about it. And watching her fight – it just reminds me that she had to fight me that way.”

She frowned, then continued, “Back in Devon, the witches in the coven were big on self-control. But that’s not the problem.”

Spike cocked an enquiring eyebrow at her.

“It’s powerlessness,” she explained. “I can’t do anything to change what I did, but without my magic I can’t move forward either. I just go where I’m put. It’s like I’m trapped on a rollercoaster. I can’t be in control of my life until I get it back.”

He smiled gently. “This was meant to be a holiday, love, not a magical panacea. D’you feel like it was worth coming back, then?”

“Oh yes,” she replied hurriedly. “I’ve said goodbye to Tara properly now.” She wiped away an errant tear. “It still hurts, but it’s less raw than it was before. I don’t cry myself to sleep every night, and I don’t wake up knowing there’s something wrong, something missing. I just … I just wish things were different.”

Spike patted her shoulder reassuringly. “You’re far from the first person to wish that, love. Things’ll start looking up soon.”

She looked at him, tugging anxiously on a lock of hair beside her face. “Spike?”

“Mmmmm?” he mumbled through a mouthful of pretzels

“If a person – if a person does something bad – by accident – do you think they should be forgiven?”

He smiled openly at her then. “Vampire, here. Ex-scourge of Europe. I killed hundreds – probably thousands of people. Do I feel bad about it? Sure – but do I let remorse run my life? Course not. I have to believe in forgiveness, pet, or there’d be no point.”

She stared into her mug of coffee, thinking this through. Could it really be as simple as that?

***

Dawn grinned at the sight of Spike standing at the front door.

“Come in, Spike.”

“Thanks, Niblet. Didn’t know you’d be here or I’d have brought some flowers for you, too.”

Dawn smiled. “’Sokay. Buffy’s in the kitchen. Come through if you like.”

Inside the kitchen, he stood nervously for a moment before handing the flowers to the Slayer. “Yellow roses, love. The yellow means friendship.”

“And the roses?” Buffy asked as she set them carefully on the counter. “What do they mean?”

Spike ducked his head and mumbled, “Love.”

The word hung in the air between them. Neither noticed as Dawn backed slowly out of the room.

The oven timer sounding made them both jump, and Buffy turned to retrieve the casserole from the oven.

“Smells good,” said Spike, not sure whether he was referring to the scent of the dinner or of the Slayer’s perfume.

Buffy blushed. “It’s from the deli,” she confessed. “All I had to do was heat and eat. It sounded good, though. And they promised there was no garlic.”

“Yeah, but did you think to ask about holy water?” quipped Spike.

Not dignifying this with an answer, Buffy poked the chicken and vegetables with a serving spoon, and then ladled it into the three bowls laid out on the counter. “Can you take two of these through to the dining room?” she asked. “I’ll just grab some water.”

Dinner with Spike was certainly more entertaining than a night at home with Buffy, Dawn decided. For starters, he kept them entertained with anecdotes of his time in London. Dawn’s favourite story was of the first night he’d joined the tour guides, although he had some amusing stories of the tourists’ antics as well. Buffy was as entranced as her sister, chuckling at his tales of lost tourists and of nighttime bumps and scares at the meat plant.

“Patrol time!” Dawn exclaimed, clearing away the dishes as soon as they had eaten. Spike smiled at her eagerness, following the sisters to Buffy’s weapons chest and watching as they selected weapons: a sword and light crossbow for Dawn; a smallish hand-axe and a handful of stakes for Buffy. Spike helped himself to a dagger and a pair of stakes, remembering, this time, to avoid the crosses. It wasn’t hard, as Buffy kept them all packed away in a clearly labelled box these days. He wondered if it was on his account.

***

“What’s that?” Dawn whispered, pointing to a shadowy cross-street two hundred or so yeards away.

“What’s what?” asked her sister, her attention distracted by her companion. Spike shushed them. Speaking so quietly that his words barely disturbed the air, he confirmed, “The Bit’s right. There’s something up ahead. I definitely saw movement.

“Wait here,” he continued. “I’ll see what kind of nasties -”

The identical looks of exasperation on two Summers faces stopped him in his tracks.

“We’re not your tourists, you know,” Dawn reminded him. “Or cattle carcasses, for that matter. Slayer/Mystical Warrior, AKA She Who Writes Off Nasties Before Breakfast, remember?”

Spike looked abashed at this. “I wasn’t –” – he gave up, and they moved forward together. The alley was deserted now, but the telltale patches of greenish-grey slime remained. The Grshnit had been there, and recently.

***

“Giles? It’s Spike.”

Giles reached for his pen and the journal in which he’d been recording Willow’s progress. “Nothing’s wrong in Sunnydale, I hope.”

“Nah, although these Grshnit are getting around a bit. They don’t seem to be up to anything, but everytime we go out we see them. I’ll feel better when the last of these books arrive, although no-one so far seems to know anything about them.”

Giles glanced reflexively at the bookshelves on his wall. He’d checked his own books already, of course.

“Anyway,” Spike continued, “I wanted to fill you in on what’s happening with Willow. I can’t give you anything specific, but something’s up. She’s worrying about something – she won’t tell me what, though. Could be as simple as what to put on Tara’s grave, but it could be a lot worse. If you ask me, this little visit was good for her, but it’s time to get her safely back to your witchy mates.”

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Spike. I do appreciate what you’re doing. I’m due back in Sunnydale on Friday, and I have rather a lot to catch up on here. Of course, I can come back sooner if I’m needed.”

“Friday’s fine,” Spike reassured him. “Like I said, I can’t tell you what’s bothering me – I just know that something’s not right.”

***

Dawn opened the door in response to Spike’s knock.

“Come in,” she said with a smile. “I should warn you, though, that Buffy’s in the world’s worst mood.”

“Is that Spike?” the Cranky One called.

Spike poked his head around the door of the dining room. Buffy sat in the centre of one side of the table, a notebook in front of her, papers and a couple of books spread chaotically across the table.

“How are you with reports?”

Spike grinned, moving to sit opposite her. “Better than you, I’m guessing. Care to tell me what this is all about?”

She scowled – but not at him, he noted with relief. “It’s Watchers’ Council paperwork. I can’t believe Giles had to do this every month. They want detailed daily reports, monster and kill counts, and research, research, research.” An outraged look came over her face. “They want charts and maps, Spike.”

Spike suppressed his amusement at her look of horror. “Let me see what you’ve got, pet.”

She handed him a sheaf of papers. “Dawn and I made a form. I’ve tried to fill out one of these every night. I thought it would help, but I still have to put it all together.”

He inspected the top page, reviewing her form.

“It’s a start,” he conceded. “Do you have any notes on your research?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Right. Research. With the books and the –” she consulted a checklist in front of her – “primary sources.”

“Right,” he said. “No research. Let’s get started then, pet.”

He pulled her notepad and pen towards him, jotting down some figures. “Not bad, Slayer. Thirty-four vamps and eighteen assorted demons. You’ve been busy.”

Buffy tried to look modest. She failed. Miserably.

“First things first,” said Spike. “Do you have a map?”

She produced a photocopied map of Sunnydale and a collection of coloured dots.

“Excellent. Red for the vamps, I think. You stick, I’ll write. And when you’re done with that, grab yourself another map and plot out some of the Grshnit sightings, if you can. That should beef up the research section a bit. And we have to account for the inter-library loans somehow.”

They worked in companionable silence, Buffy sticking and Spike covering page after page with his tidy copperplate. She picked up a sheet at one stage. “’The Carlton Chronicles?’ Do they really exist or are you just making this stuff up?”

He shot her a mock-aggrieved look, then smiled. “Relax, love. They’re real enough. I’m not going to queer your pitch with the Council of Wankers.”

After a couple of hours, Spike declared himself finished. Buffy gathered up the papers and smiled at him. “Thank you, Spike. You really helped me out tonight. I want you to know that I appreciate it. A lot.”

Spike ducked his head, uncomfortable with the unexpected praise. “Any time, pet.” It was a promise, not a platitude. “Working together like this – it was nice.”

Buffy’s eyes met his in a rare moment of honesty. “Yeah,” she agreed softly.

***

Willow’s light was on when Xander got home after work. He’d stayed late to finalise some shift rosters and check inventory at the site.

“Hey Xander,” she said, as she opened the door, looking younger and more innocent in her green flannelette pyjamas. “How was the big date last night?”

“Not bad,” Xander replied, fighting back a smile. “I really like this woman, Will. She’s funny and sweet and we talked for hours. Plus,” he added, feeling almost like a traitor to his friends for saying it, “she’s absolutely and completely normal. I’ve seen her by daylight, and last night I managed to make her spill the salt. She didn’t even throw it over her shoulder.”

Willlow smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm. “Are you seeing her again?”

“Tomorrow night,” replied Xander. “We’re going to a movie.”

“That’s great!” Willow enthused. “I was just about to have some cocoa. Can I get you some too?”

“I’m always up for warm chocolatey goodness,” Xander replied as his friend disappeared into the kitchen.

She’d clearly been reading; her computer and some books were spread on the coffee table. He picked one up and flicked through it, pausing only when he discovered the unusual bookmark.

“It should be ready in a couple of -” Willow said as she returned, to find Xander standing behind his chair, a serious look on his face. She frowned in puzzlement, which changed to guilt when she saw which book he was holding.

“What’s this?” he asked sternly.

“It – it’s my journal from last year, Xander. And it’s private.” She decided to bluff it out. “I’d like it back, please.”

“And this too, I suppose,” he replied, holding out the sprig of Lethes’ Bramble that had marked a page. “Willow, how could you? All this time, we thought you had sworn off magic – we’ve been trying to help you, and then I find this in your room. What else have you made us forget?”

Willow paled, picking at the fabric on the back of a chair. “Nothing, Xander. I swear, I haven’t cast any forget spells. It was tucked in the journal, that was all.”

Xander sat quickly, reaching for the other books, shaking them angrily. “And what do you have hidden in these books then, Will? More magic herbs? A couple of crystals, or an amulet perhaps? How stupid do you think I am?”

Willow’s eyes flashed angrily. “Xander, I’m not renouncing magic. I thought you understood that. My magic’s not gone away – it’s blocked inside me somewhere. The coven in Devon – the witches there aren’t training me to live without magic, they’re teaching me how to handle it when I *do* regain my powers.”

“Like how to handle your friends when you’ve made them forget who they are?” asked Xander, shaking his head in disgust. “I just wish I knew what else you’d been up to while we were trying to help you.”

Willow bit her lip anxiously. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Xander replied, his face revealing his pain. “I just feel like you betrayed me, Will – you betrayed us all. I thought you were working to get better, but now – I just can’t handle this right now.”

Scooping up the books, he stalked out of her apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving his friend sobbing on her sofa.

***

 “I’d best be going then,” said Anya airily, trying valiantly to sound as though she wasn’t afraid that this was the end of her relationship with Giles.

Giles looked up from the book from which he was taking notes. “So soon? Sorry, darling. I’ve not been paying as much attention to you as I’d have liked.” He gestured at the pile of books. “I’m trying to find something to help with the Sunnydale situation, but this all seems like so much rubbish. No-one seems to know anything about these Grshnit demons that couldn’t be written on a rather large toenail.”

Anya shrugged. “I met one once. He didn’t talk much about himself, though. I’m afraid I have no useful information for you.” She paused, then added urgently, “I would share it with you if I did know anything. You do get that, right?”

Giles sighed, removing his glasses. “I do ‘get’ that. Come here.” He held out his arms to her.

She moved closer, standing hesitantly before him, hands clasped anxiously in front of her. He reached for her, pulling her gently onto his knee and wrapping his arms around her as though he’d never have to let go if he held her tightly enough.

She pouted slightly, sticking her lower lip out. “It’s my being a demon, isn’t it? That stupid conversation ruined everything. You’ve gone away somewhere – someplace inside your head – and I want my Giles back.”

He smiled – as she had intended. “It didn’t ruin everything, darling. We’re both adults, and we can get through this.” He looked her directly in the eye. “I love you, Anyanka. That means that I won’t let a philosophical discussion ruin a wonderful relationship.”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes on his shoulder. “I love you too, Giles. I really do. So much that sometimes I feel I might burst. I just wish life in the mortal realm was less complicated.”

“We’ll get through this, darling. We both have some thinking to do, but we’ll see each other again soon.” He stroked her cheek gently, one finger tracing the path of the single errant tear that had escaped. “And when we do, I’d like to tell the others about us, if you agree.”

She kissed him slowly, lingeringly. “I really have to go. I’d much rather stay, but I have responsibilities. You’re right about confessing to our secret sexual liaisons, though. We should share our happiness with our friends.” She paused, then added with a mischievous look, “After we’ve adequately explored the Jacuzzi in your suite, of course.”

When she had gone, Giles wiped his glasses wearily. He only hoped that he was right about their working things out. Life without Anya – Anyanka, he reminded himself – was not a prospect he could contemplate with any degree of enthusiasm.