Buffy rubbed her eyes sleepily and made her way into the kitchen.  She
smelled coffee.  Coffee good.
 
Drawing her hand back from her eyes she beheld a slightly unsettling scene of domestic bliss. 
 
Dawn drank a glass of orange juice and scribbled furiously at her homework. Spike sat next to her, peering over her shoulder and making a few suggestions between bites of blood-sodden Weetabix.

Spike, there in the morning.  Spike, eating breakfast.  Spike, seeing her hair standing straight up.  When in doubt, do what you know, Buffster.  Banter.
 
"The Weetabix has to go, Spike."

Spike looked up from Dawn's homework, a broad smile illuminating his face.   "Morning, luv.  Sleep well?"
 
Buffy ran her fingers through her tangled hair--a futile attempt to make it behave.  "I could have slept better.  I felt kinda restless."
 
Spike rose from his chair and closed the space between them.  Buffy's pulse accelerated as one of his hands reached up, tucking a wayward blond strand behind her ear.  "We could have done something about that, pet."  Roguishly, he raised an eyebrow.

Buffy brushed her lips across his smooth, cool cheek.  She heard an unnecessary breath catch in his throat.  Even that--just a little kiss--it meant so much to him.  Of course, Spike wasn't used to her touching him.  Well, touching him in a non-violent, non-Slayer-y way. 
 
"OK, guys.  I've seen enough.  That's my cue to go."  Dawn gulped the remaining juice and threw her books into her backpack.  "Bye, Buffy.  Bye, Spike."  She chuckled.  "Be good."

Spike smirked and reluctantly dragged his eyes away from Buffy.  "Aren't we always?  Have a good day, Niblet."
 
"Have a good day.  Learn lots."  Buffy turned and gave Dawn a quick hug. 
 
Dawn waved and ran out the door, grinning from ear to ear. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Willow sat on a park bench, watching the sunrise.  The tears had stopped long ago, drying in streaky, salty lines across her face. 
 
She had to fix this.  But what if she screwed it up again and made it worse? Should she give Tara back all her memories, even the bad stuff?  Or should she give her the edited version?  If Tara knew the truth, she'd lose her for good.

"Maybe I don't deserve Tara."  Willow buried her face in her hands.   "Maybe I don't deserve anyone."  Slowly, she got up from the bench.  She knew what she had to do.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Now we're alone, Spike . . ."

"Mmm-hmmm."  Spike buried his face in her hair, then began working his way down her neck, his lips tracing delicate patterns across her skin.

"Spike, you make it really hard to concentrate."

"That's the idea, pet."  His words were muffled by Buffy hair.

Reluctantly, Buffy pulled away.  God, she didn't want to do this.  Drawing a deep breath, she poured herself a cup of coffee and took a small sip.  It burned slightly going down.  Nice and hot.

"Spike, there's some stuff I need to tell you." 
 
Spike watched as a cloud of worry fell across her features.  Whatever Buffy wanted to say, it was bloody serious.  Maybe she was rethinking the whole chance thing.  Maybe she'd realised . . .

"Look, just read this."  Buffy tossed a file at him, avoiding his eyes.  "Then we'll talk.  In the meantime, I need to call Giles.  What time do you think it is in England?"
 
"It's afternoon, luv.  You won't wake him, unless Ripper's been out on a bender."  Spike flashed a tentative smile.
 
Buffy smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes.  "I think it's safe to call." 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Xander pounded a nail just a little too violently into the stud.  Adrenaline rushed through his system. Barely suppressed rage will do that for you. How could Buffy just accept what Spike had done? She was still the Slayer, right?  Protector of the innocent? The more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off.

The worst part was, he'd started to like the bastard.  Well, maybe like was too strong a word, but the guy was good for a game of pool.   And he only stole his money sometimes.  OK, Xander. Not a guy. A corpse. A walking, talking, blood-drinking corpse. That's all. Totally stake-worthy.

"Hey Harris, don't break it."  Jimmy, his co-worker, watched as Xander almost hammered right through the two-by-four.  "Something bothering you?"

"Nah."  Xander forced a smile.  "I've just got a lot on my mind." 

"Women problems?"

"Nope."  Xander shook his head.  "Family stuff.  You know how it goes."

"Uh-huh.  Weddings always bring out the worst in people.  My mother-in-law was horrible.  Ran the whole damn show.  I barely needed to be there."

"Um-hmm."  Xander banged another nail into the stud, more gently this time.
 
Jimmy took the hint.  Obviously Harris didn't want to talk about it.

Xander swiped angrily at a bead of sweat.  Things to do tonight: talk to
Buffy, kill Spike.  A short list.  He might not be fast, he might not be strong, but he had the element of surprise on his side.   "We'll just see what a glorified brick-layer can do."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Hello?"

Giles was in England, but the connection was so good, it sounded like he was in the next room.  Buffy's throat constricted. 

"Hi Giles.  How's that yummy English food?"

"Buffy!  It's wonderful to hear from you!"
 
"England must agree with you, Giles.  You sound positively chipper.  But this isn't just a friendly chat.  I need you to go into watcher mode."

"Anything, Buffy.  What do you need?"

"I need to know everything about a Slayer . . ." Buffy paused and consulted Lydia's scribbled note, "Elizabeth Barry.  She lived in seventeenth-century England.  Her watcher was James Spencer.  I've read his diary, but her stuff seems to be missing.  I know you'll hate this, but could you dig around in those dusty Watcher archives for me?"

"What's going on, Buffy?  Are you alright?"  Giles's voice tightened with concern. 

"I'm fine, Giles.  I promise."  Yup.  Good Buffy.  Sounds totally believable.  "If you find anything, just fax the pages to the gallery.  Do you have the number?"

"I do, Buffy.  But why do you need her diary?  What's going on?"
 
Buffy allowed herself a sigh.  "Giles, as soon as I figure it out myself, I'll tell you."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 
Spike's stomach sank.  This was an eerily familiar little tale.  A bird in the seventeenth century went all homicidal after she had a taste of vamp blood.  A hollow laugh welled up in his throat.  "That explains a lot, mate.  Maybe that's why Buffy could suddenly stand to snog the soulless."
 
"Talking to yourself, Spike?  Buffy walked into the kitchen and replaced the phone in its cradle.  "It's one of the first signs of insanity, you know." 

Spike stared at her, waiting, his face a careful, impassive mask.

Buffy cleared her throat nervously.  "Giles is looking for the Slayer's diary entries.  If he finds anything, he'll fax it to the gallery.  So hopefully we'll know both sides of the story pretty soon."
 
Spike continued to stare.

"What?"  Self-consciously, Buffy tightened the belt of her robe.

Spike gestured towards the file.  "Is this why you're giving me a chance, Buffy?  Is this why you could be with the likes of me?"
 
Buffy's face furrowed with confusion.  "No, Spike, I . . ."

"Have I corrupted you, Buffy?  Is that it?  Has my blood done something to you?"  Spike's eyes looked suspiciously glassy.

"Spike," Buffy cradled his face in her hands.  "Look at me."

Spike reluctantly met her gaze. 

Gently, Buffy stroked his cheek.  "I don't think I'm corrupted.  I still feel the same.  But you're right.  What's in this file does worry me."

With calculated grace, Spike removed her hand from his face.  His words flew towards her like perfectly crafted little knives.  Precise.  Cutting.  The coldness reached his eyes.  "Maybe I should just leave you alone, until you get the stuff from Rupert.  Until you know for sure that what you're feeling isn't just some side effect of drinking my blood."

"But what if Giles can't find anything?"

Spike shrugged and strode into the living room, grabbing the comforter from the couch.

"Spike, don't do this.  Don't leave."

"Look luv, I've got things to do today."

"Like what, Spike?"  Buffy grasped his wrist.  "You're a vampire for God's sakes.  Vamp plus sunlight equals dust, remember?
 
Spike's flinty eyes met hers.  "Believe me, Buffy, I know what I am."

"Spike . . ."

Spike wrenched his wrist away.  Buffy saw the outlines of her fingers on his pale skin.  His hand wavered slightly as it reached for the door.  "Let me know when you hear from Rupert."  Spike opened the door, pulling the blanket over his head.  He didn't look back.

Buffy swallowed convulsively as she watched him run to his DeSoto, trailing smoke behind him.

GO TO PART TWENTY-TWO