“Psst! Buffy!”

The whisper came from somewhere just outside her window. Buffy ran to open it. “Spike? How’d you get here?”

He grinned up at her from where he was hanging from the edge of the window with one hand. “Shimmied over from the Bit’s tree. Was nothing, really.”

“That tree barely touches Dawn’s window! How long did it take you?” With Slayer strength, she heaved him up and into the room.

“Too long,” Spike murmured before he devoured her lips with his, tackling her to her bed.

She laughed breathlessly, pulling him closer. “You know, you could have just come in through the front door. Faith’s not even back yet.” Their trysts over the past week had been frequent and in his crypt, but they made sure not to be seen together there when Faith was on patrol. There was no need to make the frustrated slayer even more annoyed.

Spike shrugged. “No need to traumatize the Bit more than necessary, or put her in a bad situation,” he reminded her, running soft fingers over the small of her back. “Slayer is out pretty late tonight, though. New baddie I missed?”

Buffy shook her head, gasping as Spike nipped and sucked at her neck with blunt human teeth. “Three nerds, if you can believe that,” she managed, clutching at his hair as his mouth moved lower. “Faith caught them at her salon. They were invisible, but they wouldn’t shut up, so she caught them trying to- oh!” He’d unbuttoned her blouse and seized a nipple in his mouth. “Spike!”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was reminding herself that she didn’t want this, but it felt so wonderful and she wasn’t quite ready for it to stop…

“Buffy?” The banging on the door snapped Buffy back to herself.

“Dawn!” she hissed, shoving Spike into the closet and hastily buttoning her blouse. She yanked open the door. “Hey, Dawnie, what’s doing?”

“I heard a noise,” Dawn said, her arms crossed and her foot tapping against the doorpost. “You were screaming something. It sounded like…” She studied Buffy critically. “It sounded like you were saying, ‘Spike.’”

Buffy laughed nervously. “Well, I was…uh…having a dream.”

“About Spike?” Dawn’s eyes narrowed.

“He is a hottie, huh?” Buffy looked at Dawn hopefully.

Dawn wrinkled her nose. “Ew, he’s like my brother! But yeah, he is,” she conceded. “Just remember that he’s Faith’s. So hands off.” She headed for her room, stopping midway to turn back to Buffy. “And by the way? Your buttons are all wrong.”

Buffy flushed, closing the door and locking it securely before she opened the closet door. Spike was waiting for her, dangling a pair of men’s boxers from his finger. “Something you want to share?”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “That you apparently have a strange fascination with Giles’s underwear? No, I think I’d prefer not to discuss that.”

Spike dropped it hastily and pulled Buffy back to him. “So, having dreams about me?” he purred.

“You wish,” Buffy mumbled, reddening.

“Mmm.” Spike moved back to her buttons. “I do.”

“Wait!” Buffy grabbed his hand before it went too far. “I can’t…I don’t want to…”

Spike dropped his hand reluctantly. “You know, there are other ways I could get you off, pet. Ways in which I won’t lose my nonexistent soul.”

“Spike…” Buffy sighed. “I can’t.”

“No,” he objected, turning to the window. “You won’t. There’s a difference.”

“Fine!” Buffy threw up her hands. “Go back to Faith, then, if that’s all you want!”

He turned and seized her roughly, backing her up against a wall. “This isn’t about sex, Buffy. It’s about trust. It’s about you not trusting me with yourself, and pushing me away.”

“Please, like you’re one to talk?” Buffy snapped. “Your last girlfriend trusted you so much that she tried to kill you last week!”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “I’m not Angel, and you’re not that innocent little virgin anymore. It’s time to face that.” He spun around and climbed out the window without so much as a goodbye.

Buffy watched him go, clenching her jaw in annoyance. She was over Angel. Why was that so hard for Spike to accept?

--

Warren scowled. “Well, this is just useless!” he snapped, hurling the Inviso-Ray to the ground.

“Hey, watch it,” Andrew moaned, cradling the clay Darth Vader he’d constructed in third grade close to him. “You’re gonna ruin stuff.”

“Not to mention the priceless diamond we stole,” Jonathan noted, frowning at the shattered pieces that surrounded it. “We’re not getting that Nobel Prize, are we?”

Warren spun around to glare at him. “The Slayer now knows our identities and destroyed our gun, and you’re worried about awards? We’re screwed!”

“Unless…” Jonathan moved to his computer, clicking on an icon marked “SLAYER PR0N! XXX” and called up their most recent images of Buffy and Spike. “We’ve still got these.”

“You want to turn Spike and Buffy into our sex slaves?” Andrew asked hopefully, tossing a furtive glance at their newest project.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Warren said drily, leaning over Jonathan’s shoulder. “No, I think it’s time we unleashed Faith and Buffy on each other. And this should do it.” He clicked PRINT.

--

“Tara, don’t go!” Willow pleaded. “We can still work things out. I haven’t used magic on you all week!”

“I-I haven’t b-been around all week,” Tara retorted, packing t-shirts into a box. She hadn’t planned on officially leaving their dorm room so soon, but her other friend in the dorms had had an emergency visit from her sister and no longer had space for Tara, too. “A-and I w-warded against y-your magic!” And what magic it had been! Tara hadn’t sensed how strong it was from afar, but now that she was in their room, she could smell the pervasive odor poisoning her nostrils, making the witch in her want to curl up and hide. Dark magic had been done in the room, darker, fouler magic than even what Willow had used to resurrect Faith. The air tasted like Hell itself.

At least Willow’s best hadn’t broken through the wards. Spike had confirmed as much when she’d gone to see him. They were all safe. So far.

“Tara.” There were actual tears in Willow’s eyes, and they were greener than Tara had seen in a long time. She sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around Tara’s legs and resting her head against her front. “Please, give me another chance! I’ll die without you!”

Tara slid down to face Willow, cupping her face in her hands, and gave her a soft, chaste kiss. “I loved you,” she said gently. “But not like this.” She exited the room, leaving Willow sobbing on the floor.

~

“I’m sorry,” Faith said stiffly. “But you can’t expect me to say yes. Willow’s my best friend.”

“I-it would j-just be for a d-day or two,” Tara stuttered. “U-until my friend’s s-sister leaves. I-I’d be in the b-basement, n-not a bother at all.”

“It’s bad enough that I’m living with Buffy,” Faith spat out the name. “I don’t need another person Will’s not going to want to be around.”

Tara had the feeling that Willow wouldn’t be as unwilling to see her as Faith suspected, but she didn’t have the energy- okay, or the courage- to fight the other girl. It was just a pipe dream, anyway, living with Buffy and Dawnie for a few days. She hadn’t thought that it would pan out.

She wondered if Anya still had her old apartment, and if she’d let Tara stay there for a few days free of charge.

Nah.

She should probably stop at the bank before she went to see the ex-demon.

--

“How about red?” the girl in question asked, studying herself in the mirror. “Try red,” she ordered the hairstylist. The woman immediately pulled out the reddish hair dyes for Anya to peruse.

Buffy watched, bemused. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up here, helping Anya pick the right hairstyle for her wedding. One second she’d been at the Magic Box to do some afternoon training, the next she was being dragged across town to act as entourage to the soon-to-be bride. “How about this one?” she suggested, holding out a bottle featuring a bright orange-red color.

Anya shook her head. “That’s Willow’s color. As the bride, I need to stand out. People have to pay attention to me.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Willow’s hair’s a bit darker these days,” Buffy noted dryly. “I don’t think you’re at much risk of matching.”

Anya pulled her hair out of its current updo, running her fingers through it to give it a soft curl. “Yes, but Tara’s leaving will probably ruin that,” she said crossly, eyeballing Buffy. “This is all your fault.”

“How is your hair crisis my fault?” Buffy wondered, nixing a more artificial red. “Never mind, I’m sure it is.” A thought occurred to her. “How did you know that I told her?”

“Everyone knows.” Anya snatched the bottle from Buffy, putting a few strands of hair next to it to judge the colors. “You’re very obvious about these things.”

“Things? There are things now?” Buffy asked skeptically.

“Oh, of course.” Anya spun around to beckon to the hairstylist. “How about this one? Brings out my eyes, don’t you think? You’re in love with Spike.”

“What? No, I’m not!” Buffy said hastily.

Anya wrinkled her brow. “Never mind, I’ll look like a carrot. Show me the browns. Why aren’t you helping, Buffy?”

Buffy stared at her, taking the dyes reluctantly. “I’m kind of thrown by the whole me-being-in-love-with-Spike theory.” She picked off a dark brown and gave it to Anya.

“Oh, that.” Anya waved her hand. “It’s natural for feelings to emerge when you’re sleeping with a man. That’s how Xander and I fell in love.”

“Sleeping with…?” Buffy tried to summon up the incredulity she should be showing, sighed, and gave up. “How long have you known?”

Anya shrugged. “Days. Well, Xander thinks that it’s been going on for weeks, but you still seem oddly unsatisfied for someone who’s sleeping with Spike. I know that he’s quite good. Faith and I chat about our sex lives all the time.”

“I’m not actually…we’re not…” Buffy toyed with a bottle of hair dye. “You know.” It was strange, but of all the people she could speak to about this, Anya seemed most natural. She was refreshingly frank, the blunt one among all the pretense and lies that surrounded the rest of the group. She was open enough that Buffy felt like she could say anything without being judged.

Plus, she liked talking about sex.

“I can’t imagine why not,” Anya said, frowning. “I know that Faith isn’t sleeping with him anymore, so he’s definitely free.”

Buffy blinked at Anya, sudden worry pervading her thoughts. “You’re not going to say anything to Faith, are you?” Anya didn’t exactly have a big mouth, per se, but she did say what was on her mind when she deemed it appropriate. Which, of course, wasn’t usually very appropriate.

Anya shook her head. “Xander says that we should just pretend that we know nothing. I think that’s the best plan. Plus, it must make things hotter when you keep them a secret!” she said brightly.

“A little,” Buffy admitted. She looked down. “You must think I’m a total slut.”

“Why?” Anya cocked her head in confusion. “You love Spike, and you’re not even sleeping with him. That’s closer to frigid nun than slut.”

“Wow. Thanks for that,” Buffy said sarcastically. Anya continued to stare at her patiently. “Um. I have feelings for Spike, but I don’t exactly love him. He’s just really great. And I don’t sleep with anyone.”

“Because of your other vampire boyfriend who lost his soul and then mocked your sexual prowess and then tried to end the world?” Anya asked curiously. At Buffy’s disbelieving look, she explained, “Spike and Xander used to talk about you a lot.”

“Oh. Okay.” Buffy was feeling a little dazed. It might have been all the hair dye. Or it might have just been Anya. “Spike says I have trust issues.”

“That’s understandable. Stop that! I look awful!” Anya snapped at the stylist. She jumped back, giving Anya a dirty look, and lowered the wheels of the chair to push Anya to the sink. “If every guy you’ve slept with goes evil, of course you want to make sure that you really trust this one first. And you’re clearly not over what happened last time.”

“I’m over Angel!” Buffy protested. How many times did she have to say it? Why didn’t anyone believe her?

Because I might be over Angel, but I’m not quite over what he did to me, she understood suddenly. God, she was such an idiot! She’d finally found someone perfect for her, and she was pushing him away because of stupid old insecurities. She couldn’t lose Spike, and it wasn’t fair to either of them that she kept holding back. It was time to learn to trust again.

“I’ve got to go!” she announced, fueled with energy at her sudden epiphany.

“But what about the blonds?” Anya asked pitifully from where the hairstylist was scrubbing at her scalp with almost savage pleasure.

Buffy shoved the closest bottle into her hand. “Try this. You’ll look great in it.” She glanced at it. It was a floral-scented shampoo. Oh, well. You couldn’t win them all.

“Happy orgasms!” Anya called after her, trying to pull away from her stylist with little success.

She broke into a run as soon as she left the shop. Restfield cemetery was just around the corner, and buoyed by excitement, she barely noticed the tombstones and mausoleums as she wove through the cemetery. She was a girl on a mission, and she wouldn’t stop until she’d fixed things.

She flung open the door to the crypt with a bang, launching herself into Spike’s arms as soon as he stood. “Buffy?”

“Show me,” she said breathlessly. “Show me how to share myself with you.”

“Are you sure?” he asked tentatively, even as his eyes widened with awe and his hands moved to tug at her pants.

She kissed him hard, letting her hands rove up and down his bare chest and her body mold itself to his. “Positive.”

--

Faith slammed the door shut, her arms full of mail that Buffy and Dawn hadn’t bothered to take in all day. Where were they, anyway?

It was probably best that they weren’t around, though. She planned to take a nice, long nap before patrol, and hopefully forget Willow’s newest plot. She was pretty sure that Willow was tampering with magics she shouldn’t be touching, and all that talk of portals and dimensions brought to mind Glory, and then Ben’s death, and then her own death, and then the utter hopelessness that she felt whenever she thought of heaven. She wasn’t ready for eternal peace.

What kind of life did she lead that she dreaded what came after death far more than death itself?

She dropped the mail on the table, lost in thought, not noticing the unmarked package that had come with the rest of the letters. She had heavier things on her mind.

Willow. Buffy. Spike. Tara. Her own mortality. And whatever was coming next.