Spike woke in warmth.

It surrounded him, soaked into his bones. Usually, waking up to something unfamiliar would have set his predatory instincts screaming in warning, but the enveloping heat felt safe… comfortable. He drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, content to remain as he was.

“Spike, wake up,” a soft, insistent voice dragged him a little closer to the surface.

A grumble echoed deep in his throat, pride would have called it a growl, but even so, it was a weak and whiney one. He could hear chuckling before the voice started needling at him again. “C’mon Spike, get up. No rest for the kinda wicked.”

Buffy?

Blue eyes slit open, and the vampire took in his surroundings with a little surprise. He was in the Summers’ house, stretched out on the couch in the living room. The slayer was standing over him, hands hovering near his arm, as if she couldn’t decide if poking a sleeping vamp was a good idea or not.

“’M up,” his voice creaked. “Thought you had school?” He managed to escape the worst of the tangled blue blanket, the source of the soporific heat if the power cord running out of the hem was any clue, and sat up.

Buffy straightened and grimaced at him. “Been, back, have the head cramp from the quiz to prove it. I swear they only give those when I really, really need to cut class.”

Spike smirked at her petulant tone of voice and rolled his head to one side, then the other, trying to work out the kinks in his neck. All night sessions in the war room were only cool in Bruckheimer movies. Research just wasn’t Spike’s thing; that was what minions were for. I miss Dalton…

The vampire ran a hand through his unruly hair and winced at the curls he found there. He’d have to do something about that. He caught sight of Buffy’s amused half-smile and jerked his hand away from his scalp. “Where’s the others,” he asked by way of a distraction.

“Tara just finished cooking breakfast, and now she’s off trying to wake Willow up so I can hear the skinny on the Giles sitch.” She looked down at her watch. “Dawn’s got one more hour of school, Xander’s at work, and Anya’s holding down the fort from the Magic Box. She’s gonna look for more stuff there and call later.”

Spike’s stomach made it clear which part of that statement it thought was the most interesting. “Breakfast?”

Buffy’s eyebrow crept a little higher, but she flipped her hair over her shoulder and nodded towards the kitchen. “Okay, more like a late lunch, but who’s counting? C’mon. It’s getting cold.”

The vampire, still a little fuzzy from sleep, shuffled into the kitchen. He noted gratefully that all the curtains were pulled, so he didn’t have to do his usual bob and weave to avoid getting fried.

To his surprise, he found Meret waiting for him on the counter, nibbling at her own little platter of bacon and orange slices. She rustled her feathers in happy greeting. Next to her, a huge stack of pancakes, buttermilk batter dripped into whimsical patterns, dominated the center of the island. He plopped down onto one of the tall stools in front of a waiting dish and pulled a couple of them onto the plate.

He started to rise again and make his way to the fridge for the more important aspect of his meal, when Buffy dropped a little syrup pitcher in front of him. It didn’t hold syrup though. He looked up at the slayer, surprised.

She looked shy, of all things. “Dawn said you, uh, dunk stuff or whatever,” she said haltingly, as if fishing for some kind of reaction.

Spike blinked, before trying on a ghost of a smile, “I do at that.” He picked up the pitcher and poured the warm pig’s blood over his stack. He fiddled a little with his silverware before adding a quiet, but sincere, “Thanks.”

That earned an honest smile, and soon Buffy had settled across from him, anointing her own pancakes with the more traditional maple syrup. What was more surprising was the ease of their chatter. A little bit of everything seemed to come up: patrolling, Dawn’s penchant for stealing her sister’s clothes, Xander and Anya’s upcoming wedding. Buffy started talking about her poetry classes, and feigned surprise when Spike weighed in, passionately in some cases.

And throughout the entire exchange, Meret seemed to radiate contentment and an underlying thread of pride, as if she had engineered the entire morning all on her own.

When Tara appeared some time later, with a still groggy Willow in tow, the two blondes were debating the relative merits of Tennyson, Browning, and Yeats. Or Spike was arguing towards Buffy, who was apparently playing dumb in order to spur him into even more vociferous insults of American higher education. Either way, it was a pretty entertaining way to spend a breakfast.

“Morning guys,” Willow said, smothering a yawn behind her hand. She took a seat next to the slayer, and Tara, after favoring Buffy and Spike with a quick nod and smile, perched on the stool next to the vampire. Willow didn’t seem to notice when Meret repositioned herself so that she could keep an eye on the witch, but Spike did. Buffy fell quiet, while the two Wiccans started their meals. She kept scooting the last bite of her own food around her plate with the tines of her fork, making high pitched screeches when the metal dragged against the white china.

Tara, of course, noticed Buffy’s unease first, and grazed a hand over Willow’s arm to get her attention. The redhead, looked up questioningly, and when her partner glanced pointedly at the fidgeting slayer, dropped her fork. “Oh, sorry Buffy. I’m not really awake yet.” She picked her fork back up, and started twirling the cut stack of pancakes around and around. “I think we might have found the spell last night. It fits with the circumstances and the materials Giles has been collecting. It’s easy to stop, if we can catch him,” she paused. “Her… Whatever. What was I talking about?”

“The spell,” prompted Tara quietly.

“Oh! So yeah, um, fairy tales!” She smirked impishly at Buffy’s baffled expression. “Most of the old fairy tales have some basis in truth. Remember the Gentlemen? And that whole fiasco with MOO and the demony Hansel and Gretel?” When the slayer nodded, Willow continued. “This time around, I think we might have found something in The Juniper Tree.”

“Huh?” was Buffy’s response.

Willow nodded enthusiastically. “It’s by the Brothers Grimm. There’s this evil stepmother, because pfft,” she rolled her eyes, “there’s always an evil stepmother in these things. So anyway, she kills her stepson because she wants all her husband’s money for herself and her daughter,” she was talking faster, caught up in her own excitement. “Then she convinces her daughter that it was her fault her brother was dead and hides the murder by cooking up the boy and serving him as dinner.”

Buffy carefully sat her fork back down on her plate and looked a little queasy. Meret rubbed her cheek against the slayer’s hand, a gesture that earned a grateful head scratch from the slayer.

Willow continued on, oblivious. “The sister felt so bad about her brother that she collected his bones in a silk scarf and put them under a juniper tree. Cue the funky special effects and poof!” she gestured excitedly with her fork, dripping syrup on the counter. “The bones are gone and this phoenixy bird shows up. It flies around town, sings a bunch, and finally ends up back at the house where it kills the evil stepmother. After that, the bird turned back into the little boy, alive and well, and they all lived happily ever after.”

“So spell wise, you can raise a murdered person by eating some of their flesh, placing them under some juniper, performing the requisite ritual, and then killing the murderer,” Willow concluded her tale of academic success by popping her pancake laden fork into her mouth and chewing enthusiastically. When the rest of the table didn’t share in her exuberance, she swallowed quickly, and asked, “What?”

Spike, who was the only other one still eating, swallowed his last bite, and answered when Buffy and Tara did not. “Not that I care, but I’m told that cannibalism isn’t the best table talk.”

The redhead flushed in embarrassment. “Oh, right.” Down went her fork again. “Um, I remembered coming across a spell, last summer.” She swallowed nervously and flicked a glance in Buffy’s direction. “It was all there: juniper, silk, uh, eating… stuff,” she winced a little at the others, but forged onward. “And a bunch of the other things that Giles has been collecting like cemetery dirt and bird skins. I think it’s the right one.”

Buffy had started pushing the little stack of pancakes back around her plate, her good mood well and truly gone. “So, how do we stop him? Her,” she rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, the spell needs a lot of energy. I don’t care how powerful Elaine was or Giles is; it’s going to take energy from something else to raise thirteen people. Tara made a list of all the places around Sunnydale that might work.” Willow smiled encouragingly at her girlfriend.

Tara took a deep breath and picked up the narration. “There’s a lot of mystical hot spots around town. Some of them, like the natural springs on the north side of town, and the caverns near the ocean, were consecrated to gods and goddesses that wouldn’t look kindly on necromantic spells. Also, this kind of spell needs a lot of space and privacy for preparation. Some of the spots are too public, like the old lodestone mines under the holistic medicine center.” She looked at the vampire before continuing. “Spike told me that some of the others were too close to demon hangouts. We got the list down to five, including the Hellmouth.”

Buffy nodded, the corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth. “And when we find him?”

Willow answered, “The spell is pretty sensitive. Any little thing can mess it up. Trashing the room should do it. Worse comes to worse, just keep Giles alive and Tara and I can take care of the rest.”

“Wait, I thought Giles was just possessed,” Buffy asked suddenly, voice full of fear. “Young priest, old priest, maybe some pea soup, but then he’s fine. What’s all this about him dying?”

“The sacrifice at the end,” Willow said cautiously. “The dead won’t rise unless their murderer, or an acceptable stand in, is sacrificed. This is kind of a revenge/reanimation combo.”

Buffy looked back and forth between the witches and the vampire. “Um, so?”

Spike thought he knew the answer, but he was preempted by an unexpected voice from the kitchen door.

“Do you even read those folders I give you? Or am I huffing stinky old book fumes for my health?” Dawn’s snarky comment startled everyone in the room, including the vampire, who had been so focused on the conversation around him that her entrance had slipped under even his heightened senses.

“I skimmed the highlights,” the Slayer said defensively.

Dawn rolled her eyes and dropped her purple backpack on the floor and flounced into the room. “Yeah right. You’ve totally been making Spike pick the folders.” She dropped onto the last stool next to the vampire and glared at her sister.

“Dawn, this is important!” Buffy snapped at her sister’s dramatic sulk.

The younger Summers rolled her eyes. “Apparently the Council kept an eye on the Hellmouth, even without a slayer here. A small group of watchers had been sent to mess up the Morelock’s bid for more power.” Dawn reached for another plate and started piling the remaining pancakes on it. “The necromancers tried to cast some major league enchantment, the watchers countered it. Spell go boom. The Morelocks were wiped out, and most of the watchers died too. I guess one of the necromancers lasted long enough to set up the basement surprise.”

She reached for the pitcher in front of Spike, but the vampire caught her hand. “Wouldn’t do that Nibblet.”

The girl took a closer look at the liquid and wrinkled her nose, “Yeah, ew. Thanks.” She looked back at her sister. “Does that sum it up, or are you going to hold the non-pig topping hostage?”

Buffy scooted the maple syrup across the counter, but her pinched expression didn’t change. Meret tried nosing her hand again, but this time it earned no response. The slayer turned cold eyes on the two witches. “I need that list.”

*****

“Just wait two more hours, and I can go with you,” Spike tried reasoning with her.

Buffy picked up her favorite sword before setting it aside and digging further into her weapons chest. Out came a set of short staves, defensive weapons that could more easily wound than kill. She didn’t speak as she tucked the sticks into her bag, along with a long dagger, a flashlight, and some rope. She was already dressed in grey sweats and a black tank, her usual workout clothes turned battle gear. On her right hand glittered the Sangre de Cristo ruby, a sure sign that she was expecting the worst kind of trouble.

She shouldered the bag and went to the door, Spike following behind, trying to figure out how he might change her mind. At that point, he was seriously considering throwing himself at her feet, dignity be damned. Buffy swung the door wide, letting the afternoon sunlight flood across the floor. The vampire jumped back with a curse of surprise. She started to walk through the door, but Meret flew in front of her, wings spread wide in a crimson, flimsy shield.

“Get out of my way,” she growled at the little serpent.

Meret hissed in defiance.

“Buffy,” he pleaded.

She turned and looked at him, her eyes dark and dangerous. “And what if Elaine is already casting the spell? What if Giles dies because I sat around here, waiting longer than I already have?” her voice cracked like a whip, but Spike could hear the bone-deep fear for her watcher as well.

Spike had no answer for that, but Meret did.

Take me.

Buffy looked at Spike in surprise.

The vampire was torn.

On one hand, Meret could be a huge asset, keeping the others informed and lending what help she could. On the other hand, this whole argument had started because he didn’t like seeing one of his girls head into danger alone. ‘Alone’ of course meaning without him.

“I’ll take care of her,” Buffy whispered.

Spike nodded, shoulders sagging in defeat. “I know. I’ll catch up as soon as I can.” He was trapped, as surely as if caught in a spell: too much sun on one side, and too much logic on the other.

“I know,” she said softly.

He couldn’t seem to convince his eyes to leave the floor, so it was a complete surprise when her lips pressed against his, as sweet as he remembered. Just as suddenly, she was gone, running full tilt out of the door and down the street, Meret a red blur behind her.

It was a long time before he moved.