Anya dialed the fifteenth number on the list. “Hi, Jelixka? Anyanka! Yeah, yeah … it’s true. Trapped, in a meat suit. Yup, human form … not so bad … really, thanks, but your sympathies aren’t necessary … why am I calling? Oh yeah … so I’m running this business now, a magic shop … wanted to get in touch with some of the Unfugs …”

She listened as her demon pal reminisced about Unfug products that had fueled an extra wacky weekend back in Arashmaharr.

“Yeah, Jel. Good times … so do you know how … you do? Great.”

Anya carefully wrote down the information.

“What’s that, Jel? Be careful of the … oh, they do? Unstable. So what happens if … they collapse, over time? How much time … no one knows for sure? Depends on the spell … okay, well, um, thanks … yeah, we’ll get together real soon.”

With a shudder, she picked up the phone and dialed from memory. “Willow? I’ve got a lead on how to find the Unfugs, only there’s something else we need to research.”

***

“Did you wish for a blue sky?”

“Right now I’m wishing for a towel.” Spike scowled back at Buffy’s accusing glare, focused squarely on his neck and above. “And we’ve had blue skies ever since we landed.”

“Not blue blue,” Buffy huffed, handing over a towel and averting her eyes. “Blue blue.”

“Oh, that clears it up ever so.”

“Just come see!” Buffy yanked on his arm and dragged him, dripping wet and barely towel clad, to the picture windows of the bedroom suite.

“Vivid.”

The skies had darkened, from postcard-perfect blue to something deeper.

“Don’t you think it might be … I dunno … bad? Like a storm or a quake or another really bad natural disaster thingie?”

“Pet, I’ve scarcely seen daylight in over a century. And that was mostly in England, which isn’t exactly a tropical paradise. So, first, can’t rightly say that this is so strange. And, second, in the context of other strange things, the sky coming over peacock blue is the least of it.” Spike glanced at Buffy’s hand, still gripping his wrist above his pulse point.

Buffy dropped his wrist, as if she’d just realized that she’d dragged an all-but-naked Spike into the bedroom and was still clutching him, inches away from the bed.

Their bed.

“Listen, Buffy … we don’t know a thing ‘bout how this place works, yeah? Maybe one of us had a stray thought and presto, sky gets bluer. Don’t think there’s likely to be a terrific storm in a place like this, and if there were one, we’d just wish ourselves an ark.”

With a sigh, Buffy stepped away from the window. “Yeah. I guess I’m just waiting for the bad. It’s been so long since anything’s gone right, I figure there’s some cosmic rule in place. Buffy’s Law: If a demonic incident can ruin your real world bliss, a demonic incident will ruin your real world bliss.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her choice of words, but didn’t press her. And Buffy was too busy staring at the sky to notice his expression.

“Maybe this is just a spectacular sunset. I’m sorry I wigged.”

“No apology required, luv.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna go see if I can find something for dinner. Are you coming downstairs?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” Spike answered, hoping that he sounded casual and relaxed.

***

Buffy gripped the granite countertop and tried to still her racing heart.

She’d been careful to not look at Spike there when she went to fetch him from the shower. And that had been necessary. Unavoidable, even. What if the sky really had been a harbinger of doom?

Now that everything looked like it was okay, she was trying to quiet the part of her mind that had been screaming Look! Look! Look! the whole time.

She’d won, of course. She’d managed to keep things mostly platonic with Spike this afternoon, right?

“Ahem,” her inner voice cleared its throat.

“Okay, so maybe not platonic … but nothing happened,” she mumbled. In the distant back of her brain a memory of a voice bubbled to the surface. “Want. Take. Have.”

“What’s that, pet?” Spike padded into the kitchen on bare feet, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair combed back.

Yum, Buffy thought. But she managed to answer, “oh … just um … just saying that I wasn’t sure what we should be having. For dinner.”

“Think maybe there’s such a thing as a restaurant in these parts?”

“Oooh … if there was one, there would be crème brulee for dessert.”

“Well, then, let’s go search out your crème brulee.”

***

“Anything?” Anya ushered the last customers from the Magic Box, locking the door before turning back to the research table.

Willow frowned at her iBook. “Well, your friend was right. The alternate dimension spells can be really unstable. But exactly how unstable has to do with tons of variables. Like any spell, really.”

“Okay, so if there’s an alternaquake, what? Buffy just pops back home?” Xander asked.

Anya bit her lip, and Willow’s frown deepened.

“If that’s not it, would one of you two like to explain it to the non-magically inclined?” Xander looked from one grimacing face to another. “Hello?”

Anya sighed. “If the dimension collapses, there’s a chance that Buffy could be stuck there forever. In a sort of non-place specific wasteland. Some vengeance demons use them for, y'know, vengeance.”

“Well, that’s not so bad. If Anya could pop someone there, we can get Buffy back. I’m sure there’s a spell I could research …”

“Oh, I don’t know anyone who ever got anyone back out. Not in my 1200 years or so … maybe before. Or since.”

Xander reached for a bag of salt & vinegar chips. “Alright. So this still doesn’t change anything, right? We’ve got to get Buffy out of wherever she is, and we’ve got to do it fast.”

***

Spike had wondered in idle moments about whether or not the island would see fit to grant his every wish. The killer CD collection, the pantry stuffed-to-burst, the glorious sun and so on … hard to not like all those things, especially since he hadn’t spent much time topside in recent years, much less in digs so private and posh. But top of his letter to Saint Nick, were he to pen one, would still be Buffy’s affections. Freely given.

And thing was, as Buffy walked by his side, all decked out in a skimpy halter dress and strappy heels, he couldn’t be quite certain that it was all Buffy in the driver’s seat. She was acting like they were on a date, chatting idly about this and that and speculating on whether they’d find a restaurant and how they’d know when they found one.

It was, he couldn’t help but think, as if they were lovers on vacation in a foreign country where neither of them spoke the language.

Her hand brushed against his for the dozenth time since they’d set out. “Oooh, Spike … do you think that might be it?”

“Let’s check it out.”

***

As they stepped into the pavilion, Buffy felt herself relax. It wasn’t exactly T.G.I.Friday’s, but she recognized the look of the place. This was a restaurant, and she knew how to behave while seated across the table from a guy for dinner. Even if it was a Spike-guy.

Buffy was used to being in control of how she felt about boys. Tyler and Scott and Riley, well … everyone except Angel, really. They were available or they weren’t, they were suitable or they weren’t.

If she looked back on the most wig-worthy spells over the years, two stood out: her botched seduction of Xander and the engagement spell to Spike. Sure, hearing voices had been freaky and those nightmares? Really dreadful. But there was something about being in control of your own romantic destiny that seemed essential.

As they took their seats and picked up menus listing their favorite things, Spike smiled. “The island strikes again.”

At his words, music poured from the air, quiet but insistent in the background, the lyrics Spanish and the rhythms exotic.

“So how do you figure we order?” Spike asked.

Buffy considered his question for a minute. “I’m going to start with the layered spinach salad.”

“And I’ll have the gazpacho.”

The air shimmered between them, and their starters appeared.

“How ‘bout a bottle of something red?”

With another shimmer, Spike’s request was filled, along with two wine glasses.

“Spike, I don’t drink.”

“More for me then,” he replied as he filled her glass.

***

Xander pushed open the door to the Magic Box, carrying in two pizzas and a carrier tray of drinks.

“What took so long?”

“Some cowboy attacked an armored truck. Traffic's all snarled.”

“Vampires?”

“No, hon … the drivers were alive. Still are. The robbers just made off with over $25,000 in quarters.”

“They’d do better to steal large bills.”

“Well … yeah.”

Willow looked up from her research. “Why did the truck have $25,000 in quarters?”

“It was delivering to the video arcade.” Xander helped himself to a slice. “Wil, you have idea face. What’s up?”

***

After she’d choked down her first glass of wine, Buffy was surprised to discover that she’d acquired a taste. She’d had Spike conjure up another bottle.

And another.

“Easy, pet. Don’t know that we can wish away hangovers.”

Buffy shot him a look, and he refilled her glass.

The remains of her crème brulee and his chocolate cake were mid-table. He didn’t want to stand, didn’t want to break this spell, this night of having a date with the Slayer, as if they were just two normal people trapped on a desert isle with only phantom wish-granters to fulfill their every whim.

“We should head back,” she said quietly.

And there it was, he thought, the magic words that would end the spell and send him back to the divided bed and another night of unfulfilled desires. “If you say so, pet.”

“I do say so … can we walk on the beach?”

“Don’t know that we have another choice.”

“Good!”

“Slayer, are you tipsy?”

“No. No. Why would I be tipsy?” She hiccoughed.

“No reason.” He swallowed a smile and extended his arm, which she took without hesitation. Okay, he thought maybe we’re not ending this night quite yet.