Spike's lips brushed against the back of her neck. His hands stroked down the expanse of her back, trailing to the sides of her hips, around to the front, ending with his palms cupping her center. His breath was cool as his tongue began to trace the ridges of her ears. Buffy's own breath hitched, and she held his hands close to her body, urging him on.

Her eyes were open, but she couldn't see. Black was all around her. The only sensations were touch, smell, sound. She didn't care, though, because Spike surrounded her, grounded her. Kept her safe and alive.

"I've missed you," she breathed.

"Always right here," he murmured, applying tiny bites with blunt teeth to her neck. She let her head fall back against his shoulder.

"No, you aren't." She turned, allowing a modicum of distance to insert itself between their bodies. As she gazed into the abyss where Spike should be, her vision began to clear. An image of him appeared, blurred yet visible. Like viewing a watercolor painting from the corner of your eye.

He looked sad.

"You're so far from me," Buffy said softly.

"Don't want to be, love."

"Then don't." She put her hand to his chest, feeling the firmness of his body even if his image was still fragile.

His hand stroked through her hair. "I just don't know how to go on from here what with all..."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

He sighed and pushed himself away. Touch was gone. As he did, the image of him became clearer and more substantial. "You've seen so much of me. It's all a little one-sided, isn't it?"

A siren pierced the air. Both of them looked up.

"I hate that alarm," Buffy said with a grimace.

She woke up with a turn, slapping her hand onto the digital alarm clock. When she situated herself back into bed - taking advantage of the snooze button - her body cooled as she processed the fact that she was alone. Just another dream.

*    *    *    *    *

Breakfast for Buffy consisted of sticking two pieces of bread into the toaster and pouring herself a glass of orange juice. Anything more elaborate was far too demanding.

Spike emerged from the bathroom as her toast popped. He had just taken a shower. He wore only his jeans, and his hair was tossled in that sexy way that Buffy tried not to notice but inevitably did. He went straight to the fridge to get his blood.

A day off together in theory meant quality time together. A day to heal and to work things out. Buffy tried to remain optimistic.

"So, what do you wanna do today?" Buffy asked brightly, trying to convey an ease that didn't exist between them.

Spike grunted. "Not much to do. Vampire, remember? Not likely to do picnics in the sun if that's what you're looking for."

Buffy frowned. "It wasn't." Her hands began to shake as she poured herself some juice. This shouldn't be that difficult.

The edge of the juice carton knocked the glass over, sending the liquid spilling over the counter. Buffy swore loudly. She slammed the carton down and grabbed for a towel.

When she glanced behind her, Spike hadn't even looked up. He sat on the couch, poring over a book Giles had loaned him.

"Spike, is there something...," Buffy started to speak without knowing where she was planning on ending up. Spike had the decency to look up at her. She sighed and began again. "Is there something bothering you? I mean, if there's any way I can help you - anything you need, just...let me know."

He considered her for a few moments. Buffy almost thought they'd actually have a conversation. Then he turned back to his book. "Don't fret, love. Everything's fine."

*    *    *    *    *

A castle was far from the ideal headquarters. It was drafty, cold, and poorly organized. What it had in abundance, however, was space. What had at one time been a dining hall was transformed into the control room, as it were. That's where the heart of the new council beat endlessly as shifts rotated around the clock. Instead of long banquet tables, however, desks scattered around the room with computers and monitors pulling up relevant new briefs to draw their attention to.

The control room was in a lull at the moment. Buffy had purposely chosen her day off during a slow time in council business. No scheduled prophecies coming to be. No anticipated apocalypses to be stopped. No influx of new slayers to train. Instead, they were just maintaining "business as usual". Only a few watchers milled around, most likely busy with paperwork.

After the no-go with Spike, Buffy had to get away. Throw herself into her work. That was the key to feeling better. There was only so much she could do until he got over whatever it was that he needed to get over. And if he wouldn't even talk to her...

"Buffy!" Neil looked up in surprise at her entrance. He put down his pen and stood, looking ready to relinquish his position at the lead desk. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no." Buffy waved a hand. "Just...checking on things. Anything slay-y going down that needs my help?"

He frowned. Buffy immediately began to worry that she was coming across like a micromanaging boss.

"Well, I wasn't going to bother you with this seeing as it's your day off..."

"Oooh! Bother me. Please." Buffy slid into the chair across from him, indicating that he should sit back down. She placed her elbows on his desk and leaned forward. "What's up?"

Neil glanced at his computer monitor before looking back at her. "It's just that we've lost contact with Sofia's team sometime in the last four hours. Kennedy is preparing a follow-up team to find out what's going on."

Fun and games with a crazed warlock? Now that was something Buffy could handle. She straightened up. "I'll go."

"Are you sure? I mean, you really do deserve some downtime."

"No such thing when you're the slayer. Where's the prep happening?"

With a sigh, Neil let her know that the team was mobilizing in Training Room A. Buffy swiftly left the control room to join the follow-up team's preparations in the training room.

Anything to help distract her.

*    *    *    *    *

Buffy double-checked the address that had been provided for her against the numbers on the side of the cottage. Said cottage was far off the beaten path, making any sort of stealthy approach impossible.

Fortunately, Buffy wasn't relying on stealth. She was more a fan of the direct method of confrontation, and she hadn't hesitated to be the one to volunteer to approach his house.

Kennedy and the rest of the team remained at the forest's edge, prepared to come in as reinforcements if need be. Buffy decided she might be less threatening by herself. From the reports about the incident in town, it didn't seem as if they were dealing with a malicious person. If Lance was at the end of his rope, being faced with an armed force of powerful young women was sure to be intimidating. That's likely what happened with Sofia's team.

The cottage was immaculately kept with planted flowers lining the front of the house. Smooth stepping stones led to the front door. It looked like a fairy-tale house that Buffy had only seen in illustrations to children's books. If she'd wanted an escape from her personal issues, this scenery was doing its job.

Buffy had thought that she should give Spike the heads up as to where she was. Then she remembered that he probably wouldn't care. Instead, she'd had Neil pass the message along to Dawn that she was going on assignment. Hopefully, Buffy would be home by the evening, and Spike wouldn't even miss her.

She knocked on the door and waited.

After a moment, the door cracked open. A bloodshot eye peered from the opening, and a husky voice asked, "Who is it?"

"You're Lance, right?" Buffy replied. She pushed the door open despite his resistance and entered the house. "We need to talk."

The door opened up to a tiny living room decorated in grandma-style. When Buffy turned to face Lance, she was surprised to see that he was a relatively young guy. Okay, a relatively young guy who looked like he'd been living under a bridge for a couple years, but definitely not the kind of guy to inhabit a place this quaint. His hair was long and tangled together into mats. His face was covered in razor nicks and patches of stubble as if he'd tried to shave with a broken arm. His clothes, at least, were nice and new and, well, designer. So new, a tag dangled from the sleeve of his shirt.

He looked spooked at her entrance, unsure whether to protest or not. She took the opportunity of his silence to cross her arms and take control of the situation.

"Alright, a team of girls was sent to help you yesterday. We know about the magic and we want to help. But we get kinda cranky when our people don't return to us, you know?"

"Your girls..."

"What happened to them?"

He shut the door. "You're one of them."

"Uh huh. Now where are they?"

He grabbed his head, tearing at his hair. His face scrunched up in an infantile expression of frustration. "I told them not to send anyone else!"

Buffy frowned. "Told who?"

He looked up at her, though his head remained in his hands. "What's your name?"

"You're getting too worked up. Stay there. I'm checking the house." Buffy moved to the hallway when a force sent her skidding back to the wall. She gasped as she felt a surge inside her mind, probing.

Lance's head snapped up and his eyes widened with discovery. "Buffy Summers. She asked for you."

Before Buffy could react, she felt the force of magic descend on her, wrapping around her like a string and tightening. She passed out.