Chapter 5
 
When Spike hesitated before entering, Buffy held the front door open for him and quirked an amused eyebrow.
 
He looked offended, even hurt, when she didn’t issue the required verbal invitation. Then she smirked and pointed at his feet.
 
He already had the toe of one boot over the threshold.
 
“Huh?”
 
“I did wonder.” She glanced over her shoulder to check that nobody was close enough to hear then whispered conspiratorially. “You know that memory we both had of the time we had the truce and you came into the house? I didn’t know whether I’d ever gotten a disinvite done for you. Guess not.”
 
“Bloody hell,” he whispered back, taking the momentous step into the slayer’s home. “You took a risk there, pet. Could have killed you all in your sleep.”
 
Closing the door behind him, Buffy shook her head. “Would you have, though? I don’t think so. You like a challenge; a battle to the death. That would have been cheating.”
 
Spike returned her smile. “Yeah, got that right.”
 
Buffy moved to the entrance to the crowded living room and gave her assembled friends a little wave. “Hi guys!” She turned her attention to Giles. “Giles? Sp… uh… William has brought that spell stuff you wanted to see. Perhaps you could look at that while I go freshen up?” She made a face. “Thirty-six hours in the same underwear does not a happy Buffy make.”
 
She lingered for a few moments at the foot of the stairs, watching while Giles drew Spike into the living room and encouraged him to spread the documents out on the coffee table. With Tara and Willow, they started to sort through them and make critical comments, of which Buffy only understood one word in three.
 
Although Willow looked very jumpy and edged around the table away from Spike, everything seemed to be going well so far, so Buffy darted upstairs, quickly gathered a change of clothing from her bedroom, and locked herself in the bathroom.
 
A little while later, still glowing from her shower and dressed in comfortable yoga pants and a long-sleeved turtle neck top to conceal her lingering bruises, she knocked softly on her sister’s bedroom door. At Dawn’s quiet, “Come in,” she opened the door and peeked in. The room was dim, the only illumination a small pool of light from a single lamp directed onto the books and papers spread out on the desk.
 
Buffy looked around, checking that all was as it should be. “Everything okay?”
 
“Yeah. I just need to finish copying out the last couple of pages of this English paper. Somebody decided that it was perfect for crayoning on.”
 
“Whoops.”
 
Dawn gave a resigned shrug. “It’s okay. It’s not like I have anything more exciting to do. I still have almost two weeks grounding to go.”
 
“Well, that’ll teach you for sneaking out and getting everyone worried and leading us all into a big fight.”
 
Dawn heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “I guess. And by the way, it’s like, totally not fair the way I got grounded for being found out just this one time while mom never even noticed you sneaking out every night for like… years.”
 
Buffy smirked. “But I had a legitimate reason for my sneakage, and slayer stealth for getting away with it.” She gestured towards the hallway behind her. “Gotta go. Scooby research party.”
 
Dawn’s eyes widened excitedly. “Key related? Have you found out more about Glory and…?”
 
“Sorry. This is something else. I’ve found out there’s a forgetting spell on us. We need to figure out who did it so we can reverse it.”
 
Dawn pouted her disappointment. “Oh. Okay.” She waved dismissively towards the open doorway. “Go on then. Oh, and eat something. Mom saved some dinner for you.” Her eyes raked up and down Buffy’s form. “I keep telling you. You’re getting too skinny. Even for you.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yes, mom.”
 
Half way down the stairs, she paused with a weary sigh at the sound of raised voices coming from the living room.
 
Willow was whining, “…but if they’re bad memories, wouldn’t you rather forget them? I don’t understand what’s so wrong…”
 
“You just don’t get it, Red,” Spike countered irritably. “I have no idea whether the memories they stole are good or bad. It doesn’t matter. They’re my memories and I have the right to them!”
 
“Quite.” Giles added with exaggerated patience, “Willow, you have to understand that our experiences shape our personalities. Every choice we make in life is determined by what has gone before. For someone to deny us access to even one of those memories is an unconscionable violation.”
 
“He’s right, sweetie,” Tara said quietly. “C-controlling people’s memories is like taking away their free will. It’s hugely dark magic. Very dangerous.”
 
“Are you sure? Perhaps…”
 
Buffy didn’t need to hear any more. She descended the last few stairs and turned into the living room. “Willow? Remember how torn up you were when Oz left? You did that My Will Be Done spell to try to make yourself feel better and you had Xander and Anya fighting for their lives with all those demons?”
 
“And Giles was blind, and I’m never going to forget Buffy going all B.F.F. with Harmony and deciding to move out of home and set up home as room-mates with her,” Xander put in with a dramatic shudder. “All that giggling scarred me for life. And I’ll never get over all the unicorns. I know Harmony was chipped and unable to bite, but that didn’t stop her being, well, Harmony.”
 
“Yeah… Anyways, what if someone had wanted to help you feel better and decided you’d be happier without the memory of Oz leaving?” Buffy asked. “Of course that would have meant taking every single memory of Oz, good and bad…”
 
“No!” Willow cried, eyes wide in alarm. “Oh, no! That would be awful!”
 
“But that’s like what’s happened here. I have whole chunks of my memory missing, you know I have, and now I know why. Good or bad, I need those memories back!”
 
“Ah, there you are, Buffy,” Joyce said as she entered the room. “I thought I heard your voice. I’ve saved some pot roast for you. It just needs a couple of minutes in the microwave.” With a vague nod to the rest of the group, she grabbed Buffy firmly by the arm, led her into the kitchen and pushed her onto a stool at the counter.
 
Turning to press the start button on the microwave, she said, “I know the meeting is important, Buffy. I’m just as anxious as you are for you to get your memories back, but your health is important too. I would have said it was impossible, but I think you’ve managed to lose even more weight in the last couple of days.”
 
“Mo-om,” Buffy protested. “I wish you’d stop fussing. I ate at Giles’.”
 
“Yes, Mr Giles told me what you ate. Half a piece of toast and a mouthful of egg this morning, and a little of one of those revolting Doublemeat things and a couple of fries at lunch.” The microwave pinged and Joyce placed a covered plate in front of Buffy. When she removed the cover, steam savoury with the fragrance of beef and vegetables rose, and Buffy’s stomach rumbled loudly. “I want to see you eating at least half of this.” She sat on a stool on the opposite side of the counter and Buffy realised that she intended to do just that. Sit there and watch her eat.
 
“I worry so much, Buffy.”
 
Heaving a put-upon sigh, Buffy picked up her fork. “Way to go with the emotional blackmail, mom.”
 
“Whatever it takes, honey,” Joyce murmured resolutely, sipping her cup of coffee. “Whatever it takes.”
 
 
~*~*~*~
 
 
Spike folded his arms across his chest and stretched his legs out, crossed at the ankles. He was getting bored. He’d been sitting listening for what felt like hours while the watcher and the children had talked themselves in circles around the problem for which they were supposed to be finding a solution.
 
It was becoming more and more difficult to remember his promise to the slayer not to harm any of them. Surely if he were to rip the spine out of one of them, the others would buckle down and something would finally get done? He scowled in frustration. Not that he would. Probably.
 
He just happened to be looking at the redhead when the slayer came back into the room.
 
“Hey guys, have you worked out who the evil magician is? I wanna know who I have to slay so I can get my memories back!”
 
The little witch visibly flinched. Her eyes went as big as saucers and she squeaked, “Evil? Slay?”
 
The watcher smiled, but shook his head. “I wish we had an answer for you so that you could, Buffy. Unfortunately it’s very likely that the evil witch or sorcerer is human.”
 
“Phooey. So, not slayworthy then?”
 
“I’m afraid not.”
 
“Besides,” Tara put in sympathetically, “If William’s friend is right about the spell that was used, that wouldn’t help anyway.”
 
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I need to smash his crystals.” Buffy slumped down in a chair.
 
Spike had taken in everything that had been said, but his focus had remained on Willow. She had paled and her heart rate had soared. She was practically shaking apart with nerves and at Buffy’s mention of crystals, her hand had gone to her neck, where a narrow ribbon and a fine chain hung, dangling pendants under her clothes. Surely girls preferred to wear their jewellery out in the open where it could be seen?
 
A fledgling suspicion hatched in the back of Spike’s mind. His eyes narrowed as he drawled, “Don’t suppose any of you could come up with any likely suggestions? There must be a few spell-casters you’ve come across who are powerful enough to have done this?”
 
“Well there’s Ethan Rayne,” Xander offered. “He of the Halloween fun and Band Candy and the turning Giles into a Fyarl demon.”
 
Giles nodded. “Yes, I’m sure Ethan could have done it, but somehow I doubt that he is at fault. If he had wanted to manipulate our memories, it’s most likely that he would have caused us to forget him. That would have given him far more freedom to cause mischief.”
 
“Ooh!” cried Willow excitedly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Amy! I bet Amy…” She folded in on herself. “But. Well. Rat.”
 
“And none of you can think of anyone else who has the power to do it?” Spike asked.
 
“Michael might,” Willow said quickly. “You remember? Michael from the MOO: let’s burn all the witches at the stake, Hansel and Gretel thing?”
 
“Didn’t his family move away, South somewhere, after everyone came to their senses?” Buffy asked with a frown.
 
“Yeah, Oxnard,” Xander provided. “And he said he was going to give up the magic thing altogether. It had gotten too scary.”
 
“Maybe it’s like you said about Ethan Rayne, Giles. Whoever did it has made us forget him as part of his evil plan?” Buffy asked dejectedly.
 
Giles took his glasses off for a polish. “I’m beginning to fear so, Buffy.” He sighed. “And until we can discover who has tampered with us, I cannot foresee any way of reversing the effects.”
 
Buffy leant forward in her seat and clutched at her hair in frustration. “Aaargh! We can’t break the spell until we know who did it, and we won’t know who did it until we break the spell! It’s like… one of those circumcision dilemma thingies.” Buffy pushed the sleeve of her sweater up to her elbow and made a whirling gesture above her head.
 
Spike reflexively crossed his legs and shot a startled glace at Giles who had mirrored his action, as had Xander. Giles looked just as shocked for a moment before the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. “Uh, I think you mean a circular dilemma, Buffy.”
 
“Oh, yeah. One of them too.”
 
Spike was distracted by Buffy’s newly exposed forearm. It was twig thin. It was the first time he had seen any of her body not muffled up in trousers or thick sweaters. In his recovered memories, she had been slender, but with a healthy covering of well-toned flesh. Upon closer examination, he saw that her cheeks were sunken and there were dark shadows under her eyes.
 
Without thinking, he burst out, “Oy, slayer. When did you get so thin? You look like a famine victim from one of those dusty countries.”