Author’s Note: Thanks to my beta Kar and all my readers and reviewers. Closing in on the end of this. I do apologize for the slow posting and I really appreciate you all bearing with me. Life is quite busy these days.

Chapter Six

Buffy stretched her arms over her head and sighed. It was nice to sleep late, with no job to get to, no sister to get off to school, no stack of bills hanging over her head. There was nothing she had to do. Unfortunately, that meant she'd be left with plenty of time to think. Think about Dawn and wonder how she was doing and was she ever going to see her again. Would her job be there when she got back? How were they going to pay the power bill if it wasn't?

Suddenly free time wasn't so appealing.

This sort of situation was, she realized, was exactly the kind of thing that sent her running to the crypt for a couple of hours of cold comfort. And that thought led to remembering the reaction of her host the night before and she felt a fresh rush of shame.

Downstairs the bot was staring forlornly at the stove. When she saw Buffy she gave a cheerful smile. "Would you like some waffles?"

Buffy carefully agreed. "Are you okay?" she asked, feeling strange about it.

The robot stirred the batter and pouted. "I don't think I'm very good at being Buffy."

Buffy chuckled and gave the robot a little smile. "I know how you feel."

She felt a strange impulse to, like, pat the robot on the back or something, but then Willow came swooping in with a latte in each hand. "Thought you might like something. Unfortunately, it's all I've got to offer right now."

Buffy took the paper cup with a sigh. "I'm sure you guys will figure it out," she reassured the redhead. She took a sip of the coffee. At first it brought the familiar rush of warmth and flavor, but then there was something else, a strange aftertaste.

She raised wide eyes to Willow who gave a sad little smile and grasped her wrists. "Sorry about this," she said as a jolt went through Buffy's body.

"What the hell was that?" she gasped when she could breathe again.

Willow looked guilty and the robot looked like she was conflicted as to whether she should hit Willow with the waffle iron. "I had to make sure you weren't a demon. I mean, I already told him you weren't, but he wanted a more... thorough test. Considering what you told him. You passed, by the way." Willow wriggled nervously in her chair. "And you know, dating a werewolf, so I'm pretty liberal about the whole consorting with demons thing. But, really, Buffy."

The robot set a glass of cool water in front of her, looking deeply confused. "Other real me, would you like me to restrain Willow? I think she hurt you."

"Not just now," Buffy managed, gratefully gulping down the water. Her nerves were still buzzing and she felt a hot flush in her cheeks. She blinked at Willow. "What the hell is the matter with him?" she gritted out.

"Buffy," Willow chided. "Imagine if Angel found out you'd had sex with Angelus or something. Are you really that surprised that he's not all 'woohoo'?"

"Spike is not Angelus!"

Willow shook her head. "Really? I mean, I'll grant you that Spike was less with the world endage and he didn't have quite the ... flair Angel had. But still, with the killing and violating and general mayhem, I'm not really seeing that much difference."

"You don't know him," she said firmly, realizing it was probably true about both Willows.

Willow took a slow, deliberate sip of coffee. "Okay."

Buffy pushed away her doctored drink. Thoughts piled on each other as she tried to think of some way to explain it to Willow. She had lists, lists and charts in her head, all the reasons and excuses and the scribbled through attempts at doing the moral math that made Spike more or less okay. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to explain herself and then promptly shut it again. "You know something; I don't have to justify this to you or to him either. It's none of your business," she said, realizing as she spoke the words were true. "You're my friend, you're concerned, I get that. But if you really want to help me, just try to find some way to get me home, okay."

She grabbed a jacket off the coat rack and headed out with a mission.


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Spike sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was utterly exhausted from the events of the previous evening. Between the show, assorted revelations, and his fussy daughter he was out of energy. He was sipping his latte and waiting for Willow to call when a nervous looking patron skittered in.

"May I help you?"

She gave a bashful little smile. "I'm sure you don't remember me from last night," she apologized. "One of my friends told me all about Andrelico, but...."

"But you're concerned he might be a bit of a hack?" he replied in a low, conspiratorial voice. She nodded. "Let me show you something you might like better."

By the time he'd finished talking her into a small piece by someone with actual talent, he realized he was being watched. The bemused expression on the woman’s face was so like his wife that he found his heart leaping before he noticed her hair and his hopes were dashed.

"So, did he learn that from you or did you learn that from him?" the bizarre aberration on his wife asked.

His lip curled. So, they were back to this. "I can't imagine what you mean?"

"That whole routine, Spike. That's the one that convinces the girl to sneak out the back door with you, despite her better instincts."

"Worked on you once, I suppose," he snapped before he realized what he'd said.

She smirked at him. "Pretty much." She sighed. "I actually came over here to kick your ass, but I think I'm gonna not."

"Very kind of you."

"Under the circumstances, it really is. You know, whatever you think of him, there's no way he's getting my Willow to zap your wife."

He wanted to say something glib, but under the circumstances it was hard to think of a comeback considering his own behavior. "Perhaps that was a bit out of line."

She smiled, but then her face twisted in worry. He turned to look behind himself and saw the robot racing toward him with a whimpering baby in her arms. "She's hungry," the Bot explained, gently handing Celia over. "There's no more milk, and I didn't know what to do."

Spike was just opening his mouth to reply when he heard a great clatter of footsteps. He looked up to see who was there, but all he saw was a great flash of light.


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Buffy stared forlornly at the sad clumps of breakfast cereal in her bowl. Around her the household went through it's morning routine, neither Dawn nor Willow paying her much attention. If she were home she'd be feeding her daughter, talking about the gallery with her husband, getting ready to go to her new moms' support group at Sunnydale General.

She hoped the gallery showing at gone okay. She knew how tough those nights were on her husband. Usually she knew just how to relax him, she mused to herself with a little
smile. And he was happy to return the favor. She stirred her coffee and thought about their second time together, when they'd taken their time instead of indulging in a rushed and heated reunion. His self-satisfied face as he rested his head against her thigh. He'd told her he had never done that before, and she'd laughed about his natural talent. But he remembered, she realized, and it was strange to think that he both was and wasn't new at bedroom acrobatics.

I see you know who to thank.

When the others filed out for the day, she made her way slowly to the crypt. He was asleep on his ratty old couch, a faded paperback in his hand dragging the floor where his hand had fallen. She knew there would be little notes cribbed in the margins in his old-fashioned hand.

It was oddly tempting to lean over, take his book from his hand, and place a kiss on his forehead.

Instead she wandered around his sad little kitchen area and poked at the piles of stuff stacked all over the place. She knew he was playing opossum at this point and wondered when he would admit he was awake. Before he got a chance, the crypt door swung wide open and he was scrambling to find a place out of the intruding sunlight. Then there was an even brighter light, an all too familiar burst, and she grabbed at the wall to fight the vertigo.

When she opened her eyes, she saw her husband stumbling toward her with their daughter in his arms. She yelped something inarticulate and threw her arms around them, trying not to weep with relief. One of her husband's arms clutched tightly around her shoulders and Celia was warm and wriggly between them.

Buffy leaned in to kiss her husband gently and lay her head against his shoulder. For the moment she didn't even care that the three of them were standing in the vampire's crypt. She was just selfishly glad they were all together again.


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