Willow stood in front of the bathroom mirror, leaning heavily on the sink for support. She stared at her reflection in the glass, barely recognising the gaunt face that gazed back at her. She only knew it was her own reflection by the way it followed her movement; if not for that, it could have been anyone looking out of the mirror. She sighed and bent down to splash cold water on her face, attempting to wake herself up from a long nap.

She drained the sink and looked up at the mirror again, semi-hoping she might finally recognise herself this time. Unfortunately, it was the same face as before. She attempted a smile, wondering if that would help, but found it almost impossible, her facial muscles plainly refusing to form anything more than a grim smirk. She gave up. That was when she noticed it.

Reflected in the glass, apparently sitting behind her on top of a wicker basket, was Tara. She was smiling serenely, wearing the same outfit as the last time Willow had seen her, and seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was meant to be dead. Willow’s grief-ridden brain didn’t register this, however. She smiled for what felt like the first time in years and turned around to face Tara in the flesh.

Her smile fell and turned into a frown of confusion. There was nothing there - just an empty, Tara-less wicker basket. Silently chastising herself for being so silly as to get her hopes up, Willow shook her head and turned to leave. She caught sight of the mirror again as she did so. Tara was still there, in the same position as before.

Again, Willow turned to find nothing. She was onto this game now, and yes, sure enough, there was Tara in the mirror, but not in the room with her. She whipped her head between the glass and the room behind her a few times, wondering if speed was of the essence. In the back of her mind, she knew it couldn’t be real, that it was only her head playing tricks on her, or the Magic’s way of driving her slowly insane. The hope that Tara might be alive somewhere, however, overruled this logic.

She started getting dizzy and finally stopped, conceding to stare into the mirror. Tara hadn’t moved very far, if at all, and hadn’t said anything, but she blinked, and cocked her head to the side a little curiously, as if she didn’t understand what the mirror-Willow was doing. Willow finally realised that it couldn’t be possible for her to only exist on one side of a mirror and was now beginning to wonder if she’d really gone mad.

“Xander!” she called, frantically. Her friend came running into the room from his position outside - he’d been waiting so he could help her back to the room when she’d finished - with a worried expression on his face.

“What is it, Will?” He’d expected her to have fallen, perhaps, or hurt herself. Finding her apparently unharmed worried him even more. She beckoned for him to stand next to her and pointed at the mirror, not taking her eyes off it.

“Look in that mirror and tell me what you see…”

He looked at her a little curiously, but, seeing that she was serious, obeyed. “Just you and the bathroom beyond.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else. No Wonderland or White Rabbit.”

“Are you sure? You don’t see… someone else? Not you, I mean…” She took a deep breath, and decided that Xander of all people might believe her. “You… you don’t see Tara?”

Xander made a show of peering closer, to cover the fact that he was now very scared she was losing her mind. “No, Will. Just you, me and the bathroom.”

“Oh…”

“Come on. I’ll get you a drink, okay?” prodded Xander, trying to get her out of the room. She nodded numbly as he manoeuvred her out of the bathroom. The mirror-Tara watched them leave, still silent.

Back in the bedroom, Xander sat Willow at the end of the bed and promptly vanished to fetch her some coffee, debating with himself whether or not to tell Giles about her ghost-seeing episode. Once he was out of earshot, Willow, on a whim, struggled to the dresser and sat down, then concentrated on not paying attention to it. As expected, when she looked up at the mirror, Tara was there again, this time standing behind her. Willow resisted the urge to turn around.

As of yet, the mirror-Tara hadn’t said anything. Willow decided to initiate some form of conversation, not entirely sure of what would happen. “H-hey…”

Tara smiled again. “Hey.”

Willow breathed a sigh of relief. “Y-you can talk…”

“Of course I can talk, Willow.”

“W-why can’t I see you?”

In the mirror, Tara placed a hand on her shoulder. Willow felt a slight tingling, but nothing more. “Standard mirror-universe rules, I’m afraid. The Powers allowed me to go back to the alternative Sunnydale so I could talk to you. It’s easier for me to contact you this way than it is to manifest as a ghost.; s-something about the balance of power.”

Willow nodded, understanding. “I see… So, like, this is the more powerful world and that one-“ she placed her palm flat on the mirror “-is less so? Because it’s like a copy?” Tara nodded. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. “W-where are you, Tara? I mean, are you h-happy?”

“Yes, Will. Don’t worry.” Mirror-Tara removed the hand from her shoulder, leaving real-Willow with an inexplicable cold sensation there, and she adopted a more serious expression. “But I-I saw what you did. That doesn’t make me happy.”

“B-but I did that for you, baby!” protested Willow. “I know it was wrong, but I was trying to avenge you! I just wanted to make it right again. I even tried to bring you back…”

“I know; I felt that. It wasn’t the right thing to do, though, Will; you know that. It achieved nothing… well… apart from the way you are now.” Willow knew she was right, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Y-you’re dying, Willow. Don’t you see that?”

“M-maybe it’s for the best,” she sobbed. “At least I could be with you again.”

“I don’t know if you could…” admitted Tara, a little reluctantly.

“Wh… what do you mean?”

Tara sighed. “Because I was killed by human means, for nothing, I got sent to a Heaven dimension. Just like Buffy was sent to one because she sacrificed herself for the world. B-but… if this Magic kills you, honey, I don’t know where you’ll end up…” She paused, trying to think how best to explain it. “If the Powers decide that you had no control over it, then you’ll be fine… but they might not see it that way… they might decide that, because you absorbed it in the first place, of your own free will, that it was all self-inflicted… They could see it as suicide. A-and in the Bible, people who committed suicide were punished…”

“But I’m not Christian-“

“It doesn’t matter… all afterlife dimensions follow the same rules.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Y-you mean I could get sent to a Hell dimension?!”

Tara nodded slowly. “Y-yeah… I mean, it depends on how the Powers feel at the time, but… yeah…”

Willow attempted to stop her sobs and ended up making choked noises in the effort. “H-how do I… can I stop it? The Magic in me?”

“Only you can decide that, Will. If you want to get better, then I know you’ll be strong enough to. But you have to want it.”

“I think I want it… I don’t… I don’t feel anything any more. Just numb.”

Tara looked thoughtful. “All right… e-even if you don’t want it for yourself, want it for your friends. Think of how many people Buffy’s already lost who loved her - her mom, Angel, Giles, even Spike… Some of them may have come back, but it’s the losing them in the first place that’s bad. And Dawn - she lost her sister and her mom in the same year. And… and Xander… If Xander loses you, I don’t know what could happen. You’d be failing him, Will…” Willow nodded, but still didn’t seem completely convinced. Tara tried one final idea. “And if you w-won’t help yourself for them, do it for me…”

“But you’re not here-“

“No. But I’m watching over you… and I c-can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Willow seemed to be finally convinced, her tears having subsided. “O-okay… I’m gonna try. Really…”

“You promise?”

“I promise. A-and however and whenever I die, I’m gonna make sure I end up where you are…”

Tara smiled. “That’s my girl…” She suddenly looked up, as if she was being called. “I… I gotta go now. There’s only so long I can stay.”

The redhead nodded. “I understand. Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know. If you need me, they might allow me back.”

“Guess I’d better let you go, huh?” Tara nodded. “Oh! Can I ask you something?”

Tara silently conferred with the Powers above her. “Yes, but make it quick.”

“This Magic. It’s real hard to fight it sometimes, and I just… can’t seem to get rid of it… I was wondering if… if you knew how to…”

“You… you need to purge it. It’s the only way. You run the risk of getting addicted again, but there’s no other method of getting it out of you. And you need to purge it somewhere it can’t hurt anyone.”

“Makes sense…” She smiled. “Th-thanks.”

Tara smiled back. “No problem. Now I really must go. If I stay here any longer the mirror universe’ll shatter and everyone’ll be reflection-less forever.” Willow giggled; it felt good to laugh. In the mirror, Tara kissed the top of her head, causing her entire head to tingle, and murmured into her hair. “Goodbye, Will. Love you...”

“Goodbye, Tara…” With that, a bright light appearing the ceiling of the mirror-universe bedroom, and enveloped them both. When it cleared, Tara was gone. Willow, however, didn’t feel sad about it. Knowing that Tara was in a better place, and knowing now that she could defeat the Magic inside her, made her feel ever more determined to get well again. She stared her reflection in the eyes, waiting for the tell-tale black flicker that meant the Magic was awake. “Okay, Mister Dark Magic,” she muttered. “Only one of us can have this body, and I was here first… You’re goin’ down…”

At this point, Xander re-emerged carrying a mug of coffee for her. “Who’s goin’ down?”

“Oh… nothing.” She indicated the mug. “That for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” She grabbed it and downed the entire thing in one, hoping it would give her a much-needed energy boost.

“Whoa, Will… easy on the caffination…”

“Sorry. Really needed that.” She placed the now-empty mug on the dresser. Xander had noticed that she was suddenly more alert, but he didn’t want to jinx it by saying anything. “Could you take me downstairs? I have something I need to tell everyone.”

“Sure,” he said, helping her out of the chair and picking her up. “But you’ll have to wait a while. Buffy’s gone to see Spike.” He was only partially successful at keeping the contempt from his voice, but, instead of dwelling on the vampire, he instead focussed on the fact that Willow was being positive and proactive towards recovering, and headed downstairs with her.

Buffy arrived at the crypt early in the evening; it was still light, but overcast enough that the sun couldn’t get through. She reached the heavy doors just as Clem was leaving; the wrinkly demon smiled at her in greeting and then headed on his way, leaving the door open for her. She assumed by his actions that Spike was, in fact, in.

The door creaked as she pushed it, and she closed it quietly after herself. The sound of the television drifted up from the basement, warbled and mangled voices, then a familiar hissing noise as static took over the picture. She headed down the ladder to the sounds of violent banging, presumably Spike trying to get the show back.

She dropped down into the basement to find him kicking the back of the television in frustration, muttering curses under his breath, and stifled a laugh. He hadn’t noticed her come in. She approached slowly, then said: “You know, I always wondered how good the reception was down here. Guess now I know…”

Spike looked up, surprise and joy at seeing her on his face. The sound of the static soon distracted him again, though. “It was fine before I left. Clem must’ve been messin’ with it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. Blame Clem…” She examined the television, her head cocked to the side. “Sometimes, all these things need is a little TLC…” She bent down, pressed one of the buttons on the front ponderously, then smacked the side of it as hard as she could. The picture flickered back almost as if it had never gone away, and Spike stared at her, not sure whether to admire that she’d fixed it, or be annoyed that she’d fixed it before him.

“Uh… thanks.”

Buffy stood up again and examined what he’d been watching. “Oh. Passions. If I’d realised you were watching that I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Oi,” he muttered. “It’s quality programming, is that… Anyway, what brings you here?”

“I was wondering if you had any idea how we can defeat this Magic. Giles has been through every book he owns and we’ve found nothing.”

“Sorry, love. Can’t help you there.” She was obviously thwarted and about to leave, so he decided to try and detain her. He rarely saw her and what little time she’d spare him lately was better than nothing, but this was really too little time. “But, um, from what I know about magic - which isn’t much, I admit, and after that shaman’s trials I’d rather have as little to do with it as possible - from what I know, I’d say we need someone really strong in the magics to stop it. A god, maybe… or a bloody powerful witch…”

“I’ve had enough dealings with gods to last a lifetime, thank you,” she said. “But a witch…”

“I reckon Red’s powerful enough. If she can end the world, she can definitely-“

“No. No way. I don’t want her near this thing.”

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, but Buffy could tell he’d obviously forgotten about Willow’s condition and was now regretting bringing it back up. “Can’t ‘elp you, then.”

“Well… thanks anyway…” She turned to leave, then remembered something. “Oh. Almost forgot. Present from Dawn.” She pulled a small, wrapped package from her pocket and threw it at him. He caught it as it hit him in the chest, and winced.

“What’s this?”

“Dunno… but I advise caution. She’s been experimenting in the kitchen.”

“Ah. Well, it’s not like she can poison me, but thanks for the warning…” He set the small package on top of the television. Buffy stared thoughtfully at him for a few seconds, wondering what was bothering her… then realised. He’d winced when the package hit him. Which could only mean his wounds still hurt… and they should have healed by now.

“Spike, uh… exactly how badly were you hurt in those trials?” He shrugged. Buffy wasn’t taking that for an answer. She knew he’d question her motives when she did what she was about to do, but her curiosity was too much. She strode purposefully over, turned him around so his back was to her, and lifted the back of his shirt, then breathed in through her teeth at the sight that greeted her. The abrasions were almost as bad as they’d been the first time she saw them. Buffy reached to touch one and Spike arched his back away from her instinctively. “Jesus, Spike, didn’t you dress these?” He muttered something she didn’t catch. “What?”

“I said, I couldn’t reach…”

She pulled the shirt back down and moved to face him. “Well, why didn’t you ask Clem? No, wait, I know… male pride. Okay, so why not Dawn?”

“Didn’t want her to see them…” he said. “Anyway, they should have healed by now, with or without bandages.”

Buffy shook her head exasperatedly and went off in search of something resembling a First Aid kit. She came back with a handful of bandages and some antiseptic. “Shirt off. Now.” Spike grumbled under his breath, but did as she asked. As expected, those wounds at the front were as bad as the back. “You couldn’t reach the front either, huh?” He didn’t say anything. “Yeah, right, Spike… you’re just adding physical pain to the emotional torment, aren’t you? Or… trying to distract from one to the other.” Again, there was no answer, but she knew she was right. “It’s so not worth it, you know…”

He watched her as she opened the bottle of antiseptic and laid the bandages nearby for use later. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” he said. “Fightin’ with me to stop yourself thinking about what you had.”

“This isn’t about me any more, Spike.” She dabbed the antiseptic onto a clean rag and approached. “Now, this is going to sting.”

“I think I can- OW!” he started, cutting himself off with a yelp. “Watch it!”

“Sorry, but I warned you. What, the Big Bad can’t handle a little more pain?”

He gritted his teeth. “All right… go on…” Buffy worked her way over all the various cuts, bruises, and burns, this time with a slightly gentler approach, stopping for a breather whenever he winced. In the back of her mind, she was pretty sure that vampires couldn’t get infected, but she wasn’t going to take a chance. Besides, she was getting some perverse joy out of making him squirm. At the same time, though, she wondered why she cared enough to even help.

After a few minutes, she was finished, and reached for the roll of bandages. That part was easier, and once she’d patched him up to a suitable degree, he let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for a long time, completely unnecessarily. “There,” she said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Easy for you to say, Slayer…” Buffy put the remaining bandages and the bottle of antiseptic back where she’d found them and came back.

“Now, please tell me you have a clean shirt…”

He gestured vaguely towards the back of the crypt. “Yeah. Think there’s one over there somewhere. I’ll find it later.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a couple of days if there’s any developments on the Magic situation. But, for God’s sake, get Clem to change those bandages, okay?”

He nodded. “Will do, love.” She doubted he meant it, but accepted his answer anyway. “Thanks…”

She turned to leave again, satisfied that nothing else needed doing. She was two steps up the ladder, when Spike rushed to the other side of it, facing her through the rungs and placing one cold hand over hers. Looking into his eyes from that position, Buffy wondered briefly whether she’d resist if he decided to kiss her. The opportunity to find out never came, however, because he removed his hand just as curiously, having lost whatever inner battle he was fighting. With a nod of his head, he indicated she could go.

Buffy fled the crypt immediately before she did something she’d regret, slamming the door after her. Down in the basement, a practically mummified Spike listened to her footsteps as they vanished, and wondered, not for the first time, exactly what the Hell was going on between them. Sighing, he decided Buffy would tell him when she knew, and went off in search of a semi-clean shirt.

After a short and pointless patrol, Buffy returned home, finding everyone waiting for her. The coffee table was covered in open books and scrawled notes, and everyone was seated in various places around the room. All eyes turned to her as she entered.

“Okay, guys,” she asked curiously. “What’s the what?”

Giles removed his glasses and cleaned them for no apparently obvious reason. “We, uh, we have a plan.”

Buffy sat herself down on the arm of the couch. “Great. Let’s hear it.”

Willow, to her surprise, was the first to start explaining. Buffy was even more surprised by the confidence in her voice. “I know how we can defeat the Magic. At least, I think I do.”

“Okay; spill.”

Willow didn’t want to mention her encounter with mirror-Tara, so she chose her words carefully. “Well, I… I worked out that the only way to get better - to get this stuff outta me - is to purge it… I have to just expel it. So we all figured that maybe purging it into the bigger Magic would make harnessing it… easier.”

Buffy looked thoughtful. “It’s logical, I guess… but I don’t wanna put you in any unnecessary danger, Will. You’re not strong enough.”

“I know, Buffy. But I’m not going to get any stronger by sitting here…”

Giles added, “I admit, it doesn’t sound like the best of ideas… but I’ve thought this through, and Willow is correct. The Magic that’s out there is, as you’ve said, very annoyed… and that may be because it knows there’s some part of itself missing - the part that’s in Willow. Maybe if we put it together again, it’ll calm down.”

“Maybe it won’t…” countered Buffy. “It’s too dangerous, Giles.”

“I’m not debating that fact,” he said, adamantly. “But there appears to be no other choice. If Willow doesn’t purge the remains of her Magic, it’ll only get stronger within her. And if she merely expels it somewhere else, we’ll have two lots of it to deal with. In any case, we need it altogether to be able to re-capture it.”

Buffy still wasn’t sure. Anya merely nodded, knowing there was no other choice. Xander finally chimed in. “If we’re careful, Willow will be fine. And we’ll all be with her; it’s not like she has to do this alone.”

“All right,” she said, conceding defeat now that she was outnumbered. “So it’s the only option. Any ideas exactly how we’re going to harness it once it’s back together?”

“The only thing I can think of,” said Anya, “is to take all of the books it was taken from to it, and hope it moves back to its old home.”

“Sensible,” noted Buffy.

Dawn, who had been quiet for the talk, spoke up. “This sounds like a big ol’ Scooby world-saving deal.” Everyone murmured amongst themselves. “Do I get to help?”

Buffy was going to disagree, but then she remembered that Dawn had shown considerable ability as a fighter, and was certainly brave enough to help them out. “We’ll see. I have to come up with a plan, first.” Dawn folded her arms, adamant she was going to be left out again. “There’s not much time before this thing hits Sunnydale, guys. Let’s all just sleep on it and confer tomorrow, okay?”

There was a general noise of agreement, and everyone filed to their various sleeping arrangements. Nobody slept, however, their brains working overtime to come up with feasible plans. Buffy, running over every possibility in her mind, had a horrible feeling that whatever they decided, it wouldn’t be that straightforward. Where magic was concerned, nothing was predictable. She also had an inkling that, no matter how much she argued with herself over it, she’d have to include Spike into the proceedings, either as an extra fighter, or to protect Dawn if it got too much for her to handle.

It seemed impossible to get away from him. Maybe life would be easier if she would just accept his presence in her existence, and stop fighting the fact that she was continually drawn back to him. But then again, since when had life on the Hellmouth ever been easy?

Buffy awoke late the next morning after everyone was already up, and realised, with bizarre clarity, that she knew exactly what to do. She dressed quickly and ate a fast breakfast, before storming out of the front door. She briefly explained that she was going to find out how close the Magic was to town so she’d know how much time they’d have, and then she was gone, leaving a very confused household in her wake.

It reached the early evening. Eventually, everyone wandered off to do their own thing, since Buffy showed no signs of reappearing. Giles had moved his research upstairs so he could take his turn keeping Willow company, and so they could help each other on the magical side of things, using his ideas and her knowledge of practice. Dawn had escaped to her bedroom with her music, having gotten bored of helping him.

The two remaining Scoobies, Xander and Anya, were sitting in the lounge. Anya, sitting on the couch with her legs curled under her, was perusing one of the smaller books - entitled “Magics And Their Realms” in ornate gold lettering on the leather spine - and Xander was absently watching television with the sound down low, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to it, however. The air was decidedly awkward between them still, and Xander got the distinct impression it would be him who’d have to break the silence. He just wasn’t exactly sure how to do it, or whether the time was right.

The opportunity then arose, as Anya hurled the book at the floor in frustration and folder her arms irritably. Xander smiled, amused. “Problem, An?”

She huffed. “Yes. All of the useful books are under the rubble of the Magic Box, and Giles’ are so old… well, I think the First Slayer may have used them,” she explained, sceptically.

“Come on, you know he keeps all the good ones for himself. He’s got them all upstairs with Will…”

She nodded. “I wonder how they’re doing?”

“Let’s see,” he said, thoughtfully. “The Brain of Britain and the Brain of Sunnydale in one room? I’d say they’re doing fine.”

Anya cast a glance to the staircase. “I just hope they find a way to harness that thing. It’s all very well knowing how to get rid of it, but Magic doesn’t tend to be the most… cooperative of things to work with.”

Xander agreed, silently, similarly casting his gaze to the stairs. After a few seconds, they both looked away again. Just as absently as before, Xander returned his attention to the television, and Anya began picking at her fingernails. Neither of them spoke, and the previous discomfort soon descended on them again.

After a few minutes, it was Anya who broke the silence. “Do you think Willow will be all right?”

Xander tore his gaze from the television - he’d been paying enough attention to realise it was an old rerun of Bewitched (with the second actor as Darrin) and Anya’s comment had seemed to come at an apt time. “Here’s hoping,” he said. “So long as she doesn’t do any of the ol’ nose-twitching.” He indicated the television to back up his comment. The half-witch, half-mortal daughter, Tabitha, was manifesting herself a pet bunny out of thin air. Luckily, Anya wasn’t paying attention or she would have gotten decidedly nervous.

“She seems to have improved, though, don’t you think?” asked Anya, having been witness to Willow’s sudden burst of energy the day before.

“She has… but… I don’t know…” he admitted, remembering their conversation in the bathroom. “I’m scared she’s losing her mind.”

Anya’s expression mirrored her shock; she hadn’t thought it would be that bad. Yes, she’d witnessed the Darkness inside Willow that morning, and she knew about the plaguing nightmares, but she’d never suspected Willow might have been losing her mind. “What makes you say that?”

“Yesterday, she…” He shook his head, debating against telling her, then realised he had to tell someone, and Giles or Buffy would only be even more concerned. Anya wasn’t as close to Willow as the others. “She was in the bathroom and she asked me if I could see Tara… in the mirror… And at first I thought, y’know, Hellmouth, mirror people is normal… but there was nothing there, Anya.” He sighed. “I know, I’m probably overreacting. I’m sure the Buffster and Dawn saw their mom a lot after she died. Sure I read that somewhere, actually; part of the grieving process or something…” Anya nodded. “But… I’ve seen Will when the Magic takes hold and it’s like she’s not even there any more…”

His ex-fiancée looked thoughtful, then said. “If it’s any consolation, standard mirror-universe manifestations are usually only visible to one person. It is entirely possible that Willow could have seen Tara in the mirror even if you couldn’t…”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Mm-hm.”

He breathed out. “That’s a relief…”

“In fact,” she added, “it’s likely that Tara may have given her a message… on how to get rid of the Magic, most probably, or perhaps she convinced her to get better.”

“That makes a lot of sense, now you come to mention it.” He felt quite silly for suspecting Willow was going insane. In all likelihood, it was him who was going insane. “Thanks.” Another silence fell as the credits rolled for Bewitched. The announcer cheerily stated that the next show would be I Dream of Jeannie, which was almost as bad in its naïve misrepresentation. Xander turned off the set in irritation. “I just wish,” he said, “that it’d been someone else who’d pulled her out of it…”

“Like who?”

“Giles. Buffy. Someone who can handle this.”

“Didn’t they try?” asked Anya, curiously; she seemed to be leading up to something. Off his ‘beg-pardon?’ expression, she continued. “Buffy and Giles… didn’t they try to bring her out of it and fail? I mean, I was there at the Magic Box. She nearly killed them both. Doesn’t the fact that you were the only one who got through to her imply something?”

Xander thought about it. “Like?”

“Like… I don’t know… like… maybe you were the only one, out of all of us, who not only loved her enough, but trusted her enough to go that close to her and try… Perhaps whatever part of Willow that was still good noticed that…” Xander listened as everything fell into place in Anya’s brain. “It makes sense. I tried to battle her with magic - all those silly protection spells around Giles and Buffy - which didn’t work because she was too powerful. Giles tried outsmarting her and that made it worse. And Buffy tried to fight it out of her; honestly, I think that just pissed her off. But nobody ever stopped to try and love her, not like you did.”

“Wow, An…” he said, amazed. “I think you’re right.” He smiled, then cast his gaze to the stairs, waiting for a promising shout of ‘Eureka!’ to filter down. Nothing came. “Still,” he added, “I’m glad G-man finally managed to make her open up to him. I was starting to feel trapped, you know? And I was terrified of… of damaging her.”

Anya didn’t reply, understanding how it might have been for him. “Well, for what it’s worth”, she said, smiling warmly, “I think you were incredibly brave to stand up to her.”

He smiled back. “Thank you.” After a pause, he suddenly broke in with. “Do you think we have a chance, Anya?”

She looked surprised. “You and Willow?”

“No… you and me…” He then added, “Sorry, that sounded way better in my head…”

“Oh…” She looked serious. “I don’t know, Xander. And I’m not just saying that as a scapegoat, either, I honestly mean that I don’t know.” She sighed. “We’re both hurting. We’re both to blame for things… and trust has to be rebuilt.”

“I know…” He took a deep breath. The conversation had suddenly gotten a lot more difficult. “I want you to know… I… I forgive you for… y’know, the whole Evil Undead thing.”

“Really?” She was surprised. They both knew she was as much to blame as Spike was; Xander was perhaps trying to justify his hatred of the vampire by laying no blame on anyone else. Buffy would take longer to forgive, he knew, but he was still certain it had been mainly Spike’s fault. “Well… I can’t say that I forgive you completely, not yet. It still hurts too much, but… I think I understand about why you couldn’t marry me…”

“I guess that’s a start…” Casually, to cover the fact that he was terrified, he added, “You know I still love you, right?”

“Oh, yes,” she clarified, and replied, just as casually, “I still love you, too. But I’m not-“

“-ready. That’s fine. I get it.” There was a comfortable pause of mutual understanding, and then Anya decided she had to clear something up. It had been bugging her ever since she’d ended up living at the Summers’ house by accident.

“Xander, you know what happened between me and Spike was as much my fault as his, don’t you?”

He scowled. He knew that, all right. He just didn’t want to admit it, because blaming it all on his sworn enemy was far easier. He knew that wasn’t what Anya wanted to hear, though. “Yes…”

“So why are you still being so hard on him?”

“Because no matter what Buffy says, he’s evil. He’s the very epitome of everything she’s supposed to be against.”

“So was Angel,” countered Anya, logically. She didn’t know the exact history of Buffy and Angel, but she did know enough to make this particular point.

“Angel was good. And I didn’t like him much to begin with either. But Spike’s different…”

Anya looked thoughtful. “Angel was good because he had a soul, yes?” Xander could tell where she was going with this. He nodded slowly. “Well… Spike also has a soul…”

“It makes no difference… We both know he only went to get that soul in some pathetic attempt to make Buffy love him.” To further back up his point, he added, “Angel’s soul was a curse, hence the tall-dark-and-broody. Spike wanted one… and I hope it drives him insane.”

Anya was feeling particularly diplomatic today; she was also being incredibly insightful, suddenly realising the truth of everything. She’d had a lot of time alone to think, mainly about herself and Xander, but also about her friends. She’d also been around for a fair few centuries, and had dealt with her share of relationships, human and demon alike. Which is why she managed to make her next argument with a certain level of confidence. “If Spike does go insane, it won’t be because of the soul, you know…” Xander gave her a questioning look. “It’ll be because of Buffy.”

“Even better,” he muttered. “She can drive him insane and then stake him, like she should have done a long time ago.”

She sighed. “You’re missing the point…”

“Which is?”

“Spike knows how Buffy feels about him - he told me so himself.” Seeing a brief rage flash in Xander’s eyes, albeit involuntarily, she quickly changed tactics. “Buffy’s in love with him-”

Xander scoffed. “No, she’s not…”

“Yes. She is,” said Anya, adamantly. “She just hasn’t realised it yet, or won’t admit it… and that’s what’ll drive Spike crazy. And now he’s got this soul, he’ll probably willingly let it, too.”

Xander stared at her a long time, thinking about it. It was beginning to make rather too much sense - Buffy hadn’t let him kill Spike after the incident at the Magic Box, even though she must have been hurting just as much. She hadn’t killed him herself after what happened in the bathroom. He didn’t like to think about it, but it was entirely possible. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say she is in love with him. It’s not going to change my opinion of Spike. It’s not going to change the fact that he’s killed, and that he cheats, and steals, and hurts people, and soul or no soul, he’s always going to be bad…” Then, he realised something. “You… don’t know why he left, do you?”

“To get the soul.” The ‘duh’ was implied.

“No, An… he tried to rape Buffy.”

She froze at the abruptness of the statement, thus proving that she really didn’t know. “When…?” Xander worked it out, and told her. To his credit, he did grudgingly clarify that nothing had, in fact, happened, that Buffy had managed to stop him. Anya considered this new information. “Well, the fact that Spike is not a pile of dust should convince you how she feels about him. She’s spoken to him since he came back; she may have even forgiven him, Xander… you can only ever forgive those who hurt you if you love them enough to do it…” As she made this last point, she stared at him meaningfully, and he remembered his words to her previously - he’d forgiven her for sleeping with Spike that night, even though it had cut him to his very core.

Reluctantly, he had to admit she was right. He sighed heavily, wanting to be right for once, and knowing that this time, he definitely wasn’t. He wasn’t going to pretend to like the vampire, however; not unless said vampire did something profoundly amazing to change his opinion of him, which he doubted was going to happen. “All right, Anya… for Buffy’s sake, I guess I can lay off the Spike-jibes for a while…”

“Good.” She nodded, satisfied at a job well done. Casually, semi-joking, she added, “Willow likes him, too-“

“Whoa, okay… not goin’ there…” They both laughed slightly, the atmosphere clearing between them briefly. Their thoughts returned to the situation in hand, that of the rampant Magic and how to catch it.

“I think we’re going to need Spike for this, anyway. The more people, the better. You’re going to have to play nice.”

“I think I can manage that for now…”

She smiled, and they nodded in mutual agreement. She reached for her discarded book and found where she’d got to, settling back down on the sofa to finish reading it, while Xander flicked the television back on.

Another hour passed in amicable half-silence, the only sounds the quiet noises from the set, and Anya’s occasional page turning. The muffled sound of Dawn’s music filtered down from her room, and once - only once - Willow’s laughter was heard, which was a good sign towards both her recovery and obtaining an answer to their puzzle. Dawn’s music stopped after a while and she emerged from her bedroom, and headed down the stairs towards the kitchen. There was brief rummaging in there, and then she reappeared looking perturbed.

Xander looked up at her from his position on the floor. “What’s up, Dawnster?”

She pouted. “We’re out of food again…” That being said, she stood at the bottom of the staircase and yelled for Giles to come down.

The rather harassed looking older man came out of Willow’s room and rubbed his eyes tiredly - they’d been researching and discussing possible solutions for two hours with very little to show for it. “Yes, what is it, Dawn?”

She indicated the kitchen. “No food. Dawn hungry.”

“None at all?” he asked, heading down the stairs to investigate for himself. As he passed the couple in the lounge, he said, “Could one of you sit with Willow? We’re nearly on to something,” he explained, “but if I read even one more word I think my head’s going to explode…” Dawn giggled and followed him towards the kitchen.

Anya nodded and got up. “I’ll go. I’m at one with the thinking right now…” Xander smiled gratefully at her and took up the book she was reading, making an effort to help instead of rotting his brain with the television show that was on.

Giles opened a cupboard and saw that Dawn was right. “Oh, dear. Well,” he said, checking his watch, “the supermarket’ll be closed by now, so I suppose it’ll have to be-“

“Pizza!” she interrupted. “Please, please, please?”

“All right, pizza…”

“We’ll have to go get it, though. They opened this new place and they never get it here on time; it’s not worth calling them…”

Giles sighed. Nothing ever seemed to be simple these days. He gestured for Dawn to go ahead of him and they made their way to the front door. “Dawn has requested pizza,” he said to Xander. “What are you having?”

He thought. “Hmm… pepperoni, ham, heavy on the cheese…”

“And the others?”

“Willow likes a little of everything; Anya’ll only eat margherita. And Buffy usually has either… ham and pineapple or one of those really spicy deals.”

Giles looked vaguely horrified at the prospect, and Dawn clarified, “Yeah, she likes her pizza to bite back, or something…”

“I’d go with the H-and-P if I were you,” said Xander. “We can keep it for when she’s back…”

The ex-Watcher nodded, making a mental note of the orders, before ushering Dawn out to the car. The house fell relatively silent again as his car pulled off the drive and drove away. Xander, who had moved to the couch, was beginning to find Magics And Their Realms quite interesting, if completely useless to their cause, when there was a knock at the door. He put the book down on the couch. Getting up to answer the door, he muttered to himself, “That was quick…”

Upstairs, Anya had found Willow asleep, tired out from all the researching and brainstorming, but she supposed this was probably a good thing - she needed to conserve as much energy as possible if she was going to purge the Magic from her system. Anya settled herself down with one of the larger books - Xander had been right, Giles had kept all the decent books to himself - and kept one eye on Willow while she read it.

She heard the front door open but thought nothing of it; as an afterthought, she closed the bedroom door over so Willow wouldn’t wake up.

Xander opened the door, expecting to find that Giles had perhaps forgotten an order, or even his keys, or Dawn needed the bathroom, or something similarly mundane. Instead, he was greeted by the one thing he’d hoped wouldn’t appear on the doorstep.

“Spike…” The blond vampire, hands jammed firmly into the pockets of his duster and head down, stood there with none of his usual cool confidence. He seemed nervous, in fact. He didn’t force his way in, either. Xander eyed him suspiciously. “Can we help you?”

“Uh… Slayer came by earlier; said she’d got a plan, or something. Said I should make my way here so she could tell everyone together…” He raised his head and tried to peer around Xander into the house. “She back yet?”

“No.” He stood squarely in the doorway, blocking Spike’s entry to the house. He may have still been invited, but Xander wasn’t prepared to let that stand between him and his new mission of keeping Spike on the other side of the door. He eyed him suspiciously. “Did she really invite you over here?”

“Yes,” he said, annoyed. “She told me she’d be back by now.”

“Well, she’s not.”

“I can see that.” He was now beginning to see that Xander was determined to rile him up, and had decided not to give him the satisfaction. “I’ll just come in and wait for her, then.” With that, he forced his way into the house. Xander took a deep breath to calm his rising irritation and then silently closed the door.

Spike looked around as if he was seeing the place for the first time, admiring it. He removed his duster and laid it casually over the banister, then moved to examine some photos he’d never noticed before. The house smelt different, somehow… unless it was his soul messing with his vamp senses, of course. Even if it was, though, there was definitely something different… it still smelt of Buffy, and Dawn, and Willow, as always. And now, of Xander, Anya, and Giles, depending on how long they’d been staying there… so what else was there?

Then, he realised: despite his infrequent visits to the Summers residence, it had, nevertheless, retained some of his own scent. Now, in his absence, and presumably because of an attempt by Buffy to erase all memory of him in a cleaning spree, he was gone… Spike shrugged. Soon rectify that situation… He caught sight of a picture of Joyce with her two daughters and stroked the glass on the front with unconcealed adoration. Maybe he’d ask Buffy nicely if he could have a copy…

Xander watched Spike with fluctuating expressions of calm, disgust, and brief wonder. He watched especially carefully as Spike touched the photograph, preparing to intervene if he stole it, then relaxed again when the vampire dropped his hand to his side once more. Eventually, Xander lost interest in him and cast his gaze up the stairs, wondering if he should tell Anya and Willow that Spike was in the house; Buffy was obviously going to call a Scooby meeting on her return and he’d be saving her time if he did. Before he could decide, however, he caught sight instead of Spike’s duster, draped over the banister.

This was familiar; painfully familiar. He’d been standing in this exact same place; Spike’s duster had been in the same place on the stair rail, almost arrogant-looking in the way it was slung there; and Buffy had been upstairs… Xander clenched a fist into the leather coat, where his hand was on the banister, and swallowed the growl he could feel forming in his throat. He’d promised Anya he’d ‘play nice’. Anya was with Willow, and wouldn’t know any better if he didn’t… And right now, ‘playing nice’ was the furthest thing from his mind. Slowly and quietly, he approached the blond vampire, who currently had his back turned.

Spike finished perusing the photographs and decided he’d better at least attempt to make small talk. He turned to face the room again. Immediately, he toppled backwards with the force of Xander’s fist making contact with his jaw. He was deceptively strong sometimes; the speed and surprise of the blow had knocked him straight to the floor.

He scrabbled to his knees, rubbing his jaw with one hand. “Bloody ‘ell, Whelp!” he shouted. “What was that for?”

Xander shook his hand to get rid of the pain, and muttered under his breath until it subsided. Flexing his fingers to regain strength, he said, “Yeah, like you don’t know…”

Spike had a pretty good idea. He was vaguely aware by this point that his lip was bleeding. “All right; I do. Guess I should have asked who that was for…”

“You.” Spike rolled his eyes; that wasn’t what he’d meant. He was beginning to wonder when Xander had become quite so stupid, when he continued. “For coming back.”

“Oh.” He got to his feet and stared Xander defiantly in the eyes. If the shaman hadn’t messed up, he’d at least have some chance at defending himself without getting a splitting headache. As it was, the chip wouldn’t let him fight back, if it got that far, and his new soul-induced conscience was muttering at him about the possible consequences if he did. “Point taken, Harris,” he said.

“Spike,” said Xander, threateningly. “I don’t think you understand. I know you’re not going to leave, no matter how beaten down you get. You tried that once; didn’t work out. So instead, you come crawling back here.” Spike frowned, waiting for him to get to the point. “You really expect me to believe that Buffy asked you here? After what you did to her?”

“Hey, nothing happened-“

“How do I know that, hm?” He knew it wasn’t true, but the truth wouldn’t make his argument particularly sound. “For all I know, you might have come back here tonight to try again.”

“Sure, Harris. When you, Red, Anya, Giles and the Bit are all in the house? I may still have that stupid chip in my brain, but it doesn’t make me a moron.”

Xander gave up on that particular line of taunting, realising Spike did make a valid point. Not that he was going to admit that to his face, of course. “Okay, let’s just put this in simple terms, shall we? I don’t like you. You don’t like me. We both like Buffy. We also, apparently, both like Anya.”

Spike sighed irritably at the mention of the vengeance demon. “Look, we both know that was nothing. Just let it go. And as for Buffy-“

“Let it go?” he interrupted. “You slept with my fiancée, Spike!”

“Yeah. And you left her at the altar.” That earned him another punch in the jaw, and this time he felt it crack. That was going to smart later. This time, though, he managed to stay on his feet; he’d been expecting that one. “You know,” he said, wiping the fresh trickle of blood from his lip, “you should really be taking this out on her, too. It wasn’t all me in that magic shop.”

There was a horrible pause while Spike waited for some kind of remark in return, but nothing came. Suddenly, Xander launched himself at him with a war-cry, both fists flailing, intent on causing as much damage as possible. Spike went down in seconds, more from being unprepared for the attack than anything, and Xander continued punching him - in the face, in the stomach, wherever he could reach that would cause plenty of pain.

“That’s for Anya!” he shouted with one punch, “and that’s for Buffy!” with another.

Finally, Spike managed to force Xander off him by giving him a hefty shove; he sailed through the air about a foot and landed heavily against the arm of the couch. An instant later, Spike’s chip kicked in and he clutched his head in agony. But at least Xander had stopped hitting him.

When the headache subsided, he looked across to see where Xander was, hoping to offer some kind of truce now he’d let out his anger. There was nobody by the couch. Where the-? A sharp kick to his ribs soon told him Xander’s whereabouts. Clearly, he wasn’t finished. “Get up!” he demanded. “Get up and fight me!”

Spike rolled over, away from Xander’s feet, and forced himself up. “Can’t,” he said. “You bloody know I can’t.”

“I want you to fight me, Spike. Won’t that override the chip?” He stood with arms wide, indicating he was free to be Spike’s punching-bag, if he so chose. Spike wasn’t sure if the chip worked like that, if it had any rules at all, but he wasn’t about to spend the rest of the night being picked on.

“Why don’t we find out?” he said. Xander hadn’t anticipated this answer - he’d been expecting Spike to back down or try to talk him round - and, too late, he raised his arms to fend off the incoming blow. Spike hit him square in the nose and sent him flying into the stairs. The chip sent out a ponderous impulse, but nothing strong enough to incapacitate him again. This was a turn up for the books.

Xander struggled to his feet, not put off by the attack. This made it all far more interesting. “That’s more like it,” he said, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, inspecting for blood. “A fight’s exactly what I need right now, and you’re just the vamp for the job.”

“I’m honoured…” Now that he was adamant that Xander definitely wanted a fight, the chip wouldn’t be a problem. Making a mental note of that particular design flaw for later use, Spike conjured up all the most irritating things Xander had ever done, just to make it more interesting. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“I thought you’d never ask…”

The two circled each other like two predators, summing up their opponent’s weaknesses. Unfortunately, because of the confined space of the lounge, Xander bumped into a piece of furniture. This distracted him just long enough for Spike to attack, and, within minutes, they were tearing each other to pieces, destroying most of the room in their wake. Common sense was no longer an option - each was determined to kill the other, or be killed trying…

Anya probably would have remained engrossed in her book had Willow not stirred and distracted her; this in turn led her to wonder what had disturbed the redhead. She closed the large tome carefully and placed it on the pile at the end of the bed, then got up, casting a brief glance at Willow as she headed to the door.

“What…?” she asked, groggily, sitting up.

“Sh,” whispered Anya, putting an ear to the door. There was an almighty crash from downstairs. “I think we might have a burglar…”

“Oh, God…” Willow dragged herself off the bed and went to stand behind Anya at the door. She’d gained a lot of strength since her ‘meeting’ with Tara and could now walk on her own again. “And Buffy’s not back yet, either…”

“Nope…” There was another loud bang. “But it sounds like Xander’s fighting him.”

“Oh,” said Willow, perking up. “Yay for Xander!” They both flinched as something that sounded expensive broke. “D’you think we should go help? O-or maybe we should call the police…”

“Or maybe we should just stay in here… We’re the womenfolk; we’re meant to be weak, and barricaded until help comes.”

Willow looked at her strangely. She was about to disagree and go through the door ahead of Anya, but then there was an even louder crash and she thought better of it. She didn’t feel like getting into the firing line. “Maybe you’re right…”

Downstairs, the living room (and, in fact, adjoining parts of both the kitchen and the dining room, as well as the stairs) appeared to be in a state of utter carnage. Ornaments were broken, furniture was either bent or broken beyond redemption, and there were even a few spools missing from the banister of the staircase. There was also a significant amount of blood on the floor.

Xander and Spike were still at it and showed no signs of stopping, now determined to fight to the death. Bruises were getting bruises, and bones were beyond broken, but still their war continued. They were blissfully unaware of the destruction they’d created, hell-bent on killing each other before the night was out. They’d re-used every insult and taunt four times over just to keep themselves going, knowing exactly what to say to make the other hurt. After all the years they’d spent swearing to be the cause of each other’s demise, the time finally seemed to be upon them.

Spike threw Xander as hard as he could into the stair-rail, breaking another spool off. Xander hit the floor in a heap and struggled to get up. “Gettin’ tired yet, Whelp?” he taunted, grinning.

“Not even close,” coughed Xander, grabbing onto the broken spool just so he’d have something to use as a weapon. On closer scrutiny, it had broken off in such a way that the end was pointed. Xander realised with sudden clarity that he could win this - he had a makeshift stake in his hand, and with the right aim and accuracy, he could end it.

Spike realised this at the same time as Xander, and his only thought was that he had to either disarm him, or kill him, before he got himself dusted. They’d both slowed down considerably since the start of their fight, but, unfortunately, they now knew each other’s moves far too well, and time was now definitely of the essence. Spike had a pretty good idea how Xander was going to attack, and if he could just-

Oh, shit… For a human, Xander could move incredibly fast when he wanted to. He seemed to running entirely on adrenaline alone, because there was no way he’d have been able to get from the floor to Spike in his current state. Spike suddenly found himself pinned to the floor, with Xander’s improvised stake held mere inches from his heart, poised for the kill.

The blond vampire struggled, but it was futile. Xander had both his arms trapped and he wasn’t strong enough to break free, having been winded when he hit the floor. This wasn’t fair… if anyone was going to stake him, he’d wanted it to be Buffy, not Alexander Harris. “So, this is how it all ends, is it?” he asked, rhetorically. His tone was almost comical, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was going to die like this.

“Save your breath for a last request, Spike…” Xander raised his arm high; he was going to enjoy this.

“It’s gone very quiet,” whispered Anya. “Perhaps it’s safe to go down…”

Willow nodded in agreement. “I just hope it was Xander who won and not the evil criminal guy…”

Cautiously, Anya opened the bedroom door, and the two young women tiptoed down the corridor. They could hear distant voices, but the fight did appear to have finished. At the top of the stairs, they stopped, taking in the wreckage with curious horror, then very slowly made their way down…

Spike flicked his eyes between Xander’s own and the stake in his hand, not sure which he was currently more scared of. The stake was a very real manifestation of his impending death, but Xander’s eyes were full of blind rage and murderous calm, the likes of which he’d never seen in him before. He knew it had gone beyond the point of reasoning with him; he wasn’t strong enough to fight him off, either..

Xander moved the stake a little higher as he readied himself. He couldn’t believe it - he was finally going to be rid of Spike, for good. Of course, explaining it to everyone would be tough, but they’d come around to his point of view eventually, when they saw he’d done the right thing. In just a few short seconds, William the Bloody would be nothing more than a pile of dust.

Anya and Willow stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs when they saw the scene. It was like something from their worst nightmare - Xander, about to murder Spike, right in Buffy’s house… with Buffy not around to help. The pair seemed oblivious to their audience, otherwise Spike probably would have shouted something. Words wouldn’t form. Both of them merely froze, unable to move forwards and terrified of trying to intervene in case Xander accidentally hurt them. Anya, especially, was appalled… the last thing he’d promised her was that he’d ‘play nice’, and he’d quite blatantly broken that promise.

They could do nothing but watch in cold terror as Xander brought the stake down.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open. “What the Hell is going on?!”

Buffy stood on the threshold, and she did not look impressed. From her perspective, she saw only that her house was in tatters, and that most of the destruction seemed to be centred around the two bloodied figures on her living room floor. Willow and Anya were clearly in too much shock to explain, and she doubted they knew what had occurred, anyway.

She strode purposefully towards the middle of the room. “I said, what the H-“ Buffy stopped stock still when she reached them. The scene looked like it had been frozen in time. Xander, still straddling Spike’s torso, had one hand clamped firmly on the vampire’s arm to prevent him moving, and the other hand clutching his makeshift stake. The stake was sticking sickeningly out of Spike’s chest. The pair stared at each other with unblinking eyes.

Slowly, it registered to Buffy that Spike wasn’t turning to dust. On closer scrutiny, she could see that Xander had missed his heart, just barely; she’d burst through the door in the nick of time and surprised him enough for his aim to be off. Then, it registered that Xander had been trying to kill him, and, if their bruised and battered bodies were anything to go by, it had been a mere fluke that Spike hadn’t killed him first.

She felt betrayed by them both, and tears sprung to her eyes. “Oh, my God…”

Willow and Anya shared a look, having both recovered from the initial shock and similarly realised that Xander had missed. They started to approach, not entirely sure what they were going to do. Willow went first, reaching a hand to Buffy from her position some distance away. “Buffy…?”

“Stay back,” she ordered. “Just stay there…” They obeyed, standing close together. Neither Spike nor Xander had moved, and the latter’s breathing was slow and uneven. He seemed to be in shock at what he’d nearly done. Spike was evidently dealing with the fact that he could see the stake in his chest, but oblivion had failed to seize him. Buffy knew she had to get Xander out of there before she could do anything. “Xander…”

He seemed to snap out of it slightly, turning slowly to look at her. “Buffy. I…”

“Save it,” she said, overly harshly. “Just let go of the stake, Xander.” He looked back at it as if he didn’t know what it was, or how he’d gotten hold of it. “Let go.” The words failed to translate in his brain. Buffy reached over and forcibly prised his fingers from the wood, then worked on wrenching his other hand from Spike’s arm. Once she’d managed that, she got up and physically pulled him off the vampire.

From the new perspective, Xander finally looked at what he’d done and completely snapped out of it. “Buffy, I… I’m sorry, I… he… we…“ An explanation plainly refused to form in his mind. He didn’t remember plunging the stake into Spike’s chest, nor did he remember most of their fight. Looking around him, he was surprised at the amount of damage they’d done to the house. “I don’t-“

“Xander, get out of my sight,” said Buffy, darkly.

“But-“

“I will talk to you later about this… but I suggest you get out of here, before I do something I regret…”

He nodded. She was angry, too angry to be logical right now, so he wisely made his way to the back porch. He passed Anya on the way, and remembered what he’d promised. “An…” He reached out a hand in apology but she shrank back from it.

“I believed you,” she said. “I trusted you…”

“I know, I-“

“What… on Earth…?” said a distinctly British voice from the doorway. Giles had returned with Dawn, bearing many pizza boxes. Spotting his Slayer on the floor near Spike, he decided she would probably know what had gone on in his absence. “Buffy, what happened here?”

Not tearing her gaze from Spike, trying to ascertain if he was even conscious, she said, “Why don’t you ask Xander…”

“Well?”

“It was… a fight… we… we fought, and… that happened…” he mumbled.

“What happened?” asked Dawn. Xander didn’t have to answer, however, because she’d spotted Spike. “Oh, God. No!” She dropped the pizza boxes she was carrying and started to run over, but Buffy intervened.

“Giles, keep her away!”

He did as asked, tugging gently on Dawn’s shoulder to stop her. She’d seen enough, though, and she burst into tears. “You…” she said to Xander. “You did this…”

“Dawn, I-“

She cut him off by slapping him soundly across the cheek, not caring about the fact that he probably had a broken jaw as it was, then instantly collapsed into Giles’ arms. He moved her away from the scene, into the slightly safer haven of her room. Her sobs could still be heard, muffled though they were, through the closed door. Xander turned back to Willow and Anya. The former wouldn’t meet his eyes, but that didn’t surprise him; the latter merely stared back, looking utterly betrayed. Before he could say anything else, she vanished into midair, teleporting herself out of there.

Conceding defeat, Xander limped painfully through to the back porch, where he sat and waited for Buffy and the horrible conversation he knew was coming.

Back in the lounge, Willow and Buffy were alone with a skewered and silent Spike. Sensing that her friend probably needed help, Willow approached and knelt on the other side of him. She breathed in through her teeth when she saw the stake. Buffy seemed at a loss as to what to do next. The stake was very close to his heart and she didn’t trust herself to remove it; her hands were shaking too much. Apart from this, she still hadn’t managed to elicit any response from him.

Willow noticed, but didn’t mention, that Buffy was gripping one of Spike’s hands firmly in her own. She decided it was best to stay silent and wait until Buffy asked for help, rather than trying to take over.

Buffy hovered her other hand in his field of vision to see if it might bring him round. Nothing happened. She moved the hand to his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Still nothing. Finally, as a last resort, she leant close to his ear. “Spike? Can you hear me?” Again, nothing happened. Buffy repeated the question over and over, getting desperate. Finally, Willow could bear it no longer and did the same in Spike’s other ear.

It wasn’t working. Spike blinked, once, and that was all. Buffy looked across at Willow as she straightened up. “Will… what do we do?”

“I… I don’t know, Buffy…”

“D-do you think we should move the stake?”

Willow examined it. “M-maybe.”

Buffy nodded slowly, then, letting go of Spike’s hand, she took the stake in both hands and pulled. It moved about a millimetre, then Spike suddenly moved. Buffy let go of it and fell back, shocked, as did Willow, giving him space. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear it, then focussed on a very worried-looking Buffy. When he spoke, he was obviously back to normal.

“Who died, pet?”

She smiled in spite of herself, relieved. “You nearly did, you big doofus…”

“Eh?” Then, he spotted the stake from the corner of his eye and realised what she was talking about. He eyed it nervously. “Did you do that?”

“No…” she told him. “Will, can you help me sit him up?”

Her friend nodded and between them they managed to get him almost upright, very carefully, and propped him up against what was left of Buffy’s coffee table. Willow perched carefully on the arm of the now-creaking couch. Spike looked around, horrified. “Bloody hell… did Xander and I do this?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, her relief at his coming around turning back into anger at Xander, and now slightly at Spike, too. “The next time you guys decide to fight it out, can you not total my living room?”

He looked sincere and apologetic. “I’m really sorry, Buffy… honestly. I… I don’t even know what happened. I came over like you asked and Xander wouldn’t believe me… I didn’t even provoke him that I know of, but next thing I knew he’d punched me in the face, and then…” He gestured to his bruised body and the mess they’d left. “I admit, we both completely lost it… fightin’ to the death, we were. Never thought he’d actually try to dust me, though.”

“Me neither,” admitted Buffy.

Spike reached up for her hand. “That honour’s reserved for you, love… You know that.”

Why, all of a sudden, was that simple statement, something she’d known without him having to tell her, like poetry to her ears? Since his return from Africa, he suddenly had an incredibly irritating ability to say the most mundane things and make them sound beautiful. Buffy wasn’t quite ready to deal with how he was making her feel lately, and nearly losing him at the hand of her best friend had only made it worse. Now, he was looking at her That Way, with the small smile that told her he loved her without him needing to say anything.

She broke free of his grasp, and crouched to his level. “I need to talk to Xander. I’ll leave you with Will. That okay with you both?” Spike looked at Willow to make sure she was comfortable with the plan, and when she indicated that it was fine, he nodded. “Good. Willow, look after him, okay?”

“I will. I’ll go get the First Aid box, if it’s still intact…” She headed to the kitchen, where she knew they kept some supplies, leaving Buffy alone with Spike for a few minutes. She stayed with him while Willow hunted.

Spike laughed a little bitterly, and also slightly amused. “Can’t believe I’m sitting here with a bleedin’ stake sticking out my chest…” Buffy couldn’t believe it either. Apart from that, he seemed relatively intact. The wounds from the trials were bleeding again from Xander’s punches, he was bruised, and he had a split lip and a small cut on his forehead. Another bruise was forming on his cheek. “I… I want you to know… if it’d been the other way ‘round, I wouldn’t have killed him.”

She smiled and put a hand to his cheek. “Yeah, you would…”

“All right, I would… but I wouldn’t have been happy about it afterwards…”

Buffy heard Willow coming back and removed the hand. She looked serious. “I’m not going to let him get away with this, Spike. I promise. Best friend or not, he’s gonna learn not to mess with my business… or yours…” Spike smiled gratefully. Before she got up, Buffy leaned over, being careful to avoid the stake and his split lip, and gave him a chaste kiss, not unlike the one she’d granted him after his ordeal with Glory. She pulled back and stood up, and was rewarded with a curious, but happy, smile, just as Willow came back with the First Aid kit.

The red head sat herself on the floor near Spike and started unpacking the contents of the box. Buffy cast one final knowing glance at Spike, then headed outside to talk to Xander. This wasn’t going to be pretty…

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