Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions while the dialogue is the property of the Joss Whedon. No copyright infringement intended.

In a destroyed building in Sunnydale, with tiny rays of sunlight streaming through the rubble…

There was something tracing patterns on her left hand.

Buffy opened her eyes ever so slightly to peek down at her hand. It was entwined with someone else's, and that person was tracing their thumb in a circle on the back of her hand.

It was definitely a man's hand, she noted. It had the boxy sort of look to it, with wide (but not meaty) fingers.

Angel.

That was her first thought, which she quickly corrected. The hand was too calloused to be Angel's.

Riley.

Her second guess wasn't any better. It wasn't big enough to be Riley's.

She looked at the foreign hand's wrist, and her eyes trailed up the rest of the arm—which was very toned and well-muscled—to a muscled shoulder, neck, and—

A full head of bleached blond hair.

Spike.

It was Spike. Spike was holding her hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.

She sits up in a hurry, clinging to the fabric draped over her close to her body. She breathes hard and looks around.

Spike lifts his head up and languidly opens his eyes as Buffy jumped up, desperately trying to cover naked herself.

"When—when did the building fall down?" she manages finally, staring down at Spike.

He looks up and chuckles. "I don't know. Must've been sometime between the first time and the, uh—" he looks Buffy up and down as he tries to remember how many times and he chuckles again.

Buffy's face contorts with horror as it all comes back to her. "Oh," she says softly. "Oh my god."

Spike cocks his head to the side as she rummages around for her clothes. It's a glorious sight—Buffy prancing around in nothing but his leather duster, finding scraps of clothing among the heaps of rubble. He gets more comfortable. He knows there's no going back now. He loves her—as much as a soulless vampire can love a Slayer, anyway.

She's down to her last shoe.

"Shoe. Need my shoe," she tells herself, looking around.

"What's the hurry, luv?" Spike drawls lazily, pleased with himself as she sifts through piles of plaster.

She snaps her head toward him. "The hurry is I left Dawn all night. And don't call me 'luv'."

Stung, "You didn't seem to take issue of that last night," he smarts back, stretching, and replaying certain scenes again in his head. He smirks. "Or with any of the other little nasties we whispered."

Buffy takes this in, freaking. Last night—SO. WRONG. And so completely, mind-numbingly wild. Everything she's needed—Escape. Release. Ecstasy…with Spike.

"Can we not—talk?" she says hotly as she finds her other boot and puts it on her left foot.

Spike sighs, defeated. "I just don't see why you have to run off so quick. Thought we could, um—"

"NOT. GONNA HAPPEN," Buffy snaps. "Last night was the end of this freak show," she declared and stepped over him to reach for her jacket.

Spike's expression hardens and he reaches up, yanking her down into his naked lap. She holds herself away from him. "DON'T. SAY THAT."

Buffy sighs. "What did you think was gonna happen? What, we're gonna read the newspaper together? Play footsie under the rubble?" she challenges.

Spike shifts and has her cradled in his right arm. He takes his left hand and moves in under her long leather skirt and between her legs.

Buffy gasps as two of his fingers delve insider her and his thumb flicks over her clitoris. Her eyelids flutter shut and he watches her swallow, watches the blood rush to her face.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he retorts, breaking her trance.

She shimmies to get away from him. "Stop."

"Make me," he sneers and goes to touch her again. She wriggles against him and feels him respond.

"No!" she grunts but then they're kissing again. Buffy moves to get closer and then snaps out of it. "No," she says again, "I have to g—"

"No, stay," Spike pleads softly, pulling her back to him. "I'm stuck here." He gestures to the sunlight. "Sun's out."

Buffy searches his face and then her lips search for his again as he kisses her deeply. Then he moves her under him and rakes his fingers up her leg. She moans in his ear as his left hand finds her breast.

"I knew," he begins suddenly, pulling away from a panting Buffy. "I knew the only thing better than killing a Slayer would be fuc—"

"WHAT?" Buffy shrieks, shoving him off her and scampering to the farthest end of the room. "Ugh! That's what this was about? Doing a Slayer?"

Spike laughs deeply. "I wouldn't throw stones, pet. You seem to be quite the groupie yourself."

"Shut up," Buffy whispers and wipes her lips with her hand, repulsed. She's holding back tears.

"I'm just saying, vampires get you hot," Spike said, as if it were the most obvious thing.

"A vampire got me hot. ONE. But he's gone. You're just—" she looks at him. "You're just convenient."

Spike huffed in disbelief and stood. He found his jeans on a slab of concrete behind him and threw them on, buckling the belt angrily.

"So, what, now? You go back to treating me like dirt 'til the next time you got an itch you can't scratch? Well forget it. Last night changed things. I'm done being your whipping boy."

"Nothing's changed. It was a mistake," Buffy tells him.

"Bollocks," spits Spike. "It was a bloody revelation. Now you can act as high and mighty as you like," he says, meandering towards her, "but I know where you live now, Slayer. I've tasted it," he drawls, leaning towards her, wanting a kiss.

"Get a grip," Buffy retorts, unwavering. "Like you're God's gift."

Spike laughs lightly, amused. "Hardly. Wouldn't be nearly as interesting, would it?"

He moves in for another kiss but Buffy shoves him away. He runs in front of her, blocking her exit.

"No, let me go," she insists angrily.

He locks his wrists behind her neck, holding her still, and looks at her. "I may be dirt. But you're the one who likes to roll in it, Slayer. You never had it so good as me. Nev—"

Buffy tore away from him, hearing the truth in his statement. "Ugh! You're bent!"

Spike laughed. "Yeah, and it made you scream, dinnit?" he teased, turning to her.

Buffy threw her jacket on. "I swear to God. If you tell anyone about last night, I will kill you," she spat.

Spike sobers. "Right," he said. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out Buffy's lacey white thong. "You, uh, gonna want these too?"

Buffy pursed her lips, glaring at him, and punched him right in the nose. He fell to the ground and she darted up the stairs, leaving him alone.

Buffy opened the front door of her house and heard Willow's voice.

"…left some stuff upstairs, let me get them—"

"I'll get them later," Tara called back and stormed past Buffy.

She continued through the dining room and entered the kitchen frowning. Willow was near the fridge and Amy is sitting at the counter. Dawn was standing in front of the stove.

"Buffy!" Dawn exclaims, relieved. "Where were you? Are you okay?"

Buffy thinks for a moment. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Dawn says emotionally. "You're all sore and limpy."

"I'm not s-sore," Buffy assures Dawn, bending to take a seat. She grimaces as she moves. "I'm just, uh, had a fight. You know, the all-nighter kind," she says and looks down.

"Figured," Dawn said understandingly. "I knew that's why you didn't call. So what's the big bad? Should we be worried?"

Buffy looks at Willow. "No. I think you guys are safe," she says meekly. "Tara was here?" she says, eager to change the subject.

"I guess she stayed over with Dawn," Willow says nonchalantly.

"You guess?" Buffy asks, eyeing her. "Where were you?"

Willow shrugs. "We went out. We kind of lost track of time."

"Oh."

"I never would have if I knew you weren't coming home," Willow defends.

"No, I mean, of course. You know. Wasn't intentional. And, you know, everyone's safe." Buffy turns to Dawn. "You are, right? You're okay?"

Dawn giggles quietly. "Oh, yeah, I mean, um, I think my pancakes are burning, but…."

Willow walks to the stove and turns it off.

"Tara was making…them," Dawn trails off as Willow looks at them sadly.

"I've, uh, I've gotta get some sleep," Willow says.

"Me too," Buffy sighs.

"Yeah," says Amy, standing up from the chair. "I should go home. Dad's expecting me."

"Kay," Willow says to her. "Call you later."

"Yeah, good," Amy says with a smile and leaves through the back door.

"You sure you're alright?" Buffy asks Dawn slowly. "I'm sorry about everything."

"It's okay. You should rest. You're beat from monster wrestling all night."

Buffy's eyes flick away from Dawn's. "Yeah. Right. Thanks," she says, and starts off toward her bedroom.

"All these demons are starting to look alike," Xander complained.

Buffy, Xander, and Anya were at the Magic Box again, scouring Giles' collection of monsters and demons. Still no luck.

Buffy looked up from her book.

"Reptiles. Reptiles with horns. Reptiles with gills. I'm still finding nothing of the steal-a-diamond, freeze-a-guy variety." He closed the book, annoyed. "An, would you hand me that one next to you?"

Anya ignores him, engrossed in the book she's researching.

"Great, we're not even married yet and already you've stopped listening to me," Xander huffs.

Xander reaches in front of her and grabs the book he needs, revealing a magazine called 'Bride and Joy'. He pulls the book from Anya's hands and reveals another magazine.

"Anya," he scolds.

"I'm sorry, but this is pointless," she tells him as Buffy moves away from the counter and towards Xander and Anya sitting at the table. "We've been researching forever and we're not even close to finding out who robbed that museum."

"What's up?" she asks lightly.

"Anya has a theory," Xander begins. "She thinks that Martha Stewart froze that guy."

Anya narrows her eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous. Martha Stewart isn't a demon. She's a witch."

"Please," Xander scoffs. "She could—really?"

She looks at him like he's a moron. "Of course. No one could do that much decoupage without calling on the powers of darkness." Anya shakes her head.

"Guys, while this is fascinating, we still have work to do," Buffy reminds them sarcastically.

Anya is looking at the magazine again. "I know I do. I can't decide whether to put my bridesmaids in cocktail dresses or the traditional burlap with blood larva," she says cheerily and looks up at Buffy.

"The traditional what?" Xander says. Buffy's eyes widen in horror.

"Well I was a demon for a thousand years, Xander. You can't expect me to turn my back on all the ways of my people," Anya explains.

"Uh, can I weigh in on this whole, me-wearing-larva?" Buffy interrupts.

"No," Xander and Anya say in unison. Buffy sighs dejectedly and sits.

Anya continues. "At least I'm not asking you to perform the groom's rite of self-flagellation."

Xander is about to retort when Buffy hones in. "Uhh, guys. There's something out there."

"There is," Xander concurs. "As much as I hate to admit that my bizarre bride-to-be has a point, we're getting nowhere here, Buff. Maybe it's time to try something new. You know? Hit the streets. Get Spike on it."

"No," Buffy says immediately. "No, no Spike, and no hit the streets. We stay put, you know? Away from…distractions. We'll figure this out."

"What about Willow? Can't she do something?" Anya wonders.

"Maybe, but she's home sleeping."

Xander looks at her perplexedly. "Sleeping? She sick?"

"No, she was out late. With Amy."

"And I'm bizarre," Anya snorts. "At least I didn't dump you to hang out with an ex-rat."

Buffy shakes her head. "No, it's not like that, you know, she's just helping Amy through a transition."

"And making herself a playmate to do magic with. Someone who won't monitor her, like Tara."

"Willow's a grown-up," Buffy tells Xander. "You know, maybe she doesn't need to be monitored. You know, she's going through something, but we're not her. I mean, maybe she has reasons for acting this way. And so what if she crossed a line? You know, we all do stuff—stupid stuff. But, then we learn—and we learn, and we don't do it again. So who are we to be all judge-y?"

Buffy's speech was really about herself. It wasn't consciously to herself, but after she said it, Buffy knew that she was referring to her sleeping with Spike.

"Not judge-y, Buff," Xander promised. "Just observe-y."

"Yeah, all we're saying is, she's acting different, you know? She's not herself," Anya said, and went back to her magazine.

After patrolling, Buffy returned home, placing her keys in their traditional spot on the table beside the front door.

The minute she returns she hears glass break and something fall upstairs.

"Hello?" She began walking up the stairs. "Willow? Dawn?"

She doesn't find them but hears another noise coming from Joyce's room—now Willow's room.

Willow's magic chest is open, and items are scattered everywhere. She hears the door creak behind her and turns to see Amy sneaking out of the room.

Buffy stops her and pushes her against the door. "What's going on?"

"Oh," Amy laughs meekly. "Busted—!" She gasps as Buffy shakes her.

"Where's Willow?"

"She said—she said I-I could—wait—"

Buffy tears a bag of dried green leaves from her hands. "What is this?"

"It's not what you think it is—its sage!"

Buffy sniffs it. "That is what I think it is," she says and tosses it aside. "What's going on? Where's Willow and Dawn?"

Amy sighs nervously. "I saw—I saw her, but that w-was…I like your coat. When does the Slayer find time to shop—?"

Buffy pushes her against the door again. "So they didn't let you in?"

Amy laughs tensely. "Not that they know of…."

"What else did you take?"

"Nothing," Amy says quickly just as the Slayer begins slams her against the door another time.

"WHAT. ELSE?" Amy is unresponsive so Buffy goes for the pockets.

"Please—please, I need this stuff—"

Buffy pulls out a few crystals and another bag of herbs.

"Willow wants me to have it—she understands," Amy says.

"Understands what? Breaking into someone's house for kitchen spices? No, I don't think so."

"You should. She's as bad as I am—worse. I bet she's at Rack's right now."

"Rack's?"

"A place. He does spells," Amy says, a tremor coursing through her. "Heavy stuff. Willow's his new favorite," she sneers.

"She's there?" Buffy grips Amy again. "With DAWN?"

"Oh, don't shake me again—super strength—I think I'm gonna boot."

"Then tell me where this place is, and I won't," Buffy threatens.

Looking extremely queasy, Amy complies. "Its downtown, but it moves."

"What do you mean, 'it moves'?"

"Its downtown. I-I'm not sure where it would be tonight exactly."

"TELL ME HOW TO FIND IT."

"You just kind of have to feel it out! Oh God, I think I'm gonna be—oh, God—"

Buffy lets her go and rushes out of the room.

Buffy kicked in the door to Spike's crypt and went downstairs. After shouting his name once or twice she grabbed the nearest object—a vanilla candle—and chucked it at the sleeping corpse.

Spike bolted upright, gasping for air.

"God, do you sleep through anything? I was like yelling, and nothing." She put the second candle down.

"I'm a bit knackered." Spike smirked and pulled the sheets off of him, revealing his naked body. "Had a long night."

Buffy scowled and turned around, grabbing Spike's jeans off a red leather chair—stolen, no doubt.

"Someone should teach you how to use candles in foreplay, luv,"

"Get dressed," she snapped. "Dawn's missing."

"Again. Ever think about a lo-jack for the girl?" He sighed and gave in. "What's the story?"

"She went out with Willow," Buffy said.

"Willow?" he said lightly, amused. "'Kind of a sorry excuse to come by. You want the touch, all you need to do is—"

"Spike," she interrupts. "Willow's into something, okay? Her and Dawn have been missing for hours. There's some guy named Rack."

Spike frowns. "Rack?"

"Yeah. He's, uh, some sort of—"

"I know who he is—he deals in magic—black stuff. Dangerous."

"I've been all over downtown and I can't find his place," she tells him.

"Because he cloaks it. You can't feel it unless you're into the big bad—a witch or a vampire."

"So then let's go," she begs.

Spike stands up to get dressed and Buffy turns around, desperate to avoid an intimate moment.

He scoffs, offended. "Oh, that's right. Hide your blushing eyes."

Buffy and Spike walk down a dark road in the sleazy bit of Sunnydale, waiting for Spike to send Rack's place.

"Anything?" she asks.

"Not yet. Might pick up on it if you'd stop asking me about it every two seconds."

"Spike, if you're dragging this out—"

Spike stops walking and Buffy turns to face him.

"What, so I can linger near your precious self? Get a grip."

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Like you've never drawn things out before."

"Maybe," Spike admits, "but we've been through this, haven't we? Things have changed."

"Will you quit that?" Buffy hisses. "The only thing that's different is that I'm disgusted with myself. That's the power of your charms. Last night was the most perverse, degrading experience OF MY LIFE."

Spike smiles fondly. "Yeah," he said sweetly. "Me too." Then he resumed walking.

Buffy walks in step with him. "That might be how you get off, but it's not my style."

Spike sputters, holding back a loud guffaw. "No, it's your calling. Gave me a run for my money, Slayer."

They walk in silence for a minute.

"Now I admit it; you've had me by the short hairs. I love you. You know it. But I got my rocks back. You felt something last night," he insists.

"Not love," Buffy retorts.

"Not yet, but I'm in your system now. You're gonna crave me like I crave blood—and the next time you come callin', if you don't stop being such a bitch maybe I will bite you," he threatens in an attempt to feel superior.

"That's it," Buffy huffs. "I want you out of my life. Out of my work, out of my home—"

"Too late for that," Spike breaks it to her. "You invited me in already."

Buffy rolls her eyes.

"And as for your work, you need me. Like tonight."

Again with the eye-rolling. "I'll find Dawn myself."

"You really gonna put your little sis in danger just to spite me?" he challenges.

They're walking faster than before when suddenly they hear a girl cry out. They run towards the sound and find a massive, hairy demon preparing to attack a girl in a blue sweater.

"Dawn!" Buffy shrieks and lunges at the demon, taking him out.

She punches him and they both fall to the floor. She goes in for a kick but he's standing before she is. She kicks him and hits this time, sending him stumbling.

Spike rushes over to Dawn and examines her wound.

The demon throws some punches and misses, but Buffy is luckier: she punches him square in the nose but he retaliates quickly. She drops to the floor and kicks under his feet, knocking him down. He gets up and throws her up to the concrete ceiling.

Buffy rises, ready to fight when he starts quivering.

"Now you're scared? Better late than never…."

Suddenly he explodes. Willow appears behind him, red sparks shooting off her fingers and lighting up her black eyes.

Dawn whimpers.

"Dawn," Buffy says and runs to her. Spike moves to the other side of her. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"He was after Willow—" she says in between tears "—she made the car drive—don't!" she shrieks as Buffy reaches for her arm.

"No, honey, please—I need to see it, okay? Let me see your arm?"

"Dawn?" Willow rushes over to the three others. "Oh God, there's blood."

"We need to get her to a doctor," Buffy tells Spike.

"Is she okay?" Willow asks hurriedly. "I-is she okay?"

Buffy and Spike help Dawn stand up.

"Back off, Will, I got her," Buffy says hotly.

"No, Dawny…."

"I mean it—STAY AWAY from her," Buffy hisses.

Willow runs in front of them. All three of them are glaring at her. "Dawny—Dawny, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—it was an accident—I didn't see—I'm so, so sorry."

Dawn smacks her across the face.

"Dawny!" Willow gasps, bewildered. "Dawny. Don't! Dawny, I'm sorry—oh God—I'm sorry," she sobs, and falls to the floor as Buffy and Spike lead her away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Spike and Buffy stop, and then Dawn leaves with Spike.

Buffy turns back to whimpering Willow. "Get up," she commands.

"I screwed it up—everything—Tara!" she cries.

Buffy grabs the collar of Willow's jacket and yanks her up. "Yeah, you know what? You did screw up, okay? You could've killed her! You almost did!"

Willow sobs again. "I know, I know! I can't stop, Buffy! I've tried and I can't!"

"You CAN."

"I can't! I can't! I ju—God, I need help! Please! Please help me, please!" she cries and hugs Buffy, sobs still shaking her. "Please!"

Buffy puts a hand on Willow's back.

Buffy walked down the hall to her mother's old room. Willow was sitting on the bed meditating, but sensed Buffy's presence when she entered.

"Is she okay?" Willow asked.

"She's sleeping," Buffy replied inanimately. "The ER doc gave her something for the pain that knocked her out."

"But she's gonna be alright?" Willow clarifies.

"It's a fracture. It's gonna take some time." Buffy looks down.

"God. I'm sorry," Willow whispers. "I'm so…."

"I just don't understand. I don't understand why you'd go to see somebody like Rack, and I certainly don't understand why you dragged Dawn into it."

"I don't know," Willow said slowly. "The magic—I…I thought I had it under control, and then…I didn't."

"Because of Tara?"

"No. It started before she left. It's why she left."

"It seemed like things were going so well."

"It was. But I mean, if you could be a plain old Willow or Super Willow, who would you be?" She looked at Buffy and then realized. "I guess you don't actually have an option on the whole super thing."

"Will, there's nothing wrong with you. You don't need magic to be special."

"Don't I? I mean, Buffy, who was I? Just…some girl. Tara didn't even know that girl."

"You were more than 'some girl'," Buffy assures her. "And Tara wants you to stop. She loves you."

"We don't know that," Willow says grimly.

"I know that. I promise you."

"I just…it took me away from myself—I was…free."

"I get that. More than y—but it's wrong. People get hurt."

"If something had happened to Dawn tonight—something worse—"

"I know."

Willow shakes her head frantically. "No, I don't think you do. I-I was out of my mind—I did things I can't even…it won't happen again, I promise. No more spells—I'm finished."

"Good. I think it's right, to give it up. No matter how good it feels."

"It's not worth it, if it messes with the people I love. Magic wasn't all great. I won't miss the nose bleeds and the headaches and stuff."

"There you go," Buffy says, trying to comfort her.

"…keeping stinky yak cheese in my bra…"

Buffy makes a face.

"Don't ask," Willow says, before Buffy can ask.

"Now I don't have to."

"'Cause it's over."

"Exactly. It's over."

The two girls nod slowly and quietly, letting it all sink in. Only Buffy knows that she means her affair with Spike is over too.

Finally Buffy goes back to her room, and empties her Slayer chest. She hangs every last clove of garlic all around her room, and hugs a cross to her.

It's over, she thinks.

Note: I am fully aware that I switch back and forth with tenses. It is intended, and I apologize if it was a bit uneasy on the brain.