Buffy's head jerked up as the connecting door opened and Spike stepped through.

"Dru's sleepin'," he said, pulling the door shut behind him. "She still doesn' know you're 'ere, and it's prob'ly a good idea to keep it that way."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "So what now?"

Spike frowned. "Don' rightly know. I'd planned to take me and Dru outta the country, somewhere in Europe maybe. But that may not work so well with you 'ere. Whattaya wanna do with yourself?"

"I'm really not sure. I guess I don't want to go back home. They'd just push me back into being the Slayer again. But I don't really know what I want to do with my life. When career day came around I laughed it off. No Slayer gets a career. I'd assumed I'd fight demons for the rest of my incredibly short life and die at twenty or something. But now I've got options, actual options. And I don't know what I want to do with them."

"You don' 'ave to do anythin' righ' away," Spike said. "You've got time. Make up your mind, find somethin' you wanna do and do it."

"And that's how you live, is it?"

"Doesn' always go so well, I admit. I think everythin' I did back in Sunnyhell, you got in the way."

"Sunnyhell." Buffy laughed. "I like it."

"Well, the rooms are paid for until the end of next week. I told 'em we migh' wanna keep 'em for longer, though. So you've got at least until then before you have to do somethin'."

"Well, right now I want a shower." Buffy pulled herself out of the bed. She'd slept in her clothes last night and that was never a good long-term move; they were all creased and horrible. She wondered if this was one of those really classy hotels that did their guests' laundry.

"I'll get outta your hair, then." Spike stood up. Buffy noticed he wasn't wearing his leather jacket, just a black tee and jeans. It looked good on him. Casual. And really, really hot.

Stop that. Shut up. Bad thoughts!

He smiled at her as he left again, leaving her flushed and fighting an inner battle.

The sucky thing was, she was losing.

Moron! she raged at herself. Swap one vampire for another. And to swap to one like Spike? No chance. She ought to smack her head on something nice and hard and knock those thoughts right out of her skull.

Actually, that wasn't the part that was really screwy. She already knew she had the capacity to go against her nature, and love a creature that was supposed to be her mortal - or immortal, whatever - enemy. She knew she could love a vampire.

The really screwy part was that Spike was caring for her.

Just declaring she wasn't the Slayer anymore shouldn't have stopped him from killing her. Gentleman or no - and that snippet of history was almost as crazy as the rest of it - she just shouldn't be alive right now. He wouldn't even have to actually do anything to ensure her death. Just leave open the door leading to the room he shared with Drusilla, wait for her to wake up and... no more Buffy.

Why was she alive? Why hadn't Spike killed her? He'd been perfectly willing to attack her before this whole thing - both as the Slayer and as a helpless girlie during Halloween. So he wasn't afraid of her strength... and he had no pity for the defenceless... what was his deal?

Buffy shook her head. This didn't really matter right now. She shouldn't be thinking about this at all. Whatever would happen, would happen. She'd seen enough prophecies and magic to believe in some form of fate. Right now, she needed a break, a long break, from whatever was bothering her.

And just because she'd swapped bother over giving up her life for bother over Spike didn't mean she didn't need a break.

She grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom, intending to shut the world outside and enjoy the world's longest shower.

That was a great plan, until Spike burst through the connecting door, tears pouring down his ravaged face, and collapsed with a scream of agony upon the floor.

"Spike!" She despised the terrified tone of voice as she fell to his side. "Spike, what's wrong?" Panicked, she looked up, checking for assailants in the room next door who could have jumped him. But there was no-one there. Nothing out of place, nothing strange... everything was exactly as it should be.

Except Spike, in a heap on the floor, seemingly torn between raging furiously and sobbing into the carpet.

"Dru..." The agonised whisper slid from his lips. "Dru's gone..." Slowly his struggles ceased and he just lay there, face-down, pressed into the thick carpet. Buffy had never seen anybody so obviously torn apart. Spike's face was twisted into pure anguish; the pain he was feeling struck at her soul.

Somehow she knew that nobody back in Sunnydale was crying like that over her disappearance... She'd seen them before she left, after all - well, and whole, and happy. And unconcerned. She's gotta show up sooner or later. She'll be here in a while.

And compare that to Spike - Dru was gone, and it had practically destroyed him.

There was something awkward about crouching next to him, unsure whether offering comfort would be welcome or reviled. Buffy stood, hands tangling in the wreck of her hair, trying to pull that one thing into some semblance of order. A tie conveniently found on her wrist tied back the straggly ends, and she headed into Spike and Drusilla's room to... look for clues, she supposed. Feeling a bit like Sherlock Holmes, she crossed through the doorway.

Unlike her, they hadn't packed for travel - Spike's leather coat and a wrap she assumed was Drusilla's were the only items of clothing in the room. The bed was neat but rumpled, the windows closed, curtains drawn. She peeked into the bathroom; nothing there whatsoever. She doubted either vampire had been in there. Buffy sighed, annoyed. Her good intentions frustrated, she couldn't go back to Spike and point to where his lady-love had gone. Drusilla had just vanished into thin air. Or maybe...

Buffy scanned the floor for any heaps of ash that Drusilla might have dusted into, but the floor, too, was clean. Buffy punched the squishy carpet angrily, but without any weight behind it. Still it creaked slightly ominously. She turned back to the doorway. Spike hadn't moved; still curled in a ball, tears slipping down his face.

How could Drusilla have so much hold over him? Buffy knew she didn't have all the answers, but from what Angel had told her previously, and Spike just yesterday - or maybe the day before, her sense of time was shot to hell - Drusilla was hardly faithful, more sympathetic to Angelus, and if she felt anything for Spike it was nowhere near on par with his feelings. At Hemery, Buffy had had girlfriends who discovered their partners didn't feel for them - either the girls felt equally nothing, and continued with the meaningless relationship, or felt too strongly to hold it up on their own, and dumped the guy. She herself had worried for days about whether Angel felt what she did, and knew that she wouldn't have kept following him around if he didn't. The second she'd had proof his heart wasn't in it, she'd have been out of there.

Why did Spike keep hanging on to somebody who obviously - maybe - didn't want to be held?

"Something's wrong here," she said aloud. The words felt strange, like they hadn't come from her; but they kept flowing out, and the more she listened to herself talk, the more she agreed. "This isn't right. Can you even imagine this happening? Slayer meets vampire and it doesn't lead to stakeage?"

Spike's head lifted from the carpet and turned in her direction, some of what she felt mirrored on his face. Something was wrong, something was out of place.

"I mean, we should not be here! Think about it! We've been enemies for months and suddenly we put that all behind us and rent a hotel room together - sort of? I willingly get in the car with you - and you offer me a ride? Puh-lease! This cannot be happening! I mean, yeah, I give up being a Slayer, I guess I wouldn't really stake you on first sight, but no way should I be thinking about how hot you are!"

Okay, now she was getting into trouble. Spike looked faintly offended and complimented at the same time. But whatever had a hold of her wasn't going to let her escape with dignity intact.

"And seriously, thinking about being in love with you? No chance! Why is my brain not working? And now, just as we're starting to get friendly, Drusilla disappears - thus removing the greatest obstacle between us? - not that there is any us, mind-"

Her pause for breath gave Spike time to interject - "You're thinkin' about what?" - she switched tracks, started thinking about what he'd said, and she shut up. Just like that, it was gone; leaving a massive rush of embarrassment that decided this was a good time for some self-expression.

"Oh God, what the hell was that?" She ran a hand over her face, feeling her skin beginning to flush scarlet. "That was... wasn't me talking, well not really, it was like I just couldn't stop... and I wasn't thinking any of that. Well, okay, I was thinking about you being hot, but I wasn't going to say anything."

Spike wasn't saying anything either, although he had picked himself up off the carpet and was sprawled in a pose not dissimilar to hers. Buffy dropped her head, staring at the floor, wishing she'd left her hair untied so it could cover her face.

Now, what had just happened? It had felt a bit like when she'd been possessed at the high school and forced to play out the scene the ghosts wanted, but everything she'd said had come from inside her - she just hadn't had a lock on it. And now she thought about it, it made sense - why had she gotten in the car with Spike? Why was she suddenly okay with him, and he with her? She hadn't thought about it before, though; everything had seemed completely okay and normal.

"This is not normal," Spike agreed slowly. "Why'm I not drinkin' from your corpse right now? Why 'aven't I torn out your throat jus' 'cause I can?"

"And even knowing that you want to, why am I not afraid of you?"

"I don' want to, Buffy. That's the problem! I don' want you dead and I don' know why!"

"And I don't care! I don't care that I'm here with you, it just seems... it's not normal, but it's not wrong, either."

"It's not wrong," Spike whispered against her skin. Buffy hadn't noticed they'd been inching towards each other until they were face to face, hands touching in mid-air, fingers wrapped down like they were afraid to let go. "There's no wrong 'ere, Buffy." Slowly he pulled her forward; she pushed herself into him, folding gracefully into his body like it was made for her. His skin was soothing and cool against hers, burning with feeling for him. This was the only place she wanted to be, curled around him, the world locked outside their embrace. His hands ran through her hair, the tie gone, fingers trailing through the ends.

"Buffy..."

It woke her up like a bucket of ice water. "Spike, what are we doing? What are we doing?" Again came that signal, something was wrong, this had to stop. But why should she stop when she wanted this so much? It hurt to push away from him - the regret in his eyes pierced her like thorns, but it was nothing compared to the anguish she felt at parting from him. "There is wrong, Spike, this is wrong! I'm not this kind of girl, the get-snuggly-on-the-floor-with-a-guy-I-hardly-know girl, and just two seconds ago you were all upset over Drusilla!"

His eyes seemed to focus on her face. "She doesn' matter... Holy Christ, what am I sayin'?" He forced himself upwards and away from her, retreating further into the room, before dropping back against the wall out of exhaustion. Buffy felt like he'd just chopped off one of her limbs, she wanted him back...

She smacked her forehead, hard, to focus herself. It didn't work, she still wanted to rush across the room and fling herself on him, press into his skin until they fused into one body... Now that was gross. She hadn't even thought like this about Angel...

That killed her feelings, hard. His face swam across her vision, blocking out Spike's hunched body, filling her instead with sorrow and sadness. Now, instead of jumping Spike, she wanted to quietly cry herself to sleep. It was definitely an improvement.

It was time to get serious and realise that something was really messed up. This wasn't about them after all. Something else had to be doing this. Buffy knew that a week ago she wouldn't have wanted any of this, and she wouldn't even if she was forced. She didn't feel that way now, but that was because of whatever was going on. If it would just leave her alone for a minute, and she could slap some sense into herself, everything would be fine.

But she didn't want to be fine. She wanted to be with Spike, even now, even knowing that this wasn't really them. There was something controlling her, pushing her into it, but she was willing to be pushed. She wanted to be pushed, wanted to be held, loved, so much...

Spike's breathing echoed across the room to her, testament to the struggle he was fighting inside himself. She could envisage it, Drusilla on the one hand, his love for a century, and Buffy on the other, here, now, willing... His gaze lifted, eyes clashing onto hers.

"Do you 'ave any idea 'ow 'ard it is to keep away from you?" he croaked, bent over, hands clutching at the floor. "Jus' seein' you, I wanna go straight over an' shag you till you can't walk anymore..."

Buffy knew she should have blushed, but she wanted that too, she didn't need to walk anywhere, Spike was here... "Me too," she whispered. "Can't be without you."

"Buffy..."

Suddenly the space between them was gone, and there was only him, only his hands worshipping her skin, the fabric separating them rapidly vanishing, leaving only a perfect fusion of harmony. Fire and ice blurred into each other, her burning skin flowing into his, chilled, melting together everywhere. Her feelings soared to new heights, flying eternities above them as they held each other, getting closer and closer...

"We need to stop," Spike gasped in between frenzied, blissful kisses.

"I know, but I can't..."

"Hit me. Buffy, hit me, knock me out. Now!"

"Spike..."

"Nothin's gonna 'appen if I'm out of it, Buffy. Now!"

She couldn't resist his voice. Before she knew it, her fist was shooting forward, catching him in the nose, knocking him backward. He wobbled, unsteady for a second, offered her a thin smile, and crashed to the floor.

"Spike..." She choked and laid down beside him, cuddling into his side, skin on bare skin. She had no idea where her shirt or her pants were, and didn't care; all she wanted was to lie here beside Spike and deal with everything later. For now, there was this.

Two days ago

Willow laid the pack of matches by her side and faced the semi-circle of candles, arced around a complex rune drawn in her carpet with red chalk. She took a deep breath and let the practiced words of the spell flow from her lips, an unusual mix of Latin and Babylonian. Her head ached from the bump on her noggin, but the magic going through her was peaceful, and felt restorative even if that wasn't its purpose. Rosy sunset crept into the room between the curtains. It was strange to think that Buffy had saved the world only this morning.

Willow figured Buffy wasn't in a good place right now. Her friend had to be in pain; either something had gone wrong, or everything had just become too much for her. Even if Angel had somehow made it, maybe Buffy had been injured in the fight. And whatever else had happened, Kendra - the only girl in the world who was like Buffy - was dead. It must feel like discovering you had a long-lost twin, only for them to die before you could get to know each other.

Willow sighed. It didn't really matter what was happening. Maybe everything was just fine after all, and Buffy didn't need her help. But even then, this spell couldn't hurt. The ritualised phrases kept coming, the flames of the candles slowly turning a pale pink under the magic's influence. This spell would fix whatever was broken, or simply polish what was already whole. Nothing could go wrong.

The spell's guidelines finished, the final ancient word spoken, Willow let her hands climb above her. Hands flat out, palms towards the ceiling, she spoke her command.

"Wherever Buffy is, whoever she's with, let her be happy, and love, and loved."