Spike paced Willow's apartment. Unwanted thoughts buffeted his brain, thoughts of the Slayer. He shook them off. Willow's walls were almost devoid of any art or displays. It was a sharp difference from her colorful rooms he had seen in other places.

The sound of the shower assured him of secrecy as he snooped in her drawers and cabinets. There was no trace of any magic herbs or potions or even books on spells. Odd thing for a witch. It settled a suspicion that was niggling his brain for a while, about whether Willow might be putting a love whammie on him.

The water shut off. He went into her bedroom. She definitely lived alone, he mused, surveying the single bed with its silky black bedspread. Spike ran a hand along its softness. There were a sparse two DVDs next to the telly. The carpet was blood red, and it made Spike hungry. He dismissed the thought that followed and went out to the kitchen.

He opened the fridge. there were some eggs, a piece of gnarly pizza, unwrapped on a paper plate. A few apples lay lonely on the bottom shelf, but there was a full loaf of bread. He shut the fridge and noticed the laptop set on the desk. That was one of those new-fangled computers. New-fangled. Spike rolled the word around on his tongue. I'm new-fangled, he thought.

Willow exited the bathroom in her robe, a towel twisted on her head. Suddenly Spike was very aware of the fact that she was naked under her robe.

"I was in Africa," he said quickly, looking away. "Through the desert veldt-that's a grotty job for a vampire, you know. And into the deepest jungle too. I think your young lot call them rain forest, yes?

"Anyway, I was there to get back my soul, of you can believe that." He fidgeted, his eyes shooting to Willow then away. "So it's back, huh. Me own bloody stained soul, such as it is. I don't know why I mention it, I guess I'm just playing catch-up, y'know?"

Willow's face held a soft expression. "I'm going to change, get into my jammies."

"I'll help," Spike said breezily. He followed her to her room, but felt her protest. "I'll relax over here." He fell onto the bed, facing away. "No worry, I won't peak."

Willow uncertainly opened her bureau and pulled out her sleeping clothes.

"Tell me Spike," she said, dropping the towel and hoping he would not look, "how is it having your soul back?"

"Feels like sunlight on me. Horrible, love. I can't even think about it."

Willow tied the strings on her pajama pants. "I-I'm sorry you had to go through that, but ... it's a good thing. Right?"

Spike sat up. "There was a demon, a super-demon more like. Told me if I made it through some impossible challenges he would give me anything I want. So I got my old soul back, only slightly used.

Willow sat on the bed next to him. "Angel seems so tortured, I mean he's brooding all the time. It seems like getting your soul back is a lot of pain. You know what Angel went through now, don't you?"

Spike snorted. "I went through worse. That ponce had 'is soul handed to 'im. I had to go through seven layers of 'ell. It hurts more than you can ever imagine, and a lot more than Angel will ever know. Angel wouldn't ever have made it through what I went through. No chance.

"But forget that, for now. What've you been up to while I've been gone?"

Willow shrugged. "I wouldn't know where to start."

She fought back tears. No, maybe she knew where to start. "Warren shot Tara. He killed her."

Spike's eyes tightened. "Oh no, I'm sorry Willow. Where is he, you know? I can take care of that wanker."

"Oh. He's dead," Willow said quickly. "Dead and gone. He shot Buffy too."

"When? Is she all right?"

Willow felt a prickle of jealously. "She's fine, it was just her shoulder."

Spike stood. "I leave for a while and things go all askew, don't they? Good thing I'm back now."

Willow fell silent.

Spike sat again. "You killed 'im, didn't you? You killed Warren, and now you're off the magic."

She fell into his embrace, crying. Spike patted her shoulders, torn between this and going off to see Buffy. He stroked Willow's hair, and decided he would stay.