Chapter Four:

I heave a sigh as I stand in front the Summers' house, raising dull eyes at the door, unable to bring myself to go in. I feel detached and jaded with a hint of nausea - damn that JD! I wish I'd gone inside my house but I was too scared. I know for a fact that my room is either filled with boxes, gym equipments or beer sacks: those guys will never have kept it as it is. My dad probably kicked me out after high school was over or likely at my eighteenth birthday. We probably never saw each other again. I don't really have the courage to ask anyone about it, though.

I lean against the door, my forehead making a little thump. I close my burning eyes and hold in another weary sigh. I went all the way with Spike. I did some sort of monkey love sex with a male vampire. I'm losing it. It doesn't matter if Spike is my best friend; he's still a vampire and a guy. I don't do sex with guys, at least I didn't think I did. A terrifying thought creeps inside my head: what if I'm gay in disguise? What if Spike and I are gay friends with benefits? Obviously, I'm not happy with Anya, so I get my jollies somewhere else.

I never thought I'd be one of the cheating types, but apparently I am judging by how Anya came to my life. But, in the life I know, I used to focus on getting the girl and nothing else. The whole dating and boyfriend-girlfriend thing? No one gave me a chance to get that far. Ampata doesn't count. Who would've thought I'd cheat on my fiancée, who just happens to be an ex-demon with a long history of cursing unfaithful men? She probably has a long line of vengeful demon friends who are happy to lend a curse on her gay, cheater of a soon-to-be-husband. Did I commit adultery? I mean, we're engaged, that's as commitment-y as marriage. Why the hell did I ask her to marry me if I didn't love her? Why the hell did I ask her to marry me, period? I'm only twenty for God's sake.

And since I'm rolling with the whys and hells, why the hell did I date a girl like that in the first place? Someone who curses men? Was I that desperate? Or was I hiding from the truth? I probably jumped into marriage because I was scared about my new-found kinky feelings for Spike.

I groan, pushing the door open. No reason to think about it now, I should get some sleep. No, I can't sleep. I have to go to work. Great. I drag my legs to the kitchen, my dry throat begging for a cold glass of water.

I stop short at the sight before me. Willow. Sitting by the end of the table. Her fingers clicking on her laptop's keyboard. She looks so focused on what she's doing she doesn't notice me standing by the door.

A smile blossoms on my lips, and I slump back against the entrance frame, just staring at her.

She types for a whole fifteen seconds before she grunts a disappointed, "No."

I walk towards her, my grin getting bigger. "What?"

She startles, looking up at me. "Oh, Xander. You're here."

I rest my hand on the table and lean forward to take a look at the laptop screen. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, uh…" Willow tentatively reaches for her laptop about to shut the screen, but then decides against it. "Guess I can tell you." She looks at me, her face serious and hesitant at the same time.

I frown, knowing at first hand that I'm not going to like what I'm going to hear. "What is it?"

She glances at her laptop. "I'm trying to find this urn. Anya promised to look it up, but then with you being attacked and the whole loss of memory thing…"

I nod quickly for her to get to the point without stalling. "Yeah, so what's this urn for?"

She locks eyes with me, a heavy silence creeps into the room, and I can feel myself getting paranoid. "To bring Buffy back."

With unblinking eyes, I stare right back at her. A sudden feeling of nausea from hangover attacks me. I withdraw and rub my forehead. "I don't think I heard right. Are you saying…"

"We're gonna bring Buffy back," she repeats straightforwardly.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a piercing headache and rub my forehead more. "Buffy. Our Buffy?"

She rolls her eyes. "Do you know any other Buffy?"

"Buffybot," I say weakly.

"Are you okay?" She stands up, touching my head lightly. I jerk away from her touch with no control of my actions. The hurt in her expression melts into determination. "Look, I know it's out there…"

"Out there?" I snap, ignoring the sharp pierce in my temples. "How about impossible? Unworkable. Hopeless. No way."

"Did you swallow a Thesaurus?" Willow retorts, then straightens, releasing a sigh. "Nothing's impossible when you're a witch."

I scoff. "You know a witch?"

"Xander," she says, bewildered. "I am the witch."

"You are," I say indecorously.

Her eyebrows furrow. "Yeah, haven't we mentioned that?"

I hold up my hands, the action increased the sharpness of my headache. "Wait, you're a witch? Like Amy's mother?"

"Amy is a witch, too."

"She is?" I ask, taken aback. Then think about it. That actually makes sense. "Guess it's like mother like daughter." I tense, looking at her like I'm seeing her for the first time. "Since when?"

"Since… forever." She looks as uncomfortable as she did when she came out to me. "Tara is a witch, too."

A bullet of anger and detestation shoots inside me, and suddenly everything makes sense. "Oh. Tara."

"So, Xander, are you in?"

I'm reeling, my mind going with different scenarios, each one driving my head to the wall. I'm so angry my chest is starting to hurt, my hand is grabbing so tightly on the table I think I'm going to break it. So mad, I barely hear what Willow is saying, only hearing the last bit. "In?"

With an impatient huff, she says, "Bringing Buffy back. Will you help?"

My insides are exploding, and my blood pressure is probably so high I think I may get a stroke. "By playing god? No."

"Xander…"

"Willow, this whole thing feels wrong. It's wrong. It's dead-bent wrong. Barb Wire wrong. When people are dead, it's final. Unless they become vampires or mummies or possibly zombies – did we fight zombies?"

Willow nods.

"Damn, what's next? Evil fairies?"

"Resurrection," Willow stresses. "That's what's next."

I shake my head. "No."

Willow stands up, obviously irritated. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean it like I say it. This whole thing sounds bizarre and again with the wrong. What did Giles say about this?"

"He doesn't know," she splutters, knowing as she says the words that I'll make a big deal about it.

And I do. "So, you're doing this behind his back? You and Tara?"

She jerks a finger at me. "You and Anya agreed to it."

"I didn't!"

"Yes, you did. Old-you did anyway."

Stunned, I feel myself shaking my head in refutation. "I'd never…"

"Xander," she cuts me off, grabbing my shoulders with her hands, her eyes looking at me with sheer desperation. "Buffy could be in danger."

I push her hands away from my shoulders aggressively. "How could she be in danger? She's dead. My bet is she's having a cuppa with Princess Diana and Queen Victoria this exact second."

"She went into a portal of a hell dimension."

"But her body is here. It's buried under the ground. Spike took me to see her grave."

"Her essence…"

I hold my hands up again, but this time I want her to stop talking completely. "You know what, forget it. I'm having my second hangover and I need to get to work. I've no time for this." I head to the door, thinking of a quick shower and maybe a cup of coffee from the espresso pump.

"Xander." I turn around and freeze at the look in Willow's expressionless face. "We're bringing Buffy back. That's final."

I get a hollow feeling in my stomach, realizing that for the first time in my whole life I'm actually scared of Willow.

I shove my hardhat on my wet head, not bothering to comb my hair; it's too short anyway. I slip in my jacket and grab my suitcase, storming out of the room so quickly I almost slammed against the half open door. Still, I manage to slam against somebody in my huffy speed. An apology about to fly out of my mouth before I take a good look at the person I almost ran over.

"Are you all right?" Tara asks with her usual nice, polite manner. She's clutching a couple of huge books to her chest, which makes me wonder if college started already. We're still in August.

"No," I grumble the answer, keeping murderous emotions deep inside, not letting them near the surface.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure? You look upset." The fake concern in her voice does the trick. My emotions are rising as does the boiling blood inside of me. All tries to will my anger down are crashing and all I can feel is pure detestation and fury.

"The matter is YOU!" It's like a tiger jumping out of my mouth, that's how strong my roar was. I wanna strangle her. I wanna smash her to pieces. I wanna rip her heart out. I hate her!

She's completely thrown back by my snap, her lips tremble slightly. "M-me?"

"What the hell did you do to her, you witch?"

"I-I d-don't und-d..."

I grab her by the shoulders, my fingers digging into them as I shake her so hard her blonde hair is starting to bounce off. I can feel her large books dropping on my feet, the pain doesn't compare to the agony ripping my heart to pieces. "Bring her back! Whatever spell you put on her, take it back!"

She pleads with a pathetic, sobbing voice. "Xander, s-stop!"

My fingers dig more, my shakes grow stronger and faster; the more she screams the more my shakes increase.

"Let her go."

An inexorable force peels Tara out of my strong grip, leaving me with throbbing fingers. Shocked, I watch Tara falling to the floor and swerve to see Willow standing by the end of the hall. My feet take a step back just as a sharp gasp escapes my mouth. Willow's eyes are pitch black, her face as blank as an empty page.

"Fucking holy shit, who the hell are you?" I shout, feeling the world around me crumbling down, leaving nothing but the mysterious, creepy woman I used to refer to as my childhood, best friend.

For some reason my throat seems to have a lump in it. My gaze mechanically drops to Tara as my mouth is about to lash out more accusations, but then I'm caught by the tear streaks in Tara's cheeks, her scared features regarding me with fright and distress. Something in my heart squeezes at what I'm seeing, and in the deepest hollow of my guts I realize I had just acted exactly like my old man.

I choke on my breath, my hand trembling towards Tara in an attempt to help her up. She withdraws fearfully and suddenly all the air is knocked out of me in a painful whoosh, as I feel myself flying back and smacking against the wall. I grunt, lifting my eyes, gasping again when I find myself at the same eye level as Willow's, who crouches before me. Blackness stares me down, sending trimmers of fear down my spine.

"If you come near her again, I'll rip those fingers off," her low, dangerous voice rings like funeral bills in my ears.

"This is a nightmare," I screech with an edge of panic. "Soon I'll be lying in my own room. None of this is real."

"Oh, honey, the only unreal thing here is you. You don't belong in this timeline. You belong in high school where you can slack around waiting for me to bail your lazy ass out."

"Willow…" I croak.

She stands up, her eyes returning to their green color. "Get up. Go to work. For once in your life, act like a grown up."

I push myself up to my feet, not daring to cast a fleeting look at Tara. I take my suitcase, and start walking. Feeling my head, I realize that my hardhat had fallen when Willow smacked me to the wall, but I can't bring myself to look back let alone going back and putting it on.

Work was a complete disaster today. The suggestions I gave were met with gales of mocking laughter from everybody at the site. Not to mention the disapproving, intolerant head shakes from Tony. I've managed to tear down all the respect and admiration I've been building over the years –which were only one year, which makes it even worse seeing how incredible that is. Everybody seems to forget my jock-self, nicknames were invented today, said behind my back for now, but soon enough I'm gonna lose everybody's respect. The offensive nicknames will be flying through the air like religious jokes. It's like high school all over again. I'm back to being the idiot loser, and it has only been three days since I returned to work.

Now, my day is complete with Anya scolding me for forgetting our date last night. I don't really hear much of what she says, too upset about work to care. I can't believe I dropped another girder today, and this time it hurt my own boss. But I swear that wasn't my fault. Tony's expressionless face mirrored Willow's this morning, if perhaps less scary. Just the reminder of what had happened with Willow earlier made me not focus, hence the dropping of the girder.

I feel cold all over, unable to hear anything around me, everything fades to the background as I picture Willow's black eyes boring into my soul. The girl whose hair I used to braid, exchange lunch with, laugh at Cordelia's antics with is threatening to kill me now.

"Xander!" Anya's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. "Focus!"

I look up at Anya from where I'm sitting, worn out by misery and exhaustion. She's too upset about a small date in a fast-food joint, how will she react if she knew I'd cheated on her with Spike of all people?

Anya flails her arms, frustrated. "We can't go on like this, Xander."

I remain silent, not sure if anything I say will make her less mad.

She collapses on a chair next to mine, her face buried in her hand, looking so defeated that my hand closes into a fist ready to punch my nose hard enough to bleed. She was planning on taking me to Burger King because she knew I prefer junk food over a high quality meal in a fancy restaurant. She was sacrificing fancy dinner in a romantic place to save our relationship.

"How about we go on another date?" I venture, my tight fist loosening when she raises her surprised yet hopeful eyes at me.

"Really?"

I turn my stare to some jar with a picture of frog legs on it. "I know I haven't been trying hard to find the connection, I'm still trying to get the memories back, you know." The jar is titled 'Restoring Romance', my head whips back to Anya, my face a picture of alarm.

Anya rests her hands on the table, clasping them together, and giving a positive shrug. "Getting our relationship back may help."

"Yeah, probably." My gaze is on the counter, searching for frog legs or a Puck. Maybe I should reconsider sleeping tonight.

"So, tomorrow?"

Her question snaps me back from sprinkling magic love drops. "What?"

"The other date," Anya repeats tartly.

"Oh. Right."

"Fancy restaurant."

"You betcha."

"And you're making reservations."

"Of course. I'll also pay."

Anya bursts laughing. "You thought I was gonna pay for yesterday's dinner?"

"Of course not." I'm not sure what I just said as I just notice Spike standing outside the Magic Box, smirking at me with an evil glint in his eye. A cigarette is sticking out of his mouth with smoke rising in the air. He crooks a finger and motions me to get out.

Outside? With Anya nearby? He's gone insane. There's no way we're bonking so close to my ultimate death. Not to mention getting naked in a public area with people passing by, it's still early at night, children are most likely out with their parents. I can't be the cause of ruining the innocence of my hometown's offspring!

I shake my head at Spike, thinking of the poor children.

He holds a thumb up into his mouth and then flicks it outward at me. I don't get the meaning behind that, but I'm guessing it's not good. It's probably a sex thing.

Shit, things were going so well with Spike, he's the only person I can stand that I'm not forbidden to hang out with, and JD has to ruin it for me. Okay, let's be logical here. Spike can't force me to have sex with him, hello, chip. He's probably out there to discuss it, swear to never mention it again, and then pretend it's part of those four years I had forgotten.

I rise to my feet nervously, hands rubbing on my baggy pants. "Um, okay, Anya, see you tomorrow then."

Spike smirks in satisfaction and then steps away from the window. My heart starts to race, this morning springs to my mind; waking up naked under naked Spike. I'm not sure what to say to him. I'm not into guys; it was the great dose of booze. The fact that my body didn't explode shows that adult me is used to drinking that great amount of different strong drinks, which my apartment doesn't have. So, obviously, I used to drink a lot at Spike's and we'd always end up unconscious and naked after a night of boogly moogly sexcapade.

When I start moving to the door, I feel a tug on my arm. Anya gives me her tenth exasperated look for the day and points a finger to her full, glossed lips. I plant a chaste kiss on them before racing to the door.

"Xander!"

I stop on my tracks, looking at Anya with occasional awkward glances at the window.

"Which restaurant?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." As I talk to her, my feet are taking a few more steps to the door, feeling comforted once I hear its bell announcing my exit.

Outside the Magic Box, I release a sigh of relief that turns into a gasp of fright when Spike stands in front of me in a flash.

"Trouble in paradise?" He spits his cigarette, not bothering to grind it, so I do it for him. He offhandedly takes another one and lights it.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, cringing at the rank smell.

"It's night. Demon haunting escapade awaits."

"Sexcapade?" I screech.

He blows more smoke. "No club tonight, mate. We're off to find your demon."

"Oh." I'm a little disturbed by the disappointment I'm feeling. I should be relieved he doesn't remember; it'll make it easier for me to block that memory, gives me more chances to fix my relationship with Anya. Not to mention, demon-hunting means me getting my memories back. That should be the first priority on the list.

My thoughts break off when Spike blows a puff of his disgusting smoke in my face. I hear him ask between my coughs, "You want to go drinking?"

I cough. Clear my throat. "Uh, no drinking for this fellow tonight."

"Fine then." Spike turns around, his duster swerves around him before fluttering in the breeze as he walks away. I stare in awe; it's like watching Batman disappear into the night. I slap the back of my head; if he's Batman then I'm Robin, which, no, big on the no. But, I was bottom. Robin is obviously bottom.

I hang my head and follow Batman with dismay.

I find him already on his motorcycle; I resist another desire to slap my head as I hurry back to my car. What, thought you were going to walk to the cemeteries with cars and motorcycles around? Walking died with high school, it's adult me with a vehicle.

"Xander," Spike's shout stops me. He gestures with his chin to the seat behind him. "Hop on."

"With you? On your bike?" Less drool, and more cool, moron!

"You coming or I take off?"

"Coming!" I stagger eagerly toward him, pushing away all thoughts about sabotaging my respectful image.

He brings a red helmet to my vision and suddenly everything Dawn said about cool helmet-less Spike is rushing to my head. I shake my head, waving off his offer. He doesn't persist, returning the helmet to its place, and waits for me to sit.

I lift a leg over the seat. Too excited, I sway a little, about to fall, then grab Spike's arm for balance. Spike stares at my hand gripping his arm, and with a wave of embarrassment I let go, falling straight on my butt. Spike shakes his head and starts drumming his fingers on the handle.

I glare for a moment then mount the motorcycle more carefully, settling in the seat behind Spike. I sit there awkwardly, not sure if he'd like it if I hold onto him, but knowing if I don't I'll be flying off the bike the second it moves.

"Hold on, you daft git!" he snaps at me over his shoulder intolerantly. "Were you born this dense?"

I feel a sting inside, hating how many times someone had directed this question at me. My gaze is firmly fixed on my fingers clutching the seat, desperately trying to keep my body back as far as possible from touching Spike's. "Slow. According to some tests." I bite my lips the second the words left my mouth. Slow? More like retarded.

The pause surprises me; I expected a few ridiculing remarks at my impulsive confession. Instead, Spike shifts his weight back, closer to me, and starts the engine. Without looking at me, he barks, "Hold on!"

I quickly slide my arms around his waist, feeling the vibrations of the engine between my thighs. I cling to him when the bike speeds away, regretting my decision to not wear a helmet. Any second now I'm sure I'll drop off of the motorcycle and smash my head on something hard.

"So, you traded your car for this?" I ask, thinking an ongoing conversation will be better than silence. I think about how I phrased my question and hurry to amend, "Not that it's not worth it. I'd take a motorcycle over a car any time." Liar.

"Who told you I traded it?"

"Dawn."

"Oh. Right."

The wind blows past me as the streetlamps lining down the street rush by. I'm having an urge to throw my arms up in the air and scream on the top of my lungs, "I'm alive!" But then, Spike rounds a corner, and I hold onto him rigidly.

"You lied to Dawn?" I squeak aloud, my fingers digging into Spike's shirt due to my death grip.

"Couldn't tell her I stole it, now could I?"

"What about your car?"

"Sold it. It's how I bought the TV."

"You're full of surprises, Spike."

"And you're full of useless talk."

I shut up with a pout.

His motorcycle takes a drastic turn to the left and my grip tightens reflexively, my eyes clenching shut as I anticipate crashing. We don't crash but I keep my eyes closed, feeling the wind whipping past my face, Spike's hard back pressing against my chest. My hands are feeling the cut muscles of Spike's abs and blood pools at my groin, making my length harden and rise.

Alarmed, my eyes snap open as my hands release their hold on Spike and I feel the wind carrying me off the motorcycle. I yelp, smacking against the ground forcefully. I grunt painfully as pain shoots down my spine and ends at my feet. Deep within me I'm afraid that I've broken something in the fall.

I hear someone clearing their throat above me.

Risking opening one eye, I meet Spike's bored gaze.

"They didn't lie in that test, I see."

I snap my eye shut and groan

"I'm gonna lose my ability to walk soon. There might be a permanent damage. They'll probably cut my leg off. It's probably gangrene!"

"Oh, shut your gob!"

Spike kicks the doors to his crypt open, dragging my weight inside. I groan when I see the wooden door is closed, and shift the arm draped over Spike's shoulder in displeasure. "I still don't get this whole two doors thing."

"Didn't build this rot." Spike kicks the second door open as well and pulls me in urgently. He's still upset about leaving his precious motorcycle out there for anyone to steal. As well as the part about half-carrying me to his crypt.

"You know, if you let me take my car, we'd be at the hospital by now."

"You were salivating to get on my hog."

"You suggested it."

He drops me on the couch roughly, and like electricity, pain shoots through my body. I let out an angry, pained cry, and glower at the jerk. He comes back indifferently with some gauze and a glass of water. I should buy him a First Aid Kit, he may never use it but I know this won't be the last time he'll be dragging my conked out body to his crypt.

Spike tosses the gauze on the floor and sets the glass of water on a table. He crouches in front of me and starts poking at my shoulder.

"Hey!" I jerk away from him. "Do it gently."

He rolls his eyes, but he does press lightly on it.

"What is it? Is it broken?"

"It's just dislocated, twit. Hold still."

He positions his hand on my shoulder and presses the other against my chest. I hear a sound like snapping a branch, and I yelp with hysteria.

Spike wipes his hands. "There. Wrenched back into place."

"What about my leg?" I blurt out, dreading the answer. The pain is incredible, my skin is burning, and I don't want to think about the bones.

"You scrapped your right calf. Looks like road rash," Spike says after he's examined it.

"That's it?"

He glances up at me with a scorned chuckle. "Yeah, you wuss."

"Hey, watch it!" I observe my leg, still believing that it's broken. "I'm not a scaredy-cat. I'm just… cautious… about my body. Don't want it to get hurt."

"Still, wuss." He starts to wrap my leg up, and by wrap I'm talking cutting my blood circulation. He's so in need of a course in First Aid Care. "Wonder what demon girl sees in you."

"She sees plenty, thank you very much." I wince at his rough handling.

Spike scoffs.

"Hey, at least I have a girlfriend. Unlike you. Buffy didn't look twice at you."

Spike throws me a heated stare and purposely tugs the gauze sharply around my leg, tying it in the tightest knot ever.

I try not to flinch, refusing to give him that satisfaction. Instead I attempt to annoy him by closing my fist and pumping my arm up and down, exclaiming, "Xander strikes!"

Spike hops to his feet, fed up, and goes straight to his hole.

"Another alcohol contest?" I whine, but panic on the inside. What if he's trying to get me drunk again? That innuendo about his hog didn't go past me. There's no way I'm going to be persuade into another bang. Not even if I'm the one doing the banging this time.

Spike turns around, smirking at me. "There was no alcohol contest to begin with."

My brows meet in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is those JD and Whiskey bottles were filled with beer. That's all you drank yesterday." More emphasis on the smirk. "What's left of the Whiskey was only for me."

"Beer? It was just beer?"

Spike brings out his cigarette pack and gives a one shoulder shrug. "Didn't need you winding up dead, now did I?"

Everything makes sense now: I wondered why my hangover wasn't mind-bogglingly menacing. I only drank beer, because Spike replaced the strong drinks with something I can handle. "Aw, you care." I flutter my eyelashes to annoy him.

He blows clouds of smoke in the air. "I don't. Did it 'cause I don't want your little witch friend on my heels."

"I know. Willow is different now. Scary different." And I'm flashing back to this scary morning with Willow again. When she said she was going to resurrect Buffy I thought she wouldn't be able to pull it off, but seeing her go blackadapra on me made it more real. Willow is taking this whole witch thing to a whole new level, and since when was she into witchcraft? This is probably similar to the hyena possession, some lesbian witch is taking over Willow's body and my sweet, bashful best friend is sitting helplessly in the backseat. I just can't wrap my mind around the idea of Willow becoming this completely different person with nothing left of the girl I know.

"Spike, if you ever…" I imagine us in front of Buffy's grave saying hexes boxes words, faces painted like Native Americans, and doing the dance of life. "Had the chance…" White light goes through the tombstone then manifests into Buffy, wearing white, hair shining gold, and eyes so bright. We grin in triumph, hug each other, and then bow before Willow's goddessness. "If you have the chance to…" Buffy's face loses its angelic façade and we're greeted with the devil face, shooting angry fire from its mouth, and we burn into nothingness.

I snap out of my vivid imagination and then rivet my gaze on Spike. He's staring at me with amusement, a couple of cigarettes are stomped on next to his feet.

"Would you bring Buffy back?" I blurt out, and then add, "If you could?"

"Back from what?"

"Huh?"

"Back from what? Hell? Heaven? Shrimp universe?"

"Uh… hell."

"Why would she be in hell?"

"She just is."

"You'd think a hero who sacrificed her life for the world would go straight to paradise."

"I don't know why she's in hell, Spike," I say, irritated. "Just answer the freaking question."

"If she's in hell, then as you kids say, duh!" Blowing another dose of smoke, Spike starts to really think about the question. "But I have to make sure she is there first. Don't want to rip her out of heaven by mistake."

"Would you? Make sure she's there," I ask him desperately. Willow's words about Buffy falling in a portal leading to a demon dimension have me worried. What if the whole essence thing is right? After all, death means the soul leaving the body. If Buffy's soul is trapped in some kind of hell and I refused to get it out, then I'll never forgive myself. I don't want to live with that torment my whole life, I need to make sure Buffy is all right.

Spike releases the cigarette from his fingers and stomps on it with his foot, his eyes not leaving me. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

I look at my wrapped up leg. I wasn't that subtle and Spike isn't an idiot. "Willow. She's planning on bringing Buffy back from the dead."

Spike doesn't look surprised. "She is now?"

"Don't tell anyone. I can handle Willow. She can't do it without my help."

"Typical of her," Spike sneers. "Trying to control everything she can."

"She wasn't like that before." Flickers of old Willow rush into my head; her innocent smile, her nervous, breathy way of talking, her longing stares only directed at me as I played oblivious. I wonder if my ignorance led her to change her whole personality. "The now is nothing like the before. Everything went kaboom. I still don't believe I'm in the same reality."

"Bit boring if everything is the same."

"I want it to be." I meet his gaze, mine filled with distress. "Everything. Even the boring classes at school. Never appreciated them until now. Research at the library, night strolls in the cemetery with Buffy, Buffy herself." I feel a smile blossoming in my lips as I lose myself in memory lane. "The way she flings her school bag on her shoulder, holding a couple of books to her chest, how she combs her short hair with her fingers, how she looks better without the sunglasses, even frat the fart Tom thought so." Suddenly, I'm all angry and humiliated on the inside, can't quite get past that stupid night at the frat house. All those jerks laughing at me and like the doormat I am I'd done exactly as they said.

"You had feelings for her," Spike's soft spoken words don't manage to lessen the resentment roaring inside of me, but I'm glad for the distraction.

"Still do," I admit. "Older me probably moved on, but me? Still into her."

Spike lights another cigarette and looks on at me with interest. "Anya?"

"I just met her. And so far… we don't click. She's mostly giving me the creeps," I release a nervous laugh, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Spike raises an eyebrow at what I said, his cigarette dangling from his lip. We're close, as Dawn said, we probably tell each other everything, yet I'm not so sure. After a short pause, I decide to share, "I can't… I can't stop thinking that… I don't… that I settled for Anya. Because I couldn't get Buffy's attention."

Spike gives a long, slow exhalation of smoke, eyes half closed, staring ahead. "Only bloke on her mind was Angel. Couldn't nudge that sap out of her head."

"It's just… he's always quiet, you know. I mean five seconds with that guy and I'm bored to tears. What do you think they talk about when they're alone?"

"He'd be whining about his bloody soul and she'd comfort him by quoting one of Browning's sonnets."

"Or one of those crappy romance scenes from your cheesy soaps."

A smile breaks into his lips. "Most likely."

I can't help grinning myself. For a long time I wanted a friend willing to diss Angel with me. I wonder how I'd feel about Spike if he was in Angel's place, but then Spike already loves Buffy and she didn't bat an eyelash. Maybe she wouldn't have been interested, she obviously loved the broody type.

"Seriously, we're more colorful, aren't we?"

"Uh…"

"We are." I glare at him, hopefully he's wise enough not to deny my colorfulness seeing as I can punch him easily without worrying about him returning it.

Spike chooses not to reply, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"You know, I guess… I started to give up on Buffy a little before the episode with Larry and the head damage." The itch in my leg is increasing, and I run my fingers on the gauze soothingly. "Maybe that was the start. I could never compete with Angel. Everything I do… or am… will never be enough."

Spike is staring through the long line of dancing smoke, his lips barely holding the length of the cigarette. He seems lost in deep thought and I'm wondering if he's even listening to me.

Still, it doesn't stop me from talking God forbid. "Maybe moving on was the best thing I did," I say, trying to convince myself. A laugh slips out of my mouth. "I can't believe I have a girlfriend, or dated Cordelia for that matter, though I'm still not in on all the details; I expect lots of bloodshed and violence. I mean, Cordelia, we had this whole invisible man syndrome in our relationship. Actually, invisibility was my relationship with almost all the ladies."

"They think you're beneath them," Spike says wistfully.

I point at finger at him eagerly. "Exactly. Like I'm some last thought, not worth thinking about."

"Just a pain in their backs."

"I can pass for a Massie in a snap."

"Always forgotten."

"Just once I wish I'd be…" "Never get…"

"Noticed," both of us say in unison. Our eyes lock together, both a little startled, but not for long; my parted lips close as my expression loosens into a look of recognition that's mirroring Spike's. We keep staring at each other for some time before the cigarette Spike is holding starts to burn closer and closer to his fingers. He tosses it away, and heads to his bedroom, grinding it on his way.

He looks over his shoulder. "Beer?"

I shake my head. "Not tonight. I wanna start work tomorrow with my brains functioning."

Spike slides down, his form disappearing in a flash. I try to stand up, wincing at the burning in my leg. I should look at it at home, Spike's cool water isn't enough to reduce the pain or heal the skin. I stare at Spike's small TV, feeling something tight in my chest. The idea of going back to the Summers' house and coming across creepy Willow and her stupid girlfriend, or worse, creepy Willow catching me talking with unattainable Dawn, all makes my blood curdle with fear.

I let out a weary sigh, limping to Spike's hole and going down the ladder with difficulty. Still holding on to the wooden rung, my weight resting heavily on my uninjured foot, I'm taken aback by the mess in Spike's room. But then, he's a vampire, do creatures of the night clean up their bedrooms? I'm not sure I remember a villain in my various comic books being a clean freak. Not to say that Spike can't be a messy kind of vamp, if we're going by stereotypes, his bad-boy looks paint him as one. However, his room had been somewhat tidy yesterday.

"How's loserville?" Spike asks with an amused smirk.

"Your room is a mess," I say carefully, wondering if Spike even noticed. I mean, if I wake up in a trash, I'd be weird-ed out. Especially if I wake up naked.

Spike opens a bottle and tosses the cover behind him. "Yeah, gets this way after a night of heavy drinking or rough sex."

"Sex!" I let go of the rung but don't fall down as anticipated; my leg on the other hand burns even more. "Yes, sex!"

Spike gives me a blank look. "What?"

"We had sex, Spike!" I fold my arms, but what I really want to do is smack his dumb head to the wall. "Waking up naked would be a dead give away."

"I always sleep naked," Spike says, taking a casual sip from the bottle.

"Oh."

"So, we had sex." Spike leers, his tongue going behind the upper set of his teeth.

I can't quite summon the energy to shrug. "Yes."

"How was it?"

"I don't know. Just saw… the aftermath." I'm starting to get uncomfortable. Spike's reaction to the news isn't like I've imagined.

Spike approaches me, his finger drawing slow circles on the rim of the bottle. "I did you."

"No," I lie quickly, almost feeling the soreness from the morning.

"No? I would've felt it if I was on the receiving end."

I try to hold on to my confident answer, but then, "All right, you screwed me." I rise to my defense before he throws a deadly sarcastic comment at me. "But I was drunk out of my mind when it happened. I wouldn't have been bottom-boy if we were sober."

"If you were, you would've topped?" Spike tilts his head, finger going inside the bottle.

"Yes," I reply, eyes unable to tear themselves from Spike's wicked finger.

"So, you're okay with sex if you're the one doing the work."

"I… who said anything about doing it?"

Spike spreads his arms, his muscles sticking out proudly beneath his tight shirt. "You want a piece of this?"

I take a step back. "Listen, bleached blunder, don't put words in my mouth. I said nothing about having sex."

A head tilt. "Unless you top."

"Unless I top," I agree with a nod. Reflect on what I said further. "What? No."

Spike purses his lips thoughtfully, his naughty finger coming out of the bottle and then sliding from top to the bottom, slowly and silkily. "I don't mind if you're doing all the work. I don't have much energy."

I feel the rungs of the ladder against my back. "We're not having sex."

"If you say so." Now the smirk is back.

What the hell is going on with him? He's hitting on me, since when does he fancy me? If only those memories would pop into my head, I hate the fact that I know nothing about the new developments of my life. I'm sure it's not a regular thing or else Spike would have said something before. Spike starts to rub a hand absently over his own chest, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I figure him out in an instant. Time to turn the tables.

"Gosh, Spike, I didn't know," I say in fake comprehension. Spike's hand stops from moving, his brows meeting. Gotcha! "The signs were there all along." I nod with an understanding expression.

"What are you talking about?" Good to see him fall for the bait for a change.

"You don't have to pretend anymore. I'm on to you."

"You're on to what, twat?" Uh-oh, he's getting angry.

"I'm sorry, Spike, but I have to let you down easy. I just don't swing that way."

He bites his lip, seeming to will his body to stay still when his instincts obviously clamor at him to attack me. Suddenly, his expression clears into a look of realization. His smirk is back. "Oh, really, what about last night?"

"Drunken mistake."

He steps closer, now we're standing face to face, the smell of smoke and beer hitting my nose. I can feel his glass bottle against my chest. "You so sure about that?"

"Big nothing," I say, voice trembling a little. My heart starts beating with fear and something else I don't want to admit. I should push him away; I should climb up the ladder and get the freaking hell out of here. But my leg hurts, and Spike's sharp blue eyes paralyze me in place.

Spike cranes his neck, his eyes on my lips. "If it was nothing, why did you bring it up?"

"I don't know." I'm starting to breathe heavily and the bottle slides down my body, now on my jeans where the goods are. "Why are you pushing the matter?'

Spike's nose is so close to mine. "Because I see lust in your eyes."

"It's the reflection of yours."

He presses the bottle against my erection: a gasp escapes my mouth, my head rubbing slightly on the rung. "Can slip you a glass and you can blame it all on alcohol if you want."

My knees are wobbling, and my hands grab the steps, keeping me up. "I'm not the one who obviously wants it."

"Don't kid yourself." Spike's lips are hovering against mine. "I'm a vampire, I can tell."

"You don't have to be a vampire to tell these things, Spike." I feel his lips on my cheek as I turn my head away. This is wrong, the desire and the erection, I should be having these with Anya.

"I felt you on the bike. It was why you let go, wasn't it?"

It should be up for Anya and her alone. It doesn't matter that I know Spike more than my fiancée, spend more time with him than with her; that he's the only one trying to track down the demon that hurt me and help me get my memories back.

I face Spike again: his eyes are so blue, craving me, yearning for my kiss. I understand why I'm attracted, he's not just a title I should act according to, he's proven his status for me, he was able to make me see why we were friends to begin with. Earlier at the Magic Box, sitting with Anya, all I felt was guilt and awkwardness but the second I saw Spike, despite the fear and worry, little glitters of excitement were swirling around me. I wanted to come out to Spike.

"Are we… we…"

"Losing it?" Spike asks hoarsely.

I swallow, his eyes filled with desire; shocking, scary, but alluring. "We are."

He clasps his mouth over mine, and the beer bottle crashes between us. My eyelids fall close; I don't feel his breath as opposed to mine which I feel heating his cool cheeks. I cup his face in my hands on impulse, concentrating on the feel of his lips; chapped, dry, man-lips. I don't think or care, I'm kissing a man and I like it. Regrets and consequences be damned, I'm doing this, I'm keeping my lips locked on Spike's until I'm bored and want to do something else.

Like, parting my lips and thrusting my tongue inside. Spike's grunt of approval thrills me and I push my tongue more, tasting the beer, which isn't that horrible inside his mouth for some reason. Spike pulls me tight against his body, throwing us both on the floor; the rash on my leg makes its disapproval at the rough action painfully clear, but I'm too busy with my NC 17 kiss to give a crap.

The floor is hard against my back, my butt feeling the edge of a rug underneath. Spike claims my mouth as he thrusts his body on top of mine. Wait, I'm under him?

I spin us until I'm sitting on Spike's stomach, giving him a determined stare. He releases a soft laugh, shaking his head at me. I break into a smile of my own.

I lean downward: as I'm about to kiss him he puts a hand between our lips, and I end up with my lips pressed against his palm. "No dirty talk?"

I give a lopsided grin. "All my versions of dirty talk are taken from my dad's porn videos and I guarantee they're gonna turn you off."

"They didn't yesterday." A wolfish leer is taking over but all I'm feeling is stunned confusion.

"How would you know? You were hammered."

"It would take more than a half bottle of whiskey to get a vampire sloshed."

My mind reflects back to yesterday, me out of my mind, not in control, Spike taking advantage. "So, you remember?" I ask, my heart thudding under my shirt. "Why did you lie?"

"Messing with your head is fun." He clasps his fingers behind his neck, casting me a grin.

A swift, stunning wave of hurt tears through me, robbing me of breath and strength, confusion clouding my thoughts. Something stings in my eyes and Spike blurs before me as I'm blinded with rage. My fingernails dig into Spike's arms as small daggers of hurt keep ripping though me.

I pin Spike's hands above his head with all my might, putting so much pressure on that I could break his wrists. It doesn't work: instead of panic Spike's eyes are filled with thrill. The anger begins to burn again, and I smash my lips on his, pushing my tongue inside. I know that's what he wants, but I can't help it, I'm so over the edge I can't stop myself. A surge of lust mixed with repulsion deluges through, and I suck and nibble on Spike's lips, before sweeping my tongue in again.

He's a bastard and I can't help but kiss him. I ravage his mouth, bite his tongue, press my groin hard against his, thrilled to hear his groan inside my mouth.

I should be kissing Anya, rocking my body against hers and sucking on her tongue. She loves me, tries hard to make it work with me. He, on the other hand, kept pushing me away; I was the one busting my neck off to get him to talk to me. Why aren't I working that hard on fixing it with Anya? What the hell did that demon do to me? I'm not the kind of guy who prefers hanging out with a vampire over his friends or a hot girl head over heels in love with him.

Just the thought of my friends put a bitter bullet in my chest. I don't have friends; if I did, I wouldn't be this scared at the mere thought of passing them by. I can't stand talking for a second with Anya. The only one I want to spend time with is the asshole I'm French kissing.

I break the kiss, panting heavily on Spike's face. "I'm sleeping here tonight."

"Could care less." Then swiftly he takes my mouth in another bruising kiss.

I feel a tugging deep inside me. An urge to hurt him with everything I have. So I bite so hard on his tongue, tasting blood while doing it. With an animal snarl, Spike pushes me back until I'm lying flat on my back. He's lands on top of me, eyes wide with lust, and he wastes no time before smacking his lips on mine.

Tears prick my eyes. I recall when I woke up in the hospital how gleeful I felt about the hot girlfriend, the awesome apartment, the head-of-my-own-crew job. I thought I woke up in the perfect future with the perfect life I could ever get.

Perfect future my ass, I want this nightmare to be over. I wanna be back to my house with my suddenly sane parents. Jocks and cheerleaders picking on me is way easier to handle than this hell, at least I used to have the comfort of Buffy and normal, non-witch, non-lesbian Willow's friendship.

Here, I'm all alone.