Willow needed time. She needed to get her thoughts in order, to understand the implications of what she had just seen. It had worked, she'd gotten what she needed, but oh... It wasn't what she thought it would be. Wasn't that always the way? Sometimes she just hated the world—why couldn't things just be tidy, make sense? Buffy died; bad. She, Willow, brought her back; good. Something was still wrong—so she would find out what and make it right. Simple, and obvious. When things weren't right, you fixed them, everyone knew that. But how could she fix this? Buffy had been happy, had been in heaven. Buffy hadn't wanted to come back. But how could that be? No one wanted to be dead, that was just against the natural order of things!

No. For a moment, seeing the resurrection from Buffy's point of view, she had been shaken. She had believed that maybe, just maybe, they had made...a mistake? But no. They had done the right thing. Sure, they should have realized her body was still buried, but that was just a, a detail—all in all, they had done well! Buffy should never have died, she had set that right. But it wasn't right that Buffy had to bear the burden of returning from heaven, of the traumatic return. If only there was a way for her to retain the happy memory without the pain of having it taken from her...hmmm. She would figure it out. Now that she knew what she was dealing with, she would be able to figure out what to do. But it would have to be alone; she could bear this burden for the others, they need never know. She would fix it for everyone.

She returned Tara's squeeze and turned to her, smiled.

"Don't worry baby, I'm okay now," she reassured her girlfriend. Suddenly she had a thought. "Is Buffy okay? Did she, uh, say anything? Does she remember anything?"

"I don't know," Tara answered. "She seemed pretty freaked, but Spike was with her. You know, do you think they're actually kind of good for each other in a weird way? I mean, obviously she's good for him, but I think he really helps her... It seems like maybe she's doing better, you know? Have you noticed?"

Willow frowned forbiddingly.

"I, uh...well, a-anyway the thing with the, with Tiamat is pretty bad then? Should we...well, we should tell them...?" Tara trailed off in the face of Willow's unreceptive look. "I mean...if you're ready. I know it must have been awful for you—to have to relive it. Was it very... do you think you can talk about it?"

"Oh! Yeah," said Willow, refocusing. "No, it wasn't at all bad, we should tell them. And Giles. No, it was just...the spell was, I, uh, it was harder than I thought to keep up and it, I felt, um, you know what? I'm fine. Let's go tell them."

Tara watched as Willow bustled off down the stairs. She followed slowly, thinking hard.

The witches found Buffy and Spike in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. She was mixing pancake batter and talking a mile a minute about something that involved a lot of jabbing and thrusting with the spatula, resulting in flecks of batter all over both of them and the kitchen; he was watching her, laughing along, but mostly looking besotted, and occasionally licking a droplet of batter off his sleeve or hand, while sipping heated blood.

They looked up as Willow and Tara came in.

"Will, are you okay?" Buffy asked, becoming serious. "Is it bad news? What was that—I felt—it was pretty intense. Was it the same for you?"

"Um, no...sort of...you felt echoes of...well, everything's fine. They didn't do anything to you. Sorry the spell did that though, I was surprised too. I'll work on it more though! No more surprise trauma drama! I'll add something, make it like when you get novocaine for the dentist..."

"Well, we won't need it again," said Buffy firmly. "I've had it. These fish's times is...are up! As soon as I can figure out how to find them, fight them in the water, what they want..." she trailed off.

"Back up, Red," Spike interjected. "What do you mean, they didn't do anything? Are you saying someone else did this? Cause that seems bloody unlikely, you ask me..."

"No, I mean they didn't do anything. They just knocked you out with some kind of mind influencing spell, and then they...well, put Buffy to bed. You, I don't know about, because we didn't do the spell—"

"And we're bloody well not going to!"

"Yeah Spike I get it, no spell for you! Like I want to go in your head anyway, I'd ever want to see all...all that..." Willow snapped. "What? He's evil! With the raping and pillaging...never mind. Anyway, they didn't do anything. Which, hey, is really weird. We should call Giles, right?"

x

Buffy felt good. She had eaten, cleaned, showered and changed. She didn't feel hungover anymore, and things were...looking up? Whatever. The important thing was that she felt okay, and who knew how long it might last, so it was a time to be action girl and get this situation under control so she could fix the rest of her life and move on.

She loped down the stairs and into the living room, where the blinds were drawn and Spike was happily watching TV in the gloom, his boots on the coffee table.

"Rise and shine!" she called, flipping off the television and planting herself in front of him. "Time to get to work, partner."

"Oi! It's daytime, which is my time to sleep and watch my shows. I get to work at sundown—if then—so leave me out of this! I've had a very trying day you know, having my melon rescrambled by who knows what, dumped in my bed like one of those alien probe folks, anything could have happened to me...turn that back on now, won't you pet?"

"Oh please, nothing happened to you, you were not probed, they just tucked you in all nice and cozy. They even took your shoes off!" And some other things, chimed Buffy's traitorous mind. Shhh, she told it. "Now come on. We're taking the tunnels to the magic shop to train."

"Go right ahead doll, you don't need me for that. I'll be along at about 7:45. Now be a love, and turn my show back on."

"You're coming. We're sparring. Come on."

"You know I...can't...oh too bloody brilliant! Right! Let's go then," and he hopped to his feet enthusiastically and grabbed his coat. "What are we waiting for? This is bleedin spectacular!"

x

They squared off on the mats. Buffy bounced on her toes a bit, impatient, but Spike was wary. It had been so difficult to adjust to the chip, but now it seemed he'd gotten accustomed to it. Additionally, he and Buffy hadn't fought since the early days of his obsession with her. Now, as much as he anticipated this, it felt a bit...well, wrong. He wasn't sure he knew how to fight someone he didn't actually want to hurt—he'd never had occasion to try it before.

But the idea of fighting her again...he was hard just thinking about it, had been since the moment he realized it was possible, that there was nothing to stop them doing this every day. And she'd brought it up! She had asked him! It was the second best thing he could possibly imagine. He was savoring the moment, that was all.

"Spike come on! What are you doing?"

Sick of waiting, Buffy moved in to strike. He blocked her punch, and they were off, the knowledge of each other's patterns and weaknesses returning as if no time had passed and his reluctance evaporating like mist. This was right, this was what he loved, where he belonged. Fighting with Buffy was incredible, incomparable. This what what had kept him in Sunnydale all that time, when he should have left, gone anywhere else. This made last night's still raw ordeal, having to accept the chip all over again, fade away, soothing the sting till he could barely remember to care. At least this was allowed, unpunished. This was so good it just might be enough.

The way Buffy fought—hell, it was what he loved maybe the most about her, the way she danced around him like a dervish, graceful and deadly. The chip had made him something less, had made him almost William again; but this, going up against Buffy, made him himself again. Like who he should be, should have been all those years; now he was all he'd become over the century of reckless nihilism, with just a little tiny bit of William's less poncey qualities let back in besides. Nothing overboard—just a touch of the human side that had never fully left him anyway, the better to understand and find his footing in this human crowd he seemed to have thrown in with, for good or ill. But it was confusing, and the ground never felt solid beneath him as he tried to walk a line that he couldn't see, didn't understand, and this. This was easy, and fun and glorious. This was where he belonged, could be himself, all his selves.

They struck, parried and wrestled, neither able to land the decisive blow, or caring, just as long as they could keep doing this. Spike discarded his jacket, and they both tossed their shoes towards the wall to offer more freedom. Buffy's face was wet with sweat and she was breathing hard, but she egged him on every time he seemed to be pulling back, a look of fierce joy on her face. He grinned, feeling free and unencumbered. It was the best thing he'd felt in years.

They fought all out, and he stopped worrying, trying his damnedest to land the blows. She was letting herself go too, really flying around the room. It was bloody spectacular! If only we were outside, he thought; or somewhere we could just tear to bits. The back of the magic box was roomy, but playing like this; they could cover blocks, just running and rolling and tumbling! From the look on her face, she was loving it as much as he did. He could hardly contain the happiness he felt, seeing her looking so free and happy and alive, on top of the pure selfish pleasure of this. Of getting to do this.

At last, after she got in a particularly well-aimed kick that threw him backwards, he roared and vamped out, flinging himself across the mats to tackle her.

She allowed him to land on top of her, going limp with happy laughter.

"Oh no," she cried, "Oh, please spare me! You're so evil and terrifying..." she trailed off, laughing too hard to continue.

Spike released her and rolled to lie on his side. "Not nice to laugh at a bloke, you know, love," he pouted, but his grin broke through at once. "Some people have found me frightening in my time. You think I'm your kitten now, is that it?"

She was still giggling at the sight of him pouting while vamped out, but turned to look at him seriously.

"I don't think you're a kitten, Spike," she said, gazing at him. "I think..."

"What do you think?" he growled. He was looking at her intently, perfectly still. They were still lying close together, and suddenly, Buffy thought, the voices in the front of the store felt very far away.

She thought about her revelations that morning, about what a good friend Spike had been to her. She thought about Spike telling her he loved her, time and again, and her throwing it back in his face. He had been there for her, for Dawn; she couldn't take advantage of that on a whim. It would be wrong.

His vamp face had slid back off now, and he was looking at her with a quizzical look in his eyes, head cocked slightly to the side as if he were trying to read her thoughts. She had been silent too long, it was time to answer him; but she found her eyes drawn against her will to his slightly parted lips. She needed to get away from him, to end this. What was she thinking?

"Spike..." she said. It came out very quiet.

He leaned closer, until they were only a breath apart, and spoke in a deep, soft whisper she had never heard before. "What do you want, love?"

The tone in his voice sent shivers down her body, weakened her.

"I, uh..." she was having a hard time catching her breath, or looking away. It was as if there was a magnetic pull from him to her hands; she could almost feel her hand reaching out to touch his cheek, to run her fingers down the line of his throat and over his chest...

"I don't...we should go out front!" She jumped up and applied herself to gathering her things with zeal, keeping her gaze resolutely turned away from him.

He flopped onto his back and gripped his head, staying silent only with a struggle involving gritting his teeth furiously and gripping his hair in both fists until it felt like he was going to pull it out. He took several unneeded breaths and willed himself to relax. It didn't work. When she breezed out without looking around, saying she would see him out there in a minute he remained in place for a few minutes, willing his fists to unclench. Good god, but she would be the death of him.

x

Buffy hurried into the front room, her breathing unsteady. Woah. She really needed to get herself under control. These lusty thoughts were seriously out of hand, and that was bad enough, but actually almost acting on them? What was wrong with her? It might seem harmless to her, but it wasn't. It wouldn't be right to do that to Spike, and it would just mess everything up. Things were good how they were. She just needed to stop thinking about his lips and chest and hands, and everything would be fine. She pictured his muscular forearms pinning her hands to the mat, the fine hairs glinting against his pale skin as he held himself over her, almost touching...

"Buffy? Are you all right?" Giles was looking at her oddly.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, fine, I was just...thinking...about monsters! I mean, what to do about the sea monsters!"

"Have you had any ideas?" he asked. "Because I must admit, that as helpful as it is to know what we're dealing with, I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do about it. If I could just figure out what had brought them here..."

"No," she pouted. "Big fat nothing. They kidnapped us to do...nothing! Who does that? I have no idea what's going on or what to do about it. Why are you asking me anyway? You're supposed to tell me!"

"Yes, well, I just hoped you might have some... Well frankly, I have nothing." He set down the book with a rueful smile.

"Maybe we should go over the dream again..." Buffy knitted her brow trying to concentrate. Spike came in and threw himself on the stairs with a cigarette, earning a dirty look from Giles. He watched curiously as Buffy continued to stare fixedly off into space. After a few minutes she sighed in frustration and dropped her head into her hands.

"Oh, it's useless. I don't know anything more, they probably wiped things I knew before out along with last night. If this keeps happening I'll be a vegetable by Halloween..."

"Well, don't try to fight it, Buffy," Giles advised. "It'll come back to you in it's own— "

"That's it," she cried, her head flying back up. "that's what she said, I remember!"

"What's it?" Anya had wandered over, having closed the door behind the last customer of the evening. "Did you solve the oceanic invasion?"

"No, I—Giles, I remember what she said. She said 'Don't fight us' and then she told me to wake up."

"Those were her exact words? 'Don't fight us?' Are you certain?"

"Yes. Why? Does it mean something? Cause, I'm going to fight them! If they think they can scare me off that easily, they really don't know what they're in for!"

"No,no—or rather I don't know, but it's very interesting..."

Spike stood up restlessly. "Well this is fun," he said sarcastically, "but I think I'll go find me a sea creature to beat up for information, thanks very much. Somehow I don't feel inclined to take some advice they can't even deliver to someone awake."

He swept out through the back, leaving Buffy feeling a little rejected. They didn't always have to patrol together, sure, but it was what they usually did. Was he mad at her? With a sigh, she resigned herself to doing the research, and turned resolutely to Giles for instruction.

x

Spike strode down the alley, determined to put some distance between himself and Buffy before he did something stupid. He had enough, all he could ask for and more. Things could be so much worse, he could have so much less, and if he fucked up now he would. Until Buffy, he hadn't had to access his ability to wait, to be patient, since the nearly forgotten days when he was human. He had merely taken what he wanted, when he wanted. He sighed nostalgically, and lit a cigarette.

Nonetheless, patience was needed now. He would not do something stupid this time, for once, maybe the first time. Maybe he'd never managed restraint before because it had never mattered so much as this. He could do this. He would not find himself exiled from Buffy's life, not again, when he'd finally—what? Found what he had always lacked, wanted... He didn't need more. It was enough to take the scraps. He just needed to remind himself of that from time to time, to stop wanting things he wasn't meant to have. And so he would, he just needed a little time away. Just the night! Not much.

As he began to round the corner towards the front of the store, he stopped short and pulled back around the corner. Across from the front door to the Magic Box was a lone creature, dressed in dark, shiny rags, and dripping saltwater onto the pavement, as it stood quietly, seemingly watching the store.