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"Come on, Buffy!" Willow complained, as she watched her best friend try on the fifth outfit of the last half-hour. "You know you'll look great, no matter what you wear!"

How do you explain to a witch who happens to be your best friend that this is the night you've decided to officially begin rejoining the human (or at least mostly-human) race, and that such an occasion calls for a very special ensemble? Buffy caught herself almost-smiling at her own whimsy, and squelched it immediately. No smiles yet. One step at a time.

Willow, who was still speaking, fidgeted slightly. "I sort of want to get there early, so I can talk to the band…"

Buffy turned to look at the red-headed witch, who plucked nervously at the blanket on Buffy's bed and refused to meet her eyes. Frowning is okay. It's not really a smile upside down—it uses a whole different set of muscles. "Something's wrong," Buffy stated flatly.

Willow sighed and buried her face in her hands at the non-question. "Tara won't speak to me, and I don't know why," she admitted miserably. "I mean, yesterday everything seemed so perfect! What happened?"

For the first time in months, Buffy felt like she could take part in a real conversation without feeling emotionally out of her depth. "Why not just ask her?"

Willow chuckled humorlessly. "Believe me, I've tried! Whenever I try to talk to her, she walks away, or acts all hurt and ignores me…" Pain flitted across her narrow features. "I thought maybe I could get the band to play a song she really likes, and I could do this spell…"

Buffy frowned again. "OK, some of my old memories are still a little fuzzy, but…did you used to use spells so often?"

Willow looked slightly hurt. "Oh, not you, too—! I mean, I'm a witch, Buffy—everybody's acting like I'm just supposed to sit on my hands and pretend that magic doesn't exist!" Willow sounded increasingly frustrated and indignant at this perceived injustice. "If I have the power to do all these things, why shouldn't I?!?"

Buffy's eyes went wide at the harsh note in her friend's voice. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You sound like Faith…"

When Willow looked at her angrily, Buffy went on quickly. "No, Willow, I don't want to argue with you. Tonight is supposed to be for going to the Bronze and figuring out how to have some real-life, honest-to-goodness fun again."

Buffy paused for a moment as Willow reluctantly agreed…though there was still something in the witch's eyes that the blonde girl didn't like. Something…reckless. "But…will you just promise me that you'll think about something for me?"

"Okay…" Willow replied warily.

Buffy took a deep breath. Here goes nothing… "If it takes a spell to keep Tara with you, you need to ask yourself exactly what you want from her. A spell will only give you the semblance of love…like that time Spike and I were engaged. No matter how right it seemed at the time, it was so very wrong…" She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "You need to ask yourself whether you love Tara for who she is, or for what she is to you…"

Buffy stopped then—her advice was starting to resonate a bit too much with a few of her own problems, and tonight was about forgetting problems and having fun. "C'mon, I think this outfit will do," she continued quickly, slipping on a pair of small, dangly silver earrings shaped like stakes. They had been a birthday present from Xander several years ago. The Slayer had finally settled on her normal black leather pants, paired with a sky-blue silk shirt with a scooping neckline that clung to her chest, but hung loose and almost cape-like from her shoulder blades. It was one of her favorite shirts; two wide strips of fabric hung freely down either side of her back and tended to flutter as she moved, making her feel as if she had wings.

Buffy grabbed the hand of a still-pensive Willow, dragging her off the bed, down the stairs and out of the house, impatient to discover what this night had in store for her.

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He watched the two girls walk quickly past the blot of shadow in which he crouched, half-wanting Buffy to sense him, and half-terrified of what would occur if she did.

She was a vision in black and blue. Time was, the Big Bad would've had a bit more to say about the Slayer being black and blue…bugger, have I gone soft… But the disgust in his mental voice was no longer nearly as convincing as it once had been.

He couldn't help but notice the difference one short day had made in her demeanor. There she was, giggling with Red, dressed to kill and on her way to their favorite club for a night of fun…just as if she hadn't been morbidly relishing the thought of a fiery death, this same time yesterday.

Spike would have liked to think that he had had something to do with that transformation, but such thoughts lit the well-trodden path down into his own personal pit of self-delusion and—eventually—madness. He had no doubt that if he could not find some way to come to grips with his feelings for this wisp of a girl, his desires would sooner or later leave him as batty as his previous flame. Crazy for you, Slayer… Hell, even Dru was never that cracked.

Keeping to only the blackest of the shadows, Spike followed the two girls toward the Bronze.

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