CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A Done Deal

"We meet again, Gertrude," Buffy said in a tone of forced cheeriness. "I'm starting to think you're the only one who works down here."

Just my luck.

Gertrude, as was apparently her habit, did not respond to Buffy's genial attempt at small talk. The woman seemed stouter and grayer than she had only a few months prior and, judging by her expression, Buffy speculated that she might have swallowed a hedgehog earlier that day.

"Anyway," Buffy continued, "I've filled out the required forms for October's debate." She reached towards the thick window separating her from Gertrude and retracted the sliding metal door. She inserted her paperwork and slowly, being careful not to catch the binder clip on the edge of the slot, pushed it forward. When Gertrude made no move to take the papers, Buffy sat back within the small cubicle and settled in to wait.

So, you just want to sit there? Two can play this game.

Gertrude eventually reached forward and retrieved the papers. She began flipping through them, pausing here and there to purse her lips and shake her head at some bit of information. Upon seeing something that apparently needed clarification, she finally opened her mouth to speak, and Buffy braced for whatever the question might be.

"For your background information you left the request for your drivers' license number blank."

"Oh, that," Buffy replied. "I don't have one."

"You don't have a drivers' license?"

"That's right."

Gertrude digested that information for an unseemly amount of time. "What about a state-issued ID card?"

"I do have one of those," Buffy indicated as she reached into her purse and retrieved it. "The form specifically asked for my drivers' license information, so I didn't fill it in." For a moment she considered inserting the card into the drawer, then instead held it up against the glass.

"Do you expect me to fill in the section for you?"

"Can you cut me a break, Gertie?" Buffy pleaded. "My significant other is waiting in the parking lot, I'm supposed to be offering moral support to someone closing their business today, and I'm kind of in a hurry."

Gertrude retrieved a pen and slowly, with an aura of reluctant magnanimity, copied the information from Buffy's card and wrote it on the form. When she finished, she placed the pen down, retrieved the large stamp she'd used on Buffy's prior visit, and stamped the front page of the forms.

Buffy eagerly stood up. "I assume we're all finished here?"

She interpreted Gertrude's silent stare as confirmation.

. . . . . . . . .

"How'd it go?" Angel asked after she'd slid into the passenger seat.

Buffy buckled her seatbelt and leaned back. "Easy peasy. I always love visiting City Hall."

Angel stared at her questioningly for a moment, then started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm still not sure I want you in the same room with Richard Wilkins while he's giving speeches. Last time that happened, he turned into a gigantic demon and tried to eat you."

"If I don't debate him, how am I going to drag his sorry ass into the light so all the voters can see him for what he really is?" Buffy pointed out. "Besides, I suspect he'll play nice until after the election … and after I win, what's he going to do? Try to kill me out of sour grapes?"

"Buffy, you do know that at some point he will try to kill you … try to kill all of us … right? We're wiping out multiple demons and vampires every patrol, but they're still pouring into Moonridge. He's probably got an army holed up in that castle by now."

"One thing at a time," Buffy replied. "Willow said he needs the election for some grand, nefarious purpose, and if we deny him a mayorship, well … he's just a plain ol' human sorcerer with a bunch of henchdemons, and we can deal with that."

"When Wilkins doesn't care about the truce anymore, it's going to come down to fighting … like it always does …" Angel's voice trailed off.

"I get it," Buffy said far more harshly than she intended. She modulated her voice and tried again, "I know that the status quo won't last. Like I said, one step at a time, and today's step is to cheer for Willow and Oz while they take the money and run."

"Is Willow still mad that you didn't tell her that we'd gone missing?"

Buffy stared out the window for a few seconds before answering, "I think she's progressed from angry to sad and hurt. Like … really hurt."

"What does Oz think?"

"He understands, but he also just sits there and stares at me all judge-y." She glanced over at Angel. "When did Oz get like that?"

"Right around the time he realized he was going to become a father."

Buffy hmphed in acknowledgement. "That'll do it."

"And Dawn?"

"Xander said he wanted to tell her, and that he wanted to tell her in person."

Angel appeared taken aback by the comment. "Okay … but it's already been three days."

Buffy shrugged.

I'm sick of trying to deal with Dawn … let someone else take a turn.

Angel turned off the main road and began navigating the web of side streets towards Moonridge Investigations. When they stopped for a red light, he twisted in his seat and examined in the mirror the already faint line marking the spot on his cheek where Ryan Anderson's scalpel had slashed him open.

"You're healing even faster than I thought you would," Buffy noted.

Angel sat back down and looked over at her. "I'm still not sure if it will leave a scar."

"Don't be vain," she kidded as she smiled up at him. "Scars are sexy."

"Vain?" Angel snorted. "Look who's talking."

"Hey!" Buffy protested as she folded her arms and looked away. "I haven't had too many complaints from you over the years about my trying to look good."

"You know you're hot …" Angel reached out and began trailing his fingers along her leg towards her hip. She batted his hand away.

I hope Angel still feels that way when I'm fifty and he looks like he's in his twenties. That's assuming either of us live that long.

When the light turned green, Angel accelerated and turned into the parking lot that abutted his office.

"All I was saying," Angel said as he attempted to reorient the conversation back towards Richard Wilkins, "is that we should maybe think about fighting this war a little bit more from the shadows, and a little less out in the open."

"The shadows are where monsters and cowards hide," Buffy replied confidently. "And we're neither."

Angel parked and stared at her with a wounded expression. "Buffy, I was a vampire for a couple hundred years … all I did was fight from the shadows."

"You know what I meant." Angel's comment jogged Buffy's memory of a brief conversation she'd had with Olivia and Giles. "Speaking of vampires, do you think Olivia is right about Joshua?"

"Right about what?"

"About him having a soul."

"Oh," Angel said with a shrug. "Maybe she's right, maybe she's not, but I'm not sure it matters … soul or not, he's bad news."

Buffy decided not to argue the point.

. . . . . . . . .

The sight of Xander disconsolately slumped behind the lobby desk, a morose, distant expression on his face, greeted Angel and Buffy when they entered Moonridge Investigations.

"Xander," Angel said in a tone that hovered between a greeting and a concerned question. "How'd it go with Dr. Hu?"

Xander sat up and looked across the office at the two of them. His red-pupiled, gold-flecked eye still gleamed from the left side of his face, so evidently whatever treatment he'd received hadn't involved a removal.

"I didn't go," he said bluntly, without apology. "I don't want to leave town while Emmy is still in the hospital." He glared at them, defiantly, with jaw jutting forward as though in preparation for an argument to come.

It was not lost on Buffy that in years past, Xander might have equivocated, or offered half-truths, or sought out their opinion … but apparently not anymore. Unbidden, the thought occurred to her that over the past few days, it felt at times as though part of Xander had burnt to ash in the same fire he'd used to kill Ryan Anderson.

She and Angel glanced at each other, then they both shrugged. "Just take care of yourself," Angel said.

Xander, visibly relieved that there'd be no quarrel on the topic, slumped back in relief and nodded.

"Any word from Emmy?" Buffy asked while Angel headed towards his office.

Xander slowly shook his head. "Only that she isn't seeing visitors … but I know she is, cause her parents and grandparents have been going in and out."

"Oh."

"That about sums it up," Xander said bitterly. "I mean, I get that she was scared, what happened to her is horrible … I will never be able to stop replaying it in my head … but it's been days, and she's still mad at me? I'm still me, Xander." He looked up at her. "Right?"

Buffy leaned on the lobby desk and looked at him. "It's still you, but Xander, she's been at this 'battling the forces of darkness' stuff for what, a little more than half a year? She's freaked, and you're going to have to give her time."

"I guess," Xander grumbled.

Time to change the subject.

"When are you heading over to the Spirit Square?"

Before Xander could reply, both of their phones buzzed with the sound of an incoming message. Buffy glanced at the screen. "Sounds like Giles and Olivia are on their way."

Xander slowly stood up. "What about the young … errr … the other Buffy?"

Buffy gritted her teeth at Xander's original description of her Anyaverse duplicate, but let it pass without comment. "She's heading over with Giles and Olivia."

"Oh really?" Xander said with a grin. "She isn't hanging out with Spike?"

Very funny.

"Guess not."

Angel chose that moment to reappear from his office. "Did I hear someone mention Spike?"

"No," Buffy and Xander both said at the same time.

Angel shot them a curious expression as he walked towards the lobby door. "I'll spare you the details and give you the summation: Kate says we're in the clear, legally speaking. Ryan Anderson has been identified as the serial killer responsible for the death of Mayor Ritter and upwards of fifty other people throughout the Los Angeles basin, and any evidence we might have left behind either went up in smoke or was trampled by about a hundred firefighters."

"Yay us," Xander muttered.

Angel swung the lobby door open and gestured for Buffy to join him. "Let's go put on our smiles and congratulate Willow and Oz." He glanced over at Xander. "You coming?"

When Xander looked up from his phone, his eyes were livelier than Buffy had seen them since before last weekend's horror show. "I'll have to catch up later today," he informed them as he stood. "Emmy finally texted … she wants me to head over to the hospital."

"That's great news!" Buffy exclaimed. "Tell her we're all thinking of her, and I hope she got the flowers."

"I will," Xander promised.

. . . . . . . . .

Despite the sunlight streaming through the Spirit Square's plantation shutters, Buffy felt as though a pall had spread its gloom throughout the interior. With the exception of Oz's guitar, the peaked wizard's hat that had once perched on the coat rack near the door, and a few other photographs and mementoes, the store remained essentially unchanged. Apparently at the specific, and repeated, requests of the purchasers, the inventory, decorations, and furniture had been left untouched. Buffy half-expected that if she dared a glance into the backroom, the boxes, table, and election material would still be piled up as they had been for months. Of course, they wouldn't be. Willow and Oz had sold the store, the check and keys were exchanging hands today, and that would be that.

If I start crying, Willow is going to start crying.

With a deliberately casual motion, Buffy wiped at moist eyes and smiled at Willow. "Maybe the new owners will keep the name?"

"Maybe," Willow said. As usual, her voice was bright and cheery, but Buffy knew her well enough to detect a current of sadness beneath the words. "I'd like to think we've built up a certain amount of branding … and since they wanted us to leave everything else, maybe they'll just plop in some employees and run it like we used to?"

A few non-committal murmurs were the only reply.

"As it turns out, their wanting all of the stock was a blessing in disguise," Oz added. "I checked on moving vans and I couldn't find any availability for the rest of the year."

"Connor mentioned that, also," Angel added.

Everyone stared at him.

"For his cultists," Angel explained. "Apparently it was easy to transport them into Moonridge, but not so easy to transport them back out."

"I guess a lot of people are leaving town," the younger Buffy said. "I'm the idiot who was rushing to get here."

The resulting laughter at her comment did manage to lighten the mood somewhat.

Giles stepped into the middle of the store and looked around. "Willow, Oz, I know this moment has to be bittersweet … leaving behind something that's been a part of you for so long is never easy, but I believe you're making the right decision."

"Absolutely," Olivia added as she gazed down at the billowy skirt and leggings that were doing their best to camouflage Willow's gradually expanding waistline. "You two need to take some time for yourself."

"That's the idea," Oz said. "We've got a few months to find a new place and stock it with diapers … lots of diapers."

He didn't say where they'd be finding a new place …

Oz had greeted them in a friendly fashion, but Buffy didn't think it was her imagination that he felt distant, and particularly so since she'd told Willow what had happened to Xander, Angel, and Emmy.

Willow wants to help, and she can't … at least, not the way she used to, and it's eating her up inside. I know what that's like.

She reached out and rubbed Willow's shoulder. Willow, surprised at the gesture, smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Well, this is it," Willow announced. "The end of the rainbow, the crossing of the Rubicon, the point of no return." She gestured towards the backroom. "If the offer is still good, we could use some help moving the band equipment and the boxes of our personal stuff."

"How about we let the folks who still have magical muscles take first crack at playing stevedore," Buffy suggested as she stared at Angel and teen Buffy. Neither looked particularly enthusiastic about her suggestion.

"Sure …" Angel said hesitantly, "… but shouldn't we wait for Xander to get here with his truck? Plus, Faith and Connor would probably like to help."

"We can get a head start and begin piling it near the parking lot," Buffy suggested in a tone she felt leaned decidedly towards firm but could not possibly be considered bossy.

Angel and the younger Buffy looked at each other, then they trudged into the back room.

"Do you want to keep an eye on the two of them?" Willow whispered with an impish grin.

While Buffy didn't necessarily find Willow's friendly teasing on the notion of Angel lusting after a younger version of herself amusing, she was happy to hear some levity in her voice. "I think she's got other interests at the moment," she replied.

"Spike?" Oz asked.

Olivia and Giles looked at each other for a moment before Giles replied, "Nothing official as of yet, but I've considered it a foregone conclusion for quite a while."

"Yeah, Oz and I figured the same," Willow confided.

"Ugh," Buffy said despondently. "Am I really that predictable, regardless of which universe I come from?"

"Yes," Willow confirmed.

The sound of a loud, clattering crash resounded throughout the store.

"I think I'll go check on that," Oz announced as he scurried towards the backroom.

"Good idea," Willow said. She waited until Oz was out of earshot before she turned to Buffy and Giles. "Okay, I've had a few days to calm down, and while I understand, I want both of you to promise that if something like what happened last weekend ever … EVER … happens again, you'll call me." She reached out, nudged their shoulders, and pointed down at her stomach. "Look at me, I'm not going to go find a white horse and ride to the rescue, but believe it or not, I might have something to add that could be helpful." She looked over them with an expectant, commanding expression. "I want you to promise."

"Willow …" Giles began.

"Rupert!" Olivia interrupted.
"… very well, I promise."

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded her head. "Fine, Will. I get it."

"You've given me your word, so I officially forgive you," Willow said. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Mostly."

. . . . . . . . .

"How are you feeling?" Xander asked. He hovered nervously at the edge of Emmy's hospital bed, unsure if she might be amenable to a hug, or if a physical embrace would irritate the heavily bandaged burns and wounds that covered her shoulders, torso, and her right cheek down to her chin. Heck, her unreadable expression left him entirely unsure if she was even happy to see him.

Emmy fumbled for a small remote control by her right hand, grasped it, and pressed the corresponding button to lever her bed upright. She stared at Xander with sad eyes for a few moments before she spoke. "I've been better. How are you and Angel?"

Xander chanced reaching out and rubbing her knee. When he felt her leg tense beneath his fingers, he quickly withdrew it. "Angel's got the whole supernatural healing thing going on, so he'll be fine, and I'm doing okay, all things considering."

"Have you seen Dr. Hu?"

She didn't wait long to ask that …

"Not yet," he admitted. "I didn't feel up for a road trip while you were still stuck in here."

Emmy glanced away and stared at the window at the far wall. A small table underneath the sill was lined with flowers, get well cards, and a few photographs. Xander couldn't help but notice that none of them featured him.

"Do what you think best," she said quietly.

"I'm mostly worried about you."

Emmy turned back towards him, but didn't say anything.

"How are you feeling, really?" Xander asked. "I will admit I'm not up on Prajjian biology as much as maybe I should be … will your scales … heal? Grow back?" He gestured towards her shoulders, and part of him died when she flinched at the movement.

"They will," she confirmed. "Eventually. Also, the specialist my grandfather brought in says that most of my burns are only first or second degree … there's only one spot, near my mouth, that they think might require a skin graft."

Emmy's voice was neutral as she spoke, but Xander felt as though his soul was being shredded through a blender.

His tongue felt numb when he replied, "Emmy, I am so, so sorry … I didn't mean to lose control like that. I just …"

Emmy raised a hand, then winced in pain at the motion. "Xander, you don't have to apologize."

"I feel like I do."

"No, you don't," she said firmly. "You saved my life, you saved all our lives. I'd be carved into little pieces right now if it wasn't for you. Thank you."

Xander wanted to leap forward, hug her, and hold her head against his chest and sob until the pain and guilt had lessened, but instead, he sat there and nodded.

"Xander, we have to talk."

His heart shattered inside his chest.

"In my experience, conversations that begin with that phrase usually don't end up in a happy place," Xander said in as light a tone as he could manage. "They typically end up in a more 'me sobbing and curled up in the shower' kind of place."

Emmy giggled, and it was if a rainbow shown into the room, but then her features curled in pain for a moment, and she fell silent again. She stared sadly at Xander, then reached out with her right arm and opened her hand. Xander gratefully took it and leaned in close.

"Xander, in January, at the castle, your life seemed like an adventure. The monsters were on the other side of a big fence, you were like a mysterious, dashing pirate, and I kind of got absorbed in the fantasy of it. I was living every apocalytes dream! Fighting the good fight, and all of that."

"It was no fantasy," Xander reminded her. "That was all very real."

"Oh, I know that … I know that really well now. It's not an adventure for me anymore, Xander. People I know have died … well, I knew them online, but they're dead, and I almost died, too. Both of us almost died."

"But we didn't die," Xander said. "I've been in tough spots before, and now we've been in a few of them together."

"Look, I'm scared. I feel like we got lucky, but what about next time? At some point, everyone's luck runs out."

"Emmy, there isn't going to be a next time. We'll be more careful, and nothing like this will ever happen again."

Her face was drawn and pale as she looked down towards her lap. "That's not true, and you know it."

"Emmy …" Xander said in a halting, uncertain voice as he clutched her hand more firmly. "Whatever you want me to say, or do, or promise, I'll do it. Anything you need, just say the word. That's how important you are to me." He took a deep breath and decided to plow forward with the sentiment on the tip of his tongue. "Emmy, I …"

Emmy snatched her hand away.

"Don't say it!" she exclaimed. "Don't finish that sentence. Xander, this is what you do, it's what your friends do, it's what your life is. You left construction to start a business fighting evil, and every one of your friends is doing the same thing as a hobby, or volunteer work, or whatever."

"They really should get paid," Xander mumbled.

"Are you hearing me?" Emmy asked. "Xander, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Might as well rip the band-aid off.

"I don't want us to be over."

Emmy wiped a tear away. "I know you don't. Part of me doesn't want that either … that's what makes this so hard."

"Then let's figure it out," he begged. "Like Angel and Buffy, or Willow and Oz, or Giles and Olivia."

"Whatever worked for them won't work for me," Emmy replied sadly. "I'm scared, and I can't be part of your life anymore."

Emmy," Xander said as he tapped his chest, "I'm scared, too. I've never been so scared, and angry, and horrified as I was when that piece of shit was cu … was doing those things to you. Why can't we be scared together?"

Emmy couldn't meet his eyes as she replied, "The difference, Xander, is that you're not scared of me."

There it is.

The blender churning inside ripped apart whatever was left of his soul and sprayed it on the floor.

"Oh," was all he said.

"I'm sorry, Xander, but I wanted to be honest with you."

He stood up and stared out the window at the crest of Moonridge Canyon and its line of sparse, windswept trees. "Is this really happening? Are we not … us … anymore?"

"Please don't be angry, Xander," Emmy pleaded.

He whirled around, saw her trembling with the sheets pulled close around her, and held up his hands in supplication. "Emmy, I'm not angry." It seemed to him that she stopped shaking after he spoke the words, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

"Xander, when I leave this hospital, I'm heading back home for a while, and I'm not coming back."

He crossed over to the bed and looked down at her sadly. "Is this when I should go? I'm thinking that it is, but I'm still worried about you and it doesn't feel right to just walk out and leave you here."

"I think when you leave, I won't be in danger anymore, Xander," Emmy said as she blinked through tears. "I think whatever monsters are hunting you and your friends, I don't think they care about me … I doubt they ever have."

"Oh, Emmy," Xander said as he wiped at his eyes.

"You have no idea how difficult this is for me," she said through gasping sobs, "and at the moment, crying is very painful. Please don't make this any harder."

Xander nodded quickly and began moving towards the door. "I'll go. If you need anything, or if something goes bump in the night, you call me. Promise me that you'll call."

"I will," she said.

Emmy's voice rang out one more time as he reached for the doorknob.

"I talked to Dr. Hu this morning, and I told him about your symptoms … about what you did in that warehouse."

"And?"

"He said that for you to have been capable of … of all of that, that the transplant must have rooted too deep. Whatever the eye was going to do to your body, he said it's probably already done it, and that most likely, there isn't anything he can for you."

"I kind of figured that," Xander said as he grabbed the doorknob. As he pulled the door open, he realized that a long black coat was hanging on the hook inside the room.

Angel's.

He grabbed the coat, tucked it under his arm, and stepped into the hallway.

"Xander, I'm so sorry," Emmy called out.

He had to choke out a reply through vocal cords that didn't seem to be working correctly. "Me, too."

He closed the door behind him.

. . . . . . . . .

"Private transaction?" Oz said heatedly into his cellphone. "I thought that meant don't publish the contract in a newspaper, not that we couldn't have friends help us move."

As Oz's jaw tightened in irritation, Willow rubbed his shoulder and glanced around the store. Everyone else was outside, either helping to load up Xander's truck or chatting, and it seemed somehow fitting that she and Oz spend these last minutes in the store alone. If only several of those minutes hadn't been occupied with telephonic bickering.

"We didn't move before today because the sale doesn't close today. Which is actually

the reason for my call." Oz glanced at his watch. "If you guys want the keys, drop off the cashier's check."

He looked at her, shook his head in irritation, then turned his attention back to the phone.

. . . . . . . . .

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it, Harris?" Faith asked as she trundled a box into the back of his truck. "We've all had bad break-ups, it sucks, but you'll live."

"C'mon Faith, leave him alone," Buffy said.

"I'm fine," Xander said as he stared at the group assembled at the edge of the Spirit Square's parking lot. His face was gray and drawn, and his eyes were hollow. "Emmy is on the mend, but we're not seeing each other anymore. Simple as that."

"She's been through a lot," Olivia said.

"I would tend to agree," Giles added. "Maybe give it time?"

Xander slammed a box down on the bed of his truck more forcefully than he had intended. The vehicle rocked back and forth a moment, then settled. "I wouldn't count on it."

Connor dropped the crate he was carrying into the pickup then awkwardly patted Xander on the back. Xander stared at the arm in stony silence until Connor slowly withdrew it.

Xander, clearly intent on changing the subject of conversation, gestured towards his truck. "Even with tie downs, I don't think we want to load this up any higher." Everyone surveyed the unwieldly stack of boxes and musical equipment. Xander glanced towards Connor. "How about you bring that 4Runner around? There should be room in the back for the rest."

"Sure," Connor replied. "I'll be right back."

Connor fished his keys out of his pocket and wove his way through the parking lot. Upon reaching the appropriate row of cars, he maneuvered around a van and nearly ran headlong into a tall man wearing a dark suit. The stranger stumbled in one direction, Connor in another, and a large manilla envelope fell to the ground as the man reached out to steady himself again. For a moment, Connor felt a stabbing pain in his left ear … his shirt must have snagged against his earring. He reached up to free the jewelry, but then the sensation vanished.

The man stooped and retrieved the envelope, stood up, adjusted his tie and its sparkling golden clip, and fixed Connor with a piercing stare. The neatly parted dark brown hair, glasses, and wide jaw sparked no recognition, yet something about the man's expression gave Connor the distinct impression that he expected to be recognized.

"Sorry about that," Connor said.

The man tilted his head and fixed him with an odd gaze, then he nodded once and continued on his way. Connor watched him vanish between a row of cars, then just as he was about to resume walking , he noticed a glint of white at his feet. He bent down, grabbed an ivory-colored business card, and examined it for a moment.

An attorney … I bet he's here to see Willow and Oz.

Connor tucked the card into his pocket.

. . . . . . . . .

"Was it my imagination or was that kind of rude?" Willow asked Oz. "You'd think he could have stayed for at least a few minutes … heck, it seemed like he did just about everything he could to avoid talking to Buffy and the others."

Willow watched as Oz's anxious fingers fumbled open the just-delivered envelope.

"Cut him some slack," Oz replied. "I'm sure business dealings with people you know is pretty awkward." He pulled a perforated sheet of paper free from the envelope and held it aloft as his face erupted into a wide smile.

Despite her professed lack of concern over material trappings over the years, the size of the figure paid for the Spirit Square did generate a certain tingling thrill.

"They paid," he announced as he embraced in her a firm hug.

When her abdomen began to protest at Oz's enthusiasm, she gently extricated herself and smiled. "I was beginning to wonder if it was all real."

Oz tucked the check back into the envelope. "It looks pretty real, but I have half a mind to run to the bank right now."

"One last look around?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Arm in arm, they strode through the store and tried to crystallize as memories the feel of the rugs beneath their feet and the gleam of the shelves and neatly organized curios, books, and magical paraphernalia. Willow stared with a certain amount of relief at the backroom that had formed her and Buffy's makeshift election war-room for months, and then, seemingly in no time at all, they were at the doorjamb, and it was over. She turned off the lights and they both stepped outside.

Oz locked the door, then removed the store's key from his keyring and tucked it into a jacket pocket. He and Willow joined the group gathered near Xander's pick-up and Oz's smile, at least, was genuine as they looked over the expectant faces.

"The check arrived," he announced with glee.

Whoops, hollers, and a long piercing whistle from Faith erupted as Oz and Willow were subjected to handshakes, hugs, and well wishes of every sort imaginable. Even Xander, who had seemed half a ghost when he arrived, congratulated them with apparent good cheer.

"And now," Willow announced, "Oz and I would like to invite you all …"

Before she could finish, two yellow-robed figures approached. Willow immediately recognized the pockmarked pores covering their sallow faces and their odd manner of breathing.

The newest owners of the Spirit Square.

"Greetings," one of the demons said. "I hope that your departure from your former place of business has proceeded in an uneventful fashion?"

The other demon, apparently not interested in pleasantries, was more direct. "You have received payment and our business is now concluded save for transfer of possession." He held out a trembling, clawed hand.

Oz pulled the key from his pocket, but before he could drop it into the waiting palm the other demon snatched it away with a startling eagerness. Oz and Willow exchanged glances with each other.

"I hope that the store brings you as much joy as it brought us," Willow said. She intended to say more, but the demons had already brushed past them. One of them extracted a small iron box from somewhere within its robe while the other inserted the key into the Spirit Square's front door and swung the entrance open.

"They're in a hurry," Buffy observed.

"I'll say," Angel added as he craned his neck to get a better view.

The demons vanished inside. In short order they had closed the shutters, denying anyone a view of the interior, and less than a minute later the sound of breaking glass could be heard from within.

"Hey, what are they doing?" Willow exclaimed as she began to walk forward.

Oz grabbed at her arm, and she stared down angrily at his grip. He didn't let go.

"Willow, they own the place," he reminded her. "It's not our business any more … literally."

"That doesn't mean we need to stand by while they wreck the place!"

"That's exactly what it means," Oz replied.

Buffy decided that it would be best to try put a positive spin on developments. "They probably just knocked something over … I'm sure it's nothing." She glanced over at Giles, who was staring intently at the shuttered windows. "Giles, tell Willow it's nothing."

Before Giles could reply, the two demons emerged from within the store. One of them clutched the iron box against its chest while the other hurriedly re-locked the door, then they both scuttled at great speed towards the parking lot. As they neared, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up as if on cue.

Giles cleared his throat and addressed the demons as they neared, "When do you think the store might be reopening for business?"

The demons ignored the question and their presence, hustled into the waiting car, and with the slam of a door and the squeal of tires sped away. The group exchanged glances with each other that ran the gamut from worried to confused.

"Anyone else wondering what was in that box?" Xander asked.

Teen Buffy stared at Faith. "Is your slayer-sense tingling right now?"

Faith nodded. "Mine's vibrating something fierce."

Oz stared stonily ahead while Willow looked at him in concern. "Should we go inside and try to figure out what they've taken?"

Oz didn't meet her eyes. "I don't have a key, and we signed a contract. It's done."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Buffy whispered to Angel.

"You're not the only one," he whispered back.

. . . . . . . . .

"It was kind of downer, actually," Xander admitted to Dawn. "There was that weird thing with the box, and Willow repeatedly apologizing for abandoning us, and then Buffy … both Buffys … trying to be supportive … it was a mess."

"What do you think was in the box?" Dawn asked.

Xander shrugged. "I have no idea. Giles and Willow said they were going to try to look into it when the store opens, and Oz looked angry enough that I thought he might find a way to turn into a werewolf again."

Dawn giggled and held her hand over her mouth.

"You should have been there," Xander said. "Why weren't you?"

Dawn sighed.

Not this again.

"Xander," she explained, "I'm hanging by a thread here. Eric's taking the twins out every other evening so I can have yet more time alone, I can't sleep, and all everyone wants to do is discuss Richard Wilkins or patrols or demons or magic or something I don't want to hear about."

"Other things have been happening," Xander said quietly.

Dawn stared at his face. When he'd shown up unexpectedly, Xander had looked different. His eyes were vacant and haunted, and every smile, every grin, ended too abruptly and gave away the lie that something was terribly bothering him.

"What happened?"

"Emmy and I broke up," Xander said. "Today, actually … before I went over to help Willow."

"Oh Xander, I'm so sorry," Dawn replied as she reached out to hug him. "I can't imagine why, you two seemed so happy."

She could feel Xander's body tense beneath her touch, then he drew away. "Something … something bad happened, and it scared her, and she decided she couldn't be a part of my life anymore." A twitching, half-smile appeared for a moment then was gone. "I can't say that I blame her."

"Something bad?" Dawn asked. "But you're alright?"

"I am," Xander said, "but she's not." Upon seeing Dawn's horrified expression, he quickly continued, "I mean, she will be, but not right now."

Oh no.

"I see," she said in a delicate, deliberate voice. "I know you're hurting Xander, and I know Emmy meant a lot to you, but I have to say … I understand her decision."

"I know you do, Dawn, that's why I'm here," Xander explained. "I'm going to give her some time and some space, but I want to reach out to her when the time is right. If it was you, what would you need to hear in order for you to believe that nothing like that would ever, ever happen again."

"Oh, Xander," she said as she took his hand. She opened her mouth to explain that it wasn't that easy, that Xander could never really move on from the people he cared about, but something in his mismatched eyes stopped her. Guilt dripped from his countenance, and her heart broke when she realized his body was coiled with tension as he waited for her reply. She didn't know what she could say that would be truthful and also assuage his pain, and honestly, it wasn't words she thought Xander needed. She looked at his slightly parted lips, at the knotted muscles of his tensed shoulders, and wondered if …

What am I doing?

Xander seemed to notice that she had shifted her body towards him. "Dawn?"

She cleared her throat and took back her hand. "Xander, I think the best thing to do is give her time. Give her time, and maybe you should think about what you really want. Because the one thing you can't do is be dishonest with her. If you're going to stay part of this life … Buffy's life … then honor Emmy's choices."

"You don't feel that we've honored yours, do you?" Xander asked.

"Sometimes, no," Dawn admitted. "But it's different with me. Harder."

Xander stared at her with a quizzical expression. "Why is it any different?"

"Because Xander, I'm Buffy's sister, and I consider all of you family. I can't just move on."

"But Emmy can?" Xander said bitterly.

Dawn opened her mouth to respond, but the right words wouldn't come.

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy swiped her phone off the coffee table and immediately scrolled to the newly-received message.

Giles, who had his arm wrapped around the cuddling Olivia on the couch, stared at her in irritation. "Must you do that every time it buzzes?"

"Oh, leave her alone, Rupert," Olivia scolded him. "She's a teenager and it's summer vacation."

Giles frowned. "It isn't summer vacation when you're a high school graduate who isn't attending college in the coming fall. At that point, it's unemployment."

"Hey!" Buffy protested. "I would say that my focus on slaying responsibilities is a valid lifestyle choice, and it's not as though I'm a slacker-type." She tapped at her phone. "Speaking of which, how do you know this text isn't work related? Maybe it's Faith, or Colleen? What if they needed help?"

"Do they?" Giles asked pointedly.

"No," Buffy admitted.

Olivia nudged Buffy on the knee. "You've got the night off. Why don't you relax and try to enjoy the movie?"

Buffy glanced at the glasses of wine sitting in front of Giles of Olivia. "Might be easier to chill with a glass of pinot noir."

Giles harrumphed loudly, retrieved his wine glass from the table, and stared down over his glasses at her. "Not for a few more years yet."

"Do you really think I haven't tried alcohol?"

"That's not the same thing as giving you my blessing to flout the law," Giles retorted as he sipped at the glass.

Buffy folded her arms in irritation. "I can be trusted with the power to slay the forces of darkness, but not to have a drink with dinner."

"What if there was an emergency, Buffy?" Giles asked. "Would you want to show up intoxicated?"

"It's never bothered Faith."

Giles snorted in amusement at the comment. "Faith is a special case."

Buffy scrunched her forehead in puzzlement at the comment. "How so?"

"Faith never listens to me."

She was just about to angrily retort when her phone buzzed again. Giles swiveled his disapproving gaze to her once more as she smiled at the name of the sender. The text was brief and to the point:

Come over. You know the address.

Part of her was irritated at the brusque expectation inherent in the message, but another part of her … and definitely the part that was in the driver's seat at the moment, was thrilled that the missive had finally arrived.

She decided not to reply right away, or maybe at all. She didn't want to seem too eager. She tucked the phone into the pocket of her jeans, then stood and retrieved the black hooded sweatshirt she'd left hanging on the stairs. Ignoring the curious stairs from Giles and Olivia, she pulled the garment over her white tank top and slipped on her boots.

"Where are you going?" Giles asked.

"To visit a friend."

"A friend?" Giles's voice practically curdled with suspicion.

"Yup."

"Should we wait up," Olivia called out in a saccharinely sweet tone.

Buffy firmly closed the door behind her as she left.

Giles and Olivia stared at each other.

"I guess that was a 'no,'" Giles announced. His voice was thick with irritation. "If she's going to be living under this roof, the least she can do is …"

Olivia massaged his leg and shushed him in a gentle but firm fashion. "She's a grown woman, Rupert," she said as she leaned against him. "You should try looking on the bright side … now we have the house entirely to ourselves."

Giles hurriedly grabbed the remote and turned off the television.

. . . . . . . . .

The door to Spike's apartment swung open seemingly mid-knock. Buffy wasn't sure which she was more embarrassed by, her surprised gasp, or her racing heartbeat. Upon seeing her on his doorstep, Spike's smile was rakish and self-assured … or perhaps arrogant might have been the more appropriate term. His white shirt was unbuttoned, his feet were bare, and his black sweatpants bore visible stains from, presumably, his most recent meal.

"You didn't need to dress up on my account," she said as she stepped inside. The interior of the apartment wasn't as bare as his empty patio, but it was close. A long black leather couch and accompanying glass coffee table sat opposite a large television, and standing upright in the corner was the box that the television had come in. Other than a stainless steel refrigerator and a large knife block, the kitchenette to her right seemed bereft of appliances or furnishings of any sort. Buffy spotted, through a door at the opposite end of the room, a large, dark wooden bed featuring four bed posts and tan sheets.

At least the place is clean. Too clean … it's like no one lives here.

"Haven't you been here long enough to decorate?" Buffy asked as she gazed at the empty walls.

Spike closed the door behind her. She was proud of herself for not jumping as it slammed shut.

His smile intensified as he walked over to the kitchen counter, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back. As he did so, she couldn't help but notice the well-muscled striations of his chest and stomach. The room suddenly felt claustrophobic and far, far too warm.

"I don't think you came over to discuss interior decorating, did you?" Spike asked as he cast an appraising eye at her. "How about you take off your shoes and relax? I'm trying to keep the carpet clean … put down a deposit on the place, and all that."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then decided it was a little silly to keep her boots on. She absent-mindedly rubbed the right side of her lip as she kicked off her footwear. When she was standing in her socks, she crossed her own arms and stared at Spike.

"So … I'm here. To be honest, after what happened last weekend, with all the talk of couches and you being so hot and heavy, I kind of thought I'd have heard from you before now."

Her heart beat even faster as Spike uncrossed his arms and walked over to her. She tensed as he reached up a hand and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

"That business with Emmy and Xander … and I guess Angel, too … that was rough," Spike said as the smile vanished from his face. "Then you had patrol duty, and like I told you before, maybe I wanted to try taking things a bit slower."

She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer. "I'm not on patrol now."

"That you are not," he agreed. He leaned forward, parted his lips and kissed her. This time she didn't stiffen in surprise, she returned the kiss with an eagerness of her own. After several deliciously long moments, Spike pulled away and looked down at her. "Did you tell Jeeves where you were going, or did you sneak out the window?"

"Giles is definitely not on my mind right now," she murmured as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him back towards her. Spike braced his hands against the wall and kissed her again, more thoroughly this time, and the heat within her bloomed into a raging inferno.

"Couch?" she said hoarsely when he finally broke off the embrace.

Spike gestured with his head towards the bedroom. "Naw. Let's do this proper."

Her feet didn't feel as if they were touching the carpeted floor as she followed him in a haze through the doorway. The bedroom, in addition to the heavy four poster bed, featured several cabinets and a half-closed closet within which a pile of clothes was visible. An open drawer in one of the cabinets caught her eye for a moment.

"Hey," she said as she pointed towards a scrap of fabric peeking out of the drawer. "Is that my hair scrunchy?"

Spike quickly slid the drawer closed, then replied, "Nope."

Buffy narrowed her eyes in suspicion as Spike closed the distance between them and ran his hands down her arms. He bent down to kiss her again, but before their lips met she placed her hands on her chest and shoved him. A wide grin erupted on Spike's face as he fell backwards and landed in a sprawl upon the bed. His shirt flew open, and his muscles twisted and flexed in the most appealing fashion as he patted the mattress.

"Shall we?"

Buffy grabbed the bottom hem of her tank top, pulled it over her head, and dropped it to the ground. Goosebumps prickled from her skin and she blushed as Spike stared in frank admiration at her bare breasts. The cross necklace she left on … somehow, given their slayer and ex-vampire dynamic, it lent a certain exciting kink to the proceedings. She peeled off her socks, unbuttoned and kicked away her jeans, then climbed into bed next to Spike. His blue eyes sparkled in the dim light as he devoured the sight of her.

"I'm feeling decidedly overdressed," she murmured into Spike's ear. She playfully flicked his earlobe with her tongue and smirked when his entire body quivered in response. She ran a hand down the muscles of his chest, plucked at the waistband of his sweatpants, and let the elastic snap back against his skin.

Spike held a hand against the side of her face as he kissed her, then he yanked off his shirt and flung it into the corner. Buffy eagerly helped him maneuver his sweatpants past his ankles and as they moved closer for another long, deep kiss she reached for his groin and felt his entire body tense when her questing fingers wrapped around their objective.

Despite the feverish intensity with which their bodies came together, she soon realized that Spike had no intention of rushing their first moments of intimacy. She moaned as his hungry mouth found her nipples, shivered in anticipation when he slid her embarrassingly damp panties past her feet, and arched her back and clutched at the sheets as his tongue roamed downward to rasp with delicate precision against more sensitive regions of her body. When too much time had passed without them kissing one another, he would curl a hand beneath her shoulder or back and they would fervently remedy the situation. Periodically, she mischievously kept his arousal stoked with increasingly vigorous movements of her hand.

She was on the verge of pleading with him to dispense with the admittedly rapturous foreplay when he gently separated her legs and maneuvered his hips between them. He looked into her eyes, kissed her again, then she gasped and clawed at his back as they began moving in rhythm. When Spike reached down, placed a hand on her hip, and caressed the center of her pleasure with his curled thumb in just the right way, she found herself unable to form a coherent thought as seemingly every muscle in her body spasmed and pulsed with the bliss of release. The nearly overwhelming sensation of Spike continuing to move in time with her was almost too much to bear, but then he held her close, shuddered with his own moment of ecstasy, then went still. He kissed her softly on the forehead as he pulled away and lay next to her.

. . . . . . . . .

When their breathing had slowed, Buffy snuggled close to Spike and gazed at the crisp lines of his jaw through half-lidded eyes.

"Remember when we met in that alley? In my dimension?"

He glanced at her in surprise. "That wasn't on my mind at the moment, but yeah, that experience would be hard to forget."

"Do you remember our fight?"

She fought down a wave of irritation as Spike snorted in amusement at the recollection. "Not much of a scrap as I recall. You fought, I mostly tried to talk some sense into your stubborn slayer head."

"Very funny," she said with a frown. "I eventually started to have the feeling that you'd sparred … or fought … with me so many times that you knew all my moves and could anticipate what I'd do before I'd do it."

"Where are you going with this?"

She pressed her head into his shoulder. "I kind of feel the same way right now."

Spike laughed loudly, then he raised his hand, pressed his index finger against a particularly ticklish spot near her ribcage that he could not possibly have known about by chance, and wiggled it.

"Hey!" she protested between squealing giggles as she brushed his hand away.

"Sensitive spot?" he asked with a self-satisfied leer.

When she was confident that he was done with the tickling, she laid back next to him. "Maybe we should have a rule though …"

"And if one of us breaks this rule, what then?" Spike asked as his brow furrowed in thought. "This could be fun."

"Spike, I'm trying to be serious here. Your past, her past, whatever, you know what and who I mean … maybe we don't talk about it, ever?"

"Buffy, no other woman is on my mind, I can promise you that," Spike said as he pulled her closer. "It's you and me here, and no one else." He kissed her with a languorous, lingering passion, and she was surprised to feel her body's core begin to warm again.

She eventually, reluctantly, pulled away. "I'm serious. The last week has been a lot to process. I say we start fresh, the two of us."

Spike idly played with her cross necklace, then set the glistening metal back on her chest. "Fair enough, but I was thinking more along the lines of there being no rules, not for us, not ever."

She playfully swatted at him. "I'm not talking about everything being neat and tidy, with the picket fence and all that crap … I just mean … hell, you know what I mean."

"I do."

As they laid together, out of curiosity she reached down and checked to see if Spike had been physically sated, or if there was more in the tank. She was pleasantly surprised to feel the subject of her examination stiffen in response to the touch of her fingers.

Spike glanced down towards his crotch, then at her. "Someone has a lot of pent-up energy."

"Maybe both of us do," she whispered. "I'm digging the stamina so far."

"Benefits of being a superhero, love," Spike said as he mirrored her movement and snaked a hand towards her hip. Buffy closed her eyes and bit her lip as he caressed at the edges of her still-sensitive sex.

"One more question about the night we met," she said in a throaty whisper.

"All this talking," Spike murmured. "I may have to do something about how chatty you are."

She increased the pace of her strokes. "Those were your manacles in Xander's car, weren't they?"

His only reply was a wolfish grin.

. . . . . . . . .

Although the bedroom window could not have been open more than a few inches, the night air wafting into the bedroom brought with it a whiff of oleander and madness that awakened Spike instantly. His eyes adjusted quickly to the moonlight that spilled in through the open shutters as he carefully, so as not to awaken Buffy, withdrew the arm draped over her body and rolled away. She murmured in her sleep and shifted slightly, and it was all he could do not to embrace her again and return to sleep.

But he knew what was outside in the dark … somewhere.

He pulled on his jeans, threw a shirt over his head, and walked into his living room. Not bothering to put on shoes, he pulled open the patio slider and walked outside. The pavement was cold beneath his feet and the smell that had awakened him hung heavy on the breeze. The night was still, and the shadows rustled and curled against the dim illumination offered by the nearby streetlights. He glanced around but saw no one else in view.

Spike slid the glass door closed and gazed upwards at the patios that jutted from the building.

She's either on the soddin' roof or creeping on someone's bloody terrace.

There didn't seem to be a way to climb up, and he didn't feel like wandering in the dark looking for a climbing handhold.

"Drusilla, I know you're here," he announced. "Might as well come out and say hello. I promise I won't bite."

When only silence greeted him for several long minutes, he began to feel rather silly.

Hell, maybe oleanders grow around here.

He reached for the door handle.

The voice that whistled from somewhere above was thin and wavering. "Biting is not so much of a concern anymore, is it my beloved? I did not want to believe, but it's true … you've left eternity behind and joined the comings and goings and trappings of those we once preyed upon together."

Spike stepped away from the building, leaned back against waist-high wall surrounding his patio, and stared upwards.

Where the hell is she?

"Drusilla, this Romeo and Juliet charade you have goin' on is a bit silly," he called out. "Come on down and let's talk."

"Can't … won't …" the ethereal voice rang out again. It was Drusilla, of that he was certain, but the words were strained and ragged.

"Dru, are you okay?" he asked the empty air. "You sound a bit off. Moreso than usual, I mean."

"Worms wind and weave through my body, eating as they go. Only a drop it took to curdle and rot my flesh, and now my cold body burns as I am devoured. Soon, there won't be much left of me at all for you to hold."

Same ol' Dru.

"Well, that sounds rough," he offered in an amiable tone. "If you're here, you must want something from me, so for the last time, come on down and we'll chat about it."

"Not what I want, my beloved, what I need. I can smell the slayer on you, it wafts from your skin, from your lips, from your manhood … I need her, too."

Spike frowned and decided that he felt somewhat offended that Dru had apparently been lurking long enough to see him and Buffy together.

"Now, Dru," he explained patiently as if to a young, recalcitrant child, "I know that you and I have had quite a bit of fun over the years along those lines, sharing paramours and all, but things have changed. I've changed."

Only silence greeted him.

Enough of this shite.

"That's it, I'm going inside." He stepped forward and once again reached for the door handle.

"Don't want you see me like this," Dru moaned in a voice that sounded hoarse and agonized. "But soon, my beloved, soon … when I can wear a mask and be beautiful for you once more, the way you remember me."

"Mask?" Spike asked. "What the bollocks are you talking about?"

"People wearing masks, or maybe people taking off their masks, all that desperate decadence … look for me there."

"Dru, if you make me climb up there looking for you, I'll stake you out of sheer irritation."

The smell vanished and he realized that she was gone.