Part Four

Next day

Xander didn't care for Spike. He didn't like him, didn't give a shit whether he lived or died. But he set his alarm for five-thirty every morning so he would be up and ready to prevent Spike from finding the sunrise.

Xander headed towards the kitchen, wearing his usual plaid pajama pants and a thin Lolita Gentleman's Club t-shirt. The one that Anya never used to let him wear. He was well aware of the vampire's wary stare as he passed by where he sat stonily on the couch. They never spoke about it, but he was sure that Spike somehow knew what roused Xander out of bed so early.

He took the pre-ground coffee from the freezer and poured it into the filter. He always made a half-pot of cheap, grocery store coffee for himself and then cleaned the pot and put in fancy flavored Starbucks decaf for Willow, so it would be ready for her by the time she woke up. Xander liked to picture Willow drifting out of sleep, waking up to the smell of vanilla cocoa bean. He wondered if maybe she smiled drowsily and was truly happy for a few moments before she remembered who she was and what she had done. He certainly hoped so.

He didn't offer Spike coffee and the vampire never asked for it. This new souled version didn't like human food, didn't touch anything except pig's blood; even then, only if Willow supervised. Otherwise, he'd pour it down the sink when her back was turned.

Xander flipped on the coffeemaker power switch and headed back across the living room to the front door, still aware of but not disturbed by Spike's silent stare. He opened the door and retrieved today's issue of the Sunnydale Times.

He sat down in the armchair and leafed through the paper, extracting the comics and sports sections before dropping the rest on the coffee table. After Anya had first left, Xander hadn't even been able to even open the morning's paper. It reminded him too much of Anya – her passionate perusal of the business section. How excited she became about intricacies of the stock market. Qualities Xander had loved about her but would never understand.

For the first few weeks after the failed wedding, he had just let the papers pile up in the hallway, the older ones yellowing and fading. It had been so painful back then, but these days he rarely even thought about Anya. Ever since he had been possessed by Tara that night, his thoughts were on Willow and Willow alone. Her red, red hair, the sound of her laughter, the way she made the whole world disappear every time she smiled. He didn't know whether it was a side effect from the spell or whether his new feelings for her were real, but he did know he could never tell her how he felt and never, ever act on it.

For several minutes the only sounds were of the coffee-maker gurgling and the newspaper crinkling in the dark apartment. Xander gave an involuntarily laugh at the day's Peanuts panel, and looked up to see if Spike had noticed. He half-expected a sarcastic comment from the vampire. Maybe something regarding his 'poofiness,' whatever that meant, or his girly laugh, or his ability to be easily amused. But, as usual, he never got a response.

Xander sighed. This new Spike was silent and almost respectful. His trademark temperamental streak was there, but it was now directed inwards. It was uncomfortable times like these that made Xander almost wish for the old Spike, at least until he remembered Buffy in the bathroom, bruised and betrayed. Then he was grateful for the silence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later that morning

"Thanks for your help, Anya," Buffy said as they made their way past the rubble to the entrance to the basement. She frowned at a particularly shiny crystal ball smashed to the floor. That couldn't have been cheap. "I don't think I could have found the books in this mess by myself."

Anya sniffed. "Well, I guess if Giles said they'll fix the annoying spell over Sunnydale, I'm more than happy to help. I don't see what you're going to do with them, though. No offense, but research was never your strong point."

"I'm picking them up for Willow, actually," Buffy clarified. She tested the strength of a suspicious-looking step with her toe before following the vengeance demon down the stairs.

"But she's not here," Anya pointed out bluntly.

"I didn't think she needed to see this," Buffy explained. She realized she had said exactly the wrong thing when Anya whirled around on her, eyes flashing.

"Oh no, don't make Willow see the fruits of her labors," she said acerbically. "As long it's one of your precious Scoobies then all is forgiven. But heaven forbid one of us lesser beings steps outside the line."

She shook her head. "Anya," she said, trying to force her voice into a soothing tone. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"God, you good guys are so dense sometimes!" Anya exclaimed in frustration. She raised her hands in defeat. "I'm talking about all of you busting in on me like the cavalry when one wish goes awry. And I'm talking about leaving Spike to rot in a basement when he gets his soul back for you. And then Willow, who tried to end the whole world just a few short months ago--you try to spare her feelings by not making her see the way she ruined all of our lives!"

"Anya—"

"No, Buffy, listen to me. I think you need to hear this from someone who isn't too busy sucking up to the almighty slayer." She stood there with her hands on her hips, waiting for a reaction from the slayer.

"Um, okay, but…" Buffy was so unsure what to say. Did she mention that she wasn't good at the emotional stuff? And Anya was mad now. Again.

"Buffy," Anya said, advancing so that she was standing right in front of her. Buffy's senses were suddenly inundated by her proximity. How was it that she had never noticed before the beauty of Anya's red, red lips? Or the subtle smell of her expensive perfume? Or her full, perfect breasts…

"You want to marry me?" Anya asked hoarsely.

Buffy stared at her for a moment, and then slapped her across her face. How dare she try this now, of all times?

"Can I take that as a maybe?" Anya asked, desperately trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

"You're proposing to me because we're going to die!" she exclaimed indignantly. "And you think it's romantic and sexy and--and you know you're not going to have to go through with it because the world's going to end!"

"I'm proposing to you, Buffy," Anya said seriously, staring at Buffy with deep brown eyes. Eyes that could make her believe in anything, even love. Eyes that could make her trust even when every rational voice in her head screamed at her not to. "Because it's not."

"You can't know that," Buffy said hesitantly.

"I believe it. I think we're gonna get through this. I think I'm gonna live a long ... and silly life," Anya smiled self-deprecatingly. "And I'm not interested in doing that without you around."

"Oh," Buffy said softly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Anya's eyes widened in shock.

"Yes," Buffy said, almost happily, almost forgetting the world that was crumbling around them. "I mean, yes."

Anya grinned back. She yanked an expensive silver ring from her finger and handed it to Buffy. But the slayer held up her hand in a motion to stop her.

"No."

"No?" Anya faltered. Buffy reached out and touched her hand, closing her fingers around the other woman's slender ones.

"Give it to me when the world doesn't end," she said softly, and their eyes met again. Buffy grasped Anya's head in her hands, tangling her fingers in her soft brown hair, and pulled in to kiss her. Their lips met passionately. Lipstick to lipstick. Softness to softness. Their mouths opened and they joined intimately, passionately. It was such a fire. Buffy felt so safe in Anya's arms, so loved, so secure.

"Buffy?" Anya asked, breathlessly, between hot kisses.

"Yeah?"

"Can we stop now?"

Buffy jerked back, and stared at Anya in disbelief. She wiped at her lips frantically. "Oh, god…"

Anya frowned, hurt. "Well, you don't have to act so repulsed."

"Anya, we were kissing. As in me, you, hot and heavy make out session? You're not seeing anything wrong with this?"

"Well, obviously it was the possession thing," she said haughtily. "But you don't have to be so disgusted by it. I've been told I'm a decent kisser. I mean, I have had over a thousand years experience. Although," she continued, nostalgically. "During most of those years I was more concerned with the evisceration of lips rather than the caress. However--"

"Anya," Buffy interrupted. "That's really beside the point."

"Oh…" Anya said in realization. "I understand."

"Good, because we really need to get back to getting those books for Willow. The sooner she figures out how to put and end to this ridiculous spell the better for all of us." Buffy began digging through a random box.

"It was your first time, wasn't it?"

"What?" Buffy demanded sharply, whirling around to face the other woman.

"It was pretty obvious from that kiss that you haven't had a lot of experience. And now you're questioning your own sexuality. It's very understandable." Anya nodded knowingly.

"What?" she repeated, her eyes widening. "No. No questioning." She turned back to the box she was haphazardly unpacking.

Anya harrumphed.

"I'm not gay," Buffy said firmly, tossing aside the disfigured remnants of a fertility god statue. "Well, I'm not."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That afternoon

 "Are you almost done with Das Buch der Verstorbenen yet, Spike?" Willow asked absently from behind her laptop. Across the kitchen table, Spike was busily scribbling into a notebook. He didn't stop writing as he spoke.

"Bloody slave driver you are," he complained, but without malice.

Willow grinned back. "Maybe if you'd work a little faster I wouldn't have to be."

"Well, perhaps if you'd actually ordered that medieval German dictionary like you promised then this wouldn't be such a bloody pain."

"What good's a two-hundred-year-old vampire if he can't translate a little German." Willow clicked a few times on her computer to bring up a new internet window.

"Two hundred?" Spike's eyes widened in mock offense. "Do I look that old to you?"

"Well, you do get some pretty serious wrinklies in the forehead region." She went to Yahoo! and searched for a medieval German translation site. "They have creams for that, you know," she continued. "Have you ever considered plastic surgery? Maybe a facelift?"

"Ha bloody ha, witch." He bent back down over the weathered old book. "Don't see why we have to research the bloody Master anyways. Self-righteous old fart he was."

"Well, didn't you see him in the basement?" Willow asked. "Maybe he's the one behind this reenactment spell."

"Saw a lot of people in the basement, Red." He gave her a rakish smile as he continued, "Don't see why we can't research the others. Like that Glory bint. A right bitch she was, but at least she had—Buffy."

"What?" Willow frowned. "She had Buffy?"

"Buffy's here," he said stiffly, his demeanor suddenly shifting. Gone was the relaxed sarcasm and friendliness it had taken Willow weeks to coax Spike into. Now he looked awkward and insecure.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and then heard a swift rapping at the door. Willow rose to answer it, turning back to Spike briefly. "Are you going to be all right?"

He nodded solemnly.

Willow took a deep breath, put on a 'happy' smile and opened the door.

"Buffy, hey!" Willow exclaimed. "What a surprise!"

Buffy gave her a strange look and walked in, hefting a large box in her arms. Her eyes rested on the blonde vampire at the dining table. "Spike," she said evenly.

"Buffy," he replied softly, matching her serious tone.

"Buffy! So, uh, what brings you by?" Willow interrupted their silent staring match.

"Oh! Books from the Magic Box," Buffy said, and then reached out to hand Willow the box. Willow took it and immediately stumbled under its weight. She shakily lowered it to the floor.

"Heavy!" she exclaimed breathlessly by way of explanation.

"Oh! Sorry!" Buffy said guiltily. "I guess I didn't really notice."

"No, I, uh, guess you wouldn't," Willow said, and gestured towards the table. "Come on in. Sit down. Can I get you some coffee or a soda or anything?"

"Uh, a Diet Coke would be great." Buffy flashed Willow an awkward grin.

"I guess I'll… go get that then." She shot Spike a helpless look before backing into the kitchen.

Willow returned a few minutes later with two sodas and a plate of cookies. She found Buffy sitting at the table, chair scooted as far as possible towards Willow's end. The slayer and the vampire were both awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

"So… whatcha guys working on?" Buffy asked as Willow sat down.

"We're researching possible threats from the hellmouth," Willow said. "Right now we're just going through a list of possible perps. Seeing if this kind of thing is their regular M.O."

Buffy nodded.

"Spike's working on translating this version of the Master's chronicles." Willow gestured towards him, and he didn't look very grateful for the shift of attention, so she continued the explanation herself. "The problem is I've done some detection spells and haven't found any kind of magical signature over Sunnydale. A spell cast over such a wide area would have been pretty powerful, there's no way I wouldn't have noticed it."

"So it's not a spell then?" Buffy reached over to grab a chocolate-chip cookie.

"No. It actually can't be magic at all."

"Then what is it?" Buffy asked, taking a bite of cookie. She continued with her mouth still full. "With mojo like this, could it really be anything except for magic?"

"There are other things," Willow said. "Um, I think it might be related to energy. Somehow, something in the hellmouth's gathering energy every time people reenact something. It's taking the energy people would have been using to do whatever they would have been doing. When that energy's gone, the people are caught up in the emotional energy left from whatever took place in that spot."

"Oh, um… don't get it."

"It's kind of complicated, and I'm not even sure that that's it, but it's the best we have to go on right now." Willow shut the case on her laptop, and reached over to grab a cookie for herself. She held the plate out to Spike in offering, but he refused with a sharp turn of his head.

"What does it have to do with the Master?" Buffy asked.

"Well, we've been looking at all different demons who might be trapped in the hellmouth, who could be using the energy to try to escape." Willow sighed.

Buffy nodded. "Well, I just hope you guys find something soon. This is getting out of control." She sunk down into her chair. "I got engaged again this morning."

Willow and Spike just stared at her dumbly.

"Buffy?" Willow asked, clearing her throat. "Did you say you—"

"Got engaged. Yeah. Again." She rolled her eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get married in real life, but somehow I'm always the one who gets proposed to when there's a spell."

Willow glanced at Spike, acutely aware of who the last proposal was with and how it had been all her fault. He was staring down at the table.

"Who was it this time?" Willow asked finally.

"Anya," Buffy said dejectedly.

"Anya?" Willow laughed. She caught Spike's eye across the table, and actually caught him with a small smirk. She smiled and turned back to Buffy. "So you're engaged to Anya?"

"Yeah, and you know what the worst part was? It was like it was real. At the time, I mean. Just like the last time." She glanced at Spike. "I was in love with her and I was kissing her and—"

"Wait," Willow interrupted, letting out a hoot of laughter. "You kissed Anya?"

"Shut up," Buffy grumbled, trying to fight back a smile of her own. "It's not funny."

"I'm sorry," Willow gasped, between laughs. "It's just you… and Anya."

"Got Anya taste in your mouth now, eh?" Spike said dryly, and Buffy looked at him for a moment before finally smiling back.

"This is so not funny," Buffy protested despite herself.

"Buffy!" Anya called from the front porch. Here she was, exhibiting the manners not to teleport herself into the house uninvited, and Buffy wouldn't even answer the doorbell. Fine. See if she ever caught Anya being polite again. After she made an extra trip all the way out here with more books she had found after Buffy left.

Anya shrugged and transported herself into the dining room. She set the books down on the table and sauntered into the kitchen. The least Buffy could do was provide her with food for her trip out here.

She opened the fridge and wrinkled her nose. She had only been human for three years and even she knew how to read expiration dates. Closing the fridge, she turned to the cupboards. Something chocolate would be nice. Handy thing about being immortal, didn't have to worry about gaining weight.

Knowing these anorexic-looking Summers girls, though, she found nothing even resembling junk food. Finally, she settled on a box of Frosted Wheaties. Tearing open the plastic, she reached in and--

Across the kitchen, the knife stand caught her attention. She walked over, her cereal forgotten. Pulling out a long, sharp knife, she plunged it into her arm.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she pulled it downward, making a nice, clean cut along the inside of her wrist, and yanked it out. She stared at the blood quickly welling to the surface. Her vision began to blur both from the emotion and the pain.

She walked shakily into the front hall, knife still in hand. She looked around.

"Is this blood?" she asked, dazed. "This is blood, isn't it?" She stared down at her wrist. "It can't be me. I'm not a key." She gulped in a breath of oxygen. "I'm not a thing."

She looked back up at her nonexistent audience, her voice grim but still shaky. "What am I?" Tears came to her eyes. "Am I real? Am I anything?"

Silence answered her.

Buffy let out a long sigh as she closed the door to Xander's apartment behind her.

She had been so relieved when Xander had told her that he and Willow had taken Spike in. At the time, she hadn't been ready to deal with him. Not with the soul thing or with all the ugly and not-so-ugly memories that surfaced every time she saw his face. She figured that she would have dealt with it eventually, though. She would have eventually sought him out in the basement, would have dragged him out of there. Maybe even found a place for him on her couch to stay. But she had felt like a huge weight was lifted when she realized she wouldn't have to.

However, she had been putting off seeing Willow and Spike for a couple weeks now. She saw Willow occasionally, at the Bronze or with Xander. But she had resisted being alone with either her or the vampire. They were the two people who had hurt her the most in the past year, but they were also the two people who were suffering the most. They both needed her forgiveness more than anything, but Buffy still didn't know it she was ready yet to offer it.

When Giles had called and mentioned the books in the Magic Box, she knew she couldn't put off seeing them any longer. And it hadn't been terrible. At first, of course it was awkward. But after a while, especially after she had mentioned her engagement to Anya, she and Willow were starting to talk like old friends again. And Spike, even with him she had almost felt comfortable.

Leaning back against the wall, Buffy reached into her back pocket and withdrew the crumpled post-it she always carried with her. With her eyes she traced the stick-figure Spike-on-a-cross rendition. She didn't know why she kept it with her, but she would take it out and look at it sometimes. It was a reminder. A reminder that there was something better out there. There was hope, she supposed. Even if she couldn't feel it right now.

She stuffed the paper back into her pocket and headed out.

"So the limo's supposed to be at my place by 5:15, so I should be able to pick you up by 5:30. Are you going to be ready by then?"

Dawn stared across the cafeteria table at Brian, and nodded. Her heart was racing. It always did when she was around him. But not in a good way anymore.

"My parents are going to want us to come back to their place after I pick you up. They want pictures or something… Shouldn't take too long, though. What color's your dress?" he asked, taking a bite out of his tuna sandwich.

"What?" Her mind was whirling, thoughts of kisses and violence, and she couldn't concentrate on the conversation.

"For the corsage," he explained and took a sip from his soda. "So it matches."

"Oh… oh. Not red." Most definitely not red. Or anything resembling blood.

Brian smiled in amusement. "Not red. Anything more specific than that? You do have a dress, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," she hastily defended herself. "I mean, the dance is, like, in two days. Of course I have a dress. It's… um, blue. Blue's good." A very non-red color.

"Okay," he said, turning back to his lunch.

"No! Not blue. Green." Green was opposite red on the color spectrum. "It's green."

"Okay, green."

Damn. Dawn just remembered the only green dress she had was the one from Anya's wedding. "Not green. Um, make it blue." She was sure she had a decent blue dress somewhere…

"Blue-green?"

"No, just blue. Plain old blue."

"Okay, then. Blue."

Dawn gulped, not sure if she was ever going to be ready to go through with this. If knowing all the pain and misery of relationships was what growing up entailed, she wished she had had at least another couple years of unfettered adolescence.

Wait –- blue was the color of Spike's eyes. She couldn't wear blue. Dawn wondered if she had a yellow dress anywhere. No connotations there besides a lack of fashion sense…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later that afternoon

"Oh no," Willow blurted out, her eyes widening the further she read. "No."

Spike immediately sensed her panic and crossed the table to look over her shoulder at the book.

"What is it, pet?"

Willow pointed wordlessly at the book in front of her. Spike frowned, but picked it up and began reading aloud:

"And once the barrier is broken, it must be recreated, or else the energy will never stop seeping into the chasm. Though the original channel may be gone, the tower will find energy, and will take it using whatever means it can. It is the natural order of things. Things will go from an area of high energy to an area of low energy, until all is equal. In the chasm, there is no energy, it disappears. As a result, the effigy will keep sucking energy until there is none left."

Spike stopped reading and looked down at Willow. "What's this?" He thumbed through the pages to get to the index. "The Effigy of Proserpexa?"

She nodded, tears starting to form in her eyes. "I thought I could do it, Spike. I was doing so well. I thought that it was all behind us – behind me. And now it turns out that it's been here all along."

"Love?" Spike questioned, aware of her obvious agitation but clueless as to how to help her. He did need to help her, though. Willow had been there by his side almost every minute of these past few weeks. He had to try to return the favor best he could. "What is it?"

"Last summer," she choked out softly. "When I was all black-eyed and veiny, I decided to end the world."

Spike awkwardly patted her shoulder.

"I raised this temple and I was going to channel all of the energy of the world into it. I started to, but then Xander—"

"Saved the bloody day," Spike finished. "I've heard that story often enough. Some rot about yellow crayons."

"Well, the temple – it's still there. I'm so stupid," she said, angrily wiping at her nose. "I should have known that since it didn't go back into the earth that something was wrong."

Spike remained silent.

"It's the thing that's sucking the energy from Sunnydale. And it's been doing it for months! All this time here I am going about my stupid rehabilitation in England thing, and moseying around here like some kind of dork while people have still been suffering because of me. And I never even knew it. What if it's been doing other things, too? Things we didn't even notice? What if people are dying because of me and I never even—"

"That's bollocks, Red. And you know it." Spike cut in. "We're going to fix this, just like everything else. No harm."

"But…"

"Shhh, pet." Spike knelt beside her chair and let her rest her face into his shoulder, the thin cloth soaking up her warm tears. "S'all okay."

They both looked up at the sound of the door opening. "Hey guys!" Xander called. He noticed Spike and Willow hugging, tears in Willow's eyes. He approached her in concern. "Will – what's wrong?"

"It's me," Willow looked up from Spike's shoulder with tear-blurred eyes. "It's been my fault all along."