Willow steps confidently into a nightclub, Spike close at her side.
She is wearing slightly loose black leather pants, a tight grey tanktop that shows off her pierced navel, and heeled black boots.
Spike's wearing his typical black pants, shirt, and leather duster.
She presses closer to him, and wraps her arms around his waist.
The beat to the current song is going strong, and she moves to it.
They move together in an exotic dance, never breaking, never speaking.
Eventually, they take a pause, and move to a shadowy corner of the club.
Willow breaks the silence, speaking with quiet words.
"Spike, I want to go back."
He looks at her, a surprised expression on his face.
"Red, you cannot be serious. Those bits pushed you away."
She rolls her eyes at him.
"Goddess, Spike. You know I pushed myself away."
He shakes his head angrily.
"Not completely."
She gives him a look.
"I know."
She pushes against him, instigating a deep kiss.
They stay pressed together in the corner for a few minutes, then break apart and emerge again into the thronge of people.
They leave the club after a few hours.
Next day, right after the sun went up, they set out to Sunnydale by private jet.
They reached the Californian town late that night, only about an hour before sunrise.
The first warehouse they came across, they entered to stay the night.
Willow magickally placed heavy black paint over the windows to keep the sun out.
They both fell asleep almost immediately on the two beds that Willow had conjured.