Chapter 7: Out In the Open
Spike sat back, too amused to be shocked with fear for one who could so easily end his existence with a quick whip of the stake. Settling back into a chair, he smirked lazily and lit up a fag. "Nice to see you too Slayer."
"Excuse me? 'Too' implies that I said something about it being nice seeing you. And it's not. It's compellingly not. So cut the crap and tell me how the hell to get this necklace off!"
Spike maintained a smug expression, chuckling softly as his slender fingers flicked pieces of ash into the still air of the crypt. "I thought you said you couldn't accept my gifts."
Buffy gaped at him, still in hysterical girlishness. "Do you want a one-way ticket to Dustville? Cause I've got the end of a stake with your name on it."
Dawn neared her enraged sister in confusion. "Buffy what's going on? What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about? Death, eminent death for this sorry denizen of the undead here." The Summers' Evil Eye was being administered, but Spike merely continued snorting with laughter.
"So what, you think you can just storm in here in self-righteous rage and your prattly Slayer witticisms just cause you can't work the necklace clasp? Color me terrified luv."
Buffy was flustered beyond homicidal rage and grasped her neck with frustration. "Spike! This is serious! It won't come off!"
Spike sighed and swaggered up to her. But some of the cockiness drained out of his face when he was a mere foot away from her, his hand nervously fluttering near the golden sheen of the skin of her collarbone. Getting close to her always did this to him, but especially now more than ever. The last time he was ever this close to her resulted in one of the most painful altercations in both of their lives. He had missed this; the overpowering scent of coconut and vanilla and lavender that was with her always, the warming effect her sun-kissed skin had, the blinding sunlight eclipsed in her honeyed hair, all the things that were always evident to him, but especially potent and weakening when he was within a four feet radius of her. Sometimes he wished he could just find the antidote to the poisonous intoxication she provided. Now more than ever, since he was wary of the consequences of his enormous attraction to Buffy, judging from what had happened in the past. It had hurt him before as a soulless demon; as a souled one, it would have killed him. Gently, ever so gently, he put one finger to the sensitive area between her long neck and chest and nudged the necklace. She straightened as well, trying desperately to ignore the waves of electricity that washed over her with the semi-touch. Biting her lip, her eyes fluttered closed as Spike's cool finger lightly outlined the swath of her clavicle in an unintentionally tender caress, travelling the continent of suddenly flushed skin.
But a frown began burrowing in his firmly chiseled face. The necklace wasn't budging from where it sat on her neck. Not one shake or shimmy. He tried lifting it up from her skin, but that only resulted in her eyes flying open while yelping loudly.
"Ow! Oww, I said ow! Owwage there, that's a sign to stop what you're doing!" She tore away from his hands and covered up her neck protectively. Dawn gingerly touched the glittering jewelry with wonder.
"Wow, that's amazing . . . it's like . . . glued on."
Buffy turned and gave her sister a pointed glare. "And to make a bad situation even worse, introducing my sister, Little Miss Obvious Much."
"How did this happen Buffy?" asked Spike, with one incredulous eye on the necklace.
"I figured I would ask you, Spike, since you're such the willing benefactor of these jewels and all. Care to tell me what you did to them?"
Spike's eyes widened with defensiveness. "Me? Why would I bloody do anything to the necklace?"
"I don't know, maybe it's your half-baked idea at revenge or something? Some dumb immature prank for thinking that somehow you were the wronged party?!"
He just began to chuckle again with amused reproach. "You think I put a hex on the friggin' necklace? I was so consumed with vengeful rage that I covered it in rubber cement? Come on, I was a Big Bad, the scourge of Europe in my day. I do have evil standards to uphold. I'm not one for adolescent school boy capers. I haven't touched the necklace from when I first got it to when I gave it to you."
"And where did you get it?" Buffy asked forcefully, her arms crossed.
Spike hesitated for a moment. Shuffling his feet, he gave a quick cursory glance at Buffy, which she immediately regarded with suspicion. "Well . . . um, y'know, I already told you. . . I got it in Africa." He shrugged his shoulders restlessly.
"Africa's a pretty big continent, Spike. How about narrowing it down for me?"
"I got it in a . . . shop."
"Let me guess, the Little Shop of Horrors?" she sighed. "Come on Spike, where did you really get the necklace? Or should I say, steal the necklace?" Dawn frowned and grasped the brown paper bag Spike gave her even tighter.
Spike smirked at her. "You think you know me so well, Slayer?"
"I know you enough to know you've never paid for anything in your whole unlife. So tell me . . . where . . . did . . . you . . . get . . . it?" She punctuated each word dangerously.
"Look, I already told you! A shop! One of those utterly forgettable stores with . . . goods. I don't know what else to tell you!"
"You don't remember anything? Not a name, not a face? People don't go wandering into stores blindfolded or forget everything about the place." Buffy was seeing right through Spike's little charade.
Spike threw his hands in the air helplessly. "But I do! I'm not a woman, I don't keep a running score card of all the shops I've been to!"
Dawn suddenly spoke up, struggling not to sympathize too much with Spike despite their recent reconciliation. "Spike, this looks serious. We don't know what this necklace is doing to her. I mean, what if it's magic that's causing this or something?" She again poked at Buffy's neck while Buffy tried swatting her hands away. Dawn turned back to Spike. "Maybe if you know about where it came from, it would help us figure out why it's . . . all . . . stuck to her."
Spike sighed but paused as he alternated his nervous gaze from a seriously solemn Dawn to her enraged sister. Despite the two extremely different expressions coloring both the sisters' faces, he felt affection and love for them both. He would never, ever, wish anything the slightest bit unpleasant on them. Buffy might hate him and Dawn might have lost trust in him, but that didn't stop him from wanting to be their eternal protector. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his cigarette to the floor and ducked his head as he ground it into the floor. Looking back up, his face was unusually somber. "All right. I'll tell you."
Anya was glad she only sublet-ted her old apartment instead of giving it up entirely. When she moved in with Xander a few years back, the idealistic side of her figured that was the last she'd see of the stuffy old apartment. The vengeance demon side of her, however, had kept the apartment sublet-ted lest Xander turn on her like many of the hapless males she wreaked havoc on for thousands of years----kind of a just-in-case type precaution. So when that actually happened and she was forced to return to her old abode, both parts of her were conflicted again. The idealistic side was understandably broken and destroyed and over-wrought. The vengeance demon side was knowing, almost smug, and provided a voice within Anya's head that would sometimes pop up and say "I told you so."
But when she moved back into old apartment, she never expected that she would allow the main reason for her return----Xander----to ever step foot into it again. Yet here he was, his head cradled in a tired arm as he studied a book of magical ancient text in front of him, his left leg bouncing up and down in a usual sign of nervous jitteriness. Anya was sitting on the other side of the table, flipping through a volume with indifference. The silence between the two seemed to fill up what felt like miles between them and both of them were more than painfully aware of it. Finally Anya sighed restlessly and pushed the books out of the way.
"I don't get it, why do we have to research? Spike and Buffy just call up and think they can order us around. And the researching? Could be a lot easier if we actually had books . . . or a walking encyclopedia, like Giles." She motioned towards the few books that she salvaged from the ruins of the Magic Box. "I mean, all we really know right now that the necklace definitely has nothing to do with . . ." She flipped over one of the five books they had and were studying. " 'The Physiological History of Eastern World Wood Nymphs'," she frowned, reading the title. "Hmmph. Some all- mysterious stuck-on trinket indeed. What they need is just a good crowbar to up and wrench that baby right off, that's what I say."
Xander looked towards Anya, his eyes slightly guarded and tired. He still wasn't completely comfortable being alone with Anya, and this new and rather expected development of Spike somehow making a mess where Buffy was concerned didn't do anything to ease Xander's somewhat surly mood. "Anya, I don't think it's that simple," he sighed. "They said that something magic-y could be involved. And let's not forget we're also researching the baffling cause for my hammer's . . . hammeriness."
Anya tipped her head into her hand and looked at Xander, wrinkling her brow into confusion. "Okay, so tell me again . . . you said the hammer was . . . hammering? Excuse me if I don't get Scully-skeptical on you, it's not really the shock of the year."
"No Anya, you don't get it," Xander insisted. "It was hammering . . . by itself. Floating around, smashing everything in sight. I woke up in the middle of the night and just heard it, hammering away." He sunk into his chair. "Which leaves me in desperate need of a new coffee table." He straightened and cast a suspicious look at his ex-fiancee. "Wait. You and Spike got your gifts together, didn't you?"
Anya fidgeted uncomfortably. "No, I got your hammer in Sunnydale. Spike found the necklace in Africa."
Xander was not convinced. "Seems awfully coincidental that you guys just happen to both come equipped with gifts around the same time."
She continued to shrug flippantly. "Not really. When Spike came back, he showed me the necklace and it inspired me to go downtown and pick up a gift myself. Although now I'm wondering why I did," she murmured to herself huffily.
Still not enough to ease Xander's doubt. "Okay . . . let me put it a different way . . . seems awfully coincidental that both your guys' gifts seem to be causing grief to the receivers," he pointed out with narrowed eyes.
Anya threw her hands up in the air, teeth clenched. "We ARE on the Hellmouth! Enough mystical energy to turn a Hallmark card into an invocation of doom! And besides, what are you implying? That Spike and I purposely gave you cursed gifts or something?"
Xander cocked his head in a self-righteous gesture, his lip curled. "I wouldn't put it past you guys," he mumbled. He emphasized on the words "you guys" disdainfully. Anya understood and straightened, nodding her head in angry, aggressive up-and-down motions.
"Oh. I see. It's still 'me and Spike', is it? Me, evil, vengeful Anya with her illicit, undead lover Spike."
Xander pursed his lips, knowing her hurt was warranted and that she was merely being understandably acerbically sarcastic, but the words still incensed him nonetheless. "You said it, not me," he replied in the same hushed, struggling-for-apathetic tone.
"Stop it!" Anya cried, slapping the book she was holding down on the table. "Stop playing the hapless victim here! If I AM evil vengeful Anya, it's because you gave me reason to be! If Spike IS my illicit undead lover it's because you refused to be that!"
Xander looked at her darkly and sadly. "I never refused to love you, Anya. I just . . . wasn't ready for marriage."
"That's just man-speak for refusing to love me long-term! You might think that you loved me then, but you still couldn't let yourself imagine loving me for the rest of your life! Isn't that true?!"
Xander gazed at his hands, his shoulders shifting up and down with guilt. "If anything, it was because I loved you too much," he said, almost whispered in a broken voice. "And I knew there would come a day when you wouldn't love me. I was doing it for you."
Anya turned bright red as she sprang from her chair with heated force. "Oh God, thank you Xander!!" Anya exclaimed with mock-gratitude as she clapped her hands together loudly. "Thank you SO MUCH, you're the almighty hero, the knight-in-shining armor! Everything you did to me was out of love! Leaving me at the alter and humiliating me in front of all my family and friends----that was out of the burning love in your heart! Thank you for saving me from a non-existent future where I would fall out of love with you! THANK YOU!"
Xander defeatedly got up as well, imploring her with arms wide open. "Anya-- -"
Anya was pacing the apartment now, but suddenly whirled around, shaking with anger. "And where do you get off presuming to know when and where I'll fall out of love with you?! Who are you to know my feelings?! Because I gotta tell you Xander, if it were up to me, I would fall out of love with you, and I've wanted to, oh GOD how I've wanted to. But no, even despite everything you've put me through, for some totally inexplicable reason, I'm still in love with you, Xander Harris. Even after you hurt me in the worst way possible. What makes you think that if I can't love you through this that eventually I wouldn't?"
Xander struggled to say something---anything in response. Hearing her reluctant declaration of love filled his heart with both hope and pain. All he wanted to do was go over to her and wrap his arms around her and pretend like the last few months had never happened. Instead, he just whispered, "You still love me?"
Anya, frustrated beyond belief, stamped her foot like an impatient child. "YES!" she nearly screamed in a tone that didn't indicate any loving feeling at all. "What does it take for you to believe that? And why the hell do I even have to tell you it?! You're the one who should be coming to me for forgiveness! You're the one who should be showering me with professions of love and gifts! Oh god, and gifts! And instead I go out of my way to steal------" She paused as Xander's eyes went wide. Slumping as she was found out, she put a hand to her head and rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell," she murmured, Spike-ishly.
"I knew it!" A shrill feminine voice erupted from the door. Standing at it were Buffy, hands fastened to her hips, Spike, feet shuffling shiftily, and Dawn, an mixed expression of excitement, dismay and amusement on her face. "I just KNEW that Anya stole that hammer like you stole the necklace at that museum!"
Xander arched his eyebrows and stared at Buffy in confusion. "Museum?"
"The lovely necklace Spike gave me?" Buffy said flatly, pointing stonily- faced at her neck. "He stole this little puppy at a museum. The same place he encouraged Anya to steal your hammer. And it looks like the gifts are cursed." Her voice was hard and cold, rather than enraged as it had been. Xander turned to Anya with shock and then to Spike with expected disgust and antagonism. All feel silent and stared at Spike, who was obviously aware of the culpability he was under.
Stuffing his hands into his black jeans, he shrugged with an impish smile on his conniving face. "Well . . ." he cleared his throat and slapping his hands together, breaking the prickly silence finally. "Who else smells a field trip?"
Author's Note from Rubygoddess: Sorry for the crappy ending, I wasn't sure how to end the chapter. I tried consulting my co-authoress, ArtemisKai, but the poor girl's mind is fried from the prospect of starting school tommorow, so I just left it. Hoped you enjoyed anyway!
Spike sat back, too amused to be shocked with fear for one who could so easily end his existence with a quick whip of the stake. Settling back into a chair, he smirked lazily and lit up a fag. "Nice to see you too Slayer."
"Excuse me? 'Too' implies that I said something about it being nice seeing you. And it's not. It's compellingly not. So cut the crap and tell me how the hell to get this necklace off!"
Spike maintained a smug expression, chuckling softly as his slender fingers flicked pieces of ash into the still air of the crypt. "I thought you said you couldn't accept my gifts."
Buffy gaped at him, still in hysterical girlishness. "Do you want a one-way ticket to Dustville? Cause I've got the end of a stake with your name on it."
Dawn neared her enraged sister in confusion. "Buffy what's going on? What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about? Death, eminent death for this sorry denizen of the undead here." The Summers' Evil Eye was being administered, but Spike merely continued snorting with laughter.
"So what, you think you can just storm in here in self-righteous rage and your prattly Slayer witticisms just cause you can't work the necklace clasp? Color me terrified luv."
Buffy was flustered beyond homicidal rage and grasped her neck with frustration. "Spike! This is serious! It won't come off!"
Spike sighed and swaggered up to her. But some of the cockiness drained out of his face when he was a mere foot away from her, his hand nervously fluttering near the golden sheen of the skin of her collarbone. Getting close to her always did this to him, but especially now more than ever. The last time he was ever this close to her resulted in one of the most painful altercations in both of their lives. He had missed this; the overpowering scent of coconut and vanilla and lavender that was with her always, the warming effect her sun-kissed skin had, the blinding sunlight eclipsed in her honeyed hair, all the things that were always evident to him, but especially potent and weakening when he was within a four feet radius of her. Sometimes he wished he could just find the antidote to the poisonous intoxication she provided. Now more than ever, since he was wary of the consequences of his enormous attraction to Buffy, judging from what had happened in the past. It had hurt him before as a soulless demon; as a souled one, it would have killed him. Gently, ever so gently, he put one finger to the sensitive area between her long neck and chest and nudged the necklace. She straightened as well, trying desperately to ignore the waves of electricity that washed over her with the semi-touch. Biting her lip, her eyes fluttered closed as Spike's cool finger lightly outlined the swath of her clavicle in an unintentionally tender caress, travelling the continent of suddenly flushed skin.
But a frown began burrowing in his firmly chiseled face. The necklace wasn't budging from where it sat on her neck. Not one shake or shimmy. He tried lifting it up from her skin, but that only resulted in her eyes flying open while yelping loudly.
"Ow! Oww, I said ow! Owwage there, that's a sign to stop what you're doing!" She tore away from his hands and covered up her neck protectively. Dawn gingerly touched the glittering jewelry with wonder.
"Wow, that's amazing . . . it's like . . . glued on."
Buffy turned and gave her sister a pointed glare. "And to make a bad situation even worse, introducing my sister, Little Miss Obvious Much."
"How did this happen Buffy?" asked Spike, with one incredulous eye on the necklace.
"I figured I would ask you, Spike, since you're such the willing benefactor of these jewels and all. Care to tell me what you did to them?"
Spike's eyes widened with defensiveness. "Me? Why would I bloody do anything to the necklace?"
"I don't know, maybe it's your half-baked idea at revenge or something? Some dumb immature prank for thinking that somehow you were the wronged party?!"
He just began to chuckle again with amused reproach. "You think I put a hex on the friggin' necklace? I was so consumed with vengeful rage that I covered it in rubber cement? Come on, I was a Big Bad, the scourge of Europe in my day. I do have evil standards to uphold. I'm not one for adolescent school boy capers. I haven't touched the necklace from when I first got it to when I gave it to you."
"And where did you get it?" Buffy asked forcefully, her arms crossed.
Spike hesitated for a moment. Shuffling his feet, he gave a quick cursory glance at Buffy, which she immediately regarded with suspicion. "Well . . . um, y'know, I already told you. . . I got it in Africa." He shrugged his shoulders restlessly.
"Africa's a pretty big continent, Spike. How about narrowing it down for me?"
"I got it in a . . . shop."
"Let me guess, the Little Shop of Horrors?" she sighed. "Come on Spike, where did you really get the necklace? Or should I say, steal the necklace?" Dawn frowned and grasped the brown paper bag Spike gave her even tighter.
Spike smirked at her. "You think you know me so well, Slayer?"
"I know you enough to know you've never paid for anything in your whole unlife. So tell me . . . where . . . did . . . you . . . get . . . it?" She punctuated each word dangerously.
"Look, I already told you! A shop! One of those utterly forgettable stores with . . . goods. I don't know what else to tell you!"
"You don't remember anything? Not a name, not a face? People don't go wandering into stores blindfolded or forget everything about the place." Buffy was seeing right through Spike's little charade.
Spike threw his hands in the air helplessly. "But I do! I'm not a woman, I don't keep a running score card of all the shops I've been to!"
Dawn suddenly spoke up, struggling not to sympathize too much with Spike despite their recent reconciliation. "Spike, this looks serious. We don't know what this necklace is doing to her. I mean, what if it's magic that's causing this or something?" She again poked at Buffy's neck while Buffy tried swatting her hands away. Dawn turned back to Spike. "Maybe if you know about where it came from, it would help us figure out why it's . . . all . . . stuck to her."
Spike sighed but paused as he alternated his nervous gaze from a seriously solemn Dawn to her enraged sister. Despite the two extremely different expressions coloring both the sisters' faces, he felt affection and love for them both. He would never, ever, wish anything the slightest bit unpleasant on them. Buffy might hate him and Dawn might have lost trust in him, but that didn't stop him from wanting to be their eternal protector. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his cigarette to the floor and ducked his head as he ground it into the floor. Looking back up, his face was unusually somber. "All right. I'll tell you."
Anya was glad she only sublet-ted her old apartment instead of giving it up entirely. When she moved in with Xander a few years back, the idealistic side of her figured that was the last she'd see of the stuffy old apartment. The vengeance demon side of her, however, had kept the apartment sublet-ted lest Xander turn on her like many of the hapless males she wreaked havoc on for thousands of years----kind of a just-in-case type precaution. So when that actually happened and she was forced to return to her old abode, both parts of her were conflicted again. The idealistic side was understandably broken and destroyed and over-wrought. The vengeance demon side was knowing, almost smug, and provided a voice within Anya's head that would sometimes pop up and say "I told you so."
But when she moved back into old apartment, she never expected that she would allow the main reason for her return----Xander----to ever step foot into it again. Yet here he was, his head cradled in a tired arm as he studied a book of magical ancient text in front of him, his left leg bouncing up and down in a usual sign of nervous jitteriness. Anya was sitting on the other side of the table, flipping through a volume with indifference. The silence between the two seemed to fill up what felt like miles between them and both of them were more than painfully aware of it. Finally Anya sighed restlessly and pushed the books out of the way.
"I don't get it, why do we have to research? Spike and Buffy just call up and think they can order us around. And the researching? Could be a lot easier if we actually had books . . . or a walking encyclopedia, like Giles." She motioned towards the few books that she salvaged from the ruins of the Magic Box. "I mean, all we really know right now that the necklace definitely has nothing to do with . . ." She flipped over one of the five books they had and were studying. " 'The Physiological History of Eastern World Wood Nymphs'," she frowned, reading the title. "Hmmph. Some all- mysterious stuck-on trinket indeed. What they need is just a good crowbar to up and wrench that baby right off, that's what I say."
Xander looked towards Anya, his eyes slightly guarded and tired. He still wasn't completely comfortable being alone with Anya, and this new and rather expected development of Spike somehow making a mess where Buffy was concerned didn't do anything to ease Xander's somewhat surly mood. "Anya, I don't think it's that simple," he sighed. "They said that something magic-y could be involved. And let's not forget we're also researching the baffling cause for my hammer's . . . hammeriness."
Anya tipped her head into her hand and looked at Xander, wrinkling her brow into confusion. "Okay, so tell me again . . . you said the hammer was . . . hammering? Excuse me if I don't get Scully-skeptical on you, it's not really the shock of the year."
"No Anya, you don't get it," Xander insisted. "It was hammering . . . by itself. Floating around, smashing everything in sight. I woke up in the middle of the night and just heard it, hammering away." He sunk into his chair. "Which leaves me in desperate need of a new coffee table." He straightened and cast a suspicious look at his ex-fiancee. "Wait. You and Spike got your gifts together, didn't you?"
Anya fidgeted uncomfortably. "No, I got your hammer in Sunnydale. Spike found the necklace in Africa."
Xander was not convinced. "Seems awfully coincidental that you guys just happen to both come equipped with gifts around the same time."
She continued to shrug flippantly. "Not really. When Spike came back, he showed me the necklace and it inspired me to go downtown and pick up a gift myself. Although now I'm wondering why I did," she murmured to herself huffily.
Still not enough to ease Xander's doubt. "Okay . . . let me put it a different way . . . seems awfully coincidental that both your guys' gifts seem to be causing grief to the receivers," he pointed out with narrowed eyes.
Anya threw her hands up in the air, teeth clenched. "We ARE on the Hellmouth! Enough mystical energy to turn a Hallmark card into an invocation of doom! And besides, what are you implying? That Spike and I purposely gave you cursed gifts or something?"
Xander cocked his head in a self-righteous gesture, his lip curled. "I wouldn't put it past you guys," he mumbled. He emphasized on the words "you guys" disdainfully. Anya understood and straightened, nodding her head in angry, aggressive up-and-down motions.
"Oh. I see. It's still 'me and Spike', is it? Me, evil, vengeful Anya with her illicit, undead lover Spike."
Xander pursed his lips, knowing her hurt was warranted and that she was merely being understandably acerbically sarcastic, but the words still incensed him nonetheless. "You said it, not me," he replied in the same hushed, struggling-for-apathetic tone.
"Stop it!" Anya cried, slapping the book she was holding down on the table. "Stop playing the hapless victim here! If I AM evil vengeful Anya, it's because you gave me reason to be! If Spike IS my illicit undead lover it's because you refused to be that!"
Xander looked at her darkly and sadly. "I never refused to love you, Anya. I just . . . wasn't ready for marriage."
"That's just man-speak for refusing to love me long-term! You might think that you loved me then, but you still couldn't let yourself imagine loving me for the rest of your life! Isn't that true?!"
Xander gazed at his hands, his shoulders shifting up and down with guilt. "If anything, it was because I loved you too much," he said, almost whispered in a broken voice. "And I knew there would come a day when you wouldn't love me. I was doing it for you."
Anya turned bright red as she sprang from her chair with heated force. "Oh God, thank you Xander!!" Anya exclaimed with mock-gratitude as she clapped her hands together loudly. "Thank you SO MUCH, you're the almighty hero, the knight-in-shining armor! Everything you did to me was out of love! Leaving me at the alter and humiliating me in front of all my family and friends----that was out of the burning love in your heart! Thank you for saving me from a non-existent future where I would fall out of love with you! THANK YOU!"
Xander defeatedly got up as well, imploring her with arms wide open. "Anya-- -"
Anya was pacing the apartment now, but suddenly whirled around, shaking with anger. "And where do you get off presuming to know when and where I'll fall out of love with you?! Who are you to know my feelings?! Because I gotta tell you Xander, if it were up to me, I would fall out of love with you, and I've wanted to, oh GOD how I've wanted to. But no, even despite everything you've put me through, for some totally inexplicable reason, I'm still in love with you, Xander Harris. Even after you hurt me in the worst way possible. What makes you think that if I can't love you through this that eventually I wouldn't?"
Xander struggled to say something---anything in response. Hearing her reluctant declaration of love filled his heart with both hope and pain. All he wanted to do was go over to her and wrap his arms around her and pretend like the last few months had never happened. Instead, he just whispered, "You still love me?"
Anya, frustrated beyond belief, stamped her foot like an impatient child. "YES!" she nearly screamed in a tone that didn't indicate any loving feeling at all. "What does it take for you to believe that? And why the hell do I even have to tell you it?! You're the one who should be coming to me for forgiveness! You're the one who should be showering me with professions of love and gifts! Oh god, and gifts! And instead I go out of my way to steal------" She paused as Xander's eyes went wide. Slumping as she was found out, she put a hand to her head and rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell," she murmured, Spike-ishly.
"I knew it!" A shrill feminine voice erupted from the door. Standing at it were Buffy, hands fastened to her hips, Spike, feet shuffling shiftily, and Dawn, an mixed expression of excitement, dismay and amusement on her face. "I just KNEW that Anya stole that hammer like you stole the necklace at that museum!"
Xander arched his eyebrows and stared at Buffy in confusion. "Museum?"
"The lovely necklace Spike gave me?" Buffy said flatly, pointing stonily- faced at her neck. "He stole this little puppy at a museum. The same place he encouraged Anya to steal your hammer. And it looks like the gifts are cursed." Her voice was hard and cold, rather than enraged as it had been. Xander turned to Anya with shock and then to Spike with expected disgust and antagonism. All feel silent and stared at Spike, who was obviously aware of the culpability he was under.
Stuffing his hands into his black jeans, he shrugged with an impish smile on his conniving face. "Well . . ." he cleared his throat and slapping his hands together, breaking the prickly silence finally. "Who else smells a field trip?"
Author's Note from Rubygoddess: Sorry for the crappy ending, I wasn't sure how to end the chapter. I tried consulting my co-authoress, ArtemisKai, but the poor girl's mind is fried from the prospect of starting school tommorow, so I just left it. Hoped you enjoyed anyway!