Part Three

*Sweet sweet exposition. But I promise suffering and misery in part four. Thanks to ozfan. I kind of ripped off….I mean….was inspired by ozfan's Dippity Dork: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=750217

Buffy dropped her cow hat onto the tabletop and slid into the booth across from Anya. "Mmmmmm," she said, looking down into the plastic carton before her. "Food without grease. I'd almost forgotten that such a thing existed."

"Just call me the lunchtime savior," Anya said as she took another packaged salad out of the paper bag beside her.

"So how's business?" Buffy asked.

"August is always a good month," Anya told her. "All the college kids have to stock up on their candles and incense to mask the smell of narcotics in their dorm rooms." She began examining the assorted packets of dressing she grabbed from the deli. "So anything new with you since...ya' know...last night?"

Buffy swallowed a mouthful of lettuce. "Actually, a lot. Guess who's back in town?"

Anya seemed to be carefully considering the question as she poured Caesar dressing over her meal. "Willow?" she guessed.

"No."

"Giles?"

"No."

Her eyes narrowed. "Xander?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Riley?"

"No."

"Scott Hope?"

"What? No!" Buffy put down her fork and stared across the table. "I didn't mean you should really *guess*."

"Oh," Anya said. "Well then just tell me."

Buffy leaned forward, as if sharing a secret, and whispered, "Spike."

Anya raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I know," Buffy said, agreeing with the unspoken comment. "He just showed up in my backyard last night."

"And? How was he? I mean, did he look evil?" she asked, then added, "--er than usual?"

"I thought the same thing. Spike leaves town, comes back chipless, massive killing spree, angst, angst, angst." She shrugged and popped a tomato into her mouth. "But he seemed the same."

"And you?"

"And me what?"

"To what extent dig you wig?"

"Barely!" Buffy said defensively. "I wigged at like, a two. Two point five at the most."

"Sure," Anya said sarcastically. "So was there sparkage? Tingliness? Thinly veiled sexual innuendo?"

"There were definite tingles," Buffy said, dropping her eyes as if ashamed. "Problem is, the tingles were about a foot north from where the tingles usually were, and now I'm not sure what that means."

"Hmm," Anya said. "Well, tingles a foot north can mean one of two things. Either you ate some bad seafood, or you're in love."

"Oh!" Buffy's eyes lit up with excitement. "We had that shrimp last week!"

"Buffy," Anya said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "You know perfectly well that you've digested that shrimp already." She leaned back in the booth and casually began picking through the salad. "Besides, this is a good thing. Remember, just a few weeks ago, when you were saying you thought you'd never have a relationship again, what with the Slayer thing, and the resurrection thing, and all your miscellaneous neuroses? Now you can have a relationship." She reached across the table and patted Buffy's hand supportively. "Yay for you!"

"But I can't have a relationship with Spike," Buffy explained.

"Why not?" Anya went back to digging in her salad.

"Because."

"Because why not?"

"Because," Buffy said firmly. "He's eeeevil."

Anya looked up with a perplexed expression on her face. "Why did you say that?"

"Say what?"

"Eeeevil, like that, with too many 'e's?"

Buffy shrugged. "Because it's funny?"

"No it's not," Anya said flatly. "Besides, I'm a demon, and you're still friends with me."

"That's different," Buffy said. "Since you became a demon again, you haven't cursed anyone."

"Not for lack of trying," Anya pointed out.

"Still. You had legitimate issues, and you got through the issues, and now you're a good demon." Buffy stabbed a carrot with her fork, but its thickness was too much for the plastic utensil, and it immediately fell off . "Pretty much." She frowned at the vegetable as it slid away from her a second time. "Recently." Stupid carrot.

"So let me get this straight," Anya said, folding her arms across her chest. "In the Buffy morality, we only hate people for a certain period of time after they maim someone."

Buffy sighed and let the fork drop into her half-eaten salad. "I don't know what the Buffy morality is anymore."

"Let me help you out. Here's the way I look at it." Anya held up her finger as if about to impart a lengthy lecture. "Morality is stupid."

Buffy looked up expectantly, assuming her friend would elaborate more on this concept, but Anya had gone back to her lunch. "Thank you very much, Confucius," Buffy muttered.

"It's true," Anya said. "Morality's just some stupid thing some guy invented in order to sell bibles."

Buffy couldn't help but laugh out loud. "It is not!"

"Is too," Anya replied firmly. "It's all business. Half the charms we have at the Magic Box don't really do anything. It just makes people feel better to carry them around. But you don't see me advertising that. If people want to delude themselves, and give me money to support their delusions, far be it from me to complain. Same with morality. Just a bunch of ridiculous concepts people came up with to make themselves feel good, like they're better than others. When really, all that should matter is that you live your life, try not to hurt too many people unless they really, really deserve it, and be happy with the choices you make, no matter what anyone says about whether these choices are 'morally' right or wrong."

Buffy shot Anya a mock-angry look. "Stop being smart," she said. "You're making me feel all retarded. Especially now that I have to put the cow hat back on." She picked up her hat and stood. "As usual, thank you for saving me from burger hell."

Anya nodded. "And as usual, it's no problem. Just as long as you remember --"

"I know, I know," Buffy said, and she began to recite the speech Anya had been giving her regularly during their lunches together. "There is no greater gesture of love than you not asking me to reimburse you for the salad. So I have to be aware of what a special person I am to merit such selflessness from you, and not get all depressed like before."

"And….?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And I'm sure you'll go to heaven now."

Anya smiled proudly.

"You know, it's not like I got a free guest membership while I was there."

"Shh!" Anya said, as if the powers that be were taking notes on their conversation. "So do you want me to come patrolling with you tonight?"

Buffy looked away. "Actually…."

"Oooooh," Anya teased. "I take it there's going to be a touch of Spike in this evening's plans?"

"They'll be some Spike," Buffy admitted. "But absolutely no touching. They'll be walking, chatting, brutal slaughter of a three-horned Pineseehc demon, and you know, maybe a chaste handshake goodnight."

"Nothing else?" Anya asked skeptically.

"Nothing else," Buffy said seriously. "And if he tries anything else, I hope you'd be willing to turn his hands into like, caterpillars or something."

Anya smiled as she stood up and threw their empty containers into the trash. "What are friends for?"

*

The thing that Clem loved most about living in a cemetery was the peacefulness.

As he slowly opened his eyes to see the afternoon sun seeping through the edges of the crypt windows, he didn't miss his apartment by the mall in the least bit. There he was often awakened early by the sounds of blaring car alarms and shouting teenagers. But in the crypt he could sleep the day away, and even the nights (with the exception of the occasional shrieks of young women as vampires murdered them) were serene and relaxing. He'd spent the summer mostly indoors, watching television, making minor repairs to the charred lower level of the crypt, and reading true crime novels. He went out only for grocery shopping and weekend poker games, but he found that he wasn't lonely at all. Rather, this period of introspection had made him feel more at peace than he ever had before. When he fell asleep at night, he often felt like he was floating in the middle of a tranquil ocean, completely calm, at one with the earth and the –

"Ahhhhhh!" Clem felt something cold slide across his arm and he bolted from the bed. He covered his face with his large hands and cringed against the wall of the bedroom. "Don't hurt me!" he cried out, his voice shaking. "Take whatever you want; just please don't hurt me!"

"Bloody hell. Is this the way you've been guarding my place while I'm gone?"

The familiar voice caused Clem to look up, with he grinned at the sight of his friend's customary scowl.

"Spike!" Clem said. "You're back!"

"Got back late last night," Spike explained as he sat up and ran a hand through his matted hair. "I was trying to get some sleep, but you snore like a chainsaw, mate."

"You slept in bed with me?" Clem asked incredulously as he watched Spike stand and wrap the sheet around his waist. "You slept in bed with me *naked*?"

"I'm not going to sleep on the floor in my own place," Spike explained.

"But *naked*?"

Spike rolled his eyes and pulled on a pair of pants he'd left on top of his dresser.

"Look, Spike, I'm sorry," Clem said quickly. "You're a really good friend and I like you a lot, just not in that way."

"Will you shut up?" Spike snapped. He raised his eyebrows at Clem's light blue pajamas. "I just don't have the latest in demon sleepwear, is all."

"Oh." Clem sat down on the bed and watched as Spike dug through his dresser. "So how was your trip? Do you have pictures?"

"Nope," Spike muttered, his back turned. "Got something else though."

"Really? What?" Clem asked curiously. But then his face drooped with thought and he leaned forward. "Wait…I can tell."

Spike turned around quickly. "You can?"

"Yeah." Clem took in a deep breath. "I can smell it on you."

Spike's mouth hardened into a line. "A soul."

"No, not that." Clem sniffed again. "Smells like….cantaloupes." He took in another breath and then nodded. "Yep, definitely cantaloupes."

"Oh, for the love of…" Spike groaned and sat down on a nearby chair, abandoning his search for clothing.

"Why do you smell like cantaloupes?" Clem asked. "Did you go to Virginia?"

"No, I didn't go to Virginia, you stupid saggy poof," Spike snapped. "I went to Africa. And I got a soul."

"Really?" Clem asked. "Well, you should've gone to Virginia. They have a Cantaloupe Festival in Halifax County every July."

"All that fighting, the torture, and all I end up with is a new bleeding scent." Spike let his head fall into his hands and twisted his mouth into a pout. "I was all ready for some big spectacular moment when I'd realize the error of my evil ways, clench my jaw and rip my shirt and look all agonized and sexy." He shrugged. "But I don't."

"You still look sexy," Clem said reassuringly, then quickly added: "In a totally hetero way." He studied his friend, trying to detect this new element. "How does it feel? You know, having a soul?"

"Kinda like indigestion," Spike said, putting his hand to his chest.

"Do you still want to kill people?" Clem asked him. "Do you still want to kill Buffy?"

"Not as much."

"But you still want to kill her?"

Spike considered this for a moment. "A little."

"Hm." Clem reached underneath the bed and retrieved the snacks he'd stashed there the day before. "Well, this is all very anticlimactic."

"Don't I know it," Spike grumbled.

Clem smiled sadly and held out a plastic bag towards Spike. "Cheeto?"

(tbc)