She didn't understand. What was wrong with her now?

Clutching Mr. Gordo tightly to her chest, she stared at the framed picture of Willow, Xander, and herself on the bedside table. A picture of another time, of innocence.

What is wrong with me?

Why had she run? Why?

She was avoiding him. Avoiding all of them, putting off the inevitable.

There was so much she had to do. Get rid of the demon, pacify Dawn, talk to her friends and try to avert the next few apocalypses before they could begin.

And don't forget telling him how you really feel. As soon as possible.

But there was that little voice nagging at her in the back of her head. Questioning, wondering, going over the moral repercussions, the consequences. It told her that nothing could progress so smoothly, that there was no way the universe would allow her to get away with this.

That's the thing about magick. There's always consequences.

Great. Now her little voice was taking on a Cockney accent. She smothered that little voice, strangled it. She was doing the right thing here. She was going to spare them the pain of the next two years.

But...would it be the same? There were so many experiences we went through before, so much—

Stupid voice couldn't be smothered.

And would they even understand? Suppose she told her friends. She'd receive nothing but shock and disappointment. Perhaps even disgust and loathing for giving in to her deepest desires. They wouldn't comprehend her actions. They couldn't.

And yet, the friends she had in the future would understand. Maybe not completely approve, but they would understand. They would sympathize, for there wasn't one among them that wouldn't have done the same in her shoes. After all, it was Xander who had left that talisman for her to find…

Who we are is shaped and defined by what we have gone through. Who we are depends on our experiences.

Somebody had said that...or something close to it, at least. She couldn't recall the details. But the idea, the sentiment, was there. The seed of doubt, the mar upon her happiness, was planted.

And there was no one she could confide in but trusty Mr. Gordo.

***

"Bit, you really should be heading back. Wouldn't want Big Sis to storm in again, all angry-like. It'd be a shame if she smashed the telly this time."

The teen flopped into a more comfortable position on the ground. "It's not like she cares. I could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere for all she knows," she commented bitterly.

"Don't think that. I'm sure—"

"I mean, I bet she's not even looking for me. At least you'd think she'd find me to make sure I'm not off indulging in rampant kle…uh, klutziness."

Th vampire didn't miss the blush that spread across Dawn's face. He frowned as she looked down. But when the former Key looked up again, there was no trace of embarrassment on her features, only an unnatural coldness that chilled Spike to his core.

He sensed that he didn't really want to know, but—

"What could your sis have possibly written to get you so brassed off, Nibblet?"

The coldness was now fixed on him. "None of your business," she snapped immediately, then softened her tone. Her icy gaze raised a few degrees. "Sorry. Just a little upset, I guess. The stuff that she wrote…it kinda didn't make any sense. And some of it did, in a creepy sort of way." She perked up. "Oh! And there was stuff about you, too."

Spike raised his eyebrows, glad to be easing back into the simple camaraderie he usually shared with Dawn. "Oh, really? Mind telling me what about? Or is it also something that's none of my bloody business?" he added lightly.

Dawn didn't even notice. The blush was back, burning hotter than ever before. "N-nothing…interesting," she managed to squeak, looking anywhere but at Spike.

He let it go. "Still, no matter what's got your knickers in a twist, you can't just stay here all day." He glanced toward the door. "If it wasn't bleeding daylight out, I'd drag you back myself."

Dawn smiled ruefully.

***

"I think I figured it out!" Willow exclaimed. She held up the book in her hand like it was the Holy Grail. "This demon, it's not a demon we let out. It's a demon that we made. Buffy was right."


"We made a demon? Bad us," Xander remarked.


"In this case it was like, a, a side-effect, I guess. Like a price. Think of it like, the world doesn't like you getting something for free, and we asked for this huge gift: Buffy. A-and so the world said, 'Fine, but if you have that, you have to take this too.' And it made the demon."

"Well, technically, that's not a price. That's a gift with purchase," Anya pointed out.

Meaning that the down payment's coming up. Probably with interest.

Willow kept her mouth shut.

If—no, when—the price needs to be paid, I'll handle it by myself. No need for the others to get any more involved than they already are.


"If we made the demon, how come we can't see it? I mean, all we see is us, doing stuff," Xander pointed out.


"Well, I-I think it's out of phase with this dimension. Like, its consciousness is here, but its body is caught in the ether between existing and not existing," Willow explained.


"It doesn't have a body, so it's borrowing ours. I-it borrowed Anya's—" Tara clarified.


"Or it's manifesting copies of them, like it did when Buffy came at us—" Willow added.


"It's using them to do stuff. To scare us, attack us."


"So we need to un-create it, right? We need to send it the rest of the way out of our world."


"Uh-huh. Except that...it's linked to the spell. So, if we sent it away...i-it would be like the spell doesn't exist. Like it never happened," Willow faltered.


"Like it never brought Buffy back," Anya stated tactfully.

Willow nodded, forcing a small smile. "But that's not what we'll be doing. It's okay, because it's temporary."


"What is?" Xander asked.


"The demon. It's gonna dissipate. The only way for it to survive on this plane is if it were to kill the subject of the original spell."


"It would live if it killed Buffy?" Tara wondered.


"That's not gonna—"

Xander grinned widely, his eyes white.

"Thanks for the tip."

***

Mr. Gordo was a bit damp when she finished her rant. He'd been a good listener.

Was she reduced to conversing with her stuffed animals now? Had she closed herself off so much that she couldn't interact with real people anymore?

But it wasn't like any member of the Scooby gang could understand. She'd known that, way back when she'd first come back from the dead. None of her friends, in the positions and places they were at, could understand.

But there was one man who might. The man she'd always ended up running to, be he mortal enemy or secret lover at the moment.

But…would even he understand?

No. No, of course not. He's not even the same man.

How could anyone understand the choices she'd made, lest they'd been by her side for the past two years? There was no one here who fit the description. Not even Spike.

The Slayer turned back to her sympathetic ear and forced a smile.

"So, Mr. Gordo. Back to the topic…"

***

"Do you even have any other channels?"

The vampire narrowed his eyes and reached for a cigarette. He flicked open his lighter and stared at the flame for a few moments, then dropped it back into his duster pocket. The unlit fag dangled loosely from his fingers, on the verge of meeting the other half dozen fresh cigarettes on the crypt floor.

"Aside from yet more daytime soap channels, I mean. I think you should get MTV. Or Comedy Central, at least."

The paper stick of tobacco snapped in half. Both pieces drifted to the ground and were promptly crushed by a scuffed and worn pair of Doc Martins.

"I think it's time you headed back home, Lil' Bit," Spike grounded out, just slightly impatient. "You've been here for practically the whole bloody day."

Dawn just rolled her eyes. "It's been what, two hours? And you're already getting tired of me?" She shifted on the couch, turned the TV off. "It's not like Buffy gives a damn about me anyway," she added.

"Dawn!"

"What?" the teen demanded. "I'm not a kid. I can curse if I want."

"That's not what I was talkin' about—not to say that's not a good point, too. You, uh, you shouldn't say—"

"Puh-leaze. They can't be that bad if every other word you say is an expletive," she continued. "Haven't seen anyone try to wash your mouth with soap."

Trying to find a proper response that didn't involve any invectives or embarrassing incidents, the vampire gave up and reached for another cigarette.

Sodding Summers women.

He could never quite resist them. Could never quite escape that classic Summers pout, those big doe eyes. One of them could tell him to take a hike in the bloody Sahara during high noon and he'd probably do it.

At the moment, he wasn't quite sure what the rift between the sisters was. Things between Dawn and his Slayer had seemed fine even with the post-mortem tension—

My Slayer.

The vampire grimaced.

Slayer never was exactly mine, not before and certainly not now.

That was another thing that didn't quite mesh. Before her…death…she'd never given him the time of day. In those final days before the battle, she'd softened a bit, sure, but then she'd needed anyone she could get for the upcoming apocalypse, soulless demon or otherwise. But when he'd first seen her coming down the staircase…

That first night back, he could've sworn there was a little something different in her eyes. Like she saw something in him, saw beyond black and white. That look in her eyes…it was something he'd seen in her expression before, of course. But never directed at him.

He didn't dare hope…

Well, why had she avoided him afterwards? Probably repulsed by any drunken actions she had witnessed last night.

I could use a few shots right about now.

Reaching for the half-empty bottle on the ground, Spike paused. Something wasn't quite right. Without another word, he grabbed a blanket and tore out of the crypt, not entirely sure where his feet were taking him.

The teen poked her head out of the mausoleum and frowned. Still an hour till sunset.

"Spike! Where're you going?"

***

She was back there again, watching the cavern tumble down. She knew that it was a dream, nothing more.

But why now? Why again?

Interlocking her hand around his almost involuntarily, she looked up into calm blue eyes. Eyes completely at peace with the world and everything in it. Eyes that smiled gently down at her.

"You can't save me, Buffy. You shouldn't have—"

The Slayer recoiled so sharply that she tripped over a piece of debris and landed on the cold and dusty cave floor…of the dark and barren cavern.

"You don't belong here."

The Slayer jumped to her feet, slowly registering her surroundings—she'd fallen asleep on the bed, Mr. Gordo crushed against her left arm—and the fact that there was a translucent demon talking to her.

And the fact that very rarely were dreams like the one she'd just had actually dreams. By now, she could tell the difference between a normal dream and—

The thing shot out a pale tendril of mist, flinging her back against wooden furniture. Scrambling to her feet, Buffy didn't bother trying to attack it. That wouldn't work until Willow and Tara did their solidifying spell.

He was at peace. Wherever he was, he was at peace.

No. She couldn't think about that now. There was a battle to be won.

She focused instead on ducking the demon's attacks. Being primarily made of mist, this entity's movements weren't exactly the swiftest the Slayer had ever encountered. It couldn't hurt her unless she allowed it to—

"Did they tell you, you belonged here?"

—Except with verbal barbs it likely didn't even understand. But they hurt just the same.

"Did they say this was your home again?"

Buffy ducked and rolled, turning to face the demon. "It is my home," she announced coldly.

The demon sniggered. "No, little girl." Buffy could've sworn she saw the thing smile. "You forget, child, that I am not of this world. And neither are you."

Oh God. Even this thing knows.

Eyes flying wide with shock, the Slayer couldn't prevent herself from instinctively trying to attack the entity. Her fist passed right through its center as it laughed.

Oh God. What have I done?

"Oh, I know, little girl. I know that you don't belong here." With that, it swirled around and wrapped around her waist, exploiting her moment of vulnerability. "I know what you're feeling. And I can make it all go away, all the confusion, all the pain."

Would that make it all go away? Please…

Buffy couldn't breath as it squeezed the very life out of her. Yet she couldn't make her body cooperate and break free.

…Make it all go away.

Maybe it was because she didn't want to.

***

"Xander, drive faster," Anya demanded.

"I can't!" he replied testily.

"You're like a snail. A snail who's driving a car very slowly. Come on, give it the lead foot! We've got to help Buffy with that demon you sent after her!"

Xander rolled his eyes and shot a look of annoyance at his fiancée. His still-secret fiancée.


"I did not send the demon; I was possessed. The demon used me to eavesdrop on our conversation."


"Great, so now what? We have to talk in some sort of anti-demon secret code?" Anya grumbled.

A frown appeared on his face as Xander thought about it. "You know, wasn't that something along the lines of what Buffy was saying earlier?"

There was a slight pause as the car sped down the road, twenty-three miles above the speed limit.

"Maybe coming back from Hell made her smarter."

Ever the tactful one.

***

The two Wiccans faced each other on the ground inside the circle of candles, holding hands.

"Child of words, hear thy makers.

Child of words, we entreat.

With our actions did we make thee, to our voices wilt thou bend.

With our potions thou took motive, with our motions came to pass.

We rescind no past devotions, give thee substance, give thee mass."

One witch stopped chanting.

"Child of words, hear thy makers.

Child of words, we entreat—"

Willow's eyes were pure onyx.

"Solid!"

The candles extinguished and a blast of cold air appeared from nowhere, chilling the witches to the bone.

Tara glanced up sharply. But it was done.

***

The demon was playing with her. Instead of simply killing her and moving onto its demon-y antics, the thing taunted the Slayer as it slowly drained the life out of her from the inside out.

"You won't even disturb the air when you go."

Xander and Anya rushed in, breathing hard. They froze in the doorway.

Buffy didn't even notice her friends. She lay on the carpet, staring up oh-so-calmly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. This way there would be no responsibilities, no angry little sister to deal with, no friends. No planning ahead, no lost chances.

No guilt, no regrets.

No regrets? Ha.

The demon solidified into a hunk of rotting flesh. It grinned and raised the ax it had taken from her weapons chest.

The Slayer did nothing but stare up at the blade.

"Buffy!"

I shouldn't have done it.

She barely noticed that the demon's head had been lopped off and was rolling about on the ground, rancid black blood pouring from the bulk of the suddenly-desiccated corpse.

She did, however, notice the iron grip of cold hands on her shoulders, dragging her upright and shaking her back to reality.

The vampire's eyes frowned. "Slayer, what were you doing?"

Buffy stared directly into the pair of confused blue eyes, filled to the brim with compassion yet empty of a soul. Speechless and thoughtless, she did the first thing that came to mind.

He was happy. Happy.

Spike's eyes shot open even wider as the Slayer's mouth enveloped his, attacking with a brutality stemming from the pent-up frustration and helpless rage of living on the Hellmouth for seven years straight.

And I changed that.

She forced his mouth open with even more desperation, trying to smother her thoughts. Hoping to stave off the compunction…for now.

Please, Spike. Let me have this moment.

The initial surprise having faded, the vampire quickly responded and kissed her back, silently wondering if he was truly awake…and whether the Slayer was really trembling like a leaf in his arms.

They kissed in full view from the doorway where Xander and Anya still stood, completely shell-shocked. Unblinking.

Anya grinned.