A/N: This chapter's mostly filler. But I promise more action in the next one.

At last, despite her frantic urge to bury herself in him, she came up for air. It wasn't a conscious decision by any means; her lungs were burning. After a few deep breaths of decomposing demon, the Slayer was ready to plunge back.

But the moment had passed. Or rather, Xander had regained his voice.

"Buff, what the hell are you doing?"

His still-secret fiancé tugged on his arm, her eyes glued to the couple on the ground. "Xander, let's go have sex," she said in a stage whisper.

He ignored her, still completely focused on the Slayer. "Have you lost your mind? Is that it? Anya was right—you did come back wrong."

Before the Slayer could get a syllable in edgewise, her long-time friend and confidante stormed out.

Anya gave a bright smile. "I thought you were all crazy from Hell at first," she admitted. "But releasing sexual tension is completely healthy—not to mention normal. So, yay! Go you! You're not crazy after all!"

"Um…I—"

"I find humans usually prefer to be alone when they have intercourse, unless they are paid lots of money to be videotaped or otherwise observed by the public," the ex-demon continued cheerfully, ignoring Buffy's half-hearted protests. "Seeing as how I am not going to give you any of my money, I'll be leaving now. Bye!"

The girl didn't bother closing the door behind herself.

A sudden stillness enveloped the chamber after Anya's departure. One that left a very awkward Buffy sitting alone on a very confused Spike's lap.

A very confused Spike that was looking at her the same way he had after they'd first kissed that time in the alley. Albeit a little more surprised. After all, this time there had been no big orchestral buildup into the moment. And not chorus accompaniment during the kiss itself.

But the way he was gazing at her was with more than just shock. There was hope for the beginnings of a relationship, love and desire mingled with the possibility of a future.

A future together.

It was the look he had in his eyes before she'd managed to destroy him, inside and out. Before she'd taken that hope and crushed it into the dirt.

She scrambled up, backing away and glancing desperately at the floor, the walls, the furniture—anything to avoid his gaze. Anything to avoid talking about it, because this version of Spike would want to talk. This version hadn't accepted that at this point in the life of perfect little Buffy, she'd just want to screw and run off, maybe come back for a round of using the sex toy as a punching bag. A two-for-one deal.

Sex toys didn't talk.

Talking involved thinking. Thinking led to guilt and possibly breakdowns. That was bad. So talking was bad.

No talking.

"Buffy, uh—"

Please. Just let me forget for moment longer.

The vampire was cut off quite effectively by the warm, breathing projectile that was suddenly hurtled onto his chest. And the soft warm lips trying to devour him whole.

From the Slayer's initial attack, things progressed very quickly. Very quickly indeed. There was no telling what the outcome would have been if there wasn't a sudden gasp and a rather choked, "Oh God," from the unobstructed doorway.

Shit.

Buffy grabbed the closest garment from the carpet—his coat—and covered herself, her face aflame, not daring to look up at her baby sister.

Slutty the vampire layer.

"Uh, hey Nibblet."

Her unwitting partner-in-crime was fumbling awkwardly with his belt buckle.

"Oh God."

Oh God.

She was still sitting on the ground, staring at the pretty designs on the carpet, clutching the black leather so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

"Oh God."

Oh no. No. Nononononono—

"Uh, we weren't…it's not what it looks like."

Poor Spike was trying to save her little sister's virgin eyes. He was just a bit late. And a tad shirtless.

Nonononononon—

"Oh God. Oh God…. Y'know what? Just forget it. I-I-I have to go. Away. To…away-ness."

Dawn turned abruptly and made tracks to her destination: away.

Nonononononononononononono—

The vampire groaned and began reaching for the various articles of clothing strewn around the room. "I…uh…I better go. Before someone else…yeah."

Nononon—No!

"No!"

He glanced at her sharply. But the Slayer hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud.

"Buffy?"

She shook her head. "Um…I…never mind."

***

She chased after the man, half wondering just how he managed to cover so much distance with only a two-block head start. Walking. And here she was, jogging after him for the past ten minutes. Maybe it had something to do with these new heels. Oh sure, they looked alright. But the manufacture was clearly shoddy and she couldn't recall what had possessed her to spend her hard-earned money on them.

Oh, wait. Now I remember. They were thrown in for ten percent with the new shipment of chicken feet because the supplier's brother-in-law's shoe manufacturing company was going out of business.

I can see why.

Still grumbling, Anya noted that her prey had paused to hail a cab. Hoping she was close enough, she waved her arms. "Hey, wait!"

The man didn't notice her. He climbed in and was out of sight with the flow and ebb of traffic.

"Anya?"

Turning, she scowled at her fiancé, half a block behind her. "What?"

"Who were you chasing after?"

She thought for a moment. "Oh, right. I was looking for you." Striding purposefully over, the ex-demon grabbed Xander's arm and hauled him down the street, towards their apartment.

"I can't believe you were so rude," she said matter-of-factly. "Walking out like that. I'm sure that Buffy and Spike feel you aren't supportive of their relationship."

Xander gaped at her in disbelief. "Of course I'm n—"

Anya waved him off. "If I didn't know you, I'd think you were prejudiced against demon-human relationships. But it's alright. You can apologize for that little misunderstanding at a later time." She took a deep breath. "But you, mister, you made me lose that man!"

"Ahn, it's not that I'm biased against all demons—wait…man? What man? Huh?"

She gestured towards the street. "The man I was following! Well, I was following you, and then I saw him. The Magic Box supplier that sold me these horribly shoddy shoes? I want my money back!"

"Uh…okay."

She conveniently forgot the part where the man had caught a cab and departed before she'd noticed Xander's presence.

"But you just had to catch my attention and-and…he got away! So you better hope I get a refund, or it's the couch for you, mister. For a week. And I'm not going to give in this time."

For once Xander wasn't sure of what to say.

His mind couldn't follow the path of insane troll logic that his fiancée had embarked upon.

***

"Willow, what d-did you do?"

"I—nothing! I just kinda sped up the spell a little. It-it wasn't working fast enough."

Tara wasn't buying it. "You were hooked into some seriously dark magicks there."

Her girlfriend shrugged, smiled. Reached forward. "Nothing too bad. I mean, it was nowhere as dark as Buffy's re—"

The blond witch jerked away from the redhead's advances.

"Just-just stay away from me, okay? I can't deal with this right now." Turning, she began to clean up the remnants of the spell.

"No! Tara…I…please, baby, let me explain—"

Tara shook her head, continued to pack away her supplies. "No, Willow. You're in too deep. Those magicks…th-they were pretty d-dark. You were pretty dark. You…forget it."

They both knew she wasn't talking about the solidification ritual of minutes ago.

The red-haired witch stared at the hardwood floor. Shooting a desperate look at her, Tara grabbed her bag and headed for the exit.

She was halfway to the door when Willow grabbed her arm.

"Tara, please! Listen to me! Buffy's resurrection went fine; she's not messed up or anything, I swear. I didn't mess up—I didn't!"

Tara sighed and turned back to face her girl. True, she didn't want to talk about it. But this was the one girl she cared more about than anything else in the world. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her, even if it involved going to a place she wasn't sure either one of them could climb out of.

Even if it destroyed their relationship.

I love you so much, Willow. But I understand. Love isn't just about the kissing and spending time together. It's about truly caring for someone. Putting their welfare above what you might want. It's doing what's right, what's necessary.

She took a deep breath.

What's hard.

"Sweetie, we both know th-that's not true. Buffy might not seem all that different, but sh-she's not right. She…knows things. L-like how she said the demon was a side effect of the s-spell?"

There was nothing Willow could think of to say.

But Tara wasn't finished.

Because when you really, truly care about someone, it's their well-being that matters. Not whether you're with them. So many people make that mistake.

"W-willow, that's j-just part of it. You've been using t-too much m-magick. Going deeper than I'm comfortable w-with. It's b-been going on all summer, and I d-don't know if you can s-stop."

Seeing the sudden tears threatening to spill from those bright green eyes, Tara hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to kiss the tears away and tell her girl that everything was alright.

But it wasn't.

And pretending it is will only hurt both of us in the end. I love you too much to lie.

Ignoring Willow's tremulous bottom lip, she continued. Time for the ultimatum.

"And I c-can't be with s-someone who's…who's—"

The bell hanging above the door jingled. The somber mood broke.

"Oh God. Oh God."

Willow focused on the teen that had just rushed in.

"Dawnie, you okay?"

"Oh God. Oh God.'

"Dawnie? What happened? Is everything okay?" Tara added, trying to read the girl's blank face.

"Did the spell work?"

Tara's expression hardened.

I can't let her think that this is okay.

"I-I just remembered, I th-think I left s-something. At the h-house."

Striding to the door, she was a bit surprised when Dawn grabbed her arm.

"You can't go in there."

***

Stop working, stupid brain.

The Slayer had paced across the carpet of her bedroom floor so many times that she'd almost worn a path from the window to the closet. She'd tried doing whatever she could to get her mind off what had transpired a mere half hour ago, including trying to clean decomposing demon out of said carpet. But she'd long given up on that.

I am such a slut. Even when I'm trying not to be. Might as well do this professionally. That might even help pay the bills and send Dawn off to college.

Wait, wait…

"A job!" she almost shouted out loud. Not that it mattered. The empty house was devoid of life.

But she'd come up with a solution at last. No, not by prostituting herself on street corners.

She could get a job. Something that didn't involve grease, funny uniforms, or the joining of a cow and chicken. Or sleeping with people for money, for that matter.

Buffy headed downstairs, straight towards the Yellow Pages.

A high school diploma. Wonder what well-paying jobs that could qualify me for.

Ah well. Better start dialing.

TBC