She looked, and looked some more for the Boston vampire. Looked by the front doors. Nothing. Looked in the coat room, on the dance floor, again and again at the tables. Nothing. Looked in the bathrooms. Nothing. Of course, none of the vampires had to use the toilets – they were all smoking, or applying lipstick, or making out.

Buffy really had to pee after all that beer. What excuse could she come up with to go into a stall? She could pretend she was having sex. No, she couldn't bring herself to talk dirty all by her lonesome, even if there weren't any other humans to hear her. She could pretend she was drunk and puking. She was circumspectly testing out her heaving abilities when it dawned on her that most of the bathroom's stalls were already crammed with vampires, doing God only knows what. So she just went ahead and did her business, trying not to identify the noises that drifted under the walls of her stall.

She wandered listlessly back into the main room after she was done. Buffy hadn't been able to find Good Will Vamping to save her life, but she found Spike again within five minutes, like they were connected by some big old psychic pull-string.

Buffy watched him at a distance for a little bit. He was sitting at a table, surrounded by fans who were hanging on his every word. Someone had gotten him a bowl of ice cream, and now he was leisurely eating it as he told his new posse all his best Big Bad stories. Spike pointed his spoon at someone as he joked around, then turned it upside down and sucked on it as someone else talked.

"Why am I not that spoon?" Buffy overheard a woman ask wistfully at the table beside her.

"Because I am," said the woman next to her.

Buffy fought the urge to tell them that she had actually slept with Spike, plenty of times, and he was as hot as he looked. That licking that spoon was nothing, nothing in his repertoire of talents. She put her hand to her heart as she mentally went down the list, and discovered the brownie crumbs. Buffy sighed as she brushed them off.

What was she thinking, anyway? She and Spike were so over. She'd made some bad choices that had felt really good, but now she'd broken up with him, and all that was left was him endlessly mooning over her. Because that's what Spike did.

Spike chose that moment to deliver a punch line, and everyone laughed. Hmm. Not that moony. Hey, remember me? The one you're drowning in? It looked a lot like Spike was learning how to swim.

These thoughts were driving her crazy. She wished the Scoobies were there. Their blunted logic always made it easier for her to deal with Spike. They were always ready and willing, anxious even, to reduce him to four words: He. Has. No. Soul.

Well, yeah. He was a soul-free zone, no argument there. But here, tonight, where she was the outsider, and he was some kind of bloodsucking comic book hero? It was getting to be an uphill climb to ignore his power, and charisma, and talented little pink tongue. She shifted her hips.

On some level, she understood that she had let herself fall for Spike, not in spite of his terrible and cruel past, but because of it. She couldn't love someone like him, and so her fractured heart had been safe while her body went out to play. At least, that had been the idea. So why did her heart ache as much as her body tonight? Traitors, the both of them.

Look at me, Spike. I need you to look at me.

As if he could hear Buffy's thoughts, Spike glanced around, and nodded slightly when he spotted her. He said a few words to the people at the table, then made his way over to her. Buffy could see the two spoon women exchange nervous glances as he approached. She could imagine what they were thinking. Why was he coming over? Was he going to talk to one of them? Me! thought Buffy, giddy beyond all reasoning. It's going to be me!

She was right, of course. He took her by the elbow, which jolted like it was in a life-size game of Operation, and moved her to the dance floor, where the loud music gave them a modicum of privacy.

Spike leaned his cheek against hers so she could hear him. Buffy's eyelids fluttered closed. She desperately wanted to push him away. Or push him to the floor and fall on him. She did neither. "Did you find him?" he asked her.

"No, I didn't," she said into his ear, "although I may have seen Christopher Walken in the bathroom." Jokes. Jokes were good.

"Countries have switched from Communism to democracy in less time than it's taking you to find this bloke." Spike, chock full of vanilla ice cream and vampire adoration, was completely oblivious to Buffy's emotional Tilt-a-Whirl ride. He thought jokes were good, too.

"We might have to face the fact that he isn't here," she admitted. And that the Book of Altador was slipping farther out of her hands with every passing minute. That really took away from all the fun she was having tonight. Sucked to be Buffy.

Spike thought so, too. "Do one more go-round. Then we'll check the parking lots. And then we'll head out to the bars if you want. We may get lucky, you never know." He knew he should ditch her if they left The Gathering, but she was treating him pretty well, not too many sarcastic comebacks or dirty looks. Might as well help her out, as was his destiny. At least he wasn't baby-sitting.

"Yo! My homies!" the DJ shouted just then. He was standing on the raised platform beside his stereo equipment, microphone at the ready. The aforementioned homies, who had been dancing to the final notes of "YMCA", stopped and looked up at him. So did Buffy and Spike. "It's time to strut your karaoke stuff. Come on up here for a songbook."

A few vampires eagerly surged forward as Spike looked at Buffy with horror. "Go!" he told her. "Fast! If you don't come back in the next ten minutes, I'm leaving without you."

Buffy shook her head in wonder. Spike had endured all manner of unimaginable torture in the past century, but it was the threat of karaoke that broke him.

She made her way to the back of the semicircle that was forming on the dance floor as a vampire broke into a rousing rendition of "Friends in Low Places". It was pretty good, all things considered. She once again scanned the crowd, but with a decided lack of effort. Really, what were the odds he'd show up for the singing?

Buffy was trying her best to still care about the book, and how its spells could kick all sorts of ass in the wrong hands, but all she wanted to do at this point was curl up and go to sleep. Her emotional fuel tank was running on fumes. All the things she felt for Spike, and didn't feel, and wished she didn't feel, had drained her dry. She had to get out of here. She wanted to be the Slayer again.

She kept to the edge of the spectators. The next singer – speaking of torture – started in on "Wind Beneath my Wings". Lovely. Their wedding song. Off key. Buffy choked on her own spit as she heard Spike's voice boom out above the music, "Oi! For God's sake, give us a break!"

The vampire in question broke off in mid-wail and glared at Spike, whom he didn't know from Lestat. "Hey, if you think you could do better, be my guest!"

Spike sneered at that, but Miss Melted Caramels from further down on his right thought that was absolutely the best idea she'd ever heard. "Yeah, Spike, go on," she urged him.

Before Spike could answer, the guy standing next to him said, "You're William the Bloody? Man, let's hear what you've got!"

"Sod off!" said Spike forcefully, but it was too late. The idea took on a life of its own, and suddenly, encouraging hands were pushing him to the front, and up on the platform. Spike, keenly feeling the loss of his vampire strength, soon found himself face to face with the tone-deaf vamp, who shoved the microphone into Spike's chest with an offended "hmph" and flounced off. The DJ cut the music as Spike held the mike by a thumb and index finger, a look of exasperated disgust on his face.

He froze as he felt everyone's expectant eyes on his back. Spike slowly turned and faced the growing crowd, feeling nothing short of buggered. He'd tangled with a few mobs in his day, but this really took the cake. He put the microphone to his mouth, planning to tell them all what a sorry bunch of losers they were. They immediately started cheering like Liam Gallagher had taken the stage.

He paused. Apparently, they loved him even without singing. That was nice. Inspiring, really. "Er...hi," he said into the mike. They cheered louder. Spike grinned. "So you want me to sing, eh?" he asked them. The volume went up another notch. He started thinking of songs he knew, which immediately caused his mind to shoot out the top of his head and hover above his body. What the hell was he doing?

Buffy was pushing her way back to the front as fast as she could. What the hell was he doing? He wasn't going to sing, was he? This, she had to see. The DJ said something to Spike, who shrugged and said something back. The DJ nodded and fiddled with his karaoke machine.

The song started, and Spike momentarily considered making a mad break for it. But some tender morsel in the audience gave him a shy smile, and he changed his mind. He covered the mike with his hand. "What do I do now?" he asked the DJ.

"Look at the words, dude. You should already be singing."

Spike, in the fine tradition of karaoke beginners the world over, gaped at the monitor set up beside him and tried to figure out where he was in the song. "Twentyfirstcenturywasyesterday..." he sang in a rush, then promptly lost his place and stopped. His respect for singers had increased tenfold in the last 30 seconds.

He gave up as he waited for the chorus, which he knew he knew, and took the opportunity to shrug out of his suit jacket. The women in the audience fell silent as they watched him do it. The men, however, laughed and whistled. In this setting, Spike was just the right mix of unthreatening self-confidence. They imagined they were his friends, and that all that stood between them being up there with him was a bottle of Nice 'n Easy Ultra Light Ash Blonde and an English accent.

The chorus came around, and he didn't need to read the words anymore, which helped. "So slide over here, and give me a moment..." His voice wobbled ever so slightly at first, but got stronger and stronger as the song unfolded. The familiar smirk was soon back on his face. It was proof enough that his clothes were only window dressing. Black T-shirt, Armani suit, shirtless, it didn't take long before the real Spike seeped through, in all his vampire glory.

"I need you tonight, 'cause I'm not sleeping," he crooned to the women in the front row. "There's something about you girl, that makes me sweat." Spike had always thought Michael Hutchence would've made a great vampire.

The women started to push and elbow each other as they jostled for position in front of him. They all wanted to be the girl that makes Spike sweat. He looked at their faces as he sang. They were eating out of his hand. Spike felt thoroughly hammered, even though he'd only had the one drink. He was so far out of his element he wasn't even on the Periodic Table anymore.

Before he knew it, the song was ending. He sang the last lines softly. Seductively. "Your moves are so raw. I've got to let you know. I've got to let you know. You're one of my kind."

They went wild. They screamed for more, but Spike's career as a karaoke singer was over. He tossed the DJ the microphone, stood at the edge of the platform, spread his arms, and dropped into the mosh pit. They caught him gladly, mobbing him, their hands roaming over him like they owned him.

Buffy stood, frozen, a few feet away and watched. She barely felt it as the crowd buffeted against her. She was transfixed at the sight of Spike as they turned him onto his back, his arm flung over his eyes, his excitement obvious as they touched him.

It took everything she had to stop herself from joining them. Buffy took a shaky step backwards. That was enough; it freed her, and she turned and bolted.

When they finally got Spike on his feet, he didn't even notice that Buffy had left.