Buffy pulled herself to her feet. "Hey, the spell's broken. Ding dong, the witch is dead." She began the thankless job of attempting to brush all the ash off. Spike's hand reached out like he was going to help her do it, then fell back by his side.

After giving herself a good frisking, Buffy examined her results: she was hot again, but she had definitely bought this poor dress. Her eyes stayed on her body long after she'd figured this out. Anything to keep from looking at him. Somehow, the I'm sorry Buffy had so desperately wanted to say now got stuck in her throat, quite possibly jammed behind thank you.

Spike stepped away from her. That made her eyes snap back up. "Where are you going?" Did she sound as frightened to him as she did to herself?

"I'm getting my jacket."

She went with him, the entire 25 feet. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight again. She watched him as he draped the jacket over his arm. "So..." he said. It sounded a lot like good-bye. "I guess you'd better find that car."

He held the car keys out for her to take. She didn't move. "Maybe...if you don't mind looking with me...if you don't have plans for the rest of the night...if there's not a video and a hot mug of pig's blood waiting for you back at the crypt..." She wrestled her tongue into submission. Stupid tongue.

Spike looked out over the parking lot. Eight rows, maybe fifty-five cars per row. That was...carry the four...four hundred and forty cars, give or take. And this wasn't even the main lot. His shoulders slumped. Although, Buffy anxious and attentive as a Jack Russell terrier was new. It was a good thing for her there was nothing on at this time of night but paid programming.

He started without her, giving her a jerk of his head as he went past her. Buffy's heart did the Snoopy dance as she scrambled to match his stride. Even the blisters on the backs of her heels couldn't dampen her enthusiasm. Much.

He pointed the car remote at the first row of Audis and Beemers, pushing the lock button every few seconds as they went. He himself had come on his motorcycle, thank you very much. He had a whole lot of nothing to say to Buffy.

"Glad you had that whole gay skank thing working for you," she finally offered.

"I found out where the book was, didn't I?"

"That's true. You just really put your back into it when you kissed him. I'm just saying."

"Yeah, well, he was prettier than you."

"Mmm. How'd he kiss?"

"He knew what he was doing."

"I figured."

He pushed the button a dozen more times, maybe a little more aggressively than was absolutely necessary.

"Yup, you're just giving it away to anyone who asks tonight," she added helpfully.

He stopped. "One more word."

She said less than one more word. He pushed the button 52 more times. On lucky 53, a car horn beeped a greeting from the middle of the herd of cars beside them. Spike glanced at her, relief and something else crossing his features. But mostly relief. Almost done.

A strange fever made its way from Buffy's cheeks to between her legs. Suddenly, her need pulsed through her with an aching purity. She was an addict. And here was her chance to get one more fix. Just one more hit, then back on the wagon for good. Just one more.

They followed the honks. Please let it be a sedan. Sedan, sedan, sedan, she prayed fervently to the god of parking lot sex.

It was a Volkswagen Passat, reflex silver, a dealer plate hanging precariously from the trunk hatch. Four doors. Her adrenaline ran like wine.

He unlocked the back door and held it open for her. "There you go."

Buffy peeked in and grinned. There was all sorts of room in there – you could hold a Democratic convention in the back of this car! She got in and proceeded to crawl across the seat on her hands and knees. "Now where is that book?" she asked.

He didn't know it was rhetorical. "Right there." He ducked his head down, and came face to face with her ass. Her dress was so short that he could see all of her secrets. She was wearing virginal white boy's cut panties above the leather boots. His mouth went dry.

She rolled onto her back and looked at him. "Was he really prettier than me?"

He gaped at her. Her lips and knees were both open amidst all that black hair. "No," he said at last.

She was trying to seduce him! She kept him on his toes, he gave her that. Spike leaned heavily against the car – the pheromones washing off of her were wreaking havoc with his center of gravity.

"Here's the thing," said Buffy.

Spike groaned. Not the thing. Please, spare us from the thing.

"I've got a favor to ask you. I'm having a little trouble getting over our breakup. I thought I was doing okay, until tonight. And I was hoping that you could...that we could..." Easier thought than said.

"What are you saying? That you want to get back together?"

Buffy fingered a seam on the back of the seat. "No-o," she said, "I think it's best for both of us in the long run if we're just...not even friends."

"The long run. Huh. But now's not part of that run, I'm guessing?"

"You're the one who wore a suit! How can you expect me to resist that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "So if I take off the suit, then you'll be able to resist me?"

If she wasn't coming on to him, she surely would be slamming his head in the car door. "I need a little transitional help is all. You could be like the patch."

"Just where do you think the patch goes, Buffy? Anyway, I thought you were trying to quit me cold turkey."

"I can't do it. I just need you in a smaller dose. Just – just for a few hours. Just for tonight."

"What, are you still feeling the rush from your near-death experience, and you're hoping for a little life-affirming action, is that it? And here I am, the first available lay?"

You make it sound so...bad," she said lamely.

"Imagine that."

"You're wrong. I don't want you because you're convenient. I want you because you're you. I don't want anybody else. Only you. I need you."

"For between two to three hours."

She changed tack. "Really, if you think about it, it's like it's not even us in this car. You in that suit, me in my..."

"Cher costume?"

"...my come and get it dress. We might as well be two different people in here."

She continued with her little justify-a-thon, but Spike had stopped listening. The way he saw it, he had a couple of choices to make here. And even though he tried to find a happy outcome to this, every avenue his mind explored was littered with broken glass.

This was just so typical. She had used him, and tossed him away, and now she wanted one last piece of him, for old time's sake. He was whipped, he knew, and it wasn't like this is how he wanted to be. But it came down to this in the end: the scraps she threw him, these humiliating bits of attention she tossed his way, were indescribably preferable to how it had been when Buffy was dead. That put everything else into perspective.

And look, here she was now. An arm's length away. Working hard to coax him under that dress. Fucking fuck, anyway.

She had stopped talking.

"Okay, this obviously isn't working. Throw me a bone here, would you? What could I say that might make you want to stay?"

He threw her a pissed-off glare. "Now you want me to give you pointers on how to get your own way, as always?"

"Well...shyeah."

Spike sank into the seat next to her, defeated in the wake of her intractable sense of entitlement. He looked at his hands. "If I really loved you, I'd do it because you want it."

"Good! That's a good one! Anything else?"

"And this might be the last chance I'll have to touch you." He closed his eyes.

"Right! Yes!" She was very pleased with his suggestions. "So will you stay?"

"No."

All the air rushed out of her. "What? Why?"

"Because you'll change your mind."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. The second I lay a hand on you, you'll be bleating for me to stop."

"No, I won't. I won't."

"Yes, you – oh, for Christ's sake!" He ground the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

"It doesn't..."

"Shut up! I wasn't supposed to stay here, you know! I just came to Sunnydale for a quick crash and burn – kill the Slayer, terrorize the locals. Little did I know what a bloody black hole you'd turn out to be for me. God, I should've just let your mum carve my head open with that axe at the school. It would've been kinder than what you've put me through."

He turned on her. "You want us to be different people tonight? How's this for different? For once I'm going to reattach my balls and walk away from you, Buffy. Can I assume I'll still find them at the bottom of your purse?" He pulled himself out of the car.

"One last chance, Spike!" Buffy called after him, her voice breathless with raw terror. "One last chance to touch me!"

Spike stopped. He stood there, a hand on the edge of the open door, listening to her heart go thumpity-thump in double time. He was looking at the stars again. Finally, when Buffy was absolutely sure he was going to walk away, Spike got in the car and shut the door.

The interior light blinked off, and the dark settled in. Buffy sat stock still, dry-mouthed and wide-eyed. And waited.

But he didn't move. He sat staring out the window. Buffy lasted through almost a minute of this. "So are you...?" she said, hoping he'd finish the sentence for her.

He didn't reply.

"Please say something." Buffy had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time she'd be saying please to Spike tonight.

Spike ignored her. He set his jacket at his feet. Then he silently unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves, three neat folds per sleeve. He didn't even bother to look at her.

"What are you...? Is that really necessary?" Because somebody had to say something.

Spike's hands moved to his throat. He undid his tie and pulled it smoothly off his neck, hand over hand. It looked black in the darkness. He yanked the tie between his fists, testing for strength. Fear and lust competed for space on Buffy's face as she watched him do it.

He turned to her, then paused. One last chance to back out, Buffy. She was a statue. So Spike leaned over, brought her trembling wrists together, and expertly knotted the tie around them. He pushed her arms above her head, looped the other end of the tie through the grab bar above the door, and secured it there as Buffy squirmed invitingly underneath him.

He sat back and admired his work. "Change your mind now," he said, and smiled.