Last night was the first time he made love to her. It was undeniably differernt and felt so much better than all the other times they shagged. He hoped that she wouldn't run off this morning, that maybe she felt it too. Maybe last night gave her a new outlook on him, on them.
It seemed a part of William was returning to Spike, that was the only reasonable explanation for it. Why else would such a girl make him feel so alive again? Except Buffy was not just a normal girl, she was the Slayer. The one thing in all the world he was taught to be afraid of. And not only that but she was exquisite. A perfectly beautiful piece of art molded into flesh and blood.
His desire to hold her was immense. Even though they were inches apart he wanted to feel her skin up against his. He carefully lowered his arm to her side, pulling her against him. Buffy laid there quietly in his arms, not moving a muscle. He still couldn't feel her though, couldn't smell the fresh vanilla scent of her hair.
Spike ran his fingers along her stomach searching for her belly button. She was so soft and . . . fluffy?
He opened his eyes to the blinding light of the sun through the windows. He jumped like a cat whose tale just got pulled and rolled off the bed to the floor, hitting his head on the nightstand. He pulled the comforter off the bed with him to shield him from the sunlight, still confused to when he got windows installed in his crypt. The bump on his head hurt like hell as he covered the spot with his hand.
Spike found himself in a very different situation. His mouth was dry and in need of water (of all things). He could still hear the heartbeat all around him even though Buffy turned out to be a sodding pillow. It was getting faster as it pounded into him. Spike's eyes widened as he felt he was suffocating under the comforter. He started to breathe, realizing that he needed to. It finally hit him that the mystery heatbeat was in fact his.
"Bloody Hell!"
The sun had risen only less than an hour ago as Tara walked down the street. There was still a crisp coolness to the air even with the low sun breaking through the clouds. She was on her way to the Magick Shop for some kind of aromatherapy candle to help soothe Buffy's mind as she worked through these tough times.
The information Buffy shared a couple of days ago was really intense. Tara felt so many things toward this new side of Buffy - sympathy, empathy but most of all guilt. Guilt because in some way Tara felt she pushed Buffy into her current situation. That by helping Willow do the spell to bring her back she too was accountable. She knew the risks, of Buffy coming back wrong, and yet she overlooked them. But too much of her time was spent thinking about the past. It was time to push forward and work through things, like she was doing with Willow.
She checked her watch, only 7:08. The shop didn't open until 8 but Anya was always there early. She liked to double check everything she checked the night before, just to make sure nothing was out of its place. Anya was a really hard worker given she is an ex-vengence demon, even if she was a little outlandish.
When Tara reached the door she noticed the lights were still out. She tried peering in the window to see if Anya was in before going to the door. Surprisingly it was unlocked. She caustiously entered the shop knowing that Anya never left the door unlocked if she wasn't in and that any thing remotlely unexpected could happen here on the Hellmouth.
"Anya?" she called out.
As Tara walked down the stairs she noticed all sorts of ingredients and candles lining the floor. It was evident by the smell that something was burnt last night. Pushed off into the corner was the table and chairs with Anya sitting with her back to the door.
"Anya?" Tara tried again. She gave no response and that's when Tara noticed how slumped she looked and a heavy white substance shattered on the floor. "Oh no."
Touching his hair and feeling all over his body Spike knew something was wrong. After a minute of sitting on the floor underneath the comforter he realized he wasn't in his crypt. But he wasn't sure he was in Buffy's house either. The only thought he could conclude to of why he was wearing these awful green pajamas was that Buffy had gotten him seriously drunk (which is very hard to do) and played dress up.
Using the comforter as a shield against the sun, he carefully crawled away from the bed and into what seemed like the living room. Spike slowly looked around eyeing the lavish windows across the back wall. He spotted the bathroom across the way and quickly crawled toward it. He could only imagine what an onlooker would be thinking at that moment.
If it really was his heart that was beating and his lungs that were working, then he should have a real reflection. The last time Spike ever saw what he looked like was in the early 1900's when him and Dru went to France and got their pictures drawn by an artist. They turned out to be quite tasteful, but then so was the artist.
When he finally got to the bathroom he closed the door and lost the blanket. No window, no sunshine which ment no dusting, he thought. Unless being human ment there was no chance of that . . . but Spike wasn't going to take the time to test that out. He stood up and went to the mirror, both anxious and excited.
He only saw himself for three seconds before he jolted back, spooked out of his wits and accidently landed in the bathtub seated across from the mirror.
Standing up and finally realizing why he was in these funny pajamas and was all of a sudden human, Spike looked at himself once more in the mirror.
"I'm the bloody whelp!" he cried.
It took him at least ten to fifteen minutes to calm down. When he found out who or what did this to him, he would surely rip out its throat. Or at least try to. This was the worst punishment he had ever been given. But Spike had come to a plan. He would get dressed in Xander's clothing, something that wasn't too poncy, clean up and go straight to Buffy's to figure this out.
Before he left the bathroom he had to check one thing out. Man to man. Totally natural. He undid the pajama bottoms and surveyed the equipment.
"Ay, not bad."