Part One: Venus.

Spike had made many mistakes in his unlife. First and foremost in his mind were the many times he'd gone up against the Slayer with absolutely no plan and had gotten his arse royally kicked. He tended to gloss over those times quickly though, not actually wanting to remember those in too much detail, and remembered the little things.

Like the one time he'd died his hair purple, and had been laughed at for a week straight before he'd given up and bleached it out again. Like getting into fights with Angelus over Dru- because God knows that ever got him anywhere. All the times he'd gotten so drunk he'd barely made it to shelter before the sun rose.

You know, little things.

This time, however, it wasn't his fault. He was bloody sure of that much, at least. It was Buffy's fault, was what it was, and he wished for the thousandth time that he wasn't so damned wrapped around her littlest finger the way he was, because if he'd never fallen for her, he wouldn't currently be standing in the middle of the Magic Box, wearing ill-fitting clothes and trying to pretend that the whole bloody Scooby gang wasn't staring at him and trying not to burst into laughter over the fact that he was now a soddin' girl.

It happened like this:

He and the Slayer had been out on patrol, making sweeps through the cemetery. Not talking, just walking side by side, all comfortable-like. Sure, Spike wished that she would love him the way that he loved her, but since she'd made it bloody clear that he was never gonna get that wish, he was happy to just spend time with her, fighting by her side instead of getting punched in the nose. She seemed to be happy just to have someone to be with where she didn't have to pretend that everything was fine and that she'd been pulled out of some terrible Hell dimension instead of the peace of Heaven. He couldn't help but notice that she gravitated more and more towards his side these days, and even though he knew it was just because she didn't have to lie when she was with him, it made him happy anyway.

So he was patrolling with Buffy, not really expecting to find anything since the cemetery had been really damned quiet the whole night, when they ran into the demon. Normally this would have just been a nice bit of sport, a way to maybe work off a little steam, but this demon was different. Spike recognized the bugger at once, and made sure to grab Buffy and haul ass out of there before it could pound on them anymore than it already had.

When he deemed that they were far enough away to be safe, he gave in to the increasingly painful jerks on his arm and slowed to a stop. It took him a minute, but she finally stopped yelling at him for running away long enough to explain that it was a Garbresh demon, extremely powerful and unkillable except with magic. Which meant that they were lucky to escape with just bruises, and that it was time to go find Willow.

So she went to the Magic Box to explain to Giles what the hell happened, and sent Spike off to Revello Street, where the witches were having their big night in. Seems shy little Tara had gotten a bit pissy recently, on account of Willow using her magic more than she should, or somesuch, and Red had gotten everyone out of the house for the night so that she could stage some big seduction scene to jolly the Good Witch of the West out of her bad mood.

And Spike was sorry to interrupt her- well, not that sorry- but there was a deadly demon rampaging around Sunnydale, and he thought that he needed her skills a bit more than Glenda's girly bits did. So he tested the door, found it unlocked for some ungodly reason, and rushed right in.

This was a mistake. He admitted that he probably should have knocked or something, but how was he to know that little Willow would be doin' the down 'n dirty right there on the living room couch? And how was he to know that she would react to his sudden entrance with a completely instinctive blast of magic?

Of course, considering what she was doing when she was interrupted, her magic was rather focused on sex. Or at least girls. Which was probably why things happened like they happened.

But it wasn't his fault, damn it all to soddin' hell. Sure, he'd made a little mistake in barging in without knockin' or anything, but if the fault lay with anyone, it lay with Red and her soddin' spell blast. And maybe a bit of Buffy's fault for sending him there in the first place.

Either way, it had the same result. He was getting' punished for being the good guy, again. He was getting really tired of that.

Red went off to deal with the demon, while Tara went rummaging through closets to get him some of Willow's castoffs. The jeans fit fine, but even her loosest t-shirt strained over his newly bountiful chest, so Tara found one of her flowy wrap thingies and draped it over him. He grabbed a pair of Dawn's sneakers- knew the Niblet wouldn't mind- and made for the Magic Box, Tara trailing not that far behind, still trying to tell him that things were gonna be fine, and Willow'd get him fixed in no time, and had she mentioned that things were gonna be fine?

All of which led to this, his newest humiliation in a life that had become nothing but humiliations. He stood there, crossed his arms over his chest, tried not to wince at the new flesh there, and glared back at all of the damned Scoobies who looked like they were about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion if they kept choking back their laughter like that.

All except Xander, Spike noticed with interest. Xander wasn't laughing. He was just standing there and staring, his mouth a little agape.

He wasn't laughing at all.