"I'll be two minutes, you guys," Willow says as she walks quickly towards the Magic Box.

"The movie starts in fifteen!" Dawn yells after Willow.

"TWO MINUTES!" Willow calls back over her shoulder as she opens the door, setting the bell above tinkling, "Get me a large popcorn!"

A soft candle-scented silence greets her as the door swings closed, but she doesn't have time to savor it like she usually does.

Better stock up on the Valerian. Might need to make it a double for tonight…

The shop is all but empty, no witnesses to her pilfering save for the hundred or so dried eyeballs in jars that watch her as she darts behind the cash register, fingers tracing over the labels of the pricier herbs. She pulls the right bottle out just as Anya resurfaces from the stockroom, clipboard in hand, with a weary-looking Giles in tow.

"Giles!" Anya protests exasperatedly. "She's doing it again! She's stealing!"

Giles glances up from the open book in his hand, a thumb marking the page as he closes it.

"Anya, you know Willow's magic is for the benefit of all of us. If she needs supplies she's welcome to them," Giles mumbles as Willow sticks her tongue out at Anya, shaking several clumpy white flowers into a paper bag.

"What exactly are you using that much Valerian for, Willow?" He enquires with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a sleep charm," Willow says, twisting the bag shut under Anya withering glare. "A sleep charm for Buffy. A Buffy sleep charm so she can be well rested and fight off evil, so there."

Anya narrows her eyes further. "Well, as long as you aren't mixing it with Linden root. It's expensive." She sniffs pointedly.

"Yes, not to mention that'd make a rather disastrous sleep charm," Giles mutters amusedly, hunched over the large accounts book by the cash register as he draws out a calculator from underneath the desk.

"No, of course I'm not- wait-,'' Willow begins to protest before her eyebrows furrow. She cuts her and Anya's furious dueling battle of glares short. "Why would that make a bad sleep charm? Just… out of curiosity?"

Giles doesn't look up from the book, tapping away on the calculator as he makes notes in the margin.

"Well, it's an anesthetic," he says almost absentmindedly. "Originally used for surgeries during the Dark Ages. Though 'surgeries' is maybe giving more credit where credit is due. Not something you'd use for restful sleep, and certainly not something you'd want to inflict on anyone still processing trauma on such a scale as Buffy is dealing with."

"R-right," Willow says, her heart turning icy with the sinking feeling of a job badly done and not yet caught. "Because… because-"

"Because if she has bad dreams she'd get trapped in them," Anya finishes bluntly, picking her clipboard back up with a scowl and turning on her heel.

Willow very carefully doesn't even blink.

Oh… Oh God…

She lowers the Valerian into her shoulder bag. "Right. Obviously."

Buffy didn't tell me…

She didn't tell me she got stuck in a dream. She would've told me if that happened, right?

And she definitely shouldn't have woken up from it earlier…

She bolts before her face gives her away. The bell tinkles above her as she leaves the store, a cold sweat dampening the skin of her neck like she's been caught in a lie.

It won't matter. Even if she got stuck in a dream and it was a bad one it won't matter after tonight because she won't remember it.

It'll be a blank slate. Happy healthy Buffy, that's the goal.

And yet the thought that Buffy woke up at all bothers her. If she's doing the spell wrong she needs to know now… if it's not working…

Crap if it's not working…

Maybe Buffy still has the one she used under her pillow- if I could just take a look at it maybe I could figure out why it didn't last as long as it should.

She comes to the T junction. One way heading to the cinema, one to Revello Drive.

She turns left.

I just need to check. I'll be in and out.

I can miss the trailers.

A blazing orange sunset scorches the skies as Willow all but jogs back to the house. She trips up the steps taking some deep breaths, rehearsing her excuse in her head, just forgot my keys or something no big deal oh hey Buffy can I borrow that sleep charm back-

The front door is locked.

She tries it again and swears. Did Buffy leave early for patrol?

Crap. Tara has my keys-

Ok, it's ok, this is good. Buffy isn't in and I can use the hide-a-key for the kitchen.

Fine.

Good.

She heads to the back of the house, searching near the back porch for the little fake rock that holds the back door key.

Something pale catches her eye as she sweeps aside a bush. There, tucked under the branches underneath Buffy's window, are the two pouches Willow made for her. Last night's and this morning's charms. Stained with dirt as if they'd sat there all day.

Oh…

Willow blinks, more than a little hurt.

She's not using them…

The thought momentarily brings relief that her error didn't cause any damage.

Crap but what am I going to do tonight? I need her knocked out…

She wants to head inside and dig out her books but the minute hand of her watch is ticking away angrily and she can practically feel Tara's suspicion from the other side of town.

It can wait. It can, it can. I'll fix it tonight. It's fine.

It's fine, it's fine, it's fine.

"Alright, you dragged me out here Slayer. What's the plan?" Spike asks as Buffy trips along beside him on the sidewalk.

She'd grabbed clothes in a flurry and got dressed in the bathroom, tearing out of the bedroom so fast she was just a blur after their… their…

Not a kiss.

He was about to take his leave then, seeing as the sun was getting low enough, feeling not just a little abandoned all over again, alone in her room. He'd just finished pulling his boots on when she'd busted back in fully clothed, throwing on a jacket from her closet, and dragged him blinking after her.

He suspected the whirlwind of sudden energy was just an attempt to put distance between them and that near-kiss, that dark red moment. Whatever smoke is still hanging over them is making him feel floaty and detached enough that he doesn't even care if that's what she's doing.

That old smug part of him is managing to resurface a little now that the lovely smokey happy fog has eased away some of his overthinking.

Let her spiral out. He'll be right there next to her. If she's feeling as buzzed as he is, it's all for the better…

Spike takes a deep lungful of sweet, autumny air, picking Buffy notes out of the breeze. Savoring the memory of the way her eyelashes had dipped for just a heartbeat to stare at his mouth, her lips parted slightly for him.

Bloody Dawn…

He blinks suddenly when he realizes she's answering his question.

"I heard a rumor from Xander the other night and I wanna check it out," Buffy says, pounding the sidewalk, gold hair swinging at her back.

A rumor huh? He grins, thoughts of chasing the grapevine almost getting his attention away from the sight of her hair bouncing over her shoulders. Almost. Shit, that's distracting.

"Vamp nest kind of rumor?" he asks when his mind finally stops pondering what specific activities could make Buffy's hair bounce just a bit harder.

"Nope." Buffy turns back to smile at him and his gut clenches.

"Am I gonna get a clue?" He stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, fingers thumbing over his Zippo lighter. He needs something to do with his hands that isn't grabbing her by the hips and dragging her to him. He feels tipsy. Not quite drunk, just a little detached, and maybe that's the best place to be right now. Their normal verbal sparring doesn't feel so out of reach as it has since she's been back.

"Definitely not," Buffy says as they round the corner of Main Street. "What kind of scavenger hunt would that be?"

"Oh, it's a scavenger hunt now, is it?" Spike smirks. "My, aren't we hitting all the schoolgirl sleepover activities."

"Shut up," Buffy mumbles absentmindedly as they turn down another road. "They're not sleepovers, there's no…" she gestures vaguely. "You know, movie-watching, pizza-eating, truth-or-dareness." She ends lamely and he chuckles as her eyebrows furrow, clearly aggravated by her own Buffy-babble.

"Like you'd play truth or dare with me, pet. You're waaay too chicken for that." His grin broadens as she suddenly swings around to face him, forcing him to halt hard or barrel straight into her.

"Am not. Take it back!" She glares at him and Spike can't help noticing how wide her pupils are. She's past buzzed and comfortably settled in 'giddy'.

"Shan't." He leers as she closes the distance. Uh god, yes, feel like myself again… she must be feeling it too, she looks so… so…

Pissed off. His brain supplies merrily.

"Take. It. Back." She demands, eyes dancing. He feels like his face might split in half from how wide his grin has stretched.

This is what I missed. Oh yeah, this is what I missed. Feeling all full of it while she puts me in my place. Wonder if I can get her to hit me…

I bet it'd make her feel good to hit me.

"Prove. Me. Wrong." He counters, raising onto the tips of his boots to tower over her just a little, tucking his tongue behind his teeth as she pulls her head back from his.

Buffy's eyes narrow, her lips pinch tight and he thinks for a minute she might actually deck him when she lets go a derisive snort.

"Fine. But scavenger hunt first."

He nearly trips as she takes him by the wrist and hauls him after her. The feel of her hand holding him so firmly, so naturally, makes his already fuzzy mind feel like it'll float all the way out into the ether. She drags him down an alleyway and he realizes belatedly they're heading to the Bronze.

Thank God I could do with a drink-

"AH HAH!" Buffy shouts in triumph as she darts off to stand in front of a sandwich board next to the Bronze's entrance. Spike makes a show of straightening his jacket.

"Go on then, Slayer, what's so bleeding extraordinary you felt the need to manhandle me-" he cuts himself short as she steps aside with a flourish.

"BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND," shouts the sandwich board in poorly written chalk scrawl. "THE FLOWERING ONION!"

"Bloody hell!-" he crows as Buffy drags him inside.

"Christ." Spike snickers as a huge sharing platter of spicy wings arrives at their table, tucked in as they are under the stairs to the balcony. The waitress lowers it in front of Buffy accompanied by two flowering onions and a side order of fries. "Think the first truth needs to be: do you honestly think you can eat all that?"

Buffy glowers across at him as she pulls the platter towards her. "I think the first dare needs to be: shut up."

"And if I forfeit that dare?" He asks with a smirk, peeling apart his own rose-carved onion.

"You have to answer a 'truth'. Haven't you played this before?" She replies around a mouthful of fries.

"I don't get invited to a lot of sleepovers, darlin'."

"Gee, I wonder why that could be?" Buffy picks up a chicken wing and takes a delicate bite, careful not to get smeared with sauce. "Who goes first?"

"I think age before beauty." Spike leers, peeling another petal off his onion.

"Pfft-" Buffy snorts but motions him to start with a roll of her wrist.

"Dare the first," Spike says, prodding the plastic cup next to Buffy's plate. "Order a proper drink."

"Wha- it's beer! It's not lemonade!"

Spike's teeth flash in a wicked smile. "Bowing out so soon?" He pops another onion piece on his tongue as her cheeks ignite.

"No! I- ugh!" Buffy slips off the stool with a huff. "What am I ordering?"

He fishes out some bills from his pocket and she takes them with an indignant snatch. "Two whiskeys please, luv." Spike smiles angelically as her eyes narrow.

He watches her go, tracking her path towards the bar. Her spine seems just a mite straighter. Less hunched over like a scared animal waiting for the kick.

I want her back like that. He thinks, bouncing his leg nervously, knowing that whatever happy little void they're existing in right now could dissolve without warning. Gotta make the most of it. Cover as much ground as possible so when all this wears off… God I don't want it to wear off… Wish I could just snap my fingers and make all her misery vanish…

Buffy returns, depositing two glasses of honey-colored alcohol on the table.

Spike picks his glass up and raises it to her to toast. She crosses her arms, refusing to pick up hers. "You said order. Not drink."

"Bwaaaark bwok-bwok-bwok," Spike mocks until she picks up her glass angrily, clinks his, and downs the slug of whiskey.

"Ohmygod-" She sputters, her eyes streaming as he sips his with a grin. Her face tries to turn itself inside out from the alcoholic burn ripping her throat in half.

Spike slides her beer across towards her with the tips of his fingers and she takes a grateful swig of it.

"Ugh," She mutters. "My turn." When her eyes stop watering Buffy takes in Spike's smirk, the jut of his chin, and his puffed-out posture. The slightly raised eyebrows an unspoken challenge. There's not a lot she could dare him to do that he would really object to and he knows it.

Hummmm. She picks up another chicken wing, missing the smile it causes Spike to see her eating.

She scans the patrons of the Bronze as she chews, casting a gaze over college boys playing pool, a crowd bustling near the stage where the band is playing, and a group of girls chatting underneath the stairs over Spike's shoulder.

Her eyes light on a goth with a choppy bob haircut and piercings decorating her face. Smokey kohled eyes watch the band play with bored nonchalance as she sips languidly on a gin and tonic.

Buffy indicates her with a nod of her head. "I dare you to get a kiss from her."

She smirks as his look of smug overconfidence falters.

Spike turns on his stool, appraising the group of girls with an indecipherable expression.

"Which one?" he asks.

Buffy blinks. She'd been expecting him to beg off for a truth instead.

Why had I expected that? It's not like we're on… uh…. I-

"Mean-Girl-Wednesday-Addams," she says, cutting off her own internal babbling and taking another wing from the platter.

Spike snorts as he hops off his seat and makes his way across.

Buffy tries not to stare, but can't help take in his lilting swagger as he crosses the floor to his target. He gets Wednesday's attention with a soft brush of the backs of his fingers over the girl's arm and as she turns, he leans in to whisper something in her ear. Buffy's stomach clenches as Wednesday giggles, the sound practically feeling like it's aimed at her.

He won't-

Wednesday's head turns to meet him and Buffy can't look away as Spike meets her lips with his own, mouth moving slow and sensually as he holds her gently by the waist.

Damn, that was easy, she thinks, squirming a little at how annoyed that makes her. It's just a stupid game…

Her cheeks flush as Spike widens the kiss. His hand cups her face tenderly and Buffy can practically feel Wednesday's sigh in her own throat, her mouth running suddenly dry as Wednesday's arm drapes over his shoulders.

She manages to look away just as he breaks off, desperately willing her cheeks to cool down before he comes back to the table.

"Bleh, lipgloss," Spike says, taking a napkin and wiping his mouth with it. He grabs a chicken wing from the platter and leans back against the wall. "Satisfied?"

Buffy rolls her eyes. "What did you say to her?" She asks, a hard knot in her stomach forming at the thought that he'll gloat about it, yet still wanting to know.

"Ah ah, you don't get a truth after a dare," Spike chides as Buffy bites the inside of her cheek. "And it's my turn."

He doesn't spend long searching around before he points over towards one of the low tables near the front, inhabited by two women locked around each other, kissing so deeply they're clearly oblivious to anything going on around them.

"Steal me that cocktail umbrella," he says, pointing to one of the drinks on their table as Buffy turns to look.

"That's stupid," she huffs, a mean burn still scorching her face.

"Are you going to bitch and moan about every damn dare?" He laughs, delighting more than a little over her sulking. "It's a piss easy one, off you go."

Buffy pinches her lips shut but walks off over to the table. At first, she edges closer cautiously, but when it's obvious the two women aren't the least bit aware of her, she brazenly stands in front of the table. Spike can't help a chuckle as she waves her arms in front of them like she's been turned invisible before she snatches the umbrella out of the glass and marches back.

"Thaaaank you," he drawls as she hands it over, tucking it behind his ear. "Make your next one count, Slayer. I don't think I'm going to keep playing nice anymore."

"I think I'm going to switch to truths then," Buffy mutters, not being able to think of any dares that could possibly make Spike less smug than he already is. "Tell me the worst thing you ever did-" he opens his mouth to protest and she cuts him off- "as a human." His mouth shuts and she's more than a little certain she's got the upper hand here. "Go on then Mr-What-Can-I-Tell-You-Baby-I've-Always-Been-Bad," she mimics in a lower register.

Spike's nostrils flare.

"Dare instead," he begs.

"Nope," Buffy says, popping the 'p' with a grin. Spike feels his insides squirm, internally dreading having to think about the answer, but his heart is pleading with him to do whatever it takes to keep that maniacal look on her face. Who cares about the humiliation?

"Bwaaark. Bwok bwok bwaaark," Buffy chicken calls at his hesitation as his eyes roll back into his head.

Sod it. He sighs. Already a fool for her, might as well be jester too.

"Lord Campbell's daughter," he mutters between gritted teeth.

Buffy raises an eyebrow.

"What dyou do, not telegram her in the morning?"

He tries not to crack a tooth as his jaw sets hard.

"Spilled merlot all over her. During her debutante ball." Even decades and decades away from that evening, he can still feel the shame of it crawling up his back with hot prickling licks. Buffy bites her lip to stop a snort from escaping, and the sight of it sets the prickles into a burn.

"That's with the-"

"White dresses and sashes and endless parading, yeah." He groans, slipping down in his seat as he wraps the collar of his jacket over his head. "Completely drenched her. Tits to fucking thighs. My old man didn't speak to me for a week."

Buffy's shoulders shake, then her whole frame until she's laughing so hard she's struggling to get air in. Spike doesn't join in, pretends to sulk further, which only deepens her mirth, but his collar is hiding his own grin.

"You're gonna pay for that one," he says as he slumps off his stool. "I need another drink. Same again?"

"Sure." Buffy chuckles as he bares his teeth at her with a growl, wiping tears from her eyes.

He keeps his affected scowl in place until his back is to her, unable to stop the grin spreading up his face any longer.

Worth it.