When does the end appear?
When do the trumpets cheer?
The curtains close on a kiss not known,
We can tell the end is near.
Where do we go from here?

I touch the fire and it freezes me.
I look into it and it's black.
This isn't real but I just wanna feel...

I died so many years ago
You can make me feel...

Where do we go from here?

He was hoping on the third option: that she would step back towards him, touch him, kiss him again. Even if the second kiss wasn't as good as the first...hell, if it was only half as good as the first, he'd still rate it a "terrific".

He took a deep, strangely needed breath. "Buffy-"

***

Her thoughts had taken a vacation from Logic City. The Kiss. The Kiss. God, yes, it was worth the upper-case K that she *knew* she was putting on it. And suddenly she knew what had been so perfect about it.

It wasn't the fact that it was a good - a marvelous, fantastic - kiss. No. That wasn't it. What it *was*-

She had forgotten.

For those precious moments, she had forgotten. Forgotten the line that separated them as Slayer and vampire. Had forgotten her despair at having to live. She had forgotten heaven -

- Because she had found something new to call by that name.

In those moments, as they kissed, they hadn't even been 'Spike' and 'Buffy' anymore. Simply a man and a woman, kissing as if it was the only thing keeping them alive -

"Buffy-" he said.

A man and a woman, in -

"Spike," she breathed, and kissed him again.

***

If possible, the second kiss topped the first exponentially.

When they parted, neither stepped back. Instead, they remained together, lips and eyes only inches away from each other. He watched her again, fixing her eyes with his, trying to convey everything at once with them. Surely now it was going to end, and poorly-

After all these years, he still had not squashed William's timid voice. But before he could think further on it, a different voice, once he now knew almost as well as his own, interrupted his thoughts.

***

"Spike," she whispered. "I-we-" She paused, swallowed, breathed again. "When you kissed me-" She breathed again, and this time a smile began to form on her face:

"When you kissed me, you made me want to live again."

A man and a woman, in -

*love?*

***

He tried to breathe, and suddenly realized he couldn't.

//"-You made me want to live again."//

"Oh, God, Buffy," he said, lightly brushing a strand of hair off her face with his hand. This time he took the initiative and kissed her.

Was this the way it was? Could this be real? The third was the best yet.

"Buffy-

She broke away suddenly, stared-

And ran.

Spike closed his eyes and sighed. "Shit."

She looked up as Willow came down the stairs. "Dawn's a little freaked out by the whole demon child-bride thing, and because Buffy's still not home, but she's okay. She's sleeping, finally," Willow told her cheerfully.

"Good," Tara replied. She sighed. "Willow, we need to talk."

The redhead frowned, finally stepping into the living room. "Now? But it's so late, and I'm sure everything will be-"

"Now," Tara told her. "Sit down. Please."

Willow sat.

"Willow, I know what you did to me." She opened her hand to reveal the flower resting on her palm.

Willow said nothing, but for a moment Tara could see a flash of both fear and anger in her girlfriend's eyes.

She breathed and continued. "I'm worried about you. Giles is worried about you. You're relying too much on magic, and not thinking things through-"

"I am too thinking-"

"No, you're not." Tara almost didn't recognize the steel edge that had entered her own voice. "You get an idea in your head about how magic's going to fix everything, or make things easier, and you shut yourself off from every other possibility. And because we trust you and we know how smart you are, we go along with it. Xander, Anya, me. We trust you. *I* trusted you."

"I think things through. You can still trust me-"

"You thought everything through? Before or after you stole my memories? Before or after you performed that-that mental rape on me? You violated my mind!"

Willow sat silently, mouth open and eyes wide with shock.

"Before or after you ripped Buffy's soul from her proper place in the afterlife, in Heaven?" Tara added softly. "Willow, your spells... I know you mean well, but these things have repercussions that you aren't considering. I'm at the point now that if things don't change, if *you* don't change, I'll have to leave. I still love you, Willow - please don't doubt that. And I don't doubt that you love me. But I'm very close to packing up and leaving you, maybe for good. I'm willing to give you a second chance."

Willow remained silent for another moment. "What do you want me to do to prove to you, to make you stay?"

Tara breathed. "One week," she told Willow. "I want you to go one week without magic. In all the time I've know you, I can't remember you going without magic for more than a few days. I want you to try and look at life, look at *me*, without magic and spells being more important. I want you to see that there are more important, more beautiful things in life than magic."

Willow nodded reluctantly. "What about Slaying?" she asked quietly.

"If magic is need for that, I won't stop you. But I don't want it to be the first solution we try, unless Giles asks us to do something."

Willow exhaled. "Fine. One week."

Spike shuddered. Thank God Angel hadn't been in town. He was afraid to think what the souled vampire would have told the world in song.

Shaking his head, he ordered his drink. A tall, yellowy demon took the seat next to him. "Look, mate, I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation or fighting, so why don't you-"

He was cut off when the demon wrapped one clawed hand around his throat, lifted him off of his stool and threw him to the ground. A chaotic round of laughter sounded all around him. Spike looked up and finally recognized the demon. "Bloody hell."

"No, but that's where you should be, Spike," said the demon. "You haven't lived up to your end of the bargain, 'mate'." He held up a tattered piece of parchment. At the bottom, Spike recognized the old-fashioned scrawl: his own signature.

Spike stood and dusted himself off. "Am, too, living up to the bargain. You hired me to kill some Kliak demons. I'm working on it. They haven't been hanging around the Hellmouth the last couple of days. Hope you didn't sing. That really would have scared them off." He swallowed the shot defiantly.

"Not good enough, Spike."

Spike turned back towards the demon. "Listen, mate, I'll kill your Kliaks soon enough. It'll take a while. But I'm working on it. Vampire's honor and all that rot."

The yellow demon narrowed his eyes at him. "Two days, Spike. Forty-eight hours. Or you won't get paid."

"Okay, I guess." She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I couldn't go home. I couldn't face...her."

"Which 'her' are you refering to?" he asked softly.

She laughed, but her heart wasn't really in it. "Dawn's just been so happy that I'm back. And Willow..." She paused. "Willow had been so certain that she was doing the right thing. And she convinced the others of it, too - Xander, Anya, Tara."

"And Spike?" Giles ventured.

Buffy turned her head to give him a Look. "No, not Spike. He didn't know that they were going to bring me back. God, the look on his face that night... No one's really ever looked at me like that before. And last night - Giles, he saved me. *Spike* saved me." She drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. "Spike saved me."

"He knew," Giles said in an odd tone, as if he had suddenly realized something.

"Yeah," Buffy told him, her eyes fixed on the floor. "He knew. I told him. About having been in heaven. He seem to be the only one..." She trailed off, uncertain as to how she could properly phrase her thoughts.

"He understood?" Giles asked cautiously. At her nod, he continued. "Spike understands a surprising lot. We had several...*interesting* conversations over the summer. Turns out he went to grammar school with a great-great-grandfather of mine. Sometimes I forget that he's my senior by one hundred years. With that age comes a certain kind of wisdom, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not."

"God, last night... I forgot," she said softly, remembering the kiss. "He made me forget..."

He looked at her worriedly. "Buffy? What did Spike do to you?"

She finally looked up at him. "It's more what *I* did to *him*. I kissed him, Giles."

To his credit, Giles spoke calmly when he finally was able to speak again. "I see."

"Twice." Pause. "Technically three times, but I initiated the first two. The third was him."

"Ah." Giles suddenly had the urge to clean his glasses. "Was this in the alley outside the Bronze when you both left so suddenly?"

She stood and began to pace. "You noticed?"

"Do you love him?"

She stopped. "What?"

He watched her from the couch. "Do you love him?"

She hesitated. "No, I don't love him. I...I care for him. I've started liking it when he's around. He...he listens to me. I trust him. He's my best friend, Giles. Do you know how bizarre that is? I don't *love* him, but..."

"But you can see it possibly coming to pass?"

She sat back down. "Yeah. God, kissing him.... I want to blame it on the demon-spell somehow, but something inside me keeps telling me that that's not it. I have never been kissed like that in my life-"

"Buffy, I will listen, but please do not forget that I am not Dawn or Willow. For my sake, skip the 'details' as they say."

Buffy giggled. "Have you ever had a moment where you forgot everything else but that one person?"

He closed his eyes. "Once," he admitted, the memory washing over him. "With Jenny."

"Spike made me forget heaven. Can you imagine that?" she asked. "I forgot who we are, *what* we are. We were simply two people, and not even quite that. More like - oh, God, this is going to be *so* cliched - it was more like two parts of the same trying to join back together. It scared me. It really scared me. I told him that he was making me want to live again, but then we kissed again, and suddenly I was scared. I ran. This was the only place I felt safe, and now I'm here, talking to you."

Giles sighed. "Buffy, you are the closest thing to a daughter that I will ever have. I only want the best for you," he said. "Are you in love with Spike?" he asked again.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Not yet." She leaned into him like a child, and he hugged her close, stroking her hair. So they stayed until the clock chimed nine and Anya found them there as she opened the store.

Oh, she remembered the kiss, remembered how it had felt, remembered what she had told him, remembered what she had felt for him, but things were different now. Or so she told herself.

Buffy didn't like the idea, but she had concluded that it was the only possible way: she would simply stay away from Spike as much as she could.

She would avoid him.

What Buffy did not know was that the moment she had made that decision, Fate, or Circumstance, whichever you believe controls things, had stepped in, shaking her finger at the Slayer as if she were a naughty child, and changed everything.

Confused yet? Don't worry. I'll show you what I mean.

***

An entire day had passed and Buffy finally felt up to a routine patrol.

'Here, vampy vampy vampy,' she thought to herself, deliberately directing her thoughts away from one particular vampire Whose Name Must Not Be Thought Lest He Appear (tm). She managed to find and slay a rising vampire after an hour's walk, and suddenly felt much better. 'See,' she told herself haughtily, 'I staked a vampire. I did my duty. No problem at all. Everything's back to normal.'

"Buffy?"

'Shit,' said one voice in the back of her mind, to which a second voice replied, 'Ooh. Spike. Lips of Spike. Spike lips. Ooh.'

'Shut up! Both of you!' she told the voices, which then giggled at her. 'God. I kiss Spike and suddenly I'm as insane as his last serious girlfriend.'

'Oooh. Girlfriend. Lovely image, that,' said KissSpike!Voice.

'Shut up!' replied Denial!Voice and Real!Buffy in unison.

"Buffy? Are you all right?"

She finally turned around to face Spike. "Um, hi," she said nervously.

He frowned and arched an eyebrow. 'Oooh! Eyebrow arching!' squealed KissSpike!Voice. Buffy ignored her.

He began walking towards her, slowly, as if trying to prove that he wasn't a threat. "Hi," he replied. "Buffy, are you all right? For a moment you..."

'I was doing a cheap imitation of Drusilla?' Denial!Voice quipped.

Spike shrugged, and for a moment Buffy was afraid that she had spoken aloud. He shook off his frown and went for a faint smile. "Buffy, we need to talk."

Her eyes widened and she turned away from him, ready to stomp off. 'Avoid Spike. Yeah, right. As if I could,' Real!Buffy thought. The other two voices agreed silently for various reasons. "No, Spike. There's nothing to talk about. Lovely stars out tonight. Must go slay demons. Good-bye."

She didn't hear him come up behind her, but she definitely felt his hand grasp her shoulder and turn her towards him. "Buffy, we *kissed*. You can't tell me that isn't something we don't need to talk about."

"Spike-" she tried, but the look on his face made her stop.

"Buffy," he began. He sighed and closed his eyes, but when he opened them again there was a kind of resolve glowing in them. "Buffy, I know what kind of a girl you are. I realize that when I...before the chip, and even after, I said some fairly rotten things to you. I was wrong. I know what you are," he told her. "You're the kind of girl who doesn't do things half-cocked, without thinking it through. At least not when it comes to love. And you've never kissed anyone without meaning it."

"Spike, what we did - it's over. I-" she started again, but one of the voices stopped her. 'Shut up! Listen to the man!' it said. She vaguely recognized it as KissSpike!Voice.

He lifted his hand to the side of her face and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. She had a flashback to the Bronze. //So one of us is living.// "It's not over, Buffy," he told her, and she suddenly realized that she couldn't remember the last time he had called her 'Slayer'. It was always 'Buffy' now. "It's just begun. What's happening between us - it's real. It's been real for some time, at least for me. And now it's real for you, too."

"Spike," she whispered, "I-"

She saw it coming. The change in the tilt of his head, the flare in his eyes, how he licked his lips subconsciously --

A blur of green-grey in the corner of her eye --

And suddenly they were on the ground, fallen onto some grave, and Spike screamed.

Giles had never experienced such silence in his life. The children - 'Good God, man, they may be immature at times, but they're hardly children anymore,' he reminded himself - were scattered through out the Magic Shop. It was as if they were all avoiding each other.

He stood and slowly made his way to the front of the shop to turn off the "open" sign. It had been a slow day; Anya was in a poor mood because of it, but for once she had the decency to keep her thoughts about it to herself, even now as she began to count out the till.

Willow and Tara sat opposite each other at the table, reading - Willow had a text book and notes spread out in front of her, and he guessed at Tara's book being completely mundane - avoiding each other's eyes. Xander was in the training room, fixing an aparatus that had come loose. Dawn sat on the stairs to the 'special collection', doing homework. She had commented earlier that it made more sense when her teacher had sang about it two days' previous.

He flipped the switch and was about to lock the front door when he saw Buffy approach, half-dragging half-carrying Spike along with her. Instead, he opened it and rushed out to help her. She gave him a smile as thanks and together they managed to get the unconscious vampire not only into the store, but into the back training room.

The commotion seemed to wake everyone out of their silence and soon Slayer, Watcher and Vampire had an audience.

"I-I ran into him on patrol," Buffy explained, deciding to leave out the whole 'kiss' matter. "A demon attacked us. He was after Spike. Cut him up real bad, too." She rolled Spike onto his side and showed them the slashes from the demon's claws on the vampire's back. "I think there might have been a poison or something involved. When he finally got up again, he was really unsteady and what little he said on the way here didn't make much sense."

"Eww," said Dawn, finally catching a glance at the injuries. "That's got to hurt."

"Indeed," Giles agreed. "Dawn, why don't you fetch the first-aid kit and some towels and water. Buffy, describe the demon please. I think you might be right about the poison."

Dawn stood and left her sister's sight. Keeping her gaze steady on the unconscious vampire in front of her, Buffy recounted the battle. "A Kliak demon," Giles finally declared. "Strange; they're not at all native to this area. They're generally in more northern climes, the Yukon for example. And when feeling provoked they sometimes excrete an inflammatory substance through the tips of their claws that affects lesser demons such as vampires."

"Will he be okay?" Tara asked. Buffy raised her head finally to look at Giles.

"Oh, yes, he'll be fine," he assured them. "Given a good cleaning of the wounds, some extra blood, and application of some poultices he'll be perfectly fine in a day or two." He stood and wiped his hands on his pant legs. "Buffy, Xander, why don't you get that coat and shirt off of Spike so we can get at the wounds. Dawn, you can help them clean the incisions. Willow, Tara, Anya, let's gather up the supplies for the poultices."

Each did their assigned job and soon a shirtless Spike was bandaged and poulticed and sleeping restfully on the couch in the training room.

***

An hour later, Giles woke Buffy out of restless sleep. She knew that she had dreamed but she couldn't remember. All she knew was that it was bad, and it was coming soon.

"We should wake him," Giles told her softly, gesturing to Spike. "Perhaps you can get him to consume some blood. It would help him heal faster."

"Right," she replied. "We have blood?"

"Xander made a run to Willy's."

"Oh." Giles helped her up off of the floor and held her steady as she yawned. "I'm so tired," she admitted. "I had a weird dream, but I can't remember it."

He gave her a smile. "I'm sure it was nothing. Here - see if you can wake him, and I'll fetch the blood, all right?" At her nod of agreement, he turned and left.

Buffy contemplated the sleeping Spike. 'Oooh! Shirtless!Spike!' cooed one of the voices in her head. She chose to ignore her.

In sleep he seemed...peaceful. Younger. Not quite innocent, but definitely pleasant. She sighed, and then realized that he was breathing in his sleep. She puzzled over that for a moment, and heard Giles approach behind her. "He's breathing," she whispered.

Giles chuckled. "I assure you, he's still a vampire, Buffy. He's probably dreaming. When he's awake, he breathes, even pants when he's tired; I'm not surprised that he would do the same in his dreams. Though," he added with a slight shudder, "I have no wish to learn what he dreams about."

Buffy smiled at that and took a bag of blood from him. Holding it in one hand, she reached out the other to shake Spike. "Spike, Spike," she said, shaking his shoulder roughly. "Wake up."

After a few minutes the vampire complied and slowly opened his eyes to her. "Hey, luv," he said faintly. "Did Alex fall out of bed again? Or're you just up for a bit of a snog..." He grinned at that, but like everything else it was slow, as if he were drugged.

Buffy's eyes grew wide and she darted a glance at Giles, who tried his best to keep his chuckling internal. "I'm sure he's still dreaming, Buffy. That or hallucinating due to the poison. He doesn't know what he's saying. Just try to get him to...drink and let him sleep again. I've set out some clothes for him for tomorrow, or whenever he feels well enough to leave. It's not his usual ware, and in fact it's some of my old clothing that I've left here for emergencies, but I think it will fit him well enough to get him back to his crypt. Just get him to drink a bit and he ought to be fine."

"But-I-he-"

"Buffy," Giles told her slowly. "You kissed him. You've already dealt with what he puts in his mouth several times over, and, dear Lord, I did not intend for that to be a possible allusion to how you kissed him. Just feed him the blood."

Buffy nodded nervously and watched her Watcher leave the room. When he was gone again, she turned back to Spike and shook him back awake. It took a few minutes, but she finally got him to drink the blood, and suddenly a thought came to her. Grabbing one of Giles's throwing knives, she nicked her finger and exchanged it for the blood-bag. She did not try to rationalize her action, nor did she see Willow's eyes narrow and blacken as she watched.

Buffy felt something strange come over her, a blast of power that toppled her over and she accidentally pulled Spike onto the floor with her. She saw a bright light and then black, nothing but black--

1. She was on the floor.
2. A distinctly male body was hugging her.
3. She had absolutely no clue who she was.

She sat up and glanced around the strange room. She didn't recognize it at all, to her disdain, but she quickly identified it as some kind of mini-gym. Odd, medieval-looking weapons hung on the walls.

She looked at the man she had been sleeping with. He looked to be as old as she felt - twenty-something. He was handsome, she admitted to herself.

He was also shirtless.

She glanced down at herself, almost panicking, and suddenly realized that she was fully dressed, shoes and all. Breathing a sigh of relief - how much more complicated could it have been if they were naked? - she reached over to him and started shaking his shoulder. There was a feeling of familiarity to the action somehow.

The young man sighed and slowly blinked his eyes open. He gave her a sweet, almost sly smile, paused, and then jerked away from her with a yelp and a panicky look on his face.

They stared at each other for a minute.

"Um, hi," she finally said.

"Hello," he replied. He took a moment and glanced around the room, and at himself. Nervously, he drew up his knees to his chest, almost - she wondered at it - as if he were embarrassed to be seen without a shirt on.

"You wouldn't happen to know where we are, do you?" she asked.

"Eh, no. I haven't the faintest idea," he told her. She was surprised. His accent was in total disharmony with his look. He spoke softly, with an educated British accent that was jarring when paired with his blenched-blond hair and black jeans. "Eh, there wouldn't happen to be a shirt for me, would there?"

She got the oddest feeling that he should be blushing, but his face keep that strange paleness. "Um, let me look." She stood and saw a short stack of folded clothing - slacks, button-down shirt, jacket - on the couch. She grabbed it and thrust it towards him. "Here."

He stared at her for a moment, then took the clothing. "Eh, if you would..."

The feeling of anticipating a blush returned and she caught onto his meaning. "Oh, right. Sorry." She turned around and faced a wall of weapons. She couldn't remember their names, or how one used them, but she had the oddest feeling - she'd been having a lot of odd feelings in that short time - that if she walked up to them and took one down, she would instinctively know how to use it, she would recognize the feeling of it in her hand. She lifted a hand into her line of sight and flexed it in and out of a fist. Strange. She felt...strong, and surprisingly able. And she was wearing a strange shade of pink nail polish.

She heard the young man undress and redress in the other clothing. After a few minutes she asked, "Can I turn around yet?"

He gave her a soft chuckle, half a chuckle really, and spoke. "Yes, you may. Although I'm not entirely sure what you'll make of this costume. It's-it's clearly not mine, despite my preference for it."

She turned. He was correct; the suit could *not* be his. It was all too large for him. He took the jacket off and set it on the couch. "I'm literally swimming in it," he told her, "but with a little help I think I can wear the rest. If you could help me roll the sleeves? And the trouser-legs?"

"Sure." With a grin, she set about helping him. He wasn't very tall, or at least not much taller than herself, so it was difficult to avoid looking him straight in the eye. And whenever she misjudged and their eyes *did* meet, she felt a strange sensation, deep in her heart. There was something special about him, and it went beyond the fact that they had woken up essentially in bed together. She cleared her throat, trying to wash those thoughts away. "There. Much better."

"You really think so?" he asked hesitantly, giving himself a once-over.

"Actually," she admitted, "if it wasn't for your hair, and the fact that you're still kind of swimming in those things, I'd say this was a good look for you." She suddenly envied his apparent inability to blush.

"My hair..." He frowned and ran a hand across his crown. The puzzled look on his face grew and he brought the other hand up. He spent a moment combing out his hair with his fingers, but finally it came loose began to take on a softer, slightly curled appearance.

"That's-that's good, too," she told him. "But it really makes me wonder what your natural hair color is. It can't possibly be *that* blond. It's...unnatural."

"How very peculiar," he said. He stopped messing with his hair and sat down on the couch. "I-" he started, frowned, and then tried again. "There's a question I really must ask you, two or three really, but I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Ask away."

"Yes, of course. Ah, do we know each other?" He tipped his head shyly, obviously thinking of how they had woken up together.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I can't remember."

"Oh." He paused. "I suppose you don't remember who you are either, then?"

"Sorry. And I've checked my pockets. Haven't found anything."

He stood and examined the black jeans he had been wearing, and patted the pockets of the outfit he now wore. "Nothing. Curious."

"Yeah. Kinda bizarre." She glanced around the room again and noticed a door. "Hey, look, a door."

He followed her gaze. "Yes, indeed. A door."

"Well, usually doors lead someplace, y'know? And-and maybe there's something helpful on the otherside. Maybe some*one*."

He lifted an eyebrown. "Or perhaps something harmful. It's equally likely."

She turned towards him. "But unless we leave this room we'll never find out."

"Equally true." He gave her a faint, shy smile and extended his arm in a gentlemanly gesture. "Then, milady, shall we venture outside?"

She took his arm with a smile to match his own. "We shall."

They moved towards the door, surprising themselves by how well they moved together. Their strides and speed matched. He reached forward and opened the door. "After you, good lady," he said with a half-bow.

She stepped through.

'That's odd,' he thought, opening his eyes. He blinked, and then blinked again, and sat up. 'And I dare say, that's even odder.' He found himself staring into a jar of what appeared to be small eyes. For a moment he felt slightly nauseous, but it quickly passed, as if he were accustomed to seeing such macabre things. 'I wonder-' He stopped mid-thought, allowing a confused look to creep onto his face. 'I. I. How peculiar.'

The telephone continued to ring.

'I can't seem to recall who I am,' he thought. 'What on Earth could have happened?' This whole time he continued to surprise himself by how calm he was. 'I wonder if such things happen regularly, that I am able to handle the situation so well.'

The telephone stopped ringing, and he relished the momentary silence. But then suddenly a male voice began to speak, coming out of nowhere.

"Hello? Giles? Eh, we seem to have an unprecidented situation here in Los Angeles and I was wondering if perhaps you or one of the others might have some time to do a little research on your end, or perhaps one of the others might have some previous knowledge of our...unusual situation. I hate to sound so desperate without giving you more of an idea of what we're dealing with, but I'd rather disclose this sort of information by speaking to you personally, lest this information fall into the wrong hands, as they say."

He shook of his surprise and realized that there was an answering machine taking the call. There was a pause and then he heard a young woman speak in the background, slightly muffled. "Wes, hurry up! You need to get off the phone before Angel takes Darla to Caritas by himself. God only knows what he'll do to her if they're alone together." The young woman sounded angry.

"Yes, yes, of course, Cordelia, just a moment," the first voice said. "Giles, please call us at the Hyperion as soon as you can. If we have a chance, one of us will call you back later today. I simply hope that you can help us figure this mystery out. Thank you."

There was a click and the man hung up. He puzzled over the call for a moment; was he perhaps this 'Giles' the young man wished to speak to? He set the thought aside for the moment and surveyed his surroundings. He saw a wall of shelves, jars and boxes containing items equally as nauseating as the the eyeballs he had first encountered. There was a counter with a cash register parallel to the shelves, with a glass case containing what appeared to be jewelry, for the most part. And waking up before his eyes was a young woman of about twenty with blondish hair.

"Eh, hello?" he said to her, offering a hand to help her up. She accepted it and was unstable on her high-heeled shoes for a moment. "Hi," she replied, shaking her head as if trying to clear her mind. "This is bizarre, but...do you know who I am?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, no, miss," he told her. "And to be honest, I neither know who *I* am nor where we are, or even how we got to be here." He paused, and then asked, "You wouldn't happen to know anything yourself?"

She shook her head. "All I know is...um...I'm female? And-and I seem to have an irrational fear of bunnies," she admitted.

"Bunnies?"

"Bizarre, isn't it? But that's all I can remember." She gave herself a once-over and her eyes settled on her hand. "Oh, how pretty," she said, admiring the diamond ring she wore on her left ring finger.

"Yes, it's quite lovely," he told her. "Perhaps you're engaged, then."

She looked him over, as if evaluating him. "Perhaps," she said slowly. "Perhaps."

She waited a moment, letting the sound of his voice repeat in her mind. She liked him, she really did. And it wasn't just the fact that she found him handsome, nor was it the pleasant sound of his voice, accent and all. No, the feeling went deeper. *Much* deeper. "I'm all right," she assured him, "just a weird feeling is all. Not bad, but weird just the same."

He nodded, accepting her explanation intuitively. She wondered briefly if he had felt it too, but was then distracted by a man, older than her companion, and a young woman her own age talking behind what appeared to be a cash register.

"Yes, it's quite lovely," the man was saying. "Perhaps you're engaged."

"Perhaps," said the blondish woman slowly. "Perhaps."

She tightened her grasp on her bleach-blond companion's hand and felt an encouraging squeeze back. Together they stepped toward the other pair, quickly noting a few other individuals asleep at a large round table in the center of the room. "Hello?" she said cautiously.

The two behind the counter started and turned towards them. "Oh, thank goodness," said the man, and she noted that he, too, had a British accent. Mayber there was a connection there. "This may sound rather odd," he continued, "but are either of you experiencing significant memory loss?"

She exchanged a glance with her companion. "I'm afraid so, sir," he told the older man.

"We are definitely card-carrying members of the 'I-haven't-got-a-clue-who-I-am' club," she added, and saw that the older man smiled at her quip.

"Yes, well, we seem to be in the same situation, unfortunately," the man told them. "Have either one of you been able to determine anything pertaining to your identities, or our location?"

"Not particularly, sir," said her companion politely. "However, we seem to not be alone in this. There are a few others thither" - he gestured to the space behind him - "who have not yet awoken."

"Curious. This seems to be a matter of great complexity. To cause memory loss in a single individual would appear to be a rather simple matter, compared to inducing such an effect on multiple persons. Fascinating - or, rather, it would be from an external perspective," he finished. Her companion nodded his head in agreement.

"You both talk funny," said the blondish girl with a frown.

"Agreed," said the first girl. "Accents. And fancy words."

The two men blinked at the pronouncements. "Perhaps we're...somehow connected?" pondered the older man.

"Indeed," said the younger. "Maybe we're - related?"

The blondish girl gave them both considerable consideration. "There *is* a handsomely rugged resemblance," she pronounced.

"Older brother?" the older man suggested, gesturing to himself.

The younger shook his head. "More likely father, I'd say, sir."

"Well, if it's true, then thus far the only disappointment you've caused me is the appalling state of your hair," replied his assumed father.

"Yes, sir," he said, reaching a hand to his colored locks again. "As this young lady told me, it's rather unbecoming. For the life of me, I can't imagine why I would bleach my hair."

"Well, eh, son, perhaps you're going through a rebellious phase. It happens. And, eh, you're certainly young enough for it to be perfectly normal. And I suddenly have the feeling that I should understand that somehow. Does - does the word 'Eyghon' mean anything to any of you?" They shook their heads. "Odd," he finally said. "For a moment, it felt like a name."

"My name, sir?" asked his son nervously.

"No, goodness, no. It's the name of-of a *thing*. But I suddenly had the feeling it was somehow connected to me. To-to the idea of 'rebellion'. How odd."

They puzzled over it for a moment, and then the first girl spoke. "Have you guys found any clues to your identities?"

"Not as such," replied the blondish girl. "But look!" She showed them her ring. "I must be engaged."

"Wow, that's so pretty," said the first girl. She thought for a moment. "Have you tried looking for drivers' licenses or anything?"

The father looked surprised. "No, we haven't. Completely slipped my mind." He fumbled around in his pockets, realizing that he wore a pleasant-looking suit, and finally came up with a wallet. He set it down on the counter and, with each of the other three watching carefully, he began to examine its contents. "Ah-ha! You were right in suggesting that, miss," he told the first girl. "A driver's license." He showed them the piece of plastic.

"'Giles, Rupert Alistair'," read his son aloud. "Rupert Giles. Well, it's pleasant enough. It seems to fit you, sir."

"Indeed," came the reply and Rupert Giles continued digging through the wallet. He came up with approximately fifty dollars in cash, a few five-pence coins mixed in with the American coins, two credit cards, three business cards belonging to individuals other than himself, all of whom had their offices in London or Bath, the tab of an airplane ticket - destination Los Angeles, point of origin London/Heathrow - and four copies of the same business card, with his own name and a woman's name on it. "'Rupert Giles, Anya Jenkins, proprietors. The Magic Box. Sunnydale, California.'"

"So, you must own this place," said the first girl.

"This?" questioned Mr. Giles, glancing around. "Ah, yes, well, now that I look at it, it *does* appear to be a-a magic shop of some kind. How progressive of me. Of *us*," he added, looking at the blondish woman.

"Us?" she squeaked.

"Well, yes. We both woke up here, behind the counter. If you are not this Anya Jenkins, my co-proprietor, then I would certainly assume that you are an employee. Why else would you be behind the cash register, behind the counter. Typically, that's an employee-only area," said Mr. Giles.

"Oh," said the young woman. "Well, then, why don't we assume that I'm Anya? It's odd, but I *feel* like an Anya."

"Very well, then," said Mr. Giles. "Anya it is."

Anya beamed for a moment, revelling in her identity, and then suddenly asked, "There wasn't anything in there about your son?"

Mr. Giles raised his eyebrows. "No, not that I noticed. I'm sorry, son," he added, looking at the younger man with sincere regret on his face. "Perhaps we'll find some more clues? Maybe one of our sleeping companions hasn't lost their memories."

"Perhaps," said the son dejectedly. Mr. Giles frowned and came around the counter to him. Placing his hands on the boy's shoulders, he spoke. "You mustn't let this bother you. We'll all figure it out soon enough. Until then, what do you want us to call you?"

The younger man shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't the foggiest idea what my name could be, Father, other than building it off of your own, as a junior."

"Shall we call you Junior, then? Or-or Rupert?" asked Mr. Giles.

"All right," said Rupert Jr.

"Are you sure?" asked the still nameless girl. "We could come up with a real name, your own separate name, you know. Like..." She thought about it for a moment. "Maybe...William?"

Rupert Jr. thought about it for a moment. "It's a good name, but I think it's safer to keep it closer to Father's name. For now, at least," he told her. He shook his head. "No, I'd rather stick with what we've decided. I'd rather be Rupert Giles, Junior, for now, before I discover later that my name's something truly horrible - like-like Orville, or Randy."

Anya giggled. "Randy. Randy Giles. Ha-ha! That would have been truly devious!"

The unnamed girl laughed as well. "At least you have a name of sorts now."

Rupert Jr. gave her a smile. "Indeed. We, eh, we could find a name for you as well," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No, I think I'll wait. Maybe one of those people has a clue," she said, gesturing over to the three individuals sleeping at the round table. "Or they would, if they'd wake up."

As if on cue, each of the three began to sit up sleepily.

Anya went up to him, for the first time leaving the cash register. She patted him on the shoulder. "It's all right, young man," she said with saleswomanly friendliness. "No one wishes to harm you, and we are all experiencing the extreme memory loss that your erratic behavior indicates you are experiencing." Her smile was a little too broad.

"Memory loss?" said the redhead carefully. "All of us? At the same time?"

"It's true," said Mr. Giles. "And by the way, my name is Rupert Giles, and this is Anya Jenkins." Anya dimpled.

"I-I thought you said-" began the third new amnesiac, a young woman with indeterminate blonde-brown hair, but Mr. Giles soon rectified the misunderstanding. "Yes, that would be a tad bit confusing," he said. "We've been able to uncover some aspects of our identities, miss, through investigation, but I assure you, we are all as...as memory-less as you three are."

"Oh," said the young man, but there was still a panicky look in his eyes. There were a few awkward moments of silence, as no one knew what to say, but then a look of revelation appeared on the dark-haired man's face. "Oh!" he said again, more an exclamation than an expression of acceptance. "Wallets! Drivers' licenses!"

Mr. Giles smiled. "Exactly," he told the young man and a feeling of paternal pride passed through him. It puzzled him a bit, as it was fairly clear to him that the young man could not be another of his sons, but the feeling of paternity was still there. He let it go and concentrated on watching the three newest members of - what had the young lady said? - ah, yes, the 'I-haven't-got-a-clue-who-I-am' club rooting through their pockets for identification.

"Hey, I exist!" exclaimed the young man suddenly. "Alexander Harris." He did a little dance of happiness and then realized that everyone was staring at him. He stopped and held up his driver's license. "See? I have a name, and a birthdate and weight and height - huh." He raised an eyebrow at the last number. "I would have guessed an inch or two taller."

The redhead giggled, producing her own identification for all to see. "Willow Rosenberg," she announced. "That's me. Willow. I guess that's a cool name. Kinda weird, though."

The third blonde laughed. "I think it's kinda pretty. You know, in a New Age sorta way?"

"Thanks," said Willow. She took another look at her card. "It says I'm a student at UC Sunnydale."

"Mine, too," said the other girl. "I'm Tara, by the way," she added. "Tara Maclay."

"Tara," Willow said slowly, as if tasting the word. "I like it. You look like a Tara." Tara blushed, which made Willow blush in turn and decide to change the direction of the conversation. "So, we both go to this UC Sunnydale? Hey, maybe we're, uh, study-buddies or something."

"Maybe," Tara agreed. She flipped through her wallet a few moments longer as the others did the same, searching for other clues. The one almost-unexpected thing was a photograph, tucked in between movie ticket stubs and one-dollar bills: a little picture, which she instinctively knew was from one of those little photo booths at malls and carnivals and she could see how someone had cut it from the other pictures with scissors, the corners not quite square on one side, the edge not quite straight.

She didn't understand her reactions to the grainy, black-and-white photograph and the almost childish red-ink heart that had been drawn around the two faces. She wasn't surprised to recognize the two individuals as Willow and herself: that, at least, *felt* right, felt *correct* from the get-go. The fact that they were kissing in the picture wasn't odd at all, either. She felt an immediate connection to the red-haired young woman, in all sorts of ways that should have been a little weird, but weren't: spiritually, emotionally, even sexually, which of course was no surprise after the frozen, colorless image of the kiss.

No, the reaction that she knew should have been a clue of something wrong was the fact that all the while her heart was telling her to embrace these connections with Willow, to tell her that they were clearly romantically involved, that she had an immediate full and complete love for the other woman - despite all this that her heart was telling her, her mind and her gut were screaming for her not to trust Willow.

She didn't know how, but the only thing more certain to her than the love she felt was the knowledge, down even into the very cells of her being, that there was betrayal, ugly and dark, at hand.

Alexander.

Willow.

And Buffy.

She had protested mightily when the photograph had been found and the names discovered on the back. She had been at first embarrassed – “’Buffy’? Sounds like a poodle! Or some dumb blonde in a monster movie!” she had exclaimed – but then admitted that it “felt right”.

Rupert smiled at the fresh memory and then read the writing on the back of the photo:
 

Hey you!
Can you believe it? We’re done! High school is over and we actually survived, with a minimum of death and destruction. Willow and I thought this might help keep you on track – no matter where you end up on this crazy trip of yours, we’ll be with you, and no matter what happens, we’ll welcome you home.
Have a safe trip,
Buffy
5/30/99

Rupert smiled again as he flipped it over again and gazed openly at the image of Buffy’s face. There was something about her, something special, something very different about Buffy. Carefully, he glanced across the table. She looked up right then and gave him a sweet, almost shy smile, and blushed. He returned the smile and then quickly turned away, catching his father’s knowing gaze as he did. he set the photograph back down on the table and picked up his book again, only to set it down a few moments later. “This is hopeless,” he exclaimed.

Everyone looked up. “Agreed,” said Alexander, slamming his book shut and then wrinkling his forehead at the strangely familiar action. “This *is* hopeless,” he continued. “All of these books talk about monsters – demons and beasts and vampires and stuff. Nothing about mass amnesia. I mean, really! Look at this.” He opened up his book again and pointed at a passage he had been reading. “Here. It’s talking about some old vampires who’re supposed to be famous: ‘Of all the master vampires of the Aurelian lineage, the two known as Spike and Drusilla are perhaps the most dangerous. This is due to the fact that despite their soulless state, they display numerous human afflictions, such as love. In all recorded observances they have appeared to be completely enamoured with each other, making in particular Spike’s actions difficult to calculate. As Drusilla was driven insane by her sire, she is taken to odd flights of fancy and follows bizarre visions. (See also CHOSEN WARRIORS AND THEIR SEERS.)  However, she rarely takes action herself and instead requests her paramour Spike to act for her. Because it is so difficult to determine what Drusilla wishes him to endeavor from an observatory distance, Spike, willing to do anything for his ladylove, is the most unpredictable and therefore currently the most dangerous of the Aurelian line, despite his youth. While his origins are debatable, it is believed he was turned between 1810 and 1880, becoming active in a serious manner in London 1880. He is also known as William the Bloody; the moniker Spike came into use after killing a man in 1880 with railroad spikes. The motive remains unknown.’” Alexander shuddered. “We really fight against guys like that?”

“Yes, we do,” said Buffy suddenly, standing up. “I’ve finally figured out what this is, Mr. Giles,” she explained, holding up the book she had been reading. “It’s a special kind of diary you’ve been keeping chronicling all of our battles against monsters – most vampires, like that Spike guy, who showed up here in Sunnydale a couple of years back.”

“Really?” exclaimed Rupert’s father almost excitedly. “What else does it say?”

Buffy sat down. “Well, first of all, your handwriting’s really hard to read, so I haven’t gotten *too* far. According to this, you came to Sunnydale in 1997 to be my ‘Watcher’. That means you help me fight monsters, ‘cause I’m supposed to be a superhero or something.”

“You’re a superhero?” Tara asked timidly.

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, flipping through the pages. “You call me a ‘Slayer’. It’s my job to fight monsters and save the world on a regular basis.”

“Well, you don’t really look that strong,” commented Willow.

“But she is.”

Everyone turned and stared at Rupert. “What?” said his father.

“Can’t you tell?” Rupert asked. “Can’t you feel it? The strength – it’s coming off of her in palpable waves. It’s…it’s a little frightening.” She stared at Buffy, a look of wonder on his face. She tilted her head and their eyes met for a long moment.

“It’s bizarre,” she whispered, “but I can feel you, too.”

As the others watched, Buffy and Rupert stood and walked to a more open space in the store, their strides and steps matching. All the while their eyes maintained contact. Suddenly, Buffy lashed out at him with one arm, which Rupert blocked perfectly. On and on they fought, never intending to hurt one another, but rather –

“It’s like they’re dancing,” whispered Anya. “Like a really weird ballet or something.”

“Or something is right,” replied Alexander, who stared as if mesmerized at the fighting couple. “They’re so…*fast*.”

Suddenly they stopped, panting heavily and staring at each other in amazement. “You are the most effulgent creature I have ever seen,” whispered Rupert.

With a look of confusion, Buffy replied, “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

For a moment Tara thought they were going to kiss, but then –

A girl with dark hair appeared on the stairs and everyone turned to look at her, the spell having momentarily broken between Buffy and Rupert. “Who are you?” the girl asked, sounding as if at any moment she might break down and cry. “And-and-”

“What is it?” asked Buffy softly.

The girl began to cry. “Who am I?”

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Giles told her.

“There’s something special about you,” Tara said, “but you’re not like Buffy and Rupert. It’s something different.” At Mr. Giles’s perplexed look, Tara explained further. “I-I think I might be a witch or something. I think I’m seeing auras.”

“Really?” asked Dawn. “That’s so cool.”

“Yes, yes, highly intriguing,” said Mr. Giles. “Of course I’m still trying to grasp the idea that-that my son must be some kind of superhero himself, like Buffy.”

“I assure you, Father, it’s difficult as well for me! Perhaps worse,” said Rupert, “but it does explain the bandages.”

“What bandages?” asked Mr. Giles.

“When Buffy and I awoke, we were in that room over there,” he began, gesturing with his hand. “It must be where we train and practice, to prepare for our battles against the monsters. I was wearing different clothing, which was damaged and stained, and there were bandages on my back. I felt fine physically, so I took them off when I changed into the clothing I am wearing now. If Buffy and I are indeed superheroes of some kind, surely we heal faster than normal people do: I may have been injured just last night and was already healed by this morning.”

“I see. Yes, that does make sense,” said his father. “But, Rupert,” he added, clasping his son on the shoulder, “it doesn’t matter. Superhero or not, you are my son and already you have made me proud.”

As they hugged, the girls, watching, wiped faint tears from their eyes and smiled.

***

Hours passed. They researched. They theorized. But despite the immense effort they spent on the matter, they could not discover why they had lost their memories, nor how to return them.

Alexander ordered pizza and all partook of it without complaint. Soon, it was dark, dark evening and they realized that they had spent the entire day indoors, researching. Dawn wondered aloud at the fact that there hadn’t been a customer all day, until Anya pointed out the fact that the ‘open’ sign had never been turned on and the front door had been locked until the pizza delivery boy had arrived.

Night enveloped the world and as the darkness came, so came sleep and one by one each drifted into the realm of dreams, heads resting on books and papers.

All, save for Rupert and Buffy.

***

Buffy watched him, but said nothing. He ignored it for a few moments, but then gave up and returned her gaze. “Do you have something to say, Buffy?” he asked curiously.

“What did you mean?” she asked.

He frowned. “What do you mean, what did I mean?”

Buffy giggled and then turned serious. “Earlier, when we fought. You said I was…effulgent. What does it mean?”

He smiled shyly. “It means…shining. Glowing.” He paused. “It means…beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever met,” he whispered.

“Beautiful?” she whispered back slowly.

He nodded. “Beautiful.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her face. “It means…I’m….I-” He stopped and tried again. “It means…I’m in love with you.” He bent his head down for a moment and then raised it again, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “There’s something between us, and I can feel it, Rupert. I can feel it.”

He smiled. “I can feel it, too.” He took her hand in his and then met her eyes expectantly. “Do you love me?” he asked softly, barely audibly.

A moment passed.

She smiled. “Yes,” she said, leaning in and kissing him. “Yes, I do love you.”

***

Morning. They awoke to the sounds of a commotion in the store. Voices. An argument. Buffy sighed and pulled herself closer to Rupert, wrapping the blankets around them that they had used to form a makeshift bed.

“Good morning,” whispered Rupert, dropping a kiss on her lips. She giggled.

“Yes, it’s a very good morning,” she replied. Buffy closed her eyes again, only to open them a moment later when the door opened and Mr. Giles stepped into the training room.

“Buffy, I-” he started and then stopped, taking in their embarrassed smiles and apparent nakedness under the blankets. “Oh, dear God,” he whispered. Suddenly, his demeanor changed. “So help me, Spike, if you hurt her, I’ll-”

“Who’s Spike?” asked Buffy, uncertain as to why Rupert’s father was apparently threatening him.

“Buffy, how can you say that?” asked the older man. “The spell has broken-”

Mr. Giles stopped speaking and took a step closer to the sleepy couple, seeing their frowns of confusion.

“What’s going on?” asked Buffy.

“Our amnesia,” he tried to explain. “It was a spell. But the spell’s been broken and our memories have returned. We’re no longer under its power.

“All of us, except for you two.”

Giles sighed and glanced across the table to where Buffy and Spike – though the vampires still believed himself to be Rupert Giles, Junior – sat. They were together, leaning against one another, the epitome of a loving couple in a happy, healthy relationship. Giles shuddered, vague memories of their spell-induced engagement several years past returning to him.

Giles exchanged a glance with Xander, who was reliving his own memories of that incident. The younger man managed a weak smile as he pulled his fiancée closer in a hug.

The one he was truly worried about was Tara. The girl had finally stopped crying and had confided in him about Willow’s broken promise. He sighed. At first he had hoped that the redhead’s recent abuse of magic would simply repeat his own youthful indiscretion, and she would soon come to see the errors of her ways. Unfortunately, he told himself, this was a far different situation – a worse one. He spared a glance over to Willow, who sat sulking away from the group in a corner, and then returned to the vampire and Slayer before him.

“Neither one of you has regained your memories?”

“No, Father,” Spike said. Giles tried not to shudder at the title and at the proper, educated accent. He was almost becoming accustomed to it. “I-I take this to be a bad thing?” continued the memoryless vampire.

“Yes,” Giles told him. “A very bad thing.”

“It’s not as bad as it could be,” Anya said suddenly. Everyone looked at her. “Oh, come on, people! Look at what we’ve got. Most of us have our memories back. No one got hurt. Buffy and Spike are getting along better than they ever have. Hell, they’ve admitted their feelings openly – even Buffy. And they’re happy. Spike’s decided he’s really and truly a good guy. You can’t get much better than that.”

A moment passed, and then Spike timidly raised his hand. “Eh, question?” he said. “Who is this Spike fellow?”

***

“But, Father, *really*. Me? A vampire? Surely you’re joking.” Pause. “You honestly expect me to drink this…this *blood*?!”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“Drink it.”

Pause. “I drink this on a regular basis? Truly?”

“Yes.”

Pause. Sigh. “Well, perhaps if we experimented with it. A dash of cinnamon. Or-or cayenne pepper. I think I like…spicy things. Or-or if I drank it with normal foods. Balance it out a bit.”

“Oh, dear God.”

***

The blood experiment finished and successful, Giles found himself alone in the training room with the reluctant and somewhat dazed vampire. He had left Buffy in Xander’s capable supervision. He was attempting to explain things to her, with Dawn and Anya’s help. Tara and Willow had been surprisingly quiet throughout the morning. Giles did not realize that Tara had cast a spell of silence on the redhead and it took her full concentration to keep it in place.

The young-looking vampire sat on the couch, elbows on his knees and face hidden in his hands. Giles walked slowly towards him and then took a seat beside him on the couch.

“It’s true, then. I am a vampire. A-a demon, evil, like what Buffy battle nightly,” he whispered.

Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, you are a vampire. But evil? Once upon a time I may have used that word, but now? No. I have begun to see you more clearly, and I no longer believe you to be evil. I truly believe now that you are trying to be good.”

“What is my real name? I assume I wasn’t born named Spike.” The vampire straightened and looked at Giles with a serious expression.

“Well,” began Giles, “we’ve always know you as Spike, but your real name is William.”

“William,” the vampire said slowly. “Yes, that’s much better. And isn’t it odd that Buffy had suggested it – Wait. Do you mean to say that you’re *not* my father?”

“No, I’m not,” replied Giles. “We’re not even related as far as I know.”

William stood. “But we’re on good terms, yes? Friends?”

Giles sighed. “Not before, we weren’t. But now…” He stood and placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “Yes, I suppose we are friends now, Sp-William.”

“Oh,” said the vampire. “Well, thank you, then.” He paused, trying to put his thoughts into words. “You wouldn’t happen to know how it came to be then that I – that I –”

“How you became a vampire?”

William nodded.

“Not the exact details, no. It happened a long time before I – it happened before I ever met you.”

“A long time before – a long time ago? How long ago? Please,” William said pleadingly. “I want to know.”

Giles sighed again and guided him back to the couch to sit down. “It was in the year 1880, in London. 121 years ago. Which makes you-”

“-At least 140 years old,” said William in amazement. “Dear God. I-I had no idea.” Suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Wait a moment. Spike? The vampire in the book Alexander was telling us about? That was me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, dear God.”

Giles put his hands on William’s shoulders again and turned him a little so that their eyes could meet. “But that’s no longer you, William. Slowly but surely, I am learning that. You are not that monster any longer. You are not the superhero you thought you were, but I see now that you are a good man, and that is more important than a superhero any day.” He paused. “I don’t know much about those 140 years, William, but if you’d like, we can certainly try to find out.”

“Yes, Fa-Mr. Giles,” William corrected himself. “I would like that very much.”

Giles smiled despite himself. “You’re still thinking of me as your father, aren’t you?”

“Yes, well, it’s difficult for me not to,” replied William with a little laugh. “I haven’t got any memories to contradict the idea, rather only ones that support it. I-I still feel as though you are my father.”

From the store they heard a shout of indignation. “That Angel guy in the diary was a vampire? And I dated him? And I died? Twice?”

“Buffy,” came Xander’s voice. “Just calm down – please.”

Giles smiled a little and went forward with what he had decided on. “William, I somehow have the feeling that you and Buffy may never get your memories back, and truly in some ways you both are very lucky in that matter. That said, it may get some getting used to, William, but…feel free to continue to consider me your father. I would be…proud…to act as such.”

William was speechless for several moments and then a smile appeared on his face and he hugged Giles tightly.

“Thank you…Father.”

“Willow?”

“Xander,” came the emotionless reply.

Glancing over to Tara, who nodded as if to say that she had broken the silencing spell, Xander drew up a chair and sat in front of his childhood friend. “Willow, we need to talk,” he said seriously. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Willow’s eyes darted towards him and an angry fired entered into them. “What’s wrong? What’s *wrong*? What’s wrong is that suddenly I can’t do a damn thing right or good enough for any of you. All of a sudden, you all hate the fact that I’m doing magic. Okay, yeah, I’ve made a couple of mistakes. But my magic has done more good than-”

“You gave everyone amnesia, Willow! And Buffy and Spike still haven’t gotten their memories back. What could have been at all good about giving us amnesia?” Xander asked.

Willow stood angrily. “I don’t know why it affected all of us. It was just supposed to be-”

“No, no – let me guess,” interrupted Xander. “It was Buffy and Tara. You wanted to make Buffy forget that she had been in Heaven, or whatever *good* place she had been in, so she wouldn’t be moping and sad all the time, right? That’s not how things are done in the real world, Willow, in the adult world. She was in freakin’ *Heaven*, and now she’s *here*. You don’t just get over that, with or without magic. She has to deal, and if you ask me, she *was*. She was starting to deal.

“And Tara? You guys probably got into a fight, probably about how she thinks you’re abusing magic, using it for things that it doesn’t need to be used for, or that it *shouldn’t*. And you thought that you could just make her forget about it. Sorry, Willow, but Tara’s right. You *are* misusing it, abusing it. We should never have brought Buffy back. We should have found a better solution. We *had* a fighter – Spike. Just as strong as Buffy, and he had the experience and knowledge of having lived among demons for a hundred years. Sometimes he knew more about the monster of the week than Giles did. And if we *really* needed a Slayer, I’m sure between Giles and Wesley and Angel, they could have gotten the Watcher’s Council to spring Faith – get her out on parole or pardoned or something.”

Willow’s face grew hard and cold. “And what of Buffy? We thought she was in some hell dimension like Angel had been. What, we were just supposed to leave her there?”

“No, of course not,” Xander told her. “But *you* were the one who kept saying she was in Hell. We all thought she was in Heaven – for the longest time we thought she was at rest. Even *Spike* thought she was. You weren’t there, Willow, but I saw him the one and only time he got drunk over the summer. He was distraught. He was certain he was never going to see Buffy again. No matter what he did, he was still a vampire, still a demon, and therefore technically evil and unworthy of wherever Buffy, her spirit or her soul or whatever, had gone. That was the moment I realized he had really changed, that he wasn’t the same evil vampire who had come to Sunnydale years ago. We started almost becoming friends. And until you started talking about how Buffy was in some hell dimension, I believed what he believed: Buffy was in Heaven. But then you started talking about how we had to save her and resurrect her, and I doubted and I began to believe you. I kept believing when she *was* alive again and I saw how skittish and-and upset she was. I rationalized everything, and I was blind when she ‘thanked’ us. You were wrong, Willow. She *did* die a natural death. She jumped. She broke her neck, smashed her brain, shattered all the rest of her bones. She was dead, as dead as anyone who jumps off of a small skyscraper.” He closed his eyes. “She was dead and gone and at peace, and we brought her back.”

“That’s it,” Willow declared. “That’s it. I’m tired of hearing about this. I’m sick of it.” She turned towards Tara. “Tara, baby,” she said, more softly, “you know I was only trying to do what was right.” She stretched out one hand in supplication.

Tara ignored it, and instead walked right up to her girlfriend and slapped her. “Wake up, Willow! You’re not listening! You *never* listen. You just don’t get it, do you? You treat magic like a little toy chemistry set, but you don’t understand that with even the tiniest mistake, you’re making mustard gas and not perfume.”

For a moment, Willow simply stood and stared at Tara in shock. Then, wordlessly, the redheaded witch turned neatly, like a soldier, and walked out of the Magic Box. Xander and Tara watched her go silently, and when the door closed behind Willow, the blonde witch collapsed in tears. Xander knelt beside her and hugged her as she sobbed out her pain.

“Eh, Willow, Tara, I believe I –” began Giles, coming out of the training room with William and Buffy. He stopped when he saw the distraught witch and instead of continuing his thought, he gestured to the amnesiac couple to sit down at the large, round table. A few minutes passed and Anya and Dawn came back from their food run.

“Tara, are you –” started Dawn, and stopped when Giles hushed at her. Tara stood, wiping at her eyes with her fingers. “No, no, it’s-it’s all right, Giles,” she said. “I-I should have expected this, sooner or later. But I’ll be fine for now.”

“If you’re sure?” Giles asked hesitantly.

“I’m sure,” Tara replied. At her answer, Giles nodded and the remaining standing Scoobies sat down. “Did you find something?” asked Tara.

“I believe I did,” Giles told her. “With your assistance, I would like to do a spell to detect mystical and biological hindrances to Buffy and S-William’s memories. I cannot fathom any other reason why their memories have not returned, while ours have. That fact, when paired with the type of amnesia spell used – one that degrades after a certain amount of time – makes this situation most perplexing.”

“Sikkia’s spell might be a good one to try,” volunteered Anya.

“Sikkia? I’m not familiar with that one,” said Tara slowly.

“Sikkia,” Giles explained, “was a healer in the fourth century who was particularly adept at ailments that effected the mind, and those that disrupted the balance between mind and body. And in fact, it was that spell that I had been thinking of. There are a number of variants to Sikkia’s detection spell, and the one in particular that might prove useful deals with both mystical and biological influences on one’s health. I am concerned that the battle that William and Buffy fought with the Kliak demons prior to the amnesia spell may have affected the spell, especially with William because of his physical injuries, although if Buffy had been injured, we may have never known, as the Kliak poison usually does not affect humans – only vampires and similar demons. This spell would show us if anything, mystical or biological, has affected them in the last two days and if it is still affecting them now.”

“Cool,” Xander said suddenly. “Then we have a plan. What do we need? Candles, incense, mummified monkey tails? Let’s get on it.” William and Buffy watched the conversation carefully, but were hesitant to speak.

“Actually, none of those are necessary. All it requires is a witch or other caster who is powerful enough to make the projection,” explained Giles. “Tara? Are you – do you think you are up to it? If not, I could probably-”

Tara swallowed. “No, I can do it. What do I have to do?”

The next few minutes were spent with Giles and Anya explaining the process and incantation of the spell to Tara. William and Buffy were asked to stand and Tara stood in front of them, eyes closed, her hands out-stretched, palms up. She chanted the words softly and soon there was a ball of pleasant blue light hovering over her palms. She directed the light to William and it danced over him: first, it circled him and followed the outline of his body, and then it examined him more carefully. It hovered on his back and then circled his head slowly. Almost sadly, the ball of light moved to Buffy, going through the same procedure of examining her body. It hovered at her abdomen for a moment and then went on its way, only to circle her head as it had with William before returning to Tara’s hands and dissipating.

Slowly, the witch opened her eyes and looked at the couple with wonder in her eyes.

“Well?” asked Dawn cautiously.

Tara sighed and stretched. “Well, the Kliak poison isn’t to blame, I can tell you that. And in fact, there didn’t seem to be anything biological or mystical that’s really affecting them.”

“What do you mean by ‘really affecting them’?” asked Xander suspiciously.

“Um, I’m not sure…” Tara hesitated, but at the expectant looks that the others gave her, she continued. “There *is* one development worth mentioning. It’s-it’s very much unexpected, very much biological, and – well, probably to some degree mystical as-as well.”

Buffy and William exchanged a worried glance as Giles cleaned his glasses with a frustrated vigor. “Tara, please, what’s wrong?” he asked, putting his glasses back on.

Tara half-smiled and walked up to Buffy. She gave the couple an evaluating glance before hugging Buffy. Moving out of the embrace and almost wanting to laugh from Buffy’s frightened expression, she finally announced to the entire group:

“Buffy’s pregnant.”

"Buffy's pregnant."

Silence. No one even dared to breathe.

And then the phone rang.

Anya moved, almost mechanically, towards it and answered. "The Magic Box, your one-stop shop for all your occult-" She fell silent, the caller having apparently cut her off. A moment passed and then she made a sound of affirmation before holding out the phone. "Giles, it's for you."

"Who is it?" Giles asked, walking towards the cashwrap. He was a little shaky, Xander noted detachedly.

"Someone named Wesley," Anya said. "He says he called yesterday and it's very important..."

Giles frowned and then recalled the phone call that had come while they had been under the amnesia spell. He took the phone from Anya, who returned to Xander, and spoke. "Hello, Wesley?...no, no, we're all fairly well, just a bit of, eh, excitement, is all...I see...pregnant, you say?...raised from the dead?...No, no, it's simply that I may actually have some, er, news of a sort, that may tie into that...a prophecy?...*two* prophecies? I had no idea that the Powers had taken such an interest in him...Ah, Wesley, would it be highly inconvenient if I called you back in, say, a half-hour's time?...no, no, I simply wish to, eh, sort out a few things before I discuss them with you...yes, well, thank you for the invitation. We may in fact take you up on that offer in the next few days, perhaps even hours...yes, thank you again for calling. Good luck." Click.

Silence reigned again.

"Who's Wesley?" asked Tara finally.

Performing his time-honored glasses-cleaning ritual, Giles resumed his place beside the table. "Wesley is a former colleague of mine," he began, "and served as a Watcher here in Sunnydale for a few months several years ago. He currently works in Los Angeles with Angel and Cordelia and their associates." He finished with his glasses and returned them to his face, casting a serious gaze over his charges. "Tara, are you certain? Are you absolutely certain that Buffy is pregnant?"

"I am," Tara answered solemnly. "The spell...there is no disputing what it told me. I am very certain. It-" She blushed. "It happened last night."

Buffy blushed as all eyes watched William pull her into an easy embrace. They did not seem to notice, for all that their observers did, that their intertwined hands came to rest on Buffy's abdomen, creating the well-known image of the stereotypical happy, head-over-heels-in-love pregnant couple.

Except most fathers-to-be in that cultural stereotype had neither bleached hair nor fangs.

Dawn let out a quiet squeal of excitement.

"So, Spike and Buffy...I mean, a baby..what I really, ah, wanted to say..." Xander babbled.

"It's biologically impossible for a vampire to have a baby," Anya contributed. "Being the mother or father."

"Yes, well, it seems there is a prophecy or two concerning this," Giles told them. "And they're not the first ones."

"You mean, there's another stupid vampire who got some poor girl pregnant out there?" Xander asked in a harsh tone.

"Hey!" exclaimed Buffy, breaking her self-imposed silence. "Don't talk like that. William and I entered into this relationship equally and with love."

"And," added William, "if it is true that we are having a child together, then we are all the more glad and there is only more of ourselves, of our love, to be loved." The happy couple's embrace tightened and they kissed.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," said Anya matter-of-factly with a nod of her head.

"What question?" asked Xander, averting his eyes from the kissing Slayer and vampire.

"Whether or not they plan to keep the fetus," replied Anya. "Even before I became a vengeance demon, I helped many scorned women abort their pregnancies. My mother was a midwife. It's what we did, in addition to delivering babies and setting broken bones and curing fevers and doing simple kitchen-magick. Quite clearly, they wish to keep the fetus. I should really instruct them in matters of highly-lucrative investments. An Ivy League education will prove difficult to fund if they don't start saving now, particularly if it is a multiple birth or there are more pregnancies in the future."

Dawn giggled, watching the oblivious amnesic couple, too wrapped up in themselves to have heard what Anya had said. Xander, however, was not amused. "Giles," he said, turning towards the older man, "you're not just going to stand there and let them...snuggle like that, are you? I mean, for all we know this could just be-"

"Xander," said Giles calmly, but almost coldly. "Leave it be."

Xander stared.

"I'm only going to say this once, so I do hope you'll listen," continued the Watcher. "Even if Buffy and Spike had their memories, this would have happened eventually. We all know that Spike was in love with Buffy, and I do now truly believe it was love, and not some sort of destructive vampiric obsession. What the rest of you do not know, or may have only guessed, is that Buffy had admitted that she was developing feelings for Spike in return - she did not call it love, but admitted that it might someday be love. She told me this just two days ago. Their affection for one another, the care and regard they had, seems to be one of the few things that survived, and is perhaps amplified by, their amnesia. It *is* something of a shock, I admit, and at first I was not as accepting of the thought of my Slayer being involved with a second vampire. However, this, I believe, is a much different situation that what occurred with Angel. This will have most certainly a happier ending, I think."

"A matched pair," said Tara absently, softly. Dawn grinned, leaping up from her seat to join Buffy and William. They opened up their hug to let Dawn in. Tara smiled. /This is exactly what should be,/ she told herself, /this feels...right./

/Except for Willow not being here./ She sighed and squared her shoulders. /No, none of that now. Be here for Buffy and William and Dawn. Be strong for them. Be supportive. There's all the time in the world tomorrow to collapse and cry./

"Be strong," she repeated in a soft whisper. "Be strong."