The whole place is dark. Buffy thinks that's why they call it a basement. It's at the base of the building. He's  here somewhere. She can hear his rambling, his quick and unneccessary breath. So shallow and scared. "Spike?" she calls out   softly, the bag she brought with her banging against her leg. "Buffy," he calls back, voice whispery, "Buffy...I'm not home .  Go away." "No, you're not home," Buffy agrees, and find him lying face down on the floor. "Hi. Spike, what's with the lying  down? Don't you have a perfectly good broken desk over there?" She gestures to the desk with nails sticking out of it.  Manufacturing error. In a huge, lethal way. "If I keep very still," Spike tells her, "they won't talk so much." "Okay.  That's great," Buffy bends down and strokes her fingers down his back. "No touching!" Spike instantly flinches away from her.  "Warm. You're warm. Don't deserve warmth." Buffy's eyes soften. "You deserve all the warmth I can give," she says sadly and  kneels on the floor. "Sit up." Spike stares at her and then at the bag. "What's that?" he asks suspiciously. "Oh, this?"  Buffy acts nonchalent. "It's just...no, forget it. You don't deserve it, right?" "What is it?" Spike asks with actual  interest. "I might deserve it. I've been very quiet. Almost good." "Okay," Buffy pulls out the shirt and jacket, "here."  Spike looks at the shirt. It's red. Like his old one. What happened to that shirt? There's a black tank top, too. And the  jacket is denim, not leather. Spike looks at Buffy and reaches into the bag, looking surprised as he pulls out a pair of  loafers and a grey knitted sweater. "What?" he asks. "Who are these for?" "You." "A present?" "Yes. A present. From me to  you." He pushes the clothes away. "Don't deserve it," he shakes his head. "But you've been very good," Buffy argues, "and  you need clothes." "Why?" Spike asks. "Because I'm taking you out," Buffy declares, "and before you argue, it's set." "Why?  Why? You can take Dawn or Willow or Xander," Spike rambles, "take them. Take them. They deserve it." "Not like you do,"  Buffy tells him, "I've been watching you. You're very, very, exceptionally good. So I'm taking you out." Spike suddenly  realizes what she's wearing. She's wearing a short white dress that's decorated with a cherry print and a red coat and red  shoes with heels and her hair is done in a pretty way, all wavy. She's wearing mascara and red lipstick and her earrings  look like cherries to match her dress. "A date," Spike says simply. "Yes, kind of. I've got dinner reservations," Buffy  explains," and they're for in about twenty minutes to we should have just enough time to get dressed." Spike frowns.  "You're done up like a prize. All pretty. Can I win you?" Buffy smiles at him sadly. "Not looking like that! Come here,"  she whips out a tissue and spits on it, wiping his face. Her mom used to do this. It makes her feel sad but also kind of  right. Like turning into her mom isn't the worst thing in the world. Spike just stares at her, eye wide. "Then I can win  you?" he asks. Buffy looks conflicted deliberately. "Well, you'll have to be pretty charming. You know, you have to be good  all the time. This place is really, really only for rich people. Beautiful people." "You're beautiful." She grins. "You would say that. No, I mean people who have their own little tiny dogs that go in their purses and silver plated toilets.  So if you want to...win me you have to be good all the time." "I can do that," Spike promises. "Good." In fifteen minutes , Spike's all dressed in his new clothes. Buffy frowns at his old black jeans and digs around in her purse. "This is kind  of a girly belt," she says, whipping it out, "but the sweater will cover it. You've lost so much weight," she adds  dissaprovingly as she threads the belt for him and tightens it so his jeans aren't falling off. She's too close. He feels  himself quiver and shame floods his cold flesh. "Oh-kay," Buffy stands back. "Come on, let's...go." Spike looks around the  basement. "Okay," he says, letting Buffy take his hand and lead him slowly off the school grounds until they're on the  street and he feel slightly less pressure on his mind. "Are you okay?" Buffy asks as they walk. She lets go of his hand.  "If this is too awkward..." "No," Spike looks pleading, "please hold hands, Buffy. Please. I'll be good." She laces her  slim fingers through his. "There. Better?" "Doesn't hurt now," he tells her. "Great," she says, like it means anything to  her. Eventually they get to the restaurant. Spike reads from the sign, "Armande's. Italian?" "Yeah. I think," Buffy looks  at him, suddenly nervous, "do you like Italian?" Spike nods happily. "Great," Buffy breathes a sigh of relief, "because I  practically had to sleep with the owner to get reservations." Spike's hand stiffens in hers. "Figure of speech," she says  quickly and feels the cool fingers relax and squeeze her hand back gently. "Table for two," she says airily once they're  inside, like she's rich too, "under the name Summers." "Of course, Miss Summers, follow me," the man leads them to a  secluded corner booth. "Wine list?" he asks. Buffy hesitates. "N-yes. Okay. One bottle of the cheapest red wine you have."  Spike's distracted by the interior and all the men in suits. It's like being back in his own time. Everybody's so polite.  He feels so out of place in his casual black jeans and denim jacket. The walls are dark red, like fresh blood, and the  floor is a deep mossy green, fresh grave. "Spike?" Buffy asks. "Are you alright?" He nods. "Have some wine," she says,  pouring him a glass, "you can only have two glasses, so make it last." Spike nods and takes a small drink. The weak liquid  tastes bad but Buffy is smiling and he wants to get his prize, so Spike smiles and goes along with it, despite the fact  that he keeps twitching, thinking he can see Dru or Warren out of the corner of his eye. At the worst times, he can even  see Glory. She frightens him almost as much as when he can see Other Buffy. Because when he sees Glory, he remembers Buffy  dying and the pain just makes him want to explode. Buffy reaches across the table and touches Spike's hand. "Are you  enjoying your evening?" she asks gently. He nods and looks around. "BUFFY SUMMERS!" Buffy flinches and Spike twitches and  all in a rush there's a girl with short dark hair besides them. "Hi! Buffy! Do you remember me?" Buffy wracks her brains.  "Uhm...please, give me a little prompt?" "It's Carmel! Carmel Lluvia? I used to hang around with," her voice goes dreamy,  "Cordelia?" Spike looks at the woman. She is pretty on the outside but she is ugly really. And if you look closely, her  face isn't real, anyway. It's made by doctors. Her nose isn't quite healed. "Carmel!" Buffy smiles and takes a long drink  of wine. "Of course! How are you?" "Oh, married. Two kids. You?" "Uhm...dating. I'm a school counselor," Buffy says and  realizes it sounds lame. "I have a rapport with the students." "Dating? Dating whom?" Carmel chirrups and drinks in Spike.  "This beaut?" she asks and looks admiringly. Buffy hesitates again. "Yes," she takes Spike's hand and brings it to her  mouth, kissing his hand, eyes pleading with him not to pull away. Spike smiles at her, eyes half-closed with pleasure.  "Well, he's nice," Carmel says, "nice to meet you..." "S-" Buffy begins. "William," Spike smiles easily and looks at Carmel,  his eyes large. "William now." "William," Carmel giggles, "and British! Oh, Buffy! You *do* have class!" Buffy tenses and  smiles. "Well, at least more than you," she says. When Carmel looks at her in horror, Buffy does one of those fake ha-  ha-ha laughs to cover her tracks and Carmel joins in, even though they both know it was no joke. "Well, we're eating in the  V.I.P area, but if you use the bathroom you should pass us," Carmel says, voice bubbly but cooler now as she leaves. Buffy  slumps in her seat. "Stupid bitch," she says under her breath. Spike's not sure what to do, so he kisses her hand. Looking  up and smiling, Buffy says, "Thanks for being so amazing. God, that woman is," she shudders, "the next worse thing to  Cordelia." "Are you ready to order?" asks a waiter. Buffy looks awkward. "Nowhere near," she smiles without ease, "give us  a few more minutes, please." "Of course." She sighs and then sits up. "This is going perfectly," she says insistently.  Nothing's going right, though. "Ooh, look," Buffy passes Spike a menu, "you choose what you want. I can't choose for you.  I'm having the spaghetti bolognase. It comes with two different kinds of sauce and salad plate and garlic bread," Buffy  claps, "value for money!" Spike doesn't want to order anything too expensive but Buffy can see his eyes darting over to the  couple three tables over who have a steak platter. "Are you ready to order?" the waiter asks again. "Yes," Buffy says  brightly, "uhm, I'll have the spaghetti bolognase with all the trimmings and he'll have the steak platter. The largest stea  platter. Medium rare." "An excellent choice," the waiter says and takes the menus away. Spike looks at Buffy in confused.  "Don't say it. I know. A twenty dollar steak," Buffy says mournfully, "but I know that's what you want." "You didn't have  to-" "Yes, I did," Buffy insisted, "I'm just going to the bathroom. You stay here. Please, please, please be quiet?" When  Buffy looks in the bathroom mirror, her face is flushed but her eyes are sparkling happily. She realizes that doing a nice  thing is making her feel better about herself for real. She looks great. All healthy and alive. It's nice. She reapplies her  lipstick and goes back out. "Long time no see," Spike tells her as she sits down and lays her paper napkin in her lap.  Buffy smiles, flashing all her teeth. "Somethin' different about you," her 'date' says, eyes wide and confused, "what's  different?" "Uhm. I'm happy right now," Buffy says, shrugging. "See? Smiley, happy Buffy." Spike looks really, really  confused now. "Happy? Why?" "Because this is fun." "Fun?" "Yeah," Buffy looks at him like he's just said something she  doesn't get, "you know, fun with you? It's nice. It feels...normal." Spike snorts with laughter. "Yeah. Well. Normal.  Riiight." "No, really," Buffy says earnestly, "we're just two people on a date, having fun, having--Ooh! There's the food!  How's that for service?" "Good?" Spike asks. "You have been to restaurants before?" Buffy asks in a slightly mocking voice.  "Ususally I have to threaten to beat the crap out of every damn waiter just to get service. Somehow small blond chicks don't  get the service they should. Apparently small blond chicks with tall bleached men do." Spike doesn't answer. He doesn't  make eye contact. He looks down. "What?" Buffy asks as the food is laid in front of them. She can see something is wrong.  "Men?" he says. "What?!" "Men? Tall bleached *men*." "Fine. Tall bleached *man*. Only you. Okay?" Frustration. "No, Buffy,  that's not it," Spike scowls, "I'm not a man." "Oh, jeez," Buffy sighs, rolls her eyes, and looks like she's on the verge  of collapsing. "I should have seen that one coming, shouldn't I?" "Should you?" "Well, it always comes back to this,  doesn't it?" Buffy exclaims, looking down at her spaghetti. It suddenly resembles writhing worms and she almost pukes.  Why did she order spaghetti? Oh, great, there's free garlic bread. Spike pokes at his steak with his fork. "What's wrong  now?" Buffy sighs. "Uhm...what animal is this?" "It's beef, Spike, steak is beef. Which means cow. Moo," Buffy tries lamely  to make him smile. Honestly, she gets more joy out of herself. At least she's sane enough to fake smile enough to make  people think she's okay-Buffy. Happy Buffy. Laugh-a-minute Buffy. "Cow," Spike looks at her, "no, it's not." "It damn well  is!" Buffy slams her fist down on the table so hard that a crack appears under the table cloth. "Spike, what did I say about  being good? Now, you haven't been rambling. That's good. Okay, I'm officially broke after I bought you that steak now eat  it and shut up!" Everybody's staring at her. She's been yelling. "Okay...honey?" she finishes lamely. They all go back to  what they're doing. Sunnydale folk have a way with  ignoring the weird. And a little blond girl yelling over a steak isn't the weirdest by far. Spike looks at her. "Buffy,"  he says slowly, "this isn't cow. Or beef. Or whatever you want to dress it up as. This is human." The colour drains from  Buffy's face. "Wh-huh? Whuh?" "It's human," Spike sniffs the air, "so is everything else in here...by the smell of it." " Oh, jeez," Buffy bangs her head on the table hard. Over and over again. "Why! Can't! I! Have! One! Nice! Meal?!" "Buffy,  please don't," Spike begs, "don't hurt. It hurts." She stops and looks at him, a bruise starting to show on her forehead.  Spike, is there any way we could go away and forget about this?" "I could, pet. Happily. You," he stabs the meat with his  fork, "couldn't ever do that, could you?" She smiles. "
	On to part two