Willow had just started to doze back off to sleep when Tara began to toss harder in the bed. Her moist, clammy arm smacked
Willow in the head as she rolled frantically to the middle of the bed and gave a strangled moan. Rubbing her head gingerly
Willow sat up and pulled Tara into her lap. She stoked a sweaty strip of soft brown hair off her forehead and cooed softly,
"What is it baby?" Then that sticky sweet scent of apples smacked her in the face. "Oh god, the spell," she breathed,
realizing it had infested her blood like a poison. "Oh baby," she said, her eyes big and sad at Tara's misery, "I'll make it
better. She slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Buffy's door was closed tight at the other end of the hall. She
wandered close and sniffed the air, wondering if Buffy was as miserable as Tara.
In the warm darkness of her room Buffy stretched against the cool skin under her cheek. It felt so good against her heated
body and she grasped his shoulder and pulled herself more fully atop him with a happy sigh. He gave a low chuckle in her ear
and his voice rumbled against her as he whispered, "Comfortable, luv?"
It just sounded naughty the way he said it and she felt a damp throb between her legs again. But it was different. There had
been a haze, a sensual fog when Anya had come into her room and her bed. Now Buffy felt awake. She pillowed her head
more firmly on his chest and opened her eyes. The bed was empty beside them. She was glad. She wasn't big on regrets. She'd
always made the choices she had to. Or wanted to. But she was glad she wouldn't have to deal with the ramifications right
this minute. She had enough problems with the ramifications lying under her right now. She sighed and nestled closer.
"I'm alright."
Willow's hand hovered on the doorknob a second. She'd feel bad if she woke Buffy up. Slayers didn't get much sleep and Buffy
needed hers right now. She'd just peek. And sniff. That's all. She pushed the door open a crack.
Anya followed Xander into their living room. There was a light still on and the bedroom door was flung wide. The bed was
perfectly made. It was almost morning and neither one of them had slept in it this night. She turned slowly. He stood by
the counter staring at the keys in his hands as if they held the answers to all life's mysteries. "Xander?"
He looked up quickly, his bottom lip sucked in and his eyes unfocused. There was a strange familiar quality to his face,
something she hadn't seen in him. But something she had definitely seen before. "Yeah?" he managed blankly.
"W-we both need to talk," she said, stumbling through the sentence.
"Yeah," he answered and looked back down at the keys in his hands. She continued to watch him. They didn't say anything.
"I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" she said, falling back on necessities. Feed yourself, breathe, fundamentals of mortal
existence. The other stuff was so damn hard. She moved into the kitchen with quick, economical steps.
Xander sat at the counter, still stroking his keys with avid attention. "No, I'm not hungry," he said, and his words said
there were bigger things right now than food.
Anya ignored him and pulled out eggs and milk from the fridge. She twisted the knob on the stove and set a stainless steel
frying pan on the flame. She grabbed a greenish red cheese from the fridge along with the little plastic tub of mushrooms.
Xander watched her silently. She cracked the eggs and whipped them to a yellow froth in the bowl. She wished she had her
demon powers right now. Something in her was screaming. Something that had been there for thousands of years. She
wished she could smell him and know for sure. She wished she could wish. She got out the big butcher knife and saw
Xander gulp. She began to slice up the mushrooms into little slivers. There was a man that ran a bakery in 163something. He'd
been delivering more than pastries behind his wife's back. The wife had wished a particular unfaithful part of her husband
would be served to him on a silver platter. Anya pushed the knife through the soft meat of the mushrooms and smiled a little
at the memory. She poured the eggs into the pan and put the mushrooms on one side. When it was sufficiently cooked she
sliced the omelet down the middle and flipped it onto a plate. She threw the hunk of cheese onto the rest of the still
cooking omelet. Xander hated her cheese. It was really delicious. He'd really hate it if he knew where it came from.
When her omelet was finished she slid it onto another plate and carried them both to the counter.
Xander began to eat his omelet slowly. Like it didn't really matter that it was there. Anya just stared at hers, wondering
why she'd made it. Her stomach hurt to eat.
Buffy stiffened as she heard the squeak of the turning knob. She threw her pillow over Spike's head and burrowed into him,
hiding as much flesh as she could. A shaft of light speared from the doorway into the velvet darkness of the room. Spike
inched a toe away and under a sheet as if he could feel its weight. Willow slid half her body around the corner, blocking
most of the light. Buffy slowed her breath and slid her eyelids low. Willow stared at the bed, her eyes squinting to focus.
Giles exhaled huffily as his suitcase rounded the bend of the bag check. The zipper had slid half open and the contents of
his shaving kit spilled out. He sighed and lifted the bag off and onto the floor. He reached for his shaving cream and a
shapely manicured hand beat him too it. His heart skipped a beat for a second. He followed the hand up a supple length of
arm and was confronted with a smiling brunette. "Thank you very much," he said and held his hand out.
She laid the bottle gently in his palm letting the tips of her nails press lightly into his skin. "My pleasure, I'm sure,"
she answered, something in her eyes darkening at his words. He was almost distracted as he smiled and began to pluck the
rest of his things off the conveyor. She began to help with equanimity. Brownie point for her. "So you're not from around
here, are you?" She asked as they straightened.
Giles slid the zipper closed. "Yes. Well," he looked around the L.A. airport. "I suppose not."
The brunette stepped closer and dipped her shoulder fetchingly. "You've got a very interesting look," she said, sliding her
eyes down his body, "and sound, Mr....."
"Giles," he said, a smile tugging at him.
She flipped her card out, seeming to call it to her from thin air. "I'm an agent, Mr. Giles, and I could do wonderful things
with you," she drawled.
"Yes. Well," he said, taking the card from her slowly. "I suppose you could."
She stepped closer and smoothed a wrinkle in his jacket. "In fact, there's a little gathering I'm going to tonight. And
I bet you clean up real nice."
Giles let her lead him away.
Willow stared into the depths of the room. The covers were a mangled lump on Buffy's bed and the air was a heavy dark. She
sniffed at the air. It had that very distinct smell of people and sex and juices. "Buffy?" she squeaked softly, but there
was no response. Tara gave a throaty moan down the hall and Willow glanced over her shoulder then back to Buffy's bed.
Well it didn't smell like apples. And the covers were all tousled, and Buffy was asleep. Willow slid back out of the doorway.
If she'd had as bad a night as Tara know wonder she'd had some "me" time. At least she hadn't turned to Spike.
Spike's voice was muffled by the pillow as he asked, "Buffy?"
"Yes?" Buffy answered, panic fueled adrenaline still pumping through her body. He only growled. She ripped the pillow off
his face. "Sorry."
"I'm tempted to bite you, y'know," he said, his lip in a snarl. She propped herself on her elbows and looked down into his
eyes. His face was relaxed except for his lip but she could tell a tremble of muscle at his temple that wanted to slide
into game face.
"Don't you dare," she commanded. He made a frustrated guttural sound in the back of his throat and flung her off him. He
rolled up and sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress. Buffy felt all the air go out of her. One minute she'd
been looking down into the ferocity of his blue eyes, the next she'd thudded onto her back with a whoosh. She bowed her head
back as the most exquisite sensations sung down her body to the spot between her thighs. The arousal at waking next to him
coupled with the adrenaline of almost being caught and mixed with the slayer energy that had roiled in her at his vampness.
She felt so damned alive. She looked over at him, her lips parted and her eyes dilated. But he wasn't looking at her.
He was holding his head in his hands and he was so still.
"God, Buffy," he said, and it was ragged. She sat up. She knew this was serious. But her body didn't want to listen. Her
body didn't want to talk. She hugged her knees to keep from hugging him and listened. "You keep doing this. Since the spell,
you keep pulling me to you with one hand." He stopped for a long moment. "And pushing me away with the other." Another
pause. "It isn't right."