Okay. So how hard can this be?

I sit, they talk, I answer. Thirty seconds. Easy. This will be fine.

Guy Number One: Dark, tall, handsome. Not sure about the goatee.

“A lot of guys are just out to hook up. Not me. I’m looking for a future. Someone I can settle down with. Raise a family, live a nice, quiet life, enjoying the simple pleasures.”

Buffy Summers: Incompatible. We would ruin the children.

“That’s really sweet. And so refreshing to hear… This isn’t gonna work out.”

Guy Number Two: How many piercings does one guy need? And what colour is that? Chartreuse? Teal? Dull Purple? What?

“This is San Fran, right? Let your freak flag fly. So, I’ll be straight up. I’m a freak. I’m into S&M, B&D, role-playing, polyamory… I figure life is short. It shouldn’t be boring. I crave action, adventure. Stimulation!”

Buffy Summers: I think I just threw up a little. Blank stare.

“I know exactly what you mean. In a completely different way.”

Guy Number Three: Blond. Tall. Blue eyed and drop-dead gorgeous in an annoying kind of way. This could work. Smile, Buffy, Smile.

“Wait. Aren’t you?”

Buffy Summers: Is that the time?

“Nope.”

Guy Number Four: Less Jonathan Taylor Thomas, more Jonathan Levinson.

“I know who you are. And I have some questions. Like, moonlight is reflected sunlight, so why doesn’t it kill vampires? And if vampires don’t breathe, how can they smoke cigarettes? And if vampires’ hearts don’t beat, how can a male vampire have sex? Because you need to have blood flow in order…”

Buffy Summers: Why me? Next!

“Security!”

Guy Number Three. Again – I hope this isn’t a loop: He’s still talking.

“Sorry. Of course not. She was public enemy number one. Commanded an army of warrior women. She wouldn’t be stuck in some cheesy hipster bar, speed-dating….”

Buffy Summers: Fed up now.

“Wow. Has it been thirty seconds already? Nice meeting you. Bye.

Guy Number Four: A vampire. Yes, SERIOUSLY!

“A Slayer. How awkward. This isn’t going to work out. Unless… you aren’t the one who has a fetish for vampires?”

Buffy Summers: Head on table.

“No comment. But I know someone who has lots of questions for you.”

Direct him to Guy Number Four: A much better match.

“You are her! So awesome to meet you! I’m Edmund. Heard so much about you.”

“I think you have the wrong idea.” Earth, open, hole, swallow. Now, please.

“No. Really, give me a chance. I’m extremely self-hating.”

Random Strange Guy. Vampire Extra #2: Even worse than the first.

“Did you say you were Buffy? The Buffy? You’re even hotter in person.”

“Back off, I was here first.”

“She’s a woman, not a possession. Check your privilege.”

“Check yours, you poser son of a… OW!”

“ARGH! Our nipple rings are caught.”

“Don’t move! We have to do this delicately.”

So over this now.

“That’s it. I’m done.”

With that, Buffy Summers has enough and walks through the vampires, causing them to scream as their piercings rip through their flesh. As they both scream, like little girls, Buffy waves her hands at them. “Oh, relax. You’ll heal in like, two seconds. And for future reference, I like my vampires with a little more soul and a little less Portlandia.”

As she walks out of the door, she looks up at the night sky and sighs. Speaking aloud, to nobody in particular, Buffy doesn’t look back at the bar she’s just left. “Also, speed-dating sucks.”

Across town, Xander and Dawn exit a late night showing of The Princess Bride. Dawn explains that she loves the movie and it’s better in the theatre. Xander tells her that it was perfect film for a couple of friends, just hanging out, but Dawn isn’t too convinced. Before she can say anything else, he asks her if she’s hungry, and is quick to add that they’ll go eat – but just as friends.

Minutes later, they’re entering a rather exquisite restaurant, with servers moving around with trays and extravagant furnishings. Dawn stops as they walk through the threshold. “I don’t know. The atmosphere’s a little datey,” she worries. Xander makes a joke. “You wouldn’t know from the signage. I call bait and switch.”

He points to the crepe cart, calling it “inherently non-datey,” but Dawn stops him mid sentence. “Xander. I’m so sorry, but this isn’t working.”

Xander rubs the back of his head, but instantly reverts to jokes. “Of course. Crepes are French. The language of L’Amour! Bad Xander. Mauvais Xander.”

Dawn raises her voice now, as she loses her temper. “It’s not the crepes!”

She calms down and takes a deep breath, aware of the diners around them. “It’s us. My feelings might’ve been reset, but I still remember how we fell in love. And it wasn’t like this.”

She takes a step toward him, lowers her voice. “It was natural. Low key. Two people hanging out together, with no pressure at all, because we knew each other and liked each other. This… It’s nothing but pressure. For me, and, whether you see it or not, for you.”

She boldly kisses him on the cheek now. “We did this too soon. I need more time. So do you. But thank you for the lovely movie.” She then turns, and waves at him. “I’ll see you at the homestead, okay?”

He smiles a small smile, hates the way he’s feeling. He weakly waves back at her. “Yeah. Sure. You’re right.”

When she’s gone, Xander looks to the ground, disheartened. “It’s not like it was before,” he sighs.

Elsewhere in the city, Willow is sitting opposite Aluwyn. They’re together, the student and Saga Vasuki. In this dimension. Willow stares into her lover’s eyes. “Okay. This is definitely a little weird.”

Aluwyn grins at her, seductively. “How could it be anything else?” And then she turns. They’re in a large house, downstairs in a living area. Witches are all around them, talking magic, learning spells, conjuring in corners. And the Saga Vasuki has her tail wrapped around Willow, on the couch. “We’re meeting for the first time in your home dimension.” She glances around at the room again. “I must say, I expected it to be more mundane.”

Willow chuckles lightly. “Ha. It’s not all a Wiccan house party, Aluwyn. There’s plenty of mundanity to go around, trust me.”

Aluwyn raises her tail, the rattle at the end of it shaking. “Well, I was going to ask you for a tour, once we’d concluded official business. But if it’s as bland as you say, we could stay in instead.” The look of suggestion on her face tells Willow all she needs to know.

“We’re supposed to be talking strategy,” she smiles. “Co-ordinating with the Multidimensional Supercoven.”

“What else is there to discuss?” the snake lady purrs at her. “You’re using your mystic book to shape Earth’s new rules of magic. I can’t imagine a better choice. I have also confirmed that the dimensional barrier between your world and the mystic realms are strong, from both sides.”

Willow tells her about the Soul Glutton and the Mistress, but Aluwyn is unconcerned. Demons always get through the barrier. They hide themselves in the dark places, but eventually reveal themselves – and Willow is well equipped to deal with them. Aluwyn senses there’s something more and pulls Willow closer. “Don’t try to trick a trickster, Willow. Is something wrong?”

She holds Willow’s face in her hands now. “When we parted, we agreed we’d meet again once you’d restored magic here. To see what we could be to each other. Things have changed between us. You don’t need a guide any longer. You’re shaping the very magic of your world. We’re more equal now.” With surprise in her voice, she purrs. “I like that. I thought you would too.”

Willow turns her head away slightly. “I do, it’s just…” She gets up and heads for the stairs, the party above almost drowning her voice out. “I need to slow down. Process all this. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She doesn’t look back, and Aluwyn curls up on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Willow says, having collected her stuff, and she leaves through the front door of the house.

At a hotel room in San Francisco, Olivia Williams is cursing at her phone, under her breath. “I swear, if this is some sort of catfishing thing, I will murder…” She’s stopped by a knock on the door.

She runs towards the entrance, more excited than she thought she’d be and opens the door with a big smile. “Rupert?”

She looks down at the small twelve year old boy in front of her, his hair ruffled, his glasses fogged up and crooked. “Hello, Olivia,” he says, straightening his appearance as she stares at him. “I, uh, mentioned in my emails that there’d been some changes.”

Olivia leans against the door frame, an angry look on her face. “I knew it. Listen, kid, this is not funny. You’re impersonating a man I cared very much about. I’m still not over his death and…”

“We were meant to be ghost hunting in the Langham Hotel. We ended up in the bar, drinking cheap wine and singing Clash songs. Quite horridly and far too loud. Then we rented a room we couldn’t afford and it was more than worth the cost.”

Olivia looks down and brings her hands to her face in shock. “My God… Rupert?”

Shortly afterwards, recovering from the shock, Olivia and Giles are sitting in her hotel room. “So those of us with prior experience in the occult are quite in demand now,” Olivia is explaining. “I’m based in LA, but liaison with the San Francisco Supernatural Crimes Unit.”

“Then you’ll be coming here often?” Giles asks.

Olivia nods. “Several times a year, I’d imagine.”

And then, Giles moves to kiss her. “Lucky me.”

Olivia is horrified, jumping backwards, asking him if he’s mad. The boy stutters back at her. “I should have asked if you were seeing anyone. I’m sorry.” But Olivia rages at him. “Rupert, you’re a child!”

He shakes his head slightly. “I assure you, my mind and memories are those of the man you knew. The mature man.”

But Olivia is almost hysterical. “Your body is twelve!”

Giles looks at her. “You’d never been one to follow convention, I hoped…”

But she interrupts him. ” What? That I’m a ped…”

Giles loses his temper now, shouting louder. “So you’re just going to abandon me? Destroy my life? Good job I didn’t have the audacity to become crippled or terminally ill! Did you ever care about me at all?”

Olivia looks at him for a moment, stunned silent. “You’re being overly dramatic and extremely unfair.” She calms slightly, looking to the floor. “We’ve always led our own lives. It’s why we’ve worked all these years. I’m not your wife, and neither of us ever wanted me to be. I love you, Rupert. That will never change. But I can’t… love you. Not the same way. I’d feel like a criminal.”

Giles looks away from her, hears her words. But he has a response prepared. “No less a criminal than I’d feel, chatting up seventh-grade girls! Do you know how slowly time passes at this age? It’ll be years before an adult woman will even look at me. That’s an eternity! No one raised an eyebrow at Buffy dating men centuries older than her when she was sixteen because they looked appropriate, It’s all so bloody shallow!”

Olivia places her hand on his shoulder. “Judging by the decidedly un-Rupert-like way you’re behaving, I think there’s more to what’s happened to you than a change in appearance. I know it’ll be a challenge. And I will be here for you, as your friend. I know that’s not what you wanted. It’s not what I wanted, either.”

Giles places his hand on hers. “You’re right. This isn’t how I used to be at all, is it? I’m not simply my old self in a smaller frame. I’m something, someone, altogether new.”

Olivia smiles at him. “That means you can be anyone you like.” She touches his face softly, but he looks down and away from her. “I liked who I was,” he says to her, quietly.

Elsewhere, Andrew Wells is looking rather suave, and being escorted across a large, busy room by a girl named Julie. It’s the same house Willow left Aluwyn in hours before. He’s nervous – and she can tell.

People of all backgrounds are in the room, dancing, drinking, getting to know each other. Overwhelmed by the sudden social interaction, Andrew takes his friend’s hand suddenly, and stammers his words out. “Everyone’s being very free. Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”

Julie turns to him, gesturing around. “Well, it’s supposed to be for coven members only, but your Demonology class taught us so much, you get a free pass. And,” she says pointedly, smiling at him. “I am still hoping you’ll join.” Then, with no explanation, she smirks at her friend. “I also might be playing a little matchmaker. There’s someone here I got the impression you were kinda into.”

They walk through the gathering, approaching the centre and Julie stops. She points over at a young man, bald, but stylish in his blue jacket. He knows they’re coming, he must do, thinks Andrew, since he’s staring at us, waving. He decides to not wave back. Julie nudges him. “He’s our leader. His name’s Clive.”

Andrew looks at Clive and then, without turning to Julie, a smile painted on his face, he mumbles at her. “I… He’s very… male.”

Julie looks horrified for a moment. “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so narrow minded and preference constricting. You’re right. It’s a Bacchanal. Casting off labels is the whole point.” She leans closer to Andrew, the smirk back. “If we’re playing it like that, I’m up for a wild ride if you are.”

Andrew smiles his fake smile at her, and removes her hand from his lower back. “Um… These shoes aren’t really made for that kind of walking,” he stammers. “I really mostly came for the potion you mentioned. The one that can create a new body.”

Julie doesn’t look disappointed. She simply smiles at him. Andrew continues. “Which I am interested in for purely academic reasons, of course. Totally not because I’m tampering with forces man was never meant to.”

Julie turns and nods. “Right. The Asclepian Vial. You’re welcome to check it out, but I think you misunderstood me. It doesn’t make new bodies out of nothing. It’s supposed to transform you into your perfect self.”

Andrew nods at her. “Interesting. More of a Golden Age origin trope… magic words, belts, rings, supplanted by radiation in the Silver Age.” Julie hands him the bottle from a shelf.

“Yeah, well, it’s never worked for any of us. But it’s kind of a tradition that everyone who comes here takes a sip. It never gets empty, so it’s definitely magic.” As she watches, Andrew takes the glass top from the old antiquated bottle and knocks back a large gulp. Julie then chimes in. “Or maybe Clive refills it with Perrier. Tastes kinda fizzy. It’s never hurt anyone.”

Andrew finishes and then turns to Julie. He flexes his arms and looks disappointed. “I’m still more ‘Before’ Chris Evans.” Julie chuckles at him, in a flirty way. “To be honest, I think the legend’s a metaphor. Drinking the potion is symbolic. A ritual meant to encourage self-examination and analysis.” She looks behind Andrew. “And in that spirit…”

She pulls Andrew’s arm down from where he’s flexing it, and sighs. She then turns him to look at her. “I’ve seen how you look at Clive. You have never looked at me like that. Is there any girl you like at all? Has there ever been?”

Andrew blushes. “I don’t really give romance much thought. Way too busy. No time for love, Doctor Jones.” Julie steps back. “Oh, come on. Nobody’s too busy to think about love.”

Andrew stutters at her. “I….I…. don’t.”

Julie is persistent however. “Okay,” she says, placing herself directly in front of him. “When you close your eyes and picture yourself kissing someone, who is it? What are they like?”

He closes his eyes and thinks. His lips squirm as he does so. Then, as if a light bulb moment has gone off over his head, he opens his eyes with a start. He turns to Julie, and, far quieter than his usual volume, answers.

“Clive. I picture myself kissing someone like Clive. I… think… Um…. Julie, I think I’m kinda gay.”

Julie grins at him and hugs him, tightly. “Congratulations. You just did something awesome.”

Andrew goes back to stammering again, instantly. “No. I… That can’t be right. I would’ve known before now. I think the potion’s doing something to me.”

“Yeah,” Julie says, patting him on the back. “What’s advertised. Helping you be your ideal self. Who you really are…”

Andrew turns for a moment and looks down at the bottle.

And then the wall caves in.

People are screaming. Running. A large glob like demon, with extra human appendages emerges from the darkness, surrounded by decaying flesh monsters that barely walk upright. “The Asclepian vial,” he roars. “Give it to me and I, the Sculptor, will only kill half of you!”

Julie panics and turns to Andrew. She urges him to throw the bottle, but as she turns, she gasps. Andrew is taller now, more muscular, and his jeans and shirt have ripped to accommodate his new size. “Oh, I’ll give it to him, all right. Upside the head.”

Andrew heads towards the demon. “I’ll give him all he can handle and more!” The Sculptor sees him coming and realises that the vial has been used. He looks down at Andrew, who, super-heroically, is ripping flesh creatures apart.

“I know your game, villain! You made these things out of meat and other handy supplies. They’re not alive, so I can tear them to bits without being evil! And you being a demon… I can do the same to you!”

The Sculptor heads for the entrance he’s made and sneers as he looks back at Andrew. “Humans. Give them a little power and they can’t shut up. I wasn’t prepared for this. Another time, fool!”

Andrew grins as the demon leaves, yelling after him. “I love that: ‘Another time, fool!’ Totally Doctor Doom! I gotta step up my game. Run anywhere you want, monster. YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM JUSTICE!”

With the demon gone, the party revellers all turn towards Andrew, stunned. Clive is the first to his side, throwing his arm around Andrew’s shoulders. “Dude, you saved us all! The potion worked – for the first time, ever! – Look at you, man, you turned into your perfect self… You’re a superhero!”

And the crowd goes wild.

At a crime scene, west of the Bay, Spike enters a warehouse. The police tape reflects in the light of the CSI’s torches. Detective Dowling, head of the SFPD’s Supernatural Division has been waiting for the vampire, but the scene is not pretty. A security guard hangs in the warehouse’s back room, in what is clearly a meat locker. As he sees Spike approach, Dowling begins his report.

“Half ton of beef gone, plus the guard’s arm and legs. I was thinking werewolf – or maybe a pack of them?” Spike turns to him, staring.

“Don’t feel right,” he says, sniffing the air. “Werewolves are creatures of impulse. They’d have torn the poor fella to shreds. Someone specifically wanted an arm and two legs. Could be a ritual, but, add in the meat and my gut says someone’s making flesh golems.”

Spike doesn’t take his eyes off the scene, as Dowling turns to him. “I’ll ask around, ” the vampire says. “See if anyone’s heard anything or smelled anything.” He sniffs the air again and immediately regrets it. “Flesh golems get ripe pretty quick.”

“Appreciated,” Dowling nods and then turns his back on the scene. With a wink, he points out another officer, one with a ponytail, who looks over and waves at Spike. “Listen, officer Hardwicke, with the ponytail? She’s got a thing for you. Big fan of Anne Rice, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Spike doesn’t return the wave. “Thanks,” he says, not turning to Dowling. He’s still watching the scene. “But I make a point to stay away from literature lovers. The reality never matches the fantasy. ‘But you’re not sparkling’ – well, excuse me! I’ll shove some Pop Rocks up my arse. Nah. Reckon I’ll be married to the job, for a bit. Keep things simple, like you.”

Dowling chuckles as he leads Spike away from the scene. He has a date on Thursday. A lady from the LAPD that he met at a convention. Spike laughs. “Look at Dowling, all grown up! Want me to rough you up a bit? A few battle scars to impress her?”

He babbles about using his fingernails as claws, but Dowling stops him. “I’m all set, thanks.” As Spike waves his hands and begins to walk away, the detective calls after him. “Listen, Spike… I’m glad to to have you working with us so often. Believe me. And you know I adore Buffy… But you’ve got to give other women a chance, on their own terms. Get back out there. Don’t compare everyone you met to…”

Spike yells back, but doesn’t turn. “Bloody Hell. A bloke gets himself a bird and he wants to clap all his mates in chains too! I’m playing the field! In fact, I’m going to a trendy spot right now.”

A short time later, at the Supporting Sore Social Club, Spike approaches a table where a group of demon patrons are about to start playing a game. One not holding cards turns to Spike.

“Flesh golems? Sounds like the Sculptor. Demon Lord, works in meat. Kinda obsessed with building the perfect body. And not in the Jack Lalanne sense.”

Spike nods. He thinks he’s heard of the creature. He asks the horned demon where he can find said Sculptor. The demon tells him that the Sculptor tends to be anywhere near a place he can get his hands on body parts: morgues, slaughter houses, cemeteries – but he doesn’t like them embalmed. He likes them fresh.

Spike pulls a grimace and then hands the demon some cash, rolled up. He tells his informant to not spend it all at once, but the demon smiles. “Too late. I’m gonna turn it into kitten flesh, right here, right now.”

And suddenly, another demon at the table raises a basket, and six tiny kittens all tumble out onto the table. Spike looks at the demons, his voice rising. “Hang on. Thought gambling for kittens was a thing of the past. Bad for the public image like.” The demon scoffs: does he see any humans around? “Your soul’s showing, blondie. You don’t want to see what comes next, get outta here.”

Spike turns to walk and then looks back at the table. A tiny ginger kitten just stares at him, it’s eyes wide and curious. Then it meows at the vampire, a tiny, little squeal. Spike looks up, cracks his knuckles and decides on his next move. “Right,” he says, clenching his hands into fists.

In the apartment shared by the Slayer, her sister and her best friend, the three are gathered in the living area, large tubs of ice-cream nestled in their laps, spoons in their hands. Willow sits on her chair, looking sad, her spoon swirling in the tub.

“Aluwyn’s a trickster. A deceiver. It’s the essence of her being. That’s why I chose her as my mentor. She made me question the rules, break out of my usual ways of thinking. Work to find the truth and understand it from all angles. She was just what I needed.”

She stirs the spoon again, stares at it. “But, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust her. And the person I have to be to feel safe around her… always on guard and always questioning everyone’s motives, including mine… It all just feels wrong.”

She finally looks up at her friends. “Am I falling off the magic-addiction wagon? Is that why it’s weird? I wondered if being in charge of the book was bad for me.”

Buffy shakes her head, swallows her dessert. “No, you’re doing great. You could be binging on magic right now if you wanted to, but you’re handling it like a pro.” Dawn nods and then speaks. “I know what you mean though.”

Buffy and Willow turn to her. Dawn grabs another scoop. “When you’re with someone like… that,” she says, slightly embarrassed. “You want to feel at ease. Relaxed. Like you can just be yourself. Be honest.” She moves the spoon to her mouth and then, before she eats, she says, quieter. “When that’s not there, it’s hard.” The spoon brings silence.

Across the hall, sitting on Xander’s counter, is Anya. Xander is pacing around her and not for the first time this evening. She’s getting irritated and her voice would make anyone cover their ears.

Xander finds it oddly comforting.

“Quit moping around,” she says. “Bad enough I’m stuck haunting my ex, it has to be when he’s having a long, boring night of the soul.”

“Well excuse me for not having more stimulating misery!” he fires back. “Look, I’ve tried exorcising you, Anya. Tried setting you free. But nothing seems to work.”

Anya crosses her transparent legs. “Because clearly my divine punishment is to help you grow as a person. Talk about eternal damnation.” She turns away from him, scowling now. “I asked Sisyphus to trade jobs with me. He said, ‘No thanks. I’m good.’”

Xander gives as good as he gets. “Yeah, well if George Bailey had you, he’d have jumped off the Bedford Falls Bridge! You’re supposed to be helping me get Dawn back!”

“Who told you that?” his ex yells. “Maybe my job is to save her from my creepy stalker ex by forcing him to get a life!”

Xander turns, upset by her comment. “Creepy? Stalker? I’m trying my damnedest to make her happy!”

Anya brushes an intangible hand through her intangible hair. “That’s the problem! You’re trying so hard, it’s making me tense – and I don’t have a body to tense! Just relax, Xander. Take up meditation. Get a pet. I’ve heard pets calm people down.”

Xander frowns at her angrily and then silently thanks a higher power for the interruption when there’s a knock at the door. Xander turns and opens it and then stops and looks at Spike, stunned.

The vampire tells him he couldn’t reach his key. He’s also brought Xander a present. Or six, more accurately, as all over him, on his shoulders, pawing at his hair and nestled in his arms, are the six, rather confused and curious kittens.

In the girls’ apartment, Dawn is getting slightly more tense now, as Willow watches the sisters, nervously sucking on her spoon, too afraid to move it.

“I just don’t get why you keep trying to force me to get back together with Xander when it doesn’t feel right! You’re my sister! You should be on my side!”

“Why are there sides? I love you! I love Xander! He adores you and you’re great together! I just don’t know why you’re the only one who can’t see that!”

Dawn sits up now, puts her ice cream to one side and points at her sister angrily. “Holy Pot and Kettle, Batman! What about you and Spike? I’d kill for the easy, fun, flirty, sexy best-pals thing you two have!” Buffy insists that that’s different: they have history, a not-always-nice history, but Dawn has started now. Willow cowers, sinks down more into her seat.

“All the bad stuff was before he had a soul. Have you even given him a chance since? Have you ever given anyone a chance when there was half a shot at it working? Or only when they’re unattainable?”

She gets off the couch angrily, moving towards the stairs. “I swear, Buffy,” she says as she starts to climb. “Sometimes I think you don’t want to be happy.” Then, Dawn is gone and Buffy sits in silence. She turns to Willow, who has removed the spoon now, and has picked Dawn’s ice-cream up. She then settles back into her chair and looks at Buffy.

“She does have a teensy, tiny point.”

Buffy looks annoyed, but not at her friend, or her sister. She sighs, gets up and grabs her jacket. She needs to do something outsidey. Get some air. As she slips her gear on, she turns to Willow. “Just FYI… you guys suck at girl talk.”

Willow doesn’t call after her. The Slayer clearly needs space.

Back across the hall, the kittens are all staring at something, but Spike can’t tell what. He’s half way through the door. Anya is on her knees, surrounded by kittens that she can’t pet, but they seem to notice her. “Oh, they’re adorable!” she grins. “I don’t see how anyone could compare them to rabbits. Cats have a sadistic, predatory streak you can’t help but love!”

Xander shakes his head at her and then calls after Spike. “Wait a minute! I don’t know nothing about keeping no kitties!”

Spike tells him to get a litter box and some kibble. “It’s not rocket science. I’ll find them homes tomorrow. Got crucial, police business to take care of in the meantime. Real danger to the community stuff. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Xander doesn’t turn, but does pick up a kitten. “I think you’re making up this police business. I think you’re just using it as an excuse to leave me with these…” He stops as Spike exits the apartment. “These awful furry, warm, purring… Now I’m sleepy.”

In the hallway, Spike nearly bumps into Buffy, leaving at the same time. He thinks she looks annoyed, but Buffy tells him that she’s annoyed at herself. And the girl talk therapy didn’t help. Spike looks confused and tells her he’s baffled. But he promises to listen, nod and agree.

Buffy turns to him, smiling. “I heard what you said. This police business… does it involve hitting things? And if so, can you use an extra pair of fists?” Her eyes plead with him and he chuckles. “Yes and Hell yes.”

Less than an hour later, flesh golems have them surrounded in a graveyard, one claiming to be green and energy efficient. Spike grabs a heavy shovel and swings it, removing the head off one golem.

“Don’t see the boss man anywhere,” he says. “This feels like a skeleton crew, just here to watch the place.” He’s disappointed by a lack of reaction. “Get it? ‘Skeleton crew’?”

Buffy swings her Scythe and takes out another golem, blood spraying everywhere. “Pun fail,” she grins. “You should’ve saved it for when we were fighting reanimated skeletons. These things,” she says, bisecting another, “have too much meat on their bones.”

Then, they’re back to back and she looks at him, grinning. “Get it? ‘Meat on their bones?’” Spike criticises her pun, telling her that his made more sense. Hers was too literal, to the point of being nonsensical.

Buffy smiles. “Yours did not make sense, for the reasons I clearly stated. Mine was a play on a euphemism for fat people and… yeah, okay, it didn’t make sense.”

She looks around at the flesh on the ground. Spike asks her if she’s feeling better now and Buffy smiles. It was exactly what she needed, she tells him. He smiles and turns to put the shovel down.

“I had a feeling,” he says.

“You usually do,” she says, looking at him as his back is turned. She then says his name, places her hand on his shoulder and turns him around. “Spike?”

He looks at her for a moment and is surprised when she moves to kiss him. But not too surprised.

Spike drops the shovel and Buffy loosens her grip on the Scythe.

And, as the sun sinks in the distance, out over the bay, Buffy and Spike kiss, lost in each other, lost in passion.