The floor could have had a trench in it by the time Buffy got back to the barely standing Summers' home. Spike had been walking slowly in long strides, back and forth across the disheveled living room, occasionally stopping to look at the clock and wondering what was taking Buffy so long. He shook his head and cursed under his breath for leaving before she did. She could have stayed when she'd sensed that she wasn't being watched any more.

The television was murmuring in the background as he waited for her to arrive. Spike had chuckled wryly when he saw Salem’s Lot was playing. A movie about a town invaded by vampires, and it was up to two people to save the day. “How fitting.”

The door creaked as it opened and he turned around. He saw Buffy come in, and relief washed over him. He called out to her before she ran up the stairs.

Buffy spun around quickly in surprise. She closed her half-opened mouth, dropped the hand she had clutched to her chest, and approached him. “You're still here. And awake.”

“Vampire.”

“Right.” Her focus went to the television set for a quick second, and then she gave Spike another look. “I'm going to bed.” She walked away from him and Spike followed her just to the foot of the staircase. He watched her ascend the stairs in her black dress, gliding her hand along the wobbly railing while she took one slow step at a time, and it reminded him of Drusilla. The semblance between the two brought gooseflesh out on Spike's arms.

Buffy's hiss called him out of his thoughts.

“What happened?”

Buffy turned to him with her brows furrowed and a pout. It was the first time she actually looked like Buffy. She went back down to the foot of the stairs and showed him her hand.

Spike gulped when he saw a splinter stuck in the palm of her hand, which was now only a few inches from his nose, the metallic aroma inviting him to taste the blood of a Slayer once more. Buffy's lips slowly stretched to a mischievous curl. “I hurt my hand.”

“Let's take care of that,” he said in a tight voice as he pulled her by the hand up to the second floor. “Y-you should be careful around here. Place is a mess. Lots of splinters, broken glass here and there.”

They entered the bathroom and Spike rifled through the cabinet for the first aid kit. Buffy watched, amused by how she'd shaken him up with just a drop of her blood. Spike hesitantly held her hand as he removed the splinter and began to disinfect the wound, dabbing at gently. “I guess we need to take care of this too,” he said, noticing the wounds on her knuckles.

After he'd bandaged her hands, he carefully placed them down at her sides, as if she were Miss Edith and made of porcelain.

“Get some rest.” Spike started for the door but Buffy's predatory voice stopped him.

“I know you want my blood.”

Spike froze at the door with his back to her. He knew there was going to be trouble when he heard the sound of a zipper opening.

He spun around and saw Buffy stripped of her clothes. Her cat-like eyes tempted him to ravage her right there; just the sight of her pursed lips made him painfully hard.

Hastily averting his eyes, Spike saw her dress on the floor and picked it up. He raised his hand and gave her back her clothes, with his eyes still downcast, and chose to say nothing.

Buffy grabbed her clothes. She hugged her dress over the front of her exposed body and in a harsh tone asked, “Who do you think you're fooling with this hero crap? You're a killer. Just like me.”

Spike, head still bent, slowly lifted his gaze. “What the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes burned with tears that he tried to hold back. He fisted his hands and gazed into her soulless eyes.

“Deal with it.” she said firmly. She turned to the tub and turned the faucet on.

Spike's nails carved half-moons into his shaking palms as he stood there, unmoving. Buffy had come back wrong. She'd been resurrected somehow, and there were grave consequences. The only possible explanation he could think of was magic – the kind that shouldn’t be messed with. And there was only one of the Scoobies who was powerful enough, and now maybe stupid enough, to dabble with such dark magics.

His eyes widened and he clenched his hands. “Willow,” he whispered with a grunt.

Buffy spun around when she heard Spike was still there. “Are you going to just stand there and watch me take a bath?”

“I'll get your room ready for you.” Spike walked out of the bathroom, teeth clenched in anger, and closed the door behind him. He went into Buffy's room and cleared the bed of Willow's things. He then made his way down the stairs, mind reeling, and wandered back into the living room. Needing to calm down, he sat on the sofa, wringing his hands between his knees, breathing deeply. As his tension eased, he began to notice the sounds coming from upstairs. The water splashed softly and Buffy was humming; he couldn't help but imagine her in the tub. He chuckled disdainfully at his thoughts.

The longer Buffy spent in the bath, the more time he had to consider his options. When he heard the water rush through the pipes, he knew bath time was over. Moments later, the bathroom door opened. He stood up and went to the living room threshold, bracing himself for another confrontation. He was relieved when he heard Buffy’s footsteps cross the hall instead of toward the staircase. A door closed, and he cocked his head, listening carefully, waiting. A few minutes later, he heard her heartbeat and breathing slow and fall into a steady rhythm. He was certain she had fallen asleep and quickly headed for the desk where the phone was. He couldn’t waste the opportunity to act. He needed some answers from the witch fast. He needed to know how she'd bargained for Buffy's life back. What did Willow give up, what did she get from it, and what had Buffy lost?

He opened the address book beside the phone and looked up the number for Angel Investigations. He picked up the phone and dialed.

A cheery woman answered. “Angel Investigations. We help the helpless. How can we help you?”

Spike gripped the telephone and began to rethink his decision to call Willow. He was sure that she'd be running to Peaches in an instant, asking for help. They’d be saving Buffy when he should be the one to do it. His mouth opened, but only a strangled croak came out.

A crease formed between Cordelia’s eyes while she twirled the phone's cord in her fingers. “Hello?”

“Is Red there?” Spike quickly asked. He wanted to know what was going on, and if Willow was responsible for Buffy’s resurrection, she was his best hope for getting answers. So, sod his better judgment. If Willow did tell Angel and the wanker decided to help, then so be it. It was for Buffy, after all.

“Who?” Cordelia asked.

“Willow. Is she there?”

“Who's calling?”

The muscle in Spike's jaw ticked. This was harder than he expected. “It's Spike.”

“Spike? The Spike? You're using a phone?” Cordelia asked incredulously, ignoring the annoyed tone in Spike's voice.

Spike's jaw tightened even more. He didn't have time for such dilly-dallying. “Yes, I'm using a bloody phone! Now can I please speak with Willow?”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.”

About a minute later, after asking Cordelia if she was pulling a prank on her, Willow picked up the phone. “Spike?”

Spike hastily got to why he’d called. He'd wasted enough time already and if he was going to save Buffy from whatever deal Willow had made with the dark forces, he needed to move fast. “How'd you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You bloody well know what,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I don't know—”

“Did they take her soul? Did they make her half a demon? What was the deal?”

“Oh my God!” Willow gasped. “She's...” She didn't speak for a few moments, too surprised with what she'd just learned. “It worked?”

Spike was tapping his foot impatiently. “What worked?”

“I—It was just a resurrection spell. I didn't make any deal or--”

Before Willow had a chance to explain further, Spike hung up the phone. Shaking his head, he gripped the edge of the table. He leaned forward and ducked his head. He believed Willow, but what she’d done was still wrong. He was beyond happy that Buffy was alive but the thing about magic was that there were always consequences. Always. And now? Buffy had come back wrong.