Giles was there in Willow's workroom when Buffy put her head around the door. "Hey guys. I'm back. Well, I've been back for a while."

"We knew," Willow said. "Xander told us. But we thought you should have some privacy. Uh ... is everything okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Your eyes are red." This was Giles; he stepped closer to her, glasses in his hands, taking them off, slipping them back on. "What's the matter, Buffy?"

She was going to say Nothing, All Was Copacetic, but then she was in his embrace, taking whooping breaths in a fight not to cry. She took a deep breath. Why didn't they hug more often? Why didn't she hug everybody every day? Why leave it only for when she was at her wits' end?

When she had herself under control—it took three strong breaths—she answered. "I'm okay. But Spike kind of isn't. He says he's ready for Will to try to restore his memory. So, uh ... if you could prepare whatever you have to ... and you should talk to him first of course. He'll be at his job, in the kitchen." She pulled back a little. "Which brings me to ... the kitchen? Giles, really? You couldn't find him something a little more, I don't know, worthy of a hero?"

"He said he didn't want to sit and push papers. He asked for something physical."

Willow said, "Obviously we'd have put him in charge of the training program, if he wasn't—"

"I know. I know. Okay. It's just ...." Don't say it bugs you that your boyfriend is the one who juggles the dirty plates after every group meal. "Can you help him? He's slipping. He ... I don't know what Xander told you."

"Just that they talked. That there was a rapprochement."

"Though he didn't actually say 'rapprochement'," Willow added.

"He didn't tell you Spike was suicidal?" Their expressions indicated this was news. "He's not now, we ... settled that. But he had another black-out—nothing bad happened!—but he's shook up. He doesn't want to wait anymore."

Giles and Willow exchanged glances.

Willow said, "I've been researching various approaches. I can discuss them with him, and we can decide on a course of—"

"Magic."

"Well yes. A course of magic. To help him."

Willow, to her credit, managed to look and sound confident without the tinge of arrogance she often still failed to hide. Though that little bit of humility might mean that really she had no faith in her ability to retrieve Spike's past. The whole question just scared her.

"Are you all finished checking out the alley? You couldn't learn anything about it that might help?"

Willow shook her head. "I told you—I found evidence that a number of realities collided there, stuff was bleeding together, it was very bad. But the worst of it happened elsewhere. And those portals or whatever they were, they're closed now."

"Could you open one?"

"There would be no point." Willow shrugged. "Actually ... I probably don't have enough mojo to reopen what was going on in there. Or control it if I did. Whatever made that happen—it's out of my league."

Giles said, under his breath, "I wasn't aware there was anything you considered out of your league."

Buffy turned back to him. "Giles, do you think this is the best thing?"

"Well. If it's what Spike wants, I don't suppose we can credibly persuade him to postpone it any more. You don't want him to feel that we're withholding solutions from him. That he's not a free agent."

"God, no. It's just ... so drastic. To force it, I mean. I just worry that—

"There's risk if we do nothing as well," Giles said. "Risk to him, his psyche. Risk also to others."

She couldn't argue this. She knew it was true. That any more resistence on her part would be worse than self-regarding, it would be cruel.



He didn't see Buffy all day. If she ate, it wasn't with the girls. Dawn turned up during the lull between lunch and dinner, while he was peeling potatoes, happy to see him, twittering about this and that. If she knew anything about the drama of the last couple days, she didn't say so.

While he was clearing up after the evening meal, Giles and Willow appeared. Giles made a polite little speech, we understand you'd like to try a mystical remedy, we'd like to talk about it, please come to my study. Willow eyed him, he thought, like he was some sort of prize morsel.

He followed them there. Giles shut the door, poured single malt into three crystal tumblers.

Accepting his, Spike said, "Where's Buffy?"

The two exchanged a little glance.

Willow said, "Buffy felt you'd be more comfortable if she wasn't here."

"Did she? Well, I'm sorry for that. I'll just go get her."

He rose, went to the door, to find Willow sliding in ahead of him. "Maybe you don't want to do that."

"Think she ought to hear whatever you tell me."

"She has. I mean, we went over it all with her this afternoon. She thinks—"

Giles took it up. "She believes you'll be able to decide more easily what feels right to you if she isn't here."

"Then let her at least tell me so herself. Please."

Another glance between witch and watcher. "I'll have someone fetch her." Giles flipped a switch on the intercom on his desk, spoke to some unseen assistant. "Meanwhile, have your drink."

"Should I drink, right before—?"

"Oh, I'm not going to do anything tonight," Willow said. "At least, I'm not going to do the memory spell. What I thought I'd try, just as a preliminary, and with your consent—nothing will happen without your consent—is to take a little peek inside first."

"A peek? What, you gonna saw open my cranium?"

"No, I mean ... I can try to take a little stroll through your mind. I might be able to see what you're unaware of, maybe some clue as to the origin of the problem, that could help me tailor the right kind of spell to set it right."

"You're gonna snoop through my memories?"

"If I can even see them. I mean, the pertinent ones."

"It's the impertinent ones I'm worried about—vampire's mind, bit of a rude place."

"It's an invasion of privacy, yes. But I promise you I'm not going to tell anyone what I saw. And don't forget, I've known you for years, so I sort of have an idea what goes on in your mind."

"No one has any idea what goes on in anyone else's mind. Barely know our own."

Taken aback by his vehemence, Willow nodded. "I see your point. But listen, I've done this before. With Buffy, actually. There was no danger. And a little liquor to relax you might be a good idea."

Spike turned. "Want you to hold my hand. That'll be all the relaxing I need."

Buffy stood wavering in the doorway, brought out a smile just as wavery. "Really?"

"How could you think I wouldn't want you here?"

When she came close, he drew her down, onto the arm of his chair. Twined an arm around her waist. "Silly girl, no need for you to stay away." Even though he was looking at her, Spike was still aware of the glance—so many glances—that shot between Willow and Giles. They weren't used to seeing their Buffy in this light, probably. Or him, either. They had other expectations of him.

Buffy said, "You're going to let Willow do the psychic walkabout?"

"Suppose I'd better. 'Cept what's to keep her from gettin' hurt, that's what I don't understand. If there's nasties—"

"It's just a look-don't-touch kind of thing. A recon operation. Nothing in your mind can hurt me."

"You think every witness gets out unscathed?"

Giles stepped closer. "Is there something specific you're concerned about? Some memory that's surfaced that you haven't told us about?"

"N-no. Just a gut-feelin'. That in here," he knocked on his temple, "is a quick-sand swamp."

Willow said, "I'll be very careful. I promise I'll stop at the first sign of trouble."

"Oughtn't to do it here. I should be tied down."

Buffy squirmed. "Spike ... no."

"What if I get violent?"

"You won't. You'll be in a light trance, you'll just be sitting very still. And Buffy is right here, she can overpower you if need be—but it won't be necessary."

He glanced around at them. Assessing their expressions, their stances. Trust these people? He didn't know much about them. They'd been kind to him, they were full of stories and bursting with so-called knowledge about him, but it could all be a hoax.

On the other hand, what really was there to lose? His hold on his sanity, his self-control, was already wobbly.

Buffy rose from the arm of the chair. "Whatever you decide, Spike, is all right with me."

"Do it, then."







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