Buffy finished checking in with cruelly efficient crone seated at the little glass window. "Just fill these out then, honey, and bring them back to me," the woman dripped coldly, just the same way she probably did 100 times a day. She shoved a clipboard with papers in place and pen neatly tucked in at the top across the counter toward Buffy. It was obvious that you would have worlds to suffer if the pen wasn't there when you handed it back. With four more pens tucked into various parts of her gray hair, Buffy wasn't sure if the pens were there for the hair, or the other way around.

Buffy nodded silently and took the clipboard, juggling her coat and her backpack, she made her way through the quiet waiting room. It wasn't as if there weren't a lot of choices, she was the only one there. She chose one of the tweedy mauve seats and threw her stuff down on the next chair. She planted herself and looked around. The room was like hundreds of other waiting rooms, calming colors, easily cleaned carpet, old magazines with subscription cards multiplying inside the back covers.

Waiting rooms always made her nervous, even if they had Audubon pictures tastefully mounted in chrome frames with "Great Blue Heron" embellished below. She stared at the bird's yellow eye as it peered back, laughing at her. "What are you looking at?"

A phone warbled behind the partition. The woman mumbled something, said, "Yes, Doctor," twice and hung up. "The doctor is running a little late, dear," the crone announced, "but please finish those forms so we can get you right in when he arrives." Buffy looked down at the clipboard in her hands. Name: Easy. Buffy Anne Summers. Age: 20. So far, so good. Address: Phone: Social Security Number: She had these answers. They came trippingly off her pen. The next question came a little harder. Occupation. Slayer seemed a bit hard to explain so she changed it to Social Worker. She bit on the pen and grinned at her joke. The woman behind the counter frowned and Buffy wiped off the pen. Employer. She debated and settled on self-employed. Next of Kin: Buffy hesitated. That question used to be easier. Then filled in Dawn Summers. Emergency Contact: Rupert Giles. Reason for Visit: Buffy looked up again. She didn't know. Why was she here? Where exactly was here?

The doctor's name at the top of her form read Dr. J. N. Simmons, T.E.D. That was no help. All that "alphabet soup" never made sense to her. She looked around the room for a clue. Pamphlets on the tables covered topics ranging from Alzheimer's to pregnancy. She didn't really think she was here for either of those.

She skipped the question and filled out the medical history on the back. When it got to broken bones and serious injuries, she just sighed and left it blank. That would take until Tuesday. Unless this WAS Tuesday. She walked back to the window. "Excuse me?" The hag looked up from her desk piled with papers.

"Yes?" she asked sharply.

"What exactly is the doctor's specialty?"

She cackled, really. "We get that a lot," she snorted. "T.E.D. stands for Tending to Emotional Disorders."

"Oh," Buffy nodded. She began to walk away and then came back. "Excuse me again. Sorry, but I'm pretty sure...No, I know I didn't make this appointment."

The woman glared at her alike she had grown another nose, then looking at her appointment book, she replied, "No dear, your mother called it in."

"My mother?" Buffy was confused. "My mother is..."

"Dead? Yes. I noticed that about her right away."

"W...w...when?" Buffy stuttered out.

"It was two, no, three days ago that she called. Are you done with those?" and she held out her bent fingers for Buffy's clipboard. Buffy nodded and handed over the paperwork silently. "Now, sit down and I'll call you when the doctor is ready," she ordered. She opened up the black framed "cat's eye" glasses that had been hanging around her neck and leaned closely over the clipboard, presumably looking for errors.

Buffy sat back down, too shocked to do anything else. Mom? Her mother had made this appointment for her? To see someone about Emotional Disorders? But how? Why? It had to be that she was dreaming, right? She looked around her. It looked real enough. It smelled real enough. Could you dream Muzak? She pinched her arm. She squeaked and the crone looked up as she rubbed her bruised skin. That had hurt. Was it supposed to? Or not? Well, mom or not, she was leaving. This was just too weird. She had just decided to get up and go when the front door opened and in came another patient.

"Slayer!?" "Spike!?" they said in unison. "What the..." They stopped mid-sentence and stared at each other.

The old woman in the next room cackled again. "You must be Spike then. Mrs. Summers wasn't sure of your last name. Here are your forms. Just fill these out honey, and bring them back to me."

"Joyce?" "Mom?"

"Yes, Mrs. Summers set the appointment."

"There's only ONE appointment?" Buffy asked, trying to grasp some reality. "For the BOTH of us?"

"Ms. Summers, your mother obviously feels that you and Mr. Spike here, need a...well, her words were, "a good talking to", so she asked Dr. Simmons to handle it. This doctor the best, you know. Now fill out those forms, young man." And with that she slid the window shut. Discussion closed.

"The best at WHAT?" Buffy lamented. She looked at Spike. Then she picked up her stuff with an exasperated sigh and reached past him for the door. "I'm outta here." But it was locked solid. She jiggled the handle and rattled the hardware. It wouldn't budge. She leaned her back on the door, closed her eyes and quipped, "Hotel California."

Spike stared at her. "What the hell's goin' on here, Slayer?"

"Like I should know? I was just...here. I don't even remember how I got here, or why I came."

"'S funny. Me too. I was just kinda...here. So, what is this place?"

She hesitated to say it, but things were already way wiggy, "Dr. Simmons treats emotional disorders. Mom apparently thinks we need some help with that." They let that sink in. "Well, it's not my dream. I checked. Do you suppose you're dreaming?"

Spike shook his head, "No. If this were one of my dreams I'd be enjoying myself much more." He smirked at her. "Besides," he bounced into one of the chairs, "this is bloody real. Maybe it's
some kind of astral projection."

"Astral...what?"

"Projection. You know, an "out-of-body experience"? Our consciences have come here, leaving our bodies behind. Like virtual reality, without the hardware. Or maybe it's hypnosis."
She fell silent as she considered that. Buffy had too many questions and no answers. There was nothing to do but wait, or leap through the window and confront the phone troll. She sat down to wait.

With nothing else to do, Spike picked up his clipboard and started reading the forms. He pulled the pen out and tapped it on the board in time to some song he was humming.

"Stop it, Ringo."

"Oh, sorry? Was that bothering you?"

She just glared at him. He stopped.

She watched as he started filling in blanks. His pen scratched across the papers with confidence. Having seen everything there was to see in the waiting room, her eyes wandered over him as he concentrated. Everything about his appearance assaulted her; the blonde hair, black fingernail polish, the unlaced steel-toed shoes, but it was oddly comforting too, and familiar. Was she getting used to him? His body was compact, but she also knew his strength. His wardrobe was predictable, black denim jeans with a dark t-shirt under a deep blue oxford that matched his eyes, all protected by that precious leather duster he wore like a trophy. Well, she remembered, it was one to him. She thought absently about the slayer that had worn it. What had she left in the pockets when he'd twisted her head around on her shoulders? Without thinking she reached up and rubbed her neck. What had it felt like? Spike looked up from his work. She jumped, caught in dark thoughts.

"What?"

"I," she started to say something witty, but somehow, here in the uneven fluorescent lighting of this stuffy little room, sarcasm seemed out of place. "I was thinking about...you."

"Well, that's new," he grinned. "Any questions?"

"Uh huh." Buffy couldn't believe she was saying this. There wasn't one thing she wanted to know about Spike that wasn't overridden by the fact that she already knew enough to hate him. What could he say that would make her forget all of the blood on his hands?

He dropped the clipboard and pen on a corner table and sat back, "Seems like we've got time on our hands. Ask away."

"What was her name?" she pointed at his coat.

"The slayer?" She nodded. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"Do you like it? Being a vampire...I mean."

He just looked at her for a full 30 seconds before he could find the words. "I used to. It was new and exciting. Our "family", Angel, Dru, Darla and me, we went anywhere, did anything. It was all a grand adventure. Being predator instead of prey was definitely a step up for William." Buffy stared at him intently, disgusted and fascinated. "The feeling of holding someone's life in your hands is addictive. You can't live without it after a while, not just for food, but for the rush, and each life you take makes you want more." He stopped talking and moved across the room to sit next to her. She stayed in her seat, but he could feel her pull away from him.

"But as much as I curse this chip they put in my head, `s made me realize that I'd been lying it myself. It wasn't me that had the power. It was the other way `round. I had surrendered all the good things William had been; compassionate, merciful, kind and I missed those things, Buffy. I just didn't know how much." He reached for her hand and held it fast as he continued, "Then you were there,love, right in front of me, being perfectly...human and I wanted to be those things again, for you, with you." His voice cracked as he stopped.

Buffy was surprised at his touch, but made no move to pull her hand back. "Spike, I just can't pretend that evil part of you doesn't exist."

"Everyone has an evil side, love. Don't you know that yet?" He paused. "Listen, I know that you think I should regret my past. I've tried, but I can't. That was who I was and it made me who I am. My past is what led me to you. But I swear to you , Buffy, I could never live that way again. Never would."

They sat holding hands, not looking at each other, lost in their own thoughts. "I'm not, you know," Buffy admitted, "Perfect. I'm real good when it comes to beating up on evil things. Give me a good demon bashing and I shine. But when it comes to relationships, I just...well, the phrase "less than perfect" would fit right there."

"My resume's a bit checkered there too, pet, lest you forget. One crush as a boy, after which I was cruelly dumped. Remember Cecily? One absolutely insane girlfriend who also dumped me for a Chaos demon. One blonde bint who shot me with a crossbow and then dumped me"

Buffy smiled at him. "Funny, I've gotten very little dumpage. All mine just leave."

"Not all, pet. Not all," he smiled back.

"Why Spike? Why don't you give up on me like the others?"

Spike turned to her. "Besides the fact that I love you?"

"They said they did too."

"You sure you want to hear this? The last time, locks and chains couldn't even make you listen."

"I'm sure," she said softly. "Holding hands isn't nearly as confrontational."

"I'll remember that," Spike smiled and held her hand closer. "Well, you see, it's that I know the consequences of giving up. I quit once and took the easy way out. Dru offered me an existence free of heartache and instead of sticking it out, I gave in. But you, love, are my second chance. If I walk away again, I'd always wonder what might have been, you know? But if I can tough it out and make you see something in me, something you can respect, or even love, then I can be a man again. It'd be like getting my life back. That, and you besides...well, that's worth fighting for."

"Why didn't you just say that last time? Instead of the whole "I'll stake Drub" thing?"

"I was desperate. You wouldn't listen to me and I thought doing something big would get your attention." He glanced at her, "So, it didn't work. You can't fault a bloke for trying."

"I can't?"

"Yeah, well, you can. But you shouldn't."

They sat together in silence. Holding hands.

"It's funny. I'm surrounded by demons all the time, real evil, you know? But I'm never afraid of them. A fight is black and white.

Good guy, bad guy, finite. But letting go, letting someone in, admitting I need...someone, that terrifies me. There are no words"

"It bleedin' scares me to death," he agreed. He looked at her. Tears were welling up in her eyes. He slid from the chair at her side and knelt before her. "Buffy, love, I may not be exactly what you expected or thought you wanted, but on my knees I promise you, I'll never hurt you. I can be good to you and good for you, if you let me. It's your call, Slayer."

The window at the end of the room grated open loudly and the crone's voice cracked their silence. "Get out! We closing."

"What? Where's the doc?"

"Been and gone."

"What?" "When?" they asked simultaneously.

"I told you, Missy. This doctor's the best," her cackle ricocheted off the walls. "Good-bye."

Suddenly the room was gone and they were standing face to face on the porch of her house.

"That was bloody weird," Spike pointed out the obvious.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed without taking her eyes off of him. It occurred to her that she'd never noticed how blue his eyes were before.

"Well, I guess I should," he made his way unevenly toward the steps, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"Spike?" He stopped. She walked to him and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. He gently touched the spot where her lips had been and looked at her with a question in his eyes. "That's for not giving up on me."

"Never, love," he replied. Then, realizing she was done talking, he turned to leave and promptly fell down the stairs. He stood up and brushed himself off quickly. Buffy was holding her stomach and laughing. He tried really hard to be mad, but it wasn't possible with her kiss still warming him. He smiled up at her. She was beautiful.

"'Night then."

Buffy stopped giggling long enough to ask, "See you tomorrow?"

"You got yourself a date, Slayer."

"I do?" she asked, surprised. She watched as he walked away. What would tomorrow bring? Well, she was just as unsure about that as ever, except that she knew he'd be there, and somehow that made it worth looking forward to. Didn't it?

**************

"Dr. J.N. Simmons, T.E.D.", removed her gray wig revealing her own red tresses as she dialed the phone. "Mrs. Summers? Sorry, yes, I know...Joyce. I was just calling to report that the "treatment" was successful."

Willow giggled as her countenance slipped back into the smooth skin of a young witch. "Yes, you were right. They just needed to talk it out. I just worked a little "scientific" magic and locked them in a room together. It worked. They left holding hands." She paused to listen. "Yes, Joyce, everything looks just as it should. You can rest now. I am glad I could help." She smiled as she hung up the phone.

FIN