Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine and I'm not making any profit from writing this. If I was, I'd update a hell of a lot sooner.

A/N:Set in Season 7 after "Touched" but before "End of Days". I've taken a bit of a liberty with the time line, and kind of dulled down the urgency of a little thing I like to call THE APOCALYPSE! But that's my perogative as an arteest. So deal with it.

Bewitched, Bothered, and Blundered

The bathroom floor was cold and uninviting in the early hours of the morning. She thought about suggesting to Buffy that they get a carpet or a rug or something in here. Or at least provide everyone with comfy slippers. Surely, that was a common courtesy thing at every motel? That was, after all, what the Summer's residence was beginning to resemble.

Dozens of unruly girls sleeping everywhere, crap thrown all over the floor, their personal hygiene questionable at best. It was enough to make an ex-vengeance demon feel horribly displaced.

However, she was getting distracted. She had to focus on the spell or it wouldn't work. The others wouldn't like her dabbling with magic, not when The First was able to manipulate the black arts to its own needs. Xander would probably have a hernia if he knew what she was doing in his precious Buffy's house.

Xander.

It was his fault she was even squatting down on the cold floor in the dim light of the candles, the toilet pressing painfully into her back. They really needed a bigger bathroom. It had been only a few hours since she and Xander had had sex and already he was taking over her thoughts and feelings! Making her feel like he was hers again. She knew that wasn't so. Xander had made it clear that they were over, and she'd agreed.

Didn't mean she stopped loving him, though.

But she could try.

That's why she sat in a circle of salt, candles dotted around the floor, and a love charm rested carefully before her. Anya had had enough.

This was her only way out of loving him – an anti-love spell.

She knew they were volatile and prone to go hilariously awry but she was eleven hundred years old, she wasn't some stupid amateur!

Okay, so she had made the occasional mistake...like bringing Evil Willow into the wrong reality but that wasn't her fault. And yes, she might have distracted Willow which ended up summoning her old beau Olaf into town but, again, that had been an accident. In fact, Anya blamed Willow entirely for both of those errors.

Here she was, by herself, just doing a little spell. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

...as long as she didn't conjure up rabbits again...

Anya shuddered.

"Think, Anya, think!" She whispered to herself.

She really had a problem with concentration. Readying herself with a deep breath, she closed the circle of salt around her and closed her eyes, her fingers resting on the love charm. It began to glow.

"Let the ties of love be broken,

Adoration, Obsession, Desire

End them once these words are –"

Spike barrelled through the door, cigarette hanging from his lips "Buffy? Is that –"

"– spoken" Anya finished simultaneously.

A flash of white light flooded the bathroom and an unseen force propelled Spike backwards out of the door, slamming him into the corridor wall. Anya blinked, looking around as her eyes adjusted. She grabbed at her chest wondering if her heart felt any different beneath her skin.

"Xander" Anya said to herself, testing.

A flutter of butterflies started in her stomach, a feeling of warmth spread throughout her body

"Death and damnation!" She lamented.

It hadn't worked. She looked up at Spike who was still sprawled on the floor looking dazed and more than a little confused.

Rising, Anya folded her arms over her chest "Spike! You just ruined my spell, you attractive dolt!"

He blinked up at her "I was...looking for...the Slayer. For some reason"

"Well, whatever the reason – it ruined my spell," Anya huffed "Aren't you going to apologize?"

Spike leaned against the wall and used it to help himself stand "Um, no. It's not a good idea to be messing around with magic's so close to an apocalypse, love"

She rolled her eyes "What are you going to do? Tell your darling Buffy?"

"Ha!" Spike sounded indignant "Run to the Slayer? I don't think so, pet. What do you take me for? Some whipped Angelus-type?"

Anya waited a beat "Well, yeah"

"Not on your nelly!"

She reached over and prodded his head "Are you concussed? You're acting kind of peculiar"

Spike smacked her hand away "What are you on?"

"You always run and tattle to Buffy," She reminded him "It's kind of your thing, now"

He frowned "I do not!"

"You do too," She pointed at him "It's seems that every man who falls in love with her, automatically loses his testicles!"

Spike's mouth opened wide in offence "Hey! Take that back. Me, in love with her? I don't bloody think so!"

Anya frowned "What? You're..."

She paused. Spike saying he wasn't in love with Buffy was like an American saying they had faith in President Bush. It just wasn't possible. Anya turned to look at the anti-love charm on the bathroom floor.

"Oh, rectum!"

A/N: Oh, rectum indeed. Spike not in love with Buffy? Can you hear hell freezing over, too?