Buffy fought with a fierce power that she had rarely felt before, landing blow after powerful blow against her opponent -- quite possibly the most challenging opponent she had ever faced, she had to acknowledge. But she took no time to revel in the thrill of the battle, the surge of strength and adrenaline she felt with every well-timed step in the deadly dance they were engaged in.

And at any other time, Buffy would have taken great pleasure in the beating she was administering to this particular vampire.

Spike.

The bane of her existence for the past year, during which it seemed he had taken every measure possible to make her life miserable. The past week of strange, frightening attempts on her life by a series of otherworldly assassins -- well, that was just the disgusting, gooey icing on the burnt, tasteless cake.

Oh, he was giving as well as he was getting at the moment -- but she was more than holding her own; and she would gladly have savored every blow, every kick, allowing her mind to go over every single last reason he had given her over the past few months for this spectacular kicking of his butt.

But at the moment -- there was no time for all that.

At the moment -- he was nothing more to her than the thing standing in her way.

She had to get to Angel.

As Spike swung another punch toward her face, Buffy ducked under it, catching his arm and holding it back as she delivered two sharp blows of her own. Taking advantage of his moment off balance, she gripped his coat and slung him several yards, watching with grim satisfaction as he crashed into the wall and slumped to the floor, dazed.

She had no more time to waste on Spike at the moment -- she had to get to Angel before it was too late.

*Just a little longer…please hold on, Angel…* echoed through her mind as she rushed toward the altar and drew the dagger from Angel’s and Drusilla’s joined hands. *Please, Angel, please be all right…*

She glanced over her shoulder as she reached for the bonds that held the two vampires together, and to the altar, noting with relief that Spike seemed to be distracted at the moment, dealing with Willy, who was making his attempt to escape.

As she turned back to focus on the tight, complicated knot that did not seem inclined to yield to her shaking hands, she noticed that Drusilla seemed to have come out of whatever magically induced trance she had been in, and was looking at her hands on the ropes with dismay in her dark, mad eyes.

“Spike!” the weakened vampiress wailed out desperately, her eyes rolling back over her shoulder as she sought the attention and aid of her lover.

*Great,* Buffy thought, her jaw setting with determination as she doubled her efforts on the stubborn knot. *Just great…all I needed was a few more seconds, you crazy nut job vamp ho!*

Even as she heard Spike coming up behind her, she focused on getting Angel free -- until Spike grabbed her and slung her away from the altar, shoving her to the floor. She tried to rise, but he delivered a powerful backhand blow to her face that momentarily dazed her. As she fell back to the floor, her face inches from the discarded dagger, her hazy thoughts leveled an irritated accusation at her.

*Dagger…stupid dagger…could have cut the stupid ropes, stupid Slayer…*

“Sorry, Baby,” she vaguely heard Spike’s voice through the haze that was just starting to fade from her mind, and she glanced up with an effort to see him easily tearing the ropes that bound Drusilla to her sire, scooping the barely conscious vampiress up into his arms and heading toward the door. “Gotta go…just hope that was enough…”

As the ropes fell away, Angel collapsed to the floor, unheeded by the fleeing vampire couple.

Suddenly alert, but not yet feeling strong enough to get to her feet, Buffy crawled to his side. He was completely unconscious; she glanced up anxiously, not sure what she was looking for, her thoughts still muddled by the powerful punch Spike had given her.

*Stupid vampire…* she thought with bitter resentment, just as her eyes came to rest on him, a few yards from the door. *Stupid vampire…who is currently about to escape with his stupid ho-bag sire…not on my watch!*

Scrambling to her feet, already looking around for a weapon, Buffy grabbed the nearest thing that came to her mind -- the censer from the altar. She gave it a few healthy swings by its chain, before letting it fly. Her aim was true, and it hit Spike in the back of the head, knocking him to the floor on top of the keyboard to the organ.

A grim smile crossed the Slayer’s face, as she felt a sense of satisfied pride go through her. “I’m good,” she remarked mildly.

Just then, she found out *how* good, as the rest of the organ’s working fell from the platform above Spike and Drusilla, covering the two vampires with hundreds of pounds of stone and metal and other heavy rubble. Satisfied that they would not be posing a problem to her any time soon, Buffy turned her attention back to Angel, who was just beginning to regain consciousness.

And then, everything began to move very fast.

The fire was spreading quickly now, filling the room, and it was Kendra who called her attention to the fact that they had to get out, before it was too late to do so. The two Slayers supported the injured vampire out the door and to the safety of his own underground apartment, where Kendra left Buffy alone to tend to him.

He was barely conscious, hardly responding to her attempts to talk to him at all -- and although she knew in her head that he was not dead, not unless he was dust, she still found herself on the verge of panic. She had no idea what kind of magic Spike had used for the ritual, how much blood Angel had lost, or what the combined effect of the two factors might be on the vampire she loved more than her own life.

*Do you really, Buffy? More than your own life?*

Her eyes widened as the thought echoed through her mind, and she reached into her pocket for a small, sleek dagger that she usually carried with her on patrol, just in case she met something that she could not kill with a stake through the heart -- which was actually a very frequent occurrence.

She held the slim blade across her wrist, her heart pounding with fear and adrenaline, and she swallowed hard, her jaw set in determination again.

Maybe he would live, without it.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Buffy was not willing to take the chance.

Before she could allow her fears to make her rethink the whole thing, she plunged the dagger nearly an inch into the flesh of her arm, a few inches up from her wrist, and watched as the thick, red blood immediately welled out of the slit she had made in her own flesh.

Beside her on his bed, Angel moaned softly, his head turning toward her in a nearly unconscious reaction to the powerful scent of her blood. Encouraged, Buffy raised the wound to his lips, reaching her other hand around to carefully raise his head.

“Come on, Angel,” she whispered, not really thinking he was hearing her -- not that it mattered; she wasn’t really talking to him. “Come on…drink…*drink*, damn it!”

The weakened vampire’s eyes suddenly opened wide, staring at her with a sort of shock -- and something else, something she could not quite read in his dark, piercing eyes.

For a moment, her heart sank, thinking that she would have had a better chance of getting him to accept her blood, if he had remained only semi-conscious. Now, they would have to be all with the pleading, and the arguing, and the noble refusals, until she finally had no choice but to force her bleeding arm into his mouth and feed him against his will…

A sharp gasp left the Slayer’s throat, her head falling back, her eyes drifting close in a sort of hazy disoriented feeling, as without a moment’s further hesitation, the vampire’s mouth locked onto the wound, drawing deeply of her blood, until she felt light-headed and dizzy from the rush of rapid blood loss.

Later, she remembered wondering at the sharp, sweet arousal that she felt deep within her, at the sensation, and thinking that it was probably a very dangerous thing for a Slayer -- or anyone, for that matter -- to get off on a vampire bite…

The next thing she remembered was waking up in Angel’s bed, tucked carefully under his blankets, with him seated by her side in a reversal of their previous positions. He was tenderly stroking her hair back from her brow when her eyes fluttered open, looking up at him uncertainly, and he gave her a soft, affectionate smile.

“Buffy,” he whispered. “You saved me.”

She felt tears well up in her eyes, as she raised her hand to cover his on her cheek, vaguely noticing the soft white bandage that had been placed carefully over the wound on her arm.

“I almost didn’t,” she whispered in reply, the ache in her heart swelling up to fill her throat.

“Shhh,” Angel urged her gently, shaking his head as he leaned in to kiss her lips slowly, tenderly. “Don’t think like that. You *did* -- that’s what matters, Buffy.”

As his lips met hers, she leaned hungrily into his kiss, tears of relief streaking her face, as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down so that he was halfway on top of her, her fear of what she had almost lost that night deepening the intensity of her kiss. Her eyes shot open with a soft gasp, when she suddenly felt an odd pressure against the side of her thigh -- and Angel suddenly pulled back, his eyes averted.

“I-I’m sorry, Buffy,” he began awkwardly, with a soft, nervous little laugh. “I guess we shouldn’t…”

His words were swallowed up in another kiss, as the Slayer used her strength to pull his slightly resisting mouth back to hers, drawing back just slightly after a moment to whisper against his lips, “I don’t care if we shouldn’t…I want you, Angel…I -- I need you…I don’t ever want to lose you again…”

“You won’t,” he whispered back, with an effort ending the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, his body almost completely covering hers now. “Buffy, you won’t…but we can’t…” He hesitated, looking away from the uncertainty, the slight hurt in her eyes at his words. “You’ve already given me so much tonight, Buffy -- I don’t want you to feel like you have to…”

“I *want* to,” she cut him off, almost fiercely, raising herself up slightly on the bed, her eyes searching his intently, pleadingly. “Angel, I want to…I want *you*…I -- I *love* you…”

His resistance was apparently shattered by those words, as he did not argue further with her, simply stared into her eyes with a look of hope and disbelief mingled in his own. “Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly as he slowly lowered her back to the bed, his lips hovering inches above hers as he continued, “Buffy, I love you…”

Buffy would remember that night for the rest of her life -- but not for the reasons she might have hoped.

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

Across town in the old church where the ritual had taken place, all was still, with the exception of a few flickering piles of tattered, charred fabric in a couple of corners of the room, and some places that were red and glowing with slowly smoldering embers.

And then, the huge pile of mostly non-flammable rubble in the center of the room, where the pipe organ had fallen, began to slowly shift.

Graceful, almost regal, the dark vampiress rose from the ashes of the disaster. The frail, weakened creature she had been was no more.

The ritual had worked.

As she rose to her feet, the rubble behind her shifted again, just slightly, and a weak, shaking voice behind her could clearly be heard by her sharp vampire ears.

“D-dru…love…”

She ignored it.

A distant expression of euphoria began to come over her face, a slow, wicked smile that bloomed into a dark laugh of joy, as she began to twirl and twist her body in an eerie dance of evil celebration.

“Pet,” the broken voice behind her tried again, a little stronger. “Please…help me…”

“Shhh,” she rebuked him sharply, turning toward the pile of rubble with a finger to her lips. “No time…got to go get ready…”

“Dru…”

But she was already headed toward the door, her every move part of a flowing, ethereal dance to music only she could hear. But just before she stepped out the door into the night, Spike heard her final few words, and his heart sank at their devastating meaning.

“…Daddy’s coming home…”

“Are you sure this is what you think it is? I mean -- in a *church*, of all places?”

“Trust me, soldier,” the calm commander replied. “Just look around. You'll see the signs, they have definitely been here tonight.”

“I don't see anything that looks even remotely HST-related,” the dubious soldier persisted, shining a bright flashlight around the dimly lit remains of the decimated church. “I mean, there’s really not anything all that unusual here, when you get down to it.”

The unit he was a part of had been assigned to this strange little town for less than a week, and already the soldier had seen more eerie, disturbing things than he had ever expected to see in a lifetime -- most of things he would never have thought were possible at all.

Still, something in him rebelled at the idea of the creatures he was only beginning to accept the existence of -- the “hostile sub terrestrials” as his commanders called them -- going about their wicked endeavors in a *church*.

When his commander gave him a flat, disbelieving look, he shrugged, a bit embarrassed, as he conceded, “Well, besides the -- the fire -- and the -- rubble, everywhere. But -- that didn’t *have* to be an HST. Could have been some completely human trash, decided to have a little fun and blow up a church is all.”

“Decided to have a little evil bloodletting ritual while they were at it, too?” the commander smirked grimly as he ran his fingertips through the red fluid smeared on the altar at the front of the church. “And check those piles of dust back by the door. I’m pretty sure you’ll find those are *very* HST-related.”

Properly subdued, the soldier ceased his arguments and went about his work, while the commander of the unit slowly walked through the room, carefully surveying the entire scene, trying to surmise what might have created it. As he did, his men were systematically moving through the room, moving the debris and searching for any signs of any kind of evidence to be taken back to their headquarters and analyzed later.

“Commander! Over here! I think we have a victim…”

“Agent Graham,” another soldier, a tall black man standing nearby him, aiming a technical-looking instrument in the direction Graham was looking, interrupted him slowly, cautiously, “I -- don’t think that’s a victim…”

“Yeah, well -- room temperature, no heartbeat…sometimes just means ‘dead’,” Graham reminded him with mild sarcasm.

At that moment the supposed corpse shifted slightly, a quiet moan slipping from his lips in unconsciousness.

Agent Graham jumped backward with a sharp, startled cry -- much to the amusement of his comrades.

Sometimes he hated being the newest member of the group.

The black agent took a gun from a holster at his side, one specially equipped with wood-tipped bullets, and swiftly took aim on the weakly shifting body on the floor amidst the rubble.

“Forrest, no!“ the commander ordered sharply before he could pull the trigger. When the confused agent looked up at him in a silent question, he smiled at the first sign of success they had had that night, as he remarked mildly, “looks like we might be able to get some idea of what happened here tonight, after all.”

The curious air of the men in the church changed to surprise, and then excitement, as the extent of their success gradually dawned on them.

“Get it secured. These things are strong, you never know when it might wake up. And it might look like’s it’s injured pretty badly, but they can take a lot and keep going. Be extremely careful with it.”

Commander Riley Finn’s smile widened as he turned and walked out of the church, allowing his men to go about following his orders, securing the unconscious hostile and preparing it for transport back to their headquarters. This was definitely an important success, indeed -- and one they had just happened to stumble onto, as well. He was very glad now that he had decided to have his men check out the unusually open door, and lighted interior, of the abandoned church.

Two weeks they had been in this little town, reportedly a hotbed of HST activity.

Two weeks -- and nothing to show for it so far but a few piles of dust, and some tissue samples from dead demons, material for their underground labs to analyze. But as for live specimens -- so far, they had nothing.

Until now.

General Walsh was going to be so pleased.

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

Drusilla followed the powerful call of family -- a call that, from her sire at least, had been muted for nearly a century, as Angel had deliberately severed such ties with his family soon after getting his soul. But now, the call was strong, powerful, beckoning her back to where she belonged.

The side, the arms, of her daddy.

She was not surprised when the call led her to the door of an old, abandoned mansion on Crawford Street. She paused on the terrace, impressed by the stately, imposing nature of the place -- though she might not have used such words to express it. Still, it was just the sort of place she would have chosen for herself -- had she ever been lucid enough to choose for herself, that is.

“My daddy knows what ‘is little girl needs,” she murmured in a lyrical voice, on the edge between speech and song. “I can ‘ear ‘im calling me…right now…” she said to no one, as she pushed open the unlocked door and made her way easily through the darkness inside. “Coming, Daddy…“

Her senses, the connection between her and her sire, drew her up the old, winding staircase to the second level of the mansion, where she paused at the first open doorway, peering into the blackness, in search of her beloved, estranged sire.

“Daddy…?”

Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around her waist from behind, jerking her forcefully backward against a hard, muscled body, while cool lips fell on her throat. His laughter joined her own delighted giggle, as he spun her around and looked her up and down hungrily, as if it had been a lifetime since he’d seen her.

And, in more than one way -- it had.

“There’s my girl,” he said in a soft voice of dark pleasure, his eyes cold and glittering and wicked in the darkness.

Just as she had remembered.

“You’ve come back,” Drusilla exulted, bouncing on her heels like a giddy child, beaming up at her sire. “Just in time for the party…”

“Of course,” Angelus smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist with a false gallantry and leading her purposefully down the hallway. “It’s *my* party, isn’t it?”

Drusilla just giggled with excitement, obviously satisfied just to be with him again.

“So not that I really care all that much…but where’s your shadow gotten off to, Dru? Shouldn’t he be following you about like a lovesick mutt about now? Or you know,” he shrugged, “nipping at my heels or something? I *am* getting rather familiar with you at the moment, you know. He wouldn't usually take a thing like that too lightly.”

He grinned wickedly, as he lowered his mouth to her neck again, playfully nibbling at the spot just above her jugular, as she willingly through her head back to allow it. They both seemed to lose interest in the question and its answer for a few minutes, as Angelus walked her backwards through a door at the end of the hall, into a bedroom that he had clearly already prepared for them, and backed her into a lavishly made bed in the center of the room, pushing her back onto the mattress and falling on top of her, still kissing her wildly, hungrily.

After a moment he pulled back, smiling down at her coldly as he asked in a casual, conversational tone, “Are you going to answer my question, darlin’, or am I going to have to punish you?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy, please!” Dru beamed up at him eagerly, a little growl in her throat as her vampire face came forth.

His own came forth as well in response, as he asked in a low, dangerous voice, “Which?”

As if daring him to punish her, Dru nipped playfully at his shoulder with her fangs, drawing blood, which she lapped up with pleasure, before meeting his eyes with desire and replying boldly, “Both.”

“One, in time,” Angelus nodded with a grin, amused by her antics, finding that he really had missed his crazy childe in the many years they had been apart. “The other -- now.” His expression became a bit more serious as he asked again, “Where’s Spike?”

Drusilla’s smile fell, her lips forming a petulant pout, as she sullenly answered, “Bad puppy. He’s gone and got all his fangs ripped out, he has…and what’s worse he won’t want ‘em back…”

Angel’s eyes narrowed slightly, a puzzled frown that was still mostly unconcerned wrinkling his brow, as he tried to make sense of her nonsense words. It really *had* been a very long time since he had had to decipher Dru’s random riddles.

“What are you talking about, Dru?” he asked her quietly, already lowering his mouth to her throat again, swiftly losing interest.

In all honesty, he could very well do without the presence of his arrogant, rebellious grandchilde.

Dru’s response was a soft moan of need and pleasure, as his hands began to accompany his mouth, playing her body with a skill that only he had ever possessed for her. “Sun’s comin’ out,” she murmured, her head falling back, her eyes closed. “Gonna burn him all up, it is…leave only shining ashes in ‘is place…”

Angelus raised his head, a wicked glint in his eyes as he grinned at her and reminded her in a voice of soft, malicious glee, “Sun’s already up, Dru. Wherever he is -- guess he’s already history, then…”

Dru’s expression was hazy, dreamy, as his hand slid under her skirt, and she threw her head back again, swiftly losing her focus on the conversation at hand. Still, she managed to shake her head slightly, insisting in a soft, wistful but distracted sort of voice,

“No…not out yet…very soon…still…too late to save him, it is…” She opened her eyes, wide and earnest and full of naked need, drinking in the sight she had longed for for so long, the sight of her sire. “Don’t need ‘im anymore anyway…”

Angelus’ smile widened at those words, and he felt a possessive pride rising up in him, and he found himself wishing momentarily that Spike *was* around, just so that he could hear for himself his “Dark Princess” rejecting him blatantly in favor of her sire.

“Who do you need, Dru?” he asked her in a low, growling whisper, his fangs notching the soft flesh just below her shoulder blade, then moving slowly lower, tearing open the bodice of her flowing, ancient gown to reveal her pale, perfect breasts. “Who do you need?”

“You, Daddy,” she replied without hesitation, meeting his eyes as one of her own hands trailed enticingly down the front of her bare chest, between her breasts. “Only you…”

With a triumphant growl of approval and satisfaction, Angelus fell on her then, devouring her with all the hunger of a creature who’s been fully denied all pleasures of the flesh for over a century. In their rutting, sensuous pleasure in each other -- both forgot the injured vampire they had abandoned in the church, the one who was responsible for the freedom they were enjoying.

In that moment, all they needed was each other -- but Angelus had no intentions of settling for no more than the affections of one single, deranged vampiress.

When he awoke -- all the world was going to be his.

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

Buffy awakened just as Angelus and Dru were drifting off to sleep later that morning.

She was terribly surprised to be waking up alone.

In fact -- “surprised” didn’t even begin to cover it.

She rose from the bed, wrapping Angel’s sheet around her self-consciously as she made her way through the small apartment, softly calling his name -- and receiving no reply.

Stunned, a little hurt -- and with a rising sense of shameful apprehension, Buffy made her way back to the bedside, and quietly got dressed.

She knew that she should have left then, should have headed home, or to school, or to any of the various loved ones that would be very worried about her right about now, having no idea where she had spent the night -- but somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring listlessly at the wall as her slightly numbed mind tried again to figure out where Angel might have gone.

*How could he just *leave*? After…he wouldn’t just…*

The thought of his just waking up and getting dressed and walking out, without speaking to her, without even waking her, set a cold, unpleasant feeling deep in her stomach. It seemed so -- unfeeling...so -- *dismissive*.

*But -- Angel loves me -- he told me he loves me -- he'll come back, he probably just -- had to do something in a hurry...couldn't take the time to...*

*Or maybe,* a vicious little voice in the back of her mind whispered, *maybe he's changed his mind...maybe you weren't any good...maybe he thinks he's made a terrible mistake and just wants to get away from you...*

Trying to figure it out made her head and heart both hurt, so Buffy gave it up for the moment, lying down on the bed and waiting quietly for his return.

After all, she had no idea how very long she would end up waiting for a love that had vanished forever in the night.

When Buffy woke up, she was a bit disoriented at first, not sure where she was -- and even after she remembered where she was, she had no idea how late it was, as the apartment was underground, not allowing for even a sliver of sunlight to give her an idea as to the hour of the day.

She knew that it was early evening, however -- because Angel had returned.

He was across the room from her, piling clothing -- mostly black -- and other items into a dark colored suitcase sitting on his table. When she sat up suddenly and silently, blinking sleepily in the stillness of the room, he froze, staring back at her with a calm, quiet sort of expression on his face for a moment, before bending over the suitcase again and putting more things into it.”

“Shoot,” he remarked mildly. “I was hoping not to wake you.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, as she began to wake up, and she rose from the bed, rushing to his side and reaching out to touch his hand.

“Why? So you’d be two for two?” she asked flatly, her tone not matching the anxious expression in her eyes. “Why’d you let me sleep when you left earlier? Where’d you go?”

“I had stuff to do,” the vampire muttered without looking at her, irritably pulling his hand away from hers and turning away from her to open one of his dresser drawers.

Buffy recoiled slightly, hurt and confused by his reaction. “Angel?” she whispered, not quite daring to do as she wanted, and go around to face him, not with the way he was acting toward her at the moment.

He closed his suitcase, latched it, and then stopped, both hands resting on it, as he sighed heavily, before turning to give her an overly patient smile. “What is it, Buffy?” he asked her calmly.

Buffy just stared at him for a long moment, bewildered, searching his impassive dark eyes for some explanation for his unusual -- and troubling -- behavior. After a moment she shook her head slowly, at a bit of a loss.

“I just -- Angel -- what’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong, Buff?” he asked her in that same calm, distant, patronizing voice that set her stomach quivering with a sort of self-conscious uncertainty.

“You -- you’re just acting so -- so strange…”

He just shrugged, lifting the suitcase off the table and setting it on the floor, taking another, smaller one from beneath the table and opening it.

“Angel -- did I -- do something? Are you mad at me?” Buffy asked slowly, still just trying so hard to figure the whole thing out.

The night before had been the best night of her entire life, and all she wanted now was to spend some time in the arms of her lover, cherishing the new closeness that was supposed to exist between them now.

At least -- she thought it was.

She really had no way of knowing, did she?

But -- surely this wasn’t *normal* behavior for a man, after -- after what they had shared?

“No, Buff,” he told her, sighing sympathetically. “I’m not mad. Just -- disappointed.” As he spoke the words, his expression was tired and a little sad, but Buffy thought just for a moment that she saw a brief flash of amusement in his hooded eyes.

It only made the whole thing that much worse, more confusing.

“Disappointed?” she echoed, her voice a whisper full of dread. When he just gave her a sort of sympathetic nod, giving her nothing else to work with, and turned back to his packing, Buffy took an urgent step toward him, swallowing hard as she tried again, “W-why disappointed, Angel?” She hesitated, cringing with humiliation even as she forced out the soft, tentative question.

“Was I -- was I -- not *good*?”

Angel turned toward her then, and this time he was unable to hide the amusement in his voice as he replied with false sincerity, “You were great -- really, Buffy. I thought you were a pro.”

She flinched as if he had slapped her in the face; in truth, she felt as if he had. Stunned, just shaking her head slightly in disbelief, Buffy had no words for what she felt in that moment.

Angel shook his head too, a pitying expression on his face as he turned back to his suitcase.

Buffy’s mind was mostly refusing to process what he had said to her, what it seemed to mean -- because her vulnerable heart just couldn’t take it. This was so terribly, horribly far from what she had hoped to be experiencing right now. It was like the worst nightmare that her insecurities and self-doubts could possibly conjure up, come to life before her.

“I’m -- um -- I’m sorry,“ she stammered flatly, her mind responding automatically, though her heart had not quite caught up with it. “I -- what did…I mean…”

“Oh, Buffy,” Angel cut her off with a little grimace of distaste. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Sweetie. It wasn’t really your fault. You can’t help it if you’re -- inexperienced. Really -- I’d really rather not talk about it. It happened -- okay? I mean, we both probably wish it hadn’t now -- but it happened. So let’s just let it go.”

Buffy had thought she could not be any more shattered, more stunned by his behavior.
She had been wrong.

The most passionate, intense, important night of her entire life -- and he wanted to “just let it go”?

She had given him everything she had to give -- how was she supposed to just let that go?

But Angel’s back was to her again, his posture rigid and unwelcoming, and she knew that he was not willing to discuss it further. And perhaps, judging from his tone, his treatment of her -- perhaps there was nothing to discuss. She felt her eyes welling with tears, as her heart was forced to ask the painful question.

*Is it possible that he really cares for me so little…that he would…would do this?*
She waited, desperate, hoping that maybe he would take it back -- maybe she had imagined it all -- maybe it was all a horrible dream.

But each passing moment only further convinced her that this was the stark, raw, humiliating truth.

There was nothing else she could do in that moment but head for the door; Angel had made it abundantly clear that he did not really want her around at the moment. And in that moment, her shame swelling up like a sickness inside her until she felt hot, flushed with humiliation -- all she wanted was to escape.

She flinched as she opened the door, and heard Angel’s derisive laugh behind her, his taunting words just as the door closed.

“Bye, Buff. I’ll call you!”

It was only after she was halfway down the street, blinded by her tears, that Buffy thought to wonder why Angel had been packing his bags.

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

Spike awoke rather suddenly all at once, over a full twenty-four hours after the soldiers had found him in the church. It was as if his undead body had simply shut down, reserving all its energy to heal his severe, but not permanent, injuries sustained in the fire at the church.

When he awakened, he thought at first that he was dreaming. He was lying on a strange, narrow, uncomfortable bed, in a room that at first appeared to be all white -- not exactly the stuff of reality, in his experience. But as his sensitive eyes began to gradually adjust to the light, Spike realized that the room was not completely white, as he had thought, but simply flooded by a bright overhead light that cast a jarring glare on everything and made it all the more difficult for him to catch his bearings.

Sitting up in the bed and swinging his legs over the side, he took a closer look at his surroundings. The walls, which appeared to be stone, were painted a very light shade of gray, that helped to give the room its white appearance. The room was large, but very sparsely furnished.

Besides the bed, which was against one wall, there was only a small rectangular table at the other end of the room, and two plain wooden chairs that did not appear overly comfortable. On the table was a simple, older model tape recorder, and a yellow legal pad accompanied by a couple of pencils.

As Spike slowly rose to his feet, he became aware of a slight pulling, stinging sensation in the back of his hand, and looked down with surprise to see an IV needle attached to a bag of blood hanging on a stand beside him.

“All right,” he said slowly to himself, frowning pensively as he looked up and around the room again. “Where the bloody hell am I?”

He was relieved to find that his injuries were nearly non-existent by this point. His legs had healed completely, as well as the other injuries the Slayer had managed to inflict during the course of their battle. Strangely, the only one that still felt a bit sore and tender was the spot on the back of his head, presumably where she had hit him with the censer from the altar.

Perhaps something to do with religious relics, he thought with a dismissive shrug.

Right now, he had bigger things to worry about than a single injury that was slow in healing.

Like figuring out where he was, and how he got there.

And where was Dru?

He tried to remember what had happened to her, when he had last seen her, but his memory of anything after the church organ had collapsed on them was still a bit fuzzy. Had it not been, he might have remembered the call Angelus had sent out to his childer; but by this point, the older vampire had Drusilla by his side, and not really interested in what had happened to Spike, had ceased sending out the call.

The last thing that he remembered clearly was grabbing Dru and running when it appeared that the battle was turning in favor of the Slayer…

*The Slayer!*

“Soddin’ bitch,” he muttered under his breath, suddenly feeling much more energetic, as he tore the needle from the back of his hand and stalked away from the bed. “She must have done this to me.”

There was a narrow door along the same wall the bed was against, metal, but painted the same gray color as the walls, with a small window near the top of it. He could see nothing through the window, but that was most likely as much due to the impossible brightness of this room as to anything else. The door could open onto a bright, sunlight outdoor scene, for all he knew.

That thought gave him a moment’s pause, and he stopped in front of the door, inspecting it warily. Suddenly, it seemed strange to him, a bit unsettling -- and then he realized why.

There was no handle -- at least, not on his side of the door.

His eyes narrowed in anger and frustration, as he drew back his fist and slammed it furiously against the metal door, several times, thinking that if it wouldn’t open as a door was *supposed* to open, well, there were always ways of getting around the rules.

Except -- the door didn’t budge.

Not even a dent.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned away from the door to survey the rest of the room.

He noticed with a cautious hope that there was another door on the other side of the room, the side with the table and chairs -- and to his eyes, from this distance, it appeared to be a regular old wooden door, the kind that was easily dealt with by a vampire’s strength -- as long as the vampire in question was reasonably careful about splinters.

Of course, a part of his mind realized that it was simply too easy; why would someone take the care to place him in a room with an iron-reinforced door with no handle, only to leave the other, weaker door so carelessly unattended?

*We *are* talking about the bloody *Slayer*, here, mate,* he smirked inwardly. *Not exactly the brightest bulb in the room, is she? Least of all *this* room…*

He had just taken a step toward the unguarded, vulnerable wooden door, when it suddenly opened, and two uniformed humans entered the room, closing it firmly behind them. One was a tall, solid-looking male soldier, his expression one of that blank sternness so common to men used to taking orders that usually involved violence. The other was a much smaller, middle-aged woman, much less physically intimidating -- though there was something about her that made Spike feel a bit uneasy…a certain cold, clinical detachment in her eyes that was far more frightening than any bloodlust he had seen before in any vampire or demon.

It was obvious with a single look that she was the one in charge.

But not for long.

Without taking time for introductions, Spike swiftly moved toward them, more than ready to drain the both of them dry and leave this strange place through the same door they had come in by. His game face came to the forefront with a snarl, as he lunged toward the woman first, aware of the first rule of these sorts of engagements.

*Take out the leader first…makes the others so much easier to cont…*

As he reached the center of the wide room, the thought was jolted from his mind with a sudden, painful shock that felt like fire blazing through his veins, and he was thrown several yards back to the floor by some invisible force. He shook his head, trying to clear it, as he stumbled to his feet in a dazed manner of confusion, staring incredulously at the empty space that had somehow delivered such a powerful electrical current to his body.

His eyes finally returned to the woman in charge, wide and indignant, with just the slightest hint of apprehension beginning in them. “What the bloody hell…?”

“Oh, good,” she said with a quiet, calm smile. “It’s awake.”

“ ‘It’?” he echoed, raising one eyebrow dubiously in her direction as he took a couple angry steps toward her, stopping a few feet shy of the invisible wall that had stopped him before. “ ‘It’ has a name, love, and is standing right here. No need to be so bloody unfriendly, now, is there? Me being your unwilling guest and all? Now what the bloody hell was that? What did it do to me? And what am I doing here? ”

“It’s also rather talkative,” the soldier put in, a slight smirk turning up the edges of his mouth.

It was bloody infuriating.

“It’s an electronic shield that serves as an invisible wall, administering a powerful electric shock to any moving thing that tries to cross it,” the woman answered, in that same calm, clinical voice that Spike was finding more and more unsettling with each passing moment.

When that was all she said, he lowered his head slightly, looking up at her with clear sarcasm in his eyes at the obvious nature of the information she had given him -- nothing that he had not already known.

She shrugged slightly with a small, unpleasant smile. “You asked,” she pointed out.

“Stupid question,” he acknowledged with a sigh. “All right,” he began again, shaking his head in momentary defeat as he looked expectantly between the two of them. “What is this place? What am I doing here?” With another disgusted glance around the room, he sneered with dark amusement, “Should’ve known this wasn’t the Slayer’s doin’ -- all clean and high tech and professional-like. If it was up to her it’d be all with the torture and the agonizing pain before an untimely staking.”

“We may yet get to that.”

He looked sharply up at the woman again at those words and the subtle menace in them, trying to gauge her intent by her mostly unreadable expression.

She just smiled that same cold smile as she added softly, “That will be up to you, vampire.” She gestured with her hand to the soldier, who took a key from his pocket and locked it visibly, before replacing the key in an inside pocket of his uniform jacket and turning to face Spike again.

“Yeah -- up to me as in I plan to be out of here or dust before you get the chance to lay one hand on me,” Spike replied in a low, level voice that was deadly serious, his eyes narrowed and challenging in response to her clear threat.

She shrugged slightly, her hands raised slightly in a gesture that seemed to say, “Give it your best shot,” and then spoke aloud to the soldier at her side, without taking her eyes off Spike and his reaction.

“Agent Finn -- turn off the shield.”

Spike studied the empty space separating him and the uniformed humans on the other side of it, wondering if the big wanker had actually turned off the power like he’d been ordered to do. It didn’t *look* any different.

*Of course it doesn’t *look* any different you stupid sod,* he berated himself a moment later. *It’s a big empty space. How different is it gonna look?*

“You must think I’m a bloody idiot,” he remarked aloud to the small woman, who was giving him a calmly expectant look. “You’d just love to see me walk right into that bloody thing, and get fried again, wouldn’t you? Not bloody likely, pet.”

“All right,” she shrugged, holding his gaze with a strangely triumphant smile, as she stepped slowly toward him, one wide deliberate step taking her across the invisible barrier, and into his half of the room. “What now, vampire?”

Spike’s eyes widened with surprise -- and then narrowed again over a slowly spreading smirk, as he lowered his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with deadly pleasure. “Now,” he replied, his voice low and seductively threatening. “Now, love -- I think *you’re* the bloody idiot.”

In one swift motion he was upon her, pushing her back against the wall, one hand at her chin pushing her head backward to expose her vulnerable throat, as his game face came to the fore and he leaned in for the killing bite.

“*No*!” the soldier on the other side of the room cried out, crossing the barrier behind him and moving swiftly as if to stop him.

But before he could reach them, something completely unexpected happened.

Something that would change Spike’s existence forever.

Before his fangs had so much as grazed her throat, as he was just beginning to imagine the warm rush of sweet pleasure as he drained the life from this bint who had thought to hold him prisoner -- a searing, excruciating pain pierced through his skull, dropping him to his knees on the floor with a startled cry of anger, confusion, and sheer agony.

He shook his head, scrambling back to his feet with a snarl, not sure what she had done to him, but determined to make her pay for it. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of the soldier moving in as if to stop him, but that did not worry him. He knew that, armed or not, he was far stronger than the boy, and would take him down as easily as he would drain his superior.

“Riley, don’t!” the woman snapped, and the young man froze, as the vampire leapt at her throat again.

Spike had time to vaguely wonder why she had stopped the boy -- before a second explosion of pain ripped through his skull, dropping him to the floor again with a roar of frustrated anguish.

As the spots of black color began to fade from his vision, he looked up to see the woman crouched down beside him on the floor, smiling calmly, waiting for him to recover from whatever they had done to him.

“Before you try to attack me again, and completely destroy yourself, and we all lose out -- let me explain to you what it is you’re feeling, vampire,” she began.

And by this point, Spike was just enough freaked out to wait and hear what she had to say.

“While you slept, we’ve implanted a microchip in your brain. It will send an electrical current through your head, any time you attempt to harm a human being,” she explained, in that same cold, clinical tone of voice. “For that reason -- it’s in your best interest if you *don’t* attempt it. Is that clear?”

Spike just stared up at her in shock, his fuzzy thoughts barely able to make sense of what she was telling him.

“A -- a *chip*…?”

“In your head,” she repeated, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes, which hardened as she added, “You’re completely helpless, unable to defend yourself, vampire, let alone actually harm me or any of my men. You haven’t got a chance of getting out of here until I see fit to let you out. Therefore -- it’s best if you simply do as you’re told.”

Even as Spike’s mind took in the information, filing away the reference to “her men”, noting that whatever this place was, it was more than simply a mad scientist and her henchman, he felt his anger rising up in defiance against her words.

“See -- that’s the rub, love,” he smirked as he carefully rose to his feet, watching her as she rose with him, but did not seem in any way afraid. “I’m not all that good at taking orders.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she remarked softly.

He barely caught the almost imperceptible look she cast over his shoulder at the soldier behind him, and reacted just a moment too late to avoid the butt of the soldier’s rifle in the small of his back. Still in game face, he fell only for a moment, before snarling in fury and whirling around, snatching the rifle from the boy’s hand hurling it against the far wall, where it smashed into a dozen pieces on the floor.

The young man’s eyes went wide, and his hands went out in front of him in a defensive stance, as, to his credit, he prepared to fight the vampire bare-handed if need be.

But it was not necessary, as once again, the moment Spike lunged at him, the chip in his head went off again, tearing through his brain with blinding agony. When it passed, Spike found that he was on the floor, on his knees, drawing in deep, shaking, gasping breaths, his aching head cradled in both hands.

Staring down at him with hard eyes full of cruel satisfaction, Maggie Walsh finally finished her statement that his attack had interrupted, adding quietly, “But you’ll learn.”

A slight clicking noise brought Spike’s weary, aching head up again; but both the woman and the boy were gone -- and the switch on the wall operating the invisible wall was back in the “on” position.

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

“Bye, baby, bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting…”

Drusilla’s low, musical voice lilted as she danced in a slow, eerie circle around the table where Angelus sat, frowning vaguely at the piece of paper in front of him, before rubbing out the pencil marks he had just made, and making them over again.

“…to catch a wicked Slayer’s skin…” Her tone changed, became a cross between a soft wail and a whine, as she finished, more quietly, “…to wrap my little William in…” The song finished, she fell down on the floor to her knees, moaning, grieving, “He’s gone, he is…they’ve got him…and then she’ll have him…and he’ll never be mine again…”

“Dru, would you drop it?” Angelus snapped without looking up from his drawing. “We’ve been over this a dozen times. You said he’s lost to us already, right?”

Drusilla’s response was only a soft whimper from between her hands that now covered her face.

“Then why sit there and whine about it? We’ve got each other, right? Forget Spike…”

“I *try* to forget him,” she cried, her dark eyes meeting his, full of anguish and confusion. “But ‘e won’t let me, Daddy! He’s here…in my head…calling to me…calling… ‘e doesn’t know he’s lost already…little lost boy, calling for his Mummy…but Mummy can’t save you now, little Willie…no matter how hard you cry…how loud you call…”

After the first few words, her focus was no longer on her sire sitting at the table, but on some far distant point that only she could see. She let out a moan as if in terrible pain, before sobbing out again, “He’s calling, calling, won’t stop calling me! He wants ‘is Mummy…”

“Then why don’t you go to him?” Angelus snapped, his impatience evident in his voice, as he slammed the pencil down on the table and glared up at her, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Don’t be cross with me, Daddy,” Dru whimpered, rising gracefully from her knees to her feet and backing toward the door. “Don’t be cross…I’ll go to him, as you said…I’ll find him…I’ll bring him home again…all will be right again when he’s home again…”

Her words this time held a childlike hope, as opposed to the distant, knowing tone her voice usually had when she was getting a vision -- and Angelus had little doubt that she would fail in her task. If the visions had told her that Spike was already gone, well, most likely he was dust by now.

And good riddance, as far as Angelus was concerned.

But…if it would get Dru out of his hair for a bit…

“Yes, I’m sure that’s right, Dru,” he reassured her in a soft, overly patient voice, forcing a smile despite his irritation. “Go and find him. I’ll call you if I need you, precious…Daddy’s busy right now.”

“Daddy’s busy…busy…” she echoed his words as she headed for the door, and out into the night, following the desperate call of her childe.

“That’s right,” Angelus murmured to himself, smiling with wicked delight at the half-finished drawing on the table. “Daddy’s busy.”

The drawing was of several busts, forming a rough circle, of the Slayer’s friends and family -- her mother, in the top left-hand corner, her friends, the two boys, the little redhead, and the cheerleader, working to the right of Joyce’s picture in a circle, until a rough sketch of the Watcher’s face lay directly beneath Joyce’s face, drawn in a troubled mask of fear and concern.

Actually, all of their faces bore expressions of fear, in varying degrees.

And in the center, broken, tears streaming from her eyes, which were filled with devastation and defeat, Angelus had drawn the lovely, hated face of the Slayer herself. Picking up the pencil again, as a cold smile came over his face, Angelus made a light lead circle around one of the faces, before tossing the pencil down and rising to his feet, heading out into the night, in the opposite direction from the way Dru had gone, finishing softly to himself,

“Daddy’s…hunting…”

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

Spike had never, ever had cause to use the bond between himself and his sire to call out for help -- not like this. Not because he was helpless to defend himself, and in more pain than he could recall feeling at any point in his life or unlife. For him, it had always been a point of pride that *he* was the one to defend *Dru* -- to protect her, to care for her, almost as if he had been the sire and she the childe

Except -- they both knew who was really in control of their relationship.

But the intricacies of their relationship was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment.

He had tried to stop them when they had come to take him from the room where he had first awoken to find himself. He had fought, struggled -- and only managed to make the chip go off several times in the process, further incapacitating himself, and making it easier for them to move him from that room, to another down the hall.

Of course, these young human men were much stronger than they should have been, too. Even without harming them, Spike knew that he should have been able to get away from them; but somehow, they seemed nearly as strong as vampires themselves, possessing nowhere near the weak level of strength Spike was used to seeing in ordinary humans.

When he had seen the operating table in the center of the room, complete with leather restraints that he was fairly certain were not hospital issue, he had renewed his efforts to escape, knowing immediately that at all costs, he could not let them get him tied down to that table. In his efforts at escape, he had managed to nearly knock one of the men holding him unconscious.

And then the chip had knocked *him* unconscious.

When he had awakened -- it was too late to think about escaping. He had already been strapped tightly down to the table, his arms and legs each restrained at three different points, and with straps across his stomach, chest, and forehead as well. He tried to voice his protest, only to find that he had been gagged, his mouth stuffed with what felt like soft, white gauze, held in by some sort of contraption of leather and wires wrapped around his head, that held his jaw firmly shut.

“Hello, vampire.”

The woman’s voice was suddenly next to his ear, though he could not so much as turn his head to see her, and Spike felt a growl of anger and frustrated fear rising up in his throat. He wanted to scream at her that his name was *Spike*, damn it, and what the bloody hell did they think they were playing at? But he couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound.

The last time he had felt so helpless -- well, it had been a *very* long time.

“I don’t believe we were formally introduced before,” the woman went on, a slight smirk audible in her voice. “I am Maggie Walsh…and I will be overseeing the various procedures on our schedule for you today. I’m afraid we’ll have to go without knowing your name, since you’ve already been -- prepared -- for the procedures. But then -- your *name* is hardly of any interest to us.”

Her words were hardly comforting, and he tried again, uselessly, to break the bonds that held him, but apparently they had been designed with supernatural strength in mind; they did not budge.

“We may have a few questions for you as the procedures go along,” Walsh continued in a calm, careless sort of voice. “So obviously we’ll try to restrict them to those that require only a yes or no answer. And you will find that it will definitely be in your best interest to cooperate. Do you understand?”

Spike rolled his eyes in the direction of her voice, though she remained just outside his range of vision, then looked pointedly down in the direction of his own restrained right hand, and raised a single finger in a gesture that spoke more loudly than any words he could have spoken.

He highly doubted that she would have understood his usual British version of the gesture, and he wanted to be very sure she knew exactly what he thought of the whole thing.

Walsh sighed wearily, picking up a small vial in her hand from a table arrayed with various surgical supplies, and other items of a more mysterious nature.

“Fine, then. Have it your way,” she remarked. “You’ll soon wish you hadn’t.”

Spike could not see what she was doing, was not aware at all of what was about to happen, until he felt his right hand pressed down against the table beneath him, strapped to it tightly with an additional leather strap, the offending finger excepted. When one of her white-coated assistants had finished that task, Maggie Walsh quickly pushed the vial onto his middle finger, until said finger formed a tight cork, holding the fluid in the vial inside, against his skin.

The fluid was holy water.

As Spike struggled desperately to free his trapped finger from the searing, acidic liquid, a strangled, frantic cry rose in his throat, muffled by the gag.

“Now, you see,” Maggie said in a tone of false regret, moving to stand near his head again, “If you’d only been more cooperative, I could have simply asked you, ‘Is it true what they say about holy water and vampires? Can a vampire be reduced to dust with only the use of holy water? Can holy water be used to completely remove an appendage? And you could have answered, and I wouldn’t have had to do this to you.”

Spike’s struggles against his bonds became swiftly weaker, as the pain began to steal his strength, his control -- his consciousness -- and she smiled as she turned her attention back to the bubbles of steam and fluid seeping out around the top of the tiny bottle on his finger.

“Of course,” she amended with a shrug. “I might have wanted to see it for myself anyway. It’s incredibly fascinating to see.” She smirked as she finally removed the bottle, just before Spike would have passed out from the pain, setting it aside slowly, patiently, and turning back to him with a sadistic smile, as she added,

“And just think, vampire -- we’re just getting started.”

After that single initial defiance -- Spike was quite cooperative with Walsh’s questions.

Her threats had been emphatically backed up with the horrific torment of the holy water that had burned his middle finger black, and he knew that he would rather surrender a bit of his pride and go along with her little interrogation, than to experience that sort of agony again. She did as she had said she would, and kept her questions mostly to yes’s and no’s, and he did his best to answer them.

Not that it did him much good.

Most of his answers were so “fascinating” to her that she insisted on seeing firsthand if he was telling the truth or not, anyway. There was no typical weapon against vampires that she did not try on his bound, vulnerable body. Of course, she *did* avoid the use of a stake to the heart.

But at a certain point, that ceased to feel like a mercy to Spike.

A simple staking would have been far easier than this agonizing, methodical torment.

“Any idea of the effect a wooden stake might have on other vital organs?” Walsh asked with a smirk, carelessly twirling the deadly piece of wood in her hand, giving him a skeptical look.

Spike struggled against the gag in his mouth to protest, wanting to tell her that it was pretty much the same as the effect would be on a human, only slightly less deadly -- though no less painful; but he was helpless to respond, helpless to stop her, as she poised the stake over his lower abdomen, pressing just slightly shy of hard enough to break the skin.

“Oh, so sorry,” she remarked, shaking her head. “I forgot. Yes or no questions only. I suppose I’ll just have to see for myself, then, won‘t I?”

Blinding agony gripped Spike’s body in the next moment, his back arching as the stake plunged through his flesh to pierce several not-so-vital organs at once, and then was ripped carelessly back out, leaving dozens of tiny splinters in its path.

“Now,” Walsh went on calmly. “Is this injury going to kill you, vampire?”

Weakly, Spike shook his head, knowing that the penalty for refusing to answer would be worse than the torture she was inflicting now -- though that was hard to imagine at the moment.

“Fascinating,” the scientist-slash-soldier repeated, shaking her head in amazement -- and Spike thought with bitter resentment that he was swiftly tiring of hearing that word. “I could probably do the same thing to all of your vital organs, right? Except the heart? Is that accurate?”

Spike nodded, hoping that the answer would keep her from trying to find out for herself.

“Incredible. But,” Walsh went on, her eyes pensively looking up and down the length of his taut, trembling body, “I would assume that it’s still quite painful, correct?”

Spike nodded again, closing his eyes and swallowing hard, bracing himself for the next strike. He had seen the sadistic flash of pleasure in her eyes, and knew that it was coming.

When it came, he felt the intense pain pushing him into the foggy darkness of unconsciousness, aided by the rapid blood loss from the first non-fatal staking. He welcomed the oblivion it would bring, knowing that it would at least grant him a brief reprieve from the torment they were putting him through. After all, he had a feeling that these people would not have such an interest in their little experiments if he was not conscious to experience them.

Just before his mind faded into the sweet mercy of oblivion, a loud, screeching metallic sound, like steel being crushed, was heard -- followed by an intimately familiar voice dancing on the edges of his consciousness, echoing and distant through the haze of darkness and pain surrounding him.

“There he is -- there’s my sweet William…”

*Just your bloody imagination, mate -- that’s all -- don’t let it fool you into thinking…*

“But you’ve made him all broken and bleeding…and I make him bleed so much more prettily…”

It wasn’t a dream, Spike realized with an overwhelming sense of relief, remembering the desperate call he had sent out to her, until his pain and weakness had eventually silenced it.

She was really here -- here to take him home.

“I think I’m very cross with you all -- breaking my best dolly. Mummy shall have to punish you…” Drusilla’s playfully pouting voice informed them all, and Spike relished the sound of the low, menacing growl in her throat, accompanying the words.

“Stay calm.” Walsh’s voice was terse, sharp with warning, and even without being able to turn his head to view the scene, Spike knew that all the attention in the room had shifted from him to the dark vampiress now standing in the doorway. “She’s clearly very strong -- and very dangerous. Exercise xtreme caution, everyone. Draw your weapons.”

Spike heard the sound of several guns being drawn at once, and cringed inwardly at the thought of several of the wood-tipped bullets that had been described to him, now aimed at his Dark Princess, who was completely unaware of the danger that they posed to her.

And he was unable to warn her.

*Come on, Baby,* he thought desperately. *Make me proud, love…you can take them…*

“Children’s toys,” Dru’s lilting voice said in a tone of mocking dismissal. “But I don’t want to play. Mummy’s angry now. Can’t abide the little tin soldiers playing with her little William. ‘E’s mine to play with alone, ‘e is…mine and Daddy’s. No one else’s…and now I’ll have to punish you…”

Spike heard the quiet, crunching shift of Drusilla’s delicately beautiful features into her frightening vampiric visage, and smiled as best he could at the sounds of the alarmed gasps of his tormentors.

“Steady,” Walsh snapped at her followers -- though Spike knew that the word was useless at this point.

He got the distinct impression that most of these gits had never faced a real, free vampire, her true nature and power unrestrained -- and he could smell the terror rolling off of them in waves.

“Aim…fire!” Walsh commanded sharply -- and from the sounds of things, all hell broke loose.

Several rounds fired off, not quite exactly at the same time, and Spike heard a sound that was a cross between a hiss of pain and a snarl of rage that told him Dru had been hit.

The agonized scream that followed those sounds told him that the hit had not been fatal -- at least, not for Dru.

And that scream was only the first herald of the brutal bloodbath that followed. Running footsteps disappearing into the distance told Spike that several of the scientists had escaped, but by no means all of them. One by one, Spike heard the few remaining scientists who remained to try to kill Dru, meet their own violent, bloody deaths -- their throats, their hearts, torn out by her deadly fangs and lethal claws.

The shaking hands of the hapless humans, and Dru’s own preternatural speed and agility, had prevented most of the wooden bullets from hitting her, though from the smell of her blood that made its way to his nostrils, a few had at least connected; but she did not seem to be too badly injured. If she had been, Spike knew that he would have felt it.

Finally, as the last screams died away, Spike could hear the frantic, clicking sound of an empty rifle being fired, and then thrown away in frustration. Rushing footsteps headed toward the door -- but Dru headed the fleeing human off, blocking the exit.

“Bad dolly,” she said in a wickedly playful voice, and Spike heard the thud of the unfortunate human being thrown violently against the wall, and groaning in pain as she slumped to the ground -- and a satisfied smile came over his face at the sound. “Musn’t leave the party just yet…you haven’t been excused…”

The one remaining human in the room was Maggie Walsh.

And a moment later, Spike was gazing into the soft, concerned eyes of his Dark Princess, hovering over him and looking down at him with mingled amazement and despair.

“Oh, my Spike,” she murmured, as her hands deftly unfastened the bonds at his wrists. “They’ve taken you from me…”

As she moved to the foot of the table to free his legs as well, Spike reached up and tore the vile gagging device from his head, swallowing a couple of times to lubricate his dry, sore throat.

“Almost, love,” he reassured her, catching her arm and pulling her toward him for a moment, wincing at the pain caused by the slight movement of his abused body. “Not quite -- you stopped them…”

“Too late,” Dru shook her head mournfully, meeting his eyes with a strange sadness in her own. “But once we’re home again -- Daddy says all will be well…”

Spike frowned, his thoughts still somewhat muddled by the pain and exhaustion of the past day, trying to make sense of her words. And then, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he remembered the words Dru had spoken in the church, just before he had lost consciousness.

*Daddy’s coming home…*

*No -- not…not him…*

“Dru,” he began slowly, cautiously, attempting to sit up, and then abandoning the attempt when his torn, bleeding lower body set up a screaming protest to the motion.

But Dru was already distracted again, her dark eyes narrowed and focused on the injured human woman, struggling unsuccessfully to rise to her feet again, with a shattered hip.

“Not nice to play with others’ things,” Dru informed her in a dark voice of reproach, swaying gracefully toward her -- and the woman froze, staring up at her through wide, fearful eyes. “You take them without asking -- and return them broken and useless -- if you return them at all…naughty girls who do such things must be punished, you know…”

“D-don’t -- don’t touch me,” Walsh rasped out, the words barely coming for her fear, as she struggled again to stand, letting out a cry of pain as her body slumped to the floor again.

Spike laughed softly, a low, dark sound behind the two women, as he turned a vindictive smile on the woman huddled on the floor. What he was sure that Drusilla was about to do was a welcome to distraction to the unsettling thoughts of Angelus’ possible return. “Now you’re bloody well in for it, love,” he informed the woman softly. “You’ll wish you’d never soddin’ touched me.”

“Look at me,” Dru commanded the woman sharply, who was now staring wide-eyed at her former victim, still lying on the table, and Maggie Walsh turned her head sharply to look at Dru, visibly fighting back panic.

Spike recognized the look in Dru’s eyes, as in a soft, mysterious, hypnotic tone, she ordered, “Be…in me…be…in me…”

Walsh’s tense stance gradually relaxed, her attention focused completely on the fathomless eyes of the deadly vampiress before her.

“Oughta let her stay aware of it,” Spike muttered, rolling his eyes in disgust. “Oughta let the bitch feel what happens to her, love…”

But Dru was still ignoring him, her own dark eyes widening with wonder as she studied the face of the woman crouched on the floor in front of her, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

“Oh, no, my Spike,” she murmured pensively. “Can’t kill this one…can’t hardly kill her…”

“Why the bloody hell not?” Spike snapped in annoyance, looking at her in exasperation.

“This one will try to blot out the sun…and the other stars won’t tell me yet whether she’ll succeed…but if she blots out the sun…then you are not yet lost to me…” Dru mused, a slow, crafty smile spreading across her face.

“I’m *not* lost to you, pet!” Spike insisted. “You stopped them! I’m right here!”

“Can’t kill her,” Dru repeated firmly, still gazing into the blank eyes of the human woman. “Not yet. But is she tries again to hurt my Spike -- we’ll rip her throat out, and dance in her blood…won‘t we, my love?”

Spike sighed in defeat, aware that he was not going to convince Dru to do in the mad scientist, not right now, anyway. “Fine, love,” he said flatly, his voice sounding weaker now as the pain began to catch up with him again. “Whatever you like…let’s just get the bloody hell out of here, can we, pet?”

Dru stood up straight, staring at the woman for another long moment, before turning to face her childe with sympathy in her dark eyes. “My poor little Spike -- Mummy needs to take you home and take care of you…Daddy will be so pleased to see you…”

Spike winced as she lifted him none-too-carefully into her arms, both at the pain of his jarred injuries, and also at the reminder of the other vampire who, somehow, awaited them at home.

If Angelus was really back, Spike was fairly certain that Dru would not be “taking care of him” as she had just promised. The barmy bint could scarcely take care of a sodding bird, let alone an injured vampire -- and even less, when her beloved “Daddy” was around to distract her.

And Spike was quite certain that Angelus would *not* be overly pleased to see him.

“Somehow, I’m not so very sure of that, love,” he muttered with a weary sigh of apprehensive resignation.

“Oh, yes, he will,” Dru insisted happily, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. “We’ll be a family again, my William -- you’ll see. Just wait and see…”

The soft tapping on the door leading into her bedroom from outside drew Willow’s attention from the homework assignment that she had been attempting to focus on -- with little success, anyway. Curious, she rose from her desk, peering out the window before opening the door.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Angel standing there, a sad, uncertain expression in his dark, puppy-dog eyes.

Angel had been to her house before; it would not have ordinarily been such a surprise to see him standing there.

That is, if she had not just minutes earlier gotten off the phone with a sobbing, barely coherent Buffy -- whom she was actually expecting to show up any minute. She would have gone to Buffy instead, if her usually unconcerned mother had not grounded her for getting the less than stellar grade of a B+ on a test the previous week.

One moment, they had been having a normal, average sort of telephone conversation. Then, Willow had asked Buffy how Angel was doing…and after a seemingly interminable moment of silence, her friend had broken down completely. Willow had not been able to make out much of what the distraught Slayer had said, but she knew that it had something to do with the souled vampire, who had said something horribly hurtful to her friend.

Her eyes narrowed as her arms crossed over her chest, and she glared at the vampire.

It didn’t matter how penitent he was trying to look, he was not in *her* good books, not until he un-did whatever he had done to hurt Buffy.

“You have got some explaining to do, Mister,” she informed him in her most severe tone of voice -- which was still sadly un-scary, she mentally acknowledged, as she continued to glare at him through the doorway.

“Aw, Wills,” he said softly, in a voice that immediately struck her as strange, coming from Angel. It was -- too familiar…almost…almost *mocking*…and just a little bit scary. “Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t you tell me how to be, you mean old vampire!” she shot back, angry at herself for the slight tremor she heard in her own voice, and for taking an uncertain step backward as he moved through the doorway without invitation.

*Oh, yeah,* she remembered uneasily. *He’s already got one, hasn’t he?*

“Buffy called me -- and she’s on her way over here right now, because of you! And I don’t think it’s gonna be very conducive to me comforting her if you’re standing here in the middle of my bedroom.” Glancing nervously toward the door, Willow added, “It’s not going to be very conducive to my not being grounded anymore, either, for that matter.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Angel told her, shutting the door quietly behind him, giving her a cold, predatory smile that chilled her blood.

*What’s the matter with you?* she berated herself. *This is Angel -- he doesn’t hurt people. Well -- not in a physical sense…*

But he was advancing toward her, backing her toward her bed, and suddenly she forgot the reassurances her mind was trying to give her, her heart pounding in her chest as her knees hit the side of her mattress, and Angel closed the rest of the distance between them.

One of his arms slid around her waist, and she tried with shaking hands to push him away, demanding shakily, “W-what are you doing? Angel, get your hands off…”

“Did you ever think,” the vampire continued as if she had not spoken, his voice low and seductive as he only gripped her tighter, in spite of her struggles, “that maybe *I* could use a little comfort, too?”

“Angel -- Angel, what’s wrong with you? Stop…” Willow protested, her words cut off as he pushed her hard, onto her back on the bed.

Before she could gain her bearings he was straddling her, pinning her arms at her sides with his strong legs, one heavy hand clamped tightly over her mouth, silencing her frantic attempts at screams. Her eyes went wide as his face shifted into his vampiric guise, and he leaned down close to her throat, inhaling deeply as his free hand caressed lightly over her breast.

Willow went completely still at that, a new terror rising in her eyes at that intimate touch -- accompanied by another strange, unwelcome feeling, one she had felt before, but never at the touch of a man’s hand. Feeling it now, against her will, made her feel dirty and ashamed, and her face colored with humiliation as tears pricked against the backs of her tightly closed eyes.

“Mmmm,” Angel whispered close to her throat, his hand over her mouth tilting her head so that he had better access to her vulnerable throat. “You smell delicious, Willow. Just like -- candy. Better than candy. You’re all -- sweetness…innocence…and just a little bit of…*curiosity*, for spice.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice, increasing her discomfort and shame, and she tried to twist out of his grasp, her every effort useless against his vampire’s strength. He effortlessly held her, leaning in even closer to whisper in a voice of soft, intimate mockery,

“I know a part of you wants this, you dirty little girl! Even though you know you shouldn’t…even though you *don’t* want it -- and that’s what’s gonna make you taste sooo good!”

He made a show of sniffing her throat again, before running his cool tongue slowly up the madly pulsing column of her throat, before adding in a whisper, “You want to know what it’s like -- but you’re afraid you’re going to die untouched, aren’t you? Poor little sweet, mousy, *boring* Willow -- men don’t notice you.” He laughed cruelly, shrugging as he admitted, “Hell, even I’m only touching you because of Buffy.”

Willow couldn’t help flinching at the twisted, painful truth in his words, tears streaming from her eyes, wide open again and desperately seeking an escape that she was increasingly sure would not come, not in time.

“But I *am* touching you…”

Angel sneered softly, smiling as he brushed his fangs against the sensitive pulse point in her throat again, without breaking the skin, his hand stroking invasively across her breasts again, toying with her, making her feel things she had always wanted to feel, yet so mingled with things she‘d *never* wanted to feel that she couldn‘t begin to enjoy them.

She was terrified and ashamed and confused -- and quite certain that she would never want a man to touch her again.

As if reading her tumultuous, confused thoughts, Angel -- or Angelus, as she was beginning to suspect, went on softly, “And before I’m finished, sweet little Willow -- you’ll want it -- and you’ll wonder why you *ever* wanted it -- and you’ll wish you never had wanted it -- all at the same time...”

With a desperate effort, Willow managed to yank her mouth free of his hand for a moment, but she found that she was too breathless with panic even to scream. Her wide, tearful eyes locked onto those of the monster above her for just a moment, and all she could get out in that single instant was a meaningful whispered word.

“*Buffy*…”

Angel’s lips formed an exaggerated pout, and he rolled his eyes with a weary sigh, as he admitted, “You’re right. Buffy’s coming. Don’t have time to exactly ‘rock your world’, little girl, do I?” His pout became a vicious grin, as he finished in a soft, deadly voice of menace, “Guess I’ll just have to settle for tearing your throat out.”

“Guess you won’t.”

The Slayer’s voice, hard and furious, spoke directly behind him, and before he had time to respond, Angelus found himself yanked up off of the petrified little redhead, and thrown against the far wall.

“How about I rock *your* world instead?” Buffy quipped, albeit weakly. After all, she had just walked in on the vampire she had thought was the love of her life, attempting to rape and murder her best friend, the night after he had just dismissed the most important, moving experience of her life as meaningless and sub-par.

She wasn’t exactly feeling at her quippy best.

“About that, Buff,” Angelus sneered as he pulled himself back to his feet, giving the Slayer a lecherous grin, “I thought we’d already covered that. I don’t think you could…”

A vicious side kick to his face silenced his taunt, as Buffy rushed him, landing blow after blow in a violent, rage-fueled frenzy that ended with the vampire on the floor, and her straddling his waist, her stake raised and ready to plunge into his heart.

She did not know what had happened -- but she *did* know that the Angel she had loved was not this same creature looking up at her now, this same creature who had shattered her heart and attacked her friend.

*Was it*?

Familiar, soulful brown eyes were staring up at her now, full of sorrow and remorse. He shook his head in a display of confusion and uncertainty, whispering, “Buffy? What…I…what happened?”

Buffy frowned, her stake hand freezing, as she glanced uncertainly between Willow and the prone vampire on the floor beneath her. “A-angel?”

His eyes searched hers, anxious and questioning, and she didn’t even react, didn’t move to defend herself, as he placed a strong hand on the back of her head and pulled her toward him to kiss her.

Her eyes widened at the last second, as she realized what he was doing, in light of what he had just done to her friend, and she tried, too late, to pull away from the kiss, but he rolled them so that he was over her, his lips passionately attacking hers as he crawled up onto his hands and knees over her, taking advantage of the leverage of his new position, and not letting up until she was breathless and gasping for air.

Confused, not really sure what she was feeling, what she had just seen, what exactly had taken place in the last insane, painful, surreal twenty-four hours, Buffy realized too late, aghast, that she had surrendered to the kiss.

The realization stunned her, and she did not move as Angel got to his feet, smirking down at her in satisfaction, tilting his head in a speculative way before shaking it with a dismissive little sneer.

“Naw,” he concluded softly. “Still no good. Just a waste of a good kiss.” As Buffy scrambled to her feet, he made his way out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See ya later, Buff.” He stopped at the door long enough to turn and look at Willow, smiling menacingly into her eyes as he added, “We’ll have to do this another time, Wills.”

After he had vanished into the darkness, both girls just stood there in silence for a long moment, too stunned by what had just happened to do anything at all, the only sound the faint squeaking of the door as it shifted slightly back and forth in the wind.

Suddenly, Willow rushed to the door, slamming it shut and locking it with trembling fingers. “He can still get in!” she realized aloud with a stricken sob, staring wide-eyed at the door for a moment. “Oh, God, Buffy, he can still get in!” She shook her head in denial, obviously searching her mind for any way of ensuring her safety from the vampire.

When she came up empty, it was all too much for Willow. As she collapsed to the floor in front of her door, her small form shaking and racked with sobs, Buffy went to her side automatically, falling to her knees beside her friend. “Willow -- Wills…”

“Don’t call me that!” Willow choked out the words with a shudder of horror and revulsion -- before suddenly looking up at Buffy through stricken, accusing eyes, as she pulled away from her comforting hands. “And don’t touch me.”

Buffy blinked, startled, and still a bit dazed by the whole affair herself.

Truth be told -- she felt utterly and completely lost.

“Willow,” she began hesitantly, thinking she knew why her friend was angry with her. “I’m sorry. That -- that wasn’t Angel. That -- had to be -- Angelus. I don’t know how, but he must have lost his soul…”

“How could you?” Willow whispered, not looking at Buffy, her lower lip trembling as she shook her head sadly. “Buffy, how could you?”

“I’m sorry, Willow,” Buffy repeated, her own tears welling and falling from her wide, shocked eyes. “I -- I just didn’t know what to do. I -- I shouldn’t have let him go. But -- but it’s *Angel*, and I never -- never thought that…”

“No,” Willow cut her off, a strangely cold note to her voice, and the look in her eyes when she finally raised them to meet Buffy’s nearly took the Slayer’s breath. “Not that..”

Now, Buffy was utterly at a loss. “Then…what?” she asked softly, blinking.

“You -- you *kissed* him.” Willow’s voice was filled with disbelief and disgust. “You -- you saw what he did. And you…”

“No!” Buffy objected emphatically. “No, Willow, he kissed *me*, I did not…”

“You *let* him kiss you,” Willow amended, not sounding as if the slight change in wording made much difference. “You -- you *wanted* him to kiss you. You knew what he almost did, and you actually *wanted* him to touch you…”

Buffy shook her head, a stricken expression on her face as she slowly rose to her feet, backing away from her friend -- utterly unaware that the disgust, the condemnation in Willow’s words was not solely directed at her.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Will, it all just -- just happened so fast…I didn’t mean to…”

Willow rose to her feet abruptly, her jaw set firmly, though her eyes were still downcast. “We can‘t just sit here,” she stated, her tone flat and barely controlled. “If -- if Angelus is really back -- then we need to get in touch with everybody. Make sure -- everybody’s safe.”

Buffy was silent for a moment, painfully aware that the matter of that brief kiss that had done so much damage to them both was not settled yet -- but unable to deny the truth of Willow’s words.

“Okay,” she agreed, still feeling numb inside, though it was a deep aching numbness, beginning in her stomach, slowly spreading throughout her entire body. “Let’s call Giles.”

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

“Dru!” Angelus called as he made his way back up the walk to the mansion, unable to repress the grin on his face, feeling in a much better mood. “Where’s my girl? Daddy’s home, Dru!”

His smile faded abruptly when he stepped into the foyer, and his nostrils were assaulted by a familiar, though unwelcome, scent. He frowned, his eyes narrowing in annoyance and disgust.

Though his own little quest had met with only partial success, it appeared that Dru’s mission had been successful, judging by the scent that seemed to permeate the mansion.

Spike.

Though, judging by the burnt, coppery tang in the air, the younger vampire was likely injured, and badly.

“Daddy’s home,” Drusilla’s hauntingly musical voice echoed his own words of moments before, and suddenly she appeared in the doorway of one of the lower level bedrooms. “Come and see what your childe has found, Daddy!”

“Let me guess,” Angelus drawled, his smirk returning at the stronger scent of blood that was there as he stepped through the doorway into the darkened room, and the thought of how much pain his errant grandchilde was likely in to have left such a powerful scent. “You’ve gone out and brought home an injured stray again, haven’t you, Dru? How many times has Daddy told you -- you can’t keep a pet, dear. They have this funny way of dying on you.”

“Not my William,” Dru sighed, a dreamy note to her voice. “Couldn’t let my sweet William die…we’ve got to save him from the sunshine…”

Angelus glanced skeptically up at the ceiling, aware that Drusilla likely saw a much different view when she looked at it than he did. “No danger of any sunshine getting to him in here,” he reassured her matter-of-factly, his dark eyes finally catching sight of the unconscious vampire apparently asleep or unconscious on the bed. “Looks like he’ll be fine for the moment…”

“But I haven’t yet started cleaning his wounds,” Drusilla objected, her full lips forming a petulant pout. “Nasty lady made of ice and needles, poked my Spike all full of holes to let the light in…spilled his blood to paint her barren pictures…gotta fill him back up again, I do…”

“Not yet, you don’t,” Angelus said firmly, his voice a low growl as he caught her arm, just as she would have returned to Spike’s bedside. “William can wait. You’ve got your Daddy to see to, Dru.”

The protest gradually faded from Dru’s wide, dark eyes, slowly fading into a glimmer of desire, as her lips formed a slow, sly smile. “Daddy needs his little girl again, does he?” she purred, sidling in close and running her hands up and down her sire’s sides almost worshipfully. “Not gonna send her away again?” she pouted, then giggled softly, murmuring, “Not sure what she’ll bring home next time if he does…”

“No, Dru,” Angelus chuckled, shaking his head at her words that belied her dreamy, mad ways, revealing that perhaps there was a bit more craftiness in her actions than she had originally let on. “Not gonna send you away again. Not tonight…”

And the two vampires left the bedroom, in search of a room with a fresh bed, and a bit of privacy.

Though, not *too* much privacy, of that Angelus made sure, choosing a room only a couple of rooms down from the one in which Spike lay.

After all, if the younger vampire happened to awaken -- Angelus wanted to be sure that he heard just exactly what was happening between his sire and grandsire.

*Pecking order’s different around here now, William,* Angelus thought grimly. *And as soon as you wake up -- I’ll show you just how different things really are!*

Any casual bystander walking into the Sunnydale High School library an hour or so later would have been surprised by the unusual assembly of individuals gathered there, as well as by the late hour in which they had chosen to gather. Buffy and Willow had contacted Xander, Oz, and Cordelia, as well as Giles and Miss Calendar, and now they were all sitting around the table, discussing the situation, and what to do about it.

After the initial telling of the story, they were tactfully avoiding discussing Willow‘s ordeal specifically, and rather opting to stick with finding a way of dealing with the problem.

“When was the last time that you saw Angel with his soul intact?”

Buffy could not have possibly imagined a worse question for her Watcher to ask her. She felt her face flush with shame, opening her mouth as her mind raced to try and compose some answer that would *not* involve telling Giles just exactly what they had been doing the last time she had seen Angel -- not Angelus.

Before she could answer, Jenny saved her momentarily by pointing out, “That might be harder to say than it sounds. I mean -- if we’re dealing with Angelus now, he’s known to be kind of deceptive, isn’t he? Couldn’t he have been *pretending* he still had his soul after he’d already lost it?”

“Possible,” Giles conceded with a slight sideways nod. “But not likely. A soulless demon such as Angelus would not be able to maintain the charade of human emotions, concerns, for any considerable length of time. It’s most likely that the event that caused his soul to be lost happened quite recently.”

He looked back to Buffy, but she was silent, her wide eyes focused on the table in front of her. She had been worried about confessing the details of her personal life to her Watcher -- but suddenly, she was worried about so much more. His words made her think about the timing of the whole thing -- Angel’s strange shift in behavior the day after their single intimate encounter -- and she found herself wondering with a sense of dread if the two might be connected in some way.

Was it possible that *she* was the one responsible for unleashing Angelus again?

“Buffy…*Buffy*!”

She looked up at her Watcher, a startled, trapped expression in her eyes. “What?” she replied quickly, defensively.

“Do you -- do you remember the last time it was that you saw Angel still in possession of his soul?” Giles repeated his question more softly.

Buffy could not hold his gaze as she shook her head. “I -- I’m not sure…”

“If we could pinpoint the approximate time when his soul was lost,” Giles pressed her gently, “then we might have a better chance of understanding what caused it to be lost -- and possibly restoring it, before any further damage is done.” When Buffy was still silent, Giles continued, quietly relentless, “How did he seem the last time you saw him? Before the -- the incident at Willow’s home?”

Buffy shrugged, not looking up at any of them. “I -- I don’t know. He -- he *was* acting a little -- strange.”

“And that was…?”

“This afternoon.”

“Is no one else thinking that it might have something to do with that stupid ritual that Spike performed at the church?” Xander suddenly spoke up, looking uncertainly between the Slayer and the Watcher. “I mean -- one day Angel’s tied to an altar in some kind of weird blood-letting ritual -- and the next day he’s all evil Angelus again? Doesn’t exactly sound like a coincidence, does it?”

When both looked at him with suddenly surprised interest, as if the thought had just occurred to them, he shrugged self-consciously, muttering, “I guess that’s a no…so… score one for the C-average student.” He suppressed a smile of almost shy pride at his deduction, a smile that would have been highly inappropriate, given the circumstances under which they had met.

Buffy’s shoulders sagged slightly with relief, as she nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “Why didn’t we think of that? That makes so much sense…”

“Well, it *does* bear consideration,” Giles nodded cautiously. “But it’s by no means a definite answer. We need to research the ritual that was performed and find out if it could have caused such a disastrous result. But in the mean time, our first priority is to ensure the safety of all those Angelus might target.”

“Meaning basically -- everyone in this room,” Cordelia stated flatly. “I always knew hanging out with you freaks was suicide. I just sort of thought it was more -- social -- than, well -- literal.”

“There’s a spell,” Jenny spoke up suddenly. “A sort of a reversal of the invitation a vampire needs to get into a home. It’ll take back his invitation, so he can’t get into any of our homes that he’s already been in.”

“Do you know how to perform this spell?” Giles asked, his expression curious -- and more than a little impressed.

“I do,” Jenny nodded, giving him a warm smile before turning to the little redhead huddled morosely in the chair next to hers. “Would you like to help me, Willow?”

Willow nodded firmly, her eyes distant and troubled as they met those of her teacher. “I want to be sure he can’t get in to my house -- can‘t get to me -- or my family -- again,” she agreed softly. “Let’s do it right away.”

“Yes,” Giles showed his approval with an emphatic nod, looking over the assembled group again. “And in the mean time, we all must stick close together so as to avoid…Buffy, where are you going?”

The Slayer was already standing in the doorway to the library, and when she turned to face her Watcher, her jaw was set with determination, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’m going back to that church,” she replied. “To see if there are any clues left behind about that ritual. We have to undo this, before someone really gets hurt.”

Buffy’s scanned the room as she spoke, but dropped her gaze when Willow looked up at her sharply at her last words. “Worse,” she added softly.

“Very good,” Giles agreed, clearing his throat as he swiftly moved past the obvious tension between the two girls, who hadn’t exchanged a word during the entire meeting.
“But, Buffy -- if you should happen to run into Angelus -- I must warn you…”

Buffy stared at him challengingly, as if daring him to say what she knew he wanted to say, the words she dreaded hearing from his lips.

“You may not be able to -- to wait until we can find a way to restore his soul, Buffy. Angelus cannot be allowed to run free. In his day, he was an expert in manipulation and torture -- a pure sadist of unlimited evil. Every day he is allowed to live without his soul is another day in which everyone he comes in contact with is at risk…”

“I get it, Giles,” Buffy interrupted, her voice quiet but hard and stubborn as stone. “I -- I’ll do what I have to do, if the time comes. Okay?”

Giles studied her expression for a long moment, nodding slowly, though he did not seem quite satisfied by what he saw there. The Slayer disappeared out the door without another word, off on her mission.

“Be careful,” Giles whispered, though his sinking heart told him that she was already too far gone to hear him.

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

As Spike’s body began to recover from the torment he had been put through, his rest was filled with strange, troubling dreams.

He was lying on his back, restrained to that horrible medical table, while fresh torments were being visited on his unwilling body. Dru was there, but unlike in reality, she simply stood by, laughing and clapping as if enjoying a show.

In his dream, Spike broke under the torture as he would never have allowed himself to do in life, begging and sobbing, even as the humiliation of his own weakness overwhelmed him with shame for doing so. He didn’t want to, his mind screaming at him to shut up, not to give his tormentor what she wanted -- but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Then, his Dark Princess was leaning over him, an expression of sorrow and regret in her dark eyes, and he could feel her intense disappointment with him. He had failed her, proven himself to be less than the vampire she had thought him to be -- and he sensed with a feeling of panic that she intended to move on.

“Dru,” he rasped out somehow, though in his vivid dream, he could still feel the coarse, suffocating cotton bandages filling his mouth. “Wait, love…I have to talk to you…”

She just sadly shook her head, backing away from him, moving out of his line of vision.

And then the human woman, Maggie Walsh, was leaning over him again, a smile of sadistic amusement on her face, as she shook her head slowly and said, “No…not yet…I’m not finished with you yet…“

But as she spoke, the cold, menacing voice of his tormentor of the past few hours, her wickedly glittering eyes and tight, cruel smile, warped to become those of a tormentor long gone from his unlife -- though a part of him realized that he had already returned. And then, the unsettling shifting of features stopped, leaving only Angelus standing over him, smiling down at him in satisfaction.

“You’re not enough for her, Spike,” he whispered in a soft, deadly voice that still had the power to chill his blood. “Not anymore.”

As Angelus beckoned with his hand, Dru came back into Spike’s sight, moving in close to her sire’s side and allowing him to put a possessive arm around her waist.

“My poor Spike,” she murmured, her full lips forming a pretty pout, as her huge dark eyes stared sadly down at him. “They’ve taken him from me -- given him to the sun…”

“But…Dru…”

“Shush, now,” she reprimanded him, her voice suddenly sharp as she laid a finger against his lips -- and then soft again, as she added quietly, “It’s too late. You’re already gone.”

“Dru! Dru, wait…wait, love…!”

Her cool, gentle hands shook him out of the panic of his nightmare, and he found himself suddenly staring up into her calm, smiling face, hovering over him at the side of the bed in which she had laid him.

Overwhelmed with relief, he tried to sit up -- and immediately realized that that was a terrible idea. The wounds on his stomach had begun to knit closed already, but he had not fed since he had been captured by Walsh and her men, and would need more blood before he could make much more progress in his healing.

“Just rest, my Spike,” Dru crooned softly to him, her long, deadly nails tracing gently through his disheveled blond hair, her other hand gently pushing his shoulder back until he relented and laid his head back down on the pillow. “You need your rest.”

As the fog of sleep lifted from Spike’s mind, he became unhappily aware of one part of the dream that had not faded -- the heavy, familiar scent of his grand-sire.

Angelus.

He turned his head to the side, and saw him standing there in the doorway, an indulgent smirk on his face as he watched his childe playing at tending to her own.

Because they both knew that Dru was only playing.

Acting as nursemaid to her injured childe was simply a game to Dru -- and one that Spike feared she might tire of quickly, especially since Angelus was back in the picture -- somehow.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse with disuse as he addressed the question to the eldest vampire.

Angelus opened his mouth to respond, but Dru spoke first, misunderstanding the question.

“Little soldier boys, with their little soldier toys -- took my little Spike’s fangs away…” her tone was childishly resentful, her lips pouting again.

“No, Dru,” Spike shook his head, weakly raising a hand to touch her face, turning it back toward him as his own features shifted to show her his now useless fangs. “No, look, love -- they left them, pet, right where they’ve always been…” Though even as he spoke, he felt a sick sensation beginning in the pit of his stomach, as he understood all too well what his Princess meant.

Still, he had to do his best to conceal the truth for as long as he could, especially with Angelus around. Vampires were not a species known for their compassion and charity, and Spike knew enough to know that a vampire who had lost his ability to bite would quickly to relegated to the same status as a human, by other vampires.

Helpless.

Victim.

*Prey*.

But when Dru raised her dark eyes reproachfully to his, there was no mistaking what he saw in her gaze.

She knew.

“Left them in form,” she amended softly, though not so softly that an increasingly interested Angelus could not hear, and Spike swallowed nervously, forcing himself to keep his eyes focused on Dru, so as not to betray his rising apprehension. “But not in power. Can’t hurt -- can’t hunt -- they’ve broken my Spike…”

“Dru…” he tried again to stop her, shaking his head slightly in dismay.

But before he could go on, Angelus had interrupted, striding casually across the room toward the pair on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that, Dru. He still looks all right to me. If a bit, well…” He shrugged as he stopped beside the bed, aiming a light, playful punch to Spike’s side -- a blow that he knew would be agonizing, despite its weakness. “…worse for wear.”

Spike snarled angrily in pain, raising his hand in a fist to strike the older vampire’s hand away -- but Angelus caught it swiftly, enclosing the smaller vampire’s fist in his huge hand. He smiled with controlled amusement, meeting Spike’s eyes boldly as he slowly began to squeeze -- and Spike remembered, too late, the badly burned middle finger on the hand he had been about to use.

He bravely held Angelus’ gaze, his jaw clenched to prevent his own crying out with the pain, as Angelus squeezed his fist harder and harder -- and then finally relented with a laugh.

“Seems the same to me, Dru,” he remarked, stepping back as he released Spike’s hand. “Same old cocky arrogant boy he’s always been.” He paused, his smile becoming sly, still holding Spike’s gaze meaningfully as he added softly, “S’pose he’s probably a bit hungry, though. It’s been a while since he’s fed.”

“Can’t feed,” Dru repeated, shaking her head mournfully. “Mummy will have to feed her little…”

“Bollocks!” Spike blustered nervously, looking between the other two vampires, gauging their reactions. “That’s nonsense, Dru…I’m fine…I mean…family blood would likely speed the process, yeah -- but it’s not like I can’t feed by myself, love…”

Dru’s expression was sad, resigned, her knowing dark eyes piercing into him, and he was aware that he was hiding nothing from her. Angelus’ eyes were narrowed, scrutinous, and his cold smirk made Spike more than a little uneasy, as it became obvious that the older vampire was beginning to wonder about the meaning of Dru’s ramblings.

“Oh, come now, Spike,” Angelus interrupted, a nasty glint in his eyes as he moved closer to the bed again. “You know as well as I do there’s nothing like a hot, fresh kill -- blood fresh from the veins. Dru,” he said with an air of command, still not taking his eyes off Spike’s face, “go in the other room and bring that pretty little morsel we were saving for later. Looks like Spike could use her a bit more than we need her…”

“But Daddy,” Dru objected, looking between her sire and her childe, troubled. “He can’t…”

“Do it, Dru!” Angelus snapped, his tone suddenly hard, his eyes flashing with a cold satisfaction as she scurried away to obey his bidding.

Spike swallowed hard, feeling incredibly self-conscious under the knowing gaze of Angelus, virtually trapped in this bed, in this room, unable to rise on his own or to defend himself -- and about to be faced with the revelation of a painful truth he had been hiding, had not even come to terms with yet himself.

“Perhaps it’d be better if…”

“Perhaps it’d be better if you listen to your elders, William,” Angelus snarled softly, cutting him off as he moved in a step closer. “We know what’s best for ye, after all.” His voice softened, becoming deceptively casual again as he backed off and added with a cruel smile, “Trust me, boy -- you’ll be feeling a lot better once you get a bit of blood in you…”

As the sound of the erratic footsteps of Dru, and the girl she was dragging with her, were heard in the room, Spike felt quite certain that he was not going to be feeling any better at all, any time soon.

Spike was not the least bit surprised by what happened next.

Dru’s dark eyes were sorrowful and apologetic as she dragged the struggling, terrified girl closer to the bed where he lay. The girl’s blue eyes were wide and rolling with terror, her face tear-streaked, her hands bound behind her back -- not that she could have put up much of a fight against Dru’s greater strength, anyway.

Days before, Spike would have gladly accepted such a delectable morsel, especially offered by his beloved Dru.

Now -- the girl was nothing more than a symbol of his own doom.

Angelus had taken a few steps back, watching the little scene play out from near the doorway, where he lounged idly, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes narrowed and focused sharply on Spike, and his every reaction.

A wild hope filled Spike’s eyes for a moment as they met Dru’s, and he saw the genuine sympathy there. His princess knew the truth, but for what little it was worth, she clearly did not want to use it against him, as Angelus obviously did. It seemed that if she could find a way, Dru would rather help him than harm him.

He considered for a moment the possibility that Dru might kill the girl before she handed her over to him, sparing him the revelation of his secret -- perhaps might snap her neck in the instant before his fangs would pierce her flesh -- but he realized just as quickly that such a plan could not possibly succeed.

Angelus possessed the same vampire senses he did, and would hear the crack of the girl’s neck, the instantaneous ceasing of her heartbeat, where it should have been a steady slowing instead, as Spike drained the life from the girl.

No -- Angelus would not be fooled so easily.

Dru had reached him now, and held the girl’s hair, tilting her head so that her wildly pulsing throat was exposed to Spike’s fangs, come to the fore instinctively at the scent of the girl’s terror, and the blood that he needed so desperately, already spilled from various injuries that had already been inflicted on the human prisoner.

“My Spike,” Dru moaned softly, regret and despair in her voice as she met his eyes again. “It’s too late for Mummy to save you now…”

“Go ahead, Spike,” Angelus grinned, his eyes glinting cruelly at his grandchilde, his eyebrows raised in a menacing challenge. “Drink up. I’ve had more than one taste myself, and I can promise you she’s delicious.” When Spike still hesitated, his voice softened, taking on a deadly quality. “What are you waiting for, boy?” he asked coldly. “Are you going to do as I say or not?”

“I’m done doing what you say, you stupid git,” Spike snarled in defiant response, his mind racing even as the words left his lips. “Finished doing that a long time ago.“He knew that his best hope was to create a distraction, get Angelus’ attention off of the little test he had designed, and onto something -- *anything* -- else.

Even if that something else was beating the unliving daylights out of him, while he was still far too badly injured to properly defend himself.

Angelus’ answering growl was no less than he had expected, as the larger vampire advanced on him threateningly, countering softly, “Did you, now? Well, perhaps you need a bit of a lesson to remind you of your place, William.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Spike shot back the words boldly, though he knew that at the moment he stood little chance of besting Angelus. Even so, as the older vampire shifted into his game face and moved in to attack, Spike moved quickly, drawing back his fist to plunge it forward toward his evilly smiling face.

The only problem was that Angelus moved a bit faster.

Before Spike’s fist could connect, his grandsire had snatched the slender, slight girl from Dru’s arms -- thrusting her into the path of Spike’s powerful blow. The girl wailed against the gag in her mouth as his fist connected with her cheek, her knees buckling beneath her as she lost consciousness from the pain and the force of the blow.

And so did Spike.

The first thing he was aware of as the pain from the chip’s firing began to ebb away, was Angelus’ smug smirk inches away from his face. His huge hand was fisted painfully in Spike’s hair, holding his head back and forcing him to face him, as he waited patiently for him to recover enough to hear the next words he spoke.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” he sneered softly. “Looks like Dru’s ramblings aren’t so off the mark this time, are they? What’d the soldiers do to you, Spike?”

Spike just glared at him, panting slightly, as he ground his response out through his pain.

“Sod off.”

Angelus just laughed, amused by Spike’s defiance in the face of his defeat -- but in an instant his humor evaporated, as his fist slammed down across the younger vampire’s face in a dizzying blow. In the next instant, before Spike could recover, his vicious fangs had pierced his throat, drawing a fierce, deep draught of what little blood remained in his weakened body, before pulling back, releasing him with a disgusted shove, leaving him fighting to remain conscious on the bed.

“Barely a mouthful left in you as it is, boy,” he sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a contemptuous smile forming on his lips. “And it appears you might have a bit of trouble getting your strength back up.” He paused, moving closer again as Spike’s head lolled weakly back toward him, and he struggled to open his eyes. Crouching beside the bed, Angelus smiled coldly into his dazed blue eyes as he added softly, “Might serve you better to show a little respect.”

Standing up straight again, he addressed his next words to Dru, who had pulled the unconscious girl back up into her arms, and was looking anxiously between her sire and her childe, as if unsure what she was supposed to do.

Noticing the lost, fearful expression on her face, Angelus ordered, “Take her back, Dru.”

Her eyes widened as they came to focus with concern on her childe, swiftly fading back into the blackness of unconsciousness. “But -- my poor little Spike…”

“I said take her back!” Angelus snapped, turning on her with a snarl that made her back up with a soft, pleading whimper. “He feeds when I *say* he feeds! Do you understand me, Dru?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered, nodding emphatically, though her dark eyes were drifting back toward Spike with a sadness that she could not quite conceal.

“Dru!” he sharply drew her attention again, before adding in a softer but firm voice, “*Now*.”

Without another word, Dru did as her sire commanded her -- leaving Spike to suffer in hunger, and the agony of injuries that would not heal without the nourishment that was to be denied him.

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

Buffy’s visit to the burned out wreckage of the church where the ritual had been performed was an absolute bust.

She found nothing there to indicate what might have happened to Angel -- not that she had really expected to. After all, even if she *had* come across something useful in the way of evidence, chances were that she would not have recognized it as such. If there *was* something in the ritual to have caused Angel to lose his soul, it was more likely that Giles would discover it in the course of his research, than that she would find it in the rubble at the church.

Besides -- she was secretly afraid that the ritual had nothing to do with anything at all.

*It’s just an ugly coincidence,* she told herself firmly. *Whatever caused Angel to lose his soul just happened to happen on the same night that we…*

She sighed, stopping in the middle of the church, shaking her head as tears fell from her eyes. “It’s no use, Buffy,” she said aloud to herself, her voice a low murmur that echoed off the walls of the empty building. “Give it up. You know what happened. All you don’t know is why.”

She sat down on a rather large pile of rubble that had once been the church organ, and let her tears flow freely for a few brief, blessed moments. She couldn’t let this out in front of the others -- she just couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to think of the looks on their faces when they found out what she’d done, and what the disastrous results had been.

She had really come here simply to be alone -- and now that she was, she took full advantage of it, allowing her sobs to overcome her…if only for a few minutes.

As her tears began to ebb, she wiped bleakly at her face with the back of her hand, looking around at her surroundings with a weary sigh. Her eyes widened slightly as she remembered that night, and realized that somewhere beneath where she was sitting, was the ashes of her enemies, the ones that had led to the disaster her life had become, literally overnight.

Because as far as she was concerned, this was still the fault of Spike. Spike, and his ho-bag sire.

If he had never performed the stupid ritual, never threatened Angel’s life to begin with, she would never have been so terrified of losing him -- would never have slept with him that night.

*If it wasn’t that night,* the voice of reason reminded her softly, *it would have been another night. You know very well sooner or later it was going to happen.*

“Shut up, voice of reason,” she muttered aloud, standing with another sigh, dusting off the seat of her jeans as she prepared to go.

But before she did, something faintly glittering in the pile of rubble suddenly caught her eye. She frowned, puzzled, as she reached down to pick it up, and found that it was a delicate scarf, made of some soft, shimmering material. It looked familiar to her, and her eyes widened when she suddenly realized where it was that she had seen it before.

Drusilla had been wearing it, the night of the ritual.

She threw it down, disgusted, as she stalked out of the church, her mood darkening again at the thought of the vampire couple who had ruined her life -- all the while, some vague, elusive thought niggling at the back of her consciousness.

She was almost home when she realized what it was -- and stopped in her tracks on the sidewalk with a gasp of surprise.

“Vampires’ clothes dust when they do,” she said softly. “So -- why wasn’t that scarf dust?” Her eyes narrowed with anger and annoyance as the logical conclusion took form in her mind, and her expression became grim as she abruptly changed her course, heading back toward the library, where she hoped her Watcher would still be in research mode.

*Drusilla’s alive,* she seethed silently, quickening her pace. *And if she’s alive, then that means Spike’s probably alive too. Just what I need! I thought they were two problems out of my life for good, but it looks like I just can’t catch a break right now! Well, I’ll take them out, just like I did before! Or -- like I thought I did before. I’ll teach them to take *my* boyfriend away from me and cause my friends to be terrorized and hurt and ruin my life!*

The voice of reason made one weak, last ditch attempt to remind her that Spike and Drusilla were not really responsible for any of those things -- but she was no longer listening to it, anyway.

She knew in her heart who she really believed was responsible for the recent trauma that had taken place.

Herself.

She just didn’t *want* to know it.

She allowed the rage at the two vampires to fill her up, bringing it to a low boil inside her as she made her way back into the high school, to the library, preparing herself to wreak her vengeance on them. Deep down, she knew that it was not wise, knew that she needed to be focusing on taking out Angelus -- but it simply hurt to bad even to think of him at this point.

And if she left herself feel the rage -- there was no room left for the pain.

“Mummy’s poor little lamb…”

There were tears in Dru’s voice, full of clear distress, as Spike felt her cool hand brush back his dirty, disheveled hair from his brow. He weakly turned his face toward her, struggling to open his eyes.

Bloody pathetic it was, that even that slight motion should require such an effort.

But it wasn’t as if it was *his* fault; Angelus had not allowed him to feed in over a week.

If he planned to just allow him to dry up into dust from sheer starvation, well -- so far his plan was going well. Spike spent most of his time these past few days hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness, delirious with his need for blood, and yet helpless to do anything about it.

Once or twice, just for kicks, Angelus had brought in a human captive, offering them to Spike with cruel amusement -- and by the last time he had indulged in that little game, Spike had been so far gone with hunger that he had actually attempted to bite the terrified girl that Angelus had offered him.

The older vampire had seemed to find the resulting explosive,incapacitating migraine utterly hilarious.

Dru had sat in the corner and wept softly, not taking any pleasure in the sight of her childe, broken and wasting away and suffering in agony. In the few waking moments in which Spike’s eyes were actually open, he had seen the expression of sorrow and anguished regret in her dark eyes as she watched Angelus’ torment of him , and knew that she wanted to help him.

But they both knew that Dru would not dare to go against Angelus -- anymore than Spike would dare to grab her and plunge his fangs into her own throat, drawing the borrowed life’s blood from her veins and into his starving body.

Oh, the thought had definitely crossed his mind, more than once during the course of this terrible, forced starvation. He wouldn’t even have to take enough to actually harm her; it would be so easy, just to reach out and pull her to him while she was hovering over him, doing her best to ease the guilt she felt for allowing his suffering by pretending to care for him -- but the Sire’s bond was too powerful for either him or Dru to resist, and it was simply not an option.

Especially now, when he was nearly too weak to move at all.

“Dru,” he whispered through his parched lips. “Dru…please, love…please…”

He didn’t have to say anything else, didn’t think he could have formed a longer request if he had tried -- but Dru knew what he was asking for, and tears welled in her dark eyes, filled with despair and resignation to the fact that she could do nothing for him.

“My poor William, Mummy’d love to feed her boy, but Daddy says he must go hungry…says he wants to bring him to the brink of nothing, then back again according to his liking…” Her voice softened to a scared whisper, as she leaned in closer to press a soft kiss to Spike’s pale cheek. “But Mummy thinks he’s forgotten where the brink is…and little William will fade away before he remembers again…”

Spike was quite sure that she was right.

Angelus’ head games were going to see him dust, before the crazy old poof decided he’d had enough of his fun.

“Dru,” he whispered out, the effort to form the words creating a painful scraping in his impossibly dry mouth and throat. “He’s…not…”

Dru frowned, shaking her head slightly, puzzled. “Not what, my Spike?”

“…here…”

Her eyes widened with surprised understanding, and she shook her head firmly as she drew back away from him. “Not here,” she agreed, still shaking her head, “not here -- but ‘e knows, my Spike…he knows what I do…‘e’d know if I did it…Mummy can’t make Daddy angry, my love…”

“Dru…” Her name on his lips bore more weight than just its own, pleading and desperate, though he could not find the strength to say more.

“Shush, now,” she ordered, her voice suddenly sharper, though he could tell that it was more with fear than with anger, as she rose suddenly to her feet and backed toward the door. “It’s already written, my William -- already done. Mummy can’t save you…” A maniacal giggle escaped her lips, as she shook her head, a new realization dawning in her eyes as she went on, “…and Daddy can’t kill you…you’re not ours anymore, you’re not…you belong in the sunshine…”

At that moment, Spike was sure that the idea of sunshine was much more appealing than the prospect of staying here until his body slowly crumbled into dust in this bed.

Without another word, Dru whirled around, still giggling madly, and glided swiftly toward the door. She stopped suddenly in the doorway, her back to him, her head tilted strangely, as if listening to some voice that he could not hear, as a slow, sad smile formed on her lips.

“Daddy’s coming home…Mummy must be ready for him…keep his eyes turned while the sun steals you away, my William…”

Spike felt his heart lurch within him with apprehension at her words, and the dark, foreboding tone in which she spoke them. He could easily tell by now when Dru was just talking out of her head, and when she had seen a vision, when her words held more meaning than even she knew -- and this was one of those times.

But now, he only hoped that the sunlight took him, before Angelus did.

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

Buffy could not remember a time when she had felt quite so miserable.

Giles’ research had turned up nothing so far in the way of a connection between the restoration ritual Spike had performed for Drusilla, and Angel’s sudden loss of his soul -- which in all honesty did not come as that much of a surprise to her. It still seemed like more than a coincidence to her, but when no connection had come to light yet, Buffy was beginning to feel guilty over the one, possibly very important factor that she had yet to mention to anyone.

What had happened between her and Angel that night.

Willow had hardly spoken to her since that horrible incident with Angelus in her bedroom. Oh, she was not unfriendly or obviously angry about it anymore; she spoke to Buffy when she saw her, and it was obvious that she was at least trying to get past it.

But she wasn’t having much success.

There was a sort of weird awkwardness now between them, a distance that only served to further crush Buffy’s already broken heart. She really wanted to open up and tell Willow everything that had happened -- but after what Angelus had nearly done to her, she had no idea how the little redhead would take the news of how far things had gone between him and her best friend.

If a single kiss could be so devastating to their friendship…

Well, Buffy just could not bring herself to tell the truth to Willow.

Xander seemed to know that there was some other factor present in the whole situation, something just under the surface that no one was mentioning -- and, dutiful best friend that he was, he tried to get Buffy to talk to him about it. But he had always despised Angel, had never accepted or trusted him -- and the thought of the disappointment, the judgment in his eyes when he found out the truth was more than Buffy could take.

As for her Watcher, Buffy had tried her best to keep as much distance as possible between them, well aware that if anyone caught on to the fact that she was keeping a secret, it would likely be Giles.

And he was the last person she wanted to find out.

*Some Vampire Slayer I am,* she thought bitterly as she wandered aimlessly down Sunnydale’s dark streets, supposedly “patrolling”. *I’m supposed to stake them, not screw them -- but I did, and wow! The joke’s on me -- I was so amazing, I managed to turn my not-evil vampire boyfriend evil again!*

The sound of a scream from an alley a couple of blocks ahead of her drew her attention out of her thoughts with relief, and she sprinted the distance in a matter of seconds, rounding the corner into the alley and coming face to face with a vampire attack in progress.

Two rather typical looking vamps had a typical Sunnydale college girl pinned between them, one of them with his hand over her mouth, stifling her further attempts to scream, while the other laughed crudely and pulled her body up against his in a lecherously suggestive manner.

“You know -- she doesn’t look so into this. Maybe you two should brush up on your skills. Or, you know,” Buffy shrugged carelessly as the vamps turned toward her in surprise, “just go practice on yourselves. I *know* you’ve got to be good at *that*.”

“Yeah?” one of the insulted vampires blustered back in an offended tone. “Yeah -- well -- well, screw you!”

“Oh, *that’s* original,” Buffy rolled her eyes as she pulled her stake from her pocket and moved in closer to the now-cornered vamps.

Instinctively they both moved backward at her advance, readying themselves to fight -- and in the process, releasing their intended victim.

“Naw,” the second vamp answered his friend’s weak insult, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “Naw, that’s the Slayer, man -- and you know what they say about *her*…”

Buffy raised her eyebrows as she gradually narrowed the distance between herself and the vampires, twirling her stake in her hand with what appeared to be idle grace -- though her temper was beginning to rise at the insulting manner they were using with her.

“And what’s that?” she asked flatly.

“Just that no one would *want* to screw you,” Vamp #2 laughed rudely, giving her a bold once-over. “Which, judging from the looks of you -- can only mean that you *totally* suck. But,” he shrugged with a sneer, “apparently not well.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in anger as she raised her stake, launching her attack in fury at his words. The vampires fell on her both at once, snarling and clawing at her, attempting to reach her throat with their fangs -- but neither one of them was really all that experienced or capable, and she swiftly managed to regain the advantage, slinging one of them into the wall, where he collapsed to the floor, struggling to rise on a shattered hip.

She got to her feet, rushing after him to stake him where he lay.

That left the second vamp -- the one who had mocked her.

Seeing what she had done to his friend, he began backing up swiftly, wide eyes focused on the spot where the other vampire’s dust was swiftly disappearing into the night air. But before he could get very far, she was upon him, throwing him to the ground beneath her and pinning him with a hand at his throat, her stake poised over his heart.

“Now,” she began, her features set in a grim, angry smile, “there’s two ways this can go. I can shove my pointy stick through your chest until it gets to your heart and you can die quickly -- or I can shove my pointy stick down your *throat* until it gets to your heart -- and neither one of us will have much fun with that method. So if you want to go easy -- you’ll tell me what I want to know…”

Choking against her hand at his throat, the defeated vamp gasped out, “W-what’s the question…?”

Her eyes narrowing, the infuriated Slayer kept her temper under control, her voice actually softening as she asked, “Who told you what a bad lay I supposedly am -- and where can I find him?”

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

Upon first entering the apparently deserted mansion on Crawford Street that the minion -- now so much dust in the wind -- had directed her to, Buffy saw no signs of life or unlife at all, and wondered at first if he had lied to her. Everything downstairs was dark and still and deserted -- and she was just about to leave, when she caught a faint sound that seemed to be coming from upstairs.

Glancing up the winding staircase that led to the second level, Buffy could see a faint glow coming from upstairs. Cautiously, silently, she made her way up the stairs, careful not to allow her footsteps to cause them to creak and betray her presence. When she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she saw that there was a faint glow coming from under a door a couple of doors down on the right, and edged cautiously closer to it.

The sounds she had heard downstairs were clearer now -- and disturbing, as she realized what it was she was hearing. Her eyes widened and she felt her cheeks flush as she recognized the sounds of a man and a woman in their coupling -- and a rather passionate coupling it seemed to be, from the sounds of…

The thought died there, her heartbeat seeming to still in an instant, as Buffy suddenly recognized the low, male voice that spoke on the other side of the door.

“Who’s Daddy’s only girl, Dru…? That’s…that’s it…”

The words were followed by a low moan of pleasure, and a higher pitched female voice answering him, crying out his name in an ecstasy that sent Buffy’s heart plunging into her stomach, as her eyes welled with tears, and she backed away, shaking her head in denial of what it was she was hearing.

A part of her wanted to rush in, wanted to punish him for how he had hurt her, how he had hurt her friends -- wanted to punish her, for stealing his affections away from her. They were clearly distracted at the moment, at least a little incapacitated, and she was fairly certain that with just a little bit of luck she could stake them both before they could react.

But if she did -- if she walked into that room and saw it for herself -- then it would be real.

Suddenly, the sounds on the other side of the door went silent.

“Did you hear that?” she heard that painfully familiar voice whisper.

“Only heard you singing to the stars, Daddy,” the mad vampiress replied dreamily on the other side of the door.

But in the next instant, Buffy heard the creaking of the mattress, indicating that someone was getting up -- and a strange panic came over her. She was not worried about whether or not she could physically take Angelus; she was fairly certain that she could. But, there was just something about the idea of being caught here, in this hallway, tear-stained and broken from what she had heard through the door, that made her feel just too…too…

Pathetic.

She suddenly was sure, above anything else, she could not, *could not* allow them to find her here. A hasty backpedal took her a couple doors down the hall the way she had came, and without turning her back on the door to the bedroom, her hand fumbled at the handle of one of the dark, empty rooms on the opposite side of the hall.

At least -- she hoped it was empty, she thought as she backed up into the room and closed the door silently behind her, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited to see if she would be found out -- and tried to decide what she would do if she was.

Buffy staggered backward a couple of steps, hating the sense of panic she felt rising up in her, as the sound of heavy footsteps filled the hall just beyond the door behind which she was hiding, and she knew that Angelus was coming closer.

*Damn it, he can smell me!* she realized suddenly with dismay. *He knows I’m here, he’s gonna find me, what am I gonna do…?*

*Just stake him, you idiot! You know you can take him,* another, darker voice within her insisted. *You’re the Slayer, what is wrong with you? Start acting like it!*

Her jaw set with determination, though her chin was still trembling slightly, as she squared her shoulders and reached into the pocket of her jacket for her stake. She knew that second voice was right; why should she be afraid to face the two vampires? She was being foolish, hiding here in this room, afraid to be caught listening by Angelus and his undead lover – the undead lover that had replaced her…

Not that he’d ever really wanted her to begin with…

Buffy felt her cheeks begin to color with shame, and the hand gripping the upraised stake wavered slightly, as she swallowed back a sob of despair and humiliation.

Oh, yeah -- *that* was why she was afraid to face them.

“S-slayer…”

The soft hiss of breath behind her, barely audible even in the stark silence of the darkened room, nevertheless made Buffy nearly jump out of her skin. She raised her free hand to her own mouth in an instinctive desire to keep herself from crying out, from betraying her hiding place to her enemies, as she whirled around in place, her stake raised defensively.

Outside the door, she heard Drusilla’s lilting giggle drawing nearer to the door, softly coaxing Angelus away from it – back to their bedroom. Somehow, she found it hard to feel much of a sense of relief, when he finally seemed to relent, and go with her, and the pair of their voices gradually faded away, finally disappearing completely with the soft shutting of the door.

Buffy’s anger and hurt at the sound, and the knowledge of what it meant, seemed to fuel her senses, as she peered carefully into the darkness, her back to the door now, her feet shifting slightly as she tried to get an idea from what direction the potential threat had spoken.

“Who’s there?” she whispered tersely, the words barely a breath, as she impatiently willed her eyes to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her. “I swear, you *so* do not wanna mess with me tonight!”

There was a moment of complete silence, before a soft, ironic – and maybe just a bit crazed – laugh broke the stillness…and Buffy suddenly thought that she recognized the sound of that laugh.

“Couldn’t…not if I…if I tried…Slayer…” The voice was weak, fragile, as if it had taken the greatest effort on the part of its owner simply to gain enough volume to be heard at all.

And now – Buffy knew who was talking to her.

Through the closed door of the room, she could hear the lewd sounds of the frenetic coupling of the vampire pair – and no longer feared being found. They were clearly too caught up in each other at the moment to pay her any further attention.

Her eyes narrowed in fury, as she took a bold step further into the darkness, her stake raised and ready.

“Spike.” She practically spat his name out in anger and disgust.

*Light,* she thought urgently, her free hand touching along the wall to her right, searching for some source of something, anything to pierce the blackness surrounding her. *Gotta find a light…did they even *have* electricity when this place was actually lived in -- by actual people?*

“Just…another step…Slayer…” Spike gasped the words out, his breathing audible in the silence, labored and weary. “…candle…on the…table…”

Buffy froze, her head tilting slightly backward as she frowned in suspicion. “Yeah – I bet you’d like me to…” she murmured sarcastically, without moving any nearer. “Unfortunately for you I’m not quite that stupid.”

She immediately cringed, realizing that she had just left herself wide open for a stinging retort, once again cursing the recent failure of her usual sharp wit -- but surprisingly, there was no response at all from the vampire. In fact, all she heard was the quiet sound of his unnecessary but labored breathing, from somewhere near in front of her.

She frowned thoughtfully, considering, before trying another tactic, a taunting tone to her voice as she conceded, “Okay, so maybe you *are* for real. I guess I *did* do quite a number on you with that pipe organ, huh?”

Again, that slightly manic, giggling laugh was his response, and she could hear a slightly bitter twinge to it, before he gasped out in a voice barely over a whisper, with rests after almost every word, “Oh, Slayer…more…than you bloody well…know…”

Buffy’s frown deepened, and against her better judgment, she took another step forward, her right hand extended to feel for the table he had mentioned -- and to her surprise, she found it. As her fingers traced the tabletop, she found something smooth and cool and rectangular, and picked it up in her hand, realizing suddenly that it was a cigarette lighter -- the silver cigarette lighter she had seen in Spike’s hand, that first time she had seen him, in the alley behind the Bronze.

*Candle,* she thought, remembering his words moments earlier. *Okay, where’s the…*

Then, her hand came into contact with the metal of the candlestick -- and within moments, the darkness was chased away by the dim but warm glow of the now lighted candle, and she could finally see the vampire, and the room they were in.

Her initial reaction was a gasp of ghastly shock.

The room was very scantly furnished, mostly just containing the large bed in which Spike lay, and the tiny nightstand beside it. There was no dresser, only one chair placed at the side of his bed, and it was quite apparent to her that no one came in here often, due to the lack of attention that had been paid to this particular room -- and to the vampire lying in the bed.

Buffy had never seen a vampire in quite so terrible condition -- well, not unless they were dust at the end of her stake. Spike’s usually pale flesh was paper white, with an almost translucent quality to it, and every bone in his bare chest was painfully pronounced. Buffy did not think that a human could be so terribly thin, and still live. And besides the evidence of drastic starvation, what of his body was exposed to her was covered in bruises, cuts, and other suspicious marks, evidence of brutal torture, which had not been able to heal due to his lack of feeding.

He stared up at her coolly through wide, glassy eyes that were yet calm and piercing.

“That bad…is it?” he whispered, studying her face.

His words caused Buffy to shake herself out of her horrified reverie, and she swiftly, severely reminded herself that this was not a human being, not an actual person who had been so terribly mistreated, but a vampire -- a killer -- and her mortal enemy at that.

Still, she could not hold back the soft, shocked question that slipped past her lips despite herself, “What -- what happened?”

Spike did not respond to her question, simply staring at her for a moment longer before averting his eyes self-consciously, staring down at his emaciated, battered body instead, which was mostly exposed to the Slayer’s shocked scrutiny. One fragile, thin arm reached weakly for the bed sheet, which had fallen down around his hips, before collapsing back onto the mattress, the meager effort of even that simple motion too much for him.

Without thought, in a natural reaction to the pitiable scene before her, Buffy moved forward and took the sheet in her hands, awkwardly aware of Spike’s slight flinch at her sudden nearness, as she drew it up and let it fall around his shoulders instead. Not looking at him, she stepped back again, feeling suddenly awkward under his startled, piercing gaze, now focused on her again.

It was obvious by the searching expression in his eyes that he had expected something much different than what she had done.

“W-what…?” Either he lacked the strength to finish his bewildered question, or he wasn’t even sure what it was that he was going to ask.

Shocked and troubled by her own emotional reaction to the state he was in, Buffy stepped toward him again, her face suddenly guarded and defensively angry. “Just -- just shut up,” she snapped. “You’re in no position to be asking the questions here, Spike. Looks to me like you’re pretty much at my mercy, so I think you’d better start talking…”

The look he gave her was part sad, part wearily mocking, as he shook his head slightly and replied, “Can’t…need blood…too…too weak…” The words were matter-of-fact, no pleading or self-pity in them, simply a statement of the truth that she could see quite clearly for herself.

Spike clearly wasn’t going to be doing much of anything until he fed.

But -- why *hadn’t* he been feeding?

A particularly raucous laugh from the room across the hall, followed by a squeal of pleasure or pain, or both, from Dru, caught her attention, and Buffy turned her head toward the closed door automatically -- but not before she caught the wince of hurt on Spike’s face, as he just as instinctively turned his head away from the sound.

Swallowing back her own hurt, Buffy turned back to look at the invalid vampire again, her eyes slowly widening with the beginnings of understanding.

“They -- they did this to you -- didn’t they?” she whispered.

He shrugged slightly, without turning his head back, as he mumbled, “‘S complicated.”

Buffy took that in, considering, before a further, sickening thought occurred to her. “This,” she said with clear disgust in her voice as she gestured vaguely toward the door, “this is partially for your benefit, isn’t it? On purpose?”

Spike did not respond for a long moment, did not look at her, before he finally responded in a soft, bitter whisper, trembling with his anger and humiliation at having her see him like this, having her hear the sounds that had been his private humiliation and hell for the past week. “Like you…bloody care, Slayer!…‘cept for your own…jealousy …‘cause it just…happens to be…*your* former she’s shaggin’!”

“Shut up, Spike, or I *will* stake you!” Buffy snarled, her temper rising at the barbed reminder, as she raised her stake threateningly and took a step forward -- only after she had spoken realizing the subtle implication of her words -- that at that point, she had already decided *not* to stake him.

Whether or not the weakened vampire caught her slight verbal slip, she did not know, as that bitter laugh filled her ears again, and Spike shook his head in bewilderment, as if at a loss for words. When he found them, the stark pain and utter defeat she heard in his voice made her heart lurch within her.

“Stake me,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly, looking back up at her with a pain in his dark blue eyes that nearly took her breath -- because she recognized that very pain, the pain she was feeling, listening to the constant, maddening soundtrack of the sounds coming from across the hall. “Do it…Slayer…”

A faint impression of the usual smirk she had seen on his face so many times barely graced his lips, as he added softly, between deep, labored breaths that seemed to be coming with more and more difficulty, even as his voice seemed to be fading, slipping into unconsciousness again. “Nothing you can…do…to make it…any worse…”

The anger she was feeling was not really meant for Spike, and she knew it; he just happened to be the nearest target on which she could vent it.

“Yeah,” she sneered bitterly. “I bet you wish I’d just stake you -- put you out of your misery! Well, you don’t get off that easy -- not until you tell me what you did -- how to fix this!”

Even as she spoke the words, Buffy waited, her heart hammering in her throat, for his response which would prove her worst fears true or false. His reaction would tell her, she was sure, whether or not she was right to blame Spike’s ritual for the devastating change in her lover -- or whether the blame truly lay where she feared that it did.

With her alone.

But Spike did not respond at all. It seemed that in his weakened, starved state, even the simple, brief conversation they had just had took more energy than he had to give, and he had fallen into an exhausted state of unconsciousness again.

In the silence that followed, with no words to distract her from the pain of the sounds she was still hearing, Buffy quickly found that she could not stand it any longer -- just standing there, hearing that, doing nothing -- being there at all.

She had to go.

Blinking back the tears that had filled her eyes the moment she had been forced to face the reality of Angelus’ betrayal again, with no distractions, she turned and strode swiftly toward the door, silently opening it and peering out cautiously into the empty hall. If she hurried, she could get out of here before they were -- finished. Before they even realized she was there at all.

But for some reason, she found herself stopped at the door, hesitant. She drew in a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder uncertainly at the still form of the unconscious vampire on the bed. A slow frown of frustration and confusion formed on her lips, before her jaw set decisively and she turned back toward the bed again.

Irritated at the care she was taking, unsure why she was so careful not to jar his numerous injuries -- unsure why she was even doing this at all -- Buffy wrapped the bed sheet gently around Spike’s battered body, and lifted him up into her arms. Her eyes widened, aghast at how terribly light his weight felt in her arms, as she headed back toward the open door, to make her way down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the night.

*Stupid, stupid, stupid Buffy!*

The same taunting words echoed in her mind over and over as she carried the barely mentionable weight of the helpless vampire in her arms, down the deserted sidewalks of Sunnydale and toward her Watcher’s house. Not that Giles was going to be thrilled to see her bringing her injured arch enemy to him -- but she was fairly certain that he would take it a bit better than her mother would.

And, it would be easier to get an invitation for Spike from someone to whom she would not have to explain why he *needed* an actual invitation.

She frowned, picturing Giles’ face when he opened his door.

*Maybe,* she mentally amended with a little grimace. *Maybe not.*

She slowed her pace at that thought, satisfied that she was now far enough away from the mansion to be sure that she had evaded pursuit for the moment. Her eyes narrowed, her expression darkening with anger and hurt at that particular turn in the direction of her thoughts, and her steps took on a particularly stormy nature as she made the turn onto Giles’ street.

A faint moan from the semi-conscious vampire in her arms alerted her to the more forceful quality of her footsteps, and her frown deepened with annoyance. “Shut up,” she muttered almost petulantly. “I’m not exactly doing this with your comfort in mind, you know. You’re pretty much my prisoner, so don’t expect me to cater to you!”

But she *did* soften her footsteps, almost without realizing she had even done it, taking a subconscious care not to make the ride any rougher than it had to be for Spike.

Not that he noticed. He was unconscious again.

Finally, Buffy reached the front step outside her watcher’s little duplex apartment, and winced as she rang the doorbell, wondering exactly what time it was, sure that she was probably waking him.

Sure enough, Giles opened the door in a dark red bathrobe, his eyes full of that blank, confused look that comes from being awakened suddenly out of a deep sleep, and blinked at her a couple of times, as if trying to remember who she was, before the uncertainty cleared from his eyes -- and they slowly widened with shocked recognition.

“Dear Lord,” he gasped, his wide eyes searching hers, shaking his head in bewilderment. Then, at the silent, pleading expression on her face, his eyes narrowed again and he lowered his head with a weary sigh as he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Bloody hell.”

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

It only took a few well-placed words from Buffy, and a single good look at the vampire’s pitiful condition, for Giles to grudgingly offer the necessary invitation to allow Buffy to carry Spike inside. After all, it didn’t look as if he would be able to do any damage any time soon.

Buffy laid him out on the sofa, still wrapped in nothing but the sheet she had draped around his body, and sat down in the living room with her Watcher to explain what had happened.

The problem was, she hadn’t thought until just that moment of what other things she would have to tell him, to make the story make sense. All she had thought was that with a vampire prisoner in her arms, there was only one person she could turn to who could even begin to understand the situation -- her Watcher. She hadn’t really considered the possible ramifications of going to Giles with this.

But it was too late for it now, so she simply took a deep breath and launched into her explanation, hoping she could get through it with minimal humilation.

Of course, the way her life was lately -- humiliation was becoming a relative term.

“So -- let me be quite sure I understand this, Buffy,” Giles sighed, stifling a yawn as he leaned back in his chair and pressed a hand over his eyes momentarily, clearly still fighting off the sleep he had been so rudely pulled from. “You followed this vampire minion’s directions to the mansion, and Angelus and Drusilla were inside -- but you didn’t try to fight them?”

“No,” Buffy shook her head, not quite meeting her Watcher’s gaze. “I wasn’t sure I could take them both on my own, not after patrolling all night already, and I thought it’d be better to try to catch them alone -- separately.”

Giles looked up at her again, a slight frown creasing his brow as he studied her face. “So you -- ran and hid. Instead,” he surmised quietly, flatly.

Buffy felt her face color with embarrassment at his rather unflattering assessment of the situation, and she answered defensively, “Well, I thought it was better to play it safe than to get killed being reckless! I mean, where would that leave the rest of you if I got killed doing something stupid? And besides -- now that we’ve got him to tell us about the ritual,” she waved a careless hand toward Spike as she spoke, “we might be able to get Angel’s soul back, and…”

“Angel’s soul should be the last matter for your concern at the moment!”

Buffy blinked in stunned silence at the sharp rebuke in her Watcher’s interruption, and stared up in bewilderment at the severity in his dark blue eyes.

“Think, Buffy,” he continued, his voice softening as he saw the hurt expression on her face, and he sighed impatiently as he explained more gently, but still with a sobering certainty in his eyes. “Think of what he nearly did to Willow -- what he *would* have done if you had not been there to stop him -- and what he will still do to all of us, the first opportunity that he gets.”

“I -- I know,” she began, her words faltering slightly, her eyes wide and downcast as she blinked back the unbidden tears rising there. “I know that, Giles -- and I’ll do whatever I have to do to…”

“No, you won’t, Buffy -- or you would have already,” Giles cut her off quietly. “If you get the chance to kill Angelus -- you must do so. That is all there is to the matter. Now, I understand that this is a difficult thing for you to hear…”

“No, Giles, you don’t *understand*!” Buffy snapped, standing up suddenly, her tears falling from her eyes with the loss of the fragile emotional control she had been clinging to. “You can’t say that you understand! Nobody’s asking you to go out and *kill* Miss Calendar for the good of the rest of the people you care about, are they? Nobody’s asking you to take the life of someone you love!”

“He doesn’t have a life to take, Buffy.” Giles’ voice was quiet and steady, though his eyes were soft with sympathy as he tried to make her see his point. “He’s a vampire. His soul made him a force for good -- but without it, he is no different from any other vampire at the end of your stake any night in which you patrol. He is a monster -- a killer -- simply waiting for his chance to strike. And you must do your duty, and kill him if you can -- *as soon as* you can.”

“That may not be the only way,” Buffy insisted, her voice trembling dangerously as she shook her head in denial of what he was saying. “We all have made sure he doesn’t have invitations to our homes. He hasn’t managed to do anything more than leave threatening notes and stupid pictures in the past week, because he *can’t get in*, and we know enough to stay in at night…If Spike can tell us something about how he lost his soul, how to get it back…”

“And what about the hundreds of others in Sunnydale, Buffy, who don’t know enough to stay in at night?” Giles countered, his piercing eyes locking onto hers and refusing to let her hide behind her practiced argument. “What about the innocent individuals he feeds on every night, between now and the moment when -- *if* -- we figure out a way to return his soul?”

Buffy was quiet for a long moment, blinking back tears, as she slowly sat back down on the edge of the chair she had risen from so abruptly. She struggled for a moment, visibly, to regain control of her emotions, before finally answering in a cautious, measured tone.

“We’ll find the solution. Tomorrow. We’ll find out what happened with the ritual, and how to undo it.”

“Spike may be unable -- or unwilling -- to tell us, Buffy,” Giles reminded her gently, his eyes focused on the still form of the vampire on the sofa. “Remember, he risked a great deal in order to perform that ritual -- to restore Drusilla. If it is indeed the ritual that caused Angel to lose his soul, then it stands to reason it would be the reversal of that ritual that would return it. And I hardly think that Spike will be willing to…”

“I don’t care if he’s willing,” Buffy interrupted, her voice low and dark as her gaze joined that of her Watcher, locked onto the sofa across the room. “He’s going to tell us. I’ll *make* him tell us.”

Giles’ smile was gently mocking, with a note of bitter sadness to it, as he informed her softly, “You are talking about a master vampire, Buffy, one who according to history survived many years under the tutelage of the most sadistic vampire in recorded history. I daresay that what it would take to ‘make’ him tell you what you’re wanting to hear is -- well, frankly -- beyond your ability to do, my dear.”

He paused, his expression darkening slightly as he added almost under his breath, “At least, I should hope so.”

Buffy was a bit taken aback by those words, biting her lip uncertainly, a nervous frown creasing her brow. She had to admit, her Watcher had a point. When it came to throwing a few solid punches, talking a good game, and intimidating information out of some random demon or fledging at Willie’s -- well, she pretty much had the routine down pat. She could have them cowering, pleading, and whining out whatever information she was after in a minute, tops.

But her gut was telling her that Giles was right; Spike was not just another random fledgling. He had been the thorn in her side for the past several months, and was quite possibly the most challenging opponent she had faced yet.

After all -- he wasn’t dust yet, was he?

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

Across the room on the sofa, Spike had actually been conscious for quite some time, though he still felt too weak from hunger, and sore from the rather bumpy ride over here, to actually move, and betray his consciousness to his captors.

Not that he would have wanted to, anyway.

Judging from the conversation that had passed between the Slayer and the Watcher, Spike was quite certain that the longer he could remain “unconscious”, the better. It did not seem as if things were going to be getting much easier for him, now that he was firmly in the hands of the White Hats.

He had been stunned to think that the Slayer would have taken him from the mansion, anyway, wondering with apprehension what exactly she had in mind -- and now that he knew, he was no less worried than before.

He had thoroughly researched that ritual, inside and out -- after all, there was no way he had been about to risk Dru’s safety by any little detail going wrong -- and he knew beyond all doubt that there was no way the ritual could have resulted in the loss of Angel’s soul.

Life -- yes.

Soul -- no.

In fact, he had rather hoped for the former result, which would have left his unlife a lot less complicated at the moment -- but Angel had still been undusted, and souled, at the completion of the ritual, of that much he was sure. He knew that he would have felt it, had such a change in such a close member of their family occurred.

What the Slayer wanted from him, he simply did not have to give.

And what was more, with that bloody chip in his head, he was completely helpless.

He had no doubt that he could convince the Slayer to get him some blood, to end this torture of starvation that his grand-sire had inflicted upon him; after all, he couldn’t very well tell her anything if he hadn’t the strength to speak, now, could he? But what good would his strength do him, if he couldn’t so much as defend himself because of the little mechanical gadget those pseudo-scientists had put in his head?

Of course -- the Slayer didn’t know about that yet…

His weary mind raced, trying to come up with a plan to use that lack of knowledge against the Slayer, to somehow trick her into giving him the chance to escape -- but before the plan could take shape, his exhaustion and hunger overcame him, and he felt himself slipping into sleep again.

But it didn’t really bother him at the moment.

*After all,* he thought before unconsciousness took him, *death by Slayer’s not as bloody awful a fate as listening to Dru going at it with that wanker right in the next room…think I’d bloody well take a walk in the sun over that again, any day…*

And he willingly surrendered to sleep -- unaware that his journey into the sunshine had already begun.

“This has got to be the most disgusting thing I have ever done.”

Giles’ face bore a grimace of distaste as he held the barely conscious vampire’s head up slightly off the sofa, making it easier for Buffy to pour the tiny amount of pig’s blood in the mug she held into his slack, open mouth.

“It *is* rather unseemly, isn’t it? A vampire slayer, practically spoon-feeding blood to a vampire?” he agreed with a slight smile of ironic amusement.

“I wasn’t thinking ‘unseemly’,” Xander remarked from behind the Watcher, warily eyeing the procedure with a sort of sick expression on his face. “I was thinking ‘gross’. Nasty. Utterly pukesome.”

“Please don’t mention puke while I’m watching him drink blood, or you just might end up…”

Buffy’s warning broke off in a startled yelp, as the emptiness of the mug in Buffy’s hand brought about an immediate reaction, and his features shifted to reveal his demon’s face. Several frightened gasps and soft cries were heard from her friends, all gathered and watching from a safe distance, at the unexpected movement of the invalid vampire, as he struggled weakly to rise, obviously disoriented and a little confused.

“Simply a reaction to the prolonged starvation, Buffy,” Giles quickly reassured her, easily holding the weakened vampire down to the couch as he instinctively tried to sit up, snarling weakly at the humans surrounding him. “He needs more. It’s instinctive, really -- and he hasn’t the strength to actually harm anyone at the moment.”

“Like bloody hell I don’t,” Spike rasped out, startling Giles, who jumped behind him -- and then immediately looked around in chagrin to see if the children had noticed his reaction.

They had.

“I’ll tear you all to bits if you don’t get your bloody hands off me -- and you’d better soddin’ well give that back! I know it’s only pig’s swill, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose!”

The blond vampire growled, weakly shaking the Watcher’s hand off of his shoulder -- only to turn and find the Slayer, moved in closer to him now and clutching a stake in her hand, smiling coldly at him with one eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

“And in what insane-o universe does the whole ‘I’m evil, so give me blood so I can be strong enough to kill you’ argument actually work?” she asked, her voice quietly mocking, her emerald eyes flashing with a sort of harsh amusement -- and an unmistakable warning.

Spike blinked at her for a moment, as his confusion faded and he gradually remembered where he was, and who he was with -- and the facts that he was weak, chipped, and at the mercy of the Slayer and her little friends.

His wide eyes became solemn as they shifted to brilliant blue, and he said softly, still meeting the Slayer’s deadly gaze, “Right. Good point. Not that I -- actually intended to harm any of you…”

“Oh, no, you were just going to tear us into nice, non-dead little pieces, weren’t you?” Xander quipped, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest impatiently, looking to Buffy with expectation as he pressed her, “Let’s just find out what he knows, so we can…*oww*!”

“Throw him a party,” Willow finished for him, glaring at him none-too-subtly for his careless words. “A nice, dust free, thanks-for-helping-us-get-back-Angel’s-soul, party.”

Spike stared at them both in flat disbelief, wondering if the little redhead actually thought she was any more clever than the boy with her failed deception. He returned his dubious gaze to the Slayer, a faint smirk beginning on his dry, pale lips, as he leaned back against the sofa again, beginning to feel his exhaustion return -- but not before he managed to get in at least one little dig.

“You do realize you’re hanging about with a tribe of bloody morons, don’t you?”

“What do you think?” Buffy addressed her friends without answering Spike, her smile widening with false cheer. “Should we stake our helpless little friend here now, or wait to see if he has anything useful to tell us? Any -- help he might be able to provide, to convince us to spare his life?”

Spike felt a brief flash of fear at the hard, threatening glint in her eyes, swallowing hard as his eyes moved between her and the mere humans surrounding her, searching his mind swiftly for anything he could use to help improve his situation. His body was still weak, weary, and too badly injured to defend himself; and the meager cupful of pig’s blood he had ingested had done little to promote his much-needed healing -- but his mind was already much clearer, sharp and ready to come up with a plan.

At least, he bloody well hoped so.

“Can’t talk too well, yet, Slayer,” he reminded her, his voice taking on the same weak, raspy sound it had had when he had first awakened. “Too weak, in too much pain…gotta have a bit more blood -- then we’ll talk about working out a deal…”

“If you’re too tired to make a deal, Spike, how’s this?” Buffy shot back, one hand striking out lightning fast to grab a fistful of the sheet tangled around him and jerk him in close to her, her stake now pressing dangerously against his bare chest, her pretty lips still forming that false, deadly smile. “How about I forget the whole thing, find a way to fix Angel myself, and save us all the trouble by staking you now?”

Spike felt his stomach lurch with nervous apprehension at the feel of the rough wood pressed against his skin, and swallowed again, his eyes widening, locked on the Slayer’s piercing gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, deciding to go along with her little inquisition for now, answer her questions, find a way to stall her, as a sort of queasy, sick feeling of weakness came over him again.

“Right, then,” he barely managed to get the words out. “Let’s chat…”

And then, everything began to fade away again…

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

“You have *got* to be kidding me,” the Slayer muttered flatly, her eyes wide with surprise as she instinctively caught the vampire, rather than allowing his body to drop back onto the couch, as he lost consciousness again.

“Buffy, what did you do?” Miss Calendar asked, a note of concern to her voice -- and perhaps just a hint of accusation -- as she moved quickly forward to help Buffy lower him back down onto the couch.

“Nothing!” Buffy protested, her voice coming out as a rather defensive squeak. “I didn’t do anything to him!” But as she spoke, she wondered why she felt defensive in the first place, and why it mattered if she *had* done something to hurt Spike -- and why she was being so gentle with his limp form, so careful not to jar his deeper injuries.

“Bloody hell,” Giles muttered in sudden annoyance, moving forward to help adjust the sheet, drawing Buffy’s attention to the lower portion of it, covering Spike’s badly damaged abdomen. “Buffy, look.”

Her eyes widened with alarm when she took in the bright red spot of blood which had seeped out from his open wounds to stain the sheet -- and the couch beneath it.

“He’s right,” Jenny concluded grimly, a look of reluctant sympathy in her dark eyes. “He’s losing the blood before it can have much effect. Pig’s blood isn’t nearly as healing to vampires as human, anyway -- and with such a small amount, it didn’t really do much to help him…”

“No, all it did was stain my sofa,” Giles complained resentfully.

“So we *are* going to have to give him more blood, then,” Buffy sighed with resignation, her eyes carefully averted from the alarmingly wide red spot on the sheet, evidence of brutal damage that she had not yet had to see firsthand -- and she had no intention of seeing it, either. “If we’re going to get anything out of him, we’re going to have to get him more blood.”

“We’re going to have to get him off my sofa!”

“Forget the sofa, Rupert. It’s ruined,” Jenny cut him off, a bit impatiently, deliberately ignoring his offended look as she addressed her next words to the Slayer. “We really ought to see to those wounds -- bandage them up and such -- because if we don’t, he’s just going to bleed out as much blood as we give him all over everything.”

“Yuck?” Xander offered flatly.

“Yeah,” Buffy responded, ignoring her friend’s rather un-helpful remark, “but if pig’s blood won’t really help him heal, then won’t he just do that anyway? Bandages or no?”

“Well…” Jenny’s pretty face twisted to form an apologetic grimace as she continued slowly, “…I have an idea…but you’re not going to like it…”

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

“Check those chains again,” Buffy instructed quietly, and Xander moved to obey her, as she turned her nervous attention back to the hypodermic needle Miss Calendar held poised over her arm. “Be sure they’re good and tight, because if this has a stronger effect than we’re thinking, we need to be sure they’ll hold him.”

Spike was lying on his side, his hands chained behind his back, and his ankles were shackled as well, preventing much movement on his part at all -- that was, whenever he happened to awaken. He was laid out on the floor now, instead of the sofa, the sheet wrapped neatly around his lower body, most of which was now covered with bandages beneath it.

Buffy winced inwardly to think of the brutal damage that had been done to the vampire -- the huge, gaping wounds in his lower stomach; the dark livid bruises and burns that covered so much of his skin -- and wondered not for the first time who it was that had done those things to him.

*Angel?* she wondered almost timidly, really hoping that it was not her former lover who had inflicted such terrible abuses on anyone, even Spike. *Or -- I mean -- Angelus…*

It seemed harder and harder for her to distinguish in her mind between the two.

*How could one little thing like a soul -- one single thing -- make such a difference?* she wondered, a bit doubtfully -- and then abruptly focused her attention back on the matter at hand, before her mind could take her down a more painful path.

She would rather think about the thick needle Miss Calendar had just plunged into her arm.

“So -- just this little bit mixed in with the pig’s blood should start his healing going again?” she asked again, though she had already heard the answer.

“Uh-huh,” Jenny replied distractedly as she removed the needle, the tube of which was now filled with Buffy’s dark, red -- and apparently very potent -- blood.

Buffy frowned, puzzled -- and maybe just a bit suspicious. “How do you know so much about vampires and how their bodies work? And, you know -- Slayers and all?” she asked mildly, staring at the tube of her own blood.

Jenny shrugged. “Hey -- I study. Lots, actually. You’d be surprised the things I know.”

Neither young woman noticed the pleased, almost awed expression on the Watcher’s face as he glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s still sleeping,” Willow observed with a slightly impatient frown, glancing toward Buffy as she spoke. “So -- do we just wait? Or…”

Buffy shrugged. “You’ve got that nifty little needle. Why not just give him an injection?”

No one spoke for a moment, before Xander quietly, grimly, broke the silence.

“Just so we’re all clear, I really *really* hate this idea.”

When no further protests were made, Jenny shrugged slightly and headed toward Spike’s still form, needle in hand. Within moments, the potent Slayer blood was working its way through his system -- and in less than a minute, he was stirring, moaning slightly as he made his way from deep sleep to wakefulness.

“Wha…what did you…?” His eyes suddenly flew open, and he rolled over onto his back, wincing at the movement, as, all at once very alert, he tried to face his captors. There was an expression of stunned confusion in his eyes as he glanced down at his body, which was trembling slightly with the power of Buffy’s blood, and then back up at her with cautious apprehension in his eyes, as he whispered in a soft, awed voice,

“What did you do?”

Buffy suddenly felt very uncomfortable under the piercing scrutiny of his open, expressive gaze, making her feel a funny quivering in the pit of her stomach at the way he was looking at her, the awe, and -- and something else, something she couldn’t quite put a name to -- in his eyes.

*He knows,* she realized. *He knows I gave him my blood…*

And then, a darker thought followed it, as she reminded herself, *He only knows, because he knows what that power feels like, a Slayer’s blood running through his veins -- because he’s killed them before. He’d kill you too, if he could…*

Her lips formed a firm, dangerous line as she stalked toward him, suddenly planting one stylish boot firmly against his middle, pressing just slightly, though not hard enough to cause more than a twinge of actual pain in the sensitive wounds that she was not quite touching.

“You don’t ask the questions,” she informed him imperiously, narrowed emerald eyes blazing down at him. “You answer them. Or you die. Clear enough?” As she spoke, she pressed just slightly harder, and Spike winced, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Crystal,” he whispered, his eyes closed, his jaw locking in anticipation of worse pain.

The very fact that he expected it troubled Buffy too much to allow her to cause it.

Her own expression taut and defensively hard, she removed her foot, crouching down beside him and crossing her arms over her chest as she replied, “Good. Now. What do you know about what brought Angelus back? What made Angel lose his soul?”

Spike breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, turning his head slightly away as he tried to catch the breath he had nearly lost at her threatening gesture -- but didn’t need, anyway. When Buffy suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked him up to a sitting position, jerking him closer to her in an intimidating way, he swallowed hard, wincing slightly at the stinging pain in his scalp, as he hurriedly gasped out a response.

“The ritual -- it was Dru’s bloody ritual, to make her well -- had a bit of an unexpected side effect, it did…”

The deep breath Buffy had been holding let itself out in a slow, shuddering sound that the others didn’t pick up on -- but Spike apparently did, judging by the sharp, searching look he suddenly gave her.

Buffy hardened her expression, shaking him slightly by the grip she still held on his hair, as she demanded, “How do we fix it? How do we find Angel’s soul and get it back to him?”

“Getting it back to him -- haven’t got a soddin’ clue, Slayer,” Spike laughed, a quietly bitter sound that sent a chill down Buffy’s spine to hear it. “Finding it -- well, that’s a bit of a different story.”

Giles frowned, puzzled and a bit wary at those words. “Why is that, exactly?” he asked in a cool, calm tone of voice, giving Buffy a wondering look.

Spike let out the same soft, slightly manic giggle that Buffy had heard from him in the mansion, while they were both being forced to endure the torment of their loves crying out to others, before he gave the stunning, unbelievable reply.

“Because it’s right here.”

“What do you mean, it’s right here?” Buffy asked, shaking her head with frustrated confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The ritual,” Spike whispered weakly, a soft, ironic smile on his lips as he turned his head away, his eyes downcast with a despairing look. “It restored Dru, and took Angel’s soul -- but it didn’t take it far.” He turned his wide, sad eyes back up to meet Buffy’s as he delivered the shocking, final blow, “It put it -- into *me*.”

Within moments of his false confession, Spike found himself hauled to his feet by the throat and pinned none too gently against the wall, one thoroughly brassed off Slayer glaring into his eyes furiously.

“Care to run that by me again, Spike?” she bit the words off past a brittle, false smile.

Choking slightly from her grip on his throat, Spike barely managed to gasp out, “N-need -- air…”

“No, you don’t,” Buffy countered without hesitation. “Just talk.”

Her grip had tightened spitefully at his request, and Spike could not speak at all at this point -- but the withering look he gave her said it all.

“Er -- Buffy…” Giles began cautiously, not wishing to incite his Slayer’s temper any further.

Closing her eyes, her jaw clenched with frustration, Buffy released the vampire abruptly, allowing him to slump back against the wall, gasping gratefully for breath.

“Yeah -- I know,” she muttered, grudgingly embarrassed by her mistake. Her eyes narrowed on Spike as she pressed on, unrelenting, “*Now*, Spike. What’s this about -- Angel’s soul?”

“Yeah -- right…” Spike rasped out, swallowing to dampen his dry throat. “Give a bloke a second, Slayer…let my bloody life finish flashing before my eyes, yeah?”

“I don’t have that long,” the Slayer ground out the words through clenched teeth, a warning look in her blazing green eyes.

*Right, then – better think fast…*

“The – the ritual – I don’t know how it did it, it bloody well wasn’t supposed to – but it somehow drained Angel’s soul from him with his blood. And why it went into me, I couldn’t say – would’ve thought it would’ve gone into Dru, yeah? What with her taking in his blood and all? ‘Cept that’s not how it worked – not what happened.”

He was quiet for a moment, bowing his head and swallowing hard, raising a hand to press against his closed eyes, sniffing back imaginary tears as he carefully kept his head down and added in what he hoped was an anguished, tormented voice, barely over a whisper,
“Not at all what happened. I woke up – under the rubble of that bloody organ – with this – this *thing* inside of me…and I can’t get it out…all these…these voices…all the people I’ve eaten…the killin’ and mayhem and bad things I’ve done…must be bloody thousands of ‘em up here…and it’s torment, Slayer! I can’t stand the guilt any longer!”

He looked up at her through eyes bright with tears that were only there because of the pressure he had been applying to them, reaching out a hand to grip her arm urgently, putting a slight tremor in his voice as he begged her, “Please, Slayer – I’ll do anything you need me to do – just help me get this bloody thing out of me!”

*Yeah – sod it all. You’re bloody dust in the wind, mate, because there is no soddin’ way she’s gonna buy…*

“Great,” Buffy muttered, throwing her hands up in frustration and turning her back on the chained vampire, rolling her eyes as she repeated, “This is just great! On top of everything else -- now I find out that Angel’s soul is trapped in this -- this *thing* -- and I can’t even stake him, not with him looking at me like…like…” She shook her head, at a loss for words, as she quickly looked away from Spike, apparently very uncomfortable with his suffering, souled condition.

Spike tried not to show the relief he felt, letting out the breath he had been holding as subtly as possible, lowering his gaze in a properly subdued manner, trying to look as miserable as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked around the room at the Slayer’s group of friends, trying to gauge whether or not his story had worked as well with them as it clearly had with the Slayer.

The Watcher was frowning, thoughtful, though he seemed mostly just fascinated by the possible implications of what Spike had told them, rather than doubtful that he had told them the truth. The little redhead did not seem to care much, one way or the other; in fact, she sort of seemed to be just along for the ride. The boy looked positively disappointed.

But the gypsy teacher -- and Spike had seen enough gypsies to recognize that she was one -- was looking at him strangely, while the Slayer and her Watcher began to forcefully debate what was the best course of action.

“Doesn’t it make sense that to just reverse the spell would just undo whatever happened to put Angel’s soul into Spike?” Buffy asked, frustration evident in her voice. She frowned with distaste, glaring toward Spike as she added under her breath, “And is there a way to sterilize a used soul? Because -- *ewww*…”

Spike rolled his eyes at her comment, and she quickly looked away from him, apparently surprised that he’d heard her.

“That would be the assumption,” Giles conceded, “if the ritual had gone as it was supposed to. According to Spike something apparently went wrong, in which case a simple reversal spell could possibly only unleash more mayhem and confusion. We must take time, to ensure that we know exactly what we are getting into, before…”

“We don’t *have* time!” Buffy snapped, her voice trembling slightly. “Angel is out there…”

“No,” Spike interrupted quietly but firmly, swallowing hard when all eyes in the room turned to him, but finishing his statement anyway. Too bloody late to turn back now. “He’s not.”

“Excuse me, did someone speak to you?” Buffy asked, that dangerous expression in her blazing green eyes again as she took a warning step toward Spike, who was still standing with his back to the wall.

*Right -- bad move. She’s still all boo-hooin’ over losing the ponce to his dark side…* he reminded himself, as he deliberately cast his gaze downward in a nervous, apologetic way, making his expression sorrowful and regretful as he began to speak quietly.

“Sorry, Slayer -- but it’s the truth, and you need to know it. You’re not bloody dealing with Angel anymore. That’s Angelus out there -- in a way it always has been -- only now he’s on the loose. And he’d as soon drain you dry as look at you, so the sooner you understand that…”

He cut off his words abruptly as the Slayer stalked toward him, her stake in hand and suddenly poised over his chest as she commanded in a low, warning tone of voice that was trembling with emotion despite herself, “Shut. Up. Spike…or so help me I will…”

“Buffy,” Giles’ quiet voice stopped her, accompanied by his gentle but firm hand on her staking arm. “Buffy, wait…”

Wide-eyed with surprise, Buffy turned to face her Watcher. “Are you actually taking his side? Are you saying that…?”

“I’m saying that what he says is right, Buffy. Angelus is out there, and Angel is not,” Giles stated firmly, meeting her gaze, unflinching in the face of her anger. “And if you want to have half a chance of changing that, you’d best not stake Spike until we have all the facts.”

“Actually,” Spike put in with a falsely casual little shrug, “*best* would be, not at…”

“Shut up, Spike.”

This time, the words came from both the Slayer and the Watcher, simultaneously -- and Spike wisely complied. As they continued to bicker about what was the best course of action to take, Spike gradually tuned them out -- at least, once it was obvious that they had agreed that staking him would be a bad thing for the moment.

The boy, Xander, still seemed inclined to think otherwise, but neither the Slayer nor her Watcher seemed to be paying him much attention. The little redhead and the teacher had gone off to the kitchen counter with a stack of books, apparently in the hopes of discovering some spell to take the soul out of Spike and put it back into Angel.

Spike noticed, a bit uneasily, that the teacher was still staring at him rather frequently, giving him oddly knowing looks of suspicion that were more than a little unsettling. He began to feel a bit nervous, as he wondered just how much she knew about Angelus and his history, and whether or not she might be able to somehow tell that he was lying.

The way she kept looking at him made him think that maybe she could.

*Had to be a soddin’ gypsy in the mix, didn’t there?* he thought with sarcastic resentment. *Has to be *something* to sully up the mix, otherwise wouldn’t be in the natural order of things, now, would it? Can’t have one of old *Spike’s* plans actually working out without a hitch, can we? Can’t ever just…*

“*Spike*!”

Startled out of his internal rant, Spike returned his attention to the Watcher, who was giving him an impatient, exasperated look. “As eager as she seems to be to stake you, you might find it in your best interests to pay attention and prove yourself useful.”

Spike nodded dutifully, giving the Watcher his most innocent, apologetic look. “Right -- sorry, mate -- what can I do to help?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned away in irritation, and Spike had to suppress a grin.

It seemed that his very niceness -- or rather, losing her grounds for hating him -- annoyed her.

For his part, Spike thought it was bloody hilarious -- but of course, he could not let either of them in on the joke.

“Tell me everything you remember about the ritual,” Giles instructed. “You’ll have to tell us where we can find the manuscripts you used as well, so that we can compare what happened with what should have happened, and possibly pinpoint what may have gone wrong, and find a way to correct it.”

Spike nodded seriously. “All right. I remember it all -- I’ll tell you. And -- I know where the books and all are, in the factory -- or at least where they were, as long as Angelus didn’t have ‘em moved.” He sighed heavily for dramatic effect, before remarking ruefully, “Could just send a bloody minion ‘round for ‘em -- if any of the bloody wankers still listened to me -- which they don’t. Angelus -- he made sure of that, all right!”

Giles frowned, curious almost in spite of himself. He was aware that there were much more important things to discuss at the moment, but it was obvious that the Watcher in him simply couldn‘t help but ask.

“Why’s that, exactly? You and Angelus are -- are family, yes? I understand that’s important to most vampires of your -- your age, and lineage. Why should he want to undermine your authority with your minions?”

This one came easy to Spike. He almost laughed, it was so brilliantly simple.

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze in what he hoped would pass for an expression of torment. “It’s this bloody soul,” he replied in a voice that was only slightly over a whisper. “Makes me -- less than what I was in their eyes. Angelus and Dru. Besides, I expect it reminds him of his own torment -- when this thing was in him -- and he hates to think of it being around at all.”

Buffy was listening now, interested in spite of herself, as she remembered how she had found Spike in the mansion -- lying injured beyond repair, starving to death, in a dark room without even so much as a candle for light, while Angelus and Drusilla were right in the next room…

“That’s why they shut you up in that room,” she mused, her voice softer than it had been before, and touched with a note of compassion that caught the vampire by surprise. “Because of your soul. That’s why Drusilla…” Buffy was suddenly quiet, her face flushing slightly at the attention of the others in the room, waiting curiously for her to go on. She tried again, realizing too late that not to finish would only further arouse the suspicions of her friends. “Why she…”

“Why she chose him over me,” Spike finished for her, and this time the ache of pain, the soft bitterness in his voice, was not part of his act. His blue eyes smoldering with the hurt and anger of betrayal, as he raised them to meet hers again. “Yeah. With this soddin’ soul in me, seems I’m not -- not monster enough for her anymore. She’s rather go runnin’ back to her soddin’ ‘daddy’ than deal with me when *I* actually need *her* for a…”

He stopped talking all at once, suddenly realizing that he had already said too much.

He could tell by the tears that he was suddenly forced to blink back, or risk looking like a right ponce in front of the Slayer and all her pathetic little human friends. He lowered his head, feeling the heat of shame rising in his face, as he swallowed back a sob. Instinctively he tried to raise his hands to wipe a stray tear away, but remembered with a soft growl of frustration that his hands were chained behind his back.

Suddenly, the Slayer was standing right in front of him, barely a breath away, and he tensed instinctively, looking up at her in an alarmed question.

To his amazement, there were tears shining in her emerald eyes, her expression solemn and calm, yet unmistakably sympathetic.

“Just when you need her most,” the Slayer spoke in a soft voice that Spike had never heard her use before, her eyes searching his, “she’s gone. She’s -- she’s become the enemy…”

Spike’s eyes widened as he processed what she had just said. He was having a hard enough time getting past the idea that she had said it at all. The last thing he had expected was the understanding that he saw on her face, let alone her tears.

But her words -- such a true expression of both her pain, and his own -- brought a hard lump to his throat, and made him have to look away again quickly, before she saw far more in his expressive gaze than he was willing to show her.

*Careful, mate,* he warned himself, struggling to regain control of his rebellious emotions. *Can’t let her see your weakness…can’t let her see any of the things you’re hiding…*

When she grabbed him suddenly and spun him around so that his face was to the wall, Spike winced, preparing himself for the worst.

*Too late,* he guessed. *She’s figured it out…*

But the next of many surprises that night followed immediately, as he felt her deceptively soft hands working the chains that bound his wrists -- and then felt them fall away. He stood perfectly still, as the Slayer crouched on the floor behind him and unfastened the shackles around his ankles as well.

He knew what they didn’t -- that he could not harm her without hurting himself in the process -- and the last thing he wanted to do was to destroy the trust he was building so easily in her.

*So much easier than I thought,* he mused as she pressed gently on his shoulder, silently urging him to turn back around, and he slowly moved his hands to absently rub his sore wrists. *The Slayer’s not such a bright one after all, if I can fool her this easy…this is gonna be fun…*

Yet, the thrill he usually would have felt about the success of his plan thus far was somehow -- lacking.

The tears, the compassion, he had seen on Buffy’s face made the thought of her eventual destruction not quite as much fun as it had once been.

*Watch it,* he warned himself with a rising sense of alarm. *They caught you off guard and damaged you -- don’t let it make you go soft, too…only way you’re gonna bloody survive like this is to keep your soddin’ wits about you, mate…*

He glanced carefully at the others in the room, who all seemed rather surprised -- and not particularly pleased -- by the Slayer’s actions. The boy looked poised on the brink of a loud, obnoxious protest which the Slayer would likely ignore, while the redhead and the gypsy simply watched with silent looks of disapproval.

The Watcher, however, appeared to be a slightly bigger hurdle to cross.

“Buffy,” he said in a quiet voice of concern. “Are you -- are you quite sure that’s wise? You’ve just given him an infusion of your blood, and we have only his word on which to base his claim that he actually has…”

“He *has* a soul, Giles,” Buffy stated firmly, meeting her Watcher’s eyes with conviction in her own, which still glistened with traces of tears. “I know it. Just -- just look at him.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Spike, who was slowly taking a seat on the blood-stained sofa, still warily watching the mild confrontation.

The Slayer lowered her voice, clearly in an attempt to keep Spike from hearing her words -- but he could still make out what she was saying with no trouble, as she leaned in closer to Giles and added softly, “He’s in real pain -- that’s obvious. All it takes is one look to see that. And you don’t feel that deeply -- love that much -- not without a soul.”

She shook her head firmly, and Spike felt a strange tightening sensation in his chest at the slight tremble of her lips as she drew in a deep, shaky breath, and brushed quickly at her eyes in slight irritation at her own emotion. Suddenly, he realized the line of thinking he was falling into, and shook his head slightly, forcing himself to look away from her.

*She’s *supposed* to buy it, you stupid git!* he reminded himself. *That’s the whole soddin’ point! It’s her or you, and you can’t be worrying about her bloody *feelings* when the only thing that should be keeping you from tearing her throat out is this soddin’ piece of metal in your head!*

Then, Buffy’s eyes turned back toward him, and he heard her words -- still soft and intended only for her Watcher’s ears -- as her eyes softened with that same strange sympathy that seemed to be throwing his own emotions so off kilter.

“He has a soul, now, Giles -- and that means we have to help him.”

“And how exactly would you propose that we help him, Buffy?”

Giles’ voice was impatient, and just a little bit bewildered -- and Buffy suddenly realized that she did not really have an answer for his question. As she had watched the clear evidence of Spike’s painful emotions play across his expressive features, Buffy had felt an undeniable sympathy and compassion for the injured vampire, clearly confused and tormented by the soul that had been inflicted on him, followed by his lover’s betrayal -- but what could they really do for him, after all?

Of course, they could tend to his wounds and make sure that he got blood enough to heal, and well -- *survive*. But -- beyond that - Buffy had to admit that she was at a loss.

“Are you suggesting that we help him rid himself of the soul?” Giles asked, echoing her own thoughts as she frowned in confusion, not quite looking at him. “Clearly he doesn’t want it, but as that is the only thing standing between Spike and mass murder, then it’s just as clearly out of the question.”

Buffy’s frown deepened with troubled understanding, as she shook her head and reminded her Watcher, “But -- if we *don’t* get the soul out of Spike -- then Angel can’t be restored at all…and if we *do* take the soul out of Spike, then I’ll just have to…”

Her voice trailed off with a weary sigh, as she realized that there just didn’t seem to be a very positive option.

“*No*!” the vampire objected from across the room, rising weakly to his feet from the spot where he sat on the sofa.

Buffy looked up at him in surprise -- and then suspicion, as she realized that he had been listening to their entire conversation thus far. But before the suspicion could really take root in her mind, she found herself captivated by his wide, tearful blue eyes full of a beseeching desperation.

“No, to which part exactly?” she asked in a flat tone of voice, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned to face him fully, moving slowly across the room toward him. “Which part of our personal, private, and completely eavesdropped-on conversation do you have an objection with, Spike?”

“You can’t take it away from me! Please, Slayer, you can’t!”

The vampire’s words, spoken in a low, hushed, trembling tone of earnest desperation, caught the Slayer off guard.

“Can’t -- take -- the soul?” she had to ask for clarification, frowning in confusion at the thought that Spike might actually want to *keep* Angel’s soul, after he had already made it very clear how much suffering having it had caused him.

“Please,” Spike repeated, shaking his head as his piercing blue eyes met hers imploringly. “I can’t…I can’t imagine…going back to what I was…doing the things I did…again. I just bloody well can’t, Slayer, you can’t take it out of me now!”

“You -- actually *want* to keep it?” Giles asked, sounding even more bewildered now.

“Well, yeah,” Spike stated softly, in an isn’t-it-obvious sort of tone. “Lose it -- and I’ll go back to doing the same things I’ve always done -- and I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the guilt of knowing what a bad,,,evil…vampire I am…would be…again…”

Fortunately for Spike, the surprise caused by his words kept the Slayer and her Watcher from noticing his awkward, slightly forced phrasing. Buffy opened her mouth as if to speak, but was promptly cut off by her friend’s sarcastic comment.

“Well, see that works out for everyone, then,” Xander sneered. “Because when they give that soul back to Angel, you won’t *have* the guilt to deal with -- you won’t care anymore -- and Buffy will get to stake you -- and everybody’s happy.”

Buffy’s frown deepened at those words, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she gave the vampire a skeptical look, stepping closer to him until she stood only a couple of feet in front of him.

“Hadn’t actually thought of that,” she remarked in a dangerously soft voice, her emerald eyes boring into his so intently that it was all Spike could do not to look away -- but he didn’t look away. “You’re not just saying all this, about how you want to keep the soul and all -- just to keep us from staking you -- are you?”

Spike tensed slightly at her nearness, as well as at the sudden, subtle threat in her posture and her words, but held himself steady with an effort, not breaking eye contact, resisting the instinct to take on a fighting posture of his own -- not that he could have actually fought her, anyway, he reminded himself cautiously.

That was the whole soddin’ problem.

“No,” he replied softly, shaking his head slowly but firmly. “No, I wouldn’t -- I’m telling you the truth, Slayer. I -- I didn’t ask for this bloody thing to get stuck in me -- but I’ve got it -- and I can’t go back to what I was before it. Please. Don’t -- don’t make me.”

Buffy studied his expression for a long, terrifying moment, in which the vampire was almost certain that she had seen straight through his lies -- until finally she seemed to think that she had seen what she sought, and looked away with a sigh, visibly easing her intimidating stance as she took a step backward away from him, rolling her eyes in irritated frustration.

“What a quandary,” Giles remarked quietly, his eyes wide with wonder, and a strange sort of excitement at the novelty of it all. “We’ve got two vampires, each with somewhat of a claim to a single soul…can‘t leave it in one without leaving the other a soulless killer…”

Buffy drew in a deep breath, lowering her head and raising one hand to her eyes, as she muttered under her breath, “Looks like we‘ve got a problem.”

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

“Gone…gone…my sweet William is gone away from me forever…”

The mad, dark vampiress wept and moaned the same words over and over, lying across the bed where Spike had spent so many hours alone in the past few days while she had been otherwise occupied with Angelus, sobbing and wailing and thrashing about in a torment of grief and despair. As unexpected as the sudden loss of Drusilla’s childe had been, Angelus was still rather surprised at how deepy she seemed to feel the loss of the insolent boy, especially after how thoroughly she had ignored Spike since her sire had returned.

It was driving him freaking insane.

“Dru…Sweetheart…” he said in a soft, overly patient voice, his last words gradually rising until they became a violent roar of frustrated rage, “…would you kindly get a hold of yourself and *shut up*!”

Dru flinched on the bed, but her moaning only quieted some, did not cease completely.

“The nasty stars all lied to me…played cruel tricks with my head…got me all muddled up to let the sunshine take my William…he was mine, mine he was, and now she’s got him! Stolen him away from me! My William is gone, gone from me…”

Angelus ignored her words, as he was used to do, a dark mood stealing over him as he walked around the room, half-heartedly searching for any sign of what exactly had taken place here the night before.

It seemed fairly obvious.

The Slayer’s scent still lingered in the room.

“How’d she manage to get in here without anyone noticing her?” Angelus growled softly with anger, staring moodily at the wall, before suddenly snatching up the candlestick from the bedside table and hurling it furiously at the wall with a vicious snarl. “I’ll kill our minions,” he declared in a low, dangerous voice. “Every last one of them. How did she get past them so easily? Why didn’t we even hear…?”

His voice suddenly trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as a memory dimmed by the lust that had nearly consumed him during the actual event returned to him, and he turned narrowed, slightly suspicious eyes on the keening vampiress on the bed.

“We *did* hear her,” he stated softly. “At least -- I heard her. You said you didn’t hear anything. That must have been when she was here.”

Dru wasn’t really paying attention to him, still sobbing inconsolably over the loss of her insufferable childe. “The stars deceived me…told me he was hers…he’s hers already, he’s been hers since long before now…never mine at all…and now my William is all gone, all gone away from me…”

“Dru, will you *shut up* and listen to me!” Angelus snarled, suddenly right by the bed and snatching her up by the shoulders with cruel, bruising hands, as he shook her and accused her furiously, “You knew she was here, didn’t you? You knew, and you just let her go, and take Spike with her! We’ve said things, in this room, Dru -- we’ve talked about important things! And I didn’t worry about Spike hearing them, because he wasn’t ever supposed to go anywhere again!”

As he spoke, Angelus’ voice vacillated madly between blind, uncontrolled rage, and that soft veiled menace that was so much more frightening, his golden eyes glinting with fury as he shook her, snarling in her face until she whimpered and cowered away from his touch.

“Now who knows what he might have told her? Who knows what he might have heard, about our plans, about what we’re going to do?” Angelus seethed, dropping her roughly back onto the bed and beginning to pace the floor at an almost manic speed.

“Gotta get him back,” he muttered. “Stake the little bastard before she gets anything out of him…”

Dru just kept on moaning and crying about the lying stars and her missing childe and how badly she missed him, wanted him, and Angelus was trying to *think*, and it was just too hard with her incessant, meaningless, incoherent *noise*…!

He crossed the room to her again in an instant, jerking her up by the hair and delivering a sharp, resounding backhand across her face, as he screamed at her, “*Shut up*!”

She looked up at him through fathomless dark eyes, wide with stunned hurt and betrayal, one hand rising to her swiftly bruising cheek, as she shook her head slightly.

“Bad, hateful Daddy,” she whispered reproachfully. “Mummy hadn’t any choice…hadn’t any choice…the stars…”

Angelus couldn’t stand another word about the damned stars.

He was furious -- but Dru was not either of the two he wanted to take it out on.

Without another word or a backward glance, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him -- and a few minutes later Dru felt his absence, as he stalked out of the mansion completely and into the night.

As her tears slowly ebbed away, she rose up from the bed, her wide eyes distant as she listened to the things the stars were speaking to her again -- quickly forgetting their earlier deceptions. She nodded slowly as a rapturous smile came across her darkly beautiful face, and a sense of hope and expectancy rose up within her.

“Yes,” she murmured, heading toward the door out into the rest of the mansion. “Yes -- Mummy shall have her boy back -- put all back like it should be -- all back as it’s meant to be -- and my Spike shall return to me…and be mine again…forever…”

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

“Okay…I think we’ve got something here!”

Willow’s voice sounded excited for the first time since he’d been there, and Spike was fairly certain that that was a bad thing as far as he was concerned. In fact, progress of any kind on the part of these White Hats was probably not to his benefit, considering that at the moment he was simply playing a stalling game with them all.

He was healing quickly as a result of the potent Slayer’s blood they had given him -- and wasn’t *that* a bloody kick in the head? He certainly hadn’t expected *that*! -- but he was still weak from the torture he had undergone that had gone unmended for so long, and the starvation that Angelus had inflicted upon him -- not to mention the bloody chip in his head, that would keep him from defending himself against these pathetic human children.

And although Buffy seemed to believe his story about somehow getting Angel’s soul, the others did not trust him one little bit -- certainly not enough to leave the exits to the room they were all in unguarded. Spike could not take the chance of accidentally hurting one of them in an attempt to shove past them, setting off his chip, and then suffering the painful consequences -- *twice* -- for his deception and duplicity.

So, making a mad dash for the door from his seat on the sofa didn’t exactly seem to be an option.

Yet.

“What have you got?” Buffy asked, her voice sharp and all business, sounding very much more the Slayer than the 17-year-old high school girl, as she turned to face her friend.

“Well, this almost looks as if it could be the spell that was originally used on Angel,” Willow explained, gesturing to a place in the huge, dusty book she held, though Buffy didn’t even glance at it. “I mean -- we have no way of knowing for sure, but it seems like it could be -- basically, it requires something that’s belonged to the vampire -- something he’s had a lot of contact with -- and it locates the vampire’s former soul, wherever it might be, and returns it to them.”

Spike swallowed hard, trying not to look as sick as he suddenly felt.

Locating Angel’s soul would not be a good thing at this point -- because the Slayer’s finding out that it was anywhere but here would surely result in his getting promptly staked.

“So -- okay -- so we return Angel’s soul to him,” Buffy said softly, thinking aloud, a pensive frown on her face. “But then -- where does that leave Spike? I mean -- if he wants to keep the soul -- wants to do good -- it seems wrong to take it…”

“I thought of that,” Jenny remarked from beside Willow, and Spike was almost certain there was an almost malicious glint in her dark eyes as she glanced at him over the Slayer’s shoulder. “See -- we can return Angel’s soul to him -- from -- out of Spike…”

Spike glanced around anxiously, certain that the others had to have caught the skeptical note in her voice -- though apparently they hadn’t.

“…and then,” Jenny went on, “we can locate *Spike’s* original soul, and return it to him. So everyone’s happy, and you have not one but *two* souled vampires to fight on the side of good. How does that sound?”

Buffy was nodding eagerly, a slow smile forming on her lips -- oblivious to Spike’s wide-eyed expression of horror behind her.

“That sounds perfect,” she agreed.

“Spike?” Jenny asked innocently, looking at Spike with an encouraging smile, drawing the attention of the others to him as well. “How does that sound to you?”

Spike swallowed back the bile rising in his throat at the thought, and forced his shocked, stricken expression to turn into a brilliant, grateful smile that he hoped did not appear as forced as it was.

“Sounds bloody brilliant, love,” he replied in a quiet, slightly trembling voice. He allowed the smile to fade a bit, as he added regretfully, “There’s only -- one slight problem…”

Buffy frowned in anticipation of his words, and he could not quite meet her eyes as he went on, “Once the soul’s out of me and back in Angelus -- Angel -- well, I’m not likely to be as willing as I am at the moment to get my own soul shoved back in me, yeah?”

Buffy’s frown faded, and Spike felt his heart sink with the smile of relief that came over her face, even before she spoke.

“Oh, that’s easy,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “*You* want the soul back, right?”

Spike forced a nod and a brittle smile.

“Well, the will of a souled person with a conscience means more than the will of an evil vampire to me any day,” she declared. “You want it now, so what you want once you lose the soul doesn’t matter.”

“Might matter to me.” Spike’s voice was low and a bit ominous, and he quickly cleared his throat at the strange looks they were beginning to give him, adding in a more casual tone, “Then, I mean. Once I’m all -- soulless and evil and all.”

“Well -- I guess we could chain you up again,” the Slayer shrugged, and Spike looked at her sharply in alarm -- but her voice was still completely sincere, and she was looking at him for his acceptance of that idea, which she obviously fully expected. “I mean, before we take Angel’s soul out. So then while we’re putting yours in, it won’t be a problem. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Weakly, feeling as if he would be physically sick for the first time in nearly a hundred years, Spike shook his head to indicate he had no objections.

The dark-haired boy picked up the shackles from beside the chair he was sitting in, standing up with a nasty smile.

“Not yet, Xander,” Buffy stopped him, a frown of disapproval on her face at his malicious pleasure in the vampire’s situation -- and again, Spike found himself feeling a strange, heavy sensation at her obvious concern for him. “There’s no need to chain him back up until it’s time for the ritual. He’s got a soul, he’s not gonna try to get away.”

As Xander sat back down, looking clearly disappointed, Spike breathed a sigh of relief.

“Er -- if I might ask,” he said, hoping they didn’t notice that his voice sounded a bit faint and quavery, “how -- how long do you think it might be? Before the ritual is ready?”

Willow glanced down at the book in her hands thoughtfully, shrugging as she looked up and guessed, “A few hours?”

Spike nodded, his forced smile widening slightly. “Right,” he agreed. “Sounds great.”

*A few hours…a few hours to get the bloody hell out of here before they turn me into a carbon copy of the soddin’ pouf!*

“How much longer, Will?”

“About an hour, probably,” Willow replied to the Slayer’s mildly impatient question, from where she sat at the kitchen counter beside Miss Calendar. “We’re still working on this translation; as soon as we get it figured out, then we should be able to soul ‘em up!”

Spike barely managed to suppress a shudder, and found his eyes drifting longingly toward the door, which was currently blocked by the dark-haired young man, leaning against it and glaring at him suspiciously -- clearly not very happy about something, probably his free and unfettered state.

Or perhaps the fact that the Slayer was being a bit more friendly with Spike than he liked.

“Hey.”

Spike jumped involuntarily, turning sharply to face Buffy, who had just sat down beside him, and was looking at him with a sort of grudging curiosity, perhaps a bit of confusion -- but no malice or threat in her eyes.

“Hello there,” he replied, mostly because he had to say something, returning her look dubiously with a single raised brow.

Buffy took in his tense stance, his darting glances toward the door, and her next words told Spike that she had not missed his flinch at her approach. “A bit jumpy?” she asked mildly.

“A bit,” he acknowledged, aware that denying it would only further arouse her suspicions.

“You shouldn’t be,” she told him simply, leaning back against the couch with her arms crossed over her chest. “We told you -- and we meant it -- we’re not gonna do anything to hurt you, Spike. You have a soul.”

Spike did his best not to roll his eyes at those words -- false, though she did not know it, and so much more meaningless than she realized. She had clearly accepted the Council’s line of propaganda when it came to vampires and souls and such -- but he had no intentions of enlightening her now, not after he was already so deeply entrenched in this monumental lie that was centered on that very propaganda.

“Yeah,” he replied to her words distractedly, glancing again toward the door, “who says it’s you lot I’m worried about?”

Buffy frowned slightly, before understanding smoothed her brow. “Angelus,” she concluded.

Spike’s silence was noncommittal, but she took it as assent.

“Well,” she reminded him quietly, “in less than an hour he won’t be a problem anymore, so…”

“Look, you might wanna tell your mate over there not to stand so close to the bloody door, yeah?” Spike interrupted her, aware that his voice sounded a bit nervous and shaky, and only hoping that she was misinterpret the reasons for that. “I mean -- if Angelus were to show up -- and he’s bloody likely to…”

“We’ve revoked his invitation,” Buffy reassured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He can’t come in here anymore.”

“He can’t?” Spike frowned at her, surprised. “You can do that?”

“Mm-hmm,” Buffy nodded. “So he’s a non-issue at the moment.”

Her mood seemed incredibly lighter now that the solution to her boyfriend’s little turning-evil problem seemed to have been found -- and why shouldn’t it be? Spike wondered bitterly. After all, *her* problems would soon be over, once the gypsy and the little witch managed to restore Angel’s soul.

But before that, *his* problems would be over as well, in a really bad way; because the moment they discovered that Angel’s soul was not where he had told them it was -- in him -- Buffy would surely take a time out long enough to dust him, probably painfully, before completing Angel’s restoration.

“Well,” he continued in response to the Slayer’s blithe reassurances, desperately racking his mind for some reason to get the little wanker a bit further from the front door, “doesn’t stop him from kicking the door in. And the way your boy over there’s leanin’ on it, he’d fall right out onto the porch and get his bloody throat ripped out!”

Spike had deliberately spoken loudly enough for the boy to hear his words, and Xander’s eyes widened in alarm as he quickly moved his back away from the door, turning toward it with an almost suspicious look.

It was all Spike could do not to laugh out loud, and betray his soullessness to the Slayer -- because surely she would not believe that a “souled” creature could take such pleasure in another person’s…

The soft, suppressed giggle he heard beside him drew Spike out of his thoughts with surprise, as he turned to give the clearly amused Slayer a curious look at her reaction.

“Oh, come on, it was funny!” she whispered with a little smirk, glancing around to be sure the others had not noticed her reaction. Fortunately, they all seemed fairly distracted with what they were doing. “He’s had that coming, he’s been getting on my last nerve all afternoon,” she finished in a whisper, rolling her eyes.

As Spike recovered from his initial shock at the Slayer’s slightly wicked sense of humor, he smiled back at her, glancing toward Xander, who was now standing on his toes, peering out the tiny diamond shaped windows in the door, searching the darkness outside for any sign of danger.

“Yeah,” Spike muttered. “Mine too.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, contemplating the blond vampire’s anxious expression, and coming to her own conclusions as to the reason for it. As she took in his wide eyes, uncertain and a bit vulnerable in that moment, she realized for the first time how very blue they were, and how thick and dark were his lashes over them.

*And that is *so* unfair!* she thought with mild resentment. *Boys like him get the pretty lashes naturally that we girls have to work so hard for.*

He was completely unaware of her quiet assessment of him, still looking toward the door, his lips slightly parted in an expression of worry and concern that made him look incredibly -- well -- adorable.

*Okay, Buffy,* she rolled her eyes at her own runaway line of thinking, *you’re about to have your own souled vampire back, so quit mooning over this one…this is *Spike* you’re thinking about here, get a grip!*

Shaking herself out of her musings, she tried to remember what they had been talking about, and somehow formulate a response.

“Don’t worry about Xander,” she said softly, when she succeeded. “He’s -- kind of got a thing about vampires -- like -- a thing where he hates them. Soul or no soul, doesn’t matter to him.”

“Bloody bigot,” Spike muttered under his breath, and was rewarded with another muffled laugh from the Slayer.

“Well,” she finally amended with a sort of softening of her tone, “he has his reasons. But -- but he’s not going to try anything, not as long as he knows I don’t want him to. And in just a little while, it won’t matter anymore.”

Those words were anything but reassuring to Spike, who drew in a deep, shaky breath, and let it out as he rested his head in his hands. It was all just so bloody overwhelming. The boy was still standing too close to the door for his own comfort; there was no way that he could get past him before he could block the exit -- if the Slayer beside him even allowed him to get that far at all.

He realized too late that he had allowed his true feelings to show, when he felt a firm, warm hand on his shoulder, and tensed under it in preparation for a fight that he already knew could only end one way -- before suddenly realizing with a startled sensation that the soft, small hand was intended as a comfort, rather than any sort of threat.

“I -- I can‘t begin to understand what it must be like,” the Slayer began in a soft, calm voice, though Spike could tell that it was barely concealing a tumult of emotions. “The -- the soul. After so long without one, after -- the things you‘ve done. It has to be -- to be horrible, to have to deal with it all at once -- and there‘s no way I can pretend to understand that.”

Spike tried to ignore the faint fluttering sensation he felt in his chest, the thickness in his throat at the sound of her compassion and sympathy -- but it just kept growing stronger and stronger with every word she spoke.

*She wouldn‘t feel sorry for you a bit if she knew the truth,* he reminded himself, trying to harden himself to the softness of her feelings. *If she knew the truth, she‘d stake you in a bloody heartbeat…she‘s the enemy, and nothing can change that…”

“The rest, though,” the Slayer continued, her voice trembling slightly now. “The rest -- I sort of get. With -- with Drusilla…and Angelus.” She was quiet for a long moment, long enough that he began to wonder if she was going to say any more. “It’s hard, isn’t it?” Buffy finally said softly, and he looked up to see her staring at the floor, her own eyes welling with tears.

“Knowing -- what they’re doing. After -- after all -- all we’ve done for them. I know. But -- but when we’re done here -- Angel won’t even want her anymore…” Her voice became a trembling whisper by the end, and Spike knew without looking that the tears in her eyes had fallen now. “…and -- and everything can go back to normal.” She smiled through the tears, as she added with a little shrug and a tremulous little laugh, “Maybe we can even -- find Drusilla’s soul, you know? And -- and everything will be all right. As it should be.”

She was silent for a long moment, and Spike could find no response for her words -- so much mingled truth and lies of his own making, some emotions that he understood, even felt for himself, and others she assumed for him that he had never dreamed of feeling. With a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized that these were feelings the Slayer hadn’t shared with her friends yet, and was only sharing with him because she felt that she had finally found someone who could understand, relate to her pain.

In some ways -- he could.

But in a very short time, that would not matter to her anymore.

After a long, tense moment, the Slayer whispered, in a voice that sounded terribly young and vulnerable and uncertain, “Right?”

Something in her voice sounded so needy, so desperate, that Spike found that it tore at his unbeating heart, imploring him to reach out to her -- though he knew that in a matter of minutes now, she would not even begin to want his comfort. In a few short minutes, she was going to hate him -- kill him, even.

He had the chip in his head; he couldn’t hurt humans, whether he had a soul or not.

He had not wanted to let them know how truly vulnerable he was -- but perhaps…perhaps it would simply be better to just…

“Um…Slayer,” he began, clearing his throat nervously as he turned toward her, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Buffy…”

She frowned when he said nothing else, though there was still no suspicion in her gaze as she pressed him, “What?”

“Er…there’s something I…I need to…”

“Buffy!”

The Slayer immediately turned her attention to the little redhead, who was walking toward the couch, an open notebook in her hands and a glimmer of excitement in her eyes -- and Spike’s heart sank as he realized what had happened, before she spoke.

“We’ve got it. It’s ready,” Willow announced, a note of glee in her voice.

“Oh, good!” Buffy sighed out the words in a shaky sound of relief, standing up from the sofa. She met Spike’s eyes in a happy smile as she said, “Well, if we’re gonna get that soul back in Angel, guess we’d better get you chained up and ready for the ritual…”

Spike glanced anxiously toward the door before forcing himself to return her smile, noticing with despair that the boy was standing directly in front of the door again, staring at him with hard suspicion in his eyes.

The exit was blocked.

The ritual was ready.

As he watched the Slayer picked up the chains in her hands and smiled expectantly up at him.

*Bugger,* he thought, swallowing hard. *That’s it. I’m dust.*

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

Across town in the mansion, Drusilla had gathered all of the ingredients the stars had told her to gather, and was preparing for a ritual of her own. Everything was arranged and ready, and she knew that her Daddy would not be back to stop her, not for hours yet.

And by the time he returned -- all would be right again.

As she lit the small pile of herbs in the center of the circle on the floor, carefully avoiding the small flame herself, Dru sat down and began to speak the Latin words of the spell she had discovered -- the spell that would return her Spike to her, return all to the way it was supposed to be.

“Restituo ut quis est absentis -- aufero ut quod prodigious adaugeo -- ut vires revusto ut suus fatum -- quod suus etenus carus…”

The flame in front of her shot up for a moment, and she jumped back with a startled squeal that became an exultant laugh, throwing her head back in triumph. All had gone as it was supposed to, and she knew, in the same way that she knew how to do the ritual at all, that it had worked. She had felt the magic surrounding her, knew that something was changing this night.

She returned her dark eyes to the flame, slowly consuming the herbs in its center.

When the flame finally died of its own accord -- all would be well again.

Drusilla stood in the center of the circle, her hands outstretched, her low, maniacal laugh echoing in the darkness of the room as the flame continued to burn in the circle. Had she been thinking rationally, Dru might have noticed that the flame seemed to be burning longer than it naturally should have. She might have noticed that when it should have long since burned out, it was still smoldering, flickering, burning the herbs in the center of the circle, but not consuming them as quickly as it should have.

But then, this was no natural fire.

And Drusilla rarely thought rationally.

She waited patiently, not minding the time it seemed to be taking -- because in the end, she was certain, this spell would bring her boy back to her. And as far as she was concerned, that was worth the wait.

But as the flame became to burn down, fading away, Drusilla’s mood shifted drastically -- as the stars she had listened to so trustingly, now revealed their deception. Her dark, mad eyes went wide with horror and despair, as she saw what was to come -- saw the error of her spell.

What Drusilla had not known was that there were forces at work far beyond her control or understanding, working to bring about not what she desired, but what was rather fated to be. Her spell had not been of her own making -- and she now knew, the results would not be exactly what she had supposed that they would be.

The spell would indeed lead Spike to his destiny, as the Latin words she had spoken had said…but…but that destiny was not with her.

A smoldering rage rose up in her eyes, as she reached out with her fists, smashing them into the dying flames, crushing out the remaining red glow of them too quickly for them to harm her -- smothering the fire before it could finish of its own accord, in a desperate last ditch effort to break the spell she had cast.

But the stars whispered a mockery in her ear -- it was too late.

It was already done.

A low wail rose from her lips, as she collapsed to the floor, sobbing bitterly against the cold stone, tearing at her hair -- mourning the loss of the childe that would never be hers again.

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

About twenty minutes earlier -- just as Dru had been beginning to perform her spell, in fact -- Spike felt his heart lurch within him as the Slayer stepped toward him, the heavy iron shackles in her hand, with no threat and a trusting smile on her face.

After all -- she believed he was willing to accept the chains she held, the chains she had just locked firmly around his right wrist...

“Wait!” he objected sharply, swallowing hard in an attempt to steady the desperate tremor he heard in his own voice, deliberately softening his tone as he repeated, “Wait…just…”

Buffy frowned. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Spike, you can trust us. We’re only doing this so that once you lose Angel’s soul you won’t go all postal on us, or run off or something. *Nobody’s* going to do anything to hurt you, I promise.”

She held his gaze firmly, and he could see the sincerity there, as she spoke. In spite of his situation, he found that he couldn’t help a slight smile as she glanced pointedly toward her vampire-hating friend Xander as she said the word “nobody”. He knew -- and found it strangely warming -- that she really meant her words, and had no intention of allowing any harm to come to him.

But he knew that her intentions would change drastically when she discovered the truth.

“I know,” he nodded, his mind racing in the attempt to come up with some way out of this. “I know -- just -- let me do it -- all right? Let me put the chains on myself?”

Buffy’s frown deepened for a moment, but it was with concern rather than suspicion. The softening of compassion he saw in her eyes, as she misread the reasons behind his request, intensified his own queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling he would have labeled “guilt”, had he not been incapable of guilt.

At least -- he was supposed to be.

“Sure, Spike,” Buffy agreed easily, nodding and holding his gaze despite the mingled protests of her Watcher and her friends. “That’s fine.” She held out her hand, offering the shackles to him.

He took them, feeling a possibly premature feeling of relief at this stroke of good fortune -- and hoping against hope that she would not feel the need to check the chains once he had “fastened” them.

As for her friends, he knew that none of them would dare venture that physically near to him, soul or no soul, now that he was physically stronger than he had been when he had come here. As he sat back down on the sofa and made a show of closing the shackles around his ankles -- though subtly leaving the locks not quite all the way closed -- he was aware that the only one who might discover his ruse of the moment was the Slayer.

And she did not seem inclined to double check his work.

As he carefully chained his left wrist as well, making it appear as if he had locked the tiny padlocks on the latches, while leaving them just barely open, Spike desperately tried to formulate some sort of a plan. Hopefully, the lot of them would be distracted once the magical fireworks started -- and he would be able to make a break for the door.

“Okay, so how does this spell work exactly?” Buffy asked, curiosity in her voice, without a trace of nervousness.

After all -- she had nothing to worry about, did she? This little ritual was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

Her boyfriend back -- and a good relaxing slay.

“Well, it’s actually not just one spell,” Willow explained. “It’s more like 2 -- or 4, even. The first part is a locator to verify where Angel’s soul is -- that it’s really in Spike. Then, the second part is to put it back in Angel. And then, the other two parts are just the same -- only -- with *Spike’s* soul, not Angel’s…”

Buffy nodded, as the shy, awkward little redhead explained the procedure for the spell, and what everyone would have to do. Jenny Calendar was going to be the one actually performing the spell, and Willow herself would be meditating, opening her mind to the answers that would hopefully come to her mind as a result. Though the others would not be actively participating, they would still need to be on hand to be sure everything stayed in order while it was going on.

Mostly, Willow told them, they just needed to stay out of the way, and be sure everyone else did, too.

Spike watched with swiftly increasing anxiety as the little redhead and the gypsy teacher set up what they needed to perform the ritual. When all was ready, the teacher took her position in the center of one of the two magic circles they had formed, and prepared to say the words of the first spell; Willow quietly sat cross-legged in the middle of the other, her eyes closed, apparently attempting to focus her thoughts.

Almost without even realizing he was doing it, Spike rose to his feet, glancing toward the door. He had to wait -- had to be patient -- wait until they were all distracted, and then…

Suddenly, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, shoving him down onto the couch again, and glanced up indignantly to see the Slayer’s young male friend standing beside the sofa, a mean smile on his lips.

“Relax,” he advised with a cool, falsely friendly tone of voice. “Just have a seat, Spike. No reason to get jumpy, is there?” The slight edge to the boy’s voice told the vampire that he had not completely bought his story, and planned to do everything in his power to keep him from getting away, should he make an attempt.

And at the moment, “everything in his power” was actually quite a bit, considering that Spike couldn’t fight back.

*But that’s not exactly true, is it, mate?* Spike reminded himself grimly, giving the boy a nasty, very obviously fake grin that became menacing as he momentarily shifted to his game face. *You *can* fight -- it just hurts like bloody hell.*

“Hey!” the boy yelped in fright, staggering back a step or two, although Spike’s face was already back to human again. “He just -- Buffy -- he…”

The Slayer turned to look at them with an irritated frown, taking in the shaken boy, pointing and babbling as he looked wildly between her and Spike, and the vampire who was seated and shackled on the couch, looking up at her with a wide-eyed, innocent, bewildered expression, as if he had absolutely no idea why Xander was reacting the way he had.

“Xander,” Buffy sighed, annoyance in her voice, “we’re trying to do serious magic here. It might help if you tried not to be distracting.”

“But…but…”

“Xander!” Giles snapped, cutting off any further protests as he gave the boy a severe look. “This is quite serious. If you can’t be quiet, perhaps you should go find something else to do until we are finished.”

“Fine,” Xander muttered, a bit resentfully, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he casually half sat, half leaned on the arm of the sofa, uncomfortably close to where Spike sat. “Okay…I’m fine…” He paused, glancing disgustedly at the vampire, before adding, “…I’ve *got* something to do…”

Spike felt his heart sink even further with the knowledge that despite his half-successful scare tactics, the boy was still determined to keep a close eye on him throughout the ritual -- which would make it much harder to try to get away.

But not impossible, he reminded himself darkly.

And he just might have to suffer the pain of the chip, in order to avoid a staking.

Once the ritual was ready, time seemed to move very quickly, rushing Spike on toward the moment of truth -- in more ways than one. Within moments, the teacher was chanting, every word bringing them all closer to the revelation of his lie. The only small mercy seemed to be that while she was chanting, the focus of everyone in the room seemed to be locked onto her.

Everyone, perhaps, except for Xander.

As Jenny reached the end of her part of the spell, a swirling white light began to circle slowly around her, then moving faster and faster, shimmering in the air surrounding her like a golden, sparkling tornado, and the teacher’s head flew back, her breath coming harder and faster, her eyes closed, lost in the power that was surrounding her.

All at once, still tornado-like, the golden light lifted up off of her, moving through the air to hover over Willow’s head. As it descended onto her, Spike felt a cold knot of dread in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly *knew* that this was it. In a moment, the truth would come to light -- and he would have to fight, and flee -- or die.

He rose to his feet, forcefully shaking the boy’s hand off his shoulder as Xander reached out to grasp it.

Before anyone could do anything more, Willow’s eyes suddenly shot open, shimmering with the same light that now surrounded her, and she stared at Spike with a sort of shock, as all at once, the light completely disappeared, and the atmosphere in the room instantly returned to normal.

Willow shook her head slowly, and Spike was strangely troubled to see a look of disgust in her eyes now, to match her friend’s.

“What is it, Willow?” Buffy asked, frowning with worry, not aware of what exactly was wrong, but quickly picking up on the change in her friend’s mood. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing there,” Willow whispered, her eyes locked onto Spike’s in accusation. “He’s -- empty.”

“Empty?” Buffy echoed in a whisper, turning wide, questioning eyes on Spike.

He felt the boy, now standing almost behind him, grab his arms as if to hold him back, and then heard Xander’s scathing voice from the side and behind him, clarifying bluntly for the still clueless Slayer.

“Empty,” he repeated. “I think it’s safe to translate that as ‘soulless’, Buffy. He’s empty because he has no soul. He’s lying.”

Buffy actually flinched at those words -- and so did Spike, when her wide, disbelieving eyes locked onto his in confusion and betrayal. “Spike?” she asked, taking a slow step toward him. “What’s going on here?”

Spike literally watched it as the hurt, the betrayal in her eyes slowly morphed into anger and menace. “Buffy -- I was -- I was going to…”

“Xander‘s right,” Willow interrupted him, a hard note to her voice. “He lied. He doesn‘t have Angel‘s soul. Angel‘s soul is just loose -- floating around out there in the ether. It‘s not ‘in’ anyone. Spike lied -- probably just to keep us from staking him.”

“Yeah -- like you wouldn‘t have if I hadn’t!” Spike protested, aware that his tone was confrontational now, but unable to help the defensive air that came over him at the open accusation and hostility he was now sensing from nearly everyone in the room. “Yeah, I lied, okay? It’s called *survival*. It’s not like I had a bloody…”

“You lied to us,” the Slayer suddenly cut him off, shaking her head -- and his heart sank as the inevitable look of revulsion came into her eyes as well, as the shock of the truth gradually wore off for her. “You -- you disgusting…evil…*thing*.”

And then -- her stake was in her hand, as she began to move toward him.

And he knew that his time was up.

With a single quick movement, he shook the shackles free of his ankles, jerking his wrist free as well. The boy behind him tightened his grip on his arms -- to his credit, actually, now that as far as he knew, there was nothing to keep the vampire from attacking him.

As far as he knew.

Spike drew in a deep breath, preparing himself for what he knew he had to do. There was no time left for explanations, for attempts at smoothing things over, or even explaining the truth and hoping for mercy. After his lie about the soul, there was no way they would believe him if he told them about the chip now.

He steeled himself for the pain, knowing that he would have to move quickly in spite of it, because after his initial action, he would not be able to take the time to recover before acting again. In a swift flexing motion he shook the boys hands off of him again, swinging the chain that was still attached to one wrist in a wide, sharp arc that caught the boy across the face, knocking him backward -- and barely conscious -- onto the couch.

Through the explosion of pain behind his temples, he vaguely heard the various cries of outrage from the others as he staggered toward the door, but he fought through the nearly blinding agony, focusing only on the door, and his last chance of freedom.

It was the Slayer’s concern for her friend that saved Spike for the moment.

Rather than chasing after him, she rushed to Xander’s side, her eyes wide with alarm as she reached down to support his lolling head with her hand, clearly dismayed by the bloody gash that the loose shackle had left in his forehead.

As for the others, they had not had time to register Spike’s clear disadvantage, and none of them was really willing to chase after a soulless -- and therefore dangerous -- master vampire on their own.

Spike didn’t stop moving just because he did not hear the sounds of pursuit behind him. He kept on going, though his pace was sluggish and balanceless through the pain that still scorched the inside of his skull. He had gone several blocks when his weakened, battered body finally decided that the further punishment of the chip was simply too much to bear, and his knees gave out under him in the middle of the sidewalk.

Spike barely managed to drag himself into the mouth of the alley to his right, before the pain overtook him, and drove him into unconsciousness -- just as across town, in the mansion where Dru was performing her ill-fated spell…her maddened fists drove the last of the flames to ash.

A/N: I know, you're all waiting to see the results of Dru's spell...more will be revealed next chapter, I promise :) It's a bit complicated, a bit of a *major* twist in the story, and probably very unexpected (I hope) and I'm sorry to put off the reveal even longer, but this chapter sort of took over, and wrote itself :P and the answers will have to wait....thanx for your patience and your kind feedback and support, it's so very much appreciate :)
*hugs*
DoS



Angelus was already having a bad night when it happened.

He had been by the Slayer’s house -- twice -- with no luck. Next, he had made his way in turn to each of her friends’ homes, none of which he could actually enter now unfortunately, still without seeing any sign of her. Finally, he had made his way to her Watcher’s apartment, and though he had seen no sign of her, the lights had all been on, and he could hear the sound of several voices inside.

She was there -- they all were -- but untouchable for the moment.

He had been headed back to the mansion, frustrated by the failure of his intentions to try another attack on Buffy, or at least one of her little friends, when he had felt it.

A strange sensation deep within him, like a wary sense of foreboding, followed by the unmistakable feeling that something monumental, something drastic, had occurred in the fabric of his bloodline -- something that would work a permanent change in his unlife, and those of his family as well.

He took off at a run for the mansion, determined to find Dru and find out what had happened.

On the floor of the bedroom where Spike had been until just recently, he found her. She was sobbing uncontrollably, utterly distraught and not even aware of him as he rushed to her side. His eyes widened with dismay as he saw the remnants of her spell, burned to ashes on the floor, and suddenly knew that her tears, her sobs, were the result of more than just another mad fit of hers.

She had seen something -- something terrible.

“Dru!” he said harshly, crouching beside her and grabbing her shoulders roughly, pulling her up in an attempt to force her to face him. “Dru, look at me!”

“Should’ve known,” she wailed softly, her head turned away, her eyes closed. “Greedy girl, I’m a greedy girl -- greedy girls shall have no cakes -- greedy girls shall have no gifts. I’ve been a bad, greedy girl, and she’s come to punish me…”

“Dru!” Angelus snapped, too upset to even try to make sense of her nonsensical words. “Dru, talk to me! *Dru*!”

“Nothing to say -- only confusion -- such terrible confusion -- it’s all out of order, all wrong, all mixed up…I wanted them all to myself,” she moaned, shaking her head in despair, still not looking to him. “Thought I’d keep both my boy and my daddy all to myself -- but I’m a greedy girl, and she’ll take them all away…I shan’t have any now, I’ve been such a bad girl…”

“*Dru*!” Angelus punctuated the harsh near-shout with a hard slap across her face, and she looked up at him as if just realizing he was there, her dark eyes wide and mad and despairing. “Dru…” he went on, softer, “…what have you done?”

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

“Xander!” Buffy cried out, rushing to her friend’s side, momentarily heedless of the fact that Spike was escaping out the front door. “My God, Xander, are you okay?”

Her friend was dazed from the blow he had taken to the head, mumbling incoherently as his head lolled limply to the side.

“Giles!” Buffy’s voice trembled with fearful concern, her eyes wide as she turned them up imploringly toward her Watcher. “What should I do?”

“Well -- first of all -- help him lie down,” the older gentleman advised in a terse tone that spoke of his own concern, as he moved forward to help Buffy lay the boy’s legs out on the sofa. Moving in close to inspect the wound, Giles frowned before nodding with satisfaction and declaring, “It’s only a surface wound, doesn’t seem to have done any real damage. Give him a few minutes to come around, and he should be fine…”

As if to prove his words true, after just a minute or so, Xander opened his eyes and looked up at them, apparently a bit confused, but his eyes open and alert as he glanced around at his friends all hovering around him anxiously.

“What happened?” he asked groggily, and then, before anyone could get the words out, “Wait -- oh, yeah -- Spike…”

“Spike,” Giles echoed, as if just remembering that the blond vampire had been there at all.

The Slayer’s eyes narrowed as she stood up straight. “Spike,” she repeated, loading the single word with deadly intent. “He can’t have gotten far, he was still in pretty rough shape.” Turning toward Willow and Jenny, who were standing by the sofa, she instructed almost as an afterthought, “Since you’ve already located Angel’s soul, go ahead and start on the restoration ritual. The last thing I need is to run into Angelus out there, so let’s get him back to normal first thing, okay?”

Willow nodded, her eyes wide and serious, as she and the teacher headed back toward Giles’ stock of magical supplies, preparing to do the ritual in question.

“Buffy, wait! I’ll go with you!”

As the Slayer finally headed out the door, a mostly recovered Xander sat up quickly -- and then discovered that he was not quite as recovered as he thought he was, as he struggled to regain his sense of balance, and nearly collapsed again. The Slayer turned in the doorway to give her friend a grim look of sympathy.

“You should stay here, Xand. You’re not too steady on your feet, and I’m just gonna dust the stupid vamp anyway…” No one seemed to notice her slight wince as she said the words -- a subtle betrayal of her disappointment at having to do so.

“Yeah,” Xander nodded firmly, for his part not disappointed at all -- or even surprised, for that matter. Rising to his feet, he braced himself on the sofa for a moment before steadying himself and standing up straighter, his jaw set with vindictive determination. “And I wanna be there.”

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

Spike awakened mere minutes after losing consciousness to the pain of his chip, which had mostly faded now, leaving only a dull ache with the aftershocks of the electric current that had coursed brutally through his skull. He looked around himself for a few moments, as he remembered where he was and how he had gotten there -- and hurriedly pulled himself to his feet, bracing himself on the wall beside him for purchase.

The Slayer.

She would be on her way to find him right now.

His legs were trembling with fatigue, and the remnants of his pain, as he began to make his way as quickly as possible down the alley he had entered. He knew he had not been moving all that fast before, and he couldn’t have made it very far from the Slayer’s house before he had passed out.

It was amazing to him that she had not caught up with him yet.

As he neared the end of the alley, however, he slowed to a stop, realizing with dismay that it was a dead end. There was no way out from that end, and he would have no choice but to go back. But he just stood there for a few moments, his head lowered with defeat and uncertainty, swallowing back a sob that rose in his throat with a single thought, a question for which he had no answer.

Where would he go?

Dru was at the mansion, happy with her “daddy”, quite likely unaware that he was even gone. If he went back there, all that awaited him was the emotional torment of watching Dru fawning over Angelus, and whatever physical torment Angelus might decide to unleash upon him, as he was still nowhere near strong enough to defend himself against the older vampire.

*Well, wherever you’re gonna go,* he reminded himself with grim resignation, as he started to turn around and go back the way he had come, *bloody well can’t be here.*

He had to get moving, had to put as much distance as possible between himself and…

…the Slayer.

She was standing in the mouth of the alley, arms crossed over her chest, a stake gripped loosely in her right hand -- a coldly triumphant smile on her lips.

And he had nowhere to go.

As she stalked toward him, he found himself fighting off the useless urge to back away. After all, it wasn’t as if he could actually escape her at this point, and the least he could do was face his death with pride, like a man.

*At least it’s the Slayer doin’ you in, and not that soddin’ pouf Angelus…*

“You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easy, did you, Spike?” the Slayer taunted him as she casually approached him, taking her time. After all -- she had to know she already had this one won.

He shrugged, meeting her gaze boldly, defiantly, his fists balled at his sides in preparation for a fight that he knew he could not win -- not when he had at best a single strike before the chip in his head took him down.

“Bloke’s gotta try, Slayer.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t have hit my friend,” she informed him matter-of-factly, finally uncrossing her arms as she drew within a few yards of him. “All that did was make me want to make it hurt more.”

Spike nearly flinched, not out of fear of her stake, or because he was cowed by her threats, but simply because of the hard, bitter note to her voice that had not been there mere minutes earlier. Before his lie had been revealed to her, he had heard compassion, kindness, sympathy there; but now, he could hear the hard shield she had put up in the wake of the betrayal she felt at his deception.

*It’s her own bloody fault,* he insisted to himself defensively. *She shouldn’t feel betrayed by me -- I’m her soddin’ mortal enemy! It’s sort of my job description to lie to her, trick her, and generally do whatever I can to make her *die*, so what’d the stupid bint expect, anyway?*

But he *knew* what she had expected -- and that was what was bothering him, even now, when his life was likely about to end at the point of her stake.

She had expected more than that from him.

And suddenly, he had to try to make her understand.

“ ‘S not like I had much of a choice, Slayer,” he pointed out, his voice quiet and steady, his eyes focused on the stake in her hand as she edged closer to him, always keeping herself between him and the only way of escape. “You lot would have staked me if I hadn’t. In fact, you would have staked me the second you had your bloody information, if I hadn’t made you think I had a soul -- given you a reason not to…”

Buffy was silent, and though Spike got the impression that she had taken those words in, and found no response for them, she still moved in closer, her jaw set stubbornly as she raised her stake toward him.

“Yeah, I don’t have a soul,” he objected, his voice rising slightly with his nerves as he watched that deadly stake move nearer to him, feinted toward the other end of the alley, and then tried to dart past her on the other side. But his attempt was useless, as he succeeded only in being grabbed by her and slammed forcefully into the wall at the end of the alley, her stake pressed firmly against his chest through the thin fabric of the shirt the Watcher had given him. “But I still didn’t try anything -- didn’t try to bite any of you, or hurt any of you, until you were about to stake me! I didn’t do anything but defend myself!”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, her head tilting slightly as she realized that he was telling the truth. “Yeah,” she remarked, “and why is that, Spike? What were you after? Why’d you play your little game to begin with?”

“It wasn’t a game, Slayer,” Spike insisted, shaking his head, holding her gaze intently, willing her to see the truth in his eyes. “Take a soddin’ look at me, love. I’m half-starved, just now healing up from a bout of torture -- do I look like I could do any bloody damage?” He was silent for a moment, when she did not respond, before going on, “It was all about survival, love. You’re the one that brought me to your Watcher’s; all I was trying to do was leave the bloody house alive.”

Buffy swallowed hard, and Spike could see her resolve faltering.

Perhaps -- perhaps if he told her now about the chip, and she realized that there was nothing he could do to defend himself -- perhaps she would relent, and not stake him…

“Slayer,” he began quietly, “there’s more. You wanna know who did the honors with the torture session?”

She nodded silently, her expression thoughtful and troubled as she lowered the stake, but did not release her firm grip on his collar, did not back off at all.

“Military blokes…well, it’s a woman in charge…but there’s some sort of operation going on here in Sunnyhell. They’re taking demons and experimenting on ‘em -- and this,” he gestured down to his barely healed torso, “was their idea of research.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back, releasing him. “What?” she asked in disbelief. “Military, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Uniforms, semi-automatic weapons, the whole bit.”

Buffy frowned, considering the implications of this new revelation on the situation at hand.

“I -- I may not have a soul,” Spike went on quietly, his eyes locked onto hers, watching closely to gauge her reaction. “But I can’t hurt humans, Slayer.”

She looked back at him sharply, a question in her frowning eyes.

“They -- they did something to me. Put some kind of chip in my head -- and I can’t hurt humans. Can’t fight back, defend myself even. I try -- and there’s this searing pain in my head -- electricity, I’d wager,” Spike explained, keeping his voice even and level, hoping against hope that she would believe it, after the lies he’d already told.

She stared at him blankly for a long moment, before moving slowly toward him again, and he tensed at her approach, expecting an attack.

He was not wrong.

She drew back her powerful fist and struck him hard in the face, knocking his head back into the wall; and he snarled at her instinctively, drawing back his own fist to strike -- but instantly stopped by the pain in his head. His snarl became a whimper, and he nearly lost his footing, his hands falling to grip the wall behind him for purchase lest he should collapse to the ground.

She watched him closely for a moment, frowning uncertainly. She waited patiently while he recovered, breathing hard, steadying himself, and finally looking up to meet her eyes again.

“What if this is just another trick, Spike?” she asked him flatly. “Another lie? What if all you’re doing is just trying to keep me from staking you by making up a story and faking a headache?”

Spike held her gaze, though he wanted to look away, as he stated in a low, certain voice, his eyes silently imploring her to believe him. “I’m not, Slayer. I swear I’m not. I can‘t hurt a human -- can‘t even fight back.”

“Oh, yeah?” a male voice spoke suddenly from the other end of the alley, and Spike looked up to see the Slayer’s male friend, the one he had hit with the chain, approaching, a spiteful smile on his face, and a lethal looking black baton in his hand -- probably nicked from the Watcher’s trove of weapons. “Let’s test that out.”

Spike felt his heart sink at the turn the situation was taking, aware that while the boy was only human, he could probably do a fair bit of damage with the heavy weapon in his hand. He looked up to the Slayer from where he was leaning against the wall, hoping that she would prevent it -- but her expression was calm, closed, revealing nothing of her emotions.

Spike realized with a sinking feeling of regret -- she had taken his side without evidence for the last time.

And that was what she was seeking now -- evidence.

Holding his gaze pointedly, no leniency or pity in her eyes, the Slayer took a single, deliberate step back, allowing the boy through, and at the same time blocking any escape route.

“Yeah,” she stated softly, with a barely perceptible nod. “Let’s test that out.”

Spike steeled himself for the inevitable attack, preparing himself to fight, though he knew he would lose, as the boy approached him, apparently all too eager to pay him back with interest for the single blow he had taken himself. The Slayer blocked the entrance to the alley, knowing that he could not get past her, so she made no move to stop him as he circled slowly with the boy, hoping that he could manage to outmaneuver him, if he could not actually fight him.

A single feint with the baton toward his damaged stomach had Spike instinctively ducking backward, however, and the boy swung the weapon around and brought it down hard across the vampire’s back, driving him to his knees. As Xander stood over him and raised the weapon to strike again, Spike reached out an arm to sweep the boy’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, dropping the baton.

He just barely managed to grab the thing and hurl it several yards behind him before the pain from the chip kicked in, and dropped him to the ground. He was vaguely aware as the boy staggered to his feet, cursing and clearly seething with rage, stepping over the fallen vampire to reclaim his weapon.

Only vaguely aware, because even as the pain of the chip faded away, a new sensation began to come over Spike’s body and mind -- a strange tingling, floating sensation, as a flood of thoughts, feelings, and memories of things past, present, and yet to come flooded his mind, his body, his entire being.

It was sensory overload, to the extreme.

He was again only vaguely aware, as he heard the Slayer become aware that something strange was happening to him, reaching out a hand to stay her friend’s arm, crying out in alarm, “Xander, *stop*! Something’s -- something’s not right…”

And as the sensations surrounding him became more clear to him, and Spike became more aware of what was actually happening to him, he realized that she was absolutely correct in her assessment.

Something was very definitely not right.

After the flashing colored lights and spooky speaking of Romanian by Willow were over, an awkward, nervous silence fell over the small group still gathered in Giles’ apartment, in the wake of the restoration spell the little redhead had just performed. Willow looked between Jenny and Giles self-consciously, a question in her wide green eyes, before finally settling her gaze on the Watcher, searching and uncertain.

“Did it work? Do you think it worked?” she asked anxiously.

“Well – there’s no way to be certain, Willow, until we located Angel – or Angelus, though I rather hope that’s not the case – and find out for sure. But I would assume, based on the events we’ve just seen, that it most probably did work,” Giles tried to reassure her, in a rambling, non-committal sort of way that just made her feel more nervous and uncertain.

“Well – should we try to find him?” Jenny suggested, shrugging slightly. “I mean – I don’t know about you guys, but I’d really like to know as soon as possible…”

“That’s hardly wise, Jenny,” Giles advised her with a reproving frown. “If by any chance the spell *did* fail, then it would be utter foolishness to seek out Angelus without the protection of the Slayer.”

“Okay,” Willow said, nodding nervously. “So we wait for Buffy.”

The older two were quiet, nodding their agreement, into silence that had fallen again.

After just a moment, Willow added, “Okay. I’m tired of waiting. Wanna go find Buffy?”

The Watcher and the teacher exchanged a look, before nodding with relief, murmuring their agreement, and the three of them headed eagerly toward the door.

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

“Xander, stop! Something’s – something’s not right!”

Buffy quickly reached out a hand to stay her friend’s arm, her eyes widening in alarm as she looked at the trembling, keening form of the vampire on the ground, surrounded by a swirling vortex of colored, glittering light that seemed to be doing something to him.

And that something that was apparently painful, judging by the sharp cry she heard against the wind, rising from the vampire’s throat as he suddenly threw back his head, his eyes glowing golden, and then white, before finally fading back to normal, as the shimmering vortex and the wind accompanying it suddenly died away.

The Slayer and her friend were quiet, watching warily, as the vampire continued to tremble and whimper softly on the ground.

After a moment, Xander asked flatly, “Okay – it’s over. Can I hit him again now?”

“Xander!” Buffy gave him a sharp look of disapproval, swallowing back the sick feeling she felt in the back of her throat, at the thought of the extreme violence the boy had already inflicted on the helpless vampire.

Because she *was* convinced now that Spike *was* helpless.

She had seen the agony in his face when Xander had fallen to the ground, seen the complete synchronization of the human boy’s painful impact with the alley floor, and the vampire’s reaction of pain. She knew how Spike fought, and she knew that had he been able to, he would have inflicted much more pain than he had on her friend.

So Spike’s story about the military, the chip they had put in his head to keep him from harming humans, was true – which meant that Buffy had a whole new problem on her hands with figuring out who exactly they were, what they were up to, and how much they knew.

Not to mention whatever strange magic had just taken place right before her eyes.

“Aw, Buffy,” Xander griped half-heartedly, lowering the baton. “It’s just Spike…”

“Yeah,” Buffy informed him, “and he can’t fight back. He’s harmless.”

“Huh,” Xander remarked flatly, sounding unimpressed. “That’s not exactly the impression I got when he cracked my head open with that cuff.”

Buffy watched warily as Spike rose on shaky legs, his hands held to his head as if it was still in considerable pain, her words directed to her friend, but her eyes focused on the vampire. “I’ll explain when we get back to the house. But right now – we need to figure out what just happened here.”

Spike was looking up at them now, blinking in confusion, a strange expression of disbelief and suspicion on his face.

“Spike?” Buffy asked, taking a cautious step toward him, one hand outstretched in a non-threatening, steadying gesture. “Do you know what happened?”

He stared at her, his eyes widening with alarm, darting around the alley, past her, at her, at Xander – and suddenly, Buffy knew that he was looking for a way to bolt. He still seemed very confused from whatever had just happened, and Buffy did not really think he was dangerous at this point, but she had been the Slayer on the Hellmouth long enough to know that she could not let him get away, harmless or not, without finding out what sort of magical occurrence had just taken place, and what exactly it had done to him.

“Spike,” she said, her voice soft and calm, as she took another step toward him, “easy – it’s all right. I believe you, about the chip. I’m not going to hurt you. Just – stay calm…”

He took a backward step away from her, shaking his head as if in denial – though of what, Buffy had no idea. Still, his back was to the back wall of the alley, and between her and Xander, he was still boxed in. She kept moving slowly, steadily toward him, until she reached him, gently but firmly taking his arms in her hands, holding his gaze with an intent, searching look.

“Spike?” she said uncertainly, a question in her tone, in her eyes, as she held him firmly, but not too tightly. She knew that he could not hurt her, and she had no desire to hurt him unless she had to do so. “What’s going on?”

Spike still looked dazed, unsure, and he was staring slightly past her, rather than meeting her eyes directly. As she watched, a light of understanding began to gradually dawn on his face, and his eyes widened with astonishment, as he raised a hand slowly toward his head, his eyes finally finding hers. Then, just as gradually, his gaze darkened, his eyes widening with a sort of horror, and then narrowing again with suspicion.

With a sudden violent shove, he threw the unprepared Slayer off him, knocking her backward into the wall to his left, knocking the wind from her and sending her collapsing momentarily to the ground.

“Hey!” Xander cried out indignantly, raising the baton in his hand and heading toward the vampire, determined to cut off his escape. “I don’t think you, Fangboy!”

With a snarl, Spike twisted the baton from Xander’s grasp, hard enough that the boy drew his wrenched wrist back with a hiss of pain, as the vampire hurled it again, this time hard enough to send it flying over the building behind them. Then he shoved the boy out of his way and took off toward the mouth of the alley.

As Buffy got back to her feet, Xander gave her a look of disgust that was not really aimed at her. “Can’t hurt anybody – harmless, huh?”

Buffy did not respond, her mouth forming a grim line as she took off after the fleeing blond, who was already out of sight.

“Buffy!” she heard her Watcher call as she turned the corner. “Buffy, what happened?”

Giles, Jenny, and Willow had arrived at the alley just in time to see Spike fleeing around the corner, apparently well and healthy and much stronger than he had been when Buffy had brought him to Giles’ apartment – in fact, much stronger than he should have been, even considering the dose of Slayer’s blood he had had to speed his healing.

“Giles!” Xander’s voice from the alley drew the Watcher’s attention, and he headed swiftly toward the boy, who was cradling his right hand as he jogged slowly toward the others. “Spike pulled some kind of mojo, I don’t know – he’s all back in fighting shape, apparently – and on the loose.”

Giles frowned with dismay as he turned his eyes in the direction his Slayer had just vanished, sighing with resignation. “Well, there’s no way we’ll be able to catch up with her – and with Angelus still possibly on the loose, I suppose the best thing we can do is to go back to the apartment and wait there for Buffy to return.”

Willow’s eyes widened with alarm. “But what if Spike…?”

“Spike is a single vampire, just like hundreds that Buffy has slain already. Buffy can take care of Spike on her own. But she would be devastated if she caught him, killed him, and returned to find that Angelus had taken advantage of her absence in order to harm any of us,” Giles pointed out, a severe note to his voice. “Let’s go back. Buffy will be just fine.”

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

The blond vampire ran for all he was worth, knowing that the Slayer would be right behind him. He had to get away – couldn’t bear the thought of facing her right now, not after what had happened tonight…

Not after what he now knew…

He was in the middle of downtown Sunnydale by now, and found himself standing in front of an old abandoned warehouse. Glancing furtively behind him, and seeing no sign of the Slayer, he broke a window and slipped quietly inside, making his way through several doors, into a deeper part of the building, where he sat down in a corner of the room, his shaking knees pulled up against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them, his head resting on his knees.

But it was not fear of the Slayer that had him huddled in this dark, quiet hiding place.

Three profound, life-changing events had happened to Spike in the moments when Drusilla’s spell had taken effect, though Spike had no way of knowing yet that that was what had occurred.

The blinding pain of the chip-induced headache had intensified by a hundred times, until Spike had been sure that it was going to dust him. He was going to die, right then, he knew it – but then, the pain passed, and he knew something else, just as surely.

The chip was gone.

But he had barely had time to register that monumental stroke of good fortune, when something else had occurred immediately afterward. The burning, glimmering vortex of light had surrounded him, as the Slayer and her friend had seen, and he had felt intense changes taking place in the deepest parts of his being – emotions, sensations that had been lost to him for over a century, flooding back and filling him with a feeling he had all but forgotten.

Guilt.

Though he had not had time yet to comprehend what it might mean to him, he knew what had happened.

His soul had been returned.

And then, the third event had taken place, so swiftly, so intensely, that it had left him breathless on his knees on the ground, overwhelmed with several lifetimes worth of knowledge and emotions in the space of just a few moments, as he had seen thing that were yet to come – for himself, for Dru and Angelus, for the Slayer and her mates – for all of them.

And it had been terrible.

He had seen it with such a frightening, vivid, shocking clarity – as if he had not only seen what would be, but had actually lived it, actually been there, felt the emotions, experienced the events – all in the space of a few moments in time.

And when he had come back to his senses, all Spike had known was that he had to get away.

He could not stand there facing the Slayer, knowing the things she would do, the things that would be done to her, the horrible end that she would one day meet. He could not stand there and look at her and know those things.

Not when he also knew how he would one day feel about her.

It almost seemed as if he already felt that way. But – how was it possible? It was overwhelming, devastating, more than it was possible for him to take in all at once – and amidst the confusion of all that had happened to him in the past few minutes, one question stood out above all the others, fathomless and unbelievable to him, though he could feel the truth of it.

How could he possibly have come to *love* his mortal enemy?

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

Across town, a short time earlier, in the mansion where Dru now slept peacefully, her sire watched over her, contemplating his options, wondering restlessly exactly what it was that she had done, and what she had seen in the future as a result.

Then – Willow’s restoration spell took effect.

It was worse than the first time.

All the crimes he had committed came flooding back to his memory as if he had never known them before, overwhelming him with the guilt, the regret that came with them. The few lives he had taken since losing his soul this time, weighed on him with an overwhelming sense of sorrow and shame, and he wondered if he would ever be able to redeem himself again in the eyes of the Slayer he loved.

Except – something was not quite right about that thought…he felt…different, than he had before…

Did he even still love Buffy at all?

He looked at the dark vampiress on the bed…and had to wonder.

He thought back over the last few weeks, the things he had done, the freedom from the guilt and pain that now weighed him down – and a new sort of regret stole over him. He felt hot tears stinging the backs of his eyes, with the realization that once again, he would feel the burden of his wrongs, the burden of atoning for them, after just a brief taste of freedom that he had experienced during the past few days.

They had given Angel back his soul.

But he wasn’t sure that he wanted it anymore.

Angel’s initial recovery from the shock of being re-ensouled took much less time than it had the first time around -- possibly because he had been through it all before, and knew what to expect…or possibly because he knew that he could set about the work of atoning for his crimes again, something he had not known the first time around.

Or possibly because a large part of him just didn’t care anymore.

Oh, there was a rather considerable amount of guilt over the crimes he had committed during his time without his soul, as well as those centuries old, that had been temporarily forgotten in his soulless state -- but the guilt Angel felt was overwhelmed by another feeling, much stronger.

Loss.

Strange, that after such an important part of himself had just been returned to him, the strongest feeling he had was that of loss.

He found himself longing for the freedom he had felt during that time, the liberty he had had to revel in simply being what he was, to savor the bloodshed, the mayhem he had created as the pleasure that his kind was meant to take in it. The soul was not meant to be a part of a vampire’s make-up -- he could see that clearly now. Before losing it again, he had thought of it as a gift. A painful gift full of suffering, but a gift just the same, that allowed him to atone for his crimes, to somehow find redemption.

But now -- redemption didn’t seem like such a valuable thing to him.

And he just desperately wished that he could give this painful gift back.

He rose from his kneeling position on the floor, his body feeling strangely heavy, his heart feeling numb. Some part of his mind told him that he should go and find Buffy, should let her know that the danger had passed, and he was back to normal; but there were many reasons why he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

For one thing, he wasn’t sure how to face her, after the things he had done these past few days -- the way he had talked to her that morning, after they had spent the night together and she had freed him from the bondage of his soul.

For another, he wasn’t quite sure that once he found out who was responsible for shoving that soul back into him, he would be able to keep himself from ripping their throats out in a vindictive fury, soul or no soul.

As he stood up, he glanced dully around the room again, his dark eyes falling on the vampiress now sleeping on the bed. He frowned, wondering what he should do about her. He found that after the past few days, he felt more affection for her than he had before -- and yet, he knew that to show it would be a dangerous thing, something that Buffy and the others would not understand.

Perhaps if Dru could be kept under control somehow, he might be able to convince them to at least spare her life…

Gently, so as not to wake her, he scooped her up into his arms and started across the hall. But despite his efforts, her shallow, dreamless sleep was interrupted, and when he reached the bed they had shared, he found that she was smiling up at him wistfully.

“My daddy’s not all gone away, is he?” she whispered, her smile widening slightly as he laid her down on the bed.

He ignored her words, looking past her rather than meeting her dark gaze.

“He might just win the game yet,” Dru went on, a low dark giggle rising in her throat.

“Shut up, Dru.”

Angel muttered the words without any real threat, any real fire, just a heavy sort of weariness, as he gently took her wrist and shackled it to the headboard with a chain that had only been used for their little games before, but that he knew was strong enough to hold her. Dru’s giggle grew louder in anticipation as he repeated the procedure on her other wrist, and he knew that she was expecting something much different than what he had planned.

When he stood up straight again, leaving her bound to the bed, the giggle turned into a petulant whine, as Dru whimpered, “But Daddy -- I’m sorry I’ve been such a very good girl -- I’ll do better, I promise, Daddy -- please…”

But Angel did not even look back as he stalked out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the night -- headed toward the Watcher’s house, where he had last seen Buffy.

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

Spike was still huddled in the corner of the dark warehouse, his weary, muddled mind trying to make sense of all the mingled images coursing through it, past memories and future events not yet happened, intertwining and echoing into a barely distinguishable mess in his thoughts. Yet with each moment that passed, things began to be clearer, and Spike began to better understand what had happened to him.

Not that that was necessarily a *good* thing.

The newly returned soul within him cried out in despair at the torturous weight of guilt that overwhelmed him, as memory after memory, one grotesque picture after another, floated through his thoughts. Men, women, and children that he had murdered without pity -- those he had taken pleasure in torturing -- the countless lives that stained his hands, his soul, blood red.

And then, there were the visions.

Pictures of things that were not yet to come -- but surely would be. He felt as if he had lived them already, actually experienced them, with all the pain, the trauma, the heartbreak, that had not actually taken place yet. He had no idea if he could change things, keep those things from happening, or if they were fated to be regardless of what he tried to do.

But he *did* know that the Slayer and her little friends had no idea of the hell that they were in for.

And he also knew that he had to try to warn them.

And that in itself was a stunning, almost traumatic thing to take in -- that he felt somehow responsible for the Slayer and her band of clueless children. Feelings that he would come to know in the future had become present for him; for Spike had truly seen, *felt* the future awaiting them -- and he doubted that one could feel so strongly, and ever let it go completely again.

What was to have been his future was now his present as well.

He was in love with the Slayer.

He could not deny the intense feeling that filled him for her; but there was more than love there, because he had seen the things that would one day happen between them, the things she would one day do and say. There was pain, and betrayal, and sorrow, shouted hurtful words and acts of vindictive spite, now permeating his memory, though he knew that these things had not yet taken place, might not ever have to.

Still -- he wasn’t sure if he would be able to forgive her.

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

Buffy froze in the street outside the old warehouse, as her Slayer senses began to make her aware that a vampire was somewhere nearby. Of course, there was always a chance that it was not the specific vampire she was seeking at the moment -- not that it really mattered.

A vamp was a vamp, as far as she was concerned.

But the shattered window she saw in the side of the warehouse, the glass thoroughly brushed away to leave the entire square empty, spoke of someone’s making a hasty entrance -- most likely to hide.

And she knew of one specific vamp who would probably be looking to hide right now.

She went to the door of the warehouse, readying herself for swift action. Once she got in, she would have lost the element of surprise, so she would have to react quickly. She drew back her foot and smashed in the door with a single powerful kick, stepping over it into the large, dark, empty room. This warehouse had been abandoned for a long time, and there was nothing stored here at the moment.

That made the huddled vampire in the far corner that much easier to spot.

Well, that, and his striking shock of bleached blond hair didn’t hurt either.

When she saw that he did not seem poised to flee, but rather seemed shaken and confused, and, well -- rather pitiful -- Buffy allowed her wary fists to fall to her sides, though she silently warned herself to be ready. She had not expected him to try to get away in the alley, but he had managed to throw her off her guard and get away.

She was determined that it would not happen again.

“Spike,” she said softly, her voice slightly guarded.

He looked up at her slowly, not particularly surprised by her presence, and she was struck by the tears on his face, the haunted look of confusion and uncertainty in his wide blue eyes.

“Buffy,” he whispered back, further startling her by using her name, rather than his usual address of “Slayer”.

“What happened?” she asked him, keeping her voice calm and even, as she slowly moved toward him. She didn’t want to hurt him, not as broken as he already looked, but she had every intention of getting her hands on him, and not letting him go this time. “You just took off.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before lowering his head into his arms again, heaving a weary sigh. Then he raised his head again, enough to respond, though he was not looking at her.

“Had to take off, Slayer,” he said quietly. “It was just -- too much -- needed -- some space…”

“Okay,” Buffy accepted that cautiously, nodding once, before going on, “What was too much, exactly? What was that -- that magic, back there? Did you do that?”

Spike laughed softly, shaking his head. “No,” he replied with an ironic, mirthless smile. “No, I never have been that much of a bloody masochist.”

“So -- who then?”

“Don’t know.”

Buffy waited a moment before asking, “What did they do? What happened?”

Spike drew in a deep breath, finally leveling his gaze on hers again. “Too much to tell all at once, Slayer. Though -- I *do* want to tell you. I *need* to tell you…”

Buffy was surprised at that. “Oh,” she said, her tone flat, sarcastic without being angry. “See -- I kind of missed that part, what with the throwing me into the wall and running for your life.” She frowned with realization, as she added another question, “And about that -- how exactly were you able to do that, anyway, if you supposedly have this chip in your head that you told me about?”

Spike’s gaze was averted again, as he replied simply, quietly, “I don’t.”

A flash of anger finally registered in the Slayer’s eyes, as she concluded, “So that was a lie, too. And I actually believed that part. I wasn‘t too sure about the soul part.”

Spike knew that wasn’t entirely true; he had seen the innocent trust in her eyes, had known that she had accepted his story about having a soul, and was now just trying to cover for her own naivety. But he let it pass, as he replied in the same quiet, calm tone of voice, “I do have a soul now.”

Buffy’s frown deepened, and she threw up her hands in irritation, rolling her eyes before rounding on him again and snapping, “So you said you had a soul, but you didn’t -- and now you do. And you didn’t say anything about that chip thing, but you had it, and now you don’t.” There was a dubious tone to her voice, as if to let him know that she was almost out of patience with his rapidly shifting stories.

Spike sighed. “That’s about the size of it.”

Buffy blinked, caught off guard by the simple honesty of his answer.

“Oh,” she replied after a moment, pausing a beat before adding, “Okay.”

“I can prove it,” Spike told her quietly. “About the soul. Your little friend can run the spell again. I swear, Slayer, she’ll find it right where it’s *not* supposed to be.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke, at his own misfortune.

The loss of the chip hardly felt worth the things he had gained, at the moment.

“Okay,” Buffy nodded, a relieved sound to her voice. “That sounds like a good idea. And -- and I guess the chip thing, that’s pretty obvious considering the sudden need for a trip to the chiropractor that I’m experiencing…”

“Sorry,” Spike murmured.

Buffy raised one eyebrow, once again wondering at the strange reaction from a soulless vampire. Yet it seemed unaffected, not a deliberate attempt to convince her he had his soul, but just a natural, automatic reaction -- further affirming to her that he was telling the truth.

“But -- there’s more, Buffy,” Spike informed her softly, gazing up at her through serious blue eyes. “Lots more…”

“Well, let’s get back to Giles’ house, then,” Buffy decided, swiftly closing the remaining distance between them before Spike could react, gripping his arm and pulling him to his feet. “We’ll talk about it there, after we’ve proven whether or not you’ve really got a soul.”

She was once again surprised by the vampire’s response, as he did not pull away from her grip, only nodding once in a sort of subdued acceptance, and allowed her to lead him out of the warehouse and back through town, toward the Watcher’s apartment.

And in a flash of premonition, Buffy was suddenly sure that it was not the last time that this very unusual vampire would prove to surprise her.

Buffy did not release her firm grip on Spike’s arm the entire way back to Giles’ apartment. He did not struggle, did not offer any resistance whatsoever, and he seemed rather subdued, lost in whatever troubled thoughts were echoing through his mind; Buffy highly doubted that he was going to try anything at this point.

Still – she was taking no chances.

She knocked lightly on Giles’ door, before opening it cautiously, walking ahead of Spike into the living room.

Willow and Jenny were sitting on the sofa, Giles sitting in a chair across from them, the three of them talking quietly, seriously, probably about the spell they had just done, or possibly about the mysterious spell that had been done on Spike. They looked up in surprise when Buffy entered with Spike, none of them moving for a few moments.

“I, um – I found him,” Buffy informed them unnecessarily with a slightly sheepish shrug.

“Yes, I see,” Giles remarked coolly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously on the blond vampire. “And opted against slaying him, as well. Why is that, exactly?”

“Don’t you think we’d better find out what happened out there first?” Buffy pointed out a bit defensively. “I mean – we don’t know who cast what spell, if it was just Spike that was affected or others too, or – or anything! I just thought…”

“Quite right, Buffy,” Giles cut her off with a relenting sigh, shaking his head. “I suppose I just got a bit – ahead of schedule, in my eagerness to be rid of this filthy, lying little menace.” He bit the words off clearly and pointedly, his eyes focused on Spike while he spoke to Buffy.

Spike did not meet his eyes, his expression darker and more troubled by the moment.

Buffy did not respond to Giles’ comment, as she steered Spike toward a chair on the opposite side of the room from the Watcher and the others, pushing him firmly down into it, while gesturing for Willow to bring her the chains that had been discarded on the floor
by the sofa.

Spike looked up at her sharply. “You’re going to chain me up again?”

“Come on. You didn’t really expect anything else, did you?” Buffy held his gaze without
backing down, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

Spike sighed, looking down again, and again Buffy was startled at how easily he seemed to just accept her decision, without arguing or making any attempt to stop her. She tensed as she crouched down behind him to chain his wrists together around the back of the chair, but was relieved -- as well as vaguely troubled -- to find that Spike did not resist, allowing himself to be bound without a fight.

As she finished, another thought crossed her mind, and she rose to her feet, looking around the room uncertainly. “Xander went home?” she asked, feeling momentarily bad for the hopefulness she felt at that idea.

Xander was one of her best friends, but she somehow knew that he was not going to be very helpful in this particular situation.

“Ah, no,” Giles replied, a bit regretfully, meeting her eyes. “In fact…”

At that moment, his words trailed off, as Buffy heard the kitchen door swing open, and Xander walked in, balancing four glasses filled with iced tea in his hands.

“I’ve got the nummy icy cold goodness, right…”

He froze, staring at the bound vampire, his eyes widening in shock. Then, he calmly finished walking across the room, carefully setting each of the four glasses on the coffee table in front of Giles, Jenny, and Willow, leaving his own there as well. Then, he stood up and turned toward Buffy with a strange smile on his face as he casually approached.

No one said a word, everyone waiting apprehensively for his inevitably bad reaction to the present undustiness of Spike.

“Buffy,” he asked sweetly, “do you want me to get you some, too?”

“Um – sure,” she replied, a bit uncertainly, glancing between her friend and her Watcher with a silent question in her eyes. “Thanks, Xand.” She exchanged another nervous look with Giles once Xander had left the room, wondering if he was going to absolutely lose it when he came back.

But he didn’t. The explosion they had expected from the most anti-vampire member of their generally speaking anti-vampire club, never came. In fact, Xander stayed perfectly calm when he walked back into the living room, sitting down on one arm of the couch and quietly listening to the others talk.

It made Buffy nervous.

It was sort of like sitting next to a ticking bomb, and having no idea how many seconds were left on the timer.

“Okay,” Buffy said quietly once they were all seated, looking expectantly in the direction of her and Spike. She felt rather self-conscious, being the focus of their attention, but knew that their curious looks were only natural. “Let’s start at the beginning, Spike. Only this time, let’s start with the truth.”

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

“Okay, so let me get this straight…” The Slayer’s voice sounded more tired than skeptical, as she paced slowly in front of the chair to which Spike was bound, recounting what he had told them already.

“Those military guys picked you up at the church and put some kind of computer chip in your head that keep you from hurting humans without massive pain. Then Drusilla came and broke you out and took you to the mansion -- and that’s the first you knew of Angel’s losing his soul?”

“Right,” Spike affirmed, nodding, his serious eyes fastened on the Slayer’s questioning face, willing her to see that he was telling the truth. “That had nothing to do with my ritual to restore Dru, Slayer -- I swear it. If it did, I didn’t know it.”

“Okay,” Buffy waved his explanations off dismissively, shaking her head as she went on, “let’s assume I believe that for a little while…Angelus pretty much just left you to starve, and Dru went along with what he wanted, because…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked at him for the answer to the unspoken question.

Spike swallowed hard, barely concealing a slight wince at the pain of the memories brought back by this part of the story, and opened his mouth to respond.

“Because Spikey’s not man enough for her,” Xander finished the statement with a smirk, leaning back against the wall behind the arm of the sofa he was seated on. “She moved on. As any sane woman would. Oh, wait…”

Spike could not help the soft growl that rose in his throat, until he looked away from the boy to see the Slayer leaning down in front of him, her face inches from his.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she advised him simply, her tone not threatening, but her eyes deadly serious.

Spike sighed, relenting and pointedly focusing his attention back on her. “He’s her sire, Slayer. That means a lot to vamps. She’s pretty much gonna do whatever he soddin’ tells her to do…”

It was not the whole truth -- but it was all of the truth that he could bear to face at the moment.

Buffy nodded, accepting that, as she spoke calmly, in a sort of detached voice, clearly an attempt to mask her own emotions as she reached a part of the story that was more painful for her. Spike found his eyes arrested by her intent gaze, as he realized that she was trying to tell him something, something she did not want the others to hear.

“So now we’re at the part of the story where I found you in the mansion, brought you here…”

The look in her eyes was almost pleading, and suddenly Spike understood.

She did not want the others to know what she had seen there, between Angel and Drusilla -- the devastating truth that would bring forth the pity of her friends, and with it her humiliation.

*Silly bint,* he thought with a sort of sympathy for her in spite of himself. *Doesn’t she get that it’s the last thing *I* want to bring up, too?*

“And you basically made with the big lies,” Buffy was going on now, hurriedly moving past the details of the encounter at the mansion. “Right?”

“Right,” Spike admitted wearily, lowering his head in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know that I couldn’t fight back -- makes a bloke feel bloody vulnerable, having his mortal enemies knowing that sort of thing about him. But I knew that if I didn’t give you some reason not to, you lot were going to stake me. Didn’t have much of a bloody choice.”

“Again,” Buffy replied flatly, her expression not giving anything of her true feelings on the matter away, “assuming I don’t argue with that for the sake of not having all night here -- so you tell us what you think will make us not stake you -- that you have a soul -- when you didn’t have one -- and you’re just looking for your first chance to get out of here. Right?”

“Right.”

“So you get it, bash my friend in the head and all that…we catch up to you in the alley, and the spell -- someone’s spell, no clue whose…takes the chip out of your head and miraculously gives you the soul that you said you already had. Is that about it?”

Spike stared up at her, silent for a long moment as he tried to decide where to go from here. That was all he had told them so far, and the way Buffy put it, he had to admit that as stories go it sounded fairly far-fetched, although it was the truth.

Add in that he now had bloody visions of their disastrous future to come -- and she just might stake him on principle.

*Still,* the soul within him reminded him softly, *what you’ve seen might be their only hope to keep it from happening…you can‘t just let them go through that, when you might have the power to stop it…*

*I hate you,* Spike inwardly replied to the soul.

With a heavy sigh he said aloud, “No, Slayer -- that’s not about it.”

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

“You actually expect us to believe that *you* -- an evil, soulless vampire – have been gifted with vision of our futures?” the Watcher finally interrupted the heavy silence that followed Spike’s hesitant admission.

Spike replied, a bit weakly he had to admit, “I’ve got my bloody soul back, Watcher, I already…”

“So say you,” Giles shot back angrily. “I’m not so sure this isn’t all an elaborate ruse you just concocted in the alley, when you realized that you were caught!”

“No!” Spike objected hotly. “I’m telling the truth!”

“For once,” Xander muttered under his breath.

“Maybe,” Willow reminded them all in a quietly pointed voice.

“Okay,” Buffy raised her hands in a halting gesture, raising her voice as well, enough to be heard over the rising murmur of tension in the room, “okay, there has to be a way to prove this, one way or the other. Spike – what exactly did you see?”

Spike hesitated, unsure what to tell her.

There was so much to choose from – and yet, so little that he was actually willing to tell
her just now.

“Lots of things,” he answered vaguely, trying to find a way to explain it to her, without revealing too much. “Slayer, it’s like – like the whole future is just a bloody open book in my mind. Just soddin’ turn to the page I need, and it’s there.”

“Oh, please!” Xander scoffed. “You think you’re some kind of psychic now? Like you can tell everybody their life stores before they happen.”

“Not everybody,” Spike corrected softly. “Just you lot. And only so far as I experienced it – or would have experienced it – if that spell had never happened.”

“Right,” Xander scoffed, his eyes narrowing angrily as he rose from the couch and strode menacingly toward the bound vampire. Standing in front of him, his fists balled and trembling at his sides, he asked coldly, “Can you tell us what’s gonna happen in about five seconds?”

“Xander,” the Slayer said in a softly warning tone, her hand on her friend’s arm – but he shook it off angrily, just glaring down at the vampire in front of him.

“Relax, Buffy,” he said irritably. “I’m not doing anything but talking.”

His entire demeanor, however, made it very clear that he wanted to do much worse.

Spike was not particularly afraid of the boy, knowing that a mere blow from his fist would not be likely to do too much damage, but he could tell that the entire situation was swiftly becoming more volatile. For some reason, the Slayer seemed to be the only one who seemed at all inclined to believe him – so he would have to say *something* to prove that he was telling the truth.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he replied in a low, soft voice, making it clear that he was not trying to further antagonize the boy.

“Phone’s gonna ring. But might as well not answer it ‘cause it’s just one of those soddin’ telemarketing blokes.”

Giles scoffed quietly at that, retorting with a dark laugh, probably intended to dispel some of the rising tension, “Nothing mystic about that prediction. The blasted pillocks call here every day, just to…”

The ringing of the telephone still silenced him, despite his insistence that it was an obvious guess. His eyes focused intently on the vampire as he lifted the receiver and spoke quietly, “Hello?” After a momentary pause, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m not interested, thank you.” Hanging up the phone, he turned toward the others with a serious expression on his face, as he informed them softly, “Insurance salesman.”

“You see there?” Spike demanded without hesitation, but his triumph was tinged with a sense of urgency. “You all had better listen to me, or…”

With surprising speed and force, Xander’s fist came down across Spike’s mouth, silencing his words, and the Slayer quickly grabbed her friend’s arms from behind, pulling him back away from the bound vampire.

“Xander!” she cried out in alarm and indignation. “What are you doing, he can’t fight back!”

Xander ignored her, demanding furiously, “Or what, Spike? Are you threatening us, now? We’d better listen to you or *what*?”

“Or you’re all going to die!” Spike declared, loudly and forcefully, straining against the bonds that held him back as he leaned as near as he could to the boy, meeting his eyes boldly, defiantly. “And don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m not bloody threatening you! I’m just telling you that if you don’t listen to what I have to say, and *change* what’s going to happen -- every last one of you is going. To die.”

Buffy froze, still holding Xander back from going after Spike again, her eyes widening on the blond vampire’s furious, intent expression, stunned by what he had said. Silence filled the room in the wake of Spike’s bombshell, as everyone took in the impact of what he had said. Buffy studied his face, wondering with alarm if it could be true, or if it was all just another elaborate lie composed by Spike for the purpose of saving his undead butt.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Giles glanced toward it, unsure whether or not he should bother to answer it, as all the people who really mattered to him were gathered in this room, and the information Spike had just announced to them *was* rather important. He was tempted to simply let whoever it was go away, anyway, when Spike spoke again.

“Oh, bloody hell! The soddin‘ poof‘s got such bleedin’ perfect timing!”

Buffy’s eyes widened further, turning toward the door as she released Xander and took an unintentional step toward the door -- but not too quickly for Spike to see the sudden flash of hope as she realized who he was talking about.

“Angel?” She looked hopefully toward Willow, taking another anxious step toward the door. “It worked, right? The restoration spell for Angel’s soul? It worked?”

Willow did not seem capable of answering at the moment. Her own wide-eyed gaze kept wandering between Buffy’s face and the door, an expression of barely concealed dread in her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to make the words come out.

“We can’t be sure, Buffy,” Jenny spoke up for her, coming to her side, and her rescue. She looked at Giles as she slipped a supportive arm around Willow’s waist and said anxiously, “Rupert, don’t let him in -- not until we know for sure…”

“Really, Jenny, what kind of fool do you think I am?” Giles gave her a mildly offended look, as he went to open the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Willow?” Buffy frowned with concern, though she still could not seem to pull most of her attention away from the door. “What’s wrong?” When Willow just shook her head, looking away, Buffy moved closer to her friend, with an effort focusing her gaze on her face. “Willow, it wasn’t Angel. If Angel’s back…he’s not the same person that…”

“Buffy, don’t -- okay?” Willow whispered, not looking at her. “Just -- don’t.”

“Willow…”

But at that moment, Giles opened the front door, and Buffy’s attention was torn away from Willow’s dilemma, as she turned hopeful, anxious eyes on her lost love, desperate to know if he had indeed been returned to her.

The dark vampire stood just outside the door, his hands in his pockets, his head lowered humbly, looking up at her through wide, soft brown eyes filled with regret. Buffy started toward him slowly, as if in a trance -- Willow, Spike, the spell, all forgotten for the moment. She stopped a few feet away from him, beside her rather guarded Watcher, her voice coming out as a barely audible whisper of hope and fear.

“*Angel*?”

A/N: HUGE THANKS to my wonderful beta for this fic, Eowyn315!!!





“I’m telling you, Slayer, do *not* let him in this house!”

Angel’s pleading, apologetic expression changed in an instant when he heard Spike’s voice. He peered around the Watcher and the Slayer standing near the doorway and caught sight of the younger vampire, tied to a chair in the living room and fiercely warning them against letting him in.

“Um – what is Spike doing here?” he asked uncertainly.

“Well – a lot’s been happening, Angel, and…” Buffy caught herself, frowning as her eyes narrowed in reluctant suspicion. “I mean – if you even are Angel again. I’m sorry, but – we can’t be sure yet, and…”

“It’s me, Buffy. I’m telling you the truth…” He paused, taking a step closer to her, as close as he could come with the barrier in place, and holding her gaze with his wide, searching dark eyes. “Look in my eyes, Buffy – you have to see that it’s me.”

His words were spoken softly, with an intensity of emotion that caught at her heart.

Or rather, it would have, if Spike had not been reciting the words with him in a high, mimicking voice.

Buffy turned her incredulous eyes toward Spike, not sure whether she was more stunned that he had known what Angel was about to say, down to every last word, tone, and inflection; or irritated that he had ruined what surely would have been a powerful moment between her and her restored love.

*If* Angel was really restored, that was.

“Shut up, Spike,” she muttered in warning, rolling her eyes as she looked back at Angel regretfully. “But – I’m sorry, Angel. I – I thought I knew that it was you a few days ago – and I was wrong. And – and if anything Spike is saying is true, then – then we have good reason to believe that your soul hasn’t been restored…”

“I – never said that.”

Buffy turned toward Spike again in surprise and exasperation, giving him an expectant, questioning look.

He let out a heavy sigh of resignation, as he reluctantly admitted, “That’s not what I said, Slayer. He’s got his bloody soul back – for all the good it’ll do anyone. All I said was you shouldn’t let him in. Soul or not, he’s still dangerous.”

Now Buffy looked *really* confused.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “If Angel has his soul back – if he’s back to normal – then…then it’s safe – right? Angel’s good. He wouldn’t hurt us…”

“Slayer,” Spike said, his voice low and full of forced patience, his eyes focused somewhere just beyond her. “Please, just close the door – and listen to me.”

“Buffy, this is ridiculous,” Angel interrupted, drawing her eyes back to him uncertainly. “Why would you listen to him? He’s an evil, lying monster who’s killed two Slayers before, and all he wants is the chance to make you the third. You can’t trust anything he has to say.” His eyes were earnest, sincere, as he added, “Buffy, you know I would never hurt you.”

“Well, before we make any decisions regarding either vampire,” Giles broke in, clearing his throat and stepping forward, effectively ending the moment between the Slayer and her vampire lover, “we ought to perform the soul locating spell again, and determine whether or not either of them actually has a soul at this point in time.”

“Good,” Buffy nodded, taking a step back, suddenly self-conscious. “Good idea. Let’s do that. And – and there will be no inviting in – and no untying from chairs – until we know for sure exactly what we’re dealing with here.”

“Knowing whether or not we have souls isn’t going to tell you that,” Spike insisted.

“Just – shut up, Spike,” Buffy bit off the words, reining in her temper at the last moment, her voice low and barely controlled as she turned a warning glare on him. “Unless you’d rather I just gag you, too, because that can be arranged. I’m sure Giles has some duct tape around here somewhere.”

She gave him a wide, false smile, which he answered with a sarcastic, mimicking grin.

“Okay,” Jenny spoke up a bit nervously, after a quick glance at Willow revealed that she did not seem ready to move, let alone perform the spell. “I’ll, um – I’ll get started then.”

At some point during the conversation, the little redhead had slowly backed up, until she was standing against the far wall, her eyes focused on the floor. Scanning the room, Buffy’s eyes fell on her, and the Slayer’s expression softened with guilt and regret.

“Willow,” she began softly.

Willow did not wait to see what she had to say, just immediately turned on her heel and strode quickly into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her and disappearing from their sight.

Buffy started to go after her, but Giles caught her arm.

“Buffy,” he said gently, shaking his head at her in mild reproof. “Give her a bit of space, yes? I’d imagine this is all – rather difficult for her to deal with.”

As he spoke, the Watcher shot a dirty look of disgust at the dark vampire standing in the doorway, and Buffy once again felt terribly uncomfortable and self-conscious, uncertain how to respond in this situation. She glanced up at Angel, who seemed equally uncomfortable, clearing his throat and tucking his head.

“I – I’m sorry, Buffy. I – I remember what happened – and you have to know that wasn’t me. I – would never…”

From across the room, Spike made a soft, scoffing sound in his throat, drawing a troubled frown from Buffy and a frustrated snarl from Angel.

“Spike, would you shut up?” he demanded. “Just stay out of this. It has nothing to do with you!”

“It has *everything* to do with me, you soddin’ bastard!” Spike snarled back at him, straining against the bonds that held him to the chair, obviously wanting to do more than verbally attack the older vampire.

Buffy flinched slightly in surprise – and something else, a darker feeling – at the intense emotion in Spike’s voice, and she found suddenly that she could not look at him, or at Angel. She was almost afraid of what she might see revealed in their eyes.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice low and holding a note of warning that drew the attention of both vampires. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re all just going to back off the situation for a few minutes, cut the fighting and sniping at each other. Miss Calendar’s going to do the spell, and in the meantime, Angel, I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to wait outside.”

She gave him an apologetic look, and he nodded his reluctant agreement. She closed the door softly and leaned against it as she turned serious eyes on Spike.

“And once we’re done with that, *you* are going to tell me *everything* that you saw in these visions you’ve supposedly had.”

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

“So Angel’s soul and Spike’s soul are precisely where they’re supposed to be,” Giles stated flatly, echoing what Jenny had just told them after performing the spell again.

The teacher nodded solemnly, her dark eyes focused on his. “That’s what the spell showed. Both Angel and Spike now have their souls. It should be safe to untie Spike, and to let Angel in.”

“And why do neither of those ideas sound good to me?” Xander remarked caustically.

Willow suddenly reappeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, surprising the rest of them. When she had their attention, she stated calmly, perhaps *too* calmly, “If you invite him in here – I’m leaving. I won’t be here – with him.”

“Willow – I know this is hard,” Buffy said after a long moment, heading toward her friend. “But you have to understand that he’s not the same person who – who attacked you. He’s…”

“He’s *precisely* the same person, Red!” Spike interrupted sharply. “Don’t listen to that bloody shite, love. Angel and Angelus are one and the same. Always have been and always will be.”

“That’s a lie!” Buffy snarled, whirling around on him with narrowed, furious eyes.

“It’s not!” Spike shot back in defiance, his blue eyes blazing into hers. “And you’d better bloody well hope you get that through your head faster than you did in the future I saw, or you and everyone you care about are gonna find out the hard way!”

Buffy closed the distance between them in an instant, drawing back her fist and backhanding Spike viciously. “I told you to shut up,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fear and fury, and sparkling with tears at the vampire’s words, which had done nothing less than to bring her worst fears to life.

The blow had been hard and powerful, and Spike’s head remained turned to the side for a long moment, a sarcastic smile twisting his features before he laughed softly, bitterly, shaking his head.

Slowly, he looked back at her, glaring up at her as he said in a quiet, even voice, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s already too late to save you, Slayer.”

“To *save* me?” she echoed, with indignant disbelief. “What are you talking about, to *save* me?”

“Willow!”

Xander’s concerned voice drew their attention, and Buffy turned to see that her friend had left the room again. “What – what happened? What’s wrong?” she asked, as Xander stalked past her toward the kitchen.

“What do you think?” the boy muttered disgustedly.

As he passed her, Buffy caught his arm. “Wait, I’ll go,” she offered. “I should talk to her…”

Xander pulled his arm out of her grasp, replying coldly, “No, maybe you’d be better off just staying here and indulging your vampire obsession.”

Buffy flinched, as stricken by the words as by a blow. She shook her head emphatically, opening her mouth to protest, “Xander…”

“Really, Buffy – you should stay here.” Without another word, Xander followed Willow into the kitchen.

Buffy stared after him for a moment, before lowering her head with a deep, shaky sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” she muttered under her breath. “Things are supposed to be getting *better*…Angel has his soul back…”

“She’s right not to trust him, Slayer…”

Buffy looked up at Spike, her eyes dark and angry, and he knew that he should heed the warning he saw there – but he cared too much to let the terrible future ahead of her happen without at least attempting to stop it.

God help him, he cared too much…

“This is nothing, Slayer. This is just the beginning. You think things are bad between you and your friends now? Give Angelus a month…”

The Slayer turned to face him fully, taking a menacing step toward him. “Spike, soul or no soul, you say one more word, and…”

“Okay, okay…”

“*One. More. Word*.”

Spike finally took the hint, and said nothing more for the moment.

Buffy turned to her Watcher, as she often did when unsure of which direction to go. “Giles…?”

“I’ll handle this, Buffy,” he said softly, his expression unreadable as he regarded her, before turning to open the door. “Angel,” he said coolly, icy blue eyes piercing into the soul of the vampire, causing him to avert his gaze as quickly as he had given it to Giles. “We have established that your soul has indeed been restored. I am certain that Buffy will want to speak with you at some point soon, as will I. There are – details, specifics, which must be discussed. But I am not going to invite you into my home. You are not welcome here tonight, Angel.”

The dark vampire looked up at the Watcher, stunned by his words. “But – but Giles…”

But the Watcher had already closed the door firmly in his face.

Buffy stared at her Watcher, as surprised as Angel by his decision. She didn’t know whether she felt more relieved or disappointed by his turning Angel away. Her eyes were questioning, uncertain, as she waited for him to clarify his decision.

“You have your friend, and your boyfriend, to consider in this situation, Buffy,” he said mildly, holding her gaze with compassion, but also with a firmness that would not allow her to deny the truth. “One has wronged the other. It’s really quite simple.”

“I – I know,” Buffy whispered, lowering her gaze, suddenly feeling very much ashamed, as she swallowed back the hard lump that had formed in her throat. “I’m sorry…”

“And you should tell her so. But – now is not the time. Now that two of Spike’s three claims have been proven to be true, I think it’s time to hear what he has to say about the future events he has seen.”

Buffy’s heart sank with dread at those words, though she knew her Watcher was right.

She just was not at all sure that she wanted to know what it was that Spike had seen.

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

Angel stormed away from the Watcher’s apartment, fuming.

He wished that he could have gotten into the house without an invitation, more now than before, because he would have loved to have throttled the old man for his arrogance, his interference in something that had nothing to do with him.

It was going to be hard enough making things right again with Buffy as it was, without Giles sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong and turning her against him. Frustration filled him as he stormed down the sidewalk back toward the mansion where he had left Drusilla.

He wondered vaguely what would happen if he decided to take out his frustration on the dark vampiress when he got there. Would the fleeting moments of pleasure he would find with her drive the soul from his body again?

Would he care if they did?

It was strange, how detached he really felt from the whole situation – as if, in a way, it really didn’t matter all that much to him if Buffy forgave him or not. Emotionally, he supposed it didn’t, really. He had longed for her, desired her, for so long, and now that he had been with her, he simply – didn’t.

He had tasted the girl who had been the face of his redemption – and had decided that, perhaps, redemption was not all it was cracked up to be.

Still, it would be quite a bit safer to have the Slayer as his girlfriend than as his ex-girlfriend, of that much he was sure.

And now, he would not be able to talk to her for hours, maybe longer. By the time he finally managed to get Buffy alone, away from the meddling influence of her Watcher and her friends, Spike would already have had plenty of time to turn her against him completely. Giles probably hadn’t been thinking of his keen vampire hearing when he had so arrogantly slammed the door in his face, but Angel had clearly heard the conversation taking place inside.

It was so unfair that he was being blamed for what Angelus had done to Willow.

And really, nothing had happened.

The pathetic little wallflower had finally been touched by a man – and she couldn’t handle it. She chose to whine about it to her friends, and now *he* was the one paying for it!

And it was all Spike’s fault.

Angel was sure that if Spike hadn’t been in there, running his mouth about how dangerous Angel still was, Giles would have let him in. Spike had merely fed the fire of Willow’s fears, and managed to keep him out, when he was the one who actually had a *right* to be there.

What was Spike doing there, anyway? Why was he not still starving to death in the Crawford Street mansion?

Why had Buffy helped him?

“Dangerous, huh?” he muttered resentfully. “Yeah – I’ll show him how dangerous I am. When I’m through with that boy he’ll *beg* me to kill him! And if Buffy goes along with his stupid lies – well, she’ll be sorry, too. They’ll all be sorry they ever messed with me!”

Much thanx to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!! :)


“I want to go home. Xander’s going to walk me,” Willow announced, stepping out of the kitchen with her best friend right behind her. Her eyes were red and bleary, and her cheeks tear-stained, but she seemed to have regained some of her composure.

“Will, please, don’t,” Buffy objected, an apologetic sound to her voice. “I’m so sorry -- and Angel’s gone now, you don’t have to…”

“I *want* to go home,” Willow repeated, not quite meeting the Slayer’s eyes as she headed toward the door. “I don’t care if he’s here or not right now, Buffy. I just -- don’t want to be here.”

Buffy looked as if she was about to try again to convince her friend to stay, but Xander stepped very deliberately into her way, walking protectively behind Willow as the redhead opened the door. Then, before anyone could voice any further protest, without a word to anyone, he followed her out and closed the door behind them.

No one spoke for a long moment, as Buffy visibly struggled to maintain her composure. Finally, she turned and faced the vampire still bound to the chair, a cool, carefully controlled expression on her face.

“So, go ahead. Talk. Tell me -- besides my best friend’s freak-out session -- why I shouldn’t let my boyfriend in -- why he’s so *dangerous*!” The Slayer’s tone was deadly, her voice trembling with fury -- and a good bit of fear as well, Spike would have wagered, though she was clearly doing her best to hide it.

“Unless you do something to change it, Slayer,” he insisted, his voice quiet but unyielding in the face of her anger, “he’s going to destroy you, and everyone around you.”

“You keep saying that, but how? How is that possible? Angel has his soul back, so why would he want to hurt me? *Us*?” Buffy protested, her anger giving a bit of ground to a vulnerable, uncertain tone, just below the surface of her words.

“He can’t help it, *Slayer*,” Spike replied pointedly, using the word to remind her of his meaning. “It’s in his soddin’ nature to want to hurt you. And the only reason he’s ever done any differently is so he can get what he wants.”

“What does he want?” Giles asked in a quiet voice, his brow creased in a pensive frown as he took a step toward the blond vampire, though his manner spoke more of intense interest than of any kind of threat.

Spike shrugged slightly, considering the answer for a moment before suggesting, “Recognition? Accolades? Hard to say. Most likely, just to play the big hero. To get the glory and all that comes with being one of the bloody White Hats. I don’t think he really cares all that much about actually *being* good, truth be told…just *looking* good.”

Buffy frowned, shaking her head in protest. “He has a soul -- a conscience. That makes people want to be good…”

“Some people more than others, though, Slayer,” Spike reminded her grimly. His piercing blue eyes bored into hers, as he added in a slow, deliberate tone, “Some…less.”

“He’s right, you know,” Giles spoke up, and Buffy turned toward him in surprise and dismay. “While the lack of a soul does tend to rule out the possibility of being ‘good’ with no ulterior motives, the *presence* of a soul by no means guarantees that a person *will* be good. There are countless examples of human beings who have committed heinous atrocities, while in full possession of their souls.”

“But…but…no. Not Angel,” Buffy objected, shaking her head in denial of what they were telling her. “Angel loves me. The only reason he said those things was because he didn’t have his soul. He *loves* me.”

“*Loved* you. Past tense,” Spike remarked flatly. “As in, he doesn’t now. When you lot gave him back his soul…you gave him back the *wrong* soul.”

At his first words, Buffy moved toward him, clearly furious, but his last statement stopped her in her tracks. She frowned in confusion. “Wait -- *what*? Are you saying the soul he has now isn’t his? Is that what makes things go wrong later on?” There was a desperately hopeful note in her voice.

Spike could not let it remain, as much as he might have liked to. “No. This spell you just did gave him back his original soul. For the first time in a couple of centuries.”

“What exactly are you saying, Spike?” Giles was beginning to sound more than a little impatient, though his eyes still held a gleam of fascination.

“I’m talking about the bloody curse, the one that gave Angelus a soul in the first place. Fact of the matter is, the man Angelus was before he was turned wasn’t so bleedin’ interested in the wellbeing of his fellow man. He was more interested in as much shaggin’ and boozin’ as he could get his filthy little hands on.” Spike paused, allowing his words to sink in before explaining further, “Wouldn’t have been much of a punishment, giving Angelus back his own soul. Wouldn’t have caused him much suffering at all. He’d have just lost himself in the drink to escape it, and gone back to his old ways, though possibly without the torture and killing.”

The Watcher’s eyes widened incredulously, as he realized what Spike was telling them. Still, he could not help but ask, scarcely able to believe it. “Are you saying that the Gypsy curse on Angelus gave him -- *someone else’s soul*?”

Spike nodded once without hesitation, his eyes solemn and intent, unflinching as he met the Watcher’s questioning gaze. “Yes.”

“But -- but that’s ridiculous,” Buffy objected. “That’s not even possible…”

“You’ve lived on a bloody Hellmouth for *how* long now?” Spike cut her off. “*Anything’s* possible, Slayer.”

“But -- but that’s not fair! Whose -- whose soul was it?”

“That bit, I don’t know, Slayer. In the future I saw, I didn’t figure it out for a while -- all I know is that the spell you lot just did on him returned his original soul to him -- and not with the same conditions as the last one, either…”

“Okay -- this is getting confusing,” Buffy muttered. “Not that I’m even sure I believe any of this, anyway,” she added petulantly.

“Believe it, Slayer,” Spike snapped, his tone dark and warning. “Because if you don’t, nothing I can say can help you.”

After a moment’s tense silence, he added in a slightly milder tone, “It’s really quite simple. Angelus was given a soul that doesn’t much care for the big, broody guilt trip he’s been on for the past century – and one that doesn’t care how happy he gets, either. It’s most likely there for good this time -- not that it makes that much difference, anyway. He’s going to go bad, Slayer, very bad -- and he’s not going to have to lose his soul to do it.”

“Wait…what are you saying about – how happy Angel might get?” Giles echoed, holding up a hand to stop the vampire’s explanation. “What do you mean? What does Angel’s happiness have to do with anything?”

The Watcher’s interest in the answer kept him from noticing the pale, trapped expressions on the faces of the other two people in the room. Buffy looked positively sick at the thought of her worst fears being confirmed, and the Gypsy teacher was simply silent, standing a bit apart from the others, as if she really wanted to flee the room -- and Spike’s words -- completely.

Spike noticed both reactions, but chose not to call attention to either for the moment.

He answered the question quietly. “The original curse on Angel was meant to cause him eternal suffering. But there was an out. If he ever experienced a moment of true happiness, even once, the soul would be taken from him, and he’d return to his soulless self.”

“But…” Giles spoke after a long, heavy moment of silence, apparently unaware of the intense discomfort reflected on the faces of the two women in the room. “But that doesn’t make logical sense! Why on earth would the Gypsies leave such a -- a loophole in the curse? Why would they allow him to escape his punishment so easily?”

“Oh, I don’t expect it was easy, Watcher,” Spike remarked, with a quiet huff of laughter. “The guilt the soul caused him was so extreme, I’d wager they didn’t think anything could ever make him completely happy with that soul in place. I think it must have taken something bloody intense -- a moment of happiness so complete that it made him forget everything else for that moment -- to make that broody soul he had tied to him forget all his past sins and go fluttering off into the ether, or what-soddin’-ever.”

The last bit was spoken with flippant contempt at the concept, but Spike’s eyes were focused very seriously on the Slayer’s face.

Her mouth was working with some repressed emotion, her jaw set in stubborn refusal to face what he was getting at, while her eyes blazed defiantly, furiously, into his.

Suddenly, Spike began to question the wisdom of coming so near to outing the Slayer’s secret in front of her Watcher. He glanced down with alarm at her clenched fists at her sides, opening and closing reflexively, before returning his eyes to hers, adding slowly and cautiously, “But then…that’s just my best guess…I really wouldn’t know…”

He saw the flicker of surprise in the Slayer’s eyes, followed by a sort of wary relief, as if she was almost afraid to believe that he was really not going to say anything more about how Angel had lost his soul in the first place.

He could have throttled the Watcher when he persisted in a frustrated tone of voice, “But you *must* know! If you’ve seen the future, then at some point we must have discovered what caused Angel’s reversion. Are you seriously telling us that we never learned the cause for Angel’s loss of his soul?”

“Well, it’s not like a bloody movie in my mind, Watcher!” Spike objected, a bit defensively. “It’s not like I’ve seen every last detail. The visions aren’t all that specific…”

“No, you stated before that it was somewhat like an open book in your mind,” Giles reminded him, a note of suspicion in his voice. “You said you could see whatever moment in the future you wanted to see. So, surely you *must* know…”

“Liar!” the Slayer suddenly interrupted, her voice fierce and menacing as she moved swiftly between her Watcher and the bound vampire. “I’m sick and tired of your games, Spike!” As she spoke, she drew back her hand and delivered a dramatic slap across his face.

And ‘dramatic’ was definitely the word for it, Spike decided. There was very little actual force behind the blow, and he realized immediately that it had only been for show, even before the Slayer tore the chains from his arms and jerked him up out of the chair.

Glaring at Spike, she told her Watcher, “I’ll get him talking, Giles. Just give me a few minutes alone with him…”

“Buffy,” Giles cautioned her, alarm in his voice at his Slayer’s sudden display of temper. “That’s hardly necessary…”

“Oh, trust me, Giles…it’s necessary,” Buffy insisted, and Spike found that she was terribly convincing, the menace in her voice sending a shiver down his spine despite the fact that he was almost certain by this point that she was acting.

Almost.

As she dragged him toward the front door, she assured her Watcher coolly, “Don’t worry, Giles. It’s just that you’re so *not* gonna wanna see this!”

She *was* acting -- wasn’t she?

“But Buffy,” the Watcher protested, and Spike was strangely gratified by the look of concern in his eyes as he glanced at the vampire, by all accounts but Buffy’s, falsely accused. “What makes you think he’s lying?”

“He’s Spike,” she shot back, with a bit too much disgust in her voice. “Isn’t that enough?” With those words, she once again headed toward the door, dragging Spike out and slamming it behind them.

“Buffy…” Giles opened the door for one last attempt at reason.

“Close the door!”

The authority in the girl’s voice was all it took to make the older man obey without further question. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Buffy released Spike with a shove, already talking before he had even caught his balance.

“If you try to get away, I will take you down before you get ten feet, and I will make you *wish* Angelus still had you!”

Spike considered that for a moment, well aware that she was physically capable of carrying out her threat, considering his somewhat weakened state. Whether or not she was emotionally willing -- that was a different matter. He was not sure that she really meant to harm him, but there was enough doubt in his mind to keep him from attempting to escape.

Besides, if he was ever going to be able to help her, he was going to have to gain her trust.

“What’s this about, Slayer?” he asked in a quiet, cautious voice. “You and I both know I wasn’t lying in there…” His face took on a faint smirk as he added, “…maybe that’s the problem, yeah? I was getting too bloody close to the truth?”

“I don’t know.” Buffy shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line. When she continued, after a moment, there was a faint note of desperation in her suddenly softer, almost pleading voice. “But I need to. I have to know, Spike. What -- what did you see?”

“Well, I was going to say, but…”

“Not to them. Not -- not this. I just need to know…was it me? Did I -- did I make Angel lose his soul?”

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

Willow would have loved for Xander to stay with her when they reached her house; she really did not want to be alone right now. Her mother’s rules, however, kept him out. She was already late getting home herself, and there was no way that her mother would allow her to have a male friend in the house at this time of the night.

So it was that she ended up sitting alone in her room, her mind unable to focus on anything but the nightmare image it kept replaying, the lingering feeling of Angelus’ body, pinning her down, his hard hand clamped across her mouth and stifling her screams.

Her best friend coming to her rescue -- and then favoring her attacker with a kiss.

*Buffy’s right,* she tried to tell herself. *It wasn’t Angel. He has his soul back now…it wasn’t really his fault…wasn’t really even *him*.*

But, as hard as she tried to convince herself, she couldn’t quite manage it.

*You coward,* she accused herself viciously. *You have to face the fact that Angel’s back -- and no one else is going to blame him for anything Angelus did -- except maybe Xander. But only because he’s always hated him anyway.*

The beginnings of an idea started to form in her head, an idea that terrified her, but just might be the only way that she could come to terms with the situation, and get past it enough to go on with her life.

*Decide, Willow. Are you going to be a little baby and lie here and cry about it like you always do -- or are you going to get up and grow up and face this like a -- well, a grown up?*

With an uneasy determination, she rose from the bed, pulling on her shoes and her jacket. Then, she turned off the lights in her room and arranged some clothes and pillows in her bed to hide her absence from her mother, should she happen to look in on her again before going to bed.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Willow stepped out the door into the darkness of the night -- and headed purposefully toward Angel’s apartment.

A/N: Many thanx to my lovely and talented beta, Eowyn315!! :)



Willow was, unfortunately, more than halfway to Angel’s apartment when her nerve began to fail her. She considered turning back, abandoning her simple plan to reassure herself, and returning to the safety of her room; but she told herself that it would be foolish and pointless to turn back now, when she was nearly there.

*But then -- going on? Also seeming foolish and pointless at the moment, so…*

She swallowed back her fear and continued toward the tiny apartment where Angel lived, reassuring herself that once she got there and actually talked to the newly re-ensouled vampire, she could lay her irrational fears to rest.

However, as she neared the apartment, she stopped short at the sight of a shadowy figure, slinking down the sidewalk away from Angel’s door, glancing around as though he feared being observed. He was carrying a small, dark valise, and walking quickly, apparently in a hurry to get away from the apartment before someone noticed that he had been there at all.

The shadowy figure was suspiciously Angel-shaped.

Willow hesitated for a moment, considering, before making her decision and starting down the sidewalk, a good distance behind the dark vampire. Her curiosity was quickly overtaking her fear, as she determined to find out where he was going, and why. Perhaps it was completely innocent, in which case, her suspicions could still be laid to rest, and they could all feel better.

Or perhaps, Angel *was* doing something sinister, something that someone should know about, and she would have a more valid reason for her distrust toward the vampire, something solid to take to Buffy and back up the uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach, that sixth sense that was still screaming at her that Spike was right: Angel’s newly restored soul meant nothing, and he was still a danger to them all.

*Not that I don’t have a valid reason already,* she reminded herself with resentment, as she made her way down the sidewalk, being careful to keep a good distance between herself and Angel. *Buffy just doesn’t seem to think that almost-rape is such a big deal -- not when it’s her boyfriend that did it!*

Once again, she found herself rethinking her plan, as Angel’s path led her toward a scary part of town, an area that was deserted and dark, and made her feel as if something was about to jump out at her from every corner. Her eyes widened with recognition, as Angel turned the corner onto Crawford Street, and she realized that he was heading toward the old mansion where he and Drusilla had stayed during his brief soulless period.

*What about Drusilla?* she wondered, for the first time since the tumultuous events of the evening had begun. *Is she still alive? And if she is, why does Angel want anything to do with her, now that he’s got his soul back? Does that mean he’s still evil?*

Angel stopped outside the mansion, glancing around once more to see if he had been followed, and Willow barely managed to duck back into the shadows of a nearby abandoned house before he saw her.

He hadn’t seen her -- had he?

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and imagined that he could clearly hear it. Weren’t vampires supposed to have enhanced senses? Willow’s eyes widened further in a trapped, terrified expression as the question occurred to her -- could he *smell* her? Did he already know she was here? What if he *was* planning to do something bad, something he would want to hide from his Slayer girlfriend, and now he knew she’d seen him?

When Angel turned away and walked into the mansion, Willow sagged backward against the wall of the old house behind her, as she tried to catch the breath she had been desperately holding. She waited a moment, trying to decide what she should do next.

Should she go back and tell Buffy what she had seen?

No…Buffy was too busy interrogating the other scary vampire, too busy searching for any scrap of information she could find that would make it okay for her to be with Angel again. She didn’t have time to listen to anything Willow had to say. Besides, by the time they got back, Angel could very well have left the mansion already.

The only way she was going to know for sure what he was doing in there…was to go in and see for herself.

She waited until she was fairly certain that Angel would not be anywhere near the front door, before slipping cautiously along the side of the house and toward the shadowed entrance to the mansion. She took a deep breath on the porch, preparing herself to walk through the door, though the greater part of her *really* didn’t want to.

*What if he *did* see me? What if he’s waiting for me just inside the door?*

*He’s not, he didn’t see me or he wouldn’t have gone inside…*

*But what if he…?*

*You’re never gonna do this if you don’t just *do it*, Willow, you big scaredy baby…*

She silently pushed the door open, before she could change her mind again, and slipped into the darkened mansion, closing the door behind her, fighting the dreadful sense of finality that seemed to accompany the simple action. She just stood there for a moment beside the door, her wide green eyes desperately seeking any shred of light as they struggled to adjust to the pervasive darkness.

Finally, she began to make out various shapes, shadowed forms in the silent foyer, and she felt her shaking begin to subside as she realized that she was indeed alone in the room. She noticed the faint glow of what appeared to be firelight emanating from a room at the top of the staircase a few feet away; as she watched, the flickering light grew brighter, and she knew that a second candle had been lit upstairs.

*So, that’s where he is…*

Though she was far from comfortable with the situation yet, that thought made her feel infinitely better.

What didn’t make her feel nearly so good was the knowledge that, against her better judgment, she was about to follow him up those winding -- and probably creaking -- stairs.

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

The tiny candle Angel had left beside Drusilla’s bed had nearly completely burnt down.

He felt a vague sense of disappointment, and realized with a numb, detached sort of dismay that he had halfway hoped that the thing would burn down to the table on which it rested, consuming the table, the room -- and Dru. Although both vampires could see clearly despite the darkness, perhaps it was the grim nature of those thoughts, and the half-hearted sense of guilt they inspired in him, that made Angel feel the need to brighten the room a bit with a second candle.

Or perhaps, he simply hoped to tempt Dru’s fate a second time, when he left the mansion again.

“Naughty Daddy.”

Dru’s quiet, reproving voice startled Angel, and he jumped, spinning around to face her. She had been so uncharacteristically quiet and calm that he had not even realized she was awake until her slightly slurred voice had broken the silence.

“Dru,” he said softly, and then fell silent, unsure what else to say.

How much of his thoughts, his plans, did she know already without being told?

“Naughty Daddy,” she repeated, dark eyes laughing madly despite the petulant pout of her flawlessly full lips. “Leaving his princess alone in the dark. You’ve come home again…but you haven’t come alone…”

Angel frowned, instinctively glancing around the room before returning his wary gaze to Drusilla’s face. “What do you mean? Who’s here?”

“The little witch…the one you wanted…”

Angel turned abruptly away from her, unable to meet her piercing gaze, seeing and knowing too much for his comfort. “Shut up, Dru.”

An insane giggle of amusement left the lips of the dark vampiress, as she shook her head slowly in a teasing, defiant gesture. “Can’t be quiet enough to make Daddy go away…he’s there, *Angel*…” She spoke the name that Angel had adopted in his souled state with a note of contempt, disgust, in her musical voice. “…always there…even though *you’d* like to pretend he doesn’t exist!”

“Dru, would you be quiet?” Angel muttered irritably, unsettled by the edges of truth to her mad ramblings -- which, at the moment, hardly sounded mad at all.

“She wants to think so, too…wants to think you’re safe…you’re *Angel* now,” Drusilla continued as if he had not spoken at all, a note of triumph to her voice. “But you’re not…you’ll never be who she wants you to be…never again…her Angel is gone…”

“Don’t talk about her!” Angel snapped, turning toward her again, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Dru did not seem the least bit afraid. “Don’t talk about who?” she asked, taunting him.

“The Slayer, who do you think?”

“Not the Slayer,” Drusilla giggled, as if at a hilarious joke for which only she knew the punch line. “Not her…”

“Then…then, who -- in the *hell* -- are you talking about, Dru?” Angel demanded in a voice of careful, forced patience, barely restraining his rising, irrational anger with his childe.

Dru’s smile vanished, her dark, penetrating eyes suddenly fastened on the doorway just beyond him. She replied without hesitation, her voice low and even and certain.

“The witch.”

Angel spun around to face the doorway, and found his eyes locked with the wide, terrified eyes of the redhead who had followed him into the mansion. She was standing just outside the door, and stumbled backward with a panicked lurch as he turned toward her, stopping only when her back hit the wall behind her.

“Willow,” Angel began, shaking his head as if to disprove her fears as he took a cautious step toward her.

Drusilla let out a manic laugh that made both Willow and Angel jump, turning both pairs of eyes toward her, one in wide-eyed confusion, and the other in irritated annoyance. She shook her head, her wild eyes darting between them as she finally spoke.

“Little red Willow, little witch, you’re not safe here…don’t let the angel lie to you, he’s fallen, he’s wicked, he’s bad…”

“Dru, you are *not* helping. Shut up!” Angel snarled at her, turning back toward Willow, only to find that the harsh, menacing tone of his voice had not helped his case with the nervous redhead in the least.

“He smells your fear…can nearly taste it…and still wants it…”

Willow slowly shook her head in silent denial, unable to find the words as she took a sideways step along the wall, back toward the stairs.

“No, Willow…she’s crazy,” Angel insisted with a nervous, unconvincing laugh. “Come on, anyone can see she’s out of her mind! It doesn’t mean anything…”

“Means everything…it’s true, I can see…you want her like you wanted her that night…you don’t want to want her, but you do want her…bad Daddy…always has been a bad Daddy and always will be…”

“That’s *not* true!” Angel cringed when Willow flinched violently at the anger in his voice. “Willow,” he tried again, his voice softer in an attempt to be soothing. “Willow, I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Yes, he does…yes, he does…Daddy loves your pain…”

“No, I’m not *going* to hurt you, Willow, you don’t have to be afraid…”

“The taste of fear, it’s what he craves…even when he was trying not to…and he’s not trying anymore…” Dru’s words were punctuated with a dark, ominous giggle, as she leaned forward against the chains that still bound her to the bed, gleefully meeting Willow’s eyes, visibly savoring the terror she saw there.

“She’s just trying to scare you, Willow,” Angel reassured her. “She’s crazy. She’s enjoying this! Willow, I’m sorry for what happened, but that wasn’t me…you have to believe me, I wouldn’t…”

“Stop it,” Willow said, finally finding enough of her voice for a tremulous whisper. “Stop it, I don’t…I don’t want to hear it…”

“I barely even remember that night, Willow, I swear it! It wasn’t me. Please, you have to believe me…”

“Oh, he remembers…sometimes on purpose,” Dru argued with a suggestively dark laugh.

Willow let out a low, plaintive moan of distress at those disturbing words, closing her eyes and creeping further along the wall, clearly horrified at the implications of what the vampiress had said.

“Dru, *shut up*!”

“Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home,” she chanted in a childish singsong, bouncing eagerly on the bed. “Come home to stay, he has…”

“I said *shut up!*”

Angel snarled, his temper, frayed to its limits, finally snapping as he whirled on her, thoughtlessly snatching from his waistband the stake that he had taken to carrying with him since he had taken up with the Slayer. Before he knew what he was doing, the rough wood had plunged through his bound, helpless child’s chest, piercing her unbeating heart.

Dark eyes widened, staring up at him, suddenly mirthless, filled with anguish and betrayal.

“Daddy…” she whispered, a barely perceptible shake of her head expressing her disbelief -- just before her body crumbled to ash on the silken sheets beneath her.

Angel stared down at the place where his childe had been, his eyes wide and shocked as his mind slowly processed what he had just done. He hadn’t really intended to do it, hadn’t wanted to harm his helpless, truly child-like, dark princess -- but now that it was done, he found a sense of relief edging into his mind, mingled with the pain of loss.

She was gone.

A single, momentary act of thoughtless anger -- and Drusilla had forever ceased to exist.

He had just been so furious, and she had refused to be quiet, to stop saying those horrible, confusing, dreadful things that were only making Willow more and more terrified of him…and in that moment, he had felt that he had no choice…

He *hadn’t* had a choice…had he?

Some part of his mind, affected by the rather weak influence of his recent soul, wondered uneasily why Drusilla’s words had bothered him so much, incensed him so completely that he would take her life. Could it be that there was some bit of truth within them, some secret knowledge that she had been revealing, that he could not allow?

That thought returned him to the little redhead in the doorway, and he turned toward her -- to find that she was not in the doorway any longer.

Willow had fled.

A momentary sense of panic seized him, and he was suddenly certain that Willow would waste no time in going directly to the Slayer, telling her of the mad vampiress’s ramblings-which-were-more-than-ramblings. Buffy knew that, while Drusilla was clearly insane, she was also prescient.

Would the Slayer believe Willow, when she revealed Angel’s secret confusion, the feelings that he had not yet even had time to come to terms with himself?

He could not afford to find out.

“Willow!” he called, as he took off out the door and down the stairs, anxious to catch up with her before she got back to Buffy. “Willow, wait!”

A/N: Much thanx to my lovely and talented beta, Eowyn315!!! Thanx so much, love :)



Buffy waited breathlessly for Spike’s response to the question on which rested the whole of her relationship with Angel, past, present, and future. Time seemed to slow in that moment, between her asking and his telling, and a part of her panicked, terrified to hear the answer to the question that had troubled her for days.

Was it possible that simply by giving herself completely to him, Buffy had stolen Angel’s soul away?

“Yes.”

Spike’s simple answer set her reeling, staggering backward, shaking her head in denial of the response she had already known he would make -- before swiftly recovering and coming at him, her jaw set in fury, her fists poised to strike.

“No! No, that’s not true! It had to be something else…”

Spike did not back down, even as she stood right in his face, narrowed emerald eyes blazing with warning.

“*What* else, Slayer? What else happened out of the ordinary that night?” he challenged her, boldly holding her gaze. “I’ve seen the future, love, believe it or not, and it all comes out eventually. You will know one day, beyond all doubt, that it bloody well *was* that single soddin’ shag that did it. And so will everyone else…” His voice grew softer, sobered. “So, it’s in your own bloody best interest to tell your friends, your Watcher, before they find out on their own and things get *really* soddin’ ugly. And hitting me won’t make you feel any better about it.”

His abrupt shift in topic, spoken in that same calm, inexplicably concerned tone of voice, startled Buffy, throwing her off her guard. She lowered her hands to her sides again, unclenching her fists with an effort as she let out a heavy sigh and backed off a couple of paces.

Still, her voice was defensive, and sullenly threatening, as she replied, “Don’t tell me what’s in my own best interest, Spike. I’ll decide whether or not I want them to know. This is -- personal.”

“Not for long.”

“What’s gonna happen to change that, then?” Buffy demanded, recovering enough emotional control to shift the subject again, not wanting to think too much about the staggering revelation Spike had just made. “If you know so much, what’s Angel going to do that’s so terrible that I should cut him out of my life, even now that he has his soul back?”

“I’m not saying cut him out of your life. Bloody hell, if he’s gonna be around at all, you oughta soddin’ well know what he’s up to!” Spike scoffed, and then stated bluntly, “I’m saying stake him, Slayer, now, before he gets the chance to do as much damage as he’s going to if you don’t do something about it!”

Buffy glared at Spike, growing impatient with his fairly evasive warnings. She ground out the words in barely controlled rage.

“Like. What?”

Spike abandoned his attempt at gentleness, frustrated by her attitude. “Like killing your friends. Like destroying your relationships with your Watcher, your mum, your little sister…”

Buffy’s stunned expression faded into a puzzled, suspicious frown. “I don’t *have* a sister.”

“You will.”

The Slayer’s eyes widened at that, and she gasped, “*Mom*? But…but who..?”

“That’s not important right now, Buffy. What’s important is stopping Angel before he…” Spike’s voice abruptly trailed off, and he shook his head, looking away from her questioning gaze, unable or unsure how to go on.

“Before he what?” The Slayer’s voice finally held a note of genuine fear, as she moved slowly closer to Spike, seeking his averted gaze, no threat in her stance this time. “Spike, what is he going to do?”

Spike hesitated, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he finally relented and met the Slayer’s troubled eyes. It would hurt her to hear it -- but it would hurt much worse if she didn’t.

“He’s going to kill one of your best friends.”

“Who? When?”

“Willow. He’s going to *turn* her.” Spike was quiet for a moment, allowing those shocking words to sink in before answering her second question the best he could. He gave an apologetic half-shrug to indicate that he knew no more. “*Soon*.”

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

“Willow! Wait!” Angel called out, rushing down the sidewalk, following the scent of Willow’s panic. “Wait, it’s okay!”

He hurried after her, intent on catching up with her before she got back to Buffy. He had to stop her, had to find a way to explain what she had just seen and heard, before she managed to give Buffy the wrong idea about him.

Or, if he was honest with himself -- the *right* idea.

But Angel was rarely honest with himself.

*Stupid Dru,* he thought bitterly. *Always knew too much for anyone’s good, even her own. Why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut? Why’d she have to tell Willow all that stuff that doesn’t even matter? It’s just going to give Buffy ideas, and make her more likely to believe whatever lies Spike is telling her. I’ve got to stop Willow before she can…*

He paused when the street came to an end, the choice interrupting his frantic thoughts. He shifted into his game face as he looked and scented both directions for the terrified little redhead.

And Willow *was* terrified. Angel could smell it.

And it smelled delicious.

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

Willow was beginning to run out of breath, out of strength, out of all the things she needed to keep herself ahead of the dangerous creature that she was certain was just behind her. Her fear had sped her steps along, but now, she was simply at the point of exhaustion, and she was beginning to think that her panic would not be able to carry her much further.

*He enjoys your fear…he wants to hurt you…Daddy wants to hear you scream…*

Drusilla’s dying words echoed in her mind, and Willow pushed herself just a little bit harder. The mad vampiress had been -- well, *mad* -- but she had also been psychic, Willow knew. And the things she had said -- the thoughts and desires she had attributed to Angel, soul or no soul…

Willow felt a sick sensation creeping up within her, and she fought it back, knowing that she had to keep moving, had to get to Buffy before Angel caught up with her. She knew the dark secrets that still lay in the vampire’s heart…and he knew that she knew.

“*Willow*!”

She turned to glance anxiously over her shoulder, and her wide eyes locked with the golden gaze of a predator, smiling at her from down the street. At the sight of Angel’s true face, Willow felt a heavy weight of dread settle into her stomach, with the strengthened evidence that her fears were well founded. Her feet felt like lead, but she forced them to move, more certain than ever that if she didn’t get away, and quickly, she might never reach Buffy at all.

She stumbled as she turned, and tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, falling to the ground on her face and scraping her cheek painfully against the concrete. She let out a quiet whimper of pain and fear, but struggled to her feet, pushing away the pain, knowing only that she had to get moving again.

She rounded another corner, desperately hoping to lose him among Sunnydale’s back alleys -- only to come face to face with the monster she feared, inches away from her and grinning maliciously.

“Come on, Willow,” he cajoled her softly, holding up his hands in an innocent gesture as she backed away from him on trembling legs. “You know you don’t have any reason to be afraid of me…”

She spun around and started to run again…only to be cut off before she had gone ten feet, the vampire once again standing in front of her, blocking her escape.

“…and you know you can’t outrun me,” Angel added in a mildly reproving voice, shaking his head slightly in a regretful way.

With a sinking heart, Willow realized that he was right. Still, her feet carried her slowly backward in an instinctive attempt to get away from the frighteningly close presence of the tall, dark vampire facing her, those golden eyes boring into hers with a fierce, wicked glee.

“A-Angel,” she stammered, swallowing hard as her back hit the wall of the building behind her. “I -- I know…I…heard someone chasing me. I didn’t know it was you, or I -- I wouldn’t have -- of *course* I wouldn’t have…run from *you*. Because you’re good. You have your soul back, right? So, you’re good. No reason to be afraid of you…”

“Quit your rambling, little girl.”

The dark, menacing tone of his voice stilled her words, and her heart momentarily, as she flinched at the sound.

“Willow, little Willow,” Angel mused, the menace instantly vanishing from his voice as he slowly advanced on her, still in game face. “I know you’re scared of me. I can feel it…can *smell* it…but you shouldn’t be.”

Willow shook her head rapidly in agreement with his words, her back pressed against the brick behind her as Angel closed in.

“But you still are,” he observed, frowning. “Willow…those things Dru said…”

“She’s crazy,” Willow interrupted in a whisper, her eyes closed, her head turned away in revulsion from the monster visage before her. “Crazy, she didn’t know what she was saying…”

She knew that she had to convince Angel that she had not believed Drusilla’s words, if she was going to get out of this alive. Instinctively, she was certain that he would not let her go until he was sure that she would not carry the story of this evening directly to Buffy.

Angel smiled, pleased, nodding as he affirmed, “Yes, she is. She’s out of her mind. All those things she said…she was talking about someone else, Willow. You know that, right? She was talking about someone that I’m not…not anymore.”

Willow nodded with the same certainty with which she had shaken her head moments before, eagerly agreeing with Angel’s words. “I know…I know…” she whispered tremulously, in a voice so soft that he would not have heard her, had he been human.

“Willow…” Angel’s voice held a touch of irritation now, as he pressed, “…Willow, come on! You don’t believe me!” He sounded stunned, genuinely offended. “Willow, I’m not going to hurt you…look at me! Why won’t you…?”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened with sudden understanding.

“Willow…”

He reached out a strong but soft hand to tilt her chin toward him, and she looked into his face through wide, terror-stricken eyes filled with tears. His other hand reached up to touch his own face, as he uttered the truth he had just realized.

“It’s this -- isn’t it? This is why you’re scared?”

Willow leapt at the explanation, nodding quickly. “Yes. Yes, you were -- I mean, he was -- when -- he looked like that…”

“Oh, Willow.”

Angel’s voice was filled with sympathy and regret, as his features shifted back into his human face, and his hand gentled on her chin, caressing her cheek. When she winced in pain at the touch of his fingers on the bloody scrape, Angel frowned.

“You’re hurt. Sorry,” he said quietly, absentmindedly raising his fingers to his lips and licking the traces of her blood off them. At the taste of her blood -- sweet with her fear and rich with the exertion of her run, and tinged with the slightest hint of strawberry -- Angel’s dark eyes dilated slightly, and he swallowed hard, alarmed at the rising desire he felt coming up inside.

And outside, as well.

Willow’s eyes widened with fear as she saw the lustful expression in his eyes when they met hers again, and felt the evidence of his arousal against her leg. With a little cry of disgust and fear, she tried to push him away from her, distressed at his nearness and the obvious attraction that Angel still held for her, despite all the horrible things that had happened between her and Angelus.

Angel caught her wrists in his, pinning them back against the wall beside her, leaning in closer.

“Shhh,” he urged her gently, concern in his voice. “Willow, don’t…I’m not going to hurt you…Willow, stop it, you have to calm down…”

“Don’t *touch* me!” she cried out, struggling wildly, but uselessly, as he brought her wrists over her head and held them pinned in one strong hand, the other falling easily over her mouth, silencing her cries and holding her head firmly in place.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Willow,” Angel assured her. “I just want to make this better…this scrape…” His voice had lowered to a whisper, hoarse with desire that he could not disguise, and his eyes were flashing golden again, focused on the cut on her cheek.

Willow fought desperately, but was no match for his strength, as Angel gently laved the scrape with his tongue, releasing a low moan of pleasure at the taste of her blood. He took longer about it than he should have, savoring the taste and the feel of her silky skin, before drawing back to meet her eyes.

Willow’s emerald eyes filled with panic as she saw that he had unknowingly shifted back into his game face. She fought, trying to scream around the hand he held over her mouth.

“Willow, calm down,” Angel instructed her, though now his gaze had shifted from her eyes to her wildly pulsing throat. “Calm down, you’re just making me…I mean, you’re just making it…worse…” He looked up again, smiling into her eyes. “Your cheek’s already healed up. See? I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

Willow went still, belatedly realizing the futility of her struggles, and simply stood there helpless in his grasp, waiting to see if he would actually let her go…or not. Her heart was pounding with terror, her face wet with tears, but she knew by now that fighting would do her no good, if Angel meant to harm her.

“See…I healed it,” Angel told her with a smile. “I didn’t hurt it. And I’ll be sure that you get home okay now. But…but first…I think you owe me, Will…”

Her entire body went rigid with fear as she felt him press his obvious erection closer against her, edging between her legs and brushing the crotch of her fitted jeans. She let out a pleading, terrified whimper around his hand, shaking her head desperately as she met his eyes with horror in her own.

“Willow, no!” he objected when he realized what she thought. “No, that’s not what I mean! I would never do that, not unless I knew you wanted…no, no, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He paused, and she noticed with alarmed understanding that his eyes were once again fixated on her throat. “All I’m talking about is…is just a little taste of that sweetness I just cleaned off your face…just a taste, Willow…”

She struggled, trying uselessly to scream, as his lips parted…and then closed again over the throbbing pulse in her throat.

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!! :)




“Well, we don’t have to worry about her tonight,” Buffy sighed as she hung up the phone and went to sit on the couch beside Ms. Calendar. “Xander said he walked her to her house. They got there just fine, and she was going to bed, so I’m guessing that when and if Angel’s going to do something to Willow, it’s not going to be tonight.”

“I don’t know, Slayer,” Spike warned her quietly, his eyes solemn as they met hers. “You called the boy, but I think you oughta call Red herself. Make sure she’s as safe in her bed as he seems to think she is.”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, hesitating, uncertain how to voice her reasons for not calling…but mostly, just not wanting to state the painful truth.

She wasn’t too sure that Willow wouldn’t hang up on her if she called.

“As utterly perplexing as this may sound, Buffy,” Giles spoke up softly, rising from his seat in the chair across from the sofa with a quiet sigh, “I believe Spike may be right. Perhaps it would be best to call Willow…if only to instruct her to stay inside tonight, and at all times after dark until we are able to figure this out.”

Buffy knew that he had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. Pouting in the general direction of the phone, she slowly rose to her feet.

“I’ll call her,” Ms. Calendar volunteered, taking pity on the Slayer and rising to make her way to the phone, as a very relieved Buffy sank back down onto the sofa.

Before she could lift the receiver, the telephone rang under her hand.

The timing was clearly ominous. The four still gathered in the Watcher’s living room exchanged anxious glances, before the gypsy teacher picked up the receiver and raised it to her ear.

“Hello?”

After a few moments, she spoke again. “Okay, slow down…why do you think…? Okay, just a second…hold on just a second, I’ll tell her, okay? Just calm down.” Ms. Calendar held the receiver away from her mouth as she turned troubled eyes on Buffy. “It’s Xander. He says after we called him, he got worried about Willow and called her house. Her mom went to call her to the phone…and she wasn’t in her room.”

“Oh, no,” Buffy moaned, lowering her head into her hands for a moment before rising once more. “I’ve got to go find her. It could be too late already.” She turned suddenly toward Spike, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “When is this supposed to happen?” she demanded. “Do you know that much, Spike?”

“Well, I’ll know when it’s close,” the vampire replied grimly. “It’s sort of a result of something else that’s gonna happen -- and when the first thing happens…well, I’ll bloody well know it.”

“What’s the first thing?” Giles asked, frowning.

“Angelus…Angel’s gonna kill Dru,” Spike blurted out, flinching slightly at his own words.

“But how would that lead to his turning Willow?” Miss Calendar frowned. “I mean, no offense…but isn’t staking Drusilla…more of a ‘good Angel’ thing to do?”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed in a disgusted tone of voice, “I mean…Angel wouldn’t just kill an innocent girl. But…if he’s lost his soul again, why would he stake Drusilla? That’s pretty much a good thing as far as I’m concerned, and more of an ‘Angel’ thing to do, isn’t it?”

“He hasn’t lost his soul,” Spike replied, a warning growl underlying his words at the tone Buffy had taken when speaking of his sire. “And Dru was once an innocent girl, too, Slayer. Look what Angelus did to *her*.”

“We’re not dealing with Angelus…”

“Yes, we bloody well are!” Spike’s eyes blazed with frustrated fury. “They’re one and the same, Slayer, and you’d better get that, and right bloody quick!”

“Drusilla’s not dead yet, is she?” Buffy snapped, clearly determined to change the subject.

“No,” Spike admitted with an irritated sigh. “Not yet.”

“Good. Then we still have time…”

“Buffy…”

“Look, we don’t have time for this. I have to go find Willow,” Buffy insisted, turning abruptly away from Spike and heading toward the door. Over her shoulder she instructed the others, “Tell Xander to come over here. You’ll all be safer together. Spike, you can come with me.”

“Oh, can I? Brilliant.”

Buffy glared at him, muttering, “Fine. Suit yourself, Spike. Whatever. But if you really wanted to help me…” Her voice trailed off as she stopped short just before reaching the doorway, surprised to see him standing directly in front of her, a determined expression on his troubled face.

“Of course I’ll help, Slayer,” he informed her softly. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Spike did not respond to her snark, just stood there staring at her, refusing to back down.

Buffy held his gaze for a long moment, before shaking her head and waving him out the door ahead of her, muttering under her breath, “You really *do* wanna help. Too weird.”

“Slayer,” Spike breathed darkly, pausing on the porch to allow her to lead the way as she walked past him out the door. “You have no bloody idea!”

They were barely to the sidewalk when the first shockwave of a very physical grief hit Spike.

He knew without being told, without any evidence beyond the profound sense of loss and disconnection that suddenly overwhelmed him -- Drusilla was dead.

“No,” he moaned, shaking his head, dropping to his knees where he stood, his arms crossed defensively over his chest as he swayed slowly. “No, not my Dru, my princess, please, love, no…”

“Then, the crazy ho is dead? Good riddance,” the Slayer remarked flatly, deliberately turning her back on the poignant picture of grief that Spike presented. She was the Slayer; she was not supposed to feel bad when a psychotic menace like Drusilla died…but Spike’s reaction was breaking her heart. Swiftly, she tried to move on. “But that just means that now Willow’s in more…”

The attack was so sudden, so completely unexpected, that before she knew what had happened, Buffy was on her face on the concrete, powerful blows raining across her back and shoulders. Instinctively, she reacted, not taking time to think about the shocking fact that Spike had actually attacked her.

*And why is that shocking again? It’s only the fifty millionth time he’s tried to kill you!*

She pushed up on her arms, throwing the snarling vampire off her and swiftly rolling to reverse their positions so that she was over him, struggling to pin down his flailing, scrabbling hands as he snapped at her with glistening fangs, fury blazing in golden eyes.

“Spike!” she yelled in frustration. “What the *hell*!”

“Don’t you *ever* talk about her like that, you bloody bitch!” Spike yelled back, his struggles stilling as he glared up at her defiantly through brilliant eyes glittering with a pain so raw it took Buffy’s breath. “She’s more than that, she’s bloody *amazing* -- a revelation -- she’s my *sire*, and you can’t talk about her like that, you bloody, soddin’, *stupid* bint!”

Buffy tried to stay calm as she replied firmly, holding his gaze, “Spike…she’s *dead*. I’m sorry, but she is. And if we don’t move fast, Willow’s going to be…”

Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening as she realized that the fiercely fighting vampire of moments before had dissolved into a sobbing heap on the ground beneath her. Spike’s shoulders shook, his wrists still pinned by her hands, and he turned his face away from her, his eyes closed, soundless sobs rising from his throat as he shook his head in what was either denial of the truth, or a desire for her not to be there, intruding on his very personal grief.

The soft keening sound that left his lips tore at Buffy’s heart, despite her resolve not to feel anything for either vampire.

He sounded like she had felt when she had first realized that Angel was gone.

“Spike,” she said softly, her grip easing on his wrists as her hands slid up to rest on his arms. “Shhh…it’s okay…”

He shook his head again, and this time his meaning was clear.

It was *not* okay -- not at all.

Buffy knew that she had no words to offer to ease his grief, but she didn’t really mean to do what she did next, either. Still, somehow, in the next moment she found that she had leaned back on her knees, gently pulling the shattered vampire up with her and wrapping her arms around him, just holding him close to her and rocking slightly as his body shook with the intensity of his pain and loss.

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

Angel was lost.

He was not aware of where he was, or what he was doing, only a sense of warmth, and light, and a sweetness that surrounded him, consuming him until it was a part of him, and there was nothing else. He savored it -- the rich, mingled flavor that was innocence, power, and terror -- until he tasted the faint, sickly sweet flavor that he had tasted too often to ever forget.

Death.

With a shock, he came to himself, drawing back and shoving away the limp, unresisting form of the girl in his arms. Revulsion and horror filled him, as he stared in disbelief at the pale, weakened body on the concrete at his feet, and heard the faint, erratic sound of her swiftly surrendering heartbeat.

Willow was moments from death…and it was his fault.

Buffy was going to kill him.

Angel panicked.

All he knew in that moment was that he could not let the girl’s life simply vanish away completely. He had gone much further than he had intended, had lost control of his demon and taken too much blood. Now, he wanted nothing more than to somehow take it back, to undo the damage he had done, before it was forever too late.

*Forever*.

A desperate thought that he never would have considered under other circumstances entered Angel’s mind, and a wild, irrational hope seized him with that thought. He could not give Willow back the swiftly ebbing life he had unthinkingly stolen from her; he knew from experience that she did not have as much time left as it would take to get her to the hospital. No, he could not give her back her life.

But he could give her eternity.

And, better yet, if he was cautious and graced with a little good luck…Buffy would never have to know what he had done.

He knelt beside the barely conscious redhead, listening closely for the faint pulse that told him it was not yet too late. As he reached out to pull her into his arms, she let out a soft, despairing moan -- and Angel nearly wept with relief.

*Relief? *Relief*? You’re about to commit the ultimate betrayal -- against Buffy, against Willow, against everything you’ve spent the last century believing…you’re about to…*

*Don’t think. No time. Just act. Think later…*

Angel pulled Willow closer to him, cradling her still form in his arms as he raised one shaking wrist to his fangs and made a clean slice in his own flesh. He gently tilted Willow’s head back, holding his bleeding wrist over her slightly parted lips.

She was too weak by this point even to swallow the cool blood that dripped into her mouth.

A few tense moments of gently massaging her throat led to a reflexive swallow, and Angel was once again overwhelmed with a sense of relief -- not only because he had been able to get her to respond, but because it was *done*, and for better or worse, there was no turning back. The decision had been made, and all that was left was to play it out, whatever the consequences might be.

Just then, however, his relief was shattered by the sound of a familiar voice calling out into the darkness, and not very far away at all.

“*Willow! Willow, where are you?*”

Angel hesitated for just a moment, fighting back panic as he realized that he was likely moments away from being caught quite literally with blood on his hands, before he lifted Willow’s nearly weightless, still form into his arms and rushed off down the alley, away from the sound of Buffy’s desperate voice.

He needed to find a quiet, safe place where he and his new childe could rest, until she awakened to the new existence he had chosen for her.

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



“We have to go.”

Buffy was momentarily stunned by the realization that the hoarse, choked voice urging them back to action was that of the broken vampire she held in her arms, rather than her own.

There was no question that Spike was right.

They had only been kneeling there together on the sidewalk in front of Buffy’s house for a few brief minutes, and it wasn’t as if Buffy had really had any choice in the matter. She needed Spike because of his knowledge of what was going to happen, and the vampire had been in no condition to go on, stricken to the ground in his sudden shock of grief for his lost sire.

But Willow was running out of time.

What was so very surprising was that Spike was the one who had called her attention back to that fact. Why did Spike care what happened to Willow, anyway?

Yes, he had a soul now…but in the midst of his own overwhelming grief, it was surprising -- and a little bit amazing -- to Buffy that the vampire was able to recover his composure relatively quickly, and return to the emergency at hand.

“You’re right,” she replied, slowly dropping her arms from around Spike’s trembling form. “We -- we’d better get going. We don’t know how much time we have.”

Now that they were both in control again, she felt awkward and a bit embarrassed by her spontaneous reaction of comfort and reassurance. In the moment when she had realized that Spike had just fallen apart beneath her, it had seemed that there was nothing else for her to do but to offer her understanding and sympathy, for a pain that she thought she knew just a little bit about.

She felt her face flush with humiliation to think how closely, how intimately, she had held the vampire in her arms…and how natural and strangely comfortable it had felt to do so. She turned her back on Spike, no longer willing to face him, and started off down the sidewalk.

“Slayer?”

Buffy stopped short, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She could barely bring herself to respond, but somehow managed a single word.

“What?”

*He must think I’m a total idiot.*

“Thank you.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise at the quiet words, startling coming from the lips of her mortal enemy.

**Is* he even my enemy anymore?*

“Um…you’re welcome,” she managed to mumble, without turning to face him. “It’s not like I could…not like there was anything else I could do.”

She started walking again, anxious and uncertain about this strange new dynamic between her and Spike. He fell swiftly into step beside her, keeping pace as she moved across town toward the place where Spike had envisioned Willow’s death at Angel’s hands.

“You didn’t.”

Buffy frowned, unable to make sense of the simple phrase. Thinking that she had a pretty good idea of what Spike was talking about, she replied dryly, “I find it pretty difficult to believe myself, but I’m pretty sure I did.”

“In the future I saw,” Spike clarified.

Buffy swallowed hard, but kept walking, not responding as she quickened her pace.

“Drusilla died…but it was later…and you…you didn’t really care all that much.”

Buffy hardened her resolve against the vulnerable sound of Spike’s voice, still much quieter than she was accustomed to hearing it. “I still don’t,” she informed him flatly.

“I know, but…still…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Buffy muttered. Spike opened his mouth to protest, but Buffy quickly cut him off in a dark, slightly warning tone, “No, I mean it. Really, *don’t* mention it.”

Without waiting to see if he would heed her warning or not, Buffy broke into a run, not sure whether she hoped more that he would or wouldn’t keep up with her.

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

“You’re sure. This is the place.”

Buffy paced up and down the dark alley, searching for any trace of her friend or her boyfriend. She frowned, feeling the tension of frustration rising up within her as she scanned the place where Spike had said they would find Willow and Angel.

If they were lucky.

There was no one there.

“It *was* the place, in the visions,” Spike corrected, his voice low and grim. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the place *now*.”

“What are you talking about?” Buffy snapped, feeling a sense of regret even as she turned on the blond vampire, aware that it was not him she was angry with. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Spike frowned thoughtfully as he weighed the situation, thinking it through aloud. “Things have been different already. Not like they were in the visions.”

“Then…how can you be sure they were visions at all, Spike?” Buffy demanded, crossing her arms in exasperation. “What if it was just some crazy hallucination? If there’s already things that are different, then how can you be sure?”

“Because there’s enough things that *aren’t* different,” he reminded her, his piercing blue gaze locking onto hers. “Things that can’t be coincidence.”

Buffy frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “Then why…?”

“I think…” Spike began slowly, considering, “…I think that what I saw…was what would have happened…if I’d never seen it.”

Buffy stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “Huh?”

“I think that…the spell that’s letting me see the future…is letting me *change* the future. Because I’ve seen what’s gonna happen, I’m acting differently…*reacting* differently… and it’s making things change from how they would have been if the spell had never been done.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with wonder at those words…and then lit up with hope. “So… you’re saying that…maybe Angel *isn’t* going to hurt Willow. Maybe she’s all right…”

Spike’s brow furrowed. “Slayer…” he began in a gently warning tone.

“No, no…” Buffy interrupted excitedly, determined to speak her piece. “Since you’ve been changing things…like telling us about the visions and getting us to send Angel away and all…maybe it doesn’t play out the same way. Maybe Willow’s fine…”

“Or maybe she’s already dead.”

The harsh statement, spoken in a deliberately forceful tone to break through the Slayer’s desperate emotional defenses, made Buffy flinch, staggering slightly backward as if from a blow. Her eyes hardened with defensive anger, and she squared her shoulders defiantly, determined not to accept Spike’s words.

He didn’t know she was going to hit him until she did -- a hard, resounding slap across his face, a wordless reproach for words that must have come across as much crueler than they were intended. Surprisingly, Spike felt no anger at the blow, only a profound sense of compassion…because he knew the powerful grief that the Slayer was attempting to fend off with violence.

“She’s not dead,” Buffy declared in a voice trembling with rage and warning, daring him to say anything to contradict her. “She’s not. We have to find her.”

Spike slowly turned his head to meet her eyes, searching her gaze for a long moment, before finally nodding. “All right. Yeah. Let’s look.”

They searched until the hints of dawn began to glow on the horizon.

They found nothing.

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

Buffy’s weary hand reached for the door handle. Before she could touch it, the door opened, and she found herself faced with the hopeful, fearful expression on the face of her other best friend. She felt her heart shatter a little more when Xander’s face visibly grew hard and closed to her, as he read the defeat, the sorrow, in her expression, and silently drew back to allow her and Spike to enter the house again.

“Did you find her?” Ms. Calendar asked anxiously, though the absence of Willow with them should have been answer enough.

Buffy shook her head, unable to bring herself to say a single word, as she walked across the living room and sank down on the sofa, leaning forward and resting her face in her trembling hands.

“No, she didn’t,” Xander answered for her, and his voice was cold and furious. “She didn’t find her, because she went too late. Because even though Willow tried to tell her she was scared of that undead, attempted-rapist *bastard*…the *vampire slayer* couldn’t get past the fact that the creep who tried to rape her best friend was her boyfriend.”

He wanted to hit her; it was clear from the vicious tone of his voice.

Buffy didn’t have the heart to look up, simply sustaining the verbal blow, taking it in and adding it to her own mental accusations.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible to anyone in the room but Spike.

“Like that’s good enough,” Xander practically snarled the words at her.

“Xander,” Giles spoke up in a severe tone of reprimand, moving to stand between the seated Slayer and the angry young man. “You need to calm down, immediately. Nothing has been established for certain. We may yet find Willow safe and sound, and until we do, it does her no good whatsoever to make such accusations.”

“This is a time when we should be sticking together,” Ms. Calendar interjected, moving to stand beside Giles and place a supportive hand on his arm as she faced the fuming boy. “Buffy’s doing the best that she can.”

“What we must do right now is focus on what is most important -- finding Willow. That is all.” Giles’ piercing blue eyes sought Xander’s sullenly downcast gaze. “Your anger and accusations can wait for a more appropriate time.”

Much to his chagrin, Spike felt the impulse to join them in leaping to the Slayer’s defense, as unnatural as it seemed. The threat in Xander’s dark eyes called out to something in him, demanding that he rise and stand between that threat and the Slayer that he would someday fall in love with.

As bloody terrifying a thought as *that* was.

However, he could also understand how her friends must feel at that moment. If Buffy had paid closer attention to Willow’s misgivings, and been a better friend to her, she likely would not have gone out on her own the night before, and likely would be safe and alive right now.

Because Spike was absolutely certain that the little witch was dead.

“Perhaps we should look for her again. If Angel has indeed taken Willow somewhere, they would have to stay in one place until nightfall,” Giles suggested, his tone calmer now that Xander had at least outwardly backed down.

Although she was obviously exhausted, Buffy rose to her feet again, a bit unsteadily. “I’ll go,” she offered quietly, her voice trembling with the beginnings of tears.

Spike was sure that he had never seen a Slayer less ready for battle than Buffy was in that moment.

Her Watcher seemed inclined to agree.

“No, Buffy,” he gently told her. “You’ve been out all night. You’re exhausted. You need to stay put. Jenny and I will take our shift looking for her, while you stay here and…keep an eye on Spike. He can’t go out in the sunlight, and soul or no, I’ve no intention of leaving him alone in my apartment.”

Buffy tried to find an objection to his very logical argument, but didn’t have the strength of mind or heart left to follow through. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

“Xander,” Ms. Calendar said quietly, turning toward the scowling young man. “It might be a good thing if you go by Willow’s house. You’re close to her family, aren’t you?”

Xander nodded, stubbornly silent.

“Yes, very good,” Giles remarked, nodding thoughtfully. “You should go by and find out if they’ve heard from her. Stay close to them and let us know if she returns.”

Xander looked up at the older man, his eyes blazing with resentful accusation. “She won’t,” he said coldly as he stalked out the apartment door, slamming it behind him.

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

A few minutes passed in total silence once Buffy and Spike were alone in the apartment. The Slayer had returned to her position on the couch, her head in her hands. Spike would not have known that she was struggling to hide tears, had he not smelled the bittersweet, salty scent of them in the air.

He slowly, cautiously sat down beside her on the sofa, watching her carefully, trying to decide what he should say or do to comfort her. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he *wanted* to comfort her. His visions had revealed the feelings he would one day hold for her, with such vivid clarity that he was not quite sure he didn’t have those feelings already.

“Maybe she’s okay,” Buffy whispered suddenly, drawing his attention out of his thoughts. “Maybe it changed…like you said…maybe something changed it and she’s okay.”

Spike said nothing, unwilling to offer her a hope he was certain would be false.

“God, she’s dead,” the Slayer cried out, raising tearful eyes to meet his, pleading for the truth and a lie with the same look. “Spike, she’s dead…isn’t she?”

“We don’t…know that,” he cautiously replied, holding her gaze steadily.

“We…we can change things. We can use the things you’ve seen to make sure they don’t happen. Otherwise what’s the point, right?” Buffy reasoned desperately, almost frantically. “I mean…why would you get these visions for no reason? If there was nothing we could do about them? Right?”

“I don’t know,” Spike admitted with a helpless, apologetic shrug. “I don’t know who in the bloody hell *gave* me the visions, love. I’ve got no bloody idea, really, but it makes sense that we should be able to…”

“What did I do?” Buffy whispered, her voice low and strangely calm.

“You didn’t do this, Buffy,” Spike insisted with more conviction in his voice on this point. “This isn’t your fault…everything’s just happening so soddin’ fast…”

“No.” Buffy shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean…when…when you lost Drusilla. In your visions. You said I…I didn’t do what I just did, when it happened. What…*did* I do?”

Spike’s gaze lowered self-consciously, and he swallowed back a sob that rose in his throat with the fresh agony of his loss. It was a long time before he managed to regain enough composure to respond at all, and when he did his voice was low, barely controlled, as he finally admitted the truth.

“You laughed.”

Buffy stared up at him in stunned disbelief, her eyes wide and incredulous.

“You said…said good riddance. She didn’t deserve to live…and I deserved to lose her.” Spike swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the current and remembered pain. “You said you were glad she was dead…and you were glad that it was killing me.”

Buffy shook her head slowly, not even realizing that she was doing it, her eyes troubled. “No…no, I don’t care how evil she was, I wouldn’t have said that to you…”

“You did.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, taking that in. “You probably wanted to kill me. Probably tried, huh?”

“No.”

“No?” Buffy was skeptical. “Why not?”

Spike was quiet for a moment. “Couldn’t, remember?” he reminded her softly. “Chip. Remember…what I saw was…what would have happened if not for the spell…and the spell took the chip away.”

Buffy thought about that, sobered by the mental image of herself spouting such vicious, compassionless words, with Spike helpless to do anything to stop her.

“How did I turn into such an evil, noxious bitch overnight?”

“It wasn’t overnight,” Spike explained, his voice still quiet and subdued with his effort to suppress his pain. “In the visions I saw…Dru died much later on. Angel killed her. The details aren’t the clearest, because we only knew a little from him and Willow…after he…turned her. But it seems that the girl heard some things from Dru that Angel didn’t like her hearing. So he killed her. But…it wasn’t this soon. It was years from now. And -- a lot had happened to you in between.”

“And apparently I didn’t choose to let it make me ‘better’, did I?” Buffy quipped darkly, sighing as she lowered her head into her hands again.

Spike did not respond.

“But…if Dru wasn’t supposed to die until later…maybe it happened differently this time…right?” Buffy guessed with a faint, almost faded hope. “I mean…it’s possible… right?”

Spike still kept his silence, unwilling to hurt her with the truth, or to soothe her with a lie.

And he was quite certain that Willow was already dead.

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful and hard-working beta, Eowyn315!! :)



Giles and Jenny had been gone for less than ten minutes when Buffy rose from the couch and strode purposefully toward the kitchen, slamming the small, swinging door open. Spike stared at the door as it continued to sway, staring at the spot where she had disappeared, before making his way across the room to follow her.

He found her in front of one of the cupboards, rapidly drawing out various items and tossing them to the floor in her haste to find whatever it was that she sought. When she did not find it there, she slammed the cupboard shut and moved on to the next one.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” The question was calm, merely curious.

“Giles has got to have some kind of alcohol around here somewhere,” Buffy muttered. “Gotta have something to…to take my mind off…”

“Not so sure that’s such a good idea, pet,” Spike said slowly, eyeing her with caution.

“I’m not your pet and you can’t tell me what to do,” Buffy sulked.

“Have you ever even tasted alcohol before, Slayer?” Spike’s voice was incredulous as he moved across the kitchen to stand beside her.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Spike stared at her for a long moment, debating…before finally shrugging and opening the cupboard next to him. “Sod it. I could do with a drink myself, love.”

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

“So tell me about the future.”

Spike looked up at the Slayer in surprise, from where he sat on the sofa beside her, albeit a safe distance away. For a first time drinker, the Slayer was certainly making short work of her Watcher’s rather impressive supply of alcohol -- and as a first time drinker, there was no accounting for what type of drunk she might turn out to be. After a moment Spike looked down again, drawing in a deep breath as he prepared to respond.

“There’s a lot to tell, love. And a lot of it won’t happen now, so…so maybe it’d be best not to get into it, yeah? Better not to know some things.”

*Especially when you’re pissed out of your mind and bloody unpredictable.*

“But I wanna know,” Buffy pouted, her voice slightly slurred.

It had been an hour since they had found Giles’ stash, and she had already polished off a bottle and a half of rather expensive scotch. Of course, she might have finished the second bottle already as well, had she not had to stop after every swallow to make an exaggerated face and comment on the disgusting flavor of the beverage that she couldn’t seem to put down.

“Sorry, love,” Spike insisted, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms over his stomach. “Not gonna get into it right now. It’s not like you’d know what I was saying anyway, as thoroughly pissed as you’re getting.”

“I’m not mad,” Buffy argued, turning to face him and shaking her head emphatically. She frowned as she raised her eyebrows and declared in a voice that was a little too slow and too deliberate to be taken seriously, “But I will be if you don’t tell me.”

“Not mad, love. Drunk.”

The Slayer’s alcohol consumption did not appear to have affected her reflexes.

In the next moment, she had drawn a stake from…somewhere…and was straddling Spike’s hips, the stake poised perilously over his chest, as she leaned down close to his face to deliver a threat that was only made believable by the feeling of the wood against his chest.

“Tell me…or I’ll shtake you.”

Spike was strangely unafraid, following his instincts as he slowly, cautiously raised his hand to close around hers, the one that held the stake.

“All right,” he conceded softly. “All right, love…just…just give this to me…”

Buffy looked down at the stake with a puzzled frown, as if just seeing it for the first time, before shrugging and relinquishing her hold on it, allowing him to take it from her hand as she rolled gracelessly off him and onto her back on the couch beside him. Spike sat up, clearing his throat, adjusting his position in a futile attempt to disguise his physical reaction to her brief closeness.

Fortunately, she was too drunk to notice.

“So tell me,” Buffy demanded, though she did not appear too inclined to enforce her command, slumped bonelessly on the couch, her head falling forward and her eyes closed. “What happens in my future?”

“Might not all happen now, Buffy,” Spike reminded her. “Some things have changed already. Don’t know exactly what, though…”

“Tell me what you saw,” Buffy slurred, raising her head enough to turn bright emerald eyes, bloodshot with alcohol but still full of pain and confusion, on the apprehensive vampire. “Tell me how Angel ruins my life and kills all my friends and I become the heinous bitca from hell.”

“The heinous what?”

“Never mind.” Buffy dismissed the question with a wave of her hand, apparently lacking the energy to explain. “Just…tell me what would have happened. What I need to *keep* from happening…”

“There’s no guarantee that you can, love,” Spike warned her softly. “But…we can try…”

“Tell me.”

“All right. Well…to begin with, I wasn’t here to tell you anything about Angel…and when he showed up after the spell to restore his soul…you let him in. Willow left, and went home…and stayed there.”

“But I screwed it up,” Buffy mumbled, and her voice was thick with tears. “I screwed it up, and now she’s…she’s…” She shook her head, sighing heavily as she whispered, “Go on. What next?”

“Well…you and the poofter kept dating…and he was able to keep up the act for a long time…but he’s not the same as he was before he lost his soul, love. He’s different now…and eventually, it started to show. He…he lied to you. Was unfaithful to you…”

“Then…then it wasn’t having sex with me that made him lose his soul?” Buffy’s voice sounded oddly detached, and Spike sensed that even if he could have offered her that reassurance, it would not have meant that much to her given the circumstances.

“It was,” he confessed, his voice low and his eyes averted. “It just…wasn’t *just* the sex. It was more than that. It was…a perfect moment of happiness. That’s what breaks the gypsy curse. If Angel experiences a moment of happiness, then the soul is taken away.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Buffy petulantly declared. “Shtupid.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed with a soft, mirthless laugh. “Pretty bloody stupid. But that’s what the gypsies did. Anyway…the soul that’s in him now…his original soul…well, it’s not a part of any bloody curse…which means…”

“He can have all the bloody sex he wants,” Buffy muttered resentfully, with a little hiccup at the end of her words. “Good for him.”

“Bad for everyone else,” Spike countered darkly. “Because this version of Angel, love…this Angel doesn’t need to lose his soul to go bad…this Angel just got to where he didn’t care anymore…and he’s already gotten there this time around, love.”

“So…what happened after that?” Buffy asked, not really sounding as if she cared all that much.

“Your friends, your Watcher, saw the changes before you did. They tried to get you to break it off with him, but you wouldn’t. Angel sent Dru away right after he got his soul back…but she came back to town a couple of years later. That’s when…when Angel killed her, and…well, that’s when things really went bad. After that…” Spike shrugged.

“After that what?” Buffy pressed, beginning to sound irritable again.

“Slayer…”

Buffy sat up with an effort, glaring at him as she demanded, “Where’s my shtake?”

“Okay, okay…just wait a second,” Spike sighed. “Things went pretty much like this time around to begin with. The boy was pretty soddin’ brassed off about it…and he stopped hangin’ around as much. One night…bloody hell, Slayer, I don’t wanna tell you this!”

“Tell me,” Buffy growled without moving. “Unless you want dust. Want to get dust. Ed.”

“Right. You’re losing your power of speech, and you expect me to be scared of you.”

“I’m the Shlayer. I *am* scary,” Buffy insisted.

“Right.” Spike was quiet a moment, and the sober mood fell over them again before he continued, “It was bad. He met with a bad end. So did the teacher. She and the Watcher were married by then, and he took it hard. Went back to England. After that…well, you eventually got past your feelings for Angelus and staked the bloody pillock. It was…it was harder on you than you could take, though…you…you…”

“I what?” Buffy pressed impatiently, frowning at the emotion that was clear enough in Spike’s eyes that she could not miss it, despite her inebriated state. “What did I do, Spike?”

“You…lost your…your drive, pet. Your…heart. After you staked Angel…you…” Spike’s voice came out in a whisper as he finished with difficulty. “…you didn’t last a week.”

Buffy was silent for a long moment, taking that in, struggling to process it through her clouded mind.

Spike half-hoped that she would have forgotten it all by morning.

In her current state, it was actually highly likely.

“Where were you?”

“What?” Spike asked her to repeat the question not because he had not heard her…but because he was not prepared to answer it.

“Where were you during…all of that? What did you do, while all this was going on? Did you leave town?”

Spike shook his head.

“Why not?”

He was quiet, considering what and how much to tell her, swallowing against the thick sensation in his throat, struggling to maintain control of his emotions. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes as she took another drink from the bottle of scotch she held in her hand.

“At first…well, at first you lot wouldn’t let me,” he admitted. “Chip or no…you didn’t trust me not to…well, hire some other big nasty to take the lot of you out again…or to get it out somehow…so…you kept me here.”

Buffy frowned. “How? It’s not like we could…*babysit* you all the time, right?”

“The teacher found a spell,” Spike explained. “Like a disinvite, only…in reverse. Kept me *in*.”

Buffy stared at him, her eyes widening in surprise…and dismay. “In where?” she asked softly.

“Sunnydale,” Spike replied with a carefully casual shrug, no longer meeting her eyes. “You figured if I*did* try something…‘s long as I was in town, you’d be able to bloody well track me down.”

Buffy thought about that for a moment, her expression solemn and intent, as she appeared on the verge of some deep, profound observation. Then, she took another huge swig on the bottle in her hand, before finally speaking.

“That seems…bad. Wrong.”

Spike could not suppress a bitter laugh, and he realized with a surprised sense of alarm that it almost felt as if he had actually experienced the things he had seen so vividly in his visions.

“It was.”

“So…how did you survive? Like…get blood and stuff?” Buffy’s voice was curious, almost childlike.

“Butcher’s shop at first. Pig’s blood and that sort of swill.”

“At first? How’d you get blood…later?”

Spike winced at the question, unintentionally painful with the mental images it drew to his mind, and shook his head rapidly. There were some things that he would not tell her, not unless it came to a point when it was actually necessary -- unavoidable -- in order to protect her and the others.

*And why should you want so bad to protect her, mate? It hasn’t happened yet! You shouldn’t feel *anything* for her yet! *Ever*! She’s your bloody mortal enemy!*

“Never mind that…not important.”

To his relief, Buffy allowed that one to slip, dismissing it as not all that interesting to her after all. “What else happened? Since you couldn’t, like…feed and stuff…what did you do with yourself?”

Spike was quiet for a moment. “Helped you lot, sometimes. For cash, of course. Sometimes…for other reasons.”

“What other reasons?” Buffy persisted with a curious frown, swaying slightly where she sat, as the alcohol began to take an even greater toll on her body and mind. “Why elshe would you want to…to help us?”

Spike just shook his head, unwilling to answer.

“You better…ansher me…” Buffy slurred, impossibly drunk by this point. “Or I’ll shtake you, Shpike…I will…I mean it…I’ll shtake you again and again…”

Although there was no stake in her hand, she leaned forward as if to attack him, though it was a weak, clumsy attack at best. In the process, she nearly fell off the couch, but Spike instinctively caught her, steadying her before she could lose her balance completely. She looked vaguely startled, her wide emerald eyes locking onto his for a long moment.

As her arms under his strong hands went limp, she collapsed forward against him, her head on his shoulder. Spike’s eyes widened in surprise, but he did not push her away. He hesitated a moment, as her breathing became heavy and steady, before slowly, carefully running his fingertips through her silky blonde hair.

“Mmmm,” Buffy murmured against his shoulder. “Feels good…” She was quiet a moment -- a long moment in which Spike was almost certain she had passed out -- before she raised her head with an effort to meet his eyes again. She just stared at him, her lips parted as if to speak, though she didn’t seem able to form the words she wanted.

Finally she mumbled, “Tell me.”

Then she promptly passed out.

Spike gently lowered her body to the couch, rising so that he could stretch her out on it more comfortably. He looked around the living room until he found a blanket, and laid it gently over her with a care that he could not quite admit to himself, even as he displayed it.

Certain now that she could not hear him, lost in an alcohol-induced sleep that she had needed desperately, nonetheless, Spike finally answered her repeated question.

“Because I loved you,” he whispered with a soft smile as he brushed her hair back from her still, relaxed face. “I loved you so much.” He was silent for a long time, just staring down at her, feeling a building sensation, a tightening in his chest, which he had been trying to ignore for the past few days -- with no success.

“And I’m afraid I already do.”

A/N: Thanks so much to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!!



Spike awakened hours later to the piercing pain of a wooden stake being pressed against his chest. He opened his eyes to find himself face to face with the Slayer’s Watcher, narrowed blue eyes blazing into his as Giles crouched over him, the stake in his hand unyielding against Spike’s flesh. He glanced around with a groan to see that he had been lying on the floor beside the sofa where the Slayer still lay.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

The last thing he remembered was sitting down beside the sofa after covering her with a blanket, helping himself to what was left of the bottle she had been working on as he tried to wait for the others to return…hopefully with a shaken but physically well Willow in tow.

*Yeah. Right bloody likely.*

The slight increase of pressure on the wooden point drew his thoughts back to the present, and Spike looked up at the clearly incensed Watcher again.

“What’s this about, mate?” he asked quietly, cautiously. “What’ve I done now?”

“That’s precisely what I would like to know,” Giles replied without hesitation in a cold, deadly voice, his eyes narrowed and piercing. “I have two very vital questions for you, Spike, and I do hope that you have satisfactory answers for them. Otherwise, I shall be forced to end your existence…and with it, lose the benefit of your alleged visions.”

“Ask away.”

“First, and most importantly…why is my Slayer unconscious? And only slightly less important…what has become of the contents of my liquor cabinet?”

Spike couldn’t suppress a smirk as he laid his head back against the floor, closing his eyes, his shoulders shaking with quiet laughter at the false conclusions the Watcher had obviously drawn.

“I hardly see anything amusing about this situation,” Giles snapped. “Though I’m quite certain I’ll find it amusing to watch your dead flesh disintegrating into my carpet…” He frowned, thinking for a moment before amending, “Actually, no…even that won’t be amusing. I’d suggest you explain yourself immediately, Spike. Why are you laughing?”

Spike slowly gained control of his laughter, looking up at Giles again.

“Because your two questions have one answer, Watcher.”

Giles frowned, puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“Think about it,” Spike advised with a sarcastic sneer. “Real bloody hard. It’ll come to you.”

Giles’ initial response to Spike’s snide comment was an irritated, impatient glare -- but when he deigned to actually obey the suggestion, his eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped in horrified understanding as he slowly put the clues together.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, resting his head in one hand as the pressure that his other hand was exerting on the stake eased.

Briefly.

“Ow!” Spike protested as he suddenly found the stake jabbing into his chest harder than ever. “What…?”

“How did you manage to get my underage Slayer drunk?” the Watcher demanded.

“How did *I*…?” the shocked vampire sputtered indignantly, eyes wide and incredulous. “Bloody…the little chit is perfectly capable of getting *herself* properly pissed, thank you! *I* tried to *warn* her!”

“I’m bloody sure you did!” Giles spat the sarcastic words at him. “This must have seemed like a golden opportunity for you, didn’t it, Spike? You got Buffy drunk, and did God knows what to her…look at her! She’s unconscious!” Giles’ expression darkened with enough menace to send an apprehensive shiver down Spike’s spine, as he added softly, “And very soon, you will wish yourself to be so lucky as well.”

“She’s passed out,” Spike corrected wearily, glancing over the Watcher’s shoulder to meet the wide eyes of the teacher standing behind him, apparently stunned to see this unfamiliar side of her normally reserved, self-controlled love interest…and also apparently quite…er, intrigued…by it, judging by the faint scent that Spike could detect in the air.

“I didn’t do a bloody thing to the girl,” Spike reiterated, looking at Jenny rather than Giles, sensing that, of the two, she was the more likely to be sympathetic. “I swear, I didn’t lay a hand on her. *She* tried to stake *me*!”

“So, you’re saying you’d never have hurt her, is that it? It was purely self-defense?” Giles was still furious, and obviously not believing a word Spike said.

Rolling his eyes in frustration, the blond vampire growled, “I *didn’t*…*hurt her*. How many times do I have to bloody tell you?”

As he spoke, Jenny managed to shake herself from her fascinated reverie long enough to make her way to the prone Slayer’s side. She pressed her fingertips lightly against Buffy’s wrist for a few seconds, before looking up with apologetic eyes toward the man whose side she would ordinarily have felt obligated to take.

“I think he’s telling the truth, Rupert,” she admitted with a grimace. “Her pulse is strong and steady, and her breathing sounds normal. She’s not unconscious. I think she’s actually just…”

As if confirming the word that Jenny had not yet spoken, the Slayer suddenly let out a loud, very unladylike snore, followed by a sullen groan of protest, pulling her wrist out of the teacher’s grasp and rolling over on the couch so that her back was to them…all without waking.

Spike gave Giles a silent look of exasperated vindication.

Giles did not relent.

“Rupert,” Jenny went on, almost apologetically. “If he *was* trying to get her drunk so that he could hurt her -- then why didn’t he hurt her?”

“Well…perhaps that *wasn’t* his intent,” Giles blustered, reluctant to admit his mistake. “Perhaps he simply planned to -- to escape while she was incapacitated and therefore incapable of stopping him.”

“Yeah…bit of a problem with that little theory, too, Rupes,” Spike drawled, staring up at the man with an expression of exaggerated patience as he waited for Giles to figure it out.

After a moment, the Watcher sighed, shaking his head, as he realized what the vampire was getting at.

If he had gotten Buffy drunk in order to escape --- then why was he still there at all?

Defeated in his suspicions, Giles finally rose to his feet, backing off enough to allow the only mildly shaken vampire to rise as well.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered resentfully, making a point of brushing himself off while glaring at the Watcher, who was still looking at him with suspicion. “No wonder you lot all get…”

When the vampire stopped abruptly, Giles looked up at him again, his eyes narrowed. “All get what?” he pressed, a warning edge to his voice.

Spike dismissed the question with a wave of his hand as he took a seat in the chair across from the sofa. “Never mind. Nothing you need to know, because the Slayer and I bloody well aren’t going to let it happen this time around…”

“I rather think I *should* know, Spike,” Giles stated calmly. “As Buffy’s Watcher, I think it is best that I know what dangers she -- and the rest of us, for that matter -- will be facing…”

“I think it’s best that you don’t,” Spike replied bluntly, leveling his steady gaze with the Watcher’s. “And Buffy’ll likely think so, too, when she’s awake.”

“Speaking of Buffy,” Jenny said, as she started toward the kitchen and away from the developing confrontation. “I think I should make some coffee. She’s going to be waking up soon, and I *really* am not looking forward to dealing with a Slayer with a hangover.”

Neither man responded, each focused on the other.

“You will tell me, Spike.” Giles moved in closer in an intimidating manner, and he spoke in that same voice that had been so unsettling before. “You will tell me, or you will find yourself desperately wishing that you had.”

Of course, before, there had been a stake against Spike’s chest to emphasize the Watcher’s point.

Spike glanced over Giles’ shoulder, noting that the teacher had disappeared into the kitchen, before rising to his feet and shoving the Watcher back a few paces in one single, fluid motion.

“I’ll talk to Buffy,” Spike declared, a challenge in his glittering blue eyes as he glared at Giles. “And only Buffy. If she chooses to tell you what I’ve told her, well, that’s her bloody choice, but you’re not going to hear it from me!”

Giles’ eyes widened at the unexpected force of the shove, and he stared back at the vampire with rising understanding in his eyes, as he remembered that Spike no longer had anything to prevent him from doing him serious harm if he wanted to do so. The chip he had reported having was gone now, at any rate, and the injuries that had been inflicted on him by the scientists had all but completely healed.

“Yeah.” Spike nodded, triumph in his voice. “That’s right. This vamp’s not so bloody toothless anymore. I don’t want to hurt you, old man,” he went on, his voice softer, with a faint note of derision as he nodded toward the kitchen door. “’Specially not in front of your lady…but I will if you go to soddin’ pushin’ me around again.”

Giles was quiet for a moment, obviously undecided, a part of him rising up in challenge to Spike’s words.

The wiser part led him to take a seat with a weary sigh.

Spike studied him carefully for a moment, until he was sure the threat had passed, before sitting down again as well.

“Why don’t you?” the Watcher asked quietly after a moment.

Spike raised a single brow in his direction, surprised. “You *want* me to hurt you? ‘Cause, you know, if you really do, I s’pose I could…”

“No, no.” Giles waved his hand and shook his head in irritated dismissal before meeting Spike’s eyes again, his gaze coolly appraising. “Why don’t you want to?”

Spike looked away, feeling self-conscious under the Watcher’s scrutiny, and did not reply.

“Regardless of who’s responsible…whether you for encouraging her to drink, or Buffy for taking it upon herself to help herself to my liquor cabinet, or…or me for leaving the bloody thing unlocked…” Giles admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile. “…the fact remains that for a good while today, my Slayer was…well, quite vulnerable…and the question remains with it…of why you did not take advantage of that.”

Spike was quiet for a long moment, before he replied with a shrug, “I’ve got a soul now, Watcher…might account for it…”

“A day ago, I might have agreed with that conclusion.” Giles frowned. “But Angel has a soul as well. And…and he’s…”

Spike did not respond, and Giles realized that the vampire was not so completely convinced of the intrinsic value of the soul, either. He had simply been answering with the words that he believed the Watcher was expecting to hear. Suddenly, Giles found himself wondering whether Spike would have taken advantage of this opportunity to have the Slayer at his mercy, even if he had not had his soul returned at all.

“So, why?” he mused, almost as much to himself as to Spike. “If not the soul…then why? You’ve been telling us of your visions…attempting to help us to prevent their coming to pass…sparing my Slayer when she was utterly helpless…What else, besides a soul, might cause an evil, undead creature to actually care about the well-being of his mortal enemy?”

“If you figure that out, Watcher,” Spike replied grimly, “Let me know.”

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

It was a quiet stirring, not so much in the room around him, as deep within him, that alerted Angel to the awakening of his youngest childe, and drew him from his sleep. His eyes shot open, and he was instantly alert as he sat up in the bed where he had laid Willow’s still form and then lain down beside her.

It had been easier than he would have expected to find a decent place to hide.

At first, he had simply been panicked, desperate to escape before Buffy could find him with the evidence of what he had done. He had fled, carrying Willow in his arms, through the dismal part of town in which he had caught her, and into a wealthier, upper class neighborhood. Without really thinking through his plan, or even knowing exactly why he was doing it, Angel had knocked frantically on the first door he had come to, until someone finally opened it.

The little old man who answered the door had first peered at them suspiciously, as if assuming that anyone who rang his doorbell had to have some ulterior motive. His eyes had gone wide when he saw the condition of the frail form in Angel’s arms, and he had ushered them quickly inside, urging them to come in and use his telephone to call for help.

As Angel had glanced around the interior of the house, he had gotten the distinct impression that this was a man who did not often have visitors…or friends, for that matter. Random stuff cluttering every surface told him that this was a man with much in the way of material possessions, and little else in his life.

A man who would not be missed.

The man had pressed Angel to call help for the girl, but the vampire had refused, finally admitting to the man that she was too far gone to be helped. When the old man had looked up at him in astonishment…he had found himself face to face with a monster.

*I had to do it,* Angel told himself many times over the next few hours. *I had no choice. We have to have a place, and the mansion would be the first place Buffy would check. She won’t find us here until we’re ready to be found.*

*Besides, it’s not like I killed him…just…changed him.*

That was how he was thinking of it, what he had done to the old man…what he had done to Willow. He had taken their old lives, but had given them new ones in return. Perhaps a bit more…limited than their former existences had been.

But they were not dead…not really.

With the fledgling vampire he had made of the old man as his minion, Angel knew that he and Willow could stay at the house for as long as they needed to. Whatever activities the old man had been engaged in, they had not been particularly social. As long as his bills remained paid and the house did not go into a state of disrepair, it was unlikely that anyone would find anything to be suspicious about.

It wasn’t as if the man was all that conspicuous, anyway.

Angel still had not thought to even ask his name.

Now, Angel sat up in the bed, turning toward Willow’s pale, still body, unmoving in the bed beside him…waiting. He knew that it would only be moments before she *did* move -- awakening to embrace the new existence he had given her.

Bright emerald eyes opened suddenly, locking onto his. She stared at him for a long moment, before glancing around the room, her eyes narrowing in thought…in memory.

Angel felt his mouth go dry at that thought and wondered how much she remembered of what he had done…and how she would think of it, now that she was no longer the girl she had once been. When Willow’s eyes returned to his, now lit by a knowledge they had not held before, Angel went very still, waiting for her reaction.

Gradually, a slow smile spread across her lips, as she leaned in closer to him, her eyes gliding down from his to linger at his throat for a moment, then shifting down to his bare chest and lower, before trailing slowly, sensually back up to meet his gaze again, as she whispered a single word in a throaty, seductive purr.

“*Sire*.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



“Sire.”

Angel looked down into the wide, mesmerizing eyes of his new childe. Willow was in her vampire face, her eyes golden and glimmering and shot through with streaks of brilliant, shimmering emerald green. A slow smile crossed his lips despite his apprehension, and he felt himself beginning to relax a little bit.

To Angel, in that moment, this precious childe was worth all that creating her had cost him.

And if she listened to her sire’s instruction and did as he told her, it was still possible that he would not have to lose anything at all.

“Childe,” he said softly, simply, smiling warmly into her eyes.

Her seductive smile changed slightly, almost imperceptibly, and Angel could see amusement on her face that was bordering on mockery. She rose up to press her lips against his, parted and needy, her tongue daring past their border and running teasingly along Angel’s own trembling mouth.

Oh, how he had wanted this…for so much longer than anyone knew!

“Sire,” she whispered again, the words a cool, unneeded breath against the sensitive skin of his jaw. “Sire, I need…I’m…I’m…”

“What?” Angel gasped as her light, teasing kisses moved down his throat, her fangs nipping playfully at his skin here and there. “What is it, Willow, you’re what?”

She drew back suddenly to meet his eyes, her own flashing with a mixture of danger and seduction as she whispered her response.

“*Hungry*.”

And without waiting for permission, without asking whether or not her status allowed it, Willow’s needle-sharp little fangs darted forward, latching onto her sire’s throat and piercing his skin, drinking greedily from his borrowed blood.

At first, the powerful drawing of her need was the sweetest pleasure that Angel had experienced in over a hundred years. The desperate need of a childe for her sire was something that was rivaled by no other sensation he had ever found. Angel savored the pulling feeling as her fangs worried his flesh, and the eager childe drew strength from her sire’s body.

Too much strength.

After a few brief moments, Angel began to feel a little light-headed…and a lot worried.

“Willow,” he whispered, his hands rising sightlessly to grip her arms and push her back. “Willow, that’s enough for now…”

“No, it’s not!” she growled, drawing harder from the twin wounds on his throat, smiling around the mouthful she held of his flesh when he let out a moan of mingled pain and pleasure at the sensation.

“Willow…it’s too much,” he insisted, his voice slurred slightly and beginning to sound distant and detached. “It’s too much…”

Willow ignored his words, drawing one more deep draught of her sire’s blood, before pulling back to look at him with an expression of mild curiosity, untouched with concern.

“Oh,” she murmured sympathetically. “Are you feeling weak, Sire?”

“Yeah.” Angel nodded. “Yeah, you can’t…can’t take too much all at once…or it’ll…it’ll…do that…”

“Make you weak?” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to nod again but giving it up when he found that he hadn’t the strength left to do so.

“Awww,” she crooned, running soft fingertips through his disheveled hair. “I took a little bit too much, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Angel whispered.

“But you’ll recover…right?” Willow frowned, a look of false concern in her eyes.

Angel swallowed hard, gasping for unnecessary breath as he tried to summon enough strength to respond. “Yeah…with blood…and a little time…”

“How much time?”

His dizzy head kept him from noticing the hard, calculating note to her voice.

“A day?” he guessed.

“Good,” she murmured, satisfaction in her voice.

Angel raised his head with an effort, giving her a look of confusion at her words. A day seemed to him like far too long to be like this. He felt sick, dizzy, his head fuzzy and disoriented, and the helplessness of feeling like that was not a pleasant thing at all.

For him.

“Good.”

His childe smiled down at him with cold satisfaction, lowering her lips to his throat again, teasing the wound she had made with her fangs, before biting down hard and deliberately tearing through his flesh. Angel’s back arched with pain, though he was too weak to cry out with it.

Willow smiled down at him, unfazed.

“That gives me plenty of time to play.”

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

“Ow.”

“What’s the matter, Slayer?” Spike dutifully asked her, though he already knew very well what was the source of her discomfort.

Since Buffy had awakened about twenty minutes earlier, she had said “ow” at least as many times.

“My head hurts. And stop talking. You’re making it hurt.”

“No,” the vampire replied in a slow, overly patient tone of voice. “That would be the bottle and a half of bloody expensive liquor you just poured down your throat. Not *my* fault if you decided to behave like a soddin’ lush.”

“Shut up,” Buffy muttered, a distinct whine to her voice at this point. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Oh, *do* shut up, both of you!” Giles snapped from where he sat in the chair across from the sofa. “Or *I’ll* be the one with a bloody migraine!”

Surprised by his outburst, the Slayer and the vampire, seated at either end of the sofa, as far from each other as they could get, both fell silent.

Buffy had awakened from her alcohol-induced nap in a foul, cranky mood and had wasted no time in deciding that it was Spike’s fault. Indignant, hurt, and defensive, Spike had determined that he would not allow the affection and comfort that he wanted to show her to be tossed under her feet and trampled like so much garbage.

He had a bit of pride left still.

Just a bit -- but it was there.

After a few brief, awkward moments had passed, Jenny Calendar spoke up quietly, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Someone needs to call Xander.”

Those simple words were heavily sobering to the little group, drawing their attention back to the painful, dreadful fact that was hanging in the air among them, clamoring for their determinedly averted thoughts.

They had failed to find any trace of Willow.

None of them wanted to give up hope completely, but no one knew where else to look for her, either. Jenny had attempted a location spell she had found in a book of Giles’, but it had failed to yield the little redhead’s whereabouts. They had searched throughout Sunnydale by car and on foot, with no success.

Willow seemed to have disappeared.

“I’ll call him,” Giles offered, and the sympathy in his voice caused Buffy’s face to flood with embarrassment at the reminder of her recent estrangement from her best friend. She did not argue as the Watcher rose from his seat and crossed the room to the phone, Jenny at his side to offer moral support.

Spike and Buffy were both very quiet for a long moment, neither really sure what to say at a time like this.

Finally, Buffy broke the silence, tears in her eyes as well as in her voice.

“This is what you were talking about before, isn’t it? When you said Angel would take all my friends away from me? Destroy anything that meant anything in my life?”

Spike nodded with a weary sigh. “Yeah,” he quietly admitted. “In the visions…Angelus turned Willow…and things went downhill from there. The boy…well, he turned against you, love. Because of what happened to Red.”

“You said he…you said Xander ended up getting…getting killed. In some horrible way. Right?”

Spike’s silence was all the confirmation Buffy needed, but she was not satisfied yet.

“How?”

Spike was quiet for a few seconds, and Buffy could see the conflict on his face as he debated whether or not to answer the question. A part of her mind began to wonder about that phenomenon in itself. Why should Spike care if the answer to her question would hurt her? Why was he so helpful and concerned all of a sudden?

Before she could give the matter any deeper thought, Spike answered her question with a single word that made her heart drop like a stone into the pit of her stomach.

“Willow.”

The dark tone of his voice told the Slayer more than she needed to know. She shuddered at the vivid mental image she suddenly got of a relieved, trusting Xander throwing his front door open and inviting the creature who had once been his best friend into his home, only to have the monster that Willow had become tear out his throat…and his heart with it.

Her eyes widened with fear at the thought, and she looked up at Giles, who was still waiting for someone to answer the phone at Willow’s house, where Xander had been headed earlier . He met her eyes, but before she could speak, he was talking into the receiver.

“Yes, this is Mr. Giles. No, I’m quite sorry, we haven’t seen her. Is Xander Harris there?”

While he waited for the boy to come to the phone, Buffy whispered urgently, “Get him to come here. Warn him that Willow could be…could be…not Willow anymore. He’s only safe with us.”

Giles nodded as he spoke again into the phone, “Yes, Xander, it’s me. You need to come over here as soon as possible.”

Satisfied that her friend was being suitably warned, Buffy leaned back on the couch again, covering her face with her hands as she breathed out a heavy, shaky sigh.

“What am I going to do?” she whimpered, not really expecting a response from anyone.

“Well, the first thing you ought to do is bloody apologize to the boy. I mean, it’s not really only your fault…but he sees it that way…and there *were* things that could have been done differently…and, well, let’s just say that in the version of the future I saw, you never did…and he never got over it.”

Buffy looked up at the blond vampire, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at his helpful, matter of fact tone -- not to mention the rather blunt statement of facts that she was trying very hard to ignore at the moment. “What do you care?” she demanded petulantly, looking away from him, her lower lip jutting out slightly in the beginnings of a defensive pout.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” Spike drawled, rolling his eyes and turning slightly away from her, an expression of defeat on his face, which she was so pointedly not looking at.

A guilty pang smote the troubled young Slayer, and she sighed again, turning back toward Spike. “I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I just…I’m worried about Willow, and about Xander, and the fact that Angel’s gone bad and most likely Willow has, too, and I’m gonna have to deal with that because it’s just part of the lovely Slayer prize package for which I was randomly selected…and I’m totally not used to the whole you being a good, helpful vampire thing. Okay?”

By the time Buffy finished her nervous, rambling explanation, Spike had turned to look at her again, surprised. He took in her pitiful expression, her eyes large and sorrowful and welling with tears…

…and he never stood a chance.

“ ‘S all right, pet,” he assured her gently. “I know it’s a bloody lot to get used to. I know ‘cause I’m getting used to it, too,” he added in a rueful voice, shaking his head slowly. “I just…I really do want to help you. I hope you believe me.”

Buffy studied his face intently for a long moment, before smiling hesitantly through her tears.

“Yeah,” she confessed. “I do believe you. I could sort of tell by the passing out drunk with an unchipped, deadly vampire and waking up alive.” She frowned, aware that something was not quite right with her wording, before correcting herself flatly, “Waking up at all.”

Spike tried -- and failed -- to suppress a laugh.

Buffy pouted at him, but the faint twinkle in her eyes gave her away, even as she protested, “Hey! Quit mocking the person who could so easily kick your ass, ‘kay?”

“Yeah. I was real bloody scared for my arse last night while you were passing out on top of me!”

“Oh, shut up!”

“*You* shut up!”

“*That’s* mature…”

A knock at the door silenced their good-natured argument, which was quickly becoming a much-needed outlet for their combined frustrations. Buffy and Spike exchanged a look, before the Slayer met the eyes of her Watcher.

“Um…that’s awfully fast to be Xander,” Jenny remarked, a warning note to her voice.

“I don’t think it *is* Xander.”

Spike pointed out the suspicions that they all shared, his voice low and dangerous, a soft growl audible just under the words as he rose to his feet. Beside him, the Slayer’s instincts had told her the same thing his had told him.

Whoever was at the door was not human.

Not anymore.

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!! :)



“Okay…nobody panic. Vampires don’t usually just walk up and knock on the door…do they?” Jenny asked, a slight tremor in her voice as she glanced around the room, looking for the answer in the apprehensive faces of the people around her.

“Only if they don’t want you to know they’re vampires,” Spike replied, his voice low and cautious as he stared at the closed door, on the other side of which stood an unexpected, uninvited arrival.

“If it *is* in fact a vampire,” Giles pointed out thoughtfully, “then it can’t enter here without an invitation. Whereas, if it’s a human being, it’s likely no threat to our safety.”

“Good point.” Buffy rose to her feet and started toward the door, a look of grim determination on her face. “Might as well open the door then.”

“Just one second, Buffy,” Giles cut her off, indignation in his voice as he blocked her path to the door. “Slayer or not, what makes you think that you should be the one to answer my front door?”

Buffy shrugged, meeting his gaze boldly. “Just in case it’s not vampire *or* human.”

Giles looked at her a moment longer before abruptly backing down. “Right, then. Go ahead.”

Satisfied, Buffy moved purposefully to the front door…but her hand stopped an inch from the handle as she took a deep breath, suddenly terrified of what she might have to face on the other side. The act itself of opening the door was unlikely to be dangerous; after all, a vampire would not be able to enter, and she did not know of any other breed of demon that seemed inclined to knock.

*But what if it’s Willow? What if it’s Willow…and she can’t get in?*

*What if it’s Willow…and she *needs* to get in? What if she’s alive, but hurt, and needs us?*

It was that last thought that gave her the push she needed to open the door in spite of her fears. Her heart leapt up into her throat, and she fought back the almost unbearable impulse to rush forward and embrace the figure standing forlornly on the porch.

It *was* Willow.

Or, at least, it appeared to be.

Her hair was disheveled and wet with the rain that had just started to fall outside, and her clothing was torn and stained with blood. She looked up at her friend through wide, stricken eyes that spoke of unbelievable trauma…and Buffy’s heart broke to think that whatever the end result of that trauma might be or not be…she had not managed to avoid it for her friend.

“Willow…” she whispered, tears streaking her own face. “Willow…are you okay?”

The little redhead choked back a pitiful sob, swiping at her tears as she replied in a broken, lost voice, “*No*, I’m not okay, Buffy…that…that *monster*…he…he h-hurt me, Buffy! He *raped* me!”

Buffy flinched, feeling as if she had indeed been struck a terrible blow.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No…Willow, no, I’m so…so sorry…”

Instinctively, her body moved her a half-step forward, as if to embrace her friend, before her head reminded her to take that half-step back again.

Willow’s tears flowed harder at the sound of Buffy’s remorse and sympathy, and she looked up at her friend, her heartbreak visible in her sparkling emerald eyes. After a moment, however, an uncertain frown formed on her trembling, damp lips. She glanced at Buffy, then beyond her to the group waiting anxiously in the living room, as if just now realizing that none of them had moved to greet her, and they were all watching her strangely.

“Buffy, are you…are you going to let me in?” she asked, traces of fresh hurt beginning in her eyes.

“I hate to even ask you this, Willow.” Buffy barely managed to get the words out in a voice just over a whisper. “I don’t want to think…but you have to understand that I *have* to ask you…right?”

Willow shook her head, frowning in confusion as she took a step forward. “What, Buffy? What is it?”

“I can’t…can’t invite you in,” Buffy explained, hope dancing with terror to the wild, erratic rhythm of her heart, as she knew that the truth, painful or comforting, was about to be revealed, whether she was ready for it or not. “By now, you know enough to understand that…right? After you’ve been gone, and…and with Angel and all…I can’t just invite you in…”

“But I can come in…right?” Willow’s eyes were fearful now, as she glanced over her shoulder before meeting Buffy’s gaze again with pleading desperation. When the Slayer just looked away, unable to hold her gaze, she looked to the Watcher standing just behind her. “*Giles*?”

“Don’t answer that,” Jenny spoke up, sharply but quietly, from beside him. “Rupert, if you answer that, it *is* an invitation.”

Giles’ troubled eyes widened at that, and his uncertain gaze shifted from Jenny to Willow again, wounded distrust in his eyes.

Willow shook her head in disbelieving anguish, tears streaking her face again.

“I don’t believe this!” she cried in a trembling, tearful voice. “I don’t believe you guys would treat me like this after…”

“Willow, the invitation doesn’t mean anything…it’s just a precaution,” Buffy explained, her own voice barely under control in the face of her best friend’s emotional anguish, and the knowledge that she had had a part in putting it there. “You have to understand that, Willow. If you’re physically capable of coming in, then nothing’s stopping you. But if you’re not…”

“Of course I’m physically capable!” Willow exclaimed in frustration, starting toward the door.

As she did, her eyes locked with Buffy’s, and something in them softened, crumpled.

Buffy felt her own tears flowing harder as Willow lowered her head, holding out her arms to her as she reached the threshold; and, instinctively, the Slayer moved forward to meet her friend, ready to embrace her the moment she walked through the door.

“*Stop*, Slayer.”

Spike’s sharp warning stopped Buffy in her tracks, and to the dismay of her sinking heart, she noticed that Willow had stopped as well.

Still outside the door.

“Oldest bloody trick in the book for vamps,” Spike explained, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Willow with deadly intensity. “Make it look like you’re going in, and when the other person goes to meet you and goes just a bit past the threshold…well, then you’ve bloody well got ‘em.”

Buffy gasped, her shocked eyes turning back to Willow with a look of betrayal, as she studied her friend’s face, wondering if that could actually have been her intent. Willow’s tearful green eyes were wide and bewildered, and she shook her head in denial of what Spike was saying.

The blond vampire’s voice was softer, more subdued, as he went on almost apologetically. “Also…meant to tell you this, but couldn’t get a bloody word in before…she doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

Buffy’s eyes were still on Willow, and as she watched, the expression of hurt, lost betrayal shifted to angry frustration. The redhead’s eyes narrowed viciously on the blond vampire, and her lips twisted into a spiteful smirk as she gave a single curt nod of acknowledgement in his direction.

“Well, score one for Sparky the Wonder Vamp,” she sneered.

Spike sniffed, shrugging his shoulders in disinterest as he turned away from her. Still, he felt the need to clarify.

“That was two, actually.”

“Wow,” Willow laughed harshly, sarcastic admiration in her voice. “She’s got you even better trained than I thought!”

Spike’s jaw tightened at those words, but there was no other indication that they had upset him. “Not a matter of training.”

“So, you’re not her good little housebroken pet vamp now?” Willow sneered, her eyebrows raised dubiously as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Because that’s how it looks from here.”

“Willow,” Buffy whispered, drawing the fledgling’s attention from her verbal sparring match with the older vampire. “Oh…oh, Willow…I’m so sorry…”

The pain, the sorrow in the Slayer’s voice clearly amused the vampire, as she put on an exaggerated pout and echoed Buffy’s words, “Oh…oh, Buffy…I so don’t care.”

Buffy flinched at the hard, bitter sound of the last few words, her downcast eyes blinded by her tears.

“You know, if you miss your meek little friend,” Willow pointed out with a cold, calloused shrug, her narrowed eyes glaring at her former friend, “then maybe you should have listened to her while she was still alive…tried a little harder to protect her instead of your precious boyfriend…who’s, um…not exactly your boyfriend anymore, either. So…it looks like you lost twice, didn’t you, Buffy?”

Willow smirked at the shocked expressions on the faces of Giles and Jenny, disbelieving of her cruelty to the emotionally shattered Slayer, who was sobbing quietly by now, one hand raised to cover her face in a useless shield against the bitter barbs the vampire had thrown at her.

“And I win,” Willow concluded in a satisfied voice. “Don’t worry about me, Buffy…I’ve never been happier. I’m free.”

No one said a word; no one knew what to say.

Willow’s eyes trailed pointedly around the rectangular barrier that kept her out of the apartment, before settling on the dejected face of her former best friend, who still was not looking at her.

Nodding slowly, she smirked. “I think it’s obvious we’ve made all the progress we’re going to make for today. But don’t worry, Buffy. I’ll be back. How could I desert my best friend?”

Buffy flinched, and Willow’s smile widened as she turned to go.

“Take good care of that pet vampire of yours,” she sneered, casting a hateful glare in Spike’s direction, before her face broke into a knowing, secretive smile, and she added casually, “You know…I’ve got a pet of my own, too. They can be lots of fun, if you know how to play with them.”

Buffy looked up at her sharply, alarm in her eyes…but the vampire had already vanished into the darkness, beyond the reach of the lights of the apartment building.

“Slayer,” Spike began gently, placing a steadying hand on her arm. “Buffy…”

Whatever he was going to say to comfort her never got out. Buffy did not seem aware of the fact that he was speaking, or even her own pain at the loss of her best friend. Everything else was momentarily forgotten, swallowed up by fear at the implications of Willow’s words, she spun around to face her Watcher, panic in her eyes.

“Giles,” she gasped, seeing in his eyes the thought that had already filled her mind. “*Xander*!”

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

Contrary to their fears, Xander was not the “pet” of which Willow had spoken.

Her “pet” was currently chained to the bed in the mansion that he had procured for him and his childe…never expecting things to turn out quite as they had.

Angel struggled weakly against the bonds that held him, though his strength was nearly gone from the extreme blood loss and the futile struggles he had made already, which had only served to further exhaust him. He glanced up through bleary eyes, his vision blurry as he scanned the room, searching for any trace of his wayward childe.

Once she was assured that he was too weak to stop her, Willow had searched the bedroom until she had found the set of chains Angel had brought there for the purpose of chaining *her* up, should she react badly to her awakening. He had barely been able to maintain consciousness, let alone offer any resistance, as she chained him tightly to the bed and left the bedroom.

He tried to protest, but could not seem to get any sound above a weak whimper past his dry, aching throat.

“Aww,” Willow said in a falsely soothing, sympathetic voice. “You sound like a pitiful little puppy, *Sire*…” The word was a mockery as she leaned in close to him, tracing her tongue delicately along the place where she had savagely torn his throat. “*My* puppy,” she declared, rising up to regard him with a wickedly possessive sparkle in her eyes.

Turning toward the door, she informed him, “I’ve got to go now…got important business to attend to…but don’t worry, Puppy. We’ll have plenty of time to play later.”

And as his childe -- far more confident and self-possessed than he ever would have expected -- had sauntered out of the room, leaving him bound and helpless on the bed, Angel felt a dark sense of dread settle in the pit of his stomach, as he realized that he had made a terrible mistake.

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

Xander stalked down the sidewalk toward Giles’ apartment, silently fuming, muttering angry words against his friend the Slayer…when all he really wanted to do was to break down and cry.

Going to the Rosenberg house had been a mistake.

Mrs. Rosenberg had simply sat and cried by the telephone, while Mr. Rosenberg bustled around the house, talking to the police detective who kept walking through, lifting and looking at things that he had already looked at two or three times, as if they might somehow provide the clue to the teenager’s disappearance.

Xander knew that nothing the police might find in Willow’s house would tell them anything.

He already knew what had happened to her.

He just did not want to accept it.

When Mrs. Rosenberg had put her arms around him, apparently with the intent to comfort *him*, only to break down sobbing, clinging to him as she nearly collapsed, Xander had fought to hold in his own emotions, his own breaking, devastated heart. After all, Mrs. Rosenberg had lost a daughter (though she was not sure of that yet…but he was), and she did not need his tears on top of it.

As long as he was with Willow’s family, Xander felt like he had to be strong for them.

Now that he was alone…he no longer had to be strong.

Giles was right, he knew; it was safer for them all to be together until they were sure they were safe. But the last thing he wanted right now was to be anywhere near Buffy. He muttered to himself angrily as he turned onto Giles’ block, blinking back tears, then wiping them roughly away with the back of his hand, not watching the area around him, as he knew this route by heart.

“*Xander*?”

The familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

Something within him warned him not to trust what he was hearing…but she sounded so…so soft, so frightened and tearful, and just like she had always sounded for so many years…

He slowly raised his eyes to take her in…and she looked just as she always had.

“Xander…oh, God, *Xander*…” she sobbed softly, moving toward him, her shoulders shaking with tears of relief and…and some other emotion he did not want to think about too hard right then.

*It can’t be…she’s not…she’s…*

His eyes welled with tears as he took in the wide-eyed, lost look on her face…and moved forward to embrace her.

“Willow…oh, Willow, thank God!”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!! :)


“Willow! Oh, God, Willow, I’m so glad to see you! You’re all right…you’re all right, oh God, we were so worried! We thought you were…thought he’d…oh, Willow!”

The redhead was strangely quiet, just listening to her friend’s relieved babbling, as he clutched her close to him, his hands moving almost frantically over her arms, her sides, as if to convince himself that she was actually there. When he drew back to look her in the eyes, there was a sort of lost, distant smile on her face, her eyes wide and innocent and trusting, looking up at him as if he were her savior from all the terror and danger of the past few days.

“Xander,” she whispered. “I found you…”

“You *are* all right, aren’t you?” Xander asked her, an anxious frown creasing his brow as he put his hands on her arms, studying her a bit more critically. “He didn’t… didn’t hurt you…did he?”

The smile -- presumably of sheer relief -- left Willow’s face, and she dropped her gaze, swallowing hard…and Xander’s heart sank.

When she looked up at him again, her eyes were wet with tears. “He…he…hurt me, Xander. I’m not…I’m not okay…I mean…”

The boy’s eyes widened in stunned confusion…and then narrowed again with furious, murderous intent. “I’ll kill him,” he muttered. “Willow, if he touched you, I’ll…did he…?”

Willow lowered her head, nodding as her shoulders shook with what Xander could only assume were sobs…though the sound had such a harsh, hysterical note that it sounded almost like laughter.

Xander released her abruptly, repeating in a low voice full of rage, “I’ll kill him…soul or no soul, I’ll kill him!”

“Xander!” Willow cried out, her voice sounding choked and tearful as she grasped for him with surprising strength, pulling him back in front of her. Before he had to time to process the questions that arose within him, Willow had pressed her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking harder as she clung to him desperately. “Please,” she whimpered pitifully. “Please, Xander…don’t…Stay with me, please…”

A wave of guilt washed over the young man as he realized that he had almost allowed his fury with Angel to cause him to abandon his friend and her need for comfort, in favor of seeking vengeance for what had been done to her. Angel *did* need to pay for hurting her…but that could wait.

Right now, Willow needed him.

“Of course I’ll stay with you, Willow,” he whispered soothingly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him, his heart aching as he felt her body trembling in his embrace. “I’m sorry…I’ll stay…as long as you need me, Will.”

“Forever,” she whispered, and the aching longing in her voice tore at his emotions, drawing tears to his eyes. “Please…don’t ever leave me…”

There was no way to respond both honestly and compassionately to such an unthinking plea, one he knew was born of her trauma and confusion, so Xander said nothing, simply held her tighter, allowing his tears for what had been done to her to flow down his cheeks as he closed his eyes and focused on his friend and her needs.

“God, Will,” he whispered after a moment. “You feel like ice! How long have you been out here?”

“For -- for hours,” she replied in a small, shaking, frightened voice.

“Hours?” he echoed incredulously, drawing back to look her in the eye, frowning with confusion. “Why? Is he after you? Were you hiding from him?”

“No.” Willow shook her head, a miserable expression on her face as she lowered her head. “I just…had nowhere else to go.”

That response did nothing to assuage Xander’s questions. “Willow…your family… they’re so worried about you…”

“I just couldn’t,” the sobbing redhead wailed, despair in her voice, not meeting his eyes, apparently overwhelmed with shame and humiliation for what had happened to her. “Not after…Xander, I couldn’t have them looking at me, and…and *knowing*…”

“Okay…okay,” he soothed, running one hand slowly up and down the cool fabric that covered her back. “It’s all right, Will, I understand. But -- but what about Buffy? And Giles? They’re all over at his apartment, waiting to hear from you…they’ve been looking for you all night and all day…”

“They wouldn’t let me in.”

Xander froze, staring down at her in stunned disbelief…as the barest beginnings of something resembling dread arose in the pit of his stomach. His throat went dry, and it took him a few moments to be able to whisper out the question that filled his mind.

“What? Why not?”

Willow slowly raised her eyes to meet his…and Xander thought he saw a brief flash of gold beneath their emerald depths.

And she was smiling.

Had there been any doubt left in Xander’s mind at that moment, her response would have shattered it.

“Because they knew better.”

Agonizing understanding came too late, and Xander took a shaky backward step away from her; but Willow’s previously unexplained strength -- now all too clear -- came into play again as she gripped his arms, refusing to let him gain any distance between them.

“Come on, Xander,” she said in a low, silky voice that in no way resembled the shaken, tearful tones she had used moments earlier. “What’s the matter?” Her eyes went falsely wide and innocent as she asked him in a soft, imploring voice, “Don’t tell me you doubt me, too?”

“Willow…” Xander barely recognized the high, breathless voice that left his own mouth. “Willow, wait…please, Willow…”

“‘Please, Willow…wait, Willow,’” she taunted him, rolling her eyes in irritation, but then meeting his eyes over a vicious smile. “I think I could come to love the sound of that.”

“Oh, God,” Xander whispered, struggling to pull free from her grasp, to no avail. “Please…Willow, don’t do this…don’t…don’t hurt me…”

Her expression became pensive for a moment as she frowned thoughtfully, before her face broke into a wide, wicked grin and she nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she decided. “Yeah, I’m thinking I already *do* love it!”

Panic seized the boy, and he opened his mouth to cry out for help -- though he knew all too well that the only people capable of helping him against this threat were locked in the safety of Giles’ apartment, far out of hearing range.

Before the cry could leave his lips, Willow had shoved him roughly up against a tree along the side of the pavement, one soft yet powerful hand clamped tightly over his mouth as she rose up on her toes to lean in close to his throat…scenting him, and letting out a little hum of pleasure as she did.

Xander froze, terrified by the implications of that simple gesture.

“I meant it, Xander,” Willow whispered in his ear, her tongue flicking out to touch his earlobe, before she mouthed his neck in an unsettling, gentle imitation of the much more violent actions she was leading up to. “About you…staying with me…*forever*…”

His eyes went wide with panic and he struggled anew to escape her, but she held him back against the tree, pulling back to look him in the eye with an irritated frown.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she advised him with a smirk, though her eyes were flashing an angry warning. “It’s not so bad. I feel *free*, Xander…so much better than I ever felt as a pathetic, sniveling little human! This is great, Xander, really! This is…this is *power*!”

As she spoke, she sidled in closer to him, deliberately pressing her body against his in a seductive enticement, which drew an unwilling groan from his lips as his body began to respond despite his mind’s terror.

“Feel it, Xander,” she whispered, rubbing her thigh slowly across his swelling crotch before leaning in close to whisper with a slow, knowing smile, her cool breath falling on his throat.

“Don’t you want it?”

*No, no, I *don’t* want it, no, I just want to *live*, please, please, Willow, no, oh, God, *Willow*!*

Xander felt his heart break again, as the creature who wore his best friend’s body drew back away from him, clearly enjoying his reaction as she shifted into her vampire’s guise, obliterating any false hope he might have still held. Her hand still tightly over his mouth to prevent his panicked screams, Willow effortlessly tilted his head to the side, exposing the wildly pounding pulse in his throat to her glistening fangs.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a shrug when the answer to her question was obvious. “You will.”

Xander closed his eyes, allowing the despair to swallow him, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop her, but not wanting to watch his best friend as she struck the killing blow. He felt the cool, sharp moisture as her fangs grazed his throat…but they did not pierce his flesh.

An instant later, her restraining hands had been removed, and he stumbled forward, almost falling to his knees, but regaining his balance at the last moment. He looked up, and nearly wept with relief at the sight that met his eyes.

Willow was standing several yards away from him now, snarling a challenge at Buffy and Spike, who had apparently pulled her off him, and were now standing between him and the vampire that had once been like a sister to him.

“Get out of here, Willow.” Buffy’s voice was brittle, with an edge of pain behind its warning, and Xander knew that it hurt her to see Willow like this as much as it hurt him. She had to disguise it, or else the creature now inhabiting his former friend would surely use it against her as she had used it against him…but Buffy felt it no less for the necessary disguise.

*She *should* feel it,* Xander reminded himself, trying to steel himself against the Slayer’s pain. *It’s her fault…if she’d listened when Willow told her there was something still not right…if she’d trusted her friend over that…that monster…Willow would still be alive!*

He turned his eyes on the vampire facing Buffy and Spike, who had returned to her human face, and was now smiling disarmingly at the Slayer. She gave a casual shrug as she replied, “Fine. There’s always tomorrow night. I’ll be seeing you guys. *Soon*.”

And without waiting for the Slayer to rethink her decision, the fledgling vampiress melted into the shadows.

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

Buffy turned to face her friend, fighting back tears of relief that they had gotten to him in time.

“Xander…” She let out a shaky sigh as she stepped forward and reached out to touch his arm. “Are you all…?”

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, jerking his arm away before she could make contact.

The Slayer flinched as if she had been struck, blinking in hurt surprise at her friend.

“I’m fine. I’m alive. I’m going to Giles‘. So just -- just keep your distance, okay, Buffy?”

Without waiting for a response, Xander turned on his heel and stalked off in the direction of the Watcher’s apartment. Buffy stared after him for a long, painful moment, before focusing her gaze on the ground a few yards ahead of her and starting after him, deliberately walking at a pace that would allow him to keep ahead of them.

Spike was silent beside her, sensitive to the turmoil she must be experiencing…but he could only keep his silence for so long.

There were things that simply had to be said.

“You should have done it, Slayer.”

“Spike…I don’t need this from you.”

Her voice was hard as flint, and with a sharp note to it that should have warned him off, but Spike persisted, his voice low and cautious, but unyielding.

“I mean it, Slayer. I know you don’t want to hear it, know it’s bloody hard to even think about…but it’s done now. There’s no fixing what’s happened to her…and you need to do it now, because the longer you wait, the harder it’s gonna be, and the more soddin’ damage she’s gonna get up to in the mean time.”

“There’s the curse,” Buffy stated flatly, in a tone that told him that she had been rehearsing the response in her mind. “We can restore her soul, before she’s actually killed anyone, and she can still have a relatively normal existence.”

“Yeah,” Spike scoffed at the idea. “Normal! Who says the bloody soul’s gonna make so much difference? Look at the bloke what turned her, love!” he reminded her sharply.
Buffy shot him a death glare, and he looked away, but could not hold back one last point he had to make.

“And what makes you think she hasn’t killed already?”

Those words stopped the Slayer in her tracks. She froze, looking up at the vampire beside her with stricken, fearful eyes. “Do you think…?”

Spike’s expression was grim as he met her gaze, not willing to back down simply to spare her feelings, not when so much was at stake. “‘S likely,” he admitted. “When a new fledge rises…they’re usually starving, love. Ravenous. They have to feed as soon as they can, on the first source of blood they can find.”

“Stop it,” Buffy muttered, beginning to walk again, her pace designed to leave him behind her. “Stop it, I’m going to be sick. I can’t hear this.”

“You *need* to hear this!”

“I don’t need to have you, of all people, telling me how I have to stake my best friend!” Buffy snarled, whirling around suddenly to face him, bringing the vampire up short, her eyes blazing, inches from his. She glanced over her shoulder, watching for a moment as Xander knocked on the door of Giles’ apartment a few hundred feet ahead of them, waiting until she knew he was safe inside to return to her confrontation with the blond vampire.

“Spike, if you have any brains at all, you will *back off* and just let me handle this at my own pace…okay?”

The words were ground out through clenched teeth, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Spike felt his heart aching for her, aware that she was actually trying to keep herself calm, keep herself from striking out at him when he was only trying to help her…and he had to give her credit for that much.

It was more than the future Slayer he had envisioned would have done.

But even if she did end up taking it out on him, Spike could not simply keep silent…not this time. And if it came to it, this time around, he had no chip to prevent his defending himself against her.

“If you handle this ‘at your own pace’,” he informed her in a low, intent voice, meeting her gaze and not backing down, “then you and all your friends will be dead in a matter of weeks.”

“I thought you said it took years in your visions.”

“It did…but things are changing…everything’s moving faster…” Spike shook his head, frowning, at a loss. “I don’t know how to stop it completely…don’t know if we even can…but I know that if you have a chance of saving the rest of the people you care about…”

“I can’t,” Buffy cut him off, her voice hard and icy. “Don’t even say it. I can’t do it.”

“You couldn’t in the visions I saw, either…and that’s what killed you.”

Buffy frowned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I thought you said I gave up after having to stake Angel.”

“I lied.”

“Oh, *there’s* a shocker!”

“Give it up, Slayer. I lied to spare *your* bloody feelings!” Spike snapped, losing patience with her attitude, although a part of him understood where it was coming from and could not fully blame her.

“Spare my feelings from what?” Buffy demanded, her hands on her hips as she took a step closer to the vampire.

“From the fact that it was your best friend you had to stake!” Spike snarled back at her, immediately regretting his bluntness, but unable to stop the words that poured from his mouth. “It was Willow that killed your friends, your family…Willow who bloody destroyed what was left of your life…and it was only after she had that you were able to bring yourself to stake her! *That* was what made you give up so soddin’ completely, Slayer! And that was what cost you your life!”

Buffy stared up at him, her eyes wide and defiantly disbelieving, though Spike could see the traces of painful understanding in her gaze.

“I thought maybe…maybe if we could get to Angel before he turned her…we could save you and yours a world of suffering, yeah? But we didn’t…and now that we didn’t, it’s Willow who’s the threat, not Angel. Willow’s the one who has to die.”

The Slayer’s fist shot out, slamming down across his jaw and sending him staggering a few steps backward. He caught his balance, one hand rising to rub the swiftly bruising spot as his eyes gazed at her impassively, recognizing the pain, the misplaced fury, that had prompted the blow.

Then, his eyes narrowed in anger as he stepped quickly toward her, closing the distance between them, and returned her blow to her in kind, backhanding her across the face with his fist and sending her stumbling a step or two back. To his surprise, she did not move to retaliate, just regained her footing and glared up at him stubbornly, though a bit more subdued now…as if she knew that she had earned the blow with her own.

“Yeah,” Spike muttered, rubbing his jaw again with one hand as he gave her a look of grim determination. “No chip to stop me, love. That’s one bloody habit we’re breaking before it starts! You won’t be using me as your personal soddin’ punching bag, Slayer. Get a bit frustrated, take it out on Spike. Not bloody likely. Not in *this* lifetime.”

Buffy dropped her gaze, swallowing hard.

And then, she uttered two words that stunned the blond vampire…and also gave him hope that perhaps the terrible future he had glimpsed did not have to be.

“I -- I’m sorry.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!! :)




“Just one bleedin’ second, love. That’s gonna take a minute to process. I must not have been listening closely enough, because it almost sounded like you bloody well *apologized*!”

Buffy blinked in silence, taken aback, and her lower lip slowly jutted out in a petulant pout as her eyes flashed an irritated warning. “I hit you. I shouldn’t have. Ergo, apology. What’s the question?”

“No question.” Spike shrugged, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender at the edge he heard in her voice. “’S just that you’re not exactly one to say you’re sorry, not if you can help it -- not from what I saw in those visions, anyway.”

Buffy’s brow creased in a frown of annoyance. “Okay, and now we’re back to me wanting to hit you again.”

Spike sighed as he relented. “Who bloody knows, love? Maybe you’re turning out totally different this time around, not going through things quite the same way as you did in the visions.” As he spoke, he turned toward Giles’ apartment and started walking again, getting the feeling that the topic of the Slayer’s various personality flaws was one best left alone at the moment.

Buffy was quiet for a long moment, thinking, as they walked along the sidewalk. Then, she observed quietly, “You talk about it as if you’d lived it already. As if it’s already happened.”

“Feels like it has.”

Buffy’s frown deepened, and she grew silent and pensive as they approached Giles’ door. Spike debated knocking, but then decided that it was best just to go in, and bypass all the confusion and suspicion of the technicalities of invitations and such.

“Was it bad? For you?” Buffy asked, abruptly turning to face him just as he pushed the door open. “Your future?”

Spike took the opportunity to avoid the question, stepping past her into the apartment. A look of irritation crossed the Slayer’s face as she followed him, and she opened her mouth to pursue the subject, but a bit of conversation she heard already taking place stopped her before she could speak.

“…course it’s her fault! If she’d just *listened* when Willow *told* her…” Xander’s angry voice insisted, but was cut off as Giles protested.

“In her defense, Xander, it’s not as if Buffy left her alone with him. By all accounts, Willow had gone home and arrived there safely. If she later chose to leave the house again, without the benefit of the Slayer’s protection, that’s hardly Buffy’s fault…”

“Buffy should have backed her up!” Xander nearly snarled the words. “She wouldn’t have left if Buffy had just sent Angel away when Willow asked her to, like she *knew* she needed to! If Buffy had acted like she believed her for one *second*, then maybe Willow wouldn’t have felt like she had to…”

All at once his words broke off, as he noticed the expression on the Watcher’s face as he stared over the boy’s shoulder. Xander turned to see the stricken face of the Slayer in the doorway. For just a moment, his anger seemed to falter in the face of her hurt; then, he visibly closed off to her again, his eyes blazing into hers as he made his emphatic conclusion, defiantly glaring into Buffy’s eyes as he spoke.

“She killed her. She killed Willow.”

The Slayer flinched as Xander turned and stalked past her, his shoulder deliberately shoving her out of his way as he passed. Buffy took the blow, her head lowered, her eyes welling with tears.

“Now, wait just a soddin’ minute!” Spike objected, grasping the boy’s shoulder and spinning him back around to face him, an outraged expression on his face. “That’s hardly fair, is it? How could she have known what would happen?”

“You *told* her!” Xander nearly shouted in his face, shaking Spike’s hand from his shoulder angrily as he added, “And don’t touch me! This has nothing to do with you, anyway, Fangboy!”

“Yes, it bloody well does!” Spike snapped, meeting Xander’s aggressive posturing, stepping into the boy’s space and speaking right in his face as he went on. “All right, she buggered it all up…nobody’s disputing that, mate,” he conceded, his voice low and confidential, trying to spare Buffy’s already wounded feelings as much as possible. “But it’s not all stuff she could have changed. She didn’t set out for it to happen. Bloody hell, boy, she loved the little bint, too, didn’t she?”

“I thought she did,” Xander spat, once again deliberately directing the words toward Buffy. “But apparently not as much as she loved the guy who killed her!”

“Xander,” Miss Calendar spoke up, dismay in her voice as she moved forward to place a supportive arm around Buffy’s waist, shaking her head in disapproval as she met the young man’s eyes.

“Xander, we understand your hurt,” Giles put in, stepping protectively between Buffy and her belligerent friend. “We all feel it as well…if perhaps not as deeply, though that point *is* arguable,” he pointed out, softness and compassion in his voice for the young man who had just lost his life-long best friend. For his part, however, Giles had come to view the little redhead as something of a surrogate daughter.

“*Including* Buffy,” Miss Calendar took up the argument, as Giles’ emotions seemed to momentarily get the better of him. “This is a time in which we should be banding together…supporting one another, rather than attacking each other.” She was quiet as she pulled the shaking, quietly weeping Slayer into her arms in a motherly embrace.

After a moment, Giles regained control enough to make a quiet observation.

“We’ve quite enough enemies at the moment, Xander, without becoming enemies to each other.”

Xander took that in, his dark, troubled eyes focused on the floor, before meeting the Watcher’s gaze boldly. “Yeah. And now, Willow is one of them.”

Without waiting for a response, he stalked across the room, disappearing into another room and slamming the door behind him. All was silent for a few moments, except for the quiet sounds of Buffy’s muffled sobs against Miss Calendar’s shoulder.

Giles glared toward the closed door for a moment before saying caustically,

“Yes, Xander, please do make use of my bedroom as your personal sulking chamber. No, don’t bother asking; I couldn’t possibly have anything of a personal nature there that I would prefer not to share with you.”

“Stupid wanker,” Spike muttered in agreement, his eyes focused with concern on the tearful Slayer, as he edged cautiously nearer to her and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Buffy? You all right, love?”

Buffy slowly withdrew from Miss Calendar, sniffling back tears as she raised her head, without turning to look at the blond vampire. Finally, she replied in a low, painfully controlled voice.

“One of my best friends is dead. *Both* of my best friends now want to kill me -- and I’ll probably end up having to kill one of them…”

“I vote for the boy,” Spike growled.

Ignoring him, Buffy continued, “My boyfriend is evil -- *again*. And it’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not!” Spike objected. “Angelus was *always* evil, love, soul or no soul. Wasn’t your fault he just decided to show it again.”

A moment of stillness fell on the room as they all considered his words, and a slow frown formed on Buffy’s face as she realized his unintentional implications. By only addressing her last comment, he had unwittingly insinuated that the other things she had mentioned *had* been her fault.

“You know, if you’re trying to comfort me, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“Sorry, love.”

Buffy’s frown deepened. “Why?”

Spike blinked, caught off guard by the vaguely suspicious question. “I…well…*what*?”

“Why are you sorry? Why are you trying to comfort me at all?” Buffy clarified, shaking her head in confusion. “I mean, just because you have a soul now doesn’t mean you’d want to help me, especially not when I was apparently so awful to you in those visions of yours. Though, actually, I’m starting to think the soul thing means a lot less than I thought it did.”

“That *is* becoming apparent,” Giles agreed, his piercing gaze now focused curiously on Spike. “You raise a valid point, Buffy. Why *do* you seem so very concerned as to the Slayer’s…grief, Spike? Why do you feel the need to ease her suffering?”

“Well…I…she just shouldn’t have to suffer anymore, ‘s all. Been through enough, she has, without having her best friends turn on her,” Spike explained, his tone suddenly defensive. “Can’t a bloke feel a bit of sympathy for a hurting girl without everyone getting their soddin’ knickers in a twist?” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “Based on the visions, ‘s not like she’s not gonna have enough to deal with, if Red’s still planning the things I saw.”

“Oh, my God,” Buffy moaned, her attention drawn back to her grim thoughts by his words. “I’m really gonna have to do this! I’m gonna have to stake Willow!”

The startlingly painful statement of fact silenced them all briefly.

Then, Spike declared in a low, dark voice of determination, “Not if I can help it, you won’t!”

And with that, he turned and walked toward the door.

“Spike…wait!” Buffy started toward him in alarm…but he was already gone. “What do you suppose he’s going to do?” she asked softly, not really directing the question to anyone in particular, a pensive frown focused on the door where she had last seen him.

Behind her, her Watcher bore a thoughtful expression to match hers, as he rephrased her question slightly.

“Why do you suppose he’s going to do it?”

Jenny glanced between the two of them with bewildered incredulity, before shaking her head and asking, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Both Slayer and Watcher turned their attention to her, curiosity aroused by the certainty in her voice.

“Um…no?” Buffy gave her an expectant look. “Not really.”

“He may have a soul, but Spike and Buffy have always been enemies,” Giles pointed out. “I’m sorry, but I can see no logical reason why he would be so concerned with her well-being now.”

“What are you talking about?” Buffy pressed her teacher, turning fully to face her.

“Buffy,” Miss Calendar began, shaking her head slowly again as she glanced toward the door with an expression resembling awe on her face. “Spike’s in love with you.”

The Watcher let out a strangled sound that was halfway between a gasp and a cough, and the Slayer’s eyes went wide with shock as she stared at the older woman incredulously.

“*Huh*?”

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

“Awww,” Willow crooned as she walked into the bedroom, and her eyes fell on her weakened sire, chained helplessly to the bed where she had left him. “Poor puppy. Mama left you all alone for so long and didn’t even leave you anyone to drink. You must be *so thirsty*!”

As she spoke with false sympathy, she set down the bag she was carrying in her arms and began to slowly, tauntingly, take out various items and arrange them on the desk beside the bed. There were several whips, chains that appeared to be more for purposes of torture than of bondage, as well as other toys that made the older vampire’s eyes widen with dismay.

Willow had also gathered some clothing that seemed more suited to her now than the girlish things she had worn before. It was difficult for Angel to make them out well from his position on the bed, but he saw lots of black and blood red, and most of it looked to be leather.

Angel let out a weak, piteous sound that could have been in response to her remark about the much-needed blood of which he was being deprived, or could have been due to the provocative nature of the garments and other items that she was systematically laying out on the dresser.

Either way, it was a sound of unhappy, longing desperation.

Willow chose to misinterpret it.

“Yeah, I know.“ She shrugged casually. “The ‘mama’ thing’s a little backwards, isn’t it? But don’t expect me to go for the ‘daddy’ games like your nut-job childe you just killed. And then…”

She stalked slowly toward the bed, her predatory eyes narrowing to slits as she climbed onto the bed and hovered over him on her hands and knees, trailing the fingertips of one hand along the line of his hip and around behind him, smiling as he gasped and jerked in a useless attempt to avoid her very personal touch.

“…there’s a lot of things about this relationship that are kind of…backwards…don’t you think?”

Angel’s body tensed as her hand began to explore alarmingly private territory, and the young vampiress giggled with dark glee.

“Relax, Sire…” she murmured, leaning down to nip lightly at the torn, sore spot on his throat where she had bitten him earlier, draining him of his blood and his strength. Her eyes held a wicked sparkle as she raised her head to meet his and added in a low, husky whisper, “I’m just getting started.”

A low, deadly voice spoke from the doorway, and Willow looked up in surprise at the determination in the intruder’s words.

“No, love…you’re already finished.”

A/N: Thanks to my lovely beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



A low, dark laugh, not in any way resembling Willow’s voice in life, filled the room as the young vampire took in the form standing in the doorway. Spike met her gaze without flinching, his expression solemn and determined.

“Awww, look, puppy,” Willow stage-whispered, leaning in closer to Angel while keeping her eyes focused on Spike. “Looks like a little stray just wandered in. Maybe he’s looking for a home, too, huh?” Turning to fully face Spike without leaving the bed, Willow looked him over speculatively, her voice hardening as she asked, “Where’s your mistress, little stray?”

Spike ignored her mockery, taking a slow step into the room while reaching into his duster to retrieve a broken piece of a tree branch.

“Oooh,” Willow taunted him, her eyes widening in false alarm. “Baby likes to play rough, huh?”

“I’ve seen the things you’re planning, Red…the things you’re going to do, because she cares too much about you to stop you,” Spike informed her quietly, not acknowledging her goading remarks. “I don’t.”

“Awww,” Willow smirked, rising from the bed and taking a step closer to the older vampire. With an exaggerated pout on her pretty lips, she placed a hand over her unbeating heart, shaking her head reprovingly. “That hurts, Spike. That just gets me…right here.”

“No, it doesn’t. But just give me a minute.”

Willow’s false smile faded, her eyes glittering with anger at Spike’s firm response. She regarded him for a moment, her jaw setting with determination and challenge. “You think you can?”

“I know I can.”

The fledgling laughed in surprise, before standing up a bit straighter, the mirth fading from her eyes once more as she beckoned him in a two-handed, challenging gesture.

“Come on.”

Spike shrugged slightly, almost casually…and then lunged at her, gripping her wrist and
twisting it behind her back, bending her back over the bed as he raised the stake in his free hand and plunged it downward…only to watch as it buried itself harmlessly in the mattress where Willow had just been.

“That was sad.”

Spike whirled around to face the mocking voice coming from behind him, and stared in amazement at the little redhead, now perched on the edge of the dresser, her legs crossed and swinging idly, a smirk of satisfaction on her face.

“Really, Spike, after a hundred years…you should have better aim by now.”

“What in the bleedin’…”

“I’ve discovered some things about myself these past couple of days, Spike,” Willow mused, cutting off his slow, startled words as if he had not been speaking. “Some very cool…very heavy…things.”

Spike just watched her carefully, wary now, and unwilling to make another move until he knew exactly what she had just done…and what exactly he was dealing with. He waited in silence, aware that she was more than ready to keep talking. Even in life, the little redhead had never had a shortage of words.

It was making them come out with any sort of sense that had been the problem.

“You know, before I died, I was studying magic a little bit…just dabbling, I guess you could say. Let’s just say Miss Calendar wasn’t teaching me computers…well, not *just* computers…more than computers, anyway…” The young vampire let out a low growl of frustration, rolling her eyes at herself before regaining control and giving Spike a teasing smile. “Residual rambling. Gotta love those leftovers from humanity.”

“Right,” Spike drawled in response, still watching her closely, edging nearer to her as she looked away from him, gazing at the bound vampire on the bed as she continued speaking to Spike.

“Anyway…it was cool and all, and I was thinking I maybe had a little bit of potential. I could probably become quite the skilled little witch, with enough time and practice and hard, hard work.” Her voice was sarcastic, matching the exaggeratedly studious frown on her face as she spoke. Instantly, the frown faded into a smile of smug, secretive satisfaction as she added, “But the cool thing about becoming a vampire? It sort of…unlocks your potential.”

Spike felt a rising sense of dread as he began to realize what she was saying, but still he kept silent, listening as she indulged in that most elemental of pleasures for those who fancied themselves super-villains…gloating. It was the gloating that always seemed to bugger them up in the end…so he would leave her to it, while he kept his eyes open for a way to bring the situation around to his favor again.

“Whatever latent power was in me…whatever magical aptitude that I might have eventually figured out as a human, if I’d spent years working at it…is at my fingertips now,” Willow softly informed him, an elated smile of contentment on her face. “I can do *anything*.”

“Can you spell ‘delusions of grandeur’?” Spike challenged, one eyebrow raised in a taunting smirk at her bold statement.

Willow’s eyes narrowed in anger at his barb, and she swiftly hopped off the dresser to stand facing him, just a few short yards separating them. “Have you forgotten who I was, Spikey?” she retorted, her voice soft and frighteningly calm now as she took a few slow, sauntering steps toward him. “Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, 4.0 GPA of Sunnydale High? Of course I can spell it. Difference is…now I can *do* it, too. The…grandeur part, not…the…delusions…” She frowned.

“And we’re back to the rambling. Do you have any bloody idea how annoying that is?”

“Not really. I’m too focused on the annoyance that is you…still existing,” she replied, her eyes narrowed as she stalked toward him in a predatory fashion that would have made him laugh, coming from Willow, were he not aware of the unnatural power that the girl seemed to possess now. “Maybe I should do something about that.”

“Be my guest, love.” Despite his rising uncertainty, Spike could not help but respond in his usual fashion. “Let’s see what tricks little Red’s picked up, yeah?”

With a snarl, Willow shifted into her game face and lunged at him, but Spike’s greater speed and strength carried him easily out of her path. As she moved past him, he caught her wrist, slinging her back around so that her stomach hit the edge of the dresser she had been seated on.

Twisting her wrist hard behind her back, Spike raised the stake to strike, but before he had even lifted it, he could feel her body dematerializing beneath his hand, and by the time the stake came down, she had vanished, causing the piece of wood to shatter into splinters as it connected with the dresser…the largest of which splinters Spike still held in his hand, a serviceable stake, if he could get close enough to her.

Which was looking increasingly unlikely.

Her laugh, behind him and too close, startled him, and he whirled around, the small splinter of stake upraised in his hand. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed over her stomach, shaking her head…*laughing* at him.

“That was too funny,” she remarked, a girlish giggle slipping from her lips as she rose to her feet. “I mean…why don’t you just give it up, Spike? You can’t beat me. You can’t even touch me.”

“Yeah,” Spike sneered, “but not ‘cause you can actually bloody fight! Just a bunch of soddin’ parlor tricks is all that’s keeping you alive, love. I’ve had you twice already.”

“Please,” Willow scoffed, but there was an angry glint in her eyes as she spoke. “I could fight you. I just don’t have to.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

Willow sprang to her feet, reaching behind her without looking to tear out a wooden slat from the headboard of the bed. A cold smile slowly formed on her lips as she raised her own makeshift stake, which had a good six inches on the scrap of wood in Spike’s hand.

“Okay,” she smirked. “We’ll do it your way. And I’ll still win.”

Spike knew better than to trust that, if worse came to worst, the little vamp witch wouldn’t bring out her bag of magic tricks again. He knew that if they reached a point in the fight when she felt she was bound to lose, she would certainly use magic again, if only to make herself vanish as she had done before.

The trick was to have her beat before she knew it.

This time, when she lunged at him, Spike easily caught her and threw her to the floor several yards away, her stake skittering from her hand as she landed flat on her back and let out a breathless groan of pain. Before she could recover, Spike had reached her and delivered a debilitating kick to her side, which doubled her over in even greater pain. Reaching down, he grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and yanked her to her feet, pushing her back against the desk and releasing her with one hand. He set the stake down on the desk and drew back his fist, bringing it down in a powerful blow across her face.

“I’m a bit disappointed, Red,” he taunted her, as he continued to batter her with enough blows to keep her disoriented and incapable of recovering. “Thought you were going to put up a bit more of a fight. Guess you *do* need the magic to beat me, love.”

The rain of blows ceased as he pressed one arm across her throat, pinning her as he picked up his stake again. He was surprised to see a smile form on her face, as her hands clutched at his arm across her throat, making no effort to stop his stake, just holding his arm back enough to allow her to speak.

A sly smile on her face, she rasped out, “Guess I do.”

*Bugger.*

Aware that there was a good chance her magic would save her from his attack, Spike knew that he had to act quickly, and brought the stake down swiftly toward her chest. As he did, the witch uttered a brief Latin phrase, but whatever spell she was attempting appeared to have failed, as Spike’s stake continued unimpeded, piercing through her ribcage, through her heart, all the way through until he felt and heard the wood scrape on the wooden desk beneath Willow’s body.

And she did not dust.

Spike stepped back away from her, staring down with wide eyes at the weapon imbedded through her chest, and realized that as it had slid into her flesh, it had felt different…smoother, more fully formed than it had been previously…

Plastic.

Faced with a mere instant to act, not enough time for her little fading away act, she had changed his stake to plastic…painful, but not fatal to her.

“*Owww!*” she cried out indignantly, gripping the base of the plastic stake with one hand, bracing herself on the desk with the other. “That freakin’ *hurt*!” she snarled as she tore it from the desk and her chest with an effort and tossed it to the floor.

She started toward him, but the moment she removed her hand from the desk and took a cautious step forward, she collapsed to the floor, the pain of her wound stealing her strength and driving her to her knees.

With a grim smile of satisfaction, Spike glanced around until he saw her discarded stake, still wooden, and crossed the room to pick it up. Before he could reach it, Willow stretched out a trembling arm toward the weapon and murmured another Latin word, causing the stake to disappear into thin air, just as his fingers brushed it.

A tingling jolt, like electricity, coursed through his fingertips at the contact, and Spike jumped back in alarm. He turned back to regard the fallen witch with wary eyes…suddenly wondering if she was not quite as defeated as he had thought. She was now focused at some point behind him, toward Angel, and murmuring in Latin again. Spike glanced around at the bed from which she had taken her makeshift weapon, and saw that the headboard was now made of iron.

When his eyes met hers again, she was smiling hatefully back at him.

“Good one, Spike,” she whispered breathlessly, her hand clutching the bleeding, gaping wound in her chest. “But it won’t…keep me down…for long…”

Spike realized with a grim, heavy sensation in his chest that she was right. He had no weapon that could take her life, and though he might have had the physical strength, there was no way he could get close enough and exert enough effort to rend her head from her shoulders before she could use her magic to stop him.

Now was not the time.

His eyes scanned the room, lighting on the set of keys on the bedside table, presumably to the manacles that bound Angel to the bed. Willow saw him looking and stretched out her hand, most likely to perform the same vanishing spell she had performed on her own stake. But before she could begin, she winced with pain, lowering her arm and clutching it across her painful injury.

Spike smiled at that, rushing forward to grasp the key…though he wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it. He glanced over his shoulder at Willow as he began to unfasten the manacles that bound his sire’s wrists.

A grim determination rose on the witch’s face, as she pressed her hand to the bloody wound in her chest and began chanting quietly under her breath, realizing that before she could perform any other magic effectively, she was going to have to repair her own injuries. Otherwise, as the blood drained from her body, she would grow weaker and weaker until she was no longer able to perform magic at all.

Spike’s eyes widened with alarm as he saw the blood that soaked the witch’s shirt, slowly fading, rising unnaturally to go back into her body. He realized that the damage his blow had done was being reversed, and that he would not have much time before Willow would be back to fighting strength.

“No!” she gasped, momentarily distracted as Spike threw Angel’s weak, limp form over his shoulder and headed for the door. “Stop!” She tried to rise, but only fell back to the floor, gasping for breath, exhausted from the pain of her injury and the exertion of her efforts to heal it.

Spike grinned smugly down at her, stopping in the doorway long enough to shrug and reply, “Stop me.”

And with that, he disappeared out of the mansion and into the night.

The jostling of the rather bumpy ride on Spike’s shoulder shook the older vampire back into consciousness, and he moaned in pain. Spike’s grim smile did not fade as he asked, “Oh, does that hurt, old man? Sorry, mate.” His actions swiftly proved his words false, as he in no way adjusted his movements to make them more comfortable for Angel.

“Th-thank you…?” his sire whispered after a few moments, and Spike could hear the suspicion mingled with confusion in his voice. And understandably so -- after what Angel had done to Spike, it seemed highly unlikely that the younger vampire would feel any need to rescue him from impending torment at Willow’s hands.

Because it *was* highly unlikely.

Impossible, really.

“Don’t read too much into it, peaches,” Spike advised him as he made his way down the sidewalk, and then stopped at the corner that led back toward the Watcher’s apartment, which had become a sort of unofficial headquarters for the Slayer and her mates over the past few days. “Didn’t do it to save you.”

He frowned thoughtfully, glancing in the other direction down the street.

“Then…then why…?”

Spike was quiet for a moment before making his decision, taking off again, moving further from Giles’ home. After a few moments, he finally found the words to respond.

“Because you and me, *Sire*…we got a score to settle.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!! :)



“Spike’s in what with who?”

“In love, Buffy,” Miss Calendar replied patiently to the flabbergasted Slayer who was staring at her, aghast. “With…”

“I heard you,” Buffy rushed to cut her off, her voice rising in agitation as she turned slightly away from the teacher, shaking her head in confusion. “I just…I mean…why would you think that Spike’s in *love* with me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, I’d rather say it’s not,” Giles replied, sounding quite alarmed himself by Miss Calendar’s conclusion. “What on earth would give you such an idea? Jenny, really!”

“Oh, I don’t know, just the fact that he hasn’t made any attempt to kill you since he started getting the visions…” Miss Calendar directed her response to the Slayer, who was still staring up at her, an expression resembling panic on her face. “…or the fact that he’s been trying so hard to help ever since then…”

“See, that’s the thing…if he’s seen the future, he could just be doing this to keep bad stuff from happening that was going to happen to him in the future,” Buffy countered, a bit too eagerly. “I mean…that doesn’t really mean…”

“…or the fact that he got so angry with Xander just for upsetting you a few minutes ago, even though you‘re supposed to be his mortal enemy and the slayer of his kind,” Miss Calendar concluded, waiting for Buffy to get her objections out before going on as if she had not even spoken.

Buffy’s eyes widened as she took in the teacher’s third point…and realized that she had no argument to counteract it.

Why *had* Spike cared that her feelings were hurt? He had a soul now, and that probably meant increased compassion for others, but she had been very unkind to him thus far, and even with a soul, it seemed unlikely that Spike would become as upset over her hurt feelings as he had gotten with Xander.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “No, you have to be wrong. He can’t…I mean, he doesn’t…he’s a *vampire*! I’m a vampire *Slayer*! I have seen first hand the dozens of ways in which that can lead to badness!”

Giles’ expression took on a greater element of alarm at her choice of words, as he quickly put in, “Not that you would ever actually consider…”

“Of course not, Giles!” Buffy assured him. “I mean…it’s *Spike*! Even if he’s *not* evil anymore, which we still don’t really know for sure…he’s…he’s all weird and British and annoying and…and there’s no way. Ever. That I would ever, ever do that.”

Oblivious to the worried look her Watcher was giving her, and the knowing expression on Miss Calendar’s face, at her less than convincing words, the Slayer turned away from the two adults, crossing her arms over her stomach in an instinctively defensive gesture as she made her way across the room to the sofa and sat down.

“Honestly, Jenny, are you sure?” Giles asked. “Surely, there are other ways to explain Spike’s…concern…”

“Trust me on this one, Rupert,” the gypsy advised him with a smile. “He’s got it bad. Some things…a woman just knows…”

Lost in her own thoughts, Buffy was unaware as they continued the discussion. Her mind was focused on the last images of Spike in her memory, as he had thoroughly told off Xander for his hurtful comments, getting right in the angry boy’s face and reminding him that Buffy was hurting, too.

*It can’t be true…can it? Surely, he’s not really…?*

And then, when she had voiced her dismay at the idea of having to stake Willow, Spike had immediately stated that she would not have to, not if he could help it, and taken off…

“Oh, my God,” Buffy gasped, her eyes widening as she realized where he had gone. She looked up to meet the questioning gaze of her Watcher. “He was going to find Willow…to stake her!”

Giles looked stunned by the idea, taking a moment to replay in his head the conversation that had taken place right before Spike left. “Buffy, are you quite sure? I must say, that seems rather…out of character for Spike, doesn’t it?”

“I’m starting to think we don’t have the faintest clue what ‘in character’ for Spike really is,” the Slayer replied, rising to her feet and crossing the room to Giles’ weapons chest.

“Buffy, what are you doing?” Giles demanded, following her as she threw the chest open and started going through it, briefly testing various items in her hand as she tried to choose which one she wanted to take with her. “As unlikely as it seems, if Spike is going to find Willow and stake her…I’d say the best thing would be to let him.”

Buffy glared up at him, the look speaking volumes more than words, making it clear that to persist in that argument would be dangerous.

The Watcher persisted anyway.

“Buffy, what are you going to do exactly? Stop him from staking Willow, just so that you end up with the dubious responsibility of doing so yourself? I know it’s a painful thing to consider, but you must understand…at this point, there is no other way…”

“I know that.” Buffy turned and headed toward the door, after selecting two smooth stakes and a battle dagger that appeared perfectly capable of beheading a vampire.

“Then…why are you bothering to attempt to stop Spike from staking her?”

“I’m not stopping Spike from staking her. I’m stopping him from getting himself killed.”

That unexpected response halted Giles in his tracks as Buffy made her way out the door, slamming it behind her. Jenny slowly came to stand at his side, slipping her hand into his as they both stared at the closed door where the Slayer had just been.

“I suppose it doesn’t even occur to her to wonder why she suddenly cares,” the teacher remarked mildly.

Giles slowly turned his head to stare at her with rising horror as he realized what she was saying. Then, he slowly turned back to face the door, his heart sinking with a knowledge that he would rather not have understood.

“Bloody hell.”

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

Spike kept moving as quickly as possible with his sire’s dead weight slung over his shoulder, until he was a good mile or two from the mansion where he had left the recovering fledgling vampire witch.He knew that it would take Willow at least a few minutes to recover completely, and hopefully by the time she did, he would be far enough away that she would not be able to easily follow.

Unless she tried to track them by magic.

*And I thought this was going to be an easy kill…bugger.*

Spike found his way into an empty warehouse in the middle of one of Sunnydale’s worst areas -- not that a town like Sunnydale was in any way lacking for such areas -- and carelessly tossed Angel’s limp form to the floor.

The impact seemed to rouse him, as the older vampire let out a groan of pained protest, his head lolling slightly, but he stayed where he was, apparently too weak from pain and blood loss to move. Willow had drained him nearly completely, not to mention the torture that she had obviously inflicted upon him, leaving him barely conscious and not the least bit coherent.

Unfortunately, in order to accomplish what he had brought Angel here for, Spike was going to have to fix that.

*Just hope there’s enough left in him to make it work…*

Shifting into his game face, Spike yanked Angel’s head up none too gently by the hair, plunging his fangs into the puncture wounds recently left there by Willow’s mouth. He shivered to think how close Willow had already come to accomplishing what she had done in the visions he had seen, and how narrowly he had managed to avoid it in the present.

Angel let out a strangled cry of panicked pain, as he felt what little blood he had left being drained from his body, and his back arched as he weakly, uselessly, attempted to pull away from the younger vampire. Hurriedly, aware that with as much blood as he had lost, Angel was probably very near to losing consciousness again -- an occurrence that would delay Spike’s plans, and quite likely make them impossible to complete -- Spike pulled away from him and tore his bloody fangs across his own wrist, thrusting the torn, bleeding flesh against his sire’s gasping, trembling lips.

“The blood that has birthed me,” Spike muttered words he remembered from his vision -- though he remembered them being spoken by someone else. “I return to thee…to bring you back from the edge of death…to new life again.”

Angel actually turned his mouth away at first, as if some part of him instinctively recognized what was taking place in that moment and refused it, chose continued suffering and starvation over it, in fact. But then, the desperate, consuming hunger that filled his body, the will to survive that he retained despite his best efforts to hold onto his pride, took over, and he gripped Spike’s wrist in a trembling hand, drinking deeply of the offered blood that would revive him, strengthen him…and change him forever.

Spike watched impassively, his jaw set with determination, unflinching at the pain as, in his desperate state of starvation, Angel bit hard into the torn flesh of his wrist, drinking deeply, drawing great draughts of Spike’s blood in his body’s intense effort to save itself from the destruction that the little witch had wrought in him, to pull himself back from the abyss of mindless pain and need.

After a few moments, however, Spike began to feel a faint tremor beginning deep within him, the first beginnings of weakness, and knew that he had to stop Angel before he took too much blood. He tried to pull his wrist away, but found, not surprisingly, that Angel held on tightly, refusing to let go.

“Stop,” Spike growled in warning as he tried again to pull away.

Angel growled back at him in answer, seizing his wrist tighter and jerking him back toward him with the increasing strength that flowed through him now, as Spike’s blood renewed him…even as the younger vampire grew weaker with the loss of it.

“I said stop!” Spike snarled, trying again, though even as he spoke he sank to his knees on the concrete, dark spots of color dancing before his eyes as he struggled against a sense of distant lightheadedness that tried to steal his focus.

Still, Angel ignored him.

Mustering up every last ounce of strength he had, focusing his will on one goal alone -- Spike called on a power that was new to him, but no less intense for its newness. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself as best he could in preparation to do what he knew was his last chance at success -- at *survival*, even.

*Here goes everything…let’s hope this works…*

“*Stop*,” he commanded, his voice low and carrying an authority that he had just claimed by the sharing of their blood. “Stop now, and release me…*childe*…”

Angel jerked back away from him, his eyes wide and shocked, his lips, still stained red with Spike’s blood, parted in a startled expression as he stared at the blond vampire for whose existence he was responsible. Realization dawned on him, as he looked down at the wound from which he had been suckling, and thought back on how little blood he had had in his system when Spike had first taken some of his blood, and then offered him his own.

He looked up at Spike again uncertainly, and felt a sensation he had only felt with one person before.

And suddenly, it all became terribly clear.

“If you can’t bloody well control yourself, mate,” Spike told him, his voice low and breathless as he struggled to recover from the close call he had just survived, “then somebody else’ll have to. It was going to be Red…and…well, that’d be no bloody good for anybody. Now…I s’pose it’d be me.”

Angel just stared at him blankly, his mind racing with the attempt to come to terms with what had just happened to him. His world, his existence, had been turned on its head. He had given Spike his existence, and now, he was the childe; and the childe he had created over a century ago, was now something else to him entirely.

He was now…

“*Sire*?”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)




Angel’s wide-eyed expression of shock slowly faded into an angry scowl as the confused haze of bloodlust and pain dissipated with the healing, nourishing effect of Spike’s blood. Angel glared at his former childe, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“What have you done to me?”

Spike shrugged indifferently, unaffected by the elder vampire’s wrath. After all, he held the power now.

“Just finished what the little witch started is all,” he explained in an almost bored tone of voice. “She’d nearly pulled it off, too. What, don’t tell me you’d rather be her soddin’ minion-cum-sex slave than my childe? Most likely wouldn’t have been much cummin’ involved, anyway, on your part, at least.”

“I’d rather be dead than be childer to you,” Angel declared in a voice of seething rage.

“Yeah,” Spike drawled. “I’d rather, too. But, unfortunately for both of us, it seems the Slayer and I need you for a little while yet. So, that means I’ve got to keep you alive and out of Red’s hands for the time being. Believe me, if it makes you feel any better, I’d rather see you dust, too.”

“Why? I don’t understand…”

“Why do I want to see you dust? Let me count the bloody ways, mate…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Angel clarified, biting out the words through clenched teeth. “Why did you…?”

“I know what you meant,” Spike cut him off, all traces of humor vanished from his voice. “She was halfway to completing the ritual herself. And once she got it done, trust me when I say not a soddin’ one of us would have been happy with the results. You’d have been her bloody slave, and she’d have used you to help take out the rest of the Slayer’s support system, one by one, until no one was left but me…not that the Slayer’d *want* my help. And that’s when things would have *really* gotten ugly. Not that you wouldn’t have deserved your fair share of it.”

Angel dropped his gaze at the note of disgust in Spike’s voice. “What you did to the Slayer…to her little redheaded mate…no honor or glory in that sort of thing, mate. That was just…just bloody…”

“Bad?”

Both vampires turned toward the door, to see the young vampiress in question standing there, her auburn hair now nearly black, her eyes dark and flashing with anger and magic as she smiled coldly at them.

“Funny, that’s the same word I was going to use.” Willow shrugged. “Slightly different context, though. More…plural. As in…bad, bad puppies. You’re both really in trouble now…”

“You know, the soddin’ dog analogy is getting old fast, pet,” Spike informed her, annoyance in his voice as he sauntered toward her, his casual tone belying the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Maybe you ought to try a different…”

“Maybe you ought to be quiet while I’m talking,” Willow cut him off with a painful jolt of magical power that sent him flying across the room to slam hard into the wall, collapsing to the floor with a groan of pain.

“That’s right,” she sneered, as Spike scrambled to his feet, giving her a wary look of surprise. “Little Willow’s all grown up now. And a so-called master like you should know better than to mess with me…or to take my things.”

A second massive jolt had Spike doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach, as Willow smiled vindictively and moved slowly toward him. As she did, she waved her hand in his direction again, murmuring a Latin word that had the blond vampire gasping in agony, holding his arms across his stomach as he dropped to his knees, struggling to recover enough to even begin to fight back.

“Thought I was going to be an easy slay, didn’t you?” Willow smirked, pinning his hands to the floor, immobilized with a single gesture of her hand. With a coy wink, she shook her head and added, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

Spike fought to free himself of the magical bonds that held him, simultaneously fighting off panic as the powerful fledgling slowly closed the distance between them, and he realized that he was powerless to defend himself against her. He looked desperately up at Angel, who was standing watching her dumbly, as if he was uncertain as to what exactly was happening, and which side he should be on.

“Don’t just stand there, you stupid git! Stop her!” Spike growled at him in frustration as she gripped his hair, jerking his head back so that his eyes locked with hers as her vampire face came to the fore, her emerald eyes shimmering to gold as she gave him a predatory smile.

“How am *I* supposed to stop her?” Angel demanded defensively, shaking his head as he backed slowly away from the scene. “Have you been *watching* for the last five minutes?”

“You’re her bleedin’ sire, aren’t you?” Spike reminded him as Willow leaned in close as if in preparation to bite. “That still means something to *some* vamps!”

“Yeah,” Willow agreed with a sinister giggle as she traced her fingertips down the column of his throat, eyeing his pale skin hungrily. “Which is the whole point of my little plan. Except that your stupid visions revealed it to you before I was ready.” She shrugged. “But I’m thinking, this can still work out. Two slaves are better than one, right?”

“Wait…slaves?” Angel frowned in confusion.

“I *told* you, you bloody idiot!” Spike snarled in terse annoyance, painfully aware of how near Willow was to getting what she wanted, due to Angel’s apparent inability to add two and two. “She soddin’ drained you so that she could repeat the siring process and make you her childe…which, in the eyes of a sick, sadistic little bint like her, is nothing better than a bloody slave! And if you don’t stop her right now, she’s going to do the same thing to both of us!”

“Oh…okay…this is starting to make sense…” Angel grimaced at his own slowness to catch on, shaking his head to clear it of the haze that seemed to be the result of the harrowing events of the evening.

“That’s nice,” Spike replied with biting sarcasm, as the redhead teasingly mouthed his throat with her lips and tongue, and he strained uselessly against the magic holding him in place. “Now, how about you bloody *do something about it*?”

When he looked up at the vampire he had just resired, he felt an apprehensive chill go down his spine. The amused smirk on Angel’s face told Spike that Angel was clearly not all that concerned with his new sire’s welfare. The words he spoke next made the sentiment even clearer.

“I’m thinking I will. Just…*after* she does you. ‘Cause, you know, that’s gotta be hilarious. And if she drains you, resires you…whatever…and she’s my childe…and you’re her childe…well, then…it’ll be kinda like old times, won’t it?”

Spike stared up at Angel, aghast in disbelief, until Willow shifted so that she was between him and the dark-haired vampire, blocking Spike’s view and smiling cruelly into his eyes, rolling her eyes toward Angel out of his view, and giving Spike a conspiratorial wink.

“Yeah,” Spike scoffed as she twisted his head to the side, in preparation to strike, “until she waits ‘til you’re sleeping to do the same thing to you, and you end up her soddin’ slave! Angel, *stop her*!”

“I’m thinking no.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed in anger, and he opened his mouth to simply use his new authority as Angel’s sire to force him to obey, but before he could get a word out, someone else spoke up.

“I’m thinking yes, if you can…or I could ram this pointy stick through your heart right now.”

Spike had never felt so relieved to hear the Slayer’s voice. Willow turned in surprise to face her, and Spike could see that the tiny but formidable blonde had Angel bent backward over an old wooden table, gripping his throat and brandishing a stake pressed tight against his chest.

“Hey, Buffy,” Willow sneered in a mockery of friendly surprise. “Wasn’t expecting you so soon. But…that’s usually when you decide to show up, isn’t it? Just when I *don’t* need you?”

Spike saw the Slayer’s jaw tighten with her attempt to repress her reaction to the goading words, but she did not respond to Willow in the slightest, instead focusing her attention on Angel.

“You have some sort of power over her because you’re her sire, then I’d suggest you use it.” Her voice was hard as steel as she pressed the stake harder against Angel’s chest, causing him to wince with pain.

“Okay…okay, Buffy…calm down…”

Spike saw the change in Willow’s expression as she realized that Angel was actually going to do it, going to use the power of his sire’s voice to stop her, and she spun around to face him, focusing all her power on Angel, one hand outstretched toward him as she prepared to use her magic to prevent him.

At that moment, Spike felt the magical weights that held him down lifted, as Willow’s energy was diverted, and leapt to his feet behind her, tackling her to the floor before she could begin to cast a spell on Angel. The young vampiress snarled and screamed with rage, struggling to tear free, but Spike’s physical strength was superior to hers, and he held her down with ease.

“Do it now!” he ordered his new childe, using the full authority of his new position as Angel’s sire to stop the older vampire’s hesitations and excuses.

“Willow, *stop*!” Angel commanded forcefully. “Don’t move…don’t speak…don’t perform any magic. Just *stop*, now!”

Willow’s body went still beneath Spike, but he hesitated before rising up off her, unsure if she was really under control or attempting to trick them again. Slowly, cautiously, he rose up on his hands and knees, backing up as he climbed to his feet, pulling her roughly up with him.

She offered no resistance, did not say a word, simply shot deadly glares of resentment in the direction of her sire.

“All right…so she’s under control…yeah?”

Spike breathlessly demanded the truth of Angel, his piercing gaze searching the other vampire’s face as Buffy warily let him up off the table, but still held him tightly by the collar of his shirt, unwilling to give him the chance to escape.

Angel looked a bit uncertain as he ticked off on his fingers, “No moving…talking… magic…should about cover it, unless there’s something else I haven’t thought of…”

“Which would be a bloody shock…”

“Hey! I stopped her, didn’t I?”

Indignantly, Spike countered, “Because you were gonna get staked if you didn’t! You wanted to see *me* thoroughly buggered first, didn’t you? Would have let her drain me and turn me into her slave, if Buffy hadn’t happened along…”

“And *what* exactly did I happen along into…?”

“Well, you’ve already turned me into *your* slave, haven’t you, Spike? So, how can you blame me?” Angel retorted angrily, ignoring the Slayer’s tentative question.

“Oh, I can soddin’ well blame you, make no mistake of that! And now that you *are* my ‘slave’, I’ll be ‘blaming’ you ‘til you can’t bleedin’ sit down, you bloody stupid wanker! I’ll be blaming you with…”

“I’ll be *staking* both of you if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on here!” Buffy declared, cutting off Spike’s furious tirade, glaring between the two of them as they fell silent.

Spike noted, with a sense of satisfaction that quickly gave way to sorrow, that the greater contempt in her gaze was reserved for Angel. The hurt and hatred he saw in her glimmering emerald eyes reminded him of just how deeply Angel’s actions had hurt her, just how much damage he had done, and Spike resolved again, once they had fully dealt with Willow, to make sure that Angel paid for taking her life and crushing the Slayer’s surprisingly tender heart.

“I’ll probably be staking you, anyway,” Buffy said, giving voice to Spike’s thoughts, as she turned toward Angel with narrowed, furious eyes. “You killed Willow. You…you…”

Spike could see her body trembling with rage, saw her hand swiftly rising with the stake clutched tightly in her grasp, and knew that, as much as he would have enjoyed watching Angel’s demise, he could not allow it.

Not yet.

“Buffy, *don’t*!” he cried out, rushing forward and staying her hand before the stake could fall, his hand locked firmly around her wrist and holding it back.

She turned toward him, a bewildered look of something akin to betrayal in her eyes. “Why not?” she demanded. “He murdered my best friend and turned her into a monster! Why shouldn’t I kill him right now?”

“Because he’s the only one who can control the monster he created,” Spike replied without hesitation, holding her gaze firmly, sympathy in his eyes. His voice softened as he added, “Now, with her unable to do any damage…we might have time to…to find a way.”

Buffy’s eyes welled with fresh tears as she looked past him at the sullen young vampire, glaring daggers at all three of them.

“Kill him,” Spike continued, “and for the moment, Willow’s virtually unstoppable. Let him live…for now…and he can keep her under control.”

“And who’s gonna keep *him* under control?” Buffy demanded, casting a suspicious glance in Angel’s direction before fixing Spike with a challenging look.

“Me.”

“You? How’s *that* work? Isn’t he your sire, too?”

“Not anymore.”

“Okay, wait…” Buffy held up a halting hand, the frown of confusion on her face only deepening with his explanation. “I think I’m going to need to hear all the details of this…but I’m not exactly sure I’m going to get them when I hear them. I think we’re going to need some intellectual back up for this one.”

Spike gave her a puzzled look. “Meaning…?”

“We’re Watcher-bound. Come on. Let’s go.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



“Okay, Giles, do *not* freak out,” Buffy ordered as she threw open the door of her Watcher’s apartment and led the odd little procession inside. “The evil vampires are completely under control.”

“Good Lord!”

Giles gasped at the sight of a rather subdued Angel, who had a firm grip on Willow’s arm and was pulling her along beside him into the apartment. Spike followed them, keeping a watchful eye on both wayward vampires as he closed the door quietly behind them.

“Just for the record, Giles…you might wanna ditch the ‘Welcome’ mat,” Buffy dryly advised her Watcher, though she was privately relieved that he had it, just this once.

She did not want to even imagine trying to convince him to invite Willow inside.

“Buffy, what’s happened?” Jenny asked, surprise and alarm in her dark eyes as Buffy flounced to the couch and threw herself down with overdramatic weariness.

As they all gathered in the Watcher’s living room, Xander came out of Giles’ bedroom, drawn from his extended pout by the sound of the commotion outside.

The Slayer gave her teacher and Giles each a dark look in turn before giving her attention back to Spike and declaring, “That’s what I’d like to know. But…I think it’s gonna be kind of confusing, so I wanted you to hear it, too, Giles. That way you might be able to help me figure it out.”

“It’s not really all that complicated,” Spike insisted with a shrug, turning away from Buffy’s glare to face the Watcher. “What do you know about vampire bonding rituals? Relationship between sire and childe and all that?”

“I know a fair bit,” Giles confessed with a modest nod. “But I’d like to know a fair bit more about what these two are doing in my living room!” He gestured vaguely toward Angel and Willow, his expectant gaze passing back and forth between the Slayer and the blond vampire.

“Well…it’s like this,” Spike began, drawing in a deep breath. “I went to try and take Red out. You know…so the Slayer wouldn’t have to, and…the thing of it is…she’s got a lot more power than I’d thought…*magic* power…and she nearly bloody killed me! I was lucky to get me and the poufter out of there alive…”

“Some visions,” Xander sneered, one eyebrow raised in doubtful contempt. “Would have thought you’d have seen an important thing like that, Spike.”

“Why exactly was saving Angel necessary?” Giles interrupted, frowning suspiciously as he turned his eyes on Angel, ignoring Xander’s comment for the moment. “He’s a murderer, even with the dubious benefit of his rather unstable soul. Why on earth did you see fit to rescue him from Willow?”

“Because he’s the only one who can soddin’ well control her right now,” Spike explained. “That’s where the claims and bonds and such come in. She was preparing to do this ritual…she was going to resire him, claim the sire’s rights to control him, and then use him against us.”

“Okay, wait…*resire* him?” Buffy echoed uncertainly. “That’s possible? How can she make him a vampire again if he’s already a vampire?”

“Oh, wait…I believe I came across something about that in a text I was reading…just a moment…”

Giles hastily excused himself, crossing the room to the large bookshelf that housed the items from his collection that he had deemed most valuable; the greater part of his library was in storage, as the tiny apartment would hardly begin to hold it. The Watcher kept part of his attention on the conversation still going on in the living room as he searched for the book he needed.

“It’s not exactly making him a vampire again,” Spike patiently answered Buffy’s question. “It’s…well, it’s giving him life again…of a sort. In order for the ritual to work, she had to drain him to the edge of dusting…”

“A vampire can dust from being drained?”

Spike nodded. “Completely, totally drained, yes. Now, a vamp can’t starve to death, ‘cause there’s always a trace of blood left in our bodies, no matter how long it’s been since we’ve eaten. We don’t…don’t use it up, exactly, like humans do with their food. It’s an entirely different process. But if another vampire drains one…takes *all* their blood…then it would dust him, see?”

“Okay,” Buffy acknowledged slowly, though her brow was still wrinkled with confusion.

“So, if she drains him almost completely…just like in turning a human…then saves his life by giving him her own blood…just like turning a human…it’s a resiring. She’s responsible for the fact that he’s dyin’, and she’s responsible for the fact that he’s even soddin’ existing again, so she takes on the sire’s rights. Understand?” Spike paused, searching Buffy’s expression to make sure she was following him.

Buffy nodded again, silent, watching him closely and waiting for him to go on.

“And, with a newly sired vamp like that, the sire’s got a lot of power, love. There’s a certain…well, a *tone*…she can use, that leaves him no bloody *choice* but to obey her…”

“The sire’s voice.”

Buffy turned her attention toward Giles, as he crossed the room to join them again, his finger pressed against a spot on the open book he held in his other hand. “The what’s that again?”

“The sire’s voice,” Giles repeated, reading from the page. “‘A vampire sire may exercise virtually complete control over its fledgling childe by making use of the sire’s voice. This is a method whereby the elder vampire places the whole of its authority as sire behind its words and tone, and thereby compels the younger to obedience.’”

Spike stared at him for a moment, before nodding in his direction and shrugging at Buffy.

“What he said.”

Buffy considered for a moment before deciding, “I like what you said better.”

“I don’t like any of it,” Xander put in. “I mean…if that’s true, and that’s what she was doing, then…then why don’t vampires just do that all the time?”

“Because it’s bloody dangerous.” Spike directed his answer to the Slayer, not even acknowledging the surly boy who had spoken. “If the vamp attempting the resiring’s not strong enough…hasn’t got enough power to handle the role of sire, the power and rights he’s takin’ on…the ritual can end up dusting ‘em both.”

“But…Willow’s magical power…made her able to handle it without the risk?” Buffy guessed cautiously, frowning in the direction of her sullen, glaring, but silent former friend.

“No…Willow’s insane thirst for *more* power made her willing to *take* the risk,” Spike amended, eyeing the redheaded witch-vampire with mingled suspicion and disgust. “No telling how it would have come out, because she only got as far as draining him. I got us both the bloody hell out of Dodge before she could finish.”

“I’m still not comprehending why they’re both *here*,” Giles reminded him, one eyebrow raised in an impatient challenge.

“To keep her from doing the ritual…I did it myself,” Spike finally explained. “So, I’m the pouf’s sire now…and he’s *Red’s* sire…which means that she’s under his control, and he’s under mine.”

Xander’s contempt for the blond vampire was clear in his tone as he asked, “And this is preferable to just staking them because…?”

Spike did not answer for a moment, heavily feeling the weight of every eye in the room on him, as they all waited to hear what he would say. When he did speak, his voice was low and subdued, his eyes downcast as he addressed his words to Buffy.

“Thought…thought there might still be a chance. Maybe get her bloody soul back or somethin’. So the Slayer doesn’t have to lose her friend.”

No one spoke for a long moment. Buffy stared at Spike with wide, solemn eyes, feeling a suspicious lump in her throat and a strange prickling behind her eyes, as she realized the tremendous risk he had gone to, simply to spare her additional pain. She thought again of what Miss Calendar had said about Spike, and what she believed he felt for her…and wondered.

“There’s just one problem with that sweet little sentiment, Spike,” Xander’s caustic words shattered the moment. “She’s already lost her. Our friend is *dead*. All that’s left is the demon who took her place.”

“That’s not true,” Spike said resentfully, raising his eyes to glare in the boy’s direction. “She’s still who she always was, just…with a few parts added, and a few taken away. She’s still Willow. Give her back her bloody soul…or conscience…or whatever you lot want to call it…and she’ll do just fine.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed sarcastically. “’Cause the soul did Angel so much good, didn’t it? He’s still the same selfish bastard he was without it…”

“No, he’s still the same selfish bastard he’s always been!” Spike corrected him, his voice rising, trembling with emotion. “The human he was before was just as worthless as he is now, that’s the bloody problem! Not the soul or lack of it. You lot don’t have the first soddin’ clue…!”

“You guys just *stop*!” Buffy commanded, rising to her feet and moving to stand between the two, who were now facing each other in a tense standoff. “Stop it! This isn’t helping anything, okay? Xander…just back off.”

The young man’s eyes widened in shock when he found himself singled out for her rebuke, but Buffy did not notice as she turned back toward Spike, a serious but hopeful expression in her wide emerald eyes.

“Spike…is there really a chance? I mean…in the future…what did you see?”

Spike shook his head, frowning regretfully. “Sorry, love. Haven’t seen this. It’s just based on what I know. In the future I saw…Willow never got her soul back, so…”

“In the future you saw, she didn’t have magical powers, either,” Xander pointed out with a petty triumph in his voice. “So I’m thinking that your phony visions aren’t worth shit, Spike! I’m thinking you’ve made all this crap up just so we won’t stake your stupid, worthless ass! I’m thinking…”

“I’m thinking if I was bloody well making this up, you’d be soddin’ *dead* by now!” Spike whirled around and snarled in the boy’s face, his eyes flashing golden as he struggled to rein in his rising fury. “I haven’t got a bloody chip anymore, boy, and it’d do you well to remember that!”

“Okay, okay…” Buffy moved to stand between them again, rolling her eyes in frustration.

“Yes, Buffy’s quite right,” Giles put in, his impatience showing in his voice. “This is accomplishing nothing.” He hesitated for a moment before turning toward the young man. “Xander…I believe it’d be best if you’d return to my room for the moment, as you don’t seem to be capable of controlling your emotions at the moment. Not that I can blame you, truth be told…but it’s simply complicating the matter. You understand.”

Xander stared at him in stunned disbelief, slowly turning his eyes on the Slayer, who was now facing him with a firm expression on her face…clearly taking her Watcher’s side on the issue.

Taking *Spike’s* side.

Against him.

“Oh, I *understand*!” Xander practically spat the words out. “I *understand* that you’ve all lost your minds! I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you’re willing to listen to this lying murderer over me! I can’t believe…”

“Xander. Go.”

Buffy’s voice was soft, but her tearful eyes were filled with determination, and Xander knew that she was on the verge of enforcing her request, if he did not comply with it. He nodded slowly, a bitter smile forming on his lips.

“Okay,” he said in a soft voice, nearly a whisper. “Okay…I’ll go.” Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door.

“Xander, wait! It’s not…” The door slammed hard enough to make Buffy flinch, and her voice dropped as she finished, “…safe.”

Spike placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned troubled, questioning eyes on him as he shrugged and pointed out reassuringly, “Safe as it ever is, love. The greatest danger’s in here with us, and not really a danger at all at the moment. Might not be the worst idea to give the little wanker his space.” He paused before muttering, “Know *I* won’t be complaining…”

“All right, then,” Giles cleared his throat, and drew both Spike’s and Buffy’s attention back to him. “Let me be sure I’ve got this straight. You now have control over Angel, and he has control over Willow…but you don’t have direct control over Willow?”

“Right. Only the immediate sire.”

“So, that explains Angel’s continued existence.” The Watcher’s ice blue eyes narrowed on the eldest vampire, and there was enough menace in his gaze to send a shiver down Spike’s spine, despite the rather relieving fact that it was not aimed at him. “So it’d be possible to resire Willow…and thus eliminate the need for the third party Angel presents?”

Spike shook his head with an apologetic grimace. “Much as I’d like that option…no. Doesn’t work that way, mate. See…the vamp being resired’s gotta willingly take the blood…same as a human victim. ’S part of the process, they’ve got to accept it. And Red’s not gonna do that. Can’t do the ritual with any sort of binding on her, anyway. Wouldn’t work. And the second we take the bonds off her and let her move or speak at all, she’s gonna start working her mojo again and bloody well kill us all.”

Giles was quiet for a long moment, taking in the seriousness of their situation.

“I understand that you hope to find a way to spare her. To…to restore her.”

“I think we can. I…I *believe* we can,” Spike nodded slowly, his jaw setting with determination.

“Spike…why *didn’t* you see what Willow was going to do? With the resiring and all?” Buffy asked, a puzzled frown on her face.

“Because, in the future I saw, this all didn’t happen ‘til much later, love. It was years in the future, and Red had developed her magic to a point that was bloody scary. And that was when Angelus turned her. So…I just naturally assumed, since she hadn’t learned all the soddin’ mojo yet, it wouldn’t happen that way. Thought I’d be able to take her, since she was turned before she became a full-fledged witch, yeah?”

Buffy nodded, taking that in. “Makes sense. Guess there’s more to the way magic works than we realized.” Her voice was grim and troubled as she turned her eyes once more on her friend.

Willow just glared at her with breathtaking malice in her eyes.

Buffy suppressed a shudder as she looked to Miss Calendar. “You know some magic…so…do you think it’s possible? To restore Willow’s soul, and bring her back to us?”

The gypsy teacher looked between the two girls, nodding slowly. “I think it’s worth a try…don’t you?”

A tear slipped down Buffy’s face as she glanced once more at the hate-filled face of her former friend, and then quickly away. “Yes,” she replied softly. “I do.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



“So…do we do this now? This…re-souling spell, or whatever?” Buffy asked uncertainly, looking between her Watcher and Miss Calendar with wide, tearful eyes that seemed far more vulnerable than they had been a mere twenty-four hours earlier. “I mean…we need to know if it’s…if it’s gonna work…”

“Well, I’ll need supplies,” Jenny replied. “I used up what we had doing the spell to restore Angel’s soul. And the magic shop won’t open until later this morning.”

“What time is it now?” Giles asked wearily, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he turned slightly away, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

The whirlwind sequence of violent and traumatic events over the course of the evening was beginning to catch up with all of them.

“It’s five o’clock in the morning,” Buffy observed, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Which means we’ve got at least four or five hours before we can do this,” Spike sighed in frustration.

“Well, I wish we could do it now, too.” The Slayer frowned at the troubled expression on the blond vampire’s face as she turned to face him. “But it’s only a few hours. I mean, it’s gonna drive me absolutely insane…but we can wait…”

Spike shook his head, dismissing her assumptions as to what was bothering him with a wave of his hand, a thoughtful frown on his face. “That’s not…Slayer…” He looked up at her again appraisingly, before nodding toward the front door. “Come for a walk with me? Got something I need to talk to you about.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise as she stared at Spike, barely aware of her Watcher’s sputtered protest from behind her.

“And leave these two unguarded in a room with three defenseless human beings? That’s hardly wise, is it?” Giles pointed out a bit nervously as he glanced toward the two rather subdued vampires with suspicion.

“They have to be controlled,” Buffy agreed, her words and eyes still directed toward Spike. “If we go…”

“They’ll be fine,” Spike assured her. “They’re still under my commands from before. But…but I need to tell you this, right away…”

“It’s utterly out of the question,” Giles insisted, though Buffy did not react, simply stayed in the same place, studying Spike’s face closely. “You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea, Buffy, not when Angel’s and Willow’s relative statuses are still so unclear. Buffy, we can’t even really be certain of Spike just yet, can we? Anything he has to say, I see no reason why he shouldn’t simply say it right here and…”

“Let me get my coat.”

“Quite…wait. Buffy!” Giles objected, moving toward her, attempting to face her as she abruptly ended her intense eye contact session with Spike and walked toward the couch where she had left her jacket. “Buffy, you can’t possibly think that…”

“I’ll be right back, Giles,” Buffy stated flatly, shrugging into her jacket as Spike nodded in satisfaction and headed purposefully toward the door.

“Buffy, this could still be some kind of trick! We can’t possibly know…”

“*I* know. I know that Spike’s telling the truth. And I know that if he wasn’t…I could *so* take him.”

“But…well, yes, I see your point,” Giles conceded with a sideways nod. “But…”

Spike looked up at her sharply from where he stood beside the open door. “Hey!”

“Seriously, Giles. We’ll be gone, like…an hour. Maybe less. If Spike tries anything…I’m still the Slayer. One vampire…not such a threat.”

Spike’s impatient, warning growl from the doorway only earned him a roll of her eyes as she took the hint and followed him out the door into the night.

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

“Okay. So, what is this?” Buffy demanded as soon as Giles’ door had closed behind them. “What’s so important, and so secret, that you’ve got to…” She stopped, puzzled, as Spike frowned and shook his head at her, nodding toward the sidewalk as he walked past her and away from the apartment. “What?” she pressed impatiently, hurrying after him. “Spike…Spike, why won’t you answer me?”

Only once she had caught up to him, halfway down Giles’ block, did Spike finally respond.

“Vampires in that apartment, love, remember? Supernatural hearing and all that? Don’t want them to hear this.”

Buffy glanced back toward the apartment, blinking in surprise as she finally caught on to what Spike was saying, hurrying after him as he kept moving down the sidewalk. “You mean…all the way from here?”

Spike was quiet for a few more moments, his stride quick and deliberate, before he finally stopped and turned to face her, a satisfied smile on his face, as he shot back, “No. Not from *here*.”

A slow smile spread across Buffy’s face at the infectious amusement in his eyes, but as their eyes locked, all humor faded from both of their expressions, and Buffy’s eyes became solemn and troubled as she drew Spike’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“What is it?” she asked softly. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s just…” Spike hesitated, drawing in a deep breath, his eyes averted as he finally admitted, “…I don’t know if we can wait ’til morning, love. I don’t know if…if my control over them will last that long.”

Buffy’s jaw tightened, her eyes widening as she took that in. “Okay…*what*? I thought this sire/childe power bond thing was supposed to be just a…a natural thing. What, are you saying it’s gonna…wear off?”

“Not exactly.” Spike tried to find the words to explain. “It’s just…this sort of control…it’s not just automatic. I mean, it’s normal for a sire to be able to dominate their childe like this, but…but this much prolonged control, well…it’s an active thing. It doesn’t just happen. It takes effort, to subdue the childe’s will to your own, right? And eventually…well, I just don’t know how long I’ll be able to maintain it.”

“How long? Roughly?” Buffy’s expression was all business now, her mind already racing ahead in search of some kind of solution to the new problem Spike had presented.

Spike shrugged. “With him resisting like he is right now? A few hours.”

Buffy sighed, raising a hand to her forehead and shaking her head in frustration.

“And…there’s more, love,” Spike confessed, giving her an apologetic grimace when she raised her dark, suspicious gaze to his. “Angel…being weakened like he is, what with my controlling him at the moment and all…well, I’m not sure how long *his* hold over *Willow* will last, either.”

“Great,” Buffy muttered. “Just great. So…so I’m guessing…chains are in order, right?”

Spike nodded. “Oughta work for Angel. Red, though…she’s got enough magical power to get right out of them. We’ll have to…to come up with something different for her.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, thoughtful as she considered the problem, apparently completely unaware of her casual closeness to the blond vampire she was currently facing.

Spike, for his part, was far from unaware.

“I think I’ve got it,” Buffy finally said, her voice low and grim. “It’s not gonna be fun, and I’m not gonna like it…but we haven’t got much choice at the moment. Come on.” She turned and started abruptly back toward her Watcher’s apartment.

She was caught off guard as a strong hand suddenly caught her arm, spinning her around and throwing her roughly to the ground on her back beneath her unexpected attacker. She stared up in indignant surprise at the blond vampire now hovering over her, a satisfied smirk on his face as he slowly stood up again.

“Can bloody well take me anytime you like, can you? Right. Just didn’t want there to be any confusion.”

With a contemptuous snort, Spike turned and made his way down the sidewalk…only to be yanked backward and thrown against a nearby tree by an apparently very determined, very brassed off…*bloody gorgeous*…Slayer.

“Yeah, Spike,” she said with a deadly smile that made him feel cold in all the wrong places -- and hot in all the right ones -- as she sauntered closer to him with deceptively slow, casual steps. Suddenly, she moved with lightning speed, one knee pinning his right wrist against the tree trunk, while one powerful fist gripped his arm and twisted it behind his back, and the other produced -- seemingly from nowhere -- a stake, which she pressed against the spot directly over his heart. She gave him a wink that was both playful and threatening as she concluded.

“No confusion at all.”

Spike’s mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile as she released him and stepped away, turning her back on him.

Foolishly.

Within moments the Slayer found herself pinned against the ground once more, on her stomach this time, her staking hand bent up behind her back, and a pair of glistening fangs hovering over her throat, Spike’s cool breath brushing against her skin and sending shivers down her spine…shivers that were not altogether unpleasant.

“Well…maybe still just a *bit* of confusion, Slayer.” Spike’s voice was low and dangerous in her ear. “Because I’ve gotta say…I’m still not quite convinced.”

Buffy’s teeth clenched with anger, and a determination to win, as she ground out the words, “Well, let me convince you, then.” As she spoke, her arm twisted in Spike’s grasp, her hand locking onto his arm and flipping him backwards onto the ground, freeing herself and ending up reversing their positions once more. Her stake pressed against his chest again as she pointed out, “That’s twice I would have had you…and I’m not even trying that hard.”

Spike smirked up at her, unfazed by the deadly piece of wood in her hand, pressing uncomfortably into his chest. “Who says I am?” he asked her, his eyes glinting with sly amusement as he kicked her legs out from under her in a sweeping motion, causing her to lose her balance and collapse onto him, the stake turning harmlessly sideways.

Spike caught it in his hand, crushing it easily and tossing the wooden splinters aside as his free hand fisted in the Slayer’s golden hair, jerking her head back and exposing her throat as his fangs came forward once more, and his lunged forward as if to strike the killing bite, only to stop short a bare inch from her neck and whisper,

“That’s two points for me, Slayer. You still so sure you can take me?”

“Oh, I *know* I can!” Buffy snarled, her competitive streak taking over as she brought her knee up sharply between Spike’s legs.

She stopped just short of doing any actual damage, but Spike did not know she was going to do so, and automatically released her with a startled gasp, his body adopting a defensive posture as he moved to block the blow…leaving himself wide open to the sharp right hook that came down across his face.

To the Slayer’s fury and frustration, Spike only laughed with triumph and exultation.

“That’s it, Slayer!” he declared as he returned her blow. “That’s it! Now you’re really giving it to me! Don’t hold back…”

“If I didn’t hold back, you’d be dust!”

“So…you *are* holding back, then?”

Buffy frowned. “Yes,” she admitted, surprise in her voice, as if she was not quite sure why she was pulling her punches, making any effort at all not to actually harm the blond vampire.

“Hmmm,” Spike mused, an exaggeratedly thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “Wonder why.”

Abruptly Buffy stood up, moving to put some distance between them, though she wasn’t exactly sure why that seemed so important at the moment.

“Yeah, well…you’re the only one besides me that’s strong enough to deal with Angel and Willow right now, so…it’s not like I have a choice,” Buffy finally settled on a reasonable excuse for her behavior, which even she did not quite understand. “And besides…it’s not like you’ve really given me a reason in the last couple of days to *really* hurt you. I…don’t really want to. It’s just…I could. If I wanted to…I’d win.”

“Remains to be seen,” Spike sneered, his eyes twinkling with good-natured mockery, his tongue darting out briefly between his teeth in a teasingly suggestive gesture. “Come on, Slayer…”

“Spike…we *don’t* have time for this!” Buffy insisted, turning deliberately back toward Giles’ apartment. “I don’t know why we’re even fighting in the first place!”

“*You’re* the one who said you could take me so easy…just had to prove the soddin’ point.” Spike shrugged.

“Well, you haven’t proved anything…”

“But I will.”

Buffy turned back toward Spike, an incredulous look of outraged disbelief on her face. When she saw the humor, the teasing challenge in Spike’s eyes, the defensive anger in her own expression gradually faded as she released the tense breath she was holding in a slow, heavy sigh.

“We can do the whole sparring thing later,” she relented. “But for now…we don’t have time. I’ve got to take care of Willow and Angel.” With that, she turned again and started to walk back toward the apartment, Spike following close behind her, not saying a word.

As he fell into step beside her, however, Buffy spoke again.

“Thank you.”

Spike raised one eyebrow, glancing at her uncertainly. “For?”

“For that,” Buffy replied, gesturing back in the direction they had come from, in a vague reference to the aborted sparring match he had engaged her in. “I think I…needed that.”

Spike smiled and nodded slowly. “You did.”

Buffy cast him a sharp look. “And you…knew that.”

Spike shrugged again. “Know *you*, love. Better than you might think. Those visions… powerful things, Buffy. I…just wanted to get you to blow off a little steam. Thought it might…might help.”

Buffy eyed him appraisingly as they stopped on the porch outside Giles’ door, hesitating a moment, studying him as she prepared to ring the doorbell. Finally, she shook her head as she pressed the button.

“You’re the strangest vampire I’ve ever met, Spike.”

For some reason, Spike seemed to take that as a compliment, his smile widening as the Watcher opened the door and ushered them back into his apartment. Buffy did not hesitate, crossing the room until she was standing directly in front of Willow. The little redhead smirked up at the Slayer defiantly, though she could not move or speak.

Buffy had no way of knowing how long that might last.

“Sorry, Will,” the Slayer said softly, in a voice that was still filled with her affection for the girl. “It’s just…I know you can’t hurt us, if you can’t do magic. And you can’t do magic…” Abruptly she cut her own sentence off by delivering a sharp uppercut to the vampire witch’s jaw, sending her tumbling backwards to the floor in a limp, boneless heap.

“…if you’re unconscious.”

“Good Lord, Buffy!” Giles objected with an outraged gasp, stepping forward to stare down at the fallen form of the unconscious little redhead. “Was that really necessary? She was fully under control.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, gazing down at Willow with grim determination on her face. “But for how long?”

“What?” Jenny asked with a frown of confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Buffy informed them, her eyes still focused on Willow. “Right now…we need to get these two restrained.”

“I hardly see how that’s necessary now that you’ve knocked her…”

“*Giles*!” Buffy snapped, cutting off the Watcher with a tone that she had never taken with him before.

The older man stared at her in stunned amazement, waiting for her to go on.

Buffy let out a heavy sigh, raising a hand to her forehead as she relented, “I’m sorry. It’s just…could you just trust me on this one? I don’t want to…to say it right now. I’ll tell you later. Just go with me on this for the moment.”

Giles was quiet for a moment, taking in the tense lines of her expression, and the solemn certainty in her eyes. “All right, Buffy,” he conceded at last. “What do you need us to do?”

“Do you have any shackles strong enough to hold a vampire?”

“I believe I do,” Giles replied, a bit taken aback by the question, yet moving toward his weapons chest in search of the requested item. “Just…one moment…”

“We could always just knock him unconscious as well,” Spike suggested in a low, teasing tone of voice that brought a smile to Buffy’s face in spite of herself, as he edged in near so that only she heard his words.

“Well, you know,” she shrugged. “We could do that anyway. Probably will.”

Spike laughed as Giles returned holding two sets of shackles. “These will do. Not only are they made of the strongest iron, but they’re also treated with powerful magicks. Only the one who fastens them can unlock them.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “Even if the person wearing them has some pretty strong mojo going for them, too?”

“Even then,” Giles assured her. “It’s a very powerful spell.”

“Great.” Buffy nodded in satisfaction. “Let’s get these two chained up and out of the way somewhere until we can get to the Magic Shop. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m exhausted.”

Miss Calendar gave her a sympathetic nod. “It’s been a long night for everyone. We all could do with some rest.”

“As much as I agree with your sentiments,” Giles pointed out cautiously. “Chained and unconscious or not, we must not leave Angel and Willow unattended. They’re both quite clever, especially Willow, and by all accounts she has a level of magical power at this point that is truly frightening. Someone will need to keep a watch…”

“I’ll do it,” Spike offered without hesitation.

The room fell silent as the Watcher gave him a dubious look.

“Very well, then,” Giles finally replied, a cool note of sarcasm in his voice. “Spike’s watching them. Who’s watching Spike?”

“If you haven’t bloody well figured it out by now, you pillock, I’m on your *side*!” Spike fairly snarled in frustration. “I’m not out to drain the lot of you in your sleep. I’m trying to keep the piss poor future we *all* have ahead of us from happening! I’m trying to *help* you, but if you’d rather stay here on your own with them…”

“I’d rather Buffy stayed,” Giles cut him off dismissively, turning his expectant gaze on his young charge. “She is, after all, the Slayer, and most equipped to deal with any threat they might provide. Also, she has taken the time and effort required to earn my trust,” he added with a pointed look in Spike’s direction. “Buffy…if you wouldn’t mind…”

Buffy nodded. “I was already planning on it. In fact…I think it’s best if we all stay nearby, don’t you? I mean…this isn’t exactly the best time to split up, not until all this is settled…one way or the other.”

The others all seemed to agree, expressing their assent with nods and murmured words.

“All right, then,” Buffy concluded with satisfaction. “Let’s all settle in for the next few hours, and as soon as the Magic Shop opens, Miss Calendar can go get what we need for the spell.”

For the next few minutes, the little group went about their preparations to ensure that they could sleep in peace for the next few hours.

The old fashioned iron piping that ran through the ceiling and floor of Giles’ apartment, in the far corner of his living room, served as a strong enough focal point to which to attach the chains they used to bind Angel and Willow. The younger vampire remained unconscious as her wrists were chained behind her back and around the thick iron pipe, but Angel didn’t stop complaining.

“What if someone turns the heat on?” he demanded indignantly. “That would be cruel and unusual punishment! You could end up dusting us both without even meaning to!”

“That piping’s not even in use anymore,” Giles informed him in a voice of barely restrained impatience. “It’s merely left over, never been taken out. It won’t be heating up, I’ll assure you.”

“Too bad,” Spike smirked at his sire-turned-childe. “Would have been funny.”

Angel snarled at him defiantly from his helpless position seated on the floor, but Spike merely smiled down at him in smug satisfaction.

“I’m going to get out of this, Spike!” Angel declared furiously. “You can’t just *do* this to me! I’m going to get out of this, and I’m going to knock some respect back into…”

“Oh, Slayer, that reminds me!” Spike turned toward Buffy as she came up beside him, an eager, expectant expression on his face, and she smiled, realizing immediately what Angel’s words had brought back to his mind. “Can we, still?”

“Of course.”

“May *I*…?”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy shrugged with a sly smile before amending, “Except…well, you know…not exactly *yourself*…”

Spike wasn’t listening. He had already drawn back his fist in preparation to strike, knocking the older vampire’s head back sharply against the pipe behind him, and before the Slayer could even finish her remarks, Angel was silent…unconscious on the floor beside the little redhead he had sired.

Buffy and Spike stood side by side, surveying the handiwork of the past few minutes, the two vampires bound on the floor and unconscious. They nodded as they exchanged an approving look.

“Much better.”

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

Once Angel and Willow were under control, Spike took the opportunity to explain to Giles what he had already explained to Buffy, about his swiftly fading control over Angel…and by extension, Willow. He was relieved to have the pair of them unconscious. During the process of chaining Angel up, the older vampire’s resistance to his domination had almost been enough to break Spike’s hold on the upper hand.

Almost.

Spike had no idea whether or not Angel knew how close he had come to actually breaking free.

“Perhaps you should take this time, while they’re…otherwise controlled, to rest, Spike,” the Watcher suggested with a surprising note of genuine concern. “Would doing so make your hold on him stronger when you…resume it?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. But…but I s’pose I should sit up with ‘em. Make sure I know it just the first instant Angel’s awake, yeah? So I can make sure I don’t lose control of him.” He paused, shrugging as he added with an air of confession, “And, you know…so if either of ‘em wake up…I can knock ‘em out again.”

Giles suppressed a grin of amusement with an effort as he agreed, “That…sounds wise. Perhaps…you and Buffy both should keep watch, in the living room? Jenny and I…well…” The Watcher’s voice suddenly trailed off, and his eyes went wide, as he realized what sleeping arrangements that left for the older pair.

“I’ll just…take the couch,” Jenny offered awkwardly, her dark eyes averted, a crimson flush staining her olive cheeks.

“No, no, of course not,” Giles objected. “Don’t be silly. I’ll take the couch, of course, and you shall have my bed for the morning.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the teacher and the Watcher, neither of whom seemed willing to so much as look at each other at the moment. It was so obvious that neither of them would really have had a problem sharing a bed, but they were not quite to a stage in their budding relationship where either was ready to admit it.

*Thank God.*

“Good. Now that that’s settled,” she said with a falsely bright smile, turning away from them as she added under her breath, “and I’ve been spared the unpleasant mental images that any other arrangement would have caused…”

Spike gave her a smile of sarcastic amusement as he finished for her, “Right, then. Time for you lot to get some kip.”

Alarm clocks were set and each member of the little group got comfortable, ready to pass the next five hours in much-needed rest. Jenny was alone in Giles’ bedroom, the door mostly closed, but left open just a crack in case anything happened to cause a commotion in the living room, so that it would give her fair warning. Giles lay down on the sofa, while Buffy immediately claimed Giles’ one comfy chair, leaving Spike to take a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

*Only right,* she reminded the subtle voice of guilt in her mind. *Ladies first and all that convenient chauvinist crap.*

Giles was the first in the living room to fall asleep.

When the quiet sounds of his snoring reached the Slayer’s ears, she exchanged another dubious smile with Spike…and immediately found herself wondering when exactly she had come to share this tentative but surprisingly comfortable camaraderie with Spike. She had gone from hating him and making his death a major life goal, to joking and sparring and exchanging secretive looks, in a matter of hours.

The whole thing took a little…adjusting.

Under the circumstances, given her state of exhaustion and the trauma of the ordeal with Willow, it was a bit more adjusting than Buffy was up to at the moment. She pushed the somber thoughts out of her mind, not wanting to deal with it just then, and in a classic instance of subconscious avoidance, like a small child faced with the pain of a major injury…she was asleep in five minutes.

Spike smiled affectionately at her across the room, before rising and taking a throw blanket from the back of the couch, moving to her side and covering her as he had done the night before. Of course, Buffy’s drunken state that night, and the hangover that had followed, had served to make that rest of little benefit to her. It was no wonder that she was so exhausted now, considering all she’d been through.

“Looks like it’s up to me,” Spike murmured to himself as he took his seat again on the floor, casting his bored gaze on the two unconscious vampires, who had not showed any sign of recovering yet.

Not that Spike would mind in the least giving them a second dose of their sleeping medicine if necessary.

As he sat there, enjoying the first sense of quiet and solitude he had felt in far too long, Spike’s mind began to play back over the tumultuous events of the past few days. I really had been a stressful time, for him as well as for the Slayer.

Beginning with his ordeal at the hands of that mad scientist and her military henchmen, the horror of the chip they had implanted in his head, followed by the torment and starvation Angelus had put him through, and culminating in the powerful spell that had left him chipless, souled, and in possession of some rather troubling visions of the future…well, it had all been quite a bloody hell of a lot to process.

*’S nice,* he thought, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes for a moment. *Just to have the quiet…just for a few minutes…*

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

Willow’s head was throbbing.

That was the first thing she was aware of as she drifted back to consciousness. She winced as she tried to open her eyes against the light that seemed far too bright, though it was only the dim rays of sunlight filtering through the drawn living room curtains. When she finally managed to open her eyes fully, Willow looked around, blinking as she took in her surroundings. The pipe behind her to which she was chained, her sire beside her…and the three sleeping “guards” around them.

A slow smile spread across her face, as she realized that she could no longer feel the bonds of Angel’s commands upon her.

She was free.

*Well…in a manner of speaking…*

She jerked against the chains that bound her in frustration, then glanced up through wide eyes at first the Slayer, then Spike, biting her lower lip as she wondered if the noise she had thoughtlessly made would wake them.

It did not.

*Okay…think, Willow…you can work with this…*

Buffy and Spike were both capable of physically subduing her, and should Spike awaken, he could have her under control in moments, regardless of her magic, simply by waking Angel and commanding *him* to control her.

But…Giles….Giles, she could use.

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

*Wake up…*

Giles stirred on the couch, frowning in his sleep at the sharp command.

*Wake up…*now*!*

He sat up suddenly on the couch, staring straight ahead with a blank expression on his face. A small part of his mind tried to discern where the voice had come from…but his head felt too muddled, clouded and heavy, to begin to put the pieces together.

*Take the chains off.*

The Watcher turned his distant gaze on the redhead across the room, gazing at him through wide, solemn eyes, her intent gaze locking onto his and refusing to let him go. A quiet voice in the back of his mind warned him, softly but insistently, that something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite figure out what, as he rose to his feet and moved slowly but steadily toward her.

*It’s all a mistake…unchain me…help me, Giles…*

Slowly, mechanically, as if not really even aware of what he was doing, the Watcher knelt by the side of the little redhead who had become like a daughter to him, taking from his pocket the shiny silver key to her shackles…the key which only his hand could effectively wield, due to the magicks that covered the bonds.

He hesitated a moment, his hand hovering over the keyhole, the faintest beginning of a confused frown creasing his brow.

*Do it, Giles…you have to! Help me!*

Willow’s terrified, trembling voice pleaded with him in his mind, and the plea was so desperate, so effective, that Giles did not register the magical command behind it.

Without a second thought…or a first one for that matter, as the capacity for thought seemed to have left him for the moment…Giles inserted the key in the lock and turned it, allowing Willow’s chains to fall away to the floor.

*That’s it…good boy…good little Watcher…*

In some part of his clouded mind, Giles recognized the inappropriateness of Willow’s words, the mockery behind the soft, soothing thoughts that filled his head…but he couldn’t begin to fathom what it all meant, or what he should do about it. All he knew for certain was the undeniable push, the compulsion he felt to do as the young vampiress said.

*Quietly.*

He paid heed to her silent caution as the chains fell away from her wrists, and he caught them carefully in his hands, not allowing them to clatter to the floor and alert the sleeping pair of supernatural guards.

*His, too.*

Giles did not quite understand the sense of angry, sullen defiance that filled him at the silent command to loose Angel’s chains as well. All he knew was that a wave of hatred toward the still unconscious male vampire beside Willow filled him at the thought, and he hesitated for just a moment before moving reluctantly toward Angel and unfastening his chains as well.

Willow smiled with pleasure as she watched Giles place the chains gently on the floor beside them -- but her smile vanished into a hard line as, before he could turn around, she waved a hand in the air behind him, and he collapsed silently to the floor in an unconscious heap.

A flicker of awareness in the back of her mind, the part of her new identity that recognized her sire, drew her attention back to Angel, who was now sitting up on the floor where he had been chained, blinking sleepily as he looked up at her with a blank expression of confusion.

*Quiet,* she told him sharply, allowing the words to be heard only in his mind. *Don’t do anything to wake them up.*

Angel’s eyes widened as he took in the pathetic sight of the two would-be heroes, sleeping soundly on the floor and in the chair. Then, a slow smile spread across his face as he rose cautiously to his feet, bouncing slightly with glee before turning toward Willow, who appeared to be gently rearranging the unconscious Watcher’s still form on the floor.

“This is so great!” Angel hissed in a whisper that was a bit louder than Willow would have liked.

She grimaced slightly in displeasure as she ran her hands lightly down the inside edge of the older man’s coat.

*Can you please be quiet?*

“Well, I can’t just talk with my thoughts like you can, Willow,” Angel hissed back at her a bit petulantly. “What do you expect?”

*Not much,* Willow replied, rising to her feet while still staring down at the unconscious Watcher. *Just a little peace and quiet and…shit…*

Her eyes went wide as she looked up and over Angel’s shoulder, just in time to see his new sire aiming a powerful fist toward the back of his head. Angel stumbled forward and nearly fell to his knees, but managed to regain his balance, just as Willow stepped forward, between him and Spike, aiming a jolt of electric magic toward the blond vampire.

Angel staggered to a stop, safely behind Willow, as he gasped out a challenge at Spike. “You think you can stop us? I’m her *sire*, Spike, in case you’ve forgotten what that means! She’ll lay her *life* down for mine, and she’s a hell of a lot stronger than you’ll ever be!”

Spike barely managed to dodge the blast Willow had aimed his way, immediately moving toward her again with a grim smile on his face, while completely ignoring Angel‘s taunting words.

“You’re not gonna get away with it, Red,” Spike informed the furious witch. “All I’ve got to do is say two or three bloody words, and your sire there will be at my beck and call again…which means that you’ll be at *his*…”

His words broke off abruptly in surprise as the little redhead’s right hand shot up and backwards and she plunged the stake in her hand -- stolen from Giles’ coat pocket no doubt -- through the heart of the vampire who had sworn that she would die for him if necessary. She never took her eyes off Spike, a triumphant smile on her face as she raised one eyebrow at him, watching him as he watched her sire crumble to dust behind her.

“And I really should have just *said* the two or three bloody words,” Spike concluded flatly with a sigh of irritation. “Always gotta indulge in the soddin’ gloating! Always been one to…”

“…talk too much?”

The words preceded a flash of blonde hair and golden skin as the Slayer darted past him, landing a solid kick to the stomach of the young vampiress whose attention had been wholly focused on Spike. Willow staggered to her feet a few yards away, clutching her stomach as she moved toward the fallen Watcher.

Buffy saw what she was doing, but Willow was too close already for the Slayer to reach her before she had jerked Giles’ limp, lifeless form to his feet in front of her, her game face coming to the fore as she held him in front of her like a shield.

“Back off,” she snarled. “Or he dies, Buffy! Don’t think I don’t mean it!”

Buffy stared at her in horrified dismay, frozen in her tracks at the impending threat to her Watcher’s life. “I don’t,” she said softly. “Just…calm down, Will…”

Willow gave her a mocking sneer as she retorted, “I’m perfectly calm, Buffy. And I’d be just as perfectly calm if I was ripping his throat out with my fangs. That’d take all of, what? Two seconds? Less than it’d take you to get over here and stop me, that’s for sure…”

“You don’t stand a chance, Red,” Spike put in, taking a cautious step closer to her. “Against the two of us? What the bloody hell are you thinking, anyway?”

Willow let out a warning hiss as he took another step toward her, dragging her hostage backward with her, her fangs extended and her golden eyes blazing with menace.

“Spike,” Buffy said sharply.

He ignored her completely, shrugging casually as he addressed his words to Willow. “‘S not like you can take both of us at once, love. So you kill him…then what?”

“Gee, I hadn’t thought,” Willow mused, an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression on her face. “I have unbelievable magical power, no sire bond over me anymore to stop me, and a hostage that for some strange reason you two seem to find pretty valuable. I think I…do whatever I want to do with all of you, actually,” she nodded as if coming to the decision, a wide, cheerful smile on her face.

“Willow, you don’t want to do this,” Buffy insisted, tears welling in her eyes as she headed toward her former friend again, slowly, almost without realizing she was doing it. “Not like this…please, Willow…”

“No, you’re right, Buffy,” Willow conceded, her eyes narrowing coldly. “Not like this.” She paused, her body tensing for flight, as she finished, “I’ve got a *much* cooler plan!”

With those words, she abruptly thrust Giles’ unresisting form toward Buffy, who moved quickly to catch him before he fell to the ground, and darted toward the kitchen. Spike did not hesitate to rush after her, finding her in the back doorway, staring out into the shadows of the back alley behind Giles’ apartment building.

A slow smile rose to his lips as he realized that she could go no farther than the alley; the sun would trap her there.

But she ran out the door anyway.

His smile faded into a frown of confusion as he followed her, reaching the doorway just in time to see her yanking the cover off a manhole that happened to be rather inconveniently located in the alleyway. His jaw set with determination as he started after her, but she suddenly turned toward him, holding the manhole cover like a shield as she raised one hand skyward, spoke a few words in Latin, then aimed the same hand at Spike, letting loose a powerful burst of bright sunlight, somehow harnessed in her hand and reflected off the metal of the disc she held.

Spike cursed as he lunged for the back door, just in time to narrowly avoid the deadly light she had hurled at him, slamming the door hard lest her magic should allow the strange weapon to somehow follow him inside.

It did not.

After a moment, cursing his own fearful reaction, Spike swung the door open again, rushing back out into the alley.

Willow was gone.

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

“Bloody magic,” Giles moaned, his head resting in both of his hands as he waited for Jenny to bring him another pair of painkillers. “How foolish…how utterly foolish of me…”

“It wasn’t your fault. Spike and I were the ones who were stupid enough to fall asleep. You didn’t know what would happen,” Buffy reassured him as she sat down on the couch beside him with a heavy sigh. “None of us did.”

“You were both *exhausted* enough to fall asleep, and we all should have thought of that,“ Giles countered. “And as for knowing what could happen…I should have.“ His voice held a note of grim self-disgust as he raised apologetic eyes to hers,. “I’ve seen the effects of magic, Buffy, first hand. I for one should have known to think of the…the dangers and limitations of magical power such as is apparently inherent in Willow…”

“Limitations?” Spike echoed, a hopeful expression on his face. “As in?”

“As in there are none,” Giles flatly replied, his head lowered into his hands once more. “An accomplished user of magic can easily get around almost any natural law, with enough practice and study. That is not to say that any mortal *should*, because magic is always accompanied by consequences, and the stronger the magic used, the greater the consequences.”

“Any mortal?” Buffy repeated dubiously. “So you’re saying…because she’s immortal…?”

“She may not see the same level of consequences that a mortal might. And that’s not to say that would be true of *any* immortal who attempted to use such powerful magics. Willow…well, it appears she may be a special case,” Giles explained. “At the time when she was…controlling my mind, I was aware that something was not right, but my thoughts were…were muddled, preventing my reasoning out what it was that was wrong. She managed to completely control my actions, my thoughts, to the point of causing me to do something which very well might have been deadly.”

He was quiet for a moment, allowing them all to take in those words, before he added slowly, an awed note to his voice as he spoke, “And she did it all without uttering a single incantation, or using a single spell ingredient. Simply with…some inherent power that seems to be natural to her, now, in her…altered state.”

“So you’re saying…Willow might not be affected by the magic as much…because a part of her…*is* magic. Is that it?” Jenny guessed, frowning thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Giles admitted after a moment’s hesitation, finding that there were no better words to express what he was trying to say. “It appears that even as a…a human, Willow had the latent ability within her to become quite proficient in magic. As a vampire…well, there are possibly no limits to what she might do.”

All four were quiet for a long moment, sobered by the Watcher’s dire words.

Finally, Spike broke the silence with a quiet question.

“Then…why hasn’t she done it?”

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him, though his own gaze was drawn to one particular curious emerald gaze. He met Buffy’s eyes as he clarified, “She was here, with me and you dead asleep for awhile, and two defenseless humans in the mix…boundless magical powers, and us with no binding claim to prevent her from doing whatever the bloody hell she liked…she said it herself…so…”

“…why are we all still alive?” Buffy finished for him slowly, her eyes widening at the implications.

“Maybe…maybe there’s some part of her in there that’s still…Willow,” Jenny suggested, a tentative hope in her voice. “Maybe if we can manage to…restrain her somehow, long enough to…”

“That’s not a wise option to consider at this point, Jenny,” Giles cut her off, his voice compassionate but certain. “She is far too dangerous, too powerful, to waste any more time on attempts to restore what may not exist anymore. We have to think about our own lives, and the countless other lives she might take while we’d be wasting time trying to…to save…”

“If not that,” Buffy cut him off abruptly, clearly as much because she did not want to hear the rest of what he had to say, as because she *did* want to hear the answer to her question, “then…then why? Why didn’t she kill us just now while she had the chance? She could have…I don’t know…frozen us in place and taken us out one at a time if she wanted to. So…why didn’t she?”

“She said it herself,” Spike replied after a moment, his voice low and ominous. “She has something more in mind.”

“So…she’s toying with us,” Jenny concluded, her dark eyes widening with dismay. “She’s just…biding her time until she can do it the way she planned? The way she really wants to?”

“Could be,” Spike affirmed with a grim nod. “Could be she just knows we can’t really stop her, not the way things stand right now…and she’s just waiting for precisely the right moment…”

“We *can* stop her,” Buffy argued. “We have to find a way. We can’t just…just give up. I’ve beaten things that have used magic before…”

“This is different, Buffy…”

“But, Giles, there has to be a way!” the Slayer insisted. “Can’t we just…do some research? See what we can find on these…these naturally magical things that you say she’s become? Find out how we can *stop* their natural magic?”

Giles nodded slowly. “At this point, that’s our only option,” he admitted. “Besides just…sitting here and waiting for her to return.”

“Or…skipping town completely,” Jenny offered glumly.

“Not an option,” Buffy declared. “I’m not leaving the citizens of this town…my friends, my neighbors…to be her own personal all-you-can-eat buffet. I *have* to stop her.”

She paused, and Spike could see the struggle in her troubled eyes, knew that she was wrestling with the belief that somehow, this was her fault. If she had listened to Willow’s fears, done more to stop Angel sooner…maybe her friend would still be alive. Spike knew that it was not really her fault; she could not have known how it would all turn out…but he knew better than to argue the point right then.

The Slayer’s glistening green eyes held a challenge as they locked with his, reading his perception in his gaze and daring him defiantly to voice it.

He did not. It was not the time.

“I have to stop her,” the Slayer repeated firmly, her mouth set in a tight line of determination. “And I will.”

Thanks to my wonderful, amazing beta, Eowyn315!!! And thanks to all my wonderful readers for being so patient with me throughout the last few hectic weeks :) *hugs to all*


“So…these visions of yours. Pretty much useless at this point, right?”

Spike looked up at the glum tone of the Slayer’s voice, her eyes downcast as she sat beside him on the couch. It was mid-afternoon, and the Watcher and the gypsy teacher were outside the house, setting up a protection spell in an attempt to prevent Willow’s magic from affecting them inside Giles’ house. Neither of them being particularly magically inclined, Buffy and Spike had opted to stay inside.

“Come again, love?”

“Well, so many things have changed, and you said you only saw what would have happened before you started changing things…right?”

Spike nodded slowly. “Right.”

“Then…from this point on, we should kind of…disregard the visions and just…just deal with Willow from here on out the best we can,” Buffy concluded, though there was still a note of uncertainty in her voice. “I mean…if everything’s changed…”

“But…not *everything’s* changed, love,” Spike pointed out with a thoughtful frown. “Seems like a lot of stuff is still happening, ’s just…happening a lot sooner, yeah? All out of order and such.”

Buffy looked up at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? Willow did this in the visions you saw?”

“Well…not exactly *just* this.” Spike shrugged as he looked away. “But…sort of…”

Buffy raised a single brow, irritation beginning to show on her face. “Okay, and you are *so* not helpful right now, Spike…”

“Well, it’s bloody confusing to me, too, love!” he exclaimed, a bit defensively, as he rose to his feet abruptly, his arms crossed over his chest as he began to pace the floor, his eyes carefully averted when she tried to catch his gaze. “What I saw versus what’s actually happenin’, and all points in between…’s gettin’ so I’m not even sure what’s actually happened and what I just *saw* anymore!”

Buffy blinked at him in surprise at his outburst, considering the question for a moment before she asked in a low, solemn voice that stopped his pacing.

“Spike…what *did* you see?”

Spike was silent for so long that Buffy really did not expect him to reply at all, his eyes lowered and his back turned to her, before he finally answered quietly.

“Not gonna happen now, is it? So it doesn’t matter, then.”

“It matters to me.”

Spike hesitated before voicing another objection. “It’d only hurt you to know, Slayer. You don’t need to know.”

“Spike…I *want* to know.”

The blond vampire jumped, startled, when he felt the soft warmth of her hand on his arm, turning to face her in a motion that seemed more than a little defensive. As he processed the fact that she had actually crossed the room to his side, actually *touched* him in a gesture of something strongly resembling compassion, Spike’s tense stance gradually relaxed, the expression in his eyes softening with a sort of awe.

The moment Buffy saw it there on his face, she self-consciously dropped her hand from his arm, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest. She casually averted her eyes as she insisted softly, “I just…I just want to know. Come on, if it’s not going to happen anymore, then what’s the harm in telling me?”

Spike drew in a weary breath, letting it out with a sigh as he turned and slowly walked back to the sofa, sitting down and looking up at her expectantly, waiting for her to join him. Buffy swallowed back her irrational nervousness, trying to put Miss Calendar’s words out of her mind and simply allow herself to listen to the story Spike had to tell. But now that the idea had taken root in her mind, it was not all that easy to dismiss it…especially not when faced with the strange tenderness and vulnerability that was present in Spike’s eyes.

Had it always been there? Had she simply never noticed it before? Or was it a result of his recently restored soul?

“If I tell you,” Spike spoke quietly, his deep voice tearing through the confusion of her thoughts and drawing her attention back to him. “Will you bloody well let it go and not talk about it again?”

Buffy considered for just a moment before shrugging. “It’s not going to happen. No reason to talk about it again. I just wanna know.”

Spike nodded his acceptance of her words, staring at the floor, leaning forward, his hands folded together in front of his knees as he prepared himself to speak, apparently trying to find the right words.

*Or trying to decide how much to tell me?* Buffy wondered, her eyes narrowly skeptically.

“Right. The future…the way I saw it. Well, I got that soddin’ chip…and it *didn’t* come out in a matter of a day or so, love, not in that world. It…it never came out.”

Spike hesitated, and Buffy felt a strange pulse of sympathetic emotion in the pit of her stomach as she watched his jaw working with the effort to repress his own feelings enough to continue the story. She momentarily chided herself for actually feeling bad about the fact that in his visions, Spike never regained the ability to kill humans again. After all, in his visions, he hadn’t had a soul…had he?

*And ask Angel again what good a soul is?*

She frowned, forcing the traitorous thought out of her mind as she asked, “Did you…did you have a soul in that future, Spike?”

The blond vampire shook his head silently, pausing for a moment before he went on.

“Just the chip, love. Kept me good and leashed well enough; couldn’t harm a living thing. Turns out, couldn’t harm a thing with a soul, either, as a matter of fact, living or not…”

Buffy’s eyes widened with recognition as she realized what he was talking about.

“Angel.”

Spike nodded again. “Couldn’t hurt him, either, unfortunately. Bloody pillock. Could have made things a lot easier on you…a lot easier on everybody…if I could have just staked him to begin with, long before things got so…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, unable to find the words to finish that remark.

Buffy bit her lower lip, a frown of confusion creasing her forehead as she tried not to think too closely about Spike’s careless admission of concern for her. It was not like it was the first time he had said or done something to indicate that he cared what happened to her, but it was the first time since Miss Calendar’s perception, and Buffy found that every fragment of evidence to support the teacher’s theory was resonating with her, despite her best attempts to ignore it.

“So…Angel went bad, like he did here,” she pressed gently, trying to focus them both back onto the subject at hand. “Did he lose his soul, or just…?”

“He lost it, but he got it back…a lot like what happened here. Not that it made any difference,” Spike replied, a note of disgust in his voice, though Buffy thought it seemed directed at Angel rather than at her. “He was perfectly capable of giving in to his own darkness with the precious soul intact, Slayer. And he did. He just…hid it, for a while.”

Buffy felt a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach, as she asked in a whisper, “How long?”

“A…a few years. None of you…not a one of you had a bloody clue! He kept Dru all chained up in that mansion for months, and let you lot think she’d left town, before he finally got tired of her and staked her. Just…on a whim.”

Spike shook his head, his eyes wide and stricken with the trauma of the false memory, and once again Buffy felt the urge to reach out to him, to offer him some kind of comfort. Her own chest was constricted with the shock of hearing what Angel’s future had held, before it had been changed, how badly he had deceived and betrayed them all…but she knew that the pain she felt over those offenses paled in comparison to Spike’s sense of loss over his love of over a century.

“He just…killed her, without a second thought. Then went to you lot and made out like he was the big bloody hero. Claimed she’d come back to town again, and he’d dusted her in a fight. I…I was the only one who knew the truth.”

Buffy frowned. “How did you know?”

Spike’s smile was sad and bitter as he replied, “How could I not? He was my bleedin’ *sire*, love. That…that means something. I…I knew when he killed Dru…even *before* I saw that she was gone…”

“Wait,” Buffy objected, holding up a hand to halt him, shaking her head in confusion. “Okay, so…where were you during all this, while Angel’s pretending to still be one of us, and all the time keeping his ex chained up in the mansion?”

Spike laughed softly, his eyes dark and haunted as he looked down at the floor at his feet. “Half the time…chained up right beside her,” he admitted, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “Rest of the time…well, just trying to avoid you lot. And…and Angel.” Spike paused for a moment, swallowing hard as he added, “Not succeeding very well. You didn’t exactly make it easy. It was all I could do just…just trying to survive.”

“How *did* you survive?” Buffy asked, her voice gentle and holding more concern than she had really intended. She did not quite understand everything that Spike was telling her – not yet – but she knew that the future they had already averted had been a terrible time for him, and it was a fresh agony reliving it. Still…there were some things she had to know. “I mean…you couldn’t bite anyone, with that chip in your head. So…how did you get…?”

“Blood?” Spike finished for her, a single eyebrow raised at her discomfort at speaking the word, at facing the thought of what he needed for sustenance. When she nodded, he looked away again, his expression inscrutable to her eyes. “Butchers. At first. Until Angel decided it’d be a good laugh to scare them all out of selling to me.”

Buffy frowned, unsure why the idea of what Spike was telling her made her feel so indignant. “Why would Angel do that?” she asked. “What good would it do him to do that, just to make it harder on you?”

“Making things harder on me was a bloody end in itself to him,” Spike scoffed. “He just did it for kicks, love.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Spike went on before she could speak.

“I…I knew what he was up to…what he was hiding…but…but he…he made sure I couldn’t say anything to you about it…”

When he stopped, unwilling or unable to go on, Buffy tried to suppress her impatience as she pressed, “How? How did he do that?”

Spike was very quiet for a long moment, before he finally replied in a voice that was carefully calm, “He…renewed his sire’s rights, and that…well, it bloody well *forced* me to keep quiet. To…to do whatever the soddin’ hell he told me to do. Double life he was living for a bit, there. Keeping Dru all chained up at the mansion to do whatever he wanted with her, and…and keeping me at his bloody beck and call as well…and all the while pretending that he was your dotin’ lover, all good and noble and such rot. I…I *wanted* so badly to tell you, Buffy…but…but I couldn’t…”

Buffy’s heart was smote with compassion at the sorrow and anguish in his voice, and she realized with a shock that Spike was speaking about the events he had foreseen as if he had actually experienced them…and it sounded as if whatever he had been through at Angel’s hands had been truly terrible.

Forgetting her self-conscious uncertainty, Buffy found herself leaning toward him on the sofa, one hand reaching out to rest on his arm in a comforting gesture, though she had no words to offer him. What could one *say* in a situation like this, anyway?

Spike looked up at her sharply through startled blue eyes, glancing down at the place where her soft, warm hand touched his cool, trembling flesh, swallowing hard as he struggled to keep control of his own emotions.

After a moment, he appeared to win the struggle, his jaw setting as he went on in a steady, even voice.

“Dru lasted nearly a year…half bloody starved, in constant pain…he used her as nothing but a soddin’ toy. I tried my best to help her, in between helpin’ you lot sometimes. Found out demons were the only thing that bloody chip would let me kill, so when I could…when you’d let me…I’d fight with you. That is, when Angel…when Angel didn’t have me…”

His voice broke off as he shook his head and continued abruptly, “Dru lasted nearly a year before he killed her. And it was two years after that when he killed Red.”

Despite her sympathy for the blond vampire, Buffy couldn’t help her surprised curiosity at that. “So…Angel managed to pull off the ‘good vampire’ act for three years in that future?”

Spike nodded as he continued with an apologetic grimace, aware that his words would be hard for the Slayer to hear. “Seems all along he had a…a bit of a thing for Willow…tainted innocence and all that…’s just in that version of the future, he held out longer. Seems some small events we changed must have served to push them together a bit sooner than was supposed to happen, and make it all happen faster.”

Buffy was quiet, struggling with her own emotions as she tried to process what he was saying.

It seemed there was just too much pain these days to even sort it out.

“Once he…he turned her,” Spike continued, a grim smile rising to his lips, though his blue eyes were still solemn and haunted, “he didn’t last a soddin’ week. She was too powerful by then, yeah? As a human, in that version of things, she’d become a right smart little witch, and she didn’t lose that power when he turned her. ’S why I assumed that it wouldn’t be that way this time around…’cause she hasn’t had time to develop the skills she was supposed to eventually have, yeah?”

Buffy nodded slowly, her eyes wide as she took in the story.

“But she managed to drain him, do the resiring ritual, and gain control of him in a week’s time. I thought things would be better for you…for all of us…with Angelus out of control. Red always seemed a bit sweeter than Angel, with or without the soul, yeah? So how could it be anything but better with her in charge, even as a vamp?”

Spike was quiet for a moment before adding grimly, “I was wrong.”

After a moment, Buffy spoke up in a voice that was trembling dangerously. “So…so if everything just…just happened faster…do you maybe know…what she was planning then? What she might be going to do?”

“No telling, love,” Spike sighed, giving her an apologetic look. “See….there’s no telling if she’s even heard of the things she did in the visions. By the time she got turned in the visions, she’d had years to study magic and such, and had all kinds of dangerous knowledge in her hands…”

“Except now, she doesn’t need it,” Buffy pointed out with a frown, alarm rising in her eyes. “Because if what Giles said is true…her very essence *is* magical…and she might not even *need* a spell to do whatever she wants to do magically, you know?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

After a long, tense moment, Buffy stated softly in a voice of practiced calm, “You’re right, Spike. I need to stake her.”

“’S going to be hard getting to her at this point, love,” Spike pointed out. “We’re going to have to try to come up with some way of…of incapacitating her long enough to take her out.” He paused, his head lowered sadly as he added in a low voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry, love. Wish I could…could be more helpful…’s just…”

“Why?”

Spike blinked, looking up at her in surprise at the softly spoken question, and his unneeded breath was stolen away by the softness, the question in her eyes. “Come again, love?”

“Why, Spike?” Buffy repeated, searching his gaze intently. “Why…are you sorry? Why do you want to help me, when a week ago you wanted me dead?” When he started to respond, she cut him off with a raised finger of warning, “And *don’t* say it’s the soul, because I know that’s not true. Angel has a soul, too. Doesn’t make him care. And besides…you said you cared in the visions…when you didn’t *have* a soul.”

Spike looked away abruptly. His prepared answer, designed to appease her without revealing too much, having failed, he had no idea how to answer her.

“Spike,” Buffy whispered, leaning in closer, her hand shifting slightly on his arm, and drawing his focus reluctantly back to her. “In…in the future that’s never going to happen now…did you…I mean…were we…were we in love?”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta Eowyn315, who is gradually helping me to conquer the infamous adverb :P hehe



*Were we…were we in love?*

Spike stared straight ahead, unable to bring himself to meet Buffy’s eyes as he tried to think of a way to answer her question – quite possibly the most difficult question she could have asked him. He had already given away far too much for his own comfort, opening up to her about things he had determined to keep to himself. To confess the truth about his feelings for her in the future he had seen – the nature of the relationship they had been destined to have – would be to make himself far more vulnerable to her than he was willing to allow.

And yet, this was not the hardened, vicious Slayer he had seen in his visions. This girl was still open and kind, looking up at him through huge emerald eyes full of genuine compassion and concern. As hard as it was to believe, he couldn’t help but feel that if he lied to her, if he told her that they had been together and happy in the future he had seen, she would believe it without question.

And all at once, he knew – he could not lie to her.

He looked up at her with a solemn, appraising expression on his face, considering for a moment before he replied softly, “I was.”

Buffy took that in, her eyes averted for a moment before she looked up at him searchingly again. “So, then…I wasn’t?” she pressed cautiously. That much was obvious from his response, clearly, but she needed to know more.

A bitter, mirthless smile crossed Spike’s lips as he shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Not at all.”

Buffy studied his expression, a cold uneasy sensation settling in the pit of her stomach as the words Spike had *not* spoken gradually began to register with her. The distant expression in his painfully expressive eyes gave her a sense of foreboding, and she found herself wondering what he wasn’t telling her about her own future behavior.

“I hurt you,” she whispered finally, swallowing back the hard lump that had settled in her throat. “Didn’t I?” Almost without thinking about it, she raised a gentle hand toward his cheek in an attempt to get him to face her.

Spike flinched; it was very slight, hardly noticeable unless one was looking for it – and for some reason, Buffy found that she was. Her hand froze an inch from his face, and she drew it back slowly, her eyes wide and stricken.

“I did,” she concluded softly. “I really did…didn’t I?”

Spike cleared his throat, rising abruptly from the couch and crossing the room, stopping with his back turned to her.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, shaking his head dismissively.

“Yes, it does!” Buffy protested, standing and moving toward him, but stopping halfway across the room, thinking better of invading the space he had so pointedly placed between them. “You loved me; you *helped* me…and I was mean enough to you to make you…? I actually *hurt* you? Like *physically*?”

Spike couldn’t suppress an ironic smile at the aghast incredulity in her voice, the utter disbelief that she might have been capable of such cruelty.

“Trust me, love,” he admitted darkly, before he could think better of it and stop himself. “The physical was the least of it.”

“Huh,” Buffy remarked in a flat tone of voice. “Somehow, not reassured.”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Spike insisted, a bit impatiently, though he still refused to look at her. “We’ve got other things to think about at the moment, yeah? No need to get into a lot of gory details of things that aren’t even gonna happen.”

“How do we know they’re not going to happen?” Buffy challenged, her patience failing her as she crossed the room the rest of the way, attempting to get him to face her. “If I don’t know what I did – what kind of mistakes I made – how can I make sure they don’t happen this time around?”

“Who said what you did was a mistake?” Spike muttered in a hoarse, anguished voice, his head lowered in shame. “Who says I didn’t deserve every bit of it?”

“Certainly not me.”

Both Slayer and vampire whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice coming from the doorway. Leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, stood the smirking, redheaded vampiress, her eyes dark and glittering with magic and malicious amusement. She shrugged at their wary stares.

“I’m pretty sure you *do* deserve it – whatever ‘it’ is. You’re a bad, bad puppy, Spike.”

“You know, the soddin’ dog analogy, love…give it up,” Spike advised with obvious agitation in his voice, rolling his eyes as he turned to face her fully. Despite his discomfort at the topic he and Buffy had been discussing, he seemed quite irritated by the interruption. “It’s a bit…tired, at this point.”

Willow’s smirk turned slightly downward, her dark eyes flashing with irritation, and she stood up straight, her arms falling to her sides, magic sparking dangerously from her fingertips as she took a step closer to where they stood.

“Let’s see how ‘tired’ you think it is when you’re living it,” she snapped. “I think you’ll find it pretty interesting…you know…first hand…”

At her menacing words, the vampire tensed, his fists clenched at his sides as he slid gracefully into a fighting stance in preparation to face her. At his side, the Slayer matched his movements, taking a step forward as her hand slipped toward the dagger she had tucked into her waistband.

A flick of Willow’s wrist had the dagger flying before Buffy could touch it, removed from her waistband and suddenly slicing through the air – and the sleeve of Buffy’s shirt. The Slayer let out a startled gasp of fear as the razor-sharp blade pinned the fabric – and consequently her wrist – to the wall behind her. Before she could react, a second matching dagger materialized out of thin air, shooting forward to pin her other wrist in the same fashion.

“Don’t move, Buffy,” Willow warned her. “I can restrain you better than that, if I have to.” Her lips quirked upward in another smirk as she added, “It might be fun.”

Buffy considered disregarding the warning and tearing free, but hesitated. “Willow,” she began urgently. “Willow, think about what you’re doing! You haven’t hurt anyone yet – not really. You can still…”

“Enough,” Willow cut her off in a bored tone of voice, waving a hand in Buffy’s direction.

Buffy kept talking a moment longer, before realizing with alarm that, though her lips were forming the words, no sound was leaving her mouth. She drew in a sharp breath as her eyes went wide with fear.

“Relax, Buffy,” Willow advised with a cold smile in her direction, before returning her intent gaze to Spike, who stood warily watching her advance, seeking some opening to attack. “I’m not interested in you at the moment.”

As she reached the blond vampire, Willow reached out a casual hand toward him. Instinctively, his arm shot out, deflecting her touch and knocking her a step or two backward. Without hesitation, Willow drew back her other hand and spoke a harsh Latin word which instantly doubled Spike over, clutching his stomach with a moan of surprised pain.

Buffy didn’t think about what she was doing before she tore her arms free, ripping the long sleeve of her blouse and leaving one of the daggers stuck in the wall, while snatching the other deftly in her hand and moving purposefully toward the witch who was currently tormenting the helpless vampire, who had just fallen to his knees on the floor, his teeth clenched against the tremendous pain the vampiress was inflicting. The Slayer’s jaw set with determination as she came swiftly up behind Willow.

It never occurred to her to wonder why Spike’s pain so quickly galvanized her to action.

However, her action proved useless.

Without turning or sparing her a glance, Willow spoke softly, “Quiesco.”

Instantly, Buffy collapsed to the floor, her hand unfolding to release the weapon she held as she lost consciousness. Unfazed, Willow crouched slowly in front of the suffering vampire, her expression pensive but pleased as she reached out a hand again to touch his face, satisfied when this time she met no resistance.

“She’s not important to me,” the witch mused, though Spike was in too much pain to hear her words. “Not right now. First things first.” She leaned in close to his ear, her hand cupping the back of his head as she whispered confidentially, “And that would be you.”

With her hand planted firmly on the back of his neck, Willow straightened slightly, closing her eyes as she made a strange symbol in the air with her hand and murmured, “Defleo.”

Immediately the two of them vanished, out of the sight and reach of the stirring Slayer on the floor, gradually coming back to consciousness as Willow allowed her spell to fade.

After all…it wasn’t as if Buffy could do anything to stop her now.

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

Buffy sat up suddenly on the floor with a gasp, blinking as she stared around her and tried to remember what had happened.

She had been…talking. With Spike. A sick sensation started up again deep in her stomach at the reminder of the troubling nature of their conversation, the subtle implications of what he had said, and failed to say, as to her own guilt in the future that was not to be…not anymore.

Quickly, she pushed that thought from her mind, aware that there was something else she needed to be focusing on right now, something far more important…

*Willow*…

Her heart leapt up into her throat, and she stumbled hastily to her feet, glancing wildly about the room for any sign of her former friend or the blond vampire she had been attacking.

Both had vanished.

“Spike?” she called out, less surprised by the nearly frantic note in her voice than she would have expected. “Spike? Are you here?”

Of course, there was no response.

Willow had taken him.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she raced toward the front door, allowing it to swing open as she stepped out into Giles’ front yard, where the Watcher and his girlfriend were just finishing the process of setting up for the protection spell they were about to perform.

“Giles!” Buffy gasped, stumbling to a stop in front of him. “Willow…Spike…she took him!”

“What? Willow?” Giles frowned, confused.

“She was here?” Jenny’s dark eyes were wide with alarm.

“She came into the house,” Buffy explained hurriedly, nodding. “She just…appeared. Did some posturing and scary things with knives…then…then, I don’t remember. I must have…passed out. She must have *made* me pass out…and when I woke up, she and Spike were both gone.”

Giles’ frown deepened, as he removed his glasses from his face and began wiping at them with the hem of his shirt. “What would Willow want with Spike, specifically?” he asked, more to himself than to Buffy or Jenny. “Fledgling vampires have a tendency to target those who were close to them; one would think there would be others here who would draw her focus. Why would she target Spike?”

Buffy shook her head, at a loss, her huge, troubled eyes pleading with her Watcher for the answers he clearly did not have. “I don’t know,” she admitted in a quiet, trembling voice, “but we have to get him back. Who knows what she might do to him if…?”

Giles studied her expression intently for a moment as he replaced his glasses. At his side, Jenny gave his hand an almost imperceptible squeeze, and the Watcher let out a weary sigh of resignation, lowering his gaze. “Yes, of course. But…in order to do that, we must find her first.”

“Can you two do a locator spell, maybe?” Buffy suggested hopefully. “I mean…she could be anywhere…”

“Yes, of course, that’s easy enough,” Jenny nodded her encouragement. “We can do that, no problem. It’s just…first…”

“What?” Buffy asked, more than a little impatiently. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to do the spell we were already preparing for first, Buffy,” Giles informed her with an apologetic grimace. “The protection spell.”

Buffy frowned. “But…we have to hurry…”

“Buffy,” Jenny interrupted gently. “If, for whatever reason, Willow wants Spike…as powerful as she is right now…what good does it do to rescue him, if we don’t have a safe place to bring him afterwards?”

Buffy considered that for a moment, before letting out a disappointed sigh. “Okay. I guess you’re right. But…we have to hurry!”

“We will,” Giles assured her. “Just…let us do this, Buffy.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “And while you’re doing that, I’m going to go see if I can find them…”

“No!” Giles objected, catching her arm as she turned to head down the sidewalk. “Buffy, I can’t allow that! You can’t simply go off on your own, in search of an enemy who not only bears the face of your best friend, but is also in possession of more power than we are able to understand as of yet. You’re in no way prepared to face Willow right now, and most certainly not alone!”

“I can’t just let her…do whatever she wants to do to him! I have to help him!”

Giles stared at her bleakly for a moment, before Jenny gave him a much less subtle nudge. He cleared his throat as he replied, “Yes, yes, of course you do…” He paused before adding fretfully, “Why’s that again?”

“Rupert!” Jenny hissed.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Giles relented with another sigh, shaking his head. “Spike is…a presumably good creature at this point, with a soul and a conscience, and appears to be inclined to fight on the side of good. Of course, we can’t simply leave him to her whim. But, you must go about this wisely, Buffy. You must wait and allow us to do the locator spell, so that at the very least, you may maintain the element of surprise. All right?”

Buffy was silent, her eyes averted, her jaw set stubbornly.

“*All right*?” Giles repeated.

Buffy nodded finally, her teeth clenched as she echoed, “All right.”

“It should only take us a few minutes, Buffy, and then we can find out where they are…okay?” Jenny tried her best to placate the anxious Slayer.

“Okay.” Buffy nodded, frustration evident in her terse tone and stance as she turned abruptly back toward the apartment.

“Where are you going, Buffy?” Giles asked.

Buffy did not turn, striding purposefully toward the house as she called over her shoulder, “To get armed. As soon as we know where they are – we’re not wasting any time.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!! :)



Spike was not even aware that he had blacked out at all, until he found himself regaining consciousness.

An involuntary groan left his lips as he raised his head, squinting against the warm candlelight that filled the room. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around to see that he was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar bedroom, where he was apparently alone. He tried to rise from the bed, only to have his efforts abruptly halted as he realized that his wrists were chained tightly to the headboard above his head, preventing him from gaining the leverage he needed to sit up.

A slight rustling sound to his left drew his attention immediately, but when he looked sharply to the side, he could see no one.

“Buffy?” he called out in an instinctive reaction, though he really did not expect her to respond. Then, after a moment, he tried again, more cautiously, “Willow?”

A low, wicked giggle rang out in the darkened room, before the redheaded witch slowly materialized in the spot from which he had heard the sound. “Got it in two,” she observed with a sly smile. “Not quite as stupid as you look, are you?”

Spike ignored the rather unoriginal jibe, testing the strength of the chains at his wrists as he watched her calm, confident approach.

“All right, then, love. What’s this about?”

“Impatient,” Willow remarked with a teasing wink as she reached the side of the bed, extending a slender hand to stroke suggestively up his side. “Just wait. We’ll get to that.”

All at once, Spike realized that his shirt had been removed, and he was naked from the waist up. At any other time, that would not have bothered him; in this situation, however, it made him feel intensely vulnerable. He jerked reflexively away from her warm, soft hand, trying to evade her far too familiar touch.

The eyes of the young vampiress darkened, at the same time filling with golden sparks of fury, and Spike thought that the combination of the evils of her vampiric and magical natures was one of the most terrifying things he had ever seen. However, he carefully schooled his features into a mask of unconcern, glaring defiantly up at her as her stance straightened with menace and she gave him a look of seething fury.

“You know, if you really want to resist me, Spike,” she pointed out in a deadly soft voice, “I can find another way to make sure that you don’t move.”

Despite his attempt at concealing his fear, Spike went perfectly still at those words, unwilling to allow himself to be brought any further under her control than he already was. His teeth clenched with anger and frustration as she repeated the gesture, running her hand down his side, its path ending at the line of his low-riding jeans.

Willow smiled as she trailed her fingertips playfully along the waistband, giving him a speculative look, noting his tense, defiant countenance.

“You know,” she reminded him casually. “I had to put my old puppy down. He…got to be a little much to handle. Didn’t know how to behave.”

Spike felt a chill go through him, even before she leaned in close to whisper against his ear, “Think I could teach you to be a good puppy, Spike?”

He was quiet for a moment, before his lips turned upward in a smirk and he replied, his voice low and subtly taunting, “If anyone could teach a puppy how to behave, love…it’d be a mother bitch like you.”

Willow drew back with a gasp, startled by his words, her eyes wide and stunned…and then narrowing to furious black slits, as the air around her seemed to thicken, darkening, crackling with sparks of ominous energy.

Spike barely had an instant to attempt to prepare himself for the punishment he knew was coming – before her face, the room around them, and his own following screams of agony were swallowed up in a blinding, searing sea of pain.

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

Buffy sat on the floor of Giles’ living room, cross-legged in front of his open weapons chest, surrounded by various implements of warfare. She lifted a short-handled battle axe in her hand, testing its weight and its swing as best she could from her seated position. She swallowed back the sick feeling in her throat as the unbidden mental image came to her of using that weapon to sever her former friend’s head from her body.

Buffy blinked back tears, setting the axe aside and muttering to herself, “Too bulky. Something…something smaller…*faster*…”

She took out a wooden stake, turning it in her hand, trying to take comfort in the familiar shape, trying to make this whole thing feel…*right*.

But…she was trying to select a weapon to use to take Willow’s life, in order to save the world – and Spike – from her destructive power.

Nothing about this was right.

She swallowed hard as her fingers ran over the rough wood, and a frown creased her brow. Her tears flowed more freely, until the stake blurred before her eyes, and she fought back a sob.

The thought of its jagged, rough edge, plunging into the flesh of her friend…

Buffy tossed the stake down with the axe, raising her hands to press the heels of them against her eyes, taking several deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to maintain her composure. She couldn’t let her emotions get the better of her, not in this situation – not yet. If she did, she would surely lose the battle…and everyone she loved would be lost to the evil that had already consumed her former best friend. No, she had to keep it together for now.

There would be time to fall apart *after* she reduced her beloved friend to ashes.

Clearing her throat, Buffy rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans, though she didn’t really know what she thought she was rubbing off them. She just knew that her hands felt dirty after handling the weapons that would bring about Willow’s destruction. Sniffling, swiping at the remaining tears that stained her face, Buffy headed for the front door, eager to get her mind off the impending task at hand.

She stepped out onto the porch, silent so as not to disturb Giles and Miss Calendar, who were still in the midst of performing the protection spell. She just stood there for a few moments, leaning in the doorway, watching them solemnly as she waited with barely suppressed impatience for them to finish.

She knew full well that it made no sense for her to go out searching for Spike and Willow, and possibly would waste a lot of valuable time searching in the wrong places, when she could just wait a few minutes and allow her Watcher to work the location spell that would take her right to them.

Still…the waiting was killing her.

After what felt like an eternity, Giles and Miss Calendar stopped their quiet chanting and rose slowly from their seated positions on the porch. Giles gave Buffy a surprised smile as he turned to walk back into the house.

“Buffy. Are you ready?”

“No. Let’s do this,” the Slayer replied flatly.

Her Watcher regarded her for a few moments, a sorrowful sympathy beginning in his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he replied gently. “Let’s just…go inside, gather the appropriate supplies, and we’ll perform the location spell. But…Buffy…”

“What?” Buffy snapped, out of impatience rather than genuine anger.

“Are you sure it’s wise to go after Willow *now*, before we have a clear understanding of her power…her…her motives?” Giles asked her, a hesitant warning in his voice.

“No, I’m not,” Buffy conceded with a sigh. “But…we don’t have time to wait. While we’re sitting around researching, who knows what she’s doing to Spike in the meantime? She could kill him…”

“Buffy…she could have already,” Giles pointed out, his voice gentle and compassionate, despite the harsh honesty of his words.

“But I’ll never know that, will I?” Buffy retorted, her voice quiet and trembling. “Not if I don’t at least try.” She paused before adding, “And besides…I think we have a better chance of stopping her if we act sooner rather than later. She’ll just get more powerful the longer we wait, right?”

“That’s…that’s likely, yes,” Giles admitted with a sideways nod.

“Then I’m going after her. How long will this spell take?”

“Ten or fifteen minutes,” Miss Calendar shrugged. “Not long.”

“Right,” Buffy nodded her grim satisfaction. “I’ll go get some weapons.”

“Buffy,” the Watcher tried to call her back…but she had already disappeared into the house, closing the door forcefully behind her.

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

Spike’s body shook with agony, as the witch stood at the side of the bed, her chest heaving with unnecessary breath, a residual human reaction to her exhaustion. She had unleashed her fury on the helpless vampire, venting her rage in an awe-inspiring display of vicious power that had left him trembling and barely conscious with pain, and her leaning one hand against the headboard for support, wearied by her efforts.

“Look at you,” she sneered, though her voice was breathless and trembling slightly. “What a total and complete *waste* you are! You got that chip out of your head, so you could have fought her, could have been what you were supposed to be, but you’re *nothing*! Nothing but the Slayer’s little lap dog, instead of the master vampire you could have been! Sniveling and begging at her feet to help her, when your fangs should have been drenched with her blood!”

Spike did not respond, barely able to draw the breath to speak through his painfully broken ribs.

Willow considered for a moment, her breath slowing and becoming more even as she recovered, before she spoke again slowly, thoughtfully. “Must have been some interesting visions you saw – quite a future we had ahead of us – to make you side with the Slayer – make you willing to go through so much, to prevent it. Must have been…terrible…”

Her voice trailed off as a pensive frown creased her brow, and she removed her hand from the headboard, leaning in closer to the damaged vampire on the bed, who was shuddering, nearly convulsing with pain.

“Relax,” she murmured with false gentleness, her lips turning up in a hint of a wicked smile. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanna…take a little tour…”

Spike was powerless to resist her as she brushed the back of her hand across his damp brow, her eyes closed as she sought out the future memories that filled his mind, drawing painful images to the surface against his will. Spike’s body jerked against its bonds, and he let out a piteous moan, as dark scenes from the future he had seen surrounded him again.

Willow’s smile widened as she gasped with pleased surprise at what she saw, oblivious to the bound vampire’s frantic attempts to break contact, to end the torment in his mind. Finally, her eyes opened again, black as midnight, and she withdrew her hand, leaving Spike quivering and gasping for breath, his body drawn in on itself as much as was possible with his wrists bound above his head as they were.

Willow looked down at him in speculative surprise, her lips twisting into a cruel smirk.

“You were in love with her, you fool!” She spat the words at him in disgust. “I thought it had to be a terrible future for vampires – or at least for us – if you were so set on keeping it from happening. Turns out it was just terrible for *her*! Looks like *I* was having a lot of fun!”

She was quiet for a moment, as Spike struggled to regain his breath, a weak smile rising to his lips as he turned his head with an effort and met her eyes in cold triumph. He whispered words in response that she had to lean forward to hear.

“Too bad…it’ll never…happen now.”

Willow’s smile widened as she shrugged and remarked in a soft, dangerous tone of voice, “Who says? You and me together, baby…we can *make* it happen!”

Spike tried to pull away, but there was no escape, as she placed her hands on either side of his head, closing her eyes again and focusing on the dark magicks within her...on bringing to pass things that had been meant to be, things which now existed only in the recesses of Spike’s mind.

And in moments, the vampire on the bed was screaming again.

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

As Buffy turned and walked back into the house, her stride deliberate and purposeful, Giles watched her, his brow furrowed with concern. It caught him a bit off guard when Jenny’s soft, small hand slipped into his, squeezing gently. He turned to give her a slightly distracted, sad smile.

“She’s strong, Rupert. She’s gonna make it.”

“I only wish I could be sure of that,” he murmured, his gaze still fastened on the empty spot where his Slayer had just stood. After a moment he shook his head, shaking himself out of his reverie. “Well, we’d best get our supplies together and begin…”

“Rupert!”

Giles turned again at the alarm in Jenny’s voice, and his eyes widened as he followed her gaze.

Each of them had been so caught up in their own worries about the situation, that neither had noticed the strange storm that now seemed to have arisen around them. The sky behind them was dark and heavy with ominous clouds, pierced intermittently with bolts of eerie, colorful lightning.

Giles frowned. “Bloody…”

“What is it?” Jenny asked in a hushed, fearful whisper, staring up at the storm which was quite obviously so much more. “Willow?”

Giles shook his head, at a loss. “I’m not sure…” His frown deepened as something occurred to him. “There’s no thunder. There’s lightning, but…no thunder. It’s…it’s…”

“…unnatural,” Jenny finished for him in a troubled whisper.

Before either of them could act, the Watcher’s pensive musings were suddenly scattered by a thunderous crack that seemed to split the sky, deafening them and sending them stumbling backwards in shock. A moment later, the earth beneath their feet began to shake, throwing both of them off balance, to their knees on the porch, clinging to the railing for support.

The dark clouds became a vortex of swirling blackness around them, accompanied by a wailing, deafening wind that consumed them, separated them, becoming all they could see or hear or be aware of at all. Then, in an instant, everything went black around them as they both collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.

And when they awakened…the world had changed.

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



Chapter 43
Alone



Buffy heard the ominous thundering from inside the apartment, where she was hurriedly gathering weapons for the imminent confrontation with Willow.

She couldn’t really help hearing it; it was the sort of powerful sound that echoes through a person, causing a deep rumbling within her and seeming to shake the house around her. Her heart sank with an instinctive feeling of dread, as she turned toward the door, swallowing hard.

It didn’t feel like any natural thunder she had ever heard.

“Giles?” she called out, suddenly afraid for her Watcher and Miss Calendar, who were still outside performing the location spell. “Miss Calendar?”

She rushed through the small apartment to the front door, throwing it open with urgency…to find the porch empty. Not even the leftover supplies from the spell remained to indicate that they had been there at all. Buffy felt her stomach drop with the sick realization that they could literally be anywhere.

The strange thunder had no doubt been a sign of Willow’s magic, and there was no telling where she might have taken them. She could have done it in an instant, and Buffy had no idea how or where to find her.

Two simultaneous conflicting thoughts filled Buffy’s mind.

*What in the world made me think I was prepared to take her on right now?*

And…

*I’ve got to find her, *now*, before she hurts them!*

Buffy rushed down the porch steps onto the sidewalk, before suddenly stopping again, a panicked sensation rising in the pit of her stomach, making her heart pound with fear as she simply stood there, looking helplessly around her in every direction.

She had no idea where to even begin to look.

Her mind raced as she desperately tried to think of *something*, some clue she was missing, or some way of discovering what the young vampiress might be planning, without the benefit of her Watcher’s knowledge, or any kind of magical aid. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath as she tried to deny the frustrated tears she was holding back with that gesture.

She had never felt so completely alone.

“Wait,” she muttered aloud, looking up suddenly, a wary hope in her eyes. “I’m…I’m *not* alone…not completely.” She frowned, drawing in another deep, shaky breath as she added in a whisper, “At least I hope not.”

If anyone could anticipate the moves, the reactions, of the young redhead, it would be the only person on earth who had been closer to her and known her better in life than Buffy had herself. But at this point, she was pretty sure that person wasn’t talking to her at all. However, once he knew what was at stake, Buffy was confident that he would be willing to help, if only for Willow’s sake.

Steeling herself for what would likely be a very unpleasant conversation, Buffy took off in the direction of Xander’s house.

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

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Buffy blinked in surprise at the venomous look Mrs. Harris gave her from around her mostly closed front door, confused by the anger and outrage in the older woman’s bleary, bloodshot eyes as she spat the question at her.

“I…I’m sorry…?”

“You *know* he’s not here! You were just here last week; for God’s sake, Buffy, you’re the one who *told* us, and now you have the *gall* to show up here like this, asking where Xander is?”

The door came open then, and Mrs. Harris stepped out on the porch, dressed in old, ragged pajamas under an open bathrobe. She didn’t look as if she had washed or combed her hair in…well, at least a week…and she was barefoot, her face blotchy, red, and puffy, as if she had just spent a very long time crying.

A horrible feeling of knowing dread settled in the pit of Buffy’s stomach, as an unthinkable possibility occurred to her. Although the timing did not make sense, she knew that Willow *had* targeted Xander first upon becoming a vampire. If she had taken Giles and Jenny Calendar, then wasn’t it possible that she had also….

“Mrs. Harris…I’m sorry,” Buffy said in a soft, shaking voice. “I didn’t mean to…I mean…I guess I’m just a little…confused…I mean, I just *talked* to…”

“Well, let me un-confuse you, little girl!” the woman snarled, fresh tears streaming down her face as she took a menacing step forward, and despite herself Buffy backed up off the porch, intimidated by the sheer force of the woman’s grief and anger. “Xander’s *not* here, and he won’t ever be here again, because of hanging out with you and your group of freaks! He’s *dead*, Buffy! That mousy little psycho you two hang around with killed him, more than a week ago…right in front of this house!”

Buffy was struck speechless by her incomprehensible words, and could do nothing but shake her head and back up further as the furious woman advanced on her.

“How dare you show up here, asking for him, when you *know*…just get out of here! You’re not welcome here, Buffy Summers! You get off my property!”

Mrs. Harris was nearly screaming by the time she finished her little speech, and Buffy was so thoroughly shaken by the whole affair that she did not know what to do. There was nothing she could do but to respect the woman’s request and leave.

Tears in her eyes, she shook her head and whispered, “I…I’m sorry…”

As she turned and fled, not sure where she was going, blinded by her tears, she only knew that she had to get far away from the grieving woman whose pain she had just unintentionally increased. She ran through Sunnydale, not caring where she ended up, until she reached the park, where her steps slowed to a stop as her weariness began to catch up with her. She found herself stumbling to sit down on a park bench, her head in her hands, while deep, wrenching sobs tore from her throat as her shattered heart tried to come to terms with the loss of her friends.

It was true, then. She *was* truly alone.

*But…*how*?* Buffy wondered desperately.

Looking up through tear-filled eyes, she registered with vague surprise that the storm she had heard and seen rising seemed to have vanished completely. The sky was still grey and overcast, but the wind had died down, and there was no sign of any thunder or lightning.

Her heart was heavy with doubt and fear as she tried to figure out what had happened, and how on earth she was going to be able to fix it.

*Maybe you can’t this time…*

Buffy immediately silenced that treacherous thought, shaking her head emphatically as she tried to refocus her mind on the situation at hand. If Willow was capable of taking three of her friends in a matter of minutes – without even being present, to all appearances – and…and…

“Xander,” Buffy whimpered, lowering her head as the tears came again, but valiantly fighting them back, aware that she had to focus at the moment, and could not afford to let her emotions get the better of her.

She frowned as she thought of Mrs. Harris’ words. “She said Xander died…a week ago,” she spoke aloud to herself. “But…I saw him yesterday. I *saved* him. And Willow’s only been a vampire at all for…days. Not anywhere near…but…then how…?”

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sounds of a struggle coming from deeper within the park. Buffy’s Slayer instinct went into action, despite her own personal struggle, and she rose immediately to her feet and headed toward the sound, clutching her stake in her fist with a grip that was almost painful.

*Willow…* was of course her first thought, and her stomach clenched painfully at the thought that the confrontation she had wanted to avoid was likely at hand, although she knew that in some ways it would be a relief when Willow was dust, and it was over.

However, when she reached the source of the commotion, she was both relieved and disappointed to find that it was just three random female vampires, surrounding a young man who was now pinned against a tree by the one who appeared to be the leader of the group.

She glanced dubiously up at the cloudy sky, wondering at the nerve of these vampires who not only traveled by day, but actually dared to stage an attack in broad daylight, if not sunlight. The clouds *did* seem fairly solid; it didn’t appear as if the sun would be coming out any time soon.

Still…it was an audacity Buffy had never seen in any vampire before.

“Please,” the man whimpered, his eyes wide and terrified at the sight of the lead vampire’s game face. “D-don’t hurt me…”

Buffy let her stake fly, already reaching for another as the body of the female pinning him crumbled to dust.

“You know,” the Slayer quipped, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding her stake down at her side in a deceptively idle way. “That almost never works.”

The man just blinked back at her in surprise, as did the remaining two vampires. Buffy rolled her eyes, shaking her head before returning her gaze to the man again and taking a more direct approach. As if she was talking to a very slow child to whom it was necessary to spell everything out – and apparently, she was – Buffy nodded slowly and ordered,

“*Run*.”

The man needed no further encouragement to take off down the nearest jogging path, toward the park exit.

“Slayer,” one of the vampires hissed, a cruel sneer twisting her deadly features as she added, “Stupid bitch.”

Buffy turned her attention on her with a cheerful smile. “You know,” she remarked softly, “I’m *really* going to enjoy this.”

And then, of course – because that’s what arrogant, over-confident vampires *do* -- they rushed her; but Buffy was more than ready for a good fight. She was actually relieved when she found that they were reasonably skilled fighters, because what she really longed for at the moment, more than anything, was a chance to release the tension of the past horrible, confusing, terrifying hours.

One of those routine easy slays that was over in less than a minute would really not have served that purpose.

But this fight was clearly not going to be one of those.

Buffy quickly found herself struggling just to keep from going under as the two vampires lashed out at her with fangs and claws, snarling and hissing as they tried to throw her off balance and find a vulnerable spot to strike and bring her down.

Buffy had to admit that it was nothing more than a lucky shot as she flung her stake out wildly, spinning around toward the vampire behind her, and found that she had plunged it directly through the demon’s heart. The vampire looked no less surprised than her, wide golden eyes locking onto hers for an instant before she vanished in a cloud of ash.

Before Buffy could turn to face the other one, however, she heard a loud, electric crackling sound, and found herself suddenly frozen in the position of the deadly blow she had just administered. She struggled frantically to free herself from the magical power that bound her, her eyes wildly searching for Willow.

Her head wouldn’t turn, and she couldn’t move an inch, couldn’t even draw breath, as she heard the slow footsteps of the vampire behind her, accompanied by a low, malicious giggle. She wondered at the fact that Willow still had not shown herself, as the unfamiliar vampiress came to stand in front of her, a satisified smirk twisting her lips.

Buffy’s eyes widened as the vampire raised her hands in front of her, tapping her fingertips together, magical sparks flying between them as they touched, and she realized that this strange vampire apparently had some power of her own to work with.

*So…not Willow. Okay…this complicates things a little.*

“Still think you can beat us, don’t you?” the female vampire sneered, tossing her blonde hair back over her shoulder in a contemptuous gesture. “When are you going to get it through your head that things have changed around here, Slayer? You’re not at the top of the food chain anymore, sweetie. When are you going to get that?”

Of course, Buffy could not answer, since the muscles of her face were as frozen as the rest of her.

“I’m guessing right about now, huh?” the vampire continued her gloating. “Right about the time I blast you to your long overdue death with this sweet little gift my mistress gave me…”

Fortunately for Buffy…the stay-and-gloat never seemed to work out well for arrogant villains.

Just as the vampire drew back her hand in preparation to strike, that hand as well as the rest of her disintegrated into dust before Buffy’s eyes; and as the vampire’s body crumbled, so did the magical force that was binding the Slayer, allowing her muscles to relax as she collapsed to the ground on shaking knees, gasping for breath.

A few seconds longer with her entire body frozen like that, and she might have suffocated, even if the vampire had never touched her.

Buffy just stayed like that for a few moments, catching her breath and allowing her body and mind to adjust to the return of their full function, before finally thinking to look up and see the face of her rescuer.

The breath she had just regained was stolen from her in an instant, as a familiar form came into view beyond the swiftly dissipating dust.

Relief greater than she had anticipated filled her, and she was surprised at the tears that flooded her eyes as she drank in the sight of him, and realized that she was *not* completely alone, after all.

She still had Spike.

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!!! *hugs*



Buffy stumbled to her feet, still gasping for breath from the lingering feeling of suffocation, one hand clutching her throat. She looked up gratefully at the blond vampire who was now standing silently in front of her, watching as she regained her composure. She had only been aware of his return for a matter of seconds, but already her instincts were flashing a warning in her mind.

*Something’s not right…*

“Spike?” she began in a raspy voice barely over a whisper. “What…are you okay?”

The vampire’s lips twisted slightly in a joyless smile, as he replied, “Right as ever, Slayer. Should be asking you. You’re the one what just about kicked it.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, taking in the subtle changes in his demeanor, his mannerisms, his…clothing. She frowned as she realized that Spike was wearing his trademark duster again, even though he had taken it off in Giles’ apartment, not long before Willow had taken him.

“How did you…when did you…have time to…to go back…?” She shook her head, looking up at him with bewildered eyes as she still fought to catch her breath.

Spike’s brow furrowed in confusion as he replied flatly, “Make sense, Slayer. Can’t make heads or tails of what it is you’re asking.”

“Willow…she took you,” Buffy clarified, shaking her head, perplexed. “How did you escape?” As she spoke, she moved quickly toward the vampire, reaching out a hand toward his arm in a gesture of mingled relief and concern. “Are you all right?”

Her heart dropped when Spike flinched back away from her, his eyes going wide with alarm as he pulled away from her touch.

“Spike?” Her voice was very soft, uncertain. “What…what’s wrong?”

He peered at her through incredulous, mistrustful eyes. “That’s what I’m wondering. What’s the matter with you, Slayer?”

“Stop calling me that!” Buffy snapped in frustration.

“I *always* call you that!”

“My *name* is Buffy!”

“Yeah,” Spike replied slowly, in the sort of voice he usually reserved for someone profoundly stupid, his head tilted in confusion as he studied her closely. “And you’re the Slayer.”

“Okay…this is getting ridiculous,” Buffy sighed, raising a hand to her forehead, suddenly feeling dizzy again. She drew in a deep breath before looking up at Spike again. “How did you get away from Willow?”

Spike gave her a strange look, shrugging slightly as he replied, “’S not like she requires my presence every moment of every day. You know that, Slayer…”

That strange answer did little to assuage Buffy’s confusion.

But her thoughts were beginning to clear from the muddled fog brought about by the shock and horror and violence of the last half hour, and the pieces gradually began to come together in her mind. Suddenly, the answer occurred to her, and she was surprised and ashamed that she hadn’t thought of it sooner, it was so very obvious.

“Wait…Willow did a spell! She did something, just a little while ago, at Giles’ house. There was…was a storm…”

“Not today, there wasn’t,” Spike argued. “She’s been in a bloody good mood all day, and I for one am wantin’ to make sure she stays that way!”

“Not…not today?” Buffy echoed, ignoring the more cryptic part of Spike’s comment. “But…wait…what day is it?” The last question came out in a faint voice, barely over a whisper. “Wednesday…Wednesday the first of December, right?”

Spike’s frown deepened. “You hit your head or something, Slayer? It’s Friday the fourteenth of March.”

“What year?”

“2003. You know this. What…?”

“2…2003?” Buffy whispered in disbelief, shaking her head. “That’s…that’s not…how…?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he took a backward step away from her, demanding, “What exactly are you playin’ at, love?”

“I…I’m not,” Buffy whispered, feeling sick to her stomach as she sank down on the park bench behind her, one hand rising to her head again as she struggled to regain her bearings. “It’s just…something’s happened. It’s not…it’s not supposed to be this way. She…changed something.” She let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she amended, “*Everything*.”

“Who? Willow?” Spike questioned, cautiously sitting down beside her on the bench, though his eyes warily moved between her face and her deadly hands, as if still suspecting some trick. “What’s changed? What are you talking about? Everything’s just the way it’s been for…well, for-soddin’-ever, now.”

Buffy took a deep breath, fighting back a sob, her head lowered for a long moment, before raising her eyes to lock onto his intently. “Spike,” she began in a hoarse, defeated voice, “you’re not going to believe this…but…but less than an hour ago I was in Giles’ apartment across town, with Giles and Jenny Calendar, and…and Willow had just taken you away, and we were trying to find a way to save you, but it wasn’t working very well, and it was…was cold and December and…and 1999.”

Spike stared at her. “You…dreamed this, yeah?” he guessed. “It was a dream, Slayer.”

“No.” Buffy shook her head. “No, it was real…”

“Slayer…”

“No, just listen to me!” Buffy insisted impatiently. “It was 1999, and Willow had just gotten vamped, and we were trying to find a way to stop her, and…and there was this big storm. She was doing magic, I know it – and whatever spell she did, it…it changed…*time*, I guess. Everything is…different. I – I have to find Giles! We have to change it back! It was bad enough then, but…but now…”

“Slayer…”

The hushed, sorrowful tone of the vampire’s voice drew Buffy’s attention, and she stared up at him through sobered, fearful eyes.

“What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

“Your Watcher…he’s…he’s…”

Spike’s hesitation set off screaming warning sirens in Buffy’s mind. She leapt up, seizing the collar of the vampire’s duster and slamming him back against the bench as her body reacted in the only way her mind knew to deal with such a blow as he was about to deliver – with a pre-emptive strike.

“He’s what?” she demanded, shaking Spike as she bent over where he sat on the bench. “What, Spike? What happened to Giles?”

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

Spike was not afraid of taking on a Slayer; he had already killed two. But a Slayer disoriented, mad with grief, and…well, possibly just mad, period…was another matter entirely. And then, of course, there was his chip to consider as well. He couldn’t have hurt Buffy if he’d wanted to, not without suffering a massive migraine.

And Spike *didn’t* want to hurt her.

He loved her…never mind the fact that she despised him.

But then, what reason did she have not to? Her every experience with vampires – even souled ones such as him – had led to pain and heartache and bloodshed deep enough to bury her emotions under their weight, hardening her, turning her into an even more dangerous predator than she had been before all this had started.

In fact, this was the most emotion Spike had seen her show in…well, years.

It was as thrilling as it was frightening.

That was…until he considered the answer he had to give to her question, a question to which she should have known the answer already.

“Slayer,” he began softly, in a placating tone, not daring to move under her harsh hands, for fear of upsetting what little precarious control she still seemed to have. “You know this already. Your Watcher…she…she killed him, love. You know this!”

The violent reaction Spike had been hoping to avoid happened anyway, as Buffy drew back her fist and slammed it down across his face, snarling with mad desperation, “*No*! No, you’re lying! It’s not possible!”

Spike carefully raised one shaky hand to swipe at the blood she had drawn from his lip, watching her closely as he regained his composure from the blow. “Slayer,” he began cautiously. “Slayer, you’ve got to calm down…”

But she was not listening to him. She had already released him and was pacing frenetically before him, her eyes focused on the ground and her arms crossed protectively over her chest, talking to herself.

“No, she’s changed it…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’s changed it somehow. I’ve gotta find a way to change it back, because it was bad before, but this is so much worse…so much worse…we’ve gotta stop her, we’ve gotta stop her and bring them back…”

Spike just stared at her warily, not moving as his eyes followed her frantic movements.

*Yeah…Slayer’s finally lost her bleedin’ mind.*

Suddenly, she turned on him again, and he tensed in preparation for whatever violence she might throw his way, though he knew as well as she did that there was little he could do to defend himself should she attempt to harm him. He leaned instinctively backward against the bench as she came to stand directly in front of him again, staring down at him through solemn, determined eyes.

Then, to his surprise, she simply took a seat beside him with a heavy sigh, looking at the ground in front of her for a moment before meeting his questioning gaze again.

“Okay. I need to know what I’ve got to work with here.”

Spike frowned slightly, more confused than ever. “Not sure I’m following you, Slayer.”

“Okay,” Buffy repeated, hesitating before trying again. “Just humor me here. Say I don’t remember a thing about the last 5 years. I’ve somehow…lost my memory or something.” She paused, drawing in a deep breath as if to prepare herself for something that no amount of time or oxygen could ever make her ready for. “Why don’t you fill me in on what I’ve missed?”

The vampire gave her a dubious stare for a few long, tense moments, before answering in a slow, cautious tone of voice, “Not so sure I should do that, Slayer. What is it exactly that you’re after, here?”

The major changes Willow’s magic had wrought in her world had been devastating to Buffy, but it was the little ones that were driving her crazy.

Spike seemed completely the same in so many ways, and yet so very different at the same time. His mannerisms were different. He didn’t seem quite so comfortable, so confident; and yet, there was a hardness to him that had not been present before Willow’s spell. He didn’t seem to remember any of what had happened before Willow’s magic had changed everything; in fact, he seemed to think she was quite insane.

Not that she could really blame him.

In his position, she would likely have felt the same way.

“Look, Spike…I can’t expect you to understand. Whatever magic she did, it made you believe that this is…the way it’s always been, I guess. But it’s not! She’s changed the entire world in the last thirty minutes! You have to believe me!”

Spike studied her speculatively for a few moments. “Not sure why I should. Could be some kind of trick, trying to get me to give something away – something that might help your side out a fair bit, and serve to get me on bad terms with my mistress.”

“Willow,” Buffy guessed, her voice flat and dubious. “She’s your…mistress?”

“None other, unfortunately. You know that.”

“But she wasn’t,” Buffy insisted, a tired note making its way into her voice. “Spike, you have to believe me! Things were bad, but we were fighting her – fighting on the same side – before she did this…whatever this spell is she just did. You have to see that I’m telling the truth.” She was quiet for a moment before adding in a desperate near-whisper, “*Please*.”

Spike seemed torn – which was at least something, Buffy thought. At least he was no longer looking at her like she was an escapee from Sunnydale Hospital’s psych ward. He was just looking at her like…well, like he wasn’t sure if she should be in that psych ward or not.

“Some proof would be nice, Slayer,” Spike pointed out with a slight shrug. “But I s’pose you’re fresh out of that, aren’t you?”

Buffy’s silence was answer enough.

“Right. What I thought, then.”

“No, it’s not!” Buffy protested, rising to her feet again. Irritation flooded her when Spike flinched, and without pausing for breath, she demanded, “And *why* do you keep doing that? My God, I hit you, like, one time and suddenly you’re all flinchy? What’s up with that?”

Spike’s eyes widened incredulously. “One time?” he echoed in disbelief. “What the bloody…Slayer, do you have any idea…? One bloody time?”

Buffy’s throat suddenly went dry at the implications of his words, and she sank back down on the bench again, her head in her hands. After a moment of silence that passed between them, she spoke without looking up.

“I’m guessing I wasn’t so nice to you in this version of things.”

“No,” Spike agreed softly. “You aren’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“*What*?”

Irritated once more, Buffy gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me it’s *that* hard to believe I might actually apologize…”

Her voice trailed off, as a strong sense of déjà vu hit her, and she remembered a similar conversation she had had with Spike, not that long ago. Her mind played over his description of what she had been like in the future he had seen…how she had treated him…

“Except,” she whispered in a stricken voice, “it is…isn’t it?”

“It is,” Spike insisted, still sounding stunned and confused by her strange words and erratic behavior. “It bloody well is, love.” He paused before adding thoughtfully, “Maybe you’re really not the Buffy I know after all.”

“I’m the same Buffy,” the Slayer insisted petulantly. “It’s everything else that’s changed.”

“Yeah,” Spike drawled slowly. “You keep saying that. Why do you s’pose that is, then?”

Buffy suddenly went very still, her eyes widening as it occurred to her to wonder about that for the first time. Why was it that while everything had changed, and to all appearances everyone with it, she alone was able to remember the way things had been before Willow had changed them? What was it that made her different from…?

“The spell!” she announced triumphantly, looking up, her eyes bright with fresh hope as the answer occurred to her.

“Come again?”

“The warding spell that Giles and Jenny just did at his apartment!” Buffy explained, turning toward the vampire with excitement in her eyes as she impulsively grabbed his arm and pulled him, protesting, to his feet. “I was inside, but they were outside. I was the only one in the house, so whenever Willow did her spell…I was the only one who wasn’t affected!”

Spike frowned, taking a moment to process what she was saying as he shook her hand off his arm.

“Come on,” Buffy urged him impatiently. “Come with me to Giles’ house. You want proof? Fine! You’ll get it!”

A/N: thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!! :)



“Here we are.” Buffy threw open the door to her Watcher’s apartment, walking quickly inside, leaving the door open so that Spike could follow. “There’s gotta be something in here that’ll prove…”

Her voice trailed off as she turned to face the blond vampire, and realized with a frown of confusion that he had stopped on the porch.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why aren’t you coming inside?”

A single raised eyebrow was Spike’s response, as he gave the door a look that was almost suspicious before meeting her eyes in a dubious glare. “Can’t, remember?”

Buffy’s eyes widened as she remembered that in this world, Spike would not have Giles’ invitation into his home.

But…in this world…

“If Giles is…is gone…” she wondered aloud, swallowing hard, her voice lowered and trembling over the difficult words. “Then why would you need an invitation?”

“Are you out of your bleedin’ mind, Slayer? Oh, wait…you are…”

“No, I’m not!” Buffy snapped, rolling her eyes in frustration. “Okay, maybe in this universe you’re disinvited from the house still…I get that…but this is Giles’ house! And…”

“Not anymore, it’s not.”

Buffy blinked, startled by those words. She waited a moment, taking in that concept, before shaking her head in confusion. “Then…who…?”

“You live here now, Slayer,” Spike informed her, a bit impatiently, as if he still wasn’t quite sure it needed to be explained. “Have ever since…well, for quite a while now.” He was quiet for a moment, his expression softening with sympathy at the pain in her eyes. “Moved in when…when she…”

“When Giles died,” Buffy finished for him, her voice flat and sorrowful. Suddenly, her eyes widened with alarm as she looked back up at him, panicked. “Spike…my mother! Is she…she isn’t…”

“Alive and well, last I knew,” Spike assured her.

Buffy relaxed slightly, her shoulders sagging with relief, but her worried frown did not fade as she persisted, “And…she lives here, too?”

Spike nodded.

“Why?”

“Well, you didn’t have much choice but to move after your house sort of…well…blew up.”

Buffy took that in with remarkable calm, nodding once. “Willow?”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, Buffy observed quietly, “I guess there’s a lot of stuff…I need to hear about.”

Spike’s wary gaze did not falter as he countered softly, “Still not sure I’m convinced you do need to hear it, love.”

Buffy looked up through solemn emerald eyes shining with the remnants of her tears, her jaw set with determination. “Then I’ll just have to find a way to convince you.”

With a steady, purposeful stride, she moved toward the blond vampire, who immediately tensed, his eyes widening at her approach. Buffy rolled her eyes as she walked past him to the coat rack beside the door and removed his black leather duster from the hook where Giles had irritably hung it, after Spike had cast it down on the sofa.

“Come on, Spike. Have you really gotta read the worst into everything I say?”

Spike stared at her levelly for a moment. “Yeah.”

Buffy sighed. “Fair enough. Explain this.” With that abrupt change of topic, she thrust the duster toward him, her eyebrows raised in a silent question as she waited for his reaction.

Spike frowned, reaching out to cautiously touch the familiar black leather, confusion in his eyes.

“But…how…?”

“If I’m crazy, then how in the world did your duster get into Giles’ apartment? Or, my apartment…or whatever.”

“It’s a trick,” Spike insisted, shaking his head. “It’s some kind of…some kind of…” But his protest trailed off as his fingertips carefully touched the butter-soft leather, and he realized that it was without a doubt his very own duster, not an imitation of some kind. “It’s impossible.” As he spoke, he reached down to touch the leather of the duster he was wearing…utterly identical in every way to the one she had shown him.

“Apparently not.”

Spike nodded absently, his attention still focused on the duster for a long moment. Then, he looked up to meet her eyes again, a bewildered question in his own.

“Now are you willing to believe me?”

Spike considered for a moment, still looking more than a little stunned. “Say that I do,” he finally spoke, his voice soft and cautiously even. “Say I believe that this…all this…” He waved his hand in the air in a vague sort of gesture, still staring down at the coat as she folded it lightly over one arm. “…has only existed for the last five minutes, and inside this house…that’s the only thing that’s really how it’s supposed to be…”

Buffy nodded, half encouraging, half impatient, as she waited for him to go on.

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

The Slayer blinked, confused by his question at first. “Help me stop her? Help me fix it?” she suggested, her tone indicating that the vampire wasn’t really all that bright.

Spike’s harsh bark of laughter was not exactly a confidence-inspiring response.

“What? You *do* have your soul in this reality, don’t you?” Buffy snapped, irritated as much by the fear his reaction stirred in her as by the reaction itself. “You’re still good…right?”

“Two very separate, unrelated questions,” Spike reminded her, his voice heavy and weary as he moved toward her, taking the coat from her and heading to the sofa, where he sank down on the edge of it, apparently quite overwhelmed by the whole situation. “But yeah…and yeah. And how do you know that?”

“See…in the really real reality,” Buffy explained, “you saw this reality.”

Spike just stared at her dubiously.

“Never mind. Just…” Buffy sat down beside him, not quite meeting his eyes as she asked in a hushed, fearful tone, “…maybe you should just tell me…about *this* world…so we can see about getting back the other one.”

Spike said nothing for a few moments, and then began quietly, “What do you want to know?”

“How did this start? How did she…get turned, and all? Just…just start at the beginning.”

Spike’s ironic smile sent a shiver down her spine, as he whispered, “You mean at the end.”

Buffy swallowed hard, fighting a rising feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach. “Angel did it…right?” she persisted, anxious to move him on to the narrative of what had happened.

Spike nodded. “Yeah. Angel did it. Took you lot all by surprise. Made you think he was good for years before he finally outed himself by offin’ her.”

“But…you knew better,” Buffy guessed, her voice softening with pain of events that for her were only days old, even if Spike thought they had happened years ago.

“Yeah.” Spike nodded grimly. “Knew him longer. Knew what he was all about. Just…couldn’t say anything. He made sure of that. Initiated a sire’s claim…”

Buffy frowned, confused. “How…?”

Spike’s averted gaze and shaking head silenced her half-formed question. “There’s some things you needn’t ever know, love…no matter how bad you think you want to. Just know that…I would have warned you, if I could have, but…but I couldn’t. And…eventually…Angelus got tired of hiding. He took…what he’d been wanting for years.”

“Willow.”

A heavy moment passed between them, before Spike cleared his throat and went on quietly.

“Of course…stupid git didn’t know what he was getting himself into. The little witch had been studying for years…learning magic so bloody well that by the time he got a hold of her, she was already a force to be reckoned with…even *before* he turned her. Once he did…he didn’t last a week. She took him out, and…and took over his claim over me…”

“That’s…why you’re working for her. Right?” Buffy winced at the pathetic, almost pleading sound of her own voice, surprised at the desperation she felt to hear that Willow’s role as Spike’s “mistress” was not of his own choice.

Spike looked stung by the question, staring at her for a moment before replying, “Yeah. You know that, love…except…” He frowned, remembering, and shook his head as if to clear it. “This is bloody confusing.”

“Tell me about it.”

Spike smiled in response to her words, though it was not a happy smile; it never touched the depths of pain in his crystal blue eyes.

“I haven’t got much of a choice. Claim basically forces me to do as she says. But…but I try…to do what I can to help you, love. Whenever I can find a way to get around it. See…I’ve gotta do what she tells me…but if she doesn’t think to tell me…you see?”

Buffy nodded, the first traces of a genuine smile creasing the corners of her mouth at Spike’s ingenuity.

“Course,” Spike went on with a shrug, “helps that, for whatever reason, she doesn’t seem to want you dead.”

Buffy blinked, startled. “She doesn’t?”

Spike shook his head, looking up to meet her eyes. “If she did…you would be.”

“Oh.” Buffy swallowed, staring down at the floor for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was choked and trembling. “Why…I mean…why wouldn’t she…?”

“Guess she’s got other plans for you…sooner or later. I’ve asked her.” Spike hesitated, then added flatly, “She hasn’t been very forthcoming so far.”

Buffy’s heart was smitten with compassion for the blond vampire, at the sound of the concern in his voice. It was obvious, though he hadn’t quite said as much, that he had paid a painful price for his attempts to help Buffy in this world – and from what Spike had told her before…she hadn’t exactly been appreciative of his efforts.

“You love me.”

Spike looked up at her sharply, alarmed and distrustful. “Yeah,” he finally admitted in a slow, cautious voice. “You know that.” He frowned. “How do you know that?”

“You did…in my world, too,” Buffy explained. “And…I was too stupid to see it.”

Spike considered that for a moment before informing her, “Here, you saw it.”

Buffy watched him closely for a few moments. She reached out a tentative hand toward his arm, cringing inwardly when he tensed under her touch, but did not quite pull away. Her thumb stroked slowly over the smooth, cool skin of his arm, and she waited in solemn patience until he looked up questioningly to meet her eyes again.

“But I was still stupid.”

Spike’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing speculatively as he studied her expression. “What are you saying, Slayer?” he asked, an anguished plea audible in his voice. “Don’t…don’t play me, love. You’ve…you’ve already…so many times…” His voice broke slightly over the words, and he looked away for a moment before regaining his courage and facing her again.

Buffy felt her eyes well with tears as she shook her head. “I’m not,” she assured him. “I’m not…not sure what I’m doing, Spike. What I think or feel about…all of this. But…but I want you to know that I’m sorry. For hurting you. In…*any* way that I’ve hurt you.”

Spike just stared at her, clearly uncertain whether or not he should accept her words.

“And…and I want to fix this. I want to…make things right again. To stop her, somehow…”

Spike was quiet for a moment, before speaking in a soft, apologetic voice. “You won’t be able to stop her, love. If this is the world she wants…this is the world now, yeah? Don’t you see it, pet? If she’s strong enough to do this…to change *everything*…even in your world…how do you think you’re gonna stop her?”

Buffy’s heart sank with those words, at a loss for an answer. “But…there *has* to be a way…” She thought a moment before asking almost desperately, “Spike…who hasn’t she killed? Who’s still alive here? How many of my friends has she left me?”

Spike’s mouth twisted in a sorrowful grimace. “Buffy…”

“*Tell me*.”

Spike drew in a deep breath, letting it out in resignation. “Your mum,” he assured her with a nod. “Your mum is fine. And…and there’s one other…that’s all…”

“One other?” Buffy frowned.

“Yeah.” Spike nodded as he rose to his feet, extending a hand to help her to rise as well. “Just a lucky break that it so happens to be the one person who could maybe help you find a way to fight her. Come on.” Spike headed toward the door, nodding toward it in a gesture for her to follow him. “Let’s go see a gypsy about a spell.”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, eowyn315!!!!!




“Where are we going?” Buffy hurried to keep up with Spike’s longer stride as he made his way down the sidewalk outside her house. “Jenny’s alive? Where does she live?”

“Not telling you that here, love,” Spike muttered. “Can’t ever be too careful. Don’t know whether she’s got someone listening in or she’s listening in herself. Got a direct line to my mind, she does, can hear whatever I say. ‘Course, there *are* some protective measures in place as far as thoughts, but…well, I’ve said too much as it is. I’ve just got to get you there, right quick, before she calls me back. Can’t have her catching me anywhere near the place, or she’ll get suspicious.”

Buffy was only slightly less confused by his answers than she had been by the questions. “Can she see you? Like, where you are right now?”

“If she wants to,” Spike replied, his voice low and grim. “Where you are, too, if she tries. There’s a bloody lot of things she can do simply by thinkin’ ’em, love. That’s why we’ve got to get you there as quick as we can.”

“But why…?”

“Just…stop talking until we get there,” Spike cut her off, a little more sharply than she had expected. She flinched slightly in surprise, and the vampire’s expression softened in apology. “It’s just…just safer that way, Buffy…not to say anything that might be overheard, until we’re there.” Spike was staring at her with an anxious question in his eyes, so Buffy nodded her hesitant agreement, and he turned with a sigh to lead the way further down the sidewalk, adding almost under his breath.

“And…try not to think too loud, either.”

“Try not to *what*?”

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

“Right…this is my stop, then, love.”

Buffy drew to a sudden stop a couple of steps past where Spike now stood, a delayed reaction to his abrupt halt, as well as his startling words.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“We’re about a block from the city limits, Buffy, and…and she’s got it set so she’ll know if I leave town. She’ll be on us in two seconds if I go any farther,” Spike explained with an apologetic grimace. “I can tell you the way…but I can’t go with you.”

Buffy felt a sudden, irrational burst of anxiety. “But…”

“Now, be careful, love, she’s been through a lot. She’s likely not the same woman you knew. She’s a bit paranoid and defensive and maybe a little bit…er…insane…” The last word came out in a mumbled rush muffled by a cough, as Spike hurried on, “But just a little, and…”

“*What*?”

“She knows you. You two have been working together for a while now; she should let you in without any trouble,” Spike assured her in a placating tone of voice. “I’ll tell you how to get there from here, and you shouldn’t have any trouble. I’ll wait for you right here. I’ll be here whenever you get done telling her your story and all…”

It was the still-wary expression in his eyes that made Buffy sigh in resignation and forego any further argument. It frustrated her that the vampire still seemed so uncertain around her, so skittish any time she moved toward him too suddenly or raised her voice. It made her feel guilty, in spite of the fact that she had not actually done any of the things that had made him so apprehensive of her – and it made her irritated that she felt guilty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “How do I get there?”

A few moments later, Buffy was headed off in the direction Spike had indicated, while the blond vampire stood on the sidewalk anxiously watching her go, wishing that he could go with her. He was all too aware that if they stood any chance at all of keeping their as-yet unformed plans from Willow, he could not cross the city limits. Still, it was frustrating to know that the woman he loved was walking onto unknown territory, completely alone.

As he stood there, a familiar tingling sensation began at the base of his skull, and Spike grimaced with unpleasant recognition, muttering words of frustration an instant before he vanished completely.

“Oh…balls.”

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

The house was small and old, with a yard that did not appear to have been touched in months. The grass was almost as high as her knees on either side of the sidewalk, which was nearly overgrown with weeds, poking up between the cobblestones. The house itself was covered in various strange symbols, hurriedly scrawled on the walls and doors.

Unusual stones and other strange objects Buffy could not identify hung on thin cords attached to the eaves of the house, appearing to run all the way around the house in what was likely some sort of protective circle.

Buffy took a deep breath, steeling herself for what promised to be a rather strange encounter, as she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

“Who is it? Who’s there?” The teacher’s voice was familiar, yet foreign, sounding doubtful and impatient and…harder, somehow.

“It’s…it’s Buffy. I need to talk to you.”

A long moment of tense silence followed her words, before Miss Calendar spoke again, her voice muffled through the door but still clearly suspicious. “You sound…different. What’s going on?”

“Um…it’s a *really* long story. Can you…can you let me in? I’ll tell you everything, just…”

The door slowly swung open, and Buffy fell silent, her eyes widening as she peered into the darkened room just beyond it. As the door opened the rest of the way, a dim light across the room barely illuminated the familiar yet vastly changed features of the pretty gypsy teacher. Buffy raised an eyebrow when she saw that Miss Calendar was holding a loaded crossbow, which was aimed at her chest.

“You sound really strange, Buffy. And…and you *look* different, too.” Miss Calendar frowned, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you sure you’re still…well, *Buffy*?”

“Yeah,” Buffy assured her with a soft, ironic laugh. “That’s the one thing I *am* sure of. Can I come in?”

The former teacher let out a rude snort without lowering the crossbow. “Yeah. I’m really that stupid. You ought to know if you can or not.”

Buffy rolled her eyes in irritation, though the more rational part of her had to recognize the wisdom of Jenny’s actions. After all, in this world, almost everyone she and Jenny had ever cared about had been killed or turned into a vampire. It was a fairly reasonable concern for the gypsy to have before inviting anyone into her home.

Slowly, cautiously, her hands upraised in a deliberately non-threatening gesture, Buffy stepped over the threshold into the house.

“Satisfied?”

“More than I was,” Jenny admitted. “Still, something’s…I don’t know. You look different.”

“I am. More than you know.”

Buffy glanced around the dimly lit room, taking in the organized clutter that filled it. Various objects she recognized as magical covered nearly every surface – at least, those surfaces that weren’t covered with computers and electronic equipment. In fact, in some areas the magical paraphernalia and electronics seemed to be connected – which was typical, Buffy supposed, for the home of a self-avowed techno-pagan.

The techno-pagan in question cleared her throat pointedly, and Buffy returned her attention to the expectant woman, who was still waiting for her to explain her last comment.

The Slayer drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for the same difficult effort it had taken to convince Spike of the truth.

After all, it wasn’t exactly the most likely story.

“Okay, so…I’m just gonna say it, and I really hope you believe me because it would make things *so* much easier, but I’m afraid you’re not gonna, and I guess there’s really nothing I can do about that, so I’m just going to spit it out.” Buffy paused, trying to come up with the right words, before giving up and just allowing the story to spill out.

“Thirty minutes ago it was 1997 and Giles and Xander and almost everybody was still alive, but Willow was still a vampire and evil and she killed Angel and took Spike and did this spell that made everything like it is right now. And Spike said that you’re about the only person who can do anything to help me, so I really need you to believe me so we can figure out some way to stop her before it’s too late to put things back the way they were.”

Buffy paused to draw in another deep breath, this time out of the necessity for oxygen, as Jenny stared at her, her expression never changing.

“I thought so.”

Buffy blinked in surprise. “What? Really? I mean…how could you…?”

“I knew she changed something, anyway. Something major,” Jenny clarified, motioning with her head for Buffy to follow her as she crossed the room and sat down in front of one of several computer monitors. “I’ve been picking up some traces of major magical output in the last few hours, but couldn’t seem to pinpoint what exactly she did.”

“Come again?” Buffy frowned, confused.

“I’m using a combination of magic and technology to track whatever magic Willow does, in an effort to study it and find a way to stop it,” Jenny explained. “To gauge the changes in her power, in the sorts of spells she uses, and how many of them have effective, workable counter-spells…that sort of thing. I’m hoping to eventually find a spell that will bind her powers and make her like any other vampire, but…so far…”

“No luck,” Buffy finished grimly for her.

“Not yet.”

Buffy studied the no-nonsense expression on the older woman’s face – older even than she remembered her – for a long moment. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

“I’ve been living with her evil overshadowing me for the past six years, Buffy. If what you’re telling me is true, then you have no idea what kind of things she’s capable of – how many times she’s changed the world to fit her whims, in one way or another,” Jenny informed her, her voice low and hard. She sighed quietly, before concluding, “Nothing surprises me anymore. But we’ve got to find a way to isolate whatever spell she used to change things, and undo it.”

“Right.” Buffy was quiet for a moment, sobered by Jenny’s grim acceptance of Willow’s power to fit the world to her own wishes. “We’ve got to find a way to stop her.”

Jenny’s small, tight smile was utterly without any trace of joy. “Workin’ on it, Buffy. Workin’ on it.”

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

One instant Spike was standing on the sidewalk watching Buffy walk away toward Jenny’s house…and the next, he was in the massive, ornate parlor of the mansion Willow had claimed as her own years earlier. Of course, it had not been so ornate or so massive when she had first taken possession of it. Numerous magical modifications had been made over the years – not for the better, in Spike’s opinion.

Not for the first time, Spike took in the wrought iron circular staircase that led up to the bedrooms, adorned with the dried remains of what had once been wild roses…the lush carpet under his feet that was the color of freshly spilled blood…the stone sculptures of different sorts of creatures, human and otherwise, in various states of torment and terror, sculptures that Spike was almost certain were not actually sculptures at all.

It was a place of dark elegance, cold beauty, breathtaking terror -- and well-fitted to the nature of the wicked creature who lived there.

Spike swallowed nervously, his sharp eyes searching the room for any sign of the witch-vampire queen of Sunnydale herself, but to all appearances he was alone.

Of course, he had learned well that when it came to Willow, appearances were usually deceiving.

He heard her dark, musical laugh before he saw her, echoing in the darkened chamber, and spun around at the sound, expecting to face her…but the room was empty. He peered into the blackness at the far corner of the room, from which the sound seemed to be coming, expecting to see Willow materialize, as was her habit.

That was why the soft, cool touch on his shoulder took him completely by surprise, as Willow’s voice whispered coldly in his ear from behind him.

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, Spikey.”

Spike fought to control his impulse to jerk away from her, knowing that to show too much fear at this time would be to give away the fact that something was wrong. He had become accustomed to Willow’s behavior over the past few years, and knew that she would find it suspicious if he reacted too strongly to it now. He held himself steady with an effort as she trailed her hand lightly over his shoulder and moved around to face him.

Her chillingly calculating smile was in place as ever, her piercing jet black eyes seeming to see right through him and his fragile efforts to protect the Slayer from her rage. He swallowed back the sick taste of fear in the back of his throat, reminding himself that it could not possibly be so.

*Can’t read my thoughts…can’t possibly know…steady, mate…steady…*

Willow’s voice was terrifyingly soft as she trailed her hand from his shoulder upward, to run the backs of her fingers gently across his cheek, her smile widening with the knowledge that he would not dare to pull away. “Now I can’t help but wonder…where did you get off to for so long?”

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!!!




Over the past two centuries, Spike had made a name for himself, leaving a wake of mayhem and bloodshed in his path. He had gained a reputation for being one of the most powerful and dangerous vampires in recorded history, and nearly everyone in the demon community had at least heard of him, and knew better than to cross him in any way. He was known as one of the most notorious monsters that had ever existed for his history of violence, and for his sheer nerve.

For all that, he had never been any good at lying.

And he had to admit that his power paled in comparison to that of the witch before him, now smiling up at him through eyes which had become cold, calculating pools of black.

“Spike?” Her dangerously soft voice drew his attention back to her words, as her hand gently turned his face toward hers, locking onto his gaze with her own. “I asked you a question. Where have you been?”

Spike knew the raven-haired vampiress well enough to know that her gentle manner was deceptive, masking a deadly rage that was ready to spring up at a moment’s notice, should he give her the wrong answer.

The question of the moment was…what was the *right* answer?

The truth was out of the question. The spell Jenny had performed to protect any thoughts or knowledge of her and her operation would keep Willow from reading the truth in his mind. Still, he had to come up with a convincing story, and deliver it in a convincing manner as well.

The vampire-witch queen of Sunnydale was not one to be easily fooled.

Spike shrugged casually, not quite meeting her eyes. “Just about, love. Checking up on things around town. Stopped a coupla overzealous fledges from offing the Slayer a bit ago.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed in anger, and Spike tensed, uncertain as to whether or not that anger was directed toward him. Her hand fell from his cheek, and she turned away, her arms crossed over her chest as she swore under her breath.

“Stupid,” she muttered. “Stupid fledges.” She turned back to face him, a tight, malicious smile on her face. “I hope you left them alive to be punished?”

Spike gave her an apologetic grimace and shook his head. “Sorry, love. Had to take ’em out. They were about a second from killing her when I found ’em.”

Willow’s lips turned downward into a pout of annoyance. “Oh, well. I guess it couldn’t be helped. Still, it’s infuriating. Every vampire in this town knows – hands off the Slayer. Nobody’s supposed to lay a hand on her but *me*! It would have been so much better if I could have made an example of them…”

“Sorry,” Spike repeated in what he hoped was a suitably subdued tone of voice. “Just…didn’t wanna let ’em hurt her. You know, you said you didn’t want…I mean…you said you wanted to keep her safe until…well, whatever it is you want with her…”

His voice trailed off when Willow spun around to face him again, gliding slowly forward into his space. Her head tilted slightly as she studied his expression, a cold smile of amusement crossing her face. Though her smile never faltered, a quick jerk of her wrist released a violent jolt of magical power that slammed Spike backward against the wall with enough force to drive the unnecessary breath from his lungs.

Before he could recover from the blow, without moving, Willow was directly in front of him again. She held her hand out in front of her, palm upward, and tilted it up slightly in the air. It was nowhere near touching him, but with the motion, Spike found his head tilted forcefully backward, exposing his throat and making him feel incredibly vulnerable, as the younger vampire edged in nearer to him in a graceful, almost serpentine motion, until there was only a fraction of an inch between their bodies.

“Which is?” Willow prompted softly, drawing in a subtle breath of air near his throat, closing her eyes as her smile widened with pleasure at the scent of him, and Spike knew that she was considering extending this frightening encounter into something more, something different altogether.

Spike knew the answer that was required of him, and swallowed hard against the magical restriction against his throat, before answering in a low voice, “None of my business.”

“That’s right,” Willow agreed with a nod and a pleased smile. “None of your business what I want with her. As I’ve told you many times before, Spike.”

“I know,” he assured her, his voice hoarse as he gasped for breath. “I wasn’t…I just want to be able to do my best to…to protect her…to protect your plan…”

“No,” Willow contradicted him with a knowing shake of her head. “No, you were telling the truth the first time. It’s not my plan you’re interested in protecting…is it, Spike?”

Spike knew better than to deny what Willow already knew to be a fact – his love for the blonde Slayer. He was enough under her control that Willow rarely worried about his feelings for Buffy, saw them as little more than a source for mockery of him. However, at the moment, she seemed particularly agitated by his divided loyalties, as if she was more concerned than usual that he might try to work against her in the Slayer’s favor…which made perfect sense, if what Buffy had told him about the spell was true.

And by this point, Spike was almost certain that it was.

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

“So…is all this doing any good?”

Distracted, Jenny looked up at Buffy from her computer screen, blinking before processing the question and looking away with a weary sigh. “Not yet. Seems like I’m always just a step or two behind her.”

Buffy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she just keeps getting more powerful all the time. And it seems like the more powerful she gets, the more spells she’s capable of performing. More difficult, dangerous magic, you know?” Jenny was quiet for a moment, returning her attention to the computer screen with a worried frown as she added almost under her breath, “Usually to increase her power.”

“So…she keeps gaining more power, and you…?”

“Keep figuring out the spell to bind her powers, just *after* she increases her power enough that the spell won’t work on her anymore.”

“I don’t understand.” Buffy frowned, confused. “I mean…I was told that Willow was pretty much unstoppable back in my time, you know? Like, right after she got vamped and accessed her natural magic center or whatever. So…what good does all this do if we can’t stop her?”

“That’s not true. We *can* stop her. It’s just a matter of finding the right magic to bind hers,” Jenny explained.

“But I thought her magic was too strong…that there wasn’t a spell stronger than her natural magical abilities.”

Jenny looked up at her, her jaw set in a determined line. “There’s *always* a stronger spell, Buffy. We’ve just got to find it.”

“And…you *do* find it,” Buffy concluded, speaking slowly as she tried to make sure she understood what the former teacher was saying. “It’s just…too late, by the time you do, because she keeps increasing her power…right?”

Jenny nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, lighting up with excitement as an idea occurred to her. “So…the magic you have now would be more than enough to beat her…back when she first started, right? To bind her powers and keep her from using any magic…getting any stronger?”

Jenny gave her a speculative look, her eyes narrowing pensively. “Definitely,” she affirmed with a slow nod. “I mean, it’s some pretty intense stuff, but I’ve found some powerful spells that could definitely have bound her back in the day, back when she was first turned. It’s just that they do us no good now, now that she’s so much more powerful.”

She was quiet for a moment, watching the Slayer as she began to pace slowly, clearly deep in thought.

“What is it, Buffy?” she asked a bit impatiently. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that…maybe we need to change our focus for a while,” the Slayer replied as a slow smile spread across her face. “Stop trying to find ways to bind her, when we already have those.”

“But we can’t use them,” Jenny reminded her.

“Yes, we can.” Buffy gave her a sly grin. “All we have to do first…is find a way to turn back time.”

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

As the magical restraints that held him faded away, Spike drew in a deep, shaky breath, letting it out in a sigh of relief to find himself alone once more. For a few moments there, he had been certain that Willow was onto his act, and would surely punish him and then take off after Buffy.

But apparently he had managed to convince her of his ignorance of the spell she had cast, because after a few moments toying with him, Willow had become bored and released him, telling him that she had more important business to deal with, and vanishing into thin air.

Spike waited a few minutes, regaining his composure and glancing around the room as he wondered whether or not she had really left. Of course it was possible that it was nothing more than a trap to somehow catch him in his lies. But then, Willow was not much of a liar either, really, and he was fairly certain that she had believed him.

If she hadn’t, he likely would not still be undead at that moment. If she really thought he was lying, she could have incinerated him with a thought. Willow’s power was great enough by this point that she really had no need for traps and mind games.

She just liked them.

Feeling gradually more confident that he was alone in the foyer, Spike began to think again about the strange things the Slayer had told him. The duplicate duster she had shown him in the Watcher’s old home was quite powerful evidence; had it been a copy, Spike was certain that he would have recognized some difference between the two, but the coat she had given him was exactly the same, down to every last battle scar.

Still, he thought, if Willow really had done such a tremendous spell, altering their entire existence…there had to be some sort of evidence somewhere, hadn’t there?

Glancing around one last time to be sure that there was no sign of the witch, Spike headed slowly, cautiously, up the stairs that led to her bedroom. He tried the door carefully, finding it unlocked, and pushed it slowly open. He had a momentary fear that Willow had done nothing but teleport herself into her own room, and he was about to be caught…but her room was empty.

Spike closed the door silently behind him and stepped further into the dim room, lit only by the glow of several candles. Various magical implements covered the walls, the desk, every available surface, and Spike found that the evil power that filled this room made his skin crawl and his blood chill in his veins. He felt the impulse to flee before he could be caught here, before some remnant of Willow’s power and rage could punish him for his intrusion.

But then, something caught his eye.

Near the far side of the room, on a round table made of dark wood, was what appeared to be a snow globe on a base made of gold…but this was no ordinary snow globe. It shimmered with an otherworldly light in the flickering flames of the candles, and Spike found himself strangely drawn to it.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of it, close enough to touch. On closer inspection, he could see that it was not a snow globe at all; first of all, there was no snow. Inside the shimmering globe was a tiny replica of a town, and Spike’s eyes widened with amazement when he recognized the layout of the town, and realized the truth.

It was a flawless replica of Sunnydale itself.

He drew nearer, lowering his head to get a closer look at the scene, and frowned when he saw a place near the center of the town where there was a dark, empty space. It appeared that something should have been there, but had been burned out somehow. Spike drew in a sharp, startled breath when he realized that it was the place where the Watcher’s apartment should have been – the only place that had not been affected by Willow’s spell.

His mind raced with the implications, as he realized that the strange globe could be vital in figuring out how to undo whatever spell Willow had used to change their world.

It could *be* the spell she had used.

He considered for a moment, telling himself that this was an important decision, and he needed to carefully weigh the risks and potential benefits before acting – but after a few moments, he lost patience with that idea.

He had never been one to over-think a situation.

Making up his mind in an instant, Spike pocketed the globe and hurried out of the room and down the stairs. The mansion was still empty, so he decided to make the most of his mistress’ absence; after all, he had no idea how long it might last.

Spike headed outside into the grim, overcast day. He had to find Buffy, while there was still time.