Spike ran for all he was worth, just desperately trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the psychotic Slayer who now wanted him dead. His pride was not a factor, had ceased to be a long time ago where Faith was concerned. All that mattered at this point was making it out alive.

After all, he couldn’t very well kill her if she killed him first, could he?

He ran until the exhaustion and pain of the fight and the injuries Faith had inflicted on him during it finally caught up with him, and he simply could not run anymore. He staggered to a slow stop on the sidewalk, glancing around, gasping reflexively for unneeded breath, as he realized with surprise where he had unthinkingly run to.

He was standing only a few hundred feet from the house of the other Slayer. He stood there, staring at the brightly lit front porch for a few moments, debating.

*Out of the frying pan, into the bloody fire, it’d be,* he warned himself, thinking of the last time he had been in that house -- *another* occasion when he had just barely escaped with his life. He was not terribly thrilled with the prospect of turning to Buffy for help, but he was beginning to have a grim suspicion that he might not really have a choice.

The Slayer – the non-evil Slayer -- was the only person who could even begin to think of taking on Faith, *when*, not if, she decided to come after him. And he had to have shelter of some kind, and there was no one else he could think of who would be foolish enough to invite him in.

When he tried to think of other options, he realized with a sinking heart that he simply had none. As much as he hated to admit it – Buffy was his only hope.

And that was only if she would even be willing to help him at all. He had serious doubts as to whether or not the Slayer would want him staying in the same house with her little sister and her friends. For that matter, he had his doubts as to whether *he* wanted to stay in the same house with her friends. The image flashed into his mind of the fury and hatred in the eyes of the little redhead the last time he had seen her.

He was not eager to see her again.

But he knew that it would only be a very short time before Faith would have managed to rally her minions to track him down. She may have already, he realized, and while ordinarily he could take on anything she could throw at him – with the possible exception of herself -- he was in no condition to defend himself against *anyone* at the moment. He would not be safe out here on the street for very much longer.

There was simply nothing else to be done.

Steeling himself, Spike headed slowly up the walkway to the Slayer’s front door.


“Look.” Buffy’s voice was almost pleasant, her words coming calm and slow as she concentrated on just not crushing the telephone receiver in her hand. “You may not have much first hand experience with just what a Slayer is capable of – what with your main big talent being *watching* and all – but unless you want me to hop a plane to England so you can *watch* me use my Slayer strength to knock you into next Tuesday, you are going to let me speak to my Watcher. Now.”

“As I have already informed you, Miss Summers,” the infuriatingly calm, loftily accented female voice on the other end of the line spoke. “The Council has had no word from Mr. Giles in nearly a year. We have no idea of his whereabouts. Otherwise we would certainly let you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure! Because the Council is always *so* eager to help!” Buffy responded sarcastically, her tone growing angrier. “Look, I know you had him deported back to England, and I need to talk to him now!”

She had not told the woman yet just *why* it was so urgent that she talk to Giles, and she really did not intend to. She did not want to give the Council any more information than she absolutely had to. If the Council for some reason did not know about the events in Sunnydale, she did not think it would be wise to tell them.

In her experience, their attempts to help never ended well.

“Miss Summers,” the voice responded, still calm but with an edge of irritation to his voice. “We have told you all that we know. There is nothing else we can do to help you.”

At that moment Buffy heard the doorbell ring. She frowned, glancing toward the door as a sense of foreboding came over her. It was very late. No one in their right mind would be out this late. Except for the one possibility of a demented, criminally insane Slayer who would have no reason to be afraid of the various nasty things that kept normal people confined to their homes at this time of night.

“Why am I not surprised?” she responded to the woman on the phone in a voice that was both sarcastic and distracted. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll find him without your help.” She slammed the receiver back into the cradle with much greater force than she needed to and looked again at the door.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after midnight, and her friends and Dawn were already asleep. That was of the good; less chance of their getting hurt, if it came to a fight. Her hand drifting to her back pocket and the stake it concealed, she cautiously approached the door. She rose up on her toes to look out the window in the door at the late night visitor.

Spike.

Why would he be at her door this late? It had not been that long since they had met; surely he would not have any new information this soon, and certainly nothing that merited a personal visit to her house.

If he thought she was going to invite him in, he had another think coming!

She took a deep breath, rallying the tiny shred of patience she had left after the frustrating conversation she had just had, and opened the door, her eyebrows raised in a question. In a tone of practiced boredom, she said, “Spike…what are you doing…” Her voice suddenly trailed off and her eyes widened as she took in the terrible condition he was in.

His face was bruised, and he was bleeding from his lip and an ugly gash in his forehead. He was breathing hard, which was odd, since she knew he didn’t have to breathe at all, and he appeared utterly exhausted…and more than a little afraid. Immediately, she realized what must have happened.

“You got caught,” she said flatly, her tone stating clearly how very unimpressed she was with his pitiful spying skills, one corner of her mouth quirking downward in a derisive expression. “Didn’t you?”

“Slayer…” he sighed, his voice low and weary. He did *not* feel like dealing with her attitude right now. His pride was injured enough from the events of the evening without *her* adding her two cents in. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to walk away.

Since draining the infuriating bint dry was not exactly an option.

Too bad she was his only hope.

“Invite me in,” he told her, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, as if expecting to be pursued.

In spite of his injuries, which evoked a certain sympathy in her in spite of herself, Buffy could not help but laugh out loud. “Okay, yeah. *That’s* gonna happen. In my next life when I come back as a complete idiot.”

“Ah…that would be this life, love,” he could not resist replying with his signature smirk. It was just too easy to pass up; the girl had left herself wide open.

Buffy could not believe it…but at the same time, she was not at all surprised. Spike was standing on her doorstep, beaten and bleeding, asking her to let him in, in what was clearly a last resort – and still just as big with the sarcasm and insults as ever.

Smiling cheerfully, she slowly closed the door in his face. But she stood there, not moving away from it. She had to admit, she was not altogether sure that she was going to leave it closed. At the very least, she was curious as to the events that had brought him here in the first place.

“Slayer!” he called through the door, and she couldn’t help a little snicker at the anxious sound of his voice. “Come on, now, don’t be like that! I’m on the run now, for trying to help you!” he reminded her, sounding a bit resentful. “Her soddin’ lackeys could be here any second! Let me in!”

She opened the door just a crack, just enough to let him hear her next words. She was still smiling, obviously enjoying the situation. “No, Spike. You’re on the run for being an idiot. And don’t worry,” her impossibly bright smile widened a bit. “There’s not a vampire in this town that would be *stupid* enough to get this close to my house. Except you.” She paused, shrugging carelessly. “Until the lights go out and they think I’ve gone to bed, that is. But you should be fine until then.” She started to close the door again.

“I know what the ritual is,” he said suddenly, serious blue eyes meeting hers through the tiny opening in the door. “What she’s planning. I know all about it.”

That took Buffy by surprise. After a heavy pause, she opened the door completely, all the mockery and laughter gone from her expression. “Tell me.”

“Invite me in.”

They stood there for a moment, in a silent stand-off. Buffy did not like the idea of inviting a vampire into her house -- *any* vampire. But especially not a master vampire who had tried to kill her and her friends more times than she could count.

But then, she and Spike *did* have an understanding of sorts at the moment.

And he would have to be a complete idiot to try anything in the condition he was in right now, when he obviously would not stand a chance against her. And considering that this was Spike, and complete idiocy was a possibility she had to consider, if he *did* attack her or the others, she could just stake him.

She let out a weary, exaggerated sigh, before saying grudgingly, “Come in, Spike.”

He hurried inside, as Buffy closed and locked the door behind him. “If you try anything,” she began in a warning tone.

“Slayer…” he interrupted, his voice flat as he turned slowly to face her, then glanced down at his own battered body, shaking his head slightly as he met her eyes again. “Not gonna happen, love.”

“Right.” She looked him up and down slowly before meeting his eyes again. “So what happened, exactly?” she finally relented enough to ask, sitting down in an armchair and gesturing with her hand for the battered, exhausted vampire to have a seat as well.

He sank down gratefully onto the couch, leaning his head back against it in weariness. “What do you think?” he replied, without moving his head, his eyes closed. “Faith happened, love. She caught on to me. She was already suspicious, and she caught me in her room tonight, going through her things.”

Buffy did not say anything, just stared at him for long enough that he finally raised his head to look at her. Her eyebrows were raised in a knowing expression as she gave him a disgusted, I-should-have-known-better sort of look.

Defensive, he sat up straight. “Hey, now! I was trying to help!”

“Getting caught is not so much with the helpful, Spike,” Buffy reminded him.

“Yeah. But the information I found out *before* I got caught,” he countered with a smug smile. “That, on the other hand…”

“What do you know?” she asked him immediately, her demeanor all business now. Gone was the teasing, almost light-hearted banter she had engaged in at the door. Now, all she wanted was to find out how she could defeat Faith.

“Well, she had this book. Ancient history of Slayers and techniques and such. But there’s this ritual in it…I had the pages…she kind of…well, she took them,” he admitted.

Buffy dropped her head forward in an exaggerated sigh before meeting his eyes again in exasperation.

“But I do remember most of it, pet,” he reassured her quickly. Suddenly, his own startlingly blue eyes grew serious as they gazed into hers. “And it’s not good. Not good at at all.”

“So what does the ritual do?” Buffy asked, impatience creeping into her voice. The overdramatic thing could be kind of fun in the middle of a knock-down, drag out fight, but right now she just wanted him to get to the information.

Spike looked at her for a moment before speaking slowly, “It’s a ritual to be done to increase a Slayer’s power. If she accomplishes it, it will pretty much make her unstoppable. She’d be stronger than any vampire…stronger than you, pet. No force on earth would be able to stop her.”

“How?” Buffy asked, frowning with confusion. “How does the ritual work?”

“Well, for one thing…she has to have help,” he went on, a note of caution in his voice as he held her gaze. He knew she was not going to like the rest of what he had to tell her. “The help of a vampire.”

Buffy was silent, her frown deepening slightly as she waited for him to go on.

“You see, pet…the ritual…is very similar to the process of…of *becoming* a vampire,” he explained. He paused again before going on slowly, “It requires her blood to be drained by a vampire, and then for her to take the vampire’s blood in return – all while under the influence of a particular spell.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean – she’s going to let a vampire turn her?”

“For all intents and purposes – yes,” Spike replied with a slow nod. “Except that’s the thing…with the spell and all…she’d still be the Slayer. And she’d have all the strengths of a vamp…but none of the weaknesses. As far as the killing and feeding and super strength – yeah, she’d be a vampire. But as far as the sunlight and holy water and stake through the heart…” He stopped and just shook his head.

He paused suddenly, frowning. “Except,” he amended thoughtfully. “Stake through the heart would kill a Slayer, too, wouldn’it? So I guess that part would still apply.”

Buffy was still trying to take it all in. “Well, I guess *that’s* of the good. She’d be stakeable.” She paused for a moment, her eyes wide as she thought about what he had just told her.

“So she’s planning on turning into some uber-powerful vampire-Slayer hybrid thing?” she finally said, disbelief in her voice. “And she’d be nearly unstoppable? You’re right. There is nothing of the good in that.” She thought for a moment, then looked back at him suddenly.

“Why would any vampire want to help her with that?” she asked, shaking her head a little with a puzzled frown. “I mean – she’s not just gonna be dangerous to humans. She’s gonna be able to wipe out anything in her path.”

“No vamp in his right mind would help a Slayer get so bloody powerful,” Spike agreed with a nod, following her train of thought.

“So – who’s the vamp who’s going to help her?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to puzzle it out. “If I’d heard about this from anyone else I’d have assumed it was you. But since you’re now at the top of her hit list…” Her voice trailed off.

“Someone she’s got wrapped around her bloody finger, I’d wager,” he replied with disgust. “Most likely sweet-talked him with promises of sharing her power and bloody rot like that. My guess would be her secret partner – the one she’s been talking to on the phone,” Spike went on speculatively. He hesitated a moment before adding, “The one that killed your mum.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment. “So it pretty much has to be that particular vamp,” she concluded. “She couldn’t convince anyone else to go through with it.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen her at her worst, love,” he reminded her with a little grimace. “Faith can be seriously scary. She could pretty much ‘convince’ any vamp to do what she told him.”

“But what’s to stop ‘any vamp’ from just draining her dry when it comes time for the ritual?” Buffy pointed out. “I mean, by the time he’d taken enough to turn her, there wouldn’t be much she could do about it.”

Spike frowned. “Right,” he realized. “Well, then. It’d have to be someone she knew would go along with it. Someone she’d managed to convince that he had something to gain from the ritual.”

“So we’re back to mystery phone guy,” Buffy nodded decisively. Her eyes darkened with hatred as she added. “The one who murdered my mother.”

“The best option is to take out Faith,” Spike went on. “But that’s gonna be a little difficult, as surrounded as she always keeps herself. So option number two…”

“Find her partner,” Buffy finished for him, her voice so full of malicious intent that it sent a chill down his spine, and made him very glad he had managed to convince her of his innocence. “And kill him. Before they can do the ritual.”

Spike nodded slowly, watching her carefully. “How do you suggest we do that, exactly, love?” His voice was low and cautious, not wanting to say anything to redirect her anger in his direction.

She looked up at him, a grim smile on her face. “I don’t know. But we’re going to.” She paused, before looking away and speaking again in determination.

“And I’m going to kill him.”