Buffy was in the middle of an old-fashioned living room. Well, this wasn't what she'd been expecting when going into Spike's mind.

She knew little about the different historical periods, but she could tell that this was most likely Victorian. Probably from Spike's human life. Everything looked pristine and undisturbed. Except the lighting. Though the room was outfitted with oil lamps, it looked as though fluorescent lights were casting their unearthly glow over the room. In the dead silence, she could almost hear the steady hum.

"Spike?" Buffy called. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy.

Her attention was drawn to a photo on one of the ornate side tables. She picked it up. Posed stiffly was an older women sitting in front of a young, bespectacled man. William as he once was.

All things began here.

Buffy gently set the photo back onto the table. As she pulled her hand away, she noticed the bright splash of red across her palm. She rubbed her fingers together, testing the texture. It was blood. It looked starkly wild under the fluorescent lighting.

Once she began seeing the blood, it appeared everywhere. It covered the table that carried the photo. The floor had wide arcing sweeps of blood dancing across it. The walls displayed crude hand prints stamped in blood. The sofa was stained deep red.

Buffy wanted out of the room. Now

There was a closed door on the opposite side of the room. Without hesitation, Buffy pushed it open and entered the foyer. She froze as the door shut behind her.

A woman's body lay on the floor. Her nightgown was ripped, and her legs were splayed open to display the grotesque injury to her private parts. It was the woman from the photo. Her eyes were still open, wide with panic. They stared up at where the fluorescent lights should be but weren't.

Buffy swallowed. Not real. It wasn't real. Okay, so it was probably a scene from Spike's human life, but she already knew that he'd probably brutally murdered his family when he'd been turned. That was standard vampire operating procedure. So no big shock to actually be confronted with it, right?

Taking a breath, Buffy eased her way around the corpse to the front door. She pushed the door open to take in some fresh air.

And she ended up in Spike's crypt. His old crypt from Sunnydale. That was jarring.

Buffy looked around. She was on the upper level. The TV had been left on, but it was only broadcasting static. The fluorescent lighting was gone. Instead the crypt was almost completely dark. Only a soft glow permeated the room to allow her to see.

"Spike?" she called again.

"Down here."

Spike's voice came from the lower level. Buffy hurried over and down the ladder. When she turned, she was presented with Spike and herself in his bed.

Well, with Spike's mental version of herself. She knew that scene had never played out in real life. Her with long hair, naked and curled up next to him. She was sleeping.

Spike watched her, apparently unfazed by another Buffy appearing.

"What's the matter, love?"

"Spike, I need to find Angel. He's claimed you, so he should be around here. Somewhere."

Spike laughed. "Angel's been all around this place, you know. You do know."

"No, really don't."

A clattering sounded from the darkness beyond the bed. Spike didn't even flinch. Buffy had the uncomfortable sensation that someone was approaching. It was like her slayer senses turned up to eleven. Her skin crawled.

"Spike, you know this is all in your head, right?"

"Isn't everything?"

She frowned, not sure how to reply to that. She was saved the effort, though, when Angel emerged from the darkness. His mouth was smeared with blood.

"William, you know I don't like it when you're here."

This made Spike sit up. "Leave her alone this time, Angel! She's just trying to sleep."

"She's gotta learn what happens when she sleeps next to the likes of you." Angel went straight to the sleeping Buffy and wrapped his hands around her neck. The mattress shifted under his weight, and Spike had to lean backward to keep from falling over.

Seeing Angel choking her spurred Buffy into action. She rushed forward, grabbing his shoulder. "Why don't you try that with the real me?" she asked.

Angel laughed at her, but he didn't relax his grip. "Sorry, Buffy. This isn't your place, and I'm afraid I have the controls here. Why don't you go somewhere more suited to you?"

Always having been a fan of getting straight to the fight, Buffy pulled back her arm to punch him when the crypt disappeared around her. The next second found herself in her old home on Revello Drive.

Buffy looked around at the long-destroyed living room. This was going to be more difficult than she'd thought.

The house was completely silent. Buffy's memories of her house always included sounds: her mother watching her soaps, her sister talking on the phone to Janice, a demon trying to get in the front door. There was none of that. Only a haunting hush.

The silence became an imposing figure in its own right, and Buffy was reluctant to disturb it. Her footsteps might be too loud, too intrusive. Who knows how the house of Spike's mind might react?

However, she had to keep going forward...wherever forward was.

A moan cut through the stillness. Buffy jumped, turning towards the kitchen. The air was thick when she started walking, as if she were attempting to maneuver through syrup. She stopped at the doorway.

Drusilla lay on the kitchen island. A large hole had been cut into her abdomen, revealing pulsing internal organs. Something sizzled on the stove.

Drusilla laughed. "Saw you coming!"

Why was Spike's mind putting Drusilla in her kitchen?

Buffy had to shrug the question off. Not important. She only hoped that Spike's version of Drusilla had some of the same abilities that the real Drusilla had.

She walked to the island and leaned down to look Drusilla in the eye. The vampire turned her head toward her.

"Dru," Buffy said. "Do you know how to undo Angel's claim? Do I have to fight him?"

Drusilla lowered her hand into the wound at her midsection. "I can feel my stomach," she said with a grin.

Whatever was on the stove started to burn. Black smoke billowed through the kitchen.

"Dru, this is important."

"Ooooh," Drusilla's eyes lit up. Her gaze wandered up to the ceiling. "Better run, little girl. Daddy's come back to have his meal. Only one way out, and he's not it."

Buffy sighed in frustration. "Do you at least know where Spike is? I need to find him."

Drusilla brought a finger to her mouth and licked her own blood from it. "My William doesn't like to see what's done to his mummy. Stays far away, he does. But he needn't fret." She glanced over at the pan on the burner. "It always grows back."

Buffy straightened, convinced that she wasn't going to get anything useful from this particular figment. Drusilla giggled as Buffy turned around.

Angel stood right behind her.

Buffy froze. Her slayer reflexes weren't kicking into gear. Instead, a deep terror settled into her stomach and rooted her to the spot.

Angel smiled. "Buffy, I was just looking for you."

Buffy panicked - something she wasn't very familiar with. Adrenaline rushed through her, and she turned and ran for the back door.

Behind her, Drusilla yelled, "His world now! No place to run!"

Buffy felt as if she was caught in a slasher movie. She wasn't sure why she ran - why she was so frightened. The script told her to do so, so she did. Running in mindless fear led her down Revello Drive and straight into the cemetery. Spike's mind was rearranging things.

Slasher movie or no, Buffy knew better than to look behind her. Angel was right on her heels. Having visual confirmation wasn't necessary. She sensed him as readily as she sensed her own arms. Instead, she went straight to the first mausoleum she could find and pried open the door. Because it's always best to trap yourself in a small space with no exit when being chased by a monster.

She ran into the structure and ended up in a living room. Buffy paused, disoriented.

She'd never seen the room before. Despite its expansive floorplan and refined decor, the lack of windows gave away the fact that it was underground. A huddle of couches and armchairs sectioned off a square in the middle of the room. On one of the sofas sat herself - another Buffy - flipping through a magazine. Buffy's entrance prompted the double to look up with a bright smile not unlike those the bot used to give.

"Hello!"

Buffy frowned. Why had she been running? She needed to fight Angel, not run from him. Somehow, Spike's mind was affecting her. Willow hadn't warned her about that.

The other Buffy lowered the magazine. "Have you seen Angel? I'm waiting for him to get home."

So what part of Spike's mind was this? Photos on the wall featured herself and Angel together - a happy couple. This must be one of Spike's fears.

"Don't you love Angel? He's just the greatest."

Buffy finally directed her attention to the bizarro version of herself. Yep. Very bot-like. Except this one was programmed to love Angel instead of Spike.

Buffy approached the sitting area. "Where is Angel?" she asked, hoping to get more answers out of her than she had out of Drusilla.

"Oh, he'll be here soon. He never lets me down, you know."

"What about Spike? Have you seen him?"

Bizarro Buffy made a face. "Spike? He's beneath me."

Basement. At least, Buffy hoped Spike's mind was being that literal. A door on the far side of the living room began to pulse in her senses. If that wasn't a sign...

Behind her, a key started turning in the lock. Angel was coming home.

Disregarding the Stepford version of herself, Buffy ran across the room and threw open the door, not surprised to find a dark staircase leading downwards. She'd be a better match for Angel if she could get Spike working with her.

Not glancing back, she ran down the stairs, plunging into darkness. She kept her hand on the wall in the hopes of finding a lightswitch. No such luck.

Layers of dust began to coat her fingers as she trailed them along the wall. The air became damp, and the wall started moistening.

She stumbled when she reached the bottom, hindered by the lack of light. Buffy finally pulled her hand away, ignoring the coat of muck that clung to her fingertips. She began to reach for a cord when the lights switched on. Buffy closed her eyes against the sudden burst of brightness.

When she squinted them open, she found herself in the middle of Angel's office - the one from Wolfram & Hart. Angel, himself, stood at her arrival. Conspicuously out of place was a young woman in Victorian garb sipping tea on the sofa.

Angel came around his desk, smiling broadly.

"Buffy!" he said. "I was wondering when you'd be by."

Buffy's muscles remained tense, her stance on guard as Angel approached her.

"Do you want some coffee?" Angel asked with a casual ease that belied their current situation.

"What is this?" Buffy replied.

Angel sighed. "Always straight to business. Even when I'm trying to be friendly."

"Are you the claim?"

Angel laughed. "Is that what you're in here for? No, I'm not 'the claim'. Well, I mean, I'm here because of the claim. I am the mental manifestation of Angel's presence in Spike's mind now. The claim itself? That doesn't have any substantial form."

Buffy frowned. "But Willow said - "

"I hate to break it to you, Buff, but your darling Willow is sometimes wrong." He sighed in mocking sadness. "So, coffee?"

Of course, Angel could be lying to her. If killing him was the way to break the claim, then misleading her would be an appropriate self-defense mechanism. On the other hand, he was right. Willow was sometimes wrong.

Buffy's attention wandered to the woman on the couch. She continued to sip at her tea, seemingly oblivious to the confrontation between Buffy and Angel. Maybe - crazy thought - maybe the amazingly out-of-place Victorian lady was the claim.

"She's not," Angel said.

Buffy's attention snapped back to him. He appeared to have given up on the coffee and, instead, stood with his hands behind his back, head cocked to the side in amusement.

"She's not 'the claim'," Angel repeated. He sat down in an armchair. The plush seat cushion lowered slightly with his weight. "She's just a guest. Sit." He motioned to the couch across from him. "Take a load off."

Buffy cautiously sat down. Even if he was lying, trying to get some answers couldn't hurt. Whatever he was, he seemed to be intricately linked into Spike's mind. That was useful.

She quickly decided on a question. "This is what the claim does? Invades one person's mind?"

"This is what this claim does," Angel corrected. "Spike's pretty much surrendered, you know. That makes his mind one big playground for me."

"Is this like a psychic thing? Are you actually Angel?"

"Nothing so ominous." Angel rolled his eyes. "I'm not like you. Angel in the real world is going about doing...whatever he's doing. The claim, though, lets another person into your mind. Part of their self merges with yours. In Spike, that part of Angel is me." He smiled. "Not so complicated, is it?"

"So killing you...?"

"Won't do a damn thing. You are kind of slow, aren't you? You can't kill me. It's not possible. You can't break the claim. Also not possible." Angel leaned back. "You're wasting your time, in other words. You'd be best off calling out your safe word and going back to the real world." He shrugged. "Just my advice."

Buffy wasn't stupid. No matter what this particular figment was, trying to dissuade her from exploring further was advantageous to Angel. That meant that that's the one thing she didn't want to do. And she must be getting close to something if Angel was stepping in.

She shook her head and offered up a bright smile. "Sorry, Angel. I'm enjoying the scenery too much to leave now."

Angel's expression darkened. "Well, then, I'll leave you to it. I hope you enjoy the next stop on the tour."

The office around her faded. Buffy had to jump up from her seated position as the sofa she'd been sitting on vanished. With a gradual fade-in, Glory's tower appeared in front of her. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its first rays on her broken body as it lay on the debris. Her friends gathered around, frozen in time so they stood like distraught mannequins.

The only movement - the only sign of life - came from her right side. Spike was crouched on the ground, blood trailing down his face as he openly weeped.

Buffy had not witnessed this scene, herself. Not this scene. She'd never seen her own body sprawled on the wreckage of the tower, peaceful expression on her dead face. She'd never seen Dawn hunched over in tears or Willow having to be supported by Tara. Giles' grim countenance hovered on the brink of anguish. All of them frozen as statues as if time had stopped. Buffy stood, seemingly suspended in time along with them. The only movement was from Spike, whose tears had not abated.

She'd never known what it had been like...after.

"That's not me, you know."

The voice startled her out of her gloom. She turned to find Spike - another Spike - leaning against the tower. He nodded towards himself.

"Him," he clarified. "Well, I suppose he is me. But not me me. If that makes any sense at all."

"Spike?" Had she actually found him? The real him, not some watered-down figment version? She approached him with caution. "You're - "

"The real deal? Near as I can tell. Now what I can't figure is what you're doing in here. Assuming you're the real deal, as well."

"I am." She nodded. "I'm...trying to help. Willow told me I could disable Angel's claim from inside your mind."

Spike barked in laughter. "She what? Pull the other one."

Buffy gritted her teeth. "Listen, this is kinda experimental territory, but it's something, okay? I'm trying to save you!"

"I never asked you to." Spike straightened up, pulling away from the tower's support. He stepped toward her. "Don't recall asking for your help at all."

"Well, you can't expect me to just walk away, can you? I can't sit around in England knowing that Angel is - " Her voice caught in her throat.

Spike's anger was palpable. "You got over my death one time. I'm sure you can do it again."

"You're not dead!"

"Yeah, not my choice there!"

"Spike, you can't just give up."

"Yes, I bloody well can!" Spike threw his arms up in frustration, gesticulating in dramatic fashion. He paced around Giles to approach her. "I've gone round the bend on this one, and I don't fancy going much farther. Loved you so long - too long. Got my soul, though I'm not sure what type of good that's done. The First almost had me, but you kept me going the rest of that year. Stayed for you, didn't I? Then I die, fine. About damn time, if you ask me. But no, I have to get brought back and thrown in with an Angel whose own soul is getting all dirtied up. Thought I had one last chance at things with you, but that ended up a bust - like usual. So you know what? I'm done trying. Done enough of that, and it's never gotten me anywhere. And I don't need you fighting for me, either. Nothing left to fight for. Got it?"

Spike ended his tirade only inches from her, jaw set firm and eyes shining with ire. Buffy had to force herself not to blink, not to pull away from his anger. She wanted to, though, and the ensuing silence at that moment was overwhelming, broken only by the other Spike's open sobs.

She got it. Her heart ached because she got it. She knew everything that Spike had been through in the past few years was too much for anyone to deal with. Of course he wanted to give up - to rest. He'd been ready to do so since he'd gotten his soul back, hadn't he? The image of him draped over a cross, asking if they could rest flashed before her. Then later, him opening his shirt to have her stake him after they'd discovered the people he'd killed while under control of The First. He'd been ready to be rid of this world long ago, and he'd only kept going for her. Because he loved her.

Buffy got it. And yet...

She got angry. "No," she said. Softly at first. Then with more confidence. "No." She closed the small gap that was left between them. "I have lost so many people. So. Many." Tears began to run down her cheeks, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop them. "They leave me. And I can't do it again. Not with you. I need you, Spike. Please." She reached out to touch his face. "Please. I know I'm asking...everything from you. But this is different from the past, Spike. I'm fighting for you now. I'm fighting so hard. I believe in you. Just, please. Please believe in me, too."

Spike's expression shifted from anger to incredulity then to a reluctant affection. The fire left his eyes, but a glow of endless love remained alongside the pained resignation. She knew what she was asking. She was asking him to keep fighting when he'd already given so much. She couldn't not do so, though. Memories of being left behind - by her dad, by Angel, by Riley, by Giles - remained raw and menacing. She knew that losing Spike would be the final blow. The thought terrified her.

Buffy's fingertips touched his cheek. She smiled at the feel of his cool flesh, comforting and reassuring. So familiar and so longed for. She cupped his face with her palm, indulging in the connection.

"Can't you just...imagine what things could be like for us?" Buffy whispered.

Spike exhaled in a heavy sigh.

"Yes," he said.

Then the world around them fell away.