This lovely was created by the wonderful Mandi. Thank you so much.

Betas: The wonderful Megan and, at short notice, Chrissie Linnit. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support and read throughs.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated. Sorry for yet another long wait. *hugs*

Chapter 16

By the time he departed the Council’s Headquarters, later than he would have liked, Ethan could feel the beginnings of a stress headache settling behind his eyes. Little wonder, considering the amount of work he’d put in over the last few hours.

Pausing at the head of the steps leading down to the almost empty London street, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he made a quick mental inventory, a last check before making his break for freedom. Inside the leather pilot’s bag, slung loosely over his shoulder, he carried a variety of appropriated items to assist him now…and later. Along with a handful of Council credit cards, various charms and texts purloined from the depths of the vaults, Ethan had stashed away several vials of the Cruciamentum concoction in a thermally chilled container. The last had been an act of impulse, after he’d taken pleasure in destroying the instructions for making the stuff and its use – from books and databases alike. He’d love to be able to see their faces the next time they tried to use it on one of their slayers.

Ethan also had possession of four passports besides Giles’. A spot check had rewarded him with several he could use with a simple glamour to subtly alter his appearance, as each passport owner’s height and general build matched his own closely enough. He’d downloaded and saved to CD enough new spells and recently documented prophecies to keep him occupied for the foreseeable future…if he was a Watcher. Dear Giles had been more than lax when it came to computer security, and it wouldn’t surprise Ethan in the least if the silly old fart had no clue about the latest technological advances – and had been too priggish to listen and learn from others.

Not unhappy to squander the Council’s dosh, Ethan had booked himself on three different flights to the States under three different names. His final destination had yet to be decided, although Sunnydale was beckoning him with the pull of its Hellmouth, and, as insurance, there was an additional flight booked to Australia under the name of Rupert Giles. With luck, it would be enough to throw the Initiative stooges off his scent.

Murmuring a supplication to Janus under his breath, Ethan tripped lightly down the stone steps and strode off in the direction of the nearest Tube station…and escape.

***

In his wildest dreams Angel had never thought it would come to this. Not once had it occurred to him that Buffy, his Buffy, would chose to defend and protect his worthless grandchilde in preference to handing him over. For a moment he teetered on the edge of capitulation, but the moment was fleeting and in its place crept a cold determination to have his own way. If his Golden Slayer, she who had set him on his road to redemption, was turning away from him then he had no other choice but to take his fate firmly into his own hands…whatever the cost.

However much it hurt him – and it did, truly it did – Angel could not turn his back on The Powers who had declared him to be their Champion. It was remarkable that Buffy had lasted this long, really; a slayer’s normal life expectancy being so much shorter than the almost seven years she had so far survived. She’d been a wonderful servant for good, a shining example of everything a Chosen One should be, but it was obvious now to Angel that somehow Buffy had been corrupted if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit to his superior understanding and need of Spike. So much promise gone to waste, his beautiful girl tainted beyond his ability to save.

Fortunately for him, Angel’s advisers had foreseen just this situation and had insisted measures be taken to cover it’s eventuality. He made a mental note to authorise a bonus once this night’s work had been successfully concluded. Steeling his unbeating heart, the souled vampire looked across the seemingly unbridgeable divide of the table separating him from Buffy. He thought she’d never looked more beautiful than now, her tawny gold hair reflecting the muted lighting, a flush colouring her cheeks and her hazel eyes flashing fire his way. Sighing inwardly, regretfully, he made ready to prepare for the end game.

“Let’s not be too hasty about this,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m going to get another drink from the bar, can I get you another?”

Buffy glanced down at her barely touched glass of water, her raised eyebrows telling Angel without words how redundant his question was. She watched as he weaved his way through the tables of the slowly filling restaurant and disappeared from sight into the adjoining bar.

Without warning a shudder shook her body, someone was walking on her grave. Unbidden, a memory surfaced of a family day out at the funfair when she’d been young - maybe nine or ten. It had been a gloriously sunny day full of laughter. Her parents were still very much together then, smiles never leaving their faces as they moved from rides to attractions and back again. Even Dawn was there, face and fingers messy from cotton candy and whining when she couldn’t go on the rides meant for those bigger than her small self. She knew the Dawn memories weren’t really true, of course, that they were just an addition to her memory implanted by those monks, but they were precious nevertheless.

The only blot on an otherwise perfect day had been when they’d entered the Hall of Mirrors. Mom and dad had been giggling like teenagers as they watched their reflections distort and throw back twisted views of themselves. Buffy had been amused to see herself impossibly long and tall – not so amused at the short and squat with a squished face. But Dawn, poor Dawn… Her sister had taken one look in the first mirror and screamed, “That’s not me! That’s not me! I don’t look like that!”

It had taken a while before the hysterical sobs could be quietened and Dawn could be persuaded to look again. Buffy had held her sister’s sticky hand firmly as they both stood in front of the mirrors again. This time Dawn had been fascinated, peering at the changes in her reflection as she bounced up and down, waved her arms and pulled faces. Buffy recalled clearly her small sister’s solemn announcement. “They’re lying mirrors, aren’t they, Buffy? They’re fun but bad, ‘cos they don’t tell the truth.”

Why was she thinking of that now? What did it mean?

“Miss Summers?”

With a start, Buffy found Walt had silently materialised beside her. “Yes?”

“I do apologise for interrupting your evening, but I have a message for you…from Willy,” he spoke softly, waiting until he had her full attention before continuing. “Your home is currently surrounded by a group of gentlemen who accompanied your…dinner partner from LA. In anticipation, transport has now arrived to convey you back home. I trust this is to your satisfaction.”

Relief, and a not unexpected surge of adrenalin, flooded through Buffy. Despite her truthful promise to stand between Angel and his obsession with Spike, there was no doubting she would feel better back down in the valley, back on her home turf, if the worst came to the worst. Even now, after everything that had been said tonight, she could barely grasp that Angel was prepared to go to such extreme lengths to regain Spike. His reasoning for why he wanted to take Spike away was as off as everything else about tonight. There had been more than a touch of Angelus in his attitude, his arrogance, the attempted manipulation, yet she didn’t doubt for one moment that his soul was still attached. This, somehow, only made it worse.

Anger at Angel was swiftly replaced with concern for Spike and her friends as she nodded to Walt and stood. Gathering her purse before following him to a rear exit adjacent to the kitchens, Buffy glanced back once, relieved that there was no sign of Angel returning to the table. That confrontation, and she knew there would be one, could wait.

Once they had slipped outside, Walt felt free to speak openly to the Slayer. “There are six of his people outside your house, Slayer. Willy’s got a bunch of regulars standing by to give assistance. They’re at 1615 Revello. Clem’s waiting to take you there now.”

Buffy had been walking beside him, almost trotting to keep up with his long strides as they passed the cleanest looking dumpsters she’d ever seen and made their way round to the car park. She filed away for future delving the question of how Willy knew where she was – though she thought Walt could probably answer that question right now – and what he was doing on Revello.

Once she would have let little things like this distract her and gone all kablooey, losing sight of the big picture as she niggled at the details. Now only two things mattered to her: get away from Angel and; get back to Revello to protect her friends – Tara, Willow and Spike. Though if the chance to beat up something, or someone, presented itself, well, she’d grab, and maybe even throttle, the opportunity with both hands.

Clem’s funny little red car was easy to spot. How the large grey demon managed to fit into it was a testament to the TARDIS effect which seemed to be built into these small, foreign models. Buffy couldn’t help but glance towards the sleek monster Angel had driven, stopping in surprise when she noticed its former perfection marred by two flat front tyres.

“You wouldn’t know anything about…” she trailed off, waving a hand towards the vandalised auto. A sly grin answered her. Buffy smiled back, grateful for the help in hindering Angel’s undoubted pursuit. “Thanks, Walt. Just don’t be around when he finds out.”

“I won’t, Slayer,” he promised, raising his hand in farewell as he turned to retrace his steps.

Clem barely waited for Buffy to pull the passenger door closed before pulling away as if the devil was on his heels.

Maybe he was.

***

Spike was trying to feel positive but, in view of the information he’d wheedled out of Tara and Willow, it was difficult. The eavesdropping wards they’d so carefully set earlier were now being adapted. Spike had impressed upon them the importance for the occupiers of the house - namely the Slayer and himself - to be able to sense who or what might be lurking outside, so they were now busy changing the smothering curtain they’d erected into something more resembling a one-way mirror. He’d been impressed with how quickly the two women grasped what was needed, agreed on the amendment to be made and worked in perfect unison. But in other areas things weren’t looking so good.

Willow had enthusiastically extolled the merits of her fireball spell, until it had been made apparent that she’d need an open window or door to allow it to leave the house – and that would only work once the wards were down or had been altered. The biggest drawback was that in order to use magic they would need to see who they were directing their resources against, and lowering their defence would leave them vulnerable to attack. As Spike had suspected, the wards would be great in blocking magical devices but not so good for the more mundane type of weapon normally used by humans: guns, grenades and other, less mystical but equally as deadly, projectiles would need a better barrier than they had at their fingertips right now.

There was another problem, too. Tara was loathe to harm anyone if there was some other way to protect themselves. She’d been against the idea of Willow using her fireball spell in a residential area and, for the first time, Spike was given an insight into just how much Willow relied on Tara for guidance with her magic use. It was somewhat refreshing to find he was not the only being who believed magic had consequences, even the relatively small stuff. And whilst he would have happily argued in favour of torching the rest of the neighbourhood if he could be sure it would leave Buffy’s house standing, he somehow couldn’t see the Slayer beaming to find her home in the middle of the smouldering wreckage of her community.

A compromise of sorts had been reached when Willow had suggested using a binding spell instead, something to hold off the enemy and give Willy’s crew time to intervene. It had its drawbacks as the two lovers would still have to be able to physically see their targets, the redhead being adamant on limiting the use of her power.

“Sorry, recovering addict here,” she’d told the vampire apologetically. “Need to keep things small and focussed or…”

Spike had nodded in understanding. Bloodlust was a bit like that, from what he remembered; easier to control when you weren’t hungry, but hard to ignore when the taste took over. He knew they’d do their best, he just didn’t know if it would be enough for whatever they faced.

There was no doubt when the wards had been adjusted. Immediately, Spike could hear the vague heartbeats of several humans, and at least one demon, on the periphery of his senses. Without the warning from Willy he would have assumed they belonged to neighbours or passers-by. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have picked up on them at all until they moved nearer, trespassed the boundaries of the Slayer’s home - their home.

He nodded at Tara when she rejoined him in the hallway. “I can sense out now, Glinda. Mostly human, but there’s at least one demon out there. Don’t know if it’s one of theirs or one of Willy’s mates.”

Tara rubbed along her arms, suddenly feeling chilled. It had been a long time since she’d found herself in a similar situation, facing a threat without Buffy present to steer the path clear to safety. An arm sliding around her waist signalled when Willow joined them.

Wait. That was all they could do for now.

***

Snapping his cell phone shut, Angel turned back to the bar to collect the wine he’d used as an excuse to give himself time and some privacy to call Smith. His instructions had been explicit and the fool had better get things right this time or he’d be seeing just how angry Angel could become when disappointed. The Sunnydale Heights had filled noticeably since he’d arrived, and most of the crowd appeared to be have flocked around the bar indulging in pre-dinner drinks and convivial chatter. He forced himself to patience as he waited to be served, then carried his spoils back into the restaurant proper.

The empty table bore mute witness to his fury on finding Buffy gone.

***

Without a doubt, Buffy would have rather faced another apocalypse than be sitting beside Clem as the small car hurtled down the suddenly life-threatening road. And, yeah, she knew her driving skills were almost non-existent, but even she would have touched the brakes with a little more sympathy than the saggy skinned creature beside her, the one who seemed intent on seeing if her heart would fall out of her mouth as they slid into each and every bend on the long way down. No time to stare at the pretty sights as they flashed past the windows. Buffy’s eyes were firmly fixed on the snaking road ahead and if it hadn’t been for fear of distracting him, she’d have taken to screaming at Clem after the first hundred yards.

One thing was for certain, her adrenalin would be pumping fast and furious through her veins once they reached Revello Drive. She’d hit her home turf running and look out anyone, or anything, which stood in her way.

***

Smith slipped the cell phone back in his jacket pocket and pursed his thin lips. Was it wrong to feel more than a little smug that his boss had failed to sweet talk the Slayer into giving up her recent acquisition? Possibly, but he was only human - or at least, mostly. At the snap of his fingers two of the security personnel selected to assist on this project soundlessly approached to receive whispered instructions. Once they had left to retrieve the bait from the van, he straightened and left his hiding place in the bushes of 1628 Revello to walk the short distance to the Slayer’s front door. Not bothering to knock or ring the bell, he delivered the agreed ultimatum.

“Hostile Seventeen, you have five minutes in which to join me before more drastic measures are taken to persuade you to comply.” Smith could hear nothing from inside the house and motioned for the D’ral shaman, hanging back by the tree, to join him; the magic dealer always gave him the creeps but was a necessary evil – so to speak. “What are you picking up from in there? He is there, isn’t he? Would just be our luck if the Slayer has him stashed somewhere else.”

The robed demon tilted his head to one side and stared at the closed front door with gleaming green eyes. “It has protection, the house. I cannot see inside. Why would the Slayer remove her slave from protected place? Does not sense make.”

Not what Smith wanted to hear. He had no choice but to carry on as if it were a given that the vampire were in there. For all they knew he could be chained in a cage in the basement, unable to reach them. No matter. They’d try it this way first and then just break in if they had to. As long as the Slayer stayed away there should be no problem and enough time to take whatever measures they deemed necessary for success.

A scuffling noise drew his attention away from the shaman and towards the two black-clad members of the brawn-set, returning with a dark-haired woman almost floating between them. The boss’s current favourite toy, one about whom Smith had separate, and completely confidential orders, from the Senior Partners - all unknown to Angel. Something to smile about...so he did.

Dark eyes settled on the porch before dropping shut as she lifted her head and sniffed the air. A small smile, a secret smile, curved her red mouth as she started to whisper to herself. “Destiny calls, my sweet dark knight. No more dances for you in the silver light, now all must be gold or you will refuse to mark a lady’s card and take her for a whirl across the floor.” Her lips trembled once, the smile slipping before blooming wider and brighter. “Ah, such things you will do to annoy daddy, bad daddy, sad daddy, mad daddy. Daddy takes such paths, twisty ones laid out by masters; he is lost and knows it not. Not for him the shiny prize he seeks so hard. And soon his consolation will be gone too.” A pout, then silence. Drusilla swayed lightly, eyes closed fast and looking more like a sleepwalker than anything else, a sleepwalker in a crimson gown of velvet.

Smith frowned at the vampire seer. “See, it’s that loose mouth of yours which is going to get you offed, Drusilla. Your tittle-tattling has gone on for long enough. If only you could have learnt to be discreet, well…”

Drusilla glanced at him, another smile hovering. “The stars are screaming, can’t you hear, silly man? Are you deaf to the wonderful wrongness, or is your head so full of lying scribbles on dry parchment that you close your ears to their cries? Tsk! Bad dog! Grrrr! No bone for you, naughty puppy. No Christmas presents tied up with bows for the deaf and blind. I know.” She laughed then, a tinkling girlish giggle. “All your fine plans with be for nought, pride before the fall. And the meek shall inherit the earth, and the lion will lay with the wolf to guard the flock, all those little lambs protected from poachers. Such tender shepherds will allow no mint sauce, no vinegar. Where will the meat be then? What shall we eat?”

Before he could give in to the temptation to strike the smile from her face, Smith’s cell phone demanded his attention. One curt phrase was thrown at him, and the news was not good.

Turning back to face the door he called out, to what he hoped was an audience within. “Time’s up. Come out now or your Sire becomes dust.”

***

Tara hadn’t thought it possible for the vampire beside her to become any paler, but she’d been wrong. When the man outside had given his demands both Willow and Tara had giggled slightly, nervous hysteria pulling at them both. It had taken just one look at Spike’s face to kill even that wonky semblance of mirth. Fear and resignation were there, staining his eyes and tensing the fine muscles of his gaunt face. None of them had expected such openness from the enemy outside; it wasn’t what they’d prepared for, in as much as they had prepared for anything. This directness was off-putting but easily fielded. They ignored it, simple.

The second time they heard the voice there was no inclination toward laughter.

***

He’d felt her presence, of course he had. A shock after so long apart, a sudden reconnection to the way things had been when he’d been whole, as nature had meant him to be. Conflicting emotions tore through him and his demon. The residue of man he had been stymied by the response the demon cried out for; wanting to tear through the door and welcome his family, his dark princess, but also wanting to warn her away from his home and send her packing.

Spike could feel Red and Glinda, feel their agitation and fear. It took him a moment to understand that they were afraid of what he would do, or try to do. And that was his stumbling block.

So much in him had, for so many years, been in the habit of protecting his Ripe Wicked Plum, and it was his first instinct was to do it again…now. But the demon had made its choice and it was screaming at him to stay. Dru had left him, pushed him away when all he’d ever wanted was to be hers. The Slayer had chosen him, wanted him to be by her side, picked him out from hundreds of others, given instead of taken, and made him feel again.

Old loyalties warred with new.

“You can’t go out there, Spike,” Tara’s voice wobbled, but held firmly enough. “I’m sorry, but you just can’t.”

He glanced up from his unseeing perusal of the floor to find the good witch positioned between him and the door, determination fixed on her usually placid face. Spike was about to concede, agree – it was what he wanted, right? – when the tosser outside upset the applecart once and for all.

“And if that fails to move you, then we’ll just have to remove your current custodian from the mix. Your choice. It’s make your mind –“

Tara stepped back, frightened to her bones as Spike’s face shifted, golden eyes glaring at her momentarily before he threw his head back and howled, a sound of anger and loss which caught her in its reverberation. As quickly as it had come it was gone, the golden eyes now an agonised blue eyes looking between her and Willow.

“Let me out. Can’t let them hurt the Slayer.” Spike strove to keep a handle on his fear, gladly welcoming the support of his demon; together they could do this, give it up to ensure her safety, watch her back. Even if it meant they never saw her again, were forever parted from their unknowing sanctuary. He watched as the two birds communicated wordlessly, and added his voice to the mix, as low and persuasive as he knew how to be. “Gotta let me do this. You know that. Tell her…tell her I’m sorry we didn’t get to dance together, didn’t get a chance at the nasties. Tell her…thank you, for everything.”

It was strange, watching as the vampire pulled himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders, all emotion gone now from his face. Impulsively, Tara moved forward and embraced him, ignoring the way he held himself stiffly in her arms and only just catching his whispered, “Thanks, pet.” Then he was going past her, opening the door and stepping outside.

“Upstairs, Joyce’s old room. It looks over the front of the house and if we can get the window open without being noticed…” Willow tugged at Tara’s hand and they flew up the stairs together, eager to be ready if opportunity – or fate – gave them an opening.

***

In the end it was decided to take only the most inconspicuous onto the streets. Not a popular move as they were all more than keen to be a part of the action, agreement only coming when Willy pointed out that at this rate they’d be too late if they didn’t get a move on. Seeing the vampiress taken from the van and being closely escorted down to the Slayer’s house had caused more than a little consternation…and triggered the need for action. Now.

Willy knew the Slayer was on her way back, should be here very shortly, but it didn’t take more than a moment for things to go wrong and if Wolfram & Hart’s minions were making moves, well, time for them to be covered. The dirty dozen left to circle - as inconspicuously as twelve variously sized, shaped and coloured demon beings could - to cover their opponents, all with strict instructions to do their utmost not to take out any humans unless absolutely necessary or they’d have the Slayer to answer to.

The two Wolfram & Hart morons stationed at the rear of the Summers’ residence had been knocked unconscious with ease, demons taking their places as the others moved as close to the front of the house as possible without giving themselves away. Willy had heard the threat levelled at the Slayer and quickly sent two of his troop back with the intel, confident that his comrades would think of something to keep her safe.

When Spike left the house, presented himself to the arsehole in a suit, Willy began to wonder if this was all going to end badly after all.

***

The last few days would soon seem like a dream, if he lasted long enough to be bothered by dreams again. It had been too good to last; he’d known that on some level. Seemed like nothing would ever be right in this skewed world where the food owned its predators and demon-orientated organisations, like Wolfram & Hart, stood beside them. But it had been something to have a respite from the new reality, to be seen again, to be real in some way to another being. ‘Slayer.’

Spike stepped off the porch, his eyes never straying from the form of his Sire, the one who had made it possible for his demon to escape a distant hell dimension to take up residence in his undead flesh. As always, Drusilla looked beautiful. Her lustrous dark hair emphasised her paleness and rich red lips, lips he’d known so well once upon a century. ‘Ah, the things we did, my lovely. The fine times we had travelling the world, taking what we wanted, when we wanted, and not a thought for the morrow. Fucking and feeding across continents, fighting anything we fancied for the hell of it.”

“’Allo, princess,” Spike respectfully greeted his maker before being pushed to his knees by the devil-claimed suit he’d seen at the auction. He held himself still, fixated on his once and for so long lover as experienced hands placed the leather-covered metal braid collar around his neck, leaving it deceptively loose in the knowledge that the only way to remove it with force would take his head off too. A connecting strip at the front of the collar led down to the cuffs now being fastened about his wrists. He ignored the man completely, his senses taken over fully with the presence of family.

Dru felt the purposes of greater beings coming to bear, the ones who had whispered such things to her the last few days, shown her path after path that had – or had not– been taken by her, by Spike, by Daddy and Grandmum.

Some things stayed the same in all of those possible worlds, some were reached via a different path. Daddy, the bad one with a soul, always dusted Darla. Sometimes she came back. Spike always made that deal with the Slayer to stop Angelus – well, except for the one time he didn’t, and the world ended. She always pushed Spike away, eventually. Angel always joined Wolfram & Hart – except for that time he’d ended the world – and was nearly always blind to the corruption seeping into him and twisting his cursed soul. Spike always sought out the Slayer. Most times that ended very badly for her poor dark knight, so eager for love and belonging, trying to be what he was not for she who wielded the flaming sword of righteousness. Only when the Slayer had freely chosen Spike to stand by her side had that path taken better turns, when her Chosen-ness could look upon his pain as a kind of payment for all that had gone on before the nasty chip fizzled its blue torture in his head.

Knowing the path before her, having been shown, she delivered the message she’d been entrusted with, in her own way. “Happy twenty-first, William. Now you have the key of the door best look after it, sweet childe. Mummy loves you.”

It only took three strides then he was behind her, stake slipped from his pocket and with a perfect view of Hostile Seventeen’s face he thrust it home and withdrew. Dust clouded the devastation on the other vampire’s face for a second, but not enough to make this less than a most satisfactory moment for Smith.

There was a moment of perfect stillness, and then all hell broke loose.

***

A/N: Sorry not to have posted this before – is because it is not my favouritest chappie. But as it is the best version I have right now (I give myself full permission to come back and possibly amend some time in the future) I thought it time I shared it here. Hope it still manages to entertain. Hopeful that next chappie won’t take so bloody long! BFN