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

Betas: Chrissie and Megan. Thank you, lovely ladies. Special hugs and squishes to Andrea for the humourous support, read throughs and hand-holding, above and beyond the call of friendship.

Author Notes: Thank you to all those who have left feedback. It is greatly appreciated, always. It’s been a long time but I hope you think the wait worthwhile.

Chapter 18


He was a fool, a total and utter fool.

On some level Spike knew his self-directed anger was a fragile device barely staving off the almost numbing terror he felt at being, once again, in a cell. The interminable waiting was playing on his already tightly strung nerves, the silence leaving him with nothing but his internal ranting to distract him from the decisions that were, even now, being made concerning his fate. So he was a fool, and he listed the ways. That was preferable to any of his other limited alternatives.

A bloody fool.

Should have grabbed the money the Slayer had offered, tipped a metaphorical hat in her direction, and scarpered. But no, he’d had to listen to his whinging demon and wallow in the feelings the Slayer had evoked in him over the last few days. Had to fool himself that he was love’s bitch – again – and that by staying he could do something to help the small blonde carry out her sacred bloody duty. What a laugh, what a sodding pathetic laugh. Liar.

If he’d left when presented with the opportunity then Drusilla would still be in one piece. No. If he hadn’t been suckered in with poncy delusions of belonging with the Slayer, over and above the fact that she owned his carcass, he’d have been long gone. Tell yourself that, fool! If he hadn’t been such a pushover, such a weak git ready to roll over and have his belly scratched at the first bit of kindness thrown his way… And what’s wrong with that? Spike couldn’t stop the visual of the Slayer’s warm hands coursing across his stomach, dipping lower, teasing gently… No! Yes!

A low growl escaped and he glanced up through his lashes to see if the solitary guard had heard. The man was still flicking through the periodical on his desk, absorbed in the words or pictures it held. Not that Spike blamed him; it had to be more interesting than watching a couple of vampires doing nothing in the cells opposite.

Knowing that Angel was enjoying even less hospitality than he was himself was small comfort though; for all the difference it made, Spike may as well have not survived the auction. And should Angel’s minion have his way then he would soon be dust for attacking him, his last bridge irrevocably burnt…with him on it.

Closing his eyes, Spike slowly let go of his manufactured anger – tried to ignore his latest frustrating and unsolicited hard on – and chose instead to play back the almost farcical series of events which had led him here, to an Initiative-reminiscent cell beneath Sunnydale’s Police Headquarters.

Spike shifted slightly on the foam mat he knelt on, trying to find a better position and trying even harder to quell the rising fear that threatened to undo him. Too many buried memories that stemmed from his first capture by the commandos were struggling to surface, triggered by the white tiled walls and floor of the cell, the bright fluorescent lighting, and further reinforced by the overlaying smell of disinfectant in the artificially cycled air. Trying not to take unwanted breaths was proving to be beyond him, his body refusing to take instruction from a brain still reacting to the aftershocks from a fired chip.

Could he have done anything differently to prevent Drusilla’s dusting once he’d left the relative safety of the Slayer’s house? He didn’t think so; his actions had initially been prompted by his desire to keep Buffy safe – there, he’d said her name, if only in his own head – and he’d stupidly assumed that Drusilla’s safety wasn’t even in question, that it would automatically be part of a two-for-the-price-of-one deal. Bloody hell, he’d never dreamt that Angel would want his creation to be dissolved so permanently. In that, at least, Spike thought Big and Broody could feasibly be without guilt. For a change.

For all his many sins, Angel had given every impression of honestly knowing nothing of Dru’s demise. Even now the great pillock was unaware, still being unconscious and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. And watching his hated family member orchestrate his own incarceration had turned out to be the only entertainment of the night. His current predicament notwithstanding, Spike could still wring a small measure of wry satisfaction from the other vampire’s earlier actions.

Angel had lost his cool, unknowingly doing everything possible to encourage the police to take him down. His refusal to listen - or obey - their commands to desist had been met with a determined onslaught. Tasers and stun guns had appeared and been skilfully wielded by the strong backup to the original officers drawn to the scene in the wake of Buffy’s dramatic appearance. It had needed eight of them to take Angel down, and all the while Buffy had held him back, her hand gripping his arm as she stared grimly at her ex-honey as he captained his fate onto the grim rocks of reality.

The gratification of watching as Angel got just what he deserved had quickly been extinguished though, gone when one more group joined the not so merry throng; the form of their chariot, a black Hummer. The Rehabilitation of Anything That’s Not Human Brigade had arrived as silently as the gas guzzling vehicle allowed, spilling forth the ominously uniformed figures bristling with all the latest in ‘take out the demon’ technology. The sight of them brought back home to Spike the overstepping of many boundaries tonight, and that payment for his crimes might not be left to his mistress.

Buffy hadn’t let him be taken away without a fight though, of the verbal variety. Spike was still amazed, and warmed, by the Slayer’s defence of him. If someone had told him a week ago that a vampire slayer would be standing up for him he would have considered them ripe for the loony bin. But there she’d stood, head up and determined, as pretty as a picture in her little black frock.

Where she’d held herself still in the face of Angel’s forced submission and subsequent bondage – and Spike would have liked to have been the one to apply the chains and hood – the Slayer had become vocal and insistent that her vampire be left alone. All would have been fine and dandy if Dru’s murderer hadn’t put his oar in and levelled an assault charge in his direction. Bastard.

Spike knew what came next, how he’d been as stupid as Angel in his own way. Maybe it was a family trait. There was no avoiding the memory; it wouldn’t let him.

With nothing else to do but wait, his mind was determined to show him again and again what an idiot he’d been. Nothing could erase the Slayer’s shocked face as she’d turned to him, silently encouraging him with her eyes to refute the accusation. Nothing could make him forget his own inane response, driven from his mouth by some contrary impulse that should not have been given voice. Too late now to take back the words. Too late to wish he hadn’t been the one to add more hurt to Buffy’s already heaped plate. What had possessed him to be such a stupid git? Spike had no idea, but still he heard his own voice, almost defiant, replay in his head.

“What can I tell you? I’ve always been bad.”

***

Graq let himself in quietly, carefully wiping his booted feet on the doormat to remove the last of the grime from his traverse of the sewers. He’d stayed as long as possible, watching from the shadows until the men they’d knocked out earlier had started to stir and the Hummer belonging to the Rehabilitation of Hostile Sub Terrestrials Agency joined the three police vehicles crowded in front of the Slayer’s home. Then it was time to leave.

To his surprise, Miv was already up, sitting at her sewing table and labouring at her favourite project. Her small hands made light work of the minute stitches she plied, and she hummed softly to herself, only glancing up to smile as he entered their small apartment above ‘Suits You’, Miv’s profitable and exclusive tailoring business.

“You are back sooner than I expected,” the peacock hued Zra demon said, putting the strange garment down and rising to greet her mate. Concern coloured her gentle voice when she asked, “Did you succeed in your task, my love?”

Sighing, Graq gathered his diminutive mistress into his arms, absently stroking the soft down on her head and back with his scaled hands. “Not the success the Broker had hoped for, my sweet. The lawkeepers of the soft skins arrived at an inauspicious time and we had need to leave. The Broker has kept company with the Slayer, for there has been death of a female hybrid and interference from the dark hybrid from the City of Angels. He seeks to remove her pet, and his servants are powerful. Ow!” Miv’s sharp teeth had nipped him on the softer surface of his chest, and even through the heavy cotton shirt it was enough to cause an uncomfortable pain. “For what was that?”

Miv pulled from his embrace and mock frowned up at her beloved. “You still do not believe me, oh doubting one! The small hybrid is not a pet! He is the Companion of Prophecy…even if he is not whole right now. You shall see that I am right in this. We shall command much respect for our foresight and earn the right to walk in the Slayer’s light once the prophecy has come to pass.”

“So you keep telling me, Miv. But is this a good time to be openly allied to a soft skin? They are turning the hybrids into their slaves across this world, and how long before they set them against the rest of demonkind?” He moved to the couch, scooping a wriggling Miv up and settling her on his lap as he folded his long body down. “I suppose you’ll want me to tell you everything that happened now?” Her nodding head butted his chin lightly. And so he did.

He told how the hybrid was lured from the safety of the Slayer’s home, how – by the time the Broker and the rest of them had arrived – a hybrid had been ended, her dust collected. He spoke of the difficulty of stopping the soft skins from interfering without hurting their fragile shells, and all because they must not anger the Slayer. How things had looked to be going well when the dark one arrived, and the one Miv called the Companion had stood up to him with his demon to the fore. Graq relayed the entrance of the small Slayer upon the scene, together with the lawkeepers.

When he started to chuckle, loud deep guffaws that stopped him from continuing with his tale, Miv lost patience and pinched him in the belly to bring him back to himself – though truly, it was good to hear him amused as it so seldom happened.

“What brings this on? You stop before you have finished and I wish to know more,” she murmured in his hearing opening, licking around it in just the way he liked, to show her annoyance was small, but only for a moment lest he become too distracted to continue.

“Ah, you should have seen it, Miv,” Graq smiled as he remembered the look on the dark one’s face – such indignation! “We were leaving about then, just as the Broker had said should the lawkeepers come upon us. But I could not stop my curiosity – and knew you would want every detail – so I waited a while longer and saw the dark one brought to his knees when he defied the law. Then the shaman disappeared –“

“Shaman? What shaman? You did not mention this before!” she said heatedly. Honestly, ask a male to do one small thing and… Ah! But when they know just where to scratch… “Stop trying to divert me! You are saying that the dark one brought a shaman with him?”

Graq nodded, keeping a claw rubbing along the nape of her neck. “Hush, female, and let me finish. The dark hybrid would not listen and was brought down by the sizzle sticks and spark throwers of the lawkeepers. This made the Slayer content and cheered the Companion…but not all his sadness was gone. The Broker was smoothing the way when more lawkeepers arrived and arguments commenced. The lawkeepers wished to take all to their place of judgement, which the Slayer was not happy with – especially when they laid hands on the Companion and bound him.”

Miv tsked and nodded her understanding of the Slayer’s displeasure; she would have felt the same if any being had treated Graq so.

“The Favoured of the Earth Mother left the house then and came to stand with the Broker and the Slayer. When I left the hybrids were being placed in a vehicle to be transported.” He paused and tipped Miv’s chin up so he could look into her silver eyes. “Sweetling, I had to leave then and could find out no more for you. Those Who Pervert arrived and was best I did not linger.”

Both her hearts nearly stopped at mention of those who still followed the path of the organisation responsible for the deaths of her mate’s kin. His two siblings had been taken four years ago, parts of them incorporated into Adam…and others. It had been a tragic ending to what should have been a dimension hopping treat for the close knit kin. Even worse, Graq had been stranded, his brother being the only one with the knowledge to return them back home. If Miv hadn’t found him when she did… She shuddered delicately, tightening her arms about the one who had come to mean so much to her.

“You did right,” she asserted, licking delicately about his mouth before bestowing a kiss upon his thin lips. “Come, let me show you how pleased I am…before you go back to the Broker’s tavern and wait for news.”

The groan from Graq was part disappointment that he would need to leave her side so soon, but more – much more – in anticipation of the demonstration of her pleasure. Grinning, he stood, cradling his precious cargo in his arms, and made his way to their sleeping place. He thanked again whatever powers there were that he had been fortunate enough to be taken in by such a being as his Miv.

***

She was a fool, a total and utter fool.

Buffy felt sick to her stomach, and she wasn‘t sure how much of it was caused by hunger…and how much was due to concern for Spike.

It was all her fault. She’d been such a fool and now she could lose him…and Buffy wasn’t nearly ready for that to happen. Not when he’d only just come back into her life, woken her. Saved her. And he didn’t even know what he’d done, or what he’d come to mean to her. Hell, even she barely knew what he meant to her, just that he did. Mean something. A lot of something.

She knew she’d have to examine her feelings more fully at some point, but not now. Not when everything she had was willing the outcome currently being weighed in Lieutenant Bradley’s office to tip in her favour. Their favour.

When Tara had been able to explain the awfulness that had taken place in her absence, how Angel had played her for a fool, and the way Spike had put himself out there for her…

If she’d had half a brain she’d have sent Angel packing when she opened the door tonight. ‘Nice seeing ya, Angel. Nope, Spike is not for sale…or anything else. Bye.’ Short. To the point. Succinct. But no, she’d had to play along with him, wanting to get a few answers to some questions, and maybe try to see for herself the changes that must have taken place for him to be the way Spike had described in painful detail. Damn.

Tara’s knee nudged hers. “You all right?”

Summoning a small smile from somewhere, Buffy tried to reassure her friend. “As right as a dumb dyed blonde ever is.” She sighed. “I’m doing all that hindsight and useless wishful thinking thing that is just not gonna help after the event has taken place.” Fidgeting on the bench – one obviously crafted by a demon to make people suffer – Buffy glanced over at the lone person still being interviewed by the police. “If I’d known that what’s his name - Smith – had tricked Spike into leaving the house by threatening Drusilla and me, I’d have –“

“Buffy,” Tara said, lightly touching Buffy’s hand as it rested on top of the purse on her lap, “it’s my fault for taking so long to come out. But Willow was all for squeezing Smith a bit too hard with the binding spell and needed a bit of persuasion not to.”

“Honestly? I almost wish you hadn’t stopped her,” Buffy replied, but at the disapproving look settling on Tara’s face hastily added, “Though that would have been a bad thing, totally bad and not something that Willow should be doing at all.”

Seeing the Wiccan’s lips twitch in reluctant amusement Buffy managed a slightly bigger smile. “Okay. I’m going down to get a soda and give my butt some time away from this torture device they somehow think is suitable seating. Want anything?”

“Oh, tea if they have any.”

“You got it.” Buffy rose and made her way down the stairs to the front entrance and the vending machines. Passing the front desk, she smiled absently at the desk sergeant and almost bumped into a woman hurrying from the other direction.

“Ooops! Sorry,” she said, hands steadying the tall, suited woman carrying a doctor’s bag.

The woman gave a distracted smile. “My fault,” she assured briskly. “More haste, less speed and all that.” And then she sidestepped Buffy to reach the desk. “You paged me, Vince?”

“Sure did, Doctor Munroe,” Vince agreed. “Just a standard check on an unchipped vamp they brought in tonight. His status is a bit up in the air right now, but the Agency wants the formalities taken care of in case they get to remove him.” He pulled a clipboard and a bunch of keys from under the desk and passed them to her. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Vince,” Fanny Munroe said, tucking the clipboard under one arm and taking the keys before turning to find the small blonde woman she’d almost bumped into blocking her path.

“You’re a doctor? For vampires?” Buffy mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that maybe tonight was taking a turn for the better. At the woman’s confused look and sharp nod, she drew a deep breath and produced her most winning smile. “Please, I wonder if you can help me. I have a vampire down there and there’s something wrong with him…”

***

Spike paused in the contemplation of his own ending – where he was torn between hoping that the Slayer would not be there to see him dust, and wanting her to be the one to do the deed - just long enough to note the entrance of a middle-aged woman wearing a white lab coat. It was the last knock on the barrier he’d erected around his taking and neutering, and a flood of unpleasant memories washed over him as he dipped his head and closed his eyes, taking a few minutes to shove blocks back into place as best he could.

He couldn’t close his ears though, and the electrified glass door of Angel’s cell sliding open vaguely registered, followed by the murmur of the woman’s voice a few moments later. The odd word broke through his distasteful and involuntary reverie, making it difficult to fret in a seemly manner when ‘laceration’ and ‘abrasion’ shattered his concentration.

After a few minutes the voice fell silent, the door of the cell closing as quietly as it had opened. Spike waited for the woman to leave so that he could resume his absorbed reflection of the cock up he’d made of his last chance, but it soon became clear that she had other ideas.

“Spike, I believe.”

She was standing in front of his cell, the guard beside her. From the cool appraisal in her eyes he’d been weighed and found decidedly lacking. Tough. However, there was nothing to be gained from pissing her off, so he inclined his head, keeping his expression carefully blank. Something he’d had much practice of.

“Miss Summers has engaged me in a professional capacity to conduct an examination. She has assured me that you will be compliant, and I am willing to take her word, for now.” Spike could hear the threat readying itself. “But, should you decide to resist – in any way – I shall be forced to solicit the services of others to ensure that her wishes are carried out. Is that quite clear?”

Fanny couldn’t understand why the young woman was so concerned about the creature before her. There was little to recommend him apart from startlingly blue eyes and some fine cheekbones. Other than that he was small, thin and looked more like a prison inmate than an exceptionally strong preternatural being. Now if it had been the fine specimen in the adjoining cell… She shook off her personal preferences and observed dispassionately the slight nod of affirmation given by the vampire.

The creature was gratifying obedient until they entered the room put aside for her use. At the first sight of the metal examination table - complete with straps for limbs and neck - he balked, trying to back away as his body was beset by trembling and his head shook in denial from side to side. It was on the tip of her tongue to instruct the guard to stun him when he took a shuddering breath.

Spike swallowed. Did the Slayer know how invasive and humiliating his previous ‘examinations’ had been? Not like he had a choice though; he knew from experience that any sign of refusal or rebellion on his part would just call for force to be used, and that would only make the whole thing even more disagreeable. From somewhere inside he found the strength to move forward, taking the steps necessary to reach the side of the table. Spike waited for the next instruction, knowing full well what it would be.

“Remove your clothing and get up on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The doctor turned, pulling across a folded screen before he could hear her moving to the other side of the room.

Straightening, squaring his shoulders, Spike began to remove the clothes he’d just become used to wearing again. Soon, a neat pile rested on a chair against the wall and he forced himself to hop up onto the surface, now covered by a sheet, and lay down. The guard was firm, but not forceful, as he pulled straps over Spike’s neck, wrists and ankles, making the bonds tight but not overly uncomfortable He was surprised when the guard impersonally covered Spike’s nudity with a blanket, pulled up to his shoulders, before slipping out from behind the screen. Throughout it all the man stayed silent.

Spike could feel panic surging, trying to take a grip, and forced it away. His helplessness was nothing new, but his relative freedom since the Slayer had chosen him made what had been a habitual state even harder to bear. Blinking rapidly he tried to convince himself that Buffy wouldn’t want him harmed, not even when he’d disobeyed her and added to her problems by attacking the wanker who’d finished Dru. Stood to reason she wouldn’t bother getting the doc to look at him if she’d washed her hands of him…didn’t it? Uncertainty replaced the panic, just in time for the return of the doctor.

Fanny pulled a small trolley from the wall and placed it next to the table before moving to the small sink in the corner and thoroughly washing her hands. Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, she looked down at the vampire. Having read his file it was easier to understand the fear he was trying hard not to show. His control over his demon was quite remarkable. Maybe she could see why Miss Summers showed such personal concern for him after all.

Pulling back the blanket to his waist exposed the wounds she’d been requested to give her attention to. His general state of malnutrition further answered the question of why his mistress was worried and Fanny could not but approve of her sensible husbandry.

“Ah.”

Her gloved hands moved gently from one inflamed cut to another, careful not to cause any further discomfort. Fanny had seen this before, but not for a year or so now. She just needed to take some tissue to confirm her suspicions. Without thinking, she reached for a scalpel from the trolley, feeling the vampire tense as she did so.

“I’m going to take a small amount of skin from the outer area of one of these lacerations, and a swab from the centre of the inflammation. It will be uncomfortable, but not painful.” Fanny decided to explain. She felt him relax, glancing at his face to find his eyes fixed upon her. His nod felt like permission, not that she’d needed it, but it was good to know he wouldn’t be causing trouble. Moments later she had her samples – a small hiss the only sound made as she removed a small amount of skin - and methodically readied them for inspection, questioning the vampire as she did.

“When was the last time you ate, the type of blood and the quantity?”

Spike let relief sweep the tension out of him as he settled in to answer the doc’s questions. That hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as he’d thought it would be.

***

Lieutenant Bradley pulled the last of the statements from Revello Drive across the desk. This just confirmed the majority so far. It looked like the whinging sleazoid outside, Smith, had not been strictly honest with them. Nothing new there; his long years in the force had shown him that even the most honest citizen was miserly with the truth on occasion. So what could he expect from a lawyer?

The fax from London had come through twenty minutes ago. It confirmed some organisation called the Council of Watchers had purchased the disputed vampire, Hostile Seventeen, and that Miss Summers was indeed his keeper. One thing sorted at least.

The same organisation had confirmed the other vampire’s status too; Miss Summers was proving to be a font of knowledge where vampires were concerned. So now he was just waiting for a Senior Partner from Wolfram & Hart to get back to him on Angel’s – and what sort of name was that for a member of the undead? – position within their company before deciding what to do about the pile of charges against him. Assault, theft and resisting arrest were at the top of the list.

If Smith would just drop the assault charge against Hostile Seventeen he could return the vampire to the young woman who’d been waiting pretty patiently for the last few hours…and he knew just how uncomfortable that bench was. She and her friend had refused to leave when he’d tried to encourage them to earlier. For some reason Miss Summers thought he’d do something to her vampire without telling her, and none of his assurances to the contrary had had the slightest effect.

In a way he could sympathise with her suspicions, seeing as the vamp in question was down to his last chance. Normally assault would earn a vampire a thorough whipping, enough to dissuade the critter from trying it again. Or a good bout of chip firing, though that had resulted in a few inadvertent dustings when brains had become irreparably frazzled.

If it were only Smith’s word for the assault he’d have been tempted to ignore it. But it wasn’t. His two henchmen had corroborated his version of events – another two being found unconscious at the rear of Miss Summers’ property - and even the statements from neighbours had mentioned the small vampire throwing himself towards the lawyer. Though Miss Summers was adamant Seventeen had just been obeying her orders to remain on her property when she was away - and he couldn’t charge a vamp for following its master’s instructions.

Also in Seventeen’s favour was the statement from one of Sunnydale’s leading entrepreneurs and bastion of the Chamber of Commerce. Willy was not in the habit of going out of his way for just anyone, so Buffy Summers must rank quite highly in his estimation for him to bother. The sudden ringing of his phone was a welcome distraction.

“Yeah?”

A grin spread over his face at the news from the lab. It looked like Mr Smith’s weapon had contained some very unorthodox ammunition, and the technician was talking law suits for failing to disclose the lethal substance coating each doctored shell. That was all he needed to substantiate Miss McClay’s statement of intent to murder.

“Owe you a drink, Rosie. You done good, and one young lady is gonna be mighty happy. Catch you later.”

He rose and crossed his office to open the door. Two blonde heads instantly looked his way, and he beckoned for them to join him as the fax machine came to life. There was only time to catch the letterhead – Wolfram & Hart – before he was joined by the two young women, both looking strained. Ushering them in, he indicated that they should be seated before leaning out of his door.

“Be with you directly, Mr Smith.”

***

Spike had never dressed so quickly in his unlife – and that was saying something. The doctor had released him herself before leaving the room, clipboard full of answers tucked under her arm. Her brusque manner wouldn’t be suited to the bedside of a sick patient, but it served well enough for him.

He’d barely finished pulling his blue tee back on before the guard was back to escort him to his cell, giving him a chance to see Angel coming to, and getting a reaction from his demon for the first time since he’d been locked up.

They’d removed Peaches’ leather hood, but nothing else, and it would have been mildly diverting to watch as he struggled to roll into a better position with the multitude of chains loaded onto him. Unfortunately, Spike was firmly guided into his own small piece of isolation and the chance to have a minor gloat was lost.

An alarm sounded just as his cell door locked into place, quickly followed by darkness as the light disappeared. A few moments later the emergency lighting kicked in and a dull red glow bathed the area like blood.

What the hell was going on?

***

The decision, when it came, wasn’t difficult. Annoying for their plans to have been thwarted by the ineptitude of their own tool, but trying to get the staff nowadays was proving unusually difficult. It appeared the most able were throwing in their lot with the Initiative.

Smith had been a huge disappointment and was, even now, enjoying the price of failure. Letting go of their immediate goal for Angel was a setback only acceptable due to their depth of experience with multiple methods of removing pelts…or whatever passed for a covering of the flesh. And, because Plan H had been almost presented to them as a gift when the Initiative contacted Wolfram & Hart requesting confirmation of Angel’s status, they were able to take some small measure of consolation that the souled vampire was still within their grasp. It was entirely possible that Angel, with the addition of a specifically modified chip, would be the answer to all their setbacks in bringing forth Angelus.

Instructing the shaman to dissolve the spell currently affecting the vampire’s soul – let him stew in remorse for a while – the Senior Partners dismissed the magic wielder, and settled in to discuss their new strategy.

The chalice was half full and they only needed to find the best way to make it brim over.

***

Acknowledging the promise of the Lieutenant to be with him soon, he relaxed back into his chair, hoping his inner turmoil wasn’t reflected on his face. Smith had had his work cut out so far, and he feared his best efforts were not going to cut it with the Senior Partners. What should have been a simple operation had fallen apart - and then some. His main objective, despite what Angel thought, had been to remove the seer.

When she’d willingly sought out Angel, several months earlier, no one had been overly concerned; Angel was pleased to have her company and her presence in his unlife had made him easier to…guide. That had all changed when the crazy vampire had started to babble about visions she was experiencing.

Nothing new, per se, except Drusilla had insisted they were sent to her by the Powers That Be, and that Angel should drop everything to go out into the night and save the helpless. Luckily, for all concerned, her words had fallen on deaf ears. But her recently increased persistence had signed her death warrant, as her usefulness had become far outweighed by the likelihood that, sooner or later, Angel would start to pay heed.

The subtle spell which was allowing Angelus more influence over the conscience of his soul needed more time to settle before the barrier could be torn down completely. Until then, the adulterated prophecy he’d been fed was keeping the vampire obsessed enough to allow the firm to run its usual business without any unwelcome meddling.

He tried to focus on what the officer across from him was saying - something about the charges being brought against Angel. Smith opened his mouth to, yet again, put his case against Hostile Seventeen when a burning sensation blossomed in his gut. The initial thought of too much spicy food was swiftly tossed aside when the burn became fiery agony and he doubled over with a cry. Distantly, he could hear a voice calling to him, and attempted to answer as he stood and staggered a few steps before falling to his knees, gasping as the pain took over and stole his breath away.

Something was burning.

It took moments for Smith to understand it was him. And by then it was too late.

***

“Thank you so much,” Buffy said, releasing her grasp on Lieutenant Bradley’s hand at his pained expression. “Sorry!”

She was turning to leave, eager to reclaim Spike and get the hell out of there, when the question was forced from her. “Can you tell me what is going to happen to the other vampire, to Angel?”

The lieutenant shrugged slightly, his eyes drifting towards the lawyer still in the process of interview outside. “That will depend on the final… What the hell!”

Tara and Buffy stepped out of his way as he dashed from the room, following closely behind. Smith had risen from his seat and stumbled as a noxious smell permeated the air accompanied by a shrill keening.

“Mr Smith, are you all right? Mr Smith!”

Tara clutched Buffy’s hand and they watched, horrified, as smoke then flames burst forth from the man. The two policemen had approached but were now being beaten back as the heat from the writhing figure intensified. Alarms sounded and the sprinkler system was initiated as the billowing smoke touched the ceiling.

Keeping a firm grasp on Tara’s hand, Buffy pulled her friend to the side and started to work her way around the flaming mass that used to be a person, trying not to choke on the acrid fumes as furniture and paper started to smoulder and ignite. The internal rain soaking through her dress was having no effect on the rapidly growing conflagration.

Losing the lights made Buffy pause momentarily, but her eyes adjusted quickly and she’d already tugged Tara with her to the exit before the emergency lighting had a chance to come on. Satisfied that the two men were making their way to the stairs too, she hurried down and through the deserted entrance hall into the night, joining the small crowd already evacuated from the building. The cool night air on wet clothes and skin immediately had them shivering.

All eyes were trained on the second storey where flames could be seen dancing higher in the shimmering air within. Sirens sounded in the near distance as the emergency services closed on the scene, cutting their way through the small amount of traffic cluttering Sunnydale’s roads at this hour.

Tara had had enough excitement for one night. She’d already called Willow twice to keep her up to date and had hoped to have returned to her by now, eager to let the tranquillity of their home wash away the stress of the day. Seeing that man, hearing him… Reaction was setting in, shock freezing her as much as the chill air on her wet clothes, and Tara felt the shaking intensify.

“Spike! He’s still inside.” Buffy was not immune to her friend’s state, but the vampire was in more dire need right now. She just had to get him out of there. “Wait here,” she tossed over her shoulder, dodging the desk sergeant as he waved a clipboard to block her path.

“You can’t go back in there, Miss!”

Too late. Buffy was already in, treading carefully in the eerie red light as she started the search for Spike.

***

A blanket was draped over her shoulders, and Tara turned to find a tall woman standing behind her, hands falling back to her sides.

“I noticed you come out with Miss Summers. Are you a friend?”

Tara nodded slowly, unable to speak through the chattering of her teeth.

Fanny wasn’t happy about having to do this, but she had an early appointment in the morning and there was no knowing how long her client was going to be delayed if her initial guess – that she was removing her vampire – was accurate. The best she could do was pass on the information to Miss Summers’ friend and do a follow-up tomorrow. Vampires had the same amount of patient confidentiality as a dog, so no moral codes were being broken, after all. Without further ado, Doctor Munroe summarised her findings, making the odd note as she did so, and then sealed the notes - and some other documents - into an envelope before handing it to the trembling woman.

They’d moved away from the main entrance as she spoke, removing themselves from impeding the fire crews, now loudly arrived and tackling the blaze. Controlled activity was overlaid with cries and shouts as instructions were issued and acknowledged. From the flames now erupting into the night sky, it would be some time before the fire was under control.

Casting a critical eye over the pale young woman, whose name she didn’t know, and who was unlikely to be telling her - judging from the way tremors were racking her body - Fanny decided to do one more thing before leaving.

“You need to get away from here. You’ll catch a nasty chill if you don’t get dry and warm soon. Can I give you a lift?” A decisive shake answered her. “Call someone for you?” A small hesitation, then a nod. The bedraggled woman pulled out a cellphone with a violently trembling hand and passed it to her. A single finger lifted, and Fanny hit the speed dial #1.

“Hello? I’m Doctor Munroe and I’m calling on behalf of…” She quirked a questioning eyebrow, but it was plain she was not going to get a response; the poor girl looked just about done in. “I’m sorry, I don’t know her name and she’s not able to tell me.” A shriek and babble greeted this and Fanny firmly spoke over the hysterical response her words were eliciting. “No, she is not in a hospital. Tara…” A quick nod. “…was inside the Police Department when a fire broke out. She’s wet, cold and in need of dry clothing and warmth as soon as possible. Can you come to collect her? Buffy? She’s collecting her vampire right now. I don’t know how long she’s going to be but she should be out by the time you arrive.” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait here until you arrive. Miss…?” The connection had been broken.


Passing the phone back to Tara, Fanny looked around for somewhere more secluded for them to wait for Tara’s friend. Putting her arm around her temporary charge’s shoulders, she guided her across the street to a more suitable location, one where they would still be able to see Miss Summers when she deigned to come back out.

Fanny just hoped it would be soon.

***

Spike paced, as much as he was able in the small cell. The alarms hadn’t stopped yet, indicating this wasn’t a drill. Whatever was happening up there he just hoped the Slayer and Tara were all right.

The guard had left the moment the emergency lighting came on, pulling a large torch from his desk drawer on his way. Nothing about him pointed to this being anything to be concerned about, but Spike thought the man had such a taciturn nature it would take an apocalypse to wring a response out of him. Not completely reassuring.

When he didn’t return, and a faint smell of burning laced through the air, it didn’t take a genius to come up with the answer to why his hearing was starting to suffer from the continuous ringing. The only good thing about it was its ability to drown out most of the groans and rattling coming from Peaches as he surfaced from unconsciousness.

Not going to panic. Not going to panic!

And he didn’t. Right up until the moment he looked out of his cell as he pivoted and found himself facing them. Six of them. Wearing the uniform most likely to cut through any composure he possessed and render him frozen with apprehension. Spike couldn’t move, couldn’t think. A small voice was screaming at him to get down on his knees, to remember his training, but his legs didn’t belong to him anymore and he felt immobilised by the contemptuous stares casually thrown his way.

The alarm stopped.

“What’s happening? Where am I?”

Spike found he no longer rated their notice as all heads turned to Angel’s cell and, without a word being spoken, they moved forward as one. They were going to take Peaches, and despite everything, all the reasons he had to hate his grandsire, all the retribution Spike longed to dish out, he couldn’t find it in himself to want this for the old git. No one and nothing deserved the nightmare that was going to be Angel’s lot. And there was not a sodding thing he could do about it.

Again, the sound of the cell door opening, quickly followed by a tzzing sound and a grunt. The clank of links and a scraping noise heralded the return of the commandos, now dragging an again unconscious Angel by the heels. Spike waited for them to pass him by, but was not surprised when they halted and fixed him with cold-eyed contemplation.

“What do you think? Do we take this one too?”

Enough. Spike had had enough. Over the past few days he’d been from hell to heaven…and back down again. He’d take one of two options – dust or Buffy. The Slayer being his choice, should he be given one. But there was no way he was going to let this bunch of sadistic wankers take him, not even if his head blew off from his chip firing.

He didn’t remember shifting, but the fangs and steady growling were proof enough that he had. A burst of energy flowed through his body and he shrugged, loosening muscles, bouncing lightly on his toes. The bloody light was as clear as day now he was seeing through vampiric eyes, watching as one of them reached to trigger the release mechanism for his cell, readying himself to launch an attack before the first taser could bring him down.

Then there was nothing but joy, a fierce consuming joy. He felt her. She was here. Buffy.

A cough and tapping foot sounded behind the commandos. Spinning, they narrowly avoided firing at the small blonde standing in the entrance. Her sodden black dress clung to her frame, and straggles of wet hair hung around her face. She was beautiful…and angry. Though her expression softened perceptibly as she looked past them to the vampire they’d been about to acquire.

“Um, guys? Sorry to spoil your fun. But that one’s mine.”

***

A/N: Hope this entertained. Will do best to update a lot sooner next time. BFN