Misery Loves Company

Spike tried his best to focus on the hot blood filling his mouth and ignore the wiggling and whimpering of the young woman he held and finally have a proper feed, but no such luck.

'Buffy won't like this,' whispered through his head.

'Buffy's a vamp now, you sod,' he thought back, then growled at himself, he had no intention of revisiting his insanity of the year before, and tightened his hold on the girl.

"Please," she whispered and his resolve shattered.

"Bloody hell!" he swore as he shoved the girl away before whirling and slamming a fist into the brick wall behind him.

Spike glared at his injured hand, muttering angrily to himself until he became aware that his almost-victim was still in the alley. Growling at her stupidity, he turned on her.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Go home!"

Jumping like a startled deer, the young woman ran toward the mouth of the alley.

"And take a cab!" he called after her. " 'M not the only nasty lurkin' about."

Expecting to impart that last bit of advice to empty air, Spike was surprised to find that the woman was still in the alley, looking at him.

"What now?" he asked, irritated. Spike just wanted her to leave so he could forget this whole 'effin' night had ever happened.

"I don't have any money," she
replied meekly.

"Oh, for the love of ... " Spike grumbled and thrust his uninjured hand into his jeans pocket, pulling out the roll of cash he'd discovered in the glovebox of the car he'd nicked the previous night. Separating a fifty from the bundle he held it out to her.

"This do ya?"

Nodding, the woman came just close enough to pluck the bill from his outstreached fingers before once again barreling toward the mouth of the alley, nearly mowing down Buffy as she rounded the corner.

"Still no kill?" the former slayer asked as she reached his side.

He sighed, giving her his What-do-you-think? face.

"Don't worry about it," she soothed, pulling a stolen blood bag out of the duffel she carried and handing it to him. "At least you got a bite in. I mean, that's something, right?"

"I dunno how much more of this I can take, pet," he admitted before draining the bag and tossing it away.

"It's just ... old habits dying hard," Buffy replied, not sure who she was trying to convince more, and grabbed a bag for herself. "Very hard."



Miscommunication



The ringing of the telephone startled Giles out of his dark thoughts and he lunged for the machine, diving across his desk and knocking over a large stack of very old books in the process.

"Buffy?" he asked hopefully, bringing the reciever to his ear.

"No, it's me," Angel's voice replied.

"Oh, Angel. Yes, what can I do for you?" the Watcher asked, trying to scramble into a more dignified position, as though the vampire could see him, but only succeeded in tumbling off of the desk.

"Are you okay?" Angel asked at the 'thump' and string of British profanities emanating from his reciever.

"Yes, quite all right," Giles replied calmly, though he could feel his face heating. He shot a dirty look toward the nearly empty bottle of Scotch sitting innocently on his desk, one of the few things still on it seeing as how he'd brought both the stack of antique books, as well as the phone, to the floor with him.

"You're sure?"

"Of course," Giles assured as he picked himself up. "And, um, the reason for your call?"

"Right," Angel replied, back on track. "Giles, I don't know how to tell you this but ... Buffy's a vampire."

"Yes, I'm afraid that we know that," Giles said, sadly.

"She sired Spike," the vampire continued.

"Angel," Giles said, frowning. "Drusilla sired Spike."

"The first time."

"Spike is dead, Angel," Giles said slowly.

"Yeah, now."

"For some time," the Watcher continued. "He died closing the Hellmouth."

"I know," Angel insisted. "Then he was in L.A. He saved Fred and took my Shanshu."

Shanshu?

"Angel, talk to this Fred chap. I'm sure he just mistook someone else for Spike."

"He's a woman," Angel tried to clarify.

"Spike's a woman?"

Giles was totally lost.

"No, Fred," Angel said slowly, as though talking to a child. "Spike was a ghost. He saved Fred then Buffy turned him back into a vampire."

"Angel, I think you need some time away from Wolfram & Hart," Giles coaxed.

"But Spike and Buffy are killing ... "

"Get some rest, old man," Giles cut him off. "We'll speak later."

"But, Giles ... "

The line had gone silent and Angel frowned at the reciever.

"What was that all about?" Gunn asked as Angel hung up the phone.

The vampire shook his head sadly.

"Giles knows that Buffy's a vampire. I don't think that his mind survived the trauma."

"So there's an unhinged Watcher in charge of thousands of Slayers all around the world?" Lorne asked. "Why does that strike me as not good?"

"Lorne's right," Wesley agreed. "The new Council is only in its infancy and needs a firm, sane hand controlling it. Something must be done."

(Across the ocean)

Giles hung up the phone and removed his glasses, scrubbing at the lenses with the hem of his shirt.

"What did Dead Boy wnat?" Xander asked from the doorway, causing Giles to jump in surprise.

Slipping the glasses back on, Giles focused on the young man and Willow as they entered the office.

"How much did you hear?" he asked, bending to pick the books up and put them back on the desk.

"Enough to think that Angel has seriously lost it."

"It would appear that Buffy visited Angel in Los Angeles. I don't believe that Angel's mind survived seeing her as a vampire."

Willow sat down heavily, mind rushing through the implications.

"Oh, Goddess."

"Call me crazy," Xander stated. "But an unhinged Dead Boy running Evil Inc. is seriously not of the good."

"Quite right," Giles agreed. "I fear that something must be done."