Chapter Five: Grr! Aargh!

The Scoobies arrived at Spike's crypt and hovered uncertainly outside.

"Should we knock?" Willow asked. "We should knock. Does Buffy knock?"

"It would be polite, I guess." Tara replied, doubtful.

"C'mon guys, its only Spike." Xander shoved the door open.

Willow frowned. "Are you sure? It doesn't seem right, just walkin' on in. I mean, he has to be invited to get in anywhere."

"He doesn't anymore," Anya commented as they followed Xander inside. "Not being restricted by vampire rules must be very liberating for him."

They all came to an abrupt halt and stared at the ten-foot, trussed-up warbling Keratos demon perched unsteadily on Spike's armchair.

"That's new," Anya said.

Xander blinked. "Yeah. And every home should have one 'cause they're so handy."

"What is it?" Tara was riveted to the spot, unable to take her eyes from the improbable scene. She hugged herself protectively.

"Guessin' that it's Spike's pal, the Keratos demon guy." Willow walked around slowly to stand in front of the beast. "Don't know why he's the one tied up, though. Wasn't Drusilla-? Oh." She halted. "Oh no."

"Should we, you know, untie him?" Tara asked. "He doesn't look too comfortable. And he keeps making that noise."

"Maybe we should wait for Spike," Anya suggested. "I mean, it's his demon."

"It's not a pet, honey," Xander informed her. He thrust his hands into his pockets and eyed the demon. "Although ... he's sort of cute in a non-fluffy, monstrous demon kinda way." He looked up eagerly. "Can we keep him?"

Willow leant forward and gingerly unwound a small section of cable, creating enough leeway for Apollyon to open his mouth and breach the remaining bonds. His strident howling began all over again, leaving the gang to do little but peer at each other with their hands clasped tightly over their ears.

Spike suddenly burst from the trapdoor opening and shouldered his way past Willow, rapidly moving to replace the cables. After securing the final knot, he turned to confront the group.

"Bloody hell!" he exploded, the furious glitter in his eyes motivating the witch to take a cautious step backward. "Whose bright idea was that?"

He glared at Buffy as she emerged from the tunnel, having clearly just said something defamatory in his mind. They waged a wordless battle for a few minutes, eyes flashing, then Spike hooked his thumbs in his belt and tilted his head defiantly.

Buffy stood firm and folded her arms, her jaw set.

"Oh, alright then." Spike gave the Scoobies a disgusted glance and wandered over to sit atop his sarcophagus. He lit a cigarette and stared moodily at the Keratos.

Buffy watched him with suspicion for a moment, and then turned back to the Scoobies. She gave them a wide smile. "What's up?"

"Besides the decibel level?" Xander anxiously tapped at the side of his head.

"I can't hear anything." Anya declared in a very loud voice. "I'm deaf. Is anyone else deaf?"

"Why is she asking the question if she won't be able to hear the bloody answer?" Spike pondered aloud, squinting at the former vengeance demon through a cloud of smoke.

"I thought I told you to stay out of this," Buffy cautioned.

"You don't dictate to me, Summers. Not big on the whole order-takin' vibe."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Willow, who raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"Don't ask." Buffy sighed. "What's with the group outing?"

"Oh, um, we've kinda got a Serpiente-related problem," Willow grimaced apologetically.

"Another one," Anya inserted, still speaking much louder than necessary.

Buffy felt Spike's approach. "Don't suppose you Scoobies've found the magical cure-all?" he asked, coming to a halt at her shoulder.

"No." The redhead's brow creased. "It's just, Giles is actin' kinda ... he's a little..."

"Vampirey." Tara supplied, helpfully. "With the yellow eyes and stuff."

"I'm really worried," Willow continued. "What if he gets all, you know, Grr?" She curved her fingers into a claw to demonstrate. "He hasn't got a chip like Spike does. He could hurt someone."

"Kinda doubtful, Red," Spike said, trying to reassure her. "My soul didn't make a miraculous reappearance, so I'd lay odds he's still intact." He smiled. "Rupes is more likely to act like His Royal Peachiness than some fresh-turned newbie."

"Spike's right." Buffy had the disturbing urge to lean against her misfit of a link-partner for support and threw a comforting arm around Willow's shoulders instead. "Giles would never hurt anyone, Will. Not if he could help it."

She glanced at Apollyon and suddenly realized that the demon had stopped whimpering.

Spike sensed her astonishment and was starting toward the Keratos before she could even finish processing the thought. He halted in front of the demon and narrowed his eyes, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He took a deep drag and then leant forward threateningly.

"You all done?" he asked, blowing smoke across the demon's nostrils, his voice low and thick with menace, "'Cause you start up that caterwaulin' again and I'll kill you right quick."

The demon's startling green eyes rolled back into his enormous head and he collapsed backward, his sheer weight tipping the chair over with him.

Spike puffed out his chest. "Oh yeah. I still got it."

"That wasn't because of you." Buffy shook her head in disbelief. He was so full of it. "He's probably all traumatized or something."

"Yeah, by the Big Bad..."

"Hello? Not a real vampire anymore!"

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. He tossed his cigarette onto the floor and exhaled dejectedly, his head bowing. Buffy could feel his frustration, and the dark layer of unadulterated terror lurking beneath it. She sent him a little extrasensory hug and he looked up in surprise. Their eyes met ... and held.

Xander cleared his throat, not liking the sudden tension in the air. "What's with the overzealous yawping anyway? He always like that?"

Spike glared at him. Insolent whelp — if he didn't have this chip, he'd be the first one...

The thought earned him a mental slap from the Slayer and his glare instantly transformed to a delighted smile, completely disconcerting Xander.

"Spike's smiling at me," he complained. "Officially power-freaked now."

"Shut it, Harris," Spike said affably, managing to sound quite pleasant. "I haven't gone about testin' the chip yet. Mightn't work now I'm sportin' all these human-type qualities."

Xander's eyes bulged, though it was hard to determine whether it was because of the threat or the tone of voice with which it was issued. He took refuge behind Anya, who was opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, trying to get her ears to pop.

"Spike, behave," Buffy ordered, taking charge of the situation. "We're going back to the shop to check on Giles. Now."

Spike sneered, but she could sense that he was enjoying her show of authority. He seemed to have a thing for strong women.

Buffy cautiously prodded the unconscious demon, nudging him with her foot.

"Is he gonna be okay?" she asked Spike, automatically interacting via their link. She was actually beginning to appreciate being able to share these secret conversations with him.

"When he passed out in that bar in Mexico, I just up and left him there," Spike admitted. "Don't see how this is any different."

"Remind me never to go out drinking with you."

"Why is he all ... with the bondage?" Willow inquired curiously.

"And, again, that screamy thing?" Xander put in. "What's that about?"

"There's the poser children," Spike noted. "We'll be askin' the same of Dru when we get to trackin' her down."

Still having the persistent impulse to touch him, and giving in to it just this once, Buffy reached over and grabbed Spike's hand.

Surprisingly, he didn't make with the sarcastic comments, gently stroking the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand instead. It was nice.

And his skin really was remarkably smooth for someone as experienced and battle-hardened as he was.

She blinked. Okay, where had that come from?

"We'll fill you in on the way," she said to the gang, heading out of the crypt and dragging a very pleased-looking Spike along behind her.

~*[+]*~

The whole town was strangely dark. Or not so strangely, seeing that there was no moon and that all the streetlights were out.

Electrical disturbances usually heralded the arrival of some major league nasty and the group was well aware of it. They were a little more tense than usual, and it manifested as an elevated level of sniping.

"Well, I don't get it," Xander said. He was whispering to Anya, but it was loud enough for everyone else to hear because she kept telling him to speak up. "I know they're all linked and stuff, but the hand-holding? When did that happen?"

"Can't you belt him one?" Spike complained to Buffy in link-versation. "Just a little tap. Wouldn't take much. I'd do it, but I don't wanna risk a chip-zapping." He gestured vaguely toward his head. "Get the feelin' it might, you know, do a crossover."

"And since when did you decide that was a bad thing?" Buffy returned. "I thought you'd want me to see what it felt like. A chance to do a bit of damage."

"That was before."

"Oh, right," Buffy said cynically. "Before you realized you loved me."

"Before the sodding link, you nit." Spike became agitated. "I love you, yeah, but I've never once treated you like some delicate flower. You don't need coddlin'. Hell, you can protect yourself better than the average bloke."

Buffy stopped walking and stared at him. "Say that again."

"What? 'Average bloke'?"

She slugged him on the shoulder and he flailed back a few steps. "Hey!"

"You said it." Buffy pointed her finger at him accusingly, but it trembled a little. "I heard you. You actually said the words." His admission had been like a solid blow to the gut. She was having trouble drawing breath.

"You okay?" Spike was suddenly all attentive. "I can feel you strugglin' in there." He glanced back to the Scoobies, who had paused to watch their interchange. "And you're drawin' an audience."

Buffy continued to gape at him. "I didn't believe it, you know," she said. "Even after, when then link exploded. I could feel it, but I..." She shook her head, wonderment crossing her face. "It's really real. You really love me."

"Well, yeah." Spike was blushing again. Bloody human body. "Thought we'd pretty much established that."

"But it's wrong. It isn't supposed to be possible."

"Think I don't know that? Contrary to the popular belief 'round here, I'm not stupid." He sighed and stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek. "Doesn't feel wrong."

She blinked at him, wishing for some proper light so that she could really see him. Drown in those brilliant blue eyes of his and just ... Oops! Buffy, what are you doing? Focus!

She cleared her throat. "Right. Um, weren't we on a mission here?"

Spike smiled.

He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, but she hadn't taken the time to notice. He usually had that perpetual 'don't trust me, I'm up to something' look on his face.

"Oh dear," he lamented, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. "Forgettin' your Slayery duties?"

Buffy gave him her best 'drop-dead' look, and resumed walking.

~*[+]*~

Drusilla sat in a corner of the Old Mansion with her favorite porcelain doll in her arms. Its eyes had been removed.

Miss Edith was blinded — just as that Jezebel Slayer had blinded her lovely William. Her lovely, wicked baby. He reeked of her. It would take her some time to get rid of the stench, but it would be well worth it and they would be a family again.

Daddy was on his way. She had made sure of it. The invitations had been sent and all the guests were coming. It wouldn't do for the entertainment to be spoiled and the Slayer played all the best games.

She hummed to herself as she fashioned a ribbon to cover the doll's empty sockets.

"It will be perfect, my darling," she whispered conspiratorially to Miss Edith's blanked-out countenance. "But you mustn't tell, it would ruin the surprise."

~*[+]*~

Giles was beginning to worry himself. He paced up and down the Magic Box's floor like a caged animal, aware that something was profoundly wrong. He could feel the anger simmering through his system, and was finding it harder and harder to control.

It was not unlike that time he had been put under a spell and turned into a demon, although on this occasion he believed that there was no spell involved. This was Spike's fault.

He snarled, and then paused to contemplate the sound, startled to find it coming from his own throat.

Oh yes, this was definitely Spike's fault. He was exhibiting traits that were undoubtedly vampire-like. It was a short leap to the conclusion that it was as a result of the minimal contact that he'd had with Spike earlier. Another previously unheard-of Serpiente side effect.

Logically, in came down to the fact that some of Spike's demon element had been passed to Giles, just as Buffy's humanity had rubbed off on the vampire. It would be difficult to establish whether or not the situation could be reversed.

He looked up as the Scoobies arrived back at the shop. Xander and Anya barreled through the door, closely followed by Willow and Tara. It was the appearance of Spike that pushed him over the edge. Giles launched himself at the vampire, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd slipped into game face.

Spike reeled back, pivoted, and let fly with a vicious left that momentarily flattened the Watcher — and let the vampire know that the chip was still painfully operative.

"Ow!"

The cry came from Buffy and Spike simultaneously and they both clutched at their heads.

"See," Spike groaned to the Slayer. "Told you it'd do a crossover."

Buffy squinted at him. How did he take this? It was excruciating. Her eyes were watering.

Giles growled at them from the floor and Buffy stared down at him.

"Breathe," she instructed. "Count back from ten to one. Slowly."

Spike frowned at her. Had she been doing some prying when he wasn't looking? How did she know that was the precise method he used to calm himself down?

She smiled at him smugly and he narrowed his gaze. Bitch.

"I heard that."

"I know. Stop statin' the bleedin' obvious."

Giles was finally able to contain his rage enough for his game face to recede. "I am so very sorry," he said. "I'd like to say that I don't know what came over me, but that would be an outright lie."

Spike leant over the prone Watcher, his eyes narrowed meaningfully. "Not as simple as you thought, is it?" he asked.

"No, no. Certainly not." Giles pulled himself into a standing position and probed at the swelling on his jaw. "Quite the left hook, you've got there."

Spike shrugged. "Still runnin' on vamp-power, I guess."

"Have any other consequences surfaced?" Giles slipped seamlessly into Watcher Mode. "Anything else changed?"

"Just this latest interactive pain thing. Other than that, I'm still feelin' the need for McPlasma meals." Spike glanced at Buffy, who nodded in agreement.

"I can sense the craving," she said and gagged a little. "Wiggy doesn't even cover it, but I'm dealing." She stared at Giles intensely. "Speaking of..."

"I think I have adequately displayed my lack thereof," Giles shook his head. "I completely underestimated the potency of demon urgings." His gaze returned to Spike. "I'm amazed at your ability to control it."

Spike blushed again. He really had to get that under control. "I've lived with it for a bit longer," he said dismissively. "It gets easier." He glanced almost shyly at Buffy. "In some ways."

Buffy frowned. "Well, how about you cryptic that up?"

"Oh, for God's sake, spit it out," Anya said suddenly. "You're all so emotionally repressed. It's not healthy." She folded her arms defensively as they stared at her. "Well, it's not."

Spike sauntered away, perched himself several rungs up the ladder to the loft and lit a cigarette. He cleared his throat to make sure he had their undivided attention. "Right," he said. "Here goes then."

He pointed his cigarette-holding fingers at the group. "Fact one. This whole situation started 'cause I wanted to test a theory. Nothin' sinister, I just wanted to find out how Buffy truly felt about me is all."

The cigarette relocated to his mouth. "Fact two. Dru was behind the Serpiente. I had absolutely nothin' to do with it. Fact three..."

"Fact three," Buffy inserted. "The reason the Serpiente passed on to me, is because you're in love with me."

There was silence for a moment and then Xander started laughing.

"Good one, Buff," he applauded. Then he realized that no one else was sharing the hilarity. "What?" He peered around uncertainly. "She was joking. Right?"

"Unfortunately not," Giles said. "Spike seems to possess deep feelings that no-one believed his kind was capable of."

"You mean, our kind." Spike blew a smoke ring. "Seems I'm not the only one who's occasionally bumpy in the forehead region these days."

Giles rubbed at his brow, half-expecting the ridges to still be there. He could still feel the rage coursing through his body.

"But Spike ... I mean, he and -?" Xander stammered to a stop and sighed. "Wait. Why am I even surprised?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," Willow smiled indulgently at her lifelong best friend. "Hellmouth," she stated. "Explains everything. I mean, just look at who you're dating, Xander. A thousand-year-old ex-vengeance demon. Do you think that would be possible anywhere else in the world?"

"I'm guessing not." Xander smiled tenderly at Anya. "And lucky me for livin' in a Hellmouth-friendly area."

Spike snorted and stubbed out his cigarette on the handrail. He went to flick the butt to the floor, then thought better of it and tucked it into his pocket. He looked up to catch Buffy's knowing grin.

"Coward," she flung at him.

"Damn right," he sent back. "Don't want the Watcher gettin' all in a tizzy and settin' the chip off again."

"Well, I'm with you on that one." Buffy rubbed her temple, remembering the agony.

"Figured you would be."

Giles snarled again and they all turned to stare at him.

He appeared as stunned as they did. "Sorry," he apologized. "It just came out." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of feelings, Spike, what's the current status of your former paramour?"

"My what?" Spike blinked at him.

"He means Dru," Buffy said.

"Well, I know that. But 'paramour'? Who the bleedin' hell talks like that?"

"He's British," Xander put in. "You gotta allow for..."

"Hey, I'm British. I'm a sodding Londoner. I was around when everyone actually spoke like a bunch of prissy twits. What's his excuse?"

"Ignore him," Buffy advised Giles. "He's just trying to push your buttons to avoid the subject."

Spike glowered. She dismissed his ominous expression with a wave of her hand. "You can't intimidate me anymore, chipped wonder. Not that you were ever all that..."

Giles and Spike both growled in a tandem warning and then stared at each other in surprise.

"Whoa, surround-sound vamps," Xander remarked.

Willow and Tara giggled. Buffy ducked her head to avoid doing the same.

Spike swung back to her accusingly. "Hey, no cheek from you, Slayer," he cautioned.

"And again with the un-intimidation," she intoned. "Can we get back on-topic now?"

"Yes, of course." Giles massaged his forehead again, absently checking for ridges. "Drusilla?" he asked.

"Done a bunk," Spike gritted out. He should have been more alert. He of all people knew how slippery she could be.

"But not before doing something creepified to the Napoleon demon," Buffy added.

"Don't know what exactly," Spike continued. "Set him off like a sodding burglar alarm she did."

Giles hurried to rifle through a stack of books that he'd kept separate on the counter. He grabbed a volume and flipped to a book-marked page. "Was it a 'clamor of stentorian pipes, laden with despair'?"

"Nah, mate. It was bloody loud 'n all."

Giles frowned, reading. "When a Keratos demon begins issuing this sound, it is a sign of extreme psychic stress. Someone rather powerful was sending a signal. Is Drusilla capable of such strength?"

"Not without help. She's sighted, but it's only at parlor-trick level. Helpful, but not end-of-the-world stuff." Spike shifted on his perch. "'Course, she might've picked up a few things since I last saw her. Especially with the company she's been keepin'."

"Company?" Giles looked blank for a moment.

Spike stared pointedly.

"She did dump me for a Chaos demon," he stressed. "Moved on to a Fungus demon. Hell, for all I know, she was shacked up with Apollyon."

Buffy screwed up her nose, disgusted. She had a mental flashback of the enormous demon and her disgust deepened. "Ew! Thanks for the imagery Spike. I'll be having nightmares now."

"Join the club, Slayer."

The message was for her alone and she gazed at him, recalling the tormented memories she'd picked up from him before. His nightmares. Well, day-mares really.

"Do you think that you'll be getting my memories now the link's going both ways?" she suddenly asked him.

"Probably." He grinned at her. "Just don't be havin' any lurid dreams about the Incredible Hulking Moper right? Don't want him prancin' naked through my head."

Buffy broke up laughing, causing the rest of the group to stare at her like she was a crazy person. It just made it worse and set her off again.

Spike was experiencing her mirth firsthand and tried to contain the urge to join in. The giggle came out regardless.

The Scoobies swung back in his direction as one.

"Well, that's just adorable," Anya said, smiling.

"I've never heard him laugh before," Willow commented. "It's ... well, you're right. It's adorable. Very cute."

"It's not that cute," Xander groused.

Buffy watched Spike through laughter-induced tears. He was adorable. He looked so young and carefree, and so utterly gorgeous. She found herself standing in front of him before she even realized she was moving.

Spike met her eyes, still grinning like an idiot. "What?" he asked.

Buffy's breath hitched in her throat. She reached up to lay her palm along his face, her thumb resting in the hollow under his cheekbone. "I -", she began, then shook her head, her heart squeezing in on itself behind her ribs. "I can't..."

Spike leant into her touch, emitting a heady wave of adoration. "You don't have to say it," he told her.

Buffy searched his gaze for a moment, certain that she'd just seen a glimpse of a soul that he wasn't supposed to possess. She beamed at him, and then turned back to the others.

"I don't want Spike alone in his crypt," she announced. "He'll be staying with me."

"No, I won't," he said, voicing his own dissent over the ardent protestations of the Scoobies. "I can handle myself. You know that."

"You're vulnerable when it comes to Dru. She'll use it to manipulate you."

"So. That's not new."

"But this super-dupery psycho thing is."

Spike made to retort, but was stymied by the steely resolve in her eyes.

Hell, the Slayer wanted him to move in. Who was he to argue?

Chapter Six: Peaches 'n' Dreams

Drusilla was growing impatient. No one wanted to play — not even Miss Edith or the other pretty dollies.

Bored, she waltzed in a circle and then abruptly stopped. She tilted her head as though listening, her gaze moving toward the ceiling. A smile spread softly across her face.

"And it begins," she whispered.

~*[+]*~

Angel stood on the porch outside Buffy's house and peered through the window, trying to get a glimpse of her. He found that a preview was always best, then he could get on with business without falling in a sobbing mess at her feet.

The sight that confronted him made his head snap back in shock. He narrowed his eyes and looked again.

No, he wasn't seeing things.

Spike was sprawled on Buffy's sofa, flipping through television channels with a remote control. An unbleached, barefoot Spike wearing faded denim jeans with one knee torn out and a wrinkled red T-shirt. A half-consumed mug of blood sat on the coffee table. He showed all the outward signs of being completely at home.

Angel glanced down when he felt the windowsill crack off in his hands, and half-heartedly tried to repair the damage. When he looked back up, Spike was grinning at him through the glass.

"Hi Dad!" he mouthed, blue eyes twinkling gleefully. He actually waved.

Angel snarled, wanting to punch through the glass and knock the younger vamp out.

Spike was suddenly wrenched backward and Angel wasn't surprised to see Buffy standing behind him, her hands on her hips. What did surprise him was the complete lack of animosity she showed toward his troublesome Childe, not to mention the tender smile she gave him before waving Angel toward the front door.

"Angel," she greeted him. "Is something wrong?"

Angel frowned. "Other than that?" He gestured to the still-grinning Spike who lurked in the background. He was barely able to restrain himself from rushing in and pounding the guy senseless.

"Oh, that's not wrong. Well, it is, but..." Buffy sighed. "It's one of those long, involved, and not-especially-interesting type stories." She shot Spike a quelling glance as though he'd said something disparaging. Angel hadn't heard a thing.

Spike caught her glance and held it, widening his eyes pointedly. They stared at each other for a moment until Spike's smile tightened and became a resigned grimace. He glared at Angel and then returned to his channel surfing. He still hadn't uttered a word.

Buffy put on a happy face and stood back to invite Angel in. He hesitated and stared after Spike. "Did I miss something?"

"A chapter of that longish story I mentioned."

"Is he ... living here?"

"Yeah, kinda." She spied Angel's appalled expression. "God, not like that!"

She screwed up her nose, but a speculative gleam lit in her eyes and that worried him.

"Buffy, you realize that the last time I saw Spike, he had me tortured with hot pokers?" Angel felt compelled to point that out.

"He did?" She shrugged, not particularly concerned. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"Not sorry 'bout that, Peaches." Spike's voice came from the end of the hall where he was padding his way to the kitchen. He tapped the side of his nose. "Evil vampire, you know."

"Shut up, Fang-face," Buffy chided. She indicated the now-empty mug he held in his hand. "Rinse that before you put it in the dishwasher."

Spike saluted, smirking. "Yes, Ma'am."

Angel squinted at the mug. It had a little skeleton on it, and the words 'I'D RATHER BE DEAD...'

"Buffy?"

She dragged her eyes away from Spike as he disappeared into the kitchen. "What?"

"When did Spike become your domesticated housemate?"

"It's only temporary," she told him, leading him into the lounge. "Because of Dru." They stopped in front of the sofa and she paused to stare at the TV, noticing that the final credits for 'Passions' were rolling. She smiled indulgently, picked up the remote and flipped the set off.

"That's why I'm here, actually." Angel hunched his shoulders and gazed at her earnestly. "Cordelia had a vision."

"She did?" Buffy was suddenly distracted. She frowned in the direction of the kitchen. "How's that going for her?"

"Painfully." Angel's brow furrowed. "Buffy, I'm trying to be serious here."

"You're always serious," she said. She gritted her teeth. "Stop it!" she muttered under her breath. "He is not a Nancy boy."

Angel only heard what she said because of his enhanced hearing. "Nancy boy?" he asked.

Buffy looked at him, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget and say stuff out loud."

"Would you just explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"It's to do with some El-Pogo snake thing that Spike caught in Mexico."

"Snake thing?"

She nodded. "Like the 'flu. Only not."

"So, you're sick. And it makes you like Spike?"

Buffy laughed. "That's funny."

"And true for the most part." Spike reappeared in the doorway and lounged against the frame, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.

"It is not," she protested. "I don't just like you because of the link."

"'Course you do. If it wasn't for the bloody link, you'd never have known how I felt. It softened you up."

Buffy snorted. "That's like saying the only reason you love me is because of the chip."

"Bollocks." Spike glowered at her.

"Link?" Angel asked, at a loss. "Chip?"

And love? When had that happened? He suddenly felt nauseous.

Buffy and Spike were doing their silent staring act again, but this time Angel recognized that they were communicating telepathically. They were connected. Some of what he'd picked up fell into place.

"Okay, I think I get the link part. But what's a chip got to do with anything?"

Spike peered at him curiously. "Been out of the loop a while, haven't you?" he asked. He swung back to Buffy like she'd hit him. "What?"

"Would you please talk normally, you're giving me a headache." Angel sat on the sofa and put a hand to his forehead. This was too much to take in all at once.

"That's what Giles says," Buffy noted. She remained standing, her arms folded.

Angel blinked. Giles. The vision. Cordelia.

"And we're back to why I'm here in the first place."

"What's that mate?" Judging by his tone, Spike wasn't exactly interested in the answer.

"Cordelia had a vision of Giles as a vampire." Angel paused to let the announcement sink in.

"Is that all?" Spike sneered. "Hell, I could've told you that."

Angel focused his attention on Buffy. "Giles has been turned?"

"Sorta," she hedged. She exchanged another loaded glance with the younger vamp. "And Spike ... well, he's sorta human."

"What?" Angel's voice grated from behind his clenched teeth, his fingers closing into white-knuckled fists.

"Only sorta!" Buffy hurried to clarify. "Jeez, it's not even the real deal."

"Still got the muscle power, the pesky sunlight allergy, and the liquid diet," Spike corroborated. "But hey presto! Got a beatin' heart to go with it."

Angel stilled, listening. Sure enough — there were two heartbeats. He hadn't noticed it before because they were beating in complete synchrony. One was almost an echo of the other.

"He's got your heartbeat," he told Buffy, amazement permeating his voice.

She frowned. "Huh?"

"Spike's heart has got exactly the same rhythm as yours. It's just a fraction behind."

Spike's eyebrows shot up and his head tilted a little to the side as he contemplated Angel's observation.

"And a homerun for the Soul Boy," he confirmed after a moment.

"You haven't got that back as well, have you?" Angel was suddenly apprehensive.

"Nah. You're still one-up there, mate. Although I'd like to have a bit of a chat about it later." There was something in his gaze that was close to dread.

"He thinks he's keeping a secret from me," Buffy whispered to Angel. "I let him live the delusion."

Spike growled and stalked away into the dining room.

"You're very ... close." Angel watched Spike's retreating back. He couldn't disguise his uneasiness at the situation.

"Part and parcel of the whole linky package," Buffy reported. "It's weird. But it's not like he's, you know, horrendously evil or anything."

"Buffy..."

"I know. It's Spike. People keep pointing that out." She sighed and met Angel's dark gaze. "He's different now."

"How?" Angel stood and gently brushed her hair back off her shoulders. "He's bad. He always was. It's been the one constant throughout his unlife."

Buffy pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the coffee table. She hated when he towered over her like that.

"Don't you talk to me about bad," she snapped. "I saw what you did."

Angel managed to look confused and hurt at the same time. He excelled at the expression. "What are you talking about?"

"The torture," she hissed. "The way you used to treat him."

Angel's eyes closed in resignation. "It was a long time ago. I didn't have a soul."

"Would it have made a huge difference if you did? You give that damn soul so much credit for making you good. What does it do anyway? What is it?"

"It's ... a feeling. A part of me that knows right and wrong and has a conscience."

"Spike has that."

"But he..."

"But nothing. I can feel it. I know. There isn't an argument." Buffy began pacing a little. She got a surge of affection from Spike and stopped to let it flow over her. It had an instant calming effect.

Angel noticed the change and his face grew even darker. He was definitely going to kill his errant Childe one of these days.

"What happened when he was turned?" Buffy asked suddenly and he blinked at the change of subject.

"What?"

"Spike. Turned. What happened?"

"Doesn't he remember?"

"Well, I was dead," Spike said from the doorway. "Tends to blur things up a bit."

He strolled back into the lounge and stood protectively at Buffy's shoulder. She leant against him for a second, almost taking comfort in his presence, and Angel felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He recalled how she'd pulled away from him, how she'd distanced herself. She never would have done that before.

Angel swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've got to get out of here."

"But, you haven't..." Buffy started to protest until Spike interrupted.

"Go," he said to his Sire. "No doubt we'll be havin' that chat some time soon."

Angel nodded and left as though the devil was at his heels.

Buffy frowned at the door as it slammed behind him. "Well, that was a whole stack of reuniony fun."

"He's a bit on the upset side, love. Best to let him have a brood and work it out."

"And when did you get so understanding?"

"You need to ask?"

Buffy exhaled and rubbed a tired hand over her face. "I guess not."

Spike raised his own hand. It hovered for a split second, uncertain, and then ruffled her hair companionably. "Buck up, Slayer. It didn't go so bad, considerin'."

~*[+]*~

Angel's next stop was the Magic Box.

He wanted to see for himself that Giles was coping with the whole vampire situation. And he especially wanted to ask the Watcher about Buffy and Spike.

He tapped on the front door and entered without waiting for an invitation. Public places were handy that way. The bell informed the sole occupant of his arrival.

Willow was sitting at the study table. She spotted him and bestowed him with a wide smile. "Angel, hi." She was delighted for a moment and then seemed to realize that his appearance in town had to been connected to something nasty. "Is there something wrong?"

"Is that my standard greeting now?" Angel asked.

"Oh. N-no, not really," Willow became flustered. He tended to do that to her anyway. Nice to see that some things didn't change. "It's just ... I mean, have you seen Buffy?"

"Oh yeah."

Angel thrust his hands into his coat pockets and stared at the tiled floor, still trying to rid himself of the image of Buffy and Spike looking so cozy.

"Whose idea was it that Spike should live at her house?" he asked.

"Buffy's. Giles tried to argue some, but she wouldn't back down."

Angel nodded and met Willow's curious eyes. "I don't trust him."

"Well, none of us do." Willow's brow furrowed. "E-except Buffy, I guess. I don't get it but it seems to work for her. He ... makes her happy."

"And I didn't." It wasn't a question. They both remembered the angst and utter wretchedness that defined his and Buffy's relationship.

"Hmm." Willow turned away uncomfortably and flipped a page of her book.

"Have we gotten to the awkward silence thing already?" Angel tried a smile.

"Yeah," she admitted. "U-unless you want to talk some more. I could listen or ... or maybe help. I'm good with the helping..."

"It's okay Willow, I'm not going to force you into a conversation. Is Giles around?"

"No," she blinked at him in that affected innocent way she had. "He's out checkin' on Apollyon."

"Apollyon?" Angel frowned again.

Why did that name sound familiar?

"Wanna sit?" Willow asked reluctantly. "He shouldn't be too long and I could, like, fill you in on the sitch if you want, I guess."

Angel hesitated and then joined her at the table. "First, I need to know what a 'chip' has to do with anything."

The witch stared at him blankly, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. You don't know about the chip."

"Willow..." Angel ground out, beginning to feel frustrated.

"Spike's chipped," she informed him. "He's got this little government microchip in his head that stops him hurtin' any living thing. Oh, except demons ... and plants maybe. I guess it's more like a 'can't hurt humans' thing."

"You mean he can't feed?" Angel was stunned.

"Nope. Can't feed, can't even point a gun at someone without gettin' all ... brain-zapped. It's kinda cool. I-In a totally scientific sort of way, of course."

Angel considered that. It was unthinkable really. He remembered his Childe's penchant for mayhem and gore, and the idea that he was neutered by a worthless piece of plastic...

Wait. That was Angelus talking. Spike's inability to kill was a good thing. Especially since he was now living with Buffy.

"How did he end up at Buffy's?"

"Well, um, that's sort of complicated. And probably better coming from big ol' Giles and not a defenseless witchy-type person." She smiled worriedly.

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"Oh, I know." She hurried to placate him. "It's just that ... you did before. But, but its not like I don't trust you or anything..."

"Willow," Angel leant forward slightly, his voice soft and reassuring. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"Okay." She still didn't appear convinced and backed up a little.

"Are you like this with him too?"

"Who him? I mean, him who? Spike?"

"Yes Spike. He's hurt you before."

"Not really. And Buffy said he didn't mean it. If he'd really meant to hurt us we'd have been dead by now. We'd be pushin' up the daisies. Oh, plus, with the chip, it's a physical impossibility these days."

"But, you already said you didn't trust him."

"Did I?" Willow scowled. "Sounds wrong when you hear it back like that."

"So you do trust him?"

"Probably," she mused. "Haven't had a chance to try it out."

"Willow, how many times have I saved you?"

"It's different. I mean, even when Spike was bad, he wasn't nearly as bad as you were. He even helped Buffy stop you back then. Without being chipped."

"For selfish reasons."

"Everybody's motivated by selfish reasons, Angel," Willow said, being insightful. "Spike's just more up-front about it."

Angel's lips twisted ruefully.

"So, when did you get so wise?" he teased.

"I kinda grew into it." She shrugged. "It happens."

~*[+]*~

When Giles had entered the crypt, he'd had every intention of engaging the Keratos demon in conversation. It was a rare opportunity to even see one of these beasts, let alone speak to one.

Apollyon, it seemed entertained other ideas.

No sooner had he come inside and unraveled its bonds, than the demon had latched on him with its prehensile tentacles.

Giles felt decidedly ill. And not altogether ... well, together.

His semi-inherited vampiric traits had bubbled to the surface and he had a distinct urge to rip the beast's throat out. The urge was becoming positively insistent and the Keratos seemed to sense this, retreating suddenly enough to send Giles reeling backward, the tentacles disconnecting with a pop.

The Watcher gasped for breath, his eyes golden in the crypt's dim interior, ridges evident on his brow.

"Good not anger," Apollyon burbled at him.

Giles bared his fangs as a threat, stalking the demon.

Apollyon's dual tongues flicked nervously. "Control must, Slayer-guide," he soothed, even if his Kera-speak was less than compatible with the tone.

His words seemed to have some effect though, as Giles straightened and stared at him.

"Well, that was most unpleasant," he noted finally, his cultured voice at odds with his fiendish vamp countenance.

Apollyon merely canted his head and peered at him, still doubtful of the Watcher's motives. "Dark is heart," he gurgled, interpreting his earlier reading. "Rage release or forfeit Slayer."

"Excuse me?" Giles' human features slipped back into place. "Are you saying that I have to let go of my animosity or I'm going to lose Buffy?"

"Precise," the Keratos confirmed.

"She'd choose that ... damnable Spike over me?"

"Ordained," Apollyon said. "Meant."

"They're supposed to be together?" The Watcher's incredulity deepened, then he frowned. "Ordained by whom?"

Apollyon shook his massive head slowly. "Utter not."

Giles growled low in his throat and smiled at the demon's wary step back. "Rather effective when put to proper use, isn't it?" His smile disappeared. "Now," he said, softly menacing. "Can't say ... or won't?"

~*[+]*~

Buffy stared at the inside of the microwave and sighed. The appliance was adorned with splatter-patterns of varying shades, from deep red to black. The black ones had formed a sort of crust.

"Spike?"

She sent the call despite already knowing exactly where he was. The link had been progressing into new territory and they'd discovered this radar-like awareness earlier.

"What?" he grumbled. He was downstairs in the basement, having by this time converted it into his crypt-away-from-home. "I'm tryin' to get some shut-eye here, Slayer."

"Have you been experimenting with the pre-set heating menu on the microwave?"

The pang of guilt gave him away before he could even voice the denial.

"No."

"Well, okay then." Buffy smiled.

"Huh?" She'd confused him now. She had to know it was him — the blood splats were a dead giveaway.

"I said 'okay'. I'll clean up the mess myself."

"Right. You do that."

Buffy waited and began to count. "One. Two. Thr..."

Spike strode into the kitchen.

"Where's the sodding dish-cloth?"

She had it ready and slapped it into his hand. "You might need some cleanser on the caked-on bits," she advised as he set about scrubbing.

Buffy leant back against the breakfast bar and admired him as he worked.

"Don't," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Don't watch me do this." Spike straightened a little, but his head remained bowed. He fidgeted with the bottle of cleanser, staring at it fixedly.

"I'm a Master vampire, Buffy," he said, his voice serious. "Renowned, feared by my own kind. I've been around for over a century, survived wars and all. This is just..." he sighed heavily. "It's humiliating."

Buffy frowned at his back. "You're still a..."

He turned on her, angry and frustrated. "No. I'm not." His eyes blazed, bright with tears he refused to shed. "I'm a bloody joke."

Buffy's eyes welled up on his behalf, feeling all the bottled-up anguish he'd somehow been keeping away from her. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

Spike went completely still, convinced that his newly restored heartbeat was about to stop. One of the tears he'd been holding back rolled down his cheek, but he was too afraid to wipe it away in case he scared her off.

He awkwardly positioned his arms around her, returning the embrace despite having a dishrag in one hand and a bottle of cleanser in the other. He contemplated the situation for a moment and then dropped both items to the floor, repositioning his hands on Buffy's back. He rested his cheek on her hair and inhaled her scent.

Seconds and then minutes ticked by with neither one willing to break the unexpected intimacy.

Buffy murmured something against his chest, shifted back to say it aloud, but then changed her mind and used the link instead. "This is ... nice."

Spike grunted, not sure he was capable of putting together a coherent thought. He was running on instinct, logic had no place in it.

Buffy began toying with the belt-loop at the back of his jeans. Then she moved her hands up under his loose T-shirt to tickle the smooth skin of his back.

Spike jerked away like she'd thrown holy water on him. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Buffy stared at him, confused. "I just..."

"Thought you'd toss a few crumbs to the pathetic non-vamp?" His words were angry, but she could sense the hurt behind them. "I've told you about these sympathetic tendencies before, Slayer. I don't want that from you."

He stalked out into the hallway, grabbed his duster from the hook by the door, and left the house.

It was time to have that chat with Angel.

~*[+]*~

Spike wriggled his bare toes and smiled ruefully.

"Stormed out before I realized," he explained. "And I didn't want to wreck my dramatic exit by sneakin' back in, so..."

"You came all this way without your boots." Xander shook his head in disbelief. "And I thought you were nuts before." He gestured at the Magic Box's front window. "It's freezing out there."

Spike sighed. "If I weren't linked to Buffy, I wouldn't know the difference."

"Ah, the wonders of the human circulatory system," Xander mused.

Spike looked at him like he'd grown another head. Bloody idiotic...

"Do you want me to bring your boots?"

Buffy's voice resonated apologetically in his mind and he sensed her determination to come after him.

"No."

Xander frowned at him. "Are you talking to-?"

"Give a bloke a bit of space, love? Got things need ponderin'."

"...Buffy." Xander finished. He flashed Spike an oddly understanding smile and departed.

Angel and Willow entered from the basement just as the danger room door closed behind him.

"So, that's the grand tour and ... oh, Spike's here." Willow cast an anxious glance at Angel. "And, um, Xander and Anya are still out back so I'll just be..." She realized that neither vamp was paying her any attention and discreetly exited.

"Gonna thump me?" Spike asked candidly.

"I was thinking about it." Angel smiled evilly, his hands flexing. "I've given it quite a bit of thought actually. Entertained a few scenarios."

"Well, have at it then. Bear in mind, though, that if you're hurtin' me, you're hurtin' her."

"Buffy feels your pain?" Angel shook his head, defeated. "That is just..."

"Bloody weird? Should try it from this side, mate."

"I wish I could."

They stared at each other.

"So, how long?" Angel asked after a moment.

"How long what? Not bein' real specific there."

"How long, Spike?" Angel growled. He was in no mood to play games.

"Bloody forever."

The guttural admission startled the elder vampire and he gaped at his Childe, completely flabbergasted.

"Happy now, Peaches? Loved her from the second I saw her, same as you. Finally managed to lower myself to your standards. Even lower, if that's possible."

Spike began pacing back and forth, never having been able to stand still while on a roll like this. "Tried to live down to the glorious Angel mantle my whole unlife, but I can't compete with you, can I? Oh no, can't have that. Angel's better. Better at bein' evil, better at bein' good. I was always second fiddle. Even in Dru's eyes. Loony bint."

Angel frowned. It was the first time he'd ever heard Spike insult Drusilla and sincerely mean it. He normally used them as terms of endearment.

"Shut it, Slayer." Spike stopped pacing to admonish his link-partner. "Thought you'd backed up to give me a bit of room."

"Buffy can hear us?" Angel was so surprised at this point that his face lost all expression. If Spike weren't so pissed off he'd have been laughing.

"'Course she bloody hears us, you pillock." Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, she can hear me. All the stuff coming from you is ... filtered through yours truly, I expect."

"So everything she gets of this conversation is tainted by your point of view."

"Somethin' like that. Right quick on the up-take aren't you?"

"I shouldn't be here," Angel said suddenly. He wandered past Spike and sat down at the study table, looking dazed.

"So why are you?" Spike pulled out his cigarettes and tucked one in the corner of his mouth. "She don't need you to be Mr. Overprotective now."

"No. Looks like she's got you for that."

"Hey, girl's endowed with Slayer-strength. I don't treat her like she's made of glass. She appreciates that." Spike patted his pockets, searching for his lighter.

"Sure she does." Angel bowed his head and caught Spike's feet in his peripheral vision. He looked back up. "Where are your boots?"

Spike gave him a cocky grin. "Under the Slayer's bed." He reeled back as though someone had struck him, his unlit cigarette dropping to the floor. "Ow! Bloody hell, it was a joke."

Angel realized that Buffy had somehow managed to reprimand Spike without actually being in the same room and he was both pleased and disconcerted by the discovery.

"Oh, now that was cute." Spike complained to Buffy, aggrieved and all but oblivious to Angel's pensive stare. "A stroke of genius, really."

Angel's countenance took on a tinge that was decidedly green. He gasped and collapsed forward onto the table, his hands pressed to his temples.

Spike finally noticed his Sire's discomfort, taking in the sickly cast beneath his already pale skin, and frowned. "Oi. You okay there?"

He'd never seen a vampire faint — the whole lack of blood-flow thing not being a major issue — but Angel appeared as though he was about to change that.

"No, he's ... fine," Spike assured Buffy via the link, squinting at the elder vamp. Her concern was passing through into him and it was an unusual sensation. He'd never previously been especially concerned about Angel's welfare. Hell, the deader his Sire was the better.

He felt the sharp sting of the Slayer's displeasure and winced. So, wishing Angel dead wasn't approved by the Buffy Summers Board of Right Stuff, he could work around that.

Angel straightened, grimaced and peered up at him. Spike was shocked to see blood-red tears in his eyes.

"I think I just got some sort of message," Angel said, his voice shaky and distant. "From Drusilla."

Chapter Seven: A Loopy Type Thing

Xander was confused.

He'd like to say that it was an unusual position for him to be in after all these years fighting Sunnydale's rampaging evil, but he was still the one guy who was always stumbling through the dark. Things just didn't seem to collate well for him.

"So, Angel got some kind of psycho-telegram from Dru?" he asked, just to clarify, and everyone looked at him wearily.

"Yeah, we said that already." Willow frowned, but it wasn't like she hadn't been doing a whole lot of frowning anyway. "A sort of flashy-pictured mind-warpy thing. What we've got to work out is what she was trying to say."

"Good luck, Red." Spike snorted and went back to watching the Magic Box's front door. He was waiting for Buffy to arrive. "Daffy bloody woman," he muttered. "Off her bleedin' scone."

Angel looked at him, still not able to equate this Spike with the violently protective vampire who'd stayed loyal to Drusilla for a hundred years. He didn't mention the outburst, but asked something else that was troubling him.

"Where's Giles?"

"I really don't know," Willow answered. "I haven't seen him since he went to check on Apollyon. And that was, like, hours ago."

"Y-you don't think something ... happened to Mr. Giles?" Tara asked. "I mean, it's not like him to leave the store for this long without putting someone in charge."

"I'm in charge," Anya declared. "I'm the in-charge person when he's not here."

"That's great, honey," Xander assured her. "But again, what's this message thing?"

Angel sighed and shrugged tense shoulders. His eyes were puffy, closed almost into slits, and ringed by dark purple bruises. And his head ached. If this was what Cordelia had to endure with her visions, then he'd have to remember to be more sympathetic. "I'll explain it more when Buffy gets here. She's got a starring role."

"She does?" Spike swung back to stare at his Sire. "And you didn't feel the need to share that earlier? She's only comin' in on her own, Peaches. Some nasty thing could grab her on the way." He shifted a little where he sat on the counter, fighting the urge to dart out and find her.

"She can look out for herself, Spike. You told me that, remember?"

"Yeah, but..." Spike frowned and returned somewhat sulkily to his vigil.

Damn it, he hated having his own words thrown back at him like that. That Angel was right didn't count. Besides, he could feel that she was okay, and he'd know if something were happening...

Spike doubled over sharply, his newfound breath leaving his body in a whoosh. He groaned and fell forward off the counter.

"You alright, pet?" he asked breathlessly, sitting up and gingerly testing his ribs. "Still in one piece?" He nodded and then turned to the Scoobies. "Vamp in the cemetery," he reported. "No big."

"Okay, that was funny." Xander said, a huge grin splitting his face. "Here's hopin' a whole fleet of fledglings are rising tonight, 'cause I'm all for the bumbling Spike show."

"That's only gonna happen when she gets hit, Harris. You really pushin' for a round of Kick the Slayer?"

"Uh, no. I guess not." Xander became subdued and was immediately on the receiving end of a thorough Anya-hugging.

Spike watched the couple for a moment.

He was actually feeling jealous of the whelp's relationship now. Monkey-boy loved the former vengeance demon for who she was, regardless of her nefarious evil-doing past. It wasn't an issue for them. That was exactly what he wanted from the Slayer.

Acceptance.

Spike wanted acceptance — and not because of some daft accidental link either.

He sighed heavily and returned to his countertop lookout. His attention centered on the front entrance an instant before the door opened.

Buffy sauntered in, his wayward boots dangling from one hand. She didn't appear any the worse for wear after her encounter in the cemetery, the only evidence of it being the light coating of dust on her clothes.

She immediately gave a mental heads-up and tossed his footwear at him.

"Ta, pet." Spike pulled on the sturdy leather boots and began appreciatively swinging his legs, enjoying their familiar weight. His heels thumped rhythmically against the counter and he reached a grand total of three bangs before the Scoobies collectively ordered him to stop. He slipped in another for good measure, earning a scathing glare from Angel, and hopped off the counter to stand at Buffy's side.

"What's with Angel's face?" she asked him via the link, after instinctively grabbing his hand.

"Dunno, love. Personally, I've always thought his looks were overrated. That whole caveman-brow thing doesn't do it for me."

She didn't bother rolling her eyes at him, but he grinned as if she had anyway. "Dru side-effect," he told her, speaking aloud this time. "Makes me glad she didn't get into this noggin when she tried."

Buffy tilted her head, taking in Angel's injuries. "I don't know, I kinda think you'd look good in purple."

"Well, I've got a recent addition on the old ribcage that's gonna be decorative."

"Yeah," she twisted to peer at him, her brow furrowed. "That was wiggy. You got the full brunt of it, too. I haven't got a mark on me."

"Truly?" Spike feigned gratitude. "Hey, that's just dandy. So honored to be your linky punching bag, Slayer. Fancy another go?"

"Idiot," she muttered, and then turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "So, guys, what did Dru have to say for herself?"

Angel had been observing the Buffy and Spike interplay, thinking that he could be more objective now he'd had a chance to get used to the idea of their connection. Oddly enough, they seemed even closer than they had before. It was sickening. It was more than sickening. He'd felt sickened plenty of times before and this was much worse.

"It's hard to explain," he said carefully. "It was like a slideshow. The first one was Giles as a vampire. Which, by the way, was exactly how Cordy described her vision."

Buffy blinked. "You call her Cordy?"

"Slayer," Spike gave her a mental nudge. "Cheerleader girl's not the focal point here."

"Right. Vampy-Giles. Psycho-bitch. I'm on it." Buffy took a deep breath. "So, how does Dru know about Cordy's vision?" She gave the name a derisive twist, causing Spike to grit his teeth to keep from laughing.

"I'm thinking that Dru probably sent it to her," Angel offered. "Same way that she sent mine. Though Cordy-elia," he stumbled over the name, "Did say that Dru was actually in her vision."

"Stands to reason, I guess," Willow commented. "It would have been around the same time as Apollyon cranked up the screamy-fest."

"Yeah, I'll pay that, but it doesn't explain how Dru knew about the Watcher's condition in the first place," Spike remarked. "She didn't know about the Slayer 'til she tried the mystical prod n' probe on me."

"Maybe the moon told her," Buffy suggested dryly. "Or one of those stupid dolls she carts around."

"Miss Edith," Spike and Angel supplied synchronously.

"Th-they all have the same name?" Tara asked, her eyes wide. "That's just weird."

"Everything about Dru is weird," Xander explained. "She's the certified, card-carrying Queen of Insano-ville."

"Hey," Spike protested, glaring at him.

The glare rapidly lost its heat as he realized that he didn't have to jump to Drusilla's defense anymore. "No, wait. Who am I kiddin'?" He shook his head. "Lad's right."

He didn't understand how it had happened. How had he gone from worshipping the woman to thinking she'd be better off dusty?

Buffy squeezed his hand and he scowled at her. She was doing the 'Poor Sad Spike' bit again. He could feel it.

"What?" she asked, confused by his reaction.

"Don't play the dumb-blonde card now, Summers. I'm onto you."

"Oversensitive much?"

Buffy pulled her hand away from his and Spike was immediately regretful. He really was being unreasonable about the sympathy. And sorry-touchy was better than no-touchy.

He gave her a tentative smile and offered his hand back.

Buffy ignored him. "So, what came next?" she asked Angel, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"Oh, uh..." Angel was caught out by the question. He'd been watching the couple and dreaming up imaginative ways of having Spike disemboweled. "You did."

"I did what?"

Buffy began drumming her fingers against her folded arms. It was the only sign that she was annoyed, apart from the burning intensity in her eyes.

"The next thing I saw was you being tortured. I don't know by who or what, but the torturer-person felt ... familiar?"

Spike had walked away from Buffy the moment she rejected his hand and was behind the counter, randomly pulling objects off the shelves and pretending to look at them. He dropped the opaque crystal globe he'd been holding at Angel's revelation and it rolled noisily across the hard floor.

"Torture?" He felt the fear slam into him like a sledgehammer — a combination of Buffy's and his own. "Of the pointy variety? Or the not-so-pointy?"

"It was hard to tell. I got the impression of something being cut so there might have been some kind of knife involved."

"Oh, and that's so incredibly helpful," Spike jeered. "You might ask that chatty Girl Friday of yours to give you a lesson or two in vision analysis, mate."

"Whoa, calm down there Pulse Boy," Xander interjected. "Unless you and the Brood King wanna take the macho posturing outside? Some of us more mature types happen to like the productive thing, you know."

Buffy pursed her lips to keep from laughing at Angel's dumbfounded expression. Xander had never stood up to him properly before — not in an honestly unafraid way. He usually kept to bravado in the elder vampire's presence. He'd always given Spike a hard time, though. Theirs was a relationship based on mutual non-admiration. It had respected boundaries.

Spike glowered at the lot of them and stalked out the side door into the alleyway.

Bugger it. He didn't need the aggravation. Buffy was being a bitch and Angel's smug face always rubbed him the wrong way. Okay, so it was amusing to see him looking all raccoon-like with his eyes bruised, but that didn't make it any easier to be in his company.

He only made it out as far as the second dumpster before he realized that he'd never got around to bringing up the subject of his turning. Well, that sucked. He'd have to go back now, just to satisfy his curiosity.

He pivoted around to stare at the door. Buffy already knew he hadn't gone anywhere, but he was risking having the Scoobies laugh at him. Though why he was even concerned about that had him stumped.

Spike sighed. The only way he was going to find out was by swallowing the last bit of pride he had left and asking Angel about his history.

As he took a step back toward the store, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye — something trailing from the partially open dumpster. He stopped and peered at it.

A long piece of industrial-strength cable.

Was that? Nah, it couldn't be. Could it?

Spike opened the dumpster's lid. He was still dragging the rest of the cable from it as Buffy came out to join him.

"Hungry?" she asked as she reached his side, evidently no longer mad at him. "'Cause I thought you were past the foraging-in-garbage stage. We could order a pizza."

Spike triumphantly held up the other end of the cable and gestured down its length toward the accumulated coil at his feet. "Recognize this?"

Buffy blinked. "Are you adding to your rope collection, or is that -?"

"Apollyon's halter top."

"How'd it get -?" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Why am I asking when I already know that you don't know?"

"Habit," Spike suggested. "Or maybe you just love the sound of my voice."

"I do," Buffy admitted quietly and he gaped at her in surprise. "When you're not being all obnoxious. Which is hardly ever."

Spike frowned. "I'm never obnoxious," he said. "I'm a bad ass villain, a thorn in the side of life, I'm a ... I'm just..." He made a rumbling noise in his throat, a low and frustrated sound. "Sod it. I don't know what the bleedin' hell I am anymore."

He kicked the dumpster savagely, creating a huge crater in its side.

"Oh ... bloody hell. Sorry."

"Hey, it's not my dumpster. What do I care?"

Spike smiled at her, pleased that she cared enough to try and lighten his mood.

Buffy slung a companionable arm around his waist and gave him a friendly squeeze. "Besides the obnoxious thing, you can be pretty stupid sometimes, too."

"Way to be supportive, Slayer."

"No, I mean, you know that we have the link thing, but you try and ignore it. You treat it like it's not real or something. How come you can't accept my feelings like I accept yours?"

"You didn't," he said. "Not straight off. It took the tellin' of it to get it to sink in proper. Didn't feel all that real before that, did it?"

Buffy gazed up at him and was instantly lost in his eyes.

Those clear, pure blue eyes.

She had a flashback to that night in the cemetery when he'd first come back to town. The night that she'd first realized how beautiful his eyes actually were.

"It was before," she said suddenly, still staring at him.

Spike reached up to brush back a strand of her hair. "What's that?" he asked, his voice soft.

Buffy pulled back a little and searched his face. "It was definitely before. Why didn't I remember that?"

"You're gonna have to expand on that statement, love," Spike said. "Apart from the fluttery stomach and increased pulse-rate, I'm gettin' bugger all from you."

"I felt some sort of connection to you before you tried the mind-reading thing," Buffy explained. "Before the Serpiente. Before the link."

"Bollocks."

Spike wrenched away from her, he didn't want to hear this. He bent down and began looping the cable over his arm.

"Okay, now you're doing the stupid avoidy thing again. What is that?"

"Protection," Spike muttered. He stood up and indicated the roll of cable. "And this has priority now." He headed back toward the shop.

"Spike?" Buffy called his name aloud, not wanting to use the link for this.

He halted, but didn't turn around.

"I really do care about you. It's not sympathy or pity. Whatever this is — it's real."

She felt, more than saw, his spine straighten defensively. He looked back over his shoulder at her, as though gauging her sincerity then nodded once and went inside.

Buffy smiled and followed him. It takes the telling of it...

~*[+]*~

Angel peered up at his Childe as he strolled in from the alley and deposited a huge roll of cable onto the study table.

"Productive trip?" he asked sarcastically. He leant a little to one side to watch Buffy as she followed Spike in.

Spike snorted and folded his arms.

"Hey, is that -?" Willow stared at the cable as if it were a venomous snake. "It's not, is it?"

"The same," Spike said. "It was in the dumpster out back."

"Oh man, I don't like where this is going." Xander reached out to toy with a section of the cable.

"It is going Grr?" Anya demanded. "Because if it's going Grr, I'd like to know what will happen. Would I be the in-charge person on a full-time basis? And would that mean that I get more money?"

"So what's interesting about this?" Angel asked, gesturing toward the coil. "Is it significant?"

"Way significant," Buffy informed him. "It's practically dripping with significant-ness." She paused and wrinkled her nose. "I wish I hadn't used the word 'dripping' there," she said to Spike.

The younger vamp's lips quirked, but he didn't smile. That reaction or lack thereof, conveyed the situation's seriousness to Angel.

"This has to do with Giles," he said.

"And Apollyon." Spike sucked at the inside of his cheek, thinking.

There was that name again.

"Who is this guy?" Angel wondered aloud.

"Oh, he's not a guy," Willow said. "Well, technically he is, but..."

"Keratos demon," Spike supplied. He threw one arm upward. "Yay tall. Green. Scaly. Right royal pain in the..."

"He's also the reason that we're up to our necks in the deep stuff," Xander said. "Ground Zero infectiony guy." He pointed back and forth between Buffy and Spike. "The reason for the loopy type thing between the deadly duo there."

"I think I saw him," Angel disclosed. "In Dru's slideshow."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "So he's alive then?"

"Yeah," Angel drifted a moment, trying to remember. "Unless he's already lost one of his claws?"

"Nope. He was all intact the last time we saw him." Buffy rested her weight against Spike and he automatically threw an arm across her shoulders. "How does he lose it?"

"I couldn't see that part."

Angel gritted his teeth, wanting desperately to leap to his feet and forcibly split the couple apart. He was wearing his forearm stake-sheaths — one good flick of the wrist...

"Was it the same person you saw torturing me?" Buffy asked. "The familiar-type person?"

"You think its Giles," Spike said suddenly, picking up her train of thought. The arm across her shoulders flexed protectively. "Look, there's no way that the Watcher would harm you." He smiled tightly. "Now, me, on the other hand, I'd be way up there on his to do list. "

Angel shifted in his seat. All this talk of Spike and torture was getting uncomfortable. Especially since he'd actually done it before, and had recently been daydreaming of repeating the performance. Sometimes his demon was just a bit closer to the surface than he would like.

"He wouldn't hurt you either," Buffy said. "Not now. He knows I would protect you because of the link."

"Yeah, right. With the link. Without it I'd be linin' the inside of his Dust-Buster."

Buffy frowned and responded with one of his favorite retorts.

"Bollocks," she said.

"Watch your language, pet." Spike admonished. "There are kids present."

"Where?" Xander peered around the store. "Oh, you mean us."

Spike smirked at him.

"Oh God," Buffy detached herself from his side, putting on an exaggerated show of disgust. "You're so incredibly OLD!"

Spike pinched the skin of her arm and she nudged him with her hip.

"How come you can pick and punch each other like that without feeling the other's reaction?" Angel inquired.

Buffy and Spike peered at one another.

"Buggered if I know," the younger vamp replied. "Think it's got somethin' to do with the intent of it."

"Hmm," Willow contemplated the suggestion. "It probably works on the same basis as the chip does. You know, only activating when you really mean to hurt someone."

"That's how I did him damage when I wasn't here," Buffy revealed. "I tapped into his head and make him think he was gonna hurt me."

Spike glared. Then he got a speculative glint in his eye. He blinked and appeared to lose focus for a moment.

"Ooh, ow!"

Buffy jerked back and put a hand to her forehead, her eyes getting teary. She cuffed him soundly on the shoulder, pushing him away.

"Aha!" Spike chortled, ignoring both the blow and his own chip-based twinge of pain. "Works both ways!" He pointed at her triumphantly. "No more of this long-distance discipline, Slayer. Not unless you want a bit o' retribution."

Anya looked at them carefully. "You should have sex," she announced.

Everybody stared at her, shocked.

"Well, they should. I mean, there's always been this suppressed lust between them. They just ... dance around each other and avoid the subject." She seemed to suddenly realize that she was speaking to a dumbstruck audience. "What?"

"Ahn, I thought we discussed the whole 'thinking before saying stuff' thing," Xander looked mortified. And more than a little disturbed.

Angel stood up and walked out of the store.

"Think it upset the vision getting guy," Xander said. "Major clues leaving the building."

"Let him go," Spike sneered. "Don't need him."

Buffy scowled, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He tucked his thumbs in his waistband and angled his chin, determined to put in at least a token protest. He arched his eyebrow and then turned and followed his Sire.

Buffy got the message. It was his idea to go after Angel — not hers.

"'S okay," she told the others. "Spike'll bring him back."

~*[+]*~

Spike stepped out of the store and ran straight into Angel's back. He grunted and edged around to stand alongside him.

"Havin' a soulful moment?" he casually inquired. "Wanna be alone? Right then, I'll just be on me way..."

"Stay," Angel said, so quietly that Spike was glad he'd retained his vampire hearing.

"Why? So you can regale me with your stunning wit and let me know that Buffy'll never love me? News flash, Poncey, I already realize that."

"So..."

"So, what? Why bother?" Spike huffed and lit up a cigarette, staring off down the street. "I'm not like you," he said. "I don't leave the people I love. Ever. I can't."

"You left Drusilla."

"Hey, Mr. Font of Knowledge, she left me. Granted it was because of Buffy, but that's just semantics."

"You're telling me that you would have stayed."

"Would've stuck with the minx 'til she up and staked me for spoilin' one of her little tea parties or somethin'." Spike shrugged. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

Angel folded his arms and stared evenly at him, his gaze not wavering once. "Tell me about Buffy."

Spike returned the gaze for a beat, then bowed his head and tossed his half-smoked cigarette onto the footpath. "What's to tell? Fell in love with the chit, got chipped and decided to hang 'round and help out."

He scuffed the tip of his boot against the ground. "That was brilliant for a time, but it didn't last. I wanted more. I wanted the whole sodding enchilada. It wasn't gonna happen, and I figured I could get over her if I left, so I bailed out to Mexico for a few months. Met up with Apollyon, got a few tips on mind readin' and had the brilliant brainstormin' idea to try it out on the Slayer. See how she felt."

Angel nodded. "And that's when the link kicked in."

"Like a bloody mule, mate." Spike shook his head. "You've no idea."

"You're not happy about it," Angel observed. That was the confusing part about this. He would have thought that Spike would be taking everything he could while he could.

Spike took on a demeanor that could only be described as guilty. He searched his Sire's face for a moment and then seemed to decide something.

"I need her to love me for who I am. Not because of some random mystical thing," he confessed. "I'm a pitiful romantic sap. Always have been."

"Yeah, I know." Angel smiled crookedly. "I used to hate you for it."

"When? Before your miraculous soul-infusion?"

"Umm. It was strange. When we turned you, you didn't just retain the memories of your former self, you kept ... I don't know, an emotional memory — a kind of moral sense or something." He laughed derisively. "I mean, it was almost like a part of your soul was still there."

"Did you say ... part of my -?" Spike stared aghast at Angel, his secondhand heartbeat pounding like the full percussion section of an orchestra, timpani drum at the forefront.

"My soul?" He stumbled away to sit on one of the wooden benches outside the store, a hand pressed against his chest. "My bloody soul. Oh God, no."

"What?" Angel demanded. "I didn't mean literally."

Buffy was suddenly at his side, the Magic Box's front door slamming behind her. "What did you do?"

"I ... nothing." Angel turned to her with his hands held up. "I didn't touch him."

"Not physically, dumb-ass," Buffy snapped. "He's hurting on the inside."

She sat alongside Spike and captured the hand he had clutched to his chest. They locked eyes for a moment then she leant forward and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. She swiveled back to Angel and the protective fierceness in her eyes surprised him.

"Soul?" she asked, her voice deceptively soft.

"Oh, you got that part." Angel tried smiling — it didn't quite come off.

"So did he, apparently," Buffy drawled.

Spike glared at his Sire. He shot to his feet and angrily shoved Angel backward. "Tell, you self-absorbed bastard," he challenged. Another shove. "Tell me what happened to make me like this."

Angel reflexively knocked the younger vamp to the ground, where he sprawled in a heap, his duster spread beneath him. The spontaneous action found him on the receiving end of Buffy's powerful right cross.

"Hey, what the -?" Angel rubbed at his smarting cheek, not understanding what all the fuss was about. Spike didn't really have a soul, did he?

Buffy confronted him, standing over Spike's prone body like a mother-bear defending her cub. Angel was startled to see a kind of electric spark in her eyes.

"You never lay a hand on us again," she announced. "Ever. Understand?"

Us? They were an us? That was new.

So was that sparkly thing in her eyes.

Buffy turned her back on him to attend to Spike, crouching at his side.

"Are you -?" she reached out and tenderly cupped his cheek.

"Right as rain, love," he laughed humorlessly. "For a bloke who just found he's most likely got a semi-soul on top of a semi-human thing and a chip that makes him useless."

"Not useless. Unique." Buffy smiled gently. "Uniquely unique, remember?"

Spike snorted and batted her hand away. "Rot," he mumbled, getting to his feet.

"Okay, just stop!" Buffy shouted in his mind. "Stop with the trying to push me away." She moved to stand directly in front of him and set a restraining hand smack dab in the middle of his chest. "I'm a part of this too, you know."

Spike's head snapped back and he watched her distrustfully, the absolute despair in his eyes tearing at her. She could sense him withdrawing into himself. He seemed to get all introspective when he was hurting the most. Not that he'd ever admit to it.

But that was also when he was at his most outwardly violent. He loved to take his suffering out on other things — demons mostly, though anything handy came a close second.

"Uh, Buffy?"

She'd actually forgotten that Angel was there. That was a first.

"Stay out of it," she warned, not even turning to look at him.

"But..."

"Spike and I need to work this out now," Buffy told him. "Or we won't be able to help Giles and Apollyon."

Angel nodded. She was right. But then, she usually was. "Okay. I'll go back inside until you're ready." He lurked for a few minutes, not sure if he really should leave.

"Angel?" Spike lifted his eyes to the older vamp — the pain in their blue depths was astonishingly alive. "Piss off."

Chapter Eight: Demon Stuff

Giles approached the Old Crawford Street Mansion with the knowledge that he was being drawn there — that he was under the influence of some kind of psychic siren song.

Apollyon lumbered behind him, aware that something was happening with the Watcher, but not entirely sure of what. He'd been following the human around Sunnydale for what seemed like hours, trying to make sense of the his aura and occasional mutterings about Spike and the Slayer.

From what he could ascertain, the Serpiente had somehow mutated under the destructive influence of the Hellmouth. It had fed off Spike's love for the Slayer and linked them together, as was meant. But it had also fed on the Watcher's hatred of the vampire and allied itself through him with Spike's demon side. This was where the danger lay.

The Watcher was no longer in full control.

~*[+]*~

Angel closed the door of the Magic Box behind him, leaving Buffy and Spike in the street outside. The Scoobies all looked at him expectantly.

"Spike's coming back too, right?" Anya asked point blank. "You didn't kill him, or run him out of town?"

Angel brushed his fingers gingerly over his injured cheek. He had the makings of another bruise. "He hasn't gone anywhere. He doesn't do that."

"Yeah, you know, even when you toss him out on his ear he's at you again the next day," Xander rolled his eyes. "It's like the never-ending Spike-a-thon."

"Oh, or — or that song," Willow put in. "You know, the one about the cat comin' on back."

Angel managed a small smile at the analogy. "He ... uh, he and Buffy have something they have to work out." He avoided their eyes. "They'll be in soon."

"What did you do?" Willow asked him suspiciously.

"Why does everyone around here assume that everything is my fault?" Angel threw his hands up in surrender. "What does it take for you guys? I'm not evil, okay? Spike is."

He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. "I think."

~*[+]*~

Spike had started the pacing thing as soon as Angel had gone. He really was a great big ball of hyperactive energy when he was upset.

"Something clicked," Buffy commented, perching on the edge of a bench. "Major clickage, I can sense it. Something Angel said filled in a gap."

Spike stopped the pacing long enough to throw her a questioning glance.

"William," she said, reading him. Then, "Hold up a sec, William?"

"Bloody right William," Spike spat. He rapped a fist against his breastbone. "A whole century he's been in here, plaguin' me with his ... goody goodness. Weak little prat. Trained myself to shut him out, to let the demon have all the say. But this sodding chip..."

"Subdued the demon side," Buffy nodded in understanding. "That's why you've been acting more human." She hesitated. "Are you saying that he's been back there the entire time you've been -?" She blinked, stunned. "The not-leaving thing is really ingrained there, isn't it?"

Spike's lips quirked. "Never one for the dramatic goodbye scene, me."

"William can't still be in there," Buffy insisted. "Not the original human version, otherwise you wouldn't have become a vampire."

"I didn't say he was all here," Spike griped. He resumed his pacing, albeit at a slower pace. "Not in your usual soul-having sense anyway. I'm just sayin' that there's always been something in here, a wimpy something that makes me wanna not do demon stuff. I call it William. You can call it a soul if you want but I've never been comfortable that label, it's too narrow a definition."

"But that means that you chose to kill all those people."

Spike paused, standing directly in front of her. "It's not about choice, love. Not that simple. Shades of grey remember?" He shrugged. "I just let the demon have his space. I wouldn't be here without it. Besides which, it's easier that way. Your Watcher's probably figurin' that out as we speak."

"But if you knew..."

"I suspected," Spike explained. "That's all it was. Havin' Neanderthal-brow blurt it out like that was..." He made an ambiguous gesture. "Well, I've never had an epiphany before, but I expect that's what just happened." He shook his head. "Clickage," he murmured, smiling softly.

"So," Buffy concluded. "If this William thing is your 'soul', then you're just like Angel, huh? Except you haven't actually let it have much say in how you are. Until the chip, I mean."

"Gettin' tired of yammerin' about it, Slayer." Spike sighed. He tipped his head, the scarred eyebrow lifting inquisitively. "Wanna go get snockered?"

"We can't. We have to go and find Giles and Apollyon."

He nodded. "Knew you'd say that. Your sacred duty thing is a real bitch."

"That's what I keep saying."

Spike wavered for a moment, undecided. "Right then," he said finally. "Back to the bloody inquisition."

Buffy stood and pulled the door open. She'd already taken a half step inside before she realized that he'd deserted her. Why hadn't she sensed that he was gonna do that?

She rolled her eyes — stupid broody vampires and their stupid preternatural speed.

"I know what you're doing," she called telepathically to his rapidly retreating psyche. "And believe me, buddy, you can't run away from this one."

~*[+]*~

The first thing they noticed was that she started to get clumsy — a stumble here, a few dropped books there.

Then she got giggly — loud giggly.

"What's with Buff?" Xander questioned the group in undertone. "The Spike thing? You think she's finally flipped?"

Angel glanced up from the sheet of paper he was writing on and stared sourly. "She's drunk."

"Nope. She's been here the whole time. How could she be -?" Willow's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. He's drunk," Angel confirmed. "Consequently..." He gestured toward Buffy, who produced an enormous belch.

She smiled widely and swayed in her seat, her head bobbing rhythmically. "Ooh, I love this song!"

"He's gotta be in a club somewhere," Willow surmised. "The Bronze?"

"We'll check there first." Angel abandoned his handwritten vision descriptions and got to his feet. He cupped a steadying hand beneath Buffy's elbow as she did the same.

"Sod off," she snapped, tugging her arm away so violently that she almost fell over. She blinked rapidly, composing herself, and turned back to him.

"I get to kill him, okay?" she said in a moment of absolute sobriety. "Just me. No one else touches him."

She ruined the self-possessed Slayer image by tripping up the stairs on the way out.

~*[+]*~

The gang, minus a Magic Box-bound Giles-spotting Xander and Anya, entered the Bronze to find it in the throes of an "Infernal Disco" night, complete with obligatory mirror ball and lava lamps.

"Ooh, way cool!" Willow exclaimed, immediately forgetting why she was there and dragging Tara toward the dance floor.

Angel watched the witches disappear into the crowd and shook his head. Talk about skewed priorities. They were way too unworried about what was happening.

He suddenly realized that Buffy was no longer draped unsteadily over his arm. He quickly scanned the area and spotted her heading unerringly for a dimly lit booth at the back of the room, almost like she was being drawn there. Peering through the crowd, Angel had to acknowledge that she probably was.

Buffy stopped as she reached the booth and folded her arms, unabashedly eyeing its occupant. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Spike was slouched back against the wall, his eyes hooded as he surveyed the dancing throng. Several empty beer bottles sat on the table before him and another dangled from his hand, held loosely by the neck. That wasn't what made her stare.

He'd changed.

He still wore his torn denim jeans and rumpled red T-shirt. He still wore his duster and boots. What had changed since she last saw him were his lack of temperance — and his hair.

It still tangled about his ears and tumbled boyishly over his forehead. He hadn't cut it. It was just so... WHITE. He was practically glowing in the dark.

Typical — just when she was starting to get used to the au naturel version, he'd reverted back to the bleached one.

Spike blinked sleepily and looked up, finally registering her presence.

"Hello cutie," he greeted and threw her a wobbly smile.

There was a world of hurt simmering under his drunkenness and she decided to let the lecture about his intoxicated condition slide for now.

"Hi yourself, Back-to-Bleach Boy." She sat down next to him and tugged on one of his curls.

"Whossat?" He frowned, and Buffy smiled.

He'd actually forgotten that he'd had all the color sucked from his hair. It was funny, really.

"So, the Big Bad's back, huh?"

"Where?" The out and out confusion on his face was priceless. He abruptly struggled to his feet. "Angelus!" he cried. "You bloody poofy ... wanker!"

Buffy pulled him back down as Angel approached them.

"Back to normal?" he inquired.

"Him or me?"

"Either."

"I sobered up as soon as I got in the same room with him," Buffy said. "Weirdness rears its ... weird head again. But hey, gettin' used to that now."

Angel nodded. He looked amused, though how he managed that without changing his facial expression was beyond her.

"What about the hair?" he asked.

"Hair?" Spike piped up. "Hey, Broomstick Brow's an expert on hair." He gestured at his Sire with his beer. "It don't stand up like that on its own." He leant forward. "It used to be long, didn't it, Dad?" He tipped his head, delighting in his retrospective description. "You used to tie it back."

Angel gave him a withering look. "So did you."

There was a long pause and then both vampires smiled, reliving old memories.

Buffy peered speculatively back and forth between the pair, trying to imagine them a century ago. They were probably hot then too.

"I was," Spike assured her, picking up on the thought. "He ... wasn't. Ever."

Buffy laughed and playfully nudged him with her knee. He covered it with his hand and squeezed possessively. She placed her own hand over his and glanced up to find him gazing at her.

"God, I love you," he declared. He lowered his head and rested it against her shoulder, sighing contentedly.

Buffy froze in shock, her eyes darting up to meet Angel's.

The older vampire gave her a feeble, somewhat strained smile, then turned on his heel and left.

Spike nuzzled her neck. "Is he gone?"

She shoved him away from her. "You're impossible!"

He snorted and took a long draft of his beer.

"So," Buffy offered, uncomfortable now. "Disco huh?"

"Disco sucks." Spike slammed his empty bottle onto the table.

"It does not. It's like ... classic, or something."

"I was there when it happened, Slayer. It sucked then too." Spike gave the boisterous club-goers a contemptuous sneer. "This lot remind me of that time I turned up at Studio 54."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him and he shrugged. "Dru's idea."

"Was it ultra-cool? You know, like the movie?"

"Never saw the flick, love, but back in the day I chanced upon Michael Jackson and fed on a couple of swingers. Kept me wired for a week after."

"You met Michael Jackson?"

"Oh yeah. He's not human, you know."

"Like that's a news flash."

They shared a conspiratory grin.

"So why'd you do it?" Buffy asked.

"Do what? Get sloshed?"

"No, that part I can understand." She reached up and yanked out a tuft of his hair.

He winced and glowered at her. "Hey!"

She waved it under his nose. "Peroxide therapy."

Spike grabbed her wrist, keeping it still so that he could focus on what she held. He blinked at the white strands.

"I didn't."

"Yea-huh." Buffy nodded enthusiastically. "It's like a bad horror film. Punk Vampire Part Two — Return of the Deadhead."

"Sodding hell."

"If it's any consolation, you're more you now."

"And that means what? Spike's an inebriated idiot?"

"Yep." Buffy grinned. "No, it's just that you weren't fooling anybody with that whole new-look-me thing. You were trying to be something you weren't. This is you." She tenderly tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "The hair is who you are."

"That's incredibly shallow, Slayer. And here I was thinkin' that the bloody soul thing made me who I was."

"Well, that too. I was being ... symbolic."

"O-Kay." Spike gave her a skeptical look and then pointed to his empties. "I'm out."

"Over and out," Buffy clarified. "We're leaving."

"Wanna take me home, huh?" Spike leered. "Wanna have your wicked way?"

"Don't tempt me," Buffy muttered, hauling him to his feet.

They went into the back alley together, having reverted at some point in the departure to their recently acquired habit of holding hands.

Buffy briefly wondered if the feel of a vampire's skin was addictive.

Spike, still under the influence of his beer-binge, and the bottle of vodka that had come before it, intercepted the thought and a goofy grin plastered itself across his face.

The couple took several determined steps toward the street, stopped, and then turned back around. Their actions were all completely synchronized.

"Bet we'd clean up at the ballroom dancin' championships," Spike deadpanned. "Points for timin'."

Buffy ignored him and peered into the shadows, her spider sense tingling. There was definitely something demony afoot.

"How 'bout ice-skating?" Spike continued. "Better than that poncey bloody Torvill 'n Dean." He snorted. "'Bolero' my ass."

She frowned at him then. "You skate?"

He nodded. "Wasn't kiddin' about the dancin' either." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "I got moves you've never seen."

Buffy was denied the chance to puncture his ego when a wheezed-hiss of a voice emanated from the darkness.

"Slayer Spike," it proclaimed.

Apollyon's massive, horned head popped out of obscurity for a second before retreating. For a big guy he was pretty good at the hiding thing.

"Was that his version of 'Psst, over here'?" Buffy asked. She blinked. "Hey, I understood what he said and I don't speak the lingo."

"I do," Spike proudly declared. He actually raised his hand before realizing what that meant.

Vampire and Slayer stared at each other. No doubt about it, the link had upped the creepy ante again. Was there no end to how close they could get?

"Does this mean I'm as smart as you now?" Buffy wondered. "Scary. Good thing I'm not at school anymore. Oh, except for Modern History, damn it. I could have aced that."

Spike was silent, but she could hear his mind ticking over.

"I know the names of all the Backstreet Boys," he announced suddenly. "There's something scary." He began to list them, counting off on his fingers. "Brian, Nick, Howie..."

Buffy jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Oi! Watch it," he complained. "Sportin' your bruises, remember?"

She shrugged indifferently and dragged him toward Apollyon's hidey-hole.

"I hate you," Spike greeted the lurking Keratos, scowling sullenly. "Rotten sodding Serpiente-carrier."

Apollyon just looked at him, and then abruptly gave him a solid whack upside the head with one of his tentacles.

Buffy winced at the blow, a nasty reddish welt appearing along one side of her face. "Well, that stung," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Spike shoved the Keratos against the brick wall in retaliation — no mean feat considering the difference in their sizes. "I can still do demons over, you know," he snarled viciously, his eyes burning intently.

It was his don't-mess-with-Spike expression. Fully-fledged master vampires had been known to run screaming from it, though for some reason it only provoked laughter and ridicule from Slayers — his Slayer in particular.

He waited for a beat, making sure that Apollyon understood the message, then turned back to Buffy and ran his fingers soothingly across her cheek.

"Alright, pet? Not too bad?"

When she nodded, he realized something horrifying.

"I'm sober." He glared. "He bloody well made me sober. Now I'm really pissed off."

He whipped back around, more than ready to beat the Keratos into a slimy green pulp.

Apollyon held up his enormous clawed hands in defense. "Of Drusilla is news," he hastily divulged.

Spike's fist paused mid-flight, but it remained cocked. "Well, go on then," he said. "Keep yappin'. Might save you if you're lucky."

Buffy stepped in front of Spike and curved her fingers over his tightly clenched hand. She gently lowered it to his side, stroking his knuckles and sending him calming vibes.

"I think he came to talk, Spike," she said. "Knocking him out might kinda defeat the purpose."

"And when did you become Little Miss Peacenik?" Spike was struggling to stay annoyed. He wanted to hit something, damn it! She wasn't being fair.

Buffy kept her gaze steady and his anger abruptly deflated, punctured not only by her determination, but also by the burgeoning affection that he sensed behind it.

"Developed a real bad case of the warm fuzzies there, Slayer," he accused.

"Well, duh! Link?" She rolled her eyes. "Besides, we couldn't hurt him when he was all screechy, how'd you figure it would be any different now?"

Spike looked chagrined. "Just wanted to have a go," he mumbled. "A spot of violence before bed 'n all that rot."

"It's two a.m.!"

"And your point is?"

"Right through that freakish humany heart of yours if you don't shut up and let feely-feeler guy have his say."

"Appreciate," Apollyon hissed, gracing her with a hideous yellow-toothed smile.

"'S Okay," Buffy acknowledged. "Though, hey, could have done without the happy face from hell."

Apollyon was about to impart his news when the door to the Bronze flew open and he once again retreated into the shadows.

"Oi!" Spike shouted to the group leaving the club, and they whirled around in surprise.

Buffy hadn't even recognized Angel, Willow or Tara.

Where was her head at?

"Believe we're hung over," Spike volunteered by way of an explanation. "A bit mud-stuck, not exactly on the ball."

"And whose fault is that?"

"His." Spike pointed a condemning finger at the looming Keratos-shaped figure behind them. "He did the soberin'. I think a hell of a lot straighter when I've got a couple under me belt."

Buffy glanced down — her mind suddenly fixed on speculating what was under said belt.

"Let's keep it clean, Slayer." Spike's voice purred in her head.

"I — What?" She blushed furiously, mortified at being caught out.

"Oh, don't play the dainty ice-queen. I know good 'n well what you're ponderin' under all that perky bottle-blondeness."

"Bottle-blonde?" Buffy was offended. "Hey Pot, I'm Kettle. Black much?"

"More like white," Willow commented as she reached them. She grinned. "So, what's with hangin' out in the alley, you crazy hangin'-out-in-the-alley people?"

Tara smiled crookedly, enjoying her girlfriend's humor.

"What is that?" Angel was peering past them into the gloom, having picked up the other presence almost immediately. "Is that him?"

The Keratos cautiously moved back into the light, towering over the much smaller Buffy and Spike.

Despite already having seen the demon, Willow and Tara both squealed and clutched each other. Angel continued to peer at him suspiciously.

"I've heard of you," he said.

"Keratos demons are legendary," Buffy began. "Giles says..."

"No, I mean I've heard of him. Specifically." Angel's eyes narrowed. "You all kept mentioning him and it set a few bells ringing. He's a mercenary, for one."

"You're a bit behind the times there, aren't you?" Spike jeered. He gave his Sire his best 'you're-a-daft-git' look. "Dru hired him, you blundering prat. That's how this started."

Angel frowned. "I didn't think Dru was that..."

"Smart?" Spike scoffed. "She is. Mad as a hatter, sure, but a clever little chit."

"I was gonna say 'gullible'." Angel awarded his Childe a superior smile. "I just remembered where I heard the name. From Doyle."

Everyone remained quiet, not really being familiar with who he was talking about. Music from the Bronze thumped distantly in the background.

"Irish guy? Used to get all the great helping-helpless visions before Cordy?" Angel sighed impatiently. "Your pal there occasionally works for the PTB."

"The who-tee-huh?" Buffy's brow furrowed as she tried to work out what the letters stood for. She was enlightened by using Spike's more comprehensive knowledge. "The Powers That Be?" She gawked at the demon. "Are you kidding me?"

"Yikes," Willow whispered. "That's just..." She trailed off, awestruck.

"Drusilla was just a means to an end, wasn't she?" Angel asked the demon. He snorted. "You guys are too much."

"Unexpected arises," Apollyon warbled. His tongues flicked nervously. "Hellmouth mutate."

"The Hellmouth unexpectedly mutated what?" Spike pivoted around to face the Keratos. He could barely restrain himself from strangling the reticence out of the creature barehanded. Buffy was the only thing holding him back.

The entire assemblage stared at the demon.

Apollyon shuffled under their scrutiny. "Tale of long involved be," he offered.

"Looks like its back to the bloody shop then," Buffy sighed, completely unaware of how much like Spike she had just sounded.

~*[+]*~

The Magic Box was oddly deserted when they arrived.

Granted, it was almost three in the morning, but Xander and Anya had stayed behind in case of Giles' return. They should have been there.

Apollyon squeezed his way through the entrance and stood in the foyer, uncertain as to whether he should proceed any further. There were strange vibrations here. It reminded him of the Watcher and he cradled one hand close to his body protectively.

Spike noticed the action and swiftly snatched hold of the scaly appendage, realizing something that they had all missed.

"Claw's gone," he announced, holding up Apollyon's damaged limb.

"Giles?" Buffy asked. It was not so much a question as a resigned statement.

"Blameworthy," the Keratos confirmed. He looked almost embarrassed at the injury and tucked the misshapen hand behind his back. "Escape must or demise fear of."

Spike snorted in disbelief. "Like Rupes would even..."

"No, Rupert wouldn't," Angel said quietly. "But Ripper is more than capable, especially if he's being controlled by some form of vampire demon."

Buffy cringed, and Spike frowned at her.

"Ripper?" he inquired, searching their now combined memories. He managed to piece together a rough picture of the Watcher's dark demon-hunting past and his eyebrows shot up.

"Well, well. What do you know? It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Not always," Buffy commented dryly.

"Um, hello?" Willow raised a tentative hand. "A little wigged out about the Xander-Anya missing-ness over here."

"Hey, it's freakies all round, Red," Spike assured her. "But level heads are needed now, a bit of underhanded plot-plannin'. Best that we're not all pointlessly panicky."

"Try saying that three times fast," Tara mused offhand.

Angel was regarding Spike with skepticism.

"Weren't you the guy who had a carefully laid out plan for getting the Gem of Amarra back, but abandoned it because he got bored?"

"Told you, Peaches, with all that watchin' and waitin' my leg started to cramp," Spike explained as if his decision had been perfectly logical. "That's awfully painful, you know."

"Oh sure, and being shish-kabobbed with hot pokers was a walk in the park," Angel sneered. "Not that you had the guts to do that yourself, did you my boy? Had to hire the power-hungry vamp with the kiddy fetish..."

Spike growled, moving to launch himself at his Sire. Only Angelus called him 'boy'. He'd always hated it.

Buffy intervened, pushing a restraining hand firmly against Spike's chest.

"Lay off," she said sternly. She gave him a shove but then allowed her hand to linger, relishing the steady thud of his-her-their heartbeat under her palm.

She gave Angel a pointed sidelong glance. "That means both of you."

Angel allowed himself the tiniest of self-satisfied smiles.

Spike was always so sensitive. He was an easy mark, quick to rile, but Buffy was right. As much as it amused him, picking at the younger vampires freshly bleached defenses was not going to get them anywhere.

"What we need is to begin at the beginning," he said. "Any ideas where that would be exactly?"

"At the PTB, I'll wager," Spike said. He shot a malicious glare at Apollyon. "Kept that wrapped nice 'n tight under your scales, didn't you?"

The Keratos didn't answer. Instead, thin milk-white membranes formed over his luminous green eyes and he began to hum like an oversized bumblebee.

He extended his tentacles until they fanned from his armored shoulders, translucent folds of skin unfurling between each feeler to create the illusion of graceful, scalloped wings.

"He ever done anything like this before?" Buffy whispered in Spike's head. She had to admit that Apollyon looked pretty damn creepy right now.

"Not even when he was three sheets to the wind and blind." Spike's reply was distracted as he stared at the demon in absolute fascination. He didn't even call her on the pointless whispering. "Hope this isn't leadin' to an explosion of some sort."

"Ditto." Buffy didn't take her eyes from the Keratos. She didn't do anything more than lean back against Spike, knowing that he'd support her.

He wrapped his arms around her slight form, partially enfolding her in his duster, and rested his cheek against her hair.

Neither one realized the bond that the intimate position implied — they were too engrossed in Apollyon's metamorphosis to even think about it.

Angel was transfixed.

Not by the demon, but by Buffy and Spike.

The familiarity was second nature to them, he realized. The short time that they'd been linked had been long enough for a synergy to have formed between them, a kind of harmony in their actions. It was there in the shared heartbeat and the synchronous breathing that he doubted they had even yet noticed. It was even present in the ebb and flow of their arguments.

Spike was smoldering dark to Buffy's radiant light, the night to her day.

Hell, Angel thought as his Childe absently brushed back a strand of Buffy's hair, he was even left-handed to her right. They were two halves of a whole. He could see that now. She was lost to him forever.

"It was never meant to be."

The insightful declaration came from the Keratos demon, but it was delivered in a clear and unmistakably feminine voice.