Chapter Nine: Hark the Herald

Buffy blinked at the transformed demon.

"Okay, what gives? What's with the girly-speak?"

"Direct link." Spike disclosed, his voice purring in her ear and sending an exhilarating ripple of shivers up her spine. "He's just tapped right in."

He seemed peculiarly entertained by the concept, a patented Spike-smirk playing across his lips. Then he actually laughed outright and the attendant Scoobies looked at him like he'd gone off his trolley.

"Oh come on! He's the bloody PTB's satellite dish," he gleefully explained to their blank faces. "How idiotic is that?"

Buffy giggled then, though it was obvious she was fighting the urge. Some part of her realized the importance of this and wanted to know how it fit in with her destiny as the Slayer.

"Lower beings," the voice intoned, managing to sound both annoyed and amused. "I am Herald, Supreme Oracle of the Powers That Be. You will heed my words."

"Yeah, hang on, love," Spike wiped a tear from his eye. "Let a fella get his sodding breath."

Herald was startled. She had never been spoken to in such an informal manner. Where was his honor, his respect? Surely this being realized the magnitude of his destiny, of his status in the Aftertime?

"You have not yet found your place," she said.

Spike frowned.

"My place is with the Slayer," he said matter-of-factly, his arms tightening reflexively around Buffy. "Figured that pretty much covered it."

Buffy smiled.

That was sweet. Uber-freaky, but sweet.

"That is true," Herald agreed. "But you are also to be a player in the Aftertime. You are to be a Guardian." She sounded puzzled. "Are you not aware of this?"

Spike snorted. "Listen, pet, right now I could be Arthur or bleedin' Martha and wouldn't give a toss, so give us a break and cut all the cryptic stuff."

Herald was silent. She was listening to something outside their perception, although no one present could quite grasp how they knew that.

"I am bid to explain," she said after a moment, her serene voice continuing to come from the Keratos demon. "But only what is necessary for your imminent challenge. The remainder is not yet for your knowledge. I was misinformed about this, I am ... sorry."

"Some Supreme Oracle," Buffy scoffed. "Gets her wires all crossed and spills the wrong info. Now we'll spend ages worrying about what the Aftertime is."

"But hey, I'm gonna be a Guardian," Spike boasted. "That's gotta be good, right? Won't be roastin' on some griddle in the fiery pits, at least." He scowled suddenly. "Does this mean I'm one of the white-hats now?"

Buffy tipped her head back to peer at him. "You've got the hair for it."

Spike leered at her and then melodramatically buried his face in the exposed curve of her neck, snarling savagely. He even went so far as to nip her skin with his blunt human teeth.

Buffy wasn't impressed and coolly stomped on the toe of his boot.

They both groaned at the same time.

Willow stepped forward, keeping one of her hands locked with Tara's for moral support. She seemed somewhat scandalized by Buffy and Spike's behavior.

"I — Um, look, Oracle Lady? I'm just a little confused about what's actually happening here. Are you saying that Buffy's supposed to..." she gestured vaguely. "...Be with Spike."

"It is ordained," Herald said. "He is her counterpoint, her balance. They are the convergence of light and dark in this world, the fusion of good and evil."

"Yeah, me 'n the Slayer, we're the picture of co-existence," Spike said sarcastically. "All sweetness and light. We're a bloody Rockwell painting we are."

"Spike, shut up," Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. "This is important."

Spike rolled his eyes in a see-what-I-mean sort of way.

"See what I mean," he said.

Herald fell silent once more. It was a disapproving silence.

"Now you've upset her," Buffy complained.

"Did not."

"Did too. It is so your fault. You're being all grumbly and annoying."

"Annoying?" Spike scowled. "What happened to 'sweet'?"

"I'm going to forget I thought it," Buffy snapped.

"Yeah ... well ... me too." He was so irritated he couldn't think straight enough to respond properly.

The argument was escalating and they separated, facing off.

"That's a real smooth comeback, Fang-breath," she taunted. She shook her head in disbelief. "And the PTB have ordained our togethery-ness? What the hell are they thinking?"

"Hey, you're the one doin' the protesting on that score. Wasn't me bein' all 'there is no us' and 'I don't love you' and 'get off me you disgusting pig'."

"I never said that once!"

"Oh right." Spike's eyes widened incredulously.

"Well, I didn't!" Buffy asserted, then amended the statement. "Not recently. Not out loud at least." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Anyway, you're the one that's trying to fob off the thing about us connecting before the Serpiente even happened. You great big ... avoidy coward."

"Coward?" Spike puffed out his chest. "Me? You're one to talk. Should change your stupid name to Cleopatra, you should. Bloody Queen of Denial."

"That was lame." Buffy scoffed. "You're so pathetic."

Angel looked back and forth between the two, noting how alike they were in both temperament and strength. This could get interesting.

"I'll take twenty on Buffy," he said to Willow.

She stared at him like he'd suddenly turned into Angelus. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "They're gonna kill each other and wreck the whole meant-to-be thing."

"They won't kill each other," he said confidently. "They've both had plenty of chances before and never acted on them. This is all for show."

"The Warrior, Angel, is indeed correct." Herald had apparently realized that outraged silence wasn't going to get her anywhere. "It is merely a manifestation of their passion."

"Oh," Willow peered at the couple. The dispute had descended into wordlessness and they'd resorted to fiery glares and contemptuous scowls. The tension in the air was palpable. "Passion," she repeated slowly. Then, "Ew, too much information. I just had this horrible visual."

"Yeah," Angel looked pained. "I didn't need to know that. I mean, I knew that's what it was but you didn't have to spell it..." He glanced up eagerly, having latched on to something. "Hey, did you say that I was a Warrior? Is that an Aftertime thing?"

Willow blinked at the sudden change of subject and turned her attention back to Herald-Apollyon. The demon's funny eyelid-thingies were starting to flutter. "Um, guys? I think you're about to lose your PTB connection."

Buffy and Spike were nose to nose at this point. At the observation they whirled to look at Willow.

The red-haired witch took a step back, hearing Tara's soft gasp behind her. This was a mega-yikey situation, even more than the morphing demon had been.

Their eyes were glowing.

Not a creepy, all-out alien sort of glow, but a subtle electric glow. Like static, or fireworks — the exploding sky-rockety Fourth of July kind.

Constant warmth radiated from behind Spike's irises, the cool blue heated with power. Curiously, his aura was composed. Buffy, on the other hand, was all vibrant energy — her eyes imbued with flashes of sparkling emerald green.

The bright colors seemed to alternate, the irises of Vampire and Slayer generating iridescent tones of both shades — then they kind of ... combined in a swirling aquamarine crescendo and disappeared. It was incredibly beautiful.

"The link is complete." Herald spoke in hushed tones, as if even she were awed. "They are one."

"And while arguing too," Angel observed, his lips curving in a melancholy smile. "It's kind of poetic."

He was a little surprised at his sudden lack of antipathy. When did he become one of the unopposed?

"That was excellent!" Willow blurted, channeling the absent Xander.

Tara peered at her, a bit daunted by the unusual outburst.

"What happened?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously.

They looked at each other in surprise and tried a second time.

"It was..." Again with the sameness.

"That isn't..." Ditto.

"Wow," Willow breathed. "They're like, almost the same person."

"Don't think so, Red," Spike disagreed.

It took a shift in consciousness that could easily become second nature, but his basic personality remained separate — the rest had merged seamlessly with the Slayer. In reality, it was not much different than the active link, and was actually a step back from the level of closeness they'd already reached. The main distinction was the latent knowledge that this was a permanent, indestructible bond. This was for life.

Or unlife, as the case may be. He still wasn't all that clear on where he stood in the mortality scheme of things. The by-product heartbeat was still thumping away at Buffy's pulse rate and the need to breathe was still pressing. If it weren't for his dust-inducing sensitivity to the light of day, he'd say that he was almost the male equivalent of a Slayer.

"You will no longer be susceptible to the sun," Herald informed him, reading his thoughts. "You have risen a step above and are now past certain pitfalls of your earthly existence."

Spike stared, rendered speechless by the announcement.

"What?" Buffy croaked, struggling to accept the full significance of what was happening. This fresh tidbit of news was a bit much coming on top of an introduction to the heart of Spike's essence.

And 'heart' was definitely the operative word. There was no doubting it now — he was truly, madly, deeply in love with her. And he was right about something else too. William was still in him. He'd been shunted back into some secluded corner of Spike's psyche, but he was there, a teeny-tiny remnant of pure shiny goodness in the dark.

Angel was deliberately ignoring this latest development and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, staring at the Oracle.

"Are you gonna do the big reveal or not?" he asked bluntly. "'Cause there's still the small matter of a missing Watcher."

"And a missing ex-demon," Willow went on. "And a missing ... guy." She frowned at that last, feeling that Xander somehow deserved a better rap. He was more to them than just a guy.

"N-not to mention the deranged vampire with the boosted vision-giving gift," Tara put in.

"Hey," Spike complained, having finally found his voice. "Hold up. Thinkin' that maybe this ... 'us'-ness is a tad more important."

Buffy was finding that his tendency toward selfishness wasn't quite as aggravating to her now. She could see where it was coming from. And though insecurity wasn't something she'd previously associated with him, it explained a lot.

"Or maybe not," she retorted. "Seems to me that part was supposed to happen." Ignoring the mockery inherent in Spike's raised brow, she continued on. "The PTB set us up. All the other wiggy stuff going down is a defecty side-effect that they didn't count on."

Spike grimaced. "Bloody stupid, stinkin', hellmouthy Hellmouth."

He sighed and canted his head to one side, his lips twisting thoughtfully. "It's gonna be light soon," he commented seemingly offhand, casting a furtive glance at the shop's front window. "Wanna try for a quick stroll 'round the neighborhood?"

"There won't be any more big scaredy runaways on my watch," Buffy told him. She raised her eyebrows. "The name Drusilla ring a bell? Or Giles? We need to focus here." She eyed the Oracle-occupied Keratos demon intently. "Okay, you, Heraldy Girl, make with the bean spillage."

"As you have already ascertained, the presence of the Hellmouth was, as you say, a spanner in our workings?" Herald's voice contained a smile. "What has transpired has resulted in the release of the vampire demon. It is operating as a separate entity outside of its vessel."

"Are you sayin' that my demon ain't in here with me?" Spike scowled. "That can't be right. I'm still with the liquid diet."

"Yes, that ... quirk will remain with you. However, when was the last time you underwent transmogrification?"

"Huh?" Buffy wished that these Oracle things came with a built-in big-word translator.

"She means when did I last go game-face," Spike simplified. He folded his arms and considered the question. He was silent for a full minute. "And, believe it or not kiddies, I can't recall. The only one goin' all fangy and 'Grr' recently was Giles."

Buffy carefully thought back over the short time that he'd been back in Sunnydale. She couldn't remember either. Even before he'd left for his Mexican jaunt, his game-faciness had been a rare occurrence.

"You don't even get bumpy when you're feeding anymore, do you?" Buffy gazed at Spike, her face displaying a kind of wonderment. She became aware of the dreamy expression, frowned, and adopted a more casual demeanor. "I mean, not that you'd need to, drinking from a mug and all." She tipped her head at Herald. "Is that chip-related?"

"The Initiative were allowed to operate here on our indulgence," Herald told them. "Because the implantation of the chip itself was necessary. William was not going to have sufficient control without our intervention. He needed guidance. His waiting period had drawn out long enough and you had already been called."

"Hang on," Angel held up a hand. "You said William. You don't mean his soul? Not that William?"

"Which other?" Spike jeered. "You and Dru did something wrong, you know. He's been in here since I was turned. Bugger never left."

"He wasn't meant to," Buffy stated with sudden insight. She didn't even glance at the vampires, keeping her eyes on the demon. "He was supposed to stay behind. Spike was turned wrong on purpose."

Angel frowned at that. "But I don't remember anything going that drastically wrong. Other than you putting up one hell of a fight when we..." he trailed off, his complexion becoming suddenly even more pale.

"When we what?" Spike demanded. "What the hell did you do?"

"You'd have to go into the vagaries of vampirism," Angel murmured. "It can't be that common an occurrence... I mean, I'm sure the Old Ones would have records of something similar." He didn't seem to be addressing anybody specifically, the hushed commentary making sense only to him. "Maybe Giles would be able to explain the details better, but if I'm remembering it correctly..."

"I do remember some of it," Spike inserted. "It's not exactly the clearest of memories, but still ... special, you know." He drifted into reflection, a wistful smile crossing his face. "Dru was so different. She came to me spoutin' all manner of fancy things. Swimming fish and glory and walking in unimaginable worlds..." He blinked, coming out of his reverie to a gaggle of vacant faces.

He blushed. "Right. So, you figure she could see the future goings-on then?"

Angel sighed, disregarding the question in favor of recounting his story.

"Dru had been wanting to make herself a playmate, and she had her heart set on Spike from the moment she laid eyes on him." He shrugged. "There's no accounting for taste, I suppose, but she is insane."

"You can insult me later, you poncey git," Spike broke in. "Just get on with tellin' the tale."

Angel gave him a formidable glare but continued on.

"Dru had no business trying to turn anyone. She was still a fledgling really, only twenty at the time. Darla and I shouldn't have allowed it."

He shook his head. The enormity of his own past arrogance never ceased to amaze him.

"There's a period that comes in the draining when you know the soul has left the body. It's a change in the taste, like a plateau, or the eye of a storm..." He faltered, wincing at the inanity of his description. "Kind of a difficult thing to put into words. The Time of Sanguinary Blessing, the Old Ones call it. That's when the intended is supposed to drink from you. I'd assumed that Dru had already reached that point when she first attempted the feeding, but looking back, I can see that William hadn't completely left." He glanced at Spike. "That's why you woke up in the middle of it and scared the daylights out of her."

"Now, personally, I would have taken that as a big, flashy neon sign that something was wrong," Buffy stated blandly. "Of course, that would be dumping a load of sane into the mix..."

"Dru called for me to come and help," Angel said, ignoring her. He had become distant, lost in his recollection. "You were fighting her off when I arrived so I..." He lowered his eyes guiltily. "I held you down while she tried again."

"Bastard," Spike muttered, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He made no further comment, not trusting himself to stay calm enough to hear the rest if he did. He almost didn't register the Slayer taking a supportive hold of his hand.

"It happens sometimes, the fighting, but not usually as ... enthusiastically."

"Tried?" Buffy prompted. "What, the second time didn't work either?"

"No."

"Well, how many times did she bloody well try?" Spike was horrified at the turn the story was taking.

"Three times," Angel said. "Or was it four? None of them were successful. As I said, it was probably because William was still present. We didn't realize that then," he asserted. "I didn't realize or I wouldn't have..."

"And this is the part where you stepped up to be the Daddy, right?" Spike drawled flatly. "Oh joy of joys. Lucky me." He was so tense he was surprised his tendons weren't snapping.

Buffy pulled him into a comforting embrace then, abandoning the cursory hold on his hand to mash her face against his chest and bury her arms inside his duster to enfold his taut body.

He stood stiffly, not taking his eyes from his Sire. He didn't want to be comforted — he wanted to smash something. And Angel's face was looking like a good place to start.

"I'm sorry, Spike, we didn't know," Angel persisted. He could no longer meet his Childe's eyes. He realized that there was no way he could make up for this.

"Drusilla was well aware of her role," Herald told them, breaking into the strained atmosphere with her calm tones. "She was the sole demon who was able to heed our call, the harbinger of William's salvation."

"You mean, she was the only one mad enough to cock it up," Spike growled.

"Her ... instability has been used to our advantage, yes." Herald didn't seem have a problem with that. "She was someone for you to care for, an outlet for your devotion. Without her, you would never have been able to love the Slayer as you needed to."

"So, this is Dru's fault then?" Spike's skin was flushed with his anger. It was an uncomfortable, prickly heat and he hated it. It was way too hard to look cool when you were sweating bullets. "Convenient for you, is it? Makin' her the scapegoat?"

Buffy smothered an inappropriate smile against the front of Spike's T-shirt. She'd picked up the stray thought about looking cool, and it was so out of place amid the drama, it was funny. And he really was developing quite the shiny surface. Made him look kinda ... lickable.

Ew, gross! Lickable Spike! Spike lickage! That was just too... Actually, it sounded downright intriguing. Her mind should do the wandering thing more often. It arrived in the most interesting places.

Spike peered down at the top of Buffy's head. She hadn't let up on the hugging and he could still feel the comfort thing going on, but her thoughts had suddenly veered off on a fascinating tangent. It was distracting him.

He smirked. Lickage, huh? The girl's mind worked in the oddest way. He closed his arms around her, resting his hands against the small of her back.

Willow scowled at the Buffy and Spike huddle. Something wiggy was going on under the surface there. Her scowl deepened as Buffy tilted her head back to bat her lashes at Spike in mock innocence, her lips curved in a subtle, almost seductive smile. The vampire's tongue curled behind his teeth and he raised his eyebrows at her in a really suggestive way. She responded with a tinkling laugh and burrowed closer against his chest. It was weird and sort of indecent, but somehow not so large with the surprisiness.

"They are meant to be together, aren't they?" Willow wasn't expecting an answer. She was stating a fact. A completely fait accompli-ish fact.

"All that has taken place in their pasts has lead to this moment," Herald sounded almost reverent. "They are united as equals. Equal in love, in hate. In strength and weakness, in all things. No other shall rend them apart, it is an eternal bond meant to endure long beyond their passing."

"Wow. So they're actually like, married? In a spiritual sense, I mean," Willow was captivated now. Maybe the link wasn't so ooky after all. Married was good. Married was ... safe. She could think of them as married. If she didn't let herself think too hard, that is. "That's cool. I'm down with that."

"Me too," Tara put in. "Way down."

She had been feeling a little left out of the proceedings. Most of the people being mentioned were unknown to her, but Buffy and Spike? She knew them. And she knew how perfect they were for each other. She had understood where they were headed from the moment she first saw them together. Karmic destiny was great that way. She'd felt the same pull when she first met Willow.

Angel had moved away from the living sculpture that was the transmuted Keratos and was sitting at the study table, toying with vision inventory that he'd written earlier. It was probably obsolete now. "So, what about Giles?" he asked.

Buffy's head snapped up from its cozy resting-place against Spike's chest.

Oh God, Giles! He'd completely slipped her mind. Bad Buffy, bad, bad, bad...

Herald seemed to sigh. "This is more difficult to explain. What developed when the Watcher made contact with William was..."

"'Spike', love," Spike interrupted. "Call me Spike. I don't hold with usin' that simpleton's name. Haven't gone by it for a good while, and I don't bloody plan to start up again now."

"But you're listed in the Watcher's Diaries as William the Bloody," Buffy noted, her attention momentarily diverted from the Giles problem by Spike's unusual request. She wasn't going to forget her Watcher again, but, "Hey, did they call you that because it's like, every second word that comes out of your mouth?"

"I hate that sodding name," Spike grimaced. "Doesn't exactly come from a happy period in my life, you know."

"You mean 'unlife'." Buffy corrected.

"I meant what I said, pet. That unfortunate moniker hails from my delightful pre-vamp days."

Buffy's eyes widened and he could sense her diving in for a quick look-see at their combined memory banks.

Tara blinked at him. She hadn't heard anyone call him anything other than Spike. "Were ... Were you a serial killer or something?"

Spike laughed at how very wrong that was. Laughed until tears came to his eyes.

Tara looked mortified. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Oh love, you gave the ol' funny bone a proper ticklin' there. Serial killer," he snorted. "God, how I wish..."

He suddenly realized that Buffy was staring at him like he'd sprouted another head — a particularly ugly one ... with horns. Or, judging by the look in her eyes, maybe a halo. She'd discovered his deep dark secret then. Thankfully, she wasn't mentioning it to the others. Not for the moment, anyway.

"You realize that we will be into some serious former-life conversage later," she informed him via the link. "'Cause I want in on the embarrassing details."

"Now, that's a date." He grinned at her, twirling a silken lock of her hair around his fingers.

Buffy sighed and snuggled back against his chest. The guy could do double-duty as a pillow he was so comfortable. She smiled. A big softie that's what he was. A big, romantic, poetry-writing softie.

"Okay, can we get back to Giles now?" Angel was getting impatient, and he had the feeling that Herald wouldn't be able to keep the connection open for much longer.

"Yes, as I was saying," Herald sounded relieved to be continuing her explanation, "When, ah, Spike initiated contact with the Watcher, his demon must have sensed an opportunity for freedom. As a result of the chip, the demon has been repressed, and in the Watcher, it has found at least a small outlet for its bloodlust."

"So Giles was like a psychic escape hatch?" Willow frowned. "That is just plain wrong. Evil and wrong and a bunch of other bad words that I can't think of right now." She pondered that for a moment. "Which, I guess, is the whole point..."

"Jeez, poor Giles," Buffy lamented, her voice muffled against Spike's shirt.

He gave her a gentle squeeze that she returned in kind. He was pretty touchy-feely for a vampire. She couldn't seem bring herself to let him go and she was beginning to find that somewhere close to frightening.

Spike sensed the tiny panic attack and reluctantly drew back. He placed a brief kiss on her forehead and turned her around to face Herald, managing to keep one arm curved over her shoulder from behind.

"Listen to the fairy-story then, pet," he murmured in her ear. "We've got all the time in the world for the other."

Buffy smiled. She could feel it spreading into a big, sappy lovesick grin but she didn't care...

Oh my God, lovesick? Sick with love? Since when?

Since always, you doof. That peppy little voice-of-reason popped up when she least expected it, but it always spoke the truth. She loved Spike. Okay, no big. She loved Xander too — a nice platonicky kinda love.

Right, so was she in love with Spike?

She was. She really was. How in the hell had that happened?

Her mind seemed to freeze, trying to process the bombshell. Her heart went into a frenzied squeeze-and-release routine that was almost painful.

When had she gone from hating his guts, and most of the rest of him, to not wanting to be apart from him ever again? This was going down too damn fast for her taste. It smacked of some kind of interference, like some kinda of love mojo had been sprung on her. It was Willow's 'will-be-done' spell all over again.

Spike understood every last bit of what was going on in her beautiful head, could feel it in the churning of his gut and the tightening of his chest. It was one doozy of an internal battle and she was reeling from it.

Buffy was in love with him.

Him, Spike, the guy who had not so long ago headed the list of people that she would most like to see dead. She'd finally admitted it to herself. He felt like breaking into song or screaming around the room in full-fledged hysterical joy. Of course, he couldn't allow himself to do that. Not yet, not until she was coping with the admission. And judging by the stunned expression on her face, that was gonna take a while.

She wrenched away from him, trying to put as much space between them as possible, and sat at the study table next to Angel. The older vampire watched her with concern in his dark eyes, knowing that something was up, but not sure if he really wanted to ask for the details.

Spike folded his arms, resisting the urge to follow her, his chiseled face betraying nothing of his own inner turmoil. He was happy and frustrated and a handful of other things all at once, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. William, the sentimental prat, had taken over and he wasn't letting the opportunity go to waste.

Herald's voice broke into the awkward atmosphere, but it was not the smooth tone that they had become accustomed to hearing. She was either breathless, or her fragile connection to this dimension was breaking up. As if in confirmation of the idea, Apollyon's eyelids fluttered and he swayed a little, his tentacle-wings rippling.

"My time draws short," she said. "All that remains is for you to rid the Watcher of his demonic possession. The text you need will be made available to you."

At her words, a thick book miraculously appeared in mid-air and thudded to the ground at Willow's feet.

"Like an exorcism?" The witch was surprised. She sat down on the floor to open the book, but it flipped to the correct page of its own volition. She peered curiously at the spell it revealed. "I'd never thought of vamps as being possessed before, but that's kinda true, huh?"

"He won't get all vomity and Linda Blair on us will he?" Buffy pulled a face. She'd always hated that movie. Buffy and vomit were unmixy things.

Spike gave her one of his genuine grins. There was that oddball humor of hers again. It was one of the things he loved about her, her ability to laugh in the face of extremely intense situations.

She threw him a look of furious dislike. She didn't want any love vibes coming from him right now. No love for Buffy, and definitely no love for Spike.

He quirked the scarred eyebrow at her, his grin evaporating.

She was fighting this too hard.

It was losing battle, couldn't she see that? The feelings were there. The fact that she was even angry with him revealed the magnitude of those feelings. She'd admitted it, and she knew that he knew that. There was no denying it — not now, not ever.

Confessions of the heart were never pretty, especially the deep dark secrety ones, and he understood the painful repercussions of that kind of exposure only too well. He'd gone through the same thing himself, had struggled with his own feelings for months, years. But this? This was out and out rejection.

"What about Dru?" he asked Herald, not breaking eye contact with Buffy. The Slayer's quiet, determined avoidance was starting to piss him off.

"Yeah, about that," Angel put in. "How has she been sending these visions if not with your consent?"

"Our consent was granted," Herald informed them. "Though your Seer's vision is true, we enabled a heightening of Drusilla's power in order to draw you here, manifested illusions that all that came to pass was of her own making. You needed to be present, to bear witness to the Slayer's union with your Childe. It is an event that will have consequences in your own life and, indeed, in the lives of those close to you." She sounded very pleased with herself. "It is for the greater good. Everything we do is to that end."

Spike snorted. "Oh yeah, you higher-ups are great at the altruism. Not to heavy with the personal sacrifices though."

"Explain," Herald's manner was annoyed now. She was not used to her motives being questioned.

"You expect us lower beings to do what you want, when and how you want it, right? But you don't do a hell of a lot in repayment. So little Spikey's got a soul? I'm so bloody honored that you care."

"It can easily be revoked," Herald's voice was beginning to cut in and out. Apollyon's eyes opened a fraction.

"Seeing as it was such a chore to keep it here in the first place, I don't see how that's gonna happen, love."

Spike knew he was pushing it, messing with the PTB, he just hadn't aggravated anyone for a while — he needed the rush. Plus, the pain from Buffy's rejection was looking for a way out and he didn't think she'd appreciate him belting the crap out of his Sire, which is what he really wanted to do.

Buffy was glaring at him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, her displeasure into his head.

"Quit it, you moron," she scolded via their link. "She'll fry you or something."

"Then I'll fry." At that moment Spike didn't particularly care. "Don't feel that I'm cut out for this Guardian thing, anyhow. And it's not like anything's gonna come of this link business. Not while you're being Denial Girl."

"I am not in denial!" Buffy snapped aloud.

"Denyin' that you're in denial," Spike observed dryly. "Now that's rich."

Buffy's gaze grew dangerously narrow, and both of them experienced a slight twinge as the chip threatened to activate.

"I hate you," she asserted. "I mean, I really, really, really hate you."

"Okay, you hate me," Spike conceded. "I get it, Slayer, alright? You've made your point." He sighed, seeming to sag as the fight went out of him. "You win. I'm done tryin' to convince you otherwise. It's the worst kind of torture ever. Even Peaches couldn't do better."

Angel frowned then. "I resent that. Some of my best..." He stopped, suddenly realizing what he was saying, and smiled ruefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Right." Spike huffed. "I haven't got the scars to prove it either."

The Keratos demon chose that moment to come out of his transformation, lapsing back into his Apollyon persona with a loud whistle-grunt. His double tongues flicked in and out rapidly.

Willow glanced up at him from the spell book. "Oh, you're back."

"All will better be," the demon warbled happily. "Powers restore balance."

"Balance?" Spike spat skeptically. "You know where you can shove your sodding balance, mate." He stalked away to set himself atop the counter.

Apollyon's tentacles curled defensively. "Messenger I am only," he returned. "Do not be shooting me."

Spike's only response was a testy snarl followed by the mechanical flick of his lighter as he ignited a cigarette.

"So, we have the basis of a plan right?" Angel asked, taking on Giles' usual role of Commander-In-Chief. "We have the exorcism spell. And if Willow says it's do-able, I'd say a rescue mission's in order." He raised his eyebrows. "All those in favor?"

Willow absently thrust her hand in the air, still avidly reading from the book. Tara smiled shyly and did the same. Spike refused to look at them, blowing a cloud of smoke in the opposite direction.

Buffy cast a grateful smile at Angel as she raised her own hand.

He was right. Her Slayery-ness was needed now. It was time to focus on the important stuff — Giles, Xander and Anya and the current crisis. She would deal with the whole Spike-related craziness later.

Much later.

Chapter Ten: You Know, The Usual

Rupert Giles was trapped in his own body with no way out. The demon had taken full control not long after he'd extracted the information about the Powers That Be from the unwilling Keratos, and his soul had been driven back into the recesses of his being.

Drusilla was convinced that she alone had masterminded the Serpiente. The subsequent linking of Buffy and Spike had distressed her for a while, but she had since deluded herself into thinking that the only way she could be with Spike was through his demon. Consequently, she had taken Giles under her wing.

Now she intended for Anya and Xander to be his first victims.

The couple had been easy pickings, trusting him to guide them to safety from the demented vampiress. They never suspected that he was working with her — that she still held Spike's demon in her thrall and he was helpless to do anything other than her bidding.

How had Spike coped all those years? A century of being at her beck and call 24-7 and never a moment's peace? Giles had always thought of himself as a patient man, but putting up with Drusilla was excruciating. His respect for the neutered vampire had increase tenfold since his possession. Spike had to be the most tolerant, considerate person on the planet. He'd had to reassess his whole opinion and that annoyed him.

He was a Watcher, he was not supposed to have respect for vampires. Perhaps an exception would have to be made for those who were ordained by the PTB.

That particular piece of news was responsible for his present predicament. The very idea that his Slayer, his Buffy, whom he thought of as a daughter, was to be forever joined to a creature of the undead persuasion had pushed him over the edge, allowing the demon full access to his anger.

And it still rankled. Even after he'd accepted that nothing he did could alter what the Powers had decreed, even after he had given up all hope of getting his life back.

He growled, earning a giggle from Drusilla. She sat on an ornate rug in front of the fireplace, hosting a tea party for several porcelain dolls, all of which were severely lacking in the eye department.

"Be patient, my lamb," she said, raising her arms as though warming them by the fire. She seemed oblivious to the fact that it was unlit. "Daddy's coming home and then we shall feast by the silvery moon. A splendid family picnic."

Giles rolled his eyes. Bloody imbecilic woman. Daddy wouldn't be coming, he was certain, but Buffy would, and she'd kill them both.

~*[+]*~

Buffy hoisted the bag of weapons onto her shoulder, slammed shut the lid of the chest and gave the living room a final once over.

That was everything, right? Stakes, crossbow, a couple of bottles of holy water, her favorite battle-axe... Yep, everything. No problem there.

The real problem was that she felt like she was leaving half of herself behind. It was the weirdest, creepiest feeling she'd ever experienced.

Well, okay, that was an exaggeration. She'd drowned once. That had been pretty creepy. Drowning hadn't felt all shadowy and hovery-dark-cloudish like this though. This was like one of her portentous Slayer dreams. Only not — 'cause she was awake.

Spike was waiting for her on the porch, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He held a sword in his left hand, and swung it in expert arcs, enjoying the feel of the blade as it slashed through the air.

Buffy stood in the doorway for a moment and just watched him.

It was daylight now, and she could sense his pleasure as he reveled in the sun's rays for the first time in one hundred and twenty years. She was glad that their little expedition home had lightened his mood.

Actually 'lightened' was an understatement. He'd been like a big kid on his first trip to the circus or something — dashing in and out of the sunshine and grinning from ear to ear. He'd also relished rubbing his newfound perk in Angel's face, asking his Sire if he had any sunblock on him, and then dissolving into a fit of giggles.

She smiled as she took in the way that his hair shone almost as blindingly bright as the sun itself. She'd never noticed how white the peroxide job really was. Either he was gonna have to dye it back to its original shade or she would have to start wearing sunglasses on a daily basis.

"Hey," he said, not turning to look at her, but keeping his eyes focused on the sword. He ran through a series of graceful sweeping moves, the blade almost an extension of his arm.

"Hey yourself."

"You accepted it yet?"

"Accepted what?" Buffy figured she could keep the whole love issue to one side while they concentrated on the rescue mission. Apparently Spike had other ideas.

He lowered the sword and rested his hands on its hilt, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She caught a wave of frustration from him.

"I know, I know," she consoled him. "Have I accepted being in love with you?"

Spike turned to look at her then, his hopeful eyes a pure crystalline blue, his lean features pale but radiant. The day really looked good on him.

Buffy sighed. She so had to stop noticing things like that. It screwed up her concentration. "It's all too sudden for me," she told him. "I'm not comfortable with the concept."

"Concept my ass," he retorted. "Being in love is not a bloody concept. It's either a fact or it isn't. You are or you aren't."

Buffy had the sudden urge to run a thousand miles in the opposite direction. If she did this now, there was no turning back...

"Then I guess I am."

Silence. Their shared heartbeat seemed to skid to a halt as they both paused to register the declaration. Then she was squealing in surprise as he shot forward and captured her around the waist, her bag of weaponry thudding onto the porch. There was a muffled clang as he dropped the sword and tightened his arms until she felt breathless. He spun in a circle, Buffy clinging on for dear life.

"Oh love, you're not gonna regret this," he told her, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking.

"Think I probably will," she gasped, pushing ineffectually at his shoulders. "Get off me, you ... vampire. I need to breathe right now."

When he didn't respond she tried tweaking his chip.

"Ow!" He backed up, his hand gingerly probing his temple, a little hurt by the unexpected reprimand. "Thought you weren't going to do that anymore."

"I never said that," she grinned at him, feeling giddy, his euphoria like a drug in her system. "You did all the protesting, buddy."

It was like a huge weight had been lifted, Buffy felt like she could float.

Spike's face changed as he read the thought. It was an odd expression, like she'd just said something he wasn't entirely happy about.

"What?" she demanded.

"Floating," Spike said thoughtfully. "Dru said that the Slayer floated."

"That's nice." Buffy was confused again. "How exactly is that significant?"

"Don't know that it is. It's just interestin' is all."

"Well, keep the interesting to yourself if it's not relevant."

He growled at her, but it was a good-natured sort of growl. He was so bloody happy, she could stake him right now and he would give a rat's ass.

"Is it wrong?" she asked bluntly. "That we're this happy and Giles is probably miserable and hurting?"

"Not wrong," Spike assured her. "Never wrong. It's just not timely."

"Timely?" Buffy frowned. "Is that even a word?"

"Don't press your luck, Summers."

Buffy slapped him smartly on the backside as he bent to retrieve his sword. He straightened and turned threateningly, pointing the blade at her throat.

"You didn't say it," he accused suddenly. He began moving toward her, slowly backing her up against the wall. "You admitted it in here," he directed the sword at her head, then to her chest. "And here, but you haven't put it out in the open."

Buffy licked her lips nervously. She could tell that he was fooling with her, but part of her couldn't help but want to fight him. Plus, the whole sword thing was pretty damn hot.

"Make me," she challenged, then blinked as the sword rammed into the wood beside her head, too close for comfort.

"Make me make you," Spike purred, lowering his head to her ear and nibbling it lightly with his teeth.

Buffy shivered, letting out a small gasp when he ran his tongue along the sensitive skin. She was so not prepared for this. Hasty retreat was the order of the day.

She quickly ducked under his arm and marched toward the steps, moving down them to stand on the front path. She folded her arms. "I, um, yeah."

Well, at least she was being articulate.

Spike shook his head, smiling. He'd finally worked out how to best the Slayer, and the discovery had come only after he no longer wanted her dead.

He extricated the sword from its makeshift scabbard and tucked it into her discarded weapon bag. After lifting it to his shoulder and pulling the front door closed, he joined her in the street.

"Buffy, look at me," he ordered, bringing his free hand up to cup her face. She met his gaze steadily, resenting that she had to obey even that small command.

"I love you," he assured her, his voice softly sincere. "It's scary and strange and I've had plenty of time to get used to it. You haven't. Gimme a good thump when I'm gettin' too pushy, yeah? Kick me where it hurts. You wouldn't think twice 'bout it normally and this whole shrinkin' violet routine isn't like you."

Now Buffy felt shy, embarrassed even. It was so annoying.

"You'd better believe it, Blood-breath," she informed him caustically. "I'll slay you where you stand."

"There's my girl." Spike gave her a satisfied smirk and took her hand in his as they headed off down the street.

They had a plan to put into action.

~*[+]*~

Angel shifted his position on the rear seat of Spike's DeSoto, certain that a shaft of sunlight was somehow boring into his back despite the blackened windows. Either that or Spike had neglected to tell him about a hidden cache of stakes.

"Whose idea was this again?" he inquired.

"Yours." Willow's answer was clipped. She was trying to concentrate. "Surprise attack, remember?"

"Remind me to never do this again, okay? I feel like a barbecued pincushion or something."

"Done," Tara chimed in, mixing some sort of concoction in a mortar and pestle. The smell was horrendous.

Of course, the car hadn't smelled too good to begin with.

"Got any lavender in there?" Angel asked. "Maybe some rose oil?"

"Are we supposed to?" Willow sounded stricken. "I don't ... Was that in the book?" She missed the book. It had disappeared the very second she had the spell memorized.

"No. It's just a bit fragrant back here."

Angel fidgeted again — pulling Spike's battered woolen blanket firmly over his shoulders. He squinted down into the void behind the driver's seat. Was that bourbon bottle empty or not?

"I don't think he's up there with the world's best housekeepers, you know?" Willow grinned. "Hope Buffy knows that she'll be picking up after him for the rest of her life."

Angel sighed and Tara seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She could be quite unnerving that one.

"It's hard, huh?" she said. "You've accepted it in your head, but somehow that doesn't make it any easier."

The vampire scowled at her. "Are you channeling the PTB as well?"

"N-no, I just..."

"She's Miss Perceptive," Willow said, pouring what smelled like cod liver oil into the mix. "Whew! That's disgusting." She glanced up at Tara. "Not you, honey, the potion."

"I know." Tara gave her a lop-sided grin and Angel was startled. She was really quite beautiful. Willow had great taste in women.

He was startled even further when Tara peered over the seat at him and said a quiet, "Thank you."

"Yeah, that's okay."

Man, was it getting uncomfortable in here or was it just him?

Willow and Tara exchanged knowing looks.

"It's just you," they said in unison.

~*[+]*~

Xander had passed panic about three city blocks back, and was barreling full throttle toward hysteria.

Anya on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber. She'd spent a good half-hour trying to come to grips with the origins of that particular catchphrase and still hadn't been able to figure it out.

Were cucumbers naturally cool, or had the phrase been invented only after the introduction of refrigeration? There was a vegetable dimension, she'd explained to Xander, but the cucumbers there weren't very cool. In fact, they were quite bloodthirsty. Not unlike vampires really.

That comparison had sent Xander into a swoon. Anya felt like kicking him. He was the man. He was supposed to be the brave one, the strong one. That's how it was in all the movies she'd seen.

Giles was acting more like a man than Xander. It was most worrisome.

"Where's Buffy?" Xander whispered, not for the first time.

"Probably having sex with Spike," Anya snapped. She wished she were having sex right now. Not with Xander though, she was much too annoyed with him. She wondered if Buffy would mind her borrowing Spike for a while...

"I did so not need that visual, Ahn," Xander admonished.

He sighed, shifting slightly. They were tied back to back with a stone pillar between them and he could no longer feel his hands. He needed his hands. He liked his hands. They were good hands to have.

"I can't feel my hands," he complained. He spotted Giles in his peripheral vision. "Yo! G-man! I can't feel my hands. Any chance of you loosening the ropes here?"

"Oh yes, certainly," Giles agreed. He made no move toward the couple. "By all means. I'll just loosen those right up."

"I take my nay-says without sarcasm," Xander drawled. "But thank you for your time."

Anya smiled. That was the smart-mouthed Xander she loved. Hope was not lost after all.

Giles began to clean his glasses with a handkerchief. Xander guessed that some habits were just too hard to break.

"Okay, you've got to wonder why the toothy twosome haven't made with the blood sucking," he commented to Anya in undertone. "'Cause, hey, a couple of real yummy treats here just waiting to be devoured."

"Maybe Dru likes her meals a bit on the ripe side," she suggested. "I mean, they used to be human, they're well aware of how essential bathroom breaks are. We've been here for hours. My bladder could very well burst."

Xander squirmed, wishing she hadn't brought the subject up. He'd just about had that urge under control.

"And just to continue with the fruity analogy," Anya went on, "With the ripeness and everything? Do you think its like she's waiting for us to fall, or is she gonna pluck us."

"What?"

"'Pluck', Xander. I said 'pluck'. As in from a vine."

"Oh ... Oh, good. 'Cause I was so not wanting to go there..."

"Drusilla is actually waiting for Angel," Giles told them, having overheard every syllable of their whispered conversation. "She seems to think that her 'Daddy', as she calls him, is in town and will be quite willing to join the festivities."

Xander frowned. That had sounded like the normal, non-vampy Giles — not the distant demony-thing that had so coolly assisted in their abduction.

"He's gone evil again, hasn't he?" he heard himself blurting. Damn his terrified vocal cords. "And the badness just keeps on a-comin'."

"I don't believe that Angelus has returned," Giles said smoothly. "She's under the impression that he has, though. It's extremely interesting."

He tucked his handkerchief into the pocket of his tweedy jacket and replaced his glasses. Apparently becoming part vampire had not improved his eyesight.

"That's a major plus for our side right?" Anya hissed to Xander. "Because you said that the not-evil Angel helps the helpless. That's us."

"Yeah, that is so us."

Xander felt another surge of panic forming as Drusilla entered the room. It was the daytime, for Pete's sake, weren't vamps supposed to sleep during the day?

"Naughty boy," Dru scolded, wagging her finger at Giles. "You're not to be holding a tete-a-tete with the menu."

"Well, I am so dreadfully sorry," Giles' apology was laden with sarcasm. "I've never eaten sentient beings before, I'm not up with the proper etiquette."

Dru blinked at him. From a distance it looked coquettish, but she was a sharp as a tack behind those limpid eyes — she didn't miss a thing. "You'll not be setting them free," she said, shrewdly picking up his intentions. "Fly away little bird. Shoo!"

She waved Giles toward the doorway, but he remained stubbornly where he was so she tried another tactic.

"Come to my parlor then, my pet," she crooned, curling her body intimately against the Watcher and trailing her slender fingers across his chest. "We could pass the day melting like snowflakes, all entwined in beautiful symmetry."

Xander's eyes almost bugged out of his head as Giles grinned — a leering smirk of a grin that was eerily similar to Spike's — and led the vampiress out of the room.

Anya sighed. Even Giles was getting sex. It wasn't fair.

~*[+]*~

Spike crept stealthily through the underbrush, the filtered sunlight casting mottled patterns on his skin. He could see his target clearly and they had not yet noticed his presence. He had the edge. Silence surrounded him like a shield, and he took advantage of the lull, springing from his leafy shelter with a hearty roar.

He landed against the DeSoto's darkened rear window, pressing his maniacally grinning face against the glass. He watched avidly as Angel bolted upright in the back seat and whacked his head against the upholstered ceiling, then he slid down the trunk to rest against the rear tire, giggling.

His Sire was such a pillock.

Buffy followed him out of the shrubbery, moving at a more sedate pace. The bag of weapons was once again slung over her shoulder.

"That wasn't nice," she chided. Her tone wasn't the least bit reproachful, though, and a grin of her own played across her lips.

"I don't do 'nice'," Spike informed her.

"Oh yeah you do." Buffy deposited the bag next to his reclining form. "I've seen it." She rapped the top of his head with her knuckles. "You can't hide that mushy center from me anymore, Poetry Boy."

Spike scowled up at her, looking so much like a recalcitrant schoolboy that she leant down and placed a maternal kiss on his forehead.

"You're thinkin' 'sweet' thoughts again," he accused.

"Sue me."

Buffy swung open the passenger-side door and peered inside. She hastily backed out again, her nose wrinkled with distaste.

"Oh my God! Spike, did you leave something dead in there?"

"Just Angel," he quipped. "What? A bit on the nose is it?" He got to his feet and brushed off his duster. "Hey, Red, you and your lover-girl better not be makin' stink bombs in my baby."

"We didn't do it purposely," Willow said, emerging from the other side of the auto. "And you get used to it after a while."

"Except if you're me." Angel's voice came sulkily from inside the car, muffled beneath the blanket. "And how about closing the doors? The sun's getting in. I'm starting to sizzle here."

Willow slammed her door. "He's so high maintenance," she grumbled. "So glad he was never my boyfriend."

Tara surfaced from the open passenger side, and glanced fretfully at her girlfriend. She held a stone mortar in her hands, its gooey contents emitting wisps of purplish-grey smoke.

Buffy grimaced at it, letting out a muttered "Ew", and then turned her attention to the Mansion.

The Old Crawford Street Mansion — of all the places in Sunnydale, why had they chosen to hole up here? The memories of this place never failed to freak her out.

Spike embraced her from behind. She was spooked, he knew that, she'd been that way since they'd left the house and he couldn't seem to settle her down. There was a something eerily foreboding about it.

"No fear, Slayer," he whispered reassuringly in her ear. "Got all the back-up you need right here."

Buffy sighed and placed her hands over his at her waist. She felt so safe with him. She'd been searching for security her whole life, and the fact that she'd found it with Spike was beyond ironic.

"How about we stay at home and Angel can go by himself?" she offered. "I mean, he's a professional demon hunter now. It's like his career."

Spike smiled at her use of the word 'home' and pressed a chaste kiss against the nape of her neck. He preferred it when she put her hair up the way it was now — showed she meant business.

"We're the Chosen Ones, pet," he told her. "Or some such nonsense. Demon hunting's in our job description, too."

He could feel her frown like it was his own.

"I don't like it when you're logical," she muttered. "Go back to being annoying violent-tempered guy."

Spike gave her an affectionate squeeze and then let her go. They had things to do.

"Love you," he said. "Stay safe."

"Spike..."

Buffy spun around and grabbed his arm, keeping him from moving away.

He quirked his eyebrow at her, the scarred one naturally, and then tilted his head in that inquisitive way she used to find so irritating. She took a moment to register how sexy it was and then blew out a frustrated breath.

Why was this so hard? She was the Slayer, for God's sake!

Spike waited, admiring the tiny line that formed between her brows when she frowned. He knew where this was leading and was willing to bide his time. He could be patient. When it came to something this important, he had all the patience in the world.

Buffy stepped impossibly closer, tipping her head back to gaze straight into his eyes. She loved his eyes. So clear, so blue ... so Spike.

"I love you, Spike," she declared firmly, almost daring him to make some snide comment.

He smirked. "Took you long enough."

Typical Spike reaction. She wouldn't have expected anything less.

She slugged him, the expected Buffy reaction, and he staggered back, laughing, pure joy on his face. There was a brief flurry of punches as she attacked again, this time with more enthusiasm. Spike blocked them all and then grabbed her wrists to pull her tight against his body. They hung there for a second, breathing heavily, suspended in the perfection of it, and then he swooped in to kiss her like he always wanted.

It was sweet and tender, yet fiery and passionate, a sensuous blend of all the contradictions that defined their relationship.

It was like coming home ... again.

~*[+]*~

Angel groaned and closed his eyes against Buffy's admission.

It was all over now. He wanted to curl up into a ball and never come out, Spike's odorous automobile notwithstanding. He could hear them kissing out there and wanted to stake himself — ten to one odds there was a spare floating about here someplace.

He was making a half-hearted attempt to search the floor of the car when the familiar image of a pissed off Cordelia Chase unexpectedly appeared in his mind's eye. Her dark eyes were flashing with anger and he could distinctly hear her voice telling him to pull himself together and do his job, or she'd stake his broody undead ass herself.

What the hell?

He blinked in confusion. Then he remembered what Herald had said earlier. He'd needed to be present for the link because it would change his life... and the lives of those close to him.

Close to him? He'd never even considered... Well, maybe once or twice in the heat of the moment, but... Cordy? His Cordy?

A speculative grin began to spread across his face.

~*[+]*~

Spike was practically skipping through the trees behind the Mansion, the blade of his sword resting nonchalantly against his shoulder. The Dru problem was still weighing on his mind, but it couldn't dent his enthusiasm in the slightest.

He was out in the sunlight for the first time in over a century, he had the PTB watching his back, and he was loved.

He was loved by Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Of course, all that made him an even bigger freak than the chip had, but that was beside the point. Right at that moment, his unlife couldn't get any better.

Except for that whole soul-retention thing and the stupid hat Buffy had made him wear.

Just before he'd left to initiate his part of the plan, she'd pulled a black Backstreet Boys cap from out of nowhere and rammed it on his head, telling him that his hair was way too conspicuous in the daylight.

Conspicuous? Spike didn't even know she knew words like that — two syllables were usually a stretch. He grinned as his chip gave a warning tingle at the slur. He knew she was keeping tabs on him.

"I hate this bloody hat," he telegraphed and felt her answering smile.

"Take it off and you die," she said, only semi-serious.

"And who'll be doin' the killin' then?" he drawled. "You? Ooh, I'm so scared." He frowned when she didn't give him a snappy comeback. "What's the matter?" he demanded, coming to a halt on the wooded path.

"Nothing."

"Bollocks." Spike hated when she did this. "Don't you try pullin' any of that bloody 'Power Slayer' rot with me, Buffy."

"We're missing something," she said, and he could feel that spooked-out thing again. "I know we've missed something. Something important."

"Hey, there are two brains at work here," Spike told her. "And I didn't miss a sodding thing."

"Right," Buffy remained distracted. "You're right. I'm probably being way stupid."

"Must be a blonde thing, Blondie."

"Is not, Dagwood."

Spike sniggered at that, then sobered as he finally grasped where her thoughts were heading.

"You're not still dwellin' on that whole 'torture Buffy' bit?"

"It's the only thing Angel saw that hasn't happened."

"Doesn't mean it will."

"But..."

"It won't happen!" Spike insisted. "Not while I'm breathin'."

"You've only been doing that for a couple of days, you know, it could stop."

"You breathe, I breathe," he said. "That's how it works."

"I know." Buffy sighed. There was a pause and then she was back in control. He could almost feel her straightening her shoulders as she reined herself in. "Now quit being insightful-stationary-guy and make with the walking," she ordered. "I hope you're not gonna come to a screaming halt every time you get a whiff of something wiggy or we'll never get this done."

Spike pouted. He could feel himself doing it, stopped and frowned. The Big Bad didn't pout.

"He so does," Buffy was giggling now. "And it's really cute."

"Sod off."

"I love you, Pouty Baby."

"You'd better," he growled. "I don't put up with this kinda crap from just anyone." Despite his tone of voice, Spike's grin was so huge it was almost painful.

She'd said it again.

Once she'd gotten it out the first time, it seemed to get easier for her. He hoped she'd be saying it a lot more from now on because he knew he'd never ever get tired of hearing it.

~*[+]*~

Xander had the gut feeling that something was going down. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly — he was just on edge for some reason. Anya wasn't helping his condition any, working steadily away at his last nerve.

"You're not helping," he muttered.

"Of course I'm not helping," Anya retorted. "Because you're not doing anything that I have to help you with. Can't you at least come up with some kind of plan? It doesn't even have to be workable — just planny."

"Okay, how about I dislocate my shoulders, twist my entire body around and do a little rope munching?" Xander cracked. "I'm just about bordering on malnourished here."

Anya's stomach rumbled in a show of gastric solidarity.

"That's what you get for mentioning food," Anya told him. "That grumbly thing only happens when I'm hungry and I wasn't until you said something."

"My tummy grumbles too," Drusilla purred, waltzing into the room. She was dressed in a floor-length white lace gown, a delicate shawl draped over her narrow shoulders. "Like a big old bear." She giggled. "Three grumbly bears."

"Yeah, and her bowl's way empty," Xander said to Anya.

"I met those bears once," she commented. "That whole porridge thing is a complete myth, but Goldilocks? With the breaking-and-entering? All true."

Drusilla stopped dancing and walked up to them with a surprisingly determined gait.

"Do I look pretty?" she asked them, her manner remarkably forthright. "Must be pretty for Daddy."

"You look very ... bridal," Anya told her. "Very sacrificial lamb-y. And that virginal vibe works for a lot of guys." She sniffed. "Or so I've been told."

"I happen to like bold myself," Xander declared. "Bold and brassy. A chick who knows what she wants and how to get it."

Anya smiled. He was so gonna find out what she wanted when they got rescued. And she had no doubt about the rescue taking place. The good guys always got rescued — that was how it worked. It was usually a last minute thing, though, and that was the part she was worried about. Buffy wasn't exactly known for her punctuality.

Drusilla returned Anya's smile, and for a moment looked like the young innocent woman she had once been.

"My Daddy's coming home," she informed them, clapping her hands gleefully. "We're going to have a lovely party." She giggled again, and spun in a circle, her bright gaze lifted to the ceiling. "Blood and tears and marvelous confusion," she continued dreamily. "The very best kind."

"Did I mention the insane part?" Xander asked dryly.

"And how about the 'Where's Giles?' part?" Anya shot back. "I don't like that we're alone with her."

"Not of the good," Xander agreed. Dru tended to be unpredictable. As much as he hated to admit it, he wished Spike were here. He'd always been able to keep the vampiress in line — even better than Angelus had. In fact, Angelus couldn't even keep himself in line and had been all for sucking the world into hell.

Xander's face dropped in open-mouthed shock when the object of his musings strolled in the door.

"Dru," Angelus growled sternly, his demon visage in place. "What have you done?"

She pivoted to look at him, worshipping him with her eyes.

"Angel," she breathed. "My beautiful Angel of death."

"Yeah, precious, Daddy's home."

Chapter Eleven: World Endage

Spike could barely contain his laughter. The situation wasn't truly funny, but Angel's blatant discomfort was tickling him something fierce. Dru was normally so perceptive, couldn't she see him shaking in his oh-so-evil leather pants?

"Concentrate," Buffy scolded in his head.

Spike scowled. He was concentrating. Wasn't his fault his Sire was such a bad actor.

He forced himself to focus on the people in the room — to give Buffy a head's up on the situation. Dru's attention was currently centered on the Magnificent Poof, but that didn't mean she was unaware of her surroundings. More than likely she could already sense him on some level.

He shifted his position at the window, wincing as the blade of his sword scraped against the stone wall. Way to be stealthy, Spike.

The whelp and his demon girl didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. That they were tied up out of the way was actually a bonus — one less thing to worry about.

Where the bloody hell was the Watcher?

The entire plan depended on his being present — and he was most notably absent. Had Dru gotten wind of something? Stashed him someplace?

A frustrated breath hissed through his clenched teeth as he cast an absent gaze overhead.

Buffy apparently worked out where his thoughts were headed before he could fully process them.

"No," she broke in suddenly. "No way in hell."

Spike backed away and looked up, measuring the distance to the second floor window. He'd made bigger leaps before...

"What part of 'no' did you not understand?" Buffy demanded, getting irritated at his lack of reaction. "You're not going in there."

Spike gathered himself like an Olympic long-jumper, taking a short run-up and then launching himself upward. He landed on his feet like a cat.

"Piece of bloody cake," he crowed, balancing easily on the ledge. He'd even managed to keep hold of the sword.

"Damn it, Spike!" Buffy yelled. "Stop ignoring me!"

Spike winced. She was getting pretty brassed off, but she hadn't yet resorted to her now-patented chip-nipping technique. Right now, that was more or less a go-ahead.

He inspected the window and, finding no locks, slid it open and crawled in, pushing his way past heavy velvet curtains. Once inside, he surveyed his surroundings.

It was one of the bedrooms. He ran his fingers along a nearby dresser, rubbing the powdery residue between the tips. Either Dru had taken to decorating the place with vamp-dust or it hadn't been used in a while.

He turned and whipped the curtain open. No use in fumbling around in the dark if there was no danger of involuntary solar combustion.

It was when he turned back that he noticed the poor unfortunate sap tied to the bed.

He blinked, rapidly taking in the teenager's tattered, bloodstained shirt, the burn-blistered skin and multiple puncture wounds — and, most tellingly, the antique porcelain doll perched on the pillow as though keeping watch. Looked like Dru had been keeping herself royally entertained while she waited for Daddy.

"Who is it?" Buffy had obviously given up trying to order him around. Now she was along for the ride.

"Pizza delivery, looks like." He made no move toward the bed, but tipped his head, watching for breathing. Yeah, there it was. "Still kickin'."

"Can you get him out?"

Spike gnawed at his lower lip, the sword tapping agitatedly against his leg. Catch 22, his favorite. If he tried getting the kid out, he might blow the plan open. With Giles AWOL it was already in serious trouble. But if he didn't get the kid out, he may very well die.

"Leave him," Buffy instructed quietly.

"Huh?" Spike couldn't immediately grasp why she was de-prioritizing someone in serious danger of popping his clogs. She was the Slayer, protector of the innocent and all that other pretentious rot. "But he..."

"He's kept going this long," she reasoned. "And we've got to stay focused on Giles." There was only a brief flash of guilt from her.

"You're being incredibly selfish, Slayer," he drawled, deliberately using the title to draw a reaction.

"Point?"

"You know the bloody point."

"I can't believe you're getting all morally indignant with me about this."

"Why not? I've got scruples, a system of ethics, just like you."

"Fine!" she snapped. He could almost see her throwing her hands in the air. "Do what you want."

"Fine," he echoed, fighting a smile. "He'll just have to keep. I got a rogue Watcher to hunt down."

"But, but you just said ... you... Aargh!" Buffy choked, wanting to choke him. "You are seriously driving me nuts."

"Now, now, pet. I never once said that I was goin' for the rescue option," Spike explained patiently. "I was just testin' your waters."

"Do the words 'not a good time' mean anything to you?"

"Nope." He gave the pizza kid one last glance and headed for the door. "Wonder how Peaches is doin'?"

~*[+]*~

Angel wanted to run screaming all the way back to Los Angeles. Back to the relative safety of the Hyperion and Cordelia's smart-ass teasing.

He hadn't remembered that Dru could be so openly affectionate. But then, he'd managed to suppress quite a few of his more unpleasant Angelus-related memories, and Dru was a whole chapter of unpleasant.

He shifted where he sat on the sofa. Drusilla curled against his side with her feet tucked up, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I only told him of the silvery moon," the vampiress divulged. She hadn't yet explained whom the 'him' in question had been. "Of picnics and walks in the park. Of glorious plans." She sat up and regarded him coyly, her slender fingers toying with the buttons of his silk shirt. "But I kept them for you special." She was talking of Xander and Anya now. "Daddy likes to play with the Slayer's friends, I remembered."

"We're sharable," Xander suggested from across the room. "If that's good for prolonging the not-being-dead."

Angel growled at him and was rewarded when Xander blanched. Maybe there was some fun to be had here, after all.

He got to his feet and strolled toward the couple. Dru watched him with a sly smile.

"You want prolonged? I can do that." He took Xander's chin in a vice-like grip and leant in, grinning lecherously. He was still in game-face and his fangs shone, razor sharp. "I can draw it out for as long as you want. Make it last and last..."

"Vampires have wonderful stamina," Anya chimed in, not phased in the least by his posturing.

Angel tried not to laugh at her observation, but a short bark emerged from his throat regardless. "I like her," he said approvingly to Xander, covering the slip. "She's fresh." He licked his lips, trying for crude and hoping he pulled it off. "Tasty."

Xander glared at him with venom.

"Touch her," he stated gravely. "And I will kill you."

Angel was impressed by his sincerity. The boy had grown.

"Can I have her then?" Dru asked, sidling up to her Sire. She wrapped her hands around his arm and bounced on her toes like an excited child. "Can I? I'll only share her with the new boy if he asks nice."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, relieved that she'd finally given him an opening. "New boy?" he asked, forcing suspicion into his tone. "What new boy?"

"Baby Rupert," she said calmly. "A wee lil' Ripper just like Jack."

She stared blankly at Anya's blouse, seemingly distracted by the glittery fabric, then turned her gaze back to Angel. He was surprised at the sudden coherence in her eyes.

"Something has gone dreadfully wrong," she said, and collapsed at his feet.

~*[+]*~

Outside, by Spike's DeSoto, the Slayer, too, slumped to the ground, an agonized cry tearing from her throat.

"Buffy?" Willow gaped at her friend in shock. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

Tara stumbled also, bumping against Willow's shoulder, then drew herself upright and stared hard at the Mansion.

"Something's up," she said. "Somebody in there just cast some seriously powerful magic."

Willow shot a startled glance at the building and then turned her attention back to Buffy. The Slayer was rocking back and forth, holding herself. Almost like she was in pain.

"I've lost him," she said. Her voice was distant, almost apathetic, but when she stared up at them her eyes were brimming with tears. "Spike's gone. I can't feel him anymore."

"That's not..." Willow shook her head. "Buffy, that can't happen. The PTB said that the link was..."

"Screw the bloody link," Buffy interrupted, emotions flaring. "This is about more than the link, it always has been. I knew this was going to happen. I was all premonitiony back at the house and Spike... I can't feel him, Will. I can't..." She whimpered. "It's like half of me isn't here."

"N-not being all flippy about it, but technically, half of you isn't," Tara said. She held up a hand defensively when Buffy glowered at her. "He is the other half of you, right?"

"Sure, but..."

"I really don't think anything has happened to him," Tara continued. She gestured at the Mansion. "There's a barrier spell, a pretty potent one. It's blocking all psychic unity. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do."

"Giles," Buffy sighed. "Also known as Ripper, the Sorcerer's Apprentice." She stared at the witches with sudden realization. "Something being cut," she said. "This is the me-being-tortured part Angel was talking about..."

"Yeah, but if he's worked out what we were doing," Willow said. "Then..."

Tara nodded. "Then the fan's been hit by some major league crapola."

~*[+]*~

His heartbeat had stopped.

There had been no warning. One minute it had been thumping merrily away and the next ... nothing. Spike felt like a hole had been torn in his chest. He wanted to scream, wanted to howl at the injustice of it.

He couldn't lose Buffy now. He'd only just broken through. They hadn't had any time...

"Interesting that you'd immediately think she was dead."

Spike turned toward the voice.

The Watcher lounged in the doorway of the Master Bedroom, his yellow eyes gleaming behind his glasses. Beyond him, Spike could see a residual haze of smoke and some burning candles. There was a distinct herbal smell.

He sighed, identifying what had happened.

"Bloody spellcasters," he muttered, rolling his eyes at his own gullibility. "Can't trust 'em worth squat." He tipped his head back and glared at the Watcher from under the bill of his cap. "Short out the psychic fuse did you, Rupert?"

"And he's not as thick as he looks," Giles droned. "Though you never did realize that I'm still partially connected to you."

"You are?" Spike frowned. This was news to him. "How?"

"The demon has a bond with its human vessel," Giles informed him. "And despite its telepathic freedom, it cannot physically leave the host."

"Makes sense." Spike was making conversation for the sheer heck of it while he tried to come up with some sort of alternate plan. The original was shot to hell. He shivered, feeling his body temperature dropping. It almost felt like...

"You understand that you're dying, don't you?" the Watcher asked conversationally.

Observant bastard.

"Figured as much," Spike admitted. He flashed a grin, hoping it came off cockier than he was feeling. "Though, hey, I'm pretty damn good being a corpse. Had a whole century to practice."

"Hmm." Giles straightened and moved toward him. "Now, how about you hand over that sword? Then we can reconvene proceedings downstairs."

"Why?" Spike lifted the weapon to an offensive position. "'Fraid I'll take you one to one? Need Dru for back-up do you?"

The shivering had increased to bone-shaking tremors and the blade shook noticeably. He was so bloody cold.

"Actually, I need her for you're re-siring."

"My which?" Spike blinked, he was getting dizzy now. Re-siring? What was he on about?

Then the penny dropped. The Watcher was gonna kill off what remained of his soul — kill William. The demon was preparing to return to an empty vessel.

~*[+]*~

Angel tested the ropes for a fifth time, making sure that they were secure. Dru was tremendously adept at escapism. He should know — he'd taught her.

"So you're not evil?" Anya asked him.

"No." He didn't so much as glance over his shoulder at her while he deposited Dru on the sofa. She hadn't even stirred.

"But you were all ... Angelus-y," Xander protested. "Evilness personified. I mean, demonified." He shook his head. "I mean, I don't believe you."

Angel knew that. He hadn't yet freed them for that exact reason. Xander's first instinct would be to drive a stake through his heart, or open the curtains and turn him into sun-dust. He had to talk them round first.

"I'm not evil. Okay? I was only doing that to distract Dru."

"Distracted me pretty good," Anya commented. "You were large and glowery and you had pointy fangs. I was very intimidated."

Angel fought the somewhat bizarre urge to thank her. He returned to the couple and grabbed hold of their bindings. "Do you promise not to stake me if I let you out?"

Xander glared at him distrustfully while his partner chirped a cheerful "You bet!" He scowled over his shoulder at her and she rolled her eyes. "Like there's a stake handy anyway."

Angel's lips twitched and he yanked at the ropes, tearing them off in one quick movement. He caught Xander's fist as it was on the upward swing. The boy had actually attempted to take him on — he was a little surprised by that.

"No," he ground out, squeezing the hand until Xander winced, some of his knuckles popping. "I told you what happened. And I haven't got time to straighten you out now. Something's not right. Dru shouldn't have collapsed like that."

He loosened his grip and headed back toward the sofa. He thrust his hands in his pockets and watched the vamp as she slept, almost like he was guarding her.

"Ouch." Anya rubbed at her wrists. "I hate being tied up. Now I have pins and needles. And ... and I need to pee," she complained.

"Good to see you've got you priorities straight, Ahn," Xander drawled, wriggling his fingers to get the feeling back in his hand. He moved to join Angel, trying to ignore the embarrassing rubbery-leg thing that developed when he walked. "So, Dead Boy, if this is the big rescue, where's Buffy?"

"She should be outside, waiting for a signal." Angel glanced at the heavy drapery shielding the windows, then moved in that direction. He'd have to do that now — there was no other choice. Spike had obviously bungled his part, or she'd be inside already.

Xander was still peering at him with suspicion.

"And where's Giles?"

"Beats me." Angel only wished he knew the answer to that. They had all assumed that he would be here with Drusilla. "He was supposed to be here. He's gotta be in the house somewhere."

Anya's terrified squeak made them both spin around in surprise.

Giles had the ex-demon by the throat. He smiled at them, fangs and all.

"Quite the party you're having down here," he noted, still sounding like the genteel Watcher that they all knew. "Mind if I crash?"

"As long as you didn't bring any of that hokey English food," Xander wisecracked. "'Cause, come on, blood sausage? What's up with that?"

Angel took advantage of the Watcher's momentary outrage to leap toward the windows and wrench the curtain back. He pinned himself against the wall as sunlight streamed into the room.

Giles dropped Anya and bolted — Xander hot on his heels. Angel watched them go with a grimace. Even the filtered light was stinging his skin. Luckily, the high back of the sofa was protecting Dru from the blinding rays. He hadn't even thought of her safety.

He sighed with relief when the demon girl closed the curtains once more.

"I like the not evil you," she told him frankly. "But the other guy was darn sexy."

~*[+]*~

Buffy saw the curtain fly back and began sprinting toward the Mansion without a second thought, the half-forgotten weapon bag bouncing on her back. Willow and Tara hurried behind, struggling to keep up with her.

She had to help Spike. It was the same deal as choosing between Giles and Dru's captive pizza guy — there was no choice. Spike, and Spike alone, was her priority. Nothing else mattered.

She kept running flat out and, not slowing in the slightest, smashed through the front door with her shoulder. She landed heavily, sprawled on the rug in the front foyer.

Anya peered down at her. "It wasn't locked, you know," she said.

"Thanks for the tip." Buffy dumped the weapon bag and began foraging in it. "Where's..."

"He's upstairs," Angel informed her.

She frowned up at him. His skin was a little reddened and peeling in a few places. Sunburn?

"Xander chased him up there," Anya boasted. "It was very heroic."

"Xander chased Spike?"

"No. Giles." Angel glowered at her. "Spike's inside? How and when did that happen?"

Buffy ignored his questions and armed the crossbow with practiced ease, her movements efficient and precise. She tucked some spare bolts in her jacket pocket and headed for the staircase just as Willow and Tara arrived.

"Buffy, no." Willow called. "You can't..."

The Slayer hesitated for a split second, but then continued up the stairs without looking back.

"She's upset," Willow explained to the others. "Giles has done something funky with the link. Messed up psychic unity. She can't feel Spike."

"That explains Dru's unconsciousness," Angel muttered. "Can you still work the exorcism spell?"

"Only if we can break the one Giles has set up," Tara said. "And we have to work fast." She held up the smelly potion-filled mortar. "This stuff is only active for a few hours."

"Right." Angel sighed. "Anya? Watch Dru. We're going up."

~*[+]*~

Buffy cautiously rounded the top of the stairs and trained her crossbow on the closest target, only to find it pointed at Xander. She frowned, frustrated, and lowered her arm.

"Giles?"

"In there," he whispered, indicating the closed door of the Master Bedroom. "The door sealed behind him. And I mean airtight, like a ... tightly sealed door. You couldn't even do an axe-happy Jack Nicholson on that thing."

"He's got Spike."

"Well, what the hell for?" Xander scowled.

"He's got something planned," Buffy hissed. "Something to do with the link."

"If you ask me, this link deal has been nothing but a hunk of trouble."

"You missed the big revelation-fest, Xand," Buffy told him. "The link was supposed to happen. Apparently the Slayer-Vamp tag-team is ordained by the PTB."

"The who-tee-huh?"

"That's what I said," Buffy giggled. She nudged him with her elbow. "The Powers That Be."

"Great googley-moogley!"

"Exactly," Buffy nodded. "Giles has screwed up the connection, though. Cast a barrier spell."

"Hence the lockout and the herby stinkage," Xander wrinkled his nose.

The rest of the Scoobies barreled up the steps behind them.

"Hey, lay off the stampeding elephants impersonation," Buffy complained.

"It's not like he doesn't know we're here, Buffy," Angel said.

"Okay," she acknowledged. "But you could still make with the stealthies. I don't want him getting all spooked and fang-happy."

"Fang happy?" Willow arched her brows. "Giles can't bite Spike. Can he? Spike's like, part of him. Or he's part of Spike. Or something."

"That's it!" Tara blurted suddenly.

They all peered at her curiously and she blinked back at them, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face.

"M-Mr. Giles' plan," she explained. "He probably wanted to, um, the demon probably wanted his body back. His whole body, I mean, without the soul. The way it was supposed to be. Originally."

Willow gasped. "And with the link all defecty..."

"Spike's may already be dying."

~*[+]*~

Spike really wished the dying thing would hurry up and happen already. The whole shivery-shaky routine was starting to get monotonous. He'd never been this cold before. Not even that time he and Dru went skinny-dipping in the Rhine in the middle of winter.

He smiled at the memory — definitely not one of his finest moments.

The bitch of this situation was that he was going to die wearing the stupid Backstreet Boys cap. The bloody thing wouldn't come off. He'd fainted, been dragged into the bedroom and tied to the bed, and the sodding thing had stuck like glue. It was such a humiliating way to go, not worthy of a Master vampire at all.

He sighed. Giles was pacing up and down at the foot of the bed. It was beginning to annoy him.

"Hey Rupert, what's got your knickers twisted?"

"Bloody Slayer," the Watcher muttered.

"What'd she do?" Spike smiled, despite his chattering teeth. "Got an irksome habit of spoilin' carefully laid plans, that one." His smile grew wistful. "I love that about her."

"You don't love her," Giles hissed. "You can't love."

"Bollocks," Spike argued. "You know what it's like. The demon runs the joint, right? But the whole time, the soul's back there, puttin' in his two bobs worth. Makin' you feel things, makin' you care."

"It's terrible," Giles admitted. And for a moment it really was Giles — the human features dropping into place, the soft blue eyes looking pained. "A constant and relentless battle."

Spike stared. He was getting through. Who the hell knew he had the ability to do that?

"What you're doing is wrong," he continued, trying to press his advantage. "You know that, somewhere in there."

The Watcher's eyes flashed yellow once again, his anger flaring.

"I am perfectly right," he arrogantly announced. "And I will send this demon back to where it came from, without the abomination of a soul to corrupt it. We'll see how much your Slayer cares then."

"She's your Slayer, too, Rupert." Spike was tiring again — the room getting fuzzy around the edges. "And what you're doing will kill her."

~*[+]*~

She wasn't ready. She wasn't up to Giles' standard. The barrier spell was too powerful.

Willow crouched in the stairwell with a makeshift altar arranged on the top riser, the other Scoobies gathered in a huddle behind her. She frowned, fighting off the wave of self-doubt, and concentrated.

She could so do this. She had to do this, or everything would be ... bad, really bad — in a world endage sort of way.

"Um, with a honeyed sacrifice I invoke thee," she intoned, lighting a small beeswax candle that she'd centered on a chalk-drawn cross. "At the crossroads, the triple power of Hecate. Dissolve this hindrance and restore broken ties. So mote it be."

There was no reaction for a whole second.

Then a gust of icy wind blew up the stairwell and rushed past them, extinguishing the candle and blasting the bedroom door off its hinges. Willow slumped against the wall, exhausted.

As soon as the barrier was out of the way, Buffy was inside, her crossbow once again aimed and ready.

She wasn't prepared for the psychic explosion that occurred as the Serpiente re-established itself. There was a familiar blinding-white flash and an agonizing emotional jolt — her heart doing an amazing skippy-trippy thing that hurt like hell. She gasped and stumbled back to lean against the doorframe, Angel reaching out to support her.

Spike's body lurched of the bed, pulling against his bonds, his back arching painfully as he took a huge rasping breath. The veins in his neck bulged as his borrowed heartbeat began pumping blood through his system for the second time.

"Jesus, Slayer," he groaned when it subsided, his eyes watering. "You've gotta stop doing that."

Giles was staring at them from across the room, knowing that his efforts had been thwarted, but not willing to give up just yet.

"Yes, you really must," he agreed. Surprisingly, his voice was devoid of sarcasm. "This affinity you have with vampires is most unseemly for a Slayer. It's vulgar. It debases you and your position."

Buffy, Angel and Spike all glared at him.

"Give it up, Rupert," Angel scoffed. "You're out-numbered. And really out-powered." He glanced upward, a flicker of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. "With a capital P."

A tormented shriek echoed its way up the stairs, quickly followed by Anya's redundant shout. "Help! She's awake!"

Spike blinked. "Who's awake?"

Angel grinned then — an Angelus sort of grin that closely resembled one of his Childe's more annoying smirks.

"We can do this with force or without," he said to Giles. "Either way, that demon's going back where he's supposed to be. Soul included."

"Not that he's wanted," Spike muttered as Buffy released his restraints.

"He's wanted," she assured him, stroking his cheek. "The demon is part of who you are. Part of what I love."

"That's way too sentimental, pet," he scolded, sitting up and pulling the much-hated cap from his head. He stared at it for a moment, then, "You mind if I puke in this?"

~*[+]*~

Willow put a hand to her head to combat her dizziness. Doing two strong, mega-important spells one after the other like this wasn't really a good idea, but at least her nose wasn't bleeding. Not yet anyway.

Tara was frowning at her concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Oh sure," Willow assured her brightly. "I can handle."

"You better," Spike grumbled. "Don't wanna be turned into a tweedy Watcher or what all."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed in the Master Bedroom, dressed in his jeans and red T-shirt. Buffy had somehow managed to acquire his duster and was draped in its folds, the garment rather large on her small frame.

"Oh, come on," she goaded from across the room. "I can just see you in a pair of those little wire-framed glasses, some natty patches on your elbows." She frowned suddenly. "What are those anyway? Not like you'd need padding in a booky environment 'cause, hey, books? Not exactly on the sharp side."

Spike growled at her. She knew damn well that he used to wear glasses like the ones she was describing. She was pushing the privacy envelope now, on the verge of exposing his secret past as the pathetically inadequate William the Bloody Awful Poet.

Buffy gave him a huge, mock-innocent smile.

Tara scowled at them, uncharacteristically stern.

"Hush now," she chided. "We need to concentrate."

Giles sat on the opposite side of the bed, Angel standing guard in case the demon decided to come to the fore and make a break for it.

"So what's involved here?" the older vampire asked. "It's just your average exorcism spell right?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, but yeah, sort of." Willow took the stone mortar from Tara and dipped her fingers into its sticky contents.

Spike pulled back as she reached toward him. "Here, you're not puttin' that on me!"

Willow just rolled her eyes and smeared a pungent-smelling dollop on his forehead. "One," she said. She walked around to the other side and did the same to Giles. "To one."

"From one to one," Tara echoed. "Joined."

"Joined in anger, separated by same." Willow's eyes had turned an odd shade, a deep purple color similar that of the potion itself. "What has come apart shall be whole again."

Her head was thrown back and the purplish light from her eyes blasted to the ceiling like a bolt of lightning. It ricocheted around the room for a moment before slamming into the marks she had made on Spike and Giles' foreheads.

"To one from one," Tara chanted. "Separated."

Spike and Giles were both flung backward at the same time. They lay on the bed unmoving.

Willow's eyes flashed once and then returned to normal. "One from one, may each remain. It is as willed, the Powers ordain."

The spell complete, she sagged to her knees. This time her nose had begun to bleed. Tara moved to her side, feeling a bit wobbly herself even though hers had only been a supporting part.

"Did it work?" Buffy asked. She was afraid to move. The figures on the bed also remained motionless. She'd know if they were dead, right?

Spike suddenly rolled into a sitting position, groaning, and Buffy rushed to him. "Are you okay?"

He peered at her groggily, feeling like a bus had hit him — something that he could attest to firsthand, having actually had it happen to him once.

"I want my bloody coat back," he told her, receiving a punch on the shoulder for his trouble. "Oi, watch it. I'm delicate, you know." He pouted and she captured his lips in a relieved kiss.

"Giles?" Angel prodded the Watcher tentatively.

"He might be out for a bit longer," Tara said. "Spike's got that whole accelerated healing thing going on."

"So that means it worked?" Buffy sat on the bed next to Spike, resting her head against the shoulder she had just hit. She took his hand and he entwined their fingers, giving them a comforting squeeze. "I mean, if Giles was still demony he'd be healed as well."

"Guessin' that's about right," Willow said, her voice strained. She got to her feet with Tara bracing her. They swayed a little.

"It's over then?" Spike inquired. "I'm fully vamped up?"

"Try it," Buffy urged, understanding what he was thinking. "It's the only way to know for sure."

"Try what?" Tara asked, only to jump as Spike slipped into game face.

He grinned at them, with his fangs gleaming and a twinkle in his yellowed eyes. "The Big Bad is back, ladies."

Angel cleared his throat, reminding his Childe of his presence.

"What?" Spike asked innocently, his face once again human. "Like that doesn't include you, Nancy boy."

Chapter Twelve: That Explainy Bit at the End

Drusilla was lost. All her lovely work was coming undone. It was torn and ragged and unraveling and Daddy didn't even care. He wasn't really her Daddy anyway. Not anymore, never again.

"You're not my Daddy," she said.

Angel turned his head to look at her. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa where she was lying. "No."

"You weren't ever my..." she trailed off and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was oddly lucid. "I was played for a fool."

Angel gaped. "Dru?" His voice was soft, uncertain.

"A cloud has lifted," she told him. "It is as if all the threads have been respun." She smiled.

"So you're not unstable anymore?" Anya peered at her. "No more nuts?"

"What do you mean, no nuts?" Xander asked, strolling into the room. He threw an arm around Anya's shoulders. "Of course she's nuts. The nuttiest fruitcake in the whole bakery."

Angel had moved to crouch next to his Childe.

"They fixed her," he murmured, stroking his hand across her forehead. "The PTB. They've made amends for using her, for setting up the link." He turned to look at the young couple. "She's sane. She's still a vampire, but she's sane."

Xander raised his eyebrows. "And that's good because -?"

Not receiving an answer, he scowled. "Hey, I'm just saying. Psycho-Dru was bad enough, but imagine the stuff she could do when she's tack-sharp."

"Maybe she got a soul, too," Anya suggested. "To balance it out or something."

"They don't go handing out souls to vampires willy-nilly," Xander said. "They're for the special editions only."

"Did you hear that then?" Spike asked as he and Buffy guided Giles into the room, Willow and Tara behind them. "Spike's special. I'm touched, Harris, really." He grinned when Xander glowered at him. "So what's all this crap about souls? Bloody epidemic now, is it?"

"She hasn't got a soul," Angel said. He stood, jamming his hands into his pockets. "But I didn't think you had one either, and I was wrong."

"Well now, color me gob-smacked," Spike quirked his eyebrow at Buffy. "Y'hear that, pet? Hair Boy was wrong. Never thought I'd live to witness it. A sodding miracle is what it is." He smiled sarcastically. "Brings a tear to your eye."

Angel sighed. Oh yeah, Spike's demon was well and truly back, and on top form. He wanted to kill him already.

"Hello my William," Dru said quietly. She was sitting up now, her bound hands resting on her lap.

Spike jumped, startled. He'd forgotten that she was there. Odd.

"Dru," he said cautiously. "Alright, love?"

"I'm very confused," she informed him. "Everything in my head is silent. The pixies are all gone. But there's screaming, William. Faint screaming ... a long way away in the past."

Spike stared at her then, a hard searching stare. Then he blinked and turned to Angel. "Is she -?"

His Sire nodded. "Yeah."

"But no soul?"

"No. I don't think so."

"What the hell are the PTB thinking?" Buffy asked. She had picked up what was happening from Spike — she could sense his shock, and a warped sort of joy. "She's still vampy. Isn't she just gonna go back to killing people?"

Strangely, the thought of staking Drusilla hadn't occurred to her until right then. Spike's influence, no doubt.

"Don't figure she'll be skippin' off for a lovely rampage anytime soon," Spike said. Buffy frowned at him and he gestured at the sofa.

Drusilla was crying. "It hurts," she whispered, rocking a little. She'd tucked her feet up so that she was hugging her knees. "All the children hurt and I am one with their pain. One and all."

"Okay, if all her marbles are back, why is she still with the insano-speak?"

"Thinkin' the second-sight deal's still in effect," Spike tipped his head, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. "She's goin' on about her victims, I reckon. Feelin' a tad remorseful."

"No soul," Angel stressed. "She doesn't feel remorse or regret or any of it. She isn't capable."

That stymied Spike. He did the Giles-like landed-fish thing, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. The Watcher rescued him.

"I have a theory, if you're interested."

Spike pinned him with an intense stare. "And when did you have time to formulate a theory?" he asked. "Thought you were all intent on your little game of Let's Kill Spike."

Giles' expression was pained. "I believe I have apologized for that."

Spike grunted and then sprawled onto the sofa next to Drusilla. He patted her back automatically, the comforting gesture second nature.

Buffy smiled. She knew he was just being Spike. She didn't feel the least bit threatened by his closeness to his ex. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. But if Dru kept cozying up like that, she'd better watch herself. Nobody messed with her ... boyfriend?

Now there were two completely unmixy words — Spike and boyfriend. It sounded so lame. And besides that, there was nothing boyish or friendly about him. He was too... too... Her mind went blank.

Un-categorisable, that's what he was, sitting there all smug and unique in his ... uniqueness.

Spike looked over at her and raised his brows, his tongue doing that obscene little curling thing behind his teeth. She wanted to hit him.

"Go on," Angel prompted.

Buffy blinked. It took her a second to realize that he was talking to Giles and not giving her permission to manhandle the younger vampire.

"Yeah. Go on then," Spike echoed. He hadn't taken his eyes from Buffy and was obviously directing the provocation her way.

He winked and turned away. To everyone else, it looked as though he was focusing his attention on Drusilla. Buffy knew different.

Spike head snapped back sharply, banging against the back of the sofa. "Aargh! Bloody hell, woman," he complained, wincing in pain. "Are you tryin' to give me a meltdown?"

The Slayer scowled and plopped down into a nearby chair. "Pig," she muttered under her breath.

"Chip-abuser," he retorted, rubbing at his forehead.

Drusilla gazed at him. "You're hurting, my sweet," she crooned. "Do you want me to make it better?"

He suddenly wanted to be anywhere other than where he was.

"Uh, no," he mumbled, pulling away from her and trying to stuff himself into the corner of the sofa. Distance, mate, as much distance as you can get.

Buffy grinned broadly, enjoying his discomfort. "So, Giles, fill us in on the sitch."

"Of course," the Watcher said. Like the others in the room, he was aware that there were undercurrents explaining the way Buffy and Spike were acting. Link undercurrents. They would have to get used to the exclusion, he knew, and to the fact that the couple would always be connected in a way that was beyond their imagining.

He cleared his throat. "Now, I believe this can be traced back to the medieval physiology of the spirit..."

"Should we have popcorn for this?" Xander asked. "'Cause popcorn and Giles-length lectures? Way compatible. Not to mention all the buttery goodness." His stomach growled and he was rewarded with a collection of pointed stares. "Sorry."

"It was believed that the soul consisted of three separate parts — the animal, natural and vital spirits," Giles continued. "Each of which controlled certain functions of the human body."

"Galen," Buffy blurted.

"Y-yes, quite," the Watcher peered at her in amazement and she shifted under the scrutiny.

"Hey, don't look at me," she grumbled. "Spike thought it."

"Greek bloke," the vampire interjected. "Physician, or something. 'Round about the second century." The amazed looks moved on to him and he scowled. "What? Think I don't know research?" He snorted and dug into his pockets for a cigarette. "Wankers."

Giles was flustered for a moment, but went on. "The, ah, animal spirit controlled motion and sensation, thought process. The natural — other body functions like nutrition, generation and growth. And the vital spirit was responsible for breath and heat, for life. It was also believed to be the basis of emotions."

"I think I see where you're headed with this," Angel said. "When a vampire is turned, it loses that vital spirit, right?"

"That is the theory," Giles confirmed. "They retain the sense of touch, they move and eat and think. But they have no body heat, no breath and, well, no morals whatsoever."

"Fascinating stuff," Spike drawled. "Really. I'm on the edge of my seat here." He inhaled of his cigarette. "Is there a point?"

"I am of the opinion that this vital spirit can also be broken down into its separate parts. A fragmentation, if you will, and that this is what happened to you."

"Yeah?" The vampire beamed, impressed. "Neat."

"PTB left that moral thingy behind, huh?" Buffy asked.

"Is that what that is?" Spike appeared interested now. "That whole bloody conscience bit?"

Giles nodded. "In effect, though, there are still certain sections of your soul missing."

"But they aren't," Willow said suddenly. "Missing, I mean."

"What are you on about, Red?"

"She means Buffy," Angel explained, understanding what the witch meant. "That's why you've got human qualities now. The demon is still in your body, so you have it's strength and the need to drink blood, but the link with Buffy has given back the missing pieces. Heat, breath ... life. She completes you. She is part of your soul now."

Buffy and Spike stared at each other, overcome.

"Wow," she whispered and he gave her a big sappy grin.

"Always said you made me feel alive," he commented, then puffed out his chest, pleased. "How right was I?"

"Pride before a fall," Drusilla noted absently, gazing at her bound wrists and fiddling with a loose tie.

Spike rolled his eyes, oblivious to the pure Buffyness of the expression, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "So what's with the Dru-regression then? She get unfragmented or what?"

"That about sums it up actually," Giles said. "I'm theorizing that in order to maintain her mental cognizance, the Powers have restored the very same portion of spirit that was left behind when you were turned, her emotional center."

"So she is feeling guilty," Angel observed. He shook his head. "Weird."

"If Spike had his morals on board for the big vampy voyage, how come he didn't get all broody like Angel?" Willow asked. "'Cause no offense, but he doesn't seem all that guilt-ridden."

"He's not," Buffy said. She frowned. "Well, sort of. It's hard to explain. It's a whole thing about colors and shades and shades of colors..."

"Grey mostly," Spike muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on the arm of the sofa and batting out the material when it caught fire.

"Shades of grey?" Giles did the flying eyebrow routine, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Isn't that a little ... cliched?"

"No," Buffy defended. "Not cliched. Just ... used a lot."

"Quit while you're ahead, love," Spike relayed via the link, his gentle smile verging on indulgent.

"Don't get all patronizing," Buffy snapped. "I hate that. I'm not stupid."

Spike kept his mouth shut, being sensible for once. He tucked his hands behind his head and slouched down against the sofa cushions, ostensibly gazing at the ceiling. He could feel how defensive she was about this, and he knew she understood a lot more than she let on most of the time.

Buffy stared at him, trying to stay annoyed. He looked so masculine and inviting all spread out like that, she wanted to run over and sit on his lap. Her eyelids lowered dreamily as she followed that thought...

Spike abruptly sat back up, shooting a scandalized look in her direction. She must have roused William's repressed Victorian sensibilities. Cool.

He got to his feet and began pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

"Right," he said. "Let's cut the long story. I did feel guilty about stuff, but not enough to try and interfere in what the demon wanted." He pointed at Giles. "You know how hard that is."

"Indeed," the Watcher mumbled.

"And then came the chip. All zap and blinding pain, forcing the demon back and lettin' William out of his shell." Spike stopped and scrounged about for another cigarette. He came up short and sighed. "Got quite Peaches-like there for a bit. It was horrible. I wanted to stake myself."

"Yeah," Xander agreed, remembering. "In my basement, in my favorite shirt. And tell me again why we stopped you doing that."

"Ooky," Willow supplied absently, not really listening.

"Uh huh." Xander wasn't certain that it was even a word, but good enough. Especially since Spike was glaring at him like he was considering tearing out a good portion of his throat. You had to hand it to the guy — he could be pretty damn intimidating when he wanted, chip or no.

Spike continued staring for a minute, and then strolled over to stand in front of Buffy, a muscle working in his jaw. "And then there was you," he said.

Buffy smiled up at him. She already knew this story.

"Buffy Summers," he reached out and tenderly stroked her hair. "Who I've loved for as long as I can remember. And probably even before."

"Before time and beyond all earthly bounds," Drusilla confirmed. She watched them, her gaze clear and sharp. "I could see his terrible love, you know. My sweet boy had a head full of dreams and all of them were you — glorious dreams of hearts and music, as bright as the day. It covered him." She shook her head. "Sad. So sad."

"You knew?" Spike turned on her, his fingers flexing like he was crushing something. He was imagining that it was her neck.

"I've always known, William. Always and forever to be joined. I remember what they told me." She drifted for a moment. "I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory ... You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine..."

"Oh my God," Buffy gasped, shooting to her feet. "I've heard that before. Why have I heard that before?"

"That's what she told me when I was turned," Spike murmured. "You're picking up my memories again, pet."

Buffy reached for his hand and held it. This was getting too karmatically weird. Everything that had happened up to this point was creepy enough, but finding out that Dru had known what was going to happen all along...

"Is anyone else severely power-freaked?" Xander asked into the silence.

Anya thrust her hand into the air. "Ooh, me!"

"Yes, how very surprising," Giles drawled. He frowned at Spike. "So, you're expecting us to accept that Drusilla was aware of what was to transpire when she changed you? That the Powers allowed her to know this?"

Spike shrugged. He didn't bother trying to explain any further, Dru's ramblings were enough for him. He'd learned to trust them over the years and she'd never once been wrong, never led him astray.

"She's never been wrong before," Buffy stated.

Spike glanced at her and she squeezed his hand supportively. She could feel his certainty and that was all the impetus she needed to back him up.

"Even so," Giles went on, "The inclusion of some portion of her vital spirit may not be enough to keep her in line. I had my entire soul intact and I was still unable to control myself."

"You should have come to me," Angel said. "I've been there and having a soul isn't the be-all and end-all when it comes to controlling the demon. It's not that simple. It took me a hundred years to work through that." He sat down next to Drusilla, taking up the spot that Spike had vacated. "I don't think Dru's going to kill, though. Are you?"

"Oh no," Drusilla looked horrified. "Enough. It's done for. Innocents suffer at the hands of death." She shot a glance sideward at her Sire. "I don't wish them to suffer as I did."

Angel grimaced. "I'm sorry, Dru. For what happened."

She smiled at him shyly. "You've never once said that and truly meant it, my Angel, but I choose to believe you this time."

Spike snorted, backing into the chair that Buffy had abandoned and pulling the Slayer onto his lap. Her earlier speculations about the position had given him a start, but he could see that the idea had its merits.

She curled her legs up and lay her head on his chest, listening to the steady thud of their heartbeat. It was a comforting sound.

"Guh-goong," she whispered, patting her fingers against him in time with its rhythm. "Guh-goong."

Spike scowled. "Have you gone soft, love?"

"'Dirty Dancing'," she said, as if it explained everything.

The vampire's scowl deepened as he tried to work out what she was referring to. The girl's brain was a puzzle to him. She seemed to be able to read him like a book, but unless she was thinking something directly he couldn't figure her out. He reckoned it was a generic female thing, they were all unfathomable.

And who the hell was Patrick Swayze anyway?

"So," Xander piped up. "What are we all hanging around here for? Giles is all recovered, right? And Not-So-Dead Boy can't make like a crispy critter, so I'm thinkin' ... back to the Xan-man's humble abode? And pizza, maybe? A little video session to unwind?"

"Pizza?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. They stared at each other, horrified, and then tore out of the room at full speed, clambering up the staircase.

"I didn't think they'd be that opposed to the idea," Giles commented. "I was quite looking forward to it actually."

"They've remembered the boy," Dru said softly. "I'd forgotten, too."

Angel winced. She had someone upstairs? He should have known that. She'd always shared his predilection for torture. It was one thing that Spike could never stomach, usually making his kills for food only. He'd never understood why until recently.

"We're still here because it's light out," he muttered. "Spike might be able to gallivant about in the sun, but Dru and I can't." He tried not to sound resentful, he really did.

Xander mouthed a silently exaggerated "O-Kay" and gave Anya a pointed look.

She stared at him blankly, before catching on. "Oh. This is a sensitive subject, right?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I get it. No blabbering on about the sun when Angel's around. Not from me, no sirree."

Xander shook his head. He didn't know why he even bothered.

And besides, he loved her directness. She wouldn't be Anya without all the inappropriately candid observations. It spiced life up a bit — kept him entertained.

"Has anyone got a cell-phone?"

Buffy's breathless question interrupted any further discussion while Angel called the hospital for an ambulance.

~*[+]*~

Spike took a swig of blood and began sloshing the liquid around in his mouth. He tipped his head back...

"You start gargling," Buffy warned, coming into the kitchen, "And I will stake you."

The vampire barely managed to keep from spraying her with his breakfast at the comment. Well, he was calling it breakfast. It was just past sunset outside, but he was still operating on vamp-time.

"Don't think that'll work now," he said, swallowing and grinning at her.

"Ugh! You have blood on your teeth!"

Spike ran his tongue across them, wiping away the pinkish residue.

"And what do you mean stakes won't work?" Buffy moved past him and opened the refrigerator.

"Just what I said. The heart beats now, love. Rammin' a pointy stick in it'll probably hurt like hell, but I won't go 'pfft'." He flicked his fingers upward to demonstrate.

"Sunlight doesn't work anymore either," Buffy lamented. "That's no fun. What can I threaten you with now?"

Spike pondered that. He wandered over to the breakfast bar and put his mug down, absently swirling his finger in it and then sucking on it.

"Decapitation?" he suggested.

"Too messy," Buffy slammed the fridge shut and joined him. She had a carton of orange juice in her hand. "How about fire? Vamps are pretty flammable. Bet you'd still light up like a Christmas tree." She put the carton down and clapped her hands together in a simulated explosion. "Whoosh!"

"Charming," Spike drawled. "Good thing I've not got a delicate constitution like the whelp. I'd be flat on my back by now."

Buffy tipped her head at him. "I like it when you're flat on your back."

He snorted. "Control freak."

"You love it." She leant across the bar, smiling seductively.

"Do not." Spike cupped her chin in his hand and leant down as if to kiss her, but veered off course at the last second and attacked her ear instead — a spot where he'd noticed she was especially sensitive.

Buffy had just closed her eyes, enjoying the attention, when there was a knock at the kitchen door. "Aargh!" she protested. "Go away."

Spike pulled back, smirking. He shot her a wink as he abandoned his ministrations to answer.

"'Lo Peaches," he greeted. "What brings you to Casa Del Slayer?"

Angel stared at him, expressionless, and Spike belatedly remembered what he was wearing. He grimaced. Hard to be all Big Bad with your Sire when you were clad in nothing but a pair of 'Looney Tunes' boxers.

"Nice shorts," the older vampire said drolly. "Tweety's my favorite too."

"Jealous?"

"Absolutely."

Spike scowled. He couldn't tell if Angel was kidding or not, so he stood back to let him inside.

"Hi Angel." Buffy had returned the orange juice carton and was rinsing out Spike's mug.

"Hey, I wasn't done," Spike complained.

"It was cold," she informed him. "When it gets cold, it gets all lumpy and sticks like glue."

"I know," he whined. "I like it that way. The clots are the best bit."

She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, so not needing that image right now."

Angel watched them with a heavy sense of resignation. They'd already slipped into a routine. They were being all domestic and coupley. He was happy for them, he really was, but it still hurt. Much more than he expected.

"I'm leaving," he said quietly. "Going back to LA."

"Good then," Spike nodded. "See ya." He pulled a fresh bag of blood from the fridge and set about wrestling his mug back from Buffy. "Give it," he growled.

She held it behind her back. "No."

There was a slight skirmish, with neither willing to give in. Angel sighed and snatched the mug from Buffy's hands where she was holding it above her head. He handed it to Spike.

"Party poop," the younger vamp muttered, padding away.

"You taking Dru along with?" Buffy asked Angel, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Yeah. She's not strong enough on her own and I figured I could keep an eye on her. Teach her control and stuff." He shuffled his feet a little. "Cordy's not gonna be happy." He sounded suspiciously like a browbeaten husband.

Spike glanced up from pouring blood into his mug, his eyes narrowing in speculation. So, the Great Poof and the Cheerleader, huh? Now there was something that was almost interesting. He quirked an eyebrow at Buffy and she shook her head at him.

Not the time for ridicule, then? No worries, he could wait.

"Giles recovering?" Buffy inquired. She was semi-wigged by the devotion Angel apparently harbored for Cordelia, but she also knew better than most how tight he could clam up when it came to the personal stuff. They'd have to hold off until he was ready to make with the confessions on his own. "We haven't checked in on him yet."

"He's coping okay." Angel replied, utterly unaware of the subject drift taking place beneath his perception. "Apologizing a lot."

"Tell me about it," Spike snorted. "It's gettin' bloody monotonous. If he keeps on when we go visit, I'll truss him up and gag him."

Angel's lips twisted at the image that popped into his head. He'd love to be a fly on that wall. "How's that pizza kid doing?" he asked.

Buffy and Spike had handled the paramedics earlier and then followed on to the hospital. They felt guilty for forgetting about the boy, and for not getting him out at the first opportunity.

"He'll be fine," Buffy said, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Can you believe they're calling it a mugging?" She shook her head. "Gotta love the Sunnydale PD — they've got fudging the weird stuff down to a fine art."

Both vampires shrugged. They were used to authorities turning a blind eye, having lived through a few lifetimes worth of cover-ups.

"No sign of your demon pal?" Angel directed the question at Spike but Buffy answered as if he'd spoken to her instead. It amazed him how easily they'd adapted to link-life. Another sign that it was meant to be, he guessed.

"Disappeared right off the face of the earth," she related, rolling her eyes. "Will someone please explain to me how a gigantic lizardy thing in a psychedelic van can go completely unnoticed by like, anyone?"

"Same deal as the coppers, pet," Spike said. "See no evil and all that."

Buffy leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You know, you never did say why he owed you a favor."

He canted his head to the side and eyed her skeptically. "Oh, right. Like you haven't ducked in to see for yourself."

"We agreed not to do that without asking first."

"So we did," Spike acknowledged. He didn't elaborate.

"Doesn't mean I won't though," Buffy cautioned. She suddenly grinned and straightened up, her eyes widening with realization. "I've just figured out what I can threaten you with." She turned to the other vampire. "Hey, Angel, did you know about..."

She was cut off as Spike jumped up and slapped his hand over her mouth.

"Fine," he gritted between clenched teeth. "I'll spill."

"Loser," she chortled via the link, nibbling at the skin of his palm and then licking it. He tasted salty and sweet at the same time. It was kinda yum-worthy.

Spike wrenched his hand away. "Yum-worthy?" he thought. She gave him a satisfied smirk and he stared at her incredulously. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Here's the thing then. It was in the late '60s. 1968 or 69?" He frowned as he tried to get the memory straight, turning and wandering back to the breakfast bar. "New Orleans, I think. Or was it New York? It was New something..."

"He never was any good at figuring out where he was," Angel interjected. "He was always getting lost."

Spike glowered. "Was not."

"Were too."

"Don't get all school-yard on me, you guys," Buffy scolded. "Just tell."

"Apollyon was a bit hard up back then," Spike revealed.

"For cash?" Angel was surprised.

"For birds." The younger vampire actually looked embarrassed, a slight flush creeping along his cheekbones. "It was the 'Summer of Love' and all that hippified flower-power crap." He gazed fixedly into his mug. "The Keratos weren't exactly swarmin' about in plentiful numbers, them bein' so rare and all, and he was lookin' for a mate."

"You hooked him up with a honey," Buffy giggled, picturing him playing at vamp-cupid, complete with beads and long hair. "That's ... pretty damn funny."

"Don't know that you'd call her a honey," Spike grimaced, ignoring her merriment. He could see the retro-Spike picture she'd created in her head and, as tragic as it was, she wasn't too far off the mark. "Keratos females are even bigger than the males, and if you thought Apollyon had a bad case of the uglies, well..." He shuddered. "Let's not go there."

"And that's it?" Angel asked dubiously. "That was the big favor?"

"Yeah. Saved their sodding species, didn't I?" Spike puffed out his chest, defensive. "It was all about procreation, you arrogant git. To go forth and bloody multiply. They had quite a few litters of offspring as I recall."

"Ew! Scaly demon babies," Buffy's lips turned down in distaste. "So not cute."

The smile that was beginning to spread across Angel's face stopped and he turned to Buffy as a thought occurred to him. "Spike's more or less human now, right?"

She frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"So? Babies, Buffy," he prompted. "You could have a child now."

"Well, not right now," she began, then realized what he was saying. She turned to Spike, her eyes huge. "Oh-my-God."

Spike simply grinned at her and then noisily slurped his blood. He'd already thought of this.

Buffy pulled a face. "That is just..." She seemed to shake herself. "I mean, we're not even..."

"We're not?" Spike's grin shifted into wicked leer mode. "What do you call what we did all afternoon then?"

Buffy blushed furiously, shooting a mortified glance at Angel. "That was sleeping together," she hissed. "In the literal, slumbery, Land-of-Nod sense. Not, you know, sleeping together."

"Not yet."

"And I'll be taking that as my cue to clear out," Angel muttered, feeling ill. He had no idea now why he'd brought the subject up in the first place. What was he, some kind of glutton for punishment? Did he have 'shmuck' stamped on his forehead?

"Yeah, okay." Buffy slipped off the counter to give him a hug. She was still reeling from grouping the words 'Spike' and 'baby' together in the same thought. They just didn't match — it was a great big unmeshy thing in her head. And it brought up a whole heap of other issues that she didn't want to deal with just yet.

"Shrinkin' violet," Spike noted softly, as perceptive as ever.

The hushed comment cast her memory back to earlier that morning when he'd told her to hit him if he got too pushy. She sent him a smile.

Angel bent and planted a kiss on her forehead, drawing her focus back to the present. "Be careful," she instructed, giving him an affectionate squeeze.

"I will."

He backed away and thrust his hands into his pockets, the movement hunching his broad shoulders. He stared uncomfortably at his Childe, feeling that something needed to be said but unsure as to what.

Buffy took the opportunity to observe the two loves of her life. Vampires both, and yet their contrasting natures couldn't have been more pronounced than at that moment.

Dressed entirely in black, Angel radiated gloom and doom. Combined with his powerful frame, dark countenance and unnatural stillness, it made him seem like some kind of imposing statue, carved from stone and hidden in the shadows.

Spike was all bright hair and alabaster skin, a full head shorter than his Sire and whipcord lean in his ridiculous cartooned shorts. His restless energy was palpable as he shifted from one foot to the other, unable to stay idle for even a second.

He scrutinized Angel carefully, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Drop it," he said, realizing what was up. "No speeches necessary. You're forgiven, all right? But I'd prefer if I didn't see you anytime soon."

Angel bowed his head, turning his attention to his shoes.

Spike grinned smugly, eyes twinkling with devilment. "And tell your vision girl not to give you too much of a happy."

"What?" Angel blinked at him. How the hell had Spike known about that?

Spike gave him a shrewd look and wagged his eyebrows suggestively, curling his tongue behind his teeth. Then he flinched and shot a pained look at Buffy.

"Would you quit that, Slayer?"

She folded her arms, an ingenuous expression on her face. "Quit what?"

He scowled and dug his thumb into his temple, massaging the spot through sheer habit — it never helped much. "Sodding chip," he grumbled.

Angel's mouth twitched as he tried to stifle his amusement. "As much as I enjoy seeing you in pain, Spike. I can't hang around." He moved to the door and opened it, peering back at the younger vampire over his shoulder. "You'd better make her happy," he warned. "'Cause if you don't..." He trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken.

Spike nodded, understanding exactly where he was coming from.

Buffy waved a hand. "Hello? Still in the room?"

Angel merely smiled and walked out into the night.

Buffy and Spike followed to watch from the open doorway as he got into his convertible. He had the top down and Drusilla was sitting in passenger seat. She gave them a timid wave.

"So, is this the part where we live happily ever after?" Spike asked, wrapping his arms around Buffy's waist. He rested his chin on her hair.

"Oh ple