“So… you saw their faces but you can't describe them,” Buffy sighed in exasperation.

“Well, they were human. Two eyes each, kind of in the middle,” Spike clarified.

Great. The crap was getting thick in here, time for waders. “Uh-huh. And the lab, where’s that at?”

“Must be underground. I came out through an air vent. I don't know exactly where. I'm done. Put the telly on.” He looked away and clammed up.

The vampire smelled the blood before Giles reached the bathroom, mug in hand. His salivary glands went into overtime.

“It's about time! Hope you got it warm enough,” he grumbled.

Instead of handing the mug to Spike, Giles handed it to Buffy without saying a word.

She looked in the mug and made a face at the stench that wafted up from the Kiss the Librarian cup. “God, this stuff is disgusting, not to mention the gag factor involved with me feeding it to you,” she said as she shoved the mug towards Spike with the straw dangling over the edge.

“I don't know why you're so dainty all of a sudden. You've done this for Angel - you must have,” he said between huge slurps, hoping to gross her out even more.

She pulled the mug away suddenly, leaving Spike with the straw dangling from between his lips, blood dripping into the bathtub.

“Hey! Give it!” he yelled in outrage.

“Okay, that's it! The invalid amnesiac routine is over. The kitchen is closed until you can tell me something useful about the Commandos,” she threatened. She was tired of this situation with Spike and it was time to get the victim to talk.

His bleached head tilted to the side, an expression of thoughtfulness on his face. “I'm tryin' to remember… it was very traumatic.” He topped it off with his best sad puppy dog eyes and feigned a pout.

She rolled her eyes in disgust. “How long are you going to pull this crap?”

He stared hard at the Slayer. “How long am I going to live once I tell you?” He held no illusions that once he told them everything he was as good as dust.

Giles, who’d been standing idly by, finally piped into the conversation. “Look, look, Spike, we have no intention of killing a harmless… uh, creature… but we have to know what's been done to you. We can't let you go until we're sure that you're… i-impotent,” he stuttered, showing how uncomfortable the whole conversation was making him feel.

“Hey!” The vampire’s indignation was palpable.

“Good Lord, sorry, poor choice of words. Until we're sure you're, you're…”

“Flaccid?” Buffy offered.

Righteous outrage flared across Spike’s face as he started to struggle with the bonds that were holding him. “Oh, you are one step away, missy!”

“Oh, help, help! He's going to scold me to death!” she mocked sarcastically.

That was it; the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Spike growled and pulled on the chains that bound him to the tub. The cuffs bit into his wrists as he lunged at the Slayer, forgetting the little piece of hardware the goons had shoved in his head to hinder his enjoyment of torturing the evil wench!

Because he was ‘planning’ to hurt the Slayer in the most delicious of ways once he reached her, blinding pain raced through his skull and paralyzed him, stiffening his body to the point of corpse-like rigor mortis. The chains pulled taunt against his body then he went limp with a whimper as his head lulled to the side, blood trickling down from his nose onto his lip.

Noticing he didn’t move for quite some time, she frowned and looked back at Giles. “Is that normal when he gets zapped?”

He bent down and looked into Spike’s gaunt, paler than normal face. “I’ve not seen the device work before, I have no reference.” He pulled the vamp’s eyelid up to see if his pupils were dilated. “I do believe he’s passed out from the pain.”

The Watcher then began fishing around in his pockets for the key to Spike’s cuffs and started unlocking them, but was abruptly stopped by Buffy as she grabbed his hands to keep him from releasing the seemingly unconscious vamp.

“Wait! Are you serious? This is Spike! As in gonna kill my third Slayer Spike! You can’t just let him go, even if he does resemble The English Patient, she warned.

Said topic of discussion began moaning and rolling his head around the edge of the bathtub just as Giles finished re-locking the restraints.

“Bloody fucking hell! I feel like a seasick fish!” Spike moaned, clutching his head.

She snorted in amusement. “Fish don’t get seasick, Bleached Wonder.”

“Do so, Slayer… and frogs drink through their skin,” he shot back, the pain receding. He wiped at the blood on his upper lip and sucked it off his thumb.

She winced in revulsion. “Ugh, you’re disgusting! That’s from your nose Spike!”

“And give the nasty blonde bitch a kewpie doll for pointing out the obvious,” he sneered. “Oh, and by the way… only one out of every fourteen women in America is a natural blonde.” Leering at Buffy’s crotch while waggling his eyebrows, he continued. “Makes me wonder what color your tight and curlies are, luv.”

Her eyes widened as she huffed. He was so gonna pay for that one! She leaned towards the tub, but just out of reach, pulling her hair to one side and stroking the throbbing jugular. “Oh, look at my… poor neck? All bare and tender and exposed… all that blood just … pumping away,” she teased seductively.

Spike was all but licking his lips, nostrils flaring to catch even a hint of the Slayer’s blood. “You know, pet, you can lose up to a third of your blood and still survive… give a bloke a nip, yeah?”

“Oh, please,” Giles intoned wearily as he walked out of the bathroom and into the living room where Willow was reading through some texts.

Buffy looked back at Spike after her Watcher left. “Willow can always use a truth spell on you. Not sure it would work on a vampire, but we can try. Make you fess up.”

He curled his tongue behind his teeth and grinned. “Don’t rightly know how that would turn out, pet, seeing as I’m always truthful about being evil.”

“Oh, I think your version of evil now is telling really bad vampire jokes,” she snickered.

“So what do you call a vampire that lives in the kitchen?” he asked out of the blue.

She looked at him blankly.

“Count Spatula.” She groaned and rolled her eyes.

“What do you get when you cross a vampire bat with a pygmy?”

“Spike…” she warned.

“A little sucker.” He grinned unrepentantly.

“That’s enough, Spike.”

“What kind of ship does Dracula captain?” he pushed.

“Giles!”

“A blood vessel.”

“Giles! Make him stop!”

“If those two don't kill each other, I might lend a hand,” Giles muttered to Willow in passing.

She watched him as he downed a fifth of Scotch in exasperation, grimacing as it burned his throat. Checking her watch, she realized she was a little late for her next class, so she headed towards the bathroom to say goodbye to Buffy, popping her head around the door.

“Hey, Buff, I’m gonna go but I’ll be back in the morning with donuts after I stop at the magic shop.” She glanced at Spike, who was now trying to reach the knobs on the small television set that Giles set up for him.

“Hey, Red! Did you know that redheads feel more pain than other women?” he asked, grunting as he stretched lengthwise across the tub.

Her face scrunched up as tears gathered in her eyes, her breakup with Oz still weighing heavily on her. But this kind of remark from Spike was way off in left field. “Um, what makes you think that we feel more pain?” She was curious in spite of herself.

“Well… a doc, um… name’s Liem I think, yeah…well…” Spike grunted again as he tried in vain to reach the TV once more. “Well this Liem bloke, he did a study to determine whether redheads felt more pain than other women. Don’t know why he chose redheads, just at good as any other I s’pect. He gave the lot of ‘em a common anesthetic drug, and while they were kippin’ he pricked ‘em with needles and monitored their reflex responses to pain. Seems redheads need two percent more happy drugs to numb their pain.” He finally gave up in frustration and lay back against the tub. “Probably a genetic glitch or something.”

“A genetic glitch?” she mumbled as silent tears made tracks down her face. She didn’t wait on any more comments, murmuring a hasty goodbye to Buffy as she dashed out the door.

Buffy glared white-hot daggers at the vamp that was oblivious to the pain he just caused. Without thought, she hauled off and knocked him right up side the head; which unfortunately, caused the chip to fire. Again. Spike screamed this time and she was afraid the chains wouldn’t hold him secure.

“Giles!” she yelled as she rounded the corner into the living room.

He sighed in resignation, wanting to drink the remainder of the bottle. “What is it now, Buffy?”

“There’s something seriously wrong with that… that… thing that curbs Spike’s enthusiasm!”

They both looked in the bathroom at a prone Spike, blood once again dripping from his nose. “What happened this time?”

A small flash of guilt crossed her face. “Um… I kinda went Rocky Balboa on his head?”

He shook his head. “Whatever for? It’s not as if he can escape those chains - they’re magically reinforced. His threats are more of an annoyance than anything else, I assure you.”

“Well, he said some damaging stuff about Willow’s genetics… or… something,” she murmured, a hint of remorse creeping in.

“Why on earth would Spike talk about genetics with Willow? Why would he talk about them with, well… anyone?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s been acting really weird, and I mean weirder than usual for Spike… spouting random facts and telling shitty vampire jokes.”

“Buffy, language,” he admonished.

“But, Giles, these were groaners, I swear!”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s waking up again. Let’s see what’s going on in that mind of his.”

“That sounds like a dubious prospect, Watcher,” Spike responded hoarsely.

“Yes, well Buffy tells me you are acting out of the norm, even for you. Since when do you know anything, at all, about genetics?”

The vampire blinked slowly and gathered his bearings. “Don’t rightly know. One minute I was enjoying my Passions and cuppa Wilbur and the next I felt like the bleedin’ Encyclopedia Britannica.” Sudden realization of his precarious situation made him audibly gulp. “What the bleedin’ hell did those tossers do to me?”

Giles wanted to try something, an experiment of sorts. “Spike, I’m going to give you a phrase or a word and I want you, in turn, to produce an anagram as fast as you can. Is this amenable to you?”

He stared at the Watcher. “Sure, Rupes.” He had no unearthly clue as to what he was on about, but he’d play along… for shits and giggles.

“William Shakespeare.”

“I’ll make a wise phrase,” Spike spun out of nowhere.

Giles eyebrows rose considerably. “The American Revolution.”

Without a beat… “Unite to revile a monarch.”

He grinned a lopsided smirk. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

Spike wiped the blood still dripping from his nose and chuckled. “Crap LP sung by the LSD prone Beatles.”

He moved closer to Spike and bent down to eye level. “Truth is…”

“It hurts,” he said softly.

Giles narrowed his eyes on Spike. Digging around in his pocket, he fished out the key to Spike’s cuffs and unlocked them, all the while ignoring Buffy’s protests in the background.

“Thanks, mate,” he said quietly, nodding his head in appreciation as he rubbed the raw spots on his wrists.

“Don’t make me regret it, Spike.”

Giles shoved a highly flustered Buffy towards the door with a reminder to have her tell Willow that the ingredients for the truth spell would not be necessary. He suspected that if he asked the right questions, Spike would be more than forthcoming.

“But, Giles, this is - is… Spike!” She threw her hands up in frustration, standing in the entryway as she watched the bleached menace peruse Giles’ bookshelves looking for something. She couldn’t think of anything witty to say about the possibility that her Watcher was going to be alone with a master vampire, albeit a ‘neutered’ master vampire, for an extended amount of time, sans restraints. No matter what kind of muzzle the Army goons wrangled Spike with, she still didn’t trust him.

Glasses dangling in the hand that was pinching the bridge of his nose, Giles muttered softly, “Buffy, I don’t trust Spike either at this point. However, certain circumstances have come to light and it would be foolish not to explore those possibilities.”

She stared at her Watcher. “English please?”

He rolled his eyes at the state of America’s youth. “Spike’s… malfunction may be to our benefit. It seems he may have an abundance of information off the top of his head, literally. I have no clue as to the boundaries of this ability so until then, I think it wise to let him be, as long as he remains innocuous to the group and the public in general.”

She still stared.

Pushing her out the door, he whispered harshly, “I want to know what’s going on in that bloody mind of his and I don’t think he’ll give me even so much as a crumb if you’re in the flat!”

Taken aback by the abruptness of his tone and the fact he wanted her… gone, she nodded mutely, mumbling something about having to check on Willow anyway. After walking a few feet, she turned to say something else, only to find the door closing hard with a solid thud. She frowned and headed on her way towards campus.

~*~

Giles hated being insensitive towards her, but this Spike thing really had him puzzled. He leaned against the door and watched the vampire peruse his non-demon library, pulling out a book here and there, flipping through the pages before placing it back on the shelf.

“Would you like some coffee?” he offered.

Holding a volume open, Spike barely looked up. “That’d be right civil of you, Rupes.”

“How do you take it?”

“Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and as sweet as love… so says a Turkish proverb,” he replied, grinning like a fool.

“Turkish, you say?” Giles raised an eyebrow.

“Did you know that Istanbul is the only city in the world that is on two continents? Half of the city sits in Europe, the other half in Asia,” he stated, ignoring Giles’ comment.

He remained silent hoping Spike would divulge more information, leaning against his kitchen counter while the vamp remained quiet. He’d finally selected one book from the case and sat down on the sofa to start reading.

“What have you there?”

Spike flipped the book over and read the spine. “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.”

“Ah, Edgar Allen Poe… a dark and mysterious man,” he nodded in contemplation.

“He was credited with breathing life into the detective story, Rupes. That Conan Doyle bloke even acknowledged it. Said, ‘Each of Poe’s stories is a root from which a whole style of literature has developed’. He was good chap, that Doyle. Met him once, at Edinburgh uni. He’d become agnostic. Said he modeled Sherlock Holmes after his professor Joseph Bell,” Spike said idly, flipping through the pages and looking at some of the etchings that were included with the book.

“You knew Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?” the Watcher exclaimed in amazement, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table.

He looked up at Giles’ eager face. “Thought you were gonna make a cup o’joe?”

Giles had the grace to look abashed. “Yes, yes… quite right.” He moved into the kitchen, keeping an ear out for anything Spike might utter.

“Tosser,” he grumbled under his breath when Giles was out of hearing range.

Spike was not pleased at the situation in which he found himself, his mind a jumble of thoughts from the inane to spectacularly brilliant ones. He could still feel twinges running amuck in his noggin and it made him feel wholly vulnerable to just about everyone and everything. His nosebleeds had stopped, but he felt it was just temporary. This thing inside him was going to cook his goose… and good.

He glanced up at the clock then over at the telly. In an American home, the telly is on for seven hours and forty minutes every day. Soddin hell! He was even thinking useless random thoughts aloud in his head! What the fuck had these wankers done to him? Time to drown out the noise. Besides, Passions was coming on.

“It’s telly time, Watcher!” he yelled towards the kitchen.

“In a moment, Spike.”

He heard cups and saucers rattling around, as well as smelling the aroma of strong coffee wafting into the living room. He glanced up at the clock again… a few minuets had gone by and he was getting antsy.

“Watcher? Passions is on! Timmy's down the bloody well, and if you make me miss it, I'll-”

“You’ll what, Spike? Lick me to death?” he huffed out as he sat down the tray laden with coffee, sugar, and cookies. Reaching behind the vamp, he dug down in between the sofa cushions and handed him the remote to the TV.

He grabbed it without so much as a thank you and turned it to the proper channel… or it would have been, had Jeopardy not been playing. “Fucking hell!” Spike roared.

Giles smothered a chuckle. “Not what you were expecting?”

His glare was frosty. “Sod off,” he muttered.

‘This can be heard as far as twenty miles away,’ Alex Trebeck asked the contestants.

“What is thunder,” Spike answered, his head leaning on his propped up hand, figuring he might as well watch something useful.

‘What is canon fire?’ answered one of the contestants, a particularly dull-looking nerd with oversized glasses.

‘No, I’m sorry, Jason, that would be thunder,’ Alex corrected.

‘This speedy dog also has the best eyesight,’ was the next question.

“What is the greyhound,” he answered, studying his chipped black nail polish in an obviously bored manner.

Giles turned and stared at a slouched Spike. He affected an uninterested attitude but he wasn’t fooled as Spike was, once again, correct in his answer.

‘This was the first US college to admit women and African-Americans,’ Alex offered.

Spike sighed. “What is Oberlin College in Ohio.”

Giles watched in amazement as he answered question after question correctly, all while looking too tired to even care.

‘Fifty percent of all of these items printed in the US are never sold,’ was another question.

“What are magazines,” he mumbled as his eyes started to close in exhaustion.

“Spike, there’s a spare bedroom that you may use… with the proviso that you strictly adhere to the rules which I am about to give you,” Giles offered quietly.

“I’m listening.” He yawned as his head was sounding up a killer of a headache.

“Verbal threats are one thing, but you may not, and I repeat may not harm anyone that comes into my house. Is that clear?”

“Is that the only hitch, Watcher?”

“By no means. If there is even so much as a hint of draining a victim, I don’t care how vulnerable you are, I will stake you myself,” he warned harshly.

“Startin’ to sound like I might be beggin’ to be staked compared to what might happen if I slip up.” He didn’t take anything the Watcher said at face value. This man would use the tiniest excuse to stake him and probably wouldn’t take long to find one, even if manufactured.

“Just make sure you don’t,” was all Giles would say.

“What are you getting outta this, Rupes?” he sneered. “I know it ain’t my pleasurable company. Is it by chance my handy dandy intellect?”

The older man cursed himself for being so transparent. “No… no, Spike… I… oh damn it,” he spluttered.

Spike congratulated himself on catching Rupert in a lie. “Trittbrettfahrer, that’s what you are,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“I said Trittbrettfahrer, are you deaf? Its translation is ‘running-board rider.’ It’s a term used for someone who benefits from someone else’s hard work,” he snorted, giving him a hard glare full of meaning.

“I-I never said-” he stuttered, trying to explain his actions.

“Come off it, Rupes! I might have all this garbage in my mind, but I was bloody perceptive before I got this… this… piece of shit shoved in my brain. That hasn’t changed.”

The sudden tension in the room mounted as Spike got up from the sofa and moved away. “I don’t bloody know what’s going on here, Watcher!” He was beginning to wear a path in the floorboards with his constant pacing. “I detest all of you, but I have to admit that I’m scared out of my bleedin’ mind and have nowhere else to go.”

There was a panicky quality that laced his voice and for the first time, Giles felt empathy for the unique vampire. Here he was, trying to adapt to a lifestyle not of his own making, and as with any sort of evolution of the species, pain was part of the growing process. Spike’s despair, however, was not lost on Giles as he got up from his seat and laid a firm hand on his arm.

“I am reminded of a saying,” he said in a softened his tone, bringing Spike’s attention back to his.

“Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. Your plight has not gone unnoticed, Spike.”

He looked in the other Brit’s eyes, searching for pity, but finding none. “Was that Socrates?” Spike choked out. “Cause he never wrote down a single word of his teachings.” Bollocks! He couldn’t even get emotional without some off the wall fact bombarding his battered mind. Dru was starting to look sane compared to him at this moment.

Giles smiled gently. “It doesn’t matter. Why don’t you get some sleep, I know you could use it.”

He nodded solemnly and walked towards the stairs, turning at the foot to suggest a peace offering.

“May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.”

A full-throated laugh shook Giles as he watched the tired vampire walk slowly upstairs.

Buffy convinced Willow to accompany her on patrol that evening, feeling some fresh air and vampire stakeage would be of the good to help distract her from thinking of Oz. Besides, she herself needed to sort out her feelings in regards to the Giles and Spike situation. And Willow wisdom seemed just the thing.

“I mean, I can’t believe he unlocked his chains just because of a little nose bleed. Wasn’t like I’ve never made his nose bleed before,” Buffy muttered for the fourth or fifth time that evening. She told Willow what had happened earlier that day, the story starting in disbelief but ending with outright contempt. “I think if Spike were a televangelist then Giles would be throwing money at him.”

Barely registering that she’d stopped talking, Willow mumbled, “Maybe he’s really sick, Buffy. I mean, Giles is pretty hard to fool… you know, him being Watchery and all,” she finished lamely.

Buffy snorted. “Yeah, well… I think Spike has him snowed with his ‘Rain Man’ routine.”

Willow said nothing, not in the mood to argue with anyone, especially Buffy. The only reason she’d gone on patrol was so she would stop bickering about Spike, to no avail. She wasn’t listening to her anyway, aside from when she’d brought up the subject of Riley asking her out on a picnic to which she sighed internally. What she really wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sob her eyes out. Instead, she was in a dark, damp graveyard threatening vamps with good old dustiness and listening to Buffy blather away about stuff she had no interest in anymore. Goddess, it just wasn’t fair. Here she was, going on about three men in her life and Willow couldn’t keep even one interested in her. Nope, it wasn’t fair. Oh well, better ask the obligatory questions any good friend would ask.

“So, a picnic…” Willow started.

“Yeah, it's just, different, you know? A picnic. First of all, daylight - kind of a new venue, Buffy-wise. And the best part - he said he would bring all the food, so all I have to do is show up and eat. Those are two things I'm really good at.”

“So he's nice?”

Buffy nodded enthusiastically. “Very, very.”

Willow looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “And there's sparkage?” That ‘very, very’ statement sounded a bit… forced.

Once she started describing the supposed connection with Riley, it sounded too bland to her, like it was too normal. She imagined Buffy’s quest for the ordinary stemmed from Angel leaving, something she still hadn’t forgiven the broody vamp for, and also forcing herself to put on a brave face. She could see it now - Upstanding, American hero-type boy meets college freshman girl who happens to be the Slayer, they date and canoodle, then she squeezes the life out of him with a bear hug. End of ‘normal’ for Buffy.

“Yeah, he's… have you seen his arms? Those are good arms to have. I really like him. I do.”

Oz had wonderful arms, Willow thought sadly. Arms that won’t ever hold me again. She was about to tear up, but composed herself in time, thinking over her friend’s last statement. It sounded plain, like when a girl says a guy is ‘nice.’ So she questioned her on it. “But?”

Buffy hesitated. “I don't know. I really like being around him, you know? And I think he cares about me… but… I just-” She turned and staked a vamp that had suddenly jumped out at them from behind a bush. “I just feel like something's missing,” she continued without missing a beat.

Willow watched the dust settle over her shoulder. “It’s the fact that he's not making you miserable, isn’t it?” She had a suspicion.

“Exactly! Riley seems so solid, like he wouldn't cause me heartache.” Not like Angel was left unsaid.

“Get out. Get out while there's still time!” the redhead said with feigned worry. Maybe if she’d gotten out sooner with Oz then she could’ve avoided the heartache. As it was, she was barely holding on to any semblance of being interested in life.

Buffy smiled at her dramatic response. “I know… I have to get away from that bad boy thing. There's no good there… too painful.”

Willow bit her lip, hard. She wouldn’t cry, she would NOT cry. “Yeah, pain is not a friend.”

Buffy continued to talk, oblivious to her friend’s emotional state. She was on a roll and heaven forbid anyone that happened to be in the way of the freight train that was the Slayer. “But I can't help thinking, isn't that where the fire comes from? Can a nice, safe relationship be that intense? I know its nuts, but… part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting.”

“Like you and Spike,” Willow offered as an example.

“What?” She stopped abruptly and stared at her best friend as if she’d grown horns and a tail.

Willow turned to look back at her. “Like you and Spike?” This time it sounded more like a suggestion than actual fact.

“That bleached pest? Until he became an overnight savant, he was on everyone’s do-not-call list!” Buffy fumed. First Giles and now Willow. The only thing she had in common with Spike was the pain and fighting, not the love and passion.

Willow held out her hands in a flustered gesture as she neared her breaking point. “Buffy, you’re always fighting with him, physically and otherwise. You cause each other enough pain to put an iron maiden to shame and you both live and love so passionately. So really, not seeing the difference here.”

“Wills, you-you can’t seriously compare-” she spluttered.

“Stop! I-I… I can’t do this anymore,” Willow whimpered and ran off in the direction of the campus.

Buffy started to run after her, but a strong arm hauled her back, bracing her body against something solid.

Outrage and fury swept over the Slayer as she turned with her stake held high, coming face to face with the earlier topic of conversation. “Spike,” she spat. “Let me go, or I swear you’ll wish you’d stayed with the Commandos,” she seethed venomously, stake poised over his unbeating heart.

Without thinking, Spike grabbed her wrist and shook it hard enough that she dropped the stake. Burning hot pain seared through his frontal lobe as he released her, stumbling backwards and hitting a grave marker. “Bloody fucking hell!”

She quickly retrieved the stake then took up a fighting stance; her hand poised to strike as she watched him slowly gathered his wits. “What are you doing here, Spike?” Giles may let the rabid dog run loose, but she had no reservations about dusting his ass.

He smeared the blood that trickled from his nose across his face, trying to wipe it off as he clutched his forehead, swaying slightly on his feet. Buffy frowned as he staggered towards her.

He reached blindly for something that wasn’t moving to hold on to which just happened to be Buffy’s arm. “God, Slayer… feel like I’m three sheets to the wind,” he moaned leaning his head on her arm.

“Three who’s to the what?” she asked confused, her guard slightly lowered.

“Three sheets to the wind,” he muttered again, shifting to an upright position, his balance still precarious as he clutched her arm. She had a blank look on her face.

“Drunk,” he clarified, then noticing he still had his hand on her arm, he abruptly he let go. He didn’t want another round of crispy fried Spike brains, because frankly, he was surprised he had anything left to think with.

“What do sheets have to do with being drunk? I thought being drunk was mostly about drowning your sorrows or an ex-wife stealing the car and driving to Texas sort of thing – you know, something depressing like that,” she asked, relaxing her stance once she realized Spike couldn’t hurt her in the state he was in now as he could barely stand. Maybe Willow was right… maybe this thing was making him ill.

“In the seafaring world, pet, ropes with different functions are given names. For example...” He raised his fingers, ticking them off with each fact. “Halyards raise and lower sails.” He lowered a second finger. “Sheets hold the sails upright.” He grimaced as a phantom pain flitted across his face, clearing his throat to continue. “If a sheet is loose, the sail slaps in the wind and the ship becomes unsteady. Having two sheets loose to the wind is a big problem. Having three sheets to the wind will make the ship rock and reel like a drunken sailor.” Having finished his explanation, he searched his pocket for his lighter and smokes.

Buffy stared at him, wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open as she finally took a moment to look at Spike. His cheeks were hollow; more so than usual, and there were black circles under his eyes, not just dark ones. Black. His eyes were sunken a little in the sockets as starvation drew his skin taut over his face. She watched him light the cigarette, noticing his hands shaking, then observed his belt was notched a couple inches tighter than the last time she looked at him. In essence, he was a shell of his former “Big Bad” self.

He pulled a long drag from his cigarette and without realizing what he was doing, blew it straight towards Buffy. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that, pet!” He moved further away, rubbing his temples to ease the throbbing.

“If you were alive, those things would kill you.” She coughed, waving the smoke away from her face.

“If a pack-a-day smoker inhaled a week’s worth of nicotine all at once, they’d die instantly,” he said off handedly.

She frowned in confusion. “Spike, where are you coming up with this stuff?”

He shrugged slightly and looked off in the distance. “Don’t rightly know, Slayer. Didn’t start ‘til I woke up, staring at the tiles in the Watcher’s bathroom.” He turned his focus back to her. “But it makes me mighty fearful,” he admitted quietly.

She raised her eyebrows in astonishment at Spike’s confession, but remained silent, sensing he had more to say on the matter.

He pondered long and hard on what he could tell her, pacing as the words jumbled out. “It’s like a pressure building in my head, right? An’ every time that bleedin’… contraption fires, it feels like my brain’s going to explode. Lose all sense of myself.” His pacing slowed and he stood by her side, staring off into the graveyard. “Then all this bleedin’ nonsense starts up in my brain and my mouth starts going and after a bit… I don’t know what the hell I’ve said, let alone what I’ve done.” He turned to look at her, eyes shining with unshed tears. “They took away my ability to survive, Slayer. Don’t think they’ll stop ‘til they finish the job.”

Compassion edged its way into her heart, albeit reluctantly. Here was someone that had been yanked from his only known existence and forced to change overnight. It was a little like being called to be the Slayer. One moment she was a happy, carefree teenager worried about the latest trend or fashion. The next, she was scrubbing greasy vampire dust from her clothes in the middle of the night so her mother wouldn’t find out. Yeah, she could relate to the sudden change of lifestyle.

“You never answered my question of why you’re here, Spike. Does Giles know?”

“Watcher’s the one that sent me, thought you could use some help with patrol. Maybe flash some fang here or there, put the fear of-”

“I don’t think you’ll be much use to me, fangless wonder - you can’t even kill a demon,” she countered before he went further.

She watched his face fall for a fraction of a second before he regrouped, shutting her out coldly. Sighing heavily, she knew she had better things to do than baby-sit a neutered vampire that couldn’t defend himself - like finding Willow. Without thinking too hard on why she was doing it, she dug around in her pocket and pulled out some money, handing it to a confused looking Spike.

“US paper money is seventy-five percent cotton and twenty-five percent silk,” he muttered, looking at her.

Shaking her head in pity, she reached up and tenderly rubbed her thumb under one of his baby-blues. “You have black circles under you eyes. You need to feed more.” She shoved the hand holding the money towards him. “Get some blood at the butchers.”

“Buffy…” he started, afraid he was going to fall apart.

She held up her hand. “Don’t.”

He nodded silently and backed away.

“Besides, I like being able to see your blue eyes without the black,” she whispered and turned to run in the opposite direction.

Spike watched her run out of the cemetery towards campus. “Blue eyes simply have less pigment in them than brown eyes, pet,” he said to her departing form.

He pocketed the cash she’d given him and headed towards town to find the nearest butcher shop, pondering the mystery that was Buffy Summers.

Willow ran like the hounds of hell were chasing her, tears streaming down her cheeks. She ran straight for the room Oz used to stay in, knowing some of his things were still there after he’d left. She wanted to bury herself in his blanket, in his smell… to make her forget that he was truly gone, so she didn’t stop running until she slammed up against the door and immediately began fumbling with the knob. Opening it revealed the room to be stripped bare - all his clothes, furniture, and posters… gone. The place was empty, like her heart.

She numbly backed out and slowly trudged over to her own dorm hall, noticing nothing as she went along her way. She opened the door to the room she shared with Buffy and found it just as empty. Probably still going on about Riley to some poor vamp who can’t wait for her to stake him fast enough, she thought, sinking faster into depression. It never registered with her that she’d left her best friend alone in a cemetery, even if she was the Slayer.

Moving around the place in slow motion, she felt like she had sand bags strapped to her ankles, every step an effort that robbed her ability to stay in control of her emotions. Finally finding her pajamas, she slipped them on haphazardly and crawled beneath the covers, staring into nothingness for long moments before exhaustion took her away to the blissful oblivion that was sleep.

Long after midnight, Buffy quietly opened the door, hoping Willow was tucked away in her bed. She’d searched all over campus for her, even stopping by Oz’s old room to find Devon, telling her the not so good news. No reason was given and Devon wouldn’t disclose the location, only that Oz sent for his stuff. Had Willow already known? Was that why she was getting worse? Spying her sleeping form, she breathed a sigh of relief and crept through the room, putting on her own pajamas and slipping into bed hoping she would be able to talk to her in the morning. For now, all she wanted was sleep… and to forget about a haunted pair of blue eyes.

~*~

Sunlight tickled Buffy’s nose and she slowly opened one eye only to immediately close it as the light hit her face full force. She rolled over to see if Willow was still asleep and saw her huddled form, staring out into emptiness, tears slowly leaking down her cheek and softly plopping onto the pillow.

Buffy’s heart lurched and she shifted the covers to get up. Without saying a word, she got into bed behind Willow and draped her arm around her, pulling her in for a cuddle. Her friend was cold and unresponsive so she began rubbing her hands up and down her arms to get them warm. Buffy felt her relax slightly so she continued until Willow went limp. Then, as if a damn had burst, Willow started shaking with silent cries of pure misery.

Buffy sat up and leaned against the headboard, pulling Willow’s head into her lap to stroke her hair tenderly, watching as her best friend poured out all her sorrows. She clutched at Buffy’s pajama pant leg and ground her face into them, sobbing uncontrollably as Buffy just held on tight and said nothing. Finally, after a great long while, her cries subsided to whimpers and then finally to sniffles.

“Oz is gone,” she said in a shaky, watery voice.

“Devon said that he sent for his stuff. I guess that means he's planning on settling down somewhere else,” Buffy gently explained.

“Not here,” she mumbled.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so.” She continued to stroke Willow’s hair away from her tear stained, blotchy face.

“I feel like I've been split down the center and half of me is lost,” she whimpered.

“I know. It feels like that now-” Buffy started.

“No! It’ll always feel like this! I've got pain, here. Big-time legitimate pain,” Willow cut her off, becoming upset again.

“I know. It's just how it is. You have to go through the pain,” she tried to explain.

“Like you did with Angel? I’d rather be spared that little trip of self inflicted torture, thanks very much,” Willow shot back as she crawled out of bed.

Buffy froze. “That’s not fair, Willow. Look, I know you’re hurting, God knows I do, but I promise you, it will get better. It’s just gonna take time.”

Willow sat on Buffy’s bed and faced her, an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry… it’s just… I just can't stand feeling this way. I want it to be over.”

“It will be, I promise,” she reiterated.

“I just wish there was something I could do to make it go away. Can't I just make it go… poof?”

Buffy’s eyes bulged. “No! Um, I mean no, that wouldn’t be a good idea, Wills.” Magic and love were un-mixy things in the Buffy world.

Willow looked at her strangely. “How were you able to go on after Angel?” She’d always been curious about that.

“I didn’t. It hasn’t been easy for a very, very long time,” she admitted. Truth be told, she didn’t think she’d ever get over him… not really.

“So what finally happened?” Willow asked as she curled her legs up under her.

“Well, it’s more of a he’s there and I’m here thingy. Absence does NOT make the heart grow fonder… just makes it hurt a bit less is all. When you’re not faced with the thing you want so badly everyday, it makes it easier to let go.”

“Oz isn’t here, not anymore. Maybe that’ll make it easier,” Willow said quietly, gazing out the window.

“Probably.” An idea suddenly occurred to Buffy. “Hey, wanna come with to the picnic with Riley?” She didn’t want to leave Willow alone, not like this.

She shook her head no. “I don’t want to be a third wheel and I need to do some homework anyway.”

“Okay, then how about Bronzing tonight? I think Xander and Anya will be there. Both of your best friends in one place and you can’t get any happier than that!”

Willow smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, sure. Bronzing is always of the good.”

“Great!” Buffy squeaked. “I’ll come back for you after I check on Giles.”

Willow frowned. “Why would you need to check on Giles?”

She chewed on her lip. “I just wanna make sure that Spike hasn’t done… well, I just wanna make sure they’re both alright… okay?”

The redhead’s eyes widened. “They haven’t done anything to themselves, have they? I mean, I know what you told me last night, and I was supposed to get those ingredients for that truth spell, but… you don’t suppose… they did a murder suicide thing, do you?” she asked in a hushed tone.

Buffy snorted in laughter. “For a murder suicide, one of them would need to be capable of doing harm to the other. For now, though… Giles seems oddly attached to him. And Spike? Well, he… to perfectly blunt, he seems more pathetic than usual. It’s way weird.”

“Do you think something really happened to Spike when he was with the Commandos?”

“Yes,” Buffy replied without hesitation. She’d never seen Spike in so much pain, even when they were fighting. The haunted look he’d given her last night when he confessed that he, the ‘Big Bad’ was scared, wouldn’t leave her alone.

“If you’d seen the look in his eyes, Willow… you’d know that something major happened to him. I mean, he can’t even think of hurting someone without going all spacey and paralyzed. And God, the blood… it’s like someone stuck a cattle prod up his nose and played scrambled eggs with his brain,” she explained in detail.

Willow gulped at the imagery. “So how’s he gonna survive if Giles set him free?”

“I gave him some money for the butcher,” Buffy murmured so low that Willow barely heard her.

“What? I didn’t quite catch that.” She leaned forward.

“I said… I gave him some money for the butcher.” Buffy hid her face, not wanting to see the look of condemnation that would surely be on Willow’s face.

There was a long pause before Buffy finally looked up to see her friend smirking.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” Willow said nonchalantly, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh no you don’t, missy! That’s not an oh nothing look you have. Just what are you smirking about?” Willow was going to drive her crazy.

“I just think it’s sweet the way you helped Spike.”

“I did not help Spike! I just didn’t want him sizing up Giles’ neck is all,” she corrected.

“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t convinced. Her bland conversation about Riley the night before hinted at something else when the subject suddenly shifted to Spike.

Buffy glared at her. “I did not help Spike, end of conversation.” She jumped off Willow’s bed and started gathering her toiletries for the communal shower room.

Willow watched her in silent contemplation. She knew Buffy always had a soft spot for people who couldn’t take care of themselves or were going through a rough patch. Maybe that’s what it was… with Spike. But, she also had a feeling it was something more than that, something her intuition kept niggling at the back of her mind about her friend’s behavior… and attitude about said vampire.

“I’ll catch you around seven, okay?” Buffy said as she headed out the door, not even waiting for Willow’s answer.

And she’s off again, Willow thought, looking at the closed door.

Nearly forgetting she herself needed to contact Giles, she picked up the phone to dial his number. A very sleepy Watcher answered.

“Giles, it’s me, Willow… do you still need me to pick up supplies for a truth spell?”

“Um, no… did Buffy not tell you that it wouldn’t be necessary?” he sounded confused.

“Oh, um, no… she didn’t. Why don’t you need one? Did Spike give you the low down, the skinny, the-”

“Yes, I understand and no, not quite.” He rolled his eyes even though Willow couldn’t see it. “His progress with this… affliction is slow, but improving. I honestly don’t think it would be wise to use magic on the poor chap at the moment.”

This was officially it; the day Hell froze over. Giles was feeling pity for a vampire. Wonders never ceased, at least not on the Hellmouth.

“Okay… i-if you’re sure.”

“For the time being, yes. So how are you coping, Willow? I know that you’re going through a very difficult time. I’m a bit concerned about you.”

Her voice took on a panicked quality. “Did Buffy tell you about me running off?”

“Buffy didn’t tell me anything,” he quietly intoned.

“Oh, good! Forget the running off and leaving Buffy alone in a cemetery part,” she quickly covered up.

“She wasn’t alone, Willow. I sent Spike to check up on her.”

Now she was really confused. “Why would you send a vampire to check up on the Slayer, Giles?” Wasn’t that a bit risky even though Spike was chipped?

“We came to a mutual agreement and he’s allowed a bit more freedom in exchange for helping me out now and then. Plus, he was driving me insane with his irritating restlessness. Since Buffy can handle herself quite well, I saw no harm really. She would’ve dusted him if he’d given her cause to.”

“Um, yeah. Well, it’s always slightly evil peaches and cream here on the campus front.”

“Are you sure? Spike expressed concern over your emotional status last night, he felt that you were… hanging on by a thread,” Giles quoted the vampire’s words.

Willow was shocked. Why would Spike be concerned about her? And how did he know what she was feeling at the time? “Uh, well I… I've been off. I-I even thought about doing a spell to have my will be done, hoping it would make me feel better, but Buffy said I just needed to get through the pain.”

Giles blew out a breath. “That’s good that you didn’t, Willow. I don't think it's wise for you to be doing that right now. Your energy's too unfocused.”

She took offense at that. “Well, that's not true. I said I was off, not incompetent.”

“I only meant that you're grieving, and it might be wise if you took a break from doing spells for the time being,” he said more gently, realizing she was distraught, as Spike had indicated. It would do no good to get her upset again.

“So I get punished because I'm in pain?” She sniffled, tears gathering in her eyes again.

“No, no, dear, it’s not a punishment. Its caution that comes with wisdom from past mistakes, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m just doing the best that I can, sorry if it’s not enough for you guys. Sorry for the inconvenience,” she muttered angrily as she hung up on him.

The phone began ringing again, but Willow refused to answer it. She didn’t need Giles telling her what she should or shouldn’t do - he wasn’t her father! She could do spells if she wanted. Gathering her clothes to get ready for the day, she grabbed her towel and headed for the showers… saying a little spell before she shut the door.

“Tempus vernum veritas.” Only time will tell the truth.

That was focused enough even for the goddess Hecate herself.

“Hey, thanks, Riley,” a girl called out over her shoulder as he stepped down the ladder from hanging a sign up in the lobby of the campus hall.

Riley nodded in appreciation. “Looks good, Amber.”

Buffy stood behind his hulking form, looking between the sign and him. Interesting.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she joked as Riley spun around at the sound of her voice.

“Oh, hey! Buffy… What?” At first he was surprised, then confused.

She looked towards the banner, hoping he’d catch on. He did, but it took a moment for him to realize what the actual joke was.

“Oh, yes. I’m a lesbian,” he answered in all seriousness.

She quirked an eyebrow at the statement. “Well, it's good that you're so open about it.”

He smiled and started walking with her through the lounge. “So we were talking about having a picnic…” he started.

“We were talking about having a picnic? I thought we’d already decided to have munchies at Rhodes Field?” Now she was confused. Hadn’t they already discussed this the other day?

“Okay, yes. I guess we did talk about that. I… I guess I never got a definite vibe from you, that’s all. It’s just… It's not easy, you know, talking to you sometimes. It's like an oral exam,” he explained, getting flustered.

She grimaced in distaste. Ugh, mental images not so good. “Boy… that's just what every girl longs to hear,” she replied dryly, trying not to heave.

Riley attempted to cover up his faux pas. “I never know how you're going to react to something. I think that's why I like you so much - you're such a mystery. Probably every beautiful girl in the world has some jerk telling her she's a mystery, but… I swear, you really are. There's a lot about you that needs puzzling out.”

“I need puzzling out?” Her eyebrows shot up. Oh no, he sounded like a ‘fixer’ type. Point one against him.

“Did you just miss the beautiful girl part? See, all women are mysterious – it’s what makes them so intriguing,” he said suavely. He could turn on the boyish charm when need be.

“So, about that picnic…” she hesitated, trying to distract him from the topic of mysterious, beautiful women. She wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship with someone normal, wanting to avoid another heartbreak and get a better sense of him. Besides, she didn’t feel like fending off grabby hands if he got them.

There was also something that struck her as odd. She’d had a headache for the last few hours, the throbbing increasing slightly the moment she met up with Riley. She went over a mental checklist to see if there was something she’d done or ate that might have caused it because she’d never remembered having one. Something was off. Was it the late night? No, she’d had those all the time… sometimes never even going to bed. The stressful conversation with Willow? She didn’t think so as she was fine when Buffy went to take a shower, and she wasn’t there before she left for the day. She glanced at Riley and saw his lips moving, figuring she’d better pay attention if she was ever to get to know him.

Apparently, Riley had changed the topic and was leading her towards the quad with a small basket and blanket in hand. Wait… where’d he get the basket? What had he said? She couldn’t recall what happened after finding him in the student lounge and how she’d gotten to the point where they’d been walking for some time. She couldn’t even remember if she answered him at all. God, was her memory shot to hell as well? Probably should ask Giles about this when she stopped by later that evening.

They camped out near a full shade tree and Riley popped open several dishes, handing one to Buffy. Apples. Oh, yummy, she thought blandly.

“Um, if you don’t like them, I have grapes,” he offered, a slightly hurt expression on his face.

Buffy’s eyes shot to his. “What?”

“It’s just that you said, oh, yummy, like you didn’t really want apples. So I offered grapes,” he said apologetically for the unwanted fruit.

Panic raced through Buffy. She did not just say that aloud! She only thought it, right? Oh, God, she was confused! She looked at a very perplexed Riley, hesitantly smiled and took an apple slice and popped it into her mouth. “See? I like,” she said around a mouthful of the very thing she absolutely detested.

“Um, okay.” Riley scratched his head, thinking she was one strange girl.

Buffy hoped she didn’t look as miserable as she felt. The apple was sour and she almost gagged after swallowing it. She grinned widely - too widely. “So…” she started awkwardly, not knowing anything that would be of interest to him. She couldn’t really tell him about her life as Slayer stuff was strictly off limits.

“Do you like driving?” he asked, trying to bring up any new topic that might interest her.

“Driving,” she deadpanned. Was he serious?

His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Uh, yeah?”

“You actually drive for fun?” Who in their right mind drove for fun?

“Well, not four-wheeling or anything, but yeah. Don't you?” he questioned, not believing that she didn’t go on at least one little pleasure trip.

She snorted. “Actually, no-wheeling is more my specialty. I'm an avid pedestrian,” she proclaimed proudly. “Cars and Buffy are un-mixy things.”

“You're kidding, right? I mean, you know how to drive,” he practically scoffed.

Buffy frowned at him. Was that a subtle put down? “Well, I took the class-” she started to explain, but he cut her off.

“It's just because you haven't had a good experience yet. You can have the best time in a car. It's not about getting somewhere. You have to take your time. Forget about everything. Just… relax. Let it wash over you. The air… motion… Just, let it roll,” he tempted, leaning closer to her as his words took on a different meaning than what he started out with. He waggled his eyebrows and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Only Spike could pull that off and get away with being sexy about it, she thought to herself, comparing the two men.

“Who’s Spike?” Riley questioned peevishly.

The air between them shifted as the situation became tense. Buffy gulped like a fish and floundered in her answer. “Um, well… you see, he’s this, uh, guy that keeps hanging around me and my friends, and… well… he seems to be down on his luck at the moment.” This brought her straight out of the denial she loved to lose herself in. Since when did she think of Spike on those terms? As sexy even? Oh my God, what is happening to me, she questioned frantically. And how is Riley able to hear my thoughts?!?!

“Buffy, I can’t read your mind, though I imagine there’s quite a bit going on in there,” he answered her unspoken question. “But your lips did move.”

She stared at him in shock. “I’m actually all with the talking here?”

God, what a strange woman. “Um, yeah… at first you were talking about how sexy this Spike person is, then you worried about what is happening to you and me supposedly hearing your thoughts. Is this Spike person bothering you, is that why you’re worried? Do you need me to speak to him or something?”

“I thought we were talking about driving,” she said blankly, her mind focused on something other than the conversation they were having.

“I thought I was.”

“Um, I think I’d better go… you know, term paper and all.” She became flustered as she picked up her things to flee the scene quickly, leaving an utterly mystified Riley wondering just whom this Spike was.

~*~

Giles finally forwent paper to take notes on what Spike was spouting out, instead using a small hand held tape recorder so he could write it all down at his leisure inside his Watcher’s diary. He was just scribbling down the latest information when Buffy suddenly burst into the flat.

“Giles! Something is so totally wrong with me!” she cried frantically.

Throwing his pen down in exasperation at the interruption, he sighed loudly and started rubbing his eyes. “What is it now?”

She stood next to his desk wringing her hands nervously. “Something’s going on, I can feel it!” she said anxiously without further explanation.

“Can you be a bit more specific?” he queried motioning his hands wide for her to elaborate.

“See, I was at this mildly amusing picnic with Riley, right? And, and… I thought about not liking apples and then he offered me grapes… and then he started saying how Spike has a sexy waggle with his eyebrows and-and…” she spluttered, going on until she had to stop and catch her breath.

“Wait, just wait a moment. This Riley thought Spike was sexy while eating grapes and apples?” The disturbing images she was describing were too much for him, her babbling making no sense whatsoever.

She rolled her eyes. “No! I was thinking those things and it was like poof, he could hear me saying it… out loud, Giles… Out. Loud!”

His brow creased in a deep, confused frown. “You thought Spike was sexy while he was eating grapes and apples?”

She huffed in disgust. He’s as thick as those glasses of his, she mused, irritated beyond belief.

“I beg your pardon, young lady!”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about! I know I didn’t say those words, they were just in my head… but you heard them, right?” She was nodding enthusiastically.

“Buffy, I saw your lips move. And I have no psychic powers, so I couldn’t have read your thoughts.” He glared at her, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall leading to the kitchen.

“But, but… I didn’t hear myself say them, Giles! I swear on my Calvin Klein purse,” she pleaded.

Giles wiped his face and sighed, feeling he had better things to do than search from some reason that his Slayer thought others could hear her thoughts. “Alright, alright Buffy. We’ll see what we can come up with.” As an afterthought, he questioned, “Have you talked to Willow today? She was rather upset when I last spoke with her.”

“A little bit this morning, but I haven’t seen her since then. We’re supposed to meet up in a couple hours for some major Bronzage. I was going to check on you and Spike later in the evening, but this seemed a little bit more urgent,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes, quite.”

“By the way, where is the victim of circumstance?” she asked, leaning against the couch.

“He’s asleep actually. He’s quite exhausted.” He waved his hand in the direction of the stairs as he went back to his writing.

Noticing Giles was deeply involved in whatever he was doing, Buffy crept up the staircase and tip-toed down the hall.

She stopped at the top step, hearing the strumming of a guitar. The door to the spare bedroom was slightly ajar and she could just barely see Spike sitting on the bed, guitar in hand, quietly strumming. So quiet, in fact, she had to get closer to hear him better. She leaned against the doorframe, listening.

Spike heard and felt the Slayer enter the flat, knowing any kind of sleep he was struggling to get would be lost. His thoughts had been a mess as of late, notwithstanding the extra boost to his extensive memory. And while this girl’s kindness hadn’t gone unnoticed, it also made him start to feel things that maybe he shouldn’t. He’d made a tentative truce with the Watcher in exchange for any information that unwillingly spilled out of this brain and earned a spark of pity from the girl who was now camped outside of the door listening to him strum on a guitar he’d spied in the closet. Probably from Giles’ hippie days, no doubt. Hearing the strings vibrate kept the wild thoughts at bay, so he continued softly, choosing a song that, if he had more courage, he’d sing to her, hoping to garner something a little more than pity.

It was an English ladye bright,
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.

Buffy’s breath hitched as she heard him sing softly, closing her eyes and letting herself drift away with his words to a different time, a different place. She sunk down to sit against the wall and pulled her legs up to her chin.

Blithely they saw the rising sun
When he shone fair on Carlisle wall;
But they were sad ere day was done,
Though Love was still the Lord of all.

His nimble fingers plucked the strings in an aching, longing manner, bringing forth all the emotions the beautiful tune evoked.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands both meadow and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
For he swore her death, ere he would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all.

A small gasp escaped Buffy’s mouth before she realized it. The strumming abruptly stopped, and she froze.

“Come in, Slayer,” Spike bid her quietly.

She nudged the door open slightly and peeked in. “Sorry,” she offered.

“’S okay, pet.” He continued to strum idly, no tune in particular, not looking at her as she moved about the room.

She glanced at the fading light through the drawn curtains, knowing she’d have to leave soon to meet up with Willow. As she spied the chair across from the bed, she realized that her headache had eased considerably since she’d crept upstairs. Huh… guess music does soothe the savage headache, she mused lightly.

Spike glanced up as she sat in the overstuffed chair across from him. “What’s that, luv?”

She narrowed her eyes but relaxed when he didn’t press further, returning to his strumming. Hoping he’d continue the song, she worried her lip and worked up the nerve to ask him how the tale ended. “Was her brother really out to kill her just because she loved someone she shouldn’t?” she asked shyly.

He looked at her in surprise, seeing that she was eagerly awaiting his answer. “Could sing the rest if you want, Slayer,” he suggested. Seeing her nod, he continued from where he’d left off.

That wine she had not tasted well
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall
When dead, in her true love’s arms she fell,
For Love was still the lord of all!

She leaned forward, her face a picture of angst as she ghosted graceful fingers over her lips, silently shaking her head no. Spike nodded sadly.

He pierced her brother to the heart,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall-
So perish all would true love part
That Love may still be lord of all!

She smiled tremulously, her eyes turning misty.

And then he took the cross divine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
And died for her sake in Palestine;
So Love was still the lord of all.

A small sniffle brought his attention back to Buffy, a single tear sliding down her cheek, and his heart clenched in his chest at the sight before him. Taking a chance, he revealed a small portion of the feelings that were starting to take root within him as he pleaded the last stanza to her specifically.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove,
The sun shines down on Carlisle wall
Pray for their souls, who died for love,
For Love shall still be lord of all!

He quieted the guitar and laid it aside on the bed, watching her eyes as they took on an otherworldly quality, staring at him with stray tears wetting her lashes. She was within reaching distance, so he lightly took her hand and idly rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “Pet, you okay?” he asked concerned.

She nodded mutely, swiping her tears away. “It was just a really sad song, Spike… sorry.” She sniffled some more.

He patted the back of her hand and smiled gently. “That it was, luv, that it was.”

God, I wish I could find that sort of love, her traitorous thoughts ran through her mind unbidden as she looked at Spike.

Head cocked to the side, not believing he’d heard her right, he closed his eyes and deeply breathed in her scent. “Buffy, what did you say?”

It was hearing her name that snapped her back to reality. Following the train of the day’s events, and the likelihood her deepest thoughts were audible to those around her, she groaned. “Oh no.”

Buffy pulled her hand out of Spike’s grasp and cradled it as if she’d been burned. “Nothing. I said nothing,” she quickly lied. There was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to admit to anything until she knew what was happening to her - and even then, it was debatable.

As she said the words, a faint buzzing began in the back of her head and continued until it was a dull ache that centered between her eyes. “Ugh,” she grimaced and dropped her head between her knees to keep from heaving.

Spike was completely bewildered at her actions. First she spies on him while he’s trying to calm down from the jumbled thoughts in his head, then she’s going on about finding someone to love her while staring at him, next she’s wanting to empty her stomach… on his Docs. Chit’s gone barmy, he thought to himself.

“I have not gone barmy… whatever that is,” she groaned from between her legs, slowly raising her head until she was eye level with him. Gone was the softness from the moment before, a glint of steel now replacing the sympathy Spike thought he’d glimpsed.

“I didn’t say anything, Slayer,” he spoke slowly. How in the hell did she know what he was thinking? As if he didn’t have enough problems on his bloody plate, now heap on the fact that the Slayer could pick up what his mind was broadcasting? Unnerving at the least!

She narrowed her eyes at him and frowned. “Yes, you did! You said I’d gone barmy, plain as day,” she protested. “What does barmy mean, anyway?”

He quickly got up and edged towards a corner of the room, uncomfortable with the downturn in her mood, not liking the situation one bit. “Means crazy,” he explained, backing into a corner. If she attacked at least he wouldn’t have to worry about what was behind him. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Crazy? You think I’m the crazy one? Look at you, mister Fountain-of-Knowledge-I-can’t-shut-off!” She was advancing on him, waving her arms wildly about. “I’m not the one who has to depend on people I hate for my survival. I’m not the fangless demon who can’t get a bite to eat, because I would’ve left town before being captured!” She was close now, punctuating every nasty sentence with a poke to his sunken chest.

He could honestly say he hated her very much at this moment.

With a deadly gleam in his eyes, nostrils flaring, he began stepping towards her, forcing her to retreat instead of him. “I know how to survive, Slayer, even if it means having to bunk down with the enemy. You and your pious lot think you know everything, yeah? Don’t know jack-shit… not about livin’! If you’d pull that stick out that’s so far up your arse you might be able to do just that… live. Quit tryin’ to make everything you know about life, which is nil, fit into two categories. What Buffy thinks is right and what Buffy thinks is wrong. There are other people in the world, Slayer. Get it through your thick skull! No matter how hard you try to get rid of me or beat me half to death, you’ll always lose… `cause the truth scares you and I don’t back down!” he roared.

Too close - he was too close… to her, to the truth, to breaking a piece of the ten-foot wall she’d erected around her heart when Angel left. He may be down on his luck, but with his strong determination not to be defeated, she realized he was biding his time until he got his old self back. So she did what she had to… to protect herself, she reasoned.

He saw it coming and closed his eyes; her backhand slammed across his cheek with such power, it sent him flying across the room, landing him on the bed… out cold. She walked out the door without a backward glance and went downstairs where Giles was waiting for her, arms crossed, face stern.

“Was that really necessary?” he asked dryly.

She crossed her own arms and glared just as hard. “Giles, I seriously don’t know what you’re doing with Spike, but it needs to end. I’m unconvinced he’s not a threat.”

“If that is your stance, then you can take him with you when you go to the Bronze this evening.” He smirked and watched her turn three shades of fuming red.

“What?! No! That is so not happening! There’ll be lots of meals on wheels as he puts it, and I will not risk other people’s lives just to keep his bleached Highness among the undead living,” she ground out. Really, this… relationship between the two Brits was odd beyond extreme. “Giles, has Spike used any kind of thrall on you?” That was the only explanation she could think of that would keep him in constant company with the vampire menace.

“Of course not!” he refuted indignantly. “Spike has no such ability, not one that’s been documented at least. No, no, Buffy… Spike is in possession of valuable information, and I feel it would be remiss of me if I didn’t document as much as I could. The Council’s views on everything could be altered with his knowledge.” Giles’ eyes took on a feverish light, a Gollum-type of obsession.

Oh great, the only thing missing is him saying Spike is my precious. She frowned, shivering at that thought.

He whipped around, stared at her, and curtly replied, “I hardly think I would ever say such a thing, especially about Spike.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ugh, I really need to stop with this thinking out loud crap.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he said in disgust as he dismissed her and went back to his desk to pick up writing once again.

After a few tense moments of silence, Giles looked back in her direction, noticing Spike standing on the bottom step of the staircase, dried blood crusted over his now purple cheekbone. He started to say something to Buffy about her treatment of the vampire in his care when Spike shook his head imperceptibly in the negative.

Pursing his lips with a frown, Giles ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, “Buffy, you’ll take Spike with you this evening to the Bronze and then on patrol.”

“But, Giles,” she huffed.

“’S okay, Rupes…” Spike said quietly behind Buffy. “`S better to be alone than in bad company.”

She tensed and turned to see him watching her in an eerily detached way, a purple bruise mottling his pale face. Tinglies aside, she should have know that he’d been there… because the headache that began pulsing when she’d lied to him eased considerably when he was near. Okay, this was too much! I am going barmy! His closeness shouldn’t have an affect on my migraine, it’s just not possible!. Maybe it was best to keep him in sight, as the headache would be a major disadvantage during patrol. If Spike kept the pain at bay, and she definitely didn’t want to dwell on why he did, then she’d just have to keep his undead ass… well… undead.

Hearing her thoughts, Spike frowned as he realized she hadn’t moved her lips – he was actually picking up the chatter in her brain. Well, bugger me!

“Fine. He goes.” She groaned, turning to face her Watcher and ignoring the comment she’d heard. Then, looking back over her shoulder, she remarked with an evil smirk, “But, if you harm anyone, I’ll relish being the one to personally dust you.”

Spike’s lip curled into a sneer. “You know what your problem is, princess? You’re afraid of sullying your precious and pristine self with us lowly vamp-folk.” He moved past her, heading towards the kitchen then pausing to add, “You can’t keep us in the bowels of Hell, Slayer, without remaining there yourself.”

She looked at Giles in confusion. “Huh?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, girl, he was indicating, in a polite way of course, which is hard to imagine from the likes of Spike, but, he was saying that if you persist with a holier-than-thou attitude in regards to your duties, then you’ll be quite humbled if you were to ever become a vampire. Or something worse,” he tried to explain to, his eyes widening at what he’d just said. “Oh, dear Lord… tell me I didn’t just exonerate most of the undead populous in the world?”

“In a nutshell, you’ve just belittled my calling to that of a vigilante,” she seethed.

At that point, Spike reappeared, leaning against the archway between the two rooms, mug of blood in hand observing the Slayer and her Watcher. Who needed TV when he had his own little drama right here? Right now, it was a staring contest, a test of wills to see who was more stubborn or pissed-off. He didn’t like the twitchy vibes he’d felt all day long and, if the two fighting before him was any indication, there was some serious mojo floating around. If the piece of hardware in his head was the only thing that stood between him and dustiness, he’d likely not last another day – and he didn’t like it.

“I-I didn’t mean, that is to say… I was just trying to explain Spike’s thought process, what he was trying to convey since you didn’t seem to understand his logic.”

“His logic? Isn’t Spike and logic in the same sentence like an ox-moron?” she asked, hands on hips.

“Oxymoron, and no, Spike is very intelligent… just not one for common sense,” Giles clarified.

“Oi! Standin’ right here!”

“Shut-up,” Slayer and Watcher barked in unison.

Taking a sip of his blood, he muttered into the mug, “Gormless twits.”

Ignoring him, Giles continued. “Until we understand what is happening to him, I think we should take a course of action that will allow for optimum retention of his knowledge while investigating the-the… what were they called, Spike?”

“Dunno, Army gits? Goons? G.I. Joe’s? Commandos?”

“Yes, yes… Commandos.”

“You’ve really got to work on your speech therapy there, Giles. I caught investigate and Commandos.”

“Seems she’s a true blonde, Rupes… she’s actin’ like one,” Spike offered, winking at her before he took another drink.

Buffy’s eyes turned pointed before she pounced on Spike, flinging his cup against the wall where it shattered and left blood dripping down the white stucco. “I said, shut-up!”

Growling, he retaliated without thought, lunging at her and gripping her arms to the point of bruising. The chip fired mercilessly, leaving him slumped on the floor, his face smeared with blood from both nostrils.

Giles grabbed her arm and shoved her away from the incapacitated vampire. “Buffy! For God’s sake, get a hold of yourself! We need him, and you beating the sense out of him will not help!” he yelled as he banished her to the other side of the room.

She flounced down on the sofa. “Don’t know why.”

Helping Spike to stand, Giles handed him a towel to clean up the blood. He shrugged off the Watcher’s offer and instead, stormed towards Buffy.

“Why? You wanna know why you need me? I’m the only one who knows what those sick bastards can do! You haven’t seen the bleedin’ destruction these humans are creating, the right mess they’re making of the demon population. And you know why they’re getting away with it? `Cause you don’t care,” he spat.

“Like I said upstairs, if you could pull your bleedin’ stubborn head out of your arse you’d know that the world is not made up of only black and white. `S a whole fucking box of Crayola crayons, which contains crude oil… along with CD’s and toothpaste,” Spike ranted then walked back to the kitchen.

Tears gathered in her eyes and she them let slide silently down her flaming cheeks. “I hate him,” she whispered.

Giles looked towards the kitchen and then back at Buffy. “No, I don’t think that’s it, Buffy. You hated the Master, and you hated Drusilla. This thing between you and Spike? It’s more antagonistic than hateful, goading each other into action, playing off of one another. The only real difference I see is, that Spike never permits his grievances to overshadow his opportunities,” he offered. “You, on the other hand, seem to fall apart if something doesn’t go your way. Not the earmark of a great leader.”

“I’m not a leader, Giles.”

“I know you never asked for it but by nature, your calling expects you to be a leader. And you are a leader, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. Your friends would blindly follow you into Hell and back if it meant keeping the world safe. But… I want you to keep something in mind. Most leaders spend their time trying to get others to think highly of them… when instead, they should be trying to get their followers to think more highly of themselves.”

Buffy turned away from his intense gaze and stared out the window into the darkening skies. She nodded mutely, not looking at her Watcher, but accepting the wisdom of his words. “I’ll take Spike with me,” she quietly confirmed.

“Good, thank-you. He may prove useful at some point.”

He moved towards the kitchen and peered slowly around the corner to watch Spike, who seemed to be staring off into space. “Are you ready to leave?”

The vampire looked down at the red-soaked towel he’d been using to stop the profuse bleeding this last round with the chip had caused and threw it in the sink. Knowing how the night was progressing, he grabbed another towel and stuffed it in his duster pocket, hoping a dishcloth would be enough the next time the chip fired. If he wanted any relief with the splitting headaches that followed, though, he’d better make peace for the time being.

“Yeah, sure, Rupes.”

Spike left the confines of the kitchen and found Buffy sitting on the sofa, her posture tense as she rose to go towards the door, not looking at him. Best make peace with the chit. Hesitantly, he reached out, and with gentle pressure on her arm, stopped her before she opened the door. She turned to see him looking at her like a scolded child, remnants of blood still on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking downcast.

Shocked to the core, she felt a brick in that wall around her heart come loose as he pleaded with his eyes for her to forgive him, looking so very lost and uncertain of himself. Trying to retreat from the emotions his gaze brought to the forefront, she reminded herself of Giles’ statement about boosting the self-esteem of others instead of worrying about her own thoughts or feelings. Might as well start with the one person that seemed to bother her the most.

Reaching over the counter into the kitchen, she grabbed a clean towel and wet it, then wrung it out. Slowly, so she wouldn’t startle him, she raised her hand and began wiping away the remaining blood on his face… reminding her that she was responsible for the vibrant bruise that graced his perfectly sculpted cheek.

Grimacing, she wiped the last of the blood off, knowing it had to hurt. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered guiltily. She didn’t delve too much into what emotion was causing her to be nice to her mortal enemy.

He’d closed his eyes when she started washing his face with the wet rag and gave himself in to the sensations that fluttered through his undead heart. No one had ever cared to clean him up, except his mum, and he’d resisted it every time. But this… this he liked very much, opening his eyes in amazement at her words.

She started to withdraw her hand at the look in his eyes, full of questions and too full of emotions, but he captured her hand before she could, holding it against his cheek and nuzzling into her palm. “Thank-you,” he said quietly.

“Ahem.”

Buffy stiffened as the moment disappeared with her Watcher’s cough. She tossed the wet and bloody rag into the sink through the alcove and turned to head out the door, Spike following close behind her, glaring at her Watcher as the door slammed in their wake.

“God, give me strength,” Giles muttered at the retreating pair, sure that things were about to get interesting.

Buffy and Spike headed towards UC Sunnydale campus in tense silence to pick up Willow at the girl’s dorm room. Keeping her mind as blank as possible, she struggled to keep from ‘accidentally’ broadcasting anything that might run through her mind, peeking at her companion every once in a while. She had a sneaking suspicion that Spike was implementing the same behavior, as he hadn’t said a word, a constant blank look on his face. That and the I’m sorry really wigged her out.

Why was Spike sorry? Sorry for being… well… Spike? she casually thought before she could catch herself.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes and harrumphed. “That’ll be the day, Slayer. Not sorry for being what I am.” He pulled out his smokes and lit one up, the nicotine soothing his frayed nerves. Afraid to say anything to offend the Slayer and end up with another bloody nose, he wisely avoided saying much else on why he’d apologized.

Groaning at her slipped thoughts once more, she kept her focus on the sidewalk as their paces ate up the distance to the dorm hall. The sooner she found out what was making her deepest thoughts spring forth like a trumpet to be heard by all, the sooner she could relax and things would get back to normal. Well, as normal as things would ever get in Sunnydale.

A thought occurred to her at that point, one that she closely guarded as it revealed a weakness. It seemed only Spike could hear her thoughts now and the headache was completely gone. She glanced at him once more, hoping he heard nothing of her musings, his features giving away nothing. If he did hear her, he wisely kept it to himself and for that, she was strangely thankful.

They approached the dorm and she fished out her keys, Spike moving to follow her inside. She held her hand up, causing him to back off a bit. “Uh, no offense, but this is one place you don’t have an open invitation to.” She stood blocking the door and he stepped back further.

“Bloody useless, Slayer. It’s a public building… as in many people live here and temporarily I might add. Don’t need an invite - could slip in, real quiet like, and roam the halls. Just need invited into a specific room is all,” he corrected, smirking at her. “And that, would be as easy as pie.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she couldn’t help but laugh a little, thinking of what happened when Riley tried such a maneuver. There really was no comparison. Spike won, hands down.

He cocked his head in curiosity, her laughter catching him off guard. She was trying not to grin, but he knew she would fail, so he graced her with a full-blown smile of his own. The look on his face caused her to let lose a throaty laugh and she shook her head.

“I’ll be back, Spike. Just… just wait here, okay?” He nodded as he watched her enter the ground floor and ascend the steps to another level.

Turning, he pulled out another cigarette, taking in the location of the campus dorm and any trees that might enable him to make good on that little bit of threat he’d just given Buffy. He scanned the building and saw a light on the fourth floor come on as shadows moved across the room.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, watching the shadow flit from one corner to the other.

Wait a tic. Since when did he think the Slayer was gorgeous? Of course she was a nimble little thing, all athletic with her bouncy golden hair and… oh, bollocks!

Feeling the strain of multiple shocks to the head, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Right mess he was in. He heard her coming down the steps and moved to join her at the door, noticing that Willow was not with her.

“Red not coming?”

Buffy shrugged. “She’s not up there. Bed’s made, no note or anything… she knew we were going to the Bronze.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s kinda late, maybe she’s already there…” she trailed off, watching as Spike moved towards the courtyard.

The blond vamp paced back and forth, touching the huge oak tree and walking measured steps towards the building, then whirling around to search the ground with hungry eyes.

“Hang… hang on, this - this is it! Wait… no… yes,” he muttered to himself.

“What are you talking about?” She watched him as his agitation grew, his steps becoming more frantic with every movement.

Finally, he stopped and gestured to the ground that was grass covered. “The lab! The Commando lab! The door was right here where I escaped,” he said with absolute certainty, pleading that she believe him.

Staring incredulously at the spot where he was pointing, she slowly shook her head. “I don't think so, Spike. It’s just the lawn.”

He became incensed as he fell to his hands and knees and started tearing at the ground, sending large divots of sod flying through the air.

“Open up! I'm gonna kill you!” he roared at the ground, clawing his way through dirt and gravel.

Great. Now, I have an insane vamp on my hands. One too many knocks to the head and this is what you get.

Her thoughts earned her a harsh glare from the desperate blond, who flung a clump of sod at her and continued digging.

Swatting away the dirt easily, she approached closer and looked in the hole he was digging, see nothing to indicate a military installation. She figured the Commandos would at least have an operation on an army base or something like that, not underground. Way creepy.

“Spike, there's nothing there,” she pointed out, trying not to antagonize him further,

Ignoring her, he stopped and yelled into the small hole he had dug. “Let me in!”

He stuck the upper half of his body in the opening and Buffy had this image of Alice about to fall through the tunnel of the White Rabbit. Shrugging it off, she moved to help extract the vamp when he surprised her, withdrawing on his own to sit back on his knees, huffing and close to tears, his mud-stained hands resting on this legs.

“Fix me,” he whimpered dejectedly.

Another wave of sympathy coursed through her as she knelt down next to Spike and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulled at his arm but he pushed her away.

“Get off!” he snarled.

Stunned, she stepped back and lost whatever compassion his dilemma had garnered. “Okay, that's it! Enough of the martyred victim here - we need to get going. I still need to patrol.” She grabbed his arm and hauled him up.

Running on pure instinct, he jerked his arm free of her grasp and swung around to punch her in the nose… screaming in pain as he clutched his head. He didn’t see the oncoming punch she landed on his aquiline nose until he heard a sickening crunch and pain spread throughout his sinus cavity. He collapsed to the ground, curled into a ball of writhing pain and moaned.

“For fuck’s sake, Slayer!”

“Don’t come near me,” she hissed, rubbing own her tender nose. “I might have to baby-sit your ass, but I’ll turn a blind eye if you just happen to fall on… oh shall we say… a picket fence?” Glaring at him, she touched the bridge of her nose and determined it wasn’t broken.

“I don’t need a god-damned babysitter!” he ground out as he tried mopping up the blood with the dishtowel he’d pinched before leaving Giles’ flat.

Fine. She’d let him fend for himself then. Turning on her heels, she walked away, leaving him knee-deep in mud. Prick, she thought angrily. Last time I try to be all nice and sympathetic.

“Oi! I heard that!” he shouted after her retreating figure.

“Good! I wanted you to!” she yelled back, walking faster up the road.

Two could play this game. Vicious bitch!

He watched her pause for a moment, absorbing his words. Then she continued walking, hoping to hit him right where it hurt. Formerly dangerous, currently annoying shell of a neutered loser.

Pursing his lips, he growled and got up to follow her, knowing the Watcher would stake his arse good if she came to any harm while she was with him. Didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt her just as much. Slutty, they vampire layer.

Even though she was several paces ahead of him, Spike watched her come to a dead stop, slowly turning to see him halt in front of her with a smirk. Her lower lip wobbled a moment before she bit it to keep the tears at bay. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“For?”

“Reminding me what you are,” she laughed in a hollow manner. “For a brief nano-second there, I thought you’d changed.”

Shame and anger warred within him. Anger at the whole fucked up situation and shame for causing the tears she was trying desperately not to shed. He knew that last insult would wound her deeply and he’d flung it carelessly, wishing he could just throttle her and stop this feeling that had awakened within him.

“Sorry.”

Such a simple word. But it rocked her coming from him, because he’d been saying it a lot lately. She watched him become flustered and his eyes shift away from hers. Not completely ready to forgive him, she nodded and turned to continue on their journey, not willing to linger on why she even contemplated giving him her forgiveness in the first place.

He ran to catch up with her when he realized she was no longer standing before him, the two making quite a pair walking towards the Bronze. One a bruised, dirty, bloody mess, the other a study in pensive thought, her features extremely pinched.

Carefully guarding her thoughts, she kept trying to go over the whys of Spike’s behavior, coming to no acceptable conclusion as they neared the main part of town. Grousing with herself, she became disgruntled and started chewing on her fingernail as they waited to cross an intersection.

“According to many psychologists, fingernail biting is a sign of stubbornness,” Spike mumbled as he tried to clean off the remaining blood from his face with the towel that he’d stuffed in his duster.

Slowly turning her head, she stared at him, aghast. “I am not stubborn!” she practically spat.

He just looked at her, lips thinned. “Yeah, not gonna touch that one.”

“One more word and I’ll knock you past Jupiter,” she warned, pointing her nail-bitten finger at him.

“After the Sun, the Moon, and Venus, Jupiter is the brightest object in our sky,” he offered, looking up at the night sky, trying to distract her from being so bloody bitchy.

It worked.

“What? Where?” She followed his gaze, completely forgetting that she was angry with him.

He grinned lopsidedly. Who knew the Slayer had a curious streak a mile wide? It was like distracting a magpie with shiny objects, guaranteed to work. He’d have to remember that.

She was scanning the dark night sky in frustration, huffing with irritation. “I… I can’t find it.” She felt him move behind her and lightly grasp her chin and pointed her towards the eastern horizon.

Leaning down he whispered in her ear. “There, pet.” His body was aligned with hers and she felt him reach down with his right hand and grasp her hand, bringing it up to point at the stars. He leaned his head against her temple and started explaining softly.

“Jupiter always appears nearly full `cause the orbit is outside the Earth's. It never exceeds eleven point five degrees, and is almost always close to zero.” He felt her relax and lean into him as he nuzzled into her hair, breathing deeply of her lavender and honey shampoo. God, she smells heavenly.

His nearness shouldn’t be having an effect on her, but when she felt his lips near her ear all she wanted to do was melt against him. She was so languid she barely heard his thought, turning in his arms and bringing her face to face with him… close. “What did you say?”

Looking into her luminous green eyes, he reached out to brush a stray hair away from her cheek, his gaze asking for something neither could voice. He moved closer to her lips, feeling her breathy pants on his face, her brow wrinkling in confusion. Seeing this, he abruptly let her go, taking a step back to diffuse an uncertain situation.

“Ahem,” he coughed.

He sounds like Giles. she thought wistfully, quirking a smile.

“Not like that tweed-wearing, bloody ponce!” he growled, stepping further away from her.

“Damn it! I really need to censure my brain waves,” she groaned, disgusted with herself once again for not blocking her train-wreck of a mind. Sighing, she motioned Spike to continue on to the Bronze.

They crossed several streets before he felt he needed to point out something she might not have considered. “Some serious mojo stirring up trouble, Slayer.”

“How do you know?”

Gently tapping the side of his swollen nose, he smiled wanly. “Can smell it.”

Raising an eyebrow, she decided he couldn’t possibly smell anything with his mangled proboscis. Plus, she didn’t want conversation wandering into uncomfortable territory, so she settled on making small talk.

“Is that the only thing you know about stars?” she asked hesitantly.

“Planets, Slayer… the Sun is a star… the rest, planets,” he corrected.

“Whatever,” she said offhandedly.

He rolled his eyes at her apparent lack of respect for knowledge. “Let’s see… since Neptune was discovered in eighteen forty-six, it’s made about three-quarters of one revolution around the Sun.”

“Uh huh.”

Another eye roll. “One solar day on Mercury lasts about six Earth months.”

“Ouch,” she said flippantly, crossing the street and into the alley near the Bronze.

Spike stood on the corner before entering the crowd milling around the entrance to the bar. “Do you even care what I’m sayin’, Slayer?”

Looking back at him, she shrugged. “Well, I don’t really get any of the stuff you said, so not really big on the uptake,” she explained.

“Uneducated masses,” he muttered. “How about… Pluto is red?”

That had her attention. “I thought Pluto was kinda tan with weird black ears?”

Shaking his head in disgust, he paused before the door. “The plan-et,” he intoned sarcastically. “Not the bloody mutt from those Disney toons.”

“Ohhh…”

“Let’s just get this over with… my noggin’s taken a hell of a beatin’ tonight.” He motioned her ahead of him and they disappeared into the crowded nightclub.

The Bronze was swinging, as usual. Buffy spotted Anya and Xander and filtered through the crowd to their table, Spike in tow. She heard Anya and Xander conversing in heated tones and dropped back a bit to let them finish.

“…If you don't know how I feel about,” Xander was saying before Anya interrupted him.

“I don't! This isn't a relationship… you don't need me! All you care about is lots of orgasms,” she complained.

At that moment, the blond pair sidled up to the table.

Xander became beet red. “Ok... remember how we talked about private conversations and how they're less private when they're in front of my friends?”

The vampire smirked. “Oh, I’m not your friend, Whelp. Do go on.”

Buffy rolled her eyes in exasperation. “No, please don't.” She gave a swift kick to Spike’s shin.

Anya went on as if no one told her to stop, which, technically, they didn’t. “This is important!”

“Ahn,” Xander tried to sooth.

“What about us? Our romantic evening?” she pouted.

“Oh do tell,” Spike leered and waggled his eyebrows, just to irritate the Whelp and the Slayer. He had to get his kicks in somewhere.

“Excuse me! Why is Mr. Peroxide Pain in my ass here, Buffy?” Xander had reached his frazzled limit.

Giving an apologetic look, Buffy shrugged and explained, “Giles wanted me to drag him along on patrol.”

Not like he can do anything.

“Oi! Again, heard that, Slayer!” Spike said as his voice rose.

Buffy did a very un-lady like thing and flipped him the bird, turning and ignoring his fuming stare. “Have you guys seen Willow? She was supposed to come with us,” she asked Xander.

“Nah, we’ve been here awhile, but no Will,” he explained.

“Did you hear what happened with Oz?” she said, leaning closer so he could hear her above the music.

Xander shook his head no and both he and Anya leaned in to hear the tale Buffy was telling. Spike sighed and pulled out a smoke and stuck it between his lips, a hand on his arm stopping him from lighting up. Anya shook her finger at him and pointed to the ‘no smoking’ sign that had been placed near the stairs. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. It was going to be a long night.

After a few minutes of intense discussion, Xander reared his head back in surprise. “Geez, you mean Oz just sent for his stuff and didn't even call her? That's pretty harsh.”

Anya agreed. “I only wish I had my powers back. I'd liquefy his entrails for her.”

Xander looked askance at her. “That's sweet. God, poor Will. No wonder she's…” he trailed off having caught the unmistakable red bobbing head of Willow…on the dance floor. “…Having a wonderful time,” he said with a frown.

“Wow. Way to rebound,” Buffy said, eyebrows raised. She watched Willow dance up a storm with whomever she came in contact with.

“What? Are you people blind? She's hangin' on by a thread. Any ninny can see that,” Spike scoffed, appalled at the lack of observation from Willow’s so-called friends.

“As much as it pains me to say this, Spike is right. I do believe that's the dance of a brave little toaster,” Xander confirmed.

“Since when did you have any insight to Willow, Spike?” Buffy glared at him as he fidgeted.

“Not hard to do, Slayer…you just-”

Spike was interrupted by Willow sloshing her Rum and Coke all over his duster, stumbling as she reached the table. A smile was plastered to her face.

“Oh sorry, Spike! My bad… `hic… it’ll wash right off,” she muffled into his leather covered arm. The group held their breath, waiting to see if the vamp would retaliate, knowing how much he loved his prized duster.

Instead, he shocked them.

Gently, he steered Willow to a chair and plopped her down, taking the drink out of her hand. “Sit down, luv.” He took her hands in his and looked at her bleary-eyed expression. He brushed her bangs off of her nose and smiled at her. “Bit pissed?”

“Pissed?” Willow frowned

“Drunk,” Spike clarified.

Willow laughed. “Drunk… that's such a-a strong word. Kind of a harsh, guttural, Anglo-Saxon word - drunk,” she giggled and reached for her drink.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Spike chastised, moving the alcohol away from her grasping hands.

“But that’s my Rum and Coke,” she pouted.

“Rum’s an alcohol distilled from molasses and sugarcane juice, both of which are by-products of the process used to turn sugarcane into refined sugar. And Coke? Well that shit’ll rot your pretty little brain there, Red,” he admonished as he tapped her forehead.

Even in her drunken state, Willow was taken by surprise. “Woah, that’s a neat trick…`hic… you got there, Spike. Go on, do another drink!” She bounced up and down clapping her hands.

The blond vampire stunned the others at the table. Willow was hanging on his arm, laughing loudly, and he accepted her irritating behavior as if he’d known her forever. Anya watched him with a renewed interest as Xander gazed at his sad, desperate best friend and cringed, wondering how Spike was able to reach her in a way he could not. He’d have to explore why he wasn’t feeling more animosity towards the bleached pest, instead thinking he’d make a great pool partner. And Buffy. Well she felt a little of that green monster rear its head and she grimaced. Its only because Willow was so trashed she reasoned with herself, knowing she wasn’t going to buy that one any time soon.

“Tell us about Gin,” Anya piped up. She loved Gin and tonics.

“Ahn!” Xander scolded, darting his eyes to Spike.

He returned Xander’s stare evenly as he answered his girlfriend. “Gin’s a distilled grain alcohol flavored with juniper berries. Sloe gin is gin flavored with sloe berries from the blackthorn bush instead of juniper.”

Xander gaped at the vampire, who now had a snoozing and drooling Willow lying against his shoulder. “Whiskey,” he prompted.

Spike grinned and nodded at Xander in approval. “Now that’s what I’m on about, mate!” He drained Willow’s abandoned drink, seeing as she wasn’t going to need it anymore.

“There are three different kinds, yeah? The word itself comes from the Gaelic ‘usquebaugh,’ meaning ‘water of life’. It’s distilled from fermented grains such as barley, rye, corn, wheat, or a combination. In old Eire and the US, whiskey is spelled with an ‘e.’ In Scotland, Canada, and Japan, it’s spelled ‘whisky.’”

Xander and Anya were totally spellbound, hanging on every word Spike uttered. Buffy just scoffed. She’d seen him do stuff like this all night.

“Now Scotch is whiskey made in Scotland. And, according to international law, only whiskey made in Scotland can be called Scotch,” Spike continued as he ordered himself a bottle of the aforementioned topic.

“And Bourbon… that’s American whiskey of the type originally made in Bourbon County, Kentucky. It’s made from seventy percent corn and thirty percent wheat, rye, or other grains. Tennessee whiskey is similar to bourbon, `cept it’s made in, well… Tennessee. Its filtered through a ten-foot layer of maple charcoal which gives it a milder, distinctive flavor,” he finished with a posh flair.

Xander and Anya clapped their hands and asked for more. Buffy just leaned her chin on her palm and watched them all interact, finding a strange, comfortable peace wash over her. She glanced at Willow, who was contentedly dozing on Spike’s right shoulder, and smiled to herself.

Maybe he has changed. she mused, knowing Spike would be the only one to hear her.

He did hear, but gave no indication to the others that he had, daring a glance in her direction. She gave him a hesitant smile as he continued on, his heart lighter with the small amount of trust she’d given him.

“May misfortune follow you the rest of your life… but never catch up!” Spike yelled as he raised his shot glass of whiskey.

“May you win a lottery and spend it… `hic… all on doctors!” Xander boomed, clinking his glass with Spike’s.

Willow chimed in, “May the people who dance on your grave get cramps in their legs!” She giggled loudly, dribbling a little of the liquor down her chin.

Anya cleared her throat and yelled, “May you back into a pitchfork and grab a hot stove for support!” Everyone laughed uproariously.

Even with the deafening din of the music, Xander, Spike, Anya, and Willow could be heard shouting curses and toasts to one another or towards anyone in general. They had been doing this for the past hour, slowly but surely getting snockered in the process… especially since Spike was buying enough whiskey to fund the whole of Scotland.

Willow had woken up when Spike first raised his arm to a toast, looked for her drink that he’d downed earlier, and complained long enough that he started foisting shots on her. She gagged on the first few, but with her tongue blissfully numb, she tossed back the rest like a pro. Anya followed suit, gulping anything that was put in front of her.

Buffy was utterly baffled with the group.

She questioned Spike as to where he got the money for whiskey since he was always hitting up the Scoobies for cash to fund whatever habit he chose to indulge in at that moment. He just smirked at her, pushed up his pant leg and pulled out a large roll of bills from his boot and assured her, “Got me enough dosh, pet. And no, I didn’t steal it!” He didn’t elaborate any further, despite her skeptical expression, and turned back to drinking with the group.

The redheaded witch was too trashed to really comprehend why playing drinking games with a master vampire was so not of the good, even though said vamp was neutered. Buffy just kept a close eye on their actions making sure no funny business was going on. She didn’t trust Spike, well… not that much… okay she trusted that he would get too messed up to actually cause any real harm if he tried to hurt someone. With that, she relaxed… a bit.

Xander was confusing as hell. All his grumbling and unaccounted bitterness about the vampire in their midst did not help explain why he was now treating Spike as if he was a long-lost drinking buddy. She thought Riley and Xander would get along great, if they actually ever met, but the more she thought on it, the deeper her frown became.

Riley’s a doofus, she idly thought.

The blond vamp swiveled his head towards her with a frown. Who’s Riley?

You can hear me over this loud music? She stared at Spike skeptically. And Riley is none of your business.

He shrugged and returned to his drink, watching the Scoobies interact over the rim of his glass. Probably some enormous hall-monitor type wanting to keep you after school, he suggested, baiting her.

He’s got a big paddle, too. She smirked at his fuming glare.

Leaning closer, Spike placed his right hand lightly on her knee and slowly slid his palm up her thigh. Mine’s bigger.

“Oh, please,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

All eyes turned to her, the Scoobies unable to hear their internal dialogue.

“Ugh, I can’t win… I just… can’t… win.” She bent forward and started banging her forehead on the edge of the table, mumbling about stupid thoughts running amuck and messing up her already crappy life even more.

Spike put his hand underneath the spot where Buffy’s head hit the table and softened her next blow. “What you on about, Slayer?” he asked confused.

She blinked at the unexpected gesture and rubbed her sore forehead. “Nothing… it was nothing,” she answered absentmindedly. He eyed her closely as she gave him a false smile, then slowly turned back to gulp another shot, glancing every now and then at her.

Pouring another, the pleasantly buzzed vamp asked the waiter for another glass. Once in hand, he filled it and pushed it towards the Slayer. “Drink up, it’ll help,” he slightly slurred.

She looked at it like it was the plague. “Um, no thank you,” she said sweetly, shoving it back across the table to him.

“C’mon, it’ll relax you.” He pushed it back to her.

“I think everyone remembers when I had the fun beer-fest and went one million years B.C., right?” she asked the group, shoving the drink back to Spike once again.

“Sadly without the fuzzy bikini,” Xander mused dreamily.

Anya pinched Xander’s leg, hard. “Off topic, Xander.”

“Right. Topic now,” he quickly amended, rubbing his bruised thigh. “Probably not the best idea, giving the Buffster a drinky-poo.” He laughed as he wiggled his fingers at her, totally sloshed.

Curling his tongue behind his teeth, Spike leered at her, eyebrow raised. “Think I’d like to meet Cave Buffy, sounds right primitive.” He moved the drink back to her, keeping his hand on the glass to prevent her from pushing it back. I’ll make sure you get home safely, Slayer, he added silently.

Her eyes widened at his words even though she fumed and glared. “Fine, but I’m not responsible for what happens when I can’t remember my own name,” she warned, giving in. Grabbing the shot, she lifted it to her nose and smelled it, grimacing. “How can you guys drink this stuff?”

“Ah, can’t tastes anythingy,” Willow giggled.

Buffy looked at the state her best friend was in tried not to laugh. The redhead was completely smashed and the others were soon headed that way. She didn’t have to worry about driving since all of them lived within walking distance and it was a load off her mind.

Shrugging her shoulders and bracing herself, she raised her glass. “Here goes nothing.” Knocking back the shot, she immediately gagged as it burned all the way down her throat to warm her stomach. “Bleahh! God that’s horrible!”

“Just the first few, Slayer… here, drink another,” Spike assured her and poured another round for everyone. “More toasts!” he yelled.

More?

Lots more.

Pointing his drink to Anya, he suggested, “Demon girl starts this time.”

The ex-demon lifted her eyes to the right to think of something. “Oh, I know!” She held out her shot glass to the others. “May your daughter’s beauty be admired by everyone in the circus!” Resounding laughter ensued and they guzzled their drinks.

“My turn! My turn!” Xander bellowed. “For every wound, a balm. For every sorrow, a cheer. For every storm, a calm. For every thirst, a beer!” A mighty chorus of ‘yeah’ and ‘here here’ sounded from the table.

By this time, Buffy had three shots of whiskey and understood that numb feeling that Willow had described. Sniggering a little, she found she couldn’t stop as she slapped the tabletop and fanned herself, laughing so hard she was turning red. Spike poured another round.

“Red?” the vamp prompted as he pointed the bottle towards Willow.

Bleary-eyed, she snickered and raised her glass. “May your nose hairs grow so long they strain your soup!” she laughed as she swallowed her shot. The group groaned with a few ‘eww’s’ here and there.

“Hmm, let’s see now,” Spike said, concentrating. “Ah, champagne to our real friends, and real pain to our sham friends!” Everyone laughed as they turned to Buffy for her contribution.

Panicking because she couldn’t really find anything witty to say, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, jumbled and drunk as she was. “May I live long enough to dust you!”

A dead silence gripped the group as all eyes turned to Spike, his disappointment apparent to everyone at the table. Lowering his gaze, he knew the game was finished when the group slipped out of their chairs, wobbling as they tried in vain to stand still.

Buffy panicked and tried to back track, rather awkwardly. “I’m… I’m… sorry, I just don’t know how to play the game!”

A few coughs, some cleared throats, and a few sideway glances told her that she had effectively broken the good mood that everyone had been partaking of, regardless if it was because of the vampire she had just toasted to being a future big bile of dust.

Willow frowned at Buffy then turned to Spike, grabbing his hands. “Hey, c’mon, this song is great!” She tugged him towards the dance floor as a particular heavy trance song started to play.

Xander and Anya were barely coordinated enough to follow them, leaving a distraught Slayer sitting alone at the table, watching her friends leave with Spike.

“It's nice to see you brought your boogie shoes tonight, Will,” Xander commented as he pulled Anya along.

“Yeah… I-I know I've been sort of a party-poop lately, so I said to myself… Self! It's time to shake and shimmy it off,” she laughed, smiling at Spike as he reluctantly followed.

He didn’t think this was such a good idea, everyone being drunk off their arses and all, as Xander could barely stand and Willow was hanging on his arm more than pulling or dragging him. He turned back to look at the Slayer and his heart tightened. She was pouring herself another drink, looking very small as she sat there and he could smell the tears misting her lashes even from this distance.

“Red, what about the Slayer?” the blond asked, halting her pulling movements.

She looked over at Buffy and grimaced, looking downcast. “It's me, isn't it?”

Puzzled, he looked between Willow and Buffy. “What’re you on about?”

“Well, you came with Buffy but then things became awkward and you settled for me. I-I just happened to drag you out here to dance and I think you came with me because of some misguided sense of pity and I must not even be remotely attractive if I can’t entice a guy of the undead variety-”

Spike place a firm finger over her flapping lips. Her nervous shuffle and deflating self-confidence spoke volumes. Right, then… time to cheer her up. “Piffle!” he said as he raised her chin so she could see his face.

She wrung her hands anxiously. “I mean, I know you can’t bite anyone and I know I'm not the kind of girl vamps like to sink their teeth into. It's always like, oh, you're like a sister to me, or, oh, you're such a good friend,” she intoned sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'd bite you in a heartbeat, if I didn’t have this shit scrambling my brains every time I even thought about it.”

Her eyebrows raised in shock. “Really?”

Spike shuffled his feet and mumbled, “Thought about it.”

“When?” She’d never seen anything to indicate Spike might think of her as anything more than a Scooby-shaped pain-in-the-tuchis… and that was pushing it.

He waggled his eyebrows and somewhat leered at her. “Remember last year, you had on that... fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?”

“Seriously? I never would have guessed. You played the blood lust kinda cool,” she said, doubting his words.

“Mmm, well I hate being obvious. All fang-y and grrr! Takes the mystery out, you know?” He demonstrated with clawed hands the way he would have reached for her throat, if not for a minor shock that stopped him short. He grimaced and shook his head, smiling slightly.

“If you could...” Willow said softly, noticing the pain that swept across his face.

“Yeah, Red, if I could.” He nodded and then grinned fully.

She smiled shyly and tried to give him back a little of what he gave her… self-confidence. “You know, this doesn't make you any less terrifying.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Don't patronize me.”

Laughing, she pulled him further onto the dance floor where Xander and Anya were already working up a sweat. A niggling sensation started crawling up his spine as he and the witch stopped in the middle of the throng of people, turning once again to check on Buffy, his body rigid as he froze.

Three overly large jocks surrounded her and she was still tossing back shots like she was a pro. She was very animated in her conversations with the hulking mass of men, one of them even pointing to the almost empty bottle of whiskey and shaking his head.

“Tosser needs to mind his business,” Spike muttered, hackles raised.

Wondering why her dance partner wasn’t into the groove, Willow glanced past his shoulders to see what had captured his attention. “Oh, it’s Riley!” she said loud enough to draw said man’s notice and waved at him.

The moment Riley heard Willow’s voice, he turned to seek out the redhead amongst the crowd. The chill that had slowly been creeping up Spike’s spine finally settled in the base of his brain as he beheld the face of the boyish grunt, resounding alarm and need for survival prompting him to start backing up bit by bit into the shadows, tugging the witch along.

“C’mon Red, gotta dance, yeah?” There was a panicked tone to his voice and his grip on her hands was causing twinges to fire in his brain.

Willow furrowed her brow. “It’s just Riley… he likes Buffy,” she explained moving with him closer to the back of the club. Finally they reached the edge and started dancing, Spike pulling her close and whispering in her ear.

“That may be, but that’s a bloody Commando she’s got with her!”

Her eyes widened in dread as she looked back towards Buffy and noticed Riley heading their way. “Oh crap, oh mercy, Spike, he’s coming!” She maneuvered the vamp and herself further into the crowd and near the back door. Once they were near enough, she shoved him towards the door and whispered loudly, “Get outta here… run!”

Spike looked at her for moment, not believing what she was doing for him. He grabbed her arms, pulled her to him, and planted a scorching kiss on her parted lips.

“Thanks, Red… I owe ya.”

He didn’t stay to see the profuse blush that crawled up Willow’s neck and into her face as she watched him run out the door into the night, hoping he would find shelter. She stood there dazed and lightly touching her lips, reliving the awesomeness that was such a hot kiss. Maybe he would… if he could, she thought wistfully. A hand clamping down on her shoulder startled her out of her reverie.

“Hey, Willow, who you dancing with?” Riley looked around the crowd for the white head he was sure was with her before. Only one thing he knew had that shade of platinum on his head… Hostile Seventeen.

“Um, no one right now… wanna dance?” She was edgy and wanted to keep Riley from following Spike.

Deciding to play along because he could tell she was lying, he nodded and began moving, rather awkwardly, to the rhythm the music provided. Knowing he had more important matters to deal with, such as tracking the Sub T, he pushed his objective to the side to concentrate on ingratiating himself to Buffy’s friends, hoping they would speak highly of him enough so he could ask her on a real date.

“So… does Buffy ever talk about me? Like, has she ever said-”

Willow cut him off quickly. “Nope, sorry.”

Taken aback at her abrupt response, he faltered for a moment but composed himself. “Well… that's discouraging.” Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he first thought. I just need to get her on my side is all. “Still, I feel like I have a fighting chance with my new accomplice,” he smirked and tried to waggle his eyebrows.

She wasn’t falling for that scheme either, frowning and thinking he was having a seizure. “I'm not your accomplice,” she said seriously.

Either she’s been burnt by love or she’s naturally bitter, he thought unkindly of the redhead as he was once again shot down. “Um, no, no. Of course not,” he agreed hesitantly.

“I'm not,” she reiterated, eyes narrowed. She knew what kind of game he was playing. And now, knowing he was part of the Commando group, well… there was no way she would help him gain Buffy’s affections.

“You're not,” he confirmed, nodding his head.

The music had wound down and they moved off the dance floor, both ill at ease with each other, heading towards the table where Buffy was sitting with Graham and Forrest. Willow noticed her friend was still drinking and her face was a mixture of confusion and irritation with the men surrounding her. She would have to tell Buffy about Riley and his lackeys, but they were still too drunk to really comprehend why it was important at this point. So, the witch kept her mouth shut until they were by themselves. But, she could still scare Riley into leaving Buffy alone… hopefully.

Before reaching the table, Willow pulled on his arm and he turned towards her. “We're clear, right?” she intoned in a low and deadly voice, eyes flashing red.

The large man had the grace not to wet himself. “We're clear,” he whispered, watching her walk ahead to sit next to Buffy.

Just what the hell kind of friends did Buffy have, anyway?

Spike kept running as if his existence depended on it, and with regards to the solider boys, it did. The massive amount of alcohol in his system slowed him somewhat, but he trudged through the back alleys of Sunnydale to his cave, hoping the army troops hadn’t found this little hidey-hole. If he were lucky, Harmony would be gone, having met the pointy end of a table-leg.

Creeping silently towards the opening of the cavern, he stretched his senses to see if she was about, frowning when he caught no scent at all. Peeking around the corner, he surveyed his cave to find it in disarray. All the unicorns and flying horses were gone, along with the hot pink clothes and fluffy pillows; the cave was entirely devoid of Harmony, her stuff and her scent.

Stepping into the chamber, he tried to remember the last time he’d seen her, the days all seeming to run together. Righting a candelabra and lighting a few of the remaining candles, he surveyed the rocky room, wondering when she’d left and who’d be dumb enough to shack up with her, not including himself, of course. He’d done so out of desperation, he recalled, begging her to get him some food because he couldn’t feed himself.

Before that, it had just been sex – mediocre at best – but frequent, suspicious of the fact that he’d always pictured Buffy’s face while fucking her. Now he had an inkling of why Dru had left him and he couldn’t honestly blame her. It galled and excited him in turn, to want to feel your mortal enemy’s touch against your skin while dying to rip it apart in the next breath. It was enough to drive a fellow batty.

Harmony’s prattle never helped, especially when she batted her eyelashes and cooed about him being her Blondie Bear, which really was quite intolerable. It made him want to gag. The final straw was when she kept nattering on about how much he loved her before she left to get him a bite.

I love Syphilis more than you.

In retrospect, it was the wrong thing to say, as she proceeded to bash him on the head and left him lying unconscious… in the middle of the forest. She’d dragged him there, probably in hopes he’d be vamp flambé, but the itch of coming dawn woke him before he became just that. How was he supposed to know she knew what Syphilis was? It was sheer luck that the Commandos hadn’t happened upon him and he counted himself extremely fortunate. That had been weeks ago, starvation finally driving him to the Watcher’s apartment in desperation.

Kicking at some debris in the corner, a burnt smell became overwhelming as he followed the scent over to a pile on the dirt floor barely resembling anything. He squat down and picked through the remains, anger growing the more he sifted.

“Fucking Hell! She burnt my Sex Pistols CD’s!” he roared as he examined the melted plastic cover and tossed it to one side of the cave in irritation.
He also found his favorite red button up shirt melted onto an old LP of the Clash he had nicked back in the day. Great. The ditzy bitch even grabbed the good stuff. Was nothing sacred?

Sighing heavily, he looked around at the cave now decorated in Spartan style, and determined he’d better find a new place to stay. The Army goons would soon follow his tracks here and he felt too exposed. Unsure if he could return to the Watcher’s flat, he decided to take the chance anyway.

Gathering what was left of his kit and tossing it into an old duffle bag, he grabbed as much of his memorabilia he could find, hoping the really good stuff hadn’t become a victim of the let’s toast Spike’s things because we can’t toast his balls melted mass. Finding his Ramones, Iggy Pop, and Velvet Underground LP’s stashed between the mattress and box springs of the rickety bed he stuffed them in the bag and headed out towards Giles’ flat, hoping he could crash there until finding a place of his own. He’d consider it a bonus if he didn’t have to deal too much with the Scoobies.

Slinking away as quietly and covertly as possible, he reflected on the past few days that had become his own living Hell, ducking a low hanging tree branch as he left the area. Willow’s kindness had touched him deeply and he worried about her pervasive sadness.

“Red just needs some confidence is all. She’s right special, that one. Can smell the magic all over her. Doesn’t know how powerful she really is, I expect,” he mumbled to himself, thinking that he secretly adored her in that lavender outfit from last year. It made her look like a naughty school girl that he could bend over his knee and… okay, not going there, mate.

Shaking his head slightly, because it still twinged a bit every now and then, he slipped into the shadows that clung to the alley walls. Xander was another matter. “Whelp needs a man around, probably fed up with all the birds hanging about. Boy can hold his drink, that’s for sure. Have to drag him over to Rack ‘Ems and see if he’s any good. Might be able to hustle a bit of dosh if he is,” he explained to no one but the bum lying between some crates at the end of the alley.

“Rack ‘em good!” the bum slurred and fell back into a drunken stupor.

Paying no attention to the inebriated man, Spike surveyed the street for Commandos and finding none, quickly crossed to the edge of the park that adjoined Giles’ flat. “The Watcher… now there’s a mystery,” he huffed as he picked his way through the playground equipment. “He’s either bleedin’ insane or… well, he’s bleedin’ insane. Something’s up the old git’s sleeve, bashing me upside the head when he wants info he can get from any encyclopedia. Not like he keeps me around for the bloody conversation.”

He finally made it to the Watcher’s door and poised his fist to knock when the door swung open, light pouring out.

“Buffy?” he asked breathlessly, taking in the angelic vision, warm light surrounding her.

“Oh my God, Spike!” she cried and launched herself into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist.

Holding her body close, he looked at Rupert over her head in confusion at the gesture. Giles just shrugged and mouthed, I’ll tell you later, shutting the door to give them a little privacy, though why he did gave him a little shudder.

“Spike! `Hic… I thought you were dustiness,” she garbled against his leather duster.

Again with the confusion, but it tugged at his heartstrings. Why would the Slayer care if you are dusty, old mate? Spike thought to himself.

“`Cause, you big idiot, you know where the solider guys are… and without you, can’t find them,” she mumbled in answer to his thought. “Plus, `hic, you said you’d make sure I got home safely. I waited… and waited, `hic, and I had to walk home with Wills.”

She was still completely soused from drinking earlier, and he wondered how much more she’d had since his departure.

It was the only explanation he could come up with that would explain why the Slayer was this close to him, clinging to him as if he’d disappear if she let go. It might also explain the scent that suddenly assaulted his nose as she snuggled closer to him. Oh Jesus… cave-girl Buffy was indeed a sight to behold.

“I’m gonna let you down easy, pet, yeah?”

She tightened her grip on his coat and groaned. “No, you’re so comfortable… and you smell… ewww… like,” she sniffed his lapel and nuzzled into his hair, which drove him mad. “Like burnt clothes or plastic. How come?” she inquired, looking at him with dopey eyes.

Breathing heavily, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, as he returned her nuzzle, just under her ear. It wasn’t fair, really, as he realized he needed to stop the Slayer before she made a spectacle of herself, clutching at his body the way she was. However, his body was clutching just as fiercely in return, and it took a will of iron to put things to a halt.

“Pet,” he whispered, trembling with barely contained desire. “Need to put you down. I’ve not eaten and your blood smells mighty brilliant right now,” he lied.

She pulled back to gaze at him, blinking slowly as she tried to comprehend what he was saying through a drunken haze. “Hungry?” she said thickly.

Snap! He zeroed in on her eyes as he picked up her double entendre and he flared his nostrils. “Very, very hungry, Buffy,” he murmured, lowering his head, his mouth barely touching hers.

“So am I,” she agreed and rose up to meet his lips as she wound her fingers through the curls at the base of his neck.

The kiss was all consuming and they quickly got lost in each other. Tightening her legs around his trim waist, she ground herself against his already hard cock and he moaned at the closeness of her heat.

God, Buffy… you taste like sunshine, he whimpered in her mind.

Lost in bliss, she arched her back as he began suckling on her neck. What’s happening to us? I can’t breathe without you.

Don’t know, but I can’t let go. Cupping her ass, he shoved her back, flush to the door, thrusting against her without thought to whose door he was banging her into.

Rupert suddenly opened the door, both Buffy and Spike falling to the floor of his apartment. They landed in a heap at his feet, never noticing the change in scenery, as Spike continued to kiss her roughened pouty lips, both grasping at each other fervently.

“Oh, pouty! Look at that lip… gonna get it… gonna get it,” he murmured, nibbling the corner of her mouth, paying no heed to Giles staring at them in abject horror.

“Oh, stop,” Buffy giggled and batted his chest playfully.

“Yes, please… stop. Both of you, or I’ll go blind,” Giles intoned harshly.

They froze, slowly turning their heads to glare at him. Knowing the moment was over, Buffy rolled out from under Spike to stand, pulling him up after her. “But he’s such a good kisser… yummy, yummy!” she giggled at her Watcher, licking her lips.

He stared in shock at her behavior. “Do you realize what you’re doing? This is nonsense, for God’s sake! Something must be making you act this way. It’s the only thing I can think of that would have you lip-locked with this undead creature you so recently despised.”

Wanting to growl in outrage, Spike instead stepped away from the Slayer. “Watcher’s got a point, luv,” he regretfully agreed. His heart broke a little as he watched a blush creep its way across her face as she slowly backed away from him.

Shaking her foggy head in the negative, she regretted it immediately. “Oh God, I’m gonna be sick!” she yelled, running for the bathroom. Slamming the door, the men heard violent retching proceed soon after.

Turning back around, Giles pointed a finger at Spike, indicating a stern lecture was about to ensue but the vamp held his hand up. “Save it, Watcher. I know. She’s a bit smashed is all,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing happened.” Shying away from his angry glower, he retreated to the foyer and grabbed his bag that was still outside the front door.

Standing in his way, Giles crossed his arms and scoffed. “If you think I’m going to let you stay here after what I just witnessed-”

“Saw the G.I. Joes at the Bronze,” the vamp interrupted, dropping his belongings at the bottom of the stairs. “Might want to warn your Slayer about sleepin’ with the enemy.”

The normally patient Brit became irritated with this new information as he fell back onto the couch, exhausted from the day’s events. “Did they see you?”

Sitting on the table across from him, Spike grimaced. “Think they caught a glimpse… would’ve been captured if Red hadn’t shoved me out into the alley. As it happened, Buffy was cozying up to the head crew cut, like she knew him. My wager is he fancies her,” he reported, trying to ignore the little ache that came with that statement. What she saw in the behemoth he’d never know. “Was giving her shit about drinking with her mates.”

“The others were there, too? And they let you near the table?” Giles asked in astonishment as he sidetracked the idea of his Slayer’s insensible drinking.

Spike snapped his fingers in front of the other man’s face. “Hello? Anyone in there? I just said Buffy knew one of the Commandos!” he growled with frustration.

“No, I don’t,” she said as she emerged from the hallway. Apparently she was done tossing her cookies.

“Buffy, you might want to sit down,” Giles said gently as he indicated the spot next to him on the couch.

Still woozy, she made her way over and plopped down, laying her head on her Watcher’s shoulder to keep the room from spinning. It was hard seeing five Spikes’ float in her field of vision, so she closed her eyes, trying not to fall asleep.

“Buffy, tell us what happened tonight,” Giles prompted.

Replaying the evening in her fuzzy mind, she recalled all that Spike and she had done. “Went to the dorm to find Willow, but she was already gone. Then Spike went a bit crazy over the new turf they laid in the quad.”

“Entrance to the bloody lab is down there, I know it, Watcher,” he confirmed her story at Giles’ confused look.

“His butt was so cute stuck up in the air like that!” she giggled, slapping her thigh.

Both men raised their eyebrows.

“Anyway-” she continued, “… we went to the Bronze and Xander and Anya were already there, talking about their love life… or lack there-of. Then we started chatting and next thing you know, Willow is dancing up to Spike and they all start drinking,” she said drowsily, the alcohol in her system starting to have a sedative affect.

“So, you’re telling me that the others willingly spent time in Spike’s company, drinking with him, is that right?” Giles asked in amazement.

Spike looked affronted. “I’m not diseased, Rupes… and I know how to have fun.”

“Anywho,” she went on without taking a breath. “Willow pulls Spike out on the dance floor when Riley shows up with Forest and Graham. The next thing I know, Spike is gone and Riley is returning from the dance floor with a very pissed-off Willow.”

“I’m sorry but I’m a bit lost… why is Willow upset?”

“Said she’d tell me later, but she left with Xander and Anya… I think they’re gonna make sweet love tonight!” she giggled once more as her head lolled around on Giles’ shoulder.

Impatient to know if he needed to leave town, Spike asked hesitantly, “Slayer… what happened with the college gits?”

“Riley asked if he should walk me home or something and I said, ‘Hell no! I can take of myself, thank you very much!’ He’s so Teutonic,” she muttered and promptly fell asleep, her head lying against the back of the couch.

“She doesn’t know they’re Army goons, Giles. Leave it that way,” Spike said quietly, his look softening as he watched her breathe deep and peacefully.

The vamp must be deadly serious if he called him Giles. “She won’t hear it from me.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Well… um, well. Let’s get her to bed then, shall we?” Giles suggested as he hoisted Buffy’s arms up and Spike grabbed her legs. They trudged upstairs carrying the incapacitated Slayer and laid her out on Spike’s bed.

“I’ll kip downstairs, Rupes. She’ll be right as rain in the morn,” he assured the Watcher.

“Hmm.”

~*~

The night progressed uneventfully until Spike heard Buffy stumbling around upstairs at three AM. He crept up the stairs and listened to her moan about a headache, snickering to himself as he leaned against the wall.

“Lousy son-of-a-bitch, I can hear you,” she practically growled.

Stifling a chuckle, he slowly opened her door, losing his control and laughing out right. Her hair was a mess, her eyes red-rimmed, and she squinted against the hall light filtering in. She was not a pretty sight.

“Bit roughed up, Slayer?” he asked quietly. He knew what it was like to have a hang over, so he appreciated her foul mood.

“God, make the room stop spinning, please!” she whimpered.

Entering, he sat on the bed next to her, taking her hand in his. “Shhh, how about I just talk and hopefully it will take your mind off the pounding, yeah?”

She nodded slightly and curled her arms and head up in his lap. Taken aback by the gesture, he started talking about inane things that were flying around in his head, hoping she wouldn’t mind if he stroked her hair.

“Some ancient Roman delicacies from around the year two-hundred A.D. were… parrot tongue, ostrich brains, thrush tongue, peacock comb, and nightingale tongue,” he said, never thinking on the subject matter until he heard Buffy start to gag.

“Oh, stop! Please stop, I’m gonna hurl!” she moaned.

“Sorry, pet!” he genuinely apologized. “Let’s try something else. I know! Every part of these plants is poisonous: Azalea, foxglove, nightshade, oleander, and rhododendron.”

“Not helping!” she groaned as she reached for the spare trashcan next to the bed and stuck her head in, retching loudly.

“Bugger!”

“Don’t you know anything cheerful?” Buffy complained as she laid her head back in his lap.

“Don’t do cheerful, pet…do funny though, how about that?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Just no… no jokes about graves, tongues, or blood.”

“Sure thing, pet,” he said with a smirk. “Ever see the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?” he asked as he softly stroked her hair away from her face.

His hand was lulling her into a peaceful slumber and she nodded. “Watched it with my mom once.”

“The woman who played Nurse Ratchett was Louise Fletcher and she won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role in nineteen-seventy-five. In her speech, she thanked Jack Nicholson for ‘making being in a mental institution just like being in a mental institution,’” he chuckled.

Snorting with laughter, she immediately regretted it. “Ugh, no laughing either… God, will this never end?”

“Get some fluids and food in you, luv, and you’ll even out.” He slipped from the side of the bed, kneeling down by her sweaty face, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her ear. “Anythin’ else I can do for you?”

“Spike, are you good at government and history?” she asked offhandedly.

Curious to see where this was going, he answered, “Yeah, sure. Bloody lived long enough. Why?”

Can you still read my thoughts?

Blimey, luv, what you have in mind then?

“I need to give a presentation tomorrow in my government class and I didn’t study, what with all that’s going on. Could you come to campus with me and help?” she asked meekly.

Spike stared at her. “Hate to break it to you Slayer… but that big round ball of fire in the sky will be high and intolerable.”

She scrunched up her face in a mischievous grin. “Got something to help with that. So will come? I have to give a report on espionage and I haven’t the faintest clue about anything. Pretty please?” she pouted.

His eyes became unfocused as he stared at her lips… her pouty, oh so kissable lips. Daring not to speak and ruin the moment, he held his breath and whispered in her mind. Do you feel this, Buffy?

Twining her fingers with his, she gripped them tightly as she started to drift off. I feel warm… I feel lo…

Buffy?

Her light snore both irritated and made him laugh at the same time. Kissing her forehead, he settled down next to her on the bed, never releasing her hand, anticipating an uncomfortable night.

“Spike?” she mumbled after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah, luv?”

There was a long pause, then, “Thanks.”

“For what?” he asked softly.

“For not eating my friends while they were doing the funky chicken and boozing,” she yawned.

Chuckling, he patted their joined hands with his free one. “As I see it, Slayer… every saint has a past and every sinner a future.” Tightening his grip, he whispered, “Thanks for trustin’ me.”

Hearing her breathing even out, Spike realized she’d drifted off again into the nothingness of sleep, hoping she understood his gratitude. He never saw the slight smile playing upon her lips as he himself succumbed to the Sandman.

Yes, she understood.

“Buffy, I can make a glam-”

“Shhh.”

“But-”

“Willow… please, my head. Not so loud,” Buffy muttered from where she had her face buried in her arms as she slumped against Giles’ little breakfast bar.

“I was whispering, Miss Liquor is Quicker,” Willow groused, picking at the breakfast plate, her eggs and toast growing cold.

“What I wanna know is,” the petite blonde asked in a scratchy voice. “How come you don’t have a hang-over?”

“Oh! Well, when I went home I ate some cereal, drank about a gallon of water and said a few words to clear my head. Poof! I’m all better!” she said cheerily - too cheerily.

“I hate you,” she mumbled and took a sip of her now tepid coffee. She blanched at the taste and groaned in misery. “Can you make mine go away?”

Willow looked at her over the rim of her cup and grimaced. “I thought you didn’t want me to use magic on you?”

“I’m in desperation here… I’d even let you turn me into a newt if it would make my head stop pounding and my stomach stop feeling like I’m on a Tilt-A-Whirl,” she pleaded.

“Don’t even think it, Red,” Spike admonished as he slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“I hate you, too,” Buffy huffed as she buried her head deeper. “Just tell professor Turnipseed I can’t make my presentation today, he’ll have to understand. I just can’t concentrate.”

A snort of amusement escaped from Spike as he shoved a mug of blood into the microwave and waited for it to warm. “What kind of name is Turnipseed? Too bloody poncey if you ask me.”

“He looks Swedish. Big, stocky, blondish-brown hair, big gap between his front teeth,” Willow offered as she drank her tea.

“Yup, a ponce,” Spike confirmed.

“And why are you so annoyingly cheerful this morning? You drank more than any of us!” she complained.

“Vampire constitution, luv. If you want, I can help you in that department… give you an edge in future drinking adventures,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at the girls.

Willow giggled as Buffy rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Vampire kisses are of the big NO,” she sneered.

Feeling a slight sting from her comment, Spike struck back, knowing that to keep her from living in denial irritated her like nothing else. That’s not what you were saying or doing last night, pet, he directed his thought to the now blushing girl.

“That was a fluke! I was drunk!” she defended herself, her voice cracking.

“Am I missing something?” Willow asked, confused by the hidden banter.

Didn’t feel that way to me. You seemed right chuffed that I returned alive after I left the Bronze. He didn’t know who he was more upset with – her for refusing to acknowledge that something happened between them, or himself for trying to convince his heart that maybe he was worth something. Leaning against the kitchen archway, warm mug of blood in hand, he scowled at her.

“I loathe you,” she hissed menacingly.

“Guys?” Willow interjected.

“`S okay, Red. Slayer’s got her knickers in a bunch. She’s in a right snit that we can read each other’s thoughts.” Willow frowned at his statement.

“No, what has me in a snit is the fact I have to baby-sit a worthless vamp that has this amazing ability to screw up my life while barely lifting a sexy eyebrow,” she huffed, and then groaned at her own words. “See? It’s a conspiracy, I tell you! I can’t even argue without some random feeling making itself known.” Dumping her cold coffee in the sink she headed towards the door. “I need to go back to the dorm, get a shower and get my stuff ready.” She turned a frosty glance towards Spike. “I’ll meet you back here, okay?”

He smirked and started whistling a clearly Egyptian tune, watching her fume as she walked out, the door slamming in her wake.

Willow sighed. “Why do you do that to her? It only makes her angry with you.”

“Yeah, well… she’s not my cuppa either,” he lied. Needing to keep busy so he wouldn’t think about her, he picked up the breakfast plates and started to wash the dishes.

The redheaded witch looked askance at him, at the incongruency of Spike in Giles’ kitchen, doing the dishes and having normal conversations. She sensed something was off about the normally exuberant vampire, other than being chipped, and if he and Buffy could read each other’s thoughts then he must be on edge at the very least. And how in the world could that have happened? Watching him dip his hands in the soapy water, she noticed they trembled, whether from lack of blood or too many firings of the chip she had no clue, but it tugged at her heart.

“What’s up?” she asked hesitantly

“The sky, Red… you should know that, being so bloody brilliant,” he retorted with a strained smile.

She chuckled. “Cute, but you know what I mean. I heard Buffy talking, er, growling to Giles this morning before he left that he needed to ease up with the book-smackage,” she admitted, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “What’s going on, other than the chip going all wacky?

Spike weighed his options. If he let the Scoobies in on what was happening would they help him or exploit him, as he feared Giles was on the verge of doing? He looked into Willow’s earnest eyes and decided he could at least trust her… a little.

“Took a few knocks up side the head just after I got this shockin’ reminder of what it means to be on the receivin’ end of a cattle prod. Blacked out for a few seconds and wake up spouting the whole of history like some damn Encyclopedia Britannica,” he said, starting to dry the dishes he’d just washed.

The scientist in her revved into full gear. “Does it do that if you don’t get hit in the head?”

“Get a twinge every now and then… but it takes a good crack against the noggin to jump-start it. Lasts about an hour or two… gets longer each time it happens,” he answered quietly.

“And Giles? He knows this, right?”

“Yeah, bugger knows it,” he snarled, gripping the plate he’d been drying so hard he heard it crack. “Fuck!” He flung the dish against the opposite wall and watched it smash into several pieces.

Silence hung in the air between the two, Spike panting heavily from anger and Willow watching the miserable vamp trying desperately to get a grip. He finally crossed his arms over his chest in a self-protective stance and glanced over at her. “In exchange for blood and shelter, I let him wack me a couple times with a book or some such and he gets his information,” he admitted in a whisper.

Covering her mouth with her fingers, Willow’s eyes teared up at his admission of Giles abusing the defenseless vampire. What could she say that would justify the librarian’s treatment? Not much, if anything and she didn’t think to question it, finally realizing that Spike never really lied. He only omitted facts, which yeah, in a way it was lying, but his heart was on his sleeve if anyone ever bothered to look. With Spike, there was no pretense as he was always blunt and to the point, hating to waste time with niceties.

Blowing out a heavy sigh, the blond vamp bent low to start picking up the shattered remains of the broken plate. He startled for a moment when the redhead squat down to help him.

“You look tired,” she observed gravely.

Moving away from her, he shrugged off her concern. “Nothin’ to be done, Red. Leave it be.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Spike wasn’t staying with her and Buffy at the dorm, and she knew Xander was busy with Anya and wouldn’t welcome a roommate that watched them do the horizontal tango all night long. He could find his own place, she supposed, but then the demon community might take advantage of a defenseless vamp and that would be the last they’d hear of him. No, Giles seemed to be the best option at this point, although she’d have to agree with Buffy that the book-smackage needed to stop.

As he threw the shards in the trash, she asked with caution, “Where is Giles by the way?”

“Said he was drivin’ to L.A. to pick someone up at the airport, some bird he knows,” he muttered, moving to sit on the couch with his mug of blood, a far-away look on his face.

The strain around his eyes was telling. A sudden idea popped into her head, and she wondered if it worked, would Giles would lay off the punching. “Can I try something, Spike?” she asked hesitantly.

“Not lettin’ you rap me on the skull. Like you and all, but I’m bloody tired,” he warned in a low voice.

“No! I won’t do that, I promise,” she quickly assured him. “I just want to see if it works without you getting slapped about.”

He eyed her in a dubious manner. “How you plan on doin’ that?”

“I could pick a subject and you answer questions about it,” she proposed.

“Sure, Red, go ahead then.”

“Let’s try… world studies. What is the world’s oldest city?”

“Byblos, Lebanon. It was founded around five thousand B.C. Tel Aviv, Israel, founded in nineteen-o-nine, is the world’s youngest major city,” he answered without batting an eyelash.

“Oh, this is so cool!” she stated in a giddy voice.

He smiled despite himself at her excitement. “Glad to oblige… least you’re gentle about it.”

Her giddiness immediately fled as she sobered. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

A feeling of empathy washed over him and he had to clear his throat. “Thanks, Red… means a lot. So continue.”

“Umm, what city has the most bridges?”

“Hamburg, Germany. It has more than twenty-three hundred.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of bridges!”

“Haven’t seen `em all, but dropped a couple bodies off a few… erm, yeah, that’s another story,” he ended with a feigned smile. It wouldn’t do well to remind a Scooby why he was considered dangerous, no matter if he was neutered.

Ignoring his stumble, she began warming to her subject. “What major world city is the highest in elevation?”

“That would be the lovely Potosi, Bolivia at an elevation of thirteen-thousand feet. Dru and me got stuck there for a bit, the high altitude played havoc with human lungs but it didn’t bother us none,” he said with a chuckle, revealing a little of his life before to her.

“I can imagine,” she said. “What’s the most expensive country to live in?

“Japan.”

“Wow! You’re really good at this!” she beamed with a grin.

Nodding his head in thanks, he went on. “One percent of Greenland’s entire population lives in a single flat building named Blok P.”

“That’s either a small population or a really big complex,” she surmised with widened eyes.

“A bit of both, probably. More airline luggage is lost in Egypt than in any other country.”

“Remind me never to go there.”

“Better than China, luv… leading cause of death there is respiratory disease.”
“Good thing I don’t have asthma!”

“Well, you could visit the world’s highest waterfall in beautiful Venezuela. Angel Falls is about three-thousand, two-hundred eighty-one feet from top to base.”

“No high-diving there.”

“You’d probably die before you hit the bottom, pet. Lots of jagged outcroppings along the way.”

“I was never very good at swimming anyways,” she said, blanching at the image he created.

“On the island of Cyprus, the archbishop is the only person allowed to write with purple ink,” he continued, draining the last of his blood from his cup.

“Huh, I guess he must be someone important. Purple is usually reserved for royalty in most cultures.”

“Can’t say, Red. Andorra has the world’s lowest unemployment rate – zero percent – and the highest life expectancy of about eighty-three point forty-eight years.”

“I’m sold. I think we should all move there,” she giggled. “So, anything else?”

“Sure. When a Sumo wrestler retires, his topknot, or his hair, is removed in a special ceremony,” he reported, trying to think of things that he’d come across in his travels.

“Ewww, sweaty-fat-guys,” she said, scrunching up her nose.

He smiled at her adorable face. She seemed to be taking the split with her beau a lot better than before and he hoped it continued because he liked talking with her. It came naturally with Willow as she appealed to the scholar deep inside William, so he didn’t knock it. It wasn’t like conversations with Buffy, where he was always on his guard, worrying if he’d push her to the point of another broken nose. He idly speculated what a chat with Xander would be like now, glancing at the clock and wondering where the Slayer was given that an hour or so had gone by since she’d left. Oh well, it was her project she’d be late for, not his.

On the verge of asking Willow if Xander and Anya had made it home all right last night, the question died on his lips as Buffy returned, slamming the door to announce her presence. As if he could forget. He watched her grimace at the sound, knowing she still had a bit of a headache from all the alcohol she’d imbibed, but her next words took them both completely by surprise.

“Sorry about earlier,” she murmured, sitting next to Spike on the couch. She was clutching something in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Highly curious, but cautious, he quietly accepted her apology. “`S okay, Slayer. Hangovers do that to you.”

Her best friend agreed. “Yeah, it’s okay. No more mixing Buffy with the drinks. A world of no.”

Buffy smiled hesitantly and then looked at Spike. “I know I never told you, being all Linda Blair with the puking last night, but thanks… thanks for taking care of me.”

One could hear a pin drop she’d said it so simply, as if it were an everyday occurrence to thank the vamp. Feeling he must have heard wrong, he asked for clarification. “Exactly how did I take care of you, Slayer?”

Tightening her grip on whatever was in her hand, she puffed a breath to move her hair away from her eyes. “For not taking advantage of me in my, um, delicate condition. And for holding my head so I wouldn’t miss the trashcan.”

Truth be told, he wanted to take advantage of her last night, just not in the way she was talking about. Instead, he nodded mutely and moved away from her to the kitchen, away from her tempting presence. He didn’t see the crest-fallen look when he left, but Willow did, and a pervasive silence seemed to drape over the trio, tense and frustrating.

Needing to break the stillness, the redhead once again tried to offer her earlier suggestion. “Buffy, I could make a glamour for Spike… you know, like to keep him hidden from prying eyes.” She hadn’t told her friend about Riley yet; figuring now was not the best time to tell her the guy she’d been exchanging hot glances with was part of the unpopular Commandos.

“Makes sense… what do you think, Spike?” Buffy asked. “I mean, I have a hooded sweatshirt for you, but with that white hair of yours you’ll still be noticeable. If these guys are still looking for you, they’ll spot you for sure.”

The vamp stared at her. She was asking him what he thought? Looking towards the ceiling, he waited for a piece of the sky to fall on him, but then frowned, wondering about a certain quirk in her plan. “Still tryin’ to suss out how you’re gonna accomplish gettin’ me from here to your classroom for this little project.”

Biting her lip near to the point of drawing blood, she indicated the coffee table in front of her, asking him to sit with which he complied. Sighing heavily, she reached for his hand, but he pulled away, unsure of her mood.

“Please?” she asked softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

Lips thinning, he reluctantly gave her his hand. Her temper went back and forth like a damn Viking boat and he didn’t feel like having another migraine, so he remained passive until she laid her clenched fist into his open palm.

Wetting her lips, she spoke quietly but quickly, trepidation lacing her words. “Oz gave this back to me before he left. I-I was going to give it to Angel, but I guess Oz figured I’d need it at some point. He had a lot of foresight. I’m giving it back to you, but I want a promise that you’ll only use it to help us. Otherwise, you’ll wish I’d given it to Angel, `cause there won’t be enough of you left to suck into a dust buster.”

What the Hell did she have? And did she have to mention the Great Poof? He noticed Willow tense when Buffy mentioned Oz’s name, seeing that while she tried to be optimistic about his departure, it still hurt the girl deeply. His fingers gently wrapped around her wrist, feeling her tremble with indecision. Then, she unclenched her fist and dropped the item into his palm, now warm from her nearness.

Spike looked down. Whatever snarky comment was on his lips died as he stared. Emotions overwhelmed him as he studied the object, arriving at the conclusion that yes, it was what he suspected it to be. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Willow nod silently in approval of her friend’s decision. He in turn looked at the blonde girl sitting in front of him, trusting him to do the right thing.

Smiling hesitantly, she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not like he’s here trying to save me from failing Government,” she half kidded.

In his palm lay the Gem of Amara.

Spike continued to stare at the ring in the palm of his hand.

Buffy grew more nervous when he didn’t saying anything, wringing her fingers as a myriad of emotions played across his face. She watched as his hand closed around the jewel, his eyes closing in what could only be called rapture.

Oh God! Stupid Buffy! You know he’ll only use it to pick up right where he left off, terrorizing Sunnydale and poking fun at my idiotic decision about Parker. What the hell was I thinking?

He raised his head sharply and frowned at her. “No,” he said quietly, intense emotion behind the word.

“No, what?” Willow asked, confused.

“No, I won’t take it,” he said simply and gave it back to the blonde, whose jaw hung wide open.

“Won’t take it?” she scoffed. Her eyes narrowed on his pensive face. “Is this some kind of macho-pride thing with you? You can’t help me unless we get there in one piece, and that includes you staying unnaturally pale in sunny California. Hence the ring,” she reasoned, trying to hand the ring back.

Stepping back slightly, his eyes grew icy cold. With a frosty glare he clipped, “I heard what you were thinking, Slayer.”

Damn it! Huffing out a breath, she turned to her best friend and glared. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Willow’s brows drew together, wondering at her friend’s ire. “What do you mean?”

“Did you do something you shouldn’t have?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Like what?”

“You haven’t wriggled your little nose lately to say… oh, I don’t know, maybe make the pain go poof?”

The redhead looked affronted. “I haven’t done any spells lately! Giles thought it would be a bad idea since I’m so emotional right now, so I didn’t do anything… except maybe, I remember…” she faded out as she remembered the tiny spell she uttered before leaving the dorm a few days ago. “Oh, goddess,” she breathed.

“What?” both blonds asked in unison.

“Umm, well… you see, I kinda did a itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie-”

“Better be a yellow polka-dot bikini, Red,” Spike growled.

“Spill, Wil,” Buffy said, ignoring Spike.

The witch fidgeted on her stool. “It was a simple little thing, really… three words shouldn’t make that much difference, right?” she cringed. She’d never tried that spell before and didn’t know the far-reaching magnitude of it.

“What did you do, Willow?” Buffy grew irritated.

“Tempus vernum veritas,” she answered quietly.

“And that does what, exactly?” the Slayer asked when she wasn’t forthcoming with the details.

“I’m not sure,” she murmured very quietly.

“Didn’t catch that,” Buffy groused. “What does it mean?”

Flustered, Willow closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Means only time will tell the truth. It’s a kinda truth spell and it’s different for each person it affects.”

“Truth spell? You put a ‘truth’ spell on us? For Pete’s sake, why?”

She flung her hands in the air. “It was a spur-of-the-moment kinda thing, honestly! I’d been looking at some simple spells in a book I got at the Magic Shop, but I didn’t read the whole text. Like I said, I don’t know what it does other than your true self will be revealed in time. I guess for you guys that means you hear each other’s thoughts,” she added hesitantly. “But I don’t know how that will reveal your true self.”

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out the breath he was holding. “And how long does this tiny, bitty spell last, Red? Don’t know if I can keep shieldin’ my thoughts from the Slayer.”

Buffy suddenly glanced at him with a hurt expression. “You shield your thoughts from me?” The bigger question was why did she care that he did.

“Buffy,” he said softly. “If you knew half of the stuff runnin’ rampant in my head you ‘d be scared witless, shitless, and probably shirtless.” He didn’t expound on why he wanted Buffy shirtless, he’d had enough of constantly fixing a broken nose.

“Why can he do that and I can’t?” she whined to Willow. “I mean, at first, everyone could hear what I was thinking, including Riley. But now, it’s only me and Spike… when he chooses to let himself be audible,” she said with a glare in the vamp’s direction.

“I imagine he can do that because he’s been around a lot longer than you have, Buffy. I’m guessing it has to do with the vagueness of the spell when I cast it.”

“Woah, wait a tic,” Spike growled. “Vague is not a word I want to hear you associate with a spell, Red.”

Willow held up her hands in apology. “I’m sorry! I was flustered and irritated when I cast it. All I could think about was the Scooby group and Spike, and how it would’ve been better if everyone were their true selves instead of being all ‘I’m concerned about you, but I don’t want to concern myself with you’ constantly. Plus, there was that truth spell that Giles wanted to do, but he backed out at the last minute, and maybe that’s why I was thinking ‘why doesn’t everyone just reveal the truth? It’d be so much easier.’”

Both blonds stared at her.

“What? Giles was seriously condemning me about magic, saying I was too ‘unfocused’ and I just wanted to prove him wrong.”

Buffy snorted. “Yeah, you really achieved that goal.”

“Actually, I did,” Willow gloated. “I cast the spell and it worked… somewhat.”

“Except that now, Buffy and I might as well have amplifiers plugged into our brains. Yeah, Red… not the brightest of ideas there.”

“Hey!”

“Look on the bright side,” Buffy started to explain. “At least we’re only hearing each other now. Before…” She shuddered and closed her eyes.

“Is that so?” he teased. “Do tell.”

“It started with Riley and then Giles. In my head, I compared Giles to Gollum and I basically thought that Riley couldn’t pull off a sexy eyebrow waggle like Spike does to save his life,” she recounted and then blushed profusely at what she’d revealed.

“You think I have a sexy brow waggle, Slayer?” he asked with mirth. He couldn’t let that one pass, her blush making his heart lurch in his chest.

Buffy held up her index finger. “Not a word to another soul, understand?”

“Fine by me, Slayer.”

“So who else is affected by this spell, Wil? We didn’t hear anyone else’s thoughts.”

Willow bit her lip. “Well, like I said… I was thinking about the Scoobies and Spike at the time, so I think it will only affect them.”

“Yeah, curious about that one. Why me?” he asked cocking his head.

“Oh! `Cause Buffy was talking about you that morning,” she replied with a smile.

Buffy groaned loudly and buried her burning face in her hands.

“Did she now?” he mused with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And just what were you sayin’, pet?”

That I was worried about you came the forbidden thought, straight from Buffy’s mind.

He sobered immediately and took pity on the embarrassed girl. “Ahem, so, Red… what do you think it’s done to you then?” he inquired, changing the topic so Buffy wouldn’t have to answer his question.

She glanced up at him and sighed in relief. Thanks.

Welcome, luv he thought with a nod and smiled shyly.

Willow watched the interaction between the two and grinned. “Well, umm, let me think. Not sure how its affected me, or if it even has. But I think I know how it’s affecting Xander.”

“Oh, please do tell about the Whelp,” he encouraged with a grin.

“Well, he’s always been kinda left out, even among us Scoobies. I think he thinks of himself as just an ordinary kind a guy… you know, the only non-magical, non-super human, non-vampire, non-Sir John Gielgud librarian type person amongst us,” the witch explained in one breath.

“And?” Buffy said, hoping her friend would get to the point.

“Well, he kinda feels left out. I mean, he’s been my best friend for like… forever, and he’s your close friend, too,” she explained, pointing to the blonde. “But there really aren’t any other ‘guy’ friends around our group. Mostly because they keep getting eaten or try to sacrifice us to serpent demons. But with Spike, Xander has… well, for now, someone he can kinda get to know and maybe you two could do the male bonding thing and shoot pool, hustle frat guys, go on all night binges… oh wait, that wouldn’t be good,” she mused aloud as an afterthought.

“Male bondin’ thing?” Spike asked with a moue of disgust.

“Tell me you didn’t have fun last night?” Willow challenged him. “The honest, hard truth for Xander is he needs a male friend that he can look up to. Someone that will make him try his hardest to be a better person. I think that’s you, Spike.”

“I think you’re way off base there, Wils,” Buffy laughed, but the vampire remained quiet.

“Just give it a shot,” the redhead pleaded, silently eyeing Spike.

He pursed his lips. “I promise not to eat the scruffy Whelp… even when he clearly deserves it.”

The witch snickered. “I give you an ‘A’ for effort.”

“Crap!” Buffy shouted as she glanced down at her watch, her friend’s comment reminding her that she had her own ‘A’ to achieve. “I’m late! Willow, quick… the glamour!” She grabbed her backpack and pulled out a black hoodie and handed it to Spike.

Willow reached over and ran her hands through Spike’s hair and chanted before he could move. “Tergum ut vestri northmanni vultus.”

Immediately his hair became longer and shaggy, turning a honey brown with curls galore. His face filled out a little more and the scare above his eyebrow disappeared. His normally bright blue eyes softened to a deep iris blue. Without knowing it, Willow had transformed his looks to that of Spike’s human self, William.

“Oh my god,” Buffy breathed, staring at the completely different-looking vampire.

Spike was stunned, as he touched his face. What the hell had the witch done? He felt off, somehow… not uncomfortable, but not relaxed, either. Gazing down at his hands, he noticed they were pink as human flesh. He gulped audibly as familiar emotions flooded his being… ones that greatly resembled his state of mind just after he’d been sired.

“Can I see my reflection in a mirror?” he whispered hesitantly.

The redhead nodded and asked Buffy for her compact. She fished it out and handed it to her friend, her eyes never leaving Spike’s face.

Willow slowly opened the compact and murmured, “Vos animadverto vestri animus,” allowing him to see his reflection.

For the first time in over a hundred years, Spike looked upon his reflection.

He turned his head this way and that, tilting his chin up and down. He gazed into his deep blue eyes and grimaced at what he saw behind them. Years of Angelus’ abuse and Dru’s faithlessness had made him weak in his mind and the truth shone out for all to see… if they only bothered to look.

“Poncey bugger,” he muttered and shut the compact quickly.

“Sorry, it was all I could think of on short notice,” Willow apologized.

“No, no, Red. `S okay, really. Just a bit of a shock, that’s all,” he assured her. She still looked fretful, so he pulled her in for a big hug and kissed her forehead. “Truly, `s okay. Better get goin’ though.”

Shucking his beloved duster over the end of the couch, he pulled the hoodie over his head, tugging it down so that he looked somewhat presentable. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed the fabric and pulled the hood over his head to complete the disguise.

Before he put the hood up, Buffy believed he’d beat the pants off any model for the cover of Esquire or GQ. His honey brown curls laying lightly against his face made for a softer Spike, and all Buffy could do was appreciate the view.

“Drool much?” Willow whispered in her ear. It earned her an elbow to her sternum.

“Best leave now, Slayer,” he suggested as he approached the door, waiting for her.

Shaking off her daze, she grabbed her backpack and headed towards the door, stopping before him. Gently, so as not to startle him, she took his hand and slid the ring onto his left ring finger. The significance was not lost on Spike.

“I trust you to do the right thing,” she admitted quietly, her cheeks tinged red.

Spike once again stared at the gem and squeezed his fist. “Why?” he pleaded, fixing his eyes on hers. He needed to know why she trusted him… why he felt different lately… why it mattered, to him and to her.

Standing on tiptoe, she softly kissed his cheek. “Because I believe in you.”

Moaning softly, he nuzzled her cheek, pressing his cool lips at the pulse point just under her ear. “Let’s go ace that final then, shall we, m’lady?” he asked, smiling against her skin.

She giggled softly and took his hand in hers, pulling him out into the sunshine of a bright new day.

Even though he trusted Buffy to a certain extent, Spike hesitated once they were outside of the apartment. Pulling the hood further over his head, he inched his hand into a beam of sunlight, feeling the warmth as it tingled his flesh. Seeing no flames erupt, he stepped fully into the sun and joined her as she stood off to the side with a lop-sided grin on her face.

“Thought I was bluffing, didn’t you?” she accused gently.

“Bit out of my element, pet, can’t blame a bloke for bein’ suspicious,” he responded as they began walking towards campus.

Giving him a small smile with a nod, she quietly said, “I suppose I deserve that, after everything that we’ve been through.”

Fidgeting because he was uncomfortably warm in the hoodie, he glanced sideways at her pensive expression. “I’m just lucky you or your Scoobies didn’t hand me over to the demon brigade when the chance presented itself.”

“We didn’t?”

“Shall I recount last night, when Red was starin’ down with Captain America, how she saved my arse by shovin’ me out the back door, even pissed as she was?”

Her eyes widened. “Willow did that?”

“Prevented the git from comin’ after me, too.”

“Huh, who’da thunk?”

“My point exactly.”

Cringing a bit, she peeked at him, hoping he’d tell her she hadn’t been a complete bitch to him. “And… uhm, what did I do?”

Patting his pockets for a cigarette, he found one and lit up, inhaling the soothing nicotine. “Got shit-faced and probably…” He stopped before his foot could be inserted any further into his mouth.

Of course she wouldn’t let it drop. “Probably what?”

Rounding a corner, he kept his mouth tightly shut and his mind blessedly blank, hoping the awkward feeling rising within him would dissipate. He’d been about to say that she probably snogged the entire team, but thought that unlikely, even drunk as she became. And, she didn’t remember much from last night, so who was he to remind her of their own intimate snogging session?

They were silent for a few blocks, but eventually Buffy’s curiosity got the better of her. “What was it like… being in the Army lab?”

His face immediately shut down as he flicked the extinguished butt on the ground. “You should know, Slayer, you’re shaggin’ one of `em,” he commented bitterly.

“What? I’m not shagging anyone! The last shag I had was that day you painfully reminded me what an idiot I was in the love department!” she yelled and stomped ahead of him. Apparently I’m not worth even the one shag, she thought as tears misted her eyes.

Poncey bugger, look what you did, he admonished himself. Both of them had stopped in front of the Espresso Pump, hearing what the other was thinking.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, refusing to look her in the eyes.

Saying nothing, she went inside the café and stood at the counter, ready to order.

Growling to himself, he seemed like he was forever saying he was sorry for one thing or another, and it was getting tiresome. Heartily sick of being at the whims of fate, he closed his eyes and just breathed deeply, toying with an idea that’d presented itself. It was daylight and he had the Gem, what more could he ask for? Would the hardware in his head fire if he wore the ring?

To test his theory, he scanned the crowd while the lovely Happy Meals went along their merry way, begging to be eaten. One particularly plump morsel strode by and winked at him, making him turn his head and start to follow. A severe blow to his skull stopped his predatory urges.

“Spike! What are you doing?” Buffy shouted in astonishment.

“Gah!” he screamed as he grabbed his head in his hands, slumping to the ground in an epileptic fit.

He went limp after five seconds of convulsions, blood trickling from his nose. Afraid she’d gone too far, she bent down and grabbed him under his arms, dragging him into the alley behind the café. Propping him up, she noticed the blood making its way down his neck, cringing in fear at the extent of the damage. Concern warred with caution as she pulled back the hood to find the source of the blood, tracing it all the way to his ear.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “What have they done to you?”

“`S matter Slayer? No, no no… not two, not two of yoush,” he slurred as his head lolled to the side.

“C’mon, Spike, can you stand?” she pleaded as she tried to pull him to an upright position.

“J’know rainbows are doughnut-shape when viewed from above?” he offered, bracing himself against the brick wall, eyes still unfocused.

“Hmm, didn’t know,” she answered absentmindedly as she kept him in a vertical stance. As long as he was talking, it was a good sign.

“Snakes are immune to their own venom… ssssss,” he hissed at her.

She watched him as he stood by himself now, one arm holding onto the dumpster, the other clutching her forearm in a white-knuckled grip.

“In her films, Shirley Temple always had fifty-six curls in her hair,” he giggled somewhat manically, clutching at his bowed head, weaving back and forth slightly.

“Oh my God,” she whispered in horror.

“Experts say if you go without sleep for ten days straight, you’ll die!” he screamed at the sky. “I’m already fuckin’ dead, you wankers, come and get me!”

He stumbled away from her and into the middle of the alley, muttering to himself like a deranged mental patient. “If there are ten books on a bookshelf, they can be arranged in three-million, six-hundred twenty-eight thousand, eight-hundred ways.”

“I’m so sorry, Spike… so sorry,” she whispered as she followed him at a small distance to keep him from harm, but not interfering.

“Blood… blood travels sixty-thousand miles a day as it circulates through the human body,” he mumbled as he turned back towards her. He straightened somewhat and began creeping along the wall, as if to avoid the sun.

“All three of Christopher Columbus’s ships were originally named for Barcelona prostitutes.”

“Spike,” she said with unease. “Let me help you.”

“Napoleon’s writing was so illegible that many of his letters were mistaken for battlefield maps,” he garbled as he leapt from the shadows and into the sunlight near Buffy.

“Spike, please… trust me,” she begged as she held out her hand to him.

“Here lies young Ezekiel Height, died from jumping Jim Smith’s claim. Didn’t happen at the mining site, the claim he jumped was Jim Smith’s dame.” He laughed as he twirled around Buffy.

Enough was enough. She grabbed him during one of his twirls and kept him still in front of her, holding his hands tightly, afraid he would wander off again. “Stay… with me, please?” she requested quietly, gazing hard into this eyes.

He returned the grip on her hands and bent down to whisper in her ear. “Four things that kill germs… bleach, alcohol, sunshine, and tears.” He let go of one hand and tried to pull the ring off his left. “Kill me, Buffy, have mercy and kill me.”

“NO!” she screamed, preventing him from removing the Gem. “Spike, come on, lets just go and sit down for a bit, okay?”

As if clouds were suddenly pierced with sunshine, Spike’s eyes grew less foggy… less manic. “Buffy?” he groaned.

“Spike!” she said with relief. Without thinking, she grabbed him into a bone crushing bear hug, crying that she was sorry for hitting him on the head again.

He was shaking and unsteady so he clung to her like a life preserver. “What’s happening to me?” he whimpered, tears clogging his throat.

“I don’t know, but we’ll get those bastards, I promise. We’ll get them to fix you,” she swore vehemently, stroking the hair on the back of his head in a soothing gesture.

“If they fix me, Slayer, you’ll have to kill me,” he reminded her.

She stopped stroking his head and leaned away from him. “Let’s take it one day at a time, okay? We’ll look at the options once we know what they are.”

“Yeah, sure, Slayer,” he agreed lightly. But he knew. In the end, he could only hope he was sane enough to be aware that the Slayer had vanquished him.

“How are you feeling? Do you want to go back to Giles’?” she asked as she took out a wet nap from her purse and began wiping away the now crusted blood from his face and ear.

Brushing off her ablutions like a child with his mother, he said, “No, I’m good. Give me a minute to get myself sorted and I’ll be right as rain.”

Cheeks tingeing crimson from embarrassment, she gave him a nod as she backed away and left him in the middle of the alley by himself. Walking around the corner, she sat at one of the little tables situated outside of the Pump and waited, guilt assaulting her conscience.

Spike watched her leave and sighed heavily. He shielded his thoughts as much as he could. Got to hold it together mate or you’re gonna be looney tunes. Poor Dru. Know what she was on about now. Sorry, my wicked plum.

Bending low, he gazed into a puddle of water, casting no reflection. Feeling blood drip from his ear and make its way across his cheek, he dug around in his jeans pocket for a slip of fabric, dipping it into the hazy water and started cleaning his face. Why is this happening to me? Why does she care about what happens to me? I’m so hungry, so tired, so alone. He gazed at the alley wall, seeing nothing.

Enough feelin’ sorry for yourself mate, it’ll get you nowhere but dead, well even more dead than you already are. Got a promise to keep to a lady. And no matter what you show the world, you are still that gentleman prat William.

Grimacing, he stood slowly, listening to the music as it started wafting from the radio station in the back part of the alley. It was faint but he could hear the words as they filtered through his mind.

Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me.

Bitter tears filled his eyes as his head drooped, letting them fall freely for once. Not worth savin’… not worth it to her.

Around the corner, Buffy’s tears silently fell as she listened to his agonized thoughts. Maybe it was stress or pressure, maybe it was one knock too many… but she realized something as she wiped her cheeks of the fresh tears that wouldn’t stop. Spike’s mental shield was gone.

A podium with a mic was situated at the front of the stage for those giving their presentations – like the auditorium in Rhodes Hall didn’t already echo like nobody’s business. Buffy cringed as she got a sudden attack of nerves while watching students begin filing into their seats for History 101, her hands wringing as she paced in the back of the theater.

Stupid Buffy, should have taken something easier… like macramé!

Spike had remained quiet on the rest of the journey towards campus and was standing uneasily behind her, studying the crowd and possible escape routes should it become necessary. He’d said nothing about what happened in the alley and she didn’t push him, feeling stress would just send him past a barrier that even he didn’t want to cross.

“Best find a seat, pet,” he whispered in her ear, pointing to a couple of chairs in the back of the auditorium that looked promising, in case he needed to make a quick get away.

She agreed, following him to the seats and sat down, keeping her hands together in her lap clamped tight to keep them from shaking. Give her a few vamps, a demon here or there… anything but this. Slayer strength, human fear… go figure.

Noticing her tremors, he lightly laid his fingers on her clenched fist. “`S okay, Slayer… just think of them in the nude. Most people do,” he assured her.

“Ugh, mental image SO not what I need.” She grimaced. “What if I flub up what you’re telling me?” she asked, panicking because the professor was approaching the podium to begin the presentations.

Without thinking of the ramifications, he leaned over and softly kissed her on the cheek, whispering, “You’ll do fine. I believe in you.”

Buffy froze. Whether from the kiss, or her earlier affirmation echoed back to her, she didn’t know. He believed in her! No one had ever said they believed in her, they just expected her to get the job done. Turning, she looked into his fathomless blue eyes and smiled.

“Thanks. I just hope I do your information justice,” she replied softly and leaned her forehead gently against his, mindful of his pain.

He grinned and patted her hand. “No worries there.”

“Since we usually start alphabetically by name for presentations, I’m going to pick at random this time to liven things up a bit,” Professor Turnipseed announced to the groaning class.

“Let’s see… Miss Buffy Summers, if you would come and make your presentation. You have twenty minutes,” the professor said loudly to the audience, searching for his student.

“Here goes nothing,” Buffy whispered as she rubbed her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans and moved towards the front.

Spike pulled his hood over his head and sunk low in the seat to avoid attention as he focused in on Buffy’s mind. She’s got a delectable bum, he thought, watching her climb the steps.

Faltering for moment after hearing his thought, she shook it off, not wanting him to see that his merest contemplation was audible to her.

Poor thing is deathly afraid, never seen a shade that white, except on Dru’s arse, he observed as he watched her grip the edges of the podium.

Her eyebrows rose as she coughed to cover up the fact that she had just been compared to Dru’s ass. This was going to be a long presentation.

Per Spike’s request, she’d written a little speech before she got into the nitty gritty of the subject, allowing for the vamp to gauge her speech pattern and flow to make it seem as if she were truly the one giving the presentation.

“Espionage. There are four reasons as to why people choose Espionage - loyalty, ego, money, or power. It could be for one reason, or all three. This is the story about a man who spied for ego, and he became the most damaging spy in the FBI’s history and possibly, in the history of the United States.”

That’s my girl, he reassured her as she ducked her head and smiled.

First off, the Mole, he started and she began speaking every word verbatim that crossed her mind from his.

“In February nineteen ninety-four, FBI agents arrested a thirty-year veteran of the CIA named Aldrich Ames and charged him with spying for the Soviet Union. In the nine years that Ames was a spy, he exposed more than a hundred sensitive operations and revealed the name of every CIA intelligence source in the Soviet Union… the damn bugger. Oops! Sorry… ahem,” she apologized to the class, coughing to hide her embarrassment at saying Spike’s personal thoughts on the matter. She sent a glare in his direction.

When she heard nothing, she continued. “At least ten of them were executed while many others were sent to prison. Ames was paid more than two and half million for his efforts and was promised another one point nine million, making him the highest paid double agent in history, not to mention one of the most damaging.”

“Fuckin’ prick,” Spike muttered. She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t repeat his opinion.

“Yet,” she began again. “As pleased as the FBI and CIA were to have caught Ames, disturbing signs soon began to emerge that there might be one, possibly even more moles hiding elsewhere in various US intelligence agencies. Some secrets known to have been compromised couldn’t be traced back to Ames - he simply didn’t know about them… yeah right,” she finished on a gulp.

Gripping the podium, she tried to calm down. “Both the CIA and FBI set up new mole hunting teams and set to work looking for spies. It was code named Graysuit. Each time a new suspect was identified, they were given a code name with ‘Gray’ as the prefix. It dredged up some relatively minor spies but didn’t answer the question of who was responsible for giving the two biggest intelligence secrets to the Russians… Commy bastards!”

“Miss Summers, I must ask that you refrain from inserting your personal opinions of the subject matter into the presentation,” Professor Turnipseed told her at this latest outburst.

“Sorry, professor,” she ground out as she looked in Spike’s direction, barely seeing the top of his head he was ducked so low. Stop with the comments! she directed harshly to him.

Fine, pet.

“Miss Summers?” the professor called to her, before she began again. “It seems you have a question from the audience.”

“Oh!” Don’t panic, Buffy, you can do this! “Uhm, sure, go ahead,” she said nervously.

“What were the two biggest secrets?” a student asked from the front row.

Blowing out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she answered, “The Tunnel and The Spy. Someone told the Soviets about the secret eavesdropping Tunnel that the FBI and the NSA had dug beneath the new Soviet Embassy in Washington, DC. The Tunnel program cost more than one-hundred million dollars, but never produced a single piece of useful intelligence because the Russians were told of its existence in nineteen ninety-four - five years before they moved in,” she snickered on the last.

“And The Spy?”

“In nineteen eighty-nine, the FBI was hot on the tail of a senior US diplomat named Felix Bloch, who was suspected of spying for the KGB. Someone tipped off his handler, a KGB spy named Reino Gikman. Gikman then tipped off Bloch, blowing the FBI’s investigation before they could collect enough information to indict him. To this day, Bloch has never been charged with espionage,” she answered, sending a shy smile in Spike’s direction.

“You may continue,” the professor said absentmindedly as he went back to grading her presentation.

“Thanks. Well, they narrowed down the suspects to one man named Brian Kelley, but he was exonerated much later and lost his covert status. He still works at the CIA, teaching spy catchers how to avoid making the same mistakes that were made when he was targeted by the mole hunters,” she continued.

You’re doin’ a great job, pet, he whispered in her mind, causing her to smile brightly.

“Eventually, the FBI agreed to buy a file from a KGB officer for seven million. They hid him and his family under assumed names. One of the items in this file was a tape recorded conversation of a man quoting World War two’s General George Patton telling his troops, ‘Let’s get this over with so we can kick the shit out of the purple-pissing Japanese,’” Buffy said with a bit of shock.

“Language, Miss Summers!” Professor Turnipseed admonished. “You are not Patton and this is not the war, please omit when you can.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, turning beet-red as she rubbed her forehead.

Sorry, pet, but that’s what he said! Spike thought in his defense.

“I know, I know,” she muttered, blowing out a frustrated breath.

“You know what?” the professor asked with a frown.

“Ah, umm… that what I… what I said was crass. I’ll try to keep it clean,” she improvised. This wasn’t going well.

“See that you do. Continue please.”

Shifting from side to side, she cleared her throat and tried to finish her report. “So the guy’s name that was always saying that was Robert Hanssen, a supervisor in the Russian analytical unit. The FBI had never suspected Hanssen of spying before, but all lingering doubt disappeared when the KGB officer who sold them Hanssen’s file began to interpret the contents,” she said, filtering out the ‘bloody wanker’ and the ‘right tosser’ that Spike had formed in her mind.

Smiling to himself, he was proud that she continued on in spite of the thoughts he tossed in to make her squirm… just a little. He had to give her credit, she was doing well under the pressure and she hadn’t left the building yet, but his mischievous side was dying for some real action. Let’s turn up the heat then, shall we?

“The investigators gave Hanssen the nickname of Grayday, and started slowly up her thighs to the juncture of her legs…” she faltered badly and stopped mid sentence.

You could hear a pin drop in the auditorium then finally a few snickers here and there floated around. Spike was doubled over; tears streaming down his cheeks as he silently laughed so hard his ribs hurt.

Buffy was mortified. She quickly glanced at her professor, who was writing furiously on her score sheet. Great, you mental house reject! I’m gonna flunk this exam! she flung at the blond vamp, who sobered instantly.

Sorry, pet, sorry. Let’s try this again, he sent apologetically.

“Um, Grayday,” she started hesitantly. “They uh, arranged for Hanssen to be promoted to a new job at the FBI, where he could be closely watched by hidden cameras. They tapped his office phone and searched his computer. When a house across the street from Hanssen was put up for sale, the FBI bought it, moved in and began watching him from there.”

The professor had stopped scribbling and was listening again. Good, maybe she wouldn’t totally bomb the test.

“After about three months of constant surveillance, on February eighteenth in two-thousand one, Hanssen was caught red handed leaving a package of computer discs and classified documents at a dead drop in Foxstone Park near his home in Vienna, Virginia. The evidence against Hanssen was overwhelming and he knew it. He confessed immediately and later plea-bargained to avoid the death penalty. Why, that double-crossing bastard!” Buffy huffed as she absorbed what Spike had told her.

“Miss Summers…” the professor warned.

“Sorry, I know. No personal comments,” she apologized. She seemed to be doing a lot of that during this presentation.

“Okay, so Hanssen admitted that he’d been spying off and on for more than twenty years. He started in nineteen seventy-nine, and quit in eighty-one when his wife caught him,” she said and then added as an aside, “A devout Catholic, she made him go to confession but never turned him in. But he started back up again in eighty-five, quit when the Soviet Union collapsed in ninety-one, then started again in ninety-nine until his arrest in two-thousand one.”

“Impressive, Miss Summers, comments aside, it sounds like you’ve done your homework,” Professor Turnipseed said with some praise. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

She glanced at the bleached vamp in the back and saw that he was nodding his head. “Yeah, Hanssen was smart enough not to tell the Russians his real name, but he was no master spy. In fact, he could have been caught years earlier if the people around him had been paying attention and doing their jobs,” she said with a touch of disgust.

“I agree. And to sum it up?” the professor asked.

“In the years that Robert Hanssen spied for the Russians, he handed over thousands of America’s most important military and intelligence secrets. He revealed the identities of scores of secret Russian sources, at least three of them executed, and he caused hundreds of millions of dollars in damage to American intelligence programs. But the most damaging I can think of is Hanssen also sold computer software to the Russians that allowed them to track CIA and FBI activities. Someone in Russia then sold it to Al-Qaeda, which may have been used to track the CIA’s search for Osama Bin Laden,” she finished grimly.

“And where is Hanssen now?” the professor questioned.

“Well he was supposed to cooperate with the US government but he flunked a lie detector test when he was asked ‘Have you told the truth?’ So instead of being sent to a high security prison, he was sent to a supermax prison in Florence, Colorado… where he is confined to his soundproof seven-by-twelve cell for twenty-three hours a day… and god, is she lovely,” she eepped out the last part, Spike’s personal thoughts slipping through once more.

Professor Turnipseed frowned in confusion at the most unusual report he’d ever witnessed. “Be that as it may, Miss Summers, you are excused for the rest of this class. You’ve earned your A.”

“I did?” she asked with astonishment, hoping for at least a C. She jumped for joy and ran down to hug the professor. “Thank you, thank you!” she cried as she squeezed the life out of him, literally.

Slayer, let the man breathe, Spike reminded her.

“Oh!” She backed away from the red-faced instructor. “Sorry! Don’t know my own strength.”

Running up the aisle, she was startled when looking at her seat, only to find the vamp missing. Spike? She panicked, looking over the auditorium. Relief flooded her when she felt him move within her mind.

Outside, pet, a bit too crowded… too many bodies, he explained, his voice weary with strain.

Quickly grabbing her backpack, she made her way outside to the lobby to see him fidgeting, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, and shaking. “Spike?”

“Just too temptin’, Slayer,” he admitted anxiously, nodding in the direction of the auditorium. “Needed a break.”

Nodding silently, she inclined her head to the left, indicating he was to follow her. Walking side by side, they made no idle chitchat, nor did they look at each other when she gently grasped his hand, holding it as they made their way down the corridor to another hall.

After several twists and turns, they stopped near a set of double doors as she peeked in the window at the class that was winding down, releasing her grip on his hand. “I’m here next. You can hang around campus and wait or you can go back to Giles’. It’s up to you,” she offered, seeing how tired he looked.

Too exhausted to care if his actions had any negative consequences, he took her hand and softly caressed his thumb over her knuckles, watching her skin flush. “What do you want, luv?” he whispered.

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Lulled into a stupor by Spike’s fingers on hers, she tightened her grip on his hand, hoping she could articulate the emotions swirling inside her. “I want-” she started to say but was cut short when the doors opened to allow students to exit the classroom.

“Hey, Buffy!”

Grimacing at the intrusion on her peaceful moment with Spike, she sagged upon hearing the familiar voice of the man who helped teach her psych class. “Hey, Riley,” she answered unenthusiastically.

Spike’s stiff hand was the first hint that something was off. Turning, she watched him become ramrod straight, though he shifted to stand in front of her. What’s wrong? He didn’t respond.

Wondering when Buffy would put two and two together to figure out that this thick behemoth was head of the Army team, he remained impassive as the man approached him, hand extended. “I don’t think we’ve met… Riley Finn,” he introduced himself amiably.

The century-old vamp stared him in the eyes, glancing at the hand that belonged the Commando. Buffy’s Commando. Right, then… no more running, not like he had anywhere to go. Grabbing his hand in a crushing grip that started the chip twinging, he looked at him, unflinchingly.

“Name’s Spike. We’ve met.”

“Name’s Spike, we’ve met.”

“We have? Are you a student?” Riley asked, slightly confused. The man did look familiar but he couldn’t place him.

“At one time,” Spike answered cryptically. His grip on Riley’s hand lessened as he withdrew from the handshake, his head aching slightly from the forceful clasp.

“Graduated then?” Riley said with a wink and a nod as he stepped back a little when students started shuffling by him in and out of the classroom.

“Long ago, mate,” Spike smirked. He was actually enjoying this, this duping of a Commando. Here he was, probably their nemesis numero uno, and they didn’t have a clue.

“Spike’s observing me in classes this week, Riley… for his… umm,” Buffy explained lamely, looking at the vamp for help.

“My master’s thesis in Psychology. At Oxford,” Spike finished for her.

Nice save! he could hear her say in his mind. If only she knew he was telling the truth about graduating from Oxford she might think of him in a different light.

“Wow! Well then, you’ve come to the right place. Welcome to Psych one-o-one,” Riley said with a flourish, indicating they were to enter the room and find a seat.

They entered the room but Buffy was pulled aside by Riley, Spike forgotten in the hulking man’s presence. “So, are you and him…” he hinted with a bit of hurt.

Buffy looked at him blankly. “Me and him what?”

“You know, are you guys… an item?” he asked, getting flustered in the process.

She looked in Spike’s direction finding him settled in the back of the room, an empty chair next to him, growling at any student that came near the seat with the intent of taking it. She gave the student teacher a small smile and shook her head. “No Riley, he’s not my guy,” she said with a hint of sadness.

A feeling of relief came over him and he released her arm, watching her ascend the steps to the back row and sit next to the man that was supposedly observing her for his work.

The man who now had white curls hanging around his face where his honey blond locks used to be. Riley stared in disbelief. His face was now thinner and dark circles were heavy under his eyes. Any illusion of softness was edged away by the harsh angles of his cheekbones and the hollowness of his eye sockets clearly showed the face of Hostile Seventeen.

Riley walked quickly to Professor Walsh’s side and pulled her out of the room. “We have a situation.”

“You’d better, pulling me out of class that way,” she groused back at him, highly annoyed at being man handled.

His lips thinned and he turned her around to look at the class from outside in the hallway. “Scan the upper row and tell me what you see.”

Maggie Walsh perused the back row of her class, noting that Willow Rosenburg was absent… because she normally sat next to Buffy Summers, who was now sitting next to… “Hostile Seventeen!” she gasped.

“That’s the situation. I’m not sure Miss Summers is aware of her proximity to a Sub-T. She probably thinks he’s human, and for a moment, he looked the part,” Riley whispered in confidence, trying to explain how the escaped vampire slipped past him and into the class. “Plus, there’s something neutralizing the affects of sunlight on it.”

“That will be even more useful. Find out what it is. For now, put a tail on him when they leave. We can’t cause a scene on campus grounds,” Walsh ordered then returned to her class.

Standing outside in the hall clenching and unclenching his fists, Riley stared at the dangerous menace sitting next to Buffy, who was currently leaning over and whispering something in her ear. And she was laughing! He had to keep a tight watch on the lab rat to make sure his lady came to no harm. Blowing out a pent up breath, he edged backed into the classroom as Walsh began her presentation.

“So… talking about communication and talking about language… they’re not the same thing folks. It's about inspiration,” she intoned heavily as she scanned the class. “Not the idea, but the moment before the idea when it blossoms in your mind and connects to everything. It's about the thoughts and experiences that we don't have a word for.”

No word for how amazin’ Buffy is, Spike mused as he listened to the old hag drone on. He wasn’t paying much attention anyway, just biding his time until her class was over, so he started doodling on a sheet a paper he snagged from the Slayer.

Buffy was writing her lecture notes when she heard Spike’s thought, her hair hanging down to hide her reaction. She smiled to herself, glancing over to him and then froze.

Spike! Your glamour!

He was sketching a picture of something from his childhood when he noticed his hand and heard her thoughts all at the same time. The pink tinge that had covered his skin was now faded to a mottled gray white and he bet his face looked the same way. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at white curls that had come loose as he pursed his lips.

“Well bugger me,” he muttered.

“Miss Summers, is there a problem?” Walsh asked in an imperious tone.

“Uh, no… just a little, um, upset stomach is all,” Buffy fumbled. Put your hood back up! she pleaded and Spike quickly complied.

“See me after class if you would,” Walsh said, brooking no argument. She turned back to the board and began writing assignments for future dates.

“Oh, this is all I need,” the Slayer muttered under breath. She glanced over at Spike whose face was so withdrawn into the cowl she could barely tell he was there.

We need to leave now, pet, it’s not safe for me here, his panicked thought stole across her mind.

She frowned. ‘Why?’ she mouthed.

The vamp’s eyes darted to the two figures at the front of the classroom and back to Buffy, but she didn’t catch on. He then nodded his head slightly in the direction of the hulking man and the sour faced professor, as she looked down the rows at them.

Professor Walsh, normally curt and to the point, was drawing out her lecture with a hint of a smile, while Riley was sitting behind the desk, staring at… Spike! And his leg was moving a mile a minute giving away how antsy he was. A deep and unrelenting chill started creeping up her spine as she slowly turned back to Spike.

She had to give him credit; he wasn’t quaking with fear or itching to hit something. He just sat there with a blank look on his face, his eyes lost, as if he were drowning within himself… like a torture victim.

Spike? she whispered across his mind. He made no indication that he heard her but kept his eyes aligned with Riley’s.

“Class, I trust you’ll remember the assignment. I know your parents will if you flunk this course and lose the money they paid,” Walsh told the groaning class, dismissing the students.

Spike was still in a trance-like state when Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he finally responded. “Have to leave now, pet,” he said impatiently, getting up from his seat.

Pulling on his sleeve, she turned him to face her. “Why? Why are they a threat to you?”

He didn’t want to tell her that the bloke was playing for the other team as she might just turn him over to them. “Buffy, please, let’s just disappear… vanish, fade away… your choice, but let’s do it, yeah?”

“Miss Summers?” Walsh interrupted.

“Sorry, Professor. What did you want to see me about?” Buffy apologized and moved towards the front of the class, Spike shadowing her closely.

“It seems you saw fit to bring a ‘guest’ to my class. You know my rules. I’m curious as to why you felt you could break them,” she inquired as she glared at the figure behind the girl.

“Well he’s a visiting… um, student finishing his uh… well, he just wanted to observe the class for his theatrics,” she faltered looking at Walsh and now Riley who had sidled up closer to her.

“Thesis,” Spike corrected her softly.

“Er, thesis!” Buffy repeated.

“I highly doubt that,” Riley accused as he stood close to Spike with his arms crossed.

Buffy frowned at Riley then turned her attention to Walsh. “Excuse me? Are you calling me a liar?”

“Considering that your right eye is twitching, your voice is quavering, and your pupils are dilating and contracting then I’d say yes… you’re lying,” Walsh answered in an analytic tone.

Spike knew his cover was blown; it was just a matter of getting out of the room without being caught, though he knew he had to protect Buffy and the why’s of that left him stunned. He cared for her, wanted to see her safe and happy, regardless of what happened to him. Time to pull out the Big Bad.

“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” the blond vamp drawled with a devilish grin, waggling his eyebrows towards the hulking grunt.

It now made sense to Riley, recalling Buffy’s conversation about Spike and his waggling eyebrows. Though he’d never admit it to anyone, it was a cocky, sexy gesture. “A mistake I intend to rectify,” he ground out as he grabbed Spike by the collar and braced him up against the wall.

“Riley, be a good boy,” Walsh ordered her TA as a mother would to a wayward child.

It all happened so fast that Buffy didn’t have time to protect Spike, standing there in stunned silence. Protect Spike? Yes, her heart said. Protect Spike because… you care. You care what happens to the bleached pest, you care that he seems lost most of the time these days, you care about…

She stopped that train before it crashed. All right, I care! she thought, the idea echoing in Spike’s mind.

Diverting his focus, the vamp raised his eyes to hers and grinned widely. “`S alright, pet, I know I’m irresistible.”

Rolling her eyes, she swept out her leg, catching Riley’s feet in the process. Both men went down, with Spike bouncing up to stand next to her, as her swift kick sent Riley rolling towards Walsh in disbelief.

“What are you waiting for? Retrieve him,” she ground out as she watched her aide skid across the floor.

Lumbering to his feet, Riley charged at Spike, taking no notice that Buffy was blocking his path. “This is for making me think that you liked me!” she yelled as she landed a backhand to his cheek and a sucker punch to his gut. He went flying across the room and landed in a heap, unconscious.

Walsh stood with her mouth agape as she watched Hostile Seventeen stride over to Riley and bend down to pick him up by the scruff of the neck, forcing him against the wall in the same position that he’d been in earlier.

When Spike turned to look at Walsh, he flashed a little fang, but not fully vamping out. “You need to keep your soddin’ pet on a leash,” he growled. “And close your mouth, it attracts the flies.”

Walsh closed her jaw and tried to reason with the Hostile. “You can’t kill him. The chip prevents it.”

“What the hell are you people?” Buffy’s eyes darting between the comatose man pinned by Spike and the mad professor blocking the door.

Crossing her arms, Walsh’s eyes flashed in anger. “That’s classified and on a need to know basis. And you don’t need to know.”


“This thing, inside my head… it prevents me from killin’, yeah?” Spike interrupted, his fist slowly closing around the man’s windpipe, causing the chip to fire but paying no heed to the blood dripping from his nose.

“Yes,” the professor answered, studying his reaction to the behavior modification.

“So why am I a soddin’ Jeopardy contestant? How is it that I became a fuckin’ informational guide when this bleedin’ microchip chooses to fire?” the vamp hissed irately, having finally dropped Riley on the floor and now advancing on the older woman.

“That shouldn’t happen. Dr. Angleman supervised the surgery himself,” she shot back, refusing to be intimidated by the creature standing a mere two feet in front of her now. “The neurotransmitter was placed around the hypothalamus. When it senses a surge such as with rage, or fear, or in your case the need to kill, it sends jolts of electrical current to short circuit those tendencies. Like Pavlov’s dog, you become trained to avoid situations that cause the pain of the current.”

Without thinking, Spike grabbed Walsh and threw her up against the wall, vamping out completely. The current she earlier described raced through his brain and swirled around his head, yet he retained his grip on her. Blood dripped down his left ear and his nose, landing on his lips as he spoke.

“I’ll never be your bloody dog!”

Buffy watched the whole thing take place and moved not one muscle to help Walsh. She didn’t know the whole story, but it was a safe bet that whatever happened to Spike, her psych professor was a big part of it. Seeing the struggle Spike was having with the chip and the urge to tear his tormentor apart, she went over to the hurting vampire and the scared witless woman, laying a hand on his forearm.

“We need to go, Spike.”

Noticing Buffy’s hand, he released Maggie Walsh, letting her slump against the wall for support, the buzzing in his head bombarding his brain with mindless, numbing facts at high speed, having no power left to voice them. Unable to stand on his own, he slumped against the Slayer, uncaring that he was covered in blood.

As they turned to leave, Walsh dared to speak. “We’ll find you eventually. It’s only a matter of time… and then we’ll take you apart, piece by piece.”

Gathering what remained of his strength, Spike slipped through Buffy’s fingers, and lowered his face to Maggie’s. She just stared at him with one raised eyebrow, sure of her promise to find and destroy him.

Suddenly, he spat the blood that had dripped from his nose onto her face, wishing to prove her wrong. “That’s the only piece of me you’re going to get.”

Then, without a backward glance, he walked out of the room with Buffy, praying he was right.

Spike stayed in an upright position as long as he could before he collapsed in the hallway, causing Buffy to stumble.

“Come on Spike, we gotta get out of here!” Buffy panicked. “She could be calling for reinforcements, and you’re too weak to fight.” She hooked one of his arms over her shoulder and dragged him to a semi standing position and started walking as fast as she could.

“Lepidopterophobia is a morbid fear of butterflies,” Spike muttered in a spacey voice as he tried to help drag himself with Buffy’s help.

“Uh huh, keep talking to me Spike, stay with me,” she coaxed trying to keep him conscious. If he passed out completely she was screwed.

“You can absorb 300 mg of caffeine at a time, which is about 4 cups of coffee- anything else goes right through you,” he said, giggling in the end.

They reached the doorway that would lead them outside and Buffy paused. What if they were waiting for them on the other side of the archway? An uneasy feeling crept up her spine again and she knew better than to ignore it. She shook Spike a little and hoped he was lucid enough to understand her question.

“Is there another way out of here, Spike? I think if we leave that way they’ll follow us,” Buffy asked as she lightly slapped his cheeks to get him to wake up fully.

She couldn’t get him to respond so she withdrew from the door and headed in a different direction. Barely comprehending what was going on around him, Spike started mumbling in rhyme again and knowing Spike, she hoped it wasn’t a dirty limerick.

“Can't even shout
Can't even cry
The gentlemen are coming by
Looking in windows
Knocking on doors
They need to take seven
And they might take yours
Can't call to mom
Can’t say a word
You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard.”

Buffy frowned in confusion at his words but didn’t have time to dwell on it when she heard voices as she rounded a corner.

“We come together as daughters of Gaia and sisters to the moon. We walk with the darkness with the wolf at our side through the waterfall of power to the blackest heart of eternity,” a solemn female voice intoned.

“Spike wait here,” Buffy pleaded as she let the vampire sink to the floor in exhaustion. She peeked around the corner, and to her immense relief, saw Willow sitting amongst a group of girls with a rather dubious look on her face.

She was listening to a girl that was leading a discussion on fund raising for a dance recital with a bored expression, her mind and eyes wandering. In her wanderings, Buffy discreetly caught her attention and motioned her around the corner. Willow quietly excused herself and followed Buffy.

As she rounded the corner, Willow stopped with a gasp. Spike had blood oozing from his nose and his ear, dripping down his collar. His pallor was deathly white and his lips were tinged with blue. Assuming Buffy had roughed him up again, Willow turned a hard glare in her direction.

“I didn’t do this, Wills, I swear!” she whimpered. “I can’t get the bleeding to stop!”

Willow approach Spike and cupped his face in her hands. He opened his eyes a fraction and grinned at her like an insane mental patient. “The original Guinness Brewery in Dublin, Ireland has a 6,000 year lease,” he mumbled.

Willow quirked a grin and let her thumbs caress his eyes closed as she chanted something that she hoped would help. “Subsisto cruor.”

A little green monster started inching its way up Buffy’s neck and she scowled at how easy Willow was with Spike. Spike that had threatened her and Xander, Spike that had tried to kill them all numerous times. Yet here she was, like she was his old pal, and he felt safe enough in her presence to let his guard down. Not that he was given much of a choice at this point, being practically unconscious and all. But still, that twinge of jealousy was enough to make Buffy clear her throat so that Willow would move away from him.

“That should stop the bleeding Buffy, but he needs blood. When’s the last time he fed?” Willow asked as she watched Buffy try to pull him to a standing position.

“Night before last? I’m not sure, he’s not exactly with it to answer the question,” Buffy huffed as she hefted Spike’s dead weight against her shoulders. “I need to get out of here, the campus is crawling with Commandos.”

“Commandos? What are they doing here? Oh my god…Riley!” Willow said, as her eyes got big.

“You knew about Riley?” Buffy accused harshly.

“Spike told me…last night. I would have told you, but you didn’t come back to the dorm and then I forgot about it this morning,” Willow said hesitantly.

“Spike told you?” Buffy said, hurt evident in her voice. “But why didn’t he tell me?”

“Wouldn’t have believed me pet,” Spike slurred against the crook of neck. “Barely believed me when it was staring ya in the face.” He stumbled and giggled as the three made their way down the hall in search of a hidden way out.

“Willow?” came a shy voice from behind them.

“Oh, Tara! I’m sorry we’re really in a hurry…and my friend is hurt…can I catch up with you another time?” Willow said to the timid girl standing in the hallway clutching her books to her chest like a protective shield.

“It…it’s ok. I was j-just going to say there’s room a-a-at my dorm…if-if you want,” Tara stuttered. “I kinda overheard what you were t-talking about. I know a-a way out, through the fa-faculty tunnels.”

“Can we trust her?” Buffy whispered to Willow, her shoulder getting tired from Spike’s weight.

“Tara? I don’t know, she’s always so quiet in Wicca group. My first instinct though, is yes,” Willow whispered back and Buffy grabbed at the chance of a swift and secret exit.

Willow hooked Spike’s other arm over her shoulder as he sagged completely and they dragged him as they followed Tara towards an unknown area of the campus hall. A heavy steel door with a punch lock stood in a darkened corner and they all stopped.

“Liberatio,” Tara whispered as she laid her hand on the punch lock. They heard a series of numbers punched into the lock and then the locking mechanism released, opening the door.

“You’re a real witch!” Willow whispered fervently as they drug Spike through the door and headed down the long corridor.

Tara said nothing and ducked her head, unused to the attention. They passed through a narrow pathway with steam pipes running the length of the ceiling, small passageways branching off in different directions. Tara directed them to turn left after about a quarter mile’s worth of walking and brought them to what looked like a dead end with stacks of boxes.

She started moving the boxes away to reveal a plywood door with a padlock on it. Once again, she said, “Liberatio,” and the padlock unlocked itself and fell to the cement floor. “This way,” she motioned to them and they followed her into a small alcove with a ladder leading to a floor above them.

“This is the basement of my d-d-dorm building. No one knows this is d-down here so we have to be qu-quiet,” she murmured nervously. “I f-f-found this by accident one day.”

“It’s okay, we won’t say anything…will we Spike?” Buffy assured the skittish girl and tried to get Spike to agree, just so she could hear his snark…or anything at all.

“You’re Glinda the good witch!” Spike sniggered softly with a smile plastered on his face.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he won’t say anything. Come on Spike, even like this your ass is too heavy for me to carry up the ladder.”

“Bossy bint, do it myself,” he said as he tried to stand on his own. He wobbled a little but after a moment or two, he was able to stand without much dizziness. “Right as rain, I am.”

“I highly doubt that will ever happen, but I’ll go up first to check everything’s safe and clear,” Buffy said sarcastically as she started up the ladder.

Spike ignored her and turned to Tara, smile still plastered to his face. “Oi Glenda! Did you know that Botulism bacteria are so toxic that one pound could kill every human on Earth?” he said with a frenzied look.

Tara slowly backed up, unsure if this person was a threat to her or not when Willow started laughing softly. “Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s one card shy of a full deck at the moment…but it’s true what he said, just he’s a little stressed…oh never mind.”

“Oi Red! You said that within hearing distance, might rude if you ask me!” he huffed indignantly.

Willow shook her head and headed up the ladder when she heard the all clear from Buffy up top. “Come on.”

“Rude bint. S’all I need…bossy bint and rude bint getting together and creating megabeast bitch to haunt me the rest of my pathetic unlife,” Spike groused as he watched Tara head up the ladder after Willow.

“Spike? What are you doing? Get your ass up here!” Buffy whispered loudly down the ladder to him.

“I’m out for a walk…bint! What do you think I’m doing? Wanted to make sure the “lady” of the group got up safe, didn’t I? Miserable, bossy, rude…” Spike continued to grumble as he head up the ladder after Tara had made it to the top.

“For someone undead you sure complain a lot,” Buffy chuckled.

“Sod off, my head’s killin me,” he groused as clutched his head, a wave of pain coursing through his skull.

“Grump. Which way Tara?” Buffy asked as they took in the dimly lit basement area.

“The elevator will take us up to the third floor, it’s not far from there,” she said as she pointed to a service elevator near a set of stairs.

“Right, come on.”

They rode the elevator in silence, Buffy occasionally casting glances at Spike, who was grimacing every now and then and closing his eyes. ‘You gonna make it?’ Buffy thought to him.

‘Can we ease up on the telepathy for a bit, luv? My mind’s a bit worse for wear,’ he pleaded.

Buffy silently nodded as they reached the designated floor. When the doors opened, she could hear voices at one end of the hall and she tensed.

“It’s that door there,” Tara said as she pointed to a door near the elevator. “No one will see us.” She quietly let them inside and quickly shut the door.

Spike collapsed on the first chair he got to and laid his head gingerly on the desk in front of it. “Wake me up next year,” he mumbled.

The girls just smiled and they sat in different areas of the room. Buffy perched herself near Spike as Tara and Willow sat on the bed.

“He l-l-looks pretty beat up, does he need medical care?” Tara asked, looking at a softly dozing Spike.

“No!” Willow and Buffy said quickly in unison. They exchanged worried looks and finally Buffy shrugged.

“Um, Tara, do you believe in demons or anything of that nature?” Willow hesitated.

A deeply sad look overcame Tara and she nodded mutely. “I have first hand experience with them.”

Willow and Buffy frowned at that explanation but Willow continued. “Spike is…well, he’s…all with the fang having…”

“He’s a vamp,” Buffy supplied when it was apparent Willow was having trouble explaining who their guest was.

Tara frowned as she looked outside at the daylight and then back to the vamp, who had several rays hitting his back. Then she looked at the door…the door she had invited them all through and she cringed.

“No! Spike’s not like that, really!” Buffy rushed to assure her. “He’s good now. And as for the non-allergy to sunlight…it’s a really, really, really long story.”

“Is-is he hungry?” Tara squeaked.

“Bloody famished,” he muttered. “And still evil.”

“Oh, so you are awake. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, you’re a mess,” Buffy said as she looked into a pair of blue eyes that silently gazed at her from above where she sat.

“Um, Tara and I will, uh, leave so you can…well, you know. We’ll go get some blood for him,” Willow flustered as she noticed the looks Spike was giving Buffy.

Tara handed her a washcloth and showed her the mini sink so that she might clean the blood off Spike’s face. “You’ll be okay here, by yourself with him?” she asked concerned.

“Slayer and I go way back. Not gonna off each other…it’s a thing,” Spike reassured her as he ran the cloth under the warm water.

Buffy laughed and shooed the girls out of the room and turned back to Spike. “Still evil…HA!” she chuckled.

“You’re ruining my image Slayer,” he said as he wiped the blood from his face. “Did I get it all?”

“You’ve got some on your neck and ear,” she pointed out and took the washcloth from him. She gently wiped his ear and then moved aside the collar of the hoodie so she could wipe away the rest that had dripped onto his collarbone.

Doing this while he was seated brought the Slayer’s neck to eye level and Spike audibly gulped. He watched her pulse flutter as she moved and then heard it increase when she stopped. He quickly looked away, ashamed at having been caught ogling her neck like a feast fit for a king. A soft touch turned him back around.

“I know you’re hungry…and Slayer blood is powerful, right? I guess it couldn’t hurt to have a ‘nip’ as you say,” Buffy said softly as she caressed his sharply hollow cheek.

Panic grabbed hold of Spike and he quickly stood to move away from her. “Mighty generous of you pet, but not doing it. I can wait for the chits to get back from the butchers.”

Buffy frowned and followed him to where he sat on the bed, sitting between his legs, arms on his thighs. “I want to do this. You need help, I can give it to you…please?”

Spike looked down at her and cringed. Offering up her neck on a platter was NOT a good idea in his book, and an even worse idea in the Slayer book. ‘I’m afraid I’ll hurt her and then she won’t ever look at me the same,’ his thought escaped.

“It’s okay, Spike. You won’t hurt me,” she murmured as she pulled her hair away from her neck…the side that had Angel’s bite on it.

Spike grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him. “Bloody poofter won’t like that I’ve been having a sip of his woman,” he ground out against her cheek.

“I’m not his woman and he can kiss my ass,” she whispered as she pressed her lips to his cheek. Since when was she not Angel’s woman? Since Spike. Since he showed up and taunted her, fought her, taught her what it was to be a better Slayer. And she greatly feared she was falling in ‘like’ with him…which led to bigger things, like love. And she was afraid she didn’t want to stop.

Spike clenched his fist in her hair and leaned his forehead against hers. “You sure pet? Once I get a taste, not letting you go. Gonna be able to live with that?”

“You’ve been a pain in my ass for years Spike. For me, forever isn’t that long,” she said as she kissed his nose.

At that point, Spike gave up fighting the feeling that was threatening to make a ponce out of him and he pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck. Her blood sang to him in the most delicious ways and he laved her jugular. “So very sweet,” he husked.

Buffy’s eyes rolled back into her head at the sensation of Spike’s lips nipping at her neck and she didn’t even feel the ridges of his face as his demon came forth. Itching to touch him, she ran her fingers through his blonde curls and lightly pulled at them causing him to groan in contentment. His nips became more forceful and she knew to expect the pain soon.

But the pain never came. Instead brilliant bright lights shone behind her eyes as fangs pierced her soft flesh. This never happened with Angel she mused. She felt him pull the blood from her body and it shot straight to her abdomen and she gasped, “Oh god Spike.” A moment later, an intense orgasm ripped through her body and she almost buckled.

Spike heard her whimpers and pulled harder, trying to ingest as much as he could before he had to let her go. Her blood was sweet and spicy and it warmed him to the bone. There was also a subtle hint of some other emotion imbued in her blood but for now, decided to ignore it in favor of feeling her skin against his lips. When he’d taken enough to sate his hunger, he licked the puncture holes until they stopped bleeding and closed on their own.

Buffy had a glazed over look on her face and a stupid grin. “That was phenomi…phenomomonn…”

“Phenomenal pet?” Spike chuckled against her neck as he continued to kiss and nip as he couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah, whatever you said,” she said thickly. Her voice was weary and he pulled back to look at her.

“We need some kip, luv…both of us. We’re both knackered, and I for one, could use the sleep. Think Glinda would mind if we used the bed?” he asked as he eyed the pillows with longing.

“Probably not,” she yawned as she shucked off her shoes and crawled underneath the covers, Spike joining her on the other side.

Without thought, Spike pulled her back to his front and spooned her, his hand lightly resting on her stomach, his nose firmly pressed against her neck and hair. Both fell asleep rather quickly, having been exhausted from the past few days’ events.

Spike’s last conscious thought was, ‘I think I love her,’ and he fell into the darkness of sleep.

Buffy smiled tremulously and fell with him.

Rupert Giles tapped his foot in impatience as he waited for the airplane to start unloading all its passengers. He glanced at his watch and polished his glasses for the third time since he’d gotten to the tiny airport. He’d been waiting for Olivia’s arrival for several weeks now and he was rearing to go.

It had seemed as of late, at least the last few days, that he’d withdrawn into himself once again…as he had done in his earlier years. Years when Ethan fondly remembered him as ‘Ripper’. He’d found himself drawn to studying the darker books in his massive library the last few days, as if he couldn’t help himself. He’d even resorted to violence against Spike that morning, just so that he’d have some more information. And if he was not careful, it could turn obsessive.

That’s why he was impatient for Olivia. He was hoping her presence would distract him from the preoccupation that Spike presented. Plus the fact he’d not had a good shag since Joyce…oh good lord. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to push away the thought of his Slayer’s mother and him…in his tub…naked….

Abruptly Giles stood up and started to pace as passengers were filtering out of the terminal doorway. It was a small plane; having flown from the bigger airport in L.A. to little Sunnydale, so there weren’t that many passengers…15 at most.

When the trickle of passengers ended with no Olivia, Giles became worried. He approached the stewardess of the airline and inquired after her absence. “Excuse me, but did you have an Olivia Green on board?”

The stewardess smiled wanly and checked her computer. “I’m sorry sir, there was no Olivia Green on this flight. Was she coming from LAX?”

“I know this is the flight from LAX, she was supposed to be on it! Hence, that is why I asked you, you twit!” Giles ground out in full Ripper menace.

The stewardess eyes rounded in slight panic. “Sir, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have security escort you from the airport!”

Giles just swept his arm across the edge of her station, knocking everything off and stormed off. “I’d like to see them try!” he roared as he left the terminal.

He drove home like a man possessed, running people off the road and earning several middle fingers flipped at him as he passed in an erratic manner. He didn’t park his car as much as he just run up onto the grass and decided to stop. As he was approaching his door, he spied Willow and a strange girl.

“What do you want Willow, I’m in no mood for idle chitchat,” he muttered as he unlocked his door and let the two girls in.

Willow was taken aback by his tone with her and she faltered. “Um…well, I …we…”

“Oh for god’s sake girl, spit it out!” Giles bellowed load enough that the strange girl cringed and edged back towards the door. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

“I’m T-Tara,” she stuttered.

“Should you be here?” he groused.

“I…I…I’m with…”

“She’s with me, Giles. What’s wrong with you?” Willow said with deep concern.

“I’ve just missed Olivia and I’m worried something is wrong. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” he said as he dismissed them.

“Well I thought you should know about Spike and Buffy…” Willow started but stopped as she took in Giles’ fevered look

“Spike? Where is Spike? Why isn’t he here?” Giles said as he gripped Willow’s upper arms painfully.

“Giles, you’re hurting me!” Willow cried as she tried to break free.

As she whimpered, his eyes seemed to glow suddenly and then went dull as he collapsed on the floor.

“Giles!” Willow screamed. “Tara, help me get him on the couch!”

The girls lugged the Watcher over to the couch and propped him up on it as best as they could. Tara ran to the kitchen and got a cold, wet towel to drape across his forehead.

Willow lightly tapped Giles’ cheek in an effort to get him to come around. “Giles? Come on, wake up!”

“Willow, if you don’t stop slapping me, I shall be forced to slap you back,” Giles coughed as he was rubbing his eyes. The menace was gone from his voice and Willow visibly relaxed as Giles smiled weakly and pulled the towel over his face moaning.

“I don’t think I can take any more scares today. You seriously creeped me out there, Giles. What happened?” Willow asked as she helped him to a sitting position.

“I…I’m not quite sure. I remember waiting at the airport for Olivia…and then waking up as you’re slapping me. I’ve…I’ve lost a span of time, but I don’t know why,” he said with increasing worry.

“Did you forget to pick up your friend?” Tara meekly asked from the other side of the room.

“Oh good god! Olivia!” Giles said frantically as he got up and headed to the phone, dialing an international number.

Tara was still skittish around the man so she backed away as far as she could and sat on the bottom step of the staircase.

“Olivia??” Giles said with some relief as he apparently reached her at home. “I thought you were coming? What? Oh. Yes, I remember Dwayne… Oh. Oh, I see. No, no, that’s perfectly all right. I understand. No, no, I don’t want you to bother; it’s quite a distance. Getting married? Well…I’ve lost touch it seems. No, my own fault. My best wishes to you both. Yes, well…goodbye,” he said quietly and hung up the phone.

“Are you ok, Giles?” Willow asked hesitantly.

“Um, yes yes, I’ll be fine. Seems my visitor wasn’t coming after all. Ahem. Well. I’m sorry about earlier. You were trying to tell me something about Buffy and Spike,” he said as he sat on the chair and stared at the opposite wall.

Willow came over and sat on the couch next to him and laid a hand on his knee. “You sure you’re gonna be ok? That sounded kinda harsh on the phone.”

“I’ll be fine, truly. Now tell me what has happened,” Giles reassured her…unconvincingly.

Willow told Giles as much as she knew about the days events, including Buffy having a run in with Riley, and how it was very likely that the Commandos knew where Spike was and how it was probably just a matter of time before they caught up with him.

“And where are they now?” Giles asked when Willow took a break from talking.

“In…in my room. It’s safe there,” Tara murmured from the shadows of the stairs.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t properly introduced. Rupert Giles, and you are?” Giles said as he approached the timid girl with his hand held out.

“Tara McClay,” she said with a small smile and shook his hand.

He smiled warmly and apologized for his earlier behavior towards her. She shrugged it off and told him to think nothing of it. Giles then offered the girls some tea which they declined because they were on their way to the butcher’s to pick up some pig’s blood for Spike.

“Yes, that reminds me. How is it that he’s able to be about in the daylight? Or did he take the sewers?” Giles asked with some concern.

“Well, uh…well Buffy gave him…the uh…um…well she gave him the Gem of Amara so he could help her with her report,” Willow finished quickly and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the condemnation that Giles was sure to spew forth.

Giles frowned. “I thought she sent that with Oz to Angel?”

Willow opened one eye and looked at him. “Oz gave it back to her. Said Angel shouldn’t have it. Only the Slayer should be able to have it.”

“I always knew that Oz was a wise fellow, even if he was a man of few words,” Giles mused as he sipped his tea.

Willow looked away so he wouldn’t see the tears that built up in her eyes as she nodded mutely. She fought for control and won, choking down her tears and cleared her throat. “So you’re not mad at Buffy for letting Spike use the ring?

“I didn’t say that. I think it was highly irresponsible of her to one: take Spike with her to campus, and two: give him the ring to use. Those combined could make for a catastrophe. Not her best judgment call to date,” he said with disappointment.

“But Spike’s different, really different,” Willow assured him.

“Yeah, Mr. Giles…for a vamp, h-he’s very different,” Tara pitched in.

“Hmmm well, be that as it may, he still poses a threat if he’s unleashed. Get him the blood and make sure they don’t go anywhere. I’m too tired to deal with him this evening and I would appreciate if you would look after him…just for tonight,” he asked wearily.

“Is that ok, Tara?” Willow asked as they were heading out the door.

“Sure, if you don’t mind bunking on the floor. I got an inflatable m-mattress to sleep on, if it’s ok with you?” she asked, getting excited about having people stay with her.

“Cool! It’ll be like a slumber party!” Willow returned her excitement as they left Giles’ flat.

“Slumber party of the damned,” Giles muttered and sank onto the couch to watch Passions.

---

The first thing Spike was aware of was that his right arm was asleep. The next was the reason it was asleep.

Buffy’s head was lying on his right bicep as his forearm was curled around her. His left was wrapped around her waist as it tucked her body into his. Buffy. The Slayer…in his arms…asleep.

Spike angled his head to look for a clock in the darkened room and found a radio alarm clock that read 5:45 am. Damn! They’d been asleep all afternoon and into the night, not moving more than an inch from each other. He knew that he had been tired, but he just didn’t realize how tired they both were.

He heard two other slow heartbeats besides Buffy’s and he gingerly looked over the bed at the two girls fast asleep on the floor. Books, papers, and something that smelled suspiciously like sage littered the floor around them.

He did remember waking at one point during the night, around midnight, and hearing Willow talking in her sleep.

“Mmmm gotta find John Wayne…gotta kill the man eating guppies,” Willow mumbled in her sleep and Spike tried not to fully laugh, snickering instead.

Buffy never moved as he looked around the room and he saw her rapid eye movement, which indicated REM sleep. Good. She needed all she could get. He figured he could use some more, so he snuggled deep under the covers, nuzzling into her neck and his bite.

His bite. Peaches would not be happy about that one, the nancy-boy, regardless of what Buffy said. Angel was always trying to run her life, with or without her permission…usually without. He figured the Slayer would get sick of it one day, and he wanted to be around to see it happen.

He glanced at the clock again as it read 5:58 and he started to feel the pull of the dawn, beckoning him to find shelter, but he ignored it this once. With the ring, he could actually wake up to feel the sun on his face, basking in the warmth and beauty of the morning light…and Buffy.

The clock flipped to 6:00 am and it triggered the radio to start playing very, very soft music. He hopped it wouldn’t wake the girls as he listened to the lyrics of the song currently being played.

'I dreamed I was missing, you were so scared
But no one would listen, 'cause no one else cared
After my dreaming, I woke with this fear
What am I leaving when I'm done here?'

And then it hit Spike like a ton of bricks. ‘I’m not gonna make it through this, am I?’ he thought morosely.

'So if you're asking me, I want you to know'

'When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory, leave out all the rest'

Tears welled up in Spike’s eyes as the words of the song sunk in. ‘Who will miss me when I’m gone? Angel? Bah. Dru? Hardly. Buffy? Buffy…I will miss her when I am gone. Will she remember me kindly?’

'I've taken my beating, I've shared what I made
I'm strong on the surface, not all the way through
I've never been perfect, but neither have you'

'So if you're asking me, I want you to know'

Spike’s tears finally overflowed and silently fell down his face as he gazed at Buffy’s sleeping form. She had turned over slightly and now faced him, her forehead near his chin. ‘Please don’t resent me, Buffy…I’m a bad, bad man…but underneath, I’m a good person!’ he pleaded silently and gently kissed her forehead.

The song finished and the radio shut off, having run its course of trying to wake up the sleeping person. Buffy snuffled a little and yawned as a small shaft of light filtered in through Tara’s curtains, hitting her square on the nose. She wrinkled it and yawned widely again, opening her eyes slightly to see Spike with red-rimmed eyes staring at her.

She frowned heavily and touched his face, tracing his features as dawn light started to fill the room. He leaned into her hand and closed his eyes in ecstasy at her touch. Her thumb started to trace the outline of his lips as his eyes slowly opened with heated desire flooding into them.

Slowly, so agonizingly slow, Buffy leaned up and placed her lips against his in a gentle kiss that made him whimper. She wanted to taste him as she hesitantly reached out with her tongue to touch his bottom lip. He responded by cupping the back of her head and pulling her in to savor her more deeply.

They explored each other’s mouth fully and finally broke apart with a gasp as Buffy needed to breathe. She opened her mouth to say his name, but nothing came out.

Spike frowned and he tried to speak her name, but once again, nothing could be heard. He looked over the bed at the now awake girls and started to call out for Willow but he couldn’t utter any sound. He tried to growl, but couldn’t even do that.

Willow grabbed at her ears and tried to yell that she’d gone deaf, and Tara was massaging her throat in an attempt to get her voice to work, but nothing happened.

Spike threw a pillow at Willow and mouthed, “You’re not deaf, Red!”

Buffy was sitting up at this point, thoroughly mussed, and asked everyone, “What happened?” mouthing as best as she could.

Willow and Tara shrugged their shoulders and so she turned to Spike, hoping he’d at least have some knowledge of what was going on.

‘Don’t know pet, best find the Watcher,’ he sent the thought to her and she agreed.

Looking thoroughly rumpled, the two witches, the Slayer, and the vampire made their way down the stairs and out into the overcast day. The two witches were in their pajamas, and the Slayer and Spike appeared to have rolled around in the bed…a lot. Their clothes were wrinkled and Spike’s hair stood straight up. Buffy seemed windblown and her eyes were bloodshot. Heading through the center of town, they looked like a motley group setting off to see the Wizard.

Neither Spike nor Buffy said anything about the kiss that morning, and Buffy was silently glad of it. This whole ordeal with Spike was just too unnerving for her and she couldn’t seem to find her center of late. She felt off, like she was missing something…or more likely, missing someone. Someone in the guise of the complex enigma walking next to her.

She knew Willow had performed a spell, but it was a truth spell…right? And as Willow spells go, it was very minor at the most. Even if it went kablooey, which most of her spells did lately, what could really happen? Cursed to tell the truth forever? Buffy shook her head at that. That would SO not be of the good. Nothing like blurting out, ‘Hi, I’m the Slayer and I’m too tired to complete my homework because I was slaying late last night’ to one of her professors. Giles wouldn’t give her points for subtlety now, much less if that happened.

Thinking of her professor’s lead her to think about Maggie Walsh. She seemed to want Spike with a fanatic’s obsession and it put her on edge. There were only a few classes left in the quarter and she knew she’d have to skip them all. Or…maybe she could infiltrate their little operation, find out what kind of ‘experiments’ they were doing. She looked askance at the group walking with her and wondered how they’d feel about her little plan.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, forgetting that her voice was silent. She stamped her foot in frustration and balled her fists. The other three, who had moved ahead of her, just turned back and watched her with raised eyebrows. Buffy swung out her arms, pleading with them for something unknown, until her eyes lit up and she pointed at Spike.

‘Tell them we can talk with our thoughts!’ she thought excitedly, as she tapped the side of her head and then pointed at Spike’s.

Spike raised one eyebrow. ‘Exactly how would you like me to tell them, pet? Don’t have a bleedin note pad handy.’

Buffy’s excitement died and she waved her hand in a signal that meant ‘never mind’ as she shrugged and continued walking with the group. Spike could feel her dejection and he wished he could help, but at this point, he was as helpless against this thing as she was.

They passed all sorts of people on the streets with the same affliction. Some wannabe street prophet warning about the end of the world made her smirk. If the people of Sunnydale only had a clue as to how many times that ALMOST happened, they’d be leaving in droves.

Tara spied something and tugged on Willow’s sleeve, pointing to a man that was selling dry-erase boards for $10. Willow frowned at the high mark-up price, but it looked like they were selling like hotcakes, so she shrugged and followed Tara over to purchase one.

‘Red’s wandered off, pet,’ Spike warned Buffy as she was watching a shady looking character eyeing the jewelry storefront.

‘Hmm? Oh…hey! Look! Let’s get one!’ Buffy squealed in her mind as she ran over to where Willow and Tara were haggling with the sidewalk vendor.

Spike followed and realized he was the only one that had any money on him. The two witches hadn’t brought their purses and Buffy was without her gear. That left him and what was left of the rolled up dosh in his boot. He sighed to himself and watched as the man tried to mark up the price even more when he thought it was just the females. Stupid human.

The man mouthed ‘$20’ at the girls and ignored their looks of indignation and disgust. In the mean time, a male customer came along and plunked a $10 bill in the man’s hand and walked away with a board and marker. Buffy wanted to scream in outrage at the man’s blatant sexism, but was cut short when Spike appeared behind her.

Spike stared at the man with menace and slipped into his game face, baring his fangs. He feinted a lunge and the man ran in the other direction, silently screaming. The three girls turned slowly to look at him and he shrugged his shoulders in a ‘What?’ gesture.

Buffy smiled and shook her head as she and the girls grabbed the now ‘free’ boards. ‘You’re incorrigible!’ she mused.

Spike smiled unrepentantly. ‘As the day is long, pet…as the day is long.’

Willow and Tara began using their boards as soon as they uncapped the markers. “Thanks Spike!” they both wrote, Willow adding a smiley face to hers.

Spike just winked at them, watching them blush. ‘Think we should grab one for the Watcher and Whelp?’ Spike asked Buffy.

‘Oh yeah! And Anya too!’ Buffy thought as she grabbed three more boards.

They started on their way again, Willow writing furiously on her board as they walked. “We’re off to see the Watcher! The wonderful Watcher of …” and then she capped her pen with a sad look.

Tara touched her shoulder in concern and frowned at Willow’s words. “I just miss Oz,” she wrote, but not feeling the deep despair she once felt. Maybe Buffy was right…you just need time to get through the pain.

Tara just patted her shoulder and nodded. “It’ll be ok,” she wrote with an encouraging smile.

‘We should probably agree to not talk this way unless it’s absolutely necessary,’ Buffy sent the thought to Spike. ‘I think it would wig everyone out.’

Spike nodded sagely. ‘Not a problem, luv. Got me a board, know how to write.’

‘Who knew William the Bloody could write?’ she teased.

Spike grimaced. If she only knew why he was called William the Bloody…she’d hit it closer to the mark than she thought.

The Watcher’s flat soon came into view and they entered without knocking, as usual. Giles looked up from his textbook in relief and Xander got up from the couch to hug Willow and Buffy. Spike and Tara stood off to the side in uncomfortable silence until Xander approached Spike with his hand outstretched. Spike looked at it in confusion, but tentatively grabbed the Whelp’s hand and shook it heartily.

Xander smiled and slapped Spike on the arm and moved to Tara, looking to Spike for an introduction. “Red’s friend, another witch…Tara,” he wrote on his dry-erase board. He then handed two of the boards to Xander and mouthed, ‘For you and Anya.’

Xander nodded a welcome to Tara and thanks to Spike, moving back to Anya on the couch. Spike was so thrown by the whole thing; he looked at Tara for guidance. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. Things like this didn’t happen to her either, apparently.

Giles had hugged both Willow and Buffy by now and moved to Spike and Tara in the corner. He gently hugged a blushing Tara and nodded at Spike. Spike nodded back and handed him his own board. “What’s going on?” Spike wrote and showed it to Giles.

Giles started writing, but was soon interrupted by Xander snapping his fingers, motioning towards the T.V. A newscaster from a neighboring city was reporting on the situation in Sunnydale, and everyone crowded around the small set to listen.

“Big news item from Sunnydale, California. Apparently, the entire town has been quarantined due to an epidemic of, as strange at this may sound, Laryngitis! It seems the town has been rendered unable to speak and there's no word yet on what might have caused this or what other effects might be seen from this epidemic. Local authorities have issued a statement, a written statement, I should say, blaming recent flu vaccinations. A few skeptics call it a citywide hoax. In the meanwhile, Sunnydale has effectively shut down all schools and businesses will be closed for the time being. Residents are advised to stay home and rest up. Centers for disease control have ordered the entire town quarantined. No one can go in or out until the syndrome is identified or the symptoms disappear. We'll bring you more on that as it develops.”

“Laryngitis my arse!” Spike wrote on his board and tapped it for everyone to look.

Everyone’s eyebrows rose and hoped he’d continue. Getting nothing from his audience, Spike furiously started writing on his board. “This is evil, whatever it is!”

‘How do you know?’ Xander mouthed.

Spike scrubbed away his previous statement and started writing again. “Cause you bloody whelp, evil knows evil!” he huffed as he wrote.

“Oh yeah, like you’re soooo evil now,” Buffy wrote and rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Spike tried to growl, he really did. “You bossy chit, you don’t know everything!” he wrote and shoved it in her face.

“I know enough that you’re becoming crazier than a shit-house rat!” Buffy scribbled quickly and took no notices of the gasps of astonishment from the group at her language.

“Well if your soddin Teutonic boy toy hadn’t shoved this piece of hardware in my noggin, we wouldn’t be worrying about this, would we?” Spike wrote, panting with pent up anger and almost running out of room on the board.

“ASSHOLE!”

“FRIGID BITCH!”

Buffy’s eyes widened at his last written statement. “Limey Bastard!” she countered.

That was it, the final breaking point for both of them. They both threw their message boards to the side of the room and ran into each other’s arms, locking their lips as if the others in the room didn’t exist. Buffy wrapped her arms around Spike’s head and hefted herself up, curling her legs around his waist. Spike grabbed her tight bum and pressed himself into her.

Everyone else just stood there with his or her mouth gaping open. Xander finally closed his and pointed an accusing finger at Willow. ‘You did this to them!’ he mouthed in an attempt to explain why his best friend was now lip locked with Dead Boy Jr.

‘Me?’ Willow pointed at herself and shook her head in the negative. She then started writing on her board. “I haven’t done any spells!”

Just because Xander was starting to really like Spike’s company did NOT mean he wanted Buffy playing tonsil hockey with him! “Fix them!” he wrote, pleading with his eyes.

“There’s nothing to fix!” Tara wrote in support of her friend.

Giles became fed up with the childish bickering and physically separated Buffy and Spike himself. Both of them came apart, flushed with eyes glazed over. They moved to join again and Giles decked Spike without thinking. Spike grabbed his head and screamed silently as he fell to the floor, Buffy trying desperately to comfort him, but being held back by Giles.

Reality of the situation finally hit Buffy and she stopped struggling against Giles. She had just totally made out with Spike in front of everyone! A blush of mortification spread across her face and she looked at Giles apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed. Giles nodded and released her to help Spike up from the floor.

Spike was on his hands and knees as he tried to stop the wave of dizziness that threatened to engulf him. He watched as a pair of sneakered feet came into view and then he felt hands on him, patting his back in comfort. He raised his head in anger and glared at the Slayer. ‘Get away,’ he sent the hurtful thought to her.

Stunned by the vehemence in Spike, she slowly removed her hand from his back and stood up. Spike grasped the wall and pushed his body to a standing position, glowering at the Slayer and her Watcher. Trying once more to comfort him, Buffy moved towards him, but stopped when he took several steps back. Tears gathered in her eyes and she nodded in agreement to leave him alone.

Tara felt compelled to help in some way, so she inched slowly over to Spike and gently patted his arm. He looked down at the shy, unassuming girl and grimaced a smile, as she started writing something on her board. “Need to sleep?”

Spike’s eyes widened slightly and he nodded. “You can go back to my dorm room, if you want,” she wrote and smiled hesitantly.

Spike started looking at the new bird in a different light. Here was a total stranger and she treated him better than this lot ever did, even knowing what he was. Bird had class. “You’re good people Glinda, don’t let anyone ever tell you different,” he wrote and handed her his board. The action was not missed on Buffy.

Tara blushed ten shades of red and ducked her head. Willow put her hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly to bring her back to the group, watching as Spike started to stumble again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Anya wrote on her board, finally piping up.

Buffy scowled at her thoughts of Riley and his ‘Initiative.’ “Chip in Spike’s head is going haywire. Causing mental damage,” she wrote and showed it to the group, trying to explain why Spike was now bleeding once more from his nose while his eyes rolled back into his head.

‘Oh goddess!’ Willow mouthed as Spike completely collapsed to the floor unconscious. She ran to him and propped his head on her lap as she murmured to stop the bleeding again. But nothing happened and Willow cursed, forgetting that she couldn’t chant anything because of the silence. Instead, she laid her cool palms on each side of his head and closed her eyes, trying to see what was going on in his head.

Concentrating, Willow allowed herself to relax to the point of almost becoming one with Spike and she exhaled heavily. Images of times past assaulted her without stop and she felt like she was being pummeled. She frowned and tried to find the cause of the malfunction, grimacing at what she found. Apparently, the device was to be attached to the hypothalamus, but it had come lose and traveled through his poor brain and wrapped itself around Spike’s cerebral cortex, affecting his centers of thought and memory as well as basic instincts such as survival and hunger.

Fearing to tread too far into his memories, Willow backed off and searched in a different area. She suddenly came across a peaceful section and was surprised to find many memories of Buffy hidden there. Filing it away for later discussion, she searched until she was bombarded with words that at first didn’t make sense, listening closely so she could repeat them later. A few moments later, she was abruptly shut out of Spike’s mind as he woke up in a haze.

He groggily opened his eyes and looked at Willow. ‘Hey Red,’ he mouthed.

She smiled at him and gently patted his cheek. ‘Hey you.’ She lifted him gingerly and laid his head on a pillow as she stood and went to Giles’ desk, grabbing a pen and some paper.

Everyone but Buffy crowded around Willow, looking over what she was writing. Buffy edged over to Spike’s prone body and knelt down beside him. He tried to scoot away but she reached out and grasped his hand tightly. He looked at her blankly until she started to caress his palm softly, tears gathering once again in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

The hurt he had felt at her betrayal instantly melted and he returned her grasp. ‘S’ok pet, I know ole Rupes didn’t appreciate the snogfest,’ he thought to her, smirking.

She smiled wistfully and traced his eyebrows in a feather light touch. ‘You’re so bad.’

‘’Bout time you realized that, pet,’ Spike agreed with her silently.

An incessant tapping brought their attention back to Willow who was pointing at her message board. “I found something!” her board said.

Buffy helped Spike to a standing position and over to the desk as they all looked at what Willow had written.

“Can't even shout
Can't even cry
The Gentlemen are coming by
Looking in windows
Knocking on doors
They need to take seven
And they might take yours
Can't call to mom
Can't say a word
You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard.”

Buffy frowned in recognition. “Spike said that earlier!” she wrote on Xander’s board as she had forgotten where hers had landed.

“Never heard of the Gentlemen,” Anya wrote on Xander’s board, having taken it from Buffy.

Unfortunately, the board was still hanging around Xander’s neck, and the cord it was attached to was starting to chafe as the girls tugged on it. He pulled it out of their hands and hugged it to his chest, daring anyone to take it from him.

Giles started writing furiously and then tapped on his board, pointing at everyone in the group. They all looked at his message and groaned, rolling their eyes.

“RESEARCH!”

Giles handed everyone, including Tara and Spike, a book thicker than their legs. He even rooted around in his secret stash of texts to find anything pertaining to these so-called Gentlemen. When everyone was suitably furnished with a book that could crush a person’s weight, he settled down with his own to study.

Willow and Tara had opted to study in the spare bedroom, lying on the bed with their feet in the air, and looking through current studies regarding men of all sorts. Xander and Anya took the more ancient texts, perusing other cultures and any legends or tales with men or groups of men involved. Xander was soon snoring and drooling on a page that explained how men were transformed into eunuchs for certain rituals. Anya found it ironically amusing.

Buffy sat cross-legged on the couch next to Spike, studying a book called “Men and the Zodiac; Know Your Homicidal Maniacs!” Spike on the other hand, was studying a book of fairy tales, and he considered which one had the more boring tome.

‘Got any leads, pet?’ Spike snuck in a thought that made Buffy jump.

‘Not unless you’re a Scorpio male with certain signs in Mars,’ she groused back. ‘And stop talking to me. We agreed, remember? If you wanna talk, use the board. It’s bad enough they saw us kiss.’

Spike frowned with concern. ‘Regretting the Big Bad, Slayer?’ Spike sent to her, thrusting her title at her like a bad taste.

Buffy quickly turned to look at him and bit her lip. ‘I-I don’t know what I feel, Spike…that’s the honest truth. Yes, I liked your kiss very much…but it’s all so new to me. Most people have three speeds when they deal with things: slow, medium, and fast. I only have one. Slug. Or sloth, take your pick.’

He had to agree with her on that point. Getting Buffy to admit to something that she didn’t want to could cause her to dig in her heels. ‘All right pet, it’s your call,’ he assured her and went back to reading about the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk.

She watched him for a few more moments and returned to her own reading, laughing here and there about how psychotic some men could get. Spike looked over her shoulder a time or too and chuckled himself. He was curious, though, at the actions of the Scoobies with regards to what they witnessed earlier. Other than the nice smack down that Giles had delivered, no one said a word. Even the Whelp keep his mouth shut…or better yet, his marker capped. He then chalked it up to everyone being worried about the lack of voices, and once they returned, he would have hell to pay for it. Bugger it all.

While lost in his thoughts, Buffy had drifted off to sleep, head drooping on his shoulder. He looked down at her golden hair and smiled to himself as he dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. A light tapping had him turning his head towards Anya who had quirked an eyebrow and a smirk plastered on her face. She made an “O” with one hand and used the index finger of her other to insert into the “O”, raising her eyebrows in a question and nodding in Buffy’s direction.

Spike looked confused for a moment until she started moving her finger vigorously in and out of the hole her other hand had created. Spike’s mouth gaped open and then he grimaced, lifting two fingers in a backward “V” telling her to stuff it with her ideas about the Slayer and him doing the horizontal tango. Bad enough she was asking him about it, if Buffy were awake he’d be dust right about now.

Muttering to himself inside his head, he returned to a story called “Die Herren” in the poncey book Giles had given him…as if he couldn’t be trusted with a proper text; he had this ridiculous book of fairy tales…hang on a mo! His gaze intensified as he really began reading the German story concerning a group of Gentlemen that come a town and steal the inhabitant’s voices in order to procure seven hearts, which they needed once a year to survive. The pictures were detailed and gory and Spike silently congratulated the person responsible for the gruesome work.

Spike wrote “Found Something!” on his board and raised it in the air, tapping for everyone to see. He hadn’t accounted on Buffy’s head moving if he raised his shoulders, and so he grimaced in sympathetic pain as her head hit the back of the couch in a loud ‘thunk.’

‘Ow!’ she mouthed before she realized no one would hear her, and she rubbed the back of her head, glaring at Spike in irritation. He gave her an ‘I’m sorry’ look and tapped on his board. She glanced at it and a smile spread across her face. Without thought, she reached over and hugged him, pressing a soft kiss of gratitude on his cheek. He smiled and winked at her, which made her blush from the roots of her hair to the tip of her funny nose.

“What did you find?” Giles had written on his board and showed Spike, now that everyone had gathered in the main room.

“7 Men & No Voices!” Spike wrote and held up his book to indicate where he’d found the information.

“In a fairy tale book?” Buffy questioned as she capped her marker.

“Oi can’t help where I find info!” Spike groused with his board.

“Will someone please wake up Xander? Even without his voice, his snores are LOUD!” Willow asked with her board as she covered her ears.

Anya reached over and slapped Xander on the face, causing him to snort and wearily open his eyes. Apparently she’d done this a multitude of times. He looked around to all the faces that were watching him and frowned in confusion. “Did I miss something?” he wrote in very shaky handwriting.

Everyone rolled their eyes and turned back to Giles, who was writing on his board again. “Spike, do you think you could read up on the Gentlemen?”

Spike frowned. “Yeah, why?”

“We need to be on same page, and I have an idea,” Giles flashed his board to him and began wondering off to find something.

“I think Rupes lost marbles as well as voice,” Spike confirmed to everyone, as he tapped his temple a couple times with his marker. This earned him a slap on the arm from Buffy.

“Buffy and Xander come with me to the campus,” Giles had written on his board as he returned carrying something.

He handed Spike several transparent sheets and pointed between them and the book. “Give a summary of who and what they are, and how to kill. Have ready by this evening!”

Buffy frowned, but got up from the couch to follow Xander and Giles as they headed out the door. She looked back at a very perplexed Spike, who was trying to figure out what to do with what he was given. ‘Spike…be careful,’ she whispered to his mind.

He turned sharply around and pinned her with a heated stare. ‘You too, Buffy. Please be careful…besides, should only be me that gets to take you out,’ he caressed her mind then gave a waggle of his eyebrows.

Buffy smiled full throttle and chuckled to herself. ‘Nah, you’d miss me too much. But I would consider you taking me out…on a date,’ she offered but was distracted by Giles blowing the horn on his car. She smiled again and was out the door in a flash.

Spike was left with a tingly feeling that started to spread throughout his body. If his heart could beat, it would. He turned and looked at Anya who had a smug look on her face and she nodded with the in-out motion again. Yeah, they were all bleedin insane.

*******************************************************************************************

Giles drove to the UC Sunnydale campus and parked near Buffy’s dorm. They got out and Giles wrote something on his board. “Need to find a classroom that has an overhead projector for this evening.”

‘Why?’ Buffy shrugged.

“Want us all on same page, Spike will update with slides on Gentlemen,” he wrote with exasperation.

Xander and Buffy nodded and they split up to find a classroom that would hold the Scoobies without attracting too much attention. Buffy shied away from Rhodes Hall, so Xander took it and began his hunt.

The campus was deserted, most of the students having stayed in their dorms or at home since classes were cancelled until the ‘Laryngitis’ epidemic was under control. The hallways were dark, but there were a few lights on in classrooms indicating that maybe some of the professors were about.

Xander stuck his head in one room and spied an overhead projector sitting on a long black table next to a desk. Sitting at the desk, was an older woman concentrating on her work and she seemed not to notice Xander’s presence. That was until she tapped her pen in irritation at having been disturbed. Xander looked sheepish and approached the crabby looking woman.

“Can we use your projector this evening? I promise nothing will happen to it!” Xander wrote on his board and showed the now frowning woman.

She got up and started writing on the class dry erase board behind her. “What for? Classes are cancelled until further notice.”

“I know but this is for extra credit. Prof. Giles wants us to do,” Xander floundered until he could think of something. “An outline! For German! Yeah!”

The woman eyed him carefully. Xander immediately regretted asking this woman, as she gave him the creeps. He wasn’t getting the “I’m a big human sack of evil” vibe like he sometimes got from people, but she was way up there on the wiggy factor. She shrugged and wrote on the board after a few moments.

“You may have the classroom from six until eight pm. After that, the doors lock and you’ll be stuck here,” she finished with a malicious smirk.

“That’s fine, thanks!” Xander penned quickly and left to find Buffy and Giles.

The woman watched him leave, picking up the phone as she did. She dialed a series of numbers, hit pound and then hung up. A few moments later, a man entered the classroom in full military gear to stand in front of her. She began writing on the board again.

“Put an inconspicuous observation camera in this room. Have it done by four pm. We’re going to have visitors.”

Riley nodded his bruised face and left to follow Professor Walsh’s orders.

****************************************************************************************************

When Buffy had seen where they were heading that evening, she immediately stopped in her tracks. “That’s Walsh’s room!” she frantically wrote on her board and showed everyone.

Xander’s eyebrows raised into his hairline. “OH CRAP!” he apologized by writing it several times all over his board. He had never seen Walsh before and had no idea before today that she was involved.

“I doubt she’s there now, and I don’t think she knows Xander is one of your friends,” Giles assured her.

“I’ll check it out,” Buffy wrote and she inched her way in the doorway. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she motioned for the others to follow her into the classroom.

They kept the lights low and everyone took a seat. Willow and Tara sat next to Buffy while Xander and Anya sat a few seats over, Anya munching on popcorn like she was at the movies. She’d seen Spike doing the transparencies this afternoon and it promised to be quite a show. Giles sat next to Buffy, frowning when Spike produced a boom box from under the desk. Giles spread his hands in confusion and mouthed, ‘What are you doing?’

Spike had turned on the projector and slid a piece of the transparency onto it. “To get you lot into the mood!” he scribbled quickly. He reached over and hit play on the CD player and an eerie sounding organ filled the air. Everyone looked at each other as chills ran up their spine from Bach’s Toccata & Fugue in D Minor playing.

“Couldn’t you have chosen something a little cheerier?” Giles wrote and he glared.

“What? You wanna do this you mankey git?” Spike wrote on the overhead and pointed to Giles.

“I’m just waiting for Lon Chaney to pop out somewhere with an organ,” Xander wrote and showed everyone.

Spike threw his marker at Xander and beaned him on the head. “Shut up and listen up! Err…pay attention!”

Spike cracked his knuckles and laid a transparency on the glass plate, turning to pick up the sheets he had accidentally knocked over. When he stood up, everyone was pointing at the canvas screen behind him. He turned and looked at the upside down and backwards sheet that he had put on the plate, turning it and flipping it to correct the position.

“Who Are The Gentlemen? By William X. Pratt” was written as if a cover page for someone’s thesis. Everyone turned and looked curiously at Spike for an explanation of his last and middle name. Finally realizing what he’d done, Spike rubbed the bridge of nose and shook his head with an emphatic ‘NO.’ He quickly drew lines across the names to cross them out. Like it did any bloody good.

Everyone began writing on his or her board with the same question, “What is your middle name?” They all flipped their boards at him and he sighed heavily. Wishing he could growl in frustration, Spike wrote, “If I tell you, will you bleedin idiots shut your gob so I can get on with the presentation?”

They all looked at each other and then turned back to nod in agreement. “Fine. Xavier, end of story,” he marked on the sheet in short order, then throwing the sheet aside for a new one.

The organ music was reaching a crescendo when he placed the next transparency on the glass. “They are Fairy Tale monsters, originating from Germany. The story is Die Herren.”

“What do they look like?” Willow wrote on her board and showed everyone. None of them had seen anything yet, so it was possible that they were nocturnal.

Spike gave an ‘Ah Ha!’ gesture with his index finger and pulled out another clear sheet. He laid the ghastly picture of seven men of varying heights on the projector and everyone cringed in disgust. The men looked like the rejects for the Joker with their plastered maniacal smiles and hollow eyes. They were all thin and lanky with what looked like metal teeth, bald heads rounding out the grisly visage.

“Where did you get these pictures?” Giles wrote on his board. He was highly curious at the detail that was shown on the transparency. It looked Xeroxed and he wondered how he was able to get a hold of such equipment in the short time frame.

Spike hefted the heavy book and opened it to the page where the story had begun and pointed to the picture on the glass. “I copied the pictures from the book.”

Giles and the Scoobies were stunned. The picture looked almost real…frighteningly real, as if he had taken a photo of the group. “That’s quite a talent you have there, Spike,” Giles admitted, and everyone nodded their head enthusiastically.

He took a not-so-humble bow and continued. “What Do They Want?” was the next on the glass.

Anya raised her hand and waved it around, bouncing up and down in her seat like a kid that has to ask permission to go to the bathroom. She pointed to her chest several times but kept getting blank looks from the group. Then Xander cupped his chest and mouthed, ‘Boobies?’ with a confused look on his face as to why these monsters would want women’s boobs.

Anya tsked in disgust and threw some popcorn at him. By this time Spike had put the next sheet on the glass and she pointed to it. Everyone turned and gasped at the picture. Spike had drawn himself in game face (how he remembered what he looked like they had no clue) clutching a heart that had just been torn from a victim, blood everywhere. Apparently he had made liberal use of the red marker. Underneath was the word “Hearts.”

Buffy grimaced and twirled her finger, motioning him to move on with the next slide before she hurled. Tara had covered her mouth and her eyes bulged at what Spike had drawn. Spike tsked and made a pfft sound, writing “PANSIES” in bold letters across the top of the picture.

Shaking his head, he dropped the next transparency on the glass. “They Come To a Town.” It seemed that Spike had grown tired of creating virtual masterpieces and started drawing stick figures instead. Seven stick figures, their heads grossly out of proportion with their bodies, stood on a hill overlooking a small town. In the middle of the town was a large house that suspiciously looked like Buffy’s. He subtlety winked at her and she blushed.

“They Steal All the Voices So No One Can Scream,” was the next sheet laid on the glass. This had just four stick men standing closer to town holding up a box above their heads. Several squiggle lines came from the city to the box, Spike pointing to the box and then pointing to all of them, massaging his throat.

“What happens then?” Tara wrote on her board, slightly lifting it to show everyone.

Spike smiled kindly at the girl and he placed the next sheet on the plate. It showed two stick figure men this time with a third that looked quite like Spike behind them, hovering over the bed of a person…that suspiciously looked like Xander! The men and Spike were sporting gleeful smiles as they repeatedly stabbed the poor boy on the bed; blood everywhere once again.

Before anyone could write or mouth anything, Spike flipped the next picture up and it was even more horrific that the last! Blood was splattered prolifically on the men, on Spike, and on the boy’s bed. It also featured a grinning Spike and Gentlemen holding the heart of a dead ‘Xander’ high above in one hand, a scalpel in the other. Two large ‘X’s’ covered Xander’s eyes to indicate his demise as Spike finally heard some spluttering.

“That’s me, you bleached menace!” Xander said furiously with his marker.

Spike looked at the body and then back at Xander. “Nah, this one is cuter,” he wrote as he pointed to the dead body in the picture.

Willow, Tara, and Buffy all exchanged disturbed looks. Anya just shrugged her shoulders in mild appreciation of his work. She’d seen worse…hell, she’d caused worse! Giles was mumbling to himself inside his head, berating himself for not doing the presentation as Spike seemed to be having way too much fun with the gory pictures.

“How many hearts do they need?” Giles waved his board at Spike.

Spike pointed to everyone in the classroom. “Seven,” he wrote to specify how many people were in the room.

Xander snapped his fingers and pointed to his board. “How do we kill them?”

Buffy raised her hand and started acting like Anya did earlier, bouncing in her chair. She took her left hand and made a fist, pumping up and down in fast order towards her body. Xander and Spike stared at Buffy with lust in their eyes and Giles grew red from head to toe. Buffy looked at them blankly. She pulled a stake out of her bag and produced the motion again, stabbing up and down towards her body.

Xander finally understood what she meant and Giles looked relieved. Willow and Tara pretended that nothing happened. Spike, however, still had that lust glaze in his eyes and he tucked his tongue behind his teeth in a leer. ‘Later pet,’ he sent to her.

Buffy frowned in confusion at first and then flushed with embarrassment at what she had done. She hid her face behind her hands and slunk down in her chair hoping no one would notice her for the rest of the night.

“No Sword Can Kill Them,” was the next transparency. Spike had drawn another figure that looked disturbingly like Xander…with five swords sticking out of him and a big grin on his face. He proceeded to draw more knives and swords being run through Xander.

Xander huffed and held out his hand in objection to what Spike was doing. “I’M NOT DEAD BOY JR’S PINCUSHION!” Xander wrote in caps and everyone mentally heard his whine resound in their head.

Giles ignored Xander and then tapped on his board to get Spike’s attention, being that he was so focused on making a picture of a Xander kebab. “So how do we kill them?”

Spike looked up and groused. “A Princess Must Scream And They Will Die,” he wrote on a blank transparency. He then quickly drew a somewhat decent picture of Buffy screaming her lungs out and several dead stick figures along side her. “And It Has To Be A REAL Voice.”

“So how do I get my voice back?” Buffy wrote on her board and showed Spike.

Spike was ready to give an answer…any answer but that. He let his hands drop to his sides and he shrugged his shoulders. “Buffy should patrol tonight,” Spike finally wrote and he started drawing a curvaceous image of Buffy…with large breasts and a pert behind, pouty lips and long flowing hair. That was, until a marker hit him in the groin.

‘Oi! That’s my meat and two veg! Watch the family jewels!’ Spike winced as he shouted at Buffy for throwing the marker.

She sent him a scathing look and pointed at the picture he was drawing…in front of everyone! He looked at her and then back to the picture with a leer. ‘Nah, this time you’re cuter,’ he thought with a wink.

She shook her head in exasperation as she and the Scoobies got up from their seats. They returned the room to normal and shut off all the lights, leaving before the clock struck a quarter till eight.

They never noticed the two cameras that caught the whole scene, nor were they aware of the Initiative that watched the group with interest bordering on insanity.

An insistent tapping finally registered in Riley Finn’s overly large, but seldom used brain. He turned his attention away from the closed circuit monitor to see Forrest typing away and using the Vocoder machine to voice his concerns about the footage they had just watched.

“Isn’t that your girlfriend?” the machine asked Riley, who was now frowning fiercely.

“Not girlfriend, knows about Walsh,” Riley quickly wrote on a notepad and flipped to show Forrest.

Forrest shook his head in disgust. “Does she know about you, man?” the computer asked once again.

Riley scowled at the hulking machine and scribbled something on the paper. “Sounds like fucking ‘War Games!’”

Forrest raised his eyebrows to indicate that, uh yeah…they were right in the middle of war games. Getting no answer from his teammate, he tapped the blue screen again to direct Riley into answering the question.

“Saw me there, hit me,” he wrote and pointed at his bruised face.

Forrest frowned and opened his arms wide and mouthed ‘why.’

“Not sure, has to do with HST 17,” Riley wrote and then threw the notepad across the room in anger and frustration.

A sudden blast from an air horn caused them to jump about ten feet and they scramble to attention in front an annoyed looking Walsh, who handed the used air horn back to her assistant. She raised an eyebrow in a perfect ‘Spock’ look and sat at the computer that Forrest had vacated.

“They will be in town tonight. Take two squads and bring in the girl and HST 17, leave the rest,” she typed quickly as the computer gave voice to her words.

Riley pointed to the notepad he’d thrown across the room and Walsh nodded. He retrieved it and started writing. “What about the Gentlemen? Bag and tag?”

Walsh considered for a moment. “If you happen across one, bag and tag. Otherwise, I want those two!”

“How? According to intel no man made weapon can kill!” Forrest had grabbed Riley’s notepad and started writing. He wasn’t risking his ass for nothing.

“Concentrate on defense. Immobilize the creature and bring in for further study. Use tasers. Will contain and find source of problem.”

“Eliminate or immobilize HST 17 and girl?” Riley wrote pensively.

“Immobilization only! Dress as civilians. A military presence would only increase panic,” the computer Vocoder instructed them. “You have your orders, move out!”

Riley and Forrest left the briefing room and headed for gear-up. Riley stopped Forrest with a hand to his shoulders and showed him the notepad again. “Keep Buffy safe, but leave 17 for me!”

Forrest looked over his shoulders for any witnesses, confirming there were none. He looked back at Riley and nodded his agreement. They then headed to brief their squads and what they hoped would be a productive night.

**********************************************************************************

“Spike should patrol with Buffy tonight,” Giles tapped his board to get everyone’s attention as they entered his flat.

Xander looked put out. “What about us?” he wrote with a pouty face on his board and then pointed to everyone but Buffy and Spike.

Giles rolled his eyes and grew impatient. “It’s best everyone stays here, just in case,” he wrote and sighed heavily after chucked his board on the coffee table, slumping on the couch and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Anya stamped her foot at that suggestion. She looked at Xander and made an ‘X’ with her fingers…then proceeded to make kissy motions that became rather obscene. Xander immediately stopped her from going into more graphic detail and she pouted.

Willow and Tara’s eyes grew wide and Giles tried to moan in disgust. Spike and Buffy, in the meanwhile, were trying to develop a strategy on who was to go where and when they were supposed to meet up after patrol.

‘Gonna have to talk this way pet, it’s the only way for now,’ Spike whispered to her mind and she silently nodded in agreement.

‘It’s better this way…at least we can communicate where other’s can’t,’ she sent him and he grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze in reassurance.

Missing his board again, Spike approach a wary Xander and started writing on his board. “Slayer and me are going now, back later!” Before he capped his marker though, he dotted Xander’s nose in black ink and threw the pen to Anya. He then mock saluted Xander and they were out the door.

Anya looked at the marker and then at Xander’s nose, stifling a giggle. Apparently it was a permanent marker that Spike had grabbed and the offending dot wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard Xander tried to rub it.

Eventually, he went to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, grimacing at the look that he was stuck with for the time being. He wanted to hate the bleached pest, but for some reason, found it exceedingly hard to obtain the level of hatred he thought he had for Spike. Good guy, bad circumstances…could happen to anyone, including Xander.

***********************************************************************************

The silent people wandering around unnerved Buffy more than the car crashes and the uncapped fire hydrant that spewed water everywhere. Major looting had gone on, and with no voices, there were no 911 calls, no way to respond. Guilt nudged its way into her conscious as she tried to help in any way she could to make up for not being there to avoid the mess she viewed.

‘Nutin you could’ve done pet, you’re only one person. Don’t go beatin yourself up about something you can’t change,’ Spike assured her from miles away. He had heard the self-berating thoughts that lodged in her mind and he sought to sooth her any way he could. It wouldn’t help them tonight anyway. They booth had to keep their eyes sharp and their noses to the wind.

‘I used to question the calling, you know? Why create the Slayer if you can’t save everybody?’ she asked despairingly. ‘I still do sometimes. Other times, I’m just too busy or too tired to care.’

Hearing no answering quip or thoughts from Spike, she froze and listened intently. ‘Spike?’ she practically yelled to his mind.

‘Godamnit, Slayer! Ease up on the noggin! I can bloody hear you, just busy at the mo,’ he swore in her mind.

‘Doing what? Taking a leak?’ Buffy groused, knowing very well that wasn’t the case.

‘Actually, watchin Captain Cardboard takin a leak against an alley wall,’ Spike retorted. He had been watching the Commandos in plain dress circling around the area he was in, so he was keeping a low profile.

‘What’s Riley doing there? And ewww, can you being any more crude?’ she questioned with a grimace. She was glad she didn’t have her voice; she would be gagging all over the place from the picture Spike painted.

‘Ha! Knew you two were an item!’ Spike accused.

‘Are not! I only knew you were talking about Riley because that’s what you always call him,’ she defended herself. Stupid vampire.

‘Yeah, pet…keep telling yourself that,’ he sent her and moved from his position now that the Commandos had left. He followed at a discreet distance, always remaining behind the straggler of the group.

After hearing nothing for ten minutes from Buffy on how he was such a jerk for telling her the truth, he became worried. ‘Buffy?’

Nothing.

‘Buffy! Answer me now damnit!’ he screamed at her mind, waiting for her response.

It never came.

****************************************************************************************

A sudden beeping came through on Riley’s walkie-talkie, startling him to grab it and hold it to his ear. The group had agreed to use Morse code to talk to each other, Graham needing a quick refresher on the logistics of it. Now as he listened, he also scanned the horizon for anything that moved. The beeping stopped and Riley replied with his own beeps, leaving the area quickly.

A few minutes later, he approached Forrest on the east side of the movie-plex, two large bodies lying at his feet. Riley stopped and looked at the now unconscious beings that had a permanent smile, even while knocked out, and a bag full of scalpels. He kicked one body to see if it moved, but nothing happened. Next to him, lay another body somewhat identical to the first one and again, it had a perpetual evil grin.

He looked at Forrest and nodded, making several hand gestures and pointing to other members of the team. They then picked up the bodies and started heading out towards the forest behind the building.

Spike was about to follow them, as foolish as it seemed, but he stopped in the middle of the street when he saw a small form detach itself from the shadows and move behind the last member of the team. Frowning, he watched as Buffy silently ‘removed’ the Commando and incapacitated him. She drug his body with her to her hiding spot and left him there to sleep it off.

‘Buffy!’ he yelled to her mind as she rounded the building to follow the rest of the unit. She never answered him, and he cursed to himself.

‘Elizabeth Ann Summers! Woman answer me now!’ he roared at her brain as he trailed her into the woods.

‘Oh no you did not!’ she huffed at him. ‘How did you know my full name, mister?’ She had come to a dead stop on the path that the Commandos were taking and she waited for him to catch up to her.

‘Oh now you answer me! Slayer, you’ll be the death of me, I swear to bloody GOD!’ he shouted the last at her as he stopped to stand in front of her.

‘Spike, how did you know my full name?’ she sent him in a miffed way, hands on hips, cocked at an angle.

‘Um, snuck a peek at old Rupes Watcher’s Diary is all,’ he admitted rather bashfully with his eyebrows raised in a sad puppy dog look.

‘Don’t EVER tell anyone, got it?’ she forced with her arms crossed and glaring.

‘Oi! Why didn’t you answer me back there? Scared a hundred years outta me, you bloody chit!’ he complained as he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her in for a fierce hug, holding on tightly.

Why didn’t she answer him? Simple. She hadn’t wanted him to follow her because she feared he would get caught again. And she couldn’t bear it. If she had answered him when he first started calling for her, he would now be in the hands of the Commandos.

She had been breaking up a fight when she saw two of the Gentlemen floating by; almost exactly the way Spike had drawn them. Lumbering before them were two lackeys, their heads wrapped in bandages and their bodies wrapped in unbuttoned straightjackets. She heard snuffling sounds, like a dog searching for food, so she hid herself until they passed.

Unfortunately for them, they ran right into a Commando, Forrest to be exact. Him and his team bludgeoned the minions to death and tasered the two lanky figures, their bodies crashing to the ground in a thud. Spike’s first call to her would have brought him running if she had revealed where she was and what she was witnessing. So she kept silent, learning to not voice any thoughts to attract him. She heard his anguished cries and nearly doubled over with her own pain.

Now, as she was being squeezed to death by his arms, she decided to herself that she had done the right thing, regardless if he was angry with her or not. She relaxed her body and slowly wrapped her arms around his waist and returned the bone-crushing hug. She nuzzled her nose into his chest and inhaled deeply of his scent.

Spike was shocked to see her response, but not so much that he didn’t know what to do. He laid a tentative hand on the back of her hair and pressed a fervent kiss to the top of her head in gratitude that nothing had happened to her.

‘Don’t do that again…please?’ he begged softly as he laid his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes to savor the feel of her.

‘They’re getting away,’ she thought in a languid tone, too relaxed to care now that they were escaping.

‘They’ll be out tomorrow pet. Gotta get you home now,’ he admonished lightly as he pulled away and slowly led her away from the forest and into the hub of the city.

‘What do you think they’ll do with them?’ Buffy asked the million-dollar question in her own mind and in Spike’s.

Spike rubbed the back of his head and shuddered. ‘I don’t rightly know luv, but I pity the poor buggers.’

‘Some people are crazy Spike,’ Buffy mused.

‘Well, Earth IS the insane asylum of the universe, ducks,’ he thought with a grin and swung an arm around her shoulders as they made their way back to Giles’ flat.

She chuckled to herself. ‘I believe it!’

After all, she was the Slayer…the Keeper of said insane asylum.

After returning to Giles’ flat, Buffy and Spike explained as best as they could what they had witnessed.

“What did they look like?” Giles wrote on his board and tapped lightly. The Scoobies had camped out in his apartment in various places and some were already asleep.

Buffy cocked her head to the side and plastered a maniacal smile on her face, raising her arms and trying to ‘float’ around the foyer, in imitation of what one of the Gentlemen looked like. Spike and Giles both frowned in confusion.

“A Zombie?” Giles wrote.

‘Pet, that’s not exactly convincing. You look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead,’ Spike teased her.

Buffy stuck out her tongue at him and she finally threw up her hands in frustration. She looked around for a dry erase board, forgetting where she put hers, and spied Xander’s. He was zonked out on the couch on one end, Anya on the other. Both of their feet stunk.

Holding her nose, Buffy lifted Xander’s head and pulled at the cord around his neck. Xander suddenly grabbed hold of the board in his sleep and began mumbling…that is, if he were able to speak. She watched his lips and could barely make out “my board” as he clutched the thing for dear life. Buffy finally gave up and started searching for the transparencies that Spike had used earlier.

‘On the table, luv,’ Spike whispered to her mind when he figured out what she was looking for.

Buffy then turned and riffled through the papers on Giles’ desk, finding the clear sheet that displayed a detailed image of the Gentlemen. Lifting it up, she pointed to the severe and horrible faces of the ghoulish creatures that now haunted Sunnydale. Finding a ballpoint pen, she grabbed it and started writing notes on the side of Giles’ outline.

“Army guys have 2 of them, don’t know how many there are,” she wrote and showed her Watcher.

Giles hung his mouth open in shock, frowning at this information. ‘Two?’ he mouthed as he held up two fingers.

Buffy nodded and made a side glance at Spike, her lips thinning. ‘Yeah, and I would’ve found out where their entrance is too, if it hadn’t been for White Head Wonder here,’ she groused at Spike.

Spike didn’t even bother with thinking anything; he made his thoughts perfectly clear to Buffy and her Watcher. ‘No!’ he mouthed and made a slashing sign with his left hand. He also shook his head in the negative, frowning.

Giles watched the interaction with growing curiosity. “Are you two talking?” he wrote on his board but had to ‘ahem’ a few times to get them to look at it.

Buffy looked at the board and then up at her Watcher. She narrowed her eyes in exasperation and wrote on the notepad. “Tried to tell you a couple days ago! Spike and me can hear each other’s thoughts!”

Giles eyes widened considerably and he covered his open jaw with his hand. One could tell that he was saying a multitude of Good Lords!, and Are you sure’s?in his mind by the way his eye twitched. Plus, the fact that he was currently buffing his glasses to a new and shiny state fooled no one.

Suddenly, Buffy was enveloped in a warm hug from behind, as Willow expressed her gratitude that she had returned from her patrol unharmed. Willow even moved and gave Spike a brief pat before sitting on the edge of the back of the couch. Looking confused by the gesture, Giles pointed at Willow and Spike, asking Buffy if they could talk to each other as well.

Buffy shook her head ‘no’ and wrote on her notepad. “No, but it seems they’re bosom buddies,” she finished with a huff and a frown in each person’s direction.

Willow and Spike were confused as hell. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Willow then pointed to Spike and mouthed, ‘He’s nice to me.’

Spike arched an eyebrow. ‘I am?’ he mouthed to Willow.

Willow gave a nudging glare indicating he was to go along with whatever she said. He squinted his eyes at her, trying to figure out why she looked like a fish out of water with her head bobs, finally giving up and going along with what she had admitted.

“She rescued me…sorta,” Spike begrudgingly wrote on his board and showed everyone.

Buffy crossed her arms and waited for the story, glaring at Spike. Giles was so lost he sat down at his desk and laid his head in his hands. It seemed everything was going to pieces around him…like the result of a bad spell.

“YOU!” Giles mouthed with conviction as he swiftly stood up and faced Willow, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Everyone stared first at Giles then at Willow. She shrunk back against the couch and pointed at herself. ‘Me?’ she mouthed meekly.

Giles started talking…fast. He used no board, no notepad and he was firing questions left and right, pacing between the three people. Spike looked at Buffy in confusion and she just raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders in similar bewilderment.

It was a good five minutes before Giles stopped his silent tirade, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wild. He made a sudden move to strike Willow, but was stopped by Spike grabbing his arm and pushing him back.

Spike crumpled to the floor in silent screams, holding the top of his head and coiled into a fetal position on the floor. Willow immediately hurried to help him, as Buffy approached a stunned Giles by the door.

Buffy squat down and tilted Giles’ chin up so she could look in his eyes. They were glassy and bloodshot. He looked haggard and rumpled, things she knew her Watcher would never approve of. She turned his head to the left and then to the right, his eyes never moving. Buffy then snapped her fingers to see if he would respond…and oh, did he!

He looked at her with glaring hatred and his lip curled back in a snarling grin. He grabbed her wrist and tried to break it as she struggled against him. Feeling like she had no other choice, Buffy backhanded her Watcher with her left hand and he went limp from the blow.

Shaking from just having struck her Watcher, Buffy stood slowly, cradling her throbbing forearm. Giles was definitely out for the count, as he lay prone on the floor by the front door. She turned to see Willow trying to help a now bloodied Spike gain consciousness, and she started wondering when the man had become the monster and the monster become the man.

Knowing Giles wouldn’t wake up soon, Buffy knelt by Spike’s side and took his hand in hers. ‘C’mon Spike, can’t up and quit on me that easily,’ she whispered as quietly as she could to him, trying to rouse him.

Spike would have moaned if he could. He rolled over and curled once more into a fetal position, blood dripping out of both ears now. Willow had tried to keep his head in her soft lap, but he was in too much agony to stay still. She tried once more to lay his head on her lap, but failed as he scooted away and tried to crawl towards the door.

Fearing Spike was going for Giles, she quickly dragged his body away from the door and pulled him into the bathroom. After leaving him on the cold floor, she returned to the living room to see Spike trying to get out the door, but having no luck even reaching the doorknob. He finally gave up and flopped on the floor, exhausted and drained.

Willow and Buffy looked at each other as they gently picked him up and quietly took him upstairs to Giles’ bedroom. Willow woke up a sleeping Tara and they excused themselves, going downstairs to sleep, stopping only to drag a huge comforter out of a closet for them to sleep on.

Buffy laid Spike on the bed as lightly as she could and began unlacing his boots, finally pulling them off and chucking them in the corner. She sat him up briefly as she then removed his trademark duster, hanging it on a chair next to the bed. Fluffing up the pillows, she positioned Spike’s head on them, grimacing when blood started dotting the fabric.

Buffy left the room, softly shutting the door and crept downstairs to retrieve a wet rag from the bathroom or kitchen. Stopping first in the bathroom, she looked at her prone Watcher with some disgust at what he had attempted to do to Willow and her. Thank god Spike had stopped him. Spike stopped him…

Shaking her head to dismiss her thoughts, Buffy went to find Willow. Seeing both Willow and Tara huddled together on the smaller couch, she waved her hand in a ‘come here’ gesture to the redhead. Willow then followed Buffy to the bathroom, Tara softly padding behind her.

Rubbing her forehead at what she was about to do, Buffy hesitantly point to the shackles in the bathtub and then pointed at Giles, looking at Willow and waiting for the condemnation. Apparently, she had thought of the same thing as she slowly mouthed the words, ‘Yes, he’s too dangerous right now.’ Both agreed, they hefted Giles into the tub and manacled his wrists and his legs with the cuffs and chains that had once been Spike’s prison.

Tara softly knocked on the door to get their attention as she handed them a small throw pillow. Buffy frowned, but Tara just lifted Giles’ head and laid it on the pillow, smiling softly and then leaving the two best friends in the room alone with the Watcher. Willow and Buffy looked at each other and softly chuckled at Tara’s soft spot.

Willow then yawned and tapped her wrist indicating that it was about three am. Buffy nodded and they left the bathroom, closing the door quietly. Willow returned to the small couch and huddled under the covers with Tara, as Buffy made her way back upstairs with a wet washcloth.

She entered the bedroom to see that Spike had flung off his covers, an arm lying over his eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed and began gently wiping away the now crusted blood from his nose and earlobes. After he was sufficiently cleaned up, she dropped the rag on the bedside table and took off her own shoes, tossing them in the corner with Spike’s.

Buffy then crawled into bed on the other side and watched Spike as he breathed. Stupid vampire doesn’t need to breathe…yet he does. Not a normal vampire, was never a normal vampire. Aimless thoughts just whirled through her head as her eyes slowly drooped down and she fell asleep.

Hearing her heartbeat slow down, Spike removed his arm from his eyes and softly turned to face a slumbering Buffy. He had been awake through most of it, but he lacked the energy to respond. Now he just gazed his fill at the equally exhausted woman next to him. She had gotten into the same bed with him…again! If she didn’t stop this kind of behavior, he would begin to start thinking…

‘I think all that bleach you use is making you dense,’ she mumbled to his mind.

‘You awake pet?’

‘Nah, I just talk in my sleep…course I am silly,’ she thought in amusement.

‘Hush it, thought I heard your heartbeat slowin is all,’ Spike groused back.

‘Oh I dozed off, just resting my eyes is all.’

‘That’s what old fuddy duddies say Slayer…not getting geriatric on me, are you?’

Buffy’s shoulders moved with her silent laugh and Spike smiled in the darkness.

‘With you around, I’ll probably being Slaying vamps with the smell from my adult diaper as they try to steal my orange Jell-O,’ she teased, but suddenly went very still.

‘What’s wrong, pet?’ Spike asked fretfully as he watched Buffy lift her head slightly.

‘Out the window!’ she practically screamed.

Spike rolled over as quickly as he could and stared at the ghastly face that peered in from the window. Seeing nothing of interest to it, the ghoul floated away and continued on it’s way to another townhouse, again finding nothing to suit its needs.

‘For once, I’m frightened,’ Buffy admitted, her body tremors registering with Spike.

Without thought, Spike pulled Buffy to him and cradled her head against his chest protectively. ‘Won’t let them get you, Buffy,’ he promised vehemently. He laid a tentative hand on her hair and began stroking it, soothing her. ‘Can’t get in here, too much mojo on the place,’ he assured her.

‘Talk to me, tell me some funny facts or something…to take my mind off of it,’ Buffy pleaded as she nuzzled her way closer to his chest.

Spike closed his eyes and savored the feel of a warm body in his arms…Buffy in his arms. ‘Umm,’ he started, a little quaver entering his thoughts from the comfort Buffy was providing. ‘Did you know that Vampires only became undead monsters after isolated tribal villages and communities were exposed to Christianity?’

‘This is the topic you choose?’ Buffy snorted doubtfully.

‘It’s something I’m well acquainted with…Slayer!’ he grumped.

‘Fine, just don’t go into anything…gory.’

‘Right then. In areas of countries where mainstream Christianity took hold and dominated religious thinking, Vampires and similar undead creatures weren’t a real problem,’ he started, slipping into scholarly mode.

‘That’s because they had a really good Slayer on hand,’ Buffy giggled.

‘Oi! You watch it missy!’ Spike protested with a poke to her ribs. She shook with mirth again. Evidently the Slayer was ticklish. Goody.

‘Actually, demons, damnation, and witches like Red were the predominant fear back then. They tried to mix Christianity with other religions and got a right mess. Last time they tried to mix politics with religion, they burned people at the stake,’ Spike said somberly.

Buffy nuzzled her nose into the crux of his neck to reassure him that she took what he said seriously, inhaling deeply and giving no thought as to why it soothed her so much. ‘So are you saying there is a difference between Vampires and Demons?’

‘Vampires are monsters, love,’ Spike admitted. ‘But we’re not like revenants from Hell, who are either damned souls or demons. The difference is subtle but significant.’

‘So you’re saying you don’t have a Demon residing inside you that makes you this way?’ Buffy had stopped nuzzling his neck and instead, leaned up to look in his eyes.

‘That claptrap is for your Watcher brigade. The important difference between demons and monsters is, that monsters are more closely related to human beings and less directly concerned with God. Vamps are inhabitants of the grave, not Hell,’ Spike explained.

‘So…do you…umm…do you have a, uh…’ she began, getting flustered with all the ideas now running around in her head. Did vampires have a choice as to what they became?

‘A soul, pet? That the word you lookin for?’

Buffy buried her face against his neck and nodded. The root, the bottom, the nitty-gritty of all her problems…did vampires have a soul? If so, what in the hellish world was she doing murdering these things? Who gave her that right?

‘Buffy, love…look at me,’ Spike coaxed as he gently lifted her face to gaze into her eyes. ‘If you take away the vamp in me, what is left?’

She stared into Spike’s eyes, trying to see past the vampire. She had caught a glimpse of what he had been like as a human, when he helped her with her government project. The light brown wavy hair, the soft blue eyes, the easy smile. He had been…well, to put it simply, quite beautiful as a human being.

And then, she thought about his personality. His snark was all Spike, nothing of William. William had seemed shy. Did becoming a vampire change people so intrinsically that they took on a whole different persona, change so drastically? How did William become someone as lethal as Spike if he had a soul?

‘Some day I’ll tell you how,’ he told her, listening to her thoughts as they ambled through her very vulnerable mind.

‘But not today, right?’ she pouted slightly with a yawn.

‘No pet, not today.’

‘One last question?’ she begged, yawning again.

Spike smiled against her forehead and pressed a soft kiss there. ‘Sure pet.’

‘What’s it like…to be a vampire?’

The question threw him into left field. ‘Well, the best analogy I can come up with is Frankenstein,’ he thought in all seriousness.

‘Huh?’

‘In the story of Frankenstein, the monster is put together with the parts of various newly dead corpses. The monster appears normal in every way, but he doesn’t quite fit in. The cold, scientific process that brought him to life and explains his existence aren’t enough for him. He wants to be part of the human community, but he doesn’t belong. The novel says a lot about what it’s like to be a monstrous outsider – lonely, misunderstood, feared, and despised. That’s what being a vamp is like, Buffy,’ he thought quietly.

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes and she tried, in vain, to suppress them. ‘So lonely,’ she murmured to his mind.

‘S’ok love, didn’t mean to make you cry…was a bad choice of topic,’ Spike tried to assure her. He could kick himself right about now.

‘Hey now, no tears for me, love…made my bed,’ Spike soothed as he felt wetness on his black t-shirt.

‘Sorry, probably getting snot all over it too.’

Spike chuckled to himself. ‘Lessee if I can cheer you up a bit before sleep.’

‘You don’t have to…’ she started but was cut off when he started anyway.

‘Man cannot live on bread alone…unless he’s in a cage and that’s all you feed him.’

Buffy’s shoulders started heaving as she started laughing.

‘I used to have an open mind, but my brains kept falling out,’ he chuckled.

Buffy laughed again and wrapped her arm around his waist as she snuggled into him a little more.

‘My wild oats have turned to shredded wheat,’ Spike sighed in contentment as Buffy laughed once more.

‘I need someone bad. Are you bad?’ Spike finished with a little smirk and started tickling Buffy again.

They laughed with each other until yawns overtook them. And for once, they slept peacefully.

“Cordelia?” Doyle called as he settled himself in front of the TV set.

“Hmm?”

“Aren’t you from Sunnydale?” he asked as he watched the local news.

“Ah… the sweet, soul-sucking pit of destruction that used to be the center of my universe. Yeah, why?” Cordy mumbled around a piece of toast as she sat next to Doyle.

“Seems they have a wee bit of a problem,” he said as he turned up the volume on the newscast.

“Tonight’s top story comes from a small southern town known as Sunnydale. It seems the entire population has a very contagious form of laryngitis, preventing anyone from even uttering a word. The officials at the CDC have quarantined the residents in fear of a pandemic, but have issued no statement as to the cause of the outbreak. More later as details become available.”

“Oh my god! This is so awesome!” Cordy squealed, her eyes huge.

“Uh, why’s that?” Doyle was genuinely confused.

“That means Xander Harris can’t utter a word! Oh this is so poetic justice!” she smirked.

“Bit petty, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is pretty! Big mismatched doofus can’t say a single word…oh the joy of seeing such a pretty sight,” Cordy laughed and sighed, leaning her head against the back of the couch.

“I said… oh never mind,” Doyle sighed, moping his face.

“Never mind what?” Angel asked in his usual brooding tone from the doorway.

“Nothing…nope, nada…zip, zero…Coke Zero even!” Cordy hastily explained, hoping to avoid a lengthy discussion about Sunnydale… and those who inhabited it.

“Nice try. Doyle?”

“Sounds like something serious is going on down there…nobody can talk,” Doyle answered, wondering why Cordy was getting agitated.

“No other details?” Angel groused as he came to stand behind the couch, arms crossed.

“The devil’s in the details,” Cordelia muttered under her breath.

“Vampire Cordy, try thinking it next time if you don’t really want anyone else to know,” Angel admonished.

“I’m thinking that this whole thing is not going to have a warm fuzzy ending,” she said as she got up and faced Angel, pointing at him with what was left of her toast.

“And that’s just what we’re about isn’t it…warm fuzzies,” Angel deadpanned.

“Ugh, and so the evil black hole of Sunnydale begins with caustic, but witty comebacks,” Cordy spat.

Angel frowned and then looked at Doyle, who had his hand over his mouth and eyebrows raised. “Is she always this cheerful around you?”

“Why, she’s me little pot o’gold at the end of me rainbow,” Doyle drawled as he put his hand over his heart.

“Get out of my facial,” Cordy huffed to the two men and left the room.

“Was that a hint that she wants some time off?” Angel asked Doyle as he sat on the coffee table that faced the other man.

“That was code for ‘I’m a jealous lass’,” Doyle assured Angel with a sad smile.

Ignoring his comment, Angel narrowed his eyes on the Irish man. “Have you had any visions about Buffy lately?”

Doyle quickly looked away, but it was enough to prod Angel to speak. “What did you see?”

“Well I couldn’t be sure. Either I was having a flashback after having just watched the movie Batman, or there are some major characters in Sunnydale. But there’s something else though…a group is trying to harm something or someone close to her, and she’s not taking it lightly. There is also a presence, male…obsessed with her, dangerous – because she underestimates him. It’s all very jumbled, so I didn’t think anything of it,” Doyle said with a shrug, rubbing his temple to ease the ache.

“Should I go?” Angel asked quietly. The last run in he had with Buffy was still fresh in his mind and kept his heart in a constant vice grip of aching and longing.

“Depends. Are you going to let her see you this time?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, but you should give her one as well. Talk to her, let her see you. Take Cordy with you. I have a feeling she’s going to save the day on this one,” Doyle winked at a deeply frowning Angel.

“She’ll cure everyone of laryngitis?” Angel scoffed.

“In a manner of speaking. Never underestimate that woman’s lungs,” Doyle said in mock horror.

Angel blew out an unneeded breath and rubbed his eyes. “Great. SunnyHell, here we come.”

****************************************************************************************

The dream always started the same, but changed by the time it finished. It was like someone had pushed the rewind button in Buffy’s brain, only to have the movie play a different outcome each time. She tried to remember so many times in the past few weeks since she’d been having the dream, but it was an elusive memory that she never caught. That was, until she slept next to Spike for the second time.

‘No…no you…didn’t,’ Buffy mumbled in her mind.

The feather-light words flitted across Spike’s dozing mind, causing him to slowly open his eyes and gaze on a sleeping Buffy. She looked fretful in sleep as her forehead scrunched up in apparent pain, her lips sagging into a deep frown.

‘Mohra is dead…we killed him!’ she pleaded frantically to Spike’s mind as he watched her bottom lip start to tremble.

‘Bloody hell, I can hear the chit dreamin,’ Spike pondered as he fully came awake to watch her. He didn’t dare wake her, feeling whatever was inside of her needed to get out in the open, and dreams were very conducive to doing just that.

‘They always come…and they always will. But that’s my problem now, remember?’ she begged an unseen person, as she started to fumble with Spike’s shirt lapels.

Spike’s eyes widened as her hands became more insistent, tugging on his shirt as if Buffy were trying to hold on to him with a death grip. He gently untangled her hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing the knuckles, hoping she would wake soon.

‘A minute? No! No, that’s not enough time!’ Buffy cried and her whole body started to shake with silent sobs.

Spike couldn’t take it any longer, no matter how cathartic her dreaming was, she was in pain and he couldn’t bare it. Afraid to wake her with his thoughts, he softly cupped her face, wiping away her tears with his long thumbs. Seeing this didn’t work, he gently laid his cool lips on her heated cheek, peppering her jaw with tender kisses, praying it would work. After a few moments, Buffy stilled and released the death grip she had on the sheet when Spike had relinquished her hands.

‘Spike?’ she whispered to his mind.

‘S’alright love, I gottcha,’ he smiled softly.

Emptiness and utter despair reached up and engulfed Buffy like nothing she’d ever experienced. Again, she was wracked with uncontrollable silent sobs, as she buried her face in Spike’s chest. Spike was at a complete loss as to why she was so sad, but he held her anyway, like a precious bundle that needed coddling.

‘I feel so hollow inside,’ she murmured after what seemed like hours of crying her eyes out.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Spike brushed the back of his knuckles down her face. ‘Something’s eatin you alive, Slayer…inside. What is it?’

‘It’s like I lost or misplaced something important, and if I don’t find it, I’ll never be happy again,’ she admitted, laying her forehead against his chin. ‘I keep having this dream that I’ve…I…I don’t remember.’

Spike grimaced. ‘You keep having a dream, yeah? Same one?’

‘I think so…except I wake up before it finishes…I think,’ she whispered, not really knowing how the dream began or ended now, the memory of it fading completely, along with the sadness.

‘Think it’s a Slayer dream?’ Spike asked with great concern. Slayer dreams were usually prophetic, and with everything going on lately, it might Buffy’s Slayer senses trying to warn her of something that she may have overlooked.

‘I don’t know!’ she whimpered. ‘I wish I could remember!’

‘There’s…a way,’ Spike offered, very hesitantly.

Buffy frowned in confusion. ‘There is?’

Spike tried to remain silent but his thoughts leaked anyway. ‘She’ll think I’m like Dru. Not half as bleedin good as she was at it, but still…’

When it was apparent Spike wouldn’t be forthcoming with the information, and in fact, had to be prodded into saying how this could come about, she fake punched him in the arm. ‘C’mon, tell me!’

‘Thrall, ok? Thrall,’ he said somewhat miserably.

Now she could see his insecurities about being compared to Dru. ‘Have you ever…’

“NO!” he mouthed hastily, before she even finished her sentence.

Buffy gave him a funny little smile. ‘It’s ok, I believe you Spike.’

‘Just forget it, Buffy. Doubt it will even work,’ he grimaced and tried to pull away, but Buffy wouldn’t let him.

‘Please? Try. You say this thing is eating me up inside. If that’s the case, I need to get it out,’ she asked gently.

‘Problem is…what ever you see, I see too. And, you’ll remember – all of it. Think you can handle me seeing the multitude of skeletons in your closet, Slayer?’ he asked in a somewhat lighter tone.

‘Hey! I only have one skeleton in there…the rest are Chindys demons. They keep my clothes smelling fresh,’ she smiled.

Spike laughed silently, then sobered. He laid his palms on each side of her face, kissed her nose, and asked her to breath deeply. ‘You’ll feel like you’re falling, so don’t be afraid.’ Then he directed her to look deep into his cerulean depths.

Flashes of light blinded her, even though there was nothing physically going on in the room. She tried to blink, but her lids refused to shut, her eyes watering in pain. And she fell…long and silent, until she slammed into a counter in a room she didn’t recognize. At least she thought she didn’t recognize it…until…

“Where have you been?”

Angel grimaced. “I went to see the Oracles. I asked them to turn me back.”

Buffy stopped in her tracks towards him. “What? Why?”

“Because more then ever I know how much I love you,” Angel muttered as he gazed down at the floor, trying not to look at the pain etched on her face.

Buffy began backing away, shaking her head in denial “No. No, you didn't.”

“If I stayed mortal one of us would wind up dead, maybe both of us. You heard what Mohra said,” Angel admonished as he tried to make her see reason.

“Mohra is dead. We killed him!” Buffy challenged.

“He said others would come.”

“They always come. And they always will. But that's my problem now, not yours, remember?” she reminded him, trying to bargain in the process.

“No, I won't just stand by and let you fight, maybe die, alone,” Angel answered, his voice pitched higher in annoyance that she couldn’t see he was doing this for her sake.

“Then we fight together!” she pleaded.

“You saw what happened last night. If anything I'm a liability to you. You take chances to protect me, and that's not just bad for you, it's bad for the people we were meant to help,” Angel pointed out.

Buffy was grasping at straws at this point, praying he saw reason. “So what? You just took a whole 24 hours to weigh the ups and downs of being a regular Joe and decided it was more fun being a superhero?”

Angel growled. “You know that's not it! How can we be together if the cost is your life, or the lives of others? I couldn't tell you. I wasn't sure - if I could do it if I woke up with you one more morning.”

Buffy sniffled and murmured, not believing her own lie. “I understand. So, what happens now?”

Angel looked down again as he approached her and gathered her into his embrace. “The Oracles are giving us back the day, turning back time, so I can kill Mohra before his blood makes me mortal.”

“When?” Buffy asked, tears filling her eyes.

Angel looked over at the clock. “Another minute.”

Buffy scrambled and cried, “A minute? No! No, it's not enough time!”

“We don't have a choice. It's done,” Angel said regretfully.

Buffy shuddered in his arms, grasping his shirt in her tight fists. “How am I supposed to go on with my life knowing what we had? What we could have had?”

Angel looked her in the eyes. “You won't. No one will know but me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock. “Everything we did…”

“It never happened.”

Buffy shook her head. “It did. It did. I know it did!” She laid her hand on his chest, right above his heart. “I felt your heart beat,” she sobbed.

Angel gathered Buffy closer, their heads resting on each other’s shoulders. “Buffy…” Angel whispered.

Without thought, Buffy locked her lips on Angel’s in a desperate attempt to sear his memory in her brain. They broke apart when she needed air and she glanced over at the clock again.

“No! Oh God. It's not enough time!” she practically screamed.

“Shh, please. Please…” Angel whispered as tears silently rolled down his cheeks. He hugged her as tight as he could without hurting her, constantly whispering, “Please…please.”

Buffy started repeating her mantra, thumbing her proverbial nose at the Oracles. “No. I'll never forget. I'll never forget. I'll never forget. I'll never forget…”

A white flash filled the room, followed by a deep and threatening darkness. Buffy blinked her wet eyes in rapid succession and found that she was grasping Spike’s shirt, much the same way she had clung to Angel’s.

Now she knew what had been taken from her, and by Angel of all people. Oh sure, she could blame the Oracles very easily for taking away her choice and free will. But she knew, deep down in her bones, that Angel had betrayed everything that they once were. What caused her the greatest stress now, was the tortured look on Spike’s face.

‘Spike?’ Buffy tentatively touched his face, but he scrambled off the bed and huddled in the corner.

‘I HATE HIM!’ Spike roared in Buffy’s mind and she winced from the pain it caused.

Tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled. She kept her arms wrapped around her body, trying to quell the wracking sobs that assaulted her. She was about to tell Spike something, when she heard a thumping noise from downstairs.

Wiping her eyes to clear the tears, she slowly got off the bed and headed down the steps…Spike quietly following behind her. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they stopped and listened for the sound again, but Spike soon became very agitated. He lifted his nose in the air and hissed at the front door, his demon bursting forth.

‘Ponce is here,’ Spike growled at a shocked Buffy, who approached the door quietly.

Buffy put a shaking hand on the knob and opened the door to see a miffed Cordelia and a stunned Angel, standing in the pre-dawn morning. Cordy had her arms crossed, leaning up against the door frame, looking for all the world like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Angel kept glancing over his shoulder at the coming dawn and moved to enter the apartment, but was stopped with a hand from Buffy.

“Buffy, I need to get inside…hey…have you been crying?” Angel asked as he started to gather her in his arms, wanting to sooth her sadness.

What he got was a severe blow to his broody face that landed him unconscious in the fountain in front of Giles’ flat. His left leg dangled over the edge, and it was a good thing he didn’t need to breathe, as he was out for the count…under water.

Cordy looked at Buffy and then at her watch. “Wow. Five seconds. That’s a new record for you Buffy.”

Buffy gave her a heated glare and slammed the door in her face. Cordelia huffed and walked over to help Angel out of the fountain, mumbling to herself.

“Yep. Warm fuzzies abound.”

“What the hell was that for?” Angel groused as he spit out the last of the water that had lodged itself into his lungs.

“PMS?” Cordy offered as she pounded on Angel’s back.

Angel just sent her a ‘look.’ “It doesn’t make sense. She should be glad to see me. I know I’m glad to see her.”

Cordy rolled her eyes. “Look, while you reminisce about your puppy love, the sun is creeping over the horizon. I, for one, want at least some shut-eye before I do this shrieking thing. Doyle promised me a new Coach handbag if I behaved nicely. And trust me, we’ve been here all of five minutes and already it’s a chore.”

Angel stood up and shook his head. “It’s a sad day when you have to be paid to help someone out,” he coughed.

“Uh, hello? What do you think we do in L.A.? Get with the program. Now, I’m gonna sweet-talk Buffy into letting us in, PMS or not…cause really not wanting to carry you back to L.A. in an urn,” Cordy griped as she raised her hand to knock on the door once more. That is, until Angel stopped her.

“I smell…no…it can’t be! He wouldn’t dare!” Angel growled as he barreled open the front door to Giles’ flat and stood in shock, looking at the people invading the Watcher’s apartment.

Xander’s head popped up from one end of the couch and Anya from the other end. Willow and an unfamiliar girl sat curled up on the other sofa, staring at the entrance he’d just made. Buffy stood in front of them all, arms crossed, a horribly ugly look on her face – directed straight at Angel. And behind them, Spike. How he’d gotten invited into the flat he would never know. But the threat was clear…Spike needed to be removed.

Angel made to skirt around Buffy and reach Spike, but her hand shot out to grab his bicep. Even though she had no voice, Buffy made it very clear what was on her mind. ‘No,’ she mouthed.

Angel’s eyebrows dipped in a frown. “Buffy, you do remember the last confrontation we had with Spike, don’t you? What, did Dru finally come to whatever senses were left to her?” Angel taunted his last sentence towards Spike.

Buffy didn’t have to look at Spike to know that he flinched from the stinging comment. Her eyes narrowed on Angel, and once again he felt the blow before he saw it coming. This time, however, she only backhanded him, and he went sailing across the room.

“Jesus Buffy! We’re here to save your asses, minus of course Xander Harris, and all you can do is play patty-cake with Angel. Get over yourself!” Cordy shouted and hefted Angel to a wobbly, but standing position.

Xander happened to catch her eye and he began rubbing his forehead…with only his middle finger. If anyone had their voices back, one would have heard several snickers…including Spike’s.

At this point, Spike was heartily thinking of a quick retreat, to avoid becoming a punching bag for either Angel or Buffy. His head hurt this morning after that little exercise in thrall, and he’d seen enough to know that he was a fool of the utmost kind to ever think Buffy might look on him favorably. He reasoned to himself that Buffy had only hit Angel out of anger due to the choices he took from her, not in defense of Spike’s feelings or supposed lack there of.

He deliberately tried to shut down his mind, so his thoughts about how he wanted to take Angel back outside and leave him there, wouldn’t cross over to Buffy and cause her more pain. Apparently from the look on her face, he wasn’t succeeding too well.

‘Spike, don’t do anything stupid,’ Buffy pleaded while her back was to him. She was focusing all her energies on dealing with Cordy and Angel at the moment, and she didn’t want to have to pull Spike out of any entanglements he might get himself into.

“Where’s Giles? I don’t think for one second he would allow this cretin in his home,” Angel glared at Spike, who was still in the shadows of the room.

Highly irritated, Buffy grabbed Xander’s sign from around his neck and started writing. “Chained up in the bathroom,” the board said.

Both Cordy and Angel’s eyes widened. “Ok, who are you and what have you done with Buffy?” Angel said with menace as he advanced on her.

Without thought, Spike stepped in front of Buffy in a protective stance, slipping into game face…and he happened to be standing in a shaft of now bright sunlight. It stopped Angel in his tracks.

“Buffy? What the hell is going on here?!” Angel spat out as Spike just waggled his eyebrows and grinned at him.

Feeling a little cocky herself, Buffy rested her right arm on Spike’s shoulder, and waggled her eyebrows too. She gently tugged on Spike’s left arm, until he released it from where he had his arms crossed, and raised his hand to show Angel the ring that adorned it.

Angel didn’t need to step closer to know that the ring on Spike’s ring finger was the Gem of Amara. He growled low in his throat, and glowered at Spike in a threatening manner. “Release her this instant!”

Both blondes frowned in confusion. ‘Do you know what he’s on about, pet?’ Spike sent the thought to her.

‘Haven’t a clue, honestly,’ Buffy responded in kind. ‘I didn’t realize you were holding me against my will,’ she giggled to him.

Angel watched his Slayer and his menace of a granchilde have, what seemed like, a conversation…only it was one that he couldn’t hear. His suspicions were confirmed when both blondes broke out in huge smiles, nothing audible having prompted such an action.

Knowing he was right, Angel slowly approached the powerful couple, coaxing Buffy to come to him…and out of Spike’s clutches. “He has you in a thrall, Buffy. You don’t know what you’re doing or saying. If you take my hand, the thrall will be broken.”

Buffy snorted and tightened her grip on Spike, who was all but growling. ‘M’not using thrall on you Slayer…I promise. Only that one time, when you knew about it – warned you about it, I swear!’ Spike thought vehemently, pleading for her to believe him.

Buffy tugged on Spike’s arm again until he looked at her. She just smiled softly and nodded her head. ‘I know,’ she mouthed the words.

If Peaches hadn’t been in the room, Spike would have burst into tears. Finally, someone actually took him at his word…at least this once, when it mattered. His lower lip wobbling, Spike smiled and patted her hand. ‘Thanks for that, Slayer.’

“Can I just get on with the scream-fest so I can get back to L.A.?” Cordy interrupted irritably.

Xander snapped his fingers and grabbed Anya’s dry erase board. “PRINCESS!” he wrote in big capital letters and pointed at Cordy.

Everyone then looked at a very put-off Cordy. “What of it? I like my comforts, not like you ever did, you thrift store trawler,” she said as she crossed her arms defensively.

“Don’t we have bigger issues to deal with than to call each other names?” Angel protested. “Like how to break Spike’s thrall over Buffy?”

An insistent tapping brought Angel’s attention back to Xander. “Buffy’s not under thrall. Spike has been helping us fight this thing,” he had written on Anya’s board.

“You’re kidding, right? Spike a white-hat? I don’t think so. Someone’s paying him or he’s trying to get in good with you and undermine your group,” Angel scoffed. Spike never did anything if he didn’t benefit from it in some way.

Spike moved to attack Angel, but Buffy held him back. ‘Don’t. He’s baiting you. Don’t prove him right. We all know what you’ve done for us lately.’

“Why are you holding him back, Buffy? Afraid you can’t keep the dog on a leash?” Angel taunted.

And with that statement, Buffy let go of Spike. In no time flat, Spike was on top of Angel, pummeling his face into a bloody mess. ‘I’m nobody’s bloody lap dog!’ Spike roared in his mind, Buffy the only one hearing it.

Cordy finally tried to break up the fight, seeing as Buffy was enjoying it a little too much. She got a fat lip for her troubles, as Spike accidentally took a swipe at her face, thinking it was Angel. As soon as he hit her though, he was out for the count, clutching his head and rolling on the floor with silent screams.

Angel scrambled to a standing position, staring in astonishment, as Willow and Tara rushed over to help Spike. “What the fuck was that, Buffy?!” Angel shouted and then spit some blood from his split lip on the floor.

But Buffy wasn’t listening to Angel. She was helping Willow with an unconscious Spike, trying to at least wake him up. She was also contemplating what had just happened.

Spike’s chip hadn’t gone off while he was attacking Angel – but it did when he hit Cordelia. Human, Cordy was human…though that was stretching it a bit, she thought. And Angel was not. ‘Huh. Guess the Commandos forgot about that little loophole,’ Buffy mused as she pried open Spike’s upper eyelid with her thumb.

Knowing Angel would just insult and criticize Spike even more to provoke him into another attack, Buffy made a decision she hoped wouldn’t come back to bite her on the ass. Holding Spike’s head in her lap, she dug around in her back jeans pocket and fished out a set of keys. She grabbed Willow’s hand and placed them into her palm, closing it tight.

Willow looked down at the set of keys Buffy had given her, recognizing them as her old house keys. She looked at Buffy for confirmation of what she wanted her to do. Buffy nodded and looked at a prone Spike, her eyes pleading. Willow smiled gently and patted Buffy’s hand in affirmation. She and Willow would get Spike to Buffy’s house, safely away from Angel.

This would also allow Buffy to have a very strong heart to heart talk with Angel, after their voices were returned, of course. She watched as Willow and Tara hefted Spike’s arms around each of their shoulders, dragging him out the front door and into the sunlight.

“Where are they taking him?” Angel asked as he helped Cordy up from the floor. He brushed his thumb over her busted lip, feeling a tingle run straight to his groin. Not so good, he thought.

After a long period of silence, in which he forgot they couldn’t speak, Angel turned to look at a haggard Buffy. She just shook her head in the negative. She then took Anya’s board again and wrote, “We need to find the Gentlemen and get our voices back.”

“That’s why we’re here. Except we were attacked before we could even say anything!” he snarled.

“Fine. Say something then,” she wrote, underlining the last sentence.

“What the hell is going on, Buffy? I come here, expecting Giles to open the door and I get knocked on my ass! Instead, your Watcher is chained up in the bathroom for who knows what, and the Scoobies are paling around with Spike! I don’t get it,” Angel huffed in irritation.

Not bothering with any explanation, Buffy grabbed Angel by the cuff and pulled him along to the bathroom, shoving him inside. Giles was now awake from the commotion, but his eyes were yellow and he was pulling at his restraints, the shackles biting into his wrists. If he had a voice, growls would have echoed off the bathroom walls.

Angel moved to unlock the manacles, but was stopped by Buffy’s hand on his chest and a strong shake of her head in the negative. “He’s not himself,” she wrote on the board.

“Well I wouldn’t be either, if I was chained up like that,” Angel accused Buffy.

“You don’t understand…that is NOT Giles,” Buffy wrote on the board as she severely underlined the word NOT.

Angel inhaled deeply, frowning. “It’s Giles all right, but there is a stench about him that’s somewhat familiar…and dark, like magick.”

Of course! How could she be so stupid! Willow’s spell…the truth would be revealed with time. Buffy glanced down at Giles, who grinned maliciously and licked his lips suggestively. The only time she’d ever seen Giles near this bad was when… ‘Oh my god,’ she mouthed to Angel as she pulled him out of the bathroom.

Everything was falling into place. After Willow’s little truth will out spell, Giles had seemed a little funny. She noticed his growing aggravation with not getting enough information from Spike, and then Willow told her about how he had hurt her yesterday. Then, the outright attack on Willow last night that prompted the harsh treatment. Giles was reverting to his true self – The Ripper.

“He dabbled in really dark magicks as a young man, Buffy. That sort of thing stays with you, it doesn’t go away. I should know,” Angel admitted once they were out of hearing distance of the bathroom.

“Look, am I going to do this screamy-screechy-yelly thing today? Cause if not, I’m tired to the bone and would love some sleep…really,” Cordy yawned widely and sat on the chair near Giles’ desk.

“There’s a bed upstairs,” Buffy wrote and showed her. “Don’t know where the Gentlemen are right now, so it may be this evening before we find anything out.”

Without saying a word, Cordy carried herself upstairs to Giles’ bedroom and plopped down on the messy bed. She didn’t care who had slept here before; it was soft and comfy, and therefore sleep worthy. She was fast asleep within minutes.

“I should probably catch some sleep too,” Angel murmured as he walked to the bottom of the stairs, following the path Cordy had taken.

“I want to talk after I get my voice back,” Buffy wrote on the board.

Angel silently nodded and disappeared upstairs.

******************************************************************************************

Spike woke up as the two girls were dragging his legs over the Summers threshold. Momentarily confused, Spike struggled but soon stopped, once he figured out who was carrying him. Glinda and Red were good people, knowing these two wouldn’t purposely hurt him.

They gently laid him down on Buffy’s mom’s couch and sat across from him. “Buffy’s mom is out of town right now,” Willow wrote on her board. She happened to grab it as they were heading out the door.

‘Where’s Buffy?’ Spike mouthed, as he had no board and he was too tired to write anyways.

Tara and Willow exchange a look with each other. “Still with Angel. She wanted us to bring you here…away,” Willow wrote and looked at him with sad eyes.

Spike turned away at the pity in her eyes and bit his lip to keep it from quivering. He knew that all kinds of thoughts were going to come flying at his brain from Buffy…and he had a horrible inkling that they would all be about Peaches. And if he heard all that, he wouldn’t be able to hide his damning thoughts about the ponce. Buffy didn’t need that, and Spike didn’t want it. He turned his gaze back to Willow and tapped on the board, indicating he wanted to use it.

“Break the spell, Red,” Spike wrote, but hesitated to show her. If the spell broke, he couldn’t communicate with Buffy anymore. After long moments though, he showed his message to Willow.

Willow took the board from Spike. “But everyone is getting along! And Buffy isn’t being mean!” she wrote with a panicked look on her face.

Spike grimaced as he sat up. He patted Willow’s knee and smiled sadly. ‘It isn’t real,’ he mouthed.

“You won’t try to bite me, when I break it…will you?” Willow wrote with raised eyebrows.

Spike smiled widely and made grrr faces towards her. She laughed but then sobered. Normally she would just speak the words and the spell could be undone. But real witches just needed to concentrate, focusing on the intent of the spell.

Tara tugged on her arm and smiled. She pointed to herself, indicating she could help Willow boost her power. She agreed and wrote the words on the board that she would be concentrating on, and then they linked hands.

Both girls closed their eyes and breathed deeply. Restituo quis vicis infractus. The girls had pleaded for the Goddess Hecate to repair that which time had broken.

It was all very anti-climactic from Spike’s point of view. He felt no different than he had a moment ago. He tried out the telepathy to see if it really worked. ‘Buffy?’ No answer. He tried again, except he yelled to her mind. ‘BUFFY!’ Again, no answer.

Spike nodded mutely to the witches and got up to wonder into the kitchen, hoping to make himself a cup of hot chocolate. Anything to keep his mind off of had just happened. He shouldn’t have a gaping hole in the middle of his chest; he shouldn’t just want to lie down and give up – that wasn’t his style. Yet, he still felt these feelings and he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

Miles across town, Buffy was going crazy with worry, as she tried and tried to talk to Spike, but got no answer. Knowing she would continue this way until she knew Spike was completely safe, she barged out the door and headed to her mom’s house.

All the while leaving Anya and Xander with a very stunned Giles, who was struggling in the bathtub, banging his cuffs against the rim to get anyone’s attention.

Grausam had no clue what was happening to him.

One moment he and Zinken were searching for the perfect heart to add to their collection, and the next, he was waking up in a very sterile, blindingly white room. He tried to move his arms, but they were restrained in some way. He couldn’t tell because his head was strapped down to the table, and moving his head was out of the question.

Stupid mortals. Didn’t they know he couldn’t die? Not by human means at least. What did they think they would accomplish by keeping them here? Did they think to stop the culling of hearts just because they had captured two of Die Herren? Grausam laughed inside his head, his face giving away nothing but a perpetual evil grin.

Furcht, Geist, and Nacht would continue until all seven hearts were obtained, regardless if the group was complete. Then, they would slip out of the town as quietly as they had slipped in. It would continue in much the same fashion as it had for hundreds of years, each year a different place in the world. And although this was the first time any of them had been caught, Grausam doubted much would come of it.

But that was before Maggie Walsh entered the room.

Behind her, Riley dragged the Vocoder machine, so that Walsh could voice her questions to the creature. She checked the straps that held the being immobile on the table, tightening a few, and then sat at the machine to start typing.

“What are you?” the machine quizzed.

Grausam tried to turn his head to look at the woman, but it was no use. What could he tell her, if he could speak? Grausam, like the rest of his group, had no vocal cords. If Riley or Walsh had bothered to look, they would have known that questioning the Gentlemen was quite useless.

Most humans thought that their little group were monsters or demons, but what they really were, no one knew…not even Die Herren themselves. They just existed, obtaining hearts once a year to sustain themselves, and otherwise, stayed out of sight. Their straightjacket lackeys were the muscle behind the group, holding their victims down so they could carve out the precious hearts. Without them, though, Die Herren succumbed to anything except death.

Walsh raised an expectant eyebrow and waited for the ghoul to answer. When none was forthcoming, she nodded to Riley, who was standing beside the table Grausam was on. He pulled out a stun gun, held the device in front of Grausam’s eyes and depressed the trigger, showing him what would happen to him if he didn’t answer.

The small arc of electricity made Grausam’s eyes widen a bit. They had all been caught in rainstorms before, Nacht even being struck by lightening. It had taken him months to recover; the stench of his rotten skin mending itself was not at all pleasant. This minuscule bit of static could do minor damage, he surmised, but nothing that could come close to what happened with Nacht.

But then, he’d never met Riley Finn.

Again, Walsh typed the question, “What are you?”

The constant grin left Grausam’s face as Riley stared down at him. There was a seething hatred festering there and an emptiness that was consuming the human. His heart would be too rotten to take, and he guessed the man had little more than a few years left to his life if he kept going down the path he had chosen.

Not getting an answer, Riley lined up the electrode probes on the creature’s body where the shoulder and the neck met. He then pulled the trigger and 50,000 volts shot through Grausam’s body, causing him to jerk and twist. This wasn’t the regular taser that the grunts used; this taser had a peak open circuit arcing voltage of at least 400,000 volts. And Riley was dry tasing, a pain compliance technique that had long been outlawed by the government…but still used anyways.

Feeling rather malevolent, Riley turned the voltage up to 120,000 volts, and spittle started flying from Grausam’s mouth as he silently screamed in agony. Just as the demon’s eyes were about to bulge from his sockets, Riley turned off the device and backed away from the smoking body.

“Now. Tell us what you are,” Maggie typed after she waved the smoke away from her nose.

Riley leaned over to gauge the ability of the being to talk and shook his head in the negative to Walsh. Grausam had completely passed out. Riley then snapped his fingers indicating Maggie needed to observe something. She came over and Riley pulled apart the creature’s lips. The narrow metal teeth had fused together from the electrical current that had slammed through his body.

Walsh went back to her computer and frowned at Riley. “Don’t use so much voltage next time. I want them to be able to talk. He’s useless now. Bring in the other one and put this one in the lab for further study.”

Riley grimaced as he unbuckled the demon and hefted it over his right shoulder. He had a feeling that the other one would be just as silent.

*******************************************************************************************

“Why don’t you take a bath? It might help with the headache,” Willow wrote on her board as she sat at the kitchen table with Spike.

Spike indicated that he wanted to use the board and he began writing on it once he received it from Willow. “Do you feel any different, Red?”

They began passing the board back and forth. “I feel…lonely again,” she wrote with a sad smile.

Spike took the chance and patted her hand. “Not alone…Glinda is good people. Would make a good Scooby!” he wrote with a large smile.

Willow peered around the corner and into the living room at a dozing Tara. Yeah, she was awesome to the Nth degree and she would definitely try and get the gang to accept her. “She IS pretty nifty, isn’t she?”

Spike nodded his head in agreement. “My headaches are getting worse, luv,” Spike wrote and pinched the bridge of his nose. They used to be far between, but now they were a dull constant, with episodes of sharp biting pain pressing against his eyes.

“I can’t fix this, Spike. I wish I could. We need to find those Commandos and figure out how to get this junk out of your head,” she wrote and hesitantly reached out to touch his face and look into his eyes.

They were becoming sunken in again, but now an angry red was creeping across the whites of his eyes, making it look like he was crying tears of blood. Willow pointed to his eyes and raised her eyebrows in question.

“My vision is becoming hazy,” he admitted after a very long moment. Even with the Gem, his eyesight was taking a beating, literally, from all the shocks to his brain. He was surprised that he had any functions left at all.

“Have you slept much?” Willow wrote as she observed the far away look Spike had on his face.

“Some.” He thought about what he was going to write next, but shrugged and wrote it anyway. “When Buffy is there, it’s easier to find rest.”

Willow nodded silently. A niggling of despair crept up her spine at how she would sleep so peacefully next to Oz, compared to the lost feeling she had when she started waking up…without him. No. She mustn’t succumb to the forlorn aching that threatened to overwhelm her if she let it.

“Do you miss being evil?” Willow wrote with a smirk.

An indignant look conquered Spike’s face. “I’m STILL evil!” he wrote and underlined the whole phrase several times.

Willow just shook her head and chuckled silently. “Tara and I are going to head back to the dorm soon. Will you be ok?”

A brief sense of panic drifted through Spike, but he shoved it away with a vengeance. “M’fine, pet…you two keep safe though, yeah?”

“Do you want us to stay for a while? Until someone comes?”

Spike looked away. If he knew Angel and Buffy – and boy, did he ever – they were probably still squaring off with one another. And he wanted no party to it, either in her mind, or witnessing it first hand. He absentmindedly rubbed his chest area, wondering when the constant ache that had set up shop there, would go away.

“No, you two go…” he wrote and stood up.

“I still say you should take a really hot bubble bath…it will help ease the tension,” Willow wrote and finally placed the placard around her neck, following Spike into the living room.

He reconsidered her idea, and to be honest, it sounded heavenly. He nodded in agreement, and shooed Willow and a still sleepy Tara out the door, watching them meander back towards the UC Sunnydale campus. He stood for a few moments, soaking up the sunshine, laying his aching head against the warm wood that framed the door.

He closed his eyes and his thoughts began to drift to Buffy. Her golden hair…her stupid shampoo commercial hair. Her lovely jade-green eyes that trusted him fully, even if it was just that one time. The way she let him tickle her in the dark of night. He never realized that tears had started creeping down his face until one hit his upper lip and he opened his watery eyes.

‘Fuck!’ he shouted silently to the world. He slammed the door and stomped up the stairs to the bathroom, shucking his clothes along the way.

By the time he reached the room, he was completely naked and relishing the idea of soaking his weary body in a tub full of hot suds. He looked around the edge of the tub to see if any bottles indicated that they could be used as bubble bath. Spying none, he started looking at the bottles that were there, hoping he could find somewhat of a neutral scent.

A familiar scent caught his attention and he grabbed the bottle. Honey and lavender. Perfect. That would just be asking for heartache. Nothing like drowning in the object of one’s affection’s scent to make you completely miserable. He opened the cap and was bombarded with the smell of Buffy. Yeah, he was up for a little torture.

Spike turned the spigot to the hottest setting he could handle. He may be the undead and cold, but he didn’t want to boil either. Steam started wafting upwards and he inhaled deeply. Flipping the cap lid, he poured a generous amount of the liquid soap in the stream of the running water and watched as the foamy bubbles started generating.

Once the tub was filled to his liking, he turned off the water and eased down into the basin, sighing with ecstasy as the heat wrapped itself around him. He had to give Red credit; she knew what she was talking about when she suggested he do this. He’d have to listen to her more often. But his last conscious thought was not of Willow. It was of Buffy, as he closed his eyes, and began dreaming of a golden Slayer…that cared for him.

*********************************************************************************************

Buffy ran.

She passed people in quick succession she knew she should stop and help, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. The streets were flooded with confused people, more so than even yesterday. In passing, she noticed a few paper headlines that screamed for her attention: “Brutal Slaying” and “Fifteen Year Old Stabbed – Heart Missing!” finally compelled her to stop and look at the paper.

Panting and gasping for breath, she read the headlines as quickly as she could. “Jeffrey Grooms 15, of Mascoutah, IL was found dead in his UC Sunnydale dorm room 118. He suffered massive blood loss stemming from an opening in his chest cavity. The perpetrator then removed his heart, to what purpose is unknown. No evidence of the organ remains.”

Buffy sent a grateful thanks to the newspaper editor that there were no pictures to show the public this gruesome scene. It should have saddened her about the loss of Jeffrey’s life, but she had never met the boy…and now she was glad of it. She tossed the paper back on the pile she had snatched it from and continued on to her mother’s house.

It was near noon when Buffy finally walked in the back door of her house, having stopped several times on her way over to help with crowd control or some other pressing issue. She tried the telepathy route again, but got no answer, making her frustrated beyond belief.

She crept through the house, noticing the empty cocoa mugs in the kitchen indicating that at least Spike had made it to the house. She then made her way to the bottom of the stairs and noticed something odd…Spike’s duster. Glancing up the steps, she noticed other articles of clothing and grinned lopsidedly. Yeah, he was here all right…probably naked as a jay-bird…

Buffy’s brain went into overdrive at that thought. Naked Spike…in her house…upstairs…no one else in the house, at least not that she could tell anyways. She unconsciously licked her lips and tiptoed as quietly as she could up the carpeted steps.

Reaching the top step, the wood creaked underneath her weight, and she cursed. But she heard nothing that her presence showed up on Spike’s vamp radar. Stilling for a moment, she then followed the trail of clothes again, as it ended right at the bathroom door. It was cracked and she could smell her body soap and feel the steam drifting lazily out into the hallway.
Buffy risked a peek around the door and nearly dropped to her knees with compassion. Poor Spike looked so uncomfortable in the position he had propped himself up in. Tons of bubbles floated around his body, hiding almost everything, except his shoulders and head, from view. Instead of choosing the little tub pillow to rest his head on, he had laid it up against the cool tile, apparently dozing off.

Buffy entered the room silently and shut the door behind her. God he looked so beautiful and pitiful at the same time, her heart lurching violently in her chest. She laid down the clothes she had collected and removed her own light jacket, finally sitting beside the tub rim.

Afraid she would startle him, Buffy dipped her fingers in the still warm water and began making splashy noises, so that he would wake up. When this got no response, she sighed and began lightly touching his now warm skin. That got a reaction.

What Buffy saw was Spike shift slightly beneath the fizzing bubbles. What she felt was his hand clamp down on her wrist to stop her exploration. He slowly turned his face around to hers and he stared at her with fathomless eyes. Knowing he had nothing to lose, he guided her still submerged hand to his now engorged cock, wrapping her fingers around it. He then released her and waited for her reaction.

Buffy’s eyes grew soft and finally closed as she tightened her grip on his hard length. He wanted her…and she wanted him, had wanted him for a while now. Was it wrong to get involved with a vampire again? Probably. Did she care? A little, but not enough to throw away the feelings Spike was creating in her. She thought back to the memory Angel had stolen from her and her resolved strengthened. She knew Spike would never do that to her.

And it made all the difference.

Buffy released his cock, and she knew if he had a voice, he would be whimpering in protest. His gaze never left hers as she stood, watching her unbutton her shirt slowly. She didn’t look away or look scared. In fact, she smiled in a slow and sexy way, hoping it looked like a blatant invitation.

Spike’s body tightened in anticipation at what Buffy’s body was suggesting. Never in his wildest dreams could he imagine this scenario with the Slayer. He pushed away some of the bubbles that had drifted towards his chest and dipped his hand below the surface, stroking his eager cock in full view of Buffy’s eyes.

Which were widened in surprise at how large he was. She licked her lips and wondered if he would actually fit. But then, she thought, water always made things look distorted…yes, that’s what it must be.

She shrugged her nervousness away as her shirt floated to the floor. She then unbuttoned her jeans, turning around to slowly push them down her hips, giving Spike a tantalizing view of her thong covered ass.

Spike’s body hardened with want, his eyes molten with heat as his gaze devoured her, anticipation curling throughout his entire being. He shifted himself to his knees in the tub and his hips broke the surface, showing Buffy that her water distortion theory was way off the mark. He was just as large, if not more so, than he looked under water. Spike raised his eyebrows in an expression that totally screamed ‘See? I got it baby!’

Buffy rolled her eyes. Men…they were all the same, no matter the species. She had shed all her clothes except her thong and bra as she stepped closer to the tub, baiting Spike with the scent of her arousal. He let go of his shaft long enough to reach out and caress her hip, twisting his fingers in the strap of her thong…then he ripped it away.

He followed suit with her bra, which earned him a glare and a silent promise to buy her another set of the foolish material. Like he would ever let her wear anything that kept him from her heat…like he could ever let her go. Sensing morose thoughts intruding, he pulled Buffy to him urgently and buried his face in the indentation of her hipbone, softly nipping the sweet skin there.

Buffy closed her eyes and let her head fall back from the exquisite emotions that were surging through her. She threaded her fingers through his damp curls and she swore she could have heard him…purr? She didn’t have a chance to test it again, as he pulled her into the bathtub with him, standing as he did so. The water sluiced down his magnificent abs, his jutting masculinity bobbing and waiting for her attention.

They were now skin to skin and she never felt more alive in her life. Ironic that it would be the undead that could give her this sensation, but not so much when she considered who the undead was. She remembered something that Angel had said once and she now took it to heart. Angel had said that the Judge never touched Spike because he reeked of humanity.

So that’s where it came from… the light in his eyes, the determination to be a part of life, whether it wants him or not. His humanity. Thinking back, she had to agree. Spike had never truly lost his humanity…and it made him beautiful.

Spike stood and waited for Buffy to make the first move, because this first time would be all her doing…and the next time would be all his…and the next after that. He was shocked, however, when Buffy lightly touched his thighs, caressing and urging him closer.

Buffy felt the tremor that ran through Spike and she smiled seductively. Kneeling down, she moved her fingertips languidly over his sculpted thighs, her breath warm and tempting along his heavy shaft. Looking up at his face to make sure he was watching her, she stuck out her tongue and slowly caressed his velvet tip, dipping into the weeping slit.

If Spike could talk, he would be yelling, “BLOODY HELL!” His stomach muscles clenched as her mouth closed around him, tight and moist. Needing to do something with his hands, he caught her hair within his fists and dragged her even closer to him. He reveled in the feel of her fingers digging into his ass as she tried to draw him in deeper. Her pert breasts bouncing against his thighs heightened the pleasure she was already giving him.

He knew it was time to stop her ministrations when she began swallowing around his hot staff, causing him to grit his teeth in order to not spill himself like a teenager. He pulled her head back and stared down at her, shaking his head in the negative, which caused her to pout. Oh god, that lip…that lip she had shown him the night she had launched herself into his arms, drunk as a skunk. He pressed a shushing finger to her lips and pulled her to a standing position, both of them panting with desire.

Even though they couldn’t speak, they could breathe…which meant they could at least whisper, now that the telepathy was no longer available to them. Spike caressed her bright red cheeks and tenderly placed a kiss on her plump lips. Breaking away so she could catch her breath, Spike grasped her face between his hands and looked deep into her eyes.

This was too important to Spike, a man that had stayed with an insane vampire for over a century because he loved her. He didn’t want a pity fuck, or a mindless shag-a-thon session…he wanted Buffy. He wanted her heart. Looking in her mossy green eyes, he pleaded. “Care for me,” he whispered slowly.

Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip quivered as she nuzzled into his palm. She didn’t need to say any words as she nodded her head vigorously, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Spike closed his eyes in relief as he pressed kisses on her damp face.

He startled when he felt Buffy’s fingers wrap around his cock once more. Turning his face to her, he saw the challenge in her eyes and smiled with his tongue behind his front teeth, eyebrows waggling. It made Buffy melt and she nearly went limp in his arms…the perfect opportunity for Spike to explore her creamy lushness.

His mouth traveled down her throat, suckling the mark he had made days ago. It tingled and Buffy’s body went rigid with passion, clenching her hands in his hair. Then his mouth was on her breast, his tongue circling one puckered nipple, and she was lost.

She felt so small under his large palms, her skin warm and slick with perspiration from the moisture in the room and her own sweat. He explored her everywhere, his fingers finally finding her wet, hot center. He pushed one inside her cunny, watching her eyes as her body responded with a fresh wave of liquid desire. He then added a second finger as he scraped her breast with his teeth, never puncturing the soft flesh. Spike could feel her muscles start to clench around him, velvet and hot. At this point, Spike really cursed the fucking Gentlemen and their mute spell, because he would have really have liked to hear Buffy scream his name in release. But he would have to be content with watching her face, watching it contort in sweet agony with La Petite Mort.

Though she couldn’t voice her scream, to Buffy, it was just as powerful. She clutched Spike’s shoulder as she spun out of control, a terrible and fabulous ride that went on for what seemed like forever. She panted in exhaustion and laid her head on Spike’s sturdy shoulder.

“Thank you,” he heard her whisper and he smiled like any self-assured man would.

Spike finally lifted his head and pulled her body closer, wrapping his hands around her hips, and lifted her. She squirmed somewhat when her back hit the cool tile wall, but soon relaxed when he guided her legs around his slim waist. “Want you, Buffy,” he whispered urgently in the crux of her neck.

She nuzzled his cheek and panted, getting very close to his ear. “Care for me,” she repeated his words, heartfelt with deep emotions.

Spike stared at this wonderful woman. His woman. “Always,” he mouthed silently. He then pressed against her, hard and thick, seeking entrance to her paradise. He pushed aggressively, causing her body to slowly open to him, and then he sheathed himself fully in her burning heat.

The feeling was marvelous as hot velvet clutched at him, tightening around his thick cock, the friction almost unbearable. He needed to go slow this once, to stave off any ‘untimely’ release. It was easier said than done. Since they didn’t have any voices, Spike whispered in her ear, as he buried himself slowly and deeply within her moist depths. “Look at me.”

She then opened her eyes and gazed longingly into his beautiful blue intensity. Each thrust caused them both to widen their eyes in ultimate comprehension. This went beyond caring…this went beyond even liking one another or trust. This bordered on the emotion that refused to be named, by either party. As Spike’s thrusts increased, so too, did the passion that would bind them together.

He felt her body tighten in anticipation as he began to nip at the mark on her neck. Along with her rising desire, Spike began to vamp in and out as he tried to bring the beast under control.

“Please,” Buffy whispered as her nails dug into his shoulders.

Watching her carefully, he vamped out fully, licking his fangs seductively. She smiled back, and he kissed her savagely as he leaned her up against the tile wall for better leverage, his hips pistoning at a frenzied pace. Sensing her imminent release, Spike buried his fangs in her throat, renewing the mark he had created. Two long, deep pulls and Buffy crashed over the edge, dragging him with her.

They both silently screamed…in completion, and frustration at not being able to hear one another. Both of them shuddered, replete with sense of peace neither had known before. They finally looked at each other, both snickering from the tears that had emerged from the passionate encounter. Spike then wiped away the last of Buffy’s tears and kissed her softly.

“Again?” he whispered as he nipped her jaw line, Buffy shaking with silent giggles.

Buffy wrapped her limp arms around Spike’s shoulder and sighed dreamily. “Oh yeah, baby!”

By the time they had emerged from the bathroom, both blondes were pruned to the extreme.

‘Can you hear me?’ Buffy sent to Spike via telepathy as she watched him shut off the shower tap. Waiting for his response, she pulled her fluffy towel tighter across her chest.

Noticing no reaction, she looked sadly at him once he turned around and stepped out of the tub. The air was so heavy with steam from their marathon shower sex that she could barely see him. It fogged every reflective surface and left a thin film of moisture on everything in the bathroom.

Spike caught her forlorn look and mistakenly assumed she was regretting what they had just shared, looking away from where she stood at the sink counter. Instead, he concentrated his attention on the towel he snagged off the rack, wrapping it around the lower half of his body, clenching his jaw to keep his emotions at bay. He was so busy with tucking the corner of the towel into the gap at his waist that he never realized Buffy was near him, until she gently laid her fingers on his fidgety hands.

Spike stilled at once, but didn’t look at her until she touched his cheek with her hand, and forced his face to tilt up and look at her. Even then, he kept his eyes closed, willing the rejection away, the disgust, the pain, the…look of adoration? Spike had risked opening his eyes to see the truth and was taken aback at what he beheld. He cocked his head to the side and studied the soft gaze she had directed at him.

She looked happy, dare he say, even content? Spike swallowed, and Buffy watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. Stupid vampire, doesn’t need to breathe, why does he keep doing that? To prove that he’s more human than most humans came the unbidden thought and she wondered if he could read her mind once more. Seeing nothing to indicate that this was the case, she sighed heavily and pulled Spike towards the mirror, turning him to face it as he stood next to her.

“Why can’t I read your mind?” Buffy wrote on the steamy mirror with her finger. Even though it was a large mirror, she wrote as small as she could, so that they could have enough space to write their messages.

“Had Red remove spell,” Spike wrote, which was kinda eerie, as he had no reflection and the words just seemed to appear like ghostly handwriting.

Buffy’s jaw hung open. “But why?”

“Didn’t fancy hearing about you and Peaches. Didn’t want my thoughts to spill over about him,” Spike wrote and stepped away from the mirror. He certainly didn’t want to hear about Mr. Broody the Great now that he’d had a taste of Buffy…it would make Spike as miserable as the bastard himself, and he might take up brooding just to avoid the whole mess.

Buffy tugged him back to the sink and held him in place with one hand and wrote with the other. “I wasn’t even thinking about him! I was worried about you!”

Spike looked away once more and clenched his jaw. He didn’t know if he should be touched that she was trying to make him feel better, or angry that she pitied him. He settled on neither, since his head was setting up with another resounding ache that started in his frontal lobe behind his eyes.

Buffy watched as Spike’s pallor grew even more pale than usual, a heavy worry settling deep in her soul that he was on the verge of dustiness because of the damned chip. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the worst of the intense pain, but it only mildly helped. Buffy grasped his hand and squeezed, causing him to open his eyes and look at her in the mirror.

She smiled tremulously. “We’ll get those bastards, get them to fix you!” she wrote with a determined set to her lips.

Spike smiled weakly and slightly nodded, never dwelling too much on the what ifs of the whole situation. But at this point, he would prefer a quick end as opposed to all the pain echoing in his head. It was worse than listening to Dru natter on for countless hours about her damned pixies.

He didn’t really have time to think about much, because Buffy suddenly gasped and bounced up and down, making his head hurt even more to follow her movements. She let him sit on the closed toilet lid and she began writing furiously.

“The spell! God! Giles! I’ve left him chained up in the bathtub all this time!” she panicked.

A wide grin spread across Spike’s face, despite the throbbing ache in his temples. He got up and wrote, “Wanker deserves it, after what he did to me.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes. “We need to get back to the apartment! Cordy’s gonna scream and kill all the Gentlemen!”

Spike looked askance at her. “But you’re the Princess…princess,” he wrote and tapped Buffy on her pert little nose.

Buffy snorted. “Cordy is much more of a Princess than I am. I’m just plain, old me.”

Spike’s eyes grew soft as he wrote, “I happen to like plain, old you.” He then dropped a kiss on her brow and nuzzled her cheek, smiling when he heard her dreamy sigh.

Buffy then gently wrapped her arms around his neck, placing a chaste kiss on his lips and stroking the hair at the nape of Spike’s neck in a soothing manner. “I’m glad,” she whispered in his ear, giggling when he pulled her closer to his body and tightening the embrace they shared.

Spike laid his cheek on Buffy’s head and stared out the window at the coming night, praying it wouldn’t be the last time he was allowed to touch her like this, as he ran his fingers through her long locks.

“So am I,” he whispered…and he meant it.

*****************************************************************************************

In the words of Buffy Summers, Giles was not a happy camper.

His repeated attempts to gain someone’s attention only resulted in Xander occasionally poking his head in through the cracked door, frowning and shaking his head, then disappearing again – which infuriated the usually patient ex-librarian. Then, there was also the fact that he seemed to have lost large spans of time in the past few days, failing to recall how he’d even ended up in his bathtub, chained to the pipes. Plus, the fact that Xander kept looking at him like he was the very Devil himself was enough to send Giles over the edge. Almost.

But, then his bladder reminded him that he needed to relieve himself, and Giles ground his teeth in frustration. He began banging his manacled wrists against the tub rim again; louder than before, wishing he could scream to the heavens that he didn’t really want to piss himself. When the door creaked opened this time though, Giles was prepared to bang incessantly until he was released. That was before he glimpsed Buffy’s apologetic face.

Buffy grimaced a smile with a little wave of her hand in a lame attempt at ‘hello.’ Giles just stared at her, finally lifting his wrists to her with raised eyebrows in a silent question of ‘Did you do this to me?’ He knew the answer when she looked away in shame.

Giles bladder had other ideas than to play ‘20 Questions’ all evening with his Slayer. He started banging on the tub rim again and indicating that he wanted to be free so that he could make use of the facilities…at least that’s what he hoped he was conveying to Buffy. He wasn’t so sure by the look on her face, which went from confused to horrified when he started pointing to his crotch and then to the toilet. Both the Watcher and the Slayer turned deep shades of red.

Giles’ mortification grew as Spike poked his head around the door and gaped at the man in the tub. He came into the small room and shut the door, crossing his arms in front of his chest, wearing the smuggest look that ever graced anyone’s face. Giles clenched his jaw in anger and once again, pointed to his crotch and then to the porcelain bowl, hoping the bleached menace would understand his gestures whereas Buffy did not.

Spike’s eyes widened and he coughed into his fist, tugging Buffy along with him towards the door. Spike then, to Giles’ horror, nuzzled her ear and she grew even redder, retreating quickly from the room. Giles watched Spike stare at the door for some moments before he turned and knelt down beside the tub, taking one of Giles’ wrists in his cool grasp. He then proceeded to unlock all of Giles manacles and help him out of the tub, steadying him once he regained his footing.

Spike discreetly turned his head as Giles relieved himself, and he swore he could have heard a groan and heavy sigh from the Watcher’s direction. He heard the toilet flush and he turned back towards the Watcher, waiting to see what he had to say about the current situation. Spike watched as Giles washed his hands and set about finding his glasses.

Giles patted his pockets to find his glasses and panicked when he found no evidence of them. Spike surprised him once again, as he handed Giles his spectacles – already polished. He took them hesitantly and put them on, shoving his hands in his pants pockets once they were secure. Spike just sat on the edge of the tub, arms still crossed, but now holding onto his biceps in a more self-protective gesture.

Giles studied the much-changed vampire, and wondered not for the first time, if it was actually the chip that had caused the immense transformation. The once exuberant, ostentatious vamp was now quite withdrawn, with a decidedly pinched look about him. His eyes seemed sunken in a little more than the last time he remembered, but there was also a gleam about Spike’s gaze when he looked on Buffy. He remembered the earlier nuzzle and hoped that was not indicative of the relationship of the two blondes.

Forgetting that for the past two days that no one could utter a word, Giles started pacing and talking, and the only words that Spike could comprehend from Giles’ lip movement was, “Look, Spike.” The rest was lost to silence. Spike tried to stop the grin that spread across his face, but it was useless.

Giles furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment, but then he realized what he’d just been doing. He mopped his hand over his face and blew out a heavy sigh, as a slight chuckle took hold of him the longer he thought on the whole situation. In fact, when Buffy stuck her head back inside the bathroom, she did a double take to confirm that what she was seeing was actually happening.

Spike and Giles were both doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their cheeks. Feeling like she was intruding on one of those silly male-bonding moments, she quietly closed the door and returned to the living room where Anya was trying to teach Xander sign language. Apparently Xander was not a quick learner.

Buffy rested against the archway in the hall and watched as Anya tried to teach Xander, what she assumed was the word for sex or orgasm. At least, it looked that way to Buffy. But when Anya held up a book that she had purloined from God knows where to show him what he was really signing, she pointed to the picture of a screwdriver instead of the suggestive term for sex. Poor Xander, Buffy sniggered to herself. At least he was in the same ballpark.

The silence in the room was shattered when an ear-piercing scream ushered from upstairs, startling everyone because they were so used to the stillness for the past few days. The screaming continued, with a few expletives thrown in for good measure, as Buffy raced up the steps, shoving open the bedroom door.

There stood Cordelia, screaming so loud that it was possible her lungs were about to collapse, as yellow goo was splattered all over the windows. Angel held his hands to his ears, wincing in pain from the high decibels that Cordy was reaching. Highly annoyed with her shrieks, Buffy finally grabbed hold of Cordy’s arm and spun her around. Buffy had hoped that this would cause her to stop, but she just kept going. Buffy rationalized in her mind that what she was about to do next was for the sake of everyone’s sanity. But when it came right down to it, she only wanted one good reason to slap Cordelia Chase.

SLAP

Cordy stared in horror, her jaw hanging open, as she rubbed her cheek. “You hit me!” she accused vehemently. After a long pause though, she calmed herself. “Thanks. I needed that.”

Buffy nodded and then pointed to the yellow goo that slowly slid down the windowpane, her eyebrows raised in question. “Huh?” Cordy said.

“She wants to know why there is yellow…yellow…uh, goop all over the window,” Angel interpreted for Buffy. “And why were you screaming in the first place? If I wasn’t already dead, I would be, due to your shocking the living Hell out of me!”

“Hmm, living Hell, how ironic,” Cordy muttered out of the side of her mouth as she rolled her eyes. Cordy slowly approached the window and looked quickly from side to side, searching for something.

“Did you see something?” Angel asked as he got up and joined Cordy at the window.

“Some skeletal, Houdini mind-freak reject is my guess. And let me tell you, those suckers can levitate! We’re on the second floor right?” Cordy looked at Buffy for confirmation and she nodded. “Well that bat-faced, metal-muncher stared right in the window just as I was waking up from a great dream. I was given an unlimited amount of money on Angel’s American Express card and he told me to go shopping on Rodeo Drive, to get myself something to make up for all the times he’s dragged me God knows where, and…”

“Breathe, Cordelia,” Angel growled at the chatterbox that was Cordy.

Buffy mouthed the words ‘Thank you!’ to Angel and joined them at the window. Cordy continued to talk, but Buffy tuned her out, opening the window to get a better look at what caused the slimy mess. Seeing nothing to the sides, she glanced down and was really glad she couldn’t voice her opinion of the remains below.

Yellow gunk slowly made its way down the side of the apartment complex outer wall, ending at what was left of a thin body, minus a head. There were also two straightjacketed lackeys hanging around the body, sniffing it and trying to move it with their feet. It must have been one of the Gentlemen that Cordy had killed with her shrieks.

As if hearing a call from another Gentleman, the lackeys turned in unison and shuffled off in the direction of the town square. Seeing her opportunity to follow them, Buffy pulled her torso back in through the window, hitting the back of her head on the way in. Cordy and Angel both winced in sympathy at how hard the knock was to Buffy’s skull.

Buffy screamed, but no sound issued forth, so she stomped her foot instead. Cordy eventually let slip a giggle and it earned her a nasty glare from the Slayer. “Sorry,” Cordy muttered.

Rubbing the back of her head, Buffy pointed out the window and then used two fingers in a walking motion, hopefully indicating that she wanted the Scoobies to follow them.

“You want to call someone?” Cordy said in confusion, taking Buffy’s gesture as if she meant to let her fingers do the walking.

Buffy really wanted to scream, but settled for the Are you stupid? look. She really hoped Angel got it, because as of this moment, her patience was nil and Cordy was deep in debt. Buffy then looked at Angel, waiting for him to interpret what she was saying, but he was rigid with anger, nostrils flaring.

“Spike’s at the door, listening,” Angel growled. He then spun around and headed for the door, pulling it open rapid enough that Spike fell into the room…on Angel. Angel vamped out so fast that he had Spike by the neck and suspended in midair before Buffy could do anything to prevent it.

“Oh great, round two,” Cordy groused and sat on a chair in the corner – well out of range of any oncoming body parts that might deck her in the nose.

Buffy latched onto the arm Angel was using to gradually squeeze the unlife out of Spike, forcing it down until Spike’s feet could find purchase. Getting nowhere, she snapped her fingers to get Angel’s attention, but his hot gaze was riveted on Spike’s face.

“I can smell her scent all over you!” Angel roared, backhanding Spike across the room to land near Cordy’s feet.

Spike landed against the dresser and crumpled to the floor, his head exploding with pain as he screamed in silent agony. He wondered if this was the end of his pitiful existence, and how ironic it was that Buffy’s ex-lover would be the one to do him in, never mind the fact that he hated Angel with the fury of a thousand hot suns. But the end never came, and the pain resounding through Spike’s skull didn’t abate.

Buffy had grabbed Angel in the same manner as he had done to Spike, and held him pinned up against the bedroom wall, stake aimed at his heart. His astonished look meant nothing to her, and any love she’d had for this creature evaporated when she finally let him speak.

“Buffy,” Angel rasped. “I can’t believe you slept with that degenerate!”

Buffy closed her eyes in utter misery, tears silently making their way down her face, digging the stake a little further into Angel’s skin. To think that she had loved this man – no, not a man, not even a monster. This is what a demon was, as she thought back to what Spike had said to her about demons and monsters. Spike may be a monster, no amount of denial could erase that fact, but he wasn’t a demon – not like Angel. Hell had even spat him back out, the thought causing Buffy to snort mirthlessly. He probably had tried to take over, and Old King Louie just didn’t seem the type to share. It didn’t matter if Angel had a soul or not, as he was still a self-righteous, egotistical bastard that left when the going got tough.

Buffy then opened her eyes and stared with glorious loathing at the being that had once been her world. She leaned very close to his right ear and whispered, “You used me.”

A heavy frown creased Angel’s overbearing forehead. “I never used you Buffy,” he protested hesitantly. The point of the stake was making him twitchy, as it finally drew a thin trickle of blood, but he never once believed that Buffy would actually stake him.

“I remember,” Buffy breathed against his ear lobe, causing him to shudder – with repressed longing or fear, she didn’t know…and didn’t care.

Angel’s blank stare, and then final comprehension, made something inside of Buffy snap. Without thought, she raised her stake to dust the head of the Aurelian line in one fell swoop, but was prevented by a firm grasp on her wrist… by Spike.

Buffy turned her tortured gaze to Spike. He seemed to be wearing the same look as her, the one that said, Yeah, I’d like the asshole dead too, but not by your hand. Spike slowly pulled Buffy’s arm away from Angel’s chest, her face crumpling in silent cries. Spike pulled her into his embrace and just held her, glaring at Angel over her head.

Angel was a whiter shade of pale, as he edged away from the distraught couple, noticing something strange in the way Spike was staring at him. As he inched away, Spike’s gaze didn’t follow him, the blonde vamp’s eyes blinking in rapid succession, looking as if he was trying to focus on something.

“You know, I thought I would miss good old Sunnydale. But I don’t,” Cordy grumbled, as she emerged from the corner to look at the still bleeding wound on Angel’s chest.

“We, ah, we need to follow those, um, things,” Angel said in a shaky voice, belying his fear of just what had occurred.

Buffy sniffed loudly, turning her head from being buried in Spike’s chest, and eyed the two brunettes. Hearing what Angel said, she snapped her fingers and pointed at Angel, nodded rapidly towards Cordy, hoping this time she would grasp what Buffy was trying to tell her.

“Yeah, I know. I was about to suggest the same thing when Loverboy here fell into the room. And how is it that you can smell Buffy on Spike, but didn’t say anything about it when she first came in the room? Is there a little double standard going on here, hmm?” Cordy observed in her ever-tactful way.

“Cordy, zip it,” Angel ordered.

“Oh no way buddy! You can’t order me around; I don’t worship the rose-strewn path that you tread upon like Buffy did! Oh poor Angel, cursed with a soul…Oh poor Angel, can’t sleep with Buffy cause she gave him a happy…Oh poor…ugh, you know what? I’m making myself sick with this crap. Let’s get this over with. I’m tired, I want to go back to L.A., and I want my Coach handbag!” Cordy yelled and stormed out of the bedroom.

Buffy and Angel stared after the irate ex-cheerleader. Spike, however, kept his face turned away, loosely holding onto Buffy’s waist.

“I…I’ll go and make sure she’s not…well, make sure she’s not hacking off some part of Xander’s anatomy in a fit of rage,” Angel said hesitantly. “Buffy I…” he started, but stopped as soon as he saw Buffy flip him the bird.

Spike could hear Angel fuming all the way into the hallway and down the stairs, chuckling at what the Slayer must have gestured to him. That’s my girl, he thought to himself with a smile. But his smile quickly faded, as he leaned down and whispered something in Buffy’s ear, dreading her reaction.

“Buffy…I’m blind.”

“Buffy…I’m blind.”

Buffy tightened her fists in Spike’s lapels and let the anguish fill her. She nuzzled his cheek with her nose, which was wet with the many tears she was spilling on his behalf. So many thoughts rushed through her head that she had trouble sorting them all out.

Riley did this to Spike…him and that abhorrent Maggie Walsh. Admittedly, Spike was slightly evil before they caught him and caged his demon with a piece of plastic, but this was a cruel and malicious method, even by Slayer standards. Take ‘em quick, no pain. It’s the least the poor creatures deserved.

And to think, she had actually found Riley attractive…in a ‘normal, Iowa corn-fed, still says yes ma’am and no ma’am’ kinda way. The epitome of all Angel had wished for her. Now, it just left her with a disgusting taste in her mouth, one that she wanted to wash away with Spike’s kisses.

“They’re getting ahead of us, Buffy!” Angel yelled up the stairs in an edgy voice.

Before she could disengage herself from Spike’s arms, she was coldly set away from him, by none other than Spike himself. She watched him clench his jaw in frustration as he pointed out the door, indicating that she was to leave, mouthing the word Go.

Feeling dismissed, she eased out of the room, looking back over her shoulder as he felt his way around the room to sit on the bed, cradling his head. She desperately wanted to go back in and help him, but another call from Angel stopped her.

“I’m losing their scent!”

She stamped her foot on the landing in frustration, torn between her duty and heart…once again. I can’t leave him alone! If only there was someone I could trust him with…XANDER! Buffy ran down the stairs to see Xander and Anya playing a card game and snapped her fingers at him.

Xander frowned as he looked at her, clasping her hands together as if pleading. He shrugged his shoulders to indicate he had no idea what in the world she wanted. The dry erase board that was around his neck was suddenly removed as Buffy began writing furiously.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you!” she wrote and quickly showed Angel who nodded and left with Cordy in tow.

She wiped off the board with her elbow and then wrote again, this time showing it to Xander. “I have to go with Angel. Please watch over Spike!”

Xander pointed upstairs with raised eyebrows and Buffy nodded and motioned him to follow her up. Once at the top, Buffy looked into the bedroom to see Spike had not moved, still sitting there staring off into the distance.

“Xander – Spike can’t see anymore,” she scribbled as quietly as possible. “I need you to take care of him…please.”

His eyes widened in shock as he pointed at the vampire on Giles’ bed. Tears filled Buffy’s eyes and she bit her lip. ‘Please?’ she breathed the word.

Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, Xander nodded and made shooing gestures, getting a huge resounding kiss on the lips from a grateful Slayer. He had a goofy grin plastered on his face as he watched Buffy rush out the door to catch up with Angel and hopefully to put an end to the silence.

Xander turned back to quietly observe the Peroxide Wonder. He watched him for a good five minutes and the man had yet to move a muscle. He had to give him credit. Spike was the resilient sort.

And Spike had yet to acknowledge the boy that stood outside the door, wondering why he was here and waiting for him to attack. He knew Buffy was no longer in the house, having gone with Peaches to dispatch those monstrosities that stole everyone’s voice, leaving him at the mercy of those still left in the apartment. He tried not to feel utter despair, but he was practically choking on it and tired to boot.

Before Xander could raise his hand to knock on the door, Spike turned his head in the direction he smelled the Whelp. Xander’s hand froze in mid-air and he gulped, praying he wasn’t about to make a mistake. Buffy so owed him for this.

He walked into the room, turning on a table lamp and standing off to Spike’s left, watching the vamp search endlessly for something to focus on. His eyes had taken on a pink tinged quality, indicating ocular damage of some sort. There was crusted blood around his nose and a bit more matted in the hair surrounding his ears. Xander put his hand over his mouth to muffle the sigh of pity he could feel welling up inside him, even if it was for the bleached menace. The guy looked so beaten down that Xander slowly reached out his hand and gently laid it on Spike’s shoulder, hoping his wrist wasn’t about to be snapped in two.

Spike tensed, waiting for the first blow…but nothing came. Cocking his head to one side, he heard nothing but Xander’s rapid heartbeat. Then he felt the unimaginable…Xander squeezed his shoulder and gave a small pat of sympathy.

He couldn’t help himself at that point as silent tears made their way down his hollowed cheeks and he buried his face in his hands once more. Feeling Xander’s strong arm hook under his left shoulder, he was suddenly hefted into a standing position, causing him to shift off balance. The only thing preventing him from falling was the wide hand across his chest.


Spike stilled, gathered his bearings and cautiously raised his right hand to where he thought Xander’s face might be. Finding it, he leaned in and whispered in the boy’s ear. “Why?”

Xander inhaled deeply, slowly letting the breath out. What to tell the idiot that had gotten himself captured, tortured, blinded, and was the best at drinking games? Seeing Buffy’s concern for the vamp had caused him to look at Spike in a different light. But before that, there was the fact that he’d been under a ‘truth’ spell of some sort and was quite buddy-buddy with him, which wigged him out to the extreme…but it also made him wonder. Under a different set of circumstances, would he have been friends with L’Oreal’s Evil Color of the Month?

For once in his life, Xander went with his instincts instead of his preconceived ideas. “Scooby,” he breathed in Spike’s ear.

Spike physically sagged against a surprised Xander, his body wracked with sobs as he clutched the boy’s shoulders. Words paled in comparison to describe the emotions that filled the weary vampire. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, Xander hesitantly returned the embrace, patting the other man’s back.

After a few gut-wrenching moments, Spike finally stopped his sniffles and rubbed furiously at his eyes, desperate to see anything. Xander stopped him from practically gouging out his eyes, pulling his hands away and leading him towards the door. Then he snapped his fingers to get Anya’s attention, indicating that he needed her help in getting Spike downstairs.

She ran up the steps, but stopped abruptly when she realized Spike was clutching Xander’s arm. Raising a questioning brow, Xander waved his hand in front of his eyes, trying to tell her that Spike couldn’t see.

“I know his face is messed up and it needs a wash,” she wrote on her board and showed it to Xander.

He rolled his eyes and held out his hand for her board. Steadying Spike so that he could write, he wrote what he was trying to tell her. “Spike can’t see. He’s blind – one too many knocks to the head.”

Anya frowned with a small gasp. She immediately went to the opposite side of Spike and pulled his arm over her shoulder, ready to help him down the stairs. The vamp tried to take it back but she refused to let go.

Finally, after much struggling, Spike leaned over and harshly whispered in her ear. “Blind, not crippled!”

She huffed and dropped his arm, crossing her hands over her chest and flouncing back downstairs, leaving a laughing Xander and a cranky vamp standing on the top step. Wanting to get Spike comfortable as soon as possible, Good Lord, I want Spike comfortable? Yup, apocalypse definitely on the horizon, Xander positioned him at the edge of the first step and placed his left hand on the banister for balance. At that point, Xander had to catch up with the vamp as he practically flew down the stairs.

He bumped into his back when Spike stopped suddenly at the bottom, riveted to the spot and staring into the kitchen. Giles stood in the archway, steaming mug in hand, waiting to see if he would approach, watching as the vamp felt along the walls until he reached the edge of the doorway.

Giles finally took Spike’s hand and guided it to the mug, wrapping it around the cup and lead it to his mouth so he wouldn’t spill it while trying to gauge where his mouth was. Once the cup touched his lips, Spike drank greedily, finishing it in no time and holding it out in thin air to be refilled. When all was said and done, he’d drunk five mugs of blood, wanting more but not wanting to push his luck either.

After sitting on the couch, he laid his head back and hoped the blood would heal some of the injuries, though he wasn’t counting on it. He was very uneasy, even after Xander’s declaration, and felt edgy. He estimated that Buffy, Angel, and Cordy had been gone about an hour, fighting against his growing feelings of wanting her near him and Angel gone. The whole mess just exhausted him.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he felt was a soft kiss on the forehead, but it wasn’t coupled with Buffy’s scent. He reached out blindly trying to grab the person who had woken him up, landing on Tara’s arm, smiling in spite of himself when he finally discerned who it was that had interrupted his sleep.

She patted his hand, pressing another mug of liquid in his grasp and pushed it towards his lips. He frowned with disgust at the smell and tried to refuse it, but she gently coaxed the foul tasting stuff into his mouth. Swallowing with a grimace, he tried to growl at her, making her laugh silently.

It was a few moments before Spike felt the effects of the nasty brew. Light filtered into his lenses, causing his vision to be a dim blur instead of complete darkness and the ache in his head to ease. He blinked his eyes rapidly to see if his sight cleared further, but the clarity remained the same – a dull, fuzzy image. At least he could see light and shadows moving about, and he was grateful for that.

He grabbed Tara’s hand and pulled her close so that he could whisper to her, finding it was unnecessary. “Thank you,” he said in a clear voice, which startled him…and the rest of the group.

“Echo?” Xander yelled to the room and Giles just tsked in response.

“Cordy must have screamed,” Willow observed, looking at everyone in the room with relief.

A collective sigh filtered throughout the apartment as a knock sounded at the door. They all looked at each other, knowing if it were Buffy she would have just barged in. Spike paid no attention until he picked up a scent…a very familiar scent.

“Maybe it’s Angel,” Willow said, answering it before Spike could stop her.

“No!” he roared, trying to scramble over the couch before she opened the door.

But it was too late. Willow lay unconscious on the floor in the foyer, still twitching from the electrical arc that had flowed through her body. In a flash, everyone but Spike had collapsed to the floor, electrodes and wires protruding from their bodies.

“Hello…Hostile 17.”

The purple demoness Sanze’ana huddled in a far corner as her wide eyes watched the humans on the other side of the glass barrier. They seemed to be discussing her cellmate, the tall lanky ghoul with the perpetual smile, which didn’t particularly frighten her but still…she kept her distance. She heard no sounds from the humans, finally figuring out that the sheets of paper being flung here and there were their means of communication. How primitive.

She’d been in this cell for what seemed like weeks now, watching the other chambers fill with a myriad of demons, vampires, and ghouls. Glancing at the hovering being several feet away from her, she realized that the humans capturing these assorted creatures were quickly running out of space in which to put them. It was rare to see two demons or what not to a cell, seeing as how most of them wouldn’t be alive the next time the people in the white coats came to do their ‘experiments’. She’d barely survived some of the tests herself, and judging from some of the screams she’d heard late at night, a lot more didn’t make it at all. There was one, however, that had escaped and it gave her hope that she would too, someday.

The blond vampire had been housed in the cage across from hers several weeks ago, never gaining consciousness until the ‘white coats’ had brought him back with a shaved area on the back of his head. It was three days after that before he fully awakened and by then he was livid. He’d thrown himself against the electrified barrier repeatedly, practically short-circuiting the entire compound in the process. She admired his ability to withstand the debilitating pain and wondered, not for the first time, if he would consider being her consort once she escaped and returned to her kingdom. But then she heard him repeating a name over and over and knew it would be futile to try and turn his attention to her and away from the object of his obsession.

Then, roughly two weeks ago, the platinum blond vampire seized the opportunity for his freedom and took it with both hands…literally. That’s when she noticed something had been done to him, something cruel. Even though she was from another dimension, Sanze’ana knew vampires depended on blood for their nourishment. His attempt to drain his captors was thwarted by a seizure in his brain, his screams echoing amongst the cells. Her admiration for the vampire grew when despite the pain he must have suffered, he battled his way through his enemies, never giving up and finally disappearing from her view. She knew he’d fled the compound because the men in the green uniforms hadn’t brought him back and they also complained, rather loudly, that Hostile Seventeen was in the area but had eluded their attempts at recapture.

Now tempers were flaring as the older female glared at her subordinates, issuing more commands with the aide of a computerized voice machine. Sanze’ana thought the idea of a harpy leading a group of heavily muscled males was quite laughable. The only thing she had to offer was intelligence and that only made things easier to a certain point. Past that, you needed brute strength. Why they followed her orders, she could not fathom. She tried to rationalize several scenarios where her most heroic warrior would follow an ancient crone, but failed to find anything plausible. It must have had to do with what was behind the door marked with a set of numbers as she witnessed the males entering it on a regular basis, especially the largest one named Finn. He was usually in there the longest.

Suddenly, the glass barrier of her cell slid to the side, allowing Finn to step inside the chamber. Sanze’ana backed into the furthest corner, hoping they would at least keep the tests to a minimum because she’d passed out after the second one last time. She became so overwrought that she began to panic and that always activated her internal harmonics. Her species communicated through sound and harmonies, the females attracting males through elaborate musical shows for mating. It was also a defense mechanism, and as princess of her kingdom, she often used it to dispatch would-be assassins with the massive sound waves it created. Unfortunately, in this dimension, the waves were considerably weakened and she had no defense against the humans who seemed impervious to them.

Riley approached the middle of the room, shifting his eyes between Sanze’ana and Zinken, the second ghoul they’d captured. He could feel the small vibrations bouncing off his skin from the female demon, but he wasn’t interested in her…this time. She was comely, her light purple skin fascinating him, and he was sure he would sample her flesh at some point. He grinned maliciously and feigned a lunge at her, making her shudder. It also set off a sound that became increasingly shrill with each passing moment and Riley had to cover his ears to keep his drums from bursting.

Zinken slowly turned his head in the direction of the female demon with fear in his eyes. He was no longer smiling, and as the penetrating shriek became louder, he was no longer in possession of his faculties either. The vibrato assaulted his body, making it thrum with energy and he placed his hands on the sides of his head to keep the sound from causing damage. But it was all to no avail, as the princess’ scream caused his head to explode…all over Riley.

~*~

Buffy ran to catch up with Angel and Cordy, who were several streets ahead of her, tracking the straightjacket lackey that lost its master. She prayed fervently that she had made the right choice in leaving Spike with Xander and the rest of the group as she finally caught up with the ex-cheerleader and her former lover. She fell into step on the other side of Cordy, staying far away from the vampire she so desperately wanted to stake.

Cordy looked between the two and groaned internally. “I should get paid to do this crap.”

“Keep your voice down, Cordy! It might hear you,” Angel groused quietly. “And you ARE getting paid. Didn’t Doyle promise you some kind of Coochy Handbag, or something?”

Even though she had no voice, Buffy bent over with laughter. Cordy gave her an evil glare before turning to Angel and grit her teeth. “It’s Coach! Not Coochy, you fashionably challenged imbecile!”

He lowered his eyes. “Fine, sorry.”

All other conversation was cut short as they watched the gruesome creature meander towards the clock tower in the middle of town and three Gentlemen floated into view. They all entered through what seemed to be a boarded up access door at the side of the building and disappeared.

“H-how close do I have to be to scream?” Cordy asked in a fearful whisper.

“Don’t worry, Buffy and I will get you in there and keep you safe…Damn it! Where is she going?” He watched Buffy take off after the motley crew.

Buffy wasn’t going to waste any more time than she already had listening to them bicker. She wanted to get back to Spike… NOW, and those two were delaying that goal. She stuck close to the shadows and quickly came to the same access door, not bothering to wait for Cordy or Angel, and slipped inside.

“If only I had the power to beat her,” Angel snarled as he and Cordy ran to catch up with Buffy.

“You’d end up next week’s dust bunnies,” she assured him, following behind him as they crept up the rickety old stairs. “You almost were, if it weren’t for Spike.”

He stopped so suddenly she plowed face first into his ass. He whirled to find her rubbing her nose with a frown. “You…you… you take that back!”

“What? That he let you live to save another day? Please. Buffy is so over you, but apparently you didn’t get that memo,” she snickered and stepped up on the landing, toe to toe with the vamp.

“She loves me! She’ll always love me!” he ground out, moving closer to the brunette. “And I’ll always love her!”

He was too close for her comfort, so Cordy backed up, only to be halted by his hands on her hips, holding her in place. “What are you doing?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he groaned and sealed his lips with hers.

Cordy immediately wound her arms behind his neck and sighed, allowing Angel to plumb the depths of her mouth more thoroughly. “But you love Buffy,” she gasped in between kisses.

“I can’t be with her,” he rasped, grinding his erection into the V of her thighs.

This stopped Cordy cold. “So what? I’m second best? You think you’re safe with me because I won’t make you happy?”

“No! That’s not it…”

“Oh really? I’ll have you know… OW!” Cordy yelled as a piece of crumbling wall from above hit her on the side of the head.

She turned to see Buffy standing at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed and a very pissed off expression on her face. She pointed up to indicate that they were supposed to be concentrating on stopping the Gentlemen, not getting groiny on the stairs. Cordy then composed herself and flipped her hair over her shoulder, leaving a panting Angel on the landing.

“We’ll finish this,” Angel muttered under his breath as he watched Cordy walk further up the stairs.

“Like hell we will,” she countered and quickly followed Buffy up the remaining steps.

He moved to follow her but hesitated when he caught an unfamiliar scent floating through the air accompanied by a pattern of electronic beeps. Seeing that Cordy was safe with Buffy, he backed down the stairs until the scent became overwhelming.

He slid into the shadows of the broken down building and observed two humans with night vision goggles entering from the left. He allowed a slow, menacing smile to spread on his face as he watched them approach his hidden position, totally unaware of his presence. So much for scientific advancements.

They made several hand gestures and cautiously started creeping up the stairs, right above Angel, who grabbed their ankles to pull them through the wood slats and down to face him. He dispatched them rather quickly, grabbing the taser off one as he flipped the man to be hit with the other Commando’s taser, taking out the remaining grunt by filling his body full of electrified current from the taser he’d grabbed. He then dropped their bodies to the dusty floor and picked up their walkie-talkies.

Short and long bursts of sound could be heard on all the channels as he struggled to remember his Morse Code. He’d learned it back in the forties during World War II, but he’d forgotten most of it since then. He didn’t recognize anything until… “Riley out.”

Riley. Angel furrowed his brow. Riley, as in THE Riley? The one Buffy had talked about when she came to see him in L.A.? Angel’s smile grew even wider. He packed the communicator in his coat pocket and started to head up the stairs when he heard several crashes and then an ear-piercing scream. Apparently, Cordy had done her job. He wasn’t really needed here then…was he? An evil glint took up permanent residence in his eyes as he moved out to track the Commandos.
~*~

Riley Finn was pissed.

Earlier in the evening, he had the dubious pleasure of being the victim of Dr. Walsh’s tongue lashing, wanting very much to deck the old hag so he could get on with his duties. She’d nagged him to have his black eye checked in science room three fourteen since it wasn’t healing as it should, growling as he followed her into the sterile room.

Walsh pointed to him and then the table, turning to the metal tray that held various instruments and vials of liquid, waiting for him to lie down. Had he a voice, Riley would have argued about a measly black eye, compared to everything else that had occurred…but she would have none of it. He didn’t remember much after the injection though, as the yellow liquid slipped silently through his veins, and rendered him useless for a few moments.

He’d woken up in his own barracks with one hell of a hang over and a highly metallic taste in his mouth. His vision was blurred in one eye and acutely clear in the other as he stood on wobbly feet and approached a small mirror above the sink to look at his reflection.

“Fuck,” he mouthed, forgetting he had no voice.

His eye was back to normal again, no hint of bruising or pain present. He touched the skin and moved it around, waiting for some twinge to indicate that he’d had any injury at all to his orbit, but again, nothing happened.

He didn’t dwell on it further because Walsh had paged him at that moment to come to the containment area. When he arrived, he noticed the examination area being set up again for the other Gentleman’s tests, and he wondered if he would finally be able to make the ghoul utter some kind of sound. He doubted it, but he’d have fun attempting to do so.

After about twenty minutes, Walsh indicated that she wanted the being brought out and strapped to the table. The containment cells had grown overcrowded, so they paired up the Gentleman with a lone female demon that spoke not a word as well. Both seemed docile and they kept to each other, eyeing one another occasionally and then hiding in their respective corners.

Riley really wanted a go at the luscious purple-skinned demon, but he never seemed to either have the time or lack of Walsh as an audience. The former ensured that he would never get to finish what he’d start and the latter wouldn’t allow him to perform at all. That didn’t prevent his eyes from roaming all over her shapely form. He didn’t account, however, for the small vibrations that had began and tingled through out his body as he approached the two creatures in the cell. The sound made the hairs on his arm stand straight up and his teeth rattle.

Eventually, it became such a strong force that the ghoul really looked panicked as Riley made a move to restrain her or do something to make the noise stop…which in turn, caused the sound the female produced to increase in pitch and decibel to a barely tolerable level. It caused him to cover his ears to save them from bursting, but nothing could help the other being, and Riley was soon covered in yellow goop from head to toe.

The vibrations quickly stopped as the Commando turned his highly agitated gaze to the quivering purple demon. The last sight she beheld was the male’s large Bowie knife, deeply embedded in her chest, drawing out her life’s essence. Riley’s chest heaved as he then pulled the blade from her flesh, the sucking noise like music to his ears, and wiped the fluid off on his pant leg. She collapsed to the floor dead as he spared a moment of regret that he didn’t get to fuck her as planned.

“That was unacceptable!” the loud Vocoder computer voice harangued Riley as he stepped out of the cell covered in ghoul entrails.

Riley closed his eyes and counted to ten, not that it did any good. He wiped his hair and face off, flinging the sticky yellow substance at several techs, including Walsh. She spluttered in outrage at his behavior, nodding slightly to two MP’s to restrain him, which was easier said than done. He fought them as much as he could, but one of them finally laid a taser at the back of his neck. He really didn’t want a jolt to arc into his body, so he ceased his struggles and waited for Walsh to approach him.

“Run diagnostic scan one one three eight,” she typed into the Vocoder as she watched her unstable Commando.

Riley stiffened between the two MP’s as if he’d been stabbed. What the hell is she doing? he wanted to write, scream, even use sign language. But he couldn’t move as darkness crept up his spine and his eyes closed.

~*~

“Patrol until you secure Hostile Seventeen. Contain the girl if possible. If not, elimination is acceptable. Use Morse Code to communicate until vocal confirmation is restored. You have your orders, move out,” the Vocoder droned as Walsh typed her instructions to the group of twelve men, including a very dazed Riley Finn.

Graham nudged Riley and he snapped to attention, gathering supplies and weapons for his patrol as he cast a worried glance to Forrest. “Watch him,” Graham mouthed and Forrest nodded.

They broke off into four groups of three soldiers, each taking a different section of the city, Forrest and Graham in Riley’s group. They headed towards the east side of town and patrolled for about two hours before they started receiving code transmitted through their communicators.

“Found one Sub T and two female humans.”

“Target?” Riley pressed out the short question.

“One female is target,” the other team responded.

“Hostile Seventeen?”

“Negative. But following other Hostiles.”

Damn. “Follow at distance and report.”

It was some minutes before Riley heard a response from the first team. “Entering tower on east side of cinema.”

“Use extra precaution, Sub T is extremely dangerous.”

“We have situation.” This came from team two, who had decided to rendezvous with the first one.

“Stay in position. We’ll be at coordinates in two minutes, Riley out.”

Riley and his group started trotting up the deserted street to the clock tower when he felt his chest expand, causing him to cough…out loud. Then he heard something more than just Morse beeping. In fact, it sounded an awful lot like human speech, screaming over the walkie-talkie.

“Requesting immediate back-up! We're in the alley behind the tower! Where the hell is-- Fall back! Fall back! It's coming-” and the voice was suddenly cut off.

Seething rage filled Riley as he ran to the street adjoining the run-down building, only to see a commando go flying across the alley and hit the wall, falling to the pavement unconscious. Hearing fighting further down the alley, he raised his flashlight, shining it on the back of a figure in a long black coat. As soon as the light hit the massive form, the man whirled around and glared at Riley.

“Well, well, well…Riley Finn,” Angel drawled as he slowly advanced towards the lone grunt. “Where’s your buddies?”

Riley frowned in confusion. How the hell did this-this thing know him? “They’ll be along shortly. Do I know you?”

Angel smirked. “We have a friend in common.”


“I don’t socialize with Hostiles, so I wouldn’t know which ‘friend’ you’re referring to,” the Commando ground out as he kept his distance from the Sub T.

The two hulking figures circled each other warily in the darkened alley as Buffy and Cordelia emerged from the clock tower, Cordy whimpering with barely repressed fear, covered in yellow goo. The girls had found the remaining Gentlemen looking over their prizes, unaware of their presence until Cordy screamed like a banshee as a lackey lumbered over towards them. The ghouls never knew what hit them as yellow goop exploded everywhere, especially on Cordy.

The lackeys, seeing their masters exterminated, fled the scene before Buffy could stop them as she was trying to find whatever contained their voices. Searching through the mess, she accidentally knocked over a wooden box and it dropped on the floor, releasing all of Sunnydale’s voices. She took a deep breath and smiled, testing her restored speech.

“Let’s get those bastards!”

Now, she watched as Angel and…oh my god…was that Riley? circle around the alley looking like they were going to do permanent damage to one another. Once again, she was torn between needing to intervene and returning to her heart’s desire. But the choice was taken from her when she heard a muffled yelp behind her…from Cordy.

“I’d stay back if I were you, bitch,” Forrest warned as he pointed the muzzle of a gun against Cordy’s temple.

“Shoot her, I don’t really like her anyway,” Buffy said with a flippancy she didn’t really feel.

“I hate you,” Cordy seethed.

“Put a plug in it, princess,” he advised as he cocked the hammer and twisted his meaty fist in her brown locks. “Finn! We’ve got leverage!”

Riley glanced out of the corner of his eyes to Forrest. At first he was surprised to see Buffy there, but then he remembered that she tended to like the ‘undead’, so he now considered her an advantage as he smirked at Angel. “Looks like we got your fuck buddy.”

Angel backhanded the overbearing soldier, doing little damage as he stumbled backwards touching his cheek, rising back up to his full height to glare at the vamp. “You really want her to die, huh?”

“Don’t push me, boy!” Angel said dangerously as he sized up the situation, realizing he’d have to sacrifice something to keep everyone safe.

“Oh, I’ll push…won’t I, Forrest?” He grinned maliciously as he watched Graham aim a crossbow on the vamp in front of him from deep within the shadows. “So Buffy…care to tell me where Hostile Seventeen is? And no lies,” he cautioned pointing to Graham. “Or else your other pet vamp will find out what it’s like to be roasted on a spit.”

“Who’s Hostile Seventeen?” Angel ground between his teeth.

“Spike,” Buffy whispered.

“Spike?” Just the sacrificial black sheep he needed. “He’s at Giles apartment,” Angel volunteered quickly.

“NO!” she screamed, turning to a confused Angel. “They’ll kill him!”

“And the problem with that would be?”

“You know what Riley? Kill him, kill him a lot!” Buffy’s eyes filled with tears as she pointed to Angel.

“The address would be useful,” Riley added as he pushed a dart into his tranquilizer gun, locking it into place and aiming it at Angel.

“Twelve forty Vista Hermosa Road, apartment one B,” Cordy offered readily.

“No…please, no!” Buffy whimpered and pleaded with Riley. “If you ever cared for me, you won’t do this! It’s wrong!”

“Sleep now,” Riley said and swung his gun arm to aim at Buffy and pulled the trigger, the dart embedding itself in her left shoulder.

“NO!” Angel roared and rushed the Commando, plowing him into the alley wall, knocking a few bricks loose.

Riley brought his balled fists down on the middle of the vampire’s back, causing him to collapse to the ground. “Fucking shoot next time, Graham!”

“It jammed!”

“Get rid of her,” Riley threw over his shoulder to Forrest as he bent down to look at an unconscious Buffy.

“Wait! No!” But Cordy was out for the count as the Commando cold cocked her in the back of the head.

“Bring the van around, we need to go pick up our missing ‘friend’,” Riley instructed Graham as he hefted a limp Slayer over his shoulder.

Forrest and Graham left together and headed down the empty street to the black Initiative vehicle they had stowed away from public view. That left an unconscious Slayer, Cordy and a moaning Angel with Riley.

“You can’t take her,” Angel rasped. “You don’t know what you’ll unleash if you do.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Riley snickered.

“Yeah, well I won’t!” Angel shoved a booted foot straight into the grunt’s family jewels.

Searing pain crippled the solider and he dropped his burden to cup his privates. It gave Angel the needed to time to scoop Buffy up over one shoulder and Cordy over the other as he headed out of the alley, leaving the Commando rolling and moaning in the middle of the street.

When Forrest and Graham returned, they found much the same thing, only Riley had made it to a semi-standing position. “I want that Hostile’s head on a platter!” he roared as he fell into the back seat of the van. Wasting no time, they sped out of the alley and headed towards the address that was seared in Riley’s brain.

By the time they arrived, Riley was able to stand without help, but still in pain. “Scope out how many tasers we’ll need to incapacitate the humans.”

Graham snuck down the stairway and peeked through a slit in the curtained window. He then returned to the van where the other two were prepping for the retrieval. “Five tasers for the humans, plus one for the Hostile.”

“No, I want him lucid. He’s gonna know the hell he’s put us through trying to get him back.” Riley loaded another dart in his gun filled with a drug that would keep the menace awake, but immobile. “Let’s move out.”

Each man carried two sets of tasers except for Riley, who carried one taser and the dart gun. They crept quietly down the stairs and listened at the door for any signs of movement or hint of voices. They heard nothing for a few moments but then someone that sounded like Willow started talking. Perfect.

At Riley’s nod, Graham knocked on the door, standing back and ready to incapacitate the person answering the door. Once the door opened, everything happened very quickly, as Graham tasered Willow and Giles who happened to be close. Forrest tasered Anya and Xander who were near the couch. That left some unknown girl and Hostile Seventeen, who was trying to make his way over the couch to prevent what happened. Riley quickly tasered the girl and aimed his dart gun at the blond vamp.

“Hello…Hostile Seventeen.”

Spike looked down to the dart stuck squarely in his chest. “Oh, fuck me!” he spat. He started to fall to his knees as he watched the Commandos enter the flat. He knew this was it, that he wouldn’t be coming back once he left. So he did something that he never would have believed of himself two weeks prior. Before he lost total consciousness, he slipped the Gem of Amara off his finger and dropped it near Willow, hoping she’d find it and give it to Buffy. If the Initiative got a hold of that little bauble, there was no telling what they would do.

His limbs became heavy and refused to move as he finally fell face first to the floor. Yet his eyes never closed and he had a sinking feeling that torture was on the menu if they wanted him awake. His thoughts were confirmed when he was hefted up by a grunt to face Riley, an evil smirk plastered on his face.

“Time to play.”

The first thing Giles became aware of was the incessant thumping assaulting his brain. But, when that pounding was accompanied by a loud angry voice, he knew it wasn’t just his body’s reaction to the taser that’d lodged itself into his side causing his head to feel like a jackhammer had set up permanent residence inside him. Slowly, he crawled on his apartment floor towards the direction of the pounding and yelling, noticing with bleary eyes that all the occupants of his flat were in a state of unconsciousness.

Except Spike, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Giles! Let me in!” someone bellowed urgently from the other side of the door.

“Hold your bloody horses!” rasped the man nearly face down on the floor. He flopped like a caught fish trying to make his way to the entrance, finally flinging his hand up to hopefully catch the door latch.

Without so much as a thank you, Angel plowed through Giles’ entryway, taking no notice of the bodies strewn about until he tripped over one, sending his burden sliding across the floor.

“God, what happened here?” he growled, finally becoming aware of his surroundings while massaging his elbows from the fall. He then picked up Buffy and Cordy to sit them next to each other on the couch, heads tilted back on opposite sides.

“Initiative,” Giles managed with some effort, keeping his head on the floor. He still felt little shivers and tingles coursing over his entire body, making him quite nauseous and lightheaded. “Buffy?” he mumbled, his drool pooling at the corner of his mouth.

Angel looked behind to size up the girls’ condition then turned back to the man lying prone on the cold tile, rubbing his eyes and forehead. “She’s going to have one hell of a headache when she wakes up.”

“If it’s anything like the baseball bat that hit me, I feel her pain,” Xander moaned from a nearby spot.

“I suppose,” Giles huffed in a labored voice, “that it would be the epitome of foolishness to ask you to help us get off the bloody freezing floor?”

“Huh?” Angel frowned in confusion then realized he was just standing around while the others were starting to come around, groping for furniture to help steady themselves. “Oh, yeah! Right.”

“Pillock,” Giles muttered under his breath.

He chose to ignore the comment as he helped him to a sitting position on the short couch where Tara still lay zonked out, watching as Giles tried to focus his gaze on him, squinting and attempting to move his head forward a little more to see him better.

Giving up on trying to find the focal point of the bulky figure in front of him, he lost his patience. “Glasses, please?”

“Over here,” Willow offered in a dry, scratchy voice, pulling herself up to a somewhat propped position against the foyer wall. She and Giles had been hit the hardest since they were near the door.

Leaving Giles in a slumped posture next to Tara, Angel went and knelt down in front of Willow, who was barely able to lift her finger to point to the spectacles near where her head had been. Her eyes followed his movements slowly until he picked up something other than the forgotten glasses.

“What’s this?” he asked, studying the ring then looking at Willow.

Spike! Oh no! “It’s my mood ring… it must have come off during the scuffle,” she explained in a weary tone. She lifted her hand to indicate she wanted it back because there was no way she wanted Angel to be in possession of such a valuable item.

The brooding vamp narrowed his eyes on her. “This looks suspiciously like the Gem of Amara.”

She plastered a smile on her face and gave him a loopy giggle, hoping that she’d draw him away from the truth. “Funny thing that… I glamoured a toy ring I got from the claw machine to look like the gem and-”

“Why would a witch have a toy ring that looks like the Gem of Amara?” he interrupted her with a growl.

Willow’s eyes widened at the subtle threat. “’Cause I like green scarab stones and skulls?” she eep’ed out.

“Give it a rest, Willow. He isn’t even close to believing you.” Anya’s muffled voice drifted to the group, her nose firmly planted on the area rug in front of the couch.

“You know, Anya,” Willow groused peevishly, “sometimes you’re tolerable to be around… then you go and say things like that and I just hate you all over again.”

The ex-demon snorted and turned her face to the side so she could be heard. “Feeling’s mutual.”

“I think I’ll hold on to this until we find out what it really is,” Angel suggested with a smirk, pocketing the ring without giving a second thought to Willow’s scowl.

Xander had finally sat up and was leaning against an overstuffed chair, one arm on his upraised knee. “Man, that’s so not a good idea. Buffy’ll be livid, not to mention purple with the rage… and did I mention livid?”

As he said this, the Slayer cracked one eye open to look at him, slowly blinking into awareness. But Angel never registered her change in breathing, so he continued on with his rigid viewpoint of what he thought was best for Buffy.

“I highly doubt that. If this is the real Gem of Amara, and hell if I know how you guys came across it, if Spike were to find out, nothing would ever stop him from coming after all of you.”

“Apparently you’re not aware of Spike’s condition,” Giles sneered, tired of feeling like he had the worst hangover of his life and weary of the baneful vampire’s constant presumptions.

“What? The lack of Drusilla twisting him around her crooked little finger? I’d say that was a blessing, not a condition.”

Giles tried to stand on shaky legs, managing an unbalanced wobble as he held onto the arm of the couch. “As usual, Angel, you’re completely out of the loop as to what has been happening here in Sunnydale after you moved to L.A.”

The vampire smiled smugly. “I think I know what’s been going on here, Giles. I mean, I was here a couple weeks ago, and shortly after that, Buffy showed up in L.A. and we talked-”

“I wouldn’t call what we did talking,” she countered in a deceptively soft tone, her head still lying down on the sofa arm.

“Buffy?” Everybody but Xander had assumed she was still out for the count.

Angel whipped around the edge of the couch and crouched down in front of her as he pulled her limp hand into his, caressing it back to life, which Xander thought was highly stupid on his part. Apparently, he didn’t register the look of deadly intent on the Slayer’s face.

“I’d step away from the very pissed off Slayer if I were you, Angel.” Xander mulled his words over for a few moments and reconsidered, “On second thought, I’m not you. Stay where you are, I’m in the mood to be amused.”

“So am I,” mumbled Anya as she tried to push herself up to a sitting position.

Everyone who was awake watched Angel’s arrogant smirk slowly die from his lips as he registered her fierce look. Xander had a full view of Buffy’s eyes… her totally cold and feral eyes, and they were deadly in their passionate beauty.

“The only reason you’re still alive, Angel, is because the dart caught me in my slaying arm and I don’t have the strength to grip a stake hard enough to plunge it through your miserable heart,” she whispered, staring at him like he was nothing more than a piece of dirt on her new Jimmy Choo’s.

“I-”

“When I’m able to stand and am at my full Slayer capacity, you’d better have settled your affairs – for it will be the last night you’ll ever see again. I don’t care that you’re the Champion for the Powers That Be; they’ll have to find another.”

“Buffy, you’re under some kind of-”

“Spell? Go on… say it! I dare you to say I’m under some kind of spell or I’m lost in a thrall that Spike managed to pull off,” she threatened, finally sitting upright and removing her hand from Angel’s as quickly as she could.

“This isn’t you,” he argued vehemently.

“No… this is me. It’s just not who you want me to be. For the first time in my life, I know what I want,” she told him in no uncertain terms.

A slight cough from Giles interrupted the standoff between the vamp and Slayer. “Might I suggest we discuss Angel’s demise at a later time? Spike is missing.”

Tears sprung to Buffy’s eyes as she bit her lip, looking over at Xander’s wretched expression. “What happened?”

Xander went into great detail about everything that had happened that evening while she, Angel and Cordy hunted the Gentlemen. She couldn’t hold back her pitiful sob after he told her that they’d just gotten their voices back when Riley and the Commandos arrived, incapacitating everyone but leaving Spike awake and immobile. He couldn’t remember anything after that, finally waking up to the sound of pounding on Giles’ front door.

“Buffy? Spike doesn’t have the Gem,” Willow said in a tired voice from near the entryway.

“No!” she whimpered, desperately trying to stand, her legs buckling beneath her.

Angel tried to steady her, but she reacted violently and managed to shove him into Giles’ T.V. set. “Get your filthy hands off me!”

Xander was a little more steady on his feet by then so he grabbed Buffy’s hand and placed it on his arm to help her keep her balance while she fought the affects of the drug she’d been poisoned with. She turned pleading eyes full of tears to his big brown ones, begging him to give her a stake or something sharp and wooden to shove through the dazed vamp’s heart.

“Maybe he knows how to find Spike,” he offered, looking over his shoulder at Angel as he struggled to stand, a long gash on the side of his face where the screen glass had pierced his cheek.

Buffy shook her head in the negative but stopped, feeling too woozy to continue. “I won’t have him near Spike, Xander.” She wracked her brain, frustrated with the lack of options presented to her, settling her sights on Willow as a thought occurred to her.

“Willow, can you do that spell again?” she implored her best friend as Xander lead her over to where the red witch still sat.

“I-I don’t think I can… I don’t have enough energy to make it stick.”

Her lower lip trembled, so Buffy bit it to keep from sobbing. “Okay, we’ll just have to think of something else then.”

“We could both try,” a groggy voice came from beside Giles. Tara smiled hesitantly and patted her hair down, the electric shock she received having frizzed nearly every lock.

Giles went over to the kitchen alcove and bent down to retrieve the eyeglasses Angel never gave him, looking them over as he whipped out a cloth to clean off the smudges. “Why this particular spell, Buffy?”

She looked at her Watcher with fear in her eyes. “Spike and I could hear each other’s thoughts. He knew where I was and vice versa.”

He frowned pensively. “I dislike the spell’s effect on me, and I think everyone will agree… it’s best if I weren’t in the room when it’s cast.”

“I can help with the focus, so that it’ll only be Spike and Buffy affected,” Tara said hesitantly, walking on wobbly feet to sit in front of Willow.

“Good, good! Is there anything you need for the spell?” Giles asked as he glanced over to see Angel mopping his bloodied cheek with a towel, glowering at them.

Willow folded her legs cross-wise and took Tara’s hands in her own. “No, it was a spur of the moment thing, really. But Buffy,” she said in a worried tone, “you may not want to hear the things going on in Spike’s mind when it starts working.”

Xander strengthened his hold on Buffy’s arm before she collapsed, her hand covering her mouth before she could scream or whimper. “He’s alive, I know it,” she ground out, refusing any other option.

“Don’t know why you’re all so worried about Spike… he’s taken out more than three guys at a time,” Angel grumbled as he sat on the back of the couch near a still unconscious Cordy.

“Spike can’t hurt humans, you brooding vainy-pire,” Anya told him with a disgusted eye roll. She’d finally made it to one side of the couch, her chin propped up on the edge so she could watch everything.

Everyone slowly turned to stare at her.

“What?”

“Brooding vainy-pire? Is that even part of the English language?” Giles grimaced and rubbed his forehead.

She shrugged her shoulders. “No, but it should be. He gives it new meaning every time he looks at her.”

“Guys, I don’t have time for this,” Buffy reminded her friends. “I need to know where Spike is and this spell is the quickest way to do it.”

Xander leaned over and whispered something in her ear, making her eyes narrow as she turned around and looked intently at the vamp with his arms crossed over his chest, a permanent frown in place. She then let go of Xander’s arm and moved to stand in front of Angel with her hand out, palm up.

“Give me the ring.”

“Now, Buffy, let’s talk about-”

“How I’m going to crush your windpipe and not give it a second thought,” she said menacingly as she grabbed his throat and squeezed hard.

For a vampire to turn blue, she must really be cutting off some major supply of blood, Xander thought, watching as his eyes began to bulge from their sockets.

Angel tried to pry her fingers from around his neck, but it was no use. Even with her strength at a minimum, she was stronger than he could ever be.

“You should be concentrating on giving me the Gem, not struggling like a dying fish.”

Fearing he was actually going to dust motivated him to dig his right hand into his hip pocket and pull out the ring, handing it to her and hoping she would release him. No such luck.

“Still have those chains, Giles?” she asked casually, keeping one hand tightly around the vamp’s neck and the other clutching the ring in a death grip.

“I’ve never removed them, so yes, they’re still there.”

She gave Angel an evil smirk. “Good. You’re going to have company.”

While Buffy dragged Angel to Giles’ bathroom to chain him to the tub, Willow and Tara began to focus on their energies, relaxing and letting them meld as one, which was easier than both girls thought. As each one achieved their center, Tara provided the focus and extra boost of discipline to mingle with Willow’s raw talent. It was like a live conduit for the magically inclined.

“Tempus vernum veritas,” the redhead whispered strongly, her thoughts only on Spike and Buffy.

As Buffy fastened the last of the chains around Angel’s ankle, images and sounds began to assault her senses, her brain a mass of pain and confusion, of fear and resignation. She gasped as she dropped to the cool tile of the bathroom floor, trying to sort out the feelings and things she was hearing into some sort of order.

“His resistance is considerable. Should we tranq him again?”

“Only if you want him slobbering all over you. We’ve pumped three darts into him within a span of two hours. Any more and his brain will be fried, if it hasn’t already.”

“He needs to remain awake. No more drugs. If he gets out of line again, I’ll be there to put him back in.”

“Oh, god,” she whimpered, her eyes wide with panic as she stumbled to her feet. “Riley, no!”

~*~

Spike lay on the floor of the military van, watching as the streetlights shone through the windows on the shadows clinging to the interior of the vehicle, moving rapidly until they faded to nothingness.

Kinda like he was about to do, only he didn’t think his fading would be all that peaceful an event.

He was trussed up like a Christmas turkey; complete with rope and ball gag fixings, hog-tied to maximize any pain he was capable of feeling. Which, thank the fates, wasn’t too much to bear, what with all those lovely chemicals running amok in his system. His sense of feeling was practically nil below his collarbone, so he concentrated on keeping his wits about him for the round of torture that was surely awaiting him at the end of this little journey.

And while he could still see shadows and shapes, his visual clarity hadn’t returned, knowing he’d suffered some sort of ocular damage from the misfiring of the damnable chip. Even the Gem couldn’t prevent the consequences of one too many knocks to the old bucket of nails. Sure, it could prevent death and keep the wearer from starving, but it didn’t seem to heal that little side effect of science.

Just what had those Initiative wankers done to him?

“Copy, base, recapture of Hostile Seventeen confirmed.”

Looks like he was about to find out.

~*~

“I’m going alone.”

“This is not up for discussion, Buffy… you need back up, or help… or-or something!” Giles admonished his Slayer.

She continued to pack a black bag full with as many weapons as she could carry, paying no heed to his words. “Spike’s my responsibility. I got him recaptured and I-”

“No you didn’t,” Cordy murmured from her hunched over position on the couch, an ice pack on the back of her head. “Could you guilt-trip yourself any more?”

“Shut up, Cordelia.”

Cordy turned her head to glare at Buffy. “Fine, whatever. And you know what? I’m done here! I did my Jamie Lee Curtis thing, now I want to go home!”

“That’ll be kinda hard since Angel’s chained up tighter than Houdini’s escape box,” Xander said with malicious glee. “And with your head injury, you’d be all over the road… some cop will pick you up…” He smiled devilishly. “Bet they’d pay top dollar for a mug shot of Cordelia Chase, former socialite.”

“You’re a loathsome dung beetle on the refuse pile of the world, Xander Harris,” she retorted without much venom. She was in too much pain right now to enjoy verbal sparing with her ex.

Xander ignored her and pulled Buffy to the side. “Have you tried to talk to him, in his mind, to find out where he is?”

She closed her eyes and blew out a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I might do more damage. I mean, he was pretty bad off before I left, who knows what his condition is now.”

“How do you propose to get in there then? It’s not like you can walk up to their door and demand to be let in or you’ll huff and puff till their instillation blows down.”

“Buffy! Get me out of these god-damned chains!” Angel bellowed from the bathroom, cutting off her train of thought.

Her nostrils flared in irritation. “Do you have some sort of gag, Giles? One he can’t bite through?”

“I don’t believe-”

“I have one in my purse,” Anya offered, retrieving her bag and pulling out a wicked looking mouth gag, complete with a metal ball and leather strap.

Everyone turned to look at Xander, who was a mottled bright red with mortification. Buffy raised her eyebrows in question and Willow snickered while Giles just looked dumbfounded and flustered. No one said a word.

“I-I’ll just, uhm… just clean it off and uhm, well use that on Angel,” Giles stuttered. He grabbed the offending item from Anya and hurried into the bathroom, soon after which, Angel’s roars were silenced.

“Make sure I get that back,” Anya called down the hallway. “It’s Xander’s favorite sex toy.”

“Ahn!”

“What? It is!”

“Never mind,” Xander grumbled. “Buffy, I think you should at least try to communicate with him. Maybe he’s awake and can help direct you to where they’re taking him.”

The idea had merit so she agreed. Moving away from everyone, she sat down on the floor and concentrated on Spike, hoping she wouldn’t inflict more pain than she was sure he was already in.

~*~

He surmised he’d been in the van for about twenty minutes before they’d pulled away from the Watcher’s flat, heading west towards what he knew was the college campus. It made sense really. Grunts needing a base of operations, and if their cover was being part of the frat scene, well, it fit perfectly.

“Spike.”

It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, her voice calling his name. Maybe he’d already died and this was his punishment, listening to her call his name over and over until he was a complete nutter.

“You’re not going crazy… it’s me.”

Spike closed his eyes to savor her presence within him once more. He’d missed her constant company in his mind once the spell was broken, but he didn’t think he could tolerate the pain of watching Buffy choose another and especially listening to them. It didn’t make him long for her any less.

“Please talk to me, if you can.” her voice begged.

“Is that really you, Slayer?”

Immense relief flooded his mind from her. “Oh, thank God! Where are you?”

Spike gave no indication he was communicating with anyone, knowing at least two of the Commandos’ had their eyes trained on him. “Military van, pet, heading west towards the campus.”

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m whole for the mo’, but not likely to remain that way for much longer.”

Fear gripped his mind as it filtered from her causing him to panic. “Ease up love, gotta have my wits about me. Can’t give ‘em the satisfaction of breaking me.”

“Stop it, Spike! This is serious!” she nearly wailed, fear overriding her better judgment.

“So am I.” Spike’s voice was stern with determination.

A period of silence followed as Buffy’s thoughts became too disjointed to form a cohesive thought, random ideas assaulting her brain and likewise his in a vain attempt to find a way to rescue him. His concentration on their conversation was abruptly severed when one of the grunts laid a booted foot on the back of his neck, pressing hard until Spike’s head was arched into a painful position.

“Hey, Riley,” Forrest called up front to the man driving the van. “Didn’t Walsh say that this hostile’s chip was malfunctioning?”

Riley caught his friend’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, it’s one of the reasons she wants him so badly, wants to find out what went wrong.”

Forrest snorted and bent down until he was eye level with Spike. “Hear that, you fanged freak? Your pale ass is gonna get dissected.”

Spike showed no emotion or even a twitch of his body to indicate he’d heard the prick. Let them think that he was beaten, that he was broken inside as well as out. A person who underestimated him was always an advantage. And this time would be no different.

~*~

“He’s heading towards the college campus,” Buffy said as she got to her feet, grabbing the wall when a wave of dizziness caused her to lean too much to the left.

“Riley’s frat house!” Xander suggested enthusiastically. “I bet there’s an entrance somewhere in there.”

“Good thinking, Xan. Now I just need to figure out a way to get inside without getting myself turned into an experiment.”

Giles returned from gagging Angel, scrubbing his hands profusely under hot water with lots of soap in the kitchen. “I still say it’s ludicrous to think you can do this by yourself, Buffy.”

“I can go with her,” Xander offered. “I mean, I still remember all that military training that got stuck in my head during Halloween.”

“Tara and I could help with a glamour spell,” Willow said, grinning at her new friend. “I think it’ll last longer than the one I made for Spike.”

Buffy smiled tremulously. Three weeks ago, she never would’ve thought of Spike the way she did now. Neither would she have counted on the help of the Scoobies to get him out of a jam either. It said a lot about how much all of them had grown in the past few weeks.

“That sounds-”

“Remember these numbers, Slayer… six-one-five-two-three-eight.” Spike’s voice pushed her to memorize the code.

“What is it?”

“It’s the code to the door that leads-” But then he was silent again.

Dread filled Buffy as she quickly finished gathering her weapons and flinging the rucksack to land near the door. She then grabbed Xander and stood in front of Willow and Tara expectantly.

“Okay, you witchy women, make us soldiers.”

~*~

“Damnit, the elevator’s still broken. We’ll have to use the stairs,” Graham growled, slamming the heel of his hand against the panel in a vain attempt to get the lift to work.

“This fucker’s heavy, too,” Forrest added in a strained voice as he had Spike hefted over one shoulder. “You’d think his scrawny ass would be light as a feather.”

Spike barely stopped the rising snarl in his chest. Instead of remaining stiff and unwieldly while the Commando’s manhandled him, he let his whole body sag so they’d have to do most of the work. He knew it was a petty torment, but it produced the desired effect – pissing off Finn and getting him eye level with anything that he did.

“Give him here, you pussy,” Riley ordered, hauling Spike’s bound form over his left shoulder. After settling him there, he glared out of the corner of his eye at his two troop members. “Pathetic.”

He turned to the door that had a keypad above the handle and entered his code, Spike watching the entire time. He descended four flights of stairs with Graham and Forrest following as it emptied out into the main Initiative area containing the jail cells. Walsh was waiting for them as expected.

“Excellent job, Finn. You and Forrest take him straight to lab three-fourteen,” she directed. “Graham? Have experiment one-twenty-three prepped and brought to the room.” She then left to gather another scientist, knowing her orders would be followed.

Forrest slapped Spike on the back of his drooping head as he walked behind Riley. “Man, you’re gonna have lots of fun in there… hope you’re not squeamish!”

It was a reflex that Spike tried to clutch his head from the blow with his bound hands. It didn’t stop the muffled sounds that spluttered around his gag though.

“You say something, animal?” Riley stopped and hauled Spike over to stand in front of them, removing the restraint from his mouth.

“Seven percent of Ireland’s barley crop is used in the production of Guinness beer,” the weary vamp stated, unable to stop himself.

Forrest and Riley looked at each other, evil intent broadening their smiles. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

They quickly dragged Spike to the lab and bound his body to the table, three steel cuffs on each arm and leg, another set across his torso as the final set strapped his head to the table. His beloved duster lay discarded on the floor, kicked into a corner, as his upper body was bared by having his t-shirt cut from neck to navel with a pair of scissors. His jeans followed in much the same fashion as well as his boots, the frigid metal slab causing his temperature to drop further than it already was.

“Hit him again, Forrest,” Riley instructed, watching as the other man took a wicked swing at the side of Spike’s temple.

Spike’s vision tunneled as the blow started the chip firing again. “Sunlight can penetrate clean ocean water to a depth of two-hundred and forty feet.”

“Again.”

This time the hit speared a frisson of pain across Spike’s left cheekbone and he knew it was broken. “A bar of gold the size of a matchbox can be flattened into a sheet the size of a tennis court.”

A slamming door stopped the next strike in midair as Walsh’s angry voice echoed in the sterile room. “What are you doing?”

“I think we’ve discovered the glitch in the hardware, ma’am,” Forrest said with a contrite look on his face.

Dr. Angleman stood behind Walsh and looked at his subject with a frown. “He’s barely conscious! And look at that swelling!”

“You’re both dismissed,” Walsh ground out, brooking no argument from the Commandos.

Forrest excused himself, but Riley lingered, wanting to know what would happen to the hostile.

“Is there a problem with your hearing, soldier?” Walsh glared at him over her glasses.

Riley gritted his teeth at her sharp tone. “It seems this hostile is in possession of some obscure knowledge. Maybe we should-”

“That is none of your concern, agent Finn. Return to your duties or I’ll have you escorted out.”

His body tense with anger, he nodded curtly before leaving the lab and taking up his post in the security room. It was his turn to man the cameras tonight, and with a little jerry rigging of the wires, he could watch everything that they did without being caught.

~*~

“I look like Geraldo Rivera,” Xander said, staring at himself in the mirror.

“At least that’s better than looking like Demi Moore from G.I. Jane,” Buffy complained as she took in her new appearance.

Both friends were unrecognizable in the glamour that they wore, complete with military gear and flack vests. Xander’s body had been thinned down and given a mustache-goatee so no one would look too closely at his facial features. Buffy looked like a starving boot camp reject with spiky short brown fuzz and hollow cheeks. There would be no way anyone in the Initiative would identify either of them on sight.

“Now, Buffy,” Giles reminded her of the plan. “Anya, Tara, and Willow will be waiting in the car after they drop you and Xander off near Lowell House. We’ll give you an hour to get in and get Spike out. If you don’t return by the allotted time, I’m calling the authorities. Is that understood?”

Buffy looked over her military issue rifle as she tried to force a loaded clip into the chamber. “Yeah, Giles,” she grunted with exertion as the clip finally clicked into position and she smiled proudly.

She also forgot to set the safety. A shot pierced her Watcher’s ceiling as everyone ducked when she swung her gun around again.

“Maybe she would do better with knives?” Xander stated with exasperation, taking the rifle from her.

She pouted but then her eyes glazed over with desire when he presented her with a rather large Bowie knife, newly sharpened. “Ooh, shiny!”

Her smile instantly disappeared as Spike’s thoughts suddenly took a decidedly ghastly turn.

“Need to switch off now, Slayer… not fit for your pretty sensibilities.” The voice in her head was slurred and laced with pain.

“Again.”

“Spike?”

Nothing.

Terror coursed through her. “Guys, we need to be there like five minutes ago!”

~*~

“Computer, run diagnostic scan of cranium.”

Spike heard a mild hum start up around his head as he lay on the chilly table, wishing his ego or pride – or maybe it was his stubborn constitution - would let him slip into unconsciousness. He could discern a thin line of bright light moving across his face, but he knew that his sight was damaged beyond repair at this point, the chip having severed the ocular nerve.

“See here, Dr. Angleman? The chip has completely dislodged itself from the hypothalamus and become wrapped around the cerebral cortex… amazing,” Walsh breathed in excitement as she studied the images.

Dr. Angleman concurred. “It’s truly fascinating… but we’ll need to start over. The chip isn’t viable with its present placement in the subject’s brain. Plus, I believe there’s damage to the hardware that will have to be corrected before reimplantation.”

Bollocks! It was Spike’s only lucid thought.

“I’ll just prep the area if you’ll open a surgical kit,” the doctor directed.

Spike could feel the razor scrape along his scalp, shedding his platinum curls in order to obtain their precious piece of junk. He also felt the alcohol burn its way over the sensitive area to keep it sterile, which he didn’t know why they bothered since he didn’t get infections… or did he? He didn’t remember anymore.

He couldn’t move or yelp in pain when the scalpel sliced into his scalp, any and all of his energy gone with the previous beatings, feeling the blood drip down to collect in a basin below his elevated head. It was an unnerving sensation to listen as the doctor recorded his operation while his skin was being pulled back from his head.

“Removal of scalp tissue just above the parietal bone of skull.”

Let me faint, you fuckers!

The whirring of the bone saw caused Spike to struggle against his restraints until the motor shut off.

“Sedate him please, Maggie.”

A slight prick to his bicep was the only warning he got before the burning fluid sluiced through his veins. His muscles relaxed and his face became numb… but blessed oblivion did not come. He could hear everything, but was unable to react. What the fuck had they given him?

The motor started up again and he was somewhat relieved that because his face and head were numb, he could only feel the pressure of the bone saw, not the actual cutting itself.

“Triangular three inch section of skull bone removed to reveal the dura and pia-arachnoid mater. Malfunctioning hardware also located. Maggie, hand me that clamp.”

Spike’s body strained against his cuffs the moment Dr. Angleman placed the clamp on the chip, regardless of the drug in his system. It was like a live, hot wire and his thoughts were set on fast forward.

“Hot dogs originated in China. A bad move in chess is called a zugswang. A neuroblast is a newly formed nerve cell. Parsley is the most widely used herb in the world. A single bale of cotton will yield two hundred and fifteen pairs of jeans. The range of a medieval longbow is about two hundred and twenty yards. The animal with the highest worldwide output of farts is the termite.”

Dr. Angleman removed the clamp and Spike sagged like a limp rag. “My god, how intriguing!”

“Do you still wish to start over, doctor?” Walsh asked as she began prepping the kit that Graham had placed in the lab.

The doctor studied the device that had embedded itself in Spike’s brain, albeit in the wrong spot. “It’s tempting to keep it in place for study, but I still want to remove it and see what we get. Besides, if this subject fails, we have others.”

Before Spike could slur any objections, the ‘live hot wire’ was completely withdrawn from his head, replaced by a blissful nothingness.

~*~

Lowell House was empty.

At least, Buffy and Xander hoped against hope that it was.

“I think we need to be looking for a door that has numbers on it,” Buffy whispered. “Spike told me a code and I think it leads to the Initiative.”

“There are only bathrooms doors on the first floor, so let’s try the second.”

The crept quietly up the wide staircase and scanned the hall for any signs of movement. Seeing none, they began checking doors on each side, praying they found what they were looking for. Buffy stopped in front of a floor to ceiling mirror.

“This is an odd place for this, don’t you think? I didn’t know army types were vain,” she snickered, looking it up and down.

Xander came to stand behind her, staring intently at the edges of the frame. “I think it’s a decoy.” He rapped his knuckles on the wall next to the mirror. “Yep, hollow.”

“Woah, look at you,” she beamed. “Maybe you should join the real army.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, on second thought, that’s a big fat no! They’re turning out to be the bad guys and while I can’t shoot worth a damn, I’d really hate having to beat you up if you got outta line.”

He started to roll his eyes but stopped as he focused on the door next to the mirror. “There! A keypad above the latch!”

She wanted to squeal in delight but refrained as she tried to remember the code. “Okay, here’s the sequence… I think.”

“You don’t know?” he spluttered. “One wrong number and this whole place might go into lock down!”

“Way to go, Xander… now I feel NO pressure,” she spat.

He grabbed her by the arms and looked her in the eye. “Just calm down and concentrate really hard. I know you wanna get Spike outta there, but screwing this up won’t allow that to happen.”

“Remind me to never go to you when I need a positive pep talk,” she said with a glare. “Six-one-five-two-three-eight.”

They both blinked in shock. “Woah. Guess it just takes a bit of attitude to produce the desired effect.”

She punched in the arm. “Shut up and enter the code.”

They held their breath as he entered the code, waiting for alarms to start sounding because of a wrong digit or something. They exhaled their relief when nothing happened but the door opening with a beep.

~*~

Riley watched as Hostile Seventeen’s brain was dissected, smirking in contempt for his species.

He was about to zoom in on the procedure when his attention was drawn to the Lowell House stairwell camera, two figures dressed in fatigues descending to the compound. He brought the picture into focus to see who would be in the frat house at this time of night, not recognizing either agent. They were dressed to the hilt though, so he figured they were returning from a bag and tag mission, Lowell being the closest access.

He turned back to watch Walsh and Angleman insert several needles into the hostile’s arms and femoral arteries, knowing what was coming next, but keeping an eye on the strange soldiers.

~*~

“Can you hear me hostile?” Walsh said loudly.

“Spike,” he whispered through cracked and dry lips.

“Is that what you call yourself? Spike?”

“Get bent!”

She cocked an eyebrow, but continued inserting needles into key veins and arties throughout his body. “We’re going to bleed you out, vampire.”

Spike’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking off your rocker!” He tried flexing his left arm against his restraints, but he couldn’t gain enough leverage to do more than make the metal cuff groan in protest.

“There’s no need to struggle. We’ve taken three pints so far. I imagine it’ll only take about ten more minutes before you’re completely drained, you don’t have much weight to your body.”

He looked down to see several tubes with deep red fluid flowing through them and into glass bottles, feeling himself get weaker and weaker by the second. He didn’t even have the strength to ask why they were doing it. Wouldn’t it be easier just to dust him and save on all the medical supplies? Then he remembered he was dealing with scientific sadists, and no cost was too high in the name of research.

~*~

Buffy grabbed Xander’s arm before they entered through the compound door. “Who do we say we are?”

“I’m Sergeant Harris and you’re Private Summers.”

“Think of something else, Summers is a dead give away!”

“Anderson?”

“Fine.” She blew out a nervous breath. “Okay, let’s go kick some Initiative ass!”

~*~

They say that the senses die one by one, as someone is crossing over.

Spike hoped that was true. He no longer felt his legs or arms as his life’s blood seeped from his veins into containers meant for who knows what, a heavy weight settling on his chest. His sight became crap long ago so he wasn’t surprised when everything went completely black.

He could do without the panicky feeling that was threatening to engulf him, like a swimmer who’s grown tired and can no longer tread water in the deep end, but it hovered just out of reach. Faint sounds echoed in the background, as if he were on a high cliff and listening to a war in a valley far away in the distance, thundering booms and shouts of rage and pain. Maybe the good guys were winning, he mused idly.

The good guys… Buffy. His golden Slayer, the ultimate goal for his sad, pathetic life. At least, that’s how it had started out, but somewhere along the way it became a tangled mess, and now, at the end, he wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in her embrace and to sleep… sleep until the darkness receded and she was all that he knew.

“She is the grass that I lay my head upon…”

“Spike? I’m coming, hang in there!”

“She is the rain that quenches my undying thirst…”

“NO!” The scream echoed in his mind and ears, as if she were really near.

“And I love you as the flowers love the sunshine.”

With his last unneeded breath, Spike gave up, and was no more.

“Let’s go kick some Initiative ass!”

Riley watched the pair exit the stairwell door then switched to another camera angle that picked them up after they entered the compound. He followed them on the closed circuit monitor, watching as they entered the containment area and split up, the male going down one row of cells, the female doing the same on the opposite side.

Wait a minute… female? Their operation had very few females. Time to check it out.

He turned briefly to the computer and started typing codes that eventually brought up a list of female recruits in service to the Initiative, their name, position, and vital statistics listed in the database.

Chin, Margaret - stationed in Albuquerque, New Mexico - classified.

“No, not her,” he muttered, moving on to the next name and picture as the first image looked nothing like the intruder.

Othello, Diana - stationed in Nova Scotia, Canada - priority clearance, science division.

He glanced over his shoulder at the camera once more, trying to zoom in on the woman’s face, but could only make out a slight frame and dark hair, her cap covering most of her facial features. “Not her either.”

The last recruit was displayed on the screen and she was located on the other side of the world at the moment, working on thermonuclear physics and only on a consultant basis with the Initiative. That left the possibility of an intruder… but one that had access? It didn’t make sense.

Watching the monitor more closely, he noticed the pair seemed to be looking for something… or someone within the cells, stopping to peer into each one, obviously not locating what they were hoping to find. The male turned to the female once to converse, but then continued on his path towards the end of the hall. The idea of reporting the ‘visitors’ to Walsh flitted through his mind, but he’d grown apprehensive of her and her orders in the past few weeks, the absence of his black eye still niggling at the back of his mind. He’d seen what they’d done to the demons and whatnot they’d captured, who knew what they were doing to the soldiers in their employ.

Instead, he disabled the alarm system and security recording mechanism, allowing him to deal with the guests himself without fear of interruption. The compound was practically empty at this time of night, only a few scientists and guards on duty, the rest fast asleep in their barracks. He could dispatch the pair without much notice.

Just before he left though, the scene on the monitor changed as the female jerked away from one of the cells, a hand over her mouth and pointing towards the glass barrier, the male grasping her by the shoulders and shaking his head. Oh yeah, these two were behaving like ‘civvies’ now and that meant containment was necessary. He spared one glance to the camera focused on Walsh and Hostile Seventeen then left the room.

~*~

“Well, that was easier than I expected,” Buffy murmured as they slinked their way in the shadows to the containment area.

“Don’t say that! That’s like asking for trouble!” Xander whispered harshly. He took note of the scant crew, his uneasiness growing the closer they got to the jail cells. “You know, they always say something like that in the movies… right before the ten-foot tall monster steps out and squishes them flat with its pinky.”

“Okay, I take it back.” She rolled her eyes before glancing up at the ceiling, silently praying the Fates would be kind but knowing her luck, they were just playing with her.

“Nope, no take backs. Once you said it, it’s a done deal,” he groused lightly as they rounded a sharp corner then stopped before entering the brightly lit area to study all the cells. “You take the left side, I’ll take the right. Hopefully he’s in one of these things.”

She slipped around him and carefully tiptoed her way down the row; searching and quickly moving on to the next when she didn’t find who she was looking for, Xander doing the same on his side. There were so many cells, and she wondered what on earth the Initiative was doing with all these creatures, becoming aware of the frightened looks on most of their faces. A few were too gaunt or wasted to do more than glance at her then turn away, despair etched in their gazes.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured, her eyes tearing up. “They’re being treated worse than animals.”

The ASPCA would’ve had a field day if this organization were actually keeping animals, the lawsuits never-ending from all the abuse and neglect she was witnessing. But that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? Were these creatures even below animals in their right to be protected? Spike had once told her that vamps were sentient beings and hinted that they might even have a soul; regardless of the tales and myths she’d been told. And now, staring into the cages, she could see what he’d been trying to tell her.

Each one was different, just as different as humans were and couldn’t understand what they’d done to deserve this… except exist. She drew similarities to the Jewish Holocaust and the situation she was being forced to acknowledge in these cells, the last occupant in her row making it painfully clear that he preferred death over the existence he was being forced to live.

Approaching the glass, she watched, at what she assumed was the last of The Gentlemen, slice his finger open with a small piece of sharp metal… only to have the wound quickly heal itself. He slowly raised his eyes to her and sluggishly moved to the barrier. He began cutting again, smearing the fluid on the glass before the incision healed and writing letters with each cut.

Kill me.

She covered her mouth in horror and nearly retched, backing away until she grabbed Xander and pushed him the direction of the ghoul’s cell.

“My God! I thought they were all dead,” he said in shock, stopping a foot away from the barrier separating them. He observed the being blink its eyes slowly, sliding down the concrete wall to sit with its head against the clear cell door.

Buffy’s muffled cries brought him back to his senses, backing away to hold his friend while she dealt with the horrors of human nature. Once she settled a little, he gave her a slight pat and sighed.

“He’s not in any of these cages, Buffy. I don’t have schematics of this place, so they could be holding him just about anywhere. Being a lab rat suddenly has new meaning in this maze.”

“She is the grass that I lay my head upon…”

Buffy went rigid with the nearness of Spike’s voice, turning her head to peer down a long and narrow, dimly lit corridor off to the right.

“Spike?” she whispered aloud, listening intently for his answer.

“Do you hear-”

“Shhh!” she cut Xander off. Hearing nothing, she prodded his mind again. “Spike? I’m coming, hang in there!”

“She is the rain that quenches my undying thirst…”

His words were slurred, even in his head, and she felt him slipping from his earthly prison.

“NO!” she screamed and bolted towards the corridor, only to run into a brick wall of flesh.

Riley picked her up by the scruff of the neck, keeping well away from her hands and feet. “Now, where do you’re think off to?”

“… and I love you as the flowers love the sunshine.”

Her eyes widened as she went lax in Riley’s grip, her lower lip trembling. “No… no,” she whimpered.

“Spike? Spike! Talk to me, godamnit!” she screamed uselessly at his mind. A daunting silence was her only answer.

“Do you need help here, sir?” a low voice interrupted.

Riley turned to see an agent nearby, gun at the ready. He probably heard her scream and came running. “No, I have everything in hand. You’re dismissed.”

The soldier narrowed his eyes at the tall Commando, but wisely nodded and left the trio.

“We definitely have everything in hand, don’t we…” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Buffy.”

She stiffened for a moment, wondering if her glamour disappeared, but frowned when she felt no hair on the back of her neck.

“Oh, I know it’s you under all that - that… whatever it is. Who else would come looking for the amoral idiot of undead society?”

“Uh - oh,” was all Xander could mutter before he watched her clock Riley a good one.

Or, at least, he thought it was supposed to be a good one. Riley didn’t even flinch with the force of her blow, but he returned the power threefold as he backhanded her, sending her sliding along the floor to land at her friend’s feet. Xander didn’t think twice as he slung his rifle into position and took aim.

“You’re Swiss cheese history, man!” He opened fire on the imposing Commando, emptying most of his rounds into his chest area, a few on his arms and one grazing his cheek.

They all stared in shock at Riley, who stood there investigating his wounds with curiosity then pulled out one of the slugs to examine it.

“Jesus! It’s like he’s… he’s…”

“Indestructible,” Riley finished with a scowl.

“Sir! I heard the commotion and-”

“I said I’d handle this!” Riley roared as he turned and wrapped his hands around the guard’s throat, squeezing the life out of him.

Buffy scrambled to her feet, knowing that so far, Riley had only detained demons and vampires, never killing humans. If he murdered a human, there would be no way to save him and he’d have to answer to a higher, more human authority.

“You’re killing him!” she yelled, trying to pry his hands from the soldier’s neck.

He dropped the man, who’d passed out, and instead wrapped his meaty fingers around Buffy’s throat. Confusion warred in his features as he flexed his digits, cutting off her air supply and then allowing her to breathe. Xander made a move to intervene, but Buffy’s eyes caught his, shaking her head as much as she could in her current position.

She didn’t know or understand why she was trying to save what was left of Riley, but his permanent look of utter disbelief as he stared at his hands helped reassure her she was on the right track. “Riley?” she rasped.

His brow dipped low in a frown as his eyes darted from his fingers to her face. “I-I don’t know…”

Slowly and gently, so as not to agitate him further, Buffy reached up and touched his wrists, trying to withdraw the pressure from her trachea. He stood there in a daze as she looked at the injuries Xander’s gun had inflicted, noticing a silvery sheen under them. She tentatively prodded an open wound, expecting to find some sort of bone fragment, but only finding… metal.

“What are you?” she gasped, finally looking him in the eye.

He looked at the holes on his arms and grimaced in disgust, shaking his head. Reaching down, he pulled a wicked looking blade from his boot, watching as Buffy jumped back a few feet. His eyes steady on her, he stabbed the knife deeply into his forearm, feeling pain and seeing blood well to the surface, but it wasn’t a biting pain, more of an annoyance. And the blood was minimal, nothing like in… humans.

“What’s happening to me?” he whispered, looking as lost as he felt.

“Execute order thirty-seven!”

Riley’s body became rigid and beyond his control at the sound of Walsh’s voice. It was like he was watching a movie of himself as he approached Buffy and Xander in a menacing fashion. Whatever bullets were left in Xander’s clip, he knew would be emptied into him as they tried to keep him from advancing on them. What the hell was going on with him?

“Buffy, the gun’s jammed!” Xander yelled as he pulled her behind him and they backed away.

“Riley! You can’t do this! You’re sick, let someone help you!” she screamed at him.

“I-I don’t want to… to…”

Walsh emerged from the shadows, watching with great interest. “Do not deviate from the order.”

Trying to counteract the command, Riley’s body began shaking, as if going into seizures. His back arched violently and he fell to the floor, his head striking the pavement several times, hard enough to leave an indentation.

“The failsafe is working, I see,” Walsh said with a smirk as she walked around her agent’s twisting body. “Defy me further, and your body will go into shut down.”

“Defy this, you bitch!”

Buffy decked the hag and watched her sail across the compound to land unconscious after hitting a metal door. She rushed over to Riley to find him passed out, his face slathered in foamy drool.

“God, what did they do to him?”

“I’ll watch him, Buff… you go find Spike,” Xander said, toeing the inert man with his boot.

Without a word, she turned and ran in the direction she last heard something, screaming in her mind for Spike to answer. She cursed herself a fool ten times over for her delay in getting to him when she heard nothing but an empty echo.

Several locked doors lined the hallway, each with large numbers stamped on the metal door. She took the first door, broke the lock and peered about the room. Polished steel cabinets filled the room, a steamy vapor rising from the bottom of each one. She mangled the handle on one and looked inside. Rows and rows of glass vials were nestled in deep freeze, all containing a liquid of some sort. Definitely not the room she wanted.

Moving on to the next, she poked her head inside, gasping as she took in the horror before her. Eight long cylinders lined the room, filled to the brim with clear liquid. Each tube held a form inside, in various stages of development, some grotesque in their twisted appearance. She quickly backed out of the room and fled to the next one.

The lock on the door to three-fourteen was harder to break, grunting as she pushed and pulled on the latch until it finally gave way. She shoved the door open, nearly slipping on the blood that pooled on the floor.

Spike’s blood!

Abject terror coursed through her body and soul at the sight she beheld on the table. Carefully stepping around the puddles of blood littering the floor, she made her way to the side of the metal slab, an empty tube brushing against her hip. She looked down at the offending item and followed it to its beginning in Spike’s vein. Gently withdrawing the needle it was attached to, she flung the hated torture device across the room, listening as it plopped uselessly in a puddle.

She braced herself and lifted her gaze, looking into his now lifeless eyes. His lids had closed halfway, as if he were sleepy… but they didn’t move, his beautiful blue eyes sunken in so far he looked like a skull. His skin was yellowed and paper-thin over protruding bones, his cheeks so hollow she could see the outline of his teeth beneath the muscle. His lips were cracked and dry, no moisture to be found except on the floor.

“Spike?” she sobbed in a quiet voice, reaching out to touch his shoulder. It was cold as ice.

That’s when she noticed the triangular piece of bone lying off to the side of his head. She moved to the top of the table and immediately turned to the side, vomiting in a nearby sink. Holding the back of her hand to her lips, she looked at Spike’s head.

The platinum bleach curls in the back were drenched in blood, apparently from where they sliced open his scalp. She glanced at the bone-saw, propped up on a side table, and then back to his skull. She prayed to God that he’d been out cold when they started cutting, but knowing them, he was probably wide-awake.

Making her way back to the table, she picked up a wire with a microchip attached to the end of it. This… this little piece of silicon and wires was what debilitated Spike so much that he sought refuge with her and the Scoobies. This was the hardware that caused all his stored up years of information to flow like a broken damn from his mouth. This was the piece of shit that stole his eyesight from him and caused him to question his sanity.

She never hated science more in her life.

She crushed the chip in her fist, cutting her palm in the process. Dropping the metal, she stared at the blood oozing from the cut and without thought, began rubbing the liquid over Spike’s dry, cracked lips. When the bleeding stopped, she waited, searching for any signs that he smelled the life-giving substance, wanting it bad enough to come around.

Nothing happened.

Biting her lip to keep from completely losing it, she dug around in her pocket for the Gem of Amara and slipped it on one of his thin, limp fingers. If anything could bring him back, it would be the ring. It was supposed to keep vamps impervious to harm, wasn’t it? She wondered how long it would take before the effects would be apparent.

Several moments went by, and still… nothing happened.

“Spike? C’mon, wake up!” she said a little hysterically, her eyes overflowing with tears.

No spark, no movement, not even a hint of unneeded breath stirred within him.

“No,” she whimpered, touching his cheek in a gentle caress.

Leaning down, she kissed him lightly on his parched lips, her tears covering his face. She then wiped the smudges from his jaw, trying in vain to make him look presentable as she ran her fingers through his soft curls. She knew she was quickly losing it, but didn’t care any longer if she actually did.

“You know, you still haven’t beaten me when we’ve fought,” she whispered to him, as if he could hear her. “I’d hate to think the Big Bad would let me down. You’re supposed to kill me, you know?” She stroked his collarbone lovingly, going lower to touch the place where his dead heart laid.

“It’s not supposed to happen this way, Spike,” she protested weakly, tears coursing down her cheeks to plop on his sunken chest. “We’re supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, you and me. Not with you as someone’s science experiment and not with me having to live without you.”

“Buffy?”

“You were right, Spike. You were always… annoyingly right… about everything,” she hiccupped, grief overwhelming her now. “But now,” she moaned, “you’re safe from all those horrible things they wanted to do to you.”

“Hey, Buffy?”

She laid her upper body against Spike’s and sobbed in earnest, clutching his shoulders. “I miss you… I want you back! I’m so sorry for all I did to you… for not letting you know that I cared… that you were everything that was exciting about life… that I loved you.”

Xander glanced at Spike’s unmoving face and body, pursing his lips as his best friend bared her soul on his still form. He grasped her arm to pull her off of the vampire, but she snarled and clasped his emaciated frame in a death grip.

“Don’t you touch him! Don’t you hurt him!”

Tears welled in Xander’s eyes. “Buffy… Spike’s gone.”

“No! There’s a body, which means he’s just asleep! If he were really dead, he’d be dust!”

“Buffy,” he pleaded gently, “- he’s not asleep. Spike’s really dead.”

She shook her head vehemently and growled every time Xander tried to get near her. “Okay, okay… Spike’s just, uh, sleeping,” he choked out the words for her benefit. “But we need to leave, our hour is almost up.”

“You won’t get out the way you got in,” a weary Riley said from the doorway. “You’ll have to take the way Spike used to escape.”

Xander looked the agent over, noticing the blood dripping from his hands. “How do we know this isn’t some set-up?”

Perspiration covered every bit of bare flesh on Riley and he looked too ruddy in complexion. He held onto the door, his fingers digging deep groves in the metal as he tried to focus on what he was doing.

“You don’t.”

“So why should we trust you?”

“That’s your choice. You can either die here or you can leave and never come back.”

“Not much of choice, is it?”

“At least you have one.”

“How’d you come by that?” Xander asked the Commando, pointing to his bloody hand.

His lip curled. “Walsh. She woke up, trying to execute another order. I stopped her before she could.”

“Let me see.”

Riley led him out of the room, Buffy never noticing either man leave. He then pointed in the general vicinity of Professor Walsh’s body, not bothering to specifically state where, because it would have been too many places. Her body had been torn apart at the limbs, inhuman strength ripping the joints from their sockets. It was amazing that Xander never heard anything, no screams or moans… nothing. He supposed it was because he was so focused on Buffy and Spike that he tuned out everything else.

“You should leave,” Riley ground out harshly, scratching at his skin and nearly removing large sections of flesh on his arms.

Xander grew queasy watching him. “Man, what is wrong with you? What are you?”

“I don’t fucking know!” he roared, beginning to pace.

Knowing Buffy wouldn’t leave without Spike, Xander asked, “Do you know what they did to him?”

He stopped pacing and stared. “Your magic faded.”

The brunet shrugged. At least it lasted long enough to get their mission accomplished… sort of. “If you know, man, you really gotta tell me. Buffy won’t leave-”

“Reanimation.”

“Hate to break it to you, but Spike was already a walking corpse as it was. Why would you guys make him a zombie?”

Riley snorted. “You have a very limited imagination. Let me show you.”

Xander followed him towards one of the labs that Buffy had apparently broken into in a vain attempt to find Spike. It was cold in the room, the icy vapor leaking from the metal lockers nearly freezing everything. Becoming calmer, Riley punched in an access code on one of the cabinets and it popped open, revealing a screen and keyboard.

“The implant in Hostile Seventeen’s brain was malfunctioning. We hadn’t had enough time to test it thoroughly before he escaped, so it was a wonder it was still working at all,” he told him, keying codes in quickly until he came to a top-secret screen.

“Under normal conditions, the subject is to be controlled through electroshocks at just the right time to teach the Hostile to obey on command. But that control was the last phase of the experiment.”

Xander couldn’t image Spike under anyone’s control, let alone military goons. “What was the first phase?”

“Control of feeding habits. We wanted them to know we were their only source of food, and to do as we told them would be in their best interest.”

“So you never got beyond the first phase with Spike?”

“No, it takes a few months between phases. It’s probably why the microchip transmitter became displaced. The chip requires fine tuning with each phase.”

“What happens when you reach the final stage?”

Riley finished typing and turned the monitor towards Xander. He punched one last key and said, “This.”

Video footage sprung up on the screen and began playing. It was a night setting in what looked like a South American background, plants and forests all around with a stucco building in the forefront. He watched as several shadows crept across the terracotta roof and dropped silently on to a balcony.

“Once they’re in this position, we deactivate the mechanism, basically giving them free reign to wreak havoc with our chosen targets,” Riley pointed out.

Blood coated the curtains as the vampires destroyed whoever was inside. Once finished, the vamps trying to escape suddenly suffered a seizure and collapsed to the ground, incapacitated.

“We do that in case they try to run.”

“Who uses vamps like this? Isn’t it dangerous? I mean like Alien-movie kind of dangerous? What makes you think you can always control them?”

“Wasn’t my job to know,” Riley muttered, typing for the next file. “I just bagged and tagged them for the implants.”

“That’s like training dolphins to locate underwater mine fields, except Flipper doesn’t want to eat you!” Xander shook his hand paced away. “You can’t believe this is right!”

“Those vamps annihilated a Colombian drug cartel lord. Now… you tell me. Was it right to keep his drugs off the streets by eliminating him? I think so.”

This information sobered Xander’s anger. “Is that what they were planning to do to Spike?”

“Eventually, but they needed to start over with him. He would’ve probably been even more aggressive than the others once he’d been reanimated.”

“Why?”

“Draining a vamp of all their blood and then replacing it makes them even more feral than before. If he didn’t kill someone when he woke up, he would have been shipped to the Special Weapons division for implementation.”

“You mean Spike’s alive?” Xander’s brows rose to his hairline.

“No, he’s dead alright.”

“But you just said when he woke up-”

“After a very lengthy and painful reanimation process, Xander.”

Thoughts whirled in his mind, mainly on getting Spike back for Buffy. “But it can be done, right?”

Riley frowned hard at the younger man. “The process is recorded, but we’ve never been able to achieve a viable subject before. I can’t guarantee its success.”

“I’m not asking you to, but I think Buffy deserves the chance to find out if it works.”

“Fine. I’ll find the files and you do with them what you want.”

As Riley typed away, Xander wandered around the room, opening freezer doors and glancing inside. “What are all these vials?”

“Demon blood or genetic material,” he muttered, continuing to search for the information.

Xander peered more closely at a larger vial. “Are you sure?”

Riley grit his teeth in frustration. “Look, do you want this formula or-” He turned to see Xander holding aloft a large glass tube.

“This has your name on it.”

~*~

Buffy never noticed the two men leave.

She withdrew from Spike’s body and pulled up a stool with wheels on the base, sitting next to the table where he lay, pulling his skeletal hand into her warm ones.

His palm had lost its fleshy appearance, his fingers like sticks as they curled into a cupped position of their own volition. Stretching out his hand, she tried to rub warmth into them by slowly massaging the remaining muscle mass, hoping to find enough blood left to give her hope.

She refused to believe he was completely gone, his body all the evidence she would need to argue her case. He had some fluid in his system, or else he’d be dust… but soon realized that might not be the case. The harder she stroked his skin, the smoother it felt… and the dustier her own fingers became. Frowning, she glanced down to see that her hands were covered in dust.

Spike’s dust.

Horrified, she quickly examined the hand she’d been holding, only to see parts of his fingers had been wiped away, down to the bone! She dropped his hand like it was on fire and stared at him, torn between wanting to hold him and petrified that she’d hold him too hard and, in essence, dust him via hug.

The laughing sob that burst from her mouth startled her as she backed away from the table, looking at everything but the hand that now dangled off the edge.

Get a grip, Buffy! You won’t do anybody any good if you don’t!

Blowing out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding, she tentatively began to remove the remaining needles and tubes from his slack body, avoiding the wasted blood on the floor. That’s when she noticed his beloved duster in the corner, rumpled into a ball, forgotten.

She picked it up and shook it out, but was afraid to lay it across his nude form in case it would wear away more of his skin. Instead, she folded it and placed it on a counter near the door, ready to take with her when they left.

Because Spike would definitely be coming with them, regardless if he was…

No, she wouldn’t say that life-shattering word, the one where there was no return for those that spoke it. No, that never applied to Spike, even as a vampire.

Needing to patch him up before they left, she returned to the top of the slab, closing her eyes as she picked up the triangular piece of skull bone. She then scanned the countertops and wondered how the scientists were going to reattach the fragment when she spied a tube of Crazy Glue. Seeing nothing else available, she grabbed the bottle and squeezed some on the edges before replacing it where it’d been taken from. Trying not to hurl, she laid the flap of skin over the wound to see if any of the flesh had been cut away in the process. Seeing no other lacerations, she began searching for a needle and some thread.

She pulled out each drawer in the room, finding gauze, bandages, alcohol prep pads, assorted antibiotic ointment packets, and then finally several different types of sutures. Choosing a strand that looked sturdy enough, she threaded a rather lethal looking needle and grabbed a squeeze bottle of alcohol.

“I don’t know if it needs to be sterile, but I’m not taking any chances,” she muttered under her breath while cleansing the area before beginning, forgetting that she’d just used Crazy Glue to patch his skull.

She’d received basic first aid training from Giles throughout the years to include stitching up wounds that were just too deep simply to use butterfly tape. And while she’d done this to herself many a time after a particularly nasty monster inflicted injury, it was the first time she’d sutured someone else up… and her nerves were shot.

Pressing the edges of the laceration together, she slowly inserted the needle into his scalp to draw the skin together, praying with each short breath that Spike was truly just asleep, like she’d demanded earlier. Truthfully, she didn’t know what kind of state he was in. He looked dead, but he wasn’t completely dust, so nothing made sense to her really.

At times, the stitch wouldn’t hold because his skin was too thin and papery, so she adjusted the space in between each one until she was finished, tying the end off and cutting the remainder. She studied her handiwork with a grimace, hoping that if… no, when he woke up, no one would mention that his hair stuck straight up towards the back. Knowing him, he’d constantly pat his head in a vain attempt to keep his curls flattened, as the stitching looked haphazard at best and a little worse than his scarred eyebrow.

That done, she gently lifted his head off the prop on which it rested, throwing the bracket across the room and laying his head down on the cold metal. She ran her fingers lovingly over his brow and noticed that it wasn’t as dusty as his fingers were. Good.

“We’ll get you out of here, Spike. Then Giles will fix you up,” she murmured softly to him, tracing his eyebrows.

She refused to believe anything else.

~*~

“That’s not possible. This lab is for demon genetics and blood, not human. You must be mistaken,” Riley corrected Xander, turning back to his search.

“Look, I may be pretty thick sometimes, but I do know how to read,” Xander insisted. “Finn, Riley A. Subject three-twelve. Reference number nine.”

“Three-twelve? Let me see that vial.”

Xander handed him the glass tube, watching as several emotions crossed his face, the most prevalent being disbelief. “Do you know what those numbers mean?”

He gripped the vial tightly. “I have an idea, but I need find out for certain.”

Riley left the computer station and walked out the door, Xander trying to catch up behind him. They left the corridor and turned to the right and then left, returning to the area they’d left Buffy in. Stopping at the lab door before reaching her, Riley entered the room, the numbers three-twelve marked on the panel.

“Each secret lab has an even number - the higher the number, the more secret the experiments performed in them. Three-sixteen was the highest, but I rarely observed anyone going in there. I was often in three-fourteen, but I could never remember getting back to my barracks afterwards.”

Xander ran right into the Riley’s back just as he flipped the lights on. “You’re more solid than a mountain,” he muttered rubbing his nose.

“I think you’re about to find out why,” Riley whispered as he stared at the large cylinders lining the room.

“What do you…” Xander started then lost his voice. “This is… way beyond science fiction. This isn’t real… is it?”

Riley paid no attention to him as he picked up the spiral notebook in front of the tank labeled ‘one’. He heard the boy talking in the background, but his focus was on the words he was reading, hoping they would deny what he was beginning to suspect.

Subject: Male embryo, viable to twelve months gestation then self-aborted due to Iffray genetic material introduction. Ocular maturation accelerated.

He glanced up at the twelve-month-old ‘thing’ floating in the fluid before him. Iffray demons had super acute eyesight and it seemed they were trying to splice human genes with Iffray genes to achieve… what? Apparently, nature didn’t want the hellspawn to even draw breath, cutting its life short before it could do so. He moved on to the second tank.

Subject: Male, equivalent three years old. Introduction of Tibberri gene sequencing code to prolong life – allowed for accelerated gestation time and aging, but abruptly terminated due to advanced aging.

Besides being unstable and quite possibly lethal to humans, Tibberri blood allowed the demon to grow quickly from infant to young adult, only to be frozen in full adult mode for thousands of years. No wonder the experiment only made it to three years… any more and it would have withered away.

He studied the remaining tanks and came to the conclusion that the Initiative had been, in effect, playing God with demon and human genes. Not bothering with the rest, he approached the last cylinder, numbered eight and read the notebook.

Subject: Male, twenty-five. Longest viable construct with Bist bone structure successfully grafted to human skeleton. Progress is beyond normal limits as bone graft overtakes human marrow, replacing it with carbon steel in small quantities similar to iron. With higher levels of carbon, the strength increases in skeletal frame but rigidity is apparent. Next subject will be last in series.

Riley glanced around for the ninth tank and realized there was none. He then searched for any notebook that might be associated with it, again finding none. Practically tearing apart the lab in search of any material in regards to subject nine, he suddenly came to a stop in front of Xander, finally realizing something.

Subject: Riley A. Finn. Three-twelve. Reference number nine.

“No,” he breathed, staring at his hands.

“What?” Xander watched as the soldier’s eyes darted around wildly, beginning to feel really creeped out. “What happened?”

“I-I’m not… real,” he whispered in horror. “I’m manufactured.”

Xander started backing away from him slowly. “Well, I’m a real boy, Geppetto… and I want to remain breathing.”

Riley never registered Xander’s words before he fled the room. He continued to stare at his hands, turning them over and over. Shining metal caught his eye when he looked at his forearm, musing to himself that it seemed as if they solved the problem of that carbon steel skeleton before they allowed him to be… alive.

“I’m not real,” he muttered to himself again.

Everything he’d ever believed in, everything he’d been brought up to protect and cherish was a lie. Were his memories a fabrication as well? Was everyone in the Initiative a homegrown, demon-spliced person, too? Remembering his access to high security files, he retraced his path back to the first lab they were in, determined to find out.

Even if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

~*~

Xander found Buffy tenderly stroking Spike’s head and whispering to him. Oh God, not Buffy, too! Am I the only sane one around here?

“Buffy, we gotta go now! Riley is about to-”

“Shh, he’s sleeping,” she reprimanded in a low tone.

Oh boy. “Buffy, hun? You in there?” He came to stand next to her, touching her shoulder.

“He’ll be majorly pissed-off when he wakes up if you don’t keep it down,” she said harshly, shrugging off his touch and moving away, but never removing her hands from Spike’s body.

Xander wiped his face in frustration. How do you get an insane Slayer and a dead vamp out of a military compound without attracting the attention of the Bladerunner wannabe? “Sometimes I hate my life,” he grumbled.

“Don’t hate life, Xander… embrace it, live it… love it,” she pleaded with a vacant gaze.

“Okay, Tony Robbins, I’ll try and do that. Meanwhile, we really gotta leave. As. In. NOW!”

“I can’t go yet, I have to wait for Spike to wake up,” she protested, digging in her heels.

God, if you’re listening… please, PLEASE forgive me for what I’m about to do. Oh, and don’t let her squish me too much either!

“Buffy! You need to snap out of it!” And before she could open her mouth to refute anything, he slapped Buffy across the cheek.

Her eyes widened in shock before her lower lip began to tremble. “You hit me!”

“I had to! We need to leave now or Giles will call the cops, and trust me, you don’t want them finding this place.”

Tears began spilling over her lashes though she tried desperately to keep from sobbing. “I can’t leave him, Xander.”

Running his fingers through his hair, he glimpsed Spike’s duster on the counter and grabbed it. “Here, wrap this around his body and I’ll carry him.”

She complied as if on autopilot, careful not to jostle him more than necessary to keep his dust shedding to a minimum. Once she had him sufficiently bundled, she nodded to Xander, grabbing his hand before he slipped it underneath Spike’s head.

“Please,” she begged, hiccupping from the crying. “Don’t hurt him.”

He squeezed her hand. “I promise I’ll be as careful as I am about mentioning rabbits around Anya… which never happens, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank me later when you have to sterilize the ball gag currently in Angel’s mouth.”

He gently slid his right hand under Spike’s head and the left under his knees, lifting and bracing himself for the weight. But the former bleached menace weighed practically nothing, so he was able to shift him closer, his battered head resting on his shoulder.

“Let’s make like a tree and get the hell out of here!”

She snickered and led the way back down the corridor they had originally come, noticing that room three-twelve was now demolished. “What happened in there?”

“It’s one of the reasons we need to avoid Riley. Apparently, he’s a pod-person and he had this gleam in his eye, like he wanted me to join the vegetable patch. I’m sorry, I’m just not as adorable if I’m a Cabbage Patch doll.”

“You mean aliens kidnapped him and performed unspeakable acts on his-”

“No! I’m telling you that he’s-”

“Not real,” Riley interrupted, suddenly standing before them.

“Run, Buffy!” Xander yelled, but she halted at his words.

“If you run, he’ll never wake up.”

She slowly turned around to look at him with deadly intent. “Why? What do you know?”

He held out his hand, a spiral notebook clutched in his fingers. He looked over at Xander as he handed the documents to Buffy. “That procedure you wanted.”

“Really? Are you sure? How do I know that you-”

“You don’t, remember? Like I said… no guarantees.”

“If you know how to cure Spike,” Buffy grated out, “- then you’d better guarantee something!”

“Buffy, trust me, this is as good as we’re gonna get,” Xander warned her. “They’ve tried it on other vamps without success. Maybe Spike will change those odds.”

“You’d better go now,” Riley reminded them with an odd light in his eyes.

She shook her head. “Even with everything you’ve given me, we can’t let these experiments continue.”

“Oh, they won’t… trust me,” the soldier said indicating that they were to follow him to a rarely used escape route.

“I can’t trust-”

“You’d better, because if you don’t leave now, you’ll all be dead in ten minutes.”

“WHAT?” Xander and Buffy shouted in unison.

“Follow that stairwell up and to the left. Then take the elevator to the second floor. The emergency exit is just beyond that,” Riley instructed without answering their question.

“What have you done?” she asked, dread welling up inside her.

He checked his wristwatch, tilting his head in much the same manner as Spike, looking at her. “In nine minutes and twenty seconds, this place will cease to exist. The labs, the experiments, the scientific material… everything erased from the earth.”

“Oh, God,” Xander said in panic as he started racing towards the stairway.

“How are you going to-”

“Buffy! Haul ass! The place is gonna blow!”

She stared at Riley, shaking her head. “No… no! You can’t stay here!”

“Buffy, I’m not real,” he said plainly, as if that explained everything.

“Of course you’re real! Look at you! You’ve got human flesh, you’ve got a mind, and you’ve got-”

“Lies, all of it. They constructed my memories like they constructed me. And if the government found out I was on the loose, I’d be captured and tortured… just like Spike.”

“But I can’t just let you… let you die, Riley! You helped us! Please, come with us!”

He smiled sadly at her, cupping her cheek. “If you remember me fondly, it’ll be enough.” He then leaned down and kissed her softly. “Leave now, Buffy… go and live your life. Tell Spike… I’m sorry.”

He grabbed hold of her upper arm and shoved her in the doorway, slamming it shut and barring it to keep them from attempting to return. He heard her screams and pounding on the other side, but did nothing about it. He hoped she’d listen to reason and flee with Xander as he had other issues to deal with.

~*~

“Xander, we can’t just leave him down there!” she argued, trying to barge through the door.

“He’s made his choice, Buffy… I think you should respect that,” he huffed as he carried Spike up the stairs.

“It’s a stupid choice!”

Xander stopped at the top of the steps. “Buffy, you know,” he wheezed, “- other than I’m really outta shape… is that you’re starting to sound like Angel, trying to control everyone’s choices.”

“I-”

“Don’t deny it. Now, come on and let’s get moving.”

She sprinted up to his position and offered to take Spike the rest of the way, which he was grateful for. He transferred his burden into her loving arms; Spike’s head nestled against her neck. They made the left turn and ran inside the elevator, pressing ‘two’ as the doors closed. When the metal doors slid open, they noticed an exit at the end of the hallway with a red bar across the middle of it that read, ‘In case of emergency, push’.

The pair looked at each other and walked quickly, pushing the bar and exiting out onto the USC Sunnydale campus. They stopped to gather their bearings, searching for something familiar until Buffy noticed Stevenson Hall off in the distance. “There,” she said as they started walking towards the building.

~*~

Riley sat on the metal slab where Spike had lain, his emptied blood covering the floor. In his hand was a remote control with five flip switches. In reality, he only needed to press three of the five, knowing the resulting explosions would trigger the other two.

He’d found what he was looking for in the encrypted sections of the system, guessing that the professor’s name, Walsh, was the needed key to break the code. Everything, from his first memory as a child in Iowa to his first time having sex had been implanted in his mind. That’s what all those trips to room three-fourteen had been, memory adjustments. They were to also ensure that his system maintenance was in top condition with no major malfunctions. It explained why his black eye refused to fade away and why, after one visit with Walsh, it disappeared.

The extreme hatred of demons and vampires alike was implanted as well, and for that little bit of knowledge, he was grateful. He knew, given the choice, he probably would’ve never had the prejudice that his current incarnation had relished with a malicious glee. He hoped that the purple demon forgave him for her murder. Not likely, but he was okay with that as he felt he deserved no mercy for that destructive act.

It was one of the many reasons he sat with his finger on the first switch. The other reasons were too numerous to count; torture, creating more beings like him, continuous experiments among them… Sliding lower on the table, he lay down, saying a prayer he supposedly learned as a small boy on his parents’ farm.

“Now I lay me down to sleep.”

He flipped the first button and an explosion rocked the compound.

“I pray the Lord, my soul to keep.”

Another explosion made the area shake, this time a little closer.

“If I should die before I wake…”

The third switch triggered the bombs closest to his position.

“… I pray the Lord, my soul to take.”

Riley then closed his eyes and, along with the Initiative, was no more.

~*~

The first explosion made Buffy feel as if she was experiencing an earthquake of low magnitude – like the world was a little off kilter and wobbly on her feet. “We gotta stop, Xander… I’ll drop him if we don’t.”

“Here, let me take him. You go look for the van.”

She gently laid Spike in Xander’s arms and ran to the side street in search of Anya, who was driving a rented van, since Giles’ old Citroen was too small. She waited, feeling another tremor beneath her, praying to God for a free pass for Riley’s sake. They would’ve never escaped with Spike without his help.

By the time the van came into view, the fourth explosion sent a minor shockwave throughout the area, causing Anya to lurch to the right to avoid a driver who apparently had never driven during an earthquake before.

“Lousy vehicular operator! You’d never have survived the Quarlek uprising of twenty-eight!” she yelled out the window, shaking her fist at the retreating man.

“There’s Buffy!” Willow shouted, pointing to a lone girl standing near the sidewalk.

“About time. Giles can only be stalled for so long.”

Willow’s brow creased in a frown. “Where’s Xander? And… oh – no!”

“Oh no, what?” Anya squinted through the darkness. “She’d better not have damaged Xander! There’s no amount of money that could make up for that!”

“There they are!” Tara squealed.

Xander joined Buffy as they waited on the van to roll to a stop. All three girls poured out of the vehicle and helped Xander load Spike in the back, Buffy firmly entrenched beside him, holding onto the sleeve of his duster.

Willow and Tara joined her while Xander sat up front with Anya as they headed back to Giles’ apartment. “He looks pretty bad, Buffy.”

She caressed the black leather as if she were touching his skin. “He’s still in there, I know it. He’s not dust, so… he’s still here… somewhere.”

“God, what happened to his head?” Willow gasped as she glimpsed his scalp in the passing streetlights.
Buffy fingered a few of his curls in front. “They took the chip out.”

The redhead’s eyes grew big. “Th-that’s good, right?” she hoped!

“Yes. It’s very good. It’s good to the infinite degree.”

Tara hefted up the notebook that Riley had given them into her lap. “What’s this?”

“Hopefully the way to bring Spike back, but we don’t know for sure,” Buffy said with a little sigh. “It didn’t work on other vamps. Xander seems to think it might work on Spike, though.”

“This process calls for vampire blood… and lots of it!” she exclaimed after reading the requirements. “A-and human blood, too.”

“He can have a pint of mine,” Anya offered.

“I’m sure I can spare a pint or two,” Willow said with a wink.

Anya elbowed Xander in the ribs. “Ow, woman! I risk my life to get Dead Boy Junior here out of the psych ward and you… ugh, fine… I know I can donate a pint.”

Tara looked shyly at Buffy. “If you want more, you can have some of mine.”

Buffy couldn’t hold back her sobs anymore. “I love you guys! Thank you so much, all of you, for all of your help.”

“But where will we get vamp blood, Buffy?” Willow asked as she read over the instructions with Tara.

The Slayer’s eyebrow rose as her lips tugged wider in an evil grin.

“Oh, I think I know just the vampire.”

“Mrrwwarrrrrr!”

Giles rubbed his forehead and groaned.

Ever since they’d chained Angel up, he’d done nothing but growl and practically tear out the plumbing in the bathroom while trying to free himself. Amazingly enough, the ball-gag was still firmly in place, and he wondered if Anya had cursed the sex-toy to prevent breakage of any kind.

“Isn’t there some kind of vampire Justice League that’ll come to his rescue if you don’t release him?”

Giles glared at Cordy. “The only justice that vampire is in league with is his own.”

“All I’m saying is he’ll put a whammy on you once he gets loose – you’ll stink with whammy.”

“Then I’ll just have to take an extra shower, won’t I?” he ground out as he stood and left Cordelia in the living room.

Pacing in the kitchen, it was an understatement that Giles desperately needed to use the loo, but he’d be damned if he’d do it in front of that blood-sucking bastard. He glanced at the clock above the stove and frowned heavily, his aching bladder shifting to the back of his mind as his worry once again returning to the forefront of this thinking.

It had been a little over an hour since Buffy and Xander left to see if there was anything that could be done in regards to Spike and he was now cursing himself many times over for not getting one of those new-fangled cell phones that apparently were all the rage. He’d had enough problems trying to adapt to the library’s computer system with Willow’s help and he didn’t think learning to use a portable phone would be any less of an issue. Honestly, he didn’t know what was wrong with the one he had, even if it did weigh about ten pounds and could probably kill a man if he threw it at him.

“Arrrghhhhhh!”

Or maybe a vampire.

Finally reaching the point that his back started to ache from holding his bladder, Giles fled the kitchen and proceeded out of the front door, finding a rather large bush in a secluded area where he could relieve himself. He’d nearly finished when he heard the squeal of tires come to an abrupt stop as car doors opened and slammed shut. Shaking off the remaining urine, he began tucking himself back inside when –

“Oh. My. God!” Buffy shrieked as she stood staring at her Watcher… zipping up after taking a leak.

Giles turned a thousand shades of red as he twisted away from her and arranged himself, nearly capturing his dangly bits in the metal teeth of the zipper. Composing himself, he turned back around and headed towards the group, noticing that Xander was carrying an emaciated Spike.

“What happened?” he asked, opening the front door to allow the teenagers to enter with their burden.

“Spike’s dead,” Xander said without thinking. Anya promptly flicked his ear. “Ow! Okay, so he’s the dead undead who only needs to be reanimated, then he’ll be just be the undead again.”

“Translation please?” Giles looked at Buffy with a cocked eyebrow.

She sent a glare to Xander before answering. “They bled him out, Giles. Don’t ask me why, `cause we’ll never know. But, I think we have a way of getting him back.” She handed a hefty notebook to her Watcher. “Would you look this over and tell us what we need to do, please?”

Looking at the first set of notes, he became intrigued with the process of reanimation. “Hmm, it says we’ll need vampire blood, about ten pints.” He flipped the page, asking absently, “Why will we never know?”

“The lab is gone,” she replied quietly.

Sharply glancing at her, he asked for more clarification. “You mean they’ve shut down their operation?”

“No, I’m saying that Riley shut the Initiative down… by blowing it, and himself, up. I wouldn’t be surprised if they find sinkholes all over campus tomorrow morning.”

“My God.”

“I don’t mean to be the bearer of more bad news,” Xander said with a grunt. “But while Spike’s body isn’t decomposing, he is heavy and he’ll end up kissing the floorboards if I don’t lay him down somewhere… soon!”

Giles shook himself free from shock from Buffy’s information. “Yes, of course. Take him upstairs to the spare bedroom. I have it ready for him.”

Buffy followed Xander up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom where she’d listened to Spike play the guitar, turning on the bedside table lamp instead of the harsh light overhead. She flipped back the feather-down comforter and fluffed the pillows before Xander laid the frail vampire on the sheets, removing his duster so that she could cover him up.

“I’ll just get back to Anya. She seemed to really like that glamour Willow tried on me, thinks I should grow a mustache or something.”

Smiling softly, Buffy shook her head. “You looked very sinister indeed, no wonder she liked it.”

He grinned in return, but his smile faltered when he took in Spike’s state. “You think it’ll really work… that zombie animation thing?”

“It has to,” she whispered, taking the vampire’s cold hand in hers.

Xander laid his palm on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Let me know if there’s anything more I can do.” He turned to leave the room, her softly uttered question stopping him.

“Why are you helping? I mean, I know you don’t really like Spike… so why are-”

“Same reason I told him. Scooby.” And with that, he left the room.

She stared after him in amazement. Xander was the last person she would have thought to embrace the vampire as anything other than an annoyance or a thorn in their collective sides. Knowing the truth-will-out spell revealed their hidden selves, she assumed everything would revert to their pre-Thanksgiving attitude, now that it was over.

Caressing Spike’s long fingers, she mused that without a doubt everyone’s true nature had been exposed, even Giles’ less-than-stellar inner self, which she found made her really feel uncomfortable. She’d have to ask him about that later, after everything was over. Willow seemed to gain a new friend in Tara and her heartbreak eased greatly with the other Wicca’s presence. Plus, she now had someone to practice her craft with, one who possessed a true gift and could guide her best friend into becoming a powerful person, inside and out.

She knew that Xander needed another male around other than Giles, one nearer his age, or in Spike’s case, closer to his mentality. Yes, he was one of her best friends, but she knew he missed Jessie’s presence in their once circle of friends. Whatever it was that turned Xander’s head towards Spike to fill those shoes, she was grateful it happened and probably wouldn’t delve too deep to question why it did. Sometimes, you just had to let things be.

Rubbing gently on the tip of his finger, she noticed something different – her own finger had no vamp dust on it. Quickly, she turned his hand over and looked at his palm, running a nail along the middle to see if she picked up any dust. Again, nothing. Darting her eyes to his sallow face, she saw not one flicker of movement to indicate that he’d felt anything or that his status had changed.

“Is there anything I can get you, Buffy?” Tara asked quietly, peeking in the door.

The Slayer started at the sound of her voice, but quickly regrouped. “Hey, Tara… uhm, yeah… could you ask Giles to come up here? There’s something different going on with Spike and I wanna know if he’s read up on the reanimation stuff yet.”

“Sure.”

Hearing her descend the steps, Buffy uncovered Spike’s chest and started stroking his skin, hoping her fingers would stay clean and free of his dust. Although his flesh was extremely withered in most places, it remained intact and didn’t shed. Tears rimmed her lashes as she smiled.

“See? You’re still in there, don’t you dare give up!” she whispered fervently, touching his cheeks tenderly.

“You wanted to see me, Buffy?” Giles inquired from the doorway.

Wiping away her tears, she turned and beckoned him into the room. “He’s not dusting anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What do you mean not dusting anymore?” her Watcher asked her to clarify, sitting in the overstuffed chair across from the bed.

“Oh! My bad, I forgot to tell you. While we were in the lab, I was trying to clean Spike before we brought him home and he-he… he started…” she broke off, getting choked up at what she’d seen.

He laid his hand on her knee. “Take a deep breath, Buffy. I understand you witnessed some rather horrific sights inside, but they’re gone now, right?”

Biting her lip and nodding, she continued. “I was stroking his hand and it started turning to dust the harder I rubbed. See?” She showed him the fingers she’d nearly rubbed off. “I was afraid to touch him for a while, but I had to stitch him back up.”

“Stitch him? There are other injuries?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she gently lifted Spike’s head to let Giles see the evidence of the Initiative’s cruelty.

“Mother of God, they’ve cut open his head!”

There was no use in holding back the tears as they coursed down her cheeks. “I think he was awake when they were doing it.”

“Animalistic bastards!”

Her eyes widened at the use of profanity from her Watcher. “Actually, I don’t think animals are this cruel. Humans know how to torture, animals just do what they need to survive.”

“You’re quite right, dear.” He cocked his head and gazed at her in a new light. “You’ve grown, Buffy.”

She ducked her head and blushed. “He taught me to see things differently,” she said simply, looking in Spike’s direction. “Even when he was blind.”

“I have to confess that I was… wrong about him,” he admitted sheepishly. “And for God’s sake, don’t tell him about it until I’m ready to make my apologies. There’ll be no living with him if he finds out beforehand from someone else.”

“I promise,” she smirked.

“So, we need to find out why Spike is not dusting further. Did you administer any medications or perform a spell of some kind while you were in the compound?”

“I wouldn’t know what to give him. No, other than pulling out the tubing and putting the ring back on-”

“The Gem of Amara?”

“Yeah, to prevent anything else from happening to him,” she said with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “Do you think that’s what’s keeping him from completely dusting?”

“It’s quite possible. I have an old transcript buried somewhere on the history of the Gem and its properties, let me see if I can find it.” He rose from the chair, taking one last look at Spike. “Meanwhile, as it’ll be dawn soon, I’ll have Xander head to the butchers.”

She frowned heavily. “We’re using Angel’s blood for this. Why would we need blood from the butcher’s?”

“Yes, but I would guess he’ll only be able to give us around six pints before being completely dried up. Then where would you get your vampire blood, hmm?”

“So we’re gonna feed him then… drain him?”

“Do you have a better suggestion? I highly doubt a patrol would turn up any willing candidates.”

Snickering at the thought of using a vamp as a vamp-snack, she shook her head. “No, it’ll have to do, I guess. Do you know how to get the blood from him yet?”

“Tell him it’s for a charity blood drive? The Red Cross is low on O positive? Threats of Holy Water and crosses?”

She snorted. “That last one has promise. We’ll just have to wait and see how much of a fight he’ll give us.”

“Indeed. I’ll return shortly.”

He left Buffy as the sun began to creep over the horizon, and out of habit, she drew the curtains and blinds to darken the room. She yawned and stretched as she started to come down from the adrenaline high she’d been on all night, her eyes closing even though she desperately wanted to stay awake.

Turning off the small lamp, she crawled into bed with Spike’s motionless body and wrapped the covers around them both, yawning once more as she descended quickly into a fitful slumber.

~*~

“My God, this is intriguing!”

“I swear, if he does that one more time, I’ll-”

“It’s amazing. I’m surprised I never realized it before!”

“Okay, really… any man that gets that worked up over dusty books is a total lost cause.”

“Shut-up, Cordy,” Xander muttered from his curled up position on the couch.

“Don’t tell me to shut-up, Xander Harris! I’m not the one who’s deciding on how to kill a vampire with a soul! I wouldn’t want that on my conscience, no-siree.”

“And yet, she continues,” he grumped, returning to the Yellow Pages as he looked for medical supply companies.

Willow was engrossed in her own book, learning the delicate balance that needed to be in place for the actual transfusion. “Wow! Did you know pig’s have sixteen different blood types?”

“Horses have thirty-four,” Anya offered. “And they have this amazingly long-”

“Ewww! Don’t finish that sentence!” Cordy threatened.

Xander grinned wickedly. “Finish it, Ahn… finish it!”

Anya looked at him strangely. “Esophagus.”

“Really? How long?” Willow asked, peeking up from her book.

“Four to five feet.”

“I want to go home!” Cordy wailed, trying to get up and walk around, only to fall back into the chair, dizziness overcoming her.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you both out of my apartment!” Giles yelled at the whiney girl. “But as it is, we need Angel for an undisclosed amount of time, so you’ll just have to… well… deal!”

“Nice one, G-man!”

Giles rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs towards the spare bedroom. Quietly opening the door, he spied Buffy completely curled around Spike and sleeping soundly. He hated to wake her but she needed to know certain things about the vampire’s condition and the Gem. Leaning down, he was about to touch Buffy when he noticed Spike’s body posture. It was no longer rigid as if he were truly a corpse, instead laying in a sleep-like relaxed stance. This boded well for them.

“Buffy? Wake-up, I need to speak with you.” He shook her shoulder lightly.

She giggled in her sleep. “My bunny loves licorice.”

He snorted with mirth. “Buffy, wake-up please,” he said a little louder as he took her hand and began patting it.

“Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man… bake me a cake as fast as you can,” she sing-songed merrily, still deep in slumber.

Frowning, Giles resorted to underhanded tactics to wake his Slayer up. “Buffy! The Master is alive, Drusilla and Angelus are back, and Faith is awake!”

She shot straight up in a defensive pose on the bed, her Watcher’s words still ringing in her ears, scanning the room for her adversaries. “Where?”

“Finally,” he muttered and sat in the overstuffed chair.

Seeing none of the threats Giles mentioned, she glared at him. “You’re evil.”

“More than you know. Now, can we discuss my research?”

“Discuss away, as long as it involves a non-dusty Spike and of course him being able to speak in coherent sentences,” she replied, noticing the old tome in her Watcher’s lap. “That’s not the book I gave you.”

He glanced down. “No, this is a text I found on the Gem of Amara. Willow has the instructions you obtained and is studying so she may assist me in performing the transfusion.”

“Doctor Giles and nurse Rosenberg, huh?” she snickered. “Sounds kinky.”

His lips thinned. “I think Spike might have corrupted your mind as well.”

“Well, he was running rampant in there for a while.”

Clearing his throat as he turned a bright shade of red, Giles redirected the conversation. “My study turned up some rather interesting discoveries about the Gem.”

She gently ran her fingers through Spike’s limp curls as she listened to him speak. “All good I hope?”

“For the most part, although disturbing in others.”

“Do tell,” she said, sitting cross-legged next to Spike’s still form. With his eyes closed, he looked merely asleep, but the other two in the room knew better.

“Are you familiar with the name Mohra?”

Her brows drew together in a heavy frown. “I think so, but I can’t remember where I’ve heard it.”

“They are an ancient race of demons from another dimension, I believe. Occasionally, one or a few hundred will cross over to ours and create havoc.” He paused for a moment, watching Buffy trace idle patterns on Spike’s t-shirt. “They’re highly sought after in demon competitive and gambling underworlds.”

She glanced at him. “What for? Are they inter-galactically rich?”

“Inter-dimensional. And no, not rich. They’re able to regenerate quickly, you see.”

“So, if their tail got cut off, they’d be able to regrow them?” she asked.

“If they had one, yes. It makes them virtually indestructible – and that makes for a prized champion if you’re betting on the winner in a high-stakes game,” he explained. “Also, the severed appendage tends to become stronger once it grows back.”

Her eyebrows rose into her hairline. “Wow! No wonder demon gang lords want to play gladiator with them.”

“Exactly,” he replied, adding, “But they do have two weaknesses.”

“Exploitation of weaknesses is always good in Buffy-world.”

Giles flipped through the pages of the dusty book until he stopped at an illustration. “They require a considerable amount of salt to survive. And this,” he pointed to a picture of the demon’s forehead with an oblong object in the center above its eyes. “Is its greatest weakness. The Mille Oculus.”

“With a name like that, I feel an academic lecture coming on,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

“I’m doing this your benefit, Buffy,” he groused, thumbing through some of the earlier pages. “But I do admit, it is fascinating research.”

A knowing smile played on her lips as she took Spike’s hand and began lightly stroking his palm. “You’re such a slave to research.”

“You would do well to explore the idea yourself, if only to improve your knowledge of demon habits and anatomy,” he pointed out.

She grinned with a wink. “But that’s why I have you. I’m just the muscle.”

“Ahem. Well, back to the Mohra.” He shifted in his seat, returning to the topic at hand. “Apparently, they’ve been causing discourse for quite a few centuries, even going so far as to be considered one of the causes for the plagues in Egypt.”

“I think Moses would’ve been disappointed to hear that,” she commented.

“Yes, well, the Egyptians were not monotheistic, so they believed it was punishment from the Gods. As it happens, it appears that a priestess in the temple of Isis was struck with a vision wherein the goddess Isis herself approached the woman and lamented that the Land of the Dead was becoming overcrowded with the slaughter caused by the Mohra. So she charged the priestess with implementing a way for the dead to walk, unharmed, throughout daily life for a period of time.”

Buffy quickly glanced at Spike and then back to Giles in panic. “How long?”

He quickly scanned the text. “It doesn’t say,” he answered quietly. “But I’m sure I can find some reference to it in another book.”

She gulped audibly. “I hope so. I don’t wanna try this reanimation thing only to have him flambé in the sun when the batteries run dead.” Fear edged her voice as she twisted the ring on Spike’s finger.

Giles nodded, watching as Buffy tightened her grip on the vampire’s hand. “I’ll look into it more later.”

“Thank you.” She studied Spike’s nails, noticing he needed a new coat of black polish. “So how does this priestess to a dead lady solve her problem?”

“It seems she was told in the vision that healing powers rested within the jewel on the Mohra’s forehead. Regenerative and healing powers,” he responded meaningfully as he nodded in Spike’s direction.

A confused look fell upon her face. “But, Giles look… he’s not regenerated! I rubbed his fingers off, for Pete’s sake, not to mention the blindness thing! And let’s not forget the damage the chip did,” she ranted despite her Watcher’s glare.

“If you would let me finish?”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “Fine. But I don’t think the ring actually works.”

“The priestess realized the demon’s power lay within the jewel,” Giles continued, ignoring her grumblings. “And she devised a way to secure the gem without shattering it, though the text is incomplete as to how she obtained it without being killed in the process.”

“Figures.”

“Buffy, unfortunately, there is rarely a Cliff Notes version to research related to demons. You’d understand that if you actually did any.” He saw that she remained silent, so he went on. “The priestess cut the red jewel into five rough pieces, each one taking on a different color and size once she’d polished the stones.”

“Why only five?” she asked.

“According to the manuscript…” he paused to read further. “There were eight pieces originally, but through trial and error, three were destroyed in the process to shape them. She found that if the gem were too small the power contained within would create a fissure in the matrix of the stone, causing a leak, if you will, of the stone’s power which rendered it useless.”

“So five pieces were as small as she could get them and still keep the power, right?”

“Yes.”

“And these five stones… where are they now?”

“One is there, on Spike’s finger… the green scarab,” he said, pointing to the vampire with the glasses he’d taken off.

Her eyes widened. “What about the others?” she whispered, wondering if there were other vamps running around in the daylight.

Giles steepled his fingers and thought for a moment. “I believe two were destroyed in battles over the years. One is at the bottom of an ocean or sea, the history as to its exact location has been lost, and one is on display at the Cairo museum, presumably thought to be an ancient Egyptian artifact.”

“It’s just sitting there, waiting for a vamp to take it?” she asked incredulously, wondering why she’d never heard of these gems before.

“No one, but a select few, knows the capability of the stone housed there. It’s in the form of an Ankh arm bracelet, red in color – the only piece of the original jewel to keep its red shade.”

Her mouth was hanging open. “And what? You just happen to be one of those select few that know about it?”

He smiled weakly. “There are things you don’t know about me, Buffy… things better left unsaid.”

“I won’t get into that now, but you and I are gonna sit down and have a nice little chat at some point,” she promised.

Looking away from her penetrating eyes, he cleared his throat and flipped through some more pages. “The ring that Spike found was buried in a sealed cave by the Templar Knights, along with other treasures they’d accumulated over the years.”

“There’s a stash? In Sunnydale?”

“All over the world, actually. They never kept their acquisitions in one place, too easy to find, you see?”

“So what kind of power does this ring have?” she asked, caressing the jeweled stone as well as Spike’s finger.

“Restorative and impervious qualities, really. When the priestess designed each piece, it allowed the wearer, which in this case was the previously dead that Isis had begged relief from, to function fully in day-to-day life without having to cross over into the Goddess’ realm, thus ending the overcrowding. The walking dead were impervious to the damaging solar radiation of the Sun and tended to regenerate if harmed.”

“But Spike didn’t-”

“Spike was constantly being damaged internally due to the chip in his brain, therefore, he had no recuperative time between firings. Internal injuries take longer to heal, needing a more delicate balance to make repairs, even in vampires,” Giles cut her off, knowing she was going to argue about Spike’s inability to overcome the affects of the chip. “I suspect the damage would’ve been much worse if he hadn’t been wearing the ring while all this was going on. You probably saved his un-life.”

Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, she drew in a deep breath and blew it out as she nodded. “I remember trying to s-stake him,” she said with a shudder. “He said it felt like a tickle.”

Giles snorted in amusement. “It most likely felt that way to him at least, at the time. The ring doesn’t prevent injuries from happening, just the mortality rate caused from them. The priestess went on to give the jeweled items to high nobles in Egyptian society that had been killed due to the Mohra’s presence in our dimension. I’m not sure how they were passed on, but it’s plausible to say that some modern day vampires are descendants of those five nobles.”

Buffy glanced at Spike’s gaunt face. “So, he’s like nobility then, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he stated derisively. “I said plausible, not that it was an actual fact.”

“Grumpy Watcher.” She snickered momentarily before sobering. “I still don’t get one thing though,” she wondered aloud. “There were only five pieces… five bodies missing doesn’t sound like too many in the underworld to me.”

“Ah, yes… it wasn’t. By the time the stones had been passed on, the priestess was well underway in her experiments on the Mohra’s body, trying to see if there were any other weaknesses it possessed. She didn’t find any, but she did discover a curious side-effect of mingling its blood with that of a dead body.”

“I don’t want to know how she figured this out, do I?” she asked, nausea threatening to overtake her.

He shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Didn’t think so. What happened?”

He raised one eyebrow and stared hard at her. “It brought the dead person back to life… breathing, living, human life.”

It felt like the room was compressing in on her from all around, making it hard to breathe as memories struggled through the fog in her mind. Images assaulted her brain as her Watcher’s words sunk in and Mohra’s name finally made sense, realizing the last time she’d heard it was when she was with…

“Angel.”

Giles narrowed his eyes. “What about Angel?”

“That’s where I’d heard about Mohra, when I went to L.A. One of them crashed through his office while I was there, lots of fighting ensued, and at some point Angel’s blood was infected with Mohra blood,” she whispered angrily. “He became human.”

“But he’s still a-”

“Vampire? Yeah, I know. He decided, without asking me once again, that he needed to be a vampire to keep me safe.” She snorted. “Only he would remember that he’d been human. The rest of us would forget it ever happened.”

“How did he manage that?”

“Doyle told him about the Oracles, some powers-that-be granting favors or wishes in exchange for something shiny, I guess. He asked them to take it all back. They did, and up until about a day or two ago, he was the only one that remember the time I spent with him.”

Giles’ eyebrows rose. “He became human and you spent time with him? Doing what? Oh, no… never mind, I don’t want to know… or rather I do know, I just don’t want to know.”

“You’re flustered.”

“I wonder why?” he grumbled, glaring at her. “How did you find out if he was the only one that was supposed to remember?”

Tears filled her eyes as she slowly turned to look at Spike. “I guess I was dreaming and since he was in my head and all, he could hear it… even see it. I asked him to show me because the memory always faded away by the time I woke up,” she said, sniffling. “So he did.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, so did I.” She whimpered while wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “He didn’t want to show me, but I begged him to help me. I don’t think he understood what kind of effect it would have on him or me, but he did it anyway.”

“Guys?” Willow said quietly, poking her head in the door. “Xander’s back with the medical supplies and the blood.”

Giles nodded. “Good. Tell him to put all the blood in the refrigerator and we’ll be down shortly.”

Buffy watched her best friend leave. “You ready for this?” she asked hesitantly, knowing that neither her Watcher nor her best friend was a medical expert.

“There’s no choice, is there?” he responded somberly as he stood, making his way to the door. He stopped just before leaving the room and looked his young charge. “We have to be.”

~*~

“You know, these instructions sound a little… uh, weird, like they were written by some nut job trying to make a quick buck,” Willow pointed out to the group gathered in the living room.

“Dealing with vampires and reanimation isn’t exactly a sane pastime, now is it?” Xander reminded her, dumping his bag full of transfusion kits onto the coffee table.

Giles picked a kit up and turned the package over to read the stamp on the back aloud. “Property of Sunnydale Memorial Hospital?” Glancing at Xander, the boy had the decency to give him a sheepish look before defending himself.

“What? Look, the Red Cross shelter went defunct about three years ago and the hospital was the only place I could think of that wouldn’t ask questions, especially since I wanted at least five extra kits for you guys to practice with.”

Anya frowned. “The hospital didn’t ask questions?”

“Heh-heh, well… you see, I just happened upon this guy delivering stuff at the back entrance near the loading dock, and he-”

“He stole them,” Anya told the group. Her eyes lit up as she turned to her boyfriend. “Maybe later we can do some role-playing and you can break into my apartment and I’ll try and bash you over the head with a vase, or something equally disarming, and then you can-”

“Make her stop, please! I’ll pay you whatever you want!” Cordy moaned. “I don’t want to hear about mister Toadstone and miss Fairy Badmother’s sexcapades!”

Xander grinned unrepentantly. “Jealous? Had a taste of the Xan-man and now you’re jonesing for more?”

Anya slapped him upside the back of his head. “Focus, Xander. She has Angel, and while you’re a sexy stud in the bedroom, you just can’t compete with a vampire. Although, I don’t know how active he’ll be once we finish this blood ritual.”

Buffy snickered and silently agreed with Anya, even though her only human experience was Parker. “So, what’s first?” she asked, clapping her hands loudly to gain everyone’s attention.

“Well, like I said… the instructions are… well-”

“Just read them, Willow,” Giles interrupted impatiently. He couldn’t clear out his bathroom fast enough.

“Okay, but I warned you.” She sighed then started reading the introduction to reanimation. “You don’t want to get into vampire reanimation, not even for kicks. Sure, everyone wants to try it once, but if you pull it off, what have you got? A raving, ravenous, lunatic vampire hell-bent on sucking dry the first thing it can find… you!”

“Well, there’s a cheerful thought,” Cordy quipped. “So you’re going to bring Spike back only to have him be crazier and more grrr than Angel was when he returned from Hell? Good luck with that.”

“Shut-up, Cordy,” Buffy growled, if only to ignore the possibility that if they brought Spike back, he might not even be Spike anymore. Guess they’d find out soon enough.

Willow glanced around at the group, their faces intense until she landed on Tara’s, who smiled and nodded for her to continue. “Take one fully intact, blood-empty vampire that doesn’t have too many holes, most likely one that was starved or bled to death less than two weeks ago.”

Xander pointed at the top of the stairs. “Check.”

“You’ll need three to four transfusion kits,” she continued, taking a quick look at all the plastic packages on the table. “Check.”

She shifted from foot to foot the more she thought about what she was going to have to do to Angel in order to retrieve his blood. “Six pints of human blood,” she read, counting off the needed six people in the room. “And ten pints of vampire blood.”

“Yeah, any idea on how to get that, Giles?” Buffy asked as she opened one of the packages and peered inside.

Willow bit her lip. “If he struggles, we’ll just lose blood and that won’t do us any good.”

“No, it won’t. I don’t suppose you know any spells that might keep him immobilized, do you?” Giles asked either witch.

“Uh, guys?” Xander held up his hand. “I might have something that could work.” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a long, black revolver with metal prongs on each side, showing it to the group.

“What is that?” Tara asked, but everyone had a good idea what it was.

Buffy’s lips thinned as she glared at him. “Where did you get it?”

“I-I grabbed it when Riley wasn’t looking, I thought he was gonna use it on me!”

Giles took the Taser and inspected it as he asked the younger man questions. “How many shots do you have with this?”

“One.”

“Well that does us no good. We need to keep him incapacitated.”

“Then keep the electrodes in his body and depress the trigger when he starts waking up.”

“And how long does each pulse keep the person unconscious?”

“How long were we out for the count? Half-hour, hour tops, maybe?”

“So one would need to repeatedly stun the victim to keep them insensible, correct?” Giles asked with a devilish smirk.

Xander’s own grin spread across his face. “Definitely.”

Giles turned to Buffy. “I rather think this is just the thing we need.”

~*~

“Wot du ou ink ou r oing?” Angel muffled, outrage pouring from his eyes as he watched Willow set down several plastic trays on the floor of the bathroom.

She glanced at Giles, who indicated she was to continue prepping the area for the blood withdrawal. Looking back at Angel, she pressed her lips to keep from chuckling… just a little. Snapping on her rubber gloves, she grabbed a tourniquet and a ten-gauge needle syringe before moving a bit closer to Angel.

“Wot da ell r ou oing?” he growled staring at the instrument, struggling against his bonds. He noticed Willow turn to Giles, who stepped into his line of vision and squat to eye-level, a black gun in his hand.

“You see this, yes?” Angel nodded. “It’s a Taser, like the one they used on Spike… like the one they used on us,” Giles bit out the word. “Unless you hold still for dear Willow, you’ll gain firsthand knowledge of what it feels like to be on the receiving end of a cattle prod.”

Angel began to sweat.

“Are we clear?”

He nodded with a whimper, his breath escaping through his nose in quick bursts.

“Go ahead, Willow,” Giles said with malicious glee as he moved off to the side and let her approach the tub.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said nervously. “Except in biology class… on dead frogs, which were, hey… dead. So maybe that’ll help… dead frogs, dead Angel… hopefully it won’t turn out like my frogs though, their innards all twisted around when I couldn’t find their veins…”

Angel turned sharply to look at Giles in an are you serious? manner. The Brit just shrugged his shoulders and smirked.

She cut the vampire’s shirt lengthwise to expose his bicep and began wrapping the tourniquet around his arm, but faltered when he growled at her. He immediately regretted it, when the muzzle of the Taser was laid against his temple in the next moment.

“Do make more noise, Angel,” Giles purred, disturbing Willow. “My finger’s a little… itchy.”

The vampire ceased his struggles as Willow began poking around for an exposed vein, the yellowing of his eyes at her missed attempts his only reaction. Finally, she found a rather large, blue vein near the surface at the crux of his elbow and bicep, stabbing him with the large needle.

“Found it!” she squealed in accomplishment.

“AAARRRRGGGGGHHHH!!”

He began struggling when his blood sprayed Willow’s shirt and face, the needle still stuck in his arm. “Stop that! We’re losing blood!”

“Move away, Willow!” Giles yelled as he pushed her to the side of the room. He pulled the syringe out and slapped a gauze pad over the wound, glaring at the vampire.

Gaining some backbone, Angel tried to struggle again. “Uffy oud ever et es appen oo me!” he roared around the gag.

The Watcher knelt down in the small puddle of blood next to the tub and grabbed Angel’s hair, leaning his forehead against the vamp’s, the muzzle of the Taser next to the nape of the brunette’s neck and whispered, “No, Buffy wouldn’t let this happen. Never. That’s why she’s upstairs with someone who’d never put her in this situation. As much as she hates you right now, she’d still spare your pathetic, souled un-life. She even knows that Angelus will re-emerge sooner or later, and make her pay for that mercy, and the world with her. But you see, she's a hero… she's not like us.”

“Ike us?” Angel whimpered, tensing when Giles’ grip tightened.

He looked into the vampire’s eyes. “Cold blooded killers.” He stood and fired the prongs into the vampire’s shoulder and watched him writhe in agony until he slumped to the side, unconscious.

“Giles?” Willow murmured from near the door.

“Finish up, he won’t be out long.” His tone was cold as he sat on the toilet-lid, watching Angel for any signs of waking.

She nodded and numbly resumed her poking until she found a suitable vein and began draining the blood into the pint-sized pouches that came with the kit. She didn’t dare look at the Watcher, fearful of angering him further, and instead, filled up four bags before the vampire showed any movement at all.

Giles was about to zap him again when Willow stopped him. “He’ll probably need to eat and I need to draw a pint from everyone else, so…”

“Go on then, and have Xander bring in three pouches of blood. The bastard can drink them cold.”

Edging out the door with Angel’s contribution, she fled to the kitchen and started washing off the remnants of blood that still clung to her hair and face, trying not to cry. That’s how Xander found her.

“Hey, Wils, you okay?” he asked, patting her shoulder.

“He’s scaring me,” she sniffled, wiping her cheeks with a wet rag.

“Well, Angel is quite the monster-”

“No! I mean Giles! I mean, they both are! I don’t think you should leave those two alone with each other, they might do serious damage.” An audible sob caught in her throat.

“Is everything okay?” Tara asked meekly from across the counter, watching her friend’s eyes well up with fresh tears.

“Seems like Giles isn’t over Jenny’s death via the pointed-tooth fairy of Death,” Xander muttered. “Want me to go back in there with you?”

Willow shook her head. “No, he wants you to bring in some bags of blood so Angel can recoup and I need to get the human blood drawn so I can transfuse this stuff, and-and…” she blathered, finally stopping to sob her heart out. “I’m just a kid, for goodness sakes – I’m not a nurse, or-or a doctor that knows how to do this!”

Tara immediately moved into the kitchen and drew the redhead into a comforting hug, stroking her hair in a loving manner. “Go ahead, Xander, I’ll take care of her.”

He nodded, opening the fridge and getting a few bags out to warm up in the microwave.

“No!” Willow shouted then grimaced. “He wants you to bring it to him cold.”

Xander looked at the bags with disgust. “Mmm, blood sludge… what a nummy treat.”

He left the kitchen and headed towards the bathroom, knowing it was going to be a long day.

~*~

Giles had to give every single person within his apartment, baring Angel of course, a fair amount of credit for putting up with each other over a period of three days. Cordy’s endless whining, Anya’s desperate pleading for Xander to leave so they could have sex in the car, Willow’s constant pacing and worrying that she’d done something wrong – the ever faithful Tara shuffling close behind her, and Buffy – who never left Spike’s side, except to relieve herself.

Writing in his Watcher’s diary, Giles recalled the procedure in great detail, penning it in the ledger in case further study was required.

Willow finally obtained ten pints of Angel’s blood, leaving him emaciated, near to the state Spike was in, Giles having denied him replenishment after the last pint was drawn. He knew it was petty, but he wanted the brooding vamp to brood a little more, to suffer as he had suffered.

The tricky part lay in actually transfusing the blood, since the ratio was one pint transfused over a period of four hours without any lapses. When Willow became too exhausted to continue, Giles took over, as they worked in shifts. They first transfused three pints of Angel’s blood, which took them into the evening hours of that first day. Buffy had refused to let anyone else donate blood, until she became too weak to protest once Willow had drawn three pints from her. She then drew a pint each from Xander, Anya, and Tara, saving Giles and herself in case they needed more.

Spike received a total of ten pints from Angel, three from Buffy, and the three remaining pints from the rest of the group over a sixty-four hour period. Not once did he twitch or move, or even blink an eye during the entire process. And now, restored to pre-chip health, blood-wise that was, he still hadn’t moved. Buffy never removed the ring, feeling that whatever regenerative abilities it possessed would be of great use while Spike fought to regain consciousness.

They’d just transfused the final pint of Angel’s blood a little over an hour ago, and everyone was exhausted, their nerves frayed. Buffy ate little, if anything, while watching over the blond vampire and no one tried to make her eat, all of them knowing if they were in her position, they’d be doing the same.

The manual stated that the vampire was to show signs of life after forty-eight hours, possibly sooner once the process began, but that hadn’t happened with Spike. They were going on seventy hours now, and while his body complied with the instructions, his spirit had not.

No one restrained or chained him to a metal slab, as the book indicated since he’d supposedly become a raving lunatic once he awoke. His condition was too frail to allow it so he remained in the bed.

Every so often, Giles would check on his condition, watching Buffy purse her lips in frustration when he shook his head in the negative. He noted that Spike’s eyeballs began to occlude with blood; his surface veins and varicosities began turning blue, purple, and red again. His body showed every sign that the process was a success, yet he hadn’t woke.

“He just needs more time,” Buffy would murmur every time Giles checked on him. He’d nod quietly and shut the door, not having the heart to tell her otherwise.

~*~

On or about the sixth day, Giles decided to send everyone home, including Angel. Cordy became stable enough, though not enough in Xander’s opinion, to drive herself and the withered vampire back to L.A.

“What am I supposed to do with him when I get there? Doyle’ll think it’s my fault, I won’t get my Coach handbag, and I’ll be out of a job! Do you know how hard it is to find a job in L.A.? Like one that even pays?” she groused while Giles helped her load Angel’s weakened body into the back of the convertible.

“I should think you’d be grateful you’re still alive after that stunt you pulled with the Commandos,” he reminded her, throwing a tarp over the vampire’s prone form.

Throwing her purse on the passenger’s side, she sat in the driver’s seat and glared at him. “You’d better send me directions on how to fix him, mister ex-librarian!”

“And if I don’t?”

She closed her eyes and blew out a heavy sigh. “Look, I know no one around here wants him gone faster than Buffy does, but he’s my boss and… I need him.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed just as heavily. “I’ll have Willow send you the instructions in a day or so.”

“Thanks,” she said with nod as she started the engine then pulled away from the curb to speed down the street and far away from Sunnydale.

~*~

By the eighth day, Giles lost hope.

For all intents and purposes, Spike looked like he was in a heavy, deep sleep. His fingers had regenerated and the stitching in his head removed, the wound having healed completely by day five. His only worry now was that if Spike did wake up, what exactly would they be dealing with? A revenant from Hell… or worse, another version of Angelus?

“Buffy, may I speak with you?” he asked, quietly entering the room.

“Sure,” she whispered hoarsely. She’d been crying and her voice sounded raw with pain.

He sat in the over-stuffed chair once again; the place where he’d sat when this all began, and laced his fingers together, almost in a pleading gesture. “It’s been eight days, Buffy…”

“He just needs more time,” she muttered automatically, not really hearing her Watcher until he raised his voice.

“What if he doesn’t need more time? What if he is beyond us, already gone?”

Tears she didn’t think she had left formed in her eyes once more. “He’s there, I know it - he’s got…” she trailed off, staring blankly at the wall.

When she didn’t continue, he pressed harder for an answer. “He’s got what, Buffy?”

A heaving sob escaped her mouth. “A soul.”

He was quiet for a very long time then finally asked, “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen it.” Her declaration came with a watery smile. “I’ve felt it, and he would never leave me… never,” she whispered fervently.

“Buffy, I think you’re still going through one of the stages of grief – denial. I honestly believe Spike is no longer with us.”

She shook her head violently, practically screaming out her next words. “NO! He’s here, in this body… he’s just sleeping!”

Giles stood and yelled back at her. “If he’s in there, then he’s a raving madman, Buffy! I love you dearly, but I will not endure your inability to put an end to a feral and mindless creature’s rampage just because you have feelings for it!”

He might have slapped her for all that she recoiled from him. “Get out,” she snarled in a deadly tone, advancing on her Watcher until he backed out of the doorway. Once he was in the hallway, she shut the door and bolted it, dragging a chair to prop up under the knob so that he wouldn’t enter.

His banging and screams barely registered as she walked to Spike’s bedside and gazed at him lovingly. She knew he had a soul, even if no one else believed her. She also knew he would go to a good place, because she would fight tooth and nail if the powers-that-be tried to send him to Hell. He wasn’t Angel; he didn’t deserve the flames that licked Angelus’ boot heels.

What Giles didn’t know, was that she was also afraid Spike would return in a worse state than Angel had ever been in, she just hadn’t wanted to admit it. She couldn’t reconcile the idea of the Spike she’d come to know as a crazed, killing machine, hell-bent on their destruction, she couldn’t do that scenario again.

Trying one last time to rouse him, she pleaded, “Spike, c’mon! You have to wake up!” When no response came, she slapped his cheek in desperation. “Wake up, you stupid vampire! You can’t leave me here like this,” she sobbed. “You can’t leave me here…”

The banging from the door became louder, bringing Buffy back to the reality that Spike… was… gone. She traced his sculpted features with her eyes and fingers, memorizing his visage before it was gone forever. Knowing Spike would’ve wanted the Slayer to be the one that ended his existence, she closed her eyes and prayed to God to have mercy on her soul.

Bending low, she placed a kiss on his cool forehead, her tears seeping into his hair as she whispered, “I love you.” Rising up, she pulled open the nightstand drawer and took out the large Bowie knife she’d taken with her to the Army compound, having stashed it away for future slaying missions. Only, she never counted on using it for the purpose that lay before her.

Holding the knife high above her head, she whispered to him, “Keep your eyes closed, baby.” She then plunged her hand downwards, towards his heart.

Swimming up from the darkness, Spike’s eyes fluttered open, only to see an enormous blade thrusting towards his chest, her hands wrapped around it, his throat moving to voice her name.

“Buffy?”

The last thing he remembered was the smell of forget-me-nots, like the ones he used to pick for his mother as a small child.

Ironic that he should think of these when he thought of Buffy and their meaning of true love.

But then everything went black, as if he was so deeply asleep that he couldn’t remember ever being awake, while believing life was literally just one long, drawn-out dream. No pain, no voices, no harsh reality that mocked him when he dared to reach too high.

Just empty silence.

Until her soft whispers started filtering into his ears.

“Spike? Just hang in there, we’ll get you back to your annoying self.”

It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, her voice, encouraging him to remain in the realm of Limbo until he could resurface hale and whole. Her words smoothed the pain that surged throughout his body as he felt his veins fill with the borrowed blood of his grandsire, hers and some of the Scoobies as well. When he regained full use of his mind and body, he’d really have to ask how they conned Peaches into ponying up, and why he had an uncontrollable urge to call Giles ‘G-Man’ was beyond him.

If only he could respond to her, let her know he heard her and that he was hovering there, just beyond her reach. But, even though the blood brought awareness, it didn’t enable him to speak to her, touch her, see her smile. It frustrated him and he began pacing in his mind, desperately trying to communicate with whomever was in the room at the time, be it Willow, Giles, or Buffy.

His body lacked the strength it once had, knowing his muscles had atrophied due to the dehydration forced upon him, leaving him limp as a wet noodle. Many a time he’d prepare himself to answer a question or an observation Buffy had made, only to have the words die in his throat because his tongue and mouth wouldn’t move.

She never left his side except once or twice during a day, and knew she ate very little. He chastised her in his head for her neglect, but longed to actually voice his disapproval, to shake some sense into her. Trying to lift his hand to massage his throat into working, the tendons in his fingers never twitched to help him with the task, instead, lying motionless under the blanket. Apparently, they’d dressed him at one point, for he felt his usual t-shirt and jeans on his extremely thin body, the down-comforter pulled up to his chest.

By the eighth day, Spike was scared shitless.

Her tears always soaked his shirt, though he didn’t mind. But the tears were particularly harsh this day when he heard her Watcher enter the room. He listened to their conversation, interspersing his own dialogue even though he couldn’t voice it.

“Buffy, may I speak with you?”

“Sure.”

Christ, her voice sounds like sandpaper!

“It’s been eight days, Buffy…”

Yeah, eight fuckin’ days… least we know you can count, Rupes.

“He just needs more time.”

That’s my girl! Need a bit more time to get sussed out is all.

“What if he doesn’t need more time? What if he is beyond us, already gone?”

Oi! Bugger off, Watcher! I haven’t left the building yet – just locked in some damn room!

“He’s there, I know it - he’s got…”

Oh, Buffy… baby don’t cry. Damn it! I just wanna hold her.

“He’s got what, Buffy?”

Spike listened very carefully; curious himself as to what she thought he had.

“A soul.”

Well, shag me silly! Chit finally figured it out!

“How do you know?”

Back off, you berk! Slayer just figured out something you still can’t wrap your skull around!

“I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it, and he would never leave me… never.”

Never, Buffy… I promise with my unbeating heart… never gonna let you go. Fuck! Why can’t I move?

“Buffy, I think you’re still going through one of the stages of grief – denial. I honestly believe Spike is no longer with us.”

Grief my arse. I’m still here. Don’t believe him, pet… please!

“NO! He’s here, in this body… he’s just sleeping.”

That’s right, love, you give him the what’s what.

“If he’s in there, then he’s a raving madman, Buffy. I love you dearly, but I will not endure your inability to put an end to a feral and mindless creature’s rampage just because you have feelings for it!”

Oh bugger. Nice one, Rupes… play the Angelus card so she’ll feel guilty for not dusting my arse.

“Get out!”

Send him arse over tit, love! Poncey… ooh, wait a tic… I moved my pinky! Fuckin’ A!

Spike felt her sit back down on the side of the bed, waiting for who knows what, listening to her Watcher trying to break down the door. He registered her movement and then her hands were on his shoulders, shaking him.

“Spike, c’mon, you have to wake up!”

I’m tryin’, pet… I really am. Ow! What the fuck? You slapped me!

“Wake up, you stupid vampire! You can’t leave me here like this… you can’t leave me here…”

Don’t wanna leave, Buffy. I’m try- oooo, I can move all my fingers now!

He tried to make a fist, but that took too much energy so instead, he continued wiggling them. He stopped the moment she ghosted her own fingers over his face and lips, wanting to draw the digits into his mouth for a good suck, her tears plopping softly on his chin.

She shifted higher on the bed and placed a tender kiss on his cool forehead and whispered, “I love you.”

His mind froze. She just said she loves you, mate… you’d better make your lazy arse move instead of lyin’ here like a gob-smacked weakling!

Her weight was gone from the bed and he wondered if she’d left the room, but then he heard the nightstand drawer slide open and something metallic being removed from within. Her form returned and straddled his waist, pulling down the cover and touching his chest gently.

“Keep your eyes closed, baby.”

Bloody hell! Say somethin’, you git! She thinks you’re never coming back!

Pushing with everything that was in him, Spike concentrated on opening his eyes, only to see Buffy plunging an enormous knife towards his heart. It frightened the words right out of him.

“Buffy?”

She hadn’t registered his eyes opening until she heard his voice say her name. The edge of the blade stopped an inch from his shirt as she stared at his beloved blue eyes, gasping for breath.

“Spike?” she whispered.

He blinked his eyes slowly in response.

She smiled… and promptly fainted, falling to the floor.

~*~

Giles ceased his banging when he heard a loud thump and then a guttural moan issued from inside the room. Not caring that he’d have to replace his door, he rammed the wood panel with his left shoulder and proceeded to barge his way into the spare bedroom, nearly crashing into the closet from the force of his entry.

Spinning around, he took in the scene with great astonishment. Buffy lay crumpled on the floor, her arm outstretched and holding a wicked looking knife, and Spike, eyes open and staring at him intently as he tried to get his mouth to work.

“W-watcher,” Spike rasped, pointing a shaky finger at Buffy as he tried to sit up.

Making his way quickly over to her prone form, Giles bent down, picked the girl up and gently sat her in the chair then took the knife away and shoved it in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. He was confused, to say the least, wondering what led up to his Slayer laying on the floor unconscious while Spike was awake. Unfortunately, he reverted to his old pattern of thinking as he questioned the feeble vamp.

“Did you do this?” he ground out, pointing to her dozing form.

Had he possessed any expendable strength, Spike would have growled. Instead, he tried for a semi-harsh glare. “Really… think…” He paused to gather enough energy to force the rest out. “… I… could?”

A frown creased his forehead as he looked the vampire over. “No, I don’t suppose you have the capacity to even lift your arm above your head, let alone the capability to push Buffy to the floor.”

Spike grimaced. “Thanks… for confidence… mate,” he bit out. His body then fell back to the bed, eyes closed in exhaustion.

Pressing his fingers to his eyes, Giles growled in frustration. “Look, I-I apologize for my seeming distrust in you, but we’ve all been under a tremendous amount of strain for an extended period of time, and I’m bloody tired!”

The blond breathed with difficulty, eyebrows raised. “You… apologized?”

He sent Spike a fierce look. “Shut your gob.”

“You… woke me,” the vamp reminded the Watcher.

“Remind me why we kept you alive all this time,” he muttered.

“Don’t know-”

“Make the birdies stop twittering,” Buffy moaned from her spot, throwing an arm over her face to keep out the light that glared from the ceiling.

Giles moved her arm so that he could peer into her eyes. “It’s evening, Buffy, so there are no birds… ah, twittering. Maybe you should eat something.”

Tears sprang forth as she looked away from her Watcher. “I had this wonderful dream, that Spike was alive and he wasn’t some zombie monster from outer-space.”

“Pet,” the vampire on the bed managed to whisper.

She froze and slowly turned her gaze towards the other side of the room, staring at the man lying there amongst fluffy pillows, looking the worse for wear. He smiled softly, but it fell when she didn’t return it. She couldn’t. She was in a state of shock.

Sitting up straighter, she gripped the armrests of the chair hard, nearly shattering them. “You’re awake?”

He nodded slightly, a smirk playing about his mouth.

She bit her lip to keep from completely breaking down. “And you can see?”

“Crystal,” he murmured. His eyes softened as he stared longingly at her. “Thank… you.”

The tears that were pooling in her eyes dripped over her lashes as she smiled. “You’re not a mindless, raving madman hell-bent on destruction are you?”

He would have laughed if his chest weren’t so sore. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and tried to leer. “Drain you… when I… can.”

“After all we did, you ungrateful-”

Buffy never moved so fast in her life as she intercepted her Watcher’s advancement on the defenseless vampire. Sprinting to stand in front of Spike’s prone form, she crossed her arms and practically growled at him. “Don’t touch him. He was kidding, Giles. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

“Mister MENSA of idiotic proportions?”

“Oi!” Spike tried to sound angry, but it came out a feeble yelp.

She refused to budge. “Just back off, Giles. He’s weak and needs lots of – of… well, he needs lots of something to get him back on his feet.”

“How about a swift kick to his back end?” her Watcher snarked. He backed away with his hands held up in surrender when she glowered at him. “Yes, yes… you’re right. I’ll just, uhm… leave you two alone for a time. I’m sure you both have things you need to discuss.”

He moved to leave the room, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “Thank you,” she said softly, looking at him in appreciation. “For everything that you’ve done and… for helping me when I couldn’t do it by myself.” She leaned up and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

Giles blushed a thousand shades of red and spluttered an apology. “I-I’m sorry I lost faith in you… at-at the end.”

“It’s okay, really. I was losing faith in myself, too, so we would’ve been one big pile of faithlessness.” She scrunched her nose up in distaste at her own words.

Chuckling lightly, he patted her hand. “Go on then, Florence bloody Nightingale, and tend to your patient.”

She grinned and watched him stumble through the debris of the bedroom door, muttering under his breath about shoddy workmanship while making his way down the stairs. Hearing him pick up the phone, she assumed he would be calling the rest of the gang to inform them Spike was awake.

Awake, and looking at her intently as she turned back to him and sat on the edge of the bed. He was still pale, but his face no longer held that hollow look of starvation, his eyes almost twinkling with that missing spark she’d seen so long ago.

Taking the hand that rested above the covers, she inspected his fingers to see that they’d puffed out to their original long and strong shape, the earlier erosion of his tissue completely repaired. She closed her eyes and sent a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that Spike was unharmed.

“Verdict?” he rasped, trying to clench her hand, but only managed a little squeeze.

Opening her eyes, she glanced at him and smiled. “You’ll un-live.”

He returned her grin as he watched her idly play with his hand and fingers, detecting a hint of insecurity that made her hold back from expressing her true feelings. Wondering at her shy hesitancy, he wished his voice allowed him to tell her how grateful he was that she cared enough to watch over and defend him, very much like an overprotective mother hen.

Squeezing her hand, he stopped her nervous fluttering until she looked at him again. “Too thin,” he whispered.

She looked down at herself and frowned. She was too thin, never having realized just how much weight she’d lost in a week’s time, being so focused on Spike and his ordeal. But how could she, really? The thought of eating while he was lying there unconscious did horrible things to her stomach, the slightest bit of food wanting to make its way out once she’d swallowed it. So, she stopped eating anything solid and stuck with soups and orange juice until she could handle something a little more substantial.

She sent him an apologetic look and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll eat later.”

Shaking his head, he tugged on her hand again. “Now.”

Rolling her eyes, she moved to stand then pouted at him. “You’re awake five minutes and already you’re bossing me around.”

“Not… sorry,” he wheezed, trying once more to sit up.

“You wouldn’t be,” she groused good-naturedly, helping him to an upright position.

Beginning to move away, he suddenly clasped hold of her, kept her close to him in a light hug and laid his head on her shoulder. “Thank you… for… saving me.”

Leaning her cheek against the back of his head, she ran her fingers through his frizzy curls, musing he’d need a bath at some point. “I think you would’ve done the same for me,” she murmured, placing a lingering kiss near his hairline.

He gripped her tighter, to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. “Yes.”

“That settles it then. You’d save me, I’d save you… just all part and parcel of the Slayer – Vampire existence,” she teased lightly. “Just doing my duty.”

His body tensed and he withdrew, not looking her in the eye. “Duty… to dust… not save.”

Frowning, she lifted his chin until he finally looked at her. “I will not dust you, Spike. Please believe me. I didn’t go through all that trouble to get you out of there and bring you back to the land of the unpulsed living just so I could dust you. I’m not a big fan of masochism, contrary to popular belief.”

“I do… trust… you,” he whispered, slowly lifting his arm until his fingers rested against her cheek.

He cupped her face, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over her angles, dipping to caress her bottom lip as he stared at her in wonder. She’d saved him. She didn’t have to, had even put herself and others in danger to do so, going so far as to defend him against his grandsire.

Why?

Tracing her brows, he realized she hadn’t said anything about love once he was awake. His fingers ceased their movement when understanding dawned on him. She thought he couldn’t hear her, thought he’d never wake up when she said she loved him. He let his hand drop and gave her a small smile, knowing he wouldn’t bring up her admission and her penchant for emotional backtracking wouldn’t allow her to do the same.

Limbo, stalemate, fence sitter… it was all the same, with the same conclusion – none.

“Knock-knock!”

Spike’s gaze shifted from Buffy’s flushed face to her mother’s presence in the doorway. “Joyce,” he said quietly with a nod.

Buffy whipped around to see her mother step over the broken door and further into the room, a large, red thermos in her hands. She’d kept in touch with her mother via phone calls, updating her on Spike’s condition and telling her of her worries that he wouldn’t make it through. And she was always there to listen, her uplifting spirit the only thing that kept Buffy from completely losing hope.

“I brought you some hot chocolate, Spike. Rupert called to tell me you were awake and I knew just the thing to perk you up,” Joyce said warmly, placing the thermos on the nightstand and sitting in the overstuffed chair.

If vampires could blush, he was sure he would have been maroon. “Thanks… ducks.” He pointed to his stomach, breathing heavily. “Hit… the spot.”

“It’s hard to move, isn’t it?” she said with sympathy, reaching over to pat his hand.

“How did you know, mom?” Buffy was curious how her mother so quickly figured out Spike’s problem.

Unscrewing the thermos lid, Joyce poured some of the hot liquid into the makeshift cup and took Spike’s hand to help him hold it, bringing it to his lips. “Remember Aunt Nora, the one that had a stroke?”

“Cranky Aunt Nora? Yeah, I remember.”

Her mother sent her a look. “When you have a stroke, sometimes the muscles become paralyzed and it’s quite difficult to use them. The therapy can be painful and lengthy, trying to rebuild muscle tissue. Even with his accelerated healing, it’ll be a while before Spike can get back to his gentlemanly self.”

The chocolate tingled in his mouth as he tried to make his throat swallow the liquid, nearly spluttering the stuff all over the older woman. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

She brushed his sagging curls off his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She turned to an astonished Buffy and chuckled. “What?”

“I guess… I never thought, I mean-”

“You were too young to understand what was happening to her, Buffy. Don’t worry about it,” she assured.

After watching her mother lend a hand in helping Spike drink a little more, she grew a new appreciation for her and the nurturing that came natural to her. Determined to prove she could do the same thing, she asked something she rarely asked anybody unless she was desperate.

“Teach me?”

Both Spike and Joyce looked over at her, wide-eyed. One looked at her with pride and affection, tears nearly welling up in her throat. The other was flabbergasted that she’d take on the task of getting him up to par, knowing it would be a long, drawn out process. Guess she was serious about this ‘not dusting’ business.

“He’ll need to be moved to the house. There’s the spare bedroom down the hall from yours,” her mother thought aloud.

Spike watched the Slayer, dying to know what was running through her pretty head as she chewed the end of her thumbnail. He could tell she was concentrating on her mother’s words, listening to all the wisdom she was imparting, but he could care less. He’d be in Buffy’s house for the duration of his therapy and that was enough for him to be a happy vamp.

“… got the Jeep here, if you think it’s safe to move him tonight,” Joyce finished, stirring him from his thoughts.

Buffy turned her attention to him and silently asked with her eyes if he wanted to go. She didn’t know how he felt about staying at her house because hadn’t said much at all once her mother entered the room, and she desperately wanted to prove herself worthy of such a task.

“Up… to you,” he answered, his words a little clearer since the liquid soothed his parched throat.

A worried frown creased her brow. “Mom, can you excuse us for a minute? I want to make sure Spike’s okay with this and I know Giles could use some company of the adult variety.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh God! That came out wrong! I mean he’s only had me and a comatose Spike around, and I know I was no fun to talk to in the past week… and yeah, Spike was all with the non-verbal, and Xander wouldn’t stop egging Cordy on so he sent her and Angel back to L.A., and-”

“Buffy?” Spike laid his hand on her arm to stop her blathering.

Her mother snickered over how flustered her daughter looked. “I’ll go and speak with Giles about… Spike’s diet. Is that adult enough for you?”

Hiding her flaming face behind her fingers, she groaned. “Yes… just go, so I can wallow in mortification.”

“Wallow, dear… wallow,” Joyce advised, stepping over the door and making her way downstairs.

Once she’d left, Buffy returned to her usual position on the bed beside Spike. “What do you really think about staying with us?”

She’d taken up playing with his hand again and Spike wondered why she was so concerned with it that she rarely ever let him have it back. “Pet?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s… wrong?”

“I just… I want you to-” but then she stopped as tears misted her eyes. She was so tired of crying.

Gently tugging her closer, Spike rubbed soothing circles on her back as she began sobbing in earnest the moment she laid her cheek against his shoulder, clutching at him as if he’d disappear. “Tell me.”

“I tried, I really did,” she wept, burying her face into the crux of his neck.

He kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent. God, how he’d missed the smell of her skin, her hair… everything about her. “Love… tell me,” he whispered.

Sniffling, with the occasional hiccup, she sat back a little and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I tried to get to you before… before they – they… oh God.” She sobbed anew, remembering how she’d found him, not wanting him to know the horrors she’d seen.

“Here… now,” he assured her, tears filling his own eyes. He’d hoped that she’d come for him, but he hated how he must have appeared to her after the bloody mad scientists were done with their butchering.

“Barely,” she said in a soft voice. “I don’t know how much you remember.”

“R-remember… flowers,” he said with great difficulty, trying to wrap his tongue around the words.

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, tears coursing steadily down her cheeks. “You said something about flowers before you-”

“Left,” he finished. He remembered now, why he thought of forget-me-nots as he was dying, or fading… or whatever it is that vampires do when they’re drained.

He’d latched onto the best childhood memory he had, of the rain softly falling, the petals of the flowers glistening with drops of water as his mother kissed his forehead and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. In that moment, as he lay dying, he thought of Buffy and how he needed her as he’d needed his mother’s assurance that he was still the one she cared for. With his last lucid thought, he believed he was loved.

“When I found you,” she tried to continue, halting to gather her courage. “You were so mangled that… I-I…” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, hoping to wipe away the images. “I-I held your hand and it-it… started disintegrating.”

So that’s why she kept checking it over, once or twice a minute at times, always vigilant. With difficulty, he lifted the hand to look it over himself, not seeing any marks or difference that he could tell. He then softly laid the restored hand on top of her bowed head, giving her a type of blessing of thanks for bringing him back from the brink, running his fingers through her unkempt locks.

“Thank you.”

Her bowed head bobbed with the weight of her sobs as she emptied everything that was in her, her arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, rocking back and forth. “I heard you leave… and I-I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep you here.”

Knowing she would say more, he remained silent as he continued tenderly stroking her hair.

“I tried to stop them… but I wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t quick enough.” She was constantly hiccupping now, her face blotched red, all composure lost. “When I found you, I wanted to kill them all… wanted them to suffer the way you suffered.”

She drew in a deep breath to ease the hiccups. “That’s when I realized what you were saying that night about monsters and demons… what they really are. These-these humans had taken defenseless demons and twisted them into some ghastly ‘thing’ of their own making. What kind of monsters or demons do that?”

“Not… sure, pet.”

“None, that I know of,” she told him. “Yeah, there are some really Big Bads out there, Spike… but you were never one of them, not even by half.”

He snorted. “I’m… evil.”

Reaching out to touch his sculpted face, she shook her head. “No, you’re not. Misguided sometimes, maybe… but not evil.” Her head tilted as a thought occurred to her. “You never lost your soul, did you?”

“Why… think that?” he asked quietly, eyes narrowed.

“I remember you telling me The Judge said you stunk of humanity, that you shared affection and jealousy with Dru,” she said, daring him to refute it. “Were you ever afraid of him touching you?”

He looked away to stare at a point beyond her shoulder. “Still… here.”


“Because he didn’t, right? If he’d touched you, the humanity would’ve burned right out of you. Only a true creature of evil can survive the process.”

“Point?”

“What is a soul?”

“Been… thinkin’… about… this?”

Pulling one knee up, she rested her chin on top and smiled softly. “Yeah, I had a lot of time to think while we were getting you all blooded up.”

“Do… tell.”

“I looked it up the other day… the word ‘soul’. The dictionary defined it as the emotional part of human nature, the seat of the feelings or sentiments. It also said it was the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action; the animating principle; the essential element or part of something,” she quoted. “You’re the most emotional being I know. What else could animate you?”

He smiled sadly. “Demon?”

“Pfft,” she muttered. “In your own words… ‘Demons are revenants of Hell’. Does your demon ever remembering seeing a fiery inferno lately… or ever?”

“I… erm… no.”

She laughed quietly. “I’m really seeing why Giles likes this research stuff.”

“Why?”

“It has this amazing ability to shut you up!”

A full tilt grin graced his face. “Minx!”

“Better believe it. Now,” she began tentatively. “Will you come home with us?”

Home. The word flitted through his mind, this time without the killing migraine that usually was associated with emotional things.

“Love… to.”

Her eyes closed in relief. “You won’t regret it, I promise.” She shifted off the bed and headed towards the door, turning to him before she left. “Just for the record, I liked you before I figured out you have a soul.”

Stunned, Spike watched her leave, reeling from her admission. He began threading his fingers through his hair only to stop near the back of his skull, feeling a protruding bumpy scar. It was also right where his cowlick whorled and it made several of his curls stick straight up no matter how many times he tried to smooth them down.

“Bloody… woman’s… a menace,” he grumbled, wondering how much gel he’d have to slick through his hair to get it tamed.

It kept him from thinking too long on what he was going to do once he was done healing.

~*~

“Are you sure this is the formula, you little red-headed meddler? I seem to remember a lot more vamp blood involved in this.”

Willow grit her teeth. “Look, you wanted the procedure to restore Angel. I’m giving it to you, against my better judgment let me just add, and only because Giles told me to call you. If you don’t want it, I’ll just get rid of it.”

“Don’t you dare, Maleficent!”

“Oops!” She giggled wickedly. “I accidentally stuck my lighter to the corner of the pages… clumsy me!”

“HA! You don’t smoke, so why would you have a lighter?”

Damn. She gave up hope of ever being an evil genius if she was that transparent. “Do you want the rest or not, Cordy?” she sighed heavily.

“I swear, Rosenberg, if Angel ends up a toad because of you, I will personally sic my ghost on you.”

This piqued her curiosity. “You have a ghost?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes… his name is Dennis. He and I get along great, except when he tries to peek while I’m in the shower.”

“Uh, no… thanks,” she said with a shudder. She thought about the information she was giving Cordy… and re-thought about it… and then about all those times she was shoved into the lockers by her or one of her groupies. An evil smirk spread across her face. Oh yeah, she was giving her the right stuff.

“Okay, so you want three pints of vamp blood, six pints of canine blood, and…”

~*~

“Undead invalid, coming through,” Xander grunted to the Summers women as he hefted Spike in his arms and entered the house.

“Lackbrain… monkey… boy,” Spike growled, moving his head in time before the whelp knocked it against the wall as he started up the steps.

Xander chuckled. “Can’t even throw insults properly. Ooh, I’m gonna love this.”

The vamp in his arms tried to snarl, but it sounded more like a teen-aged boy’s voice cracking on the verge of puberty. Xander had to stop at the top of the stairs and lean against the wall from laughing so hard. “Do that again, Scrappy-Doo!”

“I… loathe… you.”

“Xander, stop poking fun at him,” Buffy admonished from behind the pair.

“Aww, Buff…” He pouted. “I was just messing with Willie-wanna-bite.”

Another squeaky growl issued from the vamp, who was currently sitting on the bed in the spare room, trying his hardest to stay upright. “Sod… off!”

“You’re evil, Xan… I love you, but you’re evil,” she scolded, shooing him out of the room.

An aching pang settled in Spike’s chest at her words, how easily they flowed for her friends, even when she was reprimanding them. But he’d be damned if he’d beg for her crumbs, though he desperately wanted and needed them.

Closing the door after her mother and Xander left, Buffy turned on a dim light in the dark room and squat in front of Spike, removing his boots and socks. “I’m sorry about that, but he wanted to see how you were doing… which is of the strange and odd.”

When Giles had contacted all the Scoobies about Spike being awake, Willow and Tara were greatly relieved and said they would be by tomorrow to see him.

Anya expressed her relief in only a way she could. “I’m glad he’s awake, it would be a shame to let all that sexual prowess go to waste. I hope Buffy uses him well.”

Xander said he’d been around Willow for too long, that the science fair nerd in her had rubbed off on him and he wanted to see if the procedure worked as Riley said it would. He showed up at Giles’ apartment just as they were getting ready to leave, so he offered to carry Spike to the car and into the house once they got there.

Figuring stranger things had happened, especially on the Hellmouth, she agreed to his help. Spike wasn’t so convinced. He grumbled and complained as much as his muscles would allow, both males trading barbs with each other like it was secondhand nature to them. And oddly enough, it was comforting to her. She knew Xander was never one to actually come out and say ‘I’m sorry’ for his behavior. Instead, he’d always scurry around and try to obtain forgiveness by doing little things for the person he’d wronged. Therefore, in her mind, Xander helping Spike spoke volumes about how her best friend really felt.

“Don’t… ap-appolo-”

“I’m not apologizing for his behavior, that’s just him, like it or not,” she finished for him, knowing he was having trouble pronouncing some words.

Spike clenched his teeth in frustration. “Stop!”

She glanced up at him and read the agitation there. “What? What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep, unneeded breath. “Need to… learn… on… my own,” he said, dropping his hands to his shirt hem and trying to pull it over his head. “C-can’t… be… inv-valid.”

“I never thought of you as one.” She watched him struggle with the material, anxious to help him with the task but held off because of what he’d said.

His efforts to remove the shirt met with resistance until he finally gave up and stared blankly at the window. “Please… help,” he ground out.

She removed his shirt and began unbuttoning his jeans. He let her completely disrobe him without saying a word, refusing to look at her the entire time.

“Do you want some sweatpants to sleep in?” she asked hesitantly. She didn’t know how to react to this stubborn, silent Spike, his standoffish attitude confusing her.

Sending her a fleeting look, he realized she was bewildered by his actions, and his gaze softened as he nodded. “Nice… pet.”

She smiled timidly and left the room, returning a short time later with a pair of workout pants that’d seen better days. “It was the only pair I could find that was clean.”

Nodding his thanks, he allowed her to slip his feet into them and pull them up to his waist, her face directly in line with his groin. Even though he felt his reaction to her delicate hands on his body, nothing happened in the right area to reveal her affect on him. He didn’t know whether to be sad or grateful for it.

Pulling back the covers, she helped him sit on the comfortable bed, swinging his legs under the blanket and settling it on his chest. “Comfy?”

Not without you. “Yes.”

“I’ll be just down the hall, if you need me.” Please say you need me?

I always need you. “I… know.”

She lingered in the doorway, her eyes fixed on his. If only he could hear my thoughts again. No, bad Buffy, can’t rely on that! “Goodnight,” she said softly.

Stay… please stay! “Night,” he answered gruffly.

Closing the door, she leaned her forehead against the wood and sighed sadly. Why was it so difficult to tell him she cared, that she really liked him… that she loved him? She rubbed her cheek against the door, a poor substitute for his soft skin, and pretended he loved her, too.

He heard her on the other side of the door and cursed his inability to just fling it open and hold her. But once again, his pride and weakness kept him from doing much else than to stare longingly in her direction until she moved away and her own bedroom door closed.

After an hour of trying and failing to find any rest, he heard her enter his room quietly. Keeping his eyes closed to feign sleep, he felt her slide under the covers and adopt the position he’d known she slept in while watching over him at Giles. Once settled against his side, her breathing evened out and she fell into a deep sleep.

Spike leaned over and kissed the top of her head, her scent playing with his senses, as he tried to remain awake and savor the feel of her in his arms. He knew he was buggered when she murmured his name and snuggled closer to him, but he soon followed her into slumber, feeling content now that she was next to him.

~*~

She looked at the pair, the vampire and the Slayer, cuddled close together on the small bed, oblivious to the world around them. She should be angry, she should be outraged, but she didn’t have the heart. She knew what happened with Angel, the terror that he caused because he supposedly loved her daughter.

But Spike was… different. Always had been.

So, she let them be. Didn’t try to drag her out of the bed, saying she was too young or ‘for God’s sakes, he’s a vampire!’ He had a long enough road ahead of him and if her daughter made it easier, then that was that. Seeing them so close together, she knew no harm would befall either of them as long as they were together. Apart they would fall… together they’d stand strong and more powerful. And anything that kept her daughter alive would be accepted without hesitation.

Backing out of the room, Joyce closed the door and made her way downstairs to fix breakfast, knowing Spike’s first day of therapy would be interesting indeed.

~*~

Sunlight tickled Buffy’s nose, causing immediate panic to surge through her at the thought of Spike bursting into flames. She hurriedly extricated herself from his arms and swiftly pulled the blinds shut along with the curtain.

“Sorry,” she said in a shaky voice, turning to see him looking at her.

He pulled his hand out from under the blanket and waved it. “Gem.”

“Oh! Right.” She tried to laugh off the dread still coursing through her.

“Love… c’mere?” he asked gently, seeing her body tremble.

Sitting beside him, she took his hand once more and began stroking it, making sure it was still in one piece. “Just old habit, I guess.” She glanced at her rumpled side of the bed. “I wanted to know you were safe,” she explained, indicating the spot next to him.

“I was.”

“I know, but I just wanted… it didn’t feel right and I-”

“Was… safe… with you,” he corrected, seeing her shrug off her importance to him.

Gripping his hand tighter, she brought it to her lips and pressed a hard kiss to the back of it, closing her eyes. “I promise not to let anything happen to you ever again.”

Knowing she wouldn’t accept the words that it wasn’t her fault, he let them settle into a comfortable silence as he watched several emotions play over her face. Guilt and grief haunted her eyes, followed by grim determination to keep him secure, her behavior thus far proof of that.

Joyce yelling up the stairwell that Willow and Tara had arrived and that breakfast was nearly ready interrupted their quiet reverie. Wanting to linger just a bit longer, Buffy ghosted her fingers over his brow, playing with a few stray curls.

“Hungry?”

Nostrils flaring, his grip on her hand tightened. “Always.” For you.

Her eyes glazed over with desire as she leaned closer to his face. “Me, too.” God, I want you so much, right now!

“Buffy!”

Resting her forehead against his, she blew out a heavy sigh at her mother’s imperfect timing. “Let’s get you up,” she said, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“No… worries… there, pet,” he snarked as she brushed against his erection. Seemed he was healing fine after all.

Rolling her eyes, she slapped his chest playfully. “Out of bed, you shirty bonehead!”

“Mmm… bone… head,” he snickered as she pulled him to a sitting position.

Apparently, she was having quite an effect on him. She noticed his tented pants while trying to put his shirt over his head and wanted nothing more than to peek beneath the waistband to touch and stroke and... Bad Buffy! Mom’s waiting and you’re having the lusties for Spike!

Watching her lick her lips as she glanced at his raging hard-on nearly made him spill in the borrowed sweatpants. He needed to calm himself if he was to make it downstairs without poking someone in the eye with it. Grabbing her hand to stop her fussing with his clothes, he brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

“Give… me a… mo’… pet.”

“But I-”

“Please? Need to… calm… down.”

She darted her eyes to his groin and blushed profusely. “Sorry!”

“Never… be… sorry about… that,” he said heatedly. Don’t be sorry that I want you!

“O-okay. I have to use the bathroom anyway.”

Watching her leave the room, he tried to gain as much sanity as her lack of presence would allow. Breathing deeply, he thought about Angel with a moue of disgust. Angel in a peach tutu… Angel being buggered by a T’wilek demon… Angel, Giles, and Harris in a threesome. Spike nearly gagged at the last thought, but it was highly amusing and served the purpose of deflating his painful erection.

A few moments later, Buffy returned to assist him in making his way down to the people waiting below, without saying a word and trying to be ever helpful. But her nearness drove him to distraction, and he wondered if his therapy would be more a test in self-restraint than actually gaining mobility.

If he only knew.

~*~

They settled into a pattern over the weeks that was similar to his first night in the Summers home.

Buffy would tuck Spike in at night but at some point, would make her way back into his room and coil herself around him to sleep. Likewise, he stayed awake until he felt her body hug his, then they both slept, content in the safety of each other’s arms.

He’d catch Joyce every now and then, checking up on them in the pre-dawn hours, making sure they were both still there, as if one would be somewhere the other wasn’t. Why she never said anything to stop the behavior mystified him, but he never took it for granted, clutching Buffy closer to him after she’d gone.

Joyce had shown Buffy the routine a normal therapist would use on a stroke victim, having retained the instructions from the notorious Aunt Nora, and she quickly became a pro at massaging his aching limbs to keep the blood flowing.

Willow would come over three times a week and work with him on his speech, using exercises that strengthened his jaw and tongue… like saying words with a mouthful of marbles. She immediately stopped after he swallowed three of the spheres while trying to say the word, ‘delicious’. This particular session, however, would be their last. He’d worked hard, had come a long way and his enunciation was now near perfect.

And wherever Willow was, there was Tara. The two became inseparable and Spike wondered if something other than friendship was going on between the two witches. His suspicions were validated when he caught Willow staring at Tara the way he knew he watched Buffy.

“She’s a great bird, Red,” he pointed out towards the end of their session.

She froze and slowly turned to him, pleading, “Don’t tell Buffy! She wouldn’t understand!”

“Piffle! She’d be glad you found someone,” he assured her.

Ducking her head, she confessed with a blush, “She makes me smile.” As an afterthought adding, “And Oz never… came back.”

“That’s all that matters then.”

Gazing at Tara, who was standing at the kitchen sink cleaning the dishes, Willow sighed wistfully. “You think so? I mean, it’s just so new and I don’t want Buffy to be wigged about it, or that I’d ever thought of her in that way, and-”

“S’okay, Red. Don’t think she’s the type to judge, pet.”

“I hope not. I really like her! In fact,” she said, leaning in and speaking in hushed tones. “I think I love her.”

Spike smiled sadly and tapped her on the nose. “Tell her then.”

“She hasn’t told you, yet… has she?” Willow observed after a lengthy silence, noting the distant look he always had in his eyes in regards to Buffy.

He looked away and tried to act as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Don’t know what you mean, Red.”

“Oh, we both know the scourge of the underworld lives in the land of denial until she thinks she can handle it. When she can’t, she goes all kablooey and it’s just not a pretty sight.”

“You don’t say?” he said with a wry grin. Hearing the flow of water cease, he followed Tara’s movements as she finished her task, joining them at the kitchen table to listen intently to the conversation.

Nodding, Willow took his hand and held it lightly. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Shaking his head, he told her the secret nobody knew. “I could hear everything though.”

“Hear what?”

“From a certain point on, I heard everything you lot said… just couldn’t respond.”

Her body became tense and still. “From what point?”

“I believe undead English patient rings a bell.”

Mortified, she buried her flushed face in her hands. “Oh, God.”

“She didn’t m-mean it,” Tara quickly defended her girlfriend. “She was really tired and I think Xander was getting on her nerves during the blood transfusion.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he said dryly. “Already had my talk with Harris.”

Willow peeked over her fingers. “You did? When?”

“Last week, when he snuck me a pack of fags.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You shouldn’t smoke, and why is Xander helping you anyway?”

“I’m the only bloke in a sea of women is the way I figure. Whelp’s gotta chat at someone about his bird, or whatever happens to be rattlin’ around in his brain.”

Eyes narrowing, she didn’t buy that line of malarkey one bit. “What did you two really talk about?”

Running his hand through his hair, he blew out a heavy breath. “Cut to the quick, eh Red?” He waited for her to possibly change the subject, but when she didn’t he continued. “About not havin’ the chip.”

Silence hung thick in the air, no one courageous enough to tackle the subject while Spike was recuperating, but now it was an inevitable problem they’d all have to deal with. Everyone knew that Spike had to get the chip removed – but no one thought about the consequences of such an action. The entire time he was out for the count, no Scooby broached the subject, not even Xander. But apparently, he’d already spoken with him about it and Willow was highly curious as to what the vamp had to say that would sway her best friend’s opinion of all things demon.

After several moments of quiet stillness, the redhead had to ask, “Have you talked to anyone else about your chip?”

“Watcher. Think he was the first one I sussed it out with,” he confided with a grimace.

“Bet that was a barrel of monkeys,” she muttered under her breath, knowing Giles could make a even a root canal seem preferable to his lectures. And that was if it was fun, let alone if the topic was something painful.

Spike snorted. “Yeah, I’ve had better tortures – excluding this latest round, mind you.”

Finally, curiosity got the better of her. “So what did you say that made them feel you were less of a threat?”

“Nothin’.”

“Huh?”

Tara interrupted. “It’s what he didn’t say.”

“Told you, Red… got a smart bird there,” he said with a smirk, looking at the shy witch who beamed under his praise.

Becoming frustrated, Willow huffed. “Of course she’s smart! But I still don’t get-”

Laying a hand on her lover’s shoulder, Tara whispered something in her ear and pressed a kiss to her temple. Willow’s eyes narrowed as she peered at him for an intense period of time until he became extremely uncomfortable under their scrutiny.

Separately, the girls were powerful enough, but together, the chits were downright scary and Spike was tired of being scared. “Ease up, ducks.”

Willow pouted. “How come I never saw it before?”

Tara squeezed her shoulder again. “You have to look with better eyes… ones that don’t hate or judge. You’d never see it otherwise.”

His eyes darted to the timid girl and nodded in silent approval. “I expect your unique relationship with Glinda here, allows you to see a bit more clearly.”

“Does Buffy know?”

“Heard her,” he whispered, staring out the window at the coming twilight.

“What did she say?” Tara asked, placing a comforting hand on his tense arm.

The affection startled him, but he turned to her, tears misting his eyes. “Sussed out I had a soul and prevented her Watcher from dusting me. Said she…” He went silent, unwilling to finish his sentence.

She brushed the shaggy curls away from his downcast face. “She said she loved you, didn’t she?”

He nodded and turned away from her hand. It felt like pity to him and he was sick of being Love’s bitch. “Then she tried to dust me herself.”

The witches looked at each other in an oh boy! way.

“Don’t bloody understand the bint,” he growled, getting up to pace the length of the kitchen. “First she tries to dust my arse, then she’s weepin’ about my hand and won’t let go of the thing, and now she won’t say a God-damned word about that night or what I’m supposed to do once I’m done healin’. I can’t go back to bein’ what I was - she’s changed me and now I don’t fit any bleedin’ place.”

“Do you love her?”

“What?” Spike spluttered at Tara.

She grinned lopsidedly. “Do you love her?”

Instead of saying yes or no, he leaned against the wall and spilled the words he’d thought about her at the end. “She is the grass that I lay my head upon.” He looked at the girls, begging them to understand. “She is the rain that quenches my undying thirst.”

Sliding down the wall to a squat position, he whispered, “And I love her like the flowers love the sun.” He stayed that way for a long period of time, his head hung in defeat.

It was several moments before he realized the witches were not in the room… but Buffy was, her hand reaching out to him, pulling him to a standing position. He stared at her as if she were the last meal for a man on death row.

“Red? Glinda?” he asked with a gasp.

“Gone home, I hope,” she said quietly. “I got in about a half hour ago. I didn’t want to disturb you guys.”

He looked down at her small hand in his. “Did you hear-”

“Some of it,” she shrugged. “But I probably heard the things you didn’t intend for me to know about… like what I said before I decided to go all Romeo and Juliet with the Bowie knife.”

“Is that what that monstrosity was?” he kidded, evading her eyes.

She’d let him avoid the issue for a moment. “Yup and I still want to know what a ‘bint’ is.”

“You’d never speak to me if I told you,” he said, shaking his head.

Laughing lightly, she lifted his chin because he still wouldn’t look at her. “Well, then… it’s a good thing that I love you or else you’d be outta here.”

His grip on her hands became painful. “You don’t mean it.”

Her gaze became downright serious. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t mean it!” she ground out. “I have never forgiven myself for nearly killing you! It eats away at me, knowing that you’re standing here only because you’re too stubborn to die, and that I was too weak to believe in you, and-”

“You do like to blather on, Slayer,” he snarked and covered her mouth with his own.

Effectively shutting her up, his lips moved slowly over hers; drugging them both with sweet, hot pleasure.

Spike pressed Buffy against the kitchen counter, gripping her hips as he plundered her mouth.

“Never thought to feel your softness again,” he whispered, nipping along her jaw.

She wound her arms behind his head and locked her wrists to keep him from leaving her. “I was afraid I’d never see your beautiful blue eyes.”

Whimpering, he hefted her legs to wrap around his hips as he ground his cock against her hot center, moving their bodies until she felt the cold metal of the refrigerator on her back. “Too long… too long without you.”

Gasping as he thrust against her, she dug her nails into his shoulders. “Waited for you… terrified you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Utter madness,” he hissed, his blunt human teeth lightly biting his old mark. “To not want you? This is ecstasy, Buffy – I’d be certifiable to give this up willingly.” He punctuated his statement with a hard push to her wet core, making several boxes tumble off the top of the fridge.

One box, containing powdered sugar, fell over the edge just enough to coat the pair in a light dusting of sweetness. They stared at each other, their hair, faces and other body parts covered in the white powder.

Buffy sneezed and giggled. “You look delicious,” she purred, swiping the powder off her upper lip.

Sensing a blatant invitation, he finished removing the sugar from the rest of her mouth with his talented tongue, proceeding to lick his way along her jaw line and towards her temple. “Good enough to eat.”

Her head fell back at his words, allowing him to progress along the column of her throat as he nibbled his way down to her collarbone, dipping his tongue into the indentation where her clavicle met her sternum. His hands massaged the firm globes of her ass, pulling her body into his, shallowly thrusting his hips as he continued cleaning her luscious skin of the white substance.

“Ahem.”

Both blonds stilled, Buffy’s heart rate skyrocketing. So involved in their loving, they never registered the presence of another person - a person in the guise of the Slayer’s mother. The pair turned their gaze to a thoroughly brassed-off parent.

“I take it you’re all better now?” she said archly, looking at Spike.

Grimacing, he gently extracted Buffy’s legs from around his waist so that she could stand on her own, tucking her embarrassed form behind him as he faced her mother. “You could say that.”

“I could say a lot of things,” Joyce replied with a glower, crossing her arms. “One of them being what do you plan on doing now?”

“Mom!”

“I’d like to talk to Spike, Buffy… alone,” her mother ordered. “Please wait in your room.”

“But-”

The look Joyce gave her silenced her protests. She longingly gazed at the man beside her, hoping he could see her determination that she wouldn’t give him up, no matter what. Before tears could gather in her eyes, she left the kitchen and hurried upstairs, slamming the door to her room.

Seeing that her daughter was out of hearing range, Joyce fixed her eyes on the vamp standing in her kitchen, covered in white powder. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the sight he presented, patches of skin showing the trail of wet kisses.

“Joyce, I-”

His explanation was cut short as she held up her hand. “What are your intentions?”

“My intentions?”

“You’re not an idiot, Spike, contrary to Giles’ belief. What are your intentions towards my daughter?”

A soft look overcame his features. “I love her,” he whispered.

She came around the island counter to stand closer to him, studying him. “That much is evident, on both parts. She’s gone through Hell and back, Spike, what with all that horrible business with Angel and the Army unit that took you. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw my little girl smile, until-”

“I won’t leave her,” he promised heatedly. “I need her.”

“But does she need you? What kind of life can you give her? She’s almost twenty years old, yet she has lived many lifetimes over inside. It would destroy what’s left of her spirit if she had to stake you.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he murmured, “She almost did, Joyce. Thought I wasn’t gonna to make it through the reanimation, thought I was gonna be some kind of raving lunatic bloodsucker.”

“Yes, I know, she told me. I also know from Giles that she was wasting away while looking after you. That’s not a healthy relationship, Spike, and I won’t have Buffy subject to it again. I’m her mother and she is my priority.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “She has a short life span as it is. I don’t want her to know only pain while she lives it.”

Knowing he wasn’t winning any points with the Slayer’s mother, he lightly gripped her arms, his eyes pleading with her. “Your daughter, for whatever reason I’ll never fully understand, took a chance on me, believed in me and saved my worthless hide. My life is hers, no questions asked. She’s changed me into somethin’ I couldn’t fathom months before. I’ve been without the chip for several weeks now, and I haven’t given anyone cause to see to my demise yet, have I?”

Shaking her head, she slowly became aware of something as she looked into his eyes. “You-you have your soul,” she said, astounded.

Letting go of her arms, he stepped back. “That’s what they keep tellin’ me.”

“You don’t know?”

He shrugged. “I feel… I was always different from Peaches or Darla, or even Dru. Was so bloody oppressed in my human years, sucked the life right out of me it did. Then Dru turned me and I was filled with… I just had… this joie de vivre that the others didn’t. Never really questioned it, `til Buffy came along.” He smiled to himself. “She says it’s what animates me.”

“Do you think you have a soul?”

“I must, if what she says is right. What else could it be?”

Her lips thinned. “Spike.”

“What do you want me to tell you, Joyce? That I know I have a soul because currently it’s upstairs frettin’? That having a soul doesn’t preclude a vamp from killing? Look at Angel, mum,” he bit out. “He was a whoring, lecherous pig of a wastrel before he was turned with no thought to others but himself. Had no soul to speak of before Darla got a hold of him and the gypsies could only curse him with some other git’s soul because his own was too vile.”

“Then why did you kill, living with a guilty conscience?”

His posture became rigid. “Angelus beat any conscience I had right outta me. At first, I killed because I had to, then I started enjoyin’ it. You can’t tell me serial killers don’t get the same high, and they’re human.”

“So why stop?” she pressed.

“The truce,” he muttered.

“What truce?”

“Buffy and me, in a band… ring any bells?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh that truce.” She frowned, remembering that night. “But that was two years ago, Spike. Surely you’ve, uh… killed since then.”

“Can’t say I didn’t take a nip or two here and there, but didn’t drain `em. She trusted me to keep my word, and above all things I’m a vamp of my word.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be, was bloody awful fightin’ my ingrained nature,” he said, recalling his sire trying to force-feed him once or twice before she became suspicious. “But then, Dru started seeing… really lookin’, yeah? Said I was covered in bleedin’ sunshine, that I didn’t belong to her anymore.”

“Buffy.”

Absentmindedly, he rubbed at an ache in his chest, right above his heart. “Buffy.”

The action didn’t go unnoticed. Peering at him intently, Joyce sighed heavily. “Can you keep her safe?”

“My unlife for hers,” he answered without hesitation.

“I suppose I can’t ask for more than that.”

“For the record, I know I don’t deserve her, that I’m beneath her,” he admitted quietly. “But I promise to spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be worthy of her.”

Compassion flooded her being. Acting the mother, she wiped at the smudges remaining on his face with her thumb, cupping his cheek. “You’re both worthy of each other.” She stopped with a look full of intent. “Just make an honest woman out of her, please?”

It was as if the sun had broken through the clouds of a rainy day, his smile was that bright. “If she’ll have me,” he rasped, emotion clogging his throat.

She patted his cheek and stepped back. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble there. The way she looks at you is… well… it makes me believe in magic,” she said with a wink.

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a muffled sob floated into the kitchen originating from the vent in the ceiling. Joyce glanced upwards with a smirk. “I think someone’s been listening,” she whispered low.

Spike followed her gaze to the vent near the back of the kitchen, focusing his hearing and picking up muted weeping. He tensed, caught between wanting to go to Buffy and finishing his conversation with Joyce. “I love her… without her, I am nothing,” he offered in a low and hushed tone, begging to be released so he could comfort his girl.

A wave of her hand and he quickly headed towards the staircase, her words stopping him before he ascended. “I’m going to get food. You have two hours. Remember your promise.”

Nodding with a gleam in his eye, he left her presence to join her daughter.

Joyce stared after him, wondering if what she was doing was right, allowing another vampire access to Buffy. But then again, Buffy was now old enough, and hopefully mature enough to make her own decisions. Praying her instincts were right about Spike, she headed out the door in search of food that would take two hours to find.

~*~

He didn’t bother to knock, opening the door instead to find his Slayer curled up on the floor near a heating vent. Kneeling down, he picked her up and sat on the bed, her tiny form huddled in his lap.

“You heard.” It was a statement.

She clutched at the lapels of his blue button-down shirt, nuzzling her nose into the black tee underneath. “I didn’t mean to,” she sniffled.

“`Course you did, pet,” he said gently, raising her face so that he could see her. “I’d have done the same.”

“But you’re evil, it’s expected of you,” she mumbled, leaning into the hand cupping her cheek.

“`Bout time you lot realized that,” he chuckled, wiping away traces of the sugar. Her tears left trails on her powdered cheeks and he found them oddly adorable.

Raising her hand, she began tracing his features as she had done while he was ‘asleep’, loving the sharp angles of his face, the dark eyebrows, his scar and then finally his sensual lips. She ran her thumb over the full bottom, gasping lightly when he sucked it into his mouth, biting her soft flesh.

It tasted faintly of sweetness from where she’d traveled his skin with her fingertips and he groaned, pulling the digit further into the recesses of his mouth. “Taste so good,” he murmured, releasing her finger with a wet plop.

Deciding to indulge in her previous wickedness, she ran her tongue along the line of his jaw, savoring the sweet spiciness that was uniquely Spike. “Positively sinful,” she cooed.

Any control Spike still held on to immediately left through the window. He delved his head and suckled on her sweet and luscious flesh, cradling her to him, clamping one of his hands on her tightly rounded bottom. Not a breath of space existed between them as they kissed like mad, desperate to make up for lost time.

Holding her tighter, he began nipping forcefully at her lips, trailing down to his mark as he laved the twin punctures. “Mum said to make an honest woman outta you,” he panted in her ear, his cool hand palming her breast through her shirt.

“Mmm, did she now? And what do you have to say about it, mister The Bloody?” she teased, biting his lobe.

Pulling away slightly, he gazed into her eyes, pensive with insecurity. “How much do you want me, Buffy?”

She caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. “As much as you want me,” she answered simply. “`Til the sun and moon are no more.”

His grip bordered on painful, eyes boring into hers seeking any hint of doubt. “You’ll have me, all of me? There’s no going back from this.”

In response, she grinned and turned slightly to show him her hip and tugged on the waistband of her jeans. “Might as well brand your name here, Spike.” She slapped her bare ass cheek. “I’m your bitch for life.”

He growled, pulling her rounded bottom closer to his face, inhaling deeply. “Someone’s wet,” he purred, taking a long lick up the cleft of her ass.

“Guh!” she moaned, pushing into his tongue, the rake of his teeth drenching her further.

Lying on his lap the way she was, allowed him access to fondle her breasts with his left hand while the other slipped beneath her lax jeans to tease her nether lips. All this had her wiggling on top of his cock and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming. Knowing he had precious little time in which to complete his task, he flipped Buffy back to face him, nibbling his way down the tendons of her neck to his mark, keeping his right hand between the drenched folds of her sex.

“This is just for starters.”

Fangs embedded in her neck, but she only felt blinding ecstasy as each pull from his mouth shot straight to her womb. She began bucking into the hand cupping her pussy as one of the most intense orgasms she’d ever had ripped through her. “Meus pectus, meus cruor, mei ut servo,” he whispered against her skin, the heel of his hand grinding into her clit.

Her back arched as another orgasm rocked her body, this one more powerful than the previous, her eyes glowing yellow for a brief moment before she fell against him, exhausted. They stayed like that for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath, his fangs still deep inside her slim column, his tongue gently lapping the blood that surfaced.

“What did you do to me? I didn’t even get to take my clothes off,” she pouted, her heart still hammering in her chest.

Withdrawing his fangs, he licked the wound closed. “Made you an honest woman,” he chuckled.

She looked at him in a daze. “Was that normal? Wait, what did you say?”

“My heart, my blood, mine to keep,” he murmured against her forehead, pressing soft kisses around her hairline, afraid to look at her and see condemnation. “Means I’m bound to you… forever.”

Tugging on his shirt so he’d look at her, she held his steady gaze. “Are you the only one that gets to do that?”

Tilting his head a fraction, he smiled somewhat. “You want to ‘keep’ me too, pet?”

“No point in doing it if it’s only one-sided, right?” she asked, frowning at his hesitancy. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

“More than anything, luv. But as it stands, I’m yours forever, regardless if you want me around or not. Those words bound me to you, not you to me. You still have,” he paused, gulping audibly. “Your freedom.”

Pushing him back until he was flush against her bed, Buffy straddled his waist with a heated glare. “I’m gonna say this once, and you’d better listen, Spike, `cause I won’t say it again. And you’d better take it as the God’s honest truth or, claim or no claim, I’ll have a grand time kicking your ass.”

“Likely not,” he muttered under his breath.

She punched his shoulder, lips set in a grim line. “Be serious.” Seeing that he was remaining silent, but watchful, she continued. “I don’t know how it happened, but I know when I started falling in love with you.” She slid her hands under his black tee as she spoke, scraping her nails along his sensitive skin. “When you held my head while I heaved up that disgusting toxin you call alcohol, you stayed with me… at my worst.”

Her finger brushed at his nipple and she watched him gasp in delight. “Mmm, like that, do you?” He nodded, bucking his lower body up with each flick. “Well, I knew I was a goner by the time you took your first bite,” she admitted, scooting down his legs until she was face level with the bulge underneath his jeans. “I expected pain, like with-”

A growl interrupted her saying Angel’s name. She laughed softly. “Like the currently altered ‘poof’.”

“Altered?” he asked in hazy confusion, raising his head.

“I’ll tell you later, you’ll love it,” she smirked wickedly. “So,” she went on, eager to be about her business. “There I was, waiting on this death-by-thousands-of-tiny-daggers pain… but then I felt… I felt.” She breathed heavily, rubbing her sodden crotch on his legs like a cat in heat.

“Rapture,” he finished for her. Bunching his fists in the sheets, he tried to keep them there as this was her show and if she wanted to rub herself all over him, he was fine with that bit of torture… but God, he wanted to touch her.

“Yes!” she moaned, crawling back up his legs. Grabbing the zipper between her teeth, she slowly pulled the metal down, her nose grazing his thick shaft as she went all while her fingers popped open the button. Once he was free of the confining material, she pulled the denim to mid-thigh, looking her fill at his impressive cock. Wanting better access, she dropped down and rid him of his boots, finally pulling his jeans completely off.

Walking her fingers up the inside of his thigh, she realized he was ticklish. “Ah, a weakness,” she giggled.

“You’re definitely my weakness, Slayer,” he said in a low rumble, trying not to laugh.

Buffy grinned and worked her way up to his groin, threading her fingers through the crisp, curly hair surrounding his hard member. “So big.” She ran the tip of her tongue along the blue vein in his shaft from bottom to top.

It might have been a whimper he uttered, but he was so delirious with wanting her he didn’t care. “Fuck yeah, Buffy!”

Circling the head, she dipped her tongue in the wet slit, tasting his salty essence. His throaty moan told her she was doing it right, so she lapped faster, rimming the edge with her moist tip. Then she popped the swollen, purple head in her mouth and sucked.

“Holy fuck!” he shouted, nearly throwing her off him.

“Mmm,” she hummed around him, plunging lower and sucking harder. He was more than a mouthful, so she used her hand to stroke what her mouth could not. He was smooth and smelled of leather and tobacco, his own uniquely seductive scent beneath it all and she began suckling in earnest.

This was how he was really going to die, Spike mused. Licked to death by her wickedly talented tongue as it gifted his cock with feather-light touches, heat throbbing over the head of his shaft and snaking along the veins. Her nimble fingers caressed his balls, rolling and massaging them as he shuddered.

“Ah, Buffy,” he managed to verbalize between gasps. “Need to ease up, pet… oh Jesus!” She did that maneuver with her teeth again, so he squeezed his eyes shut and thread his fingers through her hair, trying to stop her. “Please, love… wanna be inside.”

She let him slip from her mouth to slap wetly against his stomach. “Meanie,” she pouted, shifting off the bed to unbutton her jeans, but his hands were there first.

“My turn,” he promised wickedly.

Kissing her taut stomach, he pulled her closer so that she stood between his lean thighs, sliding his hands beneath the material covering her ass. “You smell divine, all musky and hot, with a hint of sweet.” He nuzzled her navel, biting lightly as he knead her tight ass, listening as her heart threatened to leave her body as it knocked against her ribs.

Bringing his hands around to her front, he inched down the waistband, the jeans practically falling off her from her weight-loss. He pledged that he would make her eat more to ensure that she returned to a healthy state, her body and features more rounded. More cushion for the pushin’ and all that.

Spying her navy-blue thong, he wrapped his deft fingers around the side strap and pulled, snapping the fabric in two. Her protests at his barbaric treatment of her clothes were silenced the moment his lips touched the shallow indentation of her hip, kissing and nibbling his way lower. Placing a foot on her jeans, he pushed them to the floor and she stepped out of them to allow him better contact with her silky skin.

He looked up into her eyes and gave her a feral smile. “Watch me,” he commanded.

She watched him unfurl his long tongue, waggle it at her, then slowly weave a trail through her sparse curls to her labia as he kept her still with a hand on each leg. He then traced each lip, making arousal flood through her, wetting her inner thighs. She realized he must have scented this, bringing one hand to quest between her folds until he found his goal. Strumming her clit, he made her writhe and moan as she clutched at his shoulders to stay upright.

Slowly, he slid two fingers inside her and began stroking her deep, pumping at a lazy pace. He continued to tap her clit with the tip of his tongue, probing occasionally to lap at the juices flowing freely from her sex, his digits speeding up their movements. She began bucking against his hand, riding his fist as her nails dug into his skin.

“That’s it, Buffy… come for me,” he purred, halting her hips so he could pull her clit between his teeth.

Brilliant fire skittered throughout her body as he suckled her into oblivion. “Spike!” Head thrown back, she shouted his name to the ceiling as her legs gave way, landing them both on the bed.

Not allowing her a chance to recover, he grabbed her hips and pulled her up his body, spreading her over his face. “Mmm, dessert,” he hummed, causing her nether regions to vibrate.

Her first instinct was to pull away, but his grip was firm and unbreakable, his tongue and lips attacking her with gusto. She grabbed the metal rail at the head of her bed, whimpering in surrender. Never letting up, his tongue danced over her clit as he lapped at her, the sensation furiously intense as he growled his pleasure at drinking her spendings.

Working her with his teeth and lips, he knew she was close the more she moved and her clit started hitting his chin, so he kept it rigidly in place so she’d strike it every time. She hovered on the edge, so he turned his face to her left and vamped out, sinking his fangs deep in her thigh. It was definitely enough to send her over.

The orgasm poured through her core and a full scream ripped from her throat. “Oh my God!” She nearly broke the metal bar; she squeezed the headboard so hard it groaned in protest.

Listening to her cries of pleasure made Spike’s cock twitch and ache to be inside her. Pulling her down his body until she lay fully on him, he gave her a deliciously evil smile as he kissed her, his face wet with her spendings.

“I should be all kinds of grossed out by this, but I just can’t seem to care,” Buffy murmured against his lips.

He pulled back a little to look at her. “Oh, so it’s good enough for me to do, yeah? I’ll have you know you taste bloody magnificent.”

Rolling her eyes at his pout, she propped her chin on his chest and sighed. “You’re distracting me.”

“From what? Worshiping my sexy body? Get to it then!” he said eagerly, slapping her backside.

“Ow!” She rubbed her bottom. “You must be better, that had your normal strength to it.”

Grabbing her hips, he started moving her dripping pussy back and forth over his cock, torturing himself slowly. “Definitely got my strength back, love, and I’m gonna prove it to you.”

Her fingers gripped his shoulders and squeezed every time her overly sensitive nub brushed against his solid head. “God, Spike… I wanted… oh yes, like that.”

“This what you wanted, Buffy?” he asked in a smooth voice, rubbing his cock along her sodden folds.

“No… yes… uhm, no… oh God, yes!” she gasped, trying to return to her earlier concern, but Spike’s actions made it impossible.

“Silly bint doesn’t know what she wants,” he teased, lining up the head with the entrance to her silken depths. “I remember the first time I tasted you… warned you I would never let you go,” he breathed.

She whimpered and tried to impale herself on his shaft, but he prevented it. “Why are you stopping?”

Halting all movements, he waited until she held his gaze for a few moments. “I love you Buffy, and I want you… with everything that I am. What do you want?”

Sitting up a little, she began tracing the lines of his face with her fingertips, much the way she had done while he was ill. “I-I didn’t want to fall in love with you,” said softly, rushing to reassure him once he grew rigid. “But you wriggled your way in and made me care about you, even like you. And I couldn’t stand what those-those…”

“Army gits?” he supplied.

“Yes, Army… uh, gits did to you. Having no control over what you said, and then that stupid spell by Willow,” she huffed in exasperation. “But you pulled through it all, without so much as a complaint, like it was your lot to suffer.” Her lip wobbled. “I found myself wanting to make it all better for you, but I had no clue how to do that, except…”

His touch grew distant. “Have pity on me.” He sounded disgusted.

“No!” she growled. “There was maybe one brief minute that I pitied you, in the beginning, when you first came to us, but pity wouldn’t lead me to make love to you for hours in the shower. Pity wouldn’t cause me to get you outta that horrible place or stay by your bedside until you opened your eyes. I did it because I love you, you stupid vampire, and if you can’t see that I want you as much as you want me then-”

“I did say you blather on, Slayer,” he muttered, cutting off her prattle with a kiss.

“Then why did-”

“Wanted to hear it for myself, didn’t I?”

“Why… you-you egotistical-”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish her sentence as he slid his thick cock into her waiting channel. “You were saying?”

“God, I’ve missed this… missed you,” she gasped, shuddering around him as she began rising and lowering herself on his hot staff.

Sitting up so that her breasts were mouth level, Spike pulled one nipple between his lips and licked, his tongue like sandpaper. “You’re so beautiful when you’re all flustered-like.”

Running her fingers through his tussled curls, she twined the hair around until it was tight with tension. “God, you’re hot and sweet.”

Switching to the other breast, he laved the underside of her fleshy globe while she bounced on his rigid member. “Not sure sweet is the word I’d use, pet,” he panted.

Grinding her luscious pussy against his hips, she flung her head back as she began riding him in earnest. “Yeah, good point,” she breathed heavily. “Ah, God… sweet doesn’t justify this… this…”

“Total mind-fuck?”

“Crass.”

He smirked unrepentantly and flipped her over so that she was lying underneath him, his hips pumping, staring intently at her. “What do you want?”

“You,” she panted, something spiraling up inside her.

“Why?” he continued relentlessly, pounding his hot cock into her.

Wrapping her legs around his waist to allow greater access, she dug her nails into his shoulders and lifted her hips to meet his ferocious thrusts. “Because I love you.”

He could feel the tiny pulses fluttering in her womb as she began to come, the arch of her back as she grasped his whole body and hung on while he slammed into her depths, his balls drawing tight as his cock jerked. Cool seed flooded her body as they both bellowed their completion, their eyes never leaving one another.

~*~

“You know, you never answered my question,” she mused lazily, several moments later. She was once again draped over his cool body, flicking his nipple with her nail, loving his reaction.

Forget about questions, he was having a hard time concentrating with her doing things like that to him. “What question… fuck… uh, was… shit, Buffy!”

Her giggle soothed the tingle on his chest where she’d bitten his nipple. “Aww, did the Big Bad get bit?”

Fisting her hair, he pulled her head back to stare. “If you’re gonna be biting, love, best be doing it proper.”

“And what is proper?” she asked with hooded eyes, daring him.

“This,” he purred. Stretching her neck, he vamped and sunk his fangs deep in his mark.

Lights exploded behind her eyes as she felt every pull lightening straight to her pussy. Her orgasm was brilliant, white-hot and took her by surprise as she gasped for breath, clinging to him while riding out the earth-shattering experience.

Retracting his fangs, Spike laved the mark until it stopped bleeding, pressing a soft kiss to the spot and nuzzling her. “That’s how it’s done.”

She sighed languidly, letting him rub his nose and face all over her pressure points. “Oh, yeah… no argument there.”

“So what question did I never answer, pet?” he mumbled against her skin.

“Huh?” She’d come so hard she blanked out there for a moment. “Oh! Right. I’d asked if you were the only one that could claim me, and you never really told me if I could.”

Twirling a lock of her hair around his finger, he looked at her. “Sure you want that? Like I said, as it stands you have-”

“My freedom… yeah, yeah, I know, Braveheart,” she said, snickering. “But what is freedom without you?”

“You have me, pet… always did, truth be told.”

“I-I want to do this, Spike. Please trust me?”

His lips thinned, a grim acceptance set about his face. “If you do this Buffy, I’ll refuse to let you go, regardless if you want it. Can you live with that?”

“Let’s just say, I can’t live without it,” she corrected, smiling softly. “What do I need to do?”

It wasn’t a matter of telling her; it was more learn by demonstration. He spoke his words to her because he’d learned them long ago, when he thought about claiming Dru, but they only applied to vamps. He couldn’t remember ever hearing of a vamp and human, let alone the Slayer, mating with one another. At most, the undead kept live humans around for a renewable blood source, not as life-long mates.

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

She stared at him blankly. “You don’t know? How can you not know? You just performed some ‘bitey’ ritual on me and you can only guess at its effects? What if I want to chew on your neck for a while, huh? Where does that leave me? Stupid… stupid, bleach-blond, omni-impotent, hair-sticking-up-funny… vampire!” she yelled, punching him on the shoulder.

“My hair is stickin’ up funny?” he asked, pursing his lips to keep from laughing at her outburst. “I think the word you’re looking for is omniscient, not omni-impotent. And I’ll have you know I’m not impotent, missy. I think I proved that, yeah?” He proved his enlarged state by thrusting his hips, his hardened cock slipping between the folds of her sex and caressing her backside.

Leaning back on his lap, she sensually slid herself back and forth over his shaft, trying to stay coherent while pumping him for information. Pumping, she giggled. “Gah, how… do you expect me to remember anything when you… oh God, do that-that thing with your-”

“Hips,” he offered, driving up to hit her pussy. “I don’t.” Placing nips along her jaw, he moved his cock to her warm sheath, slowing encasing himself within. “I’d rather you remember this… every time.”

“Oh, yes,” she whimpered, his length filling her. “I’ll never forget this… not possible.”

No matter how many times he’d fill her body, she knew she’d never be able to get enough. It was like wanting to crawl beneath the other person’s skin and stay, cozied up next to their heart, to flow with their blood wherever it went.

Saying nothing, he flipped them over to what she was becoming to realize was his favorite position. His body was braced now; arms stiff to hold his weight, head thrown back in concentration as the cords of his neck rippled with his strength. Looking down the line of their bodies, she watched his six-pack abs relax and tighten with every push into her hungry body.

What she really loved, though, were the emotions that crossed his face. Fear, hope, guilt, tenderness, possession, and above it all… love. She had to keep this; she’d be a fool to let this go.

“Tell me,” she breathed in his ear, coiling her legs around his waist.

“You trust me?” His eyes opened and he looked deep within her.

She nodded, curling her fingers into the nape of his neck, bringing him close. “With everything that I am.”

He could feel her climax spiraling closer and closer, a light sheen of perspiration covering her flushed face. She never looked more gorgeous. “Bite me, sip the blood,” he panted, his hips swiveling to find the spongy spot deep inside her. “Say anything that has the word ‘mine’ in it.”

Clutching him closer, she wrapped herself around his body like a glove, riding wave after wave of his plunges, quick and punishing, desperate to find release. His eyes were tightly closed, his jaw flexing so much she thought it would break, ridges along his forehead popping in and out.

Knowing she was falling over the edge, she clenched her Slayer muscles, clamping down on the thickness buried so far within her, wanting him to follow her. His breathing became labored and he became mindless with his thrusts. Seeing her chance, she nuzzled the white column of his throat and bit down, hard, her incisors tearing the skin.

“Buffy! Fuck!” he roared, coating her womb with his seed.

“Mine, Spike… I am yours forever, you are mine forever. No one will ever take you from me,” she sobbed, licking at the blood pooling, her own climax so intense it brought her to tears.

He shuddered violently, hanging on to her for dear life, tears wetting his lashes “Jesus, Buffy! I love you, so much… so fucking much.”

Running a soothing hand through his curls, she kissed his forehead and felt complete for the first time in her life, like the final piece of the puzzle finally snapped into place. “And I you, just as much… maybe even more.”

“Not possible,” he murmured against her throat, nibbling on her salty flesh.
Smiling contentedly, she pulled on his hair until he was eye-level with her. “I love you beyond infinity.”

He snorted. “I love you infinity to the infinite power.” He kissed her pert nose. “Can’t get any higher than that, pet.”

“Show-off,” she grumbled.

“As always.”

~*~

Sometime, much later in the evening, Joyce opened her daughter’s bedroom door to see two forms, twisted around each other, wrapped in sheets.

She thought about asking Spike about his promise, but the pair looked exhausted and there was always tomorrow. Backing slowly out of the room, she was stopped by his soft words.

“It’s done. No vamp can harm her.”

Closing her eyes in relief, she nodded, her voice choked. “Thank you, for keeping her safe.”

“No one can take her from me, Joyce,” he said as a warning and a promise.

Seeing his eyes glow yellow in the almost complete darkness startled her a little. “I know. I won’t interfere, as long as you keep her protected. But I have to ask; because I’m an old-fashioned gal… do you plan on marrying her, in the human sense?”

“Yes, if that’s what she wants. But I need to find a place we can both stay. I won’t be staying here indefinitely.”

Leaning against the frame, she agreed. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Got a few blokes looking into things for me.”

“Well then, sounds like you have a plan.” She once again backed out of the room, moving to shut the door.

“I love her,” he reminded her in a low tone. “She’ll live a long time, I promise.”

She smiled, full of motherly compassion and wisdom. “I know.”

~*~

“Giles, do you have any books on vampire claims?” Buffy asked from her position on the couch, her legs draped on Spike’s lap.

It had been several days since the Slayer and her vampire had claimed each other, but neither knew the full effects of such a claim. Figuring her Watcher would have some dusty old tome on the subject, she dragged Spike away from apartment hunting to explore their bond further.

When he didn’t answer, she asked once more. “Giles? Claim? Book?”

“In all my years as your Watcher, Buffy, I’ve never had the pleasure of you requesting a book to read or study, baring of course that unfortunate incident regarding the text books on your first day at Sunnydale High. Do let me bask in this moment, won’t you?”

“Prat,” Spike muttered, tightening his grip on his girl’s hips.

She glanced over her shoulder at her lover. “It’s okay, he’s right, you know. I leave the studying to Willow or Xander. Not so keen with the book smarts.”

Nuzzling his mark, he growled. “You’re plenty sharp, Slayer. Just `cause you don’t have a PhD doesn’t mean you can’t trounce his poncey arse.”

“Yes, listen to Spike. He’s the epitome of intelligence,” Giles said drolly, heading towards the kitchen.

“Is that why you bashed my head every morning to get info, you git?” Spike yelled to his departing figure.

The other Brit returned with a cup of tea in his hand. “I apologized profusely for my behavior, Spike. Should I discuss your proclivity for killing humans with a railroad spike or are you going to let this subject drop?”

Eyes narrowing, the vamp sighed. “Fine. Battle two-hundred and seventy-two to you, Watcher.”

“You actually keep count of your verbal sparing?” Buffy asked incredulously.

Giles looked away, flustered. “We’re evenly matched, if you must know.”

Laughter shook her small frame until Spike went rigid, and not the good kind of rigid. “What?” she whispered fearfully.

He glanced at Giles’ front door. “Peaches,” he snarled, but then frowned. “I think.”

A thud sounded against the door, followed by a whining and muffled cry. Cautiously, Giles opened the door to see a wild-eyed, messy-haired Cordy standing in the twilight. Next to her was an extremely thin looking Angel, hunched down and sniffing her thigh.

“You all deserve to die,” she intoned flatly.

Amusement sparkled in the Watcher’s eyes, but he tried to keep it to himself. “Why are you here, Cordy?”

“Why?” Her voice was shrill, as if she’d gone beyond the point of just being stressed. “Why?” she seethed. Stepping into the apartment, Angel bounded after her… on all fours. “This is why, you dodgy British bastard!”

All three watched in amazement as Angel ran around the room, sniffing and licking objects, even stopping once to raise his leg as if to pee on Giles’ prized antique bookcase, but since he had no fluid to expel, his library was safe from the deranged vamp.

Finally satisfied that his scent was permeated about the room, Angel returned to Cordy’s side and began snuffling at the hem of her loose skirt, nosing his way up until he was practically at her crotch. She tried to shove him off, but to no avail. He then tackled her to the floor and mounted her from behind, dry humping her ass until he uttered a growl of completion and sagged against her back.

Getting up as gracefully as she could, Cordy smoothed her skirts and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper from her Coach handbag, smacking Angel across the face. “Bad, bad… very bad doggy!” she sobbed tearfully with each blow.

“Dear God,” Giles said, wanting to wipe his mind clean of what he just witnessed.

“Does he bark in his sleep?” Buffy snickered, trying not to fully laugh.

“I always thought of him as a big, fluffy puppy with bad teeth,” Spike observed, grinning from ear to ear.

“I am a victim here!” she wailed. “I may be a fashionable lone wolf, but this is not what I had in mind.”

There was no holding the tidal wave of laughter that issued from the trio, staring at Cordy’s disheveled state and Angel crouched low, whimpering. They laughed harder when Angel sensed Cordy’s distress and started growling at them, fangs bared.

“Gotta spank the pooch, Queen mall-shopper!” Spike hooted.

Sniffling back tears, Cordy grabbed Angel by the collar roughly and hauled him back. “Heel, mister Broody.”

Wiping his eyes, Giles replaced his glasses and took some pity on the poor girl. “Feed him some human blood over the next few weeks and he should even out,” he chuckled. “I’m sure you can procure human blood without letting him off the chain?” He bust out laughing again, doubling over and leaning against the wall.

Holding her head high, Cordy dragged Angel to the door while he was barking and yipping to free himself. “Thanks,” she spat.

“Maybe you should get him neutered,” Buffy suggested, watching Angel’s eyes grow wide with her words.

“You’d love to have that happened, wouldn’t you?” The brunette ordered the whimpering vamp to ‘stay’ while she turned to the three watching her. “But you won’t be singing that tune if I ever get my hands on the wicked witch of Sunnydale. She did this on purpose, giving me the wrong formula!” Cordy stamped her foot. “I’m the nastiest bitch in Sunnydale, not her!”

“Always hated competition, huh?” Buffy sniggered, crossing her arms.

“Damn straight.”

Clutching the rolled-up newspaper, she grabbed Angel by the collar again and pulled him out the door to the waiting convertible. She had to resort to smacking him once he awoke from the reanimation, immediately trying to pound her into the mattress. He’d never accomplished the deed, their clothes getting in the way, but she was always afraid she’d be caught unawares while stepping out of the shower or something, his mindless state never hearing her cries to stop.

He jumped in the passenger side and hung his head out the window, panting, as drool rolled down his tongue. Following him into the car, Cordy turned to see all three standing at the door, evil smirks on their faces.

Slamming her door, she glared at them. “I hope the Hellmouth gets indigestion when it swallows you whole.”

Watching them speed away, the trio retreated to living room, traces of laughter still evident. “Dogs can sense odors at concentrations nearly a hundred million times lower than humans can,” Spike mused as he resumed his position on the couch, Buffy on his lap. “Makes me wonder if Peaches can smell when Queen C ovulates.”

“Ewww!” Buffy squealed, slapping his shoulder. “So not what I wanted to know.”

“Yes, quite. I prefer to remain ignorant of Cordeila’s menstrual cycle,” Giles said in a weary voice. “Nor do I want to know if Angel is provoked to harangue her further during that time.”

Both blonds shuddered. They could only imagine the brute strength required to keep Angel at bay if he was intent upon mating with Cordy during her ‘receptive’ time.

“So, you’re still carrying around all that knowledge, huh?” Buffy asked Spike quietly as she watched Giles peruse his books for a text on vampire claims.

“Never lost it, pet. It’s always there, just don’t have an overwhelming urge to spout it forth,” he replied, skimming his hands up and down her arms.

“Tell me some unique fact then,” she prompted, wanting to see if he could pull it off without the blinding headaches and chip.

“Every human has a unique smell,” he answered, smiling at her behavior.

She waved her hand airily. “Boring! Knew that. Try again.”

“Camels will refuse to carry an unbalanced load.”

Tilting her head to the side, she considered for a moment. “Interesting, but I could see that being possible. C’mon, you’re not even trying!”

Pinching her side, he growled. “Hard to impress you, Slayer. Let’s see… some Cambodian trains are built entirely out of bamboo and spare parts.”

“That’s dangerous,” she commented. “Anything else?”

Curling his tongue behind his teeth, he leered at her suggestively. “The first American film to feature nudity was called Inspiration in nineteen-fifteen.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she grinned and leaned into him, kissing the side of his mouth. “Mister Know-it-all.”

He pulled her closer for a full kiss, stealing her breath.

“Don’t you know it!”