Chapter One

Buffy

Hemry High, LA - Yet Another School Dance, Senior Year

Her palms were sweating, her heart was hammering in her chest, but she thanked God that her hands were steady as she staked the vampire closest to her through the chest. He exploded in dust, and she held her breath; three years of slaying experience had taught her that vampire dust left a nasty taste in the mouth if inhaled. Now, she would concentrate on Lothos, the newest big bad to arrive in LA.

She glanced around the gym, taking in the frightened students with their Miami Vice, Madonna and Michael Jackson attire in various states of disarray and the tattered decorations, (this dance's theme had been "80's"). She felt a presence behind her and she turned to face Lothos, the bad-ass vampire du-jour when a scream from under the bleachers drew her attention for just a second.

It was all he needed, that brief break in concentration gave him the opening he was looking for. Quick as a rattlesnake, his hand shot forward and pulled her toward him. She grasped the stake tightly in her hand, but he grasped her hand and spun her around until her back was against his chest. He snapped her wrist with a flick of his own, the stake dropped and clattered against the gym floor.

For once, he didn't do the villain monologue; she was offered no chance to distract him with questions about his nefarious plans. After all, it's not like this was a movie or a story, now was it?

His fangs sunk into her neck with a ferocity that shouldn't have surprised her, but did. Her eyes widened and stared with shock at her friends and acquaintances as they watched her life force slowly drain away in a haze of agony. It hurt like hell. His hand gripped the sleeve of her shirt and tore it as he sucked on her neck, drawing her blood down in great, greedy gulps.

She had two thoughts before she died.

My shirt! was the first. It might have seemed a little shallow, but she had her reasons.

He paused in his drinking and put his mouth near her ear as the light faded from her eyes, too helpless to react to the horrific words he whispered.

I'm sorry Mom, was her last.

Spike

London

The knock on the door woke Spike from his restless dozing. He was exhausted; he hadn't removed any clothing when he had come home. He was still wearing his coat and shoes. Pain washed over him. He wanted to ignore the persistent knock at the door, but he knew that she wouldn't have liked it. Will, manners! she would have gently chided him. Reluctantly, he dragged himself from his bed and the darkness of his bedroom, stepping into the bright sunlight that streamed through the living room window and into the entryway of the apartment.

He expected another sympathetic, well meaning face. Over the last two days, there had been a constant stream of them. They would bring food, remark on his appearance, ask how he was holding up and shake their heads.

Such a shame. She was so full of life...

He wanted to lash out, hit and scream at them all. Fuckers. Why couldn't they sod off and leave him alone?

Alone. Alone. Alone.

Now that his mother was gone, he was all alone. His mother always referred to the two of them as the Fearsome-Twosome. If Spike had ever met his father, he had been too young to have remembered it. For so long it been just the two of them. He missed her so much, it was unbearable. How will I manage without you Mum?

He opened the door.

A stranger faced him, with brown hair and brown eyes that matched his mother's. A stranger that he had never met, but Spike knew him instantly.

He resisted the urge to slam the door in his face, knowing his mother would be disappointed in his actions. Instead, he stepped back, inclining his head in a silent invitation for the man to enter his home.

The stranger hesitated briefly and then introduced himself to Spike as he stepped inside the apartment, saying that his mother had named her brother as his guardian in the event of her demise. His name was Rupert, but he told Spike to call him Giles. Giles toured around the apartment briefly, remarking on the (rather unremarkable) view and his mother's ability to make the somewhat drab apartment into a cheerful home. Spike said nothing as his uncle rambled on about his mother Anne's estrangement from their family. The man before him was as different from his whimsical, carefree mother as night was to day. Except for the eyes. Spike was careful to not look directly into them, unwilling to see his mother reflected in them.

Giles stopped in his narrative and studied Spike, taking in every detail of Spike's appearance from his bleach blonde hair, silver, studded earrings, black leather duster and black nail polish down to the tips of his black Doc Marten shoes. Clearly, Spike was found wanting, if the curl of his uncle's lip and distaste in his eyes was anything to go by.

Spike could care less what this wanker thought of him.

All he wanted to do was to close himself into his room, curl up in a ball and remember his mum. There is a song in here somewhere, Will, her voice seemed to whisper to him. It had been her favorite expression, her response to his mercurial teen-aged mood swings – from the first time he fell in love with Dru and she said she would be his girl (he had been 14); to the despair he felt as Dru played her sick little mind games with him (24 months of teen-aged torture and heartache). Then there was the time he found out that he – Spike pushed the thought away.

No matter what his turmoil, his mother would put her arms around him and tell him that he had the soul of a poet and the talent to put his emotions into words that could let the world feel as he did. While the other kids were out in the park playing pick-up games of Rugby and Football, Spike was writing lyrics for songs that played in his head.

I miss you Mum, I miss you so much!

Time moved swiftly, as Spike numbly went through the motions of packing up his life in London. Giles, it seemed, lived in California.

He said goodbye to his mother, his home and his country in the space of a week. He had a few good friends from school that he had been close to, they promised to keep in touch. Dru heard he was leaving and she called him to meet her at a nearby park on his last night in London. She hugged him hard, cried some tears (like she always did) and told him how much he meant to her. She seemed to sense that he didn't buy into her bullshit this time, so she pulled him roughly to her and kissed him. Spike wondered at his ability to keep a clear head. Usually Dru had him in such a swirling vortex of emotions he couldn't tell which way was up.

Stepping back, Spike brushed her hair gently from her forehead and said goodbye. As he walked away, he didn't look back. Oh Will, you're growing into a man now. He knew his mum would be proud of him. She had never liked Dru, thought that she was manipulative and deceitful and he knew she worried about him. Hell- he worried about himself. He had nightmares of- well, nightmarish things.

He left England with a duffel bag full of notebooks, his guitar and a suitcase of clothes. On the long flight to the United States, he wrote four songs. The words flowed and he passed the hours playing with the arrangement, jotting down odd notes in the margins of the paper – instruments and bridges and other small comments. Spike couldn't write music, but he could hear every note clearly in his head. He had only had his guitar for a month, it had been a 16th birthday present from his mother. He had just gotten an after school job at a music store that specialized in Vinyl – he was going to use the money to buy lessons, lessons he would never get now that he was leaving.

The plane landed in LA. Spike was too tired to give the city anything more than a first glance. Wearily, he carried his own luggage as Giles led him to his 1963 Citroën DS. The car was covered in a thin layer of dust. Spike and Giles tossed their luggage into the backseat. Spike got into the front passenger seat and promptly fell asleep, indifferent to the speculative looks from his uncle. He woke when his uncle pulled up to his apartment, attributing his unease to the unfamiliar surroundings.

Starting a new school would be daunting for any teenager; starting a new school in a foreign country, in the middle what would be his sophomore school year was even more of a challenge. Even worse – his uncle was the school Librarian.

He was attacked by an uncharacteristic case of the nerves on his first day of school. Giles drove them to school, parking in the teacher's lot. Uncomfortable with his uncle – their conversation had been stilted and awkward over the past week since they had met – Spike looked for a reason to stay behind so he wasn't seen with the Librarian, he left his rucksack in the car so he would have a reason to go back. Halfway across the parking lot, Spike made his excuse and with a sigh of relief jogged back to the car.

Minutes later, he stood at the foot of the stairs leading toward the front of the school. He gazed at the school, ignoring the glances that other kids cast toward him. There's a song in here somewhere…

"Scuse me, comin' through, pardon me, 'scuse me, whoa! 'Scuse me, not sure how to stop!"

The words had barely registered, before he saw a dark haired guy around his own age lose his balance off of a skateboard and crash into the banister beside Spike. Almost immediately, the guy popped up beside Spike, a grin on his face.

"Still breaking it in. If I could just get the hang of stopping, then all would be right in the world." And there, on the steps of Sunnydale high school, Spike met his first American friend. As they walked up the steps, trading information, Spike tried to ignore the itchy, tingling feeling that had been with him since he had arrived in Sunnydale the day before.

Buffy

After death...

She had strength before she died, strength that came when she was called as a Slayer. Merrick tracked her down, tried to explain to her what destiny had planned for Buffy Summers, he had trained and prepared her for what it meant to be a vampire slayer. The list of Slayer "must-be's" and "must-not be's" had seemed endless and she had tried (and failed) to adhere to them.. She often butted heads with representatives from the Watcher's Council when they came to LA to check up on her. In the three years she had been the Slayer, Buffy had a difficult time conforming to what someone else's idea of her behavior should entail.

Death didn't change that.

She clawed her way out of the coffin, straight up through six feet of dirt, shredding her nails in the process. Knowing what could be waiting for a newly risen vampire in a cemetery, she glanced warily around her burial plot. Could another Slayer have been called so soon? Briefly, Buffy wondered about the girl destined to follow a long line of young Slayers in death. She stepped away from the freshly packed dirt accidentally kicking over a wreath of flowers. She righted the flowers and noticed the other flowers surrounding her plot. Taking a few minutes, her eyes flicked over the cards, noting the familiar names. So this is death she thought to herself, you feel nothing, no sadness, no attachment. It was kind of freeing.

"Welcome to the afterlife, Slayer." The familiar voice interrupted her musings.

She turned and regarded the Vampire before her, taking in the smug smile and the mocking eyes.

"Lothos."

Something in her indifferent tone must have unnerved him and for a moment, his eyes flickered warily, then he grinned again. Looking over his shoulder, he addressed the vampires behind him. "It seems the Slayer needs to learn about the rules of the afterlife."

He looked back at Buffy, his eyes intent. "Rule 1: Every vampire has a Sire. I am your Sire and you will acknowledge me with the respect I deserve. Come here."

Buffy looked into his eyes and felt as if some invisible cord was tugging at her, willing her to move forward. Unable to resist the command in his voice, she slowly walked forward. Lothos chuckled and his crowd of vampire minions followed suit.

"Rule 2: If your Sire commands you to do something, you have no choice. On your knees Slayer."

She fell to her knees and he began to talk, alternating between addressing her and his minions. He made his intentions clear as he outlined a description of what he wanted her to, meaning to humiliate her in the most degrading way possible.

Buffy couldn't bring herself to care as he droned on. Apparently, he could control her actions, but not her thoughts. Bored, her eyes roamed over Lothos' minions, studying each one with a Slayer's eye - speculating about each vampire's fighting abilities. Then she watched Lothos.

He shifted and she had a clear view of the tombstone behind him, the marker for the grave that rested alongside her own. For the first time since her death, Buffy felt something as she stared at the words engraved on the marker as Lothos' words from the night she died echoed back at her.

Here lies Joyce Summers, beloved Mother.

She felt fangs slice through her gums and a shifting of her skull and face muscles. The invisible cord that tied her to the vampire before her snapped. Lothos stopped talking and he looked down at her face. Freed from the bonds that had chained her to him, Buffy stood.

"I remember what you told me when I died Lothos."

Laughter faded, the wariness flickered in his eyes and then turned to fear. Buffy giggled.

Spike

Sunnydale

Spike was sitting out in the quad as Xander introduced him to Willow and Jesse. Apparently, the trio had been friends since Kindergarten. Spike was actually enjoying his first day at the school. He had met Xander this morning, had flirted briefly with a beautiful girl named Cordelia and was now adding 2 more acquaintances to his growing list of Sunnydale positive experiences.

He smiled as the familiar figure of Cordelia walked toward him. Her eyes flickered dismissively over his companions, before she looked at him.

"I don't mean to interrupt your downward mobility," Spike sighed. Just what he needed, another Dru. She continued, "I just wanted to tell you that you won't be meeting Coach Foster, the woman with the chest hair, because gym was canceled due to the extreme dead guy in the locker."

Spike stiffened. "What?"

"What are you talking about?" Willow asked, obviously confused.

Cordelia ignored Willow and looked at Spike as if he had asked the question. "Some guy was stuffed in Aura's locker!"

"Dead." Spike felt dread well up within him. How could he have not realized...

Cordelia nodded slowly. "Totally dead. Way dead."

"It's not just a little dead, then?" Xander said in a poor attempt at a joke.

Cordelia looked away from Spike, sneering at Xander. "Don't you have an elsewhere to be?"

"Y'know, if you need a shoulder to cry on, or just to nibble on..." This from Jesse. Clearly, they were not taking the brunette girl seriously.

"How did he die?" Hoping, a punch line would come up soon, Spike still had to ask. He was disappointed by the look of irritation on Cordelia's face. Not a joke then, he thought to himself.

"I don't know."

"Well, were there any marks?" He prompted, ignoring the looks of surprise from Xander, Jesse and Willow.

"Morbid much! I didn't ask!" Cordelia walked away, shaking her head with disgust.

"I have to go. I'll catch up with you guys later." Spike excused himself, hoping he was wrong.

About 15 minutes later he strode into the Library, gritting his teeth in frustration. He had been right.

His uncle stood behind the counter, cataloging a new shipment of books. Spike walked up to him and put his hands on the counter.

"Did you hear? About the dead guy in the locker?"

Giles looked at him over the rims of his glasses. "I was aware." He looked back down at his book.

"And you are also aware that he's got two little holes in his neck, and all his blood's been drained." Spike leaned forward. "Doesn't that seem unusual?"

Slowly, Giles looked back up from the book. "I was afraid of this." The words were said quietly.

"I wasn't!" Spike exploded. "I was afraid I would be behind in classes; that I wouldn't make any friends! I was not afraid of hearing about dead bodies in lockers! I didn't think there would be vampires on campus."

Spike turned to walk away, but the next words his uncle spoke stopped him.

"Is he - will he rise again?"

"No." Spike shook his head.

"Can you be sure?" Giles was testing him.

Savagely, Spike laughed without humor. He turned and looked at Giles. "To make you a vampire they have to suck your blood. And then you have to suck their blood. You know how it works." Spike closed his eyes. "Why am I even talking about this?"

Giles looked at his nephew. "What do you know about this town?"

Spike kept his eyes closed. I need you Mum. I can't do this.

"What's to know. You brought me here, it's where you live."

"Your mother told you about her-our family?"

Spike grimaced. Then comprehension dawned across his face. Spike shook his head. "No. No."

"You know we- I am a Watcher. You know what this means."

Spike backed away, his face paling. "Helmouth." He whispered the word.

Giles' face softened with compassion at the fear on the young man's face. "Yes. Helmouth - a convergence of mystical energy that draws all types of supernatural creatures to it. Like..."

"Vampires. Werewolves. Zombies." Spike spoke the words hoarsely.

"Yes. And much more, I fear."

"You brought me to a Helmouth?" Spike backed away from his uncle.

"It's where I live." Giles responded, carefully.

"You know about me? You know what I am?" Spike tried to keep his voice from cracking.

Giles nodded. "I was aware." He repeated his earlier words. "Your mother and I had talked about your future-"

"No!" Spike said, harshly. "She didn't want this. She would have never wanted me to be anywhere close to a Hellmouth."

Irritated, Giles pulled his glasses from his eyes and began to rub them with a cloth. "It's where I live. She made me your guardian and I brought you here." He put his glasses back on.

"Why? Do you hate me that much?" The last words were whispered as Spike bolted from the library.

"No! Spike. NO. I didn't - you don't under -Wait!" Shocked, Giles protested as he followed Spike from the Library.

From the back of the stacks, a confused Xander stepped out. "What?" he said to the empty library.

Buffy

Her apathy dissipated the instant she saw her mother's name on the tombstone next to hers, the invisible tie to her Sire snapped and Buffy felt a rage unlike any other emotion she had felt as a human. Lothos, tried to run from her as she stood, but she was faster; tried to fight her, but she was stronger. She pulled him back toward her and held him against her as he had held her back in the gym.

"You may have gotten the best of me in life, Vampire, but in death, it seems I got the best of you." She bent his head to the side, baring his neck to her. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "You told me how you had my mother killed. How you had her tortured and terrorized. You will pay."

The minions began to back away, their survival instinct warning them to leave. Buffy let them go, unconcerned.

"Alone at last. Now, before I get started, I have questions. Who helped you kill my mother?"

"No one."

Buffy tutted and shook her head. "Could my Sire be lying? Let's find out."

Lothos whimpered and soon began to scream.

She had broke him in 2 minutes, getting the name of the Vampire duo that had helped him to kill her mother. After 15 minutes, he begged her to kill him. She played with him a little, enjoying his screams of pain, but grew bored quickly. Finally, she snapped off she snapped a branch from a tree and staked him. She left the cemetery and to her surprise she was thirsty for something other than vengeance.

She found a thug in an alley going through the wallet of the man he had just killed. Buffy drained him dry, her face scrunching up in distaste at the taste of his blood in her mouth. Disappointed, she dropped his lifeless body. All the years she had hunted vampires, they had gone on and on about the taste of blood.

She thought it would have tasted better.

Buffy looked down at the body, trying to feel something - glee, euphoria. Instead she felt nothing. She glimpsed the leather of the wallet on the ground and bent down to pick it up. She found a couple of hundred dollars bills and pulled them out. Neither the thug nor his victim would need the money now. Turning, Buffy hummed a song as she walked out of the alley. She needed some clothes.

Then she was going hunting for a vampire called Angelus.

Chapter 2

Buffy - LA

"Alone at last. Now, before I get started, I have questions. Who helped you kill my mother?"

"No one."

Buffy tutted and shook her head. "Lies? Could my Sire be lying? Let's find out."

She still held him in front of her. Slowly she slid one hand down his chest, below his until her hand rested over his crotch. Sweetly, she whispered in his ear. "Who helped you kill my mother?"

"N-no one." She laughed softly. Gently, her hand flexed and then squeezed.

"Oh Lothos…tsk tsk…didn't your mother teach you about lying?"

"I'm not lying." She squeezed harder and his voice rose "Please...stop...I'm telling the truth."

"Not yet, but you will." She promised "But I am not finished…"She continued to squeeze and his cries became screams.

After a few minutes, she let go and he sobbed in relief. She looked at him, disgusted with herself. How could this pathetic excuse for a vampire have gotten the best of a Slayer?

"Who helped you kill my mother?" She leaned toward him as he hoarsely whispered.

"Gorch…brothers."

Six months later...

Leaving LA had been a spur of the moment decision, prompted by sheer boredom.

She rode into town on the seat of a blood red Dukati that she appropriated after dinner. The bike's previous owner – a spoiled trust fund baby who had no appreciation for the gorgeous machine or the ability to control the power that purred from its engine – had provided dinner in the form of his jugular vein. She had learned that blood was tolerable depending on the human she drank from. She enjoyed blood like she would have enjoyed a roast beef dinner...feeling full and somewhat satisfied. She wouldn't compare it to sweet, silky flavor of chocolate (mmmm chocolate), but it did the trick.

She left him in the alley behind the latest trendy LA nightspot, slipping the keys to the motorcycle (along with a couple of hundred from his wallet) from his pants pocket as his body slid lifelessly away from hers. He wouldn't miss it (or the money) she thought to herself as she straddled the powerful machine, practically purring with anticipation as the engine sparked to life.

She didn't think about where she was going. She left LA and followed the highway north, just enjoying the blackness of the moonlit night until the fuel light appeared and she was reminded that she would need gas if she wanted to keep going. She took the next exit toward a town named Sunnydale.

She had enough gas to take a turn through town and set off the "slayer" tinglies that indicated there was something unique about this sleepy little California town. Yeah – she had some slayer abilities that seemed to have stayed with her, even though she was now one of the evil things she used to hunt down. She was stronger than the average vampire, and always knew where the vamps gathered. No vampire in her unlife had the ability to sneak up on her or to even kill her. They had tried though. Guys - alive and undead - just couldn't stand a strong, empowered female.

As if it were a magnet, the warehouse pulled her toward it as it seemed to pulse with vampire energy. This was good - she felt like stirring up a little trouble. If she was lucky, someone might start a fight.

She heard them talking as she walked through the door, the sound of the new boots (Buffy was never one to let a perfectly great pair of shoes stay on a dead body – especially if they were her size) on the concrete floor echoed around her announcing her arrival. Some of the vampires on the fringes of the group turned their heads to stare curiously at her small 5'1 frame, their eyes sweeping up and down her leather clad legs and silky top, her short black leather jacket hanging off her shoulder and down her back from the tip of her forefinger.

She ignored them, instead her gaze drawn to the figures that all the vampires (the ones who hadn't yet noticed her arrival) focused on. She listened to their conversation as she circled the outer fringes of the group. They were talking about the Master; something about the title teased the corners of her memory. Didn't Angelus tell her something about the Master once?

"The Master is dead. Someone has to take his place." One of the vampires was saying.

Oh yes. He was one of Angelus' grand sires, the head of an ancient vampire lineage called the Order of Aura - or something like that. (Buffy had never cared enough to learn its proper name.)

"As long as that- that boy is still alive, whoever takes his place will be sharing his grave." Buffy smirked at the fear she heard in the vampire's voice. What was so fearsome that had a vampire shaking in his (old, clumpy and - eww - brown) boots? Some vamps had no fashion sense.

"Then let the soul who kills him wear his mantle." This was the first vampire again.

A young child-like vampire spoke up. "Can you do it?"

"Yes. This weekend, the night of St. Vigeous, our power shall be at its peak. When I kill him, it'll be the greatest event since the crucifixion. And I should know. I was there."

At this, Buffy let out a peal of laughter, unable to hold back her amusement any longer, drawing the attention of every vampire in the room.

"You were there?" Her laughter turned to chuckles. "Oh, please! If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Live-Aid. I should know, my Mom was there and she made me relive it by watching an old videotaping." A few vampires looked her way and Buffy shrugged. "Some mothers ground their children; some torture them with 80's music."

The first vampire growled at her. "I oughta rip your throat out."

Buffy's eyes flicked over him and sighed. Typical. "You could try. But I guess it is only fair to warn you – you're gonna fail."

She turned her back on him and strolled away, not hiding her smirk, which only grew wider when he growled and rushed toward her back. She swung her fist up without even looking, hit him in the face and knocked him down and out. Slayer Fists of Fury, for the win she thought. Then, she sighed.

"So, who do you kill for fun around here?" she asked, already bored with the lack of challenge.

The small vampire spoke again. "Who are you?" he asked.

Something clicked in Buffy's mind as she recalled Angelus rant about the Master.

Angelus had a tendency to pontificate in a way that used to drive her into a coma. Who could blame a girl for finding an escape by doing some mental shoe shopping while the guy had droned on and on (and on…) However, it seemed that at some point she must have been listening to one of Angelus' tiresome tirades. Who woulda thunk it?

"I'm Buffy." She grinned a little too widely, waiting for someone to make a wisecrack about her name and then pointed at the vampire child. "You're that Anointed guy. I heard about you. You've got pest-control problems? That's a bad piece of luck." She let out a little snort. "Do you know what I find works real good with pests? Killing them."

A few of the vampires looked uncomfortable. One spoke up in a whiny, defensive voice. "It's not as easy as you think. This one is different. He is stronger than any human, quicker too." Other vampires nodded.

The anointed one stepped forward, the vampires before him parting like he was Moses and they were a sea of blood. This little guy was the BMOC around these parts. Interesting. When he stood before her, she looked down at him and resisted the urge to pat him on his head.

"Can you?" He asked in his innocent, child-like voice.

Buffy shrugged, she had nothing better to do. "Consider it done." This could be useful, she thought, her mind already spinning with ways to turn this situation to her advantage.

Despite the numerous invitations she received from vamps, Buffy had no desire to stay the day at the factory. Instead, she found temporary shelter in an abandoned house. Maybe it was leftover from her Slayer days – vampires had been her enemy after all- but being around a large crowd of vampires kept her on edge and felt unnatural.

She slept better when she was alone. Even when she was with Angelus, she never spent the day. She always left the bed and had found shelter elsewhere before the first rays of light crept over the horizon. Abandoned homes were convenient. All of the comforts of a home (if you didn't mind the rats and roaches and lack of electricity) and no invitation required. After six months, the teenager inside still screamed "Eww Gross!" but the vampire inside only cared about protection from the sun and solitude.

She paid no attention to the main and upper levels, she wasn't staying long. Instead, she went down to the basement and was pleasantly surprised to find it still furnished like a rec room, complete with a lumpy couch and a (somewhat) empty entertainment unit. The sight of the couch brought a small smile to her face; better a lumpy couch to lie on than the hard floor. Buffy lay down and looked up at the ceiling and thought about the last six months.

After learning the names of her mother's killers, she asked Lothos the name of the biggest bad-ass in LA. He told her about Angelus. Lothos hadn't given her much information on the whereabouts of the Gorch Brothers but Buffy figured that Angelus would be the kind of vamp who kept an eye on the competition. She would have bet money on Angelus knowing the whereabouts of the Brothers Gorch.

Yeah - she would have lost. What a disappointment Angelus had turned out to be.

Oh, he was pretty. His looks were appealing, she admitted, all dark and brood-y and she had definitely enjoyed his body. But, damn, that guy could talk for hours about all kinds of crap. It was annoying, really. As for the Brothers Gorch, he was as helpful as a Fyarl Demon during mediation. He had no interest in summoning the Gorch Brothers - apparently something that only a Master Vampire could do. The Gorch Brothers' reputation was such that they could afford to be exclusive.

She put up with Angelus' obnoxious condescension (he tried to give her lessons in fighting) until she got fed up. When she left, he was currently obsessed with his latest victim - a girl named Sister Sunshine-and clearly thought Buffy was going to be his eager accomplice as he lived out his twisted fantasies. She was appalled when he laid out his plans for the 14 year old girl. Mental torture and rape did not appeal to Buffy in any way. Evil she might be; pervert she was not.

She spent a frustrating couple of months trying to find out more about the Gorch's, but came up with nothing but dead ends on the pair of serial killers turned vampires. She tried to adopt a "wait and see" attitude, but that only lasted 2 days. Waiting was boring and made her fidget-y.

Then she saw the Dukati.

The Dukati was a breathtaking piece of work. She wanted it the way she had wanted a pair of Jimmy Choo's the week before.

The moment she laid eyes on the sleek machine, her human memories washed over her: she and Ford sprawled on the floor of her living room- he was pouring over the newest motorcycle mag and she was flipping through the latest Cosmo; Ford, giddy with excitement as he was presented with a 10 yr old Ninja for his 16th birthday; and the weekend where he took her to the desert and taught her how to ride a motorcycle by herself. Ford would have drooled over this machine, she thought wistfully. If only he could have held on a few more months...

"You like what you see? I know I do." Hearing the male's voice, Buffy pushed aside her painful memories.

A man, in his early 20's, was walking out the nightclub toward her, his eyes traveling up and down her body.

"Is it yours?" Buffy's fingers caressed the soft leather seats of the M600.

"Just got her today, I haven't even got the tag yet." Buffy smiled at the stranger, who clearly thought he was the epitome of every female fantasy. Slowly she licked her lips and glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. Dinner time.

Spike looked at Principal Snyder and wondered, for the umpteenth time, what he had done to make the Principal hate him so much. At least, this time, Spike was not alone. Out of the corner of his eye he eyed the sullen brunette in the hot seat beside him. Snyder sat behind his desk and made no attempt to hide his contempt for them both. His most recent tirade involved trying to decide who was the most troublesome of the pair. Sheila, it seemed, tried to stab her horticulture teacher with a trowel. Unfazed by Snyder's litany of her crimes, Sheila just smirked, winked at Spike and corrected Snyder - she used pruning shears, not a trowel. Snyder bristled and then focused on Spike.

"On the other hand, at least Sheila didn't burn down a chem lab."

Bullocks! Spike wondered how the Principal could know about that. Spike said nothing.

Snyder put his palms on his desk and leaned forward. "I can't prove that you were involved, but I know you were there. That type of incident has Spike Pratt written all over it."

Ah. So the wanker knew nothing for certain. Spike leaned back in his chair as Snyder listed their various crimes of class cutting and fighting. They were both heading toward being expelled, the principal promised, unless they wanted to redeem themselves by partnering up to become the Food and Decoration committee for the upcoming Parent-Teacher night.

When Snyder excused them, Spike tried to talk to Sheila about how they should divide up the work as she just rolled her eyes. Abruptly, she pressed him up against the wall of the hallway, one hand on the sleeve of his jacket and the other hand slid up and down his denim-clad leg.

"You got weed?" she breathed, her mouth inches from his.

Surprised, Spike could only stare. Weed?

Seeing his look, she rolled her eyes one last time and walked away. Apparently, she saw someone better.

"Hey Meatpie!" she called. She jogged up to a guy and Spike heard her ask "You got weed?"

"I always got weed for you, baby." was the response and the pair walked off. Bloody Hell he thought, certain that Sheila would be useless and absent during the preparations for parent-teacher night. He looked at his watch and quickly walked toward the library.

His uncle was shelving books when Spike walked in. Willow and Xander looked up from one of the large round tables, homework spread around them. Spike nodded at his friends as he shed his jacket. Xander looked at Spike and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Spike shrugged.

"That bad, huh?" Willow asked. She was sitting in front of a stack of books, 3 of which were spread open on the table in front of her.

"The bloody git has had it for me since the first day of school. It was a matter of time before he found yet another way to torture me." He walked into the cage and rummaged in the black duffel bag.

"And this week's form of torture would include...?" Xander prompted.

"Food and Decoration committee for Parent Teacher night." Satisfied, he had a clean set of clothes, Spike picked up the duffel bag.

"That's vile and despicable - even for a principal!" Xander claimed. Spike snorted.

"Be right back, mates." Spike walked to the restroom to get changed and returned a few minutes later wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a black wife beater, ready to get to work. Since Sunnydale rested on the Hellmouth, the town was a magnet for all things magical and mystical. Sunnydale needed a protector. His uncle had told him that there should have been a Slayer here in Sunnydale, but fate had different plans.

Sunnydale didn't have a Slayer. Sunnydale had Spike.

If this was better or worse, Spike didn't know.

The music pulsed and throbbed, Buffy could feel its vibrations as she strolled up to the door of the club. Not much town, but one hell of a club she thought as she scanned the posters that papered the outer walls of The Bronze. How a club in a small California town was able to draw such a variety of musicians was a mystery to her. My gain she thought as she watched a group of teenagers enter the club. She was just a few steps behind them.

One of the vampires at the warehouse had offered to meet her here to point out the pest that was putting a dent in the local vampire population. She declined. She bought a drink and found a small table in a dark corner and sat down, scanning the crowd for some sign that would tell her more about the kid who had vampires running scared. From her seat, she had a clear view of the entryway and dance floor as she slowly sipped her Jack and Ginger-ale.

Occasionally, her eyes paused on the crowd of people on the dance floor and an almost wistful expression crossed her face briefly and then disappeared. She watched impassively as three vampires took their intended prey outside, ignoring her desire to intercede. It was not her concern anymore, she reminded herself as her eyes followed them out the door. Her reminder did nothing to prevent her hand automatically reaching to her side for the weapon that was no longer holstered at her side. Old instincts die hard.

When the waitress walked by, she tapped her glass and was rewarded a few minutes later when a fresh glass replaced her empty one.

The door to the club opened and it seemed as if something in the air shifted. Her eyes darted toward the entrance and studied the trio of teens at the door. They all appeared younger than her (real) age of 18. After a brief inspection, she dismissed the red-headed girl and the dark haired guy. Instead, she focused intently on the third member of the party.

Hair so white, it could only have come from a drug store bottle, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and eyes so blue...for a moment she held her breath before exhaling softly, scoffing at herself. Sometimes, she forgot that she no longer required air. Sometimes she forgot that she was no longer just a girl.

The small group walked to a nearby table and she used her enhanced senses to shamefully eavesdrop on their conversation, easily picking out their voices over the music and conversations that carried on around her.

They talked about school - classes they were taking, upcoming exams and a mutual dislike for "Snyder". A year ago, she could have had the same conversation with her circle of friends. (With Ford.) She learned the red-head was named Willow; the dark haired boy was Xander. He was called Spike.

The music changed and the teens grinned as they exchanged glances with each other. They jumped up and made their way onto the crowded dance floor. As if she was tethered to Spike, Buffy rose as well. She stayed on the outer fringes of the crowd of people that surrounded the dance floor. Willow weaved around the two males, eyes closed and a smile on her face. Spike watched her with an affectionate smile on his face, often positioning his body in front of a boisterous dancer or when someone lost their balance. The other boy- Xander, she remembered - bobbed and swayed in a rhythm that must have been in his head as it was at odds with the beat of the music.

Spike wore black denim pants and a tight black short sleeved t-shirt that hugged his torso. She took a moment of feminine appreciation as her gaze lingered on the lean muscles of his arms as he moved with a grace and fluidity that surprised her. Could she use him? She decided she needed to see him in action first.

His eyes were open and alert, in constant observation of the crowd around him. His eyes found a target and she watched him change into a predator. He signaled his companions and Xander threw him a questioning glance. He inclined his head toward the exit and Xander raised his eyebrows. Spike shook his head and exited the dance floor. Xander resumed dancing but took over the role of protector for the oblivious dancing Willow. Buffy noted that Xander's eyes seemed to follow the red - head with eyes that indicated something more than brotherly affection.

Turning away from the dance floor, she followed Spike, her predatory instincts coming to the forefront as she stalked him while he stalked his target. As he neared the exit, she scanned the club and noted a large window near the ceiling of the club. With a burst of speed, she raced up the stairs to the upper levels of the club and then jumped to the catwalks that ran beneath the ceiling. Silently, she slipped out through the window and landed softly in the shadows of the alley.

Outside, the vampire was attempting to drain a girl in the alley behind the club. Spike put one hand on the vamp's shoulder and pulled from the terrified girl. Tears streaming down her face, the girl stumbled back into the club.

Buffy watched as Spike fought the vampire. Each attack from the vamp was easily blocked and deflected. His blue eyes sparkled with an enjoyment that dimmed once he staked the vamp. The fight had ended as soon as it had begun. Buffy remembered that feeling well - when the desire to fight and pummel overshadowed the satisfaction when a vampire was staked and the fight ended. He brushed the dust from his hands and leaned against the side of the building, his left hand rooted around in the front pocket of his jeans. He slid a cigarette from the pack he pulled out.

"You get your eyes full?" he asked as he flicked his lighter and inhaled on the cigarette to light it.

Strange. How could he know she was there? Even other vamps had a difficult time sensing her presence if she didn't want them to do so. She shifted into the light, but made no comment, watching his face and posture as he watched hers.

Something unidentifiable crossed his face and his brow furrowed slightly. She waited, curious to see what his next move was.

He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, his posture deceptively relaxed. Tilting her head, she listened to the blood pumping through his veins and the increased tempo of his heartbeat.

If she had a heartbeat, she was almost certain the tempo would match his.

The wind blew softly and his scent drifted toward her. Her body reacted instantly - gut clenching with feminine desire. Her eyes widened.

Impossible, she thought. Stop it, Buffy. Focus.

She could feel his blue eyes inspecting her from head to toe as he finished his cigarette in silence, flicking it to the ground when it was done.

"Right. Time to die." he said.

She laughed. "Oh I am not so sure. I saw you fight and I think you might survive." She quipped, deliberately misinterpreting his statement.

A flash of irritation crossed his face and all casual pretense evaporated. He shifted into battle stance.

"I didn't mean me, I meant you." he grumbled. Once again she laughed, amused further when he scowled.

"You're confident." she stated, scraping her fingernails lightly against the rough surface of the brick wall as she walked toward him. She caught his scent again as she drew closer. Delicious. What is it about this guy? she wondered. Just for fun, she exaggerated the sway of her hips slightly as she walked.

"It's a fact," he stated simply as his eyes lingered briefly on her hips.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she struck out hard and fast with her right hand. He reacted a split second too late and her backhand connected to his face.

"Let's test that theory." she said.

He stumbled back slightly before he recovered and was in defensive mode once more. As a Slayer, she had enough power in her backhand to bring most creatures to their knees. Combined with her vampire strength, he should have been sent crashing into the wall. A trickle of blood ran down his nose. Raising his hand, he swiped the blood with his thumb. For a moment, she paused dumbly when he smeared the red liquid slightly. That smell...

Noting her distraction, he attacked. She blocked and deflected as each blow was dealt. Other than her first initial blow, she made no other move to attack.

It took him a few minutes to realize that his attacks were not causing any real damage. Who is this ...thing? His attacks slowed and the grin on his face faded, replaced by a scowl.

"You're not even trying." he accused her.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why would I do that? I'm learning so much about you while you've learned nothing about me. And, now I have you right where I want you." Her lips curved and she inclined her head, indicating something behind him.

She had back-stepped and danced her way so his back was now to the wall.

"You hit hard - I'll be bruised for the next few hours - but you telegraph your moves." His brow furrowed and she continued. Time to goad him a little. "Taking you out would be easy. I would let you do all of the work and then enjoy a nice snack while I am at it."

Self consciously, Spike raised a hand to his nose and brushed his fingers across the blood that had clotted and was beginning to dry under his nose. Her green eyes flashed golden as they followed the movement of his hand.

He hit her with a right cross and looked satisfied when she stumbled sideways. The gold in her eyes became more pronounced and, with a snarl, her game-face appeared - fangs and all. Then she shook her head and the sound of her laughter echoed around the alley. She arched backwards until her hands touched the ground. When her feet left the ground, her ankles locked like a vice around his hips and as she flipped backwards, she pulled him through the air with her until he was laying on his back as she straddled him as one hand pinned his wrists above his head.

"You have promise." she couldn't help the reluctant admiration slipping into her voice. She leaned forward until her mouth was near his ear.

"You need to train a little harder if you are going to be ready." she whispered.

"Ready for what?" He asked, his voice low and strained. She pulled back and noted that his eyes were trained on the thin material of her shirt as it stretched across her breasts. She chuckled softly and pulled his arms further up over his head as he lay on the ground. He groaned softly.

Her eyes went to the trickle of blood that trailed from his nose. Unable to help herself, she leaned forward and flicked the tip of her tongue against his face, then pressed her lips gently against the wound.

"Mmmmm" she drew the sound out softly as she savored the taste. "Better than chocolate" she sighed.

She tightened her thighs and he groaned again. She pulled back and blinked at the mixture of horror, disgust and arousal in his eyes. Stop it Buffy. she told herself. Stick to the plan, no distractions.

"I have a tip for you." Quickly, she stood up and looked down at his prone body. "In LA, there is a girl who needs your help. She goes by the name of Sister Sunshine. You should rescue her - before it's too late." Confusion, followed by distrust crossed his face.

Then she was gone.

Chapter 3

Deception.

Misdirection.

Truth or lies?

Every instinct that Spike had spent the last six months honing screamed at him that there was no truth in her words. There wasn't a Sister Sunshine who lived in LA and needed his help; it was part of an evil plan concocted by a demon dressed as every teen-aged boy's wet dream.

Bollocks!

Spike's step faltered. Again, his earlier feelings of confusion threatened to overwhelm him. She was a vampire and vampires didn't just go around...helping. Frustrated, he kicked a rock in his path, satisfied when it shot forward like a bullet until it bounced across the street in front of him.

When he had walked into the Bronze with Red and Xander earlier that night, he knew something was off. His normal "demons are present and spoiling for trouble" sensations alerted him that he needed to be on the lookout for vamps. It made his scalp prickle, damned annoying it was - he always had to resist the urge to scratch his head when vamps were about and he couldn't have people thinking he had dandruff, now could he?

Separate from his prickling scalp, was a tingle that started in the back of his neck and trailed down his spine then curled around and went directly into his gut. That was different, but he didn't know why – until he met her.

Fuck.

Just the thought of her brought up a storm of emotions within. Why did he have to meet the one vamp who was as beautiful as an angel with long, shining hair and a body that brought forth images that he had only fantasized about? And why in the bloody hell did he have to even think that an evil, blood sucking fiend was even remotely desirable? What was wrong with him?

Truth or lies?

"FUUUUCK!" he yelled, kicking loose gravel on the side of the road causing rocks and pebbles to shoot forward like the bullets of a machine gun. This time he felt no satisfaction in the action.

He should go wake Giles.

The Dukati drove like a dream, responded to the lightest touches and able to weave seamlessly from left to right as Buffy navigated through the late evening traffic. For a moment she closed her eyes and was transported back in time - Ford sitting in front of her as they rode the ninja that last summer before he died.

They had shared everything together – their hopes, their dreams. No topic was kept a secret- or so she thought.

From the time she was first called and Merrick approached her, Ford had been by her side. As she trained with Merrick, so had Ford. Merrick, at first, had protested, telling her that it wasn't done. She was the one who was called and Ford was merely a human with no supernatural powers. It was too dangerous. Ford had merely shrugged and said that he had to be there, fighting with her. She might be the Slayer, but he loved her and he would be there to watch her back.

Merrick had no choice. They were a team and if there was no Ford, there was no Buffy. In the end, Merrick relented and taught them both. For two years, five months, two weeks and four days they had been a team. They had shared everything – at least she thought they had, until, Ford could no longer hide the truth from her. He was sick. Almost overnight, he went from being a healthy teen-aged boy, to a shell of his former self. He had known about his illness for close to a year, but had hidden the truth from her as long as he could.

She had wanted to hate him for hiding the truth from her.

When he was admitted into the hospital, she didn't hesitate to visit him. Ford had been amazed and she had laughed bitterly that all it had taken to conquer her phobia of hospitals was for him to be dying. His illness made any phobia seem insignificant.

He shuffled over on his hospital bed to make room for her and she crawled up beside him, linking her fingers through his and was ashamed that he was trying so hard to offer her some measure of comfort while he was the one dying.

He used his thumb and gently brushed the tears from her eyes and gathered her into his arms. Then, in his quiet way, he told her that he had made his peace. He had lived a life that was so full – he had excitement, adventure and (best of all) love. He had lived more life in his eighteen years than most people got to live in a lifetime. He kissed her lips and told her he didn't regret one moment.

This made Buffy mad.

"You're giving up? Just like that?" She pushed him away and told him he was a coward. That he could fight this and as she talked, she had an epiphany.

"This doesn't have to be the end Ford…we both know that there can be life after death."

"Buffy, no…you don't know what you are saying…"

It was too late. She ran out of the hospital and toward the closet cemetery she could find.

It took a couple of hours, but she found what she was looking for and soon she was back in the hospital, nonchalantly walking her 'new friend' through the halls toward Ford's room. She closed the door behind them and dropped all pretence as she held the stake to the female vampire's back, directly behind her heart.

He lay on the bed, asleep with a pencil in his hand and a pad of paper on his chest. He looked so frail and it broke her heart.

At the sound of the door to his room closing, Ford opened his tired eyes and shook his head sadly.

"No. No Buffy. Not this."

Tears had streamed down her eyes as she pleaded with him.

"Yes." She said the words desperately, "She can make it better. You will live, Ford."

"Buffy, I would rather die, than become a demon, and we won't lie to ourselves that it would be any different. If I did this, I would lose everything about me that you love. I would be a soulless blood thirsty monster and you would have to kill me. I won't put you through that."

She shook her head. "I would never-"

He nodded. "In the end, you would have to. I would expect nothing else from my brave, beautiful Slayer."

Sensing her un-life was near the end, the vamp began to struggle, then exploded into dust as Buffy pushed the stake through the vamps spine and into her heart.

Buffy clutched Ford's hand and whispered brokenly, "I'm sorry."

Tenderly, Ford stroked her hair and said quietly, "I know. I'm sorry too."

Three weeks, two days and seventeen hours later, he died. She was so wrapped up in her own pain, she shut out everyone else…her parents, her friends, her watcher.

Then, as other people in her life began to die around her, her life became a nightmare.

"And you think this vampire could be telling you the truth?" Giles yawned as he busied himself in the kitchen readying a fresh pot of tea.

Spike was seated on a bar stool in front the island in the middle of the kitchen. They had only been in the house for a month and he was still getting used to the differences between the two-bedroom house versus the one-bedroom apartment where Giles lived when Spike first arrived in Sunnydale.

Although they had a rough beginning, the Hellmouth had given them a purpose and Spike's ...unique...heritage had Giles convinced that Spike could protect Sunnydale. Giles used his Watcher abilities to educate him and Spike tried his best to keep the demons from taking over the town.

While Spike was pleasantly surprised at how effortlessly he became skilled at fighting, he was disturbed by the utter bliss that overtook him when he fought. He loved it all – the punching, kicking, trying to stay one step ahead of his foe by anticipating their next move. The longer the fight lasted and the harder the challenge, the more satisfied he felt when the fight ended.

He couldn't explain it and that worried him.

Spike thought about Giles' question.

"I think we need to look into it. If she is telling the truth, then this girl will need our help." He grudgingly admitted when he really wanted to say "Hell No. This vamp is playing us."

Giles selected two mugs from the kitchen cabinet, placed them on the island and poured some of the steaming tea into each mug. He opened a drawer and grabbed a notebook along with a pen.

"Tell me everything again." Giles said with his pen poised to take notes.

"There isn't much. She said 'In LA, there is a girl who needs your help. She goes by the name of Sister Sunshine. You should rescue her - before it's too late.'"

Sister Sunshine

L.A.

After Giles wrote words on the pad of paper, he paused and thoughtfully tapped it with his pen.

"This poses some interesting questions, don't you think?"

Aggravated, Spike pushed off his stool, sending it sliding a few feet backwards on the floor.

"Yes. The biggest one is 'Why am I wasting my time on this?' Bitch is playing us. That's all." It was the only explanation and he felt like a fool for even entertaining a remote chance that a vampire could be helpful.

"That is a possibility." Giles nodded. "She could be toying with us. If, however, information is genuine, then I suppose there is another question to ask ourselves. Why would a vampire be concerned with the fate of a young girl?"

Spike exhaled loudly in agreement. "We have nothing to go on. If this individual exists, we don't know how to locate her."

Giles looked down at his paper. "We are obligated to make some kind of effort." he said softly before lifting his mug to sip some tea.

"I know." Spike pulled his stool forward. "Since we don't have any answers, then I suppose we should begin with some questions." What does the bitch have to gain? There had to be some ulterior motive.

After two mugs of tea each, they had come up with a series of unanswered questions. Convinced they were being jerked around, Spike told Giles as much. His uncle suggested they both retire for the night and work on it again in the morning, before school. Perhaps Willow and Xander could help with the research. Reluctantly, Spike agreed.

Fifteen minutes later, Spike laid on his bed as he listened to the sounds of his uncle tidying the kitchen. The familiar clinking of dishes and sound of running water were so similar to the ones his mum used to make. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in their tiny London flat...

A tap on his door and the door opened just a crack.

"Will? What's wrong, hun?"

"Nothing Mum, just can't sleep is all."

A gentle hand brushed against his forehead and immediately, his body relaxed. The soft strokes continued as she sat by his side and hummed softly until his eyes fluttered closed.

"All this gel you put in your hair...I miss your curls." she said softly, after a long while.

"Damn curls are a curse..." sleep slurred his words and he drifted off.

He swallowed a painful lump as the memory swept over him and reached out to pull out his notebook from the bedside drawer. There's a song in that, Will…

He closed his eyes and tried to recall her face- the five different shades of brown in her hair, the way her eyes smiled at him with pride when she watched him write – and he was saddened when it took longer than the night before. If he were an artist, he could draw her image and keep her close; as a songwriter he painted her portrait with words to a melody that he could clearly hear in his head.

When he was sure he had a clear image of his mother, he started to write.

She revved the throttle and the Dukati shot forward on the street as she pushed away her memories. She couldn't bring back Ford, Merrick or her mother. But she could take out all of her rage on the Gorch Brothers.

She just had to get them to Sunnydale.

When she had left LA, Angel's fixation with the fourteen year old Sister Sunshine had only just begun. She had listed to enough recounting of how he created his "masterpieces" (yeah, the dweeb actually considered himself an artist) to know that at this stage, his attacks were indirect. The kid was safe…for now, but Buffy didn't want too much of a delay in her plan. If she waited too long, the girl would…Buffy pushed the thought away.

You have to stick to the plan.

She needed to make sure that a certain bleach-blonde pest followed her crumbs to LA. The teen wasn't stupid. She remembered the look of distrust on his face the night before and knew that she needed to do something to gain his trust.

She ignored the tightening in her gut when she thought about him.

He was a pawn, nothing more she reminded herself. Evil vamps did not care about what happens to humans. It had been proven to her over and over when she was a Slayer and Buffy had no illusions…she had no soul and she was evil.

She accepted this. And if her conscience nagged her when she took a human victim's, life…well that was just leftover Slayer crap. She would get past that eventually. If she un-lived that long…

When she reached the factory, she parked the bike but left the key in the ignition as an obvious temptation to other vamps she could feel watching her. She noted one vamp seemed particularly unimpressed with her but very interested in the bike. If she was going to be in Sunnydale for any length of time, they needed to learn to stay out of her way – and to damned well not touch what she considered hers.

She hid her smile and felt anticipation stir at the thought of a challenge.

She went into the factory and was greeted with the low tones of at least 30 vampires kneeling, in robes and chanting. As before, being around so many vamps made her fingers twitchy and she had to force her hands to still.

A big, ugly vamp seemed to be leading the chants. She noted it was the same vampire who attacked her when she first found the factory.

"Saint Vigeous, you who murdered so many, we beseech you, cleanse us of our weaknesses: mercy, compassion and pity." said Big Ugly.

"We will bathe in their blood." In unison the other vampires responded.

"Lambs to the slaughter!" Big Ugly continued, his tone changing from monotonous to rousing. Buffy sensed they were nearing the end of the ritual.

"Bathe in their blood!" the others responded, their voices rising in a shout.

There was a moment of respectful silence before they all began to rise and disperse. The Anointed One beckoned her over with a flick of his fingers. Rather than be intimidating, the move only emphasized his youth, looking like a child playing at imitating Marlon Brando's famous character.

Hiding her irritation, she approached him.

Right away, the annoying kid had the gall to chastise her for not staying at the factory the night before in preparation for St Vigeous - a ritual that needed constant "cleansing with the blood of the innocent" and chanting with the occasional banging of a gong.

Great, she thought, by coming here, I exchanged one fanatic for another.

The Annoying One droned on about the significance of St Vigeous and how the proper attention must be paid to the Vampire icon.

"What about my little ...pest problem?" The kid cocked his head and stared hard at Buffy. "I thought you were going to take care of it?"

Buffy masked her irritation and smiled at the kid. "Sure thing, Boss." she said. "In fact, if you don't mind me borrowing some of your army tomorrow, I can guarantee that you will have a memorable St Vigeous."

He frowned at her. "I thought you could take care of him yourself. You need an army to take down one teenager?"

You couldn't do it she wanted to point out but held her tongue.

"I'll take care of the pest, no one touches him but me." she realized how possessive she sounded and frowned, then continued "I just thought some of your strongest guys could use some extra "blood of the innocent" in preparation for the Feast of St Vigeous."

She leaned closer to the kid. "You see tomorrow, there is a Parent - Teacher night at the school...all sorts of lovely innocent bodies just aching to be drained..." she breathed and was rewarded when the kid's eyes closed as he licked his lips."I'll make sure they bring back buckets full for the upcoming festivities."

His eyes golden, he looked at her before inclining his head. She stifled the snort. Like lambs to the slaughter...it would be too easy. He watched carefully with narrowed eyes as he considered her words, and nodded his dismissal.

It galled her to smile at him, to pretend gratefulness like he had extended her a favor. Her hands itched to stake him. Instead, she backed away, eyes lowered, head bowed respectfully.

Really, in another life, she could have been an actress.

Once far enough away, she slowly exhaled in frustration. All these vamps, walking around…it made her scalp tingle and she hated it. At times, she felt as if she had two demons inside her, battling for control of her -well, she couldn't say soul, because she already lost hers. Instinct? Yes, that might be a better term. Battling for control of her instincts. Kill the vamps. Bite the human. You want the blood. The blood tastes bland. Needs more salt.

A war waged within, yet…

She disregarded the feeling, of course. Instead, her mind raced with possibilities as she planned her next step. She stepped outside and saw something that made her night brighten.

The vamp that had been ogling her bike was now straddling the machine and running his hands over the gas tank. He looked at her and sneered, his expression issued a challenge, as if to say "What are you going to do about it?"

Buffy's smile caused the nearby vamps to back away.

As a Slayer in LA, Buffy's duties often required a hands-on approach when dealing with demons. Show her the Big Bad threat of the week and she would take it down. Ford stayed out of the fray, instead supplied her with extra weapons and took on the occasional attacker. Merrick, once he accepted that Ford and she were a team, trained Ford well. Ford was smart, stayed out of her way and became the eyes in the back of her head but able to defend himself if needed.

She thought of herself as a one-woman army – infantry and cavalry (well, no there were no horses in Slaying, so mainly infantry) all in one. She held the highest ranking position of Five Star General and the lowest ranking infantry soldier at the same time – as a General she planned out offensive and defensive operations and the Soldier in her executed said operations.

In keeping with her military theme, she thought of Merrick and Ford as Civilians. Merrick's role was as a consultant – proving expertise in the form of experience and research when needed – and Ford was a Contractor- used on an as needed basis and rarely in the line of fire.

Buffy knew she would need to use all of her Slayer knowledge for the coming night. She had to plan and execute an attack on the enemy and purposefully weaken her forces while ensuring the enemy won.

She estimated that there was still five hours of darkness left, she made her way through town and stared at the building in front of her. She grinned at the sign, which translated from Latin meant "enter those seeking aid" and pulled on the locked door until it opened. Her footsteps echoed on the tile as she moved towards the private quarters in the back.

She reached the final door and concentrated, closing her eyes. She began to take deep, gasping breaths then pounded on the door.

"Help! Oh please…you need to help!"

It took less than a minute before the door was opened. Buffy hid her smile as she began to sob and plead with the stranger in front of her.

Imagine her shock when the gentleman placed a hand on her shoulder and said calmly "You can stop the act. I've been waiting for you." He pulled out a large duffel bag and dropped it on the floor at her feet.

He unzipped the bag and propped it open so she could see inside. Her eyes widened. She looked up at the man, a question on her face.

"Let me just say that a little birdie told me you would need my help. My name is Father Tom and you are...Buffy?"

Still astounded, she nodded.

The priest zipped the bag and hefted it over his shoulder.

"You're later that I thought you would be. I expected you shortly after sundown." He furrowed his bushy grey eyebrows and she fought the urge to apologize. "Well, it's no matter. You're here now. We need to hurry if we want to be finished by sunrise."

"How?" she was so flabbergasted, she could barely get the word out.

He motioned for her to begin to lead the way and followed behind.

"I got an interesting phone call this afternoon..." he began.

The drawback to his double-life of demon-exterminator and high school student meant a lot of late nights coupled with early mornings. The next morning, Spike stretched in his bed before getting up and heading toward the shower. The house was quiet and it was clear that his uncle was still sleeping, so Spike knocked on his uncle's bedroom door on his way to the bathroom.

"Rise and shine Giles!" he said cheerfully and grinned when he heard his uncle groan "bugger off!" Giles was not a morning person.

The school day flew quickly. They met with Xander and Willow that morning and shared the information that the vampire had given him. Both warned him that the vampire could not be trusted, but agreed that they needed to find out if there was a Sister Sunshine who was in danger. Knowing his afternoon would be tied up as he got the food and drinks ready for parent teacher that night, Spike was relieved when Xander and Willow volunteered stay late to do some computer research after school.

Later that afternoon, he had two free periods back to back, since his biology class had been canceled when the teacher went home with a case of the flu. Spike used his time to finish up the banner he was making for parent-teacher night. He hadn't seen Sheila around and didn't expect to see her at all. Red and Xander insisted on helping him during their study period as well – Willow was chopping the veggies and arranging them on a platter and Xander had made the lemonade and laid out plates, napkins and cups on a table.

Spike took a moment to appreciate his friends, grateful that they wanted (in fact, they demanded) to help. He glanced at the clock, noted the time before reminding them that their free period was almost over.

Willow nodded but she shifted indecisively. "I wish we could stay longer Spike, but we have French next and today the teacher is going to give us a practice test. We-" she emphasized the word, but nodded toward Xander "need to be there."

"J'espère de je fais bien sur la test." Xander said. Willow's face lit up with a smile.

"Xander, you have been practicing! Oh, except – well there are two small things really – 'J'espère' is always followed by 'que'. 'I hope that' translates into 'J'espère que' and it is 'le test', not 'la test'."

Xander frowned. "Really? I thought it 'J'espère' was followed by 'de'."

The pair turned away.

"Nope. 'De' means 'of'…you don't want to say 'I hope of I do well on the test.' Do you?"

Xander turned back and wiggled his eyebrows at Spike before looking at Willow with a worried face. "Gee Will, I always seem to get the 'le' and 'la' mixed up too – and don't even get me started on the 'de la's versus the 'de le's - or is it 'du'? Maybe I am not as ready for Friday's test as I thought. Do you think you could tutor me again tomorrow night?"

Their voices faded away and Spike grinned. He knew for a fact that Xander purposefully looked for ways to screw up in French so Red would help him study more. The boy was head over heels in-crazy with the red-headed bird. The sooner she figured this out, the sooner she could admit to Xander that she felt the same.

His smile faded as he looked around the common room that had been designated as the food and beverage area for tonight's event. He wrapped up the veggie plate in cellophane and began to slice the fruit.

She slept little that day, her mind analyzing each step of her plan, calculated the risks and decided the outcome would get her one step closer to her goal. As the sun began its decent toward the horizon, she put on her leather pants and jacket and straddled her Dukati as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon.

She thought about the priest.

After they left his private quarters at the church, Buffy led him here, to the school and they had spent the next several hours setting up.

Occasionally he had caught her speculative glances, but said nothing until he laughed.

"You don't trust me." He had said.

She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug. "I can't figure you out. I had an intricate plan on how to coerce you here and then another plan on how to terrorize you into helping. You knew I was coming tonight and not only did you come willingly, but you were prepared to help. I just wish I knew why."

He pulled out a rosary and ran his fingers over the worn beads as he spoke. "The person who called me tonight is someone I hold very dear to my heart. I trust her implicitly. She told me that you would not hurt me and that I could trust you. I believe her."

Buffy snorted. "Surely, you aren't that naïve." She looked at him, and slowly let her demon show.

He reached into his back and pulled out a familiar looking object. "Trust is not a sign of weakness, Slayer." He said quietly. Then he threw the object at her.

She caught the stake with her right hand and could only blink at the enigma that was Father Tom.

"You can borrow it until this is over -then I want it back." He said and then smiled at her dumbfounded look. A priest that had a stake? Called her Slayer? Surely, noting could surprise her now.

"Look at it carefully." He said, softly.

She looked down at the stake in her hand – and almost dropped it! Astounded, she ran her fingertips lightly over the markings etched on the surface of the wood. Religious symbols and words carved into the wood on every facet of the stake.

Yet, she could touch it.

The priest nodded in satisfaction, as if this confirmed something he had only suspected.

"I think it is only the beginning." He said. He threw the rosary at her and she caught it, grasping the crucifix in the palm of her hand and closing her fingers around it waiting for the expected burn. There was no heavenly retribution for daring to hold such an item.

His looked at his bag on the ground and then at her. "You know, this would go a lot faster, if you helped."

They came through the sewers, a thoroughly disgusting way to travel, but effective nonetheless. Big Ugly seemed to think he was running the show and it suited Buffy perfectly to allow the egotistical demon his illusions. If she challenged him, she would have to kill him – and as entertained as she would be she couldn't lose focus. Killing him had to wait just a tad longer.

Instead, when Big Ugly announced he leading their expedition, she had smiled, ran her fingers along his bicep, slowly licked her lips seductively and spouted some drivel about "loving a vamp who could take charge" and how she just knew he had "so much he could teach her".

Predictably, his chest puffed out like a strutting partridge and the vamps followed him. Buffy kept to the rear, effectively moving any stragglers along. Her plan did not allow for staggered arrivals.

Father Tom walked down the quiet corridors of the high school and carried a duffel bag (smaller than the one used the evening before) in his left hand. Occasionally, he heard the quiet murmur of voices coming from a classroom and assumed that they from parents and teacher's meeting, but obviously the majority of the parents and teachers had already left the school.

This was good.

At regular intervals, his eyes would look toward the ceiling and he would smile with satisfaction. Everything was still in place and he felt reassured.

He found the library with ease- not surprising, since he had spent a good part of the evening in this very building and became very familiar with its layout.

The lights in the library were still on. Three heads turned and looked at him in inquiry. He looked briefly at the two younger faces before focusing on the face of the oldest person.

"Are you lost?" the man asked, his tone polite, his eyes taking in the priest's collar that Tom wore around his neck.

"No." Tom smile was practiced, a result of years in his profession at people at ease. Automatically, the others smiled back. "I'm here to help you."

"Pardon me?" the man blinked at Tom from behind his glasses.

Tom took a deep breath. This part would require the most delicacy and he needed to make sure everything went smoothly.

"I'm here to help you." Tom repeated. "In about fifteen minutes, you are going to be attacked by a rather large crowd of vampires. If you listen to me, you will all survive. But we need to hurry. "

There was a pause, then, everyone began to talk. To his surprise, she had been correct. No one contradicted his claim about vampires…they only wanted to know how he knew about them.

"There is no time. If, later, you still want to hear my story, then I will gladly tell you everything. But, right now we need to hurry."

After the final parent left the common area, Spike looked around for replacement bags for the trash can. Finding a fresh roll of bags, he looked up just in time to see Sheila slowly sidle sideways - obviously thinking she was going to head out and stick him with the cleanup.

"Oh no!" In a few quick steps, he had grasped her wrist, effectively preventing her from leaving.

"You didn't show up to help with the banners, the food or the set-up. You arrived a few minutes before the first parent arrives and tried to claim all of the credit…you are NOT leaving me to clean up alone! Now grab a broom and start sweeping."

He was pissed and he wasn't about to let the silly bint get away with any more of her tricks. Sheila grumbled under her breath but began to sweep up the crumbs and debris from the floor. Spike pulled out the step ladder and pulled down the banner and rolled it up before tossing it in the trash can. As each trash bag was filled, he tied it off and set it to the side of the room. He had a pretty good feeling that if he were to take the trash out now, Sheila would disappear.

Satisfied with the pile of trash bags they had accumulated, Spike grabbed one in each hand and nodded for Sheila to do the same. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed the remaining bags and they walked toward the side exit. He pushed against the door, using his arm to press the bar down and his foot to allow it to swing open so they could exit. He dropped one trash bag and caught the heavy door before it could swing shut and gently allowed it to close but kept it from latching. When they came back, they could get back in through the same door.

Sheila was halfway to the giant trash receptacles and Spike picked up his bag to follow her. She was just as anxious for this night to be over as he was.

Father Tom looked at Xander "I need you and the other girl to take this into the secretary's office, where the P.A. system is located. When you see the signal, play this." He tossed Xander a small black cassette.

"What is the signal?" Willow asked.

Father Tom raised his eyes upward. Expecting a prayer, Willow and Giles bowed their head.

"Divine assistance." Father Tom said cryptically. He pulled out a few more objects and tossed one of each to them all. Again he looked up. "You shouldn't need these, but, as the saying goes, 'every little bit helps'. "