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Amidst all the tiny little dots that passed for people crisscrossing his view, Angel saw one that drew his attention like a moth to a flame. He looked over at Holland's self-satisfied grin and asked, "What is Drusilla doing out?"

Holland craned his neck following Angel's gaze through the storm opaque glass, "Oh she's just been out on a little jaunt. Don't worry, she was chaperoned. No hanky-panky. She wasn't even missed. She'll be back, snug as a bug in a rug, before the boy even thinks to miss her. Doesn't do to miss curfew. All that does is make Daddy cross. She doesn't want that," he gave Angel a knowing smile, "And, neither do the people in the Home Office. That's why we've taken steps to ensure that everyone involved here is safe and sound as a pond. Of course, it would just take a quick memo from yours truly, to change that."

"Don't you dare touch one hair on Connor's head you sadistic son of a..."

Holland shook his head in disdain, "Finishing that thought would not be good for Connor. And, it would be a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, now wouldn't it?"
**********************

She heard the rumbling of the thunderstorm. She could see the flash and zip of the lightening as it raced the water down to earth. It was as if the weather had finally gotten the memo about the Apocalypse.

Better late than never.

Outside, the wind and rain could be whipping them all back with Dorothy to Oz or Kansas, or wherever it was she was from. Outside of this small, Spartan apartment, the gates of Hell could be opening and somehow, Buffy couldn't bring herself to care. She was happy here. Folded safely inside arms that, at this moment, did not resemble the muscular ones that once held her, she was safe. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Yes, there it was. She wasn't dreaming. It was all there, just like she remembered it. There was the earth and spice that meant, "Spike" to her. Her brain just couldn't wrap around all the things he must have gone through, to be here, now. She didn't know if it was enough to say, "I'm sorry." She didn't know if that would begin to ease the hurt he had had to endure. But, it was a place to start.

She let silent tears of joy fall as she listened to him breathe in time with her. She knew she was finally home.
**********************

"No," Holland mused, casually tossing the crystal sphere in the air as if it were a baseball, "as I said before, it's not you the Home Office is concerned with." He watched refracted light from the orb dance on the shadows of Angel's face, "You, as I said," he tossed the orb again into the air, eyes tracking it as it landed in his fingers, "have been neutralized for quite some time now. Spike, on the other hand, has not. That's why we needed you in the Circle," Holland paused, taking in Angel's dumbfounded look, "Oh, I am sorry. Did I speak out of turn? Yes, we needed you to believe you were in control so that your natural affinity for, shall we call it self importance," he nodded to himself, pleased with the words he'd chosen, "would do our work for us. Of course, there is always the possibility of enlightenment. Even for someone as dense as you are, there's always a chance that the light will somehow click on. So, we had to develop a 'Plan B.' That's why Drusilla was brought in. She can neutralize the danger, even if, at the last moment, you refuse to."

"How is Spike a danger?" Angel huffed, "He couldn't find his head with both hands. He's a fool."

"Is he?" Holland asked, "Who's the bigger fool, someone who does good without the foreknowledge of a reward? Or, is it someone who does good only because he knows, or thinks he knows, that he will be rewarded with his heart's desire at the end of it all? Is the real fool the one who does good things? Or is it the man who does good things only for his own gain, and for no other purpose?" Holland sighed in contemplation, "Tell me Angel. I really want to know."
***************************

Spike couldn't track Buffy's scent because of the sickeningly sweet smell that permeated the stale air. The air was thick with it. He could smell the heat of her, under that syrupy smell, so he knew she was alive. At least for now, and that was good. That gave him something else to focus on aside from that thick smell that clung to his nostrils, even when he didn't breathe it in. It was heavy, and nauseating. It smelled like molasses.

That smell activated a sense memory he'd rather have forgotten. His brain was telling him to flee, but his heart and his soul urged his feet further into this dark labyrinth. He had to find Buffy, or die trying.

He tried to push past his fear, "Buffy?" he called out to her again. There was still no answer. The place was so dark that even with his keen eyesight, Buffy could have been inches from him and he would not have seen her, "Love, can you hear me?" if Drusilla were close, she might not be able to respond.

He tried to be still and center himself. She was still alive. He knew that. He would sense it if she wasn't. She was here. He just had to dig down, past the fear that threatened to engulf him, and find that place of peace again. Find her. Find home.

He tried another tactic, "Drusilla, I'm here. It's what you wanted, right?" he slowly advanced along the abandoned maze of the factory. He spread his arms wide, in a gesture of supplication, "I'm not going to try and fight you, Dru. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I'm still a bit wobbly on these sea legs of mine. I haven't taken in nearly enough blood to be any threat to you," Spike knew it was hopeless. Dru was beyond reasoning with, "Dru," he drew in a shaky breath, "let Buffy go and you can have whatever you want."

Drusilla's voice sinsonged out of the darkness, "Do you mean it? Anything I want?"

"Yes, Dru," he begged the darkness, "Anything. Just let me know she's all right."

Before another word could be uttered, the unmistakable scent, the scent that first lured him to this place, filled the air. A scent that he had prized above all others, but that now drove him to his knees in fear and disgust. Slayer's blood had just been spilled. And not just any Slayer's blood, it was Buffy's unique vintage that sliced through the air and straight to his heart.

"Buffy!" Spike screamed in agony as he felt her body go silent in death.
*************************************

The bloodcurdling screams that came from deep in Spike's soul woke Buffy instantly. The agony of them brought Illyria racing to her defense. It would almost have been comical if it weren't so heart wrenching.

She looked into his fevered, sightless eyes, "Spike! Spike, it's all right," she tried to hold him close, to let him feel her warmth, "wake up. It was just a dream. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

The fog of nightmare lifted, "Buffy?" he asked, unsure of reality.

"Yeah, me," she assured, holding him tighter.

"Oh thank God," he sobbed into her shoulder, gently rocking her, "Buffy, it seemed so real. I thought Drusilla had killed you!"

"Well," Buffy soothed, "guess I'd better get to training if I don't want that to happen, hadn't I?" she pulled back from his embrace a little, "Nothing chases nightmares away like a good old-fashioned knock down, drag out, sparring session. Shall we dance, Sir?"

"No time like the present, Slayer." He thanked God that she didn't dwell on what he'd seen. If she wasn't going to ask, he most certainly was not going to volunteer anything.

But, the memory of that dream would stay with him until he really was dust.





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