I was alone, Falling free,
Trying my best not to forget
What happened to us,
What happened to me,
What happened as I let it slip.

I was confused by the powers that be,
Forgetting names and places.
Passersby were looking at me
As if they could erase it

Baby did you forget to take your meds?
Baby did you forget to take your meds?

I was alone,
Staring over the ledge,
Trying my best not to forget
All manner of joy
All manner of glee
And our one heroic pledge

How it mattered to us,
How it mattered to me,
And the consequences

I was confused,
By the birds and the bees
Forgetting if I meant it

Baby did you forget to take your meds?
Baby did you forget to take your meds?
Baby did you forget to take your meds?
Baby did you forget to take your meds?

And the Sex and the drugs and the complications
And the Sex and the drugs and the complications
And the Sex and the drugs and the complications
And the Sex and the drugs and the complications

Baby did you forget to take your meds?

I was alone,
Falling free,
Trying my best not to forget

-Placebo “Meds”


***

Silence is only broken by a few things, none of which are truly peaceful. Ordinary objects cause noise. A jangling of keys, the humming of a patient as they rock in their cell… they all force you to awaken, jar you from your sleep. As methods of disturbance they are inconsequential, but what they cause is the real problem. For some it compels them to counteract that clamor, try to restore their own peace if you can call it that. I hunger for those sounds of life but half the time I am sadly disappointed. What is the thud of footsteps walking down a corridor when compared to the purring of a vampire or the hiss of another demon? They become fake and empty.

My only comfort are their voices.

Willow crosses between a bright eyed teenager and the woman who channeled the goddess. Her voice is infectious, whispering of things we did, how she floated a pencil finally and so many others.

Xander talks to me of Anya. He mourns her in the way that I carry Spike’s loss around. It is ever present, a thick, heavy weight the size of a tombstone and inscribed with everything he ever said.

Giles never says his own name. Often it is just council, telling me how I should act, what to say as though he is my father. I’ve begged him to get me out of here so many times. Hazy details of him reveal a rogue like man with glasses that are constantly polished. I’m told not to believe those images. The doctors say that they aren’t real.

Dawn never says anything. She only cries.

Pain seems to be the only way I can escape hearing her. It makes me think I’m weak for considering my psychiatrist. They all badger me not to give up, but then they aren’t faced with three walls and a pane of clear glass which cannot be broken no matter how hard I try. My fist smashing into the wall only causes a dull thump which really isn’t all that satisfying. It blocks them out but other than that it is useless. I know they are still there, waiting and reminding me. Not even knocking myself out fully halts their monologues. I’ve tried it a few times just to make sure and can certify that ‘practice doesn’t make perfect’.

It just drives you insane.

Though technically that would be considered only more insane for me.

They clothe us in sky blue as though it creates a calming effect. Straitjackets are white, though have been stained with blood and the odd spurt of drugs onto its clean fabric. It is almost sickening the way the yellow sedative dribbles down the front, but it’s always better than when it’s clear. When you can’t tell how much they’ve injected it becomes utterly frightening.

The straitjackets ironically always feel incredibly soft, comforting even. I like to imagine that they become arms which wrap around me. It facilitates a nice daydream in a place which does not allow interaction except for those who are made up. And yet for all their smiles I hate them far more than I ever did the Master, or Glory or Adam. They knew what they were doing was evil and delighted in it. There was a purpose to their maniacal laughs and love of the ‘apocalypse now’ theme. These people have a hidden agenda. Somehow the nurses, orderlies and ‘doctors’ who tend to me have risen above that kind of demonic code, thinking that their evil is a more perfected form. If there was one thing I could never stand it was being held against my will. Air and not being locked in long corridors of grey seems just another part of my ‘hallucinations’. The sky above would be a sight indescribable.

The orderlies say that the colour blue brings out the contrast of my hazel eyes. I just roll them back in irritation. Talking back would cause them to mark me down as confrontational.

If they only knew.

I want to grab hold of them, tell them that they are wrong. Maybe shake some sense into glassy eyes which reflect back my pale face.

“I saw Spike burn to ash. I lived on the hellmouth for seven years. They are real!”

It’s all ignored.

I can feel the itch to scream those words traveling up my throat and running down along my arms whenever they are near. I used to beg them to call Xander, Willow or Giles, hoping that they would. The doctor humored me and pulled out a phone book. They weren’t listed.

I’m starting to believe that it really is all some fantasy that I made up.

In a way that’s kind of easier to deal with. Sad crazed Buffy seems on the whole to be a lot less whiny than the Chosen Buffy that I have recollections of. I wonder whether anyone else thinks that…

The only regret I have is that if everything I have lived is not real then Spike is fiction: a character. The irony that I never noticed him after my stint in heaven except as someone to abuse has never been worse. What’s even more horrible is that despite the idea that I made him up, I still love him.

And he never believed me.

I never realised that Angelus could be funny. His humor has always been dark, centering around torture and how to make a girl’s scream that little bit higher. The supposed ‘art’ of their last gasp was often coupled with some obscene joke and the posing of the body. My soul shudders at it now yet it still remains a morbidly and insidiously interesting. Dru and Darla would either fall in a fit of hysterics over his ideas for a young bird or be cooing at his intellect and ideas. It irked the hell out of me that he had that praise but with Angel being the bloody grandsire and all, I couldn’t say anything.

Besides he made me laugh too.

Now don’t get me wrong, the old sod was a cruel sadistic bastard who I would rather stake than look at, but he did have his moments.

And is certainly far better entertainment than Peaches.

We managed to get Charlie to the hospital before he completely died, the overcast sky acting as perfect cover. Blood was gushing out of the man’s body, thick and heavy like the rain which had fallen when the fight started. Illyria had wandered off after it in order to be alone and mourn the Watcher.

It makes me wonder whether all that talk about Fred being a host is all just a load of bollocks. Her feelings for him certainly aren’t a construction.

Angel unsurprisingly was busy cursing like a bleeding sailor in his Irish accent the entire time. He often would slip into it whenever things became too much. It was Dru’s little game to infuriate him so much that he’d mutter in Gaelic. Being in England for several weeks after my turning, we often ended up in bar fights when some git would punch him and cause his demon to come out. Back in the 1800’s the English hated the Irish with as much bleeding passion as they do now. Angel had laughed it off later but I can see why he tried to have the American accent. It was a method of him hiding from what he’d done when soulless.

The life and energy of Angelus is obvious in the hulking form of my grandsire. A nervous twitch here and there and the low growl could notify a babe that someone is just dying to come out. Peaches is obviously still trying to keep it together but it won’t take long before he snaps.

Right now all he can do to prevent Angelus breaking free is to just sit there.

After depositing Gunn with a severely ‘wigged’ doctor, as the Bit would put it, we wandered rather aimlessly about. If you think the Hellmouth was devoid of anybody besides the odd demon and the potentials then you should’ve really seen LA. The streets were completely empty. The ghostly colours of street lights signaled absolutely no traffic. The slightest murmur of Peaches could be heard for a mile with not another creature around except for the bodies of those who had died.

And that bloody big dragon.

I left the hulking mass of scales and barbaric teeth laying there, wanting to flip the bird at the Senior partners if they were watching. They had sent a creature so large that for a moment I’d been certain Peaches would become its chew toy. I’m not stupid enough to think that we did any real damage to Evil inc. but we won this fight with Angel’s soul relatively intact…

Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Lies never were that much comfort until now.

He’s just started rocking back forth in the last five minutes and I know that another episode is coming on. Supposedly one of us was meant to Shanshu but I haven’t felt anything and neither has he, the poor git. There was an odd sensation of tearing at the chest but it failed to do anything then cause me to feel like I was burning. There was so much death and gore that if I had turned human I wouldn’t have survived. My fangs and a sword were all that kept me from becoming Mr. Big Pile of Dust.

I’m starting to think that Angelus wishes he was.

His demon is becoming stronger somehow, as though the poncier side of him has lost the will to unlive. Blood is refused unless I offer him my wrist and its common knowledge how much I don’t like being bitten. I can tell that Angelus is behind it because of the feral gleam in his eyes. They take on an edge of viciousness that could only come from being forced to tolerate your soul controlling everything. Plus he always enjoyed my suffering. The vamp’s got a twisted hunger for pain.

I pity him though because he never learned to meld the monster and man together. They are always at odds and if not constantly superimposing the other would drive him bug shagging crazy.

My own demon, mixed and interwoven with William doesn’t know how to react to the shift that’s occuring. Half the time my game face is just under the surface, waiting to snarl its dominance and declare that I won’t be his whipping boy. I’d half like the chance to go toe to toe with the tosser except for the fact that he’s so bloody morose.

If Buffy was here she’d be crying over his pathetic melancholy in an instant.

All the blood bags we did had were thrown into a stinking alleyway as soon as he laid eyes on them. The off comment that there wouldn’t be anything human besides his friend around for at least next week was the first time that my suspicions were truly confirmed.

Angel has given up.

Most of the time since then has been spent taking pointers from him and brooding away. The Hyperion is big enough that we can separate and still be close enough to hear the other.

A part of me had wondered during the battle whether she would come. It’s the type of thing that hero types do: charging in at the last second and I wouldn’t put Buffy past rallying an army and saving my sorry hide.

It hurts that she didn’t even bother to call.

Andrew said that she has to live her own life but I didn’t think it would be this empty without her. The absence of Charlie, Fred and the Watcher are starting to eat at me. I guess I really do just copy the poof.

I want to fly to Italy. Just grab Buffy and declare that I love her and always bloody will but it feels hollow somehow. She’s moved on to a relatively normal life, without the need for seventy six bloody trombones and I’d just be intruding.

The other part of me says that I’m just making excuses.

We have electricity running through the house funnily enough and one lone mobile that I managed to salvage before Angel threw it against the wall. He’s fairly anti social at the moment and I had to knock the great poof unconscious in order to save our phone connection.

I barely register the buzz of the evil device as it rattles in my pocket. The front of the phone is labeled with the logo of Wolfram and Hart and I bite back a curse. Best to see who it bleeding well is.

The voice of the watcher nearly makes me fall over I’m so surprised. When he mentions Buffy my words only come out as hysterical yells.

“SHE WHAT!?!”

Giles took a deep breath as Spike’s English accent blasted over the phone. Even when I’m an ocean away the vampire can still drive me mad! It had been Willow’s idea to call him, the now quiet red head adamant that the vampire be informed of Buffy’s condition. The flashing ire of green orbs coupled with a rather nasty hex waiting to be thrown had only quickened his fingers as they dialed the loathed number.

He still regretted ever letting it slip that the bleached menace and Angel were still alive.

The apartment he stood in was ornate to the point of overdone, a tragic example of Andrew’s sense of taste.

The amount of video cameras which focused on his every movement in the main foyer was also worrisome.

Turning his attention back to the phone, Giles was met with an odd silence, harsh unneeded breaths sounding directly into his ear. The urge to clean his glasses was overwhelming but the former watcher, now head of the new council restrained himself.

Barely.

Finally he decided to elaborate on his statement, a stiff snobbish lilt to his voice the only real sign that he was annoyed. Giles had last used it during his foiled attempt with Robin to finally get rid of Spike. The slayer had only suffered from her attachment with him then and likewise now. He’d wanted to scream and rage at the crumpled form of Buffy, knowing that her relationship with the Immortal would ultimately end in ruin. Part of him blamed the whole thing on bloody Angel, but the more vindictive side focused on Spike.

The immortal had first charmed her with stories of William the Bloody and even after she agreed to see him, continued to pester the oversized git about Spike.

The only consolation had been the end to her tears which slowly were wearing on them all. The smile as Sunnydale caved in on itself had been her last, the blond alpha slayer shutting herself off from those around her. Her accusations that they had abandoned her in her time of need were true but the way she carried on about a vampire…

Giles had nearly forced her to have counseling.

Xander, had not lasted more than two months under her weighty stares and silence, taking off on his own when the pain of Buffy became too much. Giles guessed that it was mainly due to her overwhelming grief whereas the boy had been able to let Anya go within a month. She made all of them feel guilty.

It was not a real surprise to the watcher when his charge took control of running the slayers. She had sacrificed so much that not continuing to fight seemed a denial of her struggles. The immortal, like a true demon, had encouraged her along at watcher meetings, even practiced alongside training slayers.

He only had to step into the other room and stare at Buffy’s catatonic state to know it’d all been a lie.

Again the Cockney voice of her former lover sounded on the phone, roaring questions now in a mixture of fear and anxiety.

“She is gone Spike. Buffy doesn’t move, doesn’t speak; nothing.” He pinched the bridge between his nose and brow in distress, resignation lining his words. “The only way we can talk to her is through a powerful spell of telepathy but even then she ignores us. I guess I’m calling to ask for your help.”

The static of the phone was all that could be heard for a full minute before Spike responded: “I’ll be on the next plane over.”

***

It was like she was dead…

The Slayer, alpha added to her title now that there was more than one, lay on the bed, lax and in a constant state of dreaming. Every half an hour her body would twitch. It was the only sign that her magic had worked whatsoever, the spell between them causing her body to respond. A normal person would of immediately sat up, the force of the spell being so great.

Buffy didn’t even intake a breath quicker.

Her golden hair, streaked with red as a result of her ‘punk phase’ formed a halo around her head, some locks hanging off the side of the single bed. They had moved her to Andrew’s apartment, mainly for the fact that it was so wired that the electricity bill was a small fortune. It suited them all perfectly when the need for a break became necessary.

Buffy’s face had been neatly washed this morning by Willow, specifically for the purpose that it gave the slayer good vibrations. Their link was weak but she could feel the effects of it wherever it was that Buffy was caged.

The red head sighed deeply, cursing the immortal and anyone he associated with. There was no doubt in the witch’s mind that her best friend was trapped somewhere. The lack of ability to speak plus the odd way she responded during attempts to their messages was signatures of an entrapment spell. She felt the odd sensation of sterility which could only mean badness.

The sooner they got Buffy out the better.

If only we knew what he did to her.

The immortal had deposited Buffy’s body in a dumpster, careless as to where he left her after performing his spell. It would’ve taken more than just the demon to cast the magic but there were only a few with the power.

Willow was one of them.

Her fear for the safety of her friend had only been negated by her relief when finding that she would not be blamed for this catastrophe. Dawn had been called home immediately from her English school, Xander acting as her guardian following behind rather reluctantly. Already the brunette had fallen for another woman.

Willow didn’t know what to think of it.

The tremor along Buffy’s left side caused the red headed witch to caress her arm, soothing nothings flowing from her mouth. Each of them had been blocked when trying to enter the world she was trapped in.

She feverently prayed that Spike would be different.

They desperately needed a miracle.

You make me feel so guilty. When I look at the red streaks through your hair, that small tattoo which has been injected into the small arm I can only see what being away from the bleached menace has done. I left to take care of Dawn. I didn’t think that I would return to find a different person.

I know it isn’t pleasing for you to hear that I’ve moved on since her death and have even started seeing some one else. If you would answer back I’d probably be able to explain it better, get some support rather than this dead silence. They all accept it perfectly fine, whether that’s because she was ultimately a demon or because the memories are too painful I don’t know. But they do Buff. They forgive me for wanting to be with a woman again.

I can’t help but feel accused when looking at you. The loss of him is still transparent and raw, weeping with need. With Anya I can put it past me, forget the love of money and odd comments on human interaction. Her presence in everyday life only feels like a shadow.

It’s rather abrupt when the weight of her death forces itself upon me. But then it only happens with you.

Did you know that the only time I think about Ahn is when I speak to you Buffy? I stare at your eyes and can’t help thinking that if it wasn’t for Spike you wouldn’t be in this mess. Always were trying to get the evil dead guys to love you back weren’t you? Even when Angel turned all grr and Spike proved that he really was just a soulless demon. It only took one trip to Africa and a soul without the chance of turning into a reenactment of the ‘Romeo Juliet style of death, doom and gore’, to get him straight back into the house; into your heart.

I miss her. I can’t tell anyone but you because you’re the only one who can understand. Or at least I hope you can. Jenny’s passing has long since been dealt with and Willow’s still with that annoying slayer Kennedy.

I can’t wait till they call it quits.

WHY CAN’T YOU WAKE UP?

The chance of recovery is getting less and less Buffy. Will says that unless we find a way to achieve more direct contact than you’ll die.

I just know that if you responded we could save you, get you out and let you kick the Immortal’s undead butt. Giles is starting to search and interrogate his associates so he can find where he hangs out. The watchers all seem to believe that Angel and Spike will know where to find them. They were with evil inc for a long time and have to of had some knowledge of Immy’s whereabouts.

Giles has broken two pairs of glasses already due to cleaning them so much.

I guess that’s what I mainly came to talk to you about Buffy. Spike is coming here to Rome. Both of your undead boyfriends have managed to not turn to dust like we prayed for and just in case you’re ignoring me and trying not to listen I’ll repeat that.

Spike is alive and coming to see you.

Hope that makes you happy Buffster cause the G man certainly isn’t pleased. He would’ve been happy to keep the bleached wonder’s existence a secret for years if not for Will. Shows how much he cares to call Spike when they can’t even talk to each other for more than a minute.

It’d be nice if you were moving when he shows.


The sensation of a light pat on her shoulder awoke Buffy as the voice seemed to lessen. The male baritone was fading, growing lighter until the last five words were a mere whisper.

Talk to you later Buffy.

Her eyes widened for a moment, the dream like quality of Xander’s speech causing her to muddle the words. There had been something important about it, a name or word that would definitely change her opinions.

If only she could recall what it had been…

The sliding of the glass door caused Buffy to look up sharply, her body huddling into the side of the bed. Whatever they wanted couldn’t possibly be worse than a shot. Interrogation had been given up long ago.

The pale white of the orderly’s uniform was thankfully unaccompanied by the dull brown shade that signified a therapist or doctor. A clipboard was clutched in one hand, the fingers a pale white which grasped at the edges.

Something was going to happen.

If possible, Buffy shrank even further into the wall, a lone sheet bunching up at the scrambling movements. There was no way she was going to let them touch her today. Not when she was so close to working out what the voice had said. Xander often did not speak for long periods of time, possibly uncomfortable talking. What had he said? Oh yes:

You make me feel so guilty.

Buffy didn’t know whether to laugh at the notion of hurting an imaginary persona’s emotions or empathise. Anya, if she recalled, correctly had meant far more to her friend than any other woman, excluding her and Will of course. The hair colour was difficult to remember, varying from blond to brunette depending on whim. A love of money was the main memory that registered. That, and a gigantic fear of bunnies.

It was just one sign that she was going mad.

The clipboard being settled on the ground shook her away from her musings, the orderly reaching for her a moment later. The rough grasp of his hands along her bicep caused her to tremble knowing that her daily injection was imminent. It was the one constant in a place that kept her caged for hours on end.

The doctors had always told her that it was in order to calm her senses but Buffy couldn’t help sense an ulterior motive.

Hadn’t she always cooperated without the medicine? Why did she need such large doses?

The sting of the needle biting deep into her arm was all it took for a flood of warmth to enter her body. It had a similar effect to the serum Giles had injected her with during her ‘trial’. Buffy wasn’t sure whether or not to believe the memory, but it did explain the odd surges of energy that would travel up and down her left side. They were obviously afraid of something regarding her.

If only I could figure out what that might be…

The petite woman barely had a chance to protest before the orderly dragged her from the bed and out of the room.

It seemed that it was time to meet the other patients.

Where does he keep the dosh?

I’d been rummaging around the poof’s wallet for a good ten minutes before I realised that there was no way the wanker would ever keep money in such an obvious place. The offices of Wolfram and Hart must have seemed like a godsend after this hellhole. It makes a hell of a lot more sense after seeing what the cheerleader had to put up with.

No wonder Angel joined evil incorporated.

My demon could still smell the faint traces of other demons, Lorne being a major signature. The great poof hasn’t bothered to find out where the Plyean has been hiding, dismissing his likely survival as trivial. I only snorted and looked down, holding back the desire to call him Angelus…. it’d probably just set Peaches off.

The ambiance surrounding this place makes the seal over the Hellmouth look like a bleeding merry go round. I’m not sure that Illyria would appreciate the role of a carnie but it’s the only metaphor that truly fits the scenery. Angel himself would most definitely fill the role of a side show freak. I can easily imagine the heckling which would attract attention: “Come and look at the massive pansy Angel! See his collection of nancy boy hair gel and constant brooding. You’ll be bored to tears!”

Somehow I don’t think we would earn any money.

The drawers of the hotel were as barren as Darla’s heart and it surprised me for a few minutes. In my existence I have never known a place which housed hundreds of people to be so empty but then I should have remembered that Angelus is not anything if not a thieving bloody scoundrel with barely a penny to his name. Should’ve known he’d clean out the coffers at the first opportunity.

The big git had been awoken by my yells of alarm and pounded down the rickety steps into the foyer where I had been standing, listening to the bleeding Watcher prattle on. I don’t know how the bloke could talk to me like that and tell me that Buffy was in trouble with not even a tremor. Either he’s been hitting the brandy or the watchers are not too concerned.

When I get to Rome, they had better be cleaning those sodding glasses for all their worth.

Not surprisingly Angel wanted to tag along to Europe as well. His demon stunk of elation the moment I mentioned the Slayer and hurt in the same sentence. Angel might pretend that he’s moved on from Buffy but he’s the exact same as me: love’s bitch and desperate to be accepted.

We really do make a sorry pair.

Of course I told him no. I’m not brave enough to think that the Slayer doesn’t have any residual feelings for the ponce. I mean she bloody well kissed him after I confessed that she was the only woman I could ever love. If that isn’t a kick to guts then I don’t know what is. My grandsire seemed to accept it for several minutes, even nodding and returning to his usual brooding expression.

I naively had sighed in relief and started getting organised for the trip when the big git barreled into my back. My demon instantly came to the fore, growling like mad and lashing at Peaches face until we realised that he wasn’t attacking.

The poof was… crying.

Now I know it’s not necessary to restate the hatred between me and Angel. Fucking novels could be written about our loathing of each other and the lengths we went to cause anguish. Angelus had used me as a whipping boy from the moment I rose from the ground coughing up dirt. Drusilla may have turned me but he made me a monster.

Suffice to say, I was slightly more than perplexed when Peaches decided to soak my beloved duster with tears. The leather has seen bloody gallons of demon guts and blood but not once has someone broken down on it.

The whole experience felt incredibly mortal.

Embarrassed, I shoved him off roughly, a grimace covering the smirk that tugged on my lips when he flopped back onto the floor. Just a day before the brooding wonder had proclaimed himself renewed, a hint of Angelus showing through. I couldn’t help musing on how the demon felt to have his soul gain control. Probably as bleeding shocked as I am.

Angel brushed his knees, the glimmer of tears coating his cheeks as he struggled to stand up again. “Please let me go with you Spike. I need to see her.”

“That’s what this is ‘bout?” I asked with more than just a slight trace of irritation. “You break down on me like a bloody pubescent girl because you want to see Buffy?” I snorted at his tactic, shouldering off the duster as I wiped off the remnants of his weakness. It irked that he hadn’t been able to summon any remorse for Fred but still could conjure up emotion for a woman that was halfway across the bleeding world.

The vamp has serious priority issues.

“I couldn’t stand not seeing Buffy before she passed Spike. You don’t have a clue what it was like to see Willow sitting in the lobby waiting for me when I returned from Plyea. It was one of the worst moments of my unlife.”

I growled at his statement. As if the wanker had any clue about true misery. He hadn’t spent one hundred and forty seven agony filled days protecting the bit and fighting the urge to walk into the next sunrise. No, Angel had been busy strutting around and playing the big protector role.

Angel started to speak, perhaps to reiterate his right when I smashed him to the floor. I had had it with the stupid sod.

“You know absolutely bleeding nothing about what Buffy has gone through or in fact what I have. It was me that nearly dusted when protecting ‘your’ girls from a crazy hell goddess. It was me who risked my unlife night after sodding night making sure that no big nasty got a piece of the slayer and it certainly wasn’t sodding you who dealt with the repercussions of Red and company dragging her out of heaven.” My voice, anger filled and vicious had reverted back to the upper class accent William had spoken with. It showed how truly angry I was at Angel’s assertions. The large terror filled brown eyes confirmed that he was well aware of how close my demon was to snapping.

“Where were you in that alleyway Angel?” I asked bitterly. “Buffy was this close to following through with her death wish.” I held my finger and thumb apart by less than an inch. “And not once in all that time did you show your sorry arse anywhere near Sunnyhell. The only time I did catch a glance of your pathetic hide was right after the slayer defeated Caleb, even though your signature had been at the house. I guess it was too much for you to show some support for Buffy when her kid sis and friends kicked her out of her own bloody home.” I stepped back, willing myself to calm down. I had even started breathing, I was so furious. The shadow of Illyria in the background was most likely the big git’s one saving grace. Given more time, a part of me is certain I would have staked him.

“Don’t ever tell me that you suffered Angel. You haven’t even come close to what you deserve.”

I barely registered the groan of relief as I stalked back up the stairs. It was going to cost extra to cart Peaches’ sorry arse along, but was a necessary evil. After all I could use all the help possible. If Giles was insistent on doing away with Buffy for her ‘own good’ then Angel’s blind devotion would come in handy. That, and the fact that Angelus could be unleashed with only a little persuading.

If Buffy dies, nothing will stop me from gaining revenge on anyone who ever hurt her. I don’t think that my soul would really raise a protest over the notion either.

Illyria’s voice, so close to the Texan’s called out to me from below. She wore the customary leather, a stoic expression fixed firmly to her face. “Where will you be going Spike?” she asked demandingly.

I pulled the duster more firmly across my shoulders, noticing that Angel had moved back into one of the dull rooms. “I’m going to see about a girl, Blue.”

She nodded as though that had answered the major questions of the universe. “I will come.”

“The more the merrier.”

“I really don’t like planes.” Angel’s voice came out petulant and whiny, echoing in the tiny space and eliciting more than one annoyed groan. I thought that I’d done the poof a favour by even tolerating his presence but really all that occurred was me investing in a personal torture implement. No one should ever underestimate the git’s ability to drive you sodding insane.

The presence of the poof was already grating on my nerves as we dragged our sorry arses onto the plane and into the storage area. I had to talk some fyrarls into taking the dosh and even then there is only limited space.

If Buffy was here she would’ve suggested it as a way for me an’ Peaches to get all chummy.

Just thinking about the blonde chit makes my throat clench painfully. The watcher better have an excuse for letting this happen to her.

My demon has never been comfortable with enclosed areas. All of my worst kills have always been with my back against the wall, fighting fang and fist. I can’t help the way my leg bounces up and down insistently now.

Back when traveling with Darla and Dru, the nobles were always the first to die. Liam resented them for a life of bleeding luxury whilst he was ousted from pubs in sodding Ireland and laying in the mud drunk. All of our family besides m’self were born into more common circles. Part of the reason Drusilla had decided to join the nunnery was because it provided a safe environment. It didn’t reall matter that the sisters she was joiing later became the victims her bloody dolls were named after. I still don’t who the hell sodding Miss Edith was.

Somehow I don’t think Dru does either.

Blue is still sitting stony faced in the back area. She had declared as soon as we entered the tin bird that ‘no one must wake Gunn’, particularly not half-breeds like me and the brooding wonder. I didn’t even raise a brow at the demands.

Like any god-king – or self righteous chit with severe PMS issues – she only talked to herself in slow murmurings. I can still hear her now. I can’t say exactly why she decided to come on this merry little parade to Ripper’s. Gods know she can’t go back to a place full of dead soldiers, but I’m bloody well certain she would’ve managed. It makes me wonder whether ‘the shell’ is having more of an effect than Percy suspected. It might be that the former watcher’s death has caused her to go all brooding hen on us but then I highly doubt that.

Instead I think that something is changing them.

And I don’t know whether to curse or cheer on the results.

Even though he can only groan and rasp out a few words, Charlie still has kept on haranguing Angel. Seems that he can feel the same vibe and has noticed those odd flashes of the demon. Not hard to after the tirade about blood just an hour ago.

Only Angelus can’t control his appetite. Always was a whining bastard.

The whole experience makes me feel like I’m on some sort of family road trip. All I need now is for Blue to call out ‘are we there yet?’ and I will fully have entered the twilight zone.

Rupes will be more than surprised.

***

I really hate the apartment. Its purely irrational but I can feel my demon arch in irritation just being in this city. Rome has seen some of my failures when still bloodthirsty and desperate to make a name for m’self. It also has watched the Immortal embarrass me and the poofter whilst our women enjoyed the wanker’s attentions. Despite those obvious factors the main reason for hating the place has to be because of Buffy. The doorway which still wouldn’t be able to fit both me and the brooding wonder is the same as when I first discovered that Buffy had moved on with aforementioned immortal.

I choose to ignore the irony.

The small buzzing noise a mortal couldn’t hear, forces my eyes to look above the frame. The door’s not even open and I can already feel small cameras analysing my every move.

Sodding Andrew and his paranoia.

With her characteristic bluntness, Blue kicks at the door, making the wood shudder in its frame but not snapping it in half. I give her a wink, knowing that this is her way of being polite.

And that’s when I hear her.

“They’re here!”

The pure excitement which tinges the bit’s voice awakens lost feelings of pain and also friendship. She never forgave me for my actions in that bloody bathroom, the same way that I never have stopped blaming m’self. That she greet my arrival with something other than loathing is a miracle.

All too suddenly, the door flies back, a young gorgeous woman so completely different from the nibblet launching herself into my arms to greet me. Waves of chocolate brown hair cover the shoulders of the duster, obscuring my sight from Dawn. I can feel her though. All hips and curves that cause me to instinctively loosen my hold. This isn’t no fourteen year old with a childish crush. Dawn’s a full grown woman. Just the thought scares me. I notice that she’s gained a small amount of weight and try to focus on the small details.

How did I ever stay in LA for so long?

“I’ve missed you”. Her voice comes out muffled, soft sobs being followed by a hug that would make her sister proud. “Why didn’t you come sooner? I’ve wanted to see you for so long…” Dawn lifts her face to look at my own, dark blue eyes remaining the same despite the woman’s body she now wears around with pride. I know that there is more than affection inside her now but I brush away the questioning expression. To me she’ll always be fourteen and worrying over the color of her dress.

If only she would remember that.

Her grip seems to relinquish slightly at that though she keeps the warm smile. I’m probably the only good news that she’d had since Buffy fell ill.

Like the opening notes of a funeral procession, the watcher’s voice calls out from the living room inside, terse and demanding.

“I’m sure that they would like to come in some time this year Dawn.”

The teenager young woman beams at me again, blushing furiously. “Of course” she stammers. “Please come in Spike and company.” Her eyes not once glance over at Angel, dismissing his presence with barely a thought.

I can’t help being elated and flip him the bird. Who’s the favourite vamp now?

Just like I had imagined Giles stands by the kitchen counter, a cup of no doubt tea steaming uselessly. His glasses, for once, are not in his hands, but instead sit firmly on the bridge of his nose. The receding hair line which had steadily increased with every year on the Hellmouth is slowly growing back. It’s obvious that Rome has been good for him.

Though it had not stopped the git from retaining the normal feelings of distrust and loathing towards vampires such as Angel and I.

It was comforting in the fact that Giles was one man who wouldn’t change.

“Spike”. The syllable is pronounced coldly, as though stating a fact rather than my name.

“Rupert.”

Like the bit had done just minutes before Angel’s presence to my left was ignored, Illyria earns a cursory glance and Gunn a firm smile. I’d accuse the watcher of unequal treatment if I thought it would do any good. He’s never met Charlie before in his life but the simple fact that he was human seemed to make all the difference.

I feel like the tin man in that wacky ‘Oz’ movie that Dru was always so fond of. Every time she watched it, she’d prattle on about a beating heart. Silly bint didn’t realise that for a heart to beat it needed to remain inside the body.

I consider regaling the tale to Buffy. If anything will wake her up, it’ll be a gory tale of bloodshed. Always made her want to play ‘kick the spike’ before.

But then things have changed since then.

Dawn has moved into the room during our brief introduction and I realise that she’s curved an arm around my waist. I don’t know whether it was a symbol of solidarity or merely comfort but the watcher keeps looking at her with surprise before nodding to himself.

“I should have expected this” he mumbles.

Peaches decides that this is his one chance to actually say something without being staked. The wanker remembers with clarity the watcher’s impression of Rambo and the subsequent torching of our home. The Gypsy’s memory no doubt still remains.

Like the prat he is, Angel demands that Buffy be shown to him instantly.

And just like the father Giles is, the watcher ignores Peaches and instead continues to glare at me. Only after several questions does he turn and give Angel a dismissive wave.

“You’ll see Buffy when I’m ready to let you, and all your blooding whining will get you nowhere. In fact,” Giles pauses, looking up and down what once was a quarter of the Scourge of Europe, “I don’t even know why you’re here. It’s Spike that I contacted.”

“But I should have been!”

Willow’s voice, hardened and more severe breaks through Angel’s tirade. “No you shouldn’t. Spike is far better suited to help us than you Mr. Shanshu, which by the way I see has not magically fallen on you like an acme hammer. Whether you admit it or not Buffy has feelings for Spike. He has the best chance of reaching her, when compared to you.”

Angel stuttered for a moment, before uttering a weak “but she loves.”

“Past tense Angel. She loved you. The vampire which stands here now is not the same one who she fell in love with. Ever since you went to hell, nothing has been the same. Her feelings have changed, just like yours have. If anyone here is qualified in terms of the ‘deeply mourned, cannot breathe without telling new slayers countless stories’ category it really is Spike. Giles didn’t want to believe me either, if it’s any consolation.”

Angel’s low growl in response, indicated that it was not.

“Since I don’t want to listen to you and Giles exchange barbs or attempt conversation,” Willow added with more than a hint of reprimand, “I’ll get to the point of why you’re here.”

“Buffy as far as I can tell is trapped in what appears to be a magic induced coma. However if it simply was that, then I’d be able to free her. The coven has more than enough expertise at bending the energy waves in the case of the Slayer.”

“But it’s not that simple” interjected Dawn.

Willow nodded, also seeming to note the way the bit held just a tad too tightly to my arm. “Wherever Buffy’s mind is, it’s not in a peaceful dream land. I believe that they’ve locked away her consciousness in an alternate reality. That she is in every sense of the word, except physically stuck in another dimension.”

“Do you know anything definite?”

The witch’s face already drawn and thin became just that much more somber. “Only that she’s in pain. All her thoughts feel… scared, fearful. It’s like when I talk to her, I’m stuck in some cave and hands just keep touching me. No matter what way I move, they’re there. It feels stifling, containing.”

“Like a coffin” I supplied.

Willow’s quiet affirmation made my stomach roll in protest.

“I’ve attempted to enter wherever it is that she’s caged but mone of us can get close enough to actually remain corporeal. The spell doesn’t work on the living. There’s too much energy to be able to transfer all of a person into the environment. Heavy magic seems to block out anything that isn’t demonic.”

Angel, looking puzzled as always, pointed to Dawn. “What about her?”

“She’s considered human. The sealing of the portal by Buffy, halted any chance of her reverting to a key. Dawn is as human as Gunn. The most that I can transfer is our thoughts and I know that Buffy isn’t receiving them fully or if she is, then she can’t respond. I’ve been forced to leave the spell working consistently, in order to have any idea what is happening to her. It’s our only link.”

“The reason I called you Spike, is one you’re a demon so that should work in your favour and two Buffy has strong connections with you. If anyone has a chance of actually communicating then I think that you’re our best shot.”

”So you want me to do it because I’m a member of the undead club?” I scoff for a minute until I see the very serious expression of Willow. Girl’s on a mission.

“Yup. Just like Buffy you’ve died and come back, so to speak. The only reason I can talk to Buffy at all is because she is a hybrid of both. There’s the dead aspect and then there’s the whole angsty Buffy which is still alive and human. We need someone, or rather something to go in there and be all boy scout like. Your demonic status should put you under their radar and I’ll still be able to communicate with you once the link is established.”

“Link! Red I don’t know about this-“

“It’ll help Buffy.”

I eye her the same way I used to watch Dru when Miss Edith was ‘reportedly’ in a foul mood. “Can you promise that?”

“Well no, but I’m willing to try…”

“Right” I drawl. Let’s hope that makes a bleeding difference. “So what you’re really asking is if I’ll let you work magic on me and send me to wherever the wanker’s locked her away? I’m not all that keen on this idea Red. What’s to say you don’t suffer withdrawals? Or some nasty interferes? Magic always has consequences.” I shoot out the excuses, knowing that they are empty even before they leave my mouth. I’m already resolved to help in any way possible. I just wish they hadn’t waited until the last bleeding second to contact me. Red and the Scoobies deserve to sweat in my opinion.

Red groans as though she expected me to behave like this, hands twitching as a shiver of electricity races through her hands. There’s already enough magic running through the apartment to active a portal, but she seems to handle it easily. Angel smells it also, locking eyes before watching Willow just that bit more closely. Buffy and her are linked. For what purpose I can only assume to keep some small grasp of her location or Buffy’s whereabouts.

Dawn tugs on my arm, trying to lessen the tension which floods through my body as the scent of Buffy enters the room. I can just see a door open to the left, half hidden by the hall and immediately move towards it. The stench is sickly, overriding everything else in the power of it. Vanilla is mixed in but it’s covered by the tang of disease and even worse: fear.

The door moves aside far too easily in my opinion. Should be made of something impenetrable; to guard her. My demon feels like its clawing at my chest, worrying over her health even as my eyes alight upon her.

There are no major bruises. Slayer healing means that a day after she still wouldn’t show signs of torment. But I can sense something. There’s a belief trailing along the edges of my mind that there should be scars along her arms, tiny pin pricks perfect for letting blood or injecting. One hand brushes the skin as though believing it will suddenly appear.

And then I notice her hair.

Thick heavy streaks, the colour of throats freshly cut, are spread evenly over gold. It’s grown slightly longer since the night in that bloody club but this is a new addition.

Part of me wishes for Glinda if only to tell me of the slayer’s aura.

When I find the Immortal I’ll make good use of his gift. There are plenty of ways to torture a man for nigh an eternity.

With Angelus trying to make an escape, the whole thing could be kind of fun.

The Witch enters just second later, one hand, only slightly more pale than my own falling lightly on my shoulder.

I don’t shrug it off, oddly accepting the friendship she offers.

“When do we start?”