He could feel her pain, her shock at his dismissal.

She thinks she loves me.

But she couldn’t stay. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t do it if she were here. He was doing this for her, because he was HER champion. So he was sacrificing his unlife and the possibility that she really did mean it for her and the Bit, and if she died...anyways, the Bit needed her. Warmth crept up his arm, and he looked down to see their hands joined and flaming. Its simplicity was beautiful, but he didn’t have time to analyze the symbolism. He smiled a goodbye and began untangling their hands. She turn and ran. He watched the Uber vamps surge towards the exit after her. This time his smile was vicious. He gave in completely to the wonder and pain filling him. Time to see how this all played out.

The light got brighter, he could feel his soul burning him from the inside out. The voices of his victims began to fade, one by one, as the power of his soul filled every inch of his body. He felt his feet lift off the floor. Spiraling up into the shaft of light, he threw back his head and laughed. He could feel him self disintegrating, his shell of a body unable to contain the sheer power that thrummed through him. He was alive and electrified, the secrets of the world were his to know. Breaking free of physical bounds he exploded outwards illuminating the vast cavern below. He pierced the hearts of the uber vamps, sought out the dark crevasses of the cavern, found the creepy crawlies, so old they no longer had names, and sent them back to the Hell that spit them out. He kept expanding until he lit every nook and cranny. For one glorious, indescribable moment, he knew absolute peace and contentment. And then he was drawn back to himself with a sickening force...and then the roof came a tumblin’ down.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

The sun was just cresting the horizon, bathing the California landscape in a brilliant wash of colors. The world was rejoicing at another sunrise, another day. People were waking up, preparing for their day, blissfully unaware at how fragile their way of life really was. An old school bus, filled with wounded girls and a few empty bodies, ground to a stop at the very edges of the former town of Sunnydale.

A lone figure exited the bus and walked to the edge of the large crater. They had done it. They had won; the hellmouth that had dominated her life for the last seven years was no more. She was finally free of a life she had fought so hard to leave behind, of a life she had once thought she would gladly trade in for what other people thought of as ‘normal.’ There were now hundreds, thousands of slayers out in the world. Because they had won. The world would go on, people would live. People...but not Spike

A single tear made its way down Buffy’s face.

Thank you.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

It hurts.

He opened his eyes but it did no good; the darkness was so complete he couldn’t tell when his eyes were open. He couldn’t move at all, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t even breath. And then the pain set in. It consumed him until it was all had ever known and the only thing he could ever be sure of. It became his past, his present, and unquestioningly his future. He spent centuries there in the dark, alone with his demons. Their voices haunted him, mocked him, accused him. He was caught within his own mind having no breath to deny them and no body to distract him. The voice screamed, reminded him of the atrocities he had committed, mocked his please for mercy. Because he’d never shown any, had he? It was hopeless, he knew that. He deserved what was happening, deserved their vitriol, their mockery, their barbed words. But still he fought them, coaxed them, and begged them to leave him alone, tried to make the darkness swallow him.

Nothing worked. The voices remained.

He saw his first kill, eyes wide and scared. She'd taken too long to kill; he'd missed the artery, inept as a first time hunter, and she'd suffered for his learning. He saw Dru as he'd first known her, as sire and lover, beautiful and bewitching. He saw her eyes light up as he brought her gifts, felt pleasure in her laughter, promise in her kisses, and excruciating pain as Angelus swept her into his bed. The filed past him, laid beside him in the darkness, taunted him, and he screamed the last shreds of his sanity into the darkness.

Angelus laughed at him. Laid beside him, hovered over him, and whispered words like “weak” and “helpless” and “unworthy.” Angelus whispered commentary over the most painful aspects of their twisted, tortured relationship as visions of his lessons raged across Spike's eyes. He relived every moment that made him into the monster Buffy always claimed he was. (get away i love you soulless monster beneath me died died died ripped away) Not even Angelus could touch that pain.

The voices wouldn't stop. He realized at some point, through the haze of recriminations, that he didn't want them too. He could finally make amends.

At first the voices blended in with the others, just another part of the cacophony. Soon he realized these were louder and dissonant, disturbing the tenuous harmony of accusations, guilt, and condemnation. They intruded on his pain, disturbed what he knew. Dust sprinkled onto his face, the shock of a new sensation disrupting the unrelenting stream of inner turmoil made him shake. Touch, the word sprang unbidden into his mind, and vague memories of a time long ago echoed through his mind.

“He’s here. I can feel him. Hurry!” He couldn't understand the words, but the tone of the voice was urgent and female. He didn’t quite remember what female meant, but it spoke to something in him. He desperately grasped at the voices around him, trying to shroud himself in its familiarity.

“We are working on it. Your pacing not helping ma petite feu.”

Warm air tickled Spike’s skin, and eyes he hadn’t realized were open saw a sliver of brightness cut through the blanket of darkness. What was this? There was a word for it, he knew it at one time. What was it? Light! It was light! And he felt...slayer sang through his mind and memories of vanilla and safety and home echoed through him. He wept at these new emotions. She was coming to save him, home was coming.

The darkness fled, and she was leaning over him. Everything in his body screamed slayer. A name sprang forth. Buffy. Buffy. Buffybuffybuffy. She was coming for him! Joy bubbled through him. She was coming! Home. Home. Home Jeeves, come home, come for him!

“Spike?” The voice was gentle and concerned and...wrong. There was no vanilla, no gold; there was fire and cinnamon and...protection? but no Buffy. This was the wrong kind of female. He growled, a reaction that surprised him, and a thousand faces screamed at him, yelling “murderer” and “demon” and “monster.” Disappointment settled over him and he retreated into his pain. These sensations and feelings were too powerful, too many, and too new. And none of them were Buffy. Not Buffy notBuffy notbuffy she wasn’t here she wasn’t coming his Buffy was gone. Gone gone gone, and he finally felt the numbness he'd been seeking as a piece of him slipped away.

“Shit, we’re loosing him.”

He could feel power around him. And he could feel her, the slayer. The wrong slayer. But it didn’t matter anymore.

“I love you.”

“No you don’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Oh, God. He’d hurt the girl. Hurt the girl again. Hurt the girl hurt the Buffy don’t wanna hurt the Buffy-girl his Buffy Buffy’s not here notbuffy...

“Fuck, he’s not gonna make it.”

“A knife. I need a knife. Get me a fucking knife!”

He was confused. He’d hurt her, hurt his Buffy. He shouldn’t be tasting Heaven...and he slipped back into the darkness.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

“What were you thinking? Do you have a death wish? I though we worked through that years ago you stupid, impetuous, hard-headed, unthinking IDIOT. Do you--“

“You’re forgetting impulsive, rash, brainless, dense, reckless...”

Leto let out a shaky sigh before turning to glare at the...the...fucking SLAYER in front of him. Of all the stupid drain bramaged shit things she’d pulled over the years... “You could have died Lena,” he said softly. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She leaned into the palm of his hand and Leto felt his anger melt away. He never could stay mad at her. He could see the effects of blood loss in the paleness of her face and the sluggishness of her movements.

“Could have, didn’t, why do you think I keep you around? And regardless, I am a Slayer. I can handle a severely wounded vampire,” she said. She suddenly smiled, and Leto felt an unneeded breath catch that it was meant solely for him. “After all, I handle you on a daily basis. Spike doesn’t stand a chance.”

The vampire in question let out a low moan of pain, and Alanna's smile was gone.

“Alright boys, girls, and things. Let's load him and move him out. It's a long way home.”

---

A/N: So this isn't like anything I've done before. But that's one of the reasons I'm doing it. If you recognize parts of this, it's because it was on this site before, but I pulled it because it was NOT in good shape. I've edited and revamped it, and it's MUCH better. Good enough for you guys to stick with it, I hope. Let me know what you think.

Leto threw his lanky frame into a chair as a frustrated sigh forced itself through his lips. His gold-flecked jade eyes followed the bouncy slayer as she made her way through the room. There was enough energy and fire packed into her lithe frame to fuel six people...which meant watching her was more than a spectator sport.

“You are annoyingly optimistic sometimes, Alanna,” he griped. She gave him one of her blinding smiles, the kind that was as much in her eyes as it was in her face, and he felt the room spin away. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, her most striking feature being the burnt auburn hair cascading in a mess of curls she had long ago given up trying to tame; but she had a vivaciousness that made you look at her, remember her. She had a way of touching people, something intrinsic that encouraged and fostered an instinctive trust and good will. He’d seen her befriend the most jaded and abused street children, watched her step effortlessly into the good graces of the most suspicious criminal. She was genuine, completely honest--though she could deliver the most brutal news in a way that cushioned the blow if it suited her--and extremely intelligent. The twinkle in her deep brown eyes promised anyone she met an unforgettable time; he’d never met anyone who could forget Alanna. And she was scarily dangerous.

“He will wake up, Leto. You can’t put a time table on these things.” He’d also never met anyone as exceedingly optimistic as Alanna when she wanted something to happen.

“He’s been healed for weeks now. You know that the probability of someone waking up after the first week of a coma is--”

“Is a rule applicable to humans only. And he’s a vampire, remember? Nice light show on the hell mouth? City go boom boom?” Leto’s eyes narrowed at her flippancy.

“I remember. I remember you shoving your bleeding arm into that vampire’s mouth!”

“Oh, leave off!” She brushed him off like an annoying older brother. “I’m fine, not even a set of fang marks as souvenirs! Anyways, he may be physically healed, but mentally? Emotionally? That takes time.”

“Time? It’s been ages already! Even with your rather large...contribution.” He could feel a headache creeping up, the tension in his shoulders building. Spike needed to go ahead and wake up, and Alanna didn’t need to do stupidly reckless shit like shove a freshly cut arm into an unconscious vampire’s fangs.

“You do remember those...things...he was saying when we pulled him out, right? There’s no telling what he did, where he went, to survive. Though it obviously wasn’t someplace nice.” She laid a strong hand on his shoulder and began kneading away the tension she found there.

“You watched him too,” she murmured, her voice pitched soothing and low. “You know something of him. He’s hiding from reality, and I think he’s entitled to a little mental holiday. Goddess only knows what sort of tortures he came up with while buried under an entire city, drained to the point of dust. And all the shit he went through taking on the First?” She leaned over and wrapped comforting arms around him. “He’ll pull through. He has to.”

“I know. But he...I hate waiting. And six months is a long vacation Lenna.” For the first time he felt tension from the slayer.

“I know.”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Spike sat at the edge of a serene pond watching the sun climb lazily in the sky. Well, more like it was just hanging in the sky as it never really went anywhere; it just stayed in the same spot merrily blazing away. The pond was set in the middle of a beautiful clearing completely surrounded by trees and dense underbrush. There wasn’t a way out, the undergrowth forming a fairly solid wall around the clearing, but he didn’t really care. It was nice here. The sun glittered off the clam surface of the water, a cool breeze causing the occasional wave. He was in no hurry to leave.

Spike sighed in pleasure and stretched out, letting the sun warm him. It was a perfect day, the kind Impressionist painters waited their whole lives for the chance to capture.

“I really am a hopeless ponce,” Spike groaned to himself. No self-respecting vampire thought about paintings and beautiful days. They were all about the night, the kill...the blood. They didn’t lounge at the side of a picturesque sun soaked ponds after they saved the soddin’ world. Seriously, what kind of vampire spent his eternity reading Yeats and Chaucer and dreaming about Monet?

“You do,” a cheery voice informed him.

Yep. A beautiful day, minus the incredibly annoying chit who insisted on ruining it. She kept popping up when he was most relaxed, most content. And she wouldn't leave. He growled menacingly when she started poking him incessantly in the arm.

“What the bleedin’ hell do you WANT?” he roared. He’d tried to ignore her the first few times and had been treated to several of the most horrible renditions of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ ever inflicted on man kind.

“This isn’t about what I want. I have no wants. I am purely a creation of your imagination, so what I want is actually what you want, but you’re repressing what you want in favor of satiated complacency--“

“Now I know I had to have invented you,” Spike muttered sullenly.

“Satiated complacency,” she resumed with a glare, “AND if you were being honest with yourself in the first place, I wouldn’t even need to be here. Furthermore--“

“Would you bloody well shut up?!” There was no way in hell he had conjured up this ridiculously perky, overly-caffeinated version of Buffy. It reminded him of the Bot. He sent a sideways leer to the evil manifestation. “’sides, if I really made you up, you wouldn’t be talking. I can think of some much better uses for that mouth of yours!” Unlike the real Buffy, who would have gotten adorably defensive as her green eyes sparked with anger, this one just looked at him with a bemused smile. Which was highly irritating. “Furthermore, if I’m your creator and puppet master, why the HELL would I make you so bloody annoying?”

“I’m told bleach does odd things to the brain,” she said with a falsely innocent smile. Spike thought that if he clenched his teeth any harder he’d break a fang.

“Don’t you have something else to do? Other blokes to annoy? Psyches to return to? Oh! Here’s an idea! Go torment Peaches, make sure he doesn’t find that pesky moment of happiness!” Spike jumped to his feet and started to pace. Perky Buffy just gave him a patiently blank smile. If her plan was to annoy him out of this place, she was doing a damned good job. He was ready to start hacking at the thorns and vines that surrounded this little slice of paradise. He preferred the physical pain to the internal torment seeing this fake version of Buffy produced.

“Now Spike, is that any way to speak of your venerable grand-sire?” He glowered at her. Venerable his lilly white arse! That was it, he was done.

“I just want to get the fuck outta here and away from YOU!”

“No you don’t.” For the first time, mind numbing Buffy had taken on a serious tone, which commanded Spike’s undivided attention.

“What d’you mean ‘No I don’t.’ If I said I do, then I bloody well do.” He threw himself flat on the ground, grumbling about irksome know-it all dream people who didn’t actually exist. Buffy fluidly lowered herself next to Spike.

“You don’t. You know why? Because you’ve been able to leave since you got here. You know the way out. There’s only one path out,” she said, gesturing to the right. Spike clenched his teeth at the stupid, insistent bint. She was just as stubborn as the real Buffy and she was every bit as wrong; this place was surrounded by dense woods. There wasn’t a path! But despite his absolutely certainty, there, right before his eyes, was a rough deer trail leading away from his idyllic haven. He shook his head in denial, which earned a put-upon sigh from the blonde.

“You need to. No, you have to. You can’t stay here forever. You’re alive Spike! Well, alive in the undead sense of alive, but alive none the less. You have to go back. You were saved for a reason.” Her voice held a note of urgency that Spike fought hard to ignore. She reached out and touched his face, forcing him to look at her. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the mirage had been replaced. He knew with a certainty found only in dreams that he was looking at the real Buffy.

Her eyes were that confused hazel, not exactly certain of their color but closer to green than anything else, and they were filled with tears. She looked worn, there were bags under her eyes, and she had lost weight she had no business losing. The beautiful cascade of decadent gold he so fondly remembered was thin and matted. She looked unbelievably exhausted and world-weary; he just wanted to take her in his arms and let her sleep, protecting her from whatever was haunting her. His heart broke, and he achingly reached out for her. “I need you,” came the whispered plea. And she was gone.

He rolled onto his back with a how of frustration. Bugger. Love’s bitch, thy name is Spike.

It was time to leave.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Buffy woke up with a start, her breath coming in rapid bursts. She’d been having another nightmare about Sunnydale, those last moments with Spike. Every night was different, because every night she saved him...only to have him ripped from her arms again by some unseen force. She would wake up shivering and cold, sweat pasting the sheets to her body, and cry until she couldn’t any more, heaving sobs wracking her undernourished frame. But this time, it had been different.

She’d stayed with Spike, in the cavern, the fire from their hands traveling through them both until they were covered in it. She’d felt herself expand, merging with Spike, her physical body only a brief and insignificant memory. She’d felt whole and complete, but most important, she’d felt SPIKE. He was there, with her, part of her. And suddenly she’d been beside him, in a beautiful clearing with a dazzling pond. And it had been him, she was sure of it. No spell could ever duplicate the wealth of emotions she saw in those expressive blue eyes when he looked at her. She knew he could see her pain, see her misery; because life wasn’t the same without him. She wanted to grab him and hold on tight, to yell and cry and remind him that he promised he would never leave her...but all she managed was a strangled plea, a hopeful request that he would return. And his eyes, they looked so forlorn and tortured, but underneath it all was the overwhelming love he’d always felt for her. She’d held her breath when he’d reached for her, but the scene faded into darkness, and she woke up.

Buffy felt the last tenuous threads of her hope slip away that night, but couldn’t find any tears. This loss, this utter emptiness, was beyond simple human means of expression.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

He was in Hell. Everything hurt, his feet felt like they were going to fall off any second, and he was out of breath. He hadn’t been out of breath in over a hundred and twenty years. A few miles back, the rules had changed on him. His progress became sluggish and difficult, and he felt as if he wasn’t making any process. Spike stopped climbing and looked up at the road winding up the side of an impossibly high mountain.

“Stupid bloody fucking mental metaphors!” he ground out. He petulantly sat on a rock and crossed his arms. He was done. No more walking. He was seriously regretting leaving that pond right now. Except the vision of Buffy, so thin and pale, kept hounding him.

“How ya doin’ stranger?” That voice made him sink further into his sulk. Bloody fabulous. “Awe, you’re absolutely adorable when you’re pouting!”

“Oi! I do not pout,” he ground out. “’M evil. Evil does not pout and bloody well isn’t adorable!” He got up started walking purposefully away from the irritatingly perky voice. If he'd needed motivation, he'd found it. No luck, she was dodging his footsteps and moving easier than he was.

“Oh come on! Pouting is totally cute! Brooding is squicky. That’s Angel’s gig. You’re all “Oh, grrr, Slayer, I’m going to tell you blunt truths in my devilishly sexy British accent and then try to kill you!” Well, not so much with the killing parts anymore--I mean, you never tried THAT hard and you kinda saved the world--though pretending could be fun and--“

“Bloody hell you daft bint! Will you please shut the FUCK up? I’m trying to walk here!” The footsteps behind him stopped. Spike glanced over to see imaginary Buffy in full out pout, her eyes filling with giant crocodile tears. Stupid bloody buggering Nancy boy that he was, he couldn’t even be mean to the fake Buffy in his own head.

“Pet, I’m sorry, I am a bad, rude man, and--“

“You so are, especially since I was gonna offer you a lift! But nnnnnnooooooo, you had to go and be all mean and snarky about it.”

“A lift? What do you mean a lift?”

“Well. Not so much a lift as a hint.” She smiled proudly at Spike, who merely looked at her expectantly. “What?”

“You planning on hinting at anything any time soon, luv?” Spike said with a disarming smile. Subconscious creation or not, letting this daft version of his beloved in on his increasing impatience wouldn’t get him out of this mess.

“Oh. Well. You seem to have this fixation on reaching the top of this mountain you put yourself on.” He looked at her blankly. “Geeze, what is it with guys? Not everything is a giant phallic-like obstacle that you need to overcome, Spike. You’re in your own head, the rules hardly apply here. Not that you actually follow the rules or anything. But come on! Think about it. Why has your progress reached a plateau?”

Spike thought his teeth might break. He really hated cryptic bullshit.

“This is not cryptic bullshit,” Buffy informed him haughtily, “this is the Socratic method.” His jaw was ticking. He spun around and began striding purposefully away from his tormentor.

“Did it ever occur to you that you’re already there? That you can stop walking and just...wake up? Stupid vampire...”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Matilde liked to hum while she worked. It kept the overwhelming sadness she felt when she looked at the gaunt vampire lying lifelessly on the bed at bay. He was beautiful, despite the unavoidable thinness of his coma. She’d been assigned to tend him the day he’d been brought in, his body devastated beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. But he had healed, and over the months his body slowly emerged from the spelled healing casts that had surrounded him.

He was incredibly handsome, with his high aristocratic cheekbones and full lips. His curly hair, long and mostly light brown now, gave him a boyish air. She had to admit, he wore the bleached look well and had felt a pang of sadness when she’d given him his first haircut. But his body still lacked the fullness that only healthy muscle could instill. Even in a coma, he had a vibrancy about him that brought a smile to her old lips. Matilde just knew that when he was awake and animated he’d be bursting with life and energy. Of all the patients she’d cared for, this one got under her skin in a way none of the others had.

Humming something uplifting and cheerful, she pulled the sheet down to his waist and began gently sponging the pale slender form. He was much too skinny, she frowned, even with the copious amounts of blood they had been pumping into him intravenously. His ribs were poking through, and his stomach was almost concave.

She moved lightly over his torso, graduating to his extremities and down to his hands. She brushed the sponge over each of his long fingers. Piano player’s fingers, she thought absently as she brushed her sponge over his palm. Except her sponge wouldn’t move. She looked down in confusion, to see long slender fingers fisted tightly around her yellow sponge.

With a startled gasp, she glanced up at her comatose patient and was pinned by intensely blue eyes.

“Oh,” she breathed, completely and utterly entranced.

Someone had super glued his eyes shut, Spike was sure of it. They were heavy and leaden, and the amount of energy he was expending just prying them open was staggering. His eyes finally opened, but the world was fuzzy and indistinct. The room smelled clean, a muted hospital scent lurking underneath the sweet smell of fresh flowers. He felt something cool and soothing travel down one arm and then the other. When it reached his palm, he felt his hand spasmodically close around it. His eyes decided to focus on a rather startled older woman.

“Oh my,” she murmured, her voice soft and naturally soothing. Spike took in the matronly woman before him...who, judging by the breeze and sponge currently clutched in his hand, had apparently been in the middle of giving him a sponge bath. It took a couple of tries, but he finally managed to get his lips working.

“Mind tellin’ me where I am, ducks?” He winced as his voice came out rough and cracked with disuse, barely more than a whisper. His mouth was dry, and he felt weak; fatigue was setting in at an alarming rate. Something was very wrong. And then it came back. The cave. The Uber vamps. Buffy...the crushing darkness... He started convulsing, his breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He was feeling lightheaded. Oh God, no! What had...Buffy, the Bit...the voices, the accusations...everything swirled into a vortex of pain and horror.

Matilde watched as the man before her went from slightly befuddled to full-blown panic attack in the matter of moments. His distressed cries snapped her out of her reverie. She set the bedside alarm off and moved beside him, laying her cool hands on his, and gently began prying his hands loose of the death grip on his hair. Mustering all of her maternal instincts, she began talking to him in a calm and soothing voice.

“Spike. William. You’re safe, you’re in the hospital wing of a place called Haven. Nothing can get you here, this is a safe place, no harm can come of you, calm down, you're safe. You're safe, Spike. You've been here healing. Nothing can get to you, it's OK. Come on lovely, relax those fingers for me, deep breaths.” Spike’s fingers slowly unwound from his long, unkempt brown hair. He felt something warm spread through him, spiraling outward, chasing away the darkness and pain. He felt a brief flare of panic that something vital was missing, but the warmth suffused him and he began to calm.

“You were brought in with severe injuries; you’ve been in a coma for a very long time. We’ve just been waiting patiently for you to wake up. There you go, that’s it. Deep breaths, let it all go.” She eased his hands to the bed, and met his tormented blue eyes. A woman could get lost in those eyes, she thought. She heard movement in the hallway and smiled reassuringly at Spike. “I knew you were too beautiful to just lay there forever. Even unconscious, you’re far too full of life.”

Spike looked at this kind woman with surprise. This could not possibly be the real world, no one said things like that. Not to him. The door opened with a quiet pop and Spike’s slayer alarm went off full blast. He estimated she was about 5’5”/5’6”. She was tiny, though not Hollywood skinny, but genuinely athletically toned. She had long red hair--a deeper, more vital red than Willow’s--that fell in a riot of curls down her back. Intelligent brown eye perused him without any hint of fear or malice. Judging by the amount of power radiating from her, she had nothing to fear from most demons, much less one who could barely open his eyes.

Her sudden smile lit up her entire face, and Spike could just make out freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. She was...friendly was the first word that popped into his head. He was taken aback when she addressed him with the sincerity and familiarity of an old acquaintance.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, Spike.” Her voice was low and soothing.

“You know me?” The smile seemed to falter a moment before it was back with the intensity of a spotlight.

“Something like that. Matilde, could you inform the floor manager that Spike will be moving out of this room, and see if the apartment we set up for him is ready to go?” The old nurse nodded her assent and smiled kindly at Spike. He caught her arm in a weak grip before she had a chance to leave.

“Thanks luv,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he was thanking her for. Her scent permeated the room, and he had the feeling she had spent quite a good deal of time with him. He tentatively returned her warm smile.

“You are most very welcome, William,” Matilde responded, and with a gentle smile, she shocked the hell out of the decades-old master vampire. The quiet click of the door brought Spike out of his stupor, and he directed his gaze at the highly amused slayer.

“She...she kissed me!”

“Ah...yes...well, Matilde has a very well developed appreciation for the male form, and I suspect all those full-body sponge baths and muscle-building massages she gave you only fed her fascination...” Alanna burst out laughing at the vampire’s scandalized look. Her laughter was infectious, and Spike found himself smiling weakly. Despite her good humor, Spike was suddenly acutely aware that he was alone with a very powerful slayer and completely defenseless. He nervously glanced around the room, his eye alighting on anything that wasn’t female. Alanna took a few moments to observe him before offering an olive branch.

“Well...welcome back. Got any questions?”

“Yeah. Who won the world cup?” he asked flippantly.

“Actually, the final game is Sunday. France versus Italy. Portugal and Germany are playing the consolation game.”

“What? France is in a position to win the World Cup? France? The nancy little poof of a country that hasn’t won a war in...fuck all? You can not be serious!” The world had definitely gone to shite while he’d been out. Wait...if they were playing the final game of the world cup already, that meant... “How...how long was I gone?” The slayer’s grin faded and Spike felt the uncontrollable panic rising again.

“A little under six months,” she murmured softly. Spike closed his eyes and tried to fight back the swell of emotions. Six months. Six bloody months. “Sunnydale is a huge crater. You collapsed the Hellmouth, and the entire town became a giant sinkhole. We had to dig you out, but that...that took a while. You were...you were in pretty bad shape when we found you. We had to act fast to keep you alive, and--”

“You fed me.” He met her eyes as some of the memories came rushing back. The roof collapsing, lost in the darkness and pain, then the voices and feeling a slayer close by, wondering why it didn't feel familiar, and the taste of her powerful blood...of being pulled away before he took to much. “Why would you do that?” he asked softly.

Alanna seemed surprised by Spike’s questions, as if not doing it had never occurred to her. “Well...I really didn't need all of it to live. Figured I could spare you a pint or two.” She smiled sincerely, and allowed herself a moment to observe the myriad of emotions swirling through Spike’s expressive blue eyes.

”This is officially the weirdest day of my life,” thought Spike,”and that is really saying something.” Slayers didn’t save the lives of vampires; they staked them and then asked questions never. So what was she doing? She’d dug him out of the ground, put him in a hospital, and fed him. Stuck her bleeding wrist in front of his face and made him drink. That was...beyond huge. It was all about the blood, blood was life. She had given him her life. He wondered if she realized what that meant. And didn’t she realize shoving her bleeding wrist in the face of an unconscious vampire was an incredibly stupid thing to do? He cleared his throat and turned his attention to... “Don’t think I caught your name, pet.”

“Oh! Oh, wow, right, sorry, I’m Alanna. Lena to many, I have a slew of personal pet names, and I’ll occasionally respond to ‘Hey You’.” She smiled again and Spike was momentarily distracted by the complete lack of guile behind it. She was, as far as he could tell, being honest with him and completely unthreatening. Spike felt the last of his tension slip away.

“Well even though you obviously know me, name’s Spike.”

Her open and gleeful grin was refreshing. “Well hi Spike. Welcome to Haven, your home for the past few months and however long you’d like it to be in the future.”

“’zat so. You have cigarettes in Haven?” He grinned cockily at the censoring look she gave him.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do, considering you’re already dead.”

“You’re a peach.” She seemed to be waiting for him to say something else. “So...what’s this place called? Haven? What exactly is this place, diggin' vamps our of craters and wot not? An’ don’t you people have rules about fraternizing with the patients?” He was rewarded with a giggle.

“Oh, Haven’s a good deal more than a hospital. It’s actually a city of sorts. There are all sorts of people here, demon and human. It’s a safe zone; the land is consecrated, and there’s been no blood spilt here for...oh, several hundred years. Well, aside from the odd scraped knee and unavoidable accident. We have wards toos, lots and lots of wards. They wards don’t stop people from fighting, just from doing any serious damage; a lot of it is based on intent. We're something of a neutral zone in the supernatural community. A lot of treaties are negotiated here, and those can get a little crazy.” Spike thought it sounded like a global version of the chip.

“How come I’ve never heard of this place? Been a demon a long time.”

“Long is a matter of perception,” she said with a deceptively bland smile. “But we don’t exactly advertise, and most of the people who come here don’t leave. Ah, in a totally non-Bates Motel kind of way. And those that do leave are very protective of their time here. And let’s be honest...until a little while ago, you wouldn’t have been very interested in a town guaranteed to be violence-free...though there was this one time where a novice witch literally painted the town red...” Spike let out a bark of laughter at that.

“Yeah, well she gets points for creativity,” Alanna said with a wry grin. Spike was about to reply when he blinked and everything seemed to shift. Alanna was no longer standing next to his bed, but ensconced in a plush chair on the other side of the room, papers and books stacked on a small table beside him.

“Oh, hey! You're back!” Spike frowned in confusion. “Adrenaline crash. You're pretty weak. Fell asleep on me. But no worries, I didn't take it personally. How are you feeling?”

“Ah...'m OK,” Spike mumbled. He still felt incredibly weak and tired. He shook his head, trying to focus.

“Don't push yourself. You're not going to be 100% right off. Feel free to nod off whenever you want.”

A light knock interrupted their conversation. A young Asian boy who smelled of Brachen demon stuck his head in and told the slayer everything was ready. Alanna practically bounced out of the chair.

“You up to seeing your new digs?”

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Spike was mildly embarrassed as they wheeled his hospital bed down the hall and into the elevator. But Alanna had cautioned him against trying to get up, and when the act of just trying to sit up without help had all but wiped him out (again), Spike had readily agreed. He was actually pretty sure he fell asleep for part of the trip, because the next thing he knew, the sound of a key in a lock woke him up.

“Welcome to your humble abode,” Alanna announced, directing his bed into the homey flat. The door opened to a large, carpeted living room, complete with TV, couch, and coffee table. He could make out a kitchen and dining area (fully furnished from what he could tell) on the far wall, as well as a closed door. “You’ve got kitchen and laundry over thata way; that door is a guest bedroom with a full bath. This is the master suit.” She pushed open a door on the far side of the couch to reveal a large bedroom...without a bed. Spike belatedly realized he was IN the bed and wondered why they’d set up all the other furniture, but not that.

“You may have noticed that the decor lacks a little, how should I say this, color. But there are a lot of little shops around town where you can pick up any knick-knacks you might want. You’re also welcome to change out any of the furniture, just let maintenance know and they’ll come pick it up and even move in your new stuff,” Alanna rambled, filling him in on the ins and outs of his new home. Spike’s head was swimming, and he was afraid he’d landed in Bizzarro world, where people actually liked and respected him and you really got all this nice stuff for free just because. “You saved the world. That’s a big debt to pay.” Spike realized he must have said part of that out loud, and the look Alanna was giving him was penetrating and serious. He had to glance away from the intensity of her look and settled with studying his new room, his eyes alighting on a closed door.

“That’s your bathroom,” the slayer volunteered. “Set up to suit your special needs.” Spike barely had time to process what ‘special needs’ meant before she continued, “I’m gonna go and let you rest; you looked completely beat. But I’ll be back in the morning to answer any other questions you might have. And if you're feeling up to it, maybe some fresh air? Sound good?”

It was only then that Spike realized he was already half asleep. He gave her a small nod, before succumbing to exhaustion and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

“Impressssively done,” a sibilant, dry voice hissed.

“I would not have thought it possible,” a warbling female voice added. “He is naturally inquisitive and very bright. But he will have to deal with it tomorrow. You honestly think this respite will help?”

“In the short run, yes. But the long term? Nothing can stop what’s coming. All we can do is hope Spike will make it through.”

“Which one?” Leto growled impatiently.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Alanna’s voice held a note of resignation.

“Well you have to make a choice, you don’t have all day.”

“Yes, thank you, I know that,” she snapped. She sank further in her chair, studiously avoiding Leto’s annoyingly rational questions. The silence stretched between them, Alanna desperately searching for some way to get out of her current predicament, Leto perfectly content to let her think herself into a corner. After a long deliberation, Alanna broke the silence. “Isn’t there a magical option C?”

“Sorry, there’s a two spell maximum on your bed bound vamp. And I’m surprised you even did THAT knowing how he feels about magick and--“

“I get it, Leto, the guilt trip is unnecessary. But I made the call.”

“Yes, you did, with the knowledge that you’d eventaully have to make THIS call. And you do have an option C: remove them both.”

“But...the whole point of the spells in the first place was to-to make it easier for him. Ease him back into the real world--“

“The real world where the girl AND his injuries exist. Neither of which you can keep him spelled against for long. Oh, stop. Are you trying to add Death Glare to the Slayer package?”

“Die where you stand.”

“Don’t get snarky; you put yourself in this position. Make a choice, he’ll be up soon.” Leto tried to hide the smile that crept up on him as the slayer stubbornly pouted her way to the conclusion that *he* was right.

“Do I have to?”

“Did you just whine?” Leto asked incredulously. “There’s no whining in Slaying! You know...if I didn’t know better--and I do--I’d say there was something preventing you from being completely objective in this case.”

“Par-don?”

“Hey now, none of that. I’m just saying you’re...emotional. Beyond the point you usually get. It’s...disconcerting. Ooooo, Death Glare, take two. Well, practice makes perfect.” Leto congratulated himself at containing his laughter. Alanna was getting really good at the whole Glare of Death thing.

“Give me the crystals,” she ground out. Leto swore he could hear her teeth cracking under the pressure. “I’ll break them when it’s time.”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

An incessant pounding cut through Spike’s very pleasant sleep. Groggily forcing one eye open, he took a moment to assess his surroundings. Right. He’d been in a coma for months, miraculously opened his eyes yesterday, and met some scarily nice people who had taken care of and provided for his every need. He’d been moved into a two-bedroom flat, fully furnished though lacking the touches it would need to make it home. He smiled at the large high def TV; Passions would never be the same. The pounding continued, and a glance at the bedside clock revealed it was noon. No respectable vampire was up at noon! The pounding was getting louder.

“Bloody hell, WHAT IS IT?” he roared. Well, he tried to roar, but his vocal coardes were still a little scratchy so it came out as fairly normal. A fuzzy human-shaped thing was framed in the doorway. Judging by the amount of red in the head area and slayer tinglies, it had to be Alanna.

“Mornin’ Spikey McSpikersen!” her cheery voice piped. Spike mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like sod off. The irrepressible chit grinned wider. “Now Spike, none of that. I figured after being in bed for six months, you’d want to get off your pale lazy ass and see the town.” Spike glared at her through his one open eye.

“Incase you hadn’t noticed, Elmo,” he said slowly, “the sun is out. In fact, it’s very out because it’s noon, and vampire plus sun equals big pile o’ Spike dust.”

Her nose scrunched adorably. Just like...there was something poking at the edge of his consciousness, just beyond his grasp. Someone he should remember...

“Elmo?” Spike brought himself back to the present.

“Yeah. You know, the muppet who sings songs about poncey things and is sponsored by the alphabet? Right annoying voice, especially way too early in the mornin’?”

“Cute, and it's noon,” she said dryly, “Didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of one of your pet names so soon.” Spike looked at her oddly; what exactly did that mean? “Anyways, you silly vampire you. This is Haven. We’ve got a sun shield, courtesy of a few favors owed and a resident coven.” Alanna gestured up and spoke with exaggerated slowness, “Vampire no go boom.”

“Wait, you mean...” Spike trialed off, unable to even begin processing the implications of her words. He could walk out in the sun, feel its rays for the first time in 120 years, see the true, bright colors of the world again... “Well, then what the hell are we waiting for? Sign me up for the soddin’ tour!” Spike made to get out of bed, struggling with the tangled sheets.

“Spike...” Something in her voice stopped him cold. When he looked up, she was gazing at him seriously, even a little grimly. Spike had a feeling this particular slayer was only serious on special occasions. His apprehension grew as the silence stretched between them, thick with foreboding. She seemed to be steeling herself for something. Alanna took a deep breath and crushed one of the crystals in her pocket, lifting one of the small forgetting spells they'd cast over the injured vamp.

“Ah, well, remember when we told you we pulled you out of the rubble?” He nodded slowly, knowing instinctively that he was not going to like whatever she had to say. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge the memories of darkness screaming through his subconscious. “Six months is a long time for a vampire,” she said softly. “You were out so long be-because you were in a bad way. Really bad. Almost every bone in your body was nearly shattered. Including your...spine...” The room was closing in on him. This couldn’t be happening, not again. His head was spinning, and it was hot. He was in a tunnel, and the world was getting farther and farther away.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

There was something cool on his neck. And it was wet. And it kinda itched. And FUCK. Not again. Memories of Angelus and that damned wheelchair crashed in on him, remembering what it felt like to be completely helpless. This couldn’t be real, this was just a nightmare, he’d wake up any minute. Nonononononononononono--

“Spike?” The Voice seemed far away. “Spike, I need you to control your breathing, or just stop altogether. You're hyperventilating. Come on buddy, calm down, just let yourself relax, let it go. You’re ok, you’re going to be fine, just calm dow...good. OK, that’s it. You're doing great.” The Voice was soothing, and Spike felt the world realigning itself.

“Good, Spike. I need you to do something for me. I want you to try and move your legs. Don’t look at me like that. Jut try it.” Feeling utterly dejected, Spike half-heartedly asked his brain to move his legs. No one was more surprised than him when they twitched. Incredulous, he tried it again, concentrating harder. They really moved; not much, but he could control them, though the effort was exhausting.

“You’re not paralyzed. But you’re not revvin’ to go either,” she warned. “Your body had to regenerate a lot of tissue. You don’t have a lot of muscle left anymore. We built up as much as we could while you were out, but your legs were one of the last parts to heal completely. Most of your nerve endings, in every part of your body, are brand spankin’ new. You’re going to have to relearn to do a lot of things, including walking, which will be the last and hardest.”

“Why last?” Alanna sighed good naturedly at the stubborn set of his jaw. Damn vampire wanted to jump the gun on her, and she knew he’d try several times before he realized there was no getting around it. But that was fine; she preferred stubborn Spike to totally freaked-out Spike.

“Therapy,” she responded. “Try and pick up a corner of your sheet there.” Spike rolled his eyes at such a ridiculous request and did so. Or he tried to. His fingers couldn’t seem to grasp anything; they were sluggish and hard to control. He tried again, still unsuccessful. He glanced up at Alanna, a slightly panicky gleam in his eye. “Fine motor skills. They leave first and return last. So what we need to do is get your upper body strong. A lot of your leg therapy requires distributing your weight between your torso and your legs. Also, once you have upper body control, we can teach you to be completely independent. We’ve set up this apartment to be user-friendly, and you’d be surprised how easy it is to get along without legs once you know how.”

Spike was dubious. He'd been without the use of his legs once, and he hadn’t even smelled the scent of independence until he forced his recalcitrant legs to support his own weight. And that whole mess had ended up in disaster, the love of his life never forgiving him for betraying her precious Daddy. He closed his eyes against the memories of Dru leaving him for a Chaos Demon. Strange, that thought didn’t cause more than a slight twinge in him.

“Care to dum that down for the overwhelmed pet?” he asked wearily.

“It’s going to take time Spike. Time and effort. But we’re going to do everything we can to get you better as fast as possible. That one of our mottos here at Haven,” she said with a wink. Alanna grew serious again, adding, “Your progress will depend a lot on your attitude and dedication.”

“Well luv, I can pretty much guarantee you I’m fairly dedicated to getting my feet back under me,” he said. She grinned at him, and he felt a little better. Not much, but enough.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She pulled two light blue balls out of her bag and presented them to Spike. He took them, but was utterly confused.

“Ah...thanks, Elmo. Just what I never knew I needed.” She laughed at him, that bright illuminating smile back on her face.

“You’re actually quite right. These are strength builders. When you’re lying around here being lazy or watching Passions, just squeeze them. They’ll build muscle and strengthen your hands. You’ll get those pesky fine motor skills back quicker, and you’ll be able to start walking sooner.” He gave her a genuine smile, and Alanna marveled at how beautiful he was when he let the Big Bad Spike persona drop. “And before I forget, you start therapy and strength training on Monday, so enjoy the down time while you can.”

Spike was struck with a sudden feeling of anxiety. Between the news about his legs, therapy, and Alanna’s stunning kindness, his head was swimming. This was going to take some time to sort out and come to terms with...and he suspected he was being given a week to do so.

“You mind a rain check on that city tour, pet? I just...I need a minute.” Alanna's understanding smile didn't help.

“Yeah. That's cool. I'll check on you later, yeah?”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

“This is...I can’t...WHAT THE HELL?! No, SERIOUSLY, what the hell.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, noticed that!”

“Look, it was--“

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“You--“

“Were entrusted with him, directly from the higher-ups. I’m responsible for his rehabilitation. His attitude and progress the first month or two will affect the rest of his recovery; if he’s not sold on the whole process, looses sight of the final goal, he’ll be...he can't leave. We can't let him, not until we've helped him. He could be cippled forever. ”

“Forever is a long time for a vamp.”

“Reminding him of Buffy now will only cause unnecessary problems.”

“Is that why? YOU don’t want to deal with her? That's not fair to either of them. And they're problems he'll have to deal with eventually, you can't block his memories forever.”

“The spell stays.”

“You've got what, three, four months tops? It won't hold for long.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

“The memories are going to start trying to brake though. It’ll be little things at first, things he’ll dismiss...but when it stops making sense, when the things he does remember don’t flow or have any cohesion, it’s going to confuse him. And then he’ll start to remember his feelings, you won’t have time to lift it, and he’ll realize what that means...what you’ve done. Buffy, Sunnydale, EVERYTHING is going to come rushing back. He's smart, he'll put two and two together and come up with you. What are you going to do when it blows up in your face?”

“Apologize. Grovel. Be banished from his sight for all eternity. As long as he gets better, I can deal with the consequences.”

“Good. Now say that like you mean it.”

“There is no way in hell you will ever get me into that bloody contraption,” he said with steel in his voice.

“Spike,” Alanna said with exasperation. Stupid goddamned stubborn vampire. Exactly how did he expect to get around? And where did he get off making her sound like a petulant child?

“Never,” Spike insisted. He eyed the aluminum wheelchair with loathing. Memories of Dru’s defection and Angel’s mockery the time some soddin’ bint had dropped an organ on him swam before his eyes. Dru deciding that he was one of her little dolls, dressing him up and pushing him places, then leaving him helpless and stranded and the head of the stairs; being brought food by condescending minions; Angelus bodily picking him up and putting him in a prime position to watch Dru please her precious Daddy, Spike unable to escape. The anger and humiliation came rushing back with force, slamming into his body. God, he felt nauseous. A hand appeared on his arm.

“Spike? What’s wrong?” He jerked away, having forgotten Alanna was there. She looked worried, but he couldn't help it; his skin was on fire, her touch felt abrasive and bruising.

“I-I’m...sorry, I just...nothing to worry about, I’m fine,” he said gruffly, gently pushing her away. She looked at him skeptically. Bloody women, they had a way of trying to run his life. But he was not getting into that...thing. No bloody way.

“You’re not fine Spike. I get it, you’ve had bad experiences before, but I promise that no one will look at you with scorn or pity or anything like that. I promise, you’ll be in full control the whole time. And think of how nice it will to get out of this room and see the sun again!”

Spike stared at the loathsome chair and weighed his options. Alanna was, without doubt, one of the most stubborn slayers he’d ever laid eyes on; the likelihood of her giving up was not high. And the thought of being in the sun for the first time in over a hundred years was...well, tempting didn’t even begin to describe it. But the thought of being in that chair made his skin crawl and his vision to grey.

“The city is almost entirely wheelchair accessible,” Alanna wheedled. Spike snorted. Of course it was, this was a sodding Utopia. “Look, it’s either get used to the idea of the wheelchair for a while, or rot here in your room until you can walk again, which I’m not going to remind you is a ways off. Come on! It’ll be fun! Please, Spike? Pretty please with a giant, sweet, tasty cherry on top, with hot fudge and some pretty colored sprinkles?” Two dark brown puppy dog eyes pleaded with him to comply. “Or, I dunno, a bottle of Jack?”

I am well and truly buggered. Spike closed his eyes and fought back the influx of emotional turmoil that even the thought of being bound to the chair caused in him. So far, Alanna and the other Haven staff he’d met hadn’t given him reason to distrust them. They’d actually gone out of their way to make him feel comfortable, which was a whole other set of feelings he was also ignoring. This wasn’t the same situation as with Dru and Angelus. He wouldn’t be carried up a flight of steps by laughing, mocking minions, only to be left there because Dru’s pixies led her elsewhere. Alanna’s sanity wasn’t fleeting, and her attentions, as far as he could tell, weren’t fickle. And if what she said was true, then he couldn’t be stranded anywhere. Spike ruefully shook his head when he realized he was actually trying to convince himself the chair was a good idea. Eyeing it with distaste, Spike grunted out a mopey ‘fine.’ Before he could get his thoughts in order, Alanna picked him up and plopped him in the soft leather seat.

“Warn a bloke first, will ya?” he demanded in irritation. Had he been human, his face would’ve been bright red, just one more shining example of his pathetic weakness.

“Sorry. What can I say? I’m impatient,” Alanna said with an impish smile. He was sulking, his lips pinched and his eyes a steely, like a rebellious little boy. She decided it was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Spike was busy fighting back the smile her infectious grin was trying to coax out of him; he didn’t smile, he smirked! He was a soddin’ vampire for chrissake! Honestly, the ease with which this slayer made him want to grin like a soddin’ idiot disturbed him a bit. She must have cast some sort of spell that turned him into a dopey git or something. “You ready?” she asked as they made it into the hall. Spike had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized they’d started moving.

“Ready? For what?” His questions were met with silence. “What...Oi! Woman! Holy shit!” Alanna took of at a dead run down the hall, as fast as her superhuman slayer legs could carry her. All Spike could do was hold on for dear unlife. Bugger, he’d had an entire city collapse on him and survived to tell the tale, only to be murdered by an overzealous slayer who didn’t know her own strength. The world spun around and he found himself facing the wrong way, heart in his throat. But it was strangely life-affirming. An involuntary, half-insane laugh forced itself out of him.

“See? Wasn’t that FUN?” He glared at the cracked-out slayer, but his eyes held an amused twinkle he couldn’t disguise and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well fine then. Be boring and slow,” she said petulantly. He had to laugh at her absolutely adorable pout.

“Let’s go, pet. At a downright leisurely pace, if you don’t mind.” She stuck her tongue out at him before holding the door open, allowing him to wheel himself into the sun.

He instinctively flinched when the first golden rays touched him, expecting searing pain instead of the gentle caress. He looked at his hand, alight with the rays of the sun for the first time in over a century. He turned his hand over, observing how the shadows scurried across his hand as he moved. He looked up and saw the sky, cerulean blue with small white clouds darting across it and laughed. Joy invaded his soul, filling him, moving him; there were tears streaming down his face, seemingly at odds with the joyous laughter consuming him. He laughed until his stomach hurt and his face ached. He turned bleary eyes to his companion, and saw a few fat tears rolling down her own face, a soft smile alight on her plush lips. Spike decide if he couldn’t make this moment perfect by running around in the light, he could settle for second best. Motioning his guide to him, he waited until she was even with him before grabbing her head and kissing her with all the exuberance in his soul.

Alanna broke away with a delighted laugh, moved by Spike’s appreciation for something she often took for granted.

“Let's go pet! I wanna see the world!”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Haven was stunning. Nested deep in the heart of an expansive forest, a sense of peace and serenity permeated every aspect of the city. Spike had been shocked when he first saw the sheer variety of different demons casually strolling down the streets alongside humans and their mortal enemies without a discordant word or evil look between them. Spike had nearly fallen from his chair the first time he’d seen a Faryl demon conversing with a Latesh about the best chair to accentuate his mate’s yellow-and-brown themed kitchenette, a human sales woman dropping in her two cents every now and then. At first glance it seemed like the Stepford of the demon community. Spike even had a wild thought that the Initiative hadn’t been destroyed, but were perfecting their chips and he was a giant experiment, a guinea pig in a gilded cage. But, with Alanna’s helpful and piercing observations, Spike began to get a sense of the flow and undercurrents of the city. Ancient rival demon clans still glanced sideways at their counterparts, and generally avoided each other, but it was obvious neither one would dare disturb the sanctity of this place. Everyone still seemed to gravitate towards their own kind or close allies, but there were still diverse, mixed groups all over the place.

The different shops that lined the streets catered to every possible desire, from esoteric magick shops, to a food shop catering to Prio Motu and Carnyss demons (whose fare was pretty much ground sludge with mildew), to an Arden B. A large 50s-style movie theater sat at the end of one street advertising the new Johnny Depp movie. Large parks were frequent, and they passed several community pools, though a few were filled with a blue-green gunk that resembled pond scum. Which it very well could have been.

And he was in the sun. It was warming his skin, heating him from outside in. Everything was brighter in the sunlight: trees, flowers, houses. It was epic. He imagined a beautiful golden goddess bathed in this sunlight, sprawled along the green grass in a skimpy bathing suit...better stop that line of thought now, mate, least while in mixed company. His stomach growled, and he remembered he hadn’t actually eaten anything yet today.

They stopped at an open cafe where they could eat and Spike could enjoy the sun. Alanna seemed to be well known here, and Spike had yet to see anyone use any form of money. Just one in a long list of questions about the place Spike wanted to ask her about. She handed him a glass of warmed blood and settled in to eat her chicken lettuce wraps.
He took a sip of his blood and nearly spit it out.

“Fuckin’ hell Elmo!” he yelled. She looked up, startled and alert. “This...this is human blood!” Her features relaxed, and she gave him a “Duh, Moron” look that seemed eerily familiar.

“Well...yeah. Doctor’s orders. You’re on a strict human-only diet for the next month. Supposed to help with the muscle-building process and tie up any loose ends you may still have. After that, you’re back on the animal stuff buddy.”

“I can’t drink this! It’s...I can’t...but...” Spike trailed off miserably. He was so confused. What the hell was going on? The blood he was sipping was all the same type, but it was a mix of several different people. He could...feel them. It was old, but not spoiled. Kind of like the blood he stole from hospitals that were just about to be discarded.

“Spike, all of it is willingly donated by the humans who live here. We keep blood stock-piled incase anything, ah, unfortunate happens to our human operatives. Haven didn't start as a city; it was started as a base of operations for some rather risky ventures. We’re giving you the stuff we can’t really use any more--not that that doesn’t mean we heart you less. I promise you, no humans were harmed in the heating of your blood.” Spike gave her a skeptical look. “Either drink it or starve, because you can go anywhere in the city and every single person will give you the same. Ah, the perks of having a magically-enhanced food processing center.”

Spike was bewildered. Stunned confusion seemed to be his default mode these days. But...humans, in the multiple, were donating blood so that he could heal. A vampire, a demon, a worthless thing who couldn’t even walk on his own. “What is this place?” Spike muttered. This was too surreal to even begin to process. He eyes his blood with mild distaste. He couldn’t quite say why he was so unsettled. And the blood tasted...wrong? No, not quite. It was more like...forbidden.

“Haven was originally, and actually still is, the base of operations for a very powerful group of beings known as the Minean Seek. You’ve heard of them?” Spike stared at Alanna. Just when he thought she couldn't drop any more bombshells on him...

“Cor, the Seek? The Seek, the fifteen of the most powerful entities to ever walk the earth. The people who manipulate the demon world like a game of chess. Burned Carthage back in the day. THAT seek?” What was that a blush creeping up Elmo’s pretty little neck?

“Ah, yeah, well, the Seek...as a whole...wasn’t exactly responsible...Carthage was...but that’s not important. You've got the right idea. Basically, the Seek contracts their services out, mediating disputes, stopping the errant apocalypse, minor stuff like that. They’re the Keepers of the Balance, so they don’t really take sides in the whole good versus evil thing. They have their own code of conduct...kind of like The Godfather. This is their city; it's mostly self-sufficient, and almost everyone here at Haven is, in someway, a part of Seek operations. So we only need a few things to really get by here. Necessities--food, water, shelter, and most personal items--are all free. Some of the individual shops take currency, especially the human franchise stores. Those are legitimate, taxes and all.” She produced a map from her bag of tricks with a flourish.

“So, this area right here” she pointed to the north “is where the heavy muscle live, the people who are a big part of Haven ops. This is the Big House, where everything is organized and most of the Seek live. Every operation is staged, planned, and organized from here. All the housing you see, sort of branching out in a circle, is for those who work directly with the Seek. This is our resident coven, you have any magical needs, just ask them. And this is what we call Slayer Central--the small attachment to the main house is the training facility, bunch of slayerettes running around there. Directly across the way is our resident vampire coven, and the rest of the apartment complexes are species-grouped by floors. You live in the only completely integrated complex.”

He didn’t know whether to bang his head on the table and cry or just laugh like a maniac. Slayer training? Demon theme housing? A vampire coven? What in the name of all things unholy would an entire coven of vampires be doing here? His head hurt.

“You mean to tell me this place, the poster city for nonviolence, has an entire coven of vampires?” he asked incredulously.

“Spike, you of all people should know that not all vampires are the same.” She let Spike absorb that for a moment, before picking up their dishes and returning them to the cafe. “Alright, let’s get you back to your apartment; you look like you’ve had enough dramatic revelations for the day. I don’t even want to know what you’d do if someone told you the Oracles had a summer home here.”

Spike felt a welcome numbness settle over him. This had been way more than a jaunt through the sunshine. So many different emotions and thoughts were swimming through his brain so fast that he’d stopped trying to process them. Slayers donating their blood so he could heal. Therapy. The wheelchair. Not being able to walk. And entire coven of vampires coexisting with humans and fighting for the white hats--a COVEN. These weren’t a few master vampires with minions nesting in an abandoned building by the docks. A coven was a group of at least three master vampires and their childer, living together in a coherent community. He was so wrapped up in his musings that Alanna lifted him out of the chair and into his bed without a single protest.

After she left, Spike was too wired for sleep, so he set about doing the only thing that truly distracted him from his racing thoughts: compiling a list of things he couldn't do. He couldn’t write or turn the pages of a book; he’d tried and ended up chucking the blasted thing when his temper snapped. He could barely manipulate the remote control to his TV. Hell, he could barely pull his own covers up. Spike slowly forgot the tumult of Alanna’s revelations, the joys of being in the sunlight, and a depression settled over his heart.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Haven was silent and dark. Ominous and cold. Spike found himself at the same cafe Alanna had taken him to. The same thermos was on a picnic table, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles happily ‘Cowabunga’-ing, and he felt drawn to it. He unscrewed the lid and it started bubbling over, the smell of slayer’s life blood slamming into him like a wall. It was overflowing, spilling over the table, coating everything in its path, thick and sticky. It crept over the table and spilled down the bench, coating the grass, moving towards him. Spike frantically backed up, trying to escape the tidal wave of red. The panic was swelling within him, almost paralyzing.

Panicking, Spike realized he couldn’t move his legs. They were frozen and stiff. He fell over onto the ground. The swell of red was coming nearer. He could hear screams coming from the blood, see the faces of slayers staring accusingly at him as they died painfully. He tried to scramble backwards, but his arms couldn’t hold his own weight. He collapsed on the soft grass, sobbing in terror. It was getting closer.

“This is pathetic, Spike,” a deep voice said behind him. Angel. He laughed mockingly at Spike’s weak struggles. “Look at you William. Really, this is very very sad. I’m ashamed to claim you as mine. Can’t walk, can’t move, can’t ever keep the girl. Why are you still alive? You know, there’s really no reason for you to be here.”

Spike shook his head in denial. No, he was done living in Angel’s shadow, finished with his demeaning and hurtful words.

“Oh, Spike.” Hope filled him, the delicious feeling of love filling his breast. That voice. Buffy. His Buffy.

“Buffy, luv,” he pleaded, reaching desperately for her. She would help him, his Buffy. She was light and purity and goodness. She wouldn’t leave him stranded here, couldn’t even stake him when he was evil with a chip. And she had said it, that night, in the cave. Even if she didn’t actually love him, she had to care.

“He has a point, you know,” she said, seating herself on one of the picnic benches, jade eyes observing the tide of red hungrily lick at Spike’s feet. “You are kinda pathetic. I mean, come on. A baby could out crawl that.” Spike renewed his struggles with a feverish intensity, the viscous liquid surrounding his ankles. Screaming accusations rang in his head. He could feel the wetness of the blood on his calves. “You can always fight harder, be a little faster...but you’re always too late. Like the tower. You let me die, Spike.” He froze at her words. No. No. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard. He’d cried over her body, and cried when she’d returned. She said she’d forgiven him. She’d said! The blood was at his waist now, moving faster. “Goodbye Spike. Don’t worry, no one will miss you.”

Spike tried to scream, but the blood of a thousand slayers silenced him, filled his mouth and spilled down his throat. The world went black.

He was entombed in the remains of Sunnydale again. They were back, his demons, all of the people he had killed, glaring at him accusingly, haunting him. Anya was there, a long, thin line running from temple to waist. She looked at him with hatred and berated him for being too slow, for not saving her. Spike wanted to scream at her, ask her how he had failed her, but she was replaced by a sea of faces, his victims, surging towards him like the river of Slayer blood.

A bright white light shattered the darkness, scattering that assembled masses. Spike tried to avert his eyes from the sudden glare, but couldn’t. As his eyes adjusted, he absently noticed that the light wasn’t white; it was a blend of colors swirling together to form the most beautiful incandescent lightshow he’d ever witnessed. The darkness fled in front of it, skittering away. His terror was gradually replaced with a sense of peace and protection. There were figures silhouetted in the light, interrupting the dance of colors. Alanna was before him, next to a black man with inviting green eyes.

Leto the word was whispered into his mind by a symphony of voices. He decided that it fit. Spike marveled at their auras, a beautiful melding of black and gold. Leto grabbed his arm and pulled Spike out of the mire and into the colors.

Spike sat bolt upright in bed breathing heavily, the force of the dream pounding through his veins. Images flashed through his mind: the terrible river of blood, being caught underneath Sunnydale, a mesh of impressions and feelings and color. Fresh agony and fear ripped into him, and he stifled an agonized scream. He buried his heads in hands and began rocking back and forth to try and block out the images in his mind. He was so turned inward that he missed the gentle light that began filling the room as the peace he felt with Leto and Alanna in that luminous light was returned to him, seeping into his bones and calling him back to sleep.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

The light in the room slowly faded, each color coalescing and returning to the entity which created it. The fifteen immortal members of the Seek regarded one another.

“This will not be easy,” a raspy wooden voice proclaimed.

“He issss very troubled. He hassss known little kindnesss in life,” the Naga hissed, his thrashing tail the only sign of his discontent.

“But despite this, he has a good heart and a beautiful soul,” a third added, his voice a light tenor with a quality that defied his human façade.

“It will take time and dedication to undo what has been done.” The voice was a musical alto and held the secrets of the oceans.

“We must heal more than the body.” Murmurs of assent echoed through the chamber.

“What of the spell?” Silence met the question.

“The spell,” the Priestess said slowly, her blue eyes glowing slightly in the dusky atmosphere, “is partly his doing. A part of him does not want to remember, not yet. As long as he is stable, and nothing reminds him of...her...or provokes an emotional response, the spell could hold for some time. However, if he does come to break it himself, without proper handling and understanding, the results could be most unfavorable. Our work could come undone. I suspect the nightmares will continue.”

“The course is set,” a thick Russian accent slurred the words together slightly, “and we must deal with the consequences as they come.”

“We should delegate responsibilities now,” a lilting un-gendered voice murmured, “to allow our resources to center on the vampire.” Sounds of agreement floated through out the room.

“He will need two,” a willowy voice cut through the din. The entire assembly froze. When the Prophet’s eyes glowed red, the world stopped to listen. “There must be two to find success, two sides of a broken coin. The one shall guide the lost away from consuming rage and destruction. The other will heal the wounds of a childe. The whole will show the world that what was can be, and acceptance is the first step towards being accepted.” Her eyes returned to their natural state. “Do you understand?” The pair nodded. “His path will not be easy, and you must not give up on him, even when he gives up on himself. He will break into a million pieces in his quest to be whole. He will do great things if he believes.”

“Believes? In what? Himself? Good? ... Evil?” the woman asked. The Prophet shook her head.

“You are asking the wrong questions.”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Chapter 5: The Long Way Down

Spike slept through the next night and day, waking up bleary eyed, head pounding. He felt like he had the worst hangover in history but couldn’t remember what the hell he’d done to deserve it. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but his arms collapsed weakly on the bed, unable to support his full weight. His eyes focused on a pair of blue balls sitting on the unfamiliar bedside table. He felt a rising surge of hysteria. Blue balls. Ha. The tide of emotions threatened to carry him away, deeper into that dark place he could feel within him. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths, trying to center himself. He was alright. He wasn't weak. He could do this. Spike gritted his teeth. He may not be able to walk, but he sure as hell should be able to sit up by himself. That shouldn’t take much effort. He had no idea how incredibly wrong he was.

Twenty minutes later, Spike lay exhausted on the bed, a light sheen of sweat coating his body. What kind of person couldn't even sit up in bed without help? The exhaustion that overwhelmed him, sinking heavily into to every part of his body, wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt; not even when he’d been teaching himself to walk the last time. He felt like he’d just gone two rounds with the best slayer that had ever walked the earth and barely lived to tell the tale.

But a least you're alive, a voice whispered. He picked one tired, heavy arm up, and growled his anger when it started to shake. He didn't even realize the tears had broken loose until one splashed on his uncontrollable limb. He looked around frantically for something to throw, but realized all he had were his pillows...which he doubted he could lift at this point anyways.

The reality of his situation hit him with the force of a Mac truck. He was completely and utterly dependent on these people for his well being. If they wanted to, they could just leave him to rot here on this bed, and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. And Spike HATED to be dependent on anyone.

Let it out, that same voice whispered to him. Spike threw his head back a screamed with rage, frustration, anger, and all of his other pent-up emotions. He screamed until his already-raw throat refused to work anymore, and screamed silently after that, body tense and unyielding. He felt better.

With renewed determination, he tried again, but he barely had enough energy to weakly lift his head. The insidious voice of Angelus whispered at him, he was weak, helpless, and worthless.

He remembered his years under Angelus’ brutal tutelage, when he could never be good enough for the sadistic elder vampire. Spike was always lacking in something, whether it be his flare for the kill or his inability to claim Dru as his own. Angelus had spent years telling looking down at the younger vamp, so much weaker than he. Angelus was a sadistic fuck, using Spike's love of words against him, knowing just where to hit to make the most impact; and he always punctuated his words with some pointedly painful physical lesson. Then, as now, Spike had sworn to overcome the obstacles in his path: to take Dru from Angelus once and for all, to sit the bloody fuck up. Only he always failed. Not once in his life had he managed to truly one up Angelus. There had been that one time, with Acathla...but no. In the end, that had been Angel.
Sure, he'd tried to spin the whole soul-thing, tried to convince himself Angel was Angelus, that he'd still won. Spike snorted. Couldn't even convince himself of that one. He'd failed then, and now he was failing again. Just on a grander scale. Maybe there was something to Angelus' words.

Spike simmered in his misery, the overwhelming task looming ahead of him.

************* ******** *************

“This sucks,” Alanna muttered. “Why did they do this to him?”

“Because the price for saving him wasn’t one you could pay,” Leto said gently. Alanna glanced sharply at him to see if he was kidding, but Leto was quite serious. They’d been watching this particular vampire for a while now, and for all Spike had been though, the young vamp been dealt one hell of a raw deal by the PTBs. And Alanna was PISSED. He could feel her emotions raging beneath the controlled exterior she was presenting. Internally she was a maelstrom of emotions, seething at the Powers who refused to help Spike. Great reward for someone who had sacrificed everything to save the world.

“Ma Petite,” he murmured, wrapping her in his arms. She relaxed into him, tbut he could smell the rage pouring off of her. “Stop acting your age. It scares me when you’re mature.” He was rewarded with a curt laugh. They held each other, commiserating in their charge’s plight and seemingly needless suffering.

“You could always ask them.”

“I did. I got the crytpic runaround. Nedra is more forthcoming about her predictions and she doesn't even know what she's talking about half the time.” She pulled away so she could look at him. “How do you feel about it?”

Her brown eyes shown with concern and Leto felt a genuine smile tug at his lips. He brushed her flaming hair aside, savoring the soft curls and the sharp scent of her.

“I couldn’t help but be involved,” he said softly, “he’s family.”

************* ******** *************

Buffy stared over the shimmering lights of Rome, noting absently that most people would have found this view beautiful and tranquil. Buffy felt...nothing. Well, that wasn’t true. She felt something. She felt a lot of something. But she would rather feel nothing.

She felt him, felt his intent long before he got to her.

Her friends had told her to move on, that she had been moping around for long enough. Willow had started bringing over ‘co-workers’ a few months after The Day. Buffy really had no idea where Willow was dredging up such a steady stream of prospective suitors in Rome; regardless, she had no interest in any of them. There was only one person she wanted, and he only haunted her dreams.

A few months A.S. (After Sunnydale or After Spike, Buffy thought with a small smile that lacked anything approaching amusement), Buffy’s distressed, heart-broken cries had woken Dawn and a visiting Willow. They’d found her huddled on the bed almost incoherent. She’d managed a mangled telling of the dream about him, in a clearing with a pond, the story gasped out between gut-wrenching sobs. Willow had called Giles, who had promptly flown to Rome to cosonle his charge and to make sure she didn't do anything...drastic. Wills and Giles had both counseled Buffy about holding on to the impossible and how, for her own sake, she needed to let him go. They’d both refused to listen to her when she’d tried to explain that she needed to remember. Remember everything.

How he smelled, of cigarettes and whisky and leather and man. How he’d almost given up his life for Dawn. How he smirked his way through life. The clear, earnest blue of his eyes when he was telling her things about herself she'd tried to ignore. How he’s shown her life was worth living. How he walked, all jaunty and devil-may-care. How his bleached shock of hair disappeared when he became a stealthy predator. The languid, rolling gait he adopted right before a fight, and the power in his movements when they danced.

They told her that he would want her to move on, to find someone that could make her happy. They didn’t listen when she said that she couldn’t, that there was no one else. It was like coming out of Heaven all over again; they wanted the shiny happy Buffy back. Six months was more than enough time to stop having nightmares, to stop waking up in tears every morning for something she could never have. But it wasn’t. Not for her. Eternity wouldn't be long enough.

Only Dawn understood, so Dawn was the only one who got to see the real Buffy these days. Not that the other Scoobies looked deep enough to uncover her facade. (Not that they were really the Scoobies anymore; Xander had disappeared shortly after Sunnydale collapsed and hadn’t been heard from since.) She’d long since learned that they only saw what they wanted to, only acknowledged that which they needed to see to convince themselves she was OK. But they knew, on some small, hidden level, that Buffy had drawn away from them and the world, despite all signs to the contrary. And after endless weeks of convincing, coaxing, and lecturing, Buffy was going to ‘move on.’

“Are you ready, cara mia?” Buffy turned to him with a small smile, ready for her date.

************* ******** *************

Lounging in his pent house overlooking L.A., Angel turned his pensive gaze towards the east, as he had been doing for almost a week. He'd been minding his own business when suddenly the bond of family had stirred within him, signaling the awakening of his most annoying childe. Well, technically Dru’s most annoy childe, though the sire bond was far stronger with Angelus, who had trained and molded Spike since Dru was a less than capable sire. For all intents and purposes, Spike was his childe, marked and claimed as such. His childe who was supposed to be buried beneath the rubble of Sunnydale and out of his life for good. Only he wasn’t. So Angel had used his considerable influence as C.E.O. of Wolfram and Hart to track him down.

And come up completely empty.

According to every one of his sources--legitimate, illegitimate, and Senior Partner level--Spike was well and truly dead. Only Angel knew he wasn’t. And that was very disturbing, because Spike could ruin everything. It was time to start keeping a closer watch on Buffy.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” An annoyingly perky voice dragged a miserable Spike into consciousness. Spike cracked open a bleary eye to see just whom he had to kill to get a decent sleep. She was tall and willowy and most definitely a demon. Her hair was stark white and brushed the top of her waist. Her eyes were ice blue, but strangely warm and compelling. They were deep, almost...hypnotic. Her skin was white with a light blue tint that highlighted her features. Full red lips provided a contrast that made her truly stunning.

“Hi!” said Perky Voice, “I’m Sirra. I’ll be your physical therapist! How do you like the new digs? Sure beats a hospital. Man, I hate hospitals, they're so sterile and unfriendly, you know? And I really think people do their best work at home where they're comfortable.”

“Are you always this perky?” Spike interrupted grimly. Jesus, this bint could give Harmony a run for her money when it came to senseless prattle. Sirra let out a throaty chuckle that was completely at odds with the bright, grating voice she’d used earlier.

“Actually, no. That was purely for my benefit. Woke you right up, didn’t it?” With voice pitched to a less mind numbing tone and her ruby lips stretched into a genuine smile, Spike grudgingly concluded she was bearable. Maybe. But damnation, what was WITH this place and the shiny happy people who were ridiculously nice to him? Was there something in the water? Spike studied her as she walked around like she owned the place, setting towels, lotions, and other items around him. “So today is just a testing day. I'm going to test your muscle strength and build up, see about your stamina, and then we'll come up with a schedule. Any questions?”

“So you're gonna put your hands all over my tight, hot bod Lips?” Spike pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and gave her his best leer, trying for bravado he didn't really feel.

Sirra just laughed at the smirking vamp--this one had fire. That was good. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and was going to need every scrap of defiance and will he could find. Leaning towards him, she whispered in his ear, “You know it baby. And when I’m done massaging you, you’ll be screaming my name. I guarantee it.”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

“You bloody bitch! I’ll wear your guts for garters! Stop touching me!” Spike growled. So much for do no bloody harm; this was cruel, unusual, got-nothin’-on-Angelus torture. He raised his head and growled at Sirra when he felt her hands move to another sensitive part of his anatomy. “Goddamit! That bloody well *hurts* you daft bint!”

Sirra clucked her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Really, Spike. You’ve survived worse than this!” Something tugged at Spike’s consciousness, something that he should—fuck! “Come ON. It's just a little massage.” What the bloody hell kind of massage was this?

“A MASSAGE? This is not a massage. This is...this is worse than having my innards ripped out by a hell god, worse than the French winning the world cup! Angelus in a bloody tutu is better than this! Arguh! Seriously, who do you massage? Satan?” Spike whimpered and moaned his way through the rest of Sirra’s 'therapy'. “I hope whoever you’re shaggin’ knows what he’s getting’ into with you. OW!” Sirra smirked at her patient and got one last dig in before calling it quits.

“There, all done!” Sirra said in that perky voice that she knew drove him batty. Spike decided his future was not looking bright. “Oh, stop playing the martyr. It’s not that bad.”

Spike glared at her and swore under his breath. It’s never ‘that bad’ for the torturer.

“Alright, I’m going to put you through some strength-building exercises. You can do some of these on your own, but don’t over do it, and don’t try to improvise. You’ll end up doing more harm than good if you do.”

The next half hour passed in a blur, and by the end of it Spike was well and truly exhausted. He could barely lift his legs, and the few inches he managed left him shaking and drained. Sirra assured him he was in better shape than he thought, but Spike wasn't fooled. People who were in good shape could walk and sit up in bed, and didn’t need physical therapy. Despite her words of encouragement, he couldn’t help but think she was just trying to make him feel better. It would fit with the ‘Help the Spike’ game these people were playing. Sirra gave him a quick, professional rub down that left Spike feeling even more morose. He couldn’t make it to the shower without help, couldn’t undress, couldn’t get back out...his thoughts grew darker with every passing moment.

Sirra left him brooding and dark, closing the door with a long sigh.

“Well?” Sirra rolled her eyes at the eager slayer lurking in the hall.

“Hi, Lena, how are you? How’s your day been? Mine's been fabulous, massaging surly vampires all afternoon, but it’s good to see you too,” she dead paned.

“Right, right, whatever. Hi. How is he?”

“He’s not taking it well. He wants too much too fast. He thinks I’m lying when I tell him he’s in a very good place physically. He wants to walk now, but that’s not going to happen. He’s getting depressed, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Is there anyth--“

“No. He’s got to hit bottom and drag himself up. All you can do is be there when it happens and hope it’s enough.” Sirra met the troubled brown eyes, sympathizing with Alanna. She was, at her core, a healer. The Powers were playing some kind of cruel joke when they'd Called her. But that was in the past, and there was someone she could help now.

“Look, you should give him some time. If he’s still down when you go back, then there's a good chance he’ll hit sooner than later,” Sirra suggested. The pain in her friend’s eyes tore at her heart, but there was really nothing any of them could do...but wait.

“Yeah. Alright,” a subdued, distracted Alanna responded.

******************* **** *******************

Spike flung a mug across the room, satisfied with the sharp sound of shattering ceramic and the dulled thuds of the shards hitting the carpet. His anger spun wild and hot, and he wanted nothing more than to hunt something down and tear its throat out. Revel in its pain. A plate, the lamp, and a pillow followed in short order, their destruction not assuaging Spike's anger in the least. A constant, deep growling had filled the room as Spike rampaged in his limited space.

The sharp scent of blood drew him out of his stupor. He looked down and was distatnly surprised to see deep furrows scratched into his arm.

***

It was a moody Spike that greeted Alanna that evening, his jaw tight, anger and frustration simmering behind blue eyes. Alanna took in the destruction, the white feathers strewn about the room, her nose flairing as she scented blood. She saw the deep gouges on Spike's arm and frowned, but decided that the last thing she neded to do was call attention to it.

“What’s with the long face, White Fang?” Spike looked up at the smirking slayer, his incredulity over taking everything else.

“White Fang? Elmo. Seriously.” Alanna just shrugged unapologetically.

“I figure I’ll stumble across a truly inspired nickname someday. Not all of us are as gifted as you, Spikey McSpikerson.” She managed to draw a painfully thin smile out of the preoccupied vampire. “How’d therapy go?” she asked settling into a chair by the bed. She watched Spike retreat inward at her question. If this was how he responded to the first day, she was worried about the future.

“I brought you a present!” she exclaimed brightly, abruptly changing the subject. Reaching into her bottomless messenger bag, she pulled out her gift and set it on the bedside table. Despite himself, Spike had to look. A loud guffaw forced itself through his chest.

“Tell me that is NOT what I think it is!” There, on his bedside table, was a Dracula bobble head doll. Not those silly fake things they sold in souvenir shops, but a true likeness of the real Drac in bobble head form.

“Yeah. Dracula passed through here a while ago, thought he would set up shop in our nice little town and sow a few seeds of chaos and mayhem. He bailed pretty quickly when Dracula memorabilia started showing up. I think my favorites were the “W.W.D.D.” paraphernalia and the “Whack-a-Drac” game at the fair.”

“That’s...really kind of brilliant,” Spike said, enjoying the images of a Drac-themed county fair. Spike suspiciously though that Alanna was becoming a friend. She'd been by every day since he'd woken up and came bearing some pretty spectacular presents. And she seemed to genuinely enjoy his company...all of which made Spike suspicious. “Ready to rock and roll?”

“No sure about the rockin’...but I can roll,” Spike returned. Not suspicous enough to forgo her company. Especially considering she was his only friend acquaintance in this weirdly charming town. Alanna, for her part, decided not to comment on the self-depreciating tone, focusing on the fact that Spike was making jokes.

Alanna took Spike on a tour of the Main House where the Seek lived. He kept trying to guess if the demons who passed him were members of the Seek or not, sulking at her when she refused to verify his selections.

“I don’t think you even know them, Elmo. You’re just making the whole mess up.”

“Then why do you keep asking me?” she asked mildly, giggling at his frustrated growl.

“I’m hurt. Least you could do is give a bloke a straight answer,” he said, turning on his charm and looking at her with his wide blue eyes. She just laughed in his face, steering him towards the elevator.

“Eh, well since I run this entire operation, you don’t really need to know anyone but me. I mean, since I’m Top Dog everyone else is just the Little People.” Spike craned his neck around, giving her a “Don’t mess with the cripple” look. She maturely stuck her tongue out at him, the melodic laughter that accompanied the action music to his ears.

Spike was amazed at the entire operation; the Council could learn a thing or two from these blokes. There was a library in the basement that Giles could happily spend the rest of his life looking through and barely even make a dent. There was a giant vault filled with magickal items, some of them so powerful the literally made the hairs on Spike’s head stand up. Alanna even told him about some of the current operations they were investigating, including a hellmouth in Cleveland. Sirra popped up at the end of their tour and invited them to dinner in the building’s cafeteria.

“You know Alanna, while you’re hanging out with Spike, maybe you could, I dunno, toughen him up? He cried like a little baby during his entire session,” Sirra said. The mischievous sparkle in her eye took away any reproach Spike may have read into it, though it stung a little. He hid his reaction with a smirk and a shrug.

“Yeah, well, if Satan had retracted her claws, I may have enjoyed myself a little more,” he fired back, pleased when he elicited a strangled snort from Alanna.

“Wha...excuse me! I do not have claws!” Sierra spluttered.

“But you’re not denying you’re Satan,” Spike stated smugly.

“No, I didn’t...I never...Alanna! Control your vampire!” The red headed slayer just laughed and help up her hands as if to say ‘Don’t ask me.’ Spike took a moment to wonder at how easily he fell into banter with these people...and just how much he trusted them. Granted, some of that was manufactured trust. He was in a wheelchair and pretty much incapable of helping himself in any way. But a lot of the time, he forgot that; they didn’t make a big deal about it. Which was weird, considering his life revolved around physical therapy and Alanna's free time.

Acceptance and trust were not things the Master vampire was used too. He puzzled over his inclusion in this tight knit group and the alien feeling of acceptance as Sirra and Alanna bantered, tossing inside jokes back and forth with lightening speed. Spike sipped his blood, lost in his thoughts.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Spike,” Sirra said with a malicious grin. Spike merely leaned back and smiled serenely

“Ta, Lips. Save a special spot in hell for me, yeah?” Sirra turned on her heel and left in a huff.

“Anyone tell you it was a bad idea to piss off your therapist?” Alanna asked. Spike just grinned and took a long gulp of his dinner.

“Oh, you’ve got an eyelash, hold on!” Spike froze as Alanna leaned over the table and brushed a finger across his cheek, the atmosphere suddenly becoming much more intimate. He thought back to their short but powerful relationship. Ever since he’d woken up, she had been there, worrying and making sure he was comfortable. Sometimes, he caught her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking...could she...?

Mixed feelings were coursing through him, feelings Spike wasn’t ready to face. The slayer was nice, gorgeous really, great personality and a cute little ass, but... He wondered awkwardly how he could let the slayer down gently. She was really the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only person he knew here, but...

“Blow.” Spike’s eyes snapped to Alanna’s, his eyes trailing down to the proffered finger. There, on the tip, sat one dark eyelash. Her dark brown eyes were looking into his, a small smile gracing her lips. She was so close he could feel the heat of her body. Spike suddenly felt panicked, emotions warring with in him. A part of him was screaming at him to go for it, to move closer and let his breath caress her skin and move the tiny eyelash, take what was being offered. But a more powerful part of him was telling him this wasn’t right, that this slayer wasn’t for him. The ever-present darkness that had bubbled beneath the surface since his entrapment scoffed at the very idea of anyone being interested in an injured, impotent vamp. Spike forced the darkness back, covered it ruthlessly, and went with his instinct. He had learned a long time ago to trust his gut.

“Pet...” he faltered. If this turned out badly, he could end up alone, looking forward to torture sessions with Sirra if only for some sentient contact. In the short week he’d been here, Alanna had become fairly indispensable to him, his link to this world. To lose that now would be crushing. “I...I don’t want to, ah, that is...I don’t like you. Like...that...” He trailed off miserably.

Alanna looked from Spike, to the eyelash sitting on her finger, and back at Spike.

“What?” Spike felt like a right git. She looked so confused. Had he been leading her on? Had his--he winced at the thought--dependence on her sent the wrong message?

“God, luv--” he winced. Wrong word to use in this situation. Way to bugger it up, Spike. Just like everything else. “Look, I like you, being around you, but I can’t...date...you.” Spike watched her processing it.

“Oh.” Alanna blinked, her brain trying to catch up with the weird turn this conversation had taken. She stared at the eyelash on her finger tip, glanced at the really uncomfortable vampire before her and...oh. OH. He...Spike thought...

“OH!”

Spike wasn’t prepared for the peals of laughter that followed. He crossed his arms, a decidedly annoyed look on his face. Who laughed at being rejected?

“S-s-sorry, I--“ She looked at Spike’s annoyed expression and cracked up. Again. “You...I...you thought!” Spike was fairly certain that he’d have stormed out by now or sunk silently into a deep dark hole had he been able to. Besides, he was a good looking guy, it wasn't that far out to think someone might find him attractive. (Monster aside.)

“I’m sorry. You just...I’m...hold on.” A more collected Alanna pulled out a sleek cell phone and pressed a speed dial button.

“Hey, got a few? I’m in the caf. Sweet.” She tossed the phone carelessly on the table top. “Sorry. It’s just...been awhile. Since anyone hasn’t known. Kinda took me by surprise.”

“Known what?” Spike asked, his dark mood still firmly in place. Before Alanna could respond, a pair of slender dark hands drew her chin up. Alanna’s red hair and pale complexion contrasted with the dark stranger behind her, and Spike’s inner poet couldn’t help but admire it, the juxtaposition between light skin and dark. The stranger bent over and placed a kiss on Alanna’s smiling lips before settling on the bench beside her. The man in him couldn’t help but notice they were stunning together.

Spike was momentarily startled by the glittering green eyes that reminded him of...a face flashed through his mind, someone he could quite place; and there was a disturbing sensation that he’d met this man before. But that was impossible. He was fairly certain he’d remember a rather attractive black man with piercing green eyes.

“Spike, this is Leto. He’s my mate.”

An unbidden growl ripped itself from Spike’s throat. A more powerful one sounded from the dark vampire in front of him. Spike’s demon instantly flinched from the power behind that sound, and Spike was briefly overwhelmed by the age of the other vamp. He was older than Angelus. Much older…and *much* more powerful. And that was bloody terrifying.

Alanna watched the scene intently, her eyes flitting from each of them. If this meeting went badly...

Leto regarded the young vampire in front of him, his expression carefully blank. The challenging growl Spike had no business issuing had prompted an instinctual response from him, but he could understand Spike’s position. He was the weaker vampire, more so because of his current condition, and they didn’t know each other; he could smell the conflicting emotions and surprise radiating off of him. Leto wasn’t inclined to make anything of it unless Spike forced him to. He forced his demon down, his eyes changing back to their usual green and waited for Spike to make the next move.

Spike was surprised when the elder Master shifted completely into his human face and he wasn’t sure how to react. With Angelus and Darla, that little stunt would have brought immediate punishment; at the very best a painful demonstration of who was in charge, and the worst...Spike fought down flair of panic as memories flood him. Now was not the time. He wasn’t dealing with Angelus or Darla, and this place seemed to have a very strange hold over the demons in it. Spike slowly relaxed into his human facade, his eye never leaving the other demon’s. The elder vamp hadn’t made any threatening moves towards him, but Spike was still tense and ready. He had a hundred years of experience in vampire politics, and he knew one decision meant nothing.

Alanna let out a slow, shaky breath but didn’t interfear. What happened in the next few minutes was solely up to Spike and Leto.

When Spike tentatively shifted back Leto felt a tremendous weight lift. He reached deep within himself and pulled as hard as he could on the tenuous bond of family that connected him with Spike. It was faint, but it was there. For the first time in his very long life, Leto was genuinely thankful for his father.

Spike gasped as he felt the faintest tug of family coming from the vampire in front of him. He closed his eyes and concentrated. It was faint, fainter than any bond he’d ever felt before…but it was there. Blue eyes studied green ones.

“You’re family,” Spike said.

“Kind of,” was the gruff response he recieved. Leto slowly relaxed into a chair beside Alanna, his hand tangled in her hair. Spike’s eyes narrowed as her words registered in his mind.

“Mated?!”

“Yes,” Leto returned flatly. He regarded the incredulous vampire before him. They were walking a very fine line, and Leto was using all of his patience and resources to make sure they got through this in one piece.

“But…she’s a slayer…and-and you’re a vampire,” Spike said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which is kind of was.

“He’s a bright one,” Leto said mildly to Alanna. She smacked him lightly on the arm and gave him a warning look. Spike’s eyes narrowed.

“Slayers and vampires don’t mate,” Spike snarled. He briefly wondered why the notion bothered him so much. He’d lived a long time, seen a lot of impossible things, many more drastic and surprising than a vampire mating a slayer. Well. Maybe not, because that was just...weird. And wrong.

“Apparently they do,” Leto informed him with infuriating casualness. Spike bristled, some part of him wondering why he was reacting so strongly. Alanna elbowed Leto in his ribs. He sighed and changed tracks. “Why do you think that is?” Leto asked Spike. His words were laced with something Spike couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t sarcasm or contempt, but it was definitely there.

“You’re enemies. You can’t…you can’t just change the way the soddin’ world works. Vampires kill slayers, slayers kill vampires. You don’t stop a fight and just say, ‘Hey, Slayer, fancy a shag?’ “ Spike scowled when Leto started cracking up.

“Leto,” Alanna growled warningly.

“Oh, ma petite. You have to admit it’s funny.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” Spike demanded challengingly.

“Because that’s pretty much how it happened.” Spike arched an eyebrow.

“How’s that?”

“Well, see, there was this witch—“

“LETO! Don’t you DARE!” Alanna commanded. She slapped a hand over her mate’s mouth, but he pulled away and kept going.

“—who was royally pissed off at both of us. So she cast this lust cur—“ Alanna managed to get her other hand over his mouth.

“I swear, you will be sleeping on the FLOOR if you keep going! Not the couch, the floor! Without pillows!”

“..curse. So I go out looking for din-din and there’s the Slayer, and I feel this rush and I have to have her. And I did.” With that, he pulled a fuming Alanna onto his lap and kissed her senseless.

Spike had to admit, the guy had skill. Elmo was a feisty one who didn’t give in easily, but she was currently melting like chocolate in the hot sun. Spike felt himself getting a little uncomfortable as the couple’s…affection grew more intense. He noticed a few other demons glancing at the distracted couple, some rolling their eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

“Slayers are easy, you just have to know how to control them,” Leto said, throwing a conspiratorial wink at Spike. Alanna let out an offended sound and began pummeling her lover.

“Wha?! How dare you! Oh, you’re so dead! You don’t get to say shit like that! I am a person, I have free will, you do not control me! I’m your mate, your equal you half-assed sorry excuse for a vampire! You just see if your key works tonight you fucktard!” Spike couldn’t help himself. He started laughing as Leto dodged Alanna’s slaps and punches, offering absolutely no apologies whatsoever. She raised her fist back, aiming for his nose, when Leto opened his legs and Alanna disappeared under the table. Spike met Leto’s twinkling eyes.

“I’m going to pay for that,” the older vampire remarked. Leto let out a pained shout and rocketed up from his chair. “Stop biting me! Leggo!” Leto hopped around, Alanna’s teeth firmly embedded in his calf. Spike realized belatedly that the pair’s antics had attracted the attention of every person in the cafeteria…most of who were watching with an air of familiar amusement.

Alanna yanked Leto’s legs from out of him and pinned him to the floor.

“You owe me at least a dozen roses, some VERY expensive chocolate, a massage, and a pretty scarf by tonight,” she told her captive.

“Gonna let me tie you up, petite?” Leto asked suggestively.

“No. I’m going to let you in the door,” she growled. “But if your apology is REALLY nice, the scarf may be for you...” Leto growled softly, and Alanna smirked. She pushed his head down on the ground and turned towards Spike.

“Dinner was lovely, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Spike just nodded mutely when she stormed out of the cafeteria, red hair blazing.

Leto struggled painfully to his feet, limping slightly. He settled himself across from Spike, who eyed him warily. They regarded each other silently. Despite her silence, Alanna had been a calming force on the two, a sort of shield that kept them from saying or acting any other way than kind. But she was gone now.

“Want a beer?” Leto asked gruffly.

In that moment, Spike decided—albeit grudgingly—that Leto was a bit of all right.

Buffy laughed at a joke, let her hand brush against his arm, her eyes linger a bit on his face. Every movement, every word was a carefully constructed play, crafted and practiced. David smiled brilliantly at her, and Buffy felt a twinge of regret at her deception.

But only a twinge.

After all, she was just moving on.

***

Spike settled into something of a routine. He’d have breakfast and therapy with Sirra, then Alanna would pop up and they’d explore Haven. Leto was tagging along more often, and Spike was developing a deep sense of respect for the elder vampire. Not once did he mock Spike’s condition, or make him feel belittled. Despite his age and power, Leto never acted like Spike was inferior, which in Spike’s experience was not the way most vampires acted. He was musing about the odd turn his life had taken when Leto popped in.

“Ah, hi. Can I…come in?”

“Sure. Where’s Alanna?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing.” Spike arched an eyebrow. Leto seemed...nervous. “She’s…um, well, she’s…not here.”

“What?”

“She’s off on a mission so you’re stuck with me for the day.” It came out in a rush. Spike blinked twice.

“Well alright. What’s the plan?”

“Oh. Right, the plan. Been by the Coven yet?” Spike froze. The Coven? NO he hadn’t been there. Leto may have been different, but there was no way in hell he was setting foot in a building that housed God-knows how many vampires in it. Not stuck in this soddin’ wheelchair.

“Don’t think so, mate.” He felt the weight of Leto’s gaze on him.

“Scared?” Spike whipped around and pinned the black man with icy blue eyes.

“Scared? No. Aiming to survive? Yes.”

“They already know about you. New vamps in Haven? Rarer than you think,” Leto said dryly. Spike folded his arms across his chest and Let sighed deeply. Not a good sign. However, if Spike thought he had anything on Alanna’s stubbornness, he was very wrong. He’d been with Alanna for a long time now, and if she’d taught him anything, it was how to take care of stubbornness.

“Look, if you’re scared and don’t want to go, that’s fine. But you’re not leaving this room until you agree to go.” He almost laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Spike’s face.

“You…you can’t do that. This is Haven, all Rah-Rah Go Christmas and puppy dogs, let’s save the world. You can’t…hold me hostage!”

“Sure I can. Lena’s gone, don’t know when she’ll be back. I’m pretty sure I can convince Sirra you’re not up to exercise. She thinks you’ve been a little overworked as it is. It would be easy.”

“You…that’s wrong!”

“Vampire. Evil. Well. Evil might be a stretch at this point. How about morally ambiguous?” Leto suggested with a shrug. “Look, just come with me. If you don’t like it, you never have to go again.” He waited impatiently for Spike’s acquiescence. He could see the younger man thinking it over, his defenses wearing down, knew what the final answer woul be.

“No more house arrest,” Spike bargained. Leto did a silent Superior Dance.

“Never again, scouts honor.”

“Right. You out date the scouts.”

“Well…” Ok, Spike had him there. “I ate one once?” The two vampires looked at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Spike was nervous. The house looked normal from the outside, but he could feel the demonic pull that said vampires. Lots of vampires. Many of the windows were shuttered against he sunlight, though simply so the rooms’ occupants could sleep.

“You’ll be fine,” a gruff voice assured him. Yeah, Leto could say that. He could walk.

Leto wheeled him into a living area. Spike was surprised to see some humans eating in a kitchen, a couple rummaging through the stocked fridge...like they lived here.

“They do,” Leto said. Spike realized belatedly he’d said that last part out loud.

“But…why?”

“Depends. You’d have to ask each one of them. Some of them are servants, sort of a job passed down through the generations. Some of them are lovers. Some of them are…fans of the bite.” Spike’s gaze bore into Leto.

“You let vampires feed off of humans?”

“Everything is voluntary. We take a lot of precautions to make sure of that.”

“If they’re addicted to the bite, that’s not voluntary.” Spike had a flashback to some whey-faced hulk of a man writhing in a vamp suck-house.

“If they’re addicted they can get help. If they want it. Like I said, we have precautions, but we can’t help people who don’t want help. So we make sure they’re safe. Shades of gray, Spike.” Spike felt something uncomfortable stir within him and decided to leave the issue alone.

There were at least fifty vampires in the house, in various stages of rest. And he could feel them all. The Masters, the minions, the childer…and the one vampire sitting across the room in green that felt off, though Spike couldn’t figure out why. His eyes kept straying to him, trying to work out what was wrong. But he just couldn’t figure it out.

“So.” Spike looked around, trying to figure out how to ask his question without coming off as a complete git. Leto was looking at him expectantly, and Spike decided he might as well go ahead and make a fool of himself. “That bloke there, in the green. He feels…different,” he finished lamely. Great, just soddin’ wonderful. Leto turned a speculative eye towards the vampire in question.

“Oh. That’s Vaughn. He’s diligo.”

“What?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Diligo. It’s Latin for favored, loved.”

“I know the word. I don’t know what you mean.” Leto gave him a funny look that made Spike wish he hadn’t asked. Actually, he wished he’d never even thought to ask. “You know, forge—“

“Vaughn was sired as a minion, but he’s smart. Smart enough to control his demon’s impulsiveness and general stupidity. It pleased his Sire. So his Sire elevated him; he’s caught between being a childe and being a minion. He’s…diligo. Favored. Above all other minions; with his Sire's favor, and if he’s slick enough, he could end up having more power than a childe.”

“Could…could he ever become a childe?” Spike asked with exaggerated nonchalance, as if they were discussing the weather. He kept his eyes off of Leto, gazing around the room.

“No-o,” Leto said slowly, “childer and minions are different; one can’t be the other. You have to be turned that way. And only a childe can become Master.” Spike nodded once, studying the fascinating pattern of faux marble on the table top. Should he go for question three? He fidgeted, warring within himself. The desire to keep face, to not let Leto know the extent of his lack of education fought with an overwhelming desire to understand things about vampires that Angel had never taken the time to teach him. The scholar in him—the need to know—was the deciding factor, pushing him to go ahead and ask and deal with the consequences later.

“And what…would you say the…um, difference is between siring a minion and a childe?” Leto didn’t respond immediately. Spike wanted to chalk it up to this being a very complicated issue, but it had been almost a minute of silence. And Spike could feel those glittering green eyes that always stirred a strange emotional response with in him boring into the top of his head. Resigned to his fate, Spike finally met Leto’s gaze. Which was not condescending and dubious but contemplative and…concerned?

“Didn’t your Sire teach you any of this?” he finally asked. Leto watched Spike’s demeanor change, drawing in on himself and erecting a barrier between them, as present and insurmountable as any physical wall. An irrational flair of annoyance at Alanna for leaving him alone to face this raced through him

“’Snot important. You said if I came, you wouldn’t ask again, I want to—“ Leto was suddenly in Spike’s face, his eyes serious.

“Answer me.” It was the voice of an elder vampire commanding the respect and obedience of a younger member. And Spike couldn't help but obey (secretly didn't want to).

“Dru was a bit barmy and Angelus didn’t have time to teach me. He was too busy killin' anything that moved. Taught me some basics, but I learned most of it on m’own.” Spike shrunk back when Leto let out a vicious growl, his vampire face springing forth. Spike noticed with the nonchalance of someone whose death was immanent that every person in the room was focused on the two of them.

“That ape-headed, condescending, know-it all God complexed, broody foreheaded MORON!” Leto growled, shoving himself away from Spike, who got over his surprise quickly because he rather liked what Leto was saying. There was no doubt in Spike’s mind exactly who Leto was talking about.

“You forgot poncy git,” Spike added helpfully, a malicious grin on his full lips.

“I always knew he was a colossal waste of space, but shirking his familial duties is just—“ Leto cut himself off abruptly. “And the bastard's the head of the Aurelius line. Quelle merde.”

“You know Angelus?”

“I’m family, remember?” Leto asked flippantly. “Alright, let’s go.” Spike just sat helplessly as Leto began pushing his chair along; he wasn't in any condition to back up a protest.

“Ah, wh—“

“We’ll start with the fundamentals, move on from there. Master status can only be achieved by a childe, and not any childe at that. Minions’ demons are too weak to ever develop that kind of power and they’re generally too stupid to survive even if they could. Master status takes a combination of many different factors, including something intangible that’s inside each demon. Most of the time, you can feel it; it’s like…a spark that calls one Master to another.

“A lot of Master status has to do with how well blended the demon is. You’re aware by now that every vampire is unique; when a person is turned, the demon doesn’t just take over. If that were the case, we’d all be growling, mindless pack animals who couldn’t even skulk around the fringes of human society. The demon melds with the personality that already exists; that’s why one of the first things a new demon does is hunt down the people in its life. We all carry resentments, usually most strongly towards our own families because we can never really express them, but we’re stopped from carrying those out by the rules of human society. But when those rules suddenly don’t apply any more and you’re stronger, faster, and deadlier than any mere human…”

“You get a killing spree.”

“Exactly. In order to move from being a childe to a Master in your own right, you have to strike a balance. It’s mental and mystical. Some demons will never achieve master status; that’s the spark I’m talking about. Some people don’t have…the will, or the inner resources to make the conversion. There’s also power in names. When someone thinks and calls you a ‘Master,’ there’s a sort of…conveyance. They add to your power; every time someone says something, it adds to it.”

“Like a rumor. It keeps…growing with every telling,” Spike murmured. He was listening avidly to Leto’s words. Spike was barely paying attention to the light and the passing scenery. This is what he’d wanted to know for so many years, but had never been taught.

“Right. That’s a more mystical part of the Master thing. Usually, it takes a lot of time to attaint the amount of respect, and enough of it, to become a Master. Sometimes a Sire will help a childe along by announcing their status to the clan. A sort of cheat, if you will. But killing a slayer works just as well. Now, do you know how to sire a childe as opposed to a minion?”

By the end of the day, Spike’s head was about to explode. Leto had talked nonstop, teaching Spike everything he knew about vampire Lore and legend, and he still wasn’t done. In that one conversation, Spike had learned more about what it meant to be a vampire and their lore than Angelus had ever hinted at knowing. On top of it all, Leto had made up some rather inspired names for Angel. Spike grinned as he recalled some of the more vivid insults and threats Leto had leveled at Spike’s errant sire. Oh, what he would give to put them both in a room together…

“Five more seconds, Spike, that’s all I need. You can do it…come on! That’s…almost…and done!” Spike tiredly lowered his shaking leg, wincing at the burning pain. He collapsed back onto the bed, ignoring the wave of frustration that threatened to overtake him. He would not give in.

“You’re amazing, Spike,” Sirra murmured. “You’re way further along than we ever dreamed. You’re gaining muscle mass quickly; with any luck, we should start you on the walker soon.”

Spike simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Anger churned in his gut, and it took everything within him not to lash out. She’d been saying that practically since they started, always filled with complements—right after she demanded he push himself a little bit harder. More than three months of the same song and dance. But he still wasn’t walking. Even the exercises he did on his own weren’t helping, not that he could tell. Spike closed his eyes, blocking out his frustration and anger.

Sirrra started her muscle-building massage, trying not to wince at the anger and frustration she felt rolling through her charge. She only felt a little guilty not telling Spike she was an empath. But it let her keep Alanna, Leto, and the Seek up-to-date on the vamp, and he had some serious issues boiling underneath his calm, determined exterior. She shook her head; something wasn’t right. She’d been expecting anger and frustration, but this…what she felt in Spike had been growing for a long time. It was old rage, cold and calculating. She closed her eyes and slipped further underneath his façade.

Sirra gasped and dropped the leg she’d been working on, abruptly severing her connection. The intense pain and self-loathing…her eyes filled with tears, and she felt the pain physically.

“Pet? Are you alright?” Spike asked with concern. Sirra was usually a hard-nosed sarcastic bitch; sudden tears weren’t like her at all. And Spike had never been good with crying women.

“Yeah, fine. I…I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped. “I’m sorry!” Sirra rushed out of the room, her world spinning. There was something dark and sinister in Spike; something very powerful. It could crush him, destroy the person they’d all come to know. It was a boiling cauldron of doubt, anger, rage, self pity, disgust, self loathing…all rolled into one, volatile package. And it was just waiting for something to make it explode.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***
Buffy sat on the balcony, looking over Rome. She found herself doing that a lot these days, seeking the solitude of night. A small, humorless smile etched itself on her face, a pale imitation of the once effortless, effulgent smile that had brightened rooms. To think that once upon a time she’d shunned the darkness, thought the light was where she belonged. The truth was the light held as many scary things as the dark; they were just harder to spot.

Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

Footsteps approached her haven, and Buffy braced for the intrusion, sliding back into the shiny happy persona. The door slid open and she relaxed.

Dawn settled herself next to her sister. Their view really was spectacular. But her attention was focused on her sister and her mind on the front she was putting up for everyone. In a way, Dawn could understand it. Why she was doing…this. The Scoobies were nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to how they though Buffy should act or live her life.

“Buff—“

“I know.” The words held a certainty and conviction Dawn hadn’t heard since… She shook away the tears that threatened. Now was not the time.

“It’s…it’s easy,” her sister whispered into the darkness, her eyes far away. Dawn’s heart broke at the desperation she heard. “It’s easy to just…nothing’s been easy for almost a year, Dawnie. And this—it keeps everyone quiet, it gives me the time…please. Please, you have t-t-to under—understand. I n-n-need—“

Dawn wrapped her arms around her sobbing sister, grateful that some of her heartache had found a release. God, she understood. She understood too well. And she was pissed as hell at the Scoobies on top of it. Giles and Willow wondered why she barely talked to them.

“I know, Buffy. I know. And I forgive you.”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Malach kept his attention fixed on the third floor balcony, the two figures so close they melded together in the shadows.

“Yes?” his toneless voice spoke softly into his phone. “She’s there. They’re both there.” He watched the women dispassionately, marking their movements.

“Everything is in place; we can move as soon as you give the word.” His employer chuckled, a sound that held anything but mirth.

Malach ended the call, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Things were moving, being set in motion. He wouldn’t have to wait too much longer.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Sirra stood before the Seek, an annoyed frown on her face.

“How long?” The question hung in the air, mired in tension. She sighed, shaking her head. They weren’t listening. What was it about Spike that made everyone loose their heads?

“You don’t understand! This…this THING that’s building inside him…the anger, and rage, and the self-hatred…there’s not a timetable. But something’s going to set it off! Something small, something big, it doesn’t matter. He’s going to reach a breaking point, and all of his demons, all of his issues, everything he’s repressed…it’s going to all come flooding out. It’s going to break him. And he WILL break. But when he does, we need to be ready. THEY,” she gestured to the couple sitting beside her, “need to be read. And available.”

Murmurs flew through the chamber room, thoughts flying, the entirety of the Seek speaking and thinking at once.

“Then our only recourse,” a booming voice announced, “is to ground them. No missions until this is…resolved.” All eyes were fixed on the motionless Slayer and stoic vampire. Alanna and Leto didn't even have to consult one another.

“We accept.”

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Spike woke up bathed in sweat, breathing hard. He’d had another dream—no, another nightmare. They were getting more frequent, these dreams he could never quite remember. He always woke up in a panic, like there was something he needed to do, some pressing question he needed answered.

Colors flew through his fevered brain—red, gold, black, dark brown…almost chestnut, and eyes of green. The symbols made no sense, but they felt like they should.

He took a deep breath, calming himself. The colors faded, as they always did.

“Alrighty Spike! This is the Walker Extrodinaire.”

Spike stared dubiously at the contraption. It looked like a gymnast’s parallel bars, but a diaper-like harness dangled from tension wires coming out of the ceiling at one end.

“Looks like fun,” he said sarcastically. Inside, butterflies, bees, and all manners of insectae were crawling around his stomach. For the first time in a long time, he felt the urge to run. Because today…today he was going to walk for the first time in...months. Granted, he was going to be strapped into a contraption that supported a good amount of his weight…but he was going to walk.

“You’ll become best friends,” Sirra said dryly. “So, what we’re going to do is hook you up in the harness. The wires will be relaxed until you’re supporting most—but not all!—of your weight. Don’t look at me like that, we both know you’re not ready for all of it. Now, let’s run down the rules. If you start feeling dizzy or nauseous—“

“I’m a vampire, Lips.”

“—or just generally bad,” she continued undaunted, “you tell me immediately. We don’t want anything to happen that might set you back.” Spike felt a shudder race down his spine at the thought. Sirra stood in front of him, her eyes serious.

“Don’t expect too much from your first time, Spike. This is going to be harder than anything else you’ve done.” Spike nodded solemnly, but an irrepressible part of him was rejoicing at the chance to walk again. Logically, he knew this would still take time…but the idealist in him pictured himself running through cornfields to sappy music in no time at all.

“Alright! Spike, meet Ken and Dar. They’re my assistants. Interns, dontacha know. Boys…let’s get him suited up!”

Spike held his upper body up using the poles, his lower body completely supported by the wiring. He took a deep breath; if he had a pulse right now, it would be racing.

“You ready?” Sirra asked softly. Spike took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. Lower him down. Remember to keep most of your weight in your arms, Spike.”

The two interns relaxed the wires a little at a time until Spike’s feet were flat on the ground. He felt a rush of adrenalin and excitement pass through him; his feet were on the floor! The wire relaxed another centimeter, letting some of the weight pass to Spikes legs…and they promptly collapsed.

“UP!” Sirra hollered, steadying Spike before he flipped forward and bashed his head into the floor.

“Fucking hell!” Spike swore viciously.

“Now now. None of that. It was just the first go. Reset it.” Spike waited patiently as they reset the wires. “OK, you know what to expect now, so just…go with it. Gradual, slow, steady, that’s the key.”

Four more tries, and each time the same result. Spike swore a blue streak each time he fell. He snapped at Sirra, growled at the cowering interns, and felt a hot rush of anger well inside of him. He would do this, goddamn it! He would prove he wasn’t worthless!

“Spike, I think that’s—“

“NO,” he growled. With extreme force of will, he pulled himself up and set each leg down. Locking his knees, he summed every ounce of strength left in his tired, battered body…and stood. Sirra gasped; the sheer amount of power and determination broadcasting from the vampire was breath taking. Before she could stop him, Spike tried to take a step.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

“What happened?” Leto growled. A scared assistant nearly fell trying to get out of the enraged Master Vampire’s way.

“He’s broken,” Sirra said calmly, testing Spike’s reactions to visual stimuli. Nothing. He was lost completely inside his own head.

“What do you—“

“I MEAN,” Sirra said with annoyance, “he’s finally reached his breaking point.” Really, when would people start LISTENING to her? This was the reason Alanna and Leto had been grounded the past month. “Remember that ticking timb bomb of anger and self loathing I told you about? Well, it’s gone off. Took him long enough. You’re going to have to do…something.”

“That’s very reassuring, Sirra,” Leto said sarcastically. “Where the HELL is Alanna?”

“Right behind you, asshole.” Leto spun around and took in the worried countenance of his mate. She knelt beside Spike, her side pressed firmly against Leto's.

“So how do we fix him?” Alanna asked, a Slayer ready to asses the situation and lead her troops to battle.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Spike dispassionately watched the scene play out before him. It didn’t matter; after all, he’d lived through this before.

The helpless fledge had done something to piss off Angelus…again. He was tied up, beaten and bloody. One eye was swollen shut.

Angelus kissed Dru passionately, enjoying the heated whimpers of lust. Spike could smell them, the scent of their sex and Dru’s renewed excitement. He closed his eye to block out the sickening scene. His head snapped back, bearing his vulnerable throat.

“I told you to watch, Willy,” Angel snarled. He delivered a brutal blow to Spike’s unprotected stomach. “She’s mine, Boy. Watch what I do to her, to my property. And know…she’ll never be yours. You couldn’t hold her. Too weak and pathetic.”

Spike’s one good eye opened, fixing on the face of his Dark Princess, his salvation. He pleaded with her to ask Angelus to take pity, to say something, acknowledge him anything. But she just lounged, enjoying the show and his humilition. She arched her back and inhaled the scent of his helplessness.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Boy,” Angel said, licking the side of Spike’s throat. “You weren’t turned to be family. You’re just a glorified nurse maid.”

Spike felt shame and despair rise up within him; of all the things Angel and said and done to him, that was the one thing that affected him the most.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

“He could some out on his own!” Alanna protested.

“Yes,” Sirra conceded, “but do you really want to wait another six months? Spike seems to have a penchant for comas.” Alanna shook her head in frustration, ready to press her point till the end.

“He doesn’t like spells,” she repeated stubbornly.

“Says the Slayer who put him under two,” Leto said without any hint of judgment.

“I—“

“I know why you did it, Alanna. And a large part of me agrees and understands your reasons, otherwise I never would have gone along with it. But this is the safest, easiest way to bring him back. And we can’t not do it because you’re afraid of how it will affect the memory spell.”

A tense silence fell over the room. Alanna weighed her options carefully, but she’d know since a breathless intern had nearly broken her door down in desperation that there was only one path they could take.

“Summon the Seek.” She had a vampire to save.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Spike was fucking Drusilla into the mattress, pounding into her with all he was worth. She was his savior, his Dark Princess. They belonged together, like this, for eternity.

His mind screamed in protest at what was about to happen, but he didn’t stop it. He didn’t want to stop it, he deserved this.

Spike pounded into the supple flesh beneath him, reveling in the feel of her, demon face forward. He felt himself nearing the edge, and he struck.

“MINE,” he growled. He suddenly found himself thrown half way across the room, a crazed vampiress on top of him. Her claws ripped viciously into his cheek, drawing blood.

“NO!” she snarled, enraged. She swiped at his face, leaving marks that oozed borrowed blood. She lashed out, toppled him, sent her denile and revulsion through their common link. “Not yours! Never yours. What would Daddy say?”

Her claws kept attacking him, her teeth gnashing at his neck. In desperation, Spike threw her across the room. She laughed delightedly, pulling her supple form off the floor, all signs of the mindless rage moments earlier gone. She twirled around the room, humming to herself.

“My boy’s been naughty, and naughty boys don’t get invited to tea, my Prince.” She twirled about, speaking to Miss Edith and the Pixies, talking about her precious Daddy.

Spike lay on the floor, fighting back tears.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

“Who’s going in?” Celina asked. Leto and Alanna exchanged glances.

“It will take both of them,” Nedra interrupted. Her voice carried the force of certainty only a Seer could command. They solemnly acknowledge the Prophetess’ words.

“We're going to have to rework the spell,” Chadra’s whisper of a voice sighed.

“Rework it fast,” Alanna commanded, he face set into a grim line.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Spike felt every sting, relived every blow, and welcomed the punishment. It was what he deserved. He relived every insult, every demeaning act: Angelus forcing him into submission time and again; the dominance claim; Angelus’ idea of sex; Dru’s casual affairs and callous dismissals. But always, always, it came back to Angelus. A ripple went through him, but not enough to interrupt his own, personal peep show. Only now he had voyeurs.

---

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't updated in a while. There's a reason for that. Actually, a very very big reason.

My life is getting unbearably complicated, and I just don't have the time to write any more. I'm so sorry to leave so many works incomplete. And sadly, they'll probably never get finished. I could be convinced to leave an outline of what I had in mind. If anyone would like to adopt my fics, I'm more than happy to discuss it with you. This hasn't been an easy choice, but...I have to do it. It's not you, it's me.

Thank you all for reading. It's been a blast!

-Xela

Chapter 11: In Dreams

Dru was cavorting with some Chaos demon as Spike looked on, his face an expressionless mask. The demon was an ugly, slimy bugger. Spike stood as the love of his unlife dismissed him as if he were nothing.

“You’re not nothing,” one of the intruders whispered. Spike didn’t react, but the scene playing out before them jumped. Dru’s harsh words, designed to tear at Spike’s soul, repeated over and over again.

“She doesn’t deserve your tears, and she definitely doesn't deserve your love,” another voice added. Something in the voice pulled at Spike, but he wrenched himself back to the memories her was mired in.

The scene jumped.

Spike was thrown to the floor, already beaten and bruised. He was humiliated and naked, lash marks littering his back and legs. Angelus stepped over the writhing vampire, settling himself on a throne-like chair. A bullwhip was draped over one armrest. The malicious vampire gazed at his captive, an evil glint in his eye. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the shuddering form huddled on the ground.

“Crawl to me, Boy,” Angelus ordered. Spike struggled to move, but the marks on his back were deep and biting. He collapsed, crying out in pain.

CRACK.

The whip whistled through the air and sliced into Spike’s shoulder. The struggling vamp gasped, trying to move towards his torturer while everything in him screamed to flee, to run. But he couldn’t run…and even if he could, he had no where to run to.

“I said crawl, Willy!” The whip whistled again, and Spike’s anguished cry filled the room. He started crawling slowly and painfully towards Angelus, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Every movement brought excruciating pain. Spike’s arms collapsed, sending him to the ground. Angelus rose, eyes blazing with fury.

“I’ll teach you to disobey me, William!” He spat the name with venom. He kicked Spike over, rolling him on to his back. Spike screamed in pain as his tender back came in contact with the rough, dirty stone. Dust and grit bit onto the wounds. “You’re just a pathetic, worthless piece of shit, aren’t ya, Boy?”

Angelus’ laugh sent a shudder through everyone. Angelus took a few measured steps backwards, uncoiling the whip and watching it move sinuously. He raised the whip and brought it down as hard as he could.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Leto and Alanna took a moment to orient themselves as the scene abruptly shifted. They were in a dimly lit room; some sort of banquet room. An ornate chair was pushed away from the table. They looked around, but Spike was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly the double doors behind them burst open. Angelus dragged Spike unceremoniously into the room, dumping him onto the floor.

“Leto,” Alanna whispered raggedly, her soul crying out at the injustice Spike had been forced to endure. His strong hand found her, his glittering green eyes focused on the image of Angelus.

They watched as Spike’s will was broken, Angelus’ harsh words and punishing blows driving the strong vampire to the brink. Alanna gasped when a particularly vicious blow landed on Spike, tears streaming down her eyes. She’d known it had been bad, but…this?

Leto’s anger was growing with ever second. He’d spent a lot of time with Spike, teaching him vampiric lore…something his sire should have done. But what he was seeing here pissed him the fuck off. He’d experienced his share of the violence of vampire society, which could be vicious and unmerciful. But what Angelus was doing was something entirely different. Childer were supposed to be guided and taught. They were progeny and family in a vicious, immortal world. Angelus…a low growl forced its way out of Leto’s throat.

This was wrong. Where was the rest of the coven, who should be standing up for Spike, or at least curtailing Angel's treatment? Why hadn’t anyone done that? Childer weren't play things, that was what minions were for. Leto watched as Angelus ordered the weakened Spike to crawl to him. Leto’s vampric visage burst forth when Angelus flipped Spike on his back, grinding his wounds purposefully into the ground. Angelus raised the whip and struck Spike’s unprotected face, leaving a long gash on one cheek. He pulled back to strike again, and Leto made his move.

Using his preternatural speed, Leto threw himself between Spike and the whip, feeling the sting bite into him. But his demon shrugged off the pain, filing it away under the anger ascribed solely to “Angelus.” The blows reigned down, unceasing and unforgiving, but Leto refused to move, protecting Spike from Angelus’ assault. And for the first time, piercing blue eyes met his own, focused and clear and full of pain that went beyond this scene.

“You’re worth this,” Leto said, hissing as the whip struck his back again.

*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***

Leto stumbled into Alanna, drained and still feeling the sting of the whip. She supported him before getting her bearings. She gasped at what she saw.

Spike lay unmoving underneath a faceless woman. The woman was beating him, raining blows unmercifully into his face. Flashes of golden hair appeared and random times, and Alanna knew exactly what was going on here. The conversation was muted and garbled, but Spike just took the beating, not bothering to defend himself, eyes dead. Anger twisted in Alanna's stomach as Spike passively endured the abuse. Leto moved towards them, but Alanna stopped him.

“This is mine,” she said resolutely. With determination, she made her way towards the blonde slayer that even now haunted Spike’s subconscious.

The faceless figure was in mid-blow when Alanna caught the fist. The figure strained against her hold, but made no other moves, simply programmed to continue reigning abuse on Spike’s face.

“Spike,” Alanna said softly. The blue eyes she knew so well continued to stare up at the ceiling, far away.

“Spike.” Her voice was commanding, a Slayer issuing a challenge that couldn’t be ignored. Alanna’s entire demeanor changed. Gone was the young girl with woeful eyes and a penchant for mischief. In her place stood a Slayer; she was steel, a tried and tested warrior who would not be ignored. Her eyes flashed, and her voice commanded obedience and attention. Spike responded; dull, lifeless eyes flickered and fixed on her.

“I. Love. You.” Alanna saw surprise written in those eyes. Good. “I love you. As does Leto. You’ve become very important to us, William. We care about you, and we take care of our own. There is nothing, NOTHING we would not do for you. I will stand by your side until the end of time, fighting for you, with you. I will never give up on you, not even when you’ve given up on yourself.” A slight wince crossed Spike’s face, and his gaze wavered. “You're an amazing vampire, Spike, an amazing man. You fought to save the word, gave up everything for it, even though it’s never given up anything for you. But that was the easy part, fighting for the people YOU cared about. But now…now it’s time to fight for yourself.” Alanna bent over, getting closer to the vampire that had moved so effortlessly into her heart.

“You’re not a doormat, Spike. You’re far too strong for that. And while I’ll do anything for you…there some things I can’t. I can’t fight your battles for you, I can only fight them with you. It’s time for you to realize that you’re worth fighting for, Spike. So fight! Defend yourself! Because you’re worth it. You just have to believe.” And with that, she released the figure’s punch…

…into Spike’s waiting hand. He flipped the faceless person over and stood. When she came back at him, mindlessly swinging at his head, he blocked her punches, and sent one straight to her nose. The figure went flying backwards, lying still on the pavement.

Spike collapsed, gut-wrenching sobs shaking his lithe frame as years of degradation and humiliation spilled out of him, given up at last.