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A/N Many many thanks go to my betas, Holly and Schehrezade for getting me through this chapter.I can’t tell you how much you saved me from bombing.

Chapter Thirteen

The plan, as he’d suspected it would be with his uncanny luck with such things, was blown all to fuck as soon as they reached the hospital and found Jesse’s bed empty. It was simply too much energy to even roll his eyes. Spike tensed, finding himself in such new territory that he didn’t know how to act, wasn’t sure how to care that this boy was more than likely back in the clutches of his greedy great grandsire. He knew what was likely on the cards for him, and even if they did manage to restrain him and keep him away from the cravings Darla had been capitalising on, Jesse was more than likely on borrowed time. Spike had never seen a human seduced into the darker realms of life and made it out with any semblance of their former existence intact.

Buffy felt like screaming, but instead she just kicked the bed. Through the window, she watched the foreboding night that the turning in of Mr. Sunshine had left behind, feeling the swell of defeat on her shoulders. Its weight almost buckled her knees forcing her to the floor. She had this feeling, a leaden ball swirling around in her gut that something bad was about to happen, and whatever it was it would destroy their innocence for good. Well not her, she’d been deprived of innocence the second she’d killed a person with a demonic face—the first time her life was touched with murder by the loss of Merrick.

Spike draped an arm across her shoulders, hugging her to his chest as if he knew what she was thinking. He knew vampires though, unlike her with her limited experiences and associations anyway, so perhaps he did. Maybe even better than her. She was betting that his being of the demon would be an edge on understanding the realities of vampirism that an outsider could never grasp. Slaying was still of the new as far as her nightly activities went, but he’d been out in the darkness a lot longer. He’d been around for worlds longer. He knew the depths of the evil Jesse had immersed himself into. And most horrifying of all, he knew Darla.

The look on Spike’s face scared Buffy the most. It was a look that said he knew it was too late, and that he just didn’t know what to do about it. Tears prickled and she felt the cover of slayer slip precariously as she gave into the weakness of grief, barely held on her feet by a persistent vampire with need in his heart.

“Buffy? Pet, you can’t give in to it. He’s not dead yet, luv. Not if Darla plans to use him to follow me and dish up the dirt.”

Momentary hope blossomed in her eyes and Spike cursed himself for giving it to her. He knew it was unlikely that Darla would stick to the plan, not if she now knew Xander was aware of it. And she’d know. She’d wonder where the silly git got his fresh blood and why he wasn’t looking as peaked as the night before. Why he was flushed in his almost overwhelming need to be bitten hard, again, before the new blood had a chance to take.

Still, Buffy dealt with the realities of the world and no matter what he said, or which bubble he burst, he knew it would be just one at the front of a long line of them. If she wanted to cling to the string of this one just that little bit longer, he’d tie it to her wrist. He could do that.

“Where is he?”

The anger in the voice behind them made them both jump guiltily. They were in effect already mourning, and Buffy had thought she’d been very convincing in managing to keep Xander and Willow at the library. Seeing the hard determination in the boy’s eyes now, Spike felt like chuckling at how naïve she’d been. The life of Xander’s best mate was in the balance. No way was he going to stay out of danger while Buffy sought a little justice.

“W-we think he’s gone back to Darla.” Buffy tried to hide her quick swipe at tears but Xander saw it and his jaw flexed in fury.

“He isn’t dead yet. I’d know it—in here,” he claimed desperately, slapping his hand over his heart. “I am his friend, right? I didn’t save him last night to lose him to that bitch now. Let’s go.” Xander turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, his hand flexing in preparation of when it would hold a stake over the black heart of the one who had seduced and ruined his friend. He’d assumed the role of General and Buffy was faltering to catch up and gain it back.

“No, Xander. This is my job. I’ll get him back, but I can’t have you in danger too. Angel’s a loose cannon. We don’t know if he’ll be there or what he’d do if he was faced with losing his chance to out Spike.” Buffy’s voice was frantic, seeing too closely the possibilities of losing everything and everyone. Another friend narrowly bent on revenge could easily end up in a matching casket to Jesse, and had she really just admitted Angel had something to out?

The boy didn’t notice the falter in her step when she verbally slipped and virtually admitted he had been lying about the soul, that there really was something for Angel to find, but Spike did. And he hurt for her. Holding his secret shouldn’t be something she did, not if it was going to cause her pain. Now that he’d had the luxury of real friendships, he knew what it would cost her to be cast aside if her friends found out he was soulless and that she’d known and continued to lie. If they left her side, he didn’t know if she could remain strong every night. It was something slayers had never had—friends. Not even family that he could recall. Except the two he’d fought against and won. The Chinese girl—he’d pretended to not know what she asked him, knowing she was more than likely off her nut to ask him, her killer, to go and tell her mum she was sorry. Only way he’d be calling on that lady would be to see if she tasted as sweet as her daughter—or if the fire of her blood was strictly a slayer delicacy. The one in New York—he’d heard rumours and had even thought he’d detected a heartbeat as he fought her, but even that tenuous link hadn’t been enough to rid her of her lethargy. A son hadn’t been enough to fight for when she was surrounded by no one but the kid and her watcher. Keeping them emotionally bereft had seemed to make them fighting machines, but no one could exist without love forever. Not even when the burden of responsibility was a weight heavier than the world.

No one should exist without love forever.

Bloody good thing he was determined to stick around, even if her friends wouldn’t have him once they learned the truth. He couldn’t let Buffy know what it meant to be alone. The darkness would be too deep for one such as her to keep clear of, and he felt his heart unload that little bit more toward her that he had something to offer. Wasn’t much. He didn’t even know if it was good. But it was pure and he didn’t feel like she was revolted by it—not if the previous night was any indication. As dark as he was, he could hope that his love would be a light for her. He’d always been raised to believe in love—the power of it and the vast need of it in this world. He’d loved Drusilla—or thought he did, at least. Didn’t hold a candle to the wealth of sacrifice he felt when he looked at Buffy. His love was pure, and it was deep. And it was hers. For as long as she wanted it.

For now they were on the move. Xander continued to shrug off Buffy’s attempts to not just slow him down, but get him out of the mix completely.

“Xander, you can’t go into this with us. It’s just not safe. How can I do my job if I’m worrying about you too?”

The brunette jerked away, his eyes hard in their temper as he stared down his friend.

“I’m doing this, Buff. Nothing you and your wonder dog can do will stop me.”

Buffy stepped back as if slapped, Spike staring at the boy that he’d thought he’d had a shot of being mates with.

“You wanna have a go, Whelp?” He was all gruff and vigour, though he felt something inside seize up with the unexpected pain of losing something he’d never expected to have in the first place.

Xander had the grace to look embarrassed, and took a small step back before turning an apologetic expression to Spike.

“Look, I didn’t mean that. You’ve given me no reason not to trust you, and you’ve done more than help us in all this. I’m upset and I let my mouth do unnecessary laps of the Xander Hall of Insert Foot. I’m sorry.” His eyes implored Spike to understand his panicked reaction and see the insult for the desperate attempt to be in control that it was.

Spike could feel his body—previously taut in defence and ready to spring—loosen and risk a softening toward the boy. He knew what it felt like to fear the loss of someone that was cared about. Too many times to mention he’d thought Drusilla was as good as gone. As much as he was impatient with her now, as at an end as his reign of deluded love was, he never wanted her to be gone from his world.

He shrugged, a look of geek-like understanding passing between them before Xander turned and started back on his purposeful march. Buffy made as if to renew her objection, but Spike held her arm, shaking his head ‘no’. He understood the need that flowed through Xander for vengeance. The sadness in Buffy’s eyes showed that she did too. She was just afraid to lose more to this situation than she had to.

It was in a charged silence that accompanied their walk behind Xander, Spike feeling the warmth through his body as he ventured a touch to Buffy’s arm, feeling the tingles of happiness that she wanted him, him the man even as they made their way into battle.

Xander paused on the corner and turned a hate-filled glare down the alleyway, his hand up to stop them moving beyond him. A finger drifted to his lips to indicate quiet and they all stood and watched, stunned, as Angel stopped at a door, raised his fist to knock before thinking better of it and twisting the knob till it clicked and opened for him.

His angry voice burst loudly down the alleyway to their ears before the door was snapped shut. Buffy was just a second too late from grabbing Xander’s arm and preventing him jumping into a situation he wasn’t prepared for.

The boiling rage that evil had tainted his friend was enough, sparking Xander into motion he hadn’t planned on. He’d thought Jesse would see the foolhardiness of his actions and would still be lying and healing in his hospital bed waiting for visitors. In no part of his mind had he believed his friend was so stupid as to go back to his own personal freak show.

Not sparing a thought for thought, not caring about back-up or preserving his own life, Xander was off.

And the Slayer was left with the wretched vision of seeing her friend burst into a vampire nest with no details about what he would encounter and armed with nothing but bravado and a stake he wasn’t that used to wielding. Buffy’s heart rate increased even as she felt her feet turn to cement blocks and hold her motionless in the face of danger. Spike dragged her fast in the same direction Xander had bolted, his hands not quite rough but very urgent. Numbed in mind and body, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder as she was dragged into evil’s den—if not for Spike…

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel hadn’t been able to lift his head from his hands since he’d signed the death warrant of that boy. His sense of competition and pure intolerance of the vampire who had contributed a large injection of risk and danger to their family from the beginning was working hard at making him relinquish control. Not for the first time since he’d left Darla, with her pet collapsed in the alley, had he considered going back and retracting the deal. As much as he needed to know the score with Spike, as much as he suspected his grandchilde was up to something evil and dangerous, his soul cried that sacrificing a human to get the dirt was not the way to go about it.

Raising his head, he stared at his hands and marvelled at how well they shook. He looked convincing, like this tearing of motivations was not a small thing that he’d decided. That the pain of sacrificing life was not something he’d chosen lightly. Yet it had been something that had easily tumbled from his lips, his acceptance of Darla’s offer, and as much as he grieved for the life he already knew Darla would extinguish as soon as his use was at an end, Angel was ashamedly content to let the arrangement stand.

That didn’t alleviate his anxiety that she would doublecross him. Once his soul had made peace with his selected casualty of war, Angel felt the need to be sure Darla would do as she’d promised. Would use the little bite victim to good advantage and sort out his Spike problems.

With a lightness that both worried and relieved him, Angel donned his coat and left his apartment, the eyes of a predator scanning the surroundings. He hoped against hope to come across his bleached family so he could take action now and not have to depend on the reliability of Darla’s pet.

The term didn’t even make him cringe now. It seemed that once his head had resigned the boy to death, he didn’t need to worry about the decision. It was done, and the end results could be nothing but a benefit. If he found out Spike was pretending to be trustful, if he could prevent Buffy from being slain by her supposed boyfriend, then he’d more than done his job. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that the boy was as good as gone, whether Darla did the honours or not. He knew what happened to those that craved what Darla was freely giving him.

He’d been brought here, his presence sanctioned by Powers far higher than any other he knew of, to keep his eye on the Slayer and to help her whenever she needed it. Angel didn’t feel any doubt at all that she needed it now. She was trusting the wrong vampire, letting Spike too close to her where he could strike without warning and do more than a little damage. He felt like she’d made a fool out of him—with Spike’s help—and it fuelled a rage deep inside that Angel feared.

He’d reached Darla’s door before he knew it, paused and inhaled the ghastly stench of human flesh that had been fucking his sire and getting off on the flow of his blood down her throat. Angel couldn’t hold back the growl, didn’t even think to let his soul out to berate this primitive response to mate and food. He’d left, she’d moved on and this boy wasn’t that close to Buffy yet. Wasn’t someone her heart had become too attached to. What did it matter if he perished through becoming involved in dangerous addictions?

It was all he could do not to punch a hole in the door to announce his presence and then intimidate the boy into unmanly fear as he whipped Darla off the parody of a cock and beat them both senseless. He stopped at the sight, feeling his control slip as Darla growled at him, blood dripping from her fangs and tongue with the boy laid out unconscious and pale on the bed. His heart faltered, his body ghostly and Angel had to fight to control his hunger.

His soul didn’t feel a thing.





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