"Fred! Fred, are you all right?" She opened her eyes, blinking away afterimages, to see Wesley kneeling beside her, hands gripping her arms. He smiled in relief as she focused on his face, and she let him pull her upright.

"I… yeah," she replied. Somehow she'd ended up sitting on the floor, propped against the cabinets under one of the lab tables. Her butt was a little sore from where she'd landed, but otherwise… "Yeah, I'm fine."

Still blinking, Fred stood, surveying the lab for damage and looking at Wesley in bewilderment when she found none. She had expected to see the aftermath of an explosion around her, centered on the spot where Spike had smashed the amulet, but… apart from the flash of light and something knocking her down, she didn't remember there being any sound. And the lab itself seemed intact, only…

"Where's Spike?" she asked. Wesley was still looking at her in concern. "And – sorry – what about you? Angel?" She spun in a slow circle, taking everything in. "Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine," said Angel, standing at the bottom of the balcony steps. "There was this… wave of energy, I guess… it knocked us back a couple of steps but you were closest to it. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Well, I sat down a little hard, but I'm pretty sure my butt can take it," she smiled. "But I don't see Spike."

"Idiot probably destroyed himself," muttered Angel, and Fred frowned at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but a crash from the storage room interrupted her.

Oh, she thought, peering inside. There was the explosion.

While the side of the wall that faced the lab was completely intact, inside it looked as though a wrecking ball had smashed through it, seven or eight feet up, and continued across, right to left, through the center set of shelves and into the shelving on the opposite side of the room. At least the top third of the center shelves was destroyed, the side opposite the impact curling outward in a welter of torn and twisted metal. Across the narrow aisle, the metal-and-wire shelves on the far wall were crushed flat and the concrete blocks behind them dented and cracked.

The floor of the little room was no better. Cardboard boxes had burst from the impact and flung their contents to the far corners of the room; broken equipment, scattered papers, and broken glass were spread everywhere, covered in a litter of concrete and gravel. Dust hung in the air from the destruction.

In between the two sets of shelves, Spike knelt awkwardly with his back to them, his black duster covered in debris and splayed out around him. He was leaning against the far shelves with one arm and trying to pull himself upright with the other, but as Fred watched, his foot slipped and his knees buckled, dropping him back to the floor hard.

"Spike!" she exclaimed. She picked her way quickly through the mess to his side.

Spike's head wobbled as he twisted and looked up at her, eyes a little crossed. He was bleeding from a cut somewhere on his scalp, staining his white-blond hair a brilliant red as it trickled down along his temple, and another gash on his cheek. He blinked, eyes wide and staring, and struggled to focus on her as he smiled.

"Looks like it worked," he slurred.

"God, are you okay?" she asked, pulling one arm across her shoulders as Wesley came up behind him. Between the two of them, they managed to get Spike upright, swaying where he stood as they tried to turn him around in the cramped space.

"Yeah, mostly," said Spike. He blinked again, "Only there's two of you and I'm pretty sure you're not meant to be twins, pet."

It was more than a little odd to hear such a dangerous vampire, at least according to Wesley, giggling drunkenly as they guided him back toward the lab. He staggered sideways and nearly fell as they helped him into a seat. "Bit of a slap and a tickle, that was."

"I'll take your word for it," Fred said. "Here, just… get your bearings back while I run some tests, okay?"

"Yeah, all right," he mumbled. "Almond trees…" He put a hand to his head, wincing as he found the cut on his scalp. Studied his fingers for a moment and then grinned, licked the blood off the tips.

"What was that?" asked Wesley. He flicked the table lamp on nearest the stool where Spike was perched as Angel approached. Spike hissed and ducked his head away from the sudden light. Swayed in his seat and threw a hand out to steady himself against the worktable.

"Drama queen," muttered Angel, arms folded.

"No, that would be you," Spike replied. "Try and remember we're nothing alike, won't you? Ponce," he added in an undertone.

"Small favors," grumbled Angel. "God, Spike, do you ever think things through? You had no idea how powerful that amulet could be."

"Yeah, well, neither did you," said Spike, "being that you were too much of a bleeding coward to actually use the bloody thing, weren't you?" He sat straighter and glared at Angel. "'Sides, I figure you do enough brooding and moping about for the both of us, you great git."

"If you don't mind," said Wesley, shooting a look at them both, "Spike, you said something strange just now… something about trees?"

"What? Oh. Yeah," he replied. "It's nothing. Just – for a second I thought I remembered…" He looked away, focusing on nothing, before he shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Wasn't real."

"Even so, it may be useful information later on," persisted Wesley. "Perhaps something to do with the amulet and its powers."

"I doubt it," frowned Spike. "I thought I remembered standing near some almond trees, was all. Like an orchard, or something. Only it was daytime, and…" he stopped, shook his head again. "It doesn't matter."

"And what?" Angel pressed.

"And Buffy was there," Spike snapped, glaring at him. "I was with Buffy. That make you happy?"

"No," said Angel. "You hit your head too hard. Daytime? With Buffy? You're hallucinating."

"I didn't say I thought it was real, now did I?" demanded Spike. He moved to stand, but Fred's hand on his shoulder kept him down. "'S what I remember. Your pet Watcher asked, I answered, end of story."

"How are you feeling now?" cut in Fred, before they could continue.

Spike sat back on the stool, rolled his shoulders. "Bit better," he said. Looked at Angel before adding, "Steady enough to walk out of here, that's for bloody certain."

"Good," said Angel.

Fred rolled her eyes and moved to stand between them. Spike shifted his gaze away from Angel and back onto her. "No broken bones, anything like that?" she asked.

"Nah, pet," he said, "thanks for asking. I'm just – gettin' used to bein' solid again, I reckon." Spike rolled his shoulders again. His eyes flicked toward Angel and away, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Fred bit her lip in thought.

"Well, I'm getting some unusual readings," she said. "I'd like to keep you here for just a little while longer – I mean, if that's okay with you?"

Spike smiled at her. "Beautiful woman says she wants to keep me around," he said, eyebrows twitching. "At least I'm smart enough not to run away whenever that happens."

"Shut up, Spike," growled Angel.

"Make me." Spike folded his arms and leaned back. "Tell me, Peaches, is it really your curse or just that you haven't got the balls to handle a relationship with her now she's not a child anymore?"

Angel started forward as Spike surged to his feet, but Fred beat them both to the punch. "Enough!" she said. "Both y'all are, what, more than a hundred years old, right?" She looked back and forth between them, exasperated. "Try acting like it, already."

Spike sat back down, smirking at Angel, daring him wordlessly to press the issue.

Angel looked away. "He started it," he muttered under his breath.

"And you can just put on your big-boy britches and end it," she declared. "You're in my lab and I have work to do. Didn't I hear you talking earlier about some necromancer you have to deal with?" At Angel's shrug, she went on, "How about you find Charlie and go do that. Wes and I can take it from here."

"Fine," said Angel, turning toward the steps. "Try not to take too long, though. The sooner you're done dealing with this idiot, the sooner we can get back to handling problems that are actually important."

"Oh, no fear there," Spike retorted, "I'll be bloody thrilled to get out of your overdone hair fast as I can, and on my merry way – back to Buffy!" he shouted at Angel's retreating back.

The sound of the door slamming was his only reply.

"Ugh," said Fred, "you can grow up too. Just because you've already taken a beating doesn't mean I won't smack you upside the head if I have to."

Spike took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh and a wince. "Sorry, pet," he said. "We've got history. Get under each other's skin like no one else can."

"Perhaps if you didn't try quite so hard," murmured Wesley, and both she and Spike grinned. "Fred, you mentioned some unusual readings?"

Fred blew a wisp of hair out of her face, tucked it behind her ear. "I lied," she said.

Both men blinked at her.

"There's so much residual energy hanging around from that amulet getting smashed that I can hardly pick up anything definitive," she explained. "All I've been able to tell for sure is that you seem to be back to your regular vampire self… but the more sensitive instruments keep getting surges of static whenever I try for more detailed information. Brainwave activity, interdimensional residue, anything like that – it's just completely skewed." She shrugged helplessly. "I wanted to ask you some questions, and you were looking like you didn't want to talk in front of Angel, so I lied. I was hoping he'd get bored and leave when I mentioned more tests, but you just had to keep pushing his buttons…"

"Yeah, well," said Spike sheepishly, "like I said. History." He rubbed a hand along the back of his head, frowned and ruffled grit and debris out of his hair. "So. Ask away, then."

"Right," she said. "How are you feeling, really?"

Spike made a face. "Tingly," he said. Glanced back and forth between her and Wesley to gauge their reactions. "Pins and needles sort of thing, all over. Thought it might fade, but instead it's been getting stronger."

"Spinal injury, do you think?" asked Wesley. "From the level of destruction in the storage room I'd say you struck the walls with an incredible amount of force."

"No," said Spike. "I've had spinal injuries. Was bloody paralyzed once. This isn't the same." He rolled his shoulders again, grimaced as he folded his arms. "It's gettin' to where it bloody well hurts… and I'm getting more sensitive to light and noise. This lamp is still hurting my eyes. And your computer monitor is going to drive me right around the bend here in a few minutes, if that high pitch keeps up."

"Perhaps you were right about needing to adjust to a corporeal form again," offered Wesley, "but even so I would expect the sensitivity to fade as you adapted, rather than getting worse."

"Yeah," said Spike. He was gritting his teeth now, ducking his head away from them as his hands tightened on the worktable. "Could you turn that bloody thing off?"

Fred leaned over and switched off the table lamp as Wesley walked over to her desk. Her eyebrows went up as she watched Spike flinch in time to the sound of Wes's shoes striking the tiled floor, followed by a sigh of relief when Wes pushed the button and powered down her monitor.

"Better?" she asked, trying to pitch her voice low.

"Different," Spike replied, his eyes shut. He sniffed once, jutting his chin out like he was bracing for a showdown. "Tingles are still getting stronger. Hurts." He shrugged his duster off and let it slide to the floor. "Like my skin is too tight."

"Maybe you should lay down," she said. "I mean, you did hit pretty hard. Maybe you should rest?"

"Or feed," suggested Wesley. "You've been, er, elsewhere, for nineteen days, but perhaps time moved differently wherever you were."

"Maybe," he replied. He still wouldn't open his eyes and his hands were clenching and unclenching on the edge of the table. "Come away from the window." He swallowed and began to take deep breaths as if he were nauseous.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Need to lay down," he muttered, and they quickly got his arms over their shoulders and helped him stand.

"There's a break room we use, just past the storage room," said Fred. "Sometimes we have experiments running that we can't leave alone, so there are cots and things set up."

"Yeah, all right," said Spike. His Adam's apple bobbed as he walked between them, placing each foot carefully as if he were walking on ice.

"You're still in pain?" asked Wesley.

Spike didn't answer. Halfway up the corridor he stopped once and hunched over, exhaling a soft little grunt as his face twisted, the muscles in his arms rigid as they struggled to keep him upright. They shuffled a few more steps up the hall after the fit passed, before he stopped again.

"Something… something isn't right," he said. Finally opened his eyes as he lifted his head up. "There's… Buffy? No. No, she isn't here, is she. The window…"

"Can you tell us what's happening?" asked Fred.

"Something isn't right," muttered Spike. He swallowed with a little shudder, closed his eyes again. "I don't feel right… Something's…" He went limp, sagging between her and Wesley as they fought to keep from dropping him.

They'd no sooner gotten him lowered carefully to the floor when he began to convulse. His fingers curled into clumsy claws and his back arched, eyes rolled up and jaw clamped tight. His legs kicked out and went rigid before starting to quiver and twitch randomly. His breath came and went in ragged, animalistic grunts and gasps.

"Do vampires even have seizures?" Fred asked, holding his head to keep him from banging it on the tile.

Wesley slipped in beside her, took Spike's head in his hands. "Call medical," he said. "Then call Angel. I'll stay with him." Fred dashed back to her desk and called the infirmary, a corner of her mind still bemused at the idea that she could just say "the patient is a vampire" without anyone batting an eye.

Once she was assured that a team was on its way, she dialed Angel's office. Listened to it ring, looked over her shoulder and up the corridor to where Wes knelt over Spike. It looked like Spike's fit, or whatever it was, had passed; he lay flat on the floor, bending one knee before his foot slid back out and his leg went limp. Raising one hand weakly as his head moved. It looked like he was trying to say something; as she watched, Wes leaned in closer to hear better.

"Yes?" Oh, right, Angel.

"Uh, Angel – it's Fred – um, we need you in the lab. It's Spike."

"What has he done this time?" came the irritated response.

"Had a seizure, for one thing," Fred replied, annoyed. "I realize you two don't get along, but I thought you might want to know anyway."

She heard Angel sigh on his end. "Fine," he said after a second, "I'll be down in –"

Up the hall, Spike snarled like some kind of angry tiger, a sound Fred couldn't remember hearing before outside of a television documentary; in person, it made every muscle in her body freeze stiff. She watched, eyes wide, unable to make a sound as he shoved Wes off him and into the wall, and scrambled to his feet. Growling softly, he took in his surroundings, eyes glinting an inhuman gold as they caught the light.

He spotted her, and all of a sudden she couldn't breathe. The phone slipped from her fingers, unnoticed.

"Fred? Fred!"

Spike charged.